Naruto is not sure how long he stays like that.
He sits on the bed, eyes staring at the space where Sasuke was, trying to breathe through the shock. His ears are ringing, and his chest is caving, and there is a sick feeling in his stomach that won't go away.
He tries to process what has happened. To understand the sequence of events, to make sense of the fact that Sasuke is gone. He can feel something warm and sticky on his thigh, and he knows what it is, and he should probably get up and wash it off. He doesn't. He cannot move. He can barely breathe.
His phone is still buzzing, and he cannot hear it, but his eyes are drawn to the sight of her name.
What exactly did Sasuke see?
What did he think?
Hinata.
Hinata.
The truth hits him in a flash. The pieces snap together, and his heart plummets. He understands.
Of course.
Of fucking course.
He tries to imagine just how Sasuke must have felt. How the sight of the caller ID must have looked, after that night, seventeen years ago, when Naruto had chosen someone else. He tries to picture the expression that had twisted his face when he saw it, and his chest seizes.
Oh God.
Naruto stands, and the movement is too sudden. The world tilts, and the hotel spins, and he can't breathe. His stomach churns. He has to find him. He has to find him.
He scrambles, pulling his clothes on, and his vision is blurry. He is not sure why.
"Shit," he hisses, fumbling with his shirt.
It takes a few moments for him to dress. When he finally manages, he stumbles out of the hotel, and into the street.
Sasuke is not there.
-
Naruto spends the next hour searching for him.
He has no idea where Sasuke has gone. The city feels endless, every corner another possibility, every dark stretch of road a reminder that he has already lost him. His thoughts are a snarl of panic and regret, and nothing makes sense. He keeps retracing his steps, scanning the sidewalks, ducking into alleys, looking for even the smallest trace. It is pointless, and he knows it, but standing still feels like drowning.
He realizes he doesn't have Sasuke's number, and the thought almost knocks him over. Why hasn't he asked for it yet? What kind of fool doesn't ask for a fucking phone number when he finally reconciles with the man he loves?
Naruto feels like screaming.
Naruto presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, a sound tearing out of him that is closer to a sob than a scream. He wants to punch a wall, to tear his throat raw, to punish himself for being so stupid. If he had just thought ahead, if he had just done the simplest, most obvious thing, maybe he would not be standing here in the cold, chasing a ghost.
The streets are empty and cruel. The sky is heavy and black. He does not even know which way to turn. Sasuke could be anywhere. He could have taken the train, hailed a cab, walked until his legs gave out. Naruto does not know where he lives, what his habits are, what his safe places might be. He has nothing to go on.
The realization is nauseating.
They had only just begun to piece themselves back together. Barely even begun. And Naruto, like always, has already managed to break it. Already managed to say the wrong thing, or not say the right thing, or make Sasuke believe the one thing he never wanted him to believe. That he is careless. That he does not think. That he takes him for granted.
The guilt claws at him, tightening around his ribs until every breath is shallow and shaky. He cannot stop replaying it in his head. Sasuke's face when the phone lit up. The way his eyes had gone sharp and cold, as if the little warmth Naruto had managed to coax out of him had been nothing but an illusion.
He tells himself Sasuke should have waited, should have listened, should have given him a chance to explain. But the voice in his head is louder, crueler. Why should he? Why should Sasuke ever trust him again, when all Naruto does is prove him right about every fear he has ever had?
The fear is the worst of it. It is worse than the guilt, worse than the shame. It seeps into every thought, wraps around every heartbeat. What if this is it? What if Sasuke disappears again? What if that was his last chance, and he ruined it? What if seventeen years of waiting have only led him to this, to a single night that ends in failure?
The thought is unbearable. The thought is lethal. He cannot survive it.
The minutes stretch, long and cruel. His feet are numb, his body is trembling, and he is wandering with no destination. He feels like he is unraveling in real time, a thread pulled loose and left to fray until nothing remains.
When his phone rings, it takes him a few seconds to recognize the sound. His brain feels too slow, his hands clumsy as he pulls it from his pocket. The screen glows with a name that makes his stomach twist.
He pulls it out, and sees Hinata's name glowing on the screen. He has forgotten to text her. She must be worried.
He picks up, and his voice is shaking. "Hey."
"Hi," she says, and her voice is soft.
The sound is soothing. The familiarity is grounding. She is a life preserver, and he is drowning, and he cannot hold back the wave of emotion.
"Naruto, are you okay? You didn't come home, and Boruto told me you two had a fight about—what happened? Are you alright?"
He does not know where to begin. Does not know how to answer. How can he explain this?
"I—"
"Is everything okay?" she asks.
She can always tell. She has always been able to read him. She has known him half of his life, and she knows him better than anyone, and the words slip out without permission.
"I messed up."
She is silent for a long moment. He is not sure why, but it's nice to have her quiet. Nice to be heard, and not have to talk, and not have to explain. She does not push.
"Okay," she says. "You sound drunk. Do you need me to come get you?"
The offer is so genuine. So sweet. The kindness is overwhelming, and the guilt is crippling, and he can't do this. He can't do this. He can't.
"I'm not too far. I'll be home soon. Sorry. I just... I'm sorry."
"Okay," she says, and the concern is obvious.
But the worry is not for herself, or her feelings, or her marriage. She is worried about him. Only him. And the love that she gives him is unconditional. Unfaltering. Unflinching.
She does not deserve this.
"I'm really sorry," he says again.
"Naruto, are you crying?" she asks.
