Sarada sat on her bathroom counter, applying another layer of mascara in hopes it would help make her look less exhausted. That night they were attending a company party at Director Uzumaki's house to kick off the next two weeks of dress rehearsal. She needed to put on a happy face so that everyone was confident in her abilities and convinced she wouldn't snap under the pressure of her prima debut on opening night.
She swallowed the anxious lump in her throat as she returned her mascara to her makeup bag. She wasn't going to snap, she wasn't going to disappoint anyone. She was prepared and well-rehearsed and everything was going to be fine!
After a self-affirming nod, Sarada left the bathroom and found Boruto sitting on the edge of the bed, staring off into the distance as if deep in thought. "Hey, are you ready?"
He perked up at the sound of her voice and turned to meet her gaze. "Oh, uh, yeah."
The smile he wore wasn't completely convincing.
"Is something on your mind?" Sarada asked, trying her best to make space for him to share. She firmly believed Boruto's support was instrumental in breaking her out of her harmful, self-loathing cycle, and she wanted to be able to offer him that same comfort.
"It's nothing," he answered with a shake of his head.
The trouble was he wasn't always forthcoming with his thoughts or feelings.
"Okay," Sarada nodded, knowing prying wouldn't get her anywhere either. "I'm ready to go when you are."
She breezed past him out the bedroom door and began bustling around the living room collecting everything to go into her purse. Phone, keys, wallet. Lip balm? Eh, it never hurt to be prepared.
Consumed with her mental checklist, she didn't notice Boruto had left the bedroom until his hands landed on her waist. A soft gasp fell from her lips as he pulled her back against his firm body.
Warm breath fanned against her bare neck, making her shiver with sudden desire. Dancing together had them in close proximity all day, and snuggling in bed had them close all night, but this was the first time since he found her on the bathroom floor that Boruto tried to initiate something more.
At a rather inopportune moment though.
"What are you doing?" she asked with a breathless laugh as he placed a soft kiss against the sensitive skin behind her ear.
"Let's ditch the party. Me and you. We could stay here and do something more fun."
The lusty promise laced in his voice inspired goosebumps on her skin, but as tempting as the offer sounded, "We really ought to go. I think people would notice if the company's two lead dancers didn't show up."
"I bet it'll be boring," he argued as he allowed his hands to slip under the hem of her shirt.
"Then we don't have to stay the whole time." Sarada twisted out of his hold and continued toward the door, but turned around when she realized Boruto wasn't following.
"What?" she asked, surprised by the petulant pout on his lips. Did he think she was rejecting him? "I'm not saying no, I'm just saying not right now."
His feet remained planted where he stood. "I'm not going, I don't want to."
Her brows pinched together in confusion. She had never seen him act like this. Boruto was certainly more extroverted than she was, what was the big deal about going to a party?
"Don't be difficult," she admonished. If she could muster up the energy to appear at this party so could he, especially because, "your dad will definitely notice if you're not there."
"I don't want to go," he repeated firmly, but then his stern expression slowly began to crack and his blue eyes grew glossy with sad tears.
Concerned, Sarada dropped her purse on the couch and marched towards him, reaching out to grab his hand. "Why?"
"I don't want to go to that house." Seemingly embarrassed by his emotional display, Boruto looked away. His voice was quiet and pained. "I can't."
But the party was at his parents' house? Presumably, the one he grew up in. "I don't understand."
"She won't be there."
Sarada exhaled a sad sigh as she realized he must have been completely avoiding his parents' house since his mother's death.
"Oh, Boruto," she whispered sadly and wrapped him in a comforting hug. With his arms around her waist, he squeezed her close and buried his face against her neck.
"I know it's stupid," he muttered.
"It's not stupid," Sarada told him with a shake of her head. "But I don't think avoiding the house and those feelings will make it any better. What will you do when the holidays come around? Will you never go there again?"
