Push and Pull
Is this melodramatic? Yes.
Is this cheesy? Absolutely.
Enjoy, though.
Sometimes you don't fit the norm. Sometimes you'll never fit.
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~Push and Pull~
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"What do you have to say for yourself?"
Masaru tried not to look, but he could easily discern his mother's pursed lips through his eyelashes. Ran Inuzuka's lips were pressed together with such force that they were pale and almost bloodless. She shoved the stack of paper in his face for what felt like the tenth time.
"These grades are abysmal," she said, trying to catch his eyes. He kept them trained firmly on the ground. There was an itch under his skin. He wanted to scratch it away. "You know that I'm not big on achievements and such, Masu-kun, but you're representing the clan here! Apply yourself a little."
A hot shower sounded good. Sounded great, actually. Perhaps some food too, he thought. He had an apple for breakfast and some tea for lunch, since food wasn't doing so great on his stomach lately, but it felt as if he could finally manage some real nutrients.
"I will do better," Masaru said, trying to close his eyes against the red letters of his rapport. They swam together, twitching and convulsing in front of his eyes, until they ran together into blood-like lines. He could almost see the ink dripping onto the floor, like too much red paint.
"You better," Ran said. He tried not to look at her as he sauntered past, fingers twitching as they drowned in his long sleeves. His room was cool and lush, smelling of clean cotton.
The shower was cool against his skin, so Masaru turned the heat up until the water became scalding. It burned his forearms and chest, the skin reddening with steam. Outside the bathroom, the jingle and bustle of his father's footsteps and the clanking of crystals was easy to be heard. He didn't want to face him. Or anyone, rather. There were times Masaru just wanted to be gone.
Eventually, he heard his mother coming up the stairs, rapping twice on the door with a warning. "Enough, Masu-kun. You're just wasting all that good, hot water in there."
"That's the entire point," he said softly – quietly enough for his voice to be washed away by the splattering of the shower. He didn't want to step out yet, despite the prominent pain that drowned into his skin. Perhaps if he stayed long enough, the world would forget him. Perhaps he could waste himself away too.
Ran rapped once more. "Last warning! Turn that water off."
He wondered what she would do if he didn't, and for a moment almost didn't want to, just to see her angry face, but then his hands were moving. The shower stopped, as well as the soft buzzing of the heater.
His father, Kazuki Inuzuka, was sitting at the table when he came downstairs and smiled in a way that he only did when he wanted to be kind. "How was your day?" he said, clapping Masaru on the back. From the way his father's eyes flickered towards the kitchen, he was determined to ignore the tension in the household.
"Eat up," Ran said, dropping a bowl of mudon soup in front of him. Masaru swallowed at the sight of it. His stomach churned. Eating didn't seem such a good idea as it had before.
Masaru tried to be as slow as he could, as his parents dug in. He played around a bit, stabbing and stirring. Only when Ran glanced at him, did he dare to take a bite. It tasted like ashes on his tongue.
"I want you to eat all of that," his mother said, furrowing her brows. The dog by her side licked her elbow. "You're stick-thin and you didn't take the lunch I made for you. Did you even eat at all, Masu-kun?"
There was the concern under her exasperated tone that made him want to bolt. "I had an apple, and a bowl of ramen at the Academy for lunch," Masaru said, trying for a smile. No need for them to know which lunch. There were so many lunches in a year, after all.
Ran's shoulders sagged, but whether it was with relief he couldn't tell. "Do finish that bowl. I want you to eat up for your big day tomorrow."
His big day; the choosing of a dog from the Inuzuka's kennel. The choosing of a friend – a soulmate. He wanted to keel over at the thought of it.
"That's right," his father piped up, with a brilliant smile that made him look much younger than he was. The streaks of grey in his hair glistered in the after-shine of the sun that came through the window panes. "I bet you're really excited."
"I am," Masaru said. He didn't want a dog. He had never been a dog person, not even in his other life. He wanted a cat; something to cuddle up to him. A dog had bitten him once, when he was Evan – he had carried the scar until his death.
"That's good," Kazuki said, reaching out to hold his own dog by the chin. The dog was white, with a strong, jagged-like appearance, and listened to the name of "Yui", though the beast never reacted when Masaru called him. His mother's dog, Takeshi, was smaller, with a rusty fur, and teeth that gleamed. Masaru didn't like either of them.
