title Photophobia
summary It's like a paper cut all over.
pairing itasaku

Sakura licked the front of her teeth. She pressed the backs of her fingers to her lips, eyes scanning the damp streets.

"Is that enough?"

Her eyes flew to him. Gleaming under the neon lights. Her skin painted sallow and oddly pink as the bulbs buzzed above them.

She bit the tip of her nail, eyes searching the streets one last time before she dragged her hand across her mouth.

"Yeah. I got it," she replied.

The detective unfolded the tarp. He straightened it with a snap before he set it down. By the time the plastic settled over the corpse, she was gone. Just the buzz of the city left to fill her absence.

Her apartment was silent when she stepped inside. She snapped the lock behind her. Tossed her jacket and wallet on the empty chair. She kicked off her shoes, shedding her clothes in a trail all the way to the kitchen.

In the kitchen was a window. The frame was warped, so the window never fully shut. Through that gap in the chipping wood, the sounds of the city leaked in. Sirens, car horns, and the chatter of invisible people.

Sakura stood in front of that window now. Baby hairs frizzing up in the humidity and the arches of her feet aching.

A long sigh spilled from her lips. She turned to the side, yanking the refrigerator door open. The too-white light of the halogen bulb stung her eyes.

She grabbed one of the pouches on the top shelf. Her hands moved on their own. Unwrapping the straw. Fitting it into the slot. Red creeping up, spilling into her dry mouth. Teeth closing around the straw, Sakura let the pouch dangle as she grabbed the crooked window and jerked it up. It groaned, but eventually opened enough for her to crawl through.

There weren't many buildings left in the city with working fire escapes. One day, the super would probably tack a notice to the cork board downstairs warning tenants not to step on the fire escapes. But until then, this was her sanctuary.

Sakura poked at the mint plant wilting in the corner. She took another slurp of her drink as she sank down beside the ceramic pot. Arm stretching out over her knee, she stared down at the city with all its garish colors. She unbuttoned the top few buttons of her shirt before she finally gave herself a moment to breathe.

"Rough day?"

She slowly tilted her head up. Through the slats in the black metal, she spotted her upstairs neighbor. A cigarette sizzling between his thin fingers. She bared her teeth in an almost smile.

"I'm still kicking," she replied.

And he laughed, leaning forward to tap the ash off his cigarette. Long legs stretching out, casting spindly shadows over her feet.

"Want some company?" he asked.

Some days she said yes. Others, she said no.

Draining the last drops of her pouch, Sakura dragged her fingers through her hair. She glanced up at him through her eyelashes.

"Yeah," she decided.

"Excellent," he replied, stubbing his cigarette out. And with that, he disappeared back into his apartment.

Sakura closed her eyes. Just to shield them from the neon glow of the city. Just for a moment. She opened them again when she heard the metal of the fire escape rumble and clang. He climbed down the narrow steps, a bottle held in one hand.

"I had a bottle of Syrah sitting in the fridge," he told her.

"Syrah doesn't taste good when it's too cold," Sakura told him, just her eyes following him as he set the bottle down. And then a smile twisted his lips.

"Guess we'll have to give it time to warm up," he replied as he crawled over to her. One hand slipping into the front of her half-open shirt. The other sliding up her thigh, rubbing over worn denim.

"Guess so," Sakura agreed before her lips met his.

Her sigh wormed its way out between their mouths. Hand trailing up his shoulder, curling around the back of his neck to pull him close.

Sakura's fingers twisted into the back of his shirt as she dragged him through the kitchen window. A faint snicker thrown in there somewhere as he struggled to fold his long legs in through the narrow space. And then the laughter was gone as they struggled with pointless things like buttons and clasps.

Mouths and hands. Soft and wondering. Dragging across skin. Eyes wet and gleaming in the darkness. Searching. Heat. A soft kiss against her throat as he asked, 'Are you okay?'. Her fingers curling around his shoulder blade. Lips pulling into a smile against the curve of her spine.

She closed her eyes. Hands clenching. Unclenching. His heart racing like headlights down a freeway. Fingers tangling into hair to pull her up for a kiss. Bitter tobacco lingering on her lips. Eyes fluttering open for a moment. Watching the strange shadows the city cast on their bodies through the paper-thin curtain. Then drifting shut again.

Knuckles. Brushing softly against her shoulder. Her arm.

