Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Twitter’s Man of the Week™ is a raven-haired runner with a chiseled jawline. He looks stoic as he pushes through, hair framing his face elegantly as if he were modeling for Vogue, not running a marathon. Through his form fitting shirt, the viewer could see the slight ripple of his muscles, and Sakura thanks the powers that be for the photographer who captured the sanctity of the moment. The Internet calls him “Hot Brooding Runner,” “Obscenely Attractive Marathon Man,” and “Baddest Bitch.”

And not that Sakura ever posts about celebrities and attractive men on Twitter, but really, how could a man be so beautiful? The fact that he looks that good mildly offends Sakura. She has to do something about it -- which is why she quotes the original tweet and writes: “Not be thirsty on main, but is he single and if he isn’t then does his girlfriend know how to fight?” She then goes about her regular Twitter business, ranting in her typical stream of consciousness manner about her rounds (with respect to patient-doctor confidentiality) and posting niche medical memes.

What Sakura does not expect is for the original poster to reply back: “How’s your right hook?” She breaks into a sweat, thinking of an answer that is charming and conveys interest while not bordering on creepy.

She settles for: “Just kidding, I respect relationships. Also I have a black belt in MMA. Let me know a time and place.”

The original poster, a man named Naruto, she notes, replies with record speed: “Nah, he’s single. Just wanted to know if you could fight.”

Sasuke can tell by the shit-eating grin on his best friend’s face that he definitely has something to do with this. “What did you do, dumbass?” Sasuke hisses.

“I got you a date, bastard,” Naruto says, waving his phone wildly in the air.

“Why? Why are strangers stopping me in the street trying to take pictures with me?” Sasuke pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck, Naruto?”

Ignoring his question, the blond sets his screen to maximum brightness and shoves his phone in Sasuke’s face. “She knows how to fight!” Naruto exclaims. “She can black belt the shit out of the paparazzi or some shit like that!”

Sasuke’s eyes narrow to focus on the woman’s Twitter icon. He opens his mouth to snarl an insult in response, but finds himself intrigued by the shade of her hair: a soft, pale pink the color of cherry blossoms that reminds him of hanami with his mother in the spring. Her eyes, too, perplex him, a deep hue of green that glistens and seems incredibly life-like even through Naruto’s cracked phone screen.

Snickering at the other man’s momentary speechlessness, Naruto abruptly pulls the phone screen away. “Wipe that look off your face,” Sasuke says, pretending not to care that he hadn’t memorized the woman’s username. “I hate you,” he adds for good measure.

“I can introduce you two,” Naruto offers. “We only have like, fifty mutuals.” Sasuke scoffs and sets his gaze on the tiled floor. His best friend catches the slight blush on his cheeks. The blond’s grin widens, threatening to split his bottom lip. “But you’d owe me like, a month of ramen.”

Sasuke scowls. He turns away, but not before shoving Naruto into a nearby table. Naruto, torn between the pain and the satisfaction of holding a favor over Sasuke’s head, hears the jingle of car keys. He hears a tapping and looks over. Sasuke is waiting by the door, tapping his foot impatiently. 

“... come on, idiot,” the dark-haired man finally sighs. Naruto’s face contorts into an expression of bemusement. “We’re going to Ichiraku.”

Chapter Text

Open clinic at Konoha Hospital has been more hectic than usual as of late, following the events of the hospital’s annual Sports Day last week. Once a friendly annual baseball game started by Tsunade-shishou and some colleagues during their tenure as interns, Sports Day birthed an intense, all-out rivalry between the hospital’s medical and surgical departments. The sport that year, drawn from a hat after a winning coin toss between the Chief of Surgery and the Chief of Medicine, was basketball; so Sakura committed herself to a nearby gym, running suicides and practicing her layups religiously, for six weeks. Ino admonished Sakura about priorities and work-life balance from her in-apartment treadmill as they video chatted, discussing relevant papers and quizzing each other on patient mock-ups. But Sakura liked winning, especially winning against Ino, too much to even consider the possibility of toning it down.

As Sakura finds herself drowning in the insane influx of patients at open clinic, she accepts that it is an appropriate punishment for pushing all her mandatory clinic hours to the end of the month in favor of training. “Was it worth it, Basketbabe?” her blonde best friend taunts as she drops off a patient chart to the pink-haired surgical intern.

Ignoring the sarcastic nickname, Sakura grins. “Kicking your ass is always worth it, Pig.” 

Ino pivots sharply towards the door with a whip of her long ponytail. “Yeah, whatever, see you later tonight,” the medical intern says, waving her hand dismissively. 

