"Not a word," Temari deadpanned.

He shook his head and snickered. "Not your best look."

"Zip it," she quickly followed, strenuously pushing down her hair once. Shikamaru looked away, stifling a laugh at the little difference made. She clearly hadn't bothered to restrain it into something more presentable this time around, her hair disheveled, scruffy, and quite honestly resembling a tumbleweed. Oh, he was definitely using that one next time.

"Do you have any idea how much time and effort went into getting my hair to look like it did last night? And even that in itself was a spectacle. So, I thought, you may as well see it in its natural state and get it out your system already, because I am not doing that every night."

Every night, he repeated in his head, reaffirming his thoughts that this was to be a reoccurring thing. Whatever this exactly was.

"I think we have some stuff here in the village which could probably help with that," he said.

"You think I haven't tried them already?"

"Oh?"

She wagged a hand, reassuring him that it wasn't on her own accord. "Ino."

"Oh."

"Mm-hm." She sat down onto the bed with her back to him. "I make one throwaway comment about my hair, and the next thing I know I'm carrying around a bag almost twice as big as the one I travel with, just full of hair-related products."

"So that's what you were carrying around with you that one time?"

She paused, then snapped her fingers. "That's the one." The two shared a laugh at the memory. "To give her credit though, some of that stuff did actually work. Well, for about an hour or so, then it'd quickly revert right back to this," she said, turning to face him and flicking her hair in what was her best Ino impression.

He chuckled approvingly, turning back away. "You're getting scarily good at that." He tilted his head to the side and pulled his hair tie out, his dark hair uncoiling and slowly falling to his shoulders. Her eyes stayed on him the entire time.

"Look at me."

He turned to look back at her, away briefly at the light of the candle, then abruptly at her again, usually calm eyes now widened in confusion. She was staring at him, nibbling on her lower lip and studying each and every one of his features so intently. His eyebrow raised just as her head did slightly to better examine him, not at anything specifically, but him, at his entire image, before eventually meeting his eyes. She neared her face ever so slightly, and he found himself struggling to look away.

And then she snorted. "Not your best look."

Being awarded with that childish pout of his made her dishonesty so worth it in the end. He crashed his head down onto his pillow, pointlessly mumbling a justification for his own altered appearance, but she could hardly hear it through her bouts of laughter. Temari pulled back her chaotic hair as she neared the candle and provided enough breath to put out the flame, then lay down beside him, arms just short of touching. That's when she'd noticed it, her lips curled and both its corners quirked upwards.

She was smiling. Regardless of how hard she'd try to suppress it with the purse of her lips, her hold would shortly break free and the smile would grow even bigger. She was happy. The happiest she'd been since, well, since probably her last visit to here in Konoha. She couldn't help it. She couldn't help the broadening smile on her face, the way her every tooth was exposed and presented itself to the ceiling above. She wasn't even particularly sure why she was in such a good mood.

Actually, that was a lie. A complete and utter dishonest, insincere, fraudulent lie. She knew that smile first surfaced when the three of them had spent the entire day playing and laughing together. No, it was before that, right after she'd got back from her meeting, when he'd invited her to accompany the two of them. No, even before that, when she saw him and Shikadai out on the porch, sitting across from each other with a shogi board between them.

"Thank you," she said abruptly.

He scoffed. "Geez, you're still not over it? I don't look that weird with it down."

Trust him to also be the one to have her instantly lose said smile.

"Not that, idiot." She turned to her side and faced him, a hand pressed between the pillow and her ear. "For what you did today."

"Ah, right," he said, then falling silent for a moment. "What was that again?"

She stifled a sigh. Happy thoughts, she told herself. "For Shikadai."

This was enough to motivate him in raising an eyebrow. "You mean playing shogi with him?"

"It's more than just that," Temari clarified close to his ear. "Didn't you see it? In his eyes? It was like, there was sort of peace in them, or just… just something that was missing before, as if that something was lost for a while—until today, that is. Surely you saw it also? How happy and comfortable he was out there today? It's because of what you did. You made an effort. For him."

