#(genmanko if you squint? my only true rarepair as;dlkfjsadf)

[lemony-snickers]

41 and Anko Mitarashi.

41. september song - agnes obel.

dear anon - thank you so much for this. i know these spotify requests are from more than a year ago and the chances of you seeing this / remembering the request was yours are pretty much zero, but this is an instrumental piece and i loved tapping into the feelings it stirs in me for anko, who is a character i love very much despite not writing about her nearly enough. if you are still around, i hope you enjoy this little fic. .

Anko knows these woods like her own apartment.  She sprints through the undergrowth, mouth spread wide in a manic grin as the falling leaves swirl in her wake.  Her steps are so light that the drifting leaves are the only trail left in her wake.  When they fall to the ground, still and silent, nothing remains.

She stops on at outcropping, breathing heavily from the effort exerted, the cool sting of autumn air making her lungs ache just a little.  She feels alive.  Invigorated by the cold and the run.

Before her, the forest spreads out like a jewel-colored blanket.  The russets and reds and oranges create a lovely tapestry that shifts with each breeze.

An elm, its diamond-shaped leaves gilded and glimmering in the fading sunlight, makes her stomach churn.  She wonders if she will ever be able to look at that same shade of yellow without feeling like someone is staring back.

The return trip is slower than her run out to the middle of the woods, and Anko welcomes the darkness as a lover, enjoying the way the dusk drapes over her like a velvet cloak.  The night creatures awaken around, cooing and screaming in the dark.  Anko finds her way half on instinct.  Come winter, the leaves will have dropped enough for the moon and stars to light the forest floor.  But the limbs of the trees are still full enough to keep the moonlight at bay, and Anko’s enhanced sight isn’t quite enough to overcome the lack of illumination.

But her steps are sure, and she walks at a languid, unhurried pace, hands clasped behind her head as it tips back to look skyward.  She can feel the animal eyes around her staring, wondering at her strange existence within their world.

A sudden rush of movement above catches her attention and Anko halts as a large owl takes flight from a branch overhead, pale feathers just barely shimmering in the bare light of deep evening.  Its wings are powerful and Anko feels a sharp tug of envy as it takes off, flying far from its perch without anything to hold it back.

When she was a girl, Anko never understood why anyone would want to leave Konoha.  Now she knows that sometimes, running away can be an intoxicating dream.  How often had she found herself in some strange land for a mission and wondered what it might be like to never return home?  To build a new life someplace where no one knew who she was, what had happened to her.

Anko is not a victim and she has no need of pity.  No desire for the knowing gazes of her comrades, for those who gawk at the curse mark when it peeks out from beneath her collar.

She inhales deeply through her nose, the scent of dirt and wood and clean, crisp air filling her senses.  She watches the owl until it is out of sight and then resumes her same path.

Always the same road home.

If there is one thing Anko would change about her life in this moment, it would include that Konoha be better represented in the 24-hour dango scene.  She stares at the window of her favorite shop for too long as she wanders the familiar path toward her apartment, gauging how angry Lord Sarutobi would be if she broke in to take some.  She would leave money, of course.  And it’s not like she’d really have to break anything to get inside—it’s a civilian establishment, after all.

She rolls her eyes, recalling her most recent admonishment from the old man, and decides she’ll return tomorrow when the shop opens.  Her grin is perhaps a little too wicked as she imagines all the disappointed faces of those in line behind her when they realize she intends to buy out the shop’s available stock.  The thought makes it a little easier to walk away.

Konoha is quiet, but she knows it is never truly asleep.  As in the forest, she can feel eyes watching her.  Fellow shinobi—ANBU on security detail and others who are awake for their own reasons—always on alert.  She’s wandered the streets often enough herself when sleep eludes her, so she understands the need to sometimes be outside, to feel the comforting presence of other bodies, even if they remain unseen.

Shadows flit from rooftops, just beyond her periphery, and Anko feels more alien here than in the woods, surrounded by inhuman observers.  She quickens her pace, tugging her collar closer against unwanted gazes.

Despite the late hour, certain areas of the city still brim with life, lights bleeding out of the windows of bars and shinobi dormitories, where someone is always awake.  Anko takes a meandering way toward her apartment, enjoying the occasional bursts of laughter the wind brings to her as she walks.

“Oi!  Anko-chan!”

Anko stops and turns, squinting toward a silhouetted figure walking toward her, the golden light of the bar behind them spilling out onto the street for a few feet before the shadows swallow it.  She stands just outside of the glow, eyes glimmering unnaturally in the dark.  Even in Konoha, as the unknown person approaches, she slides a senbon into her hand from her sleeve.

She doesn’t know how to turn off the part of her brain that sense danger in everyone, even supposed allies.

“Isn’t it past your curfew?”

The shit eating grin of Genma Shiranui finally comes into focus, and Anko rolls her eyes, refusing to dignify the gibe with a response.  But Genma is undeterred, his teasing smile only growing as the space between them narrows.

The senbon in his mouth clicks against his teeth, and then his eyes find the one in her hand.  Quick as a flash, he captures it for himself, twirling it with dexterous fingers before popping it into his mouth next to the other, using his tongue to snap them together like chopsticks.

Then, he slams a heavy arm over her shoulders and drags her toward the bar.

“Hey!  Shiranui!”

“Come on, Anko-chan, don’t be antisocial.”

Anko grunts, squirming halfheartedly.  But as Genma drags her out of the shadows and into the soft lantern glow of the bar, the voices of her colleagues rising and falling in time with conversation and laughter, she stops resisting, shrugs out of his grasp, and strides confidently in before him.

“Alright, who’s buying me a drink?” she asks, grinning widely at the warm, loud welcome she receives.  Genma pushes past her, mumbling about ungrateful people, and Anko takes a moment to glance behind, admiring the marks in the gravel left by her heels as she’d dug in against Genma’s pull.  She smiles at the marks, the traces left in her wake.  Someone puts a drink in her hand, and she embraces the light.