title: 忘れないで
series: naruto
summary: i sing a secret song to you, each night we are apart (coco, 2017)
notes: the japanese translations aren't as accurate as the original song, but i went with phonetics and thought behind it. corrections are v. much appreciated!
dedicated to @okashiras
i. though i have to say goodbye
She was four when it happened.
Mama would always sit beside her, soothing the nocturnal terrors her mind would conjure.
Their lullaby would always make her smile.
But that night, Mama just...held her.
Unnerved by the thick silence, she sang the only words she can recall.
「おぼえて、泣かないで」
"No. Don't." Mama hushed, damp cheeks brushing against her forehead. "Please, Sa-chan."
Haruno Sarada never asked Mama to sing again.
ii. for even if i'm far away
"You're humming that again."
Sarada paused on writing her notes, distracted. Chou-chan poked her cheek, her grin teasing.
"You always hum it when you're frustrated."
"Oh."
"Mama...used to sing it to me."
However, in her memories, it wasn't sung in her mother's dulcet voice. She faintly recollects the simple melody, with deep, comforting tenor. A large, rough hand brushing the thin strands of her dark hair away from her forehead, and it always, always felt safe.
"Oooh, it's pretty! Maybe you can teach me!"
「いつも君のことおもっています」
"No. I was pretty young, so..."
Her smile, though they barely held her together, was always enough to fool everyone.
"I forgot. Sorry."
To her relief, Chou-chan's curiosity ended with a bag of chips on her lap before discussing the questions that might come up in their mock exams.
iii. though i have to travel far
Haruno Sarada is always punctual.
She arrives on meet-ups exactly on time. Her mission reports are submitted exactly two hours as it required by the protocol. Events are even planned ahead and followed to the dot.
The Rokudaime had told her that it was something that he had expected of her, his one-eyed gaze was looking past her, nostalgic.
They never knew the real reason why she hates being late.
When Sarada returns home much later from her expected time of arrival, she frequently finds her exhausted mother in unexpected places: A day late, she finds her sprawled on the office couch. She found her mother passed out on ER gurney if she's a week late. Once, when she was a month late, she caught her mom slumbering on a bench, waiting for her.
And it happens, of course, a low whimpering, and an unconscious sob that tells her that Mama is having a nightmare.
So Sarada tries the one thing that pacifies her to a dreamless sleep.
「毎回君はこの曲を聴きく」
iv. know that i'm with you, the only way that i can be
Haruno Sarada is a mednin specialist. A genjutsu expert. A former ANBU instructor.
A force to be reckoned with. A respected shinobi throughout the nations.
Today, On this bright spring day, she accepts a new title.
Konohamaru-sensei, The Ninth, declares her forward.
"Lady Tenth."
He settles a white mantle on her shoulders when she bears the weight of the world on her shoulders. They are on top of a towering podium, surrounded by thousands of people. Millions more are now watching her inauguration, as she receives her hat like a queen receiving her well-earned crown.
After all the ceremonies ended, her mentor, Uzumaki-shishou, pulls her aside, away from the surge of well-wishers that would come to her later.
Like her late mother, the marks on his cheeks has faded, his features have aged. The gold of his hair has thinned and blended with silvers. There is grief and guilt as he embraces her with tears in his eyes, and it reminds her so much of the newest pang of grief.
"Sarada-chan." His voice shakes, but his smile remains.
"Ah, Hokage-sama." Old habits are hard to change, but he doesn't correct her as he shakes his head and merely hands her an envelope.
"Your mother. She would be very proud of you. And she said if you reached your dreams--"
「もう一度, 抱きしめてまで」
"--I'll tell you about Sasuke. She said, you always wanted to know about him."
She opens the flap and is greeted by a man in his twenties, dark eyes soft and gentle.
"Do you know your father wanted to become a Hokage too?"
He stands beside her laughing mother, carrying a wide-eyed infant daughter staring at him with wonder.
Sarada,
The writing was sharp and unfamiliar, and her chest aches, but this is different from the familiar numbness of being lost and lonely.
