Summary: Tobirama grumpily reads the next chapter of his book and Sakura gets called a dachshund.
Chapter 2: Mutual Respect
Today is road trip day and marks the start of the second weekend for weddings. He is proud and dismayed to report a completion of 15% for this trip's event log and 20% of his book. He must count all victories, no matter how small. But today is an exceptionally good because today he gets to indulge in the best of ways.
Today he gets a beach day.
The Land of Fire wedding seasons are commonly held in a collective archipelago called Paradise Islands. The weather is fine, the greenery is finer, and the options for venues is optimal for Konoha socialites. Combined with the accessibility in relation to the capital, it is idyllic.
And their shared room is found within an easy distance from the majority of their scheduled events (like the one from last week), so easy they can walk. For those who wanted a unique destination, like the iconic waterfall wedding or a the one-of-a-kind, edge-of-the-world wedding (both on their agenda for this stint), their guests would have to drive or ferry or shuttle. Today he booked a sleek vehicle to drive to the edge-of-the-world and his excitement is peaking, coincidentally coinciding with each fast bend he takes.
A cruise in a luxury convertible with optional soft-top and powerful engine in the open warm air around the blinking emerald landscape and glittering expansive sea? Bliss. And on a road that spans several islands connected by kilometers and kilometers of bridges, curves, and occasionally cliffside turns, followed with a swim to a serene destination? Absolute bliss.
It is nearly impossible for him not to be happy.
Sakura is less enthusiastic about the car (its appeal being somewhat lost as the passenger), but tolerates his 'lead foot' and 'need for speed' method of driving, as she calls it. She is even smiling with a semblance of happiness, with her eyes sealed shut against the whipping wind and her hands holding her hair away from her face.
The day was flawless; ideal weather, the water a soothing temperature, good roads, great company, and a promise of fresh fish.
They arrived to the event several hours early with the specific intention of swimming till the ceremony (or until they dropped from exhaustion as Sakura suggested would happen if they made a competition out of everything). He pulled in a distance from the designated parking and locked their items in the trunk before he secured the keyset in a waterproof container.
"Race you?"
"Why? You'll lose little dachshund."
He didn't wait for her response before he was sprinting towards the waves, his heels hounded by her playful ruffs. He made it to the water line and gracelessly hopped over the wave, trying to get deeper, faster, and safer before she caught up with him.
Her laughter was ominously trailing him. He knew that she had caught when she went silent, signaling her intake of breath before the tackling lunge. She bodily propelled him to the water with that strangely overwhelming strength she possessed, giggles returning, joined by his chuckles.
Her voice carried loudly in his ear, victoriously edged with satisfaction, "I may not have amazingly long legs like you, but I do have contempt for losing!"
He may have temporarily gone down in the shallows, but it hardly tripped his stride before he was recovered and back to wading out towards the depths. He had her by the back of the knees and she had him by his neck; and both horse and rider surrendered to the pull of the wild blue water. Once he could no longer walk, they took to alternating swim styles, making way to the preassigned landmark.
They swam lap after lap around jutting masses, racing and then resting, allowing the sea to float their bodies until they were ready to race again. Then they went under, diving over and over again. Touching a specific rock or boulder, sometimes in a sequence combinations, or making it to the bottom before darting to the top, vying for any touch-to-top game victory.
Sakura was tenacious, pushing herself to beat him, but her limbs were at a disadvantage, and he was practically flying with primal stamina, completely unhindered by wind or water.
She put so much into staying level with Tobirama, to function as a true competitor, that she even lost the breath holding contest from the prior excursions, which she has always won before. (If he could have let her win, he would have. Now he will without a doubt be playing a breath holding game every day to prove she is, indeed, much much better than him at it.)
He is a gracious winner (particularly when compared to some who he won't mention), so he doesn't gloat too much about today's untarnished record. He imparts sagacious wisdom, "you win some, you learn some," before swimming under to avoid her responding splash.
Her altruistic response continued with a poorly attempted drowning and more forced piggybacking (or otter hugging as his feet didn't presently touch the bottom).
While trapped in a hugging floating backstroke with Sakura, Tobirama thought of his place in the here and now.
Sun and sea having a refreshing quality, an energy shared with the body and spirit, sustaining and nourishing and replenishing. He absorbs as much as he can, taking warmth from the embrace too. The tranquil ocean song of waves and birds are what fills his ears, along with Sakura's (sometimes) soothing voice. The agitated energy from the week was spent on contest and released into the depths as wild entropy, now it is time to feel the weightlessness of calm waters.
