Eternal Love, a naruto fanfic

Title: Eternal Love

Authoress: RuneNeko

Short Summary: Uchiha Itachi, a noble. Uzumaki Naruto, a war orphan. They say love is forever but when these two clash, that love is for eternity. A series of intricately linked one-shots of their love that even time couldn't tear apart.

Long Summary: Uchiha Itachi, High Court noble of the prestigious and powerful Fire Country feels stagnant, unmoving in the society of money, power and silk. His world; power struggles, far off wars, pleasantries, balls and parties and the ever growing demand to take a wife and produce heirs. Uzumaki Naruto, orphan of a war long decided, constantly on the move, looking for something that isn't there. His world; a constant struggle for survival, harsh realities, living a life where the next meal may be his last and searching, searching for something even he does not know of. Fate's favorite game pieces in an elaborate chess game, Itachi and Naruto's forbidden love is so strong, it transcends time. Meeting throughout the ages, will the two lovers find the peace they so covet, or will the greed and hate of man tear the two apart for eternity?

Pairing: Itachi/Naruto

Characters: Naruto, OC, Itachi. Mentions others.

Chapter Rating: T

Story Rating: M

Chapter Notes: Mentions of boyxboy love. Minor curse words.

Authoress Notes: I'm at a roadblock with my other stories and I'm at my wits end trying to figure out how to deal with it. I apologize profusely for the lack of updates, and hopefully I don't hit a roadblock for this story as well. No, I'm not going to convert entirely to Yaoi, I just figured that I should explore my favorite pairings a bit, broaden my writing horizons. If you don't like it, please do not read further. Send me all the flames you so desire, any degrading remarks will be laughed at and shared. I appreciate any reviews, short or long. In depth or not. Any review is welcome.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Naruto characters or manga plot. All I own is this pitiful-in-comparison to Kishimoto's genius.

Chapter Dedication: To all those out there that enjoy books as much as I do, regardless if you can hear the whispers of the library. I might be crazy, I might not be. Sharing is caring, and the land of crazy is looking particularly inviting.

The day was hot; the sun beating mercilessly upon the near empty streets of the long time capital of Fire Country. Near a thousand years previous, if one were to walk a path through time down the main road, barely anything would change. New paint jobs, repaired buildings, maybe the odd rotted house scheduled for tearing down and building something new in it's place. The city was old; many knew it, and just as many didn't care. They've lived in this city, beautiful in it's own decrepit way, all their lives and it was hardly good to start now. No, Konohagakure was fine as it was, and those who wished to seek it found heavy resistence no matter how hard they tried.

Not that anyone really tried, as the city had it's own eerie beauty surrounding it. There was not a soul alive that knew every nook and cranny, every dip and arch of the gothic towers nor the ancient architecture of the main buildings, built entirely with stone. Living in a country that had raging heat waves during the near unbearable summer, there was a certain risk in using flammable materials to build with. The Woods was precious to the capital; they were so thick, big, tall, and imposing that they not only protected most of the city from any natural disasters like tornadoes (the rare occurrence does happen, but far from the city in any rate) but also discouraged any invaders from other countries, seeking to take the city for it's humungous wealth and resources available exclusively to it.

The people there were happy, content, and most were wealthy; not needing to work so hard for their wares, and their children growing happy and spoiled. Konohagakure was a very prosperous city, and every day, it had immigrants from all over, hoping to gain some of that prosperity for their own, or sought a better life than what they had in their old countries and cities. Most lived in the beautiful city all of their lives, knowing naught else and unable to properly compare. One such citizen was one person, out of millions, that had never left Konohagakure, but knew most of it's secrets from many adventures.

Down the main road, near the centre of the city where a monolith of a tower stood, gleaming dully in the bright sunlight, a shock of wild, unruly blonde hair can be seen bobbing quickly through the midday rush. Behind the owner of the blonde hair was three unmistakably female figures, making angry chase to the rapidly escaping blonde. The blonde, a trickster in his own right, gave a foxy grin, highlighted by the three whisker-like marks on his cheeks. He knew better than to be caught by three angry females, especially if he had just pulled a prank of them. Ignoring the grumbling people around him, some outright insulting and cursing, the blonde quickly stole through the crowd of sweating bodies, making it to the other side and dived into a nearby alleyway.

He knew exactly where he was; this particular alley, between Crescent Lane and Nidaime Path, led directly to one of the few libraries of the city. And not just any old boring library, like the other ones that stored mainly children's books, recent magazines, and the newest books, but the only library in Konoha that stored only old manuscripts, scrolls from many a-year previous, leather bound books, crudely made bibles, stringed pages made to resemble a book, and many more. This library's 'latest' addition had not a published date, but a discovery and catalogue date, and only a few were allowed to handle any recent additions in the library, not to mention that none of the occupants of the library particularly cared that the most recent entry to be stored here was dated to be nigh a hundred years old.

It was in this ancient place that the blonde found his refuge, his... home away from home. Nobody would have guessed that this particular blonde was literate, nor that he was more inclined to the company of books than to the company of another human being. To this particular teenager-soon-to-be-adult, books did not judge; they did not laugh or sneer or mock. Books did not do disgust, reject, deter or appal. Books were passionate, accepting, compassionate, empathetic and sympathetic. Books were not prejudice.

Books were books; painfully silent despite the stories they wished to share with the world and beyond. Some whispered, to the others on the same shelf or to the visitors, unmoving yet clamouring for the chance to tell the story among their yellowing pages and neat black script that, for many, many hours, was painstakingly copied and preserved for generations to come.

