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I dont need you. When Sakura heard the slamming of the door, she realized that was the biggest lie she had ever told.

Mauer
1987
sunlight. For the first time in the long months of continuous interrogation, he feels the The gentle rayprobably eight in the morning, he guesses from the mild heat brushes across his pale brow. He refuses to blink from the sudden brightness and stares unflinchingly at the smiling, bespectacled man in front of him. Hohenschoenhausen, they aptly call this place. He remembers from the hushed whispers that ghost every part of Leipzig, the house of horrors. But there is nothing horrifying in this quaint little picture: cream-yellow plush carpets, a mahogany coffee table in the center, the dainty chairs and chintz-covers. In fact, the only thing that stands out is his steel stool and the cuffs behind his back. It seems surreal that such a room exists in this bleak, hellish dungeon. (and yes, dungeon. that assessment is not far from the truth.) The weather is quite wonderful outside. He knows that those congenial tones and that considerate drawing of the chartreuse tapestry are being used against him, a weapon to break down his mind. How long have you beenah, down there? The smile on his captors face is accommodating, but it is far from pleasant. Ten months. This officer, they know him as the one with that astonishing silver hair, the one who enjoys a cup of tea while watching men being prodded with electrodes and drowned in water, is now grinning. Impressive. But they know that since there are prying eyes from the other side, the supposed-to-be righteous humane world, they have to keep the injuries at a minimum. (less physical scars, less irrevocable evidence.)

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There is one thing that this brilliant doctor also excels at, one that is more damaging than lashes and electricity. Most men would have forgotten the span of time. Being surrounded by windowless walls, deprived of sleep, isolated from any human contact he trails off, curious brown eyes roving on his naked torso, his grey orbs, the unmarred skin. But I shouldve known, right? You were his brother after all.

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Spectacles glint, sharply attentive to the telltale signs of aggression or nervousness. But Sasuke is different. He does not even flinch at the mention of his brother. I know Itachi, of course. His skills were valuable in our field. Now the pale officer carefully walks slowly towards the comfortable seat, a silver pen twirling quickly as he clicks it open. Many fools still try their best to beat his excellent standards. But unlike him Then, he scribbles the time fast on the piece of paper, logging in the start of this damned routine. I know where the winning side is. Kabuto finally raises his head, folds his glasses, and widens his smile. Sasuke knows that he will see it plastered on that bastards face the whole day. Now shall we get to business? Sasuke hears the click of the recorder, but both of them know what sound it will reflect at the end of eighteen hours: his sweet music of silence.

1982 Who is she? Karin is a pretty red-head and the only female in their small team. She is usually dressed in her best wardrobe and sparkling skirts, but tonight, she wears her patched-up leather jacket and a faded gray dress. Her lipstick-smeared lips and mascara-stained eyes tell him that she is going for another recon. But she is languidly leaning on his doorframe, an unlit cigarette on her fingers, staring at it intently as she avoids his intense glare. At first, he thinks if Karin knows them. (he shudders, and the first thought that flashes in his mind is they will die, they will die. he is weak, he is careless, he cannot even protect them.) Eighteen, a skilled sweet talker and enticingly voluptuous, Sasuke knows that she excels in information gathering, almost as good as that deceased blonde girl (was it yamanaka?) that the camp had executed last month. He knows that she is very talented in her line of work, as she can wean out anything valuable from men with the mere flutter of her lashes and the swing of her hips. Her face is a perfect mask, and her neck is powdered evenly to hide the map of bruises. This girl-woman seems to harbor a misplaced adoration for him, and Sasuke decides that Karin is not prying because she wants to use the knowledge against him; maybe, she is merely curious since he never speaks of anything related to his life. And maybe she expects him to open up as they have been together in this cell for almost three years.

