Work Text:
Years later Sakura would still reflect on how it was ultimately Ino’s cat and her own father that played cupid.
Days off were rare for Sakura. Between a full course load and shadowing Senju Tsunade-- the university’s head of medicine-- on weekends, she had little time to rest and reflect on what she had to do the upcoming week. So when the opportunity to spend a rare Tuesday morning lazing on her couch presented itself she saw it as a sign to pull on the stretchiest pants she owned and the oversize t-shirt embroidered with her university’s logo retrieved from her bedroom floor (she couldn’t recall the last time it had been washed). What she really wanted to do was destroy any semblance of a diet and gorge herself on sugary breakfast cereal while watching crap television until she was forced to be productive later.
Reluctantly, her attention was drawn to the partially folded basket of clean clothes, seemingly urging her to suspend her penchant for procrastination regarding all household chores. Her parents were planning to visit later that evening for dinner; which translated to Sakura making sure the apartment was spotless as not to incur Mebuki’s critical eye. At least she’d have enough homemade food to last the week and wouldn't have to blow her meal plan this month on subpar cafeteria food.
Cleaning was one thing, but a visit also meant 'modifying' her home to avoid hurting her dad’s feelings.
Propped up against one of the living room’s focal walls was a token of her father’s grief upon witnessing his one and only daughter turning eighteen and forging her own path in the world without him. That is, he sought to find a painting that encompassed both his taste and brand of humor as a housewarming gift in the form of one of the sixteen varieties of oil paintings unoriginally titled Dogs Playing Poker. Whoever commissioned them likely had the same sense of humor as her father too since they were apparently meant to advertise cigars in the west. Either way she hated those anthropomorphized dogs almost as much as she hated spicy food.
While curled up on the sofa swiping through messages on her phone, she heard the telltale clicks of little claws against her bedroom windowsill. Sakura didn’t consider herself a cat person per say, but she’d sort of grown accustomed to having her feet warmed by one during chilly nights. When Ino was away at class the poor thing would yowl constantly to the point that Sakura started leaving her bedroom window open. The cat had sleek, long white fur and a tail so fluffy it looked bigger than she was. Ino often likened the cat to royalty and aptly decided to name her Cleo; a fall over from their high school social studies classes that covered Egyptian history. The two of them had been best friends since childhood and were lucky enough to be neighbors in the same apartment building.
When the hours ticked into the early afternoon Sakura decided she should at least hang the painting and heaved herself to her feet. Using a box cutter to remove the masking tape she pulled away the paper covering.
It was like having a train derail in her own damn living room; her eyes were immediately drawn to the burning wreckage and found it impossible to look away. ‘Then again, mom can’t look directly at it, so maybe it’s like living with an Eldritch horror instead and I’m simply immune; I do share half his chromosomes.’ Once the painting was in place, she spent a few minutes tilting it left and right, angling it so it was at least even with the doorframe. She took a few steps back and looked at it from a distance all while shaking her head. “I really should’ve paid the movers to ‘lose it.’” Although her father would have likely replaced it so it would’ve been a two-way waste of money.
Sakura leaned against the back of the sofa at the same time Cleo leaped on top and perched next to her. Immediately the feline’s ears flew back, and she bared her teeth with a long, harsh hiss. Sakura tilted her head back, regarding the usually docile cat with a raised eyebrow. “What’s your problem? I know it’s terrible, but at least you don’t have to live with it.” No, she got to live in an apartment where the Yamanakas didn’t gift their daughter relics from the kitsch house of tawdry.
Cleo’s hiss escalated into a rumbling growl as if one of the 2-dimensional dogs advanced, heedless of her warning them off. The next 10 seconds Sakura would later wish she caught on camera; positive the video would’ve netted her a hefty cash prize on one of those reality programs showcasing home videos.
Rearing back on her haunches, the white ball of fluff launched herself toward the painting, likely aiming to sink her claws into the surface but since it was under glass all she could do was dangle from it like a gym apparatus. The hanging wire snapped, and it fell with a deafening clatter along with Sakura’s hopes of having an uneventful day off. The wooden frame was broken in several places while the glass resembled a colony of spider webs. She had little faith that the painting underneath escaped the attack unscathed.
All Sakura could do was shake her head at the irony, far beyond the point of deciding whether it was appropriate to laugh or cry. Cleo was lying like a sphinx next to the debris, peering at the upended painting as if she expected it to get up at any moment.
“I’m Haruno Sakura, and I am royally screwed.”
“Pig, does your cat have some sort of vendetta against me?” The question was phrased calmly, which wasn’t difficult considering the three voicemails and dozen text messages consisting of both idle and not so idle threats to call her back asap she'd cathartically sent to her blonde friend.
After the glass had been cleaned and disposed of the next fifteen minutes were spent removing splintered pieces of the shattered frame, taking care to avoid slicing her hands to ribbons. Once the remains were edged away, the painting was gently lifted and laid flat on the modest kitchen table as not to scratch it further. Miraculously the painting escaped with only a tear, but it was noticeable enough that simply reframing it wasn’t going to cover the damage.
“Hmm none that I know of? Well, except for that time you bought her regular food instead of organic. You know she’s a picky eater. Why do you ask?” Ino asked, sounding far too amused given Sakura’s rapidly depleting patience.
