Between the Lost and the Found

Asuka's eyes fluttered open, the faint scent of antiseptic and the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above filling her senses. She blinked against the haze, struggling to focus. The light was too bright, the air too still, and the dull ache in her body made every movement feel heavy. She shifted slightly, groaning, and something about the room felt… familiar.

The walls were a soft green, the bed sterile, the quiet sound of machines nearby. The tightness in her chest faded slightly, replaced with a strange warmth. Then it hit her—Suna. She was in Suna's hospital, the place where she'd once worked at.

Her breath caught as she realized the gravity of her situation. The last thing she remembered was the scorching desert sun, the pain, the overwhelming exhaustion as she carried her brother... and then nothing. She hadn't realized she had made it this far. But now, here she was. Alive, for the moment.

Her gaze shifted, and there, sitting quietly at her side, was a soft presence. It was Himari. The woman who once held her heart as a friend—who was so much more than a simple ally in the past. Himari's face was different. She was rounder now, softer, the sharpness of youth replaced with the quiet wisdom of time. But it was the eyes that hurt the most—painful eyes, filled with something deeper than Asuka was ready to face.

"Aiya..." Himari's voice was a whisper, as if afraid to break the silence that had settled between them. It was the name Asuka had once used, the name she had buried under layers of lies and deceit. A name that wasn't completely hers.

"Please," she mumbled. "Call me Asuka."

Her breath hitched, her hands trembling as she stared at the face of the friend she'd missed so dearly. She opened her mouth again, but no words came—only the painful sting of regret. She hadn't seen Himari in so long, hadn't allowed herself to think of her so much. And now, after everything she had done, after abandoning their friendship for the sake of a mission, she was here again. And Himari was smiling at her.

"Asuka," Himari repeated softly. "It's a bit strange to my ears, but it sounds lovely. It suits you, really."

But that smile didn't quite reach her eyes. It never did when there was pain. And that was when the dam inside Asuka broke. Tears welled up in her eyes, too hot, too thick. They poured down her face as sobs wracked her fragile frame. She couldn't stop them. They were ugly, raw—like everything she had tried to bury for so long. She wanted to scream, to apologize, but the words were stuck in her throat, tangled with guilt and shame.

"I'm sorry," she finally choked out, her voice breaking as she collapsed against Himari, not caring about the hospital bed or her injuries. "I—I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. I didn't… I didn't want to endanger you."

Himari didn't hesitate. She opened her arms wide, pulling Asuka close, enveloping her in warmth. Her embrace was soft, yet strong, as if she had always been waiting for this moment. She held Asuka tightly, the familiar comfort of her presence filling the spaces in Asuka's chest that had once been empty. There was no anger, no resentment—only the quiet strength of a person who had loved her, even when Asuka hadn't deserved it.

"You're here now," Himari whispered, her voice a gentle balm against Asuka's pain. "That's all that matters."

But the guilt didn't fade. Asuka felt it gnawing at her insides, a heavy weight that refused to let go. She had caused this. She had been the one who betrayed their bond, who turned away from her when it mattered most. And now, Himari was here, holding her, even after everything. Himari pulled back slightly, her hands still resting gently on Asuka's shoulders. Her eyes were filled with an emotion Asuka couldn't name—a quiet understanding, but a deep sadness as well.

"You were found in the desert, close to the village," Himari explained softly, her voice almost distant, as if she were processing the past as she spoke. "We didn't know if you were… if you'd made it. But somehow, you survived all the way here."

Asuka's mind reeled, struggling to connect the dots. She hadn't even realized how far she'd come; how close she was to the village when everything had started to blur together. The pain, the exhaustion, the fireballs. She had only been focused on getting her brother to safety, but now it seemed like she had walked into Suna's arms—without even knowing it.

