#naruto x reader.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 99-106

Previously - 94-98

99:

Naruto closes the door.

“Wow, that went really well.” He grins.

“Are you...being sarcastic?” you asked honestly.

“No, that’s just how Gaara is.”  He laughs.  “It takes him a while to warm up to people — a long, long while.  He normally doesn’t even say that much.  You must’ve made a really good impression!”

Gaara had only fake coughed and said three words — two of which weren’t even directed toward you — but, considering Naruto’s elation, you are inclined to believe that you must’ve done...something.  Maybe?

“Anyways, welcome to my room, Bambs.”  He sits on the edge of his bed, one leg crossed and the other dangling as he watches you.

You stand near the door, looking around.  His bed is white and yellow with four, large pillows.  There are two bookshelves, standing side-by-side, both filled with a disorganized mess of books and knickknacks.  His walls are decorated in posters of bands and postcards.  In one corner of his room is a keyboard next to a cluttered desk, and above it hang several guitars.  In the other corner, lit by sunlight, you imagine another canvas.

His room is rather big; it must be the master bedroom.  When you enter the private bathroom with its large tub and waterfall shower head, you think that not hurting for money must be a gross, gross understatement.

He has yet to mention his parents — or Gaara’s parents, or Sasuke’s parents...  Do the boys simply live here?  On their own?  No supervision?

You blurt out, “What kind of job pays for this?”

He looks at you, tilted smile of amusement, and you press your lips closed and avert your eyes.

“Sometimes I clean houses on the weekend,” Naruto says simply, shrugging his shoulders.  “Sometimes I mow lawns.  Sometimes we perform.”

Touching the marble of his bathroom counter, you look back at him, confused at how cleaning houses and mowing lawns  and performing sometimes happens to pay for this house.

“Do your parents help out or...?”

“Just me and the boys,” Naruto says.

“Oh,” you say.

Naruto takes on a cool expression as he glances away, looking at one of the shelves.  You think that maybe you are being too nosy.  He always seems to pull at something you — something that is distinctly yours, and yet something you are still unfamiliar with.  Perhaps you have gone too far, as you have only known each other — you and your other half, and you and Naruto — for a couple weeks, even less than when taking into account the amount of time spent physically together.

Then — “My parents died.”

Your stomach sinks, and you are suddenly very sorry because you didn’t mean to pry.  “I...”

“Nah.”  He shakes his head.  You step closer, touching the bed-frame carefully as you listen.  “They died when I was really young.  I don’t remember much.  This is my grandpa’s house.  In the backyard, there’s a little suite where he stays, actually.  They had a hefty life insurance because they wanted a big family, so me and my future siblings could split it if anything happened to them — and, well, things happened and we never got the family.”  He seems to pause and mull it over, and then he corrects himself — “I never did.”

“Oh,” you say again, softly.  “I’m sorry.”

“It happens.”

“I’m still sorry,” you whisper.

He smiles.  There is a sadness to the way his lips curls, his eyes crinkling, the sun on his hands fading as the clouds roll.

“Me, too,” he murmurs.

100:

“Thank you for telling me,” you tell him quietly.

You want to reach over and touch his hand, to grasp it and let him know that you are so sad for him, but so happy that he trusts you; but you are not sure that you’re ready or that you’re brave enough, and so you settle for leaning against the bed frame and whispering things you hope he believes.

“I’d tell you almost anything,” he says.

“Almost?” you ask.

The spark returns to his eyes, impish and mischievous.

“For the rest, you’d have to ask,” he teases.  “Guys like to feel like they’re wanted, too, you know.”

101:

“Your band,” you say, sitting on the large window ledge.  “Consists of you, Sasuke, Shik...”

“Shikamaru,” he supplies.

You nod, feeling your cheeks warm.  You need to remember their names, you notate interntally.  “And Gaara.”

“Yup.  We have a manager, too.  He’s not as interesting as we are.”

“What’s your band called?”

At that, he grins cheekily.  “Dattebayo!”

You giggle.

“I used to say it a lot as a kid.  We couldn’t think of anything else, so when we were signing with our manager I just wrote it down and turned it in.  They all still complain about it, but what’s done is done.”  He shrugs, but it looks like he is pleased to have named the band.

“Sounds a little brattish,” you mumble.

He sticks his tongue out at you childishly.  The light catches the silver ball.

“Good to see you’re feeling better,” he says.

You think back to Kiba, the way he and his friends watched you rush past with Naruto and his motorcycle, racing the wind.

“You helped,” you murmur shyly.

His grin widens.

102:

You pull out your sketchbook and then carefully set down your variety of pens and pencils and markers, finally at peace and secure to draw.  No one here will disturb you.

Naruto has pulled a book from his desk, one on music theory.  He lays on the bed, reading and highlighting important lines.

And you decide to draw him: the smooth curve of his cheek, the little scar on his forehead, his chewing of his pinky finger as he was wrapped in thought and text, the way his right eyebrow is just a centimeter higher, coloring his expression into one of impish delight.

You’re halfway through the sketch, coloring in shadows against his neck, when he crumples up against the pillow and his arm, asleep.  The book lays open in front of him, showing you all the highlighted passages and all the unreadable scribbles in the little margins.

You flip the page in your sketchbook and start anew.  You think that you could learn a thing or two from how easily you have flipped this page.

103:

There is a gentle knock.  The door creaks open.

You look up and see Gaara holding a mug in his hands and his earbuds still on.  You wonder if he’s even listening to anything.  He leans against the door frame, gazing at you.

The air around Chouji had been cool, but not cold; Gaara is different, you think.  Surrounding him is both a coolness and a coldness; there is a heaviness that hangs around him, taking space so that others couldn’t.  But he looks at you calmly; there is no judgment or disgust, even if it is detached.

You hesitate.  “Hi,” you finally say.

His eyes are a sea green, bright against the dark and tired skin that lines them.  “[Name],” he says.  His voice is low and raspy as if from disuse.  

You nod in response.  

“Are you dating?”

You turn red.  You think you hear the word echoing around the room, but it is all in your head you realize.  “No,” you say.

“Do you want to?”

You swallow a thick lump.

Is this a test?  You glance at Naruto grasping a pillow on the bed.  He doesn’t seem like the type to do strange, secret tests.  Naruto, from what you have seen so far, is very open.  If he had wanted to know, he would’ve just asked, so is this simply Gaara’s questioning?

Your gaze wavers.  You fight the instinct to naturally look at the ground.

“I don’t know,” you whisper.  “…Maybe.”

Gaara doesn’t respond, staring at you still.  He brings up his mug and takes a short sip.  Did you pass this test, or whatever this is?

“Um, is that okay…?” you ask hesitantly.

He tilts his head.  “What does that matter?”

You are taken aback, but his comment is not condescending or mocking.  But, considering he is the one asking you and not the other way around, you are unsure of how to proceed or feel about this.  Perhaps in other situations, you would feel enlightened or relieved — other people’s opinions shouldn’t matter — they don’t matter — but the conversation is too jarring for you to really feel any type of respite.

Before you can come up with anything to continue this uneven flow, Gaara says, “Tell him when he’s being annoying.”

“Um, sorry?  I didn’t —”

Gaara gestures to Naruto with a smooth shift of his head.  “He’s an idiot,” he says.  “Won’t know otherwise.”

You glance to the boy on the bed with his energy that would outlast the sun and laughter that would make wind chimes jealous, and think of how improbable it’d be for him to ever be annoying, or for you to ever think he was.

Gaara snorts.  “You’ll see,” he says with his dry and monotonous voice.  He sips at his drink and turns, closing the door behind him.

104:

You look at your finished pictures: Naruto reading, Naruto chewing on his finger, Naruto glancing at you with a glint in his eye, Naruto asleep, and snoring, and dreaming.

Before you, he is sprawled on the bed, one hand clutching at a pillow.  His mouth is parted; he is drooling, and for a moment, he seems to startle himself awake and wipes at his mouth — and then he falls back asleep.

