I haven't written in years and decided to do a series of small works to have some fun, and even challenge myself after feeling inspired by other works I've read recently. All the works in this will be in an Alternate Universes, and I'll update this collection as I see fit. I don't foresee any of them getting a continuation either, but who knows what will show up here.

None of these will be read over so expect some mistakes as I'll probably only do a once over on them.

Title: Disaronno and Milk
Prompt: A dark restaurant AU set in a post-apocalyptic world.

Pale fingers held a glass steady as he rubbed it dry. Those that came to this establishment did so with the intention to do wrong. The dirt and grim that came after the war was forever soaked within the populations skin. The establishment is lacking in care within the dark times of the world. The war that had brought them to this point but a whisper in the wind.

Criminals, and bandits were the normal patrons that frequented. They were cold, and bitter with their own stories to tell of the world beyond these doors. He did not judge—they didn't pay him to judge. The owner gave no care for the dealings that would be held within his establishment and so why should he?

He hears his name called, and the order to take food to the table hidden in the corner. The smallest of sighs falls from his lips as he sets the glass down upon the counter. His reactions are habitual—the rubbing of his hands within the washed out red apron, and the pulling of his washed out navy blue sleeves. No one bats an eye his way as he makes his way through the tables. It's standing in front of the table that has ordered the disgusting slop that comes from their kitchen that ends his task.

There is silence as he sets it before the patron. They are small within their dirty cream cloak. He assumes it to be a child or woman with such a small frame—their hood hides their face.

"Is there anything else we can get you?" his voice is smooth and even in the practiced lines.

"No. Thank you." the voice is soft, and feminine—delicate and cautious.

Brows pinch at hearing the woman before him. It gives way to hesitance and a thickened silence that makes him linger where he stands. The woman looks up to his figure looming at her table. The pale greenery of the eyes that capture his catches him off guard. They were not devoid of color like the world around him, and they glowed in their stare. Her brows have pinched—they're another color the world had long since forgotten, a pale pink—at his presence with what he gauges to be confusion.

He notes the smallest of shifts within her sitting figure, "Yes?"

She is looking at him now expectantly and he only gives way to a shake of his head. Removing himself from her table he pays her no more mind. He finds his pace back within his work, and it's only after he guesses she is long since gone that he goes to retrieve her plate. The woman was out of place within this restaurant of criminals and bandits. He does not expect to see her again.

It's only days later though that as he finishes serving another table that he sees that same dirt covered cream cloak of hers at the door way. He finds his eyes drawn to her as she makes her way to the table she had frequented before. The subtle curiosity that comes with her presence is there—it's not him who takes her order, but another among the staff. Ebony find themselves checking on her throughout the time she eats. She's a slow eater, and makes an almost bitter expression with each spoon she brings to her lips.

He notes that his coworker has ignored her long since depleted drink, and it's with the excuse of giving her a refill that he finds his way to her table. She tilts her head up to look upon him with those pale green of hers. His fingers pick the emptied glass from her table with ease as his other sets the newly filled glass upon the table. The bend in his frame lets his eyes run over her face, and note pale pink strands to go with those pale pink eyebrows of hers. They do not exchange words, and he does not hesitate this time making off with that in which he has replaced.

He feels her eyes upon him as he works, and he notes her continued slow pace as she drinks from the glass he has brought her. They still do not speak, and only occasionally share gazes before she removes herself from the table and leaves the restaurant. He finds himself leaning against the counter with arms crossed as he looks at her empty seat.

He wonders if she'll be back.

He gives up that thought seven days later. She has not come for the disgusting food as she had, and he thinks that she finally has realized that she should not frequent within the establishment. The pale green of her eyes are what he thinks of when he serves that table to someone other than her. The people that had come and gone had never made a lasting impression—none of them had held features that contrasted with the dull colors of their desolate world.

It's another week, and he has barely thought of her, and as if she knows this she is stepping within the door. Her steps lead her to the table she frequents, and it's with that, that she awaits her server. He's setting a plate in front of his customer when his coworker whispers that she has requested him. At first it makes his brows pinch in confusion, but then they relax not caring for the why.

He stands beside her table with his hand upon his waist, and it's partner holding his tray in a light grasp, "What can I get for you?"

She gives a light hum before words take form, "I'd like something mixed. No food today." he gives an eyebrow at her request.