"I'm really excited," Masaru repeated, unable to stifle the guilt at how his parents' lips quirked up. "I am. I can't wait."
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~Push and Pull~
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The dogs were lined up at the back of the room.
Masaru sat very still, extremely alert of how his father's fingers twitched on his shoulder. In the Inuzuka clan, the choosing of a dog and its human was almost something sacred.
The children were first allowed to chose and be chosen in the fourth year of their ninja career. Many of Masaru's classmates had been looking forward to this since the moment they were born – born and bred for this one occurence. It felt like being put into a glassroom, a doll on display.
"Some clan members get more than one companion," Kazuki had whispered into his ear, voice rough under his breath, as they entered the kennel building. "But if that doesn't happen, don't worry. The dogs pick someone that they respect and want to work with."
A quiet fear had taken root under his sternum at those words, and it hadn't been stifled completely even as he sat on the stool and watched the dogs heave their chests up and down. Masaru could picture himself without a dog easily; an outcast, not worthy enough to be chosen. He didn't want to picture his parents' faces if no dog came up to him.
"Alright," the clan head said. Her name was Tsume, and Masaru had only seen her one time, at the Academy. She was a hefty woman, with muscles rolling under the bare skin of her arm, but her smile was good-natured, and almost kind. "Daichi, you can go first."
A boy with broad shoulders and a freckled face strolled forward. Masaru had seen him several times in the courtyards of the Academy, but he had never noticed how tall Daichi truly was. He towered far above the rest of the children, his hands calloused, with a glossy pucker of scar tissue running towards the crook of his elbow.
He knelt down on the floor, and stared, barely blinking, at the dogs. In the small valley of silence that followed, in which they held their breath, a white dog with drooping ears shifted restlessly. But it was a tiny pup, eyes as blue as the sky on a hot, muggy summer day, that stepped forward and nudged Daichi's palm with its snout.
"This is her. She's mine," the boy said. The room erupted into cheers. One man, as freckled as Daichi, sauntered towards him easily and clapped him on the back. Masaru nodded respectfully, as they went past, pup cupped into their palms, but the fear had taken the form of bile at the back of his throat.
After Daichi, four more followed. The first a tiny girl, Mao, with long pigtails and slanted eyes. Her choosing took longer, but it was a large wolfhound that choose her, bowing its head in respect. Then Umiko, with a feral grin, and scabbed knees. Her dog was white, and reminded Masaru strongly of his father's partner. Finally, Yousuke, whose dogs, blonde with long ears and quicker than the eye could track, sprinted forward, right into his waiting arms.
"Come on," Ran said, a whisper in his ear. Her breath was hot and breezing against the side of his face. "It's your turn."
She nudged him in the back and pushed him forward.
Masaru swallowed and took place in the center of the room. He let his gaze stray towards the dogs. He wondered which one he preferred; the dark grey dog in the back of the room, with easy eyes, or perhaps the one in the front, with paws as big as Masaru's hands.
As he sat, his knees began to hurt. The ground was hard, but he didn't dare shift – didn't dare show weakness. Please, choose me, Masaru begged the dogs in his head, even as a few on the right averted their heads and turned around. In the distance, in one of the adjoining rooms, he could hear the distinct clicking of a clock.
He sat there for what felt like hours. The rustling of clothing behind him got louder with each passing minute. A whisper, in his mother's voice, rolled over his shoulder. A plea, perhaps. A prayer.
Then, when he felt like scrambling to his feet, the throng of dogs parted and one hound edged forward.
It was a big one, with round eyes and distinct white markings on its dark snout. It came towards him in hesistant steps, and Masaru felt his palms go clammy. His heart fluttered like a hummingbird against his throat.
The dog came to a halt right before him and stared into his eyes. For a moment, the room swam around him, as he stared right back. Dark, amber irises, with a depthless pupil. Masaru's hand twitched; he want to reach out, cup that snout into his palms, and say-
The dog shook his head from side to side, and turned around. It stalked back to the other dogs.
Rejection. Masaru had not known what it felt like until that moment, as he took in the sharp intakes of breath behind him. Two large hands grabbed him by the shoulders. "Come," Kazuki said, eyes watery and swimming with an emotion that had no shape or name.
