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wannawrite · 6 years ago

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honeysuckle

who?: Wanna One’s Ha Sungwoon genre: 🌺🌸 type: scenario word count: 2.5K TW: OD, vomiting, pills

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sungwoon adores flowers to death��

isn’t love supposed to taste like honey after all?

hanahaki! AU

I miss sungwoon so much. Good news: HIATUS OVER

- admin l

disclaimer: pictures used do not belong to me and credit goes to their original owners

everything that is written here is purely fictional

DO NOT READ IF TRIGGERING

The sweetness on the very tip of his tongue poisoned like a scorpion’s sting. It lingered on his taste buds, the sense of longing, yearn.

He stuck out his tongue and gently plucked the flower off, allowing it to scatter out the window. At the same time, Sungwoon took a glance outside, witnessing a gust of wind blow the flowers in circles.

Then, a bout of sweetness crashed into his being, snaking up his throat and into his mouth. His lungs heaved, coughing out parasitic flowers.

He had always been a flowers kind of boy.

But not like this.

By now, he didn’t care to dispose of them immediately, the sheer amount was too much to keep taking out regularly. Sungwoon let the flowers float across his room.

Thankfully, the medicine was taking effect and most of the flowers had been expelled from his body. His lungs no longer felt the pain of growth. The suffocating feeling of being filled from the inside out usually threatened his ribcage to burst. It was a miracle that the physical pain was gone.

Now, all that was left to do was tackle the root of the problem - the feelings in his heart.

“Sungwoon! Hello! Wow, I feel like I haven’t heard your voice in forever! I’m finally back in Seoul!” you shrieked excitedly on the phone with your best friend. Spending nearly a week on a church retreat to some remote island was exhausting yet uplifting. Still, you couldn’t wait to return to the busyness of city life. “How about we catch up at our favourite pancake cafe? I could use a stack of great honey pancakes right now,” you suggested hopefully, planning to bribe Sungwoon with his favourite treats. At the same time, you manoeuvred your luggage into your home. Sungwoon’s cheery voice was all you needed to cure your jet lag and boredom. His voice could make the moon sparkle and serenade the sun to sleep. “Remember that cute church choir guy I was telling you about?” you chirped. “There’s so much I want to tell you!” Sungwoon coughed, quite violently. Worry began to sink into your bones. “S-“ “I’m fine!” he replied, almost in a false cheery tone. “J-just caught the flu or something. I-I’ll see a doctor soon.” “Oh,” you mumbled fretfully. “Are you well enough to meet today? Maybe I should just come over-“ “No, no!” He cut off abruptly before coughing again. “See you later, bye.” Confused, you put down the phone, mind troubled. Then, you looked at your luggage. Well, at least unpacking would serve as a good distraction. It’ll be futile to get so worked up over nothing. Sungwoon would be fine. He always would be. ~

Ignoring the prescription on the lucid orange bottle, Sungwoon flicked the cap off and downed the few remaining pills in one gulp.

Screw one pill twice a day. Unrequited love suppressants don’t have time for that.

There was no time to ponder about side effects. No room in his mind to consider the consequences. He just had to hide this...disease, that was all that mattered.

Sungwoon knew that it was you he loved and truthfully, he would confess if this issue had not popped up. It meant that your heart was already taken by someone else.

He just couldn’t bear the burden of placing you in a tough position, especially if the reason was his feelings.

Best friend - who you’ve never felt romantically attracted to - or your crush - the person of your dreams?

Yeah, there was no debate about it.

Sungwoon’s heart began to squeeze but he paid it no mind. The all-familiar discomfort of tips of petals stabbing into his sides set it. He scooped yet another bloomed cherry blossom off his tongue.

None of the pain mattered as long as no one discovered his secret.

Most importantly, you.

Sungwoon was already seated at a window booth when you arrived. The familiar and comforting face sent warmth flooding through you. You were ecstatic to see your best friend again.

He stood up and reached for a quick embrace which was happily returned.

“You look well-rested after your retreat,” Sungwoon commented, noticing the halo of a glow that surrounded you.

“It was...enlightening. I had a lot of fun and it was nice to travel with my parents again,” you filled him in. “I did miss you, the city and everything else though.”

A small smile crept onto his lips, it was sweet like honey and playful like bees. “You missed me?”

“Ugh, stop it. Of course, I missed my best friend and I missed everyone in Seoul.”

Thankfully, two plates of steaming pancake towers arrived, each boasting three fluffy hotcakes stacked on top of each other. As usual, Sungwoon’s had the classic maple syrup and a cube of butter on the top.

You ate in silence for a few minutes, savouring each dense bite of pancake, soaking up the atmosphere of being in your favourite place, eating your favourite food, with your favourite human being.

The most trustable, honest and kindest friend you had to date.

“I’ve got to tell you! Remember Issac, the...choir guy?” you spilled to Sungwoon, who offered a nod in reply.

Issac was attractive, no doubt, but you weren’t sure if you were ready for a relationship or anything. He may not even be interested. You just had to consult your best friend.

“So you’re dating him now?” Sungwoon stabbed a square of pancake a little too aggressively.

Frantically, you shook your head. “No, no! I don’t know if I’m ready to invest myself in a relationship, especially when we only met over this retreat.”

Your declaration made Sungwoon breathe a little easier but he still felt uncomfortable. Little pinpricks began to jab his torso, from the inside.

He sighed, “You’ll know when your heart’s ready. And I’ll always support you. Don’t worry so much about this, there are still opportunities...enough for you to keep your options open.” Sungwoon let out a couple of coughs before dropping the topic.

Suddenly, the air seemed heavy, questions hung over your head like a rain cloud. Something seemed off. Was it discomfort? The vibes in the area seemed thrown off course.

Then, Sungwoon smiled and asked about the details of your vacation as a whole, and you found yourself in the warmth of sunshine and security again. Relaxed and cool, at ease.

After brunch - which Sungwoon insisted on treating, you figured it wouldn’t hurt to window shop or grab a coffee from a nearby cafe.

“If you’re up for it. I don’t want to overwork you when you’re sick,” you stated with concern.

