Characters: Naruto, Sasuke (minor/mentioned: HinataxKiba, Shikamaru, Neji, Sakura, Kabuto, very subtle Haku)
Genre: Romance
Rating: K+ for cursing and very mild implied sexuality
Other Notes: AU fic where the storyline is just the imaginings of a lonely boy.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Mishaps in a Moshpit
The band screams—I don't know who they are, it doesn't matter. All that matters is that my blood is pumping dangerously, and my limbs are flailing aimlessly. I love this feeling, when I can let loose and just push and shove without purpose.
Someone elbows me in the ribs—but that doesn't matter, either. I called the nurses at the hospital before coming to this show. I know them all pretty well, by now. The one on duty at the time—Kabuto, who I don't think likes me very much—warned me that if I got hurt again in his timeslot he would hire a hitman. Which is actually a fairly scary threat coming from him, though perhaps a little extreme. I think he's got some sort of connection with the mob.
It's probably Sakura's shift right now, though. I wonder fleetingly if I should break my arm on purpose to visit her . . . and then I remember the last time I went to see her—with a broken nose. Needless to say, she wasn't happy. From the looks of her, she would have given me a black eye to match my nose if it hadn't meant risking her job.
I resolutely decide to wait until after midnight to go to the hospital.
I push my way out of the pit after a little while. It's not that I'm tired—really. I don't know, I just get out. Call it instinct, call if fate, if you like. I'll call it I-felt-like-it.
I see a girl lingering on the side of the moshpit. Her two index fingers are pressed together and she's glancing at the pit nervously. She looks indecisive about whether or not to jump in. I myself find myself irresolute as to whether I should push her in or try to talk her out of it. She does look awfully frail.
But before I can do a thing about it, she turns—and sees me. Our eyes meet for one split second and . . .
And then she's on the ground. The guy to blame for it is already pressing himself back into the moshpit. Without even so much as a sorry!
Either he's completely obvious of what he did, I rationalize with some difficulty—logic is Shikamaru's thing, not mine—or he just doesn't care. He seems like the type of guy who would do the latter.
I move towards her—to help her up—but a guy with bright red triangles painted on his cheeks beats me to it. He emerges from the moshpit sweating and breathing heavily, and I can see several bruises forming on his upper arms. He ignores his own exhaustion and rushes up to the girl, worry filling his eyes.
"That bastard," I hear him curse as he pulls her up carefully. He checks her over carefully—with his eyes only, mind you—and I see her blush under his gaze. When he seems to realize she's not hurt, he turns his head towards the moshpit, as if he's about to find the guy is he glares hard enough.
"Just forget it," she murmurs, and takes his hand to pull him away. He seems to concede—though reluctantly—and I lose sight of them in the crowd.
Damn them.
Damn them all.
I look around immediately after thinking that, just to make sure the death god wouldn't actually come to fulfill my wishes.
Insert sigh of relief.
I gratefully return to my angst-filled train of thought.
I've been wondering lately if it's worth even coming to these shows anymore. Sure, the rush is amazing—with all the pointless violence, what's not to like—but it pisses me off beyond words to see the groups collect all around me. The couples, the friends, even the kids that come with their parents have someone.
I have no one.
So I mosh all the harder to push those annoying, angsty thoughts out. In I go. If I'm feeling physical pain, I have no time to hurt inside. Unless someone critically injures one of my ribs . . . but that's not what I mean.
Maybe Neji is right—for once—about all the destiny garbage he spouts. I catch sight of a familiar black shirt with a fan-thing on the back almost immediately. Where have I seen it before . . .?
It's that guy! The one that had pushed the quiet girl with the white eyes. I shove towards him, ready to give him the beating of his life. It's people like him that give moshers a bad name.
We're not that bad . . . really!
It's almost as if he knows I'm coming because he keeps dodging my pushes at the last minute. It's becoming a short-term goal of sorts for me—to avenge that girl and her honor! Maybe I should get a sword . . .
I finally think that I have him—cornered against the stage—but he climbs up, ready to throw himself into the swarm of moshers to crowd surf.
Damn it! I'm about to climb up after him when an unusually clever idea comes to me. He's got to come down . . . right?
Unfortunately, I find my plan isn't as easy to carry out as I thought I would be. Moshpits don't exactly leave time for one to stop and look around. I wonder if I should just forget the guy as I push back at a girl—no, it's a guy . . . wait . . . whatever.
No! I said I would get him—even one measly punch will be enough to satisfy me at this point—and I will! That's my way of—okay, no. I'm not a ninja in real life, Naruto, I scold myself angrily.
Even as I think this someone lands on my head. Those birdies are awfully pretty. Wait . . .it's that guy again! He's landed right on my lap—literally . . . well, almost. The people around stop momentarily to ask us if we're okay—I mean I'm lying on the ground with my eyes crossed, any decent person would ask.
I sit up and nod slowly, shoving the guy away even as he's pulling himself off me. No, I can't let him escape, but when I'm so close to achieving my goal! I kick at his leg with my foot; just hard enough for him to notice it isn't accidental.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, idiot?" he says, a sneer on his face. I open my mouth to answer when I'm shoved from behind roughly. I'm still in the middle of a moshpit. Damn it!
