She remembered when she first saw the white haired Jounin.

She had been a child of seven, crying softly after the cruel words of the children in her village had chased her from the playground.

He came to her, large and strong, and squatted down to her

"What's the matter little girl?" he had asked, his large calloused hand stroking her soft cheek for a moment.

She looked surprised, for not many people showed her such tender kindness, not in a long time.

For her parents where dead, had been for at least five years and all memories of such kindness were blurry and forgotten.

His hand was warm against her skin, and softly getting wet by the salty tears she could not stop.

One arm enveloped its self around her small body, enveloping her in a loving embrace, one that only a father could give.

And yet.

And yet, if he knew what would occur years later, he would not have given her such a tender loving embrace.

But he knew naught of the future and kept on giving the lonely girl the love she so desperately sought after.

It was at twelve she saw him again.

She was no longer needing of love from him, yet when she saw him her heart skipped a beat.

She swore it was because of the black-haired Gennin merely several paces away.

He was forbidden after all.

Her teacher.

Her mentor, though were they not the same?

And eventually the one true love of her life.

For what she had felt for the dark Uchiha boy, was ever only the shallow attraction to what was outside.

And from that warm embrace that had occurred merely five years ago, there was planted a small seed which grew from every passing glance that she threw him. It would blossom into a beautiful Sakura flower, her namesake and beauty which he said she radiated.

But.

But, if she continued to fool herself, to pretend she felt something for the Uchiha boy, everything would have remained ever the same.

There would not be passion-filled kisses between him and her.

There would not be forbidden meetings, ones that breathed of passion and screamed of illicit behavior, especially for the two.

Yet, she did not.

She knew she was fooling herself, when the tears she shed for the Uchiha bo—no young man came fast and furious, yet at the same time fake.

When the soft spoken words that came from her sounded ridiculous to her, and to him.

Yes it was after he left, that she allowed her heart to soar freely, to let the small bud, which had been softly dying, to grow bigger, to blossom.

It happened when she was twenty-one.

The dark-haired Uchiha Jounin had bought her to the party, along with the blond young man, he who remained her friend through the trials of life.

And there he was.

He stood, lazily as was his manner, reading those awful books of his, the orange cover like a beacon.

She gave a silent gasp, having not seen him for so long.

Her heart was pounding.

She made a motion to go to him, but before she got there, she saw something.

She saw him drop his book; his mask pulled down and give a feather light kiss to the thirty-seven year old Jounin, the old teacher of Hyuuga Hinata.

She had given a small gasp, heard by him, and ran.

He ran after her.

She was a splendid Konoha ninja, having achieved the Jounin status several years before.

She ran, jumped, everything to get away from him.

She was, after all, sorely hurt.

Every thing...that had occurred in years past...after her Chuunin exam...

She wondered how he could do such a thing, how...after everything...?

She went to where she had hidden.

The place where she had met him...so long ago.

She did not know whether she wanted him to find her or not.

As it were, she did not have a choice.

He came to her, offering explanations she did not want to hear.

She made no motion to move and he placed his hand on her cheek

And echo to what had happened all those years ago.

She leaned into his touch, unconsciously, because it was familiar.

Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around her shaking, sobbing body.

She grasped at his clothing, burying her head in his chest, her tears soaking his shirt.

"Why?" she whispered

He did not respond, rather he held her closer, his arms tight around her body. She whimpered at his touch, as it sent electrical currents through her body, sent her blood boiling.

But.

But, she was mad at him, was she not?

She swiftly hit him on his chest, pushing him from her.

"Go away."

She hissed.

He did not move.

"No."

She whimpered in his arms again. His arms were warm and safe to her. And then was his hand.

His hand was as calloused as it was years ago, as soft, as warm. As loving.

And then...came his lips.

His lips brushed hers gently, beneath the mask and she, growling softly, yanked his mask off. She kissed him roughly, her lips cold against his.

He kissed back, coaxing her lips until they became warm against his.

When they broke away they were panting.

"What's the matter little girl?"