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moorAN: A MadaSaku based around 1910 in Japan (and later, England), where Madara and Sakura meet as children. Warnings for a parent spanking their unruly child, smoking, and mild xenophobia. Based on artwork by yomi_gaeru as a gift for yomi_gaeru .
[Part One] [Part Two] [Part Three]
At ThirteenSakura was a bundle of nerves when she visited the Uchihas on Monday. The boys were excited to see her wearing her new bracelet, but there was an odd, electrified underlying current coursing through her interactions with everyone that afternoon, especially with the two eldest Uchiha sons.
For one thing, Izuna kept inching closer when they read together, leaning into her when she would point something out in a book. If he was any nearer, he would bump Shichi right out of her lap and supplant him.
Her voice caught once or twice as Izuna intentionally brushed against her hands when he accepted the book back from her after a question. He would ask questions that she knew he already understood, too, which frustrated her since it took her away from helping the younger boys.
What was Izuna playing at? She wondered. He was usually such a quiet, calm, studious boy.
What had gotten into him?
Why was he acting so oddly?
Sakura shook herself mentally.
Then there was Madara.
Sakura had to force herself to relax when she felt Madara’s eyes on her through the afternoon. His gift burned a hole in her bag and made her antsy. Part of her longed to send the other boys away so she could take him to task for such an extravagant gift. The other part of her wanted to drop the gift at his feet; then cut and run.
Meanwhile, Madara behaved exactly as he always had, attentive to her questions and otherwise aloof, confident and dominant amongst his younger brothers.
Out of the corner of her eyes she noticed his eyes narrowing at Izuna when Izuna scooted in closer to her again. But even that was normal behaviour for Madara; he had a second sense for Izuna pushing her boundaries.
Tired and hoping to avoid an argument, Sakura turned to Izuna to gently rebuke him but Madara beat her to it.
“Izuna,” said Madara for the fourth time that afternoon. His voice had chilled. “Leave Haruno-dono room to breathe. You are not a baby she must coddle.”
The back of Izuna’s neck burned, but it was the look of pure hatred he shot his brother that had Sakura wincing.
A storm was brewing that day and the boys were restless. Madara’s tone was not improving matters.
“How about we have a short break,” suggested Sakura.
To her right side she found Koji curled up beside her, practising the alphabet with a pen and paper, quiet and unassuming. He had been exceptionally well behaved that day, thankfully. “Uchiha-Koji-san, could you please ask the staff for some tea and fruit?”
Grinning up at Sakura, Koji nodded. He hopped to his feet and ran to the kitchen, Shichiro chasing after him, calling, “I wanna help!”
Still in her arms, Tomo settled back against Sakura. His thumb was in his mouth and his eyelids were slowly closing. Sakura touched his forehead, then her own. He was a bit warm.
“Uchiha-san,” said Sakura, addressing Madara.
Madara immediately focused on her again.
“I think Uchiha-Tomo-san has a cold,” she explained. “Do you have medicine for him?”
“Dun’ want med’cine,” said Tomo around his thumb. He hunched down in Sakura’s lap.
Her heart softening, Sakura wrapped her arm around Tomo’s slightly feverish body and began to rock side to side, rubbing his back slowly. She wore a kimono that day and it restricted her movement more than her Western clothing did, but she could do this much for him.
Madara approached and examined Tomoyuki a moment, gently placing his palm on Tomo’s head as Sakura had. His brows furrowed and he straightened again.
“I’ll go tell father,” he said.
“Thank you. He’s fine here for now,” said Sakura. Cradled in her arms, Tomo’s eyes closed and he began to doze.
With Tomo napping, and Madara, Koji and Shichi out in search of help, the room fell quiet around Sakura. She let her eyelids slip shut as the tension leaked from her body. She just had to make it through the afternoon, hopefully not fight much with Madara, and then go home.
“I’m not a baby,” interrupted Izuna from her side.
“Hm?” asked Sakura, looking down at him as she swayed.
“I’m not a baby. I’m almost as old as you are,” he said.
“Almost,” she agreed pleasantly.
She wondered if she should ask Madara to walk her home again? She bit the inside of her lip. But it wouldn’t be dark out this time… Would that be too obvious that something was wrong? She didn’t want to get him in trouble. The image of him laid out on the cushions without his trousers, bleeding, was seared into her memory.
“What do you like more than poetry?”
Sakura swallowed her sigh.
“Nothing much,” she said, smiling at Izuna. Her head was too full of thoughts and worries that day. It wasn’t his fault she was testy.
Getting up on his knees, Izuna leaned into Sakura’s personal space again—exactly as Madara had told him not to. Sakura’s jaw tightened, but then she realized Izuna was studying her expression carefully.
“I’ll figure it out,” promised Izuna with quiet certainty.
Sakura nodded, humouring him.
“You always do,” she said.
Then his father arrived with Madara hot on his heels. Behind them, a nursemaid followed, joining Tajima and Madara in front of Sakura.
“He didn’t sleep well last night,” said the nursemaid. “He likely needs a nap. I’ll have some broth prepared for him, too, Lord Uchiha.”
“Ah,” said Tajima, lifting Tomo from Sakura’s arms. The little boy curled into his father’s arms, tucking his head in the crook of his neck before sucking on his thumb again with a sleepy sigh.
“Good job, Madara,” said his father as he and the nursemaid each checked Tomo’s temperature.
“Haruno-dono was the first to notice,” said Madara.
“You have good instincts, Sakura-chan,” said Tajima. “Make sure you don’t come down with a cold, too,” he added. “The boys would be very upset.”
Sakura blushed as Tajima looked down at her. Beside his father, Madara frowned and glared up at him.
“Haruno-dono’s too stubborn to get a cold,” said Madara.
It was Sakura’s turn to frown. At Madara.
“We brought snacks!” called Shichiro from the doorway.
“Lots!” added Koji excitedly, hurrying into the room with his plate held high.
But then Koji froze at seeing their father and nursemaid and his grip on the plate slipped and a strawberry rolled onto the floor. His gentle eyes widened and he paled as he took in the scene
“Is… is everything okay?” asked the seven year old tremulously. The plate of fruit in his hands began to tremble.
To Sakura’s surprise, it was Madara who bolted over to Koji and took the plate. He set it down and began rubbing his younger brother’s back soothingly.
“Everything’s fine. Father is here to take Tomo for a nap,” explained Madara quickly, leaning down to look into his brother’s wide eyes. “That’s all.”
“Really?” asked Koji in a tiny voice.
“Yes,” said Madara confidently. “You brought extra apples, good. I like those ones.”
The muscles in Koji’s young throat flex as he nodded, trying to clear the wetness from his eyes and sniffles from his nose.
“Okay,” said the young boy shakily. Madara continued rubbing circles in his brother’s back for another few moments while he recovered.
From her cushion on the floor, Sakura glanced around at everyone. Shichi was fine and Tomo was asleep, but the rest of the assembled were pale and drawn. Even Izuna beside her was tense, his lips pressed together in a firm white line, his eyes stressed.
Their snack break was quiet that afternoon, the fight having left everyone.
Sakura hugged Shichi and Koji when it was time for her to leave. They had called their afternoon to a close early, in light of the mood and Tomo’s extended nap.
When Izuna lingered around Sakura as she tried to stand, a vein throbbed in her forehead. She had learned that while she loved having friends, she did not like having clingy friends.
“Izuna, go check on the others,” ordered Madara.
“I don’t have to listen to—”
“You do. Now,” said Madara firmly. “Haruno-dono has to leave.”
Izuna’s hands tightened to fists as he glared at his brother, but he did as he was told. This time, though, he stomped out of the room and up the stairs.
Sakura sighed as his heavy footsteps pounded away on the upper floor.
“Thank you. I hope he isn’t too mad,” she said tiredly to Madara.
Madara glanced away before his gaze returned to her and he waited.
“We need to talk,” said Sakura quietly. She hoped none of his brothers were sneaking around nearby.
“Ah,” agreed Madara steadily. He looked at the time then back to Sakura.
They put on their coats and shoes and Madara took Sakura to the gardens at the west side of the mansion. Again Madara nodded to the guards at the doors as they passed through.
They walked for several minutes before Sakura asked her first question.
“What happened today,” asked Sakura as they passed beneath a budding cherry blossom tree. “Is he alright?”
Madara’s short, wild hair blew in the faint breeze as he considered his answer.