Sakura returns to her patient, a man a few years her senior with spiky black hair and a sharp jawline that clenches and unclenches nervously as she regards him. “So, Morio-san, what brings you in today?” she asks politely. 

“Uh, my tooth hurts, Sakura-sensei,” the man replies sheepishly, rubbing his left cheek.

She raises a skeptical eyebrow. Nothing from his files stands out to her in particular, so Sakura proceeds with her normal line of questioning. “If your tooth hurts, I’m afraid we can’t do much for you at open clinic,” she tells him. Sakura tilts her head and puts on an apologetic smile. “You’re going to have to consult your dentist.”

“Your hair is pink,” Morio remarks suddenly. It seems as though beads of sweat are forming on his forehead.

“... yes,” Sakura says, confused by the outburst. She frowns. “I’m aware.” She moves to check her patient’s pulse again, noticing the sweat and worried that he might be hypoglycemic.

“I saw your winning shot on social media,” he confesses. “It was really amazing, Sakura-sensei. And I know you must have tons of admirers come to the hospital, I mean all of my friends can’t stop talking about Basketbabe, and I just really wanted to…” Morio pauses, remembering himself and his propriety. “Well, I woke up today and my tooth hurt, and I thought, what are the chances that Sakura-sensei might be working at open clinic if I were to go?”

Sakura chuckles at this. She gestures to the growing line of young men and women looping around the hallway. “You’re not the only one who had that idea,” she remarks gently, before she discharges him and calls in the next patient. 

Basketbabe was her karma for being thirsty on main, Sakura considers. She notices that Morio had left a white envelope behind for her on the table beside her. She pockets his love note out of sympathy before heading to the locker room to change. On her way to the basement, though, the Chief of Surgery herself intercepts Sakura. “My sweet, beloved protege,” the older woman begins, and Sakura knows that she has exactly ten seconds to strategize an escape before getting looped into her scheme.

“Appendicitis,” Sakura blurts out, preparing to sprint past her mentor to her locker, just seconds away.

“Your patient’s appendix ruptured? Or you have appendicitis?” Tsunade asks, a serene smile creeping onto her face. “Neither is possible, you were assigned to no surgeries today. You just finished open clinic, but your shift ends in ten minutes. Which means,” the Chief says, taking Sakura by the shoulders, “my dear Basketbabe, walking publicity stunt for KH, you have time to babysit the son of one of our treasured Board members.” 

Sakura makes a face, but sighs in defeat. “What room?”

“He’s down in Radiology getting an MRI,” Tsunade informs her. Sakura winces. “He slipped on a wet floor and hit his head pretty hard, so take care of him.” The Chief’s grip on her shoulders tightens. “And make sure you do not leave the son of our honored Board member alone, not even for a second. Do you understand?”

A somber nod and a cup of instant coffee later, Tsunade heads to her board meeting while Sakura finds herself in an MRI room. Her patient’s legs peek out from the inside of the machine. “When Tsunade-shishou told me I’d be babysitting, I expected a young boy,” Sakura teases, testing the waters with the Board member’s son.

“And when they said they’d send me a doctor, I expected a grown woman,” gripes the man in the MRI machine. “What are you, an intern?”

“A surgical intern,” she says, pulling up a seat. She reaches to shake his hand and he acquiesces. “You can call me Sakura-sensei.”

“You can expect my legal complaint in a week, Sakura-sensei,” her patient says, this time with less edge. His handshake is firm.

“A lawyer and Board member’s son just happens to have an accident at our hospital?” Sakura stares at the grains of brown sugar that had failed to dissolve in the bottom of her cup. “How lucky.” She uses her stirrer to draw a heart in the remaining residue. “Are you a bleeding heart or one of those corporate types?”

Her patient drums his fingers impatiently against the MRI bed. “Intellectual property,” he supplies in monotone.

“So, corporate. How’d you even get out of work before eight?” Sakura decides she prefers his snark to his indifference.

“I’m here to pick up my mother,” his deep voice rumbles from inside the machine, “who, you know, is on the Board. And can likely end your career should any further tortious incident occur.”

She laughs at his threat, leaning her elbow on his bed. “You’re a good son,” Sakura says, “and you’ll be out of here soon. Thirty minutes.”

His fingers drum closer to her arm. “I’ll hold you to that.”