"Yeah," he admits. "A little bit."
"I'm coming to get you. Where are you?"
"No, you don't have to. I'm fine."
"Don't be ridiculous. Just tell me where you are. I'm leaving the house."
"Hinata..."
"Where are you?"
His chest tightens until he can hardly breathe. He does not want to say it. He does not want her to see him like this. But he gives her the address anyway, and she promises she will be there in a few minutes.
When the call ends, Naruto leans against the brick wall, phone slipping in his grip, and the tears finally spill over. He hides his face in his hands and lets himself break open, alone in the cold night, choking on everything he cannot undo.
-
When the car pulls up, he climbs inside.
He notices the way Hinata looks at him. The way her eyes rove across his face, taking in the details. His lips are probably still swollen. He hasn't had a chance to look in the mirror, but he can guess how red his cheeks are. How wild his hair is. He wonders if she can see the tear tracks. He wonders if she can smell Sasuke's cologne.
He expects her to ask, but she doesn't.
Instead, she drives.
Instead of their house, she takes him to a 24-hour ramen stand. It's a place they always used to go when they were younger. He remembers the nights spent here, the way they'd eat their fill, and walk home in the dark. They'd talk about nothing and everything, and laugh until their stomachs ached, and she'd always smile, and she'd always be warm.
She is his best friend.
The fact that he has hurt her is unfathomable.
They sit at the bar, and the place is nearly empty. There is only one other customer, a man who sits in the corner and eats his noodles. The TV plays quietly. The lights are dim. It's the kind of place that makes Naruto want to stay forever.
She orders the usual, and Naruto follows. The broth is hot, and the noodles are salty, and the vegetables are perfect. He hasn't eaten all day. He'd been too nervous.
"You saw him," she says.
The statement is matter-of-fact, and gentle, and unjudging.
It's no secret, after all, considering the state he's in. It's no secret what they've done.
"Yeah," he breathes.
There's a long moment of silence. She does not speak, and neither does he. He's not sure how much he can tell her, and not sure if he wants to. He doesn't know how to explain any of this.
"What happened?" she asks.
He takes a sip of broth, and the heat spreads through him.
"I fucked up," he whispers.
She looks at him, and there is so much love in her eyes. It breaks his heart.
"What happened?" she asks again.
"He saw your name on my phone, and he... well, I'm trying to remember whether I'd even told him about the fact that we're not... that we've been separated. But I don't think I did, so it's not surprising he—"
"Oh," she breathes. "Naruto."
"He just... he ran. He looked so hurt. I don't even know where he lives, Hinata. I didn't ask for his number. I didn't tell him to wait. I didn't tell him to stay, or that he didn't need to leave. I didn't— I just— I— "
Tears are burning his eyes, and his vision is blurring, and his chest is so tight he thinks he might shatter. He covers his face with his hands, and his breath shudders out.
"Naruto," she says, and the way she says it is enough to break him.
She's so fucking gentle. Always.
And what has he done with that gentleness?
Taken it. Bent it. Broken it.
He hurt her. He hurt Sasuke. He hurt everyone who ever trusted him.
He thinks of Sasuke's eyes in that moment. That raw, wrecked look as he turned and walked out. He thinks of how easily he could have stopped him, how easily he could have said one word, and yet he froze. He thinks of how Sasuke has carried loneliness like a second skin, how he has never had anyone who truly stayed. And Naruto managed to prove him right again.
The shame is unbearable. It is not just about Hinata anymore. It is not just about seventeen years ago. It is about every failure, every moment he chose silence over honesty, hesitation over bravery, cowardice over love.
"You don't have to witness my pity party," he mumbles. "I'm just being stupid."
"You're not," she says, and her fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling his hand away. Her eyes meet his, and her voice is steady. "You're not being stupid. You're allowed to be sad."
Guilt rips through him, sharp as glass. He hates it. He hates the fact that he is sitting here, crying to his wife about the man he loves. Again. But worse than that, he hates himself for letting Sasuke believe he was nothing more than another mistake.
"Boruto told me he hates me for what I'd done to you," Naruto says. "I hate me too. He was right."
"Don't say that," she says. "He was just angry. You're not a bad person, Naruto. Not by a long shot."
"I've hurt everyone," he whispers.
Everyone. Hinata. Boruto. Himawari. Sasuke. Especially Sasuke. The one person who had always needed him to be unwavering. The one person who had always needed him to stay. And what did Naruto do? He let him run into the night with nothing but an old wound reopened.
She looks at him, and her fingers thread through his. She squeezes his hand.
"Naruto, you'd made a mistake seventeen years ago. You confessed it right away, and you apologized, and you've worked so hard ever since. You've given your life to this family. That's all I ever asked of you."
"That doesn't make it okay."
"You're right. It doesn't," she says. "But I didn't give you much of a choice, did I?"
Naruto blinks, confused. "Huh?"
"I was in college, pregnant and in love. The thought of doing this alone terrified me. So I made you choose between being a father and disappearing from our lives because any alternative would have meant that I would have had to watch you choose somebody else."
The confession is quiet. It is a gentle sort of truth that settles between them. He never saw it like that. He never allowed himself to. He was always the one who had made the mistake, the one who was at fault.
But maybe that was not the whole story.
"You don't have to make that choice now," she says, and her voice is so soft. "I'm not asking you to. I'm not asking you to choose anything."
He looks at her, and she is so beautiful. The dim light catches in her eyes, and the warmth radiating from her is a comfort that makes his chest ache with longing. Longing for this. For the simplicity of it. For the life they've built.
