Illusion of you, Chapter 1: In the darkness, there is light.
Summary: A shattered Naruto Uzumaki is left hollow after losing Hinata, sinking into a suffocating depression where even living feels like a burden. As darkness consumes his world, he clings to fleeting illusions just to survive each day. But how long can a man endure like this, and what kind of future awaits someone who has already lost everything?
Paring: Naruhina
A/N: Read a lot of fanfic, had some ideas, decided well why not? Lol. May continue this, who knows..... ;)
Thanks for reading!
The morning did not greet Naruto Uzumaki so much as it accused him.
Sunlight, that brazen and unforgiving gold, forced its way through threadbare curtains to paint stripes across his face, across the faded whisker marks that had once been the signature of a boy who refused to surrender. Now, they were merely scars on a man who had forgotten how to fight for himself. He did not wince. He did not blink. He simply stared at the ceiling with eyes that had once blazed the color of summer skies, now reduced to the flat, exhausted gray of a sea after a storm has stripped it of everything alive.
The world had lost its saturation. The wooden beams above his head were not brown; they were the color of dust. The window was not clear; it was a portal to nothing. Even his own hands, when he finally lifted them from the sheets, looked like the hands of a stranger, rough, calloused, moving through the rituals of living with the mechanical precision of a puppet whose strings were pulled by habit alone.
Wash. Eat. Dress. Lock the door.
Each action was a sentence he served without parole.
Konoha was awake around him, breathing, thriving, living in a way that felt like an insult. Civilians parted for him as he passed, their whispers trailing behind like the tails of comets, burning, then gone. The Hero of the Leaf. The Savior. The man who lost everything. He saw the pity in their eyes, that grotesque, well meaning sympathy that demanded he be grateful for their concern. Naruto walked through it all as if through rain, letting it soak him without feeling the cold. Let them pity him. Let them worship the hollow monument he had become. He had no energy left to hate them properly. All his hatred, vast and volcanic and endless, had turned inward long ago, carving a crater where his heart used to beat.
The Hokage tower loomed ahead, and Naruto climbed the stairs with the posture of a man ascending a gallows.
"Come in."
Kakashi's voice. Gentle. Tired. The voice of a man who had buried too many ghosts and recognized the sound of another digging its own grave.
Naruto entered. The office smelled of paper and ink and the faint, lingering scent of old battles. Kakashi looked up from his desk, his single visible eye crinkling into something that might have been a smile in another lifetime. In this one, it was merely a wound trying to heal.
"Oh, Naruto... how have you been?"
"I'm fine, Hokage-sama."
The words fell from his lips like stones into a well, distant, hollow, final. He did not bother inflecting them with false cheer. That boy, the one who wore smiles like armor, had died alongside her.
Kakashi's eye softened, the grief in it so familiar it might have been Naruto's own reflection. "There's no mission for you today."
Naruto's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping in his cheek. "I can..."
"I understand, Naruto." The older man's voice dropped, threading through the space between them like a lifeline cast into a dark ocean. "Trust me. I do. I've been through it myself."
The silence that followed was heavier than any technique, any jutsu, any weight the shinobi world had ever placed upon his shoulders. Naruto's hands curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into scarred palms with a desperation that sought punishment, not relief.
Kakashi hesitated. He knew. God, he knew what he was about to do, knew it would shatter the fragile glass house Naruto had built around his grief. But some truths had to be spoken, even if they cut the speaker to the bone.
"She wouldn't have wanted this for you," Kakashi said quietly. "You know that. We all saw her fight in the Chūnin Exams... during the Pain invasion... through the Fourth War. Her determination. Her nindo. Her inspiration. Hinata would want you to live, Naruto. To be happy. To..."
"She would've wanted to live!"
The shout tore through the office like a blade, raw and jagged and drenched in a decade's worth of unshed tears. Naruto's body trembled, violence and anguish warring in every taut line of him. His fists clenched so tightly that crescent moons of blood bloomed in his palms, dripping onto the polished floor in a rhythm that matched his ragged breathing.
