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Chapter 4: this isn't a fairy tale

Perhaps after all the chaos

I've learned that

'Everything in this world,

from mere people to the

mighty winds of heaven,

everything is an ironic bitch.'

Face it and you'll live through.

Because you're not Cinderella

and this isn't a fairy tale.

- himani

Naruto

Perfect. Sakura folds the piece of paper back into tiny squares as Karin curses and Sasuke groans.

"I hate this."

Sai is still peering at his chit. "I don't want this person."

"Yeah, well, tough luck," Konan says sarcastically. "By the way, no cheating!"

"What constitutes as cheating?" Sai asks. If Sakura isn't wrong, he might be sounding a little bit hopeful but what does she know? She's only met the man a couple of times.

Ino counts on her fingers. "No exchanging chits and – that's pretty much it. Oh, wait. No disclosing the name, either."

Temari bumps her shoulder against Sakura, smirking mischievously. In a low voice, she says, "If you've got me, I can tell you exactly what kind of gift I'll be accepting."

Sakura hums nonchalantly. "If you've got me, I'd appreciate a nice flat screen."

"You'd appreciate what I would have planned more."

"Ha!" Sakura points a finger at her. "So you didn't get my name. I wonder who did."

"Pray that it's not Karin."

"Not that I don't believe you, but why?"

Temari snorts. "It's better if you see for yourself."

"That's what he said."

A brief second and then Temari is bent over the table, shaking with laughter. It attracts the attention of the others and Sakura innocently shrugs back, wide-eyed.

Ino is the only one shooting her a suspicious look. Her head lowers to stare at her lap. A few seconds later, Sakura's phone beeps.

You and Temari?

Sakura glances at said woman. She's actually looking rather pretty tonight. Her hair is in a high bun with soft blonde tendrils caressing the expanse of her neck. She's wearing full-sleeved net top and fitting jeans. Two stud earrings, a delicate necklace, and ankle boots: total babe, as far as Sakura is concerned. It had been a few confusing moments of whether they should hug or kiss in greeting, and in the end, settled for Temari's arm slung comfortably around her shoulder.

Sakura types back: Maybe? We've kissed and had dinner.

Across the table, Ino chokes on her coffee. Itachi politely thumps on her back, even as he's in a conversation with Naruto on his other side.

WTF

Sakura doesn't deem that with a reply. She pointedly stuffs her phone back in her pocket and focuses on what Temari is saying to her, about some customer who was refusing to pay for his drinks, insisting that it was bought for him by a woman who magically disappeared.

It's a lazy evening. Christmas is a little over ten days away. Apparently, Sasuke and Naruto have never hosted it before since their numbers were not this high. Before this, Konan would keep an open invitation for any stray human in case they needed company.

"Hey, Sakura," Sasuke calls out at one point. "Are you inviting your hospital friend? Hima–no, Hina– ta? I'm making a count of all the guests right now."

"I didn't – well, she's married. She'll spend it with her family."

"Oh, cool. Is there anyone else you want to invite?"

"Not really," Sakura shrugs. Sasuke nods and goes back to consulting his notepad. On a whim, Sakura excuses herself and goes on the other side, peering over his shoulder. "How many guests do you have until now?"

Sasuke tilts the notepad up a little. "All of us, these three are Naruto's friends, these two are mine, Karin is bringing a date, and Izumi."

Sakura gulps, ignoring the uncomfortable wavering inside her ribcage. She wonders if she can cancel at the last minute, if she's capable of doing it. "You'll be hosting a proper party."

Sasuke returns the notepad to the table, tapping the pencil against it. Exhaling noisily, he says, "Looks like it. You know, you need to be prepared."

Sakura drags over an empty chair and sits down. "For what?"

Sasuke nods his head slightly in Itachi's direction. "He won't be drinking but he's always trying to get others drunk out of their asses. Last year, Naruto was feeling intoxicated for twenty-four hours straight."

"What the fuck?"

"He was fine," Sasuke waves away her concern. "But yeah, I felt I should warn you."

