"Hima, wake up already!" Sharp knocking on the door punctuated Boruto's exasperated call. There was no response and he sighed in annoyance. "If you're not up in three, I'm coming in."
Silence met his ultimatum and he rolled his eyes before letting himself in, foregoing the courtesy of warning his sister. He immediately spotted her sprawled out figure under her rumpled blanket, hugging her huge stuffed panda close. He padded silently over, sat down on the edge of her bed, and gently, cautiously shook her shoulder.
"Hima," he called out quietly to her. "Hey. Hey, it's time to get up."
Himawari groaned and curled away from him, hugging her panda closer. Boruto glared at the offending stuffed animal as if it was the one keeping Himawari rooted to her bed.
"If you don't get up in the next minute, I'm eating all the waffles."
There was a grunt and then a sigh from the previously prone form. "You wouldn't." Himawari rolled over and blinked sleepily at him, a frown creasing her forehead. She lifted a hand to ruffle through her short indigo hair, yawning widely as she did so. Boruto wrinkled her nose as she blew into his face.
"I would. And your morning breath is so gross," he commented in disgust, scooting back from her.
"Your fault for waking me up," Himawari retorted, flopping her hand down. She poked at his side, going straight for his ticklish spot and Boruto bounced onto his feet to escape her fingers.
"C'mon, the sooner we eat, the sooner we can take care of the garden and cook dinner before Mom and Dad get back." Boruto grasped the edge of the blanket and flung it off of her. Himawari rolled onto her back and stared at her ceiling in defeat. After a moment, she gave a grunt and sat up, yawning and scratching her stomach. Boruto raised an eyebrow curiously at her.
"What's gotten into you? You're usually not this bad waking up even if you did get back pretty late last night." If anything, Himawari was the early-morning riser between the two and too often Boruto had been poked awake by her merciless fingers. He was undoubtedly the heavier sleeper and after one memorable incident involving her (not so) Gentle Fist when he refused to wake up for an hour, it never took more than a few choice pokes in his most ticklish spots to startle him awake.
Boruto grumbled as he remembered another time when he woke Himawari up by cannonballing onto her bed. Hinata had to ease his tenketsu points back into position when Himawari landed a startled and irate blow to his arm. That was before she learned to control her chakra and her Byakugan but the lesson stuck and Boruto always took the cautious approach to waking her up now.
Himawari rolled out of bed and shuffled towards the door, stretching out the stiffness in her limbs as she followed her nose to the enticing smells of breakfast. Boruto glanced at her unmade bed, hesitated, then decided against doing it for her before following her to the kitchen.
"I spent the day with Papa yesterday and got really tired when we were at the market," Himawari told him as she selected a stack of waffles to eat.
"He practically carried you home," Boruto pointed out in amusement as he sat down to eat his breakfast. "You don't even remember Mom giving you a kiss when you both came in the door?"
"Nuh uh." Her sky blue eyes narrowed as she tried to remember. She shook her head and proceeded to top her waffles with syrup and strawberries before cutting them into neat, bite-sized portions. "One moment I was holding Papa's hand and the next minute, he was tucking me in bed."
"Oh Hima," Boruto rolled his eyes fondly. "You're ten. Double digits."
"Being tucked in by Papa is the best," Himawari argued, jabbing her fork in his direction. "Remember when he used to carry us home? You'd fall asleep when you were sitting on his shoulders or when he was carrying you and then you'd wake up in your bed and it was like magic?"
"Yeah, so?" Boruto frowned, poking at the waffles he made. He only had a few of those memories. What he remembered better were his mom's goodnight kisses and her bedtime stories.
"So Papa is magic," Himawari nodded, sure of herself. She loved it when she was small enough for Naruto to carry and hold, tucked up against his chest with her head resting on his shoulders as he walked home. His Hokage robes would wrap around her like a blanket but what she loved most was nestling against his orange jacket. The fabric was always soft- she knew her mama made sure of that- and best of all, it smelled faintly of noodles, paper, and sunshine.
She never thought sunshine could have a smell but she remembered thinking that most vividly as she fell asleep to the rhythm of his walks.
He smelled like home and comfort, and even though he didn't carry her anymore, she never hesitated to hug him as often as she could. She'd squeeze as hard as she possibly could, and he'd always laugh, exclaiming how she was going to be the strongest kunoichi in the village at this rate. She didn't care much about being the strongest, but she loved seeing that enormous smile on her Papa's face and inhaling the scent of sunshine from his jacket.
Boruto hummed noncommittally to her declaration. He wasn't going to argue with her. They were both equally stubborn when it came down to things like this, but Boruto privately thought that if there was any parent that could be considered magical, it'd have to be their mother.
In the end though, they could both agree that their parents together were unmatched in their capacity to love and care for them.
"You know Dad can use Hiraishin right? Like he can literally teleport in an instant. It's not magic, it's just his jutsu," Boruto pointed out, giving in the urge to needle her a little.
