Something A Little Genuine

I didn't think that the relationships I made during my time training would go beyond anything strictly professional until the day Kisame came by my home while I had my time off. I naturally wasn't as accepting as I was welcoming, and by that I meant that despite being pleasant and open to human interactions, I don't normally consider new acquaintances to be anything but. Interactive as we may be and spending as much time together as we did, I didn't consider our relationships to be as developed and close as the ones I had with Naruto and Sasuke. There was substance in our friendship that was rare for me to find with anyone else. It went way deeper than swimming, drinking, and joking around when we should be working.

To put this in perspective, there are a rare few that will ever reach that level of acknowledgement from me despite how many kids I had gone to primary, middle, and high school and shared birthday parties with. They were people that I barely glance at if, by the rare chance, that I wonder around town and we were to cross paths. It took Naruto and Sasuke and I years to build this mutual level 100 of friendship—years and a lot of fights, sacrifices, and blood—but the people Itachi introduced me were already breaking down my barriers and accelerating up that friendship ladder.

"Oi, Sakura!" Said new friend called from the driveway he had grown used the driving in and out of over the last two weeks, seeing that sometimes he would pick me up and take me to the cabin—which really was a preventative measure for me not being able to escape on my own. "Eh, you ride?"

He found me as I was checking the brake pads of my bike in my garage, ready to spend what I thought was supposed to be my day off in the city, running errands that I had neglected while I spent my nine to seven at their cottage with no means of transportation, and was then inwardly panicking that I misheard or confused the dates.

"Yeah, I was about to head out." I answered, putting away my tools and, being too consumed in my panic, did not acknowledge his amazement at my ability to ride a motorcycle. "Were we scheduled to meet today?"

Had I not been in such a hurry, I would've smiled at the similar reaction he had to Naruto when my blond friend found out that I completely ditched getting my driver's licenses and substituted it for a motorcycle one during our junior year of high school. Since I was the oldest of the three of us, there was this ungrateful expectation that I would drive them around once I acquire that pretty little card with an unflattering picture of me a couple months ahead of them. To their dismay, I got a bike with only one backseat which made for very amusing Monday mornings when they fought over who would be my passenger for that week instead of being driven to school by their parents since limos had been banned from our High School entrance.

Nonetheless, they were still amazed that I was bold enough to ride.

I got my driver's licenses eventually, mind you, as it was evident by the truck sitting behind me in my garage, but nine out of ten times I preferred to get the most of my bike for the ten months of the year that it didn't snow.

Kisame eyed my bike with a sparkle in his eye that mimicked Naruto, and he was reduced to nothing other than glitter, amazement, and muscle mass. When he finally noticed that I was staring at him with an impassive face which rivalled that of the Uchihas with my helmet in my hand, he finally composed all the mushy part of himself and became a functioning human being again to see I was in a hurry to leave.

"No, Itachi wanted me to come over to drop over some clothes for you." He ducked under my half-opened garage doors and came back with two bags of clothes—two bags of designers clothes which Sasori had fully intended to replace the "hideous", "average", and "painful" clothes that I have now. Or so he so politely puts it.

"Oh, thanks." I said with as little resentment in my voice as I could muster out, and handed them to an ever fidgety Shizune who had been hovering over me all morning to make sure I went through all my procedures to make sure my bike 1. wouldn't blow up from under me, and 2. I wouldn't end up in a three-way collision because my brakes failed. That meant a lot of "are you sure?" and "what about?" All the I sent off with a "yeah", "sure", and "uh huh."

"So, where were you headed?" Kisame asked carefully, almost hesitantly as he probably assumed he had overdone himself when he nearly licked my handlebars when he thought I wasn't looking.

I guess it was a rare thing—as you can probably tell I pay very little attention to things that do not directly concern me—but Konoha was more or less very underpopulated with the motorcyclist population. I don't know why, now that I thought about it, seeing that we could actually create more spaces for parking and roads if more people did switch up their means of transportation. There was this closed-mindedness and rarity when it came to cyclists. Despite the cyclist friendly weather that was here ten out of the twelve months, people, who only fucking drove alone anyways, would prefer a five seat, large driving contraption that took up half the road instead of a motorcycle which could end in two or three more lanes both ways.

But you do you my friend.

"Just out, in the town." I said, lifting the garage door up to meet the force of the storm that had not been there when I had started. It was like Kisame brought the storm with him.

