It's Not Just Ramen

AUTHOR's NOTE

My very first fanfiction. This is only the first part of it. Is it too long-winded? Am i not getting to the point quick enough? be honest. Like freaking honest. I'm serious... be critical. It's supposed to be a one-shot but i think i'm writing it like writing a novel.

Last week was the last time I ever ate at Ichiraku. Four days ago, I never even knew his name ? as far as I was concerned, he had always been ?old man.? Leaves the color of blood, dirt, and my old orange jumpsuit danced about in the air, blown about by the strong, cool breeze of October?s wind. Shivering slightly, I tightened the well-worn, dusty-brown cloak around my jounin vest, continuing my leisurely pace. It was a cool and nice night, I reflected, absentmindedly going wherever my legs took me. They knew the way well. My legs slowed down to a stop. Looking up, a familiar sight greeted me. Funny how you never really notice the constants in life until they?re gone, I reflected, stepping forward and gently caressing the worn out wooden post of the now closed Ichiraku Ramen shop. For as long as I can remember, Ichiraku had always been open at the most obscene hours of the day, every single day, whether it be rain, snow, shine, or invasion of other ninja villages. My lips curled upwards at the thought. It didn?t seem right that now the mom-n-pop ramen stand now stood boarded-up, home to rats or whatever nasty critters nested there.

Smiling, I closed my eyes, imagining the homely, cheerful, inviting warmth of Ichiraku, the enticing scent of miso ramen intoxicating my senses. Opening my eyes slowly, I looked up at the stand, a sad smile slowly forming on my whiskered face. O-chan? the old man and Ayame are actually some of my very precious people. I never even told him how much he meant to me, I thought bitterly as my head lowered. It was getting colder.

One consolation was that although I?ve never told the old man, and I?ve only recently told Ayame, I?ve suspected that they?ve known all along. Even though I?d fight till my dying breath for Konoha and its inhabitants, there?s a select precious few that have truly entrenched themselves into my heart. Of course there?s the original ?Genin Dozen?. Heh. I?ve gone to hell and back with each and every one of them. I?ve saved their lives and them mine more times than I can count. There?s nothing I wouldn?t do for any of them, and they know it. They were my friends. ?My? friends,? I whispered affectionately, the familiar tender feelings of fondness washing through my body at the thought of my precious people. I liked the way the words slid out of my mouth. My thoughts drifted over to Ero-sennin and Tsunade ba-chan, and I absentmindedly rested my hands on the hilt of the beautiful tanto attached to the small of my back.

Ero-sennin and Tsunade Ba-chan gave the exquisite weapon to me when I attained the rank of jounin. It was a work of art, its beauty matching its lethality. The razor-sharp blade, made from the finest metal from the Country of Rock was coated black to prevent reflection from light, and joined the well-balanced hilt which had the symbol of Konoha?s leaf intricately carved into its side. Tightening my grip on the hilt of one of my most prized possessions, I smiled. My reaction upon receiving the blade was nothing short of explosive. I actually kinda saw Ero-sennin and Tsunade Ba-chan as my surrogate parents?not that I?d ever tell them that. Kakashi-sensei told me one time that their bickering resembled that of a married couple?except for the fact that they were more inclined to use profanity. But for all their squabbling, they were usually seen together, walking along Mount Hokage, or sitting at the local bar, emptying bottles of sake when Tsunade-sama managed to elude Shizune. I imagine that I?d be a lot more screwed up if I had a pervert for a dad and a violent gambleholic as a mom. I smiled in spite of myself.

And then of course there was Kakashi-sensei and Iruka-sensei. Kakashi-sensei was an odd one. Even though the only signs of affection he ever showed was the occasional ruffling of my hair or the odd time he?d take me here to eat ramen with my team, I could tell he really cared and was alert to everything around him. I can see it through his one eye, carefully hidden under his tediously crafted mask of a lazy, relaxed, and debonair jounin. After all, I?ve been wearing a similar mask for most of my life. Something must have happened to him to cause his aloofness. I wonder what? I?ll ask Gai-sensei when I get the chance. The person who was the contrast to Kakashi-sensei?s aloofness in terms with dealing with me was most definitely Iruka-sensei. The nicest man I?ve ever met, he wears his heart on his sleave?kinda like me. He was the first person to truly treat me like family, like a real brother. Took me out for ramen often, listened to my ?occasionally? exaggerated stories of my heroic exploits (so what if the beautiful princess I saved from rogue A-class missing-nins was actually an old woman victim of a purse snatching attempt from teenagers?), stopping by my apartment to make sure I was never in need of anything. Words can?t express the gratitude and love I have for that man.