As soon as the blonde entered the building, he was greeted warmly by the head librarian; a greying woman of fifty years, she still looked like she was thirty and her bubbly, yet reserved countenance spoke volumes for her personality. Traces of wrinkles were visible around her eyes and her cheeks were sagging almost unnoticeably, but it was not these things that caught your eye, it was her own, silver gaze that caught it. And ensnared it. Her eyes were intimidating, sharp and focussed and completely betrayed her age and experience with books for she wore no glasses before that steely gaze. She wore old fashioned robes, she always had, made of linen and colored a dark burgundy. There were many pockets in the two layered robe, and were completely devoid of any oils that may accumulate over the many hours worn. Over top of the burgundy robe was a vest, black in color, that held many more wonderful pockets that were filled to the brim with pens, pencils, a stapler in one and a hole punch in another, a stamp and ink right above her heart and a six inch ruler tucked neatly in a hidden pocket in her sleeve.

The blonde knew where they all were because he had been coming to this particular library for years and years, ever since he was about seven or eight. And the woman never changed. He had a weird thought a while back; what if she was suddenly stuck in time like the rest of the books in the library? He was ten at the time, he remembered, and it just struck him at odd that in all the years he had known her, she never changed; not a grey hair out of place and not a wrinkle to be seen on her robes. It was sometimes disconcerting. But nevertheless, she treated him like a nephew, and he an aunt, and they got on beautifully in the end.

"Ohayo, Mizuti-ba-chan! Is it alright if I hide here for a while? I'm afraid that my tongue has a personality of it's own." He grinned, his teeth shining in the artificial light of the foyer.

Yamamoto Mizuti smiled with an almost grandmotherly chuckle, "I do believe you are right, Naruto-kun. I hope that your tongue will curb itself when the time comes. Though how you will manage to find a girlfriend is beyond me at this point," She chuckled at his spluttering and waved a slightly wrinkled hand in a clear sign of dismissal. "I don't mind in the least, my boy, just make sure you wash and sanitize your hands, even if you are not going to touch anything. You'd make an old lady feel much more at ease."

"That would be the day," Naruto replied. "When you actually look like you're getting older. You've looked the same since I first met you!"

Mizuti's ensuing laugh was light and tinkly that shook her near petite frame beneath folds of thin linen. Naruto grinned back, sending her a wave as he passed the front desk and into the bathroom behind it. The blonde didn't bother to look at himself in the mirror, he already knew what he looked like, and had no inclination for a reminder. Keeping his head bowed, Naruto properly washed his hands, reciting the alphabet at a steady rhythm, rinsing his hands when he reached the last letter, and squirting two wads of the best hand sanitiser on the market into his waiting palms. Rubbing his hands together absently, Naruto exited the private bathroom that was usually reserved for Mizuti, but shared with him because he practically lived in the library.

As soon as he was out of site and among the tall, imposing oak shelves that littered the massive building (Naruto measured in his own way once; when he was eleven, he walked for fifteen minutes from one end to the other and another twenty once he rounded the corner nearly two blocks away from where he started), whispers began to fill the silence and rose in volume until it became a low buzz. This always happened; every time he came here and was alone among the bookshelves, the whispers would start. He had asked Mizuti once, and she had replied:

"Books are not entirely inanimate, nor are they silent. Each has a story to tell, and if one listens hard enough, one can hear the story kept within without ever opening the pages. Always treat books with respect, young one, for you never know what you may need from them in the future."

Naruto later learned that not everyone could hear the whispers that echoed throughout the shelves, and ingrained themselves into his skin, his hair, his eyes, mouth, nose, ears and clothes. He always rubbed himself down right outside the library to get rid of the feeling that something was clinging to his skin and matting his hair. Crazy, he knows, but he can't help it. Sometimes he would have to clean out his ears to get rid of the lingering whispers that talked broken gibberish into his ear-drums. If you had the feeling he had every time he left the library, you wouldn't be as doubtful.

The blonde listened carefully to the whispers, walking down the familiar corridor-like placement of the shelves. He had only been in three quarters of the library so far, always too busy listening to one story or another, or repairing older books from their previous state. The last quarter was the farthest, a near fifteen minute walk from the foyer. It was the least tended to, as Mizuti was getting too old to get everywhere to banish the dust that accumulates over the worn leather bindings and aged, musty parchment. Naruto made a mental note to ask her to become a member of the staff one of these days. The old lady needed more help than she let on. But Naruto had to respect her pride; Mizuti kept this hallowed holy ground for books for over thirty years, and she still had another sturdy fifteen yet.

The sixteen year old blonde knew for a fact that it was best if you started young, the better chances you had as an adult to get what you wanted. What he wanted for his future was to take care of this particular library, like Mizuti, though she had started somewhere in her twenties. Naruto did not want to ask her age, as one simple did not ask a woman their age without painful repercussions, but he had a feeling that she was near the middle of her fifties, at the very least. He had done the math when he was younger, when she told him that she started in her twenties and held the position for thirty years. He already had basic training in how to shelve some of the less important documents and scrolls, nearer to the front desk where she could watch him, and he even got to watch her, on several hundred occasions, how to properly fix books that were falling apart at the seams. He had called her 'Doctor Fix-a-Book' once and got an armful of scrolls to shelve and a stern smile.

To this day, if he was ever bored, he would call her that, and in return, he'd get a pile of books and scrolls to shelve. It was a win-win situation.

Shaking himself firmly out of his musings, Naruto continued on his way to the furthest corner. However, the further he got from the rest of the familiar library, the quieter the whispers got. Eventually, as he was about to turn the last corner, the whispers stopped altogether; as if something was blocking him from hearing the books calling out to him to stop and listen. Shrugging of the strange phenomenon, Naruto turned the corner, and was pleasantly surprised to find that the only corner he had not seen yet wasn't filled with a shelf and mounds of books, but instead, a dust-free table with an old oil lamp in the middle and a single arm chair situated next to it, nestled in the very corner of the library. Along the wall on the other side of the chair was a smaller shelf, but this held not books, but small, intricate figurines of teacups, people, animals, and strangely enough, figures for books.