Dives are shared now, no more contests of speed. Sometimes he pulls her one way, sometimes she pulls him the other. They go under to inspect an interesting formation, a school or unique fish, and crawling critters. She goes unequivocally manic when she spots a Northern Pacific starfish making way across the clear ocean bottom, then somehow ups her insanity, breaking past her previous threshold with frightening ease, when she sees a sea turtle.
She goes rigid and clingy at suspicious looking fish with silver sheens, which he finds cute. She spends that time hugging his back and looking disdainfully at the creature, as if it is somehow invading her home rather the exact opposite. He bares the job of shield and supports her until she finds her trust again. When there are less exciting things to see or do, he holds his breath and watches the tendril like wisps of hair that have escaped Sakura's braid in mute fascination. The water a gentle imitation of the wind. And her pink coral hair providing him a personal study of color theory, the color morphing and remolding under his observation when lacking then gaining full ultraviolet exposure.
Fulfilled of the beauties before him and somewhat tired, he even looks at his own arm hair, too short to be wispy, but long enough that it is still an entertainment to watch. The longer he relaxes and floats and swims the more at peace and centered he feels.
When the slack tide starts to transition back to the more turbulent waves it alerts Tobirama to take notice of the sandbar, where a handful of people have congregated, looking calveless and inpatient.
He motions to the horizon and Sakura takes the cue, both begin swimming leisurely to the car to freshen up and don their full ensemble and accessories (as minimal as they are in this case).
The time in the ocean was spent in silent companionship, with chats being prompted by discovery and not the necessity to fill silence. The time to the car is spent talking about how utterly starved Sakura is, how excited he is to eat, and how long will the ceremony last until the reception? Did we pack granola or mix? No, why would I? Because we have a kitchen, and stocked it full of snacks? Why didn't you pack the food, then? Et cetera ad infinitum, until they were dry enough to easily brush off the collected sand before putting the rest of the attire. Then they made way to the sandbar, weaving in and out of shallows to waist deep water until they arrive at the edge-of-the-world.
As a permanent offshore bar and wedding destination, slats have been elected between other minor landmarks to achieve a relatively shallow journey from beach to bar. But this couple wouldn't accept anything except sunset vows, so parties were previously informed they could arrive very early for the walk and avoid the swim or swim to location at the designated time to account for the change in tide.
Sadly, somehow, in some way, both he and Sakura missed that there was a secret option number three, an alternative transport provided to guests for ferrying so they wouldn't have to swim or walk. With dripping mortification, she is kindly informed, while he listened like a moist gloomy shadow, that enough people refused to attend if they had to swim.
And all of this would have been made clear if they parked in the correct area where signage had been posted…
Thankfully, they aren't so out of place after the entire party is gathered in attendance, at least 1/5th of the guests waded and/or swam to the bar as he and Sakura had. She navigates through his mortification, drawing attention towards herself and away from his burning ears, filling in for his failing voice until he can acclimate to his chagrin and speak with confidence again.
When the ceremony starts, he is hazily aware of Sakura leaning on his arm, the cooling water lapping his ankles, and the lighting of touches behind them. It is not intentional that he checks out during these things, but he does tend to focus on the better parts, the views, or he wanders in thought to matters he finds more engaging.
The ceremony is as they all are, bonds and vows and love, some tension breaking jokes, applause. He may have been moved by such declarations at one point, but now it's as common and repetitious as leaves in a tree. But he will remember this day better than most due to his ocean swim accompanied with the majesty of the setting sun. The blue and yellow bleeding seamlessly into vibrant oranges and pinks until it all becomes muted in the final descent of the sun.
(And he will not acknowledge any irony in his statement nor apologize for it. A declaration of love is no competition to natural wonders like dust and dawn. Statistically speaking, sunrise and sunset are rarer that leaves, therefore he is deductively sound.)
More torches are lit and the couple's final declarations pitter out into a group celebration. Then, as they do during such things, they hurried up to wait. Eventually the guests are loaded onto the watercraft that meets party goers at the sandbar, and as trapped as they are by the captain's schedule, they do as they do and enjoy as much as they can until their eventual escape back to base for recuperation.
When he does retire that evening, his head doesn't manage the settlement into the plush pillow before he is out, he is sure he fell asleep during the fall.
The next day is a time of yet another wedding ceremony. Less travel and physical exertion, less leisure in the surroundings, more social energy. And it was dragging. This bride's parents were close with his own father in business and clan affairs, and while the newlyweds were not required to talk with him, he was required to show an amount of consideration to their newly combined families.