Sakura opened her eyes. He was watching her.

"What?" she asked.

"Can I?"

And she laughed, mostly teeth. "Sure. Do what you want."

The sheets rustled. She glimpsed him fumbling in the darkness, his shoulders pale blue in the night. He managed to pull on pants before he hurried out. Bare feet slapping against linoleum. Then against the fire escape.

Eyelids heavy, Sakura dragged the covers up over her shoulder. Legs half-tangling with the flat sheet.

The sound of a shutter woke her.

"You never get bored of this?" Sakura questioned.

More clicks. And then he responded: "No."

She stretched her arms, head falling against her shoulder. Listening to the snap of the shutter capturing the moments again and again. Only pausing when he adjusted the curtain to let more light into the room.

He climbed onto the bed to show her. He always did. Glimpses of her bare shoulders. Her eyes peeking out through tangled hair. The curve of her spine disappearing into the sheets. Never anything more.

"These always look the same," she remarked, chin resting on his knee.

"Not exactly," was all he said. And then he smiled. Eyes crinkling. Hand rubbing up and down her arm even as she pulled away.

He was there in the morning. Sleeping face-down. Just his back rising and falling to let her know that he wasn't a corpse. Sakura watched him for a while. Bleary. Throat dry. And then she made her way to the kitchen, tongue running over her teeth as she opened up the fridge.

She walked into the station an hour later.

"You're early," Yamato greeted her. He flashed his ID and the security desk buzzed them in. He held the door for her. The tile floors were too blue. As if hoping to drag part of the sky into the stuffy place. Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. Copiers whining and wheezing as they spit out reports.

They walked into the bullpen. The hum of conversation. Fingers clacking across keys with the letters worn away.

"I smelled turpentine," she told him. There was half a bear claw sitting on a square napkin. Right next to his gun. Yamato lifted it up and tore into it.

"And ink," Sakura added as she settled in his chair. Yamato brushed crumbs from his mouth.

"Like pen ink?"

"No. Like the stamping kind. It was old," she mused.

Temari swiveled around in her chair. Her pen stuck behind her ear. "So like a library," she suggested.

Sakura nodded. "Maybe a cleaning person there."

"You got anything else? Blood type?" Yamato pressed.

Sakura frowned. The pressed her fingertips together. "Blood smells like blood. Don't be ridiculous," she chastised. The chair squeaked as she got to her feet. Heels of her boots hitting the worn tile.

"My check?" Sakura then asked, holding her pinky and thumb extended up to her ear. Yamato nodded. He wadded his napkin up. Crunched it in his fist. Bits of powdered sugar scattered across his desk.

"Yep. We'll call," he assured her.

Sakura pulled her sunglasses from inside her jacket. They cast a gold tint over the room as they covered her eyes. She nodded at Temari before she headed for the elevator.

Outside, the wail of an ambulance pierced her ear drum. She stuck her finger in her ear. Stuck a lozenge in her mouth. Crumpled the waxed wrapper between her fingers. Hissing a breath in between her teeth, she checked the intersection, then her watch.

She rubbed her thumb against her lower lip. It felt dry already.

Her apartment was silent when she stepped inside. The unopened Syrah sat on the kitchen counter. Stubborn window pushed almost-shut. She heard a floorboard creak somewhere above her head. Half-shrugging her jacket off her shoulders, she checked her phone.

There were a few emails she had been ignoring all morning. One made her suck her teeth as she skimmed the contents.

"Great," she grumbled.

She shrugged her jacket back on before she headed out of her apartment.

Headquarters was a hassle to get to. Two subway lines with a transfer in-between. She rolled another lozenge around her mouth as she train barreled along in the darkness. Feeling the sweetness melt over her tongue and teeth with each clatter along the tracks.

The lobby was gaudy as ever. Black marble and gold accents. Sakura nodded at the receptionist as she headed to the elevator.

Shizune was there to greet her when the doors slid open on the top floor.

"You look tired," she commented.

"This is just my face," answered Sakura. They both laughed as they headed down the hallway. Some of the doors on the way were ajar, or even open all the way. As their footsteps tapped by, people lifted their heads to look. Most nodded. A few waved.

"Do I really need to see the boss for this? Can't you just tell me?" Sakura wondered. Shizune cast her a sideways look.

