Disclaimer: Not mine, Kishimoto owns Naruto. I was bored and wanted to write a drabble.
Blurred Lines
Sometimes, Kakashi would have moments in which the colors in front of him blurred. Pink would become a sandy color, and green would become honeyed brown. Stripes would appear on otherwise alabaster skin, and he would be momentarily shocked.
He shakes his head to clear the image from his head, and catches Sakura looking at him inquisitively.
She asks. He shrugs.
She is very much like the woman that once held his heart before her. Sweet and kind, an excellent medic, and compassionate beyond belief. Yet, she is fiercer, more likely to punch him through the wall than her more demure and quiet counterpart. That is not to say that Sakura is more passionate, they both were, in their different ways. So alike and so different at the same time.
She knows of his history now, or what he could share. She says she doesn't mind, that she loves him regardless. However, he sees her comparing herself to her on occasion. He sees the occasional glint of uncertainty in her eyes, the slump of her shoulders as she tries to compare herself to a ghost.
He doesn't comment, he has no right to, when he does it himself.
One drunken night with Genma and Gai, a topic of conversation sticks in memory. That itself was an accomplishment, Gai had been spouting off about the power of youth as a pickup line, and was failing miserably forcing Genma and Kakashi to order more sake to get rid of the image.
What would happen in death? If there was a Heaven and Sakura and Her were both up there, waiting for him? Genma guffaws loudly, drawing the ire of the rest of the patrons in the pub. He points out that Kakashi has a better chance of convincing Gai to rid himself of his spandex than end up in Heaven.
Kakashi feels slightly relieved, and even more cowardly, that he wouldn't have to face both of them at that time should it come to pass.
At night, with Sakura in his arms, he stares off into the ceiling, and to whatever was beyond. Sakura loves him, for whatever insane reason, and he loves her. It flabbergasts him that someone so young and beautiful would love, or want someone as cynical and unresponsive as he is. He turns over to kiss her on her shoulder and she mumbles drowsily.
He would let go, and find peace with the one woman who was with him now. And he prays that the colors would not blur again, that he can devote himself to what was in front of him. He knows it what she wants for him as well.
Goodbye… Rin.