"Thanks." She forks up the salad from his plate, chewing thoughtfully. "By the way, you never mentioned what you'd like to do if you switched careers."

Sasuke glances at Naruto, who is still in conversation with Itachi. Sakura can't decipher the look but assumes they must have had this talk before for Sasuke to turn to his partner reflexively. He turns back to her, straightening up a little, and the tapping of the pencil becomes more insistent.

"Naruto wants me to try modelling," he admits. He sounds a little shy and embarrassed at the prospect. "He says I have a photogenic face and the presence for it."

Her head tilts, curiously studying him. He does seem photogenic, now that she gives it a thought. His frame under the sweater doesn't promise a regular intense workout, but the kind of exercise one would routinely engage in to maintain their health. She wonders if Sasuke swims, too.

"What do you think?"

The tapping of the pencil breaks down into uncoordinated rhythm. Tentatively, he says, "I'm considering it. Actually, I'd thought about this field a long time ago, when I was fresh in college and started gaining positive feedback for my appearance. Not to mention, Naruto uses me as model whenever he's in the middle of a mental block and I – I don't know, I guess I like it. I do enjoy taking care of myself; to be honest, it would be bizarre if you grew up with someone like Aniki and didn't learn how to."

"Why don't you give it a shot?" she says seriously.

Sasuke throws a quick glance around them: Naruto and Itachi have roped in Ino into whatever it is they've been discussing for so long. Konan, Karin, and Temari are hunched over together on the other side. Sai is fiddling with his phone.

"I haven't told anyone yet but Naruto found me an agent," Sasuke shares lowly. "This woman called Samui. She's popular in launching new faces in the industry or something. Said we'd book a trial photography session next month."

Sakura beams. "Sasuke, that's great!"

His face splits in a grin. "Right? It's actually sort of exciting."

"Why haven't you told anyone yet?"

He shakes his head lightly. "I will, eventually. It's just – I don't want to hype it up in case it doesn't pan out, you know?"

"I could just tell everyone," Sakura points out.

"No, you won't," he says self-assuredly. "I had to tell someone so it might as well be the new girl who's in the business of maintaining confidentiality."

Giggling, but not denying, Sakura takes another bite of his salad. Sasuke swats her hand away and she makes a whole show of "aeroplane spoon" towards his face in revenge, smearing the sauce on his cheek.

"Sakura!"

"Oops."

Naruto turns to look at the two. Upon noticing Sasuke's face, he waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "I could help you with that, babe."

Sasuke turns his messy cheek to him. "Please."

Naruto proceeds to lick him in exaggerated swipes of his tongue and Sakura has to abandon her seat at the soft porn on display. She manoeuvres around, passing Itachi, who makes a mildly nauseating expression at her. Laughing, she goes to round behind Ino who snatches her arm in a tight grip.

With a wide plastered grin, Ino rises to her feet. "Why don't you accompany me to the loo, Sakura?"

Sakura's laughter dies in her throat.

There was this girl once when Sakura was still in high school. Ayame.

Her father owned a ramen place, Ichiraku, in her school district. Every day after the school ended, the small restaurant would be packed with students, the air buzzing with lively chatter and open books on the table-tops beside steaming bowls of delicious, cheap ramen. They never played any music, which no one really minded, except whenever it was someone's birthday and the whole restaurant would participate in clapping for the Human of The Day.

On Sakura's fifteenth birthday, Lee and Neji and Haori bought her a simple pineapple cake with Pinky written in pink frosting on the top. Sakura blew out all the candles, gave a dramatic bow to the clapping audience, and Ayame placed her favourite ramen bowl, on the house. Happy Birthday!

As soon as she left, Sakura watched her retreating figure with a rising hot blush. Ayame was one of the sweetest people she'd ever known, always ready with a smile and the patience of a saint. She had barely graduated high school herself and joined her father's business full-time.