Sakura feels the heat rise to her face. She can tell by his voice that he’s handsome, and by the long, elegant shape of his fingers. Desperate to fill what would be an uncomfortable silence, Sakura talks about the magnets of MRI machines, and the diagnosis and treatment of mild traumatic brain injury. He comments sometimes to express his understanding, or to press about the mechanism of MRI imaging. It turns out that her patient had studied Bioengineering at university before going to law school. She laments the fact that these thirty minutes with a patient whose name she does not know are the closest thing she’s had to a date in a while.

Remembering Ino and the party they were supposed to head to tonight, Sakura reaches for her phone. “Ugh,” she says as she receives Ino’s essay-long lecture on the importance of punctuality.

“Trouble?” MRI Man asks. His fingers cease their movement.

“I’m supposed to go to this stupid party with my best friend later,” Sakura explains. “She thinks I’m flaking on her.” The MRI technician knocks on the glass screen shortly after before heading back to his computer. “But you’re just about done, so…” The bed slides out from the machine as Sakura walks to the door to receive her patient’s results. Casting a skilled eye over the MRI of her patient’s brain, she concludes, “You have a mild concussion, but it’s nothing serious. You were out for a bit, but you should be fine to go…” The man clears his throat and shifts from his seat on the bed. She looks up to finally see his face. Sakura’s jaw drops.

“The party you’re heading to,” he says, “is it Naruto’s?”

Still stunned, Sakura manages to nod her head. “Uh, yes. Marathon Man.”

The raven-haired runner smirks at her as he collects his phone, wallet, and keys from a nearby bin. “Then I’ll see you later,” he says, pulling his coat on. He spares her a glance behind his shoulder on the way out. “Basketbabe.”

Sakura never thought she’d have to mute notifications on Twitter, not even after the KH Sports Day, but she finds herself privating her posts twelve hours after her post goes viral. It was a simple photo, really: a shot of Sakura posing with her trophy at a judo tournament. Reflected in the golden surface of her trophy, though, was Sasuke, who had snapped the picture like the dutiful boyfriend he was. He wore a satisfied smile, evidently smug at his girlfriend’s victory. Upwards of tens of thousands replies and retweets later, she gives up.

“BASKETBABE JOINS THE MARATHON MAN CINEMATIC UNIVERSE (MCU).”

“I want what they have…”

“This is the crossover we all deserve.”

Chapter Text

The sight of Naruto cleaning their living room is enough to make Sasuke pause mid-step. His leg shakes marginally as he observes the perversion of nature. He knows that it could only mean one thing. “You invited Sakura over?” Sasuke asks, leaning against the kitchen counter and trying very hard to not seem excited. “Again?”

“Yeah,” replies his roommate, moving to put the dirty dishes that had taken residence in their living room for the past week in the sink.

“Why?” Sasuke presses.

The blond shrugs. “To hang out,” he says vaguely, inspecting the expiration date on a carton of milk. “Smell this,” Naruto demands, sticking the open carton beneath Sasuke’s nose. The sour smell makes him grimace in distaste and pour the liquid down the drain.

“Did Sakura tell you anything?” he continues, determinedly looking at a spot of grease on the stove that needs cleaning. Without looking up, Sasuke can see the smug grin on his best friend’s face.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” The blond’s chuckles are cut short when Sasuke shoves him into the refrigerator. “Dude, you met her two months ago and we’ve all hung out at least three times since,” Naruto nags, picking up a magnet that had fallen during impact. “It’s not my fault you never learned how to ask a girl out on a date.”

The blond lands a retaliatory punch on Sasuke’s shoulder. Before Sasuke can stick Naruto’s face in the sink, the sound of the doorbell ushers the men over. He hip bumps his roommate out of the way so he can open the door and stand impassively at the doorway.

“Sasuke-kun,” the young surgeon greets, surprised. A blush quickly spreads across her cheeks. He steps aside slightly to accommodate her and their legs brush as she walks past Naruto and heads straight to the couch. The two men share a bemused glance before watching Sakura reach behind a cushion and pull out a controller. They take a seat on either side of her.

“What’s up, Sakura-chan?” Naruto asks as Sakura studies the controller’s faded buttons.

Sakura rolls her eyes. “Cut to the chase, idiot, I have kickboxing in an hour,” she says. “What boss do you need me to beat for you?”

With a dramatic sigh, Naruto slaps a palm to his forehead. “What are you talking about, Sakura-chan? I haven’t seen you in a while and I thought the three of us could hang out, we’re like a team, you know, it’s just not the same without you—” The television flickers on to a game’s pause screen.

“Mhm,” Sakura hums, unconvinced.

“I have no idea how that got there, I swear,” Naruto argues weakly. Sasuke scoffs at the attempt. “I just wanted to see you.”

