[ Kakashi thought if maybe he tried to cut out those parts of him that were made up of lies, the parts that were never real, and send them into some sort of oblivion, it'd be better. Somehow, easier, to handle. He forced himself to not to think about it or consider the missing presence in his bed that never should have been there at all, or how it felt to be woken with arms around his waist and lips against the back of his neck. He tried to block it out by telling himself it was all a very elaborate genjutsu, that there wasn't anything about it at all that was real. He closes his eyes and tells his mind to stop whenever it tries to remember things that never were, when it attempts to put meaning into the curve of a smile or the scent of his shampoo, or the way he used to look at you like you were the only thing that mattered.
(And maybe for a moment, you were.)
But all the conscious attempts to cut, block, and shut down intrusive not-memories and not-thoughts during the day only meant they would haunt him when he was most vulnerable, when he was sleeping at night and dreams made him forget if it really was or if it wasn't, if they ever were, or if it never happened, and then he'd wake up in the morning and turn to reach for a lover who was never there, fingers closing in empty space before he realized what he was even doing.
Sleeping became difficult, until it stopped happening at all. He sleeps in snatches now, and never deep enough to dream. He sleeps the way men sleep on missions or the battlefield, never able to fully let the mind rest, lest it wanders off too far and never wake up because the enemy's steps are too soft, their knife hand too swift.
But even the not-sleep he's been subsisting on hasn't been enough to chase away the memories. It's almost at the point where Kakashi's considering if he should just Sharingan himself into blissful ignorance. It almost seems like it'd be the most practical, logical course of action.
Watching the way Barnaby's wings tense now, reading the way his body's pulled as taut as a wire, only seems to reinforce that fact. But yet. There's a box at his feet that's making it impossible to just pretend that what they had, however briefly, never happened.
Bending down, Kakashi picks up the box, and considers it for a moment, then glances back up at Barnaby's back. Reading the way his wings furl in an attempt to protect their owner from-- From what? From him?
Ah, yes. But then, Kakashi did almost snap his neck that one night.
Even still.
There's a box in his hands and Barnaby hasn't run off into his apartment yet. From the weight and sweet scent of it, he thinks it might actually be some sort of cake.
How ironic, that Barnaby remembered his birthday, but forgot Kakashi absolutely hates sweets.
You didn't have to, he almost says, but that'd be stating the obvious. Barnaby knows he most certainly didn't have to. But he did it anyway. ]
1/2
(And maybe for a moment, you were.)
But all the conscious attempts to cut, block, and shut down intrusive not-memories and not-thoughts during the day only meant they would haunt him when he was most vulnerable, when he was sleeping at night and dreams made him forget if it really was or if it wasn't, if they ever were, or if it never happened, and then he'd wake up in the morning and turn to reach for a lover who was never there, fingers closing in empty space before he realized what he was even doing.
Sleeping became difficult, until it stopped happening at all. He sleeps in snatches now, and never deep enough to dream. He sleeps the way men sleep on missions or the battlefield, never able to fully let the mind rest, lest it wanders off too far and never wake up because the enemy's steps are too soft, their knife hand too swift.
But even the not-sleep he's been subsisting on hasn't been enough to chase away the memories. It's almost at the point where Kakashi's considering if he should just Sharingan himself into blissful ignorance. It almost seems like it'd be the most practical, logical course of action.
Watching the way Barnaby's wings tense now, reading the way his body's pulled as taut as a wire, only seems to reinforce that fact. But yet. There's a box at his feet that's making it impossible to just pretend that what they had, however briefly, never happened.
Bending down, Kakashi picks up the box, and considers it for a moment, then glances back up at Barnaby's back. Reading the way his wings furl in an attempt to protect their owner from-- From what? From him?
Ah, yes. But then, Kakashi did almost snap his neck that one night.
Even still.
There's a box in his hands and Barnaby hasn't run off into his apartment yet. From the weight and sweet scent of it, he thinks it might actually be some sort of cake.
How ironic, that Barnaby remembered his birthday, but forgot Kakashi absolutely hates sweets.
You didn't have to, he almost says, but that'd be stating the obvious. Barnaby knows he most certainly didn't have to. But he did it anyway. ]