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Karin likes himevery woman he meets seems to predictably fall for him even, he dares to assume, that she cares for him too. He does not understand why she joins his disastrous path, joins him in the search to kill that bastard who murdered his only kin, but one thing is clear: they are merely accomplices. He trusts her on the validity of her wiretapped conversations from assorted departments, he even trusts her with his life. But he will never entrust her life (you dead last, I will kill you if you ever let her come close to the damned wall. and for once, he appreciates that even though there is no brain beneath his yellow head, the moron grimly nods and he is assured with that blue-fire promise within his friendcomrades stare. they will not lose her soft laugh, her mirror-green eyes, her entirety. her. her.) to anyone else. In this world, where spouses spy on each other and children are trained to betray their parents by the government, intense paranoia is common in everyone. But Sasuke specializes in one craft, something that his cursed blood is innate in: the art of treason. That is why he lies. No one important. Karin frowns, a worried retort on her lips, but he interrupts her just the same, Theres a briefing tomorrow. Go back to your station. Her high heels shift, a silent language to approach carefully or to avoid him. He expects her offers of a night to forget forget, dont all men want it? I can help you forget but all Sasuke hears is a different voice, softer, passionate, and soothing, answering him with a calm if i can only break down those walls. down. He always rejects these considerate proposals, as he can never let his guard Fortunately, Karin lets out an awkward goodnight, dark skirt swishing in hurry. (suigetsu had stormed inside his place this afternoon, ranting at how karin always wanders around the accursed bulle. the young man just saw her riding up on those lime green volga mobiles rounding up the deserted streets. sasuke easily deciphers those angry protests. someday, those two will realize whats behind all their spats and bickering. will become lovers, perhaps. even have their happily ever after. a future. and being the miser that he is, he does not say anything. he lets them figure it out, even slightly resents that they have a chance.)

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Later that night, Sasuke finds the battered frog-leather wallet, lights the single candle on a bent holder to illuminate his miserable room, and then finally, his careful fingers pick a folded white paper. He slowly opens it, unfolding it four times. It reveals a clumsily taken image, with a blurred background of an old university and a dark cast of clouds in its unmoving sky. It is evident that it is a picture taken in haste and secrecy, as it appears to slant unevenly. (that idiot. he snorts. a year ago. the stupid fool punches him and throws the old photograph to his bleeding face with a growl, and says that he forgot to pick it up at his house when he left. the dead-last just ran after him to deliver the said image.) There is a girl of fourteen on the beat-up picture, nearly torn in its sides. She is short, wearing a patterned red sweater and is running across the empty courtyard. Her hair flares wildly, arcing on the air like wings on her back as she glances back to the camera with a laugh. Seven lines mark the image, a crisscross of creases that measures the span of her arms, the length of her stride. She drags a boy of thirteen, with dark bed-head hair and is tall enough to outmatch the girls pace. He is wearing the customary black uniform for sophomores. There must have been a thin, disgruntled frown as he seems to look heaven ward, praying for patience. Sasuke knows what is really happening behind the annoyed faade: that the boy is waging a losing battle to stop the smile on his youthful face, but he manages a compromise by allowing a small smirk and he tightens his grasp as she continues to drag him towards the nearby sweet shop. (exactly a week after the image was taken, he takes the most important thing from her when he leaves: the seven last words that she sobs, ichich liebe dich von ganzem herzen, out cold in the night. he steals her heart.) He reverently hovers the picture over the fire, looks at it for a long time; commits the colors and the warmth of her hold to memory. For the first time, he lets the bitterness seep in. (sasuke understands what needs to be done.) Its edges sublime first to clusters of white wisps; the smell of burnt cherries fills the room. The flames finally reach the edges of her open-mouthed smile, deforming it into a painful frown. Dont look at me like that, his usual laidback tone is gone. Sasuke hisses them like a child (she always makes him feel like a brat), masking his terrible guilt with an angry bluster.

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(his fingers almost reach to pull it back, the only thing he has of her. but he can never face the wretched possibilities of them knowing. If anyone discovers his association with her) Sasuke is familiar with the stirrings of hate and anger. That is why he recognizes these thoughts flitting in his mind: he is angry with Karin, for breaching things that should never be mentioned. He is livid at Sakura for being so damn weak. But he loathes himself the most, because he cares enough to protect her. He waits till the picture becomes crumpled ashes and fruit-scented smoke; the warm remains crumble upon the slightest touch. To watch it burn is the least he can do; this is the punishment he deserves. Sasuke owes Sakura that much. The wicker flickers as he turns his back and walks away. Sasuke does not want her eyes to haunt him again tonight.

