He is irritated.

It is not normally in his nature to attend these unruly social events, but somehow he finds himself stuck in a horde of drunken university students on a Friday night—their voices all too loud and filled with fleeting excitement. There's a half-drunk bottle of Smirnoff in his hand and not nearly enough vodka in his system to calm his growing annoyance.

He hears his name being cooed in high voices that are superficially sweet; he feels hands grabbing at him, reaching for him, all pretty coloured nails and fluttering eyes, paired with the overwhelming scent of perfume. He doesn't care for the pouts that emerge from the girls' faces when he shrugs them off carelessly. After all, he's not that drunk. Pushing through the large crowd, he scans the packed party house for his dipshit friends—the same idiots that dragged him out of the house to 'have a good time' are nowhere to be found. He'd left the group to get some air, only to be trapped by an unrelenting crowd with high buzzing hormones, and when he'd returned his asshole friends had all disappeared.

Of course, it's his fault too—he should've known better than to listen to what his loudmouthed idiot of a best friend says. He'd been harassed for hours on end to attend at least one party, because this is Naruto's third and Kiba's fourth and "even Shikamaru and Neji are going". He's always had little patience with nagging best friends and grudgingly agreed, with the condition that they would shut the fuck up and leave him alone afterwards.

Now, with a throbbing headache and very, very little patience for humankind left, he looks back and regrets ever having made friends with such rambunctious people. How he'd even become best friends with someone the complete and utter opposite of him is still surprising to him—he and Naruto couldn't have been more different than night and day. Naruto is loud, too loud, opinionated and tanned and always optimistic. He, on the other hand, is quiet, pale (but all Uchiha's are, in his defense), and realistic. He is absolutely nothing like his best friend. Naruto is an idiot, he likes to say, a complete slob. Naruto eats unhealthy and is messy and drools in his sleep. Naruto is exactly what he does not want to be—

—But he can't help but envy the passion that lights Naruto's cerulean eyes when the blonde is out on the football field or when the idiot talks about his overly ambitious dream to become president. Maybe it's that passion that drives him to be friends with someone like Naruto.

Like him, Naruto has a plan. Unlike him, Naruto sees the clear path towards his goal, and has passion to fuel it. Unlike him, Naruto has a supportive father and no elite family name to honour.

He knows, deep down, that his family is doing what they believe is best for him, and if he were in his father's position, he would probably definitely do the same. But he can't help but to feel a sense of bitterness to the expectations his father assumes he will fulfill. As a child he'd been thrilled—even thrived to become like father, like Itachi, like every other Uchiha. Now, he's not so sure what he wants anymore, and his family is not one to take uncertainty lightly—Uchiha's are supposed to know their goals and chase them to the ends of the Earth. Bearing his family name means bearing the responsibility of expectations and honour; it means obeying tradition.

Running an agitated hand through his black hair, he tips the bottle to his lips and takes a generous drink. His father would not be pleased with his behaviour right now, he knows, but for once he wants to be free of the heavy thoughts of his future dragging him down. Coming to a party was probably not the best decision he's ever made, but there is a brief feeling of relief—however buried deeply—in his chest. He almost feels grateful to his friends for taking his mind off of things, even for a little while.

He reaches for another drink, this time a cheap beer, and his momentary feelings of relief and gratitude are quickly dissipated when two girls take a brazen opportunity and hook themselves up to either side of him, all smiles and arrogance, leaning in close to his ear, whispering and murmuring words that disgust him. He fights to urge to throw them off— his mother taught him better manners than that—choosing instead to nudge both of his arms to note his displeasure. He's always been fond of his own personal space, and no one other than his older brother and his mother and Naruto (who is inevitable due to his lack of understanding the words 'personal space') are allowed to be so close to him.

"Sasuke-kun," they sing, tracing their fingers up his arm. "Why don't you come with us?" They giggle and bat their eyes and he thinks is this how easy you think it is? They don't notice his discomfort; if they do, they show no signs of acknowledging it. Liquid courage does wonders for the repressed desires in people, he's noted, because under normal circumstances they would've never been so bold in approaching him.

"No," he says, almost harshly, jerking away. He is a second year student and he has responsibilities he can't possibly escape from and he shouldn't be here, stuck in a cramped room with sweaty university students who don't have the capacity to understand him. He should be in his room right now, reading that expensive criminology text his father had ordered for him because he needs to be ahead of everyone else or at the gym, training for basketball season because he's on the varsity team and he's making his way up to captain. His mind is a mess standing here, because he doesn't belong with these people, because he would much rather be in his room, studying or listening to music or doing something other than this. He leaves the whining girls behind with no remorse on the desperate looks they give him.

