Chapter 5: with teeth and a heartbeat
if I could
i would take that smile
and inject it directly into my blood stream
my parents warned me about drugs in
baggies sold on the street
but never the ones
with teeth
and a heartbeat.
M.W.
The alarm blares early in the morning at an ungodly hour.
Itachi groans, taking a few seconds to curse Kakashi, his own age, Izumi's job, the terrible coffee he had last night – three sips, mind you, that he nearly spit out, and even the mattress under his stomach that he probably should be replacing soon.
The dream is still escaping him in bits and pieces: it's a recurring one, and he's certain it wouldn't leave him until he earns at least one significant victory since the incident. Incessant honking, a blood-curdling scream, and the screeching of tires before the car folds in half. A hot, blazing spike of pain shooting up his back and then nothing but numbness. It was that numbness that had freaked him out, really freaked him out, more than the fact that his car was unrecognizable. Someone else was yelling, sirens approaching, and a clammy hand in his, reassuring, squeezing, a gentle voice, hang on, hang on, hang on.
In the shower, he turns his back to the mirror to examine the healed skin. It's a trick his therapist had given him, and it has helped him plenty after this specific nightmare. When Izumi is around, she usually rubs her hands on his back, a soothing gesture over the expanse of his muscles, murmuring assurances, grounding him. Itachi wishes she were still around. Not that he's not happy for her, of course he is, but he misses the intimacy, the ease of access to each other, and video calls just don't cut it sometimes. Sometimes, he wants to feel her smile pressed in his shoulder, wants to hold her, wants to be held.
By the time he reaches the pool, the dream is replaced with excitement, the wallowing escapes to make way for purpose, and he remembers why the hell he's even putting himself through all of this. Why he's simply not taking up a steady job, earn enough livelihood to save for the wedding, to build a house for himself and Izumi and their future kids. Why he can't let go of this.
Everyone always said how Itachi was born a fish in the flesh of a human; a gifted swimmer, someone who could put the big names to shame if he put his mind to it. Growing up, his mother would joke that their decision to have a water birth for him has been haunting them ever since. People always laughed at that one, nodded their heads, patted him on the back for some or the other record he'd broken at that time, and Sasuke would fight for his attention because Naruto was holed up in his room for another obscure project.
No one laughs anymore, though. Not since the accident.
Mother never jokes about the water birth or calls him a fish. She smiles at him softly, combing fingers through his hair, grateful that he survived. Sasuke doesn't vie for his attention because there is none on Itachi anymore. No records have been broken in years; he's lucky to even be in the pool these days.
See, the thing is, the thing is, is that Itachi loves being underwater. The calm, the serene tranquillity, the quiet, oh the quiet, it is music to his ears. Meditative. The way his body just floats, as if all strings have been cut, as if he can finally let go, exhale a long breath, and entrust nature to keep him safe. It's his home.
He truly doesn't know what he can do if not for swimming. No one wants to leave their homes, do they? You fight for it, you fight to keep it, you don't give it up. Not for anyone and certainly not even when the world tells you the odds are against you. Even then, even then, you shake your shoulders loose, pop your neck left and right, crack your knuckles, and say bring it on.
So yes, sure, Itachi might be a fish born in the flesh of a human, he will own it, and he will prove them all wrong. Itachi will show the world that he's not meant to be a human anyway, and they can take their ultimatums to someone who cares.
"AGAIN!"
The command is followed by a loud whistle and Itachi redoubles his efforts. He pumps his arms and legs, streamlining through the still tepid water, ears roaring and mind calm, remembers why he can't let go of this.
Loud bangs startle him out of his exhaustion. He realises he's been blankly staring at the tiled wall. Konan is outside the door of the stall, placing his towel on top.
"You forgot," she complains. "Again. Seriously, are you trying to give an eyeful to Mira? If she passes out by nosebleed, I'm not taking her to the emergency room."
Itachi rolls his eyes. "I think you'd murder me before you let her see me naked."
"Of course, I would," Konan agrees promptly. "You're a taken man, Itachi. I promised Izumi I'd keep you safe from the sinful world of swimming. Besides, let's be honest. Mira, and countless others, are probably jerking off to your reels."
"Konan," Itachi groans loudly, wishing desperately for the ground to open up and swallow him whole. He can feel his skin warm up despite the cold shower.
