Disclaimer: Naruto and its characters belong to Masashi Kishimoto.
Title: Gray-colored Happiness
Chapter: 14 of 42
Chapter 14
The apartment is silent. As the grave, as they say.
I am sitting at the kitchen table, watching the sun slowly dip down behind the forest, painting the sky in purple and red. I wait and tap a shuriken repeatedly on the wood.
Tap-tap-tap.
Hours have passed since I first sat here, hours of revelation, hours of seething irritation.
But I can be patient.
I can be very, very patient. I have learned this.
While out with Sakura I hired a handyman to fix the damaged floor and window. He checked the bathtub, too. He was very thorough.
It's getting dark now and I begin to wonder if my roommate knows I know and is now avoiding coming home. Yeah, I doubt that.
I wait.
I can be patient, oh yes, but I am not a patient person.
Blood trickles from a cut in my left hand. I am gripping the shuriken too tightly. I only know there's a cut because I see the blood.
There is no pain.
I drum the metal against the table.
/How very entertaining./
Tap-tap-tap.
/It is rather fun to watch you get all wound up./
The kitchen has gone dark.
/And what are we planning to do, hmm?/
There is now a small patch of crimson seeping into the table.
/Kill him and make your escape?/
I drop the shuriken flat, covering it with my spread fingers.
'That is your plan, not mine. I have already killed the one I wanted to.' Bile rises to the back of my throat but I force the acid down, pressing my hand harder into the cold metal. 'I don't want to kill anymore.'
Just then, I hear the sound of a key entering a lock. The door opens, a light flicks on, and a head peeks inside.
"I'm-"
The shuriken whips by his cheek, making a dull thud when it lodges into the wall.
"-home!" Kakashi finishes, unruffled.
He enters the room and shuts the door, leaving the weapon in the wall as if it were never there.
"So, Sasuke, what are you doing, sitting in the kitchen in the dark, hmm?" he says, standing lazily on the other side of the table. "Waiting for me?"
I was, of course. But, indicating a pile on the table, I ask, "What is this?"
Kakashi does not move a muscle. "Looks like trash."
My head is throbbing painfully. Delicately, I lift a corner of the rag nearest me. "Do you know where I found it?"
Nonplussed, he answers, "In the bathtub drain?"
My eye twitches. He is a child. The small bit of fabric slips from my fingers and falls noiselessly to the table. "And why would you get an apartment with an actual bath and then clog the pipes so it doesn't work?"
"Maa-maa, Sasuke. You sound like a father." Kakashi hoists himself to the table, setting his feet on the chair in front of him, and whips out his favorite Icha Icha book.
And I realize that I do sound like my father. Angrily, I drop my chin to my hand and stare at the window, but it only shows me my reflection.
"You are far too easy to trick, Sasuke."
/You are, you know./
I glare at Kakashi in the glass.
"You wanted to see him, didn't you?" He is very calm.
I shift my eyes to look directly at him and say nothing.
"Naruto, of course." His visible eye is a happy crescent that somehow watches me.
He places a hand on my head as if I am a child, and smiles. I bat the offending thing away.
"Don't be so stubborn." he chides in a friendly manner. "I knew you would never do it of your own free will."
He sighs dramatically and leans his head back to look to the ceiling as if beseeching god for guidance.
"And what did you do? Tell Naruto that I would be there?" I accuse, half jokingly.
"No," he says. "I told Iruka."
I get to my feet, the chair making a horrible scraping sound as it pushes out behind me. My fingers grip the edge of the table, one of them smearing a trail of blood into a deep red line.
"I am not some thing you can mess with."
Kakashi turns to me, that rare serious look on his face. "You always feel better after you see him."
I scowl. "Don't play around with my life."
Kakashi looks at me a long time before responding.
"You'll get it all wrong if I don't."
There is not a trace of mockery or jest in his statement. He truly believes it.
And that, of all things, does not give him the right. If he had wanted to make sure I "didn't get it wrong", he should have done something before.
It's too late now.
