Naruto Fan Fiction ❯ Those Weird Feelings No One Ever Gets ❯ Jokes ( Chapter 1 )

Those Weird Feeling No One Ever Gets

AlternateUniverse, high school, Southern California, because that's fun, right?

SasuNaru (and many other various pairings), Shounen-ai/Yaoi. There's no reason it should offend anyone; it's just love, guys.

Teen due to not-socially-accepted language and talk of towards sexual intercourse.

The style is kind of whack compared to my regular; there's no use telling me you dislike it, though.

Once upon a time, I kept falling in love . . .

This hadn't happened in a long while.

I'll admit, sometimes I'm faking it, but most of the time I'm in a genuine good mood.

But there I was. Sitting on my couch, staring at the clock as the colon between the numbers flashed for every second, and I'd never felt so down.

My life hasn't been very long, so I don't think I'm exaggerating.

For one who gets sad so little, it's not so hard to suddenly feel sadder than you ever have in your entire life.

Really, I'm trying to outdo myself, though. This can't be the worse I've ever felt.

I mean, I felt really shitty when that three your old ran in front of me at the play ground and I accidentally knocked him over. I was going so fast, I wouldn't be surprised if he was scarred for life. I ran away and hid, crying, so long that my dad didn't find me until the sun was setting.

Of course, I was five and I was on the swing, so it wasn't my fault at all, but . . . I dunno, I still feel bad about it to this day.

And then there was that time Hinata had said, when Sasuke and I were joking about being gay, that her dad would probably be mad if he found out she hung out with homosexuals.

I had said, half joking, that I'd shoot him in the head if he was a jerk-off, homophobic, prejudice, bastard and that, what should he care? Just less people to hit on his daughter.

She slapped me across the back of the head and ran away crying.

I was more surprised that she'd hit me than anything, but I did feel bad, and I've never worked up the nerve to say sorry about it.

Still, when I compare, I still felt worse as I sat on my couch that day after school, and even double worse since thinking about things that make me feel bad was only pushing me closer and closer to the edge of crying again.

Mind, I hadn't cried since I broke my leg in the sixth grade, and that was after the operation, not in front of my entire P.E. class.

Of course, that didn't worsen my mood. Seeing as, after that, Sasuke declared that he would forever give me piggyback rides so he could mess around with my crutches.

He did it too. A whole two months and three weeks. After that, he said that his ten pound back pack never felt lighter.

Nowadays, his backpack has increased to twenty pounds, and he'll complain from time to time. Like he did just about an hour ago, before school let out . . .

"Oi, I'm telling you, my bag was not this heavy when we were walking into literature class. I don't think Miss Yuuhi gives out assignments according to amount or what it's about. She definitely weighs each packet of homework so that each of us carry around at least five more pounds."

I rolled my eyes, but it's hard not to agree.

"You lead me to believe that you set your backpack on a scale every day after school and then record the weight."

He pulled the straps of his backpack and hitched up the great purple sack so he could stand straighter.

"You make it sound like I don't."

And I couldn't help but laugh. I've never met anyone who can stay so serious and so nonchalant about everything in the world and then some but still manage the funniest things. Even when what he says is not that funny, I have to laugh, because he keeps the same tone in his voice, always, no matter what he says, and it seriously cracks me up.

We rounded a corner and were just about to reach Mr. Hatake's door, when a girl strode past us, like we should've been bowing at her feet, and slipped into Mr. Hatake's room.

Sasuke and I exchanged a glance, and we didn't even have to say anything because we both knew that, had we not been about to walk into a class, we'd both have been cracking jokes about the little Princess there, and where are her man servants, and is there an opening, because I'm sure the jock with muscle everywhere but his head would love to take the job.

But we walked in, silent as we had been before we saw Miss Priss pass by.

Still, I had to bite my lip to keep from laughing, and these weird noises came out like I was blowing my nose.

And that damn Sasuke kept his cool, expression as indifferent as some may think he felt on the inside.

But those kids who think they know Sasuke don't have a clue. I don't know one other person beside myself who would have known that, behind those practically blank mirrors of tar Sasuke calls eyes, he was cracking up and giving the girl the finger for stepping on his toe.

