Resolution
It had to be a hallucination, some insidious side product of the foul tasting concoctions that had slid down his throat. It wasn’t a result of desperate hope; it was too solid, too real. He might have been hit in the head too many times. He knew he had been hit in the head too many times. His eyes were floating on a restless sea of pain. He was digging for reasons to have caught a familiar tread moving across the floor, creaking one traitorous board and not being at all bothered by the sound.
Wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, Sasuke always moved like he meant it. Once he made a decision the world could shudder to the side and Sasuke would still be moving along the same straight line towards his goal.
It was too small of a room to contain each step that shattered against Naruto’s eardrum like declarations of war. His pulse flailed and staggered, and then settled into an echo of those reliably placed steps. Naruto’s throat tightened, mouth went dry. Every drop of common sense and self preservation in his body howled for him to get away, to crawl as far as bandaged hands and knees could carry him.
He could almost smell that musky, sharp smell that was Sasuke, could almost hear the cutting sarcasm, a dangerously disarming bit of disdain.
He would never believe the fight had been a product of his own deranged imagination, but Naruto would always be willing to accept Sasuke had come to his senses…
It was only his own heartbeat in his ears, his ragged breathing. Any phantom footsteps remained a product of the quiet parts of the night. Naruto closed his eyes, tried to ignore the anger and unhappiness that writhed like worms in his gut as he fumbled into full wakefulness. It wasn’t disappointment, not quite. Optimism didn’t have to end in stupidity. He had known better.
Sasuke had a goal in sight. He was going to keep walking towards it in that infuriatingly implacable way he had, utterly immune to distraction or redirection.
Bandages pulled as Naruto’s fingers curled into tight fists.
Naruto also had a goal in sight. His brand of optimism hedged more towards a sense-defying stubbornness. It wasn’t stupidity; things would turn out the way he wanted, or he would keep kicking until he got the point across.
It had to be a hallucination, some insidious side product of the foul tasting concoctions that had slid down his throat. It wasn’t a result of desperate hope; it was too solid, too real. He might have been hit in the head too many times. He knew he had been hit in the head too many times. His eyes were floating on a restless sea of pain. He was digging for reasons to have caught a familiar tread moving across the floor, creaking one traitorous board and not being at all bothered by the sound.
Wherever he was going, whatever he was doing, Sasuke always moved like he meant it. Once he made a decision the world could shudder to the side and Sasuke would still be moving along the same straight line towards his goal.
It was too small of a room to contain each step that shattered against Naruto’s eardrum like declarations of war. His pulse flailed and staggered, and then settled into an echo of those reliably placed steps. Naruto’s throat tightened, mouth went dry. Every drop of common sense and self preservation in his body howled for him to get away, to crawl as far as bandaged hands and knees could carry him.
He could almost smell that musky, sharp smell that was Sasuke, could almost hear the cutting sarcasm, a dangerously disarming bit of disdain.
He would never believe the fight had been a product of his own deranged imagination, but Naruto would always be willing to accept Sasuke had come to his senses…
It was only his own heartbeat in his ears, his ragged breathing. Any phantom footsteps remained a product of the quiet parts of the night. Naruto closed his eyes, tried to ignore the anger and unhappiness that writhed like worms in his gut as he fumbled into full wakefulness. It wasn’t disappointment, not quite. Optimism didn’t have to end in stupidity. He had known better.
Sasuke had a goal in sight. He was going to keep walking towards it in that infuriatingly implacable way he had, utterly immune to distraction or redirection.
Bandages pulled as Naruto’s fingers curled into tight fists.
Naruto also had a goal in sight. His brand of optimism hedged more towards a sense-defying stubbornness. It wasn’t stupidity; things would turn out the way he wanted, or he would keep kicking until he got the point across.
