Archive of Our Own ^beta

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***WARNING: This chapter contains references to child abuse of a physical nature. There is no explicit action, but there are very strong references to it's occurrence. Read at your own risk.***

Fukuda Daku hated the moments he had to spend simpering and scraping, but he did what he must to keep his business in operation. Truthfully, the man standing before him was incredibly intimidating and quite powerful in the political structure of the village. While Fukuda considered himself a leading player in the underground, Shimura Danzo had a freedom of movement between the shadows and the light that Fukuda would never possess. 

“What have you gathered for me this month?” Shimura spat, all business, no pleasantries. The unbandaged portion of his face held nothing but impatience. The single visible eye cut to the corner where Fukuda’s newest plaything sat vacant and waiting to be summoned. “Is this it?”

Disdain dripped from the Councilman’s words as he surveyed the small girl. Fukuda glanced over and tried to look at her as Shimura might. At seven, the girl was still slim and her bright hair and jade eyes gave her an unusually exotic and delicate look. The kimono he’d hastily tugged around her shoulders at the announcement of Danzo’s arrival sagged slightly, revealing prominent collarbones and the edge of a dark mark he’d bitten into her skin. Her face was pale save for her mouth, swollen and red, just the way he liked.

“Ah, no,” Fukuda rushed to reassure Shimura. “She is payment from a client of mine, hardly a promising candidate for your ranks.” 

Shimura ignored him and moved to stand in front of her. His hand dwarfed her chin as he grasped it and tilted her face up to his. “Unusual coloring, but quite unassuming.” The girl stared up without seeing. The drugs took care of that. “Has she shown any particular aptitudes?”

Fukuda shook his head. “No, Shimura-sama. She is civilian-born to a merchant family with no talent among them. She learns quickly, but shows no promise matching your criteria.” He wasn’t especially worried that Danzo would select her as one of his tributes, but remained wary all the same. To lose access to that sweetness would be a blow.

“No chakra reserves to speak of,” Shimura said to himself, and dropped his hand from her face. She immediately returned her eyes to the floor, as she’d been trained. He stepped back with a huff. “You may keep your plaything, but I hope she is not the only offering you have.”

Breathing a sigh of relief, Fukuda shook his head rapidly. “Indeed not, Shimura-sama. Please follow me.”

He led the way into an adjacent room, through tables cluttered with bottles and powders and currency. Opening another door, he stepped aside and gestured for the Councilman to precede him. A group of young children huddled against the far wall.

When Shimura left, he took along three subjects, two boys and a girl. Fukuda pitied them for he knew that they’d likely never again see the light of day. The rest of the children would be distributed among his network. They were always in high demand. 

Returning to his office, he settled in the wide chair behind his desk. He really could use a treat after dealing with such a demanding man, so he called to the child still waiting in the corner, “Sakura, come here…”

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Kakashi watched the lone female on his team stumble through the underbrush. He thought back over her file, poor scores in physical fitness but highly intelligent if her test scores are anything to go by. She seemed timid, a little empty-headed, but he’d reserve full judgment for after this challenge. There was something about her that he couldn’t quite put his finger on and it raised his hackles just a bit. 

It didn’t seem he’d figure it out at the moment, so he molded his chakra and cast a genjutsu over her. It might be overkill to put her under the Demonic Illusion: Hell Viewing Technique, but she needed to understand what being a ninja actually entailed.  

He was a little surprised when she stiffened, back snapping straight, chin up and hands wrapped around her elbows behind her back. She’d gripped so tight that the tips of her fingers were white, but her face stayed smooth and blank. She flinched minutely, then sank to her knees with a fluidity that spoke of long hours of practice. Her head bowed as her knees spread wide and her palms came to rest lightly on top of her thighs. She flinched again and bent forward, pressing her forehead to the ground, arms stretched out in front of her. Her body quaked once, twice, then fell limp as she lost consciousness. 

That was…unexpected. He crept close to check on her, startled by the tears trailing down her face. She hadn’t made a sound. He was about to wake her and ask what the hell happened when Naruto shrieked in the distance. With another quick glance over her, Kakashi sighed and slipped off to make sure that the number one knuckleheaded ninja wannabe hadn’t permanently maimed himself. That would be just the luck he’d have.

Sakura wakes a few minutes later with no memory of how she lost consciousness. She shakes her head, brushes off her clothes and darts off trying to find her dumbass teammates. 

She nearly screams when she stumbles across Sasuke’s head sticking out of the ground. That split second of pure shock gives her the time to notice his eyes roll while he scoffs at her. Instead she sinks to the ground in front of him and starts digging, her momentary fear shifting into amusement. “Kakashi-sensei got you, too?”

Sasuke just huffs and glares at the trees opposite her, trying not to let the raging blush take over his face as she digs him out. 

It takes longer than she prefers, but soon enough, he’s crawling onto solid ground and shaking off as much dirt as he can. She gives him a small grin and clambers to her own feet, uncaring of the dirt streaking up her arms and across her face. She opens her mouth to say something, but the shrill bell of the clock rings before she can get anything out. 

In silence, she and Sasuke trudge back to the meeting place, unsurprised to see Naruto already there, tied to a post.

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A scant two weeks after the departure of Team 7, Shikamaru and his father had been walking home through the civilian district when they’d felt a weak chakra signature pulsing in the assistance needed pattern taught to genin on graduation. Really, Shikaku felt it and pulled Shikamaru to a stop to point it out. 

Shikamaru looked at his father in confusion, something familiar about the signature that just evaded his grasp. 

Shikaku flared his own chakra in a different pattern and they waited until three shadows materialised around them. He ordered Shikamaru to wait on the street with one shadow (ANBU agent Bear) and took the others up the side of a building across the street. Several long minutes passed until Shikaku’s chakra flared again and the shadow grabbed Shikamaru around the waist and hauled him up the side of the building as well. 

Nothing could have prepared him for the carnage that awaited them. The floor appeared to be a penthouse apartment, dedicated to a single residence, and it was drenched in blood. Six bodies lay strewn about the room amid stacks of documents and cash and, most likely, illegal substances. Some of them were sliced up, gaping wounds bisecting a throat here and a thigh there. One appeared to be missing most of his thoracic spine. His father knelt over another body further into the room, closer to the door than the window through which they had come.

“Shikamaru,” Shikaku barked, spurring his son into an unsteady gait to his side. “Do you know her?”

Shikamaru looked down at the body only to have his lungs seize as he recognized the bright pink strands slowly staining red. “That’s Sakura. Haruno Sakura. She’s -” he turned to the side and vomited. 

Her face was a mask of bruises and blood, the skin flayed open from her left temple to the right corner of her mouth. She lay barely covered by a blanket, obviously placed over her by his father, but the remnants of rope clinging to the abraded flesh of her wrists and the hand shaped bruises ringing her neck told Shikamaru all he needed to know about what had happened to her. 

“Tanuki,” Shikaku ordered, carefully wrapping her more securely and lifting her into the ANBU’s arms as he stepped forward. “Take her to Tsunade-sama, now.”

The ANBU didn’t even nod, just vanished with the abused girl in his arms. 

“Shikamaru, go to Inoichi-san and -”

“This one is still alive,” one of the agents across the room interrupted, kicking one body to lay face up, pressing down with a booted foot as the man feebly struggled. 

Shikaku’s face became a mask of ice. “Keep him that way. For now.” He turned to face his son and his visage softened, “Go to Inoichi and tell him we need assistance. The girl will need support when she wakes.”

Shikamaru couldn’t move for a second. “She’s going to be okay, right?”

Shikaku gripped Shikamaru’s shoulder. “I don’t know, son. But if this room is any indication, she’s not the kind to give up easily.”

Shikamaru nodded and darted out the window, already making a mental list of what needed to be done. He raced to the Yamanaka compound, barely pausing to wave at the guards, they knew him anyway, and pounded on the door of the main house. 

“Yeah, yeah,” came Ino’s voice, carrying through the wood, “What’s the big - Shika?” She gaped at him in shock, panting on her doorstep with a bloody handprint on his shoulder. “Shika, what happened?”

“Your father, where is he?”

Inoichi stepped up to the door behind Ino, “Shikamaru? What do you need?” His blue eyes were sharp as he took in the distressed boy.

Shikamaru shook his head to forestall Ino’s screeching. “My father needs you in sector 7 of the civilian district. We were walking home and he sensed a chakra call for assistance. We checked it out and found several men killed. Haruno Sakura was there, assaulted.”

“WHAT?!” Ino bellowed.

“She’s at the hospital, but one of the men is still alive. I’m guessing he needs - “

Inoichi grasped his shoulder, opposite to the one stained with Sakura’s blood. “I know what he needs. Thank you, Shika. Come in, settle for a while.” He guided Shikamaru into the house and pressed him onto the couch, shooting Ino a look that had her sinking down next to him. “Tell your mother where I’ve gone. Do not go anywhere until I or Shikaku send for you.”

Even with the insanity of the Chunin exams, rescuing Sasuke from the clutches of Orochimaru and the aftermath of the Hokage’s funeral, Shikamaru couldn’t remember feeling more shaken than seeing Sakura looking so beaten and small in his father’s arms.

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Ino had never felt so helpless in her life. Nearly four weeks ago, she’d been living in ignorant bliss, jealous of Shikamaru’s promotion to chunin and despairing at the departure of Sasuke, not to mention the fact that his soulmate turned out to be two people, that idiot Naruto and their weird jounin sensei. It was meant to be her , damnit, never mind the fact that she’d never felt so much as a twinge from him, which she really would have if they had been soulmates considering how often he and Naruto got into it. 

No, Sasuke wasn’t her soulmate, her teammate had been promoted, her other teammate didn’t seem to care much at all, and her best friend (she’d never stopped considering Sakura as such despite the rift between them) was lying before her in a coma from which even Tsunade-sama wasn’t sure she’d ever wake. 

For the millionth time, Ino’s eyes traveled over the limp form of her best friend as she held tight to cold, unresponsive fingers.  Barely any of Sakura’s skin was exposed to air, hidden under tightly wrapped bandages or carefully tucked sheets, but the small portions she could see were finally healing, dark purple fading to greenish-yellow and scabbed over cuts starting to peel away showing tight, new skin. 

She wanted to break down crying, to scream and smash things and shake Sakura until she woke up and stopped laying so still, like she could slip away at any moment. But she’d done enough crying in the first two weeks of Sakura’s coma to fill the room they were in. 

Only a week ago, three weeks after Shikamaru had banged frantically on their door and she’d opened it to find him more disheveled and out of breath than she’d ever seen him, had they moved Sakura from intensive care to a standard long-term care room. Now Ino could bring her flowers to sit on her bedside table (daisies, Sakura’s favorite) and spend more than five minutes with her before being hustled out, so she did. 

She spent at least an hour every other day, holding Sakura’s hand and telling her about all the gossip flying around the village in between bouts of tearful apologies and promises to do better if Sakura would only wake up. Her father had only encouraged her to come, saying that Sakura was sure to be able to hear her and that she’d need the support more than ever now that Sakura’s parents were dead and the rest of her family had apparently split. 

Incomprehensible rage had filled Ino upon learning that Sakura’s uncle Yuma had been the reason for Sakura’s state, the vile man trading Sakura’s body, and ultimately her life, in exchange for forgiveness of his gambling debt. She’d spent several nights sitting with Shikamaru after he’d awakened from nightmares of the day he and his father had discovered her. 

Between the information she’d coaxed from her own father and what Shikamaru had experienced with Shikaku, both she and Shikamaru had managed to figure out the bulk of the story and it had been far worse than either of them could have imagined. It took active work every single day to not hate herself for failing to see the signs, the sudden interest in being skinny and hating to work out for fear of developing muscles, the lingering weakness and withdrawn behavior after she returned from being “sick” every single time her parents went out of town. Ino could drive herself insane thinking about all the “what-ifs.”

“I swear, Sakura,” she promised, “I swear I won’t leave you alone ever again. I’ll always be here for you. You just have to be here for me, too.” She scanned Sakura’s face one last time before letting out a sigh and gathering her things to leave. “I have a mission the next couple of days, so I’ll see you when I get back. Shika and Choji will come say hi, too. You better be here, forehead.”

She squeezed Sakura’s cold fingers gently one more time, but when she tried to stand and let go, she felt the slightest resistance. Looking back in surprise, her gaze landed on Sakura’s face to see the barest sliver of green peeking through the swollen, bruised lids. “Oh! Sakura? Sakura!” 

Sakura’s eyes slid shut again and Ino slumped thinking she’d imagined it. But then it happened again and Ino knew. She ran from the room screaming, “Tsunade-sama! TSUNADE-SAMA!”

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Two months passed before Sai realized that he’d met his volatile, pink-haired teammate before. As in before before. Before their assignment together. Before Danzo’s order to eliminate the Hokage’s apprentice. Even before he’d been forced to murder his brother to prove his allegiance to Root. No, he’d met her days before Danzo had selected Shin and himself from a group of small, scared children as the newest Root recruits. 

The orphanage that Sai had lived in up until he’d been taken had not been the most comfortable place to live, but he’d been fed regularly and usually had a blanket to sleep under. And he’d had Shin. 

When they’d been taken, Sai had gone to sleep under his threadbare blanket one night and woke on the floor of a cage with three other younger children huddled together, whispering frantically. Sitting up, he looked around at a nondescript room quite similar to those in orphanage, though the air was somehow more stale and the children around him even more frightened. 

He tried to look around to find Shin, but the shadows were too dark for him to see beyond the border of his cage. Attempts to elicit information from the other children only earned him wide, frightened gazes and hurried shushing. 

Yet, he was certain that not much time passed before a door swung open, bouncing violently off the wall on which it hung. He heard the click of a switch and a blinding light came on overhead. As his eyes adjusted, he saw several other cages around the room, each holding a collection of three or four children, all under the age of 10. To his relief, he managed to spot Shin’s light hair spilled across the floor two cages away. His chest was moving, so he wasn’t dead, but he also wasn’t awake yet and Sai had been quite eager to discuss their circumstances. Shin had never let him down before.

But his attention was drawn by the group of men that stomped into the room, four in total. Two were large and muscular, mean-looking but obviously not often inclined to take much initiative. Another was slender and had a calculating look on his face, eyes scanning the small bodies, assessing each and tallying their attributes. The last was the shortest and the fattest, eyes small and cruel in his doughy face. Sai did not like when the man’s gaze settled on him and breathed a sigh of relief when it moved to a girl huddling against the back of the cage behind him. Then he felt pity, having seen looks like that before. 

The slender man led the way into the room, directing the fat one to the left first with an extended hand. To Sai’s surprise, a small girl trailed along behind the fat one, having been hidden by his bulk when the group first entered. Her bright pink hair was tied back, but mussed and her movements seemed stilted and pained. 

“Here is the latest collection,” the slender one was saying, apparently giving an accounting of the caged children to the fat one. “There seem to be several promising candidates, as you can see, Fukuda-san.”

Fukuda-san nodded. “There better be. Shimura-sama was not pleased last time. I’ll not risk him taking my cherry blossom tomorrow.”

When they stopped in front of Sai’s cage, he did not look away or cower like the others, though he was quaking on the inside. The girl at Fukuda’s side fixed her glazed eyes on him and a small expression of confusion crossed her face as if she was just comprehending what she was seeing. 

“Why are they in cages?” she whispered, voice hoarse. 

Sai noticed the dark bruises on the pale skin of her throat.

Fukuda scowled and glared down at her. “What are the rules, Sakura-chan?”

She didn’t seem to hear him, her eyes flicking to the other trembling children. “Why are they scared? Why are they in cages? You have to let them out.” Her voice rose with each word until she was almost screaming. 

Shin stirred and Sai’s shoulders relaxed infinitesimally, but he couldn’t keep his gaze from the increasingly agitated girl at Fukuda’s side.

Fukuda seized her by the hair and wrenched her head back to look at her face. “I see that more training is necessary,” he snarled as she whimpered and struggled to free herself. Her small hands were no match for Fukuda’s heavy grip.

The group left, Fukuda dragging the girl behind him without a care for her pain.

The next time Sai saw the girl as he was leaving with Shin and one girl from his own cage, Yuki, in the company of a man called Danzo, her gaze was empty and she did not react.

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Naruto hadn’t ever been a child that adults called intelligent (though he was and no one had bothered to figure out why learning in school was so hard for him) or particularly skilled (which he also was, just not in ways they liked to acknowledge), but even he knew that it wasn’t normal for a kid to be sick every few months, almost like clockwork. 

He’d been in the same class as Haruno Sakura for two years now and she’d just returned from her fourth week of being sick this year. A whole week she’d been out and even now, she sat at her desk, pale and drawn, struggling to pay attention. 

He hated to see her looking so tired. 

Ever since the first day she’d been transferred into their class with high enough scores to rival that jerk Sasuke, Naruto had known she was special. With her pink hair and brilliant green eyes and a shy smile that set Naruto’s eight-year-old heart aflutter, he knew that they were meant to be friends. Maybe even soul mates. 

Now at ten years old, he was very confused as to why no one else thought it was so strange that she got sick so often when she was usually the picture of health. Even if she generally used that vitality to yell at him then fawn over Sasuke in the same breath. 

“Naruto! Quit staring at Sakura and pay attention,” Mizuki-sensi snapped, jolting Naruto from his musings. 

The girl at which he’d indeed been staring, shot him a tired glare, bright spots of color glowing high on her cheeks as the girls nearby tittered unkindly. He gave her a sheepish grin and then turned all the way to the board, trying his hardest to pay attention. She did like smart guys, after all. 

After class, he had to stay late cleaning chalkboards again. He was taking a break part way through when he caught sight of her bright hair lingering just outside the gates. She was talking to a large, imposing man, pointing away down the street, likely offering directions, but something about her posture set off warning bells in his head. 

The man nodded and reached out to touch her hair and face in a way that seemed possessive, ensuring he made contact with her even when she flinched back against the gate to avoid him. 

An inexplicable rage flared in Naruto. No one should be touched like that when they didn’t want it, especially Sakura. He was halfway out the window when Mizuki-sensei shouted his name.

“Where do you think you’re going? You haven’t even done half. Get back in here and finish your detention!” Mizuki-sensei yelled, dragging Naruto back into the classroom by his ankle.

Naruto protested, “I wasn’t trying to escape this time. There was this guy and he was…”

“I don’t care,” Mizuki-sensei cut him off. “You’re not getting out of this, brat.”

“But Sakura-chan was…,” Naruto interrupted, gesturing out at the gate.

Mizuki-sensei was having none of it. “Sakura-chan was what? There’s no one there. Quit stalling and get back to work. And leave that girl alone. She doesn’t need you dragging her down.”

Naruto tried to plead again, looking out the window to show Mizuki-sensei, but Sakura and the man were gone. 

Chapter Text

Sakura has just turned six when her parents leave on a business trip for the first time since her birth and leave her in the care of her aunt and uncle. They squeeze her tightly, smother her in kisses and make her promise to be good while they’re gone. She watches them leave with tears running down her face, before running inside to her room and slamming her bedroom door. 

She cries herself to sleep, ignoring the raised voices and soft knocking on her door. 

In the morning, she takes a shower and pulls on a clean dress before creeping downstairs. Her aunt is sitting at the table looking pale. 

Akari is her mother’s sister, soft-spoken and frail where Mebuki is loud and vivacious. She wears simple clothing that covers her from neck to ankles in muted colors, like she’s always trying to blend into the background. Her husband, Yuma, is not loud, but he is always talking. Tall and sturdy, he tends to draw eyes wherever he goes and makes friends easily. 

Sakura doesn’t think her aunt was always like that.

Yuma grips her shoulder tight and steers her into the room ahead of him. A large, red-faced man sits at the table already. A glass of juice is shoved into her hands and she’s ordered to drink it quickly. She doesn’t like orange juice but her parents always taught her to be polite.

She does and is pushed over to sit in the corner of the room while her uncle takes a seat at the table with the man. She was told to be quiet, so she traces the patterns on her pretty kimono while the two men talk and tries not to listen.

“...and this will satisfy my debt?” her uncle says, jerking his head in her direction.

The other man’s eyes land on her and she shivers. She doesn’t like the way he’s looking at her, like he’s looking through her. His mouth curls in a grin, crooked teeth stained yellow. “She’ll do,” he wheezes. He addresses her directly for the first time. “Come here, girl.”

Sakura stands on wobbly legs, her limbs seeming reluctant to follow her direction, and her head feels heavy.

“Hurry up,” Yuma snaps, striding over and grabbing her arm to shove her in the man’s direction. “This is Fukuda-sama.”

She bows clumsily and slurs, “Hello, Fukuda-sama.” 

Yuma nods, satisfied, and steps back as Fukuda-sama takes her other arm, drawing her close.  Sakura wants to pull away, to run fast and far until she’s home safe in her bed, but she can barely keep upright. The door clicks and her vision fades, Fukuda’s yellow, leering grin the last thing she remembers. 

Later she wakes in her own bed, body aching all over and doesn’t remember a thing. Her aunt feeds her soup in bed for a day before she’s well enough to go out again. They say she caught a bad cold and was delirious. By the time her parents return two weeks later, she’s all but forgotten that she felt poorly at all.

Six months later, Sakura’s parents leave her again in her aunt and uncle’s care. She gets sick again, having to spend nearly a week in bed this time. She doesn’t remember being sick, but it must have been bad. Her throat hurts and she can’t talk without wincing. 

She wishes her parents were back already, so she could lay in her own bed. Her aunt and uncle’s house is nice, but it’s just not home. The air seems stale and heavy, especially when her uncle is around, and her aunt barely talks. 

When she’s feeling better, she asks to go to the park to see Ino, but her aunt declines. Akari says she doesn’t feel well either, so they stay in and Sakura reads the books she brought with her for the third time. 

Again, she all but forgets her discomfort when her parents come home, too happy to see them to think about how much she missed them. Her papa sweeps her up in a big hug and her mother cuddles for an extra long time when she goes to bed that night, just like always.

Every six months from then on, she’s deposited on the doorstep of her aunt and uncle with hugs and tears and promises of ridiculous gifts she knows aren’t real (because dragons don’t exist, at least not the kind she can keep as a pet, but she loves the small dragon figurine that glows at night when she pushes chakra into it). They don’t notice how she becomes just that little bit quieter every time they return. 

She doesn’t know why her gut churns every time she sees her uncle or how her body wants to snap to attention when he looks at her. She always hopes that he doesn’t look at her.

It gets a little better for a while when she starts at the Academy. She’s moved into advanced classes because of her intellect and she’s proud of how she’s been able to score well on the theory exams. Her physical performance isn’t great, but she vows to work hard to overcome her civilian background.

Yet, despite her conviction, she finds herself forgetting to eat, skipping out on training because boys don’t like girls who can beat them in a fight. No one’s going to want her if she’s got big muscles. She wants someone to want her. She wants a soulmate.

When she’s ten, she realizes that the flickers she started feeling from what she thought might have been a soulmate were just made up in her mind from longing for one. Those with a soulmate tend to start feeling the echoes of their other half around their tenth birthday. It can happen earlier for those with strong connections or later for those with significantly younger counterparts. Strong emotions or strong sensations, good and bad, filter through the budding soul bonds to help them find each other. In theory. The lingering feelings of loneliness and despair, desperation for contact, even occasional sensation of pricked fingers and burned lips, fade away so quickly that she’s sure she only imagined them. 

It’s not unheard of to lack a soulmate, but it’s rarer than not, it’s even more common to have multiple soulmates than to not have any. She supposes that it’s possible that hers isn’t born yet, or that they’re already dead, though that thought makes her sad so she tries not to think about it too often. 

In her weaker moments, she can’t help but wonder why she’s so drawn to Naruto and Sasuke.

Sasuke, she gets. The boy is quite attractive, if anti-social. She’s sure he’s never looked at her twice, considering how obsessed with training he is and how poor her own ninja skills are, but she still acts like a ridiculous fangirl around him. As much as she really does want to be near him, it’s safer if he stays away. She doesn’t know why.

Naruto is a different story. Sure, he’s loud and difficult to ignore, but she can’t help but feel affection for him even when his pranks annoy her to no end. He’s always following her around, asking for dates, but she knows that he’s not serious. He can’t possibly want to really spend time with her. She’s a pathetic ninja and only good for one thing. Her mind is never clear on what that thing is, though. So she yells and smacks at him to keep him away from her. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged down.

With every trip her parents go on, she feels a little more of herself slipping away. She keeps up the facade at school, clawing against the certainty that she’s just wasting her time. She agrees with that, but still holds tight to the tiny, rebellious part of her screaming that she’s going to do it anyway. And she does. 