Masaru stood, and followed him, chin against his chest. The concrete was broken under his feet, and the cracks meandered like rivers, daintily curling.
At the door, he stopped and peered over his shoulder.
But none of the dogs even lifted their heads to look back.
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~Push and Pull~
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"Maybe yours isn't born yet," Kazuki said, on their way back. Masaru fought hard against tears, but lost the fight at those words. The tears dripped over his cheeks.
The soft grip on his shoulder felt more stifling than comforting and he wanted to slap it away. But his father's soft tone kept his arms at his sides. "I heard that happened to a cousin of mine. Got hers after five years, but they were thick buddies then."
"That's probably it," Ran said in return. Her voice was nothing more than a whisper. Masaru balled his hands into fist, and studied the veins under his skin through the blurry layer of tears. What made him different? Wasn't he worthy of a ninken too?
"Don't worry about it," Kazuki said. "It will all turn out alright in the end," he continued, as he unlocked the frontdoor and they stepped inside. "You'll see."
Masaru nodded and went up the stairs. He changed into his pajamas, and brushed his teeth as if in a daze. Everything in the house felt oddly distant. Removed from him, as through a fog.
When he stepped out of the bathroom, Ran's voice came from downstairs, shrill and hysterical. "-be okay? How can it be okay? He's a disgrace!"
His father's reply was muffled, intelligible, but his mother's cry of rage was completely clear. A crash and the sound of shattering glass resounded through the house.
"There's never been an Inuzuka without a ninken, Kazuki," his mother said firmly. "Maybe the dog's not been born yet, maybe they think him unready, but I don't believe it. You don't believe it. You saw how they looked at him. Like an abomination."
Masaru stamped hard on the floor. Ran fell silent at once, and he could almost picture them in his mind, standing there in the kitchen, illuminated by the dim orange lights. His mother's face, streaked with tears, the creases under her eyes more prominent than ever.
He turned around and went to bed.
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~Push and Pull~
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"He's the one without a ninken."
"He'll never amount to anything."
"Strange boy."
"They said the dogs growled at him when he came into the kennel."
They didn't, Masaru wanted to say. You're all wrong. But he hid his face and walked past.
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~Push and Pull~
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Masaru graduated at twelve, his clank rank fifth. By then, his long limbs had made way for even longer limbs, and an even slimmer face. His hair came down in mousy locks to his shoulders, and he wore hoods to hide his expressions.
His teammates took one look at him and shook their heads.
They passed their sensei's test – tracking, and riddles, and a fire burning a way through the woods. Masaru never bothered to learn more than their names (Nagisa Aoyame and Aiko Harumi) and their faces. Nagisa: a head full of blonde-white wisps, eyes a light purple. Aiko: slim and lithe, with deep-sunken eyes and a pursed mouth. Both orphans. Both hungering for more.
Masaru proceeded to attain the title of Chunin at fourteen. By then, he had stopped writing down the names and descriptions of people he killed. By then Nagisa's name was carved into the memorial stone, and Aiko had retreated into the safety of her home. By then, he knew his way around a dagger. By then, he knew how to warp reality into a dream.
Kazuki gave him Genjutsu; the art of dreams and lies on his birthday. He read the book three times, and carried it around everywhere, even on missions, where he lay in the dark on his sleeping mat, eyes straining in the dark, while the shadows played tricks on his mind.
His mother gave him a scroll about Inuzuka techniques. "For when you get your ninken," she said. He tried to smile at that, tried to churn up some gratitude, but none was there.
Masaru joined ANBU at seventeen, and he wore a Dragonfly mask. The first time he saw it, he wanted to smash it to bits. But on his second mission, Dove's mask broke off, and he stared down at little Mao's face, eyes full of maddened grief.
"Her partner died last summer," Lion told him softly, when they both had watch. Fireflies whirled around them, like stars in an orbit. Masaru didn't dare ask whether the partner had been human.
At nineteen, Masaru walked down the street in loose clothing, with his hood pushed back. The sun blazed down on his face. He stopped by a dusty store window. For some reason, his mouth felt dry, his heartbeat fast, and hands clammy.
