Untouched: The Persistence of Loss
Written by Venerate
With Teeth: Part I
Eight years later...
A small tattoo on the crook of his neck. A small rebellion. Easy to hide, easy to cover. A small piece of art in black ink on his porcelain skin. It was his own creation: there to prove his own will, nearly non-existent. Black eyes, seemingly darker than the ink on his shoulder. Black hair, spiked and blue-tinted. A great contrast to his ashen complexion.
Traces of anger on his handsome face; his full lips in a straight line, to show displeasure. Displeasure, always there to taint his gorgeous features.
A well-built body. Strong, reliable. Beautiful, fast. So fast, so fast. Prompt and rapid, always alert and awake. Years of soccer practice had paid off, showing his great physique under those clothes. A real shame that his stunning body had to be hidden under clothes.
Always dark clothes. Blue turtlenecks, grey shirts, black jeans. A hint of white on the wife-beater under his navy blue dress shirt. To show his pain; a piece of his tortured soul in his clothing. No, not really. Dark clothes to fit in; to hide.
Uchiha Sasuke ran. He ran fast, sweat pouring out from every pore on his body. His hair was a mess, bangs sticking to his sweaty forehead. His hands were warm, as hot as the rest of his moving body. He was on first place, knowing that no one would catch up with him if he continued in this pace.
His coach, Hatake Kakashi, was standing by the sidelines. Watching with one, grey eye – just waiting for Sasuke to get tired, to sprain his foot, to screw up in any way. Sasuke was waiting for it as well, wondering how this could be so perfect. He just had to push himself a little more.
"Okay! That's enough!"
Sasuke didn't care. He knew that he could run at least two more laps around the field. Just two more.
"Uchiha! Get your ass over here!"
No. His sight was blurry, but there was nothing wrong with his hearing. He could hear Kakashi perfectly clear. He just chose to ignore the silver-haired man. Just one more lap.
"Now! Or I'll kick you off the team on this instant!"
Sasuke slowed down, his strong legs protesting weakly as drowsiness washed over them. He didn't doubt that Kakashi would do that. He bent over, practically swallowing air to get it into his burning lungs. He blinked, clearing his sight from the haze. He let out a strange noise from the back of his throat.
"Inuzuka, go get Uchiha before he vomits on my grass."
Sasuke growled between gritted teeth, refusing to show any kind of weakness. He straightened his posture, glad that he wasn't dizzy. He could take more than that, and he didn't want to come off as fragile to his team. He was the captain after all.
A boy, about the same height as Sasuke, jogged up to him. His brown hair was plastered to his sweaty face, but that didn't seem to bother Inuzuka Kiba. Instead, the other male grinned and offered an arm to his captain. Sasuke threw a dark glare at the brunet before walking over to the rest of the team. He could practically feel Kiba's irritation, but couldn't care less. There was nothing new about Sasuke being chilly, so the brown-haired team member said nothing.
Once they both stood next to Kakashi, the others had gone quiet. It could be quite a feat to make the soccer players to shut up.
"So, now when Uchiha is done showing off," Kakashi chirped mockingly. Sasuke sent a glare the coach's way. "Next week, your first game this semester is held in Sunagakure. Anyone who knows they won't be able to join us?"
No one dared to raise their hands, afraid that Kakashi would cause a scene of disdain and mockery. Hatake could be quite ruthless when it came to games – he was very dedicated. If one bailed out, the entire team became punished – teamwork was Kakashi's favourite word.
"Jolly good! Off to showers, you've done well today." He shooed them away, impatient to get back to reading one of the few books he kept to. "Uchiha, you stay."
Sasuke kept himself from sighing, knowing that it would do no good. "Yes, Hatake?"
Kakashi smiled at him, his visible eyes shutting closed as he did so. "One more stunt like that and I won't let you play in Suna."
"Hm."
Sasuke wasn't sure if Kakashi would really do that, but he wouldn't bet on it. He was the best player, though he was not the only good one. As Kakashi waited for a real reply, Sasuke fought with himself inwardly. He wanted to keep his spot in the team, of course, but he didn't want to surrender to this old fool.
"Say it, Sasuke."
Kakashi was enjoying this way too much, Sasuke noted. He grunted out a low, "It won't happen again."
"Ah, I'll keep you to that. Off you go – you have art class in half an hour, no?"
Sasuke walked away, nothing else leaving his mouth for the rest of the day.
School, practice, art classes. School, practice, art classes.
One day, he would do something rash. Something stupid. Just because he had gotten stuck in this routine. He wanted to get out. Break the pattern.