105:

As you wander over to his desk, you peer at all of the pieces that make up Naruto, but you don’t touch, not wanting to be disrespectful.  He is organized, but things are still cluttered: a variety of open and closed notebooks, uncapped pens and pencils with dull points, a heavy mug in the corner of the desk filled with bookmarks.

You look at the postcards and the bands on the wall, nothing and no one that you recognize.  There are a few photos of Naruto with his bandmates, posing in front of statues and restaurants, nowhere famous or popular, but everyone looks so excited — well, Naruto is the only one grinning; Shikamaru looks tired, Gaara stares deadpan, and Sasuke scowls at someone off camera.

You head to the bookshelves.  There are a lot of music theory books or learn this instrument or learn that song type of books.  There are only a few fiction books; anything else were Sudoku puzzles or game walkthroughs.

Behind the devilish snickers and glowing hair, his mind is whirring with notes and tunes, much like yours buzzing with lines and shadows.

106:

Gaara knocks on the door again before he peeks his dark red hair into the room.

“Tea?” he asks.

You are unable to contain the surprise.  “Um, no, thank you,” you say, bowing slightly out of habit.

“Coffee, then.”

Is he wanting to get to know you better, you wonder.  Your first instinct is always something dark — that he wants to cruelly mock you as he pulls rugs from beneath your feet — but you can’t imagine him being the type.  You can’t imagine Naruto being friends with that type of person, and Gaara, though detached and monotonous, seems genuine.

You glance over to Naruto, hesitating.  Would you be okay without him?

Gaara snorts.  “Relax, I won’t stab you.”

Your eyes widen.  “No, I wasn’t — um, I didn’t…that’s not what I —”

Behind him, the tea kettle starts to sing shrilly.  He looks back and closes the door.

He misunderstood.  You twist your fingers anxiously.  

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 94-98

Previously - 89-93

94:

While Naruto weaves and rolls through traffic, you rest your cheek against his back, your eyes closed as you listen to his breathing, smooth and slow despite how vulnerable the two of you are against the vehicles surrounding you.  There is no metal to protect you, no airbag or seatbelt to keep the concrete from dragging you into its hold — there is only air, and chance, and trust; there is only wonder behind all the question marks, only the feel of your fingers interlocked against his chest, his heart beating defiantly in the diaphragm.

95:

Naruto pulls up into a small community of clean and contemporary townhouses.  The three-story homes look like they were recently built.  They also look out of place, like someone was trying to bring city life to the middle of smallville-nowhere, though this particular town in which Naruto stays is probably the largest of any of them.  You wonder why he goes to a school so far away — relatively speaking.

“Home sweet home,” Naruto says as he parks in the driveway.  Looking up, you see a silver cat in one of the windows, peering down at you.  “That’s Sabaku, one of my roommate’s cat.”

“Cute...” you say awkwardly.  The only experience you had ever had with cats was once when you were eight, visiting a cousin out of state.  Her white cat, though cute, had lashed out and dug her sharp nails into your ankle.  (You did step on her tail, but still.)

Naruto laughs.  “You can be honest,” he says.  “He’s a little scary-looking, yeah.”

He is, you think.  Sabaku stares down from up high with narrowed, intelligent eyes, searching for your weak spots.  He looks quite a lot bigger than any house cat, too, even from this angle.  You imagine him with a dark cloud hovering closely behind.

Naruto reaches out for your backpack; you shrug it off and hand it to him.

“Okay,” he says, “be right back.”  He throws it over his shoulder haphazardly.  “Once I drop this shit off we can go anywhere else, so just think about the next destination, cool?”

“I...”

“It’s no big deal, [Name],” he says.  He turns away to flip through the key ring for his house key.

You inhale sharply.

Okay.

Okay, okay.

You can do this.

You can definitely do this.

You hear yourself say, “Wait,” and then Naruto turns around to look at you.  He does not tilt his head; he does not huff and sigh; he does not ask you to hurry.  He does not plead, and he does not beg.  He gazes at you patiently, but not expectantly, and you match his stare, practicing your breathing techniques as you dig your short nails into your palms.

You see that he does not mind waiting — you see that he can wait.

And you feel this knowledge give you courage — that no matter what you choose, there is someone who doesn’t mind your pace, who doesn’t care that you’re not walking slowly because you want to smell the flowers but because you’re not sure if your ankle can support the next step.  You choose this sluggish pace because you are not sure if the wind will suddenly turn into a gust and knock you over.

But here is a person who doesn’t care whether or not you even want to move forward and see what’s around the corner.

Here is a person who’d wait with you, picking flowers and weeds until the wind passes.

96:

You exhale slowly —

Picking flowers is great, but of course you want to see around the corner, too.  Of course you don’t wait to stay still, waiting for storms to disperse for the entirety of your life.

Of course you want to grip the brick of the wall with your own hands and see what’s hidden on the other side.

Of course you want answers to your question marks — of course you want to see all that wonder.

97:

You used to be terrified.  You used to be petrified at what was ahead of you.

It has been a long time since you were frozen at the thought of the unknown darkness enveloping your path.  You are still uncomfortable, though.  It still makes your heart race and your esophagus contract — but you have always felt your neck craning to take a peek farther down the path, around the block, through the fog, at what could possibly lay ahead.  What kind of rain and shadows would you see?  What kind of sunlight?

There is still the fluttering in your diaphragm, hidden, but not gone — and this old fluttering you’ve felt is not fear.

Okay, you think.  Okay.

You can take this step forward; and really, it’s not even a full step.  You just need to toe the line that you drew around yourself.

You just need to move this time, just a little movement.

“It’s okay,” Naruto says.

Yes, it’s okay.  It is okay.  And if it’s not okay, it’ll be okay — because Naruto is patient; because he is kind to you — because in this darkened path, he holds a light — because he shows that you can be kind to yourself, too, that you can tip-toe lines at your own leisure, that you can love the call of the motorcycle and how it takes you around corners so fast that nothing hiding there can ever catch you, and you can still be afraid of the curves.

“I’ll come up,” you tell him breathlessly.  “I want to come up — I – I want to see, um...”  You clear your throat.  “If, if that’s o-okay.”

His smile is small, tilted, a smirk almost.  It’s less good job, you did it, and more I knew it, of course.  

“Princess [Name] has decreed it!” Naruto yells to an invisible audience.  You wince, afraid that there are people peeking through windows at his loudness, but hopefully everyone is at school or work.

As you step up behind him, he unlocks the door.  Cool air rushes out.

You gingerly step inside, taking off your shoes.  There is a set of stairs to your left, and a couple of rooms to your right.  On the steps sit the cat, much larger than you had thought — and a lot meaner looking, too.

“Hey, Sabaku,” Naruto greets.  He reaches out to try to pet him, but the cat dodges swiftly with a sharp stretch of his furry neck.  Naruto chuckles.  “He only likes Gaara,” he explains.  “He’s harmless, though — just a little antisocial.”

You and Sabaku stare at each other; he is much more relaxed than you are.  He is large in size, but he not overweight.  His long fur is a deep brown and crisp red; at the end of his large ears are long, black tufts of fur.

Naruto throws off his shoes.  “Come on, I’ll show you around.”

You nod, thinking that this piece of the corner isn’t so bad.

98:

Naruto points to the set of closed rooms down the short hall.  “Sasuke stays down here,” he says.  To your right is a set of French doors closing off a small office.  “He is not a cat person,” he remarks, “which is why everything is shut to keep Sabaku out.”

Naruto motions you to follow him upstairs.

The second floor is the kitchen and living area.  The ceilings are tall and the windows large, covering almost the entirety of one of the walls; there is so much light that filters and flickers into the house.  You think that a set of canvases right here would be lovely.

“Gaara!” Naruto exclaims.  You follow his gaze to see a boy with dark red hair sitting on a sectional couch.  The cat is now curled next to him.  “I thought you had a presentation today.”

