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midnightdiddleI'm a bad student. A really, really bad student. As in, I'm probably going to lose my scholarship because I never go to class kind of student.
So, rather than go to class, I am here, typing up a drabble. Don't you love me? Please say yes.
It really wouldn't bother Iruka so much that his bathroom was pink if it wasn't supposed to be white. White on white on white, white tiles, white grout, white porcelain. White. And every time Kakashi or Naruto came over, the bathroom would magically become pink. Because Kakashi and Naruto? They were pranksters. They laughed at Iruka and punched him in his arm and rigged up water over his door, so when he opened it, he'd get soaked. And he always let them, just like he always let them turn his bathroom pink.
Kakashi and Naruto were shinobi, strong men, and they couldn't cry, couldn't take the time to let out a few tears and frustrations, so they'd come over to Iruka's apartment with laughs, and when they'd leave, Iruka's bathroom would be pink, and Iruka would be not-quite-smiling.
Not-quite-smiling meant a lot to Iruka. He was a cheerful person, or as cheerful as a person could be when they taught children how to kill for a living. To not-quite-smile at anyone meant something had happened that hit something in Iruka, made him just a little bit angry, a little bit upset. Like his bathroom. His pink bathroom.
Because every time, Kakashi or Naruto, or sometimes both, would come to his apartment and, laughing, excuse themselves from Iruka's living room. And when they'd leave, Iruka would walk into his bathroom, and pink towels on pink tile with pink grout would stare back at him, accusingly.
Your fault, your fault, it would taunt, pink pink pink, and Iruka would not-quite-smile and not-quite-laugh and not-quite-scream. And then he'd kneel, motions pulling new and old wounds alike, and with actions practiced into perfection over the years - your fault, your fault, all these years, your fault - begin to wash the blood from the tiles.
Crangst. Uh-huh. I'm gonna go watch Firefly, rather than go to class. Such a bad student!
So, rather than go to class, I am here, typing up a drabble. Don't you love me? Please say yes.
It really wouldn't bother Iruka so much that his bathroom was pink if it wasn't supposed to be white. White on white on white, white tiles, white grout, white porcelain. White. And every time Kakashi or Naruto came over, the bathroom would magically become pink. Because Kakashi and Naruto? They were pranksters. They laughed at Iruka and punched him in his arm and rigged up water over his door, so when he opened it, he'd get soaked. And he always let them, just like he always let them turn his bathroom pink.
Kakashi and Naruto were shinobi, strong men, and they couldn't cry, couldn't take the time to let out a few tears and frustrations, so they'd come over to Iruka's apartment with laughs, and when they'd leave, Iruka's bathroom would be pink, and Iruka would be not-quite-smiling.
Not-quite-smiling meant a lot to Iruka. He was a cheerful person, or as cheerful as a person could be when they taught children how to kill for a living. To not-quite-smile at anyone meant something had happened that hit something in Iruka, made him just a little bit angry, a little bit upset. Like his bathroom. His pink bathroom.
Because every time, Kakashi or Naruto, or sometimes both, would come to his apartment and, laughing, excuse themselves from Iruka's living room. And when they'd leave, Iruka would walk into his bathroom, and pink towels on pink tile with pink grout would stare back at him, accusingly.
Your fault, your fault, it would taunt, pink pink pink, and Iruka would not-quite-smile and not-quite-laugh and not-quite-scream. And then he'd kneel, motions pulling new and old wounds alike, and with actions practiced into perfection over the years - your fault, your fault, all these years, your fault - begin to wash the blood from the tiles.
Crangst. Uh-huh. I'm gonna go watch Firefly, rather than go to class. Such a bad student!
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Date: 2005-10-29 08:15 am (UTC)