"That bed of yours has enough room for two."
Shikamaru's agape mouth, elevated brows and wide eyes were all dishonest responses. His body simply acted reflexively, but at this point, he wasn't really all that surprised that his mother had suggested that. Recovering authority over his features again, he sealed his lips shut and presented his usual dispassionate stare. He straightened his legs and rose to his feet, then set off on his journey to the opposite end of the table, coming to a halt in front of sand-blonde hair and dim teal eyes, narrowed and watching with caution.
He took Temari's hand in his own, ignoring the look of awe and disbelief on Shikadai's face, ignoring the descending paperwork so that it no longer obscured his father's curious eyes, ignoring the hushed squeal and faint claps from his mother, ignoring the jolt that coursed through her body, ignoring the jolt that coursed through his body, and pulled her off her seat, towing her away at a pace impatient for escape.
Silence settled in the room once they'd left and the door shut behind them—comfortably for some, not so comfortably for others.
"Well he's eager," mumbled Shikaku through the pen in his mouth, dropping his attention back down to his paperwork.
"Told you it was only a matter of time," Yoshino said, clearly fitting the comfortable silence bracket.
"Mm," he simply responded.
Shikadai alternated his stare between his grandparents, then eventually kept it fixed to the door, an eyebrow raised and nearing his jagged hairline. What the hell just happened?
The two marched, hand in hand, through the long corridor and up the fourteen step staircase.
"What on earth are you doing?" Temari asked, whispering, as she didn't trust her voice enough to deliver the same line any louder without it cracking.
"Saving us from my mother," he replied without looking back.
And once more, just like every other time their hands would brush against each other's or a brief contact was made, her heart raced and bolts of electric impulses fired through every nerve of her system. She despised the feeling, or rather, the little control she had over it. It wasn't a formidable foe she could simply blast away with her fan. It wasn't a difficult elderly she could narrow her eyes to and attempt to overcome with reasoning. It was feelings she'd been forced to confront and face head on, feelings she'd dodged acknowledging all this time, refusing to give any thought, refusing to admit what they could imply.
Her engines were running entirely on adrenaline and sheer willpower right now. She fastened her grip on his hand, fingers squeezing back and a thumb over his knuckles, to prevent herself from falling. That's all that was to it, she reasoned to herself. She had too much to offer in her role as both a shinobi and as an ambassador than to allow her brain to rot away due to a head injury from a fall down the stairs.
He continued guiding her through the residence, at last coming to rest in front of a door second-furthest from the staircase. He pulled her in, finally letting go to shut the door behind them and lock from intruders.
Temari stood still with a deadpan stare, turning only her head to scan the setting. "This is your room."
"Astute observation, there."
She put a hand on her hip and shot him a scowl. Now really wasn't the time for his dry remarks. "Okay, how about this, why are we in your room?"
"I thought I told you already?" he said. "To get us as far away as possible from my difficult, out-of-control, troublesome mother."
"Yes, but I thought you maybe had a place in mind where your mother couldn't, I don't know, actually get to us."
"And this is it." He extended his arms out far, gesturing to his little safe haven. "She's not walking in here, not anytime soon—for obvious reasons."
After a prolonged pause, she hummed a noise in agreement; there was little to argue there. His mother had already made her requests painfully clear. Her eyes wondered around the room, which was surprisingly well-maintained, eventually coming to rest on the one spot the two were to supposedly occupy; the bed.
"Is that my stuff?" she asked, initially mistaking her travel bag for a pillow of similar color.
He sighed, blubbering his lips at the end of it. "Mom must've put it here when she had the chance. Figures. Well, sadly for her, she hadn't exactly planned the whole thing through as well as she thought she had, seeing as she forgot about… this," he said, opening the doors to his cupboard wide, exposing a set of pillows and neatly-folded covers, all stacked on top of each other. "Give me a few minutes and I'll have something set up over there on the floor, and you can take the bed."
She watched as he carefully disassembled the large tower, unaware of the subtle pout projected on her face. A thought lingered on her mind as he continued to prepare his small shelter for the night, down onto the rough, wooden surface.
"Just covers?" she questioned. "Your body's gonna get sore from that, you know. Don't you have a futon, or something?"
"Yeah, but I think they're in Mom and Dad's room," he said, patting the pillow down on its head.
"Here's another astute observation: go get one."