How odd.

Bemused, the blonde slowly crept into the comfy looking corner, noting how nothing was covered in dust, nothing was rotting, nothing was moth-eaten. The oil lamp looked brand new, though the teenager knew that oil lamps were not made anymore and that the chance of getting a brand spanking new one was a kajillion to one. It was like everything was trapped in time, thirty or forty years trapped in time. Not a speck of dust, not a spot of age. It was nothing short of strange.

Shrugging off the weird sensation of being transported back in time near fifty years (he briefly wondered if he would accidentally run into a child version of Mizuti, which led off to what she might have looked like as a child, and then promptly ran into a roadblock, as, no matter how much imagination he had, he could not imagine what Mizuti looked like as a child; she was just too stern and scary to have been a sweet, innocent child) Naruto made his way to the very comfortable looking chair and sank his bottom into the soft, velvet fabric. Oh. He just died and went to heaven. Or nirvana. Whichever one was better. All the unknown tension he had in his muscles just melted away and Naruto just about dozed off right there.

If the blonde had known there was a very comfortable chair back here before, he'd seek permanent residence in the library like Mizuti has and sleep in the bloody thing. Right now, he didn't think a crowbar was good enough to pry him from his new best friend. Sasuke? What's a Sasuke? Oh, well, he's a thing of the past now.

Something nagged at the back of his mind, like he was holding a rope and someone was tugging insistently on the other end. With great reluctance, and he means great, he pulled himself up off the chair and stood right in front of it. With his mind clear from the drowsiness of the Nirvana Chair, as he dubbed it, the tugging became stronger and more defined. Looking around with a small frown gracing his usually smiling lips, a low murmuring began to rise in volume. The corner of the library, being without most of the electric lighting that was mostly near the front, was dim and full of shadows. Naruto absently turned on the oil lamp with a familiarity that was lost on his distracted mind, and the ensuing light chased the shadows deeper into the cracks and folds that no light is able to pierce. Now able to see adequately, the blonde cast his crystalline blue gaze along the shelves opposite to the chair and table, searching for the book that was calling out to him.

It didn't occur to him that the other books were silent, still; their voices hoarse from years and years of whispering to nothing but the air. Broken spirits of the scribes that wrote them. They no longer had the strength to whisper their respective stories, even to those willing to listen.

The murmuring continued to grow in volume; rising and rising with each step the blonde took nearer to its hiding place. The frown on his face was deeper, more pronounced, as he could not understand what the murmuring was telling him, what it was saying; like the book was beckoning him on in another language, though from what broken pieces he did catch, it was not another language, but his own. The murmuring was a low roar now, other voices joining it, high and low, grumbling and singing, creating a symphony of voices that said the same thing, but did not help in his interpretation. It was frustrating yet refreshing. Irritating yet soothing. It was weird.

The murmuring was a wild roar now, so loud in his ears and made his very bones vibrate with the intensity. He could hear not else. He had a feeling that he didn't want to hear anything else but the weird voices calling out. And with a jolt, they were calling out to him.

With a final, resounding thud of shoe on stone floor, the thunder roar of murmuring instantly silenced. Everything was quiet. He couldn't even hear his own breathing, not even his pounding heart, which he was sure was pounding hard enough to give him a heart attack. The silence was so thick, so complete, that it was like he was in an entirely different world, different dimension from his loud one. And the blonde mused that he could probably hear a pin drop from the foyer, a near fifteen minute walk from where he was now.

Now that he could think somewhat clearly, Naruto's eyes instantly attached to a particular scroll almost right in front of his very nose. It seemed to draw him in, ensnare his attention so thoroughly that the strange happenings of earlier was almost forgotten. It was the same yellowed parchment as the millions of others he's seen and handled, inches thick and coiled so tightly that Naruto had a hard time guessing how many pieces of the old paper was there. It was held by a single, black ribbon, tied snugly around the aged parchment like a lover and seemed to somehow convey an emotion entirely unfamiliar to the naive blonde. He knew that the black ribbon symbolized something, something that was beyond his understanding; like grasping at water like one would something solid. It just wasn't done, and until the blonde knew more, he wouldn't be able to devise a way to grasp that water.

Shaking off the strange thoughts, Naruto hesitantly brought his hands up to the scroll, allowing his clean, oil free fingers to lightly caress the crinkling parchment with a look of strange wonder on his face. He couldn't shake the feeling that he knew what the scroll contained, that the black ribbon tied so possessively around the roll was so frighteningly familiar and phantom arms wrapping securely around his waist, a face nuzzling his tan neck. Visibly jumping, Naruto whirled around, breathing erratic and the scroll he was looking at not a moment before held out before him in a vague gesture of 'get-away or else I'll hurt with you a pathetic scroll!'

No one was there.

Naruto's face screwed up into an emotion that closely resembled confusion, but was a mixture between confusion and another emotion the blonde had never felt before. He didn't know what it was, but had a feeling that he should. That he had felt it many, many times before. Like, deja vu. It was creepy.

Suddenly realising he still had the scroll in his grasp, Naruto flushed in embarrassment at his defensive reaction and shuddered at the thought of what Mizuti would do to him if she found out how he was treating her precious collection of scrolls. Firmly ripping himself out of that train of thought, Naruto loosened his hold on the fragile feeling roll of parchment, though he knew on an intellectual level that parchment was not that easy to rip. A long time ago it wouldn't have been, but now, aged to a ripe old state, he didn't know if it was easy or not to rip or crumple it. It was not something he was going to risk doing at the moment, for he did not want to die a slow, cruel and unusual death at the hands of the sadistic Head Librarian.

