Breakdowns and Bento Boxes
The first time he met her, he was five and he'd just decided to run away from home. Not that he really meant it or consciously made the decision, but living in that house with the constant reminders of his father everywhere he looked or roaming the compound to have those expectant, pitying eyes watching him through the walls for the slightest hint of weakness or error, it was more than any child could take, genius or not.
He wasn't quite sure how he'd ended up at the park or why he'd stopped there when the noise and undisciplined energy of the other children repulsed him, but maybe that was the point. It was foreign, with nothing to remind him of the father he'd lost, the only person in his life to really care about him. That didn't mean he wanted to join them, however, and indeed he wasn't sure how to even if he had, so he withdrew himself to a quiet corner to watch the other children play, apathetic and aching in a way that felt hollow.
This was… normal, right? How these children acted, so loose and carefree and… easily familiar with each other? What was it like, to not have to maintain decorum every waking moment for fear of reprisals or smug contempt? What was it like to not know and not have to care about your standing with those around you? He watched in fascination as a pair of children became friends, then enemies, and then fierce rivals within the course of an hour, and then laugh about it not ten minutes later as they wrested on the ground. What was it like to just… feel? To not have to think and just be?
It hurt. The only one he could be that free around, the only person who'd just been what he was supposed to be and loved him the way he should without pride or politics coming in the way, he was gone. Dead to fuel the thoughtlessly selfish beast that was the clan. He was alone in that… prison.
And then he was crying, the first time he'd let himself since his father died. He was crying and it wasn't dignified, it wasn't noble, it was disgusting and messy and entirely un-Hyuga-like and in a moment of anger he was viciously happy about that. He sobbed until his chest was sore from the force of it and the skin beneath his eyes was rubbed raw from repeated attempts to pull the agony back inside and shelve it before he made a scene. His hands were shaking or maybe his whole body was shaking but he couldn't decide which because he was too tightly curled around the pain in his chest to figure out which it was.
He was falling to pieces and he couldn't figure out how to stop it, when all of a sudden he felt a hand on his shoulder and he was instinctively lurching away from the intruder only to end up losing his balance and end up sprawled on his back, staring incomprehensively at the girl that put him there.
"You don't like the quiet, do you?" she asked bluntly, expecting no answer, and he jumped, surprised at having been seen through so easily. It was… true, actually. He hadn't realized just how much he hated the stale silence of the compound until he came here, where there was none. With a soft expression on her face that made him feel… strange, she hopped down gracefully to sit next him, propping her back against the tree he was leaning on, facing slightly away from him and tipping her head back to observe the canopy thoughtfully. "I know what it's like. I've lost everything before. Twice, actually, and I remember… you hate to be around people so much, you push them away, but at the same time you need them because somehow it's even worse being alone. I bet it's even more horrible for you, with how it happened."
He relaxed slightly at the sound of her voice, so frank and upfront about her emotions, an ache similar to his blatant there, but with an edge of distance and acceptance he so desperately craved right then. There was a contemplative pause then, as she watched the shifting patterns of the leaves overhead, and then she continued on. "How about I tell you a story, to pass the time?" she suggested, an unspoken offer to distract him from his thoughts. He nodded tentatively, and she continued on in a soothingly rhythmic tone.
"Once there were two boys, just as different as night and day yet so similar at the same time. Two different people in bizarrely similar circumstances that both took completely different paths. One was a boy who was hated by all, alone his entire life and mistreated because of something that wasn't his fault. He didn't know it, but he had a monster trapped inside him that the villagers feared because they'd lost so many friends and family when it got loose once, and there was nowhere for it to go but him. There was no danger, for the beast was completely bound, but none of the villagers could see the truth through their fear and the boy suffered for it. The other lived under a shadow of a brother he couldn't hope to match, that no one could hope to match but that he was expected to anyway. If he had been anyone else, perhaps he would've hated his brother, but his brother was kind and gentle and so very loving of him that it was impossible to, no matter how it hurt. One day the brother is forced to make a decision to protect him, to do something terrible to save him, and ended up hurting him so deeply the wounds would never fully heal. He lost his whole family in a night of blood and betrayal.
