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Chapter Text

When Sakura died, she expected to be greeted by blue skies and floating clouds and be welcomed by the loving arms of her friends who died before her. She expected Ino to smack her arm for dying, expected Kakashi to ruffle her hair with his signature eye smile, expected Lee to squawk that he was very happy to see her but very sad that she didn't get to enjoy the bloom of her youth—

But no.

Apparently, Fate has other plans for her.

Because when she wakes up, it isn't to blue skies and clouds and comrades, but to a high-pitched wail and darkness.

"UWAAAAHHHHH—!"

Tender arms rock her gently, a familiar voice cooing to soothe the crying down. Her eyes flutter, but refuse to cooperate. Why can't she see anything? And can the damn baby just shut up already? Her head is aching, dammit!

"She's quite the screamer," a man jovially comments. Something pokes her cheek, and she blindly snaps at it. Immediately, the crying stops. Finally.

"And a fighter too!" the same man hoots boisterously. "She might be as feisty as you someday, Mebuki!"

On those words, Sakura tenses.

There's a sigh above her, and she's being rocked again, but Sakura is too distracted by her thoughts to get annoyed by the motion. Mebuki? Haruno Mebuki? As in, her mother?

"You're too loud, Kizashi," a feminine voice says, and Sakura can feel her heart speeding up in uncertainty, which is weird because she's supposed to be dead.

Well, her mother and father are also supposed to be dead, buried under the pile of rubble and destruction Pein left under his wake, so why the fuck can she hear their voices?

Or maybe she really is dead and this is heaven.

Doesn't explain why she can't see no matter how hard she tries though.

The arms cradling her back and head shift slightly to a more comfortable hold, and Sakura is plain flabbergasted. How can her mother carry her when she's already grown, well into her twenties? Granted, the last time Sakura saw her parents was when she was sixteen, before Pein blew up the village and caused havoc. But still, even back then, she was already too big for them to casually carry around.

“Darling,” she hears Mebuki murmur softly above her, her breath brushing against her face, and Sakura belatedly realizes that the older woman is talking to her. “Sakura, my lovely baby.”

That does it. Awareness dawns on her, and if she's already tense before, now she's completely gone rigid, her breaths coming out in quick, shallow pants, as her brain goes overdrive trying to make sense of the situation she's currently in.

So the crying baby she was annoyed at earlier was actually herself?

“Sakura?”

She can sense the worried frown coating her mother's words, but frankly, Sakura cannot bring herself to care. Not when she's busy figuring out why the hell she's back in the past.

A shake. “Sakura? Are you alright?”

No. Absolutely not.

“What's the matter, Mebuki?” Kizashi asks, concern evident in his tone.

Everything, Sakura wants to shout in chagrin. Why, of all people, is this happening to her? All she wanted was a peaceful rest after death, certainly not this!

Frustrated, Sakura opens her mouth and screams her vocal cords hoarse.

“Now, now, what's gotten into you?” her mother says frantically, undoubtedly startled by her sudden outburst. “Are you hungry?”

Something supple is unceremoniously shoved into her mouth, and Sakura quietens at the unexpected intrusion. A pacifier? She gives the foreign object an experimental suck and immediately pales when she tastes milk.

Oh hell no. It couldn't be…

Feeling entirely sick in her stomach but still needing to confirm her suspicion, Sakura tentatively swirls her tongue and stiffens when she feels something akin to a button but much softer stubbornly holding her appendage in place.

A nipple.

A damn nipple.

Horrified, Sakura tears her mouth away from the offending breast and wails her lungs out. She vaguely hears the clatter of metal hitting the floor and tunes out the panicked gibberish her father is spewing, because in all honesty, after everything that has happened to her, plus this, Sakura thinks a tantrum is in order.

Whatever did she do in her past life to deserve this?

Chapter Text

It takes her six months to accept that yes, she's now a baby, and that no, the world she's currently in is slightly different than the world she lived before.

In other words, she isn't back in the past, but rather, born into a different dimension where soulmarks are apparently a trend. But apart from the soulmarks and soulmates, nothing else between her current reality and her past one is dissimilar.

Sage, if she was still the innocent, naive sixteen-year-old Sakura who hadn't seen war and carnage, she'd be already mentally shrieking in delight at the thought of having a predetermined partner. She can hear her younger self squealing, “I do hope he's someone older! Not Kakashi-sensei old, but about Neji’s age. Or, or, what if he's a Daimyo or Kage! Someone like Gaara!”

Oh, sages, no.

Disgusted, she puckers her lips at the scene her imagination conjured for her.

Her parents are soulmates, their marks written on their arms. Sakura has seen them a couple of times now. Mebuki has Kizashi’s name tattooed on her skin in messy printed letters from birth, and Kizashi sports her mother's own name proudly, with its beautiful loops and curves. And Sakura, well—

She can only hope that her soulmate is someone mild, a civilian if possible, and if not, perhaps chūnin and below. Men in full uniform, such as jōnin and ANBU, are nice to look at, and power is something that tends to tantalize Sakura, but no, she's already decided that in this life, she'll go on and live peacefully.

Quietly.

Away from violence and shinobi shit.

In the back of her mind, she sees Shikamaru nodding at her in approval— the man had always wanted to live an uneventful life ever since they were kids. Against her will, a memory pops up, one that features a headless Shikamaru, his hands locked in the Rat hand sign as blood spurted from his neck and he was no more—

She blinks away the memory. There's no use in dwelling in the past after all. Sakura remembers Ino crying to the dark skies as she hugged her dead teammate's body to her chest, unmindful of the blood seeping into her vest, her blue eyes alight with hate and despair.

But there was nothing Sakura could do except watch her childhood friend succumb to hopelessness. She's a medic, not a necromancer for hell's sake. With her healing, she could sew up gaping gashes, piece broken bones together, and occasionally bring someone back from Death's door, but how does one revive a decapitated person?

Nara Shikamaru was one of the last ones of her friend group to go. Yamanaka Ino followed soon after. But Sakura continued fighting until her hands were permanently stained with scarlet and scars and wounds littered her battered body, if only to keep her remaining teammates alive. Hatake Kakashi and Sai had already died a long time ago, their memories buried within her. She'd sheared her pink hair carelessly, the uneven strands ending just below her jaw, and had abandoned her leather gloves, having overused their durability.

She continued fighting even when she knew it was all futile and that her world was on the brink of collapsing.

And yeah. She needs a break from all that. So in this life, Sakura's going to live like a nobody. In this life, she won't forge a name for herself, and she'll just casually watch the events unfold and rest in the background until shit happens and everything goes down the drain and the world ends again.

Bored, she rolls over her stomach into a crawling position and tries to lift her upper body with her pudgy arms full of baby fat. She's been trying to successfully crawl for a couple of weeks now, but every attempt has been a failure so far. But no matter. The first time Tsunade had her heal a dying fish, she failed thirty-three times before getting it right.

Sakura puts one arm in front of the other, and places one leg forward. Her limbs tremble under her weight, but she ignores it, determined to start walking by the time she is one-year-old. She sticks her tongue out in concentration, and drool dribbles down her chin at the act.

Ew, gross.

But she's a baby, and babies are gross.

A shadow falls over her, and that is the only warning she gets before she is lifted in the air, a bright grin greeting her.

“Sakura-chan!” her father cooes, and Sakura can't help but giggle at the sight. She reaches for his face with her stubby hands, and in a moment of mischief, tugs his beard down hard.

Kizashi yelps.

Sakura just gives him a wide-eyed, innocent smile. It isn't her fault her father disturbed her crawling session.

“Bwuah-bwuah!” she gurgles happily. It's her weak attempt at saying “Papa”, but Kizashi doesn't need to know that. “Bwuah-bwuah!”

Her mother appears by the doorway, a fond smile painting her lips and an apron covering her front. “Is she at it again, Kizashi?”

“Yes, dear! I caught her crawling again!” Kizashi crows, spinning Sakura around who blubbers in laughter. “In a few more months, she'll be walking!”

Mebuki walks towards them and holds her hands out to Sakura, who accepts her touch easily. Her mother smells vaguely of cookies, and Sakura surmises that she’s been baking before coming to visit her. Her stomach growls at the thought.

There’s a laugh, and Sakura pouts at her amused mother.

“Seems like someone’s hungry,” Mebuki says teasingly, kissing Sakura’s forehead lovingly. The older woman then passes her to Kizashi’s waiting arms. “I’ll be right back, hun.”

Sakura watches her go, pleased. Her parents realized early on that she doesn’t like being breastfed the hard way. The realization came with a series of continuous screeching, violent kicks, and frequent bites to her mother’s breasts. Mebuki endured the biting for a couple of weeks before caving, and from then on, Sakura fed on milk in formula bottles.

It’s not like it’s her fault that she’s a grown woman trapped in a baby’s body.

Her mother pops in a few minutes later with a bottle of warm milk in hand. She takes Sakura from Kizashi and puts her in a lying position in her arms, raising the nipple of the bottle to her mouth. Appeased, Sakura sucks on it gratefully, her eyes curving into a smile when she meets Mebuki’s tender gaze.

“She’ll be needing to start on solid foods soon,” Mebuki murmurs, and there's a longing look on her face. “Why do babies have to grow up so fast?”

Same thought here, Sakura wants to reply to her mother. Because really, apart from being breastfed—( a problem she’s already solved)— and diaper changes—( an indignity she still has to endure)— being a baby is the best. No responsibilities, no worries, just sleep and milk and crawl and sleep and milk again. She repays her parents’ efforts in taking care of her by acting adorable, and they coo at her cuteness.

It’s a win-win situation, honestly.

Contented to bask in her parents’ attention, Sakura continues sucking on her bottle of milk, her growing teeth biting the rubber nipple playfully. The soft and bouncy texture of it makes her mourn for the days she was allowed to chew on bubblegum.

Huh. Maybe growing up isn’t too bad.

But before she can explore that thought, there’s a burning sensation in her inner wrists and she chokes in surprise, her mouth full of milk. Mebuki immediately pulls the bottle away when she begins coughing and lifts her into a vertical position, her nose nuzzling the older woman’s neck and a hand gently patting her back. The pain doesn’t stop. It increases and spikes, and Sakura hears herself whimpering, tears threatening to fall, as she tries to endure the pain to the best she can.

Kizashi is on her in an instant, carefully peeling her from her mother’s embrace and scanning her in concern. “What’s wrong, Sakura-chan?”

In reply, she feebly raises her arms, and her father’s eyes instantly zeroes on her inner wrists.

There’s silence, then—

“Fuck.”

Sakura agrees with him.

“Kizashi!” her mother warns.

“If you’re worried that Sakura’s first words would be ‘fuck’, Mebuki, then you’ve got a greater headache coming,” Kizashi replies humourlessly, and Sakura blinks at the statement. The pain has subsided, but apparently, whatever it left on her wrists is enough to turn her father pallid.

Mebuki knits her eyebrows at him and goes to stand beside him, following his line of sight. “What are you talking about— oh.”

“Yes,” Kizashi laughs, but there is no mirth in it. “Oh.”

Horror creeps into Mebuki’s face, and Sakura learns later on the reason for her mother’s reaction.

Two.

She has two soulmates, one name stamped on her right inner wrist and the other on her left.

And the worst part?

Both of them are Uchiha.

Mentally, she says goodbye to her plans on living an uneventful life.

Chapter Text

She's nine months old when a third soulmark appears. This time, it is splayed on her back, and Sakura grieves for the days when she could wear any kind of clothing she wanted. Goodbye to backless gowns.

But to hell with it. She's going to make sure that her soulmarks stay hidden, no matter what. Maybe, when she's older, she can convince her parents to change her name temporarily. Create a new identity if only to avoid her fate of being tied down to three men.

She can see herself being friends with dull shirts and conservative dresses in the future and bewails the thought. Just why does one of her soulmarks have to be on her back of all places?

But maybe there is hope? She doesn't know where the third soulmark is specifically placed, only learning that it is written on her behind through her mother. She can only hope that it isn't stamped on anywhere revealing.

It was a full moon when the soulmark emerged.

Surprisingly, Sakura didn't feel any pain upon its arrival. Or perhaps it's because she’d been sleeping when it burned into her skin. She remains ignorant of its presence until her mother discovers it the next morning while bathing her, and when she does, there's a lot of screeching and yelling.

Sakura groans.

Please shut up, she pleads in her mind, a headache starting to form. Having experienced graveyard shifts, Sakura has naturally become a night owl. Mornings just aren't her thing.

“Three!” her mother shrieks in disbelief, and Sakura glares at her with all the threat her baby body can muster. “Three, Kizashi, three! She has three damn soulmates! And another Uchiha on top of that!”

“What happened to not swearing in front of the baby?” Kizashi asks dryly.

Mebuki narrows her eyes at him venomously, and her father shrinks at the heat of it. “Kizashi,” she seethes, “are you sassing me right now?”

“Of course not, dear,” Kizashi instantly says in a placating tone. He raises his hands appeasingly. “I was just trying to lighten up the mood.”

Good move.

Sakura applauds his tact.

Unfortunately for him, her mother isn't one to be easily pacified.

“In this dire situation?” Mebuki emphasizes. “Two soulmates were already bad enough, but it isn't unheard of. But three? Who the fuck has three soulmates?”

Me, apparently, Sakura inwardly replies, raising an imaginary hand to answer the question. She's in her crib, on her stomach, naked with only a diaper to cover her butt, since her mother is evidently too rattled to clothe her, and she's starting to get frigid.

“How about we dress Sakura-chan first?” her father suggests, and Sakura breathes a sigh of relief because, finally, it's already getting too cold for her tastes, and is promptly shoved into a lavender-colored onesie.

“Breakfast too,” Kizashi adds before Mebuki can start on another rant. He then hurriedly whisks Sakura to the kitchen and sets her on her highchair before pulling out the can of powdered milk and bottled water from the cupboard above the sink.

A plate of mashed avocado and a spoon is placed before her, and Sakura peers at her mother who stares back at her blankly. She grins a gummy smile as thank you, her front teeth having not fully emerged yet, and clumsily picks up the spoon.

And well, as petty revenge for causing a ruckus so early in the morning, Sakura decides to scoop up some of the green mush and ‘accidentally’ throw it at her mother.

Chaos ensues once more.

~~~

Soulmates, Sakura soon learns, are usually only limited to one.

She should have pieced the pieces together from the start really, when her father turned pale on seeing her first two soulmarks and when her mother raved about her having three—

But no.

Little Sakura was too busy trying to accept her current reality to bother with it.

Another Uchiha, she laments. Just what is wrong with this world?

She hopes it's a nameless Uchiha this time, because frankly, having Uchiha Itachi as one of her soulmates is bad enough. He's handsome in a beautiful way, but even his beauty can't cover up the fact that he was (or will be?) a mass murderer. But Sakura doesn't consider him to be a traitor to Konoha. She did, once, until she uncovered the truth.

It was a cold winter night, and Sakura had been ordered by Tsunade to sort out the files and scrolls in the drawers of her desk by daybreak, as punishment for working herself to the bone. The drawers were teeming with documents from the Sandaime’s time, dusty and faded, and Sakura gaped at the sheer amount of it all. The Senju had already gone home to sleep off the alcohol in her system, leaving a grumbling Sakura to her own devices.

Running high on coffee, Sakura impatiently removed the first drawer from its nook and dumped everything it had onto the floor. There were folders, envelopes, stacked documents, unused and dried up pens, two paperweights, a rag stained with red— was that blood?

Okay. She could bear with that.

But how the hell was she going to organize all this before dawn?

Sakura checked the time. 8:17 p.m. Great. She had at least eight hours to finish this task, and she could now feel tiredness creeping into her body, the effects of working non-stop at the hospital finally taking its toll.

With a sigh, she picked a worn out paper and placed it aside. She gathered tied-up files and compiled them together, coating her fingertips with a thin layer of dust in the process. Once or twice, she sneezed. Her brain went on autopilot, separating mission requests from mission reports and records from trash. Sakura did that over and over again until she reached the fourth drawer, which was bolted shut.

Huh. She pulled at it to no avail. It remained closed, and Sakura was beginning to think that maybe she should just leave this one alone. But curiosity won, because whatever could it be hiding?

Stubbornly, she gave it one more pull, this time with chakra, and it came loose, almost sending her tumbling to the floor. A loud curse escaped from her lips, and Sakura glared at the drawer —which was now in her arms— for being so damn difficult.

It only contained a single mission scroll that displayed a broken seal.

The discovery only served to fuel her irritation more. The drawer was locked, and this was all it held? Scowling, Sakura took the offending parchment and unfurled it, her eyes instantly finding the name of the sender.

Uchiha Itachi.

What the fuck?

Now completely intrigued, Sakura didn't waste any time scanning the scroll's contents. It wasn't a mission scroll, but rather, a mission report. As her reading progressed, a melee of emotions flashed through her— wonder, horror, disgust, and pity.

Pity for the man who had no choice but to massacre his entire clan under the Sandaime Hokage’s orders.

Pity for the man who had to live as a missing-nin for the rest of his life to protect Konoha from the shadows.

Pity for the man who was currently being hunted down by his younger brother to avenge their fallen kin.

After some more digging, Sakura soon found out that Itachi was still considered an active Konoha shinobi, and contemplated on telling Tsunade. She had all the evidence to support her claims, having compiled Itachi's mission report and shinobi records that stated his active status. There was nothing to lose.

It was at that moment that Inner Sakura reared up its ugly head and laughed, “Tsunade-shishou is the Hokage. What makes you think she doesn't know about this?”

And reality slammed back into her. Even if she did tell Tsunade, what could the older woman do? The damage had already been done; the Uchiha clan was no more and Sasuke was out there for blood. There was nothing more Sakura could do but to keep her mouth shut and head down, and swallow her thoughts back.

Except, she wished she hadn't.

When news of Itachi's death reached her, Sakura barged into the Hokage’s office with eyes that were bloodshot with regret. Tsunade was nursing a bottle of sake, her own eyes red as well.

The older woman glanced at her knowingly. “So you've heard.”

“You knew,” Sakura said accusingly.

Tsunade bitterly laughed and took a shot of her sake. “That you took that scroll? Or that Itachi wasn’t actually as bad as you thought?”

Something akin to fury writhed under her skin. Sakura took a bold step forward. “You knew, but you did nothing.”

“You're a smart girl, Sakura,” Tsunade murmured even as the younger woman began shaking with barely repressed anger. “But you don't know how politics work.”

“Oh?” There's a daring bite in her tone as if challenging the Senju to rise to the taunt. “Try me.”

If it were another day, Tsunade might have backhanded her for her defiance, but clearly, the woman was too preoccupied with something else to even berate her.

Wearily, the Senju sighed, drumming her fingers on her desk while her other hand firmly held the bottle of sake. “It's not the Sandaime’s orders.”

“What?”

“Itachi's mission,” Tsunade clarified. “It wasn't the Sandaime’s orders. It was Danzo’s.”

Conniving son of a bitch.

Sakura's fists clenched. “Danzo controls half of the Elder’s Council,” she muttered. “In addition to that, he has great influence since he was the Sandaime’s advisor.”

Tsunade nodded at her approvingly. “Smart girl,” she repeated. “But that's not the only factor.”

“You mean there's more?”

“Akatsuki. Naruto. Connect the dots.”

Sakura could only gape at her. “You mean…”

“Yes, Sakura. One of the reasons why Naruto is still alive until now is because Itachi had been giving us intel about the Akatsuki.”

“Is that why he was considered active until recently…?”

“Yes. Which is also why I couldn't do anything. He had a mission to complete.”

Overwhelmed, Sakura huffed out a watery laugh. “And now he's dead.”

“Yes,” Tsunade softly agreed. “And so is Jiraiya.”

Ah. Sakura blinked. No wonder the usually confident woman was acting so dismal.

“My… my condolences,” she offered with a tight smile.

A nod of acknowledgement. “Thanks.”

There was a moment of silence, then the corners of Tsunade’s lips curved up into a wry little grin. “You have a good heart, Sakura. Never expected you to feel some sort of compassion towards the Uchiha Itachi.”

Sakura flushed. “I mean, I..well…he's not—”

“It's fine.” Tsunade waved at her stammering dismissively. “I know you like broken things. You like fixing them, gluing them back together. Isn't that why you fell for Sasuke in the first place?”

She opened her mouth to protest, only to find out that she had no excuse.

Tsunade smirked at her before letting seriousness take over. Her brown eyes shone with solemnity, and she set down her sake bottle to lace her fingers together in front of her.

“But Sakura, broken people are different from broken things. You can mend broken things and be done with it. Perhaps sell it to an antique store or something. Broken people, on the other hand, will begin to rely on you once you've healed them. It's a long-term job, and a very delicate one at that. One wrong move, and you'll find yourself back to square one.”

Sakura wisely stayed quiet.

“You have too much love to give,” Tsunade chuckled humorlessly, shaking her head in helpless exasperation. “You'll hurt yourself one day.”

“I know,” Sakura replied easily.

“Fixing broken people will break you in return, Sakura.”

“I know,” she repeated. Everyone in her old team was broken. Kakashi was broken, his heart hollow and empty with the death of his genin teammates. Sasuke was broken, blood humming for vengeance. Even Naruto, the sunshine of the group, was somehow broken, having carried the brunt of the villagers’ hatred and loathing throughout his childhood because of the fox inside him.

And she had tried. She was the normal one, the civilian who had never been through any trauma. So she tried to help them a little. Tried to keep the team from falling apart even when Naruto and Sasuke were constantly at each other's throats, even when Kakashi always showed up late and never gave a damn about her, even when they always left her behind—

Perhaps she was also a bit broken herself.

“Sakura?”

She blinked away the hot tears forming in the corners of her eyes. How pathetic, Inner Sakura hissed at her. Tsunade was staring at her concernedly, and Sakura forced herself to smile, to dissipate the woman's worries a little.

“I'm fine,” she softly laughed as she bowed to her waist and headed for the door, her fingers wrapping around the knob and twisting it open.“Thanks for the talk, Shishou. Good night.”

The lock clicked shut and the conversation was over.

Her other soulmate, the one whose mark is written on her left inner wrist, is someone she didn't meet in her previous life—Uchiha Shisui. However, Sakura had once caught a brief glimpse of his picture pasted on an outdated Bingo Book. Her sharp eyes allowed her to identify curly dark hair and black eyes. There was a red tag on his profile, with the words ‘Flee on Sight’ written on it from all the nations, and it struck her intrigue. But when she tried to dig up information about him, she came up empty.

He had no records, and it was like everything about him was purposefully erased.

She vaguely remembers a boy that seemed a bit older than Itachi picking up Sasuke from the Academy from time to time. He also had black curls, but unlike most Uchiha who spoke so little, the boy was so damn talkative.

But he was also kind, and on one occasion, took her out for dango when he caught her crying under a tree after her bullies had called her names and insulted her.

Unfortunately, she never got his name, and soon, she saw less of him until he fully disappeared and the Uchiha Massacre happened.

Maybe he was Shisui.

Maybe he was not.

Her memories from when she was a child in her previous life are hazy, and Sakura suddenly wishes that she'd browsed the Bingo Book more to familiarize Uchiha Shisui’s features.

She raises her right arm and studies the name branded on it. ‘Uchiha Itachi’ is written beautifully in graceful letters. The soulmark is presently small, but Sakura knows that it will expand as she grows bigger.

Her left inner wrist has ‘Uchiha Shisui’ tattooed on it, and Sakura scrunches her nose at the messy handwriting. It is nowhere as pretty as Itachi’s, but it is still clean and readable. Her own handwriting is much worse when hurried.

Letting her arms drop to her side, Sakura closes her eyes and prays that her third Uchiha soulmate is someone who isn't well-known and will allow her to have an easy life.

You don't have to worry about that, Inner Sakura cackles. Chances are, you won't even get to meet them! The Uchiha are doomed, remember?

Oh. Sakura's almost forgotten about that.

Chapter Text

As she grows older by the day, her mother begins taking her outside more often. The vendors at the market all adore her, sometimes giving Mebuki discounts on fresh fruits that Sakura coos and makes grabbing hands at.

“It's good for the baby,” they say knowingly, and Sakura gifts them with a bright laugh as if she hasn't gotten away with fruits half their original price.

Presently, she doesn't have to worry about running into any Uchiha for the time being. If memory serves her right, her family only moved to Konoha from the Land of Tea when she turned four, so until then, she's going to make the best of her remaining days away from Uchiha territory. Yes, she was a Konoha citizen, but she's not Konoha-born in any of her two lives.

“Apple,” Sakura carefully says with one hand expectantly outstretched after a whole morning of grocery shopping. She's now one year and a half, and can clearly punctuate one to two syllable words, but that's her limit. Any words longer than that and she'll stammer.

Mebuki continues cutting up the apple into smaller pieces. They're in the kitchen preparing lunch, and Sakura is standing beside her mother on the stool her father uses when he's drinking beer by the counter. It's high enough to allow Sakura to barely reach the tabletop. “And what's the magic word?”

Miffed, Sakura grimaces. Apart from not being able to accentuate big words properly, she has a lisp she still hasn't been able to overcome. Her parents find it cute to her utter mortification. But Sakura finds it a nuisance— how will people take her seriously when she can't even speak properly?

She decides to play dumb.

“What ma-jik ‘ord?” she asks, innocence written in the way she tilts her head to the side. “Apple?”

Her mother fixes her an unimpressed stare. “We've been through this several times now, Sakura. What's the magic word?”

“Abra-ca-daba-ra?” she responds, careful to pronounce each syllable right. When she does, Sakura's face lights up and she claps her hands in glee.

A sliced apple piece dangles in front of her, and Sakura grabs for it, pouting when the treat is withdrawn. Mebuki stands in front of her, one hand on her hip and the other holding the apple slice, just out of Sakura's reach. .

“‘Please’, Sakura. That's the magic word. ‘Please’.”

Ah hell.

She's been hoping her mother would just let the subject be.

Petulantly, Sakura folds her arms across her chest and huffs. “No.”

“Then no apple slices for you,” Mebuki states with a tone of finality.

How unfair.

She feels her bottom lip quaver against her will and the telltale pricks in the edges of her eyes. No. No. She's not going to fucking cry over a stupid apple piece.

When seconds pass and her mother isn't showing any signs of budging, Sakura snaps.

“Fine,” she bites out. “Pweeth. There. Pweeth. Happy?”

Mebuki hums, triumph in her stance. “Very,” she replies, then offers Sakura the apple slice she's holding.

Sakura takes one look at it, forgets she's still a baby, and very recklessly jumps off the stool in indignation.

She only has time to remember that she's not an adult anymore, nor does she have access to chakra to soften her fall, before she lands face first onto the floor.

There's a smack, and then pain.

“Sakura!” she hears Mebuki gasp, but Sakura is too busy registering the ringing in her head to acknowledge the worry in the woman's voice. Someone in the background starts bawling loudly. Firm hands grip her sides and lift her up, and she finds herself staring at her mother's pale face.

Her vision is blurry (why is it blurry?) and Sakura becomes aware that it's because of the tears flooding her eyes and streaking down her cheeks. Howls involuntarily rip from her throat, and she hears herself crying, keening, because her head aches and it's throbbing really painfully—

Oh, she realizes amidst the sea of hurt, I'm the one who's bawling.

Weakly, Sakura gurgles out, “Fuuuck.”

“Sakura! You did not just—”

She doesn't get to hear her mother's next words. Without any further ado, Sakura passes out.

~~~~

“That's a big bump you got there,” Ito Marin, the kind lady next door, calls out to her. Sakura likes her. She isn't that old yet, maybe in her early fifties or so, and there are smile wrinkles on the sides of her mouth and faint crow's feet adorning the corners of her eyes. “Had a bad fall?”

Sakura nods slowly. There's a low wooden fence separating their gardens and houses, but she knows she's welcomed to Marin's anytime. The woman finds delight in her company, often lending her story books to read and sending over freshly baked cookies, much to Mebuki’s chagrin.

“I jumped down the thtool and hit my head.”

Marin looks at her, puzzled. “Thtool?”

Ugh.

Sakura's starting to really, really, hate her lisp.

“Yeth, thtool. Chair.”

“Ah! You mean, stool!” Marin exclaims, and Sakura nods again. The older woman's eyes twinkle with mischief. “Well then, you little troublemaker, care to tell me what happened?”

Upon her invitation, Sakura grins at her sweetly. “But Marin-than ith beethy,” she points out. As if she's going to tell Marin that her bump was because she overestimated her small body.

She still has her pride to hold on to after all

“I'm not busy,” Marin says. Only her head and a bit of her neck can be seen, poking out the top of the fence. A straw hat protects her from the afternoon sun. With her current height, Sakura can't exactly see what the woman is doing on the other side of the fence, but she's willing to bet that it's gardening.

Insistently, the toddler shakes her head. “No. Marin-than ith beethy,” she repeats firmly. 

“Guess I'll just have to ask your mom then,” Marin lightly replies and Sakura whips her head to stare at her in horror.

“You wud not!”

“Oh, but I will. Unless you come in for some cookies?”

“Coo-keeth?” Sakura echoes. She furrows her eyebrows thoughtfully, glances at her house a few times where she knows her mother is cleaning, and back at Marin.

Marin just winks at her.

When Sakura returns home that day, it is to Mebuki scolding her for eating too much sweets. The lunch box of biscuits Marin gave her gets confiscated, and Sakura watches sorrowfully as her father places it on top of the highest shelf in the pantry upon her mother's request.

“Don't look at me like that,” Mebuki says with an irritated glare when Sakura tugs at her skirt with watery eyes. “You can eat those tomorrow. Now, go and clean yourself up, dinner's almost ready.”

Dinner is uneventful. Morosely, Sakura picks on her food, separating the carrots from the broccoli with her fork. She hates carrots. A bit hypocritical really, given the fact that she was a medic in her past life and had always advised her friends and patients to never be picky with vegetables.

She's munching on her sixth broccoli when she feels a familiar burn. This time it's on her front. Stunned, Sakura jolts from her seat, her fork clattering to the floor. At the noise, her parents stop in their conversation and glance at her in askance.

“Something wrong, Sakura-chan?” her father questions.

Nervously, she swallows the chewed broccoli down and grins. “I’m full.”

“No, you're not,” Mebuki frowns at her plate. “You've barely eaten!”

“But I'm full!” Sakura whines. Inside, she's cursing her luck and begging the heavens to make her guess wrong because, fuck, she can't have another soulmate!

Kizashi studies her, and she squirms impatiently under his scrutiny. His eyebrows are knitted together, clearly trying to figure out what's bothering Sakura, but Sakura was a kunoichi. She keeps her peeved pout in place even though in reality, she's already panicking.

Silently, she turns to gaze at her father pleadingly.

“It must be the cookies Marin-san fed her,” Mebuki is muttering. “I swear—”

“Oh, let the baby go this once,” Kizashi interrupts her (finally!), ignoring the startled look the woman shoots at him. He playfully makes a shooing motion at Sakura with his hands.“Now, run along you. And behave, understand?”

“Mmkay!”

Happily, Sakura extends her arms and waits for her father to take her down from her highchair. He does with a fond chuckle, twirling her once in the air, before setting her on the floor and patting her head.

“Thankth, Papa!”

She then hurriedly runs to her room, her mother shouting, “Watch your step!” behind her.

Sakura doesn't notice the contemplating stare Kizashi sends her once her back is turned.

~~~~

Maybe Fate is really playing with her, Sakura muses when she's standing in front of her mirror, shirtless. She's in her bedroom, the door securely locked to prevent her parents from unexpectedly barging in, and her eyes are trained on the writing just below her collarbone.

Uchiha Sasuke.

She forces down the bile threatening to rise.

Uchiha Itachi, Uchiha Shisui, Uchiha Sasuke—

And she still hasn't seen which Uchiha’s name is displayed on her back.

Shit. Double shit. She hadn't been expecting to receive another soulmate, who was her teammate on top of that. Fuuuck. Does this mean that her dream for a peaceful life is over?

Scowling, Sakura throws her shirt back on and stomps to her bed, diving under the thick covers. She'd seen firsthand the way Sasuke spiraled into madness on receiving the Cursed Mark. Granted, he was already on the brink of insanity before Orochimaru bit him, his hate fueling even more upon the snake's intervention.

She hesitates.

Maybe she can prevent that this time?

With a groan, she curls into a fetal position, execrating every spirit listening to her to go to the seven pits of purgatory and smolder into ashes, because honestly, Sakura feels like they're doing this to her for their own entertainment.

Like, who the hell pairs up two brothers to the same woman?

A maniac, that's for sure.

And also, screw her god-complex. Good bye to her initial plans of living normally and staying away from shinobi crap— because Sakura just can't sit back and watch Sasuke fall into the darkness again, meaning she'll have to prevent Itachi from killing the whole Uchiha and thus averting Sasuke from the dark path.

Dammit. She'll also have to be extra careful in hiding her identity as Itachi and Sasuke’s soulmate so as to not attract Danzo’s attention. Knowing the scheming elder, he'll find a way to use her against Itachi if it means that his plans will succeed. Perhaps hold her hostage and utilize her as a bargaining chip, or worse, kidnap her and integrate her in ROOT.

Well, she can always commit suicide if things go awry.

Sakura sits up abruptly at the idea. That's actually…. not so bad of a Plan B….

“Oh, so you're throwing away our life now?” Inner Sakura snarks at her bitingly. “And for what, to save your Sasuke-kun? Have you forgotten that he tried to kill us? Twice, if I may add.”

“Thut up,” Sakura grumbles in reply. Childishly, she presses her hands to her ears as if doing so will block out the voice in her head. “No one athked for your o-pinion.”

Inner Sakura just scoffs at her in disdain. “So you don't want my opinions, eh? Then how about a suggestion. Look in the mirror, turn around, and have a glimpse of the soulmark on your back. You've been stalling long enough, I say. It's about damn time you know who our third soulmate is.”

“If I do that,” Sakura says thoughtfully, “will you thut up?”

A shrug. “Okay.”

And with that in mind, Sakura slides off her bed, heads to her mirror, and doesn't hesitate in pulling her shirt off again despite the rising anxiety swirling in her stomach. Surely her third soulmate isn't that bad, apart from being an Uchiha. Her heart in her throat, she takes a deep breath and turns around.

Uchiha Obito.

Her heart immediately drops to her stomach in horror.

Chapter Text

In all fairness, it could have been worse. Her third soulmate could have been Uchiha Madara, but thankfully Fate isn't that cruel.

But apparently cruel enough to gift her a man who can be considered as a mini Madara.

For the hundredth time, Sakura bewails her life.

Shisui, she can disregard, having not met him in her previous life. Itachi, she can also ignore since she didn't have enough attachments to him to care about his ending (“Is that so?” Inner Sakura laughs at her knowingly. “Then why did you cry when he died?”).

Sasuke was supposed to be her only problem.

But nooo.

Now she has to hunt down the man who was one of the factors her previous world fell and convert him to the good side before everything unfolds.

“I thought we were just gonna sit back, relax, and watch when shit goes down?” Inner Sakura harrumphs, folding her arms across her chest in mocking contempt. “And shit’s not gonna go down when you go and save Obito, you know.”

Sakura groans and buries her face in her hands. She should have known none of her lives would be peaceful, through choice or not. Ugh. She's beginning to regret getting too involved with shinobi in her past life.

Ignorance truly is bliss, Sakura decides. Throughout the nations, the Uchiha are viewed as powerful, rich, and noble; most people would be honored to have an Uchiha as their soulmate for those characteristics alone. If she only knew her soulmates as plain Uchiha and none of their circumstances, Sakura would have accepted them immediately happily.

But of course Sakura just has the luck of knowing everything, including the future destruction that awaits.

Fuck money and prestige. She wants peace. Peace she won't get with three of her soulmates about to become infamous missing-nins.

Well, Obito can already be considered as a missing-nin given the fact that he'd let Kurama loose upon Naruto’s birth, killing the Yondaime and Uzumaki Kushina in the process, if his identity is common knowledge. But currently, it's safe to assume that Sakura is the only one who knows that the person who set the nine-tails free on the night Naruto was born was actually Obito and not Madara.

No surprise. Obito is already hailed as dead after all, but Madara is a legend, the only person in history who had succeeded in controlling the nine-tailed fox. Furthermore, his body was never found after his fight with Hashirama. So it would be more believable to place the blame on him rather than on a nameless Uchiha who died on a mere mission.

The dead stay dead, but legends stay as legends.

Well, unfortunately for this world, Obito isn't dead.

Yet.

Sakura remembers Obito dying as a hero, shielding Naruto and Kakashi from Kaguya’s attack in his latter moments. He disintegrated several moments after, but not without thanking Naruto for reminding him who he truly was and his beliefs, and Sakura…

Her arms were trembling in fatigue (or was it because of sorrow?) as she kept calling on her chakra to help her heal the dying Uchiha because she's a medic, dammit, and what kind of medic would she be if she couldn't save one man's life?

“You’re a contradiction,” Obito weakly chuckled as she forced more healing chakra into his body. It was rapidly crumbling to dust, its cells dissolving faster than she could replace them. “You can easily crush thousands with your fists, and also bring back people from the doors of death with the same hands.”

Too focused on her task to save his life, Sakura blatantly ignored him. Kakashi was already broken enough as it was, and she knew the death of his remaining genin teammate would kill him more inside. She couldn't allow that. In this war that took a lot of lives, they should at least be able to keep Obito alive and allow him to redeem himself. It would help alleviate Kakashi's pain even if it wouldn't heal the man completely.

His breath momentarily stuttered and she cursed under her breath. Sweat beaded her forehead, dripping down the bridge of her nose and her eyelids at her efforts. Below her, Obito laughed softly.

“You’re a lot like Rin, you know? Brave, kind-hearted, stubborn…probably why Kakashi dotes on you a lot—”

She gritted her teeth. “Shut up.”

A calloused hand came up to caress her cheek. Startled, Sakura tensed at the contact but didn't falter in her concentration. She peered down at him with green eyes brimming with tears.

“Pretty,” the Uchiha rasped, and Sakura glared at him fiercely.

“This isn't the time to flirt, you moronic—”

“Come now, Haruno,” he interrupted and there was a resigned look on his face. “The both of us know I'm not going to make it. Why waste your energy on a dead man? Use it to aid your teammates instead.”

“I said, shut up!” Her tears began spilling down in earnest and Sakura swallowed a sob. The chakra in her hands stubbornly flared brighter and Obito winced at the intensity of it, but she was way past the point of caring. “Dead man, my ass! You already died in Kakashi-sensei’s mind a long time ago, on that damn mission, when you gave him your eye! He mourned for you and you let him. For his sake, you should have stayed dead! But of course you didn't. You just had to reopen Kakashi's closed wounds, and now you're leaving him? How fucking dare you?”

There was silence, then the edges of his mouth tilted up into a wry smile.

“Haruno. Are you crying for your Kakashi's loss or are you crying for me?”

Appalled, she stared at him. Behind her, she could hear Naruto and Sasuke clashing blades and exchanging blows with Kaguya and the chirping of Kakashi's Chidori. But it was muted. Like the fighting was happening far away and not just a few feet away from her. Obito gazed at her, his lone eye warm with a touch of fondness, and Sakura hesitated. Why exactly was she crying?

For who was she crying for?

She heard a wet laugh, then Obito’s tired voice. Belatedly, she realized that her hands were no longer glowing with chakra, and she stared blankly at the man who was quickly turning into dust in helplessness. Fuck her medical abilites, there was nothing she could do anymore. Her reserves were now empty, and the only thing her healing had done was slow down Obito’s disintegration for a while— how utterly useless. If Tsunade could see her right now, would she laugh at her for failing to save a life? Would she push Sakura aside, show her how it's supposed to be done, and come up with a solution within seconds?

But there was no use in relying on the dead. Tsunade had died a long time ago, her body horizontally sliced in half by an overgrown tree trunk, and even Katsuyu couldn't attach her body together again since the obstinate Senju insisted on helping the other Kages first rather than focusing on herself even with her chakra levels running so low.

Dead.

Sakura blinked back to focus. Obito was saying something, his mouth moving to form words that were muffled. She was screaming back at him, clearly protesting, her cheeks streaked with tears, but why couldn't she hear herself? His remaining hand, the one that still hadn't been converted to dust, gently grasped her hovering fingers, squeezing them assuringly and bringing them to his half-dissolved lips in a faint kiss, even as he finally scattered into powder, and she was left hung up on a man who had already faded away.

The last thing she heard before she saw black was—

“Perhaps in another life, Haruno.”

Stunned, Sakura snaps out of her meditation, her brilliant green eyes blown wide in surprise. Her interaction with Obito…she doesn't remember any of that happening. Thoughtfully, she pulls on her memories, flinching when static fills her mind.

What?

“What's wrong, Sakura?”

She glances at Mebuki who is at the stove whipping up a quick lunch. The woman's back is turned, and Sakura wonders how her mother noticed her unease. Motherly instincts, maybe? Concentration fully broken, Sakura hops off her chair and drags it towards her mother in order to reach the counter and help in prepping the food. In a few weeks she'll be turning four, and over the years she has come to a decision.

To save her soulmates from the sidelines.

Her Plan B, since Plan A flew out the window the moment she received Sasuke as one of hers.

Yep. Farewell to peace.

She doesn't plan on telling her soulmates that she's their soulmate though. Nope. Sakura plans on hiding her identity and real name from them as long as possible, because if she can't have peace, then the least she can have is freedom— freedom from being chained to four men just because of some stupid destiny shit.

Presently, her chakra levels are pitiful, but compared to normal civilian adults, it's larger due to her constantly meditating. Not enough to be chunin-level, but it was already equivalent to a first-year Academy student. With more meditation, Sakura is certain she can grow her reserves bigger in no time. Well, she has to if she wants to save the four Uchiha she's bonded to.

“We're moving to Konoha in a month.” There's nostalgia tinting her mother's tone. “Your grandmother's been wanting to meet you for a while now.”

Sakura isn’t surprised. In her past life, it was her grandmother who looked after her while her parents were out on their usual trips, being traveling merchants and all. Kizashi and Mebuki were rarely home, so most of the time it was only her and her grandmother that occupied the big house her father had purchased in Konoha. But in this world, she still hasn't met her grandma, which is why, for formality's sake, Sakura tilts her head to the side and plays dumb. “Grandmother?”

“That's right, Sakura,” Mebuki nods, taking the cabbage leaves from the strainer. “Obāchan. You're going to meet Obāchan.”

And apparently three of my soulmates too, Sakura thinks dryly.

Which makes her wonder, how is she going to find Obito?

Her nimble fingers grasp the knife near her, and Mebuki slaps her hand away in admonishment. Sakura pouts. She can handle blades just fine— kunai and shuriken are a shinobi’s best friend. It isn't her fault her motor skills are still of a child's, so clumsy and dull.

“Sakura,” she hears her mother's warning tone when her fingers begin inching towards a can-opener on her right.

Dammit. Why are adults so needlessly protective?

“Oh, I don't know. Probably because you're still supposed to be a kid?” Inner Sakura reminds her sarcastically.

Good point.

The sound of knife chopping vegetables fills the air, and Sakura darts a hand out to a sliced carrot before Mebuki can stop her. With a cheshire-like grin, she stuffs it into her mouth and chews it, her cheeks bulging, playfully sticking out a tongue to her mother after she swallows it. She hates carrots. But just to spite the older woman, Sakura's willing to eat as much carrots as needed.

“A kid, indeed,” Inner Sakura groans in long-suffering when Sakura jumps off her chair and runs to her bedroom with a victorious giggle, Mebuki just behind her waving her knife in mock anger. “Sages, aren't you enjoying this too much?”

In reply, Sakura just laughs in glee.

~~~~

“Hello there.”

Sakura doesn't startle. She's noticed someone following her for a while now, their chakra suppressed but not fully, and Sakura wonders if it's deliberate or not. It's as small as a squirrel's, but animal chakra, like a civilian’s, is undisciplined and this one is honed to perfection. A shinobi then. But what is a shinobi doing out here in the wild without completely cloaking their chakra? As a shinobi herself, Sakura knows that shinobi, by nature, are distrustful people, and even in their villages, they keep their chakra muted. Curious to see who her guest is, she slowly turns around and comes face to face with a masked man.

This time, Sakura startles on realizing the little distance between them.

“Hello?” she replies, uncertain. Quickly, she takes two steps back, her hands clutching the flower-filled basket she's holding to her chest. “May I help you, stranger?”

The shinobi is clearly male, judging from his voice earlier, and there's a sword strapped on his back. A cloak is draped on his shoulders, worn-out and dirty, and Sakura deduces that he's either on a long mission currently or he's been traveling for a long time now. His mask covers his face completely, preventing Sakura from seeing his features. All in all, her guest is sketchy and her instincts are telling her dangerdangerdanger, but Sakura being Sakura, ignores them and holds her head high.

What kind of honorable shinobi would kill an innocent child anyway?

The man rises from his crouching position so they are no longer on eye level. He's taller than her, but he still has room to grow, meaning he isn't an adult yet. Probably around seventeen to nineteen years old. A good shinobi then, considering that he's lived through most of his teenage years and is already reaching the cusp of adulthood.

Sakura doesn't remember meeting him in her past life.

Another red flag.

A hand enters her peripheral vision, and she tenses in apprehension, her eyes widening minutely before closing them tightly shut. Shit. Maybe she misjudged him and now she's going to pay severely for her mistake. She hopes not. She isn't too sure if her small body will be able to endure long-term abuse if the man were to torture her. And she can't die, not yet, not until she's changed her soulmates’ futures at least.

Something lands on her head and ruffles her pink hair a bit too roughly. Bemused, Sakura's eyes flutter open and blink. Oh. The man’s hand retracts and goes to his pant pocket, and Sakura tilts her head at him, keenly watching his every move but considerably more relaxed now, and is rewarded a chocolate bar for her patience.

“Mama says I shouldn't accept gifts from strangers,” she frowns. Her hands itch to accept the offered sweet, but what if it's poisoned or something? On second thought, why would anyone want to poison her? She hasn't done anything bad.

“Yet,” Inner Sakura cackles.

The man chuckles at her, but he doesn't take the chocolate bar back, to Sakura's approval. “Okay then, sweetheart, how about you tell me your name first?”

She puffs at him. “Not fair,” she retorts. “You're the suspicious one here.”

At her response, amusement vibrates from his form, and she hears a cheery snicker. Sakura scowls at him in displeasure. Maybe she should punch him. She has enough chakra to do at least five chakra-reinforced punches before passing out.

“I’m Tobi,” the man finally says after a good minute of chortling at her (the nerve!). “What’s your name?”

His name brings warning bells into her mind. Why does it sound familiar? Tobi. Tobi. Tobi.

Tobi.

Obito.

What?

Why did Obito’s name flash up?

Completely puzzled now, Sakura narrows her eyes at Tobi searchingly. But no, it couldn't be him, could it? She doesn't remember meeting Obito at this age. Well, maybe she couldn't, since she was a mere four-year-old, and four-year-olds don't really have the best memory, but Sakura wasn't just any four-year-old. No. Even in her previous life, she had photographic memory.

There's only a twenty percent chance that the man she's talking to right now is actually Obito, Sakura calculates. In all likelihood, the man might be just lonely and wants someone to talk to after a long dreary mission. She nods at the thought. Why would Obito even want to talk to a kid like her? And so, against her better judgment, Sakura decides to throw caution to the winds.

She gives him a tentative smile. “Haruno Sakura,” she introduces herself. Sakura then looks at him then at the chocolate bar expectantly. “We're friends now, right?”

With a mask obscuring his face, Sakura can't see what expression he's making, but his shoulders become tense, and it makes her itch in curiosity. Did she say something wrong? She's certain that she hasn't. Or maybe, he's not used to having friends? A sorry on the tip of her tongue, Sakura is about to apologize for being so outspoken when—

“Sure,” the man agrees easily. His tenseness is gone, and if Sakura didn't have such keen senses, she might have wondered if it was only a figment of her imagination. He brandishes the chocolate like a trophy and waves it. “You want?”

Sakura is quick to nod at his question. “Yes please!”

The chocolate bar is deposited into her basket, and she squeals in delight, dropping the wicker onto the ground and fishing out the wrapped sweet. Eagerly, she tears off the wrapping and pops a piece of sugary snack into her mouth.

It isn't poisoned.

“Here,” Sakura breaks off another piece and hands it to Tobi with sticky fingers, ”have some.”

Tobi shakes his head. “I don't like sweet things.”

“Shame. It's really yummy, you know?”

“Is it really that yummy for you to make a mess of yourself?” Tobi laughs, clearly finding her antics amusing.

Sakura readily forgives him. It isn't everyday she gets free dessert, Marin having to tone down her tendency in giving her too much sugar after Mebuki had a talk with her. Every now and then, Marin still sneaks treats into her hands, but it's getting less and less frequent with each passing day, and Sakura has already realized that she needs another candy supplier.

She eyes Tobi thoughtfully.

Too bad she can't persuade him to be her next supplier as he is only a passing shinobi.

A handkerchief gently wipes away the dark goo off the sides of her mouth, and Sakura willingly leans to the cloth, allowing Tobi to clean her up. From the beginning, she hasn't sensed any hostility from him, but Sakura doesn't trust him that much yet. She trusts him enough to let him mop the sticky mess on her face, however.

Partly because she can't have her mother yelling at her again for eating too much sweets before dinner.

“I'll bring you more next time,” Tobi promises, and Sakura perks up, because there's a next time? Really? She's starting to like this guy.

“How long will you be staying here?” she blurts out in curiosity, and immediately claps her hands over her mouth in embarrassment when Tobi stops wiping her. Why did she have to sound so eager? A pink flush creeps into her cheeks and she turns her gaze away and focuses on the nearest tree to avoid her new friend’s stare.

Wow. There's a line of ants marching up the tree’s bark.

A light laugh. “I won't be staying,” Tobi answers. “But I'll be visiting from time to time.”

“Oh.” Sakura shifts her weight from one foot to another. She hates good-byes. And this new friend of hers just seems so lonely underneath his cloak and all, it makes her want to get to know him more and hug him tight once they've gotten closer. She knows how lonely shinobi life can get. It can drive one into insanity, which is why shinobi are taught how to rein in their emotions.

An art Sakura has never been able to master.

“You'll come find me, right?”

“Do you want me to?” Tobi asks, and there's something unreadable in his tone.

Sakura smiles at him brightly, this time more earnest and open. “Yes please.”

Ignorance really is bliss. If Sakura had known Tobi’s true identity, she wouldn't have been so careless as to grow attached to him in a short amount of time.

Neither would she have given him her real name in accordance with her Plan B.

But of course Fate just likes messing with her and making her life difficult.

It's only several years later that Sakura realizes her plans have already gone partially awry the moment she gave her name to a stranger called Tobi in the woods of the Land of Tea.

Chapter Text

Two weeks pass by with her frequently meeting up with Tobi, and flower picking quickly becomes her favorite hobby in the afternoons since it allows her to have an excuse to explore the woodlands on a regular basis. Every time she goes out, Sakura never fails to bring home a basket filled with woodland wildflowers as proof of her adventures, much to her mother’s displeasure.

“But they’re pretty!” Sakura will argue when Mebuki is about to take them away and throw them in the garbage can. “I’ll use them to decorate my room! And you can also put them in a vase and place it on the table as a centerpiece!”

Eventually, Mebuki grows tired of reasoning with her and gets used to the occasional scattered petals on the floor, the blooming corn chamomiles by the kitchen windows, and the liverworts Sakura painstakingly take care of in their backyard. Kizashi gladly supports Sakura’s unusual obsession with wildflowers, and gives her another wicker basket, this one bigger than the last, and Sakura continues going out to the woods in search of more colorful blossoms.

A facade.

She doesn’t tell them the other reason why she frequently visits the wild.

She doesn’t tell her parents about her shinobi friend who is always waiting for her under the canopy of an old tree, be it sunny or raining, with a bar of chocolate or a pouch of candies in hand.

“Tobi-kun!”

She doesn’t tell them about him because she knows they’ll restrict her from seeing him again, afraid for her safety, and Sakura can’t have that happening.

Strong hands catch her, and Sakura lets loose a carefree laugh, her arms wrapping around her friend’s neck. “Tobi-kun!” she smiles, delight dancing in her emerald-hued eyes. They’ve grown closer with each meeting, and nowadays, Sakura’s greetings are accompanied with a quick hug, which Tobi readily accepts. “Have you been waiting long?”

Tobi chuckles at her, his left hand reaching to pinch her cheek affectionately. “Not long,” he promises. “But I was starting to wonder if you were coming or not.”

At that, Sakura pouts. “I’m sorry. Mama wouldn’t let me go until I had finished packing up my books and toys, and I kept getting distracted because I was sure that I’d be really, really late and you’d finally leave before I could arrive.”

“Packing?”

“Yes,” Sakura nods, her bottom lip jutting out thoughtfully. “We’re moving to Konoha in about…three weeks, I think?”

And Tobi goes rigid. It alarms Sakura, because one minute he’s relaxed and the next, he’s completely tense, and she can feel the muscles on his shoulders bunching up defensively under her arms. His usually calm chakra spikes up malevolently, tinged with rage and an undertone of sadness, swirling wildly into a chaotic dance. Did she trigger a bad memory? Quietly, Sakura pats the side of his mask to pacify him.

It takes him a few minutes to get his chakra under control again, and when he does, Sakura offers him a comforting grin and pets his short-cropped black hair like one does to a cute dog.

Well. All dogs are cute, and Sakura loves them, but that’s beside the point.

“You okay?” she asks, concern tinting her tone. Tobi doesn’t respond. She studies him as much as she can with knitted eyebrows to gauge his current emotions, but with his entire face covered, it’s a difficult task. And with patience not being her strongest suit, she gives up almost immediately and instead focuses on the design of his mask.

It’s white and bare (“Boring,” Inner Sakura supplies), and Sakura traces the slight cracks that adorn the edges with gentle fingers. Intrigue pushes its way up, pleading to be satisfied, to find out why Tobi is always wearing a mask. Is he in ANBU? A hunter-nin? Or is it a scar? Sakura won't be surprised if that's the case. With a career that requires one to put their life on the line most of the time, scars are unavoidable and common.

Even Obito lived most of his life behind a mask to hide his scarred face.

A choice Sakura questions, because really, even with his damaged looks, Obito was still an Uchiha. Meaning, his scars didn't make him less handsome, and it only served to give him a roguish beauty that plenty of women would swoon at. Especially kunoichi.

So why would he— oh.

And Sakura remembers that Obito was also posing as Uchiha Madara beneath his mask.

Hmph. What a waste of a handsome face.

Humming, Sakura turns her attention to Tobi’s hair. It's short, but long enough to play with. Spiky. Inquisitive, she runs her fingers through it and they glide seamlessly, making her pout. Maybe she should pull his hair. Just for fun. It isn't fair his hair is silkier than hers.

“Tobi-kun,” she says softly as to not startle him, her stubby fingers still tangled in his dark locks.

Tobi still doesn't reply.

“Tobi-kun.”

No answer.

Now mildly annoyed, Sakura tugs his hair hard.

He doesn't give any indication of noticing it.

What the hell is wrong with this man?

She checks her chakra reserves. Full. Thank the sage she meditated this morning. But will it be enough for a brief checkup? She isn't sure. Subtly, Sakura flexes her left hand in preparation. She's the best when it comes to chakra control, but she hasn't tried doing medical ninjutsu in this life yet. Sakura inwardly prays she gets it right on her first try.

And if she doesn't, then well, she'll just have to find a way to bury Tobi in secret, right?

With a deep breath, she calls out to her chakra.

A gentle green sphere encases her hand. She makes sure Tobi doesn't see it, since normal civilian children aren’t supposed to know about chakra. The sensation is familiar, and Sakura welcomes it, placing her hand behind Tobi’s head and using it to soothe the man's worries. Her other hand continues playing with the man's hair. She knows the effect medical chakra has on most shinobi. Like mint, it can calm them down. But Sakura has to be careful to only use the least amount of chakra possible to prevent Tobi from noticing her abilities.

Hopefully, he isn't one of those shinobi that are very hyper-sensitive to healing chakra.

His shoulders begin relaxing in response to her ministrations. Encouraged by the fact that she didn't blow Tobi’s head off (she once made a fish explode when she was still apprenticing under Tsunade), she decides to give him a quick scan just in case. Most med-nins won't be able to do a full body scan from the head only, but Sakura was Tsunade’s protege. For her, sending her chakra throughout a person's body from one place is child's play.

Carefully, Sakura inserts a trickle of her chakra into Tobi’s own chakra pathways. She starts with his head, checking if his brain activity is normal and there's no internal bleeding, then moves to his eyes to see if he has any problems with his vision and—

Fuck.

What the fuck?

Only those with dojutsu have chakra pathways connected to their eyes. So why the hell does his eyes have chakra pathways?

Sakura frowns at her discovery. Her chakra begins probing further, examining both eyes, only for her chakra to leak out of one socket. The other socket is terribly strained and jammed up with hardened chakra, and Sakura is brought back to the times she had to regularly check on Kakashi’s Sharingan and manually dissolve the clogs while soothing the damaged tissues.

And ooohh— shit.

Realization sinks into Sakura but before she can explore that thought, a hand curls around her wrist and she lets out a surprised yelp. Her chakra flickers off, and she turns to meet one blazing scarlet eye beneath the mask, her heart almost stuttering to a stop at the sight. Every fiber of her being freezes.

“What did you do?”

His voice is quiet, as if a disaster is about to blow over, and Sakura flinches. The Sharingan in front of her spins lazily, the foreshadowing of doom hovering above her, and somewhere far off, she hears Fate distantly laughing at her plight. Memories of destruction, a resurrected Madara, thousands of dead bodies, a conversation with a dying Obito (what?), and herself finally succumbing to darkness flash through her mind. Shit. She should have known. But how could she have when really, she didn't meet Obito until the war?

“Sakura,” Tobi— no, Obito— rasps, and Sakura holds her breath because he has never called her by her name until now. It has always been ‘sweetheart’ or ‘Blossom’, a nickname he drew from her given name. “What did you do?”

She shakes her head frantically. “N-Nothing!”

“Sakura.”

“It was nothing, I promise!” She begins to squirm in his embrace, wanting to be put down because shitshitshit Obito knows about her, knows that she's his soulmate, and sages be damned who knows what he'll do next.

And she's still a kid, dammit, meaning she's at a disadvantage here if Obito were to ever attack her.

“You’re his soulmate,” Inner Sakura scoffs at her disbelievingly. “Why would he want to hurt his soulmate?”

Oh yeah.

At the realization, Sakura stops struggling, and Obito’s grip around her tightens.

“Have you calmed down?”

More relaxed now but still a little wary, Sakura stares at him. “Y-You aren't angry?”

“Angry about what?” When she doesn't answer, there's a long-drawn sigh, and Obito sits down with her still in his arms, and rests his head against the tree trunk behind him. “Blossom, where did you learn that?”

She swallows a terrified hiccup (“Scaredy-cat,” Inner Sakura hisses at her with glee). “Learn what?”

“Learn medical ninjutsu.”

Sages, really. If it were another shinobi, not Obito, then maybe her healing would have gone unnoticed.

But of courseeeee not.

Fuck her life.

“I…I read shinobi books,” she lies smoothly. Children are such great liars. “I also meditate to grow my chakra. Then I practice on animals.”

“Why?”

Sakura blinks, confused. “...why?”

“Yes, Blossom, why?” Obito touches her palm lightly, like a whisper skimming her skin. Her body taut with apprehension, she watches his calloused fingers press the middle of her hand, prodding and curious. “Do it again.”

Again?

Sakura makes an indignant little sound in the back of her throat. Does he see her as some kind of circus animal to amuse his interest?

“If you don't want to, it's fine,” Obito tells her as if sensing her displeasure. “But how many people have you told about this?”

“None.”

“Really?”

“Yes, O—” Sakura catches herself just in time and mentally curses. “Yes, Tobi-kun. I'm sure.”

“Not even your parents?”

“Tobi-kun.” She cranes her head to look at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion, her initial terror tampered by slight annoyance. “Are you doubting me?”

“No, it's just…” Obito draws a long deep breath and leans forward so that his chin is propped on her shoulder. His gloved hands engulf her own, holding them, dare she say, protectively. The soft afternoon rays filter through the trees, a light contrast against the forest's shadows. “There are a lot of bad people, sweetheart. And healers are really rare now. Imagine if someone evil finds you, a little child who knows medical ninjutsu. It’ll be a disaster, and you might get hurt.”

And Sakura is stumped. Her fear slowly ebbs away, replaced by guilt. Is… Is Obito actually worried about her? Seriously?

Where's the villain who wreaked havoc in her previous world?

“I'm starting to think that you need a good smack on the head,” Inner Sakura says snarkily. “You're his soulmate. How many times do I have to repeat that? It's natural for him to be worried about your ass.”

It is? But aren't villains supposed to be cold-hearted?

“You're his fucking soulmate!” Inner Sakura finally snarls. “Obviously you're an exception to his cruelty!”

Obito’s hold radiates warmth, and Sakura droops her head in shame. She shouldn't have judged him that way. If Obito had wanted to kill her, he would have already killed her the day they met. But the man has only been good to her, indulging her with sweets and setting aside time to spend with her, even though by now he should already be planning and preparing for this world's demise.

Not that she supports that notion.

Oh? Maybe there's hope yet?

In all honesty, she doesn't know how Obito found her, but it's a twist she'll gladly welcome. At least now she won't have to go through all the trouble of scouring whole nations just to find him. And seeing that Obito still hasn't told her his real name, preferring to be called ‘Tobi’, Sakura thinks it's safe to assume that the man isn't ready to let her know that he's one of her soulmates.

Does he even know that she has four? Or are the marks of her other soulmates also tattooed on him?

What a messed up world this is.

But his reluctance to reveal his real identity gives her the opportunity to keep playing dumb about his identity while trying to steer him off the dark path. A lot of work but…

Sakura decides to test the waters.

“Are you a bad person, Tobi-kun?”

She can sense the smile in his voice when he replies as he fondly nuzzles the crown of her head, “To you? Never.”

Not an outright yes or no. But it’s better than nothing, Sakura supposes.

Besides, she still has her soulmate card.

Nodding to herself in satisfaction, she wriggles her fingers in his grasp, and Obito opens his hands, her stubby limbs finally springing free. Her lips pull into a frown as she calls on her chakra once again, and green emerges from her fingertips, lighting up their surroundings in a tender glow. It's almost night, evident by how the forest is getting darker and darker with each passing minute. She can already hear Mebuki scolding her for returning home too late.

“I trust Tobi-kun,” she softly declares. Why wouldn't she? Obito hasn't done anything to hurt her yet. Her chakra burns brighter, fueled by her conviction, and she turns to the man holding her, who watches her every move attentively. “So you better not break it.”

Obito shifts, amusement vibrating from his sitting form. “And if I do?”

“You won’t do it,” she says the simple truth, and Obito inhales sharply. Sakura holds his gaze, determined to get her point across. “So Tobi-kun, you'll allow me to heal you whenever you're hurt, right?”

Silence. Then Obito cradles her glimmering hands, caging the light emitting from them.

“Only if you won't show your abilities to anyone else.”

Sakura pouts at that. “Unfair. Healers aren't supposed to keep their healing to themselves.”

“Sakura.”

She keeps pouting.

As expected, Obito folds.

He squeezes her hands.

“Then let's compromise. You can heal others, but only those you trust, you hear? Not strangers. Just friends and family.”

“And soulmates,” Sakura adds, biting back a triumphant grin.

“Soulmates?” Confusion bleeds into Obito’s words.

She registers the slip of her tongue too late, and a grimace twists her lips. Oof. She's forgotten that most people only have one soulmate. And even though she has four, she doesn't know whether the concept also applies to Obito. Do they have the same soulmates? Or is she his only soulmate? Dammit. Why does she have to be so outspoken? She blames it on Naruto for rubbing off on her.

“Oh, just play along,” Inner Sakura says with a roll of her eyes. “What's the worst that can happen? Just play dumb. That's your forte, isn't it ?”

Cornered, Sakura covers up her mistake with a cheerful smile. “Soulmates!” she agrees. “I have four! How about you, Tobi-kun?”

“Four?” Obito repeats, disbelief clear. It gives Sakura a hunch that maybe she really is his only soulmate. “You have four?”

Play dumb.

Innocently, Sakura tilts her head. “Is something wrong with having four…?”

Obito shakes his head.

Inside her, Inner Sakura cackles mischievously. “Seems like you dropped quite a bomb there,” she comments, giggling wickedly. “Poor Obito-chan, having to share you with three other men in the future.”

“There will be no sharing!” Sakura immediately retorts back at her, hackles rising. “I’m just saving them, and after that, I’ll disappear!”

A scoff. “They’re Uchiha, you idiot. You really think you’ll be able to escape from them? They’re maniacal when they lose someone they love, and damn obsessive when they want something. Think again.”

Worst part? Sakura knows her Inner is right. She’d seen Sasuke’s persistent pursuit of his brother to enact revenge on him until he succeeded and Itachi was no more; had read Itachi’s letter to the Sandaime to take good care of Sasuke, his remaining kin that he so adored, after he’d massacred their entire clan to save the village from an uprising; had skimmed the history books entailing Madara’s fall to madness after his younger brother was killed by the Nidaime; had witnessed how Obito had willingly destroyed the world just to create a dream where Rin was alive and no one was in pain.

The problem with the Uchiha is that they love too much. They’ll do anything to protect their cherished ones, and when all fails, and that love gets broken, they go insane with bitterness, resentment, and longing.

Just like Sasuke.

Like Madara.

Like Obito.

Even Itachi, who sacrificed his own flesh and blood for the village he grew up in and loved.

Shuddering, Sakura starts to rethink her life plans.

She gets grounded when she returns home that night.

~~~~

To her delight, her being grounded does not stop Obito from visiting. After two afternoons of not visiting the forest, the Uchiha decides to visit her, tapping on her window in the middle of the night when she is already fast asleep in her bed.

It takes her a moment to regain her senses, her hand automatically grabbing the small dagger she keeps hidden under her pillow just in case. Old habits do die hard after all. She keeps her eyes closed in the pretense of sleep, her chakra calm and smooth, even as she scans the room for danger with squinted eyes and open ears. Nothing. It isn’t until she notices the subtle change in the air that she realizes there’s a genjutsu at work.

Intruder.

She quickly sends out a pulse of chakra to break the illusion.

Almost instantly, the atmosphere shifts, and a shadow appears just outside her bedroom window, blocking the moonlight. It’s a very familiar silhouette, and Sakura sits up on seeing it, hurriedly kicking her blanket off her body and rushing to the window, her clumsy fingers awkwardly unlocking the bolts. Impatiently, she slides it open, an ecstatic grin in place.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she scolds, but sages, she’s missed him, and so she wastes no time in grabbing his arm and tugging him inside.

Obito lands on the floor gracefully at her pull, and she swiftly locks the window again. When she turns around, Sakura finds that the man has taken residence on her bed, snuggling against the pillows like an overgrown cat. A giggle escapes her at the sight.

“This bed is so soft,” Obito mumbles with a sigh of contentment. “How is it so soft?”

Sleep forgotten, Sakura whacks his head with a stray plushie playfully. “Move over, you big baby. That’s my bed and I want it back.”

“Sharing is caring,” he reminds her, but doesn't argue. Groaning in bliss, Obito scoots to the side and wraps himself up with her fuchsia blanket.

It's at that moment that Sakura realizes that pink and Obito do not go well together. Rather, it looks ridiculous on him, against his white mask and black hair and dirty cloak—

She halts.

Then stiffens.

And looks at the very soiled and worn-down cloak contrasting perfectly against the white and strawberry-patterned covers of her bed.

Ah.

Ah crap.

Her mother's going to throw a hissy fit as soon as she sees this mess.

“Tobi-kun, get up!” she screeches. Earnestly, she grabs his cloak and tugs it with all her might. “You're dirty! Mama will kill me when she sees dirt and stuff on my sheets!”

The only warning she gets is herself falling unceremoniously on her butt, a surprised yelp from Obito, and a crash, before she registers that the bookshelf in the corner of her room has toppled down, with Obito underneath it.

Fuck.

Did she unconsciously reinforce her muscles with chakra when pulling Obito?

Horrified, she darts to the fallen man and lifts the splintered wood off him, not caring about the clattering sound it makes against the wooden floor. The Uchiha groans, clearly dazed, and Sakura flinches in guilt on seeing his cracked mask and sprawled form. She didn't throw him that hard, did she?

“I'm so, so, so sorry—”

“Do it again.”

She falters. What?

“I'm serious, Blossom.” With a grunt, Obito rights himself into a sitting position. “Do it again.”

Sakura fixes him an unimpressed look. “Right, how hard did you hit your head?” she asks, her fingers ready to scan him.

“No concussion,” Obito shakes his head adamantly. “Now throw me again.”

What kind of sane man would want to be thrown?

Sakura's beginning to think that maybe Obito has been a psycho since birth.

In disbelief, she huffs and folds her arms across her chest. “No.”

A groan. “Sage’s balls. How can you throw a man twice your size? I can imagine you all grown-up, launching enemies into the air and punching the life out of them, and a woman that can beat the living hell out of you, that's… that's damn hot —”

Sakura gives him a disgusted stare.

And Obito shuts up for a moment, before standing up and dusting himself off. “It's not like that, Blossom,” he tries to explain, but Sakura inches away from him warily, because she's a kid for damn’s sake, he's almost an adult, and you don't tell a kid that she’ll be hot or something just because she threw you into a wall.

Pedophile.

“Sakura,” Obito tries again. “It's not like that, I swear. I just like strong women, that's all. Don't… don't look at me like that.”

And just to spite him, Sakura scrunches her nose at him to enhance her disgust.

Obito makes an offended sound.

It lights her up with wicked glee inside.

That glee is instantly replaced with terror on realizing that her bookshelf is completely destroyed, the books scattered haphazardly, and that disaster is awaiting for her in the morning. Gah. How is she going to fix this?

Speaking about disaster, it's a wonder none of her parents have gone up to check on her, considering the ruckus they've made. Not that she's complaining. Sakura's sure she'll get grounded for life this time.

“Be glad Obito-chan has a Sharingan.” Inner Sakura replies, rolling her eyes. “He must have put them under a genjutsu before coming here.”

Huh. Makes sense.

One problem solved.

Now all she has to do is fix the bookshelf.

Bossily, Sakura turns to her companion, her hands on her hips, and gestures at the collapsed furniture. “Can you fix this?”

Obito crouches to her height, and this time she sees his lone eye curve into an impish smile.

“Will you throw me again if I do?”

Psycho.

But beggars can't be choosers.

Sakura holds his stare determinedly.

“As many times as you like.”

Chapter Text

The stars are quite beautiful tonight, Obito notes as he trudges back to the inn he's staying at. It's almost four a.m., and he feels slightly guilty for making Sakura stay up late when kids are supposed to get plenty of rest while growing up. He'll make it up to her by bringing her a box of candy tomorrow night though.

With her pale-pink locks, expressive green eyes, and curious nature, his soulmate is the epitome of sweetness. Her love for sugary treats makes him want to bring her more, but no, too much sugar can ruin one's health, so Obito, unwillingly, has to restrain himself from spoiling her too much. A bar of chocolate or a handful of candies is enough of a gift for every visit.

And flowers. Obito has learned for a while now that Sakura only likes them because she can't resist colorful things, and flower-picking gives her the freedom to wander in the forest.

Absolutely adorable.

Don't get so attached, his mind whispers to him warningly.

He stuffs out the voice. Now feeling tiredness seeping into him, Obito sighs and takes off his mask to allow himself to breathe in fresh air. A breeze blows by, coldly caressing his face, but it is gone just as quickly as it came. Two afternoons of not seeing Sakura had him worried, possibilities of her being sick, hurt or worse, kidnapped, running through his mind as he waited for her to come. And when she didn't, his self-control broke.

It didn't take him long to find where Sakura lived. A quaint two-storey house protected by a measly low fence came to view, and Obito remembered the first time he saw Sakura.

It was about five months ago, and Obito, having just finished a particularly tiring mission, decided to take a quick rest in a quiet town by the borders of the Land of Tea. He was passing through a busy district when a flash of pink dashed past him and caught his attention.

“Amai-san gave me an apple, Mama!” he heard a girlish cheer among the chatter of bustling people. “It's so, so red!”

Loud. But there was something in the girl's voice that made him turn.

And so he did, and everything immediately became sharper and more vibrant.

His lone eye widened, stunned.

He'd heard stories about how the Uchiha see colors differently compared to other people. A lively blue would be something akin to a dull gray. A bright green in their eyes would be somehow muted. No, they aren't colorblind. But until they meet their soulmate, colors would stay the same to them, somber and drab.

Obito had thought that Rin was his soulmate. His deceased teammate had been high-spirited when she was alive, bringing with her various tints of orange, yellow, and red everywhere she went. She'd shown him a world full of vibrancy, and Obito loved her for it. Even though her name wasn't written anywhere on his body, it was fine with him. As far as he knew, the both of them were Unmarked, and it was fairly common for the Unmarked to find comfort in each other, free to choose for themselves with no soulmarks to restrain them.

“Mama!”

His attention snapped back to the girl.

She was around two or three, and she raised her arms in a silent command for her mother to pick her up. Clearly, she was smart for her age, by the way that she was already fluent in speaking. The pair were only a few feet away from him, standing under a store's canopy, the older woman carrying a bag filled with groceries which she placed on the ground before complying to the girl's request. Happily, the girl patted both her mother's cheeks simultaneously and kissed them in a loving gesture.

Her hair was a lovely shade of pink, and her eyes shimmered with different hues of green, reminding him of polished gemstones. Pretty. A sharp contrast against the dreary tones of the background. Her face was lit up in a merry grin, dimples on both sides of her cheeks, and his heart tightened.

How long had it been since he'd seen colors in its gaiety?

Far too long.

His soulmark ached.

He'd gotten it three years ago as he was traveling, and it had burned painfully. At first, Obito had thought that maybe he had a poisoned wound on his back that he didn't detect, courtesy of the last mission he took to Kumo. Urgency calling him, he rushed to the nearest brothel, ignored the women who tried to stop him for a drink, and went straight to the comfort room. Quickly, he took off his cloak and shirt, and checked his back using the bathroom mirror.

‘Haruno Sakura’ was written in loopy letters, running down the middle of his back and tracing the curve of his spine, and Obito’s breath hitched.

A soulmark.

He had a soulmate.

“Papa!” Obito broke out of that memory and attentively watched when the girl stretched out her arms to a man walking towards them. Like his daughter, he had pink hair, albeit darker and drabber, and there were smile lines on the edges of his eyes. “Papa!”

The man took her in his arms and spun her around, laughing. “How's my little Sakura-chan?”

At his words, Obito froze.

Sakura?

“Good!” the girl, Sakura, giggled cheerfully (why was she so vibrant?). “Amai-san gave me an apple. No charge!”

Maybe she was just another Sakura. Sakura was such a common name anyways. His soulmate couldn't be…a little child. He was already eighteen, for damn’s sake—people would call him a pedophile. Hell no. Rigid, he turned from the family of three and continued on his way, determined to not dwell on the child he'd stumble on.

But necessities had him buying a fresh set of kunai at a weapon store before leaving the town the next morning, and as he was setting down the money for his purchase, the door chimes tinkled, announcing the arrival of a new customer.

“There's my little Haruno!” the cashier in front of him exclaimed.

Before he could register the woman's words, a small presence walked up to his side, stubby fingers gripping the cashier's desk in an effort to hoist herself up. All Obito saw at the moment was familiar pink hair and he stiffened.

“Amai-san!” the girl from yesterday — Sakura, Obito recalled —gayly said, and the immediately everything became brighter and more vivacious. “I want a kunai!”

Amai waved a finger in front of little Sakura's face. “Not so fast, young lady. Do your parents know about this?”

Their conversation sounded muffled, because Obito was busy trying to make sense of his predicament because seriously —

Sakura.

Haruno.

Haruno Sakura.

His soulmate.

Sages, were the spirits above actually trying to label him as a pedophile?

Granted, he was a criminal. Not a known one, but given that he'd been the cause of the Yondaime and his wife’s death, Obito considered himself a criminal on the run. But he wasn't a pedophile. Children were cute and all, but not in that way. No. He was highly attracted to women. Women that were so vile and seductive that Obito couldn't get enough of them.

But due to him traveling a lot, most of his liaisons only lasted for at least a month or two.

So yes, he wasn't a pedophile. And God forbid he would be one just because his soulmate was a fucking kid.

Maybe they could be platonic soulmates instead, Obito pondered, if it was alright with Sakura to mingle with a criminal. Platonic bonds weren't uncommon. He once knew a thirty-year-old shinobi who found out that his soulmate was a five-year-old, and needless to say, the man freaked out. But in the end, arrangements were made and the two became just friends, no more, no less.

“Of course they don't, Amai-san,” Sakura replied, and he glanced down at her, only to see a pout in place. “They don't even like it when I'm holding a knife.”

Amai shook her head exasperatedly. “And you want a kunai because…?”

“I wanna be a shinobi!” Sakura grinned, and wasn't her ambition terribly endearing? Her eyes sparkled pleadingly. “So won't you please agree to my request just this once?”

“No,” Amai denied her firmly, and Sakura visibly wilted. “But here's an apple.”

The girl took the apple with both hands, disappointment written all over her face. Her bottom lip was jutted out in dejection, and it made Obito want to pinch her cheeks. “Apple, apple, apple,” she muttered, and was that anger glimmering in the depths of her eyes? “Apples can't help me protect my soulmates.”

It was mumbled, something that was clearly not meant to be heard, but Obito was a shinobi, meaning he had honed senses. He caught the whispered words easily, and thought that he had heard wrong.

Soulmates?

Why the plural form?

But it was sweet, seeing that this little slip of a child wanted to protect him, when really, he should be the one to do all the protecting; a single strong wind seemed like it could blow her over. She would, no doubt, grow up to be kind-hearted and loving, and he wouldn't be there to see it. No one wanted a criminal for a soulmate. And for Obito, it was too late— he had already chosen this path.

He decided to leave in the evening instead of right away. That night, he tracked down Sakura's house and left her a small present in her room; a dagger, to compensate for the kunai she couldn't get earlier. Obito knew it was her bedroom, because the window sills were pink and too girlish for an adult, and the inside was cluttered with toys and dolls and books.

Quietly, he placed the sheathed dagger on her bed and was about to leave when the door suddenly slammed open.

He could have teleported, but surprise made him blank out. Obito only had the time to cloak himself in the shadows before a familiar child bursted in, carrying a pile of books that towered over her. His hands itched to help; the weight of those books must be so heavy, especially for her small body. Sages, just how much did she like books? She had a voracious appetite for knowledge, it was almost alarming. Maybe he should have brought her a book instead of a dagger.

Intrigued, Obito watched as young Sakura set the books down. The thick tomes hit the floor with a resounding thud, and she clapped her hands in satisfaction. “All done!”

How utterly cute.

Bless the sage who gave him a precious angel for a soulmate.

Maybe he really should have given her a book instead. She was too young to be handling blades after all, and Obito doubted that she would truly become a shinobi when both her parents were clearly just civilians.

Besides, she was too innocent for her hands to be drenched in blood.

“Is someone there?”

Startled, Obito tensed.

Sakura was staring at where he was standing, eyebrows drawn together thoughtfully. Her eyes glimmered under the moonlight creeping in her bedroom window, specks of green swirling beautifully, and he was mesmerized by the sight.

A hundred blessings to the one who gifted him, a bloody devil, such a lovely soulmate.

“Is someone there?” Sakura asked again, and Obito smirked, pleased. Could it be that she could sense him?

Adorable. Very adorable.

The genjutsu hiding him was very thin, and a single kai would be able to dispel it. But Obito was certain that Sakura didn't know how to unravel a genjutsu. Apparently, she was sensitive enough to notice it though.

Amusedly, Obito watched her as she stomped to her bed (cute, he thought) after a few moments of waiting and not getting an answer. She plopped down on the mattress, right beside the dagger, her arms and legs spread so she was forming an ‘x’ with her limbs. It was only a matter of time before she'd find—

“A knife?” he hears a confused question.

Obito suppressed a chuckle.

Seemed like she'd discovered his gift.

Bewildered, the girl sat up and examined the blade curiously. She unsheathed it, skimmed her fingertips across the smooth iron, delight evident by the way her countenance brightened. Then, experimentally, she twirled the weapon.

And Obito almost choked.

The hell?

As far as he knew, civilian children weren't supposed to be able to do that.

The attempt was clumsy, and the dagger almost clattered out of her hands, but Sakura seemed to be expecting that. Deftly, she threw the dagger in the air and expertly caught it by the hilt, a move that was obviously practiced but unfortunately demonstrated by inexperienced fingers.

The display knocked the air out of Obito.

Was his soulmate perhaps a prodigy?

All the more reason to protect her then. In the shinobi world, prodigies are sought for to be molded into living weapons. He couldn't allow that to happen to pure, sweet Sakura. Usually, there are only two outcomes waiting for prodigies.

For lucky ones, trauma.

For the unlucky ones, death.

Trauma or death.

And Obito would rather die than watch Sakura slowly wilt away.

He shifted, and Sakura's head snapped in his direction.

“Who's there?”

Time was up. Slowly his Sharingan began to spin, sucking in air while keeping up the genjutsu, and the last thing Obito felt before transporting himself outside the town gates was chakra— not his — forcefully rippling the air apart.

His eye widened in surprise as he felt his genjutsu being gradually dispelled, and when he blinked, he was already out of town.

Did…did she really just try to undo his genjutsu?

Fuck.

So Sakura really is a prodigy.

Since then, Obito began visiting the town regularly if only to catch a glimpse of his little soulmate. To protect her too, although he doubted anyone else knew about Sakura's capabilities. Where she had learned how to handle a dagger, Obito doesn't know, but he suspects that she learned it from a book. The girl read so many books, and they aren't just fairytales either, no, they are tomes containing fuinjutsu, ninjutsu, and other jutsu things.

What a bookworm.

Approaching her wasn't part of his plans, but Sakura had already begun to notice his presence. It nagged him as a suspicion initially, however, the cunning little girl started to leave hints for him to realize that his subtlety wasn't working. At first, it was a quick glance over her shoulder when she was alone, a brief flash of chakra as a greeting when she was playing in her garden, and a wrapped up sandwich she left as a snack on the foot of the tree he frequented when watching her.

The final straw was when she so casually threw a rock at where he was hidden while she was picking up flowers in the forest.

Little sprite.

The next day after that happened, Obito decided to show himself to her with a chocolate bar in his pocket. What was there to lose? Besides, children liked sweets, didn't they? Hopefully Sakura also loved them. It would make her open up to him more easily.

He soon discovered that Sakura, in fact, does like sweets and has a severe addiction to them. An addiction he gladly indulges her in. Every time he comes to visit her, he brings her a bag of candy or something sugary. It only took him two weeks for Sakura to become attached to him, and isn't she sweet, always greeting him with a hug and a smile brimming with innocence. Her gestures never fail to make his hardened heart melt in affection.

If only she knew, a voice chuckles from within him, how twisted and tainted you are, you wouldn't be enjoying her attention right now.

Which is partly why, when meeting her, he keeps his mask on because he knows children are so easily scared, and his scarred face is horrendous to look at. Obito never told her his real name, deciding that Sakura is better off without knowing that her soulmate is actually older than her.

In some ways, she's like Rin. Full of sunshine, always smiling at the most mundane things, and so endearingly lovely. But Obito hopes she won't end up like Rin.

He's willing to shed as much blood as possible if only to keep her safe.

Her healing abilities are something he didn't expect. Why would he? Civilian children aren't supposed to know about chakra. Chakra for them is like magic. Then he remembers the tons of books in her bedroom and resists the urge to burn them all.

Damn prodigies.

Not that Obito has something against prodigies. Except for Kakashi, of course. However, Sakura being a genius is a blessing and a curse at the same time.

A blessing, because she can sponge up everything she's learned and use them to save herself.

A curse, because if the wrong hands were to find her, she'll suffer throughout her entire life.

But the way she threw him across her bedroom earlier…

Chuckling at the memory, Obito rubs his lone eye, noticing how much his vision has improved. Somehow his eye seems so much lighter, and his vision is less blurred. Sakura's healing no doubt. With her medical talent and strength, she reminds him of Senju Tsunade.

Surely, his angelic-looking soulmate will become a menace in the future.

Change of plans.

He'll be there to see her grow into an admirable woman.

But, soulmates as they are, Obito knows that in the end, they aren't fated to be.

Especially since his little soulmate has three other soulmates other than him.

~~~~

“We'll be moving to Konoha tomorrow,” Sakura says one bright afternoon. Her head is resting on Obito’s lap, her hand outstretched as if to catch the sunlight shining down on her. “You’ll still come and find me, won't you?”

Obito hums, his fingers tangled up in her hair. “Do you want me to?”

A repetition of the conversation they had when they first met. Sakura smiles wryly at the thought. Playfully, she cranes her neck to gaze at her companion.

“And what if I don't?”

Obito flicks her nose lightly. “Then no more sweets for you.”

“Not fair!” she childishly protests, rubbing her nose with a pout. “You know how much I love sweets!”

“How am I going to give you sweets when you don't want me to visit you in Konoha?” Obito asks in faux-ignorance.

Right.

Grumpily, Sakura sits up and tosses her hair over her shoulder. “You can send them to me using your birds,” she suggests. “I’ve seen you use them for deliveries!”

“You brat.” A large hand lands on her head and ruffles her hair gruffly. “You only like me for my candies, don't you?”

She swats his hand away and shoots him a mischievous grin. “You've only just noticed?”

Silence.

Then Obito, with all the indignance he can muster with a mask on, petulantly folds his arms across his chest and ignores her for the rest of the afternoon, much to Sakura's wicked glee.

How immature.

~~~~

They enter through Konoha’s gates in a small caravan containing their basic needs: suitcases of clothes, boxes of small ornaments, food, and many more. Their property in the Land of Tea has already been sold, including the furniture, because Kizashi plans on buying the new furniture here they've settled down nicely. Sakura doesn't blame him— big furniture are very difficult to travel around with.

“Welcome to Konoha!” one of the sentries greets them enthusiastically, and Sakura recognizes him as Hagane Kotetsu. Happy to see a familiar face, she gives them a big toothy grin and waves hello.

The man visibly melts, and roughly elbows his partner while cooing over her cuteness, because she's so adorable, Izumo, look at her—!

Yes, that's right. Sakura sends them an approving nod. Worship her.

She already knows that she's loveable, and currently, that's her greatest asset. Imagine her taking down an enemy with a punch while giggling charmingly about butterflies or some other stupid kiddy things. Pow!

Utterly loveable.

“Do you want some lemon candy, little girl?” Izumo asks her with a fond smile. “I have some in my pocket.”

Huh.

She never knew that Izumo had a soft spot for children.

“Yes, please!” she laughs gaily, stretching out her hands, expectant. “But not too much, Mama will be mad!”

Behind her, Mebuki huffs. “At least you know that.”

Three candies are dropped into her hands, and Sakura thanks Izumo, evidently delighted, before popping one of the sweets into her mouth. Kotetsu watches her with an enamored glint in his eyes, and nods politely at Kizashi walking to them, having just finished signing the papers for admission.

Just for display, Sakura holds out the treats in her hand to her father with a bright smile.

“Papa, these nice men gave me candy. Look!”

“Is that so?” Kizashi chuckles, lifting her up in his arms. She allows him to, scrambling upwards to have a seat on his neck, and not one second later, Sakura feels firm hands grip her ankles to prevent her from falling. Her own fingers find purchase in Kizashi’s thick hair, and she playfully yanks it.

There's a wince, then Kizashi says, “Now, now, honey, behave.”

And Sakura, being the little manipulative brat she is, pouts in protest.

“Will I get more candy if I do?”

Inside the caravan, Sakura hears Mebuki scoff in disbelief. “Who taught you how to bargain?”

“Amai-san did! And Marin-san always haggled with prices at the market,” Sakura nods in the knowing manner most children do when they know something they shouldn't. “Amai-san always told me: deals are deals, and money is money.”

“You are too young to know anything about money.”

Deliberately, Sakura ignores that jab and turns her attention to her father.

“So, Papa, will I get candy if I behave?”

“Kizashi,” comes her mother's warning tone.

Kizashi grins, a bit torn and panicked. “Maybe?”

Maybe? Sakura snorts in indignation. That's not a real answer. ‘Maybe’ can mean ‘yes’ or ‘no’, but more often than not, it means ‘no’.

“Papa…” Sakura presses him, bottom lip quivering threateningly. “You don't love me anymore?”

Ah yes. The infamous “you don't love me anymore” card. Sakura vaguely wonders if the same card will work on Obito.

“I think you already know the answer to that,” Inner Sakura replies. “Even the blind can see that you've got him wrapped around your finger.”

Sakura deadpans. “No, I don't.”

Outside, tears are forming in the corners of her eyes.

“O-Of course I love you!” Kizashi splutters in an effort to keep her from crying (“You little devil,” Inner Sakura hisses at her with glee.). “No amount of candies can measure how much I love you!”

Pitifully, Sakura rubs her tears away. “So you'll buy me candies then?”

“Kizashi,” her mother says bitingly. “I swear—”

“Just for today,” Kizashi caves in, gulping when he feels Mebuki’s glare piercing the back of his head. “Come on, Mebuki, look at her! She's going to cry.”

“And she has been eating too much sweets, Kizashi,” Mebuki scowls, and Sakura glances at her innocently. Her mother wags a finger at her in irritation. “Don't look at me like that, girl. You think I don't know about the wrappers you stashed under your bed?”

Properly chastised, Sakura turns away and makes a face. Ugh. She should have burned them instead of hiding them. Curse her laziness.

True to his word, Kizashi buys her candy when they reach the marketplace on the way to the Hokage’s office. Apparently they have to register as civilians with the Hokage as a witness before heading to their new house. Some of the people they pass by stop to openly coo at her, commenting on her unusual hair color, and even the vendors give her extra treats which Sakura willingly takes with a friendly and pleased grin.

Being a child is the best if one knows how to use it.

“Thank you!” Sakura happily chirps to a black-haired lady who hands her a pack of gummies behind her mother's back. The lady gives her a playful wink before disappearing into the bustling crowd, and Sakura waves her goodbye.

Mebuki raises an eyebrow at her on seeing the gummies in her hand.

And just to spite her, Sakura obnoxiously pops one of them into her mouth, not breaking eye contact.

Her mother shakes her head in exasperation. “Sakura…”

Sakura just grins at her.

Sarutobi Hiruzen gives them a warm welcome upon entering, and although he is alone, Sakura knows there are ANBU watching them from the shadows. Curious, she sends out a trickle of her chakra to get a feel of the air and senses at least four suppressed chakra signatures. A whole squad. Ignorant of what she's just done, Hiruzen gives her a gentle smile which she returns with a polite smile of her own.

“Hello,” the old man greets her. “You've got pretty hair.”

Sakura nods at him sagely. “I know. It's really pretty, right? Mama combs it every morning so it's very smooth and silky, and it's pink! Do you want to touch it?”

Taken aback by her strong approach, Hiruzen’s smile falters uneasily. Sakura mentally rolls her eyes at him. For all his grandfatherly attitude, the Hokage clearly doesn't know how to handle children. No wonder Naruto was so neglected in her past life.

Displeasure fills her at the memory.

She resolves to change that.

“No need to feel pressured, Hokage-sama,” her mother apologetically intervenes. “My daughter is just a bit hyper at the moment.”

“Mamaaaaa,” Sakura whines, forcefully pushing down the resentment whirling up and threatening to spill. All in good time. Her father has long taken her off from his shoulders, so she is now standing and holding his hand. Childishly, she grabs her mother's sleeve and tugs it in a protest.

Mebuki sends her a stern look. “Behave.”

One of the ANBU members’ chakra slightly flares up in amusement— so slight, Sakura wouldn't have noticed it if her senses weren't so keen. The signature is unfamiliar, but Sakura shoots a frisky grin towards their direction all the same. Maybe that ANBU operative is someone she didn't meet in her past life. She feels the operative coil their chakra once more, this time in hesitant acknowledgement, before it completely flickers out and Sakura can't sense them anymore.

She tunes back to her parents’ conversation with the Hokage.

“...merchants, ey?” Hiruzen is saying thoughtfully, fingers laced in front of him. “You plan on establishing a business here then?”

“We already have, years ago. It's partly managed by my mother, Watanabe Aiko, who is a civilian here,” Mebuki replies for her husband who is busy signing some papers by the Hokage’s desk to pay attention. “Our business extends all over the nations, which is why Kizashi isn't often at home, since he has to check the branches and all from time to time.”

“Then I'm guessing you are a stay-at-home mother?”

Something in his tone makes Sakura bristle.

“I am,” her mother easily agrees, but there's a hard edge in her voice that Sakura identifies as aggravation. “However, now that we're living with Okāsan, I expect that I'll be able to join Kizashi on his travels."

The Hokage studies her critically. “But what about the child?”

By now, Sakura is observing some tension between her mother and the man before them. Narrowing her eyes into a glare, she inches closer to Mebuki and clutches her skirt protectively, her chakra spiking up in warning.

Mebuki, being a civilian, doesn’t notice.

But the Hokage is a different story. Surprise ripples in his wrinkled face, and Sakura holds her head up high as he begins scrutinizing her with an unreadable expression. The dagger in her pocket weighs heavily and she resists pulling it out, but her stance remains wary and taut. A sweet smile is plastered on her mouth even as her chakra continues whipping violently in her system as an unspoken threat.

Well.

She didn’t realize this in her previous life, but—

“The old geezer’s a damn misogynist,” Inner Sakura snarls. “What a fucking bastard.”

Sakura agrees with her.

“What about me?” Sakura questions innocently. “Didn’t Mama just tell you that we'll be living with Obāsan? Obviously, she'll be the one to take care of me, Jīchan.”

There’s stunned silence at the attached honorific and sass, but before her mother can react to her disrespect, Hiruzen throws his head back and lets out a booming, entertained laugh. It lasts for a good minute. "Spirited, truly spirited!” he comments, shoulders shaking in merriment. “Your daughter will grow into a very fine woman, madame. She’ll give boys a run for their money with that attitude!”

Sakura blinks. That…was unexpected. Bemused, she glances up at Mebuki, only to see her face glazed over in horror. Oops. Not good. Her father is staring at her with a touch of disbelief, his pen hovering over the documents he’s signing, and Sakura offers him a sheepish shrug.

The chakra signature from earlier surges again in hidden laughter.

Chapter Text

When he was a kid, Shisui believed that he was one of the Unmarked, having no soulmark even as the years passed by and he grew older. It disappointed him, but there was no use dwelling on it with the Third Ninja War going on and all. But then he turned eight, and a couple of months later, he received a burning sensation in his left inner wrist which left the name ‘Haruno Sakura’.

Needless to say, he was elated.

“You seem happier nowadays,” a five-year-old Itachi told him one afternoon as they were scouting the area. It was one of the rare days when the fighting wasn't too brutal, and they were hidden in the cover of the trees, Shisui sharpening his kunai and Itachi bandaging his arms.

Shisui glanced at him. “Really?”

“Yes,” Itachi nodded. “You keep on whistling.”

“Well, Itachi-chan,” Shisui said as he chucked a newly sharpened kunai at the younger boy, “it's normal to be happy when you have a soulmate, isn't it?”

As expected, Itachi caught the weapon easily and gave him a bemused look. “But you don't have one though.”

“Now I do!”

Itachi blinked. “Really?”

For shinobi, it is customary to cover their soulmark to avoid enemies from knowing who their significant other is and using them as bait in battle. Soulmates mean weakness, because one can go crazy trying to protect their soulmate and fall into depression upon their death. But that outcome pales in comparison to the consequences Uchiha face when losing their soulmate. Already, there have been a lot of cases wherein an Uchiha became demented and blood-crazed after the loss of their intended, a fate much more worse than death.

Which is why the Uchiha take great pains to hide their soulmarks just to protect their fated ones and themselves.

But Shisui trusted Itachi. They were comrades—cousins, even— and he viewed the clan heir akin to a brother. Such rules didn't apply to him, and happily, Shisui unraveled the bandages he had wrapped around his left wrist that morning.

Curious, Itachi leaped from his tree and landed beside him, crouching down to read the name written on his skin.

“And?” Shisui asked, looking at his soulmark adoringly. “It's a pretty name, isn't it? Sakura. Like the cherry blossoms!”

Itachi's slender fingers prodded the marked skin as if in disbelief, and Shisui gazed up at him only to see incredulity etched on the younger’s face.

“Forgive me if I am wrong but… does that spell ‘Haruno Sakura’?”

Shisui eagerly bobbed his head up and down in a nod. “Yeah, Itachi-chan. It does.”

For a while, Itachi was silent and unmoving. Then he thrusted out his right arm and began to meticulously remove the wrappings swathing it, almost shoving it under Shisui’s nose the moment it was uncovered.

It took Shisui a good moment before he could speak, and when he did, the words coming out of his mouth sounded strangled.

“We have the same soulmate?”

Itachi just stared at him blankly in reply.

“No, no, wait, is this even possible?” Shisui stressed out, spreading his hands in front of him, palms facing upwards, to emphasize his point. A conception passed through his mind, and he swallowed hard. “So like, we’re bonded to the same girl and what, does that mean we’re bonded to each other too? Isn’t that… isn’t that messed up—”

“I do not think that that is the case, Shisui,” Itachi interrupted, clearly flabbergasted by the thought of having a close relative of his as one of his soulmates. “We don’t have our names marked on each other, do we?”

For one split second, there was horror-filled silence, then the two boys started to frantically search themselves if only to confirm that their respective names weren’t tattooed on each other’s body. Shirts were shucked off unceremoniously, the sound of undressing shuffling in the air, and Shisui found himself using his Sharingan to desperately scan his forearms, torso, legs, and every inch of his skin that was visible. He even took a few sneak peeks at Itachi just to make sure that his name wasn’t imprinted on him.

Sages.

He wasn’t gay.

Nor was he into incest.

Although, was it really incest when the two of them were biologically male, meaning they couldn’t procreate?

The question made him shudder, and he quickly pulled his shirt over his head and got dressed, Itachi doing the same a moment later.

“Let’s pretend that never happened,” Shisui suggested after a few minutes of contemplative quiet. His companion swiftly nodded in agreement, embarrassment evident in his defensive stance. “Seriously, Itachi-chan, why did you have to say something like that?”

Itachi just gave him a mournful look. “You said it first. And it was a possibility.”

“It’s only a possibility because you brought it up!” Shisui screeched, wagging an accusing finger at the younger boy who shied away from him awkwardly. “And I said it as a joke. A joke, you hear? I wasn’t expecting for you to, ugh, take it seriously and plant that thought into my mind!”

Another bout of silence.

Then—

“What thought?” Itachi asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “I simply explored your idea of us being unknowingly bonded to each other through our soulmate—”

Incest, his mind helpfully supplied.

Dramatically, Shisui stuffed his fingers into his ears to muffle Itachi’s words.

“Don’t remind me about it!” he wailed.

His voice came out louder than he expected and it echoed throughout the woods. Shisui winced in regret. That must have alerted enemies that were nearby. Warily, he gripped his sheathed tanto, Sharingan activated once more as he scoured the ground for any sudden movement, Itachi following his lead.

When no movement was detected, Shisui heaved a relieved sigh and ceased his grasp on his blade. Wordlessly, Itachi handed him a roll of bandages which Shisui used to cover up his soulmark once more, the former having wrapped his own wrist in bandages already.

“She must be younger than us,” Itachi commented. “Will we even get to meet her?”

A frown settled on Shisui’s face. “I sure hope so. I've wanted a soulmate for a long time,” he paused thoughtfully, dejection flitting briefly before fading away into resignation. “But we're shinobi, Itachi-chan. Our future isn't guaranteed, especially with this war going on. I might die before you do, or you before me. Or we might get killed at the same time— who knows?”

“You are saying we might not meet her at all,” Itachi bluntly stated.

Shisui shrugged. “Probably.”

“I want to meet her.” Itachi plopped down on the tree branch and swung his legs to and fro as he stared at the dirt below despondently. “I want to.”

“Better to stay alive then.”

“But if I do die, Shisui,” Itachi turned to look at him meaningfully, sincerity reflecting in his black eyes, ”you'll take care of her, will you not?”

At his question, Shisui couldn't help but openly coo at his younger cousin who was gazing at him expectantly, waiting for his reply. How precious. Sages, such solemnity should not be seen on a child as young as Itachi— it was so unnerving. But Shisui supposed that he was born that way, having to bear the burden of being Fugaku’s eldest son.

A bit annoyed, Itachi scowled at him. “Stop making that face.”

“What face?” Shisui sang, sticking his tongue out at him. “I don't know what you're talking about, Itachi-chan.”

There was a long-suffering sigh. “Please be serious for once in your life, Shisui,” Itachi quietly said. “Will you protect her or not?”

Shisui fondly patted his head. “Of course I will,” he promised. “And I expect you to protect her too when I can't.”

Satisfied by his response, Itachi swatted his hand away, and Shisui yelped in pain. Was it possible for a five-year-old to have this much strength? The back of his hand stung from Itachi’s smack, and he nursed it close to his chest with a pout. Monster.

Not cute.

He could only hope that their soulmate would be cuter than his grouchy younger cousin.

Unfortunately, Shisui is to be proven wrong several years later.