He shook his head. "You don't have to thank me for that."

"No, Shikamaru, I do," she insisted. "It's… not like I doubted that you'd do it or anything like that, but, I guess, I didn't expect you to do it so soon. After what I told you yesterday, it… it means more to me than you probably think."

She heard him smirk, and she'd heard that infuriating sound enough times already to know that a ridiculous comment would shortly follow.

"I mean it, Temari. I only did it because I wanted to play shogi, and he was the only one free."

She fell silent, then promptly drew her head back in disgust.

"Unbelievable, Nara," she growled, assaulting him using the back of her hand—not hard enough to have any real impact. Not yet, anyway.

He snickered loud for her to hear, raising his hands up to defend against her attack. "Oi, I'm kidding—I'm kidding, easy. I admit, poor timing on my part. I stuck around even after the shogi, didn't I?

"I thought about what you said yesterday," he continued, "and it made me think of my own relationship with my dad." He shifted a little behind the covers. "It's… it's strange, really. He usually just leaves me be to do my own thing, always insisting that it's best for me to figure things out for myself. But every now and again, maybe over a game of shogi, he'd give me some pretty thoughtful advice. It'd be cryptic and it wouldn't really make a whole lot of sense at the time, but it'd always get me thinking, which I'm sure was the intention.

"I guess what I'm trying to say here is that… I like it, the dynamic me and my old man have. I want something like that with my kid, I think. Where he can rely on me for support when he needs it, to pick him up and dust him off if he stumbles, guide him if he's lost, that sort of thing. I mean, I guess I don't have to do all of that over a game of shogi, but I'd certainly prefer it."

She rolled her eyes. "So you could end it on a checkmate, right?"

"Like I did against you today?"

"Ha ha," she drawled. "Try not to ruin the moment, Nara."

"Right, sorry."

"I wonder what my brothers will make of this whole thing." She blew on the loose, tangled strands of hair over her face, then groaned. "I can already hear Kankurō's incessant mocking over me being a mother ringing through my head, as if I wasn't already babying the utter fool himself."

He fell silent. Nothing. Not a sound. Not a hum or a scoff or a kiss of his teeth. No acknowledgment that he heard her. Not even a "troublesome." It was unlike him to just end it like that without some sort of response, and she knew he only ever did it when unsettled by something. She knew that something was troubling him internally.

"What's wrong?" she asked with more concern in her voice than she perhaps intended for. "You know I don't like it when you bottle yourself up like that."

Silence again, and that was all the validation Temari needed. "Tell me," she demanded, the firmness of her delivery entirely intentional this time.

"You're… leaving tomorrow, aren't you?" he quietly asked. "To head back to your village?"

Oh.

That was right.

She was a shinobi of Sunagakure. Her loyalty, her allegiance was to the Sand. She was a visitor here; nothing less, and nothing more. Her mission required that she travel to Konoha, discuss the contents of the scrolls with the Hokage, stay a maximum of two nights, then promptly return to her village and resume her duties. She knew her stay here was to be brief and she knew this prior to agreeing to do the mission.

…So why?

Why did every fiber of her muscles stiffen at that? Why did her throat constrict and feel so heavy? Why did her lips part and her eyes widen and her body eject every bit of joy from it in an instant? What was so different about this visit that helped elicit such a response? Was it… the promise of a family? The comfort she found in one?

But she already had a family. Her and Gaara and Kankurō. It was always the three of them. It was always supposed to be just the three of them. Watching over her village and seeing it prosper in their authority. Watching over them. Seeing the two grow and flourish into the excellent shinobi she knew they'd become. She swore to herself that she'd never abandon them. Not like before. She swore to herself that she'd always be standing beside them, in the office or in conflict. So then why?

Why did her heart completely shatter into pieces at the thought of leaving?