Maybe if you had seen the dumbfound expression I had on my face you would've laughed, but I'm sure there was such disinterest, despair, and disappointment, and the inability to express it all properly at once that my face contorted into a disinterest blank with a sprinkle of "fuck." The rain, as I had done so well to drown out until then, violently slapped against the metal of Kisame's SUV that I could almost hear it weeping in pain.

"Do you think it's safe to ride in this weather, yeah?" The muscular man muttered with an air of hesitation, no doubt from his inexperience with two wheeled motor vehicles in general.

My face soured immediately, staring at the muddy country roads I knew I would no doubt slip and slide through before skidding on top of the puddles building up on top of the paved road. Did I want to test my luck with death that day? Well, I wasn't particularly in the mood to do so. Every other day, maybe, but not on days when mama was expecting me in one piece and would no doubt drag me back from the dead and beat me to death before she would face any sense guilt that it was her fault that I ended up under a commercial truck on the freeway. She was definitely scarier than any death I could possible face in the world, and I've had many near deaths experiences to compare her to.

"No, definitely not." I sighed, darkening the garage with one strong thrust of my arms as the doors closed with a very audible slam that was the only real display of my frustration. Of all days that it had to pour like God was crying for all the forsaken souls who have ever been so unlucky to deal with me, it had to be the day I had to myself. Kisame quietly followed as I returned back into the house, maybe because he didn't feel like lifting the garage door and letting himself out, maybe because he cared for wellbeing and was waiting on to hear a better solution to my predicament, who knew? I would only grateful that he did in the end. "Do you think I could call a cab?"

Shizune, having forgotten the clothes at the door when she was overcome with fear that I would ride out in this weather, stared at the road thoughtfully before saying "would that be too risky for the paparazzi to follow?"

One would think that having encountered them as often as I have that I knew better ways to avoid them by now. But seeing as there were only so many roads leading in and out of Konoha—and only being able to utilized one from where I lived—and how infrequently they were traveled because the next closest city was about a day drive in one direction while the other lead you off a cliff, there wasn't much I could do to hide travelling into town if it wasn't taking a secret back way with my motorcycle.

That was the only downside to living in the very quiet, and secluded countryside.

I didn't answer as I thought it over. I possibly risk the pap following me to visit my mother, but there would be hell to pay if she found out that I had allowed a mistake like that to happen. There was nothing wrong with a daughter visiting her mother in town, I supposed. I just wasn't sure I could push back the irritation that came with being on the other side of a camera lens.

"Perhaps we could reschedule?" Shizune tried again weakly, knowing damn well that I had rescheduled countless times over the course of the month to make room for Itachi's training that doing so was the last thing I wanted to consider.

I already had my phone out and was scrolling through the dates to look for a day where the weather wasn't going to be as terrible and deadly as it was that day. I hoped I would be lucky enough to find one that didn't overlap with training, but seeing as we were well working our way into September, rain was disappointingly a sad part of our daily forecast.

"I could always take you to wherever you need to go in the van." Kisame offered, crossing his arms with his keys very evidently dangling in his fist. There was some skepticism that he was trying to hide, like he wasn't sure he wanted to know where it was I was trying to go or if he really wanted to be caught up in it.

The possibilities were endless with this one, considering my every growing track record and criminal history. What trouble was Haruno Sakura going to get herself into this week? Stay tune and find out because she always manages to, somehow.

It really, really, also didn't help that I asked "promise not to tell anyone about what you see today?" before accepting his offer. He even looked at Shizune for some sort of assistance only to see that she had disappeared to tend to my clothes now that she knew I was not testing death with my "dangerous, two wheeled, contraption of death" as she liked to call my bike.

"Okay, let's go." I nearly dragged him out of my house and into the storm, flipping my hood on to hide my terribly vibrant hair, and sliding on a pair of sunglasses to hide my equally terribly vibrant eyes. There was a stiffness in Kisame's movement as he followed me to his car and slid into the driver's seat. Had he offered to take me because he knew what he was getting into? No, he probably thought I was going off to sell drugs or attend an evil underground organization meeting set on my revenge for my incarceration. But I could only speculate that it was probably because he just wanted to help me out—even if he was blindly following me into the devil's nest. "Stop looking at me like that. It's not as bad as you may think."

You could only guess his surprise when I had him pull out the route to Konoha's general hospital—even more so when he couldn't come up with any malice motives which involved this type of institution. Was I going to dirty their drinking water? Was I going to pop all the "get well soon" balloons? Couldn't be. I had nothing but my keys, sunglasses, and phone on me. Also, would I really waste all this time and energy for something as Naruto-basic-pranks as that?

