Written for Kikoru's birthday.
...and they died happily ever after.
"You're going to fight him." It isn't a question. She already knows the answer.
He replies anyway. "Yes," he says.
She blinks, looking up at him with solemn eyes. "You'll die,"she says, another not-question. He doesn't answer her this time.
She kisses him before he leaves, a feather-light brush of her lips against his.
Then he's gone.
He's not the type of man who lies about just anything. He rarely lies. So as they stand by other, only their arms brushing lightly against the other's, he doesn't.
Maybe another would turn and flawlessly lie to her, telling her that her skin is (paper-rough) smooth as silk, that she's the most (disposable) important one in his life, and that he loves her (blank) beautiful eyes.
He doesn't lie to her.
She prefers it that way.
When he first sees her, he's been in the Akatsuki for a while already. A part of him is surprised by her appearance, but mostly he just doesn't care.
She appears delicate to him, feminine. Not the kind of feminine that wears floral print sundresses and a large straw hat to keep away the sun. Not that kind who wears ribbons in her hair and whose heart shatters like glass.
Not that type.
She reminds him of his mother, actually. She seems to have some inner strength, the determination to stand by someone no matter what.
He doesn't like to remember.
Once upon a time there was a bluebird and a raven...