"It will be how I decide it." I promise him.
And when I turn to go to my room, I see him shaking his head disgustedly, whispering, "When are you going to get it?"
o.o.o
Kakashi's words ring prophetic.
Sort of.
I didn't see Naruto yesterday and then I didn't sleep well.
Or at all.
I just tossed and turned and nearly strangled myself with the sheets, a battle interrupted only intermittently by the checking of the clock.
11:23 am.
12:04 am.
1:16 am.
At 1:42 am, I decide I may as well give up the fruitless fight and attempt to do something productive.
I get up to take a walk.
At 1:42 am, Konoha is deathly quiet. The streets are dark for the most part, pinpointed only by the smoky lights cast by the few establishments that thrive on late night customers.
A fair number of drunken miscreants stumble to and fro and with fake, scantily clad women draped over their arms.
I pass them by without blinking.
While I walk, I keep all my senses attuned to my surroundings; testing how many people I can pick up on my internal radar.
But my radar, such as it is, seems a little off. I am overtired from no sleep and Kakashi's words have the annoying tendency to revisit my mind at the precise moment I am trying to avoid them.
What exactly did he mean by all that? 'You'll get it wrong' he says, as if he has the faintest clue what "right" would be for me. He needs to stop interfering in my life; it's getting old fast.
'You always feel better after you see him.'
That doesn't mean anything special.
I'm just used to him, that's all.
We spent a lot of time stuck together when I was hunting Itachi, and that was only because the dobe refused to leave me alone. It's just habit.
Nothing more.
/Ku-ku-ku. Still such a child, dear Sasuke-kun./
I need to stop thinking about it.
Kakashi, sadistic as he is, just likes to mess with my head,; I can't let it get to me.
/But he does. They all do./
Now I'm annoying myself.
Quite a few ninja are out and about this night, if one knows how to look. Some leap over the rooftops, a popular mode of transit, bringing missives to and from Hokage Tower, the one place of supposed repute that is still lit. Several more are crowded in alleyways and side streets, whispering secrets and intently watching the people, mostly me, who stroll by.
I close my eyes.
At the very edges of my perception, I get a vague glimmer of something, of hidden shinobi. I've always been good at that, I think. Only, it wasn't this strong or precise before, not until Orochimaru . . .
Anyway, there are three.
Three ANBU are shadowing me, their wayward charge, as I wander the night out of boredom.
Naruto could be out there too, wondering like me what Konoha can possibly have left to offer.
I stop for a moment and stare up at the stars.
Then I grimace and head back.
o.o.o
When the clock strikes 8 o'clock, I wake again from a fitful, unproductive, and very short sleep, filled with stupid, pointless memories.
I stretch and yawn and get dressed, ruffling my hand through my hair as I step into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Sleepyhead!"
Ok, let's review.
Number 1: No one has any business being that cheery in the morning.
Number 2: What did I say about that nickname again?
"Do not give me that look. If you didn't decide to go gallivanting all over town in the middle of the night, you wouldn't be tired now." With a twinkle in his eye, he dumps a pile of golden flour disks in front of me.
"What's this?" I ask, with a disdainful curl to my lip.
"Pancakes!" He declares this as if it is a great and wonderful thing.
"I know they're pancakes!" I snap. "What are they doing here?"
"Looks like they're just sitting on a plate."
I huff irritably through my nose. "You know what I mean."
"Oh, I just thought I'd try something new and different today. You might want to try something different too." He pats his hand on my head again. "Now eat up, you're still a growing boy."
Before I have the chance to slap it away, the hand is gone.
I reluctantly take a bite of the pancake.
It's not bad.
Don't get me wrong; it's not good either. But caught under Kakashi's watchful eye, I manage to swallow it all down.
I glower, but he smiles and says, "Well, I'll be gone most of the day again. So be good."
I ignore the patronizing comment, saying instead, "Were you following me?"
The dishes rattle in the sink. "I don't have to follow you."
"Hn." I stand up and shove my hands in my pockets, going to the door even though I have no destination in mind.