Sakura graduates with little fanfare. Her parents are proud, but they’re also preparing to leave again in a week. Her father spins her around twice and her mother smiles absently and murmurs congratulations as she takes inventory with a critical eye. It only stings a little that they don’t make a bigger deal out of it. 

The next few days are full of highs and lows as she gets placed on a team with Naruto and Sasuke and the laziest jounin she thinks she’s ever seen. Hatake Kakashi is mysterious and weird and always reading dirty books. He gives her strange looks when he thinks she’s not looking, like he finds her mysterious, too, but she just assumes that it’s because he’s trying to find some way to kick her off the team even though she passed his bell test with the others. So far, he’s only paid her attention to give the mission brief and foist off the responsibility for getting it done onto her shoulders. 

The day before her parents leave, she works up the courage to ask if she can watch herself this trip. “I’m a genin now, practically an adult!,” she insists, ignoring the welling up of fear in her chest at the thought of staying with her aunt and uncle again; they’ve never done anything to hurt her, after all. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need to be watched over like a kid anymore.”

Mebuki sighs and shakes her head. “Not this time. You’re barely 12 years old and they love having you there. Yuma’s always saying how much fun it is to spend time with you.”

Sakura fights down her tears. “Mom, I really don’t want to go. I’m going to be out with my team so much anyway. What about my sensei? He can drop in and make sure I’m doing my chores and everything.” 

Her mother shakes her head. “I don’t know him, Sakura. I’d really feel much better if you stay with Akari and Yuma.”

“But the Hokage trusts him enough to watch out for us and to train us. Isn’t that enough?” Sakura begs. 

Mebuki slaps down the tunic she’s folding and fixes Sakura with a hard stare. “No, Sakura. Not this time. You’re staying with your aunt and uncle this trip. If you behave yourself this time, maybe we’ll talk about it next time.” 

“But…”

“No,” her mother snaps. “That’s it. No more arguing. I don’t want to hear another word about it and, if I hear you’re putting up a fuss with them, it definitely won’t happen next time.”

Sakura wilts and nods her head.

Chapter Text

Sasuke scowled as Mizuki-sensei again praised Sakura for achieving top score on their latest exam. That made two in a row and he hated that she’d pulled ahead in their unspoken battle for valedictorian. His father was sure to ask about the scores and he always developed an extra wrinkle between his eyebrows when Sasuke admitted that a civilian girl scored higher than his own son whose ninja clan lineage could be traced back a hundred generations. 

At least Itachi never seemed disappointed, only reassured him that there was more to life than perfect scores in the Academy.

Privately, Sasuke didn’t see what the big deal was. Sakura obviously worked hard and he definitely had her beat in any of the practical subjects. It did baffle him somewhat though that she managed to maintain such high scores when her attendance was so inconsistent. 

She’d been absent for the last week or so and had only just returned today, looking paler than usual and wearing thick makeup that did little to hide the circles under her eyes. But she acted as if nothing were wrong, sitting in the row in front of him and arguing with Ino just like any other day.

Though he’d never actually admit it, Sasuke had made a habit out of watching her any time she wasn’t watching him while pretending he was completely unaware of her presence. It fascinated him how her entire persona changed when she was trying to capture his attention, almost as if possessed, and, while he hated the way she fawned over him, he couldn’t bring himself to stop watching her. 

Much the same way his eyes kept drifting to Naruto, standing on the desk and shouting in Iruka-sensei’s face as Iruka-sensei shouted back. No matter how irritating the other boy was, Sasuke couldn’t help but watch. 

Yet, something about Sakura really bothered his senses and he hated that he couldn’t figure out why. Though she seemed to be acting just like she always did, batting her eyelashes and flicking her hair and…there, just beneath her collar and normally hidden by the fall of her hair was a reddened mark, a perfect crescent impressed into her skin.

Sasuke was so surprised that he sat back in his seat. He couldn’t have seen what he thought he did, right? Bite marks weren’t unusual in class since someone (Kiba) got carried away every other sparring session, but it was weird that she had one on the back of her neck. Just the thought of it made something in his stomach squirm and anger rise in his chest. 

He tried to get another good look, but it was almost as if she sensed that he was paying attention to her and her ridiculous flirting efforts got even more outrageous. By the end of the day, all he wanted was to avoid her, any thoughts of reaching out driven soundly from his mind. 

The next day, the mark was gone.