The Cross of Change

Written by Venerate

Dreaming of Andromeda

Naruto could hear his father's voice. Even though his eyes were closed and he was hiding under the thick, warm comforter, he could hear Minato speak to someone outside of his bedroom. Instead of listening, however, the blond teen instead opted to bury his face into the pillow. Letting out a displeasured groan, he fisted the sheets and pulled wantonly.

He didn't feel like getting out of bed, but his typical restlessness was beginning to show. He shifted again, lying on his side, facing away from the door. His father was still talking, perhaps with a house cleaner or with Jiraiya. He hadn't actually seen his father or Jiraiya since he arrived, two days ago.

The only one who had entered his bedroom was the maid that came with food thrice a day. He hadn't touched the food, and so, she had always left with a full plate. He didn't want that kind of food – he didn't eat meat, but he couldn't really expect his father to know that. Naruto wondered if he had Shizune's phone number on his cellphone; in that case, he would have to tell her to come over with a new copy of his diet schedule for Minato.

Grunting, he rolled around until he hit the back of his head in the nightstand. Shivers of nauseating pain vibrated down his spine, and he cursed whoever had placed the piece of furniture so close to the bed. It certainly wasn't him, as he had learned long ago to keep the bedside table as far away as possible from himself when he was sleeping. The bruise that would now form there would be a silent, tender reminder of the fact that he didn't live here.

Minato's voice was now gone, and Naruto stretched under the covers, trying not to lean on the back of his head. His muscles felt stiff and clumsy, as he hadn't left the bed for anything else but visiting the bathroom. Even then, he hadn't been fully awake, his body walking and moving automatically. He just couldn't seem to find the will to move.

He looked to his left, blinking at the red, digital numbers that could be spotted through a peephole in his cave. He shifted again, poking his head out from under the covers to see what time it was more clearly. He had to check twice before realising that it actually was five minutes past four in the afternoon. Perhaps he should stay in bed until it became a more suitable time to wake up.

On the other hand, Naruto wasn't so sure that he would be able to lie still for much longer. He wasn't sleepy, although his mind was foggy and drained. He didn't want to think, not at all. It was, however, hard not to notice that the scent of the sheets was a completely other brand than the one Kushina used.

"Ugh…" He kicked the comforter off himself, stretching each muscle slowly as he practically fell off the mattress. The floor was rather warm, and he briefly registered that his father must have installed underfloor heating. The observation was immediately exchanged for another train of thoughts. He didn't smell all too good, and his stomach was churning.

Getting up from the floor, he felt a little light-headed. Trying to walk as straight as possible, he made it to the bathroom that was joint to his bedroom. Opening the cabinet over the faucet, he only found a lonesome toothbrush and toothpaste. With blurry sight, he read the words 'fresh spearmint taste!'

At home, his toothpaste had the distinct taste of watermelon.

Nevertheless, he decided that he needed to brush his teeth. The foam that appeared in his mouth upon using the spearmint-toothpaste was minty and unfamiliar. He didn't appreciate it, especially not after having been in bed without food for days. It tasted stale and strong.

Spitting, he rinsed his mouth with lukewarm water. He drank some of it, trying not to look into the mirror. He didn't want to think. Not at all – he wanted to go back to bed and sleep, sleep, sleep until he forgot about everything.

He forced himself to think of something else as he undressed for a shower. His father, ballet, what he wanted to eat. The shower was different from the one at home. Usually, he wouldn't compare his father's and mother's houses too much – it hurt; how different they had become. He knew, in the back of his head, that there had been a time when they had had the same detergent, that they had eaten the same kind of food. Kushina hadn't been a vegetarian back then.

As he stepped into the shower, closing the glass door behind him, he tried not to compare the marble floor here with the linoleum floor at home. Turning on the water, he used whatever energy he had left to step out of the spray in an attempt to avoid the chill before the warm water. Reaching out with his hand, he took his time to deem the water warm enough.

Despite the warmth, the spray hurt against his skin. His gloomy mind would have supplied that he perhaps was sporting a fever, but as it was, he could barely make out his toes as he stared down on the floor. Swearing when he was starting to feel light-headed, the curse-word came out as a grunt. He grabbed the wall, the water still running endlessly. Despite his tiredness, he managed to turn it off.

He knew that he probably wasn't clean, but figured that it didn't matter. Nothing mattered. Not any more, not ever. The thoughts that had been running through his head for the last couple of days were easily picked up and he begun to think anew. He knew that nothing was ever going to be the same. From now on, what was he supposed to do? He knew nothing but his life with Kushina. He knew nothing about Minato.

He grabbed a towel, drying himself as thoroughly as he could muster. With dripping hair, he exited the bathroom. His bedroom was so bare. No shelves, no things on the desk, not a single thing that had been picked by him. It was too alike a hotel room, customary sheets and customary paint on the walls to suit every persona.

He opened the closet door, spotlights lightning up the little room per automatic. There were clothes in there, and Naruto studied them with tired detachment. He had never bought these clothes – there were two pair of pants, but no jeans, and a few white button-up shirts. Blue eyes took in the clothing, noticing an unused uniform and a few nice, expensive-looking shoes. There were no t-shirts, no sweatpants, no tights and certainly no sneakers.

