AN: The beginning is a bit boring, and the sentences seem simple, obvious and the thought flow fragments because this is told from Tenten's point of view, and she's undergoing shock right now. Make sense? I promise it'll get more interesting!
Marshmallows (1)
At the start of winter, when the nights grew longer, all my friends would come to my house for a sleepover. Longer nights mean more fun.
We'd build up the fire as soon as they arrived, starting with an impudent spark. Ino brings the games. Hinata brings the movies. Sakura brings the hot chocolate. And I provide the marshmallows. It was a well established routine.
But this year, no one came. This year, the apartment is empty. No one is home. Not even me.
I'm at the Konoha hospital right now. The boys are back. Choji, Naruto, Shikamaru, Kiba, Neji. Naruto, Kiba, Choji and Shikamaru have all been dispatched. But Neji's still here. At least that's what I hope. He'd better not have left.
The sign glows crimson and the doors are shut tight, as if they were holding their breaths, like the rest of us, opening only to let disgruntled medics to rush by. I counted; there are at least four medics in there right now. Four medics and Granny Tsunade.
Sakura and Ino left about an hour ago when their parents arrived to pick them up. Hinata's still here, but she's asleep on the couch that sits in the corner next to the chiming grandfather clock. One. Two. Three. Four. That's how old I was when I first met him.
His forehead had been unmarked then.
Funnily enough, that's all I can think about right now. His forehead had been bare and smooth. I think. Or maybe bandages had covered it. I can't remember.
I should've asked him. Now I may never be able to. I want to know. I must know. I need to know.
I've only remember seeing that emerald shackle twice. Once then. Once tonight.
I was only able to catch a glimpse as they rushed him past, the wheels clattering on the cold floor, their feet pounding insistently. His forehead was bare: no forehead protector that marked him as a Konoha shinobi, none of the usual bandages.
But I am a shinobi, trained to take in the minutest details at a glance, to pick out all possible flaws and imperfections. Against enemy shinobi, this was useful and wanted. I don't want it now. I could see all the little signs that screamed something was wrong. His face was more pallid than ever underneath the gashes and bruises; his fingernails were slowly fading from pink to white.
The marshmallows are still sitting on the kitchen counter, where I had left them. Had that been only yesterday? They shouldn't be sitting there right now. They shouldn't.