Himawari frowned thoughtfully, though she didn't rise up to the bait like he thought she would. She took her time eating a waffle before looking up at him, her expression serious and sure. "It's not about technique, Bore. It's like… it's like a trust fall. And you know Papa. He's going to catch you every single time and never let you down. And he won't just catch you, he'll always bring you home. That's the best kind of falling. That's magic."
Boruto set his fork down and pushed his empty plate away, sitting back in his chair and watching her finish the rest of her breakfast.
"You know… you kinda sound like him when you talk like that," he remarked quietly. His tone was carefully neutral but Himawari knew enough him better than that. She knew he still had a rocky relationship with their father sometimes, knew he loved him so much that it hurt him.
So she grinned brightly at him and chirped, "Thank you. I'll take that as a compliment." Because Papa was someone bright and wonderful to her and she knew Boruto still saw him like that too… even if he hid it underneath his grumpiness and mood swings. She'd remind him so he wouldn't get caught up in his indignation and worries.
Boruto shook his head, a small smile on his lips as he realized what she was unabashedly doing and got up to set his plate in the sink.
"Dad also washes the dishes so I guess you will too if you're just like him."
"Hey!"
"The cook never cleans," Boruto reminded her cheekily before heading to his room to change into appropriate clothes he could get dirty in.
"Sometimes I swear you're better at the disappearing act," Himawari grumbled, though it was more to give him a hard time than any real complaint. She never minded cleaning up when Boruto cooked, especially when he tended to cook her favourites.
Boruto reappeared in the kitchen dressed in comfortable, old clothes faded from the sun, gardening gloves under an arm as he applied sunscreen to his face. He had the unfortunate habit of burning before tanning under the sun, a trait he inherited from Hinata while both Himawari and Naruto suntanned as if they were made to soak up the sunshine.
He flashed a grin, quick and mischievous, to her. "Magic, Hima. Magic."
xXx
Himawari bounded in the kitchen, a handful of flowers cradled in her hands, picked fresh from their garden. The fragrant blooms of lavender, freesia, and daffodils freshened the air and brought a burst of summer into the room. She retrieved a vase from the cabinet and partially filled it with water before arranging the bouquet to her liking. She set it down in the center of the kitchen table and the sunlight streaming through the windows lit the kitchen warmly, brightly, drawing out the colours of the flowers until they sang vibrantly from where they stood on the table.
"Hima, wipe your feet next time," Boruto sighed, walking in after her and dragging a rag on his foot as he wiped the dirt from her footprints with each step. It was routine at this point, with even a basket of rags set by the door for this purpose. Sometimes he wondered if Himawari purposely forgot to wipe her feet after gardening just so he'd have to clean up after her.
"Oops, sorry," she giggled apologetically. "But look! Don't these look so pretty? And they smell so nice too." She inhaled deeply before grinning at him.
"Wait until you smell what I'm cooking for dinner- which you're still helping me with by the way," he promised, picking up the rag and heading to the laundry room to deposit. "Wash your hands and your arms. I'm not planning on seasoning anything with dirt."
"But it'd be so healthy," Himawari argued, though she did as she was told, turning on the faucet in the sink and rubbing her hands with soap until they were clean and smooth. "Kiba-ojichan and Akamaru say it's very useful for camouflage and scent and Ino-obachan says it has a ton of nutrients."
"The next time I need to cook something that requires stealthiness, I'll keep that in mind," Boruto answered amusedly as he came back, this time bearing his treasured cookbook filled with recipes that many of their friends and family contributed to. He set it on the counter, washed his own hands, and retrieved his pink apron from where it hung on a hook by the door. He handed the smaller yellow apron to Himawari and flipped his cookbook open to the desired page.
"Oh oh oh, can we make ramen?" Himawari bounced on the spot next to him. She was distracted the moment after by the dust motes floating in the sunbeams that filtered through the windows. She twirled across the kitchen, giggling as they danced and swirled around her.
"Tonkotsu ramen," Boruto confirmed. "Hima, focus. And I want to make red bean mochi for dessert too. Maybe red bean soup if there's enough left."
"Can we make ice cream mochi? Pleeeease?" Himawari twirled back and clasped her hands under her chin, staring pleadingly up at him.
Boruto hesitated, took one look at her face, and folded. "Ok, ice cream mochi too."
"Yay!" Himawari cheered, opening up the fridge and drawing the necessary ingredients out. "Ok, what should I do?"
Boruto set her to chopping and measuring since experience told them both that Himawari and the stove were not great friends. Height and age contributed to that but Boruto thought it was good Himawari had many other talents since he was fairly certain cooking would not become one of them. Which was alright, because he liked to cook but hated to clean, so the system worked out for the both of them.
He hummed as he set the broth out to broil and filled a pot up with water to soften the noodles in. His steps were light and his movements sure as he moved the red bean paste Himawari prepared into the freezer and checked the mochiko dough she was in the process of making.
"A bit more water, Hima," he noted, poking at the lumpy dough. "Unless you want to be eating cake instead." She just stuck her tongue out at him in response before diligently adding another tablespoon.
