Muse: Chapter one
Sasuke Uchiha was mad at himself. You could this just by the way he opened the fridge, the door swinging forcefully on its hinges and clattering into the wall.
It was stupid really, stupid stupid idea, and he was even stupider for saying yes. What had he been thinking? Oh that's right, he hadn't because this guy had smiled at him.
"He has a nice smile," Sasuke told himself as the cool air of the fridge rushed against his forehead and he leant down to pick out a bottle of mineral spring water.
The inadequacy of the excuse seemed to hang in the kitchen for a moment, before it flopped onto the floor completely and began to decay. Sasuke found himself scowling as he lifted the glass top of the bottle to his lips and let the liquid slip down the hot rough insides of his throat.
He'd had butterflies when the blond had bounced up to him with impossibly yellow hair, tanned skin and that fantastic smile. He hadn't been aware of the fact that he had said "Yes." until after Naruto had walked off giving Sasuke a cheery wave over his shoulder. Leaving Sasuke to be stared at by what he thought must have been the entire Strand Campus.
Which was bad.
It was very bad.
Disastrous, really.
He could remember the exact way Gaara had crossed his arms and looked at him with a certain amount of knowing on his face. Sasuke didn't have many people who knew him well or cared for him deeply. As a person he was distrusting, brusque and somewhat antisocial in behaviour, those he was closest to in the entire world boiled down to a grand total of three. The list consisted of his brother, his cousin, and Gaara.
Being close to Itachi wasn't something Sasuke could really help. They'd gone from admiring younger sibling and cool older brother to: I tolerate you, then: You really irritate me, then: You irritate the hell out of me I hate you and then back to: I tolerate you again.
Itachi was obnoxiously perfect; he always knew everything and how to deal with it. He was serious when he needed to be serious and funny when it pleased him. There was no situation he couldn't deal with an he knew it, confidence made strangely attractive and alluring, but he'd never in his life made a stab at a committed relationship.
Itachi had looked after Sasuke, argued with him, bickered, bitten, rolled on and hit him on a number of occasions when they'd had full on fights. But it was still Itachi that without fail had always been able to wiggle information out of his Sasuke.
If Itachi Uchiha had a hunch something was afoot and you weren't telling him what it was, he'd hold your head down the toilet until the blood rushing to your brain or the water flooding down your nostrils convinced you that anything was better than this. Then the torture would only stop when you had obligingly spilled your guts and slinked off into the corner to sulk, then Itachi would order take away. He always ordered take away.
Sasuke swallowed the last few droplets of liquid and set the bottle down on the black marble countertop and found that he was unconsciously gritting his teeth. He wandered aimlessly for a while about the large kitchen, not really hungry, feet curling against the under-floor heating beneath the york-stone paving slabs, looking for something to do while he waited for the…for that…idiot.
On several occasions he caught himself peering at his reflection in the shiny surface of the fridge, even on occasion running his fingers through his hair, although he didn't know why he bothered. His hair insisted on sticking up at the back like that, no matter what he did to it.
It was when he tried brushing the bangs away from his forehead to see whether or not he looked better with his hair away from his face that he realised he was acting like a schoolgirl with their first crush. He immediately left the kitchen.
On his edgy tour around the house Sasuke Uchiha dwelt on the fact that last month had been his birthday. He was 21, just. Not a happy thought, he had never enjoyed birthdays, his or anyone else's come to that. It just reminded him of the fact that this was another year he had spent without his parents, another year to come that they would never see. As he stood in the glass conservatory, wincing as the sun came shining happily through the windows his mind flicked back to his course, and the reading the should really be doing now instead of later.
He was a third year university student, studying Law at King's College London. It was only the beginning of the September term and he was already bored of it. His first essay of the term had just been sent back to him with high marks and he expected the rest the year to follow the same pattern.
It had been the same for Itachi, except his brother had followed the family tradition and had gone to Oxford (Christ Church College, specifically) and had graduated with a First in Biochemistry with what people had described as being with disgusting ease.