~~~~

It was like a burst of chroma. When that pink-haired girl entered the Hokage’s office, what he saw was a swirl of colors, vividly painted in bold and bright hues. Her aura glistened vivaciously, like a whole prism shining down on her, and Shisui’s breath got caught in his throat.

She looks just like a fairy.

How can someone be so enchanting?

And loveable too, Shisui chortles to himself as he recalls the scene that unfolded in front of him earlier. The kid was unmistakably mischievous and it seemed that she liked aggravating her poor mother, if the way she whined at the older woman was any indication. His chakra couldn’t help but flicker in amusement at the display. She was also sensitive and smart, using her chakra to feel out his ANBU team (were civilian children supposed to know how to do that?) and Shisui was tempted to curl his chakra with hers in an attempt to steal some of her light for himself. Instead, he subtly flared it up in a hello when she turned to his direction and grinned at him jovially.

His eyebrows furrow in contemplation. Are civilian children that advanced nowadays? Usually, chakra-sensing skills are acquired through enough experience. But then her sassing the Hokage crosses his mind, and Shisui remembers himself releasing some of his chakra just so he could discharge the building laughter inside him.

Now out of his ANBU garb, Shisui carelessly leaps from one roof to another as he rushes back to the Uchiha Compound to tell Itachi of what he’s seen today. He finds the latter by the training grounds, flinging kunai and shuriken at the targets pinned against the trees. The weapons whizz in the air and each of them hit the center effortlessly.

He flares up his chakra to announce his presence although he’s sure Itachi has already sensed him coming the moment he stepped through the gates.

“You’re back early,” Itachi says as he walks to one of the targets and starts pulling out the kunai stuck on it. “Okāsan was expecting you to miss dinner again.”

Shrugging, Shisui goes to help the nine-year-old yank off the remaining pegged weapons. “Hokage-sama dismissed us all earlier than usual.” An entertained grin tugs his lips, words forming into sentences in his head. “But you know, Ita-chan, there’s this really interesting little girl I saw today, and boy, was she cheeky! Guess what she did!”

“Did she steal your heart?” Itachi cocks a curious eyebrow at him.

Shisui might have taken the question for a joke if it weren’t for the seriousness underlying it.

“Ita-chan,” Shisui gapes at him, scandalized. He flings the younger boy two shuriken and a kunai he's pulled out from an abused target board. “She’s around Sasuke’s age!”

And Itachi, being the socially retarded boy he is, frowns as he easily catches the tossed blades. “Then you are only separated by eight years. That is not a big age gap. Otōsan and Okāsan are twelve years apart. You can just wait until the both of you are adults and then you can court her.”

What?

In faux exasperation, Shisui palms his face. “Ita-chan,” he dramatically moans. “Who put that nonsense in your head?”

“Izumi said that it is fine for a man to marry a woman no matter how big their age gap is as long as they are adults and they are doing it because of love,” Itachi explains, and Shisui resists chucking him into the large lake located by the borders of the compound, because honestly, for all the genius he is, Itachi is just so damn gullible it hurts to watch him flounder around normal topics.

Cute.

And at the same time, not cute.

He makes the mental note to burn whatever book Izumi has been reading and sharing with Itachi. Romance novels, no doubt.

"You're just trying to hog our soulmate to yourself, aren't you?" Shisui jokingly says. 

Itachi stays quiet, but there is a wicked gleam in his eye and a hint of a smirk on his face.

“Seriously? You are impossible,” Shisui emphasizes disbelievingly with a shake of his head. His black curls bounce at the movement, falling over his eyes, and he impatiently brushes them away. “Anyways, about that little girl, I was going to say that she sassed the Hokage by calling him out on his misogyny, and her chakra, Ita–chan, one second it was peaceful and then it just turned violent, and are normal children trained to do that? I mean, she could control her chakra pretty well, she even used it to feel us out— a whole ANBU squad— and she sensed my chakra when I briefly flashed it—”

Unceremoniously, Itachi cuffs his shoulder, causing him to yelp in surprise. “Breathe,” the Uchiha clan heir says. “You are turning purple.”

Shisui squawks at him, indignant, a hand rubbing the aching spot Itachi just hit. “I am not!”

“You were. And you would have run out of air if I hadn’t stopped you from blubbering.”

“But Ita-channn,” he sulks. “She had pink hair!”

Incredulity is etched on Itachi’s features even as he begins stuffing his blades into his weapon pouch and storage scrolls. “And that is more important than what you said about Hokage-sama being a misogynist?”

“Her hair was pink,” Shisui repeats lamely.

“Shisui,” Itachi sighs and there’s dismay in his tone, “you just called our Hokage, the leader of our village, a misogynist.”

Blatantly, Shisui ignores his statement. “She had very pretty green eyes, Ita-chan! Very. And her chakra was so colorful, like a rainbow, and her attitude was so endearingly charming—”

“Shisui,” Itachi tries to interrupt, but the older boy doesn’t pay attention to him.

“ —she’s just as cute as Sasu-chan if not cuter, and Ita-chan, do you think Mikoto-obachan will agree to let her play with Sasu-chan? I think they’ll get along pretty well! She’s really radiant and it’s as if she makes the world a whole lot brighter! Sharper and more vibrant—”

Itachi sends him a skeptical frown. “Are you sure she didn’t steal your heart?”

“Nope,” Shisui unhesitatingly responds with sparkling eyes and a wide grin. “But I do wanna see her again soon.”

And Itachi lets out another long-suffering sigh which Shisui childishly blows a raspberry at.

The little pink-haired fairy should be honored that she's earned his interest, Shisui thinks as he skips cheerfully towards the main house with Itachi trailing after him. Carelessly, he messes up his wild curls, a tune on the tip of his tongue.

~~~~

A few weeks after they've settled down in their new home, Sakura's parents leave for a business trip. They entrust Sakura in her grandmother's care, and Sakura gleefully kisses them farewell because now she can finally have freedom, and the thought of it fills her with vibrating excitement.

“You won't miss us?” Kizashi asks with teary eyes as Sakura enthusiastically hauls their bags out the village gate. Kotetsu and Izumo are the watchers today, and they smile at her brightly, masking their disbelief on seeing a particularly heavy-looking bag slung on her shoulder.

Her mother ruffles her hair, amused. “With how excited she is to see us off? I don't think so.”

She will miss them, Sakura knows, but freedom is just within her reach and with freedom comes Obito who can visit her anytime he wants. She hasn't seen him for a while now, and she's beginning to get worried.

“He's probably just busy plotting the end of the world,” Inner Sakura shrugs.

Yikes.

“Bring chocolates!” Sakura cheers, pumping her fist in the air. “Lots!”

Kizashi gives her one last hug before taking his bag from her. “How about toys instead?”

“No,” Sakura shakes her head adamantly. “I don't like toys! It's either chocolates or books.”

Chuckling, Mebuki lifts Sakura in her arms and nuzzles her cheek fondly. “We'll make sure to bring you some,” she promises, and Sakura giggles in delight.

Bouncing on the balls of her feet, Sakura impatiently watches as her parents disappear into the forest and when she can't sense their chakra signatures anymore, she turns to leave.

“No detours!” Kotetsu calls out teasingly, and she rolls her eyes at him good-naturedly before waving them good-bye.

Despite Kotetsu’s reminder, Sakura doesn't go home immediately. Merrily, she makes her way to the heart of Konoha— the marketplace. It's a familiar sight, people rushing around as if chasing time and a soft breeze brushing the makeshift tent roofs. She welcomes the shouts of vendors trying to sell their products, the sight of customers bargaining for a lower price, and the smell of fresh produce in the air. Her sharp eyes scan the merchandise displayed near her, her small fingers nimbly picking up a decorative kunai and measuring its weight.

Too heavy.

She chooses another kunai and examines the peonies engraved on its hilt, interest sparking. The weapon is evidently not made for battle, but its craftsmanship has her hooked, and she lightly runs her fingertips on its blade, enough to feel pain but gentle enough to not draw blood.

Should she buy it? Not for herself, but for a certain man that hasn't come to see her ever since she moved to Konoha.

On second thought, maybe she shouldn't. She'll sulk and sulk when Obito does come to visit, and no amount of apologies will melt her just so she can irritate the Uchiha.

“Will he even be irritated?” Inner Sakura muses, genuinely curious.

Sakura huffs. “Why wouldn't he? That man is the pettiest person I've ever known. Starting a war over his teammate's death.”

“Might I remind you that that teammate you're talking about is someone he had a crush on?”

She makes a face. “Which doesn't make sense, because why are we bonded to each other in this world when in another life he loved another?”

“Don't overthink it,” Inner Sakura grumbles. “You're making my head hurt, even though I'm in your head.”

“Beautiful, isn't it?” a cheerful voice says behind her.

Startled, Sakura squeaks and drops the kunai, a swift hand catching it before it can clatter on the ground. Thank sages. The kunai is too intricate to be soiled by dirt. Thankfully, the vendor behind the stall doesn't notice her almost damaging the blade. Heart erratically thumping against her chest in fright, Sakura takes the kunai from the stranger and puts it back in its place with trembling fingers and a muttered ‘thank you’.

A curly-haired boy enters her peripheral vision, obsidian eyes twinkling and an easygoing grin lifting his lips. Sakura blinks. He's wearing a black shirt with a collar that reaches his chin and the standard Konoha hachimaki is tied around his forehead, his black curls framing it. So bouncy. Her fingers twitch to pull them. A tanto is on his back, slung across his chest by leather binds, and bandages adorn his arms.

Uchiha, her instincts hiss.

An unfamiliar face.

But at the same time, Sakura feels some connection towards him.

The boy offers her a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

He's taller than her, but not as tall as Obito. There are small stress lines marring the inside edges of his eyes, but his smile is friendly and… is that intrigue?

Well, he's certainly the most social Uchiha she's had the pleasure of meeting.

The soulmark in her left inner wrist pulses, and Sakura rubs it in discomfort.

“Did that kunai cut through your sleeve and nick you?” the boy asks, eyebrows knitting in concern. He extends a calloused hand, ragged from constantly handling weapons. “Here, let me take a look.”

And expose her soulmark?

Yeah, no.

There's a reason why she endures wearing long sleeves even on hot days.

“I know you,” Sakura blurts out instead to redirect his attention. The boy blankly stares at her for a minute, his arm dropping to his side when she doesn't take it, and she awkwardly fidgets under his scrutinizing gaze.

“Great lie,” Inner Sakura snipes. “Do you really know him?”

Before she can answer, the boy’s mouth parts into a pleased grin, and Sakura is stunned by how boyishly handsome he looks (“Just like Sasuke-kun when he was at that age,” Inner Sakura croons, and Sakura twitches in irritation, partly because the statement is true). Ugh. Uchiha males and their genes. Plastering on a polite smile, Sakura tilts her head at him in bewilderment when his whole body begins to visibly quiver.

Okay….?

Then he surges forward, enclosing her hands with his bigger ones and clasping them close to his chest, his dimple hollowing in delight. Caught off guard, Sakura squeaks, chakra fueling her fists as a defense mechanism, and she would have already punched this stranger off her if it weren’t for his tight grasp on her hands. His eyes curve up into crescents, and her breath hitches.

“Is.. Is there something wrong?” she stammers out ungracefully.

Stubbornly, she refuses to acknowledge the blush dusting her cheeks.

Why does he have to be good-looking? Sakura internally laments. She's sure he'll be even more attractive as he grows older, if Fate is kind enough to spare him from death.

Although she can't punch him with her hands held captive in his grip, her chakra still flares in wariness, raging and begging to destroy. Sakura forces it down. While the boy looks like he's just hit his teens, she knows better than to underestimate shinobi because of their age. Take Kakashi for example, who graduated from the Academy at a mere age of five. Who knows, this boy holding her might be a jōnin already, and thus, can sense her utilizing chakra, when really, she shouldn't have the capacity to, being a civilian.

Ah crap.

Did she blow her cover already?

Stiff as a board, Sakura watches him as he slightly uncups his hands and inspects hers with fascination translucent in his onyx-hued eyes. One second. Two. Three and four. Then his chakra filters through her joined fists in his clasp, coiling with her own restless energy, and he laughs, amazed.

“Has anyone ever told you that your chakra is so colorful?”

What… What did he just say?

Unbidden, her heart rate spikes.

Colorful?

She shakes her head at him in reply, her throat too dry to formulate words.

No. Just no. Someone help her rip off this hazy tingle warming her insides, because hell no is she going to go back to her fangirling phase.

Besides, she's still four! Too young to experience crushes and puppy love!

“Don't go all mushy on me now,” Inner Sakura complains. “But honestly, doesn't he feel familiar?”

Familiar? Sakura shoves the tingling away, and frowns. Familiar? She doesn't remember meeting him in this life and the past. But damn, those curls really look bouncy. Should she tug it? Just a little? Just so she can see if his curls are really as springy as they look?

A memory flashes.

Black curls.

Black eyes.

A red ‘Flee on Sight’ tag.

Her eyelids flutter in thought as she tries to delve into that memory. Sakura thinks she's seen him somewhere, but she's having a hard time recalling where and when. Was it in her previous life? Or her current one?

“Not his looks,” Inner Sakura tells her when she comes up blank. “Chakra. Feel his chakra.”

And so she does. With hesitation, she entwines her chakra with his, surprise flitting on her face when he responds eagerly. His chakra signature is familiar, Sakura realizes. Like that ANBU agent she sensed in the Hokage’s office.

Oh.

“That ninja from Jīchan’s office!” she exclaims. So young, but already in ANBU? How admirable. Excitedly, she rocks on the balls of her feet and tips towards him so that she's eye level to his chest but gazing up at him. Their joined hands almost brush her nose at their nearness, and the boy staggers backwards at her sudden intrusion of his personal space. His shoulders tense.

Hmph. Serves him right for startling her first.

She bares her teeth into a friendly grin. “What's your name?”

At her question, the boy’s lips again crook into a delighted smile, and Sakura is once more struck by how carefree he is even with his features screaming his Uchiha genes. A dimple is carved on his left cheek, hollowing deeper as his smile widens into charming grin.

Handsome.

Butterflies explode again, a blush rising to paint her cheeks and the tips of her ears, and her hands inside his are sweating profusely because why do Uchiha males have to be so damn attractive and charming with their dark hair and black eyes and aristocratic noses—

“Uchiha Shisui at your service,” he says, and every fiber of Sakura's being stills.

Then she remembers the outdated Bingo Book she had scanned in her past life.

Shunshin no Shisui.

A vortex of horror whirls within her, sucking everything in— her common sense, her thoughts, the butterflies— and Sakura is left blank as if her soul has left her and all that remains is a living body.

Uchiha Shisui.

Her second soulmate.

“You're fucked, aren't you?” Inner Sakura chuckles darkly. “Sure, you didn't give him your name, but you still let your guard down and now he knows that you can control your chakra even though you're only a civilian.”

Yes.

She's fucked.

She should've learned from her encounter with Obito to always be wary of strangers because not all of them are what they seem, but of course not, because she's naturally too careless and trusting; or maybe it's a habit she inherited from Naruto? Ugh. She'd rather have his insane chakra reserves. Not his penchant to stumble upon nasty surprises.

“So you're calling him a nasty surprise now? I remember you fawning over him earlier,” Inner Sakura quips. “Shouldn't you be happy that this cutie is actually one of your soulmates?”

If Inner Sakura had a physical body, Sakura is certain she would've already smacked the entity to purgatory due to her sarcasm and bluntness.

“And you?” a voice interrupts her musings.

She snaps her attention to Shisui who is staring at her curiously, still holding her hands. Gently, she jerks them away as a silent request to release her, and he easily relents. Sakura lets out an airy smile, betraying none of her anxiety.

“Sakura,” she introduces herself.

His eyes minutely widen and Sakura knows it'll only be a matter of time before he asks for her surname, to confirm if it really is her, his soulmate and the one marking his skin, and—

“Surname?”

As expected.

Emerald-green orbs gleam.

“Watanabe,” she smoothly replies, character never breaking. “Watanabe Sakura.”

She pretends not to notice the disappointed frown that twists his lips, and tunes out the mocking laugh Inner Sakura lets loose, her smile unwavering and determined.

If she wants to save her soulmates while avoiding Danzo's eyes—

“Does Shi-kun want to be friends?” she questions with all the innocence of a child wanting camaraderie.

And Shisui beams at her, disappointment fading into a captivating grin. “Yes please.”

—then her fake identity starts now.

~~~~

It only took her several minutes to know that Shisui is still twelve.

Twelve and already in ANBU.

Amazed, Sakura pauses in throwing
kunai at the self-made target taped on the wall on the other side of her room. She drew it earlier after Shisui had walked her home, and although the target isn't well-made with its crude coloring and shaky circles, it's enough of a substitution until she can acquire a real target. The kunai, she got from Shisui who had snagged an entire pouch of them from the market while they were browsing and talking, shoving it into her hold after paying and telling her to take it as a friendship gift.

“Friends give each other presents, don't they?” was what Shisui said as he coaxed her hands to take the packet of blades.

She didn't bother telling him that no sane person would give a four-year-old weapons as a gift. Instead, she gave him the most radiant beam she could muster, happy that she now had kunai to add to her dagger. Currently her arsenal is still pitiful, but Sakura isn't in a rush to get more—besides, kenjutsu isn't her thing.

Her grandmother didn't ask her where she'd gone off, encouraging her instead to go out more often to make some friends. Freedom. Freedom she wouldn't have gotten if it weren't for her parents’ trip.

And of course she'll use that freedom wisely.

“Sa-chan! Lunch is ready!” she hears her grandma call. Hurriedly, Sakura yanks off the kunai stuck on the paper target, scoops the kunai resting on her bed, and puts them all away in their pouch before stuffing them in her clothes drawer. Her dagger is already hidden in her pocket.

“Coming!” she yells back, closing her bedroom door shut and bounding down the stairs.

In all honesty, she doesn't know where her dagger came from. All she knows is that it suddenly appeared on her bed when she was still living in the Land of Tea and the strange presence she felt upon discovering it.

But a weapon is a weapon, and Sakura gladly took it into her possession after making sure that no, the dagger had no dangerous seals attached, and yes, it was sharp and would be effective in killing.

Speaking of killing… does she have to kill Danzo to prevent the Uchiha Massacre?

“Pluck up the problem from the roots, ey?” Inner Sakura giggles in anticipation. “Well, ain't cha a piece of sunshine. You aren't as pure as Obito thinks you are.”

Indignant, Sakura puffs her cheeks out. Of course she's not. Her current body may have not experienced battle yet, but her mind is hardened from the terrors and blood she's seen. Ino’s death, Tsunade’s death, Kakashi's death…

Obito’s death.

“Spaghetti!” Sakura exclaims in delight on seeing the food laid out on the table. She excitedly pulls out a chair and climbs it, her grandmother chuckling as she does so. “Meatballs!”

Watanabe Aiko, a woman well into her sixties, smiles at her dotingly. “There's also dango in the refrigerator if you want some.”

Sakura cheers, pumping her fists in the air as emphasis for her excitement. Really, why is Mebuki so strict when it comes to her sugary diet when her own mother is so laid-back? Impatience stoking her up, she slurps the pasta in her plate messily, smearing her face with sauce in the process. All for dango. She loves dango. Well, any kind of sweets actually, but it's dango.

A napkin dabs at her cheek. Blinking, she looks up and sees the corners of her grandmother's eyes crinkle in silent laughter as she cleans the sauce off her face. Sakura giggles at her and blows her a kiss, which the old woman returns playfully.

Her grandmother was seventy-seven when she died.

“You're a little darling,” Aiko cooes, and Sakura watches the ancient wrinkles rippling on her face, fascinated. “I don't know why Mebuki-chan insists that you're actually a troublemaker.”

“Mama doesn't like me eating sugary stuff,” Sakura pouts.

“Well,” her grandmother's eyes glint mischievously, “then I suppose we'll just have to keep the jar of candies I have a secret.”

Sakura grins at her.

She's forgotten how much her grandma adored her in the past. Pushing the whirl of sadness rising within her at the thought of the woman's inevitable death, Sakura beams bright and proud when a plate of dango is placed before her.

She claps her hands.

“Itadakimasu!”

Chapter Text

“And where have you been?”

This is the question that greets him the moment he drops onto the floor of Sakura's bedroom from her open window. Obito, without any sign of remorse, gazes at the girl sitting on the bed, legs crossed over each other and arms folded across her chest, her eyes narrowed into a glare.

Moonlight streams through the open window, the only lamp shining in the room as it is already way past midnight. Sakura is in her pajamas, cherry-printed and light blue, her hair messy with sleep.

Obito wonders how she noticed his presence.

“No hug this time?” he asks, one eyebrow lifted behind his mask. Not that Sakura will notice.

“Three months and a half.”

Obito cocks his head. “What?”

He barely manages to dodge a kunai thrown his way and regards it with his lone eye wide, stunned. Now where the hell did that come from?

“Tobi-kun,” Sakura grounds out, and Obito hears the anger lacing her tone. Something heavy sinks in his gut. What? Did he do something wrong? Blood roars in his ears at the thought of his soulmate rejecting him, his heart clenching painfully. Another kunai flies towards him, not with the intention to hurt, but rather with the intention to get his attention.

When he looks up, he sees fury swirling crystal clear in her jaded eyes.

Hot coals drop in the bottom of his stomach at the sight.

“Sakura,” he tries, scarcely keeping his voice from faltering. “Is… Did I do something wrong?”

“Oh, I don't know,” she replies bitingly. “Did you?”

Her answer makes the hot coals cool into embers, and a chill settles over his body. Is she really rejecting him? If so, is it because she’s already found her other soulmates? What happens to him now?

What else? the voice in his head whispers condescendingly. You'll be left alone again, of course.

No.

Anything but that.

His instincts wail for her affections, for her usual hugs and smiles, but Obito stays rooted from where he is standing, muscles turning into stone. Bleakly, he stares at the child in front of him, hesitant on what to do next. He's never had a younger sibling to dote on to know how the minds of children worked, and apart from sweets and books, Obito doesn't know what else will calm Sakura down.

She's never been angry at him before.

“Should I just leave?” he asks quietly, and oh, there's a broken crack in his question that Sakura catches on.

A second passes. Two. Sakura remains unmoving. Three. Four. Five.

Obito turns to leave.

“No, wait,” and Sakura sighs, leaping off her bed, her small fingers curling around his wrist. “Tobi-kun.”

He doesn't reply and opts to patiently wait for an answer to her sudden temper outburst.

Not to disappoint, Sakura scrunches her nose at him in distaste. “I'm sleepy. Very sleepy, Tobi-kun. So sorry for snapping at you.”

She doesn't sound a bit apologetic at all.

Brushing off her half-hearted apology, Obito opens his mouth to speak but before he can, there's a strong yank and suddenly he's sprawled on the floor, blinking at the ceiling, because what the hell just happened—

Sakura sits on his abdomen with a scowl.

“But you were gone for three months and a half,” she tacks on, scowl growing more defined with each passing moment. “No contact. No letters. Nothing. And I was here getting worried, while you were off traipsing somewhere. Now you have the gall to show yourself? In the middle of the night? While I was sleeping?

Obito can only stare at her in befuddlement. “You were worried,” he blankly repeats, “for me?”

“No, I wasn't,” Sakura scoffs sarcastically. Then her mouth contorts into a snarl, and her gaze pins him down, venom dripping from her stormy green orbs. “Of course I was, you little fucker! Do you want me to punch some sense into you?”

Well.

That's a very charming offer.

An offer Obito wouldn't have minded if he weren't so busy organizing his thoughts.

“So you aren't rejecting me then?” he queries, vulnerability seeping into his hushed words. His fingers defensively clench into half-formed fists beside him, nails scraping the floor and sending shoots of pain in his system.

You aren't leaving me? is the question he swallows back.

Bemusement flickers into Sakura's face, and she frowns at him. “And why, pray tell, would I reject you, Tobi-kun?”

Oh, thank sages.

His lips lift into a relieved smile Sakura can't see with his mask on. Tentatively, Obito grasps her sides and in a swift movement he stands up with her in his arms. Her own arms wrap around his neck in a hug, and she nuzzles her nose into his neck, her breaths puffing against his skin.

“Tobi-kun is mean,” she mutters. “I missed you, you know.”

Her admission warms him up inside, and Obito chuckles as he heads to her bed and sits down on it. The mattress dips under their weight, and he secures Sakura into a position that allows her to wrap her arms around his torso and him to rest his chin on the crown of her head. Sakura doesn't hesitate in burrowing her face in his chest.

“I thought you didn't want me to visit,” Obito teases, playing with the strands of Sakura's hair. “Didn’t you say that you only liked me for my sweets?”

And indignant huff. “You believed that? Really now, Tobi-kun? That can't be the reason why you didn't see me for a very long time.”

The emphasis is not lost on him. “Sorry,” he murmurs. “I was… busy.”

He feels her shift and looks down to meet her emerald-hued eyes staring at him. “Tobi-kun is lying,” she firmly states. “Your chakra tells me so.”

A jolt passes through his spine. His chakra?

“What do you mean my chakra tells you so?” Obito queries, bewildered. As far as he knows, Sakura can't be a sensor because being a sensor is innate or acquired through experience most of the time. As much of a genius as she is, it is almost impossible for her to learn chakra sensing since she has no reason to do so.

Sakura shrugs at him. “Your chakra’s pulsing mad. It's as if Tobi-kun is angry at something.”

A sensor indeed.

“And where, exactly, did you learn how to feel other people's chakra?” he asks, voice pinched.

“A book.”

He stifles a groan. A book. What the hell. Even adults can't usually apply what they've learned from a book in real life. Why does his soulmate have to be so damn smart?

“And who else knows about this?”

“Oh, get off my case, Tobi-kun,” Sakura scoffs before burying her face again in his chest. “I know you already know about my sensor abilities.”

In truth, Obito was suspicious about her being a sensor ever since she began noticing his presence way back before he approached her. But it was only a suspicion, never a certainty. Now it was a full-blown surety that Sakura, as a matter of fact, is a sensor.

An aspiring medic and a blooming sensor.

Sages help him if someone tries to get hold of his precious Sakura to use her genius for their own evil intentions.

He'll be sure to rip their throats out and let the earth drink their blood.

“You're changing the subject, blossom,” Obito pushes, unrelenting. “Who else?”

Hesitance rolls off her small form. Then she raises her head again to look at him with big, searching eyes.

Adorable.

But no. He has a question waiting to be answered.

“He's a new friend I made a few weeks after I came here,” Sakura says and Obito stares at her for her to continue. Her eyebrows draw together in thought as if she is trying to think of her next words. It creates wrinkles on the center of her forehead, and he smooths them out with his pointer finger and thumb.

“I'm waiting, Sakura,” he presses, and the child in question pouts.

“I have a feeling you'll hunt him down,” Sakura grumbles. “Tobi-kun better not.”

Oh?

Seems like his little soulmate is overprotective over her new friend. A male friend.

“Anyways, his name is Shisui,” Sakura continues, oblivious to the growing twisted amusement writhing within him. Shisui, is it? Intrigued, Obito listens to everything the child on his lap is saying, never missing a single detail.

Uchiha Shisui.

Twelve years old.

Judging from the surname, this Shisui is a relative of his.

Fun.

Should he pay this boy a visit?

“Tobi-kun,” he hears Sakura's warning tone. “Don't you even think about it.”

A Cheshire-like grin lifts his lips. “I'm not thinking about anything,” he denies, a touch innocently.

“I'm serious. Shi-kun kept me company when you weren't here.”

Ah. That hit straight home.

“Like I said, I was busy,” Obito deflects.

Sakura gives him a skeptical look. “Right.”

“I'm telling you the truth.”

Partly.

“Busy with your contingencies or busy holding a grudge against someone you absolutely hate?” Sakura states and there is something knowing in her gaze that makes Obito tense.

He recovers a second later and passes it off as a joke, because it isn't possible for Sakura to know about his plans and his past with Kakashi.

“A little bit of both,” he replies, half-serious.

The reason why he didn't visit her until now was because it's Konoha. Konoha, his home village. Konoha, the place he used to love. Konoha, the village that has killed many despite being hailed as a merciful one.

Konoha, the village Kakashi resides in.

The moment Rin died, Konoha became his enemy, simply because of a certain man living in it.

Not to mention, White Zetsu is beginning to catch on his regular break-aways, and Obito doesn't want to know what that man will do once his attachment to Sakura is discovered. Most likely use her against him. A scenario Obito is desperately trying to avoid.

A frown glides Sakura's mouth, but the definition behind it is unreadable. Obito briefly wonders what its meaning could be. The next thing he knows, a hand is patting the side of his mask, Sakura's stare at him so soft and tender, it makes him melt.

Guilt floods him for lying to her face.

“Tobi-kun is a good person. I trust Tobi-kun, so you better not break it,” she says, and Obito is brought back to their conversation in the woods of the Land of Tea.

“I won't,” he promises, and his heart starts to break slowly because he knows he won't be able to keep this promise. He'll have to see Sakura's betrayed expression upon realizing that Tobi, in fact, isn't as good as she thought he was.

“Liar,” Sakura huffs.

All Obito can offer is silence as a reply to her accusation.

His arm circling her torso tightens and he brings his free hand to the back of her head, pulling her closer to him in a snug embrace. Sakura lets out a squeak of surprise when she finds herself being pressed into his chest, but the sound is muffled. She won't suffocate, Obito knows, and he needs her touch so he makes her stay like that for a few moments. She's warm and inviting. The gentle fire to soothe the ice in his heart.

Desperately, Obito inhales her scent, closing his eye to remember the faint scent of vanilla Sakura emanates. Soon, he won't be able to hold her closely like in the present. She'll grow to be an adult and he'll gradually start seeing her less until he completely fades out of her life and she forgets him. It's for the best, he supposes. Because if everything goes as planned, Sakura will resent him, and he won't be able to swallow the look of hate she'll bear.

His heart contracts painfully.

“Tobi-kunnnn!” Sakura whines in his grip and she squirms. “Let me gooo!”

A slight smile pulls on his lips, and Obito lets his back fall onto the bed with a thump, still holding Sakura against him. The little girl wails in protest, her complaints hushed with her mouth smushed against his chest, and he chuckles before rolling to his side and releasing her. Once free, Sakura visibly takes big gulps of air, her face red.

She glares at him. “I could've died!”

And Obito just laughs, throwing her blanket over them and cloaking themselves with darkness. “Time to sleep,” he tells her through chuckles.

He'll just leave before the day breaks.

Without wasting a second, Sakura cuddles against him, snuggling to his warmth, and Obito accepts her, his arms drawing her closer to him until there is no space left between them. This time, Sakura's back is pressed against his chest.

Her little breaths are the only sound he hears throughout the night.

~~~~

When Sakura wakes up the next morning, Obito is nowhere to be found. The only indication that he stayed over is the rumpled sheets beside her and the lingering warmth in them.

But she doesn't mind. At least she knows Obito is alright, although he acted more touchy than usual last night. A clear hint that something is going on with the man.

“Going off to see Shisui-chan again?” her grandmother asks after they finish eating breakfast. Sakura is wiping the table clean, feet restlessly tapping against the floor as she darts to and fro.

She beams. “Yes, Obāchan!”

Aiko fondly smiles at her. “There's a basket of biscuits on the kitchen counter,” she says. “You can share those with Shisui-chan.”

Her grandmother has yet to meet Shisui, but Sakura has regaled her with enough stories over the months to get her point across — that Shisui is a nice person and a very powerful shinobi and that she likes him a lot. He's also teaching her how to shunshin, a technique Sakura never mastered in the past, but Aiko doesn't have to know about the things she does with the Uchiha. Excitedly, she heads to the kitchen and grabs the basket of biscuits her grandmother told her about.

“I'll be going!” Sakura calls out as she puts on her sandals and opens the door. Aiko appears a second later as she always does, her arms open and awaiting for a hug, which Sakura gladly gives her.

“Be back for lunch,” Aiko tells her with a loving squeeze. “You can also bring Shisui-chan with you if you want.”

“Will do!” Sakura promises. She and Shisui have been friends for a while now, and even though she doesn't want to meet his family yet (the Uchiha has already invited her for lunch a couple of times and each invitation has been politely declined), Sakura thinks it's high time for him to meet her sweet grandmother.

She munches on a butter-flavored cookie on her way to their usual meeting spot: the weapon stall in the market. Funny really, considering that's where they first met. It's a beautiful morning, the skies blue and bright, the early sun rays soft against her exposed skin. Sakura's opted to wear gray shorts and a sleeveless navy-green tee today, with arm warmers to cover the soulmarks on her wrists. It's enough to battle the summer heat, but still she longs for the feeling of cool air brushing her stomach.

Too bad she can't wear crop tops with Obito’s mark running down vertically on the dip of her spine just above her ass.

“You’re four,” Inner Sakura reminds her, laughing mockingly. “You don't have an ass.”

Yet.

She reaches the front of the weapon stall with a few minutes to spare. Their set meeting time is 9:30 a.m., and usually it's Shisui who arrives first with his speed. Today, however, the Uchiha seems to be running late compared to his usual arrival time, but Sakura is content to stare at the floating clouds and wait for him. There have been days when her friend couldn't make it due to an impromptu mission or his busy schedule. Maybe today is included in those days.

Humming a small tune under her breath, Sakura decides to eat another cookie and reaches into the basket for one. Just as she is about to grab the first biscuit she feels, she hears a roar of outrage and a pained cry.

Her head snaps up and what she sees makes her see scarlet.

A burly man towering over a boy her age with a knife in his hand. With the bloody apron he's wearing and the butcher shop behind him, it's clear what his profession is. His sleeves are rolled to his biceps, revealing a well-muscled physique, a sight that Sakura calls off as bullshit. It's obviously a pathetic display of power to scare off the child, and it makes her blood boil.

“Scram!” the man bellows, waving his knife around.

The boy is curled on the ground, hugging his stomach. Sakura thinks the man might have kicked him there without an ounce of mercy.

Yet the people around them are either just watching or continuing on their way.

“Look closely,” Inner Sakura whispers, and there's fury in her voice. “Look.”

And Sakura does.

Spiky blonde hair.

Slightly tanned skin.

“Sakura-chan! Let's go get some ramen!”

“Sorry, Sakura-chan…survive for my sake, will you?”

She can't see the boy's face since the top of his head is facing her direction, but she can recognize that loud orange outfit from a mile away.

Naruto.

Her face contorts into a snarl.

The man raises his leg in an action to stomp on Naruto, and Sakura doesn't wait for the hit to land. She isn't as fast as Shisui with the shunshin, but her speed is enough to block the man's assault with her forearms, and the surprise that flashes on his face is worth the pain that shoots into her system.

Time seems to slow down.

The man jerks back, surprised by her appearance. “What the fu—”

“Now listen here, you motherfucker,” Sakura hisses venomously, cutting him off. Her crude language earns her a couple of scandalized looks from the vendors nearby but she blatantly ignores them. “You dare hit a defenseless boy?”

She hears murmurs around her but they are drowned by the rushing of blood in her ears.

Not in this life, no.

In this life, she'll stick to Naruto's side at least until he can protect himself, and not just stand and watch him get thrown around in the sidelines.

Her basket of goods rests a few feet away from them, safe if a brawl were to occur. It’s something Sakura highly doubts will happen though, with the account of her age and the people watching them. She briefly scans her surroundings. Now where the hell are the shinobi at?

The man disgustingly leers at her. “You with this demon, girl?”

Naruto lets out a whimper at the name.

“Demon?” she repeats, and there is rage staining her voice, bubbling hot. “Demon?”

“Yes, demon,” the man nods, a pleased grin stretching across his face. “That kid you're protecting is actually a demon.”

“T-That’s not true!” comes Naruto's weak protest. “I'm n-not a demon—”

“Shut it, boy! Everyone knows it's your fault why there was a demon attack here years ago!”

The dagger in her side pocket is heavy, begging to be used. She swallows the urge back. The initial plan is to stall for time for shinobi to show up and intervene, but Sakura’s finding it very hard to remain level-headed in this predicament. She's left Shisui’s kunai back in her room, a choice she deeply regrets on encountering this situation. But true shinobi don't dwell on the things they don't have, and Sakura stuffs half of her hand in her pocket, her fingers barely grazing the dagger's leather hilt.

Fuck waiting for others to save her skin and Naruto’s. Sakura will gladly kill this man if need be.

She turns to Naruto who looks at her with pleading, watery eyes. “Are you a demon?” she asks stonily.

The blonde immediately shakes his head frantically. “N-No, I'm not, I swear!”

“Did you cause the demon attack this man is talking about?”

“I don't even know why he's blaming me for that!” Naruto garbles, a sob slipping out of his throat. “They…Everyone h-hates me and I don't know why—!”

Sakura whirls on her heel and again faces the man. “Does a demon grovel like this?”

“Asking me questions now, ey?” the man scoffs. “Are you a demon too, girlie? Because if you are—”

She feels the shift in the air and it is the only warning she gets before a fist heads towards her, aiming for her face, and Sakura quickly brings her arms in front of her to block the blow. Her ears pick up mortified and incensed gasps from the watching crowd when flesh connects to flesh, and senses Inner Sakura’s fury threatening to spill over and explode. She grits her teeth as she takes the hit. Her stance too weak and unprepared, Sakura staggers back.

“—then I'll have to treat you the same way I treat that demon!” the man finishes, crowing in cruel glee.

Her arms ache from taking two blows as she hasn't started training in taijutsu yet and her muscles are still untrained to handle powerful impacts. But her blood is boiling, bubbling, churning with the intent to killkillkillthisperson—!

The world goes spinning. Everything becomes muted and blurred. Her lips twist into a feral glower and she doesn't register the dagger she's now properly holding as she sprints to the man in full speed, the weapon in her hand twirling and dancing in her fingers, all reason gone out from her head—

“Maa, that's enough.”

A firm hand pulls her out of her attack, her momentum stuttering at the sudden intervention. Still not in her right mind, Sakura strikes at the person who dares to touch her, metal meeting flesh, and her eyes go wide at the sight of blood splattering.

Fuck.

Who?

She vaguely notices Naruto looking up at her with shock and awe. Heart beating erratically and adrenaline pumping, she tears her gaze from the bleeding arm and stares at the shinobi blocking her view of the bastard who insulted Naruto.

Gray enters her vision, and she stiffens on seeing a familiar black eye staring back at her and the mask covering half his face.

Hatake Kakashi.

Well, fuck.

She's made a mistake again.

Obito won't be happy when he finds out that another person has discovered her growing abilities.

But at the moment, she simply doesn't care.

“He hit him first,” Sakura growls, gesturing at Naruto who is still on the ground. “The fucker deserves it.”

Kakashi regards her coolly. “You've got a dirty mouth for a kid.”

At his words, Sakura grins, poison translucent in her emerald gaze.

“And you've got dirtier hands.”

~~~~

Kakashi is someone who is seldom surprised. So when a girl managed to nick him with her dagger, his interest was instantly piqued. Not to mention her unique coloring with her pink hair and emerald eyes— it makes Kakashi ponder what clan she's from.

Even her mouth is colorful in their insults.

“More than a nick, Kakashi,” Asuma grumbles as he inspects the wound. “Sages, who did this to you?”

Yūhi Kurenai, who is sitting beside the Sarutobi, hums and raises an elegant eyebrow. “Were you on a mission lately, Kakashi? That cut is deep. A little bit more, and it would have hit your radial artery.”

And Kakashi just shrugs at them, rolling down his sleeve before snagging another piece of meat from the grill. “Had a recon mission in Kumo. Say, did a new clan move in recently or something?” he asks.

“Not that I know of,” Asuma replies, cocking his head at the gray-haired man in curiosity. “Why?”

“Just asking. How many pink-haired children do you know of?”

Kurenai blinks at him, confused. “Pink-haired? Is that even possible?”

Genetically speaking, no. But the world they live in is already strange enough, so adding pink-haired children to the mix doesn't make life any weirder.

Especially when that pink-haired girl is interesting.

“Yo, Kakashi!” a familiar voice bellows. The trio turn at the sound and see Shiranui Genma walking to them, a big shit-eating grin in place. His signature senbon is in his mouth, to which Kurenai makes a disgusted face at.

The newcomer slides in the vacant chair next to Kakashi and slings an arm over the man's shoulders, dark eyes glittering with mirth.

“Out with it, Genma,” Asuma sighs and Kurenai pats his back in comfort.

Kakashi looks at them sympathetically. The two were on a date in this barbecue restaurant when Kakashi spotted them through the glass windows as he was passing by. He hadn't meant to disturb them, but the sight of the sizzling meat on the grill had him hooked, and Kakashi isn't the type to say no to free food. So uninvited, he entered the restaurant and made himself cozy on the chair opposite to the couple’s, much to Asuma’s chagrin and Kurenai’s exasperation.

Genma glances at Kakashi with a wicked smirk. “Raidō told me he saw your ass get kicked by a little girl this morning.”

True.

But Kakashi still has his pride.

“Is that so?” he innocently answers through a mouthful of meat.

Kurenai gives him a skeptical look, daintily picking up a slice of cooked meat and putting it on her plate. “Is that why you're injured, Kakashi?”

“Ho? So it's true then?” Genma cackles, a bit too gleeful for Kakashi's taste. “Where's the wound, Kakashi— ohhh, is that why Yamato had to bandage your right arm a while ago? Well, fuck me now, never guessed I'd see the day Kakashi gets beaten by someone younger.”

And Kakashi, out of pure spite, harshly elbows him and stands up in satisfaction when his friend doubles over in pain.

He gives the table's occupants his best eye-smile, stomach full. “I'll be going now.”

He's already halfway to the door when he hears Asuma’s indignant yell.

“Oy, Kakashi, you bastard! Pay your bill!”

Giggling, Kakashi disappears in a swirl of leaves.

He plans on hunting down the pink-haired menace later.

~~~~

In Shisui’s eyes, Sakura is an absolute angel, despite her interest in jutsu and weapons and highly advanced books although she isn’t of shinobi heritage. Her smile can brighten anyone's day and her laughter is simply delightful, shimmering like the colors of a prism. Itachi won't believe him, but he sees colors in their vibrancy dancing in Sakura's presence, and Shisui thinks that it's maybe because she's just so cheerful and lovely.

Uchiha Mikoto, his aunt, is the one to shoot that thought down.

“Colorful, you say?” the Uchiha matriarch says as she stirs the pot of soup on the stove. “Shi-chan, is she your soulmate?”

Without hesitation, Shisui shakes his head. “No, Obasan, although her first name and my soulmate's first name are the same. But their surnames don't match,” he answers with a pout. “But Sakura’s really adorable and talented—”

“You say she's not your soulmate but she's colorful?” Mikoto’s question is incredulous, and the woman turns to face him. “Shi-chan, do you know how our eyes work?”

“Our Sharingan?” Shisui frowns, bemused. “Of course I do—”

“Our eyes, Shi-chan. More specifically, our vision. We don't see colors the way they are, you must have noticed that. I mean we do, but we don't see them in their radiance, meaning we can't appreciate them. All shades of red are the same to us. Royal-blue and sky-blue in our eyes are similar. That is, until we meet our respective soulmates. But you, Shi-chan, you've begun to appreciate colors from what you've told me so far about this girl.”

Shisui opens his mouth to speak and closes it again when words cannot find him. What his aunt just said is…true. When had he appreciated colors? Not until he met Sakura, that's for certain. Colors meant nothing to him, and he didn't quite understand why females took so long deciding what to wear based on the clothes’ colors. Shisui, as a matter of fact, just prefers to wear black with other dark tones because no sane Uchiha will want to be caught dead wearing bright stuff.

But then Sakura came, and Shisui began to like colors, because they look charming on her, or is Sakura the one who makes them look charming? He doesn't know. All he knows is that Sakura's presence makes everything sharper and vivacious.

Mikoto’s eyebrows furrow. “Are you sure this Sakura isn't your soulmate?”

A moment of hesitance. Then Shisui shrugs.

“Sakura told me her surname is Watanabe, not Haruno.”

“She might be lying,” Mikoto prods.

“Obasan,” Shisui spreads his hands in front of him in an exaggerated motion, “have you seen how innocent Sakura is? I swear she's a literal angel! She can't even lie to save her own life!”

At his proclamation, Mikoto studies him for a few seconds before returning back to her cooking. The smell of tomatoes wafts in the air, and Shisui is sure Sasuke will be jumping in joy when he discovers that there is tomato soup for lunch. He makes a face. Yuck, he hates tomatoes. Pushing the sour taste in his mouth, Shisui heads to the refrigerator for a quick snack.

“Don't eat the dango, dear! Ita-chan will be mad,” Mikoto reminds him.

No worries. Shisui doesn't like sweets anyways. He only tolerates them because Sakura is a literal addict to anything that has sugar.

Currently, it is only him and Mikoto occupying the house. The house is peaceful, with Itachi gone on another mission and Sasuke training with Fugaku. The young Uchiha’s grasp on weaponry is getting better everyday, much to Fugaku’s pride and Itachi’s silent displeasure. In terms of battle prowess, Sasuke is only a few steps ahead of Sakura.

“Sasuke is growing too fast, Shisui,” was what Itachi told him while they were sparring a few days ago. “Sometimes I wish he'd enjoy his childhood for a little longer.”

But Sasuke is a born shinobi, meaning his enjoyment is found in violence and dangerous thrills.

Hungrily, Shisui grabs an apple and closes the refrigerator, impatiently sinking his teeth into the fruit a mere second later. His bite makes a loud crunching sound, and Mikoto gives him an amused smile as she takes a can of preserved mushrooms from the cupboard above her. Without needing to be told, Shisui hands her the can-opener which she takes with a murmured ‘thank you’.

“How did the mission go?” she questions conversationally. “No injuries?”

“Nah.” Shisui takes another bite of the apple and savors its freshness. Sakura would like to have one, he thinks, because the apples Mikoto chooses from the market are always unusually sweet. Not too sweet, but they are certainly sweeter compared to other apples.

It’s been two weeks since he last saw the rose-haired girl, courtesy of the assassination mission the Hokage gave him. The mission was supposed to take a three weeks, but Shisui is one of Konoha’s very best, and there were no complications to lengthen his task. He’d managed to return last night, and after scribbling up a hasty report and sending it to the Hokage with his summon, he promptly hit the bed and passed out.

Maybe he should go see Sakura today.

Thoughtfully, Shisui again opens the refrigerator and gets another apple.

“Ah.” There's a knowing glint in Mikoto’s dark eyes. “For Sakura-chan?”

A fond grin graces his lips. “She likes sweets a lot.”

Mikoto chuckles as she dumps the mushrooms into the pot of soup. “Careful there, Shi-chan,” she says teasingly. “People might think you're smitten with her.”

“Obasan!” Shisui squawks in an undignified manner. “Sakura’s about Sasuke's age!”

An unimpressed raised eyebrow. “So?”

“Obasan, I'm twelve,” he emphasizes.

“And she's four, if her being around Sasuke's age is true. Only eight years apart. Why, Fugaku and I are twelve years apart but we have two beautiful boys, don't we?”

“I have a soulmate,” he stresses out.

Mikoto winks at him. “She might be that soulmate.”

Dear heavens. Why must his aunt be insufferable?

“You'll just have to wait until she's an adult before you start courting her,” is what he hears and he groans.

Why does this conversation sound so familiar? Shisui laments. He's on the verge of ripping his curls out in frustration when there's a rapt knock on the door.

Confusion settles on Mikoto’s expression. “I wasn't expecting any guests today. Were you, Shi-chan?”

“No, Obasan,” he immediately replies. Silently, he's glad for the distraction. Hell knows how much teasing he can take before he goes to a corner and sulk. “Should I get the door?”

“Please.”

As he moves to follow the request, Shisui stuffs one apple in his mouth and throws the other in the air, catching it as it falls and throwing it back in the air again. Much like playing with a ball. This is the sight Sakura stumbles upon when he opens the door for her.

The apple from his mouth falls.

Up until that moment, Shisui has never blushed so hard in his life.

“Sakura? What…What are you doing here?” and there's hysteria in his words, because, fuck, did he mention that his curls are a literal rat’s nest since he didn't comb his hair when he woke up? And probably still matted with flecks of blood and dirt as he didn’t bother taking a bath last night, too tired to do so.

And Sakura, bless her sweet heart, doesn’t comment on his appearance and instead beams at him in reply and holds out a basket. “You didn't come to play for two weeks so I was getting worried,” she tells him with a pout. “Obāchan told me you might be sick, so we baked some cake together for you even though I don't know if you like sweets that much.”

Uwagh.

Just uwagh.

His brain stops functioning and he only manages to shakily gesture for her to come in, because dammit, she's too adorable and it's making his common sense short-circuit. Sakura follows him inside, shyness clear in the way she's tiptoeing behind him, tightly clutching the basket she's brought. Hesitantly, she reaches for his hand.

Shisui welcomes the touch and they head to the kitchen where Mikoto is washing the pots and pans she's used for cooking.

“Hello there,” the older woman cooes, positively brightening. “You must be Sakura-chan, Shi-chan’s told me a lot about you.”

Shisui gives Sakura an encouraging nudge. “She won't bite,” he jokes.

“I know,” Sakura whispers back. There's a touch of reverence in her tone. “She's just so…pretty.”

It’s common knowledge in the Uchiha clan that Mikoto loves children, and has always longed for a daughter. At the compliment, the Uchiha matriarch flushes, pleased. Shisui can see the clogs in his aunt’s head turning as she regards their linked hands with a flinty stare, her lips stretching into a welcoming smile.

“Did you like the gummies I gave you?” Mikoto asks, mischief lining her words.

There’s a moment of pondering silence and Shisui glances at the girl beside him in askance. Gummies? As in, gummy candies?

Sakura’s eyelids flutter in thought as she tries to understand the older woman’s question. Then she perks up, and on her face is a delighted grin directed at Mikoto.

“You’re that kind lady who gave me gummy bears when we just arrived here!” she excitedly exclaims. “Thank you so much! I loved them. Mama had to hide them just so I wouldn’t sneak out of my bed at night and finish them in one go!”

Shisui blinks. “You’ve met before?”

“Just briefly,” Mikoto laughs, walking towards them. “I didn’t know her name back then, so I had no idea that the Sakura you’re always talking about is her.” With an inviting smile, she crouches so that she and Sakura are now eye-level to each other. “Now, Sakura-chan, won’t you please stay for lunch? As payment for the gummies.”

At her request, Sakura hesitates before gazing up at Shisui imploringly. “Obāchan told me to always be back for lunch since she’s terribly lonely.”

Understanding dawns him, and he gives Sakura an impish grin. “Would you like me to invite her over too?”

Gratefully, the girl squeezes his hand. “Yes, please, Shi-kun!” she cheers, and the action is so endearing, Shisui can’t help but affectionately pat her head.

“I expect a kiss for this,” he playfully warns her as Sakura walks him to the door. With his keen ears, Shisui can hear his aunt laughing softly in the background at his words and the teasing that will follow once lunch is over and his little companion and her grandma have gone home.

Not a conversation he’s looking forward to but—

That thought is cut off when Sakura tugs him down with enough strength to force him to bow to his waist and to her reach. Strong. Dainty hands cup his jaw, and Shisui’s brain short-circuits once more when he feels something soft skim his cheek, a puff of breath brushing his skin. It’s just a ghost of a touch, but every hair on his arm stands up as warmth floods his face and he’s left blushing.

Sakura just kissed him.

He doesn’t register Sakura gently pushing him out of the door and telling him a quick ‘take care’ before closing it, too dazed at the memory of her kissing his cheek so adorably. Gah. Why must she be so endearingly exquisite? One of these days, she’s going to kill him with her sweet gestures.

Sakura is an angel, Shisui decides as he propels himself from one rooftop to another after gaining back his senses. She can destroy the whole world and he’ll gladly aid her in doing it if it means her affection for him will never fade.

What a traitorous idea, his mind murmurs.

He laughs carelessly.

It’s days later when Shisui learns that Sakura isn’t as angelic as she seems, especially when on the warpath.

Chapter Text

While Shisui is off to fetch her grandmother, Sakura is having the time of her life scrubbing pots and pans clean.

“Really, Sakura-chan,” Shisui’s aunt tries to dissuade her. Belatedly, Sakura realizes that she still hasn't gotten the woman's name. “I can do it all later after we eat lunch.”

“When Obāchan cooks, I clean,” Sakura tells her. She cheerfully scours a particularly crusted pan with the scrubber, enjoying how the soap and metal rub against her skin. Her hands will be a bit red when she finishes her job, but she doesn't mind. “It’s my way of saying ‘thank you for the meal’.

“But won't your arms get tired?”

Carefully, Sakura places the pan next to the other soaped cooking utensils and grabs another, this time a wooden spoon. She switches the scrubber for a normal sponge and dips it into the dishwashing soap, squeezing it experimentally and watching the suds ooze. Then she sets to work on washing the spoon.

“I train, so my arms are very strong ,” Sakura gaily says, and she feels the older woman's attention fully swivel to her, curious. “Shi-kun’s been teaching me shunshin, and I've been hoarding books about kenjutsu and fuinjutsu. I haven't really started on my physical stamina and taijutsu yet but I know how to enhance my muscles with chakra to make up for my lack of strength. My aim with my dagger and kunai is good enough, an inconsistent eight out of ten. Sometimes I can even strike nine out of ten!”

“Now you're just outright bragging,” Inner Sakura scoffs. “You don't even know her, you fool.”

“We trust Shi-kun and she's Shi-kun’s aunt,” Sakura argues.

Inner Sakura rolls her eyes. “See? You don't even know her name. And it's only you who trusts her. I don't trust her.”

Huffing in exasperation, Sakura tips on the balls of her feet to grasp the faucet and turn the water on. She's currently standing on a stool to reach the sink, and she's now finished soaping every utensil that needs to be scrubbed. Rinsing them is the last thing that needs to be done, then she can wipe them dry and let Shisui’s aunt take care of the rest.

“Learning chakra control and kunai handling already at such a young age?” Shisui’s aunt asks disbelievingly and in astonishment. “Sakura-chan, are your parents shinobi?”

Sakura tilts her head at her questioningly, her hands deftly washing the soap bubbles off the kitchen utensils as water spouts from the faucet. “No? My parents are merchants.”

“Then why are you training so early? Normal children usually only start learning shinobi subjects when they've reached the minimum age required to enter the Academy. Which is eight years old. Sakura-chan, you still have four years to enjoy your childhood if you want to fully commit to shinobi life.”

“I didn't say I was gonna be a shinobi,” Sakura refutes. There are soap suds up to her elbows, and she's pushed her sleeves to her shoulders to avoid them getting wet. A thin layer of genjutsu shrouds her wrists to cover her soulmarks.

“Then why?”

Unhesitatingly, Sakura's mouth curves upwards into a sincere smile at the inquiry. “I have people I want to protect,” is her simple response. “And I can’t do that if I’m weak, can I?”

Dumbfounded, Shisui’s aunt opens and closes her mouth, a frown dropping on her regal face. A thoughtful stare burns into Sakura’s back, trying to decipher her intentions and words, and she resists flinching at the pressure. Keeping her chakra calm, she turns to the older woman and extends an expectant hand.

“I’m done washing!” Sakura says brightly despite her hackles rising at the woman’s scrutiny. “Do you have a rag or something I can use to dry them off?”

A tentative smile. “No need, Sakura-chan. I’ll do it myself later.”

Sakura blinks. “Oh. Okay.”

She’s about to hop off the stool when a gentle hand lands on her shoulder, prompting her to look up. Shisui’s aunt has a sorrowful look on her beautiful pale face, and she smiles forlornly, an expression that seems to make her age older. Sakura wonders if she’d said something wrong. For a few seconds, the both of them just stare at each other, with Sakura patiently waiting for the woman to speak. Clearly the Uchiha female has something she wants to say.

“I’m back!” a familiar voice calls out, and Sakura visibly perks up. Hopeful, she looks imploringly at the woman keeping her in place in a silent request to release her and let her dash to the newcomer.

In return, Shisui’s aunt chuckles and lets her arm fall to her side. There’s hesitation evident in the miniscule downward tug of her lips, and it makes Sakura mull over what could be bothering the kind woman. She’ll make sure to figure it out later. For now, she has to greet the newly arrived people by the door.

When she reaches the hall leading to the main door however, it is only Shisui who is standing there, toeing off his sandals and neatly placing them aside. No grandma. Puzzled, Sakura darts to him and gives him a searching look.

“Where’s Obāchan?”

With a beam, Shisui ruffles her hair in greeting. The action messes her rose-colored locks, but she leans to his touch and accepts his affection, letting him pet her for as long as he likes. She knows that Shisui, unlike most Uchiha, is open in showing his fondness to the people he's comfortable with. It's a trait of his that Sakura finds endearing.

“Didn't want to come. But she told me to tell you to have fun,” Shisui jovially says. He removes his hand from her head and Sakura takes his calloused fingers, twining them with her own. “Don't worry though, she has some friends over so she's not lonely at all.”

Satisfied, Sakura nods.

“But really, Sakura,” Shisui continues and she senses the hint of glee in his tone, “what have you been telling your grandma about me?”

About Shisui?

Confusion clouds her for a moment. Eyebrows knitting together, Sakura tries to recall the things she's said about Shisui, which is a lot. She remembers telling her grandmother that Shisui is a very strong shinobi who might be as fast as the wind, and that he's very nice and cheerful and fun, and that he always gives her a ride on his shoulders if she asks him to, and—

And oh shit.

Shit.

As if sensing her realization, Shisui smiles at her innocently, knowingly, and Sakura has the urge to smack the expression off his horribly good-looking face.

She's never ever going to tell her grandma again how charming she thinks Uchiha Shisui is.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” she denies, but heat is creeping in on her cheeks, the beginnings of a blush forming. Scowling, she attempts to free their entangled fingers, embarrassment jolting her when Shisui (the little shit) turns her around so that she's facing him and pulls her closer.

Playfully, Shisui pokes her reddening cheek. “Really, Sakura?”

Sakura bites in the curse threatening to spill.

Never again.

Damn her big mouth.

Scrapping every last bit of her dignity, Sakura glares at the highly entertained Uchiha in front of her.

“Awww, don't be like that,” Shisui coos and annoyance flashes within her. “I know you find me handsome. Your grandmother told me so.”

That's it.

Yanking her hand to untangle their fingers, Sakura storms towards the kitchen, Shisui laughing behind her.

“Okay, okay, I'm sorry!” Shisui calls out, and she hears the telltale of footsteps running after her. She's almost reached the kitchen's doorway, and in a final burst of speed, she sprints to Shisui’s aunt to hide behind her.

“Shi-kun is a meanie!” she petulantly yells. “Don't come near me, I don't like you anymore!”

Above her, Shisui’s aunt chuckles.

“But Sakuraaaaaa,” Shisui whines, and Sakura squeals and grips Shisui’s aunt’s legs when he appears in front of her with a devilish grin, his hands making grabby motions. “I like youuu!”

“Get away from me!” Sakura screeches.

But of course, the mischievous Uchiha doesn't listen. With a victorious cheer, his hands find purchase on her sides and she finds herself in the air, lifted by Shisui’s sturdy arms, a surprised yelp escaping her. A bubbly laugh erupts from Shisui, his eyes curving into crescents, as he spins her. In the background, Sakura hears feminine laughter ringing.

“Well, ain't this fun,” Inner Sakura says with dripping sarcasm.

As a matter of fact, it is fun. Begrudgingly, Sakura starts to smile, even waving her arms in the air in a flapping motion, and giggles when Shisui humors her and begins to lift her up and down.

“I'm a bird!” she crows happily.

“No, you're not!” Shisui declares, and she pouts at him for refuting her words. But then his dark eyes twinkle in mischief, and suddenly she's caged in his arms in a tight hug. Her feet dangle mere inches from the floor. “You're too pretty to be a bird. You're an angel!”

Tucked under his chin, Sakura struggles to raise her head and properly look up at him. “I am?”

“You are!” Shisui nods without hesitation. He carefully releases her so she’s now standing upright with her own two feet and grins at her sunnily. “You're my angel!”

What?

What?

An innocent declaration, yes, but paired with that face? That boyishly handsome face? With that ridiculously high-ridged nose and charismatic smile?

A total lady killer move.

“And he's your soulmate,” Inner Sakura hums. “Imagine how much of an eye candy he'll be in the future.”

Uh. Yeah, no.

The mental image of a grown-up Shisui is bad for her health.

“You're just a sucker for Uchiha men,” Inner Sakura hoots and Sakura flushes at the undeniable truth. To hide the rising blush, she buries her face in Shisui’s chest.

It isn't her fault the Uchiha are blessed with terribly good genes.

“Oh, stop teasing her, Shi-chan,” she hears Shisui’s aunt scolding voice. “Look at the poor darling, she's all embarrassed now.”

“She is? But what I told her was a compliment!”

Sakura hopes he won't stay oblivious forever. She can already imagine him all matured, harmlessly flirting around and causing a couple of panties to drop. Blast Uchiha genes.

Or maybe she's just being biased. After all, the Uchiha men she's known so far are all aloof and secretive in the way they show that they care. Take Itachi, who brainwashed Sasuke into believing that he actually hated him which is why he spared him, when in reality, he loved Sasuke so much he couldn’t bring himself to kill him. Dying by Sasuke’s hands was a last-ditch effort to atone for his sins.

Point is, with how emotionally stunted they are, most Uchiha are usually closed off to other people, too stiff to deal with careless liaisons.

However, Shisui is a breath of fresh air, and his carefree nature encourages Sakura to do just whatever as long as it makes her happy, regardless of what other people may think. A sense of solace and comfort. She wonders, does it extend to other people too? Or is it reserved only for her since they are soulmates? Sakura’s not certain. There’s also something in Obito that makes her want to curl up beside him and snooze without a care in the world. Security and safety. Ironic, considering he was the one who flipped the switch to the ruin of her past world.

“I’m no angel,” Sakura mumbles into Shisui’s shirt, a knot tightening in her chest as flashbacks mercilessly plague her.

And she isn’t. Her hands are too drenched in blood to be considered clean, her heart corrupted with nightmares and too much knowledge (about the future destruction that awaits, the countless deaths, the screams of horror and grief, the carnage) to be called innocent.

Something nuzzles her hair, and a second passes before she realizes it’s Shisui’s nose. “Of course you are,” Shisui gently says. “And nothing can ever change that.”

Oh.

Bubbles fizzle in her stomach, warming her up. She feels another blush threatening to surge, but this time Sakura manages to unceremoniously slap her cheeks to get rid of it. Shisui yelps, surprised, then his fingers come up to cradle her face, concern reflecting in his dark eyes.

Behind him, his aunt shoots her a knowing smile as she whisks out plates from the cupboard below the sink.

“You okay?” Shisui asks, his thumbs rubbing the stinging spots. “Why on earth would you slap yourself out of the blue, you dork?”

She scowls at him, annoyed. It’s all his fault. Why does he have to make her so gooey inside with his silver tongue? It’s taking a toll on her mental health, in all honesty. Sakura won’t be taken aback if she ends up in a hospital just because a certain Uchiha won’t stop it with his random worshipful praises of her.

She opens her mouth to protest—

“I didn’t know we were having a guest, Mikoto,” a cold voice intones.

—only to close it shut when a new presence arrives.

“Oh, Fugaku, dear, I was just about to send Shi-chan to call for you!” Shisui’s aunt, Mikoto, exclaims happily. Hurriedly, she wipes her hands on her apron and pads over to the man by the doorway to give him a quick peck on the lips. Her husband, Sakura supposes. At least she now knows the name of Shisui’s aunt, but the name seems familiar, and a buzzing sound fills Sakura’s head.

Where has she heard that name before?

Uchiha Fugaku doesn’t return the loving gesture, and it makes Sakura frown in bewilderment. Kizashi never fails to kiss her mother back, not even when they are in public. Sometimes the public display of affection makes Sakura cringe, but it’s better than enduring the cold wars that happen whenever Mebuki is thoroughly angry with her father.

However, Mikoto seems used to her husband's lack of reaction. Without another word, she steps back and flits to the smaller figure next to Fugaku.

Sakura blinks.

She didn't notice that Fugaku had someone with him, since that someone is short and half-hidden behind the man's legs. About her build and height, perhaps. Sakura can't see the other person clearly with Mikoto blocking the view and cooing over them, but she can feel Fugaku’s stare piercing through her, judging and criticizing.

Apprehensively, she tugs on Shisui’s hand, relaxing when the Uchiha takes hers in his own and squeezes.

Fugaku immediately catches on the slight movement, and his eyes narrow at their joined hands. Huh. Bitter much? Just to spite the older Uchiha, Sakura meets his gaze and raises a haughty eyebrow at him.

Get lost.

Disbelief ripples in Fugaku’s face before his mouth quirks into a miniscule amused smile, so subtle, but Sakura knows that it is already equivalent to a chuckle. Satisfied, she grins back at the man, who makes a noise that oddly sounds like an aborted snort. Perhaps the stone-faced Uchiha isn't as cold as she thought.

“Are you sure, Sasu-chan? No serious cuts or bruises?” Mikoto is asking and Sakura’s attention turns to her. The older woman is hunched over, worry clear in her tone.

Shisui snickers beside her. When Sakura glances at him questioningly, he only gives her a gleeful smirk. “Sasuke's a Mama’s boy. Itachi too. That's because Obasan coddles them a lot, and it's entertaining to watch Sasuke all flustered at her attention,” he says off-handedly.

Without thinking, Sakura nods. “Okay,” she replies, and again turns to the scene in front of them.

A second passes. And a minute. Two.

Then Shisui’s words register.

“What?”

Did he just say ‘Sasuke’ and ‘Itachi’?

Her voice is a bit louder than expected, and Mikoto glances at her over her shoulder, her back still turned and facing Sakura. Shisui fixes her a funny look, bemused. And Sakura ignores them all, mounting horror increasing when a familiar tuft of hair pops out from behind Mikoto’s legs upon her outburst.

Uchiha Sasuke.

Memories of red, hate-filled eyes, maniacal laughter, and a Chidori plunging through her chest comes rushing in, and she forcefully wills them away, suppressing the tears about to burst out.

No wonder the name ‘Mikoto’ seemed familiar— she was Sasuke's mother.

“Baby cousin!” Shisui guffaws at the annoyed expression Sasuke makes. “How's training?”

Cousin?

Cousin??

“Seems like you've got the whole package,” Inner Sakura chortles wickedly. “Two brothers and their cousin. Hot stuff. You can have a foursome with them in the future—”

Oh sweet mother of the devil.

“I mean, you were a virgin when you died,” Inner Sakura helpfully adds. “And you've been blessed with four Uchiha soulmates, so why not do a gangbang while you're at it—”

“For fuck’s sake and mine, please shut up,” Sakura snaps.

She doesn't have to be reminded about her nonexistent sex life in her previous body.

Inner Sakura just laughs at her in diabolical glee.

“Are you Shisui’s friend?” Sasuke's voice filters in, and Sakura is startled to see him standing in front of her with only mere centimeters between them. When did he get so close? Dark eyes stare into her emerald ones, with none of the malice and hatred she used to see on him.

Just pure curiosity and open innocence.

Her heart aches for the man he'll soon become if she doesn't succeed in saving the Uchiha clan.

Pushing those thoughts into the back of her mind, Sakura smiles at Sasuke and nods without hesitation, her eyes flicking towards Shisui in an unspoken challenge to deny her nonverbal answer. Shisui just grins at her.

“‘Course you are, Sakura!” he readily agrees. For extra effect, he playfully swings their joined hands, waggling his eyebrows teasingly at the morose Sasuke who watches them with an envious scowl.

What a bully.

Sakura rolls her eyes at the curly-haired boy good-naturedly.

“Don’t worry,” she tells Sasuke with a mischievous little grin as to placate the boy’s growing ire. “You're more handsome than Shi-kun here.”

And Shisui squawks ungracefully. “Sakura!”

His protest is drowned by Sasuke gazing at her quietly, his scowl slowly fading away as something akin to reverence begins displaying on his boyish face. Tentatively, he extends his hand towards her, and Sakura blinks when she feels him gently tugging her hair.

“You're pretty,” Sasuke mumbles, a deep blush overcoming his pale cheeks at the admission.

Shisui, for once, goes silent and when Sakura sneaks a peek at him, she sees him stupefied, his jaw hanging open. Mikoto has her hand covering her mouth, entertainment enlightening her aristocratic features, and even Fugaku isn't hiding the humor written on his curved lips.

Embarrassed, Sasuke drops his arm to his side and hangs his head to hide the red dusting his cheeks and the bridge of his nose.

Aww.

Who knew Sasuke could be so cute?

Arrogantly, Sakura flips her hair over her shoulder and tilts her chin at Shisui. “You hear that, Shi-kun? I'm pretty. Very, very pretty. Your cousin thinks so. I’m starting to like him better than you.”

Heat flares up in Sasuke's face and the poor boy blushes harder.

Devilish joy simmers within her.

“As amusing as it is to see my youngest son… flustered,” Fugaku says, covering his laughter with a cough, “the lunch will get cold soon and I'd hate to see Mikoto’s cooking go to waste.”

At his words, Shisui guides Sakura to the table and sits down, gesturing at her to sit down beside him by excitedly patting the space next to him. Sakura can almost see him wagging a doggy tail and chortles at the image. Carefully, she takes her seat and looks hungrily at the stir-fry veggies just beside the pot of tomato soup. There's also a plate of sliced boiled eggs, a bowl full of mashed potatoes, and diced bananas laid out.

“Can I sit with you?”

Her attention is snagged by a meek query. Sakura glances up and sees Sasuke watching her expectantly, but with also a bit of apprehension. His fingers anxiously twist the hem of his shirt, and Sakura cannot help but coo, because a shy Sasuke is a cute Sasuke.

“No, you can't,” Shisui says, already digging in the food.

Sakura glares at him. “Yes, he can.”

“I say no.”

“And I say yes,” Sakura retorts. “So suck it up and shove it in your butt.”

Shisui pouts. “Mean.”

Blatantly ignoring him, Sakura reaches for Sasuke's hand and gently pulls him down to sit beside her. The boy gives a little squeak, whether from surprise or something else, Sakura doesn't know. Fugaku is already seated at the head of the table, Mikoto beside him, spooning rice from the rice cooker and handing it to him. As Sakura scoops some soup into a bowl, she can feel the Uchiha clan leader studying her closely, shrewdness swirling in his black eyes.

“Thanks,” Sasuke mumbles when she places the bowl of soup in front of him.

She resists pinching his cheek. “No problem,” she grins at him before turning to her own plate which is now surprisingly filled with vegetables and three slices of boiled egg.

Confused, Sakura stares at her full plate. She doesn't remember filling her own plate, too focused on serving Sasuke soup. Being his teammate in the past, she knows that the Uchiha likes any dish with tomatoes to the point of obsession. He made that clear when Naruto had laughed at him for having raw tomatoes along with his ramen, and the banter had turned into a full-blown disaster that left Sakura with soiled clothes and noodles in her hair.

“I filled your plate up for you,” Shisui says through a mouthful of rice, answering her unspoken question. “No carrots, don't worry. And I separated the eggplants since I wasn’t sure if you'd like them.”

At his response, Sakura leans over and gives his cheek a quick kiss, nimbly grabbing her chopsticks as she does. “Thanks, Shi-kun!”

She hears him choking on his food, and hides her mischievous grin by stuffing her mouth with veggies. True to his word, the eggplants are deliberately pushed to the end of her plate, away from the other vegetables. Maybe she should've given him two kisses instead to emphasize her thanks. Or, you know, just to tease him. She's noticed earlier on how much Shisui gets flustered with her sudden cheek kisses.

“You haven’t introduced yourself, girl,” Fugaku states. “And your business here.”

Mikoto places a dice of banana on his plate. “She came for Shi-chan, dear, and I simply couldn’t resist inviting her in being the sweet, little darling she is,” she replies in Sakura's stead.

“I wasn’t aware you are close with the outsiders, Shisui.” Inquisitive, Fugaku raises an eyebrow at Sakura who has a bit of pale red spread on her chin, courtesy of the tomato soup she's just drunk. “Your name?”

“Watanabe Sakura,” she answers as she chews on a tomato slice. Shisui thoughtfully dabs at her chin with a tissue he's gotten from the roll of tissues in the middle of the table. “Shi-kun's my friend.”

“And Sasuke?”

Sakura shrugs. “I don't know. Do you wanna be friends?” she asks as she turns to Sasuke who is silently picking on his vegetables.

The boy visibly perks up. “Can we?”

“No,” Shisui immediately interjects.

She rolls her eyes at him. “Yes.”

“Please,” Sasuke says to her, glaring at Shisui.

Shisui stares at him in disbelief. “Did you really just say ‘please’?”

“Is that a problem?” Sakura questions, a daring bite in her tone.

“Sakura, please,” Shisui points at his younger cousin with his chopsticks. “That kid— sorry in advance, Obasan— is a total brat.”

“I take offense to that,” Fugaku comments.

And Sakura, bless her outspoken mouth, cannot help but reply, “Probably because Sasuke-kun inherited that from you.”

Stunned, Shisui snaps his head to look at her. “You did not just say that—”

And then he's laughing and rolling on the floor, clutching his stomach, chopsticks splayed beside him, forgotten and sticky with rice. Fugaku stares at her like she's an enigma, and all Sakura can offer him is a casual shrug of her shoulders, her emerald eyes sparkling with mirth. Mikoto's lips lift into an entertained smile.

“I can see why you and Shisui are friends,” Fugaku says dryly. “Your bluntness can rival his.”

Sakura gives him a frisky wink. “‘Little girls should only sit still and look pretty. They must be seen and not heard’,” she quotes the famous saying. Then with a portion of the playful arrogance she'd directed to Shisui earlier, Sakura tilts her chin upward and smirks. “But I'm already pretty enough. So I don't need to sit still and look pretty. I just need to be seen and heard.”

Her proclamation rings loud, and she hears Shisui snorting in incredulity, to which she responds by jabbing his side with her elbow. With a quiet whine, he shoots her a faux-hurt look, and she rolls her eyes at him in mock exasperation.

Fugaku nods in approval. “Bold. Assertive. That attitude of yours will bring you to places. If it weren't for your civilian blood, you would make a good spouse for my soft-spoken son in the future.”

His words have her pausing for a second.

Soft-spoken son? Surely he doesn’t mean—?

Wait. More importantly, spouse?

“I'm four,” Sakura splutters when her mind has caught up to the man's implications. Four and far too young for fucking marriage talks. Mikoto's murky pupils are now positively gleaming with delight and something else Sakura can't put a finger on. Demurely, the woman positions a hand on her husband's shoulder, her other hand cupping the side of her mouth as she leans into his ear to whisper something.

Sakura decides she doesn't want to know what she's telling the man.

“I thought you were older,” Shisui speaks up. She raises an eyebrow at him for elaboration. He blows a raspberry at her scrutiny and continues munching on a cabbage. “I mean, the way you talk. It makes you kinda older.”

Well, he doesn't need to know her real age is that of an adult's, although her body and impulses are of a child's.

Cheekily, she sticks out her tongue at him.

“Do I look older than my age, Sasuke-chan?” she questions the boy eating quietly beside her. Sasuke immediately shakes his head in denial, and she blows him a kiss, watching in fascination when his cheeks take on another full-blown blush. “See, Shi-kun? Sasuke says I'm not.”

“Technically, he didn't say anything,” Shisui points out.

“Oh, hush you,” Sakura pouts. For dramatic effect, she folds her arms across her chest. “Why must you always refute my words?”

“Because he's an ass, that's why,” Sasuke snipes, ducking his head when Mikoto turns to glare at him for his choice of words.

“Sasuke-chan!” Sakura gasps, ever the innocent one. “You mustn't say those kind of words!”

In return, Shisui snickers in his plate, knowing damn well that her curses and swear words can make Satan himself blush. Three months of practicing shunshin with her has exposed him to the different personalities she has, including her violent side, and Sakura knows it amuses Shisui to see her riled up like a hissy cat. She once lifted a potted plant like it was nothing and threw it at him when he left her in the dust during a friendly race, and since then, the Uchiha has been pestering her to do it again.

What is with Uchiha boys and their weird obsession with pain?

Properly chastised, Sasuke turns away, a pout forming on his lips. Awww. His reaction makes her want to tease him more. Chortling to herself, Sakura pats his head and the tips of his ears turn pink, much to her delight.

“Mikoto tells me that you train, Sakura,” Fugaku says and she snaps to attention. The man is studying her, gauging her form, eyes skimming over her sleeved arms and covered neck. Inwardly, Sakura scoffs. He won't find anything impressive with how conservative her clothes are.

“I do,” she easily agrees.

“And you are a civilian. “

“I am.”

“Do you aspire to be a shinobi then?”

Sakura makes a face at that. Shinobi? If it weren’t for the fact that she has four fucking Uchiha soulmates, she'd be rolling in bed all day with no care in the world.

“No?” Fugaku frowns at her. “Then why are you training so young?”

Because if I don't, all of you will die, she wants to snark.

“I'm bored,” she says instead, watching with restrained laughter when Fugaku’s eyebrows go up to his hairline in disbelief. She understands where he's coming from. After all, no normal person would try the crazy and dangerous shit shinobi do just because they're bored. Shrugging, Sakura smiles and continues, “so I read books about jutsu and stuff and learn them in real life.”

Mikoto subtly shakes her head at her, and is that disappointment? Sakura frowns. Why would she be disappointed?

She feels Sasuke gaping at her, and his fingers grasp her sleeved wrist a moment later. She sees stars in his eyes as he leans more to her and says—

“Train with me?”

For the second time, Shisui chokes on his food, and she mercifully pats his back in an effort to dislodge whatever is stuck on his throat.

“Please?” Sasuke pleads.

Um. How does one respond to this kind of situation? With a no? A yes? A maybe? Depends?

Honestly, Sakura was totally not expecting this.

Fugaku is blankly staring at her as if waiting for her answer. Beside her, Shisui furiously shakes his head no. Mikoto is meticulously studying her food, avoiding her gaze.

And Sasuke has his bottom lip puffed out in a pout, his hand firmly grasping her wrist in a silent plea, clearly waiting for a rejection.

Who can say no to that face?

Certainly not Sakura.

“If you’ll have me,” she acquiesces. “I'm not good with anything yet.”

A lie.

“I'll teach you!” Sasuke volunteers eagerly. “You just have to show up! Otōsan won't mind, right?” Here, he turns to his father expectantly. “Right?”

There's a minute of contemplative silence. Then Fugaku’s attention pivots to her and she squares her shoulders and meets his stare, her head taking on a daring tilt.

The man's mouth twists into an amused grin at her impudence.

“I don't see why not. You’ve already earned Shisui’s favor, and Sasuke is in need of a playmate.”

Her eyes glimmer with delight. “Is that a yes?”

“Hn.”

Gleefully, Sakura turns to Shisui who buries his face in his palms and lets out a long-suffering groan. “Sakuraaaaa,” he whines. “Was I not good enough for you?”

“Shut it, Shisui,” Sasuke grumbles. Mischief swims in his black eyes. “She's my friend now.”

Oh?

On to claiming now, are they?

“Why you little—” Shisui glares at him. “You were trying to steal her away from me all along!”

Paying no mind to the drama playing before her, Sakura chews on a banana.

Sasuke sends him a scornful glance. “You're twelve. Go and make friends with people your age.”

“I was friends with her first!”

“Yeah?” Sticking his tongue out, Sasuke sneaks an arm around hers and pulls her to him. “She's mine now.”

Shisui slaps his hand away. “No. Find your own. She's mine.”

Interesting.

She chews on another banana slice.

“Mine!”

“Sorry, Sasu-chan, I don't like sharing. Besides, Sakura's more into handsome guys like me.”

“I am handsome!”

“Doesn't mean Sakura is yours.”

“For the record,” she breaks in their squabble, “I belong to absolutely no one.”

The boys fall silent at her words, Shisui sulking and Sasuke wearing a scowl, and a satisfied smirk arches her lips.

Good.

But she isn’t done yet.

Brazenly, she points at them with her chopsticks, mirth dancing in her bright eyes, and tilts her chin up in a haughty challenge.

“But the both of you are mine, you hear? Mine.”

Hers.

At her shameless admission, a reddish hue overcomes Shisui’s cheeks, and he turns away with an undignified stammer. She hears Fugaku coughing, helped by Mikoto who pats his back to calm him down. The matriarch’s own eyes are wide and unblinking for a brief moment, before they meet hers and curl up into an approving smile.

Yep. Sakura definitely doesn't want to know what the woman is thinking.

“Really?” she hears Sasuke’s elated question. “Do you really mean that?”

Technically, he is hers because of his soulmark tattooed on her body.

But of course she's not telling him that.

Boldly, she cocks an eyebrow at him. “And if I do?”

Shisui lets out a strangled noise.

A pleased grin stretches across Sasuke's face, and he grabs for her hand, visibly glowing with delight. Sakura's a bit taken aback by his straight-forward approach, but she doesn't shy away from his attention, curious on what he'll do or say next.

What he does say next leaves her speechless and Shisui loudly protesting, with Fugaku promptly inhaling his soup down the wrong pipe and spewing it through his nose.

“Then I'll marry you,” Sasuke breaths out, and her world stops before her surroundings start spinning, leaving her light-headed and unable to speak (did she really hear that right or was that just her imagination?), because, fuck, she's still four and too fucking young for marriage—

“I’ll marry you,” he repeats, snapping through her train of thoughts. “I don't care if you're not my soulmate, but I'll marry you.”

Mikoto giggles.

“No, you are not!” Shisui practically yells as he slams his palm against the table. The dishes and other utensils rattle at the impact, but no one pays mind to it. “You little brat— I don't know what you're thinking but you will not be marrying Sakura—”

Vaguely, Sakura tries to recall what landed her in this situation and comes up empty.

Chapter Text

Strolling alone in the woods is one of Itachi's ways to vent after a mentally draining day. Away from the village's bustle, from his cousin's chatter, from his younger brother's constant pleas to train with him. Only peace and the birds chirping on the tree branches to be his company. He likes breathing in the ambience, the swift caress of the breeze, and the refreshing sweat sticking to his skin when he does his usual katas if boredom overcomes him. It reminds him that he is still human despite the blood he's shed.

This time is no different. After reporting to the Hokage’s tower, Itachi immediately heads to the outskirts to clear his mind.

It was supposed to be a simple escort mission, but Itachi somehow ended up assassinating the client under his captain's orders. Apparently their client had been on the Hokage’s hit list for some time now, and the mission was the perfect opportunity to bring him down discreetly— an opportunity the Hokage couldn't pass up. To avoid being suspected of ulterior motives, a genin team was made to carry out the mission instead of an elite squad with Itachi at the front, uninformed and ignorant of the Hokage’s plan.

An A-class mission disguised as a C-rank.

A mission not meant for genin, but Itachi is just one of the many soldiers Konoha has that can be easily replaced. A mere tool bred to kill. Being human comes second to his responsibilities as a shinobi, a mantra drummed to him since he was an Academy student. Sometimes the nine-year-old Uchiha wonders, does he still have humanity in him with all he's done and the blood he's spilled to the ground?

He doesn't bother telling his father of what the Hokage has done without his knowledge. Fugaku will, no doubt, go on a rampage if he ever learns that his eldest son was sent on a mission fit for a jōnin squad, despite Itachi still being a genin. His reaction will only stir the strife between the Uchiha and the general shinobi community even more, and Itachi is already tired of violence and death. No. For the sake of peace, he'll hold his tongue.

The only consolation in his weary life is his younger brother and Shisui. His mother too, and although his father isn't an affectionate person, Itachi knows that the man will go through lengths to protect him and Sasuke. Perhaps even go rogue for the sake of protecting his family and the whole clan. However, Itachi hopes that that day won't come.

The late afternoon sun rays are slightly obscured by the trees, filtering through the leaves and boughs and making round patches of light in the ground. The forest, as usual, is quiet. Only the soft rustle of his footsteps can be heard as he doesn't bother hiding his tracks, being on familiar ground and close to home. Surely there aren't any enemies nearby, and if there are, Itachi can easily escape to Konoha's vast walls with his speed.

He can also just kill them if need be.

His favorite spot is the center of the woods.
A certain distance from Konoha’s gates, but not too close to the other settlements around. Relaxing his shoulders, Itachi proceeds to saunter to the ancient oak tree marking the heart of the forest and sits down in the midst of its crawling roots, his lithe form fitting snugly between two thick gnarled tendrils. He brings his knees to his chest and tiredly sighs. Nights have plagued him with nightmares, leaving him in drastic need of sleep. A concerned Shisui once commented about the stress lines beginning to form on his face, a sentiment Itachi easily brushed off by pointing out the other boy's own dark circles under his eyes.

Shisui only puffed his chest in pride. “It makes Sakura worry about me,” he said, haughtily placing his hand on his hip and wagging a finger in front of him. “These baggy eyes of mine allow me to sleep on her lap, Ita-chan. Her lap. And do you know how adorable she is stroking my hair just so I would fall asleep?”

There's that name again.

Sakura.

Vaguely, Itachi recalls the conversation he had with Sasuke two evenings ago. His younger brother had been vibrating with excitement when he got back from who-knows-where (“A playdate with Sakura-chan,” his mother said with a fond chuckle), and had promptly bombarded Itachi with stories about his new friend much to his amusement and curiosity.

“She's good with kunai, Aniki!” Sasuke exclaimed as he reached out for a hug. Itachi accepted him in his arms, easily hoisting the younger boy up to his shoulders. “I only showed her the basics but she got it right away! And she can climb trees!”

“Anyone can climb trees, Otōto,” Itachi replied, picking up a stray shirt and chucking it to the laundry basket in the corner. His mother gave him a thankful smile and returned to her cooking. The smell of fried meat drifted in the air. “Even you can climb trees.”

Above him, Sasuke shook his head adamantly. “She can climb trees without her hands, Aniki, just her feet. Using chakra!”

At his words, Itachi blinked, bemused.

Come again?

Did he hear that right?

Skeptical, he glanced at his mother, one fine eyebrow raised in question. Mikoto just shrugged at him, gesturing at the sizzling sausages on the stove. Itachi nodded at her in agreement. Later then. He would get his answers later.

“How old exactly is this Sakura?” Itachi asked. A dirty rag hung over the sink, and he deftly picked it up and turned the faucet open, scrubbing the cloth under the running water. Sasuke peered over his head, his little hands securely gripping Itachi's hair to steady himself.

“Four, just like me!” he responded happily, and Itachi had to ponder on that. Four and already tree-climbing with only chakra? Wasn't that exercise meant for genin? Granted, he learned that when he was still an Academy student, but only because he was bored and curious.

And tree-climbing requires chakra control, a feat normal Academy students cannot usually apply. Itachi only managed it because he was a genius, and was blessed with enough chakra control to perform it.

Wringing the wet rag, Itachi went to the window and left it there on the sill to dry. He heard Mikoto hum thoughtfully over Sasuke's loud blabbering about Sakura striking the target board five times out of ten, which was exceptional considering the girl's age. Intrigue knocking, Itachi contemplated whether he should accompany Sasuke to one of his playdates to evaluate Sakura himself.

A blooming prodigy in an era of peace?

Rare, but not unheard of.

“Did Sakura-chan also teach you how to climb trees, Sasu-chan?” his mother questioned, flipping the sausages in the pan.

Sasuke fidgeted eagerly and swung his legs to and fro in his excitement. Itachi had to grip his restless limbs just so he wouldn't fall off his shoulders, and let out a soft smile when he felt Sasuke’s fingers patting his forehead in a silent apology.

“She did!” Sasuke cheered. “I cracked the tree trunk on my first try, and I almost fell off on my second try, but Sakura was always there to catch me, so I didn't get hurt or anything! Okāsan, she's a really good friend. And Aniki, you'll like her! A lot. She likes books and dangos and cats just like you!”

Before Itachi could reply, the door slammed open and Shisui appeared, eyebrows furrowed into a glare and a frown in place.

“Not happening. Totally not happening,” the older boy said in clear disapproval. He folded his arms across his chest in refusal, stomping to them childishly much to Itachi's faint amusement. With a scowl, he glowered at Sasuke who held his stare stubbornly in return.

“You little brat,” Shisui started, momentarily flinching when Mikoto’s attention swiveled at him warningly, “do you know how often Sakura and I meet up nowadays?”

Itachi could sense Sasuke raising an eyebrow at their overdramatic cousin. “Should I?”

A muscle twitched in Shisui’s jaw.

“Of course, you should!” he howled, almost ripping his curls out in frustration. “Because of you, we only meet twice a week now. Thrice, if I'm lucky!”

“I thought Sakura liked you better than me?” Sasuke answered, and there was wicked glee in his voice. “Even Okāsan heard you say that.”

“She did,” Shisui agreed, “but then you came, and I don't know what sort of sorcery you casted on her, but all of the sudden all she's been talking about is you and your playdates and it's getting really annoying, and— will you please stop looking at me like that?”

Curious, Itachi looked up and saw a glimpse of Sasuke's Cheshire-like grin.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” the boy denied, but his smug expression said otherwise. It made Itachi's lips curl up into an amused smirk.

“You. Are. Irritating,” Shisui hissed.

Pettily, Sasuke blew a raspberry at him in retaliation.

“She's gonna marry me, not you,” he grinned, and Shisui rolled his eyes in disdain. Itachi had to bite back a chuckle. Three weeks had passed since that fateful lunch meeting, and he was already looking forward to the day the pinkette would come to visit again. Hopefully when he wasn't on a mission. His family was clearly enamored by her presence, if Sasuke and Shisui’s daily bickering over her was any indication.

Even Fugaku couldn't hide the slight smile in the edges of his mouth whenever Sakura was brought up in their conversations over meals.

Dinner uneventfully came and went, and Itachi stayed behind to help his mother with the dishes despite her insistence for him to rest. He blatantly refused and moved to the sink to scrub the pans clean. If anything, the one who needed rest was Mikoto, being on her feet all day to provide for the family and keep the household in order. Ignoring his mother’s exasperated sigh, he set to work.

The moon hung low in the sky, a beacon of light amongst the shimmering stars. Shisui had already gone home for the night, and Sasuke was currently taking a bath to wash off the dirt off his body before going to bed. His father was still out, and his meal was set aside for him to eat once he’d returned. Save for his mother’s mellow humming, the kitchen was silent.

Itachi decided to break the silence after a few moments. “A prodigy?”

Mikoto immediately caught on who he was referring to and sighed. “Sages, I hope not, Itachi-chan,” she replied heavily. “Sakura-chan’s such a sweet girl, she’s not meant for bloodshed and the responsibility that comes with her genius mind and abilities.”

Ah.

So his suspicions were correct.

He meticulously studied the surface of a spoon. “Does Shisui know?”

“No,” Mikoto said, unimpressed. “That boy thinks it’s perfectly normal for a civilian to be able to harness chakra and bend it to their own will just by reading a few books. Books, Itachi-chan. All of Sakura’s abilities, she learned from books. Amazing isn’t it?”

The compliment was carried with displeasure, and Itachi glanced questioningly at her.

“You don’t sound happy at all.” he pointed out.

Carefully, Mikoto places a pepper shaker into its rightful place. “Itachi-chan, did you know that I didn’t want to send you off to war?”

Of course he knew. Mikoto had fought hard and firm to keep him home and away from violence, but the Hokage’s words were final, and even Fugaku had no choice but to obey. “His prowess is wasted potential if you wouldn’t let him use it,” Hiruzen had staunchly said. “The boy will live to see another day, and his presence will be of great use in the battlefield.”

In an uncharacteristic display of rage, Mikoto had slammed the door shut with enough brutality to rip it off its hinges.

At the memory, Itachi nodded, his fingers reaching for the towel used to dry off dishes.

Mikoto gazed at him sadly. “Do you know why the Hokage was confident to send you off to the battlefield even though you were still young?”

“Because I could already take care of myself,” was his immediate reply. In the corner of his eye, he saw his mother wince at the truth of his sentence. The glass in his hand shone under the kitchen light as he wiped it, his grip on the dishrag unrelenting and forceful even as the delicate cup began to crack, and Mikoto had to gently pry his fingers off it.

He didn’t notice his mother guiding him to a chair to examine his hand worriedly. All Itachi could see was red and pain, the echoing of sadistic laughter, his screams when something sharp plunged into his thigh, the smoke stinging his eyes as he viciously slashed a man’s throat with a kunai because finally freedom and bloodbloodblood—

Gasping, he opens his eyes and is blinded by a gentle hue of glowing green. Sweat sticks to his skin and a small hand is pressed against his forehead, brushing aside his bangs and wiping the moisture that had formed into thick beads of perspiration. A kunai is in his grasp, held against the person’s neck as a defense mechanism, and Itachi blinks groggily, digging the blade deeper in warning when he dully senses the stranger slightly shift.

When did he fall asleep?

But more importantly—

Who?

“Easy there,” a soft voice murmurs. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

A child.

A girl.

Her words conjure the image of a scarred man grinning down at him as he desperately strained against the leather binds holding him to a metal chair.

Against his will, Itachi opens his mouth to respond.

“That’s what he promised,” he rasps, still too dazed to think clearly, “if I would only agree to give him intel about Konoha’s strategies.”

The green hue briefly flickers, and it belatedly dawns on him that the green glow is actually chakra. Medical chakra, to be precise. It’s cool and comforting like mint, calming the raging nightmares in his head like a tender caress. Inadvertently and still mussed with sleep, Itachi leans into the sensation, consecutively lowering his kunai as he does so, and sighs in contentment when he feels it soothe the frayed nerves behind his eyes. He’s no stranger to healing chakra, but he’s never felt chakra as gentle as this before, and it’s intriguingly addicting.

“Who?” the person healing him asks. Itachi can’t see her face with her hand covering his eyes and exuding chakra to his system, but he can hear the quiet anger in her question. Sluggishly, he shakes his head.

“I cannot say,” he lethargically mumbles as his eyes slip close, mental defenses too high to be crumbled down even with sleep clouding his judgment. “No one knows him. Only me.”

“Is that so,” the girl hums, and Itachi finds himself wanting to drown himself in her little song, Maybe it's just his addled and drained mind craving for someone’s touch or affection for a little while, but the next thing he knows, his fingers are delicately circling the girl’s wrist and holding her in place when he detects her moving away.

“Stay,” he slurs out, now half-asleep from her earlier ministrations.

Itachi doesn’t hear her answer as he is rapidly slipping into unconsciousness, but he does feel a light presence settle onto the ground beside him, cozily snuggling to him due to the huge roots on either side of them. There’s a rustle, then something weighted and warm is drooped over his body, a comfort he is grateful for. He doesn’t bother opening his eyes to see who his companion is, too tired to do so; but his hand finds hers and he squeezes it gently to express his thanks.

“Sleep,” the girl tells him, and Itachi easily obliges, slumping his back against the tree they are leaning against. His head lolls to the side soon after, and he dimly notices the girl carefully maneuvering his position so his head is now comfortably resting on a smooth surface— her own head or shoulder perhaps?

To his faint dismay, he doesn’t get to confirm his thoughts because sleep claims him a second later.

The second time he wakes up, it is to darkness and the chirping of crickets. Drowsily, Itachi straightens up and rubs the sleep away from his eyes to peer at the shadows of the forest. What time is it? With a sleepy groan, he moves to stand up and a checkered blanket falls to his feet at the movement. He confusedly blinks at it. Once. Twice. Then remembers the girl who healed him earlier.

Snapping out of his grogginess, Itachi whips his head to the side where the girl is supposed to be resting, only to see an empty space and flattened grass. He sighs, half-relieved and half-disappointed that the girl didn't wait for him to wake up. She must be home by now, he surmises. Deftly, he picks up the blanket and neatly folds it before slinging it over his arm. He'll have to find a way to return it.

Question is, how?

Under normal circumstances, Itachi would have asked her for her name out of courtesy, but he was too dazed and out of it to even care whether the girl was an enemy or not. Rookie mistake. However, since he is still alive, he can conclude that the girl isn't hostile.

And a shinobi in the making, judging by how smooth her chakra control is.

His head is miraculously light as he trudges for home. Lately, he's been plagued with headaches, and this subtle change is comforting, but he knows it won't last forever. Using the Sharingan has its perks, but like all dōjutsu, it also comes with a few backlashes. Nausea, blurred vision, terrible migraines, and the like. It's a well-kept secret in the clan that most Uchiha, especially those with the Mangekyō Sharingan, will start to experience blindness in their early prime, and Itachi is no exception. Soon, he'll become blind and his once useful eyes will become a liability.

Shisui is the one to meet him outside the compound gates with a worried frown and a stance taut in anxiousness. His eyes instantly roam Itachi's disheveled form, taking in the few leaves he had in his hair and the flecks of dirt on his skin. Then his lips contort into a snarl.

“And where the bloody hell have you been?” the older Uchiha shouts, hands shooting out to grasp Itachi's shoulders and shake the boy to his senses. “It's fucking midnight. Midnight, Itachi! We've been looking all over for you, and Obasan is almost out of her mind wondering where you are! Even the Hokage has been alerted by your disappearance!”

The Hokage? The man who sent him, along with two other genin and a single jōnin, on an assassination mission? Ironic laughter threatens to burst out of his mouth, but Itachi swallows it back and settles to a neutral expression.

Any insult thrown to the Hokage is considered treason to the village.

“Itachi, are you even listening?” Shisui says, frustrated. “I said—”

“I heard what you said the first time you said it,” Itachi interrupts. “And I am sorry. I went for a walk in the forest and fell asleep and only woke up just now.”

“You can't be serious.” Disbelievingly, Shisui scans him from head to toe, halting at the blanket draped on his arm. He narrows his eyes at it. “That's not yours.”

“It's not.”

“Did you meet up with someone in the forest?”

“Not intentionally,” Itachi replies, turning on his heel and heading to the gates. Shisui makes a grab for the blanket, and Itachi gracefully side-steps, leaving his cousin grasping empty air. “A girl came up to me while I was sleeping and broke me out of a nightmare. This is her blanket.”

Accepting his defeat, Shisui falls in step with him. “Did you ask for her name?” he questions, and Itachi amusedly notes the immediate lack of anger in his voice. Shisui has never been the one to hold grudges for so long with his happy-go-lucky disposition after all.

“No.”

A skeptical raised eyebrow. “That's not like you at all, Ita-chan.”

“I was tired.”

“Did you see her face at least?”

In reply, Itachi shakes his head no.

Shisui frowns at him. “You are planning on returning that blanket, right?”

“Yes.”

“And how, exactly, will you do that?”

Carelessly, the younger Uchiha shrugs his shoulders. “I will figure it out when the time comes.”

And figure out he does. The next afternoon, he decides to go back to the woods and wait at the foot of the oak tree in hopes of seeing the girl again. After a mild scolding from his mother last night with Shisui as a witness, Itachi had washed the blanket clean and had hung it by his bedroom window to dry. As he prepares to leave, he brings the aforementioned fabric to his nose and sniffs it in curiosity.

The faint scent of vanilla evades his sense of smell, and he breathes it in deeply. What a sweet scent. He slightly regrets washing it, but it is common courtesy to clean something you've borrowed, and Itachi is no slobber to return the blanket unwashed and dirty.

Shisui sits on his bed, a kunai twirling around his finger. “You gonna go meet that girl?”

“Hopefully I will,” Itachi responds. “I do not know anything about her except for the fact that she knows medical ninjutsu.”

“Should I come with you, Ita-chan? To lessen Obasan's worries, of course. I promise I won't steal your mystery girl away from you. Sakura's enough for me,” Shisui playfully says.

Itachi only rolls his eyes in faux-exasperation and his older cousin laughs at him, sliding off the bed and infuriatingly crumpling the well-made sheets.

“Don't be late for dinner,” Shisui reminds him. “Obasan's still on your ass, you know.”

“Shall I tell her about your crude language?”

Shisui’s face makes a grimace. “Please don't.”

Haughtily, Itachi gives him the signature Uchiha smirk and leaps out the window, easily landing on the balls of his feet and gaining his balance. Above him, Shisui’s head pops out of the window and he throws him a pouch.

“There's some money in there so buy the girl a gift or something to thank her!” the boy yells. “And again, don't be late for dinner!”

A gift? Taking Shisui’s advice, he stops by his favorite dango stall and orders a bag of dango, filling it with syrup to the brim. Satisfied, he nods at the packed sweets. Surely the girl will like it. Most of the females he's acquainted with like desserts and sugary foods, and even Izumi indulges in them from time to time despite her determination to keep a steadfast diet.

“Thank you for your order!” the vendor says with a big smile, and Itachi nods at him before turning to leave. “Please come again!”

As he heads to the forest, plans begin formulating in his head on how to find the girl and how to come off as harmless upon approaching her. Shisui’s already told him a couple of times that his impassive face is one of the factors why children, excluding Sasuke, are intimidated by him. Ridiculous. Only his enemies should be intimidated by him. Not children. It isn't his fault he was born with this face.

When he reaches the oak tree, a surprise awaits him. Astonishment flashes through him at the sight he stumbles upon, and Itachi has to rub his eyes to make sure he isn't seeing things.

Because, really, who on earth falls asleep on top of a tree?

But what strikes him speechless is just how ethereal the sleeping girl is.

Patches of sunshine beam down on her form, sieving through the loosely clumped leaves and bathing her in a soft glow. Pink tresses cascade down, covering her face, and her arms hang limply around the branch she's sleeping on. She's lying on her stomach, unmoving like a sculpted statue, and for a moment, Itachi thinks he might be dreaming.

Are angels real?

Underneath his wrist bandages, his soulmark lets out a little electric spark.

Suddenly the world seems sharper and more radiant. All colors blaze to life, shrouding the girl in its hues and dancing around her. He can see the zestness of the green grass, the vivacity of the whispering sun rays, the hard brown edges of the tree. Itachi's eyes open and close as they adjust to the sudden change. Even the Sharingan has never allowed him to see how bright colors actually are.

Beautiful.

Quietly, Itachi scours the tree trunk, applying chakra to his feet and easily climbing it. He reaches the girl with minimal effort and crouches at her feet, the branch too narrow to accommodate them both at the same time. His fingers twitch as the urge to leap to the other side of the branch where her head lays and brush away her hair from her face compellingly sings to him. He's certain that her features are just as lovely as the pink-hued locks of hers.

Pink hair.

Itachi thoughtfully frowns.

Where has he heard that description before?

He isn't given the time to ponder on the thought because the girl begins to slightly move, followed by a faint yawn. When she starts to right herself into a sitting position, Itachi decides to give her some space and so takes a few steps back, content to watch as she gradually straightens her back and sleepily shakes her head to get rid of her drowsiness.

Her back is towards him, preventing him from catching a glimpse of her face, and as she slowly stands to her feet, Itachi finds himself anticipating for her to finally turn to him just so he can look at her properly. For the first time in a long while, he can feel eagerness stirring in his veins, and with bated breath, he waits for her to turn around.

“Hello,” is what he says when black clashes with green.

And oh, what a pretty shade of green her eyes are. Somewhat between emerald and lime, with flecks of seafoam shimmering underneath. It makes Itachi’s throat hitch in fascination. How could he not? If angels truly exist, then this girl is the human embodiment of them all. Lovely and innocent, her pale skin gleaming underneath the speckles of the afternoon sun rays and those brilliant green eyes staring at him, all serene and vibrant—

His mind blanks out and he loses all sense of rationality when the girl takes a step towards him, a dainty hand extending to him and brushing his cheek. Her curious fingers prod at the skin under his eyes, thumb carefully rubbing the subtle stress lines on his face, and Itachi once again feels the minty chakra from yesterday. It enters his system, and he senses it soothing his head, or, more specifically, the chakra pathways leading to his Sharingan.

“You look better,” the girl says, satisfaction transparent. She withdraws her hand a second later and glances at something on his arm. “And you’ve brought my picnic blanket with you.”

Ah yes. The blanket. He’s forgotten all about it.

“You are the girl who kept me company yesterday?” he asks for confirmation, his voice returning to him. At her nod, Itachi hands her the blanket and gives her a small smile. “Thank you. You broke me out of a nightmare and even stayed when I requested you to.”

Shrugging, the girl accepts the blanket. “I had nothing better to do anyway. And you looked really lonely.”

Lovely and kind too. What a sweet child. She looks about his younger brother’s age, but her manner of speech has Itachi double-guessing how old she really is. A mature tone, however, there is still an underlying touch of childlikeness to it. His mother once told him that one of the worst things a male could do to a woman is ask for her age, and he’d rather not give off the impression of being rude or tactless. Best not to ask then.

Besides, who is he to judge? Like her, Itachi is more sophisticated in his way of speaking compared to kids his age. It makes it very hard for him to find friendship amongst his peers, but really, he doesn’t mind. He can amuse himself well enough by reading books and scrolls, training alone or with his father, sparring with Shisui and playing with Sasuke, or by plain disassociation.

He doesn’t need friends.

“Is that… Is that dango?” he hears a timid and expectant question.

Itachi raises the hand holding the packed dango and nods. “It is. My cousin told me that I should bring a gift to express my thanks. I hope you like sugary things.”

The grin that blooms on her lips is infectious, and the edges of Itachi’s mouth curl up into an amused smile when she stretches out her arm with her palm open. He gives her the dango. “For me? Thank you so much! Tobi-kun hasn’t been visiting me as often as before so I don’t get to eat as much sweets as I used to,” she pouts. “We can share too! Dango’s much better when it’s eaten with a friend!”

Friend?

“We are… friends?” Itachi says tentatively, testing out the word in his tongue.

The girl sends him a funny frown. “‘Course we are, silly!” she giggles. Then she stills and looks at him searchingly. “Unless you don’t want to…?”

Only a fool would reject an offer of friendship from an angel.

“No. I want us to be friends,” he replies with no hesitation.

Hypocrite, a voice laughs inside him. Just a moment ago you were thinking about you not needing friends.

But there are always exceptions. And for this little girl, Itachi will gladly make an exception.

Delighted, the girl beams at him, dives her hand into the bag of dango, and pulls out one. “Great! Here’s your dango. What’s your name?”

With a grateful nod, Itachi takes the offered sweet and chews on it. “Uchiha Itachi,” he answers between bites. “And you?”

“Me? Name’s Watanabe Sakura,” she says as she plops down on the branch and sits with her legs dangling in the air. Itachi follows her lead, but unlike her, he refrains from swinging his hanging legs to and fro. It’s too childish for his tastes. “Nice to finally meet you, Itachi-san, Sasu-chan’s been talking a lot about you. Shi-kun too, actually.”

Sakura.

Pink hair.

Memories of Shisui talking about a rose-haired girl and Sasuke ranting about his talented new friend crosses his mind, and Itachi blinks at the epiphany.

Oh.

Oh.

He’s finally met her.

Something bubbles within him at the discovery, but he is too inept with emotions to put a name on what he is currently feeling. Happiness maybe? For managing to befriend Sakura on his first try without his brother or cousin's help? Glee on the realization that he can rub this on Shisui’s face?

Well, Itachi has always had a competitive streak.

“All good things I hope,” he says, a bit teasingly.

Sakura laughs. “Sure,” she agrees. There’s some sauce dribbling down her chin, which she quickly wipes away with the back of her hand. Beside her, the blanket is decked over the branch, and on her lap sits the pack of dango he’s bought for her. “Even if they did badmouth you, I’m not a shallow person to believe them without seeing it with my own two eyes. And Sasuke thinks so highly of you, I have the impression you really are a capable shinobi.”

A capable shinobi.

Her words send a warm spark into his chest, and Itachi has to turn his head to hide the pink rising on his cheeks. Unused to the sensation, he frowns. Maybe he's sick? He'll have to ask his mother if he could have a quick visit with the clan doctor later.

Cheekily, Sakura winks at him. “You're a reliable shinobi, Itachi-san. Whatever you do in the present or in the future, I'm sure you have a good reason to do so. That said, you have my full support.”

Too trusting, his instincts murmur at him. She'll get herself killed soon.

It is common knowledge in the shinobi community to always have your defenses up. Never trust anyone, not even your closest comrades. Show a single hint of weakness and the wolves will tear you down and leave you for dead. It's a lesson Itachi learned when those Iwa-nin found him defenseless and alone and clinging to life in the middle of war; the moment they set their sights on him, he became prey and the hunted.

But it's natural for children to be trusting, shinobi-born or not. He’ll have to rectify that with Sakura though, unless he wants to watch her coffin being lowered to the ground very soon. The girl is too precious to be traumatized or killed, and Itachi will do his best to see that she reaches adulthood. He doesn't want Sasuke to experience the feeling of losing someone at such an early age.

Thoughtfully, he hums. “Even if I were to burn Konoha down?”

Sakura points the dango stick at him playfully. “Especially if you were to burn Konoha down.” Then she shrugs and hands him another dango. “That won't happen though.”

The certainty in her sentence has him pausing.

“Why do you sound so sure?” he queries. “A lot can happen in a short while. Today I am your friend, but tomorrow I may be your enemy.”

Biting into her dango, Sakura gives him a smile, green eyes gleaming with the secrets.

“Trust me when I say I know you, Itachi-san. More than you'll ever get to know me.”

What a cryptic answer.

Intriguing.

“Then will you allow me to get to know you?” Itachi asks sincerely. “Even if it is just the surface, I would like to be acquainted with you.”

An amused little grin. “Are you indirectly asking me if I could continue meeting up with you like this, Itachi-san?”

“Yes.” Then he pauses and adds, “My cousin and younger brother are quite infatuated with you. I’d like to know why.”

“Away from their eyes?” Sakura lightly laughs and chews on another dango. A breeze gently ruffles her hair and she impatiently flicks it over her shoulder. “Sneaky.”

“You must understand, Sakura-san. We Uchiha are very possessive. Shisui and Sasuke are no exceptions.”

“And so you want to steal some of my time for yourself without them knowing.”

His resounding silence is the only answer he can give her.

Sakura’s eyes glint calculatingly. “Will there be dango?”

“If you want,” Itachi easily responds with a smirk of his own. He can effortlessly acquire dango or any pastry really, as he is a frequent customer to bakeries and dango stalls. For him, giving Sakura sweets as payment for spending time with him isn’t difficult at all.

Happily, Sakura nods and sticks out a hand for him to shake. “It’s a deal then!” she chirps. “Same time here tomorrow?”

He takes the offered hand and squeezes it gently. “I’ll be waiting, Sakura-san.”

Flowers blossom in the background at the merry smile she sends him at his reply, and his chest tightens at the sight. How unusual. Perhaps he really is sick.

Itachi can only hope there are no abnormalities with his heart.

