The words keeps repearting in his head. A constant mantra of youfailyoufailyoufail that keeps getting louder and louder until it's impossible to ignore, until it's settled as a heavy weight in his stomach, an ache behind his eyes.
Naruto decides to go to the market. To get away from the depression that's permeated his room, his apartment. Maybe being around people – happy people who are loud and present and don't know how much of a failure he is – will help to deafen the defeat. Maybe they won't even notice him in the crowd and allow him to walk around and pretend that for just once in his life, he could be normal.
He doesn't really think it could happen, but maybe. Maybe today is the day where something good happens as some small compensation for the rest of his life.
Naruto stares at his closet for a few long moments before he takes off his orange overall, lays it on his bed, and takes out a pair of plain, brown pants and a dark hoodie. It feels like a betrayal to himself, almost, to take off the cloth that has kept him him for so long, but it's all he can do to give that maybe a better chance. The plain pants unnoteworthy and the hoodie hiding his hair, maybe even shadowing the marks on his cheeks.
He jumps across roofs to get to the market, the sun still high in the sky and the weather almost perfect. Naruto doesn't want to admit it, but he hates, just a little bit, how the rest of the world seem perfectly fine while he feels like he's breaking apart at the seams.
The market is full of people when he gets there. Fuller than usual, even. Naruto looks around and spots several stalls that he doesn't recognize at all, with unfamiliar wares and smells coming from them. He might not visit the market very often, but he does live alone without anyone to buy him stuff, so he visits enough to know that there are foreigners in town today.
Naruto smiles, just a little. Foreigners means people who won't hate him even if they see his face.
He wanders around for a bit, just looking. At the people, the colours and the various things that litter the place. It helps a little, muffling the voice in his head and the ache in his heart, and Naruto can pretend.
He stops at what he thinks is an artist's stall and steps closer, the pieces hanging from the roof almost drawing him in. They're patterns, words and what seems like random squiggles, done in mostly black but some are a deep red and others are several different colours all at once. They're beautiful. Naruto just barely remembers to draw his hand back before he touches them. Damages them.
"Good, yeah?" the old man standing inside the stall says and Naruto jumps a little, startled. He's the kind of old person who looks ageless, with shock white hair and a weirdly smooth face, skin not sagging but still looking old and worn. He smiles at Naruto, kind and welcoming, and Naruto can't move away from that so instead he moves in closer, lets his hand reach out and trace the lines of the piece he'd drawn away from earlier, the one where Naruto thinks he sees waves and dunes of sand.
The old man doesn't tell him off and Naruto is grateful. "Yeah," he says softly. "It's beautiful. What does it mean?" Because a piece like this surely has to have meaning when there's so much heart in it.
The man is quiet for a moment before he smiles a little bit sadly. "Home," he says. "Family." He lifts it up off its hook, holds it in his hands.
"Oh," Naruto says. The hustle and bustle of the world around them seem to soften, become quieter, almost encasing Naruto and the old man in a bubble of their own. Naruto likes it, this connection however brief, and feels a moment of bravery. Looks to meet the old man's eyes, trying to convey what he feels. "I don't have a family," Naruto says and those words come easy even though the ones that comes after struggle on his tongue and exits harsh and stuttering. "I don't think I have a home either."
The villagers all stare after him, wherever he goes. Not saying anything to his face but always muttering, talking under their breaths in bitten off sentences that Naruto always hears nonetheless, even when they try and keep quiet. The children who never plays with him, who are harsh and allowed to be when it's him they're harsh against and not anyone else. His apartment, so bare of life even though he fills it as much as he is able, with ninja equipmenst and plants and old magazines that still fails to make it a home, a place where a person lives. A place that feels safe.
His apartment feels like a prison, sometimes. All that's missing are some bars on the window.
The old man stares at him now, too, but not the same. Not with fear or hate, not with loathing. He looks sad, mostly, but also like he understands, just a little, and the ache resonates within him too.
"I'm sorry, kid," he says and sound it, too. Like he is sad, not pitying, not at fault, just sad. That has to mean something, has to be worth something, so Naruto just nods, hands coming up to his eyes and wipe away the tears before they fall.
"It's okay," he says, even though they both know it's really not. "I'll be okay." He tries to convince himself. It doesn't work now, but maybe someday. Naruto has to hope. He doesn't have anything else.
"You will," the old man says. He sounds like he believes it. Like it's a sure thing that Naruto will one day be okay and not just pretending to be. It helps. Naruto draws in a deep breath, just a little shuddering, and moves his hands away from his face. Standing straight. He even manages to smile tremously at the old man.
"Yeah," Naruto says. "Of course I will. I'm Uzumaki Naruto and I'll always be okay." He places as much conviction behind his words as he can, making them come true no matter what. An oath to himself and the old man. A promise, because Naruto doesn't break promises.
The canvas the old man was holding thumps against the table and Naruto just barely manages to cath it before it tips over to fall onto the ground. Naruto looks it over quickly, carefully, but doesn't find any marks and is relieved.
"Uzumaki." The old man's voice is so soft, almost unbelieving. Naruto fears for a moment that he just ruined everything, that the old man knows that he is hated and now hates him too, but when he looks up it's not the look of a villager that he sees. Naruto doesn't know exactly what he sees, though, in the old man's wide open eyes and trembling hands, but h knows it's not fear, not hate.
"Old man?" He places the canvas on the table carefully. "Are you okay?"
The old man breathes out, in and out. He closes his eyes for a moment, as if steadying himself. "Yes," he says. The he reaches out with his hand toward Naruto, holds it steady and beckoning.
Naruto stares at that hand in bewilderment. He thinks that the old man wants him to take it, to hold it. But that can't be true. Because even if the old man doesn't hate Naruto, people don't like to touch him if they can help it. They turn away, bumps into other things and people just to avoid sharing his personal space, and the idea of someone willingly entering it is as foreign as the sea.
But the man says, "Please," and Naruto swallows and reaches out, placing his hand in the old man's. Softly, carefully, as if somewhting would break apart if he isn't.
The old man's hand is calloused. His skin is brown, darkened by sun and ink, and he is warm. Naruto revels in it, how the larger hand closes around his, holds it like Naruto is precious, cared for. Sucks in all that he can of this touch that is not mean and hurtul, but kind.
"I hoped," the old man begins softly and Naruto meets his eyes, sees the wonder, the awe, the relief, that is there even though it doesn't make any sense. "I hoped but I didn't think that it was possible. For there to still be someone." The old man breathes out harshly and holds Naaruto's hand tighter in his. There are tears in his eyes. Naruto doesn't know how to feel about that. "I'm glad." The man smiles, wide and happy even as the tears starts to stream down his cheeks. "I'm so glad."
"Why?" Naruto asks, bewildered. "Why are you glad?"
"Because you're family. Because we're family. Because I'm not the last Uzumaki left."