A/N: Just a small piece that has been on my mind.
"Occasionally I drop a teacup to shatter on the floor. On purpose. I'm not satisfied when it doesn't gather itself up again. Someday, perhaps a cup will come together." – Hannibal Lecter
Grey. The colour of the tombstone that is created in his name.
White. The delicate tulips placed near his hospital bed.
Black. The shade of his ashes.
Red. The Katon that burnt for hours, engulfing his body.
Pink. The cherry blossom petals that fell during the funeral.
Orange. The colour of his worn out jacket that has been long disregarded.
Blue were his eyes, once so bright and vivid.
Yellow is the sun that no longer shines.
Grief is an emotion that shatters his bones.
Pain is a sensation he has long welcomed.
Happiness no longer exists.
Fear is his lungs.
Rage is his heart.
Love is his mind.
Death is his oxygen.
He did not break but he did bend. He did not repair, rather shatter. He did not cry, rather sob. He did not let go, rather give up.
He grieved.
He grieved for days, weeks and months.
He whimpers when he strolls past the academy. He sobs when he passes Ichiraku's ramen store. He breaks when his feet lead him to their training ground.
Instead, he stops eating.
And when the nightmares become unbearable, he stops sleeping.
And when the villagers move on, he stops dreaming.
Sakura begs.
"Please Sasuke. I can't lose you too"
But he has already lost.
He drowns his misery with alcohol until he is banned from every bar.
His Phoenix Flower Jutsu set ablaze half the forest until he collapsed.
He wept until his chest tightened and his lungs begged for oxygen.
He hid in his shell, built large thick walls and wrapped himself with his own anguish.
Until Tsunade forced him on medication.
He refused until the medication became syringes.
Kakashi had aged, a wrinkled hand rested on his shoulder.
"He wouldn't want you to live like this"
The words triggered a beast that had long been buried.
How would he want him to live?
Would he want him to restore his clan?
Would he want him to live at all?
Lilac. Her hair was a unique colour of lilac. Her eyes were bloodshot and inflamed.
The light drizzle of Konoha's winter weather morphed into a heavy downfall, the drops loud and chaotic.
She stood at his front door, lavender strands dripping, pale eyes weeping.
He does not comfort her, rather move out of the way, silently welcoming her into his rather cold apartment.
She softly removes her shoes, wordlessly making her way into the living room.
He does not comfort her.
She is not craving comfort.
She is breaking, shattering. The cracks morph into thick crevices and deep divides.
She sobs as she mumbles incoherent words.
He is silently grateful he can't understand.
"I miss him. Nothing is the same. Nothing will ever be the same"
Sasuke swallows the thick lump in his throat, afraid his own river of saline tears will begin to flow.
738 seconds pass before her sobs begin to fade, replaced by inconsistent hiccups.
A comfortable silence envelopesthem both. Both concentrated on the rain drops landing on the glass window. Both fighting their own demons.
"I know he would want us to live, not just survive" she murmurs.
Although he knows she is speaking to both of them, she is assuring herself.
He clenches his fists.
He was not even living.
He offers her tea. She accepts.
He remembers his mother serving tea to the visitors who offered their condolences once the news of Shisui's death became public.
"They're in mourning Sasuke-kun" answering his questioning gaze.
She leaves a few moments later, her empty teacup left on the small worn out coffee table.
"Don't fall Teme! If you fall I'll have to come all the way down there and get you back up!"
But he fell. And this time he was not nearby to aid him.
He grieved when his dark strands became silver. He grieved when his bones creaked and his skin wrinkled.
He grieved when he owned his own tombstone.
The engraved calligraphy stated "Uchiha Sasuke. A brother, a son, a team mate"
A mourner
She grieved asshe stood before the two graves, two fragile tulips dangled from her hand.
She grieved when the tea pot whistled on the stove.