He opened a drawer from the chest that was put in the walk-in-closet, finding underwear and socks. As he put them on, he seriously considered just going to bed, in tube socks and boxer shorts. Nevertheless, he had no motivation to go back to bed. He wouldn't fall asleep – he just wanted these thoughts, ideas, questions out of his mind. He needed some kind of distraction, but it wouldn't come with sleep. He hadn't been this tired in a long time, even though he had done nothing but sleep and rest since his arrival.

Therefore, he took a pair of gray slacks, put them on and rolled up the pants legs. He kept rolling them up, because they were way too long, until they reached his knees. The tube socks pooled around his ankles when he tried to pull them up, and he could practically feel his father's disappointment in the clothes. He hadn't grown up to become a tall, bulky teen that ate loads junk food in order to function properly.

He grumbled to himself, opening another drawer to find an undershirt. He put it on clumsily, accidently pulling a little in his wet hair, leaving damp spots on the white fabric. The young danseur couldn't really care, and so, he closed the door to the closet and looked over the room.

There was no television, no computer, no magazines and not a single thing to do but think, think, think. Thinking was exactly what he didn't want to do, but he wasn't sure that he dared to exit the bedroom. His father was at home, obviously. Jiraiya could possibly be there as well.

Naruto didn't want to see them. He wanted to go home to the small house with the picket white fence. This place was too big. There were people cleaning in the corridors, people taking care of the garden, people making food in the kitchen. There wasn't a single place where he could be alone except for his room. Even then, he felt watched and monitored.

He needed someone familiar. He needed something familiar.

He needed to get out of here. He looked over at the windows, deeming the height all too high for him to jump down. He didn't want to hurt his feet or legs – he needed those for his dancing. It took him quite some time before he decided to open the door and get out.

The corridor was empty, and Naruto hurried towards the stairs. He didn't mind that a suit-wearing man was standing in the hall when he got downstairs. The man didn't offer a greeting, so Naruto merely put on his sneakers, which had magically appeared in the closet in the hall. He also found his jacket, but he didn't put it on. He was in a hurry. He grabbed it, nodding once when he passed the proper-looking man.

He was gladly surprised with a calm, chilly weather that suited his mood all too well. No raindrops fell from the sky, and that was all he wanted to ask for.

The garden wasn't as impressive in this light as it was when the sun shone or white snow covered the ground. Instead, the bushes of roses and the rippling fountain seemed depressed. The red of the flowers was a horribly dark shade, the petals appearing so soft and fragile. It disturbed him a little too much for his own tastes, so he kept up a hasty pace.

One of the big iron gates was open, so he sneaked out on the pavement without any difficulties. He walked past big houses, surrounded by tall walls and fences as if to keep out the outer world. This part of Konoha seemed foreign and mysterious. He didn't understand the appeal of living in such a shielded world; hiding behind stone walls and trying to pass time in colourful gardens and stylish homes.

He preferred the house in which he had been living for the majority of his life. He preferred the white picket-fences and the close distance between the homes down the street. He enjoyed seeing the mailman when he headed out for a morning run – he couldn't even imagine someone jogging down the streets where his father lived.

Naruto's long legs led him forward, sometimes crossing over the road to head towards the centre of Konoha. There were no buses going through this part of Konoha, so he walked without even thinking of public transport.

It took him half an hour of brisk walking to reach the kiosk that laid only a few hundred metres from the train station, but he wasn't heading there. Still unsure of his destination, he took right and walked past a few apartment buildings. It wasn't until he had gotten to the apartment building painted in canary yellow that he stopped.

He had never been inside of this building before, but he knew who lived there. He had driven past this with his mother to pick the man up, but he had never gone inside. He had never been offered either.

There was a pressure behind blue eyes, and Naruto hesitated to press the intercom-button. He thought of what to say, 'hi, it's Naruto', 'can I come in?' but nothing sounded right. There were no words for what he wanted to say.

With closed eyes, he pressed the button and tried to register what was answered on the other end. He heard a familiar, somewhat electronic voice, but all he could give in reply was,

"Mom is dead."

The pressure behind his eyes faded. Warm, salty water escaped from his eyes, running down his scarred cheeks without care for anyone. The energy that had been there during his walk – the energy that had forced him out to take a walk – seemed to let go of its iron grip, leaving Naruto on the asphalt with angry sobs hurting his throat.

He didn't know for how long he sat there, but he knew that it felt all too long before someone came running out through the door to help him up. With a blurry sight, he vaguely recognised his teacher. Iruka said things that he couldn't understand, but it felt all too good to hear the warm and caring voice.

"Come here, Naruto, oh," Iruka whispered into his hair. The slightly taller man hugged him, somehow managing to get the other up the stairs to his apartment. Naruto couldn't find the will to move his legs, and he simply cried on the other's shoulder while being dragged and pulled. "Poor thing, come with me, here."

Iruka used a different tone than the one he used when he was teaching, but Naruto had heard it before. The man had used it on his mother once or twice when she had pulled through a nasty break-up or when she had too much on her plate. Iruka always knew what to say.

However, his words were lost upon the young blond. Naruto couldn't hear anything but his own confusing thoughts – did it hurt, why her, it's my fault, oh God, stupid rain.

Of course, had Naruto heard what Iruka was saying, he would have heard, "oh, Naruto, what should I do with you?"

To Be Continued

I apologise for the shortness of this and it's sister-story (UPL). Please take some time to check that one out, and also take a look at my poll!