Gaara doesn’t even look up from his book.  For a moment, you think that he didn’t hear Naruto as he has his earbuds in, but then he lets out an uninterested cough and monotonously says, “I’m sick.”

Naruto looks at you and snorts.  “Right.”  He places his hand against your back and leads you forward.  “This is [Name].  Gaara plays are drums; he lives upstairs, too.”

You reach a hand out.   “H-hello.”

Gaara looks up finally, staring at Naruto, then your hand, and then your face.  You glance between he and Naruto, noting that Naruto’s eyes are crinkled and optimistic, whereas in contrast, Gaara’s eyes are darkened and deepened with fatigue.  He doesn’t have any eyebrows either, but he sports a tattoo on his forehead.

“Hi.”  His voice is low and devoid of any emotion or lilt of tune.  He doesn’t shake your hand.  When he turns back to the book and flips the page, his sleeve rides up and you see black ink etched into his skin.

You lick your bottom lip, resisting the urge to peel at dry skin.  You glance over at Naruto.

“Alright, we’ll leave you to it,” Naruto says, unfazed.  He leads you past the kitchen.  To the right is another set of stairs, but he leads you down a short hall to a large bedroom.

You look back at Gaara, worried that you may have offended him somehow, and see that both he and his cat are staring at you out of the corners of their eyes.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 89-93

Previously - 84-88

89:

Naruto feigns nonchalance but you can tell that he is hesitant to leave you alone by the way he offers to sit next to you for hours while you draw at the fountain. Kiba, however, has completely ruined your creative mood, so you instead suggest continuing his shopping spree. He is concerned at first, but a couple of smiles and nods and he is grinning in response, and then the two of you move onto the next store.

You enter a store with price tags that make you gag, yet the allure of its fashion still makes your fingers twitch for a blue, cropped hoodie. You can see how people are easily convinced to buy something, despite the high exchange rate.

The hoodie is on a hanger against a wall; no mannequin, but you can imagine Sakura or Ino wearing it in the fall with high jeans, their every curve teasingly accentuated. It’s cute, you think, feeling rather bland in your own plain yellow blouse and jeans.

“What size are you?” Naruto asks, seeing your gaze.

“Um.” You’re not sure if that’s too personal to give out. Does it matter? Are you comfortable with telling him? Your mom is always telling you how boys like mysteries, but considering that her last few choices haven’t been the best, you’re unsure if you should take her advice.

“Grab it,” he urges. “I’ll pay.”

“N-no, I don’t need it,” you tell him.

“Do you want it?” he presses.

“N-not really,” you say.

Naruto feels the fabric anyway, pulling the sleeve out toward you as if checking the color against your skin tone. “You don’t think it’s cute, [Name]?”

You look back at it.

It is cute.

But, you’re just not sure you can pull it off.

“You’d look fire in it,” Naruto says, and before you can say anything else, he’s jumping up and reaching for the different sizes.

90:

You look down at the bag in his hand, rustling as the two of you weave your way through the crowd.

One cropped, blue hoodie led to a pink V-neck, which led to tassel earrings, which then led to shark-patterned knee-high socks.

You had tried to argue, but the blue hoodie was a given and Naruto said that he had a similarly hued pink shirt (which he unashamedly then said that matching would be fun), and then he simply wouldn’t take a no for the last two. He wouldn’t take no for any of them, actually.

Of course, you appreciate what he’s doing for you, and you really do like everything that he bought, and, if you were being honest, it feels really good to have someone shower you with such attention and spoil you with things, but — well, there really isn’t any nice way to ask this...

You lick your dry lips. “Do you...have a job?”

Naruto is not offended by the question. He looks at you curiously. “Yeah, why?”

“That store was pretty expensive.”

“Hm. Was it?”

“You don’t have to buy me so much,” you mumble. Then, you quickly stammer, “I-I really appreciate it, but I — it’s okay; it’s not really necessary...um.”

He’s grinning, and you don’t quite understand what the smile means, but you feel warm and tingly all the way down to your toes, snug in your sneakers.

“Don’t worry, Bambs,” he says, “I’m not hurting for money.”

“Yeah, but...”

“If you don’t like me buying you things, I won’t.”

The way the artificial mall lights reflect off his eyes make you think he’s lying.

“Just think of them as celebratory gifts,” he suggests. “For our new friendship and whatever else it may become.”

He sounds very sure that it is going to become something else, and you hope it does, so much.

91:

In another store, Naruto flips through jackets for part two of Shikamaru’s gift.

You peer at him from the other side of the rack, trying to identify Shikamaru’s tastes in clothing as the three that Naruto has grabbed are vastly different in design: one being a solid dark blue, another with a street art graphic design, and the last a light gray with brightly colored flowers.

Naruto clears his throat. “So, how do you know that asshole anyways?”

Oh.

Well, the question was bound to come. You were expecting it, but you are disappointed in yourself for not coming up with a clear excuse or reasoning in preparation. Despite your prediction, you are still caught off guard.

“We...went to the same middle school,” you say carefully. Even to your own ears, you can hear the way the words are filtered through a screen.

“I see,” Naruto says, pulling out a mustard hoodie. When you don’t elaborate, he asks, “Is this another one of Miss [Name]’s infamous secrets?”

“Something like that,” you say.

There is quiet.

He gazes at you over the metal and clothes. “Will you tell me some day?” he asks, voice quieter than you had ever heard or thought possible.

You look into his eyes, and then drop your stare to the jackets, pretending to sift through the items.

“I think so,” you tell him just as softly. “...I’d like to.”

92:

Naruto looks at the things he bought for both you and Shikamaru. You do not miss the fact that he bought you significantly more items.

“Alrighty, Bambs,” Naruto announces. “Gotta shove all this shit in your backpack.”

“Are we done here?” you ask, sipping at the soda you insisted on buying yourself.

“Yup,” Naruto says. “Let’s head back to my place. I don’t have cup holders, so, ya’ know, better chug it.” Even as he tells you to finish the Coke, he reaches across the table and grabs your cup. It is easy to grab it, as your hand has gotten slack with the sudden announcement that the two of you are going to his place.

He doesn’t expect anything, right?

Right?

You suddenly feel bad that you have these thoughts, but you have to protect yourself; these are the thoughts that come to mind to keep you from harm’s way. You want to believe in his laughter and gentle touch so badly, but you have been scarred so many times before by similar caresses.

As if sensing your hesitation, Naruto asks, “That alright with you?”

You nod, but hesitantly.

“You don’t have to come inside,” he says. “I just have to drop off everything.”

You almost laugh. He always proves your darkness wrong.

“Okay,” you say, and he smiles.

93:

In the parking lot, Naruto messes with his bike and your backpack. He shoves the items inside your bag and undoes the lock on his motorcycle, pulls out his helmet. As he shuffles about, you hear a loud swear echoing in the area, followed by group laughter and howls.

Across the way, you see Kiba with people you vaguely recognize. Perhaps you all went to the same middle school. Perhaps you passed them by throughout your days. These are small towns and small worlds, after all.

As you look at the way he laughs, fierce and fanged, you hold back a shiver, feeling the goosebumps on your arm and the hair on the back of your neck raise.

Your first instinct is to avert your eyes. Your heart starts to race and your hands get sweaty and you’re pretty sure you’re heaving loudly and heavily. Every bone in you writhes — look away — but you don’t.

Look, because you have to start somewhere.

Look, because you couldn’t say anything earlier.

Look, because he’s just a man — just a boy — just flesh and blood and cartilage, just like you; and if you can bleed, so can he; and if he can scar, then you can stitch.

“[Name].” Naruto interrupts your thoughts. When you turn to look at him, he’s holding out the backpack for you to wear. “You ready?” he asks.

You shrug the straps on and nod.

“Then, let’s get the hell outta here!”

You grab his shoulders, the muscle shifting beneath your palms, but never tensing. You wrap your arms around his waist, as tentatively as before — and as before, he pulls you closer and tighter.

