Visiting Uncle
Chapter 1: The Sunflower Boy
"Dinner will be ready at seven. Don't be late!" my mother shouted over the sound of clanking pans as she shuffled through kitchen cabinets. "And if you see your brother, remind him it's his turn to set the table so he needs to be home earlier than usual!"
I plopped down on the entry step and grabbed my shoes, pulling the straps over my heels. "Home by seven. Tell Bolt he's on table duty."
"And pick up some egg noodles. We're out."
"Egg noodles. Got it."
"And beef broth."
"Egg noodles. Beef broth."
"Do you have your jacket?"
I rolled my eyes. It was mid-August and the weather hadn't dipped below 70 all week, even at night, but I grabbed my hoodie from its peg anyway, tying it haphazardly around my waist. Mom would check later to see if I'd taken it. She had a thing about jackets. "Hai. Itte kimasu."
"Itte rashai," mom called back at me, her voice carrying into the entry. I stepped out into the late summer air, the door closing behind me and the village spread out before me. Our home sat tucked into a hill on the eastern side of Konoha, giving us a perfect view of the valley and the houses nestled into it.
As beautiful as the panorama was, however, there was one structure that dominated the view. Every time I stepped outside I saw them: the hokages. The monument loomed large on the not-too-distant horizon, skyscrapers reaching towards the heavens, shooting out of the heads of our village leaders like weird, industrial crowns. All seven of them were there, always watching: the founders, my grandfather, Granny Tsunade, Uncle Kakashi, and, last but not least, my own father.
I stared into his great, stone eyes. He looked so stoic up there, so serious. But, I supposed, that's how he looked most days anymore. I had memories of a happier Uzumaki Naruto, though, one who didn't look so damn solemn all the time. When Bolt and I were young, before my father became Lord Seventh, he was always smiling. He was home more then, too. I remember the way he looked at me, the vibration of his chest as he tossed Boruto and I in the air, catching us in turn and laughing all the while. But mostly I remember the way he used to look at Mama. No matter how long they'd been apart, be it five minutes or five hours, Papa's eyes would roam a room to find her and light up when he spotted her. He'd watch her when she was cooking or cleaning. She used to sing when she thought no one was paying attention, but Papa was always paying attention back then.
"Do you see how beautiful your mother is, Hima?" he asked me once. He was watching her tend to her flowers through the glass front of the sliding doors in our living room. I took hold of his bandaged hand and observed quietly with him for what felt like an eternity, listening to the quiet hum of her voice as it traveled from the garden to the living room. Even with her hair piled in an untidy knot and dirt on her brow, my mother truly was beautiful. As a little girl I believed she was the most beautiful woman in the world, and I told Papa as much.
"Yeah," I finally agreed. "She looks like an angel."
"Do you wanna know a secret, Sunflower?" Papa asked, scooping me up into his embrace. "I think she is one." He nuzzled his face into my neck, his spiky hair tickling and sending me rolling in a fit of giggles. Mama walked in then, patches of soil on her cheeks and a bouquet of flowers in her arms.
"What's going on in here?" she asked. "You two better be staying out of trouble."
Papa hoisted me higher, tossing me onto his shoulders and holding onto my hands. I felt like I was on top of the world, a giant sitting on the shoulders of the sun. "You know me," Papa said, following Mama to the kitchen. "Troublemaker to the core. What kind of parent would I be if I didn't pass my bountiful knowledge of troublemaking down to my children?" Mama pulled her gloves off and smiled up at us. I watched the sun kiss an angel and for a moment the whole world blushed at their love.
Lately, though, Papa looked more like stone than the sun, his chiseled counterpart a more accurate portrait every day. My mother remained the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, but I couldn't remember the last time I caught her singing. They didn't make the world blush anymore.
I started my leisurely decent into the village, taking the familiar, winding path down the hillside. The Hokage Monument continued to loom imposingly to my right. I glanced over my shoulder towards my father's image yet again and touched my own cheeks. Aside from my eyes, the birthmarks were the only physical characteristic I inherited from him. My brother was a near duplicate of our father from his spiky blonde locks to his toes. I, on the other hand, inherited more of my mother's features. People told me I looked like Mama since the day I was born, apparently. I always took it as a compliment; my mother was the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen, after all.
When I was younger people used to comment on my whisker marks. Papa has always been a hero to Konoha, as long as I could remember, anyway. "They're so cute! They make me just want to pinch your cheeks!" adults would say, usually following through with their desire and actually pinching my cheeks. I never saw the whiskers as cute, but I always wore them with pride. They marked me. They told people to whom I belonged: I was the daughter of Uzumaki Naruto, hero of the shinobi world and future hokage. I wanted to be like him someday, and like Big Brother, too. The three of us, together, marked by the power of Kurama the Kyuubi and living proof of Papa's successful taming of the tailed beasts.
Today, though, I would've done anything to wash them off and sport the white eyes of the Hyuuga clan for a short while instead. Or perhaps bare no resemblance to either of my parents, if only for a little while. Being the daughter of the hokage and a Hyuuga princess wasn't all it was cracked up to be. It sounded far more romantic than it was. Our privacy was very limited, my brother's antics never doing anything to keep us out of village gossip, and living in the public eye had severe disadvantages. People thought they knew me just because they knew my father or my mother, or at least knew of them. The whisker marks, the eyes… They prevented me from ever fully escaping the scrutiny or unjustified expectations of total strangers. "That's the hokage's daughter," people would say as I walked by. The epithet used to fill me with pride, but it didn't mean as much to me anymore. Becoming hokage changed my father, and not for the better.
