Archive of Our Own

Friday, October 16 — 6:43 p.m. — Outside Sakura and Ino’s Apartment, Konoha

Sasuke closed the passenger door and stood beside the car for one quiet, necessary second.

Forty seconds into the date, and he was already hard.

Excellent.

He adjusted the front of his black button-down shirt, which did absolutely nothing to solve the problem occurring several inches lower, and walked around the car with what he hoped looked like ordinary composure.

It probably did.

Sasuke had spent most of his life looking calm while privately experiencing various forms of violence.

Board meetings.

Family dinners.

Naruto attempting to explain basic accounting.

This was merely a new category.

He climbed into the driver’s seat.

Sakura was fastening her seat belt, her loose pink waves falling forward over one shoulder. The dark-brown dress covered nearly all of her—long sleeves, high neckline, hem almost reaching her ankles—and still managed to display every curve she possessed.

It clung to her waist.

It clung to her hips.

It clung to an ass he had already seen from three different angles on Instagram and had still been completely unprepared to encounter in person.

Sasuke started the engine.

“You look nice,” he said.

Nice.

A safe word.

A respectable word.

A word used by normal men taking women to dinner.

Not I’ve thought about bending you over since Naruto showed me your picture.

Sakura looked at him.

“Nice?”

There was a slight curve to her mouth.

Sasuke glanced at her before pulling away from the curb. “Very nice.”

“Better.”

She turned toward the window, smiling.

Sasuke tightened his grip on the steering wheel.

The first photograph Naruto had shown him had been taken inside the newer ramen restaurant three months ago. Naruto had posted it in the group chat without warning.

Hinata had been standing behind the counter beside a pink-haired woman wearing jeans and a pale-green blouse. Sakura had been laughing at something off-camera, her head tilted slightly back, one hand resting against her stomach.

Naruto’s message had read:

Naruto: Made a new friend today. She says the spicy miso could be hotter.

Sasuke had stared at the photograph for approximately thirty seconds.

Then he had opened Instagram.

He had found her public account in less than two minutes.

Kiba had somehow noticed that Sasuke followed her before Sasuke had finished questioning his own decision.

Kiba: Did Sasuke just follow ramen girl?

Naruto: WHAT

Shikamaru: That took four minutes.

Shino: Three minutes and forty-seven seconds.

Neji: Why were you timing him?

Shino: I was not. The timestamps were visible.

Kiba: He’s already on her page.

Sasuke: Shut up.

That had been the beginning of the end.

Sakura posted infrequently, but there had been enough.

Photographs with Ino.

Study notes.

Coffee.

A birthday dinner.

A picture of her sitting on a beach towel in a black bikini top and matching swim skirt, smiling at the camera with damp hair and sand on one thigh.

The swim skirt had not helped.

If anything, it had made matters worse.

It showed less than an ordinary bikini bottom would have, but Sasuke’s imagination had always been capable of filling gaps.

He had masturbated to that photograph often enough that he had eventually stopped counting.

Now the actual woman was sitting in his passenger seat, smelling faintly of something warm and floral, wearing a dress that made breathing an administrative burden.

His phone vibrated in the cup holder.

Then again.

Then three more times.

Sakura glanced down.

“Work?”

“No.”

The phone vibrated continuously.

She raised an eyebrow.

“That sounds urgent.”

“It isn’t.”

“You’re very certain for someone who hasn’t checked.”

“I know who it is.”

“Persistent relatives?”

Sasuke looked at her.

She smiled innocently.

He picked up the phone at the next red light.

The screen contained twenty-three unread messages.

The first group chat was named Responsible Adult Men, which had been Naruto’s idea and was therefore inaccurate.

Naruto: DID YOU PICK HER UP

Kiba: Has she seen him and escaped yet?

Shikamaru: Give her time.

Naruto: SASUKE

Shino: Repeated messaging is unlikely to improve his response rate.

Kiba: Maybe he crashed because he was looking at her ass.

Neji: Don’t say that.

Kiba: You know he looked.

Shikamaru: Everyone knows he looked.

Naruto: I told him not to be weird.

Sasuke: You are all muted.

Three dots immediately appeared beneath Naruto’s name.

Sasuke muted the chat.

The second chat was called Uchiha Family, despite containing Kakashi, who was not an Uchiha and had resisted all attempts to remove him.

Itachi: Has Sakura arrived safely?

Shisui: Translation: has our baby Uchiha remembered how human conversation works?

Obito: Ask her questions. Women like it when you acknowledge they have personalities.

Sasuke: I know women have personalities.

Shisui: Strong start.

Kakashi: Avoid mentioning how thoroughly you researched her Instagram.

Sasuke’s jaw tightened.

Obito: Especially the beach photo.

Shisui: Which beach photo?

Obito: Black bikini top. Little skirt.

Kakashi: Technically a swim skirt.

Itachi: Why are any of you discussing this?

Shisui: Because Sasuke has probably jerked off to it enough to identify the exact beach by sand composition.

Sasuke: I hope every one of you dies.

Itachi: Have a lovely evening.

Sasuke muted that chat too.

When he placed the phone facedown, Sakura was watching him.

“Everything all right?”

“Yes.”

“You looked angry.”

“That’s my normal face.”

“I thought your normal face was mildly disappointed.”

“It varies.”

She laughed.

The sound loosened something in his chest and tightened something considerably less poetic beneath his pants.

Sasuke shifted slightly in his seat.

This was going to be a very long evening.

---

Sakura had expected Sasuke’s car to be expensive.

She had not expected it to smell so clean.

Not artificially clean. There was no pine-scented air freshener dangling from the mirror or overpowering leather polish. It simply smelled like dark upholstery, faint cologne and Sasuke.

She did not know how something could smell specifically like Sasuke when she had known him for two weeks, but apparently her brain had already established a category.

It was inconvenient.

So was the way his black shirt fit across his shoulders.

Sakura had seen him dressed casually at Naruto and Hinata’s apartment. She had seen him outside the restaurant in dark jeans and a fitted sweater. She had already known he had a good body.

Knowing and being trapped inside a car beside it were different experiences.

Every time Sasuke changed gears, the muscles in his forearm shifted.

His hands were large.

His fingers were long.

Sakura looked out the window before her thoughts became humiliatingly specific.

She was nervous enough without mentally evaluating his hands.

