a/n: Hello. I hate to get your hopes up with this as it's been sitting in my drafts for about three years, but I felt so strongly that I wanted to post it. There is a second chapter, and I do need to get back to writing and I kept thinking about these characters. In my head, Naruto here is very Gatsby and I - at the time - kept thinking about what it would be like to be so rich you could help so many people, but where do you draw the line (morally/for preservation purposes) of HOW much you do or give or how much guilt you feel? So, that's where this came from and I've fantasized about it (mostly) until the end, but can I execute? Don't hold your breath, so just... it's a glimpse.
Spark
Frowning, Sasuke stared at the finished canvas. He prodded the blunt end of the thin paint brush against his chin while surveying his work. It took all of his strength not to throw it out the window. The colors were right, the texture even—but something about it disturbed him on a subconscious level. Likely, the fact that he'd been the one to paint the damn thing. Sasuke sighed in defeat and dropped the brush into the bucket at his feet, water sloshing up the sides.
"Trash art from a trash artist," he murmured. "What insipid moron will ever buy this?"
It was 3 a.m., and Sasuke, phone in hand, found himself pacing around his apartment with the receiver plastered to his ear. He chewed on his bottom lip in agitation.
After the seventh ring, the other person finally answered, croaking out a greeting.
"Hello? Sasuke? Do you know what time it is? And please don't say time is an illusion."
"Time is relative, not an illusion," he snipped, running his fingers aggressively through his hair. It felt greasy from going unwashed for several days. "Cancel the show. I'm not ready, Sakura."
"We're not fucking cancelling the show," Sakura replied. "We've been putting this together for six months, Sasuke. You gave your word you wouldn't do this."
"It's going to be an embarrassment. No one is going to come. They're going to laugh at the collection. This was a stupid idea, I should never have listened—"
"—Sasuke, Jesus. Take a breath and calm down for a second. Didn't I leave you a bottle of Xanax the last time I was there? This is your fifth panic attack this week. We are going forward with the show even if I have to turn you into an installation by nailing you to the wall. In fact, I'll nail you by your penis, and we'll call it 'The Resur-erection of Christ'."
He scoffed. "Who are you, Andres Serrano?"
"No, I'm your manager." The woman gave a deep sigh, and Sasuke could picture her rubbing at her temple as she often did when they got into disagreements. "Is there something in particular you're unhappy about regarding the set-up, location, guest list?"
"You know I don't care about any of that. It's the art, it's always the art—"
"—I'm pretty sure the jury that awarded you the Future Generation prize would beg to differ."
He stopped pacing, and, instead, stared out the window of his loft. There wasn't anything exceptional about the view: an abandoned industrial lot to the left and a conservatively-designed bank to the right. He felt distracted by his own reflection. The anxiety was apparent in his expression. He had dark bags under his eyes. His skin was pale from keeping to the studio for weeks straight, and by studio, he meant the storage room he rented in the complex's basement.
"Sasuke? Are you still there? Sasuke?"
He moved away from the window. "I'm here."
Sakura's voice turned gentle, concerned: "What are you really afraid of?"
At the word afraid, Sasuke's brows drew tight together. He gnawed at his lip again but winced, realizing he'd already chewed it raw from all-day abuse. He tasted the blood on his tongue.
"I don't know," he lied.
"Are you afraid of failure?" Sakura prodded. "Afraid of success? Afraid of the critics? Is it because you haven't had a show in several years?"
"Five years." Sasuke's gaze, though unfocused, landed on a 72 x 48 canvas on the brick wall opposite from where he stood. The background was a lacquered cherry red, and the space divided into two conscious sections: one predominantly black with specks of yellow and white foam, the other was white with splashes of silver and green, a swirl of tepid black at the core. At the center of the canvas, the two abstract entities connected through a thin line of paint.
"Spark" was its title. It's the only work he'd ever done that he didn't hate. Well, that was a lie. He hated it, but only because it had been hailed by international critics as "genius." Especially because at the time he'd only been 20 and living in Prague, working out of a studio apartment the size of his current bathroom. Back then, he hadn't thought much about how to market his art; in fact, he didn't think at all while painting, in general. And so, when a friend happened to take a photo of his work, shared it with another friend at a gallery, so and so at a local fringe magazine picked up on it, interviewed him briefly, and after posting it on social media, suddenly agents and galleries from around the world were trying to hunt him down. Very hard for them, surely, as he only had a private number, zero social media presence, and no real art pedigree. He was a no one, but they called him a genius, loved everything he produced.
But after a string of awards and a year of notoriety that many artists would die for, he stopped wanting to share his art. Not because he felt misunderstood, but because—
"Why don't you get some sleep," Sakura's whispered voice pulled Sasuke from his thoughts and memories he'd rather forget. "We can circle back about this in the morning. Or, afternoon. Whenever you wake up. Why don't we get together for dinner tomorrow, and we can go through the plan for that night, adjust any details that will set your mind at ease, hmm?"
Sasuke approached "Spark," hating the way Sakura was forced to treat him like a child; yet, he couldn't deny that it was working. Maybe the lack of control was getting to him. He'd let her take care of most of the details regarding the exhibition, simply because he couldn't stomach it. Maybe he'd just figured it would all fall apart before the opening date arrived. After all, he'd been a reclusive artist for years, refusing all sorts of interviews and requests for private purchases.
Now, with this gallery, it was like he was opening himself up again. He felt… vulnerable. It's not that he had anything against selling his art for money, but the prospect of selling his art to people who didn't deserve it, who didn't understand it—it made him feel disgusted. Art was for the rich? Was he merely a prostitute for the wealthy, selling his personal conceptions, values, vulnerability, sincerity, vision to the highest bidder? So that they could adorn their mansion, show it off like a mere accessory among other tacky luxury items? It made him ill.
"Dinner would be fine," he said. "I have a piece I want to show you."
"A new piece?" Sakura asked, excitement creeping into her tone. "You didn't throw it out the window?"
"No, someone complained the last time I did that."
His manager snorted. "By the way, I had a conversation with the caterer today. There was a last-minute change regarding the h'orderves."
"Why would I care about finger foods? You're the expert at all that."
