Archive of Our Own ^beta

Madara downed his whiskey in one gulp. He didn’t roll his eyes, because it was exactly what he expected. But the quality was just sufficent for the purpose.

“Bartender! Another. But do try better this time.”

Bartender send him a long look and ducked under the counter to retrieve a bottle. Apparently reserved for customers that had a clue. Madara glimpsed at the label. Still far below the standard he would consider for pleasure, but it would do.

He accepted the glass and rolled the liquid. After that previous piss it didn’t even taste half-bad.

Now, with buzz of alhool in his veins tempering the edge of his agitation, he managed to spare some attention to the surroundings. He came here for distractions in the end, it wouldn’t do to sit stuck in his head. That he could have been doing in his studio at home.

The bodies on the dance floor whirled and bent in the rhythm of the music. Hands reaching one to another, eyes clandestinely searching those of another. Kaleidoscope patterns on the ceiling pulsating together with the beats.

Heads of people leaning one to another as they stood in the corners, trying to hear each other through the noise. Trying to make a connection.

And they were succeeding, at least that was what they were imagining. They believed they could understand one another.

How naive. Even with the closest person, even with the one you knew as the back of your hand, understanding came with such a difficulty. It is the most difficult thing in the world to grasp the workings of the mind of another. Because they are different from yours. You cannot imagine how it is to think according to the different patterns, different rules, different dogmas. How can we ever understand one another? People are simply unable to it.

His argument with Sakura proved exactly that. How profoundly sad. How disappointing. By her side he had almost forgotten this convinction that he had held to his entire life.

Sure, they had argued before, but it had been because they had had different opinions on some topic. She wanted A while he wanted B and both were too stubborn to step back. But today, for the first time they really couldn’t understand each other.

He took another sip of the whiskey, and passed his gaze along the people at the bar. The sole woman sitting at it sent him a smile as his eyes slid past her.

That smile, gentle yet confident, made him take a second look. Tall, blue hair in an updo, maybe his age, maybe a bit younger. Pierced lower lip? Pretty. Beautiful even, in a regal way.

The woman saluted him with a glass she was holding.

He saluted back and turned back to the dance floor.

The music changed and now couples swayed slowly, embracing one another.

Connections. Futile attempts at making connections.

“What do you think of women asking men to dance?” sounded a question just to his right.

The blue-haired woman’s was leaning against the bar next to him.

“I appreciate it. It speaks well about the one who asks.” He liked courage in every form. He respected it.

“That’s great. Because I just wanted to ask you.”

Madara looked into her eyes. Pretty eyes, gold, and somehow... sad?

“I cannot offer anything more than a dance.”

“Oh, that’s plenty enough.”

Not disappointed? Pickups in a bar didn’t usually end on the dance floor.

“In the end all that we want is a connection. Not to be alone for a moment. It boils down only to that. It doesn’t really matter what exactly one does together...”

Madara smirked. A very original view on getting together with the strangers, he thought getting up from the stool.

On the dancefloor, he wove his arm around the woman’s waist and felt her as if melting, fitting her body to his. She leaned her head on his shoulder but she was facing away from him. He had an impression she did it on purpose and he was truly grateful for it.

He let the slow music rock them along.

It was pleasant. Soothing even. He could now understand why people looked for one night stands - you came into and went out of them without your baggage, and didn’t care the least about a baggage your partner might be carrying. Madara closed his eyes and let the music dictate his movements.

When he opened them again the most familiar pink was right before him. Sakura, facing away from him, in arms of some man.

He tensed. He missed the step and almost stumbled as the blue-haired woman stayed in the rhythm of the song.

Hands of some punk were resting on Sakura’s waist. On her hips almost. Madara turned his head unwilling to let those palms out of his sight. Who knew where would they travel.

As the dance required them to circle slowly, he kept twisting his neck in the most uncomfortable and awkward fashion.

Until the blue-haired woman stopped. It made him remember that she was also there. He actually forgot.

Perplexed, he blinked and focused on her face. She was looking at him with a small smile. A knowing smile, and somehow sad.

“A change of partners?” she asked tilting her head and not waiting for his answer, she made them turn so that they were aligned with Sakura and that little asshole. Or not that little. The asshole was actually taller than him.

He didn’t follow up on that unpleasant train of thoughts because his partner extracted herself from his embrace and lightly grabbed Sakura hand that was resting on the punk’s shoulder. Blue-haired woman pulled gently and made Sakura turn so that she was facing him. The look of mixed guilt and hurt was almost unbearable to watch. She hadn’t notice him before, and now she saw him, on the dancefloor with a stranger. Doing exactly what she was. But she couldn’t know his sentiments, she couldn’t know that he was as far from cheating on her as possible. But she had no way of knowing that. And he couldn’t phantom what were her intentions. Yet another example of human inability to connect...

He wanted to turn and leave the club, go somewhere else, just go somewhere to be alone, when Sakura extended her hand to him.

It was an impulse to grab it. Pure impulse. One of the very few times when it was his heart what made him move and not his brain.

And then it was too late - Sakura was in his arms, melting into him, fitting to him like one puzzle piece to another, the warmth of her body soothing him like nothing else ever had.

As they started to dance, the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes was the blue-haired woman in the embrace of that punk. He had black, shaggy hair, and scars on the right side of his face, but on the second thought, he didn’t look that appalling at all. The woman was smiling answering some question from him.