He opens his eyes to the sound of the orphanage matron's voice and it takes him a couple of seconds to remember where he is. The room is too large, too empty, too foreign and for a second, it's too much. He can't breathe.

It feels like the walls are closing in on him, like they're collapsing in on themselves, folding like wet paper, and he stares at the white, white, white until his eyes begin to water. He doesn't close them though, not even when they start to hurt, because if he closes them and opens them again only to find the same walls, the same white, he'll have to admit it.

He's still caught in the dream.

It's been six years already.

In the end, the stinging in his eyes wins out. He shuts his eyes, and he can breathe again. He isn't quite sure if that's a good thing though, especially not when the scent of trees, of grass, of green that shouldn't be so easy to smell in the city, is melded into the scent of rain in the air that he breathes in and out. But then again, the village isn't a city and the smell of green is only natural to the civilians, to the shinobi, and to little Murakami Takahiro who was born and raised in Konoha for as long as anyone can remember.

… Except that's not true. He remembers waking up after that terrifying night, caught under the rubble of what might have once been a house. He remembers being found by what he now supposes are shinobi and he remembers being held carefully by a man in a tight sleeveless black shirt with a mask over his face. He remembers being sent to the orphanage, lying in a crib with dozens of other children wailing around him, only for the number to lessen when their surviving families came looking for them, until there were only thirty or so left. Still too much, but it was better than the dozens there had been.

But he also remembers what came before - before he woke up to find bricks and wood and ash and blood. He remembers walking home after school with his sister, teasing and laughing, sometimes apologizing when he's gone too far and she ends up in tears. He remembers graduating from high school and moving to the city, away from all that he knows and being both scared but excited because he's young and wants more. He remembers feeling suffocated, surrounded by buildings that were too tall and too grey, covering the sky and looming over him. He remembers climbing up the stairs to the top of the building, panting and sweating, and feeling so very free when he looks around and sees the cars and people and trees, barely a speck on the ground so far below.

He remembers a life he once had and how he woke up to find he had lost everything to a dream.

The smell of trees, of grass, of fresh air, of the country is something both soothing and foreign, and he hates the dissonance. Sometimes, when he works on his homework at the quiet dango shop an hour or so away from the academy, he thinks it's his life from before that's a dream - a long, long dream dreamt up in childish fantasy by someone too old for his body. But then there are times when he's convinced it's this life that's the dream, and he can barely work up the energy to pull himself out of bed because what's the point when nothing is real?

Sometimes he wonders whether everything will stop if he stops too, and he stares down at the Naka River rushing below his feet, white foam rising from the black and blue and grey. But there's always the 'what if?' and he's never brave enough to take that one step forward.

He doesn't live but he's too scared to die and he doesn't know what to do.

"Takahiro-kun, we need to go to school."

His roommate shakes his shoulders and- is it already that late? He knows he should get out of bed - and he means to, he really does - but after what feels like seconds, he hears nothing but silence and realizes his roommate has already left.

It's eight-twenty and class starts in ten minutes.

Is there really a point in going when he'll be late anyway?

Takahiro stares at the clock, the hands moving too slowly, too quickly, until finally, he pulls himself up. Everything aches with the smallest movements and it takes him ages to pull on clothing that might not be respectable enough, but he can't bring himself to care.

It's almost nine when he finally makes his way out the door.

The matron glances at him once before looking away to tuck in one of the younger children's shirt. Takahiro's socks don't match and there's a smudge on his sleeve from who-knows-when but the matron doesn't offer to help, and Takahiro doesn't ask. They both know Takahiro's a lost cause and neither one of them is willing to do anything about it.

The forty-minute walk to the academy takes over an hour. It feels like less than a quarter of that time, though, and it's far too soon when he finally walks into the classroom to find the instructor giving a lecture on something or other.

"You're late, Takahiro-kun."

