Menma was rocking on the ball of his feet, in front of the Konohagakure Hospital, a bag hanging from his left hand. Early evening was settling in; people were leaving work, some going home, many entering pubs and bars with coworkers. The sky was still clear and mostly blue, Spring stretching daylight and keeping the sun relatively high above the horizon. The city was a perfect picture of tranquillity and Menma understood the want to protect it. Spreading the peace - along with the necessary ideals to structure it - beyond the walls, however, would be a more permanent solution than to reinforce the battlements.

Three-fifths of his awareness immediately started wondering how such a revolution could even spread and if it could do so peacefully, much to his mild annoyance. He did not fight it, he knew he had to unwind the trains of his thoughts if he wanted to be able to think about something else. His pondering was one that he was familiar with: he often rehashed this particular question, without ever coming close to a definite answer.

Rather, he knew that the change he advocated would rob a small number of very rich and influential people of their privileges and as much as he wanted to trust that humans could do good, he knew full well about their greed. The privileged would want to preserve their status and they would likely resort to violence in order to do so. Could peace be truly established if it was born from conflict and bloodletting? That there were ideas worth dying for was admitted widely but were there ideas worth killing for?

When he felt Sakura exit the hospital, Menma was no closer to a conclusion than usual. A grin easily replaced his thoughtful visage when he saw her. He waved.

"Hey, Sakura-chan!"

"Na-Menma-kun? What are you doing here?"

He raised his left hand and showed the bag; it was full of groceries. "I'm fetching you. And if you feel like it, I'm cooking dinner at your place." He smiled bashfully. "To thank you for the date."

Sakura smirked, though her cheeks took on a rosy tint. "How very thoughtful of you, you make quite the gentleman. Sure, I accept, let's go," she said as she started walking.

"So," began Menma, "how was your day?"

The young woman rolled her eyes. "A lot of whining and people coming for harmless booboos. I swear I spend more time reassuring people that they are fine than actually practising medicine."

"Well, if they just need a word to feel better, maybe the time spent is worth it?"

"I mean," Sakura tapped her temple, "when the issue comes from here, I get it but still, most patients I see come because they have a runny nose."

"And what do you tell them?"

"Nothing! There is nothing to do for a running nose. A bit of saltwater every day and it's gone in a week. But they come expecting a miracle!"

"Well, iryo-jutsu is probably seen as a miracle of sorts."

The young woman shook her head. "It's actually so limited. We merely boost cellular division while taking care that it doesn't degenerate into cancer. Also, ideally, we restore the division strand."

"The division strand?"

"Ah, yeah. Each time a cell divides, it must replicate your entire DNA. On either side of your DNA chain, there is a useless strand of genetic garbage that has no other purpose than to preserve the vital part. Each time there's a division, the strand gets shorter and shorter until the chain starts to get affected and the division isn't possible anymore. That's roughly the mechanism of cellular ageing."

Menma gaped as the concept made its way into his brain, taken apart by two different stretches of consciousness. "So… So you can make people live forever?"

A fraction of his psyche urged him to facepalm at the stupid question but the young man resisted it.

Sakura laughed and shook her head. "We can maintain a youthful appearance and even then it has limits. The reasons we die are much more diverse than simply cellular degenerescence, we can't prevent them all."

"Is that how Baa-chan looks so young?"

"Master Tsunade? Yeah. But shush."

"My lips are sealed. So there is no way to eliminate microbes?"

"That's beyond a human brain. We would have to flood the entire body with our chakra and mould it so that it only destroys the attacking virus or bacteria." She looked thoughtful for a second. "That'd be like hoping to burn the needle in the haystack without burning the haystack. Shizuna-san and I are working on it but honestly, we're stalling."

"That's… that's really incredible, Sakura-chan! Seriously!"

The young woman puffed out her chest. "That's right! Praise me more!" She laughed.

"Say, you work alone, right? Or are you still observing?"

Sakura preened. "Nope! I've got my own office, mister! I'm fully responsible! How is that, not bad, huh?"

Menma smiled at the girl as she strode proudly. He did think it was amazing that a girl as old as he was was a full doctor. The thought made him frown.

"Say, Sakura-chan?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't mean to be rude but how old are we actually?" The young man rubbed his head.