He was… appropriate. Truthfully, they were a fine and friendly family, plentiful in the way of love connections. Respectable in his topical estimation. Nothing to make them identify as liberal or conservative, only a variable mix of different minded people, blended naturally and comfortably. Still, it was a family with a long lineage and traditions and elders charged with steering family towards those traditions. It was prudent to be wary of sharing or being strongly opinionated.
This was one of those times where he had to play team leader, Sakura acting as an ornamental lubricant to the introductions. She managed for her part, fielding questions about their marriage or plans for children while he took on the topics of connections, business, deals and schedules. She makes it as much fun as she can, providing answers that were unoffensive by themselves, but were absolute harmless nonsense.
"We are waiting on space shuttle tickets for an out of the world wedding."
"We plan on adopting college students, avoid all that messy children rearing."
"Our parents are finalizing the grandchildren visitation contract, it's been delayed due to disagreements on allowable haircuts and expected weights. My dad is holding out for bowl haired chubby grandchildren."
"I'm hoping for two and a half children, a perfect nuclear family. Two tall boys after their father and one very short girl after their mother."
"I was thinking of cloning myself to raise in a controlled environment to document the variations." (He almost scoffed out loud for that one.)
"Once we've attended enough weddings, we are going to take one detail from each and have a mega wedding. I think we are halfway there already!"
When the polite conversation shifted to historic lamenting and how it was better back in the day, he had his turn at coming up with entertaining anecdotes. But, only in his head. The lack of space between sentences from his revolving talkative compatriots meant he spoke less than two words together before they were off again. And when they got going, he was resigned to yes/no answers and breathing, rather than real opinions or input. Which he further diluted to the same 'ah' as a neutral affirmation of his listening rather than his actual agreement to conversations.
After an especially dated conversation, Sakura pulled on his arm and pointedly looked at him. Her countenance lifeless, like a doll. Wide, glassy eyed and perfectly stoic expression with a creepy head tilt. Her signal that she lost too many brain cells to continue functioning.
"Alright, alright. Let's go say our final goodbyes."
Her head lulled rhythmically to the opposite direction as she allowed him to direct her like a toy. Another signal, he was on his own from here on out.
If there was any other delay, he was sure she would likely go limp for carrying. By the time they walked through the hotel lobby doors she was almost fully glued to his side, in complete surrender to 'lead me or I'll fall, I don't care,' mode. He is in a better state, energy wise, so he does hold her up and lead her with consideration.
That ended when they entered the room, and he let her go where she will, floor or otherwise. She stayed on her own two feet, making landing in the bathroom with a sea leg swagger. He is more graceful on his journey to the kitchen, but not by much. As the point for this mission, he did his duty and kept his cool with direct purpose. Now that they are safely in home base, he can allow himself to drop his façade and assess the damage. His throat is raw, his head pounding, and his body tense in a way that makes moving painful.
He needs to drink his weight in water.
The swim and boat ride wore him out physically yesterday, but today was a marathon of mental gymnastics and day drinking that meshed with the evening. And he hardly imbibes, so the dehydration and weird limbo of sober to buzzed had the pesky little drummer boy playing double time in his head. Combining that with the requirement of social filters, his opinions made meek and submissive by clan and cultural and political standards, the necessity of his performance, each one is just another drag. Another pile of dust to build upon his mountain of discontent.
This is what he hates, and accounts for the actual reason he is here on this island. To represent the clan's agenda and ideals (specifically, the ones his father believes in). Attending a wedding, dancing and drinking and socializing, are all acceptable in moderation. But the excess. The transactional nature of the events, using them as a tool for personal gain, for opportunities to connect with persons who would otherwise never make themselves available for negotiation or business deals, that is what he hates. To taint someone's celebration of love for his family's gain…
When he stands for the collective, the community.
But perseverance is key, for every clan accomplishment there is another step of allowance towards his goals.
After he pulls himself from staring into the void, se drinks glass after glass, until his stomach protests at being full. He hates this too, being thirsty but unable to drink more, the physical limitations preventing him from satisfying himself.
When Sakura joins him in the kitchen, she drinks water in the same, comically similar, fast rehydration method.
They settle in the same stance too, two arms leaning against the countertop and tiredly staring straight ahead at nothing, patiently waiting on their stomach to give space for more water. He takes another swig to test and finds he still can't drink more, but is still thirsty.
He retreats to the bathroom for his time of relief and when he exits her voice carries him to the common area where he spots her rag dolled on the sofa.
"Jeopardy?"
"Yeah."
"Snacks?"
"Full?"
"Eh."
