Evening air in Konoha was tranquil. Streets were deserted, lanterns softly aglow in the distance. In the back of the Uchiha compound, in a secluded garden far from the main thoroughfares, Ryio stood beneath a solitary cherry blossom tree.
He cradled a thin, gleaming case. Within, covered in soft paper, was a pale jade hairpin — the sort of item a woman might hold dear, but never confess she got it from.
It had taken months — sharing tea, after-mission conversations, and those long looks when their eyes lingered a fraction of a second too long — to muster the courage to present it to her.
He heard her approach before he heard her. Light, steady footsteps, the kind of person who always walked with poise.
"Ryio?" Her tone was peaceful, with a hint of surprise.
Mikoto Uchiha — dark long hair encircling a face that was both kind and calm, her eyes intelligent and perceptive.
He turned, opening the case only partially so the moonlight could illuminate the jade. "Saw it in the market. Thought it'd fit you… though I suppose you can't exactly wear it in public."
Her mouth parted slightly as she stretched for it, her thumb tracing the slick stone. "…You shouldn't."
"I know," he replied nonchalantly, as if it was nothing — even though they both knew that it wasn't. "But I wanted to."
Her fingers rested on the hairpin a fraction of a second too long. Her eyes were inscrutable in the faint light. He caught her glance, but before he could speak, his mind flashed back to when he first met her.
A year ago.
He was walking through the market, dodging food stands. The aroma of grilled fish and miso soup blended with the cries of vendors and the voices of people.
He wasn't searching for anyone. Actually, he was attempting to lead a low-key life. Since arriving in this world — vastly different from home on Earth with its motorcars, cell phones, and cacophony — he'd vowed to remain low profile and unobtrusive.
Then he met her.
Not in some melodramatic fashion. She was simply. present. By a fruit stand, chatting with the vendor. Her hair picked up the morning light, and for a moment, all around her was quiet. She wasn't smiling, but her tone was low and rich, and the vendor bent in close as if each word counted.
And at that moment, Ryio knew:
There would be no peaceful existence.
At first, he convinced himself it was curiosity. A few days later, he made sure to "accidentally" purchase tea at the same stall she favored. Their first encounter was nothing — a remark about the weather. She replied politely and that was all.
But he persisted.
It became a habit over time. Meeting her in the marketplace. Chatting briefly at her tea house of choice. At first, their conversation was safe — weather, prices, festival stalls. But gradually, they lengthened.
He saw the way she relaxed when conversation turned away from clan responsibilities. She saw that he really heard.
The first time they sat together was to "wait out the rain." They had tea and laughed at small village idiosyncrasies — a stray cat that dominated the mission hall stairs, a chūnin who had a horrible singing voice. She laughed easily that day, and it seemed to him he'd stolen something precious.
From there on, their conversations turned intimate. She explained to him about her upbringing, her training, the burden of the Uchiha name. He spoke fragments of his own history — select facts about a world she couldn't even imagine.
At some point within those months, their silences turned oppressive. The atmosphere would change when her hand touched his reaching for the teapot, or his gaze lingered on her a fraction of a second more.
Before he could even think about it, they had already passed that unspoken boundary — no longer friends, although neither spoke it to the other.
And now they stood here — in the garden, beneath the cherry blossom tree — with a jade hairpin that spoke for them when neither would speak.
They stood there without a word, the pressure of the weight between them weighing on his chest. Moonlight fell upon her hair, and he found himself wanting to have it spread between his fingers.
"Mikoto," he said quietly, unsure of what he was going to say next.
She lifted her head — not with the guarded face she wore in public, but something open. The kind of look that indicated she would not stop him.
He moved closer, slowly enough for her to turn away. She didn't. His fingers brushed a piece of hair out of her face.
"Ryio…" she spoke, almost as if warning him — but the sound of her voice was too gentle for it to deter him.
He palmed her cheek, his thumb stroking the skin, and before he knew what he was doing, he kissed her.
She did not move at first. She leaned forward, her fingers wrapping lightly around his sleeve. The kiss was hesitant, gentle, but deepened when she did not pull away.
There was just her for an instant — her breath. His other hand at her waist drew her in.
When his thumb swept against her hip, she appeared to come alive. Her hands against his chest — softly, but firmly enough to create room.
"We can't," she replied, her voice firm now.
He did not step back immediately. "You didn't mind a minute ago."
Her mouth opened, but rather than respond, she shivered and moved back into the darkness.
Mikoto slowed her pace but did not turn around.
She could still taste his lips on hers, the heat of his hand against her cheek, and the way her breathing had accelerated without her wanting it to.
What am I doing?
This was not only wrong — it was dangerous. The kind that didn't lead to whispers, but to blood. She had a husband, a clan, and a life established painstakingly on duty.
But when she heard Ryio's slow, measured footsteps behind her, her heart skipped a beat.
"You know we can't," she said once more, to herself rather than to him. "It's. dangerous. I'm—" she swallowed, "—I'm married."
"I know," his voice was quiet, sure. "But that line we keep making an effort to maintain? We already crossed it.
She turned, prepared to respond, but he grasped her wrist before she could move back. His hand slid down to entwine with hers, and in a single fluid motion, he pulled her onto the green grass. She gasped — not in fright, but at how easily he'd bridged the distance between them.
He pinned her hands up over her head, still gripping her fingers. Leaning over her, his face was inches away, and she could see the changing shadows of the cherry blossoms moving over his skin.
Her breath locked. She instructed herself to tell him to go away — but she didn't move.
"Since the moment I met you," he whispered, as if to himself, "You've been in my head. I tried avoiding you. Told myself to forget you. But when I look at you… I know I cannot."
The words hit her harder than she anticipated. They were so close to what she wanted but refused to say.
When he kissed her now, there was no hesitation. It was firm, resolute — as though he was staking his claim. She fought for the space of a heartbeat, but when his lips pressed harder into hers, her will crumbled. Her breath mingled with his, her chest heaving against him.
His hold tightened just enough to remind her she couldn't escape — and that she didn't want to.
As he retreated, their mouths almost together, she sensed his breath on her lips. She didn't want it to stop. Perhaps that's the reason why she did it — she nipped his bottom lip. Not hurt him, but enough to sense his pulsation there. He gasped a sudden intake of breath, the only noise between them.
He slowly let go of her wrists, allowing their fingers to release. He reclined next to her on the grass. The leaves above rustled softly, scattering flecks of moonlight on her face.
Mikoto remained motionless, her hands on her belly, not wanting to shift and disturb the silence between them.
She spoke first, her voice steady yet having something beneath it.
"Yesterday… Kushina invited me to stay at her place for a few days. She's struggling with a recipe she wants to perfect. And Minato… he'll be away for a summit. A week or two."
Ryio turned his head toward her, one eyebrow raised. "A week or two, huh?"
She nodded, eyes fixed on the stars. "It's nothing. Just helping her."
A slow smile spread across his lips. "Then I'm coming too."
Her head swung hard in his direction. "What?"
He rolled onto his side, elbow on the ground, coming close enough so that his shadow fell across her cheek. "I'm saying," his voice lowered, warm and near, "I'm getting such a great opportunity to be close to you… how could I pass it up?"
Before she could reply, he leaned closer still, his breath against her ear. The silence between them thickened, heavy with everything they weren't saying.
Her heart accelerated. She shifted her head a little — not quite far enough to meet his gaze, but enough that he would catch sight of the small, secret smile on her mouth.