It's likely I'm the only person who knew he knew she stepped on his toe, too. And it was obvious she did. Probably because she thought he thinks he's all that, but if he did I doubt he'd hang out with the likes of me, who refuses to acknowledge that he is an absolute god on earth, born to a king, raised in the sewage, and in need of absolute pampering.

Of course, I must admit that, deep down, someone that wasn't me but just lived in my heart, like some kid pretending to me that couldn't even pull off the way I say New Orleans or Caribbean, was just like the rest of the girls in school, who believe they're madly in love with a boy that's never even looked at them.

But I'm different in that sense. At least I know Sasuke. Better than anyone in the world, perhaps, besides Sasuke himself.

We're like brothers. Best friends. I'd even venture so far as to say we're soul mates. We're the perfect match.

Wind on fire. We support each other. We give each other reason to be.

I like it.

I love it.

And that kid in my heart, who wore my clothes and saw what I saw and giggled at things I never understood . . . He loved Sasuke.

And I do too. But in a different sense.

You could say I don't know what that kid meant when he said he loved Sasuke. I love Sasuke because he's my best friend. My best, best friend, whom I couldn't live without, even if I wanted to.

He's not the type of friend that I could move away to Oregon from and get by with calling every day until it's every week, and then every once and a while, until I forget about him.

Naw. I don't care what happens, I'll run away, I'll walk all the way from Oregon to Southern Cali, I'll give my spare kidney, my right arm, and my left thumb if it means I can stay with Sasuke.

But that kid . . . he would always be staring at Sasuke like he wass some kind of exotic artwork on display behind a velvet rope, with the spotlight shining on him. Like there was nothing more important in the world.

It kinda creeps me out.

And it would creep the kid out that I could be so close to Sasuke without choking up.

He was weird . . .

But back to where I was walking through the classroom behind Sasuke, heading towards the back table facing the wall.

The two of us dumped our things underneath the table and plopped down into the chairs and flipped on our computers.

Because that's just what you do when you go to computer class.

And I kicked my feet up on the desk.

Because that's just OK in Mr. Hatake's class.

As my computer screen turned from black to blue with a tiny, swirly, rainbow-y circle telling me to be patient, I felt eyes on me in one of those ways where I don't actually feel the eyes, but I'm just able to tell that it would be a moment in which Sasuke would be looking at me.

Friend instincts, I've call them. A very lame name, but I couldn't think of anything clever and I don't think I ever will.

"What?" I grunted, rolling my head to look at him like it was some kind of nuisance.

He nodded as if I had just asked a yes or no question, but his head was tilted so it was obvious that he was trying to show me something.

And he didn't say a thing, which is unlike him to be bothered with teachers and their rules of keeping quite, specially in this class, where rules don't apply in Sasuke's world.

I turned in my seat and my knee started hurting after only a second of me squishing it against the plastic desk seat.

But my head didn't care because right there, at the front of the class, was Miss Priss, as I've rightfully named her, her chin in her hand, scowling and staring at Sasuke as if he was an expensive necklace behind the glass that Daddy wouldn't get her.

And I could tell what Sasuke was getting at. It was obvious he was a little miffed(1) already because he didn't need another admirer, especially one that obviously only liked him for his face, hair, and pants, but she was clearly giving off vibes that I was in her way or something, and I don't want to say I liked it, despite the fact that I did, but Sasuke's never more protective over anything, not even his tomato plants in his bedroom window, than he is over me.

Man, I just love rubbing that in girls' faces.

"Dude, it's another one . . . " I hissed, glancing back at the girl before turning back to Sasuke. "It's a . . . "

I paused and we had the world's shortest staring contest as we let the suspense and horror build up.

"A Sasuke idiot," and neither of us could understand the last part because we had started laughing too hard about the fact that it was said at the exact same time, which happens often, but never loses its charm, even when what's said is as lame as "Sasuke idiot", but I think you know by now that we're bad at naming things.

"Uchiha, Uzumaki, it's become clear to me that the routine for this class is to start off with you two laughing in the back of the room. Maybe tomorrow we can skip it? Unless you want to sit up front with me, and I'll make sure you're quiet when the bell rings. Sound fun?"

I let my chair drop so it was on all four legs again and said, as I stared down at my keyboard, "No sir."

