‹ the caged bird sings ›
There's thousands of ivory wings flitting into the sun. Round, beady ebony eyes, curved golden beaks, pearl-colored bodies borne by the semblance of angel wings. The doves escape in one spiraling explosion of flight, the hum of life flowing through their veins, pouring from their beaks in pure rhapsody.
He's always there. Every morning; watching the flock of doves pull their heads from downy feathers and take their first few wobbling steps, letting the wind guide them to wherever they'll go.
He used to be envious of them.
He's always wondered, when he was a child, why the colorful birds his family kept in cages sang such beautiful songs. When they scribed the curse on his forehead, his eyes turn dark and he thinks: we're merely prisoners…so why sing with such joy? He's never really understood. He's spent hours contemplating when he's finished training. He watches those feathered beauties and wondered… why?
…because the freedom after is so much better.
You're cursed. Damned to live under the will of others for the rest of your life. But there's release. There's release, if you have the chance to grab a hold and never let go. And they sing in hope that someone… a n y o n e… will take pity, and open the cage door, and set them free.
He remembers, somewhere in the back of his mind, her colorless eyes narrowed with pain and glittering with the beginnings of tears, the feel of her hand gripping his so tightly their knuckles are white, the dispelling words she whispered as he slips into oblivion…
/Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh…I, Hyuuga Hinata…/
Every morning he watches the birds. Every morning she comes to stand besides him.
He's not the overtly romantic type. He still doesn't smile and his eyes are always cold. She still quails under his gaze sometimes—but she grows strong under his eyes. And his eyes are fiercely proud.
Her hand finds his and her fingers tickle the edge of the scar where she slashed their palms. They slide down and grip his hand, and subtly, he holds hers. She gives him freedom, and in return, the mournful melody his heart cries almost imperceptibly changes. Hinata's shy, but she isn't blind.
He's never believed.
He might have a reason to, now.
‹…an angel, in my eyes…›