Parchment is never very heavy by any means, and even the roll in his hands was not that heavy, but it seemed to portray a weight that betrayed what his mind was telling him; like the weight of the world was tied down by the very ribbon that kept the roll sealed shut. It was puzzling. Naruto put that observation somewhere in the back of his mind and focussed his attention on the scroll. His feet took him back to the comfortable chair and inviting oil lamp that set just the right mood for a good curl up and read.

He sank right into the chair once again, but this time, he did not have the urge to drift off into the sweet oblivion of dreams. No, he had a new urge; to rip off the strange black ribbon and devour the contents of the scroll. Of course, he didn't rip off the black ribbon, 'cause it was much too pretty to do such a thing to (he firmly ignored the strange gut clenching emotion that arrested his heart from the very thought), but gently coaxed it off, neatly folded it, and rested it on the arm of the chair. The scroll immediately grew several more inches at the paper slipped against one another in haste to loosen the tight coil. Distantly, Naruto was aware that if Mizuti caught him opening a scroll that obviously hadn't been opened in a very long time, she would skin him alive and set out his hide in the foyer as an example to anyone visiting. But his damnable curiosity was wetted and now longed for blood; or, in this case, something to feed it and the scroll was now opened and just waiting for someone to read its contents.

Unrolling the still tight coil with patient fingers, the blonde immediately caught the neat, straight black scrawl of what was written within. The writing was a little on the small side, but not too small as to make reading difficult. He was secretly glad for that. Naruto did not want old person glasses at the age of twenty five. Leaning slightly closer to the oil lamp next to him, the adolescence unrolled another couple of inches of the scroll and began reading in earnest, absently taking in the date near the top, but not really registering it.

I have a name, but I choose not to bestow it upon ye who read this. My anonymity will allow my story to survive as long as the parchment it is written on will last. It is my wish that future generations will hear of the tragedies that litter my life and gleam the lessons it took me to learn a lifetime. I do not wish for anyone else to live the life I have, for I fear that they would not survive such an experience.

I felt what love can do to a man such as I. Love is all consuming. It does not go away if ye so wish it to. When I first felt it, at ten and seven Falling of the Leaves, it took me completely by surprise. And forever changed my world. How can I convey what kind of things played with my mind, how utterly lost in a world that I knew I didn't belong to? I was a mere bard, travelling the world with my stories at the tip of my tongue and warm of heart from how many children I made laugh even once in their gloomy lives. It is not an easy life, in this empire, in this world. For me to be able to bestow the power of brief happiness to those with none... it filled me with a sense of great peace. Like I had finally found my place in the world.

My story, my life, starts like any other poor orphan in the world. I don't know where I was born, or who my parents were. I was simply an orphan, taking up valuable space in one of the many alleys in the village I had woken up in one day. I don't remember anything before that. I just remember waking up one day suddenly aware of the world around me. Suddenly aware of hunger, of pain, of danger, and of thirst. But unlike any other poor orphan left over from the war I later learned that had just ended, I had a strong sense of survival.

I was not afraid of death. I was never afraid to die, because I learned young that everyone died sooner or later, but it was my own self worth that preferred the later part of the deal. I struggled, I learned, I adapted. I never allowed anyone to step on me, but protected those I grew close to with every little bit of my being. When I was nearing the age of ten Falling of the Leaves, a strange man arrived in the village I lived in. It was rare for someone new to come to a village as remote as mine, so everyone was weary of him.

He told us he was a bard, someone who travelled far and wide and told great tales to many people in exchange for a place to rest and food to eat. He never told the people of the village what his name was, but as soon as he started his wonderful tales, I was smitten. Not with him, of course, for he was a very old man, but with the story that seemed to weave itself around me like a tight blanket. Then, he seemed to disappear for the rest of the night. I was very upset. I had gone to my bed, the very place I fought tooth and bone for against so many, and no matter how hard I tried, I could not fall asleep. At the time, I blamed it on the strange sounds I heard in the distance, but in reality, I believe it was the pure excitement I felt towards meeting this old man.

The next day, he seemed ready to be on his way. He left with a wave. I followed him. It utterly amazed me when, a few leagues away from the village, he stopped in the middle of the worn path and told me to come forth. When I did, he told me that he was able to hear me from the village and guessed as to why I was following him. Despite his many seasons, the old man was very perceptive and, by some miracle, immediately took me under his wing. I had wanted to travel with him, become a bard like he was, and he seemed to understand that. And accepted it.

So began my journey. For many seasons I travelled with him, learning, rehearsing, creating new stories and repeating old ones. It was my life. And I was happy with how it turned out. When I turned ten and six Falling of the Leaves, the old man, whose name was (here, the text was smudged, as if someone had deliberately wiped out the name of the old man. Naruto took a brief break to curse the person responsible to all levels of hell, as to deliberately ruin a text as old as this was considered a sin to a librarian. And the blonde was one to the very core. Finally settled down, he unrolled more of the first page of the parchment, noting how there was only a couple of inches left, and continued reading) faded into the heavens, leaving me in this big world by myself.

It wasn't like I was scared of the world. I've never truly felt fear, and those whom I had grown close to in my village had all faded into the heavens before I left, so there was truly no one left for me to treasure. The old man had been with me for six Falling of the Leaves, but it felt like longer. He was the grandfather I had never known, and never will know. He told me many stories of his youth, but instead of sharing those, I decided to horde them to myself. They were precious; even if they were not true.

The old man had turned out to be very famous. He was known all over the land, and had even told the Emperor a few stories. The Emperor! I still cannot wrap my mind around it. Such an honor is beyond what I deserve. Though that did not stop me from wishing for that kind of honor. Though I no longer had my mentor, I continued to spread the stories he had given to me. I knew that's that he would have wanted from me. For me. And I continued my journey for his sake. In his honor.