Whenever she would get a chance, Sakura would sneak glances at the young woman. She didn't realise why except that she knew Ayame was very pretty, very generous, and Sakura wished she could possess the kind of gentle soul Ayame clearly did. But Sakura was dramatic and loud and spun wild fantasies out of the movies she'd seen. She'd have wrestling matches in the mud with Lee and Neji, steal Haori's history homework because she hated doing it, and when one day Ayame greeted her with familiarity, Sakura vaguely wondered how it would be to kiss her.

She'd kissed before, of course. Lee and she would make-out behind the school during lunch breaks or on the couch whenever the parents were safely tucked inside the kitchen. It was nothing romantic, they both knew it, but they wanted to know how it felt, wanted to be ready when the time comes so they wouldn't make a fool of themselves. Neji never understood it, always complained that he and Haori felt awkward by it, but Sakura merely showed him the middle finger and a sweet smile.

Lee eventually found a girl. A young athlete from the girls' basketball team. They began meeting up for exercise routines and it wasn't long before Lee told Sakura they'd have to terminate their arrangement.

"I see you have a new member," Ayame's brown eyes twinkled in amusement as she passed Sakura her bowl of ramen.

"Ah, yes." Sakura clicks her tongue, picking up the bowl carefully between her palms. She tries not to stare too long but it's difficult because Ayame isn't moving away yet.

"To be young and in love," her laugh tinkles like a goddamn bell. She leans forward with elbows on the counter, reminisces. "I remember my first boyfriend. We thought we'd be together forever."

Sakura pauses in her act of turning around. "Oh. What happened?"

Ayame throws her smile. "College. He couldn't be with someone who wasn't as ambitious."

"That's fucked up," Sakura blurts out without thinking. Winces. "Fuck. Shit. I mean. Sorry."

Ayame is laughing, though, so Sakura relaxes, grins back sheepishly. "It was fucked up," she concedes. "I never understand why certain people expect you to be a certain way for them to love you."

Her mouth is dry. She swallows. "You don't have to change for anyone, Ayame. Trust me, ask anyone here, you're pretty perfect the way you are. Your ex can go fuck himself."

It makes her laugh even harder, makes her softer around the edges than she already is. Sakura's chest fills with a warm, warm feeling. A precious flutter that she'd never experienced before.

A few weeks later, when Sakura is at the counter to collect her order, Ayame leans in conspiratorially, I found someone who thinks I'm pretty perfect the way I am.

Before Sakura's graduation rolled around, Ayame was married.

Sakura never gave it another thought, what she'd felt, why she started avoiding Ichiraku to the increasing confusion and annoyance of her friends, and then it didn't matter because she left for college herself.

Until now.

Until Temari reminded her of Ayame and her ambitious ex, their obvious familial instincts, their selfless kindness.

Ino is staring at her expectantly.

A toilet flushes, a door creaks open, and they move around politely for the youngster to wash her hands at the sink. She looks at their reflections curiously, slowly lathering her hands with liquid soap, until Sakura snaps at her to get her shit going.

The youngster raises her eyebrows, now moving at a snail's pace.

Ino mutters under her breath, one hand holding onto Sakura's elbow as if she's a wild animal they can't afford to let loose on the innocent bystander.

"Anything you want to share with the class?" Ino says as soon as the door finally shuts behind the annoying stranger.

Sakura crosses her arms across her chest. "No."

"Lose the attitude," Ino states sternly. "And the temper. We're on the same team here."

"Technically? No."

Ino blows out a breath. "Sakura."

It raises her hackles further. "There's nothing to tell! We kissed and had dinner once."

"Oh and am I supposed to ignore the fact that this person is Temari?"

"Yes. Didn't I make that clear?"

"No. Actually, you're being very difficult and I don't understand why. What do you think is going to happen if you admit to the fact that you're attracted to her?"

Sakura's jaw clenches. On the other hand, Ino appears exasperated, not the least bit accusatory. "Look. I know it's not a big deal. Not to you or to anyone. But you dragged me in here, expecting what? Excuse me if it puts me a bit on edge."

