Chapter 7: the thing about love

The thing about love

is that

we come alive in bodies

not our own.

- Let the Great World Spin, Colum McCann

The aftermath of Christmas Eve is such as this:

Sakura's mission of staying away from Itachi as much as possible miraculously coincides with him flying out of the city for his next competition even before the New Year's Eve.

Naruto invites them all to one of his friends' penthouse parties in the heart of the city, complete with free drinks, dazzling cocktail dresses, a variety of conversations regarding the state of the current art industry, film industry, poverty, hospital corruption, tax frauds, and by the time it's three in the morning, Sakura is staring blankly at a guest wearing a plain brown box gown that is somehow meant to represent the Syrian genocide.

She vows never to accept Naruto's invitations ever again, especially when he keeps introducing her as his "latest muse" and everyone takes it so seriously that Sakura is asked to spin in circles, has her hair studied with a sense of scientific curiosity, and people keep asking her about her childhood.

"I lived in a box," she says seriously to a man with heavy eyeliner and artistic beard, who distinctly reminds her of Captain Jack Sparrow. He even has a hat to go with it. "That's why I'm so short."

Uncertainly, a little awkward, he looks her up and down, all of her five feet six inches, and nods nervously.

To the woman in the red backless dress, hair up in a fancy intricate updo, she says, "My guardians had a large farm in the middle of nowhere. I was raised alongside the cattle. I was convinced the white cow with black spots was my mother. You know, I had this feeling that the goat with weird eyes broke her heart."

A small crowd is gathered around her. Someone passes her another glass of blue cocktail. "Naruto found me in one of the abandoned tube stations. No one goes there, except for the rats. I remember fighting them off one night when we only had one dead cat to share among us. It was brutal."

"I was born in a dump," she's saying later, "raised in the worst kind of environment you can imagine for a child. We had to scour garbage bins for food, sew jute ropes into clothes, and my best friend died of untreated tuberculosis. One day, a group of men encroached on our habitat and tried to recruit kids for their shady business. I ran away."

The woman wearing an elaborate headdress winces sympathetically, touching Sakura's elbow in comfort. "You poor, poor soul."

"She is, isn't she?" Ino's lips are stretched thin in a manic smile. "Excuse us for just a moment–"

Ino drags her to the southern glass wall, squeezed between two women making out and a black-lipped man fiddling on his phone. Sakura gives him a once over; he's wearing two layers, black leather underneath a long white coat, lightly muscled, black boots, and a deliberate bedhead.

"What are you supposed to be?" she calls out in passing.

The man looks up. "Hot."

She bursts out in laughter.

Ino tightens her arm and pulls her closer, hissing. "What are you doing?"

Sakura shrugs, turning to look out at the city laid below. It's a beautiful view, streets still lit from Christmas, and cars slugging through the iced pathways. "Having fun."

Ino quirks up an eyebrow in disbelief.

"Oh, come on," Sakura argues. "You saw it! They're clearly looking for some tragic backstory, might as well give it to them."

"Sewing jute ropes into clothes?" Ino repeats exasperatedly. "At least make it believable."

Sakura pins Ino under a hard stare. "There are people out there who are currently doing that. Are you saying that there aren't? I know you were born privileged, Ino, but you can't excuse ignorance–"

"Oh my god, stop," Ino groans loudly. She shakes her head, turns around to watch the view, as well. "I know you're trying to deflect – don't think I haven't noticed you and Temari have barely even looked at one another."

On reflex, Sakura searches the crowd. Sasuke is the nearest to them, talking with a bunch of other men, looking handsome in a fitted pale pink shirt and dark grey trousers. He's even let Naruto style his hair differently; now it falls around the crown in careful waves. Half an hour after they'd arrived, Sasuke had discreetly pointed out Samui to her in the guests: a broad-shouldered woman with ramrod straight platinum blonde hair, oversized cat-eye glasses, and a shimmering silver dress.

