| [Jan. 22nd, 2010|03:46 am] |
The embrace didn't feel like hate. It felt shaky, hesitant, a little desperate. Ginta held on and let his cheek rest against Kakashi's head. Smelled oily hair and hospital cleanliness. His hand continued its circuit up one side of Kakashi's spine and down the other in an elongated oval. Slow, steady. Because it was the right thing to do, as long as he didn't think about it too much.
"It's one of my charm points," Ginta whispered into coarse silver-grey. "I always make people hate me eventually. I knew it was only a matter of time with you."
The painful truth buried deep inside that joke was almost too tiny to see. Almost not there, but it caught a flinch of one shoulder just the same, stilled his hand for a fleeting moment. He felt Kakashi's ribs expand under his palm, heard the edge to the breath.
Heard the edge to his own breath.
His hand continued. Kakashi's grip around his body stayed just as tight.
Ginta's throat closed on a breath that wasn't a sob. That wasn't anything at all. |
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