Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

his newest creations repulse him.

they are abominations. hollow, wretched things that mock him with their mediocrity. they lack passion, they lack beauty, they lack him. where did it go? the hunger? the obsession? the fire that once burned so violently in his veins...

now reduced to dying embers smothered beneath the weight of repetition.

each piece he crafts is an echo of something greater, something lost. just fabric and thread without a soul. meaningless. a grotesque parody of his once flawless artistry.

the realization gnaws at him, burrowing deep into his chest like a parasite festering and multiplying;

he has become dull.

at the edge of his world, in the suffocating silence of his dimly lit studio, sasori sits, surrounded by failures. half-finished sketches torn, fabrics drained of color, mannequins staring at him with their empty, vacant gaze mirroring his own. they whisper to him, sneering and ridiculing.

his hands itch to create everlasting beauty, but inspiration eludes him, slipping through his fingers like sand.

it infuriates him.

the frustration was slow at first, prickly. irritating. but now, rotted into something else entirely. something violent. something desperate.

he paces like a caged animal, golden eyes feverish darting between his lackluster pieces. the weight of his inadequacies crushing his ribs like a vice. the plastic stares, their silence heavier than a scream.

his teeth clench.

every stitch, every thread, is another slip into madness. if he cannot reclaim the fire, then he will see the whole damn world ablaze.

but what's missing?

what is it?!

he was once brilliant. these hands, his hands, they created masterpieces, perfection frozen in time. they pulsed with something raw, something divine. he sculpted beauty flesh, carved eternity from the fleeting morality. that was art. that was truth. but now? a mere imitation of who he once was.

a puppet of his own making.

sasori sits hunched over his worktable, eyes darkened, fingers twitching following the rhythm of knocks on his door.

"oi, danna! you alive in there?"

he doesn't answer.

another round of knocks followed by the creak of his door opening, deidara steps in. his face rises, blinking at the wreckage before him. his bright blue eyes scan the room, from the shattered ink bottles to the crumpled designs scattered across the floor. deidara whistles, "sheesh. looks like a warzone in here."

"leave."

"seriously, danna, what happened? you still in your existential crisis or did one of your mannequins start talking back to ya?"

sasori's fingers twitch and he finally lifts his gaze, locking onto deidara with an unreadable expression. shadows carve into the hollows of his cheeks and for a moment, deidara swore his old friend looked more mannequin than man.

"they're uninspired. they're empty. useless."

deidara snorts, "damn, that's harsh."

sasori's jaw tightens. his gaze flickering back to the chaos around him.

"have you even slept, man?" he doesn't respond, he just stares at the blank piece of paper, disgust curling at his lips.

deidara wraps a piece of shredded pewter silk around his neck posing in the mirror. "wanna get some coffee with me."

sasori finally turns his head, expression blank as if deidara had just suggested setting himself on fire. "...what?"

the blond cheekily grins. "mhm, you heard me, yeah. there's this coffee shop not too far from here. i go sometimes. the drinks are decent. the people are boring, but one of the baristas has red hair like you. you should come."

sasori stares at him dryly. "why would i subject myself to that?"

deidara kicks a crumpled paper to the side. "uh because, danna, you look like your seconds away from setting the place on fire. and don't get me wrong, i love a good explosion, but i don't wanna get blamed. got one too many felonies stacked up on me. besides, caffeine might shock some life back into you, yeah?"

the man exhales slowly, his fingers tapping against the table. he should say no. he should return to his work and force himself to create until the emptiness is filled. but the idea of sitting in this room any longer, drowning in self-pity, makes his skin itch. he sighs.

"fine."

deidara grins. "now we're talking! let's go before you change your mind." sasori stands reluctantly, brushing past his friend as he heads to the door.

the blond pats him on the back as they exit. "trust me, danna, you're gonna thank me for this."

sasori hums unamused, but for the first time in what feels like forever, his mind is quiet.

just for a moment.

the scent of burnt espresso and sickly sweet syrup lingers in the air, clinging to everything like a film. the dim glow of overhead lighting flickers intermittently, casting shadows across the faded walls.

the sound of milk steaming and ceramic cups clinking barely registers to sasori as he steps inside, the warmth of the shop failing to thaw the cold that settled within him.

he doesn't belong here.

everything about this place is dull. uninspired.

a mindless cycle of routine.

people shuffling in and out like lifeless marionettes, ordering the same drinks, making the same idle conversation, trapped in their own mediocrity. he can already feel the minutes slipping away, wasted on something so pointless.

"you're glaring at the menu like it insulted your entire bloodline, yeah."

sasori barely shifts his gaze. deidara stands beside him, grinning like a fool, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. "why did i let you drag me here?" sasori mutters.

"because i'm a genius and you secretly enjoy my company." deidara steps forward in line. "now hurry up and order something before you turn into dust."

sasori exhales sharply, his patience thinning by the second. he doesn't care for coffee. doesn't care for the ritual of it, the way people cling to it like some kind of lifeline. weak. but he can feel deidara's stare, expectant and insufferable.

"black," he says, voice flat. "no sugar."

deidara rolls his eyes. "tch. of course. you would drink something as bitter as yourself." sasori doesn't dignify that with a response.

by the time they get their drinks, deidara is already making his way halfway through his, a concoction so overly sweet that sasori grimaces.

the blond sighs, dropping into a chair near the window, stretching his legs out in front of him with no regard for personal space. sasori sits across from him, more restrained, fingers wrapped around the warm ceramic of his untouched cup.

deidara watches him, a knowing smirk tugging the corner of his lips. "you gonna drink that, or just stare at it all night?"sasori's gaze flickers to him. "you never stop talking, do you?"

"nope!" he laughs slurping down the rest of his drink.

a silence settles between them, comfortable in a way sasori doesn't entirely acknowledge. the coffee shop hums with the mindless murmur of strangers, blending into a background noise he easily tunes out. he should feel more irritated, but at least here, surrounded by the dull, lifeless existence of others, the weight of his own shortcomings feels less suffocating.

deidara's straw whistles, signaling the emptiness. he slams it down with a dramatic huff. "you ever think about making something different, danna?"

sasori finally lifts his cup, taking a slow sip. the bitterness is sharp against his tongue. he lowers it, leveling deidara with a curious glance.

"elaborate."

he shrugs. "i dunno, just seems like you've been stuck in a rut lately, yeah. maybe you should switch things up. try something new. i mean, not that i'm saying your art isn't already great, but even geniuses like us gotta evolve."

sasori's grip on the cup tightens. something new? he had perfected his craft. there was nothing new to pursue, only the endless refinement of true artistry.

and yet, something about deidara's words linger like another itch beneath his skin. maybe he never did achieve greatness.

deidara watches him for a long moment before leaning back into his chair, crossing his arms behind his head. "sometimes the best inspiration comes from things you least expect."

sasori doesn't respond. instead, his gaze drifts past deidara, over the sea of faceless people lost in their own lives.

and then, his sharp eyes catch her immediately.

a young woman sitting alone, her posture slightly slumped, exhaustion rolling off of her in waves. something is striking about her appearance. a rawness in the way she exists in this monotonous place, detached yet fully present. she does not blend in.

she is different.

and sasori has always been drawn to rare things. a porcelain doll, cracking away at the edges from whatever it is chipping her soul away. yet, even through the exhaustion weighing her face down, her sea-foam eyes remain striking.

her gaze meets his, and even in their weariness, tainted by a lack of sleep,

inspiring.

"oi, danna?"

deidara's voice doesn't register. sasori is already standing, his moves calculating. "where are you going?"

"something caught my interest," he says simply walking away. deidara turns around watching him go, one brow arching before he laughs. "huh. i'll be damned."

with that, sasori approaches her table, a predator closing it on its prey. silent, certain, enthralled.

in that moment, the world tilts, time bends, and something inevitable takes shape in the space between them.

the undeniable realization slashes him, tearing through his mind like a blade.

it was never the fabric.

it was never the theme.

it was flesh.

she is what's been missing. the elusive spark, the answer to the pit of raw anguish and despair that has rotted him from the inside out. as the light settles, the suffocating venomous weight he's carried dissolves and fades into something erratic.

the inspiration, the pride, it washes over him, reminding himself of who he is.

his art, its only slept for a moment, waiting for something truly worthy. waiting for her.

he thought all this time he mastered his craft, ascended beyond even himself.

no.

she will be his grand masterpiece.

she will be his perfect everlasting creation.

Chapter Text

mindless chatter edges around her ears, a dazed hum beneath the weight of fatigue that coils around her bones. sakura can't hear it. not really. everything is noise lately, an itchy static.

fourteen-hour shifts, tsunade-sama barking orders, charts stacked to the ceiling. patients groaning, dying, recovering—a blur of a sterilized cycle.

and shizune-senpai just had to go on maternity leave.

