It was always just the three of them, best friends. The insane, the deaf, and the mute. Maybe that's way it bothered him so much when his two best friends fell in love. Maybe he felt left out, a third wheel. Before he met them, he had been out casted by his friends, peers, and even his parents because of his anger. The day he met them was the best and worst day of his life. That night was the night his father first beat him. The first time and the last. He had killed the cat in a fit of uncontrollable rage, and his father tried to kill him. He remembered being scratched by an iron poker three times on each side of his cheek. He remembered his father telling him the scars would be a reminder of his horrible deed. That was the night he ran away.
She had been the one to find him, letting out a small scream when she saw his bruised and bloody body on the forest floor. He was a mess, with branches and leaves tangled in his hair from his wild sprint away from home. There was so much blood running down his face and into his eyes that he could barely make out her form. He remembered thinking that she was an angel to take him to Heaven, no matter how terrible he had been. He could feel himself losing consciousness and was already fading in and out of darkness when he saw the bastard come running. His brain was not functioning properly, his only thoughts being that his cheeks stung and that his head hurt. He lost consciousness when she grabbed him under the arms and pulled him to safety.
He must have been unconscious for a week before he finally opened his eyes, and, when he did, his pink haired angel was smiling at him from above, the glow from behind her head making her seem more angelic than ever. He tried to smile back at her, but quickly gave up the idea when he felt immense pain in his cheeks. Immediately, her smile dropped and she began tending to his wounds. He tried to ask her where he was, what she was doing, and why she was helping him, but she ignored him. His frustration pushed him to rage and he jumped out of the makeshift cot he was laying in, grabbing her by the throat and pushing her against a wall. He demanded to know who she was and where they were, his spittle flying into her face. Her eyes wide, she furiously shook her head and tried to gasp out some words, but his hand on her trachea was too strong. She couldn't breathe.
It was then he met the mute bastard. The black-haired boy ran in and punched him in the back, forcing him to drop the girl. The two fought, he remembered, and it was the bastard who came out on top. Pinning him down with his knees, the mute signed out words that made the pink haired angel gasp. He supposed it was that moment that they became best friends, as well and bitter rivals. Over the next three years, they lived together, traveling in a tight-knit group, living off of whatever they could. It was difficult, but they were able to suffice using the mute's music, the deaf's art, and his circus tricks. Oddly enough, he had adopted a baby fox along the way, claiming to the surprised faces in rough sign language that he was unable to ethically leave it.
It was merry and beautiful for that year, until suddenly, everything went downhill. The mute's violin broke, the deaf ran out of paints, and he broke his leg. With no way to earn money, there was no way to fix the violin or the leg, and no way to buy the paints. The mute was too prideful to beg and the deaf was too honorable to steal. However, his butt was again, saved by the pink haired angel. One night, she had disappeared into the inner city and had not returned until the next morning. The entire night, the mute was agitated, frantically signing to him. He had long ago learned to sign and could now almost fluently understand the agitated signing that was always going on around him. When she finally returned to their humble home under a bridge, the mute grabbed her by the shoulders and shook her violently. Seeing the already worn pinkette being further harmed by their frantic friend, he pulled him off of her, letting them both see, for the first time, how tired and abused she looked. She had bruises around her legs and arms, as if someone had grabbed her fragile form too roughly, and what seemed to be a black eye forming over her bright green iris. Using clumsy and rough hands, he signed out a concerned question, asking her what had happened. She did not reply, instead grinning, as she pulled out a large wad of money from her pocket. Although he was blinded by joy at the sudden funds, he saw that his friend still, looked concerned.