1984 Scheie. Shit is the right description of what is happening right now. The curse is an unheard sound in this dissonant bustle as men in dark green coats are almost gaining on them. Hot bullets are grazing their feet, but the wet concrete on the other side is open and will grant them out of this hell. Sasuke is only left with three meters before he reaches his escape. (waiting, waiting, waiting, he hopes she will be waiting.) A sharp, acute pain radiates to his knees and he stumbles. Suigetsu and Karin are about to turn as they see him fall far from the gaping wide exit, but they are pulled inside as the others shove them with the hundreds who are stumbling in fear and exhilaration. The wild warnings from the Grepos are becoming louder and louder, the rifles are burning their magazines judging from the succession of shots being fired. And then, he sees that Naruto is in front him. (he hears the rumors, under the tunnels and whispering alleys, that there is a blond boy of nineteen octobers who is too loud for incognito, too eager to brawl. he comes from a paradise where you can see the sunsets, and laugh freely without the fear of having the people you love stab your unprotected back. he paves the way for the lost souls of the east to return back to the west.

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when he asks the name of who made the escape route, he is surprised to hear the handler say, a damned blue-eyed fox. ) Uzumaki Naruto is his bestfriendmore of a younger brother, if Itachi will be more compliant to his insane one-sided, nocturnal conversations. He is one of those idiots who actually had the gall to cross the wall two years ago to chase after him. He never seeks the dead-last to confront him why on earth he risked his life to enter a hellions heaven, but when he sees him standing over him, he finally understands. Say sorry to my pretty cousin for me, will you? He chortles, and spasms in silent laughter. Tell her I tried to bring your stubborn ass bac Naruto chokes on his own blood. Sasuke watches him fall down, taking the bullets with a happy grin. The only thing he wants to do to that idiotic Uzumaki at that moment, in the midst of the terrifying screams and the echoing gunfire, is to crack that fucking numbskull for doing such a stupid, stupid thing. (heroes only look cool when theyre alive, sakura mutters in one of their history study groups, so dont do somethingso impulsive naruto, like that graffiti you did on the school walls? i dont want to hear that youre leading some rebel group for a freaking revolution someday.) When his body falls on his dirt-stained arm (that dipshit eats too much bread and noodles, and no, he refuses to cry out in anger and desperation and grief and why did someone die again again), he struggles to stand and heave him on his shoulders. He has to get away and make this idiot live and shout that he should tell that to Sakura yourself, moron. But then, he feels the hard butt of a shot gun flying at the back of his head, the second blow on his gut, the shout of the blond one, he broke down the wall. one more shot to his head A ringing gunshot is the last thing Sasuke hears before he falls unconscious.

1990 Official Reports of Rounde Ecke: It is said that no harm was done to the newly released prisoner no. 1293129 on November 23, 1988

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5 8. Physically healthy, dark-hair, and possibly from a blue-blooded Japanese ancestry Implemented proper measures to ensure that the suspect will talk in an interrogation under duress, intensive. Detained during his first ten months under the U-boat

In the bottom of the paper is the crisply written printed name (OROCHIMARU) under the curly, neat signature. After signing the contract and admitting his participation in threatening the stability of peace. Uchiha Sasuke provides information on how to fortify the walls in exchange of providing him residence back to his estate. Though, he is still under massive surveillance

1979 No. There is a quick tempo of music playing on the old stereoL'inverno allegro, his mind supplies immediately, Vivaldi. It fills their sitting room, the rapid transcending of strings always sounding new to his ears. In his childhood place, back there in the East, listening to any music at all is a forbidden luxury. They claim that it is useless and soporific. But the rush of notes coincide with the flow of the blood in his head, hardly soothing his seething state. You dont understand, Sasuke almost spits the words. My brother is dead. I will not allow you to go back. He is the only family I have. Hatake is a slacker, a leech and an undeniable genius. He always hides his face in a mask, a combination of knitted dark blue stripped scarves, and always spends his days reclining on his favorite cushioned chair with an old erotica classic on his hands and a cold beer on his unvarnished coffee table. Everyone knows that he may appear unimportant, loitering around public premises like the frequent homeless beggars in the streets during weekends, but it is an entirely different matter when he resumes his place over a desk filled with stolen blueprints and classified pictures.

