Disclaimer:

Mental illness is a very real and very serious problem. If you're having trouble, talk to kids help phone or a crisis line, there are people out there to talk to.

Remember that suicide is a permanent solution to a temporary problem. Things will get better if you make them better.

He sat on the curb late at night; a bottle if whatever in one hand and a cheap cigarette in the other; the weight of the world on his shoulders and the pain of cursed solitude in his heart.

The rain poured down heavily that night. He liked the rain. The smell of it, the feel of it pounding cold on his back as he sat on the curb in some alley he'd drunkenly stumbled upon. It was a nice curb. A little dirty but at least no one would find him here. Not like anyone was looking though.

He'd had enough. He was tired; tired of the jumps, tired of the harassment, tired of not being able to show his face around town without the cruel stares, names and treatment; tired of being considered less than a human and more of a demon. Tired of bearing his cross and tired of being the village pariah.

And so he took a swig from his bottle and cursed the world as the cheap rotten wheat burned the back of his throat. Took a drag from his dart, inhaled the good shit and exhaled the bullshit, stomping out the bud as he finished up.

Took out a clean new razor blade from his pocket; good, it was still there. Knife in his right now; bit his tongue while the metal parted the flesh, crimson spilled fourth from the wound. Virgin cloth stained, keeping pressure on the wound.

God he felt so alive! Beautiful, reassuring pain that was real. Not the stuff his heart told him he felt. Not the metaphysical aches of his fatigue, but the real, physical pain, and the real, physical marks on his skin. He knew now he was real. He existed, he was real…

Another swig from the bottle cleared his mind with a cloudy haze and broke him briefly of his existential crisis. A few more drinks and he'd killed the bottle. Smashed it on the ground and watched it shatter to pieces. Felt good, breaking it. Couldn't place his finger on why, but it felt so right. Letting steam out maybe? More drinking…

He cracked a new one, chugged, smash. God it felt good.

Boy reached for his gun. Bought it off the black market miles out of the village; stuffed in his pants or in his bag wherever he went, just in case.

His ice cold hands shook with mortal fear, holding the tool to snuff all his pain away. Looking down the barrel, fingers off the trigger; more curious than anything. Contemplated what it would be like. Would it hurt? What came next?

Boy's hands shook too much so he threw the gun away to the side; plenty of time for that later. The razors in his right once again; tongue between teeth once more. Cut, curse, cloth, repeat.

Blood started to pool on the ground. How much? Not too much, he knew since he could see it. How much more until he blacked out? One way to find out- no, it was all or nothing at this point. He either took his fate into his own hands or he waited for god to do it for him. He wouldn't be blacking out on the curb tonight. He was going all in or fold.

He picked up the gun. No more tears huh? Looked it in the eye… barrel. In the head? In the chest? Through the roof of his mouth or through the base of his chin? Decisions decisions.

He lit another cigarette. Dragged and mulled over his options. All of them sounded attractive. But how did he really want to end it all? Did he want to end it all… at all? More importantly, shit, was the stove still on? What about the bathtub, did he leave that running too? That'd be trouble. It looks like he'll have to wait a little longer. Yeah, he wouldn't want to leave too big a mess before he left. That'd just be rude…

And so he got up and dragged his sorry ass back to his apartment. His closet really, but it was something. The street light stopped flickering after he'd left. Funny, he thought. World just catered to his mood tonight it seemed.

Got home and unlocked the door. Oh? Looks like he didn't half to, someone had already taken the liberty of unlocking the door for him. Well, breaking in the door really. Not as polite a gesture. And what's this? Ransacked? Oh well, hadn't happened in a while so a fair bit was gone. Least he still had a bed. Sort of… At least he had a pile of ripped up cotton and something resembling a blanket. No pillows though, guess that was asking for too much.

Curiously, he went to go check the kitchen. Hey, what would you know, they left him some food. They took all of the good food, but left some non-perishables. And even better, they left him some of the ramen he had stored away. Nice, looks like he'll still be having breakfast tomorrow.

Opening a cabinet, he looked for his lockbox, which thank god was still where he had left it. However it did sport a few more dents than the last time he'd seen it. It still held true though, and that was enough to put a smile on his face. Really he was surprised the bandit hadn't ripped it from the wall, but maybe he was in a hurry. Or perhaps he was another drunken vandal? Whoever he was, he left the thing relatively unharmed, and for that he was thankful.

Reassured, he found his way back to his bedroom; not a very far walk, but difficult to get to through the mess whoever had made. He felt like they left more trash than they took.