“Kojima? He is physically fine. I think he was overcome and panicked, associating the setting with a very bad memory,” said Madara.
Sakura looked over at him, unsure whether to push for more. It wasn’t her business, after all. But Koji had looked so terrified…
“Koji was four. He had just gone to the kitchens to ask for a snack when we received the news about our mother. We were all assembled in the living room. Father was carrying Shichiro while a nursemaid sat on the floor, holding Tomoyuki,” explained Madara. “When Koji returned, he found us all crying when we learned of our mother’s passing.”
Sakura’s heart squeezed. No wonder the scene triggered such a dramatic response from little Koji. The parallels were so clear now.
“Oh,” she whispered. She didn’t know what else to say.
“It is rare for our father to join us all in that room. It was where he and our mother used to sit and read to us or watch us play,” said Madara. He glanced at her before turning back to the path. “Your birthday was the first time we had all gathered there together, laughing, in three years.”
Sakura nodded, biting her bottom lip. The path continued through the plotted trees, around privacy walls and beside deep and shallow ponds. Koi of many colours swam lazily beneath the surface of the clear water. Madara led her up onto a half-moon bridge that curved over a stream that wove through the extensive garden.
Madara leaned back against the guardrails and looked up at the trees around them. Some of the local birds had returned from their winter migration and hopped from branch to branch.
Sakura followed his gaze for a moment before looking at Madara out of the corner of her eye. He was completely at ease in his home, looking after his brothers, bossing and ordering them around.
She had a feeling he would not take well to her bucking that trend.
“A-about your gift,” Sakura began, clearing her throat.
His focus instantly shifted to her face and her cheeks warmed. She refused to shrink beneath his gaze, but it was hard.
“Things are different here, m-maybe,” she said, swallowing. “But your gift, while very thoughtful, is far too much for me to accept.”
She reached into her bag to pull out the camphor wood box but Madara’s hand slid down her arm to clutch her wrist. Hidden inside her bag, his skin was warm against hers.
“I read the letter. You did a wonderful job, I am very proud of you. And the letter was more than enough,” said Sakura, her voice higher than normal.
He would not let her go.
Shoot! The cards!
“That reminds me,” said Sakura, pretending to ignore Madara’s grip. “I wrote thank-you cards for everyone. I forgot to give them out today. Would you mind—”
“They’re for you,” said Madara.
Sakura pasted on a smile and shook her head. “No, these cards are for each of you. I drew little penguins on—”
“They’re for you,” repeated Madara.
His thumb stroked her inner wrist and Sakura inhaled shakily.
“I-I am very appreciative, but it is too much, Uchiha-san—”
“Madara.”
“Hmmmm?”
Trembling, Sakura couldn’t even form words. She shook her head vehemently.
“No, I could never address you so casually,” she babbled.
She looked around only to find that in this part of the garden, privacy walls had been strategically placed to bar anyone from spying or eavesdropping on them.
Sakura’s heart pounded in her chest.
She tried to clutch at the camphor wood box, but it slipped out of her sweaty grip.
“I want you to,” said Madara.
He held her gaze and continued stroking her wrist.
“Want me to w-what?” asked Sakura. She felt dizzy and faint.
Madara turned to her fully and stepped closer. His warm hand loosened its grip on her inside the bag. Sakura sighed with relief until he wove their fingers together and squeezed.
Her breath caught at the intensity of his eyes on hers as he looked up at her; he was closer. Suddenly he seemed so much older.
“Call me by my name. Madara.”
Sakura shook her head harder.
“P-please don’t make me,” she whispered, swallowing. She ducked her chin and closed her eyes, her shoulders rising up to her ears in fear. She couldn’t. She couldn’t call him by his name. He was the heir to the most prominent zaibatsu in Japan. There was no way she could call him by his name.
Unconsciously she squeezed his hand with her trembling one.
The silence between them stretched until Madara stroked her knuckles with his fingers and gently released her hand.
With her eyes closed, she missed the emotions that flickered through Madara’s expression, missed the way he swallowed and lowered himself back down from his tip-toes.
“Toss the gift in the water if you don’t want it,” said Madara carelessly.
“No! That’s a waste!”
“It’s meant for you. If you don’t want it, throw it,” he challenged.
He tucked both his hands inside the wide sleeves of his coat and turned to lean his back against the bridge railing again.
Sakura stared at him in shock.
“What is wrong with you?!”
Madara whirled to glare at her but Sakura pushed on.
“You’re so wasteful!”
His shoulder twitched.
“No I’m not!”
“Yes you are! You want me to throw this expensive gift away!”
“No, I dared you to throw it away! There’s a difference!”
“No there isn’t!”
“Yes there is!”
“No there isn’t!”
“You either want it or you don’t, it’s up to you!”
“It’s not that I don’t want it, it’s that it’s too much!”
“No it isn’t!”
“Yes it is, Uchiha-san!”
“No it isn’t! You’re worth more than—”
One of the guards nearby coughed. Loudly.
They froze.
Of course. Even when they were alone they had an audience.
“Keep it,” muttered Madara, turning away from Sakura. The back of his neck burned.
Sakura sucked her bottom lip into her mouth and fidgeted. It was time for another real truth.
“I’ll never have anywhere to wear it,” she admitted very quietly. “I don’t go to fancy events like you and your family. You would never get to see it. It would all sit in a box until the silver was tarnished. That isn’t fair to you, after choosing such nice things.”
Madara’s chin dipped and Sakura felt terrible. Terrible for being rude in the face of his generosity, terrible for yelling at him in front of his own guards, terrible for being a bad guest on top of that.
“I really liked your letter,” she said softly. “It means a lot to me.”
“Hn,” he grumbled.
“I’ll keep the gift,” she relented, her shoulders sagging. “But don’t be mad if I never get to wear it.”
“You’ll wear it,” said Madara after a moment, looking at Sakura over his shoulder and meeting her eyes. His confidence was quiet and certain.
Sakura shook her head but tried to smile for Madara.
“And you’ll say my name. Because you’ll want to,” he added, determined.
Tired of arguing, Sakura sighed.
“Sometimes you make me want to punch you,” she admitted as they walked back to the mansion along the garden paths. “But your guards would kill me. Or your father.”
Madara huffed under his breath.
“As if you c—”
He choked, suddenly remembering their first meeting.
“I’ll keep that in mind,” he corrected himself, watching her out of the corner of his eye.
“Mmmm,” murmured Sakura, eyeing him right back.
A smirk hinted at the corners of Madara’s lips and Sakura shook her head, amused.
###
“Haruno-dono?”
“Yes?”
Sakura looked up from the Uchiha’s foyer as one of Tajima’s personal attendants approached.
“Could you report to the drawing room for a moment, please? The Lord wishes a word.”
Her stomach fluttering, Sakura nodded.
“Of course.”
Tapping on her slippers, Sakura nodded in thanks to the maid who put away her shoes and hurried to the drawing room. It was located down several corridors in the opposite direction from the family living room. Izuna had shown her the way before, when she had needed to ask their father a question.
Nervous, Sakura wondered if she’d done something wrong or inadvertently offensive.
She arrived to find Madara sitting in a large, English-style, brown leather wingback chair. At the heavy oak desk behind him, Tajima sat in his own, slightly more ornate chair of similar style. The mate to Madara’s chair was open opposite him.
“Please sit, Sakura-chan,” said Tajima, indicating the empty seat.
With a bow, Sakura entered the room. One of the staff closed the door behind her.
Sakura swallowed and took her seat.
“You’re probably wondering why I called you in here,” said Tajima.
Sakura glanced at Madara, but his expression was bland if curious, too.
“Yes, Uchiha-dono,” said Sakura very, very respectfully.
“There’s something of a more sensitive nature that I would appreciate your help with. I don’t think it’s appropriate for the other boys to learn this, at least at this time. They’re too young. Madara will need to know this, however. So this lesson is only for Madara… and myself, I suppose,” said Tajima with mild humour. “You’re of the same age, so I think it would be best for him to learn it through you. Even if it’s difficult, I still want you to teach him this. And remember that I am asking you to do this, so you won’t be in trouble.”
Oh, this did not sound like it was something she would be able to share with her parents…
“Yes, Uchiha-dono,” said Sakura, her voice a touch weaker. She was so uncomfortable, her fingers clutched tightly at her spring kimono.
Tajima nodded at her.
“Good. As long as you understand that,” confirmed Tajima. “This is not to get anyone in trouble. This is to help Madara so he understands his surroundings when he is in an English-speaking environment.”