"I'm just saying," Konan defends petulantly. "It's the truth and you know it!"
"Doesn't mean I want to think about it," Itachi counters heatedly. Wanting to change the subject, he sobers up enough to inquire, "Did you tag potential sponsors in today's upload? I really hope I could get someone before the next competition. Kakashi says he has a lead, someone called Kisame, but – well, I don't want to store all my eggs in one basket."
"You don't have any eggs," Konan says. A hint of amusement, a bait.
"Konan."
"Well, you don't–"
"Don't be sexist–"
"How is that sexist? Men don't have eggs, it's science–"
"Pointing out our natural incapacities is hardly moral–"
"Says the gender who calls us weak because we have a vagina–"
"I'm not having this conversation with you–"
"Because I'm right–"
"Because you're bored and Yahiko didn't come talk to you–"
Konan cuts through, sounding hopeful. "Did he talk to you–"
"That is none of your business, what Yahiko and I talk–"
"Itachi, come on, tell me–"
Itachi pulls the door open, hair dripping wet, towel wrapped around his hips. He fixes Konan a meaningful, pointed look. "Says the woman who implied I was sexist–"
"Fine, I'm sorry, I was just kidding–"
Itachi blows past her to get his bag from the bench. Konan stubbornly follows. The shower is mostly empty except for two other occupants at the end of the row.
"Tell me, tell me, tell me," Konan chants incessantly in his ear as he pulls out fresh clothes. "Did he tell you if he's dating someone? Did he say why he went AWOL last week–"
Itachi shoots her a dirty look. "I know you're into this man but don't sound like a stalker–"
"I'm not sounding like a stalker–"
"You're aware of his schedule–"
"Because I work here!" Konan splutters passionately. "It's my job to know who comes when, are they shady, should I be worried of them drowning others at the pool, are they always alone and isolated–"
She sounds so defensive that Itachi cracks up, marching back to the stall.
"Itachi, you fucking dick!"
He turns around with a shit-eating grin. "You called me a sexist," he says, and slams the door in Konan's angry face.
The rush hours at the department store are brutal around Christmas.
Itachi is manning one of the cash registers while Sasori has taken up the other. He seems to be faring better, though, and Itachi wonders if he can dump his own on Tobi while he takes a quick break in the back. His muscles are mediums of hellfire today, courtesy of a late night shift on top of Kakashi's ruthless regime.
But Tobi is on customer service, the helpful assistant of the day, and Itachi wants to deal with that even less than he wants to deal with ringing up items.
The queue is long and tiring, and two hours later, Itachi can safely admit that he's given up on smiling for the rest of the day. His cheek muscles are aching, his cheek muscles for god's sake–
Sasori is taking a walk around the store to stretch his legs. A chirp sounds in the relative quiet of the post-storm. Itachi pulls out his phone.
Sorry I'm not authorized to provide medical diagnosis.
Laughter escapes him in a quick, short burst. Before he can respond, he notices typing under Sakura's name. So he waits.
The most I can tell you is to ice your "cheek muscles". Either that or haunt people's nightmares with your unsmiling face.
Sniggering, he writes: What's your advice for boredom?
Shitty romcoms until you shoot yourself
Your patients are lucky to have you
I keep telling them that. No one wants to believe me
He's laughing, and it's a proper belly-deep laugh. He likes Sakura. He can't imagine ever being bored with her, if he's being honest.
Despite her tragic admission last night, Itachi firmly believes that she's one of the funniest and coolest people he's met until now. And it's not cool as in movie-cool, either. There are no dramatic slow walks in autumn wind, no classy clothes and sunglasses, no heavy tongue mumbling, there's none of that. It's simply in the way she is, a nurse who is an avid story lover, who took Naruto seriously on his nude-painting offer, who punched a douche right in the face, named her plant Bill of all things, sent him stupid swimming memes, outright asked him about his accident, and – and –
Everything she does is cool.
In fact, it is Itachi's growing fear that he's going to embarrass himself one day by blurting it out like a stupid fan boy who's met his celebratory crush.
Not that he has a crush on Sakura. Well, he does, but not a romantic one. Just a platonic one, the way one would have a crush on their favourite celebrity. Not that Sakura is a celebrity, and he has a feeling if she hears him say that, she would fall into a dramatic speech about winning Oscars or something, and that image has him laughing even harder –
Jesus Christ, he needs to reel this thing in.
