disclaimer: disclaimed.
dedication: les.
notes: I want nutella. Someone find me some nutella.

title: the sufferer & the witness
summary: Angels, but not the kind with wings. — Sasuke, Kiba.






"What the fuck did you do to this car?!"

That was a stupid question. If Sasuke knew what was wrong with the car, he would have fixed it himself, and they wouldn't have been stuck at the side of the road with a smoking engine.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck—"

And Kiba emerged from underneath the hood, oil stains all over his hands, and a furious glare on his face. "How the fuck did you overheat this thing? We had it fine-fucking-tuned to deal with anything you could'a thrown at it. What the fuck did you do?!"

Sasuke stared blandly.

This was probably an answer in and unto itself.

Kiba struggled not to grab the chain around Sasuke's neck and strangle him with it. It wouldn't have been hard—the thing was home a dozen dog tags and pierced guitar picks, all hanging in a mish-mash in the hollow of Sasuke's throat. He could just tighten it enough and cut off the idiot's air supply—

Because that wasn't morbid at all.

"What's wrong with it?"

"I told you, stupid. You overheated it. Fuck, now we gotta let it cool down and we're gonna be late and my mom is gonna so pissed—"

"Shut up, moron," was all that Sasuke had to say.

It was such a stupid thing. They sat by the roadside under mostly-sunny skies and waited for the car to cool, grumbling and shoving at each other in the way of old friends. It was a stupid thing because this could have been avoided. It was a stupid thing because Sasuke's throat looked pale and delicious in the sunlight.

Kiba hated everything.

"I hate you."


Kiba prayed that maybe one day, Sasuke would get hit by a bus.