AN: An idea born for my love of Madara's hair. I don't write humor, but there was no other way I could get this idea down without it, and nobody else was going to write it. As the saying goes, "If you want it done right, do it yourself." Enjoy this long oneshot!

"What do you mean 'no available openings'?"

"It means all of our appointments for this week have already been filled sir." Her voice was the epitome of professional, but he could hear the smile beyond the phone, hear her mocking him. How dare she. "I can see if we have any openings next week, would you be happy with that?" Insufferable woman.

His brother called not ten minutes earlier, and he had gotten an appointment within five. Madara had been put on hold multiple times only to be told 'there are no more appointments'. There was no mistaking it – she just didn't want to service him. With a curt 'no' he ended the call. Seventeen minutes. He didn't hear the sounds of his poor cellphone straining under his grip.

"Brother you're going to break your phone at this rate," Izuna called from the front room. Madara stared over the kitchen counter at him. The relatively small space they lived in just wasn't quite small enough so that he could reach over there and strangle the life out of his sibling. Maybe if he stared long and hard, the couch would burst into flames along with its occupant.

"I'm going to break you with your next comment," the older Uchiha growled. His brother didn't tear his gaze away from the television but held up his hands in mock surrender. Izuna never had this problem; every salon and barbershop accepted him without question. On the other end of the spectrum, everybody Madara had called would stutter an apology and hang up. Every attempt at asking them 'why' was dodged, to the point where every phone call was a big waste of time. He could have been doing something more productive than playing the waiting game.

It was absolutely infuriating.

"I heard there's a small salon down two blocks from here that –"

"Absolutely not." He knew exactly what his little brother was talking about. It was a small little red and white building with a pink door that he drove by every time he went to work. He would die from his own hand before being caught in there. The phone in his hand rang with three loud beeps in four second intervals, and he looked down.

Speak of the devil, it was the one person he didn't need to hear from today. He clicked the answer button and put his back against a tower of cabinets.

"What."

"Hey Madara," a much-too-friendly voice replied from the other end. "You sound upset, search not going well?"

Fuck Hashirama. Sometimes he wanted to punch his friend for being 'all-knowing' and 'oh-so-wise'. A pair of black entertained eyes looked in his direction.

"How about I help you? I can be there in five since I'm right down the street."

"Hn."

Izuna stifled a laugh when he received a pointed stare. 'I'm going to set you on fire,' Madara mouthed.

"Great! I'll be there shortly. There's a building down a few –"

The Uchiha hung up and slipped the phone into his pocket. He was not going to that shed on the corner if it was the last thing to do.

Their first stop was a 15 minute drive from the Uchiha's condo: a strip of shops that had a multitude of hair stylists from various backgrounds. They were all professionals, and two of them had recognized him from the times he shadowed Izuna on his trips. The duo walked into each one and they were greeted the same way: a very nice 'hello how are you two doing today', followed by a 'which one of you wants to get your hair done', and once Madara stepped up to the plate their faces drained of color.

"W-we only have one hour appointments available today," one of the ladies had said. She bowed multiple times in apologies before he stomped out of the place. Hashirama stared, dumbfounded and jogged after him.

"You don't have to be so cold to those poor ladies."

Madara turned on the Senju with a scowl. He had been rejected multiple times in a row – denied the pleasure of having a professional work on his hair. If this was anything else – if he was asking for a seat at a restaurant, or asking for a discount on his coffee, everyone said yes. They all bent to his will, and he got what he wanted.

Nobody ever said no to Madara Uchiha until now.

His mouth opened, closed, and opened again. God, it frustrated him to no end. Snapping at his friend wouldn't help, nor would looking like a fish out of water. Sense won over and he finally closed his mouth.

Again, a pair of hands was raised in mock surrender, but Hashirama was smiling.

"Let's try a different section of town," he suggested. "Just smile and be happy. You probably scare off all the women with that creepy stare on your face." A moment of silence, then, "Scratch that, your smile would probably make them cry." The Uchiha just followed Hashirama, cataloguing places on his phone with walk-ins, open slots, and more than one hour appointments. He didn't care where they went; as long as it wasn't that stupid red and white building with the pink door on the corner, he would be happy.