So, instead of playing twenty-one questions with himself, he just asked.

"So what are you doing there?"

May I also add that he didn't try to hide his surprise of my innocence when he did as well?

"I'm visiting my mom." I said nonchalantly, staring at the busy downtown road ahead of us to keep an eye out for any human with a giant camera extending from their limbs. It was much easier to sneak through with a huge helmet to cover my pink head and entire face, especially since I had switched the bike I rode during high school and now so I was less likely to be identified, but something told me Kisame's tinted windows only drew in more attention than it did keep our identities safe.

"You mean Doctor Tsunade?" He asked excitedly, almost running the yellow-turn-red light.

"Ya, she's the one." I chuckled half-heartedly, already used to everyone's attitude when I mention my famous doctor of a mother. I'm not going to lie, very few associate me with her despite being her adoptive daughter for almost twenty years. It wasn't that they refused with utter persistence and disgust my whole life, but had only begun to do so once they realized that mentioning me, her fugitive daughter, lowered her value as a famous doctor. So, was I really upset that Kisame suddenly remembered that Tsunade was my mother? Nah.

"Sasori's going to flip!" He continued, completely oblivious to the way I turned my head to glare holes into the side of his face through the sides of my sunglasses. "His grandmother taught your mother in Medical School! He's always talked about—"

"I thought you promised not to tell anyone."

Silence once again consumed us and this time a thoughtful look crossed his usual stern face. I think this was when I knew our relationship took a turn with something with more promise, more so than when he knew he could've been offering his life and he did so anyways.

"Tsk. What's so bad about visiting your own mother?"

There was a care for my livelihood and feeling that extended far beyond the concern of Itachi's success and my ability for follow through with my role as his window-display wife. There was a care for my livelihood and feeling because it was personally valued which was rare to find nowadays.

My face softened as I turned back to the road, deciding that if I was going to ask for more car rides in the future and if I was to fully accept his friendship—the first one in many years after my release from jail—that it was only fair that I allowed him to see a piece of me that I only held exclusively for Naruto, Sasuke, and the many few who did not judge me for what I did years ago.

"She's sick." I whispered.

It's needless to say that Kisame hadn't told a soul about my visit to the hospital. I had initially thought that he had slipped with how skittish and anxious he was around me, but after I had cornered him and demanded what he thought he was doing, he just said he felt weird knowing that I had someone close to me that was dying. That reason was understandable enough, considering how emotionally constipated I felt around Sasuke a little after I had signed the contract to be Itachi's girlfriend in the wake of Fugaku's declining health. Most days, I considered running away with the circus and living a carefree life away from paparazzi's, sociopaths with dying fathers with lots of money to tempt me.

Kisame eventually got back into the groove of our relationship, finally getting over my mother's cancer and understanding that regardless of how he acted towards me, it wasn't going to change anything. I think what he was most worried about was offending me, such as if he didn't grieve a little and pity me that it showed he didn't care for me or my feelings—which in theory sounded just, but I wasn't that type of person. The more he pitied me, the more I felt hopeless and awkward.

Most days, I tried not to think about my dying mother and Sasuke's dying father. Most days, I overrode those depressing thoughts with the many approaches I could take to annoy the hell out of the Uchiha Brothers. You know, get them a little angry, make them feel a little bit, make them live a little more outside their monotonous, stoic, boring life.

I would assume that because Kisame had already dealt with the awkwardness of having to silently carry of the weight of knowing Itachi's father was also dying, it helped him get over the fact that my mother was added to that list. Since the date of her passing wasn't going to be definite—God knows that even she's too stubborn for death—Kisame less to worry about for my sake.

"Sasori." Itachi called the second his polished, leather clad foot stepped through the screen door, demanding undivided attention and making me (an idiot) turn from the horror movie Deidara and I—or I, alone, because he had buried himself under the comfort and protection of a fluff-less throw pillow—were watching to see what his hustle and bitching was about that cool October day. "Get her dressed; I'm taking her out to lunch."

In the last two weeks, I noticed a gradual change in his demeanour towards me, in a sense that he became more tolerant towards the trouble i purposely caused. I decided it was better not to question it, seeing that I came over to the cabin more to hang-out with the boys than I did train, and he wasn't fussing about it like he usually did. To be honest, if he was so willing to be less of an asshole and more of a friend, come pretend-boyfriend, then I was more willing to be less of the bigger asshole to compete and play along like his accomplice. That didn't save him from a couple snarky remarks here and a few sarcastic comments there, but it was all in good nature in comparison to the mess we had going on before.