I quickly rose in infamy. People I had never met were recognising me for who I was and what I represented. I went to noble courts and entertained them with stories they had never heard of before and I saw many, many poor villages during my travels. I never refused a plea for a performance, no matter how poor they were. I was ten and seven Falling of the Leaves, and I was one of the more known people after the Emperor.

Not long before the summer season I was invited to perform for a more well known and revered Clan. At first, I was excited. I had never performed for a Clan before, and if it went well, my fame would rise. I would be able to get the chance to spread my stories further, and if I'm lucky, have the chance to write them down and preserve them. My stories, and my mentor's stories were precious to me, and I wanted nothing more but to preserve them for all eternity.

My mentor wanted everyone to know his genius. And I want everyone to know it too.

The Clan I performed for turned out to be one of the most influential. They had power everywhere. The Clan Head even had a seat on the Emperor's council, as one of his many advisors and his right hand General. It was a great honor to perform for these noble people and perform I did. With every bit of my being, I put life into my stories and sung a few of them too. The person I was performing for was arrogant and spoiled, but was attentive all the same. He loved my stories, no matter how much he showed otherwise. It was improper, it was downright treason, but we became friends.

It wasn't the kind of friendship most would envision between a Prince and a lowly bard, but my status and infamy allowed us the friendship we both sought. He once told me he was betrothed to a Princess of another Clan, and he told me how reluctant he was to do so. When I met her years later, I would understand why.

My friend, who was the same age as I, but older by a couple of seasons, had an older brother that he barely ever saw. That night that I had performed for my friend, for his Turning of Age, I had met him for the first time also. He was not married, which surprised me. Men his age were usually married off, but I guess his father allowed him the choice of choosing a bride. Something that was a luxury and he was lucky. I didn't know how old he was, I never inquired, and it seemed rude to openly inquire someone their age.

When I first lay mine eyes on him, I felt time stop. There was an unspoken fire between us, that only we shared. One look from his black eyes and I felt my knees go weak. I couldn't believe what kind of power he had over me. How my body betrays my mind. It is wrong to love another man. It goes against nature itself, but when we met the second time, I didn't care. I didn't care how wrong it was. He led me to the privacy of his bedroom and there we made love. We were in love.

Naruto stopped reading here, a deep frown of contemplation on his whiskered face. Sexuality was something he never before contemplated. Well, he heard about a man loving another man beyond friendship, beyond what was normal, but at the time, he didn't really care. To him, love was love. If you were lucky enough to find it, did it matter whom it was that you loved? The blonde never had anyone to tell him it was wrong. He had no parents; had never even known who they were, what their names were, what they did for a living. And the people at the orphanage barely waited until he was old enough for a boarding school before shipping him off with self-satisfied and happy smiles at seeing him go.

He had a few friends now. He no longer went to a boarding school, since he had a godfather that paid for his apartment and schooling until he graduated from his public school in Konohagakure. Naruto had many jobs, but he was often flaky to all of them. None of them interested him, and besides, he spent most of his time with Mizuti and the library. The blonde has no idea why he hadn't just asked the old lady if he could have a job here, since he practically lived in the ancient building with her. It was starting to sound like a more appealing job after he was fired for the sixth time.

The closest person to him was Sasuke. The black haired intellectual genius was like a brother, and Naruto felt almost proud that only he was able to make his friend show more emotion than contempt and sneers. And the blonde was sure that Sasuke considered him to be a brother also. Though he doubted it; he was nothing special.

Returning his attention to the scroll, Naruto allowed what he had read so far to go through his mind and immediately noticed the various similarities between him and the person that wrote the scroll. First was that both of them were orphans, though Naruto was not sure if his parents died in a war or not. The last one ended around the time he was born, but that did not mean his parents were in it by any means. The other similarities were scary. Naruto loved to tell stories, and sing too, but not many people were privy to it. He didn't write stories, but there were a lot in his head to tell to the people that would listen. One day, he wished to write them down for other people to read and he wanted to sing for someone extremely important. Like the Hokage. The position of Hokage was near equal to an Emperor, though the Daimyo of Fire country was his real goal. And the Daimyo was a real honor to perform for.

One similarity that really awed the blonde was that the writer of the scroll and he had the same birthday. In Konohagakure, October 10 was the very day that the leaves of the surrounding forest fell. It was why it was called the Falling of the Leaves. A festival was made traditional for thousands of years, centred around the legend (well, myth by now) of a man who died for the person he loved with all his heart, on October 10th. The leaves fell that day, and has continued to fall exactly on that day, for a millennia. October had always been the month that the leaves fell from the trees in Fire Country, and before the legend came into being, the day the leaves began falling was erratic. So, really, Naruto didn't know if they really did have the same birthday. The legend didn't state who had died, or what they looked like, but Naruto had a feeling that the scroll he was reading now would enlighten him.

Before he read on, the blonde had a brief feeling that he knew what the end of this sad tale was going to be.

For many years we met in secret, sharing stolen kisses, and hours of passion. Please, ye don't bear judgement against us; don't bear unjust disgust and hatred toward my lover and I. Ye probably will never feel what I felt and still feel for the man I had given my very heart to. I beg ye to understand, not to accept, but to understand. It is a very hard life, and any happiness I can selfishly have to myself after years of making others happy with my stories and songs I will take and I will treasure. Happiness is fleeting. If ye do not capture a bit for yeself as soon as ye can, it will be taken from ye, ripped away.

My friend died soon after he was married, but not before he blessed his wife with a set of twins. Also nearly unheard of. Then, my love was sent away to fight the war in the name of our Emperor. I did not want him to go, but he did nonetheless. He told me he wanted to fight not for our Emperor, but for my safety. So that the bloodshed of the war would not reach me. He wanted to keep me safe.

