"You don't have to prove shit to no one except yourself."
In just two months we'd created our own tradition; every Sunday we'd sit in the living room, and discuss what our day would consist of (if it was in the morning), and at night, a summative assessment of the day's activities.
Today would be the first day that Kiba left the house in these two months.
For the most part, he (we) obeyed the 'no outside' rule, since Kiba only left the house to get the mail. He didn't seem to like outside very much until he started putting the weight back on, and that took a month and a half in itself.
He'd gone from 125 to 163 in one and one half months.
Kiba was actually a pretty smart guy; he was only three years younger than myself, but he was very innovative and proactive. The day after I'd allowed him to reside in the townhouse he asked if he could use my Mac to look up some health facts and when I returned home from dinner with Ino he had a list of supplements and vitamins for me to buy the next day. This in the least was one of the very many things that I happened to like about him; if Kiba needed something, once he got comfortable, he didn't hesitate to ask. He drank a whey protein shake everyday, in the morning and at night, and exercised most of the time while I was away working and in school. He had signed up for a month long cram course that kept him occupied and quiet even when I was home, today he was working on letters to send to his professors about his previous situations,
"I have a 3.0 now," he mused, "I had a 3.6 GPA for the longest… But now…"
I watched as he became engorged in his typing again, flipping a page of my textbook I looked at the fluffy tufts of his dark hair, "We're gonna leave in like ten minutes,"
He stood up and lingered towards the kitchen, playing with his crotch on the way- what a dude. He seemed like he wanted to say something, but he turned his back to me when I got up and headed towards the staircase.
Upstairs I threw on some leggings and a long T-shirt. It seemed appropriate to make a small cat-eye with some liquid eyeliner after I put on lotion; I put on my snowcap and headed back downstairs,
"I like your style."
It wasn't something he hadn't said to me before, but I said thanks, "What kind of stuff do you like to wear anyways?"
"Nice sneakers… jeans. I like collared shirts and fancy, graphic tees."
I weighed the description, "I'm kind of excited to see the stuff you're going to pick out."
"I'm not too interesting," he laughed.
I gave him a sideways stare.
Kiba stood about three foot, six inches; he had a medium build and was on his way to being a bulky hunk of lean muscle. His hair was somewhat long, and the word to describe his brown strands would be fun. He cut his hair himself with some kitchen scissors after staying with me for the first few days, it had been an amateur job and it looked endlessly sloppy. I made fun of him for it, but as the hair grew back it looked natural and suited him hardly fit my uncle's sweat clothes anymore; the pant legs rode up above his ankles a few inches whenever he was standing, and his physique was coming correct so the armpits of my uncle's shirts bunched and pulled against his biceps. His eyes were sharp and critical, and his jaw was narrow and strong, his feet were huge and his hands seemed just as big. When he smiled his eyes pulled back a bit and when he laughed his ears turned red, he liked to lay about on the floor and his stomach grumbled loudly even when he wasn't hungry. I usually found him in the extra room of the townhouse stretching against the walls, or floor, sometimes he would be doing back flips, crunches, lifting the baby weights that I had or even some complicated type of yoga, whenever I came home from work. He followed me around, and liked to run his hands through my hair.
It only took him a week to get completely comfortable in the house.
I decided that Kiba could easily be compared to a dog.
"No… I think you're pretty interesting."
He gave me a toothy grin.
[Stray]
"I love your car."
"It was my mom's but she passed away."
There was an awkward silence.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine." I told him, laughing.
Kiba ran his hands along the top of the car, the silver paint reflected the suns rays onto his face in white shades, I unlocked the doors and he climbed in after adjusting the seat,
"I think you're going to be way too big for the car soon." I hooted,
"You might be right," He grunted as he ducked into the passengers seat. I wanted to apologize to him for making him leave the house like some kind of rejected three-year-old (what with the too small sweatpants and the heavy snow boots that were the only pair of shoes that he could wear) but I could only manage a ridiculous giggle.
"Stop Sakura," he whined, "I'm trying not to think about how fucking stupid I look right now- you aren't helping."