"Oh, sheesh, sorry. Yeah, must be awkward. I'm seventeen and you'll be seventeen in October. The tenth."

Menma smiled. "Thanks, Sakura-chan. It's really incredible that you are working as a doctor so young. Must have been hard."

He was honest: after all, Sakura was more than a kunoichi. She was a doctor. She could earn money doing honest work, do something useful, something that wasn't mercenary in nature. He wished he had some kind of skill that he could use in a similar way. He returned his attention to Sakura. The young woman's features had fallen into a thoughtful frown.

"I was motivated," she said eventually in an even tone. "Very, very motivated. I had a slow start as a kunoichi. Sasuke and you, you kept saving me. Well, mainly you, to be honest. When you..." She choked, cleared her throat with a cough and shook herself. "When you disappeared, I… I understood it was time I kicked my ass in gear."

Menma patted her on the shoulder. "Well, it's kinda morbid but I'm glad I could be a source of motivation. It's better than being nothing. 'Cause then, it means you are forgotten." He frowned, puzzling the problem for a second. "I think."

"I… suppose." Sakura shuddered. "Let's… let's not talk about this. The weather is too good for it. So, what about you? You did anything?"

Menma nodded slowly. "I met with team ten. It was weird." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, his eyes conflicted. "I mean, Choji seems like a good dude but he is… Sluggish. Ino seems a bit overbearing. And Shikamaru… I don't know."

"What's the matter?"

"I don't know. I expected to meet Naruto's friends. They were glad I was alive but it felt… distant. Like, Naruto was their comrade, sure, but not their friend. Except for Shikamaru. His head was clearly upside-down, probably because he was team-leader when..."

Menma gestured at nothing in front of him. "Yeah."

They were distant because they knew he was not the real Naruto. Menma ignored the caustic whisper of his mind.

Sakura hesitated. "He nearly resigned, you know?" She said after a moment of silence. "He felt so, so guilty."

Menma blinked before he hummed. "Really? I see… I guess. Or maybe I don't, not really. Well, they were pretty surprised, all told, so maybe I just saw wrong. Anyway, they didn't know past me well. Or at all, really."

"I think… I think Iruka-sensei would answer this type of question better, to be honest."

"I'm meeting him tomorrow. Say, you have a TV?"

"Yes."

"Some movies to go with it or should we rent one?"

Sakura smiled. It was not slick, not remotely but she found nothing wrong with watching a movie with him. She had enjoyed their date the day before. Menma was tall, looked easy on the eye and had proved to be a great conversationalist. Yes: there was nothing wrong with a movie night, she decided.

"Let's rent something on the way, there's a place next to my apartment."

The way Menma's face lit up at her offer was worth it, Sakura decided. On their way to her home, the pair discussed innocuous things such as the weather, whereas or not Spring was always so mild, what were the prices of real estate in Konoha and why Sakura lived in the part of the city she lived in. They made a quick stop in KaijuuVids, a place she rarely visited and rented "The Kusa Kunai Massacre" and "Slow and Mellow" before they reached her apartment block.

Sakura climbed the facade, as she was used to and Menma followed without trouble. Either he had not forgotten how to do it or he had learned to do it again, she concluded. Stepping on the catwalk in front of her door, she fished for some keys and opened the way to her flat. She smiled; she could see, in the corner of her eyes, Menma vibrating with anticipation.

Sakura's flat was absolutely nothing special. It was a rather spacious studio, with a large living room merged with the kitchen, a single bedroom and a bathroom. Menma loved it immediately. It smelled discreetly but distinctly of the girl and looked well lived in. There was a rather luxurious TV hanging on a wall, in front of a couch and a coffee table. An entire wall of the living room was dedicated to pictures and Menma eyed it with interest while he dropped the bag of groceries on the dining table.

"Well, I'm gonna go take a shower," declared Sakura before she flushed a dark pink. She glared at the young man menacingly. "You've been a gentleman, make sure it stays this way."

Menma blinked, reddened, nodded hurriedly and whirled on his heels to face the kitchen counter. "I'm preparing dinner, take your time!"

Sakura threw a suspicious glance at the boy but seeing as he was already getting whatever ingredients he had gotten, she decided she was safe and disappeared into her bathroom. Soon, Menma could hear the sound of water running. He was tempted for an instant but decided against it. He could not accuse ninja of invading people's privacy and do the same. That would be scummy and hypocritical and he did not wish to be either.

