it was a LIEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.
SARAH. DESPITE THE FACT THAT I AM CONSTANTLY INSULTING YOU ESPECIALLY ABOUT YOUR HEIGHT YOU KNOW I STILL LOVE YOU, RIGHT?
i am sorry that was totally random. uh. (rehearsals was tres bien *____________*. wenny upload the video somewhere, sil vous plait *___* i need to see it, in a wAHrped, masochistic kind of way.)
You look around the apartment, and it is nothing that you didn't expect: there are things strewn everywhere, piled on and scattered about. There is the stack of scrolls in the corner, three days' worth of clothing on the coffee table, and that chair he broke last month while attempting a new jutsu ("Leaping Squirrel no Jutsu, dattebayoooo!!!") sitting in the middle of the living room. There is an empty cup of ramen on the kitchen counter, and it is almost a reflex action when you throw it away.
It is only when you look into his bedroom that you realise something is wrong.
-
"Sasuke-kun, look look it's a new flavour, dattebayo!!"
You are more intent on choosing the milk, and do not reply. He bounces over, and drops a double-armful of cup ramen into the basket, then skips off to inspect the candied fruit samples being given out by a woman who looks like she'd rather rot in hell than let Naruto anywhere near her tray.
You drag him away by the collar as you pass: his face is stuffed with candied lotus root, his hands are full, and the other five of him trail along behind.
(The woman is seething, but she has dropped her tray and her hands are shaking, she is afraid - her eyes are accusatory, and you know exactly what she means.)
It is only when you reach the street corner just outside the apartment that he stops, and stares at his shoes.
"What, choked on something?" It is harsher than you mean it, but you're not the type to apologise, not even when he raises his head, and looks at a spot somewhere behind your shoulder, sugar dusting his face, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, looking at something that isn't there, and hating it.
He whispers something, under his breath - you strain to catch it but this is the one time his voice is something softer than a yell - but this is a facade you've got to keep: who cares what he's got to say, right? Because it's all bullshit anyway. Empty vessel, but you're the one with nothing inside.
He rubs his face with his sleeve, and manages to lick off some of the sugar. His eyes are back in focus, and they stare into yours, a mirror of your anger, but this time closer to the surface.
"I'm going to leave here one day. I'll show them," and he brushes past you, and slams the door in your face: by the next morning he has forgotten everything.
-
It is not so much something as the lack of something: his closet is much emptier, his toothbrush is gone, and his shoes are nowhere to be found. There is no note, no message, no nothing because it is not in his style (he just forgot, he's such a retard) to write mushy goodbye notes, or hello notes, or reminder post-it notes (except for when he found out that they stuck very well on walls, and proceeded to redecorate the house), and you are content in that knowledge: he didn't mean it.
-
"Sasuke-kun, I can't take it anymore, dattebayo!"
You are trying to copy out a scroll you borrowed from the library - the brush dips too far and it is ruined, the runny splotch soaking through the thin paper. It is all you can do not to scrunch up that sheet of ruined paper and throw it at him, instead you aim for the dustbin, and miss (it is no secret that the most trash can be found around a trash receptacle).
"They still stare at me funny! I can't go anywhere without being spat on, and even the ramen uncle is ignoring me!"
Fact of life, you think but don't say, because you've had this conversation before, he's heard your nonchalant reply, and yelled at you for deadpanning unnecessarily.
He does his flying squirrel stunt, and leaps up onto the table, upsetting the jar of ink.
"I'll leave here, Sasuke-kun. I'll go someplace where I'm respected," he has also heard your reply to this and again you don't repeat it because the same joke can't be funny all the time - you are no longer amused.
"Yeah, right."
"I'm serious!"
"I think your ramen is ready."
It surprises you, how quickly he abandons this arguement, this tack, this train of thought - his mind becomes a blank slate on which only a picture of a hot, steaming cup of instant ramen is painted, complete with fishcake on the top and the foil peeled back at just the right angle - there is only false conviction in what he says, all talk and no action, air and words don't write themselves down, and he will forget this by tomorrow.