Naruto coaxes the motorcycle into calling to the roads. It seems that he had noticed Kiba’s presence earlier as he purposely drives by the group. They are hanging around a deep red convertible that pales in comparison to Naruto’s loud and fluid motorcycle. The sound of the bike seems to turn into a low growl, like a rumble in the chest, or a thunder resounding in the distance, warning of storm to come.

You see Kiba and his friends turn to watch as you and Naruto peel out of the parking lot, cutting off several cars, the motorcycle tires screeching against the cement as if daring them to follow.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 69-83

Previously - 64-68

69: “Alright, let’s talk,” Naruto announces. You look at him curiously. “You say I don’t know you – so, let’s get to know each other.” You feel yourself shrinking. All the darkness comes back, the self-doubt, the fear, the whispering – your classmates’, your mom’s, your own – but Naruto grasps your hands warmly. “Don’t do that,” he says. It’s hard to meet his gaze. “Don’t hide from me,” he murmurs, leaning forward. He is linking his fingers with yours. “Is that cheesy to say? I mean it. I want to know.” You think of the last time you opened yourself up. Trust me. Trust me. I love you. I’ll take care of you. Trust me... Shh. There are too many scars.

70:

You close your eyes. Shh. “I’m scared,” you whisper. “It’s okay,” he says. “It’s okay... I’m scared, too.” “You are?” You open your eyes to look at him, stunned. What does he have to be scared about? He’s so nice, and funny, and handsome, and warm. He embodies the summer sun, feeding the daisies in darkened corners as he passes by. “Yeah, I am,” he says. “I like you a lot, [Name]. I know you think we don’t know each other – and yeah, that’s true, but –” His cheeks are turning pink. “I dunno. It’s hard to explain. I may not know your birthday or your favorite color or anything, but I...I think you’re talented. I think you’re amazing with a pencil. I think you’ve got a really cute smile – and I think you’re not as nice as you want people to think – and I like that.” You feel your face heating up. He hasn’t once dropped his gaze; despite his own reddening cheeks and bashful hesitance, he keeps his eyes on you. “And because I like you, I don’t wanna, you know, fuck anything up.” You think you’ve stopped breathing. Now, he glances away for a quick second. Naruto clears his throat, and then you are once again seeing clear, sincere blue. “You don’t have to like me right now,” he continues. “I mean, you don’t have to like me at all, honestly, but –” “I like you,” you blurt. “I mean – I think you’re funny, and kind, and...um.” It’s his turn to look surprised. You swallow, hoping he doesn’t ask you to say it again, but then his surprise becomes smiles, and he’s squeezing your hand – and you’re squeezing back. “Can I kiss you?” he asks. He rubs the back of his neck. Your eyes are wide. “... Too soon? ...You’re right, you’re right, too soon, my bad.” Too soon, you agree with a nod, but you’re still smiling.

71: The food has arrived and everything is delicious. It is a cafe, set up where one can comfortably sit and chat or study; the menu is not particularly expansive, but what has come out smells divine and tastes even more so. Mrs. Akimichi had stopped by with some tapioca drinks on the house before shuffling off to serve the other customers. The two of you are eating in a comfortable silence. Naruto has kicked his foot back up, but this time he has it near your leg, the space between still vibrating, always vibrating.

72: A boy who you assume to be Chouji walks out of the kitchen. Like his mother, he looks to be of the giant species. His face is set in a hard line, his eyes whirring with thought, but the atmosphere around him, though cool, is not cold. “Hey, Naruto,” he greets. “Chouji!” Naruto has a mouth full of food, but etiquette doesn’t stop his enthusiasm. “The food’s great, man!” “Thanks,” Chouji says in response, and with his large body blocking the view of the other customers, he snatches a fry off of Naruto’s plate and eats it. “I paid for that, asshole!” Naruto complains. “I cooked it,” Chouji retorts, and to darken the dot at the end of the sentence, he steals another fry. As he chews, he looks over to you, and you stiffen under the scrutinizing gaze. You suddenly feel that everyone you meet will be looking at you in a similar way. You should’ve expected it really – it’s not as if it would be different with your friends. Naruto would be analyzed and investigated with every prying question. You suppose the only difference is that he seems to glide under microscopes and spotlights with ease, and you tend to harden in the heavy glow. Chouji reaches his hand out to you. Quickly, you wipe your own on your pants and shake his outstretched limb. “Chouji,” he says. “Hi. [Name],” you say. “How’s the food?” “Good,” you nod. “R-really good. Thank you.” He doesn’t smile, but his eyes seem to light up, especially when you take another bite. You think that perhaps all of his friends have a similar kind of shine. “On the house, right?” Naruto slides in with an audacious grin. “50% discount at least?” “You trying to take away my family’s livelihood?” Naruto is immediately solemn. “Full price it is!”

73: “What do you have planned for today?” you ask, sipping at your drink. “Nothing really,” Naruto admits. “Just hang out with a pretty girl.” He says it so unabashedly. “I think I’m growing immune to your sweet talking,” you say suddenly, pretending that your straw is much more interesting than it is. “Oh, Bambs...” Naruto shakes his head. “This is just the tip of the iceberg. I’m gonna sweep you off your goddamn feet if it’s the last goddamn thing I do.” You see another chance, and you decide to reach out and grasp it with both hands. “Naruto, am I supposed to be impressed by your vulgarity?” He groans suddenly. “[Name], you’re killing me!” You turn rosy, pleased with yourself, and giggle.

74: Mrs. Akimichi comes by with the check. Neither of them consult you first, as she gives it to Naruto immediately, and he pulls out his card and slides it on the little tray without even peeking at the damage. “Hey,” Naruto says. “Why does it feel like it’s been a long time since you’ve laughed?” The question catches you by surprise. The conversation so far has been light, gaps filled with smiles and not-so-secret glances. The sudden shift makes you uncomfortable. You choose your tone carefully. “I laugh,” you argue. He tilts his head, and under his scrutinizing sincerity, you avert your gaze. You tell yourself to be strong, that he wants to know about you and you want to know about him – and that this is what it takes: the unraveling, the unzipping, the laying out the spine and spleen all on the table, bit by bit, until every scarred skin is pinned under lamplight. Then, with that in mind, you finally admit, “It’s been hard...these past few years."

75: “What’s happened...?” he asks. You feel lips on your earlobes, searing breath on your paper-thin skin, teeth scraping against the trail of every vein. “A lot of things,” you whisper. A lot of people, you think. When you see his face, you give him a small smile. “It hasn’t been all bad,” you murmur. “Sakura and Ten-Ten always make me laugh.” “Yeah.” But he doesn’t look convinced. He doesn’t push further though, and you have nothing more to add at this time.

76: You feel hands between your thighs, pushing your legs apart. Murmured praises ghost against the surface of your privacy. What once felt warm and heated is now cold and cruel. You know better now, that sentiments sighed in darkened rooms are always sweet without the daylight to unveil the saccharine shadows, to reveal the bitter decay in the center of the fruit. You wish you had known it back then, because you’re rotting now, too. Your flesh and bones hide the mold, the infection, the fact that every cell and molecule is tainted and blackened. Someone touches your shoulder and you jump in your seat. “You alright?” Naruto asks, having come back from the bathroom. You nod and offer a meek smile to soothe any worries. He frowns. “You sure?” “Yes.” You nod again. He hesitates. It looks like he chews the inside of his cheek, thinking of what to say or whether it’s the right time to say anything at all. Instead, Naruto reaches across the booth and grabs your backpack. “Let’s go,” he says, opting to offer you a patient smile. Your fingers twitch. You want to grasp his hand for comfort, for the knowledge that there are warm beings out there that don’t burn and boil, but you settle for the feel of his palm against your back as the two of you walk out, waving at Mrs. Akimichi.