Sungwoon ran quick calculations in his head, estimating the effects of the pills and how long they would last before the next dose. He needed to pop by the pharmacy to get a new bottle.

He felt like the pills would sustain him. Gut feeling.

That is the reason Sungwoon agreed and found himself in the line for a popular pop-up coffee booth.

He did feel better. Listening to your voice, seeing your bubbly smile brighten your face, hearing giggles escape your lips...made him happy.

A sudden pang of pain hit his chest but he willfully ignored it, hands balled into fists in an attempt to control his reaction.

No one must know.

“Two iced Americanos please and one with a shot of chocolate,” Sungwoon ordered. He had all the favourites memorised.

It kind of made you swoon.

“Thank you,” you beamed, practically glowing with delight. “There’s a reason you’re my best friend.”

Sungwoon’s smile was tight-lipped and seemed forced but he was quick to diffuse it. He handed you your cup and clinked it with his.

The pain was nearly unbearable, it attacked from all sides. Nausea washed over him like a tsunami wave, shaking his tall pillars of determination.

No. Not like this.

“Excuse me for a minute,” he uttered as loudly as he could, ducking behind the shop and into a less crowded alley. Stunned, you caught his coffee before it could spill.

“O-okay.”

Cherry blossom after cherry blossom spewed out from his mouth, the flow was uncontrollable, unstoppable. Sungwoon retched out honey-sweet pink petals until he was dry-heaving, head spinning and body quaking. He brushed away mini stray petals that stuck to the sides of his lips, shaking them off in distaste.

With trembling hands, he Googled side effects of the pills. That seemed like a good idea.

Dosage: More than three pills can be taken under severe circumstances. This would purge the lungs of all flowers, new flower growth, stems and roots. Warning: should only be taken in situations when the hanahaki disease could cause fatal respiratory malfunction and under 24-hour supervision of medical professionals

Side Effects: - will cause sharp, intense and prolonged pain - will cause frequent regurgitation to expel waste matter from the body - in serious cases, patients may lose consciousness due to severe pain and discomfort

No. No. No.

“Sungwoon? Oh my god!” You rushed over to your friend who was unsteadily bent over, practically hurling his lungs out. His phone was carelessly tossed to one side.

Sucking in a deep breath to calm your nerves, you tried to assist him in sticking to rhythmic breathing.

Which was of...little use?

There was no stopping these pesky rosy flowers.

Cautiously, you picked a clean, fresh cherry blossom from the floor, from the pile of ‘barf’.

H-hanahaki?

“I-I-I was going to tell you...” Sungwoon choked out, now leaning against a wall, unable to move. “I-I r-really was...”

He heaved out another clump of flowers and watched as one got caught up in the passing winds, danced in front of his eyes before being swept to your distressed face, then the sole flower was blown away into...oblivion.

I like you.

The cold, stiff plastic chair dug into your back and thighs as you sat waiting, anxiously waiting for Sungwoon to regain consciousness.

“You idiot,” you whispered, tears threatening to slip down your face. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Now, all you could do was sit and hold his hand, waiting.

The doctors had to clear the remaining chunks of flowers, stems and ‘unearthed’ roots from his lungs. They had been choking him. Sungwoon had overdosed on the pills without any professional medical attention, it could have ended fatally.

At least, all he would sustain was minor bruising and soreness around his chest.

Finally, after hours of prodding, Sungwoon finally awoke. His eyes widened when they fell on you.

And at that moment, you couldn’t stop your tears from flowing.

“Who hurt you, Sungwoon? Who?” you cried. “Tell me and I’ll go sort it out for you! You don’t have to take these pills anymore!”

His mouth was pressed into a thin line, gaze wavering, uncertain.

You exhaled shakily like all the oxygen had been knocked out of your lungs. It hurt, it genuinely did.

“W-why did you do it? W-were y-you afraid that I would find out?”

A long pause filled the space. It was longer than necessary, too hesitant for comfort, a foreign feeling since you and Sungwoon rarely withheld details.

“Yes.”

Short, one-worded, affirmative answer.

Sungwoon tried to shrug and remain nonchalant about the situation. “Yes, I was scared that you would find out that I liked you, more than just a friend.”

Confession.

He let out a short sigh of pure relief and gladness, getting those off his chest was easier said than done but so worth it. Sungwoon felt much more carefree than burdened.

Still, he hoped it had not damaged the good relations.

A billion thoughts were racing through your head, crashing into each other when your brain failed to comprehend them individually. The information was being tossed at your form, compacted into one spaceship hurtling into the planet of you. A fresh batch of tears began pouring from your eyes.

“You could’ve told me! You didn’t have to hurt yourself like this! You’re my best friend Sungwoon. I can’t bear to see you get hurt!”

I know. I never wanted to hurt you either. All these flowers would ever do is to be a burden to you.

Walking next to Sungwoon...as a date was so much different from linking arms as best friends. You were much more self-aware, self-conscious of the smallest actions.

Since that whole incident last week, both of you had gone home and immersed yourselves in deep reflection, especially of your feelings.

Sungwoon’s hanahaki did not improve or worsen.

Finally, you decided to call him and give this ‘dating’ thing a shot. Both of you were single and you found Sungwoon the most amazing person in the world.

Maybe there was more to just admiration and platonic love. It never pained to discover.

The date was wholesome though it started off rather awkward and tense. Unfamiliar.

However, after an hour, all the uneasiness fizzled away and you were reminded who you were with, your best friend - possibly more than that.

You wished the date didn’t have to end so soon as the taxi rolled closer to your home. How would it end? Did all dates end with a kiss?

Colour filled your face at the thought.

“Thanks for,,, today,” Sungwoon concluded, blushing. He cleared his throat. “It’s late, you should get some rest.”

The taxi pulled to a gentle halt.

“Uh, I’ll walk you to your apartment.”

A smile made its way to your face at his words, you ducked out of the taxi before Sungwoon could notice your glee. He talked to the driver then hopped out of the vehicle.

“Today was really fun. I enjoyed myself,” you began, a hint of playfulness in your tone. “Let’s do it again sometime!”

