A/N: Aha! I'm back! Thanks a bunch to MikoGoddess for beta'ing this for me!
Disclaimer: Oh, how I wish some things could be...
Warning(s): Major angst!
Over
---
I think we stopped being together the day we stopped talking.
No, that's not true. We didn't stop talking with each other. We just stopped talking to each other. There's a difference; a difference as big as that between a plain and a mountain. And that difference is what broke us apart.
---
Normally, it's me who's supposed to be the silent one. After all, I'm Sasuke, the one who only talks when he must or when he's about to deliver a crippling blow to someone's ego. He's never told me, but I knew that I've always managed to hit him right there where it hurts the most.
I'm not blind. I can see how my words, hurtful or not, pain him. He's an open book; he wears his heart on his sleeve and shouts out his thoughts to the world. Or… he used to. I can say whatever I like and whatever I please and all I get is that mask. That's my job.
Recently, it's like whatever I say doesn't affect him anymore.
What I said used to mean the world to him.
What happened?
---
Naruto used to talk a lot to me. He'd talk about utter rubbish, like what an ass the daimyo who hired him on his mission was or how horribly Sakura-chan beat him when he informed her that she should look into losing a few pounds or that Sai had discovered new and creative ways to insult his penis or that Kakashi's nindogs almost ate him the other day because he'd-
You used to say so much, Naruto. So much.
Sometimes, he'd say too little. Like now. He used to say all the right words: the cute ones that made me want to smile; the sweet ones that made me want to melt; the ugly ones that had to be said; the beautiful ones that made me love him all the more.
But lately, all he's said are the little ones; the wrong ones; the ugly ones better left unsaid; the ones that make me want to cry even though pride will never, never let me.
I'd always pretend not to listen, but I did. Hearing you talk, hearing the life and love in you voice, seeing it in your eyes, feeling it in your touch… It made this - it made us - feel real.
I don't know think we're real anymore.
---
I guess I'm surprised he still shares his bed with me. I'm surprised that he still sleeps by my side. He doesn't hold me anymore, but being near him like this is something, at least.
"Naruto?" I break the silence, because it isn't a comfortable one. It's one that makes my fingers tingle and my skin itch. It's one that makes me, even me, want to speak.
"What?" he asks irritably, and I nearly cringe. He's never been that angry before. I don't understand. Why is he angry? I'm not doing anything wrong. I just asked a simple question. I'm just filling in the post he's forgotten about. I'm just trying to glue our broken pieces together. I'm just trying to fill this void that's sucking me, him - us - into it.
Biting my lip, I gather courage or, really, try to ignore the age-old voice of Uchiha pride in my head. It's not wrong to do this. It's not against the rules to try to make conversation. I'm not making a pathetic mess out of myself.
Oh, but I am. And I know it.
"How was your day?"
The words, they feel so awkward, so clumsy, so wrong on my tongue. This is his job, not mine.
I miss you.
Tell me what's going on in your head.
I miss being part of your life.
I miss being part of you.
"Fine."
"Fine? Fine as in…?"
I feel stupid, asking him that. It's his job, asking the questions. It's his job, making the conversation. It's his job, deciphering my monosyllabic answers. Everything feels so wrong, so upside down.
It's like I'm trying to grasp at smoke or tame the wind or bottle the clouds. And I'm getting about as much success.
A sigh - a long and irritated sigh. That's my job, too.
"Sasuke... you know how my days are," he says in a heavy, bored slur, as if we'd been through this a hundred times before. As if being here with me, in this bed and having this conversation is like sloshing through four feet of snow: tiring; heavy; cold; wet; pointless.
He's tired. He's grown tired of me.
So soon…
I grind my teeth against my bottom lip for a second, and can feel my throat going dry and scratchy. It hurts. Somewhere, I can feel pain building up, but I don't know where. It could be my stomach, my chest, or my heart. It could be everywhere, or nowhere at all. I'm not sure.
It hurts so much that, just the slightest, tiniest bit, I start to tremble as I feel the bile in my mouth because no, I don't. Not anymore. I don't know how his days are anymore.
Those words never left my mouth, of course. In the end, I don't say anything at all. I just roll around and face the wall because plaster and wood and a sliver of moon between midnight curtains are more responsive than he is.
And there's nothing, no "good night," no "I love you," no "sweet dreams," to be said. Only silence, heavy and still and suffocating, not even broken by snores. Naruto doesn't snore. But, for once, I wish he did.
I wish there was anything, something, to break this silence.
This deafening silence, pressing down on me, smothering me, smothering what was once us.
I can't breathe. I just can't breathe.
It's killing me.
---
Naruto loves chatting over breakfast. He's the morning person, up with the sun and just as bright. I'm the cloud that tries to rain on his parade but never quite manages.
Now, we're just sitting here, and the only sounds he makes are the sounds that everyone makes when eating; the munches and the crunches and the slurps. I'd ask a question from time to time, and he nods or shakes his head, sometimes even grunts. That's my job, not giving real answers. When he stands, ready to leave, I can't help it. I have to try.
"Naruto-"
Do you still love me?
I need to know. I did know. I don't know.
If you don't - if this is it for us - I don't think I can go on without you.
But ... I can't live like this either.
When did you stop loving me?
When will you leave me?
"Yeah?" He doesn't even turn around. He used to turn around in the past. He used to hold my eyes with every word. He hasn't really looked at me once the past month.
I reach forward, across the table to where his hand sits on the wood, just to touch him again; just to feel him again. I reach for it, and before my fingers so much as brush his, that tanned hand snaps away as if burned. And I feel that pain blaze in my chest anew.
It didn't used to be like this.
He used to do the touching, the talking, the romancing...
Our first date had been his doing. We'd gone to a festival together, but not really, truly together. He'd come to me and asked if I would go with him, making it abundantly clear that no, this was not a date, we were just two very male friends going to a festival (albeit a romantic one) together.
It was enough for me. I'd been so desperate for a piece of Naruto then that I'd take anything, just like now.
It was nice, walking through the crowded stalls in our formal wear. It was nice, seeing the way he looked at me when he thought I wasn't paying attention. It was nice, how he won me a prize at every stand so that, by the end of the evening, I was lugging around a giant sack of stuffed animals. It was nice, how we watched the fireworks on that hill. It was nice, how we watched each other instead. It was nice, how he brushed my hair away, tender. It was nice, how he kissed my lips, sweet.
It was nice, how he told me he loved me.
It was nice, how he kissed me again.
It was nice, how he knew I loved him too.
But things change. God, how I wish they didn't.
"Be careful."
Before, he would've kissed me. Before, he would've held me, even if it would've made him late. Before, he would've whispered that he loved me, and that he would come home safe and sound from his mission if it was what I wanted.
And I'd tell him that him safe and with me was exactly what I wanted. And I'd hug him tighter, and he'd know - he'd simply know - that I loved him more than anything in the world.
But I know it's only a matter of time. He'll say those words. Those three words I fear so much. Those three words I knew were inevitable but hoped weren't.
Let's break up.
He doesn't say anything, he just turns and he walks out that door. And seeing him leaving, something hits me hard, knocking the air out of me, agony screaming through me. I wanted to say it, should've said it, but I knew it was hopeless.
I love you.
It hung between us, empty.
It was really over.
---
A/N: Thanks for reading and please, please, please! review.
-grovels-