Fanfiction > Naruto > ficalbum > Kabu/Sasu - "Hopelessly"
Title: Hopelessly
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Kabuto/Sasuke (?/Sasu, implied Oro/Sasu)
CD & Song: Absolution, “Endlessly” by Muse
Rating: Mature.
Notes: This is pretty much open for interpretation/assumption. The POV is Sasuke’s, so Kabuto’s motives are unclear. I was just playing around with the hurt/comfort cliché and the hopeless addiction it creates.
“Goodnight, Sasuke.”
“Goodnight.”
(There's a part of me you'll never know / The only thing I'll never show)
Clothes strewn on the floor like holes in his head.
He picks them up one by one, quietly, and slips on his pants while sitting on the edge of the bed.
The occupant has turned away so all that can be seen is spray of hair against the pillows and he thinks about staying in the warmth, comfort -- in a luxury. But, he reminds himself, that the moments were enough, anything more would ensnare him (again).
His thumb runs across the palm of his hand in a nervous, subconscious way that he’s become accustom to, and he sets out of the room, toward his own in the cold.
(It's plain to see it's trying to speak / Cherished dreams forever asleep)
Pale hands peels at his tightly balled fist, chakra relaxing the muscles until the hand is lax enough to pull open. The palm is split by four gashes, red and raw, (it is not nearly as bad as his body) and he makes a low sound, like a dying animal, when the medic runs a thumb across his palm, chakra closing the wound, tingling faintly.
“Quiet, Sasuke.”
His mind retreats to the darkness behind tightly clenched eyes and fingertips, soft and warm against his skin, making contact with the bare skin of his chest and stomach, producing the faint tingle that signals the healing of minimal abrasions.
A thumb runs across his neck, sealing the wound, and pauses above his pulse for longer than it should. He sucks in the air through his nose and another low whine escapes his tightly locked lips.
“Shhh. You don’t want attract his attention do you?”
Bandages are applied and the hands move on, but the warmth says with him until morning.
(And I won't leave you falling / If the moment ever comes)
He leans against the door, which he is sure was left open for a purpose, and crosses his arms as the medic turns away from the report on his desk and looks at him.
“Can I help you Sasuke?”
“I hate you.”
“That’s good to know.”
He moves into the room and sits on the bed, the spring’s creaks are only audible to the trained ear, and the medic continues to write, his pen scrapping the paper in elegant, rough strokes.
“He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“And you think he would care?”
“Do you think he does?”
“Do you care?”
“No.”
Because anything more would be a hindrance on both their parts and he thinks that if they were to go beyond the physical there would be nothing to find anyway. (Nothing he would want.) But it provides the scrap of weakness the humanity in his soul can cling to, the tattered, patched blanket his mind can hide within, even if he grits his teeth through the smile.
All they can ever be is a luxury bought with spare change and pocket lint.
When he can still remember the cold resolve and satisfaction his sensei’s dissimilar eyes, he knows he’s become far to reliant.
And when he can hear the birds singing in their disjointed chorus as Kakashi pulls his had from the man’s chest -- how the world stops to watch in silence as Kabuto coughs once and reaches a shaky hand to his glasses, adjusting them one last time, and slumps -- he knows he’s fallen into something and doesn’t know how to break out.
So, he calls the birds of his own.
But it doesn’t help that he hesitates. That he is surprised to feel that same merciless spark build up with his stomach and grow throughout his being. There is no hate, he thinks. There is nothing but the hallow dry shell of something he ignored, wasted, wants back.
He falters.
He fails (again).
(And I won't leave you falling / But the moment never comes)
Table here.
Fandom: Naruto
Pairing: Kabuto/Sasuke (?/Sasu, implied Oro/Sasu)
CD & Song: Absolution, “Endlessly” by Muse
Rating: Mature.
Notes: This is pretty much open for interpretation/assumption. The POV is Sasuke’s, so Kabuto’s motives are unclear. I was just playing around with the hurt/comfort cliché and the hopeless addiction it creates.
“Goodnight, Sasuke.”
“Goodnight.”
(There's a part of me you'll never know / The only thing I'll never show)
Clothes strewn on the floor like holes in his head.
He picks them up one by one, quietly, and slips on his pants while sitting on the edge of the bed.
The occupant has turned away so all that can be seen is spray of hair against the pillows and he thinks about staying in the warmth, comfort -- in a luxury. But, he reminds himself, that the moments were enough, anything more would ensnare him (again).
His thumb runs across the palm of his hand in a nervous, subconscious way that he’s become accustom to, and he sets out of the room, toward his own in the cold.
(It's plain to see it's trying to speak / Cherished dreams forever asleep)
Pale hands peels at his tightly balled fist, chakra relaxing the muscles until the hand is lax enough to pull open. The palm is split by four gashes, red and raw, (it is not nearly as bad as his body) and he makes a low sound, like a dying animal, when the medic runs a thumb across his palm, chakra closing the wound, tingling faintly.
“Quiet, Sasuke.”
His mind retreats to the darkness behind tightly clenched eyes and fingertips, soft and warm against his skin, making contact with the bare skin of his chest and stomach, producing the faint tingle that signals the healing of minimal abrasions.
A thumb runs across his neck, sealing the wound, and pauses above his pulse for longer than it should. He sucks in the air through his nose and another low whine escapes his tightly locked lips.
“Shhh. You don’t want attract his attention do you?”
Bandages are applied and the hands move on, but the warmth says with him until morning.
(And I won't leave you falling / If the moment ever comes)
He leans against the door, which he is sure was left open for a purpose, and crosses his arms as the medic turns away from the report on his desk and looks at him.
“Can I help you Sasuke?”
“I hate you.”
“That’s good to know.”
He moves into the room and sits on the bed, the spring’s creaks are only audible to the trained ear, and the medic continues to write, his pen scrapping the paper in elegant, rough strokes.
“He doesn’t know I’m here.”
“And you think he would care?”
“Do you think he does?”
“Do you care?”
“No.”
Because anything more would be a hindrance on both their parts and he thinks that if they were to go beyond the physical there would be nothing to find anyway. (Nothing he would want.) But it provides the scrap of weakness the humanity in his soul can cling to, the tattered, patched blanket his mind can hide within, even if he grits his teeth through the smile.
All they can ever be is a luxury bought with spare change and pocket lint.
When he can still remember the cold resolve and satisfaction his sensei’s dissimilar eyes, he knows he’s become far to reliant.
And when he can hear the birds singing in their disjointed chorus as Kakashi pulls his had from the man’s chest -- how the world stops to watch in silence as Kabuto coughs once and reaches a shaky hand to his glasses, adjusting them one last time, and slumps -- he knows he’s fallen into something and doesn’t know how to break out.
So, he calls the birds of his own.
But it doesn’t help that he hesitates. That he is surprised to feel that same merciless spark build up with his stomach and grow throughout his being. There is no hate, he thinks. There is nothing but the hallow dry shell of something he ignored, wasted, wants back.
He falters.
He fails (again).
(And I won't leave you falling / But the moment never comes)
Table here.