AN: Heeyyyyy! When I tell you this chapter was a struggle to write. I went through writer's block, then work stress, then just not having time, but we're finally here!
I really really appreciate all of the thoughtful comments you've left. I know this is a dark/miserable story so far, and that can raise a lot of sad/angry/uncomfortable feelings in people, so I thank you all for taking the time to read, process it, and encourage me to keep going. It really means a lot! :)
*Trigger warning for domestic violence and allusions to sexual assault.*
Chapter 13: Nabe
Sakura hated winter and everything it stood for.
Fuck Christmas gifts, fuck snow festivals, fuck strawberry shortcake. To her, all winter meant was full body chills and hopscotching over patches of icy pavement.
It had to be below freezing. Minus 8 or 9, at least. Even bundled up in two wool scarves and a pair of earmuffs, the trek across campus was misery. Her jaw hurt, her ears rang, and her nostril hairs frozen. Animal instinct was the only thing pushing her forward, and with every step, bits and pieces of the hours before took shape in her mind.
Sights. Sounds. Smells.
A bottle of wine. Vomit. Someone panting against her ear. "You like that, don't you?"
Her brain was trying desperately to show her something, but pain obscured the full picture.
Once Sakura arrived outside the teaching clinic, her racing heart slowed. For the first time in a long time, the office was a perfect escape. She fumbled in her purse until she found her key card, and it took three shaky swipes before the lock clicked open.
She slammed her body against the door and slid to the ground. Her head hurt. Her face hurt. Fuck, it hurt—but she couldn't remember why. Her head mixed scenes from a night so scrambled it made her nauseous.
Sasuke. Bed. A woman's' voice on the answering machine.
Come on, get up! Sakura slapped her cheeks with both hands. The shock of white-hot pain was enough to get her back on her feet.
As soon as she flicked on the table lamp, a familiar chaos greeted her. Stacks of paperwork cluttered every spare inch of desk space, and towers of textbooks and scuffed heels cast creepy shadows on the walls. Tsunade was a perfectionist in clinical training, but with cleanliness and organization, all bets were off.
Sakura crouched in front of a bookshelf and groped in the thin, dark space between a copy of Gray's Anatomy and a dying peace lily. It took a few moments of fumbling, but soon her hand wrapped around something stiff and cool.
Jackpot. She smiled when she came back with a half-full bottle of top-shelf sake.
Once every month, Tsunade invited her two highest performing students out for dinner. It was more cozy bonding than anything lavish, but usually started with pre-drinks and chitchat in her office. Ever since freshman year, Sakura could always expect an invitation. Lately, however, she had to make up excuses to decline. Sasuke didn't like her being out too late, and she made a promise to always come straight home after work.
Sakura plopped down into the desk chair and unscrewed the bottle. Though the paint thinner-like scent was stomach-turning, her skin pimpled with goosebumps in anticipation of the first sip. Sakura took a swig and glanced at her reflection in the mirrored surface of the bottle.
"Shit."
Dried blood caked the entire right side of her face, and her mouth was bright red and swollen like a cursed Christmas bauble. Sakura probed at her forehead with her fingertips until she found the head wound. It was shallow, thankfully, but the slight pressure from her trembling hands triggered a warm rush of blood down the side of her face.
"Shit. Shit. Shit." Sakura unwound her scarf and grabbed a fistful of tissues from a box next to the lamp. Eventually, she stemmed the flow to a light trickle, but her the throbbing in her head intensified. She stared at her face in the bottle again. The liquid warped her delicate features into something swollen and ugly. Her throat tightened with grief, but she pinched herself on the cheek before a sob could form.
Don't be such a crybaby.
She poured a little sake onto the clump of tissues in her hand and then blotted at the wine-colored staining under her eye and mouth. Just as she had cleared most of the blood, the room filled with the sound of a poppy 8-Bit jingle. Sakura dug through her pockets until she found her phone and then stared at the name on the illuminated screen.
Sasuke ;P
Picking up the call was pure muscle memory.
"Sakura." The richness of his voice warmed her. "Thank God. Where are you?"
Sakura lowered the phone to the table and pulled her hands away. Her throat was raw, and her brain wouldn't let her form the right words.
My throat. Her eyes misted. Why does my throat hurt so much?
"Sakura…" he waited again, feeling out the quiet. "Sakura, I'm fucking sorry. I didn't mean to—you have to come back so we can figure this out."
Sakura answered with more silence. When she looked down at her free hand, there was dark bruising around her wrist.
The blood in her mouth tasted strong.
"I can hear you breathing, Sakura."
"My… face…" her voice was hoarse. "You promised you wouldn't hit me in the face."
Sasuke was quiet, and the stretched silence filled her with anxiety.
"Sasuke?"
"What do you want me to say?" he snapped. "This is just like you. You get piss drunk and you pick fights and–just remember who's paying your way, okay? You go around making up stories and I swear to God—"
Sakura pushed her thumb down on the end call button.
"Moron." She pulled at her hair until a pained squeak escaped her throat. She needed to calm down. A couple of hours there and Sasuke would be out somewhere else, or asleep and she could sneak back in.
After a couple of hours, she could try to let it all go.
She screwed the top back on the bottle of sake and slid it back into its hiding place. If she kept drinking, she would never make it back home.
"God, you're so predictable." A woman's voice entered the room. "Ever since school days. It's a good thing I moved the reservations to nine."
"So harsh. Am I really getting berated for taking the time to help an elderly woman across the street?"
"Find another line, Kakashi." She chuckled.
Kakashi?
Sakura's stomach dropped. She scrambled to hide herself under the desk, but it was too late. The room's lights came on, and she was face to face with a pair of black pumps.
Her mentor laughed loud. "Miss Haruno! To what do I owe this—oh my God."
Suddenly, Sakura was being pulled up by the shoulders. When she looked up, 1.5 eyes stared back at her in horror.
"Hey! What is this?" she forced a smile and gestured at Kakashi. "I didn't know you knew each other! Kakashi-sensei taught Phys. Ed at my old middle school and—"
"Who did this to you?"
There was a harsh edge to Tsunade's voice that Sakura only heard during clinical rotations when someone screwed up big time. Like wrong medication or failure to take an adequate history screwed up. Beside her, Kakashi was silent, fists clenched at his sides.
"Oh, this?" she gave her cheek a light slap and just barely restrained a grimace. "Judo practice. Can you believe it?"
"No. I can't." Tsunade forced her back into the desk chair. "You need to tell me what the hell is going on. Like right now."
Sakura lifted her scarf from the floor and wound it loosely around her neck. "It's just what I said," she insisted. "And look, I'll replace the alcohol. I promise."
Tsunade crouched in front of the chair and placed both hands on Sakura's thighs. From the outside, she was sure it looked soothing, but she felt trapped. She hated it—people looking at her, judging her, pitying her.
"Hey." Her mentor's voice was uncharacteristically soft. "These things just don't happen by accident. You're a smart girl; you know that. You can tell me anything."
Sakura tried her hardest to seem unbothered, but when she looked up, Kakashi was staring back from the doorway. The best thing about being in college was leaving childhood memories behind. Her friends were hardly a trigger anymore, but his face sent her back to grade school and the embarrassment of everything from not being able to afford new gym kit to having to quit sports teams to take care of her mother.
She gave a closed lipped smile. "There's nothing to tell."
Tsunade's hand tightened up on her thigh, and the soft smile on her lips faded into a frown.
"You could have a facial fracture or a concussion. I'm not letting you leave here until you let me give you a check over."
"It's a bruise. Don't be dramatic, sensei."
"Sakura." Kakashi folded his arms across his chest and stared her down. "She's trying to help. You should do as she says."
"I don't need help." Sakura hopped to her feet and did a quick spin around. It took everything in her to keep from stumbling. "See? All good. I just need to get back home."
"Home." Tsunade huffed. "You live off campus with your boyfriend, don't you?"
Sakura looked from her mentor to Kakashi and back again. She knew what was coming, and she wanted out.
"Okay, I can't be here anymore." She jumped up from the chair, but Tsunade blocked her in with both hands.
"Sakura wait." Tsunade squeezed her shoulders. "How about I just help you clean up a little and we all go have something to eat. You'd like that, right?"
"You like that, don't you?"
A sudden wave of nausea struck her.
"Get off!" Sakura snapped. "You're not my fucking mother!"
Tsunade's eyes went wide. "What-
"Just because you were too pathetic to get married and have kids of your own, doesn't mean you can treat me like a baby!"
As soon as she said it, she wished she could take it back. The room fell silent, and Sakura pressed the heel of her palm against her cheek. The pain was so intense, for a moment she saw stars.
Kakashi reached out to pull her hand away, but Sakura recoiled.
"I don't need help," she repeated. "I told you what happened and I just…"
"It's fine," Tsunade interrupted. "You don't owe me an explanation."
Sakura couldn't look her in the eye. Sasuke was right about her. She picked fights and refused to face the consequences.
"Sakura, stay a bit." Kakashi tried to step in her way, but Tsunade pulled him back.
"Let her go." Her voice was steel. "She's an adult. She can make her own decisions."
Sakura snatched up her bag and bolted out the door before they could reconsider. Though she ran as fast as her feet could carry her, the route to Ino's felt unbearably long. The campus was colder and darker, and her legs were like lead. Once she reached the front door, Sakura used her scarf to block out the worst bruising on her cheek. She drew in a deep breath and gave the door a hard knock.
Ino emerged in an oversized t-shirt and sweats. Her eyes went wide.
"Sakura!" She covered her mouth with one hand. "What the fuck happened?"
"Tripped over a laundry basket." Sakura tried to smile, but her face was stiff. "Look I was wondering… I have some dictation to do tonight and Sasuke likes it quiet when he studies. Could I stay over? We can make it a girl's night!"
There was a silence that felt like ages. Ino's breathing was heavy, and she balled her hands into tight fists at her side.
"Ino?" Sakura shifted from foot to foot, rubbing her arms up and down. "Ino, come on, it's freezing—"
"Get out of my face."
Sakura watched Ino's mouth form the words, and felt the sound settle in her ears, but it was still so surreal. In all the time they'd been friends, she never denied her help.
"What?"
"You heard me." Ino white-knuckled the doorknob. "Leave. Now!"
Sakura furrowed her brow. "Look, I don't need the bed or anything. The couch is fine. Even—"
"You can't stay anymore, period," she snapped. "Jesus! You can't come here looking like that, cracking jokes, and expect me to take you in, no questions asked. I'm not doing it anymore!"
Sakura frowned. "Oh. I didn't realize I was such a burden to you," she muttered.
She hadn't meant to sound so pathetic about it, but the pain was getting to her. All she wanted was a place to lie down.
Ino glared at her. "Don't you dare pull that woe is me crap. Last week it was 3 in the morning with bruised ribs. Two weeks ago, a dislocated shoulder at midnight."
Sakura's head pounded, and she had to clutch the railing of the stairs for support. "This is a huge misunderstanding. I've been back in judo again. I'm not as good as I used to be, and of course I'm going to get hurt. Of course, I'm going to have some bumps and bruises."
Ino clicked her tongue. "You always have an answer for everything. Guess why that's why you're the smart one, huh?"
It was a subtle dig, but cut deep. Growing up, Sakura was used to being the stable one between them. Boring. Goody two shoes. Little miss perfect. Now there she was, begging at Ino's doorstep for a place to sleep.
"You don't get it," Sakura said. "You have no idea what kind of stress he's under. You have no idea—"
"You're right. I don't. I don't care. I don't give a fuck about him—I care about you." Ino's voice cracked, and the sound terrified Sakura. "He's not the man you think he is, and you're not going to fix him by being his punching bag and a warm hole to fuck."
Sakura clutched at her head with her free hand. "HE'S MY BEST FRIEND!"
"I'M YOUR BEST FRIEND!" Ino screamed, and then bowed her head to collect herself. "I'm supposed to be your best friend."
"Hey. Everything okay out here?" Sai emerged from behind Ino in an ink-covered smock. He smiled, but when he caught sight of Sakura's face, went completely blank.
"Holy shit, Sakura," he said, and her stomach dropped. Sai never called her by her name.
Run. Run away.
"Fine." She backed down from the top step. "This is bullshit anyway. I should have known - you're nothing but a jealous bitch."
"Yeah, that's right. Fuck off!" Ino fired back, but remained in the doorway. She looked on the brink of tears.
"Hinata will help—"
"No, she won't. We're united on this," Ino fired back. "We don't want anything to do with you unless you get rid of him."
"Then Naruto—"
"Please." Ino scoffed. "You think you're the one he's loyal to? Let's see how long it is before you overstay your welcome there, too."
