Naruto: Nothing (SasuNaru)
Title: Nothing
Pairing: SasuNaru
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1, 868
Disclaimer: Do not own anything.
Summary: Waking can be a strange experience.
Note: Written for #11 Memories challenge at sasunaru100
Nothing
When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see anything for a moment. And although he knows that ‘doesn’t see anything’ is a rather poor way of describing what he sees, he can’t think of another way to convey his complete lack of image. And suddenly a moment becomes more than a moment and he knows that he’ll never see again.
At the same time, a panic seizes his mind because he doesn’t know who he is. All he knows is this suddenly suffocating feeling of nothing, which, he supposes, is something. By simply acknowledging nothing’s absence, he has made nothing into something.
Right?
Now his head hurts and he wants to ask someone for something to make the pain go away, but he can’t because he doesn’t see anything and he doesn’t know who he is. And wouldn’t it be a shock if he found out that he were someone he would rather not be.
Not that he really can really differentiate between who he would like to be and who he wouldn’t like to be at this point in time.
There’s a soft vibrating in his throat and he assumes that he’s making a sound, only he can’t be sure because - and he realizes this upcoming revelation with a start and another strange vibration that almost hurts - he can’t hear.
Now that he’s become aware of this, he suddenly notices the deafening silence that keeps pounding in his ears. And isn’t that an oxymoron, he thinks, and his mouth instinctively pulls into a frown. How he’s frowning, he doesn’t know, because all things considered, he shouldn’t even be alive.
If one could consider being blind and deaf living.
He certainly doesn’t.
Part of him wants to scream, to feel the strong thrum of trembling in his throat and keep pushing it harder until he is left with a raw pain and the metallic taste of blood that isn’t really there. But if he is someone he would like to be and is in the company of people he would rather not know, attracting attention would not be a good thing.
He swallows and gropes - as inconspicuously as someone in his conditions can - with his left hand, letting it travel across his body until it reaches his right. How he knows his left from his right is an absolute mystery that he really doesn’t feel like solving.
The skin beneath his hand is soft and warm - real. A soft cushion of air coasts over his hand and he somehow identifies the sensation as cool. The feeling is nice. He thinks he’s sweating because now that he’s realized he can feel, he’s beginning to recognize the sense of dampness on his back and beneath his arms and -
Something so cold it makes him yelp in a sensation of buzzing deep in his throat presses itself to his forehead, smoothing itself along the surface of his skin. Impulsively, he pulls away from the touch and tries to whimper, only he can’t be sure if he does or not because he can’t hear.
Randomly, he wonders how the hell he knows he’s a he.
And then the ice cold something glides over his skin, stopping to brush his cheek in a soft caress, freezing the fiery skin that lies beneath it. He shivers - the tremor running through his body and grasping it in a firm fist that refuses to release until his teeth clatter violently and his toes curl up beneath their flimsy cover.
He knows he should want the something to leave; it’s making him so cold. But he can’t speak, and even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d say anything because he knows deep down that he likes this. And deep down, he knows that he should know this.
Only he doesn’t.
A warm searing pain touches itself to his lips so briefly he wonders if he felt anything, but the lingering oh so tantalizing pain can’t be a lie. Warmth washes over his face, hot and moist, like steam. It touches him in brief puffs that settle on his face in a gentle mist. Somehow, this warmth smells delicious. It smells like something he can’t quite think of - something elusive that he knows should never have left his mind.
And shit does he want to know what on Earth it is that keeps touching him and hurting him without being there. He closes his eyes, not registering the difference from when they were open, and draws in a deep breath. The ice is now moving down his chest, stopping just above his navel.
He hisses, biting his lip to keep from crying out in pain. The coldness suddenly gives way to fire and he feels his back arch and his hair fall from his face, slapping against his head in a sweaty cascade of waves. It feels like claws fighting their way from his body, through his stomach.
It feels exactly like this nagging feeling does. Like it wants out so fucking bad but it just can’t get out because it isn’t real. But he knows it is. He knows that everything he’s feeling is real and right now all he really wants is to know that he’s real and that this comforting presence of ice and fire is his, whoever the hell he is.
He feels the warm seeping pain of blood on his stomach. He can smell it and it makes him want to puke because he knows that it’s his blood. But he doesn’t know why he’s bleeding and fuck he just wants to open his eyes and see, and scream something out and hear.