As happy as can be. A bundle of joy. Ecstatic. Overjoyed. Filled to the brim with sunshine. Jubilantly frolicking in a field of –

"Madara, please don't break my door handle." He looked at his hand. Sure enough, he had been gripping the door handle just a little too hard. It stopped groaning in protest when he let go.

Peachy keen. That's what Madara would be for the rest of whatever was left in the day.

Their second, third, and fourth stops were all duds. They all took one look at him before turning white. Either a ghost was following him (he didn't believe in the paranormal, but he might as well have started), or they were daunted by his hip-length mane.

Surely that couldn't be it. If Hashirama had mentioned he was there for any reason, Madara was sure they would all bow down and kiss his feet. Plus it was just hair; it didn't take him terribly long in the shower to do just a simple rinse.

"Next time you're going to say you want your hair done."

The Senju didn't argue, just nodded and started up the car.

Their fifth stop brought them to what passed for a flower shop, but the name stated otherwise. A multicolored exterior that was blooming with flowers invited them in, and sure enough it was a salon. The interior wasn't much different than the outside, save for the simple lavender walls. Flowers littered every available tabletop space, every windowsill, and various plants hung from the ceiling. Very green, the Uchiha thought dryly.

"Hey sweeties, what is your appointment with us today about?"

Madara turned to the nearby desk, looked the lady once over – pale skin, blonde hair, blue eyes, low-cut purple shirt, high ponytail, nametag reading 'Ino Yamanaka' – and jabbed a thumb at his friend.

"He's here for a walk-in appointment."

Ino raised a delicate eyebrow, but grinned. She clicked her fingernails against what he assumed to be her cell. The noise grated on his ears.

"I think we have a free spot just for you."

It took all of his willpower to not knock the nearest flower pot off of the table. Instead he opted for a less than dignified roll of the eyes.

Hashirama gave her an award-winning smile and motioned to the Uchiha. "I certainly appreciate the gesture, but do you think you could donate that time to my friend?"

The blonde turned and examined Madara. She took note of his unruly bangs, the way his hair stuck out in various places, the length, and the immense volume of it all. Her tongue clicked once and she hummed.

"Personally, I don't have the time to invest in all of this." Her finger circled him.

"You just gestured to all of me," he dully replied.

"Exactly." She received one un-amused stare. "Your hair looks to be a special case, and I'm certain that most, if not all regular hairdressers don't have the time and energy to put forth in taming whatever you've got going on." Her elbows perched themselves on a table and she leaned forward, eyeing him up and down once again. "You look tired. Have you been looking around for one all day?"

Of fucking course she would hit the nail right on the head. He just narrowed his eyes. Insufferable woman.

"Madara don't just glare at her."

Ino waved it away. A hand landed on her hip, and she smiled. "I know the perfect person that would love to do your hair." Something in the way she said it made him want to shake his head and tell her to forget about it, but the promise of actually getting his hair done was much too tempting. She grabbed a yellow note card from the nearby desk, and scribbled something down. "She is a longtime friend of mine that has a fascinating interest in hair, and I recommend her to anybody who has problems getting appointments with anybody else.

"Here's her address, her phone number, and her name." Dainty fingers flipped the card to him. With a glance at the street name he almost didn't curb the impulse to trash the note card. "You can't miss the building. It's a red and whi –"

"No."

Ino blinked a couple of times. A cat-like grin spread. "Oh, so you know of the place?" His sneer was all she needed to confirm it. "Despite the exterior she's actually the best person to go to. Every case I've had like yours has had success with her, regardless of first impressions. Just one appointment, that's all you'll need. You'll be hooked."

Madara just slipped the note in the pocket of his pants and walked out of the flowery hell.

"Wait, what's your name? I need to call her and tell her you're coming!"

"His name is Madara Uchiha," Hashirama told her. "I'm so sorry about him, he…"

Their voices faded into the distance as he walked home. The sun was kissing the distant treetops. His eyes flickered with anger.

Fuck Hashirama, and fuck that red and white shack on the corner with the pink door.

Izuna looked up from his phone when he heard a door slam shut. A half-eaten pizza sat on the counter that Madara passed by without even a glance. The aura that followed him made the younger think twice before saying anything.

With a knowing smile, Izuna picked up his phone and opened the texts that Hashirama had sent him throughout the day. They varied in degrees of panic, some ranging from 'he's mildly unhappy' to 'if I don't come back home in one piece, tell Tobirama that it was a horrible car accident'.