He scoffed. "What, and face my mother again, then explain to her why we're not sharing the bed together? Nuh-uh, no way. This'll do."
"This will absolutely not do." She walked over to the bed and reached out for the bag, throwing the strap of it over her shoulder and turning to face him, a sympathetic expression on her. "Look, finish setting it up while I go change. I'll sleep down here, and you take the bed."
He paused, then turned his head to meet her gaze. "What? Why's that?"
"Because this entire mess could've been avoided if I hadn't been so easily dragged to your house. I've already been enough of a burden to you today as it, it wouldn't be fair to then kick you out of your own bed."
He shook his head. "That's not how it works, Temari, and it's not like this is all your fault, either. You're the guest here, so it's only right that you take it."
"Your room, your bed. You sleep on it."
"Temari, I'm not sleeping on the bed while you lay there uncomfortably on the ground. I'm sleeping on the floor."
"Then I'm also sleeping on the floor. Hand me some covers and I'll put them down over here," she said, jabbing a finger at a space on the wooden surface.
He really didn't want to use the t-word right now, but her persistence forced the word to balance on his tongue, swallowing it back down uncomfortably as if it were one of Lady Tsunade's medicines.
"What's the point of that?" he asked, bewildered. "We both may as well just share the bed, then."
"Then it's settled. If you need anything, give me a shout."
She walked with her belongings over to the junction of the bathroom and closed the door behind her, leaving him without an opportunity to respond.
He kept his stare fixed to the door, an eyebrow raised and nearing his jagged hairline. What the hell just happened?
It was him. It was him. With pockets warming hands and a slight chatter to his teeth, he stood outside her door, eager for a response and desperate for one he wanted to hear.
The father of her child. Her… her husband.
Her husband.
She just couldn't fathom it. How? How? He… he'd never shown any interest in her… did he? Had he always had feeling for her? Was his infatuation with Sakura just some sort of farce? Or perhaps his feeling for her developed later on? But why? Was it an event that triggered them? Was it a slow progression? Had she changed something about herself that helped capture his attention? But what? What was it? Was it just one thing? A number of things? Appearance? A change in hairstyle? A change in what she wore? Had she begun to dress more provocatively? It… it wasn't in her character to do so, but—but if it meant getting his attention, then… then maybe—
"Um, Hinata?"
She shook vigorously in her spot, his usually uplifting voice tearing through her trance like a sharp kunai. She couldn't tell how deep a shade of red she was right now, but she could feel the warmth, the burning heat radiating from her face.
He neared his face to hers, invading—violating her proximity, surveying her, inspecting every little hair of her eyelashes and every little freckle on her skin.
"Hey," he said, brushing the back of his cool hand against her forehead. "You sick, or something?"
Oh dear.
The yellow of his hair and the black and orange of his jumpsuit were all slowly turning black, black and black.
She recognized what that meant and knew there was little she could do to fight it. Thankfully, she was standing on a thick, resilient rug, which would help to cushion her fall, preventing further trauma to the brain she imagined was worsening due to the repeated falls onto her head. With legs made of fluid and a head the weight of a feather, every joint and every muscle in her body unwound as heavy lids began to fall over her eyes.
"Mom? What's going on?"
Her blurred vision became clear again, and the strength was back in her feet. She reached out for the handle of the door and held on to it as tight as she could, readjusting her unstable balance. That… that'd never happened before. Regaining consciousness again after the point of no return. She turned her head round to see Boruto stood behind her, a drink in hand and concern on his face. Was… that it? Was that what happened?
Her son's voice wrought with worry was able to do that?
Naruto thrust his head through the opening of the door and glanced over her shoulder.
Boruto in response spat out the juice occupying his mouth in a rather comedic, exaggerated fashion. "Dad?!"
Relief began to settle on Naruto's face. "Boruto?"
Confusion began to settle on Boruto's face. "D-Dad?!"
"Boruto!" Naruto followed, that powerful grin of his now on display.
"What are you doing here?!" Boruto cried, legs bent and a finger pointing accusingly at him.
But, to tell the truth, he was actually quite… touched. Flattered, even. He came. He actually came. Against his wishes and through the harsh winds of the night, he stood in front of her door with that same, warm, comforting smile on his face.
"I may have had something to do with that," Neji said, approaching. "I had requested that a number of our clansmen go and collect Naruto to have him stay here for the night."
Oh.
