Chapter Text
Twitter’s Man of the Week™ is a raven-haired runner with a chiseled jawline. He looks stoic as he pushes through, hair framing his face elegantly as if he were modeling for Vogue, not running a marathon. Through his form fitting shirt, the viewer could see the slight ripple of his muscles, and Sakura thanks the powers that be for the photographer who captured the sanctity of the moment. The Internet calls him “Hot Brooding Runner,” “Obscenely Attractive Marathon Man,” and “Baddest Bitch.”
And not that Sakura ever posts about celebrities and attractive men on Twitter, but really, how could a man be so beautiful? The fact that he looks that good mildly offends Sakura. She has to do something about it -- which is why she quotes the original tweet and writes: “Not be thirsty on main, but is he single and if he isn’t then does his girlfriend know how to fight?” She then goes about her regular Twitter business, ranting in her typical stream of consciousness manner about her rounds (with respect to patient-doctor confidentiality) and posting niche medical memes.
What Sakura does not expect is for the original poster to reply back: “How’s your right hook?” She breaks into a sweat, thinking of an answer that is charming and conveys interest while not bordering on creepy.
She settles for: “Just kidding, I respect relationships. Also I have a black belt in MMA. Let me know a time and place.”
The original poster, a man named Naruto, she notes, replies with record speed: “Nah, he’s single. Just wanted to know if you could fight.”
Sasuke can tell by the shit-eating grin on his best friend’s face that he definitely has something to do with this. “What did you do, dumbass?” Sasuke hisses.
“I got you a date, bastard,” Naruto says, waving his phone wildly in the air.
“Why? Why are strangers stopping me in the street trying to take pictures with me?” Sasuke pinches the bridge of his nose. “What the fuck, Naruto?”
Ignoring his question, the blond sets his screen to maximum brightness and shoves his phone in Sasuke’s face. “She knows how to fight!” Naruto exclaims. “She can black belt the shit out of the paparazzi or some shit like that!”
Sasuke’s eyes narrow to focus on the woman’s Twitter icon. He opens his mouth to snarl an insult in response, but finds himself intrigued by the shade of her hair: a soft, pale pink the color of cherry blossoms that reminds him of hanami with his mother in the spring. Her eyes, too, perplex him, a deep hue of green that glistens and seems incredibly life-like even through Naruto’s cracked phone screen.
Snickering at the other man’s momentary speechlessness, Naruto abruptly pulls the phone screen away. “Wipe that look off your face,” Sasuke says, pretending not to care that he hadn’t memorized the woman’s username. “I hate you,” he adds for good measure.
“I can introduce you two,” Naruto offers. “We only have like, fifty mutuals.” Sasuke scoffs and sets his gaze on the tiled floor. His best friend catches the slight blush on his cheeks. The blond’s grin widens, threatening to split his bottom lip. “But you’d owe me like, a month of ramen.”
Sasuke scowls. He turns away, but not before shoving Naruto into a nearby table. Naruto, torn between the pain and the satisfaction of holding a favor over Sasuke’s head, hears the jingle of car keys. He hears a tapping and looks over. Sasuke is waiting by the door, tapping his foot impatiently.
“... come on, idiot,” the dark-haired man finally sighs. Naruto’s face contorts into an expression of bemusement. “We’re going to Ichiraku.”