77: “Where to next, Bambs?” You shrug, unable to meet his face. There is a pulsing behind your eyes, a dark tendril trying to pull your gaze to the past. You’re having a hard time resisting the pull. “No ideas?” he presses. “Um...” You look to your backpack in his hands. “Maybe somewhere I could get some sketching done...?” He beams. “Sounds like a plan.”

78: You swing your legs over the bike awkwardly, thinking that you’ll never be able to smoothly slide on like Naruto. Once again, you try to find a balance between pressing against him and being cordial or polite or obtusely distant, but he grabs your wrists and pulls you closer just like every time before. Pressed against his firm back that smells of boyish cologne and detergent, you feel the dark tendrils that were lapping at your hair disperse and fade against the roar of the motorcycle, unable to keep up with the with the call of the open road.

79: Naruto pulls up to the mall, the biggest one in any of the neighboring towns. Despite the time and the fact that school is still in session, there are still quite a number of people walking around, especially those of your age. “Figured we could find a place to stop in here,” Naruto says. “Also, I really need to buy these new shoes for Shikamaru’s birthday coming up.” “When’s that?” you ask. As you two descend from the bike, Naruto clips the helmet into the lock and immediately reaches for your backpack. “It’s fine,” you stammer. “Yeah, it’s fine,” he repeats, tugging until you relent seconds later, face warming. “It’s in two weeks, Thursday night, so make sure you keep that slot open.” “I wasn’t really invited,” you say in protest. You had only met Shikamaru once. The last thing you want to do is step on anyone’s toes. “Shikamaru doesn’t care,” Naruto scoffs. When he sees your hesitance, though, he says, “If it bothers you that much, Bambs, I can text him and ask.” “No, it’s okay...” Naruto looks at you curiously, trying to unravel your thoughts, but you don’t say anything further. You trust him. You don’t want to say it aloud, afraid you may paint a target on your back for the universe to hover over — but you trust him. In this little amount of time, if he says that Shikamaru doesn’t care, if he says that he wants you to come along, you’ll go.

80: At the center of the mall is a large fountain. There are statues of fish and turtles spewing water intermixed with more contemporary designs. There are a couple of kids playing with the coins that were thrown inside. Some people have taken seats around the benched ring of the fountain, relaxing on their phones or chit-chatting with their neighbors. You feel a rush of blood, of purpose. There are a lot of subjects here, a lot of stories to be drawn. Naruto offers your backpack. “I’ll be in that store,” he says, pointing to a store that strictly sold shoes. When you reach for your belongings, he suddenly pulls back. “Don’t leave me, yeah?” he asks, raising a brow. You try your hand at this light-hearted game again, having made a few good moves so far. “Don’t — Don’t take too long then.” He laughs, relinquishing your bag. “Yeah right,” he says. “You’d love it if you could spend hours here.” You can’t deny it as your twitching fingers are already deep inside the bag, grasping for the pencils humming in their case.

81: You have taken a seat at the fountain, your backpack at your feet for easy reaching. You have already gone through three sketches of random people: a father and son, a pregnant woman, and a businessman on lunch. You try to find subjects that are constantly moving to challenge the accuracy of your pencil, the swiftness of your memory. The sound of your instrument, scratching against the paper, is louder than the murmur of people around you as you focus on it. Sometimes, you imagine that you can sketch out an image in your head, just by listening to the sounds of the pencil skrtch-skrtching against paper. It's an unrealistic and romantic thought, but perhaps there's someone out there who can, blessed in some distant universe. You think about people who have given their all to their work, people with no hands who learn to paint with their feet, with their mouths, with their tongues pressed against the wood of the brush with the same gentleness as they would against skin — you think of your mom who spent every Saturday morning wrapped in the smell of oils, dusted in paint particles, drawing out dreams above your head as you slept beneath her canvas.

82: “Doing okay?” You look up and see Naruto standing across from you empty handed. “Yes.” You smile and flip the page, starting a new sketch of the woman breastfeeding beside the potted plant, too green to truly be real, but so green that you can’t help but hope it is. “I thought you were buying something?” you ask. “Yeah,” he says, shuffling. “Figured I’d come check on you.” “...I’m okay,” you mumble, pleased and embarrassed. “God, I want to kiss you so bad,” Naruto announces. You turn red, but you don’t stop sketching and you don’t look at him. “We’re taking it slow — I know, I know,” he says, shaking his head. “Just wanted to throw it out there.” “Oh, it’s out there...” you mumble. “Cheeky [Name].” He snorts and heads back into the store. You see him pause as he enters to look at you again.

83: Footsteps slow near you. From your peripheral, you can see a set of old converses. “Did you buy anything this time?” you ask. You look up from your picture, and instead of seeing golden hair and impish eyes and a mouth carved to laugh, you see thick brown hair and dark eyes and a wolfish grin, a mouth carved to devour.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 16-19

Previously - 10-15

016: After what had transpired, Sakura had walked you to all your classes. Now, it is the end of the day, and she diligently walks you to the locker. She doesn’t have to, and you tell her so, you say that you are fine, but she just shakes her head and ignores your words. “Ino really didn’t mean it,” Sakura says again. She leans against the lockers beside yours. Your hand is shaky and you hope she doesn’t notice it as you take out your brown notebook. “You know how she is.” You do know how she is, and that is why you know she meant it, even if she didn’t mean to say it aloud or regretted it afterward. There is nothing to say in reply to Sakura’s sugar-coated words, not when you know the truth. At the back of your locker you have a mirror hanging; you don’t know why you had put it up. You don’t care for your reflection, and yet, you had hung it up one day; normally, the books blocked your reflection, but today, you see it. You are not disgusted; you are not pleased. Just curious. Just sad. Something changed that day, but maybe everyone else sees a different change. Everyone but Sakura. You are thankful for that. “I’ll drive you home today,” Sakura says, but you shake your head. “It’s okay,” you tell her. “I’m okay.”

017: Sakura leaves and you watch her back disappear into the crowd. She pauses a couple of times to glance at you, as if waiting for you to change your mind and call her back to ride home in her old Toyota Avalon, but you merely smile and wave. You reassure her, even if it is a bit of a white lie. When she finally gets enveloped by the moving crowd, you turn back to your locker and stare at the blue metal. You don’t want to go home. You don’t want to get on that bus, but you don’t want to ride home with Sakura either. “I’ll just go to the art room,” you mumble, even though you’re not sure how you’re going to get home later — but that’s something you’ll think about whenever it comes along. Just as you shift your backpack up off the ground, someone taps your shoulder. You turn to the left — no one is there. “Wow, you actually fell for it!” Naruto. The surprise on your face is as plain as day. Why would someone who left school before lunch suddenly come back at the end of the day? He is risking a lot, especially because the teachers are wandering around now. “You’re a funny one.” He grins, rubbing his finger under his nose. You don’t know what to say, so you shrug, clutching at your backpack straps. He is still smiling, even though there is nothing being said now. A few more seconds roll by while you stare at your old converses. You try to think of an excuse that’ll get you away, but come up short. After the whole Ino thing, you don’t really want to talk to him; not that it’s his fault or anything. You just feel like it’s bad juju. “So, what are you still here for?” he asks. You glance at him, shuffle your feet. “I could ask you the same thing,” you say, the boldest thing you’ve ever said to anyone. They feel like strong words, even though there is no malice behind them. “I actually forgot something,” he says. You finally notice the sheets of paper in his hand; you catch glimpses of music notes. Does he play an instrument? “You, on the other hand,” he continues. “The buses are about to leave, you know.” But the comment doesn’t register because you are too busy staring at the papers, trying to identify the notes with what little knowledge you have about music. It is futile to try and understand what they mean, but you can tell that everything is hand-drawn. Seeing your gaze, Naruto hides the papers behind his back and you look up, embarrassed again. You feel your chest and ears turn red, but he is not angry — on the contrary, he is still smiling. “They’re not ready yet,” he says. He folds them in half, slipping them in his back pants pockets underneath his shirt.