"Jesus, Sakura," Ino steps closer, hands held up in a placating manner. "I'm sorry if I made you feel like I had a problem with this. It has nothing to do with the fact that Temari is a woman, it's to do with the fact that the woman is Temari."

Sakura forgets to be annoyed. "What?"

Ino's shoulders slump. She sighs, spinning away to rest her butt on the sink counter. "Why do you think I wanted you to meet this particular group?"

Sakura joins her, nudging their feet together lightly. "How the fuck am I supposed to know?"

It draws out a snort from Ino and Sakura smiles at the floor. "It's because I care about you and I care about them, you dummy. I wanted all the people I cared about together. Makes my life convenient."

"I always knew you were aiming for an orgy."

"Sakura!" Ino laughs. "Be serious."

Sakura keeps her face poker straight. "I am."

"Sure you are," Ino shakes her head. She collects herself eventually. "I'm afraid of asking out Sai. I'm scared that if we don't work out, it'd force the others to take sides. I'd hate it if they ever have to do that."

Sakura nods, accepts it. "You're worried you'd have to take sides if I fuck things up with Temari."

"Well, no, not exactly," Ino says softly, quietly. "I'm worried you'd hate yourself for it."

The toilet feels smaller, claustrophobic. She gulps. "Oh."

The silence that follows is quiet, like all the air has emptied itself out.

Sakura rests her head on Ino's shoulder, stares at the plain blue door of the stall in front of her. "I'm sorry I'm so messed up."

"You're not," Ino reprimands gently. "I'm sorry if I made you feel like shit."

"You didn't," Sakura mumbles. "I do feel like shit but it's not because of you."

"I'm sorry, anyway."

Sakura presses a small smile into her shoulder. "Yeah. Me, too."

Every morning, Sakura takes the same tube at the same station at the same time.

She's not the only one. Others, like her, have a routine. A responsibility, an obligation they need to attend to on a regular basis in order to keep food at the table and a roof above their heads. There is a sense of familiarity in the faces, a unity forged in the dark underground, flying under the white artificial lights.

The middle-aged woman near the doors is five months pregnant now, for the second time. The young college man who joined the fray only a few months ago has his Bose headphones on, bobbing his head absently. The elderly couple who takes the train on Tuesdays and Fridays are hunched over a common novel, squinting behind their thick glasses. It's their fifth book of the year and possibly the last before the year officially draws to a close.

Today, Sakura is squeezed between a bubble-gum chewing blonde woman, another regular, and a middle-aged man in a Christmas sweater who seems to be the newbie.

Headphones is sneaking glances at him and so is the Pregnant Lady. The Newbie is unaware, though, fiddling on his phone, shifting his knees from time to time. Without daring to breathe, Sakura darts her gaze to the screen and quickly away.

Holy fucking shit.

It's porn on mute. It's actual porn, what the fuck. From what Sakura could register, it's a goddamn train setting. The woman's top is opened and the man in the business suit is palming her breasts, surrounded by other passengers.

Headphones and the Pregnant Lady catch her gaze, minutely quirking up their eyebrows in a question. Sakura gulps, tilts away from the Newbie slightly, and moves her right finger through a circle on her left hand. Twice.

A brief, stunned pause.

Pregnant Lady cracks first. She almost bowls over, she's laughing so hard, clutching at the stainless steel pole in front of her. Headphones tries, Sakura will give him that, he really does, pressing his lips together firmly shut. It doesn't last long because the Pregnant Lady is howling and Sakura just sits there, frozen, mildly horrified.

With a deep inhale, Headphones bends over his knees, shoulders shaking.

During her lunch break, Sakura eats with one hand while she types on her phone with the other. The hospital cafeteria hubbub is a soothing, familiar background.

Temari: You're serious?

Sasuke: Actual porn?

Sakura: YES!

Konan: In a suburban Daddy sweater?

Ino: Ugh, that sounds gross.

Sai: I met a man once who told me watching porn in public makes him excited.

Karin: He was a voyeur?

Itachi: There's an old lady in the store right now who is eyeing the condoms.

