Inarticulate
Written By: Error 401 - Talent Not Found
Dedicated to Alesana and Tammi (because Valentine's Day)
Chapter 1: Inarticulate
So, I believe this is the only ever thing that I have written that falls under the genre of romance that I like. Mind you, it's still angst, but hey, I can't actually write romance normally, so you should be proud of me, really. Written (kind of) in honour of Valentine's Day, even though I don't celebrate it and this was originally posted a day after, but pfsh, details.
This is (was? does this still count after all the editing?) a songfic inspired by Alesana's The Last Three Letters which you can listen to on YouTube here: watch?v=A7xQubbyqr4
And unlike how I usually cite songs that I don't listen to frequently, this is one of my favourites and Alesana is one of my favourite bands, so kudos to them.
Also, this is a repost, as I removed the original because of copyright. I've re-written it for your perusal. Thank you Critics United!
I've written a songfic based on this song on my fictionpress account, from years ago, but it was horribly wangsty so don't even try to look for it (ugh, despite telling you guys this, I really do hate it).
If any part of this fic seems a little choppy, please let me know and I'll edit it again.
Please enjoy!
Dear Rin,
He sat back on his heels and tapped the pen against his lip. What should go after that?
I hope this message finds you well. I don't know if I'll be able to put my thoughts to paper and let you know what I'm thinking...There's too much I'm trying to say and I'm not good with words. I've tried to write this multiple times now, but every time, it's just been too messy to show you. What I have to say seems endless…which is probably why it's so disorganized…
I guess I should start at the beginning...
He wondered if he had even been able to confess on paper. In fact, he wondered if he would ever be able to confess at all. Looking back at the ink covered sheet, the conglomeration of words he'd scribbled down didn't seem to articulate what he wanted to say. Instead, it seemed even more vague than ever. He sighed and stuffed the folded sheet into an envelope and then into the little drawer of his desk. He'd try again later. He might not have been clear, but at least now she'd know.
He wanted her to know how much he loved her. He had written about how they could spend an afternoon looking at the cherry blossoms by the bridge, about how he liked the colour of her hair, and that sometimes he wouldn't even notice that he had been holding his breath when he was near her. She needed to know that being with her was like an ethereal dream.
Now, in the event of his death, she'd have the letter, even if poorly worded.
Shinobi didn't live long, after all.
When he wrote, he willed for his thoughts to become a reality. He was writing their story. Their fairytale. He wrote of the day that she would be his.
And his wish was granted, but not at the bridge near the cherry blossoms and not at all in the way he wanted it. It was a sick joke, really.
"I'll give to you, this sharingan of mine."
His vision swam and blurred, black splotches dotting the sheen of red that covered the worried faces of his teammates. Rin looked horrified. He didn't want her to cry, but it wasn't the time to tell her that. It wouldn't help. Not yet.
He wouldn't tell them about the strange bubbling that he felt near the base of his chest or about how it felt like he was drowning from the inside out, either. He wouldn't tell them that he was terrified.
After all, he couldn't afford to be terrified now. Which shinobi rule was that again?
Well, it didn't matter.
He wasn't going to be able to see in a few minutes anyway.
He looked over at Kakashi as she bent over him, removing the bloody, pulpy mess that just couldn't be an eye, from his socket, and gently wiping the excess blood from his face.
He was so scared.
She turned to him now, scalpel in hand.
So scared.
Everything suddenly became glaringly real. He was going to die.
That thought in conjunction with the fact that he would never see her again was frightening enough to send the shaky breath he had inhaled straight out of his lungs in a sickening parody of how breathless she would usually make him feel.
The blade loomed over him, poised to take her beautiful visage, however stressed, away from him.
The metal glinted in the dusty light and terror shot through him, but he clung to his memories of her. Rin was gentle, she wouldn't just let him die, not without a purpose. Kakashi would get his eye, she'd make sure…
The scalpel glinted again, a taunting mockery in its presence. Whispers of vile things. Promises of death, pain, abolished legacies, he was useless…
Useless…
In an effort to banish the vindictive murmurs, he focused his last moments of vision on Rin, on that determined face of clinical detachment she wore when she worked with patients. He had forgotten to write how much he liked that in the letter.