"Can't you… get the Fifth to extend your stay here?" Shikamaru suggested, calling her back from her chaotic reverie.

She forced a smile. "You ask me this on every last day… you know already that she won't be able to grant that."

He sighed. It was worth a shot. "I know."

"Look after him while I'm gone, Shikamaru."

He recognized what that low tone meant. He lifted himself up slightly, propping his cheek in the palm of his right hand, making sure it didn't cover his ear. He had to listen, and carefully.

"Make sure he eats properly. I don't understand how you're as thin as you are seeing as your mother has been bordering on overfeeding him these past two days."

An eyebrow threatened to raise, again, but he hummed anyway, waiting to see where she was going with this.

"And make sure he gets some training in. I've heard one too many 'troublesomes' out of that boy today already, and I'll damned if our child takes life as easily as you do."

Another short hum in response, bordering on grunt.

"But he's still a little beat up from yesterday, so don't let him overwork himself. Allow his body some time to recover, or he'll be at risk of reopening his wounds."

"Temari."

"Oh, and speaking of which, make sure to run him a bath tomorrow with plenty of disinfectant, or else his wounds will—"

"Temari," he tried again, pulling on her shoulder slightly. "Don't worry. He'll be here with me, and Mom and Dad, too. Look, I know… I know I'm probably not the most motivated guy in the world, but… I mean it when I say I'm serious about this."

She nodded slowly, pressing the anterior part of her face against the pillow. "Protect him… from whatever it is that's after him. I didn't think the sight of him on the hospital bed would haunt me as much as it did. I don't ever want to have to see that again."

"I will."

The two lay there in silence for a minute. After a moment, she said, "And stay safe in your mission tomorrow," her tone soft and yet hesitant. "No slacking off, not even for a second, got it?"

"Understood," he reassured her, feeling heavy lids on the verge of descending.

"Good," she said. "Am I right in saying that you won't be able to accompany me to the gates this time?"

"Mm. It's troublesome, but I'll have to get up even earlier than you tomorrow."

"I see," she sighed, not even bothering to mask the disappointment in her voice. "That's a first, isn't it? Not seeing me off?"

"I think it might be, actually," he said, giving it some thought. "I'm sure I've always been the one to do it. Perhaps… Shikadai could take you there?"

And what was the first time in quite a while, a genuine smile broke out across her face. "Hey, not a bad substitute, actually," she said. "Arguably even better, perhaps."

"Oi, try not to ruin the moment." She laughed.

Boruto groaned as he reached out for the milk carton and grabbed a hold of it. He groaned again, louder, recognizing that it was pretty much empty. He groaned once more for no particular reason, the most exaggerated one yet, then winced and grabbed the side of his head, regretting that last one. Another night of poor sleep was taking its toll on him. Fast.

"Boruto!"

Great, he droned to himself, slouching harder into his seat. Nice going, Boruto.

Uncle Neji burst through the door, searching the room frantically with his Byakugan. "What's the matter?" he asked, concerned. "Did something happen? Are you hurt?" He glanced at Boruto's arm. "I see. Here, allow me to feed you—"

"No! No, just…" Boruto closed his eyes and blew out a breath, trying to compose himself. "I'm fine, Uncle Neji, I'm fine. I promise. Nothing's wrong, I'm not hurt, and no, I don't need feeding." He took a bite of the egg to prove a point. He wasn't going to mention its awful texture or that it was likely undercooked. "See?" he mumbled, refusing to chew and swallow.

He just stared, much to Boruto's overwhelming discomfort. "Do you require anything?" He looked down at Boruto's… attempt at breakfast. "Shall I prepare you another batch?"

Boruto quickly shook his head no.

Neji looked at him carefully—unconvinced? Boruto couldn't tell through the stoic demeanor, and frankly, he couldn't care either. He just wanted to eject the egg-y goo out of his mouth already.

"Are you certain?"

He nodded. Confidently.