018: “Come on,” Naruto says, jutting a finger in the direction behind him. He starts walking, but you don’t follow; when he realizes, he gestures again, and says, “Come on, I’ll take you home. You don’t drive, right? And you’ve missed the bus by now.” Still, you don’t move, but when he stands there, thumbs in his pockets, waiting patiently with eyebrows raised, you slowly make your steps, shaky but eager. And then you pause. Ino would be mad. More than that, she’d be hurt. “…It’s okay.” You shake your head. “I was going to go to the art room.” Something in you aches, but you tell yourself it’s better this way. “Oh? You’re part of the art club?” “Not…really… I just use their room.” “Wow, didn’t know you had a rebel streak in ‘ya,” he says. You don’t have time to correct him before he starts again (because you’re not a rebel; the art teacher, knowing your situation, allows you to use the room and equipment whenever you want). “Well, all right then,” he says, and you nod, grateful. Somewhat.

019: The point of you denying his proposal of taking you home was to be a good, loyal friend, to put Ino first. But… But how are you a loyal friend now, when instead of a ten, fifteen minute car ride home, you are now sitting side by side, him watching you sketch the statue several feet in front of you? You hope he doesn’t notice, but he is messing up your breathing. Boys don’t normally sit this close to you, and even though you don’t sense any ill will from his genuine curiosity and fascination in your pencil strokes, you are still uncomfortable, still…excited? Anxious? Maybe all of the above and more. Neither of you speak. You focus on drawing the statue’s reality, and he concentrates on the strokes of your pencil. “You’re seriously amazing,” he mumbles. You glance at him; he catches it and smiles. “I’m…actually not that good,” you say. “My mom’s a lot better than me. Our house used to smell of paint because she liked to paint on the weekends and sketch during the weekdays during her lunch break… But she hasn’t picked up a brush or pencil in a long time.” You are rambling. You could hear it from your own mouth, feel the awkwardness sneaking up your toes, and yet you had rambled and you couldn’t stop. And even though you expect a half-hearted answer, a half-interested response, you instead receive a genuinely captivated gaze. There is a small smile on his face, partially hidden by his arms from the backwards way he is sitting (back of the chair against his chest). “I dunno,” he says, “what you can do is pretty amazing. It’s kind of hard to imagine that anyone can top that.” Another compliment. You quickly look away, having found yourself staring into his eyes. “Thank you,” you say. You’re grateful he isn’t annoyed, and you return to sketching, calmer than before. You can feel him shift in the chair and fall into a light sleep.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 20-29

Previously - 16-19

020: He is fast asleep, but it’s time to leave. Five o’clock is usually the latest that the clubs let out (most leave by four), and the custodian keeps checking the art room every fifteen minutes to see if you have left. The two of you are probably making his work more difficult than necessary. Hesitatingly, you reach out, and then pause inches away, unsure and a little nervous. You need to wake him. Just a pat on the shoulder, a light shake, but for some reason you are nervous, you are scared. You remember the feel of the air between your shoulder and his fingers that day at the park, and you wonder if there would be electricity if you actually touched him. Is that a weird thought to have? Either way, you pull your hand back and clear your throat. “Naru — Naruto,” you say, and when he doesn’t stir, you say it again with more volume. Finally, you resort to poking his arm with the back of your pencil and he finally shifts awake, albeit slowly. Naruto sits up straight and yawns, stretching his arms out toward the ceiling. “It’s time to go,” you say. With sleep still in his eyes, he nods and slowly stands up on wobbling legs. You hide a smile to yourself, trying to engrave the image of his face still trying to pull away from the Sandman into your mind for later usage. He yawns again and follows you out the door; you decrease your pace because it looks like he’s having trouble keeping himself upright. “I’m sleepy,” he says. “I can see that,” you say. “Hey, don’t get snippy with me, Missus.” But he smiles and you look away quickly, heart beating because that is another out of character thing for you to say, and yet you love it so. “I’ll take you home,” he offers. Ino’s face in the mirror when she had been reapplying her make up earlier that day flashes in your mind. “It’s okay. I think I’m just gonna walk,” you reply. “Why?” he asks, eyebrows raised. “Swear I won’t do anything.” “I don’t think that,” you say quickly, realizing what this may look like to him. “I — I just, would really, like some fresh air today…” He stands there for a second, and you feel yourself shrinking under his gaze. You rub your arm, and then you feel the atmosphere shift as he sighs almost teasingly. “You’re a funny one,” he says. “But whatever you say. You can always ask me for a ride, you know.” Your eyes are on the ground, but they quickly flitter up to look at him and nod. He turns around and walks away in the opposite direction toward the student parking lot, and you turn to walk out the front of the school, wondering what would’ve happened if you had just said yes.

021: You don’t go home. You can’t be in that house with your head buzzing like this. So, instead, you take the way to the park; it’s not too far away from your house, but it is definitely a detour. There are a few people on the playground, kids and parents, but your bench is empty, thankfully. You take a seat and comfortably get into the lounging position, the one where your feet are on the bench and you’re half sitting and half lying because you’re not trying to copy the minutes of the world in seconds. You’re just trying to rest, to clear your mind. A sigh worms its way up from your chest. A clear mind sounded pretty good. It feels as though all you can think about is Naruto Uzumaki and his blue eyes and charming smile and perfectly messy hair. Even though Ino likes him. Not that you like him like him or anything; you just like him. He's nice. He's nice to you, but more than that it…seems like he wants to talk to you, and that he cares about what you say, and that he’s — dare you say it — interested. Romantically? No, not like that. Just the fact that he listened to your story about your mom and wasn’t annoyed, was actually grateful that you shared something... It is more than what people usually give you. You find yourself desperately hoping that it’s genuine.

022: There is a shadow on your notebook. When you look up, you freeze under the familiar smirk. Kiba is not someone you wanted to see. “Nice drawing.” You quickly close the notebook and thank whatever god or creature up in the sky that had stopped you from drawing Naruto and guided your hand toward the bird in the tree instead. “Still going on with the silent treatment?” He leans forward. The breeze blows his cologne away from you, something else you silently thank the universe for. “Don’t you think this is a bit juvenile, [Name]?” You swallow a lump. The pencil is gripped tightly in your hands. “Come on, [Name]. It’s been like two years or something, right?” A little over three years actually. He tilts his head. You jump when you feel your phone buzzing. He laughs, but you are grateful to have your mom yelling in your ear because it’s a reason to leave.

023: That night you dream of hands on your thighs. You wake up crying in the dark. Clutching your sketchbook beneath the covers is the only way you fall back asleep.

024: When your mom comes to your room to find out why you haven’t gotten ready for school, you fake a cough and a sneeze. She doesn’t believe you. It’s only when you attempt to hack up a lung for ten long minutes that she believes your lie. Your aching throat and hoarse voice are side effects to the coughing, and though they’re painful, they add to the lie. She prescribes you rest and water, but all you needed was a four hour nap, and then you roll out of bed and get ready for the rest of the day. On remembering that it’s a small town, you opt for a beanie and hoodie from the closet. You try not to skip too often, but it is these few-and-far-in-between days of stress-relieving activities that keep your head from exploding from all the thoughts that run rampant in your brain.

025: Fr: Sakura Dude, where you at? Are you okay?? Fr: Ino Uhm, hellooooo? Skipping without us? Rude. Fr: Ten I’m jealous!!! Break me outta here!!!!!!! You smile.

026: You don't expect the text messages. You should give your friends more credit. You don't expect a beanie and hoodie to work so well, but it does. None of your nosy neighbors notice who you are and the fact that you aren’t in school. You do expect the nice day, and it doesn’t disappoint. You don’t expect to trip on your shoelaces and scrape your knees and shins on the way down, but you do, and it is painful. You do expect witnesses to laugh, but no one has noticed. You expect your bench to be free, but your stomach drops when you see a figure sitting on it. Your heart suddenly thinks Kiba, and you berate yourself for not realizing that life is cruel and that your life in particular is awful —— but then you catch the sunlight playing in yellow hair and you stop.

