I wasn’t planning on writing a second chapter to this, but today I suddenly felt like doing so

I wasn’t planning on writing a second chapter to this, but today I suddenly felt like doing so.

Same events, written in Naruto’s POV.

SasuNaru, Disclaimers from first chapter apply here also, UN-Beta’d, written 5 months after first chapter so might be written differently etc.

By the way, a good song to listen to is “Harusaki Sentimental” by Plastic Tree. It’s a beautiful song. The PV is good too; it’s set on a bus. Try YouTube-ing it. Coincidentally, while I was writing this I had the song “Makka na ito” on repeat (by Plastic Tree also). So you might want to give them a try.

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Stops and Stations

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It’s really annoyingly cold today. The wind is bitter and is scratching at my face, deepening the twin sets of scars on my face even further. How long have I been waiting? Normally I am late for the bus, but the one time I’m early it decides not to show up. Brilliant.

Not that I’m complaining. The less time I have to spend in the suffocating emptiness of my apartment, the better. I lean against the bus shelter and close my eyes. I breathe into the scarf I have wrapped around the lower half of my face as the only source of protection against the cold, and it warms slightly, my lips becoming moist.

No one is here, which provides me some solace and allows me to discard the false pretence of smiles for a while.

Then the bus comes, and it automatically phases back, clinging to my skin once again. It’s followed by two more, and I roll my eyes, and as coming with my pretence, I swear loudly, complaining about the stupid bus system. No need for anyone, not even strangers to see me. The real me. They can see my mask, and be content with having a reason to be annoyed by me. It feels slightly better that way.

The buses are all sardine-packed, and I consider waiting for the fourth bus, but there’s something making me choose against that. Maybe it’s my body protesting against the cold, maybe it’s something else. Regardless, I board the first and show my bus pass. The photo has me smiling, my grin so wide my eyes are closed. Just show the outside.

There’s only one vacant chair, next to an old woman, and I sit down. She gives me a barely concealed sidelong glance, scrutinises my scars and my sharper-than-average teeth all in the space of a nanosecond, pushes past me and opts to stand up and hold the railing instead. The people around me squash together, leaving an obvious space around me. They all keep giving me weird looks, so loudly I say “What, you got a problem?” and they all stop, except for that woman. Oh well. Just give them a reason to hate me.

The smell of chicken rises from the back of the bus, and looking at the reflection in the window I see some sweaty-armed guys shoving KFC down their throats and dropping the bones on the floor. Disgusting. Yet people only seem irritated, and don’t move away from them an inch.

We get stuck in traffic. Horns are beeping everywhere and no one is moving an inch. It’ll delay everything, but it doesn’t matter. That woman is adamant to ‘tsk’ at me at every opportunity. I’m surprised the people around her haven’t told her to shut the fuck up, but then again it’s an old lady. No one swears at an old lady.

An hour passes before we roll to the next stop, a journey that would normally take about ten minutes from my stop, give or take a few. At the bus stop, the traffic seems to dissipate, yet no one leaves the bus. It’s too hot in here, and I wish someone would open a window, but I think the people are all too scared of the cold to do so. They’d keep to their comfort zone, no matter what.

An interesting-looking boards the bus, all dressed in black-and-blue with a stud in his ear and a lip ring. I laugh to myself, good luck on thisbus. I hear money clatter down the box and the ga-chuuhsound that signifies the ticket coming out.

He squeezes his way past the crowd of people, a disgusted look on his face. Everyone averts their gaze and try to shuffle away from his black-lined eyes, messy, spiky hair and the death-glare that would await them if they did look. He cringes when he catches sight of the guys at the back of the bus. He is the only person that responded.

I grin, and look out of the window, resting my chin on my palm, my elbow on the tiny window edge. He’ll figure out the only place he can sit is with me, or else squeeze in with the other passengers. Let’s see who he chooses: them or…

He sits down next to me, and I suppress my smile. He’s different.

I can’t help but look at his reflection. He’s so different to me; black hair, dangerously pointed. White skin, unmarred. Black eyes, blank. Like a mask. He’s looking at me too. I glance at him out of the corner of my eyes.

“Can I help you?”

I want him to talk, but he just shakes his head no, and instead glares at the woman who found a hobby in tut-ting at me, and apparently him as well. She ‘eep’s and looks away, but the boy clenches his fists and closes his eyes, like he’s counting to ten. He opens his eyes again, devoid of anger, and glares at her again. I chuckle.

“Ah, thanks for that, I think you’ve stopped her from staring. She’s been clucking and tsk-ing at me for the past hour,” I grin, and his eyes flicker to my teeth, but he seems un-fazed by their unnatural sharpness. Realisation suddenly clicks and it’s evident on his face for the slightest moment.

“You’ve been on here for an hour?” His voice is strange: it sounds both non-caring and self-assured, but there’s a slight edge that makes it all seem like an act, although it is so faint that it almost isn’t there. Normal people would not have noticed it, but then again, I have always been good at noticing what other people didn’t.

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t ready to go home yet,” I say with a dismissive shrug, and return to staring out of the window, although I can’t help but look at his reflection- the mirror image of mine. He notices, but I flicker my eyes away every time he tries to see.

Eventually, we get to my bus stop. I get up, but hesitate. I sigh and sit back down, shaking my head. I’m not ready yet.

The boy next to me, I think, misses his stop as well, and I smile again inside. He’s different. I repeat to myself.