“Of course, Uchiha-dono.”
“Good.”
His dark eyes regarded her warmly.
“I need you to teach Madara every curse, swear, insult, colloquial term for genitalia—male and female—, racist, vulgar, naughty word and expression you know.”
Sakura paled as her heart stopped dead in her chest.
“U-Uchih-ha-dono…”
Oh no, she was going to faint.
No, first she was going to fail and then she was going to faint.
Even Madara flushed and looked between his father and Sakura.
“I order you to teach my son this, Sakura-chan. He must recognize what environment he is in, or if someone is insulting him.”
Her hands at her cheeks, Sakura looked at Madara shyly.
“I can’t,” she whispered, shaking her head.
“Sakura-chan…”
Her shoulders rounding up to her ears, Sakura sank in on herself, pressing her lips together firmly.
She pleaded with Tajima with her eyes, but he did not relent.
“I promise not to tell your parents,” swore Tajima. “And so does Madara.”
Sakura looked at Madara. He nodded at her seriously.
Squirming in her seat, Sakura took a deep breath and looked at Tajima one last time.
His warm eyes were sympathetic and encouraging.
In a very, very tiny voice, Sakura began a litany of profanity that went on.
And on.
And on.
After a few minutes, Tajima got out paper and started taking notes, while Madara stared at Sakura in fear and not a little awe.
—even moreso when she went into graphic detail about certain anatomical vocabulary.
“I hadn’t realized how creative, if mundane, the scope of English profanity explored,” remarked Tajima. He asked Sakura to clarify the spelling of certain words from time to time.
Then he and his son repeated them, making Sakura blush all the harder.
—especially the sexual-related ones. (She wondered at one point if Madara was getting them wrong on purpose, just to have another excuse to repeat them. He was far too gleeful as he watched her when he said them.)
All the while, Sakura stared at her lap and her fingers dug into her legs, the back of her neck and ears burning with shame.
“How did you learn all these,” asked Madara.
His father arched a brow at his son’s reverent tone.
Sakura shrugged. “I read a lot.” She squirmed. “Also, we travelled often by boat, so I would hear the sailors speaking, and… it was very colourful. I figured out which were the bad words by using them at my parents’ dinner parties.”
Madara stared at her.
Tajima burst out laughing so hard Sakura startled.
By the end of the lesson, which lasted long into the afternoon, Madara and Tajima had a remarkably updated lexicon of obscenity and imprecation that would make any gambler, swindler, sailor or bedside nurse proud.
“If you think of any more, please let us know,” said Tajima as he reviewed his notes. His eyebrows lifted at a certain word. Then his cheeks warmed at the next page. “In private,” he added.
“Y-yes, Uchiha-dono…”
Trembling, Sakura stood and left the room on noodley legs. Madara joined her.
He was practically glowing and his shit-eating grin made her groan.
She had a feeling Madara would not use his newfound knowledge for the forces of good.
###
Sakura continued her visits to the Uchiha twice weekly until the kimono shop became too busy with the preparation for the spring and summer festivals. The orders poured in, leading Sakura, her family, and their additional staff to stay up long into the night. They would wake and work again before the sun rose the next morning.
As such, her visits shortened to once a week, and even then, only for an hour or so. This did not sit well with the boys, who had come to look forward to her visits.
“But we didn’t get to play any games this time!”
With bags under her eyes, Sakura instinctively reached for Shichi to cuddle him. He and Tomo were taking the change in routine hard.
“I’m sorry. I have to work to help my family,” said Sakura apologetically.
Shichi hugged her back with a pout.
“You’re like father,” said Kojima, watching her thoughtfully.
Sakura chuckled and shook her head, smiling at him. “I’m nowhere near as important as your father.”
Behind her, Izuna and Madara’s eyes flickered in anger, but they held their tongues—for the time being.
At the end of their lesson, Sakura stretched, covering her mouth with the back of her hand again to conceal her yawn. The youngest boys said goodbye—Tomo suggested she take a nap—and Sakura, Izuna and Madara walked to the front door.
The weather outside had warmed considerably and the cherry blossoms bloomed around the city as more flowers sprouted daily. Sakura had left her jacket at home that afternoon, happy to enjoy the warm breeze against her skin. She slipped on her shoes as the two oldest Uchiha sons stayed behind with her.
“I’m fine,” she assured them. “The walk home will wake me up.”
Izuna looked at Madara, but Madara returned it with naught but a side-eye glare.
“Hn,” said Madara as a maid came to open the door for them.
A surprise awaited Sakura outside.
There on the stone driveway sat a jinrikisha, an Uchiha-liveried coolie standing at attention before it.
“Do you have other guests?” asked Sakura. She hadn’t heard anyone else come in while she’d been there that afternoon.
“It’s for you,” said Izuna before his brother could stop him.
Madara positively seethed at his younger sibling.
Sakura blinked and looked at Izuna.
“But it’s a nice day. I can—”
Wasting no time, Madara shoved Sakura forward, fully aware of how stubborn she could be. Dammit. he’d meant for them to be closer before Izuna opened his big mouth!
“Get in. You’ll be home in no time,” said Madara, pushing Sakura into the chariot and onto the cushioned seat.
“Wha—no—I don’t—”
“Straight to the Haruno Kimono Shop in the first ring of the mercantile district,” said Izuna importantly to the coolie, who immediately grabbed the rails.
“Yes, young masters.”
Still trying to catch her footing, Sakura fell back again with an angry growl as the coolie lifted.
Sakura’s emerald eyes widened then sharpened as she glared at Madara over the edge of the chariot.
“Why you—”
“Make sure the ride is smooth,” said Madara to the coolie, completely ignoring Sakura.
“Yes, young masters.”
At Madara’s nod, the coolie set off.
“Uchiha-san!” shouted Sakura from the bench seat, glaring behind her at Madara.
Madara smirked as she disappeared down the drive.
“Isn’t she going to be very angry when he picks her up again next week to bring her back?” asked Izuna, his brow furrowed as Sakura’s shouts faded in the distance.
“Of course,” said Madara with a pleased sigh.
Izuna arched a brow at his brother but they turned around and headed back inside to report to their father.
###
It was May when Tajima pulled his eldest son aside after supper.
“Make sure you have your things in order before we leave. The ship won’t wait for us,” said Tajima. “The staff will look after our bags, but ensure that yours have everything you’ll need.”
Madara nodded, his mind working overtime. The ship. What ship?
The only ship they were scheduled to take was…
His stomach tightened.
It was May.
Already.
“What is it?” asked Tajima.
“I still have a day,” said Madara, stalling.
Tajima studied his son.
“Ah,” his father acquiesced. “Do you still have errands to run?”
The too-casual tone of his father’s voice grated on Madara’s nerves, but he was grateful his father gave him an excuse to cling to.
He nodded.
“I suggest you prioritize the most important one first thing in the morning,” said Tajima meaningfully. He held his son’s gaze a moment longer than necessary.
“I will,” said Madara sharply.
That night Madara double-checked his luggage, ensuring that nothing was amiss.
He intended to use every spare moment very wisely the next day.
###
A flock of wild birds attacked Madara’s insides the moment he woke the next day.
Or, that’s what it felt like.
It’s not as if it’s the last time you’ll ever see her, he reminded himself as he dressed in traditional Japanese clothing. It won’t be so long. You’ve hardly noticed time passing these last six months…
Somehow, he doubted his immediate future would hold the same tempo as the last half-year.
When he entered the Haruno kimono shop after breakfast—his guards casually waiting outside—Madara’s head spun. He had never seen so many colours together in one place before outside a garden.
There was a riot of silks, but also cottons, muslin, lace, and others he couldn’t name. The textures, patterns and variety overwhelmed him. And yet, it was all in perfect order once he recognized each set, sorted by fabric, pattern, and, if he didn’t miss his mark, quality. The more expensive fabrics were on the top shelves.
“Good morning, can I help… Uchiha-san?”
Her voice set all the birds flying again inside him. When he saw her with her hair mostly down for the first time, the birds clamoured louder, drowning out his good sense and everything he’d planned to say. Sure there was a braid at the side to keep the front out of her eyes, but the rest was long, down past her shoulders, and very straight.
“Good morning,” said Madara. He looked around. There were no other customers yet that he could see. The birds gradually calmed.