Ino had spent nearly two hours selecting Sakura’s outfit, rejecting six dresses before deciding the dark-brown one was “elegant enough for dinner and tight enough to damage his emotional stability.”

The white heels had also been Ino’s choice.

So had the lipstick.

So had the underwear, although Sakura had objected that nobody would see it.

Ino had replied that Sakura would know she was wearing it, which apparently affected posture.

Sakura was beginning to suspect Ino had been correct.

Sasuke’s eyes had moved over her the moment she left the building.

He had looked again when she walked toward the car.

He was trying not to look now, but she had caught his gaze dropping twice at red lights.

Once to her legs.

Once to her breasts.

The neckline covered everything, but the fitted material made the shape of her small breasts obvious.

Sakura did not mention his looking.

She liked it too much.

“You can put music on,” Sasuke said.

“What kind?”

“Anything.”

“That sounds like a test.”

“It isn’t.”

“What do you normally listen to?”

“A variety.”

“That is the least informative answer possible.”

He glanced at her. “Do you want a categorized list?”

“Yes.”

“No.”

Sakura smiled. “Are you afraid I’ll judge you?”

“I’ve known Naruto since middle school. My tolerance for judgment is high.”

“Does Naruto judge people?”

“Constantly. He just does it loudly and without accuracy.”

She laughed again.

Sasuke’s mouth moved slightly.

It was not quite a smile, but it was close.

Sakura had wondered whether he smiled much. At the party, he had mostly watched the others with a faintly exasperated expression. Naruto had made him laugh once by nearly choking on an entire dumpling, although Sasuke had covered it with his hand.

She wanted to make him do it again.

“So where are we going?”

“Tsuki.”

Sakura turned toward him. “The restaurant on the twenty-sixth floor?”

“Yes.”

“The one inside the Hoshikawa?”

“Yes.”

“The Hoshikawa Hotel that partners with Uchiha Corporation?”

Sasuke looked mildly resigned. “Yes.”

“I’ve seen the menu online.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No. I was preparing myself financially.”

“I invited you.”

“That doesn’t automatically mean you’re paying.”

“It generally does.”

“Not always.”

“It does tonight.”

There was no arrogance in his tone. He sounded as though he were stating that the car required fuel.

Sakura considered arguing, then decided she would rather not spend their first date fighting over a check that might equal half her monthly grocery budget.

“Fine,” she said. “But I’m paying for something later.”

“Later?”

The word came out a fraction lower than the rest.

Sakura looked at him.

His expression remained calm.

She could not tell whether she had imagined it.

“Dessert,” she clarified.

“I assumed you meant dessert.”

“Of course you did.”

His fingers flexed around the steering wheel.

Sakura faced forward before he could see her smile.

---

Tsuki occupied the top floor of the Hoshikawa Hotel, one of several luxury properties partnered with Uchiha Corporation.

The hostess recognized Sasuke immediately.

“Good evening, Uchiha-san.”

Her bow was slightly deeper than the one she gave Sakura.

“Your table is ready.”

Sakura glanced at him.

He gave no visible reaction, but she noticed his shoulders become marginally stiffer.

They followed the hostess through a restaurant of dark wood, soft golden lighting and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Konoha.

It was the kind of place Sakura had seen in photographs attached to articles with titles like Ten Restaurants to Visit Before You Die.

She wondered whether the dying occurred after receiving the check.

Their table was in a quiet corner near the windows. It was private without being isolated, separated from the nearest diners by a carved wooden screen and several tall plants.

Sasuke pulled out her chair.

“Thank you.”

His eyes dropped as she sat.

Only briefly.

Sakura arranged the skirt of her dress over her knees and pretended not to notice.

When he took the seat opposite her, his phone vibrated again.

He ignored it.

Sakura picked up the menu.

There were no prices.

That seemed threatening.

“Is this one of those places where the menu without prices is given to the woman?” she asked.

“No.”

“So neither of us gets to know?”

“I know.”

“Of course you do.”

“I helped review the redesign last year.”

Sakura lowered the menu. “You designed the restaurant?”

“No. Our creative division consulted on the renovation, branding and guest experience.”

“Guest experience sounds vague.”

“It is vague.”

“What does it actually mean?”

“Everything customers see, hear, touch or remember.”

Sakura looked around.

The lighting was warm without being dim. The music was quiet enough that they could speak normally. Even the chair felt unusually comfortable.

“So you chose the chairs?”

“Someone on my team chose the chairs.”

“But you approved them.”

“Yes.”

She shifted experimentally.

“They’re good chairs.”

“I’ll include that in the quarterly report.”

“You should. Direct consumer feedback.”

His mouth twitched.

There.

Almost a smile again.

A server approached, and Sasuke ordered water. He asked Sakura whether she wanted wine.

“One glass,” she said. “I have a study group tomorrow morning.”

“What time?”

“Eight.”

“On a Saturday?”

“Disease does not respect weekends.”

“Your study group isn’t treating disease.”

“No, but we are being treated by the university like disease is waiting outside with a stopwatch.”

The server left.

Sasuke studied her for a moment.

“How has it been?”

“Medical school?”

He nodded.

“Busy. Humbling. Slightly horrifying.”

“You’ve only just started.”

“Exactly. I’m already alarmed.”

“What was horrifying?”

“Do you want the honest answer while we’re choosing food?”

“Probably not.”

“Then it’s wonderful. Very clean. Nobody has bodily fluids.”

Sasuke opened his menu. “I appreciate the warning.”

“You asked.”

“And immediately regretted it.”

Sakura looked down at the menu, smiling.

Her nerves were still there, but they had changed shape.

Before he arrived, she had been nervous that she would say something stupid, trip in her heels or spend two hours staring at his face without forming complete sentences.

Now she was nervous because she liked talking to him.

That seemed more dangerous.

They ordered several smaller dishes to share, followed by entrées. Sasuke asked what she preferred instead of ordering for both of them, which Sakura appreciated.

After the server left, he folded his hands loosely on the table.

His sleeves were rolled to his forearms.

Sakura looked at his hands again.

This was becoming a problem.

“What made you choose medicine?” he asked.

The question sounded simple, but Sasuke was watching her with real attention.

Not polite date attention.

Not waiting-for-his-turn attention.

Actual attention.

Sakura sat back slightly.