Gradually, the people filter out until it’s only me, him, and the driver left.

When we get into the bus station, the driver parks and tells us that we have to get the bus back. The boy gets up, and I do the same, and as we walk past the driver gives me a sympathetic look. I do this often, so he has gotten used to it. He knows me, slightly. He knows I am not a bad person, and I guess he feels bad that the other passengers leave me wide berth, although his pity is unnecessary.

The bus station is freezing, the cold as bad as ever, and a dramatic change to the once-stifling heat of the bus. The station is nearly deserted except for those few people hiding under bus stations, huddling with each other for warmth.

I sit down, alone, at an open bus shelter. It makes no difference, really. Surprisingly, the boy sits right next to me. It’s strange, his body heat, unnoticeable in the heat of the bus, contrasts so much with the weather. It seeps into me, and then it’s all I can feel. Warmth. Almost unconsciously, I shuffle closer to him, desperate to cling onto this foreign warmth. It’s more than a temperature change; it’s an invitation out of loneliness. It’s, for want of a better word, hypnotising.

The next bus comes round, and it’s empty. My favourite kind. I use my bus pass again and head straight to the back, mercifully free of chicken bones. I hear change clatter into a box again from behind me, and grin. I sit on the group of seats at the back and throw my feet across, leaning on the window so I am sideways.

He sits at the next seat in front, but sideways also, so he can see me. I laugh, and he cocks an eyebrow.

“What?” he asks.

“Are you planning on following me all day? You might be out of money before you get home, and I wouldn’t want to run you bankrupt.” He shrugs a shoulder, but doesn’t follow up with anything. A man of few words.

I prop myself up on an elbow to look at him. “You’re a funny guy,” I state. Not funny-hah-hah, of course. Funny-peculiar.

From that we slip into a conversation, the likes of which I’ve never had before. It’s comfortable, and refreshing. It’s like we’ve known each other all of our lives.

He asks me why I purposely missed my stop and I grin. “Maybe I didn’t want to.” I consider asking him, but there’s something in me that says I know the answer, although I have no idea what it is. I sit up slightly so that there is room for him, but don’t say anything. Like his invitation of warmth, this is one that needs to be said without words. He accepts, and pushes his feet against mine. They’re fighting against each other, but at the same time they’re not.

We sit like that for ages, missing our stops again, just so we don’t lose this new-found link.

This time, the people only trickle in, as it seems as if the rush hour as passed. However, each of these people gives us disapproving looks, but we ignore them. I could see why they would, but it really isn’t any of their business so I don’t see why they should care.

We carry on this game until dark, going from station to station, this link long but unfortunately coming to an end. I know this with regret in my heart. But loneliness is second nature to me now, and I know that there are people at home waiting for him. I can’t deprive him of that. When my stop comes round, I get up. He looks at me, but I nod.

“This is my stop.” I don’t want this to end.

I leave the bus, leave him behind. I don’t want to.

“Wait!” I turn around, a question in my eyes but my heart pumping so fast it makes me giddy. “What’s your name?”

I can’t help but grin, but this time it’s different. This time my heart, mind, soul and body is happy.

“Naruto. Naruto Uzumaki.”

“I’m Sasuke Uchiha.” I nod.

“Nice to meet you, Sasuke.”

The doors slide closed in front of my face.

--

It’s late, the digital clock in my apartment the only sign of life in a cold, dark room. It reads 8.49pm. I miss his warmth.

I can’t eat, so I get changed and go straight to bed, all in the dark. I pull the covers over my head.

“Good night,” I whisper.

He’s out there, somewhere. Hopefully, he’ll hear me.

--

I don’t see him again for a long, long time. There’s something missing now, which I had never realised before. It had been filled, briefly, by his strange warmth. I wanted it back, badly. But I can’t stop my façade. I’m louder than ever, more annoying then before, just to fill that hole with something else. Anything else.

Every time I’m on the bus, and I near his bus stop, my heart beats. I wait for ages before I get off the bus, just so it’s 8.49pm every time I reach home. I still don’t see him.

Weeks later, and I feel like I’ve lost such an important part of me, permanently. I don’t want that to be true, I don’t want to regret.

I decide, on the spur of the moment, to get off at his bus stop. It’s a while before I realise I have no idea where to go.

The day I see him again, I didn’t realise it was him. I thought I saw him and I smiled, my heart cracking. I didn’t hear the drop of coins, which since then had gotten my heart racing every time I heard it, and I nearly broke. But it was him. I saw his face clearly, and it was him. I wanted him near me, I wanted his warmth. I felt selfish, but at the same time I didn’t. I was confused, but as he came closer it all melted away.

I felt exactly like I did that day, as he sat with his feet pressed against mine, like we had known each other for ages. Again, the bus was packed. Again, the passengers gave us looks. Again, we ignored them.

As days passed, and I saw him more frequently, my dependency on him becoming critical, yet I felt as if he felt the same. Slowly, our hands start to entwine, as if they were always like that. And one day, I see in his eyes an acceptance I had never before encountered, like I was finally free of loneliness, and, ignoring the strange, disapproving and disgusted looks once more as we lean in for a small chaste kiss, my heart feels like it’s going to break with happiness as I thank god I followed my instincts and taking the first bus that came.

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END

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This time, there is not going to be a new or extra chapter. This is the real end. But I hope you enjoyed it, and it was as good if not better, than the previous chapter.