“Your cat tried to climb my painting.” Sakura looked over her shoulder toward the vandal in question. Cleo looked quite proud, releasing a string of content mrrws, stretching and lolling about. She would pause intermittently to confirm the painting’s continued state of demise, then look between it and Sakura as if to say ‘Look, other mom, I defeated the evil for you!’ Sakura couldn’t be too angry with her; she probably would’ve done the same and had often considered allowing something unfortunate to befall the painting; too much direct exposure to sunlight, kitchen fire (she’s certain she can get away with telling everyone a situation involving burnt toast ‘got away from her’), lighter stick positioned much too close. She thinks a little bonfire in her bathroom tub would truly be therapeutic.
“Probably because it has dogs on it,” Ino reasoned with a chuckle. “They’re playing poker too. Poor Cleo! She probably feared they’re becoming too powerful.”
Sakura rolled her eyes, setting the phone between the dip in her shoulder and cheek as she dumped the sad remnants of the frame into a bin. “Then shouldn’t she, you know, run away from them?”
“Not this one,” Ino dropped her voice to a low whisper. “She’s a fighter.”
Sakura sighed, knowing a dead-end conversation filled with circular logic when she heard one. Usually, the positions were reversed though. The pinkette found that she didn’t care for the shoe being on the other foot, or having the tables turned on her. Under the frame was a small collection of dust she carefully removed with a hand vacuum switched on the lowest setting lest she damage the canvas further. She never liked the painting, but it had been a present from her father and she really didn’t want to witness his sad dad eyes when he found out what befell his gift.
Everyone should own one of these! Kizashi had looked so excited after she tore open the brown paper wrapping. I think every household should have one mounted in their living room. It’s fun and a great conversation piece during dinner!
Sakura remembered staring at the painting with an expression that forced her mother to cover her own amused smile. ‘Conversations that don’t include how to ‘lose’ a standard 16x24 monstrosity during a move no doubt. At least it isn’t one of those life-size paintings, like the ones that take up a whole ass wall.’ It wouldn’t be so convenient to stash away and put back up when he came to visit.
“Besides, I thought you hated it? Perhaps you should be apologizing to Cleo and thanking her instead?” Ino continued, sounding as confused about Sakura’s moment of sentimentality as Sakura felt.
The pink-haired woman chewed a bottom lip. “Family things,” she answered simply. “You know how it is.” It didn’t matter how much she hated the damn thing: it was the thought that counted, even if the thought was horrendous.
“I get it,” Ino hummed. “Well, I’m sorry for your loss? Oh, hold on a sec!” Sakura could hear Sai’s soft tenor, indiscernible in the background. “Hey, so I’ve got good news and bad news. The good news is Sai says he knows of a place where you can get it fixed. It’s a studio owned by some artist who specializes in these types of repairs…” There was loud shuffling on the other end and muffled voices. “Oh, sorry. Restored.”
Sakura groaned, already mentally kissing her lazy day off goodbye. “And the bad news?”
“The bad news is it’s going to cost you. Sai says it’s a good thing you don’t have a mortgage because you'd probably have to take out a second. That’s assuming this guy will even take the job. Apparently, he’s ‘choosy’ and also…” This time Sakura was able to pick up on Sai’s hesitation before he decided on ‘supercilious’ as a fitting adjective. “An asshole.” Ino translated.
‘Well, I can be one too if he tries to swindle me.’ Sakura thought and pinched the area between her eyes. “Fine. Okay. Swell. What’s the address?”
The art restoration studio was located in an open-air shopping mall and approximately a 10-minute drive from Sakura’s apartment complex. On top of a few business offices, it offered a collection of independent retailers, fashion outlets, restaurants, and cafés. The architecture was very modern while maintaining its character from older days. Along the brick pathways were white lattice trellises with a mixture of morning glories, bright yellow honeysuckle, and white climbing roses. The lighting fixtures looked like antiques and outside every shop keeper’s window were well-maintained raised beds. It was the type of accommodations that made a person question if the leasers came from old money.
According to the information Ino relayed from Sai, the conservator had renovated the first level into a studio while his actual living space was upstairs. Inwardly, Sakura seethed at the bulletin level of superiority oozing in the district. Dragging her feet along the cobblestone sidewalk, she first peeked through the spotless glass into the darkened studio happy enough to note there weren’t any other patrons. Adjusting her hold on the canvas she all but swaddled in a white cotton bedsheet with a low thread count, she bumped open the door with her hip and strode inside.
If Sakura was expecting any truth to the stereotype describing artists as habitually messy then this one didn’t get the memo: the inside of the studio was kept as immaculate as the exterior. From what she could see of the walls they were painted an eggshell white and paintings of all shapes and sizes were slotted into every possible square foot while being uniformly spaced apart. There were oak display cases exhibiting various statues and smaller paintings mounted on iron rods with backlighting, denoting the collector’s diverse taste from various time periods. She also noted there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. Not on the surfaces or light fixtures. Sakura couldn’t help wondering if he had a severe case of OCD and couldn’t relate.
