AN: Series of drabbliness that I've been writing lately...Here's the reading order:
Drabble the First: A Second of Silence (uploaded here)
Drabble the Second: And then a Beat (seen here: www . deviantart . com / deviation / 17805739 )

Spoiler Warning: Up to Manga Chapter 234, Volume 27 or Episode 134
Disclaimer: (c) Masashi Kishimoto

The Hardest Thing

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to speak. Those times, when you're willing but unable to open your mouth and voice what you want to say. What you want people to hear. Really hear. What you want them to know. Voice what you think. What you're thinking. How you feel. How you're feeling.

Yes, the hardest thing in the world sometimes, is to speak.

Even if the one you wish to speak to is lying unconscious at your feet.

How are you going to say this?

What are you going to say?

Oh, I'm sorry I tried so very hard to kill you, isn't going to cut it. You're barely sure if it's a lie or not. But then again. Here he is. Here you are. And he's not dead yet. Even though he could be. How easy it would be. You could put a hand over his nose and mouth and that's it. He'd be gone.

But then again. This is him, we're talking about. Putting a hand over his nose and mouth – that…that would require so much from you. So much. That would require contact. That would require your touching him.

You don't want that.

You can't have that.

Even after all this time. All the smartass things you've said and done. How mindless you've been the past few minutes. Minutes, right? It was only minutes ago when you were trying to kill him. When you were telling him about how you wanted to sever this bond. This bond you've harbored in your heart. Always cherishing. Always always needing. So maybe, you're weak.

Weak for that stupid baka. Weak.

At least, you are, in comparison to the strength of the thread that holds you to him and him to you.

Rain and you're facing skywards.

Pain and you're on your knees.

Blink once, blink twice.

You're torn.

Because you'd once had a family and had never even given a second thought to this boy. Back then, you didn't need to. He was just that noisy kid who ran around annoying teachers. You had never known why he did it. He just did. You didn't notice him. You had a family you could go home to. You didn't notice him.

Or maybe you did. Because you remember a time when you were watching him play. You had scoffed. The other children – well most of them anyway – following your lead. Then it was home time. And there was your brother, picking you up from school. Looking back, behind you, you see the other kids and their parents or siblings. But just him alone. He had seen you looking at him and had stuck out his tongue at you. You had quickly looked away and with your arms crossed followed your older brother. But you did look back again.

He was on the swing.

And he was all alone.

So yes.

Maybe you did notice him.

And yes.

You're torn.

Because if you gave up now, if you gave up now – if you went back with him, then what? What of the clan you want to avenge? The family you want to avenge? No. There would be no revenge. If you went back with him, you'd forget.

And that frightens you.

Because…although you don't like remembering, forgetting is even worse.

Then again, how could you forget, when every night, going home to that compound, having to desperately avoid your own, old house, you imagine everyone's just hiding behind sliding doors. They're just playing one big nasty trick on you. You wouldn't mind though.

You can't forget because the tatami mats you walk on in that room of yours – even if this wasn't your old room – was stained with your family's blood.

Somehow though, the boy you're looking down on can do that. You forget sometimes, the blood. The screams. You forget. And the only things you remember are smiles and the laughing of your cousins and mother.

Sometimes the hardest thing in the world is to speak. But you did try. And you failed. You weren't expecting to succeed anyway.

So you're walking away. Glad for the rain. You'll walk on forever. Doesn't really matter to where. You just will.

You promise yourself that there's a different way to gain power. A different way. You'll gain it. You'll surpass that bastard of a brother you have – had – and your family's death will be avenged.

Till then, it's Goodbye. It's goodbye to everyone. But God, it's hard. It's very hard.

So maybe the hardest thing in the world is leaving.

Leaving him.

Steeling yourself, you walk on.

Behind you him.
Dying, dead or in between.

The rain's stopped.

He's gone now.

But…that…bond that you'd been harking on about breaking. It's still there. Because even though, sometimes, the hardest thing in the world is speaking, he heard you.

He heard you anyway.

He heard you through that bond.

And who are you to break that?