"Yeah."
The rest of the night was spent lounging on the couch with popcorn or mix, vegging restoring some latent energy to be wasted on watching too many episodes before slinking off to bed. What a weekend.
What a week... These last four days were a synchronistic disaster with remote work software updates causing issue after issue with person after person. As fast as he can assess a root cause or corrective action, there are two more problems to fight.
And before he could remember to blink it was Thursday and they were complacently ordering take-out.
Or, she was, and he hadn't paused for a while now.
At least he was no longer fielding calls making it possible for him to join Sakura in the common area, rather than being lonesomely sequestered to the desk in his room.
And this room was filled with the cozy scent of savory takeout and the last rays from the setting sun. Containers littered the low table for easy rotation while Sakura watched her trivia show, sitting face level to his knees, routinely resting her head against him when her neck or shoulders got tired and eating her food with lazy efficiency. She was patiently waiting for him to finish work before making conversation. He himself is still on his computer, working, distantly taking part in answering when she had her mouth full or is taking too long to answer.
It's been over a week since he swore he would stop sticking his neck out for her, but somehow, each time she found a way around his declaration. A regional celebratory necklace, a scarf, stray hairs or fluff, collars to adjust, and ties to fix.
This time it is a nice and crisp piece of fish causing him to forget his resolve. He is leaning (straining neck and all) to reach the offered food like a robot following a command prompt. At one point she withdraws the offered food slightly, which causes him to creep closer and closer until he notices her mischievous smirk, reminding him all over again.
He leans back (not pouting) and ignores her remaining tithes.
The last chapter he managed to read in that book was all about mutual respect. Do they both listen and hear, practice honesty, follow advice, respect set boundaries… He hasn't had a sufficient amount of time to contemplate his general relationship with Sakura (or anyone else) in regards to respect as he is resolved to do it only when bored and this past week was anything but a bore. Or rather, when it was boring there was too much social or environmental hindrance. Or he was simply suffering from brain rot.
But it has been several days of Sakura's buffoonery not respecting his newly declared neck boundaries and his tolerance is thinning. And while there is a of reciprocity of opinions and understanding between the two of them, truths and adjustments too, he sometimes wonders if she does truly hold him high in her esteem.
Overall, jokes and small pranks spell disrespect to him.
But not always. His mother, brothers, and occasionally his father all do the same little tests of his patience, working at breaking his stoic facade. He has a frenemy that gets away with smallish comedy acts as well, although infrequently. Has she somehow slid right into the selective and exclusive group he tolerates exemption? Without due notice?
This puts him in conflict on where he falls on opinion, was she being disrespectful or impish and harmless.
Regardless of how he assigns her intentions, he has had enough and snubs her attempts at gaining his attention. He ignores her rubbing his feet or calf, poking his knee, pulling his trousers. Instead, he only minorly adjusts his legs and continues typing away. The clack-clack-clack a smidgeon louder than before.
When she can't entice him forward, she changes tactics. Sakura gets up from the floor and shuffles until comfortably situated on the couch. Like a force of nature, she bodily adjusted his legs to assist her ascend then causes his pelvic to sway roughly on his end of the cushion, so much so that he looks like he is dancing very badly in his seat. She hums at him, presenting the fish again, close enough that there is no neck extending, close enough for him to smell briny minerals and faint charcoal of the fish. When he doesn't act, she hums again and brings the bite closer still and waits.
He is not petulantly turning his nose up at her, that is his neutral resting face. No, instead he is just outright ignoring her.
She shifts and shifts with her knees aligning perpendicular to his own legs, maximizing the waves she is creating on the plush cushions, and displacing his fingers mid-sentence on his keyboard. The gibberish on his document result in the decidedly cold look he graces her. She returns with her best admonished expression with matching contrite posture in surrender and she sweetly offers him the fish again.
He keeps the chilly demeanor, but boredly accepts the fish by opening his mouth for her to stretch and accommodate him. (She carefully and successfully navigated the mackerel around lips and teeth to tongue and cavern without the utensils bumping or grinding unpleasantly). It would be a romantic gesture if he wasn't admitting a potent unhappy aura and she a shy and apologetic air.
"Sorry."
He chews and swallows and waits a beat before he levels her with his most unimpressed and disappointed parent stare.
"Stop."
"Okay, okay. I'll stop. I'm sorry. I am being bratty."
She looks like a kicked puppy while she explores the containers for more fishy bites. There is another piece armed for him, "Forgive me? I wasn't trying to upset you. I promise not to tease."
