A/N: I decided to write another Kimimaro drabble. This one is shorter, but I think it's better than my other one (Camellia Bones) in that it follows the canon more strictly. This one is set after Kimimaro's death. Insinuated BL/slash, if you squint.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. Kishimoto-sensei has that honor.
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For almost as long as I can remember, he has been there for me: standing above me, telling me that I was wonderful and perfect, feeding me the things I wanted - needed - so desperately to hear. He was my rock, to which I clung when my universe was turbulent and unpredictable. He was my one constant, and the only thing I cared about. I served him with my whole self, and never questioned or hesitated. All of the passion and strength I could muster, I gave to him. My free will and my devotion, I gave to him... My life, I gave to him. He was all I needed, so I didn't mind divesting myself of all of these things - they were superfluous, unnecessary things that only the weak required. I was not weak. As long as I was by his side, I was strong and content. My days were filled with crimson and white, and I did things I was not proud of, but it mattered not to me. As long as he wanted it, as long as he asked it of me, I would do anything. It was the least I could do, after he saved me from a loveless fate. He alone extended his hand to me, and he alone was gentle in a world of harsh cruelty. I knew immediately that he was the one whom I would follow forever. Even in death, I would follow him. Even in death, I am still following him.
Now that my time has passed, I look upon him with new eyes. I see all of the wrong that he has done, all of the pain he has caused, and yet I would do it all again, if I could. Selfish? Yes, but it is true. As long as he reached out his hand to me, I would take it, and I would follow him. I am naïve, and I refuse to learn. I close my eyes to the unpleasant things of this world, and focus only on what makes me happy, on what makes him happy. Even as I suffered alone in bed, sickly and doomed, even when he refused to see me, I followed him. I cast aside my weakness and fought for his ambition. Died for his ambition. And I would do the same a million times over. He was the one who made me smile when all I wanted to do was weep. He gave me a home, a purpose: something to live for. What I did may have been wrong, but it was my choice, and I do not regret it. I could have refused his hand, but I did not, and I have never been one to turn back. Once a choice has been made, I follow through, no matter the consequences.
I watched that boy - the blonde, the one who pursued the new vessel - and I saw myself. He followed the one for whom he cared without hesitation, ignoring everything else. He did not regret his choice, and I suspect he, too, would make the same decisions if given the chance. Our circumstances were different, but our reasons were the same. Even though the ones whom we choose to follow may not act in our best interests, even though they hurt us and drag us through the thorns sometimes, we still follow. Loyal and unrelenting, we follow.