Yo.
I honestly don't know where this came from either. Well, actually, I kinda do, but I kinda don't.
For those among us who read Reader's Digest, you know that new thing they have in there called Four Ways of Looking at A: (hat, car, movie, etc)?
Well, I got the word SCAR into my head, and I was just like, 'Hm. That could work.'
So this came about. Random situations, sometimes abstract ideas, but I really liked the way it turned out.
I hope you do too! :D
Four Ways to Look at A:
Scar
One: As A Mistake
"I loved you, Sasuke!"
The words were spoken through lips stained red with blood, full of an ache so inhuman that it should've been wrong – it should've been illegal to feel so much pain. They were growled out, forced out through rage and tears.
But were they getting through?
Hands that gripped a shirt – also stained with blood – raised the shirt and the body inside it and slammed it down again, trying to force out some response. It used to be a dark blue – the shirt – like the ocean or the twilight sky, but now it was black with blood. Fresh blood. Hot blood.
Steam slowly rose from the blood, hot against the chilled stone, hot against the freezing rain. Why did it always seem to rain when the heart ached? Was it to clear the head? To mirror the emotions, the fears?
Was it so that the tears could be camouflaged?
He tried again.
"I loved you Sasuke!" He repeated, as if those were the only words he knew as he pinned down the other with his weight, his legs pinning the other's hips to the freezing ground. He didn't care if the other was dying, if he himself was dying, or at least he told himself he didn't. He didn't care anymore, he told himself. He didn't care. Fuck the rain, fuck the fighting, and fuck him.
And said him had yet to say anything.
The clawed hands tightened around the stained fabric.
"I loved you! I loved you, and look at where we are now! Look at what you've done! Look at what you've made me do! Fuck you Sasuke! FUCK you!"
Eyes stained with tears and blood finally closed as his head pitched forward, his back curling so that his forehead rested against the chilled ground next to the other's face. He was stabbed, ripped and torn, but he didn't care, he told himself.
The other didn't say a word, merely gazing at him with blank, unreadable eyes.
There was silence for a moment.
"Was it… a mistake?" He breathed, gazing at the silent other. "Was it a mistake to chase after you? Was it a mistake to try and fix this?" Then his voice got quieter. "Was it a mistake to love you?"
The other gazed at him for a moment before closing his own eyes, tilting his head slightly to press his forehead against the first.
They simply breathed for a moment, feeling the rain pour down.
Then four simple words filled the silence.
"Everything is a mistake," he breathed gently as the darkness rained down.
When Naruto woke up three days later in the hospital, there was a scar on him – stretching right over his heart.
Four years later, it was gone.
And so was Sasuke.
Naruto simply stood there in his apartment four years after that battle, staring in the mirror with his shirt off, staring at his chest.
Staring at where the scar used to be. He remembered it. He remembered it constantly. He knew exactly where it had been, what it looked like, how jagged it had been, how long it was.
And then it had vanished.
Just like Sasuke.
Just like the person who scarred him, who marked him.
That scar hadn't been just a physical reminder.
Then, closing his eyes, Naruto calmly took a kunai from the dresser and raised it to his chest.
Without batting an eye, he carved out the scar again, making it exactly as he had remembered it as the blood bloomed upon his skin – a red flower against the warm sun.
As long as that scar stayed there, so did Sasuke, in a way.
And as Naruto watched that wound heal over, watched the flesh rise as it mended – the scar was stark white against his tanned skin, white, he realized, like the color of Sasuke's skin – he didn't regret it.
Perhaps everything wasn't a mistake after all.
Two: As A Lesson
"Do you regret it?"
A softly spoken question, wanting to know but not really minding if the question wasn't answered.
After all, both of them knew the answer.
He raised his eyes to gaze at the tanned torso, his eyes lingering for a moment on the bulge hidden beneath the pants' sloping waistline before traveling upwards, taking his time to drink in the toned abs and the powerful chest before he admired the strong chin and inwardly sighed at the shocking blonde hair.
But he avoided the eyes. Anything to avoid the eyes.
Then he turned back to his work.
"Why does it matter?"
Ah, so predictable. A question with a question. Always.
Arms were suddenly around his shoulders. A chin rested on his collarbone, forcing his to tilt his head backwards onto the other.
The other kissed his neck softly.
"Well?" He purred lazily, his body warm. "Do you regret it?"
The first rolled his eyes.
"Can we talk about something else?" He replied, not really in the mood. The other chuckled, nuzzling the first one's neck.
"Don't forget…" he cooed, his hand slipping underneath the first one's shirt with his fingers hot against the chilled skin. "There is something to be learned."
His hand raised itself out of the shirt as he picked himself up slightly as the first one closed his eyes.
Then the large palm rested decidedly on the first's left shoulder blade.
His eyes snapped open at the touch and he leaped out of his chair, pushing the blonde away and whirling so that a few feet of space were between them.
"Stop that-!"
