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I DID NOT MAKE THIS

Within These Four Walls

What is it that you’re hiding from us? From me?

It boils my blood when I see that smile on your face. No, not the one you have when you’re truly happy… talking with Sakura, Kakashi and Iruka.

Shouting at Tsunade-sama and watching the clouds with Shikamaru.

It’s the one that I see you give once in a while. Walking down the roads of Konoha that you love so much. Sometimes at the market or at the shops. That sunshine smile slightly brittle and cracking with the weight of an unnamed emotion.

I remember when I first saw it. Distinctly remember the sparring that day, how all the jumping and kicking and mad-dashing provide a much-needed outlet for my suppressed rage. The smell of the grass, the metallic rasping of the kunais as we clashed, the soft wet thunk of shuriken sticking to the branches, the tang of our mingled sweat. The sensation of falling on the damp earth as you whizzed by and the sound of breaking tree limbs, how the hours seemed to fly when all we concentrated on was the rhythm of our movements the landing of our bodies.

Ironic how an aggressive exercise like that feels like balm to my spirit, and I know it is the same for you.

It was a day similar to many others, with us panting and supporting each other as we limped to the Hokage’s office. We probably looked like something the cat dragged in – me sporting a black eye and you a twisted ankle – alongside the normal scrapes, cuts and bruises we inflict on our bodies on a regular basis. All part and parcel of training, right? Perhaps we overdid it that day.

You chattered away as you were wont to do, but when we neared the building I saw the intense stares being thrown our way. To you, specifically. Snatches of hushed conversation reached our ears, the topic obscure but somehow I knew it was about you. What I don’t understand was the menace and hatred they held. Sure you’re a dobe who doesn’t know better – a prankster too – but these trivial matters shouldn’t warrant the bizarre reactions.

That was when I saw it. That flash of emotion behind your sunny smile. I admit I admired how that grin didn’t even lose a watt of its brilliance. How your body barely flinched at those ill-concealed hatred. All it took was that split second before you schooled your eyes back to one of the happy smiles you had.

Pain.

Resignation.

Unbearable loneliness.

More importantly, how was I able to see that? And why did it matter so much?

God, it scares me; how easily I decipher the emotions veiled behind that grin, even if for a second. It frightens me more when I realize that I am able to tell all the differences in your smiles. Am I turning into another freak, no different from those crazy fan girls I hate so much?

Somehow I think I’m worse. I’ve been watching you closely, in fact too diligently one might say, perhaps even rivaling those perverts you always rant about. Here I am, a perfectly grown man spending my private hours trailing after an ex-teammate. Repeatedly. Pathetic, right?

These burning sensation in my belly keeps getting stronger the more I spend time doing this. But still, that smile you had haunts me. It makes me wonder about what other demons, real or imagined, that you keep locked inside that slight body of yours (1). What other scars did you carry other than the whisker marks that grace your cheeks?

Maybe these questions and my inexplicable behavior are in fact triggered by your annoying presence. Obviously your lack of intelligence is affecting my mental processes. A normal rival would ignore it, perhaps even revel in the knowledge.

But we are no longer just that, are we?

Damn you, you always-complicate things. First that ridiculous drive to best me and the things you do to prove it. Usuratonkachi. Then following me to that waterfall, laying your life for the sake of a promise you made for a girl who habitually ignored you. And still believing in me, even if it takes me a few years to come back, when others have long lost their hopes.

What I hate most is my inability to say I’m sorry. Sorry for saying those hurtful words that day. Sorry for leaving. Sorry for wanting the Mangekyou Sharingan (2) bad enough to kill you. Sorry for being selfish and thinking that I’m different and all alone.

Sorry for not realizing sooner that I’m not. That I have Kakashi, Sakura, this village… you, and always will.

Sorry, sorry, sorry… The word dies in my throat every time I open my mouth. Lingering on my lips but never uttered. I hate it, this feeling of helplessness where you are concerned. Your blue eyes and gentle yet strong smile killing any will I have to confess my human limitations, yet choking my conscience for not admitting it every single time I see your face. Maybe Itachi is right; I am weak.

Ironically, it hurts even more when you acted as if I never left. I should’ve been happy, right? After all, you treat me no differently, even if others are wary, never doubting my loyalty and allegiance to Konoha. It should feel good that you still think of me like normal.

Except it didn’t.

I feel a pang when I think that perchance it makes no difference you whether I’m here or not. That you’ll go on your daily life like nothing’s changed. But then I realize how ridiculous that is. You tailed me after all; the bloody confrontation at that vast canyon where so many painful memories took place a bitter reminder. You can’t be ambivalent to accept a mission like that.

You act the same, but I feel the differences nonetheless. You no longer train exclusively with me, Kakashi or Jiraiya. Now there are more people in your lives, more than I’m used to seeing.

That bugs me even more.

When I see you train with Neji, Lee, Kiba, Ten Ten or countless others I end up annoyed. A line appears between my eyes when I see you tumbling around with Konohamaru and his posse. A definite frown when I see you lying under a tree with Shikamaru. Damn it, you are even ‘chummy’ (as humanly possible considering that weirdo) with Gaara, no matter that he’s the Kazekage. When did you start hanging out with them anyways?

Then again I can’t complain ‘cause I suppose I did leave this village on my own. But it just makes it harder for me to be angry since you treat me like usual, and effectively makes it doubly harder for me to say sorry as a result. I’ve yet come up with a suitable solution to this paradoxical conundrum. One of many when it concerns you, I guess.