I had never considered myself lucky. I had been blessed with many good friends, and loved ones, but they all died and left me alone. The old man that took me under his wing introduced me to many of his friends, including an old lady that love me like a grandchild, nearly like a son, for she could not bear children. She had died soon after the old man did; died of heartbreak of her own tragic life. The friends I made on my travels have died too; famine, sickness, starvation. They weren't strong enough to live. To continue the continuous struggle of survival. Nobody cared for them but me. And it was me alone that mourned their passing. I had long ago vowed to continue living for their sakes. I would not give into death without a fight.

It was another month until my lover was expected to return. The war was over. It never had the chance to reach out borders and never had the chance to reach me. I hoped with all my heart that he was unharmed and alive, that my abysmal luck would not take away another that I cared about. That I loved. The Emperor, hearing much about me and my stories, requested my presence to entertain him. The honor this brought upon a no name man such as myself! I would finally be doing my mentor honor. His student, performing for the Emperor! It was my dream, and achieved it.

The Honored Emperor was impressed by me and moreso by my performance. I had given it my all. My drive, my passion, my need to make my mentor proud. It all went together and created something so spectacular that the Emperor offered me a place on his court. Not even my honored mentor was offered a place on the Emperor's court. I accepted graciously, what else was I to do? One did not refuse the kindness of the Emperor. And despite me being a man, I finally felt like I was good enough for my lover. I was no one before. But now I'm someone. I have a name, a place in this world.

I performed for the Emperor twice after that, and in return, he gifted me with the finest robes to wear and the finest rooms to rest in. I was his prized entertainment, and I thought day and night for new stories to tell him, ones he might not have heard before. I did not want to disappoint the Emperor. I got whatever I wished for. The first thing I requested was parchment and ink to which I could finally preserve my mentor's finest stories. My writing was not the best, but with diligent practice in the privacy of my chambers, I quickly grew proficient enough. It was my lover and my mentor that taught me. I loved them both for it.

I do not know if the stories I worked so hard to preserve are still safe where I hid them. I hope they are. I want future generations to read the genius that is my mentor. Mentor. I recall he never wanted me to address him as Master, because it made him feel old. That was another thing I loved about my mentor.

When my lover finally returned from the war, I was overjoyed. Of course, I didn't show it until we were able to sneak into each others company in private, but the passion we shared together was nothing compared to before he left. It felt like I was soaring above the clouds, flying free with my lover by my side, over the land and seeing all. It was nothing short of magical and left us feeling like we couldn't get enough of each other.

I continued to entertain the Emperor with my stories and songs, always impressing him, always receiving the honor of being in his company, talking of many things. It was an honor to entertain him, it was an honor to advise him, it was an honor to speak with him, but none can comprehend the honor it is to stay near him for many hours and just talk about everything and nothing. To be able to relax in his company and not be afraid of being sentences to treason for saying my mind. None can really feel how good it is to be appreciated the way the Emperor appreciated my friendship. Just for me to be there.

I was so happy. I was somebody. I loved someone just as much as they loved me. I had the highest honor anyone could receive. I was revered nearly as much as the Emperor, and honored just as much. My stories reached the farthest corners of the Empire and even beyond. Everybody knew who I was. I cannot convey how happy I was with my life.

But I knew that my luck would run out. I never had much of it to begin with. I knew my end was coming, swift on wings and hard on hooves. It was with a grim certainty that I met with my lover for one last bout of passion, one that dwarfed all others. At our peak, we were discovered. My lover had a Clan that protected him from the wrath of the Emperor. I had no one. The friendship with the Emperor I had was spurned when it was discovered I was with a man. There was no mercy for me.

I know not if my lover is alive. I hope with all my being that he is. I could not bear for him to die for my stupid mistakes. Death would be a mercy to me if he did. Everyone I cared about to this point has died, except for the more recent people in my life. I cannot give words to how much pain I am in, just thinking about it. I cannot imagine how much pain I would be in if they killed him and I knew about it. Perhaps not knowing is a mercy too. But I couldn't bear not knowing either.

For the first time in my life, I feel the trickle of fear course through me. I feared not for myself, but for my lover. Fear of what may happen to him if his Clan does not protect him, and if they do, what they would do to him. This fear is not what I have told about, but more like a vice that grips my chest and my throat. It does not allow me to breathe. It does not allow me a moment of peace. It is slowly driving me crazy.

As per my last request, more than I am told I deserve, I receive parchment and ink to write with. I write my story today, before my imminent death. Today is my birthday. And just like the day of my birth, the leaves are falling. It is so beautiful. So peaceful. I'm not afraid to die. I was never afraid. And today, I am going to die. The Emperor informed me that I am to die when the sun sinks below the horizon. He told me that he was allowing me a final sunset. He thought he was being generous. I think he was being cruel. I never liked the sunset. Sure, it's beautiful, it's always beautiful. But I prefer the promise of a new day the sun brought when it rose. The assurance it gave me each and every single day of my life when it rose and I was still alive. Still breathing.

I can hear someone coming. Most likely to fetch me for the sun is starting it's descent into night. I love him with all my hearth, my lover, the man that I would marry. The man that I cherish. The man that deserves more than a no name such as myself. He is my everything. It is to him that I pledge my soul. I never uttered those three words to him, nor him to me, but I know with my very being that he loves me as much as I him. It is my biggest regret that I shall never have the chance to say them to him. To convey how much he means to me.

I shall die with that regret. It is what I deserve.

Naruto tore his eyes away from the scroll, breathing heavily. A lump was lodged in the back of his throat and it made his eyes sting something bad. Bringing his tanned hand up to his throat, Naruto was surprised to pull his hand back wet. The blonde was even more surprised to find that he was crying. Hot, wet tear tracks traced his faced from his eyes to his shirt, which was quickly becoming soaked. He hadn't cried since he was a child, since he felt that it was a waste of time and tears for mediocre things. They didn't accomplish anything. The only thing they accomplished was a headache, sore eyes and throat and a runny nose.

