sum: her hand on his cheek is a vivid and tactile memory, and he holds it high in his heart.
a/n: heavily edited repost of this fic, with the title taken from this quote.
He wonders if it would be wrong to touch her.
Hinata shivers in front of him, arms wrapped around her body. Her eyes are dimmed and hollow, and she stares ahead into the distance, watching the incense as it floats up from her cousin's grave.
During the war, Hinata had been the one who chose to be strong while he nearly fell prey to loss all over again. She had slapped his cheek and reminded him that in his hands was not the life of one person, but many. She had given him purpose, and a little love when he most needed it.
And so Naruto wonders if now, he should do the same, because, in truth, she is anything but strong right now.
The crowd begins to part, and she makes her way to the front with a bundle of lavender in her hands. For once, the smell does not carry, blotted out by the acrid presence of smoke. Hinata sets the flowers down by Neji's grave with a broken finality, and Naruto is reminded of Asuma's funeral, of Kurenai placing poppies on the ground over her lover's body.
"Let me take you home," he says when the service is over, and Hinata whirls around to face him, pain and astonishment and relief all mixed into her milky eyes. Words are hard to form in her mouth, but she gathers herself together and looks at him in earnest, smiling faintly. "I'd like that."
They take the long way home, dawdling along the cobblestone path that leads into the heart of the village. Naruto stuffs his hands into his pockets and says nothing, unsure of what would be appropriate given the situation.
Jiraiya's death, after all, was more personal to him than anything. To the people of the village, he had been a Legendary Sannin worthy of honor and praise. But to Naruto, the man had been nothing but a father and a candle light to follow. And no one really understood that, except maybe Tsunade.
Neji's death is different, though. To both of them, he was a brother, and his absence from in between them paws at the air, creates an everlasting space that Naruto is afraid to fill. Hinata holds her hands behind her back and looks away from him, into buildings empty and buildings full. Her shoulders are held stiffly high, and he notices that the skin over her jaw is pulled taught.
She is trying to hold herself together, trying to stem the flow.
He knows she won't last long.
Naruto branches his arm out in an awkward gesture, until the fingers on his left hand—his unbroken hand—brush against her shoulder. An intangible pool of emotions swirls in each of her thistle eyes, but nothing can keep him from staying rooted to this point.
The tremors begin in the tips of her fingers, trail down to her arms that hover inches from his frame. Hinata chokes out a small sound, looks anywhere but at his face. Her breaths are short and they pummel his chest, one stuttered intake after another.
Her hand on his cheek is a vivid and tactile memory, and he holds it high in his heart.
"It's alright," he murmurs, and he takes her by the shoulders, holds her hard to his chest. Hinata's eyes split wide to winter moons, but her fingers alight on his collar and curl. "Better to let it all out right now, don't you think?" He takes the slight lift of her head as affirmation.
Every volatile inkling of emotion is forced deep down when he first hears her cry. The path to the Hyuuga residence winds away from them in a twisting path, and he stares at it unflinchingly, knowing that if he falters all of his anguish will tear out, as hers already has.
All that can be heard throughout the streets of Konoha are the jagged, racking wails of the deceased's cousin, of the girl who began small and became big, and is now back at the beginning all over again.
["Because. . . you told me. . . that I'm a failure."]
Naruto bites back the beginnings of a bitter laugh; that the Chuunin Exams, the mission to rescue Gaara, the first scenes of the war, rest so far back in his memory is a jarring fact. The crossed curse mark on Neji's forehead stares back at him from the ether, and he breathes out in a whisper, "Asshole."
"Don't call him that."
A startled shake of his shoulders has Hinata pulling back. The emotional nin stays within breadth of his arms, but makes no move to press her face into his chest again. Naruto stares at her in slight bewilderment. He moves his thumb to wipe away the tears under her eyes, gaze hooked all the while on the defiant stare she sends back.
"Sorry," he murmurs. It's easy to forget sometimes how tenacious she is.
