A/N: Thank you AWickedMemory for letting me nag you day and night about this!! Your feedback was very helpful!! ^_^
This is not entirely beta'd, so beware any mistakes. I'll try to catch them soon!
"Speaking"
emphasis - refers to internal thinking or flashbacks. It should make sense when you read it.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
"I always thought it would be you instead of me."
White eyes filled with confusion and concern looked down at an ashen face. A hand reached out and long; elegant fingers felt a forehead beaded in sweat.
"You're feverish," Neji said, more to himself than to the wounded man in front of him. He looked away, continuing his ministrations.
"Really?" a voice rasped but still dripped with sarcasm. "I had no idea."
A laugh turned into a cough and Neji bent to prop up his teammate, easing the fit. He wrapped his arm around Shikamaru's back to keep him steady while keeping pressure on the wound in his abdomen. Unlike the kunai wounds on his leg, it still oozed red.
Still sputtering slightly, Shikamaru continued, "A-as morbid as it s-sounds, I always thought it'd-d be you who was wounded and me t-taking care of you."
"I wish it were," Neji whispered to himself as he tried in vain to bandage the wound with one hand while pumping healing chakra into it with the other. He noticed that in the few minutes he had been kneeling on the ground, rivers of red now stained his pants and continued to flood the white fabric.
"I should have stopped this," Neji said while tying a fresh bandage over the wound that was meant for him. "You should not be–"
He felt a finger on his lips before a hand settled on top of his own, quieting his thoughts.
"It was my choice…my time," Shikamaru said, struggling not to cough.
He squeezed his eyes shut, the pain evident on his face before he opened them and looked up at his teammate, his friend, his lover.
"I just don't want to go." Familiar fingers squeezed Neji's hand one last time
"It will be okay," Neji lied to himself but squeezed back. "Just wait, and I'll find you again...."
The corner of Shikamaru's mouth lifted up into a soft smile before he let his eyes close. To look at his face, one would think he was sleeping like he so often did, but Neji no longer felt pressure on his fingers and knew the younger man was gone.
He gave himself a moment to grieve before he stood knowing what he must do. His pale eyes stared into the forest, waiting for the imminent threat to emerge.
"See you soon."
Inahiri hoped her father would be pleased.
She did not wish to wait another six years to see what would become the symbol of the empire, forever standing and affirming the legacy of mighty Pharaoh.
She followed her nurse, who held her infant brother in her arms, while her mother and father walked in front flanked on either side by guards and advisers, as they made their way toward the monument.
It was Inahiri's first trip to see the great shrine that she felt so attached to, having been born more mere months after work on it began. The immense size marveled her and she ached to get closer, to watch as dozens of men pulled the giant stone slabs up the ramps, higher and higher as they neared the top.
They would not notice her absence if she were only gone for a moment…glancing around her, she noticed that none of the guards were looking at her, their eyes intent on watching the workers in the area in case of an uprising.
Inahiri made her escape.
She ran, her steps soft and quick until a quick glance over her shoulder told her she was safe.
No one noticed her small body as she walked between the adults moving around her, most carrying ropes for slabs or buckets of sand to continue the ramp. She was entranced by the entire endeavor and did not notice the shadow that moved out of the corner of her eye until it moved a second time.
Ever curious, Inahiri did her best to creep quietly and catch it, whatever the shadow happened to be.
She reached out her hands, but it sensed her and jumped back.
The wide amber eyes of cat looked up at her.
It was a skinny creature and young, too. It looked no more than half a year old, if that, it's fur colored ebony with specks of brown.
Inahiri smiled. What luck to see such a cat on a day as grand as this. Perhaps her father would allow her to keep the creature.
A strange noise interrupted her thoughts; it was terrible moaning noise, the likes of which Inahiri had never heard. It was coming from the cat that was now crouched low, its fur on end.
Thinking the creature frightened, Inahiri reached out to comfort him and instead felt the sting of sharp claws, two red scratches now running down her hand.
Her eyes went wide and she took several steps back suddenly frightened. The cat followed her, hissing and moaning that awful sound.
Inahiri no longer wanted to befriend the cat. She no longer wanted to explore the monument. She wanted to find her nursemaid and bury her head in her flowing skirts, and hide away from the world.
At the same moment she turned and ran, a thundering noise hit her ears and she felt the ground shaking. This caused her to run faster before she felt as she was lifted off the ground the moment there was a booming crash.
