Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto.
A/N: I'm experimenting with a style - the lack of quotation marks is deliberate. I hope it's not confusing.
Standstill
I'm tired, she says.
Of what? You ask.
Living, she says, with a short exhalation, mockery of a laugh.
Oh.
The can in your hands is so cold it's hurting your fingers, damp condensation sliding into the webs between them, but you hang on. Beneath the two of you, four lanes of cars come to a standstill at a red light. The evening sunlight glows orange-gold off the black windows and you can't see inside and it's like the cars are just driving themselves, heartless lumps of metal crawling beneath your feet.
No one uses this walkway. It doesn't really lead to anywhere.
It's like you can't stop, she says. (You think the setting sun makes her eyes glow golden, translucent; but you don't need to look into her soul, because she's baring it to you herself). It's like if you want to stop, just for a second, you're terrified of everyone else overtaking you, so you just have to keep dragging yourself along. Even though you're exhausted. Even though you can't keep up.
You can't imagine her exhausted. She's the whirlwind speeding ahead of you all the time, you're the one tripping through the debris after her. You're the one who can't keep up.
It's because you're always going twice as fast as everyone else, you say softly. That's why you're exhausted.
She laughs. You can feel it vibrating through her body, through the arm that's pressing against yours on top of the railing.
Sometimes she likes to stand on her tiptoes and hang her torso over the edge and reach her hands out and it always scares you to death because you're more afraid of her falling than she is.
Trust me, she always says. Faith. Trust. Pixie dust! And then she leans over and reaches down and you lurch forward and grab onto her waist as tightly as you can.
She's not doing that today though. Today's about stopping. Today's about watching.
The light turns green. The cars roar to life and trundle forward to continue to wherever they're going.
I'm slowing down now, she says.
Yeah, you murmur. Same pace now. You want to reach for her hand, link your arm around hers; anchor her to your side.
Do you ever want to? She asks.
Stop?
Yeah.
You take a sip of your drink as you consider. You have two answers: how you feel, and how you know she wants you to feel.
No, you tell her.
She makes that mirthless little exhalation again. Yeah, I didn't think so.
Neither of you say anything else for a few moments. The sun's slipped a little more past the horizon. She hunches her shoulders and folds her arms tightly across her chest.
You're cold.
Just a little.
Here. You pull off your jacket and place it over her shoulders.
When you've returned to your place beside her on the railing, she's gazing at you with a thoughtful expression. You wait for her to speak.
She suddenly turns her head sharply away.
Hold my hand, she says.
You want to do it. You would do it without question. But she's left your question unanswered too long.
Why?
Her face doesn't move, but you can feel her flinch in the tensing of her arm against yours, the way her fingers curl in a little but suddenly stop as if resisting the urge to form a fist. She shrugs. Clears her throat. Silence.
You reach across and take her hand in yours. Her shoulders relax, just enough for you to notice, and it makes you fall in love with her a little more.
The two of you watch the road like that for a while, up on a bridge, watching faceless people living their lives below pass you by.
I'm the hare, she says.
Somehow you know exactly what she means.
You're not the hare.
Yeah I am, she says. The hare goes really fast at first, but then he slows down. And then the tortoise, who's been slow as a –slow as a fucking tortoise beats him. I'm the hare.
You're not the hare, you tell her. The hare was arrogant enough to think he could afford to slow down. You're...tired. You're terrified of slowing down.
She smiles then. A real smile, not the mirthless curve of lips she wears so often.
Your hands are cold, she says.
Sorry.
No, don't be, she says. Having cold hands means you have a kind heart.
Do I?
She looks into your eyes. Looks away.
More than anyone I've ever known, she says softly.
Your hand tightens around hers just a little more.
How many of those people down there do you think we'll ever meet?
Those people on the road?
Yeah.
Probably none. Maybe one.
How many do you think we'll ever see again?
We can't know. We haven't really seen them. We just...know there're people down there.
Pause.
What if I just watched someone...someone like me pass by? What if I just watched my soul mate zoom away, and I'll never see that person again?
