After several minutes of her usual self-reprimanding, Sarada realized she really ought to leave if she wanted to avoid an awkward confrontation.
Ever so carefully she rolled out of Boruto's bed, mindful not to rouse him as she tiptoed across the room to grab her panties off the floor. Knowing she couldn't possibly walk home in her tulle monstrosity of a gown, Sarada quietly inched the drawer of his dresser open and snatched the first thing she saw.
She pulled the oversized, salmon-colored shirt over her head, cringing as she looked down to find big block letters that read 'real men wear pink'.
There wasn't time to be choosy, so Sarada ruefully padded toward the door without changing. Paranoid dark eyes glanced over her shoulder as she reached for the doorknob, trying with great effort to turn it without making a sound. The moment she escaped his bedroom, she scuttled over to her dress she had left on the floor. A renewed sense of shame washed over her as she wadded up the designer gown into a ball and slipped on her high-heeled shoes.
Her face scrunched in embarrassment, feeling like her high heels clacked so loudly against the pavement, drawing attention to her ludicrous outfit. She might as well write 'whore' on her forehead because no one was walking around at six in the morning dressed like she was unless they got fucked the night before.
A walk of shame, indeed.
Sarada kept her head down to spare herself from meeting the judgmental eyes of the Sunday morning joggers and dog walkers. The closer she got to her building the more she prayed no one would recognize her.
The moment she made it through her front door, Sarada collapsed on her couch and buried her face in the nearest pillow. What was she thinking last night?!
An exasperated sigh escaped her lips as she wondered just how exactly she was supposed to face Boruto the following day at rehearsal.
"I wish you would've woke me up before you left, we could've grabbed breakfast or something."
Sarada stood in line to get her daily coffee, staring at yesterday's text from Boruto that she had left unanswered. Her imagination was tickled by the suggestion. She and Boruto at some trendy brunch spot near his house. Like an actual date.
Except she knew better, knew she'd ruin it when she'd inevitably take way too long to order, paralyzed by indecision. Taunted by the calories published beside each menu item. Compounded with the fear he may comment about her choice when she finally made up her mind.
'You're going to eat all that by yourself?'
'Whoa! You must have been hungry!'
'Do you really think a ballerina should eat that?'
"Next!" Sarada blinked a few times, the barista's voice snapping her out of her daze. She slipped her phone into her bag and stepped forward toward the register. "What can we get started for you?"
The cheerful brunette barista didn't seem to work the register anymore. Not after he left his phone number on her cup.
She never called, never even really considered it. She didn't feel bad about it though, because, in reality, she spared him.
And the same goes for Boruto.
Sarada could only imagine their interest was in her expertly crafted, albeit incredibly fragile facade.
"I'll just do an iced coffee, nothing added," Sarada told the barista, resisting the frown tugging down her lips.
"Will that be all?"
Her gaze unconsciously drifted to the fresh baked pastries in the glass display beside the register. Buttery croissants, cinnamon rolls doused in icing, and thick cut slices of banana bread. She unconsciously wet her lips at the thought of eating any of the delectable baked goods. In the back of her mind, she wondered if maybe she deserved a little pick me up after the rough weekend she had had.
'Do you really think a ballerina should eat that?' a voice echoed in her mind.
"That's all," Sarada declared, handing over her credit card.
No, what she deserved was all the guilt and shame that she got for throwing herself at Boruto. She had no self-control, and it was pathetic.
After dressing herself in a black leotard and sheer black tights, Sarada pulled back the thick curtain of the changing room, only to discover Boruto had arrived in the few minutes she was in there. Her lips pressed into a firm line as she avoided his gaze and made a beeline for her usual locker.
"Hey, good morning," Boruto greeted as he stepped toward her. She immediately stiffened as his warm palm landed on her lower back.
"Uh, hey," Sarada mumbled.
Blue eyes watched her for a moment before his hand fell from her back to awkwardly scratch his cheek. "Is everything alright?"
She closed her locker and finally looked at him, her features as stoic as she could manage. "Why wouldn't it be?"
His head tilted slightly to the side as his blonde brows pinched together, clearly not believing her. Sarada attempted to breeze past him and into the studio, ending their conversation without another word.
Her fists clenched as Boruto closely trailed behind her, whispering so as to not draw the attention of the other dancers. "Are you sure? Because you're acting a little cold."