It feels like an arm is reaching out of his stomach, trying to withdraw an entire entity from his body, and he can feel the frozen and yet so warm something’s panic beside him. He can taste its fear and this fear awakens a feral instinct within him that he knows he shouldn’t have.
He reaches out with his left hand, letting it slide across his body - over his stomach, which, oddly enough, is not bleeding or releasing any arms - and grasps. At first, his hand catches nothing - something - then it is suddenly wrapped tightly around what feels like another hand.
He feels his chest rise as he draws in a surprised breath and his eyes shoot open - he can feel the lids drawing back. Within him, he knows there’s a burst of light exploding and trying so fucking desperately to crawl out of his body and touch the air, where it can draw breath and live.
And he wants it to leave him, only he doesn’t know how to let it out.
He feels faint and the hand squeezes tighter and soft puffs of moisture are beside his ear, burning it. His eyes fall shut and as they do, he knows that something is finding its way from his body.
The sweat on his skin begins to pool, soaking into the material that is so tightly wrapped around him. He feels himself being rolled over and suddenly his body is caught up in a retching jerk that seems to cut through his hold on his insides; letting them slide from his mouth in a putrid puddle of warmth that settles beneath his face.
And as he lays here, tears forming in his eyes from the horrid scent and the exertion that his body was just forced through, he realizes that he only wants one of two things at this moment.
To die or remember.
But he can’t seem to do either and fuck does it frustrate him because he can’t do anything right. Instinctively, he knows that he never could and he tightens his hold on the hand, willing it to pass on its knowledge of him so he can know who he is.
The warm puffs of breath are back on his lips and he wants them to leave but then there’s the searing pain again and this time it stays. He knows that his mouth must taste horrible and he knows that whatever it is that is touching him must love him a lot if it is going to this extent for him.
He remembers suddenly - fleetingly.
He tries to say Sasuke’s name, but his throat hurts far too much and he can’t hear his words anyway, so what’s the use? He lets out a shuddering breath, remembering.
Hands - grasping, and clawing, and touching. Mouths…frenzied, licking, tasting…worshipping. And then suddenly it all became black and he was being enveloped in a glow of nothing and everything at the same time.
He was still conscious, but only enough to hear fragments of Tsunade’s voice as she said, ‘His fever’s so high… about one-hu…shouldn’t be alive.’ And he remembers thinking, ‘Well I just fucking showed you didn’t I, hag?’
He tightens his grip on Sasuke’s hand, suddenly understanding. The fever…
It holds him tight and tries to draw him back into his numb stupor of ignorance. But he doesn’t want to go; he wants to stay here with Sasuke. He wants to fight this anomaly that has grasped his invincible body and…fuck why isn’t Kyuubi fighting this off? Naruto whispers Sasuke’s name, though doing so sends him into a coughing fit and weakens him further.
He feels the rumble of Kyuubi’s laughter within his body and tries not to cry because he knows exactly what is going on, and if he knows then that means that Sasuke knows, and he must be so fucking scared right now because he can’t hide within a numb floating world of nothing when it all becomes too much…
At least he knows who he is now, he thinks as his eyes slide shut and his skin pulls tight against his face, burning. He tightens his hand around something, what it is he doesn’t know but he knows that he should be holding it, though how he knows this is a mystery he doesn’t care to solve.
He opens his eyes again and can’t see anything for a moment. And while he knows that ‘anything’ is a horrible way to convey what he’s not seeing, he can’t quite seem to find any other way to describe it. He waits, patiently at first, but eventually a moment begins to feel like an eternity.
He realizes that he’ll never open his eyes for real again and feels insistent wisps of nothing pulling at his mind, trying to take him away. What he’s being taken away from, he doesn’t know. He blinks and shakes his head slightly - as if trying to brush away a sneeze without using his hands - in an attempt to shake off the wisps that are pulling him away.
But they are insistent, dragging him through a river of calm that sings to him, and touches him with flashes of hot and cold, and carries an echo that cries out his name desperately in a choked wail, pulling him closer and closer.
And then he just kind of lets go and everything goes back to being nothing, only he doesn’t know this because he’s already gone.
~fin~
----
AN: Hey, we all know how much I love long comments even if they just blab on about how 1337 I am and completely disregard my writing in an attempt to not hurt my feelings ^^ So...leave me some love!!! Even if its not long I'll still love back!!! *starts doing hip and wrist rotations in preparation for humptation and molestation* *wink*
-TJ
Pairing: SasuNaru
Rating: PG13
Word Count: 1, 868
Disclaimer: Do not own anything.