-
He is not at the ramen shop. He is not at the academy. He is nowhere in Konoha, and it is already dark so you return home, trip over the chair, and decide not to get up.
You get a good view of the floor, of the dust and mess that naturally accumulates itself, around Naruto. You stare at the parquet, at the legs of all the chairs and tables and at the carpet, where there is a stain from the soup of the ramen cup you had flung at him once - there is another stain on the carpet not too far off, but how it got there is much of a blur in your head, of skin and tongue and heat.
Before you know it there are tears on the floor - you wet your finger in it and draw circles in the dust, round and round and round because there is no where else for your thoughts to go - it is too painful in the other direction, a straight line, negative gradient.
-
You have tried ramen before, and have decided that Naruto must be the only idiot in the world to prefer instant ramen to the real thing, and you tell him so. He is offended, but after weighing his options, "Finish Sasuke's Ramen" appeared to be the better one - he inhales the ramen, and burps appreciatively.
"You're missing out on the world, Sasuke-kun! You are unable to feel the pure joy that is walking down the instant ramen aisle in the supermar- try to understand, dattebayo! Without ramen, life would be meaningless!" but you are not listening, you've always found he overdramatises, and exaggerates. He is in a world of his own, just him and the cups of ramen spinning around his solar system, forced to stay in line by sheer greed and an insatiable hunger. How can he expect anyone to understand that?
-
Now he thinks that maybe, he just couldn't be bothered to try.
-
There is no more mess when you come home - you have cleaned it all up. There is no more trash to avoid, no skipping past the broken chair and sticking your head out around the side of that giant pile of clothes just to see the television screen.
There is also no more scrolls to stack, and no more empty ramen cup to throw.
--
END HAHAHA I SUCK LAH 8 EPISODES ONLY ;ASLKDFJA;LSFKDJA;SFKDJAS;DK.
"i feel vaguely left out of your secret circle consisting of you and your brain." says eleanor. my god she is a genius *____* TRUST ME, YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE PART OF THAT SECRET CIRCLE.
ETA: APOLOGISES FOR THE EXCESSIVE AND UNGRAMMATICAL USE OF "DATTEBAYO".
i am sorry that was totally random. uh. (rehearsals was tres bien *____________*. wenny upload the video somewhere, sil vous plait *___* i need to see it, in a wAHrped, masochistic kind of way.)
You look around the apartment, and it is nothing that you didn't expect: there are things strewn everywhere, piled on and scattered about. There is the stack of scrolls in the corner, three days' worth of clothing on the coffee table, and that chair he broke last month while attempting a new jutsu ("Leaping Squirrel no Jutsu, dattebayoooo!!!") sitting in the middle of the living room. There is an empty cup of ramen on the kitchen counter, and it is almost a reflex action when you throw it away.
It is only when you look into his bedroom that you realise something is wrong.
-
"Sasuke-kun, look look it's a new flavour, dattebayo!!"
You are more intent on choosing the milk, and do not reply. He bounces over, and drops a double-armful of cup ramen into the basket, then skips off to inspect the candied fruit samples being given out by a woman who looks like she'd rather rot in hell than let Naruto anywhere near her tray.
You drag him away by the collar as you pass: his face is stuffed with candied lotus root, his hands are full, and the other five of him trail along behind.
(The woman is seething, but she has dropped her tray and her hands are shaking, she is afraid - her eyes are accusatory, and you know exactly what she means.)
It is only when you reach the street corner just outside the apartment that he stops, and stares at his shoes.
"What, choked on something?" It is harsher than you mean it, but you're not the type to apologise, not even when he raises his head, and looks at a spot somewhere behind your shoulder, sugar dusting his face, hands clenching and unclenching by his sides, looking at something that isn't there, and hating it.
He whispers something, under his breath - you strain to catch it but this is the one time his voice is something softer than a yell - but this is a facade you've got to keep: who cares what he's got to say, right? Because it's all bullshit anyway. Empty vessel, but you're the one with nothing inside.
He rubs his face with his sleeve, and manages to lick off some of the sugar. His eyes are back in focus, and they stare into yours, a mirror of your anger, but this time closer to the surface.
