Home for Sasuke is the smell of badly cooked ramen, the sound of bad sixty's music and a pretty laugh and the sight of a pretty smile. Home is the whispering of things like, "I missed you oh-so much," and pretending so much not to care. Home is the smell of bittersweet irony when he realizes just how much he belongs here (with him) and how very, very wrong it was to leave (he'll never, ever admit it, though).
"I missed you," is whispered.
"I heard."
(And it'll always be made sure that he never, ever forgets).
That is home.
Home for Sakura is the smell of jasmine/lavender/rosemary in the hallway leading to the smell of cheap martinis/champagne and even cheaper cigarettes. Home is the bittersweet smell of him on the carpet and sex on the bed (she's always loved the smell of it but always hated the thought of those two together). It's seeing underwear scattered over the floor and still having a love struck look on her face.
"Want some champagne?" is asked while a hand offer her some.
That's not an entirely correct statement (she needs some) but she takes a glass anyway.
(Onetwothree more drinks and she'll forget of what possibly transpired on the very bed she sits on).
This is home.
Home for Naruto is the scent of the gingerbread deodorant his former-teacher/father-figure gave him for his birthday and a stare that sang (instead of that cliché I want you / I need you / I missed you) "Finally," with bitterness. Home is the smell of attempt cooking and messily hiding the evidence by feeding it to the neighbor's dog and spraying the gingerbread-scented deodorant all over the apartment.
"If you want ramen, I'll buy."
Even though he would've eaten the attempt (and failed) food he agrees.
(No food poisoning is an added bonus, though).
This is home.
Home for Tsunade is a pair of another woman's underwear found on the doorstep when she returns home form a long mission and many, many crumbled pieces of papers scattered leading to a frustrated man. It feels like paper as she runs her fingertips along the door and watches him leaning over that stupid book-in-progress. Home is the smell of perfume and bubblegum as she stares at him with angry, angry eyes.
"Writers' block?" she snarls, mockingly.
"Shut up and take your panties off right now."
(No one inspires him quite like her).
This is home.
Home for Kiba is the smell of wet dog, new car and his sister's terrible cooking. Home is the calling of 'darling, we missed you,' and the fact his dinner is already on the stove (not made by his sister, thankfully). Home is he and his mother laughing, at his sister's expense, at what a terrible, terrible she'll make some lucky (poor) boy one day and father agreeing in the most lovingly sense.
"Oh shut up," she growls, assaulting her food with her fork.
(If she had made food for him with a proud grin on her face; he'd eat anything she made completely. Even if it tasted worse than the things he feeds his dog on mission when there's nothing else to give him).
This is home.
Home for Shikamaru is his father's constant muttering of 'that troublesome woman' but knowing that there's family would be absolutely no where without her. Home is been called for dinner and absolutely dreading it because the same old questions will be asked again and again ("When are you getting married/ Have you got a girlfriend/ Are you gay?") but he doesn't really mind.
"No," is the only word he ever offers them.
(It's kind of a lie, though, because that girl and him have been touchingkissing each other a little too much lately for it to be 'nothing').
This is home.
Home for Ino is being surrounded by far too many aromas to define it as one. Home for her is being encircled by flowers/leaves/butterflies-and-bees-the-wander-in-the-shop and waiting for the next costumer to ring the bell so she can ignore them. Home for Ino is knowing that it's probably so much bigger and better outside but it'll never be as sanctuaric as it is in here.
"Are you actually going to serve any costumers," sings a voice into the shop (it's either her mother or that one girl with pink-pink hair).
"Nope."
(Sleeping with the flower is oh-so much more fun).
This is home.
Home for Iruka smells like play-dough and glue and like someone forget to clean the filters in the air conditioner. Home for Iruka is when he's greeted with overtly childish calls of 'Iruka-sensei!' from the moment he steps inside the gates. Not many of the others here choose to be in this position, but this is perfect to him (always did have a high tolerance for annoying, high-pitched voices and childish pranks).
"Are you ever going to leave?" a friend asks.
He doesn't answer (if it did, it would be 'no', by the way) he just continues to mark papers silently and tells them, sternly, to go away. He's simply not in the mood for his childishness (which is somewhat ironic seeing that childishness is exactly what he likes). The other obeys, but before he does, they ask why he prefers children to more mature company. He doesn't answer.
(Children are, he deiced a long time ago, much more fun than most adults).
This is home.
Home for Temari is stepping on dolls as she enters the house. She swears incessantly, only to slip on sand as she enters the kitchen. The smell of burning cookies worries her (and it should). Home is her screaming at the top of her lungs THAT THEY SHOULDN'T LEAVE TOYS (and sand) LYING AROUND IN THE HALLWAY (it's incredibly unhygienic). She lets it slide (just this one time!) because little brother looks oh-so almost happy that she has to let this moment last just to see if it were real.
"Are you making cookies?" is asked. He doesn't reply. "You know what, don't tell me. I've decided that I don't want to know."
(She'd rather be sleeping, so she does).
This is home.
Home for Konohamaru is the smell of bad perfume and old socks. It's the taste of his mother's old kisses and his grandfather's old sake. Home consists of that stupid woman's annoying voice. She sees them as related (they're not, but she doesn't listen to him) so she coos over him like an annoying (old) aunt. Nevertheless, her smell and perfume and the way she fusses over his hair in the morning reminds him of the mother he never had.
"I'll be coming back late tonight. I'll be stopping in at a friend's place," she tells him the morning.
"I don't care."
(He does but he'll never, ever admit it to her face. He'll never say 'thank you' for acting the part of a mother he's missed oh-so much. He thinks it, though).
This is home.
Home for Lee is the sound of her singing without birds in the background. She was never a good singer but her voice was, nevertheless, soothing. Home is him being far too tired and bruised and it being better that he just has to lie down right there (he hadn't slept or rested for six days; he just keep trainingtrainingtraining). The other boy in their group is training with his father and it leaves just them. It's okay. It's always just them.
She whispers, concerned, "You're overworking yourself."
"I have to."
(Because there's no way he'll be as good as those other boys and girls unless he fights day in, day out. She knows it's true; he has a disadvantage; but everybody needs sleep so she sings him a tempting lullaby).
This is home.
Home for Hinata always smells like lingering blood and strawberry lollipops. It smells like scars and a sense of broken promises and family trust in the air. Home is not understanding why she just keeps coming back here when she knows in her heart that these people are monster in their own right. Her cousin whispers in a bitter voice; "Home is the place you can't wait to leave but for some reason keep coming back too."
It makes far too much sense.
(She'll always, always come back.)
This is home.
Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto.
A/N: My home smells of the towel which people use to dry off their hair whose last user badly rinsed of the shampoo. Just so you know.
This only, only exists because I like the Tsunade one like I love breathing. You can see my ships in this (Naruto/Sasuke, Ino/Sakura (kindof), Ino/Shikamaru, Tsunade/Jiraiya, Kakashi/Iruka. I don't actually ship Tenten/Lee, but they are totally almost-siblings). Oh! And the sand siblings being awesome (and baking cookies).
- Katie.