"Well, we're now serving this ceviche, but I was concerned about those with a seafood allergy."
He raised an eyebrow. "Bring a stash of EpiPen then for all I care."
"You'd care if you knew the cost of just one."
"Fucking pharma," he spat. "We should eat the rich, and all we're doing is serving them poached quail eggs on top of white rhino pâté."
"We are definitely not doing that," Sakura laughed lightly. "We don't need PETA showing up and throwing red paint across all your canvases. We have vegan and gluten free options, of course. But, I guess I shouldn't tell you about the caviar and truffle accouterments."
"I hope you're joking."
"I am definitely joking. The menu is thoughtful but well within the budget, I assure you."
"I wasn't going to question. After all, you're tighter with money than I am."
"Yes, well you have money to spare, but the gallery does not. And you'll have even more money to spare after the show is over. I've already had a lot of interest regarding your new collection. We've already received some considerable offers on the pieces we've revealed to our private list of customers."
"Gross."
Sakura clucked her tongue. "You're never going to be happy, are you?"
"That is the debate."
"You're so dramatic, Sasuke. If you hadn't become a painter, you could've become an actor."
"Has anyone ever told you your humor is very pedestrian?" The ghost of a smirk appeared on his lips, tongue sliding across an incisor.
"Yes, you. About every time I call. So, I'll see you tomorrow. At my place as I'm sure yours is a sty, as usual. Plus, I hate that view. You could afford so much better."
"My apologies for not being born an interior designer."
"The show is going to be a success. Please don't worry."
He didn't have an answer for that. "I'll see you tomorrow."
"I'll stop by earlier to view your new piece. I'm very excited. Please don't burn it before I get the chance to see it, okay?"
"No promises." He rubbed his finger across the skin above his top lip. "And Sakura?"
"Hmm?" She sounded tired; he almost felt guilty for waking her.
"Thank you."
There was a pause before she responded, "No need for thanks. It's my job."
She hung up. Sasuke slid the phone into the back pocket of his jeans. He looked toward the painting again, lost in the splashes that resembled nerves re-connecting, neurons forming.
Would he ever feel as passionate about painting as he had back then?
No, that wasn't it. He still held a passion for creating art. It was all the external bullshit that surrounded the process when pushed into making a living off of it. It was the art community at large, top to bottom. He was just a rat caught in the maze like everyone else.
The day of the exhibition arrived, and it was every bit as painful as Sasuke'd imagined—and he'd only just walked in the door. Sakura had forced him to wear a rented tux, people were waiting in a line to interview him. Fancy people with champagne walked around his gallery, laughing and talking to each other. Did they even know what kind of art he created? It was dark and glib. Just like him. He even started to turn around so that he could escape via the kitchen, where all the staff were preparing the food, but Sakura appeared out of nowhere and snatched his arm. She slid up against his side, her scarce bosom protruding from her fuschia halter dress, long earrings dangling on either side of her head, and pink hair in a slicked-back updo.
"You look like a shark," he murmured as his manager clutched onto him for dear life, obviously aware he was a flight risk.
"I'll take that as a compliment. Speaking of, have you tried the ceviche?"
"God, I wish I had a seafood allergy right now."
"I'm sorry, how? Look around. Do you see all the stickers? We've been open for 10 minutes and sold half of the collection. Everything will be gone in a half-hour. Jesus, and your new piece? I love that we're holding an auction. It's going to make a killing! You'll be rich."
He wanted to hurl. "I'm already moderately rich, Sakura."
"Okay, well I'll be rich and the gallery will have a nice cushion for when you go all hermetic on us again over the next six months. But, promise me," she adjusted the knot on his tie, though he knew it was perfect, "You won't run away until you talk to a few of the journalists. Just don't mention any recent genocides, Palestine, or climate change, please."
"Wow, you've really limited my usual repertoire, haven't you? What am I allowed to speak of, mein führer?"
"The art, of course! Talk about your process, talk about what kind of paint you use, talk about your inspiration. I do not care, but please be normal for once and don't cause a scandal."
"I've been absent from the art world for three years, what scandal have I caused?"
She looked at him like he was stupid and poked him hard in his chest. "That, that was the scandal! You disappeared, and you were only 22! They all thought you were going to cut off your ear."
"Are you mocking van Gogh, because he had a serious mental illness—"
"—Do I need to give you note cards?" Sakura asked in a tone of pure exasperation, eyeing a well dressed man hovering by an unsold painting near one of the far corners of the room. "I'm surprised that one hasn't sold yet, I love that one. Not as much as your new piece, though. I'm surprised you allowed us to include it."
He turned to her, an eyebrow raised and eyes narrowed with a mixture of curiosity and suspicion. "You… like that piece? I hate it and let you include it as a joke."
Sakura stared back, mouth open and poised to speak—but an older white man with salt-white hair approached for her attention. He didn't even address Sasuke with his gaze.
"These pieces are remarkable," he said, and Sasuke could tell the man was trying valiantly not to check out Sakura's breasts.
"Well, Sasuke is a genius," she remarked, letting out a fake laugh that had Sasuke cringing. He looked askance, hoping the man would keep pretending he wasn't there.
"A very elusive genius," the man replied, and Sasuke finally turned to acknowledge him.
"Sasuke takes his work very seriously," Sakura explained lightly, touching a spot on her skin, just shy of her collarbone. "You know artists, they are so method these days."
Sasuke had to choke down a snort; Sakura pinched his side after sneaking her hand into his jacket pocket.
"Please," Sakura smiled sweetly, throwing Sasuke's arm away to take the older man's, "Let me show you what's still available and walk you through some of the artist's process. He's quite shy from sequestering himself for so long, but we work closely, so I'm happy to share what he confides." As Sakura parted with him, she glanced over her shoulder and shot him a glare.
Sasuke found he couldn't be too annoyed since she'd saved him from what would've been a painful conversation. Too bad his luck wasn't to last. He ended up being cornered by a very persistent journalist for 10 minutes, and then an important donor he vaguely recognized stopped to chat with him about the weather, until finally he was able to escape behind the swinging doors that led into the kitchen.