There is only a second of hesitation before he gets to work at mixing her drink. The odd woman had made no specific request, and it's with only some thought that he pulls out the bottle of Disaronno. He is no master mixer, but he can do little things, and it's with that he makes her a cocktail of Disaronno and milk served in a rocks glass. The pale color he thinks compliments her—he thinks she isn't as dirty as the rest of them.

He sets the glass down in front of her, and stands beside her table waiting. She settles her head to rest upon her palm before it's partner takes the glass in hand. She is studying it before bringing it to her lips letting the pale liquid slip within her mouth. Her tongue slips from it's home to trail across her bottom lip, "It's good."

He cannot stop his eyebrow from arching as she takes another small sip, "I'm Sakura. Sakura Haruno." he does not remember asking for her name. He assumes she wants him to supply his own name. He does not before walking away.

The subtlest of smirks is on his lips as he leaves her sitting there. Her name he thinks matches her well, and there is the oddest humor behind that thought. She is an odd, and strange woman. She drinks what he has given her, but does not ask for another.

She does not return for a month.

She has requested him again, and it's with the slightest tilt upon his normally firm pressed lips that she calls him by his name, "Sasuke-kun, can I have what you gave me last time?" he assumes his coworker has told her.

He does as asked without second thought, but takes note of her affectionate suffix upon his name. There is an odd feeling at her intended affection, and his ego whispers she continues to come within the disgusting establishment for him. His fingers linger upon the table after he has set it down before her. She adjusts her hood to give her better view of him, and with the adjustment more of her pale pink is exposed. There's no excuse for why he lingers in his bent form over her table. There's no excuse for the expectant look he gives her as he stares within the pale greenery that gives up her curiosity so easily.

Those fingers of hers have wrapped them around the glass and bring it to her lips letting the pale liquid within them. She does not break the eye contact they have. The familiar reflex of her tongue slipping out to run across her bottom lip he assumes is habitual.

"It's delicious." she speaks in the softest of whispers with the smallest curve of her mouth.

He does not give way to a reply as he eases away from her table still keeping her eyes focused upon him. His fingers are the last to leave the wood of the table that had seen better days. The firm pressed line of his lips shifts for the briefest of seconds to give hint of a smirk at it's corners. There is the softest tiny upon her cheeks and it's with that he gives a nod and turns from her.

She does not ask for another, and he does not see her leave. It's fitting for them—whatever them was.

The hour is late as they close. His apron has been discarded within the back along with the others as he pulls down the sleeves of his dark shirt. They are saying their goodnights as he heads out the door into the cool night of dull colors and desolate outside. The ground is dirt, and debris and it's just the same as it is any other night except tonight was not any other night. She's standing with her back pressed against the restaurants wall next to the door he's exited.

"I'll be back in a week Sasuke-kun." her hood had been long since put back in it's rightful place upon her head only allowing him to see the small nose, and mouth that were her features.

"Ah." his voice is it's smooth practiced tone, and a nod follows with his words.

She has pushed off the wall at his response, and walked from him. There is a flash of amusement at her retreating form, and with it there is also the deep inhale of the cool air.

She keeps her word and is back in exactly a week.

The minute he spots the color of her cloak he is at her side at the door walking her to her table. She's mixed it up this time asking for the slop in the back along with the request of a shot. She wants it strong, and is seeking something cinnamon. He assumes it's to chase the cold from her.

Her eating pace is slow just as she always has done, but she shoots the dark liquid he has provided her back with force. Her tongue does as it always has and runs across her bottom lip. He does not hesitate in bringing the bottle to her to pour her another. It's as his fingers cup the corner of the table and he bends over that he takes the opportunity to see the pale greenery that glowed.

"I think you've bewitched me." she speaks with humor coating every word, "I continue to come here for you." she has given way to the smallest of giggles at her statement.

"Hn." he hums out as she swings the drink back.

She's amused by his reply it seems as she gives way to more giggles. His fingers tilt the bottle forward giving her another shot she has not asked her as if reflexive.

"What could coming here for me possibly give you?" his normal practiced tone is gone and replaced with curiosity.

She gives the shake of her head with her amusement still intact, "In this ugly yet beautiful world I like the company you give." she's throwing her head back to take the newly given shot.

The glass clinks against the wood, and those fingers of hers have wrapped around the spoon dipped within the disgusting mush they called food. The bottle has been set just above her plate beside her empty shot glass. He has taken to leaning against her table with his arms crossed against his chest. Work is slow this evening, and even with the prying stares of his coworkers he does not leave her side.