“There wasn’t one dramatic event,” she said. “Nobody collapsed in front of me when I was ten and inspired my life’s purpose.”

“Disappointing.”

“I know. Terrible origin story.”

“What happened instead?”

“My mother teaches elementary school. She’s been doing it for almost twenty years.”

“What age?”

“Usually six- and seven-year-olds.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is. She loves them, but she comes home some days looking like she survived military service.”

Sasuke nodded solemnly. “Reasonable.”

“When I was younger, I used to help at school events. Mostly carrying things or painting signs badly. Sometimes I helped keep the younger children occupied while their parents spoke with teachers.”

“You’re good with children?”

“I think so.”

“That sounded uncertain.”

“I’m good with them when they aren’t actively vomiting.”

“An important medical limitation.”

“I’m working through it.”

He smiled properly this time.

It changed his whole face.

Sakura forgot the next sentence.

Sasuke Uchiha was already offensively attractive while brooding. Sasuke Uchiha smiling was irresponsible.

She reached for her water.

“My mother had one student who was in and out of the hospital a lot,” Sakura continued. “Nothing terminal, but enough that she was scared of doctors. She started having panic attacks whenever she saw someone in a white coat.”

“What happened?”

“My mother asked whether I could help make cards for her. I was about fourteen. Eventually I met her at a school festival. She told me the worst part wasn’t the needles. It was that adults always discussed her as if she wasn’t sitting there.”

Sasuke’s expression became more serious.

“She was eight,” Sakura said. “She knew she was sick. She knew everyone was worried. But nobody explained anything directly to her because they thought they were protecting her.”

“So you want to be a pediatrician.”

“Yes.”

She traced one finger along the stem of her water glass.

“Children are honest about being scared. Usually. Adults pretend they’re angry or busy or that they don’t care. Children will look at you and say, ‘This hurts. I’m frightened. Don’t leave.’ I think they deserve doctors who listen when they do.”

Sasuke was quiet.

For one awful second, Sakura wondered whether she had become too serious.

Then he said, “You’ll be good at it.”

She blinked. “You don’t know that.”

“I know you noticed what the adults around that girl didn’t.”

“I was fourteen.”

“You still noticed.”

Something warm moved through Sakura that had nothing to do with the wine arriving.

“Thank you,” she said.

Sasuke inclined his head, as though he had not just said something that made her want to stare at him for several minutes.

The server poured their wine and placed the first dishes between them.

Sakura selected a piece of grilled eggplant.

“What do your parents do?” Sasuke asked.

“My mother is the teacher. My father is an insurance claims adjuster.”

Sasuke paused. “What does he assess?”

“Mostly property damage. Fires, flooding, accidents. He visits, documents everything and decides whether the claim matches the damage.”

“Does he like it?”

“He likes talking to people. The paperwork is his enemy.”

“Understandable.”

“He also thinks he’s funny.”

“Is he?”

“No.”

Sasuke’s mouth curved.

“He tells jokes while inspecting damaged homes,” Sakura said. “Not about the damage. Usually.”

“Usually?”

“There was an incident involving a collapsed ceiling and the phrase ‘raising the roof.’”

Sasuke stared at her.

“My mother made him apologize.”

“To the homeowners?”

“To everyone.”

Sasuke laughed.

Not a small exhale.

An actual laugh.

It was low and brief, but Sakura felt absurdly pleased with herself.

“My father would like you,” she said.

The laughter stopped.

Sasuke looked almost wary.

“Why?”

“You don’t seem likely to encourage him.”

“I wouldn’t.”

“That’s what he needs.”

“And your mother?”

“My mother would interrogate you.”

“About what?”

“Your intentions. Your employment. Your family. Your medical history.”

“My medical history?”

“She’s thorough.”

“Should I prepare documentation?”

“It might help.”

His phone vibrated against the table.

Sasuke turned it facedown without checking it.

Sakura glanced at the device.

“That really isn’t work?”

“No.”

“Your family?”

“Unfortunately.”

She smiled. “They know you’re here?”

“Everyone knows I’m here.”

“How?”

“Naruto.”

“Of course.”

“Naruto treats private information like a public utility.”

“That explains how Ino knows you’ve had three girlfriends.”

Sasuke became very still.

Sakura took a sip of wine.

“Did he tell you that?”

“He told me, Hinata and probably half the restaurant.”

“I’m going to kill him.”

“He was defending you.”

“By distributing my relationship history?”

“He said you weren’t a fuckboy.”

Sasuke closed his eyes briefly.

Sakura bit the inside of her cheek.

“He used that exact word,” she added.

“I assumed he did.”

“He also called you difficult.”

“That part is fair.”

“You admit it?”

“I’m self-aware.”

“Are you?”

His dark eyes met hers.

Sakura felt the look in several places.

“Occasionally,” he said.

---

Sasuke waited until Sakura looked down at her plate before checking his phone beneath the edge of the table.

He had thirty-seven new messages.

He opened the family chat first.

Shisui: It has been eighteen minutes. Either he’s doing well or he’s murdered a waiter.

Obito: Maybe he’s staring at her boobs and forgot language.

Itachi: Breasts.

Obito: Thank you, Professor Anatomy.

Kakashi: Sakura is the medical student. Let her determine the correct terminology.

Shisui: Sasuke, ask her whether she prefers tits or breasts.

Sasuke: I am blocking all of you.

Itachi: He’s alive.

Obito: DID SHE WEAR THE DRESS

Sasuke frowned.

Sasuke: What dress?

Shisui: Naruto said Hinata said Ino said Sakura bought a brown dress.

Sasuke looked across the table.

Sakura was cutting into a piece of fish, the brown fabric stretched smoothly over her breasts when she leaned forward.

The dress.

Yes.

She had worn the dress.

Sasuke: Stop discussing her clothes.

Obito: That means she wore it.

Shisui: Is it tight?

Itachi: Shisui.

Shisui: I’m asking for fashion reasons.

Kakashi: He has never asked anything for fashion reasons.

Obito: Has Sasuke had to discreetly adjust his dick under the table yet?

Sasuke locked his phone.

He hated every person he had ever met.

Unfortunately, Obito was not entirely wrong.

Sakura sat back in her chair.
Her eyes moved briefly toward Sasuke’s hands.

Then his chest.

Then back to his face.

She was not subtle.

Sasuke found that deeply encouraging.

