About a Girl and a Boy (1/1)
This developed from a ficlet about Sakura asking Sasuke to teach her how to dance into...whatever 'effed up one-sided relationships exist within Team Seven. I'd just finished reading the amazing kind of story that made me question why I ever bothered to write, and this was my attempt to desist that feeling. As much as PG-rated fic rocks my socks, this attempt didn't help at all, but at least I'm branching out. Also, I'm just about finished with a father!Kakashi fic featuring adopted siblings!Team Seven, which I've never really encountered, so I'll let myself feel better with that.
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Characters: Sakura, Sasuke, Naruto
Rating: PG
Words: 1303
Summary: On her wedding night, Sakura asks Sasuke to dance.
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He begins to speak but stalls, a hushed sound hinged upon on a nostalgic slip of the tongue. Haruno, he almost says but doesn’t, because this time it’s different. The name he can’t say is a murmur of something strange and new, whispered from far, far away. It’s your happily ever after forever out of his reach.
He pushes your bangs behind one ear, leaves a gentle kiss on the forehead you no longer try to hide. The touch of his lips feels cool on your skin, bestows upon you a crown of apricot leaves adorned with white flowers that will never bloom.
He loves you.
He loves you not.
He looks down at you, gaze soft. The pallor of his skin fades into the light lowered from the high vaulted ceiling above, bright enough to turn you away, although you continue to stare. You realise he’s not that much taller than you, not anymore, and the little girl tucked neatly inside your heart wants to push herself up from the toes of her shoes and finally close the distance between you.
Yet that little girl is now an adult. Bright pink ribbons and the bows hard-to-tie come undone, slip away, and you know you can’t have something that’s not yours. The silly crush you weaved into a fascination with Western fairy tales only lingers in dusted memories that flitter at the hem of your dress. They trail beneath you, like a fantasy reality has always known you’d outgrow, like the Prince Charming who never found his way to you.
“You look beautiful,” he says. The affection is genuine, but it doesn’t make you blush. The sincerity in his voice almost makes you frown because he says exactly what you’re not sure you want to hear, and in this instance he means it. As he takes your hand, the words prickle at the tips of your fingers. They edge you towards a dreamless sleep, like the feelings in the fabric of once upon a time that would have fulfilled a yearning you’ve yet to properly put away, but you only thank him for the compliment.
“Sakura,” he tries again, and your lips unfurl in an attempt to veil an overlapping discomfort when you lead Sasuke to the middle of the floor.
Your arms rest on his shoulders. His hands are hesitant and fumble to find their place at your waist. You continue to smile even though your feet are beginning to hurt.
Your heels are uncomfortable, but you like the way they shimmer from beneath your dress, taking shy peeks at the vision of the storybook wedding you’ve secretly harboured long after the passing of childhood. They clack upon the polished wooden floor, sustaining the cadence of your gait.
Step-two, three.
Turn-two, three.
Your eyelashes flutter, and time around you begins to tremble-stops.
The feel of hands at your waist grows faint, drifts like the soft melody of the piano, yet the material of a tailored jacket is firm below the touch of wandering fingers.
Oddly enough, it’s fitting. The first time in your life you’re the centre of Sasuke’s attention is when you invite him to take the second dance with the bride. During the ceremony, he avoids you. His eyes don’t leave Naruto, except perhaps when you and Naruto kiss, but they immediately stray to you at the reception.
The thought alone makes the floor feel like sand beneath you. It reminds you of your mother’s family heirloom, the antique tea set she scolded you for breaking.
“It was an accident,” you said, as the pieces wet with imaginary tea laid splayed at your bare feet. Fragile remains of the tea set were littered across the floor, gathered underneath a small, plastic table surrounded by chairs sat with dolls whose dull eyes you can see reflected in his.
You see a little too much, though, and Sasuke’s steps falter. The sharp chord of the violins hits a taut note at the stroke of ten. He pulls away and turns his head, hides behind hair that falls over his face.
There’s a feeble sound in the back of your throat. Your curiosity urges you forward, but an arm wrapped around your waist keeps you from seeing more. Hot air brushes against the lobe of your ear, and you laugh because it tickles. You look up to see Naruto grinning at you. He’s taller than you, despite your heels, but he leans down and kisses the corner of your mouth, sweet and chaste yet brimming with the excitement of the night.
His breath is a whiff of alcohol, and you wiggle your nose, tell him how much he smells.
“Only because I’m drunk off of you,” he says, and you can’t fight the blush that earns him a playful hit on the back of his head. Your fingers retreat into soft but messy hair neither one of you knows how to tame, and he nuzzles your neck, leaning further into your touch.
“Congratulations,” Sasuke says, a little too forced, you think, and when Naruto pulls away, you chastise yourself for forgetting Sasuke’s there.
“The best man wasn’t planning on running off with the bride, was he?” Naruto teases. He laughs, releasing a boisterous sound you’ve grown to adore, and it intertwines with the chimes of your petal drop earrings as you move.
Sasuke shakes his head, returns the banter with a half-hearted smirk towards the floor. He risks a glance at you, and you can’t bring yourself to look away. There’s a shine in his eyes Naruto won’t be able to see, that Sasuke knows you can. You almost lose yourself in his gaze. It’s an echo of a time that once was, but the smile he directs at you is feigned in a manner all too familiar.
“I’m happy for you,” he says, nearly drones, and the smile becomes stilted. It drags into a heavy silence that’s fleeting. Quickly, he excuses himself. He tries again to smile but fails and walks away.
You place a hand on Naruto’s arm so you won’t make the instinctive reach for Sasuke. You don’t wait for Sasuke to look back, but you watch, follow his steps through the white double doors that will lock at midnight, allow yourself to pretend the shine has disappeared.
“You-you’re crying,” Naruto stammers, placing a hand on your shoulder.
Absently, you wonder why he isn’t wearing his jacket. He applies a small pressure to his grip, sturdy, reassuring, and you remember seeing the jacket on the back of the chair at your table. His sleeves are rolled up to his elbows, smooth skin revealed beneath an off-white shirt that matches your dress.
“Am I?” You reach for the hand on your shoulder. The tips of your fingers tingle when they touch his. With Sasuke, you’re not ready to hit the ground, but with Naruto, maybe you’re learning to fall again.
“Sakura…”
You bring his knuckles to your lips, and he calms at the gesture. “Then it’s because I’m happy.”
Your makeup must be smudged, you realise. For a moment, you worry you’re not as pretty as the woman Naruto kissed after lifting the veil, the Princess he’s always wanted to find, but he smiles at you like he did then, too.
It’s a tentative smile, though, a coy sort of grin that makes you stand on the toes of your feet and return it with a harried kiss that turns the smile into something brighter than you ever thought possible.
He leans forward, cups your cheek, breathes. It’s warm where his hand meets your skin, comfortable when his lips press against yours. He draws from you slowly, and you look over his shoulder as his thumb wipes away the tears you wish you didn’t have to share.