Most of the food had already been plated, so there were only a couple of hired chefs at work and various wait staff fluttering in and out of the kitchen. He walked over to one of the counters, where a blond waiter appeared to be fussing over the ceviche platter. Sasuke snatched one of the champagne glasses from a nearby tray right before a pretty red-headed waitress picked up the silver platter and hurried out the doors again.
He drew in a deep breath and let it out while digging his thumb into the center of his forehead. A headache had been bothering him all day because of the stress. Maybe alcohol would help.
"Did you come to escape the crowd, too?"
Sasuke's head shot up when he heard the voice, noticing the blond waiter from earlier was still there—but not only was he failing to deliver the food Sakura had procured for hungry patrons, he was eating it. The hell? Who hired this freeloader and whom could he fire for it?
"Isn't it, you know," he said slowly as if the man wouldn't be able to understand him, "Your job to be out there with that crowd right now?"
It's not like he was going to treat the working class like slaves, but the guy should at least try to hide his ineptitude, especially on Sasuke's dime. Of course, the irony of himself not being out there, selling paintings to that crowd wasn't entirely lost on him.
Just conveniently pushed aside.
"My job?" The man parroted, mirroring Sasuke's position as he leaned against the marbled counter. He had on black dress pants with light gray pinstripes, a white button-down, fashionable tie and suspenders. His jacket hung off the edge of the counter. He'd also rolled his sleeves mid-way past his forearms, the hint of a tattoo emerging on his right arm.
"You know," he nodded his chin in the general direction, "Carry food to those rich wolves out there. Stuff them full with seafood, raw expensive meat, and overpriced champagne."
"Oh," the man drawled. "You think I'm a waiter?" His blue eyes twinkled mischievously.
"Why? Are you an actor trying to get practice for your next film where you play a waiter?"
"You're sassy," the loafer said while slurping ceviche juice off his thumb. "And very judgmental. I know I should be offended, but watching you work yourself up is really entertaining."
"If you're not a waiter," Sasuke replied, taking on a more cautious tone as he straightened up against the opposite counter and folded his arms to his chest in a somewhat defensive gesture. "Why are you in the kitchen with all of the servers, eating the event's food?"
"I could ask you the same," the man answered smoothly. "You're in here drinking the champagne."
Sasuke smirked. "You don't know who I am?"
"Well, I guess we have that in common, don't we?"
Sasuke let out a laugh so loud that he nearly startled himself.
The man picked up another mini ceviche tostada and took a bite, though he continued to watch Sasuke with big, curious eyes. As if he were somehow being the absurd one at present.
"...You're not a server," Sasuke finally said, more a statement than a question.
"Nope. Not since I was 16. Technically, I was a busser. You know, the ones who—"
"—I know what a busser is," Sasuke snapped. "So," he took a breath, Sakura was going to kill him if he'd offended someone she deemed important, "Are you, uh, a patron of the exhibition?"
"Technically, I'd say I'm a Plus One." The man set his hands behind him on the counter. He looked smug, but Sasuke didn't know why. "I came with a friend."
"You came with a friend," Sasuke pieced together, "And snuck away to the kitchen? To… eat the food?"
"Is that a crime?"
Sasuke wanted to say yes, most definitely. Except, technically the man had been invited, at least according to his story. And he didn't actually care that someone was in the kitchen eating the food. It was more… well, he didn't know. The man was being eccentric, and eccentricity made Sasuke itchy. It's why he didn't get along well with other artists. Or, most rich people.
"What about you?" The man asked. "Why did you sneak away?"
Sasuke could have told him that he was the artist, and he very much wanted to make a fool out of this person for some reason; yet, he also enjoyed the anonymity he was being afforded for the moment. Or, maybe he was simply feeling the tiniest bit sadistic.
"I'm not a big fan of crowds," he ended up answering, rather honestly, really.
The stranger nodded. "Then why did you come to the opening of a popular exhibit?"
"Popular?" Sasuke repeated. "Are you familiar with the artist?"
The other man scratched at the back of his neck, looking sheepish. A flush of pink appeared on his cheeks and the tips of his ears.
"Only what my friend raved about in the limo. I have to admit, though, I got distracted by the bar and wasn't payin' too much attention. Frankly, I don't know much about art."
"Besides collecting it?" Sasuke ventured, a hint of mocking in his tone.
The other didn't take the bait. "If I buy art, it's because I like the way it looks. Otherwise, my interior designer does a lot of that sort of purchasing." The blond gave a careless shrug.
Sasuke shifted, straightening out his arms and giving them a shake. He was feeling hot and considered taking off his suit jacket, but that might indicate to the other he was willing to stay a while. Instead, he made up for the nervous gesture by fussing with his cuff link.
"Did you have a look at the art?" Sasuke couldn't help but ask, glancing slyly up from his cuff link to weigh the blond's expression as he answered.
"I did. I had a look when we first came into the gallery."
"And," Sasuke let out, wondering why his heart rate had quickened, "What did you think?"
The other grimaced, the skin between his brows growing pinched. "They're dark."
Sasuke processed this, but didn't feel offended. "So, you don't like them?"
"I don't know enough about art to say," he told Sasuke, and Sasuke found that answer to be very unsatisfying for whatever reason. "What do you think? By the way, I don't know your name. Sorry for not introducing myself earlier, but I got a kick out of bein' called a waiter."
Shit.
The man took a step toward him, hand out and ready to be shook.
"I can hug you if you'd rather," the man said when Sasuke stiffened, smile going wide, and then he doubled over, laughing at his own joke. "I'm kiddin'. You did say you weren't one for socializing. So, it's fine. Keep your anonymity, Batman." The man collected his jacket. "Thanks for keepin' me company back here. I guess I should," he hoiked his thumb in the direction of the doors, "Back out there before my friend buys up everything."
That got Sasuke curious. "If I may ask, who's your friend?"
"You may ask," the man replied, "But I'm not going to answer." He slipped his jacket on, and Sasuke vaguely took notice of the wider-than-average breadth of his shoulders. "It's a secret."
With a frown, Sasuke stared while the man held open one of the doors, long enough for a grateful waitress to slip through with a tray full of empty champagne glasses. Now that Sasuke got a good look at the man's rather dashing ensemble, he could see that he'd been very mistaken. Why hadn't he noticed the Gucci shoes or the Rolex that cost as much as a house?
