#amemai

     Amegakure. Such a long way to travel but his Sensei said he had some business here. How well these two stood out from the crowd, especially Minato. There was no sunlight here, no smiles, no peace. Yet when he looked at the children who frolicked as if it were the best place ever, he couldn't help but softly smile. The peace starts with children. He, being only sixteen, had a deeper understanding of the world. Minato wasn't your average shinobi or however Jiraiya liked to describe him. Sometimes it was embarrassing. He wasn't as nearly as strong as his sensei. Yet. 

  As he began to meander through the village, he couldn't help but worry about Kushina. He really did miss her but he knew that if anything was wrong, he'd teleport right away to save her.  It was as he was spacing out and gently grinning, that he'd taken notice he had been unintentionally staring at a girl not too far off Kushina's age. She almost looked like her if not for the striking blue hair amber eyes. Minato held out his hand in defense, ❛ I-I apologize! I w-wasn't staring at you, please I don't mean any harm. ❜ even in another village, Minato was always polite and genuine. Of course he would stick out - bright blone hair and blue eyes with a soft demeanor to match. It wasn't suited for the Hidden Rain village. 

one. paper sheets cuts like a sword. a clean slice, razor thing, but it burns as strongly as any other wound you've suffered. it's your own fault — a wrong step, a twist instead of a dodge away. hand immediately slaps over the cut, blood running between fingers, down your arm, drops dissipating into the water beneath your feet.

you asked her to train, an extra session between just the two of you — it's so soon in your training but already, she has come so far. she's faster. despite the pain, you're in awe. a smile spreads, slowly at first, before you're beaming. ‘ i'm not sensei, konan — you don't have to try so hard to hit me. ’ you laugh, glancing down at your arm and moving your hand away to inspect the blood.

two. ‘ ow — ’ you wince and grumble, trying to pull your arm from her grasp. ‘ that hurts! ’ your entire body aches, covered in burns and scrapes. she's wrapped you in bandages, finishing at your hand. her touch is gentle, warm as she soothes over your arm.

it was your own fault — you misjudged the timing, and you could have gotten the others hurt. you're lucky, and grateful, you took the brunt of it. konan was quick to tend to your injuries, insisting you need rest despite your drive to keep going. she's always there, helping you. she apologizes, leaning closer and meeting your pout with nothing but concern.

you promise it's okay, you're fine; without the pull of the bandaging, you're able to relax at her touch, and you find yourself leaning to meet her. you can feel your face flushing red, and you can see hers doing the same. it's a quiet, gentle moment as lips meet and eyes close.

three. ‘ no, don't do it — ! ’ that look in her eye. the fear, but resolve to protect you, nagato. this is your fault. you've been too bold in your actions. you've been too loud. overzealous, to some. you knew it would come, you knew people would try to stop you. but you didn't imagine it like this.

hanzo sees you a threat, and he has pinned your weakness, used it against you. all of you. the three of you would do anything for each other — including die. but you didn't think it would come from something so close to your heart — your home. you wanted to save them. and this is what they've done? you would do anything for konan. and there she stands, practically asking you to let her die.

more than the betrayal, shadowing the hope you had at finding peace in the rain, that is what hurts you the most. the thought of her dying, because of you. that you would let that happen. there is no hesitation to do what is needed of you to keep them safe.

four. you have watched for years now. far from a guardian angel, forced to witness transgressions but never free to act. you are made to watch as you become a puppet. a living martyr to a cause you barely recognize. you have been used to wreak havoc in ways you never imagined. countless have fallen to your hand, by his hand. it pains you. so you watch her instead. the grace with which she handles herself, the quiet she keeps when she remembers you. it brings you peace.

but that peace is broken in smaller moments. when pein's hand brushes hers, when you see the way she flinches. how she moves in ways to avoid that touch. you wonder how it feels, if your hands have gone cold? if there is any semblance of you left, beyond your face? every time she recoils is like a stab to your heart. it's your fault. if you hadn't died, if none of this happened, it wouldn't be your touch that makes her feel this way.

can you blame her? the pain in her eyes is, you imagine, similar to your own as you watch. it breaks your heart to see her heart break every time. you would rather look at nothing at all.

five. your mind is in a fog. there is a nagging feeling in your chest, that you should not be here. but you are. you are breathing. you are living. as loosely as can be said, you are alive. you awoke in a daze. every movement feels strange. like you are floating, yet you are weighed down and tethered to the earth by a body that is no longer yours. you can feel him, his presence. the chakra that fueled his puppet. it is a part of you now.

you wander. there is no thought behind it, lost in your memories and the time you have missed. those memories, of your friends, loved ones, home, are what brings you to the village's outskirts. already, your clothes are drenched in rain. what follows feels like a dream.

