Summary: Painting her, he decided, was something he loved to do. He never even stopped to think of the word obsession.
Disclaimer: Clearly, I do not own Naruto. Seeing as I am neither male nor Japanese.
"I could paint any canvas as I please."
He was an artist. It only made logical sense. An artist would paint a canvas, a botanist would tend to her plants and a jealous man would watch in safe sanctity of shadows. Each of them in complete oblivion to the world, disregarding the fact that they each had a role in the relationship of a mix between deceit and naivety that went on between them. Infact, none of them may even realise that they even had such a role in what seemed to be such a fine drama. Apart from Sai. Sai was aware of his role.
"I am an artist. Artists must follow their instinct in what to paint."
He was the fine artist, who took no great pride in his work although his vanity and a small strive at perfection was shown in his work although he was certain about one thing in art. All paitings were made to fail, as otherwise the artist would learn nothing about them. Just like his books told him life was. All relationships between people could weaken and even be shredded, but the friendship was usually repaired and all those involved in the civil dispute would usually go back to normal. Unless they were broken beyond a point of repair, and the painting he wanted to complete was one in which his brush would be dipped in the blood of the other male to make the first stroke on the innocent white of the blank canvas. After all, all artists like to try and achieve perfection. Even sometimes in things which do not concern art.
"It is only natural that an artist would be drawn to perfection."
That was where a certain botanist entered this staged play, her own vanity causing her to strive for perfection herself in the ways of beauty. She would tend to her plants, not really feeling the dirt brush under her nails that she would wash out afterwards in order to make herself her narrow definition of what was right and pretty once more. She would tuck the free and somehow loosened strand of hair that had curled around from behind her ear back into place, and carry on in the same pattern once more without the slightest idea that somebody else might agree with her idea of human beauty. Hiding everything they were behind a shiny coat of gloss, one which not just anybody could peel away. That might make the person underneath lose the shine of perfection they had with it on.
"All artists try to eradicate flaws in their work."
The man hidden in the shadows, who the artist saw as unimportant and the botanist saw as a dear friend. He would watch the movements of the botanist closely, watching every rythmic step as she walked down the street in what he would call a pattern and what anybody else would say he was just slightly strange for paying attention to anyway. He would watch her blonde hair sway in the breeze softly during the seasons when she walked down the road, he was the one who got to hold her body when she used one of what others would call the tricks of the mind and he was the one who was always there in her finer moments. Not to mention her less so ones as well, even during practice when her hair would knot and his calloused hands would catch the tips of her fingers lightly for barely a few seconds as they sparred using only hand-to-hand combat. Maybe that was why he had thought he was entitled to her. He saw more than perfection. He saw her.
"But sometimes, flaws can be stubborn. Is that not right?"
Then a fourth came into their already captivating soap opera, the character with pink hair and sharp green eyes that had narrowed at his words from the start of this interrogation. Not to mention the fifth, the boy sitting next to her who was determined to become Hokage. The artist could see that would never happen though, not with his lack of stability and structure. Not to mention his clear childish ways and lack of common sense. The list could go on for well over three days, and the artist doubted even by then he would barely be a quater of the way through. The woman swore at him, saying flaws were only human.
"I never expected you to understand."
The angry outburst and snarls at the artist was from neither of them. His dull charcoal eyes shifted to see behind them to the door, where a person who Sai would call 'fat' and others would call a tad overweight in concern for the feelings of their slightly chubby friend. The artist ignored him, lowering his eyes once more to look directly into the colbalt blue that met them. He felt no discomfort, but the male in front of him clearly did. The artist could feel him squirm in his seat, and soon they had redirected their gaze and the artist was left staring at the empty features that made his facial structure.
"I only tried to create perfection."
Perfection was beautiful, it was true. Perfection in art, making things look ever so pretty. Perfection in skill, taking your trade to an entire new level. Perfection in beauty, making any botanists look as though they were almost not real. Like that botanist, that one who he had taken an interest in, was just an illusion and nonexistant by any other name than flawless. But perfection was always ruined somehow by something that got in the way. A mistake. A mistake in the shades of paint used in the art, making it look a little too dark for anybody to appriciate it. The mistake of a miniscule crack in a wooden table, making the carpenter who carved it ever so slightly off in his work. The mistake of jealous man who would have the botanist as he pleased, taking the pretty blue drug that she was away from the artist without a second thought about what the consequences would be. Sai smiled his fake grin, then looked to the man in front of him once more.
"Weeds tangle into the ground around roots, preventing the roots from helping a flower bloom."
Yes, the jealous man in the shadows was a weed. A weed that tangled into the ground around roots to prevent them from helping the shocking purple flower ever being so eyecatching and flawless that any botanists would fight for it. Sai had succeeded in removing the weed, but it seemed he had also damaged the perfection of the flower in the process. The delicate flower, the perfection that was the botanist had been marred. Sai had found a colour to describe his inital feelings towards the emotion he had felt at that moment, the new feeling he had discovered. The feeling books described so easily, but he could describe so much better in a simple word. Red. The feeling was red. Red for anger, the furious colour of Mars it represented, war, lust, love, blood. Hate. That colour summed it all up. It was all red. The flower had grown thorns, and pricked his ivory skin in spite of what he had done to nurture it. The woman arose, fury evident on her face. Her hand crunched into his stomach, and he could not hear a word. Maybe because the others around her did not care that she had created red. He pushed himself to his feet once more, sitting on the chair again without so much as flinching when her hand was grabbed in order to prevent her from punching him again, and much harder at that.
"You know, I like flowers. Beautiful, perfect, purple and red spattered flowers."
They all looked directly at him, but none said a word.
"Especially seeing as I can paint them on my canvas as I please."
He indicated to the one behind them they had taken from his lodgings.
"Perfect, isn't it?"
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