love at first sight
theeflowerchild
quatorze
The day dissolves before his very eyes. The sky behind him turns pink, then purple, and then black. His eyes flicker towards the constellations, the ones his brother taught him when he was only a child, the ones he can remember, at least. He knows his star sign. He can identify the little dipper. He can never find it's older brother: higher, and larger, always a step ahead of its little. Sasuke disregards his reflection.
The hospital is quiet tonight. He leaves his door open, but nobody passes. He's all caught up on his work. Whatever files he had have been scattered across the battleground, carried away by nurses in keds that click against linoleum. Far away, he can hear a firecracker, needless noise preparing partygoers for their colorful counterparts. It's only a few more hours before the hospital lights up once more with drunks, and their victims.
With a sigh, he clicks off his computer. He reaches for his lamp, and the only light left is from the white hall lights through his open door, casting a sickly shadow on his skin. He pulls his coat off the back of his chair, wraps his scarf around his neck, and checks the clock on the wall. He squints through the darkness. 11:15.
He shuts the door behind him, locks it, throws the key in his jacket pocket. He slips his gloves on his hands, and begins his walk towards the nurses station to clock out for the night. The only sound is the beeping of heart monitors, the constant pressing of ventilators, the dull sound of a television.
He frowns when he reaches the nurses station.
"Sakura," he says, and she jumps right out of her skin, dropping her pen with a loud click. "What are you doing here?"
"Senpai!" she yells, and turns around. "You scared me—!"
"It's New Years Eve." He slips off his gloves. "Why are you here so late?"
She checks the clock, and she sighs. "I didn't mean to—Tsunade-shishou said—"
"She has you hear this late?" he asks, and there's an edge to his voice; he's clearly annoyed.
She shakes her head. "Well, not this late. I didn't mean to stay here for this long. Damn," she mutters the last word under her breath. She reaches for her coat, wraps the oversized wool around her body. "She said I could work today, finish up some paperwork, and I got carried away, I guess."
"Clearly."
She mutters something under her breath he can't hear, and says, "I was supposed to meet my family for a late dinner, but that's obviously not happening."
"No parties?" he asks, despite himself. Prolonging this interaction won't do him any good. He begins to slip his gloves back on.
"Too tired for parties," she explains, and she shoots him a winning smile that makes his heart beat a little faster than he'd like to admit. She shoves a big, blue cap on her head that nearly covers all her pretty pink hair. "Never too tired for food, though."
"I see," he says.
"What about you? No shindigs at my brother's?" she asks.
He thinks of a young, pretty girl, drowning in a coat, sipping a can of soda. "Not tonight."
"That's too bad." She bites her lip. "Are you leaving now?"
"Yes," he says.
She ties her scarf around her neck, and his lips curl into a little smile he doesn't mean them too. Her clothes barely fit her: a hand-me-down jacket, a giant scarf that swallows her whole, a hat he can barely see her eyes through. She only seems to get cuter. "If we walk fast enough, we might be able to catch some fireworks in the park."
His eyes widen. "I'm sorry, I don't think I can—"
"Oh, come on, senpai!" She exists the nurses' station, slamming the small door behind her with excitement. "It's New Year's Eve, and I have nothing better to do."
He frowns. "Sakura—"
"Unless you were looking forward to TV dinner, and watching the ball drop?" she asks. He sighs. "That's what I thought."
"I don't watch the ball drop," he mumbles. He follows her anyway.
She chatters away as they exit the hospital: something about intake files, or missing dinner, or school. He tunes her out. Her hair looks lovely and bright against the snow, and twinkling spotlights. He's not sure what shines brighter: the stars, or her eyes. She looks beautiful in with winter. Her pale skin, her strawberry blonde hair, her green eyes; they were molded from the spring, but made to be seen below the moon shining against piles of snow.
When they reach the park, he checks his watch, and he can't believe they've been walking for almost twenty minutes. "We could have taken the train."
"Then we'd be waiting here longer," she explains. "Now it's at least 11:45."
"Forty-three," he corrects. He wipes the snow off a bench, takes his seat, and motions for her to sit.
She does, and too close for comfort. She doesn't wear perfume, but he can smell her fruity shampoo, and he can feel the heat from her cheeks, and her breath. She shifts, and pushes up against him. She rubs her naked hands. "It's colder than I thought."
He rolls his eyes, and takes his gloves off. He thrusts them at her. "Here."
She frowns. "No, I can't—"
"They're already off, just take them," he instructs, and she does.
When he imagines himself lending her clothes, he doesn't think they'll be gloves. Perhaps a shirt to wear to bed, or something to cover herself up with after a shower. He stops his train of thought.
"Thank you," she says, and she smiles, and he hopes her cheeks are pink from the cold, and not his gesture. Either way, they suit her, rosy and round, her face always full to the brim with life.