‘I wonder if he offers maid services as a side gig,’ Sakura thought with a giggle. ‘If so I would definitely hire him.’ She was in dire need of proper housekeeping and lacked both time and motivation. Once she reached the front counter, she looked around for some kind of bell but found none. As she considered yelling up the adjacent stairs, she caught sight of a door left slightly ajar and figured that must be his workroom. Already miffed about having her one day off squandered due to one paranoid feline she decided to push open the door the rest of the way.
There was the distinct smell of old throughout. Sakura had no recollection of Grandma Haruno; she passed away before Sakura was born, but she’s sure the smell would remind her of pouring over old family albums while drinking strong matcha tea and chatting about the good ol’ days. Smiling to herself at the mental image, she leaned forward to get a closer look at a nearby painting mounted on an easel. There were sprawling green and lush plains as far as the eye could see with a stone structure in the middle set amidst an overcast day. It was called The Roman Campagna according to the work blurb set on a neighboring table. There was also a collection of small brown and green bottles as well as a wooden palette that looked both hand carved and impeccably clean. More importantly it looked expensive. Sakura was struck with the urgency to not touch anything.
“I can tell by looking at you nothing here will fit your budget.”
She immediately choked and stumbled backwards, knocking into the easel. Quick reflexes hammered into her since childhood karate classes were the only reason why the whole thing didn’t pitch sideways and crash into the floor.
The man who very well could have been responsible for her premature demise via scaring the crap out of her looked unmoved by the series of events. He simply looked on as Sakura steadied the wobbling easel. “You should consider yourself lucky that painting is anchored down: it’s worth well past the six digit mark.”
Sakura grit her teeth, wishing that she'd stopped at the quant little café she spotted a few shops down to pick up an espresso. ‘I haven’t consumed nearly enough caffeine for this.’ Sakura was astute enough to realize it wouldn’t benefit her to aggravate the one person who may hold her salvation in the palm of his hands. Once the painting was secure, she pasted on her best fake smile, the one that had a 95% success rate and turned around.
…Wow.
Sakura had to admit she had an idea in mind of what type of man would own and operate an art restoration studio by himself, especially if the permeating smell was any indication. This man was definitely not old, in fact he looked around her age. ‘That, or he exfoliates a lot. He must have a 7-step skincare regimen.’
He’s actually pretty hot. Sakura wished in hindsight she had at least put on a clean shirt and done more than push a brush through her hair once. Subtly, she tried to smooth down some frizz. The first feature that arrested her attention were his eyes. They were a deep honey gold, almost brown depending on the lighting, and had a mess of tousled crimson hair… he also had the type of countenance that initially drew her to men like Sasuke.
“I was just admiring your… uh, work,” Sakura cleared her throat and stuck out a hand. “I’m Sakura.”
The redhead narrowed his eyes imperceptivity at her outstretched hand before deciding to accept the gesture. “Sasori,” he replied blandly, and Sakura had the impression the simple motion was rehearsed.
“So um,” Sakura searched her brain for an ice breaker. “How long have you been--”
“I’m not one for idle pleasantries and I detest small talk,” he cut in sharply. Not unless the potential client was someone affluent which meant they were toting a piece that would bolster his portfolio. Judging by the woman’s messy hair and rumbled clothes she was in possession of neither. Yet it was those same characteristics that quietly piqued his interest as to why someone like her was here in the first place. She didn’t strike him as a connoisseur. “Why don’t you start with telling me what brought you here today and I’ll decide if it’s worth my time.”
‘Ino was right. He is an asshole,’ Sakura thought, pleasant smile dropping as she met his blank stare with a scowl. ‘Then again perhaps using an expression that held a 95% success rate with Naruto was not the way to go about this,’ Sakura sighed, more than tired with upholding the act of playing nice. “Okay, fine. My friend’s partner referred me to you. I have a painting that needs help, Sai says you can make that happen. How’s that?” As if he needed to be reminded of the conspicuous new addition to his workspace, she gestured to the covered canvas she’d placed on one of the adjacent tables when she wondered in.
“Better,” Although he had no idea who this ‘Sai’ was. The only names he bothered to learn were those who’d done something to garner his attention: good or bad, or those he had to for the sake of propriety and would prove useful in building his own notoriety. “Has anyone told you that you’re terrible at being deceitful?” He was genuinely curious, since she seemed hellbent on getting into his good graces with rudimentary skills at best.
‘...Maybe once or twice.’ Even Naruto saw through her once in awhile. It’s not like she made a habit of it anyway. “Yeah, yeah, so I’m told,” She walked towards the very thing he seemed to be deliberately not looking at. If he wasn’t going to do it for her then she may as well rip off the proverbial band-aid herself. She may have also delighted a bit too much in brushing right next to him. For the first time since they began conversing his eyes moved from her to the object in question. With one last sigh and a bit of mental preparation for the inevitable judgement, she briskly yanked the two ends of the bedsheet away.
Sakura was sure the temperature in the room dropped several degrees along with the remaining dregs of her self-esteem.
“I hate this,” The statement was clipped between grit teeth. “This is appalling. Why would you own something like this?”
Her ears burned. ‘That makes two of us.’ His deep disgust resonated soundly. As much as she loved her dad she couldn’t feign offence on his behalf, but she did feel the need to say something if only to defend herself. “It’s not that bad.”