But it is not enough. It has never been enough. He has been starving for seventeen years, and now that he's had a taste, he is ravenous.
"I've felt guilty for the longest time for taking that choice from you," she says. "For making you feel like you had to stay when you wanted to leave."
"I wanted to stay," he says. "With you. With them."
"I know," she says. "But that's not the whole truth, is it?"
He does not answer. He can't.
"You've been so good to me, Naruto," she says. "You've been a wonderful father. You've been a good husband. You've been my best friend. I'm not angry with you. I'm not even sad."
He waits.
"I like spending time with Kiba," she says. "He's funny, and kind, and he makes me laugh."
Naruto expects to feel weird about that. He expects to be jealous, or hurt, or angry. But all he feels is relief. A strange sort of relief that washes over him, clean and bright.
"He knows about you," she says. "He knows I'm not ready for anything serious. And he's okay with that."
"He'd better be," Naruto says, and it's half a joke, half a threat.
She smiles, and it's a real smile. The first real smile he's seen from her in a long time. It is not forced or strained, but genuine and easy, and it lights up her face.
"I haven't done anything with him," she says, anticipating his next question. "Not yet. But I think I might want to."
"Okay," he says.
She takes a deep breath.
"Anyway," she says. "I only said that to make you feel less like a monster. And maybe to make myself feel a little less like a martyr. We're just people, Naruto. We're not heroes or villains. We're just people trying to figure it out."
The words hang in the air. Just people. It is such a simple, profound statement. They are not characters in a story, not pawns in some cosmic game. They are just two people who'd thought they were doing the right thing, who were doing the best they could with the choices they had.
"It's alright, Naruto. Don't carry this guilt. You have so much love to give, and you've given so much to us. I'm not mad about you finding happiness. Especially not with him. Especially not when I can see how happy he makes you. It's alright."
He looks at her, and he is speechless. There is no resentment in her voice, no bitterness. Only a deep, abiding affection, and the honest desire to see him happy. The selflessness of it is staggering. The grace of it is humbling.
It's not bitter anymore. It's sweet. It's a sweet sadness.
She has given him a gift, a release from a cage he did not even realize he was in. She has given him the one thing he never allowed himself to ask for: permission.
He feels tears pricking his eyes again, and he blinks them back. "Thank you," he says.
She squeezes his hand. "Always."
They eat in silence for a few minutes, the sounds of their slurping noodles the only noise between them. The broth warms Naruto from the inside out, chasing away the chill of his panic. He feels a sliver of hope, fragile but real.
Hinata then looks up, hesitating for a moment before speaking. "Naruto," she says, her voice softer than before. "There's one more thing."
He pauses, chopsticks halfway to his mouth. The gentleness in her tone makes his stomach tighten again.
"Yeah?"
"I was thinking that maybe we should... live separately for a while. Like, actually separate. It's just a suggestion, and you're totally free to disagree, but I think it would help the kids adjust. Especially since lately you've been—"
Distraught. Desperate. A complete and total mess.
"I get it," he says.
"I don't want you to feel like I'm kicking you out, or anything like that. I just... the kids have a lot of questions, and I'm not sure how much longer I can keep them from the truth. And it would give you some space. Some time to process this. Some space to heal, if that's what you need."
He understands.
"Yeah. Let's do that," he says.
"But we should still see each other, you know. Maybe on the weekends, and whenever else we can."
"Yeah."
She looks at him for a long moment. "I'm sorry it ended up like this."
"Me too."
"It's okay," she says. "We'll be alright."
She reaches out and wipes the tears from his cheek, and the gesture is so maternal. So tender. He wants to cry harder, but he doesn't. Instead, he smiles.
"Thank you," he says. "For everything."
She squeezes his hand.
And then they go home.
-
Naruto wakes up with a well-deserved hangover, and the taste of regret on his tongue.
His eyes are puffy, and his heart is heavy, and his body feels like lead. He sits up, and his muscles protest. The headache is pounding against his skull, and the nausea is almost unbearable. He drags himself out of bed, and stumbles into the shower. He has work today. He is already late, and he has a lot to do, and the thought is enough to make him want to curl back under the covers.
But his mind refuses to let him rest. It drags him back to last night. To Sasuke.
He sees again the look in those black eyes, raw and molten, stripped of every layer of composure. There had been nothing hidden. Just hunger. Just fury. Just years of longing and hurt twisted together until it became something feral. Naruto can still feel the weight of it, can still taste the desperation that bled through every kiss, every touch, every thrust.
And it wasn't just the anger, but the flickers underneath it.
The tears at the corners of his eyes that Sasuke kept pretending were not there. The way his jaw kept tightening as if he was trying to hold something back. The way he kept looking away, turning Naruto, shifting him, anything to make it less personal, less intimate. Anything to keep from being seen.
And what did it mean? That look, that unrestrained need — was it only anger? Or was it the proof Naruto has been chasing for years, that Sasuke had always felt the same way? That under all the walls and silence and distance, his love had burned just as recklessly? Naruto swears it did. He swears he saw it. Even through the pain. Especially through the pain.
Naruto remembers the moment he realized what was happening. Sasuke was not only trying to punish him. He was trying to punish himself. Every rough motion, every bruising grip, every moment of cruelty had been aimed inward too, like a man tearing at his own wounds. He had been at war with himself the entire time, hurting Naruto because hurting Naruto was the only way he could survive.
