AN: Blauherz, I couldn't respond to your review, so I will respond here. In the chapter 2, I have put a new AN at the begining of it, for those who might think the same as you, and I too, think that I might have annoyed some of my readers, I didn't enjoyed to write it very much as I enjoy describing feelings or thoughts, but I had to write it, it was necessary and I promise to don't describe as much as there, it was the only chapter with that much describing for a place, and I too think that it's okay to write just so you can imagine the rest, if you read the AN from chapter 2, it is described almost the same as in here but for the ones that will read it then. Thank you for your patience and that you continued to read even if you annoyed you a little and I really appreciate how honest you were in your review and I thank you from the bottom of my heart because you've told me.

And I am sorry if I've annoyed someone, I didn't want to, and I hope that won't stop you from reading my next chapters, I promise to be back to the language and at the descriptions that I had in chapter 1 which is how I like to write and how I want this story to be.

With the softness of a poem, like describing of an open red rose, and the story of a man that hates the world so much but in the same time, finds the beauty of it everywhere.

So, now, enjoy the chapter:

Standing on my bed, looking at the window, at the pouring rain that threatens that she won't stop until the late afternoon or maybe until tonight. The inspiration has hit my mind, with a poem and I quickly took a white sheet from the table and a pen and I begun to write, even if I stopped at the beginning of each verse, but in the end, this is all that I could write:

As the sky that cries on my dirty windows,

As the red balloon lost from a carnival

Leaded by the wind until it will burst, until…

It will arrive exactly …nowhere.

Chapter 3: Resistance

The silence of the morning, the sun hasn't made its appearance yet and the night seems to bat its eyelashes at the short but cold breezes, and at the dew that sat on the fresh grass but has been washed away by the tears of the clouded sky.

I watched and listened to the only sound that could be heard, the drops of tears on my balcony, the breeze that yells outside and seems angry every time it hit my window and my door.

I watched and I listened but surely, it all became just a picture, a moment blocked in time, and I was the only one alive, slowly, it all became just a background sound, while the principal actor were my own thoughts, this colorless scene was even more dramatic when my thoughts entered in the scene but even if in my head, everything moved, on black and white, everything was alive in a moment, even so, my body in the cruel reality didn't moved.

The scene was like a picture, in enough time, nothing seemed to move but as always, the power of anger, the electricity has divided the sky in two before of my two black eyes.

The sound of the anger that has swallowed the sound of the sky that it's still crying, like someone that begins to shout when someone cries, like a child, a poor, sad and blameless child that is crying, and an angry mother that has begun to hit him, suddenly yells and blames him.

Like the rain and the thunder.

But even if I watched and listened to the scene, I still have not moved an inch. It was a scene so well known for me that it seemed uninteresting and I watched and listened without pity in my soul.

I was the father that has watched the scene, but hasn't moved one finger to help, nor the child or the mother. I don't take sides, so I didn't help any of them.

Because I am the one that is a stranger, but still, someone that is in the middle of all this. My sorrow was too deep, I am on the bottom of the ocean but on the ocean's surface, the destructive storm waits and begs for my attention.

But I am too down, my ears are deaf from the morbid atmosphere that had covered my ears, my body numb from the heavy water, and my mouth covered, lips glued and even if I would dare to unglue them, nobody would hear me.

'From the bottom of the ocean.'

I thought and just then, I moved, I rose up from my bed and I pulled the blinds for the window and from the door. I could still hear but I couldn't see and so, I ignored the sounds, it became one with the silence.

I lit one cigarette and then I got out of my room with it between my lips.

The living room is the same, in its own silence, in its own cries. But for the first time, when I looked at my right, I saw a living form, which was a sleeping young boy.

His body it's stretched on the couch, one hand falling off the edge of the couch and the other one on its stomach, where the fabric couldn't cover, the shirt is a little more up from the constant moving that he has done while sleeping, while one of his leg almost touches the ground and the other one the wall, with the help of the couch. Blond hair is disorderly, along with his clothes.

While I walked nearer, I could almost swear that he is salivating, but for a reason that I don't know, nothing surprises me. It annoyed me, the behavior he had earlier, he played for me when I already know his real behavior. The one he had in the park.

"Hello old man."

I've quickly looked at my left, at a bank that it's not empty but changed, with a boy sitting on it, in a quite rude posture, as if sleeping there but not looking like a beggar either.

"Hn."'

