UNPROMPTED ASK !
haku pauses on their way back from the herb garden, catching utakata’s amused voice on a warm breeze. it is always warm here in tea country. even after four months living on the farm with utakata, hotaru, & zabuza the temperate climate remained a marvel. haku’s taken to carrying a hand-fan in their sleeve just to cool off. the tin pail of herbs swinging lazily in their hand.
‘ the pain of being lonely… is out of this world, isn’t it? ‘
utakata says lightly. smoke rings wisp from his mouth. they both watch the rings slowly disintegrate into air. haku pulls their fan from their sleeve & looks out onto the meagre field their strange patchwork family had unevenly cut into the ground. tiny root vegetable sprigs poke from rich earth. there will be carrots for stewing & daikons for grating. once upon a time they buried senbon in eye sockets & pressure points. now they bury seeds.
haku pulls a sweet mint sprig from the pail & pops the leaves in their mouth, chewing slowly, letting the taste of green coat their tongue.
somewhere, cicadas whir.
neither of them says anything for a long time.
haku watches utakata pack his pipe from their periphery. how like a ghost utakata is. floating in & out of perception & difficult to grasp; more smoke than man.
there is something about kirigakure that makes corpses of the living. beyond the hard lifestyle & civil wars, the land itself seemed to leech souls from flesh. for every man whose eyes turned flinty & cold, two lights appeared in the living chakra mists blanketing the island, wisping & silver. in a country like that everyone is alone.
for outsiders like haku & utakata that ostracization tripled.
to be lonely was to live a life without a purpose, which was its own kind of death. perhaps utakata agrees, perhaps he doesn’t, it doesn’t matter. it is the truth. they know this, deep in their fragile bones.
❛ Lonely is worse than alone, ❜ haku rolls the words across their tongue, testing. ❛ Alone is when you leave them. Lonely is when they leave you. ❜
it’s the sort of emotional admission any kiri nin would snarl at for being soft. they have never cared how their peers viewed them before.
their voice tightens like a strained koto string. brown eyes flicker toward utakata.
utakata is different. they care what he thinks.
but utakata only nods solemnly, eyes never straying from the horizon.
haku steps closer. licks the pulp from their teeth, mouth tacky & winter-brisk. ❛ I thought it would kill me, ❜ they say, carefully.
the understanding in the older man’s eyes eases tension-coiled shoulders. utakata exhales quicker this time, then pats the empty porch space to his right. haku climbs up. dutiful hands wrap around the herb pail. utakata leans closer to give it a whiff, one hand idly fiddling with a sprig of dill. haku kicks their feet.
neither says anything for a long time. the cicada howl. dusk sets in. they sit there awhile, just breathing & listening to night’s early stirrings.
“Did it?” utakata eventually asks.
❛ No, ❜ they shake their head, then playfully lean against utakata, who more chuffs than laughs. utakata leans in their direction, the two of them keeping each other aright by sharing the weight. ❛ I lived. ❜
another chuff. an arm slings across haku’s shoulders, a scarred hand patting their side before settling on the porch. utakata does not look at them, does not speak, makes no noise save for a low, strange hum buzzing in his chest. haku watches him watch the darkening clouds & smiles to themself. no words are needed.
they both know what he was going to say.
@fernwehig