But through it all, the first person to really acknowledge me was not Iruka-sensei. It wasn?t even Team 7. It was the old man of Ichiraku. After his death, I made some time to just sit down and reflect on what the old man meant to me. I realized quite a few things. The first was that I could swear on my dreams that if it wasn?t for him, I might?ve left the village a long time ago, or at least would be become a bad apple with only justified vindictive feelings for this village. He was the first to really talk to me when everyone else shunned me. He was the first to feed me when everyone else was content on letting me starve. The edges of the ramen stand blurred, my eyes glazed over with unshed tears. But most of all, even though his family was killed by the Kyuubi, he was the first to see past the f***ing demon sealed inside of me to see the real me. Gods, what I owed that man. My eyelids squeezed shut, the tears streaming freely down my cold, wind-touched cheeks, sorrow and regret engulfing my being. Dammit. Regret leaves quite a bitter aftertaste in your mouth. I never even really thanked him for keeping me sane, for keeping my wish to be acknowledged alive?for keeping me from becoming what Gaara became. I still remember the fear I felt when I first found out what Gaara really was capable of. Everytime I thought about how close I was to becoming like him, my stomach would twist in revulsion. So that was what absolute loneliness could have done. Old man Hokage would?ve stopped me before I got too far though. A picture of the ancient and incredibly powerful Third Hokage flashed through my mind?s eye, along with the familiar pang of loss. I smiled at the image of the frail-looking shinobi. Old man Hokage was a good guy? he was just too busy to make sure I had the proper care. Wiping my eyes with the back of my hand, my thoughts went back all the time I spent at Ichiraku with the old man, Ayame, and of course, all the ramen I consumed.

Contrary to what many people believe, I didn?t always love ramen; for a long while it was all I could afford. The addiction to the noodle soup happened gradually.

I remember the first time I had tried it. It was early October some thirteen years ago when I was five. I had just turned five, and some Kage-level intellectual decided that I was old enough to fend for myself. Prior to that year my caretaker always stopped by every few days to make me food and leave it in the fridge, leaving vague instructions on how to warm it up and leaving as quickly as she came, ignoring my attempts at small talk and spending as little time as possible at my apartment. I never even found out her name. Before she left for the last time, I was hoping that she?d at least show me what to do with those damn mac & cheese boxes I had in stock in the cabinet?

*Flashback*

A five-year-old Naruto stood on a little stool in front of the sink, looking questioningly at the little blue cardboard box. My food never rattled like that, thought Naruto, shaking the box experimentally. Opening the top, he peered inside. Hard, yellow tubes stared back at him. Raising a golden eyebrow, he took one out and tentatively tossed it into his mouth, carefully chewing the hardened noodle. ?Yech!? he cried, spitting the offending noodle into the sink. Frown creasing his whiskered face, he pulled out another piece and glared at it, willing it to change its texture into something a little more edible and a little softer. Seeing how the stubborn noodle refused to change, he carelessly tossed the open box into the sink with an angry grunt and plopped down onto the little stool, propping his elbows onto his scuffed knees and resting his face on his hands, a scowl decorating his small face. I wish the stupid lady showed me how to cook this. He growled at the thought of his caretaker. She wasn?t a particularly nice woman?quite the opposite actually. His cheek tingled at the remembered pain of when she slapped him when he asked her to celebrate his birthday with him. She sorely told him that his birthday was no happy occasion. He never asked again. The still-tender memory fueled more ungracious thoughts towards the old hag. Looking around at the big, empty apartment, he let out a soft sigh. I?ll take back every mean thought I?ve had of her if she?ll come back. Tears filled his eyes, the empty apartment emphasizing the aching loneliness.

His stomach growled plaintively. He rubbed his stomach through his orange shirt and frowned. What was he going to eat? Making up his mind, he walked over to the dresser inside his bedroom. Hidden beneath a pile of hastily folded second-hand shirts, was a little wallet the shape of a frog. He had been saving a little bit of his monthly allowance with the intent of buying a nice pair of goggles he had seen at the local shop. Opening the mouth, he took out a few crumpled paper bills and set them on the dresser. He carefully counted the extracted bills once, twice, and a third time before tucking the wallet safely into his dresser. 60 ryou. With an affirmative grunt, he tucked the bills in his pocket and put on a tattered hooded purple coat. ?Yosh!? Spirits raised at the prospect of warm good food, he went off on his mission, the uncooked noodles forgotten in the sink.

*************************************************8

The branches rustled, and golden leaves swirled about in the air, dancing for whoever would take the time to watch. One such spectator was a small blonde boy, resting his aching legs on a familiar swing. A strong gust blew off his hood, revealing a small frown on his marked face. He shivered. He was cold. He was tired. He was still hungry. I don?t get it. Five places and they won?t sell me any food. Can?t they see I?m hungry? His stomach growled, angered at being reminded of his predicament. The uncooked noodles had never seemed so good. With a defeated sigh, he began his long trek back towards his apartment.

He was nearly his apartment when something caught his eyes?or rather, his nose. The scent of heavy spices wafted enticingly by his nose, causing his mouth to water at the thought of the heavily seasoned?whatever it was. The cold forgotten, his legs headed towards the source of the scent on their own accord.

**********************************************

Experienced arms moved with life of their own, expertly stringing, stretching, and re-stringing what used to be a lump of dough. The dough-wielder?s brow was furrowed, mindless of the skillful movements of his arms and hands. It?s almost that time of the year again. Business would slow down again like every other year, but he didn?t mind. After all, it just meant that he would have more time to mourn properly. A familiar sense of sadness came at the memory of his only daughter and son-in-law who died in the jaws of the Great Youma, the Kyuubi no Kitsune.

................to be continued

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