A/N: So this idea floated in my head for a good while, and one day it aggravated me enough to write words. Here are the fruits of my giving in. Never written anything of this sort before, so I'm all ears for what'cha peeps think.
Little five year old Naruto can't help but laugh out loud, the young kid making his way down the streets of Konoha whilst carrying a bucket of orange paint that's relatively fresh in its use for his most notorious prank: painting the Hokage Monument. He doubles over slightly this time, though, almost failing to stifle his amusement and sloshing a bit of the can's contents onto the ground.
Images of his actions fly by in his mind. Each and every slap, swipe, and extensive drag of the paint brush upon every single face. Old Man Gramps' new set of fluffed eyelashes and "mascara" – all of the same vivid, bright orange – being his favorite of the four painted faces.
The consideration brings him great joy, counter to his dismay at losing the brush earlier. But when the head of pink hair and matching lipstick runs through Naruto's head, he's unable to stifle his laughter any longer.
"That'll teach 'em the name Naruto Uzumaki! Future Hokage!" Naruto laughs out in declaration. He pumps out a fist toward the horizon as the paint can lets out another slosh of its contents.
"Believe it!"
Lowering the fist, he grins widely and turns into a familiar alleyway.
"I should probably hide out for a while," he grudgingly concedes to himself. So after chuckling for just a bit more, Naruto turns more thoughtful. He slows to a stop and puts a hand to his chin.
'Hmm… let's see…' ponders the little boy.
Ichiraku's is the first place to come to mind. Saliva begins to build at just the thought alone, slides of Miso Ramen going by in Naruto's head. At least until he shakes his head to free himself of the fantasies.
'Naah,' Naruto declines, 'too obvious.'
Crossing his arms, the boy frowns while he thinks on where to go. Swishing paint is ignored.
"Hmmm." Naruto's face contorts unhappily, nothing good enough coming to mind.
Until…
"That's it!" shouts Naruto, smacking his holding fist into a free palm.
The park.
Sure, it's not exactly his favorite place – far from it – but if he wants to stall his punishment, that's the last place they'd think to look.
Simply put, he hardly visits. It's just a physical reminder of what he lacks. A togetherness all other children always have. A togetherness he doesn't have.
Never can have.
His eyes widen when he realizes the grip he's got on the bucket handle. He eases it off. Though there's a wetness on his face, too, that he can feel from the gentle wind.
So he wipes the unwanted tears away, deciding with a rejuvenated, wet smile that he will first hide at the park for a little bit and then go to his favorite ramen stand.
Through the town Naruto walks, taking care with his route to avoid ninja that may be looking for him. And the hateful eyes of the villagers.
It's just another day. Just another one of bullying. Constant bullying, and by the usual group of two. Always the same thing.
Her enormous forehead.
How it can't be hidden. That it can block a falling tree. That it's apparently, to her internal dismay, half of her face.
The sob that last insult forces out of the little girl is overtaken by the other two's laugh at it.
Sakura begs them to please leave her be, to just let her wallow alone in misery on the walkway, but it seems to only encourage. Before she knows it, one girl is pulling her pink bangs up to reveal their area of interest on Sakura's face, making her cringe and look up.
The pull isn't harsh, but it doesn't need to be. Their snide insults are more than enough.
Worst of all, she's as far from a pretty crier as it gets. Snot and healthy streams of tears run down to her scrunched chin. Sakura sputters to get the thick, salty wetness off her lips, but her heavy sniffles only make the down-flow worse, renewing the gross taste.
"HEY, UGLIES!" shouts the loudest voice she's ever heard, easily overtaking the girls' insulting ones.
Blatant silence follows, and Sakura comes out of her wince to open a blurry-visioned eye. She still tries to look at the one that shouted, but little else than the color of his clothing and skin-tone are discernible.
Noticing that the girl let her go, Sakura reaches up with a hand to wipe at her eyes. A few times is enough, and she opens them to see the two mean girls taking a few steps back from her, all their focus directed at the boy. Curious, she blinks groggily, turning toward him as well.
Sakura's eyes widen; her upper body jerks backward.
He's running. At them .
His angry snarl makes her still. Yet her owlish eyes take notice of him having something in his hands. Something he's thrusting out. Something containing a liquid. A very orange liquid.
Bright orange.
Sakura gasps in a short breath at the thick mess that's soaring through the air for her general direction.
Closing her eyes, Sakura cringes hard, wishing she could just disappear into thin air, because–
Shrill screams to her side have Sakura cringing less miserably; her face scrunches up at the obnoxious noise.