"How about you check the training grounds?"
"Why?" I ask suspiciously.
But all he answers is "Have a nice day!"
o.o.o
There he is: the kid with the stupid "sticky-up" hair and the t-shirt with the swirl on the front. I notice him all the time now. Now that I have nowhere else to look.
He is sitting on that swing again, watching all the other kids with their parents and their brothers and sisters as though it is the best thing in the world.
He bugs me.
I don't know why, he just does.
I walk up to him. He turns his face up to me and pouts, his eyes pulled into thin slits.
"What do you want?" he snarls.
His hands are gripping tight to the rope of the swing as if I'm going to steal it out from under him.
I don't say anything.
I kick him.
He just makes me so mad.
"Ow!" He grabs his shin and his lip sticks out farther. "What'd you do that for?"
I kick him again.
This time he doesn't ask, he just launches himself off the swing and uses both his hands to throw me to the ground.
I pull back my fist and punch him sharply across the jaw.
His head whips to the side for a second. Then he turns back, grabs my shoulders, and slams my back into the ground. Hard.
I lift my leg and knee him in the stomach so that he crumples, his body sliding off to the side.
I don't know why I wanted to do this. I just had the sudden desire to hurt him, and maybe get hurt myself in the process.
I stand up and glare down at him, lifting my foot, prepared to stomp down. But instead, his foot comes crashing into my knee and I stumble backwards, falling onto my backside.
He jumps again, grips my shirt and pounds a fist into my mouth, making my teeth hurt. I feel the trickle of blood where my tooth has cut my lip.
Physical pain is easier.
I reach up and start battering my fists into his chest and his face screws up in pain. He grabs my arms and uses his weight to hurl us into a roll. We tumble over and over, flying through the dirt, kicking it up everywhere and I end up on top of him, the dust sticking to my sweaty skin and clinging to my hair. I pull my arm back and catch him squarely in the nose.
My mouth is filled with the taste of my blood and I spit to the side to empty it. When I look down, I see a line of red streaming from the kid's nostril and big, dumb, blue eyes staring at me.
But he's smiling.
I fall back onto my heels, setting him free, and he scoots away to sit a little distance apart.
I wipe the back of my arm across my mouth to clear it of blood.
He's watching me.
I don't know why, but that makes me uncomfortable, so I stand and walk away, leaving him to sit in the dirt, alone.
I don't even know his name.
But I do feel a little better.
And I think, maybe he does too.
o.o.o
The yells and crashes and explosions of chakra reach my ears long before my feet reach the training grounds.
I stop short, a few meters from the edge and look, with some fascination, the images in front of me.
Several trees have been felled; their wooden carcasses now lay strewn over the burnt grass that leads to a giant crater. Smoke, like ghostly messengers, spiral up to join the clouds in long trailing tendrils.
The main ground is empty but for one person, Naruto, but that is quite enough. He is so involved in what he's doing that he hasn't even sensed my approach. That, or he's gotten better at hiding his reactions. Anyway, he keeps repeating the same moves again and again, keeps using his chakra as if trying to expel every last drop from his body. Kage bunshin, rasengan, dispel. Over and over in a continuous loop, yet never seeming to get any weaker. The edges of his chakra burn red, flashing out in all directions like misbegotten fireflies. He looks worn-out, his knees bent, his back curved and his breathing heavy and harsh.
Still he goes on.
Kage bunshin, rasengan, dispel.
Still I watch.
His rasengan grows skewed, splintering at the seams.
The pace slows, bit by tiny bit until at last it peters out completely.
The last time Naruto tries to form the rasengan, it fails. The ice blue energy crackles feebly for an instant and then spins out into the air, disappearing without a trace.
He smiles at it, looking relieved.
Then he falls backward, the dirt clouding up around him when he hits ground. Sweat spills from his pores and when he drags his arm across his face, I'd swear there are tears mixed in with it.
His smile looks twisted now.
He covers his eyes with his forearm, his lips parted, taking in large gulps of air as the sun bears down heavily on him.