No, he absolutely does not have a romantic crush on Sakura, he's still very much in love with Izumi. But he can't deny it either that he enjoys Sakura's company, for whatever the reasons might be. He definitely hopes that she does, too. It would be very embarrassing if she doesn't.
Maybe slightly disappointing, as well.
Have you bought your Christmas gift?
Yes.
Wait. Do you have my name?
You know I can't tell you that.
I can't decide if you're being a good participant or all weasel-y
Or I'm being a Malfoy
Yikes. That was a bad one
LMAO I'm glad you're self-aware
That was a terrible one
Regardless, it's against the rules
Are you worried you're going to get a terrible gift?
Temari said I should worry if it's Karin
She's right. You should worry
This suspense is worse than the Doctor's name
No it's not
And we don't take the Doctor's name in vain
My apologies
He smiles, ducking his chin. It's not every day you meet people who understand your references, after all. Itachi vaguely wonders who her ex might have been; what kind of a person doesn't like Sherlock, honestly?
He could just ask her, of course, but doesn't think it's something he should ask. He doesn't understand why, just knows that he shouldn't. It's not like Sakura will refuse him the answer, he's fairly confident that she would tell him – there's just a strange, weird gut feeling he experiences at the thought of that conversation. Like maybe Izumi wouldn't like it if Itachi goes around asking Sakura about her ex-boyfriends. Not that Izumi has any reason not to like it, Itachi knows about past relationships of his other friends, and Sakura is a friend now, yet it's – different? Or maybe it's because their friendship is still new, still budding, and it will take some time to develop that level of comfort.
That must be it.
To be fair, Sakura hasn't asked him a direct question about his relationship with Izumi, either, other than you're engaged? when they met for the first time.
Maybe she feels awkward. She certainly did look like it last night when Izumi had called.
The bell above the door tinkles. A new customer walks in, a young and haggard man, big round eyes and a bowl cut, demanding if they have any more pies and baby formula left.
"Nurse Haruno!" Dr. Kabuto barks out, "I need the reports for beds 3, 7, and 9. Check up on 5, we don't want her to choke on the tube. Where's the burn unit team? I told you to contact them ten minutes ago!"
Sakura hands him the files. "They've got an emergency case in their hands but promised to send someone down soon. Mary's tube is still intact. No signs of infection or swelling–"
The intern throws a nervous smile at Sakura while Dr. Kabuto rifles through the papers in quick succession. "Who's Mary?"
Sakura rolls her eyes. "Bed No. 5."
"Right." He snaps his fingers. "And?"
"And Merry Christmas."
He still doesn't spare her a glance but smirks down at the X-ray of a toy soldier lodged in one of the patient's intestines. The intern opens his mouth half way but then snaps it shut.
"Merry Christmas to you, too, Nurse Haruno," Sakura bites out sarcastically.
Dr. Kabuto's smirk widens. "Call Dr. Nagato for a consult."
Sakura gives him a two-fingered salute. "Roger that, Doctor."
Before she can take more than a couple of steps, Dr. Kabuto calls out, "And take the new intern with you. He still can't figure out the filing system."
"Come on," Sakura says dryly and the intern scrambles to follow her, almost tripping on his own feet. "What are you? Five?"
He turns beet red. "The shoes are new. I'm still breaking them in."
Sakura doesn't deem that worthy of a response. She leads him to the front desk, turning on the microphone. She adopts the voice of a female Siri.
"Good evening, ladies and gentlemen," she begins pleasantly, the voice echoing through the entire hospital. "If anyone has managed to locate the enigmatic Dr. Nagato, kindly show him to the trauma centre for a consult. I repeat: Dr. Nagato is required for a consult at the trauma centre."
She winks at the intern, continuing, "For those who are stuck in the hospital for the holidays, I'm delighted to report that it is snowing outside. Quite badly. You're lucky you don't have to wake up and shovel it out of your driveway."
A ripple of light chuckles washes over to her. The intern steps closer, grinning.
"Also, if you switch to channel number five, you'd be able to watch reruns of the best Christmas movies ever made. Please avoid channel number eight, unless you want to wish desperately that you were shovelling snow instead."
