Title: reflection
Summary: "Mother was a troubled writer. Father was a troubled artist. Have I gone mad and become the troubled daughter?" He sees her all the time, painting on the cold, stone floor.
Author: escaptsm
Rating: K+
Genre: Hurt/Comfort
Pairing: sasusaku
Words: 1,263
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or any of the characters. I was simply inspired to write this after seeing a picture on Instagram.
Note: Not sure if I want to write an epilogue to this one-shot. I do have something in mind, but I'm not sure. Let me know in the reviews if you do want an epilogue to this. (:
7:4
When he first saw her, he was 7 and she was 4.
"Mommy, why is that girl painting on the floor?" Sasuke tugs on the hem of his mother's dress as he tries to grab her attention. Mikoto Uchiha takes her eyes off the abstract painting in front of her and smiles down at her son.
For a male Uchiha, Sasuke was unusually small. Uchihas are meant to be tall and slender, but Sasuke was small and slim. 'Don't worry, sweetie,' Mikoto says, 'one day you'll grow up tall and strong just like your brother and father.'
"It's rude to point, dear," Mikoto chastises lightly, but wonders to herself why a little girl with too pink hair and too green eyes is sitting in the middle of the room and trying to replicate a Haruno original painting on the wall.
"Mother, my painting is about to be showcased. Will you and Sasuke come?" A tall, slender teen approaches the two Uchihas, and Mikoto smiles.
"Of course, Itachi. Come along, Sasuke." Mikoto tugs on Sasuke hand and begins to follow her older son towards the entrance to another hall. Sasuke breaks free at the last second. Mikoto turns to frown, but just shakes her head and follows through the exit.
"What are you doing?" Sasuke asks, obsidian eyes wide and curious. The little girl looks up, doe-like eyes bright and vibrant.
"Painting. Mommy says maybe if I paint hard enough, daddy will come home." Her words are soft, but her eyes fierce as she scribbles a red marker onto the little painter's book in her lap. Sasuke scrunches his eyebrows and shakes his head. He walks away from the "dumb girl."
10:7
At age 10, he's back at the museum with his mother, father, and brother. He's still the smallest Uchiha, but his mother tells him not to worry, that a growth spurt will hit him soon, she promises. They're back to celebrate their father's artistic statue this time. It's a statue of abstract art that Sasuke does not understand.
Everyone else seems to understand though. Everyone claps politely as Fugaku draws the sheet off the statue and unveils his masterpiece. Mikoto's eyes sparkle with proud tears, and Itachi smirks with pride. Sasuke sulks in the corner, away from everyone else.
He kicks the floor and walks towards the "Under the Sea" exhibit. He encounters a girl with bright pink hair and moonlit pale skin. She's kneeling on the floor again, this time painting with water colors on the sketch book in her lap. She's 7 this time, the age Sasuke was when he first saw her.
"Why are you always here when I'm here?" Sasuke questions out loud. He takes a seat on the bench against the wall, facing her back.
"Daddy's not home yet. He left last night when I went to bed. But he promised me that if I drew him a picture, he would be back tonight." She replies without missing a beat or turning around.
"You're weird." Sasuke scrunches his nose, stands up, and goes back to the room with artists. The rest of the night, he pretends to be an artist and understand the difference between mixing red and blue to create a nice purple rather than just using purple itself.
17:14
She's 14 when he's 17. He's no longer the duckling in the Uchiha household. Instead, he's the heartthrob with mad painting skills. He's won fifteen awards within the last 3 months. 'Puberty's hit you well, dear,' Mikoto smiles and ruffles Sasuke's hair with affection. Itachi smirks with happiness, and there's a gleam of pride in Fugaku's eyes even when there's a frown on his face.
He's back at the art museum to hang his first ever painting on the creamy white walls. It's a privilege, everyone tells him, because he's the youngest artist ever to have a painting hung in the most legit and famous art museum within three nations. He's satisfied, beating Itachi by just one age younger.
He sees her in the corner of his eyes, sitting crossed legged against the wall near the corner. He keeps a small smirk on his face, just in case guests want to come and congratulate the Uchiha. His mother and father are conversing with other big artists. Itachi is far away on the other side of the room, speaking softly to his girlfriend and sneaking the occasional kisses.
No one seems to want to congratulate him anymore, so he makes his way towards the pink haired beauty.
"Hey," he says. She looks up from her sketch book, green eyes dull. Her red chalk has broken in half, like she snapped it when she was angry. Her hand is shaking, and Sasuke notices the long drag of a red line that crosses over a sketch of what seemed to be a man.
"Hi." Her words are a whisper, barely heard unless you strain. Sasuke doesn't know what to say next. In fact, he doesn't have to. He is saved when his mother calls his name and beckons for him to come over. He hesitates, his eyes locked on her watery ones.
"Sasuke!"
Their gaze breaks, and Sasuke scurries to his mother's side, a well-rehearsed smirk and introduction is said as he shakes hands with an older man. On the other side, a tear falls and mixes with the red, smearing the picture like blood frantically trying to be wiped off.
22:19
He's 22 when his father buys the museum. He's now one of the head owners alongside his brother and father. He visits the museum often, and he's finally back from being oversees for 3 years. Within 3 years, he's had more successful paintings and a relationship. He's pissed as hell when he finds out his on again off again girlfriend cheats on him with one of his friends from oversees. He goes back home and shouts to her that she is nothing but a neglected and tainted painting.
Sasuke enters the museum and climbs the stairs to the third floor. By now, he memorizes the paintings on the walls and can describe each and every one with his eyes closed. He spots the same girl. This time, her hair is waist-long and she's standing instead of sitting. Her hair is still pink, but her eyes are now stormy, and she is 19.
Sasuke watches from a distance, not moving, not talking. Her eyes slide shut, and she suddenly falls to her knees, her body trembling. Her metal pencil case drops to the floor with her, colors flying everywhere as a sketchbook spills open. Sasuke counts to five and silently walks up to her and kneels down. He places a hand on her shoulder.
"Mother was a troubled writer. Father was a troubled artist. Have I gone mad and become the troubled daughter?" Her words are nothing but a breathy whisper. "I've painted every day in hopes of father coming back. There are more than twenty sketchbooks completely filled on the bookshelf in my room. I've gone through fifteen diaries and they're hidden somewhere underneath my bed. Sometimes I make sure to leave them in the kitchen, the bathroom, wherever I can place them so mother can find them. But she doesn't notice. She never does. She just writes and cries all the time. But I do too. I write and paint and cry all the time. Tell me, if people like troubled artists so much, does that make me the troubled daughter born to a troubled writer and artist?"