Hinata holds his gaze for another moment, then blinks and allows a smile to pull her lips. "It's alright," she answers. Her face turns to the sun and the shadow it casts on the cobblestone, and Naruto swears he can feel her heart trill. The Hyuuga residence is a far but definite destination.
"I'm ready to go home," she tells him. Naruto grins.
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maybe there is more to his name
than muscle mass—
the veins that run up each arm,
perhaps; or the war wound
that pulses from his center
outward—
blood pooled purple into
one achilles heel; this smile—
this beam—that laces bravery
over fear
into his lips and carries it wide,
delivers it unto the world;
this promethean fire his will
is no longer able to stoke.
maybe hercules was felled
to the ground, and forced to bathe
in his own blood for a reason—
maybe two hands
were never enough to save
the one world.
sum: an attitude in which one sees everything that happens in one’s life, including suffering and loss, as good, or, at the very least, necessary.
a/n: i know half of the fandom hates sam drake, but i love him, okay?
sam doesn’t need the slight swell of elena’s belly to remind him of what it was like to watch nate become. the very stars of that memory are hidden in the crinkle of his eyes when he laughs or smiles. they’re a foundation of sorts: a collection of photographs to fall back on when circumstances are gray and his purpose unknown. if there’s ever a time sam questions the reasons for him still being tethered to the ground, he remembers the fit of his mother’s hands around his, and of his around her belly. he remembers her saying, “see? i’ve got two hearts inside of me; must mean i’m well loved,” and suddenly it’s as if every little thing makes sense.
because it never mattered that he had five years of a childhood on nate, or that most of their mother’s words were kept with himself. something about making a new name for themselves in the twilight glimmer of a miami pier spoke heart surgery to sam. it meant he walked out into the unknown that starlit night with not just one pulse beating within him, but two--and that in all of the years that followed, so much as a semblance of nate’s heartbeat in time to his was a reason to thank god.
it meant good loving; real loving; elena-kissing-his-cheek-and-nate-socking-him-softly-in-the-chest kind of loving.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] Good morning, Jjong... Well I’m not sure if you’ve even gone to bed yet, but please make sure you eat something for ‘breakfast’ before you do go to sleep.
Send “✉” for a text that wasn’t sent.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] I wish you would look at me the way you used to...
Send “☎” for a rushed text.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] you’re late! getting ready. need you here NOW. jinki mad
Send “⁇” for a drunk text.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] jjong the potato is outside it’s 4 times and my watch is careful and youre
Send “✿” for a suggestive text.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] birthday part two? ;)
Send “ø” for a late night text.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] It’s 1:30am and for once I can’t sleep so I’m listening to your radio show hoping your voice can lull me to sleep.
Send “✘” for a hateful text.
[ kkt → 루아빠 ] Damnit, Jonghyun you were supposed to meet me here an hour ago and you never fucking showed up so I had Minho come meet me instead. Don’t expect anything from me anymore ugh!
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Always waiting for you, precious. This deprivation needs to end, I'm seriously at my very limit.
My moon, you know I long for you as well. One day I shall be back in your arms with nobody to stop me. Until that day comes, I will crave your presence and your touch so much that it hurts.
sum: tsukishima walks the path of a tunnel, sees light for the first time: glimmering, star-shaped, just out of the reach of his hands.
a/n: for @cheshirescats, my asv!
the first time he sees yamaguchi, he sees cancer: freckles, fair skin, knobby knees with bruises all over. a battered boy being feasted upon by the fruit of his flaws from the outside in. tsukishima watches for a moment, two, three. considers the advantages of making acquaintance with a flower half-wilted already. he is no fountain, after all. water does not spring from his mouth spontaneously, but rather at the prolonged effects of a moon-whim. (and the moon was never known to rise flora anyway.)
☾
yachi is different. touches him once and renders him irreparably changed. always a thought, always an emotion spanning her butterfly brain. thirty-eight centimeters on her, but no tolerance for a wide-eyed, electric gaze(---like hinata’s). unnerving from tip-to-toe yet melting where it matters. fickle hands, loose shoulders; her voice is life spoken into his every part. no fast-fast heartbeat or drip-drip sweat in her presence; just cool words and calm air and a will to do. symbiosis, mutualism. it’s all relative.