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As a bastard son of the Uchiha scions, Kakashi has been oddly affectionate to Sasuke, the purest blood of Hatakes detractors. He never knows the reason for this, but he will never question it. (he is many things to sasuke: his mentor. his brother. his father.) I dont like to repeat myself. There is a warning in his tone, that he will do anything to keep him enclosed. And because they are so alike in many ways, Sasuke does not reply; he will not repeat his answer to his command. (i will find his murderer.) As the sole violin reaches the hair-raising crescendo, Sasuke feels the thick, suffocating fury that he is supposed to feel towards Kakashi. But a second later, there is only nonchalance, and a tired sigh. Mismatched eyesa lone slate orb and an unseeing red sclerapins him to rear in his temper. It wont bring him back even if you return. There is nothing you can do. Nothing? The growl is almost animalistic in anger. I can go to the other side and rip the fucking throat Kakashi is cool and indifferent as Sasuke lashes out, but whatever harsh words to come are left unknown when a familiar chime cuts through the dangerous tension. Yes? Kakashi presses a button, a quiet gaze on the fuming young lad. Professor? Oh, good evening! says a meek voice, one that both are more than acquainted with. Is Sasuke there? Ive got some of his schoolwork. I heard that he wassick today. Ah. Kakashi never fails to notice everything, so when Sasuke falters with his vindictive stare, he almost twitches in amusement. Sakura. Yes. Wait a minute, alright? I was just going to leave. Ill just place it on the mail and Why dont you come in? There is a sharp inhale. He needs to rest. Ill just Sasuke is going downstairs. But The small click is very loud to a silent room, signifying that their conversation is over. Get the door. He then tilts his head, the one eye creases to form a smile, argument forgotten.

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And its getting late. Walk her home. Sasuke walks with resignation, knowing that to ask for his cooperation on how to breach the borders is definitely not a possibility. He opens the smoke-painted door, schooling his features to detachment. *** Their walk to her home is uneventful, passing through the well-cleaned suburban hedges and the quaint little homes. It is quite a walk to Sakuras moderate twostorey house from his apartment complex, but the streets are pleasant enough for a leisurely stroll. As the minutes progress slowly, this Sakurawho avoids his gaze, haunches her shoulders and unsmilingis different. She always talks of the little things if they do not see each other for days, of how Mr. Iruka punts Naruto to the next life, of how the old janitor gives her pretzels for helping him with the early morning clean-ups. She will talk just to fill his painful silences, just to ease him up, and will settle to a tranquil pace when they pass a certain point on this well-worn road. They stand in between the fenced graves, where the queue of crosses soak on the last light of the day and the obstinate stone barrier stretches to hide the other side. Behind her, the sun is settling to rest on its mandarin, cloud-clustered bed and Sasuke is sick of seeing it. He wants to watch the sun rise on the east now. that. Im sorry. Heartfelt sorrow seeps in her apology. I didnt mean to hear all of

He stops and turns around to look at her dejected form, biting her lips in an effort not to submit to the nervousness she usually feels when they are alone. (it makes him unreasonably pleased that only he can make this incredibly rare, strong woman uneasy. that he is the only one who sees the trembling of her hands when she flips over the pages before examinations, her unsure questions when she asks him about an equation. the one who sees her insecurities behind her confidence. and because she lets him see her, he lets her know that he used to cry when he was afraid of the dark. he tells her that he hates sweet things and prefers to be at home during weekends. he triesgod, how hard he triesto let her understand him. that is why he allows her to hold his hand now.) If only, her voice is strong and willful, but it nearly cracks as she quickly avoids his sharply turned gaze. If only I can break down those walls. But you cant, Sasuke replies with a curt bite.

