Love-in-idleness

A/N: I discovered the word "sea change" and I was inspired enough to continue writing this, futile as it may be. Feedback is always appreciated. Thanks for reading.

"It made sense that she is attracted to strong men. It also made sense that she is repulsed by his personality."

It is surreal, dreamlike, and so utterly impossible that she blames it all on her childish nostalgia and bad sense of humor. She didn't really mean to joke about how this could be just an elaborate setup to get them alone together. She didn't mean to make it sound so desperate either. She didn't mean to avoid his eyes so awkwardly. And she definitely didn't mean to place her hand on top of his. She wasn't focused. She wasn't in control. She's flustered and nervous, and she knows exactly why.

She freezes and stares at the onlooker, the gray cat.

It meows and she takes it as her cue to apologize.

"Sorry, I didn't mean–" She moves to tuck her hand away, but he stops her in the most unexpected way.

"Shikai-san." He takes her hand and she captures his gaze.

She's never really seen his eyes this close in the daylight. She didn't expect them to be this dark, this reflective, she cannot really see him, but she can see–

The cat meows again, and she thinks it's scolding them. She knows this cat. She fed it sometimes, pet its head and rub its belly when it gives her a chance.

"The cat." She remembers its name, "We call it Ginko."

"Ah." He nods, as if suddenly awoken, "Ginko."

They stare at the cat together.

Together?

Surely she shouldn't think that. They're nothing more than… whatever they are now. Host and dignitary. Shinobi and samurai. Kage and… civilian. Whatever happened between them is nothing more than a passing fantasy. Nothing more than a casual dalliance. But he still has her hand in his and she just allows it, lets it. Perhaps this should feel acceptable, nice, good.

The cat leaves them then, and the silence follows after it. The wind begins to pick up. It blows through the garden, brushing leaves off the ground and winding through the bamboo. She doesn't look at him and thinks he is doing the same. His hand around hers feels sweaty and warm, and it should feel uncomfortable, but it isn't. It feels… justified? She thinks he's nervous the same way she is, thinks he's gotten way in over his head, thinks she is too. They've never really had this sort of physical contact outside of their agreement before, so…

So she turns her hand palm-side up and meets the rough skin of his palm with hers. She expects no spark, no lightning, and nothing comes. There is only the weighted feeling of another's hand on hers. It is… It should not be anything strange, and yet it is. Is it awkward? Unwanted? She doesn't know.

So what now?

What now?

The question is ignited in the back of his head, and sooner or later it will threaten to burn. He doesn't want to dwell on this much. Him and her, a man and woman holding hands for the first time? It's nothing too grand to think about, anyway. This was just a simple gesture, a chaste gesture. They're… trying this out. Maybe. Her palm is against his and it's awkward. The angle is strange, but she isn't adjusting. Maybe she's caught in a deadlock, maybe she's shocked stiff. But this wouldn't work, this attempt at hand-holding is too low and too adolescent for them. Maybe he should just fix–

She quickly removes her hand and places it on top of his. The action is hesitant and careful, but she grips his hand firmly once her palm settles. As she exhales deeply, it becomes clear to him that she's been holding her breath. That makes him realize that he has too. So he breathes in deep, but the air catches in his throat and he coughs.

If there's anything to be taken from social cues, it's that coughing is often a sign of discomfort. But she doesn't pull her hand away, instead she starts a conversation, maybe.

"Are you–" she says in-between his coughs, "Is this… all right? I–"

"It's just–" he tries to explain, "Something caught in–my throat."

"O-Oh…" She retracts quickly, putting some distance between them, "Must be the dust, then…"

It takes a few more seconds for his coughing to stop completely.

"Sorry." He clears his throat.

"No, I–" She exhales sharply, "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have tested if the barrier was real or not."

"It's fine." He reassures her, trying not to think of how strained this conversation might turn out, "I mean, I've been meaning to talk to you in private."

Really?

"I see." She stiffens. "What about?"

Her rigid posture suggests that she already knows.

"This." He blurts out, "Whatever this is, between you and me, us."