Slightly dazed, Inahiri had no idea what had just transpired in the few moments she had run away from the cat. She heard voices yelling and saw people running toward her, including the guards, her nurse, and her mother.
Turning away from, she looked behind her and saw the great stone at the base of the monument, torn ropes on either side.
It lay in the same spot where Inahiri had stood a minute before and realization dawned on her.
She owed her life to the cat who was now lost beneath the stone, crushed and gone forever. He had not meant to frighten her, he had meant to warn her, knowing that the great slab was about to fall and so scratched and hissed at her to make her run away. To make her safe.
Misery overwhelmed Inahiri as she could not help but think if she had not chased him, the cat would still be alive; he would not have needed to frighten her away in order to save her.
It was her fault that he was dead.
She would never forgive herself the loss of the innocent creature the rest of her life.
The war would either unite the houses or destroy the country once and for all.
This much was certain in the mind of the young soldier as he stood in the middle of the battlefield, both rain and bodies falling around him.
He brought his sword down upon the enemy, slashing through blue fabric and the rose emblem that he knew would never rule the nation. He fought for his country, bitter these last hundred years and savagely torn down the middle by her own people, but soon, it would be mended. His family would rule once more, and he would serve them loyally, as he was at this very moment, for many generations to come.
With these thoughts in his mind, he turned to face the coming charge. The family would not lose. He would not lose.
The pain from the sword as it entered his belly was like fire, but he found he could not scream.
He sank to the ground as the sword was pulled from him, causing the wound to widen. Gasping, he attempted to rise; he needed to fight for king, for country, for a life not yet lived.
All was black.
Across the battlefield, a young man clothed in the royal blue of his house with the intricate rose pattern emblazoned on his breast, fell to his knees.
No blood seeped from his person. There was no gash from a sword, no arrow buried in flesh.
Yet, he felt the ache deep in his chest, a wound for which there was no medicinal herb and would never heal.
He was still alive, he could see the battle rage on, his brothers-in-arms conquering the enemy around him and yet he could do nothing.
On the outside, he was intact, still breathing, but inside, he was dead.
Yukiko stared at the folded piece of paper in her hand.
It mocked her with its strange message, as did the mysterious author who dared send it to her.
A yawning beauty
is more beautiful, more real,
in carefree moments.
She could not help the tiredness that still plagued her from her journey south. It had effected so strongly during the ceremony honoring her father that she ignored proper etiquette and yawned. Yet, she was sure none of the people around her had noticed, too conceited to care about an unfamiliar young woman as herself.
But apparently someone else had noticed.
And that someone had the gall to mock her with a poem.
She had tried to persuade the young boy who delivered the message to divulge the identity of the letter writer, but the boy did not know his name, only his face, which he would not describe.
Taking up her ink and paper, Yukiko wrote a short poem of her own.
Who remains hiding
will never know the world, will
never know himself.
*
"Here is my reply," she handed the letter to the boy.
"Let those who mock be mocked in return," she said to herself as she watched the boy leave.
The next day found another poem waiting.
Your indiscretion,
words, and passion intrigue me.
~your man in hiding.
"If I am so intriguing, why do you not tell me who you are? Or meet me in person?" She questioned but wrote back quickly.
Still hidden? Pity
I know not your name,
else we might be friends.
*
What she received next, on the third day, startled Yukiko but also brought a smile to her face that had not been seen since she had left her home three weeks before.
Dear Yukiko-san,
If you could not have guessed, your failed attempt to hide your boredom a few nights ago is what caught my eye. A normal woman would have excused herself or made sure she hid her yawn properly, but you are far from normal, I think.
I do not believe you even care to hide your faults or else I would not have noticed. That freedom by which you express yourself is so refreshing from the people who remain hidden here, including myself.
If you would permit me, I would like to continue to write to you, to know you better, and perhaps, reveal more of myself in the process.
~A stranger no longer, Aisoka Tsuneo
Yukiko's eyes widened at the letter. Never had she read anything like it. Tsuneo, what an intriguing name, wrote with such simple intensity that she could not help but feel compelled to write him back.
Perhaps, she had finally found a friend in this strange city.
Dear Tsuneo-kun,
Thank you for your letter, and thank you for writing to me from the beginning. Your words are uplifting and the friendship you offer even more so.
I would be delighted to continue our correspondence and to get to know you, the young man from the celebration who felt the need to slouch at every given opportunity, even more.