Madara could be just a little bit nicer, he figured. Hashirama was only trying to help, even though he did tell his older brothers friend-slash-rival about the predicament, knowing full well what he was setting Madara up for.

Though to be fair, to be told 'no' by all the girls he had asked throughout the course of a week about getting something done with his hair, he was honestly surprised at how long his brother lasted. Madara never took 'no' for an answer when it came to getting what he wanted, nor did any lady he spoke with actually reject him. It was a wonder that he hadn't had a fit of anger and broke his phone, or shredded the couch cushions like an angry cat. In fact, Izuna counted his blessings that the condo hadn't spontaneously combusted yet.

Out of the hallway stalked the man of the hour, dressed down in a high-collared black shirt, and blue pants. "Izuna."

"Yeah?"

"I'm going out for a bit. Don't do anything stupid." Don't invite Hashirama's stupid brother over.

He slammed the door as he left.

A small beep brought Izuna's attention to his phone.

is madara there? hes not replying to my texts. – Hashi S 21:32:28

Was here a sec ago. He just left. – Izuna U 21:32:54

He put the phone down and eyed the pizza. Well if Madara wasn't going to be here then he shouldn't let it go to waste.

With a couple thumb swipes he messaged Tobirama.

He couldn't believe he was doing this. It must have been a spell that Ino girl had put on him, there was no other explanation.

'Sakura's Special Styles'. What a stupid name, he mused. The outside was still red, and there were still large white circles that adorned the bricks. A bay window was sitting on the front of the building, but it offered no vision to the inside of the salon as it was filled to the brim with knickknacks, dolls, and other useless junk.

A large sign took up the majority of it. 'No appointment needed! No hairstyle is too difficult for me :)' was written in bold, red letters. The smiley face had pink hair and a bow atop its head. His lip curled up in disgust. This Sakura girl must have been a child, and the Yamanaka was jerking his chain. If that was so, then he hoped she valued her life and had gotten everything she wanted out of it. She wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

There was no more natural light outside when he grabbed the door handle after what seemed like forever. It was still sickeningly pink.

Madara figured that this would be the last day of his life, so he swung it open in haste.

One thing he was not expecting was to be blasted with a pleasant, light smell of something sweet: reminiscent of vanilla or some sort of candy. After the initial shock, he walked inside the building and stood there, drinking in all the details. Since it was most likely the last place he would see, might as well enjoy what he could.

The walls were painted much like the exterior, except there were odds and ends on small shelves that had no cohesive pattern to them. A bookcase that was filled to the brim with books of various sizes was next to the window, and now he could see the dolls more clearly. They were tiny, and there were so many of them. Everything was laid out chaotically – absolutely no organization skills in sight.

The only sink he saw was next to the bookcase, and even that was a disaster.

He soon figured out that the strange noise that was floating through the room came from a tiny radio on the table next to him. It was an upbeat tune that he no doubt heard earlier that day.

"It's a little late don't you think?" a voice called out to him. From a doorway in the back came a girl that was obviously shorter and younger than him. Pink hair that barely passed her chin stood out like a sore thumb. He grimaced. That was certainly the most outrageous color that he ever saw on someone's head. A small red bow pinned her hair up. Her hands were busy tapping away at her phone until she looked at him.

Time froze when they made eye contact. Her eyes were green, almost impossibly so. They rolled over his body, studying every detail she could see. He didn't mind, but he could see how her fingers stilled, and the way her body was taut underneath her red vest and pink skirt showed her excitement.

The staring went on for a while, long enough that two songs had passed by the time he cleared his throat to knock her focus off. She really needed to stop looking at him like he was a prize-winning jewel.

"You're Sakura?" It was a great way to start off the conversation, but he couldn't help it. His neck burned under the collar of his shirt. The room grew ten degrees hotter when her eyes never wavered. Madara almost scuffed his shoe on the tile. If he snapped because of some pink-haired teenager, he would hang up his coat and jump off the nearest building.

"Hey Izuna, I went to that one gaudy shop on the corner and didn't even get my hair done because the girl has pink hair and a crazy stare."

Laughter that didn't exist already filled his head. No, he would die before that happened, and maybe it would be sooner than he expected.

Some new expression entered the girls gaze, and the green orbs flickered with amusement. Any longer and he swore that stars would start appearing. The bright lights that were scattered around the room certainly added to that image.

