#sunathread

A  flush  finds  its  way  across  his  face.   He's  been  told  that  many  times  throughout  his  life,  mostly  from  fair-weather  friends  after  a  mission  that  went  well.    Live  a  little,  Baki  !    But  he  didn't  need  to  flop  on  top  of  someone  else  to  feel  alive,  the  blood  on  his  knuckles  already  did  that  for  him.     It  was  just  the  shock  of  hearing  it  come  from     …     his  ‘former’  student,  if  they  were  ever  truly  his  students.   His  back  keeps  turned  and  stiff  as  he  files  through  the  same  drawer  he's  been  working  at  for  almost  a  minute  and  a  half.     “I  don't     …     ”    He  starts,  but  clamps  his  mouth  shut  before  the  thought  can  fully  materialize. 

“I  don't  need  to  get  lucky,  Kankuro.  I'm  too  old  for  that  sort  of  thing.”   He  often  felt  older  than  his  thirty-five  years.    Being  a  shinobi  does  that  to  you,  civilians  age  so  slowly,  but  Baki  felt  like  a  tired  old  man  where  other  men  his  age  were  just  starting  their  families.     He  produces  the  paper  he  found  minutes  ago,  and  turns,  mouth  forming  a  thin,  tight  line.  @sunathread  always  knew  how  to  press  his  buttons,  he  was  good  at  that,  antagonizing.    Not  that  he  often  got  Baki's  goat,  but  he  was  able  to  get  others  fairly  easily.   Baki  often  warned  him  that  it  could  come  back  to  bite  him,  if  he  wasn't  careful.   

“Besides,  I'm  not  a  good  drinking  buddy.  I  don't  let  myself  partake.” 

“Whatcha working on?” Karura asked, poking her head into Kankuro’s room. The scent of freshly baked cookies wafted through the open door.

No one really talks about how hard it was to see their kids grow up, and occupy spaces that were infinitely alien to her. Sure, packing up a school bag to go to the academy was one thing. Then, they’re bringing home weapons and stories about maiming people and—- somehow being born a civilian and marrying into a Shinobi family felt heavier than usual.

And yet— perhaps, there’s still room for her in these little spaces.

[ TXT ] : is it bad i threw up in a bush / @sunathread😈

(   sms   :   pretty   puppet   boy💜   )   ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️

(   sms   :   pretty   puppet   boy💜   )   YES   ITS   BAD   !!!!!!

(   sms   :   pretty   puppet   boy💜   )   where   are   you   ?!

(   sms   :   pretty   puppet   boy💜   )   are   you   okay   ?

(   sms   :   pretty   puppet   boy💜   )   why   is   no   one   taking   care   of   you ?

right, sakura thinks. of course even sunagakure would be practising arranged marriages, wouldn't they ?

❛ ah, i forgot that that might be a practise here, too, ❜ she sounds her recollection instead, the tone in her voice rounding itself into a lilt of surprise, which, to her, sounds foolish and embarrasssing. like it is a personal offence to her that her body's forgotten, that her mind would let it slip; and it grows more offensive to her as she realises that there is disappointment that chases this surprise quickly. it forms like a rock in her throat, it makes her eyes stray to the village below as they stand on one of the cliffside which he had taken her to; like his once hospitable presence has now, suddenly, become too much for her to bear.

and it's not his fault, sakura thinks. maybe it's on her for— for being so stupid, she supposes. for taking all the time they spent together and thinking it's— whatever, she cuts the train of thought quickly. of course arranged marriages would be practised here too, she thinks around a concluding tone. and of course kankurō-sama, being not only the former kazekage's son and the current kazekage's brother, is an attractive prospect. ❛ if it's alright to ask, kankurō-sama... have they arranged one for you ? ❜ sakura asks quietly.

❛⠀um, well ! ❜ her time here is short, and sakura feels like a wanted criminal. this identity she wears is pleasant : it is respectful, and honourable, and everything the student of the legendary sannin, lady tsunade, had ought to present herself with. not to mention the fact that she, too, was the disciple of the current rokudaime. the endeavour which began from simple earnestness in wanting to know as much as she could over the shinobis she had oversaw towards the end of the war had brought her into this diplomatic effort, and sakura feels like the pleasantness she had practised sowing over her body doubled itself in thickness the longer her medical tour took.

this is not a reflection of kankurō-sama.

it couldn't be, not when kankurō-sama has been nothing but welcoming and patient and open, being the main chaperone for sakura and what little group of entourage konohagakure had synonymously dispatched in cementing the legitimacy of this visit while ensuring security. this is where sakura's thievery lies : not from kankurō-sama's earnest effort to always meet her half-way, nor in the moments when his eyes would skitter each time it meets hers for too long, but it lies instead in how sakura feels like she is continuously, and disdainfully, tricking him. she almost wants to say, kankurō-sama, don't be fooled. i am not always this pleasant. i am not always this amiable. i'm short-tempered, and emotional, and sometimes, believe it or not, so debilitatingly useless.

some days, it's difficult to wake up. on days i don't work, or when i am not needed, i would lay in my bed for hours. i would cry. i am full of tears, it seems. i'm horrible, and demanding, and i make poor company. kankurō-sama, please don't look at me like that. i'm not worth it. you'll leave anyway. they always do.

but that would be presumptuous of her, wouldn't it ? so sakura says none of that. at present, she bends down to also carry her fair share of sacks and wooden boxes containing, it seems, wheats and grains. her eyebrows lift at it, her curiosity leaking over her expressions, and sakura smiles and smiles and smiles. half in anticipation for the explanation he will surely give her when she asks, and half because it's easier to do so lately. just because she could never permanently keep his attention, it would never mean sakura wouldn't try to monopolise it while it's there. this is another thing she will steal: a moment to exist beyond the roles of the provider, the healer, the nurse. in kankurō-sama's explanation, sakura is only a listener. that is enough.

❛⠀— now that i'm here, i wouldn't mind helping ! ❜ she hefts it around her arms and adjusts. weighs. ❛⠀are there any more ? ❜