The memory passed through my eyes like a headlight of a car while I watched the road, it came so quickly and it passed the same.

But I remained in reality while I watched his face, the rebel blond hair and the closed eyes.

I put the cigarette between my lips again and let it there while with my right hand I begun to slowly pull down the shirt that was up, but I was surprised and my eyes opened wider, as if the thunder has spreaded and exploded on the sky again, but no.

He caught my hand with his and then he has turned himself on his right side, still holding onto my hand as if he is holding a teddy bear to his chest.

'He doesn't realize.' I thought quickly while I closed my eyes for a second.

I tried to retreat my hand, but at first, he didn't allowed me, but the second time I tried while holding onto his hand, and I tried to retreat the other trapped hand, I succeed but didn't, 'cause he caught the hand with which I tried to free the other one.

I stared at him while I couldn't believe he behaves like this even when he is asleep.

'What was in my head?'

I continued to stare at him while he made a sound which I couldn't identify as anything else than a groan of an man asleep, but still…

'How tired are you?'

I stared at our hands without any real motive, my mind blank and my cigarette continued to burn on its own while I asked nothing from it.

"Sasuke?"

I've quickly looked up at him but I remained the same. But he is with sleepy and confused blue eyes staring back at me.

We both know our positions, and there is nothing to be embarrassed about but I am sure I will soon become a little because without reason, we continue to stare at each other's eyes and none of us will move.

"Good morning."

I said and I've realized that I could hear the water drops on the window of the living room too. I could hear the rain but there was no thunder, just the child that it's still crying.

He stared at me and he closed its eyes as if trying to come back to reality and then he spoke in a low sleepy voice:

"Morning."

He said and then he has finally freed my hand from its tight hold, and I took it back, not too quickly but also, not too slowly.

I walked to the kitchen quite quickly and I put the cigarette in the ashtray and then, I put both of my hands on the kitchen's counter and I leaned on it while I closed my eyes.

'What am I doing?'

I asked myself and I've stood like this until I heard in the kitchen the sound of someone stretching and then, slow footsteps on the parquet.

And soon enough, a low voice, his voice.

"Are you okay, old man?"

He asked me and without my will, I snapped my eyes open and turned around but stared at him with no expression on my face.

'Back to your old self, huh?' I've thought in my head somehow relieved that I didn't have to meet with that annoying boy that has been yesterday in my living room.

The boy who was grateful to me was more than a stranger, more than the stranger that he is already to me. I don't know how to react to someone like that. I don't know how to react to this behavior that he has now, but at least; there are no nice words, there are no bowed heads and there is no gratefulness.

'I don't deserve any of that.' I thought and then, I spoke outside, in the outside world, when I finally met his confused gaze:

"I am fine, did you slept well?"

I asked him and he seemed to be took a little aback by my question, at least a little.

"Yeah…I … Humph…"

I could tell that he wanted to ask me, tell me something but he stopped himself. And instead, he massaged the back of his head and smiled a smile that I could recognize as one of the smiles that I've done myself. Not often but I know it well.

A smile that is full with sorrow in it, a beautiful smile that it's showed just when you remember of the past times, sad or happy times. What it's wrong about this smile is that the pain that it is in it, matches the beauty of it, altogether.

You can't really tell about the rain that it is ugly or about a flower, even if the rain is so powerful and cold sometimes, that destroys or that the flower it's wilted, but both of them, are still beautiful, like this smile that might have so much pain in it but makes the one that wears it, mysterious, somehow innocent and above them all, beautiful.

A small laugh and then, returning to normal, his face but not his eyes that are still carrying the same emotion like the smile that has been on his face just with two seconds ago, he has put his hands beside his body and he waits for me to speak, to save him.

"You sure there's nothing wrong with you, old man?"

He asked me, as if he is really sure of what he is saying.

"No, why ask?"

I've begun to be very curious about his sudden change of expression and tone of voice.

"You're pale…"

He spoke to me in a low voice but high enough for me to hear him, he said it while he looked at the ground and then at me, waiting.

"I am fine." I said and then begun to search through drawers. I could tell that he still looks at me and that he didn't move an inch.

"Are you hungry?"

I asked him and I immediately thought that it was a stupid question.

'Of course that he is hungry, he is a little too skinny anyway and I found him in a park after all…'

I've stopped my searching and I looked at him, he is looking back at me while a small smile appeared on his face like he is a little embarrassed.