Like always, Sasuke refused to listen to authority, and I could tell he'd have loved to say something like, 'Nah, I'm fine back here, but if you really want me to stop, I'd be just as happy, if not happier, skipping school. Be sure to mention to the principal that you told me to do it, though.'

Of course, the last time he said something like that, the teacher told him that he could stay home if he'd like, because she'd love to write him up a suspension. It was a nice, thick, drawn out argument that ended in detention.

Not like he wouldn't do it again, but Sasuke does that a lot. It's like he's building up his green cards, spacing out the amount of times he argues with teachers so they don't end up wanting to talk to his parents about his behavior, because who really wants teachers finding out you live alone when you should be staying with some kind of guardian?

"Alright, boys and girls . . . and those two in the back," the class sniggered, glancing back at Sasuke and me, and I ground my teeth angrily, forgetting that it was a joke, and I should have been laughing, but I didn't, "today we're going to continue working on our typing, so bring up your files and get started."

I sighed and pulled the mouse over the mouse pad until the cursor hid several letters of the title of my essay and I double clicked.

Most kids think, whole heartedly, that computer class must be boring, which is why more kids take art instead, but Sasuke and I had agreed that we'd each choose an elective and we wouldn't argue any further, and Sasuke chose computers.

I, too, had thought it would be boring, but it ended up as one of my favorite classes. Mr. Hatake really was a cool teacher, just not when he bossed us around.

But it was clear he liked us, so it didn't bother me. Sasuke, on the other hand, refuses to get aquainted with teachers beyond the teacher pupil level, so, you could say he was missing out.

Even when the school heard that Mr. Hatake's classes were writing essays, that's all they'd comprehend before saying that they'd never take that class and that they felt bad for anyone who had to endure it.

But they never got the chance to hear what we'd be writing about. Which was only the coolest essay assignment ever.

"Just write about what you'd do if you could be in charge of the school for one day. Don't think logically, because that leads to dull writings that no one wants to read. Be creative. I want to hear the impossible. I want to hear exactly what comes to mind without you having to think. Easy as pie."

Yes, those were our guidelines. It was supposed to be typing practice, but I think Mr. Hatake just wanted something more fun to grade than boring essays on the first ten presidents or the standard typing exercises with the timed-typing and that crap.

All benefited from it.

Then I would buy a go-cart with the school's money. They deserve it since they confiscated mine when I drove it to school in October. Then I'd take Sasuke and we'd drive it through the entire school, through every classroom, especially Miss Yuuhi's. Don't get me wrong, I like her, but I'd just love to run some muddy tires over all her God damn

"Hey there, Uzumaki, what'd I tell you about language?"

I gasped and my hands twitched off the keyboard, typing several random letters and numbers in the frenzy.

Good lord, I hated it when he just appears out of no where.

"Looks like English to me," said Sasuke, leaning over so his head was practically resting on my shoulder.

That damn kid in my heart was running laps, and out of pure instinct, like he was a fly, I flicked at my chest, but it did no good.

Placing a hand firmly on both of our heads, Mr. Hatake sighed and looked like he wanted to bop Sasuke on the head and tell him to stop being a smart ass, but said, instead, "Change it, and I won't deduct points. Keep your fingers under control from now on, OK?"

He walked away, and I was sure he was going to stop and say, loud enough so the whole class could hear, "And hold your tongue once in a while, Uchiha," but he did nothing of the sort.

"God damn it," Sasuke grumbled, running his fingers through his hair to get it back to it's regular style, "You know he wants to say damn once in a while, in the least. He doesn't have to make us suffer too. Besides, I don't think he'd get so mad if we said 'God send it to hell,' instead. That's what it means, so why the fuck not?"

"Wasn't Mr. Hatake just telling you to watch your language?"

That voice.

I'd never heard it out loud, but . . . it sounded just like the one I'd imagined . . .

It couldn't be . . .

I turned in my seat.

Sasuke leaned back in his chair.

His bangs fell out of his eyes and hooking onto the black spikes in his hair.

"Can we help you?"

Sasuke always comes through, even in those little ways.

"No, but I can help you to keep your tongue in place," said Miss Priss, crossing her arms over her super-flat chest.

