Dream § Love
Warning: Graphic imagery, violence, gore, ;__;
You used to think that love was cancer.
That everyone who fell in love with you would become infected.
A tumor in the heart that grew malignant, until it choked the life out of the person.
And you remembered the way love took on its forms: the first, at age eight, spilling out across the living room floor.
It was for love that he did it, love and honor. He loved you more than anyone ever could or would, and would die for you to cleanse the family name. And so he went, and you thought then that Father was going to grow into the ground and never come back anymore and you would never be able to dig him out with your small hands that could only ever kill. You did not know how to build sandcastles that lasted like other children, or understand that sand could only be sculpted when it was damp; it flowed out dry between your fingers like all the life of the men three times your size that you were supposed to kill.
Like your father's life you could not save because you were too young and he loved you too much.
That was how you learned what love did.
That people would cut their stomachs open for it.
Let their young sons find them.
That was love.
So you stopped loving, because you did not want someone else who loved you to cut their stomachs open. Because love was more dangerous than any weapon. It was sharp and hot and filled you up, and when it was gone, you felt it most of all. So you would rather not feel it at all. And you did not want others to feel it, either, because love made people do stupid things.
And you walked around with yourself hidden away, and hoped you would not be loved, and told yourself you did not love in return.
This was what you believed when you were young.
Then when you were thirteen, you discovered how wrong you were. How stupid you were to believe you could not be loved. To think that all of your stand-offish, self-assured arrogance, your rules and regulations, and the mask you hid behind was enough to keep that love away. But you didn't understand then that love, it has no sense. Love, it rears itself up and plants itself in and before you even know it, you love, even when you do not want to, and wish you could stop.
And it was the same for them.
One by one, they fell.
One by one.
Obito, at thirteen, under a rock. He said he would become your eye and see the future for you. And you swore he would be the first and last (but he was never the first, because your father had beaten him there), and you'd never let anyone die for you again, never would lose anyone like that again. You would dig your hands in and find the tumor where it planted itself in and rip it out before it could kill.
Excoriate love away until there's nothing left.
But you didn't understand then, how strong it was. How impossible it is to simply kill love.
And how you tried, and tried, when Rin expressed hers, too. How you failed to save her from saving you.
(And your Sensei, he fell as well; his love was for the village, and you were a part of that love.)
And then you were alone and things were quiet. And all that was left was the absence of all those who loved you and who you loved in return. And you kept on loving them even when they were gone. Loved them more than you ever did when they were alive. You had enough love for them that you didn't have any room left in your heart, because it was filled with all the memories of them.
This was what you believed when you were young.
Then when you were twenty-six, you discovered how wrong you were. How stupid you were to believe you had no room left in your heart. To think that your heart was really that small, when it was far larger than you ever gave yourself credit for. And so there they were, the three of them, bright and shining. And you thought to yourself, god, how fucking annoying. Couldn't wait to get rid of yet another team of wannabe shinobis who would never understand what it meant to be a ninja.
One by one, they proved you wrong.
One by one.
Naruto and his endless optimism. Sakura and her quiet devotion. Sasuke and that familiar stand-offish, self-assured arrogance you remember wearing so well. And you tried your best but you couldn't help seeing them. Seeing the ones you lost, what could have been, what never was in them. And you loved them even though you tried your best to not love, because love only brought death, and was far too dangerous.
But you understood it then, how strong it was. How impossible it is to simply kill love.
So you loved them quietly from a distance. Because if it was quiet, and distant, then maybe it would be safe.
Then one day there he was, all loud and brash and in your face, telling you that he knew them better than you did. Telling you they weren't good enough, weren't ready. And you thought to yourself, god, how fucking annoying. Who the hell is this loud-mouth chuunin who thinks he knows everything?
That was how you first met him. Loud, telling you that he knows better.
And when you took him the first time in that library, with the bookshelves behind his back and his fingers in your hair, you told yourself you would never love him.
This is what you believed three years ago.
Three years ago, when you discovered how wrong you were. How stupid you were to believe that you would never love him. To think that if you told yourself you wouldn't, that would be enough, that you could somehow ignore the way he crept into your bed and into your heart. And then into your home, which became his too. Until you shared a name, and looked forward to every morning waking up next to him.
He proved you wrong.
Showed you that you could love.
Gave you reason to want to hope, and believe in it, too.
Made you believe that you were strong enough to keep him safe and protected, far away from the dangers love had. And love became a haven, where open arms waited. Love became brown eyes and a smile that was as generous as it was gentle. And he grew into you, became a part of you, the way the others had. You were one, together, in love, and you thought to yourself that you were wrong all along.
Love was not cancer.
Love was not dangerous.
Something that felt this right couldn't possibly be dangerous.
This is what you thought thirty seconds ago, even with the earth raining up and the sky falling down, and everywhere around you there was too much blood, and the explosions were loud, deafening -- but even with the world falling apart like this, you thought to yourself that love wasn't dangerous. Because you were fighting side by side and he was close enough that you could make sure nothing could ever take him away, that no one would ever slice him down, that there was nothing to ever be afraid of, because love would rise and it would be strong enough to wrap around him and keep him safe.
But then you were deaf and blind and the world was shaking and spinning--
And now it's raining red and hot and wet and you open your eyes and see--
[ Kakashi wakes up with a violent jerk, eyes snapping open, his heart lurching into his throat with a harsh, ragged gasp. ]
[art credit | Monartha and sub_textual ]
You used to think that love was cancer.