When silence resumes, she pops open one damp eye, the other doing so right after.
The two girls are drenched and dripping orange paint. Their monochrome expressions are aghast with closed eyes. They spread their arms out to their sides, gaping partially as paint drips from all over themselves.
Congested giggles escape Sakura despite her previous misery. They sprout further, flitting past her lips while she watches the two girls break out into dramatic cries toward the sky. In the next moment, they take off, wiping at their crying eyes and wailing for their parents help. An urge to point rises in her as she watches them go, literally covered in orange; but Sakura merely giggles further, instead wiping at one of her eyes as a small sniffle partially clears her nostrils.
"Hey, you okay?"
Shocked wide-eyed, Sakura turns and is met with the sight of a boy leaning down toward her. She immediately pulls back from the kid, startled by his closeness.
"H-Huh?" she stutters out, looking at the rather haggardly dressed kid. He's wearing a white shirt and orange pants, both of which are marred by plentiful splotches of what she assumes to be paint.
But her attention ascends the array of colors that messily dot and line his clothing. Instead, she finds a hesitant smile and whiskered... cheeks. A pair of three thin black slashes that earn a moment of puzzlement before her focus drifts up to blues that stare at her greens. Eyes a shade of cerulean that seem to glow. Almost… warm.
"Here," he says, smiling wider at her and offering… his hand.
Someone is…
Sakura gapes at the gesture, unbelieving.
Tears nearly start to fall again as her hand dares to reach for the boy's. Though they do break from her eyelids when her hand makes contact, his grabbing hold of her paler one and helping her up.
"Thank you," Sakura timidly says to him. She's unable to meet his gaze, however, once more quite aware of her messy state. Particularly the drying boogers.
She can only imagine how ugly she must look. A giant forehead covered in salty wetness and snot.
"No problem!" answers her savior, nearly shouting. She looks up to see him giving her a bright smile to match his jovial tone. He's even giving her a thumbs up.
The smile lessens and he drops his arm. He looks toward the direction the girls ran in, allowing her a quick glance at his cheek. "Boy, watching them run screaming sure was fun, huh?" His question ends on a close-eyed snicker.
"Mhmm" murmurs Sakura in agreement. Her lips pull up as she recalls the moment. Again she giggles, managing a small laugh while following his gaze and replaying how those two meanies ran off covered in orange paint.
When she regards the blond again, though, he's eyeing her intently. Heat creeps right up her cheeks. Her head can't turn down and lower fast enough to hide her radiating face behind pink hair.
She clamps her eyes shut. Her chin scrunches more and more with each second as she waits for the insu–
"You're pretty."
It's whatever comes after the last thing the girl ever expected to hear. Her head jerks right back up to look at him. His smile is back, but nervous. The upward curve falters, and… and he's blushing .
Her mouth opens. Not a sound leaves it, and in a moment, her lips manage to come together again.
No one, save for her parents, ever called her such. Nothing even close to "pretty". One look at her, and she's automatically "the girl with the forehead." Always and, she previously thought, forever.
"P-Pretty?" she whispers in utter, daring disbelief. The heat she feels burning on her cheeks helps so little… though his rising pinkness sort of does.
"Well," begins the boy, raising a hand to scratch behind his head nervously, "yea–"
"THAT'S HIM!" shouts two very familiar, very unwelcome voices that quickly earn their attention.
Those girls are a short distance away, approaching. They're still covered in paint, of which looks to have dried somewhat; but they're not without adults this time. Alongside them are unhappy parents and a couple shinobi.
"Crap," mutters the boy, earning Sakura's eyes. He's grimacing at the group. But his worry bleeds away into a grin that he directs at her. She barely manages a wobbly smile by the time he gives her a small wave, a quick bye leaving his lips before he darts off in the opposite direction as the pointing girls.
Sakura's smile broadens a little. His arms sway overtly, and every rapid step kicks up dirt from his heels. A stuffy chuckle leaves the pinkette.
"Naar-rru-tooo!" calls one of the shinobi giving chase. He's a man with dark skin and brown hair tied up into a spiky pony-tail. His speed makes it hard to make out many other details, but Sakura also isn't paying much attention to him anymore.
Her wide smile lessens into a warm, pleasant one as the boy – Naruto – goes…
A sensation of dull heat blankets her. Yet her hand finds purchase on a specific area of her green shirt. Sakura recalls his vibrant eyes, and how he smiled awkwardly, blushing, even, after calling her pretty, half-forehead or not.
