A/N: Greetings. How's your week been?


We


He's suspicious of your smile.

He narrows his eyes at you and flicks his gaze between your eyes and the practised, desperate curve of your lips. You can't fool someone like him; a clan boy who's likely used to being greeted with smiles that hide their owners' true intentions. (He's the spare but he's still important. Connections are important.)

You feel your heart squeeze in rising panic and despair as you abruptly and belatedly realise that you've never really had a conversation with another child ̶ (or anyone that's not one of your parents, actually) ̶ before. You spend more of your time learning how to socialise and how to make friends rather than actually going out and approaching people. (People are scary. I know. People are cruel.)

You've become timid as a result of being harassed whenever you're seen by a particular group ̶ (I want them dead and gone but they're only children themselves. Wait. Does that matter?) ̶ and it's never helped that you've always been naturally shy. But you don't stand up against them, so they will continue to hurt you unless you can prove to them that you're not one to be bullied for their own self-esteem. (No. It doesn't matter that they're children. It doesn't matter.)

You're too passive, so now you're near tears in front of your fascination even though hardly any words have been exchanged. Something happens, then.

(Something cracks; something breaks. It's a dam. But it's okay; I'm already drowning.)

Though unexpectedly delayed, I begin to notice of the onslaught of negativity that you're trying to force into my space. I try ̶ (I try, I'm always trying) ̶ to contain it all but it's difficult and I can't keep track of what you're doing. (It's black and white and everything grey. It's hell. It's nothing.)

By the time things settle, the first thing I see is the irritation boiling within eyes of ink. (I wonder if he'll see me if he glowers hard enough.) Your heartbeat is loud in your ears, and you chant over and over in your head how this was a mistake. (A mistake? A mistake. Yes. It was a mistake. I'm a mistake. Please, stop.)

I'm inclined to agree as he ̶ (Sasuke, Sasuke, Sasuke) ̶ begins to sneer at you. "You're even worse than the others," he hisses at you, and you reel back in bewildered shock. You feel like your heart is shattering; some part of me hopes that it does so I can pick up a specific set of pieces to rebuild you with.

(I'm not supposed to think like that. What have you done? I don't want to be like this. I don't want this.)

"You're so fragile; all I have to do is glance at you to know and that's just… No." He frowns as he examines you from head to toe, making you feel like he can see everything. It's horribly violating, in a way. "You don't fight back if someone tries to hurt you, do you? You're the kind that just takes it, cries and tries to smile like everything's fine. I hate people like that; those who just can't stand up for themselves no matter what. It's illogical and I have no pity for people like you. I don't have the time."

And then Sasuke simply turns and walks away. You watch him go, frozen, before you eventually sink to your knees and feel your heart crumble within your ribcage.

(Harsh. True. Harsh. True. Listen, listen, listen! Please. Please?)

I feel your hurt; your anger. I feel it and I want you to listen because you can be so much more than you are now. You can improve by using those words for yourself. I want you to succeed, to stand strong so that you can be the best you can be. You don't have to be perfect, but you have to try.

(All we can do is try until we die.)

. . .


. . .

You come home later that day with puffy eyes and tell your parents that you will go to the Ninja Academy rather than the Civilian Academy. Your mother, expectedly, is devastated; she drops to her knees and holds her head in her hands as she grieves for her daughter's future. (Does that remind you of anything?)

She can only be happy that you are kind to a fault and it's nothing to be happy about. Not in this world where kindness is either foolish or brave; you know which one you fall into. (Don't you?)

Your father observes you with his arms folded and his expression solemn. "Why?" he questions, and you swallow your saliva as your already jittery nerves become even more so.

You smile in such a way that it hurts terribly. It's directed at his feet. "I'm not okay with how I am," you whisper in answer, and it would probably bring me to tears if I were capable of crying. I'm proud of you, for this admittance.

I only want the best for you. Even if I'm starting to hate and resent you.

(Why won't you hurry?)

. . .


. . .

I'm starting to dislike him, if only because of your influence.

You're torn because you still look at him with a sense of childish longing ̶ (what do you want, Sakura? A friend? A boyfriend?) ̶ even as you remain aggrieved by his former words towards you. He doesn't make eye contact with you, even though you've been assigned to the seat next to him. (No. You just want someone to care. I care, but what does that matter?)

He doesn't like to make eye contact with anyone, really. Probably because it'd make it seem like he's interested if he does.

I wonder what his life is like at home, under the roof of his clan head and father alongside his exceptional brother. Not to mention his mother, who is renowned in her own right. Expectations are forced onto his shoulders and he can't fail them because of the consequences. (He's better than you at that. Not perfect, but better. He does his best to survive.)

You don't think of that, of course.

You focus more on the fact that not even your initiative to train with your father can help you in the face of emotional confrontation. You're still self-conscious; still shy and easily breakable. The others are aware because they'll look for your weaknesses just because they can, rather than for any objective reasons.

(It's only become worse, hasn't it? The bullying? The jeers haunt your dreams because you can never escape, can you?)

You're trying to contain it all and smile in forgiveness because that's what your mother tells you to do. All these emotions that you've bottled up will burst soon, and a large part of me doesn't want that to happen. (Another part of me does. It's the part that is feral and tired of you pretending that you're okay with how things are. Stop hurting yourself.)

It's not enough that you're starting to learn the basics of how to be a ninja. You need to learn how to be a person first and no one can help you with that. Only you can because you won't let me help.

(You don't even know that I exist and, am I bothered? Does it bother me? Yes. No. Yes.)

You have to acknowledge and accept me before you can start being a person. We're not meant to be separated. We're not meant to be 'you and I'. Here we are, anyway.

"You know, Sasuke-kun, if you want someone less annoying to sit next to you…" One of your female peers has approached, batting her eyes at the brooding Uchiha like they're much older than they actually are.

You're all so young. What do you care about romance? Or is it the fantasy of romance that entices you all? Sasuke; the prince. The rest of you; the princesses. I wonder if you know how that story would end?

(It only ends in tragedy. It can't end in any other way.)

"Fuck off," mutters an unfamiliar voice. Crude and rough and yet, not. "Just, fuck off."

I'm ̶ (you're, we're) ̶ bewildered until I realise that it's a lower pitch of your voice. It's only for a moment, that I move your eyes and meet the eyes of the boy who took your heart and crushed it. His eyes are wide with surprise, perhaps like yours are. There's another kind of emotion there that I can't quite decipher in my confusion. (Oh, god, he sees me. He sees me.)

Then you have your voice and your eyes back. I want to ignore this moment; I've never wanted control over you.

I've never wanted to live whilst you and I are still disjointed.

(Please, don't make me.)


We


A/N: Warning you people now; I have no idea of a plot. It's mostly emotions and children being emotional, so I would appreciate any thoughts that you have.

Reviews are love. Reviews are life. It's never ogre. Thank you for reading.