My first ever fic for this fandom, so please excuse me for any mistakes, ahaha. Oh and did I mention this is not beta'd? I swear I tried my best to proofread - it's just I get confused with basic tense rules when I stare at things for too long so yes. This is also a very self-indulgent fic. I am sorry.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto! I mean if I did chapter 662 will not come into existence happen dear god.
Naruto.
An orange-yellow-haired boy of 16 years. To outsiders – the container of the demon fox, the strongest tailed monster. To his village – a hero. To people whose lives and hearts he had touched – an inspiration. To his friends – a persistent, idiotic, annoying, big-hearted and kind bastard. To his family – a son, the best son.
To Haruno Sakura – (there were no words to describe) (but maybe, just maybe, everything).
Sasuke.
Black locks – navy blue under the light, like the span of a dying sky. Also a boy of 16 years. To outsiders – a genius, a bright kid, an S-Rank criminal, an Akatsuki member; cold-hearted, vengeful, merciless – a murderer. To his village – a betrayer. To people whose lives he had broken and whose hearts he had stopped – a savage. To his previous comrades – a traitor, so far gone, no light could penetrate his darkness. To his family – a son, always second.
To Uzumaki Naruto – a friend, a brother.
Sakura.
Pink, exotic hair and lovely sea-green eyes. A girl, 16 years old. To outsiders – the medic-nin under Tsunade-sama. To her village – still, the medic-nin under Tsunade-sama. To people whose lives she had healed and whose hearts she had revived – a savior. To her friends – a constant pillar of support, a constant wealth of smiles, a constant bank of emotional stability. To her family – a daughter; not the best but at least not second to anyone.
To Uchiha Sasuke – a girl, like any other (maybe a bit more special) (maybe a lot more).
To Uzumaki Naruto – Sasuke's.
(But deep, deep, down,
Or maybe not so deep–
Sai could see it;
His. His everything, and not Sasuke's).
"Naruto – he burns like the sun."
So he did.
And maybe it was fate that he was born with orange-yellow hair, like fire at its brightest and clearest. Or maybe it was because of his mother and father, whose hair coloring he had inherited, who took their lives for his, who loved with all their might because the greatest power in the world is not immortality or the ability to perform every single ninjutsu or strength.
Love was.
(It does not matter if you are ANBU or jonin or gennin or chuunin).
"Naruto – he burns like the sun."
But what did they really know of him, the orange-yellow-haired boy of 16? Who were they to take part in his parade of forgiveness and compassion when they have shunned him and made him an outcast all this time?
What if Naruto hadn't burnt as bright as the sun? Would they not have acknowledged him? Would he be treated as nothing more than a monster container for the rest of his life? Why must he work harder than everybody else in his search for acceptance?
"Naruto – he burns like the sun."
And what did they know of how bright Naruto burnt (so bright it blinds you) when they did not know of how darkness consumed Naruto and how much pain Naruto hid behind gritted teeth and curled-up fists and failures?
Sometimes, Sakura asked herself if she had any right to call herself Naruto's friend when she did not understand all these things about him – his brightness, his darkness, his pain. But then she thought about his smile – steady and unwavering (and indeed, much like the sun) – and she decided to stick around and continue calling herself his friend because when it came to Naruto, everybody else were moons – non-luminous and fighting to reflect his fire.
There were a few things Naruto understood – betrayal, friendship, love, and ramen.
Betrayal, because Sasuke (blue, always blue, like fire at its hottest and in all its cruelty) – who had no experience with brightness and turned blind from darkness; who was like fire at its hottest but never at its brightest; whose clan's crest was ingrained in Naruto's mind because of all the times he had walked away (like that one time after he had tried to stab some of his blueness into Naruto) – was a fairly good teacher when he desired to be.
(The worst part was when Naruto found out why Sasuke tried to paint him blue. All he could think was: Sasuke considered me his closest friend).
Friendship, because one had to first taste belonging before feeling the cut of betrayal.
Love, because he was a product of love, and so in all fairness, resulted in love.
Love, because Uzumaki Naruto understood heartbreak – understood sadness of every kind, really – as he stood by and watched tears stream down the cheeks of a pink-haired, green-eyed girl, and he made a promise he was uncertain he could keep but would give everything and more for in his attempts to keep it.
Because Naruto was nothing if not a master of resilience.
And, he understood love because when he saw the bounce in her steps and the way her lips curl a little more to the right when she was extremely happy and how her fists scrunched up into a ball when she was infuriated, he smiled, and he was happy for her.
Ramen – because it tasted like how Sakura was to his eyes, ears, nose (her mango-scented shampoo) and heart. Ramen, because it was how Jiraiya-sensei named him. Ramen, because Nagato believed in Naruto enough to sacrifice himself. Ramen, because when the sky was crying and Sakura-chan was crying and Sasuke's heart was crying, Ramen wiped his tears away and pat his back and told him, "You can do this. I believe in you."
Love was a funny thing. Between the three members of Team 7, it was a stand-up comedy.
To put it simply: Naruto loved Sakura but Sakura loved Sasuke but Sasuke loved – God knows who Sasuke loved – himself? Itachi? Nobody?
But Naruto didn't believe in that nobody business.
These days, Sakura found herself tossing and turning in bed very often. The moon was slouching – tired from a long night – and its ethereal glow was drowning in a field of black. Green eyes – bright and sharp and edged with sorrow – were staring at the bottom-left corner of a door, five centimeters below the door hinge, one centimeter above the gap between her door and the floor – the strip of inky blackness that served as a reminder of the monsters outside her room – and zero centimeters from where her gaze lingered every night.
Once upon a time, green eyes had been key in the love story of Haruno Sakura. They saw a boy, beautiful in all his cockiness and tainted thoughts and lithe movements, and they fell in love. Now, they only sigh in defeat.