"Hokage-sama," he ground out, his voice dropping to a register so cold it burned, "if that is all, I will take my leave."
He turned, every movement screaming of a man who was shattering from the inside out and refusing to let anyone see the cracks.
"Never giving up... that's my ninja way."
The words struck him like a physical blow.
Naruto froze in the doorway, his spine rigid, his breath catching in a throat closed tight around a scream that had no end. For one infinite, agonizing moment, the boy he had been reached through the darkness and touched the man he had become. Then the moment passed, and he fled, hurried, broken, leaving behind nothing but the echo of a door slamming shut and the ghost of a promise he could no longer keep.
Kakashi sank back into his chair, the weight of his student's anguish pressing down upon his shoulders like a mountain. So, he thought, his gaze drifting to the portrait of the Fourth Hokage smiling down from the wall with eyes so like Naruto's, so like the eyes that had once burned with hope. He is truly broken now.
"Sensei..." Kakashi whispered to the empty room, to the memory of a man who had trusted him with his son. "What would you have done?"
Naruto did not remember the walk home. His mind was a tempest, a maelstrom of memory and regret, each thought a knife twisting in the cavity where his heart had once resided. Hinata. Her name was a prayer and a curse, a balm and a blade. He saw her everywhere and nowhere, in the curve of a stranger's smile, in the silence of his apartment, in the spaces between heartbeats where she used to live.
He collapsed onto his bed, the mattress offering no comfort, only the familiar indentation of a body that had stopped growing and started merely waiting.
His hand found the drawer. His fingers found the bottle.
Saigemzai.
The pills were small and innocent, deceptively harmless in his palm. A drug of genjutsu, of illusion, of beautiful, terrible lies. He did not pause. He did not pray. He swallowed them dry, chasing oblivion with a desperation that would have frightened the boy who once faced down gods.
Darkness came not as a thief, but as a lover, slow, enveloping, inevitable.
And in that abyss, she found him.
"What happened this time?"
The voice was silk and starlight, soft as snowfall and twice as gentle. It was a sound he knew better than his own name, better than the roar of the Kyuubi or the cheers of a thousand villagers. It was the sound of home.
Naruto's breath stopped. His tears did not.
He turned, his body moving through the dreamscape with the clumsy urgency of a drowning man breaking the surface. And there she was.
Hinata Hyuga.
She stood before him in the infinite dark, radiant and real and herself in a way the waking world could never replicate. Her lavender eyes held galaxies of kindness, shimmering with the particular, heartbreaking sadness of a woman who loved too deeply and left too soon. Her smile was angelic, the same smile that had anchored him through his darkest wars, that had reached for him when he had been nothing but a monster in the eyes of the world.
"Naruto-kun," she whispered, and his name in her mouth was the only music that had ever mattered.
He fell.
Not gracefully, not heroically, but completely, collapsing into her arms with the force of a man who had been holding up the sky for far too long. She caught him, as she always had, her embrace warm and solid and impossibly perfect. Her fingers threaded through his hair, stroking, soothing, piecing him back together with a touch that defied the laws of grief.
"It's okay," she murmured against his temple, her voice the only truth in a universe of lies. "Let yourself fall apart, Naruto-kun. I promise, I'll be here to hold you together."
He wept.
He wept for the life they should have had, for the mornings he should have woken to her beside him, for the children they would never raise and the years they would never grow old together. He wept for the boy who had never given up, and the man who no longer knew how to try. He wept, knowing she was nothing but smoke and sorrow, a beautiful phantom conjured by poison and desperation.
But in her arms, illusion was enough.
In her arms, he was enough.
And so, in the dark, the hero of the Leaf Village finally let himself break, held together only by the ghost of a love that death could not diminish, and the whispered promise of a girl who had once been willing to die for him, now willing to hold him, even in dreams, until the pain finally stopped.