~~~~

Sharing with others isn't Sasuke's strong suit. Sure, he can share his things with his family, barely, but with other people?

One word.

No.

However, Sakura isn't a thing. She's a person, and a natural magnet when it comes to attracting people. It infuriates Sasuke to no end when Shisui crashes his playdates with Sakura, or when a stranger approaches her and tries to get her attention when she's with him in public. He likes her sunny attitude, yes, but when directed to someone other than him? Yeah, let them all scream in hell.

He doesn't have to worry about Sakura meeting Itachi though. His older brother is too busy to care about trivial things such as friendship, and is too emotionally detached to pay any attention to Sakura. As far as Sasuke knows, the only people who tolerate Itachi's impassive attitude outside his family are Shisui and Izumi. After all, the nine-year-old is as blank as a rock, save for the occasional smiles that are only reserved for a chosen few.

So imagine his utter bewilderment when his older brother begins to mysteriously disappear during late afternoons and arrive just in time for dinner with a light aura and a slight spring to his step. Call it intuition, but Sasuke instantly knows that something is up. Even Shisui can't make Itachi that happy.

If anything, their cousin will elicit the opposite reaction from the reserved clan heir. Usually annoyance, or slight ire.

Izumi then?

Sasuke shakes his head. Nah. His brother will never speak it out loud, but sometimes there is clear displeasure displayed on his face whenever the female Uchiha is being too overbearing or clingy. Sasuke can't blame him. Sakura may be loud, but he loves hearing her voice and the ideas she has in her head. Izumi's chatter on the other hand…

“What's gotten you all serious, Sasu-chan?”

He groans at the intruder. “Go away, Shisui.”

“Why, I can't exactly leave you sulking out here on the porch,” Shisui cheerfully says. “The mosquitoes are about to come and bite.”

Scowling, Sasuke stuffs his index fingers in his ears. “Leave me alone and help Okāsan with dinner.”

But as expected, the older boy doesn’t move an inch. “You're waiting for Ita-chan, aren't you?” is Shisui’s curious question. “So you've noticed too?”

“Noticed what?” Sasuke grouses. “That he's been happier lately? Sure. But that's Aniki's business and not ours.”

His curt answer is meant to deter his cousin, but of course Shisui just can't take a hint. Instead of leaving, he takes a seat beside him, much to Sasuke's irritation. Maybe he should rip out the older Uchiha’s curls in petty retaliation.

“Aren't you curious?”

“No,” Sasuke brusquely replies. ”Now shut up.”

“I'm suspecting he's still meeting up with that girl,” Shisui chortles, completely ignoring Sasuke's disgusted snort. “There's no other reason why he's been out a lot lately.”

Sasuke sneers. “What girl, Izumi? Yeah, right.”

“Sages, Sasu-chan, no,” and Shisui looks plainly mortified at the thought. “I meant the girl he met several days ago. When he returned home really late, remember?”

“He was meeting up with a girl?” Surprise colors his query, and Sasuke stares at his cousin to gauge his reaction and identify whether the boy is joking or not. He remembers the night pretty well, what with his mother’s rising hysteria and his father's loud commands to the entire Police Force to search high and low for Itachi. And his brother's disappearance had been because of a mere nameless girl? “You better not be lying, Shisui, or I will kill you.”

“Oh, puh-leaze, Sasu-chan,” Shisui retorts with an eye-roll. “When did I ever lie?”

“When you stole Aniki's dango from the fridge to give it to Sakura. When you filled Aniki's bedsheets with earthworms so you could hear him scream—”

“Okay! I get the point!” Shisui hastily retreats. “But I'm totally honest right now! Promise!”

Defiantly, Sasuke raises his chin. “Yeah? Prove it.”

“Oh, I will.” Shisui smirks at the challenge. “Meet me here tomorrow at four in the afternoon.”

Against his better judgment, Sasuke does meet up with Shisui the next afternoon, his curiosity getting ahead of him. An impatient scowl is on his face as he waits for the other boy to arrive, feet kicking up the soil in boredom . When Shisui appears, it's already half past four, and Sasuke is now positively seething.

“You stood me up,” he hisses accusingly.

Shisui raises a mocking eyebrow at him. “I'm here now, aren't I?”

“Thirty minutes late!” ” Angrily, Sasuke jabs his thumb at him. “Aniki left about an hour ago!”

“Now, don’t get your underwear in a twist, Sasu-chan,” Shisui sings. “I know just where exactly we’ll find him.”

The woods are silent as they enter, Shisui’s sandals leaving no traces on the ground and Sasuke’s own steps deft and light. The younger Uchiha looks around with skepticism. “You sure Aniki’s here?” Sasuke calls out. “Girls don’t really like forests, you know. They hate the dirt, the rocks, and anything that can ruin their clothes.”

“Sakura’s a girl but she doesn’t really care about those kinds of things,” Shisui reminds him. “She’ll happily roll around in mud if she thinks it’s fun.”

Sasuke scowls. “Sakura is different.”

“I know, little cousin,” Shisui agrees. Carefully, he snaps off a particularly sharp branch and tosses it aside as he walks through a mesh of shrubs and twisted wooden limbs. “Just saying that some girls don’t really mind the outdoors.”

“Are you also hinting that the girl Itachi’s friends with is somewhat like Sakura?” Sasuke asks, following the older boy’s path. Being smaller allows him to move freely, unlike Shisui who has to cut off some leaves and boughs just so he can avoid getting hit in the face.

He receives a noncommittal shrug in return. “Maybe.”

His answer makes Sasuke’s lips curve down in a frown. That can’t be possible. No one is like Sakura. Her charm, wit, personality, and even her appearance make her distinguishable from other people. Not only that, but she's the only person he's ever met to have colors trail after her, skimming her skin and blossoming in her aura whenever she smiles or laughs. Sasuke will never get tired of how the world gets so much sharper and brighter with her presence. He welcomes it, in fact, and never fails to bask in her attention in an effort to catch some of her hues for himself.

“Sasu-chan.”

Lost in his thoughts, Sasuke almost runs into Shisui’s back and lets out an annoyed hiss. “What is it this time?”

His cousin is still and tense, and Sasuke goes to his side to have a glimpse of what is bothering him. The older Uchiha is staring at something ahead, his mouth slightly open in surprise and disbelief, eyes wide and blank, prompting Sasuke to look at the direction of his stare.

Oh, fuck, no.

He should've known.

There, sitting under the shade of an oak tree, is his older brother peacefully reading a book and munching on a dango. Given Itachi's eccentricity, it would have been a normal sight and Sasuke would have been content to go home, but then he sees the curtain of pink tresses spilled over Itachi's lap.

Of all the people— just why?

“Oh. Ohhhh, this is gold,” Shisui snickers gleefully, recovering from his previous shock. “Who's smitten with whom now, Ita-chan?”

Itachi being smitten with another girl is the least of Sasuke's concerns. But being smitten with Sakura?

He'll be damned. Sasuke knows just how possessive Itachi can be.

“You said his friend might be a girl like Sakura. Not Sakura herself!” Sasuke fiercely snaps, punching his thigh, too short to reach his shoulder. “Now I have to share her with both of you!”

“Ow,” Shisui complains. “I didn't know, promise! And what do you mean by you have to share Sakura with the both of us? I became friends with her first. I have to share her with you and Itachi!”

Silence.

Then—

“Fuuuuckk,” Shisui curses, realization slamming into him, and there's horror written all over his face. “I have to share her with the two of you.”

Begrudgingly, Sasuke agrees with him and punches his thigh once more for good measure.

His thoughts exactly.

Chapter Text

Her boys have been a lot more energetic lately, Mikoto notes. Always out, and only coming in for meals. It isn't unusual for both Shisui and Itachi, but Sasuke's recent routine is a new development.

However, she doesn't mind. The happy smiles Sasuke brings home lightens her heart and comforts her. Her eldest son may not have been able to enjoy his childhood to the fullest, but it is evident Sasuke is making the most of his young life. She'd been afraid that he would be as antisocial as his older brother since he idolized Itachi so much, and be too focused on surpassing the aforementioned boy to care about friendships.

His sudden fast attachment to Sakura was a pleasant surprise. Mikoto supposes she should thank Shisui for unintentionally bringing the loveable girl over. But there's always a hint of displeasure in her nephew's face whenever Sasuke is hogging Sakura's attention, and she isn’t certain that the boy is really glad about Sasuke and Sakura's newfound friendship. Perhaps a thank you will only irk Shisui more.

But there's a persistent question in the back of her mind.

“What do you think about Sakura-chan, Sasu-chan?” she asks her youngest child one autumn evening. She's on the couch, cleanly folding the newly washed clothes to be put away later. Winter is almost here, and already the days are getting colder.

Sasuke sits by her feet, a blanket wrapped around his shoulders as he plays with his action figures. “Really pretty,” the four-year-old says without hesitating. “And smart and kind and strong. There's this lonely boy in the playground getting bullied yesterday, and you know what Sakura did? She beat them all, four-on-one, and those scaredy-cats ran away crying!”

“Did you help her?”

“She didn't want me to,” Sasuke pouts, disappointed. “Told me to stay back and let her handle it.”

Demurely, Mikoto places another folded shirt aside. “What’s this boy’s name, Sasu-chan?”

To her slight amusement, Sasuke makes a face that borders between annoyance and forgetfulness. “Baruto? Naruko? I don’t know and I don’t care.”

“Is he also Sakura-chan’s friend?”

“Yes,” Sasuke grimaces. “And he’s really loud, and I don’t like him, but Sakura wants us to get along because I’m her friend and so is he. And when we fight, Okāsan, Sakura goes to sulk, and she won’t cheer up until we’ve made up and it’s really driving me crazy. Really crazy! I want that boy gone. I want Sakura all to myself. It’s already bad enough that I have to share her with Shisui and Aniki!”

The emphasis is not lost on Mikoto who stifles a chuckle at her son’s obvious distaste for Sakura’s other friends. She’s a bit taken aback though. Itachi? When did Sakura and Itachi meet? His sudden affiliation with the girl is bound to spark some fights between the two brothers. And maybe with Shisui too. Mildly exasperated, she mentally shakes her head. Why must possessiveness run rampant in the Uchiha’s veins? And considering that the Uchiha clan used to be matriarchal, it’s a wonder why there aren’t any records of fights or murders breaking out amongst the men of the harem during the eras that were still ruled by Uchiha women.

“But why are you bringing up Sakura all of the sudden, Okāsan?” Sasuke asks in curiosity. “Usually, you only ever ask about her whenever me or Shisui are talking about her.”

“No reason,” Mikoto smoothly lies. “But Sasu-chan, what made you like Sakura-chan?”

Oh, yes. The million-dollar question that has been bothering her for a while now.

It is an unsaid fact that the Uchiha don’t get so easily attached to outsiders, especially civilians. Their distant attitude and cold demeanor make it very hard for people to approach them and strike a camaraderie, with the exception of Shisui who was born a social butterfly. Mikoto sometimes thinks that the boy might be adopted. An outlier. It didn’t surprise her that the twelve-year-old had somehow found a kindred spirit in a four-year-old child given his friendliness.

But what nags at her is when Shisui described Sakura as colorful.

Yes, the girl is colorful with her rosy hair and green eyes, however, Mikoto has the hunch that Shisui hadn’t been talking about Sakura’s features in general, but rather her whole presence. And isn’t that interesting? Normally, those with Uchiha blood cannot appreciate colors due to their dōjutsu and they learn to cope up with it from birth.

They aren’t colorblind, per se. They can see colors, they just don’t have the capacity to comprehend it. All yellows look the same, dull and gray. The most vibrant blue can shine in front of their eyes but they wouldn’t care because of its lackluster and drabness. Why? Because apart from having to suffer from headaches and going blind early, the Sharingan has also taken a piece of their sight— the ability to discern colors for what they really are.

Their soulmates are the ones to bring color into their world, literally and not figuratively. Which is why soulmates are an important aspect in an Uchiha’s life. They bring stability, comfort, and joy. Completion. Usually, when an Uchiha meets their soulmate, there is a pull from both of their soulmarks. However, in the cases where an Uchiha meets their soulmate a bit too young, there is no immediate pull, but there is instant attachment and the need to protect.

Just like Sasuke and Shisui are to Sakura.

But there is always one thing in common, no matter what age or time an Uchiha finds their soulmate.

The arrival of colors.

She isn't privy to the name of Sasuke's soulmate, his soulmark having appeared when he was still a mere one-year-old. Shisui’s soulmark is an unknown factor, but she does remember Shisui telling her that Sakura is the first name of his soulmate; for the surname, she doesn't know. And Itachi, she isn't certain if the boy even has a soulmark.

Sages, for his sake she hopes he does, if only to tether himself to reality. She isn't oblivious to Itachi's growing depression even though he hides it very well.

Now here's a suspicion: is it a coincidence that Sasuke and Shisui’s soulmate share the first name? Maybe. Is it also a coincidence that the both of them are currently enamored by a girl who is also named ‘Sakura'?

Mikoto doubts so.

But her main question remains unanswered.

“What made me like Sakura?” Sasuke repeats, and there's confusion in his face. “Why are you still asking me that? Oh, Okāsan, you've seen her already! She's really, really lovely. And strong too! I saw her punch a hole into a tree one time. And her chakra is really bright and colorful, and I…” he trails off, hesitant.

“Yes?” Mikoto prompts him.

An embarrassed blush spreads across his cheeks. “I wanna protect her,” he admits quietly. “She's just so small and easy to crush, and she doesn't have any kekkei genkai to rely on. I mean, she's not weak. She can throw me down easily with her strength. But, something tells me I should protect her. And— ugh, Okāsan. Stop looking at me like that!”

A smirk has made its way to her lips. Completely unrepentant, Mikoto chuckles. “Sorry, Sasu-chan, you just look so cute ranting about Sakura-chan.”

“I wasn’t ranting!” Sasuke protests.

Appeasingly, the woman nods, but there is still an amused twinkle in her eye. Sasuke puffs his bottom lip at her in indignation. Lightly chuckling, Mikoto turns to the chore in hand and again immerses herself in her thoughts.

Even her youngest thinks that Sakura is colorful and is severely protective of her, she muses. Another coincidence, perhaps?

However, there is a limitation to how many coincidences she can take. And Sakura is nearing that limitation.

But why would that girl lie? her conscience asks her. You can see how much she adores Shisui and Sasuke.

Mikoto doesn't know. She's certain time will tell though, and there's still a lot of time for Sakura and the boys to grow and figure it all out.

Her suspicions still not completely confirmed, she decides to let the matter unresolved. There's no hurry after all.

~~~~

It's very rare for Sakura to spend the day alone. Usually, Sasuke comes to get her from her house in the morning and they head to the playground to fetch Naruto before wandering around and frolicking. At around ten o'clock, Sakura walks Sasuke home and Naruto leaves to go to the ramen stall to get some food, and Shisui takes their place in accompanying her if he's free. More often than not they hang out on one of the many public training grounds Konoha has, practicing her shunshin or one of the jutsu Sakura has read from a book. But when they're bored, they take a walk around the market and browse the stalls just for fun.

Hanging out with Itachi has also become a routine. They usually meet up in the woods just before dusk. The boy is unexpectedly affectionate, but his touches are always accompanied with hesitation. So Sakura takes it upon herself to initiate physical contact with him first, a motion Itachi happily agrees with. She's careful not to spill to anyone, not even Shisui and Sasuke, about their discreet meetings, uncertain if Itachi would be comfortable in them knowing.

But early afternoons are reserved for the outskirts. Obito’s visits are irregular, ranging from three times a week to only once. But whenever he visits, Sakura makes sure she's there to greet him with an eager hug to express her happiness in seeing him alive and well. Sometimes the Uchiha is sporting some injuries, but nothing too serious that can take away his life. With her medical abilities, she can easily heal him in a matter of minutes.

It's in one of these moments when Obito opens up about his mask. Her hands are shimmering a bright green, just hovering above his covered face as his head rests on her lap. Her chakra meticulously scans the nerve damages in his eye, tugging on the leftover chakra that usually gets clogged up with each use of the Sharingan. Sweat gathers in the edges of her forehead which Obito brushes away with the back of his gloved hand.

“You really are pretty,” he says dazedly. His form is lethargically slumped on the ground, implying that he's almost on the verge of sleep. Sakura smiles down at him amusedly. Healing chakra tends to have that effect on most people. “Really pretty.”

“That's the third time you've told me that today, Tobi-kun,” she merrily laughs. “Did you really miss me that much?”

“Mmmm I did,” Obito slurs. “‘Mso'rry I don't visit much now.”

As if to emphasize his apology, his index finger tenderly twists a lock of her hair around. He begins playing with the strands at the end, and Sakura lets him. From time to time, it still surprises her how he could be so gentle to her, considering that he tried to destroy her previous world.

“It's fine,” she reassures him. “At least you still visit me, right?”

She can't see his expression, but she's certain there's a pout on his lips at her words. Her curiosity tingles. What does Obito look like when he's pouting? She's only ever seen him with a bloodthirsty smirk on and a sorrowful smile when he finally desecrated to the wind. Hm. Maybe a little peek won't hurt?

Nevermind.

Finally finished with her analysis on his eyes, she leans back and feels the tree trunk supporting her. They're under the oak tree where she and Itachi met, and the cool autumn air is refreshing. Currently, Sakura is wearing warm joggers, a scarf wrapped around her neck, and a jacket to battle the cold. Obito is donning his usual cloak. the edges frayed and worn, and his usual mask is in place.

His hand falls back to his side and she hears a drawn-out, groggy sigh.

“Don't grow too fast,” he mumbles after a minute. “Still wanna see you for a lil’ while ‘onger.”

Oh?

Her eyes narrow into slits.

See her for a little while longer?

Her fingers card through his hair. It isn't curly like Shisui’s nor as long as Itachi's, but it's very thick and Sakura takes great pleasure in playing with it. However, this time, she pulls at it none too gently with a scowl.

“Explain.” Her voice brooks no room for an argument. “Are you planning on leaving me, Tobi-kun?”

His head lolls sleepily. “Do you… want me to stay?”

Her senses tell her that there's incoming bullshit.

“Is there any reason why I shouldn't?” she counters, and there's light irritation gilding her question. Indignantly, she gives his hair a rough yank.

His pain threshold must be higher than she thought, because Obito doesn't even yelp. Instead, he gently pries her fingers off the dark locks she's grasping and entwines them with his.

Sakura scowls at him.

“You don’ understand, blossom,” he starts under the influence of drowsiness. She has to strain her ears just to catch his words, his voice so soft and vulnerable to be heard. “I
… I have to leave. ‘M not as good as you think. Might hurt you someday.”

Hm.

See? Total bullshit.

Can she smack this idiot?

Well, she can, but should she?

She sees his point though, Sakura finds herself agreeing with him. There's really no guarantee that she can completely change him and prevent the destruction of this world. But that reason alone doesn't justify his plans for leaving her in the future.

“Then be good,” Sakura tells him through her teeth, frustration rising. “You can't ever leave me.”

She's already too attached to him to let him go.

“Too late,” is his resigned answer.

Too late?

Excuse her? The man is still breathing and alive. What the fuck does he mean by ‘too late'?

Okay.

Okay, she can do this.

Being on the same team as Naruto and Kakashi has made her partially immune to masculine stupidity.

Don't hit him.

“Well, you can't leave me,” she firmly says. “Friends don't leave each other.”

Obito sluggishly shakes his head. “They do.”

“No, they don't.”

“Do. They all do.” Another soft sigh. “And sooner or later… you'll ‘eave me too.”

Her? Leave him?

Appalled, she stares at him.

Weren't they just talking about him leaving her a moment ago?

Her brain tries to make sense of his words. Why would she leave him? More importantly, why does he think that she'll leave him? Sakura nibbles on her bottom lip in thought. Is that why he's planning on leaving her first? So he won't get hurt once she starts distancing herself away from him?

Eugh. What a headache.

With the exception of Shisui, all her soulmates are shit at emotions.

Even Sasuke will just start sulking instead of protesting when he doesn't get what he wants.

Carefully, Sakura traces the corners of Obito’s mask. “Tell me, Tobi-kun, why would I ever leave you?” she asks. “Did I do something that made you think that?”

Obito dutifully shakes his head. “No, but…”

“But?”

“My mask.”

Confused, Sakura furrows her eyebrows at him. “Your mask? What about it?”

What he says next stuns her and she goes rigid in disbelieving surprise.

“...take off my mask.”

Yes?

When she doesn't make a move to do so, his own hand comes up to his face to unclasp his mask himself, and Sakura slaps his wrist away.

Hell no.

“You're not in your right mind, Tobi-kun,” she states flatly. “Don't you do something you'll regret later.”

Fatigue drapes over Obito’s form, the side effects of having an extensive checkup using medical chakra. His movements are slow and ungraceful as he begins to struggle removing his mask, doubling his efforts when Sakura wrestles him for control. Yeah no. Nope. With how unstable Obito is right now, she isn't sure if he'll even remember this incident.

She'll rather if he opens up to her about his insecurities in another time, not when his consciousness is equivalent to being drunk.

“Let— me go—” Obito is huffing, clearly delirious. But she presses on him, intentionally fueling her muscles with chakra to rival his strength. “You wanted to know why you'd leave me? It's because— because— I'm ugly—!”

Ha?

HA?

Her jaw drops open at his admission.

Did she… Did she hear that right?

“Excuse me?” is what comes out of her mouth instead.

Taking advantage of her distraction and his senses still muddled, Obito carelessly yanks her off and she goes sprawling in the grass with a surprised yelp. Her shoulder hits the ground first and pain sparks throughout her body, tears springing up at the impact. In a second, Obito is beside her, helping her sit up and cursing under his breath, apologies spilling out of him.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he mutters when a whimper escapes her. His frantic words tell her that he's now snapped back to his senses. “I'm sorry. I…I didn't mean to pull you off that hard. I just wanted to— fuck. I just messed up, didn't I?”

Clenching her jaw, Sakura sends chakra to her shoulder and rolls it experimentally. “I'm fine, I'm fine,” she breathes out. “I'm fine.”

Obito’s hand is on the small of her back, and she can feel him trembling, whether by shock for hurting her or pure guilt, she doesn't know. All his earlier haziness is cleared out from his system, evident by how rattled he is by her current condition.

“See? I'm… I'm dangerous, Sakura. You've seen how easily I can h-hurt you,” he's stammering out, almost incomprehensible. She thinks he might be also hyperventilating a bit, but she's not that certain. “You can't… I mustn’t— shit, fucking dammit, just why…? Now you'll hate me, and I'll… I'll be alone again and you won't even—”

“Breathe, Tobi-kun.” Sighing in relief when she feels the pain subsiding, Sakura pats the side of his mask to calm him down. “I'm fine.”

“No, you're not!” Obito yells, heaving. Startled, Sakura stares at him with wide eyes, mildly flinching at his loud tone. He stiffens on realizing that he's just raised his voice at her. “Shit. I did it again. I— I didn't mean that— did I… did I scare you, Sakura? Of course I did… fuck, I should just leave, shouldn't I? I'm just making things worse—”

And for the second time, Sakura interrupts him by grabbing his arm.

“Do shut up and let me speak,” she finally snaps at him, exasperation at full max. Uchiha men and their damn drama. Well, guess what? She’s also dramatic herself. A great actress if she wants to. Meaning she can handle any drama Obito is about to stir, if the urge to punch him doesn’t strike first.

Fortunately for his own sake, Obito obeys and closes his mouth.

Nodding in approval, Sakura pulls him down beside her, and in one swift movement, arranges herself on his lap so she’s sitting on his legs and facing him. It’s a precaution just in case he tries to physically escape in the middle of their conversation. And if he were to use his kamui, sages help her, she’ll hunt him down and beat the living hell out of him. Unimpressed, she looks at him pointedly with her arms folded over each other.

“Now, why did you assume that I would be leaving you soon?” she questions with a honey-dripping smile. The poison bubbling inside her is an entirely different matter, a last resort if Obito insists on being difficult.

He places his hands on her waist to steady her in case she tumbles to the ground again.

“I told you,” he stresses out. “I’m not as good of a person as you think—”

“No,” she firmly cuts him off. “That’s your reason if you were to ever leave me. Not me leaving you.”

Properly chastised, Obito becomes quiet, and Sakura can somehow imagine him opening his mouth to protest only to find out that he has no words to say.

Scowling, she slaps both sides of his mask at the same time. “I’m waiting.”

Obito’s shoulders hunch resignedly. “My mask. Take it off,” he quietly says. “You’ll get your answer.”

Ugh.

This again?

This dense, insufferable, idiotic—!

Okay. Calm it.

“Yes, Sakura, calm down,” Inner Sakura snickers. “This kind of emotional baggage is what you’ll be dealing with in the future. Get used to it.”

She grimaces. No.

Not if she can help it.

“Plan A was to live a peaceful life, and Plan B is to save the Uchiha clan and this world. Settling down with my soulmates has never been part of my goals in this life,” Sakura shoots back. “So keep dreaming.”

“You really think you can escape them? With how attached they are to you now?”

Blatantly ignoring her alter ego’s words, she turns back to the situation at hand. Obito is watching her carefully, despondence radiating from him, and she leans forward to rest her forehead against his porcelain-covered face to comfort him, both of her hands flat on either side of his mask. Every fiber of his being stiffens at the contact. No surprise. He probably expected her to remove his mask the moment he gave the go signal.

Sakura gives him a soft, reassuring smile. Her arms come up to encircle his neck in a loose hug. Insecurities are something she's familiar with, having experienced being bullied because of her forehead in the past.

Who knew that Obito is actually very conscious of his scars?

“You know, Tobi-kun, I don’t really care what you look like,” she tells him kindly, her initial irritation ebbing away. Green eyes shimmer with acceptance and plain affection as she keeps him in her gentle hold. “Looks don't define a person.”

Obito remains unmoving. Then Sakura hears his breath hitching and squeaks when strong arms circle her small form and crush her against a hard chest in a desperate embrace. Something nuzzles into her hair. A nose? It's then she realizes that Obito has removed his mask and the revelation has her whipping her head up to confirm her suspicion.

A lone black eye stares back at her, the other shut tight. The right half of his face is terribly scarred, two metal screws embedded on his chin as if to keep it from falling apart, and intrigued, she reaches out to poke them. Wrapped around her, she can feel Obito’s muscles tense in apprehension as she remains quiet, the only movement between them being her exploring fingers.

Ugly, he said?

Well, he certainly isn't beautiful like Itachi, boyishly charming like Shisui, nor cute like Sasuke, but Obito can still hold his own against them in terms of looks. Plenty of women prefer the roguishly attractive type of men, and he definitely fits the bill. Her curious fingers prod at the defined lines marring his face. Hm. What a half-assed work of healing. If it were a med-nin of Tsunade’s caliber who healed him, his scars would be barely noticeable now.

But his imperfections only add to his allure.

Damn Uchiha and their genes.

“I look like a monster, don't I?” Obito says with a self-deprecating laugh. His embrace loosens and he watches her closely for any signs of disgust. Rejection is evident in his taut shoulders. “Even with this face… Do you still want me to stay?”

Monster? For bearing scars gained by saving a friend?

“I don't think you're ugly. Not at all.” Sakura cocks a hand on her hip and lilts her chin up haughtily. “And let me get one thing straight, Tobi-kun. Between the two of us, I will never be the first one to leave.”

“I thought the plan didn't include settling down with your soulmates,” Inner Sakura snipes.

Sakura decides to ignore her.

For a moment, Obito is silent. Then the edges of his mouth lift into a wry smile. “Don't make me chase hope, Sakura.”

Tenderly, Sakura cups his jaw with her small hands. “You don't have to. I'm already here, aren't I?” Her thumb glides over his cheek, feather-light but fond all the same. A good-natured smirk crosses her pretty features. “How can someone chase something that's already in front of them?”

~~~~

The duration of her parents’ trips are getting longer and longer over time. Their first business trip lasted only three weeks and they only had a week to rest before they were off again. Three weeks became a month, a month became two months and a half, and so on. Currently it’s already winter and Christmas is just around the corner. But Sakura isn’t worried about them missing the holidays. She does miss them from time to time, but that longingness is tampered by her busy schedule with her friends.

It has become common knowledge in the village that Naruto is under her protection, and much to her amusement, the people have begun to keep their whisperings about the demon fox to themselves. Sakura knows that it's partly because of her unhesitant display of violence against the butcher in the marketplace to defend the blonde, but the presence of her usual companions are also a factor. Rarely is she seen in public without Sasuke and Shisui by her side, and lately, even Itachi has started to accompany her. Naruto remains in her shadow, holding her hand in a tight grip as if grasping on to dear life.

Surprisingly, her affiliation with him hasn’t done anything to her reputation, and the vendors in the market district are still friendly towards her, giving her head pats and goodies without any charge. Shisui finds it entertaining, Sasuke views it as annoying, and Naruto doesn’t mind at all because she makes sure to give her the accumulated snacks when the day ends. Cute. If it weren’t for the nine-tailed fox living inside him, Sakura thinks he might have been Konoha’s sweetheart.

“Sakura-chan,” Mikoto calls her from the kitchen. “If you’re free, can you take this to Ita-chan and Shi-chan?”

Looking up from her book, Sakura nods. It’s nearing lunch, and Sasuke and Naruto have gone to the lake to skate with Mikoto’s permission. Normally, she would’ve gone with them, but the book in her hands is just so interesting, she just had to decline the temptation of skating on the frozen lake to read on the comfortable couch.

The boys were understandably disappointed of course, but nothing was going to change her mind. So Sakura took it upon herself to camp out in the living room and keep Mikoto company as she prepared food, reminding the woman every few minutes that she’s available to run any errand.

Now’s the time to fulfill her words, it seems. Cheerfully, Sakura bounces from the soft mattress of the couch and skips to where Mikoto is with her book tucked under her arm. The Uchiha matriarch gives her a fond smile and hands her a box wrapped in cloth, which she accepts carefully with open curiosity.

“It’s lunch, Sakura-chan,” Mikoto chuckles. “The boys won’t make it today since they’re busy training. Take this to them, won’t you?”

This is the reason why Sakura ends up in front of a familiar dull-looking building, clutching the packed food with both hands as she stares at the open doors. The ANBU headquarters. Mikoto only had to tell her the boys’ location for Sakura to know where to go. It hasn’t changed much, she notes. The headquarters in her previous world was also drab with its worn-down bricks and white-washed walls. Being the Godaime Hokage’s apprentice, she was allowed to come and go as she pleased back then, but now?

Probably not.

That theory is confirmed when a masked figure— a man, her brain tells her— stops her just before she’s about to step inside.

“Little girls aren’t allowed here,” a blank voice informs her.

Right.

Mikoto should know about that rule, so why the hell did the woman still send her here?

Oh yes.

To give Shisui and Itachi their lunch.

With a displeased frown, she looks at the person blocking her way. His mask resembles a cat, but who knows? Maybe it’s actually a mouse or what. She’s shit when it comes to identifying the animals painted on ANBU personnel’s masks.

Sakura still decides to take her chances though. She can’t have her two boys starving.

“Neko-san,” she starts, but the man interrupts her.

“My mask is a mouse.”

Oh wow.

She really is shit in identifying ANBU masks.

“Nezumi-san,” Sakura corrects herself with an annoyed glare at the man, “I’m here on an errand by Uchiha Mikoto. She’s notified the commander of my presence in advance.”

Inside her, Inner Sakura crows in approval at the smooth lie.

“We weren’t expecting anyone today,” the agent intones. “But if the commander has already been informed of your visit, then you should have a pass. I must check it before I let you enter.”

A pass?

With an innocent smile, Sakura reaches into the right pocket of her coat and brings out a wrinkled piece of paper, subtly pushing a small bit of her chakra into it. There are illegible words on it, sentences she had hurriedly scribbled when she was studying about how she can incorporate fuinjutsu into medical ninjutsu. Bewildered, the ANBU agent takes it and scrutinizes it.

“This is not a pass,” he says after a minute.

Her smile widens into a wicked smirk.

Of course it’s not. She doesn’t have a pass.

“Obviously, that’s just scrap paper,” she giggles, and the agent tenses on realizing that he’s been tricked. Quickly, he springs into action, grabbing two kunai from his pouch, but Sakura only has to snap her fingers for him to collapse unconscious to the ground as the genjutsu that she’s implanted on the paper takes effect.

Gotcha.

She doesn’t blame the man for falling into her trap.

Who would expect a mere four-year-old to be adept in casting genjutsu anyways?

Humming in satisfaction, she continues her merry way, shrouding herself with a camouflaging illusion to blend in her surroundings. Not that she has to. The hallways are creepily empty, and she thinks that the man she’s knocked senseless is presently the only one guarding the entire building. Oof. Maybe she should head back and snap him out of the spell she’s entrapped him in?

But before she can make a decision, Sakura feels a sudden burst of chakra underground and stills. What was that? She then recalls that there are gymnasiums underneath the ANBU headquarters and remembers that Shisui and Itachi are supposedly busy with their training.

Oooh.

Sounds exciting.

With a thrilled grin, she shoots down the hall in search of the hidden training grounds.

If luck is on her side today, she might catch Shisui and Itachi in the middle of a spar and be granted a free show.

~~~~

They're thoroughly battered and bruised when training ends. Brushing off the dirt coating the metal plate on his shoulder, Itachi proceeds to follow Shisui and their fellow comrades to the locker room. His cousin is stooped with fatigue, his tanto strapped on his back, and scratches litter every inch of his exposed skin. He'd had the honor and bad luck of sparring with Kakashi right off the bat.

Itachi doesn’t pity him. Pitying does nothing in the shinobi world. And he knows that Shisui is too proud to accept being pitied by anyone.

When they reach the lockers, a commotion is gathered in the middle. Bemused, Itachi glances at Shisui who just shrugs at him, confusion clear in the gesture. So his cousin also doesn't know what's going on then. With a frown, Itachi pushes his way through the armor-cladded crowd with Shisui following him and comes abruptly upon a sleeping girl.

A familiar sleeping girl.

“How did she end up here?” he hears a female ask.

“That's what I would like to know,” Kakashi's deep voice rings clear. Upon his arrival, the crowd parts open a way for the man to walk on. “I was not aware that children are allowed here.”

Itachi pays no mind to them, too focused on Sakura's dozing figure. His sharp eyes take into account the thick blue coat she's wearing, the knitted winter hat on her head, and the black scarf covering her neck and her lower face. She's laying on the bench, her knees tucked to her chest, and her hands hidden between her thighs to brush off the winter cold. Although the room is heated, there's still a slight chill in the air, and Itachi can’t imagine just how freezing she's feeling right now. Just how long has she been here? No amount of warm clothes can completely battle away winter's bleakness.

“How on earth…?” Shisui gapes beside him. “How did she get past security?”

“Due to our mandatory training, the only security we have today is Nezumi,” Kakashi curtly says. He takes out a water bottle from his locker and lazily pops it open. Most of the other ANBU members have also dispersed to their respective lockers and are minding their own businesses, save for the few that are lingering near Sakura out of curiosity. “But that does not explain how she got in here. Nezumi, even though he is new here, is very competent and skilled. A mere child could not have gotten past his defenses easily.”

Gently, Itachi brushes away a lock of hair that has fallen over Sakura’s face. The girl groans drowsily and endearingly swats his hand without waking up. He hears Shisui snickering under his mask, and he gives him a sharp jab on his side, all the while tending to the unconscious Sakura.

“Karasu,” Kakashi cuts in. “Do you know this girl?”

Without hesitating, Itachi nods. “Yes, Teichō. However, as to why she is here, I do not know.”

“Ah.” There’s something in Kakashi’s tone that Itachi can’t put a finger on. The slightest hint of intrigue and… recognition? “I’m assuming you’ll take her home now then.”

He’s about to respond when he’s interrupted by a groggy yawn and Sakura sits up, rubbing her eyes with the back of her hand to rid of the haze drowning her consciousness. She blinks once and twice, and looks around dazedly, and Itachi can’t help but smile fondly at her. His expression is hidden with his mask still on, but his fingers are affectionate as he pets the girl’s cheek to bring her attention to him.

“Sakura.”

And Sakura tilts her head at him then breaks into a bright grin. “Ita-kun! Shi-kun!” she cheers. Then she brings out a cloth-wrapped package from under the bench she’s sitting on and dutifully hands it to him. “Mikoto-bachan told me to give you your lunch!”

Lunch.

His mother sent sweet, innocent Sakura to one of the dangerous and darkest places Konoha has just to deliver them lunch?

Irritation boils inside him at the notion.

“Ita-kun?” and there’s confusion in the way Sakura’s called him. “You seem angry.”

It’s then that Shisui intervenes. “Did you help make our lunch, Sakura?” he questions as he plops down beside the rose-haired girl. Nimbly, he takes the package from Itachi and unwraps it, satisfaction vibrating off him when he sees two bentos filled with rice balls, salmon, sliced ham, veggies, and some soup. “Looks delicious.”

“No,” Sakura replies. “I was busy reading.” To prove her point, she takes out a black book out of her coat and brandishes it in front of them. “It’s about food preserving fuinjutsu, to keep food fresh and edible for a long time. Preservation, you know? And I’m trying to come up with ways on how to implement this particular seal into something for shinobi to use when they’re in a life and death position. Like medical fuinjutsu, maybe? To preserve a shinobi’s current wounded state instead of straight up dying. Maybe stop him from getting worse until he gets professional help. It can increase one’s survival rate just in case a med-nin isn’t around. I just have to find a way to tweak it a bit and boom! Less death rate in the shinobi population!”

All Itachi can do is stare at her in astonishment. It never fails to surprise him how Sakura’s mind works, and each time she drops one of her theories on him he finds her logic very hard to swallow. Some of her ideas are outright outrageous, some of them acceptable, but none of them are impossible to accomplish if given the time and the resources to do so. And it seems his ANBU comrades also agree with him if the palpable silence in the room is anything to go by. He can see Kakashi by the corner regarding Sakura with feigned disinterest, and Shisui has gone rigid by her side, his hand hovering over the closed bentos.

“I just have to figure out which part to modify…” Sakura says musingly. “Of course I have to erase that symbol for food but what should I replace it with? Body? Person? Soul?”

And Shisui breaks the silence with a nervous chuckle. “Okay, smartypants! We get your point,” he laughs uneasily in an effort to change the subject. “I’m sure you’ll figure it all out later.”

At his sentence, Sakura claps her red cheeks with her hands in utter mortification. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to rant!” she squeaks, and Itachi pats her head reassuringly to calm her down.

“Don’t be, Sakura,” he tells her in an amicable manner. “Your idea is actually brilliant. A bit overwhelming, but brilliant.”

The compliment only serves to make her redden more until she's covering her entire face with her gloved hands in embarrassment. Adorable, really. With an amused shake of his head, Itachi takes a seat on the side opposite to Shisui and takes his lunch from the said boy.

“Have you eaten yet?” Shisui asks the girl between them. His mask is tilted sideways, just enough to create an opening for his mouth without revealing his whole face. With his chopsticks, he picks up a piece of salmon. “Sakura?”

“Oh.” And there's surprise in her tone. “I…”

“Please tell me you ate lunch before coming here, Sakura,” Shisui mutters with a tinge of exasperation. “It's way past three in the afternoon already.”

A sheepish look crosses Sakura's rosy face and she offers them a little grin. “I didn’t,” she admits. “The plan was to go back immediately after bringing you your lunch, but I fell asleep. But don't worry! I'll make sure to eat a lot at dinner!”

Dinner is hours away. Her stomach will be long grumbling in protest by then. With a disapproving frown, Itachi picks up a piece of ham and turns to her.

“You will be eating now,” he says with a disapproving frown. Like Shisui, his mask is sideways. “We will share my lunch.”

And without further ado, he coaxes her to open her mouth and feeds her the ham, which Sakura accepts with a grateful nod. Itachi picks up another and dangles it in front of her with a pointed stare. All around them, his comrades are also eating their packed lunches and chattering, sending them furtive glances from time to time, but Itachi easily ignores them, taking great pleasure in how Sakura’s cheeks are slowly starting to bulge as he feeds her more and more.

Like a baby chipmunk.

“You also have to eat,” Sakura frowns between mouthfuls of rice. She takes his chopsticks and grabs a slice of salmon. “Here. Eat.”

Tentatively, Itachi opens his mouth and receives the offered food with a low hum, tongue flicking out to taste the remnants of fish left on his lips. Following his earlier lead, Sakura snatches a carrot and suspends it in front of him with an expectant look, leaving no room for him to protest about the change of roles. He hears Shisui whine dramatically, and he can’t help the gleeful smirk taking form as he accepts the sliced vegetable Sakura is feeding him.

“Sakuraaaa,” his cousin childishly complains. “Feed me too!”

Sakura sends him a good-natured eye roll and smiles cheerfully at him. “Next time, Shi-kun. I promise.”

At her answer, Shisui shoots him a pouty glare. “Lucky bastard,” he mutters, and Sakura laughs in amusement. Itachi just cocks his brow at him with playful arrogance and purposefully relishes on another salmon Sakura offers him to irk him even more.

“Very lucky bastard,” the older boy emphasizes with a scowl.

Seeing Shisui annoyed is entertaining, Itachi notes. It’s no surprise Sasuke likes setting him off.

“You seem close,” Kakashi comments from the next bench. A towel hangs around his neck, and his ANBU mask is clipped onto his hip. Like usual, his lower face is covered with another mask, and Itachi wonders how the man can handle that layer of clothing especially in the summer. “Is she also an Uchiha?”

A pink-haired Uchiha? Now that’s a thought.

“Maybe soon,” Shisui chortles, finding the idea funny. “Sasu-chan already proposed to her a while back.”

“He’ll get over it,” Sakura huffs in a beat, but Itachi can sense the light-hearted compassion in her words. “I’m not into boys.”

There’s a theatrical gasp. “I didn’t know you swing that way, Sakura,” Shisui exclaims, dramatically widening his eyes as he looks at her. Itachi just sighs at him. Maybe his cousin really is adopted. He’s the only Uchiha around who can say embarrassing things without a hint of shame. “Sasu-chan will be extremely heartbroken.”

Sakura whacks his head, and Shisui yelps. “You know that’s not what I mean, Shi-kun, and I swear I’ll smack you upside-down if that wasn't a joke and you were being actually serious.”

“I’ll smack him for you,” Itachi volunteers, ignoring Shisui’s cries of betrayal.

Well, his cousin truly is an idiot, and he’ll gladly take the chance to whap some sense into his dumb head.

Out of the corner of his vision, he sees Kakashi watching Sakura intently, akin to how a predator watches its prey. It makes Itachi’s hackles rise, and he protectively moves closer to the girl on instinct, eyes flashing the slightest tint of red when he meets the silver-haired man’s gaze. Kakashi’s demeanor turns condescending at the hostility Itachi is blatantly displaying.

“Sakura, is it?” Kakashi says a bit carelessly. When Sakura nods in confirmation, the man stands up from his seat and crouches in front of her, a friendly smile in place. His calm expression doesn’t ease Itachi’s worries though, and the Uchiha inches nearer towards Sakura, subtly pushing her back so that her small figure is half-hidden by his slightly larger one. On the other side, Shisui has also caught on to Kakashi’s unusual fixation on their female companion and all his earlier playfulness dissipates into thin air.

“Is there something wrong, ANBU-san?” Sakura asks in bemusement.

“Hm.” Kakashi inclines his head to the side. “Maybe.”

“Am I in trouble?” but instead of sounding timid or scared, Sakura’s voice is clear and unbending, her lovely green eyes narrowed into slits as she studies Kakashi calculatingly. Her resolute stance coils something inside Itachi, the faintest stirrings of pride. Resilient. I like her, a voice speaks. She’s ours.

Ours?

Itachi disagrees.

His.

Sakura is his to protect and cherish.

“If you have any problem with Sakura, Teichō, bring the matter to me instead,” he slides in calmly, but there is a threatening inflection gilding his sentence. “There is no need to trouble her.”

However, his tone does not deter the Hatake. Kakashi’s lone eye curls into a smile. “Stand down, Karasu. I only want to know how she got past Nezumi.”

Still distrustful, Itachi would have countered his statement if it weren’t for Sakura intervening.

“Your agent is fine, ANBU-san,” she responds unhesitatingly. With careful fingers, she picks up a diced tomato and nudges it towards Itachi who promptly takes it into his mouth and chews. “Sleeping, but fine. He stopped me before I could enter the building and asked for my visitor’s pass, and since I didn’t have one, I had to give him a piece of paper to confuse him. Unfortunately for him, that paper actually had an unactivated genjutsu that I triggered once he realized that I wasn’t really authorized to enter. A pity, yes, but I couldn’t let my boys starve, could I? Shi-kun gets terribly cranky when he’s famished, and Ita-kun becomes like a zombie when his sugar levels are low. I can’t have that happening.”

Stunned silence meets her retort. The chatter all around them has died down into incredulous whispers, and Itachi’s certain that the rumor mill will be running amok by tomorrow. A suppressed snarl forms at the premonition. Not on his watch. If possible, the world will remain oblivious to Sakura’s talents. He won’t allow the Hokage to destroy her innocence just so he could have another brainwashed and obedient soldier to do his bidding.

“Genjutsu. You put Nezumi in a genjutsu,” Kakashi says slowly, clearly trying to decode her admission, and Itachi has to clench his jaw to restrain himself from shouting at the man to stop digging for more information. “How?”

“What do you mean how?” Irritation labels Sakura’s tone. “The normal way you cast a genjutsu, obviously. With chakra and imagination and purpose. Or do I still have to teach you the basics of genjutsu?”

Kakashi flat out just stares at her. “But you’re still a kid.”

Disdainfully, Sakura squares her shoulders and tilts her chin up. “This kid can throw you across the room and break your bones if she so pleases, so unless you want to experience that, you will shut up.”

And Kakashi does. Gleefully, Itachi observes the awe that flashes in the man’s features, but that glee is soon replaced with displeasure when Kakashi begins smirking with outright amusement and interest. A low growl escapes him, and Sakura gives him a concerned glance.

“Are you alright, Ita-kun?”

“Don’t worry, Sakura,” Shisui snickers knowingly as he closes his bento with a snap. “He’s just jealous.”

“Jealous?” Sakura frowns. She moves to clean and pack up his empty bento too, swiftly placing it in the center of the cloth wrapping along with Shisui’s bento and proceeding to neatly tie its edges into a ribbon at the top. “Why would you be jealous, Ita-kun?”

“I am not jealous,” Itachi denies. “Shisui is just making up things.”

“Riightt,” Shisui grins as he scoops Sakura into his arms and onto his shoulders, much to the girl’s delight. Her hands find purchase in his curls right away, and Shisui has a firm hold on both of her legs to prevent her from falling. “Whatever you say, little cousin.”

Then he high-tails out of the door, Sakura giggling in merriment at his playfulness.

Itachi doesn’t follow after them immediately. Instead, he turns around and faces his fellow ANBU colleagues, eyebrows drawn into a warning glare. The cloth-wrapped package containing their bento is in his hand, but he knows that factor doesn’t make him any less frightening as his Sharingan blazes to life, the tomoe spinning dangerously around their orbit.

“What you’ve seen today will stay in this room,” he says quietly, but his words resound clear. “And if I hear a leak and Sakura’s abilities become public, I will personally hunt down the person who gave away the information and skin them alive. Not even the Hokage will be able to save you. Am I understood?”

The promise of death in his statement is transparent.

No one dares to answer him.

Satisfied, Itachi nods and walks to the door, sparing his associates a final glance. “I will take your silence as a yes then. That said, I hope the rest of your day goes well.”

His footsteps are muted as he makes his way to the exit. The late afternoon sun blinds him momentarily when he steps outside, and he hears Sakura’s merry laugh before her arms circle his neck and pull him down to her level. Black meets green. Unbidden, an affectionate smile curls the corners of his mouth when Sakura presses herself against him with a frisky shriek.

“Shi-kun’s tickling me!” she complains. “Shield me, Ita-kun!”

“You asked for it!” is Shisui’s distant yell.

With an amused chuckle, Itachi hoists her into a secure hold and fondly nuzzles her cheek.

Never.

He’ll never allow Sakura to be dragged down into the depths of darkness, blood, and hell. He’ll never let her go through the experiences he’s gone through just so he can preserve her pure, sweet smile. He’ll never let that fire and light in her pretty emerald eyes to die if only to protect his remaining sanity.

Never ever.

Not if he can help it.

Chapter Text

His hands are in his pockets when he enters the kitchen. Itachi isn't with him, having volunteered to take Sakura home after getting a skewer of dango for dessert. Silent like a rat, Shisui pads towards the woman humming by the sink, the sound of rushing water reaching his ears.

“Obasan.”

If Mikoto can sense the unusual hush in his tone, she doesn't give any indication of having so. Her movements are graceful as she places a washed plate on top of another, her black hair tied into a careless bun, a habit she tends to do when she's moving around. He can see the soulmark on her neck just peeking out of the high collar of her shirt.

“Shi-chan, you're back,” she greets. “Did you get your lunch?”

An angry glower glazes his eyes at her words. “The ANBU headquarters isn't a place for kids, Obasan,” Shisui quietly states. “Especially Sakura. Itachi and I can endure a couple of hours without food and you know that—”

Mikoto sets down a metal platter with a loud clang, consequently cutting Shisui off. “So Sakura-chan got through then.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “With flying colors. That little menace used a genjutsu to knock Nezumi unconscious, and fell asleep in the lockers waiting for us to finish our training.” Taking his hand out of his pockets, Shisui folds his arms and narrows his eyes at the matriarch. “What went into your mind to send Sakura to one of the dirtiest places this village can offer, Obasan?”

Let it be said that an angry Shisui is not a normal occurrence, and is twice as explosive as ANBU Shisui if provoked.

Mikoto just gives him a bland smile over her shoulder and continues rinsing the soaped utensils. “I did it to confirm something, Shi-chan. And trust me when I say it's not a good thing.”

Her statement is void of any emotion.

Confirm?

Shisui frowns. What is there to confirm about Sakura?

He leans against the refrigerator. “What are you talking about?”

“Tell me,” Mikoto thoughtfully hums, “what do you think about Sakura-chan?”

“She's cute and —”

Mikoto shoots him an unimpressed look. “Not her appearance.”

Musingly, Shisui studies the wooden floor as he tries to come up with something. What about Sakura? Apart from her tendencies to turn violent when angry or irritated, the rosy-haired girl is perfect. There's nothing wrong with her. In fact, he thinks her weird obsession with books and theories and experiments is pretty adorable. The crease on her forehead when she's lost in thought is endearing, and he finds himself being naturally drawn to her presence.

Also, her strength and capacity to maim him with a single hit is very, very, charming.

Or maybe he just likes pain.

He settles for the safest answer. “She's a darling.”

There's a long-suffering sigh. “I know that,” Mikoto says patiently, but her voice is unusually impassive. “What I want to know is what you think about her abilities.”

Ah.

“She's good with sensing chakra and she's strong for her age,” Shisui dutifully replies, ticking off the things he's observed in Sakura so far. “She's also very imaginative, and her theories are sublime. She can sponge off any information out of any book she's read and apply them in real life.”

Mikoto nods. “And what does that make her?”

“A genius…?”

“Worse, Shi-chan.” His aunt deftly arranges the stack of ceramic bowls into a basket to let them dry. “She's a prodigy.”

A prodigy?

He juts his bottom lip out in thought.

The prodigies he's known so far are either socially awkward or plain weird. Take Kakashi for example with his shamelessness in reading porn in public. Or Itachi, his own dear cousin, who can't even hold a proper conversation with a normal person without turning stiff.

The only weird thing about Sakura is her sailor mouth and her occasional mature way of speaking.

“I don't think she is, Obasan,” Shisui refutes. “She's just smart.”

Mikoto chuckles humorlessly. “You said Sakura was able to successfully cast a genjutsu.”

“Yes, and?”

“Genjutsu isn't taught until the third year in the Academy, and Sakura-chan is still four,” Mikoto flatly states. “Besides, even then, Academy students only learn the basics, illusions that an ANBU agent can easily break. So how complex do you think Sakura-chan’s genjutsu was for Nezumi to remain unconscious for the whole time Sakura-chan was with you?”

He doesn't have any answer to that.

Well, fuck.

“Who else knows?” he asks, seriousness bellying his tone. The implications of Sakura being a prodigy is dawning on him, and he inwardly lets out a plethora of curses. Sages, even if they aren't in war anymore, prodigies are still well-sought, and there is no doubt that the Hokage will want to start grooming Sakura on the basics while she's still young. “Who else?”

“Probably the whole ANBU by now.”

At the realization, something ugly rears its head inside Shisui. “You sent her there knowing you'd expose her talents?” he hisses. “Are you out of your mind?”

His aunt doesn't respond.

“Obasan!”

“It was only a budding hunch!” Mikoto’s calm composure finally breaks. She spins around to face him with gritted teeth. There is regret shining in her murky pupils, even as her aristocratic features contort sorrowfully. “I was hoping— no, I was praying that my instincts were wrong! I would never… I just needed confirmation—”

“That Sakura is actually a damn prodigy?”

Seemingly at a loss on what to do in the face of his accusation, Mikoto throws her hands in the air. “Yes! I didn't think about the consequences until I'd sent her away!” A sob rips out of her throat. “Oh, Shisui, what have I done?”

Frigidly, he watches her cry, his jaw clenched and his stance poised and stiff like a snake ready to strike. He doesn't answer her. Fury burning in his veins, Shisui leaves the weeping woman to her own devices and flees from the house to clear his mind.

The winter chill greets him, icily grazing every inch of his exposed skin. Maybe he shouldn't have left his scarf and gloves when he went in to confront his aunt. The bleak air bites at his face and neck, and he blows at his hands and rubs them together in an effort to regain some heat.

But getting frostbite is the least of his worries.

He should have known. The moment Sakura had coiled her chakra around his in the Hokage’s office the day she and her family moved into the village, Shisui should have known that she was cursed to be gifted.

Nothing ever ends well for prodigies. His younger cousin is one example, having experienced the tragedy and horrors of war at the tender age of five. Kakashi is another, constantly haunted by the trauma of watching his loved ones die one by one.

How can he ever let any of that happen to sweet, cheerful Sakura?

Through the angry haze in his mind, Shisui manages to surmise that Itachi might have already caught on to Sakura’s abilities long before he did, being a prodigy himself. Sasuke is still too young to know that Sakura’s prowess isn't really normal for a kid her age to display regardless of sticking to her most of the time, and Fugaku is too busy to pay attention to the girl. Mikoto must have begun suspecting her over time since his stories about Sakura are never lacking in detail despite him being densefully unaware of her being a prodigy. Her sending the pinkette to the ANBU HQ was the last straw to affirm her suspicion.

Which only leaves him as the deliberate ignorant one.

Shisui has known for a long time that Sakura is intelligent if her abundance of books in her room is anything to go by. He’s only stepped inside her bedroom once, but the sight of stacked books, piled up scrolls, and tied together manuscripts was enough to give him a headache. He can’t really comprehend how she could handle reading all those, be it at the same time or separately.

Smart, yes, but a fucking prodigy?

Great, just great.

Another child-soldier in the making.

He has his work cut out for him. Sakura, with her rose-tinted view of the world, can never survive the real horrors that lurk beneath a shinobi’s life. Her strength and wit can help her endure physical trials but emotional and psychological ones?

She'll break, and Shisui has a feeling his sanity will also shatter when that happens.

That thought taunts him as he blindly wanders around. Unseeing, Shisui walks aimlessly with no direction in mind, blankness clouding his head. At one point he finds himself sitting on a roof, emptily staring at the people rushing below as the sun begins setting. Everything seems muted, and he barely registers his feet leading him down a familiar street when darkness has fallen.

Somewhere on his left, a door creaks open, revealing a small figure.

“Shi-kun? What are you doing here?”

Sakura.

Recognition sparks at the familiar voice, but his body won't respond to him, too stiff from the winter cold. His mouth is dry, his throat scratchy, his legs heavy as he tries to turn around—

Vaguely, he feels small hands hesitantly grasping his arm and tugging him down.

“Shi-kun, what's the matter? You're freezing!”

His voice is a croak when he calls her name.

“Sakura.”

Fretful fingers brush his chilled cheeks. “How long were you standing here, Shi-kun? I thought you'd gone home already. Should I send for Ita-kun? He might be looking all over the village for you now, it's already seven in the evening.”

“Sakura.”

“I'm here, Shi-kun. Do you want to come inside? On second thought, no. You will be coming inside, we need to get you warmed up. Obāchan might make us hot cocoa if I ask nicely—”

“Sakura.”

There's desperation in his tone, and Sakura stops talking. Her emerald orbs glaze with concern as she studies him searchingly, her eyebrows creased.

“Did something happen?” she quietly asks him.

Slowly, Shisui nods, his front curls falling over his forehead at the motion.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Again, he nods.

“Okay.” Gently, Sakura begins pulling him to the open door, her hand a blazing warmth against his flushed and cold arm. “We'll talk about it over some cookies and cocoa and lots and lots of candy to cheer you up.”

Sakura’s grandmother, Watanabe Aiko, is on the couch knitting when he enters, and the old woman looks up from her project with squinted eyes behind her glasses. Her face lights up in recognition when she spots him, and she rises from her seat to toddle to them with a welcoming smile, dropping her yarn and knitting needles onto a nearby desk. Wrinkles stretch across her face and her back is hunched, but Shisui can see a slight resemblance between her and Sakura with the way her eyes are upturned and the sharpness in them despite her age.

“Uchiha-san, it’s nice to see you again,” is Aiko’s soft murmur when she’s drawn near. Sakura is supporting him by holding him upright with her firm grip, and Shisui can only nod at the girl’s grandmother drearily, the fog in his head having not cleared yet. Dimly, he sees Aiko turning to Sakura with a pronounced frown. “Is he alright, Sakura-chan?” he hears the worried question.

Shisui doesn’t hear what Sakura’s answer is, but when he comes back to his senses, he finds himself being wrapped up in blankets and sitting on a soft bed with a mug of warm milk in his hands. He blinks. The walls are painted blue and there’s a shelf full of plushies in the corner, and a messy desk rests just beside the slightly open wardrobe of clothes. The wall the desk is facing has a line of bookshelves attached to it, stacked up with heavy tomes and thick scrolls. A fluffy rug adorns the center of the room, littered with scraps of paper and manuscripts, and blankly, he kicks the one lying near his feet. The only light in the room is the soft glow of the lamp on the desk.

Sakura’s bedroom.

The smell of vanilla and citrus hangs sweetly in the air, and he breathes it all in like a thirsty man stuck in a desert.

“Are you back with me now, Shi-kun?”

It’s only then he notices the pair of dainty arms loosely circling his neck from behind him. A chin is set on his shoulder, and in his peripheral vision, he sees a lock of pink hair. Sakura. Shakily, he mildly twists his upper body to turn to her, almost releasing the beverage in his hold in his hurry.

Green eyes stare back at him.

“Sakura.”

And Sakura huffs. “You know, you’ve been calling my name since a while ago. I’m starting to think you bumped your head against something hard on your way home. It’ll be a plausible explanation as to why you were out in the cold without even wearing the jacket or the gloves you wore when we left HQ— oh my gods, Shi-kun, were you mugged?”

What kind of shinobi allows themselves to get mugged?

But he doesn’t offer her a reply. Instead, he continues to look mutedly at her, not even caring about how he’s slowly slanting the mug to its side, consequently spilling its white liquid down his hands.

Immediately, Sakura jumps off the bed and pries off the mug in his hands, carefully wiping the dribbling milk off him before placing the mug on her bed stand. He remains quiet as she works. The heat in Sakura’s bedroom is comforting, but Shisui prefers the warmth the girl brings rather than the artificial temperature the thermostat emits.

“What is the matter with you?” Sakura is muttering as she dabs a handkerchief on his skin to soak up the remaining spilled milk. “You aren’t usually like this, Shi-kun, and does Mikoto-bachan know you’re here? More than that, have you eaten dinner— eek!”

He cuts her off by locking his arms around her torso and pulling her in. Sakura lets out a startled squeak when she’s unceremoniously shoved into his chest in a tight hug, and he kisses the crown of her head in apology. There’s a beat, then her own arms come to return his embrace a second later, tentatively standing on her tiptoes to nuzzle the underside of his jaw to express her affection.

Soft breaths. Deep breaths.

Silence.

Then the haze in his mind clears, and he can speak in complete sentences again.

“Don’t display your talents so openly, Sakura,” he finally rasps, his face buried in her hair to bask in her sweet vanilla scent. “I’m gonna have a field day trying to cover up for you in the future.”

A puzzled little frown is on her adorable features when she looks up. “What are you talking about?” And at that moment, a thought flashes across her face and she narrows her eyes at him. “Is this because I casted a genjutsu on Nezumi-san earlier?”

Shisui gives her a wry grin.

Sakura gapes at him in return.

“So it is then? Are you stupid? You were standing outside for who-knows-how-damn-long just because I managed to perform a measly genjutsu? You could have gotten frostbite! Frostbite! And you’re telling me you were enduring the cold because—”

“I was also angry,” Shisui interrupts her.

A furious blush overcomes her and she raises a fist threateningly. “I should be the angry one here!”

“No, Sakura, wait— lower your fist and let me explain for a moment please—”

“Oh, you better do, you drama queen, or I’ll punch you to next week! You Uchiha and your drama! Totally cute from the very start, but now? It's becoming a pain in the ass!”

A yelp leaves him when Sakura tears away from the hug and lunges at him, knocking him flat on his back, the mattress cushioning his fall. A heavy weight settles on his chest, and he is confronted by Sakura's dark glower, her long pink hair cascading down and acting as a curtain as she places both her arms on the mattress on either side of his head. Shisui swallows, butterflies curdling in the pits of his stomach.

Yeah.

He really might be a bit of a masochist.

It doesn't help that Sakura can break his bones easily if she so pleases.

Heat floods his face and he makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat.

Fortunately, Sakura doesn't notice his flustered state, too riled up to be observant.

“So what if I casted a genjutsu? It was harmless! I just forced Nezumi-san to fall asleep. What's gotten you so angry to endure the cold at the cost of having frostbite? Were you afraid that I had hurt him? That's what you meant by covering up for me, isn’t it? If I were to get in trouble for putting Nezumi-san under a genjutsu, you'd defend me, is it? You think I didn't think that far ahead? Well, good for your ass, Nezumi-san isn't gonna remember anything that happened. Hell, he isn't even gonna remember meeting me! So you can damn rest—”

Shisui cups her cheek in an attempt to calm her down. “Sakura,” he tries, but the girl is having none of it.

“Don't ‘Sakura’ me,” she snaps. “If you're angry at me for indirectly attacking one of your ANBU teammates, then I'm sorry. But don't you dare you do something stupid ever again or I'll beat you up stupid, you'll be seeing stars by the time I'm finished!”

Charming.

But no.

At her words, he stills. “Wait. You think I'm angry at you?”

Her eyes are narrow. “Aren't you?”

“Sages, no, of course not!” Incensed, Shisui tries to rise up into a sitting position, but Sakura is a firm weight against him. He plops back into the bed with a whine. “I was angry at Obasan and myself!”

Confused, Sakura furrows her eyebrows. “Why would you be angry at Mikoto-bachan?”

“Because she sent you to the ANBU headquarters even though you're still a kid—”

In open defiance, Sakura leans back and crosses her arms across her chest with a scowl. “For your information, Shi-kun, you and Ita-kun are still kids too, and the ANBU headquarters is basically your second home now,” she says, unimpressed.

“That's different and you know that, Sakura,” Shisui quickly refutes. “Itachi and I have been through war, and we're used to fighting and you know,” he hesitates, not willing to delve into detail. Fuck, how does one explain this to a child?

Luckily, Sakura doesn't press him. “Okay. Go on. And?”

“The thing is, Obasan suspected that you were a prodigy so she had you go to the ANBU headquarters to test whether you'd be able to weasel your way in and you did, but by doing so she unintentionally forced you to display your abilities, and now her suspicions are confirmed but your safety is compromised since the whole ANBU also knows about your talents.”

“A prodigy?” There's disbelief tinting her question. “Now that's just nonsense!”

Oh.

Shisui blinks.

So Sakura also doesn't know that she's a prodigy.

He's about to retort, but then Sakura's face turns pale and horror lights her features. “Wait— shit,” she says, and Shisui watches her, confused but with a bit of amusement.. A cursing Sakura is always good entertainment. “Tobi-kun’s gonna be so mad when he finds out… fuuuuck, why do I have to be such a damn showoff?”

He doesn't know who this ‘Tobi-kun’ is, but given Sakura's statement, Shisui can only assume that they’re also someone protective of the pinkette. Chuckling lightheartedly, he turns over and switches their position, taking advantage of Sakura being distracted. Now the girl is the one lying flat on her back and Shisui is the one caging her with his arms.

Sakura watches his every move carefully with a dismayed scowl, tilting her head in childish curiosity as to what he'll say next.

“Being a prodigy isn’t usually a good thing, Sakura,” he tells her patiently, bumping his forehead against hers. “Bad people might come after you when they find out you’re gifted. You might get hurt.”

Disdainfully, Sakura scoffs, her eyes alight at the implied challenge. “Let them come at me then. I’ll make sure to obliterate them to dust.” She gives him a frisky smirk. “You won’t even have to lift a finger, Shi-kun. Just watch me.”

Charming.

The butterflies are now in full bloom at her shameless declaration, and Shisui swallows.

He has no doubt that Sakura will be able to crush anything or anyone in her way. It’s a sight he’ll want to see, but at the same time, it’s a situation he doesn’t want her to encounter. However the want to see Sakura in action is greater than his fear of her staining her hands with blood and death. Forcing down the raging blush about to explode again, Shisui lets his entire weight drop onto her smaller form, his arms giving way and just going limp, and lightly laughs when an indignant squeal erupts from Sakura. She begins to squirm under him, her protests muffled by his body. He buries his face into the mattress just beside her ear and inhales her scent.

Vanilla is quickly becoming his favorite smell.

“Can I sleep here?” he asks, a bit hesitant.

He feels Sakura carding her fingers through his curls. “Sure. Anytime, Shi-kun.” There’s a pause, and she adds, “Except when Papa’s here, of course” as an afterthought.

Sighing in relief, Shisui nuzzles his nose into the shell of her ear.

Sakura kicks him hard. “Now get off me, you big baby. You’re too heavy and that tickles.”

With a whine, Shisui rolls off her and settles by her side, wrapping an arm around her waist and pulling her to him, her back against his chest. It seems Sakura has other plans though, because she shimmies out of his grip and pointedly stares at him.

Rejection and hurt swells in him. “What, no cuddles?”

And Sakura sighs at him in exasperation. “I love cuddles, Shi-kun, but I want pillows too. My neck’s gonna be aching in the morning if we cuddle with nothing soft under my head,” she explains. Then she pats his cheek reassuringly. “You know I’d do anything for free cuddles.”

Ah.

Shisui ducks his head in embarrassment because, yes, contrary to popular belief, he does feel shame from time to time. Especially with Sakura. Maybe he should go ahead and bury himself six-feet deep under the ground for acting so clingy and needy around her. He just needs a shovel and he’ll figure out the rest in the process.

On second thought, maybe he shouldn’t.

He won’t ever get to experience Sakura’s hugs and cuddles again if he’s dead.

“Shi-kun.”

At the call, Shisui breaks out of his internal conflict and glances at the girl now standing at the foot of the bed. “Yes?”

“Stand up.”

His brow rises in confusion. “Why…?”

That inquiry is answered when Sakura promptly pulls off the bedsheets and all with him still lounging on the bed. He only has time to blink before he finds himself in the air, heading straight to the wall at frightening speed, and if it weren’t for his mastery over shunshin, he'd have crashed quite painfully.

How can a girl be so strong?

He materializes beside Sakura not one second later with a pout. “I could've gotten hurt!” he complains.

Carelessly, Sakura just shrugs then proceeds to lay the blankets and sheets onto the floor, consequently covering up the tiny bits of paper scattered around. It amuses Shisui to know that Sakura isn’t as clean as she seems. A tune humming through her mouth as she works, the four-year-old strategically places the pillows in a way that the makeshift bed looks so delectably cozy and gestures at Shisui to grab the plushies displayed on the shelves, which he swiftly does.

“We have a perfectly fine bed over there,” he points out as he hands the plushies to Sakura. “This is gonna be a mess in the morning.”

“Yeah, but it's comfy,” Sakura replies. She casually throws the plushies in with the pillows to create a fluffier effect. “Sasuke will so love this. I should host a sleepover with him and Naruto soon.”

As if to emphasize her point, she playfully jumps into the pile of blankets and pillows and makes herself comfortable amongst the wrinkled sheets, grabbing a penguin stuffed toy and hugging it to her chest. She glances expectantly at him.

“Well? Aren't you coming in?”

“This is really gonna be a mess in the morning,” he repeats as he slides in next to her. Sakura wastes no time snuggling to him, burrowing her nose into his nape and wrapping her arms around his torso with her penguin between them. Two pillows cushion their heads and necks, and he plucks out the penguin and throws it to the corner, to Sakura's protest.

“I can't sleep without Mango-chan!”

Mango-chan?

Shisui huffs, incredulous.

He's better than Mango-chan, and a good cuddler too! Who needs that damn penguin when Sakura has him?

“I'll be your Mango-chan for tonight,” he tells her with an indignant scowl. “You can cuddle me all you want and I won't complain, but that penguin is not coming back to bed with us.”

Oh yeah. Maybe he's being a bit childish, but no.

He hates physical boundaries when it comes to Sakura, and with the penguin wedged between them, Shisui’s certain he won't be able to hold her as close as he usually does.

So no.

No to stuffed penguins.

And other plushies for that matter.

“You are so immature,” Sakura says in mock annoyance. But her hold on him tightens, a contradiction to her sentence, and Shisui allows a stupid grin to spread across his face.

Trust Sakura to be so adorably paradoxical.

Her soft breathing and occasional yawns are the only sounds in the room, and Shisui listens to them attentively, a soothing hand rubbing circles on the small of her back. Slowly, her breaths begin to even out and his own eyes start to slip close as sleep claims him. But before he can fully drown into the darkness, he hears Sakura's drowsy voice.

“Ne, Shi-kun… why were you angry at yourself?”

His eyelids flutter tiredly as he tries to gather every last bit of his energy to answer her query. His mind is fuzzy, but the words come to him naturally, as if he's known all along the reason why he was furious at himself earlier.

“Because I was dumb enough to not realize that you were gifted.”

Because he couldn't protect her from Mikoto's scheme and the ANBU’S watchful eyes, too ignorant of her talents to do so.

Content, Sakura lethargically nods and droops back to his warmth.

“I… liked it…” she murmurs, her arms loosening but still hugging him. “...’cause of that… you didn't really treat me like… a kid when we're training…”

A second later, she's fast asleep, Shisui not far behind her.

He doesn't notice the shadow that falls over the only window in the room, blocking the moonlight filtering in. A single Sharingan burns a dark red at the sight it stumbles upon, but the dark figure is gone in a minute, no traces left behind except for the distinct footsteps imprinted on the snow on the windowsill.

~~~~

“I thought you already knew,” is what Itachi says after Shisui tells him everything that has happened yesterday, purposefully omitting the minor fight he and Mikoto had. “When Sakura began talking about the food preservation seal and her theory on how to convert it to medical fuinjutsu, you were the one to interrupt her. I assumed you did not want her to expose too much of her intelligence as it may, like you said, compromise her safety.”

They're sitting out in the veranda, and his nine-year-old cousin is currently whetting his blades, his kunai and shuriken neatly laid out beside him. Shisui picks up a kunai and runs his finger on it, allowing a small cut to open up and trickle out blood. He’s just returned from Sakura's house, and his curls are tangled with sleep, his clothes wrinkled from tossing and turning around all night, the hem of his shirt crisply crumpled from Sakura's grip as she snuggled to him. A red scarf is on his neck and a pair of small gloves covers his hands, courtesy of Sakura who lent them to him before she kissed his cheek good-bye.

“That's because I couldn't understand a word she was rambling, Ita-chan,” Shisui grumbles. “I really didn't know that she was a prodigy.”

“Aa.” Itachi glances at him thoughtfully. “So what do you plan on doing now? Surely you aren't going to just sit around and stay still.”

The twelve-year-old scoffs. “‘Course not. I'll have to keep a close eye on her. Who knows, she might attract the Hokage’s attention if she hasn't already.”

He puts down the kunai and gazes at the blue sky. It's already a quarter past ten and snow blankets every surface. A wonderful scenery he would've appreciated if it weren’t for the worry bubbling in him. Just beside him, Itachi hums in acknowledgement to his statement and reaches for another blade to sharpen.

“I will help.”

“Huh?” Now that is something he wasn't expecting. Surprised, Shisui turns to stare at the younger boy, wide-eyed. “You serious?”

There is a set firm line on the corner of Itachi's lips as he nods. “I do not want her to be harmed in any way. Sakura is…” he frowns in thought as if trying to come up with the right words, “...Sakura is precious. Like Sasuke. However, she is more prone to danger since she is only a civilian.”

Precious like Sasuke?

Hm.

Yeah, right.

Teasingly, Shisui grins at him with a waggle of his eyebrows. “Precious, ey?”

“Very much so,” Itachi replies sincerely. His unhesitant answer has Shisui’s jaw dropping in incredulity. Eh? Ehh? Granted, Shisui isn't blind to see that the boy has been subtly pining for Sakura's attention, but still. How did Itachi's attachment to the pinkette develop so fast? As far as Shisui knows, it's only been a few weeks since the two have met.

Unbidden, jealousy rears its head up, and Shisui cannot bite back the scowl that contorts his mouth.

First Sasuke. Now Itachi.

Oh, give him a damn break.

Not that he's selfish, but he needs his own quality time with Sakura too. The sleepover last night doesn't count.

However, enlisting Itachi’s help is sure to make his job easier.

What to do?

Well, Sakura's safety comes first before his comfort, Shisui thinks with displeasure. So with a stormy heart, he forces a smile and nods along.

“Okay. I'll be counting on you, Ita-chan.”

If the disdain in his voice is evident, Itachi doesn’t give any hint of hearing it. Instead, the boy returns his smile with a nonchalant hum and focuses back on the kunai he's sharpening.

Shisui sighs and gazes back at the sky.