And here he was, crediting his dad, praising him, thinking that he came here on his own accord. Thinking that maybe, for once, he'd actually do the right damn thing for his own damn family. But no, just like every other time, he was lead into a false sense of reality due to some misplaced faith in his stupid old man.
"Huh? What are you talking about? Clansmen?" Naruto questioned, sincerely puzzled.
Neji tilted his head to the side. "You weren't approached by my people?"
Naruto shook head slow, displaying both sides of his profile clearly.
"Then what prompted you to come here?" Neji asked, now equally as puzzled.
He raised both his hands and placed the two behind the back of his head, leaning its weight onto them. "I just wanted to see Boruto."
Oh.
Boruto cast his eyes downwards. His stomach flipped, turned and curled, sorta like before, but, it felt… good, this time around. It was a pleasant feeling. He then turned his head to the side and bit his lip down, fighting off the smile that begged to be displayed. He couldn't. No way. Absolutely not. His dad wouldn't be off the hook that easily. First of all, the correct answer would've been that he wanted to see both him and Mom. Secondly, he hadn't even apologized for his damn arm, yet! Had he even noticed it?
Third, he's still yet to treat Mom properly.
"Hinata, aren't going to let him in?" Neji asked.
She stood, barely, with shaking hands holding onto the handle for dear life, unconsciousness threatening her again. Here? He's staying here? She opened the door further, running the thought through her head over and over and over again. He would be staying here with them, eating dinner here with them, sleeping here with them, waking up and having breakfast here with them, with her and her son. She and him and their kids. She'd envisioned this whenever the opportunity presented itself, and it felt exactly like that; a vision. Except it wasn't, it was real and she knew it because she could reach out and she could touch him and she would feel something, just like his hand was reaching out for her right now and landed right onto her shoulder.
"You should really go to bed, Hinata, you don't look so good."
If there was any more juice in Boruto's mouth, he would've spat that back out, too.
Stepping into the property, and all over Boruto's respect for him, Naruto walked past his son and his dropped jaw to properly greet Neji. Boruto snuck a glance over at Hinata to see her frozen in place, an unblinking stare at where he once stood. Her face was bright red right now, and she was justifiably angry, Boruto thought. How could he? Taking her heart, tearing it apart, throwing it to the ground and then relieving himself all over it—that's the equivalent of what he just did. You were supposed to tell her how good she looks, stupid old man! Not that!
Boruto breathed out slow through his nose and allowed his body to slump a little. No matter. Both his parents were still here, and both still conscious. He knew that it wasn't going to be an easy task, and he certainly knew that he wasn't going to raise his hands and admit defeat that easily.
Uh, no offense, Shikadai.
He was too stubborn like his dad and too relentless like his mom to even entertain the thought of giving up. He planned on using every single trick he had up his sleeve, hidden in his footwear and in his back pocket, and by God, he would have them proposing to each other before the night was over. But first…
"Go change."
Hinata jerked in her spot once more. She stood by the door, not having moved the entire time, and looked back behind her to see Boruto with a hand on his hip and a stern expression on his face. She was beginning to fear that look.
An unintelligible noise croaked past her lips in response.
"Change your clothes. Remember the dress I told you to go put on?" he followed.
She shook her head, not intending on vocalizing a reply to his request—or demand, rather.
"Fine, suit yourself. But, uh, for the record, those stains all over your clothes? Yeah, not a good look."
She took a moment to register his words, then abruptly arranged herself into an awkward pose, pulling on her jacket for closer inspection. It was the drink he'd forcibly spat out earlier, a myriad of small, orange ovals and dots smeared all over her back and behind her left thigh. She looked up from the stains to his face, a smug, mischievous grin plastered across it.
Shikamaru sat on the edge of the bed, waiting. What he was waiting for he wasn't necessarily sure. He'd already changed into his sleep attire. He'd already cleaned himself up in the bathroom across the hall. He could've sealed his eyelids shut already and drifted out of consciousness. But something prevented him from doing so.
The door to the bathroom opened steadily all the way.
She wore a simple outfit; a tradition Suna clothing that was plain in design, shielding her arms and covering her ankles; comfortable for the harsh conditions of the desert. Her hair was distanced from the usual four pigtails, free from the shackles of her hairbands, with a few strands floating upwards against the effects of gravity. He imagined that she forced it into something a little more presentable for the occasion.
