Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Initiate, Capriciously ❯ Initiate, Capriciously ( Chapter 1 )

[ P - Pre-Teen ]

Standard Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Initiate, Capriciously

Seeing this place, it felt peculiar, like scraping off the lacquer of a familiar sight and etching in the horizons of an unworldly vision, meant to serve as an adequate replacement, but a confusing adaptation all the same. How foreign this entire span seemed.

If a mere scope of the place evoked such feelings of awkwardness, then being inside brought Sakura's uneasiness on full-throttle. Between vaulting the gates and forcing entry through a side window of a house in the Uchiha compound, Sakura had to wonder what brittle, lovesick rationale had propelled here this far.

This calculated plot, this bout of insanity…whatever it was, it was certainly not premeditated. She hadn't planned or expected to journey here, even though the timing was absurdly convenient.

By now, she had already climbed through the window and successfully entered, so really there was no excuse to succumb to cowardice. (Again, another deluded rationale, without her even realizing it) Besides, Sakura was already enchanted by the qualms of this mysterious place.

Her curiosity drove her to explore the general boundaries, but her desire awarded her the tenacity to probe even more deeply. (it was an opportunity easily seized, after all, to get closer to an unwilling Sasuke)

She passed through a poorly lit kitchen and noticed the plate of half-eaten food left abandoned on the little table, a wooden pedestal supported by four sturdy beams and coated in a dark varnish. To her surprise, she a saw a collection of dishes - plates, glasses, silverware, and a cast-iron skillet -deposited in the sink. So, it appeared that Sasuke was eating regularly. That was a relieving sign.

Since his return to Konoha, Sasuke had reverted to his extremist tendencies by locking himself away within the depths of the Uchiha estate, only exposing himself when beckoned for a repeat of what was a series of low-ranked missions. (the building of trust between traitor and village came at a painstakingly slow pace, it seemed)With Sasuke out of public reach, there was no way of knowing what he did to make copious amounts of time slither by a little faster.

Sakura was elated to see that at least a small portion of that time was semi-dedicated to taking care of himself. She couldn't say much for his grooming, on the other hand, as she had seen the scraggly, untamed mane he had allowed his jet locks to become. It was the second feature she noticed about him during his rare ventures into daylight, next to his narrowed, charcoal eyes, always so vacant and permanently transfixed in that typical, daunting glare of his.

Having spent sufficient time in the kitchen, Sakura wandered farther into the household. The longer she spent exploring, the less the guilt nibbled at her for impeding upon private chambers; the rushing allure was just too persuasive.

Eventually, she found her way into an adjacent hallway. At the end was a double-door entryway, barricaded shut by a thick slab of wood running horizontally across. Though she was an intruder, Sakura still reserved enough decency to promptly turn away and leave the entryway without desecration. She could only imagine what ghastly nightmares hid residual behind those doors. She quivered at the notion.

So dazed by the previous encounter was she that Sakura almost overlooked the crown jewel of the miniature Uchiha kingdom, Sasuke's childhood room. But her senses were that of a radar, swift and fool-proof. She could not refuse this unspoken invitation.

Inside, she discovered a very sensible and rather plain room, so dreamless that one would hardly suspect it to be a child's quarters. There was a shallow bed topped with stiff sheets and a shelf on the opposite end. And also a tiny stand, upholding a portrait of a young Sasuke, his face beaming with the vigor and rapture of a child.

Captivated, she instantly reached to grasp the picture. Her lips parted in a slight gasp as her fingers brushed across the glass, smudging the glossy surface a bit.

His complexion, his eyes, his hair: it was Sasuke, but it was distinctly different. He wore a smile and harbored a bright glint in the recesses of his eyes. He was happy. It was the most human she had ever seen her former teammate, and the soulful, precocious image awakened the sting of salt in the ducts of her eyes. Her fingers traced the lids to erase the evidence.

“What are you doing here?” came a voice from behind, flatly and void of any genuine curiosity or alarm.

Sakura snapped around clumsily, only to be vacuumed into an unpredicted confrontation with the owner of the house.

“S-Sasuke-kun, I thought you were away on a mission!” the kunoichi stuttered foolishly, at a tidal absence for all eloquence and levelheadedness.

“I really should go,” she stammered frantically.

A brisk attempt at escape was thwarted by a firm arm stretching across the shell of the door. An embargo had been established before Sakura. He was leaving her no option but total compliance.

“Stay,” he commanded. (He would have requested, even beseeched her to do so, but force was the only method he knew, his manners beaten of any sensitivity, understandably)

Her mouth lingered open for brief moments, as if contemplating some message to convey. She soon gave up and turned to settle herself on the small bed, while Sasuke remained complacent, partially leaning against the door frame.

The silence became a tactful and elongated siege. No words were exchanged, only direct, concentrated glances, each of them studying the other considerately. Most shockingly, it was Sasuke who rupture the eternal stillness.

“It was my father's idea,” he stated simply.

“Huh?” Sakura perked up attentively.

“It was my father's idea to organize the room like this. He believed that his sons, the future shinobi of the village, needed a practical regiment. In the path of a ninja, there was no space for childish dreams that would only cloud one's judgment, even though we were still children. My mother disagreed.”

“You were close with your mother?”

Another arduous pause before the verdict.

“Very. More so than with my father. She was a compassionate and patient woman to had married a man like my father, so driven by duty and craving of pride and glory.”

And so very much like you, Sasuke-kun, she inwardly proclaimed.

She could force no vocalization of her thoughts, when Sakura herself was astonished at these personal confessions. She only peered at him quizzically.

What was the intention behind all this? What purpose did Sasuke have in revealing the prickled urchins of his ancestry?

“Itachi is dead,” came the blatant reminder, “I killed him.”

This was a fact Sakura was well aware of. If Itachi still had air in pumping through his lungs, Sasuke wouldn't be standing before her at this very moment. Yet, such a regard failed to unveil the background motive.

Her mind tried to assess all the possibilities. Perhaps this was some cryptic engagement on Sasuke's behalf, contrived to the best of the inept boy's ability. Or maybe, despite years of rejection, Sakura was the same lovesick daydreamer she always had been, and this was just another one of her self-made illusions, lovely and whimsical, but of no honest substance.

Fear overpowered any dwindling hope for resolve. Sakura felt cornered, pinned down. She had to disappear this instant, had to get away from the man she admired most. It frightened her to be in such discreet proximities with this man, a silhouette of pallid muscles, contradicting raven hair, and deep-set eyes. (the most beautiful and most intimidating thing she'd ever laid eyes on)

Mustering every resource of strength she had, Sakura stood up and walked away. She passed by his side uneventfully, but a hand clenched her wrist from behind.

“You could've asked.”

“What?”

“If you wanted to come here, to see this place, all you had to do was ask,”

Sakura turned around halfway, just enough to face her former teammate appropriately. She smiled wryly at him, a betrayal to her inner emotional status, and placed her free hand a top that of his own, already gripping her wrist.

“You're right, Sasuke-kun. I'm sorry.”

“Thank you, Sakura,” he said to the back of her head and her cropped pink locks, her face aloofly sheltered from view again, “for coming here.”

Sakura stalled for a second, visibly stunned by his wayward declaration. But she regained her nerve soon after, and exited, making sure not to glance back.

But that did not prevent her from returning to the Uchiha compound the next day, or the day after that.

And so on and so forth.