To his mixed relief, Sakura approached him from behind the counter, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She wore a stunning kimono in shades of light green that brought out the colour of her eyes and set off her hair, and he didn’t know what she had been talking about on the bridge, because obviously the jade hair sticks would have gone perfectly with it, as would the pearl drop pins and—
It was then that he noticed, to his dismay, that Sakura was even taller than him than usual.
“You-you’re—taller—!”
“Hm? Oh, you mean my geta?” asked Sakura. She lifted the hem of her kimono to show off the tall sandals. “I wear them when I work here. When I visit you, I usually wear western shoes, since I used to enjoy the walk.”
Ah. So a certain liberty hadn’t quite been forgiven yet. Duly noted. Hn.
He cleared his throat.
“I…”
As Sakura released the fabric of her kimono, a sparkle at her wrist caught his eye.
All Madara’s words stuck in his throat.
She wore the bracelet.
“I came to ask if I could see you wear one of the hair combs,” he said, distracted.
Sakura bit her lip. “I’m afraid it would get too much attention if I were to wear it at work. It would send the wrong message.”
Madara wanted to argue that it would send the very right message, but that wouldn’t get him what he wanted.
“I leave tomorrow with my father on business,” said Madara instead.
“Oh, are you leaving Konoha?” asked Sakura, her eyes warming. “You’ll finally get to see the countryside. How far? Kyoto? Tokyo?”
“London.”
Her lips fell open on a soft exhale, the colour draining from her cheeks.
“The English lessons were to prepare me for the trip. My father’s zaibatsu has an important role in an exhibition on Japanese culture and business. He wants me to come and learn,” said Madara.
Sakura said nothing. She was so pale he grew concerned.
“Say something,” he ordered, his voice cracking.
“How long?” asked Sakura.
He held her gaze.
“We’ll be back by winter.”
Sakura’s expression fell. She listed to the side and reached out, catching herself on a shelf.
Madara lunged for her but she forced a smile for him. He lowered his arms reluctantly before he touched her.
“I didn’t know,” she said. “That’s a long time.”
He nodded. “It will take us close to a month to get there.”
“And a month to get back,” she replied.
Madara’s chest rose and fell with the pressure building inside him. He knew. He’d been excitedly dreading the trip so much he’d blocked it from his mind. The very reason she’d come into his life, and he had cast it aside in favour of living every day in the present moment. He held her gaze, as it still fascinated him.
“Is there anything you would like me to bring back for you?” he asked.
Sakura smiled at him and shook her head.
“No. You should focus on enjoying yourself. London has everything,” she said, her eyes shining fondly.
No it doesn’t, he wanted to argue, but again bit his tongue.
“Books?” tried Madara.
Sakura bit her lip as her eyes lit up. His heart swelled.
“Poetry?”
Before Madara’s eyes, Sakura blushed and shook her head, her chin sinking down self-consciously.
His brow furrowed.
“You’ll just laugh at me,” she mumbled, avoiding his gaze.
“I’ll get you whatever you want.”
Sakura palmed her face and groaned. “That’s the other thing I’m afraid of.”
His insulted frown made her giggle.
But her laugh had warmed and reassured Madara so he tried again.
“What kind of books?” pressed Madara. “I can find anything.”
Or he could pay someone else to.
Same thing.
Her shoulders sagged. “You don’t need to get me anything.”
“I know,” said Madara. “I want to.”
Sakura bit her lip, blushing at his directness.
She swallowed and stepped closer. And closer.
She sighed fretfully, mumbling, “I can’t even say this to your face. Come here, I’ll whisper in your ear.”
He was before her in an instant.
“If you tell your brothers, I will never speak to you again,” she threatened.
“Not a word,” swore Madara.
Then, hesitantly, Sakura leaned down, cupped his ear and warmly whispered,
“[Romance.]”
It took everything in Madara not to turn his head ninety degrees.
And he knew, without a doubt, that he would remember the way she whispered that word to him for the rest of his life.
He swallowed thickly and cleared his throat.
“Easy,” he said, trying to appear unaffected.
—He cursed his luck viciously that his voice chose that moment to crack.
Sakura still blushed furiously as she pulled back and straightened.
“Only if you have time. And only if you have extra room. And it doesn’t have to be—”
“I said I would and I will,” said Madara, turning to hold her gaze.
“Okay,” she said softly. Then, “Thank you very much, Uchiha-san.”
He sighed.
Still ‘Uchiha-san’.
“Do you know where you’ll be staying in London?” asked Sakura.
Madara nodded and handed a paper to Sakura.
“We may leave temporarily from time to time, but this is where we will stay and where our correspondence will be collected,” he said.
“I’ll write to you,” promised Sakura.
“Thank you,” said Madara. “My brothers will try, but Izuna may be the only one to make them legible.”
Sakura laughed. “I’ll try and encourage them when I visit.”
He remembered then what she’d said in March. That she loved his letters.
That settled it. He would write to her every day.
But then her words sank in.
“You’re still going to go visit?”
Sakura’s brow knit. “Of course, to help your brothers… Oh… I suppose… I suppose you won’t need me anymore, will you? Especially once you come back, perfectly fluent.”
“We will. Father wants us to learn Dutch next,” lied Madara smoothly and straight through his teeth. “And it will still take my brothers ages to learn English.”
Sakura laughed.
“You liar.”
“Prove me wrong.”
“I look forward to that very thing.”
Madara’s smirk widened.
“So do I, Haruno-dono.”
“But we may need help with the Dutch. Mama still has a tutor come to help me every two weeks, to make sure I don’t lose mine,” said Sakura.
“Perhaps we can pass her name onto my father and study together, to save time?”
Another excellent reason to spend time together. He had to pat himself on the back for that one.
“Oh, it’s not a woman, it’s a man. Well, a young man. He’s around our age! His name is Hashi,” said Sakura. “Hashirama. He’s half Dutch and half Japanese, like me.”
That was fine. Madara was sure ‘Hashi’ would bleed just as freely anyone else once he got his hands on—
“Though we only started practising a little while ago. Mama was worried I was spending too much time on my English,” admitted Sakura.
Sakura’s last sentence railroaded all Madara’s remaining thoughts.
Too much time?
Too much?
Nonsense!
Patently. Absurd.
“Papa assured her that that wasn’t the case, but she insists,” continued Sakura with a shrug. “So I guess while I visit your brothers this summer, I’ll also be seeing Hashi. I’ll introduce you when you get back. It would be nice if you became friends, too. Maybe we could all visit one of the autumn festivals together!”
Then Sakura stared at him, her eyes narrowing.
“Your iris bled red for a second. Are you alright?”
Madara blinked the murder from his eyes.
“Yes. A festival would be acceptable.”
He glanced up at her hair.
“You will wear one of the combs.”
Sakura blushed harder. “Uchiha-san…”
“Just one,” he asked firmly, but quietly.
The chime above the front entrance rang, breaking the silence that stretched between them.
Their time together was drawing to a close.
“I leave first thing tomorrow,” said Madara.
Sakura’s smile softened. “Be safe. Let me know when you arrive.”
“I will. I’ll keep watch for your letters. And your books.”
“You promised,” she reminded him in a warning tone.
He smirked.
“On my word,” he said.
For a second Madara wished he was Tomo or Shichi. Just a second. Just to have what they had, to do what they could do that he couldn’t do.
“Goodbye, Uchiha-san,” said Sakura, bowing to him.
He would cure her of that awful habit at some point, but for now he took the opportunity to do something he had longed to for some time.
When Sakura rose, Madara nodded to her.
“Goodbye, Haruno-dono. I will do your tutelage justice.”
Sakura’s lips quirked. “You better.”
With a final nod, Madara turned and departed the kimono shop. With his guards at his back, he made his way home.
###
When Sakura untucked the side braid from her hair that night, she winced when her fingers caught on a snag. With a sigh she untangled her fingers and reached for her brush to see if she could loosen it. When her brush caught with a metallic ping, Sakura frowned. She didn’t remember pinning that section this morning…
Walking to her mirror, she turned her head to the side to see if she could find the end of the spare pin to pull it out. She patted around her head and found it, lifting the top free.
Her eyes widened.
It wasn’t a simple pin.
The kanzashi had a decoration at the top, and that was what was snagged.
Closing her eyes, Sakura grumbled under her breath about certain people taking far too much liberty with her person.
Working very delicately, Sakura loosened it and pulled it free.