"I understand," Neji said, finally. "If you need my assistance, feel free to simply call out for me."

A response of "I will" was no longer within the realms of possibility, so he smiled instead, lips sealed incredibly tight, and gave a thumbs up for added effect.

Neji walked out the room, much slower than Boruto would've preferred, sliding the door shut behind him. A fraction of a second after he heard it make contact with the frame, Boruto quickly spat the substance out of his mouth as silently as he could. Hopefully he hadn't seen that through his Byakugan.

He liked Uncle Neji, he really did. But he was overprotective and would cater him for "emergencies" about as critical as a stubbed toe. Yes, this had in fact occurred.

He prodded at the other egg on his plate with his chopsticks, piercing the yolk with little effort and watching it deflate. Mom was always better at this stuff; he hadn't realized how much he'd taken advantage of it all. She was still locked up and stored away in that same room from before. Either she had everything she needed in there, or she'd schedule her infrequent escapes to coincide with when he probably wouldn't be there to see her. Dad wasn't here the morning after the incident—understandably, if not just slightly disappointing.

He'd really hoped to have seen Shikadai yesterday; Boruto was sure he would've come by to check up on him at least once. Though, it was likely he had to tend to his own family-related issues. Poor guy just can't get away from it.

Well, at least his hand was feeling a little better. Just a little. Certain movements with it were still off-limits, but it was functioning well enough for him to be able to near the bread to his mouth and take another bite from it. It was dry, cold, and could really use something to help wash it down better. Something… like…

Boruto almost groaned again, but thought better of it, settling with a sigh instead and squeezing the void carton in his hand. Milk.

He chucked the carton across the room in the direction of the door, disregarding potential consequences. What, it's not like someone were to walk through it at that exact moment.

And of course, at that exact moment, the door pushed aside horizontally.

It was his gramps.

And the carton struck him square on the valley of his chest.

It fell unceremoniously to the floor, just short of colliding with his toes. He angled his head backwards, staring down expressionlessly at the obstruction in front of him.

Hiashi slowly crouched down, both hands sheering across his thighs until stopping at a knee with one and reaching for the carton with the other. He picked it up and stood straight again, examining it closer. He rocked it slightly, continuing to stare right at it with an intensity that had a heavy lump forming in Boruto's throat, making it almost difficult for him to breath.

And then he looked up. Either at him or in his direction, Boruto couldn't tell. He diverted his gaze elsewhere regardless, eyes downcast, but still watching his gramps carefully from the corners of them.

And then Hiashi moved forward, towards him, walking in that usual unhurried pace, and he could feel the heat beginning to develop at the pit of his arms. Why, why couldn't he have just disposed of it like any sensible person? He was then mere meters away, and it was at this moment Boruto had to will the bile back down into his stomach. Yards rapidly turned into feet and feet turned to inches until he was finally at the table by his side, and time froze. Boruto's eyes were or the verge of bugging out of his head, choosing to stare directly in front of him and refusing to acknowledge the man beside his shoulder. He held his breath, challenging the limits of survival without oxygen.

And then he wasn't there anymore.

The sound of footsteps weren't nearly as strong as they were just before. He dared to sneak a glance back, watching Gramps walk towards a container at the back of the room, carton in hand, arching his back only slightly as he disposed of it. Boruto immediately turned back around and faced forward the moment his gramps' spine straightened out.

The footsteps grew louder again; he was by his side once more, then away from him, continuing to walk forward towards the door. He stood in front of it and opened it enough to comfortably fit through the opening, then walked out of the room, gently sliding the door shut behind him.

And once he heard it make contact with the frame again, Boruto immediately suctioned in a long, generous breath of air, expelling it slowly out through his nose. God, did he miss doing that. He ran his fingers through his hair and grabbed handfuls of it in twin fists, head leaning forward and still ringing with pain.

Alright. He had to get out of here. Now.

"Uncle Neji!"