Naruto is not further away. He's decided on a pair of harem pants and a long, sleeveless, loose shirt. A colourful scarf draped around his neck in twists, thick bracelets, and a single earring. He's currently in the middle of the rudimentary dance floor with Ro and the host of the party: some sort of industrialist with an avid interest in bad rap. She thinks his name was Bee; she's not entirely certain.

Karin's date, the one who stood her up on Christmas, has made an appearance for this party. He's tall, probably taller than Itachi, and apparently her client. He looks like he lives in the suburbs, got a tattoo done on an impulse, but Sakura kept her mouth shut during introductions. Karin is currently grinding against him near the bar.

As for Temari – she was being flirted on by the dedicated bartender of the night. She's nowhere to be seen and neither is the bartender. Sakura tries not to take it personally.

The last time she saw Konan was with feet dipped in the infinity pool, nursing a glass of wine. She seemed to be having a good time with a married couple.

Turning to Ino, she realises that she has no articulate response to her statement. She thinks of launching into a speech of why the sun can never collapse into a black hole, but Ino beats her to it.

Her friend is suddenly anxious, twisting her fingers together, and avoiding Sakura's stare. "If this is because… because of what I said the other day, in the bathroom… about why I don't really consider asking out Sai–"

"What? No! Jesus, Ino." Sakura studies Ino's side profile, caught in a sudden desperation of wanting to remove that terrible expression from her face. "I'm not talking – she said – I messed up, okay? It's my fault. Don't worry about it, though. I'll – I'll make it up to her. I don't know how, but she said she needs time and space from me, so maybe when I have the chance. When she isn't so mad, I could – I don't know. Take her out on a proper date. Treat her right. Fall down to my knees and apologize in a very public setting."

The last one has her cracking a smile. "Yeah, right."

Feeling better, Sakura throws an arm around Ino's shoulders, smiling cheekily. "You can even help me with it. We'll lay out a path of red roses, scented candles, blindfold her, the whole nine."

"That sounds like a proposal."

"Maybe I will propose," Sakura nods. "If she accepts, you can be my best man."

Ino hums, grinning. "Which makes Gaara her maid of honour."

"Maybe. We'll each have a best man and a maid of honour. Hinata can be mine."

"You should spend less time planning a fantasy lesbian wedding," Ino tells her, "and more time trying to actually date. When was the last time you went out?"

Sakura tries to remember, really tries to remember. "When was that date with the… the guy with the tattoo of the wrong dialogue?"

"Seriously?" Ino stares. "Sakura, that was at least four months ago."

Well, that's a shocker. "Really? Huh."

"Remind me, what was his problem again?"

"I just said it," Sakura rolls her eyes. "Wrong dialogue. Tattooed. Permanently."

"That's the biggest issue?"

Sakura flounders. "Yes? Excuse me, would you go on a second date with someone, let's say, promises you does ballet or something and turns out it's just spinning in circles?"

"That is so not the right analogy."

"Whatever."

Ino hooks their elbows together. "Speaking of, are you attending the Spring Mashup this year? We've got great line-up. Some of my new students are planning a tribute to the character of Sweeny Todd. Thought you might be interested."

Sakura barely holds back an excited squeal. "Are you kidding me? Fuck, yes. Book me a seat."

"Alright," Ino nods. "I'll see you in a bit. I need a drink and I think I might have seen Nara Shikamaru somewhere. I'm not entirely sure, though."

"Who?"

"From my high school," Ino waves her hand dismissively. "Heard he's now a lawyer. Don't brood for too long."

Sakura pushes her away lightly in retaliation. And then she can't help herself. She pulls her phone out, thumb hovering over Itachi's name in the message list. The time reads 11.35 PM. He must be awake, right? Surely, he'd be waiting to wish Izumi at midnight?

Taking a deep breath in, she types out a text, slowly, in case her brain successfully convinces her not to press Send. But it doesn't; instead, the closer she is to finishing her sentence, the more excited and nervous it becomes.