She's finally understands.
The song returns, and she reads (sings) the first words of his letter.
he makes himself known when the stars are out and the moon’s big and yellow. it’s when sakura leaves her makeshift office, when it’s a little too close to midnight and her plans for that children’s hospital has not grown passed a seed of ambition and ideas.
it’s cold out and the crickets no longer sing because winter’s settled in. it snowed the day before and the ground’s still covered in small bunches of snow, dirtied by dirt and leaveless branches from the trees.
sakura hugs herself as she walks, tucking her chin into the soft feathery parts of her coat, enough so the bottom tips of her ear can manage to get some of the heat. the streets are empty and the streetlights glow yellow-orange on the cobblestone ground.
sasuke-kun falls into step with her as soon as she turns a corner. sakura’s cheeks burn pink; it’s different than the pinkness the cold air kisses there. this burns with embarrassment and coyness but she smiles because she’s known he’d been trailing her from the rooftops.
sasuke-kun’s hawks fly over the village when he’s near, after all.
“you’re here,” she comments, tilting her head a bit.
“am i really?”
sakura rolls her green eyes and takes a moment. “i doubt you’d send a clone in your place.”
“hmm,” sasuke-kun hums, dipping his chin into the wide collar of his shirt. he shifts his shoulders a bit, adjusting his opened coat. the hood that rests against his shoulder-blades shifts with his movements and the wind. “i guess not.”
“you guess?” she teases.
“that would make you angry, wouldn’t it?”
sakura laughs at this, spinning around to face him, nose pink and cheeks pinker. “is that why you don’t do it?”
sasuke-kun doesn’t reply right away, rather, he looks away from her, mismatched eyes trying to settle on anything but her. sakura observes him; his hair’s gotten longer from his last secret visit. the spikes are almost entirely gone in favor of falling down to his neck, forelocks in his face.
“it’s gonna snow,” she mentions when he doesn’t reply after a while. “it’s in the air.”
“s’already snowing,” sasuke-kun says and he looks up to the dark sky, hands shoved into the pockets of his unzipped coat.
brow furrowed, sakura looks up and instantly grins as the first few drops of snow fall, fragile and almost invisible. she laughs a bit, lifting a hand up to catch a few in her cupped palm. she feels sasuke-kuns gaze on her, heavy on her skin like it’s always been when his attention’s zeroed in on her and nothing else.
he does it often, when he steals these moments in between his personal missions and self-finding. watches her, observes her, like engraving her in his mind and memorizing every curve and angle that builds her. sakura turns to meet his stare, cheeks warm against the cold and heartbeat fast and quick underneath the layers of her clothes.
“i like coming personally,” he says and for a moment sakura doesn’t get it.
but sasuke-kun’s moved in by the time she does, he’s dipped down and pressed his chapped lips to hers in the softest of kisses. a mere press of soft skin against soft skin but it’s a kiss nonetheless. he pulls away much slower than how he’d invaded and as he looks at her, his eyes are as soft as his intentions, half-lidded and his hair just about shadowing them.
sakura has to rethink of what he’d said, why he’d said it.
a clone transfers its memories into the summoner just as soon as it disappears. but sasuke-kun’s said he likes to come personally, likes to go out of his way and carefully planned out traveling strategies in favor of sending a clone to find her and spend what little time they get together.
sakura furrows her brow and narrows her eyes.
how is it possible that he can be so cute and romantic without trying. the littlest gestures he makes are just--sakura reaches over, cupping his face on either side and pulling him back down towards her.
she kisses him with much more fierceness. the press of their lips almost painful. sakura loosens her hold a bit, pulls away just enough to get the chance of repressing their lips together in a much more gentler way. and then she guides sasuke-kun away from her, hands still cupping his cheeks, fingers just about entangled in his messy hair.
sakura blushes and looks down and away from him for a second before she realizes--after tonight, how much longer will she wait to kiss him again? he’s initiated this stage of their relationship--he kissed her first.
she sucks in air quickly, pulling him back down for another kiss. this one’s as fragile and quick as the snow that falls around them. sasuke-kun looks at her, cheeks red against his tanned skin; from the cold or from this, she doesn’t know.
but he pulls a hand out of his pocket and guides himself to wrap an arm around her waist. he’s hesitant and she can tell by the slowness of his movements but he pulls her flush against him anyway in an embrace that very well defines their entire relationship.
sakura lets herself sink into it for just a second. the warmth of his person, his fingertips that burn through the layers of clothes she’s wearing. and then she grins, sharp and mischievous as she wraps both her arms around him and squeezes.