They don't exchange words as they always do. He watches her careful eating and the slight bitterness that crosses her face as she continues to eat, "If you do not like it why order it?" his voice is smooth.

"No food in our broken world tastes good." she responds before inserting the spoon into her mouth.

The response makes him give way to another hum. She not wrong, and he finds her honesty soothing. He pushes himself from her table leaving her side finally to resume his word. He takes a few more customers and occasionally catches her pouring her shots herself. The restaurant is nearing close, and he finds himself coming back to her finally. She hasn't left in the silence she always does. She is rising as he nears her and her fingers are coming up to her hood. It's as he stands before her that he sees her slip it farther than she ever had allowed previous. The pale pink that it is, is dusted with dirt and short that curls in towards her face. That mouth of hers has the warmest of smiles and her eyes add to the tenderness behind it.

"I'll be back in a few weeks. . . give or take." she whispers it as if it is a secret for his ears only.

He gives a nod before watching her pull her cloak upon her head once more. It feels completely natural walking her to the door and seeing her off. She tells him goodnight and he gives way to his own.

The weeks she claimed she'd be away are true. Her impression has never once left him this time. There is the occasional interest in him of where she goes when she is away. The pale pink of her hair, and the pale green of her eyes has only confirmed for him that she truly isn't as dirty as the rest of them. She is the smallest of colors in a world destroyed, and broken.

It's when he starts to expect her to come through the door that he shifts his eyes upon the door of every visitor. That dirty cloak of hers does not make it's appearance even still.

Another week goes by and he feels himself become restless at her disappearance.

She had told him give or take, and it's with that thought that his eyes linger upon the table she usually sat. It's empty tonight and he feels subtle disappointment.

His boss yells for him to get back to work, and he does so without any question. It's with his discarded apron and him pulling the seen-better-days cloak he's been sporting days after her last visit that he heads for the door. The owner stops him though before he heads out.

"That girl you keep looking for—Sakura Haruno" the older mans voice is rough, "She won't be coming back."

Ebony widen at the statement with confusion, and pinched brows. His fingers never leave the tarnished metal of the door knob. He's not sure at what point he had been caught looking for her, or when his boss had noticed. He's also not sure when his boss had noticed her presence within the establishment, and when he had learned her name.

"She died." the owners words halt him, and he is not longer showing confusion but startle at the statement. The older man has crossed his arms across his chest as he speaks again, "Word through the grapevine is she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

His knuckles flex upon the door knob unsure of how to take the news. He feels the oddest of constrictions within his chest as his eyes fall from the man to the makeshift floor of rough wood.

"It seemed best to tell you since you seemed to be expecting her." his voice is deadpanned in its statement, and yet it only causes ebony to shift to look at the table in the hidden corner which she frequented. He's not sure if he ever responded to the man, and he's not sure when he had actually walked out of the restaurant. He does not know why he lingers within the front almost with hope that she would be waiting for him outside as she had. He does not know why he feels the attachment that he has for this woman so odd, and so unknown.

Sakura Haruno—this woman of pale pink, and pale greenery in a world diluted of color.

The whispers of her claims of liking his company within this ugly yet beautiful world make him feel colder then the air that comes with the winter. He had not know her from any other. She had not know him from any other. The walk home has him numb.

It's within his home as he slips off his shoes and settles into the dark of his broken down home that he pulls the bottle of Disaronno from the squeaking cupboard within the kitchen. He's slow in his making of the drink in which she had called delicious.

Fingers curl upon the dirty counter top covered in dust as he looks down at the simple drink. He was still no master of mixers. It's not a revolutionary concoction, and yet she seemed so pleased with it. He had know so very little of her and remembers thinking it had suited her well. She had claimed he had bewitched her, but it seemed that she was wrong. Some how this woman so unknown, and so odd had been the one bewitching him.

Fingers trail across the counter to take hold of the cup. Before bring it closer to his lips letting the liquid slide within his mouth. He thinks of her habitual reflex to slide her tongue along the bottom of her lip. He feels it slide down his throat, and with it comes the constriction of his chest. She had given way to her name, and he had not replied. He gives a smirk with a tint of with the cup pressed against his lip before taking another sip.

"Sasuke. Sasuke Uchiha." he replies little to late—she already knew it after all.

His eyes hold their gaze upon his drink of Disaronno and milk.

It wasn't as dirty as other drinks—just like she wasn't as dirty as the rest of them.