Much to his chagrin, the blond began to grin at him as if reading his thoughts.
"Well, maybe I'll see you out there before the auction ends. Just don't try to hand me your empty glasses, huh? I promise I'm not a waiter." There was laughter in his eyes before the blond turned and left, the door swinging behind him and allowing in some of the noise from outside.
Jesus, who was that guy and why hadn't Sakura forced him to memorize the guest list?
Then again, not all of the Plus Ones had been submitted on the night he went over it with her. He might ask later, and, inevitably, the stranger would realize he was the artist.
If Sasuke was lucky, the other man might do a spit take upon finding out.
Sadly, that very well could end up being the highlight of his evening.
An hour into the event, Sakura and her team gathered everyone near the marked off area, where, hidden behind a sheet, hung Sasuke's latest piece. He had deemed it worthless, but Sakura had apparently fallen in love with it and decided to make it the crowning jewel of the exhibition. Rather than let simply anyone purchase it, it was to be held for auction. A professional auctioneer would start off the bidding war. The stipulation was that a percentage would go to a designated charity, as Sasuke and the team were invested in several. Usually they didn't make a big spectacle of it, but he was well aware how much money was going to come in, even after all of the expenses. He stood off to the side, having already flitted about, conversing with whomever Sakura told him to after being forced out of the kitchen.
Occasionally, his eyes had landed on the blond man, who was often engaged in conversation with someone new every ten minutes. At one point, a beautiful woman with ash blond hair and dripping in jewels, took hold of the stranger's arm. Sasuke knew immediately who she was —Yamanaka Ino—a well known collector and critic. She'd bought several of his paintings over the years, even when he'd first debuted. They'd never had a one-on-one conversation before, but he knew that Sakura would push him toward her by the end of the evening. Not that Sasuke was monitoring, but the pair appeared close. He couldn't tell if they were romantically together, however. Not that it was any of his business. It made him jealous in a way. The two of them seemed carefree, but being rich could do that to a person. He was suddenly having flashes of scenes from Parasite play out in his head. Sasuke smirked, but, unfortunately, when he looked over again, his eyes met with the other man's. Briefly, there was such a look of cunning and calculation in those big blue eyes that it took him a second to neutralize his expression.
They held the contact for a few seconds longer before Sasuke glanced away when Sakura took the podium. Ah, here it was, the moment Sasuke had been dreading minus the tiny hope he had that the blond would spit his champagne across the room once his identity was revealed.
The crowd quieted as Sakura greeted them, jewels sparkling under the can lights.
"First of all, we'd like to thank you so much for being in attendance today. I know some of you have waited a long time for this exhibition, but hopefully you feel your patience has been rewarded."
The crowd was well aware of how the show had virtually sold out already, so most of them laughed. God, Sakura was shameless. He had to shake his head.
"Most of the paintings tonight were listed and available online prior to tonight's event; however, the artist, Sasuke Uchiha, recently completed another—in my personal opinion—masterpiece akin to his renowned piece from several years ago. Even if he may beg to differ."
She glanced in his general direction while the audience gave another round of chuckles.
"And before he runs away into seclusion again, the artist, himself, will offer a few words before bidding begins. Sasuke," she gestured, "Would you mind coming up here?"
He sighed and, as he stepped away from the wall, the crowd parted once he made his way over to the small stage. The pageantry of all this made him ill, and as much as he would've loved to have given a speech about how their money would better serve other causes—Sakura would've ripped his balls off. He didn't try to look, so he wondered what expression the blond wore as he stepped on stage. Once he got to the podium, though, it seemed that their gazes met naturally.
Sasuke was annoyed to see that the man looked more amused than anything. To be honest, Sasuke was surprised the blond didn't try to shoot him a couple finger guns.
"Good evening," he said into the mic, trying to not sound too bored. "As my manager mentioned, this is a very recent piece." It took a lot of willpower not to complain about it. "The proceeds will benefit two particular charities we've often partnered with since my debut. I hope you will consider that while bidding, but also," his gaze seemed to drift to the blond again, "Find something meaningful in the piece, itself. I won't overshadow its impact by explaining what it means to me; as always, I never try to push an interpretation of my works onto others. You can see whatever you want; it makes no difference to me."
With that, he left the podium, and Sakura immediately took over for him, offering a fake laugh.
"Thank you, Sasuke. Your generosity knows no bounds."
He snorted, hearing her sarcasm. She'd yell at him later for being glib.
"Now, I'd like to welcome the auctioneer from—
After that, Sasuke stopped listening. He made his way to the back of the room. He didn't want to watch all of these sharks circling like his work like it was a bucket of chum. There was a neglected tray of champagne nearby, so he grabbed one of the glasses.
"You're the artist."
Sasuke almost choked on his champagne as he raised his eyes to see him.
"I am," he answered, voice hoarse from nearly asphyxiating. "You're going to have to wait until I finish this drink before you can collect my glass."
The other man chuckled. "You're really somethin' else. I see why Ino likes you."
"Yes, Ino. And she is your…?"
"Best friend," the man answered promptly, eyes trained to the front of the room.
Sasuke studied him for a moment, wondering why he was standing here. Then, the tarp draped over the painting was dropped. A collective gasp escaped many as they were finally able to view the piece. He looked around, noticing the awe, but was confused by it. When he glanced at the blond, the man's mouth had fallen open, gaze glued to the art.
"You painted that?" He breathed, turning to Sasuke, eyes wide with surprise.
"I thought we established that already...?" Sasuke replied, still befuddled.
It looked as though the other man would say more, but they were interrupted by a generic text notification sound. The blond pulled out his phone, read the screen, and eyed the room as if searching. A long, slim arm appeared above the heads of the crowd, waving urgently.
"Excuse me," he said to Sasuke. "I think I'm about to buy your painting."
Apparently he was being beckoned by his companion to return.
Sasuke simply shrugged, disappointed that the man's reaction had only been one of appreciation and wonder instead of outright embarrassment.