"I didn't… I didn't mean to come here. I never wanted to bring this to you," Asuka whispered, her voice shaking. " I'm really sorry. For everything. I've missed you so much, Hima. I—"

Himari reached out, her thumb brushing gently over the back of Asuka's hand, quiet and soothing. "It's okay," she murmured, her voice soft but steady. "You're here. And that's enough."

The weight of the years, the mistakes, the loss of their bond—it was all there, lingering in the air between them. But Himari's touch, her words—they gave Asuka something she hadn't realized she was searching for.

A chance, however small, to heal. To be forgiven.

"How's my brother?" she inquired. She suddenly felt dizzy as many dreadful scenarios started to erupt into her mind. She sat down on the bed as the room started to spin around her. "Is he alright? I can't remember-"

"Lay down," Himari ordered gently. "You've lost a lot of blood. Get some rest, Asuka."

Asuka frowned. She wasn't answering her question.

"But my brother-"

Her vision suddenly turned black, and the last thing she could recall was her head hitting the bed pillow with a soft thud.

…

Three days later, the door to Asuka's hospital room slammed open with a force that rattled the walls. The air seemed to freeze as Temari stormed into the room, her eyes sharp with fury. Her presence was like a storm itself—unpredictable, raging. She didn't spare Asuka a single glance at first, her gaze fixated on the nurse standing nearby her bed.

"You've got to be kidding me," Temari snapped, her voice cutting through the air like a blade. "She's supposed to be kept here, healing, while my brother is falling apart? Why isn't she behind bars?"

The nurse, a woman Asuka had never seen when she used to work here, stiffened and stepped forward, blocking Temari's path with a protective stance.

"I'm sorry, Lady Temari, but the patient's care has been arranged. We have orders from the Kazekage's wife," she said firmly, her voice unwavering.

Temari's eyes narrowed, her lips pulling back in a tight line.

"I don't care what orders Himari gave. My brother's been through enough—he finally got over that traitor, but now—" Temari's words caught in her throat, her anger simmering just below the surface. She exhaled sharply, fists clenched at her sides. "Now that she's here, he's shut himself in his workshop again. He won't leave. He won't speak to anyone. He's... he's back to how he was before."

Her voice cracked, just slightly, revealing the rawness beneath the rage. Her eyes narrowed as she cast her an icy glance. "You ruined him," the blond hissed.

Her words were sharp, venomous, each one dripping with resentment. Asuka's heart stuttered painfully in her chest, the guilt flooding in like a tidal wave. She hadn't realized the depth of the damage she had caused, not just to herself, but to Kankuro and his family. The blond was right. She didn't deserve to be here, not after everything. The anger in Temari's eyes burned through her, but it was the quiet, unbearable pain in her voice that tore through Asuka's defenses.

"I never meant to hurt him," Asuka whispered, barely audible, her voice shaking with the weight of regret.

Her body was still weak, the exhaustion from her injuries settling heavily in her bones, but the emotional toll of hearing Temari's words felt even more crushing.

Temari scoffed, her eyes cold and full of accusation. "You did hurt him," she spat. "You've messed him up again. He's been spiraling since the moment you came back into the picture, and it's all your fault."

Asuka's hands trembled at her sides, her mind struggling to process the truth in Temari's words. Her gaze fell to the floor, the weight of her past mistakes pressing down on her chest. Kankuro, once so full of life and teasing warmth, had been more hurt by her betrayal than she'd initially thought. And now, seeing Temari in this state—seeing the fear and anger in her eyes—made Asuka's heart shatter with guilt.

The nurse stepped forward once more, her voice firm but gentle. "Lady Temari, I understand your concern, but my patient needs rest. She's still healing. We can't allow her to leave the hospital just yet, not while she's in such a fragile state."

Temari's gaze snapped back to the nurse, her lips curling into a snarl. "I don't care about her healing." She turned back to Asuka, her voice trembling with frustration. "You've taken everything from him. I should've known better than to trust you."

