Danzou doesn't even know how they ended up like this, he's too worked up to explain or rationalise. His body is screaming to push himself off of Hiruzen, but he just can't bring himself to move. So many things are running through his mind, his arms are shaking from keeping himself supported. They're covered in injuries from training, they've fought so hard and yet Danzou is the one who can't control his breathing, can't push past the pain rippling through his body - Hiruzen doesn't complain once.
"Why can't I reach you?" He asks, scrutinizing the body underneath him. Everything about Hiruzen pisses him off. He suddenly pushes himself up so that his knees take the full amount of his body weight. In a blur he's gripping at the boy beneath him, desperately trying to work out why he can't compare and why he's not as good – why is he falling behind while Hiruzen moves forwards with little effort. He hates this boy so much, so much that he can't breathe, his chest is tightening and he knows that he's on the verge of crying. He's a mess, unlike the composed boy he so badly wants to be. He hates Hiruzen so much that he'll break down in front of him. The worst part is how it isn't hate he feels for Hiruzen. He saves the hate for himself.
"Tell me," He demands, gripping onto Hiruzen's flack jacket with enough force to embed the patterns into his palms. The material barley shows proof of his clenched hands, no signs that his white knuckles are effective against it. It does its job well, purpose filled and clear. Something so small has it's place clearly define in their world. Something Danzou can't seem to say about himself, "Tell me what to do."
Hiruzen doesn't say anything, holds his gaze against the boy atop of him. Danzou is left to search and scrutinize those eyes, trying to find something in their warmth that he can't conjure for himself. In any other situation, this would be the part where he slides the kunai against pale skin – all for a few ryo. But Hirzuen's skin is never pale, a kunai could never serve justice to this man. He is the perfection Danzou wants to steal for himself, but Hiruzen isn't even perfect.. which in the end, is what makes him perfect. It's a loosing battle for Danzou, the gap between them is too big, too large.
"Why are you so far away?" He finally whispers, the words cracking as they escape through his internal defeat. With the last of his resolve, he collapses onto the grass - narrowly avoiding the security of the future Hokage. The grass is damp and the feeling of his clothes becoming a second skin is instant. It contrasts against the heat that still lingers - that same heat that quickly disappears entirely, replaced with the heavy tug of his damp uniform.
Hiruzen says nothing.