Such a Charming Veneer
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#11 – Birthday
Pein wasn't surprised when his birthday slipped past unnoticed, because after all, he hadn't told anybody, and he'd rather not have anybody know, anyway; he was surprised, however, when he returned to his cell after his appointed one hour of walking in circles in a chain-link cage, only to find that someone had changed his sheets, given him an extra blanket—which he promptly used as a pillow, because his sad excuse for a bed didn't have one—and an extra sheet, and a small paper the size of a business card lay on his perfectly made bed; he picked it up, of course, one eyebrow quirked, and read the words scrawled as if whoever wrote it was trying to conceal their identity: Sleep well.
#12 – Blessing
It was a blessing in itself that he didn't open his mouth the next day as she started checking him over in that horrid routine, healing a couple scrapes he'd obtained from being slapped around a bit earlier, because heaven knew that he was simply aching to say something—anything; "I know it was you," "Thank you," "Why do you care?" "I slept well," all crossed his mind as possible things to say, but at the end of the exam, the logical side of his brain forced him to stay quiet, even when she patted his arm in a soothing gesture and sent him on his way.
#13 – Bias
"So the doctor has a positive bias toward you," one of the officials said when escorting him to the mess hall later on—way later on; it might even have been a couple weeks later—and he only shrugged at this mention; "Don't play innocent," another official chided, kicking him in the back of the legs, and it was all it took for him not to buckle at the force, so instead he answered with a quiet, hard, "I am not attracting any of Miss Haruno's attentions, sirs, and I do believe that neither are any of you," which earned him a sharp blow to the head from one man's elbow.
#14 – Burning
The first time Pein realized that what had at first been a simple case of empathy from an emotional and slightly foolish woman had quickly turned into something deeper—a bit more serious from his end, in particular—was when he'd dreamed of her: It wasn't an innocent dream by any means, and he tried to rationalize that dreams about sexual activity when the body was deprived of such for any lengths of time was absolutely and completely normal; the reactions he started having when she did her once-over of him, though, soft, small hands ghosting over a red mark on his neck, making him feel like he was burning, fingers pressing gently into a bruise on his scalp, kneading, smoothing through his hair that was slightly flat from the poor quality shampoo, chakra pouring in and giving him chills and making him go rigid was, quite decidedly, very abnormal.
#15 – Breathing
And as the hours melted into days and the days melted into weeks, he found himself trying to steady his breathing any way he could, clawing desperately at the resolve slipping through his fingers like the hot sand of Wind Country, closing his eyes and gritting his teeth in an almost-grimace whenever he snagged his hip on a stray corner or "accidentally"—really, it was accidental; he sworeto everything that he did it on accident—rubbed his shoulder against a piece of the wire fence that stuck straight out; he was fairly certain that Sakura didn't notice the abrupt change in atmosphere whenever she touched him, however innocent it may have been—the sudden rise in temperature when she put her hand under his shirt and on his bare back, pressing that cool stethoscope to his spine, moving it occasionally, listening to his heartbeat, and then switching to his chest and doing the same, commenting on how he shouldn't strain himself too much in his limited exercise time, because goodness, his heart sure was working overtime today.
#16 – Breaking
He was regret to inform himself, late in his bunk one night, unable to sleep, tired of replaying the scenes of books in his head, tired of reciting poetry, tired of using his imagination, that he felt something breaking in his demeanor; maybe it was a collapsing of some wall, maybe it was the erosion of some important guard, maybe…maybe it was nothing and he was just going insane from the lack of social interaction, but he suddenly wanted to talk to Sakura—to see her—and really, it must have been midnight, so why was he having these thoughts at such an inappropriate time?
#17 – Belief
It was Pein's belief that his "escorts" really didn't like them, especially when they dragged him into a broom closet during one of their trips to the mess hall and proceeded to beat him, fists digging into his chest and his jaw until his legs couldn't hold him any more and he fell, and then he forced himself to suffer quietly through the kicks to his ribs and the occasional heel slamming into the side of his head; he tried to eat when they dragged him to his seat in the cafeteria, alone, bruised and broken and feeling, for all rights and purposes, as if he were going to slip into unconsciousness, but he found that his hands were shaking too much for him to even pick up his food.
#18 – Balloon
Sakura prodded the bruise on his cheek that had swelled to well over half the size of a balloon, a frown coming over her delicate features as she sighed and set to work healing him; "Who did this to you?" she asked, but Pein refused to answer; angry though he was, he was no snitch, and he was not stupid: If he told her exactly who did it, then he'd be set up for something ridiculous, or in the very least, they'd beat him again; so he just shook his head and muttered, "I did," under his breath.
#19 – Balcony
"There are no balconies here to confess your undying love," one of the officials declared sometime later, grinning in that disgusting manner, and Pein wanted so, so badly to punch him in his badly manicured face, but he just couldn't with his hands cuffed behind his back; "And even if you did," the other continued, still smug from their earlier beating, "we'd kill you before you got the chance to have her first."
#20 – Bane
The bane of Pein's existence was that when he began to like someone—a woman, in particular—he got quiet to avoid letting the secret spill; this was probably the worst thing to do around Sakura, he supposed, because after appearing to her beaten and bloody he was now quiet, and surely she thought that something was wrong; he knew for a fact that she figured something had gone sour when his very own interrogator approached him about a week later, congratulating him on being moved to a close-security prison.
