There’s a slurred shout from behind me. I ignore it like expected. People glance my direction and understand what is going to occur. They form a sea of bodies. I pretend I don’t notice them, not their hateful glares or spiteful words. Naïve. Someone throws a punch at my head. It doesn’t hurt, but I do as expected—I fall to the ground clutching my head and curl into a ball.
They start gathering around me in a circle. Some bystanders come and join in while others pretend they don’t see. They beat me, breaking a few bones, forming cuts and gashes. I fake being unconscious and they leave slowly, some kicking my side as they go by.
Your cold eyes, so calculating watch as I twitch my hand and rip part of my attire. I place it over the potentially fatal gash on my chest. Limping back home, you silently follow in the shadows, blending with them. I make my way up to my small apartment, and lie on my bed, and coax Kyuubi’s chakra out to heal me. I sensed when you appeared in my window, but did not show it.
“Naruto,” your silky voice carries in the stray wind from the window. It held a small note of concern.
“Itachi,” I say quietly, and drop the façade immediately. You most likely already know of the mask so there was no use trying to deceive you.
“It’s all an act, correct?” you ask.
“Yes.” I say, wincing in pain as the Kyuubi reset a fractured rib. This movement does not go unnoticed by you.
“Why?” You didn’t explain what you were asking, but I knew. You are asking why I allow the villagers to do this to me.
“Because, no one would expect me to fight back. I would become more like Kyuubi in their eyes. No reason for more unwanted attention, hm?”
You stand up and wander over to where I lay, my eyes thankfully closed. I can feel your hand—its warm flesh so refreshing on my frozen cheek. I don’t ask what you are doing or why, I simply allow it. Your hand caresses my face; there is no need for words now, only desire. Your desire for human contact again, mine to not be alone.
I hum softly under my breath in pleasure, and then speak quietly, a poem I wrote when I was younger.
“Behind the mask there lies a face,
One of lies and of disgrace.
The hateful glares that taunt me so,
They never see me never know.
The quiet tears I shed at night,
The silent rage so full of spite.
Yet on my face there lies a smile,
My moods completely versatile.
My tortures soul cries to the night,
All the way from dusk to light.”
I feel the bed sink in slightly from where you have taken a seat next to me, your fingers slowly carding through my hair now. My tense muscles begin to relax slowly. I open my eyes to gaze into your now onyx black eyes. They’re weary and tired, a mirror reflection of my own. Your fingers never miss a beat as my eyes slowly shut again. My hand gropes for something to hold and finds your other hand. You entwine our fingers together and we just relax.
I can feel as you shift your body weight, and I sensed when your face was just inches from mine. I delicately opened my eyes and we held the stare for a moment before you swooped down to claim my lips. Instinctively my eyes slid shut, as did yours. It was soft and tender, but full of desire. Your run your tongue over my bottom lip; a silent plea for entrance. I grant your plea, our tongues dancing, fighting for dominance. You win and I settle for exploring the hot cavern of your mouth.
The need for oxygen becomes apparent and we separate. We sit silently gasping for air, unnoticeable, except for the rapid rise and fall of our chests. Your arms coil around me and pull me into the gap between your legs. Leaning my head against your chest, I relax as I listen to the soothing sound of your heartbeat.
It begins to slowly lull me to sleep, and as I hang onto my last shred of consciousness I feel the barely-there kiss you press to the top of my head, and I hear you whisper one last thing into the wind before you rise to leave.
“As long as you need me, I will be back.” And you were gone, but a genuine smile danced across my face because I knew you would be back tomorrow. Until then I would continue to plaster my mask on my face. Perhaps though, the smile would become less of the mask.