Prompt: Winter
Rating: T
The smell of snow is still strong in the air, the sharpness making his eyes water. Not that the watering of his eyes is noticeable. That's a preposterous idea, an impossible thought. Zabuza Momochi' eyes did not water, it is a given fact everyone understood. Besides, no one in the passing village looks close enough at him, nor in the past villages and none will in the villages of the future. Their eyes slide over him like water, self-preservation strong in their blood. No one wants to die by the hands of Momochi because they know he will make their death hurt. It is written in the stance of his body, in the grip of his sword. He would make it hurt and he would enjoy it. That is the kind of man Zabuza is.
On the other hand, Haku is the only one who is brave enough to look into Zabuza's eyes. She is thus, the only one allowed to look into his eyes and even survive to tell about it. But she wouldn't tell a soul, even under torture, and even if Zabuza himself asks her for it. That's the kind of woman she is.
On this particular year, on this particular month, on this particular day, just after winter, Haku is next to Zabuza and sees his eyes water. But being Haku, she says nothing and keeps walking. As Zabuza's tool, one should not say a word. That would be improper.
In fact, the only proper secret Haku keeps from Zabuza is her gender. There are many secrets she keeps from her Master, all of which are harmless little things to keep Zabuza's own softness to herself and away from others. But her gender is the one crippling thing that will be kept a secret. Once he knows, he will cast her aside, for Zabuza thinks of females as weak. So this secret will be kept away from Zabuza, tucked into a tiny portion of her heart. It will tickle away at his nose, like a sneeze that's never to come. Zabuza knows there is something odd about the tiny slip of a creature by his side, but he will never truly understand.
Her one lie to her Master, is caused by his own misunderstanding. The day Zabuza picked her off the street, a stray covered in rags, he thought her a boy, and a boy she stayed.
So a male she will stay, just out of reach of Zabuza's nose, warming his insides, making his eyes water from the strange sting of elusiveness.
Like winter.