Overall, the urge to push him in front of a bus or haul my dining room table at his perfectly brushed and powdered head weren't as frequent as they had once been in the beginning. He, on the other hand, made a point to be more civil and even friendly. Much so that it started to become difficult to distinguish from what was a part of training and done for the sake of his end goal and what was genuine.

I knew things were changing, but I couldn't tell if it was bad or good.

"You're early today." I commented, pausing the movie during the more gruesome parts which made Deidara whimper and hide his face back into the cushion when he mistakenly thought the coast was clear in the silence of blood splattering and guts splashing onto the screen. I had to laugh. This whimpering knucklehead would surely protect me from bees and flying dandelion; the most hazardous of things for my being.

Itachi regarded our situation curiously. Whatever snobby, pole-up-the ass comment he made in his head had decided to die there as he looked at me with—I want to say blank because it didn't hold the usual assholeness to them, but they weren't exactly blank either. He looked at me like a normal person, I guess, without judgement and without the need or want to change anything about me. He literally just looked at me and it was something so new that I just had to spend three sentences describing the lack of asshole in him.

"I'm on my lunch break," He said, as his eyes followed me carefully while I rounded the couch. "And you are going to join me for lunch."

I laughed, holding my hand out for Sasori to take. "You sure have a way of asking girls out, don't you, Uchiha?"

There was a faint smirk that he thought I didn't see as Sasori was pulling me up the stairs.

Whatever lack of modesty I had before definitely died the moment I allowed Sasori to dress and undress me for the first time. I hadn't put up much of fight for my innocence, which should have been alarming—and would've raised hell if either Sasuke or Naruto found out—considering the fact that he was a complete stranger at the time, stripping me naked before dressing me up. So it was no different now that he stripped me of my "lazy-girl" clothes to put me in "wealthy-women" attire. Such clothes, as Naruto and Sasuke would call it, was "someone impersonating Sakura a little too poorly."

Throughout the later parts of my adolescent years and into my teen ones, it was very, very rare to see me anything other than one, our school uniform, two, gym clothes, or three, sweatpants or shorts. A sighting of Haruno Sakura in a dress, not to mention the short, pale-pink number Sasori had me sucking in to fit into, was as valuable as the mysterious nine-tailed fox so many have claimed to be roaming our forests and protecting our small little city.

I have a love for sweatpants, yoga pants, and jean shorts that will not quit. So was my love for wearing ankle socks and chunky sandals, but after a unanimous vote amongst my peers, I had been banned from being seen in public with such atrocities on my feet. Such atrocity everyone but me considered to be so vile that Naruto had almost convinced his dad into making it a local law.

"Isn't this too fancy?" I asked the second I caught myself in the mirror, staring at the pale and strappy pink dress that probably costed more than my last paycheck from Itachi.

"It's a casual dress, Sakura." Sasori stated matter-of-factly, sounding a little offended that I could count this simple multi-thousand dollar dress as fancy. I mean, how fucking dare I, right? How dare I question our capitalistic society with big corporations that charges us an extra 100 dollars for the extra stitch they add at the tail? Dare I be so bold?

I just hummed in understanding as I made my way down the stairs in equally strappy clear heels, pressing my hands on either side of the walls for dear life.

Of all the devils Satan could have sent to catch me at the bottom of the stairwell that day, mine had dark eyes and an amused smirk as if I had purposely almost fallen to my death with Sasori gasping behind me to look cute for his amusement. I'm a woman to be feared, god damn him. God damn him all the way to hell and keep him there. Stop sending me devils and demons I can't kill.

I steadied myself too eagerly, almost throwing myself backwards and hitting my neck on the edge of a step to put me out of my misery when I registered his hands gripping my soft and exposed, toned arms.

"You ready?" Itachi asked me, not that I think he really minded watching me stumble a little more, especially down the dirt path and into oncoming traffic. As long as I spared the dress and shoes, of course. He steadied me by the elbows, patiently, allowing me to use his arms as leverage to keep myself from breaking ankles that I actually really, really needed.

"I guess." I huffed, gently tugging my arms back and taking the sleeve of his blazer for good measures.