Sungwoon’s cheeks reddened, almost with a rosy glow. He slowly slipped his hand into yours and clutched it tight. The feeling was foreign yet welcomed.

“Sure.”

You practically skipped up the remaining flights of stairs, too impatient and excited to remain still in an elevator, much less wait for one. Sungwoon was mercilessly dragged along, he laughed.

At last, the door came into sight, causing, a tinge of disappointment in the smiles.

“I-I’ll head in first...”

You fumbled with the locks and keys, trying to delay the entirety of ‘goodbye’.

Sungwoon bit his lips and swallowed hard before asking, “Can I kiss you goodnight?”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, rocking back and forth, shuffling in his spot anxiously.

Your hands froze in their spot, no, your whole body froze, unsure of how to respond.

Oh my god oh my god oh my god!

Sensing the sudden reaction and change of mood, he slowly backed away, embarrassed. “I-I...goodnight. I’ll see you soon.”

In a flash, you tossed your keys aside. “Hey! Sungwoon!”

He spun on his heel, looking surprised. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me.”

It was his turn to freeze up. You chuckled at his expression. Then, his shock morphed into a delightful smirk. His arms didn’t hesitate to circle around you, his eyes fluttered shut and then he pressed his lips onto yours.

Closing your eyes, you gladly melted into the kiss, allowing the world around you to melt away. The kiss was passionate, soft and promising, like the perfect blend of milk and honey.

A new, fresh feeling began to bloom in Sungwoon’s chest.

#admin l #ha sungwoon #wanna one #produce 101 #wanna one scenarios #produce 101 scenarios

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silverfootstepswrites · 7 years ago

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title Raise a glass summary When we can’t take back what’s been done. pairing itasaku, tobisaku, hot messes

“I need 50,000,” Sakura declared.

Tobirama paused, cigarette almost in his mouth. He lifted one foot onto the chair, the other resting flat on the concrete. And then he kissed the cigarette. Inhaling deeply, eyes locking with hers. Exhaling.

“You don’t have $50,000?” he asked. His eyes roved over her. Bare body tangled in the white sheets. She rested her chin in her hand. The phoenix on her arm flexing and rippling with the muscles underneath. The red garish against her skin.

“I didn’t say that,” she replied. Tobirama took another drag. His tongue circling the end of the cigarette. He exhaled to the side- watched the wind whisk his breath away. And then he faced forward again. Watched her through the open balcony door.

“Then what for?” he challenged. Something lurked in that expression. That smile, eyes gentle and mouth soft.

“Consider it an investment. You’ll be happy that you did,” insisted Sakura, rolling onto her back and stretching her arms over her head. His eyes narrowed.

“I give you 50,000 and you’ll make it multiply? Just like that?” he probed. He flicked the cigarette over the edge of the balcony. With a sigh, he got to his feet. Stepped back into the apartment. The door slid shut behind him. His shadow fell across her legs as he stood next to the bed. She stared up at him, her head tilting back, neck stretching.

“Tobirama,” she said, sounding hurt, “It’s like you don’t know me. I’m good at a lot of things. But there are exactly two things that I’m very good at…and one of those things is making money.”

Tobirama raised his eyebrows but didn’t try to deny it. The last time he had loaned her a couple of men, she had blown up a warehouse- along with one of his vans. She had replaced it, of course, with an identical van filled to bursting with neatly-rolled stacks of money. That was just the kind of person she had always been.

“What’s the other thing?” he asked. He stepped closer, shadow pooling across her thighs. His leg brushed against her foot. He took a step closer. His shadow moved to engulf her. He rested his knee on the bed.

“I wonder,” answered Sakura. Before she could roll away, his arms caged her in. His face hovered over hers. A lazy smirk spread across his lips. His eyelashes brushed against hers.

“No. Explain it for me, Jing-Mei,” he insisted. The smell of ash clung to his every breath. Sakura glanced down and then back up at his face.

“Well, it seems like part of you gets it, at least,” Sakura observed. She laid still when he bent his head to bite the side of her neck. Not enough to break the skin. Just enough that when he pulled back, the white indentations of his teeth lingered. Faded more and more with each quickening heartbeat.

She smiled, eyes beckoning him in. But then he thought of something that made him stop. She froze too.

“Wait. Don’t tell me this ‘investment’ involves me losing my limbs later,” he accused. Sakura stuck her lower lip out.

“Not any of the ones you like, anyway,” she answered. Tobirama glared.

“I like all my limbs, Jing-Mei.”

“Then I guess you’ll be fine,” Sakura declared. Putting on a coy smile, she trailed her finger down his chest, down his stomach. And just when he thought she would touch him, she sat back, expression smug. His hands traced down her thighs instead. The sounds of her dragging, trembling breaths filled his ears. Echoing against the insides of his emptying skull.

Tobirama’s eyes flew open. He pressed his palm to his temple, squinting up at the ceiling. The inside of his mouth felt dry. Hashirama leaned over him, a bamboo skewer hanging out of his mouth.

“It’s rare for you to sleep so soundly. Did you have a good dream?” asked the Dragon Head. He walked away. Tobirama draped his arm over his face. He watched the fan turn in lazy circles above.

“…Maybe?” Tobirama replied, trying to sort through the scrambled images and sounds. He knew who he had dreamt about. But for some odd reason, he couldn’t remember how he had felt. He sat up. The sofa in the back of the karaoke bar wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, but it worked. Hashirama returned, a fresh skewer in his hand. Tobirama squinted at the yellow balls impaled on it.

“What are you eating?” he demanded.

“Siu mai. You want one? They’re pork,” answered Hashirama, dunking the dumpling into soy sauce in a clear plastic cup. Tobirama made a face. He stood and made his way to the tiny bathroom. He washed his face and neck with cold water. Hands gripping the edges of the grimy sink, he stared at the water swirling down the drain. He caught Hashirama’s reflection crossing the room.

There was a rectangular window that stared down at the club’s main dance floor. The floor tiles lit up in garish colors in time to the music. The security monitors on the other side of the room showed the private karaoke rooms. Hashirama stood at the window, his hands crossed behind his back.