A deadpan, withering glare darkened his expression. Sakura had to stifle a laugh. ‘I wonder if that stare works on other people?’ she thought, amused. “Well, I’m not the expert; you are. So, would you care to explain to me how this particular subject has endured over 100 years if it’s so ‘appalling?’”
“Not every piece of art deserves a spot in a museum obviously.” He could also think of one… loose definition of the concept that didn’t deserve to be classified as art altogether.
Sakura could tell from the tight set of his jaw that this situation was not going in her favor. Sai did mention he was picky, and picky and tacky do not go together.
“Look, it was a gift from my dad, okay?” Sakura sighed, idly picking at a loose thread on the bedsheet. “It’s horrible to look at. I hate it, but it means something to him. He has strong… feelings towards it.”
“What does your father have to do with anything?"
Sakura looked at him oddly. “Quite a lot actually?” She didn’t know much about art, but she thought a key purpose was to invoke emotions in the viewer, whether or not they were good emotions or very very bad was in the eye of the beholder. Maybe she knew even less? “It’s… sentimental. That’s one way I see it, even if the creator probably intended it as terrible comedic relief on top of bad advertisement.” That was the best way she could think to describe it.
Sasori looked mildly perplexed. She was sure it was the most animated he'd been thus far. Nevertheless, she really needed the painting fixed. He was obviously a prideful man, so the best way she could see to get her way was to appeal to his ego. Especially now that he seemed off guard.
“Besides,” she added. “It’s just a little tear. You can fi-- restore it can’t you?” She remembered Sai gently correcting Ino and assumed Sasori wouldn’t be nearly so forgiving.
Amber eyes narrowed. “Of course I can.” The damage was miniscule. It wouldn’t even take him the customary amount of time needed to fill it with putty either. It was far beneath his skillset. “For a small patch I normally charge a flat rate, however--”
“Phew, I knew I could count on you.” In the performance of a lifetime, she controlled the smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. ‘I think I can work with this.’ Straightening to her full height she met his gaze, noting with further amusement how the change put her at eyelevel with him thanks to the modest heels she was wearing. If the frown he now wore was any indication, then he was aware of it too. “Just hypothetically, how long does it normally take you to retouch something like this? It’s obviously an imitation.”
“And a poorly made one at that,” he sneered, once again casting it a glance. It was with great hardship to acknowledge that an authentic one fetched a staggering amount of money at auctions. “A job like this would take no longer than one hour.” Most of that would be dedicated to allowing the solvent to dry.
“What happened to it?” he asked then, reluctant.
Sakura chewed her bottom lip then cleared her throat. “It… fell.” She figured that was an adequate explanation, rather than going into detail about a cat’s attempt at turning it into her own secondary scratching post because she feared a reality where dogs became anthropoids.
Sasori tilted his head at her hesitation. Not a lie, but not the truth either. He also noted the damage was exclusive to the area of impact, meaning when she removed it from the frame and transported it, she hadn’t damaged it further. Grudgingly, he admitted he was impressed. The girl was… an odd one, for sure.
Sakura then turned to him, clasping her hands together tightly. “So, an hour you said, right?” When Sasori went to shake his head ‘no’ she blinked. “No, it won’t take an hour? I thought some fake would be easy for someone like you.”
“I only said it would take no more than an hour. I have no--”
“Great! Yeah, that’ll work,” Sakura cheered. It looked like her day off wasn’t about to be a total bust. She also wouldn’t have to worry about breaking the news to her dad. “You’re a lifesaver, Sasori. Truly!” she gushed. For the first time since she assumed the painting was a lost cause, she felt the tension in her shoulders and face ebb away as a smile bloomed.
The protest on the tip of his tongue died at the abrupt change in her demeanor. It was distinctive from her amateurish attempt to impose her will over him of all people. Sasori was well-versed in the art of manipulation and her tactics were sorely lacking. He had to commend her perseverance though and thinks vaguely that he could offer her some tips.
Sakura made sure to brush by him again as she made a swift exit. “I’m just going to kill some time exploring the mall, so I won’t bother leaving you my contact information, and you…” she wiggled a few fingers at him. “Work your magic! Alright, see you in an hour!” Before he could so much as blink she was gone, well-oiled closer preventing the glass door from banging shut.
During the silence that followed Sasori was left with the impression he’d just been succinctly played.
.
.
.
Sasori had no idea why he listened to her, he could’ve just left it there, if only to see that tantalizing look of anger again when she returned.
It was the first time someone presented to him the idea that a viewer’s feelings towards an artist’s work could have as much value as the message the creator worked to express through whichever medium they chose. Perhaps it was her ingenuity in combination with the ability to be deliberately deceitful when it suited her that intrigued him too. From the first interaction he found there were aspects of her personality that were contradictory; both genuine and cunning. He itched to pick them apart, place them under a microscope.
He did so enjoy a puzzle.
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Sakura decided to linger in the plaza a few shops away from the studio. She also swung by the same café she noticed earlier and purchased a café latte with a few shots of espresso topped with an abundance of milk foam. After deliberating for a minute at the cash register, she decided to purchase a small espresso for the redhead as a peace offering of sorts. ‘He’s an artist, he probably subsists on caffeine when he has to meet a deadline, just like everyone else,’ she reasoned. If it was anything like the crunch leading up to exams, then she was empathetic.
