Disclaimer: Copyright Masashi Kishimoto.
The dusty doors of the airtight, small shed in the far, far back of the building, unused by almost everyone, untouched for a year, open with a tarnished squeak.
Dust motes fly in the air where sunlight caresses the dark: slowly, vision adjusts. There are stacks of boxes with fine, filmy layers of dust coating them in a corner, along with an old, broken broom, a filthy mop, some grim-covered tools, baskets with sticks of bamboos torn out of the arrangement, rags, and an overturned plastic chair.
Cobwebs stretch along the ceiling and the door, and a lone spider dangles from the center of the shiny, sticky grey threads of the net.
All that unhygienic aura and cramped space doesn't matter to them.
In one spare corner, along the wall, a fair-skinned young girl is stretched, her legs sprawling and one stiletto heel poking the plastic chair; she is moaning and gasping with obvious pleasure that shows through the blush on her cheeks and a slight grin.
Her hands dig in the bowed dark hair of her companion, who sits coiled below, making low, smooching noises, his face buried in her large bosom.
They look up—shock and embarrassment flitting across the girl's face, and mild surprise on the other's—at the opening door and there's a profound silence.
Which is broken as the boy smirks beautifully and smugly—his face white as polished limestone, and eyes like two flat black obsidians—and greets.
"Hello…Sakura."
Let the ground open and swallow me up.
MY
BEST
FRIEND'S
BOYFRIEND
By berryboom
"He's gonna buy me those perfect black pumps I asked him, and then we're going shopping—I really, really need that sexy red minidress Ten told me about, and that awesome lilac tutu skirt…Plus, he promised he'd take to me to that fancy restaurant, so I know it's gonna be a great weekend—and then it's my birthday party—"
"Do you really think he'll spend that much bucks on you?" Sakura asks cynically, her eyebrows raised high as she breaks in her best friend's constant ramblings and confident gossips—frankly, which have been continued for half and an hour.
Ino turns around to look at her, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement and confidence.
"Of course. Sasuke Uchiha's rich. And he'smy boyfriend, after all."
Almost everyone in Konoha knows about the handsome hunk Uchiha Sasuke, consisting mostly of diehard fan girls that are more annoying than loyal. His fame and growing attraction has been passing down since his freshman year at the local academy, before which he had remained homeschooled.
He depicted a silent brooder's image when he first transferred to the Leaf Academy and that same silent-bad-boy look in his hooded, black eyes, his haughty pace, his expressionless façade that seems purely pensive, has won over numerous female faces.
And that doesn't mean the Uchiha is very anti-social. Yes, he is communal. He is communal with very few of his admittedly close acquaintances—Naruto, Sai and Shikamaru for instance—and quite a number of females—at least one at a time.
No, he isn't conceited, everyone says. He just likes to hang out with girls when he's bored, and he hasn't yet found out any girl he would especially like to be his steady girlfriend, except the rare, fortunate three.
Sakura can even count them: three. Sabaku No Temari, Hyuga Hinata, and now Yamanaka Ino.
The two rejects are now coupled with Shikamaru and Naruto. Looks like he fancies sharing.
Sometimes he's pitiable: he's unlucky in love, even when he uses the legion of females at his feet that fancy him getting into their pants, and who doodle his name over their stuff in bright pink, or even those who genuinely admire him to the level of infection.
Sakura even knows for a fact that Uzumaki Karin, the number one fan girl of the Uchiha who can't look at him without undressing him with her eyes, keeps a prized, damage proof jar which contains a few strands of the Uchiha's dark hair.
Where on earth did she obtain such a treasure, was very explicitly explained by the orthodox statement: "He is damn awesome in bed. Get it?"
Okay, so he also likes doing the deed besides hanging out. And this Sakura had found out in a very embarrassing incident in which she stumbled upon the happy couple in the abandoned shed in the back of the university—well, it hadn't exactly heated up to that extent, but Ino's expression was sure to confirm that it was coming.
And that's a month ago. Yamanaka Ino is the Uchiha's girlfriend. At the moment, or perhaps forever—erm, until specialization, maybe, unless she was intent on marriage as well.
Sakura manages a tiny smile at Ino's bold declaration. "Of course you are." She refrains from adding that if Ino continues emptying her boyfriend's wallet every time they get together, even if he's wealthy, he will soon add her to his list of rejects.
"Okay, so…you're going to come over early on my birthday evening, help me with the decorations, ne?" Ino asks, slinging her pretty red wool bag over her shoulder and pushing back her long, sleek ponytail of fine, blonde hair.
She really is beautiful. No wonder the Uchiha—
"Yup, I'll be there," Sakura confirms. She flips out her glossy Blackberry, and checks for a missed call. There is her mother's, who is supposed to take her out for a dress hunt for Ino's birthday party.
"Mom's outside," She tells the blonde, and they both walk down the steps of Leaf University.
Her mother's pink convertible has the top down, so she can see the blonde bun and the high neck in front of the steering wheel from the back.
She can never really understand how the combination of blonde curls and natural silver, of her mother and father respectively, resulted in the bizarre shade of red in her hair that is actually mistaken as pink.
But that's just another story.
As they say, think of the devil—
He leans against his hot black Mercedes, his hands stuffed in the pockets of his blue jeans, his black T-shirt stretched snugly over his torso emphasizing his muscles, and his car is parked just behind hers.
—and the devil shall appear.