Rather than sully his honour and risk a gruesome death, he prepped the counter, placing a cutting board in front of him and sharpening a knife. Carefully, he kept his thoughts from wandering in inappropriate directions. He looked at the pictures on the wall instead. They were mainly of Sakura. She had been an absolutely adorable little girl, with her wide forehead and her big eyes. In many shots, she was with a blond girl, who had to be Ino. The Yamanaka hadn't changed much. There were two with Tsunade and a brown-haired woman who ought to be Shizune. Two with people who were most certainly Sakura's parents. One had been taken with Kakashi.

In the middle throned team seven in full. Three children, barely in their teenage years, and their teacher, three soldiers and their captain. Sasuke looked like he did not want to be here, Sakura was happy, Kakashi seemed to be anticipating difficulties and Naruto… Menma had to do a double-take at the appearance of his old him. He wondered who had even allowed him to wear the horror he was wearing. Had it been a ploy to get him killed? He understood the colour orange. He loved the colour orange. That jacket, however, was simply a slight against fashion. The young man noticed that his past self looked passably cross at Sasuke.

He felt a cold, sickly touch trail down his back. The pictures were a stark reminder that he had been someone else but they stirred nothing, save a gripping feeling that he was wearing the skin of another. The white, blank expanse of his memories remained unchanged: his hand tightened around the whetstone, almost cracking it. He shook himself, pushing back the sense of alienation.

Menma tested his knife. Satisfied with the edge, he channelled an ounce of his chakra in his muscles and his utensil before he proceeded to chop some vegetables with otherworldly speed and dexterity. Then, he diced chicken meat into perfectly equal stripes which he lay in a bowl where he had mixed a few spices, some sauces and an onion. In a matter of seconds, he prepped the rice cooker. In another bowl, he whipped an egg, some flour, yeast and milk into a perfectly smooth batter. Satisfied, he put everything in the fridge and took a third bowl out of the cupboard.

Expertly, he reduced an avocado into a green paste before stirring some spices in it. Poking a finger in the paste, he licked it and nodded. Opening a sealed cardboard sheet garnished with salted and smoked meat, he peeled the fine slices of pork and folded them in the shape of a flower as he put them on a plate. In a fourth bowl, he poured some crisps. With a proud smile, he carried his appetizers to the coffee table before going back to the kitchen. He retrieved two tall, narrow glasses and mixed coarse sugar and sugar cane alcohol over a few leaves of mint and a lime. He added some ice cubes and a dash of sparkling water to top the glasses.

"Wow, looks nice!" Sakura said from the door, looking curiously at the food already prepared. She wore a pair of baggy shorts, a sleeveless shirt and had a towel still wrapped around her head. "What are we drinking?"

Naruto raised the two glasses and smiled. "This. Got the recipe from a man when I was travelling with Master. He was from an island faaar south."

"What's it called?"

The young man shrugged. "Can't pronounce it right for the life of me. Something like Morito but not quite. Anyway." He offered one of the glasses. "Try it. It's fresh, quenching; perfect after a day of work."

Sakura accepted the offered drink. "Well, thanks for the evening. Cheers!"

The two teens clinked their glass together and drank a sip. Sakura smacked her lips and hummed in appreciation.

"Damn! That's good!" The girl exclaimed with a smile. "Ino is going to love that! How much for you to make one for her next time we all hang out together?"

"For you, I'll make it a free service. You'll have to pay for the ingredients yourself though. They aren't cheap. Anyway." Menma plopped down on the couch, took a crisp and scooped some of the avocado paste with it. "That's how you eat it," he explained, popping the treat in his mouth.

"Interesting." Sakura imitated the boy. "And tasty."

"And the ham is from Water," said Menma, gripping his heart in mock pain. "My treat."

"You're crazy! That's so expensive!"

"What's money for if you don't spend it?"

Sakura blinked. "Well, okay but still… You sure you don't want me to participate?"

Menma waved her concern away. "Please, I'm happy to invite you… in your own house. It's a nice place by the way."

The girl smiled; it was both happy and melancholy, Menma recognized the notes. "Yeah. It was slow going but I finally feel at home when I'm here."