I looked her up and down.

She had long hair and a feminine face, but her pants were low, like a boy's would be, despite that they were pretty tight, and she wore a collared, cotton shirt buttoned all the way up.

Still, I wasn't about to go asking if she was a boy.

Not the snotty girl that stepped on Sasuke's toe without a glance back; uh-uh.

Only a complete idiot would do that.

"Who the hell are you to tell me what to do?"

Good move.

The muscles in Miss Priss's arms tightened as she gripped angrily at the sleeves of her shirt and the way her arms were folded seemed to ascend in bad attitude.

"I'm Mr. Hatake's teacher assistant. I switched from art class. Anything you do I can report to Mr. Hatake."

She lifted her chin with authority.

I frowned at her deep voice.

Sasuke pulled absently at his bangs. "Name?"

"Hyuuga Neji. But what would you care?"

I blinked.

Hinata's last name was Hyuuga . . . Hadn't she mentioned a cousin before . . . ?

" . . . Gender?" Sasuke asked reluctantly.

"A guy, thanks," she . . . well, I guess it would only be right to say he, snapped.

Sasuke nodded in mock interest and snapped his head back up, his bangs flipping back into place.

His fingers found the keys like they had been born to them and he continued with his typing.

I'd never seen a guy look more pissy.

I mean pissy like a girl gets, like, PMS.

Of course, I'd never seen a guy so girly either.

But who ever said that was affecting the way he acted?

I took one more look and decided that there was no possible way that anyone had ever met him and assumed for one second that he was a boy.

I wouldn't be surprised if half of his teachers still thought he was a girl and will never find out the truth.

Class ended like it always did, with Mr. Hatake making a crack at our gender.

Frankly, I don't know what he means by that; he makes it out like the two of us look like girls or something.

Our hair isn't even long.

It could be our tight pants, or tight shirts, or Sasuke's black nail polish, or even my shoelaces, but who ever said boys couldn't have strawberry print on their shoelaces?

Whatever it was, I couldn't help but wonder why the fuck he didn't jab on the Neji kid.

He was such a jerk; he deserved it.

Which is why even Sasuke smiled a prickling grin filled with malice when Neji ran into Sasuke's elbow.

Right in the stomach.

The kid needs better coordination.

Of course, Mr. Hatake declared that this was no simple accident and decided that the only way to get Sasuke to learn to control his elbows, and the rest of his arm for that matter, was to exercise them by clapping out the chalk board erasers.

Despite my groans of boredom, I stayed after to give him a hand.

It's been rumored, and a very logical rumor at that, which are very rare now adays, that Mr. Hatake pours chalk powder over his erasers every day, lets the chalk settle, and then pours some more over once more.

This way, when some dumb kid snitches, he has something for the victim to do.

This is mainly logical because there isn't a single chalkboard in the entire high school.

And Hatake was always pulling them out of a special drawer.

Strange but effective.

So, we were on our way out the school doors, having left a beautiful mural of chalk dust over everything we past, ending in a cloud of chalk, in which was hidden a quick high five; and we were just wiping our hands onto our jeans, and I was just starting to laugh about a joke Sasuke had cracked about Mr. Hatake and his chalk board erasers, when I bumped into someone at the end of the stairs.

I looked up to find the freakish white-silver eyes looking down at me with a million red-hot, metal needles shooting at me like I were Satan himself . . . or whatever.

"What do you want?" Sasuke growled, trying to hide his anger.

Keep out emotion when speaking with jerkoffs like this guy.

Ah, good old Sasuke and his complete protectiveness.

How I love that guy.

"What I don't want," the Neji kid grabbed me by the collar and dragged me over to the side and out of his sight, "Is this punk interfering."

I opened my mouth to protest, but Sasuke spoke first.

"What's the point in that?" he growled, grabbing my wrist and pulling me to him like some kind of little kid, "Anything you do or say, he's going to find out about later."

"Well then let him find out later," Neji said, clearly trying to contain his rage.

"Nope," said Sasuke, finally calming down, cool as usual.

Neji clenched his fists and his mouth twisted into various shapes before settling into a very firm frown. "Whatever then, not like I care."