"Oh my gosh," I gripped my stomach, "I just want to make you stand in Times Square like that."
"You're evil."
Sniggering darkly I started the car and pulled out the garage. It took us about fifteen minutes to reach the mall on the west side of town, Kiba was becoming restless in his seat,
"I love this mall," he claimed, "they used to let me pick out clothes from here to wear."
"Who are 'they'?"
"The modeling agency."
What?
"What modeling agency?" I was flabbergasted; he was becoming more and more eye-catching everyday, but I had no idea he was once that attractive.
"Young and Reckless." He alleged, pointing to my cap, "They said I looked naturally defiant."
"You kind of do, now that you mention it." I switched gears, "But wait- how long have you been modeling?"
"Before I ran out of money? Maybe a year?" He bit the adjoining flesh between his thumb and index finger, "Its how I got all of my clothes."
"Damn, Kiba." I would never guessed if he hadn't said anything.
Inside the mall it was crowded, Kiba stuck close to me, afraid of being seen by the masses. He immediately turned inside of Vans the second he spotted one.
"So what can I buy?" He questioned,
"For now, whatever you want, as long as you don't spend more then four hundred dollars."
"I don't want to spend that much of your money." He refused,
"You can spend more if you want."
He gave me a disgusted and confused look, "Are you rich?"
"No, my uncle is." Since my mother passed away, her youngest brother made sure that I was well off, and since her death and his incessant bank deposits into my account, I had more than enough money to blow.
He seemed satisfied with the answer, "Is he okay with you spending it on me?"
"He knows, Kiba, he's not insanely overprotective like my father."
That's all the reassuring it took- before now it would've taken days.
We left Vans with three pairs of shoes and six shirts.
Just outside of Vans was a Lucky Brand Jeans, where he bought ten clearance sale jeans and two jackets. Pac Sun was across the mall near the food court and we left with several Young and Reckless t-shirts, four snap backs, three belts, and two more shoes. I told him that there was Nike store near a Top Shop and we headed there, we met outside the side-by-side stores, him with two more shoes and three bags stuffed full of athletic apparel. The next stop was J-Crew, he bought four shorts and six, long-sleeved, collared shirts and another belt.
We ended just outside of where we began, stopping quickly at a Ralph Lauren store because Kiba was beginning to complain about all of the bags, I told him that I'd meet him at the car and he returned in a pair of khaki pants and a black, V-neck Polo, a white cloth belt hung from around the pant waist.
Well.
He was definitely hot- even if he was still a few pounds underweight.
"Thanks, again."
"Don't want to hear it." I told him while I backed out of the parking lot.
Back in the town house the sun provided all the light we needed to see. Kiba was strewn across the living room floor, he yawned, and glanced at me in the couch opposite of him,
"I'm starting school in a few weeks," he stated,
"Okay."
"What should I do?"
I looked over at him, noting the lengthy shadow his eyelashes created across his cheeks in the sunlight, "What do you mean?"
"I have to move out, right?"
I thought about his inquiry, "No. Not unless you want to," and then, after fidgeting, I added, "I like having you here."
Kiba flushed, "I like being here. I like it a lot."
"Okay then!" I rolled over on the couch, smashing my face into the white leather, "What school are you going to?"
"F.I.T."
I turned my head to face him, "You don't even have to take a taxi to get there."
"I know, it's great," He began doing push-ups, "I'll probably go for my masters somewhere outside of New York though."
"Me too."
He stared at me a bit longer before sighing, "I don't have the mon-."
"Wait," I shot up from the couch, "Wait I have something for you,"
He sat on his butt and crossed his legs with raised brows as I ran to my room; I'd completely forgotten that I had asked my uncle to send Kiba some basic technological necessities.
"Here."
He looked up, his eyes glazing over, "Your uncle again?"
"Yup."
"A MacBook. And a 5s?" He wiped underneath his nose with his thumb,
"Kiba this is the Haruno way. We watch, we help, and we learn." I gave him a confident smile, patting him on the head as I bent down to sit next to him on the shag rug.
"Thanks. I can't think of anything else to say, really."
