Title: The Last Leaf
Genre: Romance, Angst (some depressing themes)
Rating: T (shounen-ai, yaoi, kissing, boyxboy, no sex scenes)
Pairings: SasuIta, some NaruIta and KisaIta
Summary: Itachi always thought his fate would be decided from the beginning; that everything was destined to happen. That is, until a painter comes along to prove him wrong.
WARNING!: THIS STORY CONTAINS SHOUNEN-AI, YAOI, BL, OR WHATEVER YOU WANT TO CALL IT. It involves a boy loving another boy. If you strongly hate yaoi than you can always click the small arrow button on the top of the screen to go back to your previous page. For those of you who like yaoi, then please enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or The Last Leaf or any of the characters in this story.
My third story ever written. Hooray!
Konoha was a small time town. When oil lamps lit the cobblestone streets and horse-drawn carriages littered back alleys, it was not one of those main stream cities and yet, still managed. The people there were not prosperous but still lived happy lives. The men went to work and women kept house. Polite gentlemen and lavishly clothed women danced in ballrooms at night and walked among the roadways during day. Sufficient wages earned from storekeepers and business workers were what kept the town going. Despite what the rich would call shabby and impoverished, the citizens of Konoha lived fair lives none of which were of strife or famine.
The town was not quite small. It had main buildings like the Town Hall, police department, municipal dwelling, and etc. The rest were stores, company offices, libraries, theatres, and more for the entertainment purposes. The one problem that Konoha did face, was the lack of enough hospitals. The town only had one. It was rather big and had many doctors working there, but people had to travel down boulevard and avenue just to get there. But many of the citizens saw the need to only request the doctor's presence into their homes so, the hospital was only used for the most severe of cases.
It was almost the end of fall. Winter was coming around soon. The streets would be filled with snow and air covered with the icy, bristle end of winter's breath soon. Leaves were beginning to fall from the trees and flowers were starting to wilt.
And like I said, there was only one hospital in Konoha. And there, a life was changed...
"44... 43, 42... 41... 40..."
'Itachi is counting again...' Kisame thought. And yes, the pale, thin man was sitting on his hospital bed looking out the window and counting. Kisame had noticed it a few days ago. At first, the numbers had started from the hundreds, then decreased one by one. The strangest thing was that he always counted down, but what he was counting, Kisame didn't know.
The numbers didn't have a steady pace or tempo as they slide from the slender man's mouth. Sometimes the numbers would come rapidly and then they would slow. Sometimes they started slow but ended fast. Sometimes a few seconds passed before the next number, sometimes an hour. There was no regular intervals of lapsed time between numbers.
"Itachi, I know you do not like me prying but... what are you counting," Kisame asked. Itachi was not facing him but was instead, looking out the window. He could not see his expression.
Turning his head, the beautiful contours of Itachi's apathetic face met Kisame. Along with it were equally lovely crimson eyes of blood. Giving a small smile to his friend, Itachi answered, "Nothing that you need to know." His smile turned into a frown as soon as the coughing fit began. He raised his hand and covered his mouth as cough after cough racked his delicate frame, face twisting into an expression of pain.
"Are you alright?" Kisame grabbed Itachi's shoulder as he looked worriedly at the sick man. "Should I get a doctor?"
"No." The coughing had stopped but his breathing was still a bit uneven: shaky and irregular. "I've had this illness all my life. I know what to expect."
Kisame's concerned look didn't diminish. "You will be healed. The illness will be gone soon. Everything will be alright."
"I feel as though you're trying to convince yourself more than me." Itachi took Kisame's hand still clasped onto his shoulder and held it tightly in his own two, giving him a smile. "Don't you remember what he said. Even if the cure does come through, there is only a one in a tenth chance it will work on each patient, including me. Whether one survives or not, will solely depend on their will to live." He let go of Kisame's hand and went back to staring out the window. "35 now..."
Kisame could not see just what Itachi was looking at. His room was on the hospital's second floor and just outside was the courtyard for the patients. Directly across from the window was a blank brick wall with only a vine growing on it. There was nothing to see. 'And yet why does he keep staring out it,' thought Kisame. 'We have been friends for years already, but it seems as though I can never understand him.'
Kisame glanced at Itachi but he could only see long tresses of silky dark hair. Itachi staring out the window, counting again, reasons unexplainable.
"34... 33... 32, 31, 30... 29..."
"Itachi, why don't we take a walk throughout the hospital? The doctor did say staying in one room for long periods of time was bad for one's health," Kisame suggested. In reality, he didn't want Itachi to continue counting with that melancholic tone of is.
"If that's what you want," Itachi replied, going with Kisame's request. He slowly moved to get off the bed, taking his black coat and draping it against his shoulders for warmth against the cold hospital air. Slipping into a pair of sandals, he left the room with Kisame trailing closely behind him, making sure he would not fall.
They walked down the hall and passed by many nurses with papers and doctors with instruments. Patients were scattered throughout the corridors as well, talking with each other or just simply enjoying being out of the sickly white walls and empty encasements of their rooms. One would say that hospitals reeked of sickness and death. And staying in the rooms only strengthened that statement. Pretty soon, the two of them found themselves right at the central corridor.
