Correspondence
Yugao
Summary: There was never any need for spoken words.
Author's Note: SasukeIno again – so I have personal experience (and one of my strange eccentric friends) to thank for this one. This was a spur-of-the-moment one-shot written for the sake of posting something so it might not be up to scratch. I apologize if it's not as good as you would have liked. Thanks for reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own anything.
"And I always thought, the very simplest words must be enough. When I say what things are like, everyone's heart must be torn to shreds." - Bertolt Brecht
A little white note tacked to a tree.
The bright summer sunshine rained down into the forest from the breaks of leaves in the treetops, making strangely intricate but beautiful shadows on the dew-laden grass. A cool wind rushed between the trees, blowing wisps of her platinum hair into her pale face. With a pale hand, she pushed them away, tucking them safely behind her ear. With her other hand, she reached out and touched the piece of paper wistfully, as if unbelieving that it was actually there.
But it was. She ran her fingers over its smoothness, and over the little creases and ridges of folded paper. She laughed a little, if rather ironically, because she had never expected a reply.
The day before last she had accidentally stumbled on the little hideaway, and had seen him sitting down beneath the tree she now stood in front of. She knew that he realized she was behind him, but he didn't move or acknowledge that she was even there. Maybe it was the sunlight, coming down just perfectly so that it bathed the whole scene with a strange iridescence, or maybe it was the almost musical whistling of the breeze. Whatever it was, she left him to his own silent contemplation.
The next day she went back to the place, earlier, so that she was alone. She had spent the whole night writing a letter, and she was even having last-minute debates as to whether she should leave it in his seeming sanctuary or not. She decided, if she was ever going to get through to him, that she had to. So she pulled out a single senbon needle and tacked it onto the tree he had been leaning against.
And now she was back. The same trees, the same sky, the same wind surrounded her. But that little piece of paper made all the difference in the world.
She took it gingerly and opened it, letting the words sink in as she read and reread the letter. She knew it was he who wrote it, both from the careful stroke of the letters and from the cool, distant air surrounding them. Despite the coldness of his answer, she couldn't help but smile at the very fact that he had taken the time to write out a reply – especially since she had signed her own letter with her name.
She was about to leave when she saw him standing behind her. His face was a mask of indifference, while hers was one of stunned surprise. His dark hair cast shadows over his face, but his dark, brooding eyes were cast towards her. She smiled despite herself, and left without another word.
That night she wrote him another letter, choosing her words with more care than she had ever done before. Every brush stroke was slow and precise, but every word was true. She had never meant something more than she did then. The next day, she tacked it against the same tree, and never got her hopes up for another reply.
But there was always one. He always answered frigidly, distantly, but that he answered at all surprised her. She always kept his messages safe in a little box beneath her bed, because, if at least in secret, he spoke to her.
Whenever they met there was never any need for spoken words.
Around their friends they seemed the same; she continued to hug him from behind and giggle as she did, while he continued to redden and scowl at her. At missions they barely spoke, unless she greeted him good morning or unless it had something to do with the mission. Life went on, and the world kept turning as if they knew nothing of the secret messages between them.
Alone, they were silent. Or, rather, he was silent, and, for those rare evanescent moments, she respected his need for it. What they needed to say, they wrote; and yet between them so much was said.
Despite all this there still seemed a barrier between them; they still seemed on guard against what they were afraid – or simply refused to – say.
But she knew she had to tell him, and in that same way, she did. She wrote him a letter, the shortest she'd ever written. Inside were three short words that had been aching to be said ever since she had begun.
I love you.
The next day she woke up to breakfast, and heard her father say his name. He had left the village, turned his back on all he grew up with and believed in, and that a detachment of Genin was sent off to retrieve him. Her heart pounded in her ears and she had to wonder – did he receive it? Does he know?
She found herself walking towards the same place, again under the same sunshine and same lyrical rustling of leaves. There was a strange sort of melancholy that now hung in the air. Her feet took her to the place she had left her note.
It was still there.
She sighed, touching this last letter as she had his first reply. Where had he gone, and why had he left? Was he ever going to come back?
Does he know?
She bit her lip as she pried the senbon needle from the trunk, and freed the little slip of paper from it. She opened it, and read the words she had scrawled the night before. Underneath them was a single word in answer.
Goodbye.
Her head was against the tree as finally, she cried all her unshed tears, staining the piece of paper with her sadness.
Author's Note: I know, it's awful and everything. I just felt like writing something. Feel free to comment on anything there, especially if something was unclear. Thanks for your time!