She shouldn't.

She really shouldn't.

She hits Send.

"Fuck," Sakura breathes out, immediately pocketing her phone, heart thumping. This was not the plan. This was so not the plan. She should be finding excuses to stay away, not the other way around.

She places both her palms flat on the glass wall, inching closer. Her breath fans out and fogs the clear view of the city down below. It had snowed earlier in the day, the rooftops blanketed white. A quick glance towards the infinity pool confirms that Konan is still sitting with her feet dipped in. However, now a few of the guests have stripped down to take lazy laps along the edge. Some of them are propped up on their elbows, a glass of drink, enjoying the view, as well.

The water must be warm. She considers joining the growing crowd, wants to feel closer to water in a way that is startlingly new to her.

Her phone vibrates.

What was the dialogue?

"What the Black Pearl really is … is independence."

Yeah, no. I wouldn't go on the second date, either.

THANK YOU! Ino thinks I was being foolish.

Ask her if she'd enjoy bogus tango after being promised the real deal

Sakura laughs, pleased and delighted. The "Hot" guy is looking at her now.

I know right? smh

She thinks that's it. The point of the conversation is done and they can stop texting. Although, what she really wants to know is how his training is, is he enjoying the change in scenery, and whether the fresh fruit plate he'd had earlier (posted on his story) was as delicious as it looked.

The phone buzzes again. With an embarrassing speed, she reopens the chat box.

How's the party?

Weird. Why is everyone obsessed with social causes?

Hahaha!

You're not?

No?

You're in the healthcare sector?

I'm starting to think my profession is giving everyone the wrong idea about me as a person

LMAO

Well try to enjoy it anyway

Happy New Year :)

Happy New Year :)

After ten minutes, Ino returns with a beer.

"It's close to midnight," she says. "Let's gather the others."

Sasuke is already on his way towards Naruto. He grips Sakura's hand in the sudden onslaught of crowd displacement, tugging her ahead. As soon as Naruto notices them approaching, he excuses himself and promptly jumps on Sasuke with a whoop. Realising that Sakura's hand is stuck in the middle of their dramatic reunion, instead of letting her go, Naruto reels her in.

"Jesus Christ, people might start thinking we're a throuple," Sakura hisses, squeezed between their suffocating large frames.

Both Naruto and Sasuke's noses scrunch up. "Ew."

Perfect.

Glaring, and frankly, quite offended, she throws out both of her arms in an attempt to shove them away. Naruto relents, laughing, and pulls in Sasuke properly. Sakura has the distinct feeling that she just got dismissed without a second thought.

The large clock above their heads indicates it is one minute to midnight.

Thankfully, Ino is still visible up ahead. Sakura makes a beeline for her. Konan, Karin, and Suburb Guy have joined but Temari is still nowhere to be seen.

Thirty seconds to midnight.

Fuck it.

Sakura takes in a deep breath.

"NEW YEAR RESOLUTIONS!" Ino yells above the din. "I'LL START! RENT OUT A BIGGER DANCE STUDIO!"

Konan cheers. "APPLY FOR OCEAN POSITIONS!"

"START MY OWN PRACTICE!" Karin adds.

Naruto and Sasuke pop out of nowhere, lips wet and swollen, eyes bright. Sasuke has a large red hickey on his throat and Naruto's scarf has come undone.

"CHANGE MY CAREER!" Sasuke declares.

Naruto plants a kiss on his cheek. "HOLD AT LEAST THREE INDEPENDENT GALLERIES!"

"Ro has his work cut out for him," Sakura remarks, grinning.

"YOUR TURN!" Ino says hurriedly.

Ten seconds to midnight. Jesus Christ.

"Um," she's coming out a blank.

Naruto moans. "Sakuraaaaa–"

"Hang on! Fuck. Okay."

Five.

Four.