“f-fuck,” she hears him hiss just as she feels a crack or two.
“uh-oh,” she nervously laughs.
“you’re annoying,” sasuke-kun groans, pulling away and pressing a hand to where sakura’s hands had locked to give him the hug.
“i’m sorry!” she laughs, guiding him through the darkened, snowy streets. “i’ll make you some tea. you’ll be better by the early morning, i swear!”
sasuke-kun mutters a few things. but sakura isn’t too sure if he’s called her annoying once again or if he’s silently making plans of sending a clone next time around.
And that in itself is a problem because someone such as Veronica Lodge does not get problems yet here she is. With a problem. It’s a gross feeling and it’s making her feel bloated and despite the amount of time she’s taken on her hair this morning she swears it feels greasy.
(It’s not.
Obviously.)
The problem is—well, better said, the problem comes in the form of a football captain. Black hair sleeked back, hoodie unzipped, shirt all messy and wrinkled, and loose skinnies low on his hips, cuffs ripped as they drag under his sneakers.
Disgusting, Veronica thinks as she sits next to Betty. She wrinkles her nose and busies herself with an apple, twirling it in her hand, debating if she should bite into it and risk smearing her red lipstick.
She purses her lips, watching the apple spin on the table’s surface.
Reggie Mantle.
A problem.
The worst part is that Veronica had sworn she would never sink to this level again, she would never think like this, act like this—nothing. Yet here she is, all wound up and ugh.
“Something wrong?” Betty asks, worry in her voice, clear blue eyes glassy under the lighting.
Veronica turns to her, blinking and bringing the apple to her lips, almost kissing it. “What? No, why would there be?”
“I don’t know, you just… went quiet.”
Smiling, Veronica shakes her head and slowly turns her attention towards Reggie’s general direction. She groans, low in her throat, when she realizes he’s already looking at her. There’s that smirk of his, crooked and haughty, the glint in his eyes.
He thinks he’s a big deal.
He thinks she wants him just because they went out clubbing once and they weren’t even alone.
Veronica slowly raises an eyebrow—a challenge.
Reggie cocks his head back and laughs and she thinks she actually might hate him. If it weren’t for the fact that she really would like to kiss his brains out, maybe lick the trail of sweat that dribbles down the side of his face when he’s out on the field during football practice—she would actually hate him, then.
“Ronnie,” Betty calls, a laugh in her voice. “Seriously.”
“Hmm?” Veronica hums, turning back to her, blinking her dark eyes, thick lashes fluttering.
Betty rolls her eyes. “You’ve been kissing that apple for five minutes now.”
Veronica pulls the apple away, pressing her lips together in hopes of salvaging her lipstick. She sets the fruit down and pushes away from the table, grabbing her expensive bag and lifting it up to her shoulder.
“I’ll be back, Betts,” she says, distracted. “I have something to take care of.”
“Do you need me to—“
“No. I can definitely handle this.”
Veronica saunters out of the cafeteria, hips swaying, shoulder-length hair whipping and the vindictive side that slumbers inside of her stirring.
She isn’t surprised when Reggie guides her to the lockers. Slams her, almost. Or maybe he does. She isn’t sure, but she bets it’s a slam; she doesn’t take Reggie Mantle to be a gentleman.
He has a hand on her shoulder, the other one pressed against the cool metal next to her head.
“Hey there Lodge,” he says, his grin crooked.