“You told me you had an emergency that required my surgical skills,” she chides, pressing the play button. Before Naruto can retort, Sakura bites her lip thoughtfully. “Though I suppose you didn’t specify it was a medical emergency.”

“It’s impossible, Sakura-chan,” the blond whines, “I tried three times! Three! He just moves too fast!” Now completely ignoring both of them, Sakura’s eyes narrow like a cat’s. She evades the boss’s attacks, adapting to the changes in the unyielding attack patterns with ease. As she dodges and absorbs the green health points, a triumphant song begins to play in the background. Naruto, moved by the finale of the game, sniffles loudly and launches into a speech about the power of friendship.

Sakura throws the controller at his face. “There, you huge baby,” she says, raising both of her arms to stretch. “Anything else?”

Rubbing the growing lump on his forehead, Naruto smiles brightly at her. “Sasuke has something to ask you,” he declares before rushing to his room for an alleged ice pack in his mini-fridge.

“Dumbass,” Sasuke calls after him, and Sakura nods in agreement. He mentally curses, looking at Sakura beside him in her work-out clothes and ridiculous teal headband. Her knees angle towards him as she eyes him curiously.

“Is that right, Sasuke-kun? Are you okay?” Sakura asks. A pink baby hair sticks out from beneath the stretchy fabric.

“I’m fine,” he says, stoic. “I just wanted to ask,” Sasuke’s eyes dash around the room, “whether surgeries are still open for Board members to watch from the viewing gallery.”

Sakura smiles at him gently. “I think so, though no Board members have sat in on one of mine, personally. Why? Does your mother want to observe?”

“Yes,” he says, concentrating on the stray baby hair. It curls upward, Sasuke notes, though her hair is pin straight.

“Oh, and Sasuke-kun,” Sakura adds as she rises from her seat, “are you free for dinner next week? I’m available on Thursday and Friday.”

“Thursday,” Sasuke’s mouth moves to answer on its own, before his jaw hangs and he looks at her back, mouth agape.

“Okay, great, I was hoping you’d say that. I made reservations at Hoshizora no Naka for 7:30pm.” At the door, Sakura pivots on her heel to give him a coy look. “Didn’t you know, Sasuke-kun?” The surgeon extends her arm and flicks her wrist. “Shooters shoot.”

Chapter Text

It rains on the day that Senju-sama draws The Race from Kato-sensei’s surgical cap. Ino remembers this distinctly because she recalls the rumbling of thunder in the distance creating an ominous sense of foreboding. It had seemed so simple, the way Senju-sama had described it for them: “The Race is a Spartan sprint, an obstacle course spanning eight kilometers. It is a couples’ race. Participants from both teams are required to select a partner that does not work at KH.”

Sakura turned to her with a smug look on her face, opening her smart mouth to spew bullshit about surgical superiority. Her condescending remark came with a wager: a month of scut and something else, something the first-year medical resident couldn’t possibly refuse, so of course, Ino said yes. Neither of them knew, at that moment, just what The Race would make of them. Perhaps it was better that way, Ino laments, better to live in blissful ignorance.

Waist deep in black mud, Ino’s partner shouts something vulgar and encouraging at her as she yearns for simpler days of basketball hoops. The mud dries grey, flaking against her scalp and her recently perm-straightened platinum blonde hair. Her left eye twitches. She better win this damn race. “I’m going as fast as I can, you fumbling idiot,” Ino growls from her uncomfortable position. Her grip on his calves tightens. 

“Hey, from this distance, I can see that cute girl from earlier – do you think she’s dating dating Kiba, or can I infiltrate, somehow – THREE-NINE-SEV--” Her next step sends a splash of mud across his face. Ino relishes in the way he sputters consequently.

“Even Sai has more tact,” Ino sighs. Her disbelief is palpable.

“You should have brought Sai, then,” the blond quips. 

Resisting all homicidal urges, Ino knows that Sai simply did not Get It. “If I told you I had to kill Sakura to win, what would you do?” she’d asked her boyfriend the simple diagnostic question.

Her handsome dark-haired lover had smiled peacefully, eyes closed in an apologetic squint. “Doesn't that seem a bit excessive, Beautiful?” Sai asked her, gaze patient and measured.

Ino’s pterodactyl screech intermingled with someone’s obnoxious imitation of a showtime buzzer. “Wrong answer,” the new voice said. “She was looking for: bury the body so I can kick Sasuke’s ass.” Such is the tale of how Ino recruited Naruto for The Race. Every minute since then, Ino has regretted the decision. She sees Sasuke and Sakura surpass them, moving clear into the next obstacle, a simple sled drag. She quickens her pace, mere seconds behind her rival.

