It had been four years and Naruto was stuck. He felt blind and hungry, but his calling had finally made itself clear. He painted, to put it simply, beautiful works that conveyed every tangible emotion that he had ever felt. People liked them, they had bought them, eaten him dry and asked for more, and now he was smothered. There was nothing left in him that he could paint, let alone sell any attempt he had made recently putting brush to canvas. Most of his works were a flurry of red, orange and yellow, and the last one he had sold had gone for the most. Someone had bought the painting for 500 dollars, and they had hailed him as one of the best artists...no, creators...he had seen in a long time. The creature depicted was a large, manic fox. It had large, black lips wet with thick saliva, dripping from yellow, hungry fangs that were parted to reveal a slick, fearsome tongue. The body of the fox seemed to be doused in a harsh, crackling flame, suffocating it and swallowing it whole. It seemed as though the fox was reveling in it's own masochistic murder, bits of skin hanging from each strong, muscular limb as they were burned off by the surprisingly life-like fire, blood cascading from each new wound that it had made for itself. Each paw was lined with fearsome, black talons, and the eyes were yellow and blood shot, straining hard as if to jump directly from the sockets and cascade, dead, to the floor. He had titled the painting Kyuubi no Youko, which, in english, translated to Nine-Tailed Demon Fox.

Since the episode that had given birth to that painting, Uzumaki Naruto found that he had nothing left. Nothing that he could sell, anyway. There was a small stack of personal paintings that he kept locked in the closet in his small apartment. These paintings were blue, cool, and shallow, occasionally sprinkled with a calm red or a tunnel-like black. Naruto hated looking at them, but couldn't bare to give them away. His soul was attached to these paintings, as well as the certain person pictured in them.

He was now 22 years old, still young, but steadily climbing the ladder to old age, which made him even more depressed and, to be frank, lonely. He had taken to going out to the local bar most nights and destroying himself there, drinking until he vomited and then fell asleep. Hangovers were so common for him he rarely ever awoke in the morning (or 2 o'clock in the afternoon, as mornings went for him), without a rather prominent headache. On Kyuubi days Naruto had no choice but to split his own skin and stare quietly at the blood that pooled there. Kyuubi days had become much more frequent since Gaara had left him after an awkward sexual confrontation that Naruto never wanted to repeat. Feeling desperate and alone, Naruto crawled into his usual stool at the bar and settled in for a night of drinking, fights, and cigarettes. Already high, and mildly drunk off of the heavy fumes, the blonde asked for his usual.

"Okay, Fox-face."

Naruto grinned cheekily at the affectionate pet-name. Through any troubled time the young man seemed to be able to scrape a smile from someplace deep within his charred heart.

"Oh, Fox-Face. There was someone here about an hour ago. Tall, dark-looking feller, he asked for someone that fit your description. Especially those little whiskers you got there, he mentioned those."

Naruto lifted his head, swallowing heavily.

"I don't know what you're talking about. They probably meant someone else. I don't get why anyone would come looking for me." Naruto's smile had faded and he downed the strange concoction in front of him without remorse.

"You sure? He described you pretty well. Blonde hair. Scars on his face, blue eyes, likes to wear, I think he said, 'the ugliest shades of orange'."

Naruto grunted in response but didn't reply. He simply asked for another drink and immersed himself in it, choking down every vile bit until his throat burned, all the while thinking about Sasuke, about what he'd done to him. If he could see him now? That teme would laugh and spit in his face.

He drank until his vision blurred and he was drowning in his own dreams.