Little Sakura tries to stare longer, but her nose is becoming a real problem, and it's leaking. She sniffs the snot back up, immediately cringing at the feeling that gives.
She almost lifts a hand to wipe at her nose with her sleeve.
A nasal whine leaves the girl. She catches sight of the two girls, though, and takes in their state. The paint on them is now damp. Crusting. Cracking and falling off in areas that have managed to dry enough.
And then the snot starts edging its way out again. Sakura pouts, groaning. The noise is greatly affected by mucus in her throat; however, she's more concerned with her nose at the present, and she narrows her eyes down at it right as snot starts to yet again drool –
Sakura wriggles her nose, reluctant to solve the problem the same way again.
Her hand lifts again. It pauses again. But this time its just a brief pause, and she presses a finger to one side of her nose, blushing terribly. Closing her eyes, she blows, and then quickly repeats the action with the other side.
It feels utterly better at once. She can breathe. She does just that.
Yet Sakura can't help taking another glance at the girls. They're looking at her with disgusted sneers.
They look away from her. Sakura blinks a few times.
She looks away as well, back to her front, and gasps to find someone near her again. This person, however, she immediately recognizes. The color and look of their outfit lays her wariness at ease, though when she sees her father's face, her frown returns.
He's frowning at her. It's a look she hadn't expected, and the depth of his worried displeasure startles her.
His frown lessens a bit. Comfort returns, and he puts a hand on her shoulder.
According to him, it will have to be the first and last time she hangs around the blond kid. She can't resist asking, "Why?"
His smile and chuckle are forced, but he smiles at her, finding it easier to tell her they'll discuss it at home with her mother. As they always do. "As a family."
His daughter's always been so curious. But this is one question he and his wife will not be enjoying.
She keeps her hand from the spot to keep her father happy. Even though the warmth persists the entire way home. It dims, greatly even, but still remains as a lukewarm hope to meet the blond boy again. To talk, play, run around in the forest maybe.
What does he do for fun? She guesses painting might be one of his activities; is orange his favorite color? Does he like plants, animals, or maybe bugs? Even if some are pretty disgusting and scary. Is he interested in the ninja arts...? If so has he heard of the Sannin, particularly Tsunade Senju? Are one or both of his parents perhaps shinobi?
These muses and more are replaced by striking doubt the moment Mebuki's eyes widen at the news from her husband. Sakura's smile crumbles at the ends, lowering into a sort of forced pleasantness as her eyes look to the floor.
Mebuki's lips thin at her daughter's false smile, and she catches Sakura's eyes when she looks back up. Mebuki approaches her daughter. Her resolve cracks when such a small frown finally shows her daughter's sadness, and she feels herself hesitate, however briefly, before those gaps seal, solidify, and her foot plants itself to the floor so she can do what is required.
Sakura seems to ease when Mebuki puts her hands on both of her daughter's shoulders. The change puts a minor smile on Mebuki.
She kneels down in front of Sakura. Her expression turns somber; Sakura stands straight, tilting her head with a frown, waiting for Mother to speak.
"Sakura. It would be best for you to avoid that boy." Sakura's brows draw together as her frown deepens. The lack of understanding is clear as her daughter's desire to ask something; however, there can be no questions on this matter.
Mebuki leans in toward her daughter's confused frown.
She raises her hands to her five-year-old daughter's hair, gently resting them on the temple that seeks so much knowledge, instilling such pride in her. From her first words, ability to read, and especially now.
This brighter shade of jade will not lie blocked by lifeless lids. They're so diligent in their curiosity. To understand. To get clarification – reason.
Happiness blooms in the form of a small smile on her daughter's youthful features, and Mebuki bitterly notes there's an unsure undertone to the joy. Her thumb brushes across her daughter's pale, soft cheek, still so plump, as eyes so wide with trust look at her.
Mebuki's gaze turns stern. Her eyes do not narrow so much as they focus more intently on her daughter's brighter shade of green.
"He does not look like it, but he is very dangerous." Sakura's frowning, and her eyebrows are drawn inward. Disappointment radiates in her eyes. "You should never be near him, young lady."
Her gentle voice holds finality. At which Sakura's eyes drop, but Mebuki needs them. Needs this to be clear more than anything. So she maneuvers a hand to her daughter's chin, gently lifting her head to regain eye contact.
"Promise me, Sakura. Promise me you will stay away from that boy."
Her solid words blockade any question. Her precious blossom blinks; moisture appears in her eyes.
"I promise, Mama."