A/N: This actually didn't begin as an entry for 55Themes; it was a separate story, a practice story for a longer angel fic that would feature GenHaya as the primary pairing. (I have yet to start planning that one, BTW. The plot has been cleverly evading me for the last year or so…) But some of the themes seemed to fit with it, so I assigned them. Because I'm all-powerful like that.

In case you couldn't tell from the summary, this is an AU, KakaIru fanfic. This means it does not take place in the Narutoverse, and rather more in our own modern world.

The introductory chapter, as almost by a rule, isn't all that interesting. But please bear with me; it gets better later, I promise.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.

Themes: #4 – Church; #32 – Reincarnation; #41 – Forsaken; #55 – Suicide.

Memories of You

BEGIN

White. So much white. Like a field of snow, except it was not snow. Just…white.

And warmth. Sunlight, endless endless sunlight. The warmth, and the happiness.

The white begins to break. Wisps of cotton…no, feathers. One, two, three, three hundred, infinity forever. All feathers. All falling.

Why are they falling?

Why am I bleeding?

Grey. Grey, and cold. And blood. Why so much blood? I didn't do anything wrong, did I? Why is this happening?

Why—drip, drip. Why?

The light—the light is gone. Disappeared. Sun is gone, warmth is gone, even—even not-snow is gone. Only the dripdripdrip.

Red. Light is gone, sun is gone warmth isgone everythingisgone—

I am gone.

And then—

Black.

"Excuse me?"

Hatake Kakashi looked up, blinking at the young teenager currently standing across the smooth counter. He could not have been more than fourteen. "Yes?"

The boy smiled, bringing up a familiar, bright orange book and placing it on the counter. "You don't have a price for this," he said. "Could you tell me how much?"

Kakashi set a hand on the book before leaning over the counter to stare the boy straight in the eyes. "How old are you, kid?"

The boy blanched. "Tw-Twenty-one, can't you tell?"

Kakashi tilted his head. "No, I can't," he said with a bored look. "Got proof? ID or something, for example?"

"I'm mature enough to read something like this!" the boy protested.

"Maybe you are," Kakashi said with a shrug, "but that doesn't really matter. See this?" He pointed to a large sign propped up on the counter beside him. "It says Icha Icha cannot be sold to minors. You're a minor. Therefore, according to this sign, I can't sell to you. Simple as that."

"But mister—"

"No means no, kid," Kakashi said. "Now it's almost nine o'clock, and I'm closing up. Better get on out of here before your parents find out what you're doing."

The boy puffed out his bottom lip in a perfect child-like pout. "Fine!" he said, "I'll just go buy it somewhere else!" And he turned, stalking out of the store.

Kakashi grinned. "You can try," he called after the retreating teen, "But I'm the only storeowner in this city who sells this series. Happy hunting!" The boy mumbled something about "senile old bastards" as he walked out the door.

Kakashi chuckled, picking up the Icha Icha volume and walking into the adult aisle, sliding the book carefully onto the shelf between its other bright orange companions. Shaking his head, he decided then and there to have the entire series locked up in a glass case, because if one of those minors managed to sneak off with one of them…he would be in serious trouble.

Walking back over to the counter, Kakashi rang up the cash register and began counting the day's earnings, carefully recording them in his accounting notebook. Jiraiya, the old owner and the author of Icha Icha who had retired four years ago, had expressly advised him to keep good records, because money was easily lost.

Apparently memories were too, Kakashi mused as he began calculating the totals. Jiraiya had laughed at that, but Kakashi hadn't expected him to understand. After all, who would believe that someone had randomly turned up on the streets eight years ago, alone and with no memory whatsoever?

Kakashi wouldn't have believed it either, if the someone in question hadn't been him.

Finishing up with his calculations, he carefully put the book away before tucking all his personal things into his bag. Walking up to the front of the store, he flipped the sign at the front from OPEN to CLOSED, locked up the store, and started on the walk home.

Sighing, Kakashi tilted his head back, locking his fingers behind his head as he peered up at the bright white sliver of moon in the dark sky above. He had come a long way in these last eight years since he had first appeared on the steps of the local church, alone and cold with only a thin set of dark robes to cover him. He had no idea why he was here, or where he had been before. His memories before that time were a blank.

The first couple of months had been spent in a homeless shelter, grubbing for food, water and clothing with the other outcasts of society. Then he was given a job cleaning houses and stores, and was able to move into a measly, one-room apartment just shy of the slums on his meager income.

A year into the job, Jiraiya hired him to sweep down his bookstore one morning. Intrigued by the young man's polite company and quiet dedication, Jiraiya hired him again, and again, and again, until Kakashi eventually became a regular store employee, helping Jiraiya stock shelves, keep accounts, and manage the cash register. A year later, Jiraiya allowed Kakashi to move into his apartment, a spacious two-bedroom plot, and two years after that the old man retired, moving into a house several counties away and leaving both the store and the apartment to Kakashi.

Things had sort of just gone their own pace after that, Kakashi thought to himself as he walked slowly up the steps to the front of his apartment, unlocking the door, shedding his shoes, and stepping inside. Tossing his bag carelessly onto a nearby chair, he made his way into the kitchen to make tea, carrying the steaming hot mug into his bedroom. Setting the mug onto the corner of the desk, he groped for a pen with one hand while reaching into the bottom-most drawer for his journal with the other.

Staring at the worn leather binding of the book, Kakashi sighed. His psychologist had told him that keeping a journal might help him get a better grip on his lost memories, but in these last three or so years of writing, he had not made any progress.

Blinking, Kakashi reached back into the drawer, digging around until he was finally able to locate the first journal he had ever gotten. It was bright red, decorated with little hearts, and Kakashi rolled his eyes. His psychologist had given it to him—his psychologist, a young blonde woman who had spent half their session time flirting with him. It had felt wrong—strangely painful to receive such attention, so Kakashi had told her he was taken during their second session. By a man.

Flipping open the book, Kakashi went to the first entry. His psychologist had told him that he needed to wipe the slate clean on this first entry; he had to go past all the memories that had built up these past few years, and focus only on the ones he had had when he had first shown up on the church steps. After trying for several long minutes, Kakashi had only been able to come up with two facts that he clearly remembered.

Bringing the desk lamp over to shed more light on the worn pages, Kakashi carefully read the short entry.

"My name is Hatake Kakashi. I am 26 years old, I think. Could be younger, but I'll just go with that.

"On Oct. 14, I woke up on the steps of the local church. Don't remember a thing before that. Maybe I got drunk and passed out? But that's stupid. It wouldn't have wiped all my memories out. Plus I don't drink.

"I was dressed in these thin, dark gray robes. They feel sort of like silk, except softer. They're in a box in my closet right now. Thank goodness I didn't appear naked; that would've been embarrassing. Though Imada-san would've had a nosebleed if that had happened…

"I don't know what else to write about. Wish I knew what had happened before all this. There's so much speculation I can do: maybe I'm a subject of a secret government human experiment and I escaped from the lab. Or maybe I'm the long-lost son of a super-rich family, which means that they're looking for me. Or maybe…

"This is stupid. I'll write more tomorrow."

Kakashi chuckled at that, shaking his head as he closed the journal. He didn't blame himself for speculating. Not being able to remember anything was frustrating.

Going back to his current journal, he wrote a quick, rather boring entry of the day's events before tossing both books back into the drawer and kicking it closed. An hour later, after dinner and a shower and everything else, he was in bed, asleep.