"You try telling her that," Shizune retorted. They shared another snort of laughter. Then Shizune pushed open a heavy wooden door at the end of the hall.

Tsunade was half-visible behind the stacks of books that cluttered her desk. Her gaze flew up to them when the door moved. She lowered her glasses, staring right at Sakura.

"Are you eating?"

Sakura blinked very slowly.

"Yes."

Tsunade's eyes narrowed. "I don't believe you," she decided. And then she folded her hands under her chin to add, "If you're ever running low, let one of us know. There's no need to suffer."

"I'm fine," was all Sakura said again.

Tsunade's gaze flickered to Shizune, who jotted something down on her clipboard.

"Alright. I didn't call you here to nag," Tsunade said, waving her hand. Sakura's shoulders relaxed a little. She rolled her weight onto the backs of her heels. Waiting.

"We've got a binge drinker. Somewhere in the south side of the city, looks like."

The corner of Sakura's mouth lifted in an incredulous smirk. "Seriously? There's someone that stupid?"

Tsunade simply nodded.

"Let us know when you identify this person. We'll send out Shino and his people to deal with it," Shizune then added.

"But what if he's hot?" Sakura asked. She laughed as Shizune brought her clipboard down on top of her head.

Yamato squinted at her as he watched her sign on the clipboard.

"Your hands are shaking," he pointed out.

Sakura ignored him as she slashed the pen between the numbers of the date. Metal nib scratching against glossy paper. She accepted the check, tucking it into her jacket. And then slipping her hands deep into the pockets. Hands clenching and unclenching out of sight.

"Haven't had my coffee, that's all. Thanks for this," Sakura replied as she curled her fingers around the check. Wrinkling it a little inside her pocket.

"I'll call you again if I need help with another case," Yamato said, eyes narrowing. And then he glanced around before he lowered his voice. "Stop by the blood bank on your way home, kid. You don't look so good." And then he reached into his back pocket for his wallet. Counting out the wrinkled bills.

"Is money tight? I can spot you," Yamato offered.

When he looked up to hold out the cash, she was already gone.

Outside the police station, Sakura fumbled for a lozenge. Untwisting the thin paper. Fingers shaking as the sweet candy landed on her tongue.

The city smelled alive that night. Straw between her teeth. Slurping. One hand tangling into her short hair. The other gripping the counter. Listening to the wind whistling in through the crack between the two halves of the window.

Her phone lit up on the kitchen table.

A message from Shizune.

Any luck?

Sakura stared at the message for a moment. And then she typed a one-handed response.

Not yet.

She tossed her phone back onto the table. Her lips trembling with the exhilaration of the lie.

Her chin jerked up when she heard a clang. The sound of her upstairs neighbor's footsteps on the fire escape. Eyes lingering on the crooked window frame, she took a long drink from her straw

She grunted as she forced the window open, Ducking through the uneven space to make herself fit. The sticky, half-smoky city air engulfing her, spilling into her.

"Have you tried any of that Syrah?" her neighbor called down to her.

Sakura crumpled the pouch in her right hand. "Unopened wine doesn't spoil," she replied.

"That one does," he told her.

Their eyes met between the narrow slats in the black metal. The look that passed between them was neither friendly nor unfriendly. It just was.

And then, the corner of his mouth pulled up. "Need any company tonight?" he offered.

Sakura turned away. Shook her head. There was a sickly sweet smell hovering in the air.

"Not tonight," she responded.

Yamato called her in the morning. His voice ragged.

"You have any time to stop by today?" he asked.

Sakura rubbed her palm against her throat as she thought. She squinted at the window. The grey light that trickled in was gentle on her dry eyes.

"...Sure," she decided. Licking her lips. Wondering whether there was enough in the fridge. Wondering whether that overly sweet smell in the air would dissipate any time soon.

"Good. Text me when you're on your way," Yamato said before he hung up.

When she shuffled into the kitchen, she could see the unopened bottle of Syrah still sitting there. She stared at it for a long time. Back molars clenching a little too hard.

Sakura huffed. Rubbing a hand through her hair, she yanked the fridge open. Grabbed one of the cold pouches inside. Glowering as she tried to stab the straw in at the right angle. And then, grumbling under her breath, she stuck the bottle of Syrah in the door before she slammed the fridge shut.