“This place seemed more fun when we were younger,” remarked Hashirama. Tobirama wiped his face on his sleeve. He pushed off the sink and went to join his older brother. His palm dragged across the silver stubble on his jaw before he leaned against the window.

“It wasn’t,” Tobirama stated. Hashirama sighed.

“Maybe.”

Sakura’s phone rang at precisely 9 am. Her fingers stilled on the keyboard. The notification popped up in the right corner of her screen. Although, even without it, she could have guessed who it was. He called around the same time each day. And this, he told her, was just because-

“I wanted to hear your voice.”

Sakura picked her phone off the counter and raised it to her ear.

“Wei,” she said.

“Good morning,” Itachi greeted her.

“Good morning,” she sighed in return. Because she knew he would keep saying it until she did too. She used her left hand to type in a few more words and numbers.

“Did you have breakfast?” asked Itachi. Sakura glanced at the cooling bowl that she had pushed aside earlier. She had picked out the fried peanuts and Chinese cruller out, leaving most of the rice.

“I had some congee and coffee,” she answered. He waited until she told more of the truth. “And there was maybe some amaretto in the coffee.” He chuckled.

“Even when you’re being bad, it’s with class, Sakura,” he commented. The admiration in his voice was nothing new. But Sakura caught herself smiling anyway. She banished the expression. Resumed scrolling through the file. Once it looked good, she sent it back to Charlie. She closed the laptop.

“Ah, now I have your full attention,” Itachi said with relief. She frowned.

“How did you-”

“Relax. I didn’t bug your apartment. I could hear you typing,” he interrupted her before she could even voice her full suspicion.

“I’d kill you,” she threatened, voice suddenly filled with ice.

“Probably,” he agreed.

That took her by surprise. “What are you even trying to achieve by calling me like this?” she queried.

“I told you. I like hearing your voice, Jing-Mei,” he replied. She let out another long sigh. And then he went so quiet that she wondered if the call had dropped. But then she heard a lighter flick.

“Do you…by any chance… not like that name?” asked Itachi.

Sakura considered this. Her eyes closed. She heard Itachi exhale deep and soft from the other end of the line. She could imagine the smell of his smokes. The way the haze rose from his mouth, framing his nose and brow for an instant.

“I…don’t know,” she said. And he chuckled.

“You don’t know if you don’t like your name?” he asked. Her eyes opened. For an instant, she felt like he was sitting next to her. Hand on his chin, gaze searching her. Like she was some kind of new map to explore.

It unsettled her.

“No. I don’t know what it is. But when you say it… “ Sakura hesitated. Her words pooled on the tip of her tongue, half-formed and half-coherent. She touched her fingers to her lips. Rubbed her knuckles along her drooping eyelids as she tried to gather the right ideas. An unbearable sadness gathered in her stomach.

“It’s nothing,” she sighed, suddenly exhausted. There was a long pause. She heard him exhale too. Could almost smell the smoke if she tried hard enough.

“Ji- Sakura, I won’t understand you if you don’t explain, you know,” Itachi said, his voice even and soft. Sakura bent her head, running her free hand through her hair. Scratching against the scalp.

“Then don’t understand me,” she snapped. Her forehead rested against the counter. She pulled her left arm over her face. It was silent on the other end of the line.

“I’m hanging up,” declared Sakura. She half-suspected that he had hung up already.

But he replied. “Okay. I’ll call you again tomorrow.”

She ended the call. And stayed that way, arm over her face, eyes squeezed shut. Gut writhing like a pit filled with snakes. When the phone rang again, she grabbed it too quickly. It wasn’t him again.

“Wei,” she said.

“I found Ghost, Aunt Cheng. He’s in Kobe,” Chojuro said right away. Sakura bolted upright. She leaned forward, as if that would help her hear better.

“Kobe?” she repeated. “Are you sure it’s the right guy? The one who was smuggling girls out of Tsim Sha Tsui and into Manila a few years back?”

“Yeah, Boss. Word is that he’s been trying to get back into business with the Russians. I think I figured out where he’s been hiding out too,” he reported. Sakura smiled.

“Charlie Lau,” she sighed, shaking her head, “You’re a gift.”

“What should I do, Boss?” Charlie asked. Sakura got up.

“I’ll be in Tokyo in two days. We’ll go then. Don’t call Chouji. I’m bringing Zabuza,” she directed, then hung up. She pulled her blazer on, then her heels. She was out on the foggy streets of Hong Kong, phone glued to her ear. Zabuza pulled up in front of her apartment a few minutes later. As she got into the car, she noticed his crooked collar and messy hair. Which was odd, because she’d never seen it out of a perfect quiff. Waxed and combed into submission.

“I’m sorry. Did I interrupt a date?” she queried. Zabuza glanced at her through the rearview mirror.

“Where to, Boss?” asked Zabuza, ignoring her teasing. Sakura crossed her arms over her chest.

“Sai Wan, near Mount Davis. I’ll give you directions as we get closer,” she instructed. Zabuza looked at her again. The reflection of his eyes wavered.

“You’re going to talk to Kabuto?” he guessed. Sakura smiled.

“Maybe,” she replied. Zabuza shook his head as he shifted the gears and pulled off the curb.

“I hope you know what you’re doing, Boss,” he muttered.

“I haven’t gotten either of us killed yet,” she reminded him, smile in place.

The Red Arrow gang had set up an auto shop in one of the seedier parts of Sai Wan in the north-western corner of the island. After the HKPD had discovered and raided several of Kabuto’s fronts, he had been forced to move further west. Sakura continued to defend herself whenever this came up; Kabuto had been trying to take over her bus routes in the first place. And she hadn’t meant to expose his businesses. Besides, what kind of idiot ran a cockfighting ring in such a visible location?

Only Tenten was a true witness to that debacle. And only she knew that Sakura had intentionally steered into the building rather than away. They hid their smiles whenever the affair came up.

“It will serve as a good lesson about discretion,” Sakura pointed out to Hashirama. Smiling sweetly as Kabuto ground his teeth at her.

