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Fool's Paradise

by Shelby

summary: she didn't want to be 'Miss Haruno' to him . . . but Sakura, sexy, alluring Sakura. AU. Konoha high school fic.

rating: T (15+)

setting: konoha high (AU)

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"Ah, but let her cover the mark as she will,

the pang of it will be always in her heart."

- from The Scarlet Letter by Nathaniel Hawthorne

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The years went by. Or maybe it was only a year. Miss Haruno couldn't tell. Everything blurred together and became . . . incomprehensible.

Through the engagement to the boring, wealthy man so she could settle down and follow the secret plan of her mother and her mother's mother – have a nice house, a baby, a family – and the long hours of paperwork, Sakura would imagine, and grow lost.

It was strange at first, really. When she became quite bored, without a new novel to read, with her infamous red pen dried up and no papers left to grade, and with Kenji (the fiance) out of the house, she was often left to ponder over her thoughts.

Beautiful gray eyes.

Troubling. It was troubling. Sasuke was gone, her student, he was her student. Had been her student.

But he consumed her thoughts, dragged her deeply into an endless well where he was the only thing that mattered, the absolute only thing, despite the students who were failing and the man who was trying to grow closer but was instead slowly pushed away.

She had felt almost empty without her favorite student, almost wishing she had never felt the slight chapped softness of his lips against her face, had never breathed in his musky, natural scent.

But with her thoughts, Sasuke, in her own special way, had come back.

So Sakura let him.

A frequent dream – Sasuke . . . becoming a businessman now. Going to become an affluent (one of her favorite adjectives since high school) corporate figure who could first represent Konoha City, then the whole country! An amazing feat, nothing too large for him to tackle.

In her other daydreams, Sasuke was a lawyer, looking as handsome as he was in that same suit from a small classy department store, standing and prosecuting the defendant. Arguing his case, pointing out the exhibit A and B, persuading the judge with his charm and intelligence.

But perhaps secretly, though it was quite impractical and made her blush, laugh even, he was her husband, or at least her lover, walking in from a management job at five in the afternoon and greeting her with his warm hands on the small of her back, never quite kissing her lips.

It was unlike Kenji, who always said it, three words, and wanted them back - he was selfish. But Sasuke was different – would be different. He would not need words or something stupid Sakura hated like Valentines cards or roses or scented candles to be happy. He would want her, want her body and her fingers through his hair, his lips against her breast, her lips upon his -

But then reality struck. The fantasy of Sasuke's love (or was it lust?) ended with the small black box.

With the ring – it was gorgeous!, the women in her family proclaimed when they saw 4 carats – and the question. And her words tumbled out, the smiling almost cracking her face, painful.

Sakura, for much of her life, always had the sad strange habit of meaning 'no' when she said 'yes.'

Although . . . it was, truthfully, the best thing to do. The right thing.

"Security, a nice house, nice wedding . . . nice . . . . hmm," Sakura voiced her thoughts as she chewed on the tip of her pencil, barely aware she was speaking to herself in empty classroom 202, the clock reading 4:35.

This year she had agreed to teach in a different classroom, for English, but for British American Literature, strictly a sophomore class.

September was of course, a slow and long first month. Her new students were almost lazy and unlike the talented, willing group she had last year. The sophomore students were a group the young teacher found to be almost overly confident after moving from freshman to middle ground.

Unlike her past class, which was Seminar and motivated, they were not interested in the classic works of Charles Dickens and "Great Expectations"; rather, they were immersed in signing up for sports, school dances and who had 'ummed' who, a childish term for sex.

Was there ever such a time when she was like this? Carefree, listless, unconcerned with schoolwork and a boring teacher.

This thought, of course, led Miss Haruno to picture Sasuke. Young. (Could Uchiha Sasuke have ever been a child once? A very small child? It was incredibly difficult to think about.)

He was only 14, a new tenth grade student. Smart for his age. Plain clothes – but they suited him. Low voice, but it went with his cold heart. Cold from what?

Cold from them, these students sitting before her, snickering at 'gay apparel' and long vocabulary words.

In this way, Sakura was pleased, for she was sure she would always know him best.

She really needed to stop doing this to herself. But the reminders were always there. The teacher would find a way of occasionally walking past her old classroom, 233. She walked by when she was going to lunch, and no, you don't feel bad just because Hatake is teaching there this year, Sakura.

It was true – Kakashi, Mr. Hatake, was a kind teacher, though rather mundane in an odd way, never raising his voice but never needing to from his threatening mask from 'severe allergies and hay fever'.

This Miss Haruno (soon to be Mrs.) found quite hard to believe, though now that they were closer from both teaching the same subject, she never questioned his bizarre lifestyle or excuses. For really, who was she to be calling him strange? She had loved him.

Had loved. It was a mantra she repeated dozens of times when Kenji was kissing her, trying to touch her. Trying.

Classroom 233. It held too many memories. She would always ask Hatake to meet her to talk in the break room – a room really meant for smoking and gossip, not eating and talking like grown-ups should. But when Sakura would have to go there, she could almost feel Sasuke's presence, staring at her, questioning her with wide, endless eyes, eyes too beautiful for a boy.

And then, she noticed him, and everything changed. A perfect, hidden hope almost strangled to death. A hope she didn't even know she still had until it was almost killed.

It was January. A new student was arriving in two days. Her pupils were buzzing with quiet interest at the idea of a 'new kid'; some girls wanting the student to be a boy in means of a potential date; all of the boys desperately hoping they could finally have "a hot babe" in the class for once.

During a lecture on the importance of Shakespeare's 'Coriolanus' in modern literature, he walked in, and as it had done almost seven months ago, the teacher's heart turned.

But this time, it was different, for her heart seemed to never beat again with a wild, excited pulse, passionate and raw.

Maybe it was karma. A joke, for her.

"Now leave me alone . . . Miss Haruno . . . ."

He had silky black hair, shaggy with spiked ends, framing a pale face, dark and simple clothes, a back pack, a sketchbook, the students were murmuring, she couldn't tell them to quiet down -

Dark, deep eyes. The color of night, obsidian, a raven, stone.

"Hello, teacher. I'm Sai."

A fond little nightmare, a miserable beginning fashioned for a book, but certainly not for a life. Not for the life of Miss Haruno.

Because deep within her, something broke free of its hold, a careful and structured hold, whispering evilly, you know Sasuke will never come back for old Miss Haruno, gonna-be-wed Har-u-no. The boy was proof of this thought, a horrible knife digging deep.

Time slowed.

The boys were very disappointed; the girls were somewhat thrilled, though their high hopes fell considerably when he didn't respond to any of their flirtatious gazes.

Just like Sasuke did.

When the class ended, Miss Haruno could barely move. She hadn't said 'class dismissed'. Hadn't put the daily vocabulary word on the board.

Didn't know how to be this person anymore - who really was this Miss Haruno? A teacher with reading glasses and ugly pink hair? A woman who was never happy with anything she was given?

"Miss . . . Haruno."

"What." A voice, the teacher's, equally as sharp as the knife in her throat.

"The worksheet we just did. A question? About the assignment lists, and other things . . . ."

Hesitation, confusion, fear. Why? Why was he here, doing this to her? A stupid kid who just so happened to . . . look like him . . . .

Stop it.

Sakura controlled herself. It was Sasuke telling her to come back to her senses.

"Of course. C-come over to my desk."

And with that, time sped forward, summer became fall, fall to winter, a wedding, a new couple, and the world did not crash down upon her shoulders.

Sakura knew that, even if it did, Sasuke would drag her out and help her, would always be there, not in this boy, but within her, special, protected. She was his protector.

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