Naruto: WHY IS EVERYONE SO HORNY

Sakura: I'm sorry not everyone has a Sasuke

Temari: Do you want a Sasuke?

Her fork misses her mouth, accidentally jabbing the last pointed teeth in her cheek. The sauce is a sticky mess.

"Fucking karma."

Hinata, buried nose-deep in her book, lifts her chin in a semblance of acknowledgement without taking her eyes off. "Hmm?

"Nothing."

Naruto: Hey, lay off!

Sasuke: Ew.

Sasuke: No offense, Sakura.

Karin: LMAO

Ino: Ouch

Sakura: Let's be real. You'd be lucky to land me, Sasuke.

Sakura: Temari jealous?

Temari: I thought you said to be real, Sakura.

Konan: HAHAHA

Itachi: It's not your day, is it? Sakura

Sakura: You guys are assholes.

Sakura: I have to save lives now, excuse me.

Sasuke: You mean you have to hold an IV while the doctor saves said lives.

Karin: You mean you have to make photocopies of prescriptions.

Sasuke: You mean you have to call out names of the patients.

Naruto: Leave her alone, you guys.

Sakura: THANK YOU

Naruto: No worries.

Naruto: I understand how heartbroken you must be by Sasuke's rejection

Sakura: NARUTO!

Naruto: I mean, I don't, technically. Cuz you know. I have him and you don't.

Ino: I can't watch this anymore

With a quiet scream, Sakura jabs on the lock button of her phone with a huff.

Hinata still doesn't look at her. "Hmm?"

"Jesus Christ!"

The evenings are becoming colder by the day as Christmas nears. The air is damp and humid, promising either a sluggish rain or a dash of snow in the upcoming weeks. December is usually quite unpredictable in this city; she's lived through bad snowstorms as well as two-layered-clothing chill. This year, it seems, the weather is stuck somewhere in between.

Despite the shitty, moody weather, though, the walk itself is pretty nice. It's late enough that the post-office rush is replaced with harried customers spilling out of shops as they go about last minute purchases. The pavement is dotted by warm yellow streetlights, like a string of fairy lights disappearing in the horizon if she cranes her neck enough.

The city is alive with hot chocolate and mild banter, with golden baubles and fake angels, paper snowflakes lining the shopfronts. A brave citizen has set up a piano in the middle of a busy square, the opening notes of To Build A Home ringing above the din.

Sakura joins the gathering crowd and opens the video camera on her phone.

The pianist is a young, tattooed green-haired woman about Sakura's age. Her eyes are shut, fingers moving across the black and white keys in perfect symphony. When she starts to sing, Sakura nearly loses her breath.

Her voice is powerful, otherworldly, and she reminds Sakura strongly of Beyoncé.

There is a house built out of stone

Wooden floors, walls and window sills

For some inexplicable reason, her eyes tear up. She swallows, hands trembling as she tries to hold her phone steady. The sudden flash of her father's laughter hits her, the time when he was pushing the swing in their backyard, wondering out loud if he pushed hard enough, he can send Sakura up in space. She remembers her own answering laughter, telling him he's stupid, that it doesn't work that way. Her father didn't back down.

"Yeah?" he'd said, "let's try, short stuff."

Of course, Sakura didn't reach any kind of outer space and her father accepted his defeat with dramatic groaning and complaining.

Out in the garden where we planted the seeds

There is a tree as old as me

The tears fall freely. She feels an arm wrap around her shoulder, a gentle assurance and quiet comfort of a stranger. Her throat seals off entirely.

And, I built a home

For you

For me

Her mother's smile even as she reprimanded her father for not being gracious enough in his defeat. The wink thrown in Sakura's direction when her father wasn't looking. The first time Sakura got her period and her mother held her, stroking her hair, whispering the cramps will pass.

Until it disappeared

From me

From you

Her arm is too heavy; it collapses even as Sakura does, knees hitting the hard concrete. She hides her face in her hands, sobbing ugly tears, and the stranger joins her without a word, rubbing soothing circles on her back.