Uncle Neji did what he usually did during these brief walks, summarizing the significance and historical context of each little building or stall they passed, the occasional retelling of relevant stories involving him and his peers. Boruto did what he usually did during it—not listen. But, for good reason this time, he told himself. He had to memorize the route to Shikadai's place, a nagging voice in his head telling him he'd be needing it to make the journey often. He blamed this voice for drowning out Uncle Neji's.

The trees surrounding them were beginning to grow quickly in numbers; they were near, that much at least hadn't changed. The petty, bitter side of him felt a little betrayed that Shikadai hadn't stopped by once yesterday, but the more reasonable side recognized that he himself hadn't exactly made the effort either, and that Shikadai had enough on his plate, and probably more to fill another plate with, to take care of. Poor guy. Seemed to be having it rough whatever timeline he was stuck in. With parents like his whose personalities clash as often and as violently as theirs do, well, it was bound to be a reoccurring thing.

But, that's where he came in. The sympathetic shoulder to cry on—not that Shikadai ever cried. Or had interacted with his shoulder in any capacity. Except for that one time Shikadai had dislocated it playing ninja with each other as kids. Though that was neither here nor there, what mattered was that as his good buddy, it was his job to grab his head anyway, shush the protests and hurling abuse, and press it down right here, on his shoulder.

"Boruto? Is something the matter?" Neji asked, concerned. Again. "Is it your shoulder? Here, allow me to have a look at it—"

"What? No! I just—" Boruto sighed, suppressing the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. "…It was… just a bug. I got it. C'mon." He continued without waiting for a response.

Alright, so the shoulder thing may have been a slightly idealistic scenario; he wasn't that good-natured, nor was he quite willing to find out what Shikadai would do to him had he actually tried that. But he'd be there, to listen. To nod his head and absorb all of the information. To put himself in Shikadai's shoes and go from there. To ask him why he looked like he was enjoying himself playing shogi with his family.

Wait a minute.

Shikadai was sitting on the porch of the house, playing shogi with someone whose likeness was remarkably like his, and a woman he also wasn't familiar with spectating their match from the side.

He didn't look upset. At all. He sure as hell didn't look like someone who needed a shoulder lent to him. Or, at least, it seemed like he already had people to do that for him. He... hadn't even noticed him yet, so completely immersed into the game that he couldn't even spare a glance.

"Yo, Shikadai."

He reacted belatedly, turning his head only a little. Realization, and then surprise. "Oh, Boruto. Yo."

Oh, Boruto? Really? That's it? That's the extent of his greeting?

"We didn't see each other yesterday," Boruto reminded him, "so, I thought I'd pay you a visit, check up on you, you know."

Another late response. "Ah."

Boruto's eye twitched. "So... I thought, maybe we could get some training in today. You know, light sparring, lateral movement, that sort of stuff."

The guy across from him, who could easily pass as Shikadai's dad in this timeline, put a tile down.

"Troublesome!" Shikadai barked suddenly.

"Unlucky, dear," the lady said. "Maybe you'll get him the next game."

"Dad did that exact move yesterday; I should've seen it coming miles ahead."

"Of course my son would try to use it on anybody else but me," the man facing him chuckled. "It's called—"

"Onigoroshi, I know. He'd made it abundantly clear yesterday."

"Oh he has, has he? Well, has he told you how to counter it?"

Shikadai's face lit up. "Must've slipped his mind."

The man laughed. "Well, let's wind it back a bit," he reshuffled a few of the pieces, "...to here. Instead of positioning the knight here, it'd be wiser to instead put it down over he—"

Boruto coughed loud and obnoxiously into his fist, reminding the small group of his presence. "So, Shikadai, buddy, about that training..."

Shikadai looked back up, startled almost. The runt had actually forgotten about him!

"Ah, right, my bad," he said, reaching for the back of his neck. "I... probably... won't have time for that today."

"...What do you mean?" Boruto asked, lifting an eyebrow.

