The Art of Sharing Lovers

Author's Note: I am the same naturally morbid from fanfiction.net and I thought I would try this story on here as well.

I would like to thank Samurai Smee for all of her hard work on this with me, because she gave me the encouragement, the idea, and the wonderful betaing you have here! Really, thank you dear as this wouldn't be possible without you!

So, this is an AU fic. It will have the pairings of Sai x Hinata, Hinata x Kabuto but only for probably this chapter, and Sai x Itachi. That would make this a het and yaoi story, but it will be probably mostly het with the yaoi marked. With this being AU, that means characters will probably be out of character somewhat, I really tried hard to keep them so. I apologize if they are, especially Sai. This will be from his point of view and will not change points of view to avoid confusion.

I would also like to mention that the artists he is compared to are real, look them up to have an idea of what I am talking about for sure. I think I have covered about everything.

Disclaimer:I do not own Naruto or its characters. The title of the story as well as the lyrics in italics are not mine but rather belong to A Static Lullaby. Also, some of the ideas and corrections belong to Samurai Smee.



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The Art of Sharing Lovers
Chapter 1: Art of Failing

They say they saw her on the street, they say they saw her on her knees..
-A Static Lullaby: The Art of Sharing Lovers

If you’re looking for a completely happy tale then you might want to try another story, maybe just above this one? I wish to advise that before you continue against my better wishes and most likely yours as well, as this is not going to be a kind-hearted tale at all.

No, this is a darker tale of failing, abuse, lust, and betrayal. I can recognize that those things appeal to society If you’re still reading by now, then you should receive some type of honor or a bandage. Well, then I guess I should just go ahead and tell you, as you’re not turning back and have some kind of morbid interest…

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I stared blankly at the fresh painting on the huge rice paper wall scroll. No, more like massacre of a painting on the scroll. The art just wasn't up to my usual standards. It would never sell.

I violently pulled it off to the side as I grabbed a fresh scroll, but my mind was as blank as the off-white space before me. Nothing was flickering through that measured up to the paint prodigy I was supposed to be.

This just wasn’t like me, to burn out so easily.

I had always had some kind of painting for my manager, some type of genius work for my deadline. I always approached my art like I approached life, unemotional but still with so much drive.

I had done thousands of works, most of which were major successes for me. I could paint anything; people, dogs, dragons, sci-fi monsters, landscapes. The list just went on and on.

Of course, what made them so special was the material of which they were painted on. I used traditional scrolls, from ancient times, like my ancestors. I also preferred to use an ink brush with the traditional ink stick and stone, used for Kanji of course, which grouped together become known as the Four Treasures of the Study.

This made me vastly unique as well, compared to the arts I was set against. I needed as much of that edge as I could, to stay above the competition. Of course, I used regular canvases and typical paint too, but the scrolls always got more attention.

The work that I was often shown with was on canvas and modern or pop art. Mine always got the attention, as people had not seen this type of art outside of a museum and by someone so young. I painted the ancient style dragon often, like you would see in a restaurant or something; animals in that style, very traditional art.

My work could not be compared with Monet or Picasso. No, it was more like the monks, Sesshu Toyo and Shubun of the Muromachi Period. Feathery landscapes in plain ink, serene towns and bodies of water surrounded by bold mountains.

From the comments I heard at my shows and galleries, my paintings really seemed to jump off the page, so to speak. I could never really see it as I was the one creating the work.

To me, they lacked emotion. Yes, I presented emotionless art to the world. It was the kind of art that you would see in an office or hospital. Nice to look at, but cold. Hollow. Fake.

I didn’t understand what people saw when they looked most of the time. It was exactly why I was alone. I had trouble understanding people and their emotions as I had been brought up not to exhibit any. Not that I didn’t try to build relationships, just that I didn’t think people would understand. I subconsciously craved them.

It had been drilled into at a young age to not have feelings, which of course goes against being human. It was for a job I had before I decided to focus on art; a job that I don’t like to talk about as I am not supposed to have a past or future, something else that was instilled into me. I was like an android; human appearance but mechanical purpose.

I didn’t even have much of a name. Sai. It was simple, like the weapon I was named for, like the weapon I was supposed to be a long time ago when the world was different.
Orphans hardly ever receive the treatment they should; I was just lucky they gave me a name, I didn’t dare ask for a last. Of course, having a one word name worked in my favor as an artist, according to my manager. “It’s easy to recall,” he had explained to my deadpan face.

I wasn’t much of anyone of interest. I did not have outstanding looks, in fact, I had even heard generic from my “fans,” being compared in appearance to the heir of the Uchiha family, Sasuke. He was a superstar of some kind. I never paid a lot of attention to the outside world either.

I had lived in the same apartment for years now, which had been since I was around fifteen? I was twenty now. I had never even decorated to mark that it was my own.

The place was drab, like everything else. It was about a one-room studio apartment, save the bathroom and the half bedroom I had, okay it was a closet and bedroom, fold outs you know? My kitchen blended into in my living room and workshop.

Of course I had a couch to entertain, tables, chairs. But it was all decoration as the only person to ever visit my apartment was my manager. I only required my bed and my work for the most part.

I hardly ever saw my neighbors, though I heard them from time to time. The man that lived next to me was particularly loud. I had assumed, when I first moved in that he lived alone, that is until his girlfriend and I bumped into each other in the hall one day. But I guess even she didn’t stay there all the time. I would not have stayed there either.

From brief meetings in the hall and of course my neighbor yelled it a lot as well, I knew her name was Hinata. I’m mentioning her now as she has a major part in this story.

She was always very polite and shy anytime we met, her voice usually just above a whisper and her movements quick, like a small animal. A mouse, she was like a mouse. Poor mousy Hinata.