Every since my father became Lord Seventh, Bolt had spent hours upon hours brooding over Papa's absence. It saddened me too of course, but I had Mama and Big Brother to keep me company. Plus, Papa would send his clones for special occasions if he couldn't be there himself. Whenever I would catch Bolt in a fit I would blindly repeat back to him something I'd heard Mama say. "Papa's trying his best. This whole village is his family and he has to take care of it." But as I grew up I started to question the long absences myself. It wasn't about me, necessarily, so much as it was about Mama and Big Brother. I saw how much it saddened them every time Papa missed a meal or a special event. I even caught Mama crying once when she thought Bolt and I were asleep. The next morning when I came down for breakfast her smile was as bright as ever, no sign in her features that she'd spent half the night waiting up in tears. That was the moment I realized that my father was great at taking care of the village but not so great at taking care of his family. I wore my birthmarks a little less proudly after that.
The August sun shone high in the sky as I hopped off the final step and onto the main stretch that would lead me to the central market. I only had one task in particular I wanted to accomplish that day, but Mama asked me to pick up a few things so I figured I'd get that out of the way first, optimizing the time I had to do what I wanted later.
I wandered the streets of Konoha with little concern for where I was actually going. The streets were full and I liked living in the chaos. The more crowded the streets, the smaller I felt, like I could disappear at any moment. People were less likely to recognize me in a sea of civilians than when the crowds were sparse. Eventually I found the merchant I was looking for, and old woman named Nishiyo who ran a small but well-stocked open-air market. I grabbed the two things on my mother's list and carried them to the counter, placing them there and pulling out the small, frog-shaped coin purse I'd inherited from my father's childhood things.
"Himawari!" Nishiyo exclaimed. The woman's face was so lined with wrinkles and the skin sagged so severely I barely noticed her features move when she spoke. Still, the small turn at the corner of her eyes told me she was smiling. "You look as beautiful as ever, dear. More and more like your mother every day, I dare say. How old are you now?"
How she could see me with her eyes so nearly closed I couldn't be sure, but the compliment made me smile. I never got tired of being compared to Mama. "Sixteen, Nishiyo-san." I dropped the coins on the counter. They scattered with an audible clink.
Nishiyo bagged my items and handed them over, coming around the counter to see me back into the street. I untied my jacket from my waist and shoved it into the sack. "Making anything special with those? Perhaps for some young suitor?"
I felt the telltale blush creeping into my cheeks but laughed off the woman's teasing question. Along with being compared to my mother, other women were particularly fond of asking me about my love life. I found the phrase, "I bet you're fighting the boys off with a stick," to be a common one, to which I loved to reply, "Not a stick. I find my fists work better." It always resulted in at least a breath of stunned silence and was almost always worth it.
"No suitors, Nishiyo-san," I assured her, hoisting the bag onto my shoulder. "Just picking these up for Mama. We were out."
"Oh, well. In that case tell your mother I say hello. And give your lord father my respects as well." The elderly woman waved me goodbye as I began to disappear into the crowd, shouting a half-hearted, "Will do!" in response. I didn't know when the next time I'd see my father to actually give him her respects would be, but what she didn't know wouldn't hurt her.
With my groceries in hand it was time to do what I'd set out to do that day. If Bolt was late for dinner duty that was his problem, not mine. I melted into the crowd, making my way towards the outskirts of the main village hub. As I moved away from the city, the throng thinned little by little until I was the only one left as far as I could see (without my Byakugan, of course.)
The residential area that sat on the outskirts of the city center made it easy to forget the whole village had been flattened, once upon a time. Low garden walls surrounded dainty houses with manicured lawns. People lived there, going about their lives as if they hadn't rebuilt the village from the ground up in less than two decades.
As a child I always wanted to hear tales from my parents' childhoods. Mama and Papa were both brilliant storytellers in their own ways. Papa had a flair for the dramatic, often swooping down on Bolt and I during pivotal moments, shouting during appropriate scenes, and mimicking voices (his impression of Uncle Kiba was particularly impeccable). Mama had a calmer way of telling stories, but no less captivating. There was just something about her voice that drew me in. She knew when to pause and draw out suspense, what details to include and which to overlook. She often stayed up late with Bolt and I, endlessly folding to our pleas for "one more story" and sharing tale upon tale of her and Papa's adventures, one of them being the day Konoha became a crater.
Pain's attack on Konohagakure was a tragic and terrifying day for many, but for me the story of that day was more romantic than anything else. I'd heard various accounts of the events from both my parents over the years. The details changed from time to time, but the important moments always remained the same. When it came to Pain's attack, Mama told the story as just another one of Papa's many heroic adventures – coming to the rescue, battling bad guys, convincing them they could still be redeemed, saving the world. Just another a day in the life of Uzumaki Naruto. But he wasn't the only hero that day.
I ran my hands along a nearby fence, my fingers ticking between the slots as I remembered the last time Papa told his version of that day. "There have been very few times in my life were I felt truly defeated," he said, sitting on the end of the bed while Bolt and I huddled under the covers. "But at that moment I felt in my heart it was the end. My toads had been dispatched, Grandpa Sage was dead, and Pain had every inch of me pinned down. I could feel the chakra being drained from my body, slowly but surely. I thought it was all over for me. I'd finally come up against an enemy I couldn't defeat." Papa paused then, letting us envision the scene, waiting for the question he knew was coming.
"So what'd you do?" Bolt asked, even though we knew the answer. "How'd you get away?"
A grin crept up at the corner of Papa's lips, his whiskered cheek twitching the slightest bit. "Well, the entire village was terrified. Pain had flattened everything with a single blow and it looked like I was about to meet my end, too. Everyone was either recovering from the blast or from fighting one of Pain's Paths or simply too scared to fight back."
