"Metamerism" 5/?, Naruto
Jan. 26th, 2009 12:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fireunTitle- Metamerism 5/?
Naruto
The card rested amidst the old bills and tacky birthday cards, drawing his attention every time Naruto passed the table. He could have thrown it out. Used it as a coaster for a sloppily poured cup of coffee. Held it into the last working burner of the stove and watched the little flames eat it alive.
Instead his hands clenched every time that small, prim piece of card paper fussed its way out of obscurity. Naruto wasn’t naïve enough to believe the number at the bottom was a direct line to his tormentor, or that the address listed was anything more than an office inevitable staffed by some overdressed, unimpressed clerk. He scratched his stomach and scowled, testing out his fiercest early morning expression.
It segued into a yawn, pulling all the spite and vinegar from his posture. So some hotshot artist was obsessed. So what.
Quietly calling himself every derogatory name he had ever had to smile away, Naruto wandered out to find a payphone.
It was nothing more than a note left on his desk, a tiny slip of paper with a name and an address.
Sasuke glared at it, and wondered what had possessed the family secretary to pass on what was probably nothing more than a desperate attempt from an irritating fan.
It was nothing.
Movie night at Hinata’s place was a bit creepy, seeing as there were paintings stashed in thee damnedest of places. Nothing like walking into the downstairs bathroom to take a piss and seeing a portrait of yourself settled between toilette and the wall.
Honestly, he wanted to find where she had stashed the one Shikamaru kept mentioning. The way he smirked when he asked after it, the way Hinata blushed furiously, inevitably spilling a bit of whatever she was holding, made him more than a little curious and a bit suspicious.
But every bit of yellow paint, every dab of blue, made him jingle the change in his pocket.
Maybe tomorrow he would call again.
They were all on the fridge; held up by bland magnets, greeting him every time he went in search of a drink, a container of leftovers. The same name, the inevitable address. Never anything more, no message, no request. He had given up interrogating the secretary. She had nothing more to offer.
Sasuke fingered one of the slips of paper, running his finger across the address, tracing the name with a fingernail.
Naruto.
Leave me alone had been the order, eyes narrowed, teeth bared.
“Why wont you leave me alone?”
It was cologne he smelled first, something expensive and musky, desperately clawing at the odor of old ramen and clothes slightly mildewed hung on the line across his living room. It was as alien as the man standing on the slanted landing, face impassive, carefully not touching anything.
Against his better judgment, Naruto offered a crooked smile. “Hi.”
Sasuke felt traitorous lips twitch upwards in answer. That expression was much more infectious in person- more supple and invasive when not set and dried on canvas. Sasuke felt his fingers twitch, and shoved his hands into pockets.
Naruto raised an eyebrow at the fairly defensive posturing, the lack of a greeting. “So. Well, we had a pretty shitty start back there. I wasn’t going to apologize, and wasn’t going to ask for one from you!” Naruto rushed the words out as he watched Sasuke’s shoulders hitch up and back aggressively, tried to be as inoffensive as possible. “Shit, man, do you want to come in? It’s not much but its better than posturing out in the hall like a bunch of dogs.”
“Sure.” The words had slipped free before Sasuke could think to decline. He wanted nothing to do with this expressive man or his cluttered home. He didn’t belong in this sagging building with its invasive creaks and equally oppressive silences.
But the way Naruto smiled as he passed through the threshold…
That was an emotion he was not comfortable examining
Naruto
The card rested amidst the old bills and tacky birthday cards, drawing his attention every time Naruto passed the table. He could have thrown it out. Used it as a coaster for a sloppily poured cup of coffee. Held it into the last working burner of the stove and watched the little flames eat it alive.
Instead his hands clenched every time that small, prim piece of card paper fussed its way out of obscurity. Naruto wasn’t naïve enough to believe the number at the bottom was a direct line to his tormentor, or that the address listed was anything more than an office inevitable staffed by some overdressed, unimpressed clerk. He scratched his stomach and scowled, testing out his fiercest early morning expression.
It segued into a yawn, pulling all the spite and vinegar from his posture. So some hotshot artist was obsessed. So what.
Quietly calling himself every derogatory name he had ever had to smile away, Naruto wandered out to find a payphone.
It was nothing more than a note left on his desk, a tiny slip of paper with a name and an address.
Sasuke glared at it, and wondered what had possessed the family secretary to pass on what was probably nothing more than a desperate attempt from an irritating fan.
It was nothing.
Movie night at Hinata’s place was a bit creepy, seeing as there were paintings stashed in thee damnedest of places. Nothing like walking into the downstairs bathroom to take a piss and seeing a portrait of yourself settled between toilette and the wall.
Honestly, he wanted to find where she had stashed the one Shikamaru kept mentioning. The way he smirked when he asked after it, the way Hinata blushed furiously, inevitably spilling a bit of whatever she was holding, made him more than a little curious and a bit suspicious.
But every bit of yellow paint, every dab of blue, made him jingle the change in his pocket.
Maybe tomorrow he would call again.
They were all on the fridge; held up by bland magnets, greeting him every time he went in search of a drink, a container of leftovers. The same name, the inevitable address. Never anything more, no message, no request. He had given up interrogating the secretary. She had nothing more to offer.
Sasuke fingered one of the slips of paper, running his finger across the address, tracing the name with a fingernail.
Naruto.
Leave me alone had been the order, eyes narrowed, teeth bared.
“Why wont you leave me alone?”
It was cologne he smelled first, something expensive and musky, desperately clawing at the odor of old ramen and clothes slightly mildewed hung on the line across his living room. It was as alien as the man standing on the slanted landing, face impassive, carefully not touching anything.
Against his better judgment, Naruto offered a crooked smile. “Hi.”
Sasuke felt traitorous lips twitch upwards in answer. That expression was much more infectious in person- more supple and invasive when not set and dried on canvas. Sasuke felt his fingers twitch, and shoved his hands into pockets.
Naruto raised an eyebrow at the fairly defensive posturing, the lack of a greeting. “So. Well, we had a pretty shitty start back there. I wasn’t going to apologize, and wasn’t going to ask for one from you!” Naruto rushed the words out as he watched Sasuke’s shoulders hitch up and back aggressively, tried to be as inoffensive as possible. “Shit, man, do you want to come in? It’s not much but its better than posturing out in the hall like a bunch of dogs.”
“Sure.” The words had slipped free before Sasuke could think to decline. He wanted nothing to do with this expressive man or his cluttered home. He didn’t belong in this sagging building with its invasive creaks and equally oppressive silences.
But the way Naruto smiled as he passed through the threshold…
That was an emotion he was not comfortable examining