The clutch of cherry blossoms with mother-of-pearl petals shone with an iridescent glow. When Sakura held it against her hair, she realized how well it had blended in, unless one knew to look for it. She had worn it all day and even her mother hadn’t commented upon it. It was beautiful and subtle, though she could tell by the fine craftsmanship that, again, it had not been a casual purchase.
Unfortunately, it seemed Madara was learning.
Making a note to both thank him and chastise him very sternly in her first letter to him in England, Sakura set the kanzashi in the camphor box with her other hair ornaments.
It appeared Madara had a fondness for mother-of-pearl.
(Madara would argue his fondness was something else altogether—and also that she should wear his gifts more often).
###
Three and a half weeks after Madara’s departure, Sakura was woken in the middle of the night by her father shaking her shoulder.
“Darling, wake up. There’s someone here to see you,” he murmured.
“Hmm? Uchiha-san?” mumbled Sakura groggily.
Her father tsk’ed darkly under his breath and Sakura flushed. Oops. That… would hopefully not be remembered by morning.
She quickly climbed out of bed, wrapped herself in her bathrobe and tried to smooth down her hair. On silent feet she followed her father downstairs where the shoplights were dimly lit and a guest waited just inside the door.
“Yes?” asked Sakura worriedly, rubbing her eyes. Her hair was probably frightening but she hadn’t wanted to keep the messenger waiting. If he’d arrived in the middle of the night, it must be very important.
“Cablegram for Haruno-dono.”
Sakura’s eye twitched.
“Present,” said Sakura, ire mounting inside her.
He hadn’t…
The cablegram officer, with an Uchiha crest at his collar and upon his shoulder, nodded to Sakura and handed her a sealed envelope.
“Thank you,” she said when he bowed to her and her father. Job accomplished, he left, and Sakura’s father locked the door behind him after checking up and down the street for anyone else who may have been lurking about hoping to deliver midnight messages to his precious daughter. Spying none, he nudged Sakura towards the stairs, turning off the lights again.
“Is mama up?”
“No,” said her father, giving her the stink-eye.
Sakura’s shoulders sagged with relief. She and her father kept each other's secrets. It looked like this may be another one. She had a feeling her mother may not be as accommodating about casual telegrams in the dead of night.
“Don’t stay up too late. You have work in the morning,” whispered her father. “Douse your lights.”
Sakura’s mouth fell open as she looked at her father in surprise.
He gave her a very reluctantly knowing look and turned back to his room.
Chagrined, Sakura nipped quickly to her room, stuffed a blanket beneath her door, and threw a light scarf over her lamp, just in case, to mute its light. Then she very quietly slit the side of the envelope to read the cablegram inside. The note itself was printed on very thin paper, the Uchiha zaibatsu header emblazoned across the top of the stationery.
Madara’s family had their own telegram and cablegram service. Sakura shook her head. She shouldn’t have been surprised.
CIRCUIT 427. CLERK UU. 4:32PM. LONDON.
(Sakura glanced at her clock, which read half past one. If she remembered correctly, Japan was 8 hours ahead of England, or at least London. Which meant… With a soft sigh, she realized that the cablegram had literally come in only a few minutes before it was dispatched directly to her at her residence. She pitied the staff who waited on Madara’s family sometimes.)
ALL ARRIVED SAFE-
TIRED BUT FIT-
FOOD HORRIBLE DO NOT RECOMMEND-
SEA CHOPPY-
STEAMERS DISGRACEFUL-
FOREIGNERS EXCESSIVELY RUDE-
(Sakura could already tell who wrote the missive. Also, did he not understand that now he was the foreigner? Yet her sigh was fond.)
HOTEL ACCEPTABLE-
(She couldn’t help rubbing her temples. According to the note he left her, it was Claridge’s, the finest luxury hotel in London.)
FATHER ENJOYS THE TEA-
BUT COMPLAINS ABOUT THE BISCUITS-
(Sakura wanted to cry. Had he no idea how much it cost to send such a long, unnecessarily detailed international cablegram? The irresponsible idiot...)
WEATHER TERRIBLE-
LOOK FORWARD TO KONOHA RETURN-
PLEASE REMIND BROTHERS TO BEHAVE-
DON’T TRUST SNEAKY IZUNA-
(Sakura’s brow arched. That. From Madara? Really? She would have to go through idioms with him again to remind him of the one about the kettle calling the pot black.)
SORRY TO MISS SUMMER FESTIVALS-
I WILL SEE YOU WEAR NICE THINGS UPON RETURN-
(Sakura sighed, shaking her head. She was smiling.)
BE SAFE-
YOURS-
U.M.-
###
Six months turned into seven months turned into eight months and snow lay upon the ground. Sakura received daily letters from Madara. Some were long, some were short. He started writing before he left Japan. One town was nice while another was full of fools. He enjoyed the ocean but hated the smell of the steamer ships. The trains were so comfortable they kept putting him to sleep, which angered him because it meant he missed out on the green countryside, or the green tides, or the green forests.
He mentioned the colour green an awful lot.
The longer letters were always the ones full of things he complained about.
His descriptions often made her laugh.
In return, Sakura told him how his brothers fared, how her family’s business was running—very well, thanks to a flurry of festival season purchases—how her own studies progressed, and how her Dutch lessons continued with Hashirama. When she wrote that Hashi was looking forward to meeting Madara, too, Madara went off on a lengthy tangent about how important it was to focus on English and Japanese, and surely she didn’t still need a tutor, or had she tried any of the matron societies—surely there were some for Dutch ex-pats, would she like him to look into it? He would do it anyway—, perhaps she would appreciate conversing more with a woman and not a filthy scoundrel like Hashirama.
Filthy scoundrel? Sakura had replied back tersely.
Madara had not addressed her question in any letter since.
He hated English food, it was all garbage. His father let him drink some beer, but Madara found he enjoyed Scotch instead. His father had not been pleased by that. Madara did not go into detail, but his tone implied there were consequences.
Sakura bit her lip and prayed Madara hadn’t ended up bare and bent over his father’s knee again.
Then she shook her head. Madara was twelve. He should not have been drinking such strong alcohol, anyway. Furthermore, Dutch beer was far more refreshing, in her opinion (which she shared in a letter chastising him for getting drunk by the sounds of things) since it was served cold instead of lukewarm like English beer. She then quickly added a postscript not to mention that bit to her mother, or she and her father would be in trouble (again).
To which Madara replied that he would have to try Dutch beer when he returned, but if they couldn’t find it, how did saké together at the next festival sound? It would give her an opportunity to wear something very nice, too.
“You….” growled Sakura in frustration.
She spent far too much time blushing, she thought.
Once in a while a cablegram would arrive, mercifully most during daylight hours after that first one.
She dropped her head in her hands one afternoon when another cablegram arrived in which he excitedly reported that just that evening he’d used a properly vexing, vulgar obscenity. At a horse that failed to win quinella as he’d bet on it at a track. (His father had told him off in public, then given him ice cream afterwards to reward him for using the correct word in the correct context, but not to yell out “cunty pussy horse” again for the next little bit, in case anyone questioned his parenting).
Sakura very much questioned his parenting.
—And wondered just how much supervision Madara actually received.
Occasionally some small gift would accompany Madara’s letters. A periodical he thought she would like. A pamphlet put out by the suffragettes (“[Right up your alley. Your fists would fit right in]”, he wrote along the margin). Postcards with illustrations of the places he visited with his father and his business associates (some Sakura recognized, others she did not).
He reminded her of his brothers’ birthdays, and sent gifts along to her to give to them. She always made a special day of it for them, especially since their father and eldest brother were both absent. She even brought them to her family’s kimono shop one day, to give them a change of scenery when they were very low. The little boys were surrounded by guards, of course, but adored coming to visit Sakura at ‘work’. Ensuring their hands were very clean—and that her mother wasn’t looking—Sakura let them touch everything they could reach. (She or a guard would subtly lift them up to touch the ones they couldn’t.) It became a game of spy-lift-pretend to do something else between her, her parents, and the guards.
Speaking of, one of the guards casually stood beside her, overseeing the little ones when she felt a tap on her hand. Paper. Without looking down, Sakura accepted the paper. The guard nodded his head a fraction of an inch before sidling away to a more respectable distance again.
It was a note from Tajima this time, thanking her for looking after his sons so well. He knew Kizashi would recognize his handwriting so he sent it to his home to be delivered to her directly.