"Yeah, living alone… you have friends and family all around though. You're fine."

It was voiced almost like a question and Sakura picked up on it.

"Yes, of course. It's just, going from my mom cooking for me, doing my laundry and so much other stuff to doing it myself was… well, a cape, I'd say," explained the girl with a small chuckle.

"Going home to no one can't be easy," nodded Menma, his gaze lost in nothing. "Though calling a place home is a nice thing. Sometimes, you just want to land somewhere."

Sakura nodded. "I can imagine."

Both teens lapsed into silent contemplation, occasionally taking a sip of their drink and being careful not to look at one another. It was Menma who broke the quiet first.

"That TV looks like it cost you a pretty penny."

The young woman shook her head. "Actually, no. It was Kakashi-sensei's gift. I don't use it much, honestly."

"Well, I'm glad you have it."

"So that you have an excuse to come here for the evening?" She teased.

Menma nodded slowly, glancing at the girl. "Sure. Let's go with that."

"As long as you cook, I don't mind."

"With pleasure! Oh, I wanted to ask-"

"Nope, no more questions from you! My turn now!" Sakura decided. "I want to know where you've been to and what you've seen."

Menma nodded. "Fair enough… So let's see. Have you ever been to Tea Country?" Seeing Sakura shake her head, the boy smiled. "It's amazing. It's still so green and so much of it is natural! I found it crazy when I saw that Fire Country was so industrialized. Tea Country is a lot wilder. And they cultivate flowers, not only tea. It's absolutely breathtaking during Spring and Summer when the fields are blooming. The hills are like a green sea and streaked by mile-long strips of purple, orange, yellow and so on. See, they are clever guys, the people in Tea Country. They made their fields state properties so they can't be sold to greedy corporations. They exploit them communally and it works rather well!"

Entranced, Sakura listened to Menma as he shared his adventures. From Tea Country to the Land of Hot Waters to Iron Country, the teenage boy had been to places and done things the young woman had only heard about in books. She listened with rapt attention when he described the bikes of Iron Country to her and how it felt to ride one and laughed at his bathing misadventures in the Land of Hot Water. It was only one hour, a second drink gone and an empty bowl of avocado paste later, that Menma decided it was time for dinner. Sakura's stomach agreed. Slightly tipsy, Sakura looked on with fascination as the boy prepared zucchini fritters, sautéed chicken with a side of vegetables and rice. By the time she was invited to sit down in front of a smocking plate, she was almost drooling, the various aromas torturing her nose and palate.

"Well, enjoy your food!" said Menma happily, testing the air with his chopsticks in order to adjust them to his grip.

Sakura would forever deny that she moaned when she took the first mouthful of her food. She was kind of drunk and at home so she was allowed to make weird noises anyway. She was torn between wolfing her plate down and dragging the pleasure as much as possible by enjoying each and every bite. She settled for the second option, her willpower getting one over her protesting stomach.

The pair ate in silence, only broken by appreciative humming and congratulatory exclamations. Menma quickly understood that Sakura would not engage him, too preoccupied by her food. He flushed bashfully as she repeatedly complimented his cooking, explaining quickly that learning had been a necessity on the road, to make the journey tolerable. Basic cooking required only a bit of technique and a lot of daring, that was all. They achieved their dinner with a cinnamon roll each.

"Damn, that was delicious. And I'm full."

"I'm glad you liked it-"

"Liked it? No, I didn't like it! I haven't eaten like that since I left my parents' home, Menma!" Sakura gave him a wide grin. "Really, thanks a lot."

"You're welcome!" Menma beamed, his visage heating up. "Up for "Slow and Mellow" or do we go for the other one?"

Sakura considered the offered choice, her thought process slowed down by the alcohol. "Na, "Slow and Mellow" sounds fine."

"You put it on? I'll do the dishes real quick."

Gathering the plates and bowls, Menma turned to the sink, which he opened in full. Unleashing his chakra in the water, he harmonized it with the energy already present in the fluid and made it swirl strongly, transforming the sink into a miniature washing machine. Meanwhile, Sakura fumbled with her TV and the player, unaware of the display of chakra control going on not ten feet away from her. Before long, the two teens were sitting on the couch and the movie was starting. Menma firmly anchored one stretch of awareness on the TV, refusing for it to go haywire from Sakura being next to him.

