Note from the Author: … I love this pairing.
Hate?
His blanket tangles around his body, his arm flung off the edge of his bed. His breaths are deep, on the verge of being snores, and there is a wheeze on the end of them.
The window above him is broken, and glass still litters the floor. In fact, the culprit rock lays mockingly on the wood planks, a constant reminder of the villagers' feelings for him.
Through that window, the night air leaks, and the broken air conditioner spurts momentarily in the corner before giving up and dying completely. The air is sticky, and perspiration coats the boy's face, shining in the summer moonlight.
His expression is pained, brow wrinkled; maybe in agony, maybe in grief. Sometimes, a whimper escapes his lips, and he writhes, unable to handle his own dreams.
That is when a hand falls lightly on his shoulder, and he is shaken awake, "Naruto."
Then his eyelids lift, and his blue gaze focuses sleepily on a face full of sympathy. "Why do they hate me, Sasuke?" His whisper is hoarse, and he cowers, his forehead pressed against the knee beside him on his bed.
Sasuke's fingers comb through the wet blonde locks, his dark head shaking. "How should I know?" He murmured.
Naruto looks at him, afraid he'll disappear if he doesn't. "I'm glad you don't."