So different, you would think. One reviled by the villagers, unfairly maligned and sabotaged at every turn, and the other the beloved genius that could do no wrong, the last heir to his family's great power. But even though the ways they were treated were polar opposites the results were the same, a miserable loneliness and scars that no one else could even see, let alone touch. Both had the choice to either let the darkness eat at them or turn to the light and fight for their own path, to give into hatred or find happiness in what they had. It was ironic, for the boy that was hated shone like the sun with a smile that drew others to him, finding strength in those few that he'd fought tooth and nail to get to find, while the lauded prodigy who was given every concession and supported at every turn oozed darkness, a twisted person bent on revenge, allowing himself to steep in his anger until that was all that was left. He betrayed the village as his brother had betrayed him but for far less noble reasons, caring not for those he left behind that mourned the loss. The boy they called monster became the greatest hero they'd ever known, their savior, while the boy they idolized and put on a pedestal grew to become one of the most despicable villains."
She turned to him then, an emotion in her eyes he couldn't identify somehow catching and keeping his attention. "You should consider what that means."
His head bobbed once, twice, fighting off sleep and the deep-set peace that settled over him at the sound of her voice. With a small smile, she helped him to his feet and made as if to turn away when Neji finally found his tongue. "Th-thank you." he stammered tiredly, abused throat making the words crack awkwardly.
She glanced back over her shoulder, eyes bright with some unidentifiable light and a half-smile that seemed more impishly mischievous than he'd expected from her, and said "I'm always ready to listen, Neji, and even just be there if you need me to."
Without another word she walked away, leaving him to wonder when, exactly, he'd told her his name.
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The first bento arrives when he's four and needs it the most. He'd been living on his own for two weeks at the time, and he'd thought it'd be better than in the orphanage where the matron kept forgetting to call him for meals and always served him last so he didn’t get as much as the other kids when he made it to the table in time. But even though he can get his own food now, the shopkeepers at all the food stands always shoo him away or sell him the old stuff that makes his tummy hurt after he eats it so he throws it back up. After two weeks of barely anything he's at his lowest point, and all he can do is curl up on his bed and try to ignore how much his stomach hurts. He's all alone and crying, cold eyes and whispered insults and heavy fists falling playing over and over again in his mind. He wonders if it's always going to be like this and the thought makes him feel hot and angry in way he really doesn't like because it has nowhere to go.
Then there's a loud sound that cuts through the heavy silence and he jumps, not expecting it. Curious, he heads over to the window where the sound came from, stepping quietly and grabbing a large, heavy stick on the way because the last time someone came to his apartment they beat him up, and even though the old man told him it was safe now because he painted more swirly lines on his wall, he doesn't trust it. When he finally gets to the window he sags against the sill, so exhausted that he came close to blacking out twice on the way there. When the dizziness and the black spots go away he looks out the window and is dumbfounded to see a box in the empty flowerbox the previous tenant had left behind when she moved out. For a moment all he can do is stare and wonder if maybe it's a bomb and someone's trying to kill him, but he knows the creepy white-mask guys are watching and if they didn't interfere then it means it's safe. So he slowly opens the window, half-expecting someone to jump out, and grabs the box as fast as he can, slamming it shut.
The first thing he registers is that it's warm, almost hot on his fingers, and he wonders why a box would be warm. Sitting at the table, he cracks the lid open a little and is startled by a waft of steam coming out and a really nice smell that makes his tummy growl really loud. Inside there's food that looks so perfect it makes him think of the pictures on the posters they hang around restaurants. In seconds he's shoveling it into his mouth as fast as he can, barely pausing to breathe, and it's the most delicious thing he's ever tasted before in his life, ever. Even the icky vegetables aren't that bad when they're smothered in butter and spices to take the grassy taste away.
