Legacy of the Past
This only is denied to God: the power to undo the Past.
—Agathon, from Aristotle, Nicomachean Ethics
Chapter One
There are always things that need to be said that go unsaid. There comes always a point in a person's life where the things they regret most are things they didn't say.
Words are a part of language. Language is the way to communicate thoughts.
It is amazing the weight a thought can bring to bear.
A single fleeting thought can turn the darkest day into the brightest light.
A single fleeting thought can crush a person with despair.
Is it a wonder then, that language holds such power?
Our thoughts are powerful, and words instigate thought in others.
A kind word instills hope in a bleak wind.
A cruel word devastates a soul.
A word.
-Records of the Wise: Musings of the Fools
While there are some perks of being a Jinchuuruki, avoiding hangovers after nights of heavy drinking isn't one of them. So, it's only with much swearing and stumbling that the blonde winces through his morning routine. Not bothering to dress after his shower, Naruto sits on the edge of his bed and drops his head in his hands. His eyes slowly focus on a lonely scroll that had fallen by the bed.
"Research fucking sucks," he growls into the dark room.
Throwing himself onto his back, blue eyes glare half-heartedly at the ceiling. They drift closed as he allows his mind to wander.
The past four, almost five, months had been hell. No one had ever accused the young man of being scholarly, but he had been forced to pursue the written word. Not for the first time did the Uzumaki lament the Gama Sennin's untimely demise. The only reason Naruto was in this position was because of the absence of any other qualified seal-masters.
"Damn the Akatsuki," Naruto was seriously getting sick of the organization.
If it wasn't for the shadowy group, no one would have to dig through boxes and boxes of dusty scrolls that hadn't seen the light-of-day since well before the Hidden Villages. Admittedly, some of the legends recorded were pretty interesting considering every last story could, in some way, be traced back to the Bijuu. On the other hand, Naruto would much rather some one tell him the stories or, better yet, act them out.
He had naturally pursued anything related to the Kyuubi no Kitsune more avidly than the others. This had led to some…interesting stories. Kitsune, he had found, could be counted on for two things: mischief and sex. In any combination, order, or intensity. And some of those authors hadn't been shy…or modest.
Oddly enough, those stories reminded him of someone. He'd started to spend a bit of time at the bars since Jiraiya's death, but more so since being forced to analyze scrolls on a daily basis. A few nights ago he'd met the man—tall, read-headed, masculine—and he'd run into him fairly consistently since. Always late at night, or early to certain perspectives, wether Naruto was drunk or sober. They had the oddest conversations…
"But it's nice," Naruto decided. "To not be treated like I'm stupid, or a monster, or anything like that."
The man, whose name he'd yet to pry out, was warm. Not in a touchy-feely kind of way. If any part of him was touching Naruto it was the man's ridiculous hair. It was more like, he wrapped his presence around Naruto. Like he was alert to the world but, he was focused on Naruto. It was exhilarating to the attention starved young man to have someone so willing to focus so completely on him.
Though if Naruto was completely honest—the kind of honest that one only ever admits to themselves and maybe not even then—he didn't think he'd mind if the red-head was touchy. The taller man was compelling in a way that was almost hypnotic. He was beautiful, in a masculine way. He spoke, and his voice sent shivers down Naruto's spine. He moved and Naruto was helpless to do anything but follow. Which, is why he reminded Naruto so much of the kitsune in the scrolls.
"But I'm not gay," muttered almost desperately. "Not that I have anything against people that are but…I can't be gay."
Because if he was then that opened too many windows and previously closed doors. It let on to new interpretations of past events. It would set certain things in certain lights and would make so much more sens—But no, because Naruto was finally, finally, comfortable in his own skin. He'd started to think he knew himself. Such thoughts had brought him more peace than he would have expected and he was in no way ready to relinquish it.
Clinging to this resolution had become unexpectedly difficult, though. For the man seemed determined to make Naruto think. Think in ways he'd avoided as best he could—which was surprisingly effective—for the majority of his life. Naruto never complained (about the things that mattered) but even he knew his life, and Konoha, were far from perfect. True introspection, honest to the gods soul searching, hurt. And that sort of thinking was the only thing his nameless friend cared about: the tough questions. Maybe Naruto was masochistic afterall because, despite this, he couldn't stay away.