And how does one recover from a blow like that?
Naruto had seen it. Even in the blur of heat and sweat, even with his own body trembling, he had seen it. He had seen how Sasuke's hands had trembled, how his eyes had darted away every time Naruto tried to catch them. He had seen how Sasuke was drowning in the very same feelings that were wrecking him.
And Naruto had let him.
He had let him do anything he wanted. Because Sasuke was right. Because Naruto was guilty. Because there was no punishment too cruel for the way he had failed him. If Sasuke had wanted to reach inside his chest and rip out his heart, Naruto would have bared his ribs. If he had wanted to break him in half, Naruto would have offered up the bones. Anything. Anything at all.
He leans over the sink, gripping the porcelain until his knuckles ache. He can still feel Sasuke's fingers on his skin. He can still see his eyes, red-rimmed, wet, furious, and terrified. He can still hear the sound Sasuke made when he came, like something between a sob and a snarl. It had been unbearable. It had been beautiful. It had been everything Naruto had ever wanted and everything he had feared.
Naruto forces himself to look up. To meet his own eyes in the bathroom mirror.
The sight nearly takes his breath away.
He looks like he has been put through a shredder. There is a dark hickey blooming on his neck, and the marks trail down his chest, purple and swollen. His shoulders are peppered with bite marks, and the bruises continue down his stomach, disappearing into the waistband of his underwear. The skin on his wrists is raw, and his hips are dotted with faint, fingertip-shaped bruises.
His bottom lip is cracked, bitten open, and there are tiny scratches on his jaw where Sasuke's nails dug in.
It looks brutal. It looks obscene.
The sight makes him shiver.
He touches a mark on his chest, and it aches. The pain is a reminder.
"This is real," he whispers.
It's not a dream. He's not alone. He's not imagining it. It happened.
Sasuke touched him. Kissed him. Loved him.
He has to find him.
He has to fix this.
-
"Jesus fucking Christ."
Naruto had expected this response, but still, he grimaces.
"Good morning to you too, Shikamaru," he says, walking through the office and flopping into his chair.
Shikamaru follows him in, shutting the door behind him. He's holding a coffee, which he sets down on Naruto's desk before leaning against the edge and folding his arms. His eyes rove across the mess that is his boss' appearance.
"You hooked up with Sasuke," Shikamaru states.
It's not a question.
"What are you, a detective?" Naruto grumbles.
How the fuck did he figure that out?
"You've got a fucking hickey the size of Hokkaido on your neck," Shikamaru deadpans. "If it was only your face, I would have assumed you'd gotten into a bar fight. But those teeth marks are unmistakable."
Naruto's hand goes to his neck, and his cheeks burn.
"So what? I could have slept with anyone. What makes you think it was Sasuke?"
Shikamaru rolls his eyes. "Do you usually spend the night crying after random hookups? Is this a new kink I haven't heard about?"
"Who told you I was crying?"
"My eyes, Naruto. My eyes. Your eyes are bloodshot, and you look like you haven't slept. Those bags are bigger than the one Temari takes on family trips. Also, you smell like booze. So I assume whatever went down last night involved alcohol. Which, knowing you, makes me think you ran into Sasuke and decided to have a little reunion."
"Okay, first of all, it's none of your business," Naruto grumbles.
"When I'm forced to cover for you on a Monday morning when you have a pile of shit on your desk, it becomes my business."
Naruto's cheeks burn hotter.
"You're right," he mumbles. "I'm sorry. Thanks."
"Such a drag," Shikamaru mutters, and takes a sip of coffee.
Naruto picks up the cup, and the steam washes over his face. The scent is heavenly.
"Remind me again why I'm the boss, and not you?" he asks.
"Because I hate paperwork, and you like the responsibility," Shikamaru replies. "Plus, you need someone to keep you in check, and I'm not sure you'd survive without me."
Naruto laughs.
"Yeah, you're probably right," he says.
"So, how did you manage to screw up your life even more than before?" Shikamaru asks.
"How do you know I screwed it up?"
"You wouldn't look like that if things went well. You'd look annoying and happy. But you're not, so I can only assume you royally fucked it up."
Naruto stares at his desk. He has no idea where to begin.
"He walked out," he says. "He saw Hinata's name on my phone, and he ran."
Shikamaru sighs, and pinches the bridge of his nose.
"Did you forget to mention the fact that you're separated?" he asks.
"I didn't realize he didn't know!"
"You idiot," Shikamaru mutters.
"Yeah, I know. I am an idiot. And an asshole. And a piece of shit. And the world's biggest fucking moron."
"You can stop listing adjectives, I get the point," Shikamaru says.
"He's probably never going to talk to me again," Naruto whispers. "And it's my fault. It's my fucking fault."
Shikamaru's eyebrows go up, and he looks at him for a long moment.
"Naruto," he says. "Isn't your son still dating his daughter?"
The question gives him pause.
"Yeah," he says.
"So he can't exactly avoid you."
"Well, yeah, but... If I force him to see me, wouldn't that just make it worse? Like, isn't it better to just give him space and let him process this and—"
Shikamaru groans. "For the love of god. Are you fucking kidding me?"
"What? I don't want to—"
"Naruto, that was true seventeen years ago, when the reason he cut you out was because your girlfriend got pregnant. He had the right to feel betrayed and hurt, and he had the right to take space. But this is all just a huge misunderstanding. Don't you think he'd be more likely to forgive you if you just explained the situation and apologized? Why the fuck would you let him keep thinking that you're cheating on your wife?"