He felt guilty seeing her like this. He recognized how much maintaining her image meant to Temari, and anything other than the strong, tough kunoichi from Suna left her feeling vulnerable and out of place.
He maneuvered his eyes away from her, instead staring intently at the plain wall in front of him. He wasn't quite sure how long he stayed like that, not having moved a single muscle in his body. Not even when he heard footsteps hesitantly approaching the bed, or when he heard a gentle blow of air, or when he watched the orange room abruptly fade to blue, or when he felt the bed push down slowly.
Feeling adventurous, he snuck in a quick glance to her side of the bed. She was lying down with her back to him, just like his was to her. Only then did he feel like he could now rest his head down onto the pillow.
They laid like that, a deafening silence filling the room. A silence that infuriated Shikamaru.
But why? Where was the issue in that? It was late and they needed the sleep, it was only appropriate that it'd be quiet. And yet, for whatever reason, it still felt misplaced. Absence of sound was a rarity between the two, much to the surprise of many. They weren't often silent with each other, and if they were, it was comfortable. Not whatever this was.
He sighed through his nose. Troublesome.
"Hey, Temari?"
Boruto laid stiff on the sofa, hoping that it would engulf him whole soon. He couldn't believe it. He never would've imagine that he'd be so exhausted from being with his dad.
And it hadn't even been a whole hour yet since he'd arrived.
He rambled on and on about how much progress he'd made with incorporating wind style into his Rasengan. Tch, big whoop, Boruto thought. He himself had already managed to do that with lightning style, and he still hadn't the slightest idea how he did it.
The clatter of heels against the creaking, wooden stairs successfully drew the eyes of everybody in the room. What maintained those curious stares was the figure producing the sounds, slowly approaching into shot. Boruto pushed himself up, arm at a right angle and an elbow pressing against the firm surface.
Hinata took slow, delicate steps down the staircase, each one giving a more clear view of her drastic transformation. She wore a white yukata, with intricate patterns of vibrant, violet petals woven into it, all held together by a piece of purple fabric strapped around her waist. Her fringe remained curtained over her forehead, but her hair was now tied back into a ponytail, loose strands that escaped her hairclip instead positioned behind her ear.
She looked like royalty.
"Woah," Naruto blurted without conscious thought.
As if a spell had been broken from his voice, Boruto snapped from his mesmerized stare. He stole a glance at his dad to see him watching with awe, seemingly trapped in a spell himself.
He nudged Naruto's arm repeatedly. "She looks pretty stunning in that, don't you think, Dad?"
"She…" Naruto began, pausing to moisturize his parched lips with strokes of his tongue.
Boruto beamed a victorious smirk, both surprised and relieved at how soon the plan was coming to fruition. He clasped his hands together—just one more little push should do the trick. "She…?"
"She… she looks super weird without the jacket!"
Boruto's smile fell from his face almost instantly.
"Wow! It's like she's a completely different person now! Hey, anybody know where Hinata went?" He placed a hand aligned horizontally above his narrowed eyes, as if to amplify his field of view, searching frantically around the room.
Boruto didn't laugh. The disappointment on her face and the disgust on his own hadn't allowed it. He did settle with a hoarse growl under his breath, however.
Another growl was audible; louder, more vicious. Boruto was sure it hadn't come from him. Well, not from his mouth, that is. He looked down, and right on cue, another howl roared from his stomach. He looked up at his mother, feeling the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Try and mess this one up, Dad.
"Man, I'm hungry," Boruto said, holding his stomach tight. "Hey, Mom, you think we could have ramen for dinner tonight?"
Both parents' heads whipped towards Boruto, who performed his best starving act. They then turned to face each other.
"Can we?" Naruto calmly asked, face lighting with hope.
Hinata immediately shifted her eyes away from his and kept them fixed on Boruto, hoping that he'd recognize her internal struggles and offer some form of support; a hand gesture, a response, something, anything.
He was completely oblivious.
She was on her own now. Hinata looked back at his eyes, boring into hers. She thought of her brief training with Boruto not too long ago, running through the mental notes she'd prepared in her head. She knew he was watching and she knew she had to make a good impression, for the both of them. She gathered every last ounce of confidence—and self-respect—she had in her, and settled herself into the bizarre pose from before.
"Of course you can," she said. Her composed expression was completely misleading; she celebrated internally at her delivery—without a stutter and at a respectable volume. She looked back at Boruto, who cheered her on in silence with a clenched fist in the air and a proud tear on his eyelid, filling her with warmth and a sense of accomplishment.