To my surprise, Itachi held the car open to allow me to climb in. Or it was more of a jumping and a wiggle because I wasn't about ready to give him a full view of kitty-cat between my legs because the short dress prevented me from lifting my feet any higher than four inches off the ground before riding up to my ribcage.

"I knew you were woman under all that." Kisame whistled when I set myself upright, throwing hair out of my face in time for Itachi to seat himself.

"Come back here and I'll show you how woman I really am."

Kisame acknowledged my challenge with a chuckle, a promise of sorts that he would make sure I followed through when we get the chance to spar. Though that would be very rare now that Itachi seemed to be more busy than usual, only dropping by the cabin they insisted on keeping me in and only to briefly check on the progress Sasori and Deidara made that day—which has been none in the last couple of weeks—only a couple times a week instead of the consistent five.

Whatever workload that was keeping him so occupied never interested me. Questions about Itachi's work never came up in conversations, not even later on in our relationship after I had dropped by the office countless times just to visit. I understood the need for privacy as much as the next FBI agent so despite whatever curiosity I had about the Uchiha Security Corporation which supplied the best officers and highly trained security officials, ranging from bodyguards for celebrities to the queen, I never questioned what Itachi actually does at the office. Paperwork, I always saw. But paperwork about what? I could only guess some of it pertaining to the security of our country and nation—you know, the usual.

You would think being seated and having the honour—if I could say that with a straight face—would have its effects on me, but despite how many times I'm reminded of his importance when he skips lunch for meetings and stays up late to finish whatever project the Uchihas were busying themselves in, I saw him as a simple man. Arrogant, yes, but simple and unimportant. Was that because I blatantly decided to repute his aristocracy out of stubbornness or because I was accustom to my relationship with the Uchihas, I can't really say. Maybe it was a fifty-fifty thing where this importance had grown to not faze me and at the same time, even when it did, my inner sass just went "their shit stinks too."

"Where are we going?" I asked after an eternity of silence and Itachi scrolling through his email, once again reinstating his importance to a corporation that has yet to make him its CEO.

"One of my favourite restaurants."

Might I add that I didn't even make a face at his blunt answer, just to demonstrate how much our relationship has developed?

"Itachi takes all his first dates there." Kisame chuckled from the front, turning down the entertainment district of our city which contains the most pretentiously priced boutiques and restaurants.

"What?" That I reacted to, very loudly and excitedly. So loudly and excitedly that it tore his attention away from the small, glowing device in his hand to give me a look of great offence and butthurt. "You've had dates before?"

It wasn't all that surprising that he could manage himself some eligible and willing—I hope—girls—or boys! The fact of the matter that made it all the more surprising was that his snooty little firm butt was even willing to entertain anyone. Knowing my attitude, he took it the wrong way—which was fine, I mean, a sulking Uchiha is the only Uchiha I will entertain.

"What do you take me for, Haruno?" He scowled, permanently putting is phone away as if he cared for my opinion of him and changing whatever predated one I initially had.

"Well, you can't blame a girl after you bribed her to date you, I mean—right?" Kisame's laughed boomed through the car, quickly dying down to a snicker with a quick stinkeye from my beloved boyfriend. "But I guess Deidara did say you did make your way around campus back in University…"

"Don't believe a thing that fool says."

A quick and fierce response like that should've just left me to believe it resonated with the type of love-hate-hate relationship the two men had with one another, but for some reason, I knew better. At least, I wish I could proudly say I did because whatever I knew, I clearly didn't use it when it was most needed.

"Sure." I said, unconvinced but humoured, earning another snicker from Kisame which was followed by a curse as he tried to weave his way through a crowd without running over toes.

Very few things made me anxious—so few that for a while mama was convinced I was a sociopath and spent half her life searching for the receipt to return me to the orphanage she so proudly claims she adopted me from—as a favour to the orphanage, of course, not because I dazzled her. A gun to the head and running into oncoming traffic barely got a second thought from me, but to be surrounded by cameras and flashing lights did things to me I did not like.

My reaction to being slapped put in the center of a paparazzi crowd wasn't extreme by any means of the imagination. It was the simple heart racing, palm sweating, irritation adolescents get when they confess to their crush or are forced to speak to a crowd. This reaction, however, was rare and having to deal with it was not something I particularly enjoyed. There was something about being surrounded by people screaming at you, trying to touch you, and closing you in without you legally being allowed to fight back or do anything to defend left me feeling anxious. Still does to this day.