Summary: Waking can be a strange experience.
Note: Written for #11 Memories challenge at sasunaru100
Nothing
When he opens his eyes, he doesn’t see anything for a moment. And although he knows that ‘doesn’t see anything’ is a rather poor way of describing what he sees, he can’t think of another way to convey his complete lack of image. And suddenly a moment becomes more than a moment and he knows that he’ll never see again.
At the same time, a panic seizes his mind because he doesn’t know who he is. All he knows is this suddenly suffocating feeling of nothing, which, he supposes, is something. By simply acknowledging nothing’s absence, he has made nothing into something.
Right?
Now his head hurts and he wants to ask someone for something to make the pain go away, but he can’t because he doesn’t see anything and he doesn’t know who he is. And wouldn’t it be a shock if he found out that he were someone he would rather not be.
Not that he really can really differentiate between who he would like to be and who he wouldn’t like to be at this point in time.
There’s a soft vibrating in his throat and he assumes that he’s making a sound, only he can’t be sure because - and he realizes this upcoming revelation with a start and another strange vibration that almost hurts - he can’t hear.
Now that he’s become aware of this, he suddenly notices the deafening silence that keeps pounding in his ears. And isn’t that an oxymoron, he thinks, and his mouth instinctively pulls into a frown. How he’s frowning, he doesn’t know, because all things considered, he shouldn’t even be alive.
If one could consider being blind and deaf living.
He certainly doesn’t.
Part of him wants to scream, to feel the strong thrum of trembling in his throat and keep pushing it harder until he is left with a raw pain and the metallic taste of blood that isn’t really there. But if he is someone he would like to be and is in the company of people he would rather not know, attracting attention would not be a good thing.
He swallows and gropes - as inconspicuously as someone in his conditions can - with his left hand, letting it travel across his body until it reaches his right. How he knows his left from his right is an absolute mystery that he really doesn’t feel like solving.
The skin beneath his hand is soft and warm - real. A soft cushion of air coasts over his hand and he somehow identifies the sensation as cool. The feeling is nice. He thinks he’s sweating because now that he’s realized he can feel, he’s beginning to recognize the sense of dampness on his back and beneath his arms and -
Something so cold it makes him yelp in a sensation of buzzing deep in his throat presses itself to his forehead, smoothing itself along the surface of his skin. Impulsively, he pulls away from the touch and tries to whimper, only he can’t be sure if he does or not because he can’t hear.
Randomly, he wonders how the hell he knows he’s a he.
And then the ice cold something glides over his skin, stopping to brush his cheek in a soft caress, freezing the fiery skin that lies beneath it. He shivers - the tremor running through his body and grasping it in a firm fist that refuses to release until his teeth clatter violently and his toes curl up beneath their flimsy cover.
He knows he should want the something to leave; it’s making him so cold. But he can’t speak, and even if he could, he doesn’t think he’d say anything because he knows deep down that he likes this. And deep down, he knows that he should know this.
Only he doesn’t.
A warm searing pain touches itself to his lips so briefly he wonders if he felt anything, but the lingering oh so tantalizing pain can’t be a lie. Warmth washes over his face, hot and moist, like steam. It touches him in brief puffs that settle on his face in a gentle mist. Somehow, this warmth smells delicious. It smells like something he can’t quite think of - something elusive that he knows should never have left his mind.
And shit does he want to know what on Earth it is that keeps touching him and hurting him without being there. He closes his eyes, not registering the difference from when they were open, and draws in a deep breath. The ice is now moving down his chest, stopping just above his navel.
He hisses, biting his lip to keep from crying out in pain. The coldness suddenly gives way to fire and he feels his back arch and his hair fall from his face, slapping against his head in a sweaty cascade of waves. It feels like claws fighting their way from his body, through his stomach.
It feels exactly like this nagging feeling does. Like it wants out so fucking bad but it just can’t get out because it isn’t real. But he knows it is. He knows that everything he’s feeling is real and right now all he really wants is to know that he’s real and that this comforting presence of ice and fire is his, whoever the hell he is.
He feels the warm seeping pain of blood on his stomach. He can smell it and it makes him want to puke because he knows that it’s his blood. But he doesn’t know why he’s bleeding and fuck he just wants to open his eyes and see, and scream something out and hear.
