SN

Sasuke’s policy when it comes to high school is simple: Leave well enough alone. Chubby kid who sits next to him needs to copy the homework? Don’t think so. Overenthusiastic lab partner invites him out to lunch? No thanks. Pink-haired girl leaves notes in his locker with hearts doodled on them? Please. Sasuke just needs to get through school, keep moving, get into college, graduate and take over as the head of his family’s business company. Be the son his parents deserve, not the shitty one they ended up with.

And for the first year and a half of high school, it seems to work. Nobody talks to Sasuke between classes, nobody whispers jokes to him when the teacher can’t get the Smartboard working, nobody shares their lunch when Sasuke forgets his at home. Which is fine. You don’t get perfect grades by messing around with friends -- and Sasuke has never earned lower than an A.

So really, there should be no exception for the girl in the fourth floor alcove, who is curled into herself, face buried in her hands, making little whimpering noises.

Sasuke shifts his weight awkwardly from one foot to the other. This is where he usually eats lunch -- nobody wants to sit in the drafty alcove, or climb the four flights of stairs to get there. But this kid obviously wants privacy.

Well, too bad. Sasuke discovered this place first. She can go have her emotional meltdown elsewhere. Sasuke clears his throat. “A-hem.”

Startled, the girl’s head shoots up. Sasuke’s dark eyes meet milky-white, and --

Fuck.

If Sasuke had been able to see from the front, he would have been able to tell right away that this was a he, not a she. Long, mahogany-brown hair flows over the boy’s shoulders, swept back from his face by a nondescript black headband. Although red and blotchy from crying, his face is still regal -- a jutting chin, arching eyebrows and those pale eyes -- Sasuke briefly wonders if he’s blind.

The boy blinks rapidly, like he’s trying to hide the evidence of his tears. “What are you doing?” he rasps, in a trying-to-sound-righteously-angry-but-failing voice.

Sasuke is so shocked by the realization that this is a boy, and a good-looking one at that, that he forgets his resolve to speak first. Faced by the boy’s scowl, his previously planned “Look, this is my spot, so get over yourself and leave” speech flies out the window.

“Um. Are you okay?”

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Sasuke wants to kick himself. It shouldn’t matter why this boy is crying. He shouldn’t care.

But the boy shuts his eyes, slowly (his eyelashes are long, almost like a girl’s) and tilts his head back with a sigh. “Why does it matter to you?”

It doesn’t, thinks Sasuke, but he doesn’t say it, maybe because he is still a little bit shocked that this is a boy in front of him, and maybe because those eyelashes are so long, and maybe because Sasuke wants to see him open his eyes again and look right at him because he seemed to see Sasuke in a way no one really has, not since high school started -- maybe not even since Itachi. And so he shrugs off his backpack and slides down the wall until he’s sitting next to the boy, close enough to touch him if he reached out a little.

The boy’s eyes are still closed, but he’s frowning. “Who are you?”

Sasuke finds his voice. “Who are you? Why are you sitting here?”

The boy opens his eyes, and a little thrill goes through Sasuke when his gaze shifts over to him. “You don’t know who I am?”

That irks Sasuke a little. “You’re so important?”

The boy laughs. It’s a dry noise, and it surprises both of them. “No, I’m not. My uncle is.”

“Oh.” Sasuke is silent for a moment. “And people usually know who you are because of your family.”

It’s not a question, but the boy nods anyway. “His name is Hyuga,” he says guardedly, and Sasuke suddenly does know who he is, because Hiashi Hyuga is not only the president of Hyuga Industries, one of the largest big-business corporate firms in Japan, but he’s also the ex-trading partner of Sasuke’s father. “That sonofabitch Hyuga -- “ Fugaku would begin halfway through his second glass after dinner, and Sasuke’s mother would put her hand on his arm. “Dear…”

But suddenly, Sasuke can’t bring himself to care. His father is his father, and he’s not talking to a ruthless businessman right now but to this boy with long, dark hair and pale, slender hands that he keeps clenching and unclenching as he waits for Sasuke’s reaction.

“I didn’t ask your uncle’s name. What’s your name?”

The boy is not expecting this, and maybe that’s why he answers. “Neji.”

Sasuke nods. “Sasuke.” There is a silence, and Sasuke finds himself wondering if he should have extended his hand for this boy to shake, the way his father does when he meets someone in a business suit. “Why are you sitting here by yourself?”

Neji looks over at him, and again Sasuke feels that thrill. “I was crying,” he says slowly, like he’s explaining the obvious. “And I didn’t want anyone to see me.”

Sasuke nods. “Okay, but why?”

Neji blinks, and for a moment, Sasuke thinks he’s gone too far. But then Neji sighs, blowing back some stray hairs that have escaped his headband. “Today is the anniversary of my father’s death.”

That is not what Sasuke expected him to say, and he is surprised. “Why are you telling me this?”

Neji clenches his jaw and looks away, and Sasuke gets the feeling he’s said the wrong thing. For some reason, he wants this boy to look at him again the way he did before -- like Sasuke is a puzzle that he is studying, deciding where to place the next piece. So he quickly adds, “I mean, I’m just a stranger. What about your friends? Why aren’t they --”

“They don’t know.” Neji’s voice is low, angry and gruff. This is what he usually sounds like, thinks Sasuke with some surprise. I caught him off-guard before.

