The Grand Scheme of Things
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Chapter Two
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Sakura squeezes onto the train just as the doors slide shut. She collapses loudly into a nearby seat, dropping her bag and slumping far enough that her coat rides up to hide her neck. The Freshman sitting opposite thinks she looks like a caricature of two dwarves – one on the shoulders of the other – and promptly posts a witty tweet that is later used by Bill Weiner as the basis for a screenplay that no one will read except his wife.
Sakura likes trains. She likes the rhythmic sway of the carriages; the resonant echoes of the wheels against the track; the gaudy fabric of the seats, reminiscent of multi-coloured, visual 'floaters'. She also likes the look of the man five seats over, clearly asleep and bent in half over a lurid orange book. It is her first time seeing Hatake like this – dressed in a smart (if not slightly rumpled) blue suit, hair slicked back from his temples (falling out of place), glasses sliding off his nose (what?! Since when?); his posture completely contrary to his appearance. The woman sitting adjacent eyes him warily, tense and alert in case she has to prevent him from slamming into the floor, making odd jerking movements every time the train shudders. After a few minutes Sakura decides to put her out of her misery (okay, fine, maybe she just wants an excuse to talk to him), and makes her way over.
"Um...excuse me?" Sakura puts a tentative hand on his shoulder and gives it a gentle shake (she has no ulterior motives whatsoever. None at all). "Kakashi?" She feels self-conscious calling him by his first name. "Mr. Hatake?"she amends.
Hatake's eyes snap open as the book slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. His glasses slide off his nose and come to rest on his chin.
"Ah'm 'wake." He clears his throat. "I'm awake."
Sakura does her best not to think about how stupidly sexy his voice sounds – deep and gravelly from sleep (so what if she's a little turned on? It's not a big deal).
"Hi," she says.
Hatake blinks blearily and turns his head, noticing her for the first time.
"Oh. It's you."
"It's me," she says, stupidly, awkwardly. Silence. "You were about to fall over." Somehow it's important that she explain the context of their meeting. Things are not off to a good start.
"Thanks."
The train pulls into the next station. The Freshman gets off and trips on his shoelace. A mother pushes in a gurgling toddler strapped firmly to its' pram. Hatake picks up his book, dusts off the cover, and slips it into his leather satchel. He tucks his glasses into his pocket. An alarm beeps. The doors slide shut. The train begins to move.
"So," says Sakura, grasping for conversation, "what's with the get-up?"
Hatake looks down at his suit. "What, don't you like it?"
"I never said that. The glasses age you."
"I was going for 'dignified professor'."
"They aren't…fake, are they?"
"You wound me." He pauses. "But yeah, they're totally fake. 20/20 all the way." Then, pausing again, he asks: "Do they really make me look old? I mean geriatric?"
Sakura rolls her eyes but can't help smiling (be still, my dumb heart). "A little. But you could perhaps pass for the professorial type."
"With a wealth of wisdom and experience?"
"Maybe if you kept that book out of sight."
"Heresy. To thine own self be true."
"Some people could benefit from being a little less true to themselves, if y'know what I mean."
"I suppose it does detract from the overall image. I have a meeting with the University's Board of Trustees...ten minutes ago."
"Way to make an impression."
"I try."
Sakura giggles. Then she discreetly pinches the inside of her palm and her brain pumps the breaks because JeezusChristobell am I a twelve year-old fangirl or what? Also, her inner-voice reminds her, he totally scammed you, remember?! Get your shit together, girl! But Sakura is nothing if not the master of denial.
"So, do you usually take this train?" she asks. "I've never seen you here before."
"You're being dreadfully nosy. You aren't stalking me or anything, are you?"
"You're being dreadfully arrogant."
"I'm told it's part of my appeal."
"You'll have to let me know what the Board of Trustees has to say about that."
"Oh, they find me charming and roguish."
"Right."
"Where are you headed right now?"
"Home. I stayed over at a friend's last night."
"Are you getting off at the University?"
"Thereabouts."
He pauses for a moment. "Coffee?"
"I dunno. Last time, you skimped on the bill, remember?"
"What? No! I'm sure you offered to-"
"Pretty sure I didn't, old man."
"That is cruel and untrue. Tell you what – I'll pay for yours today. Even though you clearly-"
"Even though I was clearly duped, yes. What about your meeting?"
"I'm already late. Ten minutes more won't matter. And I can't face them all without a good shot or two of espresso anyway."
"In that case, I'll also have a scone."
