lesss. it's your day of aging! have a happy, lovely, colorful one. (:
. . .
Prompts: rec rooms, pool tables, books and notebooks and purple pens, "I know you did not just insult my notebook fetish. On your knees. Now.", mismatched converses and messy buns and crooked smiles, "DId you just write a story, as an analogy of us... Wait are you asking me out... Nghh."
s c r i b b l e d . . .
(on the corners of homework,
on the backs of spirals,
in the safety of a planner
in curlicue handwriting and
fine point ink)
. . . h e a r t s
Sakura neither considered herself a morning person, nor a night person. She only considered herself a person, and that was it. But in all the sense of the term, waking up this early, she thought as she glanced at the clock on the wall, took a morning person's will.
It was seven o'clock.
The sun had risen, bright and warm, and it stretched its rays through the open window in the corner of the rec room, scattering pools of light around. She closed her eyes, content, and basked in the sunlight.
But the clouds drifted over the sun for a brief moment and the moment passed; she opened her eyes, stretching out on the top of the pool table. She rested on her elbows, her torso and legs taking up the majority of the table until her knees created the stopping point and her legs left the table, her calves and mismatched converse in the air, occasionally kicking aimlessly.
Yes, she was laying on the top of the pool table, tummy down.
But the pool table was her spot. Tenten liked to burrow in the corner of the couch, and Ino didn't like sitting at all because she felt the skin on her tummy bunched together when she sat down, creating fat. Hinata preferred the window seat, and Karin liked men's laps. So just like they had their spots, she had hers: the pool table.
And hell, if anyone else wanted to play pool they could do it somewhere else because that was her spot. At least, she liked to think that.
Reality differed a bit, and she promptly hopped off whenever anyone wandered over, pool cue in hand, ready to play.
But one day, she swore, she would stand up for her spot's rights and keep laying there, pool players be damned.
She felt empowered.
A small voice in the back of her mind told her that would never happen and that she was too sensitive to other peoples' needs to do that, but she quickly shoved her voice of reason into a soundproof area of her mind.
In the meanwhile, she searched through her stack of books and notebooks (one in every color of the rainbow!) and her array of pens (sadly, she recently lost her yellow pen), finding the purple notebook and unearthing her purple pen from her pile.
She got up at seven o'clock to do one thing and one thing only: to write.
It was her thing. Just like Tenten liked to fence, Karin liked to flirt, Ino liked to shop, and Hinata liked to paint, Sakura liked to write.
Write her thoughts, write stories, write her blog, write and weave an invisible world where anything could happen.
…that sounded mighty fairy tale-like, she thought to herself idly and tugged on a free strand of pink hair distractedly.
So she was about to flip open to the twenty third page of the purple spiral and begin when she heard footsteps.
She glanced up, suddenly conscious she was laying on a pool table.
Sasuke walked into the rec room, as if he hadn't a care in the world. He looked like he had just woken up, too, and thrown some clothes on. There was a pillow-wrinkle imprint on his face.
Her mouth twisted up in a smile. "Hey, Sasuke-kun? You've got pillow lines on your face."
His hand came up to his face rather quickly, feeling along until he found the imprint, and then proceeded to rub at it wearily, as if his fingers would erase the mark away. He sighed in futility when the mark remained, persistent. She cracked a wide grin.
His expression, still so drowsy, was cute. "I just want to pinch your cheeks," she announced.
He shot her a dark look. "Sakura," he sighed finally, exasperated. "You're not my grandmother that you need to do that."
She grinned cheekily. "I'm glad you think I don't look old. And Sasuke? I'm a woman, and we always get what we want."
He snorted derisively, ever the chauvinist.
And that prompted her to crouch on the pool table, and pounce. On Sasuke.
In retrospect, it wasn't one of her more brilliant ideas. But it was definitely fun. She fell through the air and watched as his eyes widened as she descended…on to his back. She latched on to him like a marsupial and he caught her, off balance for a moment. But as he took on her weight, lifting her with his hands, she wrenched her arms up high enough to pinch his cheeks from behind him. "I win!" she announced.
She hadn't even noticed he had moved as he dropped her on a couch unceremoniously.
She blinked. "Can you carry me back to the pool table?"
He shot an are-you-serious look at her. "No." But get this: he walked back to the pool table anyways and took her spot.
This was unacceptable. This was blasphemy.
So she scrambled off of the couch, vaulting herself across the expanse to the pool table and pushed herself up on to it. She paused momentarily, and upon hearing no signs of breakage from the table, she scooted across the table until her side met his, and she pushed. Hard.
Naturally, he didn't move. "This is my spot." Sakura informed him frostily. He doesn't even want to play pool! He is just taking her spot, she thought darkly.