I may have been tired, but I, too, was just as observant.
~Yours truly, Matsuda Yukiko
Dear Yukiko-chan,
You and I are one of a kind it seems: bored with society and the roles it insists we play. If you could escape from it, where would you go?
~Tsuneo
Dear Tsuneo-kun,
You do not know how many times I have wished to escape, but unfortunately, I will never be able to.
But if I could, I would find a peaceful part of the world where no one has been so no one could ever find me. And of course, I would tell you where to find it so you could visit. If you wanted to, that is.
Where would you go?
~Yukiko
*
Weeks passed and the friendship between the two grew with each day and each new letter. Yukiko could be herself in her letters, never hiding behind the image society painted for her and she knew Tsuneo felt the same.
Yet, Yukiko cursed her selfishness at hiding her imminent departure from her friend. She had known she would leave this day, but she never once told her friend. She took a deep breath, knowing what she must do.
Careful not to let any tears fall, she wrote the letter quickly and left her house.
She searched quickly for a messenger and upon finding none, went up to a small boy standing at the corner.
"Excuse me?" she asked the child.
He looked up at her with wide eyes, half scared, half curious.
"Do you know where the Aisoka family lives? Near the city gardens?"
He nodded his head.
"Could you please deliver this letter to that household? Here is money for your trouble." She handed him the letter and a some coins.
The boy tucked the letter in his pocket and smiled at her before he ran down the street.
Yukiko smiled after him. She returned to the house and less than an hour later was seated in a carriage next to her father on her way home thinking about the next letter she would receive from her friend.
Miles away, a small boy walked down the street eating fresh dango. He was not watching where he was going as he was more concerned with eating and bumped into a street vendor. He apologized and continued walking unaware that a letter had fallen out of his pocket.
In a house near the large city gardens sat a young man thinking about the young woman whom he had never met but who was still his dearest friend and maybe something more.
He smiled as he continued to sit at his window and wait for the letter that would never arrive.
My dearest Tsuneo,
In all our time writing, I have been truthful in everything but this: I am leaving today. I did not wish to tell you because I did not want our happiness to end.
Our letters and our friendship are certainly an ichigo-ichie, a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that happened upon us, and an opportunity I am glad we both took.
Please keep writing. You are my truest friend and I care for you very much. I have included directions to my home if you are feeling adventurous and care to travel. If I do not hear from you, I will understand your decision however much it may pain me.
Please forgive me and find me when you can.
Forever yours, Yukiko
Sunlight shined in through the window and a pair of dark eyes blinked open slowly.
A young man lay flat on his back and stared up at a plain white ceiling, his bed sheets now tangled around legs.
Jim made a futile attempt to remember the dream he had just woken up from. Panicked and scared, a forest, too much blood…but the last remnants of it faded into nothingness.
Shaking his head, he made a mental note to tell Ed to go alone to the cinema next time. The last thing he needed was another dream induced by the likes of The Wolf Man, Psycho, or The Day the Earth Stood Still. Despite what Ed said, he still thought they were creepy in black and white. And the new-fangled color pictures would only increase his anxiety about watching films on the big screen.
An hour later found Jim standing on the walk in front of several small businesses. He was suitably dressed for a long day of work but decidedly not ready for it, as he appeared to be no more awake than he was when he first awoke that morning.
Halfway through stretching his arms above his head, his yawn turned into a cough. He knew his friend and co-worker, Ed, had arrived. As usual, the boisterous man declared his presence by slapping his friend on the back. Hard.
"Ready for another thrilling day, Jim?" asked Ed.
"I told you not to do that anymore," he breathed in deeply to subside the cough. "Find a new habit. One that doesn't involve maiming me."
As he yawned a second time, Jim heard a low whistle.
"I think I've just found one," Ed said cracking a smile as he watched a pretty young woman pause outside the café doors to adjust her purse.
Wondering what his friend was blabbering about, Jim looked up and saw an attractive face surrounded by jet-black hair and bright blue eyes that looked in the two men's general direction before returning to her task. Yes, Jim could agree with Ed's wolf-whistle, thinking that the woman was pretty, if it were not for the scowl upon her face. Her brow was furrowed and her lips were set in a hard line and detracted from her pleasantness.
"No one that pretty should look that angry," Ed commented.
"She's not angry," Jim replied and then paused, confusion on his own face as to why he had even uttered the words. And yet, he could not help but continue.
"She's sad," he said softly. "That's how she expresses her sadness." Deep down, Jim knew the words were true but he didn't know why and that scared him.
"Jim," said Ed, looking at him with a raised eyebrow. "You're talking like a stalker."
He shook off the feeling of fear and smacked Ed in the back of the head.
"And you're talking like a moron." Ignoring what had just transpired, he looked at his watch and then up to find the young woman gone, lost in the throng of the morning commute. "Besides, she's probably married or part of the woman's movement and you don't want to deal with either of those possibilities. Let's just get our coffee and go already."
Ed shrugged his shoulders and entered the small shop, Jim following behind, the image of the sad young woman having already faded from his mind much like the dream from that morning.
She didn't know why she was crying.
A trembling shudder hit as Isobel attempted to hold back the wailing sob that threatened to engulf her.
One tear escaped, sliding down her cheek.
It joined the dozens of other already staining her pale lavender shirt.
Just a few moments before, she was on her bike riding home from school. Mother hadn't wanted her to let her ride home alone, but Isobel insisted, "It's not that far. Not even four whole blocks! I promise to stay on the sidewalk. And not to talk to strangers!"
She did exactly as she said she would, staying on the sidewalk and ignoring the people she peddled past, even the ones she actually knew. Her only thought was to get home safely and prove to her mother that she was a responsible ten-year-old.
Only once did her thoughts stray when she when she happened to glance to her right and noticed the new girl who had transferred to her school the week before. Isobel had not given much thought to her since they were in different classes except for once when she noticed the skinny girl standing in the middle of the playground staring up at the sky and looking downright lost. Then Isobel thought her exceptionally strange.
"Cathie with an "ie" instead of a "y"…even her name is odd," she thought as she took in the sight the skinny girl with plaited hair. Isobel closed her eyes and huffed, annoyed. "What is she even looking—"
A horrendous screeching noise stopped her thought. Isobel's feet stopped rotating the pedals, and she came to a halt. Her eyes opened wide as she saw a limp, lifeless body where a moment before stood a girl with her head in the clouds.
Her breath started to hiccup and Isobel felt the sting of salt in her eyes.
She didn't know why she was crying.
"We have invented the concept of "end"; in reality there is no end."
Quick, grey eyes scanned the page as the student read the quote again and nodded his head up and down. Whether he was agreeing with the German philosopher's statement or confirming to himself that: "No wonder philosophers are crazy if they write like this," an outsider could not tell.
He put the anthology back on the shelf between Locke's An Essay Concerning Human Understanding and Plato's Symposium (the store's philosophy section was highly lacking) and walked two aisles over until he was in the fiction section.
Sliding his finger along the spines on the middle shelf, he counted to ten and stopped, pulling out the book that his finger now rested.
It was a hardback, and so he opened up the cover to read the inside jacket.
At the same moment, on the other side of the shelf, stood a young woman completely opposite the young man in appearance but not in mind. She, too, did not know what she was looking for both in a book and in life.
As she walked down the aisle, she pulled out books randomly and slid them back into place after quickly glancing at the covers. Only once did she pause and pull a book the entire way out of its resting place; the cover showed a young Japanese woman with her eyes closed and was embossed with opalescent circles.
It was not the overhead light hitting the circles and changing their colors from pink to yellow to green that made her stop, but rather, the picture of the woman who reminded the patron of herself or at least how she'd like to be: happy and content with her life and not feeling so…lost.
She turned the book over to read the synopsis and dropped it quickly, her eyes widening as whatever she had just read sent a shiver of pain and fear and some unknown feeling shuddering down her spine.
The woman pivoted on her heel and walked quickly back the way she came. She was looking so intently at the floor that she did not notice the young man from the opposite isle and half-bumped into him, moving on without muttering an apology.
Steadying himself, the young man turned to tell the woman to watch where she was going but stopped when he saw the distraught look on her face. He debated for a moment as to whether he should go after and see if she was feeling okay but decided that it was not prudent to interject oneself spontaneously into another person's life.
He returned to his task at hand, finding a good book, and walked further into the isle, glancing at some of the titles before his eyes happened upon a book lying on the floor.
He picked it up.
"Intriguing cover," he thought and proceeded to read the summary on the back: "A gripping novel of encounters set in Tokyo during the hours between midnight and dawn…."
His brow furrowed as immediately he thought of the quote in the book three isles over.