Hatake grins and Sakura finds herself mesmerised by the dimple in his cheek.
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"Alright," says Ino, walking into the sitting room with two different shoes on, "which one?"
"You know me. I'd recommend flip-flops. At least that way you'd be less likely to break your ankle."
"Why are you being even more unhelpful than usual?"
"Because this diagnostic worksheet will be the end of me."
"Hardly. I know how you nerds operate. You get off on academic rigor."
"Ew."
"I know. How do you live with yourself?"
"I manage," says Sakura wryly. "Go for the wedges."
"Why don't you come with me?"
"Nah. Too much to do."
"Suit yourself."
Tenten, their third and final roommate, emerges from the bathroom and casually throws herself onto the sofa. Her sweatpants, which are about three inches too long, boast high, damp rings that rise above her ankles.
"So Sakura," she begins, "What's this I hear about you scamming on old-man-Hatake?"
"What?!"
"Calm down, Ino, it's not true."
"Isn't it?" murmurs Tenten provocatively. "A very reliable source insists he accused you of stalking him?"
"Oh my God, Sakura, that's disgusting."
"Shut up, Ino! He was joking!"
"But was he?"
"YES!"
"You don't even have class with him. How do you know him?"
Sakura takes a minute to consider how she could possibly explain her serendipitous meeting with Hatake without the use of the words: 'erotica enthusiast', 'porn-hound', or 'cheapskate'. She realises she can't. Not really.
"We met at a coffee shop," she amends. "It's no big deal. I barely know him. We exchanged two sentences, maybe."
"I guess if you fundamentally change everything about his personality he's got that older-man-sort-of-appeal. Wish he weren't so scruffy, though."
"Yesterday," confides Sakura, "I saw him in a suit."
"No!"
"George Clooney himself would have done a double-take."
"Now you're just exaggerating."
"Now you're just proving my point about being an infatuated stalker," says Tenten. "Also Clooney is no longer a DILF."
"No?" asks Ino.
"He's more…GILF."
"Okay, yuck."
"Him and Bill Ny-"
"JESUS, TENTEN!"
"Oh, shut up," mutters Sakura, turning an interesting shade of magenta. "We are not above aesthetics."
"'Aesthetics' is one thing," says Ino gravely, kicking off a shoe, "but he's older, Sakura. Plus he's our professor. It's kind of creepy."
"What's creepy is your obsession with toe-hair."
"Toe hair is satisfying to tweeze, okay!?"
"This isn't going to turn into a repeat of the thing with Sasuke, is it?" cringes Tenten. "I can't watch that again. It was painful, and I can't afford any more therapy."
"No! This is like your crush on Mr. Iruka in high school."
"Now that man had depth."
"Urgh," moans Sakura, dragging her palm along her face. "Anyway, my point is that there is nothing even remotely creepy about my relationship with Hatake."
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"Sakura, I need you to put this mask on and help me mug Gai in the alley behind the gym."
It is early afternoon, just over halfway through the semester. Sakura and Hatake are standing in a musty corner of the library, conversing in strained whispers. Sakura is looking for a book on enzymes; he has a couple of periodicals in his arms. She looks from the mask to Hatake with a deadpan expression.
"I take his class, you know."
"Yeah, but this is a balaclava." He gives it a shake for emphasis.
"I happen to have very distinctive features. The pink hair, for example."
"It'll be fun."
"No."
"Sakura-"
"No. Whatever pissing contest you've got going on this time-"
"It's literally a pissing contest. The first to make the other piss his pants wins."
"No. Don't you have any other friends? Aren't you two grown men?!"
"Irrelevant," says Hatake with a dismissive wave of his hand. "So you'll help?"
"NO!"
"But it's perfect. He'd never suspect one of his students. You'll be perfectly safe."
"No."
Hatake slumps against a shelf and it totters precariously. "Back to the drawing board, I suppose." He pushes off (some books fall out and someone on the other side of the aisle gasps) with a morose, two-fingered salute.
"See you around, stick-in-the-mud."
"I'm not a stick-in-the-mud!" bristles Sakura, but she can't help smiling.
Hatake chuckles as he turns the corner. It's the last they see of each other for the next two years.
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Author's notes:
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It's time I came clean about my plans for this story. The truth is, I don't have any. It sort of writes itself. I thought it was going to be silly and fun - and I suppose this chapter delivers, to an extent - but honestly this thing is going to do what it wants; I'm just along for the ride.
Thanks to everyone for their support! As always, suggestions and constructive criticism are welcome.