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But if I can break them, maybemaybe youll Her next words are almost a hurried mumble, something that makes the rosy hue on her cheeks travel to the tips of her ears that are peeking out of her soft (its almost glowing, as the lantern just illuminates her perfectly) strands. Her deep green eyes (he can almost see the lightening of greens in her irises, a golden halo on her dilating pupils) are staring at the white-washed crosses, avoiding his intense look. Her hands (surprisingly filled with silver linings, thin marks and scars of burns and cuts, nevertheless it still appears smooth) clench and unclench on the hem of her pencil skirt in anxiety as she pouts and mutters a forget it. The proximity is almost stifling, but when she moves to lay her lips upon his, their distance seems too far and he wants to close it. But he does not budge. He does not even breathe. This is not right. That is the reason why he does not give in. Why he lays unmoving, unaffected, ignoring the unfurling heat that curls over his chest prompted by her light, fluttering touches. (you will hurt her, bastard. hurt her hurt her. you will leave her one day.) Her exhale is immediate, the familiar cloying scent wafting to him, welcoming warmth caressing the shell of his ear. Sakura withdraws backnot only her hands, her arms and her lips. Her face is now hidden under the layers of her hair that it reminds him of that small little girl crying on the corner of the sandbox. Her whole body trembles as she steps back from him, with shuddering small gasps, as if trying hard not to dissolve into tears and cower in embarrassment. I shouldnt haveIll go. Forget this. I-I wont (you will leave her tonight.) He does not hear the cautious warning of his conscience. Sasuke will always be selfish. So he will take and never give back. When he captures the pair of pale, pale crimson lips, he captures a memorable taste of her favorite soda that she offers every lunch and lazy enjoyable afternoonsthe tangy sweetness of apples and bitter frost of the sparkling water; the apfelsaftschorle is lukewarm-cold on his tongue, and surprisingly reminds him of cold autumn days. And in that early evening, where the pinpoints of light peaks out over the towering asphalt and basalt, she promises him everything. Ich, she whispers in between ragged breaths, bleibe hier. This wakes him up. Like a child caught red-handed, he pulls away his entangled hand on her short coral locks. He retreats, and swerves to turn away to the other direction, to pass by the shadow of the white graves.

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(years later, on some rotting, dank, dark cell, this becomes an agonizing memory for sasuke. because this is where he lets her destroy his walls, and shows him, without any effort at all, how weak he truly is.) Sakura knows him more than anyone can ever understandbecause he lets her tug on the hem of his blue wife-beater jacket behind, and he allows her to grip it tight. He wants her to stop him. (dont let go.) Because both of them know that even if he only possesses the clothes behind his back, he will leave with any given opportunity. I She sobs, knowing what will come next. I love you with all my heart. And he says the only appropriate response. Please, Sasuke. Please. Dont go. I mean, you might die and He will not give her hope. He will not give her the truth. Stop being annoying. The most merciful thing he can do is to crush her heart. But Sasuke, please. You cant just leave! Everyone will I dont care. (contrary to popularthe dumb idiot, especiallybelief, the lie is quite easy to say. the only thing that stops him from taking the words back is the notion that his words can give her something more precious than his sanity: her peace of mind. to know that she can sleep everyday without the thought of being murdered in her bed. the thought of her killing herself in worry for him.) If you go, then I can come with you! Please, its dangerous out there! Both of her hands now hold onto his left cuff, onto the back of his shirt. Please, let me go with you. I can help you and Sakura. For one last time, he turns to her slowly. He does not let her see his face as he tenderly unclasps the tight vise-like hold on him. He does not let his fingers stay a second longer on her fragile wrist, on her lithe arms as he steps back till he can no longer feel her radiating heat. Thank you.

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And he lets her see how broken he is: an uncaring man who only smirks at her tear-stained face. Her loafers grind and crackle against the small pebbles as she steps back from him with a wide, wet-brimming stare. Her mouth, which he desperately tries to forget the lingering aftertaste of, gives another shuddering exhale. Her knees fail to support her and she falls before him, crumpling, silent tears raining before his feet. (she takes his gratitude as an acceptance, as a rejection. his rational mind says that you did it for her but he will never ever forgive himself for years.) He walks away. He does not turn back. He does not want to see her anymore. (as broken as him.) The next day, Uchiha Sasukes desk is empty. A day later, Sakura confesses through a broken phone call to a fuming platinumhaired aunt that he is now walking underneath an endless red-sky, painted by the rising sun.