I continue to watch, I don't know how long, until his breathing settles and finally he is at rest.
Cautiously, I approach and sit down beside him, soundless as a spirit, and wait.
His lips curve up into a very slight smile.
Something must have happened to cause this. It's early morning, but it doesn't take long for villagers to be cruel.
/Konohagakure is always cruel./
Maybe it's nothing in particular. But a person doesn't try to practically kill himself with training without reason.
Time passes unmarked as we stay like this and when I reopen my eyes, Naruto is grinning up at me like an idiot.
He is still lying on the ground.
His eyes seem unnaturally blue; I don't think I've ever seen a color like that anywhere else.
A broken branch snaps off with a horrible crack, landing on the outskirts of our invisible circle, but he just smiles wider.
He is trying too hard.
I stand up and brush some of the dirt from my pants, more from habit than any real need since they will be covered in dirt again soon enough, if I have my way.
Naruto continues to stare.
I meanly narrow my eyes, even as my heart chooses this moment to lodge itself in my throat.
Looking down at him with the most bored expression I can muster, I cross my arms. "Want to spar?"
Naruto's grin bends a bit devious.
He grabs the hem of his shirt and peels it up, baring his stomach, which shines under the sun with skin golden tan and sweaty. I can see the outline of his hipbones from the way his pants are pushed low. Why does he insist on wearing such hideously orange clothes? Black might be nicer, or blue to match his eyes . . .
Almost the entirety of his seal is exposed, the extra symbols that circle the main are pulsating a deep, hypnotic, cobalt hue.
"Taijutsu?"
Startled, I blink awkwardly to his face. His one eyebrow is cocked and he's wearing a happy, satisfied smirk that is a bit disconcerting.
I return the look blandly and raise my hands to show off my newest seals that oddly resemble compasses.
"Of course."
o.o.o
"If you were hurt that bad, you should have told me!"
"Afraid to fight me again?"
"I'll take you on any time, teme!"
"Hn."
"You are such a jerk. I'm sure you're going to blame me when you get the news you're going to be incapacitated for months because you just had to pick a fight."
"I didn't know you knew such big words."
"In-ca-pa-ci-ta-ted! Jerk."
"I'm fine."
"Oh, really?"
"Stop that."
"Are you telling me that doesn't hurt? Aha! You winced. That means it hurts, stupid!"
"If you don't stop, I'll show you 'hurt'."
"Gah! You're wound's ripped open. Oh, gross, it's all like pus and stuff. Sasukeeee . . . How long ago did that happen? Why didn't you tell me?"
I groan.
Naruto pouts at me when I snatch the hem of my shirt free from his hands. Exactly what does he think he's doing in the middle of the street? His pout turns into an all-out frown as he stares at my stomach, picturing the stained bandage beneath. I look away quickly, allowing my long bangs to cover any sign of a blush.
It's embarrassing.
"It's fine, dobe," I admonish. "Stop looking at it."
"But . . ."
"You're making me uncomfortable."
For some reason, the idiot smiles.
He's right, though. All my old injuries have been strained by our little training exercise. But I knew that going in.
It's not so bad. And despite the look on his face, Naruto does feel better. The turmoil I saw brewing in his eyes earlier is gone, at least for the moment.
"You know," he says. The day has cooled down appreciably since I left the apartment. "You didn't have to come and eat with me."
"I was hungry." This is true. "Fighting tends to do that." Idiot.
"But you don't like ramen." He is so whiny. I am sick and tired of his mood swings.
I just shrug.
He scans me a moment and then puts his hands behind his head, his lips curling up happily. "It was a great spar, though wasn't it? Just like old times."
I'm not sure I agree with either count, but I don't bother arguing the point. The past has a tendency to look brighter when the present and future are so bleak.
I take a step that sends a pain shooting from my ankle up the full length of my leg and curse irritably under my breath. My mind feels numb and my body drained, and something about that doesn't seem quite right.
