Every second is a revelation.

You see the way eyes crinkle with happiness,

You hear the notes to the symphony the breeze is playing,

And the world becomes art before your eyes

Knowledge is a beautiful thing

You gave me some space to adjust to the new lifestyle, some time to learn the finer details of your lives. Somehow, you understood I wouldn't know everything at once- perhaps my parents had told yours that I wasn't as gifted as yourself- and let experience be my teacher.

And I did learn, slowly.

I learnt that you weren't the kings I had previously thought you to be, just lords. I learnt that parents could have names; yours were Fugaku and Mikoto. I learnt that the trees to the west were older than those to the east. I learnt the rooms of your house back to front and upside down and began to stray from my standard rigmarole of the day.

I studied you the most. You were enigmatic, undisclosed, a puzzle for me to solve. I hadn't ever had much patience with puzzles, but yours came easily to me. Little things, like the way you spoke, built up my answer. Unlike others, you didn't assume a different voice depending on who you were speaking to. You spoke to servants with the same respect as nobles, and you spoke to strangers just as lovingly as friends. Sometimes, that confused me. I didn't know quite where I stood in your eyes.

You betrayed very little, and so I knew I could trust you. I slowly learnt to confide in you as the weeks passed, and conversation was no longer an unknown concept to us. I still rarely spoke- I had not yet won the tug-of-war against grief- but words came more naturally. Now, when the servants bid me 'good morning,' I would reply with conviction, perhaps venture a, 'could you bring me the milk?' or a 'is Sasuke up?'

I realised I was sleeping longer, more comfortably, when I had seen the candle burning on the hearth, and had the latter question answered with, 'he's with his tutor' every day of the week.

And that week, I didn't particularly mind. I continued with my normal routine of walking through the gardens until an unfortunate run-in with Itachi.

He was bent over a piece of parchment, seemly engrossed in its contents, but not enough so as not to notice me when I rounded the corner. Your brother looked up, fixed me with his sad eyes and greeted me.

Once someone has spoken, it's rude to not reply- that's what my parents always told me- and so I had no choice but to say hello. But my parents also said it's impolite to leave unless necessary, or the conversation has ended, and I didn't think my unsolicited dislike for your brother made escape absolutely necessary. So I just stood there, shuffling my feet.

The scratch of quill on parchment resonated through the air. Should I bid him good day? Should I enquire what his business was? Could I take my leave? After all, this was no real conversation, not until Itachi looked up again, "Could you come here, Naruto?"

The shock in my eyes and the quake in my legs must've gave away my astonishment, though I tried to walk as if I did not distrust him. Up close, the hollows under his eyes seemed deeper, the look in them even more haunted. It was just the eyes though; his posture spoke of pride and a life without cares. His voice was the same, "Can you give me some advice?" he asked, putting the parchment in my hands.

I looked over it, but the letters refused to cooperate with one another. The spindly calligraphy did nothing to help, and I found myself wordless, "I- I don't know.

"Can you not read?"

I was silent for a moment, "I can, but..."

His eyes were too much. I could read the words in them. They called me stupid, and dumb, and moronic. They were patronising, insulting, judgemental.

Your brother could solve his own problems.

I walked back inside, straight past the dining room, left of the hall, and into the drawing room. You were there, with a man I didn't recognise. His hair had aged quicker than his flesh; white against the smooth porcelain skin. An eyepatch protected the one eye, the other was dull. There was nothing else to that face, since the collar of his jerkin obscured his nose and jaw. He was utterly unreadable.

I would soon learn that his name was Kakashi, that he was almost definitely the most intelligent man in Konoha, that the eyepatch was just a fluke. I would learn from him too; of sin, cos, and tan, of glaciers and deserts, of poetry and prose.

But then, I only knew one thing about him and it was that he was capable of one thing.

"Teach me."