Goodbye to the good old days where he can have Sakura all to himself.

~~~~

It isn't often that Sasuke gets sick. But when he does, it usually drags on for a long time, leaving him weak and bedridden.

He hates being sick.

Now, as he lies on the couch in the living room with a blanket up to his nose, coughs begin wracking his body. There's a trash bin just beside him, filled with crumpled tissues. A wet cloth is on his forehead to regulate his fever, and sweat sticks to him like a second skin. Disgusting. Sasuke wrinkles his nose as he swipes away the building wetness on his neck.

His mother, as usual, is in the kitchen making him some chicken broth. He hopes that she'll also give him some raw tomatoes to munch on. Unlike his older brother, he's not too fond of sweets because they make his throat scratchy and painful.

Presently, Sasuke blames his cold on the freezing weather. He and Naruto had skated on the lake two days ago and since then he'd been feeling unwell. He'd brushed it off, hoping it would go away on its own, but to his irritation, his cold surfaced this morning, followed by a raging fever. What annoys him more is the fact that he promised Sakura to take her to the library today.

Sucks.

Why is the world so against him when it comes to Sakura?

Like most patients, he keeps drifting in and out of sleep against his will. One second he's staring at the ceiling, then the other second he's submerged in nonsensical dreams, twitching restlessly on the outside. He vaguely notices his mother coming in to feed him, too dazed to register the mouthfuls of soup Mikoto coaxes him to drink, her arm on his back to support him as he half-sits up. The bitterness of the medicine she gives him clings to tongue awfully. Darkness engulfs him once more, and Sasuke easily welcomes it in his fatigue. Minutes pass, or maybe hours. Time doesn’t make any sense when one is ill. He dully feels something minty entering his system, soothing the phlegm in his lungs and calming his headache, and hears a familiar hum.

The next time he wakes up, it is to a familiar pink and green. Sakura has her head rested on his stomach, her arms cradling it as she peacefully snoozes. Sasuke drearily blinks. Outside, it’s almost dark, the last sun rays soft against the winter sky. Maybe it’s his delirious impulse, but he reaches out for the sleeping girl to gently curl his fingers around her thick tresses.

“Sa… kura,” he weakly croaks, throat dry. “Sakura.”

At his call, Sakura slowly raises her head with half-hooded eyes and meets his bleary gaze. On seeing him awake, a tender smile lifts her lips, and she untangles his hand from her hair and encloses it in hers, bringing it to her cheek. The gesture stirs up something in him, an emotion he can’t exactly explain, and he bursts into tears.

“‘M sorry,” he says with a strangled sob. “Broke ‘m promise.”

“It’s fine, Sasuke,” Sakura murmurs, letting go of him and pressing the back of her hand against his forehead to check his temperature. She then stands up and heads to the little desk in the corner where a jug and a glass is placed. Carefully, she pours water from the jug into the glass and deftly gives him the drink, cupping her own hands over his when his arms start to tremble at the slight effort.

He takes one sip and promptly chokes.

Sakura gently pats his back, one hand still supporting his hold on the glass. “Slowly, Sasuke. There’s no rush.”

Again, Sasuke tries to drink the offered water, but with more control this time. He lets out an audible sigh of relief when the liquid travels down his irritated and parched throat, and lies back down again. His dizziness is gone, leaving only a blunt ache, but Sasuke won’t be risking it. Groggily, he stretches his arms towards Sakura who sends him a questioning glance.

“I wan’ to sleep on your lap,” he slurs without a drop of shame. Another day and another circumstance, he’d be mortified for saying such words, but right now he’s too out of it to care. “Shisui brags abou’ it all the time… ‘m wanna do it too…”

In response to his request, attentive hands coax him to sit which Sasuke does with a whine, and Sakura swiftly takes a seat on the place where his head used to be. Slowly, she lowers his head into her lap and allows him to find the position most comfortable to him.

“Play ‘ith my hair,” Sasuke demands when he's settled down. “Play ‘ith it.”

He hears a merry laugh. “Someone's a bit bossy today,” Sakura's voice filters through his haze. He feels her fingers threading through his dark locks, meticulously untangling the knots they come across. Sweet, sweet bliss. His eyes involuntarily close, and he sighs again and snuggles closer to her.

No wonder Shisui likes it when Sakura plays with his curls.

“‘M really sorry,” he repeats.

Sakura swipes away the tear tracks on the sides of his face. “We can go there another time, Sasuke. For now, just focus on getting better.”

“Mmmm… ‘m will.”

He doesn’t know how long he stays that way, indulging in Sakura’s attention and affectionate caresses, but frankly, Sasuke couldn’t care less. Everything seems muted and hollow, as if his ears are immersed in water, hearing but uncomprehending at the same time. He dimly catches the soft lullaby Sakura is humming in the silence.

Bleakly, he opens one eye to gaze at her.

Beautiful isn’t the word to describe Sakura. Beautiful is meant for people like his mother and older brother— their regal features set to perfection, their movements always accompanied with grace, their air that outright demands attention and respect. Like statues, continuously garnering adoration and awe everywhere they go simply because of their allure.

No, Sakura is not beautiful.

But she is lovely.

With her wavy, rose-hued tresses that flow down past her shoulders and end just below the middle of her back, and her doe-shaped, mossy-green eyes that sparkle with life and mirth, Sakura is the epitome of loveliness. Sasuke cannot count the number of times her bright and cheerful smiles have made his heart stutter then speed up erratically. Admittedly, Naruto’s grins are also outgoing and lively, but none as vivid as Sakura’s.

Oh, how he wishes that Sakura is his soulmate, and not some unknown person who shares the first name with her, as evident by his soulmark. He's truly certain he won't adore anyone else as much as he adores the pinkette.

His train of thoughts is what leads him to reach upwards and cradle the girl’s face with one hand.

Startled, Sakura’s tune breaks off and she looks down at him.

“Do you need something, Sasuke?”

Really lovely.

His mind is murky, but he has enough sense to shake his head no.

Muddled, Sasuke watches as her hands glow green. “You seem fine,” Sakura says, pressing the glimmering sphere on his hand to scan him for abnormalities. He isn’t foreign to how Sakura works, having experienced being healed by her several times now, and he rather likes how her chakra feels. Drowsiness creeps into him as the minty sensation overwhelms his tired body, and he lets his extended arm drop.

“You ‘eally are ‘ery pretty,” are the words that slips out of his cracked lips before sleep engulfs him once more.

And as for Sakura, Mikoto hands her a box of biscuits when she’s about to go home as thanks for taking care of Sasuke. She refuses it though, adamant on not receiving any kind of payment for nursing a friend. It’s an unspoken rule that friends should take care of each other, and it’s not like she took care of Sasuke because she wanted something in return. But the woman is insistent, going as far as to shove the packed goodies into her arms.

Well, okay.

Who is she to deny free cookies anyways?

“I’ll be going now, Mikoto-bachan!” Sakura cheerfully says. But just when she’s about to bound off, Mikoto catches her by her elbow and turns her around.

The calculating glint in the matriarch’s eyes has her mental barriers rising, and Sakura makes sure to keep an innocent, questioning smile on her face to hide her inner turmoil. What is with that look? What? Did she do something wrong? She skims through everything she's done so far. Nothing bad.

Except for the part when she got through an ANBU’s defenses despite being a kid.

But surely, that isn't what the woman isn't on about. Mikoto is the one who sent her there in the first place after all.

“What's wrong, Mikoto-bachan?”

Now Sakura isn’t oblivious to the scrutiny the Uchiha matriarch sends her from time to time, she simply just ignores it. But how can she ignore it now when Mikoto is directly staring at her, black eyes sharp and shrewd?

“Sakura-chan,” and Mikoto’s voice is so hushed, Sakura has to strain her ears to hear her, “why won't you tell them?”

And somehow, even with the cryptic words, Sakura knows exactly what she's talking about.

Every cell in her body freezes and her heart begins hammering frantically, but she continues smiling and tries to keep her body from tensing even with the warning bells ringing in her mind. Relax, relax. Mikoto will be able to discern even the slightest shift of her body language. Her green eyes glimmer as she tries to decode the Uchiha female's blank face. A bluff? It can't be, judging by the her determined poise.

But even with Mikoto’s protruding confidence, Sakura can see the tautness in her shoulders, giving way to her hidden uncertainty.

Ah. A suspicion then.

And an unconfirmed one.

She can deal with that.

“Tell them?” Sakura asks in the ignorant manner children tend to do when caught doing something they didn't know was bad. “What are you talking about, Mikoto-bachan?”

There. The slight narrowing of the matriarch’s eyes at her reply and the hesitance that starts lining her form. Sakura tilts her head at her innocently. At the gesture, the hesitance makes itself outright evident, and Mikoto purses her lips.

“Shisui and Sasuke will be very glad to have you as their soulmate, Sakura-chan. Why hide?”

This is a technique Sakura is immune to. In the past, whenever her mother suspected her of eating too many sweets, Mebuki would pretend that she knew and Sakura would fold, thinking that she got caught, when in actuality, the woman was only trying to corner her into admitting.

Too bad for Mikoto.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” Sakura merrily beams.

She’ll deny and deny and deny her fate to be bound by four men and hide her identity to the bitter end if it means saving them without risking her safety and theirs.

Perplexed and unsatisfied, Mikoto shakes her head and sighs as she lets go. “If you say so, Sakura-chan. If you say so.”

And Sakura continues smiling brightly even as she exits the compound gates and heads home. Only when she reaches the street leading to her house does her smile drop and her stance becomes guarded.

Not good.

Chapter Text

Time goes by swiftly. Her parents are rarely home, always gallivanting off to expand their business in other places and only coming back to Konoha for short breaks or during holidays to spend time with her. Sakura misses them from time to time, but they make it up to her by bringing her gifts such as expensive dresses and invaluable books, and by giving her their undivided attention during their visits. So far (maybe because of luck), Kizashi and Mebuki haven't met any of her boys yet, and are blind to the fact that she’s already met all of her soulmates.

She’s almost six when she tells them.

It’s a warm Monday afternoon, and the late sun rays catch their light in the pale green curtains adorning the windows. Their shadows dance on the floor and walls, swaying to an unheard rhythm. In the corner rests a small round table wherein a rickety clock is set. Its gentle ticking mutedly echoes through the living room and fills the heavy silence, and Sakura has half the mind to thank it for dissipating some of the tension. Her grandmother is out with some friends, leaving her with the perfect opportunity to broach the particular topic about her friendship with her soulmates to her parents with ease. Being the opportunist she is, she doesn’t waste the chance.

Their reaction is milder than she expected, but it still doesn't soften the blow of their disappointment. Her father is stone-cold and unsmiling when he learns about the thin thread of lies she’s woven, ramrod against the couch he’s sitting on as he studies her blankly. Her mother’s eyes are blank, fingers tightly gripping her skirt, face pallid and pale, and Sakura is tempted to fiddle with the hem of her shirt under the brunt of their scrutiny.

But she doesn’t.

Instead, she stubbornly holds their gazes as she waits for the verdict.

“So you…” a disbelieving sigh, “So you lied to your soulmates about your surname.” Mebuki massages her temples and leans back. “And you decided to tell us this just now?”

Unhesitatingly, Sakura nods, a bit guilty.

“They're Uchiha, Sakura,” her mother stresses out. “One of Konoha’s noble clans and the one operating the Police Force. You should be lucky you haven't been exposed yet.”

Well, hm.

Sakura's not so sure about that.

If memory serves her right, it's been about a year and a half since Mikoto’s confrontation. Or has it been two years already? Math has never been her greatest forte. What Sakura is certain of is that it's already been a very long time since that incident, but the Uchiha matriarch is still on her ass, quietly observing her every move for all she's worth.

Despite her intelligence, Sakura can't fathom why the woman is so obsessed with making her confess her soulbond with her youngest son and nephew. Not that she's complaining, leading Mikoto in circles has become amusing as of late.

“—and the consequences, Sakura! What possessed you to continue being friends with them after deceiving them about your real name?”

Her pink tresses curtaining the sides of her face, Sakura remains silent at her mother's admonishment. Of course she knows the consequences that will come with her lies. But really, who in their right mind will accuse an innocent five-soon-to-be-six-year-old of lying? Not Mikoto for sure, because as far as Sakura is concerned, the matriarch dotes on her as much as Shisui does, if not more. And apart from the woman, no one else suspects her of her real identity.

A heavy sigh is what cuts off Mebuki’s worried ramblings, and Sakura raises her head to watch her father as he stretches his arms in front of him, cracking his knuckles in the motion.

“I think she did the right thing, Mebuki.”

Scandalized, the mentioned woman whips her head to shoot him a skeptical glare. “Are you serious? She lied, Kizashi, and if that isn't bad enough, let me remind you that she lied to a whole noble clan!”

“And?” Kizashi fixes her mother a firm look. “I don't blame her. Having three soulmates must be terrifying for a kid like her. Not to mention, all of them are shinobi-born.”

Three soulmates?

Confusion clouds her mind for a second before Sakura realizes that she hasn't told them about her fourth mark.

Oops.

“So what do we do now?” Reason finds Mebuki again, and the woman buries her face in her hands, back hunched in apprehension. “We can't possibly support this… this madness. It'll drag the whole family down and—”

“It won't,” her father promises. “Sakura-chan’s smart enough to keep us all out of trouble. We just have to follow her lead.”

Now it's Sakura's turn to be in disbelief. Seriously? Follow her lead? Jaw slightly ajar, she looks at Kizashi incredulously, eyebrows raised to question the faith the man has in her. Sure, she's his daughter, but between the two of them, he's supposed to be the adult one, not her. Meaning, he shouldn't put much trust on a kid!

“You are an adult,” Inner Sakura reminds her, “stuck in a child's body.”

Doesn't count.

But either Kizashi doesn't care about her age or he really is dumb enough to trust her with their protection. With an impish grin, he leans forward in his seat, twining his fingers in front of him as his elbows rest on his thighs.

“So Sakura-chan, what's the plan?”

Eugh.

Really now?

Resignedly, Sakura slumps. She really doesn’t want to drag any of her family members into this mess she’s made, what about the repercussions? But there’s that steely set on her mother’s shoulders and the firm line in her father’s smile, and Sakura immediately knows that they’ve already made up their minds to follow her. Blood does run thicker than water, she surmises. Relief trickles into her system at her parents’ open support, coupled with fear for the unseen future ahead. Not fear for her safety, but fear for theirs. She’s a child, they’re adults, and Sakura’s certain that they will take the brunt of the consequences if her lies ever gets discovered.

“You don’t have to do anything,” she tells her parents sincerely. “But you might have to temporarily change your surname when you’re here in Konoha to solidify my identity.”

Kizashi’s eyes crinkle as he grins wider. “That’s no problem. Our business here is named after your grandmother so taking her surname won’t raise any questions. Watanabe Kizashi,” he tries with a laugh. “I like that. Has a certain ring to it, don’t you think, Mebuki?”

Mebuki scowls. “What I think is that you’re being too optimistic about this whole situation. But fine. I’ll trust your judgment.”

But Sakura sure hopes her mother really doesn’t. Sages knows that her father is as unhinged and careless as her, and Sakura thinks he’s where she got her recklessness from. It’s a good trait, a characteristic that keeps landing her into trouble.

Note the sarcasm.

The grin on Kizashi’s face becomes more Cheshire-like, and Sakura’s hackles rise. Based on experience, she knows that when her father dons that expression, there's trouble coming.

“What?” she asks flatly.

“Nothing. Just wondering when we'll get to meet these soulmates of yours,” Kizashi sings, and Sakura's lips flatten into a straight line. See? Trouble did come knocking. Sparing a furtive glance at her mother, she sees Mebuki with an exasperated expression, clearly sharing Sakura’s sentiments.

“Well, Sakura-chan?” her father prompts her. “When?”

Calculatingly, Sakura folds her arms and tosses her hair over her shoulder. It's grown into subtle ringlets, similar to Shisui’s but not quite. A nice development, one that she's cultivated by using chakra to mold her hair over time, with the theory that if chakra can be utilized to help mold anything, it can also be used to change the shape of one's hair as it grows. Not to mention, chakra can also be used to speed up the process of hair growth.

“I don't know,” she finally says after a moment of consideration. “But maybe soon. They love coming here when Obāchan's cooking.”

Unfortunately, her vague answer doesn't deter Kizashi at the slightest, and Sakura finds herself promising him that she'll bring the boys over sometime soon. It's a promise she'd rather not keep, mainly because she doesn't know how her antisocial Uchiha soulmates will take to Kizashi’s loudness and exuberance. Shisui’s no problem, but Itachi and Sasuke? Not to mention, how is she going to coax Obito into meeting her parents when the man is as elusive as a snake?

She mentally sighs.

Why does her father want to meet them anyways?

“You're forgetting something,” Inner Sakura snarks. “You haven't told them about Sasuke yet.”

Ah.

Fuck.

Warily, Sakura inches closer to the door.

“Sakura? What's wrong?” is her mother's concerned question.

Her response comes out in a flurry of words.

“I actually have four soulmates, not three.”

“What?”

Before either of her parents can physically react, Sakura's out the door and dashing up the stairs to her bedroom. Hurriedly, she slides the bolt into place and dives under the covers as she waits for the storm to pass.

“Sakura-channnnnn!” she hears her father bellow in a whiny tone. His footsteps thump heavily against the stairs. “When did this happen? SAKURAAA!”

Yep. She's been expecting this.

Bang, bang, bang!

Upon Kizashi’s hyperactive knock, her door rattles in its hinges.

“Leave me alone!” she yells back in exasperation.

“But Sakura-chan—!”

Really, why must her father be so dramatic? It's like she's dealing with a second Shisui, only this time it's a full-grown adult. Sometimes she wonders how a behaved woman like her mother could have married a man-child.

“Sakura-channnn!”

“Kizashi, I swear to the sages above that I will shove my fist up your ass if you don't stop making that ruckus immediately!”

“But Mebuki—”

“Don't test me!”

Quiet.

Hmph. Finally.

With a triumphant smile, Sakura hops off her bed and heads to the window, pulling aside the curtains and unlatching the locks to slide it open. Outside, the sun is already sinking, half hidden by the tall roofs and glinting its light against every shiny surface. There are people casually strolling in the streets, sweet couples and loners alike, enjoying the fresh spring air and the coolness that comes with it. She hums. Maybe she should go to the forest for a quick visit. Who knows, maybe Obito is there waiting for her.

Or maybe not. She knows that he'll come to visit her in her room at his own accord if he is.

Serenely, she studies the rays reflecting against the shingled roofs, noting how pretty they look, all shimmery and yellow. A butterfly passes by, its wings daintily fluttering, glowing a dangerous blue hue. Something about it draws her attention, and Sakura's fingers twitch to touch it. The pretty insect circles closer, its beauty like a siren's call, urging her to lean over in an attempt to catch it. Closer, closer, closer…

Her hand reaches out.

Pretty butterfly.

Just as she's about to lean over, Sakura feels the hint of chakra washing over her, threading her mind and blinding all reason, telling her to go ahead and capture the innocent butterfly—

Her emerald eyes glimmer.

“Release.”

At the spoken word, her own chakra pulses in defiance and the butterfly disappears into thin air. She blinks. Her arm is still outstretched, one hand gripping the ledge for balance, her torso teetering so dangerously over the edge of her window, her feet curled into tiptoes on the floor of her bedroom. A sudden vertigo overcomes her, and Sakura finds the world spinning, her feet leaving the ground as she tips forward and her hand grasping the windowsill slips and she's left with nothing to hold on, and she belatedly realizes that she's falling, falling—

Falling?

“Sakura.”

Strong arms catch her mid-air, black eyes clashing with green. Deftly, Itachi lands on his feet, crouching low to regain his balance, coldness vibrating off him in waves. Still not fully recovered, Sakura can only blankly blink at him as he straightens to his full height and regards her, unsmiling.

“Ita-kun?”

The butterfly is gone, no traces of it left. The remaining sun rays don't look so beautiful anymore, and the skies are slowly darkening into the night, the stars coming out to twinkle their little lights. Sakura doesn't notice the gradual change. Her mind is still trying to catch up on the fact that she's just had a quick brush with death, and the realization has her jolting.

“What… What was that?”

Her voice is quiet, mellowed with fright and adrenaline. She just almost died. What the fuck. If Itachi had been a second late, she'd already be sporting a broken neck. Eyes blown wide, Sakura swallows, her own arms coming to hug herself as a shiver runs up her spine.

Itachi's hold on her tightens. “Genjutsu.”

“What?” She turns to look at the open window above. “Why would anyone cast a genjutsu on me?”

“I do not know.” There's raging anger in Itachi's words, and he shifts his weight from one foot to another. “But well done on dispelling it, even if it might have been just instinctual. It shows that you truly have a natural affinity for genjutsu, both in casting and breaking it.”

The blood roaring in her ears drowns out Itachi’s praise.

Fuckfuckfuck—

Why didn’t she notice the danger? Has she become too lenient with herself over the years? Where are her battle instincts? The veteran shinobi inside her?

Never let your guard down, Kakashi’s voice echoes in her mind.

Rookie mistake. She did, and she almost died for it.

Fear and something alike to excitement coiling in her stomach, she meets Itachi’s gaze. “Put me down,” she demands, shivering in adrenaline. 

He doesn’t stop her. Gently, the ten-year-old Uchiha sets her down, his hand rubbing soothing circles on her back as she trembles. When his ministrations don't calm her down, Sakura feels his dexterous fingers carefully wrapping around her wrist before she’s tugged around and into his chest in a loose hug. His breaths are calm against her rapid ones, his hold on the crest of her head tender but protective. Closing her eyes, she inhales his scent. Rainwater and spice with the hint of blood.

Wait.

Blood?

Startled, Sakura pulls back and looks at him, blinking owlishly.

“Why do you smell of blood?”

It’s only then she sees flecks of red peeking from his collar and the dry stains his shirt has. Scratches litter his arms, and there’s a light graze on his cheek which Sakura prods at with a glowing finger. Quickly, Itachi’s hand shoots out to hide the green glow, and her chakra fizzles out much to her dismay.

“What—”

“I’m fine, Sakura. The mission did not give me any life-threatening wounds,” he murmurs. “You don’t have to.”

She scowls at him. “But I want to.”

“Sakura—”

“Itachi.”

At her unyielding tone, Itachi shuts his mouth.

“Good boy.” She nods at him approvingly. “Now, let me give you a quick check up.”

“Not here,” Itachi refuses. His eyes warily scan their surroundings, and Sakura immediately surmises that the call of danger has still not gone. Her initial fear has ebbed away, leaving only the feeling of anticipation of what will happen next. Hunt the culprit, her instincts laugh. Spill their blood. And oh yes, she will. Soon. Her defenses are guarded again but still weak, and she resolves to fix that soon to protect herself and avoid any other incidents from happening like today. Maybe she can enlist Itachi’s help. And if not, then Shisui’s.

Wordlessly, she rises on the balls of her feet and places her arms around Itachi’s neck. He’s taller now, but she’s also grown a few centimeters too, so reaching up to him isn’t quite a difficult feat. In response, his arms come to circle her back and pull her securely to him. “Your room?” he questions. At her nod, he sends chakra to the soles of his feet and starts climbing the wall to her open window.

To her amusement, Itachi doesn’t hesitate in making himself home and stretches out on her bed like a very satisfied cat. He makes her lap into his own personal pillow, lying face-down on it, and she feels his relieved sigh puffing through the thin material of her shorts as she threads her fingers into his hair. With a good-natured laugh, Sakura sets to work and twin green spheres encase her hands.

Just like she always does with Obito, she first checks Itachi’s eyes first and forcefully dissipates the remnants of hardened chakra in the pathways, clearing the boy’s vision and lessening the possibility of headaches. Then she sends her chakra throughout Itachi’s system, healing every scratch and graze she comes across with, and consequently checks his vital signs. Heart? All clear. Kidneys? Good and functioning. Liver? Healthy. Lungs?

She hits a solid barrier.

Huh?

Her eyebrows furrowing in wonder, Sakura pulls at the barrier gently to test it. Globs of it disperses at the sudden intrusion, but some stick to her chakra like slime. She frowns. Methodically, she coaxes the substance to let go of Itachi's lungs but only manages to get at least a fourth of them to melt.

Frustration takes a hold of her.

“Calm down,” Inner Sakura mutters. “You've encountered this stuff before. It's phlegm.”

Phlegm?

With painstaking carefulness, Sakura flares her chakra in a desperate attempt to clear away the mucus. How long has Itachi been enduring this anyways? Having blockage in the lungs is sure to make breathing harder. She works harder, sweat building in the plane of her forehead at her efforts, because pent-up phlegm in the lungs will cause pneumonia and untreated pneumonia will cause death and—

Itachi shoots up from his lying position to his knees and hurriedly cups his hands over his mouth. Before Sakura can ask him what's wrong, he hacks out a wet cough and her eyes widen on seeing blood seeping through his pressed fingers.

Shit.

She reaches out for him.

“Ita-kun—”

“Don't touch me.”

His cold words have her halting and she blankly stares at him, hurt blooming in her fragile heart. Oh, she’s familiar with the pain that comes with rejection, but in this life, she never thought that she would experience it with Itachi. A searing heat presses into her right inner wrist, and she hisses.

But really. Did Itachi just…?

When her mind has caught on to what just happened, Itachi is already gone, the curtains fluttering in his wake.

~~~~

The glimmering blood in his hands cannot compare to the rage in his heart. Snarling, Obito throws the deformed body over the cliff, never to be seen again.

Fuck. Not Sakura.

Anyone but Sakura.

“Danzo will prevail,” the agent had whispered right before Obito tore off his heart.

Danzo. Shimura Danzo.

Like hell will that old man prevail.

Shaking in fury, Obito rubs at the scarlet coating his mask and heaves out a sigh. He'd seen Sakura almost fall to her death through her bedroom window, had to restrain himself from lunging out of the shadows to check if she's fine and uninjured, had to hold the urge to rip that little Uchiha’s limbs off her because she's his and no one else's—

It's fine, he tells himself. His little soulmate is safe and that's all that matters.

She was smart to break that genjutsu, albeit a bit too late. Her body was already tottering on the edge when she came back to her senses, and it took all of Obito’s willpower to not snatch her as she fell. It was a good call too, since that Uchiha boy caught her in his stead before she hit the ground, and it was because of him that Obito managed not to sell himself out in the open. He should probably thank the boy. But the image of the brat touching Sakura flashes to mind and a growl rumbles from within.

Grudgingly, he puts aside the memory. There are more important things to attend to currently. For example, how to eliminate the old coot.

He knows exactly why Danzo is after Sakura. The existence of ROOT is an open secret in Konoha, a hidden extension of ANBU and under Danzo’s direct control. Rumored to have been disbanded shortly after it was formed on the grounds that it consisted of kidnapped civilian and clan children, more so on the Uchiha’s side. Danzo managed to avoid permanent damage as the Hokage’s adviser, but apparently that incident isn't enough for the old man to stop his conspiracies, considering that he's now targeting Sakura for her talents.

The genjutsu was a test, Obito deduces. A test to see just how far Sakura's abilities go. He was proud that the rosette broke it within seconds, but unfortunately for her, she's now caught the absolute attention of one of the worst schemers in Konoha.

Perhaps he should have tortured the ROOT agent a bit more before killing him. What a shame. But he couldn't help it. Once Obito had seen that Sakura was safe in her Uchiha friend's care, he instantly shot off to hunt the damn fucker who had casted that genjutsu on her for a mere experiment, violence humming in his veins.

And hunt he did. Now the man is somewhere below the cliff about to rot for a whole eternity.

But as much as he wants to kill Danzo, Obito knows he can't risk it. Sages knows how many guards Danzo has hiding in the shadows and just how big his operation in ROOT is. One wrong move and all will go awry, and his identity might be exposed.

His footsteps are a mere rustle in the grass as he stalks to a nearby lake, intent to wash the blood off him before going to see Sakura. It's already night, a quarter past ten o'clock, but Obito knows that his soulmate doesn't sleep until it's well past midnight. It's a habit he tells her to abandon, with the reason that her growth might get stunted over time, but Sakura is stubborn, and his protests are only met with an unimpressed raised eyebrow.

“If I sleep early, I might not wake up to your late night visits,” she told him once.

It warms his heart to see her efforts to spend time with him, and he tries his hardest to reciprocate her clear affections for him by coming to see her whenever he can. It's a difficult task though, because Zetsu is already starting to become suspicious of his getaways as of late, and Obito isn't keen on letting him meet with Sakura. But he makes up for his absences by bringing the pinkette gifts and sweets every time he visits.

Her bedroom light is still open when he returns to her house, a soft glow against the backdrop of the night. The moon is already high in the sky. All the other lights inside are switched off judging from the darkness within, and he surmises that her parents and grandmother must have already gone off to sleep. Just for caution, he weaves a thin veil of genjutsu in the perimeters that will prevent either of her guardians from waking because visits with Sakura always end up in some kind of mess.

“Tobi-kun!” is Sakura's delighted whisper when he unlatches her window and slips inside, closing the window again as he enters. She instantly jumps off her bed and dashes to him with open arms, her pink tresses tied into a careless bun. Strands of her hair frame her rosy face, her lips parted into a bright smile, and she swings her arms around his torso with a giggle.

He expected her to be terrified by the earlier events, or at least rattled, but it seems her quick brush with death isn't enough to cow her. His mouth curves into an approving grin. Good. His lovely soulmate can't be so easily defeated.

“Sweets to the sweet,” Obito sings teasingly as he procures a bag of wrapped chocolates from his cloak. Sakura laughs at him merrily and makes grabby hands at the pouch when he playfully dangles it in the air just out of her reach. His index finger taps the side of his mask. “No kiss?”

With a pout, Sakura smacks him. “You're a tease!” she huffs. “You don't deserve to be kissed.”

“I think I do,” he says, lowering his head to hers. “This is the first time I've asked for a kiss.”

She sticks her tongue out at him. “So?”

“You kiss those boys all the time,” he points out.

And if there's envy coloring his tone, then well, that's intentional.

Incredulously, Sakura cocks her hips and places a hand on it. “Have you been spying on me?”

Spying? No. But watching? Yes.

Since the beginning, in fact. But Sakura doesn’t need to know about that tidbit.

“I don't know what you're talking about,” he cheerfully deflects.

“Tobi-kun!”

His amused snicker is the only answer she gets and she childishly stomps to her bed, grabbing hold of her penguin and chucking it to him with deadly accuracy. He swiftly dodges it, but Sakura isn’t so easily deterred and the next thing he knows, a dagger has embedded itself into the wall beside him.

A very familiar dagger.

“You should be glad I wasn't really aiming for you,” Sakura haughtily harrumphs as she folds her arms. “If I was, you'd be already bleeding all over the floor.”

Awww. How confident.

But her words hold truth in them, and Obito has seen her wreck enough kunai target boards to know that her declaration isn't just bluff.

Chuckling, he yanks the dagger with ease and examines it. It's well-maintained and sharp, and the hilt is worn and wrapped in rough leather for extra grip. Slowly he turns the blade around, the iron catching the moonlight on its surface. A pleased hum rumbles in his throat.

“I'm glad you're still using this.”

“Hm?” Bemused, Sakura saunters to him. “Ah, that dagger?”

He nods. “This was mine.”

“Really?” Surprise coats her remark and her forehead creases in thought. “But I got that before I met you.”

“Sure. I placed it on your bed for you to find.”

It takes her a few moments for the implication to sink in. “You so did not—” She gapes at him when he remains silent and shoves an accusing finger at him. “You stalker!”

Ouch.

“I remember feeling that someone was watching me,” Sakura is muttering, a frown on her lovely face. “So it really was you all along?”

Obito shrugs.

“What kind of maniac stalks a child?”

“Hey now—” he starts defensively because there is no way he's a maniac— “I was just curious. I mean, you were adorable with your ridiculous hair color and you caught my eye and I just had to observe you because you're…” he trails off, swallowing back the words he intended to say.

“I'm what?” Sakura prompts.

My soulmate, he wants to tell her. Instead, he throws his hands in mock self-defense and puffs out a breath for exaggeration.

“Because you're so pink.”

“Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Quiet. Then Sakura bellows a battle cry and tackles him, his head painfully banging against the windowsill as he falls. A yelp escapes him. Why didn't he move away from the window when he entered? Ears ringing, he regards the child sitting on his stomach with blurred vision.

“Being pink is not bad!” Sakura exclaims, throwing her hands in the air in mock-exasperation. “Believe me, if I could choose any hair color, I'd choose yellow!”

He blinks at her. “I didn't say it was,” Obito responds in a beat. And yellow? Out of all the colors? Behind his mask, he grimaces. Pink suits her more like no other.

“You were implying it!”

At her light-hearted accusation, he frowns. Her words are clearly teasing, but there’s a miserable undertone in her voice, masked by her obnoxiousness. His point is proven when Sakura whacks his head with a scowl and a ‘Are you listening to me, Tobi-kun?’ Ow. But really, why is she so high-strung all of a sudden? Is it because of what happened this afternoon? But she was fine a while ago. For the life of him, why are children so difficult?

Well, he doesn't mind Sakura being difficult, she's his adorable little soulmate after all, but it still doesn’t make it less difficult for him to understand her at times.

Above him, Sakura puffs out an indignant breath. “It's not my fault my hair is pink!” Then the mirth dies from her features in the blink of an eye, a faraway look taking over. As if a switch has been flipped, her bottom lip begins trembling and Obito is startled to see tears threatening to spill. “It isn't really my fault. Not my… fault. It's not my fault,” her words are almost gibberish and wobbly, “Is it…?”

A sniff.

Oh please no.

A sob echoes in the otherwise quiet room and Obito straight-up panics.

Frantically, he props himself on his elbows and rights himself into a proper sitting position, Sakura slipping off his chest and onto his lap in the process. Well, shit. He’s admittedly a lot of things— an Uchiha, a supposed to be dead person, a criminal on the run— but a babysitter who can calm babies down with a sweet little lullaby? Hell no.

Deep breaths. He’s got to try though, unless he wants Sakura to go full-out bawling.

“Sakura.” His hand anxiously rubs circles on her back in a poor attempt to soothe her. Something else must have happened apart from when she almost fell to her death, but what? “What’s the matter, blossom?”

When another strangled sob tears away from her, Obito cups her cheeks hurriedly to wipe her tears in a frenzy, his mind going into overdrive in alarm. Fuck. How do you comfort a crying kid? Now a bit feverish with horror, he begins cooing at her, mentally begging for anyone above to calm her cries.

“Of course it's not your fault,” he comforts her. What is he even referring to? The danger she encountered earlier? Damn Danzo to hell because it really isn't Sakura's fault that she's too talented for a nameless civilian.

“It's not, I swear!” Sakura gurgles, droplets now running down her cheeks. “I was just trying to heal him. And then… and then I found this blockage in his lungs so I pulled and pulled because it's phlegm and phlegm can make breathing very hard… b-but he suddenly sat up and coughed out blood and before I could help him, he… he told me not to touch him and Tobi-kun! I couldn't even say sorry because he just left!”

Honestly, Obito is feeling a bit lost.

What are they even talking about?

“It was the phlegm,” Sakura sobs out. “It wasn’t me.”

Gently, he pats her cheek and tilts her head to face him. “Sakura, as much as I want to comfort you, I need context here,” he says softly. “Let’s move to the bed and you can tell me what happened. How about that?”

Sakura quickly obliges, sliding off him and eagerly pulling him up with a quivering frown. In no time, he’s sitting on her plush mattress with her situated once more on his lap, face hidden in his chest like she tends to do when snuggling to him. Her arms are too small to wrap around him fully, but the outer flaps of his cloak are more than enough to dwarf her dainty form as his own limbs circle her upper body. Cute. Some part of him doesn’t want for her to grow up.

“Now,” Obito murmurs, “tell me what happened.”

And Sakura peels off her face from his chest to look at her with watery eyes and snot running down her nose which he wipes away with his thumb. If she were any other child, Obito would have been extremely disgusted by her display, but this is his soulmate and the only person to accept him so far with no strings attached. Just as Sakura’s about to speak, the window slams open, inviting a gust of wind inside, and Obito leaps into a defensive stance, shielding Sakura with his cloak.

Sharingan collides against Sharingan.

The boy from earlier.

“Ita-kun?” is Sakura’s hesitant call as she peeks out from his cloak flaps. The way she calls him stirs something in Obito’s gut, and he nudges her back into the safety of his cloak. However, Sakura stubbornly pops her head out again and frowns at him. “He’s a friend.”

He scoffs. Her friend, yes. His friend, obviously no.

Slowly, the boy stalks forward, twin kunai in both of his hands, his eyes glowing a dangerous scarlet. “Let go of her,” he commands in a monotone. In response to his challenge, Obito feels a smirk tugging his lips and darkly chuckles. He knows this boy. Not just from his spying sessions on Sakura, but somewhere…

Flashes of a genin team and their jonin teacher enters his mind and his smirk widens. Ah. The baby Uchiha who saw him cutting down his teammate with no mercy. Obito didn’t realize it at first, but now face to face, he can see those familiar sharp eyes and unsmiling thin lips that stretched into an anguish cry when his teammate died.

His own Sharingan spins threateningly and a wicked smile crosses his mouth.

“Make me, brat.”

Why, he’s always been a tease.

~~~~

The tear tracks on Sakura’s face has his blood boiling. Itachi has no doubt that the one who made her cry is the masked man currently hiding her from his view, but under his anger, there is confusion curling. It’s evident that the man isn’t holding Sakura against her will, so then why? Why isn’t Sakura running to him? Why is she not afraid of the stranger in her room?

Not to mention, the masked man seems familiar.

His eyes narrow.

“Sakura,” he calls out to her. “Come here.”

The man’s cloak shuffles and Sakura’s pink-haired head comes out, much to her captor’s clear chagrin. A scowl is on her lips, and Itachi is alarmed to see more tears leaking out of her clear viridian orbs. Is the man actually doing something to her within that thick cloak? Maybe holding a kunai against her back and digging it enough to hurt her? The possibility makes his jaw clench helplessly. How can he attack when Sakura is in the way and might get hurt more in the crossfire?

“Sakura—”

“You told me earlier not to touch you.”

Itachi blinks. “What—”

“Is this who you were talking about, blossom?” the man questions, his tone gentle and a clear contrast to the dark one he had used to address Itachi. Sakura pouts and ducks back into the man’s cloak. “Go away,” are her muffled words. “You don’t want me to touch you so I won’t. Go away.”

Under normal circumstances, Itachi would have been glad to give her some space, but currently there’s an unknown person in her room and he’s not certain if the man is a friend or a foe. For all he knows, the man might be one of the men who casted the genjutsu on Sakura this afternoon that almost caused her death.

“But Sakura,” Itachi tries again. “He might be an enemy.”

Sakura’s pretty head pops back out and she sends him an watery unimpressed look. “I’ve known him since I was like, three. He’s my friend.”

“Then why haven’t I seen him before?”

“Brat,” the man’s deep voice reverberates, and Itachi detects hostility protruding from him to which he responds with a malevolent gaze of his own. “I suggest you stop pushing her. You’re the reason why she’s crying after all.”

What?

Eyebrows furrowed, he levels the rosette a questioning stare. “Is that true, Sakura?”

Sakura’s eyes shimmer with unshed tears and her mouth curves downward, quivering and taut, and Itachi’s heart lurches.

“Is it because of what I said earlier?”

Tears begin spilling in earnest then and a stifled sob is heard.

Heart sinking, Itachi takes one step forward, an apology on the tip of his tongue, guilt raging in him like a thunderstorm. His right wrist angrily pulses. Frankly, he still doesn't trust the masked man, but all wariness is thrown out the winds at the sight of Sakura's tears, and he decides to trust in her words that the man is actually a friend of hers.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs, arms outstretched and placating, but still on his guard with the unknown man in the room. “I really am sorry, Sakura. I didn't mean that… I just had to go, that's all.”

Not an excuse, but the bare truth. After he had coughed, he saw someone perched on the rooftops overlooking Sakura's window, masked and cloaked just like the man in front of him right now, the porcelain covering their face in the shape of an animal. He didn't have the time to explain to Sakura that him coughing up blood was a common occurrence and the only logical sentence that came to mind was—

“Don't touch me.”

The stern tone that came with the order was purely unintentional, but he made his message very clear— to not touch him because he knew if Sakura would try helping him, he wouldn't be able to deny her and the perpetrator would escape. And so he took off without another word. With his prowess, Itachi killed the agent off with ease after drilling him for hours with questions that remained unanswered and vague; but what he didn't calculate was that the rosette would be deeply hurt by his actions. It was out of concern that he came back to Sakura’s house to check up on her and set up protective seals around her residence that would alert him of any intruder.

Well, that was his intention.

He wasn’t expecting for someone to get to her first.

Sakura’s masked friend observes him quietly, his build towering over his as Itachi draws nearer. The younger Uchiha eyes him warily, shoulders taut and muscles tense in preparation if ever a conflict between them occurs, but the man only lilts his head to the side and raises his arm, opening the flaps of his cloak in the process. He glimpses Sakura’s rosy hair and with a sigh, Itachi lowers himself into a crouch to level his height with the girl.

He still doesn't pocket his kunai, one eye on the man just in case he decides to attack. 

“Sakura,” he calls out to her gently, “come here.”

Brilliant green orbs flash at him tearfully. “It wasn’t my fault,” Sakura cries, clinging to the man’s torso. “I didn’t make you cough out that blood. It… It wasn’t me, I swear— I was just trying to clear away the phlegm in your lungs b-but then you hacked out blood and you got angry and I c-couldn’t explain anything to you because you immediately left a-and—”

“I wasn’t angry at you,” Itachi softly says. “I just had… business to take care of.”

And by business, he meant hunting down the person who had dared to put her in harm’s way.

“But y-you sounded angry.”

“Because I was, just not with you,” he explains. “Now, come here. Don’t be like that with me. You know how much I dislike it when you cry.”

And is it his imagination, or is the man in front of him shaking his head in pity?

Sakura looks at Itachi suspiciously. “You are angry.”

He opens his mouth to retort that no, he isn’t angry, but the man beats him to it and chuckles. “Brat, you really should fix your way of speaking.”

Itachi frowns at him. What’s wrong with his manner of speech?

“It’s offensive,” the man responds to the unspoken question. He then lightly nudges Sakura who whines at him in protest. “Blossom, you should already know by now that most Uchiha speak that way. He isn’t angry. Look at him wagging his tail, the brat just wants to make amends with you.”

Indignantly, Itachi glares at him. He certainly does not have a tail!

“He looks angry,” Sakura observes, wiping away her tears.

“At me, maybe,” the man agrees. “But whoever can be angry at you, blossom? You have us at your feet.”

Sakura looks at him with an unenthused gaze and scowls. “Not true,” she denies. “And why are you defending him now? You should be on my side!” To prove her point, she shoves a finger at him with a severe frown.

“Sakura, please,” Itachi interrupts, now bordering into desperation, “I’m not angry. I apologize for hurting your feelings and I’ll make it up to you, I promise. Just… Just please come to me.”

His right inner wrist is now raging hot, a sensation he mindlessly brushes off, too focused on getting Sakura’s attention on him. He can’t bear the thought of her rejecting him, or worse, hating him. What he did was a simple mistake, a mishap he’s certain he’ll never do again, but what good would his resolve really do if Sakura won’t even come near to him now? Anxiety swirls up in his stomach, and he watches her pleadingly. Think. What would Shisui do in this situation?

His worries are cut off when Sakura tentatively toddles to him with a little more prodding from the man and envelops him into a tight hug, her vanilla scent washing over him. Oh, thank sages. Utterly relieved, his arms come to conclusively wrap around her as if hanging on for dear life, and he breathes out a gratified sigh, ignoring the amused rumble that escapes the masked man.

“Amazing, isn’t it? One touch from her and it’s as if everything’s alright again,” the man comments.

Itachi narrows his eyes at him, protectively pulling Sakura closer to him.

The man tuts in a disapproving manner. “Don’t be like that, brat. I also don’t like you that much, but Sakura seems to trust you. Not to mention, you adore her. That gives me enough reassurance that you’ll be willing to sacrifice your life to protect her.” A gloved hand extends and halts just in front of Itachi’s face. “Now, let’s play nice, shall we?”

“I don’t need any protecting,” he hears Sakura’s muffled words from where her face is buried in his neck. Her breaths are starting to grow even, her body falling lax and allowing him to support most of her weight. Clearly, the girl is already on the verge of sleep, the stress of today’s events catching up to her.

“We know that, blossom,” the man coos at her in adoration, and Itachi almost sneers at his blatant change of facade. It’s clear that the man is only sweet to Sakura, and a completely different person to others, and honestly, the Uchiha heir doesn’t know how to feel about that. “I’m just saying that your little friend and I should try to get along with each other. You know, for your sake?”

A drowsy sigh. “I’d like that.”

“Besides, blossom,” the man continues, and the ten-year-old barely restrains a growl, “your friend is interesting, to say the least.” There’s a knowing inflection in his words even as he says, “I have the feeling we’ll see each other more in the future.”

Bitterness coils in the roof of his tongue, and Itachi bites back a snarl. He’ll never take that offered hand and shake it. It seems that the man has also realized this since he lets his arm fall back to his side with a wry chuckle. With a hum, he saunters to them and ruffles Sakura’s tresses affectionately to which the girl responds to with a groggy moan before sauntering to the window.

“Well then brat, take care of her when I’m not here, won’t you?”

And like the wind, he’s gone, no traces of him left.

~~~~

It takes Itachi a bit of convincing, but in the end, he lets her do regular check-ups on his lungs with the threat that she won’t ever speak to him again if he refuses her. Satisfied, Sakura allows chakra to pool into her hands as she presses them against his abdomen, eyebrows creasing in concentration. They’re under their favorite oak tree, surrounded by mother nature, the leaves rustling when a cool breeze blows by. It’s been a month and a half since Obito and Itachi got acquainted, and needless to say, the two have been very adamant on not seeing each other again.

Well, more on Itachi’s part, Sakura supposes. Two nights after the incident, Obito tried to convince her to let them meet again, and it was only because of her conscience that she denied his request.

“He’s a fun one to tease,” Obito told her cheerily. “Are the others like him too?”

By others, he probably meant Shisui and Sasuke with the addition of Naruto. With a half-exasperated and a half-fond smile, she flicked the forehead of his mask and placed a hand on her hip.

“Don’t go scaring them off, Tobi-kun,” she warned him. “They’re my friends.”

“Oh, I would never,” Obito sang. “I only want to know them, that’s all. They hover around you all day like mother hens, it’s interesting and amusing to watch.”

In reply, she playfully shoved him. “Stalker.”

The phlegm in Itachi’s lungs is as sticky as ever, but with the right coaxing, Sakura manages to disperse some of them. It’s progress, just not a big one, but progress is progress as they all say. Carefully, she threads her way through the muck and tugs strings of the substance free, quickly patching up the little holes that appear in the boy’s lungs at the forceful extraction. After days of researching and mulling over what she did wrong to have made Itachi violently cough out blood, Sakura came to know why.

Apparently, aggressively pulling on the mucus can cause punctures in the lungs.

So it was really partly her fault that Itachi had coughed, but according to the ten-year-old, coughing out blood isn’t so rare for him anymore. Sometimes he’ll wake up to coughing fits in the night, vomiting red and phlegm, and there are days when he can hardly breathe. Stupid boy enduring this for so long. A scowl forms on her lips. Really stupid boy.

“Do your parents know?”

His eyes lazily blink, black as midnight. “Hmmm?”

“Your sickness, Ita-kun,” Sakura elaborates. “Do they know about this?”

“No… ‘ust Shisui,” he slurs. Even Itachi isn’t immune to the sleepiness her healing chakra brings, and the notion never fails to entertain her. Who knew she could turn the normally apathetic boy into putty in her hands? “Don’ ‘ell them please.”

She hums in agreement. “Okay. Patient confidentiality it is then.”

After several moments of just tugging and detangling the ribbons of phlegm and melting them, Sakura finally pulls away and tiredly wipes the sweat by her brow. Her chakra is now only a small pool in her reserves, and she vaguely notes that she’s lasted longer this time, a sign that her chakra repository is growing. Good. With her control, she’s certain that she can utilize it to its fullest.

Itachi is soundly asleep on the forest ground, the lush grass acting as his mattress and pillow. A strand of his hair is over his face which Sakura flicks off. His black locks are pulled into his usual ponytail and she frowns at it thoughtfully. Well, now that can’t be comfortable. She knows firsthand just how much his head will hurt after waking up due to him not taking off that hairstyle before going to sleep. Carefully, she tilts his chin to the left and gently yanks the rubberband holding his hair. In response to the sudden movement, the boy groans and his eyes flutter open.

Oops.

She’s forgotten that he’s a light sleeper.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” Sakura tells him teasingly.

Itachi blinks at her once, twice, then inches closer to her, rolling his head into her lap and burrowing his face into her abdomen. Mirthful laughter escapes her and she weaves her fingers into his hair, marveling at how smooth and silky it is. Wow. Maybe she should ask him for his haircare products later. It’s a sin for a boy to have hair this lustrous. At her ministrations, Itachi’s arms come to wrap around her torso and he snuggles further into her stomach.

“Don’ stop.”

His reaction doesn’t surprise her. After years of knowing him, Sakura discovered one particular habit that he shares with Sasuke and Shisui.

Their tendency to turn into cats when she plays with their hair.

Obito also becomes clingier when she does it to him, albeit a bit more reserved, but still the similarity is truly endearing.

Maybe all Uchiha just like their hair being played with.

“You know, I ‘ometimes think that you might be my ‘oulmate,” Itachi mumbles out.

She freezes. “Pardon?”

“Mhmmm…” Itachi’s hold on her tightens. “Colors don’ lie, Okasan told me. And you are ‘eally colorful.”

Colors? What does colors have to do with the concept of soulmates?

“That’s because I have pink hair, Ita-kun.”

“Maybe…” Then his head lolls to the side and he’s gone back to dreamland.

Sakura can only hope that he doesn’t suspect her any further.

~~~~

What do girls like?

Frowning thoughtfully, Sasuke scans the market stalls, his hand grasping his mother’s skirt to avoid getting separated. The woman is currently shopping for vegetables, and normally, Sasuke would have refused to come along, social settings being not his thing and all. But Sakura’s birthday is coming up next week and he really wants to give her a memorable gift.

Better than Itachi’s or Shisui’s.

By now, all the market vendors know him. Romping around Sakura and Naruto has increased his reputation in the market, and despite his apathetic demeanor in public, the sellers still coo at him, recognizing him as the ‘cute pinkie’s friend’, as they all call him. Sasuke doesn’t mind. At least they know Sakura’s laid her claim on him, just like she’s staked her claim on his older brother and cousin.

Too bad Naruto’s in that mix too.

As they browse the market, he and his mother move past a building brimming with people— an establishment named Kunai Clothing. It’s a big store where he, Sakura, and Naruto pass by fairly often without a second glance, mainly because none of them care much for feminine skirts and dresses; but occasionally, he sees Sakura peeking in the huge glass windows, her eyes sparkling as she surveys the dresses inside. A thought flits to mind, and he wonders if he can coax his mother to buy his pretty friend a dress or two as his gift to her.

“Why, that’s a wonderful idea, Sasu-chan!”

Apparently, his mother didn’t need to be coaxed. With an elated grin, she drags him off to Kunai Clothes, basket of goods swinging on one arm, her hand an iron grip on his shoulder. He allows her to do as she pleases with him, fighting the urge to scowl because this is all for Sakura and she better appreciate it or he’ll sulk and sulk until she feels guilty and pets him with her attention.

That day, Sasuke learns why all the men in his immediate family are keen on avoiding shopping with his mother. With the exception of Itachi, since his older brother is clearly a ‘Mama’s boy’, as Shisui dubs him. But really. There's a dull look on his face as he sits in the corner while Mikoto gushes over several racks of casual dresses and gowns, thumbing the skirts to see their quality as a saleswoman follows her around.

“What do you think about this, Sasu-chan?”

Sasuke raises his head and sees a frilly bright neon-green dress, complete with obnoxious yellow ribbons, dangling from Mikoto’s fingers. Ew. Yucks. He can’t imagine Sakura wearing anything like that. Grimacing, he shakes his head and his mother pouts.

“It’s cute though, you have to agree,” Mikoto remarks, already putting back the dress in its rightful place.

Cute? Absolutely not.

The next dress Mikoto brandishes in front of him is much worse. A very vibrant orange, with lots of layers that seems to be made from… a net? Incredulous, he slides off his chair and makes his way to the offered piece of clothing, reaching out to feel the texture of the fabric. It’s abrasive against his skin and Sasuke swears he can hear a light scratchy sound as he pinches its hem and rolls it between his index and thumb. Kshhh… kshhhhhh. Yep, there’s that sound alright.

His refusal is immediate. “No.”

“But Sasu-chan, it’s very, very adorable—”

“Okāsan, please. It’s horrendous.”

And Mikoto wilts.

Maybe buying Sakura a dress as a gift isn’t such a good idea at all.

His conscience pricks him at his mother’s clear disappointment, but he holds his ground, not willing to apologize. He knows he’s right. But frankly, he did not expect his mother to be so bad at women's fashion, especially since she’s a woman herself and her everyday outfits are acceptable. So how…?

There’s a giggle, and Sasuke turns his head to the saleswoman half-hidden behind Mikoto.

“What?” he demands.

Mikoto gives him a warning glance. “Don’t be rude.”

He puffs his cheeks in defiance and his mother lets out an exasperated sigh.

“I apologize,” the saleswoman intervenes, but Sasuke thinks she’s anything but apologetic. A mischievous grin is on her round and pinkish face, a knowing glint in her blue eyes. He scowls at her and taps his foot on the tiled floor impatiently.

Thankfully, the woman seems to get the idea and strides to the nearest clothes rack, pulling out several kiddy dresses that are far more decent than the ones his mother chose. And all in Sakura’s colors too, Sasuke notes in approval. Pleased, he nods at her and she hands him one, a sleeveless dress dyed in burgundy-red with a skirt that spreads to its fullest when twirled. There's a cute ribbon plastered on its collar, and embroidered black roses on the hem, and Sasuke makes up his mind.

“I want this.”

“Good decision,” the saleswoman comments. “She'll be sure to love your choice.”

The certainty in her sentence is transparent, and Sasuke blinks at her. “Sorry, do I know you?”

Her blue eyes twinkle as she takes back the burgundy dress and hangs it over one arm. “I've seen you around here with that pretty girl. She's quite the spirited one, isn't she?”

Pretty girl?

Ah. Sakura. She means Sakura.

Unbidden, his ears begin burning at the mention of the rosette’s existence.

“Ara, Sasu-chan, you didn't tell me that you come here with Sakura-chan,” his mother says with a chuckle.

“They don't,” the saleswoman replies in his stead. Her heels clack on the floor as she leads them to the counter where a bored-looking cashier waits for them. “But they visit the market frequently. They're familiar faces around here and the merchants love them— especially his girl,” she nods to Sasuke with a smile. “She's a lucky one to have you.”

His girl.

His.

Scowling, Sasuke looks away, cheeks reddening.

Mikoto sends him a teasing grin. “Your girl, hm?”

His scowl deepens, but he doesn't deny it. When the cashier has received their payment, Sasuke swiftly takes the now wrapped dress into his arms and holds it tight to his chest, ignoring the indulging smile on the saleswoman's face as he marches to the door. Oh sweet, sweet freedom. He's never going to go shopping with his mother again, unless it's purely for groceries. Scratch that, he’s never coming back here ever again. With an expectant pout, he glances over his shoulders and impatiently beckons Mikoto to hurry, a gesture the woman brushes off with an amused laugh.

“Why, Sasu-chan, do you really want to give only one dress to Sakura-chan ?”

“Yes,” he responds with the utmost finality. One dress is enough. Truth to be told, he really can’t understand why females love shopping. Don't their feet hurt from standing and walking for a long time as they try to find the things they want? Or don’t they get bored staring at endless clothes or makeup or whatnot? Pushing that aside, Sasuke knows Sakura's not a very materialistic person, so she'll be satisfied with one dress. Also, he can just buy her a book or some sweets if she isn’t satiated with his present. Pointedly, he stares at his mother who still hasn't budged from where she's standing. “Can we go home now?”

“Are you sure?” Mikoto questions and there's a wicked glimmer in her murky orbs. “Shi-chan and Ita-chan are sure to give her very expensive gifts once they come back from their mission.”

“And?”

“Do you really want to be outdone by them, Sasu-chan?” she sings sweetly. “You want Sakura to fawn over you, yes?”

His eyebrows furrow. Isn’t that a given? Against his better judgment, Sasuke nods, and Mikoto positively beams at him and claps her hands. Behind her, the saleswoman snickers and shakes her head at him sympathetically.

“Well then,” Mikoto looks downright evil with the innocent smirk on her lips, “I say we shop for more dresses.”

Sasuke pales.

Sweet baby Hashirama. Someone save him.

~~~~

“You mean to tell me that Sakura’s being targeted by someone,” Shisui states. An enraged hiss seethes through his teeth. “Fuck.”

It’s almost been two months since he’d seen Sakura last, the Hokage having sent him on a solo recon mission that almost went horribly wrong. For one, the man he was supposed to get information from was actually being followed and Shisui barely managed to escape with his life when three squads of masked agents descended on him and started attacking him as they were about to exchange intel. His contact sadly died, but he had no time to dwell on that fact as he quickly immobilized the shinobi after his head.

He was drained and agitated when he came back to the village, dissociating from the world like most shinobi tend to do after coming home from a particularly difficult mission. Shisui had already planned to take a quick shower and get his well-deserved sleep (sometimes he wishes he won’t ever wake up again) after reporting to the Hokage’s Tower when Itachi found him and told him about Sakura’s near-death experience.

The details of the event was enough to make him momentarily see red.

“You should have tortured the man more,” Shisui snarls, gaze fixated at the ground. He’s unconsciously activated his dojutsu, and has to blink several times to disable it and make his eyes return to their usual dark hue. “You should have tortured him to the point where he’d regret being born.”

Itachi hums, his back resting against the smooth trunk of the tree he’s under. They’re in Training Ground Three, the usual place where they’d spar, hone their katas, and indulge Sakura in some light drills whenever she’s feeling bored and wants to practice on her ninjutsu or taijutsu. Shisui’s yet to submit a mission report to the Hokage, but he stuffs that task for later, fully content in brewing in his fury. He’s already known for a long time that greedy people will start coveting Sakura for her talents, but has been too reliant on the fact that no one will try to touch her given her affiliation with the Uchiha.

Apparently, he’s wrong.

“One more thing,” Itachi starts, his black pupils melancholy, “Sakura has a friend—”

“And that friend is me!”

Upon the new arrival, the two boys leap back, their Sharingan spinning as they draw out their weapons and regard the figure standing on the upper branch of the tree Itachi was initially leaning on. Shisui narrows his eyes at the newcomer, taking in account the worn-down cloak the intruder is wearing and the mask set on his face. ANBU? No. The stranger— clearly a man judging by the build of his body and his broad shoulders— is too flashy to be considered as an ANBU agent. Not to mention, his mask is blank, devoid of any animal marks that ANBU masks are usually designed with.

Who?

Before he can ask that question, Itachi aims a kunai at the man with sharp accuracy and deadly speed, a displeased scowl twitching his lips. “Why are you here?”

The familiarity in the way his little cousin has addressed their unexpected guest makes Shisui think that the two of them have met before but aren’t exactly on good terms, if the hostility in the air is anything to go by.

With ease, the man catches the kunai by hooking his finger into the hole of the weapon’s hilt. “Couldn’t help but drop by after overhearing your conversation,” he shrugs unapologetically. “And like I said, I want us to play nice, being Sakura’s friends and all.”

Shisui stares at him. “You know Sakura?”

The man inclines his head at him in acknowledgement. “Does it bother you, little Uchiha?”

With that suspicious mask and dingy cloak?

“Yes,” is Shisui’s brutally honest answer.

“Ah,” he hears a deep chuckle, “same sentiments, I say. You see, little Uchiha, I also feel bothered by your friendship with her. I had her first after all.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Shisui sees Itachi frown in disapproval. “Whether you became friends with her first or not is of little concern to us,” the youngest of them all responds. His stance is still guarded, but he straightens himself to his full height and gazes pointedly at the man. “What matters now is Sakura’s safety.”

Another chuckle. “Now we’re talking business.”

The tree branch the man is standing on gives a little creak as he carelessly jumps off it and lands on the ground, leaves raining down on him in his wake. Shisui’s muscles tense and pull taut in warning. Beside him, Itachi studies the man with contempt reflecting in his scarlet orbs, his grip on his kunai lax and weightless. Danger vibrates off the man’s form. Clearly, he’s a wanderer and a well-trained individual in battle, judging by his lazy but dangerous gait.

Shisui doesn’t take his eyes off him. “What is it that you want?”

“Sakura’s safety,” the man simply says. “I cannot watch over her at all times since I have business outside the village and can only visit her a few times every week. The both of you however,” and Shisui swears he can hear the man’s smirk, “flock to her every chance you get.”

“Get to the point,” Itachi tells him curtly.

The man throws him back his kunai. “I want you to protect her in any way you can,” he continues, blatantly ignoring Itachi’s rude tone. “Even if it means sacrificing your own pathetic bodies.”

“Hn.” His little cousin looks contemplatively at the man. “From who?”

“Shimura Danzo.”

The Hokage’s adviser?

To cover up his doubt, Shisui decides to mess with the man, just because he can do so.

“What a piece of sunshine,” he comments, a light grin on his boyish features even as he threateningly taps the flat of his blade against the palm of his hand. “And what do we get in return?”

And the man tips his head back and laughs, dark and wicked, with a bit of insanity. Shisui can imagine him grinning, all gore and teeth, as he faces them again, a flash of red seen from underneath his mask.

“The both of you, little Uchiha, get to keep your lives in exchange for keeping my precious soulmate safe.”

Then the air swallows him up, a vortex sucking his entire body and disappearing, leaving a snarling Shisui and a glowering Itachi behind.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text

The morning is quiet. With a yawn, Sakura pulls herself out of bed, haphazardly rubbing her stomach as she slinks downstairs where the smell of pancakes is dominant. Her pink hair is tousled with sleep, her eyelids half-hooded with drowsiness, and there's dried saliva running down the side of her mouth. Her father is sitting by the table when she comes down, a newspaper in his hand and a coffee in front of him. The sight makes her blink blankly.

Why is her father here…?

“Good morning, Sakura-chan!” Kizashi chirps, a bit too lively for her tastes. “Two more days to go and you'll be six!”

Ah. She's forgotten that her parents are home for her upcoming birthday.

“Morning, Sakura,” a feathery kiss is placed on her cheek as her mother sets a plate of hot pancakes on the table. Her mouth waters at the sight of it and Sakura hurriedly takes her seat, grimacing when she smacks her lips together and tastes the afterbreath of dry saliva.

Mebuki chuckles at her knowingly. “Better rinse your mouth first.”

Without further prompting, Sakura heads to the sink and turns on the faucet, scooping up a handful of water with her cupped palms and slurping it. She gurgles on it and spits it back out, satisfied when the aftertaste has gone. Cheerfully, she stalks back to the table and carefully slides to her seat, resting her arms on the wooden surface and propping her head against it as she waits for breakfast to be ready.

The sound of sizzling fills the air, followed by the crisp smell of sausages and eggs. Sakura inhales it all, her stomach grumbling in protest. Raising her head, she sees her father’s mug of coffee just in the corner of the table and twitches to grab it. Caffeine, sweet, sweet, caffeine. As if noticing her fixation on his coffee, Kizashi glances at her over his thick newspaper and shakes his head with an amused smile.

“Coffee's not for little kids,” he sings.

Annoyance pricks her and she scowls at him in return.

“Better grow up fast then,” Inner Sakura says mockingly.

But the fact is, Sakura's in no hurry to grow up.

Six, hm? Her fingers begin tapping the table in a dance as thoughts enter her mind. Time's running out then. She was eight when Itachi massacred his clan. Unless she wants that to happen again, she'll have to find a way to stop it.

But how?

“Kill Danzo,” is Inner Sakura's simple answer.

A mission Sakura wouldn't mind taking if it weren’t for the fact that the old man has a whole killer organization in his hands.

Even the old her wouldn't be able to kill off the bastard without help, and as it is, Sakura is still currently a kid with lots of room to grow. A far contrast from the past Sakura. Hell, even her chakra reserves are much more meager compared to her reserves back then, and that’s saying something, because her past reserves were absolute shit and it was only because of her chakra control that she could utilize it well.

Thoughtfully, she flexes her fingers.

Her parents still don't know about her healing abilities, nor do they know about her fixation on shinobi things, apart from her obsession in reading books detailing different jutsu. Sakura’s also kept from them the fact that she almost died several days back. Being civilians, they would most likely try to keep her sheltered here in this house if they were to ever learn about that incident, and although Sakura would like to appreciate the thought, she’s free-spirited and locking her up will do more damage than good.

So no.

“Eat up, kid,” Kizashi tells her once everything is laid out on the table. Humming, he reaches for the caramel syrup and squeezes a load of it onto her pancakes to her utter delight. Mebuki frowns disapprovingly at him, but the expression is gone in the blink of an eye when Sakura eagerly digs into her breakfast and grins, bright and happy, as the extract assaults her tastes and leaves her practically drooling. She should recommend this syrup to Itachi, the older boy likes sweet things as much as she does, and she’s confident he’ll love it.

Shisui, not really. The curly-haired Uchiha isn’t that fond of sweets, always grimacing whenever she offers him a bite of dango or a piece of candy. He never fails to indulge her though, and always accepts what she gives him with no complaint, the slight twisting of his lips the only indication of his utter dislike towards food with too much sugar.

And Sasuke only has eyes for tomatoes.

Obito, however… Sakura just knows he’ll eat anything she’ll give him, even if it’s poison.

Her fork easily cuts into the fluffy pancakes and she piles them up into a heap, using the fork as a skewer, before stuffing them into her mouth. So good. Now, why can’t she have this kind of breakfast every day?

But something, or rather someone, is missing.

“Where’s Obachan?”

At her question, her mother looks up from her own food, neatly wiping off the golden-brown glaze decorating her chin. “Out. I think she wanted to buy something for your birthday, and went to the market before it got too busy.”

Oh yeah. It’s a Saturday, and Saturdays meant more customers at the market.

Sakura licks off the syrup coating her fork. “I wonder what she’ll give me.”

And uncharacteristically, Kizashi snickers into his plate.

When the clock chimes nine, there's a rapt knock and Sakura, having already taken a bath and now blow-drying her hair, rushes to the door, dashing past her blinking mother, and throws it open with a cheerful ‘good morning!’ There, standing on the steps of their home, is Sasuke, earnestly clasping his hands in front of him as he regards her with a smile.

“Good morning, Sakura.”

She beams at him. “Sasuke! Come in for a second, please. My hair still hasn't dried, and my parents would love to meet you!”

Belligerently, the boy blinks. “Your parents?”

“Mhm!” She grabs him by the wrist and tugs him with ease. “You still haven't met them, right? I mean, they're always traveling and stuff and you never come to visit me when they're around…” she trails off in uncertainty and glances at him with hesitation. Maybe her persuasion is a bit too strong? Sasuke doesn't like socializing after all.

As if sensing her sudden unease, Sasuke shrugs. “Okay. I'd like to meet them.”

His response has Sakura sending him a grateful smile to which he responds with a light blush. Awww, cute. She'll never get used to the sight of a flustered Sasuke.

It's Mebuki who they run into first. The woman is in the hallway vacuuming the floor, straightening every picture frame and ornament she comes across, her dull blonde hair hastily tied into a ponytail. Unlike Mikoto who looks graceful in everything she does, her mother looks harried, but all tiredness is swept away from her face on seeing Sasuke.

“Hello,” is Sasuke's flat greeting.

Her mother's eyebrow quirks in amusement. “Not much of a conversationalist, is he?”

Sakura offers her an apologetic grin. “I do most of the talking for the both of us, Mama,” she replies. “Sasuke prefers it that way.”

Agreeably, Sasuke nods.

Shaking her head with a light smile, Mebuki cocks a hand on her hips, dramatically leaning on the vacuum for extra effect. “That's alright, I suppose. I already have to put up with Kizashi’s whining all day and also Sakura's occasional outbursts, so there's almost no quiet in this house,” she sighs good-naturedly. “I hope Sakura hasn't been a bother to you, Uchiha-kun.”

“Mamaaa!”

Sasuke's lips twitch into an indulging smile and Sakura feels him slipping his wrist out of her hold only to smoothly lace their fingers together. A squeeze. Mebuki's gaze falls to their intertwined limbs and her eyes narrow.

“Uchiha-kun—”

“Sakura's a good friend,” Sasuke tells her resolutely. “My family adores her very much, and Okāsan dotes on her as much as Aniki and my older cousin do. She isn't a bother.”

Taken aback by the assertiveness in his tone, Sakura gapes at him, the beginnings of a blush creeping into her cheeks. Mebuki glances at her knowingly, a sharp glint in her eyes, filled with restrained laughter. Sakura pouts. Who knew Sasuke could be such a sweet talker? She blames Shisui’s influence.

“Oh.” A shadow of a smile plays on her mother’s mouth. “I'll leave her in your hands then.”

What?

Who was it that protested greatly against her friendship with her soulmates again?

Ah yes. Her mother.

What a development, Sakura thinks sarcastically.

But Sasuke, pure and sweet Sasuke, just nods along with all the solemnity in the world, clearly not noticing the hidden inflection in her Mebuki’s words. Sages help her. Sakura has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep herself from cooing at her dark-haired companion for his adorable innocence.

“That cute innocence of his will be destroyed if you don't stop Itachi from killing their own clan,” Inner Sakura quips. The reminder stirs something bitter inside Sakura and her half-formed coo turns into a stifled grimace. She remembers blood-crazed Sasuke, his mouth split into a huge grin all red and teeth, hatred swirling in his entire being, lightning crackling in his hand in a frenzy,. all because of a man he used to adore, a man forced to be a scapegoat just for the village to live, a man who was his beloved brother— Uchiha Itachi.

Uchiha Itachi.

The name horizontally engraved on her right wrist.

“Kizashi will be happy,” Mebuki says. breaking through her thoughts. “He's been pestering Sakura to let him meet you and her other friends.”

“Hn. So I'm here first?”

There's smug pride in Sasuke’s otherwise polite inquiry.

The challenge is not lost on Sakura who inwardly rolls her eyes. Uchiha boys. Must they always turn everything into a competition?

Unfortunately, that question is answered as yes when Itachi and Shisui come knocking on her door a day later, the former dropping a brown paper bag into her hands and the latter deftly pressing a kiss on her cheek with his usual cheery grin the moment she opens the door. Disoriented with sleep, Sakura squints at them, her pink locks ruffled and tangled and her pajamas disheveled. It's yet to be seven in the morning and she still hasn't had her breakfast.

So what the fuck are these two Uchiha doing on her doorstep so early?

Shisui rocks on the balls of his feet eagerly. “Sakura—”

“No.”

And with that, Sakura slams the door shut.

Fucking Uchiha. She's willing to bet that the only reason why the pair of cousins are here so damn early in the morning is because Sasuke had gloated to them or something about his visit here yesterday. Irritated, she rubs the bridge of her nose and is about to return to the dining room when she hears another knock.

Tak, tak, tak.

Her eyebrow twitches.

Ignore them.

Tak, tak, tak, tak, tak—

It’s too fucking early to deal with this type of Uchiha bullshit—

Taktaktakatakatakataktak—

“Oh, for fucks's sake!” she screeches, flinging the door open and brushing aside Mebuki’s yell of ‘Language, young lady!’. “What kind of shit do you want now?!”

She's met by Itachi’s suspended fist, knuckles facing the door and clearly about to knock again, and the boy blinks at her a bit bemused.

“I apologize. Are we being a bother?”

Sakura incredulously blinks back at him. “You were the one knocking all along?”

“Ah, no.” Itachi gestures at the grinning, older boy looming behind him, “That was Shisui.”

Figures.

Itachi is far too well-mannered to knock that insistently and hard.

But still. With all the fierceness she can muster, Sakura glares at the both of them, positively seething. “What is it that you want.”

The paper bag Itachi’s given her is clutched tightly in her hand, gradually getting crushed as she grips it tighter in her irritation. Tutting in disapproval, Shisui gently pries open her clenched fist to free the poor bag and she hisses at him snappishly. Normally, she’d welcome his touch, but Sakura is currently too hungry and still mussed up with sleep, and all she wants is to drink hot cocoa and eat the scrambled eggs already set on the table to fill her empty stomach.

“Stop,” Sakura snaps when Shisui’s arms begin moving towards her waist, no doubt attempting to pull her in for a hug. “I’m not in the mood for any of this.”

Itachi is staring at her, his black eyes taking into account her crumpled clothes and ruffled appearance before mournfully darting to the abused paper bag in her hold. Unapologetic, Sakura raises an eyebrow at him.

“What?”

“It's cookies.”

“What?”

Gloomily, Itachi gestures at the paper bag. “Those are cookies.”

Ah fuck.

Immediately, Sakura loosens her hold on the bag and opens it, grimacing when she sees the crushed biscuits inside. Shisui is chuckling, whether at her or Itachi’s despondence, she doesn't know. Guilt prods at her, and she raises her head to look at the Uchiha heir with tremulous eyes, her irritation gone and replaced with her laughing conscience.

“I'm…” she hesitates. “I'm sorry...?”

“What are you sorry for?” Inner Sakura snipes. “It's his fault for not telling us from the start. Wait, scratch that, why would he give us cookies so early in the morning?”

Sakura shushes her. Knowing Itachi, he probably had some kind of revelation to gift her with cookies.

Like the total brat he is, Shisui snickers. “He baked those himself. Caused a ruckus this dawn just to make those for you.”

At his goading, she glares at him to be quiet. The fourteen-year-old is trying to rile her up on purpose, isn't he? Huffing, she turns her attention to Itachi and cringes when she sees pure disappointment written on his face. A plethora of apologies about to spill out of her mouth, she reaches for him only to be interrupted by a very loud bellow behind her.

“Two more, Sakura-chan? Why, you're too young to have this many suitors!”

Ugh. The Fates really is testing her patience today, aren't they?

As she spins on her heel to face her overly boisterous father, she sees Shisui’s jaw slightly hanging open in surprise and notices how Itachi takes a miniscule step back. Huh. That's not usually how people react on seeing Kizashi. Frowning in bemusement, Sakura turns to the older man and promptly shrieks.

A hand shoots out from behind her and blocks her vision, followed by Itachi’s scandalized whisper of ‘Don't look’ as she is pulled against his chest. A high-pitched, horrified scream erupts in the background, courtesy of Shisui who whimpers pitifully ‘Protect Sakura's eyes, Itachi-chan. Don't let her look—!’ But welp. Too late. The sight of her naked— sorry, towel-clad— father has already burned in her mind and Inner Sakura is throwing a tantrum because of it.

“I did not need that image!” her alter ego hisses.

“Kizashi!” Sakura hears her mother roar. “What the hell do you think you're doing at the door naked?!”

Oh sages.

“Take him inside! Take him inside!” Sakura screeches in horror, thankful for Itachi’s hand covering her eyes. “Or better yet, take him to a damn asylum!”

“Language!” Mebuki bellows, her voice drawing nearer. Sakura guesses that the woman is now thundering her way towards them, perhaps already standing by the doorway. “And Kizashi, your fucking towel is slipping!”

Why, oh why—

“Oops?” comes Kizashi’s sheepish reply.

Sakura can accurately imagine what just happened and turns green at the thought.

A dismayed wail from Shisui confirms her suspicion. “Oh gods, his dick— I mean, his eggplant is hanging out— Itachi, don't you dare let Sakura see it—”

Bile threatens to rise. She did not need the description. Fortunately for her, Itachi's hold on her is firm and unrelenting even as his breaths begin to quicken in disgust and she hears him suppress a retch.

“Kizashi!”

“Why, Mebuki, you used to like seeing me like this!”

Tobirama's balls, Sakura's about to be sick.

An angry yell from her mother. “That's when we're alone in our bedroom, Kizashi. Not out here in the open for everyone to see your floppy dick!”

An anguished cry tears away from Sakura and she jams her pointers into her ears. “SHUT UP, DAMMIT!”

~~~~

Granted, maybe she overreacted. After all, Sakura's already seen a lot of penis in her past life, so seeing her father with only a towel wrapped around his remaining piece of dignity shouldn't have been that… horrifying.

But one glance at Shisui’s green face and Itachi's pallid features has her telling herself that no, she didn't overreact and given the situation, she had behaved accordingly.

“Your family is… unique,” Itachi amends to break the awkward silence. They are sitting on the bridge overlooking Training Ground Three's sole lake, and the entire serenity of it all fills her with nostalgia. In another life, Kakashi and Team Seven had used to come here after spars or D-ranked missions, way before Sasuke had defected and the squad was left broken.

“Unique is a pretty way to describe it,” Sakura snorts. Chaotic, more like. Upon her mother's yelling and her father's loud protests, her grandmother had woken up with an enraged roar and had proceeded to throw a kitchen knife at Kizashi who barely managed to dodge it. His towel went flying in his haste, again resulting in him being stark naked for the whole world to see. Thankfully, Itachi still hadn't stopped covering her sight at the time.

Shisui is swinging his legs to and fro. Despite him being the tallest out of the three of them, he really can't manage to reach the surface of the lake, and Sakura thinks that even in the future, he won't be able to. The ledge is too far off from the water and even Kakashi couldn't manage to toe off a few droplets in the countable moments he chose to play with her, Naruto, and Sasuke as their teacher. Critically, Sakura eyes the curly-haired Uchiha.

Or more specifically, she eyes the boy's forearms.

Shisui’s hands are gripping the bar he's on to prevent himself from accidentally diving into the water, and Sakura can admit to herself that his tight grasp is causing his forearms to flex their muscles— “Attractively,” Inner Sakura adds with a bit of glee. Not yet fully developed, but still, the arches lining them are starting to become defined, mainly because of the training regime and harsh environment he is usually thrust into. Without thinking, she reaches over and pinches a slightly prominent bulge.

Shisui's mouth spreads into a cocky grin.

A scowl passing her lips, Sakura withdraws her hand and smacks his back. “Shut up.”

“I haven't said anything though!” he sings, laughing as he dodges another attack heading his way. “Easy there, Sakura. You don't know how much your punches hurt.”

Itachi lets out a disdainful sniff. “You deserve it.”

“Well,” Shisui starts and Sakura can detect the smug satisfaction in his tone, “it's not as if I don't like it.”

Masochist.

With a roll of her eyes, Sakura turns away from him, puffing her cheeks.

“I'm hungry,” she announces a few beats later.

And with good reason too. The moment Kizashi had become naked once more and another bout of chaos arose, Itachi and Shisui whisked her away with a silent nod of permission from her mother, according to Shisui. Sakura doubts his words though, but she couldn't see anything back then so how is she supposed to know if his words were true or not? She'll just have to give him a good beat-down if she comes home to an angry Mebuki.

But first thing first. Breakfast.

“You haven't eaten yet?” Itachi inquires, concerned.

She gives him a deadpan because hello? She's still in her pajamas, for damn’s sake, and her hair's a total rat mess, full of tangles and knots. What's more is that she hasn't brushed her teeth yet and she can now feel the grimy molds stuck in every nook in her mouth.

“It's still, what, seven? Or maybe eight?” Sakura snipes. “By now, I should still be eating breakfast at home with none of you breathing down my neck.”

Apologetically, Shisui pats her head. “Sorry, Sakura.”

“You should be,” she huffs. Then she sends them both an expectant look and rubs her tummy. “Now, breakfast?”

In the end, the two boys take her to Teuchi's ramen stall where she gulps down two bowls of soup and noodles, much to their amusement. With a mirthful chuckle, Shisui wipes away the drop of liquid splattered on her chin with his thumb as Itachi begins skillfully untangling the gnarled strands in her hair. Oh, how they love to spoil her. Leaving the pair of cousins to do whatever they want with her, Sakura raises her hand and requests for another bowl of ramen. Her request is granted not a second later and she claps her hands in gratitude, Teuchi winking at her in return.

“Sakura-chan? What are ya doing here?”

“Good morning, Naruto!” she chirps, in a better mood now that she's no longer starving. She throws a smile over her shoulder where a familiar blond stands, his blue eyes roving at the scene before him. “Same as you. I'm eating breakfast!”

He returns her smile with his signature bright grin and plops to the seat next to Shisui. Sakura has half the mind to tell the older boy to move and give some space for her Uzumaki friend, but Naruto, as if sensing her thought, shakes his head at her tentatively.

Huh.

She blinks at him, confused.

“You don't want to sit next to me?”

Her question rings clear and Shisui spares the whiskered boy a glance. His face completely turned away from her line of sight, Sakura can't see the expression he's making, but she notices how Naruto slowly pales and lets out a little squeak of protest.

Her eyebrows furrow. “Shi-kun, are you… are you trying to scare Naruto?”

Shisui gives her an innocent little smile.“I don't know what you're talking about.”

Like hell he doesn't.

On her right, Itachi shifts, his fingers tugging the last of her tangled locks free. “I can switch seats with him if you want,” he volunteers and Sakura turns to him with sparkling eyes.

“Oh, please,” she says with a happy grin. At her appeal, Itachi easily obliges, sliding off his stool and waiting for Naruto to get off his too. Once the blond has situated himself perfectly on the offered seat, Sakura nudges her untouched bowl of noodles towards him with an indulging nod.

“Here, Naruto, eat up.”

“Thanks, Sakura-chan!” Naruto cheers before digging in. “I'm so, so hungryyy!”

She pokes his cheeks in fondness. Typical Naruto. It's a wonder how his bright attitude can be so easily covered up with his reputation as the Kyūbi's human container. Laughing a bit when soup goes to Naruto’s nostrils, she hands him a napkin and misses the way the two Uchiha present stare at her with varying degrees of affection.

Their soft expressions are gone as soon as they sense a dark presence shadowing the tree just behind them however, and Itachi’s eyes flash red as they swivel to the densely-packed leaves. Not a moment later, as they are cleaning up to leave and Sakura's already ahead of them, Naruto tugging her eagerly to frolic at the playground, Shisui finds a masked person sprawled over a tree branch, foaming at the mouth.

A cheerful hum plays on his lips as he seals the body away.

~~~~

It’s late in the afternoon when they manage to send Naruto home. The blonde is reluctant to leave her, but one look from Itachi has him scrambling, a motion unknown to the oblivious pinkette. The sky is painted in hues of orange and red as the trio trudges home, Shisui and Sakura chattering merrily along the way with Itachi contently listening to their light-hearted banter. When they reach her doorstep, the latter drops a scroll into the girl’s hand with Shisui chuckling in the background.

Bewilderment is clear in Sakura’s gaze at him.

“It’s a summoning scroll,” Itachi explains. “You’ll need it.”

“But I don’t though…?”

Shisui slings an arm across his shoulders and grins. “What Ita-chan means to say is that’s his birthday gift to you,” he tells Sakura with a wink. “And here’s mine.”

A necklace is tossed onto her other hand and Sakura scrutinizes it, marveling how the amulet is shaped into a familiar pattern. Itachi watches her with a smile. Her slightly agape mouth and awe-struck expression is truly endearing, and it stirs something bitter inside him to know that her soulmate is someone who is too old for her and is of an unknown origin. Does she know? Know that her soulmate is the masked man she is fond of too much?

“The Sharingan, really Shisui?” Sakura puffs a laugh. “I didn’t know you were a sentimental person.”

Shisui waggles an eyebrow at her. “It’s my way of saying that you’re under the clan’s protection, Sak. Anytime, anywhere, if you call my name or Itachi’s, we’ll be there in a flash.”

There’s a giggle and Sakura flings her arms around the both of them, kissing their cheeks happily before withdrawing. “I’ll remember that,” she replies with a smile. “Thank you.”

Chuckling, Itachi pokes her forehead. “It is only right that we give them to you in advance since we won’t be here tomorrow,” he says warmly. “Sasuke is looking forward to having your full attention, as is my mother.”

Searchingly, Sakura pouts at him. “Is that why you spent the whole day with me? Because you have a mission tomorrow?”

In response to her disappointed inquiry, Shisui ruffles her hair. “Yeah. But don’t worry, we’ll come to see you again after.”

It's become a habit of theirs to visit Sakura right after a mission and let her heal the wounds they might have gained. Her healing works wonders unlike their own clan medic, and already, Itachi can feel the ailment in his lungs slowly subsiding. He doesn't cough as often as before and when he does, it doesn't draw out blood and doesn't hurt as much as when it was untreated.

Sakura, in his own opinion, is better than half of the medics residing in Konoha.

“Okay,” the said girl gives them a tentative smile. “I’ll hold you both on to that.”

Itachi sends her another smile and pokes her forehead again.

~~~~

The night echoes with screams as Shisui and Itachi deliberately take turns in torturing the poor ROOT agent they’ve captured. The man is now panting, his mask long since discarded, blood rushing out of his nose and dribbling out of his chin. His eyes are unfocused and glazed, no doubt because of the pain he’s in.

“Now, let’s try this again,” Shisui purrs. “What does your master want with our precious Sakura?”

Frantically, the man shakes his head. “I… I can’t say,” he gasps out. A hoarse cry tears away from him when one of Itachi’s recently sharpened kunai digs into his thigh, mercilessly cutting through meat and bone. “I s-swear, I cannot say!”

Shisui hums, unsatisfied. Behind him lurks Itachi, his smaller form half-hidden by the shadows of the trees, his eyes blazing crimson in the shadows. After dropping Sakura home, the cousins wasted no time in heading to the woods with the sealed body in tow, fully intent on taking out their anger on their unfortunate captive. Shisui’s own Sharingan spins lazily at the delectably bloody sight.

“We can work on that,” he cheerfully says. Despite popular belief, between him and Itachi, Shisui is actually the sadistic one, his cruel nature covered by his playful and friendly demeanor. Only a few know just how much of a menace he can be when triggered.

Wordlessly, Shisui jams another kunai into the man’s body, this time into his shoulder.

The howl of pain is certainly worth the blood that stained the blade.

He grins wickedly. “Well now—”

“Shisui, wait.”

Annoyed by the interference, Shisui tosses a scowl over his shoulder. “What, Itachi?”

With the grace of a feline, the younger boy stalks forward, thin lips pursed into a firm line as he forces the gasping man to open his mouth in a way that his tongue would loll out. A black symbol came into view, and Shisui huffs in irritation.

A silencing seal.

“I should have known that that damn fucker would—”

“And what’s this?”

At the familiar and unwelcome voice, both boys swivel to the right where a cloaked figure leans against a tree, ankles crossed over each other and his mask present as usual. Amusement oozes distinctly out of his lithe form.

“Seems like you caught a rat,” the man comments.

Shisui sneers at him. “What are you doing here?”

Itachi subtly shifts beside him, the tomoe in his pupils whirling in wariness.

“Manners, brat,” the man snipes back. In a dangerous gait, he walks to them, tilting his head in a condescending manner. “If Sakura weren’t so fond of the both of you, I would have already killed you in cold blood.’

Defiance rears its head up, and Shisui scoffs derisively. “With how you’re leaving all the dirty work to us? I don’t think so.” His lips twitch into a mocking smile, so unlike his usual merry grins. “You need us to protect Sakura after all, don’t you?”

“Hn.” The man nods at the tortured person pitifully slumped on the ground. “You’re doing your job well.” He then moves towards their captive and gives him a hard kick to the ribs. “Even if he cannot divulge any information, prolong his pain as long as possible. You can also rip his limbs to pieces and send it to the old bastard as a warning.”

Thoughtfully, Itachi observes the man. “Can we send his head instead?”

A pleased cackle bursts out from the mask, and Shisui can imagine him smirking in delight, violence tainting his wide smile with the promise of pain and hurt. “Sakura chose well,” the man murmurs, nodding in satisfaction. “Give me your names.”

“Why should we give it to you?”

“Well, for starters, I’m fairly certain you would hate being called ‘Shi-kun’ and ‘Ita-kun’ by me,” the man mocks, mischief and glee lacing his words. He seems more relaxed now, his shoulders at ease and slouched, and Shisui narrows his eyes at him. What is he playing at?

“Shisui,” the curly-haired Uchiha says after a moment of grudging silence. “That one over there is my younger cousin, Itachi.”

“Ah.”

“And yours?” This time, it was Itachi who spoke.

“Sakura knows me as Tobi.”

The evasion does not go lost on the pair of cousins, and just as Shisui is about to voice his thoughts, Tobi, without warning, hoists the utterly battered ROOT operative onto his broad shoulder and sends them a courteous nod.

“On second thought, I’ll be the one to take care of this. Don’t worry though, I'll tell you of any findings I might discover if all goes well.”

And without another word, Tobi drifts off to the darkness, reminiscent of the way he left them on their first meeting.

Strange man, his instincts hiss. Dangerous.

“Do you trust him?” is Itachi’s quiet query.

“No.”

“I don’t either,” Itachi admits. “But he’s Sakura’s soulmate. At least we know he won’t hurt her.”

A scornful scowl pulls on Shisui’s mouth. “He’s too old for her. Sakura deserves better, someone her age or someone trustworthy at the very least.”

“Perhaps,” Itachi agrees.

The stars are out and glimmering as they head back to the compound, the faint scent of rainwater curling off the fresh soil. With a weary sigh, Shisui parts ways with Itachi at the gates and leisurely strolls to his own home just a few feet away from the main house. It was originally the main house’s annex, but when his parents died and left him all alone, Mikoto took it upon herself to practically adopt him into the family, giving him the annex for his lodgings so she could always keep an eye on him. Tiredly, Shisui unlocks the bolted door and ventures inside, kicking the door shut with the heel of his feet and promptly flopping onto the nearest chair.

Shimura Danzo.

Rage burns in him.

But really, what else can he do? He can't just straight-up accuse the old councilor for harassing Sakura, the disgusting soot holds too much power to be brought down by mere accusations. Damned politics. Shisui could, however, kill him in cold blood and manipulate his memories to make it seem like suicide… but no, the risk is too great. The Yamanaka clan's signature jutsu can effectively detect what is fake from what is real and Shisui will, with no doubt, be incriminated as the criminal.

He grounds the palms of his hand against his eyes in frustration.

Fuck.

~~~~

The pile of boxes outside the door is what greets her first thing on the morning of her birthday. Dark blue with a very familiar insignia, she can immediately guess where these boxes came from. Blearily, Sakura takes one look at the packages and promptly slams the door shut.

Yeah. No.

“Why, Sa-chan, what’s with that glum face?” her grandmother asks worriedly when she goes back to the kitchen. The old woman is carefully making sunny-side up eggs with sausages, a watchful eye on the oven where a batch of buns are baking. “Birthdays are supposed to be happy, you know.”

Her father and mother are taking a bath upstairs together, and are yet to come down. Sakura dreads to think what they are up to, and hopes that the two aren't doing what she thinks they are doing. With a scowl, she snatches a cooked sausage from a plate, and bites into it.

“Let's go to Ari-san's after breakfast,” her grandmother suggests. Sakura looks at her questioningly. Who is Ari-san? She doesn't know anyone by that name. On seeing her befuddled expression, Aiko laughs. “She's a friend.”

However, that plan is quickly foiled when Sasuke arrives right after she's taken a bath and is dressing up in her room. When she descends down the stairs, she finds Sasuke waiting eagerly for her on the couch, the pile of boxes now in the living room, stacked up neatly. How…? One look at her father's grinning face answers her question, and Sakura groans.

“Sakura!” Sasuke happily exclaims, springing up from his seat. He darts to her and she receives him with open arms, letting out a good-natured laugh when he gives her cheek a light kiss. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Kizashi openly gaping, a disapproving frown beginning to form. “Happy Birthday!”

Sakura grins at him. “Thank you,” her voice then trails off on remembering the numerous packages currently in the room, and she blanches. “Are those all for me?”

Sensing her displeasure, Sasuke scowls. “I wanted to give you only one dress, but Okāsan insisted. You can just throw it all away if you want.”

Startled, Sakura stares at him. Throw it all away? What a waste! She'd rather accept it and donate it to the orphanage than stuff it in the garbage.

“On second thought,” she says in a small voice, “I'll keep them.”

Sasuke beams at her and claps his hands in delight. “Okāsan will be happy. Now, here, take this and go change.”

A wrapped parcel is gently shoved into her arms and Sakura blinks.

Eh?

~~~~

Pride preens within him when the rosette appears again, this time wearing the dress he'd chosen for her. His dark eyes gleam in delight. Approvingly, Sasuke scrutinizes her dressed-up figure, relishing in the blush gracing her cheeks. Oooh. His older brother and annoying cousin are missing out a lot.

No doubt, they’ll be irked for not being able to see Sakura dressed up so prettily.

Shame on them.

The skirt is loose and it bounces and flutters at Sakura’s every movement. Burgundy red with black embroidered roses at its hem and sleeves, the picture Sakura makes is a lovely one and Sasuke feels satisfied at the sight. Hm. Maybe he should have also bought her some accessories for her hair. And some bracelets and bangles and— is that a necklace on her neck?

He does a double take. There adorning Sakura’s neck is a chain with a scarlet locket, and upon closer inspection, the pattern is painfully familiar. Miffed, he walks over to her and reaches out for the locket, frowning on confirming that yes, the pattern indeed is of the Sharingan. Who gave it to her? Shisui or Itachi?

Hmph.

Petulantly, he releases the trinket and focuses on other matters. Over the years he’s learned to share Sakura with his family, so the notion of Itachi and Shisui beating him in gift-giving isn’t really that maddening. Just a tad annoying, that’s all.

“You look pretty,” Sasuke tells the pink-haired sprite in front of him. “Really, really pretty.”

He doesn’t notice the dirty glare Kizashi sends him.

“This is too…” Sakura pauses, “grand for me.”

Sasuke shrugs. “You deserve the very best.”

The rosette gapes at him for a moment before bursting into peals of laughter. “Oh gosh, Sasuke,” she wheezes out and he fixes her a miffed look, “if we were a bit older, I would already be thinking that you’re flirting with me!”

He frowns. Flirting?

What’s that?

A shadow falls over from behind him as he is about to ask, and he hears Kizashi speak. “And what exactly, Sakura-chan, do you know about flirting?”

The aforementioned girl pales.

“Nothing, Papa.”

Her quick response confuses Sasuke more. Is flirting bad?

Sakura shakes her head at him, a secretive smile curling in the edges of her mouth. In a shushing motion, she brings her index to her lips and they wait until Kizashi has gone to the other room before Sasuke asks his question.

She grins mischievously. “It depends.”

Depends?

It is only later on that Sasuke realizes what flirting really is.

~~~~

Obito is certainly not pleased to see a tiger— a damn tiger, although it is currently an adorable tabby— lounging by Sakura’s bedside when he comes to visit at night like usual. Nor is he happy to see yellowish eyes glaring at him in the dark as he slips inside the girl’s bedroom and begins walking to her bed. The tiger’s muscles tense upon his approach as if to attack, but Obito brushes its wariness like a pesky fly. With his kamui, he’s confident enough in his abilities to evade the baby predator if need be.

Now, where the hell did Sakura get such a wild pet?

“Are you a friend or a foe?” he hears a feminine rasp say.

Noncommittally, he glances at the little tiger. Ah. So the feline is actually a summon.

“Friend,” he easily replies.

“I smell Uchiha blood in your veins,” the tiger says. Slowly, she rises from her haunches and stalks to him, circling his cloaked form and sniffing. “Are you an Uchiha, boy?”

At the inquiry, Obito has to stifle a bitter laugh. He isn’t an Uchiha anymore— everyone knows him as dead. Presently, he is akin to a living ghost.

“Am I obliged to answer that question?”

The tiger lets out an amused growl, a noise that sounds like a mewl given that she isn’t an adult yet. “Perhaps so. I am your clan’s noble summon after all.”

His clan’s noble summon? Clearly, it is one of those Uchiha boys who gifted this feline to her.

Sakura’s soft breaths fill the room when silence descends, and Obito vaguely sees her blanket-covered figure comfortably settled into her plush pillows and mattress. He smiles at the serene image. Six now, hm? Why do kids grow up so fast? Soon, he won’t be able to touch her as freely as he can in the present. Just the mere thought of it makes his hardened heart pulse painfully.

“You have a bond with her,” the tiger bluntly states, tuning him back to reality.

Obito gazes at her in deliberate ignorance. “I do not know what you are talking about—”

“Don’t play dumb with me, boy. The more you deny it, the more you will fall into insanity,” the wildcat snipes. “The only reason why you still haven’t gone completely insane is because you have regular contact with her.”

“That isn’t—”

“True?” The tiger sends him a bared (cute) grin. “I know you Uchiha better than you know yourselves. Here’s a guess, you keep denying it because she’s still too young, is that it? Or is it because she is also bonded to three other people? Or is it because,” here, the feline’s grin grows wider and more foreboding, “you cannot afford to fall in love?”

“She’s a child.” His tone is unimpressed.

“Yes, she is. But twenty years from now? She’ll be a grown woman and there will be several others who will vie for her affections. Keep that uncaring facade up and you’ll be left behind.”

Stubbornly, Obito purses his lips. “She’ll be better off without me.”

The tiger looks at him, woe shimmering in her intelligent yellow eyes, and puffs. “You Uchiha always think that you know best. Obstinate brutes. Oh yes, the girl will be better off without you, but what about yourself? Will you be better off without her? No, boy. You know your limits.”

He tries to argue that no, he can live just fine without her as long as he knows that she’s happy and well, but one glare from the summon has him clicking his mouth shut.

“You don’t deserve her,” is the tiger’s harsh statement. Obito flinches, and yellow eyes soften in pity. “But she’s sweet and caring, and you need to be loved.”

“But the others—”

“You need not worry about them,” the tiger cuts in, and he glares at her. What is with this cat and her apparent glee in interrupting him? “The Uchiha clan was originally matriarchal. Reverse harems were the norm back then. Adapting it back in this age won’t be such a difficult task. Plus, she’s also bonded to the Uchiha clan heirs and their cousin. The odds are in your favor.”

What?

Did this animal… did this animal just tell him who Sakura’s other soulmates are?

“Ah. You didn’t know?”

“Does it look like I knew?” Obito snaps. He had his suspicions but seriously?

Is Sakura some kind of Uchiha magnet?

He thought that the only reason why those three boys kept flocking to her was because they wanted pure friendship. So, what the actual fuck? More importantly, do they know that Sakura is their soulmate?

“They don’t,” the tiger tells him in a flat tone.

His lone eye flick to her. “How did you…?”

“I know everything. Your thoughts, your intentions, the past, the future, other dimensions— everything. No one can hide anything from me. Not even you, Uchiha Obito.”

He simply stares at her in disbelief.

The wildcat’s tail waves to and fro in faux amusement. “Did you really think you would be able to hide from me, boy? I know your entire life, from the past to the future. I know of your affiliations and plans. I know how much you crave to burn this world down for a mere human who did not even return your affections, too blinded by her devotion for your Hatake teammate—”

“Shut up,” Obito hisses. He takes one step forward, anger and bitterness coursing in his system, “Shut the fuck up.”

Undeterred, the summon continues with her words.

“ —but I also know how much you cherish the girl. You won’t hurt her.” The statement is spoken firmly and without a hint of doubt. Obito snarls at her. Still, the tiger holds her gaze fearlessly, yellow pupils flashing. “In this dimension, boy, you will not completely stray into the wrong path.”

With a disdainful sneer, Obito picks the tabby up by her scruff and shakes her as a threat. “You do not command me, vermin.”

The tiger displays her canines into a mocking grin. “I don’t,” she agrees. “But one word from the girl and you will bow to her whims.” Her ears twitch momentarily as if in thought. “She knows, you know.”

Know what?

But the feline does not elaborate further. With those cryptic words, she disappears into a puff of smoke, leaving him to grasp empty air.

“Tobi-kun?” a sleepy voice calls out to him. “Is that you?”

Blankly, he watches as Sakura’s form wriggle under the sheets until the rosette is finally sitting upright, her head popping out of her blankets and revealing tousled pink hair. Sleepiness is evident in her half-hooded eyes and the drowsy lilt of her lips as she reaches for a hug, and Obito doesn’t waste any time in walking to her and scooping her into his arms, sitting on the edge of her bed as he does so. Her fresh scent of vanilla washes over him and he drinks it all greedily, taking off his mask with practiced ease and burrowing his nose into the crown of her head.

“Happy Birthday, blossom,” he murmurs into her tangled locks. His gloved fingers tenderly stroke the small of her back. “Happy Birthday.”

“Mhm,” Sakura replies groggily. Her face is buried into his chest, her favorite position when she’s sitting on his lap with his arms around her, hidden from his line of sight. But Obito knows that the girl’s eyes are slipped shut and is on the verge of falling into unconsciousness again.

He chuckles fondly. “You can go back to sleep.”

A sluggish sigh. “Sleep with me?”

He obediently tends to her request, touch-starved as he is. Without any more prompting, he takes off his cloak and drops it onto the floor before lying down on the mattress, pulling the sheets along to drape across their bodies. He's long since learned that Sakura doesn't fancy dirt and mud coating her blankets. The rosette snuggles to him, letting out another sigh as she clutches the front of his shirt and he tugs her closer to him. Their shared body heat is comforting, and slowly, Obito feels himself nodding off, tiredness clouding his mind until he has completely drifted away.

She knows, you know.

Those words linger in his mind even as he dozes off to darkness.

When Sakura wakes up, the sheets are still warm and there is another sheathed dagger by her side. She hums happily as she picks it up. Her old dagger has long gone brittle much to her dismay, and the new weapon is a familiar weight in her hand as she tests it. The blade is subtly different, she notes, and curious, she prods a sliver of her chakra into it.

Could it be…?