But then the course of conversation took an abrupt turn. "You have nine spirals, organized in rainbow order. Pink, red, orange, yellow, green, blue, purple, black, and white." He fixed a look on the last one. "You have a white spiral."
She narrowed her eyes. "Are you mocking me?"
He didn't reply, still seemingly wary of her notebook obsession.
"Name one person who has these notebooks. Do you know how long it took to track down a white one? I had to buy it off of eBay for forty-seven bucks. Forty-seven. I outbid some old lady who seemed to think that I should respect my elders and just give it up. Either way, if that's not in demand, I don't know what is." Sakura sniffed.
He finally looked at her, still wary. "Have you gone insane?"
Her expression dulled, and then the glaring came back full force. "I know you did not just insult my notebook fetish. On your knees. Now."
His lips twitched up in a smirk. "You know, even if I did get on my knees, I'd still be taller than you."
She fumed. "And now you have the gall to mock my height. I'll have you know that I am not short. You are just a—what are you doing?" Midway through her tirade, he had carelessly opened her purple spiral, flipping through. "Wha—no! You can't just go through my things! I have private stuff in there!"
And so, in defense of her invasion of privacy, she gave up on trying to shove him off of the table and instead, plopped down on his lap, yanked the purple notebook out of his hand, clutching it to her chest.
He sighed, amusement coloring his tone.
She could feel his breath on her neck, and her face colored. She really ought to think before she acted. "Nghhh." She voiced, highly embarrassed. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing for the red that was surely painting her face to recede, to go away.
Unfortunately, that didn't happen.
And even more unfortunately, he had somehow reached around her without her noticing, grabbed the red spiral and a pen and had started writing.
"Are you…are you writing my story?" she all but shrieked, panicking. And what was worse was that he was using his right hand to write while his left hand had her trapped against him, arms immoveable and legs curled up uncomfortably under his knees.
And he smelt amazing, she thought to herself in despair as she unintentionally sniffed away, easily distracted. Mmm.
She was helpless, and he was writing her story.
While her purple one had been filled with her thoughts, the red spiral, of course, was for her romance stories.
It seemed he knew her well enough, at least, to write in the right color. Red ink for the red spiral.
"You know," she hissed, "when I get out of here, I am going to call your mother and tell her you were harassing me. This is assault! Assault, I tell you. In fact, I should…" she opened her mouth and screamed. "RAPE. RAPE. RA—" she was cut off as his hand covered her mouth.
But her plan had worked, and with a wicked grin on her lips (unseen behind his hand), she used her now freed arms to reach around and snatch the spiral from him. And then she vaulted herself forward, tumbling off the edge of the pool table and falling, gracelessly, towards the ground, ignoring the frustrated sigh from behind her and the cursing as she accidentally kicked him in the shin in her haste to get away.
She barely managed to catch herself, and then scrambled away hurriedly to the couch where she opened the spiral to the page he had written on. In his crappy handwriting. She despaired.
But then she read it.
Once upon a time, there was a fairy. She was nothing if not insane, but with her mismatched converses and messy buns and crooked smiles, she was the beauty of the kingdom. And when he saw her, when the dark prince who towered over her by a few feet, he saw something so much better than him. But he wanted her, he needed her. And so he asked her, one day, as she wrote stories in the sky if she would like to be with him—
And the story got cut off where she had yanked away the spiral.
She blinked. "Sasuke, this is the crappiest plot ever." She paused, analyzing it further. "She sounds like such a Mary-sue. All she needs is some sort of dark past and she's set—" her words caught as she ran over the words.
She stared at her own feet, eyeing the purple and yellow shoes.
She fingered her hair, tied up hurriedly.
…towered over her by a few feet.
She glanced at him.
"Are you…did you just write a story, as an analogy of us…wait, are you asking me out…Nghh." He only smirked wickedly, and then walked out of the room. "Wait!" she flailed. "Aren't you going to wait…" her voice trailed off, and it was clear he wasn't coming back.
She quailed. Was it just a joke to him?
But it was now or never.
So nevertheless, she scrambled back on to the pool table, grabbed the red pen, and wrote. She ripped the page out ("sacrilege!" the anal retentive part of her whispered) and hurried after him, catching up easily (he was barely down the hall), and handing him the paper.
—and she calligraphy-ed her answer right back, smiling crookedly. "What do you think?"
Her hand slipped in his, and he looked down at her, eyes softening. "And they lived happily ever after." She whispered, smiling.
afterthoughts: So this one came out how I wanted it to, which in turn, makes me rather pleased. Thanks to Briony (ohgoditsbriony) for being a wonderful beta. And, again, les (xfucktheglasses), happy birthday, sweetie. Hope your day is filled with sparkles and rainbows and laughter. (: