yomi_gaeru

yomi_gaeru

[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three] [Part Four] [Part Five]

At Fourteen

Sakura’s visits to the Uchiha continued through winter and into the spring. She tried to teach them a bit of Dutch, as promised, but they preferred English, especially since Madara had become so fluent. She’d had to kaibosh a few of his more colourful idioms; to her dismay, she wasn’t sure she’d been fast enough. Izuna had far too keen an ear and she didn’t doubt he’d absorbed the new knowledge unfortunately quickly. (Sakura questioned Tajima’s parenting again and where he could have taken Madara for him to pick up certain turns of phrase.)

With Madara now thirteen, Tajima began grooming him for university studies. That meant less time with his brothers and more time studying. His brothers protested, but Madara completed as much as he could prior to Sakura’s visits as was humanly possible. 

He always seemed to have time to walk her home, though, no matter how busy his schedule.

As time went on, Madara’s behaviour changed.

Instead of openly pursuing Sakura around his brothers where he had to fight for her attention, Madara slowly rearranged his schedule. Sometimes he ‘happened to be in the area’ and would drop by the kimono shop while she worked. Or, if Sakura was sent on an errand, Madara would ‘happen’ to find himself in a nearby shop and accompany her back home. It was a series of odd coincidences that cropped up shortly after her father installed the telephone line in the kimono shop. (“To stay in touch with our suppliers,” Kizashi explained awkwardly while Mebuki fumed behind him, tapping her foot. Sakura didn’t remember there being electricity let alone telephone lines in the villages that supplied their shop, but it sounded like Japan was adopting Western technology faster than she thought.)

Coincidentally, it reminded Sakura that the Uchihas had several phones in their home, including one on the desk in Tajima’s drawing room.

To Sakura’s great relief, the majority of Madara’s visits to the kimono shop went smoothly. He was always respectful to her parents, he never interrupted when she was with a client, and he never overstayed his welcome… outside of a particular subset of customers.

More precisely, a particular demographic.

“Uchiha-san,” said Sakura patiently. “I am assisting a customer.”

Spreading his elbows wide, Madara took up as much space at the counter as he could while Sakura wrapped up a specially ordered bolt of silk. Uzumaki Naruto, the friendly son of a local Dutch émigé frowned down at Madara as the younger man tried to elbow him out of the way. Naruto was several years older than Sakura and his family had recently moved to the village. They had become fast friends with Sakura’s parents upon learning of their shared background.

“Take a hike, kid,” said Naruto before he turned back to Sakura. His blue eyes warmed and he switched over to Dutch. “[So I heard you were invited! Are you coming to Hashirama’s social next—mph!]”

Naruto hopped and grabbed his foot, staring at Madara in shock.

Madara ignored him. He hadn’t moved a muscle—that Sakura could see.

But she had a very good idea of what had set him off. Sakura’s lips pressed together tightly as she shot Madara a death glare.

“[If you aren’t going to behave, you must leave],” she said to him calmly.

“[You didn’t tell me he invited you on a date],” said Madara.

“[Because his family invited my family and all the other local Dutch families for brunch on Sunday],” explained Sakura. “[It’s a holiday, not a date!]”

“[I oppose you making offerings to a cult necromancer.]”

“[It’s Easter!]”

Naruto looked between them, confused. 

“[Does he want to come, too? Is he jealous?]” asked Naruto in Dutch.

“[No and yes],” sighed Sakura in Dutch. “[I apologize, normally he’s less feral. He gets… overprotective.]”

“[I can see why],” teased Naruto as Sakura blushed and handed him the fabric. “[Bring him, if you want. Hashi’s been wanting to meet him for ages. See you later!]”

Naruto grinned widely and winked at Sakura—mostly to ruffle Madara’s peacock feathers—and exited the shop.

Sakura rubbed at her temples. 

Waiting for it. 

It was coming. 

Any second now—

“What are his intentions?” demanded Madara the moment the door closed.

“Uchiha-saaaaan,” groaned Sakura.

###

And so the days and year passed.

It was December again and, both at 14, Sakura and Madara were treated more like adults at the social and family gatherings the Uchihas hosted. The extended family still considered Sakura an outsider, but all acknowledged that the boys appeared happier when she was there to play with them. The rest of the Clan were further impressed when they heard the children speaking to each other in English, led by Sakura and Madara (though Sakura reminded the boys that it was rude to speak in English when not everyone could understand them). 

Tajima was just relieved that he had someone to help keep Madara in line.

There was a photographer there that sunny December afternoon. He snapped photographs of the main Uchiha family, everyone holding still for a fraction of a second each time before the photographer confirmed they were free to move again. Several more pictures were taken of individual groups and families from within the clan, all austere and formal (with the exception of Tomo’s best efforts not to smile). Sakura watched from the sidelines, careful to stay out of the way and frame.

As the light outside began to fade, the photographer thanked everyone for their cooperation and packed up his things. The photoshoot had lasted over an hour or so, and the young children were very happy to play again. 

As the family dispersed, someone grabbed Sakura’s arm and tugged her back.

“Come,” ordered Madara, pulling her behind him.

“But your family—”

“It won’t take long.”

Resigning herself to another of his strange whims, Sakura just hoped she didn’t end up with her collar loose this time. (A year later and she still couldn’t look at Madara’s canine teeth without blushing.)

He dragged her to his father’s drawing room and turned on all the lamps.

“Sit here,” he said, pointing to his father’s chair.

Sakura frowned.

“Why?”

“Because.”

Sakura shook her head. “Not until you tell me—.”

“Ah, young master, good. You’re already here with your young miss,” said the photographer. He looked around the room. “Yes, this lighting will do. The mirror behind us will help. Will you be sitting or standing?”

“Sitting,” said Madara as Sakura replied, “Standing.”

There was a tense pause.

“I’ll just start setting up the camera,” said the photographer diplomatically. “Let me know when you’re ready.”

“[Sit],” hissed Madara under his breath.

“[You just want to look taller!]” snapped Sakura, just as quietly.

“[So?]”

“[It doesn’t matter to me how tall you are!]”

Clamping her lips shut in the fear that she’d said too much, Sakura bit the inside of her cheek, avoiding his gaze. Facing her, Madara stared at her steadily, his chest rising and falling. His eyes were still angry, but he hadn’t lashed out.

Sakura swallowed and looked back at Madara from the corner of her eye. Her cheeks warmed at the way the Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat.

“[You’re almost as tall as me now, anyway],” said Sakura, as if it was no big deal. But she knew it was, to him.

“[And we… we can get more pictures together, later],” mumbled Sakura, finding it hard to meet his eyes. 

Summoning her courage, she lifted her chin and smiled shyly at Madara. 

The residual tension around his dark eyes eased.

At the end of the small room, the photographer cleared his throat.

“So, standing is it?”

Sakura looked at Madara.

“Ah,” agreed Madara softly.

“Then let’s hurry before we lose the light. Ready?”

Sakura and Madara nodded and shifted to stand beside each other.

“Sides together or you won’t fit,” lied the photographer.

The pair of teenagers moved closer, until their sides melted into one another. Sakura was right. She was only a tad taller than Madara now.

“How much will you see?” asked Madara, leaning into Sakura a bit more.

“From the waist up.”

Madara nodded.

The photographer smiled and adjusted the camera on its tripod.

“Here we go. 3… 2… 1…Say ‘[cheese]’!”

The flash went off just as Madara’s fingers closed around Sakura’s hand and squeezed.