Forest of Fireflies

She was a dancer— nimble, lithe, and light on her feet. Just as easily as she could recreate the sound of the orchestra, she could retrace the steps of lovely dances. Konoha had no room for people like her; she would force her way in.

ONE

It wasn't until Takano Hotaru looked into the mirror, seeing clearly for the first time, that she realized she wasn't Takano Hotaru.

But she was (she couldn't really tell anymore).

Maybe in another world she had thick, honey brown hair that would coil into tight ringlets. Maybe in another world she had equally light upturned eyes. Maybe in another world she wasn't Takano Hotaru.

But dreams were dreams and dreams would stay hidden away until they became goals. And dream she did.

She dreamt that she was flying in the air, lifted by arms no thicker than hers. She wore beautiful glittery dresses fit for a princess, often with a matching twinkling headpiece. She could twist her body in all sorts of angles, balancing precariously on the tip of her toes. She dreamt with a clarity that she didn't know she had, waking up with foreign words at the tip of her tongue.

Pointe. Arabesque. Retire. Pirouette. Ferme.

And the sweet, sweet sound of the piano often echoed in her ears (what was a piano?). She hummed and hummed to songs she didn't know, her feet retraced steps ingrained in some part of her from another lifetime ago as her fingers strained to stay still.

She wasn't and she was Takano Hotaru.

"Oh my dear firefly, what are you singing now?" She is lifted into the air; if she just pointed her toes a bit and arched her back, she could feel the dream coming true.

Takano Hotaru smiled innocently down at her father (her father didn't have black hair and equally black eyes). "Tchaikovsky," she answered simply.

Her father (not not— not?) twirled her around and laughed freely. "Ah, what did papa and mama do to deserve such a creative and talented daughter as you?" He set her down and gently bopped her nose, "You must keep creating, there's more than enough destroyers in this world."

But Tchaikovsky wasn't hers to create, in this lifetime or the previous. Tchaikovsky, Mozart, Pachelbel, Beethoven, Chopin, Bach... she could go on and on of beautiful creators that she would butcher in this new world.

For now, they would be her little secret until she could find a way to share the beautiful music and dances of her dreams. For now, she would train her body and fingers to obey the positions of her dreams, preparing to make her dreams a reality.

She wasn't and she was Takano Hotaru. But she was a creator —an artist— no matter who or where she was.

Dreams were dreams, and her dreams would become goals.

Ballerinas came in all shapes and sizes— but it rang true that all ballerinas were strong. Takano Hotaru would become strong in her own right, she was determined to.

She knew she was still too young to begin weight training or working on her pointe. Instead, she built up her upper body strength and ran to course power through her legs.

It appeared to be the norm in this new world to see children cartwheeling up and down the streets, pulling up on bars, training to become ninjas. Hotaru was taken back at first- ninjas in her past life were tales of ancient history. But under the guise of playing "ninja" and enjoying the park playground, she honed her young body for a life of dance.

"Hotaru!" Her mother called from the playground bench, "It's time for your lessons!"

Though her mother was a baker and her father a merchant, Hotaru would be an artist.

Ballet, she learned, only existed in the small pockets of this world where wealth and status dictated power. She traded ballet and the piano for kabuki and the koto (she was slowly becoming Takano Hotaru). She did not let go of her dreams, she would come back to ballet when the time would come. Her fingers still itched for ivory keys, but the stinging strings of the koto satisfied their hunger for now. The piano too, was considered an odd instrument in her village.

At the local theater, Hotaru was taught the delicate steps of various kabuki forms. She was still too young to attend academic school, but she begged her parents for lessons on this world's dance and music.

And her parents did not disappoint.

Today's lesson, she mused, was a waste of her time. A repeat of the lesson from the day before; for the four year old bodies of her classmates had yet to grasp the language of the shamisen and taiko drums the same way hers did. The stiff movements and heavy costumes were unlike anything she ever wore, but it had its own elegant charm that Hotaru still found herself drawn to.

Hotaru swung her mother's hand as she skipped along the dirt path. Her koto teacher would be arriving soon for tutoring. It appeared that music was music universally. Reading the notes was fairly easy, it was merely her fingers regaining the dexterity needed.

"Today's piece is going to be one my favorites, I know it!"

Her mother giggled and allowed herself to be dragged by her daughter. "And how is that?"

"It's the music to the dance we are learning at the theater as well! It's going to be so easy for me to play it," Hotaru boasted. She normally was a quiet little thing, but when her kabuki teacher complimented her and recommended her to move up a level, she couldn't help but feel giddy. Maybe ballet wasn't as far away as it seemed.

Letting go of her mother's hand, Hotaru trotted ahead the familiar path and allowed her memories of ballet to take over. She set her feet in first position and continued to twirl into a pirouette and jumped into a jeté. Landing perfectly, she moved her hands and feet in perfect unison and the imaginary music pulled her along into beautiful flicks of the wrist and moments of flexibility.

"My talented little flower!"

"Papa!" Somehow she danced her way home. Her father waited patiently outside the door and lifted her into his arms above his head when she neared. Still feeling the rush of happiness, Hotaru pointed her leg down, toes curving into perfect crescents as her other leg stretched high behind her. She balanced with her hands on her father's shoulders and his hands on her waist. The wind caressed her dark, silky tresses inherited from her mother and Hotaru felt free. She was in her element.

