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constellations
(nostalgia)
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He watches an elderly man hobble across the street with a cone of ice cream for his grandchild as he sweeps the rubble of the rebuild into a pile, handling a broom with finesse. Part of this reminds him deeply of the missions he did as a genin, painting fences and rescuing cats.
But he's a different person, and he thinks that he'll write to Kakashi and suggest that Naruto implement a practice of having all their shinobi take one D-rank every six months.
There is something in helping others that reminds him of what his place in the world is.
He watches life move around him, and thinks of Sakura, whose red-rimmed eyes and paint stained hands greeted him in the morning. She showed him the canvas later on, and he didn't need his Sharingan to see the longing in every stroke.
She promised after a shower that she was going to help out at the local hospital, but something in the way her gaze lingered on the painting made him think she would probably do something different. It doesn't surprise him, then, to see her walking across the market towards the post office, a letter in hand.
He wonders who it's for, and then thinks it's better not to ask.
Her head is ducked, and her clothes are light and comfortable. She has not noticed him, and he knows it is better this way. She stops suddenly at the photography studio on the side, and her fingers press almost reverently against the glass.
He doesn't need to walk over to know that she's looking at the framed Konoha mountainside in the window. Her shoulders sag, and he can feel the time knocking, waiting patiently to take her back.
(10:04:39:20:58)
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notes: I am an idiot and on tumblr I accidentally posted this one and the last installment together as a whole and I'm so dumb. bah. oh well. also, thank you for your kind words! as a matter of fact, I did find the courage to write. last night I finished an 8.5k oneshot, so that'll hopefully be posted soon!