"MOVE–"

Three.

"ON–"

Two.

"PROPERLY!"

One.

"DIVORCE MY WIFE!" says the Suburb Guy.

A brief, stunned pause later–

Karin's fist flies just as Sakura elbows him hard in his stomach, the man howls and bends, Konan curses colourfully, Ino tries to hold back Sasuke and Naruto, and Karin's fist lands on Sakura instead.

"HAPPY NEW YEAR!"

"OW! FUCK!"

So the second thing that happens after Christmas Eve is this:

Following her black eye, Sakura captions the hideous image as "war wounds part 2". The tension between her and Karin officially breaks away, with Karin providing a stoic but sincere apology, a stunned thank you for her services, a whispered I trust you to make good choices, and a pointed look.

Itachi sent a text message with nothing but ?! to which Sakura responded with collateral injuries.

Temari is absent.

On the other hand, Tsunade, naturally, is pissed.

"When, when are you going to stop acting so rashly!" she says furiously, hazel eyes flashing under the white artificial lights, shoulders trembling in rage. "A black eye, Sakura? What were you thinking? Who was the jerk this time around, who made the grave mistake of offending you?"

Sakura lifts her chin up. "He was a married man who played my – my friend."

That – sounds weird.

Karin, her friend.

Karin, her friend.

Any which way, it appears to be the wrong answer. Tsunade rounds the large desk, positively stomping. "So you decided to take matters into your own hands? Bravely fought him off? Took up the mantle of chivalry?"

An unintentional snigger escapes her. Tsunade glowers. Hastily, Sakura explains, "Karin was punching him. She just – missed, is all. Trust me, she doesn't need me to do shit. You should see her."

"No, thank you," Tsunade says flatly. "I know you have a penchant for violence, but I can't defend your actions without serious repercussions–"

Sakura swells up in indignation. "I don't need favouritism–"

"Then stop screwing around!" Tsunade snaps angrily. She presses her palm to her forehead, taking deep breaths, collects herself. "You don't need favouritism? Fine. Do you know that employees with a violent streak are put on probation? A mandatory workshop on anger management, report to the HR, and if they clear you, only then you can return for work."

Her mouth goes slack.

Tsunade quirks up an eyebrow in grim satisfaction. "Is that what you want? Because that's what you're looking at right now, unless I pull weight and convince the Board that you acted in self-defence."

"This is not even my fault!" Sakura fights, feeling betrayed. "I was in the wrong place at the wrong time! I got punched by accident! Why do I need to be put on anger management? How am I the one with a violent streak?"

"You punched someone last month and now you show up with a black eye?" Tsunade grills ruthlessly. "Do you think they care what the backstory is? Think about the patients, Sakura. What message is the hospital giving them when the nurse keeps showing up with injuries?"

"I didn't do anything wrong!" Sakura insists loudly, automatically taking a step closer. "Why should I pay for something I didn't even do?"

Tsunade purses her lips. "Then let me take care of it. Don't give me some trite about favouritism. You need me in your corner, so suck it up. Otherwise, you are looking at an anger management workshop."

Sakura stares at the marble flooring under her feet. Her skin is prickling hot, breaths heavy at the sheer unfairness of the situation. Tsunade is right, though. There are only two options: either give Dr. Tamaki the satisfaction of being right or have her record tainted.

"Fine," she says through gritted teeth, focused on the blinding reflections. "Please – ugh. Please take care of it."

There's the hint of a smirk in Tsunade's voice. "On one condition."

Her head snaps up. "What?" Sakura flails wildly, feeling wrong-footed. "What condition?"

Tsunade is smirking. That doesn't bode well.

The third thing that happens after Christmas Eve is this:

Naruto is ecstatic about the black eye. He says it adds character to the portrait, and can Sakura please not cover it up with make-up when she visits his studio? To be fair, she wasn't planning to cover it up at all, especially after the Porn Guy on the tube took one look at her face and changed his carriage. Pregnant Lady looked despondent at his loss but Headphones gave her a relieved half-smile. Bubble Gum put her hand up for a high-five.

