People would point and laugh behind their hands. Sometimes, they'd laugh openly, cruelly, making sure he heard. What kind of shinobi wears orange, they'd ask with a smirk. What do you expect from the village idiot, others would reply.
Naruto always pretended he didn't hear anything. But sometimes, when the not-so-subtle insults and the laughter would sneak past his protective cloak of conscious obliviousness, he'd fight back with a big "fuck you, too" disguised as a white-toothed grin. He'd throw back his shoulders, and strut down the middle of the street as though he owned it; a king clad not in royal purple, but in orange brighter than fire.