#osumaki

why is this so important to you?

Naruto is thirteen years old.

The day before he leaves with Jiraya is cloudy and cold. Few people are out on the streets, those that are rush by with their heads ducked and their necks and faces wrapped in scarves. The weather makes strangers of neighbors, and Kakashi keeps his hands tucked into his pockets and his shoulders slumped easily as he leads Naruto toward their mutual destination: the memorial stone.

The boy has been somewhat subdued since Sasuke's disappearance, but Kakashi can't blame him for it-- he's hardly been himself either, not that there are many left alive to know him well enough to tell. His own failures at the Chuunin exams and before weigh heavily on Kakashi's mind, and though Naruto's body had healed quickly, it's clear that he's... changed. He seems tired.

Perhaps that diminished air is what drives Kakashi toward this madness. They stand at the memorial stone in silence for a long time, Kakashi with his hands tucked in his pockets and his gaze fixed on the polished face of the rock and the names etched there, right next to the training ground he'd laid claim to with the team a year ago. Naruto, to his credit, lasts much longer in fidgeting silence than Kakashi thought he might. Fidgeting and furtive glances towards Kakashi turn slowly into more thoughtful, grim looks, and finally after what may have been a few minutes and may have been a few hours, Naruto asks him a simple question: why is this so important to you?

Kakashi considers lying to him. He considers asking him what it is that makes him think this place, this quiet, the two of them here together might be important, but he isn't in the mood for a game or a teachable moment, and he thinks Naruto might just leave if he pushes on him too far, and he won't get to say what he thinks he needs to say.

Not that what he needs to say is enough, or much at all. Not that he even needs to say it, but some mad, thrashing part of him wants to spill it all onto the ground between them like black bile and blood, wants to tell Naruto exactly how much he's failed, how much Naruto has been failed. Hiruzen is dead, and though the edict of silence around Naruto's parentage is still in effect, Naruto will be leaving the village with Jiraya in the morning for training, and Sakura is starting her internship under Tsunade, and Sasuke is long gone and Kakashi will be fading back into the shadows of ANBU for back-to-back assignments, scrounging for small truths he'll never be able to use.

But the gag order will remain unbroken, because Kakashi doesn't think he could stand if Naruto turned confused, hurt eyes on him this cold afternoon. Another stunning moment of cowardice and selfishness from the great copy nin Kakashi-- let Jiraya be the one to tell him. Someone who knew Minato longer, who has more of a claim on him than his surviving bratty student.

He sighs. Naruto starts, and Kakashi realizes he hasn't answered the question, has let the silence stretch far too long.

"My team," Kakashi starts, and then pauses again. He doesn't look at Naruto, despite knowing he suddenly has the boy's undivided attention. Instead he stares at the memorial stone, and after a moment he reaches out and points out the name: Uchiha Obito. The next name: Nohara Rin. "During the war. We were kids."

He points out Minato's name. "Our sensei. During..." He doesn't look at Naruto's face, because he isn't sure what he'll find there. The cold stone has already numbed his fingers, and he tucks them back into his pockets. Pointing out Kushina's name would be... he can almost feel her shrieking at him, but more than that he can feel the ANBU lingering in the trees, watching.

"I've had a long career, Naruto," he tips his head toward the stone, but he doesn't point out any names. "I have a lot of friends on there. But I told... I told someone very special that he would see the future with me. I'm glad he got to see you, kid. You're worth knowing."

It feels lame, like there's something dead gripping him and speaking for him. But the words have dried up, and Naruto should be out saying goodbye to his friends, and not getting battered by the cold wind and Kakashi's dead.

this must be her fault, she thinks.

she'd suggested it, instigated it, blurred the lines between what was desired and what could've remained unquestioned. fuck, she was an idiot. always the foolish girl who wanted more, who couldn't be settled with the role they've long relegated her into: which was the medic, the healer, the constant unclaimed lover who waits, the teammate they would only declare being needed as soon as she becomes convenient to their cause. why couldn't she have just accepted it ? why couldn't that have been just as satisfying of a fate ?

( but she knows the answer, doesn't she ? has known it since she was twelve, and sasuke-kun had left her by the bench, and it'd been the boys who was sent out instead to try and retrieve him, only for them to come back half-way dragged towards death's door, her incompetence pushed into the limelight. there must be something to be said about an ambition rooted from helplessness. it makes you greedy. it makes you desperate. and then, at one point, it renders you selfish. this must be what sakura has become : a bottomless pit of wanting. )

so this must be her fault too, that naruto crosses over the distance, and pulls her into the kiss. that apart her nearly does melt, and wants to grip at him, and want to sink and bury all that anxiety into the easiness of his presence – because for a moment, like this, he had wanted her. he had wanter her. but ...

does he ?

so sakura pushes, the action's rough, barely-restrained in its strength, and whatever fury that twists itself together fights against that never-ending torrent of grief. and sakura, chin wobbling, bites out : ❛ no, ❜ is what she first declares, taking a step back. she shakes her head, forces the words out again, ❛ you ... you don't get to—to do that—to have me just— just because you couldn't have sasuke-kun, naruto. you... i have been— ❜

the words crumble on her tongue. sakura heaves, looks away, and tries again. in her head, she must sound pathetic. ❛ i have been second to you— to sasuke-kun— my whole life ! and i get it. i get that i— that i'm not blameless, that i kissed you first, but ... i'm not gonna be the easy-solution just because you know that i'm always constant, that i'm always around. that i'll love you enough to always want you back. i can disappear too ! i can disappear tomorrow if i wanted ! so don't do that to me. you rejected me first, and i won't ... i won't be your second-choice, your last-ditch-option for this too, when for so long, you were my first. i won't. ❜

ᯤ      ☼         NINJA      ID      :  @osumaki     ᵎ                 ⤷  not accepting !