Mild laughter echoes back. Dr. Tamaki passes by the desk with a sneer. Sakura holds her gaze, grinning sweetly.
"Merry Christmas, everyone!"
A cheerful wave of Merry Christmas tides over the hospital. Sakura turns off the microphone and proceeds to explain the filing system to the new intern.
Two hours later, Maurie looks like a ten-year-old that she's meant to be despite the shaven head and the scars all along her body.
"Did you really finish it?"
"I did," Sakura confirms.
"Isn't the story of the elephant the best?"
It's – to be honest, last night is something Sakura will never, ever get back. After returning from the department store and unable to fall asleep, she had decided to be charitable enough to watch the cartoon Maurie kept pestering her about. The show was excruciating at best, she's lost all of her sleep, and she hated every bit of it.
"It is," Sakura grins back. "I can see why you like it."
Maurie looks radiant with happiness. "Really? Why?"
Sakura bumps her nose lightly. "Because you're both strong and brave and you cry when you don't feel like it. It's very admirable."
Maurie ducks her head, blushing all over.
Hinata is in the locker room when Sakura enters.
She's sitting on the bench, gripping the edge with tight knuckles, head lowered. Sakura strays closer carefully and kneels before her.
She tries to catch her eye but Hinata seems transfixed by empty air. "Is everything okay?"
Hinata gulps. She looks up with wide pale eyes and a gaping mouth. "Sakura."
"Yeaaah?"
Hinata licks her dry lips. "I… I think… No, I." She takes in a deep breath, eyelids fluttering shut. When she opens them again, they're still just as terrified. "I'm pregnant."
Sakura's mind blanks out. "Huh?"
Hinata's lips are trembling, fuck. A few fat tears leak down her cheeks. "I'm pregnant. Oh my god. I hadn't said it out loud yet. What am I supposed to do? I work twelve-hour shifts and still don't make enough money to support an entire human! And I can't run with a child growing inside me, Sakura. How do people do that? I should have asked. I never asked. Oh my god, Sakura, what if my baby doesn't have a father? Can I do it alone? Will you be the father–"
"What?"
Hinata grasps both of Sakura's hands between hers, leaning forward intently. "It would be perfect! You said you'd rob a bank for me so I wouldn't have to work. I know you'd be a wonderful father, Sakura–"
"Hinata–"
"Let's do it. You said you might be a lesbian. Do you think you can be a lesbian for me? I'm fairly attractive, aren't I? Do you think I'm attractive? I need you to be gay for me if this has to work–"
"HINATA–"
"I know I'm not gay. Lesbian, I mean. But you're a pretty woman. If you need me to, I'll kiss you. I think we'd have to work up towards sex, though. I've heard a great deal about strap-ons. Are you partial towards wearing a strap-on–"
"YOU'RE MARRIED!"
Hinata almost slides off the bench by the rate at which she's leaning forward. She continues fervently, "But that's the thing, Sakura. We never planned on a baby. I mean, not so soon. We're barely married for a year. We'd decided it's not the right time yet. I have to tell him. He's going to freak out. I know it. He's going to freak out and I can't calm him down, Sakura, I can't, because I'm freaking out, too, maybe we'll both freak out together–"
"Hinata," Sakura says firmly, squeezing Hinata's hands in return. "Hinata, shut the fuck up. I swear to your unborn child if you don't, I'll punch you to make you!"
Hinata's mouth snaps shut in shock. She visibly swallows, breath hitching.
"Good," Sakura praises. "Thank you for asking me, but no, I will not be the father of your child."
"But–"
Sakura makes a zipping sound in warning. "You're freaking out, I get it. It's okay to be worried. Hell, I'd be terrified out of my fucking mind. But you have a partner that you need to go home to. So you're going to do that and talk to him. Feel free to freak out together. We on the same page?"
Hinata nods obediently, one hand coming up to wipe at her cheeks.
Sakura jumps to her feet, clapping. "Great! Now, move your ass so that I can hug you." Once she has Hinata in her arms, she whispers, "The kid will be lucky to have you, you moron."
Hinata laughs wetly. "Thank you. You're a good father."
Sakura pats her on the back. "I know."
Turns out, Sasuke and Naruto live in a classy neighbourhood.