Out of 24k gangs, the Red Arrow boys were the least profitable and the least respected. When Orochimaru had been around, the Jade Gang had supported the scrawny Red Arrows with money and men. But Sakura had made it no secret that she couldn’t stand Kabuto. Orochimaru had always laughed at that. In the end, maybe he hadn’t cared so much either.

After Mad Dog Kakashi’s supposed death, the Mid-Levels should have been hers. After all, the Jade Gang had the best public image and some ties to the politicians in the city. In turn, the affluent residents of the Mid-Levels didn’t really seem to mind the Jade Gang’s presence near their homes. Once businesses and residents achieved a certain level of success, she sent someone over to persuade them to pay a reasonable monthly fee. In exchange, they would be under their protection. She never raised fees without warning and never went back on her word. She also kept dealers and hoodlums out of the territory.

“Does a cat sleep in its own shit in the litter box?” she always said when asked why.

A few years ago, on the day of Mad Dog’s funeral, one Red Pole was absent. Kabuto had lead his boys into the Mid-Levels to begin shaking down residents and making his mark. A few civilians had even called Sakura during the funeral, gunfire and screams echoing behind them. The incense was still burning in front of Mad Dog’s portrait. Wavering against that crooked smile and squinting eyes.

“Uncle,” Sakura said, turning to Hashirama. The shrieks and explosions still blared through the speaker of her phone. She ended the call. Hashirama answered with a stony face, his lips tight. And beside him, Tobirama’s face was grim too.

“You can’t let this go, Uncle. Mad Dog may have been a fool, but he was our brother,” Sakura reminded him. His hands trembled with rage. He raised one, touching his temple, the other slipping into his pocket. Closing his eyes, he let out a long, shaking breath.

“Go,” he whispered. Sakura nodded. And then she lingered, eyes tracing over the empty coffin. Hashirama opened his eyes when he realized that she was still there.

Sakura bent her head and kissed the top of the coffin. Her burgundy lipstick lingering on the shining wood. And then she strode off, black heels tapping against the stone. She ripped her coat off as she walked. Tenten and Sai hurried to catch up to her. Sai took her coat. They saw Zabuza sprinting across the cemetery ahead of them to bring the car around.

Sakura reached under her dress, pulling her gold Desert Eagle out. She held it in her right hand, checking over its parts to make sure that it would fire smoothly.

“Call the boys. We’re going to need some firepower. But don’t let anyone kill him. I want him in front of the Dragon Head,” Sakura ordered.

It was a bloody couple of months. But the residents of the Mid-Levels sighed with relief when the Jade Gang prevailed. The Jade Gang lost a few men, but in the end, they were able to deliver what Sakura had asked for.

Kabuto, before the Chairman in an old warehouse, blood caked on his split lip. Squinting down at the floor out the eye that hadn’t swelled shut.

It wasn’t so much the mess that had upset Hashirama. Although, the Dragon Head wasn’t a fan of being in the news. It made it harder for everyone when the police was on high alert. It was skipping the funeral that had ignited his rage. Failing to respect the memory of a fallen brother. This Dragon Head valued loyalty and honor above all else.

“As promised, Uncle,” Sakura said, pushing Kabuto onto his knees. She dealt him an extra kick between the shoulders for good measure. And then she looked up at Hashirama. He was like a statue, barely even breathing. The stillness terrified her.

Sometimes she forgot, when he was in his nice shirts and pressed pants, that she had once watched him beat a rich man to death with his own golf clubs. Still, when Hashirama motioned for her to step closer, she obeyed. Tried to hide her trembling hand against her side.

Hashirama stood, holding his hand out to her. She grasped it. The cold eyes that stared at her shaking wrist told her nothing. He stayed that way for a long time. His thumb slowly stroked over the back of her hand. And then he pulled it up to kiss her knuckles.

“My child, you never disappoint me,” he sighed. Gooseflesh rose all over her arms and shoulders. He released her. And the message was clear that it was time for her to go.

Sakura still didn’t know the details of what happened in that room after she left. She knew better than to ask. All that mattered was that Kabuto emerged alive. The Red Arrow boys never made any attempts to go near the Mid-Levels again. And Kabuto still walked with a limp years later.

When Zabuza pulled up to the locked gate, two no-names stopped them. They didn’t even recognize the infamous Demon Eyes Zabuza. Sakura could hear him losing his temper so she opened up her window. Stuck her face out.

“Move,” she ordered.

And the two men froze. Finally realizing who they were dealing with. They scrambled backwards, shouting at one another and struggling to open the lock. When the car finally pulled into the lot behind the auto shop, Kabuto was limping out of the small, dirty building. He didn’t even give her the chance to get out. He opened the back door, one hand on top of the car. He stared in at her, black eyes narrowed.

“What the fuck do you want?” he demanded. He almost flinched when the barrel of her gun met his nose.

“Get in the car. Alone,” Sakura ordered, her voice soft. Mouth softer.

Kabuto’s eyes darted around. Pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, he sat down beside her. He shut the door, leaning against it, ready to bolt at any second. Zabuza locked it. The sound made Kabuto flinch.

Truly the instincts of a little rat.

“Tokyo is mine, Kabuto. Why are you trying to make deals with the Yamanaka-kai?” Sakura asked. She didn’t bother with greetings or beating around the bush. She didn’t want to extend this chat in any way.

“I’m not,” replied Kabuto.

She grabbed a cigarette out of the pack she had wedged into the door. She placed it between her lips. She patted her pockets and then looked around. Kabuto’s eyes darted from her to the door again. And then he sighed. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out his lighter and offered her the flame. She leaned towards him, waiting until the tip of the cigarette began to sizzle. As soon as it caught, he stuffed the lighter back into his pocket.

Sakura leaned against the opposite door. Watching his every nervous twitch.

“You swear?” she asked. He didn’t answer.

“Because if I find out that you were the one who shot at me, I’m going to destroy you. I’ll wipe your very existence from this earth. It’ll be like you were never born,” Sakura warned, smiling. She exhaled into his frozen face. But then she looked him over. At the fading purple on his cheek. At the fraying hem of his sleeve and scuffed sneakers.

