Chapter X

Approaching the Beast

As agreed, I'm going where Naruto is. They explained to me that the system of the entrance gate to the jail uses an electric circuit for opening and closing; "as a precaution," I was told. Unless the teenager has developed skills for lock picking in the meantime, I find the measures somewhat drastic. I am nonetheless impressed by recent technological advances.

A mechanical and loud sound resounds. This is the signal that I can venture into the hallway leading to the cell. As Morpheus's arms endlessly try to bring me back to their realm, I take a deep breath. I'm so anxious that the tremors have reached my hands. I experience discomfort in my narrow chest that compresses my lungs. I am close to him now; only a few steps to take. If Naruto doesn't chase me away with his flames, I'll only have one chance, I know that too well. Every move I make must be carefully calculated once inside. I must also not make any mistake which it will be impossible to repair.

In the silence and the darkness lit by a vulgar bulb offering only a useless subdued light, I enter the lair of the beast.

I am greeted with a stifling heat that hastens to caress my skin. The air is heavy, like a summer day laden with humidity where the storm is on the horizon; breathing becomes a painful task. My sensitive nostrils are immediately overwhelmed by a repulsive and rotten odour which tears me a cough and gastric lifts. In this unspeakable mixture, I detect a nauseous scent of sulphur that drowns the place with its toxic aromas. There's something else to this impossible-to-define concoction. I've never smelled anything like it in my entire life. Other than a stinking wild scent of dirty hair paired with that of spoiled meat, I have no idea what it is and I am choking on the latter.

Unable to go back, I resolve to take a few moments to get used to it … in vain. Without my mask to filter out a lot of the smells, I'd have passed out so much it is intense, especially so suddenly. No one has seen fit to warn me… Yet, they are well aware that my sense of smell is sharp and that I am very sensitive to it, to the point of using only soap and shampoo devoid of any scents…

Without warning, a hiss coming straight from hell rips the silence, making the hairs on my arms and neck stand on end.

This sound, this voice. It's him. It's Naruto.

He lets me know that I'm not welcome.

I expected this, but it breaks my heart.

I shake my head to pull myself together. I refuse to let this strange fear crawl under my skin and this putrid smell stop me.

With a cautious step, I approach while scrutinizing and analyzing my surroundings. A stone wall on my left and the prison on my right. The bed is against the wall to the left, far and opposite to the entrance of the cage. The prison bars have an anomaly within it. Close to the floor, there is a space large enough to slide in a tray of food. Moreover, on the other side, there's a tray on which rests a glass of water and a ramen from Ichiraku; no smoke emerges, indicating that it has been there for a while. I deduce that it's lukewarm, probably cold.

In front of this prison, I am pierced from one side to another by the feral gaze of my student. I squat on all fours and I see them, in absolute darkness under this bed. I see those azure-blue eyes, twinkling like a thousand lights, watching me and staring at me apprehensively. Many cold sweats moisten my back; my pulse quickens and I swallow.

Everything will be decided when I enter his "den." If he allows me in, there's hope. Otherwise…

In any case, I have no right to fail.

To appear harmless to his wary eyes, I make myself very small and move slowly. Gently, I push the door; I suppress a start and I stop when it creaks in an inorganic cry. I study the reaction of my pupil. I don't perceive waves of aggression. This odious noise does nothing to help the situation—on the contrary, it must aggravate it; who was in charge of making this thing?!

After the time of a breath, I risk a foot inside. Naruto begins to hiss… However, these fade away and become buzzing noises that die out for good. Could he recognize me or be curious about me? At least, this me who managed to silence his madness? I cannot tell, although he didn't push me back with his flames.

I regain hope.

Once in the cell, I gently close the door behind me. Too bad for the escape if Naruto decides to attack me; treating my wounds will be much less complicated than putting him back in a cage, while facing an infernal blaze, thus gradually poisoned with carbon monoxide given the narrowness of the place.

As a precaution, I keep a safe distance by going along the wall in front of the bed. This will show him that I'm not trying to desecrate his "territory" more than necessary. I have to convince him that I'm not a threat and that I won't hurt him.

"Naruto? Do you recognize me?" I whisper, sitting cross-legged, my gaze glued to the floor in front of me, so as not to provoke him. "It's me, Kakashi. Do you remember that?"

