Author's Note:

Hiren isn't her name, hiren is Japanese for tragic, blighted love. Just wanted to make sure everyone was on the same page, as I feel like this word is the very core of this piece.

This is a story about love. This is a story about happiness. This is a story about all that could have been.

"Tell me you hate me, tell me you never want to see me again, tell me you're done with me! Look me in the eye and tell me you've had enough! Tell me that, and I'll believe you!" Her beautiful brown eyes started to turn to green, as the tears inside of her were spilling over, filled with pain, regret, shivers of love. I've always been intrigued by that change. Like her eyes were trying to say "love me, even though I'm hurting", like they were clinging to everything that's beautiful in this world and giving their best to keep calm. "I'll leave you alone and never bother you again!" She was shivering. She was killing me. And all I could do was watch her and try to hold back my own tears. "Tell me that that's what you want, and I'll believe you, Itachi! But stop treating me like this, like you've never even met me!" My throat was hurting, my teeth were clenched so tight that they could crack. I was afraid that she would see right through me. I was afraid that she'll see how deep this was wounding me, how hard it was to just sit there and hurt her. But I had to. I had to drive her away. Because... Because I... I would never be able to do it. I could never leave her. So I had to make her leave me.
"Hiren..." My voice cracked. My voice was betraying me. Her eyes flickered; every muscle in my body tensed. It took all of my strength, every drop of will left in me to keep my face straight, to keep my hands from caressing her soft cheeks. I remember the first time I called her that - the first time I realized I'd have to let her go, the first time my heart broke into pieces. The first time I understood we had no chance. The day Danzou changed his mind... She had no idea why I chose to call her that, but she did not complain. She just smiled wryly at me and arched her eyebrow ever so slightly. I had told her it fit her then, and I had told her the same thing ever since. Hiren... My dearest, how I wish this word never suited you! Hiren... I closed my eyes and filled my heart with her presence, her scent, her beautiful face. I could feel her broken, yet hopeful stare pinned on me. I couldn't do this. Not me, not to her. Not with my own hands. How was I supposed to destroy her when she was the one thing I was desperately trying to protect? But I had to, I had to. I knew I'd bring myself to do it. And somewhere, deep down, it killed me how sure I was I would. I sighed and bit my tongue until I could feel a thin, bitter threat spread inside my mouth. Blood. The pain I was supposed to feel didn't come. I was too numb, too ruined. Too well trained. So I raised my head and found her eyes, and bore into them. Warm, hurt, exhausted. Pleading. Enormously contrasting to my own - cold, emotionless; empty. Because draining anything and everything from my face was all and the best thing I could do to keep myself from crying, from breaking, from hugging her.
"Has anyone ever told you you look gorgeous when you're angry?" Her eyes were so beautiful when she cried. I could watch them forever, but it killed me knowing that she hurts. How could the only thing that's killing me make me feel so alive?
Her lips squeezed into one thin line and her chin was twitching, burnt by pain - fresh, sharp pain. The purl of tears that stained her cheeks thickened just a slight, just a tat - enough to make my heart rive one more time. In an instant, her self-control snapped and she slapped me with all the strength left in her frail body.

His head hung to one side, placed there by one hastened blow. He let it hang there, eyes shut tightly, incapable of moving it the slightest bit. The feeling of her warm, trembling hand still lingered on his jaw, and he caught himself wishing it would never go away, never leave his side. Just like the promise he made to her many heartbeats ago. He could hear her turn around and walk away. He knew exactly what she was doing. In his head, he could see her very clear. He could see her furious body hurry towards the entrance in the back of the pub, he could see her shivering hands trying to find the door knob, he could see her beautiful face quiver, tightened by ache. He could hear her sobs. Like a stab, a poisonous last kiss, he heard her whisper "I hate you!" in a hoarse, shaky voice. A broken voice. Then the slender bell hung above that heavy wooden door rung all across the empty pub and left him alone in his agony. His fists were clenched forcefully, helpless on his lap. His temples were pounding, not from the fire burning in his cheek still, but from how tight his eyelids were pressed into each other - because maybe, just maybe, he could disappear; maybe all the emptiness inside of him could spread out and mix with all the emptiness around him, and get away from him, and leave him and never return again . He felt a cold, stinging bead lazily snail from the corner of his eye. He wanted to raise a hand and wipe it away, but his limbs won't listen to him. Or maybe they listened all too well. He swallowed once, scarcely, trying to prevent other tears from making their way down his skin. He was grateful for the blackness of the night, he was grateful for the dim light, for the vacancy of the pub, for the stool beneath him. He was grateful no one could see what a poor excuse for a shinobi he was, all destroyed and broken and crying.

I wanted to follow her, stop her, grab her hand and hold her tight, never let go of her waist and just kiss her, have her, take all her pain away and let her drown into me and never let go of her ever again. But I knew she'd be better off alone right now. I knew she needed the time to cry herself to sleep that night. I knew she wanted me away from her. But all I wanted to do was hold her tight and wipe her tears away, and never allow that smile to walk off her face again. It tore me to pieces to know that she'll be better if she hurts, to let her hurt without even trying to help her, to be sharply aware that I am the reason of her sorrow. It killed me. Slowly, painfully… but I won't move an inch. I promise I won't go after her. I'll let her be, I'll let her heal, and I'll pray that she'll forgive me someday. I pray that she knows what she means to me and I hope she realizes how much I want to hold her back…

He didn't move. He didn't. He didn't. He stood there alone on that stool, eyes still closed and head still bowed, focusing on his burning insides, the lump in his stomach, the warmth of his cheek. He couldn't feel it. He knew there was a mark, he knew it was red and swollen, yet he couldn't feel it. He was lost. He was dying. He was afraid. Afraid he'd forget her, who she was, who he was when she was with him. Afraid he'd forget how the sun lingered gently on her skin, going out of the ordinary to embrace her for the longest time. How the warm light reflected off her smile, giving her that innocent, angelic glow. How her soft hair smelt like peaches, and her body smelt like ramen... always ramen, no matter where she'd spend her day, or night, or all her life. Afraid he'd forget her tender laughter, or the sharp, smart glint in her eyes, or that wry half smile she always greeted him with. How frustrated she would get with that one strand of hair that always rebelled, always hung behind her left ear. How she would start humming whenever she got nervous. How she made him feel so safe and appreciated, and warm, and calm, and loved... like he had all the time in the world, and this life all figured out; maybe he did, back then. All the sunrises they'd watched together, all the times their hands laced their fingers on their own accord, all the times their hearts beat as one and their minds were both gone. The first time he held her, the first time he told her he loved her, or their first kiss, or anything, or everything... He didn't want to forget. He didn't want to let go.

He just stood there, the smell of blood not spilled yet already filling his nostrils. Innocent blood, loved blood; the same blood that was pouring right through his own veins. He clenched his fists even tighter, his nails digging into his palms, blood dripping. He didn't care, he couldn't feel it. His soul was drained, his heart was shuttered, his very core was broken. He stood there, hoping. Hoping she'd remember. Hoping she'd forgive him. Hoping she'd forget.

This is a story about their love. A story about her trust. About his happiness. About their lives. Their dreams. Their hopes. Everything. Everything was crushed in blossom.