Character(s): Naruto, Itachi, faint ItaNaru
Prompt(s): Glass, marker, bell. For Ushi.
Summary: High School AU. A chance meeting, and three days is all it takes to build a friendship.
It was hot that day.
He had just finished with clean up after club activities and then taken part in an impromptu paint fight, which meant they had to clean the art room all over again. Though the apron had meant his uniform had been spared, he still had to wash the paint out of his hair, leaving him rather damp and more than happy to be on his way home.
The sun was setting as he made his way out of the arts building, taking the shortcut through the back as usual. The gentle breeze did nothing to relieve the heat, and he was hardly motivated to quicken his steps. Squinting up at the sky, he tried to will the sun to set faster by starting a staring contest, which he promptly lost after a few seconds.
Spots of colour danced across his vision and he walked on blindly for a few steps. Scrunching his eyes closed seemed to do nothing to help, so he gave up and stopped for a moment. It was then that he heard a very faint melody, something familiar. The name of the song escaped him, but he was drawn to it all the same.
It led him to the nearest window, where he pressed his face against the glass to listen. The window was cool against his sun-warmed face and he closed his eyes for a moment. The song was being played on a piano, he was sure, but he could not see past the glare of the sunset to peek inside. Muted notes passed through the cold barrier somehow to reach his ears, offering a tantalising but frustrating scene.
He stood there, listening, as the melody changed to another song. Then another. He lost track of how long it had been, though when he finally lifted his head, his cheeks were chilled from the glass. The music had stopped, and the sun had long since set. The breeze had picked up; the goose bumps on his skin told him that it was a bad idea to stand outside with his damp hair.
With a regretful sigh, he turned away from the window and picked up his bag. He glanced back for one last look, and was startled to see a pale face staring at him from beyond the window. He panicked and ran, mind running through all those ghost stories told over campfires, the seven legends in school, and his legs kept moving till he was home.
Later, when he had recovered his senses, he thought that it was too pretty to have been a ghost.
The sun was setting again.
There had been a drawing exercise involving markers, which somehow degenerated into another art war. Anything and everything was free game, and thus he had sprouted an impressive handlebar moustache as well as various scribbles on his face.
Even after a round of scrubbing with soap, there were still faint lines left on his cheeks. He made faces at himself in the mirror, starting to like the whiskers despite himself. He grinned with pure foxy mischief, deciding to leave them on after all. No one would see him at this hour; the school was usually empty by this time.
Whistling a cheery tune, he went by the usual way, somehow having forgotten the events of the past day. As he passed that certain window, he twitched as he finally recalled yesterday. There was no music today, so he thought he might be safe. He approached the window cautiously and slowly peeked inside.
The sight of someone in the small room startled him, and he quickly ducked under the window. Curiosity drove him to peek again, and since the person seemed to be facing away, he found the courage to stare. The person had long hair tied into a ponytail, the dark strands providing a startling contrast against the stark white of their uniform even in the dimly lit room. He could not tell whether it was male or female, for all that the figure was slender, there seemed to be some strength in the back he could see.
He settled into a squat, wondering what to do. Now that he knew that the person was not a spectre of some kind, he wanted to know how they had made such beautiful music. He had never been one to shirk away from showing his appreciation of the finer things in life. His club mates had always teased him on his loud praise of anything he liked. Of course, perhaps he had extolled the values of ramen one too many times, though such a thing was clearly not possible.
Lost in thought, the sound of the window being drawn up made him start. He looked up- and there was the mystery person, with a faint ghost of a smile playing on his lips, looking down at him.
"Hello."
"H-Hi?" he replied with a squeak, stunned.
"Are you the boy from yesterday?"
"Ah! I wasn't stalking you or doing anything creepy like that. I was just- passing by!"
"I see."
A silent moment passed as they looked at each other, the uncertainty and awkwardness of a first meeting. Finally, the stranger spoke up.
"Did you like the music?"
"Yeah, yeah I did! It was really soothing… It's too bad I missed it today." He spoke with sincerity, eyes wide and earnest.
"It's a little late now. What about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow? Y-Yes, I'll be here!"
"See you tomorrow then." With a small gentle smile, the other disappeared back into the room.
Still stunned over the sudden meeting with the mystery person, he got up and cast a last glance back at the window before continuing on his way home. The conversation played in his mind as he walked, and it was only as he reached his front door that he realised it.
"…I didn't get his name."
He was early this time.
He had been filled with excitement, so classes seemed to drag on longer than usual. His knees bounced up and down in impatience, to the point that the teachers had noticed. When the bell had finally rung, he had simply gathered his things and left his classroom the first moment he could. It seemed to take forever to run the distance to the window. He leaned against the wall, sweating and trying to catch his breath, and then straightened up to peer into the window.
The room was dark, and a stab of disappointment flashed through his chest. He sat on the ground, legs spread haphazardly like a limp doll. Somehow, he had built up a large amount of anticipation and excitement, and he had really wanted to see the mystery guy. He wanted to know his name, wanted to know more about him but mostly he just wanted to see him. It had all felt so surreal under that red cast sky; he wanted to know if the mystery person was real under a normal blue sky too.
The art club had no activities on Fridays so there was nothing to do but wait. He looked up and started counting clouds, but at some point after fifty, he dozed off.
When he wakes up, it takes a while to regain his senses. Harsh rays of sunlight shine into his eyes, and he raises a hand to shield his face while squinting at his surroundings. It is evening, clearly. Why is he still in school? He was supposed to meet-
He stands up in panic, twisting his body and pressing his face against the window, trying in vain to make out anything in the dark room. Had he missed their meeting time? Could he have left already?
A muffled chuckle by his side catches his attention, and he looks down. It's the mystery guy, dark eyes sparkling with mirth. He pouts unconsciously, knowing that he is being laughed at.
"You were too cute," the other says in apology.
"Hey! I'm not cute!"
His pout deepens, rendering his retort futile, and the evidence is seen in the growing smile on the other's lips.
"Did you finish practising already?" Disappointment creeps into his voice.
The answering nod only serves to dampen his mood further. He is already sitting down by then, and he hangs his head low. A friendly bump on his shoulder makes him look up, and the mystery person is humming a tune while caressing invisible keys.
To his surprise, the tune is one he knows so he hums along. He is rewarded with a smile, and he beams back at the other with the intensity of the sun. They continue in this manner for a while, playing several songs until the sun is gone and they begin to shiver a little in the cold night.
They reluctantly stand up to leave, holding bags in hands and staring at each other. He breaks the silence.
"What's your name?"
The other is startled, as if such a question had never occurred to him before.
"Tell me yours first," he says, a hint of teasing in his baritone voice.
"I'm Uzumaki Naruto! Just call me Naruto, Uzumaki-san makes me sound like an old man." He introduces himself without hesitation, though there is a small note of anxiety.
"Uchiha Itachi. Likewise, you can call me Itachi."
Having thus exchanged names, they share a grin and a smile. On an unspoken signal, they start heading home together. At the fork in paths, when they have to go their separate ways, they pause and look at each other.
"Tomorrow?"
"At the same place."