When he's done he realizes that he's crying again but this time it's not because he's sad but that he's so happy and relieved that he doesn't know how else to express it. He's never felt like this before, all warm and sleepy, and he takes a second to wonder if maybe it was poisoned but the instant he thinks it he dismisses it, because even if it was and he died he would've died happy and that food would've been worth it. With a full stomach for the first time in his life, he stumbled to bed and fell asleep instantly the moment his head hit the pillow, a huge smile on his face.
The next morning he wakes up well-rested and feeling better than he has in his entire life. It surprises him, and he wonders why for a moment before the memory of last night pops into his head and he bolts upright, hopping out of bed and bounding over to the table with the box on it. Now that he 's taking the time to look, he sees that it isn't just any old box but one that's made from metal with blue flower designs all over it and a piece of paper taped to the lid that he'd somehow missed. There are some words on the paper but he can't read well enough to figure out what it says. He does notice, though, that the letters are neat and easy to make out, unlike the kids in his class, so he figures the person who wrote it is probably an adult.
He thinks about who left might've the box there, and if maybe it was a mistake because he can't think of anybody who'd be this nice to him 'sides maybe the old man, but he's too busy to help him. Maybe it was a mistake, and the person who was supposed to get the box is going to be mad at him? But… a part of him hopes that maybe they'd make the mistake again a few times before they figure out they got it wrong, because he really wants more of that delicious food. He didn't know food could taste that good!
But what to do with the box? It felt wrong to keep it, but if he just put it back in the flowerbox and the person took a while to come get it then it might get smelly and gross like the take-out containers do if he forgets to throw them away for a while. Hmmm… he should wash it before he puts it back!
So he does, and when he's done he looks at the clock and he realizes he's late for civilian school, and he's dashing off at full speed and notices that it isn't as hard as it normally is. That day was the best one he's had in a while, not because anything good happened or because people weren't as mean to him as they usually were, but because he felt good. It was easier to concentrate on what the teacher was saying and easier to do the exercises during gym and he didn't nod off last period like he usually did, so he didn't get detention! He had a lot more energy than usual and it was hard to keep from bouncing all over the place.
By the time he comes down from his high he's back at his apartment and comfortably tired, his body relaxed and buzzing like it does after a good workout. He actually forgot about the boxed food- bento, he learned it was called today- until he happens to look out the window and sees a paper stuck to the glass. Then he remembers and bounds over to his window, opening it and leaning out to pull it off, and in the process his back bumps against something hard that runs out to be another bento, this one with a bamboo design and a baby panda on the side. There's another note on it, and when he lines the two of them up side by side he notices that they have the same word on the bottom, a spirally letter he remembers the old man showing him when he was teaching him how to write his name.
Somebody made this for him he realizes, stunned. There's a prickly feeling in his eyes like he wants to cry but he settles for clutching the box to his chest and feeling the warmth of the food through the metal, and when he eats it it's just as good as the food from yesterday even if it is a little jumbled from being tipped sideways.
Next week when he goes to see the Hokage for his usual monthly visit, he brings all the notes he's saved from the bento that continued to appear at his window sill. They don't all have notes attached and are never dropped off at the same time every day- sometimes they even come so late at night he only finds them in the morning when they're cold- but there's one every day and they're always big enough to last him the whole day. He's kind of nervous though, because what if it really is a mistake after all? What if the old man reads the note and figures out who it is that leaves the bento and makes them stop? Or, what if he thinks the person is a bad guy trying to trick him and he arrests them? He's really curious though, so he picks only one of the notes- the first one- and asks him what it says, without saying where it was he got it.
"Not everyone hates you, Naruto." is what the first one says, and the Hokage just smiles at him when he bursts into tears again, and doesn't ask. Instead he just reads the rest of the pile of encouragements the nice person wrote to him and promises not to tell anybody when Naruto asks him not to, because he's afraid if someone else finds out about it they'd scare the person away.