1989 wir bleibe hier! The furious crowd chants them in bursts of a thunderous booming cadence under a cool November sky. It starts with a distant scream from an overzealous young man that reminds him too much of home. (he almost sees a can of orange spray paint and a golden mop of hair when the voice screams again and again at the top of the heavily-defaced wall: we are staying here! he hears a different voice though, when he hears that lone cry. it echoes softly in the hollows of his notions, but it is not less passionate. ich bleibe hier. there is resolve when he repeats it again in his mind: i am staying here.) The fault line in the middle of the indomitable barrier lengthens, cracking resonantly to create an orchestra of chipping rock and eager cheers. This odd symphony is becoming a highly-anticipated swan song of this tiring tale, and Sasuke wants to hear the last blessed note.

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And at that swelling moment where the music plays in a speechless second, when the concrete curtain cracks, crumbles and becomes a gaping, uneven window, a mosaic of surprised gazes that rove at their equally astounded expressions He sees her. There is a vivid pink beacon among the throng of bright yellow heads and of dark hazel crowns. He notices her haunted eyesalmost a reflection of hispeering carefully behind a towering back and she pants another cold mist when she tries to tiptoe to look beyond the obstructions. And because it is an apparition created by his ill mind, he can almost trace with his unfailing vision of those are tears on the precipice of her clear eyes. Her blunt, unpainted nails flit across them, wiping them impatiently and outstretch them over the scarred wall. She smiles. The following roar rings deafly on his ears, like the standing ovation of a wellplayed performance. A wave of sleeved limbs rises up, surging like a tide, blocking his view. Warm bodies smother him coldlylike the confining cold bars, the monstrous fortresses he had to fight every single struggling day. He is unable to catch a glimpse of her again, as that mesmerizing vision is swallowed by the massive flood of liberated souls. Sasuke refuses to follow the strong current of bodies and waits with his knuckles clenched, feet rooted on his spot again. His dark eyes (frantically) search the ocean of strangers, transfixed to where she has stood before. But there is no sign of her, it is impossible not to notice even if she is small. (shell never grow up, the mere idea of her makes him want to gut himself because obviously shes not here) The young man tensely swallows, his throat painfully bobbing as he holds back the urge to call her name, as fear begins to dilute on his veins, settle on his heart, and circulate throughout the every pore of his being. He has never felt this way beforelost and unsure, trying not to panic. She is not here. She will not be here. Sakura has already moved on. It is plausible. It is even the most logical explanation why his damned mind is playing tricks on him. He almost wants to laugh at how she finally listens to him. Listens to a fool that believes that he has the right to hope, that she will be waiting for him when he gives up everythinggives her up. He takes in the scene before him: a father ruffling a red-nosed son, a mother alternately kissing the cheeks of her daughter, estranged lovers who are whispering tearful nothings to each otherthe list can go on and on of what is happening.

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And Sasuke is already free to achieve this same kind of happiness: a sort-ofbeginning where tomorrow he can see sunsets, eat tomatoes, and be normal. But all he wants right now is to return to that damning confinement, as he craves for that steady innocent hope that has kept him alive (someone is waiting for me), than to experience this desolate abandonment. He will never know if it is raining because he feels warm drops on his face even if the sky is clear, all alone with the ecstatic, fortunate pilgrims who are finally united once more. (clear autumn skies, they are very rare, sakura giggles. good omens. itll be a nice day) The shadow of familiar crosses stretches on his gaunt, ashen face. Sasuke. His name feels warm on his nape. His thoughts (her words) are now mercifully silent as the sun finally sets.

Sorry
White is the color of a clean slate.

Hour 1 Everything around him was white. But it wasnt the kind of whiteness that was bright, shining, and almost blinding, not at all. But it wasnt subdued either. It was somewhere in between. There wasnt a plant or animal in sight, nor were there sounds to indicate their own presence. The landscape, if it could even be called that, was bleak, barren, desolate empty. But the void, encompassing as it was, wasnt unpleasant at all. No, it wasnt unpleasant but it wasnt particularly pleasant either. The climate, like all the other aspects of the place, was regulated to the point that it was nonexistentit wasnt hot, nor was it humid, and it surely wasnt cold either. There wasnt even any wind, and he wasnt sure if there was air and if he was still breathing it. There were no colors, just the lack of iteverything was white.