Her words stung. Asuka's eyes welled with tears, the sorrow from her past crashing over her in a wave. I'm so sorry, she wanted to say, but the words seemed hollow, too small to ever make up for what she had done. All she could do was sit there, broken and silent, the guilt choking her throat. She had no right to ask for forgiveness—not from Temari, not from Kankuro. Not from anyone.

Temari's gaze softened, just for a brief moment, before the wall of anger returned. She turned sharply and stormed out of the room, her footsteps echoing down the hall. The door slammed behind her, leaving a heavy silence in its wake.

The nurse gave Asuka a sympathetic glance before returning to her duties, but Asuka barely noticed. All she could feel was the weight of her past mistakes pressing down on her chest, and the realization that no matter how much she wanted to heal, she would never be able to undo the damage she had caused.

...

Two weeks had passed since Asuka had first woken up in Suna's hospital, and her body had the time to heal. Her muscles were no longer sore, and the fatigue that once weighed on her like a stone had all but disappeared, but her mind—her mind was still tangled in knots of regret. Still, she forced herself to move forward, to appreciate the small mercies, like the care Himari had provided, the gentle tenderness of the nurses, and the soft, quiet moments in the room where she could almost forget everything she had done.

As she walked through the hallways now, there was a subtle difference. She'd noticed it immediately—the hospital had changed. The hospital had been completely repaired since the invasion three years ago. What had once been a building battered by disaster had been transformed under Himari's gentle, meticulous care. The sterile, unfeeling atmosphere she remembered had been replaced with warmth. The walls had been painted with soft tones, the floors polished and clean. Small potted plants sat on windowsills, a few frames with cheerful photos of the staff hung by the elevators. It was clear Himari had left her mark in the reconstruction.

Her eyes lingered on a small section of the corridor, now much brighter than before, and as she walked past, a familiar door caught her attention. She froze. Lady Kiyo's room.

The door stood ajar, but it was empty, the harsh hospital bed no longer in place. For a moment, Asuka stood still, her heart squeezing in her chest as the memories flooded her. Kiyo—always grumpy, always throwing insults —had been one of her favorite patients. The old woman had been stubborn, her pride and sharp tongue the only things keeping her alive, it seemed. Asuka had grown fond of her in the years she worked here. And now, she was gone.

The room was sterile now, vacant. But in her mind, she could still hear Kiyo's voice as if she were right there, scolding her for her carelessness or mocking her. "Blondie, what are you doing?" The familiar mocking tone almost brought a smile to Asuka's lips, though the feeling was bittersweet. She wished she could've heard it just one more time, wished she could've helped Kiyo fight through whatever had taken her from them. Crying for my death won't bring me back, blondie. She almost smiled.

Asuka exhaled quietly and turned away from the room, walking slowly down the hall, trying to shake the feeling of longing that had taken root in her chest. She stopped short in front of another room. Her heart clenched. Hiroko's room. She could see him through the small window in the door, unconscious, plugged to various machines that beeped softly in rhythm. His body lay still, pale against the stark white sheets, and the soft hum of the machines was the only sound filling the space. Asuka's chest tightened painfully as her mind flashed back to his words. "I'm tired." She could still hear them in her ears, the resignation in his voice. Hiroko had always been the strong one, the one who held everything together. But in that moment, she had heard the weariness in his voice, a heaviness that felt like too much to bear.

For a long moment, Asuka just stood there, frozen, staring at the motionless figure of her brother. The door wasn't locked, but she didn't want to disturb him—didn't want to intrude on the medical staff who were doing their best to care for him. She didn't even know if he would ever wake up.

The sorrow was drowning her in silence. She couldn't leave him—not like this. She didn't know how long it would take, or if he would even wake up, but she couldn't walk away. Not when he was the only family she had left.

She was healed. She was free to go. Himari had made it clear that she didn't have to stay. But Asuka couldn't bear the thought of leaving. She couldn't leave her brother to face this alone, not after everything.

