Originally Written: August 26th 2011
Inspired by: Pale September by Fiona Apple

Time glides by unnoticed, a cotton dress that brushes her skin as fall gives way to winter in the month of September. She's still waiting.

Shinobi know death, not as a friend or a comrade, but heavy luggage that they may have brought with them on a mission. This knowledge of death's companionship gives her no right to worry.

But worry she does, heart growing cold.

His missions are long, tedious and she can't even begin to imagine how dangerous they are. He's absent most of the year.

Colour is gone, dulled by the lack of his immediate existence and the dying embers of summer. She stands pale against the empty ink of the night sky, waiting as her mind resounds hollowed rhythms of reassurance.

He's not there and then he is with his mask clinging to his hip. And everything is so bright and she swears the moon is full and brilliant reflected in his face.

He leans down, not touching her until he is too close not to, sinking into her.

The cold, pale exterior is gone. His Anbu armour falls away to join her silk robe in a pile at their feet.

There is no time, but it moves so quickly. Winter gives way to warm as their bodies meet.

She sweeps back his hair from his face and his scarred forehead.

His eyes, pale, the same shade as a water lily, watch her watch him. She has always seen him as a man unweighed down by passion or intensity, unaware of the depths of his own emotions. He only ever skims the surface, floating.

And when the emotions are too much, when a mission has gone too long and he has seen too much blood, he finds a home in her. Misfortune has sown his whole life, yet she reaps it all with her gentle touch.

Her thumb slowly glides across his forehead.

Winter gives way to warm. His eyes finally close as she tangles her fingers in his hair. She sings to him under her breath as he falls asleep.

"Pale September..."