Mild SasuSaku. Because you have to face the past head on. Kakashi already lost, so all he can do is cheer from the sidelines.
It's dark out.
The sky has long ago finished its glaring pastel golden yellows and its watercolor purple-pinks. Night has just barely begun and the neon signs of the stores aligned to the side flicker on and buzz like the lights of a cheap motel. The stars twinkle overhead, and you're stretching out, the thin blue shirt as if like a new skin to replace the one recently shed.
Then she comes along, blushing as red as the cherry of her hair, asking if you're okay. I recognize the hauntingly familiar look in your obsidian; you've just realized where you really are in your exiting of your reverie and that you are marred throughout your whole body by red slits on your alabaster, leaves nestled in a variety of places; mostly your untamed, odd hair.
She asks you if you're okay again, willing to ignore the actions of impulsive feelings of love just for you/, and you only grunt. She's a bit peeved, because at heart she's someone who wants to heal.(She loves /you for Godaime's sake!) Your eyes flicker to her in a bit of curiosity as to her unusual silence (it's quite the opposite of unusual, because I, as a spectator, see all. You never see her.) and you notice how genuine she is, but you still reject.
You have not realized enough.
You grunt again, and she frowns. I can tell she's frustrated, even if I can't quite understand her emotion- but her fists are taut as her fingers curl in. She's obvious, too obvious, and for that I am grateful.
She doesn't see a lot of other things though, so now she's a letter different of obvious, she's /oblivious/, as she stares at the navy sandals like they're the most interesting things in the world. Her hair that curls slightly into her face - the shorter, bang like strands - cover her bottle glass green.( I've always thought that description suited her- transparent and breakable glass, but useful and protective, prettier it's it's own way somehow in comparison to a emerald) She's not going to cry, and behind the defense of my paperback novel my eyes crinkle and the corners of my mouth (forever obscured) lift up. I also see the conflicting thunder in the darkness- blueish shadows that are truly dark but still light somewhere, because to create a shadow you need light- and your eyes soften. Maybe, I think, you're learning.
Your hand shoots out and grabs her's roughly- you're awkward and nervous, just like someone your age should be. Her head snaps up, and she seeming to be proposing herself to break the silence- but she relaxes, and she seems to enjoy the silence with a small smile, far truer than her large, cheery ones, surprisingly. You tell her, always the alpha male (with his weaknesses in the form of pretty crying girls, and I wonder how it'll be when you have a daughter under Uchiha.) that she'll go to your house, because you have ample unused medicinal supplies.
At this she practically/ glows/,/ radiates, shimmers/ even; but for your sake (and a bit of hers too, because if you get angry she'll be pushed away) she accepts, taking one of the small, rare offerings thankfully.
Against your pale white, I see the tiniest bit of a flush- whether from training, or anger, or /her/, it's not certain.
With a last grin I bid a farewell as quiet as my hello.