Chapter 1: Slide-on Slippers
Warnings: (M) Suicidal Themes, Talks of Suicide, Gore, Suggestive Content, Mentions of Abuse, etc.
Rating: (T-M) Not for Kids.
Pairings: Original Female Character/Kakashi Hatake, Etc.
A/N: Heyo! Second chapter! Eh—Half-assed again. Sorry. Still trying to get over writer's block.
[. . .]
"I wonder if his hair is soft." - Aurelia being creepy.
[. . .]
Chapter 1
Slide-on Slippers
[. . .]
She didn't remember how long she spent looking at the stranger. The sensation she endured while her eye scrutinized his appearance was a floating constant, like she wasn't truly there, just merely existing. It started with numbness so profound she forgot everything around her, sitting idly before thoughts finally reached her brain.
She observed him, drinking in his disheveled appearance bundled up in thick fuzzy blankets she didn't know she had. She swallowed her noted observations, engraining every detail she detected into her mind, and allowed her mindscape to wreck itself in its false state of calm.
He had an indentation on his left eye that looked like a healed scar, a mole on his chin, and grey hair that the moon shined into a beautiful silver. His features were completely foreign to her. His skin, rather dry and dirty, was smooth with no other littered creases that would've otherwise matched with the small, noticeable scars that ran down his arms and upper torso.
It hinted at her that he must barely smile. Maybe it was due to his comatose state that didn't presently show any folds on his flesh, but it's obvious enough that this stranger appeared to be the type to scarcely react.
She didn't have any particular feelings when she discovered that. It was not in her to feel—hadn't been since she lost everyone she once loved. She's used to it. Though she couldn't help but realize how sad it must be on his behalf. Conceivably, her assumptions are unfounded, but here, she saw a man who had likely been forced to be that way. She saw a man whose body told unknown stories of abuse, hard work, and pain.
As a nurse, she stopped and pointed that out to herself. Those little details others in her field overlook in an emotional aspect reminded her of how deep she looked into things and that... it was entirely pointless. They are there to aid the sick and injured, nothing more. She... Unfortunately, had yet to grasp that.
She became far too invested in helping patients recover mentally. At some point, she even believed she had a savior complex, though it was debunked by her therapist she skipped seeing months ago. Her therapist believed it was a trigger from the people who convinced her to check on the burdened loved ones on the bed. She thought that helping them could give her meaning. She thought that, perhaps, selfishly, her purpose could be to help.
She remembered her therapist had said there was a fine-tuned line between that and herself. That fine line was that she didn't actively seek to help them, but rather, when she was told and she had the ability to, she overdid it.
She felt too much and yet nothing, and she saw herself in them and—and she thought it would save her too. Time and time again she tracked back those words, and there was a good period when she believed them.
Those thoughts were trashed about a week ago. It didn't matter what her purpose was now. She just existed. She was breathing but she was still dead.
And yet, she lived another day because this stranger decided to intervene before she was free.
She thought that the eyebags that gave an inkling to his humanity suited him. She thought that the shape of his defined jaw, down to the curve of his lips, and the straight bone of his nose made him look pretty. She thought of him more as a foreign man with beautiful features and a mysterious past. A beautiful man whose stab wound she had to treat, a beautiful man who she had to modestly strip down to keep him warm and out of those wet, dirty clothes that would've given him an illness.
A beautiful man who suddenly dropped onto her porch out of seemingly nowhere. A beautiful man, she repeated severely to herself, that she diligently believed was human and not something else.
It's stupid. She knew it was stupid. Thinking of him as just a model-in-training and not a horrifying realization of abnormality within everything she had ever grown to know was crazy. Crazy.
Absolute insanity.
There's so much evidence that refuted those naive little thoughts of hers. She found weapons, far too many, and a sword still caked in blood. A broken, dog-like mask was set elsewhere with everything else she found, and the placating armor she modestly cleaned using her hands liked to drown another droplet into her ears. It dribbled a jeering plop onto her sink every few seconds, telling her again, each time, What the fuck are you doing?
This wasn't normal behavior. She knew it. her soul lurched and her mind took warps of absurdity, yelling at her to get the fuck out and do something. Begging her, even, to assess the situation and go to the mental ward because she's likely unstable, deranged, and—
She ignored it. Those thoughts that once made her feel were pushed away. Simmered behind the bars of numbness she still tingled with.
She had felt nothing for so long that she didn't even grasp how dire the situation was. Numerous variables could kill her, options she had taken that will lead to her downfall in the end, or worse, stuck in an eternity of misery. She did nothing regardless of that.
Instead, she watched. She watched for a while, from midnight to daybreak.
She was aware she was being creepy. Staring at someone—a patient no less—in the way she was currently doing was weird. If it wasn't for his disastrous end to her phone, he wouldn't be here right now.
He'd be at the hospital being interrogated. Maybe taken back.
But she prevented that. She helped him.