"A little…"

"Well then I have some bad news, all that it's in this apartment, it's black coffee."

I said while I realized that for me, that won't be a problem but for someone that waits to be taken care of at least a little, after being 'saved' might be a problem.

"It's okay."

I didn't realize that I was looking at the ground just until I rose up my eyes from it, to look at him, while he is looking at me.

'It might be okay for you to live like me just because you try to don't care, but I still am a bad host.'

I've thought quickly, but I still look at him with no real expression on my face.

"Hn."

I took the kettle from its place, from a cabinet and I filled it with water and then with the help of the stove, let the water to boil above it.

Just then, I opened the same cabinet and I took a packet of black coffee.

I stood there, staring at the water and then at my feet, where Felix seems to demand its food.

I gave the cat its own food, the only food from the whole apartment that it's always present; the cat has no fault of my way of living after all.

Just after this, while I caressed Felix on its head while she eats, I looked from my position to him, he still looks at me.

He leans against the wall with his blue eyes at me.

'If only I could know at what he is thinking about right now.'

I got back to the kettle,I've put some coffee, I've took out two cups and then I turned around just then I looked at him and I spoke:

"We will go out to eat a little later, can you resist until then?"

I asked and a smile appeared on his face. A small ironic smile and I've quickly thought: 'Of course you'll resist, you're used to be hungry.'

"Yeah, I think I'll survive." He said with the same smile on his lips.

I poured the coffee in the cups and I gave one to him while I put my cup on the desk, and then I walked back to my room, I took my laptop and then I came back to my desk, I sat down, I've even took a sip from my coffee and then as if awoken up from my usually routine, I looked behind me, at the couch where he is with his legs crossed on the couch's surface, in an w position and with his both hands on the white cup, drinking slowly while looking at me.

I could tell what his eyes want to narrate for me.

He understands that this is my routine, that this is all I do, he understands and I wonder if he will let it like this, or if he will try to change it.

'I wonder which one I want to happen.' I've thought and then I turned back to my laptop.

I begin to write because the deadline it's very close, but I almost wrote nothing.

The story is about a poor boy in a poor village. It's almost without plot, it writes on its own but I almost don't care about it because I don't think anyone will judge me for it. I have people that read my books but my books are just without importance to me because I still wait, I wait for my inspiration, for the book of my life, for a book of which I would be proud to call it as mine.

'But I think this waiting will last more than I could estimate.'

I write, I let my fingers to guide me and my mind to create the story after every word which I quickly write with the help of my keyboard, I let it be leaded by the wind, by my fingers like painting a painting that has no real imagine.

A brush that is leaded by the human hand, a brush moving on the sheet with different colors but it just paints, it really just paints, because in the end, it is made by me but it doesn't defines me, it just is, the colors I use just show in what state I am in, what color my thoughts and life have, and as most of my critics have said, I use just black, grey, a dark red, a dark violet and a dirty white. All of my colors are dark but even the dark red can look bright when you use darker colors around it. This is what I do.

"What are you writing?"

He suddenly asked me and even if I was absorbed by my thoughts and of my fingertips story, I heard him clear and I could tell that he is still on the couch, in the same position even if more than half an hour has passed.

"A story."

I told him and begun to write again.

"About what?"

I stopped and I turned around to look at him.

"It's not really that interesting."

He looked at me and then at the ground but he begun he talk to me with a different tone:

"How can you say about your own story that it's not interesting?" He has asked me, while still looking at the ground and just when he finished he looked at me, and just then, I responded with the same smile that he wore in the kitchen.

"Because it's not."

He looked at me with even more wide eyes and an even more hurt expression and I could tell that he doesn't agrees with me even if he hadn't read a single word of this story or any of my stories.

"Then...how…" He stopped because he wanted to explain something but changed his mind, and then he looked at me very attentive and retook his idea.

"It's your story, if you don't like it, then why you write it?" He said almost yelling at me and just then it all begun to move in me, the mechanism, and the blood that I have stopped for a long time now. I stopped it because I had no choice but to stop it, not because I wanted.

'Yeah, he's right, but since when I become like this? Since when do I write something just because I have to write it, not because I want to write it? Since when the whole world has taken control of my own stories and not me, controlling them, when I am the one that writes them?'

I've always wanted to be a writer, because I wanted to tell a story that I could find myself into, a story that others might find themselves into. A story that has all of the words that I know in it, all my memories, and my entire heart.