I could play matches at any sports tournament, answer questions in an organized meeting, but when people are swarming around me, trying to sneak pictures and calling for my attention, is it not hard to believe that I feel overwhelmed?

This was the part of the deal I dreaded the most. Regardless of how often I tried to reason with myself out of the anxiety for the betterment of my predicament, in my gut I still felt that irrational fear.

Perhaps the anxiety was written on my face as I watch men throw themselves in front of our car to snap pictures of Itachi and I. Maybe Itachi could smell the sweat that was beginning to pool under my arms because he reached over to grab my clenched hands. To my chagrin, I jumped at the contact, looking at him with what I could possible guess were wild and anxious eyes because he took his time to stare at my face before speaking.

"Remember everything Deidara taught you." He spoke softly, giving my hand a small squeeze when Kisame came to complete stop. "And don't answer any of their questions."

There was an understanding look in his gaze that I didn't want to acknowledge was there. Or more, there was a way his understanding and kind gesture towards made me feel that I didn't want to believe was actually forming.

He and Kisame got out first, leaving me alone for the ten seconds I hoped wouldn't end as I listened to murmurs and screams through the car. Somewhere mixed in all the noise I registered my heart beating unusually fast in my ears, reminding me of my anxiety when it came to situations like these.

Paparazzi. Being followed. Being obsessed over. It was so suffocating and induced such extreme paranoia in me. I could laugh it off all I want, but there was a reason why I lived in a near empty house in the middle of the forest by myself instead of moving into the city when my mother got sick. Despite the dying down of overrated fascination with me that these social media fiends had, I didn't want to risk stirring anything up by relocating myself in the heart of all the flashing lights—at least, not without getting paid 20 grand a month, I suppose.

I had half the mind to lock the door when I saw Kisame reach for it, chiding myself for letting such a childish, irrational fear jeopardize Itachi's plans. Then I caught myself in the thought, in the act of genuinely caring for the prosperity of the man who was so willing to buy my time, attraction, and false affection.

In other words, I wanted to hurl myself out the other side and under the cars passing by at 5km an hour because of the swarm.

"Is that Haruno Sakura?" I heard when I came face to face with Itachi, his onyx eyes boring into mine as he held his hand out.

"Itachi, are you two seeing each other?" Someone asked when I stepped out, making sure to realign my dress before giving any camera men a decent picture of my person for whatever magazine cover was still popular after all these years.

"When did this start?"

I had wanted to scoff at their tactics, thinking the rephrasing the same question was going to get an answer out the man who was tightly holding my hand as he guided me to the restaurant so apparently infamous for him to use as his first date basis.

I shouldn't have been surprised to find out that I—or we, I should say—made it onto numerous covers by the end of that night. I was a little disappointed that I cared enough to ask Shizune what they said before stomping off in embarrassment for having slipped enough to ask, but not at all surprised at my very natural—as I like to comfort myself with—reaction. Damn me for feeding into an industry that madr money off of lies and my personal misery—the bigger lie the bigger the buck.

I had avoided talking about it or hearing about it for as long as I humanely could, which was definitely hard unless I was both deaf, blind, and mute since Haruno Sakura appearing in the papers again after two years was kind of a big deal. I made sure to avoid being spotted in public for as long as I could to stay out of the papers—which I succeeded, or so can only hope since Naruto and Sasuke only skimmed the trash to pick out pieces of themselves in articles. But I wasn't naïve enough to think I could dodge talking about this new venture forever, not from my friends at least, and especially not from the very few closes to me.

I just had hoped I wasn't going to be confronted about it first thing in the morning when I rolled out of bed on my one day off, in the middle of eating my fucking pink fucking grapefruit that I haven't been allowed to have all week because Sasori said something about the acidity being bad for my teeth? Ya, grapefruit was bad for my teeth. Did care about how bad hairspray was for my lungs though.

"Aren't you two adorable?" Sasuke grounded out, throwing three different magazines onto the table in the middle of one delicious pink bite like carrying three magazines on his person for reading purposes alone didn't make him look obsessive. "I haven't seen you dress up like that since high school."

I carried on casually with my intended spoonful of teeth damaging acidity, only glancing over the three magazines to see that each cover held a shot from different angles from different timeslots within the ten seconds it took for us to walk from the car to the door. Itachi actually looked thoughtful as he held my hand, careful to hold me close to him as you could see the concentration on my face to ignore the flashing lights and screaming crowd of grown men. Seriously, who the hell paid these guys and why do we feed into such garbage?