"welcome. what can we get you today?"

the voice drags her back. she blinks, focus wavering before latching onto the barista. her jaded eyes meet the redhead's mirroring gaze.

"black coffee. double shot espresso, please."

she types it in, already knowing what her order is. she looks up at her, one brow raised. the kind of look like, "you again?"

sakura musters up an awkward, stiff smile out of habit. this is her sixth day in a row, ordering the same drink. she's starting to hate the sight of the place.

she hates coffee.

she hates the smell, reminding her of these days. she hates the thick bitter coat it leaves on her tongue. she even hates the people who drink it. the overly caffeinated optimism, the false productivity in every cup.

her eyes roam the bustling café and she grimaced.

she slumps into a plastic seat staring absently at the ceiling, muscles aching, and mind aching. overhead, a flickering fluorescent bulb buzzes sporadically like it, too, is on the verge of collapse.

her career is soaring. tsunade-sama finally trusts her with real authority. her salary's enough to afford overly priced mid coffee. she has respect and status.

and yet she wakes up everyday with a yawning emptiness that no amount of accolades can touch.

there's something feral in her chest that no one sees. a hunger that's quiet but monstrous that gnaws at her no matter how much she feeds it. the ache never lessens, it just shifts. it relocates and infects her dreams.

she's always been driven, obsessively so. it's what kept her alive in a world that would've chewed her up otherwise. she's always pushed forward, one thing after the next.

but when she's alone and the noise fades, the stillness creeps in and she's left with the echo of her own longing.

always lingering, lurking right beneath the surface.

that part of her, the hopeless romantic, refuses to die. no matter how hard she beats it down with exhaustion, no matter how many empty nights she fills with paperwork and bitter drinks, it claws its way back, again and again.

she wants love like a wound wants stitching and she loathes herself for it. she's soft in a world of steel. she dreams of something tender when all she knows is sharp edges. she wishes she could tear the need out by the root.

she thinks of tsunade, strong, stoic, legendary, and how love had completely undone her. how it left her with scars deeper than war ever could, fractured by love's betrayal.

her thoughts drift uninvited to shisui.

"come on, just one date, saku-chan!~" he'd grin, voice teasing and playful, but she knows him all too well.

his fingers draped lazily over her shoulder and she brushed him off. "sorry, shisui. i'm busy."

"you're always busy," he murmured, leaning in a little too close. "y'know it's healthy to relieve stress off the body."

her muscles tense at the proximity, but she simply rolls her eyes. "yes, it is. so leave me alone. you're giving me a migraine."

he clutched his chest with a dramatic grasp. "and they say i'm the heartbreaker."

shisui is perfect on paper. he's sinfully handsome and charming, everything a girl could want.

but he's not the one.

she wants to be adored, not flirted with. she wants to be the center of his world, not a late-night afterthought. she wants devotion.

"haruno-san."

the monotone voice cuts through the fog like a slap.

sakura blinks back into the moment and grabs the coffee, muttering a tired, automatic thanks and shuffles out the door.

the drink burns her tongue.

it tastes like ash, bitter and charred. it's disgusting, but she swallows it anyway. it's not meant for enjoyment, it's just what her survival looks like, just to get through the next few hours.

she rubs her eyes with the heel of her palm, exhaustion weighing her down. her legs feel like jello and her head is in a throbbing haze. she's not even sure if she'll make it to the hospital without collapsing on the curb.

her phone rings, the sound shrill and out of place in the quiet despair of morning. she glances at the screen.

"sakura-chan! what're ya up to?"

"heading to work."

"huh?! but today's your day off!"

"got called in to help tsunade-sama organize some more paperwork."

"WHAT! tell that old BAG 'day off' means day off! you should be in bed catching up on you're beauty sleep! at this rate you'll turn into a shriveled old hag like her!"

sakura rolls her eyes, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "it's just a few hours, naruto. i'll survive."

there's a long pause on the line.

"you're working too much, y'know." his voice low. then more like himself. "you're killing me sakura-chan! we haven't hung out in years. you're practically a ghost now."

she lets the smile linger, even if it didn't reach her eyes. "i saw you three days ago."

"a millennia, woman. i've been dying in isolation, eating my ramen all alone like a widower."

she bites back a yawn, amused despite herself. "things should calm down soon. we got some sunshine interns coming in."

"ugh, finally. maybe now you'll be able to breathe like a normal person. anyway, lemme know when you get off. bastard and i are gonna go watch kakashi-sensei fight tonight. you think you'll make it?"

her step falters.

right. the fight.

she'd forgotten and the worst part is she does want to go. kakashi hardly ever steps back into the ring anymore, but the thought of getting redressed and leaving the house again after another shift, it's just too much. her bed is already whispering to her, promising warmth and peace.

"...maybe," she murmurs.

"maybe? this is the fight of the century sakura-chan!"

she slows to a stop outside the hospital, her gaze catching the medic symbols etched into the glass. they blur under the weight of her stare. "i'll let you know later," she says quietly. "i gotta go."

"tell that old bag to kiss my ass!"

she ends the call, a smile on her lips. naruto always finds a way to make her happy, even though she feels like she's cracking.

all she wants right now is to collapse in the dark and forget she exists for a little while.

by the time she makes it to tsunade's office, the fluorescent lights have made her skull throb. the moment she sees her boss's desk, her breath catches.

it's not a desk, it's a disaster.

a haphazard mountain of papers teetering precariously in every direction, not a single inch of wood surface is visible. files, folders, envelopes, and receipts, it's chaos incarnate.

she stares, eyes wide. "what's all this?" her voice a mix of disbelief and dread.

tsunade leans back in her chair, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, the other lifting a half empty flask that catches the light with an oily glint. she takes a long swing.

"welcome to hell," she says dryly. "step right in."

sakura sinks into the chair across from her, limbs heavy and heart heavier. she scans the pile with exasperation as she picks up a hefty stack.

"nothing's organized. receipts, letters from the board, insurance bullshit, board meeting minutes— it's all here."

tsunade groans rubbing her forehead. "shizune couldn't have picked a better time to get knocked up and bail."

sakura doesn't flinch. she knows the sting in tsuande's words are just frustration.

the hospital's been understaffed for weeks, and shizune's maternity leave came at the worst time. still, sakura understands tsuande's irritated muttering all too well.

"i'm sorry to call you in," tsuande's mumbles. "you've been working nonstop. and by the look of thar godawful coffee and those bags under your eyes, you're probably operating on fumes."

sakura shrugs, sorting papers into piles. "it's fine, shishou."

tsunade grunts, and after another swig and another curse to genma's dick, she starts getting to work too.

the fall into a familiar rhythm, a quiet sorting, the occasional shuffle of papers, the sighs of two women past the point of burnout. the only sounds are clink of the flask, the scrape of files, and the low hum of hospital machinery through the thin walls.

the coffee sustains her for about two hours. after that, the crash hits hard.

it's dark when she finally steps out. the sun has long since slipped beneath the skyline and the city has taken on a half-lit look.

the desk had emerged from the sea of chaos and tsunade had waved her off to leave. she didn't hesitate.

now, standing at the hospital entrance, her eyes sting and her limbs buzz. her whole body feels like static.

she checks the time on her phone, three missed calls from naruto, one from sasuke.

she presses redial without thinking dragging her feet home.

"sakura-chan! did ya just get off?"

he's too loud. "mhm," she hums softly, words feeling too heavy in her mouth.

"yahoo! are you coming to the fight? i can swing by and pick you up!"

she stumbles down the sidewalk yawning, her legs numb. "i don't think i can," she mutters, barely above a whisper. "i'm going home to rot in my bed until tomorrow."

a beat of silence falls on the line.

"man... that sucks. are you safe walking home? you sound wiped."

she close her eyes for a moment, just long enough to imagine her bed. "i'm fine, naruto." she lies, voice detached. she feels likes she floating. "don't worry, naruto. kakashi-sensei will win."

"huh? we're talking about you!"

she hums vaguely in response, already drifting mentally. her eyes lift, gaze catching in a familiar storefront.

the coffee shop.

"text me when you get home so i know you made it, yeah? if you don't answer in an hour i'm gonna look for you and call the police and file a missing person report."

she should get another cup.

"goodnight, naruto."