He had been worried his attraction might be embarrassingly one-sided despite the way she had smiled when she caught him looking outside her apartment.

Now she was looking at him as though she was considering something.

He wanted to know what.

He also wanted to lift her onto the table and find out whether the brown lipstick would stain his mouth.
Instead, he took a controlled sip of wine.

“You’re the Chief Creative Officer, right?” Sakura asked.

“Yes.”

“At twenty-six.”

“Also yes.”

“That’s young.”

“I was appointed two years ago.”

“Which makes it younger.”

Sasuke set down his glass.

There was no accusation in her voice, but he had heard versions of the statement before.

Too young.

Too privileged.

Too connected.

Fugaku’s son.

Madara’s grandson.

Uchiha.

He waited for the familiar question about whether his father had simply handed him the title.

Sakura placed her fork down.

“How did you know you were ready?”

Sasuke looked at her.

“What?”

“To take the role,” she said. “How did you know you were ready?”

He had not expected that question.

“I didn’t.”

Sakura’s eyebrows rose.

“I knew I could do the work,” he continued. “That isn’t the same as feeling ready.”

“When did you start?”

“At sixteen. Part-time.”

“While you were in school?”

“Yes.”

“What did you do?”

“Anything they gave me. Updated menu layouts. Organized image libraries. Corrected website listings. Sat through meetings where nobody needed me.”

“That sounds terrible.”

“It often was.”

“Why start so young?”

“My grandfather thought everyone in the family should understand the company from the lowest level upward.”

“Madara Uchiha?"

“You’ve heard of him.”

“Everyone has heard of him.”

Sasuke supposed that was true.
Madara had founded Uchiha Corporation decades ago. Even at eighty, he remained a recognizable figure in Konoha’s business community. Articles still described him as formidable, visionary and difficult, which were polite ways of saying he frightened senior executives for recreation.

“The company is worth roughly sixty billion yen,” Sakura said. “I think I’d have heard of it even if I lived underground."

“Valuations vary.”

She gave him a look. “That is the most executive answer you could have given.”

“It’s accurate.”

“It’s still annoying.”

Sasuke almost smiled.

“My father became CEO because my uncles chose different paths,” he said. “My oldest uncle, Daichi, is a judge. Hiroshi is Vice Chairman but never wanted to run daily operations.”

“And your father did.”

“Yes.”

“What about your brother?”

“Itachi is Executive Vice President and Chief Operating Officer.”

“The calm one?”

“They’re all calm until they decide to irritate me.”

Sakura smiled. “I liked Itachi.”

“You met him for twenty minutes.”

“He was polite.”

“He asked Naruto how many times I had checked the time before you arrived.”

Sakura’s smile widened. “How many?”

“I don’t know.”

“He said twelve.”

“Then why are you asking?”

“Because I wanted to hear whether you would lie.”

Sasuke narrowed his eyes.

She looked delighted.

He had not known Itachi had told her that.

He made a note to replace every bottle in Itachi’s wine collection with cooking vinegar.

“And your cousins work for the company too?” Sakura asked.

“Obito is Chief Development Officer for Uchiha Hotels. Shisui is Chief Legal Officer and General Counsel.”

“Which one is the flirt?”

“Shisui.”

“I thought so.”

“He flirts with everyone.”

“He called the waiter handsome.”

“He once flirted with a parking officer while she was writing him a ticket.”

“Did it work?”

“No. She increased the fine.”

Sakura laughed.

Sasuke watched her.
Her face was expressive in a way his family’s faces generally were not. Every thought seemed to pass through her eyes or the movement of her mouth before she decided whether to voice it.

He liked that.
It felt honest.

“What about Obito?” she asked.

“Obito behaves as though he’s still twelve.”

“He’s thirty-six.”

“I’m aware.”

“Doesn’t he have a child?”

“Kaito is seven and significantly more mature.”

“And Shisui has Rei.”

Sasuke looked at her.

Sakura paused with her glass halfway to her mouth.
“I met them at Naruto’s party,” she said.

Sasuke knew that.

He had been standing approximately six feet away while Shisui showed her photographs of Rei wearing his father’s tie around his head.

He also knew Sakura had liked the photograph because she had later followed Shisui's wife, Aiko.

He should not know that.

“And Itachi has Ren,” Sakura continued.

“Two years old.”

“You like children.”
It was not a question.

Sasuke frowned slightly. “Why do you say that?”

“You watched Ren for most of the party.”

“He was trying to eat a decorative candle.”

“You took it away and gave him part of your dessert.”

“He started crying.”

“You let him sit on your lap for twenty minutes.”

“He wouldn’t leave.”

Sakura tilted her head. “You could have moved him.”

Sasuke said nothing.

Her smile became softer.

It was worse than the teasing.

He felt unexpectedly exposed.

“I like my nephews,” he said.

“I can tell.”
“They’re less irritating than their fathers.”

“Do you want children?”

The question came naturally, without pressure, but Sasuke still paused.

“Eventually,” he said.

Sakura nodded.

“You?”

“Eventually.”

Their eyes met.

The moment lasted perhaps two seconds longer than it needed to.

Then Sasuke’s phone began vibrating violently across the table.

Sakura looked down.

“Someone is calling.”

The screen displayed Shisui’s name.

Sasuke declined the call.

Shisui called again.

Sasuke declined it again.

A message appeared.

Shisui: Emergency.

Sasuke stared at it.

A second message arrived.

Shisui: Obito says you’ve been quiet so long you may have ejaculated and died.

Sasuke turned the phone completely off.

Sakura watched him.

“Are you sure everything is okay?”

“My cousin has misunderstood the definition of emergency.”

“What happened?”

“Nothing worth repeating.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

She laughed.

Sasuke wanted to tell her.

Not the exact message.

Never the exact message.

But he wanted to explain that every man in his life was currently behaving like a group of thirteen-year-olds because he had made the mistake of finding her attractive in front of them.

He could not.

Because then she might ask when he had started finding her attractive.

Then he would have to choose between lying and admitting that he had spent weeks going through her Instagram like a starving man handed a menu.

He had investigated too thoroughly.

He knew she had attended Konoha University before medical school.

He knew she hated raisins.

He knew her father had once worn a bright-pink tie to her graduation because he claimed it matched her hair.

He knew she had been to the beach with Ino the previous summer.

He knew the black swim skirt had a small silver ring on the left side.