Surprised, but not surprised, I get no response. I didn't expect him to give me an answer, yet I still hoped for something; an unacknowledged desire that he'd lower his vigilance, that he'd let me crack through his shell while listening to my words. I am stabbed by his gaze as piercing as a hawk, although I detect no violence in it.

No need to say that I'm not the talkative type, especially since my interlocutor has no desire to converse. I hardly know what to say to him. No matter how hard I think, nothing comes to mind… I mean, it's not ideal. He allowed me to enter; I console myself that this is already a good start.

Nostalgia and a touch of melancholy take hold of me. As I immerse myself in my thoughts, fragmented images resurface. I remember this impulsive and clumsy young boy who aspired to become Hokage and who shouted it at whoever wanted to hear it or not. Then, that of this teenager after three years in the company of the late Jiraiya. Seeing him again, I was no longer in front of an immature and childish young brat; I was in front of a young man who has matured and grown, ready to overcome all the obstacles that would stand in his way.

A shinobi holds on and endures; Naruto reflects this very well. During his entire life, he held on and endured, despite adversity, despite hatred, despite loneliness. And now, a heavy ordeal is before him, stands in his way. I will help him either cross this insurmountable wall or crush it to dust; a shinobi rarely fights alone, after all.

"I'm sure the Naruto I know is still here, amnesiac or not. You'll remember who you are one day or another," I say in a soft voice.

The immediate is not his memory. His declining physical condition is my priority, then this bond of trust that I must weave. Dwelling on the past will not make things move forward.

Slowly, I grab the tray and slide it in front of me. If Naruto is suspicious, maybe he will deign to touch it if he sees that it's harmless? Taking the bowl, as suspected, it's cold. I further lose my already absent appetite.

"Naruto, do you remember that we used to eat at Ichiraku's when we came back from a mission or a tough training? I can't believe you forgot your greatest passion for noodles," I express with a smile on my face.

I laugh to myself when I think back to that day forever etched in my memory. This day when my three students had to present themselves in turn. I was so jaded and disenchanted to hear him talk about nothing but noodles, as if they were dictating his whole life.

By judging with the videos I watched, the camera is on my left. I don't like the risk of revealing my face to Naruto at all, let alone if it's recorded. I will have to hide and enjoy this sad meal in discomfort. This habit of veiling myself eternally behind a mask, even during my sleep, is a comfort that I have been unable to depart from since I was very young. An incomprehensible distress assails me when many people try to see my face; it exposes me, and few feel comfortable showing that intimacy.

Me included.

As a precaution, I make sure that there are no other cameras. If only genjutsu worked on electrical devices; I wouldn't have to camouflage myself and look silly. I take the chopsticks and the bowl. I take a first bite of ramen that I suck up without shame. Unfortunately for me, the dish has become a pathetic and pale copy of the original recipe; the cold drove out the taste that made it so unique and exquisite. I barely suppress a grimace of disgust. Nevertheless, knowing Naruto, he should find it good.

"Delicious," I lie, putting on my best smile. "You must be hungry and thirsty after all this time, don't you think, Naruto?"

There is no need to wait for a response. I let the chopsticks soak in the broth and take a sip of water, swallowing loudly. Since I exaggerate my reactions, the unease and embarrassment make the whole thing uncomfortable. By doing so, I hope the blond will desire them in turn. My guess is that he feels neither hunger nor thirst. Unfortunately, this is common during a fairly significant trauma or a forced and prolonged fast; to have glimpsed his sad state, it's plausible. Although he doesn't ask for them, his body needs them.

He's still human after all.

I cannot help but be anxious. His impassiveness coupled with silence worries me and I don't know if my strategy will have the slightest effect on him. If I cannot at least get him to drink, drastic measures will have to be taken; he won't survive another day.

I gently push the tray towards him, so that he understands that this is an offering for him.

My back glued to the wall, I wait.

I wait, I wait and I wait.

Again and again I wait…

In this unbearable wait, time drags on. Anxieties torment me and I start to sweat; at this, the wetness of my forehead moistens my silver locks which stick to my skin. Subconsciously, I clench my fists and wait. This lump in my throat is a prohibition to speak.