"sakura-chan, wait-"

the door chimes softly as she steps inside. the shop feels barren compared to the morning rush she's used to.

she notices a new barista standing behind the counter and orders who usual cup of repugnant brew without even thinking.

her corner is empty and she sinks into it like muscle memory. the overhead light continues to flicker between dull and dim.

her mind drifts in and out, the weight of the day sinking into her bones. she stares at the table, steam curling up from her cup.

around her, the world continues. the soft clinks of cups, the low hums of conversations, the occasional hiss of the espresso machine— it all feels distant, like she's watching it unfold behind glass.

she takes a sip, the taste only further reminding her of everything she can't escape. but she drinks it anyway.

but then something shifts.

it's subtle at first, like a cold breeze brushing the nape of her neck. she glances up, and freezes.

across from her, a man sits, watching and staring. his presence was sharp and unsettling.

their eyes meet and he doesn't blink.

his gaze pins her in place, unflinching and clinical. she doesn't know if he was there this whole time, or if just now appeared, but he's real. she blinks once, twice— he's still there.

her body registers something before her mind can and a tightness constricts in her chest. she had the urge to move, but is too tired to even do that. so she watched him watch her.

the silence stretches until it warps.

and then he moves.

the scrape of his chair cuts through the muffled ambience like a knife. he shifts to her table and sits down without a word.

sakura rubs at her eyes, exhausted enough to question what's real. but when her mind focused, he was still there.

"uh... sorry?" she murmurs, voice hoarse. she doesn't know why she's apologizing.

and he doesn't respond. his gaze keeps steady on her, and then, he slowly reaches into his coat and sets a crisp business card down between them.

her brow furrows. she glances at it, then back to him.

the coffee shop reasserts itself, and the sound of machines humming and people talking pulls her out of his strange gravity.

"call me when you're well rested," he says.

his voice is low and smooth, much like his eerie aura.

"my name is sasori. i'd like us to meet again."

she blinks, struggling to string thoughts together. her mind kept skipping like a scratched disc. have they met before?

she drifts her gaze down to the card.

"give me your number," he adds. "you won't remember this conversation clearly. not in your state."

she hesitates. is this man asking her out? his phone is put into her hands, and without hesitation, her fingers move, typing out her number. he taps the screen and her phone buzzes quietly against the table.

"i'll call you later."

his eyes stay on her a moment longer, searching or maybe just observing. she can't tell.

she doesn't respond to him, rather, watches him as he stands and walks away, a smirk faint on his lips.

he leaves like a dream she doesn't fully understand. her fingers twitch against porcelain.

she needs more coffee.

Chapter Text

"dr. haruno, the patient in room 312 is asking for you again."

a nurse jogs up beside her, clipboard in hand and a tired, knowing smile on her lips. sakura doesn't break stride, only sighs loudly.

"i told him you were busy, but he insists."

"let me guess," she mutters. "he 'accidentally' unplugged his iv again?"

the nurse rolls her eyes. "yep."

sakura pinches the bridge of her nose. "alright, i'll go deal with him. but if he does it again i'm transferring him to another department."

"you say that every time." the nurse teases, peeling off towards the nurses station. "but we both know you're too nice."

sakura shakes her head, but doesn't argue. she flips through a file and heads down the corridor, her white coat billowing slightly as she pushes the door open to 312.

the patient, a young man with a sheepish grin and an arm wrapped in gauze, beams at her. "doc! fancy seeing you here."

"this is a hospital and i work here." her tone unimpressed. "why is your iv out again?"

he shrugs with exaggerated innocence. "i think it's broken. you should come a little closer and check it out?"

sakura crosses her arms, "i can see it just fine from here," she deadpans, crossing her arms.

"yeah, but i figured if you got closer, you'd realize i'm in dire need of attention. maybe you'd accidentally fall in love with me too."

she gives him a long, unimpressed stare. "you're about five seconds away from getting a sponge bath from nurse kabuto."

his grin falters. "you wouldn't."

"try me."

there's a beat of silence before he lifts his hands in surrender. "alright, alright! no more shenanigans." sakura sighs, shaking her head as she walks over and fixes the iv. "that's what i thought."

just as she secures the tubing, the door opens with a sharp click.

tsunade stands in the doorway, arms folded. "haruno. my office, now."

sakura straightens immediately. "yes, shishou."

tsunade's eyes flick to the patient. "by the way, any patient who intentionally tampers with medical equipment gets reported to orochimaru. expect a lovely visit, young man."

he visibly pales. "wait—senju-sama, I swear—"

but tsunade's already turning her heel, leaving the door open behind her.

sakura follows without another word, bracing herself for whatever storm is brewing next.

Just another day in the endless, fraying loop.

sakura stepped into tsunade's office, the door clicking shut behind her with an audible finality. the air was thick with the scent of paper, ink, and sake. a mess of files blanketed the desk, interrupted only by a half-finished report and tsunade's ever-present flask.

the woman barely looked up. she reached for the flask and twisted the cap with a sharp click.

"sit."

sakura obeyed, lowering herself into the worn leather seat across from her mentor. her fingers lace together in her lap, bracing for whatever is coming at her.

tsunade didn't strike immediately. instead, she sat in the moment of stillness, enjoying her drink.

the woman finally set the flask down.

"the interns from suna arrived this morning."

sakura blinked off guard. "oh. right. i thought they weren't due until—"

"they came early," tsunade cut in. "apparently, rasa wants them trained by 'only the best.'" her gaze landed like a stone. "so naturally, they'll be shadowing you."

sakura's spine stiffened. "shishou, i don't have the time—"

"they'll be taking your rounds," tsunade interrupted again, this time more casually. "your surgeries, your evaluations, your paperwork. everything."

sakura's mouth opened, then closed. "...you're reassigning my patients?"

"temporarily."

a slow dread sank into her gut. "for how long?"

tsunade leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers over her stomach. "a week. maybe more, maybe less. depending on how they adjust."

"that's a bad idea." her voice fast and erratic. "they don't know this hospital, they don't know the patients—"

"they'll be heavily supervised," tsunade said smoothly. "and frankly, most of them are just as qualified on paper as you were at their age. possibly more."

it wasn't meant to be cruel, but it landed hard.

sakura's throat tightened. "i don't need time off."

"i didn't say you needed it."

...

tsunade tilted her head, tone shifting into something vaguely amused. "but since you've forgotten how to sit still, i thought i'd remind you."

sakura looked down at her lap, fingers curling around the hem of her coat.

"besides," tsunade added, more gently now, "you've been logging sixteen-hour days for over a month. half the staff think you live in the icu vents."

her mind twists, hot panic blooming in the pit of her stomach. this can't be happening.

"i don't want to lose the best medic i've ever trained because she burned out and didn't notice until her brain stopped working." tsunade's voice dropped to a murmur. "even machines break down, sakura. you're not immune just because you're useful."

the silence stretched. neither of them looked directly at each other.

"take the days. that's not a suggestion."

sakura pressed her lips together, trying to find the fight in her, but all she could feel was the heaviness blooming behind her ribs. she nodded once.

"good," tsunade said, already reaching for another file. "now get out of my office before i actually start caring."

the hospital doors slid shut behind her with a mechanical hiss, sealing away the sterile scent of antiseptic and the fluorescent buzz. outside, the city exhaled around her, the restless hum of life moving on without her. cars whispered along rain-slicked streets, their headlights refracting in puddles that rippled beneath her tired feet. the sky stretched above her in a thick, oppressive shade of grey, as if the clouds themselves carried the weight of her exhaustion.

sakura rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the tension coiled deep in her muscles.

another long night.

another evening spent keeping people from the brink, her own needs forgotten in the process. even now, she can still feel the phantom weight of latex gloves clinging to her fingers, the rhythmic beeping of machines echoing in the back of her mind like a ghost of the hours she'd left behind.

rest. sleep. go home.

the words echoed, tsunade's voice firm and final.

it scared her.

she didn't know why it scared her so much. it was only a few days, but it felt like the floor had shifted beneath her. rest was supposed to be mercy, but it sounded like exile. her body ached for it, yes, but her mind recoiled. she didn't want silence.

she wanted purpose.

the soft glow of screens in the dark, someone calling her name over the intercom, the weight of urgency pressing down like gravity.

without that... what was left?

she looked up, barely registering the street signs. her thoughts spun like static.

what do i even do now?

the buzz of her phone pulled her out of the fog.
she fished it from her coat pocket, expecting naruto's or sasuke's name.

but an unfamiliar number glowed on the screen. no name. just a string of digits she didn't recognize.

her thumb hovered over end call, hesitation flaring in her chest like a warning.

"...hello?"

she answered anyway and for a moment, only silence greeted her.

"good evening."

the voice was low and measured. again, she didn't recognize it.

"this is sasori from the coffee shop. do you remember?"

she frowned, her mind shuffling through her blurred memories of the last few days.

and the finally, disheveled crimson hair and sharp golden eyes stare at her.

"i do," she said slowly, unsettled at the forgotten interaction.

a soft hum curled through the receiver. "i'd like us to meet again. if you're free."

her gut tightened. a weird stranger asking to see her again? she's watched way too many murder documentaries to blindly fall for this.

