Chapter 14: Puppy chow
Sakura was a moron. She'd never been more sure of anything in her entire life. After all, what else could you call someone who blatantly sabotaged their own well-being on a regular basis?
The whole point of inviting herself to dinner was to mess with Gaara's head. To stay calm and collected and maybe, if she was lucky, get to shove her foot so far up his ass he wouldn't be able to walk again, let alone screw around. But all that went to shit the moment she sat down. Just one look across the table at the redhead and Sakura's confidence disappeared.
It was a fool's errand to think she could get one over on the master of cold indifference. Especially when he was sitting there with his perfect partner in his perfect suit with his perfectly neutral expression. Was he secretly laughing at her? Was his initial hesitancy just a ruse to get her to beg? Was what he truly wanted just to fuck her and rub it in Sasuke's face? Would he tell him about everything that happened already?
"The fee structure shouldn't differ from what you're—"
"Excuse me. I have to freshen up a bit." Sakura shot to her feet. The room spun, and she used her free hand to steady herself against the chair.
Instantly, Shijima was by her side.
"I'll go with you," she insisted.
Sober, Sakura might have protested, but it was enough effort to keep vertical. Shijima took her silence for agreement and guided her through the restaurant by the elbow.
"I wish you'd stayed the other night." She smiled. "It would have been nice to get to know each other a bit before your husband came in for business. You know, girls chat."
Sakura made soft, non-committal sounds as Shijima chattered. All she could think about was how much she reminded her of Sasuke's partner, Karin. Loyal, pretty, sharp. It was borderline revolting.
"I notice you've cut your hair since then." Shijima let go of her elbow and held the door open. "It's lovely. Really suits you."
"Oh… thank you." Sakura looked away.
Shijima was being kind. Well, it at least sounded like she was being kind. Still, hear head was filled with Sasuke's scornful warnings. Don't trust what people tell you. Pay attention to what they do.
If Shijima was anything like Karin, she wasn't a woman to underestimate. She couldn't let her guard down.
"I'm just going to…" Sakura gestured at the stall and then locked herself in. After closing the lid of the toilet with her foot, she sat patiently, waiting to hear the door opening again and Shijima's heels clicking away.
30 seconds… 45 seconds…. 1 minute… nothing.
She craned her neck to peek through the gap under the stall door. No matter how hard she willed her to leave, Shijima's shiny black pumps wouldn't budge.
Who is she, my goddamn babysitter? Sakura sighed and began a slow dig through her purse.
The leather Bottega clutch was just the right size for a tube of lipstick, a packet of spearmint gum, and thankfully, one 350ml bottle of cheap, off-brand vodka. Sakura made quick work of the lid and crossed her feet at the ankles, wriggling them anxiously.
It's not a big deal. Just a little liquid courage to get me through the rest of this fucking nightmare dinner.
She took a quick swig, grimaced, and then one more. When she ducked her head under the stall again, Shijima's heels stood firm.
Fuck's sake.
One courtesy flush and a few seconds of mental pep talk later, Sakura left the stall and tried her best to seem normal. It had been ages, however, since she'd chatted with a professional woman in her age bracket, and had no idea what to say. Shijima faced away from her, busying herself with a bit of makeup. She traced the tip of a peach-colored gloss across her bottom lip and then looked up at her reflection with a gentle smile.
"Everything okay?"
"Of course," she said. "I'm just… I'm not so great at making conversation. I worry, you know."
"You're doing just fine." Shijima's watched as she crossed the tight space to get to the sinks. "Don't worry about the boys. You know how men are, anyway. Never let you get a word in."
Sakura stood up straighter. As usual, it took little more than an allusion to Gaara for curiosity to come out in full force.
"How long have you known Gaara?"
The question seemed to please Shijima. She fluffed her hair a little with her fingertips and gave another perfectly amiable smile. "Oh, feels like ages. Coming up on eight years now, I think." She paused to blot at her forehead with a little puff. "But I've always wondered what he was like before coming to work for his father. You must have so many interesting stories. Embarrassing stories."
Sakura looked up at her own reflection and frowned at the stress pimple beginning to rear its head near the corner of her mouth. "Probably nothing you don't already know."
"I'm not sure about that. The Gaara I know is incredibly closed."
"Not much has changed, then," she mumbled. Shijima chuckled at that, and Sakura almost smiled. The older woman was being perfectly cordial, but there was still something nagging at her.
"You're thinking hard about something," Shijima teased.
"Well… it's just… I know my husband can be very hit and miss with his humor but…" She fiddled with a lock of her hair, pushing it behind her ear and pulling it forward, over and over. "I guess I am a little curious. You and Gaara seem to get along so well, and well, that night at the bar… I mean, I completely understand if you want to keep it quiet because you work together. Totally. I guess I'm just wondering if maybe—
"Sakura." Shijima leaned against the sinks and folded her arms with a smile. "I really prefer it when women are direct."
"Well… are you?" Sakura asked. "A couple, I mean."
"No."
"Oh." Sakura reddened, embarrassed by how relieved she sounded.
"Used to be until recently," Shijima added. "Six years. I'd say we had a pretty good run, all things considering."
Six years?
Six fucking years?
And what did she mean, "all things considering?"
At the festival, Gaara was so adamant about keeping things casual and never settling down, but six years was serious relationship territory. Getting married and having little, perfect, pretty, redheaded babies, territory. When they walked in together, Shijima kept close. Straightened his collar and his hair. Whispered into to his ear. Intimate little gestures that used to make him squirm now seemed natural. Despite what he said, Gaara was very much on his way to being a "white picket lifestyle" sort of guy.
"I see."
"Mm? Sorry—what do you see?" Shijima smiled.
"Well, er—I mean, I just—I've just always wondered about the kind of woman he likes. How he'd be with her and... you know, stuff." As she waffled, Sakura tried to look anywhere but at Shijima's face.
"You really don't know?" She didn't wait for an answer before chuckling. "Anyway, no mind. Gaara and I work together well, and we were fine companions, but that was about it."
"Companions?" she murmured. What the hell did that mean? A dog was a companion.
"Yes." Shijima pressed her lips together and straightened her jacket. "I suppose we should get back out there, shouldn't we? Who knows what the boys have gotten themselves into."
The boys. There it was again. Such a subtle diminutive, but Sakura's skin crawled at the way she said it so easily. It was the observation of a woman who knew things she didn't. A woman who ruled men—not feared them.
