Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
Author's Notes: Wow, a story after so long. This is one of those forced stories that one writes when not particularly inspired, just to get back into the groove of writing. It doesn't flow as nicely as I would like it to, but that can't really be helped. I needed to get this out so that I would be able to continue on with other things. But I hope it's not entirely useless, and there's a small grain of whatever to be gained.
On a completely unrelated note, I'm using Open Office now and finding it so difficult to quickly find features that I'm used to on Word. It's a little aggravating...
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Masquerade
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In the grand scheme of things, it amazes him to think that one piece of fabric or crafted porcelain is enough to alter the way they live.
All masks are perfectly useless; he's always known that.
There are too many other traits of the self more tell-tale than a face, an unconscious gesture more defining than an arrangement of features. Good shinobi learn to disguise these signs; great shinobi erase it completely. But no shinobi, not even guileless ones, were ever fooled by a mask.
Yet so many have died to protect the masquerade.
He learned the truth of that while in ANBU, possessed inside and out by paint and clay that did nothing to hide his uniqueness. He knew his comrades long before they took off their masks, but they only became human after the facade was over. They changed names more often than clothing, but both were ineffectual. No better proof of that fact was needed after high-ranking operatives began dying mysteriously, one by one. The perpetrator was found to be part of the force, and thereafter they weren't permitted to remove their disguises even in front of teammates.
To protect the masquerade, a mimicry of justice and sympathy is performed. Whether willing or unwilling, the unfortunate victim is chosen for the script, directed by society, and usually pained in what seems an unnecessarily cruel twist of something akin to fate.
Konoha is a lovely masquerade, from the roots of its forests to the tips of its mountains.
The masquerade is the reason why Hyuuga Hizashi, not Hyuuga Hiashi, died to save the peace of Konoha. Citizens feigned polite surprise at the distressing news, but most had already prepared funeral speeches for the younger of the Hyuuga brothers. It is the reason why no one questions Mitarashi Anko about her former sensei, regardless of the obvious fact that she still cares for him. A flare in her curse seal is simply brushed aside as severe exhaustion. They obediently pretend not to notice that Yakushi Kabuto is a spy in order to feed him false information, and they only act surprised when "the truth" is revealed for the sake of appearances (and the children). In the long volume of Konoha history, the number of deaths for this particular consignment is quite astounding.
Covering a scar doesn't heal it, but they're all forced to try. Sometimes the rules are enough to make a person go insane. It's at those rare doubtful moments in life that he wonders who exactly they're protecting.
Throughout his life, although there have been many subtle urgings, Kakashi isn't surprised that no one has outrightly asked him why he wears a mask. It is a question that breaches both etiquette and custom, impolite to the very core. Their students are still too young to understand, but he is thankful that Sasuke doesn't see the fearful looks from those around whenever his eyes flash red. No matter how much the matter has been pushed aside, people's memories still remained. But keeping in tradition, all those who mattered discreetly turned their backs on his student's unseemly situation; it was only a matter of time before they lost him completely.
Once, an eternity ago, he remembers thinking how wrong it would be to love this boy, to embrace him as more than a teacher and understand him as more than a student, and he was intrigued to find his ideas coming to life.
"Kakashi..."
Once, he had wanted to be everything to Sasuke; all the things he liked and hated, all the things he would never have. He thinks himself silly now for believing it, but at the time he truly thought those were the real moments of his life. A quaint little crack in the camouflage, and only he could find it.
But in the end he is only a part of the show, and his act is up. The mission has all the signs of the approaching end. No one bids him good luck or farewell, but he knows they'll be ready with condolences by the time he returns. A shinobi knows when the masquerade is in effect.
Which is why Kakashi is not even mildly shocked to be standing in front of Sasuke, knowing what he will have to do and hesitant all the same. He wants to reach out a final time, feel the warm lips that had once touched his so passionately, touch the slim fingers that had once sought his in the dark. But seeing him now, Kakashi knows that affection is impossible. What gets him the most is the neutrality in Sasuke's eyes, the calmness of apathy that refuses to give him any bit of emotion. Sasuke didn't want to waste even anger or hatred, and that is what moves him beyond all else.
"I wasn't expecting to see you."
And the irony is so sardonic it hurts. "No, I don't suppose you were."
The laughter that spills from his lips borders on maniacal.
Because he knows that at the end of the day, he will be the one left to mourn. At that moment he hates Sasuke more than anything.
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"You're back."
"Yes. On the way I happened to have a run-in with Sasuke..."
It was a bitter pill to swallow. He brought the body back for inspection and was told to have it cremated for safety's sake because Orochimaru (creepy bastard) might have found a way to resurrect the dead. He didn't much care; the sympathy was mediocre at best, but his part was over. All he wanted was to never be called to the stage again.
In truth, a mask conceals nothing and they all know it. Yet when it's all said and done, the people break and the masquerade goes on regardless.
END
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