Sitting on a bench next to the entrance of a hair salon she balanced the paper cup holder on her knees and blew on the steam rising from her drink. The first time a salon client gave her hair a passing glance she felt self conscious and tugged on the frayed strands of her candy-colored hair. ‘Maybe I do need a trim. I should ask Ino.’ Sakura really didn’t like hair salons. The smell of chemicals was far worse than anything she smelled in her anatomy classes, and she hated the crunchy, sticky feeling it left in her hair. It was like a forcefield so impenetrable it could survive any windstorm.
Sakura sighed, deciding enough time had passed and began the short trek back to the studio. Through the glass she could see him on a desktop computer she hadn’t noticed earlier. Pushing the door open, she walked up to the counter. For a moment she simply watched him work. She looked at his crisp clothing and grinned, wondering if she should offer to pay him to finish ironing her clothes back at the apartment. He held a small blacklight above the painting and was shining it where the damage had been.
Sakura followed his gaze and let out a low whistle. “Wow. You got it all! I’m impressed.”
“What is that?” The question was directed towards the small espresso she set onto the counter.
“This?” She picked it up and pointed to it. “This is a cup. It’s a useful device designed to hold things such as liquids and is very versatile regarding temperature. This one is filled to the brim with coffee. For you.”
She heard a small sound under his breath, somewhere between a scoff and a huff. Amber eyes drifted from the screen to watch her. “I don’t drink coffee.”
Sakura blinked. “You don’t drink coffee? How do you survive working long nights?” The unsaid ‘and you call yourself an artist’ hung tangibly in the air between them.
He clicked off the UV-A light and set it back into a holder attached to the desktop. “Judging from your appearance,” he steepled his fingers neatly underneath his chin and took in her rumpled clothing and messy hair. “You’re well on your way to becoming a cautionary tale for caffeine addiction.”
She’s not quite sure when the idea of fretting over her appearance in front of the hot artist receded to a distant memory. Instead, she simply shrugged and picked up the cup and added its contents to her own partially drained one. “Well, suit yourself. More for me I guess.”
‘She’s going to overdose at this rate,’ the thought came unbidden. It was of no concern to him and wasn’t sure why it occurred in the first place. He moved on. “As I stated earlier, I charge a flat rate. You should consider yourself lucky.” Especially since he deigned to coat it in a superior varnish. There was also the matter of inflation if the piece either interested him or was slated with a high market value. ‘Of which this… thing is neither. She should feel especially grateful.’ He didn’t make a sizeable living through charging ‘competitive’ rates, his work was about maintaining quality first and foremost.
“Woah,” Sakura smiled, pivoting the frame to get a better look. “You reframed it and everything. It looks good.” Better than it had, which was saying something.
Sasori showed no outward reaction to the compliment. It wasn't anything he hadn't heard before. “It’s been set behind an acrylic material, which means it’s less likely to break than glass at the expense of a more polished appearance. That also means it may bow or bend within the frame over time.”
Sakura nodded along absently without looking up.
“…There was also a very distinct impression of claw marks imbedded into the surface,” he added. “Care to explain? I highly doubt it simply ‘fell.’”
“Ah,” Sakura rubbed the back of her head. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, I don’t own a cat.” Which was the truth. Mostly.
“Hmm…” This time the curve of his mouth curled upward faintly and Sakura was strangely reminded of the way Cleo had looked at the painting as it lay in pieces on the floor, or after knocking full cups and glasses off tables. Sasori had all but hissed in a similar fashion too. Sakura snorted into her cup, pulling it away before she accidentally inhaled through her nose and made a bigger mess of her shirt.
Sasori decided not to point out that he never specified what left the indentations, finding her ever shifting expressions much more amusing. He gave her a basic breakdown of the work order and the prices which were the most generous rates he could recall. Attaching the receipt to the invoice, he jotted down the totals in the ledger dedicated to discharges in handwriting far neater than her own.
“Thanks again, Sasori,” Sakura gave him a grin and friendly wave as she gathered her belongings, the old bedsheet and newly repaired painting secured protectively in paper covering he’d left the room briefly to retrieve while she tapped the code for her credit card into the pinpad.
Sasori simply raised a hand as she turned from the counter and left the store without a second glance. Her zestful mind no doubt having taken her elsewhere her body had yet to catch up to.
He was still staring in the direction she’d disappeared long after she was gone.
‘Feelings… that’s what she said.’
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The second time it happened she unknowingly sealed her own fate. Sakura wasn’t even looking for a reason to see him again, but when the excuse to do so presented itself she jumped at it.
Since moving into her apartment she passed by the portrait of her late grandmother every morning as she was preparing for class and every night as she was getting ready for bed. Only now it truly registered how… old it looked.
Her grandmother’s skin looked almost mustard yellow; the true shade of her hair indiscernible amidst the dark haze. In fact, the whole painting looked like it was cloaked in darkness despite the lush, spring-inspired background. Her parents said she looked a lot like her grandmother in her youth which Sakura took as a compliment, always believing the Haruno matriarch to be quite beautiful. Her hair was a dusky rose rather than Sakura’s carnation pink but it still made her feel strangely close to a woman she never met.