She turned to Naruto once more, who was retaliating with his own tender, appreciative smile.
And of course, this prompted her to sprint full-throttle out the room and into the kitchen, with a face so vibrant and red that it seemed as if it was seconds away from detonating.
Boruto watched the scene develop in front of him, dumbfounded, then laid back down onto the sofa, legs crossed firmly and a hand behind his head. He was in for a long night.
"Hey, Temari?"
Her back was still to him, showing no intention of responding.
"Oi, I know you're still awake."
"You know, you're surprisingly talkative all of a sudden for someone who was ignoring me up until now," she said.
"Hey," he said, turning his head round enough to see her, "you weren't exactly looking for a conversation yourself, either."
"Why bother if the person's just going to, oh, I don't know, walk out the restaurant anyway?"
He raised an eyebrow, despite her not being able to see it. "You're still thinking of that?"
She said nothing, that damn infuriating silence settling once again.
"Sorry," he blurted suddenly.
This encouraged her head to turn round.
"For ignoring you, back at the restaurant. I… I shouldn't have done that. It's just," he briefly held his breath, then kissed his teeth, "with Ino and Asuma and Chōji, it just, I don't know, things… things just got a little too hectic for me. I needed to get away for all that. I would've ignored anyone, even my own mother at that moment. I'm sorry."
She kept her teal eyes on the back of his head as she ran his apology through her own, turning eventually back around to face the wall in front of her again.
"Don't be sorry," she said.
"No, Temari just liste—"
"Don't be sorry to me."
He turned his head to her again. "What do you mean?"
"You don't think he's noticed? The cold shoulder act? The pretending that he doesn't exist? The ignoring?"
He turned to the wall once more, placing a hand between the pillow and his ear. He wasn't sure what to say.
"Come on, Shikamaru, give the kid some credit. He is yours, after all." She chuckled humourlessly, then fell silent. "Ours," she said more quietly.
He shifted his body so that he was now staring up at the ceiling. "I don't get it," he said. "Am I missing something here? How long exactly was I in my room? One minute you're just as distant as I am, the next the two of you are getting along as if you've actually raised him the entire time. How are you so calm about the whole thing?"
She laughed more sincerely this time, albeit slightly unpleasantly.
"Calm? Don't get it twisted, Nara, this hasn't exactly been all that easy for me, either. Today was undoubtedly the most humiliating day of my life; and yes, that does include the time I lost to you in the Chūnin Exams."
"You didn't lose to me," he corrected.
She really hoped that he could see her scowl through the dark. "We are not having this conversation again."
He said nothing, though he vehemently disagreed with her in silence.
"Look, I'm only gonna tell you this once, so listen carefully. If I can trust you enough to bear your children, then I'm sure I can trust you enough with this."
She joined him in looking up at the ceiling, the two now laying side by side. "When I saw our son sitting on the hospital bed, bloodied and bruised, and… alone, looking back at me with those green eyes for help, I… I saw my little brother Gaara sitting in his room, alone, similar green eyes looking at me for help. He was also hurt, but in a different sort of way. And you want to know what I did about it, Shikamaru?"
He nodded his head slowly, forgetting that she could hardly see him. She responded anyway.
"Nothing. I did nothing, Shikamaru. I left him there, still hurt and still alone. I looked away and I walked off and I did nothing. Why? Maybe because I was scared, or maybe it was because I was clueless, or maybe it was because I was a coward, or maybe it was combination of all three, or maybe it was even a combination of a whole lot more."
She covered her eyes with the back of her hand, voice wrought with ache. "I don't know Shikamaru, I really don't know. All I know is that day in and day out he'd always looked at me the same way and day in and day out I would do nothing, until one day he started looking at me and everybody else differently. His eyes didn't say 'help me' anymore, they said something darker, something more terrifying, and I let that happen. I let that happen. I could've gone into his room and reassured him everything would be okay, but I chose to do nothing."
He heard her sniff every now and again. A silence he thought was necessary settled for a short while before he spoke.
"It's not your fault, you know." She scoffed.
"Spare me of all that. Believe me, I've tried to convince myself for years and it's never gotten anywhere."
"You were young, Temari," he said. "You can't just shoulder all of the blame like that."
"Then what about when I was 12? Or 13? Or 14? 15? 16? Was I still too young then?"