"This is why it was easier when I was on tour. There were less reminders of her around."
She pet his soft blonde hair as she searched for the right response. "I think you don't have to let reminders of your mom upset you. I'm not trying to say the hurt you feel over her absence isn't valid, but from the little that I know about her, I imagine she would want you to smile when you thought about her."
Sarada felt him nod and mumble something against her hair. "What was that?"
"We can go to the party."
"And we'll leave if it's too much."
When they arrived at the Uzumaki residence, the party was already in full swing. As they kicked off their shoes, dark eyes scanned through the room. It seemed just about everyone from the company had already arrived.
Boruto squeezed her hand tighter as he took it all in. Others began to notice their arrival, but for once Sarada wasn't concerned about the judgment or assumptions others might make about her and Boruto showing up hand in hand.
Instead, she was focused on being whatever he needed in that moment.
"You made it!" Director Uzumaki called as he cut through the crowd to meet them at the door. With a bright smile, he pulled Boruto into a big hug. "I'm so glad you're here."
"Mmhmm," Boruto hummed, patting his father on the back with one hand because he refused to let go of Sarada with the other.
When Naruto pulled away his eyes fell to their joined hands. Sarada could feel her cheeks warm at the minor shift in his expression that told he was surprised by this development, but thankfully he chose not to comment. "Can I get you guys something to drink? We have food too if you're hungry."
"I'm going to show Sarada something upstairs," Boruto muttered before dragging her by the hand down the hallway.
"Um, thank you for having me! Your home is lovely," she waved over her shoulder at Director Uzumaki.
Sarada almost stumbled as she followed a silent Boruto up the stairs, trying to sympathize with all the overwhelming emotions he must be feeling.
He pulled open a door she quickly realized must have been his bedroom when he lived there. Light woods and shades of blue colored the space. The bed was made, but the dresser and shelves appeared to be stripped of all their contents and likely relocated to Boruto's apartment.
After he forcefully shut the door, he released her hand and began frantically pacing back and forth. She stood there awkwardly, not sure what her place was.
"It doesn't smell right," Boruto grumbled like something had properly offended him.
Sarada raised a brow. She hadn't noticed any distinct smell when they walked in but she tried to follow his train of thought. "What is it supposed to smell like?"
"My house! It doesn't smell like my house down there!"
She blinked at him, waiting for him to elaborate.
"I don't know how to describe it! Maybe my mom burned a certain candle? Or maybe it was her cooking? Or the cleaning products she used? Ugh! He probably got different cleaning products! Wait, no! He doesn't even know how to clean! He probably hired some housekeeper to clean and they ruined the smell!" Boruto ran his fingers through his hair in exasperation. "He probably doesn't even notice the smell is wrong either!"
"Boruto," Sarada cut off his rambling.
"Why…" she hesitated, worrying if she was overstepping. But she wanted to understand why the empathy Boruto had for everyone else, seemed to stop at his own father.
Director Uzumaki was one of the kindest men she had ever met, endlessly generous, knowledgeable about ballet, and had a real talent for making others feel special.
"Why are you so mad at your dad?"
He quit his pacing as his gaze fell to the floor. Quiet for several seconds, grappling with that suggestion. "I'm not."
"But you are," she argued. "Something made the smells in the house wrong and you were so quick to blame him. As if he wasn't honoring her by using the same cleaning products or something. And maybe your mom wouldn't be here, but you still avoided the house knowing your dad would be. Don't you think you could have been there for each other? I'm sure he's still grieving too."
"That's the problem! He's not!" Boruto scoffed. "She died and he just carried on like everything was fine! He went back to work and was smiling and whatever."
"Boruto, that's not even true, Director Uzumaki was on leave for at least two months last year. It just must have been after you had already left on tour."
The angry tension melted from his face with that revelation. He shook his head, "I-I didn't know that."
