[~950 Words]
~ A few days before the Uchiha Massacre.
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Location : Twilight on the streets of Konoha, Near Kurenai's apartment.
The late afternoon sun spilled golden light across the village rooftops as Kurenai adjusted her haori, sweat glistening lightly on her brow from the Genjutsu training.
Izumi had gone inside already, proudly clutching her notes and humming cheerfully. Haruki grabbed his short cloak and turned to Kurenai.
"I'll walk you home, Kurenai-san."
Kurenai raised an eyebrow, amused.
"That's sweet, but I think I can manage, Haruki. We're ninja, remember? There's no such thing as safety for us."
Haruki offered a lopsided smirk, arms crossed casually.
"True. But I'd still like you to live a few days longer. You're my sister's first Genjutsu teacher. Can't have her getting traumatized because something happened to you."
Kurenai chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear as she turned toward the village path.
"Alright, alright. If it's for Izumi."
They walked side by side through the Konoha streets, shadows growing long, the sounds of cicadas humming in the trees overhead.
Despite the earlier tension in the air—the clan's troubles, the ANBU's eyes—it felt oddly peaceful now.
Reaching her apartment complex nestled in a quieter district not far from the Hokage Monument, Kurenai paused at the door, key in hand. The air carried the scent of sakura trees and warm earth.
She turned slightly, hesitating for just a moment before asking,
"Would you… like to come in for a cup of coffee? It's not much, but…"
Haruki opened his mouth to politely decline, but she interrupted with a sly smile.
"I insist."
"Alright then. You win."
She unlocked the door and led him inside.
What met him was… unexpected. The interior of her home was the opposite of the typical Jōnin bachelor pad. It was neat, welcoming—soft lighting, woven mats, cushions arranged perfectly around a low table, small potted plants on windowsills, and a subtle scent of lavender in the air.
"Wow." Haruki took a slow look around. "I thought I was stepping into a genjutsu illusion for a second. This is… really nice."
Kurenai let out a short laugh, closing the door behind him. Her cheeks flushed faintly as she turned toward the kitchen area.
"It's just tidy. I like order. A clear space helps with a clear mind."
"My place looks like a warzone by comparison," Haruki joked, stepping out of his sandals.
As she moved to set the kettle on the stove, Haruki's ears perked up.
Grrrrrrl...
Kurenai froze.
Haruki raised an eyebrow.
"Was that…?"
She let out an embarrassed groan, turning away from him as if to hide.
" Seems I am hungry after all that teaching. Don't make a big deal out of it."
He smirked, stepping lightly toward the kitchen counter.
"Then I'm making miso ramen."
Kurenai blinked. "What?"
"You've got the basics here—miso paste, dashi stock, scallions… even soba noodles. Sit down. Teacher's off duty now."
Despite her initial protests, Kurenai sat, watching curiously as Haruki moved through her kitchen with confident ease. He rolled up his sleeves, tied an apron she hadn't even realized he found, and began chopping, pouring, stirring—all with surprising rhythm and care.
"You cook often?" she asked, resting her chin on her palm.
"Mostly for Izumi and Dad. Someone has to." He glanced over his shoulder. "It's become kind of meditative. Stirring broth feels like sealing a scroll."
"That's… unexpectedly poetic of you."
He smirked again. "You expected brute-force Fireball jutsu and brooding silence?"
"Yes," she said flatly, then cracked a smile.
The broth simmered, rich and savory. He placed two bowls on the table, steam rising as he garnished them with soft-boiled eggs and sliced scallions.
Kurenai leaned in and took a bite.
Her eyes widened slightly. "This is really good."
"Told you," he said, settling across from her. "I've survived rogue missions. I can boil noodles."
They ate in quiet comfort, the only sounds being chopsticks clicking against ceramic and the distant rustle of leaves outside.
After a few minutes, Kurenai leaned back, satisfied.
"You're full of surprises, Haruki."
"I get that a lot," he said, sipping tea now. "It's usually followed by some kind of mission disaster though."
She chuckled and studied him for a moment longer than necessary.
"You're different from the others in your clan."
He met her gaze, serious now.
"Maybe that's a bad thing."
"No," she said softly. "Not at all."
Silence settled between them again—comfortable, warm, just shy of intimate.
Eventually, Haruki stood, stretching his arms.
"I should head back. Izumi might already be trying to practice illusions on Dad."
Kurenai walked him to the door, opening it gently.
"Thanks for the meal. And… for walking me home."
"Don't thank me yet. I might do it again tomorrow."
She smiled, her expression softer than usual, more human than Jōnin.
"Then I'll make sure to skip lunch again."
Haruki raised an eyebrow with a grin. "So I've been recruited as your personal cook now?"
"You did volunteer," she teased, brushing past him lightly as he stepped outside.
The door closed with a soft click, and Haruki walked back into the darkening street, a faint smile still lingering on his face.
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