"i don't think—"

"did you read my card? the one i gave you."

sakura blinked. card?

her hand dipped into her bag, fingertips brushing against the small rectangular, smooth surface. she pulled it out surprised by the fine deep ink and thickness of the stock.

her eyes read the name twice before it finally absorbed.

AKASUNA
sasori,  owner

her breath hitches.

akasuna?
the akasuna?!

the name rang a distant bell, one she'd heard whispered in passing. ino swooned over leaked footage of new gowns with stars in her eyes. she heard his name tossed around at the salon and even in the nurses lounge. a designer supposedly exclusive and untouchable. the kind of clothes that cost more than tsunade's annual salary.

"are you free later?"

sakura stared at the card in disbelief. her voice wavered before it found its shape.

"i—yes, i'm free."

"tomorrow evening?"

she gnawed at her lip, is this really happening right now? "yes."

"meet me at shofu teahouse at six sharp. do  not  be late."

the line clicked off, and sakura remained rooted to the spot. the city pressed around her, the streetlights flickering on with the chill of mist in the air.

the warmth of her coat couldn't quite reach her and the walk home blurred like a thick smudge. even her own heartbeat felt distant.

it's like invisible strings had slipped around her, tugging her into something she didn't understand.

Chapter Text

naruto flopped down on kakashi's couch with a groan, arms flung behind his head. "man, it's been forever since we all hung out. doing absolutely nothing is officially the best! we're getting old."

across from him, sasuke sat slouched in the armchair, unimpressed. "sitting in our sensei's musty apartment isn't exactly thrilling."

"it's called relaxing, bastard," naruto shot back. "you should try it sometime."

"naruto," sakura sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "don't start."

"he started it!"

"hn," sasuke muttered. "i can leave."

"no, you can't," naruto snapped. "you just got here and we're spending quality time together because we love each other. don't be selfish."

sasuke scowled crossing his leg over the other. "dick."

"ass." naruto sticks his tongue out at him. 

sakura set cross-legged on kakashi's couch, the corner of her nail tracing idle circles against her knee. the apartment smelled faintly of old wood and burnt coffee, and the sound of endless chatter of two overgrown boys locked in eternal argument.

the scene was familiar and safe, but her mind was elsewhere.

her fingers brushed the business card in her pocket, the stiff weight of it like stone against her thigh. she agreed to meet him tonight, sasori of akasuna. why did he ask her of all people to meet? she'd never own anything of his. she didn't even know anyone who did.

a nudge to the shoulder shakes her back.

"sakura-chan?"

she blinked back to reality. "you're quiet. you should be yelling at us by now. what's going on?"

"work, mostly." she said quickly, forcing a smile. "i'm just tired."

sasuke's eyes narrowed. he didn't say anything, but she could feel his attention tightening around her like a snare. he always watched too closely.

and how was she supposed to explain something she barely understood herself.

"i was just thinking about my time off." she said finally.

naruto sat up, elbows on his knees. "psh. that's all you ever think about. this is a hospital-free, old-bag-free zone. you're not allowed to think about work here."

"she's thinking about a guy," sasuke said flatly.

naruto's head whipped around. "wait—what?! a GUY?! which guy? what guy?"

sakura groaned, dragging her hand down her face. "it's not like that."

"so there is a guy!" naruto leaned in, scandalized. "is he hot? is he from work? do we know him? are you finally dating someone?.. is he rich?"

sasuke muttered. "you've been around ino too much."

"shut up, teme, this is important!" naruto turned back to her, eyes wide. "you have to tell us."

"calm down." sakura pressed her fingers to her temple. "its just a business meeting."

naruto squints. "is he sketchy? 'cause if he is, i'll kick his ass! name the time and place and i'll be there!"

"no," she said throwing her head back. "he's not sketchy and you're not going to 'kick his ass'. it's fine, really."

sasuke leaned back, his head titled up, almost bored. "what's the meeting about?"

that's the real question isn't it? she didn't know either.

"maa... intruders."

kakashi stepped in, wearing a rumpled hoodie and sweatpants, keys jingling in one hand. his eyes scanned the room with theatrical disappointment. "did I miss the memo? is my apartment a community center now?"

"you left the door unlocked," sasuke replied unfazed. naruto nodded, kicking his feet up on the table. "yeah! what kind of responsible adult does that? what if real intruders showed up? you're lucky it's us, we're keeping your porn collection safe."

kakashi's gaze dropped to the coffee table. a war zone of empty soda cans, snack wrappers, and one of his magazines shamefully open to a questionable page.

he sighed. "should i be charging rent?"

"you wouldn't get much for this dump," sasuke muttered.

naruto clutched his heart in offense. "how dare you! this is home!"

kakashi took a long look at all of them and let out the weary exhale of a man who'd made peace with his poor life decisions.

"you love us," naruto said grinning.

"love is a strong word." kakashi mumbled, heading to the fridge.

his eyes flicked to sakura, twisting the cap off his water bottle. she hadn't moved much since he walked in and her are shoulders tense.

"what's up?"

her jaw tightens. is she looking too much into this or is she really that is easy to read?

"nothing much."

"hm."

sasuke, ever helpful, instigator number one, throws her under the bus. "she's meeting someone later."

naruto, the betrayal, leaned forward. "yeah, a guy."

kakashi's eyes narrow slightly. "ah." he screws the cap back on his expression unreadable. "what kind of meeting is this?" he asked.

sakura slumped against the back of the couch, her arms folded. "it's a business meeting."

"is it?" sasuke poked.

"it is," she snapped. "why is this such a big deal?"

naruto gestured wildly. "'cause you don't date."

"it's not a date."

kakashi dropped into the armchair beside naruto with a grunt, flipping lazily through one of his magazines.

sakura knew that look. he'd trained them all, and he knew when something smelled like trouble. and the way he was watching her now, it's clear he suspected she had walked into something troublesome.

she glanced down at her lap, her fingers curling to her knees. the card hidden in her pocket now felt like a secret she hadn't meant to keep.

they didn't need to know.

it's just a business meeting anyway.

it's late in the evening, and the tea house is nearly empty. the soft glow of paper lanterns casts flickering shadows across the wooden floor and the faint scent of jasmine and black tea lingers in the air.

sakura steps inside just before six, her coat pulled tightly around her. she scans the room, but it doesn't take long.

he's already watching her, after all.

sasori sits poised by the window, his crimson hair unmistakable even in the dim lighting. one hand rests on the table, fingers grazing the porcelain teacup, while the other holds his phone to his ear. his expression is flat, but his gaze is razor-sharp. she feels trapped under his scrutiny.

his voice is low, but distinct.

"if they want revisions, they should've given proper feedback the first time. i'm not fixing their incompetence."

the words send a shiver down her spine. his tone is final. uncompromising. he ends the call there and tosses the phone to the side.

now, his full attention lands on her.

it's unbearable, the way he looks at her. she's much more conscious than the day they first met, but even then, his piercing stare is unforgettable.

she approaches, steady despite the buzz of nerves beneath her skin. the air feels heavier the closer she gets, the heat feeling thicker. around them, the room folds quietly.

and when she reaches the table, he still hasn't looked away. she hoped this guy wasn't a sociopath.

his words, when they come, are soft but edged.

"good evening."

she dips her head slightly. "evening."

sakura meets his gaze, firm despite the crawl of nerves beneath her skin. this is the legendary sasori of akasuna, huh? this is man that everyone fawns over? he's definitely not what she expected from all the whispers.

the silence stretches between them and sasori makes no effort to break it. rather, he reaches for the teapot and lifts it pouring her a cup. the spilling of tea into porcelain fills her ears and he gestures to the chair across from him.

"sit."

there's no command to his tone, only certainty that she will. and she does, intrigued.

she smooths her coat and lowers herself into the seat, wrapping her hands lightly around the warm steaming cup.

"tell me about yourself," he says. "how you answer will tell me everything i need to know."

she tilts her head slightly, brows raised. "is that how you usually get to know people?"

"i don't usually bother." he leans back, fingers folding loosely on the table. "but i make exceptions."

she considers his words and studies him. his every move seemed so precise, mechanical, almost. "you don't strike me as someone who makes many of those."

"i don't." his lips twitch, a fraction of a smile. "tell me who you are."

she lets her breath out steady, eyes flicking down to the tea in front of her. "what if i said i'm just someone trying to figure out why you wanted this meeting?"

"then i'd say you're being careful," he says without hesitation. "but not honest."

she lets the silence stretch. there's a part of her that wants to let this man and his unnerving stare pass like the wind. but another part of her leans in, drawn by his mystique.