The bidding continued for a while, long enough for Sasuke to retreat into the kitchen. He was still human, so it felt awkward for a monetary value to be assigned to his painting. Well, not one agreed upon by himself and Sakura at least. If it weren't for the charities, he wouldn't have given his consent to auction it off. Something about it felt wrong. It made him feel exposed. Even if he didn't like the painting. Even if he couldn't understand the extreme interest in it.
From the safety of the kitchen, Sasuke opened one of the refrigerators and retrieved an opened bottle of champagne. Maybe other artists would consider this "success," but for Sasuke—he was already beginning to feel that sense of disappointment and self-loathing. Who was he, really? Why did he hate himself for having pride in being able to sell pieces for such large sums when the art only ended up in the hands of the people he loathed? It made him even more sick, that the cycle led to him also being categorized similarly. He was far from poor, making money on his own talents, but most of his customers were part of the 1% everyone hated. Could he talk about struggling when his paintings went for sometimes tens of thousands of dollars?
Could he really look down on these people when he profited from their frivolity? The whole process disgusted him, and yet art was the only thing he knew how to do.
Sasuke gripped the neck of the bottle more firmly, tempted to crash it against the marble counter. He, instead, set it aside gently and grabbed for his half-filled glass.
This is exactly what happened after the recognition and money began pouring in years ago, and he was already itching to disappear from the limelight. As far away as he could go.
"Cheers to you, you fucking sellout," he murmured into the empty room.
Sasuke might've been in the kitchen long enough for the majority of the staff to have left, only a couple remaining to finish cleaning and packing away rented glasses, silverware, and dishes. No one paid him much mind, even when he continued nursing at the champagne bottle. Not drunk, but buzzed enough to dull the festering self-frustration and pity he was feeling. He pushed the bottle aside, and the doors swung open dramatically.
Sakura entered with all the charisma of a famous courtesan, arms in the air and wild hair falling free from the earlier extravagant updo.
"There you are," she shouted, pointing at him. As if she didn't know he'd been in hiding. "I have someone I want you to meet. Immediately, s'il vous plaît."
Sakura snapped her fingers like he was a dog.
"How drunk are you?" He asked, not sure if he was offended or amused.
"That's not important right now. What is important is you meeting the auction winner! She's so lovely," Sakura giggled, "And so funny! She's with this wonderful man. And he's hot, Sasuke. He's totally your—"
Sasuke put a hand up. "I'm going to stop you there. Who ended up being the buyer?"
He recalled Naruto saying he would be bidding, but for all he knew, perhaps the man had purchased it as a gift for his best friend.
"Ino Yamanaka," Sakura replied, gliding closer to where he stood.
He nodded. "Of course. And her friend is…?"
"Single," Sakura answered, smiling as she adjusted the chest line of her dress.
"Not what I was asking." He crossed his arms. "His name? Have you heard of him?"
"Oh, yes!" She clapped her hands excitedly. "Naruto Uzumaki. He's that famous tech start-up guy? Haven't you heard of him? He invented something or other that has to do with digital, um, web. Something. I don't remember, but he's very rich! I'm not sure why the two aren't dating, but Ino was flirting with me." She giggled again, and Sasuke rolled his eyes at her giddy behavior, "They make such a lovely pair. So funny and charming? Oh, I wish you'd been out there."
Sasuke stared, half in a daze, while he attempted to analyze his level of upset. On the one hand, they were rich. On the other hand, the pair seemed amusing. But a lot of rich people were eccentric in a way that came off as not being completely horrible until it's made abundantly clear they are both vapid and self-absorbed. He'd met celebrities that seemed charming at first.
Usually it was just an act.
"Here?" He asked. "You're not forcing me to go to the afterparty."
"I thought we could all go to mine. You can leave when you want or pass out in one of the extra bedrooms like you usually do after a night of drinking."
"Just the four of us?" Sasuke's pinky touched the bottom of the champagne bottle, tapping it.
"Yes. Mostly because they spent an extraordinary amount of money on that painting, but also because, well. You know." She fussed with her chestline again.
"Is this all so you can get to know Ino better?" He raised an eyebrow, tone teasingly accusatory. "Isn't that… unprofessional?"
"Please. I don't want to hear that from you. Your exhibition night, and you've been hiding in the kitchen like a school boy. Naruto seemed curious about you, though." She waggled an eyebrow.
"How do you mean?" He shifted his weight to his other foot. "What did he ask?"
"Not much. He said he bumped into you earlier. Asked about your paintings and some other things. He was very polite and civil about it. I think he found you interesting, but I don't know why. I told him to forgive you if you'd been rude or said any of the strange things you usually do."
"It's not like I brought up Palestine or climate control," he mumbled.
"You could have," she said, flipping her hair and checking her phone. "They're very liberal."
"What happens if I say no?"
"Well, if you want to be a cockblock, that's your prerogative, but if Naruto's coming along, too. It would be very lovely if you could keep him company? Please? Sasuke?" She grabbed for his hand, shaking and swinging it. "I don't ask you for much. Just this one time? Sasuke?" She batted her faux mink eyelashes at him.
He looked away, snorting. "You're shameless."
"So?" She squeezed his hand.
"Fine," he gave in. "But if he annoys me, I leave. If you and Ino do anything out in the open, I leave."
"Well that's homophobic," Sakura murmured, hair twirling around a finger.
"I'll get us an Uber."
"Oh, I don't need a ride." Sakura waved her hand, dismissing his offer. "I'm going to ride with them in their limo."
Sasuke stared at her.
"What? Don't make that face. There's a bar in it!"
"Just what you need to do is drink more," he said and ran a hand through his hair.
"I want to have fun." She pouted. "It's hard being your manager."
"I doubt it; you always do as you please."
She tugged at his hand again, squeezing it and interlacing their fingers. "Sasuke."
"I already said I'd go. Let me grab my bag. I might stop by my apartment first, but I'll show up. I promise." He assured her with his own squeeze of Sakura's hand.
She immediately burst into a huge grin and sprinted out of the kitchen, yelling something loud and lewd enough that he hoped all of the other guests had gone home already. Sasuke, rubbing at his temple, sighed. He should at least change into something more casual than a suit before going over to Sakura's apartment. After taking another glance around the empty kitchen, he retreated to one of the storage rooms to grab his bag and submit a request for an Uber ride to his place.