It was easy to don't let it settle within me, this reality, because it seems that my books have sold, that they like what I write but the only one that doesn't likes what I writes, is the one that wrote them itself, me.

"I write it, so I can have fans before I will write a book that I will write which I will like too."

Indeed, this is not a lie at all, this was my plan for the beginning but after so much time, I forgot.

"But, why do you still continue to write something you don't like and why don't you try to write something that you will like?"

He said but somehow lost in his own words.

I thought twice about what he said and after that, I answered:

"It's not that simple… I have to find a good story and… I don't know but it's really not that simple."

"Of course it is." He said so quickly and so confident that I immediately looked at him.

"You just have to live, but not like this, you have to walk outside and find your story, and after all, you have to write about you, not about anybody else, invent some characters you want, and then make them like you, make them yours, just fucking…at least try living a little for Christ's sake!"

I looked at him as he spoke quickly but sincere, he just stared at me this entire time, in my eyes, waiting for me to move an inch and all that I did was to smile for myself.

'You have no idea what you're talking about but you seem to be so sure of yourself.'

"I tried but …I couldn't."

I said with the same small smile on my face.

"And you don't even eat and you go out just when it's night?"

He said, accusing me for the way that I live.

After all, he is not the only one that did this, he is not the only one that blames me but for the first time, I feel like he is right, that I won't do anything if I will continue to live like this, me with myself, me and with my fake books, and me with my old memories that haunt me every day, this is the result after all.

A house without food, a house without humans, a house with photos of anything but someone, a house with an owner that has a cat, a owner that never makes noise, a owner that walks out just when it's too late, at night , an owner that writes books that he himself, thinks they are no good and the ones that read even one like them, love them so much and think that the next one is more good than the last one, but when I go to receive prizes, I listen to people that talk about the respective book and they are talking about the feelings that the book offers, not just about the story, about certain feelings and I'm just looking at them, numb, and I stare and I listen to those lies, while I think just one single thought every time, one single line:

'I didn't felt anything when I wrote it.'

And then I go on that stage, and I talk and I lie and then I say thank you and then I go back to my apartment, back to my cage, and I begin to write lies again until I will be sure everybody has believed in my lies and I am sure of that when everybody praises my books and gives me prizes for my lies.

"I know you're right but it's too late."

I said sure of myself and I've finally turned around and I begun to write again. After some minutes, he spoke again:

"It's never too late, old man."

He said and I stopped typing while I didn't turned around to look at him, but I heard his smile in his voice.

"Hello! Anybody home?"

I heard someone yelling at my door and I swear that I could recognize that voice anywhere.

I sigh and I got up from my chair while I saw his confused face but I ignored it and walked to the door.

"Come on! Open the door or I will really break it this time!"

She yelled again and just when I thought that the knocks will get too loud. I opened it.

"Stop yelling Celine, you're disturbing the whole block." I said while looking at the incredible active woman that it's even older than I am.

"Sorry, sorry, but I've thought that you'll let me at the door again."

She entered even before she has even finished the whole sentence.

I closed the door and just then I realized that she doesn't know about Naruto.

"Oh, you have a guest? This sure is new."

She said while she walked closer to him with a smile on her face and she has stretched her hand to him in a professionally way but in a very friendly way too, something that I could count as one of her gifts.

She is very ambitions, full with energy, positive but realistic, very serious when she wants to be and extremely clever, too clever and sharp, like a sly fox.

She always gets what she wants, sadly, even from me.

Naruto shyly took her hand but smiled too. I could tell she examines him now from head to toe.

"I am Celine Mayer and I am an editor, what's your name dear?"

"Naruto." He said and smiled.

'No family name again, huh?'

I stood there looking at the scene with my hands crossed at my chest, waiting for it to end or at least to observe me.

"So, you are coming with us at the theater, no?"

She asked him while still holding onto his hand and she even bowed closer to him like a predator bowing over its prey.

'Cunning woman, I even forgot that today it's Friday, again.' I thought and then I sigh and just when I opened my eyes, I realized that he looks at me, waiting for me to say something.

My eyes opened wider with realization.

'You won't do anything that I don't want you to?'

"Of course he will go with us Celine, why do you ask?"

She looked at me too, but this time her expression changed, from the sly expression which she had earlier, now she seems worried.

She let go of his hand and he didn't looked at me anymore, and just a smile has appeared on his face while he looks at her.