He knew that because he had stared at it while jerking off.

There was no socially acceptable way to include that information in dinner conversation.

---

Sakura was becoming increasingly curious about Sasuke’s phone.

Not suspicious.

Nothing about his behavior suggested another woman.

He had left the phone facedown most of the evening and ignored nearly every message.

But whoever was contacting him was clearly determined to ruin his peace.

Every time he checked the screen, his expression changed from mildly irritated to privately murderous.

Sakura suspected Naruto.

Possibly his cousins.

Probably both.

Their entrées arrived.

Sasuke waited until Sakura had taken the first bite before asking whether she liked hers.

She did.

It was easily the best meal she had eaten in months, which was unfortunate because it meant returning to instant noodles the following week would feel like punishment.

“This is incredible,” she said.

“I’m glad.”

“Did you choose this place because your company works with it?”

“Partly.”

“What was the other part?”

“The view.”

Sakura looked toward the windows.

Konoha spread beneath them in gold and white lights, roads weaving through the buildings, distant mountains reduced to dark shapes against the night sky.

“It is beautiful,” she said.

Sasuke was looking at her rather than the view.

He looked away when she noticed.

Heat moved into her cheeks.

There it was again.

That quiet, unmistakable attention.

He did not compliment her constantly or stare so openly that it became uncomfortable. He simply kept looking when he thought she was occupied.

At her face.

Her mouth.

Her chest.

Her waist whenever she shifted.

Sakura knew the dress was doing exactly what Ino had intended.

She also knew she should probably be offended that her best friend understood male psychology so well. Instead, she adjusted slightly in her chair and watched Sasuke’s gaze drop.

His hand tightened around his fork.

Sakura took another bite, privately pleased.

Perhaps Ino’s commitment to justice had merit.

“How did you become friends with Naruto?” she asked.

“Detention.”

Sakura nearly choked.

Sasuke handed her water.

“You had detention?”

“Yes.”

“With Naruto?”

“He was the reason.”

“What did he do?”

“Set off the fire alarm.”

“That sounds like him.”

“He was trying to heat ramen in the science lab."

“That also sounds like him.”

“The teacher blamed both of us because I was standing nearby.”

“Why were you standing nearby?”

“I was telling him not to heat ramen in the science lab.”

Sakura laughed.

“And Kakashi was your teacher?”

“Middle school and high school.”

“What did he teach?”

“Literature.”

“He doesn’t seem like a teacher.”

“He wasn’t a particularly conventional one.”

“What does he do now?”

“He still teaches part-time. He also writes.”

“What kind of books?”

Sasuke’s expression became blank.

Sakura leaned forward.

“What kind of books?"

“Popular fiction.”

“That pause was suspicious.”

“He writes romance novels.”

Sakura stared.

“Kakashi?”

“Yes.”

“The silver-haired man who spent half of Naruto’s party leaning against the wall reading?”

“He was reading one of his own books.”

“That’s unbelievably arrogant.”

“He claimed he was editing.”

“Was he?"

“No.”

Sakura laughed so loudly that a diner at the next table glanced over.

She lowered her voice.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

Sasuke was smiling again.

She liked him smiling.

She liked the calmness too, but the smile felt like being trusted with something not everyone saw.

“What do your friends do?” she asked. “Besides Naruto owning half the city’s ramen supply.”

“Two restaurants aren’t half the city.”

“Give him time.”

“Kiba recently qualified as a veterinarian.”

“I know Kiba. He showed me seventeen photographs of his dog.”

“That’s fewer than usual.”

“What about Shikamaru?”

“He works as a strategy and policy analyst for the city.”

“That sounds serious.”

“He complains about it constantly.”

“And Neji?”

“Physical therapist. He co-owns a sports rehabilitation clinic.”

“That fits.”

“Shino is an environmental health researcher.”

Sakura nodded. “Also fitting.”

“He specializes in urban insect populations and disease prevention.”

“He explained mosquito breeding patterns to Ino over lunch.”

“Did she ask?”

“No.”

“Then he likes her.”

Sakura laughed. “That’s how Shino shows affection?”

“He provides unsolicited information.”

“What do you do?”

Sasuke looked at her.

“To show affection,” she clarified.

“I don’t.”

“That cannot be true.”

“It is.”
“You gave Ren your dessert.”

“He was crying.”

“You remember Naruto’s usual order without asking.”

“He’s ordered the same thing for twelve years.”

“You opened my car door.”

“That’s basic courtesy."

“You chose a restaurant for the view.”

Sasuke’s gaze held hers.

“That was for me,” she said.

His face did not change, but the tips of his ears became faintly red.

Sakura’s heart performed something embarrassing.
She smiled.

“You do things,” she said. “You just don’t announce them.”

Sasuke looked down at his plate.

For once, he seemed to have no response.

Sakura decided not to rescue him.
She liked knowing she could unsettle him too.

---

By the time dinner ended, Sasuke’s erection had finally subsided.

Then Sakura stood up.

The dress slid over her hips as she moved.

His dick reconsidered.

Sasuke signed the check while refusing to look directly at her ass.

This effort lasted until she turned toward the windows.
He looked.

Of course he looked.

He had seen the same curve through jeans, skirts and photographs. None of those had prepared him for the reality of her standing three feet away in fitted brown fabric.

Sakura glanced over her shoulder.

Sasuke lifted his gaze.

She did not say anything.

She smiled.

That was worse.

She knew he was looking.

She liked that he was looking.

Sasuke was going to die in the Hoshikawa Hotel lobby, and Obito would make an inappropriate speech at the funeral.

They took the elevator downstairs.

Sakura stood beside him, close enough that her sleeve brushed his wrist.

Neither moved away.

“I’m paying for dessert,” she reminded him.

“You’re still hungry?”

“There is always a separate stomach for dessert.”

“That isn’t medically accurate.”

“I’ve just started medical school. I’m allowed to invent things."

“Where are we going?”

“There’s a café two streets away.”

Sasuke knew the café.

He knew Sakura liked it because she had posted a photograph there nine months ago with the caption Best strawberry cake in Konoha. I will accept no debate.

He should not reveal this.

“Which café?” he asked.

“Hanami."

He nodded carefully. “I’ve heard of it.”

That was technically true.

“You haven’t been?”

“No.”

Also technically true.