Unbidden, the image of a katana enters her mind and Sakura squeals in surprise and delight when her dagger suddenly grows longer, morphing into the beautiful sharp weapon she mentally pictured out. A chakra blade! Giggling in glee, she raises it up in the air and does an experimental slash.

Not too heavy, not too light.

A perfect fit for her.

“You are very well-loved,” a lethargic purr yawns out.

She glances at the floor and grins at the baby tiger lazily settled on the rug. “Mika-chan! You haven’t left yet?”

The tabby gives her an unimpressed stare. “The boy made me leave at midnight, and I only came back just now. Besides, I can never leave your side for too long as I have been entrusted with your safety by the leader’s eldest son.”

There is begrudging respect in the feline’s tone, and Sakura vaguely wonders if Mika has bad blood with Itachi for presenting her as a gift to a mere civilian despite her being the Uchiha’s noble summon. The rosette shivers. Hopefully not. As far as her experiences went, summons are awfully petty creatures and Sakura is sure that she will be the one to bear the brunt of the tiger’s ire if she is truly angry towards Itachi.

She stuffs the revelation away. Hopping off her bed, she sheathes the dagger and shoves it inside her pillowcase. She doesn’t want to know the consequences she’ll face if her parents were to ever find out about her secret stash of weapons. Already, Sakura has a couple of kunai and shuriken in her arsenal, and adding the dagger to the mix? She’s pretty certain that she’s the most well-armed civilian in the area.

Mebuki will probably faint in fright.

"By the way," she starts as a thought enters her mind, "why are you small, Mika-chan?"

Mika gives her a dirty look. "I operate on your chakra, girl. My size depends on the amount of your chakra. And your chakra is pint-sized, you know that? Even now, I am doing my best not to drain you."

There is truth in the feline’s words as proven when Sakura dips into her chakra reserves and finds that her chakra is steadily trickling out. She frowns. "So you can't be with me all the time?"

"Unless you improve your chakra reserves? No, girl, I cannot."

A protest is on the tip of her tongue when her mother calls out—

“Sakura! Breakfast!”

Breakfast. Her stomach growls and she giggles. Running her fingers through her knotted hair, Sakura turns to face her summon with a placid smile. “May I carry you?”

Mika gracefully stretches herself out. “You’re a polite one, I’ll give you that,” she says approvingly. “Yes, little girl, you may carry me down. And may I add, I’ve always liked tuna to start my day.”

With an amused giggle, Sakura sweeps the feline off her feet. “I’ll see what I can do, Mika-chan.”

“I'm starting to like you already,” Mika purrs. She nudges the underside of Sakura’s jaw. “You might not be as bad as I thought.”

But when they reach the dining room and are greeted by a grinning toothless Aiko and a yipping pup, the tabby immediately takes her words back.

“Here, Saku-chan,” her grandmother cooes at her. She doesn’t seem to notice the baby tabby present. The puppy at her feet begins running in little circles, chasing its tail adorably. “This is my birthday present to you. He's the runt of litter Ari-san is raising. He's already weaned so all you have to do now is take care of him and train him to poo outside. I'm sure you'll do a fine job of nurturing him, hm?”

Mika sends the hyperactive pup a stink-eye.

“Nevermind. I think I'll go back to disliking you again.”

Sakura can only laugh at the tiger’s blandness and directs a flying kiss to her grandmother as she heads to the kitchen, which the old woman returns with a wink.

It is then that her mother appears, her eyes widening into saucers on seeing the tiger comfortably settled in her arms.

“Sakura? Where did you…? Is that a tiger?”

In response, Sakura grins at her and holds Mika up for her to see. “Ita-kun gave her to me! As a pet!”

Mika shoots her a dirty glare. “I am not a pet.”

“It talks,” Mebuki flatly states.

“Because I am a summon, woman. Not a pet.”

“But you're…” Mebuki hesitates,”…small.”

Mika's fur bristles in defense and she bares her canines, clearly one second from throwing a tantrum. Sakura frowns. How does a baby tiger throw a tantrum anyways?

To her credit, Mika becomes calm a moment later.

“Because your daughter's chakra is quite meager,” she grumbles, annoyed. “It's a wonder that she even managed to summon me.”

Cooing at the tiger's cuteness, Sakura cuddles the feline close to her chest, her emerald-green eyes sparkling and a pleading pout on her lips.

“We can keep her around, right?”

Miffed, Mebuki stares at her for a good while and sighs in exasperation, throwing her hands in the air in surrender.

“Why do I even bother?”

“Because you love me,” Sakura grins.

Her mother sends her an unimpressed look and points at the puppy obediently staring at them with a wagging tail. “They're your responsibility, you hear? You’ll have to feed them, bath them, clean up after them especially if they poo—”

“I don't poo,” Mika interrupts.

“And I don’t care,” her mother retaliates, cocking a hand on her hip. “You're in my house, cat. You don't get to talk back.”

Offended, Mika bristles yet again. “I am a tiger, not a cat.”

“She'll behave, I promise,” Sakura hastily intervenes before a full catfight can break out. Heavens, she didn't know her mother could be so petty. “And I'll take care of them. You don’t have to worry.”

Mebuki presses her lips into a thin line. “You better.”

And Sakura beams, bright and proud, and spins the grumpy tabby in her hands around, her puppy happily yapping and chasing her heels. Mebuki leans against the wall and watches her with folded arms, allowing a small fond smile lift her mouth. The smell of burning eggs then drifts into the air, followed by her grandmother's yelp, and Mebuki curses as she rushes to the kitchen.

“Kāsan! The entire pan is on fire!”

Mika shakes her furry head. “You humans are so careless.”

Merrily, Sakura laughs at the absurdity of it all and wishes that every future birthday of hers will be spent like this.

Unfortunately for her, everything begins to go downhill on her seventh birthday.

Chapter Text

Her seventh birthday is spent out of Konoha, back in their hometown in the Land of Tea. Two guards were assigned to them by Fugaku for their safety, and Sakura suspects that it was Mikoto who had insisted. The boys were all dismayed on knowing that this birthday won't be spent with them, and Sasuke had clung to her all day when she broke the news two weeks before she and her family were supposed to travel away.

“You big baby,” she had told him teasingly.

Sasuke pouted at her, hugging her closer. “I like being your baby.”

Mikoto’s eyes glimmered mischievously and Sakura decided that she wasn't quite ready to know the woman's thoughts.

“Be careful,” were Obito’s quiet words when she told him about her leaving Konoha for a month. His gloved hand gently ruffled her hair and she leaned to his touch, even going further to guide his hand to her cheek and nuzzling it.

She smiled up at him reassuringly. “I will.”

Now, as she gazes at the town's gates, Sakura regrets not asking him what souvenirs he would like her to bring back for him.

“Well, Sakura-chan? What should we do first?” Kizashi brightly asked. His hand was on her shoulder, carefully steering her away from the rushing people and pushing her in front of him. “Food or sightseeing? Your pick.”

“Rest,” Mebuki tiredly cuts in. Although she isn't carrying anything, her back is slouched and her steps are slow. “My butt hurts.”

Sakura snickers. She can't blame her mother. The entire ride was full of bumps and rocks, and even though their driver had tried his very best to maneuver the cart and horse to a smoother road, it was futile. The horse was just so stubborn, not even the driver's coaxing and treats could convince him to stay on the right path for too long. Every five minutes, the animal would again slowly turn to the stony ground, and the driver would again try to steer him to the other side.

It didn't help that the seats weren't cushioned.

Their things have already gone ahead of them to the inn at the insistence of their guards who took their luggage away the moment they arrived, so she and her family are free to roam around for the time being. Sakura contemplates her choices. Should she acquiesce to her mother's request and head to the inn for a quick rest, or continue browsing around?

One look at her mother's pale face has her relenting in pity. “Let's rest for a while,” she announces. “Then we'll go to the market. Or to Marin-san's! I'm sure she'll be happy to see us!”

Cheering at her own made plans, Sakura takes her father and mother's hands and swings between them playfully, leaving them to carry her weight momentarily before her feet touch the ground again. Kizashi chuckles. He then lifts her up in one swoop and sets her on his broad shoulders, to which Sakura responds by gripping his hair for stability.

“Giddy-up!” she laughs, her rosy locks fluttering in the breeze. “Giddy-up, horsie!”

Behind them, she feels one of their guards’ chakra pulse in amusement. They are hidden in the shadows, but Sakura has gotten very good in sensing chakra signatures, no matter how muted or tampered, and she sends them a furtive glance over her shoulder. She raises a hand and curls them into a quick greeting.

They reach the inn a few moments later, and her mother relievedly plops into the bed after they've checked in, her blond hair sprawled beneath her head. Playfully, Kizashi throws Sakura into the mattress, just mere inches away from the resting Mebuki who yells an indignant ‘Hey!’, and clambers after them with a big grin. A squeal escapes Sakura when his arms gather them into a tight hug, and she finds her mouth full of yellow strands.

Mebuki is decidedly not pleased.

“Kizashi!” There's a heavy thump and her father yelps, “For heaven's sake, behave, you man-child!”

Sakura giggles.

The scuffle stops immediately, and Kizashi straightens, rubbing back with a grimace. “Your hits really hurt, Mebuki.” His eyes twinkle with mischief and he turns to Sakura with a wagging finger. “Sakura-chan, you mustn't take after your mother, you understand? No man likes a woman who can pack a punch. Mebuki’s very lucky that I tolerate her—”

“Who's tolerating whom now?” her mother says scathingly.

Kizashi promptly shuts up.

“That's what I thought,” Mebuki nods, satisfied. The edges of Sakura's lips twitch in silent laughter at her parents’ antics. “Now, go and take a bath. You stink.”

To which Kizashi squawks, “I do not!”

Mebuki glares at him.

His mouth snaps close.

And Sakura bites the inside of her cheek to keep herself from laughing.

~~~~

She doesn't actually remember this trip taking place in her past life. A butterfly effect, perhaps? She scrunches her nose at that. Butterfly effects mean unpredictable events. Hopefully, nothing bad happens during their stay here.

Their guards are both Uchiha, Sakura realizes as she strolls through the market with them in tow, although that fact should have been glaringly obvious from the start. Her parents had opted to remain in the inn, leaving her in the care of the shinobi that came here with them. Humming, she kicks a stone in the road and watches it tumble away.

“What would you like to buy, hime-sama?”

She blinks.

Hime-sama?

Confused, she raises her head to the guard at her left. “Are you talking to me?”

Her guards had been wearing masks when they were escorting her and her family on the way here, but now their faces are bare to remain inconspicuous. Black hair, black eyes, high cheekbones, pale skin— the Uchiha really are good-looking people.

The man inclines his head. “Yes, hime-sama.”

“I'm no princess,” she parrots, frowning. “In fact, you look more like a princess than me.”

She sees the man's mouth quirk into an amused smile. “Your appearance says otherwise.”

Sakura flushes. Her style in clothing has changed since her last birthday, courtesy of the abundance of outfits Mikoto gave for her as a gift. Currently she is wearing a pretty, long-sleeved, yellow dress with flowery prints and a sash around the waist, and a pair of high socks that reach her knees. Black doll shoes adorn her feet, slightly dusty from all the walking they are doing. To an outsider, she might look like a daughter of a very rich official.

She huffs and spins on her heel to face them fully, placing a hand on either of her hips to assert control. “Did Shi-kun put you up to this? I won't be surprised if he did.”

“Ah no. It was actually Mikoto-sama.”

“Mikoto-bachan?” she repeats, a bit surprised. Then she scowls sourly. “Oh, don't mind her, Uchiha-san. Just call me Sakura.”

A wry chuckle. “Unfortunately, that can't be, hime-sama. I cannot address you casually as you have our leaders’ favor.”

She puffs her cheeks in exasperation. The Uchiha can be so stubborn at times. No, scratch that, they are stubborn all the time. “Fine. At least give me your names.”

“I am Uchiha Kato,” the man replies with nary an inkling of hesitation before nodding at his partner who grunts, “Uchiha Satori.”

She soon learns that while Kato is the receptive one, always attending to her wants and humoring her like her personal nanny, Satori is awkward and quiet. Similar to Itachi when they first met. The young man tries to avoid her attention, his gaze flitting to empty space whenever she addresses him. On their third interaction, while Kato is busy buying her shaved ice, warning bells ring in Sakura's mind when she momentarily spies something black on Satori's tongue as he answers a trivial question of hers.

A birthmark, she soon realizes. But too late, the sight has incited memories of her antisocial and affection-deprived teammate with skin that was paler than snow, eyes that saw too much sorrows and pain, and a sealed mouth that held too many secrets flash in her memories.

She winces

Sai.

ROOT.

But that can't be, she thinks. Fugaku-jisan trusts these men. They can't be with Danzo.

Inner Sakura, for once, is silent.

“Hime-sama?”

She blinks. Satori is looking at her blankly, his posture stiffly straight as if he is a soldier waiting for his commander's orders. A breeze briefly blows by. The afternoon sunshine is gentle against her skin, revealing the thin sheen of sweat coating her forehead. Shushing her mental alarms, Sakura gives him a tentative smile.

“Yes, Satori-san?”

“Your dessert,” the Uchiha nods behind her and she turns around to see Kato walking to them with a cup full of shaved ice. All thoughts of ROOT banish away. Delighted, she claps her hands and reaches for the treat with a happy grin.

“Thank you!” she cheers as she takes a spoonful of the cold dessert.

Kato nods respectfully, allowing a subtle smile to cross his lips. “You are welcome, hime-sama.”

Sakura grimaces at the title.

Once they've reached the heart of the market, there is a clamor as most of the merchants lean out of their stalls and holler at her in recognition. Apparently, pink hair is very hard to forget about. Sakura finds herself being lifted in the air by a burly man whom she recognizes as the owner of the fruit stall she and her mother used to frequent. She beams at him. Then she is promptly passed to another pair of waiting arms, this time of a middle-aged woman's, who smells of smoke and sugar. Sakura recognizes her as the kind woman who kept slipping sugared nuts into her hands whenever her mother wasn't looking, and the seven-year-old rewards her with a bright grin.

She can't remember all of their names, but she makes sure to greet them all, giving out hugs and kisses whenever they ask for it. Kato and Satori trail behind her looking a bit lost and uncomfortable, their body language closed-off and guarded. Once, Sakura sees Satori’s hand twitch to his pocket and catches a glimpse of glinting metal. A kunai. Her eyes widen. Surely he won't—

“Sakura-chan! Came to visit little ole’ me, ey? You've grown sooo big!”

Her attention is ripped away when a claw-like hand appears in front of her and she is swooped into the embrace of a cackling granny, a lone woman who always gave younger Sakura flowers every time she toddled by her stall with her toothy grins and adorable lisp. When the rosette looks back at Satori, the kunai is gone and the young man is staring back at her blankly, black eyes apathetic and unblinking.

Just like how Sai's eyes used to be.

A chill running down her spine, Sakura tears her gaze away from him.

ROOT.

She doesn't entertain the possibility. What would ROOT want to do with her anyways?

The rhetorical question doesn’t quench the rising dread in her stomach.

~~~~

Sakura should have known that Obito wouldn’t be able to handle not seeing her for a month. On her seventh night in the town, the Uchiha comes crawling into her bedroom with all the stealth of a predator stalking its prey. She mentally sends her thanks to her parents for booking her a different room, because she honestly does not want to know how they will react on seeing someone they don’t know creeping in the middle of the night just to visit her.

“I’ve only been gone for a week,” she tells him, grumpy about her sleep getting disturbed. Petulantly, she folds her arms and sits cross-legged on her bed, hair mussed and pajamas rumpled. “What do you want?”

The Uchiha is silent as he walks to her direction, kneeling down in one fluid motion when he reaches her and tugging her towards him. Begrudgingly, Sakura complies, sliding to him and letting her feet dangle over the bed’s edge, and watches with open surprise when Obito removes his mask and sets it aside on the floor. Blue moons are rare, but an unmasked Obito is rarer. She isn’t given the opportunity to dwell on that thought though, because Obito’s arms are now wrapping around her torso and pulling her closer until his cheek is resting on her lap and his slouched back looks very uncomfortably hunched.

“Okaayyy…” her hand pats his head in uncertain reassurance, “what’s up?”

The awkward question elicits muffled laughter. “Nothing. I just missed you.”

And here she was thinking that something might have happened. In mock disgust, she crinkles her nose into a grimace. “Yucks. That’s what you should say to a lover or something. Not to a little kid like me. Do you even know how creepy that sounded, Tobi-kun?”

“Mhmmm…” he rubs his cheek against her lap like an overgrown cat, “But if it were Shisui or Itachi who told you that, you wouldn’t have minded. What makes me any different?”

“For one,” she holds up her index finger, “your age.”

“Those boys are also older than you.”

“Not by a lot. You look old enough to be my dad.”

She can imagine Obito’s indignant scowl when he says, “I do not.”

Of course he doesn’t. In another reality, he could have been her estranged older brother. Even with his scars, Obito has the poise and aura of a very-hard-to-get bachelor. Perhaps, if he weren’t so shut out to the world, there would already be several lines of admirers pining after him. Sakura giggles at the thought. The Uchiha have a penchant for garnering attention from the opposite sex no matter where they go. Even Itachi and Shisui have fanclubs of their own, and soon, once Sasuke has successfully integrated himself into society by entering the Academy, he’ll have one too.

Her fingers thread through his hair and she allows an inkling of chakra flow into her fingertips, to check if Obito has any damage that needs to be healed. It’s become a habit for her to check on her boys every time she sees them, especially Itachi with his lungs, and more so with Obito because of his daily excursions. The boys never complain about her impromptu healing sessions, knowing better than to interrupt her concentration and face her fists. She once leveled a crater onto the exclusive training grounds in the Uchiha compound, and the varying degrees of horror, amazement, and excitement on Itachi’s, Shisui’s, and Sasuke’s faces had been exhilarating to see.

“So, what’s this all about?” she queries, curious. There is no speck of injury in Obito’s system, nothing she should visibly worry about. Sakura withdraws her chakra. Instead, she focuses on teasing the man’s dark locks, noting that they’ve grown longer, now extending into not so subtle spikes. It reminds her of Madara’s own outrageous hairstyle, when he was busy gloating to the Shinobi Allied Forces about his power and might.

Egotistical asshole.

She hears Obito taking a deep inhale. “I had a nightmare.”

Nightmares in the civilian world don’t mean much, only viewed as bad dreams that will never happen. Nightmares in the shinobi world, however, hold a different weight. Nightmares mean past experiences and trauma. Bad luck. Premonitions of what is to come. Obito having a nightmare must mean an impending disaster is about to brew and boil over.

Sakura hums thoughtfully. “What’s the nightmare about?”

“I…” there’s hesitation, “I don’t remember.”

Well, that isn’t unusual. Some people tend to forget what their dreams are upon waking up.

“Did it involve someone dying?” she asks in an attempt to coax more details from him.

“I don’t think so.”

“Was it a past memory?”

“No.”

Maybe she shouldn’t push him too hard, but intrigue has already caught up to her. Until the cat is out of the bag, she knows she won’t be able to stop herself from asking about the specifics of the nightmare.

She decides to take a blind guess.

“Was it about someone getting kidnapped or tortured?”

At her question, Obito’s back uncharacteristically snaps straight and Sakura can see flecks of apprehension swimming in his lone eye; but that can’t be— she’s never seen Obito afraid before, not even in her past life. Even when he finally died, there was only serenity in his crumbling features. Brushing the thought off, she zeroes on his other eye shut tight like usual to hide the empty socket beneath, and her thumb carefully skims the flesh under it inquisitively. Can she perhaps perform an eye transplant on him with her current abilities? It’ll aid him in seeing better. But no. One look at Obito’s pallid face has her backtracking and deciding that now isn’t a good time to bring up that subject.

“What are you thinking about now?” she asks softly as to not startle him.

A shaky breath. “Shit. Shit, Sakura.” His hand rakes through his hair, visibly agitated. “You were in my nightmare. No, fuck that, the nightmare was about you.”

Eh?

She stares at him vacantly. Her?

“I… I don’t remember all of it, but it was you, and you were screaming and crying for help, but no one was coming, not even me—”

The dread she experienced seven days ago comes back in full strength, but she stubbornly pushes it down, down, down, until it has settled back in the depths of her mind. Nothing bad will happen on this trip, she tells herself as she comforts a prattling Obito the best she can without teetering into a panic attack herself. Nothing bad will happen. It’s just her nerves and paranoia speaking. Nightmares, no matter how realistic they may be, only have a forty percent chance of happening. The odds are in her favor.

Right?

Her worries are slightly eased when Obito begins checking up on her every night. No matter how late, Obito will come to her room through the window and creep into bed with her, holding her close as if to assure himself that she's alright and still there. His smoky scent is a familiar anchor, and she takes every opportunity to breathe it all in until she's fast asleep.

But even Obito’s frequent visits aren't enough to calm her frayed nerves entirely.

~~~~

Red and black. Blood. A fearful shriek. Darkness. The sound of desperate running, the clanging of metal, Sakura’s panicked voice—

“Focus.”

The pain exploding in his thigh is enough to make Shisui blink back into reality. He narrowly avoids Kakashi’s unforgiving kick and retaliates with a flurry of shuriken which the older man deftly dodges. The attack allows some distance between them, and Shisui breathes hard as he tries to get his bearings. Trees. The cool night air. The half-ruined ground. The ANBU mask covering his face, and Kakashi’s defensive stance. Itachi watching them from a distance.

Judging by the moon's position in the sky, the time should be around one or two a.m.

What is happening again?

“We will continue this some other time, Hayabusa,” Kakashi’s brusque tone resounds throughout the clearing. “Clearly you are not in your right mind to carry on with this spar.”

Spar?

Ah yes. They’re in the ANBU training facilities, aren’t they? How could he have forgotten that? More importantly, how could he have lost his focus while engaging Kakashi in a fight?

“Alright,” Shisui agrees shakily. There’s a kunai embedded in his thigh, and he sits down to take a roll of white linen from his pouch and methodically wraps his injured leg with it to stop the flowing blood. At his surrender, Kakashi nods at him and saunters out of the training grounds, stuffing his kunai back into his weapon satchel, his footsteps light as expected of shinobi of their caliber. There’s arrogance in the way he carries himself, and impulsively, Shisui sticks out his middle finger at the man before grinning tiredly at Itachi who is approaching him with another roll of bandages.

“I’m fine,” he tries to say reassuringly when the younger boy begins to wrap another layer of gauze around the bleeding gash. “I’m fine, really. You’re just wasting resources, Ita-chan—”

“You and I both know you could have dodged Kakashi-senpai’s trap,” Itachi cuts him off. Underneath his crow mask, his black eyes glimmer piercingly. “Why didn’t you?”

He flinches and covers it up with a sheepish chuckle. Unfortunately, Itachi has seen his slight blunder, and Shisui hears an exasperated sigh.

“Sakura won’t be pleased when she sees this,” Itachi says, gesturing at his bandaged leg. “She’ll be home next week and that isn’t enough time for this to at least partially heal with how deep it is.”

Sakura’s panicked voice, the squelch of thick scarlet liquid, the scattered corpses—

A vivid nightmare.

A shudder ripples down his back, and Shisui shuts his eyes tight. Why now? Why the sudden bad dream? And why Sakura? Even if he does miss the rosette, that is no excuse for his brain to start conjuring images about her getting fucking abducted and shit. Over the last few nights, sleep has become a luxury because every time he dozes off, all he sees and hears are Sakura’s equally angry and terrified yells as she tries to fight someone off.

“Shisui?”

With a clenched jaw, Shisui takes off his falcon mask and breathes in fresh air to calm his nerves. “I’m fine.”

“Then why do you keep zoning out?” Itachi bluntly asks.

“I…” a quivering inhale (why is he so afraid? Nightmares are just nightmares— they don’t come real), “I don’t know.”

Itachi doesn’t press him, opting to stay patient and let the older boy gather his thoughts into coherent sentences. With unsteady fingers, Shisui twists the hem of his shirt and gazes at the gray skies. It takes him a moment to compose himself, and when he finally does, the only question that he is able to articulate from the whirlwind of thoughts and worries in his head is,

“What if she doesn’t come back?”

Visibly stunned, Itachi’s posture stiffens. “Pardon?”

“Nevermind, nevermind,” Shisui hastily backtracks with an uneasy laugh. “I just had this nightmare about her, and I guess it’s really affecting me since I haven’t seen her for a long time and even though Obasan made sure that she has guards with her, I just can’t shake off this fucking terrifying feeling, Itachi, because in my nightmares she was so scared and there was no one there for her—”

A gentle hand pats his back. “Breathe.”

“I can’t, I fucking can’t, Itachi, because it’s Sakura and she’s a shitty genius, and even though Danzo’s gone quiet now, he tried to kill her a couple of times last year, remember?”

Itachi nods. “Which is why Okasan sent two of Otosan’s most trusted men to guard Sakura—”

“And one of them is ROOT,” a dark growl is heard.

A vortex opens up in front of them and Tobi steps out, a man slung over his shoulder. Unceremoniously, he throws the limp body at their feet and Shisui finds himself staring at a very mangled corpse, rancid and being eaten by worms. The strong smell of decay is nothing new to him, but the familiar features of the dead body displayed before them is what makes bile rise in his mouth in horror.

The lifeless eyes of Uchiha Kato stare back at them.

~~~~

“Traveling from the Land of Tea to here and vice versa usually takes one week for normal people,” Tobi states. “My guess is that this man,” he kicks the dead Kato with distaste, “was killed before Sakura left Konoha.”

Devoid of emotion, Itachi stares at his lifeless relative at his feet and slowly stands up. His older cousin is silent, disbelief vibrating from his seated form as he tries to absorb the news, but Itachi’s mind is quicker. As soon as the fog of cynicism in his head is cleared up, outrage roars within him and he is given no time to blink before he realizes that he has struck out at Tobi with a kunai, who takes the hit without a flinch.

“Then why are you still here?” Itachi hisses at him. A gash bleeds on the man’s arm, its sleeve cut open. “You should be there for her right now. You can travel from one place to another, can you not? Sakura might be—”

“Hurt? Kidnapped? Killed?” Tobi chuckles ruefully. The last word is spoken with emphasis and it makes a chill settle in Itachi’s stomach. “Boy. Why do you think I’m here?”

The chill takes a firm grip on his muscles and Itachi’s eyes flit to him searchingly, pleadingly, only to become cold coals when Tobi removes his mask and reveals his face to them for the first time. Awfully disfigured in a harsh, beautiful way. Half of his features are rimmed with scars and his left eye is closed, leaving Itachi with the impression that the man is half-blind. His remaining eye is as dark as midnight. A high-bridged nose and a sculpted jaw paired with refined cheeks. Unsmiling lips pressed into a firm, unforgiving line.

But his marred face isn’t what paralyzes Itachi’s heart.

The pure pain and helplessness swirling the man’s lone eye is what makes him freeze and turn numb.

Molten ice drops into Itachi’s stomach, curling and mocking.

Silently, Tobi gazes at them, his scars creasing as his face crumples into a bitten back snarl full of violence. Itachi doesn’t step back. The promise of blood reflecting in the older man’s eyes isn’t for him. It isn’t for Shisui either. That much is clear when Tobi tramples on the decomposing head of the cooled corpse lying on the ground.

“Sakura’s gone.”

The sentence rings out with cold fury.

~~~~

It was past midnight when he came to Sakura’s room. He creeped in through the window, fully expecting her high-pitched ‘Tobi-kun!’ and the hug that would soon follow. Then he’d listen to her chatter about her day until she was positively sleepy and nodding off, and then he’d slide into bed with her and tuck her in.

It was their routine.

What greeted him, however, was a thoroughly ransacked bedroom. Also, the stench of blood hanging in the air was so potent, it sent his mental alarms careening, and he frantically threw the door open and went on a mad dash to search for the rosette, heart racing faster and faster at the blood spattered on the halls and the dead bodies he encountered slumped against the walls or sprawled on the tiled floors. He slammed every room open and barely took in the brutally killed people before sprinting off again. He didn't care for any of them. All he cared about was Sakura.

Sakura.

He needed to find Sakura.

It was a massacre. The reception area too wasn’t spared of the ordeal. Crimson decorated every surface, thick red liquid muddied the floors and tainted his sandals, and there were corpses everywhere. A streak of pink caught his eye amongst the flowing scarlet and he rushed to it, disappointment hazing down his adrenaline when he saw that it wasn’t Sakura but an adult man lying face-down on the ground.

An adult man with dull pink hair.

Sakura’s father.

Grasping onto his last straws of sanity, Obito righted the man so he was sitting up and spotted the deep gash across his neck. He hissed. Dead. Without sympathy, he let the corpse drop back to the floor and looked consideringly at the blond woman situated beside him. However, she too was already dead, judging by the multiple stab wounds adorning her chest and stomach.

Frustration began to rise. Fuck. He needed information as to who did this. He needed a lead to where Sakura may be. She clearly wasn’t in the building resting among the lifeless bodies, so she must still be alive. He just needed a clue on where to start hunting for her.

A hint. A trace.

There was a wet gurgle behind him, and Obito whipped around, desperation clinging to him like a second skin. The relief that flooded him upon seeing a still alive person leaning against an overturned table was a breath of fresh air. The dying man was choking on his own blood, his hand grasping his throat to put pressure on the wound, but there was determination in his eyes as he weakly wheezed to get Obito’s attention. When Obito didn’t move towards him right away, the man chucked a small object at him which he swiftly caught.

Obito spared it a glance and his veins ran cold.

The object was a necklace, and a very familiar one.

“Shi-kun gave it to me!” he could remember Sakura bragging. “Look, isn’t it so pretty? It’s shaped just like the Sharingan! Cool!”

He was by the man’s side in an instant, a glower on his face as he knelt into a crouch. The man was familiar, his black hair sticking to his sweaty forehead and his lips cracked and dry and dripping with blood. Obito recognized him as one of Sakura’s guards.

“Where’s Sakura?”

The man shook his head at him. “Tak-Taken away,” he coughed wetly. “About… three h-hours ago. I couldn’t… I couldn’t stop him. He had Kato's face but… he wasn’t Kato—” another wracking cough— “he was a different person.”

Obito coldly assessed him and detected no lie. “Who is this ‘Kato’?”

“My partner. F-Fugaku-sama entrusted the hime’s safety to the both of u-us for the duration… of her s-stay here,” the man heaved blood and sighed. “I should have known. But how was I s-supposed to know that the Kato with us from the start… wasn’t the real Kato?” Drowsily, he stared at Obito and gestured at the jewelry in his hand. “You are the man that keeps visiting the hime, aren’t you?”

Obito gave him a brusque nod.

“I thought… I thought you were a threat, you know,” the man laughed bitterly. “Never suspected it would be my partner.”

“Enough chit-chat,” Obito says cuttingly. “Where did he take her?”

“Kato was a good shinobi,” the man continues, now delirious from. blood loss. “But he… he was never ROOT.”

And with those words, he gave out a shuddering breath and died.

ROOT.

Shimura Danzo.

Three hours. Sakura had been abducted since three hours ago. That was enough time to erase any lead concerning her whereabouts. The nightmare he'd had several nights ago came back to him in full force, and he gritted his teeth, his hand clenching around Sakura’s abandoned necklace. He rose to his feet and looked at the dead man, mentally commending him for his tenacity to remain alive until some semblance of help had arrived. The man was clearly an Uchiha, a distant relative of his, and Obito slightly regretted not asking him for his name.

He discarded that sentiment immediately.

He needed to find Sakura.

The first rational thing to do was head to Konoha since that was where Danzo resided. Obito didn’t know where the bastard's base was, but he was willing to take the chance and guess that it was somewhere deep in the village, perhaps underground. It would take a lot of work and his identity might be revealed but…

“Fuck it all,” he growled. His Sharingan began sucking in air, swallowing him as a whole, and in a blink of an eye, he was in the heart of Konoha’s outer forest. The gates laid just beyond the dense trees, and as Obito was about to head to that direction to infiltrate the village, he got a whiff of a familiar smell— blood and decay.

He turned and there, propped against the tree and stabbed through the chest with a tanto laid a rotting and half-mutilated corpse being decomposed by Mother Nature. It was slightly astonishing that no one found this scene although it was located so close to the main forest trail.

“How was I s-supposed to know that the Kato with us from the start… wasn’t the real Kato?”

Somehow, Obito immediately knew that the dead body was the original Kato.

Which led to his current circumstances.

“You have no solid proof, yes?”

He coldly gazes at the Hokage, Shisui standing beside him looking as murderous as he is. His mask is back in place. They've let Itachi go ahead to the Uchiha compound to inform his father about Sakura’s disappearance and gather a squad to search for her. It was partially Fugaku’s fault why she was kidnapped after all, and Obito knows that the clan head's pride is too great to let this slide.

“Shisui-kun. Do you even know what you are accusing Danzo of?” Hiruzen sighs. His bony fingers are laced in front of him, his wrinkled face creased. “And you do not even have tangible evidence except for this man's,” he gestures at Obito, “testimony. And I do not even know who this person is.”

Fickle and evasive. Obito sneers behind his mask. His jaw clenches and he holds the urge to shove his fist down the old man's throat. He takes a deep breath. No violence. Sakura hates violence.

Sakura hates violence.

But you love being violent, his cruelty laughs.

“Testimonies are valid if they are spoken without lies,” Shisui curtly says. “We also have a dead body to prove that Kato was killed before Sakura even left for Konoha. The efficiency in the way he died suggests that he was killed by someone who is very skilled in assassinations. Now, Hokage-sama, I know in good faith that you wouldn't have ordered one of your ANBU to kill one of my clansman in cold blood.”

Hiruzen's aged eyes narrow. “And you would suspect Danzo instead?”

“Would you rather we suspect the entire Konoha then?” Obito finally snaps, his patience waning out. A growl escapes him as he takes a step forward to impose himself on the hunched grandpa behind the desk, and he senses shadows outside waiting to break in. ANBU. He chuckles, a low and rough sound, throwing his head back and letting some of his pent-up rage air out.

“You, Sarutobi Hiruzen, are a fucking hypocrite,” he spits. Snarling, he slams a hand on the Hokage’s wooden desk and watches with wicked satisfaction when the crystal ball sitting on the edge of it falls to the ground and shatters into pieces. “Advocating for the rights of children to avoid child soldiers? That privilege only extends to those in noble clans. What about civilian children? Orphaned children?”

What about Sakura?

“I advocate for the rights of all children!” Hiruzen refutes with the utmost vehemence. Apparently, that accusation has struck a nerve. There is a vein prominent in his neck as he rises from his chair to his full height. It doesn't give him any advantage though since Obito is taller than him, and all Hiruzen can do is glower back at the towering man. “With all respect, I should have had you arrested the moment you set foot in here for security purposes. It is only by my grace that you are still standing here, unharmed, and not in T&I headquarters!”

“If you advocate for the rights of all children, then why is Danzo still running loose with that bloody organization of his?” This time it was Shisui who spoke. For a boy who is loyal to this village, there is resentment clear in his dark eyes as he regards Hiruzen. “He's been targeting Sakura from the beginning, Hokage-sama. That much I know. We have caught at least a dozen ROOT operatives from last year until recently, and they had one thing in common. Sakura. My guess is that Danzo wants Sakura for himself since she is a genius.”

Hiruzen's own eyes glowed with anger. “ROOT has long been disbanded. You dare—”

“But I suppose you already know that,” Shisui continues, unfazed. “And you don't care at all because between Danzo-sama and Sakura, you prioritize your teammate's happiness more than a mere civilian child's safety.”

“These are all accusations with no basis!” Hiruzen bellows, floundering for his words. “Invalid and null! You do not have any proof—”

“They will all soon be proven as facts,” Obito intones. “Your deeds will come to light, and Danzo will join your demise. Itachi and the others are scouring Konoha as we speak, and if I ever find out that you are a part of Danzo's scheme, your head will be the first one to go.”

At the threat, four figures materialize behind Hiruzen, wearing hooded cloaks to hide their hair and masks just like him. The Hokage’s protection detail, hm? A bloodthirsty smirk crosses Obito’s mouth in anticipation. Oh, the urge to paint the entire room in red is very, very tempting. But no. Sakura will hate him if he kills everyone in cold blood.

But she doesn't have to know, his mind whispers. You could keep it a secret.

His attention swivels to the ANBU wearing a dog mask. Oh, interesting. His Sharingan blazes to life in excitement and the need to kill. With a wicked rumbling laugh, Obito steps forward, subtly activating his kamui, and is in front of the dog-masked man in an instant. A single Sharingan is also glowing behind the ANBU's mask, testifying to his identity.

“Hatake Kakashi.”

His voice is icy and holds the tinge of hostility in the tense atmosphere, singing of revengerevengrevenge—

Perhaps his hatred in his tone isn't as bland as he thought it to be because he hears Shisui shifting in the background, probably readying himself if a fight were to break out. Kakashi only stares at him, uncomprehending of who he is. Obito is half a head taller than his old teammate and it gives him the power to look down at him condescendingly, a message clearly conveyed even with his face covered.

A cruel smile curves his lips upward. “How is Rin?”

At the name, the silver-haired man tenses, wariness in the taut line of his shoulders, and every other person in the room turns to him in surprise. Obito can't see Hiruzen's face, but he has an inkling that the old man has his mouth agape in disbelief. The three other ANBU have their weapons out, glinting under the moonlight streaming through the large windows, but there is hesitance in their postures. Obito's own mouth lifts into a silent sneer. Is it really so surprising? Everyone in Konoha’s shinobi workforce knows about Kakashi's trauma, however that knowledge doesn't extend to civilians and outsiders.

But he isn't considered an outsider, is he?

He was, after all, a part of Minato's team before tragedy struck him.

“That's enough,” Hiruzen snaps. “Hound, take him away to T&I, and let Ibiki handle him.”

For all his almost perfect existence, Kakashi has one transparent flaw— complete obedience to authority. It is evident in the way he involuntarily straightens up at the Hokage’s command, displayed by the languid movement of his hands as he shifts into a defensive stance, and demonstrated by how he takes a sure step towards Obito to capture him as per order. Obito scoffs at him derisively.

“Ever the perfect soldier, Kakashi,” he jeers. “Go on. Try and capture me. See if you can. I have a lot of rage against you for driving your Chidori into Rin’s heart despite promising me that you’d protect her.” Ire wells up within him at the memory, and he grits his teeth. “The only thing stopping me from ripping out your own heart is Sakura’s abduction.”

It takes Kakashi ten long seconds for the initial words to sink in, and when it does, Obito chuckles lowly, his laugh a dark rasp.

“What? You really didn’t expect that I would still be alive?”

Before Kakashi can react, the door slams open, revealing a winded but downright enraged Itachi holding a bandaged long parcel which he throws to the ground with a murderous glare. The boy has blood flecking his shirt and face, a bleeding gash on his shoulder and a cut on his chin. Two other Uchiha flank him, also disheveled and dirty, but with equal degrees of anger and disgust brimming in their regal features.

All heads turn to them.

“For the besmirchment of the Uchiha clan's dōjutsu and family line, the Uchiha clan would like to open court for Shimura Danzo's trial.”
Itachi’s scarlet eyes gleam in fury and displeasure, killing intent vibrating off his poised stature as he advances to Hiruzen who has gone deathly still. “For allowing one of Konoha’s elders to freely abduct clan and civilian children for his own purposes and gain, the Uchiha clan politely requests the Hokage to step down from his position.”

Bemused at the sudden turn of events, Shisui moves to the parcel and starts unraveling the white linen, his face turning green when he sees its contents. He promptly turns away and retches. Hiruzen can only stare at the unwrapped item with barely hidden horror, and Obito laughs loudly, his baritone echoing in the silent room, as he regards with disgust the severed arm on the floor comfortably hosting a dozen Sharingan with no hint of abashedness.

But Itachi isn't finished yet. With a tilt of his head, the two Uchiha on either of his sides lunge for Hiruzen, easily batting away the ANBU who tries to stop them, a snarl on their faces as they do so. When Kakashi moves to intervene, Obito meets his strike with his own kunai, sparks flying as they collide. In mere seconds, Hiruzen's wrists are chained with chakra-suppressing shackles, the old man doing nothing to shirk his captors off.

“And for aiding a criminal to escape, the Uchiha clan orders for the trial of Sarutobi Hiruzen.”

~~~~

Perhaps, if she didn't suspect the wrong person, she wouldn't be in this situation right now.

Every inch of her exposed skin is freezing, her pajamas doing nothing to protect her from the cold. What time is it now? It was around ten or eleven p.m. when Kato attacked her, catching her off guard in her room. He'd already massacred every tenant in the inn before coming to her, bringing her a slice of cake for “a midnight snack, in case you're hungry”. At the sweet gesture, she'd melted and had accepted the offered dessert with a bright smile after asking him to not tell her parents.

A stupid request at the time since her parents were already dead by then.

But she didn't know that yet.

She should've seen Kato's messy state, but her sharp perception seemed to have failed her at that moment, too used to the sense of security Kato brought.

Hook, line, sinker. After a few bites of the cake, her vision started blurring, and it was only then that she realized that it was poisoned. Rookie mistake. Her chakra instantly began trying to flush the unknown substance in her system, but unlike in her previous life, her current body isn't immune to any kind of poison and venom, and so her chakra was slow to respond to the imminent danger. Shit. She blinked and almost vomited when the whole world started spinning. Satori bursted in at that moment, limping and arm broken, and slammed his whole weight into Kato, swiftly grabbing her to escape after embedding his blade into Kato's abdomen. Through the haze in her eyes, she saw dead bodies littering the floors as they raced out the hallway.

They didn't get far though. Satori only managed to reach the lobby when Kato came rushing towards them from the shadows with a maniacal burst of laughter.

The way his facial muscles twisted into something monstrous was frightening.

If she were in her normal state, Sakura wouldn't have hesitated in slamming her fist into the man's widely grinning mouth. However, due to the poison running through her, her muscles were lethargic and her body refused to listen to her, too weak to heed to her demands. Everything seemed muddled. Satori placed her somewhere safe and engaged Kato, the clanging of their weapons a muted sound in her ears as she tried to regain her senses. Fuck. She needed to have her control back. Control, control, control. She needed control.

“Give it to me,” Inner Sakura hissed. “Give me control.”

Her alter ego hadn't spoken since the start of their vacation, and Sakura found herself drowsily welcoming the familiar voice with a relieved sigh. Breathe in and out. In and out. Control, regain control. She needed to help. She needed to find her parents. She needed to survive.

She needed to return to Konoha.

She couldn't leave her soulmates on their own. The Uchiha clan massacre would once more happen by Itachi’s hands, Shisui would die, Sasuke would go rogue, and Obito would again cause war and the world's downfall.

“I'll help you,” Inner Sakura promised. “Just give me control.”

But she couldn't. Inner Sakura had been with her since her last life, but Sakura still couldn't bring herself to trust her alter ego, given that she'd caused Ino a brain injury during the Chūnin Exams when the blonde had forcefully entered her mind.

Sluggishly, she watched the scene before her.

Satori and Kato were fighting, the latter laughing with unbridled glee as he struck at the younger man who met his blade with his own. The impact, however, made Satori stumble back, but he swiftly recovered by delivering a well-placed kick to Kato's abdomen, sending him a few steps backward. Kunai met kunai again, and sparks flew at the clashing of their weapons. Satori’s eyes were red as his Sharingan spun, and Kato's own eyes glinted darkly as he parried and attacked with grace that reminded Sakura of ocean waves. Fluid and unrelenting. The two were clearly matched in strength and prowess, but in terms of stamina, Satori was rapidly failing.

“You need to help,” Inner Sakura insisted, clearly thirsting and straining for blood. “Give me control. That's your only option right now.”

The plea fell on deaf ears, and Sakura kept looking about, her senses blank and dumb.
The air was perfumed of blood, metallic and disgusting. Beside her laid an old man with a large gash on his jugular, eyes glassy and unseeing. There were corpses around her, slouched against the wooden chairs and blood-stained walls, destined to never see the light of day ever again. Her fingers involuntarily twitched. Oh gods. Her parents.

Where were her parents?

Inner Sakura didn't answer her.

That question slightly cleared her groggy mind, and she groaned tiredly as she tried to sit up straight and think.

Her parents.

She needed to find her parents.

Obito’s chakra blade had a lot of advantages, and one of them was the ability to turn into anything she wanted it to morph to. Currently, the chakra blade was in the form of a bracelet, weighing heavily around her wrist and stinging cold as it sang to her to use it to her favor. Weakly, Sakura raised it to eye level and gritted her teeth. Oh how she wished that Obito was here. Or Itachi. Or Shisui.

Anyone.

Why was she so useless in times like this?

Her first Chūnin Exams in the Forest of Death flashed to mind, the image of Orochimaru coming after Sasuke an imprinted nightmare in her memories. She couldn't do anything at the time. She could only watch helplessly as Sasuke was bitten and both him and Naruto succumbed to unconsciousness, leaving her alone to defend them.

She had been so, so weak.

But she couldn't afford to be weak right now. A single mistake might cost her her life on a silver platter.

Desperately, Sakura reached into her chakra reserves. The chakra cycling through her body had successfully broken down most of the poison, having diluted most of the substance into mere acid that burned her lungs and forced her to wheeze out blood. Her vision was still blurry, but it wasn't to the point of dizziness. However, it was unfortunate that her reserves were only a quarter-full due to her current chakra usage.

Quarter-full.

That wasn’t much, but okay, she can do this.

She just needed to be efficient.

Her legs were jelly as she tried to stand, her breaths coming out heavy and strained. Every fiber of her being screamed in pain, likely because of the poison she had ingested, but she kept pushing on, one hand flat against the wall for support. Her other hand clutched her bracelet that was slowly elongating into a dagger, and Sakura thanked her stars that Obito didn't find any preservations in giving her tiny ass weapons meant for expert killers. In fact, he seemed to revel in it. Shisui’s necklace around her neck seemed so heavy, and she vaguely remembered his words when he gave it to her.

“Anytime, anywhere, if you call my name or Itachi’s, we’ll be there in a flash,” he had said with a grin.

Silly Shisui. Sakura laughed through the fog in her mind and shook her head. Necklaces can't summon people.

She was just regaining some semblance of control when she heard a pained cry and a triumphant laugh, prompting her to look over where Satori had fallen, Kato towering over him with a crazed grin on his face. Blood oozed from Satori’s neck and trickled out of his mouth. Slowly, Kato raised his kunai, and Sakura knew that he was about to render the final blow.

At the realization, rage and terror flooded her, a high-pitched shriek ripping out of her throat as she frantically shot to the pair with unsteady feet, her weapon in full form and ready to kill.

The first clang sharply resounded in the silent room, and she held Kato's kunai in check with all the strength she could muster. Her arms trembled, and she disengaged, hissing as she swung as hard as she could to throw Kato off balance and perhaps knock his kunai out of his hand. Kato did stagger a bit, bewildered, but that bewilderment was instantly replaced by vibrating approval as he sized her hunched figure standing protectively in front of a very weakened Satori.

“A dagger?” Kato hummed. “That's a peculiar choice for a budding shinobi.”

Sakura fiercely glared at him. “ I'm not a shinobi.”

“But you will soon be,” he countered. “Once I have successfully delivered you to my master, he will utilize your talents to the fullest and mold you into a useful tool for Konoha.”

Behind her, Satori wetly coughed. She winced at the sound. It reminded her of when Itachi had coughed up blood in front of her, and the memory had her medic instincts waking up, urging her to hurry and heal the dying man.

“He's… He's not Kato,” Satori wheezed pitifully.

“And you only tell me that now?” she snapped.

Satori shook his head. “I didn't know. He looks Kato but—” a harsh cough— “he isn't Kato.”

An imposter, was the implication.

Green eyes darkened and narrowed into dangerous slits. “Where’s Kato?”

The imposter shrugged. “Dead. Killed him way before you even left Konoha’s gates.”

“On whose orders?”

A cruel grin. “Shimura Danzo.”

Puzzlement buzzed in her still slightly clouded mind. “Why?”

“My master wants you.” Kato took an imposing step forward and gently smiled. “You are quite a gem. Despite being so young, your healing abilities are commendable. Even now, you managed to neutralize the poison in your body with no antidote or whatnot. You are also very knowledgeable in genjutsu and have exceptional skills regarding your fighting prowess. They may be insignificant as of the moment, but rest assured, with time, you will bloom into a deadly kunoichi, if not the deadliest.”

Obito’s words from long ago rang in her head and she cursed. “There are a lot of bad people, sweetheart,” he'd said. “And healers are really rare now. Imagine if someone evil finds you, a little child who knows medical ninjutsu. It’ll be a disaster, and you might get hurt.”

Well shit.

Her getting careless and running amok was now coming to bite her in the ass.

Yep. Obito’s going to kill her.

Figuratively, of course.

She gave Kato a feral snarl. “Well, you can go ahead and tell Danzo to fuck off.”

Satori gurgled. “Perhaps… it is not in our best interests to insult one of our esteemed councilors.”

“That ‘esteemed councilor’ of yours is about to get us killed, Satori,” Sakura sneered. “Wake up.”

When their weapons met again, her dagger almost clattered out of her grip, and the slight mishap had Kato grinning knowingly to which she replied with a smile that revealed too many teeth. Iron and iron clashed again and again, the noise of their blades and Satori’s heavy breathing the only sound in the otherwise deathly silent room. Although her knowledge about fighting is advanced due to her past memories, her muscles had not yet fully developed, leaving her vulnerable to Kato's strength. She compensated by being quick on her feet though, and soon they fell into a sort of dance that challenged their reflexes and wits as they tried to kill the other. Wounds were opened and blood spilled as they continued, Sakura waning down and Kato still persistent as ever.

“You're growing tired,” Kato noted over the grating of their weapons. “You can end this right now, you know. Or I could end it for your sake.”

“Bullshit.”

Kato frowned at her disapprovingly. “You really have a potty mouth for a kid.” He pressed harder against her, and she gritted her teeth as she tried to stand her ground. His dark eyes softened, whether because of her current state or plight, Sakura didn't know. “Why do you continue to be stubborn, Sakura-hime? If you just come along with me, everything will be easier for you.”

Weariness was drawn all over her heaving shoulders, but she still met his stare with a glower that could rival Itachi’s when Shisui was being a bit too touchy for his tastes.

“I have people I cannot leave behind,” she rasped, throat parched from all the physical strain she'd been doing. Yes, she'd been training with Itachi and Shisui, but spars were different from real battles. The only reason her body still hadn't given up on her was because she'd been using chakra to reinforce her muscles and nerves to keep them functioning even just barely.

“Ah.” Kato jabbed at her left and she hissed in pain, leaping away from his reach to dodge another attack. “Your parents are already dead, if you must know.” Her heart dropped at his words, blood rushing in her ears. He nodded at the pile of bodies in the corner near the door. “They're right there, I think.”

If she had anymore voice to spare, Sakura would have screamed at him in anger and anguish as she lunged, willing her dagger to transform into a sword which she used to ferociously swipe at his feet. But too tired to do so, she could only bare her teeth into a half-cry and half-sob while she counterattacked. The change of tactics made Kato stagger a bit, a movement she took fully advantage of, and she darted to him with her left hand curling into a fist. The vicious punch that landed on his stomach had him flying backwards across the room and crashing against the wall.

“Finish him now,” Inner Sakura urged.

And Sakura would have, if it weren’t for her legs suddenly spasming in fatigue.

Heaving hard, she fell to her knees, her palms scraping the bloodied floor as she panted and blinked away the black spots marring her vision.

From the distance, Kato began to stand, and behind her, Satori yelled at her to get up.

“We're going to die,” Inner Sakura grimly told her. Footsteps grew closer and closer to her until a pair of sandals stood in front of her and she heard the scraping of metal above.

She barked out a tired laugh. “I know.”

“Hang on there. Obito will come soon.”

“And if he doesn't?”

Inner Sakura scoffed. “Don't be silly. He always comes. Late or not.”

“Don't worry, Sakura-hime,” Kato tenderly cooed. A jingling sound reached her ears, and she blanched on realizing that the man was holding a pair of cuffs. “I won't kill you. Danzo-sama wants you alive.”

A second later, she found herself being lifted in the air by the scruff of her shirt like a kitten, eliciting a furious snarl from her. Satori let out a muffled sound of protest. Weakly, she glared at the man holding her with exuberant glee, wishing nothing more but for Obito to hurry the fuck up because she had no more strength left to fight. The cuffs clicked shut around her wrists— apparently chakra-suppressing ones by how it stopped her chakra flow— and cut off any chances of escaping.

Not that she could. She was too drained to do that.

“I could help,” Inner Sakura hedged.

Now in the face of true danger, the offer was becoming increasingly tempting.

Sakura looked at Kato directly in the eye. “Why does Danzo want me alive? I'm supposing it's not just because I'm a genius.”

“Oh, you know,” Kato shrugged as he rearranged her in his arms, “intel. You're quite close with the Uchiha from what I've heard. Did you know that the heir and his cousin has already killed dozens of my comrades? And all because they were trailing you under Danzo-sama's orders.”

She blinked blankly. Itachi and Shisui did?

Taking her silence as a signal to keep talking, Kato continued with his words. “Point is, Danzo-sama plans on using you against them.”

“What?”

Perhaps, if Kato were a bit more accustomed to Sakura's temper and habits, he would've noticed the underlying hint of angry indignation under her one-worded question. However, the man remained oblivious to her growing ire, and instead nodded in reply.

“You are to be a weapon to be utilized against the Uchiha clan.”

At the response, a storm of thoughts brewed in her mind as rage overtook her. How dare they? Green eyes glinted murderously. Her being hurt was fine. Her being abducted because of her ‘talents’ was fine. Her being molded into a tool was fine. But her being used to hurt her soulmates?

Yeah?

Yeah, fuck no.

“But what exactly can you do right now?” Inner Sakura mocked. “Your body's tired, your chakra's sealed, and you won't let me help—”

If her soulmates die, there would be one to blame but her, and her alone.

“FINE!” Sakura shouted. Kato startled at her outburst and stared at her from where she was snugly fitted in his arms. “Take control! Do whatever, dammit! And you—” she seethed at the man holding her captive— “you'll pay dearly for this, you bastard. I swear I'll turn your intestines inside-out with my bare hands before killing you off!”

There was no other warning or anything. As her emotions spiraled out of control, unbidden, a giggling Inner Sakura took over her mind and everything went black.

When she came to be, she was already in the middle of nowhere. Sakura glances at her hands. Sticky and crusted with blood, red and dirt are wedged underneath her nails. She can't remember much during her blackout, perhaps by choice or not, but the sensation of Inner Sakura severing Kato's head from his neck using Obito’s chakra blade is very vivid and almost sickening. The aforementioned blade shattered almost instantly after, having overused its abilities. She should have known that chakra blades have limitations.

The blades of grass are sharp on her bare feet, cutting through her skin and making scratches. Her pajamas, once clean, are now stained in caked blood. She places a hand on a rough tree and breathes deeply, taking in the cool air. From the gaps of the branches and leaves above, she can see the skies starting to lighten up, dark blues streaking across it, greatly contrasting the shimmering stars.

She's in a forest. But how far has she traveled from her hometown really?

More importantly, how is she going to return to Konoha?

When Inner Sakura took over her body, Sakura became half-asleep. She could only see clips of what had transpired, and Inners's thoughts were the only thing she could hear over the roar of the chaos in her mind. It was like she was seeing the world through a different pair of eyes. Inner did, with all grotesqueness, fulfill her final promise to Kato, and had ripped his intestines out before decapitating him.

But something is missing.

She frowns and looks down at her disheveled state. Then she realizes what's wrong.

“Inner,” she starts casually, pushing down the hysteria beginning to seep in, “where is my necklace?”

“I left it with Satori before we fled,” Inner Sakura replies, just as conversational. “Obito must have gotten it by now. Let's just hope he didn't teleport all the way to Konoha, so he'd travel through this forest like a normal person and come across us here. This is the trail our caravan took, you know.”

Knowing Obito, he most definitely did teleport to Konoha. 

Sakura lets out a weary sigh. "You could have summoned Mika-chan and sent her to him instead."

"You don't have the chakra to do that," Inner Sakura flatly states. "Just hang on, alright? I'm sure he'll come soon."

“Then why hasn't he come yet?” Tiredness laces her faint query as she trudges forward despite her walk becoming more and more unsteady with every step. Half-lidded eyes stare ahead listlessly as she sways on her feet until finally, she falls to the ground, head first. Dammit. She scrambles to stay awake. She can’t pass out now. Groaning, she tries to prop herself on trembling elbows, but her muscles refuse to cooperate. She ungracefully plops back down in defeat, her cheek flat on the earth as her vision begins to cloud. Inner Sakura doesn't deign to answer her question, and her eyelids slowly slip close as darkness begins to overtake her.

Through the haze, Sakura sees five pairs of feet land from above, swishing against the grass as they saunter to her fallen form.

“Ah, the little princess has surrendered,” a familiar gravelly voice echoes. Danzo. “Pick her up, Torune, and let us return to the shelter. Konoha is no longer safe for us. Blasted Uchiha.”

Uchiha.

Her soulmates. 

An arm curls around her waist and she is thrown over a shoulder.

No. No, no, no—

She needs to return to Konoha.

She can't leave them—!

Desperately, she claws for consciousness, only for something sharp to be jammed into her neck. Something enters her bloodstream, and she feels her struggles becoming sluggish and her mind blank.

Poison?

No, not poison. A sleeping relaxant.

And all goes black.

Chapter Text

He was six when Sakura died. Sasuke remembers the excruciating pain that came with it, how he woke up at dawn to scream and wail as his soulmark began burning hot, how his mother came bursting into his room in worry, and how her icy hands shoved his shirt off his heating body to examine the source of his distress. His soulmark, once dyed jet-black, had turned into a blob of faded gray like a birthmark.

The name Haruno Sakura was nowhere to be found.

His mother’s eyes turned pitiful, and Sasuke, despite being too young to know what the death of a soulmate really meant, felt his insides turning cold. An Uchiha without a soulmate? What an utter disgrace. It implied that he had failed to protect the one he needed to cherish the most.

“It'll be alright,” Mikoto told him soothingly.

Through watery eyes, he agreed with her and willed the emptiness that had settled in his heart to go away. Why did he need a soulmate anyways? He had Sakura. Sweet Sakura who would be home in a week or so. Should he maybe give her a homecoming gift?

That plan was foiled when Itachi and his father returned in full battle gear with a masked stranger late in the afternoon, their steps heavy and their shoulders drooped. Mikoto took one look at them and sighed drearily, the ladle she was using to stir the soup landing on the kitchen counter with a loud clang. Apart from his early breakdown, it had been an inconspicuous day with his mother being unnervingly quiet, tension rolling off her as she had continued on with her usual chores. Sasuke had thought nothing of it until now.

Mikoto raised an eyebrow at them. “Well?”

“Sarutobi Hiruzen has been ousted and is awaiting for trial,” Fugaku replied. Sasuke tilted his head in thought. Although he was young to know anything about politics, he was knowledgeable enough to know that the Hokage must have done something unforgivable to be overthrown from his seat.

Satisfied, his mother nodded. “Now, onto the bad news.”

Sasuke blinked confusedly from where he was sitting by the wooden table. What bad news? Clearly he was missing something here. He looked searchingly at his brother who hadn't been home at all yesterday. What exactly did happen while he was staying in the confines of their house, oblivious to everything else?

But Itachi pointedly avoided his gaze and turned away.

“I have to go,” the older boy choked out, voice unusually thick. His eyes were uncharacteristically swelling with tears as he turned on his heel and headed for the stairs leading to the bedrooms above. A minute later, the sound of a door banging close was heard, and Sasuke looked at his father expectantly.

Fugaku sighed and rubbed his temple. “Can it not wait, Mikoto?”

Mikoto placed her hands on her hips and held her head high, unrelenting and firm. “No.”

“But Sasuke is—”

“He deserves to know since it regards Sakura,” Mikoto interrupted. At her statement, Sasuke's eyes went wide and his hands gripped the hem of his shirt as he waited with bated breath. Sakura? What about Sakura? Did something bad happen to her?

Fugaku took one long look at him and scowled, his forehead creasing as his eyebrows knitted together. His next words came like a rush of wind, and it left Sasuke sick to his stomach and winded, choking for air as he began to spiral to darkness, a sharp pain piercing his head. He clutched at his chest. There were alarmed shouts, and gentle hands caught him as he lost consciousness, his mother’s face the last thing he ever saw before his eyelids slipped shut.

“Watanabe Sakura is dead.”

His father's quiet words echoed over and again in his mind even when Shisui came by the next morning, his own eyes rimmed red as he tossed a folder onto the dining table. Sasuke stared at it despondently. The folder was a light shade of blue and it laid on the table, wedged between the plate of bacon and the bowl of broth, looking back at them with brimming innocence.

Shisui swallowed. “Open it.”

When no one made a move to do what his older cousin had said, Sasuke took the initiative and reached for the folder, fingers violently yanking out the papers inside. There was an audible rip as the papers were torn off from their fastener, and he found himself staring at the emboldened black word written on the first page.

A surname.

And a familiar one.

Haruno.

The surname of his soulmate who had died just yesterday.

Sasuke raised his head to gaze at the curly-haired Uchiha blankly. A coincidence? No one apart from his mother knew of the name that had been stamped on his skin up until recently. Not even his older brother knew of his soulmate.

Itachi, who was sitting beside him, glanced at the name and his gaze turned to stone. “I thought you went looking for Sakura and her parents’ files so they could be buried.”

“Just…” Shisui inhaled, squeezing his eyes shut. He gestured at the papers. “Turn to page twenty, Sasuke.”

Obediently, Sasuke flipped the pages over until an image of a smiling, pink-haired, rosy-cheeked girl about four years old came to view. At the picture, the whole world just seemed to jolt into a stop. His body went rigid. He felt Itachi stiffen. Mikoto, who had come to stand beside him to see what the file entailed, had horror drawn all over her face as she withdrew, and his father’s lips were pressed into a thin line as he regarded the image.

“There is no Watanabe Kizashi nor is there a Watanabe Sakura in the civilian register,” Shisui said, his voice cracking. “But there was a Watanabe Mebuki.”

“Was?” Itachi echoed.

Shisui jerkily nodded. “She later took the Haruno name on marrying Haruno Kizashi. Two years after their marriage, they had a daughter.”

“And that daughter was Sakura,” Mikoto breathed out. She pinched the bridge of her nose in slight annoyance and shook her head. “I suspected as much.”

There were tears building in Shisui’s eyes which he quickly rubbed away with the back of his hand before excusing himself. Sasuke just stared at him uncomprehendingly, his grip crumpling the papers in his hands. Why was his cousin so emotional over Sakura's death? Sure, they were close, but he knew that Shisui was already accustomed to the loss of good friends due to his line of work. Being in ANBU meant seeing your comrades dying all the time. However, Sasuke kept his mouth shut. Itachi followed Shisui soon after placing his untouched plate in the sink. His mother watched him go with a sympathetic look, and placed a small bowl of chopped tomatoes in front of his youngest son.

“I'm not hungry,” he muttered.

Mikoto shot him a disapproving look. “You haven't eaten at all.”

“Because I'm not hungry.”

“Well, hungry or not, you will eat. You didn’t have dinner last night so don't give me this nonsense—”

“Otōsan.”

Fugaku looked up from his plate. “Yes, Sasuke?”

“Was there…” Sasuke clenched his hands into white-knuckled fists, “was there a body?”

Because if there was no body then that meant that Sakura might still be there alive, waiting for someone to come and get her—

His father didn't answer. But his silence spoke volumes, and it would only be later on that Sasuke would discover that Sakura's corpse had been found half-eaten by predators just outside the gates of her hometown.

“The funeral will be three days from now,” Fugaku informed them, placing his chopsticks on top of his plate. “Obito has already collected the Haruno family's bodies, and all that is left to secure is Watanabe Aiko’s permission to continue with the preparations.” His firm features softened momentarily before turning stern again. “Pull yourself together, Sasuke.”

That was seventeen years ago. He's twenty-three now, a man preparing to take his father's place as the clan leader. Itachi, after he had turned twenty, immediately took the Hokage seat, thus renouncing his right as the clan heir. The responsibility automatically fell into Sasuke's shoulders, and he accepted it easily, having already expected this day. Tsunade, after she had been crowned as the Godaime Hokage, had no qualms in hiding her favor for Itachi to be her successor.

Shortly after Itachi took her place, Shisui was named as Head of the Police. By then, Obito was already Commander of the ANBU and the leader of the Hokage’s security detail, a person stone-hard and hellbent on scouring the ends of the world to search for any traces of Danzo. Sasuke suspects the only reason why he agreed to Tsunade’s request to be the ANBU commander was so he could venture outside with no restrictions while taking care of Sakura's inheritance.

An Uchiha out for vengeance is akin to a bloodhound following the devil's heels.

Silly, really. The moment Sakura's disappearance was known, the Shimura clan went up in flames. His brother and father were the ones who confronted Danzo, tearing off his right arm in a bout of madness when they discovered the dozen Sharingan implanted in it. However, despite Fugaku and Itachi’s efforts, the elder still managed to escape with the help of several masked men, thus solidifying evidence that ROOT had yet to be disbanded and was in full operation.

The severed arm was then presented to Hiruzen who was the Hokage at that time, and it was the catalyst to his ousting. From what Sasuke has heard, the old man didn't even attempt to deny the accusations, nodding along to everything the court has to say until the verdict was declared: Sarutobi Hiruzen was to be stripped of his title and rights as a Konoha elder, and was to be in house arrest for an indefinite period of time.

A punishment that was too merciful given the charges against him.

There were many protests, and astonishingly, even Shisui spoke out with utmost vehemence. “Too lenient,” he argued. “At the very least, he needs to be imprisoned.”

But Hiruzen's influence was too great, and the council did not budge.

Then Obito came carrying Sakura's body, and upon knowing the leniency the council had granted Hiruzen, he proceeded to demolish the entire court; everyone that crossed his warpath was brutally killed. He did it all while having Sakura's corpse cradled to his chest. Sasuke didn't see the scene personally, but Itachi’s description was detailed enough for him to imagine what had transpired, and it gave him a depth of what Obito truly was capable of. The man would have killed Hiruzen too, if it weren’t for Kakashi intercepting him.

But that was fine.

After all, the Uchiha are known for going berserk over soulbonds.

And it didn't help that Sakura had four Uchiha soulmates, including him.

But soulmates are a blessing and a curse at the same time to those in his clan. The death of a soulmate can break one's sanity and reason. Oftentimes, they become rabid and incapable of human logic, too driven by the feeling of loss and loneliness.

Frowning, Sasuke disperses the thought. He knows for a fact that it's a miracle he and the others are still rational, given Sakura's death.

But is she really dead though? something whispers in his mind. You know just how strong-willed Sakura is. She couldn't have died easily.

Delusions. Sasuke squeezes his eyelids shut and wills them away. Delusions can never replace facts. Sakura is dead, and nothing can ever change that. No matter how hard he prays at night, or how much he denies it, Sakura's gone and all he can do is move on from her death and rip Danzo’s head off once he finds the old soot.

The sound of china clinking in front of him brings him to focus, and he finds himself staring at his mother who is setting down tea on the table.

“You look very tired nowadays, Sasu-chan. Have you been getting enough sleep?”

Has he?

Indolently, he rubs at his eyes and blinks. There are blurs in the corners of his vision, but nothing too serious and nothing a little bit of medicine can't handle. Mikoto sends him a concerned look and leans forward to press her hand against his forehead.

Sasuke shakes his head at her. “I'm fine,” he gripes. “It must be the stress getting to me.”

“Is that so…” there's a sigh, and he watches as his mother gently nudges the cup of tea placed before him. “Drink. It's jasmine tea. It'll help you sleep soundly tonight.”

“I don't think that's possible,” Sasuke says, but he takes the offered cup nonetheless. A sweet scent floats to his nose and he grimaces, not at all liking the smell. However, he still sips on it and swallows the liquid down, if only to avoid offending his mother.

“Sleeping is important, Sasu-chan,” Mikoto admonishes him.

“I know.”

“Then why?”

“Because I hate the night.”

And with much fervor. He hates everything the night holds, the darkness, the cheerful stars winking from above, the biting chilly air, the moon glaring down mockingly, the voices in his head that drive him insane.

But most of all, he hates the memories it harbors and the vulnerability it gives him. The main factor being: he was sleeping when Sakura died and the village was overturned, completely unaware of the events happening around him as he dreamt on.

At his cryptic answer, Mikoto hums and takes his now empty cup away, placing it on the sink. “The ceremony's in two months.”

“Hn.”

“Are you nervous?”

The ceremony that will mark him as the clan leader. Nervous? No. Why should he be nervous? He can just eliminate anyone who dares defy him of his rightful position.

Yessss, his bloodlust sings, emerging from the darkness of his soul. Killkillkillkillkillkill—

Shut up, Sasuke hisses.

But you want to, yes? the voice laughs. Its claws dig into his resolve unrelentlessly. So give me blood. You want blood, don't you? You want Danzo’s blood. So kill, Sasuke, kill. Let me out. Let me out, let me out, LET ME OUT—!

“If Sakura were here, she'd probably be flitting around you like a mother hen,” Mikoto chuckles fondly as she sits down. Her fingers drum the table. “Similar to what I'm doing now.”

Sasuke stays quiet.

Oh, Sakura, the voice croons with sadness. Our sweet, sweet Sakura. So, so lovely. Why did she have to die?

Silence.

Then—

I'll kill him, I'LL FUCKING KILL HIM—! the voice howls. Its enraged shrieks roar loudly in Sasuke's head. LET ME OUT, UCHIHA! HE DESERVES TO DIE— our sweet, sweet Sakura… SHE DESERVED TO LIVE! So why won't you…? WHY WON'T YOU LET ME OUT?

Deep breaths. One, two, three. From across the table, Mikoto sends him a pitying gaze. Sasuke returns her tender stare with a blank look of his own, completely blocking the screams bellowing in his mind.

“I'm fine,” he repeats his earlier words.

His mother doesn't look convinced. “No one's fine. Your older brother is rarely home, and your cousin acts like a madman now. Even my youngest son won't speak to me about his troubles anymore.”

He glares at the table. “I'm fine.”

Sighing, Mikoto reaches over and brushes a strand of his hair that has fallen over his forehead. His hands clench into tight fists at the contact. His mother's worried features soften. “It'll all come together in the end,” is all she says before bidding him goodnight. Sasuke watches her disappearing back as she exits the dining room, his shoulders drooping when he's finally alone.

It'll all come together in the end.

It'll all come together in the end.

It'll all come together in the end.

But will it?

~~~~

People have different ways when it comes to dealing with grief. Some use alcohol, some use violence, some disassociate, some immerse themselves with work, and some even have sex just so they can simply forget.

Shisui's coping mechanism is a mix of all these.

On weekdays, he locks himself in his office and wastes time by signing documents and filing reports, a responsibility that can only be done by him as Head of the Police. On weekends, he overloads himself with missions that will freely allow him to travel to other nations while indulging himself in bloodshed. During his breaks and forced vacations, he spends his time with the company of women and very heavy liquor. Team dinners and functions are endured with disassociation and muddled thoughts, and evenings are plagued with self-blame and nightmares.

He isn't insane, just a bit unstable. He still tries to smile though, shrug everything off like nothing's wrong, and laugh whenever he feels crying. (He just wants to die.) Sometimes, when he's far too gone and on the verge of drowning, he feels ghostly hands embracing him from behind, followed by a familiar sweet voice dripping with melancholy.

“Don’t die, Shi-kun. I don’t want you to die.”

Once, Itachi caught him holding a knife by its blade as he was preparing his own dinner. His younger cousin had entered his apartment without any warning and was greeted by the sight of his blood trickling down his arm from his hand as he held the knife up with a blank look. There was momentary silence as the two men regarded each other, and Shisui smiled cheerfully in greeting.

“Is there something wrong, Ita-chan?”

He was fully expecting for Itachi to wrestle the knife out of his hand or at least reprimand him for hurting himself, but the younger Uchiha just leaned against the doorframe and watched him with tired eyes, his arms folded across his broad chest.

“If you want to die, then I won’t stop you,” Itachi said, despondent. “Only you know how much you really are suffering.”

“This,” Shisui pointedly looked at his injured hand, “is completely unintentional.”

“Is it?”

And Shisui laughed, tossing his head back and dropping the knife. It clattered on the floor, soaked in deep scarlet.

“No.”

It’s a widespread fact that parts of Shisui’s sanity and playful temperament have fallen away after Sakura’s death. Twice, Fugaku had to physically restrain him from going on an impulsive rampage around the world to hunt Danzo down. Once, he lashed out at Obito for not searching the area more before heading to Konoha to report Sakura’s kidnapping.

“If you had just explored a bit more instead of fucking teleporting back to the village, Sakura would still be alive right now!”

The vitriolic statement was spoken severely and with much brokenness that Obito allowed him to plunge a kunai into his left chest, clearly intending to relieve Shisui of some of his rage and sorrow. The weapon only narrowly missed the older man’s lung, but Obito placed a hand over Shisui’s and drove the kunai deeper still with nary a hiss. Sasuke was there when it happened. So was Itachi. It was the day after Sakura's funeral, and they had just found out that Sakura actually had the four of them as her soulmates; but her death weighed more on Shisui rather than the fact that she had deceived them so easily.

“Kill me if that will make you feel better,” Obito stated tonelessly. “Do it, if you can.”

Derisively, Shisui sneered at him. “You think I don’t know that you’re only trying to take the easy way out?”

The smirk that graced the older Uchiha’s scarred features was jaded and sharp.

“So you do know.”

Anger flared inside him. “Fuck you,” Shisui spat, wrenching his kunai free. “I’d rather let you wallow in guilt than send you to hell. That sounds a whole lot more enjoyable.”

Despite their history however, Obito has become a firm figure by his side over the years. From coincidental meetings in the market to regular partnered missions, somehow the man managed to insert himself into Shisui’s life without the both of them realizing. What started as a hostile relationship has turned into an amicable one, with Obito talking to him through his grief-hazed trances and taking care of him in his own little ways. Obito’s companionship also extends to Itachi and Sasuke, the former accepting the camaraderie with wariness at first and the latter instantly latching on to him for comfort.

And they talk.

They talk about almost anything, mundane topics, day-to-day gossip, and even Obito’s past. Shisui now knows how Obito managed to survive the mission that had cost half of his body to be crushed, the same mission where Kakashi acquired his Sharingan; he now knows that Obito had actually planned on world domination before he met Sakura, and had already made arrangements and contingencies on how to accomplish his seemingly impossible goal.

He also knows how quickly Obito dropped his conspiracies upon Sakura’s demise to look after her grandmother who was much devastated on the news of her family’s tragedy. Watanabe Aiko died a good five years later after the incident, and it was only because of Obito’s constant care that she died comfortably in her sleep instead of passing away because of depression. The old woman had adored him, grateful for taking care of her instead of letting her be dumped in a nursing home, and even after her funeral, Obito continued to stay in the Haruno’s residence to protect what was left of Sakura’s.

They talk, but they never talk about the blame Shisui recklessly placed on Obito years ago.

“What, can't sleep?”

From the depths of his thoughts, Shisui raises his head to meet Obito’s hardened gaze.

“Sorry,” the curly-haired man smiles. “Did I wake you?”

Obito stares at him for a good while before shaking his head and clambering out the window to join him on the roof. “I was already awake to begin with.” In his hand is a can of beer which he brandishes. “Want some?”

Incredulous, Shisui’s eyes dart from the can of beer to the man’s flushed face, taking note of the healthy blush painting his cheeks. “It's two a.m.,” he points out. “Were you drinking the whole night?”

“Don't act like a saint with me, brat. I know you also drink,” Obito smirks at him knowingly, “a lot.”

He chuckles and takes the offered beverage, easily flicking it open with his thumb. “Fair enough.”

On nights when Shisui is restless, he goes to Sakura's house and sits on the roof just above the room that used to be her bedroom, legs curled to his chest with his chin propped on his knees as he stares at the distance, mind blank. Sometimes, when Obito is home, he accompanies him and they bask in the silence together, offering each other hushed solidarity as they ease themselves of their burdens.

Tonight is one of those nights.

The icy air bites at his skin, but one sip from the can of beer warms him straight to his toes, and Shisui sighs in contentment. The skies are dark, quite dismal and void of any stars. Below, the streetlamps are alight, casting shadows on the pavement and the alleys between the houses. Obito’s presence by his side is a source of heat, and Shisui scoffs in amusement on remembering that Sakura apparently liked to cuddle with the older man.

No wonder.

“What's so funny?” Obito draws out a bottle of sake from thin air. Sages. He must have stored a hoard of alcohol in his space dimension. Without any more preamble, he pops the bottle open and swallows all its contents down in one go, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and reclining back lethargically.

“Didn’t you use to sneak into Sakura's bedroom?”

“Ah yes,” Obito hums thoughtfully. “What about it?”

“Nothing.” Shisui takes another sip of his beer. “Did you ever bring her up here?”

“No,” Obito admits. “She preferred cuddling in her bed than stargazing.”

Amused, Shisui snorts. “That's because you kept seeing her at midnight. What kind of person would visit a child in the middle of the night?”

“Me apparently.”

“Idiot.”

“Watch it, brat.”

They enjoy another bout of silence, indulging themselves in their respective beverages. Obito, after much prompting from Shisui, summons a crate of expensive sake from his pocket space and sets it down between them. Soon enough, the both of them are tipsy, nursing their drinks as quickly as Sakura would golf down a plate of sweets. Unsurprisingly, Obito is the first to pass out, and Shisui, with all the glee of a mischievous child, pokes at the man’s reddened cheeks and giggles.

Over the horizon, the sun rises, and with its appearance, the birds all come to life, singing from their branches and nests. Slowly, the streetlamps flicker off, and the rumble of the whole village awaking is heard. A baby's piercing cry. The clatter of wheels as a baker begins making his daily rounds of selling fresh and hot bread around the neighborhood. The sound of a broom sweeping away fallen leaves. Even the sharp whistle of a boiling kettle.

Another day, another life.

And with it marks the ending of Sakura's seventeenth death anniversary.

~~~~

Twenty-eight-year-old Uchiha Itachi isn’t the type of man to engage in vices that will deteriorate his health. His lungs, which Sakura healed a long time ago, is a constant reminder for him to take care of his well-being to the best he can. So instead of drinking or smoking his sorrows away, he instead delves into his responsibilities with no regard for time or leisure.

He doesn’t judge Shisui when he becomes thoroughly intoxicated with sex and alcohol after a severely long day, nor does he reprimand Obito when he catches him smoking on the balcony during his short breaks from guard duty. Neither does he admonish Sasuke whenever he sees him gambling with his friends on the rare evenings he’s free. Everyone has a way of coping with anguish, and he isn’t one to criticize.

How can he when he’s in the same state as them?

But still. Itachi makes sure to steer away from any habits that can ruin him permanently, even with his older cousin’s mocking jeers about his prudishness. The lovingly said insult slickly rolls off his back like oil in water, because he knows that he isn’t doing this for him, but rather for Sakura who worked hard to restore his lungs to their normal condition. He can still vividly remember the fear in her face the first time he coughed out blood in her presence.

“You look like utter shit.”

Itachi wearily glances at the figure blocking the doorway and sighs before returning to the file in his hand. “Not now, Sasuke.”

Undeterred, Sasuke narrows his eyes at him and takes note of the neatly stacked papers on his desk and the couple of mugs just beside him. The smell of coffee is strong in the air. Nose flaring in displeasure, his younger brother scowls in disgust as he walks to him, slamming a palm down that scatters some of the finished documents to the floor.

Itachi looks up, genuinely exhausted.

“Sasuke—”

“I'm stressed, you're stressed, and Shisui and Obito are drunk off their asses. What a mess.” Sasuke glowers down at him and gestures at his dismal office. “Don’t tell me you locked yourself up here the entire night? Hell, did you even sleep?”

“I had a lot of work to do.”

Derisively, Sasuke rolls his eyes. “Sure, let’s go with that. Let’s ignore the fact that it was Sakura’s death anniversary yesterday.”

“Sasuke,” Itachi rubs the inner edges of his eyes tiredly, “why are you really here?”

There’s contemplative silence, and a cloth-wrapped package is carefully placed on his desk which he receives with a grateful nod. A pair of chopsticks, neatly swathed in tissue, rests atop it, and he reaches for the displayed utensils eagerly, snapping them apart with restrained impatience. Finally. Breakfast. Scrambled eggs with a dash of salmon and two onigiri. With a hushed ‘thank you’, Itachi proceeds to dig into his food, humming appreciatively when the omelet melts in his tongue before he can chew on it.

Truly divine.

His mother’s cooking is an absolute blessing.

“Okāsan wants you home for lunch,” Sasuke states, sitting on the corner of his desk. “Or at least dinner.”

Itachi gives him an apologetic look. “I don’t think I can, Sasuke. My schedule is quite full today—”

“So the Rokudaime Hokage has no time for his family anymore?” Unimpressed, Sasuke raises an eyebrow at him. Itachi barely manages not to flinch under the weight of his younger brother’s stare. As if to rub the fact into his face, Sasuke begins inspecting his fingernails, a tactic he’s adapted from Neji whenever the Hyūga prodigy is feeling prickly. “I expected more from you, Aniki.”

This time, Itachi does wince.

Tobirama’s big balls, when did Sasuke become so manipulative?

“Well?” The aforementioned manipulative little shit is watching him intently, a triumphant glint in his shrewd black eyes.

Itachi stares back at him and shakes his head. “Kakashi’s a bad influence on you.”

Like a switch, all of Sasuke’s teasing drops in a moment. “It isn’t that I’m forcing you to come home, it’s just…” he groans and rolls his head back in clear annoyance, “The elders are pushing you to marry.”

“What?”

“Yes.”

“No, Sasuke, seriously. What?”

“It isn’t a joke, Aniki. The elders are pushing you to marry, and they’ve been pestering me too. And Okāsan won't even let me kill them. They’ve already chosen Izumi to be one of your marriage candidates—”

Maybe it’s because he’s currently sleep-deprived, but irritation blazes within him at the name, and Itachi just snaps.

Marriage? Marriage? Just how many times has he already told his father that he has no plans of marrying? Especially since he isn’t capable of loving someone who he isn’t obligated to love. And a loveless marriage is sure to end in a disaster, which he’d rather avoid with all the duties he has on his plate.

“Aniki?”

“I’m not waiting until lunch, Sasuke.” His voice is cold and harsh, a stark contrast to the one he used earlier. “We’ll be going now.”

Sasuke blinks at him and smirks languidly, dark anticipation buried just underneath his tilted mouth. “I thought you said you were busy?”

“Everything can wait.” Itachi unclasps his Kage robes and drapes it over his chair, calm and quiet despite the anger ringing in his bones. He misses the predatory look that momentarily flits on his younger brother’s face as they stride out of his office. “Hikari-san,” he calls out to his secretary who has just arrived, “cancel all my meetings for today.”

The whistle playing through Sasuke's lips as they saunter down the streets is eerily dangerous and beautiful at the same time.

Unfortunately, marriage is the least of Itachi's problems when an ANBU agent drops in front of them with a message. 

"Hokage-sama. Ibiki-san urgently requests for your presence at T&I. A ROOT operative has been apprehended."

~~~~

When Obito wakes up, it isn't to a lovely morning, but rather to a frantic origami dove pecking at his face.

Needless to say, he isn't very pleased.

“What.”

The brash morning sunlight beats down on him hotly, and he realizes that he is absolutely drenched in sweat and the stale odor of sake as he sits up. Bottles are haphazardly scattered about, which he briskly collects and places back into the crate lest they fall and shatter down below, consequently creating a bigger mess in the process. Shisui is lying several feet away from him, only a good few inches away from the roof's edge, and Obito decides to leave him be for the meantime.

As petty revenge for getting him completely thrashed in alcohol.

Damn the brat to hell.

Coo! Coo!

“What?” Obito squints at the dove. “I don't speak bird language.”

His skull is about to split from the headache he's presently experiencing, and if it weren’t for his expertise in handling his alcohol, he would have already spilled his guts right now. But even with his alcohol tolerance, he can still feel himself swaying as he stands, the chakra on the soles of his feet the only thing preventing him from falling to his death.

Origami doves.

Who is associated with birds made out of paper again?

Ugh. He rubs his temples with an irritated scowl. The hammering in his head is getting worse.

Another sharp peck to his cheek, and Obito swats the dove away.

“Fuck off,” he grouses. Then he leaps off the roof to enter the house through the door, instead of entering through Sakura's bedroom window. He could have actually, especially since the part of the roof he and Shisui were lounging on is just above her room, but Obito doesn't want to taint the freshness of her bedroom with his stench. Running his fingers through his greasy hair, he heads straight to the kitchen.

Water first.

Then coffee and toast.

And some hangover pills after.

But he seems to be forgetting something important.

Who is associated with paper doves again?

Nevermind. He'll figure that out later. He needs food first.

Sakura’s disappearance was a catalyst to many things. For one, it caused Danzo’s hidden deeds to come to light, thus provoking the Uchiha to take action and rally the other clans to oust the Sandaime Hokage for supporting his old teammate’s sins. Secondly, it compelled Obito to reside in Konoha to look after Sakura’s maternal grandmother. The poor woman had been traumatized upon the news of her family’s death and needed constant care as her mental health spiraled. It was unfortunate that Watanabe Aiko had no other living relatives.

Mikoto would have gladly taken her in, but the Uchiha elders were scandalized and adamant against welcoming an insignificant civilian into their brood, so that notion was instantly vetoed. And Shisui, despite his fondness for the sweet old woman, was in no shape to take care of her, his mind splintered and broken as it was. Itachi too already had his own burdens to deal with as the clan heir then. And Sasuke was still very young and immature to be of any help.

That left Obito to fill the void of being Aiko’s caregiver on the condition that he was to be pardoned for going rogue— a proposition created by Fugaku upon Itachi’s insistence. There were a lot of protests against him, given his display of violence at the court and the fact that he had almost killed Hiruzen, but they were all disregarded when Fugaku stepped up and vouched for him. At the Uchiha clan leader’s intervention, Tsunade can only give him one hard look, cracking her knuckles threateningly before releasing him.

As Obito exited the council room, her warning rang loud and clear:

“Make no mistake, Uchiha. One slip up and your life will be at my mercy.”

But apparently he was too valuable to be reduced to a mere caretaker. Five years later, immediately after Watanabe Aiko passed away, he was promoted to be the ANBU Commander by the very same woman.

Him abandoning Madara’s will had a few backlashes, but that was instantly solved by him committing Black Zetsu to flames. Normal flames aren't as strong as the Amaterasu, but fires created by those with Uchiha blood are still scorching hot. Black Zetsu didn't stand a chance. He crumbled into ashes along with his White Zetsu counterpart.

Other loose threads were quickly cut off too. Konan was the one who received his message to drop everything at once and instead focus on developing Ame. The woman was a bit skeptical at first, but who was she to defy him? And what can she gain from defying him? Only casualties, that was for certain. Pein had already killed Hanzo a long while ago, so Ame was short of a leader. After carefully mulling over her options, Konan gracefully accepted Obito’s orders.

Out of goodwill, the Uchiha let them keep the Rinnegan, and Konan, in return, kept an eye out for any shady movements or events that might be related to Danzo.

“Obito!”

WHAM, WHAM, WHAM!

He’s on his second mug of coffee when Genma slams the door open and marches in rudely, senbon flying at him at a ridiculously fast speed. Obito swiftly flicks it away before it can impale his face and continues sipping on his coffee, slouching back to lean against the kitchen counter.

“It’s fucking—” he glances at the clock on the wall— “nine a.m., Genma. Can’t you calm your ass down?”

And besides, he still hasn’t had his hangover pills yet.

However, Shiranui Genma, a normally laid-back man, is unusually edgy as he digs for another senbon to stick into his mouth. He chews on it restlessly for a second before grabbing the scruff of Obito’s shirt and whisking him away without any other preamble. Stunned, Obito drops his mug of coffee, which shatters onto the floor into small shards. He then begins clawing at his collar that is digging into his neck and cutting off his airways.

He chokes. “Oi, oi, Genma, what the hell has gotten into you, honestly?!”

And Genma gives him an anxious glance and frees him.

“Shikamaru’s caught a ROOT agent.”

Obito’s heart stops for a moment then starts pounding vigorously, feeling the liveliest than he’d been the last decade. A ROOT agent? Oh, oh, oh— whatever shall he do? Should he skin the unlucky captive alive? Or maybe let them eat molten iron?

“Obito—”

A malicious smirk spreads across his face, cruelty rushing back at him like a crashing wave. “Go on ahead,” he hums. “Where should I meet you?”

Genma frowns at him. “I had specific orders to bring you there personally.”

To supervise him, Obito supposes. After all, a rampaging Uchiha isn’t a very pleasing sight.

“Alright then. Let me clean this up and change, and we’ll head out.”

The stairs creak against his weight as he ascends to the second floor of the house, his fingers gracefully gliding over the wooden banisters. The bedroom he uses is the spare room just across Sakura’s bedroom, and he pushes the door open, stripping his shirt off and grabbing a new one from the pile of newly done laundry on his bed. He’ll fold the clean clothes later if he has the time, but for now…

Obito retrieves a small black box under his pillow and opens it gently, smiling at the familiar necklace resting plush on the foam. Tenderly, he taps at the Sharingan-designed pendant and brings it to his lips.

“Just a little longer, Sakura.”

Grief can do a lot of things to people. 

And for Obito, it has trapped him into an endless loop of denial.

~~~~

Seventeen years ago, a certain girl was spirited away by a greedy old man. In her place was left a fake corpse for her village to find, and so she was presumed as dead by everyone.

The metal pressed against her skin was broiling, and she screamed in pain. Desperately, she strained against her shackles, tears welling in her eyes which she stubbornly blinked back. She would not cry. Never.

“Talk, child. Tell me their secrets.”

She bit her tongue and shook her head, emerald eyes fiery and spitting hatred as she gazed at her tormentor.

“Go to hell and die, Danzo.”

She was confined underground with chains around her neck, wrists, and ankles. The floor was cold, the walls were hot, everything was dark. The only light in the room was the lone torch in the corner. But still, the air was warm and suffocating, licking against her flesh like flames, and she shivered, curling to herself.

Where was Obito?

Where was everyone?

When was she going to be saved from this hell?

“Raise the heat. Let her suffer until she is ready to speak.”

The laughter that echoed out of her mouth sounded nothing like her. She grinned, revealing pearly whites stained with crimson.

“Torture me all you want, Danzo. You won’t get anything out of me.”

Danzo hummed.

“Don’t you know? Pretty things break easily.”

And then she was screaming again herself hoarse as hot iron began prodding her skin mercilessly once more.

It hurt, but she held her tongue. She counted: one, two, three. She thought of her happy memories as she endured the agony wracking her small body. She wished and prayed, shutting her eyes tight and raking her nails against the ground to anchor herself in reality. She was questioned and tortured again and again, but she kept quiet of what she knew.

She did promise herself, didn’t she? That she’d protect her soulmates in this life. Pain be damned, she always kept her promises.

In this alternate dimension, her soulmates deserved their happy ending.

Soon, her tormentors switched from hot iron to poison. She choked and convulsed as several toxins were shoved down her throat, coughing up bile that burned her lungs. Helplessly, she clawed at the ground, nails scratching agonizingly against the flat surface that was now covered with bubbling drool.

It was painful. But the pain reminded her that she was still alive.

“What are Uchiha Fugaku’s weaknesses, child?”

She swallowed back a sob.

“Do you know of the abilities Uchiha Shisui’s Sharingan holds?”

She wheezed out blood and vomit.

“Stop for today, Agent 07. We will continue interrogating her tomorrow.”

One, two, three. Four, five, six.

What time was it?

What day was it?

Mama… where was her mother again? Her father?

What…

What was her name again?

“Give her to Orochimaru. I’m sure he won’t mind having a new pet.”

Rough hands lifted her up, disregarding her battered and wounded state. She whimpered. Shisui and Itachi would never be so careless in carrying her. In fact, they’d patch her injuries first before moving her. Then Sasuke would comfort her with some tomatoes and rice balls, and Mikoto would laugh in amusement as she watched over them…

When the greedy old man grew tired of the girl’s defiance, he transferred her to the care of a mad scientist that reminded her of a shrewd snake. The scientist too was obsessed with her due to her connection to the Uchiha clan, and her suffering grew greater as he inflicted more pain on her ruthlessly.

She was strapped to a table that restrained her arms and split her legs apart. She stared at the blinding white light above her, numb from the anesthesia Orochimaru had administered to her. Cuts littered her limbs, and her captor gave her a quick glance before slashing another gash into her thigh.

“Does this hurt, little girl?”

No, it didn’t.

But she’d rather that it hurt.

Another slash.

“And this? Does it hurt?”

She gave no answer.

Orochimaru wiped off his scalpel with his sleeve. “Interesting. Kabuto, please get me the Vial 01057 from the cupboard… and clothe the poor girl for heaven’s sake. She looks like she’s about to freeze to death.”

The cycle went on for three years.

Then the greedy old man took the girl back under his wing again, nodding in satisfaction on seeing her weakened condition.

“Have you learned your lesson, child?”

She gazed at empty space.

“I do not know anything.”

The slap that landed on her cheek sent her sprawling, but she took the hit silently, her pain receptors having been completely paralyzed by the torture Orochimaru had imposed on her through the years.

“That’s no problem,” there was a sneer in Danzo’s words. “I still have other uses for you.”

The girl had three seals on her stomach. Three runic circles that overlapped with each other. The elaborate fuinjutsu had been casted on her the night she had been taken away by the greedy old man, who was afraid of being tracked down by the deadly shinobi who very much adored her.

The first seal forced her to take on a new identity, turning her lovely pink hair into a deep-toned brown and her green eyes into a light shade of blue. It prevented her from speaking of her real name and character, and soon, she started to forget who she really was.

“You do not have a name. You are Agent 1028.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “My name is Sakura.”

A kick that struck her stomach caused her to hack out blood.

“You are Agent 1028.”

She gritted her teeth.

“You are Agent 1028.”

Another kick.

“You. Are. Agent 1028.”

Another harsh kick.

“Agent 1028. Who are you?”

Haruno Sakura—

She took a rattling breath as she wrapped her arms around her aching stomach.

“I am Agent 1028.”

The second seal limited her chakra use and restrained her from utilizing any kind of jutsu that would require a large amount of chakra all at once. She was reduced to using ninjutsu that was below A-rank, and had to rely heavily on kenjutsu to make up for what she lacked. She also practiced taijutsu, but since her seal restricted her from reinforcing her punches with chakra and causing destruction, she rarely used it in fights.

Also, this seal prevented her from inflicting direct harm to Danzo.

“Begin.”

At the signal, her opponent, a pale boy the same age as her, immediately lunged for her side, and she parried his attack away easily. Her movements were fluid, her stance firm and balanced, and the tanto in her hand was very well-adjusted to her needs. It only took her less than a minute to disarm her opponent and force him to surrender when he fumbled.

“Agent 1028 wins this round!”

From the balcony Danzo watched her, his disgusting lips twisted into an approving smirk.

Oh, how she wanted to rip that smug expression off his face—

The third seal was what broke her the most. It sealed away her soulmarks, erasing the names written on her body and only leaving behind faint flesh-colored blemishes which she would painstakingly cover up with bandages so she could not see them.

Little by little, her memories were chipped away until all that remained was a void in her heart and soul.

She sharpened her kunai mindlessly.

Who was she again?

What was her name?

Where did she come from?

One, two, three— she needed to return home—

But where was home?

Another four years passed.

“Aniki!”

Then salvation came.

Chapter Text

She was fourteen when Danzo allowed her to take a solo mission. It was the first time he'd granted her such freedom, perhaps because he knew that he had already broken her spirit.

And besides, if she were to fail him, she would have no one to return to.

“But you do,” a stirring in her mind murmured. The voice sounded just like her, albeit sleepy and hollow. “You just have to remember.”

Remember?

Remember what?

“Your name,” the voice insisted. “Your identity.”

She frowned. In ROOT, there were no names, only numbers. She was Agent 1028, nothing more and nothing less. That was her identity. She had no other names that she knew of.

“You're not Agent 1028. Remember. You have to remember… there are people waiting for us back home—!”

Home?

Where was home?

Her mission was to retrieve valuable intel from a trusted informant in Konoha. In and out. The intel was contained in a scroll which she had to fetch and safely deliver to Danzo. Easy. Licking her lips in anticipation, 1028 flexed her fingers and slung the leather harness of her katana over her shoulder. She was just about to head out when Agent 1070, a woman well into her thirties who had black hair that ended just below her chin and equally dark eyes, whistled and grinned widely, the cross-shaped scar on her cheek rippling at the movement.

“Leaving without a goodbye? Well, that's just so sad.”

1028 laughed at the jab. “Oh fuck off,” she replied, shaking her head in exasperation. “Since when did you care about goodbyes?”