But the sheer emotion he felt from reading... he had never encountered... he brought his hands up to his slightly feverish face and took several moments to composed himself. There was still a little bit of the scrolls left, though it looked like it was done in a different hand.

He thought back to how many more similarities they both shared. Naruto despised sunsets, but loved the sunrise, though sometimes he cursed the sun rising on Saturdays when he wanted to sleep in. A lot of people in Naruto's life had died too. A lot of his friends died in accidents from not being careful enough or from suicides because they thought their life sucked. Naruto's godfather was still alive, thankfully, but each day the blonde feared for his health. He didn't have many people left in his life, and he treasured the time spent with them, treasured them. The people he met in his relatively short life took the people in their life for granted, took almost everything for granted. Naruto had to fight for the things he has. He took nothing for granted, because without the things he had, he was nothing.

Naruto didn't fear dying like a lot of other people either. His philosophy on the whole matter was exactly the same as the writer's was. People died everyday. It was a fact of life that no one could change. He only feared death for the people he loved. Not death itself. Call him depressed, but that's what he thinks. Nothing else.

Finally calming and wiping his eyes, face and neck of the slowly drying tears, Naruto unrolled the last of the page of parchment. There was still another couple of inches of parchment, but the blonde felt that those were other stories, written by other people. The table next to him was already filled with pages of parchment. Naruto kept them in order, so that they were each to put together later. His slightly puffy, red eyes returned back to the parchment at hand, reading what was written after the writer's own story. He was sure it was someone else that was writing the last little bit, because the script was much more refined, more noble looking, if that was at all possible.

My lover did not die with regret in his heart. He did not die with his head down in shame. He died with his head held high, his eyes reflecting the brilliance of the very sun, but the sun dulled in comparison to his beautiful blue eyes. It was not the guard that my lover anticipated when he finished writing. It was me. He told me that he loved me, that his soul was mine. That he loved me beyond even what a human being is capable of. He gave me what he wrote, begging me to keep it. He did not want it to be burned, like he believed it was going to be. He wanted future generations to read it. To know what he accomplished. He did not want to fade into time and forgotten. It was his greatest wish for everyone to know his stories. To know what happiness feels like, even for a little while. Happiness is fleeting, he once told me, and that if ye didn't catch a little for yeself, it would be taken away from ye, ripped away. I cherish these words. I cherish his soul. To those who may read this, I implore ye to remember my lover as he was. A storyteller. A best friend. A lover. A father to all orphans, far and wide. A brother. He was my everything as I was to him. It is my greatest regret that I was unable to save him from his fate, though he told me it's his greatest honor. To die for me.

I implore ye to find happiness and catch a little for yeself. Or it will be ripped away from ye too, and ye may never find it again.

Naruto set the scroll aside gently, wiping away any fresh tears. It was amazing that a simple little, misleading scroll would bring about such emotion. He never had any reason to cry. Even when his friends died. He would mourn on his own, for their families never wanted him around, as grief ridden as they were, but he never cried for them. Sad yes, cry no. Such a simple little scroll brought out emotions he preferred stayed far away. But after extensive thinking, he came to the conclusion that he really didn't mind. Crying, that is, over something so simple.

Checking the time on his watch, he jumped right out of the chair and hastily but gently put the scroll back together and laid it on the table, along with the black ribbon for when he had the time to come back and read more. The oil lamp was burning low, and Naruto suspected it was almost out of oil. Shrugging, he eased it off and, mindful of the shelves and the potential of running into something, he carefully made his way from the strange corner and back to the front of the library.

The blonde couldn't believe how long he had been reading. It was just about closing time, eight o'clock during the end of summer, and soon it would be pulled back to six during Autumn (and the Falling of the Leaves festival around this time of the year) and finally back to five during the Winter. He had fifteen minutes to get back to the front, wish Mizuti a good night before high-tailing it out of the library before she locked up. Mizuti was an awesome old lady and all, but when she locked the front doors, she did not open them up again until opening time at nine o'clock. And she had the only key. Once, he was locked in with her because he lost track of time while exploring the whispering books and shelves and had to spend the night on the cold floor with nothing but a blanket and a pillow.

He didn't want to repeat the experience.

So lost in his thoughts, the blonde did not notice the whispers that followed him as he made his way through the maze like interior of the library. Well, Archive as it's called nowadays. But he will always call it library. It sounded so much better than Archive. He barely noticed that he was nearing the foyer and it wasn't until Mizuti's stern voice carried across the large entrance and reading den that Naruto snapped out of his thoughts.

"Dear me, child. I thought you lost in there, like my last helper. She never returned you know. Sometimes, I can still feel her presence among the bookshelves." Mizuti said teasingly, aiming a thin smile at the blonde.

Naruto offered her a grin, scratching the back of his head sheepishly, "Gomen, Mizuti-ba-chan. I lost track of time reading something interesting."

"Oh? I would ask what it was that captured your attention so thoroughly, but it is nearing closing time, and I'm sure you don't want a repeat of what happened the last time you were in here when I locked up, hm?"

"No, ma'am!" Naruto grinned. "But that reminds me. I was fired from my job again."

"Again? Dear boy, what is it that you do to anger your bosses so?"

"I don't know. I guess they don't like me much." He thought it best not to mention how flaky he was towards them. It wouldn't help him any. "But besides that, I was wondering if you wanted to hire me or something. I have the basic training. You trust me enough... well, I think you do anyway. And you know how well I treat your books. Besides, you aren't as young as you used to be, Mizuti-ba-chan, I could do the majority of the dusting."