She listened to his quiet humming as she mixed, relaxing in the kitchen that slowly warmed up with delicious smells and cozy heat.
"Oh shoot," she sighed as the dough ran through her hands, a little too runny now with water. "Bore, what do I do?"
Boruto set his knife down and pushed the chopping board full of bamboo shoots and bean sprouts to the side before taking the doughy mix. He poked at it thoughtfully before adding some more mochiko and green tea powder. He didn't say anything, his attention focused on methodically mixing the dough until it slowly became the right consistency.
"Mom's better at making this than I am," Boruto muttered, displeased with something. With what, Himawari couldn't tell since the mochi finally looked right when he stopped mixing. She clapped her hands, watching the powder fly from her hands to join the dust motes in the sunbeams.
"You're awesome at this, you don't even need the cookbook!" Himawari argued. She giggled as she darted forward, lightning quick, and tapped him on the cheeks, leaving white fingerprints by his whiskers.
"Hima," he scolded halfheartedly, but a smile quirked up on his lips. "You know Mom though. She just cooks and chops and measures like it's nothing and everything comes out perfectly and deliciously."
It wasn't just her cooking that impressed upon his mind, but also watching her move in the kitchen. She was always humming, always so light on her feet she looked like she danced across the floor. Even standing by the kitchen windows, chopping away on the cutting board with her hair tied back and her apron on, she glowed and Boruto was sure her cooking skills were some divine power. Best was when she would turn to smile at him, hand him a spatula or a cutting knife and invite him to help her.
Boruto loved cooking, but what he loved most was cooking with Hinata.
He loved doing most things with her, come to think of it. His earliest memory in the garden was planting some daffodil seeds together with her and then running off to find a colourful bug or a pretty flower to bring back. He picked up knitting when he saw how much she enjoyed doing it and the sunset-coloured blanket that was a permanent resident on the couch in the living room was a testament to their combined effort.
Cooking was special though. Cooking was their time together, when he talked about his day in between the bubbling of soup and the sizzling of the pan, when she'd beam at him for all his help and he could proudly tell Dad that he helped with dinner and wasn't it delicious?
Coming home meant stepping into the house, into the kitchen after a long day at school, after a tiring day running errands or meeting with people, and being enveloped by the warmth of cooking food and the fragrant aroma of herbs and spices lingering in the air. Coming home meant a hug and a smile from Mom and delicious food to fill his stomach with.
Well, like his dad always did like to tease, the quickest way to the heart was through the stomach.
"Bore," Himawari's interrupted gently, "that is perfect." Boruto blinked and looked down and found, to his surprise, that she was right. The consistency was correct and filled the pan up just right, ready for steaming. He shook his head, smiling to himself before setting it on the stove to steam. He turned the fire down for the broth and drained the noodles, working back into the quiet peace he always found when he cooked.
Himawari watched as he moved to pluck a few leaves off the basil plant in their herb garden growing by the kitchen windowsill. His fingers were gentle, precise as he selected the correct plant and the sun lit his blonde hair until it shone, but what caught her eye was the small, relaxed smile that played on his lips as he started to hum again.
"You look like Mama," Himawari commented quietly, not wanting to disturb his moment. Boruto blinked and looked up from his task to look owlishly at her.
"I'm shorter, and my hair's a different colour," he pointed out, an eyebrow raised.
Himawari rolled her eyes at him and clarified, "It's not how you look, but how you look." She reached over to tap him on the cheeks again, this time poking his lips up into a smile. "You both look like when you cook, you'd rather be doing nothing else."
"You know what Mom told me once?" Boruto batted her hands away before plucking the basil plant. The air was filled with the light, fragrant smell of basil as he waved the leaves in the sunlight, watching how the sun made them glow a warm green. "Whenever she cooked, she always thought about who she was cooking for. She'd think of Dad when she made his lunch or she'd think of us when making our favourite snacks and it'd be like spending more time with us that way. She told me that was her secret ingredient whenever she cooked."
"Us?" Himawari asked, taking a leaf and twirling it in the light alongside him.
"Love," Boruto nodded. "Explains why her food is always so good."
Himawari hummed before taking the rest of the leaves from his hands and skipping over to the cutting board to chop.
"Your food tastes like hers too," she told him in between the steady staccato of the knife. "So I guess it's pretty lucky we have you and Mama cooking and thinking of us."
Boruto grinned as he came over. He gave her head a quick but thorough rub, tousling her hair and ignoring her indignant exclamation of protest.
"You guys are always there to eat it all, and it's always more satisfying cooking for other people. So you know, full circle." Himawari grinned at that. There really was nothing better than eating with together as a family and filling the belly up with warm and delicious food. "C'mon, let's finish up the ramen so we can get started on your ice cream mochi!"
AN: So marks the start for the Sunshine Siblings Week event on Tumblr! Whoo boy, this got out in a jiffy! I'm going to try my hardest to get the prompts done on time (I can already feel this not happening but a girl can dream) so apologies for any rushed errors. Thanks peachandpoppyposts for headcanoning with me on Boruto's recipe book!