Validation and Affirmations

Sakura's not sure how she ended up carpooling with Sasuke to and from work daily. She remembers the first time happening right after he first saw her cry after a patient's death. The day afterwards, Sakura's pounding headache had her running out of her shared apartment, hair in disarray and clothes not quite matching from the morning rush to her usual bus route. Instead, Sakura finds her supervisor in all his understated glory waiting for her outside with his Bentley.

Every morning and evening for the past month, Sakura spends the thirty minute car ride chatting away while focusing on all the "can nots" of this arrangement. She fills the spring mornings with weather forecasts, patient progress reports, updates on her roommate's latest antics, and her anxiety regarding the ever-encroaching Psychology Boards. These topics are safe. The conversations will be carefully chosen. They have to be.

Otherwise, Sakura might tread onto further unknown territory. For she cannot know where he actually lives. Sakura cannot know more about his family. Sakura cannot know if Sasuke is in a relationship, or if he is married but doesn't wear a ring. Sakura cannot ask if her shared brownstone is actually on Sasuke's commute. She cannot wonder aloud why Sasuke is suddenly much more interested in spending more time with her; not talking more often, but simply being in her company with increasing frequency. She can't know any of these things.

Sakura is a therapist. She knows behavioral changes like the one they share in their commute are important. How important? Well, that would require talking and words and the transparent truth; All the things Sasuke gives to everyone else but her. He can be so untouchable sometimes, especially when all Sakura wants to do is touch. There's something invisible, tying together gravity between her fingertips and Sasuke's body. Some stitch is begging to be completed, bringing Sakura's hands in contact with all that Sasuke keeps hidden under layers of cardigans, eyeglasses, and long hair.

Tonight's brilliant twilight helps draw Sakura's eyes away during the drive home. Her voice fills the air with mindless information: how she's having a hard time managing her client scheduling, how she hates running evening groups, how ready she is to knock some sense into some of the psychiatrists at Konoha Med for not reading through her wonderful, WONDERFUL evaluations. That last one earns her a crooked smile from Sasuke.

She notices how easy it is to notice the care in his eyes now. Sasuke fits in very well in this setting: all chiseled cheekbones, wide shoulders, and fine cotton cardigans surrounded by the stitched leather interior of his deep grayish blue sedan. That smile, however, is not as comfortable, not as habitual, not as practiced. There's something rough around the edges, somewhere in his eyes. Beyond the black rims of his glasses lies all the readily visible truth he hides. If only Sasuke would let someone in. If only he would let her in…

"Haruno," Sasuke gets her attention, "we're at your place."

Sakura is caught off-guard, the miles between the metropolitan downtown area and her little shared home flew past her. Her shock must be obvious since contentment is written all over Sasuke's eyes. The slight wrinkle where his cheek meets the bottom of his eyes is visible. Sakura busies her fingernail, scratching at the stitching of her backpack to take her mind off the urge to reach over the car's center console. Her nerves are screaming at her to smooth out that wrinkle, setting Sasuke back to pure perfection, leaving no proof of her existence amongst the beauty and luxury.

"Thanks for the ride," she breathes out at the same time she unbuckles her seatbelt.

From the corner of her eye, Sakura sees him nod and end their time together: "See you on Monday, Haruno."

She pulls her backpack on and tries to rush into her building. It probably looks like Sakura can't wait to get away from Sasuke, but that is the farthest thing from the truth. He leaves only until seeing her enter inside. Sasuke's car is fancy – much too fancy to be safe here in her neighborhood. Nothing has ever happened to her while living in the south side of Konoha, but one never knows, right?

She must be going nuts, though. She absolutely must be just running through the adrenaline in her brain. There is simply no way in hell that she cannot find her keys. Her lanyard is brightly colored and adorned with three different keychain plush figures. It should not be this difficult to find. In her desperation to get inside and get Sasuke's careful gaze back on the road, Sakura sits on her stoop and pulls her backpack apart looking for her keys. Pens, sticky notes, her pocket planner, personal and work phones, hair ties, three lipsticks, a diagnostic manual, her laptop, an expired Ichiraku's lunch combo coupon, her ID card, and her coffee tumbler. But no keys.

'Shit.'

"You okay, Haruno?"

Sasuke is close, much too close, as she looks up. Mere centimeters away from her face, Sasuke is kneeling down on her stoop looking at the disarray she has strewn about.

"My keys," is the only thing she can think to say. "I can't find my keys." With no center console between the two and no workplace formalities to keep up with, Sakura is sure her synapse are frying right at this second. The bass from the ambient city noise deepens and the spring evening sky swirls in her visual periphery.

It is after work hours. They are not at work. They are not at a work event. They're not on the way to work. Sasuke is not her supervisor right now. Sakura is not an extern right now. Right now, they are just two twenty-eight year olds wearing matching blushes across their cheekbones.

Sakura doesn't quite catch what Sasuke is saying, but he pushes her personal phone into her hands while he busies himself with fixing her backpack.

"Your roommate," he instructs. "Text your roommate and see if she's home."

"Right."

It's 7:34PM. Tenten's spin class down at the gym just started. Shit. And Sakura's not completely sure if Tenten has a private workout scheduled afterwards. Double shit. Doesn't hurt to ask, though.

Sakura deduces from Tenten's voice-to-text messages that her roommate will be heading home after her class to help her. In about 45 minutes.

"What's Tenten say?"

"She's coming back in like an hour. I think I left my keys in the kitchen."

"Hmm. No can-opener in the Haruno home?"

Indignant green eyes meet Sasuke's twinkling black gaze. Sakura can see the clear teasing nature behind his glasses. He is unusually forthcoming with his mirth. She bets she could get him to smile; not just an awkward smile, but a real one. Sakura chooses to keep the tone light.

"Sorry. Not all of us have the money for the finest goods life has to offer."

"A can-opener, though?"

A simple shrug from her and there it is. A blushing smile from Sasuke, lips push against cheekbones. More lines and wrinkles get in the way of his sculpted face. More proof that Sakura was there.

Sasuke catches her staring, but only because he is doing the same. Has Sasuke also placed some small mark on her? Has he deepened the wrinkle between Sakura's eyebrows? Are her laugh lines more prominent? Are her eyes worse for wear after trying to memorize every detail? Are her lips developing creases from how often she bites her tongue around him? Is her voice more unsure now after stifling her confession for so long? How else will Sakura's body show the mark of all of her desperate waiting.

Sasuke gets up, backpack in hand, as he makes his way over to the Bentley's passenger door.

"Hey! Where are you going with my stuff?"

"I know a good diner near here," he calls out to her without a single look in her direction. He throws the backpack into his car and locks it.

"What do you mean?"

He turns back around. Sasuke is oozing confidence, but Sakura can see how unstably it sits on him. His eyes are not making eye contact with hers, golden hour glare making it impossible to read him. Shoulders tense, shallow breathing, and he is digging the heel of his Chelseas into the sidewalk.

"You know." A single eye roll from Sasuke.

Nope. She's not letting this go unspoken. If he's going to act dumb, Sakura will play his game. She's done. No more loose rules. Sakura paints that clueless look and leaves Sasuke's statement in the air, begging him to continue with one tilt of her eyebrow.

A hard swallow draws attention to his Adam's apple, and then:

"Like on a date."

"Okay."

There was no beat, no thought, no shock to think through. Sakura knew. Something deep down in her nerves knew her want wasn't unrequited. And her immediate answer means that now Sasuke knows that Sakura knew. A double spun web and now both of them know the other spider was caught in their threads. Comfortable, habitual, practiced.

END OF CHAPTER SEVEN.