The streets are lined with fancy, designer two-storied houses on both sides. There is ample driveway, complete with a two-car garage, an outdoor shed, and empty lawn big enough for a gazebo. The houses themselves are all steel and glass and protruding beams, popping colours, terrace gardens, and in some cases, stones arranged in artistic fashion that Sakura has no hope of understanding what the fuck it's meant to represent.
It comes to Sakura, slowly, a dawning realisation. The more she explores of the neighbourhood on her way towards the address Naruto had sent, the more the newfound wisdom settles in her bones.
Sasuke and Naruto are the rich, gay couple.
By the time she's found the correct house, she's in hysterics. Holy fuck. She had never really cared for shitty stereotypes in her life, except for making quick deductions to help her do her job better, whenever required. Bedside manners can sometimes be tricky, after all.
The gates have been kept open, so Sakura strides straight up to the front porch. The evening is cool and crisp, the air bites on her exposed skin even as sweat runs down her back from her walk. The snow has been cleared away; even then, she stumbles a few times in her brand new pair of heels. The decoration is beautiful; red, green, blue, and yellow fairy lights are draped artistically from the roof and the protruding balconies.
Sakura rings the doorbell.
The door swings open to reveal Temari, dressed in a pale pink dress, looking absolutely gorgeous. She grins, stepping forward to place a chaste kiss on Sakura's lips.
"What was that for?"
Temari points up and winks. A mistletoe.
"How many are there?"
"You'll just have to see. Merry Christmas."
Temari leads her further inside the house. They come upon the living room area where majority of their friends are gathered and there's low music playing in the background. She cocks her head; they're Christmas jingles. Naruto and Sasuke bound over for hugs, wearing matching reindeer sweaters and holding glasses of eggnog. Sakura accepts one for herself, wondering if she's stepped inside a soap opera.
Konan and Ino are by the fireplace, the warm flickering flames reflecting on their huddled bodies. Two men and a woman she doesn't recognize are bunched closer towards the large dining table, snacking on cookies. A soft hand falls on her lower back; she turns, Temari shoots up an eyebrow in question.
Where is Itachi?
Or worse, where are Itachi and Izumi?
She doesn't want to know, she decides. It would be rather relieving if Sakura doesn't come across them at all tonight, if possible. Hinata's pregnancy is making her think things, and she honestly doesn't want to argue over baby names for Itachi's future kids.
Fuck.
Fuck this shit.
Sakura is about to make up some excuse when the back door opens. She turns reflexively and wishes she hadn't. Itachi, donned in a thick dark jacket and beanie, grins blindingly when he notices her, coming right over to wrap her in a hug.
"Merry Christmas!"
She parrots it back automatically, distracted by the feel of his firm body against her, the scent of winter and chlorine on his flushed skin, and it's so unfair that she wants to rip herself away, demand him to never, ever touch her again.
Itachi pulls back, hands still on her shoulders. Breathes out, flushed and breathless, "I know who has your name."
His hair is tied in a messy bun under the beanie. He pulls it off with one hand and small wisps of dark hair swing by his nose. His lips are dry from the cold; he licks them. The flames line his face in shadows.
There's white noise in her ears. "What?"
Unfortunately, he leans forward. "Your Christmas gift. I know who has you."
Sakura gathers her bearings enough to process the information. She infers, "So it isn't you."
Itachi's lips thin. "Well."
"Who is it?"
Itachi tears his eyes away, biting down on a smile. "I can't tell you that."
This – this bubble. No, there's no bubble. She thinks there is, but there isn't. Itachi might seem like the only person around but he isn't and Sakura needs to remember that.
She groans, is pretty sure it's unconvincing. "Don't tease me."
Itachi finally, finally moves back, puts some distance between them, drops his other arm from her shoulder as well. He laughs softly, mischievous, and shrugs nonchalantly.
"You know that's cheating," she states, hands on hips.
"And?"
"And I'll tell Ino and she'll screech at you into next week–"
"And you still wouldn't know who got your name–"
"It's only until tomorrow morning–"
"And I'd very much enjoy knowing, might even drop a few clues–"
"You're evil, Uchiha Itachi, pure evil. I never pegged you as one before this–"
Itachi smirks, still somehow warm and soft around the edges, comes to a stand beside her and throws an arm around her shoulder. Sakura's words die in her throat in surprise.
