Hard fluorescent light painted a film of faux frost across his open eyes. His mouth tasted like he had swallowed ash and chased it down with bleach, it tasted like death, life itself, though somehow the pain of presence was reassuring. Guilt and regret spill in fear of being spilt, someone had said that, he wasn’t sure who had nailed that thought so presently in his mind, but he knew now, and he knew keenly its meaning. Twirling his tongue, the taste of dryness and kerosene subsided. He peeled the shade aside at the bedroom window and he discovered the street empty in the streaming moonlight, the people had left. His fingers traced backwards, letting the shade’s cradle fall limp and stopping wounds of silver brilliance from piercing the candle’s solemn glow.

He was tired; four hours of sleep fuelled by memories and throwing up hadn’t been enough to sustain the womb of work that piled up before him on the rotting, mahogany desk. As he ate the protein bar and slipped the cool energy drink down his throat he perceived himself as all he was. This frightened him, it bloody scared him. Before even he understood it, he was wrapped closely in fabrics and walking down the street, a crashing sound, perhaps a cat eating moths in the middle of the night drew upwards; he followed it staring at the thinnest silver shaving of a new moon. Since nightfall he’d had little time for the sky, his gaze firmly earthbound.

Although it must have been here before, he had not noticed this fragile part of town before now. Not surprising all things considered. As if from a dream, the man pulled his feet forwards, ordering reality to intrude upon his frequent stops; he insisted that he continue further, never stop.

Lights went by his side until his gliding feet parked beneath a dim light somewhere on a street corner; the light bathed him, being absorbed by the deep black fabric of his worn coat, cascading further over the hand-me-down jeans wrapping his thighs and shins in warmth.

Some monsters are pathetic rather than murderous. Their lairs not lairs in the fullest sense because they do not lie in wait. They take to ill-kept burrows with minimal furniture and the objects of their misshapen sense of beauty. They hope only to indulge their mutant fantasies and live out their monstrous lives in as much peace as they can find which is precious little for they torment themselves even when the rest of the world leaves them unmolested. He had come to the conclusion that he was of this pathetic breed of monsters.

He was gliding along again.

The cart had no name; or rather its purpose was its name. the sign at the top of the store as you turned from the curb into the new street read only, noodles. Time had taught him that he may not be able to master his appetite. While still young, he had arrived at the conclusion that he would be a bad priest, perhaps he could make it were temptation not the nature of his dreams. The sedative wore off. Like a winch line turning on a drum, pain slowly hoisted him from his catatonic state. For a while he didn’t know where he was. Initially he did not care. Raised from a sea of torpor, he felt saturated with an unnatural sleep and longed to return to it.

Eventually the unrelenting pain forced him to care, to keep his eyes open, to analyze the sensation and to orient himself. He was standing limply on his feet under a streetlight. He smelt the faint scent of flavour and cookery; he glanced across the tar and upward to the noodle cart.

Licking his lips, he tasted blood.

He stood before a meek looking man, tasting the ramen he had ordered. The man shed his plastic shroud for now and stepped forward.

"Good huh?” he trailed from his mouth “Well,” he looked at the man behind the cart’s serving portion “I’ll have what he’s having”

He handed a strip of paper over; paying in return for a bowl of what he would soon realize was beef ramen. It was good, but nothing could outweigh the taste of blood.

His eyes closed as the hot liquids and solids poured into his mouth, caressing him, and searing his throat with taste.

Tonight was but different night for Etsuo,he was in a new village. it was called The Village Hidden in the leaves.He had come here searching for answers to his family's mystery. Learning the secret behind his eyes, pursuing those that were also of his family. this village was restless, stores and restaurant stalls were still open. Somehow, he found himself still on the street. As he explored, he became hungry so he searched for somewhere to eat. He quickly became lost and didn't quite No where he was going.it was only getting later and dark, so he decided to look for one of the noodle stands that his brother mentioned to him.

Running out of patience and time, Etsuo came across one of the noodle stands in the middle of the night. It had a name that summarize what it is. Nothing that was complicated to even if it was a younger mind than his. He observes that some people were already present and had gotten their food. However, he didn't take in too much detail about either of them. He approached the one running the noodle stand and would eventually ask him for what ever he had at the moment, so Etsuo got the same thing as at least one of the others. When it was ready, Etsuo paid him and now looked at the other two present. There wasn't too much shining out to him on this dark night, he wondered if he would ever come across his other family, the Uchiha.

The food that he had received was beef ramen, something that he didn't prefer or dislike, so he was just happy to have something to eat. His journey so far as still left him in a cloud of mystery and it could be noted that he was thinking of something in between the ramen that he ate.

To the two that were around him, they could note that he was pretty young to be out this late in the middle of the night, but also that he wore something very specific on his forehead. He wore the shinobi head band of the village hidden in the clouds, yet he was in the village hidden in the leaves.

Etsuo was definitely out of time for now on his search, so he would probably have to find a place to stay for tonight in the village or else he would be out on the street. For a family that was very well known in the shinobi world, they could hide away pretty well in the public of the village. He wondered if they were anything like his father's clan, the Yukimura. Though because of his father's position in the clan, he didn't know too much about them either.

He was a lone shinobi of a different country in the general public of the hidden leaf village, so maybe a Uchiha could find him instead, since he stuck out so much.

It wasn't long before another joined the line for food in front of Xiahou's favourite eatery. As the Shinobi finished his meal, he would normally have turned to go, and though tonight was not a good night for sleeping, he would likely have found some solace in the solitude. But he stayed. Before him a young boy, out far too late for him to be an average kid, was ordering Xiahou's usual (probably following the lead of the last customer). What's more is that he seemed to be alone.

Xiahou gave the young boy a look from head to toe, scanning him and grimacing a little. There had to be some reason why he was here so late. Then he saw it, keen, Uchiha eyes noticed barely, from an angle on the boy's profile, the side of the design on his headband. He was a cloud ninja. For him to have arrived like this, and to be wearing his head band so publically, he must have permission from the Raikage.

"You know," Xiahou began, talking coldly and confidently, as was his way "I've been there once, Kumogakure, when I was nine,"

Xiahou would approach the boy then, standing a couple of feet from him, his Six foot, Four inch frame a good eleven inches taller than the teenager. He would smile, feigning warmth through coldness, and speak again -

"It's cold. Take a walk with me and tell me what brings you to Konoha,"

Etsuo was having an alright time in the village, although there weren't many people to meet since he was specifically seeking out the Uchiha Clan. He had a feeling though that even though this was their main village, there weren't many publicly in Konaha. Almost felt like going back to the drawing board in his village and trying to find others there, where he knew more people. Maybe there was others that didn't know of their family history of the Uchiha but found the answers, that he now seek for himself as well.

He was practically finished with his ramen because of how hungry he was, when he was approached by a local of the village. Etsuo was invited to talk with him about what brought him to the village hidden in the leaves. It seemed like it couldn't harm him since he was a chuunin after all. This was also in the middle of their village, although it was night and he would be sure to avoid dark and lonely places at least.

"Alright." He would tell the villager that was nearly a foot taller than him.

As they walked, Etsuo didn't exactly know where to begin, but after a few moments, he decided that he would get to the main point.

"I'm searching for a lost part of my family, they have eyes like mine." He stated and instantly switched them to sharigans with two tomoes and looked at Xiahou.

"I believe they are called the Uchiha even though my name is Yukimura. Yukimura, Etsuo." He told the villager.

"So would happen to know any of them?" He followed with asking, hoping to get a good lead at least from this, getting his hopes high.