Once home, Sasuke changed into a pair of black cargo pants and a loose long-sleeved black shirt. His contacts had been killing him, so he switched an old pair of glasses. After he brushed his teeth, he ran a comb through his hair, grabbed a bottle of water, and ordered another Uber.
He thought that in that amount of time, the other three would have arrived at Sakura's by now; instead, Sasuke had to let himself into the apartment. There were no messages or missed calls on his phone—at least not from Sakura, plenty from clients who'd somehow found his personal number and one persistent journalist. Which worked out fine for him. He was hopeful they wouldn't show at all, and he could crash in the spare bedroom. Sakura had all of the latest streaming platforms, so he might have a bottle of wine and pass out while watching something really stupid and vapid, like a supernatural or fantasy teen drama series.
Unfortunately, it wasn't his night, as right as he opened a bottle of merlot he'd had to dig out of Sakura's wine cabinet, the door unlocked with a click. Three figures stumbled in, laughing and clearly tipsy, all still dressed in the outfits from the exhibition. Sakura spun around, holding a pair of designer strappy high-heeled shoes at her side. She and the lovely blond woman, Ino, had their arms entwined. But, Ino held the man's—Naruto, was it?—hand, dragging him into the entranceway.
Almost immediately, Sasuke's eyes connected with Naruto's. He didn't know why Naruto looked surprised to see him. And Sasuke couldn't seem to help the way he flushed when Naruto's gaze traveled down and up again, even if it was merely a quick observational onceover, probably noticing his change in outfit. Ino was quick to distract her friend, however, and the threesome ended up shoving each other around for a minute, gaining their bearings and talking at once, until Ino and Naruto made a show of taking off their shoes and setting them by the door. Although, Naruto had to get down on one knee to assist Ino with her stilettos. That was about $4,000 in shoes stacked neatly by the door, beside Sasuke's black Converse sneakers he'd had since he was 22. When Naruto stood, Sakura offered to take his jacket, which she placed on a nearby hook with care.
Watching the scene, Sasuke brought the glass of wine to his lips and fought the temptation to flee out onto the terrace with his merlot bottle. Sakura, as if reading his mind, skipped over to his side and grabbed onto his arm. She appeared drunk; she was blushed and positively glowing.
"Sasuke," she said, wiggling against him, "These are my friends, Naruto and Ino." She gave an unnecessary gesture in their direction with her arm.
"You were in the limo an awfully long time," he murmured. "Was that enough time for a threesome?"
She was hardly scandalized. "In these dresses? Do you think we could get out of them that easily?"
"I see where your priorities lie." Sasuke smiled at her fondly before turning his eyes to the other couple. Ino was fussing with her long blond hair, twirling a ponytail around on top of her head and creating a knot that ended up staying in place. When she noticed Sasuke gazing at her, she seemed to tilt to the side. Naruto, quick to react, grabbed hold of her before she fell over.
"Um, hi," Ino said to him shyly, hands fidgeting in front of her.
"She's kind of a fan," Naruto supplied when Ino simply stared at him, "As I mentioned before."
"I bought your new painting," Ino blurted. "I mean—" She fidgeted some more, which, for some reason, felt like it didn't quite fit her character.
"Thank you," he said, and with a push from Sakura, he took a couple of steps toward her, although he wasn't sure what it is he was supposed to do. Shake her hand? Kiss it? Kiss her cheeks as if he were European? What was she expecting? At least he knew the auctioned painting would be going to someone who genuinely enjoyed and followed his art, but it was also incredibly awkward.
Ino took the initiative and wrapped her arms around him, embracing him like a long-lost relative.
"I've loved your work since your debut, you have no idea!" She blubbered excitedly while clinging onto him. "I have so many of your works, and I loved everything we saw tonight, especially the last painting." She released him from the hug, but remained gripping onto his arms. "Naruto and I both agreed it would be a lovely addition. I can't believe I'm finally talking to you in person!" She clapped her hands to her cheeks. "I'm such a fangirl, I'm so sorry! Forgive me, I'm a little drunk, but I'm so excited to meet you in person even if I must seem really annoying right now!"
"You're definitely not annoying," he managed to speak, growing flustered under everyone's attention. "Thank you for following my art even though I haven't been the most active artist."
He heard Sakura snort behind them.
"You don't know the half of it," she mumbled. "Ino come here, let me get you a drink!"
Ino gave him another lop-sided smile before leaving him to join Sakura in the kitchen.
He finally glanced up to meet Naruto's gaze. The other man appeared as put together as he had at the exhibition. There was a soft smile on his face as if he were endeared by the interaction.
"So," Naruto said, wearing a small smirk. "You're my best friend's favorite artist." He took a few steps closer to Sasuke, but it still left several feet of distance between them.
"And you're a millionaire pretending to be a waiter." He smirked, as well.
"Ah, yes. That's definitely how I recall events happening." Naruto smoothly slid a hand into his pant's pocket. "I'm sorry to have misled you. You must have a terrible first impression of me."
"Indeed." Sasuke bit into his bottom lip before asking, "Would you like some wine?"
"What are you havin'?" Naruto drifted closer, always looking so very amused by him, but Sasuke couldn't say he hated it.
"Merlot," he replied. "Do you like red wine?"
"I don't discriminate." Naruto smiled in full this time. "Merlot is fine. Thanks, Sasuke."
Sasuke blinked at hearing his name. It took him only a second to shake it off. He was happy to have the distraction, although he had to fight to make his way to the cabinet with the wine glasses. Sakura and Ino were giggling near the counter while refilling each other's shot glasses.
"Sakura," he said, when his mouth was close to his manager's ear. "Remember what happened the last time you had tequila."
"In fact, I don't remember what happened," Sakura replied to him sweetly, "Why don't you," she gave him a not-so-subtle shove, "Show Naruto around the apartment."
"I'm sure he's seen apartments before—"
Sakura glared, and when he glanced down, he saw that she was stepping on his socked foot. Of course, she weighed all of five kilos, so he barely felt it. He did get the message, however.
After pouring more in his own glass, Sasuke quickly poured one for Naruto, as well. He brought the glass to the other man, and when he suggested they adjourn to the terrace, Naruto agreed. Naruto seemed as aware as he was that they were playing wingmen to their friends.
