By the time their fractured conversation ended, it was well into the afternoon, the spent the remainder of the day inside, playing board games, as the rain was still pounding down outside. She slept in his parent's room that night and he slept in his own.
In the early hours of morning he woke up, taking with him a pillow, he sat outside her room. Secretly longing to hear life behind his parents closed doors, he needed to feel like he wasn't alone anymore, even it was only the steady sound of her soft breathing.
He was grateful for her, the sound of someone alive other than himself, the feeling of having someone to live for, someone to notice if he vanished just like his parents had, the feeling of not being alone. He fell asleep there, curled up on the floor, his pillow offering some comfort that was lost due to the hard polished floor. Despite his uncomfortable resting spot, he slept better than he had in years, a quiet undisturbed sleep, dreaming dreams that he would never remember by the next morning.
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When day broke, the sun had begun to peek shyly through the thinning clouds, its first warm rays of sunshine making the dew dotted earth sparkle. A small squirrel poked its head out of the small hollow knot of a twisted apple tree, sensing that the rain had gone. It swiftly leapt out of its tree, and ran along another branch in search of food. Chattering away, it scampered across a roof.
Underneath that roof, a 15 and a half year old girl awoke, sweaty and distressed, a bad dream still fresh in her mind, playing over and over like a broken record, a very vivid broken record. Curling onto her side, she let the tears she had cried in her dream slide down her ashen cheeks, softly whispering, through hiccups and soft sharp intakes of breathe, that it was just that, a dream and nothing more.
Squeezing her eyes shut, she let the last tears slid down her face, before she sat up and wiped them away with the back of her hand, willing herself to be strong. Looking to the bedside tables, she searched for a box of tissues, instead she saw a lone photo framed, turned down so that the picture could not be seen.
Curious, she shuffled towards the bedside table with the over turned photo frame, the bed sheets still twisted around her body as she thrashed around that night. Gentle grasping the wooden frame, she brought it upright and held it so the morning light could shine upon the forgotten picture. It was of a family, it must have been his family, when his parents were still alive.
A small hesitant smile crept onto her face, and her dream began to fade away like the misty white breathes on a winter night. Tracing the light willow wood frame, she ran her fingers along the smiling faces that beamed at her behind a thin pane of glass. She noticed that he had his father's eyes, sunken in and serious looking, almost mysterious. He had his mother's smile, if he were to smile and he also had her nose, a very delicate well shaped nose. Then was his brother, who was also very handsome, Hinata giggled at her own thoughts. Lastly, there was Sasuke himself. Sitting in the front of the happy family, the sincerity and childish innocence shining out from his deep blue eyes, he seemed awkwardly un-photogenic, despite his good looks he wore a dorky grin on his face, Hinata tried to restrain laughing out loud, instead came a muffled giggle that sounded, to her, like choking.
Her melancholy mood disappearing fast, she decided to begin the day, feeling uplifted by the family reunion, she untangled herself from the covers and pulled on the hooded jacket Sasuke had leant her. Walking to the door, her footfalls soft, she pulled it open and nearly stumbled over a pile of clothes that had been left there for some reason. (How Ironic.)
Bending down, she realised it was him, and for some peculiar reason, he was asleep outside her door. Maybe he sleepwalked. Sitting down beside him, she decided not to wake him. He looked peaceful, innocent, almost like the younger Sasuke she had seen in the photograph.
Instead she brought him his blanket, as he was only wearing a thin basketball skivvy and boxers similar to the ones she was wearing now. She smiled in satisfaction at the tucked the blanket around his sleeping body, and then decided to make breakfast.
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They sat, opposite each other on the long narrow kitchen bench, and neither spoke a word. Hinata stared out into the garden, a few bird scattered along the power pole lines that lay beyond the pristine garden.
Lost in her own thoughts, she wondered what they were doing at home, no, not home, house. Home was where you wanted to be, home was your haven. House was a building with four walls, made of bricks, wood, and concrete, a place where you were kept, regardless if she liked it or not.
Would her escapade be on the news? Knowing her father, he would want to keep it small, and if it did get out, he'd blame her, he'd play the victim, and she'd be the villain, not matter how ironic the truth was. Knowing that the thoughts of her 'dear daddy' made her bitter, she focused back on her pancakes, pouring the honey amber syrup over them, she wondered if Sasuke liked them.
Sasuke, in the mean while, chewed on his pancakes thoughtfully. The pancakes were good, nicer than anything he cooked, and better than anything his Aniki would bring home in take away. As nice as they were, he could not bring himself to focus on them, instead, wondering just what had happened before he had awoken to the sound of sizzling coming from the kitchen and buried deep into a delicious warmth that was unnatural for a hard wood board floor.
Taking swift glances at the girl in front of him, he wondered what she was thinking. What had been running through her mind, when she found him, curled into a pathetic ball outside her door, she probably thought he was loony. A lot of people tended to think that, like something about his family dying made him insane, made him delusional.
He supposed it would be acceptable, at first he'd thought she'd been crazy. Alone in the rain, in the middle of monsoon season, but then again, he was doing exactly the same. They're eyes met for a second, and he quickly looked away, as if nothing had happened, because nothing did happen.
Stealing the syrup after her, he poured a tiny blob onto his last pancake, smearing it around with the back of his fork, making very sure it was on thin, as he never did like sweet things. Life was not sweet, so why like things that were honeyed, flowery, bright and colourful.
Women were sweet. Always so irritatingly sweet, their words, actions, clothing and perfume, every female and everything about them made him cringe, except the girl sitting opposite of him. She was a perfect wallflower, earnest, sincere and honest. Natural, not painfully dyed some bright artificial colour. Her pancakes were very nice too.
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A/N. Nothing much happening as of yet, more of a what he/she thinks about the other chapter. I'll update soon, promise. Or you can smack me, or review, whichever you prefer.