Sasuke had always been a bit of a rebel, the family black sheep. He'd purposely avoided Oxbridge even when half of his classmates had applied and his headmaster had called Itachi demanding to know why one of their scholars had refused to go to even an open-day. Itachi had given a reticent smile, said Sasuke had his reasons and then taken his brother out for dinner the following evening.
Sasuke had imagined he'd get a grilling from Itachi. Things like: don't snub this opportunity just because you feel like being awkward, don't be a fool and what's wrong with you? But all Itachi had done was order the most expensive wine on the menu, raise his glass to Sasuke and tell him that if their father had still been alive, then he probably would have been proud of both of them.
Sasuke hadn't been sure whether or not this was true, after all their father had been strict to the extreme, and it had always been hard to determine whether you had done something right or wrong from the domineering quirk of their father's eyebrow without going to their mother about it first. But that was long gone now, now it was just the two of them in this together. And that would have been alright, maybe even allowed Sasuke to open up a little, had it not been for the fact that Itachi was very nearly always out, he was always doing something, some prior engagement that he couldn't break, or some commitment about work.
Itachi would disappear off with the words "We'll talk about it later."
Only when later came he was usually so exhausted the only thing he could manage to do would be to collapse into bed with all of his clothes still on. Sasuke would then habitually remove his shoes whilst he was sleeping. This was more out of practicality than common courtesy. As Itachi had once had something over the bottom of his shoes which had gotten all over the sheets, and as Sasuke had insisted contaminated the washing machine and had badgered Itachi into buying both new sheets and a new washing machine. Itachi thought Sasuke was slightly neurotic, Sasuke didn't tell him that it was because the washing machine had eaten his favourite pair of socks and he was bitter about it.
Sasuke had sat at dinner, feeling confused as to why his brother wasn't sharply reprimanding him about applying to Oxbridge he had wanted to open up, had wanted to never speak again his hands gnarling into clenched fists under the table. He had felt defiant, anxious and guilty all at the same time. He disliked talking about his feelings, and as such had a tendency towards shutting people out. It probably accounted for the reason he had less than a handful of friends. Not that he wasn't popular, with men and women. But there's a difference in being able to tell a person your deepest darkest secrets and being admired from afar. Sasuke had had quite enough of the admiring to last a life time, throughout secondary school he had found love notes in his locker, in his desk and Valentines Day was a habitual nightmare, climaxing one awful Thursday afternoon when between fifty to a hundred girls had appeared outside his house with homemade chocolates and confessions of undying love and then proceeded to try and annihilate each other.
It had ended with Itachi threatening to call the police, whilst Sasuke from the safe confines of the house had sarcastically pointed out that "Aniki, you are a policeman." to which Itachi had pulled out a gun from beneath his undershirt and proceeded to shoot three times into the air. Which wasn't strictly allowed, but no one was going to argue with him (being the old Chief inspector's son) in that mood. The front garden had been trashed; their mother's petunias having been trodden on and the lawn had appeared as if a combine harvester had gotten lost all over it on its way to lunch.
Itachi had carried on for a week about lawsuits, money in reparations and women in general, before he realised Sasuke refused to say anything on the subject, quickly dropped it and fixed the front garden himself. That had been the last Valentine's Day Sasuke had ever spent at home.
Sasuke's problem was probably more along the lines of not being able to express himself, he was bad with words, and communicating his feelings in a house where his father believed in keeping a stiff upper lips had stunted his skills of communication even further. He'd developed a temper; a somewhat unconscious arrogant expression and a magnificent way of raising his eyebrows that would make the person on the receiving end feel three inches tall.
To call him self-important would have been a mistake; he was neither driven nor obsessed with absolute perfection. He'd lost his drive a while back, along with his parents. He was however filled with the confident notion of the fact that he was in fact better at certain-most things then the average person was.