Part of the reason his friends drag him out to parties is because they're assholes and enjoys taking comfort in his displeasure. One of the main reasons, however, is because they believe he should take pride in his status at Konoha University, because being popular is important and being liked by girls is important. He can't even pinpoint exactly why girls find him so appealing—they are better off liking Naruto or Kiba or even Shikamaru, who are more open and bright and charismatic.

Naruto tells him it's because he's an asshole, and girls like guys who scowl instead of smile. Kiba thinks it's because he's on the varsity team for both basketball and soccer, and girls love athletic guys. Shikamaru tells him it's because he's the archetype for tall, dark, and handsome, with his rich family background and high level of intelligence and his lean physique that make girls fawn over him—and the fact that he pays them no attention only makes them want him more.

He thinks those girls just shallow. He's never really paid much attention to girls because he's so used to receiving unwanted attention and he doesn't have time to dawdle on unnecessary matters, like love.


His head throbs and annoyance is simmering under his pale skin like a scorching fire and he vows to hurt Naruto tomorrow for forcing him along—right now, he spots the blonde talking to some pearly-eyed female who has clearly had enough to drink in the far corner of the room. His face twists in thinly concealed disgust as he spots Kiba standing a few feet away, tongue down some very enthusiastic girl's throat. He decides it is time for fresh air because he can't be in a room with these idiots and these staggering, too drunk students any longer or he'll snap.

There's a swarm of students littering both the front and the back yards, much to his peaking annoyance, so he settles for the roof of the party house. The throng of people make his path more difficult and he wants to punch all of them, to yell at them to get out of the way, but he doesn't.

He arrives at the peeling yellow door with a nasty scowl on his face and a red Solo cup in his hands and prays that the roof will be free of adult stupidity. To his relief, the roof is empty—save for a couple of cups and napkins scattered on the ground. The nighttime breeze soothes his anger and exhaustion, but the stiff tension doesn't leave his shoulders. He takes a deep breath and collects himself.

It's only then when he realizes the roof isn't quite empty; there is a girl standing near the edge, staring at him. Under the moonlight, he freezes as his eyes clash with startling green ones—an unfamiliar feeling rises in his chest at her gaze, which seems piercing but blank all at once.

After what seems like eternity, he realizes that the girl is holding her head in her hands and that she may be nauseous, possibly drunk, and that his presence is not wanted nor expected.

He mutters a quick "Sorry" and turns to leave when the girl replies in a voice that his keen ears recognize: it is soft yet strong, naturally smooth and bright—qualities that match the person it belongs to. Her speech is clear, unslurred, indicating that she's not intoxicated in the slightest.

"It's alright, there's lots of room up here." She sounds sympathetic when she adds, "Trying to escape the madness down there?" He hears the loud chanting of the partygoers below him, just beyond that yellow door, and he goes to move away from it. It feels like two different worlds, with the door as the barrier, and he would much rather be on this side with this girl and the quiet and the night sky than the loud, rowdy life he'd just emerged from.

He walks closer to her, and standing closer confirms his assumptions—it is her, the pretty pink-haired girl that'd lived across from him last year, whom he'd only talked to once in the presence of Naruto; and even then they'd only exchanged names and faculties. She's one of the only girls on campus he's encountered that doesn't flit and flirt around him; that's one reason he remembers her so well. He doubts she remembers anything as insignificant as that—she'd always had friends over, three girls he doesn't really know and one shy girl he suddenly recalls seeing with his best friend earlier. She's easily the popular type, her life eventful.

She looks at him with slight confusion in her emerald orbs and he feels himself asking, even though it's not typical of him to do so, "Were you in Provenance Hall last year?" The girl looks surprised at the fact that he is breaking the silence but he feels more surprised because he doesn't know why. Maybe because the barely concealed emptiness in her eyes sparks a tad bit of interest in him, but his tongue feels loose around this girl he just officially met. Her name rolls off his tongue easily, as if he's said it a thousand times. "Sakura, right?"

He sees shock overcome her pretty features and she stumbles to properly introduce herself. She sticks out her hand, embarrassed, and he finds himself reaching forward and grasping it. He introduces himself with ease.

The feelings of relief and gratitude resurface with the smile she gives him in response.

Maybe he won't hurt his stupid friends for dragging him along tomorrow after all.


note: it's 1:44am and i just finished this. hopefully it's not too rushed again. please review? :) x

-A