“Who hit you?” she asked. When he didn’t respond, she reached over to poke his bruise. He slapped her hand away.

“Diu lei- don’t fucking touch me,” Kabuto snapped.

Sakura took a long drag on her cigarette, watching him through the haze. Her eyelashes drooping across her vision.

“You know… if you’re in some kind of trouble, you should go talk to the Dragon Head,” she suggested. Kabuto glared even harder at her.

“Fuck you. We both know that he’s on your side,” Kabuto snarled in return. Sakura shrugged.

“That’s why you’re a moron. You trusted the wrong people. Orochimaru and Kakashi are both dead,” she pointed out. Then she glanced down at her nails. The tip of her right pointer finger had a little chip.

“And in the end, Mad Dog trusted me and not you,” Sakura added, rubbing salt in the wound. Kabuto’s upper lip twitched.

“You’re not better than me,” grumbled Kabuto. Sakura had to smile at that. She met his gaze.

“No. I’m not. I’m just luckier… and a lot smarter.”

When Kabuto stepped out of the car a couple minutes later, his goons immediately swarmed the vehicle. She could see them carrying knives and metal bats. Some even had guns, which surprised her. Guns weren’t so easy to come by in Hong Kong.

But Kabuto jerked his head to the side, striding back into the auto shop. They hesitated and grumbled, but they shuffled after him, still eyeing the gleaming black car.

Sakura opened up the back window.

“Fai tsai,” she called out. Kabuto stopped. Nobody even remembered who had started calling him useless. But it had stuck. Even his files at the HKPD referred to him as Fai Tsai. She could see his shoulders rising at the old nickname. Still, he turned on his heel, teeth clenching together. She lobbed a thick roll of money at him. It was all held together by a rubber band. Kabuto held it in his palms like it might explode at any second. And then he slowly lifted his chin to glare at her.

“The fuck do you want?” he demanded.

“Diu lan lei. Is that how you say thanks? Buy yourself some decent clothes. It’s embarrassing being seen with you,” scoffed Sakura, waving a hand at him.

“I don’t need your charity, Jing-Mei,” scoffed Kabuto. But Sakura began closing the window.

“Yes you do,” she replied before the window shut completely. She tapped on the partition and Zabuza began turning the car around. Kabuto didn’t try to stop them as they drove out of the lot and back onto the street.

“That was way too nice of you, boss. Those Red Arrow assholes don’t deserve a cent of your money,” grumbled Zabuza. She met his gaze in the mirror. And then his eyes darted back to the road.

“Was it?” answered Sakura, a smile spreading her lips.

The following night, she took the flight into Narita International Airport. She drank two glasses of red wine on the plane and woke with a crick in her neck. Zabuza didn’t sleep a wink, his arms crossed over his chest.

As Sakura settled into the back of the car, she touched her fingertips to her forehead. Her face scrunched up. She let out a sigh.

“What’s wrong, Boss?” asked Zabuza, adjusting his mirror to look at her. Sakura leaned her head back against the seat.

“Do you need a drink?” he suggested. Sakura reached into the seat pocket behind the passenger seat and found a fresh box of cigarettes. Tenten truly could be a blessing. She thought of everything. Peeling the plastic off, Sakura took one out. Rubbed her fingers against the smooth paper.

“Are there any skulls for me to crack in Tokyo?” she queried. She lit the cigarette, watching the flames eat at the paper. Turning it black at the edges.

“Not at the moment, Boss,” replied Zabuza.

Sakura stuck the lighter back into her pocket. She took a very long drag from her cigarette.

“A drink, then,” she ordered.

Itachi found her on a rooftop bar an hour later. The bottom half of her skirt was sheer. Sakura crossed one leg over the other, the gold rings on her fingers glimmering softly in the darkness. Her dress displayed the smooth expanse of her back. The old stab wound on the right side was hidden under a tattoo of a black koi.

He rested his hand on her shoulder. Just to see her reaction.

Something hard pressed against his forearm in response. The wine in her glass didn’t even slosh.

“It’s me,” Itachi said.

Clicking her tongue, Sakura put her gun away. She twisted her head to look over her shoulder at him. He smiled, eyes softening into half-moons. He settled in the seat to her right. Whatever words had gathered on her tongue dissolved.

She touched the scab on his left cheekbone.

“Did someone take a swing at you, Kumicho?” asked Sakura.

Closing his eyes, he leaned into her touch. She pulled her hand back. And he opened his eyes again. Sakura avoided his gaze by opening up her clutch to pull out a fresh cigarette. She dug around, pushing her phone and lipstick aside. But no cigarettes. Grumbling under her breath, she lifted her head to find Itachi offering her one of his own.

“They’re not menthols,” Itachi warned her. She accepted it, lifting it to her lips. And he snapped his cigarette case shut. Sakura watched him light his cigarette. Her eyes skimmed over his narrow face and long eyelashes. The shape of his upper lip as it closed around the cigarette. He looked up at her. Eyes flickering from his cigarette to her.

Sakura steadied her cigarette between her fingers, leaning towards him. When smoke began to seep from the tip of her cigarette, she pulled back.

“So,” she said considering the grey wisps coming from between her fingers. And then her eyes met his. “Business or pleasure, daai lou?”

Itachi smiled again.

“It’s always a pleasure to do business with you. But there are some things I wanted to ask you,” Itachi replied, almost sounding regretful. Sakura pursed her lips around her cigarette, nodding for him to continue.

“Are you still using the Inuzuka-kai to move your product?” he questioned. Sakura dipped her head again.

“And just them?”

At this, Sakura narrowed her eyes.

“Well, it would have been nice to use the Sarutobi’s, but they declined. It seems like they want to move away from that,” Sakura replied. She scoffed, putting her elbow up on the bar. “As if people will ever stop needing god’s medicine.” She lifted her cigarette to her lips, paused. She glanced at Itachi.

“But you’ve been thinking, I see. What’s really on your mind, daai lou?” she pressed.

