there is whisky in the water
and there is
death upon the vine
—
the bottom of the bottle greeted him like an old friend.
kakashi regarded the amber liquid swirling ominously in it with a rasped chuckle—a humorless sound meant for nothing more than filling the silence, which bore on his shoulders with the weight of a mountain. and yet, the lead on his tongue was heavier; sour, twisting 'round wet muscle.
one more sip.
under his breath, he uttered a soft curse, aiming it for the blurred figure seated comfortably to his right. her legs crossed, folding neatly as she perched herself upon his loveseat—ratty old thing that it was, thread-bare and burdened with old coppery stains—and rested her chin on her palm, "how are you feeling?"
jaw twitching, he paused in his inspection of his old furniture to meet her inquisitive gaze. even drunk off his feet, kakashi found it surprisingly easy to evade her questioning. but that resolve was weakening, as it'd been for the past—he glanced at the clock then, watching the seconds tick by with half-lidded eyes—two hours.
"you have to let it out, you know?"
her matter of fact tone did nothing for him, he told himself. ungloved fingers curled around the bottle resting on his knee; his toes brushed the edge of his nicked coffee table; his heart pumped steadily beneath the cage of his ribs—
regrettably.
his bottle, now empty, joined the rest in a neat line along the edge of the table. from the corner of his eye, he watched as pink strands fell across her nose; as she brushed them aside with little more than a huff before pushing another—full—bottle into his palm. and without his permission, his fingers gripped it; one hand holding it steady as he cracked it open and took a long swig.
she'd been plying him with drinks for the last hour, and for the moment, sakura showed no sign of stopping.
"no." he whispered, gazing again into the depths of his bottle. the pinch of his nails digging into his own wrist brought him from the fog of his thoughts; recollections of what ifs and what actually weres. the knot in his throat wouldn't let him say any more. instead, he reached for the hazy figure seated on his loveseat, a split sound—sob and laugh—slipping from his gently parted lips, "just stop, sakura."
just as quickly as he allowed the slurred plea to escape, kakashi bit his tongue and forced it back. the silence, a sentient kind; a knowing and feeling kind, fell again. in those bare moments, he buried his head in shaking hands, pulling at his hair until the cacophony behind his ears—a sharp birdsong—quieted.
and he took another sip.
"you have to forgive this, kakashi." the absence of that thoroughly rejected title—I'm not your sensei, anymore—stopped him short. a frustrated sound slid from the back of his throat; half sigh, half whimper. his next breath, alcohol-laden, came in a rush. stilted. he wouldn't cry, not for should'ves or could'ves.
"this is what I deserve." he said to the silence that followed, allowing his words to vanish into the void between them. she shifted then, verdant eyes slipping along the curves of his armchair. his hands clutched the edges hard enough to leave indentions in the old, worn leather. kakashi prayed that she hadn't heard him; he prayed, as his eyes stung, sparks of feeling twisting through the cage of his ribs and slithering up the column of his throat.
if he wasn't careful, he'd give it all away.
"why?"
the cool, night air flowing in from the open window was drying his skin, making the scars lining his arms itch and burn. kakashi cast a look at the moon out of his curtain-less window. there, it hung low on the horizon, shining cold light on his floor. her question echoed, caressing his frayed nerves—"why do you deserve this?"
her tone edged on anger, and he looked at her. really looked; catching sight of her narrowed eyes in the darkness. the organ in his chest pulsed to life, giving a dull, heavy thump in honest, horrible answer. his lips moved without sound, mouthing the words that his body ached to let escape. every cell in his traitorous body sought to confess; to beg her forgiveness before he found himself damned to another lifetime of staring at a memorial that couldn't—
wouldn't
—talk back.
I couldn't save you.
and I'm so sorry.
the silence, the empty loveseat—blemished in old coppery colors and even older memories—greeted him, lit by the passing glow of the moon. with rattling fingers, kakashi curled his fingers into his lowered mask and slid it up slowly. past bloodied lips, bitten raw to hold himself quiet; past muddled cheeks, red with the heat of intoxication; to hide everything but a single dark eye.
and while his rebellious body was responsible for the tear vanishing into the hem of his mask, it was him who chose to lift his bottle in commiseration—
to pretend that the loss wasn't his to suffer.
because as sure as he drew his next breath, kakashi was certain that he had died with her.
—
and there is grace within forgiveness
but it's so hard for me to find