I remember, I remember,
The fir trees dark and high;
I used to think their slender tops
Were close against the sky:
It was a childish ignorance,
But now 'tis little joy
To know I'm farther off from Heaven
Than when I was a boy.
--Thomas Hood
Chapter 6
White petals sprayed like diamonds in the early morning sun, whispering dreams of beauty and blood; honey-sweet yet raw, iron visions of lust and love. Sasuke watched, drunk with fascination, tempted almost to reach out and touch one.
"We can go inside, if you want." Kakashi offered, holding his umbrella over the boy, who was already soaking wet and clearly didn't need it.
"I'm fine." He spat. "What do you want?" Kakashi sighed and looked out over the pond where the petals flew, disoriented and random, finally landing softly on the surface.
"I wanted to talk to you about something." Sasuke snorted and turned away from his teacher. The image must have looked classic. A Jounin, tall and dressed causally, though masked, hovering over a small, pale boy, drenched and miserable, sitting half in and half out of the water. The brilliant orange glow of dawn spread over them, bathing their otherwise stern expressions in a warm, earthly light.
Kakashi stuffed his free hand in his pocket and cast a sidelong glance at his student, fidgeting nervously. It was easy to tell someone what he believed in. It was easy for him to try and force those beliefs on other people, to make them understand and live by them. But it was hard to hold back: to just share and not push someone who would crumble if he did.
"Sasuke," He began softly. Something in the back of his mind asked how Iruka went about these things. "Sakura and I… we've noticed how different you've been acting lately."
"I don't know what you're talking about." The boy snapped, his eyes glued to the surface of the water, where he would have seen his feet if it weren't for the reflection. An ivory white petal floated idly past him, undisturbed in the rain. This must be one of those weird rains, he noted, when the clouds are gray but the sun shines in spite of it. He liked to think he acted that way: Brilliant despite a lifetime of suffering.
"I used to be a lot like you." Kakashi removed the hand from his pocket, reconsidered, and stuck it back in. He hoped he wouldn't choke, but it would be hard. The rain made it that much more depressing. "I thought I was better than everyone. I was the only person in the world I needed to look out for." He paused for response, got none, and continued. "I followed my orders just as I was told. I didn't take any time to consider the life of anyone but myself. I was selfish…" Kakashi trailed off as Sasuke pulled himself onto the dock and stood looking at his feet. His hair had grown too long to see his eyes, but his mouth was set in a hard line, and his fists were curled into tight balls.
"You had the right to be." He hissed. His voice was low and harsh, on the verge of cracking. Kakashi blinked and stepped back, confused by the boy's sudden change in aggression. "You're the strongest Jounin in the village, and they're… you said your friends were dead, right?" The older man stared at him, surprise slowly morphing into cool resentment. "If they weren't able to take care of themselves, then obviously they weren't fit to be ninja." The hand in his pocket clenched hard, the tiny stubs of his nails digging crescent moons into his palms. His dull brown eye showed no change in emotion, just a slight twitch of the eyebrow to suggest hatred, loathing, aggravation, and the bitter reminder of his own figure some thirteen years ago. He watched as Sasuke made his way to the gates of his compound with utter disgust.
"Is that what you really think?" He could feel the echo of his friend's words tearing at his throat. Sasuke stopped where he was, but didn't turn back. Kakashi shook his head, knuckles white on the umbrella, eyes burning holes like cigarettes in the back of the Uchiha boy's head. "Is that…really what you think?" Sasuke turned just enough for the Jounin to see the corner of his eye.
"Yes, it is." Kakashi stood at the end of the dock, umbrella in hand, watching a lost boy crawl further into the darkness. He let his hand unclench, disappointed in himself more than the boy, in his failure, rather than his student's arrogance. He felt a new autumn wind rise with the shadow of death, wrapping them together in the moment like music, stripping him of his cool façade and leaving him open to the world. So this was what it was like to be broken.
AN: More of a small add-on