Itachi stared down at the bar. One hand on his chin, the other resting on his knee. As he thought, Sakura waved to the bartender. She pointed to her glass and then raised two fingers. When she turned back to Itachi, he was looking at her now.

“You said to stop focusing on the Inuzuka-kai and to look at the Yamanaka-kai instead,” Itachi recalled. Sakura nodded before taking a sip of her wine.

“What did you find?” she inquired. She could see it in the furrow of his brow. The way he kept shaking his head like he couldn’t even believe his own thoughts.

“Too much money. It doesn’t match their numbers at all,” Itachi said, almost like a question. Sakura shrugged at that. The bartender dropped off their drinks, along with an ashtray. He accepted the huge bill that Sakura slipped him and disappeared without question. Sakura slid a glass over to Itachi.

“Where’s that too much money going, Kumicho?” Sakura prompted.

“I don’t know yet. But we ran into some 24k snooping around in Chuo and that’s how this happened,” said Itachi, gesturing to his cheek. Sakura considered this, arms folding over her chest. As she thought, Itachi took a hearty swig of wine. Hummed in approval. Drained his glass. Sakura pushed the second one over to him without question.

“My boys know to play nice with your boys. I don’t think it was me,” Sakura finally replied.

“They didn’t look like yours anyway. I couldn’t understand them, but I did hear them say daai lou and Tobirama,” Itachi told her. Sakura’s eyes narrowed. Running her tongue along her teeth, she turned over this new information in her mind. Crossing her right leg over the left, she rested her right elbow on her thigh. Leaning in closer to him, she touched her fingers to his chest.

“I don’t like being lied to. You know that, right?” she inquired.

“As much as you hate the smell of beer,” Itachi replied. She graced him with a smile.

“You do know me,” Sakura laughed, sitting back up. She let her fingers slide off him. She tapped the ash off the tip of her cigarette. Raised it back up to her lips.

“What’re you planning next?” she then questioned before she inhaled. Itachi spun the wine glass between his thumb and pointer finger. He had barely touched his cigarette. It rested in his left hand, smoldering lonely.

“I guess it’s time for me to pay a visit to Yamanaka Inoichi. He was always loyal under my father; I never thought to suspect him of anything,” Itachi mused, almost to himself. Sakura let out a noisy sigh, drawing his gaze again.

“Didn’t you once tell me that you’re not your father?” she pointed out to him. His eyebrows drew together at that. He pushed the wine glass away from him. He turned on the stool to fully face her. She could feel his gaze spilling over her, and then focusing back on her face.

“You’re all dressed up. Busy night ahead of you?” he suddenly queried. Sakura rolled her eyes.

“If I wanted to have some fun, I’d be in Shibuya, not here in Roppongi Hills paying 2500 yen for a glass of wine,” Sakura retorted. And then she batted her eyelashes at him. “Why? Do I look strange?” she baited him.

“No. You look nice,” Itachi answered. The modesty of his response wasn’t quite what she had been fishing for. But it still warmed her. His simplicity.

“Another word of advice for you. Because sometimes I think you yakuza seem to forget. But I’m not one of you,” Sakura said. She tapped her pointer finger against the bar. The ruby on her pointer finger glittered.

“Is that a threat?” asked Itachi, his voice lowering.

Sakura sighed, tilting her head this way and that. She opened her eyes to look at Itachi.

“You stupid man. It means that I’m not affiliated with any of you. So you can use me,” she spelled out for him. His eyes narrowed.

“Why would you do that?” demanded Itachi, leaning closer to her. Sakura reached out to touch his scab again. This time, he didn’t lean into her. Her smile widened.

“You have a terrible memory today, Kumicho. I already told you. It’s because I think you’re cute,” she said. She blew her smoke out into his face. And when he closed his eyes against it, she leaned in to kiss his cheek. She stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

“You know where I’ll be, daai lou,” Sakura said, getting out of her seat.

Itachi caught her arm. Held her there. His eyes exhausted and dark, glittering.

“Sakura,” he uttered. And the way he said her name sounded special. Rolling off his teeth and tongue like a sacred mantra. She smiled down at him, her hand resting on his shoulder.

“I’ll be in touch, Itachi,” she replied. And then she slipped through his fingers.

#eastern suns #tobisaku #itasaku #triad!sakura x yakuza!itachi #writing #triad!au

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evilbrennan · 7 years ago

Text

WIP plop

Everyone be posting WIP here and I just made this thing to plop boardgamenerdgasm stuff to, but now I’m feeling left out.

So here’s the best plop in Dauntless, a novel about kids with superpowers punching holes in things in a sort of Alt-WW1 setting.

“When we were finally released, we burst out into the cool night and lay in the grass just breathing and laughing at the absurdity of it all. The stars were bright and plentiful and we were all too tired from the heat to do much else besides lay there and talk. London put his head on my chest and Dauntless and Simone were on either side of us. We caught our breath and I started pointing out constellations that Annette showed me. They were Gorbanian beliefs, but no less valid than our own.

“That one’s Zachariah. He’s the one who brought fire from the stars to the sun, and then down to us. He built these giant tongs that could reach far out into space and began to pluck starlight out of the sky and when he was done, he threw the tongs into the ice that surrounded him and the heat radiating off of them melted the snow and created the oceans. “

“Hell of a set of tongs” Dauntless said.

“You think they would have found them by now” Simone noted.

“They did” I told them, “they broke from the change in temperature and shattered into hundreds of pieces. That’s where the Chenasse mountain range comes from.”

Dauntless laughed, “Of course. That makes sense.

”I shrugged, “Makes about as much sense as our constellations do.”

“I don’t know much about ours.” London said, the odd sense of a rare sadness tinging his voice, “no one really told me about it.”

“I’ll show you.” said Simone, “That one there, the one that is the bottom part of a square? See it there? That’s Klaus the gambler. He’s represented by a single playing card. He won the freedom of all human beings from under the control of all the gods. They were free to choose what they were meant to do, how to do it, and what to believe in. He eventually ended up banished along with all the old gods because the gods were so angry at losing that they dragged him along to oblivion.”

“Yeah, the tongs were a little more believable” London said, “What game did they play?”