He doesn't seem fazed at all. "I think it's safe to say we don't know each other that well, Haruno Sakura, or should I say Pinky?"
It takes her a few seconds to realise what he just said.
"Oh my god," she wriggles out of his grasp, staring up at him in horror. "Who told you that?"
Itachi bends over in half, shaking with laughter. He looks so proud of himself. "Never reveal your sources."
"No, no, no," Sakura chases his touch, urgent and demanding. "How do you know that? Tell me! Itachi!"
Eventually, he straightens himself out, still grinning, but before he can answer, Temari is there at her elbow, curious. "What's going on?"
"Nothing–"
"Except reminiscing Sakura's high school days–"
"No, not at all–"
"And her phenomenal nickname–"
"What nickname?"
Naruto has wandered over. "What's so funny?"
"Jesus Christ, nothing–"
"Itachi says Sakura has some high school nickname–"
"He never said–"
"–that she doesn't want us to know–"
"It's not that funny –"
"So you admit there is an incriminating nickname–"
"Itachi, just spit it out–"
"No! Don't you dare, I swear–"
"Come on, tell us already–"
"Itachi, don't–"
"It's Pinky–"
"UGH–"
Itachi turns to her, gloating and wild. "I've never heard of something so original in my life–"
Sakura buries her head in her arms, prickling all over. "We were kids–"
"Doesn't excuse the terrible name, Sakura–"
"You know what?" Naruto turns to Temari flatly. "It's actually not that funny. Does it sound funny to you?"
Temari shakes her head. "No. Itachi's standards have probably lowered."
"I don't know whether to be insulted or not," Sakura mutters.
Itachi is still grinning, unaffected and unfazed. "I don't care. Pinky, Sakura, Pinky. And Lee was saying it so seriously, like it was an affectionate name–"
"You met Lee?"
"He came to the store, happened to see my phone on the counter with your chat box open. Asked if the girl I was talking to had pink hair, by any chance–"
Sakura crosses her arms defensively. "I bet there are hundreds of Haruno Sakura with pink hair, there's no way of knowing which one–"
Itachi throws his arm around her shoulder once more, reels her in. "True, but there's only one he knew who became a nurse and talked about Doctor Who."
"Let me just send off a quick message."
Itachi laughs. "Cut him some slack. He looked messed up enough as it is. Had a brand new kid."
Perhaps Sakura should find more single friends. Or friends who aren't either dating, engaged, pregnant, or parents. Granted, she hasn't been in touch with Lee other than following him on social media, but it should still count.
Maybe she should go live on a secret hidden island, with or without Hinata.
Itachi relents, though, when Sasuke declares he's waiting for a proper drink. Sakura steadfastly ignores Itachi's grin as he leaves to go through the kitchen and decides that if Itachi likes getting people drunk, tonight would be a great time to test her limit.
Especially when five seconds later, Izumi emerges down the flight of stairs, smiling and looking pretty in a green dress.
Turns out, it's very anticlimactic, her meeting Izumi.
Then she remembers there's no reason for it to be dramatic except for in her head, where she has a crush on an engaged man, who is apparently not as angelic as she'd first believed. Sasuke makes quick introductions and Izumi smiles politely, saying it's nice to meet her, and then wanders off to Konan and Ino near the fireplace. Temari sticks with Sakura, though, and Naruto excuses himself to entertain the three unknown guests.
Karin stumbles inside fifteen minutes later with Sai in tow, and Sakura feels unexpected relief at the sight of their familiar faces. Karin tolerates her sagging hug with a stone face and Sai hastily detangles himself after five seconds. Then he says he needs to be alone and Sasuke waves him off to one of the bedrooms.
Itachi comes out holding a large tray, filled with glasses.
Sakura takes one, thanks him, and then gulps half of it down when Izumi leans up to press a kiss on Itachi's lips. Upon Naruto's challenge, Karin drains her entire glass, announces she's stepping out for a smoke.
"I'll come with you."
Everyone stares at her. Sakura coughs awkwardly, goes to place her glass on the table, changes her mind, and carries it with her to an incredulous Karin.
"What?" she complains uncomfortably. "I'm not going to smoke, I just – need air."
"Passive smoke," Karin mutters, but resumes walking anyway. "Because that's not harmful."
