His routine had changed drastically. Thanks to Nao being the Sennin, Suzaku had been given free reign for his research, The location being the basement underneath the Sazuki clan house was of little concern. His department was occupied by his Harvesters in his place. They were mostly occupied by routine surgeries and support missions, keeping Hitomi and him in the loop of what was happening through small notes at certain intervals throughout the day, rarely was there anything major happening, there was one time where the Kage had been replaced by another, he didn't really care much, all he cared about was right there within arms reach and a small note away. His Harvesters, Hitomi, and Nao.
In the morning he would wake, either kiss Nao awake, or be kissed awake by Nao. Eat breakfast, and go down into the basement. The first day was basically reading through everything he deemed worthwhile, and take notes, it was almost like being back under his tutelage of Kushin, except in this case there was no sensei to lean on, he had to build everything up himself from the ground up. Establish the common links between what he knew and what he was reading. He had no clear line to see to his goal yet, but he felt he was getting closer, like chasing a fish with your bare hands out in a river. He needed the right tool for the job.
His food and drinks would be delivered by Hitomi, although she wasn't always pleased about playing the support in this manner, she'd rather just relax and chill or do manual labor more intense than cooking, cleaning or bringing tea. She never once complained or showed her displeasement though, deep down she understood what was happening and why.
Sometimes he'd emerge and there would Nao be, and they'd spend a few hours together, and then he'd go back down. While he was working he would keep having this little inkling of a smile on the corner of his lips, like he had some kind of warm feeling that kept him going. A missile within him seeking it's target, it's eureka moment where it would explode with ideas and solutions to this disease that was keeping Nao slowly losing the battle against, those moments where they were together was everything to him. Sometimes Keiji would ask some important questions on certain pains or struggles Nao would be experiencing throughout the day, and he'd be listening intently trying to gauge if there would be anything that could further his research.
Within the basement he had hundreds of establishing ideas on what it could be, all written up on a grand whiteboard each was then crossed out as he kept listing the symptoms below that Nao was experiencing. At this point that whiteboard was covered with notes, big and small, words crossed out and only a handful of things with question marks on them.
One night, where only one or two question marks remained on the whiteboard he had sighed deeply. Knowing full well that to find the answer to those two questions many new questions would arise, his attention was set onto the whiteboard and he felt himself staring at it, letting the words on the board flow around within him, like a torrent of emotions.. He was tired, at this point, but he needed to continue, it was time to clear the board and find the answers to the last ones a tiny thread of theories might finally start being established.
It had been days, weeks? He wasn't sure. He regretfully didn't really keep a calendar down where he sat, the little window slits on the top of the walls clearly showed it was night time outside, he eyes gazed around, ending on a small book he hadn't noticed before. It was leather-bound with small text embossed into the binder, "Darling" he might have noticed it before, or he had felt Hitomi look upon it. Hiding it among the D-listings, she hadn't looked within. He got up, reached for it, and slowly pulled it out, turning it around in his hand, he saw the same text on embossed on the front, the craftmanship was beautiful, but it wasn't a professional, homemade he assumed.
Taking it with him he sat down by his work table and opened it up carefully, within he saw photos. Photos taken via chakra imprints like paintings of the real world, usually these wouldn't last longer than a few weeks, but something had been done to them to keep them colourful and vivid to the eye. On the pictures was that of a young child, white hair, and eyes of azure blue with hints of grey like his hair. He was laughing, crying, dancing, climbing trees, running, pictures of him hurt, like a scraped knee or a bruised arm. These were pictures taken from the mind of Nao's parents, like a family album but only of him. He could see how his parents saw him from their perspective. Then came the pictures from the hospital, the many visits, he could see Nao lying down with a confused gaze looking at the ceiling, the clear point of Nao understanding that he'd be going through that the rest of his life, there were pictures where it was clear that hope had left his soul, and instead was a bitter resentfulness to the lot he had been given, but there was also a determination set within those azure eyes.
Something like this, Keiji would have never owned, his last memory of his parents was their torched bodies tied to a chair while an angry mob outside was screaming as he was surrounded by flames within his childhood home, all of the belongings, lost to the torrent of flame, endlessly cursed, to this day as far he knows that childhood home was never rebuilt or replaced, before he left Kumogakure the place had been turned into a garden for the neighbor, that same neighbor was among those with pitchforks, torches, and a throat that could scream, at least to his mind the screams were eternal. Haunting those brief moments he thinks he might able to relax within his own mind.
For Keiji, as he was looking through these imprints he was getting a better understanding of Nao. While he had already settled himself on what he was doing and why, this felt like a re-awakening of these affirmations, that he was doing the right thing. Unfortunately, at this point, his energy was a low point already and as he was turning the pages and looking carefully the ones where a sleeping Nao was he felt himself slowly fade to sleeping, his eyes narrowing the more he struggled to stay awake the more his body kept waving forward and back, then down. His face falling slowly, resting on top of the open book of pictures with Nao on them the pictures on there were ones of him in his late teens, early adult.