Her mother followed with laughter as her father set her down.

"Why don't you have a small snack before Mikoto-sensei arrives?" Her mother suggested as she takes off her coat.

Hotaru nodded demurely, the happiness settling in. She felt at peace.

"Shall we go to the park, my little flower?"

Ever since her first koto and kabuki lessons, her parents called her their little flower. It was fitting, for Hotaru grew in grace and elegance unseen in a civilian daughter. Light on her feet with a flexibility rivaled by only children training to become ninjas, Hotaru was lithe and nimble. Though her father teased of Hotaru training to become a court lady, it wasn't far from the truth. She wanted to dance in the capital of the Land of Fire, where the arts flourished.

"Yes please!"

The park was the perfect place for her to train her body and flexibility.

Hotaru rode gleefully on her father's shoulders as he told her stories of his trades.

As they arrived to the park, her father placed her gently down and shooed her to go play. Hotaru watched as he waved and took a seat on a bench. Shrugging, she searched for her kabuki friends.

Not finding a familiar face amongst the sea of children, Hotaru settled for working on her balance. She stood along the outer rim of the park structure, its cement serving as a beam. Standing on her toes, she began her practiced glide.

She paused when she noticed that an upside down boy on the monkey bars was staring at her. A boy. Her father didn't like it when she talked to boys. She didn't like it very much either. She blinked. Staring owlishly at the young boy, Hotaru tilted her head in a questioning manner as an untrained blush graced her cheeks.

Seeing as he didn't say anything, she continued her practice.

"What are you doing?"

"Um," she paused, willing herself not to stutter, "training?"

He flipped off the monkey bars with such ease that Hotaru contemplated asking him for help. She could barely even get across the bars, let alone swing off so elegantly.

"Are you going to the ninja academy?" His childlike voice was formal. Despite his evident age and tone, he spoke like he was years older.

Hotaru shook her head rapidly, strands of her black hair fell around her face. "I want to be a dancer," she said proudly.

The boy scoffed and slipped his hands in his pocket. His silvery hair bobbed with every movement— "A clumsy girl like you?"

She faltered and nearly tripped on her own feet.

Huffing, Hotaru turned her head and began her training once more, she did not deign to reply to him. She would never ask him for help, what an annoying boy after all.

And she was not crying, she was not a crybaby. He was just a mean boy who didn't know elegance if it slapped him in the face (even if he could flip really well off monkey bars).

"Ar-are you crying?" his voice had no inflections despite the stutter.

Her voice shaking, she said, "You said something mean, what did you expect?"

She avoided looking at him in the eyes and busied herself short allegro movements across her makeshift beam. The boy left after a moment and Hotaru let out a breath of relief. Hopping off the cement, she stood peacefully in the patch of grass. Hotaru began to hum to herself the dramatic hits of the taiko drum as her body fell into it's practiced position with ease. In her head, she imagined the sweet tune of the shamisen stringing along the harmony.

Abruptly stopping at the sound of crunching bark, her concentration broke and she was reminded that she was only at a park. Hotaru turned to follow the noise to reveal the same mean boy from before, this time holding weeds.

"For you," he said shortly and pushed them to her.

"They're weeds," she said nervously back. Is this how kids were bullied, being paralleled to the weed beneath their feet?

He blinked at her and shoved them in her hands anyways. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, looking everywhere but her, "I think you'll be a very good dancer."

"Oh." She softened and the blush came back, reaching the tip of her ears. "Um, thank you—"

"Kakashi. Hatake Kakashi."

"Thank you, Hatake-kun," she said politely.

The boy looked at her oddly, "You can just call me Kakashi, we are the same age, aren't we?"

"O-okay," Hotaru stuttered, calling him by his first name felt intimate, "Um, thanks Kakashi-kun. My name is, um, Takano Hotaru, you can just call me Hotaru."

She felt incredibly awkward, what did four year olds normally talk about anyways? Her mind has always been on dance and music, and here she was talking to a boy. A boy.

Kakashi nodded and tested out her name, "Hotaru-san."

Was that steam coming out of her body? Oh dear, the blush on her cheeks heated and she felt her heart palpating out of her chest.

"Wellitwasnicetomeetyou, bye!" she jumbled out and ran to the bench she hoped her father was still sitting at. Hotaru nearly tripped over her own feet once more but was instead rescued by a strong arm. The calloused fingers enclosed itself around her wiry arm and she felt the wind being knocked out of her chest. Dark grey eyes reminiscent of the boy she was talking to blinked at her, full of mirth.

"Kakashi-kun?" she unwilling blurted out. A squeak escaped her because she knew he wasn't Kakashi, but their similarities were unparalleled.

"It appears you met my son?"

Happy CivilianOC! haAHahha! Not quite a self-insert because Hotaru knows literally nothing of Naruto, as you can tell, she was too focused on herself, on her music and dance. um anyways, I'm not sure if I want to fully write for this story since I'm going to school again soon, but I lovelovelove art (music, dance, drawing, etc) AU stuff and so out came this! Hotaru will remain strictly civilian btw, but drop a review pls :~) thank you okie bye