Mm. Kibbles and ficbits.
I love the smell of random drabbles in the morning.
The first time he put the mask on it felt cold against his face.
It was strange that it would be. He’d felt things far colder in his life, but the way it fit so smoothly against his skin, pressing his cheeks and lips-it was like ice, and he found it suited him. He wore it that day, and the next, and the next. He walked side by side with others who wore masks and didn’t say much. No one asked where he came from, no one was ever sure if he was a boy or a girl, and no one cared. He was a good student, and he held the needle with the graceful respect of a born Hunter. His name and face would never be known, but he would be good at his job. That was all that mattered.
He wondered sometimes, late at night when he sat with the mask in his lap, if they knew just what they let walk among them. He slid his fingers along the smooth surface, remembered, and then set the mask aside, to curl into a dreamless sleep. He woke in the mornings to a different sort of training. With someone who knew his name, face, and blood. Blood. That was all that mattered.
"Very good, Haku."
He found he didn’t mind it, though. Even when he fumbled, exhausted, for the mask at noon to head faceless to another round of exhaustion he held steady. It was a challenge he had the blood for. Blood no one wanted. Blood Zabuza wanted. It had been so long since anyone had wanted anything from him. Why would he mind?
The mask took the heat out of his cheeks.
The first time he put the mask on it felt cold against his face.
It was strange that it would be. He’d felt things far colder in his life, but the way it fit so smoothly against his skin, pressing his cheeks and lips-it was like ice, and he found it suited him. He wore it that day, and the next, and the next. He walked side by side with others who wore masks and didn’t say much. No one asked where he came from, no one was ever sure if he was a boy or a girl, and no one cared. He was a good student, and he held the needle with the graceful respect of a born Hunter. His name and face would never be known, but he would be good at his job. That was all that mattered.
He wondered sometimes, late at night when he sat with the mask in his lap, if they knew just what they let walk among them. He slid his fingers along the smooth surface, remembered, and then set the mask aside, to curl into a dreamless sleep. He woke in the mornings to a different sort of training. With someone who knew his name, face, and blood. Blood. That was all that mattered.
"Very good, Haku."
He found he didn’t mind it, though. Even when he fumbled, exhausted, for the mask at noon to head faceless to another round of exhaustion he held steady. It was a challenge he had the blood for. Blood no one wanted. Blood Zabuza wanted. It had been so long since anyone had wanted anything from him. Why would he mind?
The mask took the heat out of his cheeks.