We were silent as he opened the boxes, his phone first, and then the computer. The 5s was sleek in his hand, he took his time learning the software with me glancing over his shoulder, and eventually he shoved the MacBook towards me and asked me to set it up while he finished with the phone.
He cried as silently as he could when I turned my back to lean on his, and two hundred and fifteen selfies of us later, he cleared his throat:
"One day, I'll pay you back in a way that will leave you stuck with me for the rest of your life."
"I'm looking forward to it." I said, smiling.
It was four o'clock when I ordered Shun Lee,a Chinese restaurant that was a local favorite. Kiba ate both appetizers, half of my share and his own. We turned on the TV after cleaning up, and as I lay out on my couch with the day's homework organized around me on the couch Kiba cracked his neck and took the remote. He settled on MTV, bobbing his head to several songs and switching the channel at others.
"I should probably go by the studio tomorrow; you don't have classes Mondays right?"
"Yup," I chewed on my pen, "but I have to be at work at eight, there's a big dinner party that my boss is supposed to go to and I need to be there in case his secretary doesn't show."
"Sounds like a shitty secretary." Kiba mumbled, "Why doesn't he just fire them?"
"I'm not really sure, actually." Kakashi was a strange man- I wouldn't be surprised if he hired me during my internship either.
"The guys are really nice, you'll like them." He gave me a warm smile from the floor, "There's a girl named Temari who tried to help me, she's great, like a super-mom."
I smiled back at him; tomorrow was going to be very interesting.
[Stray]
It was nine o'clock in the morning when Kiba and I sat down at the kitchen island; he looked at me with glowing chocolate-colored eyes and grinned,
"Hello," he said, with a whistle.
"Mornin'." I yawned at him, chuckling at his freshly tousled head.
It was nine-thirty when Kiba's body dropped to the floor.
He shook about with a spasm so fierce that I had to hold my breath to keep myself from screaming. There was nothing that I could do, however, to fight might tears from rolling down my face.
"Kiba!" his name left my lips in a sort of shriek, his eyes struggled to focus on me, and after seconds passed they finally began to roll back- it wasn't until a small stream of blood left his mouth that I was able to pry myself from my position by the barstool,
I don't know what's happening; I don't know what's happening.
He was sputtering now, choking every other jerk and clenching his fists so tightly that the whites of his knuckles stretched against his skin. I tried my best to hold his body down; I straddled his waist and held his head in place with my nervous hands as best I could- I glanced at the clock on the microwave; nine-thirty three. The sound of a cry leaving Kiba's throat brought my eyes back to him, he was drooling everywhere, and kicking his legs, his body settled on a quick vibration, the seizure was beginning to calm.
At nine-thirty five his left hand shot up and he grabbed my wrist, his body came to a stop and he licked his lips. For five minutes we stayed in that position,
"Are you okay?" I asked him finally, my voice shaking as bad as his body.
He grunted, and gripped my wrist tighter.
"You have blood all over your face." I told him as I lifted my face to observe him.
He licked his lips again and pulled himself upwards, burying his face into my shoulder,
"'M sorry." He managed, breathing in quick pants,
"Don't be. Are you okay? Please say you're okay." My voice cracked, and I intertwined my hands into his dampened hair,
"Mm hmm."
"Can you stand? Do you think you can make it upstairs?"
He nodded into my collarbone, "Should I call the hospital?"
"No…" He leaned back and began standing up, forcing me to move out of his lap,
"Are you going upstairs? I'll come with you."
I held his hand as he limped away, we made our way to my room where Kiba collapsed onto the bed, and he groaned and shivered. I wet my bath rag and used it to wipe off his face, neck and some of his hair, then helped him into the bed properly. Once he was settled I climbed in after him, planting my face into his chest and listening to his lungs and heart.
"Epilepsy." He said gravely.
I whispered anything reassuring to him, he dozed off after a while, and while I watched his pained face I somehow managed to as well.
We spent the day in bed, talking softly to each other while the world moved on around us.
•••
This is sort of a filler chapter? I figured we should get to know Kiba a bit better... plot movement coming next week. Review please, I love reading them, really, I do.