A/N: sorry. Been up late doing homework, and I just felt sad and I wanted to write. I knew in hadn't done a valentines fic yet, so here it is. Just so you know, I'll be writing a different one (my planned one) soon, and it will be a two-shot.

So anyway, to those that read this, sorry if it's a little confusing. I'm not big on a "valentines day" because I think it's a "bull-shit" day. (Hehe quotations) but any way I'm ramblings, so go read.

Disclaimer: I do not own.

(1) White is the original color of death. One reason why snow makes me so sad. You still don't get it, bother me and I'll explain it to you.

It was February 14th, and snow covered the ground, coming down like stars outside his window. A perfect Valentines Day, really, truly, in his warped opinion. The purity of it struck him, in the same piecing way it had hours ago, and the white roses beside him blended in so well that if the window hadn't been foggy the green stems would have been going up to nothing.

The outside mirrored the inside, white, cold, sad . . . heart breakingly sad. Or was? People were so different that who knew what would break their hearts. And yet he contradicted himself with that thought, knowing if he were he, if he were watching the outside like himself, that he would be his mirror. That they would be thinking the same.

Or at least he hoped. At least his heart begged his brain to believe, because it had been so short. So very, very short. How long had they known each other? Years? Like a ripple in a pond. It went on, but it was so brief. Time was so cruel. It wasn't long enough. Time was so cruel. He had never gotten to hold him, to feel him, pet him, stroke him . . . love him.

So then why was he sitting here? Pinning like a women at the end of a tragic romance novel. Where were the poison lips that he deserved? The soft touch, numbing pain, and then the great blackness of his nothingness as everything came to an end.

He grimaced, but it didn't change the blank look on his face. Had he fallen so low? Sitting here longing for the dead, and placing himself in the fickle mind of a girl crazy sixteen year old that had only loved for love. His mind made the more. It went through the processes of willing his body to stand, and awaken his stiff limbs, to move to the kitchen to feed his depleted body, but nothing changed. He didn't even blink from death (1).

His heart beat and ached, and it shouldn't. He was an avenger, and they had both known that. He wasn't expose to have a heart, to have feelings, to feel . . . love for a blue eyed dope. He was expose to kill and breed, kill and breed.

Sasuke Uchiha looked up to the sky as flakes fell, light and few, and watched as clouds parted to show piecing blue sky. Many who were heart broken would of thought of it as a sign. He could only think of it as a move of cruelty on God's part, as another sign of what he had lost, and it was worse than the snow. It was almost worst then it being the anniversary of his loved ones death.

And he almost didn't cry.

Almost.