Before he could finish the command he was pressed against the nearest wall, his chest being crushed against the wood as another body pushed decisively against him.
But he did nothing to stop it. The chill of the wall in front and the warmth of the body behind clashed painfully, like a heated hand against the frost of an iceberg. His lungs were hurting, his shoulder throbbed, and his head hurt like someone fucking hit it seventeen times with a fucking frying pan.
But he didn't do anything to stop it. He didn't lift a finger.
He simply closed his eyes, allowing himself to relax.
The blonde gazed at him, gazed at his back, which the shirt still covered.
His lower torso pressed against the smaller's lower back, he leisurely ran his fingers up and down, feeling the material.
Then, slowly, he fingered the hem of the black shirt, toying with the fabric for a moment before finally lifting it up, slow and teasing.
The first let out a soft sigh, like a breath of wind.
"Yes…" the blonde breathed, lifting up the shirt until it was pooled around the other's neck.
On his left shoulder blade, there was no tattoo of slavery.
Only a scar – like the entire shoulder blade had been torn off in a raging fury to be free and then reattached, flawless and yet not so flawless – marked the otherwise unmarked skin.
Well, the blonde would surely have to change that, now wouldn't he?
He ran his fingers gently along the scar, the imperfection that made him perfect outlining the entire expanse of the shoulder blade, even whiter against already-white skin.
The blonde chuckled.
"There is something to be had here…" he breathed, taking his hands away from the scar and letting the shirt fall, instead sneaking his hands in front of the other to undo his pants.
The first simply closed his eyes, allowing the blonde to do whatever he wished.
"Yes…" he breathed. "A lesson to be learned."
And he had learned it. He learned it the day, the hour – no, the minute he had stepped through the other's door. He was learning it every day he spent living in the other's apartment, living in the shadow of the other's glory. A lesson learning.
Naruto smiled.
Three: As A Memory
"When you love a person, they are never really gone."
Those were the words he lived by now. He knew that as he breathed them to himself. It was either live by those words or die. Either live by those words or go insane. Or was he already insane? How can you tell? How do you know when you finally start slipping? Is it when you start becoming afraid? Is it when people start talking to you in dreams? Is it when you think everyone's out to get you? Is it when you're unable to trust someone you've known and loved all your life? Is it when you turn to drugs or alcohol to stave off the panic and paranoia?
Is it when you start seeing someone that should be dead?
But there had to be a reason. There was a perfectly logical, understandable, reasonable explanation for this, he was sure. There was a reason everyone seemed to be a threat now. There was a reason his dead teachers were talking to him in his sleep. There was a reason he seemed to be drinking more and more lately.
And there was certainly a scientific explanation for why the hell a ghost was sitting at his dining room table.
Sighing, trying to keep his patience, he pinched his nose in the effort before raising his head and gazing at the specter, who occasionally flickered and blurred – like a TV with a bad reception.
"What the hell are you doing here, Sasuke?" He growled, glaring at the dark shape, barely able to see the outline of the facial features. "Will you stop bugging me? I've got work to do!"
The ghost – Sasuke, apparently – merely cocked his head at him before standing up and walking around the table (why, Naruto didn't know – the guy was a GHOST for fuck's sake) and heading over to the blonde, standing in front of him.
Naruto glared at him.
"Well?" He snapped. "What do you want?"
The ghost gazed at him with eyes that didn't exist.
Then he raised a hand, and touched Naruto's chest gently, right over his heart.
"You were going to forget."
Then he was gone as Naruto let out a hiss, raising a hand to push against his heart, which felt like it had suddenly gone ice cold. Hastily stripping himself of his Rokudaime robes, Naruto dashed to the nearest mirror to stare at his chest, where Sasuke had touched.
Then his eyes widened.
Etched into the skin above his heart with what seemed like a freezing cold iron instead of a blazing hot one were four simple letters.
MINE
Naruto sighed, running his fingers over the raised skin of the scar – of the raised skin of the letters.
"If you really love someone, they're never really gone," he breathed.
Maybe Sasuke wasn't the one that was dead.
Maybe it was him.
Maybe it WAS his memories that were keeping Sasuke alive.
Well, if that was the case, was Sasuke remembrance of him keeping HIM alive?
Or had he been forgotten? Was he dead now? Was he dead to Sasuke?
Naruto sighed once more as he gazed at those four letters.
Then Sasuke's own words rang through his head. The words spoken to him on that day where time had stood still – when Naruto and Sasuke had fought… and Naruto had won. Against every fiber of his being and every shred of his soul, he had won, his fist holding Sasuke's heart within the other's chest, stopping it from beating.
He could see Sasuke's eyes so clearly still as they bore into his own, so full of life and fire even as that same spark faded.
He could still hear Sasuke's voice even as he breathed six simple words.
"I will never be a memory."
Two minutes later, Sasuke had died.
Naruto, gazing at the mirror, gazing at the newly-formed scar, gave a small, wry smirk.