"i'm curious," she finally says. "is that honest enough?"

his expression changes, looking a little less threatening. "closer."

he doesn't let the pause linger. "you're here becuase i allowed it. now speak."

she bristles, but it fades as quickly as it comes. she regards him carefully and his irritable demeanor lands like a riddle. there's something relentless about the way he speaks, and yet, it doesn't seem like ego. this is the kind of person who doesn't ask for things, he just selects them.

"my name is sakura," she says evenly. "i'm currently working in emergency medicine. i watch surgical videos for fun and i have a pet cat named momo."

she meets his gaze, searching for a sign. "is that what you wanted to hear?"

he taps the table, his expression unchanging. "it's a start." she tilts her head, amused. "that wasn't enough for you?"

"no."

"i don't care what you do," he says. "i care what you are."

she blinks, startled by his words. "and what do you think i am? why am i here?"

he doesn't answer, not directly. his eyes flick over her face and body, cataloguing every feature, every microexpression, storing it for later.

"i think you have potential," he says finally.

sakura's brows pinch slightly, the warmth of her tea long forgotten in her hands. "i'm not sure i follow."

he studies her, chin tilting as the lantern light catches in his crimson hair. "perfection is rare," he says. "and i don't waste time on anything less.

he lifts his cup, sipping once before continuing. "most people hide, some can perform, but rarely can someone embody."

he dips close to her. "you inspire."

sakura's heart begins to thud a little faster. this man was off his rocker, and her gut is telling her to leave and pull away, but, she can't resist. she wants to hear what else he has to say.

"you may not see it, but you have the proportions and symmetry i'm looking for. i can mold you into something beautiful."

she's quiet a beat too long. "i'm sorry," she finally says, carefully. "but i don't think i'm... the right fit for that."

she doesn't quite understand.

his fingers tap lightly against the lacquered table, the rhythm almost meditative.

"i don't need someone to wear my art. i need someone who becomes it."

her fingers curl slightly around her cup, unsure of what to think. "and you think that's me?"

he leans forward, and she catches a faint trace of sandalwood. "i know it's you."

then, slowly, his hand drifts back to his teacup, a finger brushing its rim.

"i don't waste time, sakura. you can walk away if you want to. but it would be a waste." he looks at her now with reverence. "you spark something i haven't seen before. i could shape you into something timeless."

sakura remains still and uncertain. there's a weight in his words that's not just confidence, but conviction.

her breath catches. she doesn't speak, but he doesn't seem bothered.

"i don't choose muses lightly," he continues. "but i know what i see when it's in front of me. i only ask if you'll let me begin."

she grips the hem of her coat unconsciously. "what does that mean?" she asks, her voice quieter than she intended. "if i let you?"

sasori's lips move just slightly, a flicker of satisfaction of a result he long since predicted. "it means, you commit to becoming something greater with me guiding the process. you're raw material that i will sculpt."

he says it so plainly, like his phrasing isn't unsettling and dehumanizing. she should laugh and walk away, but the idea of being seen so intensely is confounding.

still, it's absurd. her diet consists of vending machine snacks and she falls asleep with a heating pad on her back. she's not a stranger to his work, she's definitely not akasuna material. what exactly does this guy see?

"i don't gamble," sasori says, watching her gears turn. "i don't invest in what won't yield results and i don't make mistakes."

she gnaws at her cheek. "what exactly would you expect from me?" she asks at last.

sasori considers her question for a moment.

"i want you to only wear what i create," he says, voice low. "every line, every stitch, will be tailored to you. built on you. you'd become the frame my work hangs on."

his eyes scan over her, already putting pieces together in his head to create his masterpiece.

she swallows. something about his expression has turned uneasy.

"i want to see if you're capable of evolving," he continues. "not into what people expect of you, but into what you were meant to be. there's nothing beautiful about the exhaustion carving into your face. that sterile job of yours, it drains you. i can breathe the life back into you... and keep it there forever."

there's something feverish in the way he stares now, quiet but undeniable.

sakura forces herself to lift her chin, though her stomach coils, tight "and if i say no".

his expression doesn't flicker "then i move on." there's no anger, no argument just the finality of a man who doesn't chase.

it should feel safe and transactional, but it doesn't. it feels like the ground beneath her has shaken and walls in tea house were closing in.

he watches her for a moment longer. then, "you already know the answer, sakura. so the only question is," his voice lowers into something dangerous. "how long will you wait to say it."

Chapter Text

morning light seeped through the window, spilling soft and golden across the rumpled sheets as her eyes flutter open. for a moment, she lay still, tangled in the fading remnants of a dream—his face hovering just beyond reach. those sharp eyes, the way his words had brushed against her like a promise and a threat all at once.

she closed her eyes again, willing herself to hold onto the warmth of that strange connection, the faint echo of his voice humming beneath the surface of her mind.

how long will you wait?

the question twisted in her chest, knotting tight with uncertainty and a pulse of something dangerously close to hope.

she rose slowly, the heating pad still warm against her back, anchoring her to the quiet morning. outside, the world began to stir, the distant chatter of neighbors heading to work, and birds weaving melodies into the sun's gentle rise.

but inside her, the conversation at the tea house played on an endless repeat. his words, how cold and precise they were, yet cut through her thoughts like threads of silk and steel.

a frame for my work, capable of evolving.

she poured water into the kettle, the simple ritual a comfort to her. her fingers trembled faintly as they reached for a worn cup, its rim chipped, and surface faded from years of use.

she traced the porcelain's edge, its jaded wear mirroring her own.

what would it mean to become something more? to shed the tired skin of her life and wear something more alive—something daring?

she remembered the flicker of satisfaction of his lips, the way he watched her as if she carried the potential to be something beautiful.

her phone buzzed, but she ignored it. she remained seated, hands cradling the warm cup, watching the steam curl and fade into the air.

she stepped onto the bustling street. the sun had climbed higher now and the city pulsed with its steady rhythm. the scent of fresh bread curled from a nearby bakery, weaving into the morning air.

but sakura moved through it all like a ghost.

her thoughts kept returning to him, to the weight behind his calm certainty.

i don't invest in what won't yield results.

did he truly see something worth shaping in her? or was he just a madman drawn to her vulnerability?

she passed a fabric shop, its windows alive with vibrant bolts of silk and satin, gleaming under the sun's gaze. for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself a fragile daydream draped in silk instead of scrubs, adorned in color and life instead of the drab everyday.

the thought stirred something raw inside her, a mingling of thrill and unease, hope and fear. it was a whisper of possibility she hadn't dared to hear until now, both intoxicating and terrifying.

but a soft pang of doubt settled deep in her chest, an ache that had nothing to do with fatigue but everything to do with the weight pressing down on her. she was so tired—tired in a way that seeped heavily into her bones, draining every last drop of color from her days. her job, despite fighting tooth and nail to get there, felt hollow.

every shift left her feeling smaller and muted, swallowed and chewed up by an indifferent crowd despite how fiercely she fought to be heard.

and yet, beneath the exhaustion, sasori's certainty lingered sharp like an unspoken promise.

was she ready to risk everything—the safety of the familiar, the dull security of her existence—all for the chance to feel something real, something alive? to step into a desire that demanded more of her than her reality?

her phone buzzed again, snapping through the haze. she glanced down, heart hitching as sasuke's name lit up the screen.

> hey.
> how was your meeting?

she stared at the screen, fingers frozen above the keys, suspended between the urge to speak and the instinct to run.

how could she explain that a man, someone whose mere presence unsettled her, had seen past the exhaustion, the monotony, the carefully constructed walls? that he had sketched out a vision of a future so foreign it terrified her, yet whispered to a part of her she buried long ago? a future she wasn't sure she wanted, but couldn't stop imagining?

instead, her fingers moved of their own accord, typing the safe, simple reply.

good. thanks for checking. <

the day blurred around her, a whirlwind of mindless errands and brooding, but sasori's voice stayed with her, lingered low and unyielding all throughout the day.

how long will you wait to say it?

as she moved through the aisles grabbing groceries, her eyes caught her reflection in the mirrored window once more.

tired eyes stared back at her, rimmed with shadows of sleepless nights and battles fought quietly within.

but beneath the weariness, something new shimmered to the surface. a fragile flicker of possibility daring her to stop running.

the world outside her window lay quiet, draped in shadows and softened by the steady pulse of night. the hum of distant traffic and the occasional rustle of leaves were the only sounds accompanying the silence of her small room. the moonlight spilled a silver glow, washing her bed in a pale light as she lay beneath the thin sheets, the weight of the day finally pressing down on her.

but rest was elusive. after she arrived home, a restless energy pulsed around her, refusing to be tamed. she found herself rearranging the spice rack meticulously, wiping down the counters until they shined, and fluffing the couch pillows four times over, each action a fragile attempt to impose order on the chaotic whirl inside her mind.

yet, no matter how many small rituals she repeated, calm remained just beyond reach.

her phone rested lightly in her hands, its cold screen flickering faintly in the dark. she stared at it, thumb hovering just above the call button. the urge to reach out had been growing, an aching burn that throbbed in her chest, no longer willing to be ignored.

time seemed to stretch between heartbeats. her breath hitched, caught between hesitation and resolve. the careful walls she'd built, the doubts, the fears—trembling now, fragile cracks spreading where light seeped in.

her fingers shook before they moved, dialing the number she had memorized yet never called.

the line rang once, twice. then before the third tone faded, his voice came through calm and measured just as it was last night.

