this is love
by tabine
—
on life, growing up, and the things that fall in between: one-hundred sentences of nejiten introspection, courtesy of the 100-prompts community on livejournal (table c). canon-compliant — mostly.
—
this is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. first to let go of life. finally, to take a step without feet.
— rumi
—
part i — faith.
noun; trust in something as true.
originally posted friday 06 january 2017.
—
001 — mellow.
"you've changed, you know," she tells him, right before the end; he frowns at her, unsure how to interpret the remark, and she laughs softly at his expression (her breath is warm against his lips, and a smile tugs at the corners of his mouth) before continuing, "in a good way, i promise: you used to be such a jerk, before, and… well, i guess i never told you, but in case something happens — " (her voice is softer, now, but it does not waver; his heart swells with warmth and a thousand different emotions) "— i just want you to know, i am so proud…"
002 — eternal.
on the first warm day of spring, she turns to him as they sit together beneath the shade of the old oak tree after a morning of training to ask, "hey, did you know — ?"
(and there's a strangely wistful note to her voice that he has never heard before; he finds himself intrigued enough by this alone to look at her expectantly — )
"apparently, there's this old tradition in the land of wind, where you give a dagger to someone you want to spend forever with; temari said it doesn't mean you have to marry that person, though, you just have have to be able to trust them with your life —"
(he says nothing, merely waits for her to continue — )
"the dagger, though — !"
(he's hardly surprised, and allows himself a knowing smirk, because he knows better than anyone her fondness for weaponry — )
"— listen, these daggers are amazing: the blades are made of a special alloy that comes from meteorites that landed in the land of wind thousands of years ago, and the handles are inlaid with desert glass, and — okay, so i've only ever seen a picture of one before, but it was so beautiful…"
(then her voice trails off, as she gathers her thoughts, and he is content to admire her relaxed posture as he waits: the slope of her shoulders and the curve of her neck, her careless, comfortable sprawl on the grass beside him — )
"but they're also expensive, you know, because the materials for them are so rare, now — they last forever, apparently — and no one really makes them anymore because they're useless in a real fight, and mostly just for ceremony and show —"
(she sighs; quietly, he tucks the information away in the back of his mind — )
"…what i wouldn't give to have one, though — i'd do just about anything!"
003 — subtle.
it had been a gradual change, a carefully slow and delicate thing difficult for even his eyes to see; he wonders when his perception of her had changed from acquaintance to friend, to comrade and rival and friend — the precise moment he'd begun to view her as something more.
004 — cheat.
the memory of a broken promise, she realizes with a start, is the worst reminder of old betrayals; she stares down at the dagger in shock (how could she have become so weak in the face of grief?) and disgust (she wonders if he's watching, if he hates her for forgetting) before setting the weapon down with trembling fingers, determined to rebound from this error (her lies) and move forward, stronger than before (because that had always been their way, hadn't it?) —
but he is watching her, as it turns out (not that she has any way to know: the afterlife affords no method by which the dead may contact the living, after all); he smiles when he catches the glint of resolve in her eyes, the set of her jaw, and muses whether she realizes that dishonest is something she could never be.
005 — transparent.
guy says nothing when they show up late to training one morning with hair disheveled and eyes rimmed red from lack of sleep; he opts instead to merely accept their latest excuse ("we were organizing my weapons and scrolls last night, and lost track of time…") with a dismissive wave of his hand, despite the amused grin tugging at the corners of his mouth — really, they thought they were being subtle?