“Remember, Sasuke-kun,” the surgeon says, loud enough for Ino to hear, “I don’t want to beat them. I want to embarrass them.” Sakura’s partner secures the harness, stretching the bungee cord across his wide shoulders.

“Ah,” Sasuke intones. Then, as if remembering his stake in The Race, his insufferable ego, he adds, “They’ll feel this defeat in their ancestors.” 

“That’s the spirit!”

The raven-haired man eyes Ino and Naruto emerging from the mud pits. “Don’t get in our way, dead last,” Sasuke sneers as he pushes onward with his girlfriend on the sled behind him. Sakura turns to stick her tongue out at Ino and flip Naruto off.

The final stretch is an even patch of land no longer than two kilometers. Ino watches Sasuke amble dangerously close to the finish line. “Naruto!” she calls her partner in a moment of epiphany. He nods his head to show that he hears her. “Throw me,” Ino declares.

“What?”

“Throw me,” the blonde doctor insists. Without a moment’s hesitation, her partner shucks the harness and hurls her across the finish line with all of his might. She collides with the ground painfully and, her medical expertise speaking, likely slightly concussed. It’s no matter; the look of outraged defeat on her best friend’s boyfriend’s face is enough. They beat Marathon Man and Basketbabe by three seconds on the dot.

“Why didn’t you throw me?” Sakura whines, crossing her arms against her chest.

“You could have gotten hurt.” His jaw clenches, though, clearly irritated by his loss.

“You should have thrown me, you coward.”

Sasuke rolls his eyes, but regards his girlfriend with a half-smile. “Annoying.”

“Anyway,” and this is the moment Ino has been waiting for, “how do you feel about being a third and fourth in the bedroom with Ino and Sai?”

“… I should have thrown you,” Marathon Man agrees.

Basketbabe shrugs and rubs her muddy knees. “All we bet is that I ask.” She drags her dirty fingers across Ino’s forehead. “Put your scutwork in my locker Monday morning.”

“Loving the dirty talk, Forehead-chan,” Ino swoons, “take me now.” Marathon Man quietly seethes, placing a possessive hand at the small of his girlfriend's back. “You too,” the blonde resident winks. “You think they'll call me Spartan Sweetheart?”

Her best friend snickers, gesturing to a nearby display with her lips. It shows Ino plummeting head first into the ground, Naruto comically being pushed forward from the momentum of his throw. “They'll call you something, Blonde Bimbo.”

Reverting back to their schoolgirl days, Ino yanks on the end of Sakura's ponytail with a touch too much force to be playful. “Billboard Brow is a sore loser, huh?”

Sakura throws a fistful of grass at her rival’s face, smearing the remaining soil on Ino’s cheek. “I thought pigs liked playing in the mud.”

“Hey, bastard, that girl with Kiba and the white eyes, do you think she’s into me?”

“White eyes? What are you talking about, dumbass?”

“Yeah, no, I’m pretty sure all of Konoha heard you flirting with her, you impossible idiot.”

“Naruto, you literally shouted your number at her as I carried you across the mud pit. I think she got the message.”

Chapter Text

It’s not so much of a happy ending as must as it is a logistical nightmare, or an intense game of tag between the two, trying to find time between Sakura’s eighty hour work weeks and Sasuke’s abundant caseload. Their busy schedules, coupled with the fact that neither of them had virtually any experience with dating before meeting each other, had their nascent almost-relationship hanging by a very delicate thread.

Sasuke enjoys being beside her; enjoys quizzing her on the index cards she brought to the bar, sometimes; enjoys the rare, quiet morning they might share, their paperwork scattered across his breakfast table. Once, Sakura had knocked his highlighter against the cap of hers and doodled a yellow heart at the top of his case file. “We match!” she exclaimed, her eyes bright and soft hair still messy from sleep. Sasuke’s breath caught in his throat.

Sasuke does not long, or do anything that approximates longing, but he misses the days of Sakura’s surgical internship. Since her residency began, their entire weekends together dwindled to one day a week, then to where they are currently: two dinners a month. It takes all of Sasuke’s composure to not snap at her when Sakura calls him to say one of her back-up shifts was rescheduled for Night 2.

“I’m really, really sorry!” comes her melodic cadence from the other end of the phone. “Dinner will be on me, next time. I promise.”