you see her, an angel. a ward to the village. her words are muffled in your daze, but you see her. shouting what can only be warnings, threats. how strange it must be, to see you here, now. you know what was done by nagato's hand, your hand, and the way she coward from his touch, your touch. it was nagato, his actions, yet you still blame yourself. it is your fault that there are people in this world that would use you against her.

you stare in silence. your voice is distant and you are yet to find it, even as she attacks. she sees you as a threat, something that shouldn't be here, and you cannot fault her. there's no reaction when the paper cuts your arm, when her fist connects to your chest. all you can do is stare, transfixed by the pain in her eyes. the pain she inflicts on you does not compare to what her eyes hold. a yellow storm, a violent sea of hurt. it makes you ache, somewhere in your chest, where your heart has begun to beat again.

you can't help but notice the colour around her eyes. a lavender you fell in love with. so much of her is as much a stranger as your own corpse. her stare is changed. her heart is changed. in a way you never thought possible. yet the lavender of her makeup, the softness it adds to her, is still familiar. your hand raises as if to catch her fist as it connects again, but you stop yourself, thinking of the way she hid her distaste. you pause, but your gaze never drops.

so when he leans in to kiss her ( mid-sentence, catching her breath in his mouth — careless of whatfuckingever reprimand she was spewing at him )  it is out of sheer rebellion ( just to incite her fury ). all tongue, all teeth ( he lies as he whispers into her mouth: I do not bite. I promise not to. because red flows against his lips, and he's laughing about it ). 

the catch is this: kissing Konan is self-flagellation, a gorgeous excuse for drowning in ice-cold waters. it’s chasing at the ankles of suicide. ( like plunging an ice shiv between your ribs and twisting. like missing death by a centimeter as you're walking down the street. ) kissing Konan is like asking to be crucified ( she’d dye her fingertips in the red of your blood. then again, all devotion calls for blood ; it is a truth that Hidan knows all too well. ) the chill of her eats its way to his core. nevertheless, Hidan still burns ( Hidan is always burning, in one way or another, after all ). 

the warmth of her skin splinters and refracts under his touch as he slides a blood-dirtied palm across her cheek to fist into her hair. as he tries to devour her whole. ( it doesn’t work. of course it doesn't. instead, the cold of her soaks him through, right to the marrow. and it burns, like a brand seared into his skin. hot-cold like frostbite. )

an angel can be a monstrous thing, but not one monstrous enough for Hidan to kneel to ( he only means to disfigure her composure, just a little ). for he will only acknowledge the violence of one GOD ( his god and no other ) upon him. and call it blessing. call it purpose. call it faith.

there is no faith to be found in such a ( savage ) kiss, no religion to be found in such a woman. ( who could ever devote themselves to the point of madness, to the point of adoration, to such a fearsome thing as the ocean? monstrous in its beauty, merciless in its threat to swallow you whole. utterly unlovable. utterly boundless. an ethereal thing. ) he laughs, breathlessly, against her mouth. against the unrelenting terror of her. and because there is no place to flee to, and because he isn’t the running away type anyway, he comes back to her mouth again. ( this time, maybe, he’ll mean it. )

he laughs, nonchalant and lighthearted. ( he laughs because . . . waving away his condition, Hidan is, after all, on the younger side of twenty. on the wrong side of death. the concept of aging hardly follows in his footsteps now. never has, even before. . .. .  never has. a scorned mongrel, a stray dog. sometimes, he crouches down and tempts it with morsels. tries to see how far he can lure it in before he finds teeth embedded in his throat, his esophagus crushed, his lifeblood a lake across the dirt. it never works.  if they could kill me, I couldn’t be happier  . . .. . well. it isn’t like he wants to die. not exactly. )

a brow quirks at her statement. it’s bait. Hidan considers taking it, and swallowing it down, never mind the hook that would embed itself into the softer parts of his flesh. but nah. instead, his mouth curls, insufferable.

                “ oh? have you been paying that much attention to me? ”  enough to notice such insignificant details?  her words are an obvious lie; he wouldn’t care regardless.  “ how flattering. well, you’ve been working me to the bone. stress causes premature aging. ” ( bullshit. if Hidan is not sent out, if he is not kept busy, he rampages about and makes it everyone else’s problem. restless, restless. )

he doesn’t pause before pivoting on his heel. suddenly, they’re much too close, facing one another: eye to eye, nearly breathing in the same air. too close for comfort ( but when had he ever cared about personal space of any sort? ). reaches out with two fingers, a cobra strike lest she catches it in time — to poke at the corners of her mouth and twist them upwards into the masquerade of a smile. ( Konan is a terror. like a knife to the heart, like the wrath of a god; when she wants to be. Hidan takes great pleasure in twisting that around, when given the window of opportunity. )