Title: Falling Out Of Love
Rating: M
Summary: As if their lives weren't hard enough. Love had to come along and mess things up. SasuNaru
I haven't written a story in a while, I've written a bunch of poetry and it might show in this but I thought I'd get this idea out of my head anyway.
Disclaimer: I do not own.
P.S. This is mature BL, boy's love, homosexuality and a bit of that straightness too… I will not apologize for it, so post your flames elsewhere or keep them to yourself. With that done.
Enjoy.
What do you do if your enemy smiles at you and tells you you're about to die? Well die is a bit dramatic; suffer a significant amount of pain then. What would you do if your enemy smiled at you and told you, you were about to feel a great deal of pain?
You would think she was bluffing, or too stupid to confront. You would have taken out a cigarette, you know if it's your thing, and enjoyed a smoke while you laughed it off.
You would right. Pay her no mind and carry on with life, right. Especially if you knew something like this was her favourite pass time: the well thought out insults, the childish letters or notes she'd stick to your bag that she thought were fucking brilliant. You would ignore this, just like all of those antics right.
Well, I did.
I was in the middle of a laugh and lighting a fresh stick of cancer until she all but shouted at me, 'your lover-boy is gone'.
She caught me walking from classes, an ugly smile pulling at her lips, to inform me that he had left. That my boyfriend, the man I was in love with ran away with all his stuff because as she put it 'he finally smartened up or got bored'.
So I, because I did this all the time, continued the laugh, took out that cigarette and walked off. Like that was any other day.
But it wasn't like the others. That day wasn't happy or anything sappy. No, that day started with a fight. A large and painful one where he screamed he would be leaving and getting away from me and I screamed he was a spoilt rich kid with serious issues he needed to check out and maybe just maybe he should leave because then he could get help.
But I played it off. I walked and walked, cigarette in hand, desperate to will myself into becoming calm because she couldn't be right. She wouldn't be. And even if she was I didn't want her to know.
She would never know my heart beat faster in my chest or that my legs itched to run as fast as I could to my dorm room or his place or to the bar he frequented when we fought.
Not until news of how I did run, heart thundering in my chest across campus to my room to find it empty of his things and him, reached her. Not until she heard about how I ran to his place, a mile or two across town instead of using the train like always, only to find there empty too. Not until she saw my eyes watering looking for him at the bar day after day after day…
So what do you do then? When your enemy was telling the truth and the love of your life up and left you.
What do you do then?
To an orphaned kid like me with little to hold on to abandonment is hard to deal with or even understand or process. At first it felt like time was dancing around me, slow and unimportant. Things became blurry and my feet kept moving until I was standing before the pasty green door of my dorm room. Probably I ran there every time, probably I walked across campus. With my mind empty until my hands, shaking but curious rose up then lay stuck on the cool of the metal knob.
I never closed it, the door to my room. So it could swing open at any time… and then I would know.
I would know if her foolishly dyed hair needed pulling or if her stupidly done-up face needed slapping or worse. I would know if she laughed from this momentary stroke of luck and madness on his part or if that sick sound was her mocking me, becoming happy when everything around me really was about to crumble and break apart.
Break apart because somewhere in my head I knew the room would be the same way I left it that very morning- empty and cold, waiting for me to come back and cry against my pillows that smelt like him. Cry into the dark of the room because I didn't want to see how alone I was.
I kept hoping for two months. My legs got tired, my pillow got soaked, my friends worried and then finally fed up. I took me four months to stop thinking about him, seeing him in hallways and in my classes even though he had no right being there. The other four months that completed a year apart saw me focused on schoolwork, graduating and all that admirable stuff.
And just when I could breathe, when I began fucking someone new and living again, he found me.
Sasuke Uchiha, the bastard that had my heart, found me in a ramen shop. My face was buried in miso brothy goodness and his voice, deep, commanding and almost playful reached my ears.
As you can imagine I had a moment of sheer shock, then disbelief, then nothingness as my brain went dead. He was right behind me, there were no exits. I would have to speak to him because now his hand was on my shoulder and he was looking right at me and I didn't know what I was feeling. So…this is embarrassing, I can see you chuckling at this but anyway…. So I screamed.
I screamed something short but loud and attention getting. I screamed, dropped my bowl, took up my jacket and walked off.
I walked off and felt better, like it was a dream I was waking up from. But it wasn't a dream. It wasn't because I pinched myself and closed my eyes and waited to wake up. Instead I opened my eyes and he was right in front of me. His grey eyes close enough for me to see them clearly, his steady breath mixing with my short bursts of air.
You know if the scream didn't tell you I'm bad with handling things properly or sensibly then you should know the panic I felt then, with him close enough to kiss me, led me to punch him square in the jaw. Punch him and run off into a cab that stopped for some woman standing there.
"And that's how I ended up at the centre." Blond tuffs of hair shook with incessant nodding and moved to cover blue eyes that Kakashi knew were dull and hazy with drunkenness. He knew Naruto would never tell all like that unless he was too wasted to care. He also knew Naruto was too hurt to care when a few tears dropped unto the counter of the bar and Naruto sat staring at them. Until a hand, trembling something fierce, moved to cover his mouth from a hoarse cry that was ready to break free.
Kakashi wasn't the best social worker, or advice giver or anything fancy sounding that this poor wounded soul needed at the moment. He knew however, that Iruka was. And he knew where Iruka lived and that he would know what to do with someone falling apart at the seams.
After all, Iruka put him back together once.
Standing from his seat, Kakashi grabbed hold of Naruto's free arm and slung it over his shoulder. Slowly but surely they made their way outside, then into a cab where Kakashi reeled off the address to Iruka's place and sat back. His head was trained on a single thought, Iruka put him back together the first time, and he can do it again.
Well that's the idea I'm running with. Comment and tell me if I should continue or not and I'll try to make it longer next time. Probably less choppy and poety too. Here's to hoping it's better then too.
~ Hi There You