A month after that he comes home to find his flowerbox full of bright, nice-smelling flowers and plants and a book tied to the usual bento made for little kids learning to read. He falls asleep working on it that night, clutching desperately at it as he falls asleep, the first present anyone's ever given him. For two weeks after that he's never without it, carrying it with him everywhere like he's afraid somebody'll take it from him and by the end of it, it's covered in nicks and dings and stains, and he's ready to try to write a note back to the nice person. It's hard and messy and maybe doesn't make much sense, but he crosses his fingers and tapes it to the latest bento box after he's done with it. It says: "hi. who you are? why nice me? -Naruto".
The next day there's another book on reading, writing, and grammar tied to the sky-blue bento box with sparrows etched into the lid, and a note that says, "Just a friend that's good at seeing underneath the underneath."
He thinks about that. Isn't that some kind of ninja saying? He's pretty sure he heard it a few times when he went to visit the old man. The person must be a ninja then. That's so cool! He wants to be a ninja some day too, he's even been thinking about being Hokage, and wouldn't that be awesome? Maybe the nice person can help him? Excited at the prospect, he immediately starts in on the new book so he can learn enough to ask the questions he wants to ask. Seven hours later the sun's going down and Naruto's rubbing at his eyes, more as a result of eyestrain than sleepiness, but he's also smiling as he carefully tapes a note to the squeaky clean bento box. "Thank you! How is food so good? You ninja? Teach me!- Naruto".
He has trouble sitting through school the next morning and he doesn't really get it anyway, despite how much the nice person's books helped him with understanding the words on the board, so he decides to just skip it and stake out his apartment, only to find the nice person had already been there. This time the box is a soft pink- he cringes from the girly color- with weird-looking ducks on it, and what turned out to be a well-used cookbook leaning against the window pane. The note says, "You learn fast, keep up the good work! I guess you could say I'm a ninja, but I think I'm going to wait 'til you're in the Academy before I start helping you out. Until then, work on the basics!" He stares at it and wonders why there are tears in his eyes when he's so happy. Nobody's ever complimented him before, ever! He always does everything wrong and even when he doesn't they just sneer at him and don't say anything. Reverently he picks up the note and tapes it to his wall, right next to his bed so he sees it first thing every morning.
That night he studies the cookbook just as much as the spelling books, looking at the delicious-looking pictures in wonder. It's like a whole new complicated world with lots of difficult steps, words he doesn't know, and a bunch of numbers and math he can't do yet, but he's determined to learn so he can cook something delicious for the nice person some day, to try to say thanks even though it's not nearly enough. For now, though, he doesn't know the words or numbers and he doesn't have the ingredients to try it so he leaves off on reading it and goes back to his spelling books to help him write up a response.
Two months pass, during which the monthly visits to the Hokage become weekly and even bi-weekly sometimes because no matter how good the pictures are you can't learn to read and write just from a book, so the old man helps him out when he can. He's working on math, too, because even though it's super hard and boring he's set on his goal of learning to cook so he can make a return bento for the nice lady- lady, he decides, because some of the bento are pink and distinctly feminine. Eventually the sender judges him literate enough to attempt cooking and leaves a bag of groceries at his doorstep along with some simple recipes that require no heat source beyond the microwave, because, as she wrote, "I'm not going to chance you blowing up your apartment or setting yourself on fire!" It's just as well she does because his first attempt explodes, making a huge mess in the microwave, and he's frustrated but he's also determined because if Naruto's anything he's persistent.
It still gets pretty lonely, though, when the only person you can talk to is an old man you rarely see and a mysterious pen pal you know nothing about. The nice lady seemed to sense that and tried to cheer him up with her letters but it doesn't help, not really, because the apartment's still too big and quiet when he gets home. Then one rainy day he comes home to find his apartment even more of a mess than it normally is and traces the whimpers he hears to a small, fluffy black puppy, with a collar around his neck that declares him to be Kuroshi and a note that tells Naruto that he's the runt of an Inuzuka pack that required more care and constant attention than they could afford to give him and wasn't really the right build for an Inuzuka battle dog partner. The nice lady worked out a deal with them because she thought Naruto could use the company.