The film was a romantic comedy with bikes and that was about what the young man got out of it because, quickly enough, the girl cuddled against him, which entirely shot his capacity for attention. With a wobbly grin on his lips, heat radiating from his neck and no idea what was happening on screen, he simply enjoyed the sheer presence of Sakura, her warmth, the beat of her heart, the pulsing of her chakra and her serene contentment.

"I'm glad you're back, Naruto," she mumbled in a yawn, her eyelids drooping.

The words caused a freezing cold to crash against Menma's entire being. He felt as if he had been brutally yanked down and forced to watch something ugly. His features slowly fell, like wax melting under the heat of a flame. Slight drunkenness and mild fatigue made Sakura even more open to his empathetic perception. Her chakra sang love, yet there was a clear undertone of bitterness. Menma listened to it all but before the various facets of his awareness could decide what it meant, the worm was there, already whispering.

He was not Naruto and the darkest recess of Menma's mind cruelly spat that Sakura knew it. She wished for her old teammate to return, not whatever it was that wore his face. A fraud born from the boy's death, a living void trying to absorb relationships he did not deserve, a shell. He should not have frequented this girl, should not have touched her, should not have yearned for her.

His visage scrunched up in pain, Menma disentangled himself gently from Sakura, feeling like a criminal, and laid her on her couch, spreading a plaid over her sleeping form. She mumbled something that he could not hear: he was already fleeing through the night. His scattered trails of thoughts writhed in filthy depths of self-loathing like a nest of beheaded vipers in a mud pit; the teenage boy ran blindly across the village, his sight blurred by tears.

Dawn saw Menma training in the clearing set apart by Tsunade, fluidly going through powerful forms. His breathing was strained but controlled, his muscles were burning but not tired and his brow was wet with sweat but not drenched. Strangely, the warm blond of his hair had shifted to a dull peroxidized tint; meanwhile, the bright blue of his eyes had turned to a shade of icy aquamarine. Sparks of chakra intermittently escaped his control, so dense and potent they ignited into bright white wisps that danced around him for a second before dissipating.

"You cannot change the past," spat Menma through gritted teeth. "Focus on the present."

He knew that; his master had repeated the maxim to him enough times that it was carved in his brain. Why, then, couldn't he simply get rid of the concerns weighing his mind about Naruto? Naruto was dead. Naruto was gone. Naruto would never be brought back because there was no way to amend what was done. The one left was Menma. Who was Menma?

An abomination, whispered the worm of doubt in the back of his mind, something that should not have been, a being that only existed by accident. Menma scrunched his eyes shut and screamed out loud, his fist spearing through the wooden post in a shower of shards and burning chakra.

Why did he feel like a sailor drifting onboard a ramshackle raft under a starless sky on a dark oily sea? Why did the people he used to know feel like impossibly bright and burning flames that he could not afford to approach? No past, uncertain future and bonds that weighed like chains and veiled the way rather than showing him and tethering him to a sense of identity.

Who was he? What made a man a man? What proved his existence? The thoughts echoed from one string of awareness to the next, over the fields and within the caves of his consciousness. They danced like mocking goblins, rung like cleaved bells, grated against his psyche like broken glass crunches under the sole of a boot.

Menma fell on his backside, a wave of mental exhaustion draining the strength from his limbs, clutching his throat tight and clawing at his eyes. The teen sighed through his choked gullet and sobbed instead. Tears spilt from the corner of his eyes and blurred his sight. Gathering his legs against his chest, Menma hugged himself, wondering why it was so hard to be no one.

Wiping his tears with his sleeve, the teenage boy shook his head to clear his thoughts as he forced himself up. No use focusing on what is outside your grasp would say his master, it makes you broody. Menma certainly agreed to it, generally speaking.

And yet. His hands balled into fists. Was it wrong to harp on things that made you depressed? Was it a weakness to not be able to ignore them? You could not do anything about them so they should not keep you down but what about the gunk polluting your insides that made it difficult to breathe, dimmed every light into a grey glimmer, made every motion feel like you were crawling through mud rather than limpid air?

How could you ignore a plight that made you feel as if you were constantly drowning, seconds away from disappearing down a depth unknown? How could he love Sakura if he constantly felt guilty for Naruto's death?

