How To Save A Life
Chpt. 2: Fear of the Unknown
His gait was dilatory and laggardly, unhurried as his long legs led her down even longer Konoha city blocks. She needn't try to keep up with him, it was deliberate, for her benefit, no doubt.
He hadn't said a thing since they had left the bridge, hadn't spared her a glance and she might have been mildly affronted, if not for the unceasing presence of the hand lightly grasping her own. They walked for a good, long while at his leisurely pace, until entering the downtown area. The center of the city was unusually busy for this time of night, given the weather conditions.
Once they were engaged in the bustle of Konoha night life, his strides lengthened as well as quickened, his posture straightening as he weaved through the throngs of city civilians. She watched as he slicked through the crowd almost aggressively, pushing forward to pave a path to usher her through. She couldn't help but to notice how sleek and swift his steps were as he navigated them through the mass, barely brushing anyone.
She, however, was not as graceful, and had scored her fare share of shoulder checks as soon as they were swallowed into the multitude. She decided to stop watching her companion dance through them, and mind her own steps, lest she be knocked to the dampened ground and trampled relentlessly.
She squeaked meekly as a particularly large man shoved past her, his shoulder striking her chest hard enough to jolt her mid-step.
The hand around hers tightened before she was yanked forward then released, only to have a warm, heavy arm thrown over her shoulders. It was only then that she remembered how brisk the weather was, and she shivered at the contrast, burrowed a little deeper into his side. If he noticed, he said nothing. Had it been any other day, had she been in one of her embarrassingly bashful moods, she surely would have blushed, possibly stuttered a t-t-thank you, and probably fainted.
As it were, the solemn mood she was in left no energy, nor motivation (or mortification) for her to blush. Thusly, she only spared him an arid glance, then shifted her opaque eyes forward once more. He remained stoic as ever, narrowed eyes trained ahead of him.
They walked a little longer until he suddenly veered left, earning them a few choleric glares for momentarily disrupting the steady flow of person-traffic.
It was a homey looking place on the corner of the block with a heavy looking wooden door decorated with stained glass. She noted briefly that the glass on the door depicted a beautiful sunrise, and then it was opening. He passed through the doorway swiftly while pulling her along, the warmth of the establishment and scent of sweet breads and brewing coffee grounds enveloping her as soon as she entered.
He slowed his pace once inside, heading towards a secluded corner table. He released her hand to pull out a chair, the wooden fixture screeching loudly as it scraped against the lino floor. He motioned for her to sit, and she briefly noted his chivalrous act before sliding into the chair as he slid into his own. She watched him closely, tucking her hands under her bottom in a meek gesture.
A pleasantly plump woman with long, red hair piled on top of her head and a frilly pink apron came out from the kitchen. She stopped at the cash register at the counter, pulling her small pad from her apron and sticking her tongue to the corner of her mouth as she fished around in her beehive for a writing utensil.
"Ah ha!" she exclaimed before sliding a pen from her messy tresses. "Got it."
She looked up at their table with pursed lips and scrunched brows as if deciding whether she wanted to take their orders or not, even though she had already prepared for them. Then she rolled her eyes and sighed, using her plump little thumb to click the button on the end of her pen.
"Oi! Brat!" she called, leaning on the counter. "What will it be this time? Or are ya' gonna' just sit there like the puckered asshole you are?"
"Hai, hai, Bertha. One coffee, black. One camomile tea, lightly sweetened," he called back, waving her off casually. He looked his companion up and down as if contemplating something before nodding to himself.
"You look like a 'tea' type..." he muttered, more to himself than her.
"Dammit!" the rotund woman exclaimed, slamming a rounded fist down onto the counter. "Don't fuck with me today, brat! I told you my name ain't Bertha!"
"Ara, ara... just go do your job," he called to her without even turning to look at her. She sneered at him angrily before turning and stomping her way into the kitchen once more.
"...Bertha," he muttered.
"I heard that! I oughtta' spit in your coffee for that!" she hollered.
A few silent moments later, she was back, muttering curses under her breath and glaring at the back of his head the whole while she was making her way over to them. He made no move to acknowledge her presence as she set his coffee down none-too-gently, the dark liquid sloshing over the rim and onto the table.