With contemplation coloring his features, Boruto plopped down on the edge of the bed, trying to process that information and all that it changed in his view of the situation. "But… why wouldn't he have told me something like that?"
Sarada sat down beside him, placing a comforting hand on his back. "Why didn't you tell me about your mom until I asked?"
Boruto winced. "I don't know… I could tell you had your own stuff going on. I didn't want to add my baggage on top."
That response broke her heart. He was always so quick to help others, to jump in and fully involve himself in their problems, and yet struggled to accept the help that he needed.
"Do you think that could be how your dad felt too?"
Boruto exhaled a long sigh as understanding slowly settled in. Several quiet moments passed before Sarada added, "Just so you know, your feelings and well-being are not a burden to the people who care about you."
That truth must have been hard for him to accept because his first reaction was to deflect with humor. He chuckled softly, "Gosh, Sarada. Are you trying to say that you like me?"
"I think I'm afraid of how much I like you actually," she confessed.
Sarada had been on edge for the last few days, fearfully waiting for Boruto to confront her about using him on multiple occasions to bury her feelings, but maybe the reason he was so understanding was because he was almost doing the same to her. He didn't know what, but he had figured out that she had a problem, and he made it his personal project to fix her.
Because being too busy fixing other people's problems always feels more righteous than admitting you are avoiding your own.
"Sarada, I —" His thought was interrupted by a timid knock at the door. "Yes?"
The knob twisted and Naruto peeked his head into the room. "Hey, is everything alright in here? Are you guys going to join the party?"
Dark eyes glanced at a frowning Boruto, deciding to excuse herself to give them a private moment to talk. She stood up and smoothed the front of her pants. "Um, yeah. I'll head down."
Sarada slipped past Naruto and out the door. His curious gaze followed her down the hallway. When he turned back to his pouting son, he lowered his voice to a secretive whisper. "So, are you guys like an item now or?"
"You took a leave from work last year after mom died?" Boruto blurted, looking directly into his father's eyes.
His shoulders slumped as he closed the door and leaned back against it. "Sarada told you that?"
"Does it matter who told me?"
Naruto sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah, I did... It was just that I was trying so hard to be strong for guys, I didn't want you to have to comfort your sad dad when I was supposed to be the one taking care of you. But then suddenly you left on tour, and Himawari went back to school, and when I didn't have anyone to be strong for… I just sort of crumbled under the weight of my own grief. I couldn't pretend enough to go to work."
Boruto nodded realizing just how similar he and his father actually were. He hadn't told Sarada about his mother's death because he didn't want her to have to comfort him about heartbreak that he couldn't change when she was actively struggling with pain that could be helped. "I see."
"You're not okay, are you?"
Such a direct question had tears threatening his blue eyes. "I miss her so much. I feel like people just expect me to move on, but how can I think about the future when it just reminds me of how much of my life she won't get to be there for."
"I know it feels impossible," his father said with a shake of his head. "But you don't have to put on a brave face for everyone all the time. And I'm sorry if that's what I modeled for you."
Boruto rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, this long overdue conversation bringing him a surprising amount of relief.
"I've been going to a grief support group. Maybe you want to consider something like that too," Naruto suggested. "You're not alone in this."
"I know."
Or at least he does now.
When Boruto finally made his way back downstairs, he didn't go toward his colleagues conversing between drinks. Instead, he padded over to the baby grand piano that sat in the corner of the Uzumakis' living room.
With no one to play it in almost a year, he wondered if it was even still in tune. But he sat down on the extra long bench they bought after his young self insisted he sit by his mother every time she played. His fingers glided over the keys as memories of his afternoon lessons and his mother's endless patience warmed his heart.
In her too-short life, his mother gave him so much to cherish. She filled their home with beautiful music, filled their bellies with delicious foods, and filled their hearts with so very much love.
His hands found the right position before Boruto pressed down on the keys, filling the room with a song his mother had taught him, and for the first time in a long time, he smiled when he thought about her.