At the snark, Agent 1135 glanced at her from where she was lazily lounging on the floor of their shared room. She was younger than 1070 and had soft blond curls and hazel-nut colored pupils, and among the three of them, she was the best-looking. At the age of twenty-two, she was already in charge of the Seduction Division. Blankly, she stared at her and hummed lowly.

“When will you be back, 1028?”

And 1028 smiled. “A week or so. The mission has no deadline.”

“Mhmm. Bring us some souvenirs, will you?”

1028 knew that they were a weird bunch. ROOT left no place for emotions, but the three of them were clearly an exception. 1070 was a boisterous person in the safety of their room, always laughing and jeering, and 1135 also indulged in teasing and jokes from time to time. And 1028 was the worst of them all when it came to handling her feelings.

She laughed and smiled and cried all too easily.

But every emotion would be immediately masked when in public. Especially in Danzo’s presence. There had been a time during her training period when a girl was executed for simply yelping out in pain when she was stabbed through her thigh. 1028 just stood at the side, watching stoically as two guards dragged the corpse away leaving blood trails on the ground.

She brushed the memory off. “I'll try to buy you a nice hairpin, 1135.”

“Favorites, favorites,” 1070 tsked. A playful glimmer shone in her black eyes. “What about me?”

Something about 1070's carefree attitude reminded 1028 of someone. The name was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't exactly recall who it was, and the blank space in her mind caused her slight frustration as she thought hard. Who was it? Who did 1070 remind her of? Someone who also had dark hair and eyes and a mischievous bright grin…

“Shi-kun!”

A sharp twang went through her brain, and she winced, her fingers shooting up to rub her temple.

“... as for me, I would like a new whetstone, or a new set of kunai,” 1070 was saying, oblivious to the sudden discomfort she just felt. “Or maybe a vial of poison from Suna…”

As if sensing her unease, 1135 glanced furtively at her, an unreadable look in her lovely hazelnut eyes. “You alright there, 1028?”

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Just jumpy.”

1135's gaze softened minutely. “You'll be fine.”

Danzo’s base was well-hidden in the ruins where the Uzumaki clan used to reside. It was located in the borders of Fire Country, and was heavily guarded by distortion seals. Surrounded by densely-packed trees and ancient boulders, the ruins were a long way off from civilization, and trespassers would be instantly redirected to the nearest path that would lead them out of the forest. It was impossible for both civilians and shinobi to get in; only those with Danzo’s seal could enter.

With her speed, it only took 1028 a day and a half to reach Konoha. She arrived clothed as a simple tourist, and the two men that greeted her at the gate and checked her papers were awfully familiar, but she could not exactly pinpoint where she had seen them before.

“And your name, miss?” the bandaged one asked with a friendly grin.

Agent 1028, she almost said.

But instead, she smiled at him and signed the last of her documents.

“Saye,” she replied. “My name is Saye.”

Somewhere in her head, the small voice pitifully protested. “No, no, no— your name. That's not your name. Why can't you remember? Why can't you—?”

“You're barefooted again,” someone says behind her, breaking her from her little trip down her memory lane. Blinking, she glances at the direction of the voice and smiles at the pale boy shrouded by the shadows of the trees. Aburame Torune. Blank dark eyes stare back at her, empty of any emotion.

“Torune.” The name glides smoothly out her mouth in a sing-song. “What brings you here?”

“Sai has been caught by Konoha-nin.”

The grass is lush under her feet, the icy night air gentle against her flushed skin. The Uzumaki ruins are hauntingly lovely, with the moss and creeping vines eating away at what used to be homes and wooden buildings— nature taking back what was theirs. The moon shines down on her like a beacon, the stars twinkling at her in greeting, and she absorbs everything in, shutting her eyes close to revel in Mother Earth’s serenity.

“Shuryō,” Torune calls her. “Shall I bring him back?”

Shuryō. An honorific given to respected leaders. It is what her colleagues address her behind closed doors, but never in public. The title itself is treasonous, considering that Danzo is the true leader of ROOT, but it seems that Aburame Torune, a soldier that has been with Danzo from his childhood, has no regard for the old man’s authority anymore.

Laughing at the irony, twenty-four-year-old Haruno Sakura spins gracefully on her heel to fully face one of her most loyal comrades, her lips curving into a placid smile coated with devilish mischief.

“Send him a message instead, Torune. Tell him that it’s time for us to move.”

In ROOT, there are no names, only numbers. Every memory is wiped out for the brainwashing to take a firm hold on one’s will and mind. The brainwashing is gradual, but it is highly effective and it alters its victims into mindless soldiers for Danzo to use as tools.

Agent 1028 wasn’t any different from the others.

However, against all odds, she began remembering who she was after her first solo mission to Konoha.

Haruno Sakura.

“Blossom.”

“Sakura-chaaaan!”

“Sakura!”

“Saku-chan, do you want some cookies?”

And with it, her memories slowly came back to her.

She was fourteen and on a solo mission when she came across a pair of brothers. She had just finished signing the necessary papers that were needed so she could enter Konoha, and was browsing the market for any jewelry she could bring back to 1135 as a souvenir. The blond woman terribly adored any sparkly things she could adorn her body with since seduction and beauty was her line of work. And as for 1070…

With a critical eye, she picked up a machete from a nearby stall and weighed it in her hand. It was too heavy for her to use, but considering 1070’s physical strength, the weapon would be a good fit for her.

“How much for this please?” she questioned the merchant of the stall. The merchant, a weathered man in his fifties, gave her a long look before his hand shot out to her.

The sudden movement made her flinch, and she reached for her kunai holster, only to remember that she had forgone any kind of weapon upon arriving to avoid suspicion. Normal tourists don’t usually carry blades with them, and currently, she was posing as a harmless tourist. Her breath audibly hitched in apprehension as she eyed the incoming hand—

“Disobedience isn’t tolerated here, Agent 1028.”

Thwack! She went tumbling to the ground at the solid punch to her chest, and bit back the yelp that almost escaped her. Danzo towered over her, his left arm still raised and his single eye glowing with madness. His right arm had long since gone, courtesy of a scuffle he had encountered a few years ago. She resisted the urge to snarl at him. Fucking animalistic sadist.

Thwack!

Another punch, this time to her stomach. The impact made her cough out blood.

“Disobey me once again and it will be your life. Do you understand, 1028?”

Fuck you, she spat in her mind.

Outwardly, she nodded, quenching down the fire of rebellion that had started to rage.

“Good. Now—”

“Are you a shinobi, girl?”

A rough hand was patting her head, tangling up some of her hair in the process. The merchant was smiling down at her fondly, and she belatedly realized that the man actually meant no harm and had only meant to pet her. She forced her shoulders to relax and beamed at him.

“Nope!” she chirped. “But my siblings are!”

Her voice was a bit more high-pitched than usual, but the act that she had put on came so naturally to her like breathing. Briefly, she wondered if her personality before she was enlisted in ROOT was something akin to her facade right now. She couldn’t really remember. Torture had messed up her mind and had twisted her memories, leaving her with nothing to hold on to.

What was her life like before ROOT again?

The merchant looked unconvinced. She couldn’t really blame him, given her age and the fact that she was trying to purchase a very dangerous object. “And you’re buying this machete for them?” he asked.

“My sister likes blades,” she explained, nodding. “And she told me to bring her a souvenir, you see. So when I saw this machete, I immediately thought of her!” She plastered on a pout on her face. “Now, kind mister, won’t you name your price? Please?”

At her request, the merchant’s face softened. “I’ll give it to you for free.”

What?

She stared at him unblinkingly. Was he serious?

“Don’t give me that look, girl,” the merchant chuckled as he reached for the machete that was still in her hands. With skilled fingers, the blade was safely wrapped up in no time. “You remind me of someone. She was also a girl like you, too curious about weapons despite being a child. Everytime she came by, there was always an Uchiha with her.”

“Ita-kun, can you buy me that ax, please?”

The boy smiled indulgently at her and shook his head. “It’s too big for you. How about you pick something smaller?”

“Then I wanna have that jack knife!”

A sharp jolt of pain through her head had her plummeting back to reality. Her eyelids fluttered for a moment, and she came to realize that she was now in the middle of nowhere.

Well, not really.

The machete was slung on her back, and she stared at the scenery around her. Gravestones, and a lot of them. Some were new, some were old, some were clean, and some were chipped and cracked. She was clearly amidst a cemetery, but how she got here, she didn’t know.

Or maybe she did.

Dissociation had been becoming a habit of hers as of late. Whenever she became too absorbed in something, her mind would detach from her body, and she would find herself with missing gaps in her memories when she came to her senses again. Sometimes, at night, she would be in bed, and the next second, she would be outside, yearning and eagerly waiting for…

“Still not sleeping yet, blossom?”

Who was she waiting for?

“Aniki!”

The sudden voice jarred her, and without thinking, she swiftly slinked to the nearest trees, using their leaves and shadows to cover her. As a habit, she stifled her chakra to fully hide her presence, and watched as two boys came to view. With their black hair, dark eyes that shone with intelligence and wit, pale skin, and aristocratic noses, the pair were inherently beautiful, and she found herself watching them in intrigue, too caught up with the allure they emanated. They were clearly brothers.

But something…

Something about them was familiar.

She frowned. Had she met these two before?

The younger brother was holding a bouquet of pink chrysanthemums that were bordered with reddish camellia blossoms. He was about her age, and a prominent scowl was on his mouth as he tried to keep up with his older brother’s brisk strides. Together, they walked to the farthest intersection of the cemetery which was just a few feet away from where she was currently hidden and stopped at a small grave.

Their faces were turned away from her, but she could see the slight droop of the older boy’s shoulders as he knelt in front of the headstone while his younger brother began arranging the bouquet into the little vase that someone had placed beside the grave. There was an audible scoff, and a bunch of wilted flowers were thrown to the side.

“Obito brought irises again,” the younger boy said with disdain. “Does he even know what irises mean?”

Obito.

Something about the name was familiar—

“I look like a monster, don't I?” Obito said with a self-deprecating laugh. His embrace loosened and he watched her closely for any signs of disgust. Rejection was evident in his taut shoulders. “Even with this face… Do you still want me to stay?”

Monster? For bearing scars gained by saving a friend?

“I don't think you're ugly. Not at all.” She cocked a hand on her hip and tilted her chin up haughtily. “And let me get one thing straight, Tobi-kun. Between the two of us, I will never be the first one to leave.”

TIIIINGGGG—

This time, the pain that shot through her head was almost unbearable and she bit her tongue to stifle a groan. Her hands clutched at her hair, harshly tugging at it in an attempt to ease her misery, and she shuddered when another wave of agony flooded through her. A wail echoed inside her, and she flinched at the shrill sound.

“Fucking hell dammit!” She winced. It was that voice again. The voice that sounded exactly just like her, the voice that kept telling her that she had to remember. It howled and shrieked, clawing at the edges of her mind in suffering. “It hurts— it hurts, it hurts! Make it stop, make it stop!”

She gritted her teeth as she tried to tune out the chaos in her head. Where were all these scenarios coming from? They weren’t daydreams— her daydreams never ran this deep. They were all so realistic and true, it felt like they were—

“They’re your memories, you idiot!” the voice snapped. It still twisted around in pain, and there was angerans frustration evident in its words. “I told you to remember, didn’t I? Remember your name! Your identity! The reason why you can’t remember the past is because you’ve lost yourself. Who were you before you came to ROOT? Remember, dammit!”

Who was she?

She was Agent 1028.

Agent 1028—

“Obito means well, Sasuke.” It was the older boy who spoke. “You needn’t judge him so carelessly.”

His way of speaking was so soothing and calm, it immediately cooled down the turmoil coiling in her gut. Her blue eyes glimmered as she watched him rise from where he was seated, and her fingers trembled with the urge to play with his long hair that swayed in the wind. Surely it would be silky smooth and free of tangles and—

The younger brother scowled and crossed his arms. “But, Aniki—”

“Aniki’s the best! He’s really, really good with kunai, Sakura!”

Another painful twang in her head, and she forced herself to focus on the brothers’ conversation.

“But, Aniki,” the younger brother— Sasuke— was saying. His eyebrows were furrowed, his forehead creased, and a patronizing sneer curled his lips. “Irises mean ‘hope’. What’s there to hope about? A sudden miracle that’ll raise Sakura from the dead?”

“Sasuke,” the older boy said warningly.

But Sasuke just shot him a glare and stormed off.

There was a long-suffering sigh, and after a while, the older boy also left, but not before flinging a shuriken in her direction. When the shuriken hit the tree she was on, she was already gone, leaving fluttering leaves in her wake.

“Coward,” the voice in her head hissed. “You fucking coward.”

She tuned out the accusation with a clenched jaw.

Later that night, after she had retrieved the important intel Danzo had sent her for, she impulsively returned to the cemetery with daffodils in her hands. There was a tingling in her brain that told her not to come, but the voice was more insistent and loud, and it sent her head ringing. Under the cover of the night, she walked to the little grave quietly, careful not to leave any traces of her visit behind except for the flowers.

“Now, look,” the voice ordered when she had reached the headstone. “Read the name.”

And so she looked, but it was too dark to read anything, the moon having hid behind some clouds. She had already placed the daffodils inside the small vase amongst the other blossoms, their yellow hue contrasting greatly against the pink chrysanthemums and red camellias. She waited for a moment for the moon to come out, but when a few minutes passed and the clouds showed no signs of clearing up, she decided to trace the letters one by one instead of relying on her sight. Slowly, her fingers skimmed the etched words deftly, taking in every engraving carefully.

H. A. R. U. N. O.

S. A. K. U. R. A.

TIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINGGGGGGG—!

“You do not have a name. You are Agent 1028.”

She stubbornly shook her head. “My name is Sakura.”

A kick that struck her stomach caused her to hack out blood.

“You are Agent 1028.”

She gritted her teeth.

“You are Agent 1028.”

Another kick.

“You. Are. Agent 1028.”

Another harsh kick.

“Agent 1028. Who are you?”

Haruno Sakura—

She took a rattling breath as she wrapped her arms around her aching stomach.

“I am Agent 1028.”

“No, you’re not.”

And suddenly she was in a dark place. Startled, she took a step back and looked around her. There was no cemetery anymore, just endless darkness and she was standing in the middle of it. Then from the shadows glowed a pair of viridian-green eyes, staring at her fervently.

She tensed. “Who are you?”

The pair of eyes curled into half-crescents, contempt transparent. “What, you don’t know who I am anymore?”

It was the voice.

Frowning, she crossed her arms. “I don’t.”

“I’ve been with you since the beginning,” the voice stated with irritation. “We’ve been through thick and thin, and now you can’t recognize me? Rude.”

“Then tell me,” she demanded. “Who are you? And what are these dreams that I keep on seeing—”

“They’re not dreams, they’re your past.”

Past? Her past?

That was ridiculous. She couldn’t remember anything from her childhood except for Danzo’s grueling and tiresome training. Except for the torture Orochimaru had inflicted on her. Except for the lonely nights that she spent hugging herself, crying silently for something (or was it someone?) she couldn’t remember—

She couldn’t remember.

Why can’t she remember?

“Because you’re sealed,” the voice replied. There was pity in its words. “Danzo is trying to prevent you from remembering.”

“Then why can’t you just tell me?” she cried out in frustration. “You said that the reason I can’t remember my past is because I’ve lost myself. Lost myself how?”

A sigh. “What’s your name?”

“I don’t have one,” she snapped. “I am Agent 1028—”

“No, you are not.” There was finality in the sentence. “And until you remember what your name is, you’ll be stuck under Danzo’s control until the day you die.”

“Then tell me!”

“I can’t. Your seal doesn't allow me to.”

She wanted to rip her hair out. “What do you suggest I do then?”

There was a pause, and the pair of eyes drew nearer until they were level to hers. A shadowy hand formed from the darkness and reached for her, clasping their fingers together and holding firmly.

“I can’t tell you but… I might be able to show you.”

Then her mindscape exploded in a burst of colors, and she found herself standing alone in front of a blooming cherry blossom, its petals gently raining down when a soft breeze passed.

For a second, she only stared at the tree.

Then everything came crashing down on her, and she screamed as her mind was instantaneously flooded with images and scenes that featured familiar people and places, collapsing on her knees and cradling her head in an effort to ease the rhythmic pounding that had started to overwhelm her. The past and present began to blend together. A war. Madara standing arrogant and mighty with Obito beside him. People dying. The chakra seal on her forehead expanding as she tried to heal thousands all at once with Katsuyu’s help. Ah. This was her previous life, wasn’t it? Then came change, and she was reborn with the burden of having four Uchiha soulmates. She saw and heard her mother singing her to sleep, her father chuckling as he poked her cheek. She saw Obito gently ruffling her hair, Shisui teasing her about something with an entertained grin, Itachi carrying her on his shoulders and listening to her chatter, and Sasuke clinging to her as he and Naruto bickered. Her current life played before her eyes, from her childhood to when Danzo kidnapped her and left a fake body in her stead.

“Who are you?” the voice asked again.

Agent 1028—

She gasped in fresh air as she opened her eyes and she was in the cemetery once more. The moon cruelly gleamed on her, no longer hidden by the clouds, and she gazed wide-eyed at the grave before her.

'Haruno Sakura' were the neatly engraved words on the stone.

Incredulous laughter bubbled from her lips.

“Inner,” she breathed out. “I’m back.”

Inner Sakura grinned at her.

“About time, you moron.”

~~~~

“What are you?” Sakura once asked her in their past life. She was six back then, a shy little girl who often hid behind her bangs.

At that time, Inner Sakura didn’t have an answer. What was she? She certainly wasn’t a person, but she had her own will and own thoughts. She also didn’t have a gender, although she began to adapt the attributes similar to her host’s as they grew.

But what was she?

“I don’t know,” Inner Sakura replied sullenly.

That answer was soon changed when Sakura got into a scuffle in a playground with five girls that seemed to take great pleasure in jeering at her appearance. Inner Sakura watched through the rosette’s eyes how the girls treated her, mocking her pink hair and forehead, even going as far to grab Sakura’s bangs and pulling harshly which made Sakura yelping in pain as she was forcefully hauled up. The assault didn’t stop there. Soon, Sakura was on the ground, tearfully clutching her stomach as the girls began kicking and beating her up everywhere, and Inner Sakura could only watch her host writhe and cry in pain. There was no one to help her since there were no other people around.

And something ugly began building inside Inner Sakura until the dam broke and she snapped.

“Do you want me to help?” she wickedly sang. Something inside her ached to retaliate, to inflict hurt on those who had dared to lay a hand on her sweet and weak host. Why shouldn’t she? They deserved it. If she could, Inner Sakura would readily send them to hell. So let her out, let her rip at least a finger or two, let her strike back—

Too helpless to refuse, Sakura nodded and Inner Sakura, with gleeful laughter, took over her consciousness.

The first time Sakura had let Inner Sakura take over her body—

“KYAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH—!”

“Sakura! What did you do?!”

— she sent four girls to the hospital and almost killed one.

Perhaps that was the moment Sakura started to unconsciously distrust Inner Sakura. Everything Inner Sakura said, everything Inner Sakura told her to do, she would immediately block out. Therapy helped somehow, but it wasn’t enough to satiate Sakura. And so when she turned eight, she told her parents that she would very much like to be enrolled into the Academy.

Inner Sakura never completely disappeared, but she became milder until she was only a lingering presence in Sakura’s mind.

During her first Chunin Exams, after she had lost control again and had allowed Inner to possess her just so she could push Yamanaka Ino out of her head, Sakura asked once more.

“What are you?”

And this time, Inner Sakura had an answer.

“I’m everything you don’t want to be.”

And she was. She was violence, she was danger, she was desire. Inner Sakura was everything Haruno Sakura was not. She was unhesitant, she was quick to lash out, she was cruel. Somehow, over time, she had morphed into something akin to instinct. But even with her malevolence and harshness, she carried all of Sakura’s burdens and insecurities, encouraged her in all of her endeavors when the rosette was despairing, admonished and scolded her at times so she would bloom into her own person. She stuck to Sakura until the end. She was the one who drove her to continue living even when almost all her friends were dead, even when everything seemed hopeless against Uchiha Madara and the Jūbi.

But in the end, Sakura still took her own life when the pain of surviving became too unbearable.

Inner Sakura accepted their fate easily.

That was, until they were reborn.

Yeah.

Being reborn wasn’t exactly part of the plan. Inner Sakura didn’t know how it happened. One second she was watching as Sakura plummeted to their deaths, and the other second she was awoken by a shrill baby cry.

And thus, their new life began.

But soon, Inner Sakura realized that there was something wrong with the current Sakura. Sure, Sakura remembered her previous life, but she didn’t act like her mental age. Determined to lead a peaceful life this time, she toddled and played around like a normal kid, until she had somehow managed to befriend Obito. Accidentally. One thing happened after another. Sometimes Sakura thought and acted reasonably, using her knowledge to her favor, but most of the time, her decisions were overshadowed by her childish tendencies to behave irrationally.

Her host had become an anomaly.

Someone incomprehensible and impulsive.

And soon Inner Sakura found out why.

The current Sakura was truly just a child who bore a piece of the original Sakura’s soul.

And Sakura didn’t know that, believing that she was the original Sakura.

The revelation had Inner Sakura recoiling in surprise. If this Sakura wasn’t her Sakura, then why was she here in the first place? How the hell did she manage to materialize into a different dimension in a different Sakura’s mind?

But there was one blatantly obvious similarity that the present Sakura and her Sakura shared: their distrust with their inner persona.

It was so painfully clear with the way the rosette reflexively ignored every advice Inner Sakura gave her, and it placed the girl into unwanted situations. The first time was with her meeting with Obito. The other was when she almost spilled her name to Shisui; thankfully, she caught herself before she could completely give herself away. Inner Sakura laughed at her in spite of it all. But the worst one was when Kato was actively trying to take Sakura away under Danzo’s orders.

Sakura’s breaking point at that time was the threat of her soulmates being hurt, and Inner Sakura took full advantage of it.

“But what exactly can you do right now?” she had said mockingly. “Your body's tired, your chakra's sealed, and you won't let me help—”

It only took the pinkette one more push for her emotions to spiral out of control.

“FINE!” Sakura had screamed in surrender and fury. Emerald eyes spat poison. “Take control! Do whatever, dammit! And you—” the rage and hatred in her voice was glaringly clear as she zeroed her furious gaze at a visibly startled Kato— “you'll pay dearly for this, you bastard. I swear I'll turn your intestines inside-out with my bare hands before killing you off!”

The last phrase was a wish.

A wish Inner Sakura readily granted.

But her seizing full control over Sakura’s body costed most of her energy. After the little stunt she pulled, Inner Sakura went into a deep slumber, and when she woke up again, Sakura was already fourteen and mentally broken. It only took Inner Sakura a moment to realize that her host didn’t manage to escape Danzo’s clutches and had actually forgotten who she truly was. Inner Sakura instantly tried to call to her, but something pushed her back. When she reached into the innermost parts of Sakura’s head, she found out that the pinkette had numerous seals on her body.

A seal that greatly altered her appearance and changed her identity.

A seal that limited her abilities.

A seal that had taken away her soulmarks.

A seal on her tongue that prevented her from speaking of Danzo’s plans and secrets to an outsider.

A seal on her mind that locked up most of her memories.

What the actual fuck.

The worst part?

Sakura couldn’t even remember her own name. She couldn’t remember anything. She couldn’t remember her childhood, her past, her family— she could remember nothing.

And every time Inner Sakura tried to remind her, the seal on Sakura’s mind prevented her from doing so. So she resorted to the next best decision— she began projecting images into Sakura’s consciousness despite the pain it brought her. Snippets of her life before ROOT. Memorable phrases. It also helped that Inner’s awakening coincided with Sakura’s solo mission to Konoha. It made her job a bit easier, although she winced and had to suppress her cries of pain every time the rosette’s head would ring loudly after she had fed her with another small scene.

And then Sakura disassociated and they found themselves in the midst of a cemetery. Sasuke’s voice had been the one to completely break the pinkette’s reverie and musings, prompting her to hide in some nearby foliage. Itachi and Sasuke’s presence and conversation aided Inner Sakura in pushing more fragments of the past into Sakura’s head, consequently succeeding in persuading the girl to come back to the cemetery at night.

Sakura reading the etched name on the gravestone by tracing the letters carefully with her fingers was the final catalyst, and it was what made Inner successful in forcing the rosette to disconnect from reality for a while and enter her mindscape. Showing her her memories through Inner’s eyes and own memories was only a theory and a last-ditch effort, but—

“Inner. I’m back.”

—it was worth the attempt.

A smile lit up Inner Sakura’s face as she felt the seal in Sakura’s head slowly breaking until it completely shattered into nothingness.

“About time, you moron.”

Haruno Sakura was back.

Chapter Text

The years haven't been kind to her, but when has time ever been good to people? All time brings is uncertainty for the future, regret for the past, and suffering as the present plays on. For Sakura, it has brought her scars that will never completely heal, and a hole in her heart yearning for what she has lost.

Soon.

But not yet.

She still needs to hold out a little longer.

The blemishes on her flesh where her soulmarks used to be have not completely faded, and sometimes, she can feel a slight tingling just under the marred skin. Sakura doesn't dare hope though, but every now and then, she will prod at the seals on her stomach with her chakra in hopes of breaking them. But the seals remain steadfast, and with every failed attempt, her irritation grows more and more.

Nothing much has changed about her over the years. Her hair is still an earthy brown, her eyes a dull shade of light blue. Her overall appearance is pretty, but really, Sakura misses her pink locks and green eyes. Pouting at herself in the mirror, she combs her fingers through her thick tresses and twists them up into a bun.

Perhaps her most drastic change is her way of dressing. Presently, a black sleeveless turtleneck hugs her torso, accentuating her snatched waist and curvy figure; and she’s wearing high-waisted denim shorts that end on her upper thighs, which doesn't do anything to cover up her milky toned legs. A pair of high-heeled boots adorn her feet, consequently adding three more inches to her height. On her right bicep is a tattoo illustrating budding roses and a well-drawn crow in its midst that has its mouth open in a caw— a gift Sai gave her on her eighteenth birthday. Bandages are wrapped around her wrists to hide her soulmark stains.There's a kunai pouch made of thick material placed on her left thigh, and a storage pack is slung horizontally on her lower back, stuffed with weapon scrolls and explosive seals.

Danzo's favorite, the others call her; and for good reason too. The old man constantly indulges her, giving her enough budget to spoil herself and buy the things she likes, as long as it is profitable to him and useful to ROOT. Clearly the elder thinks that she is still under his control, hence the freedom he allows her. Among the many things she's gotten from him, she now has her own laboratory to concoct her poisons and other deadly substances, and her own medical room where she can conduct her experiments.

Too bad she isn't truly on his side.

“Shuryō.”

She hums in acknowledgement. Deftly, she smears some lip gloss on with her pinky and puckers her lips at the mirror. “What is it, Torune?”

Through the mirror's reflective surface, she can see Torune's downturned mouth, agitation transparent by the way his left foot is lightly tapping the floor in a rhythm. On his shoulder is a beetle, and she deduces that it must be of the poisonous kind due to its purplish sheen. Interestingly enough, the insect buzzes for a few times before melting into Torune's pale skin, and Sakura sends the man an inquiring gaze.

“Is something the matter?”

One of the advantages of having an Aburame on your side is the ability to gather intel from anywhere and anyone using bugs. Sakura knows this, exploits it even. Unlike Danzo who views Torune's rinkaichū as a weapon, she sees his rinkaichū as a means to accumulate and disseminate information. A much more subtle and effective way of communicating. Why use birds to send messages when you have insects to do the job? That said, it is mainly because of Torune that her act of rebellion hasn't been discovered yet.

The aforementioned Aburame shakes his head solemnly. “My rinkaichū got through Konoha’s T&I's defenses, but by the time they reached Sai, he was already heavily injured,” he says in a low tone. Although they are in Sakura's room, they can never be sure of the listening ears behind the dingy walls. “He is currently unconscious.”

“Tortured?”

“Yes.”

“By whom?”

Heavy silence. Then—

“Uchiha Obito and Uchiha Sasuke.”

Well, shit.

“That's…” she pauses, trying to find the right words to say, “unfortunate?”

Very unfortunate, more like.

“He'll pull through,” Torune responds quickly, perhaps out of consideration for her feelings. Everyone who knows her well is aware of how attuned she is to her emotions whenever she isn't on a mission. “But I do not know when he will regain consciousness.”

Knowing Obito, he must have placed Sai under a heavy genjutsu, Sakura surmises. And Sasuke too, being the little shit he is, must have had his own share of fun torturing poor, innocent Sai. She scowls. Of all people, why did Danzo have to send Sai to Konoha for his dirty work? ‘Trace a map of Konoha,’ the old coot had said. ‘Mark down all the possible entrances for an infiltration; do not leave any detail out.’ And Sai, eager to be of help to her, didn’t hesitate in accepting the man’s order if only to personally check on her soulmates. Insects can only do so much, after all.

She turns around, her expression neutral. “Make sure your rinkaichū are there when he wakes up,” she says, deceptively calm. “Tell him to cooperate with the Hokage’s demands immediately. No resisting unless he wants to die.”

“And how are you so sure that the Hokage will have mercy on him?” Torune questions even as another insect, this time a gray moth, emerges from his arm and melts into the shadows. Sakura watches the small thing go, no doubt on its way to complete her demand. “Uchiha Itachi is a man of war.”

“But he is merciful in comparison to Uchiha Sasuke and Uchiha Obito,” Sakura counters. “Which is exactly why Itachi’s dirty work is constantly shadowed by both of them.”

A considering hum. “There has never been a passive Hokage. Even the Sandaime has his dark side.”

“If you cannot trust Itachi, then trust me, Torune,” she retorts. “When have I ever let you down?”

At her words, the masked Aburame visibly withdraws, knowing better than to engage her in an argument. There are many cases of her losing her temper, and each occasion has left sure destruction. Oh, and perhaps a couple of broken bones too. No one sane enough would dare cross her.

“Apologies. However, you should know that faith borders foolishness, Shuryō,” are his parting words as he exits her room. Sakura scoffs at him derisively, and flicks away a strand of her hair. Despite Torune's words, she knows he won't betray her, even on his life. He owes her too much for that; everyone under her wing owes their lives to her. She was the reason they were able to break out of Danzo’s brainwashing after all. If need be, they would sacrifice their souls to the devil to complete her cause.

Not that she'd wish for that to happen.

“Just a little more,” she murmurs softly. “Just a little more…”

Indeed.

She just needs to hang on a little longer.

Ironically, the rebellion isn’t truly hers. Even before Inner broke her out of Danzo’s brainwashing, the Resistance had already been in its early stages; and it was only of pure coincidence that it was led by her roommates, Agent 1070 and Agent 1135. Upon breaking away from the Shimura’s control and returning to the base, Sakura had little to no trouble connecting with the two women and explaining her plight the best she could, consequently omitting her real name as to not provoke her seal. Given, there was a lot of distrust at first, but the sincerity in Sakura’s words as she proceeded to verbally recall her past had them softening until all cynicism gradually faded.

“No wonder you aren’t as stuck-up as the other brats,” 1070 had snorted after her tirade. A calloused hand came to rest on Sakura’s head, messing her hair roughly, a mannerism that was quite similar to Obito’s. “Welcome to the Resistance, kid.”

A lump formed in Sakura’s throat at the warm statement, and she swallowed hard in a futile attempt to disperse it. It remained stuck somewhere in her esophagus.

1135, graceful as ever, nodded at her demurely. “What do your folks call you, 1028?”

Haruno Sakura.

But Sakura only returned her question with a sad smile. “Call me Saye,” she answered, taking up the alias she had used in her infiltration mission to Konoha; melancholy tainted her voice. The lump still wasn’t fully gone and her tongue itched to tell the truth, but the seals on her stomach had begun burning in warning. She couldn’t risk it. Not when she had just escaped ROOT’s grasp.

“Is that your name?” 1135 gently prodded.

She shook her head.

1135 hummed in consideration; and her hazel-colored eyes glimmered kindly. “Why, can you not tell us?””

“Lay off her, 1135,” 1070 chided on her behalf. “Kid must have been through some trauma.”

But 1135 was insistent. “Can you not or can you?”

“No,” Sakura responded after a beat, her voice sounding so small and dismal, bordering the lines of pity and yearning, “I cannot.”

“Danzo’s doing?” 1070 asked. When Sakura nodded, the older woman cursed. “Bloody fucker.”

“Most of the things that have been done so far can still be reversed,” 1135 retorted comfortingly. “Chin up, Saye. You mustn't feel hopeless in situations like this. Unless you’re dying,” she added as an afterthought with a mirthful quirk in the edge of her mouth.

The blond woman’s subtle joviality made Sakura’s tense shoulders loosen up a notch. “Okay.”

There was an amused snort. “Speaking of dying, I'm Sen,” 1070 said with a light smirk, and then gestured at 1135. “She's Ume. You better remember our names so you can bury us properly if we ever die in this shithole.”

“That’s not going to happen,” Ume sharply said. “Don’t fill her mind with negative thoughts.”

“Well—”

“How many are there in the Resistance?” Sakura intervened. It was the first she had heard about a rebellion stirring deep in the lair. Surely Danzo must have gotten wind of it already, and was only pretending to not notice so he could destroy the force in one swoop. It certainly was the old man’s style. Frowning as wariness began pestering her, she discreetly studied her comrades’ expressions.

Sen was clearly not aware of her skepticism and shrugged her shoulders. “Just a handful of us right now,” she said in reply to her question. The response had Sakura audibly sighing in relief. No wonder Danzo hadn’t plucked them out yet; a handful was too small to be noticed amongst a thousand soldiers.

“It will grow, however,” Ume hummed. “We just need patience.”

Tak, tak, tak!

The knock on her door has her jolting away from her memories, and present-day Sakura finds herself staring at her reflection in the mirror, jaw clenched and face grim. Somewhere in the depths of her azure-blue eyes, a hue of poisonous green shimmers in trapped anger. Her nails dig harshly into the smooth surface of her mahogany desk, a ventilation to all the rage and pressure she has suppressed over the years. Focus, she tells herself. Calm down. But still there are flecks of fury in her gaze as she walks to the door and swings it open, smiling sweetly at her unexpected visitor.

A masked face stares right back at her and silently hands her a crisply folded note. Promptly, Sakura flicks it open and skims it. ‘Message sent successfully,’ it reads. ‘Would you like me to send another message?’

Konan.

Pleased, her lips curve into a smile. “No need. Tell her that’s enough for now.”

At the confirmation, the masked person nods and unceremoniously explodes into a burst of white origami cranes which seamlessly melt into the walls, the shadows swallowing them whole and removing them from existence. Only the note in her hand remains, smelling sweetly of roses and rain, and even that evidence is smoldered into ashes when she ignites a flicker of fire in her palm and burns it away.

Just a little while longer.

~~~~

It only took them a whole day of torture to knock their ROOT captive unconscious. Sasuke didn’t hold back, and neither did Obito. The pair had great pleasure in inflicting pain on the prisoner, but Itachi couldn’t find himself to fault the both of them, allowing the two men to carry on with their violence in order to extract information.

But the captive was tight-lipped and stubborn, refusing to talk even as he finally succumbed to pain and blacked out.

So it is completely unexpected when Itachi finds Ibiki standing outside his office the following morning, dark circles under his eyes and his scarred face grim. The Uchiha knows that the Head of the Interrogation Unit is anything but negligent, preferring to break his clients’ minds first before making a detailed report.

On seeing him, Ibiki's mouth twitches into a miniscule smirk. “Good morning, Hokage-sama,” the burly man greets, giving him a nod of acknowledgement. His dark eyes sharply take in Itachi’s clearly tired form, to which the younger man responds with an eye-roll of his own.

“Please. You know mornings are never good for me,” Itachi retorts. He still hasn’t had his coffee, resulting in lightheadedness as he fishes for his office keys in his pant pocket and jamming it into the keyhole carelessly. “This better be good.”

With a click, the door swings inward, and the two men step inside, Itachi surveying the cluttered papers on his desk with scorn and Ibiki chuckling at his predicament.

“Rough night?” the latter asks as he flicks the lights on.

“With a hungover Shisui pestering me to have a turn at our prisoner?” With an exhausted sigh, Itachi begins arranging the documents scattered across his desk into a neat pile. “What do you think?”

“I think your day will slightly get better when you hear the news,” Ibiki responds. Curious, Itachi turns to him and cocks an eyebrow, a signal for him to continue with his words. The older man’s eyes shimmer with cruel mirth as he folds his arms across his chest and lightly tips his chin upward in arrogance.

“Our dear captive is willing to cooperate. Collaborate with us even. Isn't that good news?”

Collaborate? A ROOT soldier?

“No,” Itachi sharply interjects. “No, it isn't.”

In an instant, Ibiki's smirk disappears. “And why is that?”

“Because it might be a trap,” Itachi scoffs. “Come now, a ROOT agent easily surrendering himself to his enemies? Now that's just bull. Danzo didn't raise his soldiers to be so mentally weak, and even if he did, their loyalty would force them to commit suicide instead of cooperating with the opposing side and disappointing their beloved master.”

And Ibiki straightens. “No, Hokage-sama, wait, please understand —”

“Understand what? That, possibly, our prisoner has been commanded by Danzo to cooperate with us for the time being, then stab us in the back when the right time comes for the old bastard to take control?”

“Hokage-sama—”

“Or perhaps, that there is another sector in ROOT who wants to partner with us in which our prisoner is a part of? That's pure nonsense.” With a sneer, Itachi's lips twist into a scowl of displeasure as he leans back on his desk facing his subordinate to make his irritation known. “Now, what exactly is there to understand, Ibiki?”

“Why, if you'd just let him speak, you'd know that there are a lot of things to understand, Itachi,” a familiar baritone resounds from the doorway. Obito. Cocking his head at the newcomer, Itachi raises a fine eyebrow at his older relative and begins tapping the floor with his sandaled foot in impatience. At the petulant display, Obito merely smiles and brandishes a crumpled note wedged between his index and middle fingers.

“Your second guess is correct,” the man says, tossing the note in Itachi’s direction. The younger Uchiha, having honed his reflexes through adolescence, easily catches the piece of paper and flips it open in one smooth movement. “ROOT is being stirred up.”

And Itachi can only stare at the message written in black ink:

‘ROOT is currently divided; many will want to ally with you. Those with clear minds are not of Shimura’s brood.’

~~~~

Origami creatures, such as paper birds, aren't his thing, but Konan's. Unfortunately, due to his alcohol-addled brain, Obito didn't recognize the purple-haired woman's signature technique until the morning he got home from torturing the ROOT operative who had been unfortunate enough to have been caught by Konoha’s clutches.

By then, the origami pigeon had already unfolded on his bedside table.

The delivered letter was strange, and certainly unexpected. But although it was cryptic, the message behind it was clear, and Obito didn't waste any time heading to the Hokage’s office where he knew Itachi would be; it was seven in the morning, and he knew that the young Hokage valued punctuality above all else. So with an empty stomach and a chakra-deprived body, he hurried to deliver the news, his Sharingan spinning as it created a portal for him to use.

He teleported just outside Itachi’s office door.

Presently, Konan's note is in Itachi’s deft fingers, the Uchiha scrutinizing it closely with a pinched expression. Ibiki stands at the side, waiting for the verdict, and Obito languidly stretches his arms above his head, a satisfying crack coming from within his body as his aching muscles are relieved. He blinks once, twice, thrice. He can feel his eyelids getting heavy from lack of sleep, but the anticipation inside him is enough adrenaline to keep him on his toes.

“How certain are you that this information is not fake?” Itachi questions at last. Doubt clouds his tone as he glances over his two male companions. “Well, Obito?”

“Hundred percent,” Obito drawls out.

“And you, Ibiki? Do you think this information is real?”

Without hesitation, Ibiki nods. “Yes, Hokage-sama.”

“And why?” Itachi demands. “Tell me, why is that?”

“ROOT operatives are trained to never answer questions during interrogation or torture,” Ibiki states. “No talking back, no cheeky replies, nothing. However, our prisoner broke that rule. Throughout the interrogation process, he was mouthy.”

“Really mouthy,” Obito adds with a scowl. “Asshole spat blood and saliva at my face.”

“He kept insulting us, egging us on,” Ibiki continues. “As if he wanted us to lose our temper and just break him right there and then. And Sasuke did in the long run,” he mutters low in his breath. “In addition to that, he showed a great deal of emotions although normal ROOT agents are supposed to be apathetic and emotionless. His seal is also nonfunctional.”

At that, Itachi's head snaps up to look at him. “Nonfunctional?”

Ibiki nods once again. “Before we started the interrogation, we called in Naruto to take a look at the seal on the prisoner’s tongue in hopes of deactivating it. Surprisingly, the seal was fake. A flawless mimic of Danzo’s seal. It was still drawn with chakra ink, yes, but it was not infused with chakra. When we asked the captive who drew it, he clammed up.”

Silence reigns over the room as Itachi considers the spoken words. Biting back a yawn, Obito strides to the couch designated for guests and plops down on it, lolling his head against the backrest and shutting his eyes tight. He can feel fatigue slowly catching up to him, but the unexpected turn of events makes him not want to take a rest. Not even a minute or two of sleep. Stubbornly, he rubs the inner corners of his eyes with his gloved fingers and opens them, staring straight at Itachi just in time to see him ripping the note into pieces. The sight has Obito jolting out of his seat.

“Oi, what the fuck do you think you're doing?”

As if he is a mother pacifying a child, Itachi smiles, his fingers lighting up to burn the torn note into ashes.

“Burning away evidence, what else?” the younger man responds as a snark. Then he turns to Ibiki. “Tell the prisoner that I will agree to an alliance if their leader will agree to negotiate with me. Arrange a meeting with him.” His black eyes dart to Obito who is gazing at him, clearly incredulous, and his lips lift into a teasing smirk. “Why so surprised? Isn't this what you wanted?”

Mismatched eyes stare back at him, crinkling into crescents as the older man grins back in satisfaction, akin to a cat that has gotten away with a crime. Slowly, Obito straightens in his seat, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees and lace his gloved fingers together. Equal parts of excitement and anger flare in him at the thought of having to see Danzo and having the chance to raze ROOT to the ground. He'll consider the other specifics later; right now, he just wants to rip the dastardly elder's head off.

“Ah, and Obito,” Itachi calls him as he is leaving the office. Impatiently, Obito throws him a glance over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised in question. The young Hokage sends him an apologetic look before tossing him a scroll. “I know you want to partake in the alliance meeting, but intel has located one of Orochimaru's labs. Do burn it down, will you? And tag Shisui along.”

He easily catches the scroll and shoots Itachi an offended glare. “You just don't want me to kill their leader.”

“Ah,” Itachi smiles— (What a little shit, Obito’s sarcasm growls in return)— “was I that obvious?”

~~~~

There hasn't been a time when drinking has become a liability to him.

Until yesterday, that is.

When Shisui woke up, sweating buckets as the sun beat down on him mercilessly, his head throbbed and ached. Fuuuck. Lying motionlessly against the roof tiles, he blinked against the burning sunlight, trying to get his bearings back, and in an effort to wake himself up fully, he slowly sat up, muttering curses under his breath when his head began ringing in earnest.

Yep.

He wasn't going drinking with Obito ever again.

That resolution was strengthened when he returned home and heard that a ROOT agent had been caught. But that wasn't what irked him the most. It was the fact that Itachi had granted Obito and Sasuke the permission to grill their captive to his limits and had not bothered to tell him. His little cousin had sent Genma to pick Obito up, and had just ignored Shisui’s existence.

Ouch.

In petty revenge, Shisui had hounded the younger Uchiha the entire evening in the most annoying way possible to convey his irritation and set the grounds even.

“I heard you pestered Hokage-sama all night,” Genma chuckles. Between his teeth is a single senbon, sharp and glinting, no doubt still lethal like the other brunette’s weapons. “He's pissed.”

“Oh, please,” Shisui scoffs as he lifts his drink to his lips. “Itachi doesn’t do ‘pissed’.”

“Well, apparently, he does,” Genma snickers. The brunette jōnin is clearly taking great pleasure in his dilemma, but Shisui, too buzzed off of alcohol, has no inclination of noticing the man’s amusement. “Aren't you scheduled for a two-man mission with Obito?”

Another shot of tequila. “Yes,” Shisui slurs— Obito had dropped by to tell him about the mission just before he headed out for this bar— “but what does that have to do with anything?”

Huffing in faux-exasperation, Genma carefully maneuvers the shot glass out of Shisui’s hand and signals to the bartender to take it. It's still late in the afternoon, and judging by the healthy amount of blush on his cheeks and his unfocused eyes, the Uchiha is already on the verge of getting completely drunk. At Genma's call, the bartender swiftly takes the offered glass and puts it away before attending to another customer.

Despite the sun's rays still visible in the sky, people are already trickling into the bar, claiming their seats and ordering drinks of their own. Most are civilians, Shisui notes, and those of the shinobi rank are all of chūnin level. This is one of the reasons why he frequents this particular bar: to hide away from his friends as he drinks himself to oblivion. Meeting Genma here is pure coincidence, and even so, he can't bring himself to care about his companion's watchful eyes. Without missing a beat, he raises his hand to call for another drink, to which the bartender silently obliges in defeat. A drunk Shisui is a normal sight to see in this establishment. Another shot glass full of tequila is slid into his hand, and the thirty-one-year-old Uchiha doesn’t waste any time in swallowing it all down.

“Sages, Shisui,” Genma sighs. “Stop drinking, dammit. You're a waste of your good looks.”

Derisively, Shisui scoffs, slamming the shot glass against the hard surface of the countertop. “And still women would pay me gold just to get into bed with them.” He nods his head at the bartender, brandishing his empty glass in a silent askance for another drink. “I want sake this time. Give me a bottle,” he orders curtly. “Fuck that, give me two.”

“You're going to kill yourself.”

“Stop changing the subject, Shiranui,” his black eyes swivel to his companion, cryptic and sharp, “what does my mission with Obito have to do with anything?”

The repeated question has Genma sighing again, thin lips stretching into a grimace. Clearly, the tokubetsu jōnin is now regretting opening his mouth; but Shisui’s gaze drills into his relentlessly, akin to black coals burning hot. Then finally, Genma gives in.

“Hokage-sama’s planning to strike an alliance with some of ROOT's shinobi.”

Bewildered, Shisui gapes at him. “What?”

“Only a selected few knows about this right now,” Genma shrugs. When Shisui’s eyes turn stormy in anger and a touch of disbelief, the brunette looks away, swallowing hard. “But anyways, turns out our ROOT captive isn't as loyal to Danzo as we thought. From what the others gathered, there's another sector in ROOT, kind of like a rebellion or some shit.” His senbon faintly glimmers under the warm lights. “Ibiki's arranging a meeting with the rebellion's leader right now under the Hokage’s orders. Seems like he's aiming for an alliance.”

Shisui remains unresponsive.

Genma purses his lips, grinding his teeth against the needle teetering in his mouth. “However, Shisui—”

“I want to be there,” the Uchiha cuts in. Stubborness is clear in Shisui’s tone. “I have to be there.”

“Hold your horses now.” The senbon-loving man frowns at him, any neutrality from earlier quickly waning into disapproval. “There's a reason why Hokage-sama doesn't want you and Obito in the picture. The two of you wouldn't waste any time in ruining the meeting—”

“I have to be there,” Shisui repeats.

“You can't—”

“Itachi will understand,” he says cuttingly. After all, they share the same burden of Sakura's death, don't they? If Itachi cannot understand his perspective, then who else would?

“Shisui—”

Shisui’s hands are shaking now, which he tries to hide by stuffing them into his pockets. The action doesn't go unnoticed by Genma however, and the man gives him a concerned glance before patting his shoulder gently and murmuring words that sound muffled in his ears. Everyone in Shisui’s circle knows just how unstable he can be at times, but any act of sympathy is brushed off brusquely. His fingers clench into fists and pain shoots up in his right hand. He isn't pitiful. A bit broken, but not pitiful. He doesn't need anyone comforting him or some type of shit. He can take care of himself. He’s still a shinobi for fuck’s sake, not a traumatized invalid. He just needs alcohol to addle his brain—

Ghostly fingers pull him back, and he hears a familiar sweet voice whispering into his ear: “Calm down, Shi-kun.”

Sakura.

He's tempted to lean back to the spectral's embrace. But Shisui knows that the moment he accepts the ghost's touch, she'll quickly disappear, leaving only feathery touches on his skin as a reminder of her presence. It isn't his first rodeo with a dreamed-up Sakura— the pink-haired phantom is something his brain conjures when he's drowning deep, deep, inside and has no way of letting his emotions out.

“Shi-kun,” ghost Sakura murmurs again. “Calm down.”

Calm down? Calm down from what?

Through the haze of his mind, he can hear voices shouting in a panic.

“Get him off him!”

“Shit, man, he's gone insane—!”

Several hands begin grabbing at him, but none of them are as gentle as Sakura's, and Shisui snaps at the offending limbs blindly.

“Shisui!”

“You'll kill him,” Sakura tells him, urgency in her tone. “Stop it!”

Stop what?

A nasty blow to his temple has him crashing back to reality, and Shisui startles on realizing that he's on top of Genma, one hand curled around the man’s neck, and the other raised in the air as a fist. Genma’s bruised face stares at him, brown eyes hardening and full of spite, his lips split open and bleeding. Choking for air. Shisui isn’t any better off himself. His jaw and the side of his head is throbbing painfully, and he surmises that Genma must have struck back at him to defend himself. Fuck. Blinking hard, he withdraws quickly like a wounded snake and stands up, shoulders shuddering as the adrenaline in his body slowly recedes. He vaguely hears Genma coughing and swallowing air. People are gathered around them, forming some sort of arena, varying degrees of curiosity and fear aimed towards him venomously.

Well, shit.

He's lost control of himself again.

“Have you gone crazy?” Genma spits.

It is only then that Shisui realizes the three men holding him back from behind, and he spares them a glance before roughly shrugging them off. The trio are clearly civilians based on their clothes; and he grits his teeth on realizing that he's almost hurt innocent people.

Fuck.

“Go to the hospital and get yourselves checked.” Without wasting a second, he throws them a pouch of money. It's damage control, and perhaps a silent apology too, but money is money and the three men easily accept the offered fund. And like all disasters, after seeing that nothing is of interest anymore, the crowd gradually disperses, leaving only him and Genma alone.

By now, the brunette is sitting on a cracked bar stool, angrily nursing his bloody lip. Quietly, Shisui watches him, eyes flitting to the bruises on his neck and the scratches he's inflicted on the man during his crazed state.

“You need a therapist, Uchiha,” Genma hisses. Enraged brown clashes with soulless black, and Shisui’s mouth curves into a wry little smile.

“Does Obito count?”

Genma stares at him, his expression blending between incredulity and disbelief. “That asshole’s crazier than you are, and he's your therapist?”

“None of my therapists lasted long,” Shisui deflects instead.

“Yeah, I can see why the fuck’s that,” Genma snaps. He carelessly rubs away the blood on his bottom lip. “Asuma told me you were, what, unstable, but not to this extent! Hell, you seem all sunshine and rainbows outside, but just how messed up are you really? Fucking Uchihas and their mood swings.”

“I'm sorry,” Shisui offers softly.

At the apology, Genma goes rigid, his mouth opening and closing as he desperately tries to find the right words to say but fails to. The backlights of the bar illuminate the understanding and sympathy flashes in the brunette’s thoroughly battered face, and Shisui turns away when he feels irritation sparking at the display.

He doesn't need any pity.

“You do know that I have to report this to the Hokage, right?” Genma says quietly.

Humorlessly, Shisui smiles at him.

“But you won't.”

And with a snap of his fingers, Genma tilts over and slumps into the floor like a drunk man as Shisui’s genjutsu takes effect.

From the counter, the bartender watches Shisui with wide eyes, clearly frightened, even as the Uchiha gives him a melancholy grin and snaps his fingers once again.

“None of the people in this building will remember any of this.”

And if every patron in the bar wakes up the next morning with no recollection of what happened last night, then that isn't anyone's business but Shisui’s, is it?

Chapter Text

He's batshit off his rockers, and Sasuke knows it.

To be fair, he isn't the only one. There's his older cousin Shisui, and there's also Obito, and although his elder brother looks calm most of the time, Sasuke knows him well enough to see the harnessed insanity threatening to boil over just beneath the man’s unassuming facade.

So yes, he's batshit off his rockers.

But at least he isn't the only one.

A fact proven when Itachi, of all people, becomes willing to strike up an alliance with their nemesis.

Sasuke became aware of this information two days after he and Obito tortured their ROOT captive. The satisfaction that came on hearing the man scream and violently curse had healed his hatred quite a bit, but it was quickly replaced by indescribable anger when he caught wind of the hushed rumors circulating in the upper jōnin circle about a rebellion faction hidden deep in ROOT and how Itachi was planning on coordinating with them to eliminate Danzo as efficiently as possible.

Yeah, right.

He already knows that Itachi is a pacifist, and while Sasuke doesn't hold that fact against him, this time he has no hesitation in throwing all his reservations away— including his respect for his older brother— as he slams Itachi’s bedroom door open.

“What the actual fuck do you think you're doing, Aniki?”

Itachi is in the process of pulling his covers over his torso when he arrives, hair untied and eyes sluggishly blinking at his loud entrance. It seems that the man has only come home, and is in dire need of sleep as illuminated by the faint light of his bedroom lamp on his nightstand. However, on seeing Sasuke's venomous expression, Itachi yet again pulls himself together despite being disoriented and clearly tired.

“Sasuke,” the older man greets him silkily; but there's no mistake in recognizing the undertone of fatigue in his tone. “What brings you here?”

“Oh, no you don't,” Sasuke snarls. “You know exactly why I'm here, and I'm not leaving without any answers.”

Sighing wearily, Itachi gestures at the clock on his bed table. “It's already 3 a.m., Sasuke. Can we talk about this later? I haven't slept yet and I need my rest.”

“No. I want answers now.”

Perhaps if Sasuke were a little more considerate, he would have noticed the very dark circles under Itachi’s eyes and the way the man’s face soured slightly. But be it as it is, Sasuke has never been considerate, and so he waits impatiently for Itachi to gather his wits together, leaning against the doorway with his signature scowl. Shoulders slumped as if accepting his fate, Itachi beckons him to sit down on the floor.

Sasuke obliges.

“Is this about the alliance?” Itachi asks, eyelids fluttering as he desperately fights to stay awake. He's properly sitting now, but even with his upright posture, it's clear he's still not fully coherent. He is, however, alert enough to see the displeasure that flashes across Sasuke's face, and a sigh escapes him once more.

“Sasuke,” he starts, but the younger man shoots him a deathly glare which spurs him to become silent.

“Aniki,” Sasuke says, punctuating each syllable distinctly. Anger glimmers deep in his dark eyes. “Colluding with the enemy? Are you fucking shitting me right now?”

“They're not enemies,” Itachi responds. “I would never ally the village with the man who killed Sakura.”

“Then why?”

“Because they're not enemies,” Itachi repeats, sighing. He fixes Sasuke a hard look, eyebrows narrowing. “Or at least according to Obito’s contact. I also had Inoichi look into our prisoner’s memories and well, it seems there really is a rebellion going on.”

“Memories can be faked or implanted, and you know that, Aniki,” Sasuke retorts. Why is his elder brother being so stubborn to see reason? Between the both of them, Itachi is supposed to be the strategic and rational— not him. He's supposed to be the henchman, the one who receives Itachi’s commands and grants them, alongside Shisui and Obito. He hasn't questioned any of his brother's actions, except for now, because he needs to see where this is all headed.

Whether the alliance will lead to success or failure.

But Itachi, on seeing the turmoil written on his face, only smiles at him and reaches over to gently poke his forehead, as if assuring him that everything will be alright.

“Sometimes blind faith is needed when you have nothing to turn to anymore, Sasuke,” the older man tells him softly. “Humans need something to believe in in order to live. And I, admittedly, can feel myself dying inside each passing day.”

“Bullshit,” Sasuke hisses.

But even the violent curse sounds weak to his own ears.

“It isn't bullshit,” Itachi says. His eyes pleadingly gaze into Sasuke's, begging for the younger man to understand him. “Please Sasuke, you out of all people should be able to sympathize with me.”

But he doesn't want to.

If Itachi’s way of coping is to rely on false hopes, then Sasuke's way of coping is to directly pluck the root of his hatred and anger. Perhaps Shisui will understand him better than his older brother. Gritting his teeth, Sasuke folds his arms across his chest and digs his nails into his forearms to ground himself. Cooperating with the enemy? With ROOT? Fuck no. He'd rather hunt Danzo down himself than ally himself with people he can't trust.

As if on cue, his bloodlust rears up. Yessssss, it laughs hissingly. Rip him from limb to limb, scatter him to the winds for the crows to eat—

Shut up, Sasuke snaps.

(But how does one quieten down their inner thoughts?)

But you want it, you want the old bastard's head, don't you? his bloodlust croons knowingly. It slithers in the darkness of his mind, violently clawing at his mental walls. I can help you with that… Sakura would have wanted it too—

No, she wouldn't have. He shakes the thought off. Sakura was sweet, she was forgiving. She was everything present-day Sasuke isn't. She wouldn't have wanted Danzo to die a merciless death—

Or would she?

“Sasuke?” Itachi’s hand comes to grasp his shoulder. “Is everything alright—”

As if he'd been burned, Sasuke recoils away from his brother's touch and snarls. “Do whatever you want.” His eyes glint murderously under the lamp’s glow. “But if whatever you are planning fails, I will personally raise hell.”

His lips flatten into a scowl.

“And I will drag you with me.”

~~~~

Diplomacy has never been his forte. His sharp tongue and his tactlessness allows him no room for connections and bonds. But as such, being stuck in two worlds, Sai now finds himself acting as a bridge between Konoha and his leader.

The first two days in prison had been hell for him. The two Sharingan-wielding men that came to coerce information from him, as well as the interrogator that watched in the background, were mercilessly cruel. Sai had recognized the Uchiha pair immediately of course— Saye had described them in detail countless times before during her soft-spoken tirades. They were the reason why he accepted Danzo’s orders with no hesitation— to bring back news of them to Saye. She never explicitly told him why they mattered to her, only that they were dear friends before Danzo took her, but perhaps there is more to what is on the surface.

Although Sai doesn't think Saye will ever spill. Despite their friendship, the woman hides so many secrets, and whenever he tries to pry, all he gets is a lonely smile and saddened eyes that has him snapping his mouth shut if only to stop himself from discomforting her any further. Saye is, in his opinion, sunshine and rainbows with a hint of darkness underneath. Genuine in all her nature, yet taciturn and manipulative as an undertone. Sweet and cunning. Two sides of a coin. Sometimes Sai thinks she is an incarnation of Yin and Yang.

But perhaps it is because of the seals Danzo placed on her that has made her so tight-lipped. He once accidentally walked in on her as she was in the midst of dressing, and his eyes, desperate to spare Saye some dignity, instantly landed on the intricate writings on her abdomen to which he stiffened. Three runic circles overlapping each other. The design itself was artistic, and Sai couldn't resist the urge to ask about them.

“Oh, these?” Saye traced the lines gently, but the hardened look on her face spoke another thought. “They're seals Danzo placed on me.” She pointed at one circle. “This one distorts my identity.” And Sai, puzzled, pursed his lips thoughtfully. Distort? But Saye didn't wait for him; she then tapped on another one. “This one prevents me from drawing huge amounts of chakra all at once and restrains me from attacking that old fucker directly.” And finally, she harshly dragged her fingernails into the last seal, a snarl contorting her pretty lips.

“And this,” she hissed, blue eyes darkening to near black, “this seal took something that was very important to me.”

Important to her?

In the hellhole they were in, what was more important than their own lives?

He blinked confusedly at her. He had a seal on his tongue just like the other ROOT agents, but it was nothing like Saye's; his seal had prevented him from speaking of Danzo's plans until Saye deactivated it. However, her seals were clearly more detailed and restricting, for whatever reason he didn't know. Wasn't she supposed to be highly favored by Danzo?

“Why?” he asked, but it was more of a demand than a question.

And Saye grinned cheerily, poison flashing in her blue eyes, a hint of savagery within her gaze.

“Because he's afraid of me.”

Her words rang clear and firm, and Sai found himself believing her. Maybe Danzo truly was afraid of her— of her potential and strength. Saye had no qualms in hiding her prowess, amusing herself in bloodshed during missions like a madman. She was only sweet towards her comrades, but was scathing when faced by enemies. And he didn't mind it; in fact, he relished in her madness, marveling at her duality at times.

“Are you sure you've already sent the message?”

Snapping back to the present, Sai nods at the black-haired man before him, taking note of how the taut line of his lips becomes a bit looser at his non-verbal reply, tension freeing his shoulders. Uchiha Itachi. Sai skims his mind for information concerning the highly infamous shinobi. Twenty-eight-years-old. Was twenty when he became Hokage. An extreme workaholic. Rank: S-class. Abilities: Sharingan, genjutsu, fire-based ninjutsu, etc. Emotional attachments: family and village. Sibling: Uchiha Sasuke. Father: Uchiha Fugaku. Mother: Uchiha Mikoto. Close relative: Uchiha Shisui. Soulmate— intel not found.

The Hokage’s office is neater than one would expect from a room that is supposed to be home to stacks of documents and confidential files. Drawers are pushed up against the corners to be a storage space for papers, their knobs locked and sealed to prevent unauthorized people from breaking in. Above the drawers are shelves that are installed into the walls to house hard-bound books and thick tomes, ranging from philosophy to politics. All windows and shutters are open, revealing the orchids and vines creeping up the beams, providing a sense of comfort in the otherwise dull space. They say one's office can determine the owner's attitude, and Sai can safely say that Itachi is someone who likes knowledge and revels in it while appreciating beauty.

“Well then,” Itachi says, placing his elbows on his desk and lacing his fingers together. “How long is the estimated time for a reply?”

“Could be days, weeks,” Sai shrugs noncommittally. Unlike his younger brother, Uchiha Itachi is an amicable man, choosing words over violence. However, despite his quiet and gentle nature, there is still an underlying tone of danger underneath his Kage robes and the way his eyes sharpen during conversations. Presently, those dark eyes are studying him closely, like a predator nitpicking its prey.

Sai thinly smiles at him.

Two can play this game.

“So tell me about this leader of yours,” Itachi softly requests, gesturing for him to sit down on the couch placed by the left wall that is meant to accommodate company. Sai obliges, not one to question authority, and crosses his legs together, arms folded. He can feel Itachi’s gaze trailing after his every move, but there is no wariness in them, only mild curiosity as to what he has to say.

Thoughtfully, Sai hums.

“Our leader is driven,” he starts. Beautiful, he wants to say, but talking about beauty here is just out of context. Instead, he decides to focus on his general view of her. “Strong, passionate. Determined. Everyone in the Resistance adores her. And she hates Danzo just as much as we all do, if not more.”

At the mention of the Shimura elder's name, Itachi's nostrils flare up in restrained anger, his lips flattening into a displeased scowl. Ara? Hm. Sai mentally files the man's reaction away. It seems that there is something deeper going on between Itachi and Danzo, and probably with Uchiha Sasuke and Obito too if their hostility towards him were of any indication.

Perhaps their animosity towards Danzo is connected to Saye, Sai supposes. But truly, with how little information he has, how can he ever connect the dots?

And so he chooses to toe over a boundary.

“Do you know of someone named Saye?” he questions.

He half-expects Itachi to recognize the name, but the Uchiha only furrows his eyebrows as he shakes his head no. Strange. Sai knits his own eyebrows in thought. Then why does Saye know Itachi? And Obito, Shisui, and Sasuke for that matter. Sure, the four Uchiha are well-known throughout the nations, but only because of their skills and dexterity in battle. However, the way Saye talked about them suggested that she had a deeper relationship with them that bordered on a personal level— a bond that could only be founded through real life interactions.

Maybe Itachi just cannot remember her?

But Sai doesn't think that's the case.

“Brown hair, blue eyes,” he recites as he observes Itachi. But the man is blank at the description, no recognition lighting his features. Sai frowns. “Are you sure you do not know anyone named Saye?”

“No,” Itachi shakes his head, “I do not.”

“But she knows you,” Sai insists.

“Then perhaps I've met her during one of my missions back when I was still an active on-the-field shinobi,” Itachi says dismissively. Inquisitive, he raises an eyebrow at him. “Who is she?”

“The woman leading this very rebellion of ours.” Reverence tinges Sai’s tone, as if he is worshiping someone holy and inhuman. “Everyone sees her as their saving grace.”

“Your leader sounds like a very respectable person,” Itachi lightly comments; he offers Sai a warm smile. “Do you think she will agree to meet with me to discuss the alliance?”

“Who do you think told me to cooperate with you? She did.” Sai chuckles. From the corner of his perspective, he sees a gray moth fluttering by the shadows before dissipating into thin air. One of Torune's rinkaichū. No doubt Saye is being informed of the conversation taking place right now, to gauge Itachi’s intentions.

Intrigued, Itachi beckons for him to continue. “You were locked up for quite a while. How did she contact you?”

“We have an Aburame in our ranks.”

“Clever.” Black eyes glimmer with interest. “Kikaichū are usually used to track down enemies or to suck up chakra from their opponents. I was not aware they can be used to communicate with other people except for their hosts.”

“We use rinkaichū,” Sai corrects. Itachi blinks at him bemusedly, but doesn't interrupt. “They're deadlier and much more intelligent than regular kikaichū. They convey intel from their host by biting into the receiver's skin to connect to one's brain. It's similar to telepathy, I suppose.”

“That's—” there's a pregnant pause as Itachi tries to find the right words to say— “unique?”

Sai gives him a flat smile. “You haven't heard about rinkaichū before, have you.”

“Never,” Itachi agrees. “Tell me about them.”

But before Sai can delve into the specifics, the door flies open and in saunters Sasuke with Ibiki in tow. At the entrance, Itachi rises from his seat and gives the pair a wan smile, his warm reception from earlier fading into aloofness. There’s silent tension brewing in the air, the amiable atmosphere dissipating into nothingness as the two brothers stare each other down, neither giving way for the other. Ever so observant, Sai decides to stay silent, choosing to watch the two Uchiha’s interaction.

“And?”

Surprisingly, it's Sasuke who speaks first; the demand in his one-word question is transparent. His black eyes dart to Sai, darkening like embers on seeing him relaxed, and Sai smiles back at him if only to appease the man. Saye's taught him that friendship starts with politeness, and Sai would very much like to reconcile with the young Uchiha.

But apparently, his smile has the wrong impression on Sasuke.

“Don't feel so confident just because you're out of prison now,” Sasuke sneers, and Sai blinks at the evident hostility. “Unlike my softhearted brother here, I don't trust you. Neither does Obito, and if Shisui were here, he'd also agree with me. You're just fucking trash, you hear? You serve Danzo. You bow to his whims, you carry out his orders, you're one of his mindless soldiers. Doesn't that make you equal to being Sakura’s murderer?” There’s a pause as something vengeful crosses the man’s handsome features, and Sai only has time to cross his forearms in front of him to block the kunai that would have sliced his face open.

Okay?

Pain shoots into his system, paired with adrenaline, and Sai looks up at his attacker, thin lips pressed into a confused frown.

Sasuke's mouth splits into a deranged grin.

“Sakura's murderer,” he laughs, demeanor changing from angry to downright murderous.
Madness and rage swirls in his black orbs. “For all it's worth, I've been wanting to massacre her killer ever since we buried her.” His eyes lazily swivel down on Sai’s defensive— albeit calm and bewildered— form, lighting up in glee on seeing the scarlet liquid thickly trailing down the ROOT agent's arms. Digging his blade more into Sai’s flesh, he leans forward to murmur:

“If I kill you here, will this irritating voice inside my head stop?”

“Sasuke,” Itachi growls. “Behave.”

Too focused on not getting himself killed, Sai barely notices Ibiki creeping up on Sasuke to immobilize him. Blood streams down his crossed limbs and to his short sleeves, darkening the black material more, but still he keeps the weapon in check as he tries to find a way to disengage the Uchiha. A little more pressure on that kunai, and his arms will be severed. Well. He considers striking back, but one look at Itachi’s glower has him abandoning that idea. Any form of aggression might be counted as a declaration of war, and well, Saye's sure to hunt him down if he fucks this up.

Huh.

It's a fortunate thing he's used to pain then.

“Sasuke!” Itachi finally bellows, slamming his palms on his desk. Ibiki takes the noise as his cue to lunge at Sasuke and throw him back, sending him sprawling into the ground and effectively knocking the kunai out of his hand. It all happens in mere seconds, and Sai finds himself staring at the rabid look on Sasuke’s face as he slowly gets up and reaches for his blade.

“Unless you want me to throw you in for psych evaluation, you will stay put,” Itachi warns him with a scowl.

At his words, Sasuke stiffens briefly before scooping up the kunai from the floor and pocketing it very casually, as if he didn't just try to kill Sai mere seconds ago. Not one to hold grudges, the act amuses the pale rebel a bit, and when he's certain that the danger has passed, he rummages his pouch for bandages he can use to wrap the twin deep gashes on his forearms. Artistic fingers then begin skillfully shrouding the wounds, red bleeding through the linen and contrasting heavily against the white.

“I'm sorry,” Itachi quietly apologizes. “I did not take my brother's behavior to account.”

In the background, Sai sees Ibiki scoff.

“It's alright,” Sai assures him. “I've had worse.”

“I truly am sorry…” Itachi tapers off and looks at Ibiki pointedly. “I sent my cousin and the head of my ANBU guard away on a mission to prevent a disaster from happening, but it seems that it has manifested instead through Sasuke.”

Ibiki innocently shrugs. “I didn't drag him here. He was already by the stairs when I came.”

It doesn't take a genius to know that most of Konoha’s shinobi are hostile towards anything and anyone related to Danzo as they've suffered greatly from the old man's schemes. Sai knows this, and he's certain that Saye is also aware of this fact, which is why she's adamant on complying with an alliance. They have a common enemy after all, and when interests align, it's only a matter of time before an agreement is established. He stuffs back the roll of bandages into his pouch and watches the scene before him. Itachi, glaring at the pair of men in front of him; Ibiki, doing his damnedest to avoid the Uchiha’s sharp gaze; and Sasuke, uncaringly studying the flecks of blood staining his palm.

A smile forms on Sai’s pale lips.

“What are you laughing at?” Sasuke demands.

Itachi shoots him a venomous look. “Behave.”

“If I may, Hokage-sama—” Ibiki starts, and Sai would have gladly listened to what the man has to say if it weren't for the large purplish beetle suddenly landing onto his arm. He blinks. A moment later, there's a pinching pain in his skin as the insect bites him, and he hears Torune's voice echoing in his head.

A message.

“In two days at dawn. Tell the Hokage that Shuryō will see him then.”

Its mission completed, the beetle flies off.

Oh. Sai hums. Quite an unexpected development— he was actually expecting for Saye to at least put up a minor fight and bargain for appearance's sake, but it seems that the woman is going for efficiency over reputation instead. His eyebrows crease in thought. Too hurried, too eager. It isn't like Saye at all. The woman is known to be careful in her proceedings, as is her calculating nature, but maybe, just maybe—

“Among the Uchiha, Itachi is the most forgiving,” Saye said once. It's a distant memory, but Sai still remembers it well because of the fond smile playing on his female companion's face and the pure adoration in her voice. “You have better chances of surviving if he is your enemy.” A feminine chuckle. “If he doesn't kill you first, of course.”

A question tingles in the back of his mind.

Why does Saye adore Itachi so? What is their relationship towards each other? And not only Itachi; there were also times when Saye had talked incessantly about Sasuke and Obito, and her claims of them being sweet are, well, proven wrong the moment they chained him into that cold room and began inflicting their pent-up sadism on him.

And he hasn't even met Shisui yet.

But it isn't only about the people. Sometimes, at night, Saye would tell him about the blues and violets of Konoha’s skies whenever dawn is fast approaching, the red and orange hues at sunset, the soft breeze during spring, the loud thunderclaps during summer storms, the vibrant festivals in autumn, the merriment that came with winter, the bustling market…

If there is one thing Sai is envious of Saye, it is her vivid memories of when she was still free from Danzo’s clutches. Memories… he doesn't have that privilege; because as far he can remember, there was only darkness and pain and apathy throughout his childhood. The feel of blood in his hands, the scars littering his body, the imprint of Danzo on him, and finally, Saye.

“—and so we cannot simply trust this man, Hokage-sama,” Ibiki is saying. “For one thing, he is associated with the enemy you are determined to defeat, and the other—”

“Enough,” Itachi interrupts. “You have your orders. He is my guest, if not ours.”

Ibiki straightens. “But Hokage-sama—”

“Your opinions are not welcomed.” Itachi’s voice is low and threatening. “Leave. The both of you.”

The commandeering air around the raven-haired man is somehow reminiscent to Saye's whenever her authority is being questioned, Sai notes. Even the stubborn glint in Sasuke's eyes at his brother's firm admonishment reminds Sai of Sakura's own stubborn nature when something isn't going her way. Are all predators like this? Too headstrong, too determined— people who naturally shine in their own element amongst the crowd.

“Perhaps I should be the one to leave,” Sai states blandly. “The three of you clearly have some issues to settle.”

He half-expects for Itachi to stop him and tell him that it's alright, but the man only gives him a grateful nod, subtle relief written across his aristocratic features. Sai smiles back at him, brushing off the glares digging into the back of his head, courtesy of Sasuke. As he is twisting the doorknob open, he opens his mouth to say:

“Shuryō will come in two days. If that's not a bother, Uchiha-san?”

Uchiha-san. Not ‘Hokage-sama.’ Throughout their conversation, Sai has been puzzling on what to call Itachi. Perhaps it is because of pettiness, but Sai doesn't feel like calling the man by his given title. At least not until the alliance is settled, because until then, the only person he answers to is Saye.

Understanding flits on Itachi’s face, and he nods just as Sai is about to close the door having already stepped outside.

“I don't mind,” is his hushed reply.

The door clicks shut.

~~~~

Unfortunately, the morning she is about to set off to Konoha, Danzo called her into his office for an unscheduled mission.

“How sudden,” Torune remarks when she's returned from the mission briefing. He throws her a kunai sharpener which she promptly shoves into her pouch along with her other necessities. “And you'll be gone for an indefinite amount of time.”

Although there is a sudden change of plans, there is no anger in Sakura's heart. A cheerful hum plays on her lips as she rummages her room for necessities— some soap, a clean pair of pants, two black turtlenecks, a brush, some sealing paper and ink, a whole arsenal of weapons. She considers bringing an extra pair of sandals but decides against it, wanting to travel light. Her mind flies back to Danzo’s earlier words. Intruders snooping around for Orochimaru's labs? What a pleasant surprise! Her mouth lifts into an excited little grin. Shall she stir up some trouble then? Maybe help them ransack the snake's hideouts?

Fun.

“Could it be a coincidence?” Torune murmurs. “Maybe he knows—”

“Oh, he doesn't,” Sakura sings. Her fingers begin tying her brown hair into a loose bun, dexterously twisting a plaintive hair pin in it to keep it in place. “If that's the case, then he would've sent me away on a nonsensical mission instead of entrusting this task to me. So no. He still trusts me.”

At her words, Torune nods. Despite the heavy clothes layering his body, Sakura can see the anxious lines on his shoulders and the worry reflecting off his tense posture; and she, wanting to provide him some peace of mind, tosses him a piece of candy from her pocket. Torune catches it easily, of course, and the confused frown he sends her on seeing the pink-wrapped sweet has her chuckling in amusement.

“It's cherry-flavored,” she says teasingly.

“I can see that,” Torune comments. “But what for?”

“For you to eat, obviously.”

He gives her an unimpressed look. “I do not eat candies.”

“Just because you don't eat them doesn't mean you won't like them,” Sakura responds in a merry tone. Her heels loudly clack on the floor as she flits around her room to straighten up her things, and she hears Torune's scoff of discomfort at the unnecessary noises she is making. Amusedly, she snickers. Her pack is ready by her bed, her weapon pouch already strapped on her thigh, and she takes one more look around before slinging her pack onto her back. Anticipation is written in her steps as she heads to the door.

“You're actually happy,” Torune observes, trailing just behind her. “Why?”

“Because I can wreak trouble, of course!” she laughs, a wicked undertone lining her words. “Did you really think that I was going to follow that damn bastard's orders?”

It isn't a secret to everyone that Orochimaru and Danzo are partners in their conspiracies, and Sakura fully intends to rip their resources apart to gain leverage over them. Why not start with the snake's precious laboratories? With a missed opportunity comes another opportunity; and since her meeting with Itachi has been postponed, isn't it a good time to cause havoc somewhere else?

“Troublemaker,” Inner Sakura echoes.

The early morning air is cool against her skin, and the grass is lush under her sandaled feet. She's opted to forgo her boots today, not wanting to ruin them in case she has to fight. Now treading in the damp evergreen of the ground, she's glad she made that choice with every wetness that clings to the sleek material of her sandals. Happily, she bends down and picks up a stray dandelion, blowing on it to scatter it into pieces.

The trek to the border of the Uzumaki lands isn't long, and in no time, she reaches the boundary seals. Torune, ever faithful, stays behind her all the time, and he watches her quietly as she begins undoing the seals with swift hands. Every ROOT operative knows how to temporarily disable them when they need to go outside for a mission, but Sakura is quicker than the rest, and it only takes her a second to dispel it. The boundary disappears with a blast of a wind, mutedly exploding right in front of their faces and scattering leaves and dust everywhere.

Of course that isn't meant to happen.

“Oops,” Sakura says mockingly when all has calmed down.

Bewildered, Torune stares at her. Disbelief is reflected in the way his jaw goes slack, and she just sticks her tongue out at him playfully.

“Did you just permanently disable it…?”

“Yes, I did.” Sakura sends him a mischievous smile. “Now, you can leave whenever you want to.”

Im response, Torune splutters uncharacteristically, raising his hands in defense. “I can never—”

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes at him. “We've already done a lot of things behind Danzo’s back, what's new?”

Being a captive in Danzo’s shadow for too long, Sakura can understand Torune's hesitation in taking one more step towards freedom. But unlike the Aburame, she has no such compulsions. With deft footsteps, she crosses the border and glances back at Torune, her hand gesturing at the dense forest before them. The sound of crickets echo throughout the foliage, the beginnings of sunlight filtering through the trees. There's the fresh smell of dew hanging in the air, accompanied by the sweet embrace of the morning breeze. Sakura breathes them all in, nostalgia filling her chest.

“I will be awaiting your return,” Torune murmurs, having not moved one step from where he is standing. “Be safe.”

She raises an eyebrow at him. “And who says you'll be staying here?”

His head snaps at her in question, and she smirks at him, folding her arms across her chest authoritatively and tapping her feet against the lush ground.

“I didn’t undo those seals for you to just dawdle here. You'll be meeting with the Hokage in my stead. And take everyone with you. I expect this alliance to go through, you hear?”

Dumbfounded, Torune can only stare after her as she disappears in a swirl of petals, her amused laughter ringing in the air.

When she was fourteen, she was introduced to the Resistance.

When she was sixteen, the foundations of the very same rebellion fell apart.

Sakura was away on a mission when it happened. But the blood smeared against the walls of her shared dorm with Une and Sen was a testament to what had transpired during her absence, and the burning rage that surged in her heart had her clawing at the red-stained cement until her fingernails broke and there was nothing left in her to cry. Everything related to the two women had been reduced to ashes as per Danzo’s orders, and all that was left to salvage were her own things and her memories with them.

“Why are you crying?”

It was Sai who found her standing in the midst of her, slashing frantically at the scarlet-painted walls with her tanto in an angry daze. But back then, he didn't have a name yet, only a number— 1220. Tears streamed down her cheeks and a silent scream tore out of her mouth, frustration and grief mingling together as one. At the pale teenager's intrusion, time itself stopped and her head whipped towards him, blood thundering in her ears.

Sai.

Sai, her old teammate. Sasuke’s replacement.

“We are not allowed to cry,” Sai intones. Her friend, one of her special people… deaddeaddead. Black eyes gazed at her, soulless and empty. “Danzo-sama will kill you like he did to them.”

“You.”

Her voice was raspy when she spoke, her eyes red-rimmed and bloodshot. To a normal civilian, she would seem like someone who had escaped from an asylum, but this was Sai, wasn't it? A dear friend of hers in her previous life. Someone who cared for her, someone who died fighting alongside her. A comrade. Family. Surely he would understand her, more than she could understand herself—

“Were you a part of this?’

She almost couldn't recognize herself as she rounded at him, her kunai clutched tightly in her hand— its leather digging into her palm— adrenaline stifling the pain coursing throughout her body. Her tone was rabid and sharp, cutting through the dense atmosphere like a knife, but it did nothing to deter Sai. If anything, the man only stood straighter as she lunged at him, knocking him into the floor with a thud.

“Well?” she hissed. “Were you?”

Sai looked at her, so dull, so apathetic, and she snarled down at him. Friend, family, comrade, a rational part in her brain reminded herself. Friend, family, comrade—

“I do not answer to you.”

That was the last straw. Ume and Sen’s death, the Resistance breaking apart, the stress building in her, and Sai's words—

The resounding slap that echoed was oddly satisfying, but it didn't ease her anger even a bit. And so she hit him again and again, this time with her fists, until blood was running down Sai’s nose and his face was completely battered. When she withdrew, Sai—no, Agent 1220— watched her dazedly, his tongue flicking out to wipe away the blood on his upper lip.

“Yeah?” she fiercely glowered at him. His arms are stuck by his sides, pinned down by her thighs as she imposed herself on him. She knew he could just flip her over and reverse their positions, but it seemed that notion didn't cross Sai's mind as he stared at her, something unreadable glimmering in his dark eyes. “Shall I change that then?”

“I do not understand.” The young man tilted his head at her curiously. “Why do you grieve for them so? They were only tools for Danzo-sama to use, just like you and me.”

At his heartless statement, her tears sprung up again.

“They were more than that to me.”

And with those words, she began building the Resistance bit by bit. Block by block. Stone by stone. She kept her head low when needed, but never hesitated in using her charms to trick her fellow agents into pitying her. The older ROOT members were harder to manipulate, but those her age were quite simpletons, Danzo’s brainwashing having not taken fully over their minds. A few sympathetic deeds, some lighthearted conversations, a sprinkle of compassion and kindness, and she would have them dancing on her palm. Breaking the seal on their tongues was difficult, but it wasn’t impossible and Sakura soon figured out how to nullify it.

Surprisingly, Sai was one of her first converts.

Sakura didn’t know how their friendship came to be. Too engulfed by vengeance and mourning, she found herself going on missions with Sai more often than not on Danzo’s commands. It was clear that the old man was trying to keep an eye on her due to the recent events, and she was determined not to budge against the pressure he was pushing onto her. So although Sai was a familiar face, she distanced herself away from him, only talking when she had to give out commands and instructions.

It was Sai who took the initiative to reach out to her.

“You do not have to be afraid of me,” were his quiet words one cold night. It was winter, and the two of them were huddled at the fire she had made to warm themselves. Her eyes flickered at him, embers dancing in her gaze, but her mouth remained shut. Sai serenely smiled at her.

“Do you know why they were killed?” he questioned. Inching closer to the hearth, he poked at the crackling fire with a kunai. Sakura watched him all the while, puffs of cold smoke coming out from her nostrils with each breath she took. Winter was pretty, she thought. The snowflakes falling down were like glitters, and the ivory-white hue that blanketed every surface was so pure and lovely, reminding her of fallen fluffy clouds.

Sai hummed. “You’re a strange person,” he said. “Just last month you were screaming at me. And now you’re as silent as a corpse.”

Her gloved hands clenched into fists.

Another poke, and the fire rose. “But I suppose you are only bark and no bite.”

“Shut the fuck up,” she viciously snapped at him. Venom flared in her fury-filled eyes, swirling and spitting. Sai’s smile never wavered, and she was suddenly reminded of the day he joined Team 7 to become Sasuke’s replacement. A boy insensitive to other people’s emotions. A shinobi programmed to follow every order without question. Someone who only cared about Danzo’s satisfaction and never his own.

Infuriating, annoying, fucking asshole—

“Your friends were traitors,” Sai softly intoned, meeting Sakura’s stare without a hint of fear. The sixteen-year-old girl snarled at him in warning, but her eyes told a different story. Stop, they seemed to say. Just stopstopstop—!

“Danzo-sama executed them because they were rebels.” His voice was gentle, as if he was trying to reason with a child. “While you were away, they intended to overthrow him, but unfortunately, Danzo-sama had someone spy on their ranks, and their plans were exposed. It was only because of luck that you were away when it happened. But perhaps that was because you didn't know about their intentions.” The fire rose higher and higher, crackling loudly as it gnawed on the wood and sticks Sai fed it. “I was the one who killed 1135.”

The pain that shot in her right fist barely registered into her mind when she swung at him, hitting him square in the nose. He tumbled back at the impact, and she slammed a chakra-reinforced foot into his unprotected stomach, blatantly ignoring the choke that escaped the young man's lips. Mockingly, she sneered down at him. Scarlet liquid gushed out of Sai’s nostrils, trickling down his cheek in a thin trail.

“She had a name.” Her enraged eyes glinted fiercely against the blazing backdrop of their campfire. “I called her Ume. She was a pretty and caring soul, and you killed her.”

Sai held her gaze steadfastly.

“She was a traitor.”

“That's a lie.”

Her eyes betrayed hints of green in their depths.

“The only traitor here is you.” And as she spoke, her mouth curved into a snarl.

“A traitor to Konoha.”

Not long after that, Sai began stalking after her. Always from a distance, never approaching. She ignored him. Who was he anyways? He was Sai, but she wasn't her Sai. He was Agent 1220, an operative raised by Danzo to be a killing machine. He could never understand her. And so she busied herself with missions, constantly flirting with death but never accepting its advances, while building the rebellion back from shambles. She stayed low to avoid Danzo’s supervision, and never interacted much with other ROOT agents excluding her own. It was a cool spring afternoon when Sai caught hold of her arm and dragged her into the shadows just as she was returning from a mission.

“What the hell?” She shot him an irritated glare. “Are you here to be beaten again?”

Sai immediately released his grip on her and raised his hands to appease her. “I'm sorry, but if I hadn't grabbed you then you would have continued ignoring me.”

“That's because you annoy me, and your mere face wants me to murder you in cold blood,” Sakura spits out. “Get lost.”

“You think I don't know what you're doing right now?” Sai murmurs. Urgency is written in his tone, and she raises an eyebrow at him haughtily, a sign for him to keep talking on. Sai’s eyebrows furrowed; then he brought out a crushed moth from his pocket.

Sakura stared at the deformed insect and back at him, puzzled. “What?”

“If you want to start over, get through Aburame first.” Slowly, he reached over for her hand and placed the bug on it, curling it into a fist to hide it from view. “It's best to cut down your enemy's closest aides first, rather than focus on improving your manpower.”

The implication was clear; it was no secret that Aburame Torune had access to almost any kind of information because of his ability to manipulate insects. Frustration swirled within her at the realization. How could she have forgotten? Amidst her worrying, she had missed a vital part, and she was going to pay very dearly for her slight mistake.

But maybe there was still time to do damage control.

“You're helping me,” Sakura stated dryly. Carefully, she peeked at the nonexistent weight in her hand, noting the silver and reddish dust in its broken wings. The moth looked relatively innocent, but it was bigger than most moths and she recognized the distinguishing marks in its body. Her jaw clenched. “Why?”

“It isn't for free,” was his response.

Inquisitive, she tilted her head. “What do you want then?”

There was something anticipative in Sai's gaze as he regarded her and considered her words; and his answer was something Sakura didn't expect— “Your heart,” he said with a smile. The careless response chilled her to her bones, bewilderment and disgust rising in her like a wave.

“Excuse you?”

“Your heart,” Sai repeated. “Give me your heart.”

In disbelief, Sakura could only stare at him as he ducked his head and boldly planted a kiss on her lips. What the fuck. It was her hand that reacted first, whipping out to slap him which he reflexively dodged much to her displeasure.

“And what do you think you're doing?” she demanded angrily. Furiously, she rubbed away the imprint of his lips from her mouth, her eyes spitting fire as she tried to grasp what had just happened. Sai kissing her? What the hell? Did this world just go insane or something? Or perhaps she was already insane to begin with, and this was just a hallucination of some sort.

But Sai, stupid and innocent Sai, gave her a long look. “My book said that I should initiate physical contact with people I want to be friends with,” he responded, and she gaped at him. “It also said that I should kiss the person I want to convey my feelings to.”

Oh.

Oh.

Her fingers twitched to slap herself. Really, how could she have forgotten? Before coming to Team Seven, Sai had been antisocial and dumb about emotions and human logic. All his knowledge on how to connect with others came from books he'd read, often resulting in misunderstandings and fights within the team. Sakura had found it unflattering at first, almost throwing a fist at him the first time he'd called her ‘Ugly’ as a type of endearment.

Needless to say, it hadn't been endearing.

“You mean you want to be friends with me,” Sakura said in a flat tone, brushing away the memories of the past.

And Sai nodded.

In irritation, her eyebrow ticked.

“Well, start with that, you moronic idiot!”

Slap!

The memory fades when she nears a very familiar clearing. It is inconspicuously surrounded by trees and prickly bushes, but she knows better than to trust its seemingly innocent appearance. There is a reason why she always accepts any mission pertaining to Orochimaru's hideouts— the children locked up in his cages in inhumane conditions is enough appeal for her to continue visiting them to provide relief and medical help. All hidden from the snake's sight of course. Nothing good will come if the man were to discover that she has her emotions intact despite being supposedly brainwashed.

In deft feet, she crouches on the tree branch accommodating her, allowing the thick leaves to hide her as she watches the two familiar men below who are examining a nearby tree trunk. Their backs are facing her, but she can recognize them anywhere, dead or alive. Those black hair and an aura exuding grace and power. Her breath hitches, and she feels her chest tighten in anticipation. Obito and Shisui. They were the intruders Danzo was talking about? Well. Her plans to ruin Orochimaru's labs for herself whilst enlisting her targets’ help quickly goes down the drain. Clearly there is no use in reasoning with the two Uchiha, especially since the pair is one of the most hot-blooded shinobi their brood can offer.

Really. Why does Fate like toying with her life too much?

A flash of red at her direction and a smooth but cold voice calls, “Come out.”

Obito.

The firm command coils something hot deep in her belly, an unwelcomed sensation that has her nether regions clenching involuntarily. Oh Obito. How she missed him. She can remember all those nights they spent in secret, building blanket forts and sharing stories in her room. But it isn't still the time to dwell on the past and rebuild it again. She can do that later once everything is solved. Maybe. Dwindling between yearning and resolution, Sakura contemplates on ignoring the order and just letting the two be. Discreetly, she inches further into the shadows. With her current appearance being different, she's certain that they'll take her as an enemy and she doesn't want that. The emotional hurt that will shoot straight into her core will be unbearable for her to handle.

Sages.

Why does Fate love torturing her so?

“We know you're there.” This time, it was Shisui who spoke, all steel and metal, and Sakura swallows. Hard. Damn. When did Shisui’s voice become so… so matured? Like a shot of espresso, his icy tone is like adrenaline to her system, and she feels a string inside her unraveling, tugging heatedly at her lower stomach. She shifts. She's experienced this before, way back when she first discovered smut novels. But in this life, it's a foreign concept, not having any time to indulge in luxury reading due to her current circumstances. As such, it’s uncomfortable, and it makes her heart quicken, not painfully but rather…

“Hello,” a baritone akin to melted chocolate murmurs to her ears.

Huh.

Shit?

It's her fast reflexes that save her from getting impaled by Obito's tanto. Dexterously, she leaps to another branch, only barely managing to land when another attack comes from above, forcing her to retreat to the ground. As she falls, she sees a pair of glowing red eyes and a familiar grin that used to be brighter than the sun. Now, it is cold and lacking luster. Shisui. Mesmerized by the sight, she doesn't notice that the said man has launched a barrage of kunai at her. Snapping back to attention, Sakura curses under her breath. The next attack comes from behind, and she whips out a kunai to counter it, gritting her teeth at the force of the impact.

Metal clashes against metal, and everything goes into a standstill.

Nothing moves, except for the brush of wind ruffling through the space. It scatters leaves and dust alike, infusing more into the tense atmosphere, and she stares at the familiar red spinning before her, eyes trailing at those prominent scars and unsmiling lips.

Oh.

Obito stares down at her.

“Who are you?”

Somehow, the apathetic question sends shivers— (delighted shivers, but Sakura isn't going to admit that ever in her life)— down her spine, and she desperately blocks out the Inner’s knowing laughter because no, this is not the place to be getting distracted, and yes, she's completely fucked if Obito or Shisui or the both of them decides to something to her.

It isn't that she's defenseless, in fact, Sakura's confident that she can hold her own against them. But she doesn't want to. If she were to choose between fight or flight, she'd choose flight instead of risking hurting her soulmates. It's because of sentiments and emotional attachments, she tells herself, but deep down, she knows it's because she's caused them enough pain. Although it is always kept under wraps due to Itachi’s constant intervention, Sakura knows about Shisui’s drunken bouts and trysts, of Sasuke's insomnia, of Obito’s obsession with her room and the things she's left behind. Guilt floods her.

“I can't tell you,” she chokes out.

How can she ever make it up to them?

There's a thump behind her as Shisui lands on the soft grass, followed by, “Shall we kill her?” At the familiar voice, Sakura spares the man a quick glance and glimpses scarlet swirling as they rest on her defensive form. Heated and sharp as they study her. Again, her breath gets caught in her throat. When his eyes turn back to their usual black, they’re as dark and smoldering as embers.

A second later, she feels a kunai threateningly digging into her jugular.

Ah. She resists the urge to burst into ironic laughter. No hesitation, not even a single bit. That, she can understand, as shinobi are taught not to let feelings cloud their judgment when in a fight. But it doesn't soothe the ache building in her heart. If she were Sakura, still their sweet and darling Sakura, they wouldn't even have half the mind to hurt her. But she isn't Sakura. At least right now. She can, of course, break free from him, but given that she's facing off two infamous Uchiha men, she doesn't think she'll be able to escape unscathed.

A mocking smile teases her lips.

“Kill me and you wouldn't know how to get to your destination.”

Obito stays quiet, studying her intently like a predator scrutinizing his next meal. Despite him not emanating waves of killing intent unlike his companion, it doesn’t make him any less dangerous. Just like Shisui, his posture is lax, but Sakura knows that seasoned shinobi are quick on their feet if a threat were to arise. His eyes are mismatched— the left being a dark brown and the other his original black. He probably had an eye transplant when he integrated back to Konoha. His facial scars haven’t faded, having become more defined over the years, but the sight is a welcomed one and she feels the urge to trace them like she used to, which she swiftly brushes away lest she does something stupid. Gone is the past Sakura, locked away underneath the second identity Danzo forced her to wear. A second ticks by. Then two and three. To her surprise, Obito is the first to lower his blade.

“Obito!” she hears Shisui angry hiss. “What are you doing?”

But Obito ignores him. “State your name,” he demands. Confusedly, she blinks at him and also lowers her kunai to return his courtesy. Well. From what Torune told her, Obito’s ruthlessness has become unmatched through the years so why…?

“Woman.” His tone holds no room for an argument. “State your name.”

She doesn't answer him.

A rustle, and Shisui’s kunai begins jabbing even earnestly at her neck; not hard enough to break the skin but hard enough to cause pain. She winces. It doesn't escape Obito’s notice, who growls at the man in warning, “Shisui.”

“Obito,” Shisui returns with equal bite. “She might be an enemy.”

Case in front, direct to the point.

Sakura scoffs. “Go on then,” she hums. “Kill me.”

It bewilders her why Obito is acting the way he is right now. The man is on the edge, it seems, but his dark gaze is not on her but rather on Shisui. She can't see Shisui’s face, but the tense air between them is enough for her to know that the two are communicating silently. That fact is proven when Shisui withdraws his blade. A single tear of blood trails down her slender neck and down the collar of her turtleneck, and Obito’s eyes track it raptly, glowing the slightest hint of red.

The string in her stomach unravels even more, leaving a spreading heat throughout her system. Already she can feel the beginnings of dampness—

Fuck.

Not the time, she reminds herself.

“Make it quick,” Shisui spits out.

Immediately, gloved fingers hook under her chin and tilt her head up gently, Obito’s other hand pressing on the small wound on her neck and wiping away the remaining blood.

Strange.

Such gentleness isn’t expected from a shinobi of his caliber, especially when dealing with an enemy. Shouldn’t he be prodding her by now for information as to why she is here?

“We’ve met before,” Obito says, narrowing his eyes at her.

She forces down the hope that has surged up at his statement. Maybe, the reason why he is so hesitant to hurt her is because… Could he have… does he recognize her? Although her appearance is drastically different from her authentic pink and green hues? Not to mention, her face is sharper and angled than it should be, leaning towards the siren beauty type women tend to pine for these days. At the thought, all her optimism dwindles. Surely not. Nothing about her present countenance holds a candle to her childhood features.