Once he got to his fluff-ball, he curled up into as comfortable a position he could, half sunk into the cotton, and wrapped himself up making a cocoon-like structure with his blankets. Dreamless sleep ensued.

She woke up early that morning. Excitement coursed through her as she jumped out of bed and ran for the bathroom, making sure to beat her little sister, who took ages performing her "morning rituals".

Hopping quickly out of her night clothes and into the shower, not even bothering to wait for it to heat up, she scrubbed the days grease and grime from her body, revelling in the heavenly feeling of the hot water slamming down onto her. God she loved showers, that refreshing feeling of the water rushing over your skin, and the crisp bite of the cool air once you left. It was all so right.

Getting out of the shower, she dried her deep purple hair with a thick, scratchy towel. She'd always been proud of her strong head of hair. It was thick, and straight, and easily manageable. Sometimes it got in the way, but she couldn't bring herself to cut it past the middle of her back. It just felt wrong to. Never quite knew why. Maybe it was her own vanity getting the best of her? Perhaps it was something deeper, like a sentimental bond had been formed with it over the years, and she couldn't move past it. Whatever it was, she was keeping her hair.

Wrapping a towel around her body, she went back to her room to get dressed for the day. She put more than the usual amount of effort into dressing today. She wanted to make sure she left a good impression on everyone since it was her first day at her new school. And although she felt the entire situation was cliché and had totally been done like, a million times before, she still couldn't help but partake in the tradition. Clichés we cliché for a reason after all.

Yep, she would arrive at school, make a great entrance, impress all of the right people and live a happy high school career. She was going to keep clear of drama –not too clear though- and live humbly throughout the whole process. Go to a nice college, get a nice job, meet a nice man and live a nice life. She had it all planned out, down to a tee. All that depended on this success however was one tiny, itsy little first day. That if she screwed up, would damn her to the pits of social hell. No pressure right?

It all came down to this, cardigan, blouse or hoodie. She felt like she was picking her starter Pokémon. She'd half to deal with what she picked for a while until she could get her foot in the door.

Eventually after a long and hard thought on the subject, she ended up choosing a purple tank top with half done-up white and lavender jacket. Her lower half was made up in some loose fitting sports pants that stopped halfway down her shins. Shoes were a very touchy subject, but after a long and arduous battle with herself, she settled on some generic sandals. Who was going to be looking at her feet anyways? Plus she got to show off her immaculate pedicure.

Realising that it was only seven-thirty in the morning –leaving her with and hour and a half to get to school- she figured she'd treat herself to some breakfast ramen at a stand she'd seen on her way to her orientation. It looked nice enough and it gave her something to do so she didn't anxiously count down the minutes to her big first day.

And so running out the door –and narrowly avoiding a collision with her little sister who was about as merciful in the mornings as a territorial hippo- she slung her bag around her shoulders and grabbed her keys, all whilst rushing out the door, without even so much as greeting her father who walked by and scowled at the girl's over-eagerness.

He started his day by waking up at four in the morning; a kink in his neck from sleeping on his puff-ball that night. Had better nights, but also had worse, overall nothing too much to complain about.

Boy walked over to his kitchen, spotted the package of instant ramen the merciful robber had left behind for him to eat. Boiled some water, ate the humble meal and went to shower.

Oh God how he hated showers. They were always so cold, so annoying, getting him all wet and shit. Hell, he wasn't even sure if the water that was coming out of the shower-head was cleaning him or getting him even dirtier. But whatever, society mandated that he shower daily, and so he complied. Good hygiene is never something one can complain about. At the very least it would make any contact with people less painful for the both of them. Stinky wasn't a word he wanted to be associated with.

When he got out of the shower, he dried his golden locks –the one natural gift he was given- and cursed when the natural gift spiked on its own like it always did. Goddammit, oh well, nothing he could do about it.

Out of the washroom and dressed in another ten minutes. Dressed himself in a black and grey hoodie, thing had a swirl on it –the orange part-, was probably as close to a graphic as he was going to get. Rolled the sleeves up, looked cooler that way. He tied a blue bandana around his left wrist like he always did, scars were unappealing. Put on a pair of nice orange khaki cargo pants he'd managed to afford after saving up some cash. They were comfortable, tough and fell just to his feet. Good for working at the noodle shop in. He wore cheap black sandals on his feet; nothing too fancy.

Four-thirty by now; just enough time to fix the door. Grabbed some screws and a hand drill and screwdriver –all of which were "borrowed" from a certain hardware store, drilled some holes, screwed some shit, bish-bam-boom, like a brand new door.

Four-forty-five now; only had fifteen minutes to get to his morning job. So he rushed out of the house grabbing his bag and keys on the way. Made sure to lock all of the doors before he rushed down the hallway and out onto the streets.

Once he was on the street he really took off. Not too much early morning traffic so he got to the ramen stand by four-fifty-five. On the way dropped a hundred ryo into a bum's cup. Knew the hard life, so he did what he could when he could. Was only one hundred yen, he'd make it up if no one stole the tip-jar today. No one tipped him, but Teuchi made good money. People loved his smiling face.

Once he arrived, he immediately rushed in through the back door. Once he was in he was greeted by Ayame's beaming face. She loved him so much, like her own little brother. There was five years difference between them; she'd known him since he was a kid. He used to be a regular at the place until he needed to make some money. So they hired him. They liked the kid. Worked hard, never complained, fit right in with them. He was always smiling with them, always joking. He liked it there too. He felt at home with them; about as home as he could feel with anyone.

Grabbing his smock as he entered the kitchen; greeted Ayame who greeted him back with a bear hug. He secretly loved when she did that. Nothing sexual, it was just the only embrace he ever received. Well, maybe a little sexual. Ayame was quite well endowed indeed… He shook the thoughts out of his head.

Old man greeted him, handshake and a 'how-ya-doin'. Gave him the standard 'not bad, yourself?'

Boy got right to work on a batch of ramen afterword. He was the cook alongside Teuchi. Really good at it too, world class as Teuchi said. Under appreciated artist he would say. Boy would just laugh it off and continue working. He'd never believe him. No one but the old man ever complimented his ramen, so he assumed that it was just sub-par. That never really bothered him; people kept coming back so it couldn't have tasted that bad. Tasted good enough to get over the fact it was him making it.

Sometimes he'd get yelled at while he worked by some of his more aggressive visitors. Not by Teuchi though; he'd only yelled twice. Once when he was a kid and couldn't pay his overwhelming tab, and once again when he'd overcooked a batch of noodles. Tensions were high, hot day. Old man immediately regretted it once he'd done it; kept apologizing for days. He never let it get to him though. Boy never burnt a batch ever again.

First of the customers were in now. Two miso-pork, one teriyaki, three cold noodles and one chicken ramen order. He made them without ever turning around. He tried to keep himself hidden as best he could. He wore a white bandana to try to keep his unruly spikey hair down. It was a dead give-away of who he was. You didn't want to be noticed as him.

A couple of more orders went by and it was seven-forty-five now. A request for a breakfast special –cold soba with scrambled eggs and milk- came in. All was going according to routine, until he made the fatal mistake of turning around once he was done. His eyes were greeted with the most stunning figure he'd ever seen before him. It was as if royalty, or at the very least nobility of some sort had come to visit him.

She moved gracefully in every motion she made, even grabbing a pair of chop-sticks was smooth as silk. Her hands were that of an artists or pianists'; slim, soft yet strong. Gripped the utensils so elegantly you'd think she'd been a trained lady.

She literally took his breath away as he stared slack jawed at the awe-inspiring personification of grace itself.

Well maybe that was going a little far. After all she slurped her noodles like a man and chewed them like a horse…

She hadn't seen him yet; he could have turned around again and avoided the contact. But he couldn't tear himself away. She was just so perfect, the way she smiled at an old man as she paid for the meal he couldn't afford. The softness in her eyes as she made light conversation with some other patrons. The way she so elegantly choked on a portion too large for her to fit in her mouth.

And when she looked to him, seeing him staring with his jaw on the floor, she blushed and cutely turned ever so slightly away, still smiling. His heart rate had never been faster. He could admire this person all day, and only kind of get tired of it halfway through. But what amazed him the most was that she hadn't yelled at him yet. Did she not know of him?

So he took a dive, delivered the second half of her food personally. He dad to get more of her burned onto his retinas. Wasn't every day he saw a cutie like this. Every so often a particularly attractive girl might wander in, but she would scorn him, berate him or flat out ignore him. This girl was beyond words. She acknowledged his existence. She saw him, but didn't shun him. There was no prejudice in her eyes when she returned his gaze. There was almost… intrigue?

He quickly snapped out of his trance and placed the dishes in front of the angelic girl. She smiled at him and thanked him. He was too shocked for words, so he just blushed a deep shade of red and bowed slightly, turning back to his work station. Teuchi slapped him on the back and chuckled slightly, doing nothing for the boy's flushed face.

After a minute or two, something unimaginable happened. Something not in a million years he would have ever expected to happen. Something that hadn't happened in so long that he forgot that it could even happen at all. Yes, someone actually started a conversation with him. Not a one sided verbal abuse, but a conversation.

"Um, excuse me" a soft voice rang out from the other side of the bar.

Turning around, the boy looked at the girl and asked quizzically, "who me?" He wasn't so sure what to expect her to say to him.

"Yes you" the girl giggled lightly.

The boy blushed lightly, and asked "yeah, what's up?"

"Did you make this?" She asked.

The boy gulped deeply, she didn't sound displeased, but you never know with some people. "Uh-um… yeah, I made it. Is something wrong with it? I can fix it if you don't like" he sputtered out nervously.

The girl laughed lightheartedly and said "no no, it's nothing like that. I just mean, this is reallygood. I haven't ever had ramen that tasted this amazing" she beamed up at him.

Wait… what? What just… did I just… compliment… me… my cooking? The boy thought to himself flabbergasted.

"Wh-what?" He asked just to make sure he heard right.

"The food, it's really really good. Like, the best I've had. Most definitely blac label quality".

"I told ya' boy, didn't I tell ya? You got talent kid!" Teuchi shouted from the back.

The boy had no idea how to react to this. He honestly couldn't remember a time when he was last complimented. He was so overwhelmed with pride and joy and-

"HEY YOU LITTLE SHIT, WHEN IS MY FOOD GONNA BE READY!?" An old angry man shouted violently at the blonde.

The boy looked down to avoid eye contact with the patron and said weakly "coming right up sir. It'll only be a minute".

The boy pushed what had just transpired to the back of his head and sunk back into the kitchen to fill the request. He was sure he'd just imagined all that had happened. This must be one hell of a hangover.

But the girl however didn't like this at all. How the hell could someone talk to another person like that? Let alone the person making your food.

"Hey, watch what you're saying! What gives you the right to treat him like that?" The girl firmly said to the sour man.

"Hey lady, don't worry about it" the boy said to the girl. "My sincerest apologies sir, your meal will be free of charge as a token of my remorse. Please don't let my mistake ruin your morning meal sir" the boy apologized hastily.

Teuchi just shook his head and Ayame went to go say something, but the boy just shook his head. She stopped and shot a challenging glance back to the boy; but he ignored it and went about preparing the man's meal. Ayame's eyes fell short, and she returned back to the back to finish another order, a sour taste in her mouth.

The girl behind the counter looked on in shock. How could anyone deal with something like that the way he did?

"Why did you let him do tha-" she was cut off silently when he ignored her, placing the angry man's food in front of him. The man glared menacingly at the boy, who shrunk back into the kitchen, refusing to make eye contact with anyone.

Another customer shouted moments later. Something about how his soup was cold. How he demanded a refund or at least a new order. The boy remade his order once more only to have it thrown at him when he'd missed an ingredient. Teuchi threw that one out, but he wasn't the last.

Three more customers came, each with their own issues with the boy. All of their complaints were groundless and they seemed more to be using the boy as a punching bag. The girl could hardly take the look of it. What had this boy done to deserve such mistreatment? Why did the owners not help more? Why did the boy take it all? How could someone do that?

"Why do you let them walk all over you?" the girl pleaded.

"It can't be helped" he replied simply.

"What? You can't just let them do that!" She exclaimed. "It's not... it's just not right!"

Like a broken record, he repeated himself. "It can't be helped".

The girl sighed, a wave of melancholy crashing into her. How could anyone live like this? It looked like hard enough work without the constant verbal abuse.

The girl felt her cellphone buzz, but when she took it out and looked at her phone's clock to check the time, she saw it was eight-thirty-five. If she didn't leave right now, there was no doubt she'd be late, on her first day. Definitely not in the plan for success she'd prepped herself up this morning with. A new wave emotion hit her as she went into panic mode.

"I'm really sorry, but I have to get going right now or I'll be late for class! I'm so sorry, I wanted to stay and talk to you. Your cooking is amazing; don't let those bastards tell you otherwise! I'm Hinata; by the way, I'll see you around ok?" She shouted quickly as she packed up her things in a hurry.

The boy just stood shocked for a minute. But before the girl could run away –for all he knew forever- he shouted at her.

"Th-thanks! My name is Naruto!"

He grinned at her as she ran off smiling back at him. It was the first real grin he'd had in a while. Straight from the bottom of his fluttering heart.

For the rest of his shift the complaints of the customers seemed to go in one ear and out the other. He felt a lot better now. Perhaps they would meet again someday? He thought about the gun. Looks like we'll be holding off on dinner plans with it for at least until he knew for certain that he'd never meet her again, he thought.