"Except for Mama!" I shouted, too excited too hold back. Bolt shushed me, but I'd already spoiled it. Papa never minded, though. His grin only grew wider.
"That's right. Everyone was too afraid to fight except for your mother. She knew that she was no match for Pain, but she came rushing to my side. She jumped into the fray to try and save me."
"Because she loved you!" I shouted again. I could never resist telling the best parts of the story myself.
Papa nodded. "Yes, because she loved me. It was one of the bravest things I've ever seen. She attacked Pain on my behalf, but he was too strong for her. He tossed her aside and I watched her body roll across the ground like a rag doll." Papa's voice became very somber then, his grin fading and his cerulean eyes distant. I followed his gaze to the ground. Nothing was there, but I imagined he could still envision Mama's motionless body. "Seeing her laying there so still… I thought she was dead. I was so angry then. She'd sacrificed herself for me and Pain had tossed her away as if she meant nothing. But she meant everything. Without her jumping in like that I never would've defeated Pain that day. It was the terror I felt to even think she was dead that gave me the strength I needed to press on."
"Because you loved her too, right?" I always asked that question and it was always followed by a brief pause and a different answer depending on his mood. Sometimes my father would laugh and scratch the back of his head and say, "Sure I did, I just didn't know it yet." Other times he would somberly reply, "I didn't know what love was, yet. Your mother taught me, but not until much later." That particular night was a somber one.
"He caught up eventually, though," Mama chimed in from the doorway. I never asked how long she'd been standing there listening. She smiled and walked over to Papa, sitting on his lap and swinging her arms around his neck. Papa smiled like he was sorry, but the kind of sorry you've said a thousand times and found a thousand still isn't enough.
At this point, the story usually ended with a dramatic description of how Kurama leant my father his power and he eventually talked sense into Pain/Nagato, saving the day once again. That night, though, I had something else on my mind. "Why didn't you love her?" I asked. "If she loved you and she saved you and she was brave and strong, why didn't you love her back?"
Papa looked at me with a creased brow, then looked to Mama. His sorry face had turned pleading, like he was sorry but also needed her help. She cupped his face with one hand, running a thumb over his whiskered cheeks. After a long moment, my mother answered me but never took her eyes off him. "Your father's life was complicated at the time. He had many things to worry about. Sasuke was still gone and your father was doing everything in his power to save him, not to mention saving the village. I was just one person among many who relied on him."
"But you loved him," I said, though it sounded more like a question.
My parents never took their eyes off each other. Mama nodded. "I did. I'd loved him for a very long time, and I would continue to love him for even longer. Even though he didn't say it back for many more years, I was more than willing to wait for him. I told you, he caught up eventually – my waiting came to an end. It wasn't perfect, but it was worth it. And now we've promised to love each other forever."
I looked between them as they gazed at each other. "Big Brother," I whispered, trying not to disturb the moment, "do you see that?"
"Yeah," his whispered back, his own eyes transfixed on our parents.
Papa gazed at Mama the way he always did back then – as if he'd bring her the moon and all the stars if she asked. Even though I'd heard that story countless times, that night was the first time I realized my mother saved more than my father's life that day; she saved his soul.
Mama turned to us then, breaking the enchantment that engulfed the room. "And we have you two to love forever and ever, too," she said, hopping off Papa's lap and sweeping me off the bed into a hug. "But no matter how much we love you, you do have to go to sleep." She gave Bolt a kiss on the forehead and carried me to my room, followed closely by my father. They both kissed me and tucked me in, telling me to sleep tight.
Before I could sleep, though, there was one question I needed answered. "Papa," I asked, my voice barely above a whisper as my parents exited the bedroom. Both of them stopped in their tracks and turned back to me, my father's hand levitating just above the light switch.
"Yes, Sunflower?"
"You love Mama now, don't you?"
My father let out a laugh that filled me up inside, making me warm from my head to my toes and assuring me that nothing could ever go wrong again. He was the sun. "More than anything," he answered, his voice heavy with all the confidence in the world.
"More than me and Big Brother?" I asked, half-teasingly.
"Okay, maybe not anything." He winked at me. "But I do love her very much."
"Because she's brave and strong?"
Papa nodded. He turned to look at Mama who was still standing in the doorway. Their bodies together blocked most of the light flooding in from the hall, but it illuminated their silhouettes like they were lined with gold. I watched my father's smile widen. "Because she is brave and strong. And because she saw my potential when no one else could. And because she gave me the most precious gift I could ever ask for – a family." Mama's thumb caressed my father's cheek. I thought, This is what love is.
Remembering such happy things hurt sometimes. It wasn't that we weren't happy anymore, but we weren't as happy. Okay, we weren't happy. Not when it came down to it, anyway. We were well provided for and comfortable. Mama, Bolt, and I had each other, but Papa's absence hung over everything we did like some unholy ghost. Even when we didn't talk about it, we all felt it. It's funny how absence can fill a space in its own way sometimes.
Though the sun shone as brightly as ever when I'd stepped outside not too long before, clouds were beginning to blow in from the south, transforming the earth into a mottled visage of shaded and light patches. I breathed in, hard. There was a storm on the horizon, but it was still a long ways off.
With the past weighing heavily on my mind, I tickled my fingers across the top of a nearby hedge. All the homes in this part of the village seemed to have pristine gardens, the most beautifully manicured lawns. Mother grew flowers at our house, as well, but there was one yard in particular where the flora seemed to grow bigger and brighter than anywhere else in the village.
The Yamanakas were well known for their flower shop in the city center, but I'd discovered some time ago that they kept the best flowers for themselves. Their front garden overflowed with the most beautiful blooms I'd ever seen: ume, hanashobu, rabenda, ajisai. The Yamanaka yard was a rainbow of petals, but there was only one flower that interested me.