It didn't make him perfect (he'd leave that to Itachi) but it made him superior to most. True excellence in another person was always to be recognised and admired from a distance and a few of his peers impressed him, but never to the point of actually starting up a conversation or, heaven forbid, smiling at them. So he carried on in the way that he was, formal, almost cuttingly polite, the air of a public schooled upper-middle class University student from an influential background. He had nails that were perfectly manicured and hair that was jet black and dark eyes, which were an ashen shade of grey. In a forgiving mood Itachi might have described his little brother as handsome. Sakura on a normal day would call him beautiful, and Gaara would have told you he was 'passable'.
Sasuke's features gave the impression of someone who was lonely and melancholy, as attractive as an icicle. He gave an impression of distance and a cold wisdom that was intriguing. It might have been that which made him so attractive to other people, the idea of saving himself from well, himself.
But as far as Sasuke was concerned he didn't need saving. He was happy getting good grades, impressing his Professors, doing adequately as well as Itachi had done at his age; he sometimes played tennis when Itachi challenged him to a match, and he'd been a champion fencer at school but that was behind him now. He didn't sing, he didn't paint, he didn't draw, he didn't write, he didn't dance; he didn't like bossing other people about, and he didn't laugh. No. He was quite content with becoming a lawyer building up a successful career and then marrying some quiet dispassionate strong woman who wouldn't object to raising children and he would never have to think about anything ever again.
That was 'The Plan' anyway, or at least it had been until two minutes past three this afternoon when something dreadful had happened. It had been so outrageous, so unexpected, so unlike him he had to take a step back and wonder if this was really him at all.
He had a crush. Uchiha's don't get crushes. Neither are they moved passionately, they marry for background and fortunes purposes only, thinking with your head at all times. Matters of the heart were dangerous, unpredictable and foolish; to be ultimately avoided at all costs.
Sasuke had never had a crush before, or even a fleeting fancy romantically for another person within his whole life, so why out of the blue on that particular Friday afternoon he should be struck so thunderously and start reacting, and thinking in all these different ways was beyond him.
He kept comparing the turquoise clay vase that stood on the antique Chinese cabinet to the blue of Naruto's eyes, and the milky cappuccino he'd made earlier to the healthy colour of Naruto's skin.
In a fit of rationality Sasuke had poured the cappuccino down the drain when he had caught himself sighing over it, and had put the vase inside the cabinet rather than look at it and feel his heart constrict within his chest one more time.
Part of him wanted to claim that it was an awful, terrible mistake, that he was sick, tired even. He'd only met him that afternoon and albeit it hadn't been about wanting to meet him anyway. Naruto had been looking right through him at something else and Sasuke had gone and given in anyway despite the fact that his brain had told him to kick this guy in the balls and then walk away for simply having the audacity to come up to him out of the blue just like that and ask him for his help.
But he couldn't…hadn't been able to and didn't want to say no. So he'd said, "Yes." Quietly and almost wonderingly whilst he had watched the fox-like seductive smile had become even wider, whilst Gaara looked incredulously on at him.
Oh, it was a crush all right and Sasuke had no idea what to do about it.
He couldn't threaten it, he couldn't blackmail it, and it was damned near impossible to ignore as well. On his way home on the tube his eyes had kept flickering to each passing blond head that had passed in and out of the carriage, an odd uncomfortable hopeful feeling followed by an unpleasant squelch as he realised that it wasn't Naruto, and what he was doing?
Itachi might have laughed but Sasuke didn't think it was very funny; he'd gone home, thrown his lecture notes and his audio recorder all over the study, then gone out into the garden and scared off the neighbour's cat by throwing both his shoes at the fat thing. He'd then gone and locked himself in his room in something of a seething temper. That hadn't been a smart move either in fact it had given Sasuke ample to time to reanalyse all he could remember of Naruto's face. Like how long his lashes were, or the dimple in his left cheek when he smiled, or the way one eye seemed to close more than the other when he spoke sometimes or the soft burgundy curves of his wide mouth and the…
Sasuke might have considered drowning himself in the sink at that particular moment had not Gaara called him on his mobile, which was unfortunately on his person at the time of said 'reminiscence'. Sasuke was just glad his curtains had been drawn so no body could see exactly what it was he had been doing.