Naruto's cheeks are burning. He's not wrong. But still, there's a part of him that is terrified. What if Sasuke is done with him? What if he doesn't want to listen? What if there is no coming back from this?
"What if he doesn't forgive me?" Naruto whispers.
Shikamaru sighs. He rubs his forehead.
"Then at least you tried. And that's all you can do. If he's mad, he's mad. And you can't control that. You can't change it. So don't even try. Apologize, explain the situation, and leave. It's up to him what he does next. You have no control over any of this. And if he decides not to listen, then that's his choice. He's always had a choice. You can't keep making decisions for him."
Naruto bites his lip, and nods.
"You're right," he mumbles.
"Of course I'm right," Shikamaru grumbles.
Naruto chuckles, and it eases the knot in his chest.
"Thank you."
"Whatever."
Shikamaru gets up, and heads for the door.
"Uh, hey, Shikamaru," Naruto says.
"Yeah?"
"Do you perhaps have a couch for me to crash on tonight?"
Shikamaru groans. "You are such a drag."
"I'll take that as a yes," Naruto replies.
Shikamaru walks out without another word.
Sarada knows that something must have gone very, very wrong.
She has been replaying the moment in her head for hours, trying to catch the second where she could have stopped herself. The exact point where silence would have been better than speaking. She remembers Boruto's face, the way his eyes had narrowed in confusion first, then widened in hurt when the words spilled out. And every time she sees that look, she wants to claw the words back into her throat.
She hadn't wanted to tell him. She had promised herself she wouldn't. Her father had trusted her with something that was not meant to be shared, and she had felt the weight of that trust pressing down on her shoulders. It had been heavy, but she had been proud of it too. She had thought she could carry it.
But then Boruto had asked.
He had noticed right away that something was wrong. He always does. She had been quieter than usual, distracted, avoiding his eyes when he leaned too close. He had teased her about it first, but when she hadn't laughed, when her smile hadn't reached her eyes, his teasing had turned to worry. He had asked her what was bothering her, and she had told him it was nothing.
She had tried to say it in a way that sounded convincing. She had tried to hide behind a smile. But Boruto had seen through her, like he always does, and his expression had tightened into frustration.
"Why won't you tell me?"
That was what broke her.
Because she hadn't wanted to lie to him. Because she had seen the look in his eyes, that flicker of hurt, that fragile, pleading kind of trust that she didn't want to lose. He had always been so open with her, so honest, and she had felt the space between them growing with every heartbeat she kept quiet. She had been afraid. Afraid that if she didn't tell him, if she kept choosing silence, he would start to pull away.
And she couldn't stand that. Not with Boruto.
Keeping her father's secret had felt like a duty. But keeping Boruto's trust had felt like breathing. She had been caught between them, torn in two, and she had chosen wrong.
The words had tumbled out too fast, faster than she could stop them, and once they were out there was no way to take them back. She had told him what her father had told her about the past. About Naruto. About things Boruto had never known. She had seen the change in his expression the instant he realized she wasn't joking. The light in his eyes had gone out all at once, replaced by something that made her stomach twist.
And then he had left.
No explanation, just a rush of movement, his voice caught in his throat, his back disappearing down the street before she could even follow.
That was yesterday.
She hasn't seen him since.
But what's even worse is that Sarada's father hasn't come home either.
She had waited for him, listening for the sound of the door, waiting for his shadow in the hall. He hadn't returned. She was just about to text him when the message had come. It had been vague.
Don't wait up.
That was all.
Now it's a school day, and Boruto isn't in class, and her father isn't at home, and everything feels wrong.
Sarada is worried. She is worried for Boruto, who is undoubtedly hurting, and for her father, who must have suffered an immense blow to disappear like this. But she is also worried about herself. Because the more she thinks about it, the more her anxiety builds, until it is a weight in her chest, crushing her lungs.
She spots Himawari sitting alone at the edge of the yard during lunch, and relief washes over her.
"Himawari!" she calls, walking over.
The girl looks up, and her smile is sweet as ever.
"Hey, Sarada."
"Have you seen Boruto?" Sarada asks, and her voice is more urgent than she intended.
"Oh," Himawari says, and her eyes turn down. "He said he was feeling sick and decided to stay home today."
Sarada's heart falls. She can tell that Himawari is upset about something. There is a strain to her expression, a tightness around her eyes. But she does not want to push.
"Are you okay?" Sarada asks instead.
Himawari smiles, but it's too bright. Too big. "Yup! Everything's fine!"
Her voice sounds hollow, and Sarada wonders what she's hiding.
A sense of protectiveness surges in her.
"Well, let's eat lunch together," Sarada says.
She sits down on the grass, and pulls her lunchbox from her backpack. She can't force Himawari to open up, and maybe it's better not to pry. Maybe Himawari has enough people asking questions and demanding answers. Maybe she doesn't need another person making her uncomfortable.
But then Sarada sees the tears welling up in her eyes.
"Himawari?"
"I'm sorry," the girl mumbles.
She looks down, and her face crumples, and then she's crying.
Sarada scoots closer and puts an arm around her shoulder. Himawari leans into her, and her hands come up to wipe the tears.
"I'm so sorry, Sarada. I didn't mean to," she chokes.
"It's alright. Take your time."
"I'm s-sorry," Himawari stammers. "I don't know why I'm like this."
"It's okay. There's no rush."
