Honestly, people, if I owned Naruto, would I be writing fanfiction?
A/N: Death to writer's block, I say. Oh, BTW, I would really appreciate feedback about this story, as I'm experimenting with quite a few new things here – i.e. writing in present tense, attempting to write a (mildly) angsty fic, and using Kakashi as a main character.
Weak, wintry sunlight filters through the window and illuminates the one and only Copy Ninja, gracelessly sprawled on his couch. The newest volume of Icha Icha rests on the coffee table, not two inches from his hand, but he – Konoha's resident pervert, second only to Jiraiya-sama himself – is in no mood to read it today.
There is only one day in the entire year that Hatake Kakashi abstains from Icha Icha, and it is the 13th of January. That is the day he sets aside each year to be solemn and remember her – the first and only woman who left an indelible mark on his heart and his life.
He gets up and stretches lazily, as if he were awakening from a nap. Then he pads through the hallways of his small, silent apartment – so damned empty ever since she passed away – and enters his bedroom. He opens the second drawer of his nightstand and takes out a small, leather-bound book. He blows away the dust on the cover and carefully – almost reverently – opens it to the first page.
The book is a photo album. She gave it to him on one of his birthdays – was it his twenty-fifth or twenty-sixth? – and they decided to fill it up with pictures of the moments they would share as their relationship continued. But it contains only seven pictures – they hadn't had enough time together for any more than that.
He traces the photo on the first page with gentle fingers, almost like he is afraid that it will crumble to dust at his touch. The picture is of a young woman curled up on a window seat, her slender frame concealed by a large maroon pullover and baggy sweatpants. There is a look of intense concentration in her eyes as she stares at the sketchbook in her lap, her head cocked slightly to the side. Her right hand is in the air, half-poised to grab the pencil that is tucked behind her ear. Kakashi smiles sadly as he gazes at the image, and his mind travels back to the day it was taken.
A soft click and a bright flash jerked Megumi to attention. "Kakashi!" she yelped indignantly, leaping up. Her sketchpad and pencil clattered to the floor. "What the hell was that for?"
The man in question laughed lightly, holding his hands – camera and all – up in surrender. "Gomen, Megumi, I couldn't resist."
She put her hands on her hips and gave him what would have been an unimpressed look, had not the corners of her lips been twitching. "You're lucky I like you," she mumbled, bending down to pick up her art supplies.
Ever the gentleman, Kakashi was beside her in an instant, gathering everything up in his hands. He was about to offer the lot back to her, but he stopped and studied the half-finished scene on the sketchpad. Megumi had drawn a medieval-style castle tower, complete with a woman peering out from its high window. On the ground below the tower was a rough outline of a man on horseback. "Looks good," he said casually.
Megumi flushed and grabbed the sketchpad from him, hugging it to her chest. "It's not finished," she pointed out rather needlessly. "Plus, it sucks."
"It looks fine to me," Kakashi repeated. "And besides, how can you say it sucks when you're not even finished?"
The kunoichi smiled slightly before rolling her eyes and shooing him out with her free hand. "Once it's done, you can stare at it all day, if you want," she called after him, "but till then, you're not seeing anything more of this picture."
"Hai, hai."
Later that night, when Kakashi entered the living room, he found Megumi stretched out on the couch, asleep. One hand dangled from the piece of furniture, the pencil it once held having long since fallen to the floor. The other hand rested on her sketchpad, which had been placed on top of her stomach.
Out of curiosity, he edged the sketchpad out from underneath her hand. She shifted and muttered in her sleep as he did so, but then rolled over and snuggled deeper into the cushions.
When Kakashi saw how the sketch had turned out, he smiled fondly. The woman in the tower bore a striking resemblance to Megumi, while the man on horseback had spiky, gravity-defying hair and a dark mask that covered the bottom half of his face.
He was fairly sure he knew what the drawing meant, and it was touching.
Laying the sketchpad on the coffee table, he pulled Megumi up into his arms, bridal-style. "Come on, princess," he murmured, walking in the direction of the bedroom. "Your prince is putting you to bed."
He didn't miss the small grin that stretched across Megumi's lips at that.
The harsh call of a raven brings the silver-haired nin back to the present. Blinking, he gazes at the window seat, and for a moment, he sees her curled up there, quietly sketching.
But then he blinks again, and the mirage fades away, to be replaced by painfully empty space.
A/N: Yes, it was sappy, and Kakashi was most probably OOC. *cringes* Let me know if I should continue this, despite the horrible quality of my writing.