That was the moment he knew that his companion was in love. The loving way he touched her face, running his fingers over the slightly pink skin around her eye; the way he took hold of her hands, pulling her into a quick embrace before gently examining the bruises on her arm; and the way his face turned angry as he saw how abused her body was. She gently shook him off and signed to him to not to worry. He didn't know why, but that simple moment forced his happy mood into one of anger, and he stormed out into the streets. He had walked for hours, angrily punching at anything and everything in his path until his fist collided with something soft. Looking up from his glare at the ground, he saw that he had just socked a girl in the gut. Bent over with tears shining in her oddly white eyes, the girl stuttered in confusion. Immediately, his mood changed back to a light one, begging the girl for forgiveness. For some reason, she seemed to calm him out of his rage. her entire presence was calming to him. After spending about an hour with her, he learned that she was a rich heir to an important company, and, although she could not see, her cousin and his cheerful girlfriend made up for her lack of sight. In that short hour, he had completely calmed down and by the time she had to leave, he had charmed her phone number out of her. He skipped back home to a worried pair of friends, and cheerfully responding to their anxious signings, he bounded to the market to buy some fruit with the money the pinkette mysteriously earned.
It was always just the three of them, best friends. The fox, the flower, and the raven. Maybe that's why it bothered her so much when her boys began to drift away from her. She supposed their problems started when they ran completely out of money for the first time, as that was when her golden haired fox started hanging out more with that rich, blind girl, and less with them.
It was her best friend's leaving her that bothered her most, however, as they had been together for as long as she could remember. He had a voice when she first found him, living happily in a nice orphanage. She would watch him from afar, playing with his perfectly normal blonde haired friend. How she wished she could be that girl. She supposed she had been in love with him, she didn't know. All she knew was that she could not tear her eyes from him. Then, one day, he had suddenly disappeared. Through the wire, she heard that he was adopted by a rich but mad scientist. She spent three months looking for him, missing his beautiful face and raven locks. When she finally found him, it was too late. He had multiple scars marring his beautiful throat when she first formally introduced herself. In garbled English, she offered to stay with him- they could survive together.
He ran away from his foster father without a second thought. From then on, they became best friends. She taught him the sign language she had learned from her mother-before she died- and he taught her to paint, a skill she picked up without any problems. They were fiercely defensive of each other, and readily accepted the blond fox when he needed them. The three of them together made for an unbeatable team.
It was always quiet for them, but love radiated throughout the atmosphere around them. Her boys would do anything for her and she for them. Maybe that's why she went to such drastic measures to earn money for them. She couldn't stand to see her beautiful boys starve, so she turned to the streets for quick money. It wasn't like she had anything to lose from it. She was not a virgin, having her first time with a man who found her alone on the streets, before she had met either of her boys. She never told them, afraid that they would ever reject her or hunt the man down. And they did not have the energy or money to do that. The first night was the hardest, the most painful. They grabbed and pulled her around, not caring when she cried out in pain; one man even slammed his fist into her eye. But they paid well at the end, and that was all that mattered. When she finally returned home, early in the morning, her raven seemed to have lost his mind. He grabbed her shoulders and shook her relentlessly. Her fox asked her where she had been, and she could not bear to answer. Instead, she held up the wad of cash she had earned from the men and smiled. She knew her raven was not convinced, but she ignored it.
It wasn't until her fox suddenly stormed out that she realized how anxious she made her boys. He didn't return until much, much later, and in a much better spirit. This would mark the first of many times he would disappear in a rage and return in happiness. A week later, her raven- her beautiful raven found out. He had followed her onto her corner, watched her transaction with yet another man. All of their faces looked the same to her, now. It was only his face she saw when they pounded into her. She remembered how he busted out of his hiding spot, tackling the man. She remembered his disappointed look and how he had disappeared for a week. It broke her heart. When he finally returned, it was the first time she had smiled in that week. He forgave her, but seemed distant. He went out during the evenings, also now. They stopped spending time together, each instead going their own way. And it broke her heart.
It was always just the three of them, best friends. The idiot, the princess, and the avenger. Maybe that's way it bothered him so much when he had to leave them. It was especially her face that stuck with him on his long journey. But it had hurt when she betrayed him like that. He thought he could have trusted her, but to find her on a corner, selling herself- to that murderer, no less, broke his heart. He signed it over with the insane blond, letting him know what happened. The scarred man sighed and agreed.
