Disassociation

You hate him as much as you love him. You think you might hate Sakura too, you can't tell the difference bewteen love and hate anymore. Or maybe there is no difference, you're not sure.

There's a lot you're not sure of.

But one thing that is crystal clear to you is that this - this man-boy before you with choppy ebony hair and inky black irises that used to be able to turn red and destroy lives - is not Sasuke. It is, but it's not. There is no Sasuke; the boy you loved in your academy days no longer exists.

At least, not mentally. He's little more than an attractive body now, and there aren't words to describe how pitiful it is that this is what he's been reduced to.

(As deeply cracked as his psyche is, you wonder how much more fractured your own is.)

He shifts in the corner of the room and peers at you with vacant eyes and you feel uneasy. He shouldn't still be able to have this effect on you; he's not Sasuke.

But he does because he is and even as utterly ruined as he is, there'll never be another like him.

You shake off the discomfort and make your move in slow, non-threatening steps in his direction but not directly at him. The only way you know to avoid attention is to attract it purposefully, as you often do with bright colors and outrageously flirtatious behavior, and you're doing the same thing with him now. It's basic applied manipulation. He relaxes in response and you feel just a little of your own tension evaporate. Now you can move closer.

He doesn't look at you as you crouch in front of him, doesn't flinch as you lift your hand and gradually place it on his forehead and start sorting through scrambled memories. Sudden movements set him off, so you try to make every movement long, light, and deliberate. You touch him almost without touching, making the shallowest of contact between his skin and yours. He doesn't like to be touched, you remember. He hated it back then and you're pretty sure the aversion to human contact is still there.

You remember a lot of things, actually.

You try not to.

His hand locks around your wrist suddenly, hard as iron, and despite yourself your eyes snap to his. They flash ruby - and they're not supposed to do that, he doesn't even know what the Sharingan is anymore - and for a second you swear you see a spark of recognition but it's gone before you can be sure.

Maybe you imagined both things because his eyes are black and empty again and you don't know why you're disappointed.

This is not Sasuke.

You continue on with your jutsu as if nothing happened and eventually he releases your wrist but his eyes continue to stare into yours. You ignore it.

You visibly flinch a second later when you feel his hand touch the side of your face. The gentleness of it almost makes you cry. He frowns when you pull away from him, and you know your face is mirroring his. You stand to leave because you can't stay, you refuse.

Not when he's being so human and it's quickly undoing the painful stitches in your carefully reassembled heart.

It's ironic that he's found his humanity now that he's lost his mind. After all, you're the one who took it from him. He broke your heart, you thought it only fitting to shatter his mind in retribution. Now the both of you are ruined, now you match like a perfect pair ought to.

He's going to die three days from now and you know you can't save him.

...But you wonder why you want to. It's not him, you know it's not him. Who are you trying to save?

(Yourself.

...but you wonder if it's too late for that, too.)