Her heart ached, torn between the two choices. The desire to run, to escape from the people she had hurt and the shame that lingered like a second skin, and the need to stay, to support the only person who truly mattered to her now.

With a soft sigh, Asuka stepped away from the door, her hand brushing the cool surface of the wall as she walked away. She didn't know what the future would hold, or if there was any way to make things right. But for now, she would remain here.

By her brother's side.

…

Himari had insisted. Despite Asuka's reluctance to leave the hospital, Himari made it clear that she wasn't going to allow her to wallow in the sterile quiet of her brother's room any longer.

"You've been cooped up here long enough," she said, her voice firm but gentle, as if she could see through the walls of sorrow Asuka had built around herself. "It's time for some fresh air."

And so, despite herself, Asuka found herself walking alongside Himari in the bustling streets of Suna's market that bright morning. Her mother would be proud of her. See? I'm trying, mother. I'm trying to let go of the past. To walk forward.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden glow across the town. The streets were lively, full of the early morning rush, as vendors set up their stalls, calling out to passersby. The air was filled with the scent of fresh bread and spices. The atmosphere was a stark contrast to the tense, suffocating quiet of her hospital room.

But what caught Asuka's attention more than anything was Himari's daughter. The little girl skipped along beside them, holding her mother's hand with small, chubby fingers. She couldn't have been more than four years old, with large, dark eyes that mirrored her mother's—deep, kind, and observant—and hair the soft red-brown hue of her father's. The child's face, though, carried an expression that could only belong to Himari—a serene, patient calm that softened her sharp features.

She was a beautiful mix of both her parents, and Asuka couldn't help but smile as the little girl looked up at her with curious eyes. Her round face lit up when she saw Asuka's smile, revealing a gap-toothed grin, and she shyly waved.

"Hello, Auntie Asuka!" she chirped, her voice high and cheerful, and Asuka's heart melted at the sight of her innocence. Himari chuckled softly; her eyes warm with affection for her daughter.

"She's been practicing," Himari said with a knowing smile. "She's gotten much better with her greetings."

Asuka couldn't help but laugh. The little girl was absolutely adorable—her presence was like a ray of sunshine in the midst of Asuka's sorrow. As they continued walking, people around them greeted Himari with respect and admiration, nodding their heads or offering warm smiles. Some of them even stopped to compliment her daughter, who beamed proudly at the attention.

Asuka noticed how easily Himari fit into this world now. She looked around. The villagers were not hostile, no cold stares or harsh whispers, as she had expected. The sense of animosity that Asuka had feared was absent. Suna, it seemed, had either not linked her to the invasion, years ago, or had truly forgiven her. Himari had certainly played a role in that, but there was something else, too—a quiet acceptance in the eyes of the people.

As they passed a small bakery, an elderly man in a worn tunic approached Asuka, his eyes bright with recognition. "You!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with awe. "I remember you! Three years ago, during the invasion, you were in the streets with the cranes. You brought them down, didn't you? The healing ones. You protected us. We weren't hurt that day because of you."

He gave a deep bow, his voice trembling slightly with gratitude. Asuka froze, her mind racing. She remembered the invasion well—the chaos, the terror, the looming threat. But she hadn't thought anyone would remember her, let alone thank her. She could hardly believe it. She had been an enemy once, she had betrayed them, but here was a man—someone she didn't even know—remembering her for a small act of kindness, a healing gesture that seemed so insignificant compared to everything else she had done.

Her heart twisted in confusion and disbelief. "I… I didn't do much," she murmured, unsure how to respond, her voice quiet. "I wasn't the only one helping. Many others—"

"No," the man interrupted, shaking his head. His eyes softened. "You saved us. I know what you did. Thank you."

Asuka didn't know how to react. The words felt foreign in her mouth, hollow in the face of all her past mistakes. She hadn't earned their forgiveness. Not yet. She swiftly bowed in return, and continued walking.