Then his lips relaxed and a very nasty smile slid over his lips like a knife had just slashed his face and allowed a mask of rubber and plastic to fall away.

What happened next was so absurd that I'm still not sure if it really happened or not. I kind of wonder if I didn't see correctly and Neji actually punched Sasuke.

But I know that it was that kid in my heart again, making things up, because it was clear as my hair is yellow, that after Neji grabbed Sasuke's collar, causing me to stumble away, that he most definitely kissed him.

It was long and pretty gross, but I couldn't help but stare, and I'm sure at least ten flies made it into my mouth.

I'm pretty bent on the idea that it was something like this that caused the Big Bang, and possibly the same thing that wiped out the dinosaurs.

I think that's what I'll say when Ms. Mitarashi asks that in science.

I sit next to Sasuke in that class too . . .

He'll probably hit me, but it'll be funny.

But humor seemed so distant at the moment.

The fun we had just had wiping chalk all over the halls and trailing it along on the bottom of our shoes: It seems like ages ago.

They finally broke apart.

And Neji waved, like they had been dating for a year.

And they always said goodbye like this.

And he hopped on his scooter, which I had hardly noticed had been leaning against the school steps.

I looked to Sasuke, who had his tongue sticking out, like he was hoping someone would come along and disinfect it.

Then he turned to me like he was thinking exactly what I was thinking.

"Get your skates on; I'll go head him off, you come from behind so he doesn't get away."

And he sprinted over to a bush where he hid his skateboard, because the teachers'd confiscate them if they caught you with a board.

And he was gone in a flash, his helmet still in his backpack.

I plopped down on the steps and swung my backpack around, pulling out my skates.

I was just pulling on the second one in a complete rush, like I had a time limit, when I realized that there was a strange tickle in my stomach.

Not the kind you get when someone pins you to the floor and runs their fingers over your belly.

No, it was more like tiny pieces of silk fabric were being blown around by a fan on the inside, rolling gently over the tissue of my stomach.

And I realized that there was no way I could help Sasuke.

We'd been best friends since as long as I can remember, but for once, something told me I didn't want to see what was going to happen.

I didn't was to see Neji and Sasuke together ever again.

I didn't even want to hear of or see or think of Neji for the rest of my life.

No.

I strapped on my skates.

I pulled my jeans over them.

I rolled quietly down to the side walk.

I checked to see if the coast was clear.

Then I jetted towards home, which, luckily, was the opposite direction of Sasuke and Neji.

Sooner then you could listen to even one rather short song, I found myself skidding to a stop in front of my apartment building.

Rushing through the main entrance.

Blading through the lobby.

Gripping the railing in the elevator.

Half blading half running down the hall.

Passing that annoying ass cat, Shishou.

Unlocking my door with shaky hands.

Falling through my door.

Slamming it behind me.

Sliding down the door until I was sitting with my legs to my chest.

My feelings finally caught up with me like a trail of lit gun powder under my feet.

My breath was heavy and it hurt as my chest heaved, following the rhythm of my heartbeat carefully.

Fear.

Worry.

Regret.

Pain.

Sorrow.

It was like my heart was having a funeral or something.

I shifted my shoulders as I struggled to get my skates off, trying to unclench the tight grip around my insides.

So strange these feeling were.

I couldn't recognize them.

My skates left in front of the door, like some kind of extra security, I slumped away from the hall and into my room, plopping down onto my bed, where the sheets were cold, but in that refreshing way, and the blanket seemed to know how I felt, and covered me in just the way I needed it to.

And as I buried my face into my pillow, I finally noticed the warm tears pressing against my face and soaking into the pillow.

I wondered half-heartedly when I had started crying.

I wanted to check my shirt to see how wet I'd gotten it to get a clue, but I was practically exhausted, and not from skating.

Sasuke would be calling soon.

I knew he would.

He called everyday after school, no matter what, and today was extra special, so it would be a complete phenomenon for him to skip out.

And part of me wanted him to call just to prove his loyalty, but the other part, the majority . . . wished he'd just go die.

TBC

(1)This is kind of an older term that not a lot of kids say anymore, and I picked it up from my older sisters. "Miffed" means annoyed, pissed-off.

They're pretty OOC, but I like the way it's going.