Sakura went quiet. When she looked down at her feet, the stairs were moving.
"I think something bad happened tonight," she mumbled in a moment of lucidity.
"Hey, maybe we should let her sit down, at least." Sai tried to move past Ino in the doorway, but she shrugged him off.
"Don't fall for it. This is her routine. She knows exactly what buttons to push."
Sakura grimaced. "I think Sasuke—"
There was a bang, and the next thing she knew, she was standing alone in the dark, staring at a closed door.
Fine. That's fine. A voice in her head muttered. I don't need you.
Sakura dragged herself back down the stairs, breathing heavy and shallow. Just one foot in front of the other, she told herself. There was always one more place to go.
The walk to Naruto's felt fuzzy.
In the dark, everything looked mushy and strange. Sakura tried to focus on the pavement ahead, but after stopping and starting and a sudden bout of vomiting, the only thing she could see was double.
Naruto and Gaara's apartment lights were off when she arrived. She knocked and knocked and jiggled the front doorknob, but nothing.
It's after 11. Sakura sighed. How can neither of them be home?
Wearily, she slid down to the floor and hugged her arms around her knees.
There was something warm on her head.
Heavy and warm and nice.
Like a blanket, or a hot water bottle or something.
Sluggish, Sakura turned her face towards it, and the warmth bloomed over her cheek. It hurt a little, but not enough to pull away.
"… can't believe this."
A man's voice.
Papa?
No.
Sasuke?
Sakura blinked her eyes open and stared into pools of green.
It wasn't until she saw a shock of red hair that she remembered where she was. Gaara crouched in front of her, face only just visible underneath the frayed edges of a thick, wool scarf. He had a cloth shopping bag slung over one shoulder, and the head of a comically large leek peeked out from the top. One of his hands was outstretched towards her, but he pulled it back immediately when she shifted.
"What are you doing?" she mumbled. Her breath made white clouds of sake-scented fog between them. But if Gaara smelled it, he didn't let on.
"Checking for signs of life." He rose to full height and shifted the bag to his other arm.
She couldn't move. She wasn't sure if it was the freezing temperature or that exhaustion sapped the energy from her bones, but all she could do was stare. Gaara's gaze lingered on her cheek, and everything came back to her. She'd been waiting in the cold for hours for someone to show up, and what was once a bit swollen and red was likely now a massive bruise.
"Can you believe it?" Sakura gestured at her cheek. "One of the new girls got me right in the face with her foot during a takedown."
Gaara said nothing, but the frown twisting his lips was telling enough. She'd already mentally prepared herself for her third rejection of the evening when he turned away to unlock the front door.
"Come in already." He gestured through the entryway with his free hand. "It's fucking freezing."
Sakura didn't realize how weak she was until she stood up. She wobbled like a baby deer, and Gaara had to place a hand on her shoulder to help guide her inside. The apartment, a stifling death trap in the summer, was comfortably warm, and she welcomed the harsh, staticky tingle of blood rushing back to her fingers and toes. Gaara unwound his scarf, then hers, and draped them over his arm. Next, her coat and earmuffs, and then his. Neither spoke as the layer shedding ritual continued, and when done, Gaara hung the mismatch of clothing up together in the hall closet.
"Naruto hasn't done laundry, so here's some of my stuff." He grabbed a neatly folded bundle of clothing from the shelf and handed it over. "I'll go run a bath."
Normally, Sakura would have made some sort of wisecrack about the not wanting to sit around stinking of cigarettes, but there was no smell at all. Gaara turned his back on her, and she examined the clothing more carefully. Unlike the medium and large sized bits and pieces she occasionally borrowed from the boys, the sweatshirt was clearly a very feminine small. She hugged the bundle to her chest.
Was he seeing someone?
Were these her clothes?
What did she look like?
What was he like with her?
Were they in love?
Sakura hadn't felt so worried since the first time she spent the night at Naruto's, over two years ago. Back then, besides Sasuke, Naruto was the only boy she'd ever spent time with alone. And unlike the blonde, Gaara's motivations were difficult to read. As soon as he invited her in, her head buzzed with thoughts. Would he lecture her about Sasuke? Would he try to make a move on her? She expected the worst, but the reality was far more mundane.