☾
the king and his god? a package, a process: annoying; suppressing; infuriating; annoying; tolerable. words too mingled to determine any real order save beginning and end. kageyama’s mark still stained into the neck of his sweatshirt, if less pronounced. hinata no longer a god to cower before but an ally with whom to lock eyes. yells across the court; supportive ones, communicative ones. an interlocking network: he, the chest; they, the arms and hands; everyone else---
☾
there are reasons dreams are sequestered to the rem cycle: reality, humility, security, akiteru. the mangled posters and contorted trophies, each a loathing vice taking to kei’s heart. nights spent hidden in his room for fear of confronting a lie, the lie. back curved, knees tucked, hands fisted. afraid, afraid, afraid. to try is to dream, and to dream is to suffer. no gray space in between, no fingers to stretch out. wins and losses---coincidences and cruelties. one moon chose to dream, and in doing so, eclipsed the other.
☾
surprising, the comfort of the cat and the owl. bokuto: wings always tittering-flittering with zest; and kuroo: practiced lounger but energetic pouncer on occasion. both have eyes, large eyes that shake him from time to time. “tsukki” is more endearment than annoyance, though he’d never dare tell. feet arching higher, fingers reaching further. a sudden desire in himself to do bigger and better. one summer, one court, but change, so much change. a study in bioluminescence, in him.
☾
first predecessor: broad shoulders, square face, almond eyes. one earns his respect, daichi his admiration. few words pass in between, but the ones that do are the ones that matter. little by little, encouraging hands picking apart the despair. tsukishima walks the path of a tunnel, sees light for the first time. glimmering, star-shaped, just out of the reach of his hands. eclipse: waxing and waning, and waning, and waning. moon-child peering out from the recesses of the milky way. birth and rebirth---one and the same.
☾
his most regrettable decision, undeniably, is tanaka. too-loud-and-too-emitting-of-light-for-his-own-soul-to-sustain tanaka; living-and-breathing-the-restlessness-of-immaturity-incarnate tanaka. but, also. relentlessly-hoping-and-dreaming tanaka. unnecessary-but-(perhaps)-amusing-noogies-administering tanaka. not-holding-near-as-much-disdain-for-(and-maybe-even-caring-about)-stingyshima-as-he-originally-thought tanaka. believing-so-much-in-his-brothers-he-might-actually-bowl-over-and-bawl---tanaka.
☾
sugawara is no caretaker, rather: a means of catharsis. takes the chicks under his wing and dotes on each in a different way. looks into kei’s eyes, says silently, believe, then moves on. it is no small gesture, this word; simply one to act out over the span of an eternity rather than that of a second. panic seizes the court, he glances to the sidelines. there, a smile not as bright as the first---the very first---but reassuring nonetheless. more cloud-softened sun than night-sharpened moon. reiterated: catharsis.
☾
first day back on the court, apprehension and anxiety and aloe. yamaguchi next to him, far from the cancer he was born into, healing etched into the bends of his limbs, the dimples of his face. kageyama and hinata behind and on either side, lips slightly parted, eyes blown wide. yachi bumbling endlessly on about motivation, determination, both. flightless crows long since evolved into a mesmerizing murder. the boy who feared growth yet coaxed water from the pull of his own moon-mouth, at the helm---
tsukishima kei,
number eleven,
captain.
P.S. I’m sorry for getting this to you so late in the day, Valentine! The idea of conveying Tsukishima’s catharsis through his own reflections came to me sometime in the afternoon, and I just knew I had to write it! In fact, it was in large part a catharsis for me as well, so I’d like to thank you for the opportunity of getting to write about such a wonderful character. Picking Tsukishima apart is exactly the kind of impetus I needed to get on the catch-up train for Haikyuu!! I only hope you enjoy reading this as much as I enjoyed writing it! Happy Valentine’s Day!