He isn't sure about that "us." But there's no better word for it, is there? They're not really friends, not really lovers, not really anything. So what's a more proper word to use than that? But he's really been meaning to talk to her in private, without the worry of anyone intruding or hearing. The entire situation is surely as awkward for her as it is for him, so it's better to resolve the unwanted tension before others notice.

"Oh." She nods mutely, eyes darting back and forth.

Then again, perhaps her family had already noticed, perhaps they already knew, perhaps she already told them, perhaps it was already obvious. How else could they be acquainted anyway? Did he just dig his own grave and is just waiting for her to place his tombstone?

"This relationship…" she begins, "I thought we had already discussed this."

Ah, yes, but things are different now.

"Yes, but that was… It was still going on." He thinks about his next words carefully so as not to rile her, "You are… You seem different now, and I wouldn't want to intrude on you and your family."

"You aren't." She replies curtly, all sharp edges, "You're a guest, first of all."

She's on the defensive now.

"And what happened between us is in the past. You were kind enough to allow me to indulge and I had abused your kindness." She continued, "And now…"

She pauses, looks away, and sighs.

I want to know where I stand with you.

"Now you've made it appear we're friends."

Oh, so it's his fault? Was she so keen on forgetting everything that happened, then?

"I'm sorry about that." He says, wanting to believe his sincerity is enough, "I just assumed…"

"It's nothing to apologize for, Hatake-san." She calls him by name now, "If anything, we can think I deserved it, after everything. They don't mind, anyway."

"They don't?" He's a bit surprised by that.

"Yes." She sighs. "They were actually happy to see I've made a new friend."

Friend.

She supposes that's one word to describe him. But not in the traditional sense, not in the "person who is reliable, responsive, and respectful" sense or even the "person who is kind, caring, and constant" sense. But there's no other word better suited than that. She's told him some things she'd rather keep secret, so he's not a complete stranger, and they have done things better kept as secrets. "Friends with benefits" would be the more proper term, but surely that would benefit neither of them.

He's more than just what she initially wanted, right? He's strong, curious, genuine. He's perfect; a leader, a warrior, everything they had wanted her to be, possibly everything they could want for her.

Hold on, "they could want for her"? What was she thinking? That they'd see him as a potential marriage candidate? Isn't Kanemitsu's wedding enough? Would they push for her to find a partner as well?

"Shikai-san…" He wonders aloud, trailing off.

"Sorry." She blurts out. "Things have been so hectic lately that I–"

She sighs before settling fully on the stone bench. There's nothing to lean against, so she hunches, leans forward, places her elbows on her knees, and keeps her eyes on the ground. Her mother would call this posture undignified and embarrassing, boyish and unrefined, but her mother wouldn't come to this place, would she? And after all, she's already been terribly "undignified and unrefined" when she was with him. But the situation makes all the difference. It's been a month now and she should already be past all this, shouldn't she?

But she has dreams sometimes.

Then he arrived acting all friendly and carefree.

And then he brought it up again.

Fate must be playing its cruel games again.

"What do you want out of this?"

She opted to use that phrasing instead of its more melodramatic alternative: "What do you want from me?" because this isn't really about either of them, is it? This is about something that could–would? should?–be about them.

And there it is.

The collective "them."

So does this mean…

"You."

He said it so quietly that she almost hadn't heard it.

Truthfully, that single word is just a synthesis of what he really wants. He doesn't mean just her or just whatever she has, but this idea of them together. He isn't getting any younger and neither is she, and forming long-lasting relationships is difficult for both of them. He's a soldier and so is she, and they've got enough issues in the past to last several lifetimes. It's not that they're compatible in that sense, it's just… This route makes sense, doesn't it? They've got the physical chemistry down, but what about beyond that?

He's entertained the idea for too long to consider it just a "passing fancy" as those novels like to put it, so why not?

It's not like he's got anything to lose by admitting it.

It's not like he's hoping that it's the same for her.

It's just not.

"You don't mean that." She scoffs because of course she does, and turns away.

She clears her throat. "We had an agreement."