Too late now; hopefully whatever he had written already would be enough. Would she smile, even if sadly, when she read it?
Thoroughly blinded now, he noticed that even though it hadn't been crushed, he could no longer feel his left leg.
Not long now.
Maybe it was to distract himself from the flashes of pain and numbness, but all he could really think about was Rin: the way her eyes would light up every time they completed a mission as genin, how her head would tilt slightly when she was solving a particularly difficult arithmetic problem, her pristine writing, her laughter, her smile- her beautiful, beautiful smile.
He remembered the way it would never be pointed toward him.
Yes, she smiled for him, but never the way she smiled for Kakashi.
He'd watch her smile for him every time and every time, he felt like he was intruding, like he shouldn't get to see her smile like that.
And maybe he didn't, he lamented; after all, he was up against the ever-elite Kakashi- and the little prick was a great jounin, regardless of what he thought now.
But back then, he'd been there when Kakashi pushed her away, time and time again; and time and time again, she'd tell him that she was alright, that she didn't need him to worry.
Even though he wanted to.
Hopefully now, Kakashi would be the one to take care of her and the one who would want to be concerned for her.
Was it ever his place to comfort her? At all? Was he wrong? Maybe…maybe she didn't like him, maybe her affections never passed the distanced pleasantries of acquaintances- she was lying to him, wasn't she? She pitied him: the useless black-sheep Uchiha who wouldn't even activate his own sharingan.
Kakashi better take care of her in his stead, because she didn't want a half-baked prodigy, she wanted a real one. She didn't want him. She never did, never would.
Again, he hoped his letter would be enough to tell her that he had wanted, still wanted to be concerned for her, even if he wasn't good enough to do it. Not that he wanted something concerning to come up, but he wanted her to know that her happiness was eminent.
And again, he envisioned an angel, beckoning him closer.
Not long now.
But it wasn't an angel, it was her, again, smiling and forever out of his grasp.
Suddenly his yearning ceased and he became aware of the steady, pulsing pain that had grown in his head. He could feel the weakening breaths that caused him more pain than the insubstantial amounts of air they drew in were worth.
Not long now.
He tightened his grasp on Rin's hand. It was a miracle that he could still feel his left arm and the tickling warmth that her hand emanated. He held onto it steadfastly, it was the only thing that could keep him from slipping away from sensation.
However, it was no longer his time to care for her now.
He still had so many regrets...Death hurt a lot more than he thought it would. If only the pounding in his head would stop...
Just when he and Kakashi started getting along...
Who would have thought that he'd end up like this?
Even in death he couldn't confess to Rin...
And his breathing became more laboured, forcing scant amounts of oxygen into his lungs, forcing life back into his crippled form…If only his lungs would fill with air, he'd surely live then, with Rin, with Kakashi, and Sensei…
She understood though, right? That he wasn't going back with them…he didn't ever want to hurt her like this. He didn't want her to cry for him…
Not for him…
If only he could have spent more time with them...
Not long now.
His mind briefly wandered to the little drawer of his desk. Would anyone find the letter and show her? Then again, she had Kakashi now, so, would it even matter?
Probably not.
She probably wouldn't even care.
The sounds of battle outside ceased and the stark silence compared to it was jarringly empty. It jolted him out of his reverie and he realised he was alone.
He was dying alone.
The silence was strangely cold and biting.
Rin had always said silence was beautiful because the air was full in its presence, but she never said that it could hurt like this.
Who ever knew that the silence in the air would hurt more than her scalpel? But Rin had always been gentle. He loved her…
Goodbye.
His pinned body began to twitch spasmodically against its confinement of stone. His body and mind began to empty in preparation for his spiritual departure. As his thoughts rushed out of him, leaving nothing but a trickle of memories emptying slowly into the dark expanse of the ruined cave, he thought of his last moments with her: the scalpel making a metallic scraping noise against his nerves, the wet squelch as she scooped out the little organ and gouged his eye out.
Once again, terror overrode loneliness.
But she was there, her breath warm and her touch gentle. For a moment, he could believe that she loved him too; she and that beautiful smile of hers.
But she didn't- and she never would.
The resounding silence rattled his bones.
Not long now.
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