"i've been waiting, sakura."

Chapter Text

the address led sakura to an unmarked building in the heart of the akatsuki district, where the streets were quieter than they had any right to be.

its exterior unremarkable save for the polished brass door handle that caught the late afternoon sun. she hesitated before knocking, her reflection distorted in the darkened glass.

three soft knocks later, the door opens without a sound.

"you're exactly on time," sasori said, his voice moderate but carrying an undercurrent of approval. sakura stepped inside, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the dimly lit studio. "i didn't want to keep you waiting."

"few things test my patience like punctuality," he replied, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

he led her through a narrow hallway into a vast, open studio space. floor-to-ceiling windows dominated one wall, their blinds partially drawn to create strips of golden light across the concrete floor. the space was immaculate—tools arranged with surgical precision on long tables, fabrics organized by color and texture, sketches pinned to boards in perfect alignment.

but it was the mannequins that caught her breath. they lined the perimeter of the room—dozens of them standing in silent observation. unlike the featureless forms in department stores, these possessed an unsettling humanity. detailed faces with glass eyes that seemed to follow her movement. fingers positioned in delicate gestures. preserved in their prime, as though they'd been caught mid-breath and turned to glass.

"do you like them?" sasori asked, noticing her fixed gaze. "i make them myself. the commercial ones lack... authenticity."

"they're remarkably lifelike," sakura managed, unable to look away from a blonde mannequin whose eyes seemed to hold particular sadness.

"that's the highest compliment." sasori's lips curved upward slightly. "please, come to the center. we'll begin your measurements."

in the middle of the room stood a raised circular platform surrounded by mirrors. sakura reluctantly tore her gaze from the mannequins and stepped onto it. her reflection multiplied around her, each showing a different angle.

"i'll need you to remove your clothes," sasori said, retrieving a cloth measuring tape from a nearby table.

sakura hesitated, "a-all of them?" he rummaged through his desk seemingly unfazed. "i'd prefer to work with a blank canvas," he said. "but if your modesty demands it, keep what you must."

she thought for a moment, her fingers twitching at the hem of her blouse. he wasn't leering. his request was detached, just as she might ask a patient to disrobe before a scan. but somehow, standing naked under his scrutiny, she felt exposed in ways no hospital gown ever had.

she tries to justify it. this is just a standard examination. treat it as such. her eyes fall to the floor and she draped her blouse and skirt over a nearby chair, keeping her undergarments on, left feeling a little self conscious.

"have you modeled before?" he asked, approaching the platform.

"no," she admitted. "i'm usually on the other side of the examination."

he hums, pleased. "perfect. unindoctrinated by industry habits." sasori circled her slowly, his eyes methodically cataloging every detail. "i prefer to work with raw material."

he stepped onto the platform with her, standing so close she could detect the same scent from the tea house, sandalwood, but something else, something chemical that she couldn't identify.

without asking, he took her wrist, turning her arm to expose the pale underside.

"remarkable," he murmured, his thumb pressing gently against her pulse point. "the blue of your veins against this particular tone of skin..." he removed a small notebook from his pocket, jotting something down.

"should i... stand a certain way?" sakura asked, trying to mask her discomfort.

"be natural," he replied, though his tone suggested an instruction rather than a request. "i need to see you as you are."

he began with standard measurements—shoulders, bust, waist, hips—but his process soon deviated from what sakura had expected. he measured the circumference of her throat, the distance between her eyes, the length of her fingers, the angle of her collarbones. each measurement was recorded with meticulous precision.

"your bone structure is exceptional," he said, kneeling to measure the circumference of her ankle. sasori stood suddenly, his face too close to hers. he reached up without warning, touching her hair. "this color, it's natural, yes?"

"yes."

"extraordinary. i've never seen a natural shade like this. and these eyes..." he tilted her chin upward with one finger, studying her face with such intensity that sakura had to resist the urge to step back. "you're unlike anyone i've ever seen."
as he walked away, she heard him mumble something about a "spring anomaly."

he retrieved a small device from his workstation—a colorimeter, she realized—and held it near her temple.

the measurement process continued for over an hour. sasori worked in silence, occasionally asking her to turn, lift an arm, or tilt her head. his touch was clinical yet somehow intimate—each contact brief but deliberate.

as he worked, sakura's gaze kept returning to the mannequins. under the shifting light, some appeared to change expression—a trick of the shadows, surely.

"that one," she said, nodding toward a mannequin dressed in a midnight blue gown. "she looks familiar."

sasori followed her gaze, his expression unreadable. "konan. she walked my winter collection three years ago."

"she doesn't any more?"

a shadow flickered across his face. "she retired. moved overseas, got married i believe." he returned to measuring the width of sakura's shoulders. "models have such transient careers. here, then gone."

sakura keeps her observing gaze strong, "but the moment remains."

sasori's stoney face cracks a smile. "precisely. beauty should be preserved, immortalized before it fades."

he circled behind her, his voice close to her ear. "hold still." his cold fingers traced the line of her spine, counting vertebrae. "perfect alignment."

sakura swallowed, suddenly wondering if her job will displease him. "i'm back on schedule in a week at the hospital. does this hindrance anything?"

sasori scribbled a few notes, his voice quiet. "your talents are wasted there," he says with a flat finality tinged in bitterness. "but, if you insist to stay in that mausoleum of mediocrity, i will let you know ahead of time what i expect of you."

his words felt heavy in her stomach. he stepped back, consulting his notes. "one last thing." from a drawer, he removed what appeared to be a small lancet, similar to those used for blood glucose testing.

"your pardon," he said, reaching for her hand. "i need a color sample to ensure perfect matching for the fabrics against your skin."

sakura blinked. "a sample?"

but before he could explain, he pressed the lancet against her fingertip. a sharp prick, then a small sphere of blood welled up, vibrant against her pale skin.

"perfect," he whispered, transferring the droplet to a small glass slide.

sakura inhaled sharply, more from surprise than pain. "that's... very thorough of you." sasori, carefully stores the sample. "i leave nothing to approximation."

he offered her a tissue for her finger, then stepped back, surveying her with evident satisfaction. "we're finished for today. i'll begin drafting immediately."

she puts her clothes back on and attempts to reel in everything that's happened. her cheeks are tinged pink and her heart still thumps erratically.

he escorted her back toward the entrance, sakura paused to look at the mannequins once more. in the fading light, their glass eyes gleamed an emotion she didn't know an inanimate object could project. sasori was an artist who truly captures the moment leaving behind a bittersweet memory.

he opened the door, the outside world seeming strangely distant after the cocoon of his cool, dark studio. "i'll let you know when i need you."

his hand brushed hers as she passed through the doorway. the intensity of his gaze made her stomach tighten—fear or excitement, she couldn't tell which.

"until next time," he said softly, already beginning to close the door.

"next time," sakura echoed, unable to shake the feeling that she had just committed to something far beyond a fashion collaboration.

as she walked away, she could feel eyes following her—whether sasori's or those of his unnervingly human mannequins, she couldn't be sure.

she walked away from the studio with quickened steps, her heart beating a rhythm unfamiliar to her. the crisp evening air felt sharp against her flushed cheeks. she paused at the corner, glancing back at the unmarked building—its windows now dark save for a single light in what she presumed was the workroom.

she couldn't remember the last time someone had looked at her—truly looked at her—the way sasori had. his eyes had traced every curve, every line of her body with an intensity that should have frightened her. perhaps it had. but there was something else there too, something that made her skin tingle with awareness. for years, she had moved through the hospital and school halls like a ghost, her presence acknowledged only when needed, her expertise valued but her person overlooked.

but in his studio, under his gaze, she had felt real.

the memory of his fingers measuring her wrist sent an unexpected shiver down her spine. clinical, yes, but there had been reverence in his touch. as if he recognized something in her that she herself had forgotten was there.

she pulled her phone from her pocket, briefly illuminating the darkening street. three missed calls. she hesitated only a moment before silencing the device and slipping it back into her purse. let them wait. for once in her life, sakura haruno was choosing herself.

with one last glance at the studio, she turned and walked toward home, unaware of the brewing left from behind carefully adjusted blinds.

sasori stood at the window until sakura disappeared around the corner, her distinctive pink hair catching the last light of day before vanishing from sight. only then did he allow the smile that had been threatening to fully claim his features.

perfect.

beyond perfect.

he turned back to his workshop, his steps light with purpose as he moved to the center of the room. the measurements and samples were already laid out on his worktable, organized with mathematical precision. he picked up the glass slide bearing her blood sample, holding it to the light.