And now, it's time

To leave and turn

To dust

Tsunade takes one look at her blotchy face and opens her arms.

When she's tucked under the blanket in one of the spare bedrooms, she pulls out her phone. Somehow, she's missed a private text message from Itachi from earlier in the afternoon.

It's official. I hate this show.

Why?

MARY! JOHN! SHERLOCK!

It's the exclamation marks that does it. Laughing through her stuffed nose, Sakura types out:

You don't hate it.

No. I don't.

I hate the fact that I still don't hate the show.

That's more like it.

BTW you weren't too bothered today right?

By the teasing?

Nah.

Uh oh. You don't sound fine.

Sakura bites down her lip. She's feeling raw and exposed, vulnerable, and Itachi is–

Fuck.

She just needs to talk. That's it. Itachi is her friend now, and she's not crossing any boundaries because friends are allowed to talk about whatever shit they want. Right. That's all she's doing. Itachi is being observant and nice and friendly and Sakura is sure he won't mind it. The dude told her about almost dying, for fuck's sake. This should be totally fine.

I had a weird evening. Staying at Tsunade's for the night.

Where is that?

That's a – weird question. Mentally shrugging, she responds, too tired to think.

Hatori

You can keep me company at the store if you want.

It's in the area. You don't even need to take a tube.

Well, isn't that fucking convenient. Sakura curses even as she tells him to send the address, because this must be a goddamn joke. How, how is it possible that this man she's interested in just happens to be in her life rather suitably, being all kind and gorgeous and warm, and be fucking unavailable?

It's a twenty-minute walk.

The department store is located between two high-rise apartment buildings, the green neon sign flickering in the night. From the looks of it, it must be a family business because Sakura doesn't recognize the franchise.

Itachi is visible through the front glass wall. He's sitting behind the counter in a blue uniform, head slightly lowered over his phone as he stares fixedly at the screen. There's only one customer inside, in the right most aisle; no wonder Itachi has so much spare time to finish watching the Sherlock series. Every episode is practically the length of a rom-com movie.

The bells above the door catches his attention as Sakura steps inside the store. He grins, dark gaze innately warm.

"Hi."

Sakura approaches the counter, her sneakers squeaking against the polished marble flooring. Embarrassed, she takes higher steps. Itachi is already pulling a spare chair out of nowhere for her to sit on.

"I see you're having an adventurous night," she greets, taking a seat.

Itachi returns to his, glancing at his phone screen. "It's Never Let Me Go. Have you watched it?"

"No," she admits, peering curiously. "What's it about?"

He hits pause on the movie. "So. There's this really weird school that has strict rules and regulations. They control every little thing that the students do, including their food and sports and all. Everything is planned out.

"When they all grow up, these three here," he gestures at the frozen screen on which she can see Andrew Garfield, Kiera Knightly, and Carey Mulligan. "They've just found out that they're actually clones of their real selves, only meant to be harvested. That's why their entire childhood was controlled because they needed to be in perfect health."

Sakura stares at Itachi. "That's fucked up."

"Totally," he agrees, nodding. "And there's also a love triangle going on. Andrew and Carey like each other but Kiera has convinced him to be together with her instead. Come closer, you won't be able to watch it properly. Wait, let me put on the earphones."

He fishes out a white pair of wired earphones and hands her one piece. He plugs it in his phone before resuming the movie.

Ten minutes later, he has to hit pause again when the only customer is finally checking out his items. Itachi does a quick job of ringing the items and they return to the movie immediately.

An hour later, Sakura falls back in her chair numbly. Itachi follows suit.

There's complete silence for a few minutes in which they stare in space in mild horror.

"What the fuck did we just see?"

Itachi's swallow is audible. "I think I want to break something."

She turns to him accusingly. "This is all your fault."

His mouth drops open. "Excuse me? I didn't know it would end up this way! This is so messed up. Why is it so messed up?"

"I wish I could bleach this out of my brain."

"I wish I could go back in time and yell at myself not to watch this movie."

"I wish I could go back in time and stop this movie from ever being made."

