act i; crossing bridges
Fandom: Naruto
Characters: Uchiha Itachi & Haruno Sakura
Prompt: 01. twilight & 229. no man is an island & food: 09. apples
Word Count: 638
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Notes: First of a small, tiny mini-series. 1/10 complete as of now! As this fic was entirely inspired by floriography, each chapter will have one flower symbolizing something. Sequel is here. Written for 50scenes & 500themes & mission_insane . Prompt tables are here & here & here.
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It can hardly even be called a mutual acquaintance. In a relationship that encompasses less than friendship and little more than acknowledgement, in a stage of in-betweens and hesitations, sometimes, no name can suffice. They are simply there, products of their own manipulation.
She is merely a reminder of listless, but never failed missions, sweet, but bitter exchanges, and charming, but disengaged relationships. She is the reminder of all these, because in his mind, there is nothing else. Pink, in all its vibrancy, belongs only to those environments in his mind, as he has never known them anywhere else. Everything has a place, physically and poetically, that must be obeyed at all times - it is simply the natural order of things, and Itachi knows nothing less than perfection.
It is of course against all the beliefs he has ever held, to allow himself any slight derailments that might entail his visiting the charmed and charming woman without occasion or a mission. She is a vision of his work life, a comrade, a subordinate, and more often than not, a saviour. She is the attachment of his brother and his loudmouth - she is their friend, family. In her place with them, she is the loved one, a beloved object of affection to be protected, admired and cared for.
He feels the taboo echoing loudly even as he reaches for the doorknob, cold and abandoned. The door swings open without much protest, save for the soft creaking that all doors in the aging Konoha General Hospital offer. To his imminent relief, the only presence already in the spacey room is hers, silent and unmoving on the unwelcoming bed. It takes him a moment longer to absorb the sight before him - the glass panes lining the walls filter through the last remnants of orange, bathing the slumbering woman in its warmth. He had always believed, long before any other thoughts and actions had been forcibly fed to him, that the dance between the dying embers of the setting sun and the impending twilight was the most beautiful - here, in this room, he could do naught but ratify.
Tentative steps fill his subconscious as he glides, silent into the room. The overflowing bedside table comes into view a second later, and it is irritation, and surprise at the former that fills him at the sight. Fresh red carnations overflow from the glittering vase, and though he is no Yamanaka, the universal message coins through clear enough.
At a later day, when asked, Itachi had claimed ignorance.
But in this moment, call it possession or insanity, the red, flashing with insuppressibly dominant anger incline his lithe fingers to grab hold of the beautiful petals, crushing them into the flames of a silent katon. As quickly as his fingers had destroyed, the red is replaced with a carnal opposition, and snowdrops shine in its place. The satisfaction, uncharacteristic and contenting lasts only as long as it takes for him to notice the half-bitten apple sitting delicately on the opposite bedside table.
He freezes precariously, the implications ringing clearly in his mind. Someone else is here. For the crucial seconds following this revelation, he is thankful for the lithe body that his heritage has gifted him as he slips through the windows. As his shadows disappear, out of sight, Itachi thinks he hears the soft footfalls of her other visitor, followed by wistful sigh of a dejected man. While Itachi has never been a man of vivid imagination, it is nothing short of that as his mind is flooded with the silhouette of whoever, offering simple caresses to the comatose girl. Unbeknownst to him, the slightest of scowls fights its way across his face.
For the remainder of the week, Itachi does not smile.
x - x - x
snowdrops - consolation or hope
red carnation - "my heart aches for you" / deep passion , love
Characters: Uchiha Itachi & Haruno Sakura
Prompt: 01. twilight & 229. no man is an island & food: 09. apples
Word Count: 638
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
Notes: First of a small, tiny mini-series. 1/10 complete as of now! As this fic was entirely inspired by floriography, each chapter will have one flower symbolizing something. Sequel is here. Written for 50scenes & 500themes & mission_insane . Prompt tables are here & here & here.
-
It can hardly even be called a mutual acquaintance. In a relationship that encompasses less than friendship and little more than acknowledgement, in a stage of in-betweens and hesitations, sometimes, no name can suffice. They are simply there, products of their own manipulation.
She is merely a reminder of listless, but never failed missions, sweet, but bitter exchanges, and charming, but disengaged relationships. She is the reminder of all these, because in his mind, there is nothing else. Pink, in all its vibrancy, belongs only to those environments in his mind, as he has never known them anywhere else. Everything has a place, physically and poetically, that must be obeyed at all times - it is simply the natural order of things, and Itachi knows nothing less than perfection.
It is of course against all the beliefs he has ever held, to allow himself any slight derailments that might entail his visiting the charmed and charming woman without occasion or a mission. She is a vision of his work life, a comrade, a subordinate, and more often than not, a saviour. She is the attachment of his brother and his loudmouth - she is their friend, family. In her place with them, she is the loved one, a beloved object of affection to be protected, admired and cared for.
He feels the taboo echoing loudly even as he reaches for the doorknob, cold and abandoned. The door swings open without much protest, save for the soft creaking that all doors in the aging Konoha General Hospital offer. To his imminent relief, the only presence already in the spacey room is hers, silent and unmoving on the unwelcoming bed. It takes him a moment longer to absorb the sight before him - the glass panes lining the walls filter through the last remnants of orange, bathing the slumbering woman in its warmth. He had always believed, long before any other thoughts and actions had been forcibly fed to him, that the dance between the dying embers of the setting sun and the impending twilight was the most beautiful - here, in this room, he could do naught but ratify.
Tentative steps fill his subconscious as he glides, silent into the room. The overflowing bedside table comes into view a second later, and it is irritation, and surprise at the former that fills him at the sight. Fresh red carnations overflow from the glittering vase, and though he is no Yamanaka, the universal message coins through clear enough.
At a later day, when asked, Itachi had claimed ignorance.
But in this moment, call it possession or insanity, the red, flashing with insuppressibly dominant anger incline his lithe fingers to grab hold of the beautiful petals, crushing them into the flames of a silent katon. As quickly as his fingers had destroyed, the red is replaced with a carnal opposition, and snowdrops shine in its place. The satisfaction, uncharacteristic and contenting lasts only as long as it takes for him to notice the half-bitten apple sitting delicately on the opposite bedside table.
He freezes precariously, the implications ringing clearly in his mind. Someone else is here. For the crucial seconds following this revelation, he is thankful for the lithe body that his heritage has gifted him as he slips through the windows. As his shadows disappear, out of sight, Itachi thinks he hears the soft footfalls of her other visitor, followed by wistful sigh of a dejected man. While Itachi has never been a man of vivid imagination, it is nothing short of that as his mind is flooded with the silhouette of whoever, offering simple caresses to the comatose girl. Unbeknownst to him, the slightest of scowls fights its way across his face.
For the remainder of the week, Itachi does not smile.
x - x - x
snowdrops - consolation or hope
red carnation - "my heart aches for you" / deep passion , love