A Dash of Chili Powder

118

The moment the peachy eyed boy touched her hand, Amaya grabbed it, tightly holding onto him. She shook her head meakly, knowing exactly what he was asking without having to look into his eyes. Just the simple touch was enough. 

"Not entirely," she muttered softly, breathing less hard. "It's just...forcing me to remember things that I don't particularly want to remember. Ever."

There was absolutely no memory she could stand to remember, being that each memory seemed to be a heavy weight too unbearable to carry. They were each more unpleasant than the one before it. 

She couldn't stand her past. 

She couldn't remember it.

'Do you want to?'

Amaya averted her purple eyes and looked up at her present companion, her fingers clutching at his. "Rage, tell me... Why do people fear their memories, their pasts? Why do they run from them, hide from them, forget them? Why, in the end, for whatever reason, are they forced into remembering such painful things?"

She closed her solemn eyes and rested her small, messy head on the teen's shoulder.

Why, indeed.

Gracie

[Awwww. I don' t know why but that just made her more adorable. >w< Rage has a...mute accent...pfft. XD (Oh yeah - Ikari! Jeezus, I completely spaced her out. O___O;;)]

Amaya's cold hand grabbed Rage's and squeezed while his was still on her stomach. He didn't know why but the gesture made him self-conscious, as if this moment was much more intimate than it should be between people who've known each other only for two weeks.

But those eyes - those beautiful, terrified purple eyes were staring straight into his peach-colored ones. Her fingers intertwined with his' and the coolness pierced his warm skin like tiny needles. It was lovely and frightening at the same time. He physically flinched at her abrupt touch.

"Rage, tell me..." Amaya whimpered. "Why do people fear their memories, their pasts? Why do they run from them, hide from them, forget them? Why, in the end, for whatever reason, are they forced into remembering such painful things?"

That habit of opening his useless mouth overcame Rage again and he mouthed words he could never make. But even if he could, he wasn't sure if they'd be the right ones. Because he had no answer to her questions. Not one. And it made him feel stupid.

Amaya sighed after another half-second and without warning leaned forward, letting her head rest against his shoulder. Again, he flinched, but only a little. He always did that when Amaya did something physical to him that he didn't expect. Their fingers were still wound together. Rage's heart was going a million miles an hour.

And, impossibly, his thoughts drifted away from Amaya. Away from the present. Why DO people want to forget...?

It was so easy. So easy it made Rage want to vomit. The gentle slide of the knife, parting flesh, a simple shove, and that was it. The jonin was dead at his feet. The kunai was dark and bloody in his hand. He looked at the body and trembled all over.

This was what he was to look forward to for the rest of his life?

And suddenly he remembered something: The kid. Rage looked up with wide orange eyes.

Kozue had amazingly gotten to his feet even after that beating. His lip and nose were bloody and his clothes were soiled, but other than that he was all right. And those eyes.

Those eyes.

For a few more seconds Rage stood there and stared back, just holding the knife, feeling stupid with shock, and totally exposed. And then he ran.

What had he just done? Rage leaped through the canopy as fast as his small legs could carry him. What in the name of the gods had he just done? He'd saved a shinobi's life. Sure, he'd also taken one, but that hadn't been his motive. Sweet Kami, why did he do that?

Someone was following him, and he did not have to look back to know that it was Kozue. Rage's heart threatened to break through his ribs. Why was he following him? To kill him? Rage was an assassin, and this Kozue was a shinobi. It made sense - if this were any other situation. Rage had saved the boy's life. Couldn't he just accept that and be grateful?

Rage's nerves couldn't take it anymore. He leaped back to the forest floor, staggered, and put his hands against a tree to support himself. His breaths were painful and gasping. He pulled the red cloth mask from his mouth so it wouldn't suffocate him.

A weight dropped from the trees and landed softly behind him. Rage froze and almost vomited with fear. There was no use trying to fight - he was in no condition. An easy kill for this young shinobi. Rage turned on rubber legs to face him.

Kozue looked just like he had back in the clearing with the body - he stared at Rage with those poor, ugly, beautiful eyes. Something was in them. It wasn't a complete flame; it wasn't even a spark. Just a dull, smothered light, like that of a dying ember covered in dirt-colored ash, filled this boy's eyes.

Rage feared those eyes. Those were his eyes.

The brown haired boy stood there for a while. Then he came towards Rage. The younger child shook visibly and backed into the tree in a vain attempt to escape. Kozue stood right in front of Rage. Paused. Then the shinobi threw his arms around the assassin and squeezed. It refused to register in Rage's mind for a long moment of frozen disbelief until he realized - Kozue was hugging him.

"Arigatou," Kozue murmured. His voice was strangled and drenched with tears. "Arigatou. Arigatou."

Rage stared at the matted brown hair in his face with huge peach-colored eyes. The shinobi kept repeating that phrase, softly, beautifully, perfectly. Each time he spoke it, it was like a sword was slashing through Rage's outer shell. It took a mere five strikes before his soul was exposed, but the assault didn't stop. The blows struck and caressed him with that word. The two shattered boys stood in that moment and, for the first time, lived.

Rage used his hand not holding Amaya's to pet her wild purple hair as the tiny, solemn girl reminded him of a younger Scythe.

[...I'm so sorry if that was boring. ><'']

Me

Amaya gently placed her cold hand against Rage's cheek, blinking slowly. She knew that he was experiencing some hard memories too. It didn't take much anymore. She didn't have to look in his eyes. At this rate, she wouldn't even have to touch him to know what he's thinking or feeling.

She sighed softly. His memory wasn't very pleasant. The poor guy... "It's--"

A hand worked its way through her hair, combing through each individual strand of black and purple and petting it all back down, narrowly passing her ears. It was slow and almost affectionate - almost - continuing on and on. Amaya shuddered at the feeling and frowned, not used to such a gesture. She wanted to pull his hand away.

"Rage," she muttered flatly, her purple ears twitching and flattening periodically. 

She just didn't like the way this small motion felt. It's not a bad motion. It's just alien to her. Being a shinobi that everyone (except the few that ACTUALLY know her) is afraid of tends to get you no affection. And after, say, her whole lifetime up to now, she wasn't quite sure how to deal with it. She gave a quiet sigh and closed her eyes.

Eh. Screw it. Let him do what he wants.

[Utter crap.]