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midnightdiddleA ficlet, a ficlet! And it's KakaIru! And I haven't written something for so long~
Words on the Pages
He finds books comforting now. He hadn't before, not when he was a child, not when he was an adult. Now, though, he drags his fingers down the edge of the pages, feeling the sheets of paper snag at his skin, slice it open with perfect stinging, like a breath-thin razor.
The typeset on the pages swims in front of his eyes, like so many drops of ink in water, sinking and splitting and spreading out, covering the white pages with ink-black. He blinks a few times, the type muddles then clears, and he slides his fingers across the page.
There's a little blood on the page now, smearing over the words, and he lifts his finger to his lips, lying the tip against his tongue.
The cuts sting, but when he catches his breath, he never hears it.
x
I didn't expect you, Iruka says, leaning against the doorframe. Kakashi looks uncomfortable somehow, a tension residing somewhere between his slumped shoulders and languid slouch. Kakashi's visible eye glances into the apartment, assessing, and so Iruka moves a little more into the doorway, blocking the room from view.
I didn't expect you, Iruka repeats, because he's not sure Kakashi heard him the first time. Kakashi rubs the back of his neck, holds up a bag, and with a few careless motions Kakashi's moving into the apartment, leaving Iruka at the door. Iruka shuts the door, sliding his fingers along the edge to make sure the lock's clicked, and turns to watch Kakashi.
Kakashi picks up a book, flips open the cover, then sets it down on the stack. He picks up another book, then another, setting them back down with nonchalant care. Iruka waits, and then Kakashi turns, head cocked to the side in question.
Your mask, Iruka says, and he wonders if he sounds angry because Kakashi seems taken back. Iruka mimes a mask, slides his curled fingers down his cheek, and Kakashi echoes his movements, pulling down his mask until it's crumpled beneath his chin, layers of thin blue material.
I didn't know, Kakashi's mouth forms, that you liked books. Iruka glances away for a second, looking at the stacks of books, then looks back, quirking a smile.
They don't try to talk to me, Iruka tries to explain, but he's not sure if he's muddling his words.
Kakashi's mouth moves too fast. You, Iruka catches, and sorry. Iruka's smile quirks a little more as he sinks to the floor. He never hears Kakashi leave, and the books never whisper goodbye.
x
He finds he has more time to read now. There aren't many things pressing for his attention anymore-- no classes, no mission desk, no missions. His life is slow, quiet, empty, and so he reads. At first, it's just a novel every few days. Then it's a novel every day, then a few. Sometimes he forgets to eat, or to sleep, and when he looks out the window he realizes that the world's passed him by again.
Naruto stops by sometimes, a blur of orange and black, and he laughs, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling. Naruto speaks quickly, because everything Naruto does is fast.
Stop, Iruka says, slow down. Naruto slows down for a few moments, then he's speaking too fast again, face desperate. Iruka's tired so he gives Naruto a smile, shaking his head when Naruto's eyebrows come together for a question. Naruto's shoulders shake and Naruto's eyes crinkle and Iruka wipes away Naruto's tears, his ink-stained fingers smudging Naruto's cheeks.
When Naruto leaves Iruka picks up another book, drags his fingers along the spine, and begins to read again. He reads until Naruto returns, days or weeks later, crouching down in front of Iruka. Naruto's mouth moves, slow then fast, slow then fast, and Iruka puts down the book.
Slow, Iruka murmurs, but he doesn't think Naruto ever hears him. Naruto leaves, and time goes by. Naruto comes by less and less, stays for shorter and shorter times, and Iruka has more to time read.
Iruka has, he learns, too much time to read.
x
Kakashi brings books by every few weeks. He stands outside the front door, chakra a steady hum until Iruka opens the door. He always holds up the bag of books and Iruka always steps to the side, letting him in. Kakashi talks to him every time, blue fabric loose beneath his chin, pale lips forming half-finished sentences and half-formed thoughts.
Sometimes Iruka watches him and other times Iruka stares out the window, leaning against the windowsill. One weekend Kakashi looks out the window next to Iruka, down onto the streets where the dust is gold and the pavement is silver.
Why not, Kakashi's mouth makes, freezing on an impossible o of a question. Iruka looks outside, at the vast everything that seems far bigger and far wider than it had a time ago.
I'm not grounded, Iruka tells the window's reflection of Kakashi. The reflection says something, mouth moving, and Iruka closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of glass.
I don't want to, Iruka tells the window pane, and the reflection doesn't accuse him of lies.
x
I'd forgotten, Iruka says, except he doesn't remember what it is he's forgotten. There's a book in his hand, one of his fingers holding his place between the pages, and he looks at the book curiously before looking back up at Kakashi.
What, Kakashi's mouth asks. Iruka looks back at the book in his hands, opening it to the pages he had been reading.