'I'm begging you, Naruto. You have to trust me,' I beg inwardly.

I close my eyelid and focus on my breath to stay calm. Again and again, I wait in this silence that snatches hopes hanging only by a thread. I lost all notions of time; I have no idea how long it's been since I set foot inside. I suddenly open my eye when I hear a noise; at that, my heart climbs into my throat. Holding my breath, I look ahead … but nothing happens. I suppress a sigh…

Ready to give up, a movement bewitches me and overwhelms all my attention. Unexpectedly, Naruto's hand comes out of the darkness, then it's followed by the other. My brain is the victim of a short-circuit, convinced that it would face disappointments fed by despair.

Slowly, the teenager comes out of his hiding place.

First observation, his irises are no longer glowing and have regained their oceanic blue brilliance as always; his skin complexion is paler than usual and he's nothing but flesh and bones, literally; his blond locks further camouflage his face hollowed out by hunger and fatigue; his lips are chapped due to his undeniable need to drink; his nails are long, sharp claws, sharper than a kunai since they scratch the stone which offers no resistance; he wears three-quarter length joggers and a simple short-sleeved sweater with a damaged collar, implying that he chewed it, probably caused by stress. And of course, there's that long, thin, ebony-black, bushy-tipped tail that—at first glance—seems as, if not taller than him.

Like a fearful wild beast, Naruto scans his anxious eyes everywhere, but he keeps me in sight. I analyze his gestures and body language. He's nervous and suspicious. His pulse accompanies the pace of his breathless wheezing.

Once out of the underneath of the bed, the blond sits up in a ball, placing his legs in front of him, which he embraces with his arms. His tail, meanwhile, is positioned in front of his body, almost curls around himself. I guess this posture imposes a barrier between us. We observe each other, study each other's behaviour. His toes bending and unfolding betray his anxieties.

"You don't have to be afraid of me, Naruto," I whisper as his eyes dodge mine. "Can you understand me?"

Silent, Naruto returns his icy gaze to me. He reacts to my words, but I cannot tell if he understands me or not. Language is something that cannot be lost, even with total amnesia. Because of this, I doubt that he forgot something as acquired as speech.

Nevertheless, his silence can be explained depending on the traumatic events that led to this result. Just thinking about it… Anger wells up inside me like water boiling and ready to scream into a kettle.

I direct my gaze to the glass and Naruto imitates me. I have his attention where I want it.

"You have to drink, Naruto," I insist in a firm but gentle tone, nodding towards the glass in question. "I guess you must be suffering from headaches, aren't you? You'll be much better if you drink it. This will ease your pain, Naruto. I can promise you that."

He should eat too, but right now, I need to clear up the dangers of the dehydration that's hovering the guillotine over his neck. I don't want him tied up or chained to a hospital bed, drugged with sedatives that will cause further unnecessary trauma. He never took his eyes off me; he saw me swallow the contents. If his brain works like a beast, there is no reason to believe that he's still suspicious of it.

Meanwhile, he stares at me and frowns. He doesn't seem convinced to me.

"Dip at least your lips, Naruto. It will do you good."

His excessively furrowed eyebrows only frown more.

"Mah, if you don't like it, I'll give you something else when I come back," I say, smiling.

Much to my relief, his facial features soften, as his body relaxes … I mean, he's no longer as stiff as concrete. Curiosity possesses his deep blue irises. He stares at the glass more eagerly, tilts his head forward to see what's inside. On all fours, he approaches the tray while keeping me in his field of vision. Only one metre separates us now. Hesitantly, he swallows and brings a trembling hand to the glass. With a quick movement, he grabs it before stepping back to sit back against the bed, curled up in a ball.

Not to scare him, I made sure to be as still as possible by slowing my breathing. This choice seems to have been wise.

Naruto brings it to his lips which he dips in the liquid. Then, he risks a sip of water. The teenager makes a few mouth movements, and his tongue caresses his lips timidly. He takes a sip, then another. He repeats this ritual until the glass is empty.

A colossal weight has just left my shoulders; fatigue persists in resurfacing, like sleep that weighs down my eyelids which, little by little, close against my will. However, what I see next leaves me speechless.

Naruto cracked a sincere smile.

The time of a breath, of a second.

I recognized the boy I know.