"such vibrance," he murmured to himself. "even at a cellular level."

his gaze drifted to the mannequins surrounding his workspace. each one a masterpiece of craftsmanship—his own designs, painstakingly created to mimic human form with unprecedented accuracy. the glass eyes, the carefully molded features, the posture and proportion—all perfect simulations of life. he had pushed the boundaries of what materials could achieve, creating mannequins so realistic that customers often stepped back in momentary shock when they realized what they were looking at.

but they were still just that—simulations. artificial. no matter how precise his work, no matter how lifelike his creations appeared, they remained mere approximations of human beauty.

until now.

he placed the slide carefully in a specialized scanner, one of many custom tools he had developed over the years. as the machine hummed to life, he moved to his sketchpad, fingers already translating vision to paper with practiced speed.

"you'll be the first," he whispered, sketching the curve of sakura's neck from memory. "the pinnacle of my art, my radiant marionette."

for years, he had perfected his techniques on conventional materials—wood, resin, specialized polymers. each mannequin more realistic than the last, each one bringing him closer to his ultimate vision. but there had always been something missing—that ineffable quality that separated the simulacrum from the real.

with sakura, he would finally cross that threshold. his art would transcend simulation and enter the realm of true preservation. not a copy, but the original—perfectly maintained for eternity.

the scanner beeped, analysis complete. the chemical composition of her blood displayed on the screen.

he has work to do.

Chapter Text

the hospital smelled sharper after a week away. antiseptic bit at her nose, metallic and clean in a way that made her tongue taste steel. beneath it lingered the thin, sterile ghost of rubbing alcohol, clinging like a second skin to every tiled corridor, whispering of wounds unseen and weariness carried too long.

overhead, the fluorescent lights hummed in their cages. their pale, cold glow too bright for her eyes, yet somehow unable to reach the shadows gathering in the corner walls. it needled at the edges of her thoughts, prickling at the places she had tried so hard to quiet during her time away.

her steps slipped into the old rhythms out of habit, but her body lagged behind the muscle memory. she moved as if wading through deep water, each step heavier than it should have been.

the stale air pressed against her skin like a weight, tugging at her shoulders until they bunched up beneath her coat. that familiar nameless tension, the way it came when something was wrong but too elusive to name.

every beeping monitor, every hurried footstep squeaking in the hall, scraped faintly against the inside of her mind. noise woven into the very breath of the building—it was all too familiar, yet it no longer fit around her like it used to.

her fingers tightened around the clipboard, knuckles paling until the paper crinkled under the pressure.

there's charts to check. iv lines to replace. orders to give. the invocation unfurled in her head and she clung to it like a lifeline.

if she kept moving, she wouldn't have to notice the quickened thrum of her pulse or the way the silence between sounds seemed to buzz louder than the noise itself.

she turned the corner toward the nurse's station, where the suna interns—her replacements for the week—clustered together murmuring amongst themselves. their voices were low, pitched in the polite, uncertain tones of newcomers who didn't yet know how far their words might carry in these halls.

they looked up when she approached, bright-eyed, tentative, their movements marked by that mixture of eagerness and hesitation she'd once had herself.

over the past couple of days, she'd memorized their names: kankuro, who asked many questions; isha, who was steady but slow; and maru, who didn't speak much but had a precise, surgical steadiness to his hands.

they respected her and she smiled when their eyes met hers. she'd corrected the angle of a scalpel in kankuro's grip, showed isha the trick of flattening gauze against skin without tugging at the wound, and adjusted maru's suturing technique, her fingers brushing over his briefly to set the rhythm.

outwardly, she was everything she was supposed to be—calm, competent, the kind of senior medic who invited questions and made the chaos of the ward feel navigable.

inside, she was somewhere else entirely.

every pause in conversation became an opening for her mind to slip towards him. every flicker in the fluorescent lights gave shape to his ghost.

the memory of his voice followed her like an echo she couldn't shut out. it was soft as sand slipping through her fingers, each word weighted with something unspoken, tugging at her heart's edges.

her week away of rest hadn't felt like rest at all. she wandered through the streets, brewed new tea flavors, cleaned obsessively, tried to read, but every breath had been measured against the thought of him.

she was waiting. waiting for something to happen. waiting for him to move again. waiting for the next inevitable step she knew was coming, though she couldn't name it aloud without tasting the sour bitterness of betrayal on her tongue.

even now, moving between charts and trays, she felt it—a restless, uneasy awareness prickling beneath her skin.

those "restful" nights were anything but. there were nights she woke convinced she could smell sandalwood lingering in the darkness. she'd lie there, staring at the ceiling, heart thrumming in her throat, certain that if she moved, the scent would vanish like a half-remembered dream.

and now, here she was, wearing her medic's coat like armor, while every vein under her skin pulsed and burned with the memory of his presence.

"haruno-sensei," kankuro called, dragging her up from somewhere dangerously far away.

he stood a few steps off, holding an anatomy chart upside-down, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

had her mind been elsewhere, she would have found it endearing, rather, she crossed to him and flipped his chart without a word.

he nodded, muttering a quick thanks.

she moved on to the next bed, but her hands weren't steady the way they usually were. a roll of gauze slipped from her fingers and bounced against the floor. and later, a pen rolled away from her grasp before she could jot down a note.

no one seemed to notice. harmless mistakes. but every slip landed like another chip in her control.

the thought returned, sharper this time, utterly impossible to ignore.

she could just leave.

not for another hospital, not for some higher purpose. just leave. strip off the coat, let it fall in the hall, walk out the doors into the rain, and keep going until she found him.

sasori had never promised her safety. he never promised her love. and yet, there was something in the way he looked at her, that cool steady regard that said she was already his. that every action, every breath, every drop of blood was his if he wanted it.

that kind of certainty wasn't tender or gentle. it was dangerous.

and she was starting to crave it.

the ward felt smaller with every step—machines crowding the corners, the low beeps stacking over one another until they pressed against the inside of her skull. her coat clung damp to the back of her neck, just itching to rip it off.

the day blurred—check-ins, sutures, the measured routine of another days work at the hospital.

in the lounge, the interns and nurses laughed softly over coffee. she sipped hers, bitter and lukewarm, nodding and smiling at their stories without hearing them at all.

her thoughts kept straying past the bleached walls somewhere to a dim studio where he might be working alone, bending the world to his will.

by the late evening, her coat felt heavy on her shoulders, the lights buzzing too bright, and the air too thin.

she drifted into the supply room and stood there, fingertips resting on the cool edge of a drawer she hadn't opened.

it would be so easy.

no grand gesture, no announcement—just gone. take nothing and let the hospital belong to someone else. suna made sure they had plenty of medics now—those eager interns would adapt quickly. she wasn't irreplaceable, the world would keep turning without her.

she shut her eyes and behind her lids, she saw him. his golden glare assessed every inch of her. his cold fingers, gentle in grip but precise in certainty.

her nails dug deep into her palm until the sting pulled her back—barely.

"haruno-sensei?" maru's voice came from the doorway. "they need you in room twelve."

she opened her eye to the fluorescent hum pressing in around her. "thank you," she said, following him out.

the corridor was alive with the clatter of carts and bustling footsteps on polished tile. a faint groan of recovering patients filled her ears.

her jaw tightened as every sound, every breath reminded her of everything she swore to protect.

and yet...

in her mind, she was already in his hands—her heart steady and warm beneath his touch.

she walked toward room twelve, the noise of the ward pressing in on all sides.

each step felt less like returning to her work and more like walking toward him.

beneath the weight of shadows, the air clung thick with sawdust, varnish, and the faint metallic bite of his blade.

the lone lamp swayed above, its golden light cascading over his twitching hands. the knife carved jagged lines into raw wood, each curl of shavings falling like a whispered curse, each scrape a confession of madness dragged from his ribcage.

his eyes, unblinking, rimmed in red, burned with the ache of obsession. haunted by the fragile, distant memory of her.

around him, dozens of wooden forms sat like mute sentinels, pale echoes lined in dust. each was an imitation that failed in the final breath, a curve too stiff, a gaze too hollow, lips too bloodless. none of them carried the spark that lived in her. they stared back with vacant cruelty, as though mocking the trembling hands that had made them.

"not right," he muttered, voice frayed, the chant swallowed by the rasp of the knife.

