I don't own Naruto
I never got it.
It-he-…I knew…but didn't…
My eyes unfocussed as I let the burning of the warm alcohol slip down my throat. It's best not to see the world due to unfocused eyes, rather than tears.
It's hard. I always thought…one day, just once, we could be happy together.
It's hard to realize he's not coming back.
I take in a shaky breath as the world around me falls away, the numbing of the sake, finally starts.
I was selfish, even as a little girl, all those years ago, when he first came to me, eyes bright, bright as the flowers in his hands.
We were twelve. Young and foolish. At least, one of us was. I only rolled my eyes and called him a pervert. Not missing the sound of the flowers hitting the ground.
I ignored him that night at the bar, after the war. His eyes were so dead, filled with the blood of those that had suffered at his hands. When he looked at me with desperate, pleading eyes, begging for the unsaid from me, I swatted his hand away and told him to sober up before I threw him through the bar. It wasn't until years later did I realize he didn't want a fuck. He wanted to hold me to erase his suffering. To not feel alone.
To make me feel like I wasn't alone.
I sighed deeply, standing up from the bar to make my way back to my big, empty tower. I half expected him to walk through the door, smiling the way only he does for me, put his arms around me and walk me home, saying how I drink too much. And before he'd leave he'd search my eyes for something, anything.
But it's too late for that.