“I already asked to leave the office early that day,” he pushes. That and his parents had designated him a plus one at his mother’s upcoming birthday, which means they are aware that their younger son, for once in his life, is dating somebody; though the absence of a name shows that even Mikoto, master matchmaker and best friend of Kushina, master gossip, does not necessarily know who.

Sakura pauses and for a minute, all he can hear are her shallow breaths. “Okay,” she yields, “I’m only on back-up call for OB/GYN, but it’s rare that they’ll actually need me that night. Patient’s not supposed to give birth until next month. Let’s pick a restaurant near KH just in case?” And the diligent Sakura sends him three different restaurant options of varying cuisines, along with comprehensive reviews of each based on her personal ranking system. He almost smiles at his phone.

They meet at an intimate hole-in-the-wall a block away from the hospital. Sakura greets him in a snug red dress and nude stilettos, a smidge of sheer red lipstick adorning her lips. “Sasuke-kun!”

“Sakura,” Sasuke responds, taking her by the wrist as the waitress guides them to their table. 

The waitress grins at them as they order and entertains Sakura’s elaborate requests. “Your food will be out right away, you two,” she says, with an emphasis on you two, and shoots them a knowing look.

The way Sakura’s freckled nose wrinkles at the Romaine lettuce of her salad has Sasuke’s hands automatically at his plate. As her eyes meet his, they habitually reach over the table to switch dishes. She giggles to herself as she bites into a fry. “Thanks for doing this, again,” she says, the corners of her mouth gently curving upwards. He stares at the dimple there, so shallow that he’s not even sure that she’s aware of it. He is though, and in this way, he knows her tenderness. 

Giving into impulse and longing, Sasuke cups her cheek with his left hand, thumb on her delicate cheekbone. “You look good in this light,” he compliments beneath his breath. The lawyer feels his date’s face heat up against his palm as she leans into the touch and looks away. “Embarrassed?”

She declines to answer. Instead, Sakura swirls her sparkling water in a wine glass, clinking it against his. Sasuke thinks of yellow-green highlighters. “To finally having a night off,” she jokes, and his mouth suddenly feels very dry. 

Her beeper goes off halfway through the entree, and Sakura curses, knowing her comment had been premature. “It’s an emergency C-section, only an hour, maybe less if I work quickly.” Then, she begins her mad dash out of the restaurant. Sasuke groans and throws cash down on the table before chasing her down the block with more difficulty than he’d anticipated; for all her talent, Sakura is also a force to be reckoned with in heels, apparently. As Sakura presumably runs to her locker to change and scrub in, Sasuke makes a sharp turn to wait for her in the viewing gallery. The nurses usher him despite his lack of credentials; they recognize the Board member’s son, and they know he is a lawyer. He opens the door to the gallery on a bit of a power trip, feeling impervious to all authority.

“Sasu-chan?” an all-too familiar voice calls.

Sasuke feels his hair stand on end. “Mother,” he replies, trying to suppress his shock.

“I didn’t know you were visiting me today! Did Itachi-kun tell you I’d be observing a surgery?” Mikoto asks. “I was excited to see Yuhi-sensei in action after her maternity leave, but it seems as though she’s not the one operating.”

“Yes, brother did mention you’d be here,” Sasuke agrees. He prays that Itachi will cover for him, or at least be keen to Sakura’s anonymity. He watches Sakura enter the OR in her green scrubs, pink patterned surgical cap matching the shade of her hidden hair.

“Your father and I have decided a theme for my birthday dinner this year,” Mikoto begins, before launching into an eloquent description of varying color schemes and flower arrangements. 

“No, lilies in June aren't premature, mother,” Sasuke intones, “and black and red aren’t too done up.”

“Attending surgeon on call?” Sakura’s firm voice inquires.

The young woman beside her bows apologetically, lifting both of her hands, palms out. “There was a car accident earlier, Yuhi-sensei is handling it,” she informs him, voice steeped in nervous excitement, “so it will just be me. And you, Haruno-sensei.”

“Sakura-sensei is fine,” the surgical resident corrects. “Just us, huh?” She opens and closes her fist. “Scalpel.” Then, “No singing in my ER,” Sakura admonishes the assisting intern, but Sasuke sees the twinkle in her eyes. His almost-girlfriend hums along to the upbeat disco music, only pausing to hold her palm open and request the appropriate instrument. Mikoto looks equally amused. Sakura works gracefully and the operation is seamless; the baby is delivered and placed immediately in an incubation unit, and the mother is stable all through the procedure.

Sakura closes up quickly and the intern sharply exhales. “Uh, Sakura-sensei,” the young woman begins.

“Forty minutes,” Sakura replies, waving her off. “I believe the word you’re looking for is, fuck yeah!”