Now, there were no more once upon a times and beautiful, brooding boys who were the very cause of her sorrows. Now, there was only a keen smile, a nice smile, a generous, heartfelt smile, and blue eyes staring back at her.
(Blueblueblue, why was everything so blue?)
And now green eyes had ceased to fall in love. Instead, there was only a green-eyed girl, falling in love, with a boy whose smile was neither cocky nor hateful nor swift.
Sasuke never did, does not and will never deserve Haruno Sakura.
He knew that, knows that, and will forever know that as the thought etched itself into his mind.
He thought of the future that was once within reach and he wondered how different the strokes of his life painting would be if he hadn't left Konoha. Would they be the same lines, merely angled differently, or will they be an entirely new picture?
(He thought of Sakura, how she doted on him, and his jaw tensed and his shoulders straightened and his mind dispelled the thought).
He tilted his chin upwards.
Maybe his picture will remain the same.
Maybe not.
Either way, what was definite was that his painting did not have Haruno Sakura in it.
Sasuke watched as Naruto watched as Sakura read.
Sakura sat on her usual bench, in the park. Naruto shielded himself behind a group of trees across her – inadequate, of course, but Sakura liked to humor him and allowed him to think that she hadn't noticed his presence – and observed her (watched the way her fingers rolled the corner of the pages as her eyes caressed each word each period each line and how she bit her lips as a baby frown would appear on her forehead, which he thought was the perfect size, when she couldn't grasp a concept immediately and how her moments of epiphany lit up not only her world, but his too).
Sasuke stood on a hill a good distance away and observed them - how Naruto poured out happiness like honey and how Sakura scooped it up into a jar meticulously, like it was something precious, like maybe Sasuke once was.
This time the both of them need not pretend they didn't know he was there, because they truly didn't.
Sasuke's eyes were still trained on them when Naruto, finally, after all these years, unshielded himself from the trees and exposed himself to Sakura's judgment. Silly, silly boy – of all the things he could possibly think himself undeserving, love was one of them.
Naruto crossed over to her side (and an eagle flew atop Sasuke's head, exclaiming its battle cry – though sometimes it sounded more like a wail of agony to him – while his head throbbed from his continuous usage of the Sharingan and his eyes felt like bleeding and maybe, maybe, maybe, crying at the same time because he was never acquainted with happiness but sadness had always been an old friend) and with his usual loudness, distracted her from her book.
She looked up, prepared to be annoyed, but immediately dropped the act because what she saw on his face did not coincide with her expectations. The Naruto smile was no longer there - it was replaced by a serious and grim-looking face.
Her lips moved (What happened?). She seemed worried.
Naruto shook his head (Nothing).
She frowned, confused (Why the long face, then?).
(. . .) Blue eyes met green.
For the smallest part of a second, the past crossed paths with the present and the future and Naruto heard the smugness in Sasuke's voice and Sakura thought of the regality with which Sasuke held himself, as if he was superior to everyone. Then, they wondered if their friend was ever coming back and if he even considered himself their friend anymore.
But the past was past and the future has yet to come and if there was anything they had come to realize over the years, it was how important the present was.
(So he exclaimed, Sakura-chan, let's go on a date!
with a little too much heart and a little too much nerves and a little too much love).
And Sasuke looked away, knowing full well what Naruto's question was, even though he was unable to hear anything. But it wasn't his best friend's (if he could even call Naruto that) confession which felt like a thousand searing coals on his heart – it was the answer he knew Sakura would give.
He told himself it was time to move on from childish memories anyway.
(But maybe, he had thought. Maybe).
He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath and let it out.
He opened them, the red of his irises having faded to black.
Oh, well.
One less attachment; one less weakness.
Haruno Sakura knew that, knows that, and will forever know that she did not, does not, and will never deserve a boy like Uzumaki Naruto.
(Well, no longer a boy now, is he? Now, he is a man).
But as she sat frozen on her bench, in the park, reading her books, she felt a smile creeping onto her face. Maybe it wasn't as bright as Naruto's smile, and maybe, she could never hope to compare herself to even a shred of his Narutoness – the nobility of all his actions and everything else.
(Even after all the pain I have caused him, here he is, in front of me, saying these words).
"Do you- do you really mean it?"
That caused Naruto to hesitate, because he's used to punches and kicks and 'you idiot!' screamed at him, but never doubt.
Just like one does not fight fire with fire, one does not quench doubt with doubt.
So: "Yup, I meant it every time I said it!"
And then the grin, with which she was familiar with.
Finally, "Yes. Yes, Naruto, even if you deserved someone much better, like Hinata-chan, yes."
(No, he told her later. There is nobody better than you).
Naruto burned a lot of things.
The things he touched, the people he touched, the lives he touched – everything and everyone, Naruto rekindles a flame within.
Naruto burned like a lot of things – the sun or a star or the fire.
But Naruto's love burnt the brightest, within a female, Haruno Sakura.
Later, years later:
"Haruno Sakura," and he drops onto a knee, "Will you marry me?"
A delirious smile, followed by tears.
"Yes."
An eagle flew in the distance.
Blood red eyes, content and docile, simmered into black for the final time, allowing the darkness to take him now that he had witnessed the happiness of his (loved ones) friends.
It was his way of repenting – his refusal to take his brother's eyes. It was the only way he might ever come close to forgiving himself for hurting the people he held closest to his heart.
He had a hard time remembering their faces now. All he could recall was a blur of pink and blue and green and fiery yellow.
The eagle cried out again, and he could feel the wind from its flapping wings combing through his hair, and the agony in its wail.
(Once upon now,
there was a smile –
keen, nice, generous, heartfelt and clumsy,
and a green-eyed girl had fallen in love.)