006 — believable.
on a day she finds herself feeling particularly philosophical, she looks at him curiously from the corner of her eye to ask, "have you ever had something you refused to give up on — ?"
he pauses long enough to give her an irritable look (he hates being interrupted while meditating, she knows that — )
she frowns, but presses him further nonetheless: "come on, you know you can tell me…"
— at which point he glances at her again (though now in a vaguely considering sort of way): "i will open the cage and free my clan," he reveals, at length, and with such conviction in his voice that hearing it makes her heart ache (because she knows: if anyone could do such a thing, it would be him — )
"then let me help you," she tells him earnestly a moment later; all he does, then, is stare at her blankly, so she continues, undeterred, "you can't do it alone; i promise, you know i'll always have your back —"
he considers her curiously: "very well," he says after a moment, and looks away from her to resume his meditation until lee and guy arrive — it's an underwhelming response, but she lets him be all the same: he's never been particularly good at reacting to things like this — "i accept your aid; thank you."
007 — repeat.
comforting is hardly the word he would use to describe the way she cleans and sharpens her impressive arsenal of weaponry; even so, there is something oddly soothing in the manner with which she goes about the endless monotony of it all, and it does not take long for him to find a certain amount of catharsis in the sense of normalcy her routine brings (if she finds it strange that he takes to meditating as she cares for tools, she says nothing, and in time he comes to find that he is grateful for that, too).
008 — addicted.
it goes like this: one kiss turns to two, then three, and four —
he loses count somewhere between the eleventh kiss and the sixteenth: she pushes him down against the bed, drags her lips experimentally along his throat (his breath hitches, when she bites softly where his pulse flutters erratically beneath his skin, and he groans), and, oh —
(later, he trails one pale, calloused finger along her spine — she shivers at his touch — and marvels at how easily she's able to overwhelm him.)
009 — write.
pretending she isn't at all affected by the way his pale eyes rove over her as she painstakingly inks another letter onto the scroll spread before her, she decides, is a feat worthy of praise in and of itself: she'd already ruined two other scrolls, now, thanks to the havoc his presence alone is wreaking upon her senses, and she doesn't need to look at him to know he's smirking at her in that insufferably smug way of his —
and then his lips are suddenly at her ear as he asks her quietly, "are you aware that this character is incorrect — ?" in that smooth, low voice of his, pointing to the symbol in question and effectively catching her off-guard; reflexively, she jerks back in surprise (an arm winds around her waist, the moment her back makes contact with the hard planes of his chest, pulling her closer until she's settled in his lap and feels all of him against her; a small growl of frustration leaves her throat, and she berates herself for falling into such an obvious traps once again): the action causes her elbow to hit the edge of the low wooden table awkwardly, and she can only watch on in horror as the bottle of ink tips over, turning yet another precious scroll (and this time, her lap as well) into a dripping black unsalvageable mess even as he presses his mouth against the nape of her neck, lips already curved in pointed self-satisfaction.
010 — soulful.
within a year of the war's end, a new weapons shop quietly establishes itself upon one of the village's more seldom-visited street corners, in what had once been an old tea shop now refurbished and renovated to better suit the demands of the modern world; even so, it is impossible to ignore entirely the sense of solemn antiquity and tradition that settles heavily upon those who set foot within, where the perfumed smoke of incense wafts from a small shrine near the window and elegant scrolls with yellowed edges decorate the walls, and the ochre-gray eyes of the the pretty young lady behind the shop counter watch the customers with a bittersweet, pensive sort of consideration that seems far too world-weary in a face so youthful.
—
notes — writing this is turning out to be a really wonderful experiment in style, introspection, thematic shenanigan, character growth, and plot development. hopefully, though, i'm mostly just hoping that this isn't nearly as pretentious or condescending as i'm afraid it is. even though it probably will be. whoops. :x
originally started working on this back in december as a form of stress relief during finals, and was initially planning on posting it as a oneshot. ultimately, though, i figured that a chaptered thing might actually be better than having one giant page of text, especially given the way some of these fills are formatted. that being said, i'll hopefully be able to update date this once every other weekend (not counting this weekend's planned updates — because of the new year, and how long i've been working on this, i sort of want to get things started right, blah, blah blah), so. yeah. heh.
oh. and there will be ten parts, too. figure i should mention that, just in case.
thanks for reading — feedback, like always, is appreciated!