The air outside hits her with the force of a brick wall. She didn't bring her jacket and even the warm alcohol hasn't made a dent in her body temperature whatsoever. Itachi has made some sort of pink cocktail that he refused to reveal the ingredients of.
Karin leads her down the back porch, near the bushes, snow crunching under their feet. She keeps shooting Sakura weird looks. Once she lights her cigarette, she calmly holds it out in an invitation.
"I really don't want to smoke," Sakura grits out, a good ten feet away.
Karin holds her gaze, takes a lazy drag, hums. "Right. You came for fresh air that's cold enough to freeze your tits. Makes complete sense."
Sakura huffs lightly, refuses to acknowledge the taunt. After a few moments, though, she says, "If you know it's harmful, why do you smoke?"
"What are you? First year psych student?"
The alcohol burns her throat this time; she welcomes it. "Making conversation."
"Well, don't."
"You're one of a kind, you know that?"
"Look," Karin wheels around to face her, glaring. "I came outside to smoke a stick in peace. Now you can either stay there quietly or fuck off inside, which I doubt you will, because clearly you're avoiding something and don't want to say it. I don't care what it is, but I do care that you're pissing on my peace time because you're fretting like a little kid. Not cool, got it?"
Sakura's mouth snaps shut. "Got it."
"Good."
Karin continues to smoke, firmly turning her back on Sakura. Sakura, on the other hand, fiddles with her phone a little, scrolls through her social media feed, messages Lee how he should respect the sanctity of high school nicknames. By the time Karin stomps on the butt, picks it up to throw it in the dustbin, Sakura is still not ready to face Izumi.
She doesn't move.
Karin stops by the steps. Sighs noisily, and trudges over to her. "Alright. What's the deal?"
"It's stupid," Sakura says gloomily.
"I'm sure it is," Karin agrees, flat and annoyed. "But clearly you give a shit about it, anyway, so: what is it?"
Sakura can't. She can't just say she likes Itachi, doesn't know how to behave around Izumi, and Temari seems like a lovely woman. She just can't. It's – stupid and embarrassing and foolish. Besides, this is Karin. As if the woman needs even more excuses to dislike Sakura.
"Look," Karin says impatiently after another bout of silence, "you can't spend the entire night wallowing out here like a moron. Sooner or later, you're going to have to come inside. You don't wanna tell me what your deal is? I'm more than content with it; in fact, I'd prefer it if you don't. I hate drama, and even more getting involved in one–"
"Itachi," Sakura blurts out. "It's Itachi."
Karin – she just stares. And stares and stares, as though waiting for the punch line.
"I kissed Temari and I like Itachi and Izumi seems like a very nice person, and I'm going to accept Naruto's offer of painting me nude, except now I'm self-conscious because Itachi might see it, which is stupid as fuck, because why the fuck would he care how I look naked, except that I want him to, and I feel so horrible about it, I mean Izumi is right there and I'm such a terrible person for even thinking that, and Itachi is going to hate me for it–"
The words die in her throat.
Karin is still as a statue, lips parted in shock, eyes unblinking.
What the fuck has she done?
"Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit," Sakura breathes out, blood draining from her face. "Don't – oh my god, please don't – don't tell anyone. I swear I'm not trying to cause any problems, I'm actually this close to never seeing Itachi again, and if you want me to fuck off, I will, but please, please don't – don't tell him."
Nothing. Not even a twitch.
"I just. I just needed to say it. I'm sorry, I really am. I just, I liked him instantly when we met and then I learned he's engaged, and I thought, you know, I shouldn't entertain any kind of possibility, and I'm not, I swear I'm not. I just have this stupid crush on him and it'll eventually go away, not that – not that he's going to return it, Jesus. I know that. In fact, I'm very happy for him. I'm just being stupid and – and you know I watch all these movies, and I think they probably got in my head or something–"
Karin finally reels back. "What the fuck?"
Sakura lurches forward, nearly begging. "Please don't tell anyone! I promise I won't create any problems for anyone. I swear. You have to trust me. I wouldn't do anything to jeopardize their relationship or my friendship with him. And, and you all."
There's a moment of silence and Karin's eyes flick over Sakura's shoulder, widen even further. Dread coils in the pit of her stomach.
Slowly, very slowly, she turns around.
Temari looks utterly betrayed and wounded.
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