Disclaimer: Kishimoto-sama has all rights to Naruto. Yane
A/N: Just a random idea. I'm not sure if I like it, but meh. And can I please get reviews? It's encouraging... I'm a review junkie, and it only takes a few seconds to write something... Oh, watch out for falling fluff this time 'round.
In the Hidden Village of Leaves, in one corner, tucked away and scarcely touched by humans, was a dead District. If one were to look closely, signs of battle could be seen: a cracked emblem; a bloodstain. In this District was one particular house, larger than the rest (which were of significant size as it was), more elegant, beautiful, and rich. It was long neglected. The pathway leading from the gate to front entrance was cracked, weeds growing within the crevices; the garden was dead, albeit laced with the hardier plants. The engawa, lazily wrapping around the house, was somewhat worn and in certain spots it would creak.
This once-regal house had fallen to its sad state of neglect, not likely to regain its splendor. Only one person lived in all of the District: a tall, pale boy who's black eyes reflected the loneliness and sadness of his home.
This pale, lonely boy was not one that often contemplated things—that would too-often lead to things he didn't want to think about—nor was he one to lay around rather than train and become stronger. But today, he was on his roof, the roof of that neglected, large house, staring up at the blue sky, the white clouds, and the sun that was too bright, but he wouldn't/couldn't look away.
He did not like to admit he knew why he enjoyed reclining upon the slightly slanted roof of his home. He didn't like it, for the simple fact that it hurt to say he knew. When he had been young—four of five, he wasn't sure—his elder brother had helped him up onto the roof. It was a ritual that persisted; after a particularly grueling mission, the siblings would find their way onto the roof. The younger would sometimes talk incessantly—he had been so talkative back then—or he would simply enjoy the presence of his older brother, who was always so distant. They would smile. He remembered the times when he could smile and joke only in a blurred way; or simply lay back and contemplate things—he hadn't been afraid to think of things and why things were the way they were back then.
Then everything died.
For two years he had not been able to get onto the roof. For two years he would try over and over to get onto the roof and every failure stung. When he was eleven he had finally managed to pull his small body onto the sun-warmed shingles and he had laid there and tried not to think of why he wanted to be on the roof.
He refused to believe that his brother, kind and warm, was the same person that killed everything. He knew that was a lie, but sometimes, when he was on the roof, he could pretend. For a little while. Until he came down.
He, now twelve, laid upon the warm shingles, eyes closed, arms folded behind his head. One could mistake him for being asleep. Like always, he was positioned above a soft bit of ground, so that if he fell he would not be too badly hurt. He had never fallen. It was a habit that his brother insisted upon, even though both siblings knew that even if the younger fell, the elder could catch him.
The warmth of the sun was quite comforting to the pale boy, who so often felt cold. Like a warm embrace. It made him feel just a little bit less alone. The tiles under him had been heated by that same sun and now he could feel their heat soaking through his shirt. Nice...
He shifted to his side, eyes half-open, looking at the ruined yard, but in his mind's eye he saw a manicured lawn, grass cut even, flora bright and lively. When he was on the roof, he could pretend.
He closed his eyes again, and this time he really did fall asleep.
"Sasuke!"
A violent flinch, and his eyes flew open—if one looked closely, they were red—and he was falling. He took in a sharp breath twisting his body in an almost cat-like way and landing gracefully on the grass, facing the engawa and the intruder. His surprise did not show and his eyes were black once more. He coolly glared at the startled boy in front of him.
"What, moron?"
This boy was smaller than the first one, tanner, with blond hair rather than raven, with blue eyes rather than black.
"Did you just jump down from the roof?"
The pale boy rose a brow. He was not going to admit he fell, for the first time in his life, due to this utter moron.
"What do you want, loser?"
And, as the pale boy predicted, the tan boy scowled. "Well sor-ry for coming by to say hi."
"No one makes you come." His tone was icy and he himself did not like the truth in his words. No one made him come. He came himself.
He did not wait for a reply, instead shifting for a better angle and gently leaping onto the roof again. Only a year ago it seemed so high up, now it was an easy jump. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable spot.
He was about to close his eyes, but the other boy, the dumb, stubborn, tanned one, was attempting to clamor onto the room. And not quite succeeding. Automatically, a scowl settled onto the boy's pale face and he grabbed the other boy by the forearms, hauling him up onto the roof. He hadn't meant to do that.
Before he knew it, that boy was sitting next to him, shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite directions, but eyes meeting.
"I didn't need your help bastard."
He saw the words that were truly there and hated them. He wished the said words were the true ones.
His dark eyes narrowed coldly, and he found a spot higher up on the roof. Turning so his back was to the shorter boy, he lay back down.
And he heard a rustle next to him.
Lifting his head, he craned his neck to see over his shoulder. He blond boy was next to him, laying on his back, unknowingly mimicking the position the pale boy had been in earlier with his arms folded behind his head. The pale boy rested his head back down.
Only him. Only he could get away with infuriating the pale boy and mere moments later make him forget about it.
"If you don't need my help, you shouldn't screw up so much."
He closed his eyes, assured by the fact that the blue-eyed boy was next to him, up on the roof.
And this time, he didn't have to pretend.