Maybe you didn't.
What if I did?
I guess you'd never know.
Guess not, she says. You glance at her, and you think maybe those are tears instead of sunlight in her eyes. Vulnerable, you think. Like saying the wrong thing could shatter her to a million pieces.
You hesitate. Then you say,
I'm here.
Her gaze snaps to yours, her eyes wide with surprise.
I'm here, you repeat. Right here.
Her brows furrow, and just for a second, you think she might cry – but then she seems to grab hold of herself. Her brow suddenly clears, and her face returns to its blank mask. She turns away again.
Neither of you speak.
Then she says, you said you loved me.
I do.
You hear her swallow.
I could say it back, if you want.
Would it be a lie?
Another pause.
I don't know.
Then don't say it.
She falls silent again.
I love you, you tell her.
She nods. Her brows furrow in what might be consternation.
I know.
So should I stop telling you?
She doesn't say anything.
In the silence, you imagine yourself saying the things you can't quite bring yourself to say. Things like I know you need me and I know you're insecure, and you're so scared my patience is going to break and I'm going to leave you but I won't. I'm here. I'm always going to be right here.
You can't say it. But you need her to know.
You need her to know.
You push yourself off the railing. You put a hand on her shoulder, and slowly turn her around so she's facing you. She meets your gaze. Holds it. Slowly, you take each of her hands in one of yours. And then you lean forward and kiss her.
It's not a dramatic, passionate kiss, just you pushing your lips against hers a little. She allows it. Your lips beak apart after a moment, but she's so close your eyelashes are mingling, and her forehead's pressed against yours. You can feel her breathing.
She closes her eyes.
Neji, she breathes.
I'm here.
Yeah. You're here. She opens her eyes again, and they're all you can see.
It's like you're the only thing that's real, she whispers; you can feel the movement of her lips ghosting against yours. The only thing. Like there's nothing else I can be sure of.
Is it enough? (Am I enough?)
She closes her eyes again.
I don't know.
You break away from her slowly. Give her back her hands.
Behind her, the sun's already disappeared below the horizon, leaving a few streaks of orange in the sky that are soon going to bruise into night. It's getting late.
I'll walk you home, you say to her. She nods. You hold out your hand, and she takes it, and you walk together off the walkway.
Coming down from the bridge is like waking up from a dream. Suddenly you two are not the only people in the world, and there are noises like the rumble of car engines and smells like exhaust fumes and other people right before your eyes, living their lives. People thinking their own thoughts, worrying their own worries, wondering the things you wonder about, like what's going to be for dinner or whether you're going to make it home before dark.
It makes you feel insignificant; unimportant.
You concentrate in the feeling of her hand in yours.
Are you going to be late home, she says, once the two of you are at her door.
You shake your head.
Do you want me to get Dad to drive you? It's only a short way.
You shake your head again.
Well...okay, she says. She bites her lip. I guess I'll see you tomorrow.
You nod. She nods back. Starts to close the door.
I'll wait for you.
The door suddenly freezes. It's swung back, slowly, and you see her face.
What?
You look at her. You take in the translucent eyes, the porcelain skin, the cold hands, and you think about how lucky you were you that you managed to catch her before someone else trampled all over her. You think about the first time at the bridge, the girl leaning over the edge of the railing with her hair spilling over her shoulders and her arms stretched out like a bird about to take flight. You think about this girl, sprinting through life, alone, her throat burning and her lungs bursting, gasping for air, too scared to look around herself. Too scared to see what she's missing. The girl you love.
"If you want to stop. I'll wait for you."
You see her eyes widen, and it makes you smile.
Goodnight, Tenten.
And then you turn around and go home. You go home, and wait for tomorrow.
A/N: The characters sort of wrestled the conversation away from what I'd originally planned...but I'm satisfied with the result. Well, I'm satisfied that I've actually finished something after such a long stretch of writing bits and pieces then throwing them away. Anyway, writing in this style was very different for me, and I'd really like to know what you think, so please leave a review! And even if you don't, thanks for reading!
Mythic Evil