"All right, c'mon," Naruto frets, slinging my right arm over his shoulder.
I jerk away. "What do you think you're doing?"
He holds tight and scowls at me. "Stop being an idiot! You're obviously hurt. So c'mon, I'll help you home."
I glare at him because I am not some weak little kid who needs help from anyone, least of all the most stupid of all shinobi. It is just when I am about to enlighten him of this fact that I notice.
It is silent in the street, too silent for the middle of the day, and the absence of sound soaks into everything like water into a sponge.
And it is not for lack of people. The road is nearly choked with them. They are everywhere I turn, staring and glaring and motionless but for the way their heads turn to follow our passage as though it is the most interesting parade to ever pass through the Konoha. More than a few mutter something to their friends or children or parents and quickly duck inside a building.
One man stands defiantly by a fruit stand, tossing a persimmon lazily in one hand, as if gauging for just the right moment to make contact.
I let my eyes spin a crimson warning and like magic, the silence of the street now bristles with fear.
They're looking at him.
Instinctively, I tighten my grip on Naruto's shoulder.
After all the sacrifices he's made, after all they've put him through and all they demand of us, this is how quickly they turn.
/Worthless. Selfish. Near-sighted. Konoha./
'Konoha . . .'
I spit to get the word cleared from my tongue.
I look to Naruto as he adamantly stares straight ahead, impassive, though the corner of his mouth twitches nervously.
I curl my arm closer to his neck and lean in, my mouth near to the line of his jaw. My dignity sticks in my throat, but I make myself speak. "You're right, Naruto. I don't feel well."
His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows.
I press my hand flat to his chest. "Let's go home."
o.o.o
'Take deep breaths, Sasuke. Very deep breaths.'
I hear another piece of china become victim to Naruto's clumsy, anxious tidying.
There's some more clatter followed by the clear ring of metal bouncing off the polished wood floor.
"Are you still here?" I roll my head onto the back of the couch and slide an eye open to look back over at him. He's standing in the middle of the kitchen holding a giant spoon like a candle and gazing at it as though it bears the only light in the world.
"Do you want some tea?" He asks of the spoon.
"Tea?" I respond, as the spoon has, for some mysterious reason, chosen to hold its tongue.
"Yeah, tea."
"Are there any dishes left?"
He scowls at the spoon, because it should not tease him like that, and his knuckles go white and pink from gripping the utensil.
"Green." It's the only tea I really like.
He smiles at the spoon for giving him an answer and then carefully puts it back in the drawer. I turn back around and stare at the blank wall in front of me, wondering, to some extent, why he's decided to annoy me more than usual by inviting invited himself in and thus forcing me to "entertain."
Yeah, I don't "entertain."
The apartment carries a strange quiet that filters through me, increasing my impatience the longer I stare at the wall.
/Such a simple boy, Sasuke-kun. Too soft. I always said you were./
The teakettle whistles shrilly.
I hear the slosh of water and then Naruto is beside me, handing over a cup, its steam swirling sleepily to the ceiling.
I take a sip and immediately choke, splattering the liquid into the air as I shove the cup back into Naruto's hands. "This is full of sugar, dobe!"
As I wipe the back of my hand over my mouth, his eyes go wide and he quickly takes hold of it, switching it with the other.
"Sorry, sorry! That one's mine!"
What the hell is the matter with him?
Moron.
New cup in hand, I look at the contents skeptically and then back to Naruto. He gives me a sheepish smile.
I take a taste and find to my great relief that this portion is sans sugar.
Naruto gives me a big smile as I settle into the couch, and then sits down beside me. He takes a swig from his cup, but midway through, he stops, startled, and pulls the tea away, coughing.
"Too sweet?" I tease.
Then, to my surprise, a deep blush rises to his nose and cheeks just before he whips his head away.
"No. That's not it."
Well, whatever. I take another sip from my pleasantly bitter tea and stare back at the empty wall.
/Silly, stupid boy./
This is indescribably awkward. Sparring with Naruto is one thing, spending time with him when he is so abnormally quiet is quite another.
