Oh, holy mother of hell.

I have no idea how this came to me. This started out as fluff (FLUFF, for hell's sake!) and turned into this. This is proof that something is wrong with me. I know it now.

I will post the fluffy counterpart of this sometime, because it is still in my mind.

But in the meantime, here's this.

…

If life was darkness, then Naruto was light.

That was what he was to her; he fit her perfectly, he brought out her good side. He complimented her, was indeed her other half.

He was her light. He was brightness and cheery and sunshine and everything beautiful and wonderful all conveniently contained in a hyper blond boy who saw the best in the world with clear blue eyes. He was pure, perfect, and Sakura would kill anyone who took that away from him. She'd kill anyone who took the shine out of his blue, blue eyes. He tried to protect her, under some naive notion that she needed protecting; she let him have it, partly because it was endearing and partly because it was nice to have someone care for you that way even if you didn't deserve it.

Plus, he was a boy – he was bound to think that way and scoff at the idea that he was the one who needed defending.

But he did. In a way, Naruto was naïve. There were things in the world that would taint him, things that would crush him, things that would make his eyes go dull. Sakura needed to save him from that, because so dawn goes down to day, nothing gold can stay.

It didn't matter how Naruto personified light (he was gold, and he would eventually fade to green, sink like Eden) because nothing gold can stay.

She needed to save him from the world, (this fucked up world) because a dark world like this didn't deserve someone like Naruto. (I don't want him falling like Sasuke.)

She had already lost one of her boys (but was he really hers to begin with?) and she refused to lose another.

He needed to be preserved as he was, perfect and untainted and loving and beautiful, unmarked by the bitterness of life.

Unscarred by the monsters (unscarred by me).

And she did just that. She didn't use any weapons because she didn't want to mar her angel any more than he already was. His scars were no less beautiful, but any ones that she'd inflict now would never heal.

She kissed him with painted lips (poisoned lips), and he went limp in her arms.

Their last embrace.

She kept him in a special room, one that was triple-locked and cool. He was placed on the pedestal that he should've been kept on his entire life – the one that he was denied time and time again. She'd give it to him now, and he'd keep it forever. He'd be loved and cherished and adored – she'd love him enough for the entire country.

Aboveground, people were talking. People were starting to love him more; well it was too late. His body was hers; he was art, perfection, on the canvas that she painted.

Written in red, red blood (his blood, blood of a hero, blood of a monster) above his resting place was the kanji for 'rokudaime.' He had achieved his dream.

She'd visit him every day to talk. He didn't respond much, (which was so wrong, so wrong,) but that was okay. He listened and he was smiling, (his mouth held upwards with black stitching because it wouldn't stay up any other way). That was all that mattered, that smile, those eyes (button eyes) – blue like the summer sky, blue like the sapphire earrings she saw. It was like someone took the cerulean crayon and colored them in, then decided to put flecks of gray and deeper blue and just a little bit of gold around the pupils.

Beauty (pain.)

He'd stay like that forever; young and beautiful and loved, protected from the dirty dark world that didn't deserve him.

He was perfect, except for his eyes. They were shut now; she had done that, to avoid staring at empty sockets. She'd sew bright blue buttons over them, once she found the right color.

She kept his eyes in a safe place by her bedside, because they were beautiful and lovely and when she stared at them she could just hear his voice, saying Hey, Sakura-chan, it's a promise!

He hadn't been able to keep his promise. But that was okay. She'd made a promise, too. A silent one. A vow to protect him from the world and everything in it –

-and that included herself. (Because I damaged him more than anyone.)

Sometimes she felt guilty, because she'd never hear his voice again, but that didn't matter as much.

She had his eyes.

And the memories.

And the reassurance that he was safe from the ugly, ugly world that had scarred him.

He would stay golden.

(Forever.)

Because everything I do for you, I do out of love

and if nothing gold can stay,

that mean that you must go, too,

lest I have you before you turn green.

I don't own Naruto, the poem 'Nothing Gold Can Stay' is by Robert Frost. The four lines at the bottom are indeed mine.

I told you, this was messed up. The (Italiicized parentheses) are Sakura's actual thoughts. If you didn't get it, she killed Naruto and then preserved his body. Psychopathic killers tend to do that.

I blame the turn of this story on my twisted imagination and the fact that, as soon as the idea came to me, the song Cellar Door by Escape the Fate started playing in my head.

But, as always, let me know your thoughts.