Himari, who had been walking a few steps ahead, turned to smile at Asuka, her expression knowing. "Even if you betrayed the village once," she said softly, "you made the right choice in the end. You chose to fight for Suna. That's what matters."

Asuka swallowed, looking at Himari's face—kind, gentle, yet resolute. She was right, Asuka realized. She had chosen the right side. But the guilt still lingered, like a shadow that would never fully leave.

Eventually, Himari had to leave for a meeting at the hospital in the afternoon, but she assured Asuka she wouldn't be gone long. Asuka was left standing alone in the crowded market, her thoughts swirling.

She wandered through the stalls, trying to distract herself. The weight of Himari's words, the gratitude of the people, the warmth of the little girl's smile—all of it was too much, too overwhelming. She didn't know where to go or what to do next.

Her feet took her aimlessly down the familiar streets, until she found herself standing in front of a building she hadn't expected to visit. Kankuro's workshop. The doors were closed, and there was no sign of movement inside, but the sight of it made Asuka's heart skip a beat.

Her breath caught in her throat as her hand hovered near the door, uncertain. Should she go in? Should she even be near this place?

But standing there, in the street where the sun shone a little too bright, Asuka felt like she was standing at a crossroads—torn between what she wanted to do and what she knew she had to. She wasn't sure if she was ready to face him yet, but somehow, in the quiet of the moment, she knew she couldn't keep running from the past forever.

…

Asuka hesitated at the door of Kankuro's workshop, her hand hovering just above the handle. The air felt thick, almost suffocating, and the quiet hum of the market outside seemed distant now. She pushed the door open, and the faint creak of the hinges broke the silence as she stepped inside.

The workshop was dimly lit, shadows stretching across the walls. The smell of wood and metal filled the air, mixed with the faint scent of oil. The cluttered space was filled with scattered puppet parts—worn, broken pieces of limbs, heads, and torsos in various stages of disrepair. The table in the center was covered with scattered blueprints, a chaotic mess of ideas and unfinished creations. A workbench stood against the wall, tools neatly arranged beside it, untouched for who knew how long.

Asuka's gaze wandered around the room, but her attention was soon drawn to a black notebook laid open on the main table. It looked out of place amidst the scattered sketches and parts. She walked toward it, her fingers brushing the edges of the pages as she picked it up. The leather was worn, the corners slightly frayed from use. She flipped it open, curiosity tugging at her.

The pages were filled with intricate drawings—puppets of all shapes and sizes, detailed and precise. But as she turned the pages, one sketch caught her eye. It was a portrait of a girl, the lines quick but confident, the figure drawn in bold strokes. Asuka's heart skipped. It was her. The girl in the drawing had long, flowing blonde hair, bright and wild, and wore brightly colored clothes—bright reds and pinks, a stark contrast to the muted tones of the workshop. She was smiling, a wide, carefree expression, her eyes full of life. Asuka's breath caught in her throat as she flipped to the next page. More sketches, each one more detailed than the last. There were several versions of her: different outfits, different expressions, all full of life, vibrant with color. She almost didn't recognize the girl in the drawings. Was that really me? she thought, her fingers trembling slightly as she traced the lines of the sketches. The dates on the top right corner of each page brought a chill to her spine. Three to five years ago. She hadn't expected to see this—this version of herself, captured so vividly on paper.

She leaned in closer, her fingers lingering on the drawing. She could see the care Kankuro had taken, the way he had captured her with such precision, as if every detail mattered. Her smiling face, her hair flying behind her like a wild, carefree thing. The colors. The joy. He used to see me like this, Asuka realized. She could feel the weight of it, a strange mix of warmth and sorrow settling in her chest. The girl in the drawings seemed so distant now, as if a lifetime had passed since she had been that carefree and almost… happy. And yet, here she was—etched on the pages of his notebook, frozen in time.