Sakura smiled to herself at his attempt at subtlety, making yet another mental note to send him a quick letter, too, to explain how the boys were doing in more detail. It sounded like Madara was not sharing her letters with his father.
He really needed to address his possessive streak.
As December neared, however, Sakura stared more and more longingly out the windows of the kimono shop and Uchiha residence. Frost lined the window panes. The snow on the ground would make travel more difficult and unpleasant. Ice coated the bridges. If their exhibition extended much longer, it may be safest for Madara and his father to wait until spring.
This ‘business’ trip was certainly taking a long time…
###
The boys were having another low day when Sakura arrived the next afternoon. Even as she cajoled and teased them in games, their despondent mood lingered.
Two weeks before she had taught them about Sinterklaas, the Dutch version of Christmas. She had told them stories, taught them songs, and baked banketletter together with them with the first letter of each of their romanized names (“To be more Dutch”, insisted Izuna. Sakura wondered uncharitably if it was because Izuna wanted something to gloat about to his brother when he returned… Boys.).
Sakura’s mother helped Sakura commission a little wooden shoe for each boy with their name engraved in it, and she had filled them with treats and candies. With the staff’s help, the carrots the boys set on the fireplace mantel the night before had ‘bites’ cut out of them, which the boys discovered the next morning with much excitement. It had been a wonderful break from the dismal weather and lasting ennuie that had plagued them for the last several weeks.
Unfortunately, there was only so much distraction such surprises could afford.
“Father and Madara are coming back, aren’t they?” asked Shichi.
Sakura stroked his hair and nodded.
“They are. I’m sure they’re just moving slowly so they’re extra careful,” assured Sakura.
“You’re not lying to us? They’re not gone… like mama… are they?” asked Koji quietly.
Sakura’s heart twisted in her chest.
She shook her head and opened her arms. Koji ran over and wrapped his arms around her throat, squeezing her tight.
“No, I would never do that. Your brother writes every day. I showed you his latest letter, remember?”
“But it was all in English. It was hard to understand.”
Sakura rubbed his back. That was true. She had translated it for them, but it wasn’t the same.
“I promise they’re coming back. Any day now, they will walk through the front door with lots of exciting things to tell you. Especially about the trains and ships!”
The boys loved hearing about the transportation. The pictures from their books fascinated them. The boys just nodded and shrugged, uninterested in the games and toys around them.
“What would you like to do first when they come back?” she asked them.
“Eat dinner together.”
“Read together.”
“Practice numbers together.”
“Fight.”
The last was from Izuna and Sakura gave him a look.
He returned it with one of his own. And a smirk.
Said smirk was rather unfortunately similar to one she was already quite familiar with.
Boys.
But she sympathised with them. Even that day’s letter from Madara had been postmarked from London, something she hadn’t had the heart to share.
Madara and his father hadn’t even started on their journey home.
###
It was the middle of the night—again—when Sakura’s father shook her shoulder. Her room was very cold and she peeked out at her father, pouting. Her blankets were so warm and cozy. Couldn’t it wait until morning?
“Darling, you have a visitor,” said Kizashi quietly.
Sakura groaned into her pillow.
“I told him no more late-night cablegrams!”
“I know. Hopefully this is the last one…”
With a sigh, Sakura nodded. Dragging herself out of bed, she shoved her feet into her slippers, donned her bathrobe, and shook out her hair. She had braided the front back around the side of her head and behind her ear before she went to bed to prevent it tangling. It was probably time for her to ask her mother to trim it again. She hadn’t cut it since before Madara left, now that she thought about it. It fell in waves over her shoulder and flowed down her back, and Sakura sighed. Tomorrow. She would ask her mother tomorrow.
Her father had left the lights on for her and Sakura climbed down the stairs. When she walked to the front of the shop, however, the lights were dim. She looked around. Her father wasn’t there.
“Hello?” she called.
She hadn’t dreamed her father waking her up, had she?
No.
She saw a shadow by the front door and her shoulders relaxed.
Someone waited for her by the front door of the shop and Sakura sighed. Most of the Uchiha cablegram porters knew her by now, there was no need for them to be so reserved, though she appreciated that they respected her privacy and kept a decent enough distance from her to mind propriety. Though, usually her father was present to condone it...
“It’s okay, you can come forward,” said Sakura with a small yawn. “I apologize, my father should have invited you in further.”
“Ah.”
The deep voice was unfamiliar.
Perhaps it was a new porter? That would explain why he lurked in the darkness. Though he seemed a bit shorter than the usual…
Sakura’s steps slowed.
“Haruno-dono?” asked the porter.
Sakura’s heart skipped in her chest.
“Present,” said Sakura, her pulse fluttering in her throat.
The guest stepped from shadow into light and Sakura’s breath caught.
He wore traditional Japanese clothing. The lines around his eyes were etched deeper, his skin sallow beneath the shop’s dim lights. His hair was still spiky and as unruly as only he could be. He’d obviously not slept well, if at all, recently, if the dark smudges beneath his eyes were anything to go by.
But when he saw her, his tired lit up and a slow smirk spread across his lips.
“Tadaima,” said Madara.
His footsteps stopped less than a foot from Sakura.
Sakura stared at him.
She couldn’t believe that Madara was there, in front of her.
Wait. Was he there?
Was this another strange dream?
What if it was?
What if it wasn’t?
Sakura’s lips formed her response automatically.
“Okaerinasai,” she whispered.
Madara’s smirk softened.
###
Madara stayed only a few minutes. His father was waiting outside in their carriage. When they had passed through the mercantile district, Madara had begged to stop, just for a few minutes.
Sure enough, Sakura spotted the carriage and its half-dozen horses outside. The clop of their restless hooves, echoing through the shop even from outside, reaffirmed the reality that yes, Madara had returned.
All at once, something came to Sakura’s mind.
“Wait here, just for a moment,” she insisted, rushing to the rear of the shop and up the stairs again. She grabbed what she wanted and hurried down as quickly and quietly as she could, jaw tense as she spied her parents’ door and prayed her mother slept through the night in spite of the disturbance.
Upon reaching Madara, Sakura held the gift out to him.
His brow furrowed.
“I am the one who is supposed to bring you souvenirs,” he said. “They are on their way. I shipped some separately.”
Sakura shook her head, her eyes bright.
“Open it. Tomorrow tell your brothers that Sinterklaas gave it to you on December 5th,” said Sakura.
With a tolerant nod, Madara opened the gift. The wrapping paper fell open and he passed it to Sakura, who set it on the counter behind her.
“A wooden shoe,” stated Madara in a dead tone. “With foot candy.” He looked up at her. “Does the candy taste like feet?”
Sakura heaved a sigh. One of these days...
“I told you about this in my letters, two weeks ago!”
“We left London six weeks ago,” said Madara.
“No, that’s not possible,” snapped Sakura. “I check the postmark every time I receive a letter, and your latest one was mailed…”
Madara’s brow furrowed.
Then he glanced away.
His ears warmed in the low light.
Sakura wanted to hit him.
“The staff at Claridge’s were quite outgoing. They were happy to keep posting my letters daily,” said Madara. He still avoided her eyes. “They’re going to forward all our mail to us, so I won’t have missed anything… Once I get caught up.”
Sakura’s glare was icy and calm.
“Do you have even the slightest clue how upset your brothers have been for the last two months?” she hissed.
Madara’s eye returned to Sakura’s, then, and his shoulders sagged.
“Thank you for looking after them.”
“I hope you brought them back something extraordinary,” said Sakura, crossing her arms in front of her.
“Of course I did,” he said.
Sakura’s expression dipped at his smirk.
The peacock meant himself.
“Are you still working?” asked Madara.
“Yes, but it isn’t nearly as busy anymore now that the cold weather arrived,” said Sakura. “Why?”
“Hn. No reason,” said Madara.
That was exactly the most opposite thing of what he meant, she knew it.
But then Madara boldly stepped up to Sakura and lifted her chin with his fingers.
Sakura froze.
“I grew taller,” he said smugly.
Sakura spluttered before pulling out of his grasp and pushing him away, though not too hard. It was the middle of the night, after all.
“So did the weeds,” she muttered as her cheeks burned.
Madara smirked. He began to walk slowly backwards to the main entrance of the store but faced Sakura as he went. He lifted the wooden shoe.
“Thank you for the foot candy.”
“It’s not… It’s part of Sinterklaas… It’s... Just… Go get some rest,” sighed Sakura, giving up. “And remember your brothers. They’re desperate to see you and your father.”
