Freak. Monster. Demon. Fool.

They call him names. Names that hurt.

But he will never show, never show how they eat him alive. He grins like an idiot, defiance in his eyes. "Oh yeah? Well I'm gonna be Hokage someday!" It's his favorite rebuttal. He's said it so many times that some have started to believe him. If only he could believe it himself.

His smiles are like band-aids that patch up the scars the names leave behind. They have to be big, to cover scars that deep.

And of course the scars are deep, because they come from within, too.

Weakling.

The monster inside likes to abuse him, too. And with attacks coming from both sides, it's only a matter of time before his defenses collapse completely.

The new orange color around his eyelids diverts attention from the purple bags underneath. His new shinobi outfit is just baggy enough to avoid questions about his skeletal frame. The flush of red on his face after a good training session hides the sickly gray color that has tinged his previously tan skin. No one has a clue that Naruto wears a mask at all.

No one except Hinata.

She sees. And not because of the genetic trait that enhances her vision. She sees, because she knows. Knows what it's like to be called a failure. Knows how it hurts.

And because she sees and knows… she helps.

She finds him when she knows his defenses are failing, cracking under the unbelievable pressure placed on his young shoulders. She holds him as he breaks for the moment, holding him as he finally lets loose a torrent of pent-up hurt, soothing him as he shakes and shudders. And, on the off-chance that her feelings need release, he is always willing to do the same for her.

Hinata sees. She knows. She helps.

Because she's realized, more than kunai or shuriken, words hurt sometimes, too.