They sit there for a while, Sarada rubbing Himawari's back and letting her cry. Eventually, the tears stop, and Himawari takes a shaky breath.
"Can I tell you something?" Himawari asks.
"Of course."
Himawari sniffles, and wipes her nose.
"My dad is... He's moving out," she whispers.
Sarada's eyes widen.
"What? When did this happen?"
"Last night," Himawari mumbles. "My mom left late to pick him up, and they stayed out for a long time. And when they came home, I heard them talking, and then this morning, I heard her crying, and... I just know."
Sarada's heart clenches.
"I'm sorry, Hima," she says.
"I guess I should have seen it coming. I know things haven't been good. I know they are separated. I know Mom's been seeing someone. But I guess... I didn't want to believe it. I guess a part of me kept hoping. That maybe it was all just a misunderstanding, and things would get better, and..."
"It's not your fault, Hima," Sarada says, squeezing her shoulder. "Your parents are the ones who made this decision, not you."
Himawari's eyes well up again, and the tears spill over.
"I know. But... I'm just worried. I don't want to lose him. I know my dad loves me, but what if he doesn't see me anymore? What if we never see each other?"
"I'm sure that's not going to happen," Sarada says.
"You think so?"
"Of course. I think your dad will make sure that you two stay close. And it might take some adjustment, but I know he won't let this be the end of your relationship."
Himawari sniffles again, and nods. "I hope you're right."
"I know I'm right," Sarada says.
This time, her smile is smaller, but real.
"I do want him to be happy," she says. "I want my parents to be happy. Even if it means that things have to change. But it's still hard."
"Yeah. I get it."
Himawari looks up, and her gaze turns thoughtful.
"Boruto seems to know something about this. I'm not sure how much. But something's bothering him. Did he tell you what it was?"
Sarada's shoulders go tense, and she avoids Himawari's eyes.
"I can't really talk about it," she mumbles.
"I figured," Himawari replies. "It's fine."
"I just think it's not my place to say," Sarada says.
Himawari sighs.
"It's so strange. I can tell that Boruto is hurting, and Dad is leaving, and Mom is sad, but neither of them are talking to me. It feels like everyone is dealing with their own stuff and ignoring me. And it sucks."
"Yeah," Sarada says. "I get it."
"It makes me feel lonely."
The words hit Sarada harder than she expected. They remind her of Boruto's eyes, the pain in them, the way he had looked so lost. Lonely. It makes her heart ache.
But these two siblings are here, being lonely, and not reaching out to each other. They are not leaning on each other. It is unfair. And unnecessary.
"Hey, Hima?" Sarada says.
"Yes?"
"Do you have any important classes after lunch?"
"Just PE," Himawari replies.
"So, you could skip?"
"I suppose so."
"Then let's go back to yours," Sarada says. "Boruto's alone too. We should both go talk to him."
Himawari's eyes widen. "Really?"
"Yeah. I think it would be good for both of you."
Himawari considers it. Then her expression softens, and she nods.
"Alright."
-
They find Boruto in his bedroom.
The door is closed, but they can hear the faint sound of music. Himawari hesitates for a moment before knocking.
There's a beat, and then the door opens.
Boruto's eyes are red.
"Hey," he mumbles.
"Hey."
Himawari shifts her weight, looking down, and then her arms are around him.
Boruto is surprised, but he hugs her back.
"Hi, Hima."
"Hi," she says.
When she pulls away, there are tears in her eyes.
"What's wrong?" Boruto asks, brows knitting in concern.
"You know what's wrong," Himawari says, her voice shaking.
Boruto's face twists. He glances at Sarada, and then looks back to his sister.
"Yeah," he says.
Sarada has never seen him so gentle.
"Come in," he says, and moves to let her in.
Himawari steps inside, and Boruto follows. Sarada waits for him to look at her before she enters. His expression is guarded.
"Hey, Sarada," he says.
"Hey."
He gestures for her to enter, and she does.
His room is a mess. His desk is cluttered with papers, and clothes are strewn across the floor. The blinds are drawn, and the only light is coming from the lamp on his bedside table. The bed itself is unmade, the sheets rumpled and half hanging off.
"Sorry for the mess," he says.
"It's alright."
He picks up a hoodie from the ground and throws it over his desk chair.
"Sit wherever," he mumbles.
They choose spots on the floor, and sit cross-legged. Boruto's posture is stiff, and he's avoiding her gaze. He looks nervous.
"Boruto, I—"
"Don't," he says. "Please. Let me say something first."
Sarada swallows. "Okay."
"I'm sorry," he says, and the words seem to come from his chest. They are heavy, and they hang in the air. "I'm not good with this stuff. I didn't know how to react. And I shouldn't have left like that. It was an asshole move. And I'm sorry."
Sarada's breath catches. She didn't expect him to apologize. She hadn't even considered the possibility. But she should have known. Of course he would. Because this is the kind of person he is.
"You're not mad at me?" she asks.
"No. Why would I be?"
"Because I told you the truth."
"I kinda asked for it, didn't I?" he says. "I pushed. I wanted to know. You didn't want to tell me. But I made you. So..."
He trails off, and rubs the back of his neck.
"So I'm sorry."
Himawari is looking between them, her brows pinched.
"Wait. What are you guys talking about?"
Boruto glances at her. "Our parents."
"Huh? Our parents?"
"Oh, Hima. I'm so sorry," Boruto says, his eyes softening. "You have no idea what's going on, do you?"
"Not really, no," she admits.