Behind her, she senses Shisui shift. “She is familiar,” the younger man agrees, but his declaration is something Sakura cannot affirm much to her dismay.

She contemplates for a moment. Searches for an acceptable answer she can give them without lying. Without triggering her seals. Obito continues watching her calculatingly, his fingers now moving to skim her bare arm until it is lightly dancing on her bandaged wrist. His touch ripples electricity throughout her and she fights down a shiver, even as she stares back at him, those intense embers in his eyes flaring ever so subtly.

“He's gotten even hotter, hasn't he?” Inner quips out of nowhere. “Just your type.”

“Shut up,” Sakura cuts in harshly. Nowadays, Inner has become scarce, only speaking from time to time. Perhaps giving way to her growing maturity. But the entity's presence looms large in the back of her mind as it scrutinizes the man touching her.

She doesn't need Inner’s unhelpful input.

But Inner just whistles. “I'm not wrong though.”

Shut up.

Gathering her remaining composure, Sakura shrugs and smiles. “I highly doubt that you haven't seen women like me.”

At her response, Obito hums, considering. “What kind of women?”

The rhetorical question carries a hint of a rasp in it, rumbling deep in his throat. She stifles a shudder. Oh dear fucking sages—did he really have to speak to her like that? The stirrings of heat tugs at her stomach, and she immediately attempts to quench it with rational thoughts. No. Just no. She is not absolutely thinking of—

“Having his hand wrapped around your neck?” Inner supplies.

“Inner,” Sakura hisses, “shut up.”

“I asked,” Obito starts, baritone dropping lowly, “what kind of women?”

Oh fuck.

She feels her nether parts constricting in anticipation.

Obito presses on, “Hm?”

Really. Fuck.

As if she isn't struggling with her inner demons, she flashes him a playful smile. “Pretty women.” Her eyes glimmer darkly. “I'm very certain you've had your own fair share of pretty women, yes?”

Behind her, Shisui chokes on air at her brazenness.

“But really,” she continues, now smirking in amusement and laughter and trying to ignore the building pressure in her lower belly, “I'm here to offer you a deal.”

Obito’s eyes graze her smaller form in consideration. “A deal?”

“Yes,” a wicked smirk tilts her lips. “I'll help you find your desired location and you, in turn, help me raze those damned labs into ashes.”

A flash of interest in those coal-black irises.

“Alright.”

Chapter Text

She’s familiar, Shisui notes. But he doesn't remember ever seeing her around. Actually, given their line of work where strangers cannot be trusted, he should've already killed her. He would have already, if it weren’t for Obito interfering at the last minute.

He scowls.

Her back is towards him, but Shisui’s seen enough of her as she was hurtling to the ground when he had lunged at her from above to describe her without looking. Her features are catlike, high cheekbones and siren eyes framed by thick sooty lashes. Light freckles dot her cheeks and nose. Her hair is a very earthy brown, almost black, and her eyes are a startling shade of blue, brimming with life and mischief. Ink crawls on her right arm in the form of roses and a crow in the middle. Pretty indeed. But given the toned muscles in her biceps and arms and the fact that she is fast on her feet and movements, Shisui can deduce that the woman is fully trained.

Vaguely, he wonders who her affiliations might be.

“You're actually in the right place,” she is telling Obito. “You just haven't dispelled the distortion seals yet.”

Her voice is sweet and lilting, akin to a mermaid's call. It doesn't do anything to ease his suspicion. How many times has he already been attacked by seemingly innocent women? Women who were paid to seduce and wrangle information out of him? Sneering at the memory, Shisui shoots a sharp glare at Obito who is too fixated on the brunette in front of them to pay any attention to him.

Strange.

Obito has never been the one to be swayed by lovely kunoichi.

Shisui’s eyes narrow into slits.

Fuck it.

“And how would you know that?” the younger Uchiha cuts in brusquely. Everything about her is suspicious— the perfect timing of her appearance, the playfulness and insinuations in her tone, and those blue eyes that spark with defiance and strength. His first instinct is to grapple the woman and force her to speak, but when the thought crosses his mind, a blinding pain sears in his left inner wrist and he hisses.

The involuntary sound he makes catches unwanted attention from the woman he so wants to harm. Azure-blue collides against cinders, and a frown flits on the woman’s lips as she regards him, scanning him from head to toe over her shoulder. The interaction only lasts for a second, but the concern in her gaze is imminent and it has his stomach clenching in discomfort. Or is it because of heat inside him? He stares down at her imposingly, determined to not let his uneasiness show. Who is she to fawn over him after all? They’re nothing more than strangers.

However, her gaze is piercing and knowing, as if seeing right through his thoughts and facade, and as she turns and reaches for him, Shisui finds himself reacting faster than usual, whipping out his kunai again and slicing at her neck in defense.

Why, if she weren’t as agile as a cat, she would be already choking on her own blood by now, a voice hums in his head. His eyes apathetically track the thick trail of blood running down her arm as she holds his weapon in check with the back of her hand. There’s no fear or apprehension in her aura, only an unreadable glint in her stare as she takes one more step forward.

Shisui hisses at her threateningly, pressing the knife deeper into her skin.

On seeing the genuine animosity in his actions, Obito snarls, eyes flashing in warning. “Shisui.”

“As pretty as I look, I am quite immune to pain,” the woman murmurs, brushing the older man off. Her mouth tilts into a serene smile, revealing the barest hints of pearly white teeth, but then her eyes become slitted and Shisui only has time to blink before he realizes that he’s now lying on his back, being straddled by the female he'd just hurt. Taking advantage of his surprise, the woman knocks the kunai out of his grip, sending it skidding away from them, its gray metal contrasting greatly against the green backdrop of the grass. His arms are pinned to his sides, caged by her toned thighs, and electricity dances within him at the show of domination and strength. His heartbeat thunders frantically in his chest. Slowly, like feathery kisses, her fingers press against the pulse point of his neck— a silent warning— and Shisui just stares at the kunoichi on top of him.

“If you think you can make me cower by inflicting pain on me, Uchiha, then it seems you have to get your facts straight.” Her scent, naturally curdling off her skin, smells intoxicatingly of honey and vanilla, but also of blood and violence. Addicting. Quite different to the sickening perfumes civilian females wear, but also not lacking in subtlety. It stirs a fever in his stomach and tugs at his self-control. Ours, a voice hisses at him. Ours. The fuck? Disturbed by the passing thought, he instead focuses on the woman before him, his teeth biting his lip to rid him of his shameful impulses.

Languidly, she smiles at him, poison seeping in her femininity,

“You must know, Danzo trained us not to bow in the face of pain.”

His blood runs cold at the admission.

“You're ROOT.”

The woman tilts her head. “I am. Does that bother you?”

A tendril of her hair falls loose from her bun, curling over her forehead. She brushes it away. Shisui watches her in equal parts of fascination and disgust, teetering between being unbothered about her direct contact with Danzo or attacking her for it. Rationally speaking, he can turn her over, reverse their positions, and gain control of the situation, but being dominated by a mere slip of a woman coils a certain level of intensity in the depths of his lower stomach— the stirrings of arousal overcoming him.

Not to mention, the burning ache that pulses in his left wrist every time the thought of harming her comes to mind.

Fuck.

“Well?” the woman prods. “Does it?”

He hears Obito scoffing in derision.

When he glances at him, the man’s eyes seem to say, “Stand down.”

Dammit.

“...no,” Shisui answers after a long pause; but even his response sounds weak to his ears. He purses his lips. “But I will rip you to shreds if you do something funny.”

Amused, the woman throws her head back and laughs sweetly, pure humor coloring her demeanor as she climbs off him and offers him a hand. Tentatively, Shisui takes it, eyes widening at her physical strength when she manages to hoist him up to his feet almost effortlessly. In the corner of his vision, he sees Obito regarding the kunoichi with an indecipherable glimmer in his mismatched pupils.

“Acting all big and bad doesn't suit you at all,” the brunette female remarks. “But yes, you can kill me immediately if I do something against your morals. Our interests align after all.”

It doesn't need a genius to put two and two together to come to a conclusion.

Obito hums contemplatively. “You're a part of the rebellion.”

“Not just a part,” the woman denies. Gracefully, she trods to the smallest tree standing by the side and drums her fingers against its trunk. Twin seals interlapping each other appear out of thin air. The two men watch her curiously, and with a single hand motion, she disperses the enchantment.

There's a sudden gush of wind and a rumble from the ground, and Shisui looks down to see that he is now standing on a wooden trapdoor, securely locked by a single padlock.

A base.

“Who really are you?” he queries, stunned.

“I'm the one who told Konan to send that message to Konoha,” she answers simply. Her footsteps are quick and quiet as she traipses back to them. “In fact, I was supposed to be meeting your Hokage today, but, well—” she looks pointedly at them— “I got the order to check out the intruders snooping around that snake's property.” Her mouth lifts into an entertained smile. “What a coincidence, right?”

Deadly. Dangerous. Defiant.

Anyone who has the ability to grow a resistance under Danzo’s nose is commendable. Incredibly so. With newfound respect, Shisui eyes her, looking away quickly when their gazes meet.

And is it just his imagination, or do her irises hold swirls of emerald?

Obito gestures at the lock on the trapdoor. “Do you have the key?”

Thoughtfully, the woman kneels down and palms the metal lock, giving it an experimental tug. It doesn't budge. “Does it look like I have the key?” she counters cheekily.

A smile forms on Obito’s lips. “I was asking nicely,” he points out, amused, and Shisui squints at him, incredulous. Is he… Is he actually entertained? The infamous, brutal ANBU commander who always demands for respect from his subordinates, entertained? By a smart-mouthed kunoichi? To prove his point, Obito snorts dismissively. “No need to get all sarcastic on me, woman.”

“I was only being playful, Obito-kun,” she replies with a lighthearted laugh. The attached honorific to his name doesn't go unnoticed by Obito who stiffens, clearly not expecting it the least. The familiarity in her tone is transparent, and Shisui wonders if the two know each other from before; he glances at his relative. The slack look on Obito’s face tells another story though, and his bemusement mounts up.

But their female companion pays him no mind and instead raps on the wood loudly. “But really,” she continues. “Can you not teleport us inside there?”

“And possibly land us into a trap?”

“Fair point,” she agrees. A sigh. “Guess I'll have to do it myself then.”

Then she cracks her knuckles and promptly slams her fist into the wooden surface.

It stuns Shisui, who blinks furiously against the debris that goes flying at the explosion; and it takes a tiny splinter to get into his eye for him to snap out of his trance and use his arms to cover his face. He briefly sees Obito doing the same, earth and rocks pelting on him. The ground rumbles. From the trees, the birds desperately make their escape as nature is disturbed; they dive upwards in flocks, cawing their displeasure and fright. When everything has died down, all that remains are the residue of sturdy mahogany, crushed to pieces, and a large hole where the door once was.

What the fuck.

“You’ll catch flies with your mouth hanging like that, Uchiha,” the kunoichi sings playfully as she straightens up and surveys the havoc before her; Shisui doesn’t know how she even knows that his jaw is open, but he clamps it shut all the same, unwilling to be humiliated. Like them, she is relatively unharmed, if only a bit battered from the brunt of her attack. She claps her hands happily. “There you go! We can go in now.”

Curiously, Obito peers into the dark hole. “Orochimaru isn’t here, is he,” he states dryly, and the woman laughs, shaking her head in answer. “No,” is her reply. “I wouldn’t have broken his door if he were here.”

There is a ladder leading down, and it is a miracle that there is almost no damage dealt to them considering the power behind their female comrade’s punch. Or maybe not, Shisui immediately redacts when he steps onto a rail and feels metal crumbling under his weight. Not safe. Obito follows him down, equally deft and careful as he fumbles for a steady footing and Shisui hisses in pain when a piece of iron pokes his eye. Really. What is with his eye being abused today?

“Sorry,” he hears the woman above him. “Wasn’t expecting that the ladder would be this brittle.”

A deep chuckle from Obito. “With your strength, sunshine?”

Let it be said that Obito does not like pet names unless he is attempting to bed a woman.

“Not the time to flirt, Obito,” Shisui says snappishly. Despite having bedded several women already, the younger Uchiha has his standards, and this woman with them is not in his standards. Who in their right mind would bed a possible enemy nin anyways?

“I’d like it more if you called me ‘blossom’ instead,” the woman hums, ignoring his brusque intervention. Her statement has Shisui whipping his head up to look at her, stunned, and he swears he can feel his neck cracking at the sudden movement. Above him, Obito tenses, almost missing a stable handhold as he descends another rail, if the sound of pebbles eroding and falling down past him is any indication.

Blossom.

If memory serves him right, Obito used to call Sakura ‘blossom’.

“What—” he starts to say, but is interrupted by Obito who accidentally stomps a foot onto his face— “OI!”

“Sorry.”

But nothing about Obito’s tone is apologetic at all.

“The hell’s your problem?” Shisui grumbles, rubbing his sore nose. “What’s with the world abusing my face today?”

And the woman laughs, bright and clear.

Unbidden, the sound stirs a heat inside him, but he tampers it down stubbornly.

When they reach the bottom, they are greeted by cold air and darkness. It makes the hair behind Shisui’s neck stand up on its ends, the chill caressing him gently as if knowing all his deepest secrets. Orochimaru’s influence no doubt. He crinkles his nose in distaste. Is the Sannin’s aura so powerful that it can penetrate rooms?

A snap, and then there’s light dancing in Obito’s fingers.

“You Uchihas and your weird obsession with flames,” the woman sighs in faux exasperation. Mirth glimmers in her blue eyes. “Just don’t burn the place down yet.”

Against the backdrop of the reddish and orange hues of the fire Obito is holding, Shisui can see the paleness of the woman's skin and the graceful arch of her neck. Pretty. He swallows. Really pretty. The dimples framing either side of her upturned mouth is simply delectable, and those glossy lips puckered into a semi-pout seem like it tastes of strawberries. He bites the inside of his cheek. If… just if, he were to elicit a moan from her, what would it sound like? Sweet and wanton? Or seductive and low?

As if fate is teasing him, their gazes meet.

“Falling in love with me already, Uchiha?” the woman smirks.

Somehow, her calling him by his surname leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

“My name is not ‘Uchiha’,” he grounds out.

Mockingly, she taps her chin with her pointer and stares at him, wide-eyed. “It isn't?”

In reply, he glares at her.

“I thought it isn't the time to flirt?” Obito sternly says, but a playful undertone lines his words. There's a scoff, and Shisui sees a fond smile flitting on the woman's face, but it goes as quickly as it comes. In a blink of an eye, the air around her turns serious and grim, and she thumbs the wall while kicking the ground as if searching for something.

Shisui takes a step towards her. “What are you—”

Smack!

And promptly stumbles on an unidentified bump and falls onto his face.

“Oh,” is the nonchalant reaction of the lone female in their midst. “So that's where the button went.”

What.

Obito is chuckling, his deep laughter reverberating in his chest, dark eyes glimmering with humor. By his side, the woman hides a grin behind her dainty leather-gloved palm, biting down on her bottom lip to prevent a smile from breaking out. Shisui growls at them, offended, and he takes note of how the kunoichi’s eyes briefly dilate at the sound— a reaction he has only seen by females pining after him. Oh? Could it be that the damned woman is actually attracted to him?

“Push the button, Uchiha,” she commands through her chuckles when he's back on his feet and dusting off his pants. “Push it.”

“I will if you begin calling me by my name,” Shisui shoots back venomously. “You call my cousin by his name yet you don't call me by mine.”

“That's because Obito-kun was polite enough to ask me for my name.” Blue eyes stare at him ambiguously, holding his own gaze with a fire of her own. “You, on the other hand, didn't ask for it and even had the nerve to press a kunai against my neck. You could've killed me.”

“And I would have, if it weren’t for Obito.”

“Ha!” All laughter gone, she turns away from him, indignance emitting from her smaller form. “Then don't demand that I call you by your name. You don't deserve it. Uchiha.”

And here's the thing with Shisui. Just like Sasuke, when he doesn't get his way, he always tries to have the last word if only to prove his point. It's an automatic defense mechanism, one he usually cannot control, so it doesn't surprise him when he violently stomps on the button and mutters,

“Keep calling me that and I'll think that you actually want to marry me and take my surname.”

Another amused chuckle from Obito. Appalled, the woman whips her head to stare at Shisui, mouth opening and closing as she attempts to formulate the right words to throw back at his face. She isn't granted that opportunity, however, when the floor creaks and suddenly they are free-falling. It almost causes Shisui’s heart to jump into his throat, hammering loudly against his ribcage in fright. His hand flies to his left, leaning heavily against the wall as he tries to maintain his footing by applying chakra to the soles of his feet, and the woman shouts, “Brake!”

Brake?

How the fuck do you brake this monstrosity?

“I said, brake, stupid!” the woman screeches over the howl of the wind.

“Well, if you would tell me exactly how to brake, I WOULD HAVE DONE SO ALREADY!” he roars back.

“Oh for the love of—” then she shrieks when turbulence hits and the entire floor seems to shake. “Just push the button again!”

Without thinking, he aggressively slams his foot into the button.

The floor instantly stops plummeting.

“Well,” Obito says after a moment of severe silence, “that wasn't so bad.”

“Not bad, my ass!” Shisui hisses, equally terrified and angry. “We could have died!”

“But we didn't,” Obito hums cheerily. “So no harm done, right?”

“Fucking Orochimaru,” Shisui hears the woman mutter irritatedly. “I swear I'll burn his balls to the ground when I get my hands on him.”

“You mean you didn't know about this?” Shisui questions, aghast.

“No.” Then the woman dusts herself off and snaps her fingers into a rhythm— three short snaps, a pause, two short snaps, and so on. The sound is sharp and clear in the bleak air, and before Shisui can ask her what she is doing, the wall behind them gives a loud shudder and opens up, a ray of blinding light shooting from it. He squints against the intensity of it, his eyes adjusting from the dark. Behind him, he hears Obito’s flame flickering out and feels dainty fingers grazing his wrist as the woman passes him.

“Come on.”

They step into a whitewashed hallway, smelling keenly of antiseptic and medicine, and he watches with a bit of amusement when the kunoichi’s nose scrunches in distaste. Reflexively, he reaches over and pulls on the lines forming by the side of her mouth, none too harshly yet none too gently either, like he used to do with Sakura when the girl was frowning too much. Caught off guard by his impulsiveness, he blinks.

“You’ll get wrinkles,” is his bland statement.

In return, she bats her eyelashes at him. “Oh, so you do care,” she purrs, and his heart gives a little jolt at the sound. He quickly recoils his touch. A knot begins to tangle in his nether regions, waging a fire deep in his belly, and he begins to desperately circle the chakra flow in his body to prevent an erection from happening. Deep breaths. In and out. One, two, three. Perhaps Obito can sense the turmoil he is battling, because the older man places a hand on his shoulder and squeezes painfully, thus canceling all lust-filled thoughts.

When he glances back at the scarred Uchiha, Shisui sees the shadow of a smirk forming on the man’s face.

“Focus.”

The cunning glint in Obito’s dark orbs is enough proof for Shisui to deduce that the insufferable shinobi does know about his dilemma.

He scowls.

Asshole.

The underground structure is deceptively simple and harmless, brown stains decorating the joint corners where the walls and the floor meet. There are hollow tiles, overturned tiles, and mismatched tiles, Shisui notices. Either the Sannin has a peculiar taste, or the budget is running low for him to indulge in uniformity. The hallways are long, doors installed on the walls several feet apart from each other, some chipped and some cracked with age. They all look the same to him, but when they reach the tenth door or so, the woman motions them to be quiet and discreetly unlocks it.

Books.

That is what Shisui first sees when the room has been opened for their perusal. Books upon books stacked on each other on the bookshelves, floor, and on the large table in the center. There are papers scattered everywhere, battered files littering the corners, and the air smells heavily of dust and mites. A cockroach scampers past his feet. By the side, a rickety cupboard is set, its glass displaying rows of multi-colored liquid in vials.

Shisui doesn't want to know what those are.

“Orochimaru's office, as you can see,” the woman tells them as she steps over a pile of yellowish papers. “It's such a treasure to burn down. You can find many lost things here— maybe even remnants of memories of someone who was very dear to you.”

Memories? Shisui almost scoffs at her. What bullshit. Memories are intangible. How can they ever find pieces of memories in this place?

“You led us here. Why?” Obito queries, picking up a torn book from the ground and thumbing through its pages. Curious, Shisui moves closer to him and peeks at the open tome. There are illustrations of the human body, and dates are written below, just beside the page numbers. To an outsider, the contents seem relatively unimportant, but as Obito turns to the last page, what Shisui sees has his blood running cold.

Memories flash through him, vivid pictures he has desperately tried to bury and forget—

The discovery.

Sasuke's voice. “Aniki!” he shouted, tears streaming down his chubby cheeks. It was the morning of the funeral, and the little boy was dressed in black. Up until the event, he had been in denial, but it was clear that reality was starting to hit him now. “You're lying! Shisui, tell him he's lying— Sakura… Sakura can't be dead!”

The funeral; Itachi’s silent presence beside him, and the numbness in his chest. “...And we now say our prayers as we say our farewells…”

Rain. The noise of shovels scraping and digging the earth. The rustle of the trees. The cry of the crows. Mikoto’s sniffling behind him, and Fugaku’s hardened stare at the small coffin before them.

“Our departed, Haruno Sakura, aged seven—”

Angrily, fifteen-year-old Shisui cursed the heavens.

Another scene filters in, one Shisui remembers so clearly.

“...Couldn't save her, didn't make it in time,” Obito droned. Those words were barely past his lips when Shisui punched the tree trunk in front of him in indescribable frustration. Blood. His bruised knuckles. The sound of his heavy breathing. The ringing in his ears. The anger boiling painfully in his heart, rushing and tugging and raging—

The world shifts, and another memory plays.

“Sakura-chan wouldn't like it if you wasted your life like this,” was Mikoto’s gentle admonishment. A cup of steaming green tea was pushed into his pliant hands. “Sleep, Shisui. Go to bed.”

“Can't.”

“You'll exhaust yourself at this rate.”

“Don't care.”

Amongst many deserving of death and hell, why did the Fates choose to kill Sakura instead?

Why?

Lost in his train of thoughts, Shisui continues staring at the page. He doesn't feel the rage emanating off Obito’s figure, the air around him having turned stifled and muted to notice anything amiss. Dumbly, he stares. There, lovingly taped in the center of the crisp paper, is a lock of pink hair protected by a thin sheet of transparent plastic. Dried red stains decorate the edges of the strands.

Pink hair.

When Shisui looks up from the horrifying sight, he sees the woman standing far away from them, blue eyes studiously watching him. Her mouth curves into a wry grin.

“Because you might find something,” she answers Obito’s question.

Something?

Then Shisui remembers her words from earlier.

“You can find many lost things here— maybe even remnants of memories of someone who was very dear to you,” she had said. It is only now that her words are making sense to him. Dumbfounded, he gazes at her, throat dry, void of words, brain malfunctioning as he tries to gather his thoughts–

“Both of you are smart.” Gracefully, the woman tosses them a brown folder, which Shisui reflexively catches. “You'll figure it out.”

“And if we don't?”

She doesn't answer him. Instead, she regards him with an almost mournful visage, plush lips turning down into a tired frown.

And Shisui is left with no clear response.

~~~~

It's evident that the snake Sannin immediately left on hearing words of their arrival, Obito deduces. As they maneuver through the abandoned underground structure, he sees hints and bits of a quick escape— half-hazardly closed doors, broken glass, a stray paper or two. Saye leads them through the maze, her quick footsteps leaving no noise against the tiled floors despite her sandals having heels. Everything about the young woman is an enigma— her hesitation to fight back, how she spins her words, and her… gaze. Blue and clear, swirling with yearning and pleas.

“I’d like it more if you called me ‘blossom’ instead,” Saye had told him.

Blossom. Sakura. Saye.

Sakura didn’t die back then. That much is obvious by the almost destroyed book he salvaged from Orochimaru's office. A patient record, it seems, only this record is much more cruel and malicious, dating the days Sakura was injected with unknown fluids and operated on. How hateful. How disgusting. The feeling takes a firm grip on his stomach, and he clenches his teeth to swallow back the vomit about to rise up. It would have been better had she died, rather than be tortured for who-knows-how-long; the act was so inhumane, even a seasoned killer like him cannot grasp the concept.

“She's supposed to be dead,” Shisui murmurs from the cot he is sitting on. They are currently residing in one of the many rooms Orochimaru had built, and judging by the placement of the cots and the size of the entire space, the room was where experiments were kept for the mad scientist's whims. “Dead, Obito, dead. So how…?”

The book holding Sakura's records sits innocently on the table pushed against the wall.

“She didn't die.”

“She did!” Shisui rounds at him, teeth bared. “You— we all saw her corpse!”

“An old trick, and one we fell for,” Obito says. “During wars, it is customary for Daimyos to fake their deaths using corpses carved out of real dead bodies to protect themselves. Nowadays, the method isn't as common, but apparently,” he scowls in irritation, “Danzo is still using it to hoard talented children for himself.”

“But the blood— we even had someone do an autopsy on her! It was real—”

“It wasn't,” Obito denies him firmly. “Chances are, that man who did the autopsy was also one of Danzo’s men.”

At the man’s words, Shisui miserably slumps against the wall and threads his fingers into his thick curls, fisting it painfully. “It would have been better if she was really killed,” he chokes out. “Then at least…”

“Shisui,” Obito grounds out in warning. The walls are paper-thin and Saye is just in the room next to theirs, no doubt being able to hear their conversation. “You are being unreasonable.”

“She suffered, Obito,” is Shisui’s pained whisper. “And we weren't there to save her.”

Oh sages. Obito closes his eyes. He'd rather get this mission over with. The only reason he hasn't burned the place down yet is because Saye has told him that there are still children deep down in the dungeons. Special children, were her exact words. Presently, the kunoichi is rummaging through the room next door for the mechanism that will reveal the base. He can hear soft thumps as the closets and beds are moved around, and occasionally a big bang when something heavy is slammed against the frame separating the two rooms.

It is when a particularly loud boom is heard that Obito stands up and heads for the door. Clumsy woman. When he enters the next room, he comes face to face with the large structure of a bunker, and has to crawl through its spaces to get to the other side.

“I hope I didn't interrupt anything,” he hears a feminine greeting.

A hammer is in her grasp, and a hole is punctured through the wall in front of her. Saye smiles at him cheerfully, as if genuinely welcoming his presence. It reminds him of Sakura's elated grins whenever he came to visit, no matter how late it was already.

Saye.

Sakura.

“What are you doing?” Cautiously, Obito saunters to her, gently prying the hammer out of her hold. She lets go easily, her touch lingering longer than it should, electricity sparking in her fingertips and leaving whispery kisses over his knuckles. It takes all of his self-control to not recoil from the sensation.

“Did you know that this is one of Orochimaru's trickiest bases?” she murmurs. “Although the location of the rooms remain the same, its structure changes every once in a while to discourage intruders, and if you haven't mapped out this place before coming here, you'll probably be stuck here for ages.”

Obito raises an eyebrow at her. “Is that why you didn't know where the button was earlier?”

She blatantly ignores his sarcasm and continues on, “It's possible that the hidden pathway to the dungeons isn't here anymore, so I'm trying to make a new path for myself that will still lead to it.”

“And you thought that hammering through the walls was a good idea?”

“Well, I might bring down the whole building down on us if I were to punch it,” she snarks back, offended.

Incredulous, Obito almost laughs at the absurdity of it all. A woman with small hands compared to his own, afraid of collapsing the building with her punches. But perhaps he shouldn't judge. She was the one who'd broken the trapdoor after all, and had brought down a good chunk of earth with it. If Sakura had been given the chance to refine herself into a shinobi, she would have turned out exactly like Saye— a kunoichi with raw strength.

Wait.

His eyes widen at the thought.

Raw strength?

“It isn’t really raw strength, Tobi-kun, just chakra enhancing my muscles,” Sakura explained to him once. “I'm small. I'm weak. I have to learn how to defend myself.”

Chakra-enhanced muscles.

If Sakura did it by circulating her chakra evenly through her limbs, how does Saye do it?

“By utilizing my chakra,” is Saye's amused reply when he asks her, and although she didn't specify how, Obito gets the gist of her answer. She then pointedly looks at the hammer in his hand and gestures at the wall. “So are you going to help me or not?”

He doesn't hear her latter phrase. Too focused on her first sentence, he searchingly looks at her, skims over her pronounced feminine features, and notes the planes of her face. Light freckles. Eyes of blue, shimmering with flecks of green. Pinkish lips curled into a bemused smile. Nothing about her looks like Sakura— but her chakra…

He frowns.

Why can't he feel her chakra?

Obito is no sensor by any means, but any shinobi can still feel another's chakra if it is unmasked. However, Saye's chakra doesn't feel like it is being hidden; rather, it feels nonexistent. Even her attack earlier seems like it didn't cost her any chakra at all.

Weird.

“You don't have any chakra,” he tells her flatly. “I can't feel anything from you.”

Saye blinks at him, befuddled at the sudden change of topic. “Really?”

“Really,” he affirms.

“Then how did you sense me in the woods?”

Truth to be told, Obito doesn't know why he even noticed her. She was quiet, the leaves hid her well, and her footsteps were light. There was no reason why she would have been noticed, but he did.

Stumped, Obito shrugs. “I don't know.”

Briskly, she snaps her fingers like he did earlier, and a single flame begins dancing on her palm. “You can't sense my chakra? Even now?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

For a moment, she only stares at him, gauging if he is telling the truth or lying. When no sign of deception crosses his face, she withdraws and dispels her fire, leaning back with a frown.

“Strange. The others can sense my chakra very well.” She flashes him a coy smirk. “Maybe it's a skill issue?”

He narrows his eyes at her. “You mock me.”

“Because you've always been so easy to tease.”

There it is again. The insinuation that they know each other from before. Musingly, he studies her yet again for any lie that she might have told— but her expression is playful and light. Saye. Sakura. Not enough evidence, but what are the chances?

“Come on now, help me wreck this damn wall,” she chortles, placing a hand on his arm. The action ignites sparks in him and he subtly flinches away from the contact. Saye doesn't seem to notice though, and instead gestures at the wall again, patiently waiting for him to start hammering.

Alright.

And Obito takes a deep breath and goes to work.

~~~~

The tunnel is dark and humid just how Sakura remembers it. She hasn't been here in a while, her last visit being a month ago. How long Orochimaru has abandoned this base of his, she doesn't know.

Neither does she want to know.

As she descends with Obito behind her, Sakura can only hope that the children haven't starved to death yet. Or worse, killed by Orochimaru. She hasn't cooked up a plan yet on how to sustain all of them, but she'll find a way— she always does. In her anxiousness, her fingers skim the rocky circular walls, dislodging some dirt and fine pieces of rock in the process.

Obito’s presence is comforting and slightly saddening at the same time. Close, but out of her reach. Insisting that he call her ‘blossom’, was already toeing a line so to say, and a risk she took readily because it is only an implication of her identity, hence why it won't activate the seal on her. Although he hid it well, the man was clearly bewildered and in turn, did not push the subject.

Shisui too was bemused by her boldness towards them, but had been unconsciously reciprocating her advances. She could see the tampered anger beneath his gaze, most probably because she was a part of ROOT, and his hostility at the beginning was understandable enough. But it did amuse her that all it took to cow him into submission was her straddling him.

Did he like her thighs perhaps?

She did see him visibly swallow at her shameless display.

“The dungeons are just a little further, I think,” she calls to her companion. “And be careful of the traps. Follow me, I'll guide you away from them.”

“If the structure keeps on changing like you said, how are you going to know if you aren't walking into a trap?”

No sooner did Obito say that, she trips on something and the whirrings somewhere from their left echoes in the gloom. Before she can even collect herself, Sakura finds a warm weight pressing her gently into the wall, shielding her from the flying kunai that would have struck her down.

“Careful,” she hears Obito’s smooth baritone near her ear; his arm resting on the dip of her waist.

The warmth of his touch burns.

She swallows and nods.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

In her haste to shy away from him, Sakura grasps his forearm lightly in a silent askance for him to remove it from her person and create a space for her to escape. Instead of relenting however, Obito’s grip tightens, not painfully, and her heartbeat quickens a beat.

“What—”

“Do you know how soulbonds affect the Uchiha?”

Dumbly, she shakes her head.

Obito hums. “When we meet our soulmate, we begin seeing colors in earnest. That isn't to say, we can't see colors, rather, we can't see their vibrancy. For example, light blue and dark blue will look the same to us.”

“Alright?” she shuts her eyes and forces her heart to calm down. Really, dammit, does he have to talk to her in such proximity? His mere body heat is churning a wave of indescribable fervor in her stomach, teasing and untangling. And it isn't only with him— she also felt the same sensation when she was asserting herself to Shisui earlier. Unwilling to break character, Sakura bites the inside of her cheek until she can taste blood as she patiently waits for Obito to continue.

“That's the most innocent effect, did you know?” Obito chuckles darkly, and she feels him nuzzling the crown of her head affectionately, to which she stiffens. Obito, as far as she knows, isn't touchy-feely to people he has just met. Bewildered, she places a hand on his chest and pushes, raising her gaze to meet his ebony-colored eyes.

Only, they aren't ebony, but scarlet.

“What has gotten into you all of a sudden?” Sakura hisses at him, desperate to get some semblance of control. Obito watches her, an emotion she can't name swimming in those mesmerizing orbs of his, and his hand— the one that isn't resting on her waist— comes up to grasp hers. She jolts. “Obito!”

He doesn't relinquish his hold on her. If anything, it only becomes firmer with an underlying gentleness. “The Uchiha are sensitive, especially when their soulmate has turned into an adult, Saye,” Obito murmurs, ignoring her outburst. “Attraction, want, lust—both parties will begin feeling this once they are of the right age. Much more, if they have been separated for too long.”

At his words, she swallows once more. It simply can't be, can it? Has he— her eyes again flick to his face— Has he figured it out already? The hand on her waist begins creeping down, down the dip of her spine, lightly slipping into the waistband of her shorts to tap on the faded mark on her skin. Instantly, voltage ripples underneath her flesh and she chokes at the intensity, almost falling to her knees if it weren’t for the strong arm that has wrapped around her waist. Spiking. Searing. Hot. Her hand on Obito’s chest curls into a tight fist as a shudder passes through her.

“What—” a quiver— “What did you do?”

“I did nothing,” is Obito’s soft reply. “I just touched you where my name is supposed to be written.”

Quiet.

Oh.

He knows.

At the realization, she raises her head to look at him accusingly.

“You did that to tease me.”

He rumbles a low and wicked chuckle. “Oh, blossom,” and another shiver passes through her at the pet name, “Do you see what I mean now?”

Indignant, Sakura shoves him back and shoots him an evil glare. “We're talking about this later. After I see if the children are still alive.” Or not.

Obito’s laughter follows her all the way as she stomps through the tunnel, her heels grinding stones into fine dust; and she pouts, her heart singing in joy at finally being recognized despite the odds.

The dampness between her thighs is another story though.

A scowl tugs at her lips.

Infuriating man.

“And Sakura?”

She huffs, “What?”

And then she finds herself being crushed against a solid chest, warmth encompassing her and spreading throughout her entire being. The scent of fresh rain and oak tickles her nose, and she breathes it in fondly, her hands snaking around his sturdy form in return. One of Obito’s hands is cradling the back of her head, the other cupping the middle of her back as he embraces her tightly. It reminds her of the cold nights they spent together in her room; Sakura, chattering about her day and “Tobi-kun, we went and ate dango and it was so yummy and Naruto almost choked on a ball—” and Obito, contented to listen to her talk while stroking her hair affectionately.

Only, the air surrounding them now seems so charged with pent-up tension.

“I missed you,” Obito murmurs into her hair.

“Yeah,” she breathes out. “I missed you too.”

When they pull back, there is a considerable amount of closeness between them that wasn't there before. Sakura's content enough not to comment on it. Giddiness is evident in the little skip in her step as they continue their walk to the dungeons, and even Obito has to chuckle at her display.

Then the stench of blood hits them.

She's the first one to take off, powering chakra in her heels in a silent shunshin and trusting Obito to follow immediately. All of her earlier delight is gone; replaced by a dark sense of foreboding, and when a familiar metal door comes to view, she doesn't hesitate to slam it open. Here, the smell of blood is even more potent and she cringes, nose crinkling in disgust.

Her fingers find the light switch and she flicks it up.

Her cobalt eyes momentarily widen at the scene displayed before her, before slipping into their usual apathetic stare. There, behind the shadows of the bars, are lifeless bodies mangled and mutilated beyond recognition, their blood dried up and permanently staining the surfaces they are close to. She pushes down the vomit rising in her throat as she walks through the grimy dungeon hallway. No survivors. Anger sparks in her heart as she kneels down in front of a particularly disfigured child, chakra flaring up in her hands as she tries to find the cause of death and for how long they've died.

“Sakura?”

Poison and acid. Poison in their system, and acid eating away their bones and skin. She grits her teeth. No use saving anyone then; judging by the putridness curdling off the walls, this massacre happened not a mere week ago. If she’d come sooner, then maybe she could’ve saved them all or at least one—

Clang!

“Sakura, I found someone.”

Her eyes snap to him.

At least one, she prays. At least one.

“Sakura,” Obito’s tone is gentle as if calming a frightened child. “Come here.”

With numb toes and legs, she does, willing herself not to look at the corpses by her feet nor at the blood (there is so muchmuchmuch blood), until she’s reached the older man, and he has her smaller hand in his larger one. A comforting squeeze, and Sakura sees the figure of a kid cloaked by the shadows in the corner.

Oh.

At least one.

“Mama?”

A sweet girlish voice heavy with sleep.

Sakura’s breath stutters.

“Mama,” the voice calls out again weakly. “Have you come back?”

The children Orochimaru nurtured always called her Onēsan as they climbed her playfully, begging for sweets and candies she might have smuggled in. They were dear little things, one Sakura adored much and never ceased to spoil when Orochimaru wasn't watching. It was a game, she had told the children; they were not allowed to talk to her if the snake was near or accompanying her. But the older kids knew better, the younger did not, and the ‘game’ continued.

They called her Onēsan.

And only one particular child did not.

Number 0018.

“Mama…?”

Her arms move to scoop the child out of the mess she is lying on, uncaring of the blood and bits that stick to her skin when she nestles the weakened kid to her chest. Her chakra sparks to life as she sets to work and tries to reverse the damage done to the young body. Detoxify the poison, neutralize the acid. How the little girl survived this ordeal, Sakura will never know.

“Mama,” the girl smiles at her. “I knew you'd come back for me.”

Sakura blinks back the wetness gathering behind her eyes. Children are so naive, so pure, so trusting, it tugs at her heartstrings.

“Did you, sweetie?” she whispers, her voice cracking.

“Mhm…” is the girl's soft reply before her eyelids flutter close and her breath pans out into a pattern. “Told that big bad snake that you'd defeat him like that hero in the storybook that you read to us one time…”

Her chakra glows brighter. Focus.

“You put her to sleep,” Obito says after a while. His hand squeezes her shoulder. “Though I suppose your medical chakra does have that effect.”

Despondently, she rubs at the red stain on the girl's cheek. “I told them I'd bring them cookies when I came back,” she articulates slowly, chest heavy. “Then I'd teach them how to climb walls using their chakra just like how Itachi taught me to. But…” she swallows a sob.

A hum. Then she feels a pair of arms loosely circling her neck from behind in the form of a hug and sighs at the warmth it brings.

“Don't cry on me now,” Obito tells her teasingly. “Comforting pretty women isn't my thing, it's Shisui’s.”

At the mocking jest, Sakura has to let out a cryptic laugh. “What, by inviting them into his bed?”

When she turns to glance at the man, there's a mischievous twinkle in his ebony gaze, and one of his fingers taps on her clothed collarbone.

“Maybe.” He tilts his head. “But you can use that to your favor, you know. Experienced men know the female anatomy more than a normal woman would.”

Unfortunately, the implication is not lost to her, and she feels her cheeks flaming, incredulity etched on her features as she regards him with widened eyes and an open mouth.

“Uchiha Obito, you did not just—!”

“Aa,” he smirks, “it cheered you up, didn't it?”

Infuriating man indeed.

Chapter Text

The girl Obito and Saye brought back is dark-haired and bright-eyed despite the numerous scars and scabs all over her body. Shisui tries not to wince when Saye peels off a particularly dirty and crisp bandage from the girl's arm, her own fingers glowing green with chakra.

Medical chakra, he soon realizes on closer inspection.

They haven't bathed the child yet, not wanting to irritate her wounds. Saye has set it on herself to sterilize and close off any open injury before they move to wash her, and Shisui wonders how she can bear that stench curdling off the girl's body. Although he's had his own fair share of missions that entail sewers and the like, he still winces away at the gritty and gruesome smell the girl is emitting.

“You can leave for a while if you want, you know,” a hand claps over his shoulder, and he glances at the older man that has materialized out of air. Obito. Smoke permeates his body, and there's a fine dust of ash lining his shoulders. He’d been the one to set Orochimaru’s lab on fire from the inside. Obito smiles at him knowingly. “You could leave for a while, take a walk, and talk to some of the locals here.”

Shisui scoffs at him. “The two of you,” he nods at the oblivious Saye, “have been making eyes at each other ever since you came back from wherever the hell you were. Why's that?”

Saye is humming, dense to the conversation happening just a few feet away from her. She smiles at her patient kindly, her touch motherly and tender as she tends to the open scabs and heals them swiftly, clearly not wanting to cause any more pain than she should. Her green chakra reminds Shisui of when Sakura used to heal him after he and Itachi had gotten carried away with their spars. He frowns. Would it feel the same?

“Well,” Obito says slowly, and damn does Shisui hate the casualness in his demeanor, “we just kind of figured things out.”

“Figured things out?” he echoes. “You mean, her word puzzles and everything? Obito,” and there's exasperation in his tone, “don't tell me you're actually indulging her just because you find her pretty.”

“So you do find her pretty,” Obito quips.

Shisui smacks him away.

On burning Orochimaru’s hateful laboratory, Saye fueled the fire with gasoline that she had stored in her pocket scroll. Shisui had protested against it, wary of causing a wildfire in the forest, but Obito only looked on and shrugged. Damned bastard. It was only because of Shisui’s insane flame control that the whole forest didn't burn down, and even then, the grass still blackened. The torn book Obito had salvaged from the office sits peacefully in the bottom of Shisui’s pack, all wrapped up for Itachi to browse when they get home.

Currently, they are at the town of Kantaku resting for the night. It's a small place, but very quaint and lively, and the inn they've rented out is acceptable and clean. A bit cramped for the four of them perhaps, but space is space and Shisui is used to sleeping in more unconventional places— like a tree or a roof. He claims one corner as his one, laying his futon down neatly and plopping cross-legged on it. From there, he surveys the scene before him.

Obito is helping Saye with her own futon so it seems, having taken the initiative to organize her things and place it in the farthest corner to grant her her privacy as she coos and continues to tend to the child in her care. The man's own things are already neatly set in another corner, but his bed hasn't been laid yet. Is he planning on taking the first watch? Shisui wonders. Or, he narrows his eyes, is he simply putting the woman's needs before his?

“I'll go get dinner,” Obito calls when he's finished fluffing the pillow Saye will use for the night. He pats down her blanket to smooth its wrinkles down. “Do you want dango to go with it, Saye?”

Shisui’s eyebrows furrow even more. There's no mistaking that familiarity in Obito’s tone.

Oh? he thinks sarcastically. Now suddenly Obito knows that the woman likes dango?

Strange.

“Bring two plates if you can, please,” Saye responds.

“Too much sweets before bed will rot your teeth,” Obito tells her flatly.

“Well,” and she begins wiping down the girl's body with a warm towel, “that's never stopped you before, has it?”

There their word games go again. Shisui scowls. Clearly he's the only one out of the loop. The knowing glances and teasing gazes Obito and Saye throw at each other whenever his frustration at them becomes evident irritates him. What? What is it that he doesn't know?

“You're angry,” Saye observes as she tucks the girl into bed. Shisui forces himself not to look at her; at the milky expanse of her toned thighs that subtly flex when she kneels, at the intricate tattoo on her right bicep, at the way her bottom hair curls inward at the base of her neck, the rest of her tresses aired up into a bun. He doesn't look. Can't bring himself to look. A man can only restrain himself for a short while after all. Straining against his thoughts, he brings himself to think of blue skies and white clouds and yellow wildflowers…

“Uchiha?”

“What?” he grounds out.

She's staring at him now, arms folded across her chest and head tilted in question. “I asked,” and she punctuates every word slowly as if talking to someone who cannot understand simple words, “if you'd like to take the bath first.”

Huh.

Should he?

“Or,” her eyes glimmer with mischief, “we could bathe together.”

Bad idea.

His rationality screams at him to distance himself from this siren, but his bodily instinct is wild, opening his mouth and forcing him to speak of an answer he'd never even thought to say—

“Is it valid?”

She blinks at him. “Sorry?”

“Your invitation,” he repeats. “Is it valid?”

Incredulous, she gapes at him. “You're… You're actually considering it?”

Humming, he rises to his full height and stretches his back like a languid cat. He's taller than her, Saye barely brushing the top of his shoulder, and she has to crane her neck to look at him. It gives him a sense of superiority, he supposes, and the height difference has him amused. Saye takes a step back, and wanting to tease her in retaliation for keeping secrets from him but not from Obito, Shisui also takes a step forward.

“Why, where are you going?” he questions when Saye turns away from him and digs through her pack, no doubt to just escape from the brewing tension. “I thought we were taking a bath together.”

“That was a joke,” she shoots back; and pulls out a towel. “So no.”

“Really?” Quietly, Shisui saunters to him and leans down to blow at the base of her neck. His eyes light up in amusement on seeing the fine hairs on her skin stand up. “You don't want to?”

At his provocations, she's gone stiff, and Shisui almost laughs at the way her head turns to the side, eyes darting to the door calculatingly. Her shoulders are tense, her mind clearly gearing on to decide whether to flee or not, and he is content to sit back and watch her unease. In the background, he hears her child patient snores softly.

His lips twitch into a smirk.

“But really, I don't mind sharing the bath with you.”

Despite the playfulness in it, he means every word. Certainly, Shisui still finds her presence suspicious, her affiliation with Danzo already a mental alarm for him, but there is something about her that he can't deny. An allure of some sort. Most of the time, all he wants from a woman is sex and a brief sense of euphoria to please himself long enough to get distracted from the world; it is why he doesn't like keeping his liaisons long— to prevent issues from breaking out. Women are jealous creatures after all, and Shisui doesn't like dipping his toes where their jealousy is concerned. However with Saye, it is vastly different; the lithe kunoichi carries a certain kind of charm, and his hormonal instincts crave to please her.

Not himself, but her.

But will she be adverse to it?

Well, with her strength, she can surely break his bones if he were to anger her, and the thought of it thrills him.

“I'm not a toy to fuck around with, Uchiha,” Saye responds at last, and Shisui detects a hint of hurt underneath the firm statement. “Pick another woman.”

Ah.

So she knows about his reputation then.

“Is that why you favor Obito more than me?” he asks quietly, all playfulness dissipated. “Because I'm a manwhore and he's not?”

Her head snaps up to him, “What?”

“I won't be angry if that's it, Saye,” he runs a hand through his curls, a bit agitatedly. He’s observed her unusual opposition to him, however small it may be; and it puzzles him why. Is she only reciprocating his subtle distaste of her association to Danzo, or is it of her own accord? Shisui looks at her pointedly. “But at least tell me what I did to warrant your dislike.”

“You…” Her mouth is slightly open, her pretty features flabbergasted by his claim. Shisui watches a flurry of emotions flash through her face— disbelief, wonder, and bemusement. “Whoever said that I disliked you? If anything,” she jabs a finger at him for emphasis, “I thought that you hated me.”

“I do,” he nods sagely, and she throws her towel at him for his shamelessness. “And that's because you were ROOT, and I have a grudge against that damn organization. Now that you know my side, I want to know yours.” Black eyes hit cobalt. “Why do you dislike me?”

“I don't dislike you!” she protests instantly. Honesty rings clear and bright in her vehement denial, and she meets his gaze almost pleadingly, her hands taking his and clasping it warmly. Her thumb lightly caresses the curve between own thumb and index finger. The size difference of their limbs is evident, and Shisui watches on as she proceeds to interlock their fingers together.

He doesn't stop her; having noticed that she prefers expressing herself with words and actions.

“Come now, Shisui,” she murmurs, and the genuineness in her voice has him turning away bashedly, “how can anyone ever hate you?”

It is only then that he realizes that she has addressed him by his name for the first time.

“So you don't?”

“No,” she breathes out a laugh, “why on earth should I dislike you? Your sins, your secrets, your destructive habits— they are not mine to judge.” Her lips curve into a wry smile. “We’re shinobi. We try to find ways to cope. Just like you, I have my ways to cope. You just chose the most generic one of them all.”

He has to huff out a chortle at her quaint words. “You mean ‘sex’?”

“Vulgar,” her nose crinkles in distaste. “But yes, Shisui, I meant ‘sex’.”

Consideringly, he squeezes her hand. “And you don't judge me for it?”

“You're a kind person, Shisui.” And Saye begins untangling their fingers, only to halt when Shisui threads them back. Shrugging, she looks into his eyes again, nothing but pure honesty reflecting in her gaze. “You haven't changed much from your boyhood.”

From his boyhood?

He stops at the insinuation.

“Did you know me?” Shisui queries, locking in on the newly opened topic. “Did we know each other, Saye?”

When Saye doesn't respond, he doesn't press it any further. Cobalt flashes emerald, and this time he catches the fleeting change, his own eyes minutely widening in surprise. He vaguely remembers Kakashi’s signature advice: look what is underneath the underneath. Is it applicable in this situation? Thoughtfully, Shisui weighs his chances.

Then her nose scrunches at him once more.

“You stink.”

He glares at her. “You do too.”

“I know,” she untangles their fingers, “So I’m taking the bath first.”

“Huh.” He tosses her her towel from where it lays. “You don’t want to bath together anymore? I could scrub your back,” he suggests, and it is with playful anticipation that he says it. The considering tilt of Saye’s head indicates that she is actually humoring the idea against her better judgment. Shisui covers a smirk and pushes, “I could also wash your hair, let you relax.”

Saye hums. “No strings attached?”

The hidden meaning behind her question is transparent to his ears.

With a shrug, Shisui raises his hands in a placating motion.

“I won’t do anything you wouldn't want me to,” he says, and Saye’s shoulders visibly relax much to his amusement. “Sages, Saye, do you take me for a barbarian?”

And Saye sends him a sly smile— just a slight lilt of her lips dripping with something Shisui can’t name.

“If you are a barbarian, then you might just be the most handsome barbarian I’ve ever met.”

The flush that steams up his ears has Saye laughing, entertained; the sound of her laughter echoing brightly in the room. A gleam of teeth shines through when she smiles, and Shisui is once more struck by the thought that she is, indeed, a pretty woman. When she turns back to him, there is affection in her deep blue gaze, and he just freezes.

So far, all the women he’s been with were only after three things: his name and reputation, money, or just pure sex and fun. No affection has been lost in any of his liaisons.

But here is Saye, who wants nothing from him, watching him with subdued adoration.

Shisui honestly doesn’t know what to make of it.

“Come on now, barbarian,” she sings teasingly, savoring the pet name. “You still have to scrub my back.”

~~~~

It is a new experience, she supposes, as she lazes inside the tub with the water up her neck. Shisui is behind her, dutifully rubbing shampoo into her hair and massaging her scalp with calloused but gentle fingers, and Sakura just sighs into the sensation.

Perhaps leaving their shared room to a sleeping child is a bad choice, but the kunoichi is confident in her fuinjutsu seals and she's locked up the area with security seals that will alert her if there's an intruder breaking in. The seals are shrouded with a mechanism— a trap that can teleport an army into an infinite space that has no exit. The darkness will drive one into insanity, and they cannot leave until Sakura releases them. It's something she created out of paranoia, and Sai had been the unfortunate soul to test it out.

The bluish tint to the man's pale skin and the tremble that only went away after several weeks had passed was evidence enough that her project was a success.

The inn’s bathroom is small, the toilet and bath separated by a curtain which has ducks printed into it, she notes amusedly. She is careful not to let much water spill into the floor in consideration to Shisui’s pants, since the man has insisted on kneeling on the floor instead of using the small stool as he tends to her. Shivers pass through her with every accidental touch to her bare skin, the hints of attraction coiling deep in her stomach, evident to no one but her. Obito’s already warned her of this— of the blatant lustful yearning she might feel for any of her soulmates, Shisui included. “It’s part of the bonding process,” the older Uchiha had said. “Although,” he had added quite amusedly, “with how bullheaded Shisui is, I don’t think he’s read any information that concerns soulbonds within our clan.”

But Shisui, as far as their interactions have gone, gravitates naturally to her, despite the mocking quips they've thrown at each other.

His hands move to her shoulders, and she stiffens for a moment before hearing Shisui’s chuckle. Sakura glares at him and swats some water at him. Some of the droplets hit his cheek, and he reaches over to flick her nose lightly.

“Relax,” Shisui rolls his eyes. “Like I said, I won’t do anything you wouldn't want me to.”

But the tension in her gut is quickly unraveling, and she can only let out a muffled noise in retort.

As his deft and firm hands begin to knead out the knots that have formed in the muscles of her shoulders, a satisfied moan falls out from her lips. Her eyelids slip shut, and she leans to his touch, lolling her head back and exposing the delicate expanse of her neck. She doesn’t notice her companion’s pupils dilating and darkening to near onyx when she involuntarily releases another moan. How could she not? With all the stress she’s accumulated, the ongoing conspiracy in her faction, and the impending trouble by the horizon, she’s completely neglected the state of her body, brushing off the telltale signs of the tautness of her muscles and joints.

“Shisui,” she says breathlessly when he hits another knot, “that feels so good.”

There is no flattery in her statement, only truth. She can almost feel the heat inside her subsiding to a dull ache as another knot is coaxed to relax, groaning in pure bliss as her body becomes pliant underneath his care. “More,” she requests unashamedly, pleadingly. “More, Shisui.”

The way his hands halt at their movements at her plea is almost diabolical, and her eyes fly open in indignation, only to meet smoldering embers gazing back at her.

It then dawns to her that her verbal appreciation has sounded as wanton and needy; and a deep blush overcomes her pale cheeks.

“Vixen,” Shisui growls at her, and Sakura swallows, ducking her head in shame. “Are you doing this on purpose?”

“No,” she denies almost instantly, panic rising. Well, shit, what if he thinks that she's no more than a tease? Space, she needs some space. Biting the inside of her cheek, she decides to slightly scoot away from him, drawing her knees to her chest and putting some distance between them. From where she is now, Sakura can see the strained expression Shisui is sporting, the subtle tension of his locked jaw, and the predatory glint in his black eyes. Ah fuck. She suppresses a wince. This is bad.

Really bad.

“Do you know,” and Shisui begins reaching for her, “what you are doing to me right now?”

“No.”

She almost gets an electric shock when he grips both of her arms and pulls her to him, water sloshing and pouring over the sides of the tub. It gets him soaked, but Shisui is clearly way past the point of caring, and Sakura tries to make herself small underneath his burning stare. Now kneeling on the tub's hard surface, she presses her thighs together and her nether regions reflexively tighten.

Shit.

Shisui’s gaze darkens even more. “Are you sure?”

She hesitates, “Yes.”

“Then tell me,” his index finger hooks under her chin and his thumb presses against the skin just below her lips, “why are you avoiding my eyes?”

Bravely, to refute his sentence, Sakura raises her gaze to him. “I am not.”

Silence. She can hear an imaginary clock ticking as seconds pass without a word from any of them. Then finally, Shisui leans down and nuzzles his nose into the crook of her neck before biting into it.

Surprised, Sakura yelps. “Hey—!”

“Behave,” Shisui says commandingly when she tries to pull away. It doesn't deter her, only spurring her to increase her efforts, but Shisui’s grasp is firm and steady, and she can only gasp and stiffen when she feels his warm tongue gently laving over the hurting area.

What happened to not doing anything she doesn't want him to?

“But you don't really mind, do you?” Inner whispers, stirring from her sleep. “Otherwise, you would have already punched some sense into him.”

“Is this okay?” she hears Shisui murmur against her skin, and then she feels him kiss the spot just below her ear. It feels like a flame, hot underneath with a dash of excitement. Sakura finds herself conflicted between nodding and shaking her head. Is it okay? she repeats to herself musingly. Is it? Obito, for one, is sure to get entertained by how Shisui is quickly warming up to her, enough to make bold advances at her; she can already hear his gleeful chuckles. When another bite is rendered to her skin, Sakura doesn't have the time to swallow back her impulsive moan.

Shisui stops.

The back of her neck heats up and she squeaks.

“Obito’s here,” is his words when he withdraws. He doesn't look bothered at all by their current situation. Flustered, Sakura takes advantage of his distraction and pulls herself free, submerging herself in the water if only to calm the pounding blood in her ears. She holds her breath. A part of her wishes that Shisui has taken the hint to leave her alone, but that fantasy is shattered when a strong hand latches onto her forearm and pulls her to the surface.

She breaks out of the water, gasping.

“Are you trying to drown yourself?” Shisui’s incredulous voice filters through her muddled senses. Through thick lashes, she shoots him a glare and begins to clamber out of the tub, uncaring of her naked body, breasts and all. Shisui instantly falls silent. She'd undressed first before he came in to join her, so he didn't really see her nakedness; and when she was in the water, her body was partly obscured by the murky liquid, but now?

Now she is completely exposed for his perusal.

“Hand me my towel,” she demands. Shisui's gaze lingers on her for a moment before complying. Wanting retribution, she pettily starts to dry her hair first instead of covering her body, gleefully noticing how Shisui swallows as his eyes roam around every inch of her exposed skin. There's curiosity when he sees the three interlapping seals on her stomach, and she waits for him to ask questions. He doesn't, however, and somehow Sakura feels relieved, not knowing how to explain herself to him. She can explain it to Obito perhaps, since the man already knows of her plight, but Shisui is a different story.

“You're teasing me,” he says with narrowed eyes.

Sakura smiles at him innocently. “Am I?”

She's sure that there are bruises on her neck, twin bite-sized circles marring her pale skin.

“Saye,” and there's a strained note in his tone, “you are teasing me.”

“Maybe I'm just testing your self-control and honor,” she replies haughtily. “After all, you did bite me without my permission.”

He turns away, unabashed. “You liked it.”

“Oh, I did,” Sakura mildly agrees, “but I clearly still set up boundaries and you broke them.”

Mischief glimmers in his ash-colored irises. “Would you like me to break them again?”

In response, she sends him an unimpressed glance, harshly rubbing her towel against her wet tresses. “No.”

She's the first one to get out of the bath, steam curling off her skin when she steps outside with her towel wrapped around her torso. Droplets fall onto the floor from the strands of her hair, trailing after her as she saunters to her corner. Obito is by her sleeping patient, and his eyebrows rise on seeing her figure, the edge of his lips curving into an amused smirk.

“Am I missing something?”

“No,” she interjects, “No, you are not.”

He hums ponderingly. “I don't see Shisui anywhere.”

“He's taking a bath.”

“You just came out of the bathroom.”

“Yes, I just did.”

“Sakura,” and there's an amused lilt in his voice, “did you take a bath together?”

She doesn't respond. Carefully, Sakura rummages through her pack and pulls out a turtleneck, identical to the one she wore earlier, and drapes it over her bag. Instead of spandex shorts, she opts to choose joggers for variety, and places it beside her turtleneck before sliding her bangles in place. She is then faced by a dilemma: her bra and underwear.

Obito must have sensed her unease because he is behind her in a second, peering curiously over her shoulder. “Something the matter?”

“Well,” another bout of heat has her cheeks flushing, “I need privacy.”

Because unlike Shisui, Obito knows that she's Sakura, and hell if it isn't damn awkward if she were to flash him her body.

“I didn't know you were the prudish type,” Obito hums cheerily, but he doesn't move away much to her displeasure. Instead, he reaches over and, to her horror, pulls out the bra partially hidden by her joggers by its strap. Fuck. She'd been hoping that he wouldn't see that.

“It's red,” he says.

“It is,” Sakura confirms. “Now, give it to me.”

Obito doesn't relent. “Let me help you,” he offers, and then he wraps the bottom garter under her covered breasts and clicks the snaps shut together. Carefully, so as not to touch her inappropriately, he coaxes her to slide her arms through the straps before tightening them so they won't fall over her shoulders. The whole ordeal is done within seconds, leaving Sakura no time to protest.

“You're good at this,” she marvels, embarrassment forgotten. Well, it was Obito who insisted so what is there to be ashamed of? Brushing aside her earlier discomfort, she then begins dressing in earnest, pulling her turtleneck over her head and adjusting it. Through her towel, she slides into her underwear, pausing every so often to again tighten her towel lest it falls off. When that particular challenge has passed, Sakura allows her towel to drop to the ground and reaches for her joggers, jerking the drawstrings taut so it sits snugly on her hips.

“So are you going to tell me or what?” Obito asks.

A tentative pause, “Tell you what?”

“Those hickeys on your neck,” he says pointedly, and she scowls, plopping down on her futon with crossed legs. The girl under her care continues to sleep on, oblivious to the waking world. Obito presses, “They look quite fresh.”

“They're not hickeys,” Sakura snaps, humiliation evident in her words. “Hickeys are made by sucking. That damn bastard bit me.”

A smirk. “Did you like it?”

She stares at him, scandalized, “Obito!”

Placatingly, Obito hands her a bowl from the package he's set by his corner. Still indignant, she looks at it and back at him. “It's dinner,” he affirms, and she reaches for it, inhaling the scent of fresh fried rice and dumplings. Heavenly. She doesn't waste any time digging in when Obito tosses her a pair of unbroken chopsticks, stuffing the rice into her mouth and chewing vigorously. There’s a chuckle, and Obito sits beside her, his own dinner in hand.

“Slow down, you'll choke.”

“Oh please,” Sakura rolls her eyes at him and waves her chopsticks. “Dinnertime at ROOT is always like a game of tug of war. Because the food is limited, people are forced to fight for it. You have to eat fast. I think I've already buried a person or two who died because they were trampled on.” She shrugs. “And I've also had to help dying people who accidentally choked on their food.”

With another bite of rice, she doesn't see the look of pity and regret Obito sends her on hearing her reminisce. She does, however, feel him running his fingers through her still damp hair, and she blinks at him owlishly.

“If you're ever hungry, just tell me,” his dark eyes smolder with resolve and affection, “If you're craving for something, tell me. I'll make sure you'll never starve. I’ll give you everything you want.”

At his declaration, Sakura has to slow down in chewing and swallow her food carefully, her heart pumping wildly and her mind racing. Mentally she groans. Why does Obito have to be so suave? Or is it because he's older than her, thus the attractive maturity? But she doesn't shy away from his affection; in fact, she leans more into him, until her head is resting against his bicep.

“Stop being so charming,” she grumbles. “You'll ruin my heart.”

A deep amused rumble. “Is that your emotions speaking or the soulbond reacting?”

She stops at that, and resumes eating again. “Are you treating me well because of your emotions or because of our soulbond?” she counters.

Another dumpling is stuffed in her mouth, and Obito plucks up one of his and puts it into her bowl which she accepts without any complaint. He's warm, warmer than most people, but so was Shisui, and Sakura has to wonder if Uchiha people have abnormally high temperatures due to their affinity to fire. He doesn't respond to her question; neither does she. Because blurring along the lines of soulmarks and emotions, Sakura finds herself not knowing what to answer.

Is her affection of her own will or of Fate's stupid game?

Not one second after she's finished her dinner, Shisui gets out of the bathroom, curls wet and well, torso stark-naked. A towel is wrapped lowly around his hips, revealing the v-curve that leads down his crotch. Sakura stares at him, flabbergasted. Carelessly, he pads to his corner and half-hazardly begins dressing, giving her a wide view of his toned back muscles that ripple with his every move. Her eyes narrow in suspicion. Is he still continuing his little game?

Beside her, Obito snickers.

“Horndog,” he whispers to her, entertained.

“He's an idiot,” Sakura mutters back. “A dumb, stupid idiot.”

“But you like it,” Obito says with wicked glee.

She jabs at his side. “Shut up.”

Like hell she's going to give Shisui satisfaction by giving in.

Yeah, fuck him.

“Hungry?’” Obito calls out to the younger Uchiha. Shisui gives him a brief nod as he clasps the button of his pants together, and Sakura turns her head away from him, choosing to glare at the wall instead. Stupid Uchiha and their genes. Why must they be so stunningly hot? She feels Obito shift as he stands up and goes to hand Shisui his own dinner before settling back to his place beside her. Then his hand creeps up to squeeze her waist, sending electric sparks through her body.

“What, you don't like the view?” Obito murmurs to her teasingly. Indignant, she shoots him a glare and scowls haughtily, earning herself an entertained grin from the man. She huffs. Tease. Her pout turns into a stifled moan when Obito’s hand begins to slide down, down, until half of his palm has slipped into the waistband of her joggers, lightly tracing the faded mark on her back.

“Obito—”

“Mm?” His eyes glimmer mischievously, and Sakura swallows, her own orbs flitting to Shisui dressing by his corner, his back facing them; heat flaring up within her at the thought of being seen. She feels her nether parts clench in anticipation even as her morality wails at her to stop. Obito’s much larger hand is now teetering dangerously over the curved crack of her bum, teasing and taunting, and she nearly keens when his thumb slides in between her ass cheeks.

“Obito—!” she hisses at the older man, desperately trying to be discreet. First Shisui, and now him? She chews on her bottom lip. Not that she hates their touch— in fact, it alarms her to know that she is pliant to their ministrations, her body naturally accepting their unwarranted affections. But this, this, is getting dangerous, even for her tastes!

“Alright, alright,” Obito chuckles, withdrawing his hand. A shiver runs down her spine when he accidentally brushes her middle back. “I'm sorry.”

Forcing herself to remain calm, Sakura shoots him the most vehement glare she can muster and stands up, setting her bowl on the coffee table in the midst of their room. Shisui glances at her at the sudden rattle, and she raises an eyebrow at him daringly, defiance flashing in her azure orbs. Questioningly, Shisui instead directs his gaze to his relative, combing his fingers through his thick curly hair.

“I'll take the first watch,” she announces before anyone can get a word in. “I'll be outside if you need me.”

She ignores the subtle quirk on Obito’s lips as she strategically retreats to the roof, a frustrated grumble falling out of her mouth before she can stop herself. The Uchiha pair certainly know of their charm and have no reservations in flaunting it in front of her. Sakura scowls. Do they really have to be so proactive? Even Shisui? Although he doesn't really know that she's Sakura? Contemplatively, she tucks her legs in her arms, drawing them closer to her chest as she gazes at the clear night sky. From where she sits, she can see Venus's faintest glimmer.

Somehow, the planet’s plight is similar to her own— visible, but still unseen.

She doesn't know how long she's been sitting there when Shisui comes to join her. Sakura doesn’t give any inclination of noticing him. His body temperature is above normal, radiating from his flesh heatedly and penetrating hers, effectively battling the night chill. He smells of pinecone and pepper, a homely scent that she breathes in subtly. There's a pop, and a can of beer appears in front of her, dangling invitedly from a calloused hand.

“Want some?”

Ah yes. She wrinkles her nose in distaste. She's almost forgotten Shisui’s penchant for getting drunk and being carefree with women. With downturned lips, she shakes her head at him, burrowing even further into her own embrace.

Maybe she should have brought warmer clothes, Sakura thinks. Goosebumps are pricking her bare arms where the cold has settled, and it is only because she knows how to regulate her heat using chakra that she hasn't frozen to death yet. Suddenly envious, she glances at the man beside her, skimming over his languid posture and catlike aura as he lounges comfortably. Damn Uchihas. Having a high body temperature must be so nice on outdoor missions. As if noticing her stare, Shisui’s gaze lifts up to hers, his own mouth curving into a miniscule smirk before he takes a sip of his beverage.

“Beer can warm you up, you know,” he casually says, but there is clearly another motive under his otherwise innocent statement. She narrows her eyes at him in faux-warning; however Shisui just shrugs at her and continues, “But,” and the mischievous undertone is becoming more transparent, “I can warm you up better.”

There.

She's been expecting that response.

“Who's to say you'll be the one warming me up?” Sakura counters immediately. “I'm pretty certain I can warm you up better than you can warm me up.” Playfulness, tainted with a bit of defiance, colors her words, and she tilts her head, once again baring her slender neck at him. “You just have to ask.”

His pupils dilate at her brazen display, “Ask?”

“Yes,” she hums wickedly, “ask, Shisui. You just have to ask.”

It’s a dangerous game, she knows, but Shisui is an infuriating man, and she wants to see where his boundaries start and where they end. Now that they’ve set aside his personal hate for her connection to ROOT, Sakura can glimpse at his true nature underneath his facade, can see that his want for her isn’t artificial, but rather, genuine. How genuine, she cannot decide yet, but she can push and push to see when his control will snap. Manipulation at its finest. Her mouth lifting into the slightest hint of a smile, she holds Shisui’s gaze, curiosity bleeding into lust. She can see his jaw clenching as he wrestles to keep his rationality, but Sakura doesn’t allow him to; teasingly, her fingers skim his leg until they settle on his upper thigh, and she squeezes.

It elicits an inaudible swallow from the man who watches her with half-hooded eyelids, his eyes darkening into a stormy shade.

“Minx,” he growls, and Sakura laughs, all ringing and bright, and levels him with a mocking look.

“Tease,” she hisses, in retaliation to the bite marks he had left on her neck.

And she squeezes yet again.

“I thought you didn’t want to fuck,” Shisui rumbles, all calculative. “Did you change your mind?”

“Not really,” she responds, her hand never leaving his thigh. “But who's to say that I won't?”

That is all it takes for Shisui to crash their lips together, no gentleness mingling in his impulsive action. Sakura winces when their teeth clack together, but the man makes his apology known a second later by licking her bottom lip tenderly before withdrawing. Dark orbs survey her dazed face a bit amusedly, and she quickly gathers herself together and scoffs at him, running her fingers through her still damp hair.

“Cute,” Shisui murmurs, tilting her head upwards by hooking a finger under her chin. His thumb presses against the seam of her mouth, and Sakura parts her lips to catch the finger with her tongue, slyly giving it a brief suck and immediately leaning away from his touch. Her smile grows into a smirk when she sees Shisui’s throat bob at her brazenness. Her glee doesn't last long however. The moment her triumphant expression is seen, Shisui lets out a little laugh and grabs her closer by her arms; he then places his strong hands on her waist and lifts her to situate her on his lap, their nether parts almost brushing against each other.

“Are you testing me?” he questions quietly, seemingly all dangerous, but mirth is subtly hidden in his tone. His hands are resting on her hips, and his eyes are attentive, if not lustful. Intrigued, Sakura skims his jaw with the back of her index finger, her thumb rubbing at the subtle circles under his eyes. She hums. Her knees are bent on either side of his lap so she's straddling him, one hand on his broad shoulder to support herself. Shisui watches her, his eyes glazing over when she leans forward and brushes an innocent kiss against his cheek.

When she draws back, Shisui again catches her lips with his own, and electricity surges between them, tingling through their pressed mouths intensely. It makes her gasp a little, and Shisui doesn't miss the chance to plunge his tongue inside her cavern, teasing and light, which she returns fervently until she has to break away to breathe in air. Well. Well shit. There's amusement in Shisui’s dark eyes when she discreetly starts to scramble off his lap, only to be halted by his unrelenting grip on her person.

“We're not done yet,” he says with a rasp.

Heart thudding almost painfully, Sakura shakes her head free of the cloudiness that has settled in. “I think we are,” she says hushedly, a flush rising to paint her already rosy cheeks. Oh gods, when did she become so shameless to kiss a man so wantonly? Sure, she was appointed as the Head of the Seduction Division shortly after she had turned eighteen, but every endeavor of hers was always accompanied with genjutsu. They never went beyond a few flirty touches to the arm or a fleeting kiss. She bites her lips, abashed. She only meant to kiss his cheek for old time's sake!

“Saye,” Shisui rumbles. Subtle joviality swirls in those beautiful orbs of his, flecks of midnight-blue spinning beneath. “Saye.”

And with that, he brings her right wrist to his mouth and kisses it.

The act would have spurred her on, if it weren’t for her curiosity. If Shisui had kissed her left wrist where his mark should be instead of her right, would it have the same effect as with Obito? But Sakura is not given the chance to explore the thought, because Shisui has coaxed her forward, one of his hands resting on the small of her back and the other on the back of her head, holding her tightly. With how close they are, her ear pressed against his chest, she can hear the steady sound of his heartbeat.

“You drive me insane,” is what she hears next. A wry chuckle. “And I don't know why.”

But she knows. She knows that the reason Shisui is acting like this with her is because of their soulbond. However dormant their bond may be, it isn't truly weakened, thus Shisui’s impulsive actions. If it weren’t for her restrictions, Sakura would have already told him. Tired from their earlier excursions, her eyes then flutter shut, and she snuggles further to him, bracing his temperature to protect herself from the cold. Her hands find the hem of his shirt and she slides them inside, placing them on his back for extra body heat. Shisui doesn't protest. In fact, he pulls her even closer and props his chin onto the crown of her head.

“Sleep,” he tells her soothingly. It reminds her of the old days, when she would curl up on him on sunny afternoons to take a quick nap. His fingers play with the ends of her hair, tugging at them gently. “I'll wake you up later.”

Shisui doesn't wake her up. When her eyes open again, she's now lying comfortably on her futon, covers tucked carefully to her chin. Too groggy with sleep, she doesn't remember the events of yesterday. Groaning, Sakura forces the haziness in her brain to go away and struggles to sit on her elbows, swiping at the small trail of drool that has slipped down her mouth.

It's still dark out, she notes on looking out the window, still befuddled. Hints of blue streak the otherwise black sky, signaling the coming of a new day. For a moment, she sits in a daze, staring blankly at nothing.

It must all be a dream— a very, very sweet dream. Surely her meeting with Obito and Shisui did not happen, so all that must be just a figment of her imagination. Fighting back sadness, she shifts to rise, her blankets pooling down her ankles as she stands up. She doesn't notice the ruffled futon beside hers nor the other foreign packs neatly placed in the corners. It doesn't register through her dulled senses the unfamiliar room; remnants of sleep still cloud her mind, tampering her judgment and senses. Slowly, she makes her way to the bathroom, intent on taking a long warm bath before starting her day, consequently washing away her dampened feelings. Some mornings she wakes up like this— mourning for what she'd lost, yearning for people she cannot have.

But still, through her drowsiness, Sakura feels like she's forgetting something.

She goes chin-deep in warm water, her eyes fighting to stay open, her faux brown hair floating around her like a halo. Her clothes are haphazardly strewn about the bathroom floor, her being too lazy to fold them as she took them off. She blows into the water, creating gurgling bubbles. What is she forgetting? Absent-mindedly, she reaches for soap, only to grab at empty air. She blinks confusedly. The soap holder in her bathroom is near to her tub for easy access so why—

Oh. Oh.

An incredulous laugh bubbles out of her lips at the realization.

Not a dream at all.

As if to check that everything is real, Sakura glances around and takes in the unfamiliar place— the yellowish tiles, the duck-patterned curtains, the empty shelves where the soaps should be— and deduces that she's still in their rented room and isn't back in ROOT. A content beam settles on her face and she sinks back into the water, reveling at the recent events. She's alive, she's well, she's back in her soulmates' embrace. Nevermind the fact that Shisui doesn't know who she truly is. Humming cheerfully, Sakura reaches over the ledge where a bottle of shampoo is placed, and begins lathering her hair with its contents.

The two men must have gone out to get breakfast, she thinks. Then she frowns. Was her patient still in bed when she rose up to take a bath? She cannot remember.

Speaking of her patient, what should she name her? Thoughtfully, Sakura browses her mind for any acceptable names, forgoing to be creative and choosing to be practical instead. Sages, it feels like she's naming a kid of her own. But considering the fact that the girl does call her “Mama”, perhaps Sakura can claim her truly as her child. Fingers tangling through her hair, she sinks deep in thought, not noticing when hurried footsteps outside begin to rush to the bathroom.

What she gets as a warning is the sudden slam of the door, and with the curtains drawn aside, she can see Obito’s disheveled state. His shoulders are drawn and tense, his eyes frantic and wild, only to relax on seeing her. Sakura herself has risen up from the water, chakra charged and ready to fight.

“What?” she queries with narrow eyes as she scans for any potential danger. “What’s the matter, Obito?”

It takes him only five quick strides to reach her, and when he does, his arms immediately encircle her bare waist and she is tugged to his chest. Bewildered, Sakura blinks in his tight embrace.

“Thought you'd gone and left,” the man mumbles.

“And you didn't see that my things were still there?” she asks, incredulous.

“Was too worried,” Obito breathes. “Or maybe it's my paranoia getting to me.”

Laughing disbelievingly, Sakura pushes him away and prods at his chest. “You've gotten wet.”

Instead of acknowledging that fact, Obito tries to reach for her again, but one unimpressed look from her has him halting in his actions. A pout crosses his lips, but she firmly holds her ground, gesturing at herself as she does so.

Maybe it’s because the fog in her head hasn't completely dissipated yet, but she feels no shame in displaying her bare body to the older man unlike last night. Soap suds trickle down the valley of her breasts, bubbles offering her the slightest cover of modesty by having settled on her areolas. Her soaked skin shimmers under the light, giving her a slicked look that could rival the women in Jiriaya's books. She feels the corner of her lips twitching into a languid smirk when his eyes begin to rove down, down, until they reach her sealed stomach.

Instead of getting abashed in catching her naked, Obito’s eyes zero on her markings, recognition flashing in his eyes followed by seething rage.

“What is this?” His large hands grasp her forearms. “What is this?” His pupils narrow into near slits when he gazes at her, a snarl forming on his mouth. “What has he done to you?”

~~~~

Itachi was expecting to greet a sole person, or perhaps a squad. What he was not expecting was a whole multitude of shinobi to be waiting for him at the gates.

“Sai.”

The man by his side gives him a noncommittal hum. “Yes?”

“I thought we only agreed on meeting with your leader.”

Thoughtfully, Sai nods. “I was also not informed of this new… development.”

Itachi’s sharp gaze sweeps at the scene before them. Hundreds of black-clad shinobi are camped outside the village gates, white flags positioned in every huddled group to convey peace. Some of them look hurried and disheveled, stains of blood still marring their clothes as if they had just returned from a mission. Some have their masks dangling from their belt. But most of them are prim and proper, hollow eyes staring eerily back at Itachi.

“Hokage-sama.” Kotetsu drops into position behind him. “How do you plan on proceeding?’

Despite the unplanned setback, Itachi immediately knows what his verdict should be when a familiar face saunters out of the crowd. Aburame Torune. Judging from the respectful bows, the man has become someone important within the faction, Itachi deduces. The Aburame stops short just out of his reach, a buzzing sound emitting from him, and Itachi concludes that it must be because of his insects. Cordially, he inclines his head at the ROOT operative.

“Torune.”

And Torune nods at him. “Itachi.”

They'd been comrades once, in the end of the last war. But shortly after Itachi was promoted into a higher rank, Torune disappeared without a trace. It isn’t a surprise to him anymore that Danzo had gotten hold of the insect-wielding man, considering that he was also a genius in his own right— albeit someone who wasn't born into the Aburame main house.

“I apologize for the inconvenience,” Torune intones. “But Danzo had sent Shuryō on a mission, and I am to be her proxy.”

“That does not explain the army you brought,” Itachi hears Kotetsu mutter sarcastically.

Apparently, Torune has also heard the statement, and his buzzing becomes significantly louder. “It does, actually,” is his quiet response. “I had orders to bring them here. Perhaps Shuryō has noticed that Danzo is already becoming antsy.”

There's a derisive scoff from the weapon specialist, “Your orders, Hokage-sama?”

“Accommodate them,” is Itachi’s immediate response. “Konoha does not turn away those who seek shelter.”

Kotetsu doesn't protest against him. A moment later, Itachi feels the man flickering away to relay his orders, leaving him and Sai with the unexpected guests.

All is serene, as if nature is in the midst of the eye of an impending storm. Or maybe a hurricane. Or an incoming earthquake. Either of the two would be good to happen now, Itachi thinks, as he mulls over the unwelcomed turn of events. Despite his confident words earlier, how is he supposed to house a hundred, or perhaps a thousand, men inside the village unprepared? Even the whole Uchiha compound will not be enough to host them all and hide them from the public eye.

But maybe… he muses at the idea that has surfaced in his intelligent mind, Maybe he can hide them away in the ruins of Danzo’s underground bunkers where ROOT was once held.

“Torune,” Sai addresses the shinobi before them. “Where, exactly, is Shuryō right now?”

“Off to scout one of Orochimaru's labs, the one located in the far south,” Torune replies. “Danzo sent her there to eliminate some intruders, but she won't be long, I suppose. However, you never know what may happen, and you know how she is—” an amused quirk of his thin lips— “she's too flighty for her own good.”

“And a trouble magnet,” Sai adds.

Flighty and a trouble magnet? Itachi is finding himself growing more curious every passing second. What is their leader like? Arrogant? Cunning? Or maybe, seductive? Whatever the case, he's sure not to be drowned by her wiles once they meet. Then Torune's words hit, and Itachi looks back at the Aburame, blinking owlishly.

“Did you just say, Orochimaru's labs?” he repeats.

If Torune has noticed the incredulous lilt of his question, he pays no indication of having so. Politely, he nods, “Yes, far south.”

Well.

Itachi resists the urge to groan and palm his face.

This is going to be a bomb, isn't it? One that will blow up in front of him. Far south is where he sent Obito and Shisui, and knowing his cousin’s extreme hatred for ROOT, chances are, a fight will ensue. Itachi can only pray that the volatile man won't kill the kunoichi for the village's sake. It won't do for him to accommodate this large army inside Konoha’s walls only to be raided from the inside once their leader's death is announced.

Oh sages.

“Something the matter, Uchiha-san?” Sai inquires, probably noticing his change in demeanor.

“No,” his face slips back into a perfect mask of apathy, hiding his worries. “Nothing is wrong.” He then nods at Torune, “Will it be alright with you to reside in your past quarters for the time being?”

An unimpressed stare. “Did you not burn it to the ground?”

“Some of it, yes,” Itachi amends. “But there are still a lot of nooks and places that are serviceable at the moment. I will send Yamato to fix any inconvenience. If that is alright with you?”

In deference, Torune dips his head. “You are the Hokage. We have no say in this matter until Shuryō has arrived.”

“I am asking you as a decent host, not as the Hokage,” he retorts sharply, not liking the misplaced submission. They were human beings, not some kind of puppet to heed incoherently. “As a human, you have the right to decline. I am not coercing you into anything; if you do not like your living arrangements then I will try to find another option.”

In thought, Torune falls silent. A second later, a hint of a smile lights on his lips, but it is gone the next moment.

“I can see why she adores you so,” is his gentle murmur. Before Itachi can ask him to elaborate, the man turns to call for his companions who rise instantly and begin cleaning up their camp. Within minutes, they are armed and ready, one knee bent on the ground and their heads bowed as they wait for further instructions.

“We will take up your offer,” Torune's glasses gleam when a sunray reflects against it, “please take care of us.”

And as fast as light, he and his comrades are gone, leaving only swirling leaves and smoke. behind their wake.

Chapter Text

The woman Shisui and Obito brought back is familiar, and it tingles the edges of his mind as he tries to remember where exactly he’d met this kunoichi. When he comes up empty, Sasuke scowls and settles back to observe her instead in the shadows. She has a child with her, a sweet-looking girl whose fingers are clutching her pants as they face Itachi, who in turn has an unreadable look on his face. Obito too, has a strange jovial air around him, his lips subtly curved into a grin, while Shisui looks on, the wariness in his eyes as he watches Itachi betraying his cool composure.

In a short span of time, it seems that the two men have become smitten with their guest.

And why wouldn’t they? In a burst of revelation, Sasuke realizes why the woman feels so familiar, even with her back facing him. Her colors are vivid, the earthy brown of her hair contrasting deeply against her pale skin, and while her palette is vastly different from the pink and green he so misses, the vibrancy of her hues is enough to make up for it. Hesitance fills him, his fingers twitching as the urge to grab the woman and turn her around so he can study her becomes great, but still manageable to restrain. Perhaps he is just chasing wild hopes, or futilely chasing down the shadow of a ghost to fill this void in his heart.

Shit.

Sasuke wrings the notion out of his mind, disgusted with himself.

Nothing, no one, could ever replace Sakura.

No one, no one, the voice trapped in his head repeats in a loving coo. We should kill her before she does—!

“Your name?” Itachi queries, his smooth baritone washing over the room. Authority drips from his tone, mixing with the sense of welcome that has bled through. Sasuke almost scoffs at the irony of it. Leave it to his older brother to be charismatic and curt at the same time.

“Saye,” is the woman’s immediate reply. Her voice, while not as deep as Itachi’s, has an underlying tone of firmness, suggesting that she isn’t a person so easily bullied. Gently, she prods at the girl gripping her clothes tightly. “And this is Sachiko.”

Itachi smiles down at the child. “Is she yours?”

“Biologically, no,” Saye hums. “But I’ve decided to adopt her.” As if to prove her words, she affectionately ruffles Sachiko’s black hair, and the girl giggles back at her, clearly enjoying the attention. “She’s one of Orochimaru’s victims, you see. I hope you understand her circumstances, Hokage-sama.”

In reply, Itachi nods. It isn’t privy to the village that their leader loves kids, and Sasuke suspects that it is because Sakura was still a child when she was killed. Weakweakweak. In a way, his brother is projecting his guilt on not being able to protect their soulmate by trying his hardest to shelter the children from the harshness of the outside world for as long as he can.

“The two of you,” Itachi turns to gaze at the pair of men standing by Saye’s side, “The two of you should get going. Get some rest, and submit the mission report once you’ve gotten a good night’s sleep.” His eyes soften, “You’ve done well.”

Obediently, Shisui instantly flash-steps away in a silent puff of smoke, sending one last fleeting look at Saye, while Obito catches the woman’s left hand and presses a kiss on her inner wrist, the corner of his lips curling into a roguish smirk. “I’ll see you later then,” he tells her, a touch of fondness in his words, and Saye breathes out an amused laugh before shaking him off. Not one moment later, a swirling portal emerges behind him, and curious, Sachiko reaches for it, her bright eyes flashing with childish inquisitiveness.

Saye smiles encouragingly when the girl halts and looks at her for permission. “Go on,” she says, unfurling the fingers grabbing at her pants. One more nod from the kunoichi, and Sachiko accepts the invitation, her hand finding purchase in Obito’s larger ones; the older man gives Saye one last grin before his portal swallows him and his little ward up.

Traitors, the voice hisses hatefully.

“You’ve won them quite easily,” Itachi casually comments, but Sasuke doesn’t miss the calculating glint in the depths of his dark eyes. It wasn't wariness, the latter knew, but something more of intrigue. “They usually don't take to strangers easily. Especially not from ROOT's wing.”

Saye tilts her head at him. Presently, Sasuke cannot see her expression, but he has a feeling that it is one of mock. However, when the woman speaks, only mirth is in her tone, no disrespect tinting her words.

“Your cousins are quite delightful company,” she says with a breathy chuckle. (Shut up, the voice roars, enraged. SHUTUPSHUTUPSHUTUP—!) “If not for Shisui trying to kill me at first.”

“Aa.” Itachi smirks and leans back. “You'll have to forgive him for that.”

“Enough,” Sasuke cuts in curtly. At his intervention, the voice recoils back to the cavern of his mind, bristling and snarling. “Let's get to business.” With quick strides, he reaches the kunoichi’s side swiftly, sparing her a scrutinizing glance before turning to his older brother who is now wearing a blank mask. The exasperation in the man's tired eyes is visible however; the downturn of his lips apparent. Sasuke doesn't blame him— he's a nasty bite to Itachi’s ass after all.

“Ah yes, business,” Saye sighs. Her shoulders stoop a bit lower, fatigue layering her confidence. “Torune hasn't negotiated with you yet, Hokage-sama?”

Aburame Torune. Sasuke remembers the man’s cool persona, of his amusement when he'd violently argued with Itachi the cons of letting ROOT agents dwell under the same sky as them, of his deference when discussing the alliance. Certainly the insect-utilizing shinobi has a backbone, covered with his submission towards his leader's wishes. It makes Sasuke wonder what Saye has done to make a proud man become dependent on her.

At her query, Itachi's eyes narrow. “There were no negotiations.”

Saye's eyebrows furrow at him bemusedly, “I'm sorry?”

“There were no negotiations,” Itachi repeats, and the flabbergasted expression on Saye's face is enough to make Sasuke smirk.

“Well,” she begins chewing on her bottom lip in thought, “That can't be right. Torune already knows that I want him to agree to everything you request for—”

“And that, exactly, is why there were no negotiations,” the man shakes his head, and Saye looks on in disbelief. Her mouth opens and shuts a few times as she tries to formulate words, until she settles for, “I don't understand.”

Sasuke almost laughs at the lost tone she's taken.

Itachi, in a subtle display of exasperation, smiles at her gently as if he were speaking to a confused child. “Both sides should have an advantage in a negotiation, Saye,” he says. “What happened was not a negotiation— Torune was simply agreeing to everything I was saying. Your side had no benefits.”

“Not true,” Saye denies almost instantly, “You give us shelter and protection and we give you free intel of Danzo’s contingencies.” Stubbornly, she folds her arms across her chest and stares him down. “I think that's enough trade.”

Her petulant actions spur the image of a pouting pink-haired girl begging her mother for some cookies in Sasuke's head. Abruptly, he disperses the thought and forces his mind to behave.

“...in fact,” Saye is saying, “we don't even have the right to negotiate because we were once a part of Danzo’s forces—”

“Most of you were taken against your own will,” Itachi smoothly intervenes, unrelenting. His pitch-black eyes have darken into an abyss, reflecting the anger and resentment he has harbored throughout the years. “You had no choice.”

“I—” she trails off, apparently realizing that arguing won't work against the cool-headed man. Hesitantly, she nods in acceptance. “What do you suggest then?”

Satisfied at her adaptability, Itachi offers her yet again another charismatic smile, and Sasuke has to smirk on seeing the faint blush dusting Saye’s cheeks, clearly unused to his brother’s charm. Perhaps he should hate on her a bit more, but he has already mellowed down with time, and his limited interactions with Sai has had him constantly changing his mind about their certain part of ROOT. Apart from the fact that they are socially inept having hid in the shadows for too long, they are just a normal lot— humans who still have physical and emotional needs, sinners who were coerced to do wicked things for their captor.

Sasuke thinks he can fully forgive them after a bit more while.

You can't, the voice snaps. You musn't.

It’s the reason why Itachi still allows him to stay in his office during important meetings that concern ROOT; the older man knows, that despite Sasuke’s grudges, the pain of loss and suffering can make him empathetic towards others' plights. Everyone’s lost something or someone, Sasuke mulls over as he listens to the conversation taking place before him, and those in ROOT had lost their family and homes the moment they were whisked away into darkness. They aren’t at fault; it was all of Danzo’s doing. He tries to put himself in Sakura’s shoes. Surely she wouldn’t want him to be angry with people who have not, technically, done anything wrong.

“I suggest you rest first,” Itachi tells her, then his eyebrows crease in thought. “Torune and the others are staying at ROOT’s past quarters. Rest assured that I have already sent Yamato to fix any damage that may hinder their convenience. I have also allocated a considerable budget for their necessities, and have checked that each person has their own bedding and blanket. It isn’t much, but Konoha’s funds have grown large over the years due to Danzo’s defection, and so I can still give you more whenever you need it.” He places his elbows on his desk and threads his fingers together, searching for any sign of disagreement or displeasure at the current accommodations on the kunoichi’s face. “You just have to ask.”

A mirthful smirk crosses Sakura’s lips, “Why do you look like a student preparing to be scolded by a teacher?” A bubbly laugh, and she waves his concerns off. “Relax, Hokage-sama, I completely understand why you had to arrange their shelter at Danzo’s old hideout, however rundown it may be currently.” Dimples are on either side of her cheeks, hollowing even more as her mouth stretches upwards, clearly entertained by Itachi’s discomfort. “Accommodations here in Konoha have become sparse because of the growing population, and we can’t have labeled criminals running around in public.”

Sasuke scoffs at her last statement, “You’re not criminals.”

Lies, the voice whispers. They’re murderers.

Her gaze swivels to him, taunting and playful. “My reports told me that you were a cold man towards my kin.” Her eyes flash with curiosity and swirls of emerald and diamonds, catching the light streaming through the window behind Itachi and adapting an appearance alike to bejeweled stones. It has his breath hitching imperceptibly, and he briefly wonders if he has his Sharingan activated, because why is it then that his vision seems to have suddenly become crystal clear— even going as far as to notice the light freckles that are dotting the skin just below her eyes and the bridge of her nose?

“A man can change when given enough time,” he responds brusquely (Lie. You’re lying. You haven’t changed a bit, the voice bitterly laughs. That’s a fucking lie—!), lest he does something stupid, like caressing those detailed almost-unseen dots on her cheeks in fascination. Didn’t Sakura also have freckles? He frowns to himself and tries to remember. The girl wasn’t insecure at them per se, but there had been a time when there was jealousy in her tone as she confided to him that she quite liked his mother’s pale and clear skin. Sasuke didn’t understand back then, having adored every part of her unconditionally, and her freckles weren’t really distinct. In fact, they could only be seen if you looked closely enough.

Stop, he commands his thoughts. Why compare a living person with the dead?

Or maybe he is just itching for female company. Most of the females in his circle are either too brash or too shy, none of them having the right temperament for his quick temper and apathetic demeanor. For instance, Ino is too loud and Hinata is too quiet for his tastes. Saye, as far as he’s seen from her, is outspoken but still rational, if not a bit defiant. A perfect mix, and certainly someone who could challenge in terms of rebelliousness if triggered. Mikoto would laugh, but the reason why Sasuke endures Naruto is because of the excitement he brings when bantering with him. An argument might end up as a fist fight or an impromptu spar; the unpredictability of it stoking a fire in his veins that can only be released with violence.

“I seem to recall that you were the one who tortured my dear Sai when he was caught,” Saye hums, her smile widening into a Cheshire-like grin.

Sasuke gives her a blank look. “It is part of the interrogation process.”

Yes, blood. His blood was sweet, the hateful phantom croons. His screams were sweet. The way he bit his tongue was sweet. Sweet, sweet blood!

“That, it is,” Itachi nods in acknowledgement, no doubt interfering before a fight can break out. “You’ll have to forgive him, Saye-san.”

“There’s nothing to forgive.”

Sasuke once again averts his gaze. “Hn.”

“Putting that aside,” Itachi chances another questioning look at the brown-haired woman, “Do you have anywhere you can stay?”

“Yes.” A fond look flits on her expression before it reverts back into a professional mask. “Obito asked me to stay with him for the time being. Along with Sachiko.”

Surprised, Sasuke whips his head to stare at her. “He did?”

“You seem shocked,” Saye observes cryptically.

‘Shocked’ is a mild way to describe the wave of disbelief flooding in him. Perhaps ‘stunned’ is a better word. Because never in his life has he seen Obito offering his safe space to a woman, not even on the nights when he would go out to find a good fuck. His liaisons have always ended at a motel or inn. Sakura’s house is surreptitiously always clean of his sins, except when Shisui would come and invite him out for a drink on the roof.

“Because he is,” his older brother replies on his behalf, “and so am I. Tell me, Saye-san,” and there's intrigue in the way he regards her, “what is your relationship with Obito?”

To which Saye responds with a humorless smile, tinged with resignation and regret.

“I'm afraid you'll have to ask him, Hokage-sama.”

