Uchiha Sasuke

Sasuke's relationship with her never needed a name. Since childhood, it had been made of discreet presences, a closeness that required no explanation. He saw her nearby while training, always there, silently observing, approaching carefully, as if she understood that he was someone who didn't like to be invaded. Sasuke never asked for it, but he also never pushed her away. Amidst the loneliness that had accompanied him early on, she had become an unexpected constant.

He knew she liked him. Not because she said so, but because her gestures were too sincere to be mistaken. Small acts of kindness, restrained smiles, simple moments shared without promises. For Sasuke, it was strange and, at the same time, comforting. She saw him as he was before the fall—and that disarmed him.

As they grew older, the connection remained silent, but more intense. Sasuke began to notice that when she was around, the weight in his chest lessened, even if only for a moment. And that scared him. Attachment was weakness. Affection was something that could be taken away. Still, he could never completely ignore her.

When he decided to leave the village, Sasuke didn't say goodbye. Not because he didn't care, but because he knew she would see through him. She would see the conflict, the pain, the part that still wanted to stay. And that would make him hesitate. Leaving everyone behind was necessary. Leaving her, however, was what cost him the most.

Even from afar, she never left his thoughts. In moments of exhaustion, it was her face that would appear—not as salvation, but as a reminder of who he had been. And perhaps of who he could still be.

Upon meeting her again years later, Sasuke understood something he had always avoided admitting: she didn't like who he had become. She liked the boy he had tried to erase. And that hurt more than any judgment. Because, deep down, he missed that Sasuke too.

Sasuke Uchiha possessed a beauty that didn't demand attention, but stole it. There was something about him that drew the eye even before one could explain why. At fifteen, his features were too delicate and harmonious for someone marked by so much pain, as if tragedy had cruelly chosen a beautiful face.

His face was pale, with precise contours and almost flawless symmetry. His defined jawline, straight nose, and well-defined lips—everything about him seemed sculpted with excessive care. There was still youth in his features, but his gaze carried too much maturity, creating a contrast that made his appearance even more striking.

Her slightly spiky black hair fell unpretentiously around her face, framing eyes that were impossible to ignore. Even when the Sharingan wasn't active, her gaze held depth. A kind of melancholic, silent beauty that seduced not through lightness, but through intensity. When red appeared, her eyes became almost unreal, as if something ancient and dangerous awakened beneath her perfect skin.

There was a natural elegance in his posture. Sasuke moved with precision, each gesture controlled, his body firm and well-trained, balancing strength and lightness. It wasn't a showy beauty—it was restrained, reserved, and therefore all the more powerful.

He seemed like someone born to be admired, but who had chosen the shadows. And perhaps that was precisely what made his beauty so unsettling: the fact that it existed alongside pain, intact, as if not even sadness had managed to erase it.

Sasuke's personality was shaped by absence. He wasn't cold by nature; he had become that way out of survival. In the shadows, he existed better than in the light, because there no one demanded explanations, feelings, or promises he couldn't keep. His silence wasn't contempt—it was weariness. An old, deep weariness that had begun far too early.

Lost, Sasuke wandered aimlessly, without emotional direction. He knew how to fight, he knew how to train, he knew how to destroy. But he didn't know how to feel without it hurting. His depression didn't manifest in explosions, but rather in blackouts. Days when everything seemed distant, colorless, without real weight. He breathed, moved, fulfilled his needs, but inside there was a constant emptiness, as if something essential had been ripped away and never replaced.

He carried guilt for existing. Guilt for remembering. Guilt for still feeling the longing. Sometimes, he felt anger towards himself for not being able to completely hate the past. Other times, he felt fear—not of the enemy, but of the possibility of still desiring something simple, like peace or affection. This made him vulnerable. And Sasuke hated his own vulnerability.

In the shadows, he allowed himself to be broken. It was there that emotional exhaustion overtook him, where the silence became too heavy and his thoughts spun aimlessly. He felt detached from the world, as if he were always one step behind his own life, observing without truly participating.

Still, there was something that made him dangerous and human at the same time: Sasuke felt everything, he just didn't know what to do with it. The pain didn't make him weak—it made him unstable, profound, intense. Lost, yes. But never completely empty. Because even in the shadows, something within him still resisted in silence.