Sasuke noticed the shift in Boruto instantly—the boy's body tensing beneath his hand as memories surged up, raw and relentless, threatening to drown him. Sasuke's grip on Boruto's shoulder tightened, not just to steady him but to anchor him—trying to offer a lifeline through the storm. His voice softened, threading through the chaos with quiet urgency. "Boruto... breathe. Focus on my voice. Stay with me." Each word was a plea, heavy with concern, as if Sasuke could will Boruto back from the edge with nothing but his presence.
Boruto struggled to obey, clinging to Sasuke's words like driftwood in a raging sea, but the memories clawed at him, refusing to loosen their grip. His breaths came in shallow, ragged bursts, the world narrowing to the pounding in his chest and the echo of that day replaying in his mind.
The scenes from that day flickered behind Boruto's eyes, each one sharper and more agonizing than the last. Every detail was painfully vivid. He wanted to scream, to force the memories out, but his voice caught in his throat—strangled by fear and shame. Tears spilled down his cheeks, hot and silent, betraying the turmoil he couldn't hide or control.
Sasuke watched, helpless but resolute, as Boruto's internal battle played out. The boy's body trembled, his eyes wide and glassy, staring into a nightmare only he could see. Sasuke recognized the signs—the rigid posture, the clenched fists, the desperate attempt to hold himself together. He remembered his own past, the haunted nights after his clan's death, the kind of pain that could hollow someone out from the inside.
Inside Boruto's mind, panic twisted with guilt, his thoughts spiraling out of control. *What if Sensei saw that video?* The idea struck like a blow, sending a fresh wave of dread crashing through him. The fear of Sasuke's judgment—of seeing disappointment or pity in his mentor's eyes—made his heart race and his breath hitch once more.
He felt exposed, as if the worst parts of himself were laid bare, and the fear of losing Sasuke's respect threatened to swallow him whole.
He knew, deep down, that his sensei was a good and fair person—someone who had always stood for justice and compassion. Yet, the mere idea of Sasuke witnessing him in such a raw, exposed, and shameful state was almost too much to bear. It wasn't just embarrassment; it was a bone-deep fear that twisted in his gut, making him feel small and unworthy. The thought gnawed at him, whispering that maybe—just maybe—this would be the moment Sasuke's respect for him would shatter.
Sasuke, ever perceptive, immediately picked up on the turmoil raging inside Boruto. His voice cut through the haze—firm but gentle—a lifeline in the darkness. "Breathe, Boruto. Slow and steady. Focus on my voice. Don't let your mind wander into that thought." There was a quiet strength in his words, a promise that Boruto wasn't alone, even in his darkest moments.
Boruto tried desperately to obey, clinging to Sasuke's voice as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat. But the nightmare in his mind refused to let go. He could see it so clearly: his family and sensei, gathered around, watching the video—watching him at his weakest, in his most shameful state. The shame was suffocating, wrapping around his chest like iron bands.
His eyes widened, pupils blown with terror as the fear took hold. *But, but… what if he saw the video? What will he think of me? How can I ever look him in the eye again?* The questions echoed in his mind, each one sharper than the last.
Then the cruel, relentless voice of self-doubt rose up, louder and more vicious than ever. *He'll judge you. He'll see you for the weak, pathetic person you really are. He'll think you did it on purpose—to get back at your dad for ignoring you. Or worse, he'll think you're just a slut.* The accusations battered him—relentless and merciless—until it felt like he was drowning in his own thoughts. Each breath was a struggle, each second a battle not to be swallowed whole by the tidal wave of shame and self-loathing threatening to pull him under.
His body trembled uncontrollably now, each shudder wracking through him as if he were caught in a storm he could neither escape nor withstand. Tears welled in his eyes, blurring his vision, and despite his best efforts to hold them back, a low, desperate whine slipped past his lips—a sound of pure anguish and helplessness. It was as if all the pain he'd bottled up was clawing its way out, demanding to be felt.
Sasuke's stern facade melted away, replaced by a rare tenderness. He could see the war raging inside Boruto—the way the boy's shoulders hunched in on themselves, the silent plea for help in his tear-filled eyes. Sasuke's voice became a gentle balm, soft and steady, as he knelt to Boruto's level. "Boruto, you don't have to fight these thoughts alone. Let them out. You're not weak for feeling this way. It's okay to not be okay. I'm here for you."
The invitation to finally release those buried feelings hit Boruto like a tidal wave. He had been holding them in, keeping them hidden, locking them away. Now, the prospect of voicing them aloud was both terrifying and strangely liberating. The words hovered at the edge of his lips, heavy with shame and self-loathing, but fear held him back—a fear that once spoken, they could never be taken back.
He tried to speak, but the words tangled in his throat, choked by a sob that tore free—raw and broken. The sound echoed in the quiet room, a testament to the pain he could no longer contain.
Sasuke's hands tightened reassuringly on his shoulders, grounding him, his gaze unwavering and full of silent support. He didn't rush Boruto, simply waited—his presence a silent promise that he would not turn away.
