Nycthemeron
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto
When the morning sun warms his skin, he thinks that maybe this is what it's like to be embraced by a loved one.
As he skips along to the Academy, the crisp autumn breeze that brushes past, the gentle combing sweep, must be cool hands ruffling his hair playfully.
Oftentimes whenever he pulls a prank, he can hear snatches of twinkling laughter and giggles. He learns not to hide because the sound is beyond the bend and above the roofs to somewhere he can't see or reach.
But in the dimming candlelight, he can spot quick flashes of ruby red when he wanders alone through the twisting maze of Konoha alleyways. A pitter-patter away…The boy chases after the colour and is only left with fallen leaves, flitting into the sky like ribbons.
A ghostly caress whenever he hurts.
Slow, rhythmic tingles along his back when he cries.
Sensations of warmth pressed on his forehead, fond butterfly kisses, when he feels lonely.
At times, the child would pale as he considers that a ghost is haunting him; he knows and understands that no one cares for a 'demon spawn'.
…But secretly deep inside, he hopes that it's a Goddess watching over him because he believes that only Goddess' can be so kind and forgiving. The little orphan boy could only thank her with offerings – flowers, feathers, and rocks collected by the stream.
He would place these items on the windowsill.
And fall asleep.
(And under the veil of midnight, his Goddess, Kushina, would take the offerings with care, mourning over the loss of unconditional love, and does her best to protect her only flesh and blood. Her child. Her little Naruto.)
