Crevices and cracks; they don the gray palettes so nicely that Kizua's gaze lingers seconds longer than he'd like. But it goes nowhere further. This fact trembles in the very center of his mind. The digits laying on top of his lap curl; he hears them. Not enough, his mother would say — pathetic, his father. And
even as they lay in their graves not that far of a distance from here,
perhaps they are correct.
After all, he sits on top of hard, wretched terrain envying rocks.
(And no, he would never admit to such an absurd thing out loud.)
But that envy soon comes to an end, just like the delicate touch that wraps around the handle of his blade, and Kizua's attention snaps from the envied pebbles to the intrusive feet. She's stepped, arrived, and now she stands here, and the lone thought that results from this goes as such;
Kizua ought to do something about his weakening sense of danger.
"To think someone would come up here."
"Then again," sharp shapes trail in the direction of her blues, "if anyone, it'd be you, wouldn't it?"
[attr="class","body"]Wandering, always wandering. Free time did not come easily to a Chuunin, but the spaces of it she managed to eke out were filled with travel and gardening. Tsuchi no Kuni provided both of these and, it seemed, would never go long without a new surprise.
Blue eyes locked upon the dark gaze. The first instinct was adrenaline, because this was a face plastered in her bingo book. Nukenin, enemy; a target she was meant to subdue or kill. Sawako was always prepared for a fight, and indeed her hand already caressed the hilt of her katana with the reverence of a lover. Yet she hesitated, memories flooding back, pink head cocking to one side as the man spoke. Not just a traitor.
"Kizua?" her voice was a murmur, soft like the pebbles as they conformed to her steps, taking her closer to him. There was a softness to her expression that immediately glossed over, lips quirking into a cold frown. "You shouldn't be here. We aren't far enough away for you to be here. Then, why?"
He could attack, true. Something told her he would not.
[attr="class","monbody2"]His gaze falls back down after a short, unlucrative moment.
"It's foolish, isn't it?"
(Yes — he hears them cackle in one ear.)
Although, how intrusive. Not only her presence, her demeanor — Sawako had always lacked the foundations of formality — but the very question that escapes her lips as an insult and a half would when they were younger. And —
ah.
"It's been a while."
"How have you been?" but he doesn't mean for it to sound so lifeless;
a puppet, strung and poised like its owners had meant for it to be. No, Kizua's head hardly perks in worry. He reasons — with his own person — that Sawako will understand. That she's always understood, and that if she doesn't now —
well, then he probably didn't deserve her understanding.
[attr="class","body"]Every aspect of his person was lifeless. No, Kizua was not a puppet; in this moment he was a marionette whose strings had been severed and expected to fend for itself. Her Chuunin partner's dolls displayed more passion than the man in front of her did now. If not for the face and voice, Sawako would not recognize him.
Though he inquired after her wellbeing, she was the one that felt concerned. This wasn't an emotion that came to the forefront often, and the genuinely widened blue eyes, the falter in her step betrayed that. Her plan had been to stop some paces away from him, but instead, she closed the distance and stood over him. A pale hand lifted off her hilt to instead reach out to him, as if offering to hoist him to his feet.
".. Are you okay?"
Sawako knew why he was no longer welcome in Iwagakure, the entire village was aware of the grisly details of his father's murder. Even back then, when she heard what he did, she had envied him so intensely it was like a poison. It infected her dreams, the thought of following in his footsteps to solve her own issues.. and yet. And yet, self-preservation held her back. Her own father did not deserve to be the impetus with which she destroyed her adult life like he tried to destroy her childhood. There was clearly some piece of information missing from his story that he should be suffering so much now, but she could not fathom it.
If he did not take her hand, she would stoop down next to him. Regardless of if he did or not, the back of her hand pressed to his forehead to check for a temperature. Worried gaze roamed his body, seeking a wound or some explanation for this, trying in her limited capacity to find a way to comfort him.
Their roles reverse, so blatantly, and Kizua realizes it is his position that agents a misunderstanding. A lack of understanding — all of it — because, really,
what does she mean?
As gently as the noise of crackling stones, Kizua's brows rouse. Elevate with the question that holds his tongue, and renders him static.
And so, as a result, it is Sawako that shifts next.
(His gaze hardly follows.)
But then — like a waterfall penetrating through the walls of a dam — Kizua's head perks and the lightbulb on top flashes bright. It is the touch that lays upon his skin, pats with an unfamiliar docility. It is that which serves a hint; a piece to the puzzle. And so
[attr="class","addybody"] Her fingers curled mid-touch and then retracted, as if in belated response to a burn. Blue eyes narrowed and the Chuunin inhaled, the exhale slower, annoyance melting from her body in a practiced flow. Normally.. slighting her concern would have caused either an explosion of anger or perhaps quiet disdain, but Kizua was special. Yes, special - she envyed him.
"I was asking about your mental health, idiot," she sighed, creating a single step back of distance between them.
Reluctantly, Sawako peeled her gaze from him and instead set about studying their surroundings. There did not seem to be anyone here but him and herself, although she did not consider anywhere in the country safe for a nukenin. Nearly anyone could have stumbled upon him here, and it was lucky it happened to be her. She hummed quietly to herself.
"If you're fine, then it won't hurt you to finish explaining yourself. Why are you here? What is your intent?" There was the edge of a silent threat here, a whisper saying that if he truly planned to hurt someone she might have to step in. However, she was choosing not to jump to conclusions. About that. She didn't really believe that he was alright, though.
Kizua's glance falters and spots the pebbles again. Like he can dive back into his own space if he'd just focus hard enough.
"No particular reason," he lies.
"I could ask the same of you. Besides —" "sitting by someone like me could cause you trouble." Not that Sawako was ever known to be responsible. She'd always veered a different course. One that he envied more than he did the rocks. But then
[attr="class","addybody"]Lips quirked into a smirk, cat-like, because she could not and would not deny the truth of that statement. By the time they were staring at each other, he would at least have the pleasure of watching the smirk transition to mild horror when she heard the snap.
Pink head whipped in the direction of the noise, her entire body tense like a coiled spring, analyzing the treeline. As suspected, they were not far enough away to ensure some hapless Genin did not stumble upon their meeting place. Unfortunately for Kizua, her loyalty was solidly placed in the hands of those that could ensure her future; for now that was Iwagakure, not a broken nukenin.
"You need to leave now, Kizua," she whispered, voice audible only to the man positioned near her. "I can't - and won't - protect you, but I will stall for you. Go now."
With one last glance at him, pale face almost.. regretful.. Sawako set off toward the noise, the grip on her katana's hilt casual but poised.
[attr="class","monbody2"]Her expression doesn't tell him enough.
Neither do her words, and Kizua doesn't bother to linger on it. Not because he dreads her words for truth, no, no, no.
It's that wicked sense of danger, (or lack there-of).
He's sitting with rocks, he's a long way from concerning himself about his safety. Let alone his survivability. Still, he figures it's this she seeks to hear;
"alright."
And a nod too, for good measure.
And when she leaves, Kizua's sat still thinking;
shame. Perhaps some other day they will experience a proper reunion.
