Bruises & Bitemarks (SasuNaru)

4.

After the last class of the day, the majority of students heads towards their respective dorms. Since the buildings are organized by grade and gender, most of our classmates walk on the same path as us even after the first fork in the road. First the girls split off, then boys of a different grade. The group quickly shrinks as we find our own floors and hallways. Soon it's just me, Naruto, and a few others I only recognize because of the proximity of our dorms.

Upon reaching our dorm, Naruto fumbles around in his bag in search of his keys. I already have mine in hand, so I let us in. He says nothing to me, tossing his bag on his bed and crossing the floor to the bathroom.

I drop onto my own bed and stare at the ceiling for a few moments before closing my eyes. I take a deep breath, then let it out slowly, feeling my body relax as the air escapes. It's been a long week, and today was a little more emotionally taxing than the rest of it. I don't know why I felt as though today would be a good day to try interacting with Naruto, especially after yesterday. He must have been confused by my finding him at lunch. I'll admit that messing with him during and after gym class was fun, even if it wasn't all intentional. I'd considered the fact that he could feel eyes on him – it does happen in normal people and I suppose the Kyuubi would enhance his senses.

I feel myself nodding off. The first thing to present itself to me is of the sound of footsteps coloured yellow and orange and blue; the colours streak away from me, and I pull closer, but they draw back as though repelled by an invisible barrier. The thing I'm trying to obtain irritates me, and yet I still want it, need it. The blankness around me fades into a wide hallway, covered in grass, with a path leading to rows of desks where two spaces are empty. I take one, but the other remains untouched; it confuses me, bothers me; why is it like that? It's been like that all night. The room is empty but for me and the furniture – the furniture of two people, but I'm the only one here. And then a scratched mask appears, with golden fur around its rim, and I reach for it and take it from the air, and two summer sky blue gems glitter at me, and the mouth curls into a foxy smile.

I can still see the mask when I wake up. I blink a few times, then reach for my notebook and pen. I write down every detail I can remember, even as the images slip away. It's not until I'm satisfied with the retelling that I write the date. I've slept for over an hour. Now fully awake, I stretch, then sit at my desk and take out my homework.

My stomach begins to feel empty just as I finish. It's Friday night; the whole weekend is ahead of me and I need to let loose. I pack my bag for Monday and proceed to the shower.

The hot water drives into my back, past my hair to my scalp, over my closed eyes and open mouth, relaxing me. I reach for the shampoo, and it's not until I catch a whiff of it in my hand that I realize it's not mine. An image of a certain blonde idiot springs to my mind. Naruto's smell reminds me of a sunny day; there's a hint of it in his shampoo. It seems a waste to wash it all off of my hand, but do I really want to smell like him?

I consider for a moment, then scrub it into my hair. I don't let it sit too long, washing it out and then taking the right bottle this time. I've always had an affinity for cool, slightly minty smells, and I'm hoping my own shampoo (which I leave in for longer) will cover the smell of Naruto's. People would begin to wonder...

I finish up in the bathroom and go to my closet to find some clothes to wear. I think there's something ironic in the fact that I care about what I wear even though I'm sick of the stares of both admiration and loathing from my peers. I make excuses to myself and pick out a black T-shirt with an intricate pattern dancing across the side and one shoulder in various bright blues. It fits snugly; I've come to prefer tighter clothing, unlike Naruto, whose garments are usually loose and baggy. Most people find that sort of clothing comfortable, but my definition of comfortable clothes are ones that hug my figure. To each his own, as they say. For pants I grab my usual black jeans, which I've worn so much they've actually faded naturally; they're close-fitting except for around the ankles. I hear enough about my fitting into the "emo" stereotype without dressing to match. I glance out the window, remembering how much colder it was today than yesterday, and pull a light sweater, also black, from the closet as well.