027: There is the feeling, the hope, that he has been waiting for you, that he came to this park, to this bench where you had first met because he wanted to see you again, but before you can think about how ridiculous that is, before you can begin to break down that secret wish, he grins. “I knew there was a rebel in you,” he says.

028: “What are you doing here?” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. Naruto is not surprised or offended. “Waiting for you,” he answers. You are confused. The backpack is ten times heavier on your shoulders, but not as heavy as the thoughts budding in your mind, thoughts that shouldn’t be taking root, but they are, and they’re strong, and they seem to have originated from the stomach because that’s where you’re suddenly feeling funny. “I...” You blink uselessly, and then avert your gaze from his too-blue eyes to the dirt. “I’m skipping.” He laughs. “Yeah, I know, me, too.” You don’t understand why he so easily says this, but it’s not as if you’re in any position to question it. Maybe he needed a day off, too, despite the fact that he’s only been at the school for what, a week? Two weeks? What would he need a day off for? As if reading your thoughts, he shrugs his shoulders. “I realized you weren’t coming to school and figured, shit, if you were skipping on this nice day, maybe I should, too.” Okay, that made sense. Sort of. But why here? The question is on the edge of your tongue, the tip of your teeth. His glowing eyes makes him look like an imp, like he knows and knows that you know, but he wants you to say it instead. You lick your lips and suddenly feel self-conscious; they’re dry, and probably too far past the saving point. You’ll have to peel them later, you think to yourself, but not now, not in front of him. You clear your throat. “Were... Were you really waiting for me?” Naruto's eyes take on a mischievous sparkle. You again are reminded of the hunter and the deer.

029: Naruto is humming a song you don’t recognize. You have your sketchbook open on your lap, your hand armed with the pencil; but your fingers only hover over the blank page. “Artist’s block?” he asks. You nod. It’s a little white lie. It’s more like you have a case of awareness. The two of you have been sitting on the bench for the better half of forty minutes, mostly in silence, mostly with you paying too much attention to the body heat radiating off him, warmer than the sunlight on your face. How could you not want to draw him? Underneath the spotted sunlight, he is in his element, and he is thriving, the way he’s sitting, the way the light bounces off his hair, the way the wind tugs on his shirt and the ladybugs land on his shoulder —— but you can’t draw him. Obviously. So you resort to sitting with your pencil poised and paused, awkwardly, until he leaves. “So, this is, like, your spot, right?” he asks. You decide to nod again, instead of giving a verbal response. You’re not sure, but it feels as if he’s trying to keep a conversation going, though he does it so effortlessly, even if futilely. “Any particular reason why?” Ah, a question that can’t be answered with a simple nod. The mischievous gleam is back, but this is not the first time you’ve played this game. You shrug your shoulders. He frowns slightly, pursing his lips as if he’s been stumped. You hide a triumphant smile. “You just came to get some drawing done?” You nod. “That’s the only reason for skipping class?” A shrug. “You haven’t even drawn anything." Silence. "Weird reason, then, eh?” You frown. It's not weird, you think. “Well, what’s your reason, then?” you ask. Crap. His eyes seem to say, Gotcha.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 53-63

Previously - 39-52

53:

“Alright, [Name],” Sakura says, glowering fiercely at you at a red light. “Start talking!”

“There’s nothing to say,” you tell her with a meek shrug, but the fire in her eyes tells you she is unconvinced and unsatisfied.

“Don’t give me that BS, [Name]! Where did you meet him? When did you start talking to him? Is he a good guy? He doesn’t bully you does he? He put his arm around you! Sort of. Well, basically.”

“Sakura – ”

“Are you two dating? Do you like him? Does he like you? Does he really like you? Ooh, he better...! I know his type! Listen, [Name], boys are assholes – don’t forget this – and if he makes you cry or makes you do something you don’t want to do, you tell me and I swear to god, [Name] – ”

“Sakura, it’s okay – ”

“— I swear on everything that is fucking holy, I’ll kick his ass – ”

“He’s nice!”

Sakura is pulled out of her rant by the volume of your voice. She looks at you, surprised, and you turn red and lean against the passenger window as if you were trying to escape the car and conversation.

“He’s nice, Sakura,” you say again, quietly in your usual pitch. “He’s not... He doesn’t act like other people; he feels...different.” You of all people know how that can sound, how, as beautiful as sunlight can be, it is also so blinding. You don’t want to be hurt again, but you don’t want to assume the worst of him. He makes you want to give him a chance.

“Really?” Sakura asks, raising an unconvinced brow.

You nod. “It’s still early...but he hasn’t tried anything. We just...talk.” You glance at her, and then add on, “But of course I’ll let you know if you need to...kick his butt.”

She simmers down finally when she sees that you’re not simply making up excuses or covering up his cruelty, and when she hears that you’ll, of course, let her do her duty as her best friend and beat down any brute that comes tumbling your way, she smiles and pats your knee.

“Okay, [Name],” she says finally. “I trust you. I’m just worried, but, you’re right, he did seem really nice.”

You smile at her – she is a good soul. You are so lucky to have her in your life.

“And he even paid for your drink. Whatever you’re doing, it’s working,” she teases, but you shake your head and, in your agitation, only vehemently deny in your mind rather than verbally. Sakura laughs at your reaction, and the two of you drive the rest of the way quietly, she lost in the 94.5 radio station, and you lost in a meadow.

54:

“Hey, [Name]?” Sakura licks her lips. “[Name], is this the same Naruto that Ino keeps yammering on about?”

“Yes,” you whisper.

“...Okay.”

55:

When you’re halfway up your driveway, Sakura calls out to you. Turning around, you see her peering at you from the driver’s side, having rolled down the passenger window.

“Don’t worry about Ino, alright?” she says. “You let me deal with her.”

You’re unsure. These are consequences you did not expect, and do not want.

“You deserve happiness, too, you know?” Sakura says. “Do whatever feels right for you.”

56:

“Did Sakura take you home this time?” your mom yells from the kitchen when she hears you open the door. You sigh; not even one second in the house and she’s already hounding you.

“[Name]! Did you hear me?”

“Yes,” you say tiredly. “Sakura took me home.”

“Good. Are you still talking to that boy?”

You pretend not to hear her as you scatter up the stairs.

57:

Fr: ***-***-5252

hey, little miss cheeky.

whatcha up to?

58:

Sakura is right. Right?

Of course you deserve happiness. That’s not the question.

The question is: do you deserve happiness more than Ino? Is your happiness more important? Even if it gets in the way of Ino’s? This is what burns holes in your brain.

Logically, you know that the chances of Naruto being Ino’s happily ever after are slim. It’s not a mean thought, but one of realism – however, you can say that about your situation, too.

You sit on your bed, drawing out storm clouds with the cheap markers you had bought at the store.

You know you deserve to be happy. You understand that. You do.

59:

Fr: ***-***-5252

hello?

60:

Fr: Naruto

come on, [name], you’re breaking my heart here.

61:

The air in your room is filled with scratching markers and shaky sighs, soft buzzings and pulsing veins, prickling doubts and hesitant dreams.

62:

To: Naruto

Hello.

No, that’s too lame. You can’t send that.

To: Naruto

Hi.

To: Naruto

Hey

To: Naruto

How ar

You drop your phone in your lap and stare up accusingly at the ceiling, as if it was some god or creature up there that had made you self-doubting and tentative.

To: Naruto

Hello.

You send it, lungs expanding in a way that suffocated your chest. It was a lame message, but what can you do? You’re just not interesting, not as funny as the others, not as – your phone buzzes.

Fr: Naruto

SHE LIVESSSS!!!!!!!

63:

You and Naruto stop texting pretty soon after you had responded. He says that he took a break from working only to wait for your text, but now he has to resume his ‘music stuff,’ whatever that entails. However, with the knowledge that all is well between the two of you – dare you say, your little budding friendship is happy and set – you resume your sketching. Then, somewhere around midnight, you fall asleep, jittery even in your dreams.

