Sacrifice and Surrender

7: Apprehension

Madara was watching the door of Matsuri's house leaning against a tree, feigning indifference and boredom, when instead his body was tingling with nerves and anticipation. Matsuri came out first, giving him a knowing look. 

Then he saw her. 

Dusk was a good time of the day for Sakura. The soft glow of the setting sun cast soft orange, red, pink across the sky, the golden glow of the light suited her colouring. She was looking down, smoothing out her dress as she stepped over the threshold. Her soft pink hair hung over  one shoulder, pulled back on one side. His eyes drifted down the slender curve of her exposed neck, across the shoulders that were once far too bony, but now much healthier. He barely had a chance to look at her dress, which he could see clung to her in all the right places before she lifted her head and his eyes automatically moved to hers.

Green. Vibrant green. With something in them he hadn't seen for a while: life, enjoyment.

He looked away, attempting to hide the heat in his cheeks, to calm the rapid pulse that started at the sight of her. He couldn't look at her. He couldn't speak to her.

Matsuri spoke, but he didn't respond to her with more than grunts and murmurs. If he opened his mouth to speak, he was afraid of what would come out. But he listened, and he felt. Surely, surely he couldn't be the only one that felt the tension between them. He kept his mind occupied with thoughts of anything other than Sakura. Or he tried, but the moment they arrived at the party and he departed from Matsuri and Sakura to join Hashirama, he could finally look at her. 

For the rest of the evening, all he could see was the cherry blossom pink of her hair and the deep pink, so dark it was almost red, of her dress. The blush in her cheeks, the smile that seemed so like what it was a year ago. The shape of her figure in that dress and the sound of her laughter across the room.

Also, the way the other men looked at her. Appreciative. Leering. Hashirama was a fool, but he wasn't stupid. He made sure that Madara was kept in the conversation so his distraction wouldn't be too suspicious. He was an annoyingly good friend. Madara didn't drink much that night. If he did, he wasn't sure he could keep a hold on his actions and expressions, and he wasn't planning on ever showing a disgraceful side to the other clan heads, and he didn't want to cause her any problems. 

But he couldn't stop the glower when Shikaru Nara spoke to her so familiarly, and he fought down the urge to confront the man when the Nara turned to him and gave him a small, knowing smirk. He contented himself with scolding Hashirama in an effort to forget that the Nara was the most observant person he'd ever met.

When Sakura and Matsuri left, Shikaru took the chance to walk over to him.

"Having a nice evening, Madara?" He asked.

"It's lively," Madara murmured in response, suspicious of the man's motives.

He laughed.

"It certainly is," he replied. "I'm quite pleased that Lady Sakura is here, she always makes things more interesting."

"Indeed," Madara said.

"She's become quite a favourite of my son."

Shikaru kept talking, and Madara wished that he had been drinking so he could be as oblivious as Hashirama.

"She's a fascinating person."

"Really."

Madara's responses were from societal courtesy, and Shikaru knew that. His lack of interest seemed to amuse Shikaru. Madara caught sight of Tobirama watching their interaction.