He needs a wax job."For my car," he clarifies, as swiftly as he can without appearing to do so. The jade gleam remains wild, a forest up in celadon flames. He resigns himself to innuendos. She has a slew of them, perhaps a book or two.He won't be surprised if she reveals she's a porn writer in disguise."Freudian slip," she sings gleefully, with the joy of a child catching her elders in a wrongful act. She has a nice voice, he acknowledges silently, in a place so secret even he can't find it, so elusive he's not sure if he thought it at all. He taps his finger on leather, does not listen but hears. He stares straight ahead and sees pink candy flosses floating on his periphery. He almost snorts at the thought of tasting those silken cherry strands—they probably taste like dye.He can hear her still, unfortunately, because she's just warming up. He inwardly groans—she can sing so high she can shatter his sensibilities, just a second shy of his shattered eardrums. She never knew this, of course, just as no one else did—it's a weakness, he believes, allowing someone know they can get to you, crawl under your skin. Friends are liable to do that and more than most, disappointingly, they can take advantage of you.The way he did—does—by staying by her side.He remains her friend and borrows her life—she's full of them, he thinks, inside and outside. Pink fluff of cotton candies, held by a child in delight with chubby lips smacking, yellowed teeth tingling. Eyes the green of spring, snow melting against its warmth. Skin of peaches and cream, a hue of light rose. Smile sparkling in her lips, in her voice, in her eyes.Haruno Sakura, his friend—She Who Is Alive.She sits beside him and she glows, more so because of his slip (it's not, he wants to say, but it's too much trouble so he lets her sing). Not perfect, never perfect (like me, he admits), but full of life, love for life, the way he can never be.(he wonders how he can live and feel nothing inside)She's teasing him—her grin is reminiscent of a canary-fed cat. It flashes, battles the afternoon light, white against rouged lips—her mouth reminds him of another friend, a woman almost like her. Full of life too, like her. Of fire crackling like her fiery red hair."You're not paying attention, are you," Sakura comments. He glances at her, sees slight annoyance and light traces of hiding humor—it's a good look on her, he thinks. Better than admiration, even better than infatuation.They have come a long way."Fine then." She crosses her arms, white against her red blouse. Her breasts push up, his eyes follow without thought. It's a marvel, he thinks, what years can do to you. He feels a strange sort of pride at how grown-up she is now.Did he grow up in anyway?(except for down there, of course)"So when do you plan to have that—" her eyebrows wiggle, disturbing and pink, "—wax job?"His eyes slide to her and see her face shining with expectation. He lifts a shoulder, his shrug. It's a chore, not worth dwelling over. It just happened to be a thought he had spoken into words.(they say words bring to life and maybe, he wants that life for himself)Sakura frowns. He shouldn't have said anything, he realizes belatedly. She's a doctor, a surgeon—bring any problem to her, be it big or small, and she tries to do something. Maybe it helps, maybe it doesn't, but her hands need to leave a print, a healing mark or two. She's a doctor. She wants to help.She once thought he needed her help too.(he's not sure if he doesn't)And it's a marvel she stays with someone as uncaring as he is, someone who won't be bothered to lay a caring hand on a crying boy in a park. He's not a heartless person but he's not kind either. He just gets on with his life as he sees it fit—just like everybody else.He presses on the brake, his mind catching up with the unconscious actions of his body. She unclasps her seatbelt, a free hand opening the door. Before she exits, she leans back to him and drops a kiss on his cheek. Her hand touches his, leaving a light weight. Her smile lights up the green fires of her eyes.In the quiet late afternoon, Sakura glows with life.(in that secret place he yearns for life like hers)"Ja ne, Sasuke-kun," she trills, and life leaves along with her flighty shadow. He sits inside his car, a model he doesn't care to remember (only things of importance require the intimacy of a name), and thinks if it's coincidence that his close friends are vibrant and colorful and brimming with what he lacks.He snorts and drives away.Sasuke doesn't believe in coincidence but he doesn't believe in fate either.I'll make your world better in just one hour! Believe it!He rolls his eyes in the safety of his car. He flicks the