Sketch

Author: shutupandsing

Rating: K

Comments: A quick one-shot filled with symbolism that I jotted down in English after finishing major test on Julius Caesar. I assure you there are no "hath's" or "thou's" in here. Damn them.

Mood Song: Hysteria by Muse (what was quietly blaring in my ears underneath the invisibility of my hoodie :D)

Warning: MAJOR FRIGGIN' SPOILERS, PEOPLE!! If you're not up-to-date with the anime or the manga, which I go by, and you don't want it ruined for you, I highly suggest you click the back button. If you don't give a damn, have fun reading!

Disclaimer: I could jot down something amazingly witty but what's the use? Kishimoto-san is never going to sign over the lease, either way.

It starts with an easel. New and still smelling of the rich varnish they used in the warehouse where it was made. He uses this one because it hasn't seen enough to become tainted or used and because it wasn't all bad in the beginning when you were too young and too naïve to know any better.

Next is the canvas. He makes sure it is the oldest, most ripped one in his collection because even though it may have turned out alright in the end, the scars are never going to disappear.

The last item he sets before him is the paint. It's fairly new, bought last weekend and used once since then. Some has dried on the outside of the tubs and it smells like it's seen it all, or enough of it to really matter because it takes experience and failure to be able to succeed in their line of work.

And then there are the colors.

White first, because that's what it was in the beginning, life was empty and blank before he came along. Emotions were just a word and not an actual human function. It decorates the edges of the canvas because even if something has since occupied that hole in his life, he won't allow himself to forget it.

Next is a splatter of purple to represent how he wanted so much to befriend him and ended up failing horribly. He remembers coming home that night and not painting, the first time he's done so since his brother left.

A splotch of black lines the left edge and he can now admit to himself how honestly terrified he was during the fight with Orochimaru on the bridge. He had never seen Naruto lose himself like that.

A giant X of red is splayed across the bottom corners because he was angry, and to some degree still is, and he couldn't understand, for the life of him, why someone wanted to cling to the bonds with someone who was a traitor to his village and would most likely kill you than look at you. Above all, he wanted to feel that sort of companionship and love and it made him jealous.

Then splashed across the middle of the canvas were different shades and tones of blues. The many hues representing how Naruto saved him and taught him to slowly feel. How he could now wake up each morning and have control over his own thoughts and actually be anxious to meet up with the other boy for breakfast or ramen. He considers himself lucky that his first friend is someone so generous, so caring and such a goddamn beautiful person, inside and out, like Naruto is.

He steps back from his work and removes the canvas, tacking it up on the empty expanse of wall above his bed, where the dying rays of the sun can illuminate every single color that has run its course through his life.

This is the only painting he'll name.

Author's Note: Upon arriving home from school, I was met at the door by a wad of cotton balls dipped in black ink and was therefore put in a fluffy, sappy mood. Toy poodles are love. Sadly, it's not my dog but I am making plans to dog-nap him.

I have not slept since Saturday, I don't know why but I know I'm heading for bed soon enough, so this whole one-shot is probably dripping with grammar mistakes and loose holes. I apologize.

I'd like to make a note, of joy, that this is the first non-yaoi ficlet, be it one-shot or chapter story, that I have written in a long time on my own. Slowly but surely, I'm being brought back into the world that is "just friends". But if you want to make this shonen-ai, by all means, I won't hold it against you.

Gah, I'm fucking tired.