Veronica looks down at his hand on her shoulder before she looks back up at him, eyes half-lidded. She vaguely allows herself to remember them both dancing at that club, his hips swaying with hers, pressing against her, moving with her. Her smile is slow and teasing.
“Reggie.”
“I haven’t heard from you since that other night, what’s the matter? I thought we had a good time, didn’t you?” He tilts his head, feigns an expression of hurt. “Did you change your mind?”
“Change my mind?” Veronica laughs. “Change my mind of what?”
Reggie’s grin is back in place and he starts to lean in.
Veronica has a problem.
She looks at his lips for a moment. Thinks about how much she would like to kiss him senseless, flip their positions over and press him against the lockers until he’s hurting. It can be so easy. To do it, she means. She has that ability, to be dominant; a Lodge, after all, is never submissive.
“Ah,” she grunts instead, lifting a hand up and pressing a finger to his lips. “Don’t think so, Reggiekins. Try harder.”
She shoves him hard and walks away. And she isn’t sure if doing so is an added problem or a victory, but she flips her hair over and smiles.
he hears the sobs first. or--or maybe it’s the weight he feels. pressed right at the center spot of his chest and stomach, onto his lungs, making it hard to breathe by just a bit. he hears the sobs soon after this and it feels vulnerable, terrifying to be clouded in darkness, listen to the faint echoes of tears, of words.
....a shinobi must never...
must never...
show...
...tears....
sasuke struggles, feels pain in all the punctures the needles have inflicted in him, feels the stickiness of blood trickling out like streams and rivers, marking his body for a cartographer to study.
“sakura,” he croaks and he shifts, eyes still shut, darkness still so tempting.
there is a sniffle.
“sakura,” he tries again and her name is laced with the bitter tang of blood. it’s uncomfortable. “you’re....heavy.”
he can’t breathe. but he feels warmth on his cold left hand, feels fingers spider their way over his dirtied skin, feels nails drag over the hills of his knuckles. sasuke inhales, softly, almost sharply and his eyes snap open.
his hand caged, he looks into sakura’s pinked, tear-glassed green eyes. he feels fingers finding solace in the spaces in between his, sweat and
-
stickiness pressed from palm to palm, her nails digging into his skin. he has her tucked in a corner of the palace, his hair mussed by her greediness, his lungs full with the raw intention to drink her in, keep her, never release her.
she hums against his bruised mouth and for a second he considers stopping. but sakura has hiked her skirts up, has wrapped a leg around his waist, is digging her elegant shoe’s heel into the small of his back.
pink curls fall out of the loose updo her ladies in waiting have fashioned her with for the day. sasuke considers her crown but she’s kissing down his jaw, down the column of his throat and he wants her.
he wants her because this is all so dangerous.
she grabs his hand in his, laces their fingers tighter and he slams the back of hers against the stone wall, lets the awfully contained passion reverberate in the shadowed corner they’ve claimed.
“stop,” he mutters against her cheekbone. “we must stop.”
“never,” she hisses and claims his lips.
queen sakura of house uzumaki clenches her hold on his hand, lets her palm drag down against the wall and
-
it hurts to have her so near.
this dragon girl, with her vibrant green eyes and the patches of scales going down her arms. sasuke watches her as she becomes a slave to the same feeling that penetrates right into his very center, where his heart should be but where he now swears is nothing but an inferno.
she comes closer, pink hair messily falling out of the short and knotty updo, pupils slitted.
“i know you,” she claims, her voice heavy.
“i’ve never seen you in my life,” he retorts, voice shaking.
she shakes her head and kneels at this side, assess the wound that’s left him sitting in place, the back of his head against the cold wall. she looks up again, this dragon girl, and takes the hand that is not pressed against his side, bloodied and holding him together.
she takes the left one, guides it with one of her own wrapped around the wrist and on his own accord, he uncurls the soft fist, straightens each finger, leaving his palm bare. she tilts her head and aligns her right hand with his left.
palm against palm, fingers against fingers and as their skin touches, a hiss
-
of wind blows by, caressing her hair, letting the pink strands look like scars across her face. the breeze seems to mock him.
reminds him that what he does is right.
his armor is heavy on his shoulders, happuri cold against his brow. she looks at him with sadness in her pale green eyes, frame lacking the armor. a reminder of what a trusting fool she is.