"Yes. Right." Sakura nodded and followed behind her like a puppy.
The walk back to the table was like a slow descent into the seventh level of hell. Flames licking at her feet in the form of strangers staring (no doubt, mostly at Shijima), and the promise of tension. By the time she and Shijima reached them, Gaara looked like he was just about ready to strangle Sasuke, and she could feel the anger radiating off them both in waves.
Most people described Sasuke as "hard to read," but in those moments Sakura found him utterly predictable. Once they were alone, his bad mood would become her nightmare. In high school, it was the silent treatment, in college, keeping her up past midnight with threats and accusations, and in Hokkaido, she would be lucky to get to bed without being bumped around a bit.
Sakura walked out holding his hand, but as soon as they arrived at the valet area, he tightened his hold on her wrist.
"You owe me," he said. "Big time."
"What the hell are you doing?" Sakura struggled and he jerked her forward until she was pressed tight against his chest.
"Don't play dumb. You said if I brought you tonight, you'd come home with me."
He smiled, but the words were a low growl into her ear. Sakura imagined that from a distance they looked like two lovers in an affectionate embrace, but her body went rigid with panic. If she went back to the old apartment with him, it would be a nightmare. She could see it clearly–him bitching at her all night about the dinner, making her feel guilty, nagging until she let him fuck her…
"That was before you made a fool out of me."
"Oh, I think you did that all by yourself," he muttered, but held on tight when she started to pull again.
"Hey, I was joking. It's not my fault you feel guilty about your drinking." He clenched his fists, and Sakura couldn't tell if he was fighting off the urge to grab or slap her. But even worse, the alcohol had dulled her senses so much, she wasn't sure she really cared.
Sasuke put a hand to his temple and sucked in a deep breath. This is new, she thought. He hardly ever put any real effort into calming himself down around her.
"Fine. I'm sorry, okay?" He sighed. "It's pissing out—can we just be done with this and go home?"
"We are done with this. You can go wherever you want, but I'm not coming with you."
Sakura wanted to feel self-satisfied at the pushback and the fact that she'd managed to get an apology out of Sasuke, but the sight of Shijima and Gaara in her periphery cut it all short. A car pulled up, and he held his jacket over her head to block out the rain as he helped her in. It was fascinating—everything about the way he talked to her and treated her was sweet and gentle.
"What are you trying to prove?" Sasuke stepped back into her line of sight. "I embarrassed you? Look at yourself – you can barely stand up straight!"
As if he'd heard the insult, Gaara glanced in their direction. His expression was neutral, but just the feel of his eyes on her was embarrassing. Sasuke caught the drift in her gaze and glanced over his shoulder.
"What? You want him to feel sorry for you? Is that it?" He scoffed. "God, do you ever grow up?"
A couple passed them close from behind, and the woman held tight to her partner's arm with a frown. Sakura felt the urge to smile, or laugh, or anything to cover the uncomfortable tension, but it was hopeless. It was one thing when Sasuke dressed her down in private, but in public there was nowhere to hide.
"Why do you have to talk to me like this? You're supposed to be trying—"
"I am trying!" he hissed. "Every time I'm with you, I'm fucking trying. You're a wife and a mother and all I want is for you to stop making a fool out of yourself."
Sakura was still keenly aware of Gaara standing off in the distance and tried her hardest not to look over. "If you're so repulsed by who I am, you should just get rid of me already."
Sasuke smirked. "Oh yeah, you'd love that, wouldn't you? Free to run around town on your bullshit pity tour. That is, until the money runs out and you can't afford all the spa trips and booze and you have to figure out what to do with your life outside of playing the victim."
Sakura wanted to lash out. Perhaps, more sober, she would have. But with Gaara nearby, all she could do was glare.
"You're lucky I even still trust you with our fucking kid." Sasuke reached up suddenly, but when she flinched, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "You're lucky I still love you at all."
"Yeah. Lucky me," she whispered.
Sasuke stepped back and looked over his shoulder just as their car pulled up to the curb.
"If you're not coming now, go to your mother's and sober up," he said. "I'll come by in the afternoon for Sarada, like we agreed."
Sakura snapped to attention. That sounded like a very alcohol-induced agreement. "Sasuke look, wait—"
He shut the car door in her face, and she sagged onto a bench in front of the restaurant as it pulled away from the curb. Sakura took out her phone. There were a series of missed calls from Ino and Naruto, and when she opened her messages, a text from her mother she'd practically already memorized.
You can't do this again, it read. Even if you have no respect for yourself, think about Sarada. She's just a child.
"It's really raining, isn't it?"
Sakura started at the voice, but didn't turn around. She didn't have to. The warm tone and subtle rasp from too many years spent smoking cheap cigarettes was unmistakable.
She gave a wry smile. "If this is how you make conversation with women, it's no wonder you're still single."
For a moment, there was nothing between them but the aggressive hiss of rain.
"I think I mentioned that was by choice," he said. Sakura could hear a little hopeful humor in it, but refused to bite.
Instead, she watched his cautious approach from the corner of her eye.
One step, pause.
Two steps, pause.
Once Gaara seemed satisfied that she wouldn't take off, he took a seat at the far end of the bench. A woman's loud laugh caught Sakura's attention, and she fixed her gaze into the distance.
It was a rain-drenched young couple crossing the street arm in arm, both just a little too caught up in each other to care about the downpour. Sakura wanted to look away, but was sure that if she faced Gaara head on, she would cry.
"So, tell me. Who broke it off—you or Shijima?"
"What?"
Finally, Sakura turned to look him in the eye. Even in the warm glow that emanated from the restaurant windows, Gaara still looked pale. She was sure, as well, that the sudden line of questioning wasn't doing him any favors. His body was rigid, as if she were holding him at gunpoint.
"Don't get me wrong - I assumed you two must have fucked, but… Six years is like… that's a really long time. You didn't say anything about that."
Gaara's pale brows pinched together, and she could tell he didn't know where to go next. Those were the moments he and Sasuke truly differed. She could pick a fight with Gaara and he would never lash out. Not meaningfully, at least.
Once Sakura was satisfied by his squirming, she smiled and bowed her head again.
"Not sure what I expected, though. You always hid a lot of things, didn't you?"
He sighed. "I can explain."