Yamato took her down to the medical examiner's office. Which, strictly speaking, probably checked off a number of violations. Still, the examiner turned a blind eye to it all. And the department didn't really care as long as they caught the right person. That was just how the law worked in this city.

Yamato fiddled with his phone as she circled the body in the middle of the room. Pretending like he wasn't watching her every move.

The fragrance of blood filled the entire room. Sweet and familiar. A delicious bouquet of all the things that had gone into that person to keep their neurons firing and their heart pumping.

Finally, Sakura stopped walking. She tilted her head to peer at the corpse's face. Young. Beautiful. Just like the others.

"You've got a type," she muttered.

"Did you say something?" Yamato asked.

"Vinegar? Well, not really. Something like vinegar," she told him. Wrinkling his nose, Yamato took a sniff too. And likely smelled nothing of the sort.

"And metal," Sakura added after she took another breath.

"Scene was pretty bloody," Yamato tried to remark casually. Sakura's stare flickered up to him. Focusing on his tired eyes. She decided not to be offended. The poor detective was just exhausted. And tired of finding corpses every few days.

Sakura let her finger hover near the body's throat. "No puncture marks," she pointed out.

There was a pause. And then Yamato sighed "shit" as he rubbed his face with both hands. "Sorry, kid. Wasn't trying to point at..." he trailed off.

"It's fine," she answered more out of habit than anything. And then she closed her eyes. Inhaling one last time. Hesitated as something caught her attention.

"That all?" Yamato pressed.

Sakura slowly opened her eyes. She gave a nod. "Yeah," she lied.

That night, when she returned to her apartment, she could hear her neighbor walking around upstairs. The floorboards creaking no matter how softly he stepped. Which she seldom minded. Anything was better than silence. When she went to open the fridge, the bottle of Syrah rattled in the door. She stared at it for a long time before she just shut the door again.

A third body showed up within the week. Sakura knew that Yamato would call again. She woke up in the morning to an unbearably sweet smell. The shape of the shoulders and back lying in bed next to her barely moved. She reached over and lightly touched his head. Fingers skimming his thick, dark hair.

She knew his name. She rarely used it, though.

"Itachi."

His eyes opened in the dim room. Damp and surprisingly bright. Moving from side to side until they focused on her. He waited for her to say something. But when she didn't, a smile pulled at the corner of his mouth. He put his arm over her shoulder, pulling her against his side.

"Have you tried that Syrah yet?" he asked. Voice rough and crackly with sleep.

"No."

Something in his gaze shifted. "Let me know when you do," he replied.

It wasn't long after that Yamato called. Itachi had gone back to sleep. Sakura washed up and dressed, slipping out of her apartment with careful steps.

This time, it was another young corpse that lay on the slab. Sakura sniffed at it, nose wrinkling. She already knew what she would pick up on it.

"Different genders. Different ethnicity. Different jobs," grumbled Yamato, scribbling in his notepad as she looked over the corpse.

"Turpentine. And that vinegar smell again," she reported.

"Well, at least that's consistent," sighed Yamato as he jotted that down, too.

And the saccharine undertone of the odors lingering on the body swept over her. She was almost out the door before Yamato could tell her that she could go.

The city blurred past her. Garish neon and cracked asphalt. Hot steam rushing up through the grates in the sidewalk. Subway cars screeching past, blowing her hair in every direction but the right one. She sucked on her last lozenge, teeth too sharp against her tongue. Hands shaking as she tried to fix her hair.

Her head was pounding by the time she made it into her apartment. She ripped the refrigerator door open. Found the last silver pouch on the top shelf. Gulping down the contents without bothering with the straw. Just ripped the foil open with her teeth. A few of the precious droplets spattering on her shirt as she drank.

Once her head stopped spinning, she stared down at her stained shirt. Then her eyes were drawn to the light from inside the fridge. The door hanging open. The bottle still nestled in the shelf. Her fingers reached for it for just a moment. She pulled them back.

The kitchen window groaned as she forced it open. The fragrance flooding her senses now. Her tongue tasting it with every heavy breath. Fingers gripping the black metal of the fire escape as she climbed up. And he stood watching her from in front of his kitchen sink. The inside of his apartment looked like it followed the same layout as hers. The same chipped subway tiles. The same narrow stove with old-fashioned burners.

Itachi opened his window. It slid up so easily.