For the sake of privacy and to spare himself going blind from seeing things he didn't want to see, he shut the sliding door behind them. The terrace had room enough for a small bistro set—table and two chairs—as well as a couple of wilting potted plants. Sasuke stood by the table, setting his glass atop it. The view was much nicer than his since the complex backed up to a small park, mostly used by neighboring apartments as a means for walking dogs. The night was clear, dotted with the occasional plane flying overhead. There was a sliver of a new moon hanging in the sky. After a minute, it sounded like Sakura and Ino had turned on some music.
"Are you feelin' as unwanted as I am right now?" Naruto asked, walking toward the ledge of the terrace, where he leaned against the top iron rail and looked out into the park.
"I know you're here, but I still feel like a third wheel," Sasuke muttered in agreement.
Naruto chuckled. "I told them I could find somethin' else to do, but for some reason they insisted I come."
Sasuke felt himself grimace. "Did Sakura tell you I'd be here?"
"She mentioned it might be a possibility, but I didn't think you'd show."
He spared Naruto a glance. "I'm afraid I don't know anything about you."
Naruto nodded. "I thought we already established that neither of us knows much about the other."
"Would you rather keep it that way?"
Naruto looked over. Sasuke remained standing by the table, fussing with a piece of fern that was dangling over the side.
"That's up to you. Ino says you're a rather reclusive artist. I don't want to invade your privacy."
"Hmm." Sasuke thought a moment before deciding to join Naruto near the ledge. He carried his wine and stood where there was still a fair amount of distance between them.
Sasuke gazed at the park, full of shadows, even in the moonlight. There was quiet between them. For some reason, he'd expected Naruto would be the talkative one. The air of mystery didn't suit him, but why he felt that way, he couldn't say. It didn't help that Sasuke sucked at small talk.
"So," he said after about five minutes of silence, "Sakura says you're a tech genius."
Naruto scoffed. "I don't know about that." He hummed, twisting the stem of his wine glass between his fingers. "Ever since I was a kid I liked takin' things apart and puttin' them back together—phones, computers, anything that plugged into a wall. Then I started buildin' my own things."
"Are you an engineer?" Sasuke asked.
"I studied computer engineering for a while. Took some electric and mechanical engineering classes, but college wasn't really for me. I learned more playin' around on my own."
"Ah, I see." Sasuke licked his lips free of the merlot. "I was never into that style of learning either. Except art history. I always enjoyed those classes because I was too lazy to pick up a book myself."
"I know what you mean," Naruto stretched forward, folding his arms so that his elbows rested on the rail. "If I want to learn somethin', I'll watch a video on YouTube. Hell, I'll do it myself."
"I thought you were a businessman," Sasuke said, "But you're an inventor?"
"I'm both, I guess," Naruto replied, standing straight again. "I don't get to be as hands-on as I'd like to now that I have a whole company and stock options and thousands of employees."
"Is it that hard being rich?" Sasuke asked, barely hiding the derision from his tone.
"I don't know," Naruto said, turning his body toward him. "You tell me."
Sasuke was quick to glance over, irritated by the smirk on Naruto's face.
"Did I hit a nerve?" Naruto asked.
What could he say? Naruto knew as well as he did how much his paintings had gone for tonight. It would be stupid to argue or get defensive, and Naruto wasn't exactly speaking out of malice. If anything, he sounded resigned, wary. But Sasuke didn't know why.
"It's… a thing I'm working through," Sasuke answered finally, hesitantly.
"Oh?" Naruto seemed to perk up. He leaned his elbow on the bar, now fully facing him.
"Don't you," Sasuke had to keep his gaze on the park below, "Ever feel guilty?"
"About what?" Naruto asked.
"Being wealthy," Sasuke mumbled. "I'm sure you're successful, but—"
"—Ah. You feel guilty for being successful?"
"Not successful, no," Sasuke sighed. "It's—"
"—The money? Because people don't have it, and you do?"
"If you say anything like anyone can be where we are if they try harder, I will throw you off this terrace. No regrets."
Naruto scratched behind his head, tilting it to one side. "I wouldn't say that. I guess it's funny you feel that way since, when you thought I was the help, you were adamant I shouldn't slack off."
"In all fairness," he said, forgetting to use a filter, "I thought I was paying you to serve food, not eat it."
"I suppose in all fairness," Naruto repeated. "Maybe it's reverse prejudice since instead of assuming I was rich, you thought I was a waiter because I was in the kitchen, eatin' 'your' food. When in actuality, I was, apparently, just a rich culinary mooch lookin' to escape a stiff crowd."
"Sorry if I didn't notice your Gucci shoes straightaway."
Naruto chuckled. "There it is again. Waiters can wear Gucci, too. Gucci doesn't discriminate."
Sasuke made a face. "If they didn't discriminate, they wouldn't sell a pair of sliders for $600."
"I won't argue that buying flip-flops for half a grand is puzzling, but people aren't really buyin' a product, Sasuke. They're buying a brand. It's a lifestyle thing."
"Thanks for the Marketing 101 tips, professor," Sasuke said, his tone low and mocking.
He knew he sounded like a hypocrite, but what was he supposed to do—hide his disdain?
"Not that you're askin', but it's somethin' that doesn't go away. I haven't been rich for very long. I started the same as you, and I'd been doin' my thing since I was a kid. I came up with a good idea, someone advised me to talk with a company interested in more efficient batteries for electric vehicles, and I happened to have some good ideas. I didn't do any of this to become wealthy, though I did want to take care of what little family I have. Unfortunately, the money is a consequence of my passion, and there's a lot of good you can do with the money you make. I'm sure you know."
Sasuke bit his lip, feeling its dryness thanks to the change in summer humidity as of late. It was quiet for a while again. The music still played from inside, a few crickets were chirping below and filling the air with their song.
"Is that why you disappeared?" Naruto asked. "You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
Sasuke looked over at him, surprised by the question. But Naruto's gaze remained straight ahead, as if taking the pressure off of him to answer. Normally, he wouldn't have answered, but… he was tired of running, he supposed.