"We have invented the concept of "end": in reality there is no end."
"There is no end," his thoughts raced. "The world is full of encounters each and every day that are hit or miss and will go on and on and on. Ones that we know we're making and ones that we're not even aware of."
The sound of a bell ringing as the door to the shop swung shut reached his ears and he noticed the figure of a woman leaving.
"Maybe I've just missed mine." His cynicism was clear to anyone who listening, but it was also marked with a feeling of anguish, the origin of which he did not know but could still clearly feel.
"Oh, well." He tucked the book under his arm, hoping to find any sort of answer within.
Alice let out a satisfied breath as she settled into her seat, happy to have made it through the baggage check, security, and onto the plane without any delays.
The plane was about to disembark and in just over an hour she would be relaxing on her holiday in Paris. For once everything was going according to plan…
…until she felt the pressure on her hand.
Opening her eyes, Alice glanced down at her left hand and frowned when she saw a second hand, a second hand that was not her own, grasping it tightly.
Turning to face her neighbor, she said curtly, "Excuse me. I do believe you are cutting off the circulation to my fingers, and I'd quite like to use them once the plane lands. Actually, I'd like use them during the flight to hold my drink, so if you wouldn't mind…."
The man sitting next to her had been squeezing his eyes shut, but when Alice started talking, he looked at her like she had suddenly grown a second head and didn't appear to be listening to anything she was saying.
Assuming this to be the case, Alice tried a more forceful approach her to get the message through to her wide-eyed neighbor without causing a scene.
"Did I give you permission to hold my hand?" she asked.
The man opened his mouth to speak, but Alice continued.
"No. I. Did. Not," she said sternly. "Unless the pilot is instituting a new rule to insist that all seatmates hold hands, you have no right to go anywhere near mine. Unless of course this was some lame attempt at flirting." Her sea green eyes narrowed. "You're not flirting with me are you?"
Her seatmate's mouth opened and closed a few times before he simply shook his head.
Alice looked down.
The stranger was still holding her hand.
She glared and ground her teeth. "You are still holding my hand and I will scream bloody "murder" if you do not remove it this instant—"
"I would rather not," the stranger said as he faced Alice with his eyes closed.
"What?" She said, taken back until a sudden realization dawned on Alice's face, although the stranger could not tell. "You're going to take me hostage aren't you?"
"What?!" the stranger's eyes flew open.
"That's why you're holding my hand, so I can't escape!"
Now it was the stranger's turn to look taken aback. "No! No, of course not!" He immediately released her hand.
A smug look sat on Alice's face.
"Thank you," she said and resettled herself in her seat.
"Ladies and gentlemen, we will now be departing…" the pilot announced but Alice ignored the voice having heard this speech enough times to have it memorized.
"Ow!" she said as fingernails dug into the skin of her left hand. She turned and saw the fiend at it again.
"You." She glared at her seatmate.
"Please," a pair of deep brown eyes looked at her, concern written all over the stranger's face.
Alice was about to say something, but seeing the look on his face, she pressed her lips together and simply nodded her head.
"Merci."
It was then she realized the stranger sitting next to her was a Frenchman. A Frenchman!
But did that even matter?
Thinking about it a moment, Alice decided that it didn't, especially now that she knew he was in fact not flirting when holding her hand.
She looked down at his hand on hers and then up at his face, noticing a slight sheen of sweat on his brow. She mentally slapped herself for not having realized the situation sooner.
"This is your first time flying." It was a statement, not a question.
Without opening his eyes, the stranger nodded his head.
"A bit nervous, are we?" She couldn't help the subtle jab at the French stranger since she had always thought the French so haughty. But when the young man turned his head to look at her and she saw a hint of true fear in his eyes, Alice wished she could take back the words.
Biting her lip, embarrassed, she asked instead, "What's your name?"
He mumbled something that sounded like "Shack."
"Jacques?" repeated Alice, uncertain.
"No, I said 'Jack.' My father was American and 'ad a terrible sense of 'umor, which is probably why my mother left 'im." He turned away from Alice, closing his eyes once more. "Now, eef you will excuse me, I am going back to my fear now."
"Oh come on," Alice began again to get the man talking, "That's not such a bad name."
Jack opened one and eye and looked at Alice. "Eet is when your middle name is 'Rabbit.'"
Alice blinked once. "You've got to joking."
Jack smirked.