"Yes, you will, Sasuke," he breathed softly. "You will."
You will be a memory.
A memory that will never fade.
But a memory meant to be forgotten.
Four: As A Promise
"I don't believe you."
He rolled his eyes, having expected this.
"I really don't fucking care if you don't believe me, Naruto," he replied. "I'm telling you the truth."
"No you're not!" Naruto snapped, the sunlight streaming down through the leaves in the trees. "This is some kind of twisted trick! Something Orochimaru cooked up-!"
"Naruto, you're an idiot!" The other spat. "Orochimaru's DEAD! What the fuck do you care?"
"What the fuck do I CARE?!" Naruto repeated, outraged. "What the fuck do I CARE?! ARE YOU SERIOUSLY FUCKING ASKING ME THAT?!" He let out a senseless roar of rage. "DAMMIT SASUKE! I CARE BECAUSE HE TOOK YOU AWAY! I CARE BECAUSE HE KILLED YOU!"
"He didn't kill me, Naruto," Sasuke replied, trying his best to be patient as he leaned against a tree, his arms crossed. "If he killed me, would I still be here? C'mon you dumbass – get a fucking grip."
"Don't call me a dumbass!" Naruto raged, flailing his arms.
"I'll stop calling you a dumbass when you stop acting like one," Sasuke spat, losing patience. "C'mon! What do I have to do to show you I'm serious?"
Suddenly Naruto stopped, turning deathly serious as he turned his head slightly to drill his gaze into Sasuke. Sasuke would've had to fight to take a step back if he wasn't leaning against a tree.
"Oh shit," he muttered beneath his breath.
"You want to know what you can do to convince me?" Naruto replied, his eyes flashing red as the demon inside him began to gain more influence. No physical traits showed yet, but Sasuke could tell – the beast's twisted way of thinking was slowly leaking into Naruto's brain. "You want to know what you could do?"
Naruto was suddenly in front of Sasuke, making the other curse in surprise and scramble backwards to only hit the tree he had been leaning against. Sasuke had cut off his own way of escape. Stupid, stupid, stupid.
Hands were around Sasuke's arms, ripping apart his long-sleeved shirt.
The other yelped.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?! I LIKED that shirt, you asshole-!"
"Promise me, Sasuke." Said ninja blinked, realizing how close Naruto's face was to his own. The smell of fiery Chakra met his nostrils, and he fought from sneezing in Naruto's face. "Promise me."
Sasuke scowled.
"Promise what? I didn't tell you I loved you, you nitwit-!"
"You don't need to." The words made Sasuke blink again. "I don't need to be told. I can tell. Otherwise you never would've come back to Konoha. What else did you have here?" Leaning forward, Naruto nuzzled Sasuke's throat. "Besides me?"
"Still think I'm Orochimaru?" Sasuke breathed softly, smirking. Growling, Naruto bit him sharply, making the other jerk. Well, that was his answer, in a sense.
"Promise me, Sasuke…" Naruto breathed, now licking the spot he had bitten apologetically. "Promise me."
Sasuke was having a hard time breathing normally now.
"Promise you what?" He murmured, his body relaxing underneath the other's powerful touch.
The next words were soft as Naruto toyed with the crevice between Sasuke's pectoral muscles – in the center of his chest.
"Promise me you'll be mine. All of you."
Sasuke let out a soft sigh of bliss, and then he managed a weak smirk.
"So I guess I'm going to get more than just a kiss like I asked for, huh?" He asked breathlessly, pushing suggestively against Naruto. The blonde returned the smirk.
"Maybe…" he purred, starting to dig deeper in that same spot with his teeth. "But not until you promise me."
Sasuke simply breathed for a moment, knowing what was to come.
"Okay…" he breathed. "I promise."
Suddenly a tooth was buried in his flesh, being dragged downwards in the center of his chest as blood bloomed. When it healed, it would make a nice, thick scar.
A scar identical to the one on Naruto's own chest.
It was a promise. A promise of the flesh and thus a promise of the soul. A promise made.
A promise kept.
End Four Ways:
Scar
The goal I had for this 'Four Ways' is that I didn't want to go off on endless tangents for each one and look back to see that this is like, forty pages long.
I wrote the first two, and then I realized something.
They were both EXACTLY two pages long.
I was just like, OMG! THAT'S PERFECT!
That was my goal, and I succeeded. The only exception is the last sentence for the last story. (All the dialogue, I think.) That one line is the only thing that kept it from being EXACTLY two pages. I couldn't find a way to shorten it without rewriting EVERYTHING. Ugh. DX
Oh well. I still enjoyed all four of them, and I'm happy they were so short. That was another goal of mine – I've always loved those one shots that are only like, a half a page long, yet were so abstract and carried so much depth that you couldn't help but by moved by them.
Until next time I attempt to try, this is going to be the closest I can get.
Ja ne!
DDB