"You don't need to explain anything to me. You're a very important man doing your very important job."
Though Sakura tried her very best to sound unaffected, the scent of him—cigarettes and wet earth—made her eyes water.
"Sakura, you know how I feel about Sasuke, and you know how I feel about…" He hesitated, and she could practically hear him searching for the right words. "Believe me when I say I did what I could."
"Yeah. Sure. Of course." She swiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "Can you just go away?"
She didn't know what she expected. This was the man who told her in no uncertain terms ten years ago that he wanted nothing to do with her. If he thought a business relationship with her husband was more important than… whatever the fuck it was they were doing since she came back, that was fair enough.
"We all have to eat." She stood. "Sasuke's helped a lot of people eat well over the years, so why not? Get your fill."
Gaara rose to meet her. "It's not about money. It's complicated. A family thing. My relationship with my father is …"
Sakura waited for more. Gaara so rarely talked about anything related to his father or the rest of his family, and it sparked a childish desire to be his confidant. It was her fault, after all, that she'd never really gotten to know the intimate parts of him. She'd been so wrapped up in her own problems, it was only natural he got sick of it. That was the reason he couldn't trust her.
But when Gaara offered nothing else, she cursed herself for even hoping.
"Look, don't worry. It's fine. Honest." She pulled her shrug a little tighter around her shoulders. "So we fooled around a bit—so what? If it wasn't you, it would have been someone else. "
Sakura knew she sounded wholly unconvincing, but when she studied Gaara's face, there was a distinct tightness in his jaw. It was the same teeth-clenched frustration he showed whenever she used to show up at Naruto's, licking her wounds and pretending she'd locked herself out of the apartment for the hundredth time. Probably something like pinched tolerance, although she'd have liked to believe it was jealousy.
"It's a relief that Sasuke showed up when he did," she rambled on. "I could have made a huge mistake. I might have lost the most important person in my life over what—30 seconds of pleasure?"
Gaara grabbed her by the wrist. "You're not serious."
"Well, ow, okay… five minutes if you count—
"I meant about Sasuke!" His ears burned red, but Sakura was so focused on his scowl that it only half-registered.
"Of course I am," she said. "We talked, and we both agree things just got a little out of hand. He'll finish up the contract in Tokyo and we'll work it out like we always do."
"Absolutely not."
"Excuse me?" Sakura tried to wrench her hand away, but Gaara's grip was like a vice. It was possibly the first time since she'd come back that he'd been even the slightest bit aggressive with her. And though it was terrifying, there was a teeny, tiny darkness inside her that cried out for more. More force. More intensity. More of his body crushed against hers. More of all the things that hurt, but she'd grown so used to over the years.
But when Sakura gave just the slightest wince, Gaara immediately let her go.
"I'm sorry," he said.
He couldn't look her in the eye, and for once, Sakura was glad. After a moment of awkward silence, she took a step back.
"It's been a long night. I should get home."
"To your mother's, right?" Gaara asked, sounding vaguely judgmental. "We can get a car together."
She turned her back on him. "I'm walking."
"Then I'll walk with you."
"I'm fine on my own."
"It's getting late and that's at least three miles. You need someone to—
"Will you stop treating me like a little kid?" She whirled around so quickly it threw her off balance. A few heads from the valet area turned, and she was lucky to stabilize herself just in time against the back of the bench.
"Where do you even get off treating me like a charity case?" she yelled. "You wouldn't even have any fucking friends or this perfect fucking life if it weren't for me!"
A young woman decked out from head to toe in designer brands passed by with a smirk, and Sakura covered her face with both hands. She could never control herself when she was drinking—it was one of the things Sasuke hated most about her. Every argument became larger and more drawn out, and it was only a matter of time before someone was screaming.
"It's okay. It's fine. You're allowed to be upset," Gaara said. His tone was even and gentle and irked her more and more each time he spoke.
"Jesus, that's another thing! I don't need your fucking permission to be pissed off!" Sakura backed just out of grabbing distance. "And what's with this bullshit nice act all of a sudden? Sasuke's right—you're a fucking fraud."
Gaara's eyes narrowed sharply. "And your life would be a whole lot better if you didn't always listen to that pathetic piece of shit."
Sakura gasped and she watched as redness spread from the tips of his ears to the apples of his cheeks. The outburst was a glimpse of the boy she used to know – stubborn and painfully shit at dealing with his own emotions. But as quickly as it came, it left. Gaara exhaled low and slow and clenched both hands into tight fists.
"Sorry, I...sorry."
Sakura gave an exasperated laugh. "You know, at least Sasuke's exactly what he says he is. What you see is what you get. He never had to pretend to be anything or anyone else."
"I'm not pretending!" Gaara said sharply, but Sakura could hear the strain of him trying to keep his voice soft. Trying to keep anyone else from hearing. She was sure that like Sasuke, he had an image to protect. He couldn't be the type of man who made scenes with women on the street.
"You lied to my face. And it's so fucking obvious you hate me too much to even be honest!" Sakura covered her face as she tried hard not to cry, Gaara used the moment of weakness to grab hold of her forearms.
"Hate you? You're being—what are you even—" He squeezed her tighter, and Sakura's pulse raced as she watched him struggle. Why was he so fucking pathetic? Why couldn't he just spit anything out anymore?
"Sakura, we all care about you," he said, trying to temper her rage.
Sakura twisted in his hold. The familiar smell of him was more intense up close, and it made her head spin. Cigarettes and grass and something cinnamon-y and…
"I have to get home. My mom's going to freak out, and Sarada can't sleep if I—"
"I care about you."
"Then why the fuck did you ever let me go away with him?!" she screamed. Sakura yanked her arms away and pushed him back with both hands. Gaara fell back onto the bench, wide eyed and pale.
That was it. The thing she was really so angry about but told herself to never say out loud.
Idiot.
Before Gaara could grab her again, Sakura darted out from under the cover of the awning and into the rain.
It was a terrible escape plan. The rain wasn't a drizzle; it was a full-on hellish downpour, and it only took a few steps to soak Sakura through. Her feet sloshed in her heels and the silk of her dress clung to her like a second skin. Still, she only had two choices: push through or trap herself with someone she wasn't sure she wanted to fuck or tell to get fucked.
A flash of lightning lit up the sky, and she just barely kept from tripping on the sidewalk.
"Sakura wait!" Gaara came up fast from behind and followed close to her side.