"not right—not right—"

the wood resisted him, stubborn, as though it knew he was unworthy to hold her shape. his pulse spiked. the blade slipped, biting into the cheek of his newest creation, shattering the delicate jawline he had labored over for hours.

a curse tore from him, raw and ragged.

he pressed his palms hard against his face, nails digging into his flesh until he felt heat bloom under his fingertips.

"why can't i catch you?" the words bled out between clenched teeth.

"why won't you stay still long enough for me to keep you?"

madness surged beneath his skin—feral, relentless. it clawed upward, scraping along the inside of his throat. the dolls seemed to lean toward him in the flickering light, their empty eyes catching the gold and holding it like some silent accusation.

he seized another block of wood.

it's cold and heavy weight louder than the silence.

the knife moved faster this time, urgent and reckless, as though speed might trap the vision before it dissolved again. he carved deep, letting splinters cut his fingertips, letting the fever drive him.

the workshop drank in the sound of his breathing, slice of steel, the frantic rasp of shaking what refused to be born.

and still—

her face stayed just beyond the blade.

Chapter Text

the day was loosening its grip on the sky, thick clouds unraveling into colorful swirls. through the open window, golden light spilled across her bed, glinting against the folds of her quilt where she lay half-curled underneath. her cheek rested against the pillow, eyes half-lidded, watching the last of the sun melt across the rooftops, turning the city into a molten orange.

the air was cool, threaded with the faint perfume of blooming night jasmine drifting from the street below. the city's pulse weakened beyond the distant chatter and hushed wheels on pavement, softened like layers of silk until the city itself stilled in a muffled breath.

she didn't move.

the quilt's weight held her in place, a gentle anchor in the drifting current of the late evening. above, the sky ripened to a faint pewter deepening slowly into a smoky slate. street lights flickered awake one by one, their glow wavering in the autumn breeze.

her emerald eyes were heavy with conflict, but the ease of the pills carried all weariness away as dusk ascended. her thoughts loosened, unspooling into formless shapes without his crippling razored edge.

the day had stretched too far, each hour unraveling slow and merciless, her thoughts knotted tightly around him. she wasn't sleepless so much as worn thin, tired of circling his words and piercing glare, the overbearing weight he left in her head.

when she came home, just before the light began its descent, her gaze drifted to the small plastic bottle gathering dust, waiting on her nightstand. she didn't reach for it often, never thoughtless, but sometimes the balance tipped between the demands of her work, the hush of her apartment, and now the specter of him that clung like a disease.

two pale tablets dissolved bitter on her tongue, chased with a swallow of sake that caught the sun's fading gold.

and now, wrapped in the warmth of her bed, she lay adrift, lighter than a breath.

the glow in the streets below blurred into twinkling stars and the city's shadows drifted lazily between walls and alleyways. even the church bell in the distance sounded less like iron striking air than a ripple across water, fading before her, dissolving into the quiet.

somewhere beyond the stillness of her room, the world turned, and the night slipped in without notice.

and here, suspended in the dark, she floated.

a soft rain tapped against the tall windows of the studio, a steady percussion threading through silence. droplets of rain traced lazy rivulets down the glass, blurring the world outside into smeared and shifting shadows. the storm was patient and persistent, an echo of the quiet madness swelling within.

sasori sat slumped in the corner, his gaze fixed on the figure looming in the center of the room. the rain's rhythm beat faintly in the distance, drowned beneath the furious pounding of his own rage.

the mannequin waited in the dim glow, measured with painstaking precision, every curve carved from memory, every angle calculated into being. from the delicate slope of her shoulders to the graceful arch of her spine, no detail had been left untouched by his knife. her skin was painted, kissed with subtle veins and faint blushes, the grain hidden beneath layers of color, cold and impossibly smooth beneath the glaring light.

and yet, she remained silent.

he rose, steps dragging, circling her like a predator denied its prey. the green glass of her eyes caught the golden light, glittering with a cruel approximation. no matter how exact he got the hue, he could never replicate the true fire and depth of the oceanic will of her gaze.

the hollow stillness accused him, and he reached out, fingers trembling, hovering inches from her, aching to coax warmth into that frozen glass. her void sliced through him, unblinking, and he felt mocked by their silence.

still wrong.

he jerked back, teeth clenched, and resumed his orbit. his stare flicked across her again and again, restless, each sweep of his scrutiny frantic and unable to land. perfection was there, hovering just at the edge of reach, so close—dissolving at his fingertips.

his lips pressed tight into a hard line.

the hair betrayed him most cruelly. strands of silk, dyed by his own hands, hung limp against her carved head, a pale echo of that impossible pink, flat and soulless beneath the glare of his light.

insulting.

sakura's hair had shimmered like sunlight through a rose petal, fragile and alive in a way no material could trap. to replicate was a torment and to fail was unforgivable and humiliating.

his fingers twitched, the urge rising violently—tear it out, rip it apart, begin again. break it until it yields. breathe even a ghost of life into these cold strands.

the walls pressed in closer. his breath hitched, shallow and frantic, vision trembling at the edges. her stillness needled him—radiated raw contempt. she stood as a shrine to his failure, a hollow monument to everything beyond his grasp.

why aren't you alive? the thought tore through him like a deafening shrill.

his nails dug into his skin, pressing hard at his ribs as if to carve out the ache rotting from within. his body burned and throbbed, a savage hunger clawing, burrowing deeper, twisting tighter inside with every passing second.

memory blurred with fantasy, longing warped into torment.

it wasn't enough.

a tremor seized his hands, spread through his arms until his entire body shook. he staggered back to the shadows of his corner, teeth clenched against the rising storm brewing inside him.

the doll was just that—nothing.

a corpse of an idea.

he would begin again. carve deeper, paint truer, hunt perfection until his fingers bled and his soul wept.

because this cold imitation was not enough.

not nearly enough.

the storm raged.

shadows fractured with each shudder of lighting, stretching, twisting, breaking apart only to reform again. his silhouette loomed restless and vast against the walls.

his breath dragged uneven in his chest. her name slipped through his gritted teeth relentlessly.

sakura.
sakura.
sakura.

the mantra filled the room, curling up into the rafters, tangling with the storm.

his fist slammed into the mannequin's face. paint cracked beneath his knuckles, but the wood held fast. the jolt rattled up his arm, biting into the bone. he struck again, and again, skin split open across the ridges of his hand, blood smearing into the painted blush of her cheek.

still, she stared through him, glass eyes unblinking, cold and depthless.

his breath hitched. he seized her by the shoulders, shaking her, the smooth grain of her shoulders under his grip. he wanted her to break, to answer him. instead, the weight of her frame dragged heavy in his grasp, immovable. with a snarl, he hurled her down. the body thudded against the floor.

not enough.

he dragged her up, and slammed her again. the head knocked back, jaw splintering faintly. he ripped fistfuls of that disgraced lifeless hair, scattering dyed threads across the floor.

his bleeding fingers dug into her sockets, pressing harder until the glass popped loose, clattering across the concrete. her empty gaze vanished, and what remained was somehow worse.

a wail ripped from his throat.

he pressed his forehead to hers, breath shaking, fury collapsing into broken desperation. his fist pounded against her chest, the solid thud echoing back like ridicule.

the room spun with his rage. collapsed on top of her, he heaved. splinters bit into his skin where his fists had broken, blood streaked her ivory painted limbs. his hands trembled on her chest, slick and useless.

he bowed forward, shaking, his voice hoarse and breaking as her name spilled from his lips like a prayer. his palms tightened into fists, blood dripping between his clenched fingers.

crimson seeped into her while the studio reeled around him, his vision blurring.

thunder cracked so violently around his ears it rattled the inside of his bones. he squeezed his eyes shut and when he opened them—

the storm outside thinned into a whisper. rain brushed gently against her window, soft as a breath.

her bed glowed from the faint wash of street lamps outside, a dim spotlight cast upon her. she slept soundly, lashes fluttering against her cheek, lips parted in fragile surrender.

and he was there.

kneeling at her side, his shadow bending across her sleeping, breathing form. his hand, bloodied and shaking, reached for her face. a fingertip brushed over her skin. warmth bloomed against him— devastatingly alive.

his breath hitched as he traced the curve of her cheekbone—so fragile, inimitable.

"sakura..." his voice cracked, unworthy.

her lips moved faintly. lashes flickered, and emerald torches blinked up at him, hazy and luminous. for one impossibly long heartbeat, the storm vanished, silence folding them in unbearable intimacy. his pale face hovered above hers, stripped raw, unguarded, and defenseless.

he looked pained until she blinked—

the room was empty.

and he was gone.

the darkness surrounded her, silence pulsing with her racing heart.

her shaky hand rose to her cheek. his cool touch lingered.

she lay dazed listening to the soft patters of rain, the echo of him remaining.