Summary: Jiraiya sparks a conversation with Naruto over the complexities of the galaxy, and thinks of how far away those stars truly are.

AN: Naruto, and all its characters, are copyright to their creator. (Whose name I cannot spell, oddly enough, and am a huge fan of when he actually cares about what he's working on. D: )


"You're not serious, kid," he managed through gritted, tired teeth; the conversation was long and empty, stars dancing light on the world, and standing as the workings of an unpredictable, laughing universe. Well, Jiraiya mused, time you enjoy wasting is not time wasted, so he could spare a few words-- and maybe Naruto would learn something valuable from him. Although, he thought warmly, he never was any kind of teacher, but he certainly was well-ripened and brimming with age these days. Some years ago he would have dismissed time as subjective, but it was the creaking, heavy feeling that reminded him, and he found he wasn't positive how to forget anymore.

Naruto was perched on the railing, watching the sky ripple in displays of navy and gold dust, and the enthusiasm in him reminded Jiraiya of children, "Hey, hey! You can see everything from here! Better spend time looking while it's there. Besides, city lights are all fake anyway-- I wanna see the real thing." He had crept into a curious, albiet unintentional tirade mid-sentence and Jiraiya shrugged it away. Naruto was the kind who saw himself and oftentimes the rest had to come later; that, Jiraiya imagined, was independence for you.

"Well, then there's some," he smoothed himself to indifference, "things I might wanna look at, you see--"

Naruto turned abruptly icy, his arms folded and his voice terse, "You can look cheap." Suddenly bitter, Jiraiya wondered why he had so graciously chosen to take this detour at Naruto's discretion, as he felt the flaming neon, and the obtrusion of warm, milky skin in the city was much more exciting. Ungrateful kid.

Naruto sauntered ahead, sullen and his irritation slightly comical in its awkward presentation, his arms folded behind his head and his orange jumpsuit bright in the inky black of evening. Somewhere along the line, Jiraiya had decided that, in life, there were few reasons to rush, and thus he lingered behind; his steps were slow and wide, and his instincts were keen, the insects buzzing with life in the low grass. Naruto was so naive (and often unnervingly loud) that Jiraiya felt he was the type anything could happen to at anytime-- on the other hand, he heaved, nighttime regularly made men fear the unknown, and Jiraiya couldn't claim he trusted paranoia over rational thought.

They walked in silence, spilling loose dirt and scattering night owls, and Jiraiya found himself lost amidst the muttering of creeks hushed below the bridge-- Naruto had softened, his gaze on the sky, and he was weighed with a toxic understanding of the elusive, far-off horizon. Jiraiya quivered beneath the surface, and thought that he disliked all these whispers of broken dreams; darkly, he realized sympathy was easy for him to hate-- but that was an old, self-satisfied idea and one long before his time.

Naruto meandered, and Jiraiya wondered what to say. 'Hah. Isn't that my approach to everything?' It was born of contradiction, light-hearted and sardonic and full of his ample confidence; he always had gotten along with himself more so than anything, and the implications of "good" or "bad" were disregarded.

The kid frowned, and Jiraiya managed a lethargic attention, "Ero-Sennin."

". . . Yeah?" He glided himself easily to indifference.

"What do you think of stars?" Jiraiya paused, feeling it was strangely provocative-- this deep question, coming from a boy of unions of oceans and skies. It might have been ironic, but, generally, he said irony was a concept, and the world was the apotheosis of perfect, tranquil impassivity. Oh well; so much for his luck, he guessed-- or living forever.

"I enjoy night-life, Naruto," he was impish and dramatic, "Imagine all the things you can do in the dark, and you'll understa--"

Naruto seemed slighted, and Jiraiya recalled that he had a sensitive side, in spite of all his bluntness-- his listless gaze fell on Naruto as he slowed and came to, god forbid, a complete stop, his mien drowning in seriousness. This was why he hated adolescents; they were insane, and wonderful adults such as himself never could quite figure out what made them tick. All he knew now was that Naruto wasn't in the mood for a good, tasteless joke.

Silence hung over them, oppressive and suffocating-- Jiraiya was quick to shatter it, "Stars, huh. I don't hate them."

"Why not?" Naruto asked through his subtle depression, lackluster interest apparent. He must've been hoping for something else.

"Hmm. They're a useful privilege. I'd rather know something's out there instead of thinking of an empty universe," then again, it removed all the egotism of living alone.

". . ." Naruto was glaring at the ground, which Jiraiya found almost humorously useless, except, in a quicker succession, he remembered this was a weighty situation. No use in laughing then. "So, you see other things. . ."

"Er, in a sense. The horizon isn't big in comparison, kid," stars were balls of energy that touched earth long after they'd already moved far away, and their perfection was merely a reflection of the past-- for Naruto, who still found solace in wishing on stars, Jiraiya felt a transient pity, ". . . That aside, you and I can always see a different skyline."

"You and me, huh. . ." he had finished, but he wasn't speaking to him now; the words were an elegy to something gone, and, all props given to their violent reality, Naruto was seeing the infinite stretch on-- and, perhaps, Jiraiya thought, the questions without answers were unimportant to dreamers.


With that kind of spirit, you'd better stay passionate.


AN: Alas, it is finished. (Nothing much else to say on the matter, other than, "please review.")