No matter how many twists and turns she made down sidewalks and side streets, he remained in lock step. His strides were much longer than hers, and she was no match for him with a cloudy mind and slippery heels. Sakura took another desperate turn, this time into a darkly lit street behind a bar. A metal shutter hanging halfway down made it a tight squeeze, and she ducked swiftly to avoid hitting her head.
"Sakura don't just—"
There was a loud bang and she froze in place. Next came a loud stream of curses—some of which Sakura was sure she'd never heard in her life. She skidded to a stop and whipped around to see Gaara on his back, hands cupped over his nose and mouth.
"Gaara!" She dropped to her knees on the wet pavement and stared down at his face. In the dark, she couldn't make out much, but when she touched his cheek, it came back sticky and warm with blood. "Oh shit. Oh shit are you…"
Alive?
When Sakura leaned in, all she could see was pale skin and red everywhere.
"Gaara?" she shook his shoulder. "Gaara say something!"
She placed a hand in the centre of his chest, and Gaara latched his own around it, tight.
"My face…" he gasped out.
Sakura let go a huge breath and resisted the burning urge to punch him in the shoulder. "It serves you right for chasing me!"
She started to get up, but Gaara grabbed the hem of her dress with the same hand. His fingers trembled, and it triggered something soft inside her. Sakura cradled an arm around his back and pulled him upright on the wet concrete. With Gaara's face so close, she could see the injury more clearly. His nose took most of the hit, but blood also poured steadily from a cut on his top lip.
"Sakura," he said her name quietly, and she hated the way the hairs on the back of her neck stood up in response. "I don't know what to say."
The sound of rain and her own thudding heartbeat pounded loud in her ears. She could hear a younger Gaara berating her, voice full of anger.
Running to him, running to me. Begging like a dog! Don't you feel embarrassed?
Sakura squeezed her eyes shut.
"It's your nose," she blurted, and took his face in her hands. Gaara let out a hiss as she touched the bridge.
"Do you think it's broken?" he asked.
"It's too dark. I can't tell."
Sakura sat up on her knees to get closer, and Gaara placed a hand on the top of her thigh. It was likely an act to steady himself, but the intimacy of the gesture stoked her anger.
"Watch it," she said. "If it's not broken now, I'll make sure it is by the time you get home."
Gaara let out an uncharacteristic, soft huff of a chuckle, but then winced. "Interesting bedside manner. Your patients back in Hokkaido must have been thrilled," he said.
That time, Sakura struck him in the shoulder—full fist.
"Ow!"
"You know what?" She snatched her purse from the pavement. "Forget it. It sounds like you're just fine."
"Wait." He clung to her sleeve. "Please. I need your help."
It was absurd. There was no way anything was seriously wrong with him. But as Sakura watched blood flow steadily down Gaara's chin, a wave of nausea overtook her.
When she closed her eyes, she saw herself sitting on the edge of a fancy clawfoot tub, staring at blood dripping into her open palm. At her feet, a much tinier Sarada plucked a shard of tooth from the tile and held it up.
Woah! Mama losing baby teeth, too?!
"Sakura?"
She zeroed in on Gaara's face again. He still had all his teeth, but was a complete mess.
"I…" Sakura pushed her wet hair back with both hands and then sighed. "Okay fine. Let's get somewhere dry so I can have a proper look."
Gaara's shoulders relaxed. "I know somewhere. Just a few minutes' walk. I promise."
Just as Gaara promised, it took no time to make it out of the rain. But instead of another bar or even a public restroom, they ended up in front of a fancy, high-rise block of apartments in the business district.
Sakura's mouth dropped open. "Who lives here?"
Instead of answering, Gaara cupped one hand over his bleeding nose, and used the other to punch a code into a keypad by the door. It swung open, and he stepped back to let her through.
"You're kidding." Sakura gawked at the massive reception area. Gold mailboxes lined the wall behind an unmanned security desk, and sleek black signs with crisp silver lettering pointed out the direction of the elevator, sauna, and a rooftop bar.
Years with Sasuke made her no stranger to luxury, but with Gaara it felt bizarre. What happened to the man she used to know? The one who ate sale veggies and had the same three sweatshirts on rotation every week? Wealth like his didn't build up from a few years of consultancy work.
Sakura planted her feet and glared until he pushed her the rest of the way in.
"You have a second apartment? And in Marunouchi, of all places? Who the hell are you?"
No matter how much she pressed, Gaara remained conveniently silent as he guided her towards the elevator. Sakura couldn't stop wondering: what did he need a second apartment for? Who did he bring there? What did they do?
The ride up was deadly quiet save for the gentle whirr of electricity as they moved from between floors.
001… 002… 007… 009…
Sakura tried her hardest not to make eye contact, but the sound of dripping caught her attention. She snuck a peek behind her and the nausea was back again. From Gaara's nose and mouth to his crisp white shirt, there was hardly any bit of him that wasn't covered in blood. He stared down at his hand, gaze vacant as red droplets splattered into his open palm. She knew he had to be in pain, but he looked eerily calm.
"God. Here." Sakura peeled her shawl off and handed him the wet mass of fabric. "Don't make the place look like a crime scene."
Gaara snapped back to attention, and immediately extended his hand to grab it. She could tell he'd hoped to touch her, but pulled away just as the lift doors opened on the 17th floor.
"Which one?" she blurted, scanning the hallway to avoid looking back.
"Here." Gaara gestured to the door beside her with his elbow. He reached over her shoulder to push in another code, and then used his clean palm to open it wide.
"There probably won't be much, but…"
It was pitch black, and he stepped in first before flipping on the hallway light. Sakura had imagined something akin to his college apartment—a mini jungle bursting with various pockets of greens and pinks and yellows. But as she took a slow look around, only one word came to mind.
Bland.
White cabinets, white shelves, grey sofas. Everything was pristine and minimalist in a way that screamed expensive, but sterile. Like his place in Azabu, but on a shit-ton of downers.
"It's massive," she said.
Sakura used her toes to pull her heels off in the entryway and dripped her way behind him as they moved through the apartment.
"It's just a one bed." Gaara flicked on a few more lights, and Sakura gasped at the sight. Clean marble countertops. Brushed steel finishing. Floor to ceiling windows with a view looking out over the Imperial Palace Gardens.
"You really live here?"