"You said it yourself, didn't you? His eyes said something else by then. There wasn't much you could've done."
"Oh, right, but some kid from a completely different village could and did?"
"They shared similar stories that only the two of them could ever relate to. I mean, if Naruto couldn't do it, I'm not quite sure who else possibly could have."
"You're too lenient on me," she said, tone more expressive.
"And you're too harsh on yourself."
She let out her most obnoxious scoff yet. "Please. Is this really coming from Mr. I'm-The-Sole-And-Only-Reason-My-Friends-All-Nearly-Died-Trying-To-Save-Uchiha?"
He furrowed his brows at that. "It was my fault, though. I shouldn't have allowed my comrades to be put in those positions in the first place. If I'd planned ahead better from the start an—"
"We are not having this conversation again, either."
She turned her body ninety degrees so that she faced him. "Look, somehow—someway I ended up diverging from what I was trying to say here, but the point is: I'm never letting that happen again. I won't ever walk away and do nothing, not with those eyes asking for help. Forget about me and you. Forget about… us."
He turned also, so that they were now face to face.
"Forget about all of that for now," she said softly. "Just... just focus on Shikadai. Focus on protecting him, helping him get back to where he needs to be. He needs his parents right now. Both of them. Please… don't make the same mistake that I did. Don't do nothing."
"...Don't do nothing," he quietly repeated to himself.
Silence filled the room once more, a silence that infuriated Temari this time. She chewed on her bottom lip, waiting anxiously for a response.
Shikamaru snickered to himself. "How troublesome."
She'd never been more relieved to hear those words, unable to restraint the giant smile spread across her face.
"You have a way with steering me in the right path, huh?"
"Well," she whispered, "it's why I'm here for you, isn't it?"
Both their eyes slowly widened in the dark. That line probably didn't have the same meaning to it that it might have had just a day ago.
"Uh, goodnight," she said, louder, turning to face the wall again.
"Um, right," he said, doing the same, "that."
The two slept that night, facing away from each other.
With his dad away on a short, little bathroom break, Boruto began commencing the next phase of his plan. He hid a number of chairs that surrounded the large, round dinner table so that only four remained. Two of them were fairly isolated from the rest, while the other two were about a shoulder-grazing distance away from each other; Mom and Dad were to take those.
Once Hinata finished laying down the last of the bowls down onto the table and was seemingly ready to seat herself beside it, Boruto jumped to his feet and held to a wrist tight, towing her toward the two neighboring chairs. A nice little gesture without any real intent, she wrongly assumed. He then stood behind the seat adjacent to hers, closely watching Neji's movements, preparing to step in and seat himself onto it temporarily should Neji decide to take it.
It was completely unnecessary, considering he hadn't even once looked in their general direction, and appeared content with sitting down onto one of the isolated chairs. Boruto couldn't help the thought that Neji was completely aware of his intentions, and just silently took part. Regardless, Boruto rushed towards the remaining remote chair. Now all but one was taken, leaving his dad with little choice in the matter.
Naruto walked into the room, drying off his wet hands against his thighs. He sniffed slow and repeatedly, then began gravitating subconsciously toward the scent of the dishes. He scanned the table with admiration, before coming to a slow, eventual realization of the strange absence of chairs.
A knowing smirk crept to Boruto's face once more. Surely even he couldn't mess this one up.
And of course he began walking towards the one chair Boruto lazily hid behind the plant pot. And of course he held it by its legs and lifted it right off the ground. And of course he carried it over his shoulder and towards the dinner table. And of course he put it down right beside Boruto and sat himself down onto it. And of course he turned his head and smiled at Boruto, as if he wasn't utterly furious at him and was trying his hardest not to fire back a scowl.
Naruto clapped his hands together. "Thanks for the meal!"
"Yeah, thanks," Boruto grumbled, turning his attention down to his bowl of ramen.
It looked and smelt nothing short of incredible, to be blunt. He imagined the taste of it wasn't too far from that, either. Boruto knew that his mother was an excellent cook and always delivered in that aspect whenever she needed to. Sadly, however, his absent appetite and disinterest in ramen prevented him from properly appreciating it. At least not nearly as much as the slurping man beside him, who gobbled through the contents of his bowl, dependent entirely on his nose for breath.
Boruto's eyes briefly widened. That's it!
