A/N: I know, I suck. This chapter really doesn't make up for however-many-months of neglect, but I'm finally back on track! Huge thanks to darkstar7789 and SasuNaruYaoiness, I appreciated your reviews, and this chapter is definitely because of you !
Usual warnings, and disclaimer.
He's pretty. Like, really pretty. He's pretty in a dark way. He's got dark eyes, dark hair, dark bruises and a dark smirk. But it's so heart-shatteringly beautiful, the contrast of dark, dark Sasuke against white, white walls.
"You're pretty," I chirp. I get that it's, like, 9 in the morning and the kid has probably been on some bus or plane or car for hours before getting to this particular pit of hell, and that it's probably too early for chirping, but what do I care? He's pretty.
"Hn." His dark grey eyes slide from Foxy Babe to me. Inwardly, I smirk. Pretty things belong together.
"In case you forgot, I'm Ino. I like pretty things. Things like glow sticks and shimmer bronzer and Forehead's laughter and bouquets and you… I like you," I ramble, scrutinizing his reaction. So far it's been blank staring with a little bit of disinterest.
"People are leaving," he says. His voice is like scotch over ice, thick and smooth and moving in melting. I like it.
"Ooh lunchtime!" I sing, casting a glance at the Shadow Prince. No-! The Shadow Hottie.
I spring up from my chair and offer the Shadow Hottie my hand, and I can't help the smile that crawls across my face.
"What?" he asks, suspicious of me. "You're too… happy," he mutters, eyes narrowing.
"Too happy to be in a mental institute or too happy to be an anorexic chick going to lunch?" I bite back, smirk still playing on my lips.
He barks out a raspy laugh, and I'm a little taken aback. The abrupt, suddenness of it didn't seem very… Sasuke. Just another shadow in a shadow, I guess.
He gingerly gets up from his chair, stretching his black-skinny-jean-clad legs and extending his bicep-ed arms. The hem of his white tee rides up over his abdomen and oh, sweet Jesus, those abbs.
Foxy Babe is one lucky guy.
"C'mon, follow me. I'll show you to the cafeteria," I say, flashing him one of my very brightest smiles, usually reserved for lava lamps and best friends.
"No!" Sakura's damn enviable emerald eyes are as large as saucers, her mouth parted only slightly. Sakura just doesn't do 'the fly-catcher'.
We're in the pantry of the kitchen of the Cafeteria of Hell, squished up nicely between shelves of fat-in-packets. I shudder.
"Yes. Absolutely," I say in my serious tone. This, more than anything, snatches Sakura's attention away from Foxy Babe and Shadow Hottie, who she's spying on through the cracked open door.
"But… that's… and just… no. No, they- they can't be… can they?" she's stumbling over the words worse than poor Hinata. Oh, God… Hinata…
"What will we do about Hinata? I mean, I know she doesn't like like him anymore, but still… to just, find out he's gay, I mean…" I look at Sakura, seeking her guidance, like always. We both know she's the one with future.
"But we don't even know if he is… you know-"
"You can say it- gay," I tell her. 'Cause if there's one thing I don't do, it's intolerance.
"What if someone hears? Trust me, I've seen a de-closeting and it is not pretty. Just, let him come to terms with it-"
"'Come out' with it, more like it," I mutter.
"-On his own," she continues. "Besides, even if Naru-"
"Foxy Babe," I correct.
"-is gay," she finishes, shooting me a glare. Time to pull my pretty little head in, I know. "We don't know if Sasuke is too. I mean, awks if he's not and we've already planned their relationship," she says with a grimace. She looks like a pixie.
"You look like a pixie."
.
.
.
"I don't know why we're friends," she sighs.
It's become my mission to determine Sasuke's sexuality and then have him and Naruto make babies. Sort of.
God, those would be good-looking children, though.
"So…" I start, picking apart an innocent piece of broccoli.
(Innocent until you eat it.)
I take a bite and swallow thickly.
"What room are you in?" I quickly distract myself. I'm getting good, getting better.
"What do you mean?" he asks, moving his attention from his meal to me. I see him take note of the broccoli in my hand, so I take another bite.
(For show.)
Cue distraction. "I mean, where are you going to sleep? In case you haven't noticed, the 'young adult' wing is kinda full at the moment, so you'll probably have to share a room with someone," I explain, eyes trailing- somewhat suggestively- to the foxy guy sitting beside Shadow Hottie.
He subtly chokes on his water and darts his greyblackblue eyes from Naruto to me to the floor to Naruto.
"I don't think I have a room assigned yet," he says quietly. Probably non-chalantly, too, but I'm too busy spiralling into a web of conspiracies to really notice.
Sasuke says something, I listen to the words but don't actually register them. I do, however, register the stale, rock-hard bun piffed at my head.
"Don't hate, appreciate," I spit, wiping butter off my forehead with disdain.
"I asked you a question, the least you could do tell me to fuck off in response- and before you can ask, I said 'how long?'" His eyes narrow at the end of the sentence, testing my comprehension. I can tell he's asking about my disorder.
"3 years, on and off." My voice falters, but my gaze never does. Sasuke loses any air of arrogance, his eyes meet the table. Seeing Sasuke looking almost… vulnerable, it feels unnatural. "You know, you strike me as the type of guy who is always self-assured and determined. Backing down is not a good look on you," I say softly.
He scoffs, and suddenly he's back in all his radiant Sasuke-ness. His grin is rueful when he raises his head to look at me.
What he says next is just pure mind-fuck.
"It's easy to be cocky when you know the cliff you're standing on is crumbling. What's terrifying is when you don't know where you stand."
'Shadow Hottie' just becomes more and more appropriate for Sasuke. He's hot, and he's multi-layered; hidden behind emotional walls and fake smirks, dark chuckles and disguised intentions.
It kind of makes your heart ache, but in an exhilarating way. Bittersweet, addictive.
Fuck, being philosophical is exhausting. I tell Billboard as much, but she snorts unsympathetically.
I sigh dramatically, before commencing my plan. "Sakura. You're in with Tsunade. You were basically given control by Shizune. You run this place," I say, leaning on the railing of my balcony. Sakura's curled up in a laid back little ball in a chair in the corner, lazily painting her nails.
"For the last time, I will not install strobe lights in your room," she drawls. Lazily.
"Lazy girl," I hiss, then purse my lips. "I was actually thinking, you could have a major say in where our pretty little Sassy-wassy lives for the next six months, and I personally believe our pale Shadow Hottie could use a little…" I stop, knowing full well my cotton-candied friend will be able to finish that sentence.
"He needs a little sunshine…" she hums, sealing the nail polish bottle and blowing on her toes. "And I, for one, am all for giving him just that."
We turn to each other with shit-eating grins.