Well, all I need
Is the air I breathe
And a place to rest my head.
One would never suspect sitting atop a hotel roof on a crisp winter night to be all that fun. Then again, neither would staring straight down the blackened barrel of a gun.
"Confused? Contemplative? I know I would be if I was you." The voice was conditioned and unusually yet familiarly dark, speaking words of such simplicity it could render even the most discerning minds clueless, pondering with mouths agape and drool dripping from its corners.
Confused? Certainly. Contemplative? Perhaps. But such was the least of worries, what with a gun positioned nearly ten centimeters from a cold, sweating forehead. Bereft of all bodily functions (with the exception of blinking and even possibly breathing), the woman could do nothing but stare up into the bloody oculars holding her against the cold concrete wall structure behind her back. Her tattered clothes and unkempt pink locks that clung to the cold sweat of her skin did not hesitate to show her fear, let alone the appearance of just emerging from the midst of a quarrel; a normally clean-cut, crimson red woman's business suit was now minus a left jacket sleeve with the right nearly in the same situation while its matching red skirt adorned a rather ragged tear straight up the middle, giving a nearly full view of pale pink seamless panties. As for her dry-cleaned dress top, let's just say it was left with nothing short of numerous imperfections to expose alternate parts of all but tan skin, much to the woman's disapproval.
"Bastard. You cruel, heartless god-damned son-of-a-bitch."
A chuckle. "Well now, quite the reckless type, are we?"
"Cut the crap. You know damn well I mean it when I say you're a no good piece of shit."
"Oh really?"
"Yes."
"Honestly?"
"With every syllable."
The man frowned and lowered his weapon ever so slightly. Clearly, it was a sarcastic expression, one the pinku had seen much too often. She rolled her eyes as he shook his head with what seemed to be shame. Shame upon her, perhaps? Certainly not if she could help it. He was well aware of her brute strength and how she could wipe that toothy grin clean off of his handsome face, yet he did little to prevent such a happening. The woman took this as mockery and therefore did nothing to show she'd gotten so flustered. In previous years, she would have broken down to cry, repeating the phrase "Why?" as tears streamed down her cheeks. Grown-ups never cry, or so the childhood myth goes, so she went to great lengths to suppress such an emotion. She eventually grew accustomed to the habit, becoming quite the "hard ass" in the process. Emotional suppression along with devastating daily happenings (as everyone knows of) changed her from the delicate valedictorian of her past to the boisterous interrogator/medic of the present.
Put simply, she took no mercy – this situation was no different.
The man swiftly turned and crossed his arms over his chest; gun still in hand, he slowly moved away from her. Every stride he took was strong and overrun with confidence, doubtlessly proving that he had become quite the egocentric moron the whole city had heard about the duration of his stay. Thus, she secretly cursed him. She cursed his demeanor, his pride, his cockiness, and certainly his downright gorgeous beauty. Her mindless curses soon became interrupted when he emitted a sickly devilish laugh, one that made the depths of her gut bubble.
"Bastard, huh? Seems the right fit for someone such as myself. I've certainly done enough to claim the title, right?"
Oh, how she hated him.
"I mean, I've been the sole cause of nearly all the turmoil our world has seen!" That laugh again. "You can't expect me to believe I'm not sadistic in the slightest."
Correction – she loathed him.
"You sick twisted little shit."
An eyebrow raised as his head slowly turned to meet her hardened glare. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me." She didn't hesitate to walk forward and punch him square in the face, causing him to stumble backward. "You see it as one big joke, don't you? Your little parade of shenanigans to put innocent people in pain as you go on your merry way, wreaking havoc as you go along. I've always known you to be the one to laugh in the face of danger and nearly bust a lung as someone bleeds to death before your eyes, but I never thought you'd take it this far."
"Well then I guess you assumed wrong."
Another punch. "Shut up." And another, and another, and another. One to the jaw, one to the chest, and one right to the stomach; surely she heard a rib snap. Blood expelled from his mouth spattered on her shirt, but no care was given. This man had to be taught a valuable life lesson – this time, he'd best not forget it.
But all he did was laugh. The bastard. Was that all he was capable of? The cackling made her want to tear every last of her pink locks out of her scalp, but a mental slap was enough to restrain her. Nevertheless, she finally came to the deduction that he'd gone utterly insane. And after all she'd done…
His laughter dwindled as he wiped the drying blood from his lips. Looking to his feet, though, that complacent smirk stuck around to hinder his face a tad longer. "Yes, a joke." He looked up. "You're absolutely right. Congratulations on the wonderful inference; you're a fucking genius."
It took every part of her will to keep her from ripping his eyes out.
He turned once more, slowly making his way toward the edge of the building. Looking down at the rush of cars and brilliantly glowing streetlights below, he emitted a subtle laugh. "Such a beautiful city, it really is. The sakura trees, towering skyscrapers, and seemingly endless roads leading to absolute nothingness, as some have claimed." He then raised his head, raven strands of hair grazing his cheeks as they fell from his face. "Now imagine, just imagine, those wonderful streets completely covered in blood. But not just any blood…"
Silence nestled its way into the moment. The woman kept her gaze fixated on the man nearly three feet distant from her, desperately searching his eyes for an answer, though a part of her honestly didn't want to know the rest.
Suddenly, he spoke:"…my blood."
And in nothing short of an instant, he was no longer the lively man standing in front of her, but the almost peaceful looking being bracing for the fifty-foot fall and solid cold ground awaiting him below.
Uchiha Sasuke & Haruno Sakura (c) Kishimoto-san
Chapter titles (c) Fight Club