The Dream Team
We're back, bitches.
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Minato ambled along the edge of the graveyard, bowls upon bowls of takeout ramen in his arms.
If he were completely honest with himself, he knew what he was looking for. He'd never voice it aloud, but he'd known he wanted to visit here since they first set foot back into life.
And yet he couldn't bring himself to read the names on the stones, to identify just the right one.
He and his wife had been dead for over fifteen years, and somehow…
He stopped, seeing the large stone flame rise in the distance, and he knew. That was where he was buried, with Kushina right next to him.
His feet would have stopped him, if he were a saner man. They would have stopped ten tombstones ago, and retraced themselves back the way they came from. But Minato had never likened himself to be particularly sane—no, never when it came to Kushina.
Setting the bowls gingerly on the grass, he stepped towards his deceased wife and kneeled at the base of their epitaph, the stone spiraling to the sky.
Their own will of fire.
His forehead touched the cool ground and his eyelids slipped shut. "I miss you," he managed to choke out, a strangled whisper against the blades of grass.
The sun shone brightly overhead, and Minato grieved for the wife he'd loved and lost with himself long ago. There wasn't a cloud in the sky, and Minato grieved for being alive.
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notes: bit of an interlude from our regular programming, but still tied to the plot (see? he's got the ramen). dedicated to those that we've lost this week: from the boston marathon to the texas feritilizer plant to the MIT shooting. the world grieves with you.
and still for les, who figures out my writing when even I can't. love you to pieces. review?