“leave,” he says and he summons all disgust to ring in the single syllable. “you and i are on opposite sides of this river.”
she shakes her head. “you mustn’t let indra control--”
“he has nothing to do with this decision. i have never meant any words... any actions that have transpired between us.”
“you don’t mean that, sasuke.”
“listen to me, sakura.” he wills his eyes to bleed red, forces his expression to turn vicious. if he means none of these words, then at least let this expression overpower the lies. “you are my enemy. i don’t love you. the thought fills me with disgust.”
tears spill down the curves of her cheeks. even in the act of breaking she looks beautiful. sasuke sneers.
but the tears don’t last and her own expression warps into one of rage, her green eyes wild like the poison that drips from her axe on the battlefield.
“then there is nothing for me to do here,” she says. she turns her back to him, loose kimono dancing with the wind. “we’ll meet again.”
“on the field.”
“i will destroy you,” he thinks she says but it is too soft for him to confirm.
sasuke stands in place even long after she disappears from view, long after her returning to ashura’s camp. yet he watches, perhaps visualizes her. nearing, when his heartbeat weakens his resolve.
he lifts a hand up, palm facing out. but she is nowhere near to return
-
from a mission, pistols dropping to the ground, black domino mask still hiding his eyes. he’ll kiss her hard, still drunk on adrenaline, still smelling like blood and sweat.
he’ll take her somewhere, anywhere in here, in the hideout because they’re too into each other to ever make it back to a room. he’ll graze his finger up her vinyl-clad thigh, guide her leg around him, press against her armored corset.
but now he does not even look at her.
he runs a hand through his unkempt hair, still damp with sweat. he mutters to himself about his arch-rival getting away but at least the citizens of konoha are still alright.
sakura presses her lips together, curls a hand into a fist and wishes she’d been off fighting crime somewhere else. perhaps in another country. perhaps in the lands of the snow, across the sea. defeating the puppet master once more to add to the countless times of before.
“you ignore me,” she chokes.
“you knew it’d come to this,” he answers, sitting in front of his many computers, researching. “you knew this would never last.”
“i let you touch me,” she sneers as she stalks her way to him, praying to her goddess, katsuyu, to lend her strength, to not break him in half like she very well can. “i ignored the rules of my people for--”
“sakura,” he turns to her and despite the mask obscuring his eyes, the look he sends her does not lack an ounce of dismissal. “i choose this.”
this.
not them.
not her.
this.
the life of a loner, fighting crime in hopes to find the killers of his family. to bring justice to anyone that attempts to do the same to someone else.
this, the broken remains of a boy.
sakura’s smile is bitter. she lets her fingers flutter above his bruised knuckles, skin rough. “then let me not
-
“hold you back from all this, sasuke,” she pleads. “i could have helped... i...i could have let it all go... for you....”
sasuke looks up from his place on the cold bench, his wrists shackled, his hair long and messy, pressed to his sweaty forehead. he looks at her, dressed casually but it’s these casual clothes that hide her detective’s badge.
“don’t be fucking ridiculous, sakura,” he spits. the chains of his restraints sing as he shifts. “your moral code would have never let you follow me into the dark.”
he grin at her, eyes almost red in his wicked fury. he’s too far away now. or maybe she is. he’s locked in this cell but she can never reach
-
for the mug he offers her, her eyes still closed and sleep still claiming residence in her expression. sakura inhales the scent of coffee and hums in approval, her smile weak.
sasuke sits across from her, his small kitchen table in between them, his quiet little apartment comforting. outside, it’s gray and rain is due to arrive. still, sakura has to get ready for an exam at 2pm and she’s studied all night, will study the morning away too.
“mmm,” she hums again, sipping at her poison. “this is so good. ugh, just how i like it.”
sasuke, bedhead still crowning his head, gives a curt nod when her eyes search him.
