This is somewhat of a songfic. Inspired by a dear friend on tumblr, who roleplays the Temari to my Shikamaru, as she wrote a beautiful war fic.
Only if for a night.
And the only solution was to stand and fight
And my body was bruised and I was set alight
But you came over me like some holy rite
And although I was burning, you're the only light
Only if for a night
- florence + the machine
He didn't know what he was expecting to find. It was some ungodly hour in the morning - that much he knew, if only the sound of sleeping snores and lazy crickets were to go by. The night was still painted a dewy purple, and despite the war – the destruction and death, the stars still shone down upon them. Some were dulled by the wisps of clouds that drifted in the sky, but they were there, twinkling; a reminder that the world had a different agenda, that it went on without him.
Mist swirled around his feet, the ground mildly dewy and staining his shoes a shade of darker grey. His hands were cold, clammy – as they so often were, during the time of war. Sleep wasn't something that came easily to him. Not now. It never really had.
His feet were mindless. They wandered forward, and through the haze of the night, he wasn't completely aware of where they were taking him.
And then it made sense. Of course it did.
There she was, on top of a larger rock, her palms laid bare and flat against the cold surface. Her head tilted up ever-so-slightly, the tips of her lower pigtails brushing against her shoulders.
He coughed into his hand. She made no sign of acknowledgement.
So he laid a hand beside the rock, instead. And he tilted his head up, to follow her gaze, to trace the stars that dotted the night. Part of him wanted to touch her – an urge he never could quite fight, if he were honest. Part of him hated himself for feeling that way, that of all things to go through his mind, these kinds of impulses should be the last he thought about.
And yet, it made sense. If he weren't to see another day, then why wouldn't he think about her? She plagued his thoughts, after all, and sometimes it was only the thought of her that allowed him to sleep at night. He wished he were joking, but it was a fact he'd accepted about himself.
He didn't know how long he stood there, underneath the stars. Her presence was an arm's length away but their breathing – soft, quiet breaths that could be heard in the still of night – synced. It was all he needed to feel connected; to feel a deeper bond than the one they already had.
She broke the silence first, her voice quiet and dulled – softer than any voice he was used to her using. "There's space here for two, if you're going to linger."
He didn't bother to respond, instead he hoisted himself up. The rock was cold, cold against his already cold skin, and somewhat unpleasant against his clammy hands. But he was used to such trivialities. Being linked to shadows did that to him.
It didn't mean he didn't crave her warmth, the thudding in his heart from just being in her presence.
He'd tried to stop the feelings, once. It had almost worked, too. But lately, if it meant he could feel, then maybe it was a good thing he felt this way. Maybe it was a good thing he could focus on it – it meant he was still alive, and not a robot.
She doesn't bother with further words. Her eyes never see his, either. But it didn't mean they weren't connected. It was soothing – nice – to have nothing else in his mind. Just the quiet of night, the sound of her breathing, and the stars. They don't need to talk. He'd never realized this before. This was a kind of bond he shared with very few people, let alone someone outside of Konoha. But words were meaningless.
He was cold. And if he were to reach out now, he would grasp her warmth, would be able to capture it in his clutches. He could bring her hand into his palm, his cheek, each touch sending ripples of warmth through his body, warmth that was sapped out of him through each point of contact he had with the rock.
He swallowed the urges.
When a finger brushed his, he didn't as much as blink.
But the touch disrupted the still, cold waters, and so easily, that easily, sent heat through his hand. Electrifying. As if coursing through his robotic body, breathing life back into sore limbs.
His breath hitched, his throat felt constricted. He needed her. It was a fact he'd thought he'd had as clear as day, but it never had consumed him as such. He needed her in his life. And if meant they were to die tomorrow, then he wanted her tonight.
But those were mere thoughts that raced through his brain – that left him breathless and his mind reeling.
He knew, objectively, that this wasn't to happen again. Only for tonight; and then, like a thread slipping through his fingers, they'd fall back into their own routine. They'd ignore the connection they felt, the conversations they could have with just a glance. He'd ignore the choking, consuming flame that only she'd bring to him; he'd ignore the fact that he knew – knew – that without her, he'd be nothing, a robot, living and fighting systematically.
The sounds of their sleeping Division was background noise, faded with the sound of crickets and the rustling of the dying breeze.
He fixed his gaze at the night sky.