“This doctor, she’s young but very bright,” comments Mikoto. “Tsunade-sensei calls her a prodigy.” Sasuke feels pride warm his chest. “She’s also Internet famous, as it were,” she continues, “have you heard of Basketbabe?” He shrugs, a non-answer; or, as Itachi would call it, a lie of omission.

Mikoto stands, poised and elegant, to exit. “Well, remember the theme for June is casino royale,” she says, brandishing her cellphone from her leather purse. “Please let Haruno-sensei know. Or, if you’d prefer, I can let her know in person if you two would like to join me and your father for dinner tonight.”

Sasuke rises with his mouth agape. “Haruno-sensei?”

“I’m your mother,” Mikoto states, as if it is sufficient enough explanation. The door shuts quietly behind her.

“What are you doing after?” he asks.

“Working,” she replies offhandedly. She waves her hand lazily, not bothering to explain exactly what work needs to be done - there is always too much of it.

“I have to work too, coincidentally,” he says in a voice so soft, she almost misses it. “How about we work together at your place?” The suggestion makes Sakura blush - she can’t help it. He smirks knowingly.

“Okay, we can do that,” she agrees. She wants to say: yes, yes please. He’s perceptive enough to pick up on it. His hand brushes hers as he stands next to her. As she leaves, that hand brushes the strip of exposed skin on her lower back.

At the apartment, she sits on her secondhand couch and works dutifully. He reclines and types away on his laptop. There is silence. She’s focused until she notices that she no longer hears his busy keyboard. She knows, again, that he is looking at her. So she turns again to look at him. He doesn’t glance away this time, nor does he smile. This is a different type of moment, one that requires action. But she can’t move. She fears that she might dispel it.

He closes his laptop and places it on the floor. Peering over her shoulder, he reads a line of her dissertation draft. “Scientific jargon, huh?” 

“Okay,” she begins, mustering up the courage to start, “we need to talk.” The Uchiha looks at her as if she’s grown another head. Willing her heart to stop beating so rapidly, Sakura babbles on, “You’ve been distant and I understand if you want to stop seeing each other, but I don’t think that will make either of us happy--” she takes a deep breath-- “I really, really like you, probably more than I’ve ever liked anybody, and I want to make this work.”

Sasuke visibly freezes. After what seems like an eternity, he says, “Thank you.” She blinks away the tears forming in the corner of her eyes. 

Oh, the surgeon thinks, so that’s how it is. He’s sitting on her secondhand couch and he doesn’t feel the same way. Of course. But Sakura knows she’ll live on, with this burning thing for him in her heart, and it will all-- “Ilikeyoutoo, I guess.”

She blinks. “You… guess?”

“Don’t be annoying,” Sasuke grumbles. When she doesn’t reply, he teases her. “Ah, the pouting,” her not-boyfriend remarks.

“I’m not pouting, it’s just my--” Sakura begins to defend herself. He grabs her wrist and she falls onto his lap clumsily. Sasuke wraps his arms around her briefly and kisses the top of her head. He brushes her hair aside to kiss her shoulder, then her cheek. The doctor falls silent, straining to control her anxious fidgeting. 

“The pouting, again and again,” he repeats to himself before kissing her cheek. 

Sakura gives him a look so tender it makes him chuckle awkwardly, in spite of himself. Then, noticing her mail from the morning on the glass coffee table, she reaches for the thick, creamy envelope that she had forgotten to open on her way out. “Sasuke-kun,” she asks, “what type of dress code is ‘dress to win?’”

Chapter Text

The day Sakura moves in with them is short of monumental. She knocks on their apartment door, yellow duffel bag at her feet and an overstuffed red backpack resting on her shoulders.

“So--” Sasuke reaches to help her with the duffel-- “why are you staying here again?”

“Ino and I had a big fight,” the young surgeon says, tying her hair back with a ponytail. “Plus, Sai and her wanted the place to themselves for the weekend.”

“About?”

Sakura side-steps her boyfriend gracefully and opens the top dresser drawer which currently houses her toothbrush, mini face cleanser, and what Naruto likes to call Sasuke's shame cigarettes. Ignoring the question, she begins unpacking her clothing, folding her shirts into neat squares and stacking them into the drawer.

“Sakura.” The Uchiha shuts the drawer as the doctor reaches into her backpack. He knocks on the hardwood twice, impatient.

She gazes up at him, nibbling her bottom lip in contemplation. Then, she bows her head and mumbles, “The Inuyasha ending.”

Sasuke truly has no words.

