𝗌𝗂𝗇𝖼𝖾𝗋𝖾𝗅𝗒.​

“hmm—?” lazy half-turn renders his sly eye-smile a little more palpable. shinobi are trained to be discreet—but indulging in contrary practices has been surprisingly rewarding in its own right.

“whatever do you mean, esteemed ambassador of the sand?” … long-standing senior council member of sunagakure, valued teacher of the fifth kazekage, battle seasoned veteran and master of the wind blade—et cetera. he’s got a few more epithets in store and given that their latest directive seems oh-so-keen on ensuring that their far-traveled guests are respected as is appropriate in light of their alliance’s importance, there’s nothing quite stopping him from correcting unenthusiastic staff members and oblivious townspeople in the most obnoxious way possible. 

he doesn’t need to ( isn't able to, anyway ) peel himself from layers of sweat-soaked sheets to know that several ears have perked up at the other man’s remark. stifled sniffs are enough of a sign that his quick-witted companions have momentarily deprioritized inspecting their guest for the sole purpose of granting room to an answer in this deafening silence. any answer. he’s not sure what exactly they want him to say—the words he’s got to spare are a precious few, coarse as his throat feels, and it’s no shocking revelation that gai cares … because gai cares about everything ( his colleagues, his students, the grandiosity of nature, the beauty of the little things, the neglected plants on the window sill, youth, the lack thereof, and whatever else ).

right; he just happens to have joined the ranks of puzzle pieces which share an innominate trait that warrant gai's care at one point or another. got assimilated, even. it's not like he's had a say in it. ... though it's not like he hates it either ( these days ). whatever the case, it seems a bit far-fetched to feel special for it all beyond the circumstance that he's infamously difficult to care about by own design ( ... though being up against a challenge junkie puts even that into perspective ).

"... you don't need to."

waxing moon lights his path with a modest care one learns to appreciate after countless nights on the road. he's long come to convince himself that he likes it best that way: his silence-clad steps below and a sliver of brilliance in the distance. it's fitting. an acquired habit ... or perhaps a destiny he's never once thought to contest. why should he? it's a little comical in retrospect—that they'd have him shed his anbu title and send him out on a mission befitting a masked squad leader regardless in short succession. he'd like to give recon the benefit of doubt—missions can turn awry at a moment's notice and surprises are a constant in a shinobi's life. even so, there's a question smoldering the tip of his tongue: what difference does it make?

salvaging consciences in a world that celebrates death and despair like a cloudburst in the desert is an enigmatic errand he lacks the optimism to decipher. ... there are others with broader minds, though. maybe it makes a difference to them.

"... you should cut down on those anyway," he says, stubborn antagonism camouflaging the fact that he does feel a little guilty about it all. it's not like he'd aimed to flatten the sugary snack. there are only so many ways of passing the time while waiting for their teacher and third teammate to return from running errands ... and target practice just happens to be one of them. unfortunately, targets do tend to break when tanking a fledgling lightning strike head-on ... ... and their shambled parts do tend to dart into unpredictable directions upon impact. let's just say ... one little strawberry cupcake was waiting about in the wrong place, at the wrong time. no harm done.

there's a fun answer and a true answer and we'll obviously start with the former. there's a science to it, of course. a point system, if you so will. petted a dog, +20 points. had to keep one of the kids from blasting themselves off a cliff via rash jutsu experiments, -10 points. got lectured by an academy teacher, -10 points. or +10 points. it really depends. indulged in a contest with gai, +30 points ( regardless of winning or losing ). took a nap without being disturbed or startled awake, +10 points. real-time ptsd flashback in broad daylight, -50 points. aggravated someone by being late, +10 points. made a joke that nobody even took note of, -10 points. speedate his dinner much to the chagrin of local mask-peekers, +20 points. got an upset stomach from eating too fast later that night, -20 points. saw a dog that isn't his, +5 points ( per dog spotted ). got to read at least one chapter of icha icha, +15 points. forgot a key ingredient while buying groceries and noticing too late, -25 points. got threatened by a shark guy, -10 points. got kidnapped by a shark guy, -20 points. and so on! :)

Gai can't read the look in his friend's eyes, but if he had to guess, it sat somewhere between pity and vindication — now you know how it feels, or —- maybe he's being too unfair? The burst of cynicism surprises him, and with significant effort, Gai tamps the thought down. No, surely his friend, of all people, would understand.

they say that eyes are like mirrors of a soul; voiceless orators that lay bare the measure of a man, as well as his intent. one would think that foregoing borrowed sight in lieu of an eye that does not reject its owner should make him more transparent to the world—but he's long understood that being made whole doesn't change a thing when physical concerns continue to supersede mental needs. as such, people are still prone to struggling when it comes to figuring him out, and gai is still grappling with adjusting to the new limits his body has decided upon.

"—mm. let's see..." he's no consoler. never has been. he lacks the sensibilities that ensure words of choice will be firm but not hurtful. he lacks experience in discerning when unbiased compassion is more productive than unsolicited advice—as well as the desire to prioritize heart over mind in the first place. he lacks the skill to embrace another person with warmth and ease; shies away from touch, even now that it's become a harmless constant in his life. he likes to think that he understands others well enough ... all while knowing that recognition alone does not equal salvation. ( here's the bitter truth: he's not sure he can help his friend ).

a flash of yellow fills his vision as the boy draws closer; unruly hair matched evenly with a boisterous grin and uninformed judgment to boot. one thing is for certain: that kid definitely doesn't get it.