As far as he could remember, he had always been alone. Sometimes Naruto wondered who had taken care of him when he was a baby, who had fed him and changed him. He'd wonder if that person felt anything other than hate for the tiny, defenseless infant he used to be. Sometimes, when the loneliness threatened to overtake him, he'd imagine a pair of tender hands that drew him to a comforting breast. He would close his eyes tightly, searching for a sliver of a memory of warmth, the fond touch of human contact. He would curl up into a tight, protective ball on his lonely bed, arms wrapped around himself, and pretend that someone else was holding him. Lovingly. Tenderly.