“i never--”
“hmm,” he hums back to her, letting her rub his knuckles. sometimes, he wants to say but never will, sometimes you care for someone so much, so intimately that the simplest of things is the most important of things.
he looks down and watches her palm ride the tides of his knuckles, her fingers
-
wrap around the bolt, checking if it’s even remotely loose. satisfied, sakura moves to the next. and the next. and the next and--
there are tears in her eyes and he knows she tries to hide them, keep them at bay. sasuke places a hand on her shoulder, turns her away from the small ship.
“m-maybe we should pack a blanket,” she suggest. her voice cracks and he hates how it makes her sound, hate that it remind him he feels the same exact way. “the thick one she likes. with the... with the cats in space suits and--”
“sakura,” he murmurs, lowering his head to rest against her forehead. the breath she lets out is shuddering, eyes closed and wet eyelashes pressing against his eyelids. “she won’t wake up when she gets up there.”
“but....”
his hand finds hers, soft, delicate and
-
so brief, he must have merely envisioned it. sakura would never touch him. not like this, not in any way to give him hope that one day, maybe, she’ll love him the way he...
he takes three steps forward, suddenly frantic at the realization that sakura aims to leave. without permission, without him.
“sakura, quit it,” he tries to demand. “you can’t go.”
the night watches them. the crescent moon and the conspiring stars. sasuke wishes there was someone around to convince her. if not for him, then, at least for a friend. someone that... that hasn’t--
“go back go bed, sasuke,” she mutters, adjusting her backpack over her shoulder. “i’ve made my decision. we walk different paths from this day forward.”
sasuke shakes his head, moves closer until he’s able to reach for her hand. but he hesitates when he sees the bandage messily placed to cover the cut received from a thorn on the stem of a rose he’d given her.
sasuke drops his hand and inhales sharply as he tries
-
to stifle a snicker as he moves his hand from her shoulder, tucking strands of her growing pink hair behind her ear. he stares at the blush creeping up her cheeks, highlighting freckles dusting her face like moondust.
“look, loser,” he says and reaches to her hair again, pulls at an orange leaf that’s tangled itself in place.
“oh crap,” she moans in embarrassment and slaps it out of his hand. “how long has that been there?”
“a while” he admits with a drawl.
sakura hides into her cloak and turns away from him, taking a few steps forward. sasuke rolls his mismatched eyes and follows after her. they’ve been traveling from konoha and towards suna.
it... feels... different with sakura here this time. a good different he allows himself to admit, going out of his way to get his hand to bump into hers, knuckles against knuckles.
she steals a glance at him from the corner of her eyes, he can tell. he wills his pinky to wrap around hers, his smirk wide and lopsided.
“stop teasing me!” she laughs, pulling away, blush deeper.
“i’m not doing anything,” sasuke drawls.
he reaches for her
-
but she is no longer there.
ah, he’s forgotten again, hasn’t he. he dips his head down, silverfox hair, shades of black, gray and white, shadowing his glazed mismatched eyes.
her side of the bed isn’t warm anymore. it’s colder than his heart has ever been in this life of turmoil he’s lived. but there’s the imprint of her weight, still there, still present like she is inside him.
always.
annoying, so annoying. even when...
even when....
he tries to reach for her hand, lost in memories. but he’s forgotten yet again--
she is no longer there.
-
for @okashiras, inspired by the poem other lives and dimensions. happy valentines day :*
for @okashiras
title : 1880, summer afternoon ( part 1/? )
summary : Misao never stays idle in one spot. She would do anything to make the world move. Post-canon, where Misao attends the university, and trying to live the Meiji Era as normally as possible.
=
Misao groaned at the soft rumbling, followed by taste of salt in the air.
She was still stuck at the last period class, yet the weather was still too stubborn to let the water go.
If she was lucky, she would pedal quickly back to the inn without any incident, and dry.