The nervous tension is not making anything easier.
Not that I show it, of course.
I'm good at that.
/Are you?/
'You always feel better when you see Naruto.'
Not always.
Really wishing that I were back at the training grounds instead - fighting is so much simpler than whatever the hell this is -, I pick up a stray book that was lying open on the table. My eyes scan over the words, but my brain does not bother with the laborious task of processing any. It seems boring anyway.
And it's far too difficult to concentrate, when Naruto, the king of weird, won't leave me alone.
Lately, his odd behavior has grown exponentially, starting with the first time I saw him through Orochimaru's eyes. He's more erratically emotional than I remember somehow, and he keeps watching me and acting thoughtful and . . .
I suddenly snap my head to the side as I notice Naruto's hand.
It is a sort of tingling, not-there feeling, which is why I didn't notice it before, but when I look, I see it firmly resting on my left arm.
I pull away. "What are you doing, usuratonkachi?"
The tea sways threateningly in my cup.
But he latches on stronger and moves closer, a blush staining his whiskered cheeks like a fever.
"What are you doing?" I repeat.
Not even considering the question, he wrestles both book and tea from my hands, places them on the table and shoves my left arm out of the way. Dumbfounded, I glower at him.
"You're hurt," he says by way of explanation. "You've been all twitchy and groaning since you got here; you probably didn't even realize you were doing it. I shouldn't have agreed to spar when you're not healed yet. And I can't do much, but at least this . . ."
"I'm not made from glass, moron. I don't need you to . . ."
But my breath catches when his hand sneaks below my shirt and the fingers slide over the bandage covering my newly ruptured wound.
I'm fine.
"Naruto . . ." I try to warn though it doesn't come out with quite the proper inflection.
I can't be expected to know what to say when he's acting so weird. Stop being so damn unpredictable.
He just looks at me as though I've said nothing, spreads his fingers over my wound and sends chakra, warm and healing, into my skin.
I try to assure myself that this is just medical treatment. Except Naruto has a very strange expression on his face.
OK, this feels nothing at all like medical treatment. I think I may be getting a fever too.
My right hand shoots out to grasp his arm by the elbow, the warning unmistakable. "I didn't ask for your damn help, dobe." The little frightened synapses that are lighting in my brain show themselves in my quavering voice.
His eyes never leave mine. The eyes with blue so scandalously intense . . .
"Shh," he whispers, pretending he hasn't heard me. He raises his other hand to my neck and tilts my head forward, pressing his lips to the bare skin of my forehead where a hitae-ate should be but isn't.
I'm not a five-year-old. Stop acting creepy!
It is something my mother would do, not Naruto. And yet it doesn't feel even remotely the same.
"What the fuck is your problem?" I seethe, but I can't do anything else without betraying the tremor in my limbs.
I can't seem to concentrate, my mind refusing to form cohesive thoughts. It is too concentrated on the warmth of his hand on my belly and the touch of his lips on my brow.
"It's OK," he says.
I should stop this.
It makes me feel stupid and small, the way he's speaking to me, but I . . . don't know.
I don't know what's wrong with me.
Something just seems off in the nerve endings of my brain, like the fight has been stolen from me so that my mind has ceased functioning in its regular logical parameters.
The blistered, broken skin of my stomach joins together, weaving itself into a unified whole.
Naruto's chin now leans on my forehead, his breath continually ruffling my hair. My face is tucked close to his neck so I can smell the effects of his training, sharp and pungent. The hand on my belly slides upward, over my skin, just before the fingers hover at the top seam of the binding.
Panic grips me just as my fingers grip into the hard, toned flesh of his arm. No, not panic. Irritation. "Just what do you think you're doing?"
He stops. With the hand still at the back of my neck, he maneuvers my head so he can whisper into my ear.
"It's OK. Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you."
Having him this close is not helping.
Not one bit.
I leverage my free hand into his shoulder and try to shove him off.
"Naruto," I hiss, gaining some sense back. "Stop treating me like a child."