Aurelia hardly knew him and she still did it. Again, his body told her everything. And the more it told her, the more willing she was to help him. The more—her locked subconscious liked to cry for her to leave. That this was dangerous.
Impossible.
Based on further findings of his body, she discovered that he had tried to escape from something. He'd been fighting. The bruises on his lovely sun-kissed porcelain said so. His neck had grip marks of a heavy hand, and her soul constricted, making her stand.
Everything she needed to know was right there. Screaming at her, from his body.
So she left. It quelled her inner voice but that... foreboding feeling didn't disappear.
If anything, it increased. It quieted but it swelled, and she was just about over it. And maybe it was telling her now that she was stupid to leave a stranger in the safety of her home. What if he stole? What if he woke up, waited for her, and then attacked?
She wanted to feel. She wanted to acknowledge that something was really fucking wrong, but she couldn't.
She sincerely couldn't. She... didn't care.
So what did she do after she left the general vicinity? She decided to shop.
She decided to take a mute shower, dress in baggy clothes, recover her de-threaded purse, and head out to the store.
Another voice intermixed with her rational side spoke louder and convinced her.
Something told her that the stranger would appreciate some nice clothes and food.
Inside her, picking at the scabs of her heart, however, was a wail of exasperated speech—that he was not hers to lose.
How pathetic, she hummed to herself.
[. . .]
An hour after she left, Kakashi Hatake of the Sharingan startled awake.
He didn't sit up—didn't move, either—just peered up at her wooden ceiling with a distressed breath and wide eye. It took him a moment to fix himself up while his eye moved about, searching mindlessly. The misery in his body didn't kick in just yet. He's dazed. Lost.
And then a million memories rushed him at once, causing him to stand quickly before his body dropped unceremoniously onto the edge of a couch due to vertigo and blood loss. Pain blossomed on his left side immediately after and he held back a wince as he seized the spot gently, feeling sharp soreness on his muscles, rusting in his bones, and lassitude in his chakra after his body properly registered it was functioning.
His left eye was included with the torment of his entire body, throbbing with an ache so severe he had to grunt. His other hand darted over to cover it, hoping the action could magically soften the strenuous sting. It didn't. Not at all, and it became worse because now his arm was also in pain from moving it. He leaned it onto the plush exterior of the couch behind him to make it more comfortable, remixing his hand's position as he settled. It did little to quell it.
That's when he furthermore realized he could feel the skin on his cheek and chin.
His mask was gone.
His good leg rustled by his abdomen and he looked to catch sight of bandages wrapped around his injured side, underneath fumbles of blankets. Blankets? Bandages too?
He quietly considered. Was he saved last second? Did someone find him and take care of him? He made a face. The thought bothered him. Both because he must've failed his mission, and someone saw his face.
You're alive, his grateful mind hissed. Does it matter?
No. No, it doesn't. The comfort of his mask may be gone but at the very least his life wasn't. Whereas the mission mattered, at least this time. He had taken a lone mission, he recalled. An important assignment involving that wretched snake. Even so, he couldn't determine precisely how he got flogged enough for a knockout after finding it.
It doesn't matter, he corrected himself. Someone saved his life and it didn't matter if they saw or took time away from his duties. They were kind enough to help him, someone they likely saw as a dangerous outsider. If he were well enough, he would've left a hefty amount of Ryo and dipped by now. Unfortunately, the pleasing thought couldn't be done. He could hardly move and his head was barely able to keep itself upright and awake.
He was stuck here now in the healer's mercy.
How long was he out?
With a forced, steady heart, he carefully removed his sight from the bundles and eyed the area. His grey orb squinted to recollect the blurry images, and he was confused by what he saw.
Where was he?
There's a... rectangle of some black glass in front of him. A small, table with a plant too, along with some pictures on the wall that held abstract brushes of paint. There's blood on the plaster too, fingerprints. Small ones, but very clear.
He lingered on them, breathing in shakily. Did the person get hurt? Did whoever help him get captured and the perpetrator thought he was dead so they hadn't bothered—?
But his bounty. He wouldn't be awake right now.
He pondered, calming himself again. They likely left to clean themselves up. If he concentrated enough, he could still detect the taught, sticky parches that the blood once stained. That and the—
He faltered. There's no chakra signature.
Nothing.
Cold breezes brushed his pectorals, and he closed his open eye, risking a further search with the little chakra he had. He found nobody and the sting that came from his overuse wasn't worth it.
Nobody was here.
Did the person leave? Why?
It's not that he was concerned. He didn't know who saved him personally, but it'd be unfortunate that a good deed cost their life. Besides that, they're the only person able to help him in this particular predicament. Outside the window, all he saw was snow. It should be mid-summer right now, so he knew he wasn't in fire country. He's somewhere else entirely. Did they drag him here? So many questions, such few answers.
Taking another good minute to rest, he forced his body upward, keeping in mind to retain the wound he'd irritated from reopening. His body fell again and he bit his tongue when he landed on his bad side. Miraculously, when he checked for blood, there was none.
So he tried again despite the pain.
