Impossible
Disclaimer: I'm still sitting here sipping at a Malta. I don't own it.
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"The world is full of zanys and fools who don't believe in sensible rules and won't believe what sensible people say and because these daf-i-duilo dopes keep building up impossible hopes impossible things are happening every day."-Fairy godmother(Roger and Hemmerstein's Cinderella)
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A good friend is hard to find
How many years had words been spat at him, hurting him far worse than the beatings and the bruises, the words that felt like white-hot knives burning through his skin? They had sunk in after a while, even as his body grew numb to the fists being hurled at him. One comment had sunk extremely deep into his cerebellum: "You'll never be liked. Why don't you just give up?"
Something inside him had burst free that day, something inside him wasn't ready to give up just yet. After they had left him nursing a bloody nose and bruised ribs and pride, he'd pushed himself away from the wall that he had been leaning against for support and had forced himself to walk straight, holding his pounding head high.
It had only been a few days later when, exhausted from training with his injured ribs, he had gingerly sat down on a dock, letting his sore feet soak in the cool water. Another boy had joined him later, one with features that promised elegance equal to a panther's and a pale hand that wordlessly handed him a water bottle.
Harder to leave
It was so many years later that they had stood apart, a canyon ready to engulf them, and they had shouted and fought, with far more painful injuries than bruised ribs. A whole went through his skin, but it was a blow that tore his heart apart, almost literally, and he had looked up at the panther boy with pleading blue eyes, begging him to see reason.
The ebony-haired one didn't listen and flung the blonde to the ground, the once gentle eyes cold and mask-like. It wasn't a look that suited him, the blonde thought; it made him look rougher and jagged, like obsidian rock.
Still, they continued to fight, even though with every movement, the blonde's heart was screaming at him that this was wrong. You don't do this to your best friend, your brother. It's not right. But for the first time, his mind overrode his heart and he kept fighting.
He had felt his strength leave him, and a breath passed out of his body like the sigh of a dying man. He had let his body relax its muscles and had felt the rock below him and the raindrops on his face. He was too tired to open his eyes though. There was a splash as something hit the ground and he felt something else, a cool breath and the softest of textures brushing his cheek.
It was him, his heart was yelling, but his body didn't listen. There was no more energy and too much pain to register the muscle. The presence left and Naruto soon felt rough hands lifting him up and there was another familiar presence carrying him.
Energy returned again, just enough to lift his head the slightest amount and open his eyes. A shock of silver hair and a dark eye looked at him and Naruto buried his head in the wet vest, too tired to care and too hurt to stop remembering.
And impossible to forget
"That's what being a shinobi means. You have to weigh what's smart against what's right." His teacher had told him.
And he had responded with his heart, "If being smart means what you say, then I'd rather remain a fool forever."
His mentor had left with the promise of training and Naruto stared out the window to the red-orange sky, clenching the metal in his hands tightly, as if not to let go.
And two years later, he had seen panther boy again, taller, but still walking and fighting with the same loping grace. He had told him that there was no way of achieving his dream if his best friend wasn't there next to him, and for the briefest moment, he had seen that mask break slightly and had seen something in the dark eyes, although he wasn't quite sure what it was, but it did promise him one thing-hope.