Natsukashii (adj.)
- of some small thing that brings you suddenly, joyously back to fond memories;
not with a wistful longing for what's passed, but with an appreciation for the good times
Author's Note: This story takes place during the aftermath of the Fourth Shinobi World War. Characterization is based entirely off canon storyline, official datebook descriptions, and personal opinions regarding debatable characteristics. Inaccurate characterization is completely unintentional; a product of non-canon situations the characters are placed in with reactions following what I personally believe would align with their known personalities. Constructive criticism is appreciated and encouraged - as are storyline suggestions - if provided for the overall benefit of the story, not one reader's personal satisfaction. Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own nor claim to own any characters rightfully belonging to Masashi Kishimoto.
The seasons had revolved once since his return to Konohagakure.
Following the destruction of the war, the notorious raven-haired Uchiha was cautiously authorized back into the village he'd defected from years ago. He was initially threatened with permanent banishment or a death sentence, but with the unrelenting pleas of former comrades, the village council determined his predominant role on the Allied front more or less neutralized the treason he'd committed. His actions, however, were not without consequence. Until the Hokage deemed otherwise, he was strictly forbidden to leave the village confines, prohibited from partaking in missions of any rank, and required to participate in monthly appraisals with the council.
The emotional toll of his return, however, was far more debilitating.
Most nights were characterized by insufficient slumber, but some were plagued with vicious nightmares manifesting the subconscious guilt he felt. Those nights, he awoke drenched in cold sweat and the unshakable yearning to make amends with the perpetual remorse that haunted him. Often, he wandered aimlessly through the forest to quell the terminal urges.
From a single glance, not much changed. The forest whistled in the breeze and radiated verdantly beneath the moonlight the same as in his naive childhood. Evidence of childhood training still scarred the decrepit wood, reminiscent of innocence before scathed by the irony of fate. Perhaps he expected a greatly noticeable difference because he himself had changed; no longer was he the vengeance-obsessed teenager bound by the absolution of one man's death by any means necessary.
For a moment, his obsidian eyes fluttered shut as the memories flooded back. Sparkling grey nostalgia coursed through frozen veins as his heartbeat slowed to a quiet whisper. The night of the massacre, his heart was sliced in two; one side of memories and the other drenched in a pool of crimson beside his family. Against the sorrowful moonlight, he allowed himself to asphyxiate in the unconditional and irrevocable mourning he felt towards distant memories that felt almost tangible in his shaking hands.
Following the death of his elder brother, a sweeping sensation of emptiness swallowed him into its black abyss with no mercy. What he believed to be the purpose of his very existence became reprehensible after learning the harsh political truth behind the clan's realized having danced with the devil, the abysmal path of darkness he chose made him no better than the very adversaries his brother lived to protect him against.
In this moment of tender and ridiculous nostalgia, a twinge in his heart far more powerful than a memory ached.
He knew something inside himself was still broken.