It was then that he made the decision to leave. Besides, he still needed to avenge his family. He left a month after he caught her, sneaking out in the middle of the night. He couldn't bear to see her tearful face when he left. He couldn't bear to see his friend's disappointed face when he left. He could just hear the blond telling him to stay, calling him a bastard. He almost smirked at his mental image of the idiot. He left with nothing to remind him of them but a single picture. The only one of the three of them together. He left expecting to never come back, never see them again. But fate had another plan. Shortly after he killed his own brother- the murderer- he met a girl. She was no one special, but she got him a job- one in a powerful company, no less. Immediately after, he left her. Her cheerful smile reminded him too much of his pink haired princess.
He worked there for a year before he accidentally ran into the heiress. She annoyed him at first, always stuttering, but they soon came to be friends. Eventually, she introduced him to her secret lover. She begged him to not tell her father, as the boy was a street rat. But she swore she loved him, that he was beautiful, though she could not see his face.
That night, he snuck out with the blind girl and waited under a bridge. When he saw the lover, he could not believe his eyes. Standing right in front of him, in the flesh, was the idiot, the blond grinned at the avenger and the raven haired man nodded. The two boys high fived, and much to the confusion of the heiress, the idiot began punching the shit out of him. The blond screamed that he broke the princess' heart when he left, that she had cried for a week and had not smiled since. He called him a bastard and told him that she started painting again, quit prostitution, but her art no longer showed happy scenes. Instead, they showed portrayals of betrayal, of despair. Through this, he just sat, stunned that his beautiful princess cared so much. The idiot did not stop until the heiress pulled him off, demanding an explanation. Immediately, the idiot cheered up, happily explaining what happened. He asked if he would like to see her and, of course, the avenger agreed. He was so deprived of her beautiful smile, her radiant presence. The idiot brought him into the familiar home and brought him to what he remembered to be her room. The blond nodded, serious, and went back to his blind heiress.
He took a deep breath and pushed the wooden door open. Sitting on the bed, with a brush between her fingers, was not the radiant princess he remembered, but a ghost of a girl. Her usually beautiful hair fell flat, her smile gone. The painting across from her reflected colors of sadness: blues, greens, and purples. She looked to him with sunken and shallow eyes and snapped her head away. He could see her whisper to herself that he wasn't real; that he was just another illusion. He sat next to her and placed his hand on her shoulder. She pushed it off, and buried her face in her own hands, whispering again that he was not real. He grabbed her wrists in one hand and tilted her chin up with the other. She stared into his eyes and, hands incapable of signing, she asked him if he was real. He nodded slightly and dipped his head to do the very thing he had been imagining for the past two years. He caught he lips in a kiss and he smirked a little at the surprised squeak she gave.
When they finally separated, he, for the first time since he lost his voice, moved his lips as if he were speaking. He tried to tell her the three words that had been on his lips since he saw her depressed form when she had first walked into her room. She stopped him with a finger to his lips and, for the first time in two years, smiled, as she took his hands in hers, motioning for him to sign. He did so, finally releasing the burden on his back for the last year, and the two kissed again. When they finally met up with the idiot, tears that were held back were finally shed. The two boys, crying, exchanged friendly punches, while the princess cried and called them idiot bastards. He quit his job, deciding that the streets were much more suitable than any mansion or castle. His princess agreed wholeheartedly, and within two more years, the two were engaged to marry. The idiot and his heiress had run off together long ago, much to the dismay of her cousin and brown haired cousin in law, and the avenger smiled upon remembering being the best man in their hasty and unofficial wedding. He and his princess had a small wedding, with only the idiot and his heiress attending, and the four of them happily began new lives on the streets.
It was always just the three of them, best friends. Even if the idiot was now married to the heiress. Even if the flower was in love with the avenger. Even if the avenger was still revenge driven. It was always just the three of them. Naruto. Sakura. Sasuke.