"Sorry 'bout the language, little miss," the waitress said, eying the young woman curiously as she set the tea down in front of her. "He just knows how to bring out the ire in me. Enjoys it, ya' know."
"No bother. Thank you," she uttered to the waitress, bowing lightly in appreciation. The waitress moved around to her side of the table to whip a finger in the young man's face.
"You, you little uncouth shit! The next time you and your friends decide to dine and ditch, I'm gonna' grab my shotgun from under the counter and load all of ya's up with lead, is that clear? And I'll be expectin' my payment tonight!" she declared before marching around the table and back towards the counter.
The young lady watched the young man with inquisitive eyes as he sat just as he had before, as if the waitress had never even said anything to him. He shrugged casually before picking up his cup, deciding it was too hot, then replacing it.
She had sat quietly throughout the whole exchange, and if her mood hadn't been so heavy, amusement would have shone brightly in her pearl pupils. But as it were, she was in no mood. Instead, she took the time to study the hooded man before her, memorizing the curve of his thin lips as he smirked, studying his long, elegant fingers as he dismissively waved at the waitress, analyzing the mischievous glint in his dark eyes as he watched her just as closely. His prominent features stood out against the shadowing of his hood, but she still couldn't make out the specifics. Not that it mattered, really.
But undeniably, her interest was peeked when, as if reading her thoughts, he lifted a hand to shove his hood back with a sigh, lifting his other to ruffle black-as-pitch locks of hair. She noted his hair style wasn't nearly as long as she thought it would be, what with the impossibly long bangs. Curiously enough, it did stick out at all angles in the back. It fit him, though. Rakish, yet, intimidating. Mysterious, yet, alluring. She got it.
She allowed her eyes to wander the span of his (perfectly symmetrical, exquisitely sculpted, evenly proportioned) face, and he allowed her to assess him, cocky little smirk notwithstanding. Once her eyes had made it to the black turtleneck covering his throat, she blinked, and brought them back to the mischief-laced eyes watching her. She swallowed the lump in her throat and attempted to speak, only for her voice to come out in a timid croak.
"Oh."
He lifted his steaming cup to his mouth and blew, cocking a refined brow in her direction.
"...Aa," he muttered into the mug before taking a long, slow sip. He swallowed, his jaw working as he sifted the bitter, scalding drink against the roof of his mouth with his tongue. He placed his cup back down on the table, his eyes never leaving her. He hadn't even blinked. It was a bit unnerving, to say the least.
"You can't be more than twenty...," he observed, squinting his eyes in a scrutinizing manner. She gave a brief nod, and he grunted in response, lifting his mug once more to sip from it.
"Who did that to you?" he asked, referring to the darkening bruise on her cheekbone. She stared back at him mutely, tilting her head slightly as if misunderstanding his question. Her long, dark tresses fell from her shoulder to brush against her pale collarbone and she watched as his eyes shifted with the movement before catching her unwavering gaze once more.
"Boyfriend...?" he guessed. She shook her head.
"Ah... Daddy, then?" he asked coolly, drumming his fingers against the tabletop. She blinked at this point; shifted those opal irises down to the tiny white petals floating in her steaming cup. He took that as an affirmation.
"Figures," he sighed. "Only two people a woman would ever take a beating from."
She looked up at him then, a tiny, humorless smile adorning her features as she ran a fingertip along the rim of her porcelain mug.
"He hates me," she whispered, smile still adorning her face. He cracked a small, sardonic grin himself, lifting the cup to his lips.
"Don't they all?" he muttered before sipping, then replacing the cup. "He's a coward."
She only stared at him, knowing her father was anything but. Vicious, ruthless, unmerciful, more like it.
"He's afraid of you, that's why he attacks you. He doesn't understand you," he said by way of explanation. "Haven't you ever heard...? People destroy what they don't understand. Human nature."
It made sense, if she were to be totally honest. Perhaps if she had heard this before tonight, she would have reached out to her father more, found some common ground, reached in understanding. But things had not turned out that way, so she found this information useless. Her demeanor did not change.