"Mm-mm."
"Naruto, if you don't stop . . ."
He rubs his fingers deep into the base of my skull, and I gasp from the feel of it.
"If you really want me to, then do something about it."
So I drive my nails deep enough into his arm to draw blood, but he simply chuckles and lets the warning go unheeded.
"Stop." But it doesn't sound like I mean it, even to myself.
Slowly, he pulls his face from my ear, his soft cheek grazing along mine. I brace my hand hard against his shoulder joint.
"Then stop me, Sasuke," he murmurs huskily and pushes his fingers under the bandage so that there is no longer anything separating his skin from mine. He soothes his hand over the healed burn.
My breath comes out as a short, popping noise and when I open my eyes, I see that his irises have gone red like mine.
He smiles. "All better."
His breath flutters over my face, the spiced scent mixing with the sharpness of his sweat, the combination making me dizzy. It's his fault I can't seem to think straight.
I try to sneer, but it comes out all crooked.
He begins to massage his thumb deep into my scalp where head meets neck, and my eyes drift shut. My fingers still hook onto his elbow like a steel trap, but I'm no longer sure whether it's to stop him, or to stop him from leaving.
I'm a bit at a loss while he seems to know exactly what to do. But he's just healing a wound, that's all. No big deal.
It's not like anything all that different than we've been before.
Like the forest.
Like the hospital.
It doesn't have to mean anything.
I am still Uchiha Sasuke; that doesn't change.
And I can admit that I enjoy the rough, callused texture of Naruto's hands and the tingle of heat when his skin touches mine. We've known each other a long time, so . . .
"Sasuke," he whispers.
. . . it doesn't mean anything.
Neither do any of the thoughts spinning around in my head.
'He tried with me . . .' so what?
I pull on his arm, his fingers creeping close to my hipbone.
'He tried with Sakura . . .' and it didn't work.
I hear his breath hitch.
'You always feel better when you see him . . .' is there something wrong with that?
I let my grip loosen so my fingers merely cup the sharp bend of his elbow.
'You're jealous . . .' because he's my closest friend.
His hand dips further until the tips of his fingers just barely peek out from the bottom edge of the bandage. My stomach flutters.
It doesn't mean anything.
"It's all right. I'm not going to hurt you, Sasuke. You're safe."
I just can't breath, that's all. Every time I try to catch my breath, it runs away from me.
But that has nothing at all to do with him. It's only that I'm still not properly healed.
"Sometimes kindness is just kindness," he says softly.
Kindness is always a lie.
This is different; this is dangerous. I know this and yet I do nothing to stop it.
"Sometimes people want to be close to you, just to be close to you."
My heart is pressing hard against my ribcage, beating along the cracks in my bones, but I can't seem to make it hurt. My blood pumps fast through my veins and my skin burns as his fingertips press harder into my stomach.
Something new begins to coil inside me, creeping out from the fringes of my self, where everything other than hatred and determination has been locked away.
But I just can't let go of the Uchiha Sasuke I have created.
Because he is safe too.
I still hear Naruto's strange, murmured, nervous nonsense words.
He pulls my head down to rest on his shoulder, wrapping his arm all the way around my head to tuck the hair back behind my ear. His arm slides up and around the small of my back, pulling me closer.
I feel trapped.
"I just want you to . . . trust me."
He's acting way too strange.
But I do trust him, as much as I trust anyone.
And yet still, this isn't right; this isn't me . . .
Sometimes . . . maybe . . . somehow . . .
I wish it were.
But I don't want to think about anything anymore. My mind has grown weary from circling things it doesn't comprehend.
He meddles with my reason, mixing up my thoughts and feelings so they no longer make any sense.
Naruto, Naruto, Naruto.
Every time I'm near him, all my better judgment just abandons me.
I hate that.
I hate him.
I hate not knowing who I am anymore.
