| [Jan. 22nd, 2010|03:32 am] |
Kakashi had never had siblings as a child, or peers his own age, but he was getting a sudden object lesson on what it might be like to actually tell on someone. It was kind of a head-rush.
Or possibly that was how fast he'd stood up.
By his side, despite the way she was almost vibrating with fury, Chihiro's scent had grounded itself in a painful place. Ginta smelled mostly of nausea, acid-sharp, like a bad wine, but also of anger and throat-closing bitterness. Despite whatever Chihiro claimed, it was easy to guess there was more than a little bad blood here.
But a man freshly released from surgery was not a man ready to take on the dragons of his family, despite whatever nasty thing she'd said. And certainly not on Kakashi's account.
He tipped one shoulder in a shrug, kicked his bags inside the door, and stepped around Chihiro to crouch down and haul Ginta's fallen bedside table back onto its legs. For a small piece of furniture, it was surprisingly heavy; he grunted and shoved it back against the wall. Then rested down on his haunches, breathing just a little hard, and took the chance to give Ginta a closer look.
Dead white, with hectic flags of colour marking sharp cheekbones -- anger, probably; he didn't smell like fever. His eyes were almost all blue, the pupils constricted with whatever painkiller they'd given him. Just the faintest trace of old, yellowing bruises still fading at his temple and jaw. Faint chemical burns still reddening skin.
He looked better than the last time Kakashi had seen him. Light-years better than the time before that.
Kakashi felt himself breathe.
"Your grandmother was expressing her opinion of the hospital food," he said dryly. "I pointed out that the jello had merit. She disagreed. You didn't need to start breaking things, y'know." |
|