"Of course I am joking, but admit it, you zought it real." His smile was strained but it was a smile. Alice simply glared, refusing to admit that she did think that was his real name even if it was for only a moment.
"So what is your real middle name?" she asked instead.
He didn't open his eyes as he muttered, "Leslie."
"Jack Leslie? Your mother actually agreed to name you that?" she asked, giggling.
"Oui," Jack muttered. "People will do almost anything when zey are in love and my mother was 'ead over 'eels as you would put it."
At the same moment, there was a jostle in the cabin as the plane hit some turbulence. Alice felt Jack squeeze her hand tightly.
She turned to her companion and started rattling off questions not only to distract him from his fear of flying but also to distract herself from the increasingly painful grip on her hand.
During the rest of the flight, Alice found out that Jack normally traveled by the Chunnel to London due to his fear of flying but had to make a quick trip back to France when his mother fell ill unexpectedly; he lived in a modest apartment with his two cats, Charlie and Chaplin; he liked to play chess even if he was by himself; and his favorite color was purple.
"And what about you?" he turned and asked Alice. "What is your life like?"
"Oh, I don't know," she said looking out the window. "Normal, not much to tell."
Alice turned back to Jack, changing the subject, "But you, you said you were going to tell me about your cats' names."
The truth was there really was nothing to tell. Alice had lived a normal life going about her job day in and out, occasionally going to the theatre or the cinema with friends or a date, but truly, she lived a simple albeit boring life. Always she wished there was more to it, feeling like there was something she was missing and so each year she holidayed in Paris in an attempt to discover that certain piece.
"Ladies and Gentlemen we have arrived at Charles de Gualle…"
"Thank god," Jack muttered as he was once again safe on the ground. He turned to Alice.
"I must theenk you for putting up with me. Flying was not so 'ard with you 'olding my 'and."
"It wasn't that bad. And look," Alice said gesturing. "I still have the circulation in my hand."
"You lie to yourself but okay," Jack smiled before continuing, "Forgive me, I did not even ask your name."
"Alice," she said feeling a blush creep up her cheeks although she knew not why.
"Merci, Aleece." Jack stood up and grabbed his bag from the overhead compartment as the stewardess said the passengers could file out. "Au voir."
It took a moment for Alice to realize that he had left the plane and she hadn't even asked him about meeting up for a coffee or where she could find him or even his phone number.
This time she did smack herself in the forehead before she retrieved her bag, got off the plane and ran through the terminal to the information desk.
"I need your help," she said quickly to the Frenchwoman who manned the desk.
"Oui, madam?"
"I need to find information on a passenger on my flight. The man I was sitting next to, actually. He's French and his first name is 'Jack.'"
The woman laughed at the odd request, thinking it a joke. "Madam, I cannot give you information on any passengers and zer are zousands of 'Jacques' in Paris. You will just have to use the phonebook to find yours. You 'ave a last name, don't you?"
"No, I don't," Alice said curtly. "And I said 'Jack,' not 'Jacques.'" She slammed her hands down on the desk in frustration and turned away.
"I need to find him…it's important," she muttered aloud, a confused look overcoming her face. " I just…don't…know why."
Alice felt as if she had suddenly lost a dear friend, not once but several times over and over.
"Merda." (1)
Antonio grumbled as he looked at his watch but it was in vain but realizing he was late already.
"Of all the days," he said to himself as he picked up his pace and started jogging through the park. It was meant to be a shortcut but now Antonio just hoped it would be empty of sightseers standing here, there and everywhere in their attempt to snap a decent photo.
He did not need any roadblocks. Not now.
As he passed the now quiet water fountain, he noticed ripples forming in the still water as drops of rain began their slow descent.
"Brilliant. Just brilliant." Of course he didn't have his umbrella since the forecast had called for sunny skies.
Luckily, he was near the south entrance and more importantly near his destination. Only two people stood in his way, a couple with their arms wrapped around each other as they, too, walked toward the entrance in the middle of the path.
"Fucking tourists," Antonio muttered to himself.
He wondered how rude he would be if he shouted at them to "move their asses" but before he even answered the question to himself, he found himself slowing to a stop.
The time was early autumn and the flowers had finished their blooming, so why was Antonio unexpectedly overcome with a pungent scent that made him literally stop in his tracks?
It was as if the scent had suddenly returned him to days long since gone as he stood in the middle of the park, raining spitting around him. It was the smell of cotton, soft and clean; the smell of sandalwood, strong but gentle; and the smell of water, fresh and cool, but he could recall none of these from his childhood, at least not together as he now sensed them.
