Pein/Konan drabble
Title: “In My Dreams”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: [Pein/Konan] He wondered what it would feel like to lose her. Would it hurt him? Would it make him suffer? Spoilers for Chapter 372 Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.
A/N: Inspired by this wonderful pic "Little Witch" by NosKing
IN MY DREAMS
She wore a plain white dress, some lace attached to the hem of the linen skirt; the customary flower in her loose hair; her bare feet stretched across the dark blanket. White was her colour; after all she was his angel.
Pein halted indoors and finally came in. She was working; he could see it by her tense shoulders and her elbows flitting rapidly in the air. He came closer. He placed his hands on her shoulders. She raised her head and stared blankly at the wall, snapped out of her sacred reverie by his touch. If it had been someone other than him, she would have been furious: no one was allowed to disturb her while she was working. But then again, no one would have dared touch the God’s Messenger.
She got up and turned to face him. She was not beautiful, at least not in a conventional way; but to him, she was the epitome of beauty. He remembered her as she used to be: a lean girl, underfed, unkempt, with greasy hair done in a rough lantern-like haircut. Back then she knew how to smile. She smiled more often than he or the other ever did.
She held out her hand and handed him a paper flower. It was made of plain white paper. Pein took it and released it with a small hiss of pain; delicate thorns shot from the stem and pierced his fingers. His blood tinged the paper red. Konan’s lips trembled with a soft smile.
She remembered him as he used to be: a shy boy with watery eyes and streaks of mud across his expressionless face. He had a different face back then. And those eyes were the only thing that remained the same except he didn’t cry anymore. Funny, Konan thought distantly. He didn’t cry and she stopped smiling.
Pein looked at the flower lying on the floor between them. A few drops of blood stained the carpet. Could a God be hurt that easily? Only by an angel…
In a way, all the Akatsuki were artists. Sasori with his puppets and talks of eternal beauty; Deidara with his instantaneous, loud art; Hidan for whom a ritual was more important than actual fight; even the soulless Itachi with his murderous eyes. And she, of course, was no stranger in their ranks. She belonged with those people.
With a start, Pein realized that half of his men had a stamp ‘deceased’ on their files. He wondered what it would feel like to lose Konan, too. Would that hurt him? Would that make him suffer?
She walked to the door, her feet barely treading on the soft carpet. She could feel his searching gaze upon her back. For a moment he thought he saw that little girl who had inexplicable passion for making paper flowers. Not much had changed; it was only that now those flowers had thorns and were able to hurt.
“Konan,” he called out to her. She froze and looked at him over her shoulder. He wanted to say: Even if you die, you shall live forever in my dreams.
He said nothing. He let her walk away, and then he bent down to pick up the flower she had made, and brought it to his face. He touched the petal with his lips and smiled thoughtfully against it.
September 30, 2007
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Summary: [Pein/Konan] He wondered what it would feel like to lose her. Would it hurt him? Would it make him suffer? Spoilers for Chapter 372 Please R&R!
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi.
A/N: Inspired by this wonderful pic "Little Witch" by NosKing
IN MY DREAMS
She wore a plain white dress, some lace attached to the hem of the linen skirt; the customary flower in her loose hair; her bare feet stretched across the dark blanket. White was her colour; after all she was his angel.
Pein halted indoors and finally came in. She was working; he could see it by her tense shoulders and her elbows flitting rapidly in the air. He came closer. He placed his hands on her shoulders. She raised her head and stared blankly at the wall, snapped out of her sacred reverie by his touch. If it had been someone other than him, she would have been furious: no one was allowed to disturb her while she was working. But then again, no one would have dared touch the God’s Messenger.
She got up and turned to face him. She was not beautiful, at least not in a conventional way; but to him, she was the epitome of beauty. He remembered her as she used to be: a lean girl, underfed, unkempt, with greasy hair done in a rough lantern-like haircut. Back then she knew how to smile. She smiled more often than he or the other ever did.
She held out her hand and handed him a paper flower. It was made of plain white paper. Pein took it and released it with a small hiss of pain; delicate thorns shot from the stem and pierced his fingers. His blood tinged the paper red. Konan’s lips trembled with a soft smile.
She remembered him as he used to be: a shy boy with watery eyes and streaks of mud across his expressionless face. He had a different face back then. And those eyes were the only thing that remained the same except he didn’t cry anymore. Funny, Konan thought distantly. He didn’t cry and she stopped smiling.
Pein looked at the flower lying on the floor between them. A few drops of blood stained the carpet. Could a God be hurt that easily? Only by an angel…
In a way, all the Akatsuki were artists. Sasori with his puppets and talks of eternal beauty; Deidara with his instantaneous, loud art; Hidan for whom a ritual was more important than actual fight; even the soulless Itachi with his murderous eyes. And she, of course, was no stranger in their ranks. She belonged with those people.
With a start, Pein realized that half of his men had a stamp ‘deceased’ on their files. He wondered what it would feel like to lose Konan, too. Would that hurt him? Would that make him suffer?
She walked to the door, her feet barely treading on the soft carpet. She could feel his searching gaze upon her back. For a moment he thought he saw that little girl who had inexplicable passion for making paper flowers. Not much had changed; it was only that now those flowers had thorns and were able to hurt.
“Konan,” he called out to her. She froze and looked at him over her shoulder. He wanted to say: Even if you die, you shall live forever in my dreams.
He said nothing. He let her walk away, and then he bent down to pick up the flower she had made, and brought it to his face. He touched the petal with his lips and smiled thoughtfully against it.
September 30, 2007