Her hand shook slightly as she turned to the next page, but her mind couldn't move past the fact that Kankuro had once seen her like this. She let the pages fall open, each one showing more versions of herself, each one brighter, fuller of life. A part of her felt a strange longing, a desire to reach back through the years, to be that girl again. But the girl in the drawings was gone. Replaced by someone else. A lesser version. And as much as she wanted to hold onto those drawings, to hold onto that cheerful version of herself, she knew it was lost.

She closed the notebook slowly, the weight of the past pressing heavily on her. The workshop was silent once more, the only sound the faint rustle of pages turning in her mind. She set the notebook back down on the table. The workshop was thick with silence, the only sound being the soft creak of the door as it swayed slightly in the frame.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the workshop, and Asuka froze. The air shifted—tense, heavy with the sudden realization that someone was there. She didn't need to look up to know who it was. His presence was unmistakable, filling the space. She looked at him, and for a moment, neither of them spoke. His brow furrowed in a mixture of disbelief, frustration, and something else—something she couldn't quite name. His usual composed demeanor faltered, replaced with a look of disbelief as he took in the scene: her standing there, in his workshop, flipping through his personal sketches.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was sharp, demanding an explanation, and he stepped closer, his gaze flicking to the notebook she had been holding. Kankuro's gaze followed the notebook, then flicked back to her, his mouth a hard line.

Asuka's heart raced, but she forced herself to meet his eyes.

"I—" The words did not come as easily as she wanted them to. She hesitated, but then her voice steadied. "I finally got to see my mother again."

Kankuro blinked, thrown off by her answer, a mix of surprise and curiosity flashing across his face. "Your mother?" he repeated, his anger momentarily softened by the shift in her tone.

"Yes," Asuka said, her gaze falling to the floor, her voice quiet. "When I recovered the scrolls, we could finally meet again." She paused, swallowing hard. "I still miss her so much. But now, I understand better my role as the last guardian of my clan's scrolls. It's my responsibility now."

Kankuro's expression softened briefly as he absorbed her words, but then his jaw tightened. He crossed his arms, leaning against the doorframe, a subtle shift in his posture that made her acutely aware of the space between them—too much, and yet not enough. He exhaled sharply.

"I understand," he said, his voice suddenly distant. "I know how it feels to lose a mother."

There was a long pause as Kankuro processed her words. He stared at her, still unsure of how to react. She could see the storm brewing behind his eyes, the old pain still fresh, the years of unanswered questions. But there was something else there too—something almost gentle, understanding.

Asuka's chest tightened at his words. The years between them, the tension, the anger—it all seemed to fade as they shared a quiet understanding.

But then Kankuro's voice broke through the silence, his tone changing again, tinged with something raw, something that hurt. "I had feelings for you, you know," he said, the words slipping out before she could stop them. "For years, I had them. And you never even realized."

Asuka's heart skipped a beat. She opened her mouth to respond, but no words came. She could only stare at him, unsure how to process his confession. The air around them seemed to hum as the unspoken words hung between them. She wanted to reach for something—anything to fill the space between them. She wasn't sure if she was seeking redemption, forgiveness, or just a place to fit in. A moment of peace.

"It's not true," she finally whispered, her voice trembling, the truth of the matter sinking in with a heavy thud. But Kankuro let out a bitter laugh—empty, hollow, without any joy.

"No," he corrected softly, shaking his head. His voice was quieter now, but it cut through her like a blade. "It's true. And the worst part? I'd always find a way to annoy you, because that was the only time you'd ever acknowledge me."

His voice cracked just slightly, though he quickly masked it with a harsh laugh. Asuka's heart skipped a beat. She felt a stab of guilt at his words, her chest tight with the weight of the years that had passed, and all the moments they'd lost, all the misunderstandings, all the ways she had pushed him away. Kankuro's eyes were hard now, but there was still something fragile in them, a lingering pain that hadn't yet faded, even after all these years. And in that moment, Asuka understood the depth of what he had felt. But she didn't know if she could ever make it right.