Gaara placed her bloodied shawl on the countertop and turned on the faucet.
"Not anymore," he said, and ran his hands under the spray. Sakura felt a strange chill watching him from behind. The rainwater made his shirt transparent, and she could just make out an array of dark circles at the small of his back. There were so many things she didn't recognize about him lately, but that was the same.
"Then…"
"This was the first place I lived when I came to work for Rasa. He owns a lot of real estate." Gaara walked around with his sleeve pressed to his nose, opening cabinet after cabinet. They were mostly empty, stocked only with what looked like the barest of essentials.
"Getting to stay here was a sort of… gift," he said. "I didn't have to worry about rent, and he could keep an eye on me."
Sakura didn't know what to say. She was certainly no expert in healthy family relationships, but something about his father's "gift" didn't feel right. Quid pro quo sounded more like it.
"An eye on you?" she echoed, still dripping onto the floor.
"He had to make sure I was a good investment," he said, and Sakura narrowed her eyes at his back.
"I'm sorry, a good what?"
"Found it." When Gaara turned around again, he held a half-empty roll of paper towels. He cupped a hand over his mouth and wet a few under the faucet. Sakura hurried over to grab them.
"Sit down already and let me have a look." She backed Gaara further into the kitchen, where the light was stronger, but as soon as she stepped into the fluorescent glow, he stopped short. His eyes tracked quickly over her body, and Sakura frowned. They'd been out in the rain for ages—she had to look like a drowned rat—but there was no reason to make a big deal about it.
"I should get you a towel." He turned his face up to the ceiling, but Sakura took hold of his chin and brought it back down.
"Don't do that." She pushed him into the seat. "It's fine; I'm not staying."
Sakura took his face into her hands, and to her relief, Gaara closed his eyes. It was much easier to handle him without having to make eye contact.
"Just tell me if anything hurts." She pressed her fingertips lightly against the bridge of his nose, and then the bones of his cheeks.
Gaara winced but kept his lips pressed together tightly.
"Don't bother being a hero about it—I already heard your pathetic little scream," she said, and though he frowned, Sakura noted the subtle reddening of his ears.
There was already a little swelling and bruising, but no obvious fracture. Still, Sakura took her time. Cheeks, nose, eyes, jaw, chin. She explored every sharp line and curve with her fingertips under the guise of a thorough check over.
The night before, she'd felt so giddy to look at him under the glow of the fireworks. The sensuality of his touch and attention was new and exciting, but now she questioned everything. Gaara opened his eyes and her stomach did a flip.
"Tilt your head up," she ordered, but then jerked it back herself. A quick look up his nostrils showed more blood, but no hint of bone.
Sakura sighed in relief. "98% sure it's not broken. How's your vision?"
She lifted a forefinger to his face and Gaara followed it from side to side. When she pulled it in towards her chest, he lingered there a moment before meeting her eyes again.
"Perfect," he said.
The low rumble of his voice was like a wool blanket. A little scratchy, but soft and warm. Sakura was cautious that just a little shift forward would guide his lips to touch her skin, and just the thought alone kept her still between his spread thighs.
The night before, she envisioned those same lips all over her body. Brushing, exploring, kissing. His hands too. That night, he kept them politely folded in his lap, but what else would he have done with them when they were alone? What would it have felt like to be touched gently by a man?
Suddenly, Sakura was keenly aware of the way her dress clung to her body, and the goose pimples forming on every inch of exposed skin.
She could hear Sasuke's voice in her head, taunting.
You really have a type, you know?
"So, I'm okay?" he asked.
"You'll be just fine."
Gaara nodded, and then managed a small smile. "I didn't mean what I said before.… about your patients."
"I don't care," Sakura said. "It's not like I ever practiced, anyway." She didn't mean to say it out loud, let alone sound so bitter. She hadn't thought about that failure in years, and it was only recently she managed to recover from Tsunade's dressing down.
"Never?" he asked. "What about in—"
"I said I didn't go anywhere with it," she snapped and then scrubbed aggressively at a large patch of dried blood on his cheek. Gaara winced through at first, but then held her hand still.
"He made you give it up?" His tone was soft—sympathetic even—but suddenly Sakura wanted him as far away from her as possible. She tossed the stained paper towel on the counter and stepped back.
"I think you can handle the rest."
Gaara stepped down from the stool. "Sakura, I'm—wait. Let me get you a towel." He tried again, still flustered in a way she found odd. "And I'm sure I could find a change of clothes—"
"I said I'm not staying!" Sakura's shout stopped him in his tracks, but she made no move to leave.
Years ago, he was the person she ran to when she was upset. He wasn't the kindest or the most emotionally intelligent, but he was there. She didn't know anything else. I
"I'd really like it if you stayed." Gaara tried again. "I'd feel better if… I just want you to stay."
She headed for the front door. "Yeah, well, people in hell want ice water."
Like at the restaurant, he followed her – all desperation and no real force. "Sakura, I'm trying to do the right thing," he said.
"And what exactly is that?" She jerked to a stop, and Gaara pushed up on his toes to keep from running into her back.
If she weren't so pissed, she might have found it funny. How strange was it that a once angry, unfiltered boy was now a grown man following her around like a puppy?
"What do you want from me, Gaara? You keep saying you can explain and that it's not what I think, but then what the hell is it? Why don't you open your stupid fucking mouth and say it already?"
"II'm really…" Instead of looking at her in the eye, Gaara glared at a spot on the floor.
"Forget it." Sakura shoved him back and grabbed her purse from the table.
She stormed back over to the genkan and grabbed her heels. After a bit of drunken fumbling, she secured one, but it took three tries with the other before she gave up and dropped to the floor.
"Such an idiot…" Sakura threw the shoe across the room. It collided with something and shattered, but with all the expensive bits and pieces in the apartment, she couldn't bear to look.
The room filled with the sound of her sniffling. Then, the sound of wet clothes squelching as Gaara sat down in front of her. He lifted her foot into his lap and worked on unfastening the buckle of the heel she managed to get on.
As soon as his fingers touched her skin, Sakura's hysteria faded into the same fuzzy warmth the booze provided. Ever since leaving her mother behind for university, she was used to being the one who gave affection. The one who fought to create intimacy where there was none. To be touched so gently by a man was surreal.
"You're not an idiot," Gaara said. "Maybe a little destructive, but not an idiot."