She looked at him with an expression that I hate.

'You realized what has happened here, didn't you?' I thought sad in my mind while looking at the woman standing before the couch with, a sad expression on her face, looking a boy that stays on the couch, cross-legged, with a wide smile on his face.

"We need to talk, Sasuke, now."

She said while she is still looking at him and I didn't know what to think. The voice she used was like she just talked from a tomb.

We quickly walked to the kitchen while I've put him to change in the bathroom with some clothes of mine that were more normal than the ones he has, the only ones he has.

She leaned wagainst one of the counter with her back that was close to the door and I stood on the other side, close to the fridge, she has put her hands crossed at her chest while wearing a little angry but worried look on her face, starring directly at me.

I looked back but with my both hands on the counter, expecting the storm to pour, and I am sure I will feel this one; she always makes sure of it.

"What is this boy?"

She begun, I could sense that I have to tell her the truth because she knows when I lie and of course, there is no normal way to explain the situation.

"A boy…" I said innocently.

"Don't play with me, why did he slept here?"

I could tell that if I told her that he has just slept at me, it would be futile, just because she will come here the next Friday and I don't think he will leave until then.

"It's a long story."

"I have time to listen to it."

She waits for my explanation and just now, I give it to her.

"He will live with me from now on."

I said and she seemed even more confused and worried than before. But she just closed her eyes to open them again and said in a low voice:

"Why?"

I sigh and I said:

"Because he has nowhere else to go to."

"What do you mean?"

She quickly asked me and I suddenly felt that I just made a step closer to my own grave.

"He ran away from, I don't know, home or something, I found him in a park and I brought him here and decided to let him stay with me at least until he will be able to live somewhere else."

Her anger wasn't present anymore but her worried expression was even more present than before.

"You let a stranger to live with you? You took him from the street? What?"

She said almost yelling and gesticulating with her hands and just then I spoke:

"I know what you are saying; I know it seems insane but he is not a criminal or something. Believe me…"

I begun to say but she has cut me off.

"I want to believe you but you're not sure of it! Where has he lived before? How old is he anyway? He looks too young..."

I knew where she wanted to knock 'cause I wanted to ask those questions myself, but I've let them slide, for a reason that I don't know myself, I just didn't asked him, I just felt like he will tell me when he will want to even if he seemed to have no intention to do it.

I've realized that when he was almost to tell me something about himself this morning, in the kitchen, when he made that smile but not word got out of his mouth.

"I don't know."

I said this and I just looked at her without any expression while she put her hand to her temples and start massaging them while she has spoke again.

"This it's not like you at all, I never thought you will ever do something like this, I know you from when you were young and you don't let me completely in your life not even now, and suddenly you picked up someone from some park."

She said in a calm voice, more like talking to herself than like talking to me, explaining me the situation she is going through, but to she explained it for herself too.

"I know it seems mad but just give him a chance."

I don't even know him for 24 hours but I already take his side. I think he must've thrown a spell on me or something but even if I don't know anything about him besides his name, I feel like I can trust him.

'Such a blind trust.'

Just after thinking this I looked at her and with her hands at her temples but she stopped massaging them and her eyes are not closed anymore but opened. She stares at me and just when she opened her mouth to say something, someone else talked and we both looked at the direction from where the voice was.

"Um, is everything okay?"

He is now dressed in my cloths, a white shirt and blue normal jeans. But his hair is still in every way and he still has a rebel side that can't be covered even with these cloths.

With his hands in his pockets and with a confused but somehow guilty expression he stared at both of us.

"Yes, everything is okay." I said, trying to convince Celine to play with my cards.

And as expected, she did.

"You look very good in these cloths."

She said and a smile has appeared on her face again, the earlier expression disappearing into air.

"Thank you." He said and smiled.

"Well then, let's go." I said quickly, avoiding the sudden silence.

While we walked outside of the apartment and I closed the door with the key, I realized that Felix might be sleeping and I think of us as being fools.

I sigh and I begun to walk while thinking that this is just the beginning. Maybe I am the child that cries, the rain, and maybe Celine is the mother that yells, the thunder, but then what is he?

When we got out of the block I've immediately looked at the sun shines brightly above our heads, and then I looked at him, at him smiling.

'Maybe you are the sun.'

I thought and I smiled a little for myself too, while I continued to walk with them on the crowded street.

To be continued…