"What?" he had snapped down the phone, sure of who it was before he had even picked up it was too early for Itachi to ring and Sakura would have used his home line.
There was a pause down the other end of the line and a slight crumpling of static. "You sound breathy," was Gaara's to the point and somewhat analytical remark that made Sasuke flush with self awareness and peer once again around his room for hidden surveillance cameras. "Would you like me to call back later? You sound like you're in the middle of some 'alone' time."
Sasuke told Gaara in less than a sentence where he could shove it and screw off to and felt somewhat placated when he heard his friend chuckle. Gaara had two older siblings; so of course he was immune to any form of verbal insults.
"I was just ringing to check you were okay."
"Why wouldn't I be okay?" Sasuke snapped at him, he put the phone on loudspeaker and began to rifle through his closet rather than hold that accusatory tone of voice next to his ear.
Although he knew Gaara knew already. How could he not? Static again and the slight burble of laughter and people talking in the background, "Just thought maybe…" Gaara replied somewhat enigmatically.
There was a rise of background laughter down the phone line and Sasuke caught himself thinking petulantly that Gaara was having fun without him. And then assured himself quickly that he didn't actually care.
"Where are you anyway?" he asked before he could stop himself.
"Kankuro dragged me here," was the despondent reply in Gaara's thick hoarse voice, "his band's playing something for an evening gig and apparently I'm supposed to be here. Not that I was ever told." He finished irritably, and Sasuke knew him to be looking over his shoulder with his dangerous eyes the same colour as slaked lime, mouth curled down.
Sasuke felt slightly better.
They talked for a little while, which calmed Sasuke down for the most part, that was until Gaara managed to slip into the conversation that Kankuro was good friend's with Kiba Inuzuka. Who was, incidentally (Sasuke didn't think so) one of Naruto's flatmates and had so far been able to establish that Naruto was in fact single, bisexual, obsessed with food and was as noisy as general gossip made him out to be.
Before Sasuke slammed the phone down on Gaara he made sure to tell him that he would strangle him the next time he saw him, and left the room with the sound of his own embarrassment ringing in his ears, leaving behind his dignity.
As the afternoon stretched on into the early evening, it only got worse. The more Sasuke had tried to reason with himself, the worse the hysteria had become, he'd started checking the clock every five minutes. Then he drank too much water to keep himself hydrated because he was stressed, this then made him to go to the bathroom in periodical sprees every fifteen minutes, and he concluded that he was probably wearing a hole in his bladder.
He'd then changed outfits on four separate occasions, one was too formal, one was too casual, one was too old, and one was too new. He'd combed his hair, put gel in it, then washed it, partially blow dried it and then told himself he didn't care and had allowed it to dry naturally which was a mistake because it was doing that defying gravity thing at the back again.
He'd finally given up and thrown himself onto the living room sofa sending a flurry of books into the air when the front door bell rang and he fell awkwardly off the sofa (glad no one had seen that) and felt as if his stomach had been sucked directly out of his body.
He was still wearing his slacks and a white t-shirt when he padded out into the hallway, thinking how stupid this all was, and wondering how on earth he'd got himself mixed up in this mess.
Through the stained glass of the door he could make out the back of someone's head as they stared out at the front garden, hand raised above their eyes against the sun, and if he wasn't much mistaken the distinct sound of humming on the other side of the heavy oak.
Sasuke placed his fingers on the handle uncertainly, convinced that this would not lead to some life-altering event that he would probably end up regretting for the rest of his life.
The door swung open almost of its own accord, and Naruto stood there dressed in an old orange leather jacket over blue faded denim jeans and a t-shirt that had the words 'Dead or Alive' imprinted in dark bold letters.
His hair was still as impossibly bright as it had been that afternoon but Sasuke had forgotten just how blue his eyes were, and how catching that smile was. In fact he was almost smiling himself.
"Naruto Uzumaki!" Said Naruto, sticking out his hand and tilting his head to the side so his hair that went all ways but down. Sasuke Uchiha's heart skipped a beat and then seemed to stop altogether. This was worse than trouble he thought, this was down right dangerous.