Disclaimer: Thus far, there are roughly 60 NaruSasu-ish scenes in Naruto. If I owned it, there would be a whole lot more.
A/N: You can blame Mashiro's Almost Sucks for this (I can't take responsibility for my own actions. I won't deny this). I'm jealous of her writing style so I tried to imitate it a bit. I failed. I've got a love-hate relationship with this thing... I just feel like Sasuke's too OOC. Woe is me.
And canonically, this ficlet can't exist... Since it takes place between the Itachi and the Retrieval arc... But we'll just ignore that glaring mistake.
Seikouuki 晴好雨奇
The sun has made a veil of gold,
So lovely that my body aches,
Above, the heavens shriek with blue,
Convinced I've smiled by some mistake.
The world's abloom and seems to smile.
I want to fly, but to where? How high?
If in barbed wire, things can bloom,
Why couldn't I? I will not die!
"On a Sunny Evening" - Anonymous, 1944
The rain pounded onto the slate tiles, dripping down each one in tiny waterfalls before finally rolling to the edge and plummeting down to the earth. Some droplets fell into puddles and from there they would further splash out.
His eyes were closed, water collecting on his lashes grouping together until they became too much and fell, sliding down his pale cheek. His hair clung to his head, his clothes sunken into his body, his flesh cold.
Ten paces away, no more, no less, was a large house, beckoning, calling, yet far too faintly to be heard.
So close to home.
And even further away.
A black throwing knife slipped out of the two fingers it had been loosely grasped in, plummeting straight down and embedding into the drenched ground.
And the rain was all he could hear; all the drips and rhythms, and it was all he could feel; odd, massaging patterns on his skin. Every pulse, every breath, was synchronized with this natural beat...
He hated the rain.
A wind blew and it whispered across his skin and he nearly shivered.
"You're going to get sick."
He opened his eyes and turned to regard the newcomer. What a sight he must look; soaked to the bone and pathetic. He found himself too numb to care.
The newcomer tilted his head to the house. "I'm raiding your kitchen. You coming?"
So close to home...
And even further away...
He shifted and it felt as if his bones hadn't moved in ages.
His friend held the door open for him.
-
The silence between them was thick and awkward as they sat at the table, and the gentle zaa zaa of rain against the roof did nothing to ease it. The cup in the pale boy's hands had long since cooled without a single sip being taken, and his blond friend had given up on words.
He was too busy wondering, that, if he left, would the pale boy only go outside again? The minutes passed and he knew he had to do something, just to relieve this tension. But when he looked up and met those eyes, any words that he had formed died in his throat.
He really hated this.
"I'm leaving." He murmured, eyes shifting to the ground as he stood and walked toward the door to leave. A small rustle and he turned to see the black-haired boy standing and looking like he was about to say something.
A moment passed, and the fair-skinned boy turned away, moving to occupy himself with something else.
The blond turned back and left the house in the same silence that encompassed his entire visit.
Everyday the distance between them seemed farther, and everyday his eyes grew darker. He didn't want a Great Wall between them, but everyday another brick was added.