“I   don't   understand   the   question,   and   I'm   not   responding   to   it.” 

🏥 for captain yamato o7

Yamato's arms are limp on the crisp white sheets, like two bloodless calf's legs; too-long and clumsy and awkward. His nose itches. Kakashi-senpai had helped him sit up and fed him a few ice chips before someone had come and gotten him for... some reason. Yamato can't remember, because they have him totally fucking loaded on the good painkillers.

It's been a long time since he's been in the hospital, he'd forgotten how awesome a hefty dose of hydromorphone feels. He isn't even mad that he's been abandoned sitting up in his hospital bed, and that he's awake instead of asleep. Staring at the ceiling he thinks: I could be awake or asleep, it doesn't really matter to me. Perhaps he even says it aloud, but it doesn't matter much because he's the only one in the room. Maybe Sakura pulled some strings and got him a little privacy. He wishes there was someone in the bed next to him for him to talk to.

His eyes slip closed, and when he blinks them open next the sun has changed position slightly and there's a puddle of drool on his chest where his chin had been resting, and where the sun has slipped further from him lingering in the shadows is a bright smear of orange-and-yellow-and-black, and that smear resolves itself into the familiar face of Naruto wen he comes closer, looking a little sheepish, and a little pale.

"Nr'to..." the attempt is a little pathetic, but he doesn't care enough to wince. "Timeizit?" The blankets are a little too heavy, he's hot suddenly, and tries to push them down. His hands don't do much more than twitch, probably on account of the fact that a swipe from an earth ninjutsu had broken nearly every bone in his ribcage. Sakura had been very displeased. He does not remember the journey back to the village, if that's where they even are. He thinks so. He thinks Kakashi was here. His fingers twitch, but he's too out of it to sign and Naruto doesn't know Ro-code anyway. "'Veryone OK?"

his laughter a warm melody, coming from powerful lungs, as if the jinchuriki aimed to outshine the sun itself / / / despite, despite, despite - he looks, now more than ever, like his father, age has done nothing but strengthen youthful features. ❝ oh, you better. . . ❞

❝ NANADAIME-SAMA. ❞

extra emphasis is put on the title, to jest; to encourage naruto to reflect, once again, how far he rose. konohagakure would do well under the uzumaki's leadership, and though bruised heart remains wary, maito lee was not known by his peers to be anything but POSITIVE. ( the alternative was too unyouthful for his soul to bear ) once more, forever more, despite, despite, despite -

a sentiment naruto could, surely, relate to. the kyubi and nibi jinchuriki, the same, yet so vastly different. LEE DOESN'T DWELL ON IT.

one of the things sasuke had to get used to after the war ended and he returned to konoha was that what little peace he had within the village was almost always infiltrated by someone, usually naruto himself. how he had managed to delude himself into thinking they were close enough to talk about their feelings sasuke would never know, but he always returned his earnest effort with the same thing: silence.

so quiet that they could hear a pin drop. that was the only way the uchiha knew how to handle his emotions without anger -- to let it simmer beneath the surface and never see the light of day. that was how he got through the past decade, each and every day since his family passed. at that point, he no longer knew how to speak on what hurt in way that seemed... worthwhile. like it wasn't a waste of time. with naruto staring at him with expectation, it seemed like the only thing he could do was stare back.

ㅤㅤ❝𝓝-Naruto-kun!❞ Hinata wasn't expecting to turn the corner of the street and run into the one and only man himself. It took her by surprise! Blood rushed to her cheeks as her face turned red, and her heart began to race. As much as she enjoyed being around him and seeing him achieve his goals, it was startling to be so close. Especially when she cared about him so much. ❝I—I'm so sorry.❞ She gave a polite and apologetic bow after she had taken a couple of steps back. ❝I shouldn't keep you if you're in a rush. I would hate to make you late.❞

ㅤThe only thing bad about the myriad of plants — trees, flowers, bushes, you name it — that his mother loved to keep pretty much all around the house was that, whenever the wind decided to blow a tad more intensely, the outcome was always the same: another myriad, this time of fallen leaves and petals decorating those same areas. Which, really, was hardly the end of the world, especially because Itachi was ever glad to have an excuse to keep things clean and orderly. After finishing their backyard, he was now entertained by the front of the residence with broom in hand to sweep up tiny mounds of foliage that would then be discarded into the large trash bag waiting nearby. So in his own element he was, then, that he ended up only noticing the visitor once they were almost face to face.