His face is the color of marble, and his onyx pools are striking against the complexion. His hair is dark and some locks escape to his forehead, even when he has a baseball cap thrown casually over his head.
At that moment, he looks insanely cute. But then again, he always does.
Sakura always admits that, but she is quite sure she harbors no feelings for the hunk.
"Heya, Sasuke," Ino calls boldly as she reaches him. Sakura follows her slowly, given that her destination is also in that direction.
As he holds out the passenger door for his girlfriend, his gaze settles on the rosette's—emeralds collide with obsidians, and he smirks.
"Ino," he says in a greeting, and then, "Hey, Sakura."
"Hello." She feels awfully uncomfortable as the Uchiha looks at her, and she drops her eyes, fiddling with the strap of her bag, thinking it impolite to just leave like that.
There's something in his eyes—she has seen it before in that mortifying incident—that is close to smugness, but not really it. It's kind of creepy.
He nods, breaks the connection, and then slides beside Ino in his car.
Sakura walks dazedly to her own.
"It looks great."
"Are you positive?"
"Anything done by the two of us is great," assures Sakura. It is 23rd September, Ino's birthday evening, and the house looks great.
Ino's house is by the beach, and the deck opens to the shore. They have themed the party according to it: speakers hidden behind large amount of driftwood, a long table in front of the terrace beside the deck which has a scattering of seashells and is laden with food and drink, surfboards lean against one wall, with a bucket of beach towels.
There will be a barbecue on the beach, which also serves as the dancing spot.
In short, the preparations are so perfect Sakura wonders why Ino is even a little bit concerned.
Sakura positions on the terrace idly, holding her first glass of champagne. She has already given Ino her present—a sparkling yellow halter top. As a coincidence, her boyfriend has presented her with beautiful yellow earrings that quite match—and which he put on her ears himself, so Ino has gone inside to wear the matching top with her sarong.
Ino is extremely lucky.
She sits engrossed in watching the throng of dancers bopping to the new song, and doesn't notice that she has company, until a hand taps on her shoulder.
"Sakura?"
She snaps out of her thoughts and nearly falls off the terrace when she sees the handsome Uchiha standing beside her, his eyebrows arched, and a bottle of beer in his hand. His expression is expectant, so Sakura takes a deep breath, trying to steady her thudding heart.
"You—you scared me," she says, feeling a bit in control.
He doesn't look like he's about to apologize, but his lips pull up in a mocking smile. "I'm not going to eat you."
Sakura snorts. "I know, dude. And yeah, Ino's inside, if you were searching for her."
He looks a bit surprised. "I didn't come here for Ino. I want to talk to you."
There is a short while of silence, but it seems long, as the two stare into each other's eyes. Sakura sees no smugness in his eyes this once.
"And why would that be?"
"I wanted to ask you something," he says gently, and Sakura observes the guy in him who could seduce any girl with just one soft look from under his lashes. It was there.
"Go on."
"Will you accompany me tomorrow to a formal party I'm invited to?" He asks slowly and delicately, and for a moment Sakura doesn't even realize what he means.
Gradually realization dawns on her as she stares into his hooded, expectant eyes. She feels a sense of nervous dread creeping in on her. "What about Ino?" She blurts out unthinkingly, and somehow that sounds like consent.
"She won't have to know," says Ino's boyfriend. "So is that a yes?"
"No!" Sakura shouts with a sudden and fierce bolt of anger that erases the dread inside her—the dread of having to choose. There are no choices to choose between.
She shoves at the Uchiha's chest hard, not a least bit interested in how the muscles felt under her hand, so that he is pushed backward.
She doesn't see his bewildered, wistful expression as she turns around and storms off towards the refreshment table with the empty glass clenched in one hand.
Her head pounds heavily, as if it is being pounded by a dozen hammers, and she feels dizzy. She knows she shouldn't have drunk that much—she can estimate at least nine glasses at regular intervals that she had tonight, plus the one that is half-filled in her hand.
She staggers from the refreshment table, the drink still clutched in her hand, and searches for Ino. The barbecue has already started, and Ino and a couple of girls are turning over sizzling meat on the grill. The aroma of beef is intensifying, but Sakura isn't a least bit attracted towards it.
She decides to tell Ino and get home; she is feeling dizzy and feverish, but then she thinks: what have I got in home? Father's dead and my mom is away at some cocktail party with her clients.
Her head is throbbing, and she suddenly feels foreign among the horde of dancers, the clusters around the refreshment table, the couples walking hand-in-hand along the coastline.
Why are all of them, laughing? What do they have to laugh about? She wonders as she gazes at her best friend, her face sparkling with joy and excitement, chuckling with all those who surrounded her.
Don't they see how everything is on the verge of going down the tubes?
Her thoughts are incoherent, jumping from one subject to another.
I'm lonely.
And that is why when she looks at the mass of happy people, she only sees girls as whores and boys as liars: and she feels like the stranger among that undignified mob.
She doesn't know when the sand brushes against her face and her hair sprawls all around it. Her shoulders move of their own accord, tilting her hazy vision towards the star-flecked sky but the scene is blocked by something more stunning.
She encapsulates a face in her vision: pale as the moonlight to erase all the loneliness, with dark obsidian orbs that seem to fill in the world, a sharp, angular nose, and a flawless, full mouth—
No! She hears herself saying.
Is that a yes?
No!
"Sakura, you okay? Should I get Ino to call your—"
It is in a deep trance, and totally at the spur of the moment that her body reaches out, and she presses her lips drunkenly against his.
To Be Continued.