"Do you believe him?" he asked her, eyes watching the pale, slender finger tracing around her gold-rimmed tea mug. It paused, and he looked back up at her face, only to find she was not looking at him, but at the table. Her eyes seemed entranced as she became lost within the confines of childhood memories, watching some scene unfold that he could not see. He leaned forward on his elbows, tucking his chin into the palm of his right hand, and drumming the table with the fingers of his left.
"Do you believe him when... he tells you that you are... weak?" he muttered, watching her face closely. She did not move; her eyes glazed over; lips parted as she remembered.
Weak.
Useless.
Incompetent.
"Do you?" he asks again. It is a retentive silence that follows, before she answers him quietly.
"No," she nearly whispers, and when her eyes shift to him, they are brimmed with incriminating tears because while she denies it verbally, she can't hide the truth from herself mentally. He watches her, fine sable eyebrows furrowed a little in the middle.
"So then, why do you act it? Why prove him right?" he asked her, his silky voice mesmerizing her, coaxing emotions long fought to her forefront.
"Why allow him to break you?"
She blinked, causing unshed tears to cascade down her cheeks. Who was this man, who had summed her up so effortlessly? How did he know her feelings so well, when they had only met an hour ago? How had he known her father's words, when they had only minimally spoken themselves?
"You're wasting my money," he told her after a marginal silence, sitting back suddenly and gripping his coffee mug by the handle to lift it to his lips. She looked down at her own cup, realizing the tiny wisps of steam were no longer rising from it. She watched the petals dance around one another, reminding her of the way she and her sister used to chase each other in the field behind their house.
"I'm... not very cold, anymore," she told him, looking up at him. She heaved a sigh, lifting a palm to wipe away the errant tears. Something flashed in his eyes as he peered at her over the rim of his cup, but she was in too much of an emotional heap to decipher it.
"Ring, ring! Ring, ring!"
"Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnng! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiinnnng!"
She nearly jumped, before belatedly realizing it was a phone, his phone to be precise. She wondered, though, about the fact that it was an actual voice saying "ring". It was a loud, shrill male voice; annoying and vibrant. Her vexation must have shown on her face, for he gave her a casual shrug before reaching into his pocket and pulling out a thin touchscreen phone.
"Moshi?" he answered.
"TEME!" she heard the voice on the other line scream excitedly as her companion winced and pulled the phone away from his ear. A vein seemed to pop up on his forehead from nowhere, and he placed the middle and pointer finger of his other hand to his temple to rub circles. His eyes squeezed shut, his jaw working agitatedly as he struggled to control his obvious frustration.
"Naruto, you fucking simpleton, how many times do I have to tell you to control the volume of your voice when you call me?" he growled through clenched teeth.
"Watch your mouth," muttered the quiet young lady, almost as if on auto pilot. He gave her a brief glance before returning his gaze back to the table. He was quiet for a moment before heaving a sigh then looking at his wristwatch.
"I know what time it is. I just forgot that it was tonight," he muttered.
She sighed to herself. Seemed as if her companion would be leaving her now. She wondered briefly if he was even going to bother walking her back to the bridge now that he had elsewhere to be. Maybe he had had his fill of making her his little project and would use this as an escape.
"I don't care about them. I don't want to go because of them," she listened to him explain to the second party. She watched him roll his eyes as she heard the voice on the other line begin to prattle loudly. Though she could not make out the words, she could tell he was either badgering him into coming into whatever function her companion didn't want to attend, or begging him to come.
"Fine! Just stop your stupid blabbering already, dobe! I'll be there!" he snapped, jamming his thumb into the screen as he (presumably, and a bit rudely) hung up on "Naruto".
He picked up his cup and downed the rest to the embittered liquid before digging out a wad of money from his pocket. Her eyes narrowed as he flipped through the stack; she hadn't spotted anything lower than a twenty dollar bill in the whole bunch. He removed three of them before stuffing the rest back into his pocket. She made no mention of it. If he wanted to dine and ditch when he was loaded, who was she to say anything about it? Nobody. It wasn't her business.
He threw the bills down on the table as he rose from his chair, flipping his hood back onto his head with his other hand. He rose an eyebrow at her expectantly.
"Well...?" he asked. She frowned at him, truly perplexed.
"What?" she asked, a bit snappish in her confused state. He rolled his eyes, and glanced down at his wristwatch for emphasis before giving her an irritated look.
