Title: The Earthquake Bird
Author: Eliways
Franchise: Naruto
Summary: Haruno Sakura had never been good at keeping secrets. After being taken into custody for murdering her best friend, she thinks she finally uncovered the biggest secret of all. "I've found my match at killing."
Disclaimer: I do not own anything.
Chapter 1:
It all started about a few months ago, I suppose.
I remembered that it was drizzling; nothing too heavy, just a light, refreshing bout of rain. I remembered not having an umbrella with me. My hands were empty then. Unlike other girls who sought to carry their cute clutches or tiny handbags with them, who slung them fashionably on their slender shoulders, I had opted to carry my valuables in the roomy pocket of my hooded jacket. It kept the rain out of my pink tresses, and prevented anyone from gawking at my appearance. It wasn't that I looked bad, it was just that my frame was thin and pale, and with the wonderful addition of pink hair and green eyes, I stood out within the swirling crowd of black and grey, eye-catching even by Tokyo's eccentric standards.
The pavement was slick with water, and the dull grey of the concrete and inky black of the asphalt mirrored the crowd's attire. Many of them had worn trendy coats of black and grey, with some adding bold splashes of colour to their otherwise uniform appearance. All of them save for some, carried umbrellas. Their umbrellas, surprisingly, clashed with their attire.
That is one of the reasons I love rainy days. The whole street will be awash with colour!
From a high vantage point, the streets of Tokyo would have flowers of colours and designs adorning the usual grey streets, with people mingling about under the rain. It seemed that only under the curtain of water, would the neon signs shine at that brightest.
I took my time walking past the hurrying crowd, surveying them from the corner of my eye. To be honest, there wasn't anything worth observing. Everyone looked the same. Perhaps it was because they had on the same blank expression, their feet on auto-pilot, or perhaps it was because their eyes were all glazed across, looking past everyone else. I sighed, and my breath came out in light puffs of smoke.
As I ambled slowly across the road, people pushed past me, muttering 'sumimasen すみません' under their breaths. They looked like they were in such a hurry. Were they secretly diagnosed with cancer? Did they only have three months more to live? Maybe they had important meetings. I wasn't to know, was I? That wasn't my business anyway.
As I turned into a different street, I recognized the high-end shops that catered only to the rich. The shop attendants turned their noses up at you if you weren't dressed properly. I glanced down at my worn skinny jeans and faded jacket; they sure as hell weren't going to let me in, I smirked wryly.
As I walked down further, I passed by a huge hotel. The glittering interior was inviting and warm. There was a kindly-looking doorman at the entrance. He smiled and waved politely at customers leaving and entering the hotel. However, the clientele ignored him purposefully as they walked daintily down the marble steps, flaunting their sparkling jewelry and branded coats. It obviously only catered to the rich.
I shook my head, ready to leave. However, I glanced upon a young man from my peripheral vision. Unlike others, I was drawn to him, attracted.
He was kneeling down, a camera in his hand. He was taking pictures of a puddle which had formed on the sidewalk. Each droplet of water made tiny ripples in the puddle, and the puddle itself reflected an almost perfect image of the gigantic hotel. The puddle made it seem so magical and fairytale-like.
He looked so perfect, so beautiful, so fragile.
He looked so absorbed in his work.
He looked like he was made of rain, made of ice.
Potsu, potsu, potsu…
His ebony hair stuck up in wild directions at the back, but his fringe framed his alabaster face perfectly. His dark, dark, dark eyes stared intently at the screen of his camera. His long tapered fingers handled the camera so expertly. His lean figure crouched on the ground looked so forlorn, so lonely, so magical.
Like a moth to a flame, I was drawn to him.
Perhaps it was also because he wasn't carrying an umbrella. How could you, when both of your hands were occupied? Perhaps it was because of his intent gaze and focus. How could you be so drawn to that puddle? Perhaps it was because he wasn't moving. How could you, when you were taking photographs? Perhaps it was because he looked ethereal, like he was made of rain. How could you look so real, yet not at all?
I had no idea what made me walk up to him. I boldly allowed my sneakers to dip slightly into the puddle he was photographing. He looked up, and I saw his perfect, perfect face up close. The raindrops mussed up his hair a little, but they slid down each porcelain cheek gracefully. The Rain Prince, I thought.
He flashed me a wry smile, and I smiled back. He continued to photograph the puddle, but he had not asked me to remove my sneakers. He had accepted my invitation then.
As he clicked the shutter, he looked up from his camera, and his ebony eyes bore deeply into mine.
I knew that instant that he knew what I was thinking.
We walked quietly down the street, and people steered clear of us. We made an odd couple, I guess. Both of us had no umbrellas, and we were drenched from head to toe. His long tapered fingers interlaced with my shorter ones, and we made our way up a stairwell.
Before I knew it, both of us were kissing passionately, and his cold lips were pressed onto mine fervently. In the privacy of his apartment, our clothes were torn off in seconds, and as we landed on his bed, I arched and cried in ecstasy. He too, released in me with a grunt, and we landed side by side, exhausted.
I took a long time staring at his face, not wanting to give in to my fatigued eyelids. His eyes bored into mine this time, and he initiated the conversation.
"Sasuke."
I blinked twice, and then I realized that he had told me his name. The Rain Prince's name is Sasuke. I smiled. His smooth baritone suited him perfectly, like the rumble of distant thunder.
"Sakura."
My voice felt weak and pathetic in comparison to his. I frowned.
"I'm a photographer. It's my passion."
His velvet voice came again. I searched his face, his body for a flaw. None came into sight. He is perfect.
"I translate things. It's my job."
"Aa."
That ended our conversation, and I fell into a deep slumber, with him breathing by my side.