School, awful. Nothing but unenthusiastic teachers speaking dully over the giggles and whispers of the class. Nothing but unenthusiastic students teasing and joking with each other. Practice, his love. Sweat, blood and tears. Though, not literally. He hadn't cried since he was a mere child. Art classes, a must. His mind could be blank, his hand could be shaking – yet, he was forced to draw; paint.
Nothing but a routine to go over and over, again and again. His life was a routine. He would be satisfied with just changing it a little, a small bit. Perhaps not go to school? Perhaps art classes on Saturdays? Anything to change the horrible life he led.
"Baby brother."
Sasuke looked up from his desk, his face blank. He put his pen down, deeming his homework finished for the moment. He looked up at his older brother. "Yes, Itachi-nii?"
"Father and mother have requested our presence on the performance at the Grand Theatre. There is a lovely ballet performance this evening."
Itachi showed no emotion on his handsome face, but Sasuke could practically feel the joy. Itachi's favourite pastime was to torture him in every way possible. "And what time am I expected to be ready for departure, big brother?"
"The show starts eight o'clock this evening." With those words, Itachi walked out of the room.
Sasuke turned in his chair, unaffected by Itachi's information. It wasn't too often his parents took him with them when they were going out, but it wasn't rare either. They wanted their youngest son to be seen on cultural, popular – appropriate – events. Such as ballet, musicals, theatres.
He sighed, hiding his handsome face in his hands. He felt no excitement upon hearing the word 'ballet'. He could enjoy musicals and theatres at times, but dance performances... He didn't really get them, what they were supposed to represent. Of course, he always seemed to be the only one with these thoughts, so he kept them to himself.
He picked up the pen again, staring down on the inky words in his science book. He didn't really understand why he was doing this. What good would come out from school? He would become an artist – painting landscapes, drawing inanimate object – whether he liked it or not. He would die. Just like everyone else, he would die.
Absent-mindedly, he started doodling in the science book on his desk. An eye, black from the ink. A female eye, he believed. Yes, with a straight nose and round lips. Red in his mind, black on the paper. A face. If his father saw this, he would snort at his son's wish to draw living objects, saying there is no fame in drawing people.
It was sad reality; sad reality that Sasuke wanted nothing but to put human emotions down on his canvas.
The term 'dress to impress' was the motto of Sasuke's family. Mikoto, Sasuke's gorgeous mother, lived to impress others. That was one of the reasons as to why Sasuke's father had deemed her worthy entering the Uchiha clan. She was intelligent, beautiful and simply perfect to stay by Fugaku's side.
Sasuke himself was supposed to find one of those. Whether it was a man or a woman – the Uchiha Clan accepted anything that was fashionable, and right now, being bi- or homosexual was acknowledged by society. Despite gender, Sasuke's future spouse had to be perfect. Even though there were many living examples of this perfection in his clan, Sasuke had a hard time believing that he would find someone that he would tolerate.
He could see a few girls and boys in his own age, probably dragged here by their parents, but none seemed appealing. Most teenagers looked like him on these kinds of events – clad in dark, expensive clothes; a dull facial expressions; proud postures and strict attitude. These teens were, like him, expected to marry a copy of themselves.
"Sasuke-kun, stop daydreaming," Mikoto whispered softly. She put a reassuring hand on his shoulder as they walked behind Fugaku and Itachi towards their seats. From their comfortable, red chairs, they would be able to see and hear everything on stage. Just the way Sasuke liked it – that way, he felt as if he was a part of everything; controlling.
"This dance group has been getting great reviews in the newspapers," Fugaku informed them. "One of my co-workers said that they have gotten a lot of awards the last two years."
Mikoto nodded, smiling sweetly as Fugaku continued to praise the ballet dancers. Sasuke didn't bother to listen – he could always read about them in the brochure. His gaze travelled over the audience, but he couldn't really see much in the dim light. Almost all seats were occupied, and it had Sasuke wondering what was so great with ballet anyway.
Dark eyes scanned the seats closest to him, thinking that, soon, they would all be watching a bunch of teenagers in tights and spandex suits jump around on stage; watching them twirl and tip on their toes in different lights. Not to say that he minded – he enjoyed the music very much. What he couldn't understand was how someone could be moved to tears by a ballet performance, or how someone could claim it to be art. He couldn't understand where the emotions were in the dancers.
He had yet to see a ballet performance that could be labelled as art.
Someone cleared their throat loudly, and Sasuke's narrow eyes were immediately on the big stage. A short, purple-haired female was standing there with a poisonous smile on her face. Sasuke almost frowned at the horrible shirt she wore – it looked as if someone had puked over it.
"Welcome," she boomed. Sasuke was a bit surprised of her voice; so strong. The tone almost reminded him of his father's. "There has been a slight change in dancers as the female leading role, Hyuuga Hinata, is incapable of dancing this evening. Her replace is Namikaze Naruto. Due to this, Namikaze-kun's role will be played by Hyuuga Neji. Deal with it."