I activated my Byakugan and did a quick scan of the immediate area. There were only a few people in sight, and all were in their homes or too far out of range to pose potential surveillance interference. I'd done this enough times to know where the patch I needed was. From my vantage point at the edge of their yard I pinpointed the exact stalk I wanted, leapt into the Yamanaka's yard, turned my hand into a blade, and sliced down the flower. I was in and out within seconds, my prize held tightly in my fist. I felt the small pricks coming off the stem and digging into my palm, relishing the feeling of a successful mission.
I made my way down the street, heading even further away from the city and eventually leaving even the suburban area behind. Tucked away into a quiet place at the edge of Konoha was the cemetery. It was there I wished to end up that day. Whenever I felt particularly nostalgic or weary, I liked to visit. He always calmed me down.
I approached my uncle's grave and placed the sunflower down in front of the small plaque. I know some might frown upon giving a stolen flower to the dead, but honestly? The ones in their yard were so much… better, somehow, than the ones in the store. Plus, it was just more fun to give myself a little challenge from time to time. I touched my fingers to the stone and said a small prayer before kneeling down before it, ready to talk.
When I was younger my mother would bring me to Neji's grave often. We'd bring a sunflower to two and I would ask, "Do you think he likes it?"
"Of course he does," she'd reply. "Because it's your namesake."
As a child, visiting my uncle's grave was a ritual I performed with Mama. As I grew, however, I began to take refuge in that particular spot. My uncle died before I was born, but I felt a special connection to him anyway. Maybe it was how Mama spoke to him when we would visit. At some point, consciously or not, I began speaking to him too. I found myself visiting him even without Mama and telling him things I wouldn't dare tell anyone else: I told him how I felt like people had expectations for who I should be based on my parents; I told him about the first time I caught Mama crying; I told him about the boy who grew the sunflowers.
Today, no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't push away the image of my father's stony-eyed glare reaching out across the village. "Oji-san, I know I've come to you with this before, but I can't get it out of my mind. We've lived like this for so long, I thought I would be used to it by now but –"
"So this is where you bring all those stolen sunflowers." My head snapped to attention, my eyes activating and taking in the intruder. Though the cemetery appeared empty upon my arrival, it seemed I'd been followed. "I suppose the dead don't care where their offerings come from so long as they make the graves look pretty."
Behind me I caught sight of him: Yamanaka Inojin, the boy who grew the sunflowers. He was my brother's age, just a couple years older than me. Sometimes two years felt like nothing; other times it felt like an eternity. I'd known Inojin for a long time, seeing him nearly every time I went to the flower shop with my mother. I was an easy laugher, but always felt particularly giddy around the Yamanaka boy. Maybe it was his glimmering green eyes or his dry sense of humor or the way he absently twirled drawing utensils between his fingers like mini-batons when he was either thinking hard about something or not thinking at all.
I felt heat rising into my chest and neck from his proximity. I coughed, trying to suppress it and listened as his footsteps approached. Sensing no danger, at least not the physical kind, I deactivated my doujutsu and kept my eyes trained on Neji's headstone. The boy paused behind me, hands buried deep into the pockets of his overalls. He'd traded in his usual mission gear for more relaxed clothing that day. His mint eyes scrutinized the name on the headstone. "Ah. Is this where you always bring the stalks you steal from our yard?"
I opened my mouth to protest. No, I wanted to say. Of course not. What stolen flowers? This? I found this by the training grounds. You must be thinking of the other blue-eyed, whisker-faced girl in town. Ask her if she's seen your stolen sunflowers. But of course I couldn't; I'd been caught red-handed, and obviously not for the first time. "How long have you known?"
His shadow fell heavy across Neji's grave, cutting the carved headstone straight down the middle. I watched it shrug. "I started suspecting it last year. You stopped coming into the shop during the summer, and occasionally I'd notice a stalk or two missing. No footprints, though, I'll give you that."
"Why didn't you say something before?"
His shadow shrugged again. "Didn't see the point, I guess. I had an idea of who it was, so I had an idea of what you were taking them for. Figured I could spare a sunflower here and there."
"And your mom?"
"Oh, she never noticed, I don't think. We take care of most of the garden together, but the sunflower patch is mine. They happen to be my favorite." I felt the blush creep up further and hoped if he saw I could play it off and blame it on the August sun. "Why steal them, though? You used to just get them from the shop. Surely you have the money."
It was my turn to shrug. "You save the best ones for yourself. The ones in the shop are beautiful, but the ones in your yard are…"
"Better," he concluded for me. I nodded. "I'll take that as a compliment." We stayed quiet for a moment, him standing and me kneeling. "So, you steal flowers and you bring them to the dead."
"I- I, well..." I stammered, feeling suddenly embarrassed, "That's not all I do! And don't say it like that. It makes it seem more morbid."
"It is kind of morbid, though. And if that's not all you do, what else do you do, exactly?"
"Think. Talk."
"To who? You're alone, unless you count the deceased."
"I do."
"Do what?"
"Count the deceased. I come here to talk to my uncle. Telling him things helps me… I don't know, work them out, I guess."
"You could talk to living people instead, you know. I hear they're good for that kind of thing."
I sighed. Of course I had friends and a loving family, but it wasn't the same. I was comfortable with Neji. "The living talk back. I don't need advice or opinions, I just need someone to listen."
"I could listen."
I cleared my throat and bit the inside of my cheek. I could almost feel my uncle watching me with an amused smirk on his face. I'd told him about Inojin before, about how easily he made me laugh and about the fireworks that lived in my stomach and seemed to ignite whenever he smiled.
I also told him that the fireworks were the very reason I didn't bring flowers as often anymore.