It feels like an arm is reaching out of his stomach, trying to withdraw an entire entity from his body, and he can feel the frozen and yet so warm something’s panic beside him. He can taste its fear and this fear awakens a feral instinct within him that he knows he shouldn’t have.
He reaches out with his left hand, letting it slide across his body - over his stomach, which, oddly enough, is not bleeding or releasing any arms - and grasps. At first, his hand catches nothing - something - then it is suddenly wrapped tightly around what feels like another hand.
He feels his chest rise as he draws in a surprised breath and his eyes shoot open - he can feel the lids drawing back. Within him, he knows there’s a burst of light exploding and trying so fucking desperately to crawl out of his body and touch the air, where it can draw breath and live.
And he wants it to leave him, only he doesn’t know how to let it out.
He feels faint and the hand squeezes tighter and soft puffs of moisture are beside his ear, burning it. His eyes fall shut and as they do, he knows that something is finding its way from his body.
The sweat on his skin begins to pool, soaking into the material that is so tightly wrapped around him. He feels himself being rolled over and suddenly his body is caught up in a retching jerk that seems to cut through his hold on his insides; letting them slide from his mouth in a putrid puddle of warmth that settles beneath his face.
And as he lays here, tears forming in his eyes from the horrid scent and the exertion that his body was just forced through, he realizes that he only wants one of two things at this moment.
To die or remember.
But he can’t seem to do either and fuck does it frustrate him because he can’t do anything right. Instinctively, he knows that he never could and he tightens his hold on the hand, willing it to pass on its knowledge of him so he can know who he is.
The warm puffs of breath are back on his lips and he wants them to leave but then there’s the searing pain again and this time it stays. He knows that his mouth must taste horrible and he knows that whatever it is that is touching him must love him a lot if it is going to this extent for him.
He remembers suddenly - fleetingly.
He tries to say Sasuke’s name, but his throat hurts far too much and he can’t hear his words anyway, so what’s the use? He lets out a shuddering breath, remembering.
Hands - grasping, and clawing, and touching. Mouths…frenzied, licking, tasting…worshipping. And then suddenly it all became black and he was being enveloped in a glow of nothing and everything at the same time.
He was still conscious, but only enough to hear fragments of Tsunade’s voice as she said, ‘His fever’s so high… about one-hu…shouldn’t be alive.’ And he remembers thinking, ‘Well I just fucking showed you didn’t I, hag?’
He tightens his grip on Sasuke’s hand, suddenly understanding. The fever…
It holds him tight and tries to draw him back into his numb stupor of ignorance. But he doesn’t want to go; he wants to stay here with Sasuke. He wants to fight this anomaly that has grasped his invincible body and…fuck why isn’t Kyuubi fighting this off? Naruto whispers Sasuke’s name, though doing so sends him into a coughing fit and weakens him further.
He feels the rumble of Kyuubi’s laughter within his body and tries not to cry because he knows exactly what is going on, and if he knows then that means that Sasuke knows, and he must be so fucking scared right now because he can’t hide within a numb floating world of nothing when it all becomes too much…
At least he knows who he is now, he thinks as his eyes slide shut and his skin pulls tight against his face, burning. He tightens his hand around something, what it is he doesn’t know but he knows that he should be holding it, though how he knows this is a mystery he doesn’t care to solve.
He opens his eyes again and can’t see anything for a moment. And while he knows that ‘anything’ is a horrible way to convey what he’s not seeing, he can’t quite seem to find any other way to describe it. He waits, patiently at first, but eventually a moment begins to feel like an eternity.
He realizes that he’ll never open his eyes for real again and feels insistent wisps of nothing pulling at his mind, trying to take him away. What he’s being taken away from, he doesn’t know. He blinks and shakes his head slightly - as if trying to brush away a sneeze without using his hands - in an attempt to shake off the wisps that are pulling him away.
But they are insistent, dragging him through a river of calm that sings to him, and touches him with flashes of hot and cold, and carries an echo that cries out his name desperately in a choked wail, pulling him closer and closer.
And then he just kind of lets go and everything goes back to being nothing, only he doesn’t know this because he’s already gone.
~fin~
----
AN: Hey, we all know how much I love long comments even if they just blab on about how 1337 I am and completely disregard my writing in an attempt to not hurt my feelings ^^ So...leave me some love!!! Even if its not long I'll still love back!!! *starts doing hip and wrist rotations in preparation for humptation and molestation* *wink*
-TJ