Everything, Iruka says, and when he says it he thinks it's right. It feels like he's forgotten everything, and he's not sure there was ever anything because all the world has disappeared into typed pages, one after another. He's not quite sure what reality is, not when he's standing in this one-roomed apartment where the window looks out on a silent painting Iruka can't touch anymore.
When Kakashi touches his cheek, calloused fingertips and soft gloves, Iruka drops the book. He doesn't hear it hit the floor, and he has to look down at his feet, at the fallen book, to be sure that there is still a book, and that he still exists, and that Kakashi still exists, too.
Touch me, Kakashi's mouth says, quirking up on one side, and Iruka sinks down to the floor, lower and lower until Kakashi's hand falls away from his cheek.
I don't want to, Iruka says, picking up the fallen book. The book doesn't accuse him of lies.
Neither does Kakashi.
x
Kakashi's mouth is moving against Iruka's neck and Iruka has never been so glad of everything before in his life as he is right now. He doesn't want to know what Kakashi's saying, because he doesn't want to carry all of Kakashi's burdens on his shoulders. It's selfish of him, he thinks, but he needs this easy way out, just like he needs the books that root him to the ground and hold him steady against the earth's swift turning.
Kakashi's mouth never stops moving and Iruka's eyes never open, and at the end it's like there was nothing there to begin with, and Iruka wonders if that's how it's always been. He rubs his face then leans his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. When Kakashi pulls his hands away Iruka looks up tiredly, asking what.
You're quiet, Kakashi's mouth says.
The world's quiet, Iruka says. He picks up another book, looks at it for a moment, then throws it across the room. It hits the wall, but he never hears it, and he doesn't hear it when it falls to the floor, either. He leans his head against his knees, closing his eyes against the world and curling his fingers into his sheets, because there's nothing in this world that can hold him still anymore, that can keep him grounded against the planet's mad spinning.
He closes his eyes and he wishes himself away, into pictures that grow dusty with age, that hang inside windows and watch the world go by without a word. He wishes himself away, and he never hears the books whisper goodbye.
He doesn't hear Kakashi, either.
Words on the Pages
He finds books comforting now. He hadn't before, not when he was a child, not when he was an adult. Now, though, he drags his fingers down the edge of the pages, feeling the sheets of paper snag at his skin, slice it open with perfect stinging, like a breath-thin razor.
The typeset on the pages swims in front of his eyes, like so many drops of ink in water, sinking and splitting and spreading out, covering the white pages with ink-black. He blinks a few times, the type muddles then clears, and he slides his fingers across the page.
There's a little blood on the page now, smearing over the words, and he lifts his finger to his lips, lying the tip against his tongue.
The cuts sting, but when he catches his breath, he never hears it.
x
I didn't expect you, Iruka says, leaning against the doorframe. Kakashi looks uncomfortable somehow, a tension residing somewhere between his slumped shoulders and languid slouch. Kakashi's visible eye glances into the apartment, assessing, and so Iruka moves a little more into the doorway, blocking the room from view.
I didn't expect you, Iruka repeats, because he's not sure Kakashi heard him the first time. Kakashi rubs the back of his neck, holds up a bag, and with a few careless motions Kakashi's moving into the apartment, leaving Iruka at the door. Iruka shuts the door, sliding his fingers along the edge to make sure the lock's clicked, and turns to watch Kakashi.
Kakashi picks up a book, flips open the cover, then sets it down on the stack. He picks up another book, then another, setting them back down with nonchalant care. Iruka waits, and then Kakashi turns, head cocked to the side in question.
Your mask, Iruka says, and he wonders if he sounds angry because Kakashi seems taken back. Iruka mimes a mask, slides his curled fingers down his cheek, and Kakashi echoes his movements, pulling down his mask until it's crumpled beneath his chin, layers of thin blue material.
I didn't know, Kakashi's mouth forms, that you liked books. Iruka glances away for a second, looking at the stacks of books, then looks back, quirking a smile.
They don't try to talk to me, Iruka tries to explain, but he's not sure if he's muddling his words.
Kakashi's mouth moves too fast. You, Iruka catches, and sorry. Iruka's smile quirks a little more as he sinks to the floor. He never hears Kakashi leave, and the books never whisper goodbye.
x
He finds he has more time to read now. There aren't many things pressing for his attention anymore-- no classes, no mission desk, no missions. His life is slow, quiet, empty, and so he reads. At first, it's just a novel every few days. Then it's a novel every day, then a few. Sometimes he forgets to eat, or to sleep, and when he looks out the window he realizes that the world's passed him by again.
Naruto stops by sometimes, a blur of orange and black, and he laughs, shoulders shaking and eyes crinkling. Naruto speaks quickly, because everything Naruto does is fast.