He outright scoffs at that, a sneer painted on his face. "Then why are you still wearing that fatuous pendant?"
Her hand shoots to hover over the enameled bird that she has worn daily since the unveiling, and that puppy remorse melts and morphs into shock and baffled concern. She seems to hesitate but deftly removes the decoration and places it on the low table to keep company with the food. Its jeweled eye catching the changing lights from the television so that his eyes continuously register its twinkling presence.
She returns to loading food for him and offers it to him.
He narrows his eyes in final warning but accepts her apology and gesture and allows his discontent to flow away, signaling so by opening his mouth to receive another peace offering without the added difficultly of navigating his teeth.
Her show transitions into the next episode and he thinks they will naturally fall back into how it was just moments before, she will feed him and he will finalize his work, and this time without her games. Perhaps when he is done, they will go out this evening to walk the beaches or attend the hotel gym. Maybe get some of the sweet ice she likes at the pier.
He is clicking again, shifting his focus back to work when she finally speaks up again, her voice just loud enough to carry above the sound of the television, the tone is without hesitation, but wistful and a touch timid.
"Concentration, strength, and simplicity."
"Hum?" He accepts another taste and spares her a fleeting glance, confirming that even if he is annoyed with her, their little tiff is over, and he is listening.
"That's what the snowy egret represents."
He drawls a guarded and uncaring, "how sweet," and clicks away on his keyboard.
"I bought the pendant because it reminded me of you." Her voice still has a sadden note to it. And her doe eyes are fixed on him, but lowly at his shoulders or chest, certainly not on his face or eyes.
The change is palpable. Immediately, he can see that whatever just occurred, it had some meaning he missed. Her feelings are hurt, genuinely hurt. What it is, the cause, the meaning, he isn't sure.
With deep inhale and cleansing sigh, he closes his laptop and places it to the side table before giving her his full attention. The pull between her eyebrows causes a small knot to manifest in his suddenly dry throat, which is hard to swallow around, but he manages to gruff out a throat clearing "ahem," and a second more sincere "how sweet," finally accompanied with "I'm sorry." He may sound like a stuttering engine, but he wants to focus on terminating the little spat as well as he can without stretching the unhappy moment.
Even if all he really wants to do is unwrap what he doesn't understand, to question her and pick about the events that caused this transition. To know exactly what has happened and how to avoid it in the future, but it's easier to apologize and move on for now, he can ask later when she doesn't look so close to crying. He gives her knee a friendly pat, the whole of his hand eclipsing her knee, before he reaches forward to grab his own container to eat.
Her voice sounds wetter than usual when she speaks next. "I wasn't making fun of you, Tobi. I would never do that to someone I care about. I mean, I would never intentionally do that. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I was being inconsiderate. I didn't realize. I… I really do like the pendant, but I won't wear it again."
He feels her responding awkward pat on his knee, the whole of her hand just touching the outer edges of his knee it's so small. Her face open in her earnest confession, her eyes shiny and distorted by the gathering tears swelling up.
Before she takes her hand away, he grabs her hand while simultaneously putting his food back down. Compelled to mend the breech between them now, before she puts on her pretend face until can go off alone and wallow in self depreciation and hate and tears, as he knows she is inclined to do when she feels guilt or failure.
He drawls her into a loose hug, allowing her to escape if she isn't ready to confront her own feelings. But she acts touched starved and embraces him with gusto, quite literally causing his lung to gush out inhaled air.
Her clinging gives him time to ruminate and when she has loosened her hold, he knows what to say.
"You are the most considerate person I know. You were being playful, and I overreacted." He leans forward and grabs the ornament with her still hugging like a baby koala. He is able to maneuver the needle between folds and secure it back in place with only one hand, an amazing example of his dexterity considering he didn't accidentally prick her. "The pin doesn't bother me."
Sakura draws her hand from around his center to hold the enameled piece, nodding her head in acceptance. Hear tears haven't spilled yet, but it seems more and more likely to happen when her glassy eyes look at him with uncertainty. The hand that held her when he leaned forward pats her back soothingly and reassures her again with, "it's okay."
She gives the smallest nod. "I'm sorry for…"
He interrupts, "it's okay. I understand." He pulls her again for a hug.
He unequivocally does NOT logically understand. How and why she almost cried, why she feels so small and pitiful in his arms with her curled shoulders and buried face, especially when he knows her to be a strong-willed person, why something so small became so big. But he does understand being human and he does understand making mistakes.
And perhaps she tests the waters to his boundary's limits, but… yeah. Yes, they have mutual respect. In all the ways that matter and in the stupid ways that don't.