They sit in silence for a moment. If she wasn't there, he'd hear the fountain's sprinkler melting back into the base. He'd hear snow falling from branches, and the voices of passerbys. All he can hear his her breath, the sound of her jacket as her chest raises with each inhale. He watches as fog forms with each exhale. He imagines what it'd sound like labored.
"What time is it?" she asks.
He exhales. "You should really own a watch," he complains, and checks his anyway. "11:55."
"Time passes quickly with you, senpai," she says. Her smile puts the spotlights to shame. "Almost time for the fireworks.
He hums, and nods his head. It's too cold for the families to flock the park this year, too thick a layer of snow for the children to find seating. He sees small groups of teenagers littering the park instead, smoking cigarettes and drinking out of brown paper bags. They're too spaced out for him to hear what they're saying. He's sure they're too drunk for it to matter, anyway.
"Have you seen the fireworks here before?" she asks.
He nods his head. "My older brother used to take me when I was little."
"That's sweet," she says. "Mine too."
"We lived out in the suburbs," he explains. "Well, they still do, but he'd take me into the city around this time." He's not sure if he's offering too much, but when he sees her interested, sees her beautiful smile turn up on her face, knows he's making her happy by opening up, he tells her a little more. "He'd take me to see the tree, and if the weather was nice, we'd watch the fireworks, and eat chestnuts."
"That sounds nice." Her smile is almost too beautiful. He wonders how a creature this pure can exist, how it can be fair. "Do you get along with your brother."
He chooses his words carefully. "Mostly."
She laughs, and it's almost as pretty as her. It's become his favorite song, and cherishes when he allows her to hear it. "Like most siblings."
He hums. He checks his watch again. "Just another minute."
They wait in a comfortable silence. She watches the sky, he watches her. He knows he shouldn't be here, but he also know she can't say no to her, can't stay away from her. He wants her to be happy, and he doesn't want her to be alone, in a park, watching fireworks by herself. He doesn't want her at a party with her friends. He doesn't want her at a dinner with her family. He wants her to himself.
When the fireworks go off, they know it's midnight. They litter the sky and put the stars to shame. He sees pretty blues, and reds, and yellows, and purples. He hears her say something, but he can't see anything past her closed eyes.
That's when he realizes he kissing her.
He pulls away when a chorus of "Happy New Year!" fills the park from the groups of drunks, from the friends setting off the show for them.
He's about to say something when she does. "Senpai, I—Senpai—"
His breath catches in his throat—what had he done—
"Senpai, I am so sorry!" she yells, and stands up. "I—I don't know what came over me! I didn't mean to do that! I'm so sorry."
Everything stops. All he can hear his her voice.
"That—That was so inappropriate of me, I'm sorry—" She yanks her hat off her head, runs her gloved hands, his gloves, through her hair. "It was the lights—and the New Year—and—"
She had kissed him.
It takes her a moment to compose herself. She's pinker than ever, as pink as her hair; she pulls her hat back over her head, back over her eyes, and she's huffing, and maybe she's crying, and he hasn't said anything, hasn't moved yet, and she's rambling, and rambling.
Finally, he says, "Sakura," and she's quiet.
"That…" he trails off, and for some reason, he frowns, and then words are coming out of his mouth, and he can't believe what he's saying, and she's crying even harder, now. "That was inexcusable. I think you need to go home. I don't think you should be seeing me anymore. I don't think—"
He goes on, but the words mean nothing.
She leaves. Sasuke walks home in silence, with a totally blank mind. When he gets to his apartment, he throws his door open, drops his jacket on the floor, his keys, throws his shoes off his feet, strips off his pants, his tie, his shirt, and when he's left in nothing but his boxers, he crumples to the ground.
And Sasuke cries.
That morning, Sasuke hands Tsunade his leave. He's crossed every t and dotted every i on his paperwork. He's signed at every dotted line. When she begins to test him, he tells her he's learned all he can here. He's done. He leaves before she can say anymore.
He gathers his things from his office: an old file folder with his medical journals, his lab coat, his lucky pen, and a picture of his father in uniform. He leaves his key on the desk.
It's sunny out when he leaves. The snow is beginning to melt, covered in dirt, and salt. He takes his time walking back to his home. When he opens up his door, he steps around brown boxes, duct taped shut, labeled for his own ease. He sifts through his refrigerator, sits on his couch, and cracks open his last beer.
When he's finished, he picks up the phone, and dials. "Sasuke?"
"Suigetsu, hey," he says. "I'm ready."
"Okay, I'll be there soon." There's a long pause. "Are you sure you want to do this?"
"As long as I can still sleep on your couch," he says.
"What about your apartment?" he asks.
"Itachi's going to lease it," he says.
"And your job?" he asks.
"I quit," he says. "I want to accept Orochimaru's offer."
"He'll work you to the bone," he says. "You won't have a second to breath."
"Good," he says, and he hangs up.
"I want to finish by the end of the year!" my ass. Enjoy this February New Year chapter lol, better than nothing I guess, but we're finally getting to the end! It is lit