He slipped her heel off and lined it up neatly next to one of his dress shoes. They looked like real leather, and leagues away from the tattered, grey ASICS he used to sport in college. Those shoes were likely a normal person's car payment, and he'd soaked them through without a second thought, just chasing after her.
"I was talking about you, not me," she muttered, and Gaara let out a soft chuckle.
"Yes, well…you're right about me," he said, hand still cupping one of her soles. "I wouldn't be where I am, or have the friends I do, without you."
Hearing the words back made Sakura cringe. "I didn't mean to say that," she muttered.
Gaara cocked his head at her and gave the biggest smile his bruised lip would allow. "Really? You sounded very serious."
"Well…" Without thinking, Sakura flexed her foot in his palm. "I didn't mean to say it so harshly," she said, and when his thumb found a ticklish spot in her arch, fought back a smile of her own.
"You always tried to make me feel included, even when I thought I didn't need it," he said. "I pretended I hated the attention, but in reality I think I must have been starved for it."
Sakura's eyes widened. For a man so dead set against sentimentality, Gaara really was excellent at it. Ten years ago he wouldn't have been caught dead admitting he was starved for anything outside of food. Those days, it was all eyerolls and snorts and swear words; not a trace of fragility.
Gaara furrowed his brow, and through his eyes she could see his wheels in his brain turning, searching for a way to twist his next words into something socially acceptable.
"I could never… help myself when it came to you," he said. "You know?"
He held her gaze, steady, but still slightly unsure. The right thing would have been to shove away, but instead Sakura offered just a little more of her body towards him, allowing his palms to slide further up her legs. They were gentle movements, light and cautious, like his steps outside the restaurant. As if he was just waiting for her to recoil.
"That obnoxious house party…" he moved his hands a little higher, to the soft, fleshy curve of her upper thigh, and waited. "You brought me a cocktail and you smiled at me and…"
"Beer." Sakura interrupted. Gaara made a soft 'hn?' noise in his throat, all the while fingers toying absently with the edge of her dress.
"It was a beer, not a cocktail," she said. "A really good IPA, as a matter of fact. And you were so fucking pathetic looking, I just thought you should drink and stop staring at everyone like a fucking creep."
The harshness of Sakura's words were softened by her pout and the rosy blush on her cheeks.
Gaara sniggered. A half laugh. A short huff of air from his nose that was barely perceptible, but amused her, anyway. It was just like him to do one mildly cute thing and send her rage falling apart.
"I think you said I was adorable last night."
"I said a lot of things last night." Sakura dropped her voice to a whisper. "So did you."
He transitioned between looking at her face, then her feet, and stroking his thumb across the top of her right thigh.
"I know should have told you," he said. "The second I realized he was coming here; I should have told you."
"Why didn't you?"
Gaara gave a surprised look, as if he hadn't actually expected to be challenged, but then started to stroke her again. He didn't seem to be thinking much about the motion, but it sent Sakura's head spinning with memories of deep kisses in tall grass.
She wasn't an idiot – even ten years ago she knew he had some degree sexual attraction towards her— the night of the charity dance told her that much—but never in a million years did she imagine him acting on it. He was awkward and mean and most importantly, someone Sasuke wasn't threatened by. The very definition of safe.
But "that Gaara" wasn't "this Gaara." This Gaara was smoother now—more mature—and Sakura was curious about what that meant for them as adults.
"I'm not good with words," he said. "I'm not like you. It's difficult for me to say the things I mean when it comes to…."
Sakura stared expectantly, and he tried again. "What I felt with you… I liked it so much I didn't want to share it."
Sakura's cheeks went cherry red, and the feel of his hands on her thighs was suddenly even more distracting.
"It was easier back then," he said. "Whether I liked it or not, you were always around and I was used to that. I liked it. I missed…" he sighed. "Just…with him in the picture it's always…"
Sakura frowned. Gaara never used to struggle to say what was on his mind, but now it seemed like every other word was a grand effort. The rough and tumble nature that used to annoy and fascinate her had been stamped away with age, and only something vaguely neutered remained.
"Sasuke's my husband," she said. "I know you don't understand it or approve of it or whatever, but he's always taken care of me. He just wants to make sure I'm okay."
"He wants to own you." Gaara squeezed her thigh. "Like property. Like an animal, like…"
As if remembering something, he cut himself short. But he didn't have to say it – Sakura could already hear it the way she'd heard it in her head for the last ten years.
Like a dog. You're like a fucking dog.
"And what do you want?" she asked.
His eyes went a little wide, and then he looked down at where her feet sat comfortably in his lap. "I just want you to stay," he said.
"If it's pussy you're so hard up for, you can get that from anyone, I'm sure." Sakura turned her face to the side. "I mean, you're not totally ugly. I'm sure Shijima, or—"
"Sakura don't." he chided. "You know that's not what I mean."
"Isn't it?" she snapped. "So you want to fuck me, so what? Is that why you think you're entitled to lie to me, too? You know, I thought we were on even footing for once. I thought that I could trust you with—"
"You can trust me."
"Then why are you working for him!? You said you hate him, but he's the one you're loyal to, right? Why!?" she snapped. Gaara snatched his hands away from her thighs and curled them into fists.
"Why are you so dead set on staying married to someone who treats you like garbage?"
The minute he said it, Sakura could tell he regretted it. The anger on his face morphed quickly into embarrassment, but it was too late. She scrambled onto her knees to get away, and Gaara had to move quickly to grab her around the waist and keep her from bolting.
The hold alone was triggering, and her body stiffened with adrenaline. His hands tightened up and all she could feel was the threat of violence looming.
"Get off me!" she kicked at his legs and threw wild, desperate punches at his chest. "Get off! Damn it Sasuke, get off or I'll—
"Sakura, enough!" he hissed. "Enough, okay? It's just me. It's Gaara."
He used his hands to bind hers against her chest, and pinned her legs between his to keep her from thrashing. It was hopeless to keep up the fight. He wasn't a scrawny boy anymore, but more importantly, he wasn't Sasuke. He wouldn't hurt her. Not in that way, at least.
"Relax," he said against her ear. "As you can see, I bruise easily."
"Oh shut up." Sakura hung limply from his arms, struggling to catch her breath. As she gasped air back into her lungs, Gaara laid her gently onto the tile floor. She was too loopy and exhausted to sit up.