What choice did Sakura have but to high-five back, but to let them think she'd been in a heroic altercation and came out a proud winner?

Turns out, Naruto's studio is one of those rustic looking, bare-bricked rundown lofts with ample natural light streaming through the high windows. Which is useless for them because Sakura cannot dedicate full days to him. They settle for meeting on three weekday evenings and all weekends.

The first time Sakura visits the location, Naruto is working on another portrait of a middle-aged pregnant woman. The model is nowhere to be seen, though, and Naruto doesn't even realise Sakura is there until she stands right beside him and taps him lightly on the shoulder. Startling him might not end well for either of them.

He drops his paintbrush anyway.

"At least it wasn't touching the paper," Sakura offers wisely.

Naruto stares blankly for a few seconds. "What are you doing here?"

Excuse the fuck? Sakura plasters on a grin. "You invited me?"

He picks up the brush. "We were supposed to meet on Tuesday."

Sakura stares back. "It is Tuesday."

"Oh."

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barks. A whistle of the train echoes.

Naruto rubs the back of his neck, breaking out in a sheepish smile. "Right. Well, why don't you get ready? There's a door down there you can use to change, beside the washroom. I'll just wrap this up and we can start. Sounds good?"

Oh god, she's actually doing this, isn't she? She's going to strip naked for a painting. If only someone had told her this when she was a teenager, she might have clocked them at the ridiculous notion.

Well, if someone had told her she'd develop a helpless crush on an engaged man, attend fancy parties, and exploit nepotism, she definitely would have suggested them to take a good hard look in the mirror, just in case they have a few loose screws rattling inside their skull.

As she walks towards the non-descript door with trepidation, she takes the time to study the rest of the paintings covering two whole walls of the studio. They're all portraits, every single one of them, and she recognises a few she'd seen on Naruto's profile page. Sasuke's charcoal ones are hung proudly a little away from the others, and Sakura's confidence takes much-needed root.

She stops near the nude portraits right by the heavy door. She tries to see what others see, and after a few minutes of blank staring at miles of skin, blemished and scarred, smooth and dark, smouldering gazes and pouty lips, limbs arranged carefully, hair wild and untamed, Sakura realises that she might know countless dialogues from countless movies and shows, she will never understand what the fuck this is meant to be.

What she does understand, though, is that Naruto is good. Sure, she isn't knowledgeable about any of this, but there's a certain sense of blind trust that begins to form in her mind.

Once she shuts the door behind her, the room is small and has one pitiable stool. A large mirror is covering the back wall, like in the trial rooms, and Sakura begins to strip.

The thing is, is that she'd taken a good hard look in the mirror before arriving to the studio. Not to inspect the loose screws but to ensure everything is – groomed. As soon as the thought crosses her mind, a fresh wave of anxiety rushes from her toes to the tips of her hair. She's not conscious of her naked body, she's not, but being naked in bed together with a partner is a whole different deal than being naked under ambient lights while a man studies her with the sole intention of putting her essence on canvas.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she breathes out, hands bunching her hair, watching her terrified reflection. "Okay, this is – fine. You agreed to it, do not fucking back down. Don't back down, don't back down, don't back down."

Once she's as naked as the day she was born, she notices a grey pile in the corner. She picks it up, shrugs it open, and realises it's a plain robe. That's – well, that's thoughtful of him.

Naruto has replaced his half-finished portrait with a fresh canvas. He's sanitising a small stool and arranging the position of one of the yellow lamps. Sakura approaches tentatively, donned in the robe, and tries to calm down.

"Hey. I'm ready."

Naruto doesn't comment on the robe. He merely proceeds to explain how he wants her to sit, demonstrating it patiently, talking about the general theme he's aiming for, if she can muss up her hair a little, and whenever you're comfortable, take your time.

