Focus
He stopped hugging when he was five, it was a vivid memory. It wasn't unexpected, hadn't he, himself, stopped hugging his parents, but five, Young. He stopped smiling when he was seven. He practiced in front of a mirror. So young. Then he was gone the next years, gone to the academy. Such a serious little boy. Now he was a genin, chunnin soon if things went well. But they hadn't. He might never be anything now.
"Shino." Shibi kneeled next to his son's body extending his being into the motionless shape in the form of the bugs trying to remove the poison. He needed to focus. Four year-old eyes in thirty-one year-old glasses. Focus. Three year-old fingers with tiny black specks, the first summoning of his own will. Focus. Two year-old feet toddling for the first uncertain time towards waiting arms. He'd been crouching just as he was now, just like this- Focus. Shibi balked. He had found it. The poison. Careful now. Shino rustled.
"Mmm."
Shibi held his breath.
"Father?"
"Lay down. If there's still poison, moving will circulate it. Lay down."
"Hmp." Silence. Shino turned his head slightly. "How did you manage, father?" Shibi cocked his eyebrows, puzzled.
"We both know you can never keep your mind on task, no matter how serious." They laughed.