Four hours of awkward silence and two shit movies later, they remained fixed at opposite ends of the couch. Even when it was after three in the morning and the only thing left on TV were infomercials, there was no sly suggestion she join him in bed. Or, even worse, find somewhere else to stay. Instead, Gaara stretched, yawned, and lugged a spare futon out from the hall closet to spread on the floor.
"It's not much," he'd said. "But you're a beggar, so you can't be choosing, right?"
Ever since then, Sakura never questioned his motivations. Gaara might have been a miserable, chain-smoking dick, but at least he knew how to keep his mouth shut. They didn't talk about Sasuke or her friends or anything real. Together, they achieved a weird but pleasant domesticity, and for a little while, it was like living in an entirely different world. One where she didn't have to come up with excuses or worry about anyone's stupid expectations.
"I left some clean towels by the sink." Gaara interrupted her shame spiral, but before Sakura could utter a thanks, he was off down the hall.
She took her time in the bathroom.
Unlike when Gaara peeled back her layers, it was a dreadful process to undress alone. Every piece of clothing removed revealed a sickly frame and a smattering of bruises—some old, most new. But it wasn't until her panties that she felt sick. Cream silk fabric with the gusset stained red. She pulled them off and balled the fabric in her fist.
They were a treat to herself from Agent Provocateur, bought hoping she might convince Sasuke to find his pleasure with her instead of other women.
You got what you wished for. Don't go crying about it, you baby.
Head aching and stomach sour, Sakura tipped out the bathroom bin and stuffed her shame into the bottom. Just as she piled the trash back into place, an empty pill bottle rolled across the floor. It wasn't like her to snoop through people's things, but the name on the bottle caught her by surprise.
Gaara. Clonazepam 1 mg.
She frowned. Why would he need…?
Before she could reason anything away, there was a knock at the bathroom door.
"Everything ok? You see the towels?" Gaara called in.
Sakura startled to her feet.
"Y-yeah! Got it!" She waited for some sound of acknowledgement, but only heard heavy footsteps clomping away.
She picked up a towel from the counter and jumped at the sound of something hard hitting the floor. It was a little plastic box.
She crouched down.
A first aid kit. Sakura sat on the side of the tub and turned it over in her hands a few times before flicking the top open. There were thick rolls of gauze, alcohol swabs, and an array of plasters, each printed with pink bunnies doing some sort of gymnastic routine. She smiled to herself.
"I left some clean towels by the sink."
"You see the towels?"
Sakura's eyes watered as she imagined Gaara scanning the aisles at the grocery store, making the childish pick. They must have been on sale. There was no other explanation.
"Softhearted loser," she whispered, but then gingerly cleaned the wound on her forehead. Once satisfied, she stuck a cartwheel bunny band-aid over the cut.
After a long soak in the tub to defrost, Sakura shuffled out into the kitchen. It wasn't as horrific as usual. Naruto wasn't around, so she could see there had been a genuine attempt to clear up, but there were still traces of the blonde everywhere. Styrofoam ramen bowls spilled out of the trashcan onto the floor, and a pile of paper-wrapped disposable chopsticks sat in dangerous proximity to the stove.
On the back burner, a nabe pot simmered gently. When Sakura got close enough to peer in, she saw neat slices of leek, carrot, and tofu bubbling in a miso broth. Gaara's vegetable prep station was nice and orderly—the only part of the counter that was clean. Even all the packaging—dotted with little yellow sale stickers—was neatly stacked. Sakura smiled to herself and opened the fridge. She dug around some wilted lettuce on the bottom shelf and grabbed a can of Asahi.
Just as Sakura pulled the tab back, she noticed she wasn't alone. Gaara sat in the living room, cigarette in hand, working to clear space on the kotatsu. His hair was a mess, and his skin still chalky looking from the cold, but it was the most relaxed she'd seen him in ages.
Sakura didn't want to care, and she blamed the fact that she even noticed it at all on terrible outside influence. Ever since she started hanging out at the apartment, she became more attuned to female commentary on Gaara's appearance.
If she was objective about it, it made sense. If a woman could look past the abject grimness that seemed to seep from his pores, then yes. Maybe Gaara was kind of attractive.
Still, it was annoying. Those girls didn't even talk to him like she did. They didn't know about his trouble sleeping or nicotine addiction or deep hatred of anything sweet. They didn't know anything at all, but had the nerve to feel entitled to any part of him.
When Sakura was sure Gaara wasn't paying attention, she tilted the can to her lips and chugged half down.