“Were they the only ones?” asked Madara, his hand on the doorknob of the shop’s main entrance. His eyes stared heavily into hers.
“Goodnight, Uchiha-san,” said Sakura. She followed Madara to the door, but at a distance to be proper. As proper as she could be while alone in a shadowy room with a prominent young gentleman of society and no chaperone.
“You’ll come visit tomorrow? It’s Friday,” said Madara.
“Not if I don’t get any sleep,” said Sakura pointedly.
Madara chuckled.
“Come tomorrow,” he said, more softly. “Stay for dinner.”
“We’ll see,” said Sakura.
Madara gazed at her, his smug expression softening as he glanced at her hair, then her lips.
“Wear something I like,” he said quietly.
Sakura pursed her lips—Madara just stared at them all the more intimately, his eyes heating with intent.
He glanced at her eyes one last time.
“See you tomorrow,” he said, stepping outside the door.
“If you’re lucky,” said Sakura. It was a lie. She knew she would visit, if only to see the boys.
“Ah, I am,” agreed Madara, chuckling as he returned to the carriage.
From the doorway of the shop, Sakura looked up and bowed respectfully to Madara’s father. He nodded at her fondly in return; his face was also lined from the stress of weeks of travel.
Sakura wondered if they would be awake tomorrow by suppertime.
Well, she supposed she would find out.
She waved goodbye to them before heading back inside the shop. She locked up, climbed the stairs, extinguished the lights and crawled back into her still-warm bed again.
A sudden thought seized her and she frantically patted her head and hair.
Nothing new there.
Her shoulders sagged with relief and she dropped off to sleep again.
###
Sakura couldn’t seem to shake the jitters from her hands as she walked to the Uchiha residence the following afternoon for her usual session with the boys. There was some unusual electricity zipping just under her skin, and from her heart to her stomach, that she struggled to contain. It was ridiculous. She had been visiting the boys for nearly a year now. There was nothing different about that afternoon. If anything, it should be even more mundane now that the patriarch and his scion had returned.
But every step she took closer invited more butterflies to flutter in her stomach.
She had even put on makeup.
Which was utterly ridiculous. She was allowed to wear so little, but still, she wanted to look put together. For the Uchiha family. Since it was an important day but also a completely normal day.
She cleared her throat as she rapped her knuckles on the front door.
The moment the maid smiled at her and invited Sakura heartily inside, she knew it was not a normal day.
It was a celebration.
A very important celebration.
Extended family milled about, carriage upon carriage were lined up along a side driveway that Sakura had only ever seen used for deliveries and the entire mansion was decorated. Sakura blinked. She had not been expecting this at all. She looked down at her slightly fancier than usual but ultimately not very special kimono and felt like a charlatan playing at belonging with the Uchihas. The maid was more attractive and formally dressed than she was.
Inadequacy and shame sank heavy to the bottom of Sakura’s stomach and she physically shrank back from the bustle and noise. The ostentatiously dressed patrons milling about and their cheery activity were a cutting reminder to Sakura.
This was not her place.
Forcing herself not to suck on her bottom lip, she quietly slipped her shoes back on—there had to be hundreds of shoes lined up on the extra shoe racks that were set up; very fancy shoes—and backed up to the door again. She reached for the doorknob herself, not waiting for the maid to reappear to let her out. Hopefully the maid wouldn’t mention her even visiting that day. It would be easy to explain away Sakura’s sudden disappearance as something the maid must have assumed, since Sakura always visited on Friday afternoons to see the boys.
She would slip back out before anyone saw her and come back on Monday, Sakura decided, and hopefully the circus would have dissipated by then and it would be quiet and just her and the boys and—
Sakura was gone in the blink of an eye.
###
Izuna sighed internally but maintained his dignified disposition among the family and guests. It felt like half the Clan had arrived to welcome back his father and brother from their trip abroad. Word had travelled quickly. He would never admit it aloud, but he had hoped to have at least a day with them before he had to share them with the world again.
A flash of colour outside the window caught his eye, and he subtly—then fully—turned his head, his eyes widening.
With a polite word, he excused himself from the circle of young adults he spoke with and calmly exited the room, walked out the door and set off at a dead run after Sakura, still in his slippers.
This day, of all days, he owed both her and his brother.
###
“Haruno-dono!”
It sounded like Izuna. One of the mid-level bad words she had taught Madara came to Sakura’s mind. She eeped and hurried faster in her restrictive kimono.
“Haruno-dono!”
She was almost at the first gate when she heard him call her again, more insistently than before.
“Wait! Haruno-dono! Haruno-dono!”
Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him—
“[Sakura, stop right now!]”
She froze. That was a dirty, dirty play, using not only English, but her given name. The cheek!
To her misgivings, there was genuine anger underlying Izuna’s words. The guards ahead of her had heard it, too, for they barred her way.
Behind her Izuna’s pounding steps gradually slowed and he reached her side, sweating and panting heavily in his formal haori and hakama.
Ashamed and angry, Sakura glared at him. Still shorter than her, Izuna was bent over, his hands on his knees, as he caught his breath. She had had quite the advantage before he gave chase.
“Why did you run away?” demanded Izuna.
Sakura swallowed.
“I don’t belong here,” she said, her voice carefully controlled.
“Of course you do!”
Sakura shook her head, her lips pressed tightly together. As much as she tried to clutch at her anger, her discomfort overrode it.
“My brothers have been telling everyone about you! Everyone wants to meet you!”
Sakura looked away, her throat working. That made it worse, so much worse. She would disappoint and embarrass herself in front of all of them. She shook her head again, her chin trembling.
Izuna’s eyes widened, then softened.
“What’s wrong,” he asked quietly.
“I don’t belong here,” repeated Sakura, her voice thick. The lump in her throat swelled in warning.
Oh no.
Not now.
Not in front of Izuna.
“Why would you think that?” asked Izuna quietly. “Did someone say something? Tell me. Tell me who it was,” he demanded firmly.
Sakura shook her head. Oh no, now her hair was coming loose. She was a mess.
“No, nothing like that,” she promised honestly. “I’m just not…”
She swallowed.
“I’m really not like you and your family, Uchiha-san,” said Sakura hoarsely. At his father and brother’s departure, she had reverted to addressing him formally again, citing the fact that he was now temporarily the lord of the manor and she must be more proper to set a good example around his brothers. “I don’t belong.”
Izuna’s chin jutted out stubbornly.
“I say you belong with us.”
Sakura’s shoulders sagged. “That’s very sweet of you to say, but—”
“And father thinks very highly of you.”
“He and my father are childhood friends, it makes sense that—”
“My brothers treat you like their big sister. They’ve never done that for any nursemaid or nanny.”
“Uchiha-san,” sighed Sakura, her eyes falling and shaking her head again. “I don’t think you understand what I mean—”
Izuna swallowed audibly.
“Think about why you came today, Haruno-dono. Did you come here, today, for everyone else or did you come for Madara? You already knew he was back, didn’t you,” he stated calmly.
Sakura tucked her shaking hands together in front of her and avoided his eyes.
Izuna’s hands fisted at his sides. His voice was very low when he spoke next.
“I saw the wooden shoe in his room this morning.”
Sakura pressed her lips together so tightly they were bloodless.
“He came to see you before he came to see us,” said Izuna meaningfully.
Sakura swallowed. She couldn’t face him. It was so shameful. She was so shameful.
At Izuna’s touch at her cheek, Sakura’s eyes flew open and she stared at him. His expression was hurt, determined, fierce and unapologetic.
“He hasn’t stopped looking for you all day,” said Izuna irritably. “Eight months. And he comes home looking not for us, but for you.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Sakura.
Izuna made a disgusted sound in his throat.
“Why do you keep saying you don’t belong,” he demanded. For an eleven year old, he certainly had mastered his father’s and brother’s forcefulness.
“Do you not understand castes, Uchiha-san,” said Sakura tiredly. She was more emotionally wrung out than a dish cloth.
Yet Izuna still held her cheek and her gaze, refusing to release her.
“Do you not understand devotion, Haruno-dono,” he countered with the wisdom of a man three times his age.
It was her own fault. She never should have let him read so many books.
Her chin trembled harder.
“You could show up wearing a jute sack and coal dust, and he would see no one else but you in that room.”
“That’s exactly what it feels like I’m wearing,” mumbled Sakura, embarrassed.
Izuna’s brows furrowed.
“That’s what you’re worried about?”