It takes her a little over five minutes of tapping her feet, twisting her fingers, nervous smiles, before she gets rid of the robe as well. She arranges her limbs the way he'd shown and Naruto is nothing but absolutely professional about the whole process.

After fifteen minutes of him behind the easel, frowning in concentration, she feels comfortable enough to turn around mindlessly, staring at the haloes of the streetlights through the high windows. Snow has settled on the glass, along the edges of the wooden borders, glistening. The sky is still a dark grey but the weather is clearing up, a single star peeking back at her.

Eventually, she forgets that she's naked.

"AGAIN!"

Kakashi's clear voice rings around the empty pool. He's nothing but commanding and Itachi automatically follows the instruction, pumping his muscles harder and harder, working through the exhaustion and the settling ache.

It's another hour later that Kakashi is satisfied for the day. Itachi floats on his back for a few minutes, catching his breath. He wishes it were an open pool; he would have loved to watch the night sky. If he's lucky, there might have been a star looking back.

"Planning to spend the night?"

Itachi lets himself down under the water, and the world disappears. There's nothing and no one but him, the quiet, buoyed and cradled, encased in infinite love. He only surfaces when his body begins to protest, a burning sensation forming in the core of his lungs, muscles falling slack in fatigue.

Kakashi has a towel ready for him. "You slowed down on the twenty second lap and gained momentum three laps later. Can cost you a few positions, at least."

Itachi nods, wrapping one towel around his hips and drapes another around his shoulders. "I realised. I was trying out a new variation of the dolphin–"

"Is this really the time–"

"I know, I know." He sighs and drops down on the nearest chair.

Kakashi joins him. "Show it to me in the morning."

"Yeah."

They sit in companionable silence. Itachi massages his calves absently, studying the stone tiles, mind calm. Sleep creeps in, insidious, the sweet promise of unconsciousness for at least four hours. The accident is almost a recurring nightmare, the closer he gets to the competition, and he wonders if he can slide in a quick phone call with Izumi before he turns in for the night.

She must be busy, though. The starting week after the New Year is supposed to be stressful, everyone catching up to the work they had postponed with a ready excuse even before Christmas had arrived. It's – well, it is what it is. Itachi can't force her to give him time, he can't whine just because he's having a hard time, especially when she is trying her best to prove her worth in a new company. He can't mess it up, he just can't.

Maybe he can watch an episode of Friends to take his mind off of things. Sakura could be awake? He should check.

Kakashi shoves him up when he starts to yawn. "Sleep. You need it."

Itachi trudges off to the showers.

He's in bed, warm and comfortable. The mattress is fluffy and soft, and he knows he's going to need to work extra shifts once he returns to the store. He never should have let Kakashi convince him to splurge. If he doesn't win, he might go in debt at this rate.

The laptop is propped open in his lap, earphones plugged in the phone.

"Which episode, did you say?" Sakura asks from the other side.

Itachi squints at the screen. "Season 5, episode 12."

"Uhh.. okay… here it is. The One with Chandler's Work Laugh."

"That's the one. Ready?"

"Yeah," she confirms.

He presses play.

"This is a huge deal," Rachel is saying on the screen. "Come on, I need more details."

"Did you see it coming?" Sakura says. Itachi detects a small hint of a smirk.

"Monica and Chandler?" he says, forehead creasing. "Actually, no. I never thought they'd make another couple within the group. Rachel and Ross were dramatic enough."

She chuckles. "True. I'm glad they did, though. It acts as a good counterpart."

"If they had put Phoebe and Joey together, I think I would have stopped watching it," he admits. "It would have been too cliché."

"And I like their friendship," Sakura adds.

After a few moments of watching in silence, she suddenly laughs. "Says the guy who's engaged to childhood friend. And has a brother who practically did the same."