For a second, Menma felt the bite of envy tear through his being. From everything he understood about his past self, Naruto had been able to do just that: push everything that hurt away in a place where it ceased to matter. There was "happy" in happy-go-lucky, no matter what people said. The fact it was not healthy mattered not to him at the moment.

Resentment followed a second after, making him jittery and Menma silently cursed both Naruto Uzumaki and Sasuke Uchiha for robbing him of his past. If only he had them before him right now, he would have some choice words for both of them. He almost hit the training post again, chakra arcing around him, outside his conscious control. Because of Kakashi's account, however, the teenage boy could not quite reach the heights of anger he wanted to climb.

Sasuke had not been as seemingly impossibly strong as Naruto, unable to push the hurt away. At the same time, Naruto had been unable to see one of the few bonds he had allegedly been able to form unravel into nothing. Those were not excuses for their behaviour, merely explanations for it but, because of the blank expanse of his memories, Menma could not burn the sickly, exhausting poison of self-pity he felt in the cleansing flames of anger.

How could Sasuke even think about killing a teammate, a brother-in-arms, an almost-kin? Did circumstances matter when one committed such a heinous crime? And Naruto, was he admirable for going so far for someone he considered a friend or simply a foolish, self-centred boy with an unhealthy obsession, a skewed vision of reality and an apparent disregard for others when their actions went against his wants?

Menma felt like he was the one left to deal with a fallout of epic proportion despite having nothing to do with the original problem. It was incredibly tiresome, entirely unfair and it brought him back to his original consideration about things he should not - but could not help - harp upon.

"It's difficult, Master," sighed Menma out loud as he combed through his blond hair, undue rage and wishful longing bleeding out of his system like rotten blood from a festering wound.

Swiftly, he straightened his clothes and squashed his last tears under his thumbs. Slowly, he trudged out of the training ground, forcing a spring in his step and a vague smile on his lips. A few minutes of walking through the awakening streets of Konohagakure later, Menma was under the shower, back in the Hokage Mansion. The hot water uncoiled the tension in his muscles, washed the grime of exercise off his body and for a time, sent his worries down the drain.

Clean and somewhat refreshed, Menma passed on a white, long-sleeved shirt with a v-neck over a pair of saffron pants before he busied himself in the kitchen. Forty minutes later, a hearty breakfast was ready and waiting for Tsunade to eat her share, Menma having eaten his fill already. The teenage boy slipped on a pair of geta and departed for the Shinobi Academy, where he was supposed to meet Naruto's old sensei. He was not quite in the mood but it would have been rude to ask for a meeting and not show up.

The way to "ninja school" was much more animated than Menma's early morning walk had been. Konohagakure was fully awake by now and people were milling to and fro, going about a variety of businesses. His senses of sight and smell were constantly titillated by the city, two entire stretches of awareness dedicated to processing the vibrant stimuli and fighting the urge to buy yet another appetizing piece of candy.

The teenage boy noticed the murmur he left in his wake. Contrary to the day before yesterday, where people had paid attention to Sakura and not him, they now did a double-take at his orange pants before eyeing his features in a mix of suspicion, puzzlement and shock. Many looked like they had seen a ghost walk past them and, as Menma was going at a brisk pace, he often disappeared from their view and into the crowd before they could blink, probably reinforcing the sensation.

The strangest thing might have been the fact that, while the people obviously did not recognize Menma, they seemed not to identify him as Naruto either. Their chakra mostly sang a stark note of clear surprise, of the jaw-dropping kind and clean of any other sensation. Menma believed he knew why though he had not wanted to ask for confirmation after yesterday's conversation with Kakashi and Tsunade.

Both - the jounin especially - reeked of enough shame and regret that Menma had not wanted to add anymore. However, while he lacked the confirmation still, he would have had to be blind to not see it. Unfortunately, it seemed to be yet again something that had been withheld from Naruto.

Eventually, he reached the Academy grounds and sat on a bench in the schoolyard. Absent-mindedly, he gazed up, at the five busts of stone carved out of the mountain looming of Konohagakure. He sighed.

"Are you or are you not?" whispered Menma as his eyes fell on the face of the Fourth Hokage, secretly hoping he would never have the answer to the question.

AN: If you want to leave a review, don't hesitate.