Amazed, Naruto holds out his hand for the wary puppy to sniff. It seems cautious at first and it takes a few minutes before Naruto can persuade him to come closer, but when he does Kuro warms up to him almost immediately and plows him over, licking at his face. Then Naruto is laughing and laughing as the puppy jumps all over him. He's small, that's for sure, and even though he's lively he has to take breaks frequently and nap all the time, but Naruto loves him so much it hurts, and once again he's crying tears of happiness. He's never cried as much as he has since the nice lady came into his life, but it doesn't feel wimpy and pathetic like normal crying so he figures it's okay to cry when you're happy.
He gets detention a lot, at first, the first few weeks he insists on bringing Kuro to class. If he stuffs him in the front of his jacket and leaves part of the zipper down Kuro's happy enough being able to see what's going on and sniff at all the new scents that he's quiet, but the teachers are just looking for an excuse to punish him and Naruto does have to take him out sometimes to go potty, so he ends up getting in trouble a lot for bringing Kuro with him until the old man writes him a note giving him permission. Kuro's his best friend ever, and with the help of the dog training scrolls the nice lady gave him he's started teaching Kuro to be a ninken, developing a system of signals they can use to communicate with each other. Kuro, he finds, has an amazing sense of smell and hearing that's almost as good, though it means that he has to keep his apartment clean 'cause otherwise Kuro whines at him and the nice lady scolds him in her notes. And it's… nice, too. Not only because the apartment smells nicer, but because it doesn’t feel so lonely anymore. Kuro's just as lively as he is when he isn't stuffed down Naruto's shirt so it's never completely silent at his apartment and he goes to bed with Kuro sleeping next to him, warm and fluffy and there. A friend, even if he doesn't know how to talk to him yet.
By his fifth birthday the nice lady is deeply entrenched in his life. She'd been cooking for him and leaving him presents for close to a year, and though he's grown used to her presence he will never take her for granted. He owes her so much now he knows he'll never be able to repay her. He guesses he should've expected it, but when his birthday rolls around and he locks himself in his apartment to weather the swarms of angry villagers that come around to take their anger out on him, he's shocked when an Anbu wearing a cat mask knocks at his window carrying packages wrapped in brightly colored paper and a note with very familiar writing taped to one of them. Inside there's taijutsu scrolls, handwritten, illustrated, and incredibly detailed, telling him how to set up tape marks on his wall so he's hitting the right spot on a target and showing every position from every angle. That's not all, though, because then Neko leaves and comes back with a whole mess of plants. A bright orange flower that he recognizes as a tiger-lily from one of the books on plants she gave him earlier that year, it brightens up his kitchen table. A small but healthy-looking spider plant Neko hung in sight of the window was far enough away that no one would knock it down going in and out as ninja do. A cactus the size of his hand with a large white bud on a thick, sturdy stem branching out from it sits happily on his kitchen windowsill. Neko takes out another scroll from his satchel and plops it in his hand, a training scroll the nice lady must've bought somewhere because it's the only scroll not in her handwriting.
'Why does she do this for me?' he thought, bewildered and confused but with a small warm spot in his chest that feels like warm sunshine and bubbly laughter, and with a jolt he realizes it's happiness. She wrote the taijutsu scrolls out herself, for kami's sake! Illustrated it herself, and it must've taken her hours or days, with that incredible level of detail and accuracy! Why would she do all this for him?
Needless to say he spends his birthday pouring over the scrolls and trying out the stances after eating her bento. He falls asleep, pleasantly exhausted, thinking about the person who cares about what happens to him, who cares that he's hungry or lonely or that he doesn't know how to read. The person who buys him birthday presents and spends an enormous amount of effort helping him with his training, and never even tells him her name so he can thank her. He falls asleep with a smile on his face and Kuro curled up into his side, wondering if this is what it feels like to have a mother.