#quick add

[. . .]

Sasuke peeks into Sakura’s room before gingerly stepping inside, glad to note that the space is not as girly as he assumed it would be. He was preparing himself for pink tunics and other female clothing strewn around and, perhaps, a bed covered with dolls and plush toys. Other than a rose-coloured comforter on the bed, it’s rather plain and neat.

There are pictures on the walls – mostly landscapes – and, of course, her copy of their team photo sitting on her desk. Her largest piece of furniture is a sturdy bookshelf which, he notes with some surprise, is full of the same assortment of shinobi manuals and classic literature that he has in his own library at home.

Don’t know why that’s surprising, the voice in his head grumbles. He’s already acknowledged that Sakura’s smart; it’s just that he imagined she spent her free time reading more fashion magazines and romance novels. There are a few of the former, but not in the amount he expected.

It’s while he inspects the bathroom (and thank the gods for small mercies, it’s an en suite!) that his eyes begin to twitch at the sheer number of bottles and products lining the sink. There are even more containers stuffed into the cabinets, blaring puzzling name at him – primer, toner, foundation, volumizer, dry shampoo –

What the hell is ‘dry’ shampoo?  Sasuke wonders, picking up the canister and depressing the button – and then coughing spastically at the cloud of aerosol that fills his lungs. He tosses it back into the cupboard. Poison, obviously…

It seems Sakura’s otherwise neat nature utterly fails when it comes to toiletries.

Eventually, he finds a few familiar items – a toothbrush, soap, and a washcloth – among the sea of bizarre girl-products.

At least, I know what to do with this, he thinks in relief, before glancing at himself in the mirror. Sakura’s face looks back at him, a familiar, apprehensive expression on her face. Except it’s him making it. He scowls, which makes her nose scrunch up and her freckles seem more pronounced than usual, and then takes a deep breath.

“Might as well get this over with,” he tells his reflection, wincing at the voice that isn’t his and turning on the faucet.

A beat later, while brushing Sakura’s teeth, he has a sudden burst of inspiration, and decides to switch off the light. There’s no window in here, and he can no longer see in the dark. It makes things a little better – there’s no chance of seeing any part of Sakura that she wouldn’t want him to see, and body-swap or not, he has enough awareness of his limbs to clean them without looking at them.

Trying not to accidentally brush any unfamiliar part of his body as he moves, he pulls off the grubby tunic and shorts and tosses them into what he assumes is the laundry hamper nearby. For a moment, he considers dealing with the underclothes as well, but shies away when it comes to the bra.

Tomorrow, he tells himself firmly, feeling on the counter for the washcloth and running it under the water.

He settles on a cursory wash, scrubbing away two days’ worth of dirt and grime as best he can with a cloth. Hands, feet, neck, elbows, knees, ears – any visible part of him.

Everything except for those areas.

Because he’s just not mentally ready to tackle that particularly disturbing experience today. Maybe after a good night’s sleep, after the shock wears off and he can think about things more…detachedly.

Satisfied, he leaves the bathroom – still not looking at the mirror there and managing to avoid the one in the bedroom, too – and begins to rummage around in Sakura’s wardrobe. He quickly shuts the first opened drawer, red-faced at the contents there, but the second one yields what appears to be mostly pajamas. Selecting the least feminine items within, he pulls on a light green t-shirt and shorts over Sakura’s underclothes, and spreads her comforter out on her bed. Once the wrinkles are obsessively straightened out, he closes the curtains and dutifully climbs beneath the blanket.

Resting his head on the pillow – her pillow – he stares blankly up at the ceiling. Something tells him sleep is a long way off.

I’m in Sakura’s bed, he thinks, gazing at the shadows cast across the ceiling.

He finds himself fighting the urge to burst into manic laughter.