Pairing: Sasu+Naru It's never outright said, & if you really want, you can see it as gen
Warnings: Mildly Explicit, & Angst (But the good, in character type:D)
Notes: I wrote this for SasuxNaru on LJ. ONCE AGAIN. Um, this is a sorta weird writing style, it's kinda like Thrill, but I think it makes it all the better. I didn't have a pro beta for this, just a friend, so if anyone is willing to be a lovely lil beta for my fanfics, I'd love you lots! Don't worry; I won't drown you in fics, yeah?
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, so technically, I'm not allowed to torture them. D:
He's scared at the moment. Choking on a fear that he's unable to put into words. It almost feels like his entire body is burning in an ice cold fire, coiling, coiling, pulsing, freezing, burning his veins. His breath is hitching, abrupt and harsh, little sobs without purchase. His hands are shaking, even though it's slight, and small, and almost undetectable, his hands are shaking, he knows they're shaking, so he can't seem to keep a firm hold on the letter that's trying so desperately to fall to the floor.
There are other people in the room. He can feel them watching him, or maybe he's imagining it. Peeking, peering, ripping away walls and barriers, until he's laid bare, heart and soul, and then they scoff at what they see. He's trying to make his hands stop shaking, trying to make the letter's tremble undetectable, because then they'll see, they'll see and they'll know, and he can't have that. No, he can't have that, and he's trying so hard to clear his head and to think straight, to stop his hands from shaking, to stop looking at the letter, but it's too hard, he can't concentrate, not when his chest feels like his lungs are expanding, expanding until he's cracked and splinter and broken all twenty-four of his ribs
"Naruto..." Sakura's here, that's right. Sakura's here, and she'll know what to do, and he's turning to her, looking at her helplessly, looking at her in a way that says she'll know all that needs to be done to fix this. But honestly, honestly, he's not looking at her. His eyes are dead, and distant, and gazing right through, because while he mind hasn't yet had the chance to process this situation, his soul has, and it accepted this instantly, because, really, it was the only thing that had made so much sense in such a long time.
Sakura sees this, and is stepping forward, pulling Naruto into her arms and cradling him to her chest. He didn't notice it before, but his face is wet, and his vision blurring, so he figures he must be crying. He sniffs and intends to push Sakura away, to stand up straight, and wipe away his tears, because that's what men do, that's what ninja do, and he's suppose to be both. But instead he finds himself latching his arms about Sakura's waist and burying his face into her neck. He finds himself emitting a keening, broken wail, one that he tries to hold back, because something that sounds like that shouldn't immerge from a human throat, but then again, he's never been human in the first place, so what does it really matter?
The letter's still in his hand, he can feel it crumpling in his curling fist. Sakura's rubbing his back, his head, and is pulling him closer, closer still, as if she was trying pull him right into herself. And she would too, if skin and clothing and bones and flesh weren't separating the two of them. She's whispering to him, soothing words, and while he can her the tears in her voice, he can't hear the words themselves, because he's still scared, still shaking, and he has to do something, anything, because if he doesn't, he's sure it will be too late. And it can't be too late.
"S-Sakura...we have to do something..." He chokes, but he's not moving, he's not unwinding his arms from her small, shaking frame, because while a mind, his mind, is an irrational, and stupid, and emotional thing, his soul, and heart, and body and everything else already seem to know that, yes, yes, it's been too late.
The other people are still in the room, circling, hounding them, picking through and at everything. One of them is tapping Sakura on the shoulder, speaking to them softly. His face, his mask, looks like a bird, a vulture, and Naruto finds that very fitting and unreasonably disturbing. He's saying that they need to remove the body, as soon as possible, so if they're going to look, it needs to be now and Sakura is arguing that that's nonsense, that the Hokage's seal is enough to deal with any problems they might have with the body's secrets being defiled.
But Naruto isn't listening. The voices are drowned out, overcome, by the chanting in his head. The body. The body. He's looking up, over Sakura's shoulder, and his eyes are drawn to the open doorway, leading into a bedroom. Anbu are swarming in and out of it, and it almost seems like a black hole to him, sucking him forwards, controlling him against his will.
He's pulling away from Sakura, ignoring her as she tries to stop him. He's clutching the letter to his chest, subconsciously smoothing it out, until it's flat, clean, perfect, wrinkled, lying across and protecting his heart. He walks toward the room, in a daze, almost like he is hypnotized. Almost like he is the undead. He's scared still. He's scared, in fact, he's terrified, and that terror makes his limbs go numb, makes his feet drag, and his steps stumble, and hands, goddamn it, it's still making his hands shake. Only now, while before it was just a tremor, now they are rattling, rattling, for anyone to see, but he doesn't really care right now. He doesn't care about anything, all he's knows is that he's scared, and all he can think is, the body. The body.
But then he is standing in the room, in the middle of all the activity. All the irritated voices, and complaints and jutsu, and he's not thinking about what the vulture said anymore, because now, now he is looking at the body. He's looking at it, and clutching the letter, and all he can think about, out of all the things in the world, is that time he fought to get Sasuke back.
All he can think about is all that pain, and emotion and adrenaline. All he can think about is all that blood, dripping out of Sasuke's mouth, gushing out of his wounds, coating his teeth and lips. The blood drying on his chin, from when he spat out a mouthful, so he would be able to speak coherent words. All he can think about is what Sasuke said, moments before he passed out, his eyes black and dull, his face blank, as he accepted that he was going to get dragged back to Konoha, whether he liked it or not.
He's standing there, not three feet away from the blood that's pooled on the floor. He's staring at the body, at Sasuke, at what's left of Sasuke. He's staring at the pale, cold, bloated skin, that's marred by intricate, twining seals. He's staring at the knife clutched in the cold, rigid hand. He staring at the blood and gore, at Sasuke's insides as they sit in his lap, having fallen out after Sasuke cut, and ripped, and butchered open his own abdomen.
He's staring at Sasuke's pale, blank, sincere face, and all he can think is what Sasuke said. I have nothing to go back too. It's all he can think about, all he can hear, and it's repeating over and over, and he can't help it, he falls to his knees, and vomits, violently. And it splatters across the floor, and there are outraged yells, and he's being hauled to his feet, and forced out of the room. He looks back at Sasuke again, because he still can't believe it, that he would do this, that he did this, and he notices that his vomit managed to splash up onto Sasuke's corpse. He feels his stomach starting to churl again, so he turns and ducks, and he's running out of that room, as fast as he can.
He runs, and trips, and stumbles and runs, aimlessly, sightlessly, and it's a while before he stops, panting, gasping, choking, and realizes he isn't in the apartment anymore, and he doesn't know where he is.
He's scared now, though not because he's lost. Not because he can't think straight, or because his hands won't stop shaking. He isn't scared because his best friend is dead. Instead, he's scared because he realizes Sasuke wanted to be dead long ago, had been dead all along, and he'd never noticed. He's scared because Sasuke killed himself, and he isn't suppose to kill himself, isn't allowed too. He's scared because he doesn't know why he's scared, or why Sasuke really did that, or why, the only note Sasuke bothered to leave was to him.
He's holding the letter toward the waning light, squinting to read it again through the shadows of dusk, and he's scared, and he's confused, and he's hurt, and he's insane, and he's sick to his stomach, because he wants to know why, why, why Sasuke would do this to him.