“An ancient one” Simone said, “One that, because they lost it, also got banished along with anyone who knew what it was called.”

London laughed, “Your old gods are screwy.”

“They’re your old gods too.” Dauntless said, “Simone’s from Ardeen too.”

“First I’ve heard of them.” London mumbled.

“What about you?” Dauntless said to Ayda, “What sort of nonsense does your country fill your head with?”

“Where are you from, anyway?” asked Simone.“Agnolia” she replied.

Dauntless propped himself up on his elbows, looking at her with a mix of confusion and concern.

“North or south?” he asked.

“The very north. Beside Great Bushani.”

Great Bushani, besides being the biggest body of water surrounded by many different nations, was the area that was notoriously demolished by the Estana push to capture the capital of Agnolia which sat nearby. Villages were put to the torch, children bayoneted, workers rounded up and shot just to make a point, and a very specific point that they were not there to take prisoners of any sort. Dauntless, while also from Agnolia, came from the deep south, a region far removed from the fighting due to it’s little population and scant resources, and probably had a very different worldview despite having been born within the same borders.

We all grew a little quiet as we waited for one of us to say something, anything to distract us from the horrors that Ayda had witnessed and survived, but everyone stayed silent, not knowing how to continue the conversation.

“My parents didn’t show me a lot of constellations.” Ayda said, breaking the silence at long last, “my uncle showed me his favourite though. Just the once. He said he would show me more, but…”

Again, the quiet grew like a stain on a wound dressing until she spoke again,

“I’ve been trying to find it since you were talking about them, but I can’t make it out. I remember the story though.”

“Could you tell it?” London asked, his voice hiding a slight quaver.

She took a deep breath and then began. The sound of her voice, a low, melodious song, that started deep in her gut and rolled out of her mouth caught us all off guard. She sang an old song, a song from a land that barely existed anymore, from a people slaughtered and crushed under treads and boot heels, an anguished and beautiful song that likes I have never heard before or since. The lyrics were lost on all of us as she sang it in Agnolian, and even though I knew a few phrases, the language of the verses was unknowingly old, so much so that I couldn’t understand the smallest bit of it.

The chorus rose and fell like the waves of an ocean, trailing notes behind it like a splintering hull as a ship breaks apart. Her voice cracked but once along the voyage to completion, but it was from the emotional weight this act carried with it, not the strain of doing so and it made it all the more touching.

When she finished, I cleared my throat a little after I felt how dry it was and before I could speak, she told us what the song had been about.

“There were people that once lived on the far side of Great Bushani and one day, they grew hungry, cold, and tired. They had been hammered by storms. Trees had been uprooted and blown away while they huddled fearfully in their homes. The things they relied on for food and shelter were all gone and winter was at hand. Before the lake froze, they would have to make a ship to get to the other side, where they knew things would be better, greener, warmer. They looked around and could only find one tree left standing. Their sacred tree. It was so tall it could scrape the clouds, and so wide, the village could not hold hands around it in a circle. They had spent generations carving their story into this tree and it told the legend of the village and all who had lived there. Some said that it was such a mighty tree if they had cut it down, the villagers could simply walk over it to the over side of Great Bushani, but that was a foolish idea.

They eventually decided that they would cut it down, construct a great ship to carry them on to the other side and there, there they would live among the long grass and plentiful trees that surely were there. As they chopped, cut, pulled and dragged that immense being to the ground, all wept as they did so. It took nearly a month to get it down and already the lake had begun to freeze. Great Bushani doesn’t freeze completely and walking across it was surely death, so the only option was to hurry before they froze and starved. All through the cold they worked, the biting frost slowing their hands and making their breath short until one day, they had finished.

By the time the ship was done, only 10 people remained. The rest lay where they had fallen, frozen and gaunt with saws and hammers in hand. The ship was big enough for the whole village, but only those were still alive would make the voyage. All the others couldn’t be pried off the ground they were stuck to.

The food was all gone and the remaining villagers had loaded all the other supplies, blankets, books, trinkets from home, and shoved the enormous craft onto the frozen lake and began the push it along the path they had carved into the ice. The boat scraped and gouged its way towards the cold water and finally, after their arms ached and knees groaned, the ice cracked and gave way. The villagers pulled themselves up into the boat and rowed as fiercely as they could, battling the biting wind and the crashing waves all while the ice crumbled in front of them.

The lake is so huge and so far across, that it takes them days of open water to reach the other side. By the time they reach it, there’s only two people left, a man and a woman. They woke up, shaken out of their exhaustion by hitting ice again. They check on their friends and family, but find them rooted to the spot, oars stuck mid-row in their hands. They jump out, sliding on the ice, and walk to the shore. Among the snow and trees, they found goats, and roots, food enough for them to survive the harsh cold.

They lived in the relative shelter of the ship and lived long enough to see the spring, but one day a fire broke out and engulfed the whole ship in flame, killing them both. The only thing that remained was a large section of the ship with an incomplete history of its people carved into the interior.

Years later, people came, drawn by the same things the people from the other side of the lake had dreamed of and found it, washed ashore and hard as stone. They studied it and wrote that song about them, leaving the piece of the boat in what would become their town hall. The song is called, ‘O wind, O ice, O fire, O heart’ and my uncle taught it to me before the Estanians came.

”We waited for anything else she had to say and she finally said, “I still can’t find the constellation.”

“What is it?” London asked.

“It’s the boat, stretching from one shore to the other.” Ayda told him.

“Maybe we can find it together.” I said and we spent the next hour or so talking and pointing out other stars and the constellation we thought it should be and making up stories about mad gods and the brave heroes who defied them to be forever immortalised among the dark sky above.

When we got tired and headed to bed, London and I shared my room like we always had. He asked me if I had met anyone during the years that stood between us and I told him about Annette. When I asked him, he told me that he didn’t think that’s really what he wanted. We held hands and slept in the same bed like kids do, for comfort. He smelled different. The sweat that had dried on his skin reminded me of spending nights in trenches which oddly helped me sleep.

And then we were off to war once again.

#writeblr #wip #@lilamina #@dantedevereaux

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