Naruto : Wind of Catastrophe

My apartment has never really been clean. Sure, I do laundry and clean the dishes and stuff, but only when I need to, and rarely on the same day.

Because of my limited finances as an orphan and then a lowly genin grunt, my apartment lacks the various creature comforts of the upper class world, such as "trash cans," and "floor mats," and "laundry baskets." Also, the guy that lives above me has god awful pipes that are constantly causing me problems..

So my apartment has never been clean. But as I shoulder the door open and step inside, I realize it's never been quite this bad.

I'd somehow missed it last night and this morning since I got back from my mission because the place had been pitch black both times, but it's a mess. Trash litters the floors, begging for someone to pick it up.

There's dirt and mud and crap all over the entryway, since I hadn't bothered taking my sandals off before shuffling into bed last night. And gods, the scrolls. They're everywhere, draped half-open across the couch, stacked up on the kitchen table, even hanging from the walls. Those are gonna cost me. So many library fees.

Looks like I've finally fallen prey to the shinobi complex that the old man warned me about when I first got this place. Getting caught up in training, doing missions, and any other manner of ninja-esque activity, instead of giving my apartment the attention it needs. My poor, abused apartment.

"Well, that's today," I say resignedly, shuffling into the kitchen and opening the fridge. Maybe I still have some rice leftover to sate the yawning chasm in my stomach until I'm done...

Not even a grain. Awesome.

Sighing miserably, I reach under the sink and pull out a trash bag. Cleaning first, then grocery shopping. Trash management to start, then laundry, then dishes, then everything else. I move through my three room apartment, filling two full bags with garbage and somehow managing to stuff all of my dirty clothes into one load of laundry.

The dishes take longer, being that there are tons of them and they're all vile. Finally, though, when the sun is beginning fall in the sky the dishes have all been cleaned, the laundry dried and folded, the trash tossed into the dumpster outside my apartment complex, and the entire apartment scrubbed clean.

I also have a pile of scrolls stacked up in my living room almost as tall as I am, but I'll return those when I'm sure my wallet can handle it.

I scrub away the final spot from my bathroom mirror and sag against the counter in relief. Done. Pushing off, I rip the bright orange gloves from my hands and gather up all my cleaning supplies. I plod through my bedroom and into the kitchen again, puzzling out how much of my mission pay I'll be putting aside for rent and how much I'll be using for groceries.

I freeze in the doorway, mouth falling open, eyes set upon the miracle before me.

"I love you."

Sasuke snorts, pulling out a package of meat from the line of brown paper bags on my counter and placing it next to several others in my fridge. I scramble to put my supplies away and fall upon the bags like a wrathful god. Meat, rice, all sorts of produce, milk- and tomatoes. Lots of tomatoes.

"How much do I owe you?" I ask, grasping for a still dripping pan. Sasuke shakes his head, crumpling an empty bag in his hands.

"I had more money than I needed to restock my supplies," he says, tossing me a package of steak. I look down at it uncertainly, then back up at him.

"You sure? You don't want to save up for a sword or something?" I know if I didn't have to throw all of my funds at my landlord and living expenses I'd be saving up for a sword. Who wouldn't save up for a sword?

"Just quit hiding the damn tomatoes," he says, grabbing one up from the pile and biting into it. I nod, grinning, and start cutting up the steak while my mind wanders down the familiar path of fantasizing about buying a sweet sword.

"Steak and rice sound good?" I ask distractedly. Sasuke hums his assent and pads out of the kitchen, and I finally notice the backpack he has slung over his shoulder. My grin slips, and I'm pulled back to reality. It's one of those nights, then. I turn back to the food and dump the steak cubes into the pan, frowning.

Two years ago, when I went to the old man and begged him to let me have my own place, it hadn't been because I needed one. I mean, don't get me wrong, having my own apartment is cool and all, and I probably would have gotten one once I became a shinobi and thus a legal adult anyway, but back then I didn't care much either way where I lived. It was actually kind of nice living with the friends I'd made in the orphanage.

No, I begged the old man to let me have my own place because the caretakers stopped letting Sasuke spend the night with me when he had bad days with his family.

We never did figure out whether it was one of his dad's underhanded mechanizations that Sasuke is always accusing him of pulling, or if they just couldn't justify giving a bed and food to a child of one of the most prestigious clan heads in Konoha. One less orphan fed and all that. Whatever the reason, I decided I would take this matter into my own hands. And by that I mean nag the old man until he caved.

It took some doing, and more than a few demonstrations that I could handle all the necessaries of an apartment, but he did in fact cave. He assigned me an ANBU for a month to make sure I didn't screw up, of course, but it was a small price to pay for giving Sasuke some peace of mind whenever he got fed up with his folks.

And it worked out great for a while. Every now and again he would crash on my couch, maybe once a month, and I could pretend that he just needed a break from his parents sometimes; like all kids. This past year though, especially since our introductions to Team 7, it's become harder and harder not to take his visits for what they are.

I grit my teeth, popping the fridge open and putting away all of the spoilables while the food cooks. It's not that I don't like having him over. No matter how infuriating he gets, I do enjoy having the bastard around. It just kills me every time he chooses my lumpy couch over a night with his family.

I toss the last apple in the fridge and slam it shut, leaning back against it with an aggravated sigh. A flash of maroon catches my eye, and I look up at the familiar spiral patch hanging above my entryway.

I got it the day we learned about the Uzumaki in the Academy. I had approached Iruka-sensei after class and asked him where I could get one of those patches he had on his chunin vest, now that I knew what it represented.

As it turns out, you can only get them when you're a shinobi, and a chunin at that, since they're produced solely for the vest and flak jackets given to chunin and jonin respectively. I must have looked pretty crushed when he told me, because next thing I knew he'd snipped off the stitches with a kunai and given it to me with a little knowing smile.

Of all the memories I have of Iruka-sensei, that's definitely one of the fondest.

I stare up at the dangling patch, my most prized possession, and admit to myself that it's not any imaginary freeloading that's bothering me about Sasuke's nights here. It's the fact that he can't stand his own family that kills me, clan full of assholes or not, because I'd do anything to spend just one night with mine.

The sizzling of the steak finally breaks through my troubled musings (brooding), and I hurry to slide the pan off the burner.

"Food's ready!" I call, snagging two bowls and filling them to the brim with meaty goodness. "Sasuke?" I furrow my brow, dumping the pan in the sink under a stream of cool water, and turn to the living room. I'm just about to go see if the jerk fell asleep on my bed or something when he walks in, holding one of the scrolls from the stack in my living room.

"What's this?" He asks strangely. I raise an eyebrow and hold my hand out. He passes me the scroll, and I scan the text inside. It takes me about two words to realize what I'm looking at, and an uncomfortable weight settles in my stomach.

"My dream." Sasuke stares hard at me for a long moment before taking a seat and tucking into his food. I roll the scroll up and set it down on the table, turning to my own food while my mind wanders back to the memory of the cave and the voice and the fury.

"Who are you?"

I look up from my food, startled, and find Sasuke staring intently at me. Er. "Naruto."

He rolls his eyes. "No, idiot. Who are you in the dream?" Oh. He's talking about the labels I'd given the voice and...

"I don't know," I admit. It's something that's always bothered me about the dreams, almost more than the chaos and blood and rage.

It's me doing all of the raging, but at the same time it isn't. It's someone separate from me, but I can never put my finger on the distinction when I'm awake.

"All I know is they aren't me. I'm just... looking through their eyes, I guess." That's wrong, but I can't think of how else to explain it.

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