His breath tickles my ear, he is so damn close, and he whispers something more, but the only words I can make out are a hushed "Sasuke, I . . ."
o.o.o
It is a bleary-eyed, cottony awareness that I wake up to. My mind is still blundering through the fog of unfinished dreams and half-formed thoughts, so I can't be sure that I'm actually conscious.
I'm lying on my side on the couch, alone, and the sky has gone dark though I can't really see it. All I see is the dim layout of the living room and a reflected light shining at me from the glass of the closed window.
". . . told him yet?" Is that Kakashi?
"No. Not really. Not exactly. I don't know." That voice reminds me of Naruto's, only very serious. "I'm still not sure."
I blink my eyes, but they stubbornly refuse to focus.
"You can never be sure."
"But . . . what if it's like with everyone else?" It is such a quiet, solemn voice. "They're all different now. And after I finally got some respect, I have to start all over."
"You'll earn it again. They'll understand."
I hear the strangled sniffling of tears and a doubtful "Maybe . . ."
"But that has nothing to do with him. You know that."
"Yeah, but, what if, what if," there's a suffocating pause. "What if he hates me?"
"I don't actually think that's possible."
A muted step falls on a cold, polished floor.
"Listen." Now my old teacher sounds far away and under water. My vision has gone blurry. "He's not smart about these things. And he tends to think backwards, making everything more complicated than any normal person would. But he's also changed in some way. And if you really want something, don't give up. You should know by now, things are not always what they seem, especially with him. He doesn't even understand himself."
"Yeah . . ."
"Just follow your heart, it's what you do best. . ."
o.o.o
The air outside is cool and crisp beneath the clear night sky. I could count all the stars if I wanted to, only I don't want to.
I lean my elbows on the porch railing and a gentle breeze ruffles my hair, blocking my view for a moment.
Despite the temperate conditions, the atmosphere feels heavy and expectant.
I snarl into the distance.
"You can come down if you like," I call.
Noiselessly, someone drops to the porch behind me, his chakra rippling an announcement in the air.
I hadn't really thought my offer would be taken seriously and now that has been, I'm not sure what to do. I take a deep breath and turn to face my visitor, a small shock running through my system when I see him.
I know that face, so to speak.
"So what did you do to get stuck with such a lucrative assignment?" I drawl snidely.
The straw-haired ANBU shifts without sound and says nothing.
Turning my head to the side and leaning my elbows back on the railing behind me, I let the fall of my bangs obscure my face.
"What's your name?" I'm honestly not sure why I'm talking.
It could be because he's a stranger and there's a certain amount of freedom in that.
Clearly, he is not going to answer my question.
I look to him again, examine the shape and nature of his mask, and almost instantly am reminded of a toy I once owned as a boy.
"Kuma, then," I say.
He tilts his head in question, but as I am not about to tell him that I have essentially named him after what can best be described as a "teddy bear", I simply nod my head and repeat, "Kuma."
He seems unbothered by his new handle.
I give him one last, quick glance from the corner of my eye and then go back to looking off into space.
My mysterious watcher remains unmovable, untouchable, and smelling of tree sap.
"You have very interesting friends," he says out of nowhere.
"Do I?"
"Yes," he says cautiously, slowly gaining strength. "I've never seen such people. You're lucky."
I laugh derisively.
"Of course," Kuma observes. "People like you never know how lucky they are."
The accusation hits me not as hard as it could have simply because I am accustomed to it.
I slide my hand down my face, so that my chin can rest neatly in the palm.
"You're wrong."
I know how lucky I am. It's the same as being unlucky.
That's why it feels wrong.
That's why I don't trust it.
That's why . . .
It scares me.
"You should . . ." he starts, but then stops abruptly.
I turn to face him, curious despite myself.
But he is staring fixedly at the porch slats, or so his mask would tell me. He then shakes his head and hoists a foot onto the side rail. His head turns in my direction, the small, beady black circle eyes searching through me as if they could see into my very soul.
"I didn't get 'stuck' with this assignment." He pauses as if debating whether to go on. "I requested it."
My eyes go a little wide as I take a step forward.
And then he is gone.