But luck wasn’t at her side for today, as the skies decided to relieve its weight in one heave, just when she had just covered half of her route. Cursing loudly about grumbling celestial lions, she sought the nearest shelter - a desolate looking willow tree.
Her favorite hakama was ruined with stains at the hems, like the mud that caked her tires.
Great. Not only did she had laundry to do during a torrential rain, she also had to clean her bike.
After a long, numbing silence of staring at the sky, Misao screamed her frustration, and plopped herself to the huge roots in between the trees.
Five homework tables to finish. Three tests to take tomorrow. A shift to takeover at the inn within two hours.
It seemed that tonight would be one of those nights.
And now, the inability to get out of this rain is shortening her explosive fuse.
Not willing to wait any longer, she took off her haori, furiously wrapping her duffel with it. She was going to move forward, slippery roads be damned. She’d risk a cold than to stay here doing nothing, but before she got to push the pedal--
A lonesome shadow was walking with an umbrella on the road before her.
Distilled sunlight must have filtered through her, warming her soaked skin, because Misao couldn’t help beaming and wave her hand.
“Aoshi-sama!”
=
They are now walking on the dirt-worn path, puddles replacing the dust that filled up the holes. Misao walks beside him, eyes darting between him and the road.
They had always walked like equals.
She manoeuvred her mechanical steed by its handles, and he deftly catches each drop before it even fell to her shoulder.
Misao begins her chatter again, in between the rain patters and bell chiming of her bike. She’s now relaying the last letter she had read three days ago, about Kaoru-san's Kenji, running the couple ragged by his temper tantrums. Aoshi inclines his head, while she speaks of Tokyo, of Aoi-ya, of school, of anything...
Misao hates being stranded, hates not moving. She’s tired of pretending that she doesn’t hear the pounding of her blood in her head, or how her voice would tremble when he looks at her. There are days that she cannot hide her heart from her eyes; and even if everybody in the world knows how she feels, a confession will set everything in motion.
A soft thunder rolls on the skies, and she feels it run through her, giving her courage.
"Aoshi-sama," Fist tight at her sides, looking at him, even if he didn't look at her. "I-"
( it felt right, this feels right, this is right )
He stops.
She speaks.
( right, the clouds clap, right, the breeze blows, right, )
"No."
Her sharp eyes can discern the distraught line in between his brows.
"No, Misao."
"Why?" She counters immediately, knowing that there was a reason - there must be a decent reason. "Aoshi-sama?"
He looks past her, unable to meet her passionate glare.
"You don't know what you want."
"I don’t know what I want." She repeats, and the words felt like rough pebbles on her mouth that she was surprised that her teeth didn’t chatter. “That’s why?”
“Yes.” But this time, he was a little uncertain.
For the first time, she unbridled all the suffocating emotion that she had kept all along - all those endless waiting, the days she had chased him all over the country, the numbing guilt when she chose to put him to death, those tears. The grief he had put her through.
He has no right to invalidate this.
Misao never liked stagnancy. She takes risks.
She can jump over a cliff, without any hesitation, as long as she could reach him.
"I've known for a long, long time what I've always wanted.”
Misao opens her mouth, and her heart takes that angry leap.
“From the day that I first left Aoi-ya years ago, looking for you. i knew what I've wanted: for you to return home. Alive."
She can feel the pouring rain on her head now.
Good, she wouldn’t allow him to see her face.
Not now.
"You look at me like I’m still a little girl. That child you left with an old master because I'm a burden--” He opens his mouth as if to protest, but she barrels on. “I’m not six. I'm not even sixteen years old. I'm not that girl that recklessly became the okashira, unprepared to lead a war. Don’t tell me that I don’t know what I want, because you weren't even around to know. If you've known what i wanted in the first place, If you’ve even considered it--"
She hisses, not caring if the roar of the skies drowned out her words.
"You wouldn't have left me behind."
"I don't-"
"I know." and though the sudden shower was now reduced to a fine drizzle, it still felt like a storm in her ribcage. "I know you don't feel the same way." Her voice cracks along with the thunder, like lightning that made white branching lines that split on the creases of her heart.