Katsumi-sensei looks disappointed and Takahiro keeps his eyes fixed on that spot on the wall where it looks like someone tried to paint over a splotch but accidentally used the wrong colour. He doesn't know why he can't look at Katsumi-sensei. He doesn't have trouble with staring at any of the matrons until they look away first, but he can't stand looking at Katsumi-sensei with his pale blond hair and pink eyes that are unnatural, wrong, shouldn't exist-

"I'm sorry."

Katsumi-sensei doesn't say anything more but Takahiro can hear him sigh. He makes his way past the snickering children, who whisper and stare, until he finds an empty seat somewhere near the back of the class.

Sometimes it feels like he's trapped in a cage, put on exhibition for the other children's entertainment. Far too often it feels like the other way around. He's watching everything happen from behind a thick wall of glass - words are muffled so they're nothing more than white noise, and it always comes as a surprise when a hand wraps around his wrist, a shoulder bumps against his, fingers brush against the back of his hand.

They're grounding, those touches - but in a way that drags him under the surface, making him sink all the way to the bottom of the river.

Sometimes it feels like he can't breathe.

He reaches into his bag only to find he has forgotten to bring his books. There isn't anything to distract him as he stares down at his hands, too small, too pale, too young, until he feels sick and hides them under the desk where he won't have to see.

He stays that way until the day ends and he's the only one left in the classroom.

"Takahiro-kun, a moment please."

Takahiro blinks - he doesn't remember seeing Katsumi-sensei walk up to him, but then again, he barely remembers anything these days - and focuses on the man standing in front of him.

"Can I help you."

It comes out less curious and more exhausted, which basically sums up how he feels about the situation.

Katsumi-sensei gives a small frown that tugs at his eyebrows and- he has a small scar just above his left eye. Has it always been there?

"You were late today."

Takahiro doesn't bother to answer. He knows he was late. He's always late.

"Later than usual."

Was he?

"Is there something wrong?"

Katsumi-sensei's left hand twitches just the slightest bit and that's how Takahiro knows this is what he really wants to ask.

He doesn't answer, though, and just stares up at the man with callouses on his hands from training with weapons meant to kill and torture and maim. Nothing is wrong, not in the sense Katsumi-sensei wants to know, but at the same time, everything is in every sense that matters.

Nothing's wrong, he wants to say. Everything's wrong, he wants to scream.

"Takahiro-kun?" Katsumi-sensei asks again, and his tongue grows heavy and thick in his mouth.

"I'm fine."

The words come out too slow, too slurred, too flat, and he knows Katsumi-sensei will never believe him. He doesn't need to be believed though, and Takahiro watches as Katsumi-sensei's lips tighten into a thin line.

"If anything's wrong, anything at all, I'm here to help. You know that, don't you?"

Does he? Does he know for sure that, when he closes his eyes, he won't open them again to find himself in a foreign land surrounded by strangers?

No. He doesn't. But he doesn't say any of that aloud because he's a coward and he's too scared of what that might mean.

Katsumi-sensei takes his silence as an answer he never gave but knew, and Takahiro watches as his shoulders slump.

Amateur, he thinks. Shinobi aren't supposed to show their emotions like that, especially not in front of eight-year-olds who shouldn't be able to tell tired apart from disappointed.

"Okay. Okay," Katsumi-sensei rubs a hand over his face and shoos Takahiro away, "You can go now. At least try to arrive before nine tomorrow, alright?"

He doesn't understand that Takahiro does try. He never means to be late, he never means to forget his books, he never means turn in his homework blank with only the barest signs of someone looking it over. But what he means or doesn't mean isn't important when there is nothing left to show. He still nods before leaving, because he can hear the exhaustion in Katsumi-sensei's voice, and even if he knows he'll be late again tomorrow, he can at least pretend for the day.

His feet take him through the winding streets of Konoha, past the lively stores and houses, buildings too small and homey compared to what he's used to. He walks and walks, shoulders weighed down by more than what's in his bag, until he comes to a stop at the edge of a cliff that's too high and jagged.