Sakura smiled. “Good. I can introduce you to somewhere that doesn’t have a dress code.”

They walked from the hotel rather than taking the car. The night was cool, and Sakura folded her arms briefly against the breeze.

They passed several shops before Sakura stopped outside a brightly lit café with mismatched chairs and handwritten signs in the window.

Hanami was nearly empty.

A bored college student stood behind the counter.

Sakura ordered strawberry cake.

Sasuke pretended this was new information.

“What do you want?” she asked.

“Coffee.”

“That isn’t dessert.”

“I had dessert at the restaurant.”

“Two bites of chocolate mousse.”

“You were watching?”

“You were sitting opposite me.”

“That doesn’t explain why you counted.”

“I’m observant.”

Sasuke almost told her he was observant too.

Dangerously observant.
Criminally observant.

Instead, he allowed her to order him a slice of cake.

They sat at a small table near the window.

“Better than Tsuki?” he asked after she took the first bite.

“Completely different category.”

“That isn’t an answer.”

“It’s strawberry cake. It doesn’t need to compete.”

Sasuke tasted his.
It was good.

Sakura watched him expectantly.

“Well?”

“I like it.”

Her expression became triumphant.

“I knew you would.”

“How?”

“You look like someone who pretends not to like sweet things and then steals dessert from children.

“I gave Ren my dessert.”

“Exactly.”

“That wasn’t stealing.”

“Only because he got there first.”

Sasuke shook his head.

Sakura smiled into her fork.

He wanted to kiss her.

The thought arrived with uncomfortable clarity.

He had wanted to do considerably more than kiss her for months, but this felt different.

Less abstract.

He wanted to kiss the mouth currently curved around a private smile because he had made her laugh.

He wanted to know whether her lipstick tasted like anything.

He wanted to see whether she became quieter when he touched her or whether she would keep teasing him.

His phone was off, but he could imagine the messages waiting.

Kiba: Has he kissed her?

Naruto: DO NOT PRESSURE HER.

Shikamaru: Nobody suggested that.

Naruto: I’M BEING RESPONSIBLE.

Shino: Your use of capital letters undermines the impression.

Sasuke pushed the imaginary conversation away.

Sakura leaned forward.

“What are you thinking about?”

“Kakashi’s funeral.”

She blinked. “Is Kakashi dying?”

“Not naturally.”

Her laugh came quickly.

“What did he message you?”

Sasuke looked at her.

“You assumed it was Kakashi?”

“You said your family was messaging. Then you mentioned murder.”

“Reasonable.”

“What did he say?”

“Nothing suitable for a first date.”

Her eyes brightened with curiosity.

“That makes me want to know more.”
“You won’t.”

“Ever?”

“Preferably.”

Sakura took another bite of cake.

“You know, every time your phone vibrated, you looked like you were considering throwing it through a window.”

“I was.”

“Your family must be close.”

Sasuke paused.

It was easy to describe them as irritating.

They were irritating.

Shisui had once changed Sasuke’s contact photograph on Fugaku’s phone to a picture of a furious black kitten. Obito still called him “baby cousin” in front of employees. Itachi had an unsettling ability to identify Sasuke’s weaknesses and apply pressure with minimal effort.

But they were close.

His family appeared without being asked.
They interfered, mocked and inserted themselves into every private event.

They had also attended every school performance, graduation, promotion and opening night.

When Sasuke had been appointed CCO at twenty-four and business journalists questioned whether he deserved it, Itachi had calmly dismantled every criticism in a televised interview.

Shisui had threatened three publications with legal action.

Obito had sent Sasuke a cake that read CONGRATULATIONS, NEPOTISM BABY.

“Yes,” Sasuke said. “We’re close.”

Sakura’s expression softened.

“I’m an only child,” she said. “Sometimes I think I would’ve liked siblings.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“You sound certain.”

“They touch your things.”

“Ino touches my things.”

“Siblings do it legally.”

She laughed.

“What was Itachi like when you were children?”

“Annoyingly competent.”

“That sounds like Itachi now.”

“He was always calm. Good at school. Good at sports. Adults compared us constantly.”

“That must have been difficult.”

Sasuke looked down at his coffee.

“It was.”

“Did you resent him?”

“Sometimes.”

“And now?”

“He looked after me,” he said eventually. “Even when I was angry with him.”

“I think he still does.”

“He’s intrusive.”

“That isn’t a denial.”

Sasuke looked at her.

She had a way of seeing around his answers.

It should have irritated him.

It did not.

“Your turn,” he said.

“My turn for what?”

“Embarrassing childhood information.”

Sakura groaned.

“I gave you the ceiling joke.”

“That was about your father.”

“I inherited half his DNA. I’ve suffered enough.”

“Something about you.”

She considered.

“When I was nine, I tried to cut my own hair.”

Sasuke glanced at the pink waves around her shoulders.

“How bad?”

“I had to wear a hat for two months.”

“Why?”

“Ino told me short hair would make me look mature.”

“And you believed her?”

“I was nine.”

“You still let her dress you.”

Sakura froze.

Sasuke realized his mistake immediately.

Her eyes narrowed.

“How do you know Ino dressed me?”

He kept his face neutral.

“She seems like the type.”

“She is.”

Sasuke said nothing.

Sakura studied him for another second.

Then she relaxed.

“She chose the dress,” she admitted.

Sasuke’s gaze dropped before he could stop it.
The fitted brown material followed the line of her waist beneath the table.

“She chose well,” he said.

Sakura’s cheeks became pink.
“Did she?”

“Yes.”

His voice had gone lower.

He watched her swallow.

Good.

At least he was not suffering alone.

“She said it would damage your emotional stability,” Sakura said.

Sasuke nearly choked on his coffee.

Sakura laughed.

“She said what?”

“You heard me.”

“Does Ino always discuss men like military targets?”

“Only when she likes them."

“She likes me?”

“She thinks you’re hot.”

Sasuke stared.

Sakura added, “So do I.”

The café suddenly felt much warmer.

Sakura looked down at her cake, but not before he saw her nervousness.

There it was.

Beneath the confidence and teasing, she was nervous too.

Sasuke liked that more than he should have.

Not because he wanted her uncomfortable.

Because it meant this mattered to her.

“You’re very attractive,” he said.

Sakura’s fork stopped halfway to her mouth.

