Don't judge me for updating so much.

This is a bit of an allegory? I don't know, I got a few phrases and just went with it. Please enjoy!

Disclaimer: Waddup I own nothing

You are ruled by the past.

It takes you years to get over your father's death, and even then, it is something you ruminate over constantly. Your family's archaic traditions haunt your every breath, because, essentially, they are imprinted on your skin for the rest of your (most likely, very short) existence. You remember conversations from ages ago and you run them through your head like they just happened, always refreshing the memories, always recalling the wounds. Past missions are a mental exercise, a tool you use to teach yourself on how to be better in the future.

And you're forever wrapped inside your head, trapped inside these things that you see as important. You could go days without speaking to anyone if you so desired, but decorum and politeness keeps you from going so far.

Your entire outlook on life is framed by what is already history, uninfluenced by the turbulent waves of circumstance.

But she, she is always chasing the future.

It almost annoys you sometimes, but her sheer genius for innovation always stops you in your tracks. Your sparring partner has pushed the envelope from day one, and she has never shown any signs of stopping.

Her obsession with weaponry, with maneuverability, with tact is admirable, if not a little intimidating to most other shinobi. But in some ways (okay, most ways), you understand it perfectly—you're just as fanatical about training as she is.

But in some ways you don't understand her at all.

For example: your female teammate is a great believer in a rewards system.

"Two hundred pushups? Well, only if we can get ice cream afterwards."

"Neji, please? We've been training all morning! We can stop and go get dango; it's not a big deal."

And on and on.

Of course, you understand her reasoning. Work plus more work should equal reward. But that concept has never really sat well in your brain. So, when she brings up a spontaneous trip to the weaponry store, or the popsicle stand in the business district, you can't help but cringe a little at the frivolity of it all.

And that's another thing—spontaneity. She is riddled with it—in her routine, in battle, in her money management, everything. She dances with the wind, guffaws when she laughs, has no issue with putting people in their place, no matter their rank.

She is the complete opposite of you in that respect. Everything about you, about your family is rigid, calculated, and orderly. There are no deviations because there is protocol, there is structure, that must always be adhered to. Coloring outside the lines is expressly and determinedly frowned upon.

She colors all over the page. And sometimes (okay, oftentimes) it makes you insanely jealous. Because she is freedom, pure, unbridled freedom, and you are caged—will always be so, even if you convince yourself that this is your choice, your decision.

What a joke.

You watch her as she outlines your form with kunai and shuriken, and you're so sad that your heart is almost heavy. It must show on your face, because she pauses in her cool-down exercise, puzzled.

"What is it? Did I scratch you?"

You shake your head—which is a little hard to do with all this metal around you—but say nothing, because really, what is there to say? There is a divide between you. Past and Future are not friends. They are enemies, opposing generals across the battlefield of time. You cannot cross into her world, just as she cannot traverse yours.

Tenten steps closer to you, her face open as she studies you, trying to understand. She must see something she likes, because the right corner of her mouth lifts into a small smile. One of her fingers withdraws a kunai from the tree, something for her to fiddle with.

"We're not so different, you and I," she says softly, twirling the kunai on her finger. Her head is bowed, looking at the ground. Her bangs hide her eyes from you.

"Yes, we are," you contradict. This is an answer that you have arrived at over years. One statement will not change your conclusion.

Tenten looks up, tilts her head to the side. Her brown irises hold some irritation. She punches you on the arm, but it doesn't hurt . . . much.

"Do you really believe that?" she asks, and her tone throws you off because it is incredulous. Surely she did not think that you and she are compatible?

You nod solemnly, wondering if the blame for the confusion is due to the no-man's-land between you both.

Tenten steps forward, pressing her body into yours. Your eyes widen a little, and you grasp her shoulders, wanting to push her back, to renew the distance. But you find you can't do it, because she is looking at you with an expression she has never given you before, that you have only seen a handful of times in your very young life.

"Focus on me," she says, and places her mouth on yours.

It comes as a rush as you kiss—that the two of you are standing on common ground. It floats to your consciousness and declares itself, "I am the Present, trust in the gifts I bring."

So that is how you discover it, the key that unlocks the door to your cage—it is you and she, standing together on the lines that are drawn in the dirt, toeing the boundary between Past and Future. What you saw as invisible has now been made tangible in the form of a girl who chases after storms and yells at the top of her lungs. And she? She also has found something—a tether to keep herself safe from the violent winds, a steady hand to tug along.

As they brush fingers, Present smiles.

Yay? Nay? Please review.