"Ya, and that was a casual lunch." I murmured, shoving the three set of gossip booklets back towards him before I did something as stupid as indulge myself in reading them. We all knew how bad it was for us to give in, myself more than others. Because while they have grown used to laughing off the little gossip of who they're dating here and there, I went through a whole year of dealing with speculations of my prison sentence and rehabilitation. Forgive me for forever nurturing my hatred towards magazines who kept replaying the one thing that threw my life in a loop if not ruined everything I once had going for me.

"Naruto hit the fan when he saw this." He warned, sighing like he had endured ten hours of our best friend's whining and bitching. Which, from experience I can say, probably wasn't far from the truth.

"Oh, I know. Look at all the text messages he sent me." I snorted, sliding my near dead phone across the table for him to access. "You could hear him crying through the screen, begging me to not do this myself."

It was cute, I had to admit. It was always cute of him before it got annoying and overbearing. I knew better than to respond to any of Naruto's questions just yet. There was no way I could lie my way out of a picture which clearly depicts ed Itachi and I heading into a restaurant with linked fingers, and in time, the five-hundred questions he was sending my way would answer itself. Responding too soon would only somehow stir the pot, and the last thing I needed was my overly protective best friend caught in another fight and sent to jail for assault on the heir to the Uchiha Corp.

Had this not been Itachi on the scene with me, Sasuke would've responded with the same enthusiasm and repulsion as our third man. Not much had changed since high school when they would thoroughly interview—and scare off—any boy I was interested in or seen talking to more than once and I wasn't sure I would be fully content if it was any other twisted way. But because this was Sasuke's older brother and he had been conspiring with the older and greatly bastardly version of himself, it was different on his part. Did he do any interviewing and threatening behind doors? Maybe a little bit here and a little bit there, nothing as substantial as cornering a poor naked boy in the gym locker room, I assumed.

"I guess Itachi is putting his plan into action." He sighed, as if he was dreading this phase as much as I had been.

A part of me—very, very small—for whatever girlish and inner-romantic reason hoped that wasn't the case. That lunch that day was simply him doing it out of the kindness of his heart and not because he was getting this stupid plan of his rolling. I wasn't disappointed to know that it wasn't. It was never verbally spoken, but it was easy to guess by the way he dressed me up and had all those men lined up for my arrival. So I wasn't entirely, or at all, bummed to find out we were simply moving into the second stage of our plan.

"We've been out for lunch three times this week." I added, setting aside my no longer appetizing teeth degrading fruit.

"He's letting the public see you and speculate first before he confirms anything."

I paused, debating on whether I wanted any more of Sasuke's experiential remarks. "We're going out for dinner tonight."

"Ah," There was an understanding in his tone that perked my curiosity. Why wouldn't it? Anything Itachi thought of was most-likely run by his younger half. Lord knows why Sasuke didn't just lay it out for me instead of leaving me to guess his older brother's next move. Such betrayal, I know. "He's making the gossip juicer."

As if on cue my eyes rolled. I should've figured that was the motive behind all the speculation and constant dates. It wasn't like Uchiha Itachi enjoyed my company and wanted to spend some quality time with lil' ol' me anyways.

I snorted—more at myself for being stupid than anything else.

"We've been through this." Sasuke chuckled, his eyes warming in amusement as he stared at me with one of his arrogant smirks. It was only due to our twenty year of friendship that I knew specifically which article(s) he was referring to from the way he looked at me, and only because it's been four years passed that I could finally laugh about it.

"How could I forget?" I shook my head as the images of those covers danced through my mind, once stopping me dead in my tracks as I pressed my face up against the glass window in horror when I accidentally came across it on a cold November morning. I had bought all the magazines on the rack that morning with the intention of burning them, scaring the more shop keeper as a frazzled looking high schooler who was running late with bedhead stumbled into the store and demanded every single copy he had. God knew I tried my best to suffocate the fire before it spread. I should've known talk had already reached school by the time I made it through my fifth batch of magazines. "Remember when they wrote stuff about us?"

It was his turn to roll his dark eyes, the memory suddenly no longer as sweet and amusing as he once liked to believe now that he thoroughly thought of it and said "I almost died that month."

I huffed in annoyance, slapping him on the hand for being just as overdramatic as he was when hiding behind me every time my then-boyfriend came around after articles speculating our relationship was posted all over the city. To this day, and probably to our grave, he still won't admit that my ex-boyfriend fazed him. He wasn't scared, just avoiding trouble, 'tis all. He could take him on if he really wanted to.