He dug his chopsticks deep into the noodles, then raised it towards his mouth. Exaggerated slurps, content moans, loud exhalations, all of it was necessary for his act.
"Wow, this is great, Mom!" Boruto said, with an extra sigh for the occasion. "Hey, Dad, what do you think?"
He ran the back of his hand across his mouth. "It's… so… good," Naruto mumbled through mouthfuls of ramen, long intervals between each word as a result of the swallowing.
It… it worked. It actually worked. His dad had actually said something that didn't fuel his desire to bang his head rhythmically against the table. Boruto stole a glance at Hinata, who had her head inclined forward and a gentle smile on her lips, intensifying his own smile.
Naruto cleared the passageway in his throat, then thrust his fist into the air. "But make no mistake about it, nothing comes close to the ramen at Ichiraku's!"
Boruto didn't even try to hide his furrowed brows or twitching eye or deep frown this time, intensified also due to his mother's now absent smile.
"Huh? What's wrong, Boruto?" Naruto asked. He jabbed his chopsticks at Boruto's bowl. "Don't you want that?"
Boruto didn't reply. He penetrated an elbow deep into the table and rested his cheek against the palm of his hand. Facing away from his dad, he grumpily ate his ramen. No, frankly, he didn't want it, but he didn't want his stupid old man to have it even more.
There was a loud knock on the door, prompting everyone to lift their heads and look up.
"I'd imagine that's your father this time," Neji said.
"I-I'll get it," Hinata said, pushing her chair out and making her way towards it.
Boruto watched as she trotted in the direction of the knocks, a strange urgency behind every thud. His eyes then came to rest on his dad, who was shifting uncomfortably in his seat, lips parting then closing shut again. Boruto raised a brow, alarmed if not even a little concerned to see him acting so uncharacteristically.
"Hey… Neji?" he said, finally.
Neji turned his head, expecting to meet his gaze, only to see it set to his bowl. "What is it?"
"Um, thanks... for having me over."
A loud and obnoxious "huh" threatened to escape Boruto's lips. That's it? That's what was making him so tense and uncomfortable?
"It… it's nice to eat with others for a change," Naruto followed, running his fingers through the blond locks on the back of his head. The nervousness in his voice wasn't quite successful in hiding the pure relief on his face.
Boruto's expression softened drastically. That's right. Gramps and Gran weren't around for the company or home-cooked meals. What was something of a norm to Boruto meant so much more to his dad. It was infrequent and it was precious and it was meaningful. What probably would've another night of cheap, store-bought cup of ramen alone in a cold, dim-lit apartment was instead a large, generous bowl of it, freshly prepared and easily rivals that of Ichiraku's—regardless of what his dad would insist—surrounded by the people that matter most to him.
"There's no need to thank us. You are family now, after all," Neji said, that rare smile of his surfacing again.
Naruto lowered his head down even further, brushing a finger against the lowest point of his nose to obscure his quivering lips.
"Yeah," he said after a lull, looking up with hands behind his head to present that large, wide-mouthed, goofy smile they were more familiar with. One so iconic and powerful and could somehow always tempt Boruto to imitate with a smile of his own.
The door slid open once more to reveal another set of pale eyes and long, dark hair. His skin had yet to shrivel, but the man was unmistakably Hiashi Hyūga, father to Hinata and grandfather to Boruto. He was a remarkable, gifted ninja, and the current head of the Hyūga clan. This was easy to conclude even if the knowledge hadn't been made clear prior, from the way all eyes followed his every little movement and silence settled as he spoke. Boruto's gaze wondered to his mother, stood closely behind him, hurt on her face and ache in her eyes, as if she'd just been scolded. A sight that ignited pure, seething rage inside of him.
Naruto pushed his bowl forward and walked eagerly towards the impassive man.
He bowed slightly, then extended a hand out to him. "Naruto Uzumaki!"
Hiashi refused to even look down at the hand, instead keeping his gaze on him, cold and piercing and hostile, looking at him like they always did, which prompted Naruto to slowly retract his hand. He then turned his head round toward Hinata, composed, inexpressive, and yet unquestionably disgusted.
"You married a demon?"
A/N: Ugh, this chapter really needed to be written. As much as I adore Boruto and Shikadai, it was refreshing to put the spotlight on the parents for this one.
Anyway, you're probably sick of reading by now, so I'll keep it short. Thank you for 100 favorites/200 followers! Means a lot that you guys decided to stick around this long. ^_^