He wasn't sure when that color on his jacket became so important to him. Orange had been his color, loud and boisterous, heralding his presence even when he could not. But somehow, during the time away from Konoha, he found himself thinking less about acceptance, and more about everything he had left behind. It had been unconscious at first, his eyes straying from orange to blue. And his thoughts would follow a similar progression, from dreams and ideals to goals and promises.
In his sparse moments of clarity, he would look to the sky, bruised and dirty, and wonder if any of his friends were also looking at it. Wonder what they were doing. Blue made him think of home, and sometimes the homesickness would become so strong that his silence would take the place of his tears.
These were the times Jiraiya's training were the harshest.
During his moments of triumph, he would hold his jacket to him tighter, and promise himself that everything he vowed to accomplish would happen. That he was becoming stronger, and with that strength would come the ability to protect his precious people. Blue still made him think of home, but at these moments the homesickness would be tempered with delight, and his grin would be as bright as the sun.
These were the times Jiraiya's training produced the best results.
But then one day, after a particularly rough bout of sparring, his last pair of pants tore, and they both found the cloth too threadbare; any attempt at mending would do nothing but rip it further.
So Jiraiya dragged him into a clothing store about three weeks after his fourteenth birthday. He had clung to his jacket through most of the trip, not wanting to lose it. Jiraiya had been browsing a selection of pants when he had turned and caught the tightly clutched jacket on a rack. The sound of it tearing had filled his ears like a roar, and the white-haired shinobi turned to look at him when he heard his exclamation of dismay. Walking over to him, the sennin examined it in greater detail than he was comfortable with, and when the white haired man had glared at him, he sheepishly admitted that the jacket had long since been unable to offer any protection from the elements. Still, he had hemmed until the attending clerk pointed to a pant and jacket combo eerily similar to the one he owned, only with black in place of the blue and white, and a smaller collar. Jiraiya had immediately snagged it and shoved it into his hands, ordering him to go and see if it fit.
He stared at his reflection for a long time. The outfit suited him, more than the brighter set he was being forced to replace. There was still plenty of orange, but the black made it look darker. He would both stand out in this set and find it easier to hide in shadows. He could appreciate that combination.
Yet...
He looked over to the old jacket lying in a sad heap on the chair. That jacket was important to him; it was the jacket he had worn when Iruka-sensei had acknowledged him as his precious student. The jacket he had been wearing when he became part of Team 7. The jacket that had been on him through the Wave country, the chuunin exam, the search for Tsunade.
Through Sasuke's betrayal.
Blue meant loyal, he had learned. Sasuke had worn blue, had carried it like a shroud.
But the only thing Sasuke had been loyal to was his revenge.
And though he would look up, wearing the jacket was like wearing his own blue, his own shroud. It was the reminder that could follow him anywhere, that remained with him even at night, in the darkness. He would be loyal, he vowed to it. To his ideals, to his promises.
To his friends.
But the jacket could not be loyal to him, could no longer follow him there. He didn't understand, yet, why that reminded him of Sasuke so much.