Inspired by Ithilium's "Wish" from her "Winter and Spring" oneshot collection. If you haven't seen it, you should because it captures the essence of the Kakasaku relationship when they aren't lovey-dovey or together. (Kakasaku is pretty much 40-70% hurt, in addition to the love and humor we all adore because these two people have been hurt savagely by life.) I loved it (and got a new song in my library to boot), so go check it out!

Disclaimer: Do Not Own Naruto.

It's not a secret that Kakashi likes Sakura.

It's not a secret that Sakura likes Kakashi either.

Ask anyone in Konoha and they'll tell you of the looks they see shot across rooms and counters, in the streets and through store windows. They'll tell you of the lunches bought because "well, I can't just let him/her starve now, can I?"; the late night visits with a blood trail on the balcony; the flirty games of cat-and-mouse; keep-away-the-textbook-or-Icha-Icha in hospital hallways.

No one knows when it started. The two people themselves probably don't know either. Naruto still scratches his head and tries not to vomit on occasion; Ino is drawing up their future wedding order for the nth time while Tsunade gloats over the huge pool of bet money she's still getting bids for in her office, all guesses of when they'll get together. Weddings bells are in the ears of everyone.

Everyone but them.

"What are you talking about?" Sakura laughs with a dismissive wave of the hand.

"She'd never feel that way about me. You're joking right? Besides, I won't date a kid," Kakashi says at the bar counter.

And all the while, there are the wistful glances, the late-night sighs and lowered heads, lowered lids. There are the surprise visits of "how was your day?", the private, friendly conversations in the back of the bar, the innocent-not-so-innocent (why are you touching me? Why are you doing this to me? I'm trying. I'm trying. Stop making this so hard.) brushes of hands, skin, and elbows in the halls. There are the dreams, and then the fantasies. Oh, the fantasies that circle their heads like clouds, like birds, like a dark impending sky of want, need, and hurt, and oh god.

They dream. Two different people dreaming the same dream; of late nights touching with heat and not fear, of a small house with one or two kids and Pakkun, of being happy for once with something they can touch with their hands and not only their minds. They dream, and it hurts to dream.

Because they're only entertaining another fantasy. They'll never get together, and they know that.

Why?

Because they're just that kind of people. They're the type to skirt around the taboo, the type to shove it under the bed—far far back where the eyes can't see and the cloying prying desires can't reach—out of sight, out of mind, right?—and forget, the type to want to put everything in its place because it's comfortable and non-dangerous—because wanting, needing, desiring something in this world that's so transient is dangerous and painful and oh god, why is this so hard? Why does it hurt so much?—and it's just so much easier that way. It's so much easier than the alternative where they're more than co-workers, more than colleagues, more than drinking buddies, more than friends—so much less dangerous than being together, being happy together, loving each other, losing each other—and really, why stop a game you're already so good at?

So they'll skirt around the taboo for another year, five, ten, forever—however long it takes to for this infatuation (obsession) to fade away, go away (Stay away!).

Because really, it's too hard to change this—change what isn't broken, change what doesn't have to be fixed when so many other things are broken and damaged and need fixing already, change the minds of narrow-minded people and gossiping whispers—both in and out—and it's so much easier to do this. To just be friends, to joke and mess around and tease and give lunches to each other and hurt and heal—it's just so much easier to do this. Even the ambiguity, as hard as it is to take sometimes, is so much easier because they can pretend. Pretend they don't want to touch, pretend they don't want to kiss, to have, to hold, to covet, to fuck, to want so badly that it hurts and just being next to each other is just painful to bear. It's just easier this way.

And really, the idea of silver-haired children with green eyes or pink-haired girls with dark eyes and the dream of a domesticated Hatake with a small house, two children, and a dog is just ridiculous...

But they wish it wasn't.