Work Text:
“I appreciate you not shutting the door in my face, Itachi,” Sakura sighs, as she walks in from behind him.
Itachi exhales sharply.
In all honesty, Itachi should have never interrupted Sakura’s sleep after a sixteen-hour shift, he shouldn’t have unlocked her window, slid in, and loomed over her intensely. Sakura has three and a half teammates – Kakashi is more or less her captain but not really her teammate, at least on mission reports – that have a nasty habit of popping in at the most inappropriate times. During these times, her three-and-a-half teammates have refused to use the door.
No.
The window is more logical after all.
And with Itachi being an Uchiha genius and heir and all, he should’ve been a bit more frugal.
Sakura’s chakra fibers caught over Itachi’s ankle and suddenly, the pink-haired medic was awake. Awake, but not coherent. Nails drenched with chakra, her hand twinkled like starlight under the moon, and she swiped.
Itachi watches as his dark, silky, oil-slick colored ponytail drop to the floor fit with so much as a blink.
Sakura’s brain jumpstarts when she hears the quiet hush of satin falling to the floor, she blinks blearily before she can open her mouth and yell at Itachi for waking her up at seven am, she notices the curtain hanging from around his neck.
Itachi doesn’t even breathe.
Sakura flickers her gaze to the floor, then to the blue chakra threads tangled around his ankles, threads that loop on the ground to her ankles, and fixes him with a kind of horrified face.
“You cut my hair,” Itachi’s voice takes a deadened tone, it’s blunt and indescribable.
“Uh,” comes her intelligent remark and she racks her brain for some sort of reply.
“You cut my hair,” he states quietly, almost as if he cannot believe the words himself.
“It was an accident!” Sakura panics, she raises her hands in a defensive position, and then remembers that she’s supposed to be mad at him, “And why the hell are you in my room?”
“Accident?” Itachi repeats menacingly, dark eyes onyx, “Kaa-san requires your presence for breakfast — how is this an accident?”
She grabs her hair in a dramatic attempt to cool her temper, “It was a reflex!” Crossing her arms under her chest, she continues, “Why can’t you use the door!”
“Most people would use genjutsu, explosive tags,” he lists – his head feels relatively lightly much to his aghast – one by one, “smoke bombs and summoning jutsu,” his hand touches the back of his neck, “But you used a chakra scalpel.”
And from there it just gets worse, progressively.
“You kind of look like Sasuke-teme now,” Naruto comments with a mouthful of rice.
Sakura glares at him.
“I didn’t know you were going to get a haircut, Nii-san,” Sasuke says innocently, he pokes his omelet with his chopsticks, “Remind me to let you pick lunch next time, Sakura.”
She almost whines, “Guys…”
“I think it looks fine, Itachi-chan,” Mikoto smiles warmly, “You did need a haircut, maybe you can try a bun instead of a ponytail.”
Itachi pauses mid-sip.
.
.
.
“This is all your fault,” Sasuke hisses from the tree above his house, “Nii-san’s fangirls have tripled in the last two days,”
Itachi in a ponytail was devastating, but Itachi in a bun is downright catastrophic.
“Jealous?”
“Shut up, Sakura.”