Sakura found that she felt a bit disturbed over how the current state of the painting… misrepresented her grandmother; something she hadn’t noticed before. It had been given to her as a child and the woman’s permanently smiling face had been a constant since then.
.
.
.
Sasori was surprisingly amicable to her request after she explained that no, this isn’t another novelty joke painting and yes, it is an original piece this time no knockoffs.
“This one is quite old,” Sasori observed, again using a blacklight to see the original varnish, how heavy it was. “Who did you say this was?”
“I didn’t. It’s a painting of my grandmother when she was around my age,” Sakura explained. “I’m not sure what year it was made.”
“That’s fine,” Sasori switched off the light with a decisive click and slipped it into his breast pocket. “I’m familiar with the artist. He wasn’t very well-known, and his lines were sloppy. This however is fine work. I’m certain if he was still alive, he would regret seeing his work reduced to such a state.” He added to himself. ‘I certainly would.’
“I see,” Sakura glanced down at the smiling face, considering his words. She had been crushed initially since it was her painting but didn’t think of how its creator might feel. ‘It’s almost like having something out on loan and finding out the person you loaned it to didn’t treat it well.’
“Does it bother you?” There was an odd glint in his eye. “To see a likeness of yourself succumb to such a static and desolate state of being, devoid of all color and lacking an identity that wasn't imposed by a stranger. Perhaps she didn't even enjoy smiling and only did so at the artist's request.”
Despite feelings of unease from being subjected to his full attention she met his stare, unwavering. “Of course it bothers me. To be still isn’t truly living, is it?” she replied. “But isn’t that what your practice is? To breathe life and color back into these works of art?” He merely tilted his head at her words, so she continued. “So… what do you think? Truthfully I don’t have very many pictures of her and most of them are grayscale anyway.”
Sasori snapped on a pair of latex gloves and motioned for her to follow. On his way past her he made sure their clothes touched ever so slightly. “I think we should explore this together and discover what your relative truly looked like.”
Watching someone strip away layers from any work of art was certainly not Sakura's idea of a good time. She decided at one point to go over her course syllabus when an exorbant amount of time was spent filling in miniscule inconsistencies in the paint and retouching faded areas. Between reading her own material and watching as he moved a Q-tip in small circular motions pulling the mustard hue away from her grandmother's face, she lost track over the next few hours. It could be pretty banal, but discovering that her grandmother did in fact have a skin tone similar to her own as well as the true pigment of her hair was an experience she wouldn’t trade. It was a slow process and not unlike unearthing something of value long thought lost at an archeological dig site.
“You’re blocking my light.”
“Oh!” Sakura leaned back, realizing she’d been tilting forward while watching him work. She had snapped at a number of co-workers for doing the same to her. “Sorry about that.”
Sasori said nothing and continued to use the old dental tool to remove what she guessed was old varnish. There was something clinical in his method. After half-listening to Sai talk about his own work and the works of others, she could tell that Sasori wasn’t a typical artist. He valued numbers and measurements rather than whim. He only embarked on a project if inspiration struck, but there was nothing spontaneous about it. Instead, he seemed to have plans already mapped in his head.
It was a strange comparison to make considering her major, but the way deft fingers manipulated the tools needed to retouch areas then remove the painting from its original structure reminded her of a surgeon operating on a patient. He was no less hygienic about it too. She supposed that although their primary interests were worlds apart there were similarities in basic principle; deconstruction for the purpose of improving upon the subject’s endurance and longevity.
Sakura removed the thought with a decisive shake. ‘I’m probably reaching with that one.’ It doesn’t change the fact that she wants to ask him things despite his prior claim against small talk. They’re personal questions, ones he probably wouldn’t answer if he acknowledged them at all. She wanted to know why this practice was so important to him, or why the studio itself didn’t smell so musky and old as it had when Sakura entered it for the first time.
“You study in surgery and medicine at the campus located in Konoha’s district, correct?”
Sakura almost jumped. They’d lapsed into a comfortable silence, in the background was the soft scratching the large paintbrush made as it spread a transparent yellow varnish in thick, measured stripes along the surface of the canvas.
“What?” Sakura narrowed her eyes, suspicious. “How do you know that?”
Sasori rolled his eyes, focused on the brush strokes. “You dropped your student card when you were rooting around in that disaster you call a pocket organizer.” The card has been just one of several items that fell from her wallet while she was searching for her credit card. His fingers had itched with the urge to snatch it from her and reorganize it, starting with the bundle of receipts he saw dated from yesterday to literal months ago. He knew the importance of holding onto important papers, but there were far better ways to organize them, and he was certain the tax bureau didn’t care about the 6-dollar purchase she made at a smoothie bar.
“I’ll have you know that I can find anything I need in that wallet,” she replied with a flippant wave. “So really my security system is impenetrable since I’m the only one that can crack my organized mess.”
“That, is an oxymoron.” Sasori paused as he reached the last strip of the canvas. The time spent together hadn’t been unpleasant, a feat unto itself considering he habitually told clients to leave before starting work and had physically removed them on more than one occasion if they decided to linger. Sasori supposed there could be an exception to the rule, even if it took him nearly three decades to find one.