See, I couldn't bear to go to the shop if the Yamanka boy was there (just another one of the reasons I started stealing from their yard). I'd stand outside and scope the shop out with my Byakugan, only going in to purchase flowers if Inojin was absent. I'd heard my mother's stories enough times to know what those fireworks meant, and I wasn't planning on going anywhere near those feelings.
I laughed dryly, trying to swallow down the fireworks exploding somewhere behind my ribcage. I found it extremely difficult to ignore the festival display going on inside me. "Could and want to are different things. I mostly come here to complain. As capable as I'm sure you are of listening to me talk about my problems, I doubt that's really how you want to spend your afternoon."
Inojin shoved his hands deeper into his pockets. When he spoke, his voice sounded smaller to me than before. "And what if I want to listen?"
My chest trembled with excitement and something like fear. Love looked pretty at first, but I saw what it turned into. It needed it's own warning label: Side effects may include the following: late nights without calls, empty beds, fake smiles, loss of secret singing, loss of familial connections, resentment, and/or turning to stone. I wouldn't poke the embers of love with a thirty-foot pole even for a lifetime supply of Ichiraku.
But I pretty much started a fire when I said, "Then take a seat."
Inojin bowed to Neji's grave then kneeled beside me. "Now what?"
"Well, I came here to talk to oji-san about some stuff… Oh, oji-san, this is Inojin-kun," I said, introducing my uncle to the sunflower boy I'd told him so much about.
Inojin said nothing. I turned to him and raised my brow, a question in my eyes. "Aren't you going to say anything back?"
The green-eyed boy looked skeptical, but after a moment he turned back to the grave and bowed his head again. "Nice to meet you, Neji-sama." The phrase came from his mouth joltingly, as if the experience was awkward to him. To prove my assumption he asked, "You do this every time you come here?"
"I've never brought someone else with me, so no, actually. You're the first person outside my family to be here with me."
A funny look came over Inojin's features then, something between surprise and satisfaction. "Well, then, it truly is an honor. What were you two talking about before I showed up?"
"Well, I really hadn't begun talking yet but…" I closed my eyes, coming face to face with the stone image of my father yet again.
I fidgeted. I came to Neji's grave alone for a reason: to be alone. I came to talk to my uncle, and as much as part of me was grateful for Inojin's company, another part of me felt highly uncomfortable sharing with him. We were friends… Good friends, even, at least once upon a time. Still, things got weird when I tried to talk about my family. I had to be careful with my words. My father was the hokage, after all.
"It's okay, you know. I really do want to listen." I turned to look at Inojin then. He smiled at me, his minty eyes completely sincere. Another round of fireworks erupted. I gulped, hoping my face wasn't nearly as red as it felt. Perhaps I could trust him. "If it helps at all, just pretend I'm not here. Just talk to Neji-sama like you normally would." I turned back to the headstone. I could do that; I could talk to Neji.
"I… I thought I would be over it by now. Or used to it. Or indifferent to it or whatever, but Papa's looking stonier than ever these days, oji. All these people believe in him. You believed in him. You died helping him pursue his goal, and he reached it." I tried to block Inojin out, finding that once I started talking it was much easier to pretend Neji and I were alone. "And I know we've been over this time and time again, but it hurts to come in second to the village.
"But even more than me, I feel bad for Mama. She loves Papa – you know that. I'm sure she tells you all the time. And she puts on a brave face but I can tell how sad she is. And I know she doesn't want to say anything because she doesn't want Papa to feel guilty for achieving his dream. But she's so sad… And I'm sad. I feel like Papa cares more about other people's families than he does his own family. I… I've felt like that for a long time.
"We all pretend to be so much happier than we are. Mama used to tell me Papa was the bright light in the darkness, the person the village turned to, and as his family it was our job to support him no matter what so he could keep being that light. But Papa hasn't shone like the sun in a long time. I want him to be the sun, again. I want Mama to sing again. I want Big Brother to smile for real. Our house is just so sad, oji…"
I continued on for a long time, telling Neji all about how home had been lately, explaining my anxieties over the upcoming chunin exam, returning to how sad I was because Papa hadn't taken any time to help train me for said upcoming chunin exams.
"It's just hard to put on a brave face all the time," I concluded, wringing my hands together in my lap. "So I needed to come talk to you because it always makes me feel better. I brought you another sunflower… Yes, it's stolen. But he –" I stopped midsentence. During my diatribe I'd truly forgotten Inojin was even there. I swallowed hard. "He said it was okay. He's known all along. About the flowers."
"It really is okay," Inojin asserted, speaking to the headstone more confidently this time, assuring Neji and me at the same time. "I'm usually very particular about my flowers, especially my sunflowers. They happen to be my favorite, but I can sacrifice a few for Hima. Especially if she's bringing them to you."
I felt a smile tugging at the corner of my lips. I couldn't help it. The two of us sat in silence for a long time. Storm clouds continued to roll in, lazily filling the sky. I felt the temperature begin to drop but didn't move to leave. Inojin was the one to break the silence. "I always thought Boruto was just a show off. Talented, for sure, but cocky. I see now it was a show. You and your brother both... You hide your feelings well under all those smiles."
"We learned from my mother, I think. We all have this unspoken idea that we have to put on a brave face for each other. I think if one of us cracked we might all crack, you know? And my brother is cocky, but more than that he just wants people to feel important and included. He's the most loving a protective person I've ever known, aside from Mama, perhaps. They've been the only real constants in my life, always doting on me. I think they were trying to make up for what I was missing from my dad."
"But they couldn't."
Inojin had a way of turning what should've been questions into statements. Maybe he was just that confident in his assertions. I never really knew. Either way, I shook my head. We were quiet again. Then he did ask a question. "Why didn't you tell me?" I cleared my throat, licked my lips, fidgeted with my fingers, but didn't say anything. I felt Inojin's eyes on me but refused to look his way. "You promised you would tell me."