I guess I should tell you that the story really begins with her.

She had these huge lavender eyes that reminded me of the moon in spring. Her hair was a violet with black undertones, framing pure pale skin. She was a little shorter than me, probably up to my shoulder? Either way, I always had to look down to speak to her.

Anytime we spoke in the hall, she was overly courteous and generous, offering me some of the home cooked food she had with her or had left over, always asking how I was or was the painting going well.

Of course, more could be said for the man she dated. His name was Kabuto and he was an ass. He dealt in underhand things and shady activity, no matter how nice he looked.

Anytime we passed in the hall, he had a smirk on his face and would push his glasses up his nose before addressing me politely as well. He looked like a doctor, but I knew better from my previous job. They said he was a quiet killer.

Some nights I could hear him yelling at her among other things. I know, I should have done something to stop him, but it wasn’t my fight and I figured other people would call. I didn’t have the protection job anymore. I was just a void, a rock, unconcerned. Plus, now he fought with her so much that I hardly noticed it at all.

The last person I got close to died and I was powerless to stop it.

I sighed and closed up the scroll, placing it aside until later, when I had a clue or an idea about how to go about things. I would have to call Danzou or at least Yamato to tell them I needed an extension on my deadline. Danzou was my manager whereas Yamato was more like an advisor or assistant manager.

Someone would have to be notified that I was failing. Better make it Yamato; he was easier to convince.

“Hello Sai,” he said in a friendly tone over the connection of my cell. “Please tell me that you have some genius work for us.” He wasn’t being pushy, it was just his job.

“No,” I replied simply. I could hear him sigh. This would make the deadline harder to change.

“Sai, you mean to tell me that you need an extension on your deadline?” He knew me all too well. I nodded shortly, and then remembered that he couldn’t see me and replied with a ‘yes.’ Another sigh. “Well, I will talk to Danzou and see what I can do. In the meantime, please, just something Sai. Can you do that?” I was notorious for being a perfectionist.

“Alright.”

“Alright, I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, take a walk or something.”

“Yes.” I shut the phone. It was not like me to say goodbye or some type of parting.
I decided to take Yamato’s advice and go for a walk. It was probably around eleven at night? I hardly ever kept up with the time anymore.

I grabbed a longer jacket and headed for the door. I liked to work in a half jacket and black pants. It was how I had always worked, even before art.

But since I hardly ever ventured outside and especially in the transition time from fall to winter, I figured it would be best if I covered up more. I thrust both hands into the front of my plain track jacket, being sure my key was there, before I headed down.

As I reached the lobby, there was a small crowd of the tenants from the rest of the building. I only half listened to the excited chatter as I made my way to the door, pressing through the throng of people.

“Young man,” an elderly woman called as she grabbed my jacket sleeve. I decided it best not to resist her. I nodded. “That young woman out there, you should help her,” she told me as she let go of my sleeve and pushed me further ahead. I nodded again as I moved through to see what she was talking about.

If you’ve figured out my narration, then you know very well who the young woman outside was.

I walked out into the cool night, watching my breath become visible in the air. I guess it had rained a little as the sidewalk was wet. I paid it little mind as I moved quickly to the body on the pavement. I could hear the chatter even outside.

It seemed, according to the crowd, that the motionless girl on the sidewalk put up a good fight against her attacker, but that he got her on her knees and dealt the punishing final blow. She was laying on her side, facing the empty street. I grabbed her arm, to bring her on her back so that I could for sure identify her and to assess her injuries, as by then I had an idea as to who it was.

Why should I care though? Well, it was more interesting than painting failing artwork anyway.

Yeah, it was Hinata all right. Her lavender eyes were closed and it appeared that she was hardly breathing. A little blood was trickling from her lips and I grabbed a wrist, to check her pulse. She let out a soft groan and tried to open her eyes.

It was obvious that she was pretty injured. She had bruises and scratches and several other strange marks that I wasn’t sure if he made them or used something to mar her with. I guess Kabuto had beaten her up and then left her outside. I had barely noticed the fight from earlier.

Through cracked and broken lips, she tried to speak: “Sai?” she asked. I blinked at her, wondering if I was hearing things, that is until she said my name again, this time stronger. “Sai?”

“Hinata,” I said flatly. Her pulse was pretty normal. I had to wonder if they called the cops or were just going to leave her there. It was cold and damp; no place for anyone to be out in her condition.

“Did he leave?” she asked, panic in her eyes. “Did Kabuto go?” She grabbed my hand with as much strength as she could muster, but it was still faint.

“Yes,” I answered. There was no sign of him around. Her fingers were icy and I had to wonder how long she had been lying there, with no help. When Yamato said go for a walk, I’m sure he didn’t have this in mind.

“Good,” she smiled slightly. What was I going to do though? I couldn’t leave her in the cold, which was just heartless. I may not have had emotions, but I still had a functioning heart. My soul was still intact. What my neighbor had done to her was just inhumane. I couldn’t just leave her there.

“Come on Hinata, you’re going with me,” I told her as I scooped her up, bridal style. She was so light and compact, frail. She didn’t try to resist.

But, there was some kind of beauty to her, beat up and all. So many different colors and lines of abuse on her stature; I was sure this had been going on awhile, I just didn’t see it.

The crowd opened the door for us and then parted so that I could get her though. She blushed as she buried her face in my chest and we made the trip up to my apartment. Hinata whimpered in fear as we walked past Kabuto’s apartment before entering my own.

Unsure of what to do with her, I set her on the couch. What was I going to do now? There was an injured single woman on my couch.

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Author's End Note: There you have the first chapter. Like it? Hate it? Review.