"It wasn't only about the money or success," he attempted to explain. "At the time, I liked that my art was being recognized. What artist wouldn't want to be appreciated? But, when I realized it was a certain class of people who began hoarding my art, I wondered what I was doing wrong."
"Wrong?" Naruto seemed to shift closer, eyebrows drawn up. "What do you mean?"
He sighed. "Was I no better than a brand? Was I a lifestyle? Why did my art appeal to the rich? Did they even appreciate my art, understand it, or was I a fad? A decoration? An accessory?"
Naruto took in a deep breath and then let it out. "I see."
"I know that Ino—"
Naruto waved his hand. "I'm not offended. She wouldn't be either."
"I know I have prejudices," Sasuke admitted, squeezing the rail, "I'm sure your friend is a nice person, but I—"
"You don't have to explain," Naruto voiced softly. "I'm sure that was…" He shifted his weight and leaned his side against the ledge, glass placed on its wall, "A difficult moment. Questioning your self, your art. Were you worried that you had sold out by becoming famous?"
"Only because wealthy people were buying my art. If I'd felt everyone could appreciate it, that the art was accessible, but… maybe I'm just obsessed with that notion and oblivious about different types of people enjoying my art."
Naruto gave a nod of understanding. "You may be ignoring people who understand it more than the wealthy people who buy up your art, Sasuke. By focusing on one social class. There are probably college students writing about the meaning of your art, young artists who are inspired by your work."
"I don't know. Would I be inspired by someone like me, even if I liked the art. If I saw them dressed up in formal wear and prancing around posh parties, entertaining the rich—would I be able to enjoy the art if I found the artist to be a pretentious sell out?"
"Well." Naruto unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled them further up his forearms, revealing more of his tattoo. "What are your options? Besides disappearing again? Maybe you could find a corner somewhere and paint while people pass you by, leave out a tip jar."
Sasuke snorted. "Are you mocking me, or are you being serious?"
Naruto shrugged. "That's up to you. It sounds like you need to go back to your roots."
He frowned. "It's a lot more complicated than that. Now people rely on me for jobs. What would I do about the gallery? Sakura?"
"The gallery can focus on other artists for a while. Sakura has other clients, I'm sure. You two seem close, so I would guess she'd put your well-being first. Plus, you made plenty this evening. I'm sure besides being able to make a generous donation to your charities, the gallery also profited."
"I don't know what I would do." Sasuke turned, facing forward. He felt agitated and restless.
"Why not get away for a while? Take a trip."
"Where would I go? People would say I'm running away again."
"Why not make it a business trip?" Naruto suggested.
"What, like a tour?"
"It could be like that, but maybe you tell Sakura you're in need of inspiration. Personally, when I feel like I'm in a rut, I travel. If I go to a new country, see a different culture, I get inspired."
"And are you in a rut now?" Sasuke asked, slightly sarcastic.
"Why?" Naruto's tone was light, teasing. "Do you want to take a trip with me? We hardly know each other, Sasuke. But, I have to say, I'm very flattered."
Sasuke rolled his eyes. "Don't you have a company to run?"
"I can run my company from anywhere, and I've hired good people. They're plenty capable in my absence."
"This makes it sound like you're the one who wants an excuse to escape."
"And?" Naruto crossed his arms. "So what if you're right?"
He didn't understand. "You could go anywhere, with anyone."
"I don't want to go anywhere with just anyone."
Sasuke narrowed his eyes. "...Why then? Do you feel sorry for me now that you've heard my story?"
Naruto fussed with his cuffs. "I'd hardly call that your story. If you don't want to, I'd go alone, or maybe I won't go at all. But, it's an opportunity for both of us to avoid burnout and get re-inspired. I think we'd get along, and you're free to go home any time you want."
"So, what? We take your private jet across the world?"
Naruto shrugged. "Well, where we can. Sometimes we may have to fly commercial. But, if you have a problem with spending money on first class, we can always fly economy."
Sasuke couldn't keep the disgust out of his voice. "I'd rather gouge my eyes out."
Naruto let out a bark of laughter. "You are… something else."
Sasuke smirked. "I'm a hypocrite, just say it."
"I don't need to because I don't feel that way, but it's clear that's how you feel."
He hummed. "I would never do something like that. Sakura would kill me."
Naruto reached for his wine glass, which was nearly empty. "I'll talk to her. I'm sure she'd be okay if we offered Ino to keep her company."
"You're using your friend as a bribe?" Sasuke asked, and now he could see the businessman side of Naruto coming out. There was something sharper to his gaze, almost intimidating.
"I prefer to see it as me being the best wingman in the world." Naruto smiled, but Sasuke could feel there was something more behind all of this.
"Hn." Maybe it was the wine, or maybe it was the gloom of an impending depression should he continue to stay here after the gallery exhibition, but he replied: "Let me sleep on it."
"That's fair." Naruto seemed pleased with his response. "I'll give you my business card. I'll be in the office tomorrow. Or, you can always stop by."
"I'm sure you're a busy man." Sasuke's cheeks felt hot, but he attributed it to the humid night air.
"Never too busy for you, Sasuke." Naruto's smile grew bigger, biceps bulging beneath his dress shirt as he folded his arms behind his head, looking unabashedly cocky.
Sasuke shook his head. "I suppose I have nothing to lose if I say yes."
"Now that's the kind of enthusiasm I like to hear." Naruto laughed, and Sasuke smiled at him, shaking his head again.
After a moment, Sasuke glanced up at the sky, feeling something shake loose in his chest. He wasn't an impulsive person by nature. It didn't feel like sabotage this time, to run away with Naruto for a couple of weeks. It felt exciting. It might end in disaster, but it was much better than the alternative. He knew himself. He would end up hiding away in his apartment, dreading to read about the critiques regarding his new work, whether they gushed about his art or not.
"Shall I get us some more wine?" Sasuke ventured, figuring that they were in this for the long haul, at least until Sakura gave them the boot so she could be alone with Ino. "Or are you needing to turn in since you have work tomorrow?"
"I'll have one more glass," Naruto said. "And then I expect to hear from you in the morning."
"We'll see," Sasuke said, heading for the sliding door. "Just… don't get your hopes up."Spark