I felt like a lead balloon had dropped into my gut, extinguishing the fireworks in a single blow. I knew what he was talking about, and the very thought of that day made the balloon in my stomach roll over, like the fireworks were trying to come back to life.
The moment in question happened nearly two years earlier. It was a particularly rough night at home: Boruto and Mama got in a heated argument because Papa missed her birthday. He didn't even bother to send a clone, which was rare but undoubtedly meant he completely forgot. My mother and brother had the same argument on countless occasions, but that evening was exceptionally brutal. Bolt was in a full-on rage. Mama, as she always did, defended Papa and reminded Boruto how important being hokage is and how the village is my father's family, too. Bolt, as he always did, countered by saying the old man cared more about strangers than he did about us. The argument went on and on with no end in sight. I couldn't listen to them anymore, so I left. I didn't even bother sneaking out as I sometimes did. In the heat of their argument, neither of them noticed the door close behind me.
I didn't go far - just to the distant side of the training grounds, down by the river. It was night already, and cold - the middle of December. But the sky was clear and the moon shone brightly on the river's surface. Inojin found me sitting on the bank.
At the time we were good friends, though the lines of our relationship often felt blurry to me. He was my brother's age and sometimes I felt as if Inojin was just another big brother. Other times our friendship felt like something else, something more serious than siblings. The gap between fourteen and sixteen made me feel like a child on occasion, while other times I forgot there was an age difference at all. Regardless, I spent a lot of my free time at the shop or going on walks with him, learning about flowers or watching him paint. I liked the way paper seemed to come alive under his brush, and often truly came alive, quite literally jumping off the parchment. He was always blunt, always observant, and almost always available when I needed a friend.
In true Inojin style, he didn't beat around the bush when he saw me that night. "You're crying." One of his statement-questions.
I quickly brushed the tears from my face, trying to hide them even though I'd clearly been caught. I turned my gaze upward and saw the moon reflected in his mint eyes. He looked down on me with a mix of curiosity and concern, a scroll tucked under his arm and a brush, still black with ink, stuck behind his ear. I stared out across the river. "It's not important."
"If it made you cry, it's important. Was it Bolt? I could kick his ass for you if you wanted." He tried to joke but I wasn't laughing. I shook my head, tucking my forehead against my knees. The grass rustled as Inojin sat beside me. "Hey." I lifted my head to look at him. "If you ever want to talk, I will listen." He wasn't joking anymore, but I still didn't take him seriously.
I laughed dryly. "Yeah, okay."
"Hima-chan, I'm serious. Promise me the next time you're upset you'll come talk to me."
"Inojin-kun..."
"Promise me."
I remained resilient. He hardened his glare. "Promise me."
"Fine," I relented. "I promise." I was putty under that gaze.
"Good." Inojin's glare transformed into his signature smile in an instant. He reached across to me and wiped a stray tear from my cheek. "I don't like seeing you cry." A stray bang caught the end of his paintbrush, soaking up the ink and transforming from the color of corn silk to the blackest shade of night. He didn't seem to notice.
That was the first time I felt the fireworks.
Back in the present, I needed an out, and fast. "I didn't want to burden you." The excuse felt flat even to me, but it was the best I had.
"You could never be a burden. You promised, and then it was like I barely heard from you again."
"You're mad."
"I'm not mad, I'm confused. Clearly you've had a lot going on, but you should've come to me. I expected you would come talk to me, and not just because you promised, but because we were friends."
"We still are friends!" I interjected confidently. Then, less so, "Aren't we?"
"Would I be here if we weren't?"
No, I supposed he wouldn't be. "I didn't want to avoid you, I just..."
"So you were avoiding me." My mouth flopped open and closed like a fish. I nodded numbly. I did not like where this conversation was going, and it was headed there fast. I fumbled around in my head, searching for a way to stop it before it crashed. "Why?" Inojin's voice was pleading, hurt.
I finally turned to look at him. When our eyes locked the fireworks in my stomach reignited, tossing the lead balloon up into my throat. I felt entirely vulnerable in that instant, like he could see right through me. Surely he knew already. He had to know. I felt like the truth was written all over my face. I could almost feel Neji watching me, thinking about all the times I'd come to him explaining what I felt when Inojin was around and how afraid I was of those feelings. For an instant, I felt brave enough to speak the truth.
"I was scared. I am scared."
Inojin's expression morphed from concern to pure confusion. "Scared of me." A question.
"Not exactly," I answered.
"Then of what?"
My mind raced. The moment of bravery I'd felt was only the briefest flash. It had already faded but I'd done nothing to derail the conversation from where it was headed. I looked at Inojin, hoping he would get the picture, that the truth would dawn on him or he'd back away on his own. It seemed neither of those were going to work, and I wasn't brave anymore. "Just... Just drop it, okay?"
Inojin pulled his hair from its band only to put it right back in, a sure sign that he was settling in for the long haul. He wasn't going to let this go. The first roll of thunder sounded in the distance. "I'm not going to drop it until you tell me what the hell happened. I care about you. I've missed you. I want my friend back, and I'm not letting you off the hook until I figure out what's wrong."
His words hurt and warmed me at the same time. I knew I was blushing profusely, unsure how to handle the fierce devotion present in his voice. "I've missed you, too. Nothing happened, Inojin," I assured him. My voice sounded very small and very far away. "And we are friends. You didn't lose me."
"Are you sure, Hima? Because last I checked friends tell each other things. They don't avoid you for two years then only talk to you under the pretense of talking to their dead relatives."
"You said you weren't mad."