He stepped inside. The store manager, a petite man with beard with silver streaks in it and penetrating, blue eyes, waddled up to him. "Apologies, sir," he piped up, "this is not a ninja store. This is a store for civilian pets, you see. You won't find any ninken here, sir."
But Masaru didn't listen to him. He stared right past the man, at the small cage on the top shelf. There, behind the bar, a cat with fine, black fur that gleamed blue in the dim lightning of the shop, stared back at him with slitted pupils.
"Hello," he said and approached. He ran his fingers over the bars. The board by the cage spelled Miki. "Do you choose me?"
The cat leaned down and nuzzled his hand.
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~Push and Pull~
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"Is he the one with a cat?"
"Never been an Inuzuka with nothing but a dog."
"Can you believe it?"
"They say they took one look at each other, and just knew."
We did, Masaru wanted to tell them. You're not wrong. But he smiled and walked past.
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~Push and Pull~
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At age twenty-four, Masaru rose to Jounin with Miki at his side. She lay on top of him and purred, and when they went on missions, she hid in his hood and played with his hair. He learned her moods by the sound of her taps, the subtle throbbing of her purr. When the mission nights grew cold and long, she nestled herself on his chest, and stared at him with glowing, green eyes.
At his birthday, his mother came up to him and pushed another Inuzuka scroll into his hands.
He opened his mouth to protest, to say Mom, it's never going to be a dog, but Ran beamed at him and said, "Try it with Miki. Perhaps it won't be the same with a cat, but you two can certainly learn together!"
At age twenty-seven, Masaru and Miki entered the Bingo book. Unorthodox combination of techniques, the book read under a blurry picture; Masaru sitting under a tree in the Land of Fangs, his clan markings stark against his skin, a kunai clutched into his hand. Miki was resting on his shoulder, eyes glowing. Do not engage. Proceed with extreme caution. A-rank.
The female clan member, Mao, came up to him in a bar on his twenty-eight birthday. Miki was spread out on the table top, next to his sake glass, and blinked slowly at the girl.
"I didn't think it was true, when I first heard it," Mao said. She leaned forward until he caught a whiff of her parfume; sugary and sweet, with the pungent scent of sulfur underneath. "But she suits you."
Masaru looked at Miki, whose tail swished against the wood, and tilted his head. He wondered what she looked like to Mao, what they looked like. The dogs were a pack; they hunted and chased their kill, until it could no longer stand. They dragged it against the ground, climbed on top of it to bite down on the throat. But the cats stalked, slowly, patiently. And when they had the kill, they played with it too.
"I'm going to be promoted to jounin," Mao said, "get a team. Some fresh genins. Maybe they can be pack, now that's Gorou is gone."
Miki swished her tail. Masaru lay a hand on her head, and thought back to the dark wolfhound in the kennel.
"How did he die?"
Mao's gaze locked with his own. He saw the grief in the crease in the skin around her eyes, the dark purple rings of sleep deprivation. Her irises were an indescernible color; stuck between grey and blue.
"An Iwa nin slashed him," she said, and looked away with a sigh. "It was 'bout to happen. He was getting reckless, you know. We both were."
She grabbed his sake glass and swallowed a mouthful. "We were rising in the ranks. Just got to Chunin – we thought we were invincible."
She trailed off, and they sat in silence for a while. Masaru let his fingers come down on the blemished table top in a rythmic motion. Miki patted his nails with a paw.
"Don't you want one?" Mao asked. A team. A family.
"I don't need one," Masaru said, and drank his sake. "My pack is right here."
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~Push and Pull~
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At age thirty-one, Masaru lost his legs and one arm in an explosion during one of his mission. He was removed from active duty, and spent his days with Miki in the garden. One evening, at thirty-two, she pushed her head under his chin and stayed there for hours, body softly pulsing with her purring.
The next morning, she was nowhere to be found. The morning after, she was gone still. And when he looked out the window the day after that, the sun edging up his face, and Mao and Tsume came walking up the street, a tiny feline body pressed against Mao's chest, he knew.
Masaru died at thirty-three. He died in his bed, after a year of long, empty hours, and cold beds. He was buried next to Miki. Two masked individuals, Lion and Dove, watched the funeral from the trees.
Kazuki and Ran planted catnip by their graves, and continued to visit until their own deaths came to claim them.
The catnip bloomed long after.