The statement sounded inadequate after the amount of time he had spent fantasizing about her.

But it was the version he could safely say aloud.

Her smile was smaller this time.
Almost shy.

“Thank you.”

They left the café shortly before ten.

Sakura insisted on paying.

Sasuke allowed it after a brief argument, although he pointed out that two slices of cake and coffee did not equal dinner.

“That isn’t how invitations work,” she said as they walked back toward the hotel.

“How do they work?”

“I invited you for dessert. Therefore, I paid.”

“You invited me after I told you dinner was my invitation.”

“Correct.”

“You created a separate event.”

“I’m efficient.”

“Medical school has made you dangerous.”

“I’ve been there for three weeks.”

“And already you’re inventing organs and manipulating financial systems.”

Sakura smiled.

She was no longer as nervous as she had been at the apartment.

Some of the tension remained, but it was pleasant now.
Anticipation rather than fear.

She had worried Sasuke would be cold or difficult to speak with. Naruto had described him as a good person beneath “several layers of emotional concrete.”

The concrete existed.
But there were cracks.

He was funny when he wanted to be and funnier when he did not realize it.

He listened.
He remembered what she said within the conversation.
He asked questions without making the evening feel like an interview.
He did not interrupt her or dismiss her ambition as youthful idealism.

He had told her she would be a good pediatrician with such certainty that she had almost believed him.

And he looked exceptionally good under streetlights.
The breeze moved his shoulder-length dark hair around his face. His wolf cut was slightly messy now, strands falling near his eyes.

Sakura wondered what it would feel like between her fingers.

Her gaze dropped lower.

The black shirt fit closely to his chest and abdomen. She could see the shape of his body when he moved, lean muscle beneath dark fabric.

Naruto had once mentioned Sasuke trained almost every morning.

At the time, Sakura had considered the information unnecessary.
She now saw its value.

“Cold?” Sasuke asked.

Sakura realized she had been staring.

“No.”

His eyes moved over her face.

“Your cheeks are red.”

“It’s the wine.”

“You had one glass three hours ago.”

“I process alcohol slowly.”

“You’re in medical school.”

“Not far enough into medical school to explain myself.”

His mouth curved.

They reached the hotel garage, and Sasuke opened the passenger door for her again.

Sakura sat, gathering the long skirt of her dress.

His gaze caught on her legs.

She had crossed one ankle over the other, and the fabric had pulled upward enough to show more of her calves.

Sasuke looked away.

Sakura waited until he walked around the car before smiling to herself.

On the drive back, the conversation became quieter.

Not awkward.
The comfortable kind of quiet that arrived after hours of talking.

Sakura watched Konoha pass through the window.

Sasuke’s right hand rested near the gear shift.

She considered reaching for it.

Then felt ridiculous.

It was a first date.
People held hands on first dates.
People also did not need to hold hands merely because they had eaten expensive fish together.

She looked at his hand again.

Long fingers.
Prominent veins.

She imagined those fingers against her waist.
Her thigh.
Beneath the hem of the dress.

Sakura turned toward the window and pressed her lips together.

Perhaps Ino had been correct about the sexual frustration.

That was unfortunate.

Sasuke’s hand moved.

For one startled second, Sakura thought he had caught her staring.

Then he placed it palm-up on the center console between them.

He kept his eyes on the road.

Sakura looked at his hand.

Then at his face.

He remained outwardly calm, but his jaw was slightly tense.

She placed her hand in his.

His fingers closed around hers.

Warm.
Firm.

Sakura’s pulse accelerated.

Neither said anything.

They held hands for the rest of the drive.

---

Sasuke had negotiated hotel acquisitions worth billions of yen with less anxiety than it had taken to place his hand on the center console.

When Sakura’s fingers slid into his, he nearly missed a turn.

He corrected without visible panic.

Probably.

Her hand was smaller than his.

Soft.

Her thumb moved once over the side of his index finger.

Sasuke spent the next ten minutes trying not to imagine those fingers wrapped around his dick.

It was not successful.

His pants became progressively less comfortable.

Again.

He kept both eyes on the road.

He had already been hard twice during dinner.

Three times if he counted the elevator.

He was twenty-six years old, not sixteen.

This was humiliating.

Sakura shifted in her seat.

Her dress moved over her thighs.

Sasuke’s grip tightened slightly around her hand.

She looked at him.

“Everything okay?”

“Yes.”

Always yes.

Nothing had been okay since Naruto posted that photograph.

They reached Sakura’s building at ten twenty-eight.

Sasuke parked near the curb but did not immediately release her hand.

Sakura did not pull away either.

The moment stretched.

“I had a good time,” she said.

“So did I.”

Her green eyes held his.

The building entrance was only several meters away.
One upstairs window had curtains that moved suspiciously.

Ino.

Sasuke was certain.

He wondered whether Sakura knew her best friend was hiding behind fabric like an incompetent spy.

“Would you like to do it again?” he asked.

Sakura’s expression changed.

Not dramatically.
Just enough relief that Sasuke realized she had been uncertain.

“Yes,” she said. “I would.”

“When are you free?”

“I have classes most days.”

“I know.”

Sasuke froze internally.

Sakura tilted her head.

“You know?”

“You said medical school was busy.”

Correct.
Plausible.

Not I looked at the photograph of your orientation timetable because it was visible beside your coffee in an Instagram story.

“Oh.” She smiled. “Right.”

Sasuke decided he needed to stop speaking.

“Next Friday?” he asked.

“I’m free after six.”

“I’ll pick you up.”

“Okay.”

Neither moved.

Sakura looked at his mouth.

Sasuke noticed.

His body noticed more enthusiastically.

He released her hand and stepped out of the car before he could make the moment strange.

By the time he reached her side, Sakura was already standing.

His jacket remained around her shoulders.

She slipped it off and handed it to him.

“Thank you.”

Sasuke took it.

Her scent clung faintly to the collar.

That was going to become a separate problem later.

They walked to the entrance.

Sakura stopped beneath the light above the door.

Sasuke stood close enough to see the brown lipstick more clearly.

Close enough to see the slight movement of her chest beneath the dress when she breathed.

Her breasts were small, but the dress shaped them perfectly.

His eyes dropped.

One second.
Possibly two.

When he looked up, Sakura was watching him.
She did not seem offended.

Her cheeks were pink.
Her lips parted slightly.