He breathed in heavily, not wanting to let the scent fade away, and then he felt it again, the nagging feeling that the scent was familiar. The scent of lover long since gone… impossible…but it was so real, as if the scent's origin were directly in front of him.
And he was.
The young man several yards ahead, his arm wrapped around his girlfriend, looked up at the darkening sky and laughed at the irony.
Antonio heard that same yet different laugh as a distant echo in his mind.
"You should laugh more often. It suits you."
It was his voice but from a different time.
Antonio felt like an intruder but he couldn't take his eyes off the scene before him. Neither the man nor woman noticed he was there and with that scent and strange thoughts still lingering, he didn't feel as if he was entirely there himself.
He watched as the man dropped to one knee on the ground, smiling despite the rain, to watch as surprise and joy enveloped the woman's face. He took her hand in his own.
Antonio glanced down, certain that he felt pressure on his own and, as if someone were squeezing it in a grip that conveyed desperation and desire for him to stay.
"Stay where?" he asked himself.
The thought was interrupted when he heard "Yes! Yes, of course yes!"
Antonio looked up, eyes wide, and saw the woman shaking her head up and down before the man also stood, enveloping her in his arms and kissing her.
"Senbon…" the foreign word floated through Antonio's thoughts as the rain fell faster, each drop that hit stung like a needle piercing his skin and his heart.
An errant tear slid down his cheek, mixing with the rain.
He turned and ran, his feet making smacking sounds against the wet bricks.
When Antonio arrived at the east entrance ten minutes later and soaked to the skin, he simply thought he must have gotten turned around in the rain.
A pair of dark eyes looked directly at him.
"Would you like to feed them?"
Startled, the dark head of hair, which a moment before was staring intently at the caged animal before him, jerked at the sound of the soft voice.
"Me?" he asked in a taken aback voice as if he had just been accused of a crime.
The woman, a zookeeper by the look of her brown and green uniform, who stood next to the fenced-in cage, rolled her eyes. "No. I meant the other dozen people who are milling about this area."
The man actually looked around thinking she was serious; he had the decency to grace her with a sheepish look when he noticed that he was the sole pedestrian in this section of the zoo.
"You mentioned something about feeding?" he asked as an attempt to put his embarrassment behind him.
The zookeeper put her hand in a pouch at her side and pulled out a few pieces of what looked to like pet kibble.
"I've got plenty of food left since there weren't many kids around today, and you're likely to be their last visitor," she gestured to the cage, "since it's almost closing time."
"I'm not a kid," he said that as if it were a taboo that he would be allowed to feed the animals at his age.
The woman stopped herself from rolling her eyes again, although she really wanted to.
"There's no age limit to feeding deer…unless you don't want to because you're afraid," she challenged. "Plenty of people are afraid of deer, but don't worry; your secret's safe with me."
He thought to himself, "Same sense of humor after all this time." He smiled.
"No, I'm not afraid," he paused, noting her nametag as he walked closer, "Tabitha."
She smirked, not to be one-upped by a smart-assed city boy. Nobody bosses the head deer keeper around. "They could use a snack, and if you help, I won't be held up and can take off early. Besides, you can tell all your friends in the city that you actually got to touch a deer." Her eyes went big with mock surprise and glee.
"Actually," he said, stepping closer and holding out his hand palm up, "It's not my first time."
"Uh huh," she said, unbelieving. She dropped a couple food pellets onto his hand and then some onto her own before saying, "Keep your hand fl—"
"Flat like this?" He had already maneuvered his hand through the narrow openings in the wire, keeping it flat and steady as a brave buck sauntered over to have a sniff before licking up all the pellets.
"You're quite a surprise city-boy," Tabitha said.
"Orion," he said. "I told you, it's not my first time feeding deer."
The deer keeper snorted. "Is that really your name?"
"It's a family name," he said. "We're English and Swedish."
Tabitha raised an eyebrow. "I thought that name was Greek. From a myth, right? Not Swedish. And definitely not English."
"My family likes to be inclusive of other cultures," he shrugged. "What about your name, do you know its meaning?"
Tabitha paused, titling her head. "Yes, actually. It's funny you should ask because as a child, my father told me it meant 'gazelle' and that I lived up to my name because I was so quick."
Orion smiled. "I'd say you lived up to your name in other areas as well."
