She didn't remember falling asleep, but when her eyes fluttered open she found herself bundled up in Boruto's bed. The warmth surrounding her reminded Sarada of the way he held her on the bathroom floor and the gentleness with which he combed his fingers through her hair.

The raw, unintended vulnerability she exposed to him made her so embarrassed she wanted to cry, but it seemed her eyes didn't have any tears left.

She could hear the distant sounds of him bustling in the kitchen, presumably cooking breakfast, but she was too afraid to get up. Too afraid to face him after he had seen the worst of her. His perception of her was no doubt irrevocably shattered.

No longer would she be his diligent dance partner, now she was… she didn't know. Sarada couldn't even begin to guess what Boruto was thinking.

Though a part of her wondered how much he already knew. At the very least he suspected there was something not quite right with her, that she was sad like him.

But she still didn't know why he would be sad. He didn't seem sad, at least not at rehearsal. Sarada clutched the blanket closer to her chest at the realization that he didn't seem sad when other people were around. Like maybe Boruto was putting up a facade of his own.

She was tempted to ask him about the pain he was clearly trying to hide, but that would open up the door for him to ask about her and Sarada didn't really have a simple answer for what motivated the way she behaved. She didn't dare unpack all the contradicting emotions wrapped up in it.

After warring with herself for several minutes, Sarada got out of bed. She tried to tame her hair as best she could before she opened the bedroom door.

In the kitchen, Boruto froze like a frightened cat. Blue eyes wide as they landed on her. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say before he just settled on, "hi."

"Hi," she replied, standing awkwardly in the doorway.

"I made you some breakfast." He picked up a small plate from the counter and carried it over to the dining table. "Oh and coffee."

Sarada padded over to the table and stiffly sat down before what she now saw was a single piece of toast with avocado mashed on top. He placed a cup of iced coffee next to her before sitting down with a glass of his own.

"It's just the grocery store cold brew, but I think it's pretty good."

"Thank you," she mumbled, staring down at the toast. Sarada didn't usually have breakfast beyond coffee, but she could feel him watching her. Waiting for her to eat. Cementing the reality that he knew her relationship with food warranted concern.

She picked up the toast and took a bite out of the corner if only to prevent him from asking any probing questions. Boruto seemed to relax in his chair the moment she began eating.

Her eyes flickered between him and her toast as she continued to take small bites. He didn't say anything, which she had partially prayed for but now found even more agonizing. Because at least if he was talking she would have a sense of what he was thinking.

"What?" Sarada finally muttered.

"What?" he repeated innocently.

"Never mind."

With each day that passed, Sarada grew more anxious waiting for Boruto to say something about what he saw. But he didn't.

He did however insist on being near her at all times. It was almost as if he was a parent watching their child use scissors for the first time, like he was so worried that if he took his eyes off of her she might hurt herself.

Boruto kept their conversations light and seemed to offer her more affirmations during rehearsal than ever. Despite the weird tension that still lingered, their partnering was the best it had been in weeks. Much to Tsunade's relief.

Sarada never invited him over and he never really asked, but once he started walking her home from rehearsal he just stayed. He slept in her bed and held her tight every night that week. And then in the morning, he'd make them both a little something for breakfast (which she was hesitant to admit made her feel as though she actually had enough energy for the day).

It was endless sweet, except Boruto wouldn't be doing any of it if he didn't think she was so terribly fragile.

They had been sleeping in the same bed for four nights in a row but he expressed no physical interest in her. Which Sarada might not even really have been looking for, but the idea that she had morphed from a woman he desired to a baby bird with a broken wing in his mind was unsettling.

Or maybe he was just disgusted by the idea of kissing someone he saw trying to throw up.

"You okay?" Boruto asked softly when her hand clutched his shirt a little tighter.

They laid snuggled together in her bed, her head resting on his chest. With a sigh, Sarada pushed herself up to sit facing him. "Just go ahead and say it."

His brows furrowed with uncertainty. "Say what?"

"Say whatever it is you've been thinking all week. You must have thoughts or questions or assumptions about the other night, and that's why you've been treating me like this!"

He ran his fingers through his hair as he struggled to decide what to say. "Sarada, I really don't know much about that kind of stuff so I didn't want to say the wrong thing, but I can only imagine that you're hurting and so I didn't want you to have to be alone. I'm sorry if it's been too much or…"

Her shoulders slumped as she shook her head. She didn't know why she was being so defensive when he always had good intentions. "It's not too much. It's been nice having you around. I just…" Sarada trailed off, unsure what she even wanted to say.

Boruto sat up and placed his hand on her knee. "I don't want to make you talk about it if you're not ready, but I did have two questions if you're willing to answer."

"Okay," she mumbled, preparing herself for questions about why she kept sneaking out after they had slept together or why she kept coming back to him after she was so clearly pushing him away. Sarada wasn't sure it would make sense to him even if she tried her best to explain.

"Is this a new thing or something you've been dealing with for a while?"

That felt like a loaded question. Her poor body image was certainly something she had struggled with for a long time, but she knew he really meant forcing herself to puke. Either way… "It's been a while."

