#florafy

five times. . . / not accepting.

one

the first time he reveals the deva pein form. that was the first time. the first, and the incomparable greatest blow. there has been no sting of treachery worse than that. in the aftermath of yahiko's death, when it was just them ( when it was her, clutching his corpse, clinging to the warmth which inevitably left his body ) somehow. . . somehow she knew. an otherworldly sense going off like a warning. he was going to do something, she didn't know what.

she wanted to claw her own eyes out at the reveal. she didn't. but it took every ounce of her sapped strength not to rake her fingernails down her cheeks, splitting the skin open, crying out. grief, anger, sorrow, and horror meshed into one. how could you? she wanted to ask, but her throat closed itself so tightly that it wouldn't even come out as a strangled whispered. how could you?

there was nothing she could say that would have mattered, anyway.

two

she could kill him. she's certain she could do it. she's waited long enough, she's set a trap. and if her suspicions prove correct, the man behind the mask is a nameless fraud impersonating a ghost. he uses a name & a name alone to inspire fear. without it, she thinks, he would be nothing. and then they could seize back control, reclaim the akatsuki as a whole and --

enough.

there is immense reverb in nagato's voice that the room itself momentarily shakes. they are someplace in the lower level grounds beneath ame's concrete build, a location presumably safe from spies. ( though they both know, concrete & steel are not enough to thwart the likes of zetsu. ) and the only time they are afforded privacy to discuss such treasonous matters.

there is such harsh bluntness in his tone alone, and the thin line of his mouth fixed in a permanent frown. cease this matter at once, konan. you are my dearest friend, but i will have you removed from this organization if you continue this foolish witchhunt.

that stops her in her place, stunned. never before had her position -- as a leading founder, as second - in - command -- ever been threatened. and from the mouth of nagato, no less, not even their less than tolerable allies who likely harbor mixed feelings for her. nagato might as well have slapped her across the mouth in this instance, she is that stunned. her input matters little. he is so deeply rooted in this dangerous alliance that for years she's suspected alternative motives.

she's suspected that her opinions have been ignored for quite some time. but this? this makes her the dwindling value of her position beside him.

three

it is a shame. the deva pain comments in that consistently flat, apathetic tone that he always speaks. the wrong voice, of which she's unsure whether to feel relieved that it isn't yahiko's or angered ; she's starting to forget what he used to sound like, she is only associating that voice with that face, which even then, is so sunken in & pale compared to how his had been in life.

konan does not ask for him to elaborate. they were reluctantly discussing the subject of yahiko himself. it is the anniversary of his death. they've both lost count as to what number, what year. time itself has felt pointless, all clocks stopping with his last heartbeat so long ago.

had he gifted us a legacy, perhaps things would be better with this remnant of hope.

they do not speak of it. they have not spoken of it in years. for him to express disappointment . . . as if she herself hadn't felt the same? tangled with the grief and the guilt for feeling initially relieved. for him to speak of it like this, the tone of disappointment implying somehow there's a fault that lies with her. . . she exhales quietly, her posture straightening ramrod stiff. pein's expression is neutral & unchanging, for the body is dead. but the spirit who lurks within perhaps realizes the clumsiness of his word choice. konan i--

but she has already turned away, sharp on her heels, wordless & brisk. she does not exit her quarters for the rest of the day.

four

it wasn't a betrayal of her, so much as it was for yahiko's dream. how much it warped and became so distorted beyond recognition. how intruders came like vultures swarming over his corpse, coming to pick apart the beauty of his dream which he left them with his death. nagato let it happen. he let them come. they sank their teeth like dogs into a piece of meat and let them rip it apart.

she doesn't know at what point it was that she knew any hope for recovery, any hope for recognition of the original dream was lost. she knows it was around the same time that he -- and even herself -- were distorted as well, corrupted & malformed by this world and their own vengenace.

they both betrayed yahiko.

five

in essence, his very death had been a betrayal.

she loved him, she always would, despite the agonies which he gave her. and he'd found peace, a renewed purpose which momentarily revitalized his optimistic will that had been lost so long ago. he made the penultimate sacrifice to undo all the damage which they'd done.

still, he left her.

he left her, with the assumption that all would be well. he left her, assuming that she and she alone would handle the akatsuki -- the pathetic, rapidly deteroriating remnants of it -- and amegakure all at once. as if the likes of madara wouldn't overthrow her, at best. he left her, with the silent parting of you will find happiness again. as though she'd never had fragments of that with him, in spite of their quarrels. in spite of the less than desirable later years. she'd tried to tell him, again and again, that she would have never traded his life for yahiko's. that each of them were equally important. she needed them both alive & beside her.

❝  i  assure  you  that  i  am  in  no  danger  of  losing  a  hand.  i’m  more  than  willing  and  capable  to  keep  going.  ❞     the  new  hold  on  his  lance  is  odd.  it  sends  a  sharp  sensation  into  his  wrist  if  he  tries  to  favor  leverage  with  it.  quick  inhale.  exhale.  good  as  new.  right  as  rain.     ❝  as  for  this  ‘delusion’,  i’m  afraid  you’re  mistaken.  i  am  perfectly  fine.  now,  do  you  want  to  continue,  or  no?  i  can  ask  a  knight  to  fill  in  if  you’ve  had  enough.  ❞

just any knight won't notice. they are too blind to question or criticize. their eyes are not as sharp as yours. they will not see how his free hand shakes, or now there is unusual tension in his grip. how he has to convince himself there is no problem. or if they do, they dare not challenge the king. they do not know him as you do. they won't push him like you do.

and the most she will do is throw shadows at you but she's always a woman to me.

admittedly, upon hearing the knock at the door and answering it to find no one there, konan rolled her eyes. how childish. what is it that they call that prank, ding dong ditch? as children, she and nagato had done that on multiple occasions, serving as distractions to an irate homeowner whilst yahiko snuck inside through another entrance to steal supplies. a fond memory to look back upon. though now more than ever, she understands the frustration of those they tricked.

that is, until, glancing down at her feet.

the perfectly laid bento box, freshly made with care. all of her favorites packed inside, most notably the flame - broiled fish. even the strawberry shortcake slice looks promising -- extra strawberries, a thin layer of the cream, not too sweet that it would make her sick -- it almost seems too good to be true.

moriko, she smiles at the hastily written note. was it their mischievously influential partner's idea to drop it and run? or had it been genuine nervousness at it being received poorly? whichever the case, she finds it a shame they aren't around. this is the first time konan will experienced their cooking . . . and it seems like they're a wonderful chef.

you are my strength, she would like to say -- having once told him before -- and grip his frail hands, as i am yours. for at one point in life, that had been the truth. they had been one another's sole source of comfort to turn to, in lieu of yahiko's death. the consolation sought after two hollowed out souls, seeking a shape closest to match the missing piece ( knowing they cannot mold the other into it ) is a wretched thing.

and here is another wretched truth: nagato lives, yahiko does not, and this konan would never wish changed. but . . . nagato himself changed. warped by hatred & bitterness, slipping right through her fingertips and playing into the puppet - wielding hands of another. there is so little of him left, not just in terms of his fading appearance. there is so little of a heart left to reach.

you will be my death. a terrible, terrible thing to say. she cannot. or i, yours. a terrible, terrible thing. she may have to do someday.