"Feels better, right?" he said. She pulled her arm down so quickly, beer dribbled from her mouth, down the front of her borrowed sweatshirt.
Gaara chucked a pair of socks and weathered-looking Shonen Jump into a basket of laundry.
When she stared back, dumbly, he added, "… the bath?"
"Oh. Yeah." Sakura pulled the towel free from her hair and used the edge to wipe her mouth. "Of course."
"You know, I'm sorry to do this all of a sudden," she mumbled. "Ino wouldn't let me stay."
"You have a fight or something?" he asked without looking at her. It was a classic attempt to seem disinterested—his boyish way of caring without appearing to care.
"Or something." Sakura plopped down on a cushion across from him and caged her hands around the beer.
How did she explain that her best friend wouldn't let her stay the night anymore because she was sick of her bullshit? How could she put a pleasant spin on something so utterly pathetic?
She took another sip, and Gaara frowned.
"How long were you waiting out there, anyway?"
Sakura shrugged through larger swallow. She was only half listening; the lager was taking hold, and it was amazing how something so simple could make her feel so warm all over.
"Didn't Naruto tell you he'd be staying at Hinata's tonight?" he pressed, but she was already floating away.
"It's dangerous to drink and fall asleep in the cold. It's the middle of winter - you could freeze to death," he said, and when she didn't respond, added with a glare, "You need to be more careful."
Sakura drained the can and then smiled. "Okay, dad."
Gaara stood and snatched the empty from her hands. He dropped the stub of his cigarette in, and it made a soft sizzle as it hit the bottom.
"Please," he muttered. "I just don't want to end up a suspect when they find your body."
Sakura watched his back as he entered the kitchen. Gaara shuffled about, stirring the pot, tasting, and poking around the fridge for more bits and pieces to add in. He didn't look so intimidating when he was doing normal household things. She smiled to herself as he pushed up onto his tiptoes and reached for two bowls on the top shelf. As he stretched, his sweatshirt went up, baring his hips and back.
Sakura prepared herself to laugh at ghost white flesh, but a lump formed in her throat at the sight. Clusters of dark, purple, and brown spots marred his skin—down his spine, to the small of his back.
The circular scars were easily recognizable from a distance.
Cigarette burns.
She saw enough of them during her psychiatric and emergency medicine rotations to be sure. But there was no time to linger on it. Gaara grabbed the bowls, settled back onto his soles, and everything was out of sight again.
When he turned, Sakura pretended to be rubbing her hair dry with the towel still draped around her neck.
"You want another?" He asked.
"What?"
"Do you want another beer?" He gestured at the fridge.
"Um, yeah. Sure."
Gaara tossed her a full can, and Sakura calmed herself just enough to catch it. The sight of his marred flesh was engrained in her memory, and yet, she knew it wasn't something she should ask about. It was none of her business. Not when he was one of the few people who never commented about any of her bumps or bruises.
"I couldn't get any meat, but you'd probably just pick it out anyway, so…" Gaara crossed the living room with the pot and bowls on a tray. He placed it all on the table and then labeled a healthy amount of soup into her bowl.
"Thanks." Sakura placed the full can on the table and warmed her hands against the bowl.
She knew the truth was he couldn't afford meat—at least not the nice cuts for hot pot. Still, he found it in him to share with her. Why?
She couldn't figure it out—whether he was into women or men or anything, really—but the way he looked after her was confusing. The way he looked at her was terrifying. Not sexual or predatory, but something else. Something unnerving.
After filling his own bowl, Gaara topped Sakura's up with cabbage and tofu, just the way she liked it. She hugged her knees a little closer and bit the inside of her cheek. What was she doing there, mooching off him? It was no wonder Ino and Hinata didn't want her around anymore.
Before she could stop it, she was crying. Slow, fat tears ran down from cheek to chin at first, but soon she had to cover her bruised face with both hands to hold it all in.
"Hey! Stop!" Gaara dropped his chopsticks. He sounded a mix of panicked and embarrassed. "What's… I know it's not much, but—"
"Everyone hates me," she cried.
Gaara sighed and shook his head. "That's not true. You know it's not."
"Hinata, Ino… they won't…" she whimpered. "They said unless I dump him…"
There was a long silence, and Sakura broke into sobs. It was embarrassing—she knew she sounded like a complete idiot when she cried like that. Bawled like that.
