Well, as always it's short, silly and rather pointless, but I hope it's enjoyed never the less!
Warning: Very slight HayatexHayabusa implied
It was hard… hard to watch him. Sitting there, on his futon, brows knitted in concentration as he attempted to fold the white paper in front of him into yet another crane. There was a large pile of them, spilling from his lap and onto the tatami mats. His hands were shaking violently, but some how he managed to crease each fold perfectly, and every time, the small paper birds would work out, flawless.
It made me realize just how far he'd fallen. One moment one of the most powerful, nimble, deadly shinobi of our time… and now, this… in a matter of twenty-four hours, he'd been reduced to this.
It hurts…
The person I am closest to, sitting there; oblivious to his surrounds. Oblivious to anything save the hundreds of paper cranes surrounding him.
I've tried to talk to him; we all have. Held his hand in mine, whispering his name, begging him to look at me; realize who I am. Occasionally, he'll glance. Look at me blankly, with misunderstanding eyes. I can practically read them…
Who is that? What does he want?
Then, all questions cease, and his shaking fingers return to the repetitive folding of paper.
By then, I can't hold the tears, and I cry. I cry until my head aches, my throat is dry and I just have no more tears to shed.
I cry those painful tears for me… for him… for us…
It's not him anymore; there's nothing in there. No personality; charming, kind, brave, determined, head-strong… No memories; of his clan, of his family, of me… There's nothing.
Just him and his paper cranes.