Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.

Sakura had invited him over for dinner. Naruto and Sasuke had gone to the Land of Waves on an errand, she’d told him, and they wouldn’t be back until the next day. She was lonely without them, and so she’d called him. He was her second resort. He might have believed her if not for that tell-tale curve at the edge of her mouth.

Her living room was uniquely furnished: blood red furniture against a light blue paintjob, a low coffee table and mahogany hardwood floors. Portraits of the past hokage, proverb-bearing scrolls, and pictures of her friends adorned the walls. “The head medic must be paid well,” he remarked.

“It’s a hard job,” she sniffed. “Get the water started while I change, will you?”

She retreated to her room before he could ask if he could change out of his ANBU uniform.

She emerged wearing shorts and a tank top. He only glanced at her before he resumed chopping the garlic. “It’s a rather revealing outfit while you cook, isn’t it?”

“Shut up, it’s hot.” To her credit, she avoided brushing him even once while she switched back and forth between the stove and the sink, although she didn’t hesitate from scolding him when he took out his kunai to peel a carrot. (“It doesn’t have blood on it, and all the other knives are dirty.” “I don’t care! Wash one!”)

It was a light meal for two. They chatted idly as they finished the meal and washed the dishes. Again, she managed to avoid touching him, even as they scrubbed the dishes side by side. “Do you want dessert? I’ve got ice cream. Since it’s hot, I mean.” It would have been rude to refuse.

“Chocolate,” she said as she handed him the bowl. “It’s good.”

“And fatten—“ But she’d shoved the spoon of ice cream in his mouth before he could close it.

“Good?”

He swallowed. “Yes.”

She frowned. “You’re lying.” She tried some from her own bowl. “Hm. It tastes good to me. Maybe there’s something wrong with yours.”

“You’ll get fat from eating it,” he warned.

She rolled her eyes. “Want to try some of mine?”

“What? What difference would it make? They both came from the same bucket of ice—“ But she’d shoved her tongue into his mouth before he could close it.