"I can't promise you what he does, Sakura," Gaara said from above her. "I have obligations." He stroked a wet clump of hair from her face, and tucked it behind her ear. "It's a privilege to be back in my father's life again. This work… it's the least I can do to make it up to him."
She snorted. There it was again. The way he talked about his family—his father—it all sounded so… transactional.
"Children shouldn't be indebted to their parents," she muttered, cheek pressed against the cold tile. "You were just a kid. Whatever you did, I'm sure he doesn't hold it against you."
There was a long silence, but Sakura didn't lift her head to look at him.
"You don't know my father," Gaara said.
She could picture him smiling. Softly, in the weird, cold way that didn't quite meet his eyes. It seemed to be a staple lately, and she found it disturbing.
I don't know you, either, Sakura wanted to say, but stifled it down. There was no pushing Gaara—he was a man who only let you know exactly what he wanted you to know, exactly when he wanted you to know it. And so what if he had secrets? So did she. So did everyone. And the more people saw of your shame, the more disgusted they would be.
Sakura felt him settle down beside her again, and then his hand on the small of her back.
"You asked me at the festival if I ever get lonely," he said. "Maybe I wasn't honest. Maybe sometimes I do. But… I don't think people can win against their loneliness the way you do."
"So you're saying I'm childish, then?" she asked.
How could this be the same man who spent six years with a partner? Didn't he hold her? Sleep with her? Comfort her? Love her?
Sakura's love for Sasuke just about transcended rationality. Other people saw the dysfunction, but her world with him was more nuanced. It was a lifetime of little "shades of grey" moments that salvaged everything. The smell of sweat and sunscreen on the back of his neck from a rare day at the beach, cuddles with Sarada under the kotatsu in winter, goosepimples that dotted her skin when he kissed the inside of her thigh just…so.
Even when he was cruel, she loved him. She had so much love for him it hurt. To deny that would deny the biggest part of herself.
"I didn't say that. I just think…humans are opportunistic," Gaara said. "The things you see as love or romantic or actions of devotion…they're not. I think we're so uncomfortable with loneliness, and so desperate that we seek out people to fill the empty parts of us. It's… it doesn't work long term."
What parts of you did you hope I'd fill? Sakura wanted to ask, but was too scared to know the answer.
"It's just safer to always think of yourself," he added, as if aware he needed to soften a blow.
"That's selfish," she murmured. His touch was lulling her into some sort of dreamlike sedation, so much so that she didn't balk when he curled himself around her from behind.
"I suppose it is." He pulled Sakura a little closer still, and she was surprised by how much she didn't mind it. Her body felt achy from the frantic run, and her brain slow. Everything was warm when he touched her. Even the subtle things, like the back of her bare thigh against his clothed one made her body slacken further into his.
"You're better at this than before," she said. "Touching, and hugging and…it's not bad."
She shut her eyes. The moves that were stilted and awkward as a teen were now so fluid. She wanted to know: who taught him? What was intimacy like with a man who seemed so closed? Sasuke was the aggressive type—even when he didn't mean to. But what was Gaara like?
"You think so?" His breath tickled the back of her neck.
The sensuality of it nagged at her, and it took every ounce of sensibility to force down the urge to press back against his crotch.
"What do you want from me, Gaara?" she asked, eyes still closed. Suddenly, she felt herself being turned and the scent of soil and copper surrounded her. When she opened her eyes, Gaara was leaning over her on his elbows, and his body caged hers.
"Don't you ever wonder what your life would be like if you were more selfish?" he asked. "Don't you think everything would be simpler now if you'd never loved him at all?"
Sakura reached up with both hands and cupped Gaara's face the way she'd done before in the kitchen. Even with the bruising rapidly spreading across his cheekbone, he somehow looked less fragile. She pressed her thumb over the cut on his top lip and he gave a soft moan that sounded suspiciously more like pleasure than pain. She had that feeling again—that weird, intense hunger like when they kissed at the fireworks. Like if he wanted to do anything to her, she'd let him. Just because.
Sakura dropped her hands.
"Of course not," she whispered.
Without Sasuke, she wouldn't have Sarada. Without Sasuke, she likely wouldn't have ever gotten so close to Gaara. But more importantly, what was the point of wondering about things like that? If she spent her time thinking about what her life could have been, how could she ever stand to get out of bed in the morning?
"Well. You always were quite saint-like, weren't you?" Gaara said. He gave a little smile that Sakura swore seemed just the slightest bit embarrassed, and pushed himself back up into a sitting position. Dumbfounded, Sakura stared up at the ceiling. It was like someone had dumped a bucket of ice water on her crotch.
"Excuse me? What the hell is that supposed to mean?" she snapped, and sat up beside him. "You act like loving someone is the worst thing in the world! Is it really so pathetic to want someone to care about you more than anyone else? More than anything else?"
Sakura realized she likely sounded borderline hysterical, but it was too late to backtrack.
"It's not wrong," he said, and yet she could feel a "but" hanging between them in dead air. Something like…
It's not wrong, but you're fucking delusional.
It's not wrong, but you'll never find it.
It's not wrong, but you don't deserve it .
"I can't give you the things you think you want," he said. "But you've been married to that man for ten years. Marriage, love, living together, more children, promises… What do those things mean, anyway? What have they ever amounted to for you?"
Sakura opened her mouth to challenge him, but then shut it quickly. She didn't have an answer. Aside from Sarada, what had undying love truly gotten her? Gaara never chased any of that, and his life was full and happy. Two siblings who loved him, a great job, a father who cared about his personal development and growth…
She balled the damp edges of her dress in her fists. It was just like him to be so irritatingly matter-of-fact.
"Believe me when I say things only hurt when you attach too many expectations to them," Gaara said. "We don't have to do that."
Sakura looked down at her hands and saw Gaara sliding his fingertips over the tile to reach them. When he finally made contact, her brain went fuzzy.
"I'm not like him. You don't need to give me anything in exchange for a good time," he said.
Nothing in exchange. It sounded like he truly meant it, but Sakura knew better. Men always wanted something from you. It was just a matter of how much. How often. How fucked up.
"A good time?" The corner of her lip turned up in a slight smile. She was certain Gaara didn't understand the way that sounded.
"Fun," he tried.
"Fun?"
"Yes. Fun." He looked unsure. "Is that not—"
"No, it's just…I didn't think you even knew the meaning of the word fun," she said.