And the guy is already turning away.
No! I jump up in a flash, and grip his arm tightly, even as I feel bodies pressing against me—not in a good way. I pull the two of us out of there as quickly as I can—receiving a nice elbow to the ribs for my impatience.
"Who the hell are you?" The guy screams at him, pull his arm out of my grip one we're out of the pit. He shakes his head briefly, and continues, "No, forget it! I don't care who you are. I don't even care what you think you're doing! I'm going to kill you!" And then he launches himself onto me. I wonder briefly if I've maybe screwed with the wrong person. I only fight sane people, you know, the ones without homicidal tendencies.
Now, if this were any other kind of situation—or nearly any other kind of situation—I wouldn't mind him launching himself onto me, actually. I mean, I'm not a very good judge of character, but I know good looks when I see them. And this guy is as well endowed in that department.
Although, I can't say the same for his friendliness. Or sanity, for that matter. This is why I set off running. I completely forget that I'm supposed to be trying to protect that girl's honor—swordless, by the way. I look back to see if he has a sword. Oh, thank goodness, he doesn't. He looks about ready to kill me—I should have taken him seriously when he screamed that at me, I suppose.
I run faster. Almost outside. Once outside I can hide under a bush or something. That is if he doesn't notice my bright orange outfit. Damn it.
I make it out of the building, but it doesn't help me. As I run through the grass, I feel someone jump on top of me. I land on the dirt with a loud thud and a cry of oh sh-uff. The guy's turning me over by the time I'm ready to react, and there aren't a lot of choices for me when he's sitting on my stomach, and holding my arms down with both of his hands.
"Answer me this: what exactly are you trying to do?" A frown has spread across the guy's face, but the fury seems to have leaked from his eyes. Thank goodness. I like my face the way it is.
"You pushed a girl and didn't even say sorry." It sounds about a million times stupider when I say it out loud. Yes, I think to myself, and accompany this thought with a mental picture of myself pumping my arm into the air in victory—sarcastically, mind you. My life's dream has been fulfilled. A really hot guy thinks I'm a complete idiot!
It still kind of burns when he tilts his head back and laughs loudly. "No way, are you serious?" He asks, tears streaming from his eyes when his laughter finally subsides.
"Yeah."
He laughs a little bit more. Damn it! "I get it, it was a stupid idea. You can stop laughing now, asshole!"
"What's your name?" the guy asks, demurely, a smile still on his face.
I try pouting, turning my head away, and not answering, but he simply presses down on my arms to remind me who is holding the reins at the moment. "Uzumaki Naruto," I mutter dejectedly. I hope he doesn't hear me.
"Uzumaki Naruto? You're that kid that lives by himself and imagines himself some imaginary ninja world, aren't you?" The rumors have spread so far already?
"Maybe I am, maybe I'm not."
"You know, the fact that you're not answering me directly immediately proves that you are. If you weren't you would no doubt intensely try to convince me you're not." He says this all with a smug look on his face. I want to bite him—not in a good way. Yes, there is a good way. Think hard enough and you'll figure it out.
He's going to be my rival, I think to myself, already shoving myself into my head. I use my imagination as a shield against their harsh words, against my own pathetic loneliness. It's an escape for me, just like moshing. And only in my head can I feel as if I know these people. And so I take the people I see, the blonde girl in my gym class, my English teacher, the boy with the triangles on his cheeks, and I make them someone, in my head.
And I don't feel so alone.
This boy, he'll be super strong when we first meet, and I'll make a pact with myself to become stronger, just to beat him. I can see him already in ninja clothes. Dark blue, black, like his eyes, like his heart.
He looks pretty good.
"I'm Uchiha Sasuke-" I giggle inwardly. Fan . . . what a last name. Well, I giggle until he leans forward, and my breath catches. His eyes are so dark, the complete opposite of my own. If I had any skill with words, I'd describe them better. Black like the . . . ink that comes from a squid's tentacles? I give up as soon as I start.
"So, tell me about this world." That gives me a start. He wants to know . . . more? Most people are content with just finding out who I am. So, as you might guess, I am immediately distrustful.
"What are you trying to get at?" I ask angrily, annoyed that he isn't happy with just ignoring me like everyone else is. Instead, he wants to play around with my feelings, and make me feel more alienated from everyone else.
Sasuke—no more 'the guy', I know his name now!—rolls off me gently and lays down on the grass next to me. I don't dare turn and look at him—he's kind of freaking me out.
"I'm curious. What's this ninja world about?" For the first time, I consider the fact he really might be interested.
Even if he isn't, I decide resolutely, it's not like having another person thinking I'm a weirdo is anything to cry over. Looking up at the starry night sky—they really could be fireflies—I wonder if this is what if feels like to have someone care.
And so, with the tips of his hair tickling my neck slightly, I clear my throat and begin.
"It starts out in the Hidden Village of Konoha, where a boy called Uzumaki Naruto lives . . . "
fin.
I think the ending is a bit abrupt, but I don't want to rip this story into pieces, exactly. Review and tell me whether or not I should redo the ending, please.