DiSCERN (Naruto Fanfic)

Chapter Six.

It was apparently nighttime.

Anko was asleep beside him, so he carefully sat up, found the wall, and leaned on it. Keeping their fingers interlocked, Itsuki shifted into a lotus position and closed his eyes.

He hears. Wind breezing in from the open window, the whistling of the leaves and the chirp of crickets. If he strained, he could hear the rolls of a gurney, the indecipherable whispers of nurses and doctors.

He smells. The waft of petrichor, of soil and earth and summer. Fresh fruit on the trees-- was that a persimmon tree? The numbing waft of medicine and oils dominated his senses, and he frowns in distaste. Anko smelled lightly of sweat, with a hint of pumpkin spice.

He's been holding her hand for the entire day because he wouldn't let go.

But who could blame him? Being blind was a frightening thing.

So he breathes in-- breathes out-- and sinks into himself.

—

It comes naturally to him. Close off your mind-- and imagine yourself in a body of water. He reminds himself of the sequence Inoichi-san had guided the assassination division through, as a form of therapy.

He takes a deep breath, pulls into a nosedive-- and goes in further.

He stands up in his mindscape-- and hesitantly, opens his eyes.

Colours fill his vision, and light filters through his eyes. He takes a shaky breath, almost emotional at the thought of colours and being able to see.

It's just as he remembers-- a traditional Japanese Manor, with full wooden flooring lining the polished dojo. From the door he could see a Zen Garden furnished grandly, yet he's never tried going outside.

It's same old, same old.

After every mission, Itsuki was required to sit down in the dojo of his mindscape, kneeling on his knees, swords on either side of him as he meditates.

He would listen to the rhythmical, clear clang of the shishi-odoshi. He would immerse himself in the noise of the timely bamboo hammer, and compose himself from the strain and anxiety of the mission.

Except, this time, instead of mediation, he kneels down and just sobs.

He's done this a few times too. In future, when his teammates die, or they leave someone behind to fend for themselves. It was that kind of work, after all. He came here when Hiruzen died too, because here he had privacy.

There was a reason why the ANBU were outwardly unemotional.

Itsuki looks over himself again.

To his much too tiny hands, to his uncomfortable thin wrists, to his skinny arms and beansprout limbs and-- and yeah, what the fuck is going on?

His own chakra is white to him. A weak orb swirling nervously inside his veins, stemming from his heart yet flickering so bashfully he should be ashamed at the weakness it exuded.

Underdeveloped. Untrained.

"Oh god-- " he whispers to himself, "why time travel?"