"Oh no," he says wisely, shuddering, "that spot is reserved for The Human Centipede."

She winces, a wave of nausea crashing through her whole body. "Fuck. Jesus. Yeah. No, you're right."

With a brave effort, he manages to move his limbs enough to snatch his phone. As he browses, he offers, "Want to watch Friends to forget this horror we suffered through?"

"Yes," Sakura groans loudly. "Please."

Itachi props up the phone on the counter once more. Before he can hit play, though, his phone starts to ring as Izumi flashes on the screen. He accepts the call immediately and Sakura hears a rather tired but fond Hey babe in her ear. Trying not to curse, she immediately removes the earphone piece and hands it to Itachi, mouthing an apology.

He waves it away. "Hey, you just got free?"

Sakura tries to make herself as small as possible in the chair as she listens to Itachi's one-sided conversation.

"I'm still at the store. Took an extra shift tonight."

Pause.

"No, that's fine. Don't worry about it. How was your day?"

Pause.

He chuckles. "I have a friend with me, actually. We just watched a movie that we're trying to recover from." As he says it, he shares a quick grin with Sakura.

Sakura dredges a weak, awkward one in return. She wonders if she should take a walk in the store.

"I'll tell you later. It's – well, it's hard to put into words at the moment."

Pause.

"Alright. Sleep well. Love you."

Pause. Smile.

He hangs up and turns to Sakura again. "Friends?"

She blinks. "Um. Ye–yeah." Gathering her courage, she blurts out, "I could leave, if you want."

Itachi frowns, puzzled. "Why do you think I want you to leave?"

Her cheeks are warming up. "Just. I mean, if you wanted to talk on the phone longer."

His expression clears. "Oh, no, no. That's alright. She had a long day and she wasn't really up for talking, anyway. Besides, I still wouldn't have told you to leave. Unless you minded waiting a bit while I wrapped up the call."

"Oh, right. Of course."

He raises his eyebrows, hesitates to hit play this time around. "By the way, I still don't know why you had an evening bad enough that you didn't go home."

Suddenly, Sakura can't look him in the eyes. She stares at the shiny, polished marble flooring instead, her chest pounding at the memory.

"I – I was. Um. You know I lost my parents. Early. In college."

A surprised pause. But then Itachi says a soft, careful, "Yeah. I remember Naruto mentioned it."

Sakura sucks in a deep breath, fingers clenching in fists on her knees. "Well, I haven't. Dealt with it. Exactly. Not yet."

"I see."

"Yeah." She inhales deeply again. "I was – walking. After work. You know, getting home. Came across this street pianist. And well. Sort of broke down. I guess."

She sneaks up a quick glance at him, too terrified to maintain eye contact. She's not surprised to find his dark gaze still warm, still open and kind. Jesus Christ, how the fuck is this man not as sceptical as her even after losing so much?

With eyes trained on the flooring once more, she gulps. "Anyway. So that happened."

A few moments pass in which neither one of them speaks.

And then Sakura breaks it, unable to tolerate the silence any longer.

"I just. I don't know what the fuck to do. How do I–? I love them, so much. And now they don't even exist so what the fuck am I supposed to do with all of it? Where the fuck do I keep it down? Whom should I give it to now that they're not around to take it? Everyone said it gets better with time. That's such a load of bullshit. Because it's been years and it's still not any better. How long am I supposed to wait? No one tells you that."

Her eyes prickle but she refuses to cry. Once in a day is more than enough, more than what she'd thought she was capable of. Resolutely glaring down, she tries to breathe properly.

"I'm sorry," Itachi eventually says in a quiet, solemn tone. "I'm sorry I don't know."

She shuts her eyes. Teeth clenching, jaw tense, Sakura nods.

It's the most comforting thing she's heard in a while.

Song credit: To Build A Home by Cinematic Orchestra.

Movie credit: Never Let Me Go (2010), directed by Mark Romanek, based on the novel of the same name written by Kazuo Ishiguro.

Series credit: Sherlock, BBC network, written by Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, Stephen Thompson.