Stop, Iruka says, slow down. Naruto slows down for a few moments, then he's speaking too fast again, face desperate. Iruka's tired so he gives Naruto a smile, shaking his head when Naruto's eyebrows come together for a question. Naruto's shoulders shake and Naruto's eyes crinkle and Iruka wipes away Naruto's tears, his ink-stained fingers smudging Naruto's cheeks.
When Naruto leaves Iruka picks up another book, drags his fingers along the spine, and begins to read again. He reads until Naruto returns, days or weeks later, crouching down in front of Iruka. Naruto's mouth moves, slow then fast, slow then fast, and Iruka puts down the book.
Slow, Iruka murmurs, but he doesn't think Naruto ever hears him. Naruto leaves, and time goes by. Naruto comes by less and less, stays for shorter and shorter times, and Iruka has more to time read.
Iruka has, he learns, too much time to read.
x
Kakashi brings books by every few weeks. He stands outside the front door, chakra a steady hum until Iruka opens the door. He always holds up the bag of books and Iruka always steps to the side, letting him in. Kakashi talks to him every time, blue fabric loose beneath his chin, pale lips forming half-finished sentences and half-formed thoughts.
Sometimes Iruka watches him and other times Iruka stares out the window, leaning against the windowsill. One weekend Kakashi looks out the window next to Iruka, down onto the streets where the dust is gold and the pavement is silver.
Why not, Kakashi's mouth makes, freezing on an impossible o of a question. Iruka looks outside, at the vast everything that seems far bigger and far wider than it had a time ago.
I'm not grounded, Iruka tells the window's reflection of Kakashi. The reflection says something, mouth moving, and Iruka closes his eyes, leaning his forehead against the cool pane of glass.
I don't want to, Iruka tells the window pane, and the reflection doesn't accuse him of lies.
x
I'd forgotten, Iruka says, except he doesn't remember what it is he's forgotten. There's a book in his hand, one of his fingers holding his place between the pages, and he looks at the book curiously before looking back up at Kakashi.
What, Kakashi's mouth asks. Iruka looks back at the book in his hands, opening it to the pages he had been reading.
Everything, Iruka says, and when he says it he thinks it's right. It feels like he's forgotten everything, and he's not sure there was ever anything because all the world has disappeared into typed pages, one after another. He's not quite sure what reality is, not when he's standing in this one-roomed apartment where the window looks out on a silent painting Iruka can't touch anymore.
When Kakashi touches his cheek, calloused fingertips and soft gloves, Iruka drops the book. He doesn't hear it hit the floor, and he has to look down at his feet, at the fallen book, to be sure that there is still a book, and that he still exists, and that Kakashi still exists, too.
Touch me, Kakashi's mouth says, quirking up on one side, and Iruka sinks down to the floor, lower and lower until Kakashi's hand falls away from his cheek.
I don't want to, Iruka says, picking up the fallen book. The book doesn't accuse him of lies.
Neither does Kakashi.
x
Kakashi's mouth is moving against Iruka's neck and Iruka has never been so glad of everything before in his life as he is right now. He doesn't want to know what Kakashi's saying, because he doesn't want to carry all of Kakashi's burdens on his shoulders. It's selfish of him, he thinks, but he needs this easy way out, just like he needs the books that root him to the ground and hold him steady against the earth's swift turning.
Kakashi's mouth never stops moving and Iruka's eyes never open, and at the end it's like there was nothing there to begin with, and Iruka wonders if that's how it's always been. He rubs his face then leans his elbows on his knees, the heels of his hands pressing into his eyes. When Kakashi pulls his hands away Iruka looks up tiredly, asking what.
You're quiet, Kakashi's mouth says.
The world's quiet, Iruka says. He picks up another book, looks at it for a moment, then throws it across the room. It hits the wall, but he never hears it, and he doesn't hear it when it falls to the floor, either. He leans his head against his knees, closing his eyes against the world and curling his fingers into his sheets, because there's nothing in this world that can hold him still anymore, that can keep him grounded against the planet's mad spinning.
He closes his eyes and he wishes himself away, into pictures that grow dusty with age, that hang inside windows and watch the world go by without a word. He wishes himself away, and he never hears the books whisper goodbye.
He doesn't hear Kakashi, either.
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:-D
Date: 2006-08-27 02:40 am (UTC)Just...thanks.
I really enjoyed that. I always enjoy your work. Days that you write new fanfictions are good days.
Re: :-D
Date: 2006-08-27 03:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-08-30 09:02 am (UTC)Thanks very much ! I was moved to the core.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 09:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 01:06 pm (UTC)Thank you.
no subject
Date: 2006-09-03 09:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-18 07:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-09-18 07:43 pm (UTC)