Title: Hearts

Author: Lovesraincent

Rating: T

Pairing: Jir/Tsu (implied)

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or these characters and stand to make no profit from posting this story.


At times the words spill from his pen, flowing across the paper almost as if he poured out the ink itself.

Although he's the first to admit that he enjoys the company of ladies, there's also a certain secret satisfaction that he receives alone at his desk with the only sounds the gentle swish of the brush he strokes across the page.

He can work like that for hours on end, throughout the night sometimes, racing the sun to finish just one more sentence before the dawn. The purple-black twilight before sunrise is often the best time for him to write. He can stand at that liminal point, the threshold between night and morning, past and present and see it all so clearly - his story - precisely the way it's meant to be.

It's those times he pours more than just ink and words onto the paper, he pours himself into the writing, too.

He's found his voice and his writing style or technique or flair or whatever it's called has served him well. He's phenomenally successful. His books are best sellers even before they're released with people lining up outside the shops on the first day each volume is available.

The books are successful because he writes about the world the way it is supposed to be - not the way that it is.

After his first novel was a failure the smut was all that his publisher would take a chance on. He complied because lord knows he has enough experience.

And lo and behold sex sells. It was a runaway hit.

With each subsequent success he gains more and more editorial control over his own content. The books fly off the shelves so his publisher is happy to loosen the reins and let him lead.

And lead he does.

The scandalous frankness of his bedroom scenes just broadens his audience. Women read him as much as men do because he writes candidly as a only a man who really knows his way around a woman's body can do. The sex is sweaty and hot, a joyous communion with each giving and receiving, where nothing is ever taken.

But there's more, so much more than just the porn. He writes of a land of heroes and warrior princesses, revered teachers and brothers in arms.

It's a place where friends are faithful, battling back to back with never a thought of betrayal between the two, not someplace where companions since childhood beat each other to a bloody pulp with neither one ever actually having the courage to kill the other.

It's a land where teachers are honored in their old age as their students regale them with tales when they return from far away lands. not someplace where two students ignore their aged sensei while the third murders him.

It's a pure land where the hero and the princess wake up in each other's arms together, not someplace where he can't recall the name of the whore he spent the night with and his princess wastes her life in a drunken oblivion half a world a way, whoring her own self out to pay her gambling debts if need be.

Writing becomes sacred, the words his penance because each and every day he thinks of all the words he never said to them and all the chances that he had to.

The words on the page are his sutra, stitching it all together, forcing it to be real, making it all turn out right.

His is a world where hearts don't break...

And he will make it real...

Or die trying.

A/N: Listening to Marty Balin's "Hearts" it occurred to me that although it's clearly a romantic love he's talking about the profound feeling of loss in that song could also apply to all kinds of love.