Author's Notes: I've been trying to write angst for days now but I've failed—repeatedly. Two angst attempts have turned into fluffy fics and, really, I couldn't stop until I finally managed to make one purely angsty piece… I simply couldn't stop. O.o Seriously. And I couldn't get it out of my head and couldn't function so—uhm, here. Yeah, angst. :D Hope you like it. I'm free now. XD Yay. Please R & R. For the record, though, I fully believe SasuSaku will happen happily and not like this--
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto.
The Beggar's Moral Dilemma
"When life—" she begins, a finger in the air, her stance contemplative, and her voice soft, "—gives you lemons—"
He wishes that she won't really say it, hopes against hope that she's not this fucking stupid.
"—make lemonade."
But she does, and he can't help but hate her a bit.
Because what does she know about life, really?
She who has never probably even seen, much less tasted those proverbial lemons; She with her peaches and cream childhood, her pink hair and frilly, lacey clothes, her funny friends and doting parents; She who has yet to experience any form of tragedy save for a slight case of bullying; She who—
—She who loves him;
She, the only one he has left.
So what choice does he have, really?
Life is ironic, life is cruel, life is a curse, lifelifelifelife—
He hates life—and her, he hates her. But she loves him.
There's a cheeky grin on her face that he wants to erase – but what could he do about it? Nothing. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
She doesn't need him. He needs her.
"Hey, Sasuke-kun, are you okay?
"Hn."
"Is—Was it something I said?"
She could capitalize on that, he thinks. But she won't. She's fucking beyond that, bastion of morality and goodness she has suddenly, inexplicably become.
He would, though – rub it in and use it to his advantage and do all sorts of unspeakable things with it. If he were in her place, he would. Hell, he's not even in her place and he's doing so.
And that's the difference between them. That's the reason why he hates her.
Because she – fragile little, unblemished thing that she is – does not belong in his world, cannot belong in his world, could never have belonged in his world in the first place—
Father - father so noble, father so stern, father so dead - would not have approved, she simply would not have done, pink hair and negligible lineage and all—but oh, how the tables have turned, he's the one who just won't do anymore, isn't he? Traitor that he is, he simply won't do.
But she'll insist even if he pushes her away, even if he says no, even if he rips apart the brittle little pieces of the heart she had so trustingly put in his hands a thousand times over.
She'll stay, no matter what.
She said so herself, and he—well, that's leverage, isn't it? That promise—he can hold it over her head and demand things.
Because she won't leave him, will she? Pathetic little orphan boy that he is. There's love—and even without it, there's pity. And he hates it, pity. Hates it with his guts and his core and his very being. He trembles with the sheer force of his hatred for it—this pity. He hates it— but he'll take it.
Because he has nothing—nothing, nothing, nothing but ghosts and stately, empty mansions and—damn it all, he's a fucking decrepit beggar.
Of course, he never has to beg. She won't let him.
Because she – with that rose colored glass through which she sees the world – thinks that he is simply the most remarkable thing—beautiful Sasuke-kun, aristocratic Sasuke-kun, proud Sasuke-kun, dignified Sasuke-kun, strong Sasuke-kun, wonderful Sasuke-kun, Sasuke-kun, Sasuke-kun, Sasuke-kun…
Delusional – she's delusional.
She sees something in him that, quite plainly, isn't there – he knows, God, he knows, he tried so fucking hard to find it himself, but it's simply not there.
But she doesn't know that, because she's delusional and blind and—really, he won't bother to correct her.
So sorry, sorry, sorry, he simply can't give her what she deserves. Sorry, sorry, sorry, he's so fucking sorry. Sorry, he's going to use her anyway – because her embrace is warm, and her kisses are soft, and she makes him feel loved and— SorrysorrySorry, but he's going to marry her.
And later today, when he asks her, she's going to say that it's the happiest day of her happyhappy life— except it's not, not really. The moment she says 'yes' and seals her fate, she's going to trap herself in an illusion—and he won't stop her.
Let her live in her fantasy world, if that makes her happy, let her love this fucking concept she created out of her twisted, pampered mind – it's all the same for him.
So what if she spouts off silly, ignorant, cliché statements like they're the answer to everything?So what if she's delusional? So what if she doesn't know who he really is? So what if she's too stupid to see what's right in front of her? So what if she's walking into a trap? So what if he hates her and she loves him? So what?
Beggars can't be choosers, after all.
End.