"I wasn't a minute ago when you asked me, but I'm a little pissed now. All I want is to be someone you talk to. What is so wrong with that?"
"Nothing."
"Then why are you so insistent on not talking to me?"
"I just did!"
"No, you spoke to your uncle and I happened to be here. That's different."
I stammered. "It-it is n-not!"
"It is different! He's dead. I'm not. I can talk back. I can-" Inojin stopped short. His mint eyes flitted around my face. A breeze ran through the cemetery, bringing the chill of the oncoming storm with it. Another roll of thunder sounded, closer this time.
"You can what?" I prompted.
He turned away, casting his face downward. "This isn't about me, Hima. Don't try and turn this around. This is still very much about you."
I swallowed. I supposed it was about me, but more than that I was beginning to think – hope – it was about us. Inojin sought me out. He told me he would listen. He said he cared about me, that he missed me. But, as pretty as all that was, none of it equated to what I felt. How do you tell someone you think you might be in danger of falling in love with them? How to you stop being afraid of what you feel?
I thought back to my parents' story, the one about Pain's attack. In my mother's version she never told us about her heroic monologue or mentioned that that day was the first time she confessed her long-standing love for my father. She was a side note in her own tale. In my father's version though, Mama's interference was the climax of the story, even more so than his own ultimate victory. She was the hero of his world. I knew from all their other stories that Mama loved Papa for years before she actually told him, and it took him several more to come around. Sitting there next to the boy who grew the sunflowers, I thought for the first time that perhaps the bravest thing my mother did that day was not challenging a demi-god, but telling a boy she loved him with no guarantee he did or would ever love her back.
I gathered what little bit of courage I could, trying to channel my mother's strength. I turned my head towards the ground, unable to face him while I steeled myself for what I wanted to say. "I got scared because I thought I was falling in love with you," I finally admitted, my voice smaller than ever. A breeze that felt too cool for August rolled through, accompanied by a crack of lightening and a roll of thunder. The sky was nearly fully engulfed in gray storm clouds at that point, the oncoming torrent close at hand.
"You thought you were falling in love with me."
I nodded at my knees. "I didn't want to be in love."
"With me."
I shook my head. "With anyone. Maybe ever. My parents used to be so in love, but now…" I let my voice trail off. He'd already heard all about my family life while I hashed it out with Neji. Inojin was well aware of what their love had turned into – stone and silence and something like strangers.
"So you decided the way to fix it and save yourself was to avoid me altogether." I nodded again. After a long moment he asked the question I knew was coming but was nevertheless completely unprepared for. I could feel his eyes on me as he spoke, watching for my reaction. "Did it work?"
I lifted my head. Just feeling his gaze was like being beckoned to look into his eyes. The moment I did I watched as his lips curled inward and an unreadable expression crossed his features. Someone drew spirals with sparklers in my stomach. "It didn't work," he concluded aloud. Thunder cracked, closer than ever.
I turned my gaze back to my knees, wringing my hands together in my lap to try and keep occupied. "I know it's stupid. I told you to drop it." I felt tears stinging the backs of my eyelids and fought to keep them at bay.
Then, inexplicably, I felt something else: his hand wrapping around mine.
"I thought you hated me." It was his turn to be quiet. "I'm not the most personable guy, so I'm used to being hated, or only tolerated, at the very least. I usually don't mind much – people will think what they think. But with you I felt… rejected, I guess. At first I just thought you were embarrassed about that night on the river. I thought you just didn't want me to bring up that I saw you crying. But then I went for weeks without hearing from or seeing you. And whenever I did run into you you would fidget or come up with an excuse and scurry off. So even though I wasn't sure why, I just figured after a while that you didn't want anything to do with me. I suppose I was half-correct."
I stared at his hand wrapped around mine and laying in my lap, unsure what to make of it but unwilling to let it go. "I tried to feel less, but I couldn't. Every time you were around my stomach did flips and all I could think about was my mother sitting alone in the kitchen in the dark waiting for my father to come. I didn't want that; I just wanted to be friends."
"And now?" he prompted, his hand adjusting in mine the slightest bit. "Do you still just want to be friends?"
I felt how strong his grip was in mine. The fireworks in my abdomen were in full effect, lighting off nonstop. Did I want to be just friends? Did I want the fireworks to go away? I wasn't entirely sure, but I did know two things. One, I never wanted him to let go of my hand; and two, "I don't want to end up like my parents."
Inojin squeezed my hand. "I can't promise you that."
"I know."
We sat quietly while the storm continued to brew overhead. I stared at the stolen sunflower I'd laid at the base of my uncle's grave and felt the weight of Inojin's hand in mine. When the first drop of rain landed, turning the stone from light to dark grey, I felt a soft squeeze. "I'll walk you home." The Yamanaka boy pulled his hand from mine. I missed it immediately, but he offered it back as soon as he stood, helping me to my feet. Once I was upright, he kept ahold of it and began guiding me out of the cemetery but not before paying his respects to Neji.
Inojin bowed his head. "It was an honor to be in your presence today, Neji-sama." A pause. "Of course I'll be sure to take good care of her." For the briefest second I thought he might be mocking me, but one look at his profile assured me he was more than serious.
I bowed to my uncle's grave and picked up my bag of groceries with my free hand. "Arigato, oji-san."
We turned to leave, neither of us letting go of the other and neither of us in any particular hurry despite the rain. I knew I still had plenty of time to get home before I was late to dinner and even though I wasn't entirely sure what was happening, I was in no rush to leave the moment or relinquish the comfort of Inojin's touch.