For one brief second, Sasuke thinks he might have seen Itachi’s eyes glow scarlet.

~~~~

It is strange for a corpse to come back alive again.

With that sentence in mind, Itachi dimisses Sasuke with the excuse that he and Saye have something confidential to discuss. But by the ‘don't bullshit me’ look his younger brother sends him before leaving, Itachi immediately knows that the man didn't buy his lie, and an impending migraine builds up in the back of his head on realizing that Sasuke will no doubt grill him for some answers later.

“Confidential?” a feminine voice filters in. His attention turns to Saye who is now looking at him with a quirked eyebrow and an unamused scowl. ”Don't think that I didn't notice you rummaging through my head, Hokage-sama.”

Brown hair. Blue eyes. A different face structure. But memories don't lie, and Itachi is a master of his Sharingan. It only took him a second to invade the kunoichi’s mind and peruse her head; and if he had been given time, then perhaps he could have unraveled more. But as such, an unknown force had instantly blasted him out of her mental landscape. But it was enough. The things he'd seen in her time with Danzo weren't pretty, but as he had delved deeper, her memories from when she was a child surfaced and Itachi found himself watching the world through the eyes of—

“Sakura.” There's no mistaking the slight irritation and pain tainting his voice. “Is it a pastime of yours to deceive us?”

Mikoto, his dearest mother, raised him to be gentle and kind. Itachi has followed her teachings to a fault, but this, this, is too much for him to even handle with rationality. Through his thick lashes, he watches Sakura who has now gone rigid, her presently azure-blue eyes boring holes into his own, a thousand emotions fluttering through her glimmering orbs. They all flash so quickly, even Itachi has trouble deciphering them.

Then she averts her gaze.

No.

He rises from his seat, desperately trying to quell down the anger and hurt about to explode.

No.

Her denying him simply won't do.

The next thing he knows, he has Sakura sitting atop his desk, both his hands tightly grasping her waist and his nose burrowed into the nape of her neck. He isn't as fast as Shisui, but his speed is still unparalleled to a normal shinobi, granting him the element of surprise. The sweet vanilla scent that curls off her is truly delectable, and he breathes it in like a man derived from water. Itachi leans in more; his hands begin roving until they are placed on her back, his arms loosely circling her lest he crushes her in his excitement and desperation. Tentatively, he feels her embracing him back, her fingers like light kisses as they brush against him.

“Is it because you do not want us to be your soulmates?” he murmurs against her skin. His voice is now a low rumble, his shoulders stiff as he waits for her rejection. Why else would she shun them away since childhood? Itachi cannot think of another reason. Unconsciously, his arms around her tighten, a silent plea for his statement to be proven wrong. Death was one thing; blatant rejection is another, and Itachi doesn't think he can survive another bout of grievance.

“What? No!” When Sakura tries to pull away, perhaps to see his face, Itachi doesn't relent. His arms hold steady as he stubbornly keeps her in place, unwilling to let her go for so long. No. Not yet. But she keeps on struggling, genuine distress emanating off her in waves as she battles his strength with her own, “Itachi! Why would you think that?”

Why?

His blood begins boiling hot.

Why?

“Thrice, Sakura!” he grounds out, the need to express himself overriding his patience. “First was when you faked your real name when you were still a kid! Second was when you had us all believing that you were already dead—”

“That wasn't my fault!” Sakura argues stubbornly, her own ire shining through. “I wanted to come back. Danzo was the problem!”

“Third is right now!” Akin to a snake about to lash out at its prey, Itachi draws back snappishly, revealing the snarl that has taken over his lips. His hands have now moved on to her thighs in a bruising grip. “You waltz in here with a drastically different face, with a different name—”

She flinches. “You think I wanted this?” Then her own mouth twists into a bared feral growl, even as frustrated tears begin to spring up. “I didn't want any of this! Sure, I made a mistake lying to you when I was younger, but Danzo kidnapping me and changing me into a new person to rehabilitate me into his own killing machine is none of my fault! I tried to escape. Tried to get back to Konoha because even though my parents were already dead, I knew that you would all be so worried! So why—” her voice cracks heartbreakingly, and Itachi’s eyes widen when her tears start to stream down her cheeks in earnest— “why are you putting all the blame on me?”

Reason crashes back into him, the consequences of his accusations catching up to him, urging him to step back and give his crying soulmate some space. But he doesn't, not even when guilt prickles his heart as he watches her break down in front of him, swallowing down her sobs stubbornly and furiously wiping her tears away. Slowly, his shoulders slump as the tension within him is released, replaced by his gnawing conscience.

“I'm sorry,” he contritely says, his fingers coming to consolingly brush the plane of her damp cheeks. “I wasn't thinking straight.”

“I wanted to come back,” Sakura cries, pulling away from his touch and bowing her head to grind the heels of her palms into her leaking eyes. Her tied-up hair, however, doesn't give her the privacy she wants. “But after the brainwashing happened, I forgot everything for a while. I,” a sniff, “I couldn't even remember who I was. It was like being a mindless puppet. How was I supposed to remember what to do in that state? All I had was the vague feeling that I wasn't supposed to be there. When I finally got my memories back, I was already deep into ROOT and… and—”

“I'm sorry,” he repeats soothingly, and he draws her again into his embrace, rubbing calm circles on the dimple of her back. Obito is going to kill him, but that concern is for later; right now, he needs to pacify Sakura. Her eyes are turning bloodshot, her cheeks red, her throat bobbing painfully as she tries to swallow each of her sobs. Sighing, he can only wait for her to quieten down, all the while murmuring consoling words and apologies.

Somehow they end up on the couch, Sakura sitting across his lap and him holding her close to him so her ear is pressed to his chest. He's long since activated the privacy seal that will prevent any unwanted visitor from coming in, including his ANBU guards. His standard black shirt is now damp with tears, its front crumpled in Sakura’s strong grip, but he doesn't mind. Sakura has always been the type to express herself emotionally even when she was still a kid, and it always fell on either him or Shisui to indulge her in her crying bouts.

“I'm sorry.”

This time, the pitiful-sounding phrase is spoken by her.

“Aa.” He strokes her head gently. “Have you calmed down now?”

“A bit.”

“Alright then. Let me see your face.”

Instead of acquiescing to his request, Sakura just buries her face more into his shirt.

“No,” is her muffled reply.

A bit exasperated and amused, Itachi draws out a sigh. “Sakura…”

“I look ugly right now,” she adds, her shoulders sagging. “Extremely ugly. And even if I've ruined your shirt, you still are handsome, and I'm like a gremlin next to you. A very snotty-nosed gremlin.”

The comparison has him startling. A gremlin? Blankly, he stares on ahead. A gremlin?

He doesn't know whether to laugh outright at her ridiculous claim or humor her.

“Go on,” she says, resigned. “Laugh.”

Itachi settles for the latter option.

“Sakura,” he calls her name softly, “you shouldn't call yourself a gremlin. That's Shisui.”

A pause. Then he hears a wet chuckle. “Shisui?”

“Yes.” He nods sagely. “Shisui.”

“And what has he done for you to call him a gremlin?” she asks, huffing. When she pulls away, Sakura meets his ebony-dark gaze with watery sky-hued eyes and a quirked mouth. She's still as pretty as ever, but Itachi prefers her green eyes and pink hair more. “None of the reports my men gave me said that Shisui was a gremlin.”

“But he is.” His fingers tap a rhythm on her hip. “Especially when you disappeared.”

“Died, you mean.”

“Must you really say that morbid word?”

And Sakura, all humor and laughter, crinkles her nose in a mocking grin. “Yes.”

“You mustn't make light of it,” he chides her. “We mourned for you. Shisui took your death the hardest.”

His admission clams her mouth shut, and remorse settles on her features, erasing the smile she has on. Itachi gently brushes her tear-streaked cheek as he gives her a moment to let his words sink in. He offers her no verbal reassurance, only his presence as comfort, and Sakura chews on her bottom lip as she tries to piece her thoughts together.

“Sorry,” she says at last.

He raises an eyebrow at her cryptically. “Only ‘sorry'?”

Hesitatingly, she fidgets. “Well, what do you want me to do?”

“For starters, undo your disguise.”

He badly wants to see her lovely pink-hued hair.

The bemusement that crosses her face is almost comical. “I'm not wearing a henge,” Sakura says flatly.

Itachi blinks at her. “What?”

She opens her mouth to say something else, but thinks better of it and closes it shut instead. Methodically, she slips off his lap to stand in front of him, and Itachi goes stiff when her nimble fingers begin to thumb the bottom hem of her shirt; but he doesn't have the time to react because Sakura’s movements are swift, and in a second, he finds himself staring at her bare expanse of skin.

His throat runs dry.

Not to say that he's a stranger to feminine wiles, but as he catches a glimpse of the plush valley of her breasts compressed in white binders before he snaps his gaze upwards to her face, Itachi begins questioning his self-control.

“No,” Sakura furrows her eyebrows at him, “don't look away.”

He almost chokes at her boldness.

Then her dainty hands come to cradle his bigger one, urging them to her whims until they are settled flat on her warm skin.

He doesn't know exactly where Sakura has placed his right hand, but he doesn't look. Stubbornly refuses to look even as his curiosity starts to tempt him. If only for the sake of his sanity, he won't look.

“Itachi,” the source of his distress, calls him. Itachi can hear the amusement in his spoken name, and he would've glared at her if she wasn't standing before him with her shirt up to her collarbone and looking every bit delectable.

“Itachi.”

“Sakura,” he sighs back in long-suffering. His eyes are now trained on his very messy desk to avoid staring at the milky skin displayed before him. “Please put your shirt back on.”

“But you have to see them.”

See what?

With difficulty, he turns his gaze to her, swallowing when he sees the expanse of her slender neck and the intricate tattoo decorating her right bicep. But Sakura is unruffled by his discomfort, and she directs his stare with a pointed look downwards.

Then he sees it. The black ink swirls of three connected seals, elegantly etched on her stomach and carved deep. When realization settles in, rage boils hot within him, rising from the pits of his patience to glower at the sight. His fingers, calloused from battle as they are, are anything but gentle as they caress the exposed runic marks, prodding at the three familiar symbols he can recognize amongst the other fuinjutsu elements.

Distort.

Itachi bites down the hoard of expletives that have gathered on the tip of his tongue.

Hide.

A volcano begins violently surging, forcefully stirring up a storm in his mind and dissolving most of his rationality away.

Restrain.

Something inside him snaps like a taut string, and a growl filters out of his lips, charged with tension and pure anger. No wonder she couldn't come back; no wonder they all thought that she was dead. Vaguely, he feels his eyes coming to life, rage powering his prized dōjutsu, and it grounds him. Makes him realize that it must have hurt when the damned snake sealed her, and that there was no one to protect her from the pain; that he wasn't there to help her. In his blind fury, he doesn’t notice that his nails have begun digging into the symbols, not until she flinches.

“Fuinjutsu may not be my forte, but I am still educated enough to recognize some of the symbols,” Itachi calmly says as he withdraws his hand apologetically. “Who was it? Danzo? Or one of his men?” His eyes darken. “No matter, I will just hunt down the one who did this.”

“It was Danzo’s orders,” Sakura tells him as she slides her shirt back on. Itachi feels a pang of disappointment when her milky skin disappears under the dark cloth, but unwilling to be ungentlemanly, he dismisses the feeling almost instantly. “And don't worry about the poor chap; I already killed him.” A sadistic grin. “We were partners on a mission once, and I took the opportunity to slit his throat when he was distracted. Danzo wasn't pleased, sure, but it was an ‘accident’.”

The wicked undertone in the emphasized word suggests otherwise, however.

An amused chuckle rumbles deep in his chest. “Clever girl.”

“Mhm,” Sakura smiles. “I know.”

And he reaches for her again, pulling her closer and burying his face onto her stomach. She stands between his legs, her fingers running patterns on his shoulders, a hum echoing in the back of her throat, lulling and soft. Itachi thinks he can stay like this forever. His mark, which has long since gone dormant, flares briefly in contentment, leaving electric sparks underneath his wrist. It jolts his hand, a movement that would have been unnoticeable to a normal person, but Sakura is sharp, and his wrist is cradled in her gloved hands a second later.

“You alright?”

He's contented enough to pull his hand from her grasp and continue nuzzling into her. “Yes.”

“It’s the soulmark, isn’t it?”

“It isn’t important,” Itachi says dismissively, basking in her sweet scent. Gods, she’s truly grown up now. He can feel every curve of her body, the gentle dip of her waist wrapped in his toned arms, the slight rising of her abdomen with every breath she takes. There’s an incredulous chuckle, and Sakura resumes her ministrations on his shoulders, now pushing medical chakra into them to unknot the tense muscles underneath. Her chakra has become even gentler through the years, refined and honed to perfection; but he can still sense the chaos beneath the steady flow, only to be unleashed when facing violence.

It’s a wonder how such gentle hands can also kill a full-fledged shinobi in one second.

“I assume that Shisui doesn’t know,” he murmurs after a few beats of silence.

Her fingers pause for a bit. “He doesn’t,” Sakura agrees. “But I think he’s already suspecting something. For some reason, Obito doesn’t want to tell him, and because of my seals, I also can’t tell him, unfortunately.” Itachi hears her thoughtfully humming, “But Itachi, you also know now. Can’t you tell him instead? And include Sasuke in that too.”

If he were a lesser man, Itachi would have snorted. He can see why Obito refuses to let Shisui on in the latest news; the petty man clearly wants to take revenge on the times Shisui had been a complete troublemaker and deadweight to them. Regrettably, the same goes for Itachi, who presently doesn’t want to share his time with Sakura with the others yet. Sasuke will mope once the truth comes out, and perhaps Shisui will hold a grudge against him, but he cannot bring himself to worry about the future— not when he’s happily relishing Sakura’s undivided attention.

“They’ll figure it out,” Itachi answers with a scoff. His arms tighten around her, and he raises his head to look at her and smile. “Let me have you all to myself for now.”

The responding blush that settles on her cheeks at his plea is so endearing, it elicits an amused laugh from him. She smacks his bicep playfully, a pout on her rosy lips, and Itachi has to redirect his gaze to her mirthful eyes to abate the temptation to kiss her thoroughly and breathless. No, he tells himself. Sakura is his soulmate; a woman deserving to be treated with respect. It won’t do for him to kiss her right after their reunion. It would be most improper, and Itachi doesn’t know if he will be able to restrain himself from progressing any further once he’s had a taste of her.

Physical attraction is common among the Uchiha and their soulmates, and the older man isn’t excluded in the genre. Even now, he can feel his baser instincts whispering for him to take her, or at least kiss her senseless and passionately, preferably until Sakura is gasping and begging for more. She’d be flushed and wet by the time he’s done exploring her mouth, her lips parted and panting and saying sweet words for him to continue; and he’d gladly indulge her until her nails are clawing on his back and her pleasured moans are of his name, crying helplessly under him as he tenderly skims every part of her body with his lips and hands. She’ll taste so deliciously, Itachi is certain, and he’ll savor every inch of her, regardless of her weak protests against it.

“You’re selfish,” Sakura grumbles, and he comes back to reality. Petulantly, she frowns at him in teasing disapproval. “I’m their soulmate just as much as I am yours.”

He meets her stare squarely. “We are very possessive people just in case you haven’t noticed yet, Sakura.” To further fortify his claim, his lips curve into a devious smirk and his hands tug her forward so they are now eye-level to each other. This close, Itachi can see that her pupils have dilated, roving at his features intently until they catch his smokey gaze, and Sakura just stills. There’s an audible swallow, like she knows that she’s playing with fire, and her tongue flicks out to lick her bottom lip, apprehensive and exhilarated all the same. His own eyes track the movement, darkening with want and lust, hot desire shooting down into his nether parts and coaxing a forming erection.

He cradles her cheek affectionately.

“I want to kiss you.”

A breathy chuckle tumbles out of her lips, “And what’s stopping you?”

What is stopping him indeed. In distaste, Itachi withdraws, the corners of his mouth lowering into a displeasured frown. Sakura blinks at him, bewildered, hurt flickering in her pretty face but dissipating just as quickly. If it weren’t for his keen eyes, he would have not noticed it. Assuringly, he gives her a tender smile and presses a kiss onto the palm of her hand instead.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop myself once we start, Sakura,” he clarifies smoothly to alleviate her worries. “And I do not want our first time in my office, of all places.”

At his explanation, understanding dawns her and she nods, a laugh bubbling from her. “Sages, Itachi. Thank goodness you don’t have a crass mouth.”

“I am unlike my foolish cousin,” he responds with a smirk.

“True,” Sakura agrees. The quiver that remains in her otherwise cheerful words betrays her however; it shows that everything is affecting her like it is affecting him. “Shisui’s a stupid, horny man. He didn’t even ask me for permission when he bit my neck!”

Silence.

Then—

“...Pardon?”

The threat lacing his rhetorical question is enough to make Sakura realize that she’d just said something wrong, and she quickly covers up her mistake with a smile. But the damage is already done, and slight anger stirs within him at the thought of Shisui advancing on Sakura without knowing who she really was. Perhaps if his cousin had known, he wouldn’t have been so bold towards the kunoichi, but Itachi knows Shisui very well to deceive himself. Stiltedly, he tilts his head as he thinks of some way to beat the older man into a pulp for disrespecting Sakura—

“No,” Sakura cuts in sternly.

Itachi smiles at her, all innocent.

“Alright.”

Well, it wouldn't hurt Sakura to not know if he were to do something to his dearest cousin.

~~~~

The smell of dinner is what greets her when she knocks on the door of her childhood home. The windows are open, allowing for the sweet aroma of grilled meat to waft around, and Sakura feels her stomach grumbling in hungry anticipation. Nostalgia grips her, happy memories of when she was still living here surfacing almost painfully, but she stuffs it all down and plasters on a smile.

The door swings open. “You don't really have to knock, you know,” she hears Obito’s low voice. Amusement tints it, as well as the undertone of fondness, and she grins back at the man before stepping inside. With a hum, she proceeds to sit on the wooden stoop and takes off her heeled sandals briskly, arranging them neatly on the shoe rack.

“It's polite to knock,” she says as she stands up and stretches.

“Yes, but this is your house,” Obito reminds her. “I'm merely taking care of it.”

“And this is your home,” Sakura counters. Obediently, she follows the older man to the kitchen, where moist meat, reddish from being cooked, is sitting on a platter on the table. While the room is still distinctly familiar, she can see some of Obito’s personal touches. Like the sleek wooden cabinets, or the carefully-applied oak-brown paint on the walls, or the warm lights installed under the cupboards to illuminate the kitchen counters, stove, and sink. The color theme feels calmer than the blues and whites her mother had painted everything with when she was still alive, and Sakura lets out an appreciative hum. Everything screams of Obito, even the large dinner table, which she carefully scratches her nails on in curiosity. Huh. Genuine mahogany. With a chuckle, she retreats, feeling very much like an overgrown cat exploring its new haunt.

Obito has gone to the stove, scrupulously attending to the boiling pot. Various kinds of bottled spices and herbs are laid out on the counter, some unopened and some almost empty, and Sakura pads over to him and picks up a shaker to examine it.

‘Basil’, the label reads.

“Corn soup?” she questions on seeing the empty can of sweetened corn by the sink.

A hum. “I remember you telling me that you liked corn soup when you were younger.”

Oh damn. A silly smile flits on her lips and she would have pressed a delighted kiss on his cheek if she were a bit more taller. But with Obito’s height towering over her own, Sakura can only pout as she watches him stir the pot after adding a pinch of salt.

However, it seems that Obito is attuned to her disappointment, because the man turns to her with an arched eyebrow. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing serious,” she responds, pushing away her traitorous thoughts. After her little situation with Itachi earlier, she feels every bone of her body charged, aching and left wanting. Damn Uchiha men and their sexual appeal. The lust so blatantly displayed in Itachi’s eyes had almost made her cave to her own desires, and if it weren’t for the man’s cool head, they probably would have already gone to the rabbit hole.

She isn’t a sexual woman by any means, hell, she hated every seduction mission Danzo had sent her to complete! Men, in general, disgust her with their whistles and filthy leers about her body, but she tolerated it well into adulthood. It doesn’t make her any less immune though, however, her soulmates are a different subject. Is it normal for her to crave for them as ardently as she does now?

Before her insecurities can take over, she remembers the words Obito had said that seemed so long ago.

“The Uchiha are sensitive, especially when their soulmate has turned into an adult, Saye,” he had told her. “Attraction, want, lust—both parties will begin feeling this once they are of the right age. Much more, if they have been separated for too long.”

She hesitates.

Is it normal?

A hand lands on her head and she blinks owlishly, before peering at the man before her. Obito has his mouth curved into a worried expression, a crease between his eyebrows as he looks at her searchingly, clearly trying to pinpoint the source of her concerns. The stove behind him no longer has its flames dancing against the metal bottom of the pot; and the sweet smell of corn and cream has dominated the air, causing her stomach to grumble in complaint. Sakura laughs sheepishly when Obito’s eyes zero on her abdomen with amusement, his large hand ruffling her hair in open affection.

“Someone’s hungry.”

“Because I am.”

He snorts at her unabashed reply, “With how long you were taking with Itachi, I’d already assumed that you might have already eaten him for dinner,” he says; and the innuendo is not lost on her. His statement brings back the memories of Itachi’s smoldering gaze, and her cheeks begin heating up, which she covers up with a cough. A sly glint enters Obito’s eyes. “Or is it the other way around?”

What the fuck, Sakura thinks furiously. Is he serious?

“Why, jealous?” she shoots back. It reminds her of the typical reply female leads would say in a romance comedy whenever they want to tease their male counterparts. Instead of deterring Obito, the man’s grin drops, replaced by an arrogant smirk that seems to stretch wider when his hands come to grasp her waist and squeeze. Stubbornly, Sakura holds her ground and schools her features to remain apathetic even as his fingers start to rhythmically drum against her clothed skin.

“How can I be jealous when I can make you scream ten times more than he can?”

A strangled choke, “Scream?”

His smirk doesn’t disappear.

“Mama?”

At the sound of an innocent child’s call, the charged energy between them dissipates, and Sakura beams at Sachiko who is standing by the doorway, a teddy bear in her arms. She vaguely recognizes the toy as one of hers when she was still a kid herself, and raises an inquisitive eyebrow as a silent question to Obito before Sachiko crashes into her embrace.

“Hello,” Sakura cooes. The girl begins snuggling into her thighs, too short to reach anywhere except for her legs. She’s left her bear on the floor in favor of hugging her instead, and the kunoichi has to laugh when Sachiko raises her arms upwards, a quiet request to be carried. Cute. Indulgently, she complies, and the girl adorably kisses her cheek, much to her delight.

“Reminds me of when you were her age,” Obito comments.

“And that doll,” Sakura nods at the abandoned teddy bear, “reminds me of the one my grandma gave me for one of my birthdays.”

“Aa.”

Ah yes. Sakura rolls her eyes. The famous Uchiha reply.

As Obito begins setting out the plates, leaving her to clean up Sachiko’s hands before placing her on a chair, Sakura realizes something.

“You know.”

“There’s a lot of things I know, blossom,” Obito says as he fills three bowls of soup. “Which one are you talking about?”

“That Itachi knows about me.”

“No surprise,” he shrugs. “He's smart after all.”

Sly man. She tucks a tissue as a makeshift bib into Sachiko’s shirt and hands her a spoon. “I cannot understand why the two of you do not want to tell Shisui and Sasuke about me. Honestly.”

Being the reasonable woman she is, Sakura's claimed the chair near Sachiko to help her eat. Unfortunately, the placement has made it so that she'll be seated far from Obito, whose chair is at the head of the table. Displeasure curls off the man when he realizes this, and Sakura has to laugh when he pettily pulls out another chair beside him and gestures at it.

“I need to help Sachiko,” she flatly tells him.

“She can sit on my other side,” he retorts just as quickly. “I'll feed her.”

Chuckling, she obeys. “Why on earth do you have such a big table anyway? Itadakimasu.” Without waiting for an answer, she picks up her spoon, dips it into her bowl of soup, and eagerly sips on it. Oh wow. Sakura licks her lips in wonder. The soup is creamy and thick, and she can taste the subtle taste of onion sprigs in the mix along with garlic and basil; the corn kernels itself are crunchy and flavorful, its pulps popping as she chews on them. Approvingly, she nods to herself.

Obito would make a good housewife.

“The others sometimes come here to check on me,” Obito replies. On his lap, Sachiko is stirring her bowl of soup, impatiently stuffing a spoonful of it into her mouth after a second. A grimace forms on her face, however, and Sakura surmises that the soup must have not fully warmed down yet on spotting telltale tears building in the corners of the girl's eyes. Ever attentive, Obito coaxes her to drink water, and takes her spoon from her, filling it with the creamy liquid and gently blowing on to it.

“Hot,” Sachiko blurts out, cupping her hands and breathing out of it to get rid of the scalding sensation on her tongue.

“It is, isn’t it?” Gently, Obito rubs her back. “You should let it cool first.”

Sachiko shakes her head. “I don't want soup anymore.”

“Have some meat then,” Sakura says, reaching for the grilled pork. Carefully, she cuts a slice into thin pieces and places it in Sachiko’s plate, her lips quirking when the girl immediately begins chowing on her food. Obito’s eyes follow her, equally fond and amused, and Sakura, in a jest, dangles a pork cutlet in front of him. “Want some?”

She half-expects Obito to smirk in response and eat it, but what she doesn't expect is the sudden lick of his lips and the way he languidly wraps his mouth around the piece of meat, his gaze never leaving hers for a second. It burns hot, sending tingles underneath her skin, and she can only stare as he leans back with a satisfied look, tilting his head in a mocking way.

Her own mouth opens to protest because— it's so unfair, why do her soulmates have to be so fine and handsome; and why do they always use it against her?— but she dutifully shuts it again, unwilling to give him anymore delight in her suffering.

“Hmph.”

“Don't pout.” Obito gives her a playful smirk. “You'll only make me want to tease you more.”

Fuck.

Distractedly, she taps her foot against the floor and nods at the fallen bear by the doorway. “That's mine, isn't it?”

“Most of your things are still here.” His voice has dropped into a murmur, signaling his hesitation. “I haven't… I haven't thrown anything away in hopes that you were still alive. Unlike the others—” a wry laugh— “unlike them, I never even visited your grave.”

Sachiko’s eyes dart to and fro from them wonderingly.

At his confession, Sakura's throat closes up.

“Sorry,” is all she manages to say.

Obito’s eyes soften. “And I'm sorry too, for not being there when you needed me.”

And she laughs, wet and affectionate, and reaches for his hand, lifting it up and pulling it to her face to nuzzle her cheek into his palm.

“I forgive you.”

~~~~

When nighttime has fallen, they decide to let Sachiko use her childhood room. It is adorable, Sakura thinks, to see that Obito has tried to keep everything the way it has always been. Her books are still stacked on her shelves and nightstand, her plushies peacefully sitting by the corner of her bed beside her pillow. Her sheets are still pink; a woven basket with a ragged pillow resting by the foot of her bed— a makeshift dog bed. She can't remember her pet's name, some of her memories having been buried under years of pain and manipulation.

Sachiko takes kindly to the childish room, her eyes lighting up in delight as she hops into the bed and buries her face into the mattress. Happily, she grabs at a stuffed rabbit and rills over, hugging it to her chest with a bright grin. As she watches the fond scene, Sakura leans against the doorframe with her arms folded and a serene smile forming on her lips.

“Come on now,” a gloved hand rests on her waist, Obito’s baritone sounding in the air, “let's get you settled down.”

She lets him lead her down the hallway, contented with his touch. However, she jolts into a halt when they stop in front of her parents’ bedroom, and shakes her head fervently. “Can't,” she swallows, shifting her weight from one foot to another. “Their ghosts still sometimes haunt me. Not frequently, but they're still there.”

Having been through a lot of trauma himself, Obito nods in understanding. “Alright then,” he begins tugging her to the room just across from her childhood one; she recognizes it as the spare room her grandmother used to dwell in, “You can take my bedroom and I'll sleep downstairs.”

Oh. She was expecting for them to share the bed together. Dumbly, she blinks, “Won't you be cold?”

A raised eyebrow. “I've slept in a snowy wilderness once and I didn't get hypothermia,” he tells her flatly. “Compared to that, the living room is much warmer.”

Oof.

Realizing her mistake, Sakura's ears and cheeks flush an endearing pink.

“Of course,” she nods, mortified. “Just help yourself.”

Then she promptly flees into his room and slams the door at his face.

Oh gods. She sinks to the floor with her head cradled in her hands, her fingers tugging frustratedly at her hair. Oh gods. Couldn't she have been more discreet? Her hands move to her arms, digging her nails into her skin until she can think clearly. It does nothing, however, to alleviate the warmth that has spread in her system, nor the hard thumping of her heart against her chest as her adrenaline works overtime.

Humiliation flooding in her, she groans.

It seems her subconscious couldn't hide the fact that she wanted to sleep on the same bed with him.

There's a sharp knock, “Sakura?”

Just go away already, she wants to bite out. Instead, she pulls herself together and manages a small “Yes?”

“Can I come in?”

No.

But she's already opening the door and smiling at him, hiding any of her displeasure and discomfort. Owlishly, Obito stares at her, perhaps taking note of her flushed features and the slight awkward crook of her mouth, before chuckling and stepping in. For a few moments, he mingles, straightening up things and rummaging through his drawers tossing some articles of clothing into his bed.

“You can use some of my clothes since yours haven't been washed yet,” he says. “They might be big, so we'll have to buy you new ones tomorrow. Do you have any spare underwear?”

She reddens even more, “No.”

He glances at her thoughtfully. “Will you be alright with using mine for the night?” On seeing her scandalized face, he laughs. “They're boxers, don't you worry.”

But still. She bites her lips. internally screaming. Her? Wear Obito’s boxers? What are they, some kind of married couple to have no shame in wearing one another's underwear?

Unbothered, another roguish smirk settles on his lips, “You don't have a choice.”

“Damn right I don't,” she mutters, giving up. “So why are you still asking?”

“Because I like to tease you.” He chuckles, low and deep. “Bear with it, blossom.”

“Ah.” In a rush of heated playfulness at his equally teasing tone, she lilts her head at him, her eyes darkening and becoming half-hooded and leans back gracefully, her tongue swiping at her bottom lip in a provoking way. “Are we really going to play this game right now?”

The moonlight is half hidden behind the curtains, and the light bulb, which she had not bothered to turn on, is powered off, providing only enough glow for them to see each other. From where she stands, she can see Obito sitting on the bed with his legs spread rebelliously, protruding intrigue and arrogance in his own way; and she has to laugh at his act. Languidly, Sakura makes her way to him, her fingers dancing and skimming his shoulders and bare biceps on reaching him.

They leave goosebumps trailing on his skin.

His hands settle on her hips as she poisedly clambers to sit on his lap. “You're confusing,” Obito chuckles lowly, his voice a deep rumble. “One second you're all shy, and the next, you act all cat-like and confident.” A thoughtful hum, “Or is there something you want from me?”

Your body, her mind unhelpfully supplies. And a cuddle, and maybe a few compliments too, and your hands exploring me—

“Itachi wanted to kiss me today.” The memory is out of her mouth before she knows it, and she watches in glee when curiosity and the vaguest hint of entertainment flashes on Obito’s face. He hums for her to continue, and she does so, her hands never ceasing their wandering, “But he didn't. And now I'm all hot and bothered and wanting—”

“So I'm your rebound then?” Obito laughs.

“It isn't my fault that your voice is utterly delectable,” she murmurs, her thumb tracing the outline of his lips. It is slightly scarred, the edges rough, and she applies healing chakra into it, watching in satisfaction as the skin begins to stitch up. Through hooded eyes, Obito watches her work, and his attention shoots molten lava down her core; if she weren't straddling him, she would've shifted to press her thighs together in arousal.

“Is that the soulbond speaking?” Obito says teasingly. “Or your own thoughts?”

As if bewitched, she stares at his smirking mouth, eyes glazed with want.

“I want to kiss you.” Sakura flicks her gaze at him searchingly. “Can I?”

He leans back languidly, his hands flat on the bed supporting their combined weight. A cocky, yet affectionate, smirk plays on his roguishly handsome face, and before Sakura can double-guess the awkwardness of her query (she's never done something bold like this before), the world tilts mockingly, and she feels a pair of lips slotting over her own.

It comes as a shock, like a douse of cold water over her head. The warmth and need that has bleeded into the intensity of Obito’s affection makes her head spin, and she tries her hardest to reciprocate it, letting out a choked gasp when he roughly nips on her bottom lip. She takes it as an invitation to open her mouth, and the man doesn't hesitate in deepening their kiss, diving even further and just swallowing the breath out of her. His hands, larger than hers, almost span the entirety of her snatched hips as he grips them to steady her. Eventually, when oxygen has run out, they part for air, a thin string of saliva connected as they breathe heavily, faces flushed.

But Obito doesn't relent. Before she can even shake the stars in her head, he again sweeps in and captures her mouth with his, a pleasured moan rising from her when his hands begin to trail down to the dimples of her lower back, slipping into the waistband of her pants. his fingertips, calloused as they are, spread heat throughout her body like little dancing flames, adding more into the stimulation— or perhaps her mind has combusted enough to make her think of such silly thoughts. Too taken away, Sakura's mouth slants to have better access, eliciting a sharp groan from him. There's a bulge rubbing on her aching center from where she is hovering, and she grinds on it, once, twice, without thinking, to which Obito responds by bucking his hips to hers halfway.

He breaks away first, “Stop.”

The way his hands are on her skin is simply delicious, and she whines when he gently prods her off him. But she understands. With a huff, Sakura slides off his lap and plops into the ground, a flushed mess. Her chest rises heavily as she tries to revel in what just happened. Above her, Obito is almost in the same situation as her, only shifting away slightly to hide his obvious arousal, a hoarse laugh rumbling from the back of his throat.

“I thought Shisui was the experienced one between the both of you,” Sakura says breathlessly.

“Oh?” His eyes gleam with humor, “Have you kissed him before then?”

Replaying the memory, she snorts. “You'd think that setting boundaries between us would stop him, but no, he only became bolder. Itachi doesn't know about it,” a devious smile laces her lips, “but he does know about him biting my neck, and he's mad, mad, about it.”

Obito shakes his head in amusement and exasperation. “I can imagine.”

He's beautiful laughing like this, Sakura thinks. Perhaps not ethereally pretty like Itachi and Sasuke, and evidently not boyishly charming like Shisui, but still beautiful. There's violence and love lurking beneath his dark orbs, and she adores it so, adores the starlight glimmer it brings, bringing light to his otherwise tired visage; and she preens in knowing that she's part of the reason why. When he reaches for her, she rolls the both of them into the bed, chuckles spilling out of her mouth when his arm immediately snakes around her waist and his weight crushes her between him and the wall.

“Sleep with me?”

His lips graze the crown of her head, “No funny business.”

“I meant, sleep, sleep, Obito,” she says snarkily. “Like the old times.”

“Those days were the times I kept telling myself that I shouldn't have you as a romantic interest,” Obito laughs. “Told myself I'd be fine with being just friends with you until you grew up and found someone else. Especially when you claimed that you had three other soulmates. I was a rogue-nin and more than a decade older than you. It might have alarmed me a bit.”

“Is that why you didn't tell me your real name?” she asks softly.

“Partly,” he agrees. His breath warmly fans over the crook of her neck, “But something tells me you already knew my real identity.”

“Did I?” she smoothly deflects. Being a kunoichi specializing in seduction and infiltration grants her the ability to use deception flawlessly in anything.

Although she doubts Obito will buy her lie easily.

His fingers creep to drum an anxious rhythm on her hip, “It's only a suspicion,” he murmurs. “Because I sure hope you did not. Sages only knows how much you'll despise me when you know the things I've done.”

She hums at that. She knows what he's referring to of course: the murder he's committed against the Yondaime and his wife, the deeds and conspiracies he's done behind Konoha’s back in Madara's name. If she hadn't met him earlier, if the events that had led up to this moment did not happen, Obito would have also aided Itachi in killing his whole clan.

What?

Bewildered, Sakura blinks.

Where did that information come from?

“So will you tell me where Danzo’s lair is now?” Obito interrupts her, and she has to huff out a short bark of laughter. Ever since he'd seen the ink on her stomach, the man has been hounding at her for information as to where Danzo is hiding. But not yet. She frowns. She doesn't doubt Obito’s strength, but if he were to make a mistake and Danzo manages to escape his fury, the situation will become more of a hassle. The old coot would probably flee to another lair of his, and while Sakura has memorized every single one of his properties, they're still too many to survey one by one. No doubt Danzo will run and hide from one location to another whenever the news of her hunting him down reaches his ears.

She fondles his fingertips to her lips and kisses them. “Later, Obito.”

A growl echoes from him, but still he nods, a scowl painting his mouth. “I'll find out sooner or later,” he promises. “And when I do, I'll bring his head to your feet.”

It's chilling, the way he says it, but Sakura accepts it all the same. Arousal taps on her core like dripping water at his assertion; and she prays that he does not notice the musk coming from her. She needs a shower, a new change of clothes, and a good night's sleep to wash away the remnants of her intoxication for him. Grunting, she starts to rise on her elbows, but the toned arm slung across her torso is heavy, Obito’s silent question reflecting in his eyes.

“I want to take a bath,” she explains.

A raised eyebrow, “After I just bared my heart to you?”

Oh, what a drama queen. She rolls her eyes. Sakura's forgotten just how dramatic the Uchiha can be in general.

“Promising me to bring the head of my captor isn't exactly what you would call “baring your heart out”,” she snipes. “Is Shisui rubbing off on you?”

With a laugh, he releases her.

“I mean it, you know,” he calls after her when she's trotting to the bathroom, a towel in hand. Sakura pretends not to hear him, her own footfalls silent against the wooden floor, honed by years of experience.

Perhaps she should have insisted more for him to mind his own business and not meddle with hers at the time, because just two weeks later, Sai sends her a message.

‘Danzo’s base has been destroyed. Most of ROOT has been eradicated. Danzo’s death not confirmed.’

Well, fuck.

Frustratedly, she punches the mahogany dining table into splinters.

~~~~

Sachiko likes her mom a lot. She likes her warm smiles and her gentle hands and the affection she often showers her with. The men her mother surrounds herself with, however, Sachiko isn’t sure.

But the scarred shinobi who follows her mother with obvious adoration, Sachiko likes too.

What she doesn’t like is him hogging her mother’s attention to himself. Many a night, Sachiko’s found the both of them asleep together, huddled under the blankets with his arms circling her mother’s waist, and her own mother snuggled to him contentedly. It makes Sachiko pout and retreat to her own bed, cuddling to her toys while wishing that her mother would come and snuggle with her instead. So when the scarred shinobi bribes her with candy to be quiet when she catches him sneaking out in the middle of the night, Sachiko doesn’t hesitate to agree and immediately skips to her mother’s room to steal some cuddles. Her mother, too groggy to notice the unusual, accepts her in her arms sluggishly.

Consequently, Sachiko ignores the fluent insults that flood the kunoichi’s mouth when morning arrives and a note comes in.

~~~~

“Where’s Obito,” she demands.

Itachi hums, carelessly twirling his pen around his fingers. “I’m not certain what you are talking about.”

“Don’t play dumb with me,” Sakura all but snarls, unimpressed by his apathetic facade towards her. Covering up for Obito, is that it? Her knuckles crack under the pressure of each of her fists as she advances, fury spitting out of her prowling form. From behind the wooden walls and doors and even the ledge of the roof, she can sense Itachi’s ANBU guards stirring, ready to attack if given the signal. But Itachi is lax, a smirk twitching his stupidly handsome face when she nears him.

“Can’t sleep for a few more nights without him?”

A vein throbs by her temple.

“Fuck you,” she spits, whirling on her heel. “If shit goes down, I won’t be taking the blame, you hear?”

Her heels harshly clack on the floor as she leaves, the door slamming close in her wake.

A weight drops onto the window ledge, and Itachi hears his cousin’s familiar voice. “Oooohhh, she’s mad, mad,” Shisui chuckles behind his mask as he slinks in like a graceful feline. But then his whole demeanor seems to change, and his fingers quickly undo his mask, revealing dark eyes that shimmered, not with his signature playfulness, but of suspicion and anger. Itachi only has the time to casually tilt his head sidewards before a sharp kunai pierces the air to where his ear was a second ago.

“Now, tell me, my dear favorite cousin, what are you and Obito hiding from me, hm?”

~~~~

By early noon, Sakura decides to cool her temper down. Staying angry won’t do anything good after all— not with her having a child to take care of. Sachiko is waiting for her by the doorsteps when she returns home, her young face lighting up on seeing her and a toothy grin spreading across her features as she dashes for a hug.

Sakura catches her easily with a matching smile of her own. “And how have you been?” she coos. Her thumb casually brushes off the fleck of dirt on the girl’s cheek. “Shall we have lunch now?”

Happily, Sachiko nods and tugs her to the door with much eagerness.

There’s an apron by the side of the fridge and Sakura grabs it, gracefully tying it around her waist before pulling the fridge door open and surveying its contents. Some ham, tomatoes, beer, and a carton of eggs. Thoughtfully, she picks up a thoroughly red tomato and winces on seeing its blackened side. Ew. Rotten. She tosses it in the trash.

Well, she could fry them some ham and eggs. Not an ideal lunch, but apparently Obito didn’t bother to restock on food, and right now, Sakura isn’t in the mood to interact with the people in the market due to her piling stress. Sighing, she takes out four eggs and the ham and sets them aside, only to realize that they had run out of rice last night.

Irritated, Sakura bites down a growl.

Fucking Obito. Couldn’t he at least have given her a warning of his sudden outing?

Sachiko, noticing her swinging temper, can only offer her a tentative smile as she fiddles with her bear.

No, not now. Sakura tries to calm herself down. Not with Sachiko here. She can yell and scream later once the little girl is out of hearing range, or maybe hunt Torune or Sai down to have a long overdue spar, but she can’t break down now. Fuck. Breathing hard, Sakura laces her gloved fingers into her hair and pulls, frustration mingling with the pain that shoots in her skull.

Just then, there’s a knock. Glad for the distraction, Sakura turns on her heel and doesn’t even look through the peephole before she yanks it open, blinking bewilderedly at the sight of Sasuke standing outside, a wrapped box of takeout in his hand. Sachiko, who has followed her and is now gripping the hem of her shirt, peeks from behind her almost comically, her grasp tightening apprehensively.

“Thought you might be hungry,” are Sasuke’s greeting words. “Obito didn’t leave you with any decent food, did he?”

It’s almost nostalgic to see the grown man fidget under her scrutinizing gaze. She remembers the time Sasuke would become uneasy when she’d catch him and Naruto fighting, apologies sputtering from his lips as he’d try to quell her disappointment in them for not getting along for the nth time, while Naruto would only jeer at him for being such a sucker. Which would earn the blond a punch. Which would then escalate into another fight.

But presently, there is no Naruto. Only Sasuke who is clearly uncomfortable under the brunt of her stare, shifting his weight from one foot to another.

Sakura’s eyes dart from the packed food and to his attractive face, “Would you like to eat with us?”

“Sure,” Sasuke easily accepts, and she steps to the side to let him in, “Got nothing better to do anyway.”

When his attentive dark orbs meet hers, a lick of lightning runs down her spine in anticipation.

~~~~

It’s unfair to think that his own brother and cousin has gotten to know their guest on a certain level while he hasn’t. Even Obito, the lucky bastard, has gotten the honor to house the kunoichi, and Sasuke doesn’t bother hiding his displeasure about it whenever he sees the older man outside.

“Oh, don’t pout, Sasu-chan,” Shisui told him once he’d voiced out his complaint, “It isn’t a surprise really, considering that you abhorred ROOT just a while back.”

The pot calling the kettle black, Sasuke thinks. As if his cousin also didn’t hate them— until Saye arrived.

He wonders how she did it; breaking Obito and Shisui’s shells almost instantly after meeting them, even with their sworn fury for Danzo’s kind. Sasuke cannot deny how Shisui’s gaze was magnetically drawn to her from what he’d seen on their arrival in his older brother’s office, nor can he brush off the playfulness Obito had exhibited before leaving with her little ward. And Itachi, his apathetically attached brother who only cared about work and the village’s wellbeing, had acted uncharacteristically by sending him away with a half-hearted excuse. Business, his ass. Sasuke had seen the murky loook hidden under Itachi’s carefully crafted persona— a gaze that shimmered with disbelief and yearning as he regarded Saye. It had flickered scarlet just before he dismissed Sasuke, signaling his brother’s use of his Sharingan; for why, the younger Uchiha did not know.

So when Obito came to him at dead of the night with some instructions to take care of Saye while he was away on a self-assigned mission, Sasuke immediately agreed to do so despite the voice in his mind protesting violently. He wanted to know; what was so intriguing with the woman that his own kin couldn’t keep their curiosity to themselves?

Never mind the fact that Saye glimmered with colors that were covered beneath her leader facade; it had been hard to ignore her vibrancy that shimmered just under her skin as she made her introductions that day. It was her only resemblance to Sakura— but it was the most important. His mother had explained to him how the Uchiha perceived colors at Sakura’s funeral, confirming that the pinkette was indeed his soulmate; however, it had already been too late. Her coffin had already been lowered to the ground, her body left for the earth to swallow and claim back as one of theirs.

So why was it, that this strange woman who had crawled from the underground, could make him see the hues and shades of the world clearer than it had been since Sakura’s unfortunate demise?

You don’t even feel guilty about it, the manic voice sneers. She’s one of those who killed Sakura. Killed Sakura… KILLEDKILLEDKILLEDDEADDEAD–! Her blood is on that woman’s hands! And still you fraternize with her— Where is your loyalty? YOUR LOVE?

Mentally snuffing the voice out, he blinks.

“It’s a good thing you came, Sasuke-san,” Saye is saying as she pulls out eating utensils from the cupboards. Her little shadow, the young girl who cannot be more than eight, trails after her, curious eyes every so often darting to him tentatively. Gently, Saye passes her the plates to set out on the table which the little girl readily obliges, shyly placing his plate in front of him before retreating back to her patron. “We might have already starved by the time I’ve bought some rice to cook.”

The ominous mood the woman had exhibited earlier by the door is completely gone now, replaced by a contented smile as she offers him a pair of chopsticks and a bowl for the soup he’s brought for them. Sasuke has to huff amusedly at the quick change. Women. So volatile creatures, yet so easy to please. Testing the waters, he breaks apart the chopsticks and says,

“So what has made you so mad?”

To her credit, Saye’s smile does not waver. Sasuke, however, cannot help but notice the tense set of her jaw, betraying her otherwise cool and happy composure.

“Oh, you know,” she starts, “Just some problems here and there.” Fluidly, she takes her seat by him, Sachiko flopping down beside her, and laughs, “It’s silly. Nothing you’ll find interesting.”

The unsteady vibration in her laughter seems so similar to how Sakura laughed whenever she tried to dismiss something, Sasuke cannot stop himself from comparing them. Another coincidence maybe? Or you’re just projecting, the voice snipes, clawing its way at the edges of his mind. Trying to chase down a ghost of the past; how about we kill ourselves instead? That way, we’ll be reunited with Sakura much sooner—

He grinds his teeth together to get some semblance of control over his thoughts. Stop.

How can I stop when you’re turning just like them? Stopstopstop; STOP TALKING TO HER! You’ll forget— you’ll fucking forget what they did to Sakura— poor, innocent Sakura— Mercilessly, the voice continues to howl and wail, thrashing violently as it wrestles to be freed— Traitors… TRAITORS! You can’t, you of all people know how much we suffered— do why do you still… Sakura— GIVE US BACK SAKURA—!

When he grasps a hold of reality again, Saye is studying him, electric-blue eyes glowing with specks of viridian, and her fingers have threaded with his, keeping him grounded with her warmth. Sachiko is peering at him, wordless as usual, but there is understanding in her young face and she offers him a comforting smile. A broken bowl is shattered on the floor, soup spilled all over the smooth surface, and his own chopsticks have snapped in his grip. But Saye holds him steady, even as her hand is turning blue in his tight grasp, concern flickering over her pretty features.

Sasuke stares listlessly at the mess he’s done, breathing hard.

“Sachiko,” Saye breaks the silence, “Go to your room. And bring your lunch with you.”

There’s the sound of scrambling footsteps, and Sachiko gives him one more sympathetic look before leaving, carefully maneuvering around the glass shards.

“Easy,” Saye says when he attempts to stand up and clean the broken bowl. Effortlessly, she pushes him back to his seat and frowns at the shattered utensil, “I’ll throw that away later. Don’t worry your pretty head about it now, hm?”

She still hasn’t let go of his other hand.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs contritely.

Something streaks inside her kaleidoscopic eyes, and Sasuke doesn’t pull away when she leans forward and engulfs him in a hug, cradling the back of his head and coaxing him to rest his face into the crook of her neck. He does, however, stiffen up like a frightened cat, not knowing how to react in such a situation. But Saye is patient, and she doesn’t break away from the physical contact she’s initiated; soon, his arms come to wrap around her, unconsciously seeking more comfort and reassurance from her as he accepts her silent calm against his raging mental state.

“We all have demons we deal with everyday,” she tells him softly, lacing her dexterous fingers through his black locks with painstaking tenderness, “It comes with being a shinobi. We find ways to cope with it, but it seems you’ve bottled up yours, haven’t you?”

They stay like that for a long while, until their backs are aching and their limbs have fallen asleep from holding each other and Sasuke’s head has cleared up of the fog and negativity. Their food has already gone cold by then, and Saye only laughs at it in ridicule as she clears the plates and other utensils they’ve used and piles it into the sink. As if falling into routine, Sasuke slinks to her side and helps in washing the dishes, afterwards throwing away the bowl he’s smashed in his manic haze as his female companion wipes the wet floor with a dishrag. The silence is comfortable, and he drowns in it, relishing in the peaceful absence of his mental voice.

“You can stay here for a little more if you want,” Saye says when all has been cleaned. “Read some books. Or maybe talk.” Her eyes flick to him, analyzing. “If you want of course.”

He doesn’t reject her offer. Several moments later, Sasuke finds himself sitting on the couch with a history book in his hands while Saye lounges on the floor by his feet, casually playing with a dagger. It’s the greatest sense of normalcy he’s been granted for a while, without his stormy thoughts lashing at him, and he lets out an assuaged sigh before reclining into the backrest of the sofa.

Hn.

Perhaps the circumstances are different for Obito, Shisui, and Itachi, but Sasuke finally understands why they revolve around Saye like moths drawn to a flame.

He almost allows himself to laugh right then as he thinks,

Would it be selfish for him to also want some of her attention to every once in a while?

Chapter Text

Would've aided Itachi in killing his clan.

Inner has gone quiet. Ever since they've returned to Konoha, there has neither been a snarky protest or a snide comment from the apparition in her mind. It alarms her; and Sakura, deciding that enough is enough, falls into her mindscape when she meditates one afternoon.

What greets her is emptiness.

No Inner, no darkness, just pure white.

Strange.

Her footsteps create ripples as she walks, but the sensation isn't of walking, but of floating. One arm outstretched in an attempt to touch the white abyss, she realizes that she cannot touch anything. Whitewashed and dull, with no dash of color, the state of her mindscape is enough to make anyone insane.

“Inner?” she calls out.

There is no reply.

But then a ghostly hand lands on her shoulder and she jolts, instinctively jabbing at the intruder.

“You called for me?” Inner laughs. Her voice, however, isn't like the raspy and grating tone she's used to hearing; but rather a weak and broken one. Sakura looks closer. Cracks mar her inverted black skin, slashing across her face and spreading across her arms. There's a dim glow surrounding her, faint and flickering, as if the phantom will fade away in any minute, and Sakura swallows.

“What…” she cups the apparition's cheeks in her hand, “What has happened to you?”

Inner smiles at her sorrowfully. “It isn't just me,” are her quiet words. “You're a part of this too. But I'll be gone first.”

“Gone?” she echoes.

“Gone,” Inner affirms, resignation filtering in her voice. “We weren't meant to last this long. Your body may still be young, but our souls have already gone past their limit. It defies the law of Nirvana.”

“Nirvana?” Bewildered, Sakura recoils her touch. “What are you talking about?”

“The process of cleansing a person's soul once they've died. All your memories will be wiped clean and your entire existence erased, forging you a new identity for your next life.” A sad smile. “We are long overdue for that.”

Without waiting for Sakura's response, Inner flicks a motion towards the white space around them. It explodes in a firecracker of monochromatic colors, the hues of gray and black extending into smoke and ashes. From the shadows silhouettes emerge, familiar people who have Sakura's heart aching. When she spots the signature silver hair of her genin teacher and the flash of yellow and orange, it takes her everything to keep rooted on her ground, unmoving. Chaos curl in the atmosphere, angry yells and pained cries filling the air, one body falling one after another. Frozen, Sakura stares at the familiar scene of war. From a fair distance, she sees a dash of pink amongst the corpses.

Tinnnnnngggggg—!

A piercing noise shoots through her ears and she flinches.

“Your first life,” Inner murmurs. “As it is mine.”

“Yes, I know,” Sakura says even as the ringing in her head grows louder and more demanding. "This was our life before we were reincarnated in our current reality." Her body has turned see-through, allowing her transparency and cover as she walks to her fallen self, who has her eyes turned to the dark heavens, glassy and unseeing. A metal rod is stuck in her chest, blood that has long dried flaking her vest and mingling with the ground.

"We had plenty more lives after this," Inner responds grimly. "We just couldn't remember them because your memories have already been tampered with way before Danzo did."

What?

Footsteps crunch behind them, a familiar masculine voice filtering in, “I was hoping you wouldn't die.”

Obito.

Stunned, Sakura watches him as he passes by her and kneels by her corpse's side, regret knitting on his scarred face like a veil as he gently lifts her cold body up in his arms and into his lap, tenderness in his every action. His lips are twisted, grief cloaking his form and Sakura resists the urge to embrace him. Instead, she glances back at Inner who has a fond smile on her face as if reliving a good memory.

“I remember now; there's a reason why Obito is one of your soulmates,” the phantom tells her softly. “You never did meet in your past life except in battle, but here, in your first, he was oddly attached to you.” A grim laugh, “Probably because you sympathized with him even though he kidnapped you to lure Naruto out.”

Sakura almost chokes, “I'm sorry, what?”

Inner doesn't redact her words back.

“Some might even call it ‘love’,” she says dismally. “Isn't it ironic? Obito has always been the first one to reach you in every timeline fate allows him. But the cycle also starts with him.”

Cycle?

"I don't even remember striking a friendship with him," Sakura protests, utterly confused.

Just then, a surge of energy crackles in the air. Sakura's head whips back to the scene playing in front of her, eyes widening on seeing a familiar violet spinning and swirling, combined with the telltale flash of scarlet, as Obito begins pouring all his chakra into her lifeless body. His teeth are bared into a silent scream as he holds her close, his rebellious existence defying the laws of nature.

“I'm sorry," he cries pleadingly. "I'm sorry, Sakura. I was wrong. Please give me a chance to make this right." He cradles her dead self closer to his chest, even as a hurricane surrounds them, whipping up dust and smoke. “Or as many chances as you will allow me. Please.” Thunder rolls overhead, lightning streaking as the skies are forced open, the frantic shrieks of the people caught in the crossfire resounding chillingly in the air; and Sakura watches it all in horror, fire burning in her veins at the sight. Time rewinding almost painfully, everything blurs out of focus, leaving only herself, Inner, and Obito with her broken corpse in the foreground.

Then, without warning, the skies collapse and swallow the earth whole.

She screams.

.
.
.
.

When the world has stabilized again, Sakura sees herself looking at the horizon. The orange sunset rays are piercing, and she has to shield her eyes from its blinding light. Where is she? A quick look around, and she surmises that she must be back in Konoha, the looming Hashirama trees surrounding the clearing an obvious indication.

“Your second life,” Inner whispers. “Obito only managed to turn back time to revive you, but it did not make you any younger at all. Here, you were friends with Shisui and you managed to prevent the Uchiha massacre. But in return…”

“The time traveler,” a raspy voice speaks out.

Sakura turns around.

There, a few feet away, her other self is propped up against a tree, their surroundings having shifted into a familiar forest lush with Hashirama trees and vegetation. The shadows from across her shift and dissipate, revealing a hatefully familiar elder, his cane parting the grass as he walks to her. Shakily, her other self lets out a dry chuckle as she stands to meet him, and it is only then that Sakura sees the gauntness of her face.

“Danzo,” Other Sakura inclines her head towards the old man, “Have you come to fulfill your part of the bargain?”

“Everything is set,” Danzo agrees. “The Uchiha clan's pardon in exchange for your cooperation.”

“Wait,” Sakura turns to Inner, eyebrows knitted, “This isn't right.”

She had discovered who was responsible for the Uchiha massacre in her previous life, and the only life she had before some sort of twsited fate landed her in the world she is in now. Wrong, wrong, everything is just wrong. A time traveler? Incredulous laughter bubbles out her lips as she brings her fingers to her hair and tugs in bewilderment. She’d only traveled once. Once. There is no first life or second— just her previous one where she’d lost everyone dear to her.

“Hard to process, isn’t it?” Inner chuckles. “I also didn’t remember anything until recently. The reason I disappeared for a while back then was because of this.” A humorless grin coats her lips, and she taps her temple almost mockingly, “And you’re still forgetting a lot. But that’s for the best I suppose; your sanity would break if you were to remember every detail from all the lives you’ve led. The human brain isn’t meant for such things.”

Sakura turns her attention back to the scene playing in front of them. Danzo is eyeing her other self predatorily, a greedy glint in his visible eye. Other Sakura’s jaw twitches as a telltale sign to snarl in disgust, and Danzo raises one of his hands in mock surrender. “The boy is resting in the hospital as we speak,” he says, and Sakura bristles at the cruel tone he’s taken. “Shisui will live.”

With no context as to what had happened prior, Sakura can only turn to Inner for an explanation. “Live?” she hisses.

“Part of the reason why Itachi committed the massacre was because Shisui died,” Inner articulates ruefully. The phantom nods back to the conversation happening before them, and Sakura doesn’t even flinch when her other self jabs a finger at Danzo’s direction, a sneer curling on the corners of her mouth.

“You give him back his eye,” Other Sakura demands coldly. “With the Uchiha clan being restricted to certain rights, you won’t be needing it anymore.”

“And what happens if the Uchiha does decide to strike back despite the flimsy peace treaty?” Danzo counters. His tone is cutting, determined, but Other Sakura isn’t deterred. Her hands flash green, her signature chakra scalpels coming to life, energy humming through her as she advances with equal resolve. At the threat, a dozen masked men materialize all around them, various weapons in their hands as they stand guard to do damage control. ROOT. Just the sight of them has Sakura’s blood boiling, but she holds herself back. This isn’t her timeline after all, only a shadow of what had happened to her if Inner is to be believed. However, Other Sakura has no qualms in retaining peace and strikes first, face contorting into one of fierceness as a battle cry erupts from her open lips.

A ROOT agent intercepts her attack gracefully, and she laughs, all bitter and amused, “You just can’t bring yourself to trust them. Afraid they’ll overthrow you once they find out of your initial plans?”

“Cooperation, Haruno,” Danzo silkily reminds her. “That is our deal.”

“And why must I uphold my part of the deal when you have not upholded yours?” she growls.

The Shimura gives her an arrogant smirk, “Because I have the upper hand here.”

The attacks come swiftly like a granted mercy. All at once, the ROOT operatives charge at her, quietness in their footfalls and deftness gracing their moves. Sharp wire weighed down by a ball of metal comes spiralling around her ankles when she transitions to defend, and a curse spills from her lips when her reflexes fail to catch her from falling. She goes sprawling on the ground hard.

Before Other Sakura can even give herself time to breathe and regroup, a rough hand jerks her head upwards by her hair and harshly presses a damp cloth against her nose.

Chloroform.

Sakura’s eyes widen in alarm, and she bolts, “No!”

The world spins on its axis, and dizziness overcomes her.

When she comes back to her senses, Sakura is faced by piling destruction. She's still in the forest, but the Hashirama trees that once stood tall and proud are now burnt into crisps, their leaves turned into ashes and scattered about. Blood is splattered on the ground, bits and pieces of human bone and skin tainting the ground, and Sakura surmises that an explosion must have happened. She’s in the same clearing as before, but this time, there is no Danzo, no ROOT agents, no sunset. Only a blood-red moon hangs in the sky, two individuals under its scarlet glimmer. Inner emerges beside her, nostalgia vibrating in her form as she stares at the heartbreaking scene.

A younger Shisui— perhaps around fifteen or sixteen years old— in a tattered black shirt with a sheathed tanto slung over his back, is holding a familiar figure in his arms and crying, apologies bursting from his mouth as he holds Other Sakura to his chest, quivering fingers desperately patting her pale cheeks as if hoping that she would wake. But Sakura is familiar with the whiff of death, and the smell of demise coiling from her alternate self is enough evidence that she is dying once again.

“Oh, please, please,” Shisui is begging, his own hands starting to glow green as he attempts to produce medical chakra. But his control is too shaky, too weak, and the green spark sputters away immediately much to his dismay. “You can’t—” a choke sob rises from his lips— “you can’t die… you can’t, please, please, Sakura. Please open your eyes. Tell me this isn’t happening… just please—!

Her sweet, sweet Shisui. Sakura takes a step forward, her heart hurting for the boy’s pain. But her phantom-like hands do not touch him when she kneels down to embrace him, only passing through his shaking body.

“I told you I could handle it,” Shisui blubbers, tears streaking down his cheeks. There’s a bandage wrapped around his right eye, blood seeping through the white fabric. Perhaps the eye Other Sakura was talking about earlier, Sakura concludes. “I told you I could—” his words crack devastatingly— “If you had just listened to me, it wouldn’t have ended like this!”

“The outcome would have been the same as our original timeline had we not interfered,” Inner sighs wearily, shaking her head. “Shisui would have died, Itachi would have carried on to kill his own family with Obito’s help, Sasuke would have gone on a vengeful rampage— nothing would have changed. Stupid idiot.” She spreads her hands at the wreckage in front of them, “At least our death accounted for something.”

“But it wasn’t enough, was it?” Sakura queries in a low tone.

Inner doesn’t deign to respond.

Shisui’s cries are getting louder, his fist pounding the ground in frustration. His curly hair, unkempt and matted with blood, sways with the cool night breeze; and the tenseness in his shoulders only grows every passing moment with her cooling corpse. Sakura is helpless against his sorrow. Unlike Obito, Shisui isn’t conservative in his despair, his outgoing nature only amplifying his emotions as he lets them flow. It makes her uncomfortable, not being able to comfort him despite being so near, so Sakura settles to tune his heart-wrenching sobs out the best she can.

“How did I die this time?” she inquires hushedly.

Inner gazes at the scarlet moon above them, “Tortured. Danzo took us to his quarters of course, and he broke your mental state completely to figure out the secret behind your time-travelling phenomena. By the time Shisui broke you out of your underground cell and brought you here, you were already too far gone to be saved.”

“Ah.”

As the seconds tick by painstakingly, Sakura shifts into a sitting position and brings her knees to her chest as she tries to drown Shisui’s cries out. Inner doesn’t move from where she’s standing, content to look at the blood-red moon as if committing it to her memory. The scent of blood stings, the taste of sorrow and death thick in the air, and when a presence makes itself known in the shadows, Sakura’s skin breaks out into goosebumps.

She doesn’t need to hear his voice; by instinct, by the feel of his chakra, she already knows that it is Obito.

“Boy.”

His call has Shisui raising his head to blink tiredly at him, but there is still a certain level of wariness in the way he regards the newcomer. When Obito steps out from the darkness, revealing his worn-down travelling cloak and pure white mask, Shisui’s hand grasps his tanto and snarls like a cornered animal.

But there is no fear in Obito’s movements as he trods to the younger shinobi, his gait fluid and careful when he kneels on one knee, a leather-gloved hand reaching out to caress Other Sakura’s pink hair. Sakura studies him, intrigued. Does he remember then?

“Always one minute too late am I?” Obito chuckles resignedly. “Careless girl.”

Defensively, Shisui cradles Other Sakura closer, recoiling from his touch. “Who are you?”

“Start asking the right questions, boy,” the scarred man says dismissively. “Do you want to save her or not?”

Searchingly, Sakura gazes at Inner, gesturing at the interaction happening before her, “Obito remembers?”

“He was the one who turned back time for you in your first life. Remembering is the price for messing with time and space,” Inner affirms. “But he’ll soon forget. Because in this timeline, it will be Shisui’s turn to save you; and when he does, it will be his turn to keep all his memories of what happened here onto your next life.”

“And Obito will lose his,” Sakura grimaces.

“Such is the cycle,” Inner hums, distaste sifting in her words. “They all remember then forget when another savior comes along. Obito remembers you in this life because he was the one who sent you here, but once Shisui rewinds back time, he’ll forget and Shisui will take his place.”

“But Shisui doesn’t have the Rinnegan or the kamui,” Sakura argues. “So how—”

A familiar crackle of energy. Flabbergasted, Sakura’s head snaps back to the two men, her mouth falling agape on seeing that Shisui’s bandages have unraveled, and in its place is a recognizable pinwheel, violently spinning as it starts to suck in air within. Obito’s own mask has been discarded by the side, his own eye sockets empty, and Sakura has to remind herself that the man has still not acquired the Rinnegan at this point of his life and that the other half of his Sharingan is with Kakashi. “I can't do it this time,” Obito admits to Shisui with apparent regret. “My chakra hasn't replenished yet. But you… I think your chakra will be enough.”

With horror, she realizes what the older Uchiha is referring to and why Shisui’s right eye is familiar; it is Obito’s.

What the fucking hell. They had just exchanged eyeballs in front of her! With no medical attention nonetheless! Stupefied, Sakura palms her face. Tobirama’s blue balls, does insanity run with the Uchiha? How does one pop his eye out of its socket so nonchalantly, then hand it to another person for them to pop it in their own socket?

Inner just chuckles.

“They’re doing it for you,” she points out.

“But it's,” Sakura pauses, trying to find the right words to say, “— it's unethical!”

“It's a life and death situation,” Inner corrects her, chortling. “With you dead already, that is.”

The same sequence of events happens again, only this time, it is more chaotic and unrefined; probably because dimension-travelling and bending time isn't Shisui’s forte since the Sharingan in his care isn't originally his. But there is still an underlying strength in his technique, chakra control preventing any more damage to be caused further. There’s the signature rumble of thunder mingling with lightning, the scent of ozone descending, the roar of the wind as it swirls and surges uncontrollably; the scarlet moon ripping itself apart and turning into silver dust just as the heavens are slashed open and devours everything as a whole. Debris rains the earth mercilessly.

“Live this time, won't you?” Sakura hears Shisui’s quiet plea amongst the raging storm. His defeated tone has her heart breaking for him all over again, and out of impulse, she wraps her ghostly arms loosely around his neck from behind and presses a whisper of a kiss onto his cheek.

Then everything goes black, and her vision fades with it.

.
.
.
.

She's suffocating in her tears when she wakes up. Inner is a constant figure by her side, her ghostly hands cold against her cheek as she caresses her comfortingly.

Then the sound of war cries reach her ears, and Sakura bolts up.

She rubs at her fatigued eyes, “Where are we?”

Perhaps she shouldn't have asked. Inner’s expression turns sour, and she gestures at the familiar smoke and bodies scattered around them, ashes floating in the air and smelling thick of blood and gore. “Civil war,” the phantom intones bitterly. “This is your third life. With your best efforts, you again managed to save the Uchiha and integrate them back into society. But Shisui remembers Danzo's doings and the pain he inflicted on you in your other life, and he decided to wage war for your sake and his clan.”

Sakura’s pupils go wide, “What?”

Grimly, Inner sweeps a hand at the overwhelming carnage. “The civil war resulted in a lot of deaths, unjust and not, and many innocents were caught in the crossfire. Civilians, mostly.”

When she scrambles to stand, the sight that greets her has a horrified shudder running down her spine. A Konoha blown into smithereens. Red liquid flows thickly through the cobblestone streets, whole buildings collapsed and crumbling, soot and grime splattering the remaining surfaces standing. There’s a head strewn by her feet, its owner nowhere to be found. She kneels down to prod at it in terror; the head belongs to a young boy it seems, pain and fright etched in his slack face. Pure disbelief floods her, and she stumbles forward, her hands coming to clutch her head in shock.

“He couldn't have,” she mutters. “Shisui loved— loves— Konoha. He wouldn't have!” Frantic, she grabs Inner’s shoulders and shakes her, “Where's the Sakura in this timeline? Surely I would have stopped him!”

Inner gazes at the havoc sadly. “You did,” she agrees. “You tried.”

A lump catches in her throat and she chokes, harshly pulling her hair down, down, down, because this couldn’t have happened, no, no, no, no— If Shisui had truly cared for her, wouldn’t he have nurtured Konoha instead of destroying it? He would have known how much her homeland meant to her. Oh gods, her chest tightens when realization crashes in— where is Naruto? Sasuke? Kakashi? Her parents?

A cold hand tugs at her arm, “Calm it. This is the past, not the present. Your Shisui hasn’t done anything.”

The ground shifts, and Sakura retches, Inner supporting her, rubbing soothing circles on her back as she vomits out saliva and murky liquid. “Look,” the apparition whispers. Miserably, Sakura raises her head and finds herself in another place overlooking Konoha’s obliterated state, stumps of charred stone and wood marking what were once proud buildings and apartments. The lively market is now a dump of soot and coal, no sign of life running through its streets. The Hokage Tower has been reduced to a smoking mess, its red roof scorched and dismantled. Presently, she and Inner are on top of the Hokage Mountain, granting them a first-class view of the violence that had taken place.

By the tips of the Yondaime’s hair, Other Sakura sits, a flask in her hand which Sakura suspects to be strong alcohol.

“You look terrible,” Itachi’s baritone sounds from behind her. Sakura turns and sees the man sauntering towards her alternate self, the weight of the world making his steps heavy. Other Sakura blatantly ignores him, even when he’s already directly behind her kneeling to join her in her moping, his shoulders holding none of the regality Sakura is used to seeing.

“Do you regret it?” Itachi asks so quietly, Sakura has to strain her ears to hear him.

He can’t be more than eighteen years old in this timeline, Sakura supposes. The tear troughs in his face aren’t so distinct yet, and his features still hold some of his youthful beauty, hardened by all the fighting and oppositions he’s faced. How long did Shisui plan to uprise Konoha after she’d managed to safeguard his clan? How long had he been brewing in hate and anger before he’d finally snapped?

“Five years,” Inner answers her unspoken questions. “And he plotted it all behind your back.”

She hears a hoarse laugh, then her parallel self tilts her head with much slowness to her companion. “Didn't you know?” Other Sakura rasps out brokenly. She stares listlessly at the wreckage, her flask dangling from her fingers, “I saved your clan because their demise would have meant your younger brother’s betrayal to the village. But nooo—” laughing, she takes a swig and wipes the burning sensation away immediately— “you ungrateful brats just had to turn all my work into soot, didn't you? You Uchihas and your grudges.”

“You could undo everything again,” Itachi suggests, eyeing her carefully lest she decides to jump off to meet her death. “You've already done so twice.”

“Sorry,” Other Sakura brandishes her flask at him with drunken glee, “ But I don’t know how it works. One second I’m dead, and the next, I’m alive again and back in the past.” She flashes him a manic smile and sways with exaggerated lethargy, almost teetering on the edge, “It’s a fucking curse, I say. Not a blessing; a damn curse. I only,” a tired little sigh, “I want to rest already, you know? Living three lives isn’t exactly a fun rodeo.”

Sakura’s own shoulders slump defeatedly, “She doesn’t know?”

“What, that Obito and Shisui were involved in her time-travelling fiascos? Oh please,” Inner huffs. “The only reason why I even know that is because I’m an extension of your consciousness. Think. Every time someone rewinds time for you, you’re already in the brink of death. Of course she doesn’t know yet. But unlike you,” the phantom taps her forehead mockingly, “Unlike the present you, the Sakura here still remembers every single thing from all of her lives.”

“Lucky her,” Sakura mutters.

A derisive scoff. “Don’t say that.”

Itachi’s fingers gently wrap around her alternate self’s wrist, holding her back from plummeting to her demise. It twitches a smile on Sakura’s face to see that the man is always so tender with her in any timeline they meet; but the smile fades away when Other Sakura retracts away from his grip like a hurt snake, cradling her hand close to her chest. “Don’t touch me,” she snarls at him, her eyes watery. “You had a part in all of this too. Don’t you dare play innocent.”

“I wasn’t trying to,” Itachi retorts cynically. “But you will fall if you keep on moving so recklessly.”

“Then let me,” Other Sakura sneers, biting back a whimper. “It hurts, Itachi. Losing Konoha twice, losing my friends, losing everything I’ve fought for— I shouldn’t have…” a rattling breath, “If I had known that this would be the outcome, I wouldn’t have saved you or your clan. I shouldn’t have… never, never would I do it again. If I had one more chance to turn back things the way it used to be—” her words break off in a series of sobs which she tries her best to swallow down. Cautiously, Itachi’s hand comes to rest on the back of her head, and he pulls her towards him, letting her cry on his chest as he stays silent and bears all of her accusations.

“Do you mean that?” he queries, and Sakura can detect the faintest amount of hurt in his question.

“Fuck yes,” her alternate self laughs wetly; then she pulls back and gives him a trembling smile, “I was wondering, if I end myself, would time wind back again?”

There’s a split second of realization, and Sakura’s adrenaline pulses, forcing her to streak towards the pair in panic, Inner staring after her morosely, already knowing that her efforts will be futile. “No!” Sakura shouts desperately, but her voice is merely lost in their ears, being an otherworldly existence in this frozen memory of hers. She’s milliseconds away from them when Other Sakura goes limp and deliberately topples backwards, a burst of laughter slipping from her lips as she plunges down, green eyes light and vibrant with freedom and regret. Itachi lunges after her and, despite his quick reflexes, only manages to catch the tips of her fingertips; but with no stable purchase, they quickly slide away from his grasp, and he has no choice but to let her go.

There’s a moment of stunned silence, then a single word tumbles out of Itachi’s mouth,

“Kai.”

The shockwave that erupts from the command blasts Sakura backwards into a slab of stone, and her arms automatically rise to shield her from the stones and dirt pelting on her. She bites back a pained cry. Inner is beside her in an instant, helping her up. With horror, she realizes that her body is slowly scattering into bits, and when Itachi unintentionally turns to her direction to look away from the havoc he's caused, every cell in her being freezes.

Unseeingly, he meets her eyes and smiles.

“It'll be alright now.”

Then the skies hiss in protest and are again torn apart like a veil, revealing a void space that has everything whirling into an uncontrollable tornado into its center. Swallowing the earth up. Lightning and thunder dance together violently, hitting the scorched dirt with vigor; and Sakura lets out an involuntary yelp when one hits the ground directly in front of her.

She scrambles back.

“Itachi,” a voice rumbles through the chaos. “What the fuck is this?”

Startled at the newcomer, Sakura whips her head in the direction of the voice and sees a positively livid and enraged Shisui standing on barren ground, eyes narrowed into slits and burning with ire and disbelief. His cheeks are blood-streaked, and Sakura draws the conclusion that he must have made his eyes bleed by overusing their abilities. However, although the sight has his visage seem more threatening, Itachi is undeterred.

“Another chance,” the younger Uchiha responds apathetically.

In a blink of an eye, Shisui materializes in front of him, his figure swiftly dropping into an offensive form before slamming a battle-hardened fist into his cousin's face. It's the first time Sakura’s seen him lose control of his temper, and certainly the first time she's seen him hurting Itachi outside of their friendly spars. A worried cry bursts out of her lips as Itachi stumbles back at the impact with blood dripping from his nose; but what can she do when this is all just a figment of her memories?

“How could you?” Shisui seethes, the tone of betrayal tinging his otherwise angry words. “How could you?”

“My apologies,” Itachi says quietly. “But I could not bear to see her hurting over your sins.”

All around them, the chaos continues to howl, a large fuinjutsu symbol appearing in the ripped sky, which Sakura translates easily like second nature.

Undo.

Huh. She knew that Itachi was smart, but she didn't know that he actually practiced fuinjutsu.

And like a warm embrace, darkness claims her yet again.

~~~~

Sweat is sticking to her like a second skin when she wakes up in a jolt, almost banging her forehead against Sasuke’s when she agitatedly sits up although her grogginess has not cleared yet. Sasuke's own eyes reflect his panic, and Sakura realizes that hot tears are running down her cheeks and that her heart is thumping so hard and fast against her ribcage, it has her chest spasming painfully.

Helplessly, she hunches over, clutching at her chest as she desperately gulps in air.

“Easy,” Sasuke's hand rubs her hack. “There, there. Take it easy.”

Black dots dance in her vision, staining the corners of her eyesight, and she blinks them away, Sasuke murmuring soothing words as she tries to compose herself. Through the windows she can see that the sun is still high in the sky, its light filtering through the curtains, slightly faded by the obscuring cloth. Tiredly, Sakura heaves a sigh and flops back down.

“How long have I been asleep?”

Her hair is splayed all over the floor, blending in well with the chestnut-brown tiles. Sasuke, whose face is hovering above her concernedly, is sitting on the sofa like he usually is, his katana well-oiled and sharpened and now resting beautifully on his lap. In Obito’s absence, it's become a routine for him to frequent her house and keep her company, knowing that the woman is keeping a low profile around other Konoha shinobi due to her connection to Danzo. Over the hours they've spent together, the camaraderie they've built is beginning to remind Sakura of the friendship they had sparked when they were younger.

“It's still early afternoon,” Sasuke tells her before glancing at the clock in the corner. “3 p.m.”

Two days have passed since Obito’s sudden trip, and Sakura is getting antsy. No doubt Danzo had managed to escape the man's wrath, and is now slinking somewhere in the shadows, Obito hot in his heels. Somehow Sakura has a feeling that the hotheaded Uchiha won't be back until he's gotten hold of the slimy elder. No worries there; she huffs a derisive laugh— with persistence as one of his strongest suits, one can say that Obito is akin to a hellhound.

She's just a bit peeved and disappointed that she won't be the one to bring Danzo down from his high throne.

“You alright?” Sasuke asks, and she turns to her side to hide away from his prying eyes, curling to herself as her brain begins decoding what she'd just experienced. “No,” she answers in a faint voice. “I'm not alright.”

At her response, she hears him shifting, and a weight settles behind her. Soon, his hands are gently stroking the strands of hair just above her ear, twisting and twirling them with care. When his movements have stopped, a well-made braid falls onto her cheek.

She cranes her neck to look at him and turns her back to him once more, “You're not going to ask?”

Sasuke shrugs at her and grasps at another lock of her hair, intent to braid them too. “I've learned that silence is sometimes the best comfort for some people,” he says serenely. “And I'm not exactly the talking type.”

“Figures,” she mumbles. “Thanks for not asking.”

Deep inside her mind, Inner stirs, too weak to give her own input. It seems that her phantom has exceeded her limits and is in dire need of rest before Sakura can reach out to her again. Sighing, she closes her eyes and basks in Sasuke’s attentiveness to her, his dexterous fingers quick in their movements to plait her hair, whether for his own amusement or for her benefit, she doesn’t know. But it’s nice, she supposes, for her scalp to be massaged in the process.

Her head is a mess, the past tragedy in her third life replaying over and over again. She can still smell the iron scent of blood, can still see the death hanging so thickly in the air, can still remember the village’s devastating state. Of all men to turn so ruthless, she didn’t expect Shisui to be one of them. How could she have? The Shisui in her childhood was the exact epitome of sunshine, putting him on a loftier pedestal than any of his cousins with his high emotional intellect. Even the Shisui of the present time still holds some semblance of his carefree attitude from when he was younger, his genuinity having not abated a single bit. Holding grudges isn't in his nature.

Itachi’s sins she can accept; Sasuke’s defection she can brush off. The two brothers are like two sides of the coin, as different as day and night, but still holding some similarities in between. But Shisui?

It’s a hard pill to swallow.

But what if the visions Inner showed her were just a piece of her fantasies rather than actual memories? For all the sharpness of her retention, she cannot recall a single thing from her past lives, only the previous one where she had come from. But if all her lives are real, then why is it that the Sakura in her memories remembered everything while she cannot? What changed?

“”You know,” Sasuke starts, and she hums in acknowledgement. “You know, you quiet the voice in my head.”

What a strange way to start a conversation, Sakura thinks amusedly. But that’s Sasuke, she supposes. Too awkward for any kind of social interaction, but also someone broken like her. She doesn’t deign him a reply, only giving him another thoughtful hum to encourage him to continue.

He finishes another braid. “It’s why I keep coming here,” he admits unabashedly. Carefully, he picks up another brown lock of hers and parts them into three, expertly weaving them in and out. “I used to hate coming to this place after Saku— my soulmate died. Everything reminded me of her. It triggered my mental state, caused me to have a panic attack once. Since then, I never came back. Until now.”

She shouldn’t, she really shouldn’t, but curiosity is always something she cannot deny, and the question slips from her tongue before she can stop herself.

“Do you miss her?”

A masculine wry chuckle. All speculative, Sakura rolls over to lie on her back and peer at him to gauge his reaction, an eyebrow rising when she sees a tick feathering over the man’s temple and the contemplative look that has taken over his aristocratic features. She doesn’t press him though, knowing better to let him delve into the topic rather than to persuade him to do so. In her experience, that is how trust is built: by letting people come to her instead of forcing herself on them.

“A lot,” he confesses, his tone growing a smidge softer.

Guilt pierces Sakura’s heart, and, not finding the right words to say, she stays silent and gives him a nod. How ironic. Used to be, she was always the one chasing after Sasuke; now, it is Sasuke chasing her down. Two people who cannot happily exist together in one place. Perhaps their soulbond has been doomed from the start— worse, probably all of her soulbonds aren’t destined to be. She isn’t oblivious to the whispers in the streets; the news of the Uchiha clan pushing Itachi to marry one of their own and keep their bloodline pure, the constant scandals Shisui brings and his suicidal tendencies, the occasional rumors of Obito warming another woman’s bed, and Sasuke’s unstable personality.

And then there's her— a dead woman living in a crafted identity.

The notion brings a sour taste in her mouth.

~~~~

The breath of fresh air of not living under Danzo’s supervision and rigid regimen has her building up a new schedule. It mostly consists of just lazing around in her house while babysitting Sachiko and bonding with Sasuke whenever he comes to help her with meals or cleaning, but when Itachi drops by one night, Sakura finds herself compromising with a new addition in her new life.

“Don’t you have your own bed to sleep on?” she calls after Itachi, who has taken the liberty to invite himself in. Sachiko, hugging her bear to her chest tightly, gives him a polite smile before dashing to her. Indulgently, Sakura feathers a kiss on the girl’s head and playfully shoos her away to her room. The moment they are alone, Itachi’s arms snake around her from behind, and she is pulled to his firm chest.

Itachi sighs contentedly into her hair. “I do,” he answers her question, easing her with his own brand of subtle lightheartedness. “But it is cold.”

She smacks his forearm in fake exasperation. “And what makes you think mine isn’t?”

“Well, for one,” and his voice is awfully gleeful for someone who isn’t the type to be humorous, “For one, it has you in it.”

Indignant, she huffs. “Nice try, buster, but you won't be sweet talking yourself out of this.” With honed strength, she breaks out of his hold and jabs her pointer at him with a disapproving frown. “Now, where is Obito?”

To his credit, Itachi doesn't even flinch at the face of her accusation. The weight of her venomous words from the last time they met isn't lost on them, and Sakura knows that that particular incident is what made the man come here tonight. To apologize.

“On a mission,” is his short reply. When Sakura folds her arms, unyielding, a sigh escapes him and he spreads his hands in front of him appeasingly. “We received intel; there was a disturbance around the Uzumaki’s sacred lands, and since that property is a part of Konoha’s heritage, I couldn’t just leave it be,” he rectifies. “So I sent Obito to scout it out.”

She decides to test him. “And what exactly did he find?”

“I have gotten no news from him yet.”

Bullshit, she thinks. Unconvinced, Sakura takes a step backward when Itachi tries to reach for her again, a scowl pulling on her lips. “Danzo’s original plan was to attack on Sasuke’s coronation ceremony,” she states grimly. “But now that I’ve thrown a wrench on his plans, plus the fact that Obito is out there for his blood, I’m suspecting his conspiracies will change.” She chews on her bottom lip in agitation. “It isn’t much of a setback, but I was planning on intercepting him on the day of the attack. At least he would be on my turf, and I would have the upper ground. Of course, I can fight him wherever, but it would give me a slight disadvantage, especially since he has a lot of allies on his side—”

“You’re talking as if we aren’t here,” Itachi’s fingers catches her chin and tilts her head upwards, slightly swiping over the blood that has gathered on the edge of her lip with her anxious biting. His black eyes sharply zero on the red liquid. “You have us. Even if I cannot leave the village for too long, I can still send the others to be with you. Sasuke will be excited to have the chance to torture the old man, Obito will insist that he come with you for his own sadistic satisfaction, and Shisui—” the serenely vicious smirk that curls the tips of his mouth has Sakura stiffening— “and Shisui will gladly burn him to ashes and dust once he finds out who you really are and the hell you've been through.”

Her throat goes dry at his words. Flashes of a destroyed Konoha come to mind again, the results of Shisui’s wrath.

How could a man so compassionate and righteous turn against his own village?

“You need not worry about anything.” Itachi’s voice is calm and lulling, akin to a steadfast shelter in the midst of crashing waves. It doesn’t do anything to soothe her unease; if anything, it only makes her heart beat faster in anxiety, which she expertly quells down to a tolerable level. His fingers are now caressing her cheeks, fondness transparent in his face in the way he regards her. “We’ll take care of it.”

Squashing her rising restlessness, Sakura manages to give him a nod and a reluctant smile.

“Okay,” and she draws away from his touch, “if you say so.”

She doesn’t miss how Itachi’s features darken with restrained desire.

~~~~

“Paint.”

The single word that slips out of adorable Sachiko’s mouth has Sakura glancing from the pages of her book. “You want paint?”

It’s a lovely Tuesday morning, and they’ve just finished breakfast. Sasuke hasn’t come by yet, and Sakura speculates that the man will be here sooner or later. No rush. She looks at the clock. 8:30 a.m. Still too early. Stretching her spine, she lets out a contented groan when she hears a satisfying crack.

Sachiko is sitting on the floor drawing something on one of Sakura’s old notebooks, colored pencils scattered all around her like a fairy’s circle. The little girl has one of her eyes shut, her thumb standing upright as she holds the pad of paper in the air. It’s a familiar stance, and Sakura almost laughs on realizing that it is actually a crude imitation of the posture painters adapt when trying to make their artistic proportions right. Sai’s done it more than once.

“Paint,” Sachiko confirms. “I want paint.”

Sakura shrugs at her. “Sure. Go and clean up then; change out of your pajamas. We’ll go out and buy some.”

Delighted, Sachiko quickly leaps up and rushes to her bedroom to do as she is told, leaving behind a chuckling Sakura who again turns her attention to the medical book she's reading. Sasuke brought it for her to borrow, and it hadn’t escaped her notice that it was one of the books she used to read while he and Naruto were fighting or rolling around. Seems like he kept it well, she muses fondly, turning to another page. Among her soulmates, young Sasuke was the one who knew her favorites by heart due to their close proximity. Unlike the others who were frequently away on missions, Sasuke never left her side if he could help it.

She decides to give herself five more minutes before languidly slinking out of the sofa. Placing the book on the side table by the corner, she heads for the windows and proceeds to yank the curtains open, allowing the sunlight to filter in undiluted, its gentle heat a comfort against her skin. Outside, the garden she used to dote on so much as a child is barren, devoid of any life save for the invading grass.

Hm. Sakura cheerfully pivots around and skips to the stairs, intent to get dressed before showing herself to the public. Maybe she should buy some seeds on the way home. And some new clothes of her own. She can’t keep borrowing Obito’s shirts and boxers whenever her scant supply of garments is in the washing.

When she reaches the banisters of the stairs, there’s a rapt knock, and before she can answer it, the door flies open and in marches a beaming Shisui with Sasuke in tow, whose displeasure is unmistakable and and openly splayed on the scowl he is wearing.

“Good morning!” the older man calls out with brimming joviality. It’s a clear contrast to his violent greeting when they crossed ways in the outskirts of the woods and clashed, and the difference has her arching an elegant eyebrow playfully, an amiable smile settling on her lips in her own lieu of saying ‘hi’. The visions of Shisui unleashing carnage on Konoha come to mind unbidden prompting her to stash them away spitefully. Not in this life. As Shisui nears her, his own grin widening, Sakura leans forward against the stairs wooden railings like a feline, letting her arms rest on the smooth posts whilst her hands limply dangle.

“I tried to lose him,” Sasuke mutters, obviously irked by the unexpected addition to their company. “But he’s like the molds under Okasan’s sink— hard to brush off.”

“Aw, Sasu-chan,” Shisui coos. “You’ll need to get a full decade more of experience if you want to beat my stalking skills!”

Entertained laughter flows from her quirked mouth at their dynamics. “Unfortunately, you two,” she says in a slightly apologetic tone, “I won’t be hanging around today. We’re going out. Sachiko wants to get some art supplies and I’ll be buying some more necessities on the way.”

At the rebuttal, Shisui shrugs in acceptance. “Shopping?” He nods at Sasuke who apparently has gotten to the same conclusion. “We can help you with that.”

Well. She considers denying their offer, but Shisui is persistent by nature, and she knows he won’t just give up easily by a single rejection. And two extra pairs of hands would be wonderful too, she supposes. Just in case she buys too many for her to carry without a hassle.

“I’ll go get changed then,” she tells them in agreement. Sasuke sends her an accepting, little nod, while Shisui beams at her, eliciting an amused chuckle from her. “Or maybe you shouldn’t come with,” she amends, not quite meaning it. When Sasuke’s expression turns sour and Shisui’s smile melts into a disappointed pout, she giggles. “Kidding!”

The atmosphere is considerably brighter as she bounds up the stairs, a witty tune slipping from her pressed mouth.

~~~~

The Uchiha crest on the back of her shirt shouldn’t bother him as much as it is, but Shisui can’t help but feel relief when she immediately slips on a blazer to hide his clan’s insignia. The idea of her owning the Uchiha symbol isn’t what is vexing him, but rather the thought that she is wearing something of Obito’s. The scarred man had refused to accept the clan’s emblem when he returned from the dead, but on Itachi’s insistence, he’d gradually consented to it.

Absent-mindedly, Shisui’s eyes trace Saye’s smaller frame as she walks ahead of him, Sachiko’s hand in hers as the little girl quietly gazes at her surroundings with wide, sparkling eyes. Despite having just reached the cusp of her adulthood, there is no denying the subtle sensual sway of Saye’s hips that seems so natural, unlike the blatant girlishness and overt touches most women deliver when trying too hard. Her luscious choco-hued hair, which is usually tied up, is currently parted into two loose braids— Sasuke’s handiwork. It’s his younger cousin’s coping mechanism; Mikoto had once bought Sasuke a basket of thread for him to direct his attention into weaving and distract himself from pounding his head whenever he was having a breakdown. However, Sasuke never learned how to weave, instead learning how to braid efficiently as a way to keep his hands busy.

“You’re staring,” the aforementioned cousin scornfully states. Brushing Sasuke’s snideness off, Shisui’s gaze swivels to the younger man who is holding a sturdy bag packed with tin cans of paint, courtesy of Saye, and gives him an innocent smile.

“She's a beautiful lady, what can I say?” he responds in a purposefully jesting tone. But Sasuke doesn't take kindly to his joke, and a half-bitten snarl crosses his face. Oh? Mischief swirls within Shisui’s system. Is his baby cousin actually getting agitated over a woman?

It isn't jealousy that registers on Sasuke’s face, but rather wariness; for what reason, Shisui is curious to know. From Itachi’s reports, the younger Uchiha has been getting closer to Saye over the course of days, visiting her daily whenever he has the time. Is it perhaps possessiveness that is spurring Sasuke to be protective of the kunoichi? Uchiha are known for being obsessive over the things or people that have caught their attention after all.

“You don’t get to touch her,” Sasuke hisses. “I will positively rip your hands off if you ever try to lure her into your bed.”

Killjoy. With all the carefree nonchalance he can gather, Shisui waves away his threat dismissively and continues to stare after Saye. Grace and strength is hidden in her lithe form, enhancing her feminine wiles and calling to him like a siren’s song. The stirrings of yearning coils deep in his gut, which he waters down lest it grows into full-blown desire. Perhaps she really is a siren of some sort, seeing that his cousins are smitten with her along with him.

“I'm serious, Shisui,” Sasuke says warningly. “She's not like those brothel girls you fuck around with.”

“‘Course she isn't— she's more charming than them.”

“Shisui.”

“Yes, Sasu-chan?”

“I need clothes,” Saye’s voice rings out, interrupting the cousins’ little bonding moment. “Where’s the best place to buy them?”

“Depends,” Sasuke responds, his tone immediately switching into a softer one, to which Shisui smirks knowingly. “Mari-san sells the best pants and bottom gear for shinobi, but the quality of her shirts isn't up to par. I recommend buying shirts from the store across hers.”

As they head further down the market, Sasuke taking the lead to guide them to the clothing store where Mikoto frequents, Shisui delves back to the conversation he had with Itachi a few days ago. Despite the direct confrontation Shisui cornered him with, his cousin hadn’t budge, only giving him an apathetic raised eyebrow before committing back his attention to the mission reports he was filing away.

“Figure it out yourself,” Itachi had told him with laidback amusement. “But truly, Shisui, are you really so dense that you can’t see it?”

See what?

Scowling, Shisui stuffs his hands in his pockets and gazes up at the blue sky, lazily tracing the outline of the floating clouds. A hawk flies overhead with a telltale pouch in its leg, and he surmises that it must be a missive for Itachi. Confidential then. He cares little about those; Itachi rarely keeps things away from him. Except for things that pertain to Saye, apparently.

Well, it seems he’ll have to dig out the facts by himself.

“Shisui!” Saye calls, her tone all playful and light. Snapping out of his brief reverie, he glances at her, and his own mouth lifts into a smile on seeing her mocking grin and the hand cocked on her hips. “Are you coming or not?”

~~~~

Marking her personal favorites isn’t hard, Shisui notes, severely entertained. Presently they are in the clothing shop Sasuke recommended, with Saye piling bundles and bundles of child dresses and skirts alike into Sasuke’s arms, glee lighting up her eyes with every piece of fabric she tosses into his cousin’s waiting limbs. Judging from the child-sizes of the clothes, it isn’t far-fetched to assume that most of them are for Sachiko. Sasuke, for his part, seems highly amused and exasperated by this turn of events, and Shisui is content to sit by the side with Sachiko as his company. The little girl has an adoring gleam in her bright eyes as she watches her adoptive mother flit from one clothing rack to another with such deft feet.

For all the kunoichi she is, it seems that Saye still hasn’t truly left her girlishness behind. That fact is rather obvious with how elaborate and feminine the outfits that she has picked are, reminding Shisui of a certain Yamanaka. They’d get along well, he thinks with a chuckle. When Saye tosses another piece into her pile, he is more than apologetic to pull her away from her shopping spree.

“That’s more than enough, don’t you think?”

Pouting, Saye tilts her head, “Is it?” She glances at Sachiko, who nods at her, and she sighs. “Fiiiiineee. Now, for my clothes—”

Except for a stubborn few, the constant norm of the shinobi world is to wear garbs of dark colors to avoid garnering attention, unwanted or not. But Saye doesn’t seem to care for it. With a critical eye, she thumbs through the folded shirts, a small smile gracing her mouth on seeing a familiar shade of red.

“I’ll take this one then. And pack up every other shirt that has the same color, won’t you?”

The color of blood, Shisui muses as he falls in step with Saye to pay for her purchases. Vaguely, he remembers Sakura telling him why she loved this particular tone of red. “It’ll hide bloodstains so I won’t have to worry when washing it clean,” she’d said in a no nonsense manner. It was one of the times that she spoke like an old soul who had seen enough battles in her life. Huh. He glances at Saye and wonders,

Will she answer in the same way too?

Perhaps not.

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Saye queries, once again jolting him out of his own little world. Slightly peeved, Shisui shrugs and sends her a grin.

“Just thinking, is red your favorite color?”

“And if it is?”

“Then I'd like to ask why.” They're outside the store now, the smell of street foods deliciously wafting in the air and provoking his stomach to growl. Sachiko is five steps ahead of them, excitedly tugging at Sasuke's sleeves and pointing at a nearby stall selling skewers. By estimation, Shisui probably has around five minutes to be alone with Saye.

And he'll make the most of it.

Questioningly, Saye tilts her head. “Does it matter?”

“Sure.” He voluntarily offers to take the shopping bag hanging off her arms and throws them over his shoulder casually as if carrying a sack of potatoes. “Everyone has a reason why they like something. For example, Itachi likes dango ‘cause sweets help him destress.”

“I just like red for no reason at all,” Saye says lightly. “But if there should be a reason, then I'd say it's because it can hide blood quite well, and I can just chuck them in the laundry machine without worrying about any remaining bloodstains.” She snorts, apparently finding the idea amusing. “Plus, it makes me a visible target. Like a bullseye.”

Her response has his hope soaring, but Shisui swiftly shakes it off. Tentatively, he gives her a strained smile.

“You could always wear black.”

Eyes twinkling with mirth, Saye's lips curve into a charming grin. “I could, but blood blends more easily with red, doesn't it? And besides,” she flicks her hair over her shoulder in a display of assertion, “I look good in red.”

Time seems to come into a standstill when those brilliant blue eyes of hers zero into his dark ones, and her fingertips brush teasingly against his forearm.

“Don't you think so, Shi-kun?”

For a brief moment, Shisui sees a hazy mirage of a rosy-haired girl with sparkling green eyes in Saye's shadow, smiling gleefully at him with oh so exaggerated innocence, all the while exuding the mischief that he so loved and dearly missed.

His pupils dilate, stunned.

“...Sakura?”