"Yes I am. My friend Ino Yamanaka called about you. Madara Uchiha right?"

Fuck Hashirama. His grunt was noncommittal. Sakura's smile nearly split her face in two. "Well I'm glad you came, even though it's nearly ten. Take a seat," her hand grabbed at the black chair, and spun it around. "I have to grab something from the other room, but I'll be back in a second or two."

When she left, all the pressure vanished. Her presence was suffocating. It was only expected – even if he was a natural born predator, this was her element. This was where she resided. Now that he sat down and took in more of the place, it was looking more and more like a house-turned business. He could see the titles on the books now, and they were all medical tomes. What he thought were just wooden frames before held pictures of what he guessed were her family. Nothing had even a hint of dust, so either they were new or she kept damn good care of everything.

Did she live here?

"You aren't the first Uchiha I've serviced," her voice floated from the doorway behind him. The chair swiveled so that he was facing in her direction. This may be her element, and she may be the predator in here, but there was no way he would allow her the satisfaction of being behind him - for now anyways. "Ever heard of Itachi Uchiha, or Sasuke Uchiha?"

Of course he has; they were his precious relatives. Regardless if he never saw them, Madara still harbored feelings for the younger genius and his little brother that looked too much like Izuna. She took his silence as an invitation to continue.

"Itachi has the silkiest hair I've ever had the pleasure to work with, and sweet little Sasuke has the biggest eyes."

She walked out from the back room holding two bottles. The shampoo bottle replaced a handful of brushes on the sink. The same thing happened with the conditioner, and then a couple of brushes that he had seen on a few occasions when he followed Izuna to his appointments. Her boots clacked as she walked. She gave him a large smile and dumped all the extras on a table off to the side. The disorganization made him nauseous.

Sakura's hand reached past him, grabbing at something behind his head. He inhaled, almost unconsciously, and nearly smiled at the smell of cherries. "So this is your first time here, and I assume it won't be your last."

She certainly had faith in her abilities.

"How old are you," he found himself asking.

"Nineteen. I'll be twenty in a couple of weeks." His chair jerked backwards and found himself looking at the ceiling. "What about you?"

He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow. It was small talk, yes, but she sounded genuinely curious. "My birthday is in December."

"Ah that's so far away," she replied. The sink behind him turned on, and the water weighed down his hair in no time. Her smile grew but she said nothing else, instead working her fingers into the black mess, and running them along his scalp.

All of his inhibitions washed away with the first couple of scratches. Oh god, it felt so good, sinful even. His eyes slid shut and it was just him and her fingers, expertly massaging his head. This… This was nothing like he had imagined. It was even better and oh god why didn't he come here sooner.

Madara sighed; a relaxing smile graced his face. It was an honest guilty pleasure he had. His mother used to run her fingers through his short hair, massage his scalp and he would come to when she stopped.

"Your hair is gorgeous, Madara," she would tell him.

He never cut it after that.

"Your hair is so thick, Madara," Sakura whispered above him. He struggled to open his eyes, but when he did his heart skipped a beat at the pure bliss that crossed her face. Green eyes made contact with his, and he could now see the stars in them. Maybe he would have to let Ino live because this was heaven on earth. 'You'll be hooked'. He certainly was.

An eternity or two passed when he opened his eyes again. She had turned the sink off, and was making sure everything was in proper order. "Oh, finally awake?"

"I didn't realize I fell asleep." His voice was husky and rough, a sure sign that he indeed succumbed to his one weakness. Sakura just smiled. The chair was pushed back to its original sitting position and he was now facing a mirror.

Every inch of his hair was flat, wet, and heavy. He watched the pink-haired teenager put the bottles away and bring new things out: a hairdryer, a red translucent comb, and hairclips of various sizes. She grabbed the majority of his hair and flipped it over his eyes, clipping it in place. Before he could ask how long he was out, the scent made him stop.

It smelled like a spring rain, wet grass after the storm passes. The more he inhaled, the better the scent got. He hardly noticed the short jerks with the comb that was untangling his hair.

"How did you know?" He might as well have been a puddle on the floor, what with all the sensations that made his body shudder. So much for showing her that he wasn't the prey.

"Someone that you know, not disclosing their name, called and told me your favorite smell. Lucky for you I already had a few bottles of the stuff."

