CHAPTER ONE
(His prologue)
Tsunade found herself once again curled up in his apartment, his sheets weaving a tight cocoon around her. She had to stay here, that way his soft smell would be engraved into her very skin, that way, he could never leave her. She didn't care that she had been here all night and day, that it was almost 5pm. What was the point in caring if you never had? And when that thing you had forgotten to care about was stolen from you? Yes, what was the point?
The evening light pounded against the curtains that were sealed shut, desperate to heave its way through. But she wouldn't let such a thing happen, even if it meant gluing her eyelids shut, and that's just what she did. Shizune would be looking for her for sure, there was paper work to be done. "dam the paper work," she hissed under her breath, it could burn for all she cared. So what if she was becoming unfit to be hokage. She couldn't let it force her to forget. How could she forget though? Those words rung, echoed through her head, 'Jiraiya is dead', and they refused to leave her alone. She curled her hands into tight, fastened balls. Now she really was alone. Sure, she had thought she was for such a long time now, ever since Dan had been killed, but that hadn't been solitude in its highest form… no, this was. She still had him back then; she just had simply not accepted it. She had let the very sand of herself dribble through the cracks in her fingers, and now she could never go back to that beach and retrieve it.
Regret; that was all she could think, all she could feel now. Why hadn't she? Why had she? She jerked herself up, suddenly glancing around the room. Was that a phone ringing? The sound seemed to rebound from wall to wall, but she could not get to it, not fast enough, and so, the person, on the other end of the line was cut short, just like her. That simple ring seemed to dissipate into nothingness, yeah, that was right, she had never been fast enough. She scratched her withering hair, the only sound in what felt like the whole world now. She glanced around her; everything was perfectly in place, with the exception of the matted bed. What was going to happen to this place? Would they take all of his things? Would they knock it down even? She shakily sucked in air, which tumbled into her lungs. She couldn't let them do that. If it cost her everything, she wouldn't let them. Aimlessly, she sat back down, the mattress molding around her. She wasn't sure what exactly it was, but something drew her eyes to the small set of draws on the bed side table, beckoning her to unfasten them, to discover their contents. Wood screeched against wood as she tore it open. What she found was not underwear, socks, or anything of the usual sort, no, what she saw was bland and simple; a manuscript. She could find no title as she carefully picked it up, and stared down at the first page, just the word 'Prologue'. She laughed quietly to herself; this was probably one of his perverted novels he was in the process of writing that had never had the chance to get published. Her eyes glued to the paper, the cold fingers of temptation wrapping around her. She wanted to know, she needed to know what his final novel was. So even though she was sure he wouldn't want her to, even though she knew it would probably be dirty, she began to read. Hey, she needed a bit of a laugh right now.
PROLOGUE
There's this girl – no, woman I have always loved. Even though I would never admit it, even though I didn't even know back then, I have ever since I first laid eyes on her. She's really what has inspired me to write, my whole life, she is what has maddened me my whole life. I have written to her, dozens of letters, letters I have ripped up, burned, drowned, except one, the only one I could get right. I have lost that letter now, because I hid it in a place so special, even I can't remember where it is. I've watched silently as she has bloomed from a small, hopeless girl, to the strongest woman I know. But she has always been a flower, growing in a forbidden garden. That garden has had a barbed wire fence tracing it, one I have never been able to pass, always been denied real access, permanent access . So, I have just been an observer all these years. I was never expecting to feel this way when I first found out we were assigned on the same genin team, she was just another kunoichi with blond hair that focused intently on her studies, while us boys fooled around endlessly. I watched, as her body changed as she got older, how her curves seemed to slowly form, and how her arms toned into thick muscle as she got stronger. Her beauty isn't the only thing that infatuates me though, because, even when I saw her as the older woman she really is, when that ridiculous jutsu wore off, I still felt exactly the same – in fact, I was over joyed that she was still alive. I have always longed for just one more chance at least to grasp her soft face in my palm, and magnet it to mine. I have just wished to brush her body against mine, to feel the warmth of her just once more. But I would poison her, I am just a weed, her though, she is something else, something worth while. Through all that loss, that pain, she held locked in her powerful shinobi chest, I tried to stand her up, be her walking stick, but the truth is, I have always been just a tiny speck in the background of her life's milky way. And maybe that's the way it should be, because that's how it's always been.
"YOU FLAT CHESTED BITCH!" I had growled the day of our first genin training, when she dangled those bells in front of me, taunting me. Her and Orochimaru walked away from me that day, leaving me a mile behind in the rat race. I had called her that horrible name, one she had forgotten the very next day, one I had not, because what I really meant to say to her, and I only whispered it to myself was, "Tsunade, come back"