The Subtle Art of Folding Paper [fic] [naruto] [pein/konan of a sort]
some of the japanese spellings may be wrong. sorry.
Origami, to Pein, has always been something for housewives to do while waiting for their husbands to return to them. He remembers watching his mother fold cranes gently and swiftly in a rainbow of colors until they filled the house and Pein’s world was full of purples, greens, and blues. He remembers better ashes swirling around the street and a red-orange glow that threw monstrous shadows on the houses of his neighbors.
His mother was a foolish woman; Pein was not deaf to the gossip of the villagers - his father would never come home.
Konan folds with the same grace, same precise movement - thumb running down to make sure the creases are sharp and perfect. But Pein does not think of her as some little woman sitting idly by - she remains the only kunochi in Akatsuki for a reason.
“Quiet tonight.”
She shrugs, pausing in her ministrations. “What is there to say?”
He’s tempted to respond with a rather long list of things they should discuss, least of which being what they're supposed to do with the Sannin and what the populace will think if he looses control over the rain again. Instead he says nothing.
Konan breathes and he can feel the chakra in her breath as she animates the paper crane to fly around the dim room.
Pein watches the shadows it casts and thinks again of smoke and fire and wonders if that's what they're destined for. To shine so brightly they burn in their fame.
But, he muses as she gives him a look that is everything and anything he could want, they still have a little time.
Origami, to Pein, has always been something for housewives to do while waiting for their husbands to return to them. He remembers watching his mother fold cranes gently and swiftly in a rainbow of colors until they filled the house and Pein’s world was full of purples, greens, and blues. He remembers better ashes swirling around the street and a red-orange glow that threw monstrous shadows on the houses of his neighbors.
His mother was a foolish woman; Pein was not deaf to the gossip of the villagers - his father would never come home.
Konan folds with the same grace, same precise movement - thumb running down to make sure the creases are sharp and perfect. But Pein does not think of her as some little woman sitting idly by - she remains the only kunochi in Akatsuki for a reason.
“Quiet tonight.”
She shrugs, pausing in her ministrations. “What is there to say?”
He’s tempted to respond with a rather long list of things they should discuss, least of which being what they're supposed to do with the Sannin and what the populace will think if he looses control over the rain again. Instead he says nothing.
Konan breathes and he can feel the chakra in her breath as she animates the paper crane to fly around the dim room.
Pein watches the shadows it casts and thinks again of smoke and fire and wonders if that's what they're destined for. To shine so brightly they burn in their fame.
But, he muses as she gives him a look that is everything and anything he could want, they still have a little time.