"Oh, shut up already, will you?"
Gaara latched on to one of Sakura's wrists and pulled it from her face. Her eyes widened, but with him staring at her, it only took a second for her whimpers and sniffles to die down to hiccups.
"What the hell do you need people like that for, anyway? Real friends wouldn't just ditch you when things are shit," he snapped. "Besides, you already made your decision, didn't you? You love that cunt, right? So, either live with it or don't. If it's what you want, don't go looking for anyone else's approval."
He let go abruptly and turned his face away. Sakura's eyes still brimmed with tears, but when she saw the pink on his cheeks, couldn't fight back a smile.
"Gaara…" she giggled into her fist. "Please. Don't ever become a motivational speaker."
"Whatever." He tucked his feet under the kotatsu with a frown. The pink on his cheeks had deepened into a very cute, very bright red. "I'm just trying to say…"
He glanced at her, then back to his bowl of soup. "You're always welcome here. No matter what."
Sakura's whole body tensed. No matter what?
"I mean, that's something Naruto would say, isn't it?" he added when her eyes went wide. "And I'm his roommate, so…"
Gaara rubbed a hand through his hair and then pressed his chin into his palm. He seemed a mix of confused and mortified by his own words.
And she loved it.
"So?" Sakura leaned forward onto her knees to get closer, and then draped herself across his lap, belly first. He was so easy to tease—the boy who played serious but was so easy to rile up.
"Hey." Gaara unclasped his hands from their fists and Sakura braced herself for a shove.
Pushing, pinching, ruffling hair… it was their immature way of communicating. The only human touch that didn't seem to surprise him.
"You shouldn't be like this with guys," he said suddenly. "They'll take advantage."
Instead of pushing her aside, Gaara placed a gentle hand on the small of her back. Even with the thick fabric of the sweatshirt between them, she could feel its size and weight perfectly. Big. Heavy. Warm. If she was honest, it was hardly romantic. The way he stroked her was like a little kid petting a cat. Light and shaky, as if he were afraid she might suddenly get her back up and rush off. Still, something about the nervous twitch of his fingers made her stomach flutter. She liked it.
Touch me more.
"Is that so?" she hummed.
"Yeah," he said. His voice was softer than usual, and close to her ear. "You're lucky I find you repulsive." He sifted her hair through his fingertips and let the strands flow through like grains of sand.
"Asshole," she mumbled. Her face still hurt a little, but in his arms, tipsy and warm, everything felt blurry and right.
But then she remembered the sweatshirt. A perfect feminine fit.
Who was the girl it belonged to? Did they lie together like this? Did he touch her like this? Sakura couldn't imagine Gaara being intimate with someone. Not sex intimate, anyway. That kind of thing was vulgar and brutal and nothing like him at all.
She buried her face into the front of his shirt. He smelled less like smoke than she expected, and more like fresh cut grass. Like her dad after a hot day spent reseeding the front lawn.
"You need to take better care of yourself," he said.
Sakura smiled and curled her legs around his under the kotatsu. Combined with his body heat it was a little too warm, but as long as he kept petting her, she could tolerate it. He took her in, he gave her a place to stay, he was gentle with her. It was all she could ever ask for.
"All this fuss from the smoker." She yawned. "Cancer cells multiplying as we speak."
"I'm serious, Sakura."
Gaara pinched her shoulder, and she lifted her head. There really was a serious look on his face. And in his eyes, something else. Something that felt scary, and made her stomach do nervous flips and turns.
"Okay," she said, and pressed the unbruised side of her face back into his chest. "Promise."
AN: I really like writing younger Gaara and Sakura, miserable as it all is.
But so, what do you think? Is Gaara best boy savior? Should Tsunade have let her go? Is Ino an asshole? Is it more complicated than that?
This chapter originally went in a different direction, but the flashback got too long so I decide to separate it from the main story. Next chapter will pick up where we left off after dinnergate.
Sakura's in an absolute STATE right now, but sometimes you gotta hit rock bottom before you find your way to the top! ;D Also, my boy Gaara gets off easy - Sakura's dysfunction is definitely way more in your face and easier to facepalm at.
*Clonazepam, commonly sold as Klonopin, is medication used to prevent and treat seizures, panic disorder, and anxiety, among other things.
