jukeboxhound_backup | drabble: ocd (naruto)

I have here part of a Naruto oneshot that probably won't go anywhere in the near future, but it amused me anyway. I was watching the July Fourth marathon of Monk while I had fanfiction open in front of me, and this was spawned. It's rather satisfying to watch someone else with an OCD worse than mine, even if it's a fictional character like Monk, and I adore a more-neurotic-than-usual Sasuke.

Pairing: NaruSasu, naturally, though this hasn't progressed nearly far enough to show it

Summary: ...uh, I have no idea...

“So, what did you do now?”

Naruto coughed, swallowed, and looked up from his ramen bowl. “What?”

Kakashi was looking down at him with a single raised brow. The fact that Icha Icha Paradise was closed in his hands made the blond slightly nervous, which only increased when the jounin took a seat beside him at the ramen stall.

“I didn’t do it,” Naruto said immediately. “No, really, I’ve been here for the last hour. Whatever it is, blame Konohamaru.”

Kakashi smiled under his mask as Teuchi-san placed a bowl of ramen in front of him and raised in his wooden chopsticks in gratitude. “Somehow, I don’t think Konohamaru is involved, unless there’s something about you and Sasuke that I really shouldn’t know about.”

Naruto paused, then set down the ramen bowl to one side and let his head thunk down onto the counter. “What’s wrong with Sasuke?” he groaned into the wood, voice muffled.

Unseen, Kakashi took several swift bites of the noodles, and his visible eye curved gently as he looked to his former student. “You going to eat that fishcake?”

xxx

“Be careful,” Naruto murmured. “The madness might be contagious.”

“Oh, be nice,” Sakura chided him just as softly. “He can’t be that bad.”

“Trust me on this. When he gets the fuse lit on his tampon—“

She smacked him upside the head and stomped irritably into Kakashi’s apartment, leaving Naruto nursing a fresh bruise at the door.

“Sasuke-kun?” she called, her instincts stretched. She could sense the former missing-nin somewhere near the back of the apartment, his chakra fluctuating with obvious killing intent, and tilted her head back towards the other boy. “Naruto, what did you do now?”

“Why does everyone assume it’s my fault when that bastard gets all pissy?” he groused bitterly, rubbing his head as he came up to stand just behind Sakura’s shoulder.

“You’re the only one that can piss him off,” she whispered back fiercely. “Everyone else, he just gives them a blank stare. Or a visit to the hospital room. No one else—still alive, at least—can really make him agitated.”

“If that was a compliment, it kinda sucked.”

“Coward,” she said, moving into the living room and hearing an outraged, “Hey!” follow in her wake.

Sakura had only been to Kakashi’s apartment once before. She remembered it being fairly clean, the unusually few personal belongings more or less where they belonged and the weapons and scrolls well cared for, but now it seemed to practically sparkle like a showroom floor.

Trailing along after her, Naruto took one look around the room and groaned. “Shit, it’s started.”

Ignoring his melodrama, Sakura headed to the small kitchen, where Sasuke’s chakra was focused, and peered around the dividing wall.

“Sasuke-kun, what—“

Blinking, she took in the sight of Sasuke wearing bright yellow rubber gloves and the sleeves of his yukata tied back, a can of bleach-spray in one hand and a scrub-brush in the other, attacking the laminate counter as though it had personally slaughtered his clan all over again.

“Um, Sasuke-kun, what are you doing?”

He did not answer, unsurprisingly, too intent on a grease spot that clung for dear life to the counter.

“See? See?” Naruto hissed into her ear. “I told you he’s contagious.”

Sasuke’s head suddenly shot up, pinning Naruto in place with a lethal serpentine glare. “Then perhaps,” he said silkily, “I should clean the flesh from your bones.”

“I’d like to see you try,” the blond shot back, and Sakura half-turned to put her hands on his shoulders.

“You’re not helping,” she told Naruto under her breath. “Sasuke-kun, what are you doing?”

He looked at her as though an IQ test would give her a score of sixty. Without breaking eye contact, he squirted the bottle a few times at the stubborn grease, gave Naruto another glower, and then continued scrubbing murderously as though he had never been interrupted.

Sakura raised an eyebrow.

Someone in my creative writing class last quarter wrote a really good story centered around OCD and the constant counting/mental scenarios that come with it, and I was shocked to hear just how many people had no idea what he was talking about. They thought the character was unrealistic and confusing, while I'd read it thinking, Hey, I did that this morning...