#subtle feelings

[random-xpressions]

I'd rather prefer giving signs than be utterly vocal about the subtle feelings that I have for someone. If they grasp it, they resonate in the same manner, and I'll know. If they fail, then they weren't meant to know anyway...

Random Xpressions

[megaspike1spiegelubik]

ode to a blue bird

happening in a jump of joy 

songs singing up in a birch tree

]the beauty exceeds the day

until the moon in the night sky falls

in the night ill sing the songs sorrow and decay

[lvyeshou]

“Drink Me”

Leave a “________” in my ask, and I’ll write a drabble about… || CLOSED

      His eyes felt sore.

      Gai squinted at his eternal rival, listening to the thoughts in his head. This session round, he had decided to try pacing himself for the alcohol, knowing how cheerily destructive he could get when downing the drinks. He had sipped his shots slowly, even though the pair’s original plan was to enter and shoot liquor down without restrain. Now he failed to distinguish if the blood pumping through his veins and around his head was a rush or a steady pulse.

      By now Kakashi was more conversational than the daily cool-as-a-cucumber Hatake. His students were on his mind: how much the initially spiteful rivalry between Sasuke and Naruto had become healthier (if just slightly), how Sakura had matured from a narrow-minded girl, how proud he was of the team. Kakashi spoke lightly, but the pride and passion was clear to one as close to him as Gai.

      It was obvious, really. One just had to take the time and look. How his eyes shaped into fond crescents as he smiled. How his lips curved at their tips, the slight movement visible even through the mask. How the warmth radiated off the copy-nin, something that did not seem possible ten years back. If one just looked, just watched, one could see it. So obvious. So tangible. So admirable.

      They’ve come a long way, the two, and Gai, for once, failed to match his rival’s rarely expressed enthusiasm. This alcohol pacing thing failed to work for him, he decided. He needed it stronger before he grew too sentimental, too attached. Already he saw his rival’s attention began to wander, for yonder lay others that would surely catch his rivals’s eye. So before the taste of sour settled in his tongue, Gai downed his drink, and called for another. If the blood in his head could ever drown futile, suppressed ideas, he would gladly destroy the bar counter for the third time this year.