He dodged the tell-tale swap to the head at the jibe to her age, before gauging her reactions. It was hard to, sometimes, even after all the years he's known her. Sometimes, she was exactly like a book. You couldn't see what was in the book until you open the covers, but until then, you can gleam little of what it is about. Right now, Mizuti was a closed book. And it irritated him to no end.

After a few moments of deliberation (they took forever in his opinion, he could feel every single second pass by with a deliberate slowness) Mizuti nodded, "Alright, my boy, I'll give you a chance. If you can show me how hard of a worker you are for the first month, I'll let you keep the job and give you double the pay. After the first month, if you have shown me how good you are, I'll keep your paycheck coming, even if you don't work as hard. But that does not mean you are allowed to slack off at any time, do you understand me?"

"You are the best, ba-chan! Seriously, no one can compare!" Naruto crowed, giving her a hug out of happiness. Mizuti gave a brief gasp in surprise, but regained composure quickly and returned the prompt hug.

"I know, Naruto-kun. Now, get going before I lock you in. I know you have school tomorrow, so be here around four, and I'll give you a list of your duties, along with your pay information and some paperwork to fill in. Have a good night, my boy."

"'Night ba-chan! Sleep good, I'll see you tomorrow!" Naruto yelled over his shoulder and fled the library.

Once outside, Naruto stopped a moment to breathe in the fresh air and to observe the last of the sun disappearing into the horizon. The angle he was standing at allowed him to see it beyond the surrounding buildings and the small break in trees that led to the gate to the city. A brief flare of loathing flashed through him; he didn't like sunsets, never did. Turning on his heel, Naruto turned smartly in the general direction of his apartment but instead, bumped into something solid. He would have fell to the ground, his bottom meeting the hard concrete with a painful greeting, but the arms that snaked around his waist kept that particular meeting from becoming real.

His hands came up to grip the owner's upper arms tightly, feeling a touch of vertigo for some reason. Recovering quickly, the blonde looked up angrily, insult on the tip of his tongue. But as soon as his blue eyes met with piercing black, the world fell away until it was just the two of them. Black and blue. A spark of electric fire passed between him and the familiar stranger staring back at him that tingled along his nerves and alighted his body in a way that was so very strange, yet so very welcome. His knees felt like jelly. He thought that if the strange, yet familiar man had not been holding him that way, he would have fallen to the ground in an embarrassing heap. And despite how his mind was trying to tell his body that it was not right to react to the man this way, his body said differently.

That writer's words floated back to him, almost mocking in the way it presented itself. But before he could further ponder on it, the man loosened his arms from around the blonde's waist and steadied him before pulling back completely. He took a few steps back, running black eyes up and down the blonde's body with an emotion in gleaming in those fathomless depths Naruto could not identify. Then, he spoke. A deep, smooth voice that washed over the teenager and once again set fire to his nerves, leaving tingles running up and down his spine.

"My apologies for bumping into you, I was not paying attention. Please, forgive me for my mishap."

It took a few moments to register that. "Ah, n-no problem." Naruto cursed his stuttering. Uzumaki Naruto did not stutter damn it!

"May I inquire your name?" He asked, those deep black eyes piercing Naruto's own crystalline blue ones with such ease. The blonde felt like the man could see his very soul. It was creepy.

"Uzumaki Naruto," Naruto managed without stuttering. The man in front of him was sinfully gorgeous, and the blonde felt like an utter, ugly fool for even talking to him. Men like him did not talk to people like Naruto. It just wasn't done. "And you?" Now he felt like the even bigger fool. The blonde inwardly cursed himself for being stupid. Why would a man like the one in front of him want to give their name to him? He wasn't anyone special.

The man studied him for moment, and Naruto felt uncomfortable under the scrutiny. Never had anyone really looked at him like the man was now. It made him feel inadequate. It made him feel-

"Uchiha Itachi."

-even more like a fool. It was Sasuke's older brother! Man, he had the worse luck. The blonde wondered what kind of material Itachi was going to give to Sasuke to tease him with. Man, his life sucked sometimes. Just his luck to literally run into a gorgeous man, make a fool out of himself, and find out it was his best friend's older brother! His life was over.

Itachi gave the blonde another once over before moving to go past and on his way. Naruto breathed a sigh of relief, partly glad that the black haired man was leaving. The other part... well, he didn't even want to know.

A firm, glove covered hand arrested his chin, and a pair of lips covered his own in a heart stopping kiss. Blue eyes widened in surprise, and his mind completely shut down from the overload of sensations. He didn't even consider pushing the man away from himself. Just stood there. And enjoyed the kiss? His first kiss!

Before Naruto had the chance to recollect himself, a nip to his bottom lip resulted in a small gasp that allowed a large enough opening for a searching tongue. Shivers of pleasure raced through his being, engulfing any logical thought. Azure blue eyes are hidden from the world and his arms reached up to wrap around the other man's neck, pulling him closer; deepening the ever passionate first kiss. It was beyond any words that Naruto could procure from a dictionary, if he had one on hand. It was beyond anything he has ever known. It was beyond incredible.

Slowly, the kiss ended, but Naruto was still on Cloud Nine from the sensations. Itachi slipped something into the blonde's pocket and whispered in his ear, "Call me."

And like that, he was gone. Like the wind, really, but at this point, all Naruto could think about was the kiss. Later, he would not remember the trip home. He wouldn't even remember how he managed to get into his night clothes and into bed, not to mention the shower he must have had upon returning to the lonely apartment. His mind was entirely on the kiss.

And it would be for the following month.

I implore ye to find happiness and catch a little for yeself. Or it will be ripped away from ye too, and ye may never find it again.

Word Count: 10,500 rounded off to the nearest hundred.