“Consider this an arrangement of mutual benefit,” he said later at the cash register when she gawked at the breakdown. Or rather at the exceedingly generous rate. “I’ve never worked on a piece from this artist before.” Not a lie, but not the truth either. He saw no reason not to cut her a break if it meant a future tête-à-tête with the first person he didn’t immediately want to toss from his place of business.
When he handed her the receipt, he made sure to brush his fingers along hers when he pulled away, smirking faintly when she stiffened.
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have been a jerk when we first met and gone out of my way to instigate physical contact with a man who balks at it,’ she thought while preparing to make a less than graceful exit. ‘Especially since he’s evidently the type to take any little thing as a challenge.’ Then again, it’s not as though she disliked being touched by him.
“I have to admit, Forehead, whoever this weirdo is he did a great job. You’d think it was painted yesterday,” Ino observed behind the rim of her martini glass. She inhaled deeply, enjoying the sweet waft of strawberries and litchi juice.
Sakura and Ino were currently lounging together on the sofa in Sakura’s apartment with Cleo soaking up attention between them, licking her pink button-paws and swiping them over downy ears. Nights where the two of them were able to coordinate their busy schedules to pencil in a little girl time were admittedly sparse between Sakura’s classes and Ino constantly nose deep in the books of her family business.
Sakura reclined, using one hand to scratch behind the cat’s ear and the other to absently break apart the chunks of ice in her glass of umeshu. “I know, right? It’s pretty incredible.”
The dog painting was wrapped and put away once more following the visit from her parents, her dad being none the wiser aside from improvising a little by telling him she’d decided to get it reframed. The topic of conversation had drifted to the portrait of her grandmother. The woman with the rose-colored hair now looked truer to life than Sakura had ever seen her. The grainy effect in old family photos hadn’t done the woman justice.
He’d scoff at the mere mention, but Sakura honestly felt like there was a certain type of magic in the work he did.
“So um, I wonder,” Sakura said, casually swirling the fruity cocktail. “Do you think Sasori does house calls? Say if a job is too big to transport to the studio, he’d visit a client in person?” As soon as the last part left her mouth she felt foolish. ‘That man wouldn’t go out of his way to interact with another human being unless it was absolutely necessary.’ Of course he didn’t work solely with refurbished art, he created his own original pieces too. ‘Maybe I could commission a mural instead?’ Sakura was sure she could hear her bank account crying already. She was kind of afraid to check the balance.
‘Oh no,’ The look on her friend’s face was one Ino sadly recognized well. It was a mainstay during the years the pink-haired girl had mooned over Sasuke. Hoping to nip this one in the bud Ino looked at her dourly. “Please don’t tell me the next step in your plan is breaking your stuff so you have an excuse to visit the hot artist guy?”
A beat.
“I mean,” Sakura said with a smirk; one that always meant she was scheming. “If you’re offering?”
Ino immediately shook her head. “How do you know he’s even interested in dating anyone?” she asked. “The way you describe this guy he sounds more like a hermit.” She just could not wrap her head around the idea that Sakura would willingly seek out the company of someone who fixed old paintings for a living. Every time Sai brought up a story about the rare appearances Sasori made at some mutual art gallery he sounded insufferable, and unlike her socially awkward boyfriend, Sasori meant every scathing word.
“I obviously don’t know if he’s interested,” Sakura said defensively, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “I don’t even know why I’m interested. He’s rude, like you said, and hardly speaks and when he does deign to speak at all it’s to deliver some mean comment, or he goes out of his way to be confusing.”
“Sounds like a real charmer,” Ino replied, impassive.
“Toward the end of our last meeting it was… different though,” Sakura continued. “He actually asked me questions that had nothing to do with the job. He has this odd, dry sense of humor. You wouldn’t think it to look at the guy. The way he works with his instruments isn’t much different from the way I carve into patients.”
Ino chose that moment to intervene. “I’d like to interject here to say my stance on this weirdo hasn’t changed.” Especially since her friend was comparing his work to something seen in a B-rated slasher film. Immediately dread pooled in her gut. ‘They say it’s always the quiet ones…’
“I’m not saying that I’m serious or anything. I’d just like to get to know him,” Sakura explained with a shrug. “He’s obviously intelligent.” The fact that he was extremely easy on the eyes was also a point in his favor.
“… are you interested in sleeping with him?” Ino had to ask. Please no, please no, please no, please no, please no.
“Well…” Sakura placed an index finger against her mouth. “He’s obviously very good with his hands.”
Ino sighed and knocked back the rest of her martini after removing the strawberries. ‘I can tell I’m going to be needing a lot more of these for a very long time.’ She thought with despair.
“Well, this is an unexpected surprise.”
When Chiyo returned from filling the kettle for some late afternoon tea she wasn’t expecting the presence looming near the window in her office like an oppressive otherworldly shadow. There wasn’t any mystery how he got inside; she had a habit of leaving her doors and windows unlocked. ‘I like to encourage intruders.’ She may be old, but she was no less capable than she had been ten, twenty or fifty years ago. However, if there was one person who could go undetected under her vigilant eye it was her grandson. ‘Not that locks and latches ever stopped him before; he always was such an ambitious boy.’