[keulixeutin]

Wildflowers

A/N: 10-15

Previously - 05-09

010:  “Good morning.” You speed through your morning greeting quickly, as is the custom, and rush out the door with your backpack and jacket flying behind you. Your mom is used to it. She used to make a small breakfast for you, either one that was portable or easy to swallow in a couple of bites, but you never grabbed them. She eventually got the message. When you disappear around the block, away from the cul-de-sac, you slow down to an amble, heading for the bus stop. You are still unable to look her in the eyes, even though it’s been five years. But there are some scars that don’t heal properly; she of all people should understand that. There are seven other people at the bus stop, mostly underclassmen, as the rest of the upperclassmen of the neighborhood have cars and wouldn’t be caught dead riding the bus. The exception being you, but that’s only to be expected when you don’t have a license. Your neighborhood’s bus stop is conveniently located on the busy street outside you neighborhood. A bit of a walk from your house, but at least you have interesting things to look at while you wait, namely the other cars and the familiar student faces, laughing in their air conditioned ride while the rest of you wait outside with the mosquitos. The underclassmen have already made friends with each other. A couple of them tried to talk to you at the beginning of the semester, but your quiet responses weren’t interesting enough to warrant a second try. There is a car without a roof that rolls by, black with a sleek leather interior. In the passenger seat is a familiar head of yellow hair that rustles in the wind, complementing the red hair of the driver. It stops at the red light. Naruto looks around, head bobbing to music that you can faintly hear. He turns and sees you staring, you and the rest of the crowd of course, but he doesn’t offer them a glance, blue eyes only on you. You raise a hand hesitantly, not in a hello but an acknowledgement, maybe even a thank you for the creative inspiration, or the compliment of your picture. (Okay, and maybe it is a little bit of a hello.) Naruto smiles, gives you a salute, and then the car drives off and you’re left with seven other pairs of eyes glued to your once invisible frame.

011:

“So, you’ve already made friends with the new kid?” Kin is leaning against the back of her seat on the bus to stare at you curiously. You look up at her; you can see her nose hairs from this angle, but you don’t want to tell her that, nor do you want to smile and have her lash out at you, so you keep your face still and steady and shake your head. “No, not really,” you say. “Uh huh.” She doesn’t believe you. It doesn’t matter. If she doesn’t believe you, she doesn’t believe you — you’re used to people doubting you. What’s the meaning of one more? “Well, whatever,” she rolls her eyes. “Just don’t get any funny ideas. It’s not nice to spread your disease around to people who don’t know.” And with that, she turns around. Her giggles echo. Leaning against the window, you stare out the glass and bite down on your tongue to keep from opening your mouth; you don’t know if you want to cuss her out or scream incoherently at the ceiling. You don’t have diseases, but no matter how many times you tell people, no one wants to pick up the truth and spread it around. People only like the ugly talk. No one remembers that you won the art contest three years ago, but they’ll always recall fondly how you fell at the eighth grade graduation.

012: You see Ino in between your third and fourth class; from your knowledge of her schedule, she has just finished English. She doesn’t look too pleased. She enters the girls’ bathroom, and without a second thought, you quickly make your way inside, trying to maneuver your way through the crowd by avoidance and soft apologies rather than outright pushing. Ino is in front of one of the large rectangle mirrors, reapplying make up even though her face looks flawless. From the reflection, she sees you enter and stand some feet behind her, clutching your books to your chest as if trying to protect yourself from everyone else. “Hey,” she says, taking her mascara out of her backpack. “Hi,” you whisper. You glance at the girl washing her hands; she stares back at you but doesn’t say anything. A second later, she leaves, and the bathroom is all for you and Ino. “Everything okay?” you ask, feeling a little braver now that it’s just the two of you. “Yeah.” Her mouth is open and her eyes scrunched in a funny manner to compensate for the makeup application process. Should you ask her again? But you don’t want to trigger her temper. “I mean,” she continues, “nothing is wrong, but it’s not as if it went right.” “What…do you mean?” She sighs, pocketing her mascara. She washes her hands with soap, and instead of drying them with the paper towel, she shakes them free of excess droplets. “Nothing, never mind, it’s whatever.” Ino fixes her hair. “I’ll try again tomorrow, right, [Name]?” You nod, still unsure, and follow her outside the bathroom. Her shoulders are slumped, but when she passes by her reflection in the window, she straightens her back and you don’t know if she’s found her courage again or if this is just for show.

013: You are let out for lunch, finally. Your stomach has been growling all day, having skipped breakfast. First things first, you have to drop off some books at the locker and switch out notebooks. It takes you a second to recall your locker combination, the thought of pizza too strong on your mind, but when you get it open you speedily unzip your backpack and pull out the necessary materials for the trade. “You!” You look up at the voice — Naruto is a locker block down on his knees. His backpack is open, but his locker is closed. There is a relieved grin on his face and he waves at you. “Hey, hey, come here!” You look around. There’s a girl some feet in front of you that points to herself and takes an excited step forward, but he shakes his head and points at you. “No, sorry — I mean you! Yeah, you, silly! C’mere!” She is disappointed, but you don’t even notice the glance she sends your way.

014: “I can’t get this stupid thing open,” Naruto says as you approach. You bend down next to him, watching him turn the knob. It looks like he’s doing it right. Naruto shows you his left hand where he has hastily scribbled his combination code. “Is that a nine or a four?” you ask, pointing to the middle scribble on his skin. He eyes his handiwork with a confused stare. “Uh… I think it’s an eight.” “Okay…” you say. “Try it with an eight? What have you been spinning it on?” “A six…?” He tries it with an eight, and when that doesn’t work, he tries all the numbers and it unlocks on a five. You can’t help but shake your head, and when you see him glare at you, you freeze and apologize, but he laughs. “Damn, so stiff!” He smiles. Oh. He is joking. You don’t want to apologize again for fear of seeming stupid, so you don’t say anything at all. It doesn’t seem to bother him; he continues talking as if he doesn’t feel any sense of awkwardness. “Anyways, thanks! Now I can finally stop carrying all my shit.” He empties his entire backpack into the locker and slams it shut. Pushing himself to his full height, he slings the backpack over his shoulder and walks off down the hall. “Um… You’re going the wrong way?” It comes out as a question when it is supposed to be a statement. He is heading in the opposite direction of the lunchroom, aiming for the side exit of the school. Naruto turns around to face you, walking backwards. There is a grin on his face and he places his finger against his lips. “Our secret,” he says, and winks.

015: “And where were you, missy?” Sakura asks when you take a seat at the lunch table, fifteen minutes late. There is only thirty minutes of lunch left, and you can only assume that Ino has already breezed through the story to Sakura. You don’t want to ask Ino to repeat everything, so you’ll probably ask Sakura for an update later. You take a bite out of your peanut butter and jelly sandwich. You are sure that whatever made Ino upset early that day had something to do with Naruto, but you don’t want to lie to your friends about why you were late, especially when nothing even happened. Before you could really decide on whether or not to keep the information to yourself, your mouth answers, “Naruto stopped me.” “What?” Ino’s head shoots up from her bag of cheetohs to stare at you incredulously. “He stopped you?” “Ino.” Sakura stares hard at her; the blonde drops her gaze for a second in guilt, but she doesn’t offer an apology. To say you didn’t find any offense in her tone of voice would be a lie; it hurt you, more than you expected. Sure, you’re quiet, and sure, there are rumors of that time, but what do people really know? Are you really damaged? Are you not worth as much as others somehow? You keep your face straight while you eat your sandwich. Do your friends think of you like that, too? “What did he want?” Ino asks after a pause. “Just some help with his locker…” you answer softly. “I see,” she says. It is silent. And then, after a while, because your heart is too kind, you announce, “Well, he doesn’t even know my name,” and you see her turn her head away and smile, comforted by your words.