With a trembling inhale, Boruto forced himself to meet Sasuke's eyes. The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, broken only by his ragged breaths and the occasional, involuntary sob. Finally, his voice emerged—small, shaky, but real. "I… I'm pathetic. I'm weak. I'm worthless. I'm… a slut." Each word was a wound laid bare, a confession carved from the deepest part of his soul. As they left his lips, the tears he'd fought so hard to hold back finally spilled over, streaking down his cheeks in silent surrender.
His entire body trembled, every muscle taut with the force of emotions that had finally broken free. Days of pain, shame, and self-doubt poured out of him in uncontrollable waves. Each sob wracked his frame, leaving him gasping for breath, as if the very act of releasing these feelings might tear him apart. The weight of what he'd carried for so long pressed down on him, but with every tear, every shuddering breath, a small piece of that burden seemed to lift.
Sasuke's eyes shimmered with empathy—the kind that only someone who had walked through darkness themselves could possess. He held Boruto's shoulders with a steady, reassuring grip, grounding the boy in the present as the storm of emotion raged. Sasuke didn't flinch or look away—he simply stayed, a silent pillar of strength, letting Boruto know that he wasn't alone in his pain.
Time seemed to lose all meaning. Each second stretched into eternity, yet the moment passed in a heartbeat. Boruto's cries echoed in the quiet room, his tears soaking through his shirt, leaving dark stains as evidence of his suffering. Gradually, though, the overwhelming tide of emotion began to ebb. The sobs grew softer, less frantic, until they were little more than shaky breaths and the occasional lingering whimper.
Sasuke's hand moved in gentle, comforting circles on Boruto's shoulder. When he spoke, his voice was steady and unwavering, cutting through the remnants of Boruto's despair. "You're not pathetic, Boruto. You're not weak. You're not worthless. And you're definitely not a slut. You've been through a lot, and it's normal to feel overwhelmed and distraught. But don't ever forget—there's a strength in you that no one can take away. You are strong, Boruto."
His words pierced through the suffocating haze of self-hatred that had wrapped itself around Boruto like a shroud. For a moment, Boruto clung to them, desperate for something—anything—to hold on to. The tears still streamed down his cheeks, hot and relentless, but the wracking sobs had faded, leaving behind a hollow ache in his chest and a bone-deep exhaustion that made it hard to breathe.
Sasuke's grip on his shoulders loosened—just enough to let Boruto know he had space, but not enough to let him feel alone. The older man's eyes—so often cold and unreadable—were now soft, brimming with a complicated mix of concern, regret, and understanding. When he spoke, his voice was gentle, almost pleading. "You're going to be okay, Boruto. I know it doesn't feel like it right now, but you will get through this. You're not alone. You have people who care about you—who want to help you carry this pain."
Those words, simple as they were, felt like a fragile lifeline thrown into a stormy sea. Boruto wanted to believe them—God, he wanted to believe them—but the darkness inside him was persistent and cruel. The thoughts didn't just whisper; they screamed, ugly and insistent: *He's only saying that because he feels sorry for you. He doesn't really understand. He'll leave you, just like everyone else. Once he sees the video, he'll think you wanted it. He'll call you a slut too.* The shame was a physical thing, coiling in his gut, making it hard to meet Sasuke's gaze.
Still, Boruto tried. He forced himself to focus on the steady, reassuring presence of his sensei—the warmth of his hands, the sincerity in his voice. He tried to drown out the cruel voices in his head, to let himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe he wasn't as alone or as broken as he felt.
Sasuke seemed to sense the war raging inside him. He squeezed Boruto's shoulders again, firmer this time, grounding him. His voice was low but unwavering, cutting through the noise. "Listen to me, Boruto. Those thoughts—they're not the truth. They're just thoughts, nothing more. They don't define you. I care about you. I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere. Let my voice be louder than the lies in your head."
Boruto's chest tightened, a fresh wave of emotion threatening to spill over. He wanted to believe his sensei—to let those words anchor him. But the darkness was loud, relentless, and so very convincing. Still, for the first time in what felt like forever, he let himself hope—just a little—that maybe, with Sasuke's help, he could find his way back to the light.
For the first time in what felt like forever, Boruto felt a flicker of courage inside him—fragile but real. He drew in a shaky, uneven breath, the sound trembling in the quiet, and managed to whisper, "Okay."
Sasuke's hands tightened reassuringly on his shoulders, grounding Boruto in the here and now. His voice was steady, unwavering—a beacon in the chaos. "You're doing good, Boruto. Just keep breathing. Focus on my voice. Those thoughts in your head—they're lies. You are not weak. You are not pathetic. And you are not a slut. Don't let them take that from you."
Those words echoed through Boruto's mind, reverberating against the walls of self-loathing and shame that had built up over time. Each syllable was a small act of defiance against the darkness—a reminder that maybe—just maybe—he wasn't as broken as he believed. Boruto tried to focus on Sasuke's voice, on the warmth of his hands anchoring him to reality, on the rhythm of his own breathing as it slowly steadied.
The cruel thoughts still lingered, shadows at the edge of his consciousness, but they seemed less powerful now, their grip loosening with every word Sasuke spoke. For the first time, they felt less like absolute truths and more like distant echoes, easier to ignore. Boruto took another trembling breath, the air filling his lungs a little easier, and whispered again—this time with a hint of hope, "Okay."