This is playing out like another one of those novels, and yet…

She sighs deeply before turning to face him completely, and he is reminded of her words, "I'd like to think that there is something for either of us beyond this, but this isn't it."

Maybe he's just getting old. Maybe he's letting the pressure of the "eligible bachelor" title get to him. Maybe he was wrong about this the entire time. Maybe he ought to know better than to entertain half-assed thoughts like this.

But he's wondering what she's thinking when she's looking at him with cold, dead-set eyes. Is she searching for answers? Determining if he's lying? Wondering what she should do?

But then she laughs, mirthless and forced.

"You…" She breaks, "Are there no other women?"

Well…

"I'm not really one to initiate those kinds of things."

She stops as if she'd been caught, "I see."

A heavy pause.

Now the situation has been turned on its head, and this can only be fixed by deciding, on both her part and his, which direction this is going.

"And… are there other men?"

Of course he returns the question to her.

"No, truthfully." She answers surprisingly quick.

And that makes them more compatible now? The fact that they haven't slept with other people since?

"Me neither." He shrugs. "Men or women."

She nods. "Huh."

Another pause. It's beginning to get really unnerving now, so he breaks it.

"Shikai-san–"

"Wait." She stops him, "Let me tell you this, before anything else."

So he waits for her to speak.

And she should have known this would come sooner or later. Whether it's with him or with anyone else doesn't matter, it should still happen. If she truly wants to embrace this "new" and "true" identity given to her, she should leave him buried in the past with the rest of her transgressions.

But it is difficult, admitting this sin. It's considered an act of treason, what she did, turning her back on her duty and choosing to live freely instead. Going from contract to contract, not truly caring who she works for or where their loyalties lie, chasing after the man she claimed to be the love of her life, pursuing a weapon to show this man that it truly exists…

She could laugh at her foolishness now.

"If I told you about a sword carved from frozen lightning, would you believe me?"

She asks this with all seriousness, no mystified curiosity or lilting tone, she should be past all these fantasies and daydreams.

"I would ask if this is one of those bedtime stories you were told as a child."

Well, he's not wrong.

"It was, but what if I told you that story was true?"

He chuckles, and she bets he's trying to mask the awkward atmosphere, "I would call your bluff."

She should be so elated at his eagerness, but she doesn't let it show.

"And I would call forth Murai from the sky and show you."

That's when she stands and takes her place in the middle of the garden.

"Soujin Rekkai: Murai."

There is no longer a thundering sound or a bolt of lightning to signal its arrival, but there is the flash of light that erupts from her hand and the split-second clap that erupts from it.

Murai fits like it was meant for her, and the sight of the cold, shimmering blade still has her in awe.

"It's…"

It has him in awe, too.

"I spent my life searching for this sword, and now that I…" She only now realizes that this wasn't necessary, not with what she's going to say next, "I wanted to prove my worth to someone."

She should be embarrassed to admit all this, she is, but she has to see this through.

"And, deep down, I think I wanted to thrust this blade into his heart." She smiles mirthlessly.

Thinking about it now, perhaps this was all just to prove to him her strength and ability, to satisfy her pride, to satiate her selfishness. He's been dead for years now, and it's about time she stops her mourning.

If she ever was, that is.

"That's what he would have asked of me…"

She stares at Murai's blade and contemplates that possibility. Would he, really? For all his pride and desire to become an everlasting thing, would there be a time he would decide to end his own existence by her hand? Would he have grown tired of his immortal agelessness the same way he grew tired of everything else? Would he have regretted his actions and ask her, the self-proclaimed agent of justice she is, to give him his deserved punishment?

"Who would?"

And he breaks her silence, with eyes she thinks are brimming with curiosity and concern. But she should not think this, she should not think he's that much interested in this because it makes her… feel attached and cared for. And she shouldn't be! Not to him, not to anyone else. She is confessing. She has to be objective. She has to…

She has to say his name at least.

"Akasuna no Sasori."

The way his eyes widen and his body tenses tells her everything.

There's no coming out of this the way he intended.

A/N: Oh my god, I'm losing my mind. Care to help them get out of this situation?