That everyone who fell in love with you would become infected.
A tumor in the heart that grew malignant, until it choked the life out of the person.
And you remembered the way love took on its forms: the first, at age eight, spilling out across the living room floor.
It was for love that he did it, love and honor. He loved you more than anyone ever could or would, and would die for you to cleanse the family name. And so he went, and you thought then that Father was going to grow into the ground and never come back anymore and you would never be able to dig him out with your small hands that could only ever kill. You did not know how to build sandcastles that lasted like other children, or understand that sand could only be sculpted when it was damp; it flowed out dry between your fingers like all the life of the men three times your size that you were supposed to kill.
Like your father's life you could not save because you were too young and he loved you too much.
That was how you learned what love did.
That people would cut their stomachs open for it.
Let their young sons find them.
That was love.
So you stopped loving, because you did not want someone else who loved you to cut their stomachs open. Because love was more dangerous than any weapon. It was sharp and hot and filled you up, and when it was gone, you felt it most of all. So you would rather not feel it at all. And you did not want others to feel it, either, because love made people do stupid things.
And you walked around with yourself hidden away, and hoped you would not be loved, and told yourself you did not love in return.
This was what you believed when you were young.
Then when you were thirteen, you discovered how wrong you were. How stupid you were to believe you could not be loved. To think that all of your stand-offish, self-assured arrogance, your rules and regulations, and the mask you hid behind was enough to keep that love away. But you didn't understand then that love, it has no sense. Love, it rears itself up and plants itself in and before you even know it, you love, even when you do not want to, and wish you could stop.
And it was the same for them.
One by one, they fell.
One by one.
Obito, at thirteen, under a rock. He said he would become your eye and see the future for you. And you swore he would be the first and last (but he was never the first, because your father had beaten him there), and you'd never let anyone die for you again, never would lose anyone like that again. You would dig your hands in and find the tumor where it planted itself in and rip it out before it could kill.
Excoriate love away until there's nothing left.
But you didn't understand then, how strong it was. How impossible it is to simply kill love.
And how you tried, and tried, when Rin expressed hers, too. How you failed to save her from saving you.
(And your Sensei, he fell as well; his love was for the village, and you were a part of that love.)
And then you were alone and things were quiet. And all that was left was the absence of all those who loved you and who you loved in return. And you kept on loving them even when they were gone. Loved them more than you ever did when they were alive. You had enough love for them that you didn't have any room left in your heart, because it was filled with all the memories of them.
This was what you believed when you were young.
Then when you were twenty-six, you discovered how wrong you were. How stupid you were to believe you had no room left in your heart. To think that your heart was really that small, when it was far larger than you ever gave yourself credit for. And so there they were, the three of them, bright and shining. And you thought to yourself, god, how fucking annoying. Couldn't wait to get rid of yet another team of wannabe shinobis who would never understand what it meant to be a ninja.
One by one, they proved you wrong.
One by one.
Naruto and his endless optimism. Sakura and her quiet devotion. Sasuke and that familiar stand-offish, self-assured arrogance you remember wearing so well. And you tried your best but you couldn't help seeing them. Seeing the ones you lost, what could have been, what never was in them. And you loved them even though you tried your best to not love, because love only brought death, and was far too dangerous.
But you understood it then, how strong it was. How impossible it is to simply kill love.
So you loved them quietly from a distance. Because if it was quiet, and distant, then maybe it would be safe.
Then one day there he was, all loud and brash and in your face, telling you that he knew them better than you did. Telling you they weren't good enough, weren't ready. And you thought to yourself, god, how fucking annoying. Who the hell is this loud-mouth chuunin who thinks he knows everything?
That was how you first met him. Loud, telling you that he knows better.
And when you took him the first time in that library, with the bookshelves behind his back and his fingers in your hair, you told yourself you would never love him.
This is what you believed three years ago.
Three years ago, when you discovered how wrong you were. How stupid you were to believe that you would never love him. To think that if you told yourself you wouldn't, that would be enough, that you could somehow ignore the way he crept into your bed and into your heart. And then into your home, which became his too. Until you shared a name, and looked forward to every morning waking up next to him.
He proved you wrong.
Showed you that you could love.
Gave you reason to want to hope, and believe in it, too.
Made you believe that you were strong enough to keep him safe and protected, far away from the dangers love had. And love became a haven, where open arms waited. Love became brown eyes and a smile that was as generous as it was gentle. And he grew into you, became a part of you, the way the others had. You were one, together, in love, and you thought to yourself that you were wrong all along.
Love was not cancer.
Love was not dangerous.
Something that felt this right couldn't possibly be dangerous.
This is what you thought thirty seconds ago, even with the earth raining up and the sky falling down, and everywhere around you there was too much blood, and the explosions were loud, deafening -- but even with the world falling apart like this, you thought to yourself that love wasn't dangerous. Because you were fighting side by side and he was close enough that you could make sure nothing could ever take him away, that no one would ever slice him down, that there was nothing to ever be afraid of, because love would rise and it would be strong enough to wrap around him and keep him safe.
But then you were deaf and blind and the world was shaking and spinning--
And now it's raining red and hot and wet and you open your eyes and see--
[ Kakashi wakes up with a violent jerk, eyes snapping open, his heart lurching into his throat with a harsh, ragged gasp. ]
[art credit | Monartha and sub_textual ]