"Well..." He looked away nervously. "Dad supposedly said something about a shogi match after he got back from his mission, so I asked Grandpa for a few pointers in preparations for it. Oh, and Mom mentioned needing to take me somewhere later on. After that's done, Grandma over here asked for me to help out around the house and with tending the deer. It's all troublesome, really."

Boruto picked up how insincere that last part sounded, but opted out from saying anything, instead settling with a quiet, "Oh."

The door to the house opened wide, prompting everybody to turn and look back. It was Shikadai's mom, that giant fan behind her and a small bag strapped securely around her shoulder.

"Right on cue, sort of," Shikadai said as he stood, tugging on the tight shirt he was wearing which clearly wasn't his. "Now?"

She nodded, smiling, and Boruto picked up the insincerity of that, too. She walked towards Shikadai's grandparents—so that's who they were—and bowed slightly, a silent gesture that was delicately reciprocated by the two, then walked towards the entrance, sparing just a brief glance at himself and Uncle Neji before continuing on with her eyes in front of her, Shikadai following closely behind.

He then stopped in front of Boruto, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Hey, sorry about... I mean, we could... we could do that training tomorrow, right?"

Boruto fell silent, shoving his own hands in his pockets.

"Yeah... yeah, no, you're right. We could do that, tomorrow. No problem. Hey," he lowered his voice, "I don't want you getting into it with your mom. You should catch up." He smiled his usual toothy smile, and Boruto couldn't quite deny the insincerity of that one, also.

Shikadai nodded once and chased after her, their shoulders grazing, leaving him with his head slightly hung forward.

"Come," Neji said, gently putting a hand on Boruto's shoulder. "I'll take us back. We could train at the compound, if you wish."

Boruto turned around and sighed. "Sure." He walked just a few, hesitant steps forward before stopping and looking up at Neji.

"Hey... do you know where Dad is right now?"

"The shirt's a good look on you, you know."

"It's uncomfortable, honestly," said Shikadai, readjusting his mesh shirt. "I think Grandma said this used to be one of Dad's."

She nodded. "Mm-hm. Use to wear a silly little jacket on top of it." She did that special smile again.

"Hey, Mom?"

"Mm?"

"I've been meaning to ask you this," said Shikadai. "Back at the Hokage's office, when I revealed myself as yours and Dad's son. Your reaction to it, it was... pretty tame. A lot calmer than I thought it would be. It was sorta like you knew it was coming. Why is that?"

Mom smirked, looking down at him without tilting her head. "That's because I did."

"Huh? How?" Two fingers abruptly neared his eyes, forcing Shikadai to lean back and blink reflexively, and for a brief second he entertained the idea of his eyes being gouged out.

"Those," she said, her fingers still lingering there for a moment before drawing her hand back. "When I first laid my eyes on you, that time when you fell on your head out in the middle of nowhere, I really thought you were your father. But then, leaning in closer, seeing how much younger you were, those eyes..."

"You knew from then?"

"Not quite. I still didn't think much of it, not until the Hokage office debacle was I able to piece it together well enough. It still threw me off, for what it's worth.

"Oh, and, you know," she said, the playful tone in her voice evident, and Shikadai braced himself. "You did sorta call me 'Mom' right away, didn't you?"

He looked away, cheeks visibly flushed a shade of red, and she snorted hearing him mutter troublesome repeatedly to himself. As if he was here with them.

She stopped suddenly, or at least, it appeared that way to Shikadai; he was so engaged in their conversation that he'd barely been paying attention to where they were headed.

"These walks always felt so short..." And it seemed as if it had that same effect on her, too.

Only then did the large, towering gates of the entrance capture his attention, and now was he completely aware of his surroundings. "Why are we here?" he asked, and then he caught sight of it—the makeshift rucksack over her shoulder. Had that always been there?

"Where are you going?"

She was staring into the distance, her hard back to him. He couldn't see her face.

"Home."

A pause. Tense silence. "...What?"

