I want to be more than friends.

I want to be more than friens.

There wasn't much point in denying it.

Even her touch made him inwardly shudder in a way he never thought possible. She wasn't supposed to be able to do this, to make his heart pound, his fingers twitch longingly, his face fill with heat.

But suddenly, one day, she did.

He wasn't sure how it happened. He had been patiently trying to restart his life in Konoha. And suddenly, Sakura.

Sakura.

She was a girl when he left. He expected a girl when he returned. The woman currently in front of him, however, couldn't have possibly existed before, he would have known. He had no idea when he had fallen in love with her, this new creature he knew nothing about. He simply didn't know, and this irritated him.

Her hand left his arm, and he suddenly found himself wishing he had sustained more injuries. He wanted her touch to linger, even if she was simply doing her job.

He wasn't used to this, having mad desires sweep over him whenever she was close, letting the flutter in his heart overrule the sharp ninja intelligence he was so proud of. She had him twisted, twirled tight around her finger.

And she didn't even know.

Of course she didn't, he did everything in his power to make sure she didn't. He wasn't ready to say it, to speak out loud the new and confusing feelings he had kept so hidden.

She wrapped another bandage around his wrist, her eyes cast down as she focused on the steady rhythm of rolling and unrolling.

Look at me.

He wanted so desperately for her eyes to glint up to meet his, for one look to be the only thing that stood between her and knowing, that she could look into his eyes and take away the need for the words he couldn't say.

He wondered how she would react. Would she cry? Would she be happy? Would she smile that smile that made his heart skip a beat and his stomach turn over? Or would she frown, unhappy, and walk out of his life, so hurt and tired and unwilling to give him yet another chance? He wouldn't blame her. It was what he deserved, what he expected.

But she didn't look up. Roll, unroll, roll, unroll.

When she finished, she made a note on her clipboard and bid him goodbye. The smile she gave him was small, hesitant and reserved, the smile of someone who was unsure how it would be received.

He met her eyes for a brief moment, the words unspoken in his throat almost choking him, but made no sound. He fought back the smile he wanted so desperately to return (he couldn't, he wasn't ready, she would turn him away), and swiftly walked out of her office.

He would try again tomorrow.