"You're going to get caught," she warned.

He rested his hand on the sill. Expression thoughtful. Head tilting to one side as he took her in. And then a smile tugged at one corner of his mouth.

Sakura bristled when he took her by the hand. But she still let him pull her into his apartment. Squeezing in with little fuss through that narrow space. Into his abode that smelled like turpentine, iron, and a little like vinegar.

"Get caught?" Itachi repeated. His hand circling her wrist. And then his eyes drifted shut as he brought her hand up to his face. Placing it against his cool cheek. Fingers brushing the hint of stubble growing in along his jaw.

"You used to be smarter about this. You can't keep leaving corpses everywhere. I can't keep covering for you," snapped Sakura, snatching her hand back.

"You should eat something," Itachi commented, completely ignoring her. Sakura gritted her teeth.

"I won't be like you," she hissed.

To her surprise, Itachi's expression warmed. He took her her hand again, pressing it to his throat this time. His pulse pounding beneath her palm. "Scrounging off little baggies from the blood bank. Eating blood candies like a child. You think this is the lifestyle that fits you?" he said. And while his words were mocking, his tone wasn't.

"My survival shouldn't mean that someone else has to die for me. I'm not willing to pay that price," Sakura ground out. And then Itachi smiled again, like that was just the response he had been waiting for.

"I am," he replied.

Before she could say anything else, he turned, heading further into his apartment. Sakura followed him.

The living room housed his studio. Framed photos hung on the walls. Others were clipped to lines. Some of them still smelling of the old-fashioned chemicals he used to develop them. Many of them were of her. Hair tousled, face half-hidden behind her shoulder. Sheets tangling around her like a shroud.

She already knew what she found see in the bathroom before he opened the door.

A tub filled with red. Empty bottles of wine sat in neat rows, waiting. The sweet smell hit her in full force like a punch to the gut.

She felt his hands on her shoulders. Lips against her ear as he whispered, "You're wasting away. You can't go on like this."

She swallowed. It didn't help the dryness in her throat at all.

"It's fresh. And I've only been getting young blood," he went on. Words weaving around her. Soft. Comforting.

"I can't stand seeing you like this. I'm just trying to help you," Itachi added.

Her hand shot out, closing around his throat. There was a flash of panic in his eyes as her canines glinted in the low light. But then his smile returned as he read her expression.

"Then here's how you can help," Sakura spat. And then her fangs sunk into his skin.

"So you're not a binge drinker," she said.

Staring down at the city. Her lips tingling and still tasting sweetness. The metal of the fire escape cool against the bottoms of her feet.

He crouched beside her, his eyes still a little too bright. The collar of his shirt was stretched out from when he had yanked it over his head. The wound on his throat was just beginning to scab. The skin raised and red all around the puncture marks.

It wasn't unheard of, drinking from another vampire. In fact, it was considered the highest expression of intimacy. And Itachi obviously knew this from the smug look on his face as he leaned in to nip at the tip of her nose.

"No. Just hunting for two," he replied. Flashing his teeth as he slid his arm over her shoulder. Let his hand trail down until he could curl his fingers around her waist.

Her eyes rolled toward him. Upper lip curling. "I didn't ask you to."

"You didn't," he agreed. And then he tilted his head a little. "I admit, I was being a little dramatic to get your attention. I'm not normally that stupid about the corpses."

"...stupid," she repeated. Turning the word over in her mouth. And then she let out a snort of laughter. She turned her head, laughing against her shoulder instead. Feeling the warmth of her own skin. Well aware of how rosy her cheeks would look, how red her lips must be. She hadn't felt this at ease in a long time.

And when she cast her eyes back toward the city, all the flashing lights were so beautiful. Pulses of life that showed how alive it really was. Even the fluorescent billboards in the distance were charming.

"You know this doesn't solve anything. Someone is still dying," she remarked.

She heard a flick. The smell of sulfur flared beside her. She looked over just in time to see him shaking the match out. Smoke curling from the tip of the cigarette resting between his lips. His eyes, sparkling like rubies, were watching the smoke. And then they were watching her.

"That's how it's always been. Make yourself not care," he suggested.

"What if I can't?" Sakura wondered.

He exhaled a long plume of smoke. His hand rose to stroke her hair a few times.

"Then pretend. That's what most of us do," Itachi replied.