Due to the angle of his head and body a slight blockage had formed and in this unfortunate circumstance a slight snore would be heard from him, nothing loud or ground-shaking but a quiet snore clearly perceived if one were to step into the room below the mansion.
In the morning he would wake, either kiss Nao awake, or be kissed awake by Nao. Eat breakfast, and go down into the basement. The first day was basically reading through everything he deemed worthwhile, and take notes, it was almost like being back under his tutelage of Kushin, except in this case there was no sensei to lean on, he had to build everything up himself from the ground up. Establish the common links between what he knew and what he was reading. He had no clear line to see to his goal yet, but he felt he was getting closer, like chasing a fish with your bare hands out in a river. He needed the right tool for the job.
His food and drinks would be delivered by Hitomi, although she wasn't always pleased about playing the support in this manner, she'd rather just relax and chill or do manual labor more intense than cooking, cleaning or bringing tea. She never once complained or showed her displeasement though, deep down she understood what was happening and why.
Sometimes he'd emerge and there would Nao be, and they'd spend a few hours together, and then he'd go back down. While he was working he would keep having this little inkling of a smile on the corner of his lips, like he had some kind of warm feeling that kept him going. A missile within him seeking it's target, it's eureka moment where it would explode with ideas and solutions to this disease that was keeping Nao slowly losing the battle against, those moments where they were together was everything to him. Sometimes Keiji would ask some important questions on certain pains or struggles Nao would be experiencing throughout the day, and he'd be listening intently trying to gauge if there would be anything that could further his research.
Within the basement he had hundreds of establishing ideas on what it could be, all written up on a grand whiteboard each was then crossed out as he kept listing the symptoms below that Nao was experiencing. At this point that whiteboard was covered with notes, big and small, words crossed out and only a handful of things with question marks on them.
One night, where only one or two question marks remained on the whiteboard he had sighed deeply. Knowing full well that to find the answer to those two questions many new questions would arise, his attention was set onto the whiteboard and he felt himself staring at it, letting the words on the board flow around within him, like a torrent of emotions.. He was tired, at this point, but he needed to continue, it was time to clear the board and find the answers to the last ones a tiny thread of theories might finally start being established.
It had been days, weeks? He wasn't sure. He regretfully didn't really keep a calendar down where he sat, the little window slits on the top of the walls clearly showed it was night time outside, he eyes gazed around, ending on a small book he hadn't noticed before. It was leather-bound with small text embossed into the binder, "Darling" he might have noticed it before, or he had felt Hitomi look upon it. Hiding it among the D-listings, she hadn't looked within. He got up, reached for it, and slowly pulled it out, turning it around in his hand, he saw the same text on embossed on the front, the craftmanship was beautiful, but it wasn't a professional, homemade he assumed.
Taking it with him he sat down by his work table and opened it up carefully, within he saw photos. Photos taken via chakra imprints like paintings of the real world, usually these wouldn't last longer than a few weeks, but something had been done to them to keep them colourful and vivid to the eye. On the pictures was that of a young child, white hair, and eyes of azure blue with hints of grey like his hair. He was laughing, crying, dancing, climbing trees, running, pictures of him hurt, like a scraped knee or a bruised arm. These were pictures taken from the mind of Nao's parents, like a family album but only of him. He could see how his parents saw him from their perspective. Then came the pictures from the hospital, the many visits, he could see Nao lying down with a confused gaze looking at the ceiling, the clear point of Nao understanding that he'd be going through that the rest of his life, there were pictures where it was clear that hope had left his soul, and instead was a bitter resentfulness to the lot he had been given, but there was also a determination set within those azure eyes.
Something like this, Keiji would have never owned, his last memory of his parents was their torched bodies tied to a chair while an angry mob outside was screaming as he was surrounded by flames within his childhood home, all of the belongings, lost to the torrent of flame, endlessly cursed, to this day as far he knows that childhood home was never rebuilt or replaced, before he left Kumogakure the place had been turned into a garden for the neighbor, that same neighbor was among those with pitchforks, torches, and a throat that could scream, at least to his mind the screams were eternal. Haunting those brief moments he thinks he might able to relax within his own mind.
For Keiji, as he was looking through these imprints he was getting a better understanding of Nao. While he had already settled himself on what he was doing and why, this felt like a re-awakening of these affirmations, that he was doing the right thing. Unfortunately, at this point, his energy was a low point already and as he was turning the pages and looking carefully the ones where a sleeping Nao was he felt himself slowly fade to sleeping, his eyes narrowing the more he struggled to stay awake the more his body kept waving forward and back, then down. His face falling slowly, resting on top of the open book of pictures with Nao on them the pictures on there were ones of him in his late teens, early adult.
Due to the angle of his head and body a slight blockage had formed and in this unfortunate circumstance a slight snore would be heard from him, nothing loud or ground-shaking but a quiet snore clearly perceived if one were to step into the room below the mansion.