His eyes burned with something that wasn't anger anymore. It was deeper, darker—a look that stirred something in her, something she didn't know if she was ready to face. His gaze swept over her, slow and deliberate, making her pulse race.

Asuka's breath hitched as the distance between them closed, his proximity almost suffocating now. Every movement of his, every glance, seemed to pull her in closer, like gravity.

"I..." Her voice was barely a whisper, caught between wanting to explain, wanting to apologize, and wanting something she couldn't quite name.

Kankuro's eyes darkened as he moved even closer, the tension between them thick enough to cut with a knife. His breath was warm against her skin, his presence overwhelming. "What?" he asked, his voice soft and dangerous, like a challenge. "Don't tell me you're finally at lost for words?"

Asuka's chest tightened, her heart racing. She couldn't look away. She felt herself drawn to him, the old, familiar pull making her pulse quicken. She opened her mouth to speak, but all that came out was a shaky breath. Kankuro reached out, his hand brushing against hers in the space between them. The contact was electric, and for a moment, everything else disappeared. His fingers lingered just a moment too long, his touch igniting something deep inside her.

"You've always been a mystery to me, and…" he trailed off, as if unable to finish the sentence, but the heat in his gaze was unmistakable. "It was all an act for you, wasn't it?

The tension in the room was thick, every word a thread pulling them closer to the edge, each one heavier than the last. Asuka's voice trembled with emotions she hadn't allowed herself to feel for so long, but now it spilled out in a rush, desperate to be heard. She slowly exhaled.

"It wasn't an act," she said, her eyes not leaving his. "I've never really hated you. But I couldn't allow myself to be close to you because I knew you'd end up seeing right through me." Her voice softened, like she was confessing something she had buried deep. Too deep. "I can't say that I caught feelings. I've promised myself to never fall in love again. But I've caught myself imagining how it'd be to wake up by your side. To argue every day. To fight. To mess with each other's nerves."

Kankuro's expression faltered, a dark storm cloud of emotions crossing his face. He looked at her, his anger still there, but mixed with something deeper—something old and familiar. "I don't know if I can forgive you, one day." His words were almost a challenge, but there was a hint of pain beneath them that he couldn't quite mask.

Asuka's heart squeezed, but she held his gaze, her voice barely above a whisper. "I don't know if I'll ever forgive myself, either."

The admission left her raw, exposed in a way she hadn't been in years. The room was silent except for the sound of their breaths, both of them caught between the past and the present. Then Kankuro moved. He reached out, his hand brushing a lock of her darkened hair, pushing it back from her face. His fingers lingered for a moment, almost tenderly, as if unsure of how to touch her.

"It suits you," he muttered, and it was almost a compliment, though his voice was thick with something else—something deeper.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, but it didn't reach his eyes. She didn't pull away, didn't say anything in return. Instead, she stood still, the weight of his touch settling over her like a heavy blanket. In that moment, everything felt like it had always been this way, like they had been here before—arguing, fighting, teasing. Always in each other's orbit, unable to escape, unable to let go.

He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I want to get to know the real you," he said, his voice barely a whisper now. It wasn't an accusation. It was a plea.

Asuka's chest tightened, her emotions swirling in a storm of regret, longing, and something else she couldn't quite name. Her voice was barely audible as she spoke.

"It's always been me, with you. When I was just a kid, I never felt like I had a place to belong, and I thought maybe-" She paused, swallowing as if the words were suddenly too much. "Maybe that's why I always kept coming after you."

The truth hung between them, heavy and unspoken, like the invisible thread that had always pulled them back together, no matter how hard they tried to walk away. They had always been this way. Always gravitating toward each other, caught in this whirlwind of tension and emotion. And now, with everything laid bare, there was no turning back. The space between them closed, and for the first time, Asuka allowed herself to feel the pull as he kissed her.