Sasuke arched a brow, knowing that Namikaze Naruto was a boy. Sasuke didn't know what 'Namikaze-kun' looked like, but he had heard of him before. From what Sasuke had heard, Namikaze Naruto was a great dancer – but nothing less was expected from the son of the mayor. He guessed that it didn't matter what gender you had while dancing ballet. He also knew Hyuuga Neji from school, knowing that the polished teen was from the lower part of the Hyuuga Clan.
"Before I leave the stage to my students, I would just like to thank you all for coming, and I wish you a pleasant evening." With a graceful bow, she walked off the stage to leave place for the dancers.
Sasuke watched, perking up a little at the choice of music. He watched intently, knowing that he would have to be a part of the discussion later. His father always liked to discuss whatever events they took part of.
The first dancer to enter was a boy, probably around Sasuke's height. He had long, brown hair in a ponytail and a stern look on his face. Sasuke recognised him as Neji immediately. He twirled, walked on his tiptoes, gestured with his muscled arms and made other refined movements to the music. Nothing special, Sasuke thought. Every ballet dancer could do that.
As the music calmed down a little, a second dancer appeared. This one was shorter than the brunet by almost a head, but that didn't make him seem any smaller. He was blond, the skin that was showed a bronze colour. He was a great contrast against the taller dancer.
The blond dancer gestured with his lanky arms exactly when the brunet did; they jumped together exactly the same time; they showed off their flexibility together – they did everything exactly the same, at the same time. Slowly, slowly, painfully so.
Yet, Sasuke found himself staring at the blond. Neji faded in comparison to the fair-haired teen. Tearing his eyes from the graceful, slim creature, Sasuke looked him up in the brochure. Namikaze Naruto.
No wonder people said that he was so great.
A few more dancers entered the stage, but Sasuke didn't pay attention. The blond, now frozen in the centre of the stage, was staring up towards the high ceiling. Sasuke could see those eyes perfectly well from their great seats.
Blue. Blue orbs, shimmering with what could be anything from exhaustion to fear of doing wrong.
Had Sasuke been anyone else, he might have been curious. Curious – what was that feeling, visible in those colourful eyes? However, being no one but himself, Sasuke didn't wonder. He felt no curiosity and he felt no urge to find out. He was busy with the itching in his hands – the itch to create something, to be able to capture exactly that look.
Then, the moment was ruined. Naruto moved again, his chest moving rapidly with his harsh inhales and exhales, almost running. Running towards Neji, jumping, flying, landing beautifully. Even though Sasuke was far from educated within ballet, he was sure that it was a perfect jump. A part of him wondered what if felt like to be the tall brunet, who caught Naruto in the air.
What a gorgeous feeling it had to be, Sasuke thought. Being depended on like that.
While being in his own mind like this, he failed to notice the curious glances his brother sent him. Itachi offered a small, knowing smirk before returning to look at the beautiful show.
Sasuke usually went to bed early; lack of sleep made him a nasty being. This night seemed to be different, though.
Low music was played – the same music that had been played during the ballet show. Soft piano keys, as if being barely touched, followed by violins and heavy cello.
If he closed his eyes, he could still see that haunted look in deep blue eyes, only for the oceanic colour to turn into something enthusiastic and excited. The itchy feeling in his hands was even worse now, a lead pencil hovering over his paper. He wanted to capture both expressions – the fair of failing and disappointing, as well as the thrill of performing what you loved the most.
His garbage bin was filled with papers by now, all with half-done eyes and faces on them. He was getting more frustrated by the second. Even though he could see that face perfectly well in his mind, it was impossible to put those lines onto paper. He just couldn't; nothing he drew was even remote to what he had seen. Nothing was even worthy called a drawing.
He was starting to feel stupid. There was no motion, no feeling. What was he trying to do? It was worthless – nothing turned out as he wanted it. Even if it had, it wouldn't have been any use. He wouldn't be able to show it to anyone. The clan members would just start to rant about fame and future, Itachi couldn't care less, and he had no one else. He wouldn't be able to put it on his walls, for that would only creep him out.
There was nothing normal with being obsessed with a stranger. He knew that very well. Yet, it was impossible for him to stop imagine that sweaty body, moving so gracefully. Impossible to forget that handsome face, those indescribable eyes and that smiling mouth. The perfect model.
Oh, how he wanted to draw. Draw and draw, look up and see the motive, draw even more and look over his model again, erase something and put out details. For hours and hours, the perfect model in his room, looking at him with those eyes. He would be able to make the perfect drawing, so alike the pretty model that it hurt the viewer.
So much motion, so many feelings.
To Be Continued