But that is our lives’ story. Complicated from beginning and doubtless to the end. Perhaps this perplexing relationship serves as a proof that people like us shouldn’t expect anything to be simple.

Perhaps, that is why I know that the fake smile that consumes much of my time is just one other layer of the dobe. What surprises me most is my desire to wipe it from your face forever. Funny isn’t it?

It’s like you are throwing a challenge. Hiding and covering up the thing you don’t want people to see most.

Sadness.

Probably you’re unaware that you’re the cause of all of this. Only when I get to see the real you underneath the layers that I’m able to quench this primal desire, this unrelenting obsession I feel the moment I first saw that smile plastered on your face.

Things are getting out of hand.

Honestly I don’t know what to do. My mind wants to say something nice – civil at least – to tell you that here is a person who cares and thinks of you, but my mouth runs off like it’s not connected to my brain at all. I think this is another curse Itachi put on me, this inability to speak what my mind wants me to. Damn my stupid brother to hell.

I see your face flash in anger as you spout of the nearly ritualistic outburst like an automaton. Then the expected bragging and challenging that finally ends in mutual desire to spar. What is it with these childish games we indulge in? Why does it feel so good, this exchange of heated words that could peel the paint from a door? Damn, damn, damn! This isn’t how things suppose to be today.

Wait, is it just I, or did you seem to shine a little brighter? That your bounce has more life to it than before? That you, inexplicably, feel happier as a result of the rude remarks I made earlier?

Makes me stop and think that maybe, just maybe, all you need is this façade of irritation that I put up, that perhaps other less abrasive feelings I have to offer is not needed.

Do you know how sad that makes me feel? Is anger and callousness the only things I have to offer people I care (or used to) about? The very idea makes me see red.

Literally.

I don’t know how it happens but now I find you right underneath me, sprawling and breathless from the landing and still reeling from the kick that connected with your stomach. Panting, you ask me what the hell bit my a** and caused me to use the Sharingan suddenly.

Huge, azure eyes looking at me with anger, irritation, a bit of fear (what the hell are you afraid of dobe?) mixed with something else…

Longing…

Could it be? Quickly, the shutters are back in your eyes. Now there is nothing there that is out of the ordinary – the usual combination of annoyance and hurt pride – but that unintentional emotion that flits across your eyes a mere second ago answers my question and douses any anger I have left.

Only to be replaced by another instinct.

I smile, inwardly of course. I see you flinch as my eyes narrow imperceptibly.

I lean down slowly, watching your beautiful twin sea-blue orbs widen with apprehension and confusion as I descend towards your enticing lips.

Soft, sweet, warm.

Your mouth is like everything and yet nothing I ever dream of. I trace my tongue against the supple curves of your mouth, seeking the entrance I desperately crave.

Your gasp gives me the key I need to invade the hot, slick cavern. I can’t stop myself, attacking and plundering the moist warmth of your mouth, tasting every inch and corner that is uniquely yours. It takes a second before you sweetly and aggressively join the fray, pulling and licking and tasting what I have to offer.

I inhale the sweet taste of your mouth, an intoxicating blend of spices and berries, cream and vanilla, wondering where the hell it all comes from. Surely you haven’t indulged in berry pie recently, considering our lunch earlier.

It hits me then. You smell like the comforts of home. My old home, not the empty, silent shell it is now, but what it used to be.

I’m finally home.

My breath hitches as I see the expression on your face. Your eyes are now the color of blue velvet, tinted with desire but still holds more than a hint of confusion. My eyes are drawn to the lips I had selfishly explored, red, moist and parted slightly as our breath and throbbing hearts attempt to find a calmer tempo.

You try to push me away, but I refuse to budge. Not now when I have you exactly where you should be.

On your back, under my body and with my knee wedged between your legs. I feel a satisfied smirk ghosting my face. And your face indicates your displeasure upon seeing that expression.

Before you had time to protest, I lap hungrily at your throat, feeling the pulse on my lips rise to a thundering staccato again. My hands start roaming on their own; touching fevered, tan flesh like it is only natural. I make my way slowly to your soft ear, reveling in the unrehearsed mewling sounds you make.

You grab two handfuls of my hair and turn my face towards yours; in a second we are back where we began, our mouths fusing.

Tongues dueling, as lunacy clouds our minds and drowns out anything except the intense pleasure and unleashing all the pent-up passion.

An eternity later, I reluctantly release your lips, coming up and gasping for much needed oxygen.

I look at your face; your cheeks an intense pink and sweat beading at your forehead.

Clasping your face, I make you look straight at me, and suddenly I am able to say the words that were so difficult for me to say before.

“I’m sorry. And I love you.”

It takes a moment before the words register. Your eyes grow larger and unexpectedly I am staring at two wobbly, azure pools threatening to spill.

A tear slips unnoticed down your temple, and you clasp me to your body. Hugging me like there is no tomorrow.

My arms snake around you returning the favor, feeling the warm earth beneath you and smelling the crushed grass around us. All is finally well in this world.

And somehow, living in these four walls isn’t as bad as it used to be.

I am free.

Fin

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Footnotes:

(1) No, Sasuke doesn’t know about the Kyuubi no Kitsune. I think the manga hasn’t addressed that as yet, if my memory serves me.

(2) Mangekyou Sharingan – I think I spelled this one right. You know, the ability of the Sharingan Itachi has and used on both Sasuke and Kakashi on different occasions. I think that loopy nightmare inducing jutsu is called Tsuyomi or something like that.

(3) This fic takes place a few years from where the manga current is at (chapter 250-ish), probably when the boys are in their late teens or early twenties.

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