Misao was more furious, than she was heartbroken.
You don’t know what you want.
She could take that from Jiiya when she took on her mantle, left Kyoto, dreaming of an idyllic reunion. She could take that from Himura who told her to forget a man who became drastically different from the one she remembered in her youth. She could even take it from Kaoru-san, while eating chocolates as fast as they could before it melted, criticizing her blind devotion as they took their afternoon tea.
But Aoshi-sama knew her feelings for years. She never tried to hide it. But she need to say them out loud, because if he rejected her outright, everything would change. She would finally snap out of this.
He trusted her to still lead the onmitsu. He trusted her skills in precision. He trusted her dedication as a kunoichi and loyalty as his ally. Aoshi-sama could have said I don’t feel the same way
Misao would have accepted that, known that it’s impossible to move mountains, even with a whirlwind like her.
However, belittling her what she felt, compartmentalizing them as something she could grow out of...
You don't know what you want.
“You’ve always known what I’ve wanted.” Her throat was raw; it was painful for her to go on like this. Aoshi-sama knew her; He could read her moods, knew where to find her when she was lost. ( like today ) "I’ve always felt this way, no matter if I'm sixteen, or twenty, Aoshi-sama."
"Why are you telling me this?"
“I just want to be honest with you. I don’t want to pretend that you don’t know.”
Her mouth tried to curve into a smile, but she only managed a watery laugh. She’s finally out of the range of his cover; she could feel her hair plastered all over her, all of her books drenched. But she didn't care. It's done.
It felt like relief.
“Don’t ever think that I never tried to forget you.”
Misao has never been a coward.
This is why it took a lot more of strength to break his gaze, climb to her bike and take off.
And now, she can finally move forward.
Nothing, especially him, can hold her back anymore.
another the man from uncle au
note: this is for pinkiddo and okashiras. i spammed them slowly with this fic yesterday. pls enjoy. the little additions. ;A; and yes, i know if you squint, you’ve probably read the same situation from a different fic i’ve written before. :))
"what are you doing?"
it's already been too long; his index had been staying at the same point of her leg for five seconds. but his touch still burned like ice, as they skimmed the back of her knee. if it weren't for his uncomfortable expression that was nearly identical to her own, she would've accused that he was enjoying her discomfort.
his hand reaches the rise of her thigh.
"trying not to get..."
sasuke exhales, acutely feeling the warmth from his breath on her belly.
"lost."
their gazes meet. and his fingers trace a line through her skin, before she raises her red skirt a bit higher to assist him. his eyes widens a bit at her audacity, before he finally locates the switch with a shaking left thumb.
one press, and he withdraws slowly, before stating the obvious.
"you're trembling"
"i'm nervous." her voice shakes midway, as she meets his assessing gaze.
but she's never been this nervous around him, not even when he looked at her during that fateful night, the way he was so attuned to her movements, not even when he demonstrated how lethal he could be, with these same gentle hands that could crush her throat if he so wishes.
"sakura, you’ll be alright."
"how do you know that?" sakura snaps at him, real anger brimming at the seams, because she knows what will happen today.
today will not be okay. and...
sasuke doesn't know.
"i'll be close."
everything in that last look had tried to reassure her, followed a soft brush of that damned thumb across her cheeks, before uzumaki's timely interruption finished their little moment..
x
sasuke, you bastard, cool your head. i was fooled too!
no. this is different. he hisses, as he locks on the scope on the special-issued firearm, and rubs that thin band of silver on his ring finger. it's not the same.
x
"i told you,"
amidst her chattering teeth and pounding head, she can hear his words over her damp ear. he's been wounded, dragged and probably chased after her for more than twenty-four hours, yet he's here.
"it's going to be alright"
she's trembling, breathing through her mouth, tasting both mud and blood on her tongue. they were recovering from their latest skirmish, and he cradled her in the middle of a forest under a raging rainstorm.
“yeah?”
this is the first time that she ever felt safe.
“yeah.”
sasuke lifts her up, and anchors her feet back to the ground.
