[01/01] the definition of 'kizuna'
title. the definition of "kizuna"
pairing. akame friendship
rating. g
summary. a bond like this sneaks up on you. it's there before you know it.
author's note. i'm supposed to be reading Invisible Man. i do not like it.
word count. 00450
Surprisingly, off stage, he is a little nervous, a little shy. He is anxious, pulls on the hem of his t-shirt and makes it stretch in an unsightly kind of way. "Don't do that!" The stylist clicks her tongue and bats his hand away. "You'll ruin it." She pauses for effect. "It's Gucci." She sounds scandalized.
He pouts and shoves his hands into his pockets. When he sees you looking at him, he grins, wide and real (and therefore beautiful). "Stupid," you mouth, shake your head and he pouts again. "Stupider," you mouth, and he sticks out his tongue.
You laugh.
When you least expect it, he shows off something akin to maturity and experience. There are those days--those days where he surprises you with strange epiphanies, always badly explained, but always true. It's the hidden wisdom of Shakespeare's fools--Feste in Twelfth Night.
When you want to discuss work, you go to him first. He supplies you with an answer. He supplies you with his own ideas and thoughts and ambitions. And you know that what he says comes from the heart, that what he says is something he believes in, and thus, he is being utterly and definitely truthful.
And even if he disagrees with your beliefs, there is understanding because there is kizuna--a bond that comes to exist before you comprehend the true meaning of the word, a bond that is made of rugged insoluble fibers. You've been through too much together, seen too much together, stood beside each other so long that you know one another like the backs of your hands.
After one of your deep discussions, you are both somehow laughing. As you gasp for air, you blurt, "How could I live without you?" And there is awkward silence as the connotations of your words permeate your mind and his. "I'm sorry." You laugh again. "Not like that," you say.
"I know." He laughs too.
It's strange, because you are something of a romantic. And throughout your entire childhood and few years as an adult, you've thought that your soulmate would be the single person that you love and cherish and lust. But it's different, you find. He is your soulmate who you can confide in, who you can trust, who may be your best friend and who doesn't have to be your lover.
There exists a higher level of understanding, some higher level of commitment--so high that dependence is so extreme that it becomes independence again.
It's almost like the embodiment of your conscience.
"Kizuna," you breathe. "You understand, right?"
"Yes," he says. "It's like that." He emphasizes the last word, and you read between the lines with ease.
2007.05.17