disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: to my deep unabiding love of Uzumaki Karin.
notes: barfs.

title: getting tired of sniffing glue
summary: What the hell is wrong with me? — Karin, Sasuke/Sakura.

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Her heart does something really stupid, when Sasuke finally gets his shit together.

It flutters.

Ew, Karin thinks, gross. I thought I was over this. What the hell is wrong with me?

She really wishes she'd answered this question a hundred years ago, before she felt anything like affection for him. But she didn't, and so now she's stuck with a fucking gross heart palpitation and two crushes on two people who are actually kind of liable to kiss each other.

Because the thing is:

Sakura is beautiful.

Sakura is probably the most beautiful person Karin's ever laid eyes on (excusing Ino, because what, is that girl a supermodel), and that's counting every person she's ever been in love with. Sakura is beautiful in an unassuming way; it's in the way she skates her fingers over deep-cut wounds, hands sparkling a green brighter than her eyes as she pours her own lifesblood into keeping someone else alive. It's in the way she tips her head back, sometimes, face up towards the greedy sun's light. It's in the way she smiles, and when it's there, Karin desperately wants to hate her.

Karin wants to hate her, so, so much, but she can't.

It is a nuisance.

And so instead, she watches—totally blasé, I am so over this—as the Golden Girl meets her Golden Boy all over again. And Karin? Karin knows that look, knows the way Sakura's entire face lights up and her hands shake just enough to be noticeable. She knows it. She gets it.

Sakura goes "S-Sasuke-kun?"

And Sasuke—ugh, Sasuke—his mouth sort of twitches, and over Naruto's shouting (ew, Karin thinks, how am I related to you, again), he just looks at Sakura. Just looks. Looks like he hasn't really looked at anyone, ever.

Sasuke looks at Sakura like he's found his salvation, and it is awful.

(Karin tries valiantly not to vomit.)

She doesn't step in, but she sort of floats along behind them. They are an exquisite dream, she thinks: if only the rest of the world were this kind or this tenacious or this wonderful.

But, hey, that's still not how Real Life works.

At least, not for criminals. Sasuke is probably the exception.

Karin, on the other hand, is not.

She examines her cuticles. They're so ugly. It's better than looking at the freaky glow that's pouring off of Sasuke and Sakura's clasped hands because, what, how are they even real.

Her stomach twists, seeking relief from the infernal touch me that sings along her bones.

They won't. She knows that now. Knew it always, maybe, the same way she always knew that Sasuke was just waiting to go home. There's a hot acceptance in the knowledge. It's so much easier when she doesn't care.

Whatever.

She can do better, anyway.

Karin turns her face up towards the sun, and swallows back everything except exhaustion.