As much as he wanted to say 'fucking Hashirama', he knew that wasn't who called. "Was it Izuna?"

Her silence confirmed it. He would have to thank his brother when he got home, but not tell him for what. If his sibling knew that he went to the red and white corner shop with the pink door, he would probably have it hung over him for the rest of his life.

In fact, he wouldn't tell anybody he came here. This would be his private sanctuary.

Blinding light entered his eyes. Realizing he had fallen asleep again, he blinked a few times to chase the sleep away. He looked in the mirror now that he could see.

Sakura was taking her sweet time drying and brushing his mane. She was so gentle, her green eyes so intent on finishing what was in front of her before she turned to another group of strands. The natural hair that the Uchihas' had was making itself known by spiking up once it was completely dry, but she didn't seem to mind it. Instead, she tugged a comb through them to fluff it up. She must have had a magic touch because his hair bent to her will. He was absolutely mesmerized as she worked.

His entire head of hair looked absolutely soft. The way she pet it, staring at their reflection with that dumb grin, did tell him that it was. Gingerly, he reached a hand up and grabbed at a few locks. They were soft.

"Wait!" He jumped. A comb flew at his face. He jerked back, releasing his hair. It stopped before it hit him. "I'm so sorry," her voice was panicked, green eyes wide in fright. "I forgot something very important." She took up his entire vision, pulling black hair from the left of his face to rest in front of his eye. The comb slowly ran through his bangs, only stopping when she hummed in satisfaction. She looked amused; he did not.

"I'm sorry for scaring you like that, but I had to return your hair to where it was before I touched it. A self-imposed policy; I know it sounds strange. Plus you don't look right without them. Your bangs, I mean.

"So." Sakura backed away so the mirror wasn't obstructed anymore. He took in everything about his appearance: the way his hair shone with that beautiful blue tint, how soft every spike looked, and it almost seemed like his hair got even more volume, not to mention the absolutely perfect scent. Impressive girl. "How do you like it?"

"I don't regret coming here," Madara said finally, standing up and turning to her. She gave him the biggest grin he had ever seen. "How much do I owe you?"

Her eyes snapped open. "It's on the house; first timers are always free."

"Free?" As much as he didn't want to sound like a parrot, 'free' sounded too good.

"Yep, and I guess you can count it as a very late birthday present." They made eye contact once again, except this time his presence was suffocating. There was obviously something she had forgotten if he was staring at her with such an intense gaze. "Oh! Uhm," Sakura turned around and groped in a nearby drawer. "Here's my business card, just in case you need my number or – or my address if you want to recommend me to someone." Her hand held it out but he still stared. The Uchiha's eyes narrowed. Did she forget something crucial? Maybe he wasn't happy with his hair, but she did everything she felt was natural. "Is there anything I forgot?" Still no answer, and his ashy eyes never left hers.

He gave a smirk. It was entertaining, watching her squirm and stutter under his stare. Even if she thought she looked composed, he could see through that guise. A blush crept up her cheeks. Finally, she broke eye contact to look at something else. "It's almost one in the morning," she told him. Madara reached out and took the business card, which made her relax. It was pink, just like everything about her, and had the same smiley face as the sign on the shop window.

'Sakura's Special Styles – For everyone who has difficult hair. No appointment is ever needed, just come on in!'

"So I'll see you again, right Madara?"

Her voice and smile sent chills through his body. Without thinking he grabbed her chin (gently, mind you), and tilted her head upwards. Her face flushed red. If Sakura was uncomfortable before, she must have been dying by now. He leaned down to her level, their noses inches from touching, and he could smell the cherries the strongest from here. It must be some shampoo she uses, he mused. I'll have to find it.

"Madara?" she squeaked. Her green eyes were wide with alarm, searching his face for something, anything. All she wanted was an answer; was it so hard to give her that? Judging from the way his eyes danced in excitement, it obviously was. What made him so different from all the people that came to her? Was it because he was related to tiny Itachi and Sasuke? Why was he so special from all of the other customers? When she had said free she didn't mean it, but she couldn't find it in her heart to charge him. His hair was so beautiful, his face was so handsome, and his body was perfect. Was that what made him so special?

The hand on her chin shifted and she was doused in gasoline when their noses touched. He gave her a genuine, toothy smile that set her entire body on fire. "Yes we will, Sa-ku-ra." His breath brushed against her face as he whispered, and then he was gone.