The Naka River rushes below his feet as if it needs to go somewhere, and he leans forward, trying to see where it's going, trying to see the end, when someone grabs the back of his collar, nearly knocking him off his feet.

"Whoa! You okay?"

He's dangling in the grip of a boy he doesn't recognize, but it doesn't take much effort to guess what clan he's from. Black hair, black eyes, too pretty and loud to be a Nara.

Takahiro stares at the Uchiha and thinks, I'm tired.

The Uchiha tilts his head at him curiously, before setting him down, a safe distance away from the edge of the cliff.

"You okay?" he asks again, and it's only belatedly that Takahiro remembers he hasn't answered.

"I'm fine."

"Great. That's great," the Uchiha says brightly as he nods like a deranged woodpecker. Takahiro stares until the Uchiha slows to a stop.

"Academy?" The other boy, who's both older and younger than Takahiro, gestures towards his bag and Takahiro nods, a little too slowly to be considered normal. The Uchiha doesn't seem to care, though, and he beams down at him.

"My cousin goes to the Academy too! You might be in the same class - have you heard of Sasuke? Uchiha Sasuke?"

He doesn't recognize the name, but then again he doesn't really know anyone in his class either so he supposes he can't be sure.

"No? That's fine, I'll just ask Sasuke-chan if he knows you. What's your name?"

"Murakami Takahiro."

"Takahiro-chan, huh?"

He doesn't know when they start walking, but the Uchiha is steering him away from the river with a hand on his shoulder, and it takes everything Takahiro has to keep himself from shying away. It's heavy and warm, too warm, and he doesn't know what to do.

"Don't think I've ever heard Sasuke-chan talk about you. Not that that's a bad thing. I mean, Sasuke-chan never really talks about anyone, you know?"

He can't hear the river anymore, and that leaves something empty and aching in his chest and he doesn't know what to think about that. Maybe, if the Uchiha hadn't shown up, today might have been the day he let go. But then again, he's felt that way for months now and hasn't taken that step yet, so he doesn't know.

"Itachi-chan worries he doesn't have any friends so he keeps trying to get Sasuke-chan to open up, but that only means Sasuke-chan sticks to Itachi-chan more than ever so it doesn't really do much good. I keep telling him that, but Itachi-chan's really, really protective when it comes to Sasuke-chan so he never listens."

The Uchiha keeps chattering as they move further and further away from the river back to the more well-populated areas in Konoha, and Takahiro hates how he keeps talking, how he doesn't stop, how he's so happy when Takahiro's aching. His head hurts and so do his feet and he comes to an abrupt stop.

"Takahiro-chan?"

"Don't call me that."

The hand on his shoulder stills, and it's only then that Takahiro realizes it's been moving non-stop. Fingers tapping lightly as the older boy spoke, the occasional squeeze whenever he got worked up, the soothing rubbing whenever Takahiro tensed.

It all stops.

"What do you want me to call you then?"

His voice is calm, warm, kind even, and Takahiro hates it.

"Don't. Just, just don't."

The Uchiha is silent for a long moment and Takahiro clenches his fists so tightly he can feel his nails digging into his palms when finally, the weight on his shoulders disappears.

He doesn't know why he suddenly feels lost.

"Okay," the boy says and it's still in that same kind, gentle tone that makes him want to scream. "Do you want me to leave?"

Yes. No. He doesn't know.

The Uchiha stays by his side as thoughts, useless and tiring but always there, churn through Takahiro's head. He doesn't know how long he stands there, eyes squeezed shut, hands balled in fists by his side, his breathing harsh and uneven - but the Uchiha stays until Takahiro is too tired to think.

"What do you want," He sounds more exhausted than any eight-year-old has any right to be, but he can't bring himself to care.

"Oh, there are lots of things I want," the Uchiha says cheerfully and Takahiro resists the urge to close his eyes again. "I want Itachi-chan to stop worrying so much about Sasuke-chan, I want Sasuke-chan to make more friends, I want some of the other shinobi I work with to stop being such pricks, I want a box full of mochi, I want Konoha to be safe, I want-"

"From me," he interrupts when it sounds like the Uchiha has an entire list and is perfectly willing to list off every single thing on it. "What do you want from me."