Determined this time to at least retain some knowledge as to where he was, he gripped the couch's armrests and stood on shaking legs, looking up.
The instant he did, he caught sight of his ANBU Armor hanging above a kitchen sink. His eye flashed, but he made no move to grab it yet. Moving mindlessly at the moment wasn't a good idea. Rather, he delivered another sweep of the parts in the area he had yet to see, and he spotted the black add-ons of his ANBU attire sitting in a small blue bowl full of liquid that hurt his nose.
Was that bleach?
The sun bled through the window right then and there, providing a protruding shine by the foot of the coffee table's leg.
A kunai.
Restlessly, he leaned toward it and snatched it off the ground, exhaling softly and pressing lightly on his tender side. He was in no way fit to fight, but he couldn't deny that there was comfort in holding a weapon in an unknown area.
The next moment stopped him from proceeding with his investigation.
His eyes instantly moved to the jingling door knob, and he tensed, gripping his kunai tight. There's no chakra. He heard earlier some thumps on wood but he brushed it off as wild-life, which he's now cursing himself for.
A rookie mistake.
Was this a medical ninja? Was that why their chakra was almost untraceable?
He held his breath as the door opened.
Immediately, his gaze locked onto beautiful hazel.
[. . .]
Aurelia entered the store and the first thing she looked for was men's clothes. Based on a poor estimate, she supposed his size must border on the larger measure because although he's skinny, he's muscular. Plus, if the shirts were large, there was no need for an accurate measurement. It'll fit him fine, she thought.
She carelessly tossed about three plain shirts of three colors; black, white, and blue, and two black basketball shorts. She moved further into the circles of fabric and put a small sealed plastic bag of boxers, completely focused on the size despite not knowing it at all, into her basket. She then gathered white socks, two grey sweatpants, and a comfortable black hoodie in the same basket.
She didn't choose anything with pictures or letters on it because she didn't know what he liked. You don't know anything about him, really.
She didn't buy him shoes just yet. They were expensive and she didn't want to miss his size. To keep him from being barefoot, however, she did buy him slide sandals. She figured he'd appreciate being able to walk outside. Again, she ignored the voice telling her she was being delusional. She didn't know if he'll live. Or stay, if he did wake up. He might even be a figment of her imagination and she's wasting money.
She didn't care.
She moved on to hygienic products. She bought a container of toothbrushes that'll benefit her just as much as him, some old spice deodorant, regular shampoo, toothpaste, cotton swabs...
It was mostly things on her list she forgot to buy the last time she went shopping. She thought there wouldn't be a need to continue doing something that'd be wasted, anyway.
She made sure to buy some lotion too, a beige-scented bottle that should be fine for him to use. She placed an extra bottle in pink for herself. Might as well finish everything else and spend it on one lone purchase, she attempted to rationalize.
She took a blue loofa she had ogled briefly and avoided perfume. The lotion and body wash should be enough for him, and she didn't want him crinkling his nose at some random product she chose on a whim. She was already going in blind. There was no need for her to dig herself into a deeper hole.
Except she was, wasn't she? After this store, she'll head to her phone provider and buy another phone to replace the one she lost. The things she carried with her presently weren't that expensive, but another mobile device was sure to be. The idea of giving the stranger a phone too was overdoing it. Regardless of the fact that she wasn't broke, she nevertheless had to keep her money in check.
The chastising came to a standstill.
Since when did she care about money? Hell, she had a lot of personal photos on her old phone but she wasn't concerned about that. What was her sudden deal with money? She wasn't going to use it anymore soon.
He might.
Her ingers touching the box of soap bars twitched and quickly caught hold of the box. This was the last of it. It'll be the last of it. Her assurance was as false as the words she told herself prior to this week to keep from ending it all.
Robotically, she made her way to the purchase line, adding in some snacks and protein bars, and buying the objects before swiftly walking back to her car and driving off after a quick snap of open doors. She ignored the sun, the fresh scent of smoke and pine trees, and the odd looks of neighboring folks at her exhausted, ruined appearance.
She didn't think as she parked and entered her local phone store. She didn't think when she bought another phone and left with the same number.
She didn't think as she arrived at her lonely place, picked up everything with one aching hand, and stepped up toward her front door.
She's hardly thinking. She's running on auto-pilot.
And when she opened the door, nothing leaped within her when she noticed the stranger awake, half-naked, holding a knife in his hands that was discreetly aimed in her direction. She wasn't phased. Not moving.
Just... relieved. Why? Why relieved—?
No, she didn't do anything but say dispassionately, "I hope you don't steal my favorite dog plushie."
The confusion swimming on his features—how heartbreakingly apparent it is in his single open eye—made her pause.
He didn't understand her. And, as if realizing it, his expression broke apart into an impassiveness so familiar it truly makes her second guess just what the hell she was doing.
Exhausted, she finally sighed.
[. . .]
A/N: Yeah. I dunno. I rushed it. If it feels rushed for any of you, please let me know. Christ.
Toodles~
Ana.