We took a leisurely stroll around the perimeter of the village. The streets were barren now, the few people left scurrying inside to avoid the downpour. Despite the warmth of the summer rain, I felt a chill run down my spine as the storm soaked through my shirt and thought of the jacket I'd hastily shoved in the grocery bag earlier. I considered getting it out, but that would mean breaking my hold. I could suffer through a little rain in exchange for Inojin's hand in mine.
Soon enough the hillside on which my home resided came into view. We started the winding path upwards. With the rest of the village hidden away from the storm, the hokages' stony eyes seemed to watch our every move. I especially felt the glare of my father. My gut wrenched and suddenly my hand seemed to burn where it touched my companion's. I stopped in my tracks, effectively halting Inojin's procession as well. He turned to look at me, one eyebrow raised toward his hairline.
"What is this?" I squeezed his hand but refused to break eye contact.
"I believe this is what people call 'holding hands' Himawari-chan." A wry smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.
I suppressed the urge to roll my eyes. He was cracking jokes, but I didn't find it funny at all. The fireworks and the lead balloon were competing for custody of my stomach. "You know what I mean, Inojin-kun. What does it mean?"
Inojin's mint eyes lingered on our conjoined hands. "It means I care about you. And I want to be someone you talk to. I want to be someone you come to when you're feelings are too much to handle on your own."
"That sounds like love to me." A pause, then, "I'm afraid to be in love," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.
"Are you in love?" he asked, still looking at our hands.
"I don't know. Do you want me to be?"
He looked up then. I felt his eyes boring into me and scrounged up all the courage I had to meet his gaze. "I don't know," he echoed. We stood there in the rain, neither of us sure what our next move was. "But I do know I don't want you to be afraid. And I know I want to do this."
The next thing I knew his free hand was caressing my cheek and his lips were pressed against mine. The sensation was fleeting and a little awkward, but the fireworks erupted louder than ever. It was simple: just lips to lips, an extended moment of baited breath. I'm not sure I even blinked. Rain ran down and around our conjoined features, making the interaction feel much sloppier than it was. It couldn't have lasted more than three seconds, but for the briefest breath I thought I felt the world blush.
Inojin pulled away slowly, returning to his full height but much closer than before. I looked up at him thinking of how in the past our age difference made me wonder if he saw me as a sister. I'd never been a fan of that idea – I didn't want him to see me as a child. That certainly wasn't sibling-esque, though. All my past anxieties fled. I must've appeared as bewildered as I felt because he laughed at my expression.
The blonde boy looked up the hill at my house before declaring, "I think you can make it from here." He wiped a sopping strand of hair behind my ear. "Promise me you'll start coming around again," he said, his fingers lingering on my cheek. "And promise me that this time you'll keep your promise."
I nodded dumbly, barely even registering the continuous downpour that surrounded us. Inojin laughed again and kissed my forehead through my drenched bangs. "I'll see you soon then, Hima-chan." He turned to leave, finally letting go of my hand. I didn't move as he walked away, trying to process the last 76 seconds of my life. The boy didn't get very far before he turned back to me and shouted over the rain. "Oh, and next time you want a sunflower all you have to do is ask!" Then he really was gone, just a yellow and purple blur disappearing into the storm.
I touched my fingers to my lips, trying to see if they felt any different. They didn't, but I did. I turned to regard my father's face, stoic and stolid and carved into stone for all future generations of Konoha citizens to admire and revere. I'd told Inojin I didn't want to end up like my parents, thinking about the neglectful, worn man and complacent, despondent woman they'd turned into. But more than that I thought of the day I stood at my father's side and watched my mother garden; I was a giant on the shoulders of a sun who loved an angel.
Love had side effects. For years I'd only focused on the negative, but there were good ones, too. Love put your dinner on the table and made sure you took your jacket before you left the house. Love defended you against all odds when others cursed you. Love gave you piggyback rides and let you tag along with its friends. Love told you bedtime stories. Love tried to be in thirteen places at once. Love sacrificed pieces of its own happiness to ensure the safety and joy of a thousand strangers. Love put on a brave face even when it hurt inside. Love forgave and love tried and love persisted against all odds.
Side effects my also include: feelings of warmth and safety, fireworks, warped sense of time, hope, and/or turning to sunshine in the middle of a storm.
Perhaps it wasn't a bad thing to be like my parents: brave, bold, and devoutly in love. Finally coming out of my stupor, I continued the climb towards my house. I made another promise that day, but this one was to myself.
I wouldn't be afraid of love anymore. I always wanted love to be simple, but it just wasn't. It was like my mother said: It wasn't perfect, but it was worth it. I would follow my parents' example: I would love fiercely and recklessly and persistently. I would love without guarantee of receiving love in return. I would love when the sun shone and when the sun turned to stone. I would love in a way that made the world blush, and I would never be sorry for it.
A/N: Hey, everyone! So usually today I would post a YGA chapter, but I needed to get this out. I had an idea for a story that would just be tales of what happens to Himawari as she visits Neji's grave on different occasions and how Neji will continue to connect her to people even though she never actually got to meet him. The last time I wrote a story that talked about Naruto's neglectful parenting/husbandry skills ("Put You First") I got a lot of flack for it. People wrote me assuming I had no idea what it was like to be in a family like theirs. Well, I do. In a different way, but I still understand what it's like to watch your family change and feel like you aren't a priority to the people who are supposed to care for you. Not to get too deep, but I've watched my parent's marriage dissolve over the last couple years. It came to a head this past year and a half or so and so I feel a very deep tie to Himawari and Bolt. We know how Bolt feels about his father's behavior, but I want to get into Himawari's head. So, I'm trying to use her and this story to process the characters but also my own life. Plus, I just really love HimaInojin and wanted another excuse to write about them.
I hope you liked it! Let me know what you thought in the comments. Y'all are awesome.
- Kinsey