She finally turned around, her face devoid of any expression. "Back home. To my village."

More deafening silence. Then his eyes narrowed, dangerously. "This is your home."

Her eyes widened ever so subtly, but she held her ground, shaking her head with confidence. "The documents disagree."

Then it struck him, as if he'd been standing in the path of something powerful, immovable, like a train. The thoughts and memories during that incident rushing back to him at full-force. His dad broken, lost, confused, demanding she leave for her village, his mom vilified, desperate, willing of his request. Him standing there, worthless, unable to make a damn difference. He had to stop her. If he couldn't do it now, what chance would he have when it mattered most?

"You can't." Finality. No room for argument.

Her voice was stern. Challenging him. "I have to."

"The Hokage will figure something out. I'm sure she wouldn't mind."

"I've tried that before," she said. "It won't work." An unintentional slip-up. A breach in her defenses. Now capitalize.

"But it's different this time, you know that. Uncle Gaara surely wouldn't object."

She broke first, mouth agape, head turned and facing down. An opening.

"Dad needs you." Cold, calculated, manipulative. Effective. She stiffened, closing her eyes shut and clenching her fists. "Stop, Shikadai..." Check.

"I need you."

"Stop, Shikadai, stop it!" The board was thrown aside, pieces scattering everywhere. "Please, please, just... don't make this any harder."

He hated it. Seeing her like this. It reminded him of that. But he was desperate. So he stood without protesting further, waiting to deliver a simple, feeble, "Why?"

His voice broke. He hadn't meant for it to. He certainly hadn't meant for her to look back at him with wet eyes and walk towards him, crouching down and desperately grabbing a hold of his shoulders, pulling him to her.

"Just let me think this through, okay? To reflect. To know where I belong..." she gestured with her hand behind his back, "...in all of this. Just give me time, alright? I promise, I'll have an answer for you soon."

"How soon?" She simply pressed harder.

He wasn't much of a hugger; his hands didn't embrace back, but he cherished the closeness and the tight hold she had on him, convincing him that maybe she wouldn't let go. And then she did.

"You've already noticed your clansmen following us, haven't you?" she asked, sparing a not-so-subtle glance at the distant figures, to which he nodded. "Then go back home, they'll make sure you get there safely. It was selfish of me to have brought you all the way out here at a time like this."

She made brief, pointless adjustments to his shirt, his hair and his pouches—a delay tactic, quietly whispering, "Just wait for me," before spinning on her heels and making her escape, running as fast as her feet would allow her.

He waited until she was out of sight. She didn't look back once. He kept watching until a raindrop struck him on the tip of his nose. Then, on his shoulder, the back of his neck, until he was being pelted everywhere by a barrage of rainwater. He turned around, hands in his pockets, walking back home just like she told him to.

He walked, absent-minded, watching people scattering out of the rain and searching desperately for shelter. He was aware of the consequences should he not do the same himself, and yet, he couldn't find it in him to care.

The streets were soon completely empty, stalls covered up and abandoned. He'd already lost sight of where his people were. He took an alternate, longer path to his home—his dad's home, rather. That place wasn't his home. Not without her.

He stopped in his tracks, noticing a group of people in the distance all huddled together, nearing. Familiar.

He hadn't recognized his dad first; Aunt Ino's illuminating hair drew his attention instead, tears across her face that were clearly distinguishable from the rainwater. He saw Uncle Chōji next, repeatedly trying to compose himself, and with less success with every attempt, furiously rubbing his eyes to no avail. He saw Dad, a cigarette loosely balancing between his lips, unlit from the rain. Broken. Lost. Confused. Just like he was then. He saw what appeared to be a casualty being carried on a stretcher in front of them, the entirety of the victim's face and most of their body covered with a black sheet. He saw a metallic object, no, two, on top of the sheet where the person's unmoving chest was, or at least whatever the remnants of it were.

And then his heart broke into a million pieces.

Are those... Mirai's blades?