Rain poured off the roof of a nearby house and onto the platinum blonde's down-turned head. Walking alone, Naruto left behind the long-since abandoned playground that he and his friends raced about happily only a few hours before. He'd left the park for the well-known, well-sodden footpath that lead to his forsaken apartment. Today was his birthday, October 10, and no one was there to celebrate and commemorate the day of his birth, the same day the Kyuubi attacked the beloved Konoha. The populace only ever seemed to remember the latter of the two, save Shikamaru and Choji. Both the boys had wished Naruto a happy birthday as each took their respective fathers' hand as the rainfall picked up. How ironic, thought Naruto, to wish someone a happy birthday when they had no party or even acknowledgement. What is a birthday when you have no one to make marry with?

Naruto had sat in the twilight for hours waiting to see if anyone would come to take him home and shield him from the pelting downpour, leading him home to his mother who would be cooking miso pork ramen just for him. That man never came. No matter how long Naruto would wait. No one would come looking for him. How long would Naruto have to pretend that being last didn't bother him? Why didn't he have a father to protect him from those judging eyes, a mother to smooth away those whispered words? The flaxen child, now trudging, felt a burning, reluctant tear slide from his face and join the bitter drops as they slid down his numb cheek. Why not? No one was there to watch and criticize, he didn't have to pretend. At school he'd do what was funny to attract attention. At home, it was different; at home he was a machine, mechanically doing what was needed without thought or emotion.

Something grey flashed in his peripherals. Naruto waited for a minute, and then turned half-heartedly to see what in its right mind would be out in a storm such as this one. It was a cat, probably trying to get home, to his family most likely. To be needed, Naruto wanted- no needed- to feel that. He dug in his pockets for his key, pushing past the uncouth landlady who always demanded more money from him than any of the other tenants. As Naruto got to his residence, his fingers closed around the cold, metallic key and unbolted the gnarled door. Walking in, he shut the door behind him with a tried thrust from his foot, and headed for the little kitchen, drooping down into the wreathed chair. And Naruto's carefully arranged façade shattered.

Drops splashed onto the antediluvian table, staining it an awful color. Naruto cried, incessantly sniffing and wiping his dripping nose. He sat like that for hours. No one came. No one bothered. No one noticed.

Outside the paned window, Kakashi sighed and stared silently, pitifully at the small boy he'd been so curious about. Happy Birthday Naruto. The rain washed down the Jonin's face, erasing all evidence of the single, mournful tear that escaped Obito's eye. Damn. He's only 6…