Boruto hesitates. Then he looks at Sarada.
"Do you think I should tell her?"
Sarada looks at her, thinking about how lost Himawari had looked, sitting on the grass, her tears shining in the sunlight. How vulnerable she had been, trusting Sarada with her thoughts.
"I think you should," she says.
He nods. Then he turns to Himawari.
"Sarada's dad and our dad used to be... Together."
Sarada watches the change in her expression. The way her eyes widen. Her mouth drops open. She can almost see the pieces falling into place.
"Dad's gay?" she whispers.
"I don't know what he is," Boruto replies. "All I know is that he still loves Sarada's dad. And her dad still loves him."
"Are you sure?" Himawari asks.
"We are," Boruto says, his voice growing quiet.
Himawari seems to understand. Her eyes turn sad.
"I'm sorry, Sarada," she says. "I guess you also found out things you didn't want to know."
Sarada closes her eyes. She wants to explain how she felt when her father told her. She wants to tell her that it was a relief, because finally, everything made sense. She wants to tell her about the feeling of belonging, the way her world had shifted, and her understanding of herself had deepened.
She wants to tell her that her family was never whole. That they had been missing something. That the empty space was no longer empty. That it was filled.
But she doesn't say any of that.
"I'm okay," is all she says.
They sit in silence for a moment, and then Himawari looks at Boruto.
"Does it bother you?"
"Yes," Boruto says, and his jaw is clenched. "I hate the fact that he hurt Mom. I hate that she's not angry about it. I hate that I had to find out from Sarada."
Sarada can hear the hurt in his voice.
"But I don't hate him for loving Sarada's dad," Boruto adds. "If that's what he is, and that's what makes him happy, then..."
He looks down.
"I mean, I'm still pissed. But I don't hate him. Not for that."
"Boruto, have you talked to him?" Sarada asks.
"I... yeah. Yesterday."
"And did you tell him how you felt?"
Boruto blushes, and his shoulders stiffen.
"I might have yelled at him."
"Why?" Himawari asks.
"I wanted to," he says. "He deserved it."
"Well, did it help?" Sarada asks.
Boruto pauses.
"No," he says, and he seems ashamed. "No, it didn't."
Sarada leans forward.
"Maybe you should try again."
"What? Why?"
"Because I think he's hurting too. He's been struggling with this for a long time. And he probably never expected you to find out. But now you know, and I'm sure it's not easy for him. So maybe if you talked, just the two of you, you could work this out. If that's what you want."
Boruto is quiet.
"I don't know," he mumbles.
Himawari reaches over and places her hand on his knee.
"I think it would be good," she says.
"Himawari..."
"Boruto, listen. I love you, and I'm your sister. But sometimes you are too stubborn."
Boruto's face twists into annoyance, but he doesn't interrupt her.
"I don't blame you. I'm not angry. But if you keep avoiding him, then nothing's going to change. It'll just make you angrier."
"I'm not stubborn," Boruto grumbles.
"Yes, you are."
"Fine," he huffs.
Sarada watches him, and the way his expression has softened.
"I'll talk to him. Okay?" he says.
"Thank you, Boruto," Himawari replies.
There's another stretch of silence, and then Sarada speaks.
"My dad didn't come home last night."
Himawari looks at her, and Boruto's head jerks up.
"What?"
"I was waiting for him," she says. "But he didn't come back. He texted me, and told me not to wait up. But it's not like him."
Boruto and Himawari glance at each other, and Sarada can tell that they are thinking the same thing.
"What?"
"Dad was out until late before Mom picked him up," Himawari says. "I think he was drunk."
"Drunk?" Sarada asks, her stomach twisting.
"Yeah," Boruto says.
Sarada's breath catches.
"You think they were together?"
"Probably," Boruto replies.
Sarada can't imagine what this must have been like for her father. Did Boruto's dad reach out to him? Was her father the one who reached out? And if Naruto had come home last night, why didn't he? Where could he have gone?
"Sarada, are you okay?" Boruto asks.
"I'm worried," she says.
Boruto's frown deepens.
"Me too."
-
When she gets home, she hears a noise in the kitchen.
Relief washes over her and she drops her bag, hurrying to find her father.
But in the kitchen, she finds someone else.
"Uncle Shisui?"
"Hey, Sarada!"
Shisui smiles, and she can see that he's chopping vegetables. There's a pot on the stove, and it smells like curry.
"Is everything alright?" Sarada asks, and there's an urgency to her tone.
"Oh, of course," he says. "It's just, your dad needs to sort some things out, so he's at our house. I offered to stay here and cook dinner."
"Is he with Uncle Itachi?"
"Yes. They're having a talk."
"I see."
"So, are you hungry? I'm making curry."
Sarada nods. "I could eat."
"Good," Shisui says.
He doesn't look worried, so she relaxes. She can tell he's trying to cheer her up, and she's grateful.
Shisui is the kind of person who radiates warmth. He has a way of calming people, of bringing a sense of peace wherever he goes. Sarada's always been fond of him, and his visits are usually a welcome surprise.
"How is he doing?" Sarada asks.
"Your dad? I think he'll be fine," Shisui replies. "He's just got a lot to process."
"Is he sad?"
Shisui pauses, and his expression turns thoughtful.
"I think your dad's been sad for a long time. But now that things are changing, it's harder for him to hide it. Do you know what I mean?"
"I think so," Sarada says.
Shisui smiles, and it's so kind.
"But Itachi will help him. We're all here to help him. And that includes you."
