Perverse
Sasuke Uchiha was a normal man.
He got up every day at 5:30 a.m. to work, following a well-practiced routine that starts with an ice bath, brushing his teeth, getting dressed, having breakfast and leaving, all well timed to be done in 45 minutes, no one more, no one less.
Every morning at 6:15, his car was already on the road towards the city where, every morning, the suffocating traffic caused him a headache so terrible that it would reflect a frown that would remain there until noon. When he got to the building where he worked, he always parked his car in parking lot 3B and turned off the engine at exactly 7:05.
He would stay in the car for a slight longer, his hands still on the wheel and his gaze straight ahead as little by little the parking lot began to fill with cars of every possible color. Finally, with ten minutes to eight, he would open the door, get out of the vehicle and make sure twice that he had put the safety on before ingoing the building, taking the access card from the upper pocket of his jacket, greeting the guard at the entrance with a nod and skipping the elevator to go up the stairs.
To the fourth floor, where his cubicle was, he arrives at 7:59, where he would stop to look at the digital clock marking the seconds elapsed until it turned 8:00, at which point he would finally place his briefcase on his desk and he would take a seat, immediately turning on his computer. He spends the entire first part of his journey labor typing, transcribing and printing documents, stacking them all in a neat corner to be collected.
At lunchtime, he would go back to his car and eat his food inside it. He had a menu of what he would consume each day along with the usual bottle of water that he would buy in the lobby before leaving. He only took ten minutes to eat, while the remaining twenty would be spent answering the so habitual messages that he received from his family, always one day between the receiving and the answer.
At the end of the thirty minutes break, which was all he needed unlike the time everyone else took, he returned to his cubicle, where the previously prepared documents would no longer be found, as they should be. He would continue with his work until six in the afternoon, being punctual when it was time to stop, pick up his things and leave.
Every day when he returned home, he would spend the next two hours cleaning something, lightly, dusting the windows, the tables, whatever surface the dirt could perch on. He would sweep, then mop and light scented candles, one for each day of the week.
At dinner he would cook the evening menu and eat, sitting alone at his table. Immediately after finishing he would wash the dishes and go to his office to relax a little before going to sleep with one of his favorite hobbies: building models. His latest project? A scale model of the city.
That was his routine.
But there were days, like this one, where his boss would come up and ask him to stay a little longer, "extra work, extra pay" he said with a smile, to which he had to respond in a friendly and affirmative way, although his fingers twitched, and all he wanted to do is nothing more than...
It never took him more than an hour to do everything he was asked for, but it was a missed hour of his itinerary and it made him anxious.
He didn't like being anxious.
Driving was getting dangerous, but he couldn't help but exceed the speed limit in that state. The police always stopped him, earning him a fine and make things worse. With his mood altered, he would come home and start cleaning, being as meticulous as he was allowed in the trimmed time. Dinner was ruined when he was upset, so he would just grab a bottle of whatever he had in his fridge and hurried down to his basement, where he did another of his favorite hobbies, the one that calmed him down when things got chaotic, when it was all a mess, when his life got out of the line he had carefully drawn.
He would came down the steps hard and fast, barely flipping on the lights whose switch was at the foot of the stairs and heading immediately to the bottom, straight for his greatest work of art.
He sucks in loudly through his nose and forcefully blows the air out through his mouth, the fire inside him subsiding but not quenching.
Something is missing.
Something was always missing, but that had a solution.
He turned to his tool table, his gaze fixed on the papers on it and then on those that were sticking to the corkboard, showing his new project… and he smiled.
Sasuke Uchiha was a normal man.
And like every normal man, he too had secrets.
I Decide to traslate this story too because i´m about to update the second part. This one is already finished in spanish, but updates would come a little late some days. Wish you all enjoy it.