“Okay, so like, Ino hates it because Kagome deserved better and okay, I agree, fine, if Inuyasha had actively chosen Kagome over Kikyo even once I would be more satisfied, too, but at the end of the day, Kagome loves him no matter what so I don’t know why she is so aggressive and upset about the ending, I mean, at least it was happy, right? It was the logical fairytale conclusion to the feudal fairytale the manga was marketed as. And why is Inuyasha’s love for Kikyo somehow supposed to negate all of his love for Kagome, anyway? He loves Kikyo and he loves Kagome; why do those facts have to be mutually exclusive? Why should we look down at Kagome’s choice to return to the past, why--”

“Sakura.” He interrupts her rant before she flies into a frenzy, as she does whenever she talks about medicine, fitness, the judgmental nurse who gives her dirty looks at Cardio, and of course, popular anime.

His girlfriend takes a minute to collect herself, practicing breathing exercises she’d picked up in a yoga class. Catching the smirk that Sasuke's unable to suppress, she snaps, “Don’t judge me!” 

He leans over, tapping the center of her forehead, playful. “Don’t you have better things to do with your time than obsess over fictional characters?”

Sakura grows bright red. Then, as the color of her skin settles back on its normal shade, a look of epiphany settles, too. “Oh,” she says pleasantly, “I get it.”

“Get what?” Sasuke tugs on the end of her ponytail.

Sakura opens the drawer again to load the rest of her belongings in. Then, she winks at him. “You’re a Kikyo fanboy.”

“I’m what?”

The surgeon examines him clinically, as if about to diagnose a patient. “Look, you’re a man nearing your late twenties, stoic, successful, handsome. You fit the quintessential Kikyo fanboy demographic. It’s okay, embrace it.”

He scoffs. “Tch, whatever. Don’t let Naruto hear you.”

Sakura closes the drawer, now uniquely hers, with an air of finality. Her stay extends indefinitely from a weekend to a week to a month. Six months later, Sasuke wakes to a familiar conversation in the kitchen as his girlfriend prepares breakfast for the apartment.

“But don’t you think Koga was so much cooler than Inuyasha? He should have ended up with Kagome, dattebayo!”

“They’re happily married in canon, Naruto--” she aggressively tosses the eggs onto his best friend’s plate-- “grow up.”

“Isn’t Kagome dead in the seq--”

“That’s not confirmed.”

“I mean, didn’t the article say her daughter doesn’t know much about her parents, because she’s lived alone from a young age?”

Sasuke slides into the chair beside Naruto, grabbing an apple slice and popping it into his mouth. “Losing battle, dead-last.”

The blond rubs at the growing stubble on his chin in exasperation. “When did she move in, anyway?” 

Waving the frying pan dangerously in the blond’s direction, Sakura makes a sour face. Then, the doctor turns to Sasuke with an apologetic expression. “I guess you’re stuck with me, huh, Sasuke-kun?”

Sasuke looks at her quietly, mouth dry. He wants to reach over to her and wipe the sleep from her eyes; maybe, even, he wants to let his hands linger, then wander across her clavicle. Stuck isn’t the right word, he wants to tell her. With her, he’s never stuck, but…

“Nah, Sakura-chan, stuck is like Kagome in the feudal era!” Naruto’s crass voice interjects. As his best friend revels in his famous last words, Sasuke only observes as Sakura meanders over to him and cracks an egg open on his head. Maybe, he thinks, watching bits of egg shell fly onto the floor and gelatinous orange yolk drip down Naruto’s nose, he needs to find better roommates.

But Naruto wraps his arms around his ribcage from laughing too hard and Sakura cleans up the mess and makes them tea from burnt rice and Sasuke thinks again. “Not stuck,” he tells Sakura in the evening, when the morning incident is long forgotten. “Once the thread of fate is tangled, it cannot be undone.”*

She peers up at him from beneath their blanket and sighs. “I knew it!” Sakura shakes her hair loose, tucking the loose locks into the collar of her t-shirt. “You think in another universe, we’re star-crossed lovers?”

The Uchiha snorts. “I hope not.”

“Well, it’s whatever,” she says with a small yawn, “I know what I’d do.”

He sinks into bed beside her, cradling her head delicately with his arm. “And what’s that?”

Sakura beams. “I’d choose love, every time.”

“Isn’t that the wrong wish?”* Sasuke chides, memorizing the lines of her smile.

“It’s not nice to mock your girlfriend.” The surgeon buries her face in his chest. “Read the official databooks and then we can talk.”

“What?”

“I said what I said.”