Tobirama wasn't pushing him away, wasn't yelling at him, wasn't acting like he was an enemy. He wasn't doing anything but reaching for him, pulling him closer, and the dark curtain of Izuna's hair pooled on the other's chest, on the floor as he went with the arms. As he collapsed down on him. As he fell like an angel to the hell waiting for him.
The damn Senju was just as warm as he remembered.
"You're not sorry," he whispered, glad Tobirama couldn't see the wetness in his eyes even if he could probably feel the tears against his neck, nestling in the crook there. Maybe if he told himself that a hundred thousand times, he would believe it. Maybe he could convince himself that because hate was so much easier than loving him. "You're trying to trick me. You're--"
The body beneath him was unwielding because of the armor, heavy and strong, and he was used to it; he had slept against that armored body before when he was alive. But now he hated it, hated it because he was an enemy and it was another fucking mountain between them, an obstacle, a mountain. Why was he wearing it when he had been willing to let Izuna kill him? Why save him from what he consented to?
Pulling one hand up, he struck it, hard. So hard. Enough to split his knuckles; he felt the skin separate, a bloodless wound that should have been oozing. Turning his face to the side to see the damage, his eyes widened as he watched the skin flake back together, reform, piece by piece like little scraps of parchment. When it was done a second later, it was as if it had never even been there.
"I don't..." understand. His hands pressed to the chest plate and he pulled himself up to stare in those eyes. "What am I?" he whispered, his mouth dry. "What kind of monster am I?"
If I heal so easily, does that mean...I can't die again?
![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
branchandroot
no subject
Date: 2015-09-13 06:28 pm (UTC)Tobirama wasn't pushing him away, wasn't yelling at him, wasn't acting like he was an enemy. He wasn't doing anything but reaching for him, pulling him closer, and the dark curtain of Izuna's hair pooled on the other's chest, on the floor as he went with the arms. As he collapsed down on him. As he fell like an angel to the hell waiting for him.
The damn Senju was just as warm as he remembered.
"You're not sorry," he whispered, glad Tobirama couldn't see the wetness in his eyes even if he could probably feel the tears against his neck, nestling in the crook there. Maybe if he told himself that a hundred thousand times, he would believe it. Maybe he could convince himself that because hate was so much easier than loving him. "You're trying to trick me. You're--"
The body beneath him was unwielding because of the armor, heavy and strong, and he was used to it; he had slept against that armored body before when he was alive. But now he hated it, hated it because he was an enemy and it was another fucking mountain between them, an obstacle, a mountain. Why was he wearing it when he had been willing to let Izuna kill him? Why save him from what he consented to?
Pulling one hand up, he struck it, hard. So hard. Enough to split his knuckles; he felt the skin separate, a bloodless wound that should have been oozing. Turning his face to the side to see the damage, his eyes widened as he watched the skin flake back together, reform, piece by piece like little scraps of parchment. When it was done a second later, it was as if it had never even been there.
"I don't..." understand. His hands pressed to the chest plate and he pulled himself up to stare in those eyes. "What am I?" he whispered, his mouth dry. "What kind of monster am I?"
If I heal so easily, does that mean...I can't die again?