Golden candlelight spilled across the rough cotton sheets, brushing softly against the even paler skin of one of the bed's occupants. Pale as it was, the old scars were almost invisible to the eyes of any who did not know they were there. The other person on the bed, a tough man of indeterminate age, knew each and every one, just as he knew every scar of mind and heart that few ever saw in his pale companion. As for the boy himself, milky skin set a perfect contrast to soft, ebony hair, now loosed of its ties to tumble around his shoulders. Its only binding was a thin strip of cloth bearing a thin metal plate—the sybolic forehead protector of a ninja of the mist. Instead of being worn over the forehead, the bit of bright metal was wraped over his eyes in a make-shift blindfold. It's wearer did not care; Haku trusted the other man, his master, his sensei.
Momichi Zabuza was not a man to inspire trust in many. Unlike his fair companion, shocking scars were vividly splashed across every inch of tanned skin, in an intricate lacework of damage. Well-defined muscles and a few too many missed meals left the man thin and feral-seeming, ready to bite at any moment. To those who knew his reputation, this impression gave little clue to how dangerous he truly was.
Haku was not someone who trusted easily. After having everything dear taken away by a secret, trust seemed like nothing more than a liability. Even his true emotions rarely crossed his face; the porcelein mask would fall, only to reveal one of cold flesh, equally immoble.
Nonetheless, Haku trusted Zabuza. Or at least one might call it trust, if viewed from the outside—there was certainly a mutual need there, and the boy did everything in his power to aid his teacher. It may even have been trust, on some level, but to the two of them, it was very simple. Haku needed something to live for, and Zabuza needed someone to live for him. Wether they actually liked each other had had nothing to do with the original arangement.
It had become important, however, Haku mused as cool hands brushed against his skin. A firm caress made him shiver slightly, with both exitement and the chill of the room. There was something very strange about not being able to see that wakened every other sense a hundredfold. Haku was no stranger to the unseen, both threats and advantages both. That was what it was to be ninja; to be aware of every detail that could hurt or help the mission, and to make use of everything necessary to complete it. When you couldn't walk you crawled, and when you couldn't even do that you died with as much honor as you could. No ninja would stoop to being carried.
Zabuza admired his student in the low light. He had never really been one for beautiful things, but this was as servicable as it was lovely. Only with the boy's eyes hidden behind metal and cloth did he let his eyes linger, let gentleness enter his expression, his touch. He was Zabuza, the demon—no one could see his weakness, so even the eyes of that person were hidden away. In the dim light, it was other senses that spoke; skin to skin, words and apearences couldn't get in the way. He liked that simplicity, that change from the constant duplicity of the hidden villages. To be a ninja of a village had always meant to fight, sometimes your enemies and often your friends, to finally win the freedom that comes with strength. Apearing strong was half the battle; the other half was fought with words as weapons, and Zabuza preffered the quick kill of the kunai knife to the slow burn of betrayal any day.
Sometimes it seemed like mere chance had brought the two together—sometimes it seemed more like fate. Both would scoff at such a notion, but neither had yet been able to totally discredit it. The two fit together like matched knives, a perfectly balanced set. They moved with the ease of long practice, and predicted eachother's movements to an uncanny degree. If asked at any time if Haku was replaceable, both would have answered within a heartbeat that his personal survival was unimportant.
Haku did not want to die. He would not allow himself to die, because such a thing would put his master to the trouble of finding a new tool, and that would waste time and resources. He did not want to die and leave the only person who had ever aided him; he did not want to lose the purpose that the other's goals had given him. Love had nothing to do with the matter either way, but was one more reason why Haku could not let Zabuza die either.
Zabuza did not want Haku to die. The boy represented a considerable amount of time spent on training, as well as being one of the best at his job. He acomplished any task he was given with lethal grace, as well as predicting Zabuza's own movements uncannily well and using the knowledge to assist. His pupal was replaceable if need be, but it was highly unlikely a good substitute could be found and trained before the demon died at the hands of hunter-nin. He also cared far more for Haku than he really ought, but that had no bearing whatsoever on the situation.
The candle was guttering low by the time the two finished their frantic love-making, lying spent on the coarse cotton sheets. Skin to skin, heartbeats matched perfectly, neither seemed to be able to find the energy to move. For now, it was quiet, they were safe, and neither was ready to let go.