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” Chiyo took a seat and poured herself a cup. When he didn’t answer she glanced over at the standing calendar on the desk. “It’s only been… hmm, 10 years since we last saw one another?”
Without turning from the window Sasori reached into the inside pocket of his lapel and pulled out a small stack of papers neatly bound together and dropped them onto the table between them. “This girl…” His eyes were narrowed, and Chiyo was reminded of the expressions he often wore as a child while filling in puzzle books far too advanced for his age. “She studies medicine at the institution you work for, she wants to be a surgeon. You must know her.”
To say Chiyo felt bewildered was putting it mildly. The first page looked like a photocopy of a driver's license. Turning the photo to better see she felt a smile bloom at the familiar face. “I know of her,” she conceded then added. “But there are hundreds of medical students enrolled at the university. If you had bothered to keep in touch with your poor old grandma, you would know that she retired years ago.” She had been both a clinical professor and research coordinator in the department of medicine. Retirement didn't prevent her from dropping by the campus every once in a blue moon if only to watch the next generation of medical students trip all over themselves to impress her.
It was how she met Sakura actually. The poor thing was nearly beside herself trying to make a good first impression.
Sasori turned from the window, annoyance flickered in the parts of his face she could see under the dim lighting. “I am not here by choice.”
“It seems to me that you are.” It was clear that he wanted intel. Though for what reason Chiyo couldn’t fathom. ‘How on earth did they encounter one another?’
“She came into my studio a few weeks ago,” he answered the unsaid question. “For reasons that are irrelevant, but she said something which caught my attention.” Confused him was a more apt way to put it. She spoke of sentimentality and feelings: things that had no use in the cutthroat world of art where money alone did the talking. ‘Such conviction over so few words.’ Nonetheless he’d found himself pondering them.
Chiyo hummed, turning the page over. “You ran the girl’s billing information in order to find her address?” she whistled. “My! She must have really done something to get on your nerves. Regrettably for you, I’m afraid I have nothing to offer your little… investigation as you now know I’m retired.” How strange it was to be reunited over the one person they had in common.
A sardonic smirk worked its way into his otherwise blank expression. ‘So that’s how the old witch wants to play it.’ He reached over and plucked the open manilla folder she’d obviously been reading. The name penned at the top in thick sharpie confirmed his suspicions. “Do you always keep confidential student files in your house?” He leafed through a few pages, pausing upon a recent photo of the young woman. In stark contrast to the disheveled appearance she sported both times she’d visited his studio, her hair was artfully styled, ends spiking outward and her blazer and dress shirt were neat and ironed. She also wore a dusting of eyeshadow and coral lip gloss. She certainly could look the part of immaculate, something he greatly appreciated, yet he found he liked her better the other way. Although he’d have to address her baffling caffeine addiction. "You want to take her on as a mentorship."
“Nothing escapes your intuition, hmm,” Chiyo chortled good-naturedly. Sasori had left the field of medicine many years ago in pursuit of other interests, so the opportunity to pass her own legacy onto someone hadn't panned out the way she hoped. ‘He thinks he’s one of a kind, but from where does he think his cunning nature sowed?’ Of course she knew Haruno Sakura; the young woman was arguably one of the brightest minds the university had to offer. While Chiyo enjoyed retirement and the sizeable pension she’d garnered through seniority she’d often thought of suspending it temporarily to take the young girl under her wing for awhile, teach her a few things Tsunade and her average curriculum couldn’t dream of covering.
Sasori didn’t bother acknowledging her, choosing instead to take in every word on the pages that provided precious little insight into the life of the woman preoccupying his thoughts day and night. It was because of that he sought out the one person who could prove be a connection between them and source of more information, which so happened to be his grandmother.
“Come to think of it,” Chiyo spoke up again, idly fiddling with the brass handle of the teacup. “There are a number of core aspects she possesses that remind me quite a lot of you, Sasori,” They were both highly intelligent individuals, driven by the need for self-improvement in their respective interests. They were devious too, although Sakura was the more rounded of the two when she was guided foremost by her emotions. Even Chiyo was often impressed by the girl’s ability to hand out a lollipop to a crying child whose knee she bandaged one minute, to chewing out and embarrassing a young trainee for ‘not working fast enough’ the next.
Chiyo could relate, she too had a low tolerance for the dimwitted.
Sasori flipped another page. ‘It’s not difficult to see why she’d recognize our similarities,’ If the girl’s accolades were any indication. She was about three years his junior and on the cusp of receiving her degree, a feat notable given how young she was in comparison to most students at her level. “This is a start,” he stated, snapping the folder shut. Tucking it under his arm he left the room without another word. Now that he knew more about her, it shouldn’t be difficult to orchestrate a run-in. At the very least he wanted to speak with her again and figure out why her words bothered him so much.
Despite his abrupt departure Chiyo was left feeling optimistic. She liked seeing him take an organic interest in another person rather than the mechanical way he habitually interacted with others. He'd been that way since a small child, always preferring his workshop to spending time outdoors.
Besides, she liked Sakura quite a bit and if her presence kept Sasori from slinking away again then that was a bonus.