Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any part of the franchise in any way shape or form. If I did, I'm not really sure how the story would go. Regardless, this is my first fanfic, so take it easy on the flames please. Constructive criticism is most welcome and encouraged.
Kind. Nice. Good. Weak. She had heard them all. Every single synonym of the word, she had heard them all. They were used on a constant basis to describe the kind of person who would be forgotten after a day or two. The kind of person who was depended on when the time came, and then left alone in the corner, like an empty medicine bottle. The kind of person who was like…well, like her.
She understood. It wasn't anyone's fault in particular. That was just the way the world worked. She was the plain, nice, kind, good, weak girl. People just didn't register someone like her. She could blame it on her father's earlier harsh treatment of her, his disapproving hard-set eyes, his grimace of disappointment. (He had seen her as a plague on the family name, but things were getting better.) She could blame it on her sad, angry twisted cousin. (He had seen her as a fungus to be rid of, but things were better now).It was not to say that she didn't love them or that she held a grudge. Far from it, she genuinely cared for the two now and always had. She did not stay angry. After all, she was a nice girl. She tried not to hold grudges. She tried to let things go. But there was one thing still at the back and the front and the sides of her kind thoughts. This thing itched like a home knit winter scarf or a summer mosquito bite…or maybe more like the itch that comes with a weird kind of virus.
It was him. The annoyingly delicious and bright personification of everything idealistic, naïve, and outright outrageous wrapped in an orange and yellow package of yummy hunkiness. He was the mosquito bite. HE was the virus. Of course, the virus was persistent. She had been afflicted with the symptoms of the virus since childhood, say around sixish. The constant headaches, fevers, blushing, cold sweat …the fainting…the weird inarticulate sounds that she uttered in his presence…They were always present. Admittedly, it was a wonderful ailment, especially the butterflies in her stomach. That was her favorite symptom. Regardless, the past two years had resulted in a stasis of the manifestation of these symptoms. Instead they were replaced by a nagging, itchy itch. She had tried to quell the onslaught of symptoms about a year and a half ago. Long story short, the virus had found himself in the face of vaccination by a particularly nasty medication. She had stepped in at the cost of her own life, confessed her attraction to the virus, and experienced the true meaning of PEIN. The virus, so contagious lived to spread his joyful sickness and hope to the world. A war was waged by many and all to protect him. Many fought, including her. She would protect her beloved bug. In the end, the virus cured his best friend the bacterium, killed the paramecium known as MADaraitis, and the world was saved from the Mad Uchiha Epidemic, and the Kabutomaru flu, as well as the Aloe Vera invasion. The virus had yet to show his diagnosis on the revelation of the cause of her symptoms, and that is what bothered her.
She could continue the virus analogy, but why be a nerd. This boy…no, this man was an annoying, obnoxious, oblivious, indiscreet, wonderful, helpful, beautiful person who just happened to forget her confession. She wanted an answer, NOW. But she was a nice girl, and nice girls didn't chase boys, nor did they hold grudges. So a year and a half later, the town still needs some fixing. The people still need some infecting, and the virus is still spreading his wonderful itchy disease to them, including a lot of his new fan girls…But that's beside the point. She knew she would have to wait a while longer for a diagnosis. So while she's waiting, she can contemplate the adjectives used to describe her. She is nice, kind, good, and delicate. She is transparent, invisible, and above all, weak. Then it hits her. This weakness of immunity, this transparency and this goodness allowed her to become the first of her virus's victims. The first to see how truly hopeful and bright he was, the first to feel the achingly warm fever and the stupidly fun butterflies. The first to receive the immunity the virus gave against other horrible illnesses. So while she waits for a diagnosis, she contents herself with the thought of being Patient 0, His first victim.
The End