The Uchiha beams at him like he's been waiting for Takahiro to ask, and Takahiro's already regretting everything.

"Well, it would be nice to be friends I suppose," he says, and Takahiro can't help but stare, because even if he isn't really good at guessing people's ages, it doesn't take a genius to realize the other boy is at least five years older than him, and as far as he knows, teens don't want to be friends with 'little kids.' "But I'll be satisfied with being distant acquaintances for now."

"For now?"

The words escape him before he can stop them.

"Yep! 'Cause that's how you make friends, isn't it? You start by saying 'hello' on the street one day, ask them how their day is going the next, then you move on to talking about people you mutually hate behind their backs and tada! You're friends!"

"That doesn't sound very nice."

"Being friends?"

"No. Talking about people behind their backs."

"Well, no, it isn't, but it's also one of the best ways of making friends. Or at least that's what Akane baa-chan said."

Whoever she is, she isn't wrong, but Takahiro doubts that she actually meant for the Uchiha to take what she said literally.

"Or we could start with introductions! What's your name?"

"You know my name."

"True, but you don't know mine, and if I ask you for your name, you'll have to ask me for mine, won't you?"

"...What's your name."

God, he's exhausting.

The Uchiha grins at Takahiro, whose face is carefully blank.

"Uchiha Shisui. Nice to meet you!"

Takahiro regrets everything.

The Uchiha walks him back to where he lives, talking about this and that the entire way, only stopping when Takahiro leads him to the orphanage. There's a surge of something malicious, something vindictive that rises in Takahiro's chest when he sees the exact moment the Uchiha realizes he's an orphan but it quickly gives way to guilt. He looks crushed and Takahiro doesn't understand why, when he barely even knows him. The older boy doesn't say anything, though. He just gives him a cheerful wave, tells him he's hoping they'll run into each other again soon, and leaves in a flurry of leaves that fall slowly to the ground. As soon as Takahiro is alone again, it's as if all his energy has left him in a rush and he's tired.

He skips dinner and collapses onto his bed. He falls asleep almost instantly.

He wakes to the sound of the orphanage matron's voice and it takes him a couple of seconds to remember where he is. The room is too large, too empty, too foreign and for a second, it's too much. He can't breathe.

But then his roommate comes running up to him, his eyes wide and round, and he says,

"Takahiro-kun, there's an Uchiha waiting for you at the door."

But when Takahiro trudges down the stairs thirty minutes later with his bag slung over his shoulder at seven-forty in the morning, it's not one but three Uchiha who are waiting for him.

"Takahiro-chan!" the Uchiha from yesterday - and he should probably start calling him Shisui if he doesn't want to get him mixed up with the other two, shouldn't he? - greets him brightly, while the tiny Uchiha scowls and the middle one watches impassively.

"I've told you about Itachi-chan and Sasuke-chan, haven't I? We'll walk you two to the academy!"

Takahiro resists the urge to sigh as he takes a step forward.

He feels lighter than he has in years.

A/N: I really shouldn't be starting a new fic when I have a couple of fics I haven't updated for some time but... :D

So, as should be obvious, this fic follows Takahiro (an OC) as the main character. There will be multiple OCs that feature alongside canon characters, and there will be canon typical violence. At the moment, no romance is planned, but that may change as I go. Definitely no romance till Shippuden at the very least. That should be everything important... and I might be forgetting to mention something, but, ah well. It'll come to me sooner or later.

Anyway - big thanks to my beta, Fire-RY (she has a fic on ffn for Naruto as well - check it out!) for being absolutely wonderful and keeping me motivated.

Also, I always welcome any kind of feedback, be it constructive criticism, just a short "I hope you update soon," or a nonsensical keyboard smash, so please don't hesitate to tell me what you felt about the fic!

Stay safe and I hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter!