Naruto thinks in colors.
It just comes to him naturally. Instinct, really: the Fox had surely something to do with it. Or it might come from his childhood, how he grew up by himself and could never trust anyone. But the fact is, Naruto thinks in colors, in symbols. When he was younger, it was simple: there was the green of the forest, the safe haven he could run to when the cloak of despair around him became so heavy he couldn't breathe. There was the wonderful blue of the sky that reminded him so much of his own eyes, and that he always turned to when the glares and harsh whispers became too much. There was the nice but rather boring brown of the Third and his office, the slightly unnerving but familiar grey of the ANBU Headquarter, and so many others…
Colors for every little thing, except for maybe the most important. He never gave a color to the villagers and their attitude. He never had anyone to play hide and seek with, but he was still a child, and the principle stayed the same – "If I can't see them, then maybe they won't see me."
But he grew up – as well as he could, considering – and things got more complex. And maybe he put too much thought in that symbolism, but he can't help it, that's just the way he thinks.
Because… There's yellow, and that's the Yondaime's color. They called him the Yellow Flash after all. The academy teachers often repeated it was fitting, for their most cherished leader to be associated with such a cheerful color. They had apparently forgotten this cheerful color was the last thing a lot of enemy nin ever saw. But to him, it means more than a good Hokage or a frightening opponent. It stands for so many different things: the flickering gold of purity and sacrifice, tied in his mind to that fateful night when the greatest demon was defeated by a mere man; the ephemeral light dazzling and tricking, leading people to their death in the name of honor and glory. It stands for naivety and hypocrisy, for the bitter aftertaste left in his mouth that reminds him of past happiness and broken promises. Most of all, yellow is the family he will never have, the words that were never said, what-if and could-have-been.
Then there's red, which is Kyubi. Sometimes he wonders if it oughtn't to be his mother instead, like her fiery hair and infamous temper. But he didn't really get anything from his mother apart from It, so he supposes it's the same either way. Red, that one is easy: it means blood and war and massacre. It's the memories that haunt him wherever he goes, the feeling of teeth tearing into flesh, of smoke spilling down his throat like it's alive and trying to choke him, of fucking an unknown number of unnamed people just because he felt like it and they looked good enough. It is the dark voice in his head that tell him of what once was, terrible and glorious times he never lived but nonetheless remembers. Red for the rage of battle that sings in his veins, red for bloodlust and hatred.
So, yellow and red make orange, which is his. And he hates that one, so very, very much.
Orange is madness. It is a call for help, a desperate hope of acknowledgment. ("I'm not a demon! It's obvious and you'd remark that if you ignored the rumors and your own prejudices and just looked. Look at me, damnit!") It is a carefully woven web of lies, false smiles and shouted promises. ("Uzumaki Naruto, future Hokage! Believe it!") It is suicide, a target painted on his back and addiction to danger. (Because the only time he feels alive, the only time he feels real is when adrenaline flow through his veins and everything becomes sharp and the only thing in his head is something like "ohshitohshitI'mabouttoDIE".) It is a broken mind and rotting disease, whimpers and hysterical laughs in the dead of the night. (In a corner, a child lay, curled on himself. Alone.)
He wonders sometimes about what his parents would think if they knew what exactly they (Yellow and Red, Honor and Passion) gave birth to; wonders if they'd be horrified at how twisted their legacy (orange, what was meant to be Joy and pranks and mischievous smiles) has become, at how the line that separates guardian and prisoner blurs a little more each day. But then his mind automatically try to recall the few memories he has from them, and the only things it can dig up are faded images of the broken body of a woman and a tiny defiant figure standing on a toad. He remembers thinking "pathetic flesh bags", and roaring at the man and crushing the woman under his paw.
He doesn't think of his parents often. But still, he is grateful he doesn't have to remember eating them. That's more than he can say about Iruka's.
Naruto hates orange. Just watching it makes him sick, reminds him of his weaknesses, of the horror that is his life. He sees it, and sees the nightmares that have little to do with the demon in his head, and a lot more to do with what he starts to suspect as insanity. He wants to burn this damned jumpsuit; reduce to ash the symbol of his failures, himself and his prison - because no matter what Kyubi says, he's a prisoner just as much as It is, in this God forsaken village - all rolled into one. He despises it like nothing else. Every time he looks in the mirror and catch sight of his reflection, of the color he will not let himself forget, he wants to scream.
Instead, he smiles. It suits him.
It is his color, after all.