Title- They Know

Rating: "K+" for suggestive descriptions.

World State: Normal

Word Count: 1,361

Summary: They didn't always know, but they learned.


"Love you, pig."

"Love you, forehead."

They've known each other for years, said the words a thousand times, and still they can only thrill at the sound of each others voice.


They were seven when they knew compassion and understanding. When the gift of a ribbon came with more than just encouraging words. Where kind reassurances reached out to insecurities and cajoled them into standing tall and proud. A wilting cherry blossom learned from the adamant bush clover to love herself as she was.

They were twelve when they knew competition and fear. A declaration of love and loyalty pledged in the wrong direction. It became a race and to the victor would go the spoils of love. But there was love lost between them, a bond forged in a field of flowers. Only temporarily shattered, though neither could have known.

They were fourteen when they first danced together. The twist of the body to avoid sharpened steel, the scrape of teeth across knuckles, fists sunk into tender places that steal away ones breath. It is in the dance they learn each others mind, of the monstrous strength held away by will alone and tender secrets hidden in deep, dark corners.

They were fourteen when they smothered the fire on a burning bridge. They met in the middle, once more friends; fully happy to push and temper each other to new heights.

They were sixteen when they learned of war and pain. They know the taste of blood. They've cut their teeth on the skin and bone of their fellow man and they know the measure of a life. They know the sharp, bone-deep wrench of watching a comrade die. They know the sound of a death rattle. Neither of them wish to remember.

They were sixteen when all knew of peace. They wiped the blood and smoke from each others eyes and reveled in the joyous tears found there because the other was alive. They had spread themselves so thin in their efforts to protect all they loved and more that it was only natural they help pull the other back into one piece.

They were seventeen when they knew hope and hesitation. A clumsily-made bouquet pressed into the hands of a master of the art and a question both had wanted to voice tumbling hastily from a lip worried by teeth. The bouquet was discarded for a time in the excitement but later retrieved to sit as a centerpiece on a bedside table. Hope was found in tangled fingers that left butterflies in stomachs and smoldering embers in hearts as they shared a night beneath a full and beautiful moon.

They were seventeen when they learned to dance all over again. Soft words pressed between hard kisses with sharp nails dug into silken skin. They knew the torque of each others hips. They knew how to crook their fingers and leave the other squirming and helpless. They knew the taste of skin and sweat and heady perfume and hot breath. They knew to keep the other close afterward, lest the blankets be hogged in the night.

They were twenty-one when they learned of commitment. Vows spoken softly and rings that changed fingers in a small ceremony only for them and those they held dearest. Their teammates congratulated them and celebrated their union. They both rolled their eyes when the Nanadaime burst into big, stupid, joyful tears. They deliberately left the gift from the Rokudaime unwrapped and hidden in the back of their closet for fear of what they might find.

They were twenty-seven when they learned of honor and dedication. The bush clover leads her clan as a mighty matriarch, but one without progeny to carry the bloodline. Their argument rattled the walls of the compound. To the end of their days, it remained a tender point of contention that a man briefly inhabited their bed, but they cherished and loved the daughter the unfortunate convergence had produced.

They were fifty-three when they learned the importance of time. Quiet walks together in the gardens, surrounded by hundreds blooming flowers, reminiscence of their younger days a favored topic. They watched their daughter bloom into a strong woman, ready to one day lead the clan. They wondered of the future with trepidation, unwilling to imagine the unthinkable as they tightly clasped one another in slowly weakening arms.

She was sixty-one when she learned of grief and what it means for a heart to break. She stood at the side of the coffin, unwilling to let go of a once warm hand turned to so much cold skin and bone. The wildflowers that lined the inside of her coffin were only a sad reminder that not even flowers could last forever, no matter the strength or beauty the possessed. She wept openly as the casket vanished into the ground. It wasn't until her first moment alone that she fell apart.

She was sixty-two when she laid in their bed for the last time. She couldn't bring herself to stand even if she wanted to. The daughter that was and was not her own stayed at her side, holding her hand and swearing that she would be buried at the side of her departed love.

She was sixty-two when she breathed her last, waiting to see her again.


They would have been one-hundred-and-one.

The tiny graveyard in the corner of the village was often avoided but highly revered. It was the final resting place for the heroes of the last great shinobi war. Some believed that if one were to linger long enough among the proud, weathered headstones that whispers of the long departed could be heard. Tales of bravery and love and howling, fiery youth uttered quietly on a wind that wasn't there.

Two of the headstones in particular seemed more active than the others. Though no flowers grew there, the bitter-sweet scent of cherry blossoms mingled with the almost invisible aura of bush clover. The sounds of carefree laughter could often be heard late in the night beneath the light of full moons.

The clan of the bush clover loved to tell the stories of their greatest leader. Stories of her bravery in the war and the unyielding love she had for cherry blossoms.


Sakura perched on top of her headstone, gazing fondly up at the moon as she waited for Ino to wake. Before she knew it, she felt it; a swirling and bubbly prescence at her side that made her smile.

"I love you, pig," she murmurred, her voice little more than an errant breeze as she kissed Ino's cheek. Ephemeral fingers tangled as they always had in life as Ino returned the affection.

"I love you, forehead."

.

.

.


Extended Author Notes:

Greetings all! I know I don't really do much in these author notes, but that was really because I didn't have much to do with them. I post the stories, you read and hopefully enjoy them and that's how it goes.

But now it's different! So...there's that.

Either way, I wanted to spread the word that I'm working on some original material over on FictionPress and I'd be much appreciative of anyone that went over and took a look and maybe left a review. It's a small side project that is tangentially related to the novel series I'm working on. Here's a link, insert the dots where they're needed:

wwwfictionpresscom/s/3328421/1/Life-and-Death-at-Someplace-Somewhere

Concerning this collection of one-shots, a couple of small updates.

First, I'm currently rewriting "Wired for Destruction." While I do like it, I know it can be better, so that's that.

Concerning Daydreaming of Darkness, the first part is still being written, but it's gonna be a while so I apologize if you were looking forward to that. But rest assured, that it is on the way!

But with all that said, I am The Null Drone, your humble author, and I bid you farewell!