Disclaimer: Incontestably not mine.
A/N: Request fic for Christa Winters, who asked for Naruto and angst.
Truth by Omission
© Scribbler, September 2008.
Nobody played with the blond kid. It wasn't a spoken thing; it was just an accepted one. Nobody played with him, and that was the truth, honest, crossed heart and hope to die if you were lying when your parents asked about it. And they always asked; like they were more concerned about who their son or daughter was seen with than how they'd broken three windows and a potted plant playing kickball.
To be honest, nobody really knew why he was such an outcast. What they understood was the way their parents grabbed their hands and dragged them away whenever they got too close to him.
Of course, when the cat's away and everything. Playtime without adults around was sacred time, with no room for boundaries of who was and wasn't acceptable to hang with, but the moment an adult appeared on the horizon it was game over, run for cover, batten down the hatches and pretend you don't even know the guy who's been sitting next to you in class for the past three years.
He didn't mind. He understood that they'd get into trouble if they were caught with him. They were so busy telling themselves this that they missed how he was always the last kid on the playground, or how no adult ever came to pick him up. Why would they? By that time they were pestering for ice-creams and babbling about their day, careful to leave out anything blond and whiskered.
Sometimes the blond kid was there waiting for them, even on days they didn't have school. He sat by himself on a swing, or perched on top of the slide, or weighing down one half of the seesaw, knees up to his ears and chin pillowed on his arms. He always brightened when they turned up, and eventually they stopped registering the forlorn look on his face when he hadn't yet realised they were there. He was the secret playmate, who stopped existing to them if they wanted to be allowed to have dinner tonight.
They never wondered whether he'd be allowed to have dinner tonight. They never wondered whether he got treated to ice-cream, or whether he had someone to tell about his day. They never wondered how he fed and clothed himself, or why he always wore the same jumpsuit, year after year, with the hems let down until they could stretch no more and his calves poked out like toothpicks in a half-peeled orange.
They never wondered because nobody played with the blond kid, even when they did, and that was the line they'd stick to no matter what.
Fin.