“Why not? You don’t trust them?” Sasuke isn’t trying to provoke Neji; he’s genuinely curious, and Neji seems to recognize that. He slowly unclenches his hands

“No.” Neji clears his throat and tucks a lock of hair behind his ear. “I don’t want their sympathy, or their pity. I don’t want yours either,” he adds, glancing over at Sasuke with a small frown.

Sasuke shrugs. “Good. I don’t pity you.”

Neji sits up a little straighter. “You don’t?”

“No.” Sasuke looks down at his hands. “I know people who are worse off than you.”

Neji scoffs. “Who? You?”

Sasuke allows a small smile to tug up the corner of his lips. “Maybe.”

Neji arches his eyebrows and crosses his legs. “Are you an orphan?”

Sasuke picks at the corner of a floor tile, not meeting Neji’s gaze. “Are you an only child, Neji?”

Neji raises his eyebrows even higher, but lets his question slide. “Yes. But I live with my cousins. Why, are you?”

Sasuke lifts his chin, but doesn’t meet Neji’s gaze. “Yeah. Do you,” he exhales, “have any snacks?”

“What?” Neji blinks in surprise, and Sasuke feels the smile tugging at his lips again at the look on his face. “Why?”

“I’m hungry.” Sasuke kicks at his backpack. “And I forgot my lunch.”

Neji studies him for a second, as if he’s trying to gauge whether or not Sasuke is serious. “Fine,” he says finally, and reaching into his pockets, he produces a granola bar. “I only have one, though. Hold on.” With a swift and sudden movement, Neji brings it down over his knee, and Sasuke winces at the loud crack.

Neji struggles briefly with the wrapper. “They must make these out of duct tape -- I swear to God --”

“Here, let me.” Sasuke reaches out and tugs the granola bar out of Neji’s hands. For a moment, their fingers brush. Neji’s hands are soft and smooth to the touch. He must moisturize, thinks Sasuke, and then immediately wants to kick himself for thinking something so strange and creepy. Not looking at Neji, he jerks the wrapper off and hands the boy half. “Thanks.”

Neji accepts his half, and for a few seconds the alcove is filled only with the sounds of their crunching.

The long-haired boy is the one to break the silence. “Why are you here? Are you avoiding whoever stole your lunch?”

“Hmf.” Sasuke coughs on a bit of granola. “Nobody stole my lunch.” He glances over at Neji, expression guarded. “Why would you think that?”

“I was kidding.” A small smile plays over Neji’s lips, and Sasuke feels like there must be a large chunk of granola stuck in his throat because all of a sudden it’s hard to breathe. He looks different when he smiles.

“Well, in that case…” Sasuke knocks into Neji with his shoulder. Neji stiffens for a moment, and Sasuke thinks I shouldn’t have done that but then Neji is elbowing him back.

“Shut up and eat your granola bar.”

Sasuke snorts, nearly inhaling what remains of his granola. “Yes sir.” Silence once again fills the hallway, but this time it’s companionable. It’s on the tip of Sasuke’s tongue to ask why it is that Neji assumes his friends will pity him if he tells them about his father, when he hears an echoing voice bouncing down the hall.

“N… Neji? Are you there?”

Neji stiffens again next to Sasuke, but this time, instead of relaxing, he pushes himself to his feet. “I have to go.”

“What? Why?” Sasuke struggles to his feet as well. “Who --”

Neji rolls his eyes. “My cousin. She probably --”

“Neji?” The voice is getting louder; it’s a girl’s voice, gentle and unsure. Neji takes a step in the direction of the exit.

“Wait!” Sasuke’s hand flies out, and catches Neji’s sleeve. He doesn’t have anything to say, but suddenly, he doesn’t want this boy to leave.

Neji’s eyebrows fly up, but he doesn’t move away. “Yes?”

Sasuke feels like an idiot. “I… I’ll see you around.”

Nejin looks like Sasuke like he’s a crazy person. “Okay.” He turns to go, but Sasuke doesn’t let go of his sleeve.

“You’re not your uncle, you know.” Sasuke has no idea what he’s saying, only that he needs to say it. “You don’t have to be just your last name.”

Neji looks at Sasuke again, and again, Sasuke feels something stir within him. “I know.”

“Do you?” Sasuke forces himself to stare directly at Neji, right into his moon-bright eyes. “Do you really?”

“Neji!” Both Sasuke and Neji turn to see a timid girl standing at the end of the hall. She’s practically burrowed into her coat collar, and she looks like she might faint any moment. “I found you -- Tenten and Lee --”

“I’m coming, Hinata,” Neji answers dismissively. “Can’t I be on my own for five minutes before those two send a search party after me?” He turns back to Sasuke, who has released his sleeve, and regards him for a moment, expressionless. “Thank you,” he says at last. “Goodbye, Sasuke.”

Sasuke nods and watches Neji walk down the hallway to meet his cousin, not turning back, and wonders why that simple goodbye felt so final. Why, even though Sasuke had just met him, watching Neji walk away feels like forgetting something important that he once knew.