"You know Neji isn't into this garbage." I muttered from behind my cup of tea, peeking up at him from behind my lashes to witness the mechanics in the mischievous part of his brain kicking in full gear while he did his best to suppress a smirk tugging his face.

"I don't know," He said, feigning ignorance. I paused, shooting him a warning look to second guess whatever was going to come out of his mouth next. "He might start to now that you're on covers again."

I set my cup down gently and blinked at him thoughtfully, debating on whether I wanted to outwardly react to the obvious bait or brush it aside. Either way, with whatever route I chose, Sasuke had the option of twisting it into whatever justification he wished. I could react because it bugged me or I was not reacting because I was trying to act like it didn't bug me. That's the type of asshole I had to deal with on the daily, though I guess karma—in the form of Naruto—came around to tear him a new one in my honour.

"Why do you have to do that?" I felt my fingers grip around the handle tightly as my frustration-clouded eyes bore into the sparkle of his. I knew I shouldn't have been as bothered as I was, and to be honest, I wasn't even bothered that much. It was just that…every time he is brought up—which has only been a handful of times since we broke up—a sudden and familiar wave of disappointment washes over me, taking me back to the exact moment when we both knew it wasn't going to work between us. "Besides, it's been years. I doubt he cares about me anymore."

Or at least that's what I liked to tell myself. If a small part of me held on to the belief that he did care about me, about us and what we were three years ago, then I would no doubt find myself regretfully seeking him out to clear the air. And lord knows what that could lead to. I especially didn't want to do that now that I was in an agreement with Itachi—not like I would accept such terms of getting back together (not like he would want to though) under any other circumstances…right? It was safer to convince myself that he had totally and completely moved on, as I had.

Things were different now. Our feelings had changed. I was simply clinging onto the idea of us and what we had been, as one does when they leave a relationship—a first, real relationship—despite it ending three years ago. Knowing me then and knowing the type of person he was, if we ever crossed paths again and decided to give us another shot, our dynamic wouldn't have been what it was in high school. Hell, we may not even have been compatible anymore.

What kept me wishfully referring back to us as us was the sole fact that our separation wasn't under the terms of lacking compassion, attraction and—dare I say—love. There wasn't another him or her, a fight, or reconcilable differences. It was heartbreaking begging and tears after months of enduring the scrutiny of being Haruno Sakura's, the drug dealer and convict, boyfriend who apparently didn't know what was good for him—something that made being Itachi's girlfriend troubling, but not as much now that years have passed and the man knew what he was getting himself into.

It was "I can't keep doing this to you anymore" and not "it's not you, it's me." It was "I want you to be happy" and "but I am happy" and not "I don't feel happy anymore" or "I'm sorry." It was the sacrifices I no longer talked about anymore and the one no one else dared to bring up. Sacrifices I didn't want to remember or care about.

Despite knowing better, I caved into Sasuke's bait.

"What? Does he ask about me?"

"Why do you care?" Sasuke gave me a knowing look, studying me calming as he twirled a stray teaspoon over his thumb. I tried answering with the excuse of pure curiosity, but that was as believable as confidently telling one the sky above us was brown. Instead I just stared at him, mouth closed and brows furrowed while he had the galls to tug his smirk wider. "See? He'd still care."

There was a way he said it that left an unspoken message up for debate. There was a small accusation in his tone that shot me to defend myself when I knew all I was doing was reopening old wounds.

"That's not to say I want to get back with him." I said a little too quickly, and Sasuke just stared at me for a long while after that, carefully trying to put his words together.

"Those two are entirely different." He said evenly, and maybe it was just the way the light hit him from behind when he moved, but his eyes softened in an understanding for the pain I never spoke about after I sobbed my eyes out the night I officially lost everything that was my life before the arrest. "You don't have to want to be with someone to care for them."

I smiled softly, deciding to myself that for once I was going to indulge myself by allowing myself to feel the things I suppressed over the years. Only for a moment. Then it's back to how things were.

"If we went with that logic, we would've been married by now." He tried teasingly, brushing off the joke because he thought I missed the way his eyes flashed with a tinge of disappointment. "But no, you're marrying my brother

We can't have things developing too fast, even though this story I looking to be a long one.

Updated: 11-02-2020

All comments and criticism are widely accepted and appreciated.