Sarada whipped around, dark eyes bore into blue. His choice of words struck an uncomfortable chord. "Are you suggesting I should warm up my smile a bit?! I mean the last thing we would want is people thinking Konoha Ballet's new prima is a mean, ice princess, right?!"
Boruto's confusion only grew with her suddenly aggressive tone. "I'm not sure we're talking about the same thing…?"
With a huff, she marched toward the barre. Trying again to end the conversation by walking away, which was obviously ineffective seeing as they were going to the same place. Sarada began her warm-up stretches, doing her damnedest to ignore him even as he took his place beside her.
"I don't get it," he muttered with a shake of his head. "I thought Saturday night was—"
"A lapse in judgment," Sarada interjected.
From the way his face tightened, she could practically feel the dagger she was stabbing into his heart.
He slowly nodded at her. "Cool… Thanks for clarifying."
Boruto didn't look in her direction for the remainder of group rehearsal.
Tsunade stood before them, her arms crossed over her full chest and a scowl on her painted lips. "Again."
Sarada heard Boruto grumble something under his breath as they got back into their starting position. She could see from the tension in his jaw that their pair rehearsal was frustrating him again.
All week it had been like this. Her purposeful cold shoulder had thrown a wrench into their chemistry and their pas de deux was suffering for it.
"Sarada," Tsunade snapped. She seemed as impatient with her as Boruto had been.
"Yes, ma'am?" she answered with a nervous swallow.
"You have to let him lead you," she sighed. "You can't take off for a jump if he's not ready."
"Yes, ma'am," Sarada nodded.
She knew that. Of course, she knew that. Other times they had rehearsed together she didn't have that problem. But her desperate need to regain some semblance of control after a shameful spiral always seemed to have her sabotaging herself instead.
Sarada's footsteps slowed as she approached her usual coffee shop on Friday morning. After the way she treated him all week, the last thing she expected was to find Boruto sitting outside, at the cast iron cafe table closest to the door. An iced black coffee sat in front of the empty chair across from him.
Her heart began thumping loudly in her ears and her hand nervously squeezed the strap of her duffle tighter. He stared directly at her, making it painfully clear he had been waiting for her. Boruto glanced pointedly at the chair across from him, his eyes telling her to sit down.
Sarada allowed herself to take a few tentative steps forward but still wouldn't sit. "What are you doing here?"
"I thought we could talk," he answered simply, before sipping at his own drink.
"About what?"
He set his coffee back down on the table and shot her a stern look. "You tell me. There's obviously a reason you've been acting like this all week."
Sarada stepped closer, staring at the empty chair but still refusing to sit. She didn't want to sit, but the chair was easier to look at than his questioning blue eyes. Boruto pushed the coffee he bought her closer to the edge of the table.
Honestly, she couldn't sit even if she wanted to. She didn't have an explanation for her behavior, on Saturday night or that week. There was too much information he needed to even begin to understand, information Sarada wasn't willing to give. Let alone, speak out loud.
She offered an excuse instead. "We'll be late for rehearsal."
Boruto didn't really seem to care. Instead, he pushed a pastry closer to her, offering another incentive to sit down. A big, flaky croissant covered in slivered almonds and a light dusting of powdered sugar. Her mouth nearly watered at the sight.
"No, thank you," Sarada replied with a tight-lipped smile before finally relenting and picking up her bitter black coffee. "I don't put that kind of garbage in my body."
His eyes narrowed in annoyance at that response before he snatched the croissant off the plate and took a big, unapologetic bite. "Really? It's soo good," Boruto practically moaned.
Her eye twitched. Was he actually trying to provoke her?!
His taunting proved he really didn't have the faintest clue why she had to say no to indulgent treats, like almond croissants or his body. Because when she started, she couldn't stop.
It was truly maddening that Boruto would want to tempt her into doing all the things she knew she shouldn't.
"Why won't you just leave me alone?!" she scowled. Was her cold shoulder not clear enough?!
Boruto dropped the croissant back on the plate with a frown. "Honestly, I don't know. Maybe I should, seeing that you've been a real bitch to me lately…"
She knew that she was, it was on purpose, and yet that jab still made Sarada grimace.
His blue eyes gave her a once over that made her feel oddly exposed before he continued, his voice gentler than before. "Maybe it's because I think you might be as sad as I am."
Her heart leapt into her throat. "Who says I'm sad?! I-I'm not sad!"
Boruto offered her a sympathetic smile, his somber gaze cast down at his coffee. "Yeah… neither am I…"