She stood there burning after he left; leaning against a table and trying to get her bearings back together. That smile. The butterflies let free in her stomach. His deep rumble when he said her name. That's what made him so special. Her hand pressed against her face. Damn Uchiha. She hadn't felt like this since high school. A scoff erupted at the thought. This wasn't high school, that's for sure. Nobody had a stare like Madara.

She shoved off the table on shaky legs, and walked over to the sink. A piece of yellow card stock grabbed her eye. She picked it up.

'I will be back tomorrow. Pick a place to eat at and text me at the number below.'

Sakura smiled. Certainly.

Madara unlocked the door to the condo and stepped inside. That was worth it, he decided. The almost-kiss at the end was what sealed the deal, along with her very nimble hands, and the way she ran them through his hair gave him the chills. He had to control himself otherwise he would have kissed Sakura right there, and that would not do because it was much too late in the day. Though if he did kiss her, he could have also pinned her to the nearby table, and ran his hands over her arms, sides, under her vest, leaned over her and-

That train of thought crashed and burned when he saw a certain white-haired Senju crashed on the couch with a snoring Izuna in the chair next to him. The television was playing some late-night show. His eyes narrowed.

I told you not to invite him over, he wanted to say, but he didn't. Izuna did call and tell Sakura about his favored shampoo scent. Plus they kept their mess to a bare minimum; the only garbage was an empty bottle and an empty box. That would be his thanks: not waking him up past midnight to tell Tobirama to go home. However, he was feeling quite mischievous after fraying Sakura's nerves so he grabbed a nearby sharpie and uncapped it.

He didn't like Tobirama because the little brothers had gotten into a fight one day. Izuna had been missing a tooth because of it. A one-time incident sure, and it had been a baby tooth so it wasn't that important, but that didn't change the fact that he damaged his brother.

Once he was done in the front room and got into his bedroom, he sighed. The feeling of her hands on his scalp and her fingers running through his hair just wouldn't leave him. That sensation was burned into his nerves. It was indeed a sinful pleasure. Shrugging his shirt off, he wondered how intense that sensation would feel if she was screaming, fingers pulling at his hair, moaning his name-

Again, his train of thought crashed and burned. It was self-imposed though because he had a date tomorrow. No point in getting so worked up tonight when he would be able to see the real deal in a few hours. He planned to get more than a smile from her, which brought on a smirk. Maybe he could feel how her hair felt, if she liked his hands massaging her head like she had done for him. Madara's smile widened at the thought.

Hashirama and Izuna didn't need to meet Sakura. He wasn't about to show her to them that's for sure. If she was seen with him, he just wouldn't answer their questions. No doubt it would lead him back to the red and white corner shop, which would bring about 'I told you so'. He wasn't about to feed their egos. Belatedly he realized what Ino said was right. 'Just one appointment, that's all you'll need.' She had already gotten the 'I told you so' out of the way. She knew. Damn her. I'm going to have to talk with her and ask her what exactly she knew. Now that he thought about it, she must have known from the instant he walked in.

Damn her.

A set of footsteps stopped outside his door and took a left, breaking him out of his musing. It was no doubt one of the two boys up to take a midnight piss. He waited.

"What the fuck," Tobirama hissed. Despite being muffled through the wall, the absolute bewilderment and anger in those three words threw Madara for a loop. He burst out in laughter, earning more curses at the realization of who did it. "God damn it Madara."

"You crashed on our couch, you understood the consequences."

"I didn't think you were going to come home so early you bastard, and I didn't think you were going to draw all these lines on my face!"

He chuckled, but didn't further the conversation. He had a date tomorrow with a young adult that had pink hair; picking on Tobirama was at the bottom of his current interests.

"So, cherry blossom," Madara flopped down on his bed and turned on his phone. The time of 1:02 AM didn't bother him. A flash of white light signaled a text from an unknown number. He smiled. "Where will you pick?"

AN: I'll take this ship to my grave. Sorry not sorry. This is honestly a self-indulgent story. I mean, have you looked at Madara's hair? God I want it. Gimme /grabby hands. I also wanted to keep this under 5k words, but it ran away and I couldn't catch it. Whoops.

Hope you enjoyed it; I had a blast writing it.