The central corridor of the hospital was what could be considered a waiting room. It was the center of the hospital, the rest being a labyrinth of hallways and rooms. Most of the hospital hallways exited there and the wide open space was deprived of anything except for a marble floor embedded with stained glass and benches all positioned into an octagon. Usually there would be people sitting there, some visitors and some patients, but not enough to fill the whole place. Today, however, a large crowd had gathered in that area, talking very loudly might I add.
"Oh, you are such a talented painter!"
"Such artwork and skill! And from such a handsome man like you!"
"I would love it if you were to paint me!"
"Perhaps we can get to know each other better!"
"I have an interest in painting! Why don't you teach me?"
"What's happening over there," Itachi asked, pointing to the group of what appeared to mostly be patients, most if not all females. They were laughing and smiling about something happening at the center of the gathering.
"I believe they have flocked over a painter. That's what I heard from the nurses. He comes every once in a while to paint for the patients. It's to give them new hope to live," Kisame answered.
"A painter? And why is an artist at a hospital? Does he have nothing better to do than be flattered by women all converged for his sketches," Itachi asked emotionless.
"I heard he's very successful. He makes millions off of his paintings and many wealthy folks hire him for their portraits. I believe I have seen him in the newspapers. He's opened many art galleries. They say he is skilled in all sorts: oil, water, pastel, encaustic, tempera, gouache, ink, coal sketches," stated Kisame.
"I see. But what is so... captivating about this painter that has all the women all flocked to him? If I didn't know any better, I would say they were bees and he was honey." Itachi moved to walk around the crowd with disinterest.
"Actually, from the looks of it, I believe he is also very handsome to the ladies," Kisame said, following after Itachi. "And his paintings are beautiful, I have to admit," he said again, stopping his trek and peering over the cooing heads to the piece of work set on the easel. The painting was of a lake scenery, calm and tranquil with a wonderful mixture of colors blended and dabbed with skillful hands.
"I can't see anything," Itachi said. Unlike Kisame, he wan't tall enough to overlook the crowd. "And I doubt he would also want to see us when his sight is obscured by damsel femininity. Let us go." The fragile, black haired man proceeded to go around the crowd, not interested in their petty remarks or actions. Without looking behind, Itachi told Kisame silently, "A gentlemen displaying his talents to impress and attract the ladies. It's the last thing I want to see." Just as Itachi was a few steps away from the hallway that led down to the courtyard, a very loud voice was heard.
"Is that painting done? Can I have it!"
"No! It's mine! I asked him first!"
"No, of course it would belong to me!"
"No, it's mine!"
"Ouch! You little shrew!"
"You deserved it! Oww! Why you..."
Hitting, kicking, and punching followed by shouts of pain sounded throughout the central corridor. Everyone was unable to turn away from the commotion. Such a loud fuss caught everyone's eyes and attention, including Itachi's. He turned around to see what was happening. The fight had ripped a huge hole in the crowd. One side of it was free of patients and Itachi could see clearly what the painting that Kisame described was. A lake scenery like he said, and very detailed and exquisitely painted too. And about the same time too, the painter who was responsible for such a masterpiece turned his head as well. Alluring crimson eyes met refined onyx orbs as they saw each other for the first time.
Sasuke had been extremely annoyed. He hated attention, especially the attention of dimwits who knew nothing than to praise him and earn his affections. He never showed his irritation for he had a polite image to keep, but just having being flocked around was deeply invading his personal space. He was a painter asking for peace and quiet, not a gentlemen asking for a lady to dance with. They just swarmed to him before he knew what was happening and he quite hated it. He was quite content when the fight broke out, having left him some air to breath and area to move. But when turning around, his whole being froze as his eyes met with someone else's.
'Who is that person,' Sasuke asked himself. Silky long hair, flawless face, soft creamy skin, refined porcelain figure, delicate and fragile, yet mysterious with enchanting dark beauty. And those eyes, gorgeously red like wine. 'He is absolutely beautiful.' Sasuke was stunned and could not take his eyes off him. He had never seen anyone quite like him. He had painted many people before, but not even his paintings could quite compare to the beauty he was beholding now. This person could not be described as just a human, that status was too low. 'He is an angel...' Sasuke felt his heart beat faster as it swelled with emotions.
Itachi had a different opinion, however. 'An average painter... I see nothing so captivating in him.' Glassy onyx eyes, dark black hair that spiked in the back, resplendent face, well-toned body, having a strong aura yet air of politeness in him. He was wearing a black coat over a dress shirt and pants, with boots instead of shoes. 'He is handsome, I have to admit. But I admire him for his skills more,' Itachi thought, looking back to the painting. Without giving the painter another glance, the crimson eyed man turned on his heel and continued going down the hall without another word said.
"Wait..." Sasuke started, not wanting such a gorgeous person to leave without at least knowing his name. His view was concealed, however, by the many ladies that swarmed back to their places, eager for his attention. He lost sight of the red eyed man down the hallway and could not budge from his spot as the women had all crowded him once more. 'I have to know who he is...' The painter paid no mind to the women all flocked around him. His thoughts were only on the one person who managed to capture his heart with just a glance. Yes, he had fallen in love at first sight, with a beautiful angel with crimson eyes.
I like this beginning. It sounds nice. It flows. That's all I have to say. Anyways, please review.