Sakura smirked and Gaara smiled—a real smile—that made her stomach flutter. She tried not to react to it—tried to cement her frown back in place, but the feel of his hand clinging to the tips of her fingers was too much. Sasuke's threat, Naruto and Ino's betrayal, it all floated away somewhere into the back of her mind.
"I'm certain I could teach you a lot about the meaning of fun," he said softly, and a little piece of her sensibility shattered. It was beyond unfair the way he could make even the most innocuous statement sound sexy.
Sakura sat up on her knees and tugged him forward by his bloodied collar. It was meant to be a smooth move, but their noses bumped, and Gaara let out a pained grunt that made her shiver. As she started her slow crawl into his lap, Gaara watched her with quiet fascination. When she looped her arms around his neck she felt the muscles in his back flex, and the tense of his biceps as he kept himself painfully still underneath her.
"I couldn't take my eyes off you tonight," he said. "But the way he talks to you makes me sick. He shouldn't—
"Don't do that." Sakura groaned and leaned forward to rest her chin on top of his wet mop of hair.
"What?" He murmured the words, and it felt like a thousand little kisses against her throat. She made another soft noise—more of a whimper this time—and Gaara's brows lifted. In the quiet of the room, she could hear his breath start to come a little faster.
"I mean it," she scolded. "If we do this, there's none of that, okay? Don't talk about him like he's some sort of monster."
"Okay," he said, but there was a visible scrunch of anger in his brows.
"I'm serious," she pouted and mussed his hair with both hands until it stood straight up between her palms. "You're just working with him, but it's different for me. He's here for a month working with you, and I have to wait for the right time to leave. If you make things difficult, he might…"
Sakura intentionally didn't finish the sentence. While she knew Sasuke had made a promise to her to be kind for the remainder of the contract, she imagined Gaara's thoughts had run wild with images of violent abuse. As long as he worried about that, there was little chance something might slip.
"Okay," he repeated.
"Good." Sakura sighed and slumped forward until she fully straddled his lap. "Because I deserve to have my cake and eat it too."
The pressure of her hips on his was just what she needed. At first, Gaara didn't seem to know what to do with his hands, but when she pressed her nose to the side of his neck, he stroked her gently, his fingertips running a trail from the small of her back up between her shoulder blades, over and over.
"God, you're so wet," he said, fingers curled into the soaked silk of her dress.
"Excuse me?"
"Well…I just meant I'm worried you'll catch a cold." His voice was slightly muffled into the top of her shoulder, and he remained perfectly still, as if he worried one wrong move might send her away from him.
"That's not how people catch colds."
"It's not?"
Sakura rocked back in Gaara's lap and observed the look of genuine shock on his face. That, combined with his hair sticking up at odd angles, pushed her into a laugh so hard she snorted.
"No, it's not!"
"Who says?"
"Science, you dumbass!" she snickered. "Honestly! This is why you barely graduated."
Sakura looped both arms around his neck again and chuckled. The warmth of his chest against hers felt soothing and suddenly, it was hard to believe she was ever mad at him. Gaara placed his hands back down on the tile again to prop himself up, and leaned back to get a better look at her. His gaze touched her collar at first, then her neck, her lips, and finally her eyes.
"What?" she asked. Her heart pounded hard against her chest, and the goosebumps from before were suddenly back in full force.
"Nothing," he said. "I was just thinking that if you stay a little longer, I can run you a bath and find you something else to wear."
Sakura tilted her head down with a smile. Something told her it wasn't the only thing he wanted to say, but was likely the most appropriate.
"God—is this the hardest you've ever tried to get a woman out of her clothes?" she teased.
"Probably." He smiled and the last of Sakura's restraint slipped away.
For as long as they'd known each other, they'd done the same dance. Feigned indifference and awkward flirtation. There were lots of reasons why she shouldn't entertain Gaara anymore—she was technically still married, he worked for her husband, he was emotionally bereft and possibly a compulsive liar…but despite all that, the sight of him gazing up at her made her hot in places that hadn't come alive in years.
"Who knows…make it worth my while and I'll see what I can do," Sakura grinned and leaned in to press her lips against his.
She expected at least some degree of resistance, but it was like Gaara had been just waiting for her to make the move. He slipped a hand behind her neck to bring her deeper into the kiss, and made a soft, contented noise she found adorable—like a little hum in the back of his throat.
Though she did her best to avoid pressure on his nose, restraint was difficult when Gaara held her so strongly. What started on the edge of platonic morphed quickly into lewd as he ground her down in his lap. In his kiss she felt the plush rug on his college bedroom floor on her back, the scent of potting soil and perlite, the heaviness of his shy gaze on her body when he thought she wasn't looking. All the memories of a time when she was young and flighty and filled with nervous energy.
"Am I hurting you?" Sakura asked.
She drew away to mouth against his throat. Little kitten licks turned into soft kisses and suckling and once she hit a sweet spot just under his ear, Gaara let out a little moan of praise. It was such a contrast to his usual stoicism, she couldn't help but want to hear more. Feel more. Know more.
"Don't care," he muttered, and kissed her again. She could taste herself on his tongue this time around—a mix of plum wine and vodka—but if he noticed, didn't say a word.
People don't change.
Sasuke used to tell her that all the time, but Sakura never really believed it until that moment.
Gaara's mouth went on the move again—to her collar and throat and the more attention he paid her, the more her own desperation built. It was like he had sparked something in her, and she couldn't rest until her mouth had laid claim to every inch of him.
Sakura worked at unfastening the buttons on his shirt and Gaara lifted his head to watch her, brow raised.
"What?" She smirked. "Just don't want you to catch a cold."
"Of course not." He chuckled and tugged his shirttails free of his trousers.
Just as Sakura started to push the sopping fabric down away from his shoulders, the front door clicked open, startling them apart.
Author's Note:
OMG, WHO IS THAT AT THE DOOR?!
Heyyyyy! So sorry for the epic amount of time it took to get this chapter out. Last chapter was pure flashback so I didn't want to pile onto that with another, even though I love writing them (I feel like this is telling me I should have written the story from college forward…hmm. lol) Anyway, as usual, I'm curious to know what you think!
Is this a huge mistake?
Is Gaara really good at making the best out of a bad situation?
Is there something odd going on with our favourite redhead?
Is Shijima the only mature adult here?
