A/N: Wow guys, sorry it's taken me so incredibly long on this... Everything's just snowballed on me in the past couple years. My grandmother was diagnosed with cancer, and died just over a year ago, and I recently moved to Canada to finish school.

I've been writing a lot more lately, and am doing NaNoWriMo this year even. I hope to give more attention to this story as it was one of my favorite little fanprojects.

Thank you all for being so patient - it means a lot to me. Also great thanks to fuga, who wrote a really nice PM to me to ask how I was and show some support for the story even though it's been hanging so long. I really appreciated it.

And forgive me if this chapter is terribly short and absolutely horrid - I need to readjust again to writing this. Also, this is the only chapter to go unbeta'd. Just for the sake of time so that I can get this done and posted, and I don't want to rush my poor beta writer when it's been so long since I've talked to her.

Quote from Taking Back Sunday's "Bonus Mosh Pt. II".

Like Nicotine

Chapter Five

By Bunny-Chan

"Well it's love, make it hurt."

When Anko had woken up that morning, she'd planned on dressing nicely that day, making it through work efficiently, taking two hours for a gym visit, and getting home just in time for a microwaved tv dinner and her favorite television show.

Instead, her clothes had shrunk, making her look more like a classy hooker than a refined business woman, and then, in a rush to make a last-minute rescheduling for a meeting, a rather painful tripping incident had occured, which had landed her first on a desk, and then on the floor.

She had felt a small thrill when a certain, ivory-skinned man had helped her up, but then that feeling dropped into the pit of her stomach like a stone when the smile he'd given her afterward was not one of amusement or softness, but almost frightening. She didn't know what that meant, but she could only assume it was nothing good.

Anko was used to being a strong, competent woman. She had been the only girl in highschool to try out for the boys teams, no matter how often the coaches said they couldn't let her on. It was a matter of upshowing every boy she could. She was used to being able to function with or without support, though she had decided that being without made life much easier. She tried to stay at her physical and mental peak.

When she had originally moved to this city, it was to find a new beginning. She wanted to be in a place where she could excel in her own eyes without drawing unnecessary attention from others.

What she hadn't planned on was her employer.

They referred to him by one name: Orochimaru.

No one ever spoke of a last name, assuming he had one. At times he seemed so exotic that she wouldn't be surprised if he didn't.

He could barely hear the hushed argument, and not well enough to know what was being said. He just knew that Itachi was home, fighting with some girl.

Hn. He snorted softly. Wonder who the bimbo is this time. There was no doubt in his mind that Itachi had ditched Sakura – she was a bookworm, for one. And for two, she was younger than the girls he often brought home. Probably not as – God forbid I'm about to think about this, he shuddered – experienced either. He wasn't even sure why his brother had asked the girl out in the first place. Sakura was not unpretty. But she certainly was more the type for hiding in a library than the adventuring the lifestyle that Itachi so enjoyed.

He looked up from his books (all-nighters were nothing new to him) as he heard his brother's door open and slam shut again, the argument replaced by the muffled sounds of a girl crying. He hoped that the noise hadn't woken his parents downstairs, but there was no indication that it had. The crying didn't stop, and he slowly realized she probably didn't have a clue of where to go. It was nearly four in the morning. Buses didn't run at this hour, and who knew if she lived close or not.

He decided to take the chivalrous path, and opened the door. She was on the floor, curled up and crying into her arms. The pink hair was unmistakable – he didn't know any other girls who had it, at least.

"Sakura?" She peered up at him, her face flushed with what he assumed was alcohol. She was wearing nothing but one of Itachi's t-shirts.

"He's mad at me." She sniffed quietly. His annoyance for Itachi grew a little at that point. Sure, Sasuke wasn't exactly known for being loving, but he was better than getting a date drunk and promptly abandoning her in a house she had never stayed in before, with no way home. He leaned down and put his hand on her arm, running the situation through his head for a moment. He clearly wasn't going to send her off and out of the house, or leave her in the hallway, but confronting his brother didn't seem like an enjoyable option, and neither did setting her up on the couch or in the guestroom. Meeting his parents alone and with a hangover in their son's shirt would be humiliating to say the least.

"I'll yell at you in the morning. Just get up and you can stay in my room tonight." She didn't move, so he finally gripped both of her arms and put some force into pulling her to her feet. She sniffled a little and tried to rub her eyes as he led her carefully back to the room. "How much did you drink?"

"I don't remember." The words sounded tired and sad, but not too slurred, so he assumed it couldn't have been an ungodly amount. He left her on the edge of the bed and returned with a glass of water.

"Drink this, and then lay down," He ordered, finding it hard to even be angry with her. Sakura looked so small then. Not even remotely like the obnoxious and competitive girl he was used to. It was almost painful to watch. Sighing, he cleaned up his textbooks and neatly recorded notes as she complied, and then put together a makeshift bed for himself on the floor.

The morning was not going to be enjoyable.

The first thought that entered Nara Shikamaru's head was that, among too bright and loud, his life was far too troublesome at the moment.

His head felt like it was full of water, except at least if it really had been, then it would have muffled sound. Far-too-loud music was invading his ears, amplified even through the walls as he reattempted opening his eyes.

The second thought that entered Nara Shikamaru's head was that he'd done something very, very stupid. There was a soft, thin arm draped around his waist, which wouldn't have been worrisome if it weren't for the fact that he was completely undressed.

Or that the girl lying next to him was clearly not his girlfriend.

She was still sleeping soundly - she'd most likely had much more to drink than him, because no matter how pretty she was, she smelled so strongly of alcohol that he almost reeled back. Her bright yellow hair was trapped strangely in four disheveled pigtails, keeping her cutely rounded face in clear view. He couldn't remember her name, which made him think maybe he'd never learned it.

"Shit." He moved more quickly to get his things than he should have, because the world tipped for a moment, and he threw his hand out, catching the bedside table and knocking an arrangement of things to the floor. He swore again, pulling on his discarded clothes.

A disgruntled TenTen was downstairs, washing out cans and bottles.

"You were still here? Ino went looking for you a few hours ago and then headed home." She stifled a yawn and peeked back through the window at the slowly rising sun. "Seemed pretty annoyed."

Shikamaru couldn't even be bothered to give his usual "Feh"-type response.

"Are you... okay?" His mumbled response could barely be made out as he stalked through the door. TenTen frowned, but resumed picking up containers from around the few fallen partygoers who had stayed in the large home overnight. "Boys…"

A/N: Forgive length issues. For two or so years in the making, I know this was on the short side.