After a heartbeat Sakura nodded, her chin tucked in and eyes downcast.
Then Izuna tsk’ed deep in his throat—so like Madara that Sakura choked—and he released her cheek to grab her sleeve. He dragged her bodily back up the driveway, but then around the side of the house that she rarely used. The staff entrance. They climbed the stairs two at a time, mindful to keep their footsteps light so as not to attract attention.
Izuna’s grip was remarkably strong for a boy of his age and size.
“Why didn’t you just say so,” he sighed. “The maids have been refreshing the family kimonos weekly since you started visiting. They’ve been calling dibs as to who gets to dress you for a family event, should the need arise, and you’re about to make their dreams come true.”
“But I’m not—why would they—isn’t that odd—”
Izuna shook his head firmly and had he not been so well raised, Sakura was sure he would have rolled his eyes.
“You’re the first unrelated woman to visit our home in three years, Haruno-dono. They’re desperate to play dress-up. With your family being the best kimono makers in Konoha, they didn’t dare risk insulting or upsetting you,” said Izuna. “Mark my words, they will not let you out of their grip until you are dressed to impress.”
“Won’t your family recognize the kimono?” fretted Sakura. By now Izuna had dragged her upstairs, to the family’s personal wing, where their individual bedrooms were located. Sakura’s cheeks flushed. She had never been here before. It wasn’t proper for a young lady to visit the private rooms of a houseful of men.
“Father perhaps,” admitted Izuna. “The chamber staff will know what to do.”
They rounded a corner and he nodded at a member of their close family servants.
“Misao-san is required to outfit our special guest. Immediately,” ordered Izuna with all the authority of his father.
The hospitality maid’s eyebrows rose to her hairline and wonder danced in her eyes as she gazed at Sakura.
“Of course, young master,” she said excitedly. She hurried off immediately, her steps marking doubletime against the hardwood.
Sakura swallowed. What had she gotten into? Then she gazed down and paled. Oh no, she was still in her outdoor shoes!
Within a few seconds, a team of half a dozen maids appeared, a steel-haired dignified matron in immaculate kimono at the helm. They sashayed forward quickly in perfect formation.
Sakura was immediately reminded of a school of predatory fish.
Sharks.
They were sharks, she thought.
And they scented blood in the water.
The matron’s, Misao-san, sharp eyes raked Sakura up and down, scrutinizing her, before she turned to Izuna.
“We require thirty minutes, young master.”
Izuna nodded in approval.
“I appreciate it greatly, Misao-san. Haruno-dono is a very special guest of master Madara’s,” he added.
Sakura shot him a look. He smirked at her.
Sakura was sure she heard a giggle from the shark pack.
Misao-san gave a curt nod and lifted her hands to clap once, a single staccato note that resonated through the floor.
“To the Lady’s rooms,” she directed.
The wave of sharks swept Sakura along like a rising tide.
The last thing she saw as she looked over her shoulder was Izuna’s smirk—and his warm, reassuring eyes.
###
TBC
Dear author, this might be my favorite installment yet
Date: 2021-09-11 09:49 pm (UTC)I loved seeing the competition brewing between Izuna and Madara in this installment (these little kids both vying for Sakura's attention was too cute!!)
I was also really moved by what we learn about little Koji (the way he was visibly shaken thinking something went terribly wrong that day in the play room, and then again at the end of the chapter genuinely questioning whether Madara and his father would come back well and broke my heart) :*(
I was also floored by young Madara's quiet confidence in this chapter: “You’ll wear it,” said Madara after a moment, looking at Sakura over his shoulder and meeting her eyes. His confidence was quiet and certain.
...
“And you’ll say my name. Because you’ll want to,” he added, determined.
I love how sure of himself he is, at only 12 years old! To me, that seemed like Madara to a T though - truly Tajima's heir! I also CRACKED UP reading the scene where Tajima asked Sakura to teach Madara ALL the bad words (and was especially struck by the reasons why - of course Tajima would be concerned that his son might be mocked while they were traveling overseas).
And Madara's last day before his trip was (one of) my favorite scenes in this chapter. "And he knew, without a doubt, that he would remember the way she whispered that word to him for the rest of his life." Ugh... my heart!! I love how HARDCORE and EXTRA Madara is, even at this young age. It seems so perfectly Madara - that he knows what he wants, and is so invested in that singular goal at such a young age.
Also: “Your iris bled red for a second. Are you alright?”
"Madara blinked the murder from his eyes." jkdgksjglkaekrgjaen I LOVED this introduction Hashirama in the story, and Madara's reaction to this interloper in Sakura's life was PURE GOLD.
oh lord Madara's reaction to Hashirama is GOLD I LOVE IT!!! "
"...had she tried any of the matron societies—surely there were some for Dutch ex-pats, would she like him to look into it? He would do it anyway—, perhaps she would appreciate conversing more with a woman and not a filthy scoundrel like Hashirama." I laughed so hard!!
I was also stunned by how smooth little Madara is that last day in Konoha - I love how he slipped that kanzashi into Sakura's hair!! SO TENACIOUS!
And of course, I loved reading Madara's correspondence while he was in London. This AU has so many priceless details and I deeply appreciate how they show us aspects of these characters rather than just telling us in a straight narrative. "He mentioned the color green a lot." (I wonder why??)
"A periodical he thought she would like. A pamphlet put out by the suffragettes (“[Right up your alley. Your fists would fit right in]”, he wrote along the margin)." I love how these characters personality's shine through in unexpected ways.
"Thank you for the foot candy." kjgnkgnkaerkjrngkaernkr
Another one of my favorite scenes is when Izuna bounds out of the house to keep Sakura from running away from Madara's birthday party. "At Izuna’s touch at her cheek, Sakura’s eyes flew open and she stared at him. His expression was hurt, determined, fierce and unapologetic.
“He hasn’t stopped looking for you all day,” said Izuna irritably. “Eight months. And he comes home looking not for us, but for you.”
“I’m sorry,” whispered Sakura.
Izuna made a disgusted sound in his throat.
“Why do you keep saying you don’t belong,” he demanded. For an eleven year old, he certainly had mastered his father’s and brother’s forcefulness.
“Do you not understand castes, Uchiha-san,” said Sakura tiredly. She was more emotionally wrung out than a dish cloth.
Yet Izuna still held her cheek and her gaze, refusing to release her.
“Do you not understand devotion, Haruno-dono,” he countered with the wisdom of a man three times his age.
"“You could show up wearing a jute sack and coal dust, and he would see no one else but you in that room.”
Author-san: this passage SENT ME. I also loved what it taught me about Izuna and Madara's "rivalry". Izuna... wow. He is truly wise beyond his years to pick up on the degree of his brother's devotion. It's hard to believe how young these children are... yet - they are so committed, so devoted. This is so telling about how Tajima's sons were/are raised. The intensity of Madara's feelings are so moving, and after reading this chapter I can't see how anyone who is the object of that degree of devotion or affection could ignore it. Sorry,I'm rambling (I passed rambling 4 paragraphs ago), but I'm just so moved by this installment and this AU. I know I said this before, but the pacing and worldbuilding is phenomenal and I cannot wait to see what happens in Part 4!!!
Re: Dear author, this might be my favorite installment yet
Date: 2022-12-23 09:52 pm (UTC)I have loved writing these characters in this story and am so glad you enjoy it so much, too. : )
My Heart Grew Twice
Date: 2021-10-19 04:25 pm (UTC)My heart grew twice upon reading this chapter, like this just gave me twice the feels or much more. I swear madara and sakura are old souls star-crossed lovers. I mean they're really young but the way they present with this attraction per say (my 12-year old ass could never and i'm 21 now kami) just makes it so memorable.
No words can compare how much i adore this one. No–Like i literally adore all your works damn.
I just love the scene where tajima and madara wants to learn obscene words and that made sakura blush–it had my eyebrow quirking all the way lmaoo (okay nevermind, i love ALL the scenes especially when sakura still kept visiting the young lads, lowkey mamakura)
and then there's the part where madasaku exchanged letter uwu my heart cannot and then when they returned and the first thing madara did was visit her, in the middle of the night. with his father waiting at the carriage of sorts.—man! my standard in men doubled sksksksks
I love it 3000. Thank you so much for sharing it with us, Moor!<3
Re: My Heart Grew Twice
Date: 2022-12-23 10:04 pm (UTC)Thank you so much for reading, I love hearing what you think! :)