"Are you coming or not? I'm not waiting all night," he told her, folding his arms over his chest.
"Where are you going...?" she asked him suspiciously.
"A party," he told her.
She pondered for a minute, before shaking her head, muttering what sounded suspiciously like, "rather go back to the bridge". Her face had taken on a rather morose expression as she played with her fingertips. He slumped back down into his seat.
"Well, why not?" he asked her. She looked up at him, the look she gave him clearly stating that the answer to his question should be obvious.
… Or maybe it wasn't, as he was still giving her that same blank expression. She sighed.
"Parties aren't my scene," she told him before licking her dry lips. His eyes glinted at the movement, and he shook his head, digging into his inner pocket for his lighter and cigarettes. He lit up, then placed both the lighter and pack back into his pocket.
"Mine either. But," he said, exhaling a plume of smoke before continuing. "I'm sure if we stick together, we'll manage." She shook her head at the offer.
"I'm very... awkward with... people," she told him, a soft scowl on her face at the prospect of being in a room full of her peers. He shook his head in an amused fashion raising his semi-gloved hand to his lips once more.
"We'll be like two peas in a pod," he said teasingly, releasing smoke. She watched as the smoke coils spilled from his colorless lips, twisting and turning, dancing as if rejoicing their freedom.
"Tell you what," he began, and she realized she already knew where this was going. He was quite cunning.
"Come to the party with me. Let me show you the things your life should be made of," he said, cocking his head as he ashed into his empty mug. She stared sedately at him for a moment before shaking her head.
"You didn't even want to go just a moment ago," she argued weakly, and he shrugged in response.
"I honestly forgot it was tonight. I just thought that..." he began, his grin falling a little, "...I was going to be busy with something else tonight."
This time, she had the grace to blush a small bit, and she angled her chin downward to hide behind her curtain of hair. But it was too late; he had seen it, and silently vowed to himself to make her do it again.
"We'll only go for an hour. If you don't have fun, or you find yourself wanting to leave," he muttered, puffing his cigarette again, "I'll walk you back to the bridge."
It was silent as she contemplated his proposition, still hiding behind her dark locks. Seconds passed by slowly, and to ordinary people the quiet would have been deafening. But he was a patient person, and he understood her position. She wasn't exactly in a "partying" frame of mind right now. He could give her time to think about it.
Then she cleared her throat a bit, peeking up at him through silky bangs and biting her bottom lip. He noticed her cheeks were still a little ruddy.
"W-will I s-still get m-my k-kiss...?" he heard her whisper. He nodded slowly, his eyes taking in the demure picture she presented to him. He didn't meet many (any, really) girls like her; it was his job to preserve her for as long as he could.
"I give you my word," he told her. The sudden thought that she didn't know him so his word didn't really mean anything struck her, but she pushed it away before voicing another thought.
"Hinata. My name," she uttered softly. One corner of his mouth tilted upward.
"Sasuke," he replied. Then he stood, holding his hand out again. She stood on tired legs, reaching out to clasp onto his hand.
At that moment, "Bertha" came flying from the kitchen, her fist raised at him as she marched toward their direction.
"Asshole! What have I told you about smoking in here? I've fucking got asthma!" she hollered. Hinata watch his eyes widen a small bit as they took in the chubby woman stomping her way across the coffee diner before he turned them to her.
"Time to go," he told her while tossing the rest of his cigarette into her tea cup. With a jerk, she was stumbling after him as he darted out the door and back into the cool night, and this time she couldn't stop the giggle that escaped her mouth as they rounded the corner and heard the irate puffy faced woman shouting curses after them. She felt a thrill shoot up her belly as they ran, and a choked noise escaped from her throat in a puff of white.
She was shocked when she realized it was a laugh, and even more shocked when she realized just how long it had been since she had had one.
A/N:So I humanized Sasuke a little. What of it?
Hope you enjoyed, hope I managed to stay in character. Hope it wasn't too long of a wait, hope my writers block won't make the next one even longer. Hope my kids will fall asleep so I can upload this... -_-''
Don't worry. The story will gradually get light as we go along. Not too light, though. This is not a fluffy fic, people.
Thank you for the reviews! Leave more, if you want. Really just writing for the joy of it now. Great stress reliever. I'm sleepy.