Sarada feels her eyes sting. She knows her dad needs people right now. But she's still worried.
"He wanted to come home so you wouldn't worry," Shisui continues. "But Itachi thought it would be best for him to stay a little longer."
"I'm glad," Sarada says. "Tell Uncle Itachi thanks."
"Of course. Now, can you chop these carrots?"
"Sure."
Sarada sits down at the table, and pulls the cutting board closer. She grabs the knife and sets to work.
She thinks about her dad, and Boruto's dad. About the love they shared. About how difficult it must have been for them. She thinks about how they are both dealing with their own pain. She wonders what their next step will be. If there's anything she can do to help.
"Uncle Shisui?" she says.
"Hm?"
"Can I ask you a question?"
"Go ahead."
"Last night, was Dad with...?"
She trails off, unsure how to phrase it. But Shisui understands.
"Yeah. He was with Naruto."
Sarada pauses. "What were they doing?"
Shisui turns to look at her.
"Do you really want to know?"
Sarada blushes. Does this mean what she thinks it means?
"Uh, maybe not," she mumbles.
"Good," Shisui chuckles.
Okay. That answers her question.
She tries and fails not to imagine her father and Boruto's dad doing those things. The red on her cheeks spreads to her ears. She's grateful that her back is turned, so Shisui can't see her face.
"Are you upset with them?" Shisui asks.
Sarada puts the knife down, and turns around.
"No. Why would I be?"
"Some people don't think it's right. And that can make it harder for their loved ones."
"I'm not upset," Sarada replies. "I mean the thought of him and Boruto's dad is weird, but that's just because it's weird in general. No one wants to think about the possibility of becoming step-siblings with their boyfriend. And it's not like I'm against it. Or them. Or... people like them."
Shisui looks amused.
"Good to know," he laughs.
Sarada flushes. She knows Shisui is also gay, and she hadn't meant to imply anything.
"That's not what I—"
"It's okay," he says. "I'm messing with you."
He winks, and Sarada's face gets hotter.
"You're so mean," she huffs, turning around.
"Sorry, sorry."
Shisui sounds contrite, and Sarada grumbles, but she doesn't hold it against him. She picks up the knife again and continues chopping.
"Anyway, I'm not upset with them. I just want Dad to be happy. But I'm worried Boruto's dad is going to break his heart. He already did once, so..."
Shisui is quiet for a moment, and then Sarada hears his voice.
"Sarada, can you pass me the salt?"
"Sure."
Sarada gets up, and opens a cabinet. She grabs the container of salt and holds it out. Shisui takes it, and he has a thoughtful expression.
"Your dad has a strong heart," he says. "It's not easy for him. But when he loves someone, it's forever. He won't give up."
"Do you know him? Boruto's dad?" Sarada asks.
"A little," Shisui says. "Back in college, I was already dating Itachi when your dad and Naruto were roommates. So, we hung out a few times."
"I see."
So Shisui must have seen it, the connection between her father and Naruto.
"Can you tell me about them?" Sarada asks.
One thing she really appreciates about Shisui is the way he treats her. He never talks down to her. He answers her questions, and treats her opinions with respect. She's always valued that about him, and she's glad it hasn't changed.
"Hmm," Shisui hums. "Well, what do you want to know?"
"Just, tell me about them," she says. "Their friendship. How did they act around each other?"
Shisui smiles.
"Your dad smiled more than I'd ever seen him smile," he says. "Naruto was like that. He had a way of bringing out the best in everyone. But especially your dad."
Sarada feels a wave of tenderness, and her chest aches.
"Did they fight? Dad said they did. They fought a lot."
"They did," Shisui chuckles. "Itachi and I used to joke that they would get along better if they kissed instead of yelling at each other."
"Wait, you knew? That they felt that way about each other?"
"Well, we had an idea. It was pretty obvious. And the way Naruto looked at him, well..."
Shisui seems lost in thought for a moment, and then his eyes soften.
"Naruto loved him," he says. "Anyone could see it."
Sarada's heart swells.
"So I really believe that Naruto didn't seek out your dad without being serious about it," Shisui says. "But your dad is scared to trust him. After what happened before."
Sarada's hands tighten around the knife.
"But if Boruto's dad went to see him yesterday, why is Dad hurt? Shouldn't that mean they're going to be together?"
Shisui pauses mid-motion. His brow creases.
"Wait," he says slowly, "I thought Boruto's dad and mom were together."
"Huh?"
Sarada looks up in confusion.
"Uh, no," she says. "They've been separated since forever. Actually, I think Boruto's dad is moving out soon."
The spatula in Shisui's hand goes still. He turns to stare at her, his face unreadable at first, then something sharp flickers through it.
"Really?"
"Yeah. Didn't Dad tell you?"
"No, I—" Shisui stops. His brows furrow. The pieces click together in his head, and for a fleeting moment, Sarada sees something like alarm cross his face.
"Uncle Shisui?" she asks, but he doesn't answer right away.
He sets the spatula down, wipes his hands on a towel, and forces a calm smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"Sarada, can you finish this for me? I just need to call Itachi real quick."
"Um, sure."
"Thank you," he says as he leaves the room.
Sarada watches him go, frowning. Something about his reaction feels strange. The air in the kitchen still smells like garlic and curry, but now there's a heaviness in her chest she can't name.
She turns back to the cutting board, her thoughts swirling.
What could be so important about Boruto's dad and mom that it made Shisui look like that?