Sasuke forced himself to look at her eyes.

“Goodnight,” Sakura said.

“Goodnight.”

Neither moved.

Sakura’s brows lifted.

“Is that all?”

Sasuke’s pulse struck hard once.
“What else were you expecting?”

She looked briefly horrified by her own boldness, then recovered.
“I don’t know.”

“You do.”

Her breath caught.

Sasuke stepped closer.

He wanted to touch her, but he made himself wait.
“Can I kiss you?”

Sakura looked at his mouth again.
“Yes.”

He placed one hand against her waist.
The dress was soft beneath his palm.

Her body was warmer.

Real.

Sasuke lowered his head.

The first contact was careful.
A brief press of his mouth to hers, enough to feel the softness of her lips and the faint texture of lipstick.

Sakura’s hand caught the front of his shirt.

She kissed him back.

That ended careful.

Sasuke’s other hand moved to her jaw, his thumb resting beneath her chin as he kissed her again.
Deeper this time.

Sakura made a quiet sound against his mouth.
His entire body reacted.

His dick hardened so quickly it was almost painful.

He stepped closer before remembering that stepping closer would allow her to feel exactly what the kiss had done to him.

Too late.
Sakura’s hips brushed his.

She went still for half a second.

Sasuke prepared himself for embarrassment, rejection or death.

Then her fingers tightened in his shirt.

She kissed him harder.

His hand slid from her waist to the curve above her hip.

Not her ass.
He deserved recognition for that restraint.
Her ass was approximately three inches below his palm, wrapped in the same tight brown fabric he had been staring at all night.

Three inches had never felt so significant.

Sakura’s fingers moved into his hair.

Sasuke nearly lost the final remains of his judgment.

She tugged slightly.

She did it again.

Sasuke pressed her gently back against the wall beside the entrance, careful not to trap her, but close enough that her body fit against his.

She could definitely feel his erection now.

There was no possibility of pretending otherwise.
Her face burned when they separated for breath.

Sasuke rested his forehead briefly against hers.
Neither spoke.

Sakura’s eyes were darker than they had been at dinner.
Her lipstick was slightly blurred.

Sasuke wanted to ruin it completely.
He wanted to pull the dress up over her hips.
He wanted to see whether her ass looked as good bare as it did in every piece of clothing she owned.
He wanted—

Sakura kissed him again.

His thoughts stopped.

This kiss was shorter but no less dangerous.

When she pulled back, she was breathing quickly.

“I have an eight o’clock study group,” she whispered.

“I remember.”

Of course he remembered.

He had spent most of dinner resenting the study group personally.

“And Ino is probably watching.”

“She is.”

Sakura turned her head toward the window.
The curtain moved violently.

“Oh my God.”

Sasuke almost laughed.

“She’s been there the whole time, hasn’t she?”

“Probably.”

“I’m going to kill her.”

“She’ll get along with my family.”

Sakura lowered her hand.

She looked at him again, then down.

Her gaze stopped at the front of his pants.

Sasuke considered walking directly into traffic.

Sakura’s face turned even redder.

She looked back at his eyes.

He waited for her to pretend she had not noticed.

Instead, the corner of her mouth lifted.

“Goodnight, Sasuke.”

There was a dangerous amount of satisfaction in her voice.

He narrowed his eyes.
“Goodnight, Sakura.”

She reached for the door.

Then turned back, rose onto her toes and kissed him once more.

Quickly.
Deliberately.

She disappeared into the building before he could respond.

Sasuke stood outside the entrance with his jacket in one hand and a painful erection pressing against his pants.

From the upstairs window, Ino gave him two enthusiastic thumbs up.

Sasuke stared at her.

She vanished behind the curtain.

His phone began vibrating the moment he switched it on.

One hundred and fourteen messages.

Sasuke opened the men’s group chat.

Naruto: ARE YOU ALIVE

Kiba: He’s not answering because his hands are busy.

Neji: Stop.

Kiba: You stop pretending you aren’t curious.

Shikamaru: This has occupied the entire evening. It’s troublesome.

Shino: You have sent twenty-one messages.

Shikamaru: I didn’t say I wasn’t curious.

Naruto: SASUKE DID YOU KISS HER

Sasuke: Yes.

The responses arrived instantly.

Naruto: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Kiba: OUR BOY DID IT

Shikamaru: He kissed a woman. This is not an international achievement.

Kiba: He’s been jerking off to her Instagram for three months. It’s a major milestone.

Neji: We did not need that included.

Shino: It provides relevant context.

Naruto: WAS IT GOOD

Sasuke: I’m blocking you.

He opened the family chat.

Itachi: Are you home safely?

Shisui: Did you kiss her?

Obito: Did you touch the ass?

Kakashi: A gentleman does not provide those details.

Obito: You asked me for details after my first date with Rin.

Kakashi: I was thirteen.

Shisui: Sasuke is ignoring the question, which means the ass remains unconfirmed.

Itachi: Stop discussing Sakura that way.

Obito: Fine. Did he respectfully make contact with her lower posterior region?

Sasuke: I kissed her. I’m going home. None of you speak to me tomorrow.

Shisui: HE KISSED HER.

Obito: BABY COUSIN.

Itachi: I’m happy for you.

Kakashi: Remember to return her messages instead of staring at them for twenty minutes and drafting one-word replies.

Sasuke locked the phone and drove home.

He spent the entire journey replaying the kiss.

Sakura’s hand in his hair.

Her mouth opening beneath his.

The quiet sound she had made.

The moment her hips touched his erection and she had kissed him harder instead of moving away.

By the time he reached his apartment, his pants were uncomfortable again.

He locked the front door behind him, dropped his keys onto the table and stood in the dark hallway.

His phone lit up with a new message.
Sakura.

Sakura: I had a really good time tonight. Let me know when you get home.

Sasuke stared at it.

Then he smiled.

Sasuke: Home. I had a good time too. Sleep well.

Three dots appeared.

Sakura: You too. And tell your family to stop messaging you on our next date.

Sasuke looked at the message for several seconds.

She had noticed more than he thought.

He typed:
Sasuke: I’ll confiscate their phones.

Her reply came with a laughing face.

Sasuke put the phone down.

He made it exactly four steps farther into the apartment before unzipping his pants.

At least this time, he did not need the bikini photograph.

The memory of Sakura kissing him was more than enough.