"Hey!" he protests but he's laughing, so it's ineffective. She's sort of right, anyway. "Fine. Maybe I like Phoebe and Mike so much that I can't imagine her with anyone else now."

"Me, too," she concedes.

The conversation keeps flowing comfortably, and when Sakura begins to mumble dialogues along with the characters on screen, he automatically joins in, feeling as though he's being stripped bare without paying the price of judgement. Giddy and grinning, he even ventures into trying to copy Sakura's attempts at different voices for different characters.

By the end of the episode, they're both laughing hard, breathless, and Itachi marvels at the ease and sense of security he feels. It's not the feeling in itself that is surprising, but the rate at which he's developing them with a person he met only less than two months ago.

They watch another episode before admitting defeat against sleep.

"Hang on," he says abruptly when Sakura bids goodnight.

"Hmm?"

"You never said how you got a black eye," he reminds her.

Truth is, the first time he'd seen it, he couldn't imagine anyone using violence against her. Sure, he knew that she had the guts to throw the first punch if situation demands for it, but she'd said it was because the man was being a douche. And no, he's not enabling or justifying violence, but he truly believed her without a second thought.

If that's the case, though, it would mean either someone else threw the first punch or retaliated when Sakura did. Both cases are equally astonishing, mostly because he can't imagine Sakura offending another by being a douche, intentional or otherwise, and neither can he imagine her letting them retaliate.

It's hard to explain, he thinks, but at the end of the day, knows for certain that he doesn't enjoy any of the scenarios. Call it a sense of protective camaraderie or chivalry – he wishes he could have been there to stop it or messed up the other person just as bad –

"I got punched," her sleepy voice cuts through his spiralling mind, "by accident."

Did he hear that clearly? "Huh?"

"It was Karin," she explains. "Her date turned out to be a cheating, lying pathetic soul."

She proceeds to detail out how the "Suburb Guy" turned up for New Year's Eve party and Karin seemed like she was having a good time. He was a client, apparently, who stood her up for Christmas.

"Married," she says in disgust.

So Sakura did throw the first hit, except that so did Karin and got her instead because Sakura's hit landed squarely.

He bursts out in laughter. Oh god, this woman.

"It's not funny," she's complaining, "and Tsunade is so pissed, she's making me teach a bunch of kids. Can you believe that?"

"What?" he wheezes out. The laptop begins to slide so he hastily shuts the lid and keeps it on the side table safely. "Context, Sakura."

"Right," she says in a clipped, business-like tone. "Every year, our hospital sends a few staff members to the schools in the district to talk to the kids about the profession. Hinata usually goes because she's wonderful like that, and everyone loves her – seriously, she's so motherly, it's crazy. Anyway, this year Tsunade wants me, me to go in her place. I'm supposed to convince the dumb population of our country that nursing is a dream come true–"

"Is it not?"

Abruptly, she falls silent. Itachi loses his smile when he realises that it truly might be not.

"What did you want to be?" he asks softly in the quiet.

He hears Sakura suck in a sharp breath. "It's stupid. And it doesn't matter."

"Tell me anyway."

A few moments pass. He's holding his breath for some reason.

Her voice floats through the distance almost like a sinful admission.

"I wanted to fly."

He smiles. "Yeah? Where would you have gone?"

There's another brief pause, both surprised and pleased. Grateful, he thinks, which makes his chest tighten.

"To the moon," she says, words hushed.

To the bottom of the ocean floor.

"In deep space."

In the Mariana trench.

"Can you imagine how quiet and peaceful it might be?"

"Yeah," he whispers. "It's the same feeling I get when I'm under water."

"Yeah? Like the whole world just disappears–"

"And you're the only one left–"

"And no one can harm you," she murmurs.

He smiles. "As if nature is created for the sole purpose of loving you."

It's quiet again, a hushed moment, suspended in time. Itachi is no longer in bed but in the depths of the ocean, and Sakura is soaring towards the North Star.

Update cycle? What update cycle?