You watched him shoot himself.

You watched his blood splatter across the walls, his blood splatter across your peers.

You still can't get the stains out of your backpack.

He wrote a note, he taped it to your locker. Only four words. "It was your fault." He signed his name.

Your brother hasn't looked at you the same since. The once plentiful admiration of your peers has dried up, and you walk through the school as a pariah. You wonder if this is how he felt.

Naruto Uzumaki. You can still remember the trembling kisses he pressed to your lips when you were twelve. You'd pushed him away in disgust, shattering the years of camaraderie and friendship you'd had.

You hadn't wanted to. But an Uchiha isn't allowed to be gay. You know this like you know it took them four hours to scrub the blood out of the classroom.

You can still see it. When you close your eyes, when you sleep, when you wake. His dreamy, blank eyes won't stop following you.

The police talked to you, asked you what you did, why he left the note. All you'd been able to do was stare blankly at them, wondering why the ghost of the blonde sat there mocking you, loud enough to drown out the their angry voices.

You wonder why you did it. Why didn't you leave him alone? Why did you torment him? Why didn't you see the spark leave his eyes before he blew his brains out?

You don't know. You have no answers for yourself or the people who whisper loudly about you in the hallways.

You want to go back in time, stop him. Stop him, hear him, be something to him again.

But it's too late.

And so, you step up on the chair.

You tighten the knot.

And you jump.