"Funny how that happens," she said and dropped more pellets in his hand. Tabitha noticed that he stood closer to the cage now and warned, "I wouldn't get too close, or at least don't bend down. The deer like to stick their noses through the wire and try to eat people's hair."
He turned and, with a serious expression on his face, voiced, "I know."
"It is not funny."
"Oh, yes. It is."
Long fingers held a lock of dark brown hair, the end of which was frayed and wet with saliva or spit, specifically, deer spit.
"I did warn you…."
Pale eyes turned and glared at a tan face whose cheeks were rosy from too much laughter and not enough of his own embarrassment. The fingers that held the lock of hair, now visibly shorter than the hair that lay around it, held up a small knife.
Dark eyes widened. "What are you…?"
"I promised to help feed deer, not to get a haircut. I think you owe me something…"
Orion snickered softly to himself.
"Something funny?" asked Tabitha.
He shook his head slightly. "Just remembering something."
"So, do you consider yourself a deer enthusiast?"
"No, not really. I just thought I'd take the day to catch up on what I was missing." "And I finally found you," he thought silently.
"You know these deer personally, then?" Tabitha asked jokingly. "I may take offense to that because, me and them, we go way back."
"Is that a fact?"
She nodded. "I've been their keeper for almost ten years. I helped birth half of the herd in there and helped three others transition from the wild to captivity."
"You certainly do go "way back," Orion voiced before he turned to look at Tabitha. "Do you like it?"
She furrowed her brow at the poignant question and turned to the animals in question. "They're sorta like family. They don't expect much from me, and they're always there to listen when I need to vent or anything. In some ways, it's like they actually know me, know what I'm thinking, know how to comfort me when I need it just by a nuzzle to my face or licking my hand." She smiled to herself. "So yeah, I do like it. I'm content here, and I wouldn't be happy anywhere else."
"Good," he said, thinking to himself, "You deserve to find happiness."
Tabitha turned back to him, "Thanks for helping feed them. They'll be here anytime if you feel like dropping by again."
"Thanks, I'll do that sometime," Orion said although he knew that this was to be his first and last time visiting the deer and their keeper. "I finally found you and you're happy. That's all I wanted, all I need to know."
He gave a wave goodbye and was gone.
A young man leaned back against a tree, his arms folded atop his knees, one hand holding a cigarette between the fingers. As he brought it to his lips, he looked through the few trees in this small patch of forest and watched the melting colors of the sky.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the first firefly of the night.
"Hello?"
An unfamiliar voice came out of the darkness but it did not alarm the young man. It was a voice he had never heard in his lifetime but it was one that he had been waiting to hear for even longer.
He looked over his shoulder and shouted at the approaching figure, "Over here!"
The stranger, a man who appeared a few years older than the one on the ground, perhaps in his early twenties, stopped a few yards away. "Shikamaru," he said.
"Neji," the young man on the ground replied.
"Do you mind?" the man standing asked, gesturing to the ground.
The young man looked up. "I wish you would."
Neji bent his legs and sat down next to Shikamaru who still leaned against the tree.
They were a foot a part but neither one looked at the other.
Shikamaru brought the cigarette to his lips, inhaling deeply and after a few moments of tense silence in which neither knew what to say, Neji spoke.
"I see some habits never die," he said pointing to Shikamaru's hand.
A pair of eyes looked at him sideways. "And I see several lifetimes do little to soften one's arrogance."
His companion's face softened. "I've missed you, Shikamaru."
"Several times in fact," the younger man replied teasingly, stabbing his cigarette into the grass. "Some closer than others."
Neji closed his eyes and turned his head away, not wanting to show the shame he still felt over countless chances lost.
Shikamaru stabbed his cigarette into the ground and reached out a hand to cup the side of Neji's face. He turned the other toward him, and bent his own head, capturing the lips, which he had not tasted in so long, with his own.
"It's okay," he said when they finally pulled away but rested their foreheads together. "We've got the rest of our lives to catch up."
"As long we are not separated once more," Neji could not help voicing his cynicism.
Shikamaru shrugged as he settled his back against Neji's chest. "If we are, then we'll just find each other again. Even if it takes another ten lifetimes. We always do."
Neji wrapped his arms around the body in front of him and pulled Shikamaru close.
"And we always will."
(1) - Italian word for "shit"
I hope that wasn't too weird. Constructive criticism is welcome.
Thanks for reading.