"I'm going to leave here one day. I'll show them," and he brushes past you, and slams the door in your face: by the next morning he has forgotten everything.
-
It is not so much something as the lack of something: his closet is much emptier, his toothbrush is gone, and his shoes are nowhere to be found. There is no note, no message, no nothing because it is not in his style (he just forgot, he's such a retard) to write mushy goodbye notes, or hello notes, or reminder post-it notes (except for when he found out that they stuck very well on walls, and proceeded to redecorate the house), and you are content in that knowledge: he didn't mean it.
-
"Sasuke-kun, I can't take it anymore, dattebayo!"
You are trying to copy out a scroll you borrowed from the library - the brush dips too far and it is ruined, the runny splotch soaking through the thin paper. It is all you can do not to scrunch up that sheet of ruined paper and throw it at him, instead you aim for the dustbin, and miss (it is no secret that the most trash can be found around a trash receptacle).
"They still stare at me funny! I can't go anywhere without being spat on, and even the ramen uncle is ignoring me!"
Fact of life, you think but don't say, because you've had this conversation before, he's heard your nonchalant reply, and yelled at you for deadpanning unnecessarily.
He does his flying squirrel stunt, and leaps up onto the table, upsetting the jar of ink.
"I'll leave here, Sasuke-kun. I'll go someplace where I'm respected," he has also heard your reply to this and again you don't repeat it because the same joke can't be funny all the time - you are no longer amused.
"Yeah, right."
"I'm serious!"
"I think your ramen is ready."
It surprises you, how quickly he abandons this arguement, this tack, this train of thought - his mind becomes a blank slate on which only a picture of a hot, steaming cup of instant ramen is painted, complete with fishcake on the top and the foil peeled back at just the right angle - there is only false conviction in what he says, all talk and no action, air and words don't write themselves down, and he will forget this by tomorrow.
-
He is not at the ramen shop. He is not at the academy. He is nowhere in Konoha, and it is already dark so you return home, trip over the chair, and decide not to get up.
You get a good view of the floor, of the dust and mess that naturally accumulates itself, around Naruto. You stare at the parquet, at the legs of all the chairs and tables and at the carpet, where there is a stain from the soup of the ramen cup you had flung at him once - there is another stain on the carpet not too far off, but how it got there is much of a blur in your head, of skin and tongue and heat.
Before you know it there are tears on the floor - you wet your finger in it and draw circles in the dust, round and round and round because there is no where else for your thoughts to go - it is too painful in the other direction, a straight line, negative gradient.
-
You have tried ramen before, and have decided that Naruto must be the only idiot in the world to prefer instant ramen to the real thing, and you tell him so. He is offended, but after weighing his options, "Finish Sasuke's Ramen" appeared to be the better one - he inhales the ramen, and burps appreciatively.
"You're missing out on the world, Sasuke-kun! You are unable to feel the pure joy that is walking down the instant ramen aisle in the supermar- try to understand, dattebayo! Without ramen, life would be meaningless!" but you are not listening, you've always found he overdramatises, and exaggerates. He is in a world of his own, just him and the cups of ramen spinning around his solar system, forced to stay in line by sheer greed and an insatiable hunger. How can he expect anyone to understand that?
-
Now he thinks that maybe, he just couldn't be bothered to try.
-
There is no more mess when you come home - you have cleaned it all up. There is no more trash to avoid, no skipping past the broken chair and sticking your head out around the side of that giant pile of clothes just to see the television screen.
There is also no more scrolls to stack, and no more empty ramen cup to throw.
--
END HAHAHA I SUCK LAH 8 EPISODES ONLY ;ASLKDFJA;LSFKDJA;SFKDJAS;DK.
"i feel vaguely left out of your secret circle consisting of you and your brain." says eleanor. my god she is a genius *____* TRUST ME, YOU DO NOT WANT TO BE PART OF THAT SECRET CIRCLE.
ETA: APOLOGISES FOR THE EXCESSIVE AND UNGRAMMATICAL USE OF "DATTEBAYO".