"Does anybody else know?"

Sarada shamefully shook her head. She still really wished he didn't know either, but that ship had sailed.

"Okay, thank you for answering," he whispered, before wrapping his arms around her with a reassuring squeeze. "Do you think that whenever you want to do that, you could come find me instead? And we'll work through whatever you're feeling?"

She didn't know if she could truthfully promise that when so much of what compelled her bad habits was shame and embarrassment that she would much rather hide than share, but she nodded anyway. When Boruto laid back down he pulled Sarada with him. She buried her face against his chest, suddenly emotional that he would even care enough to want to be there for her through all her ugly, messy feelings.

"Try not to gain any weight in the next few weeks," the tailor said offhandedly as she scribbled the last of her notes.

"I won't," Sarada grumbled as she stepped away from the older woman over to where her clothes were folded beside Boruto's.

"We'll have you both in for a final fitting after the first week of dress rehearsals in case any practical adjustments need to be made."

"Thank you," he waved as the tailor left them in the locker room to finish getting redressed in their day clothes. Boruto wore an uncomfortable expression as he pulled on a pair of loose shorts. Like maybe he was starting to understand how twenty years of near-constant little comments like that would push Sarada to an eating disorder.

But she really didn't want to talk about that right now, so she searched for another topic to divert the conversation elsewhere.

"Can you hand me my phone?" he asked, pointing to the counter beside her.

When Sarada picked up the device, the movement made the screen light up and her eyes caught on his background. It was a photo of a younger Boruto in full costume, presumably after a performance, flanked by two women. One younger, one older. Both with shiny indigo hair. But all three seem to share the same delicate, refined features.

"Is this your mom?" she guessed, too busy looking at the photo to notice the way his body stiffened.

"Oh… yeah."

Given his near-daily calls to her when he snuck into that back hallway, Sarada assumed, "you guys are pretty close, right?"

She looked up from the photo when he hesitated for a moment too long.

"We were." The sadness laced in his tone made her stomach drop. He swallowed thickly like the words were hard for him to say. "She died about nine months ago."

Sarada's lips parted with the softest gasp. He never said he was on the phone with his mom that time she interrupted him. He said he was listening to a voicemail from her.

Her heart shattered at the realization. The deep sadness Boruto tried so hard to hide. The abrupt leave of absence Director Uzumaki took last year. It all suddenly made sense.

Sarada attempted to speak despite the dry lump in her throat. "I'm sorry for your loss."

She hated the generic words as they fell from her lips, but what else was she supposed to say to someone in that situation? Someone who was so clearly still grieving and she couldn't possibly relate?

His expression softened with sympathy. "It wasn't a surprise. She was sick for a while."

Sarada grimaced, hating that he would feel the need to try and make her feel less guilty for asking. "That's tough."

"Yeah," he mumbled as his gaze fell to the floor. "It was part of the reason I joined that touring company all those months ago. I just couldn't be here anymore, it was like everything was all wrong with her gone."

"But you're back now?"

Boruto sighed. "Yeah… But it's still not the same."

Sarada stepped closer and grabbed his hand, lacing her fingers with his. She could only imagine.

Silence lingered between them for several moments, but she could practically see the gears turning in his head like he wanted to say more. So she patiently stood still.

When Boruto finally looked up at her, his blue eyes were conflicted. "Be honest with me, have you ever wondered if you were given your role as prima ballerina because of the donations your family makes?"

Her mouth went dry at the jarring change of topic. "Why? Is that what people told you?! Who told you that?"

She was embarrassed by the desperate urgency in her voice, but even more than that she was afraid he was about to confirm her worst fears. That all her peers, including him, thought she was unworthy.

He softly shook his head. "No, nobody told me that. I just… I don't know. I work so hard to prove to everyone that I should be the principal dancer of this company and that my dad didn't just hand it to me, but… but what if he did?"

Her brows rose in surprise and he shamefully looked away.

"He says that he didn't, but I don't know if I can believe him. He didn't want me to join the touring company from the start. He kept asking me to come back and I ignored him. But then he offered me this role, knowing I couldn't refuse."

When Boruto told her he didn't want her to have to be alone, Sarada knew he probably meant it literally. But his willingness to open up to her and share his grief and his doubt about his worthiness brought her a poignant sense of comfort. She wasn't the only one struggling with her confidence or feeling like an imposter. Boruto was quietly suffering too, putting on a similar facade in the hope that others would accept and acknowledge him.

She squeezed his hand, offering him a soft smile and the same words that quieted some of her own doubts. "I think anybody who has seen you dance knows why you were chosen to be principal dancer."

When he was finally able to meet her gaze again, she continued. "You're talented and driven. You're very easy to work with and have great technique. Not to mention, you're very attractive."

A hint of a smile curled up the corner of his lips at her honest praise. But her cheeks colored realizing that that last part might have been a little too honest. "I mean…"

"Thank you," Boruto cut her off, saving her from an excuse she didn't have.

Feeling brave, Sarada reached up and gingerly touched his cheek. "Just so you know, I don't want you to have to be alone either."