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pinkhairedlily · 4 months

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what did you ask for? (to be with you)

A GIFT FOR @canariie | AO3 LINK

Hitsugaya stares at her as if she’s speaking in tongues. He turns his attention back to the more scenic sight, missing the look Hinamori gives him. She’ll describe it as longing, in a much later time when they’re all grown up. Today, as they finish dinner with his grandmother, she’ll break the news. It will be the first time that he'll become uncomfortable with winter. His seasons, previously enjoyed with performative nonchalance, will lose color and comparatively feel dull than any others before.

“Hurry!”

Hinamori can barely keep up with Hitsugaya’s strong, nimble limbs. She might be older (if we assume by height), but their ages might not be too far apart for her to be breathless like this.

It’s the cold, Her exhale immediately gets lost in the curtain of thick fog. She relies on her feet and muscle memory and the numerous indentations left by fellow dwellers to not veer off the trail. At the peak, there is a statue, and while West Rukongai does not necessarily worship, there is a belief that the stones molded into shape will grant your prayers, only that you have to climb it on the first day of snowfall.

Which turned out to be in the negatives today.

And yet, Hitsugaya is conquering the cotton killer fluff with a sleeveless undershirt and blind faith. He is warm where she is cold, and this natural affinity to adapt in harsh conditions stirs a foreign envy in her.

“Slowpoke!” His voice almost a howl. “We need to get back before my afternoon nap!”

“Shut up!” She yells back. It’s her folly, she guesses, to miss the crevice and slip against the crack. It’s a steep fall, her mind registers. I’ll probably die.

Calloused hand thrusts out from the icy veil to grab her wrist, followed by a grin so cheeky it can only be from someone indomitable.

When they reached the top, his sight was first grabbed by the sea of clouds while hers was the statue. It was simply a pile of rocks stacked on top of one another in dubious balance, but it managed to weather the biting wind, as well as the gasping heat and the torrential rains that came seasons before. Hinamori held her head down and prayed to this resilient structure.

“What did you ask for?”

“Be like this statue,” she replies, a bit lost in thought, “despite the changes.”

Hitsugaya stares at her as if she’s speaking in tongues. “You should have asked for a good harvest and lots of watermelons!” He sticks out his tongue in usual childhood annoyance and turns his attention back to the more scenic sight, missing the look Hinamori gives him. She’ll describe it as longing, in a much later time when they’re all grown up.

But today, as they finish dinner with his grandmother, she’ll break the news. “I’m going to Soul Society.”

It will be the first time that Hitsugaya becomes uncomfortable with winter. His seasons, previously enjoyed with performative nonchalance, will lose color and comparatively feel dull than any others before.

When Rangiku, his future lieutenant and his would-be confidante, finally sniffs him out due to his uncontrollable reishi, Hitsugaya sets in plan his destiny in Seireitei. After all, Hinamori wasn’t the only one to make a wish to that statue on that day.

A childhood plea but a sincere intention all the same.

To be together, even for a little longer. Despite the changes.

—--------------------

“Do you have a gift for me, Captain Histugaya?” Rangiku plays up her doe eyes at him.

He closes the file on his desk. “No, I don’t believe in consumerism.”

“Oh come on, it’s Christmas in the human world. You should at least live a little.”

“Said someone who left me with a mountain of administrative tasks to be done. Because of you, I can’t live a little.”

Rangiku claps her hands together and leans towards the door for an unexisting sound. “Yeah? No, I’ll be out in like five seconds tops!” She turns her attention back to him, though one foot is already near the exit. “Captain, I forgot I have a very important appointment to go to. Bye!”

He rolls his eyes, partly annoyed, but mostly relieved he can finally enjoy some moment of silence. Seconds into that serene atmosphere, consecutive knocks arrive at his space.

“Matsumoto—!”

“—Shiro-kun! Oh, did I catch you at a bad time?” Hinamori steps out of the doorframe, her small frame accentuated by the absent Gotei regalia. Her hair, usually held in a low bun, is loose, silky black strands settling just below her shoulders. She wears clothes which his lieutenant might describe as cozy conservative, and carries a wicker basket as if the season outside is the tranquil spring. Against the stark rigidity of his bureaucratic office, she stands in contrast.

“No,” he manages to say. It takes him a minute but he reaches her side, a few inches short below her height, and takes the basket out of her hands. “Is this lunch? Don’t tell me you feel sorry for me?”

“Well, Rangiku passed by our division and asked me to give you a lending hand,” she chuckles.

“And you were able to prepare all this food in under ten minutes?”

She shrugs and pretends not to notice the absurd logistics of her excuse, but Hitsugaya lets it pass. It benefits him to not ask questions and simply revel in her presence.

It’s a spread of all his favorite things, most notably natto and watermelon slices, while she takes out a box of tuna onigiri, freshly baked cookies and green tea. Quintessential Momo.

Like the olden days, they eventually settle into that easy familiarity. With the basket emptied and thermos dried out, Momo pulls out another surprise.

It’s a miniature of the West Rukongai forest inside a glass ball.

“I had it customized.” She beams widely. “Go on, shake it.”

Hitsugaya smirks at the almost childlike gesture but indulges her anyway. Flurries of white envelopes all space, mimicking winter in the place they first called home. A snow globe.

“It’s—” he chokes up, “—it’s all right.”

“You should sound more awed, you know.”

“This is my best effort, Momo.”

He swears he hears Hyourinmaru laugh alongside Hinamori. It takes a lot of effort to stay unaffected even though his heart almost feels like leaping off the very same cliff he once saved her from. He takes several breaths, waiting until the snow settles on the bottom, before he takes out his gift.

“Here.” He pulls out a knitted red scarf from the bag and scoots closer to her. She must have sensed his hesitancy or he might have hallucinated the way she leaned closer to him so he could wrap the scarf around her neck. His fingers linger on both ends of the fabric. “Since you always have a cold bug.”

The scarf’s color bounces off Hinamori’s cheeks. In a quieter voice, “Th-Thanks, Shiro.”

Still holding on, he replies, “It’s Captain Hitsugaya to you.”

“—Hey Toshiro, I’m really sorry! I came back early to help—”

They scramble away to the farthest corner possible in the short time Rangiku shows up.

“Oh, am I interrupting something?” His lieutenant zeroes in on the bright color. “That’s a pretty nice scarf, Momo-chan. It perfectly suits you.”

Hinamori rushes to the door in haste without glancing at him. “No worries, I was just leaving. I only brought him a meal.” She stops just before the doorframe swallows her. “Thank you, Shiro-kun.”

He can hear the smile in that last word, and ever so deftly, his lieutenant catches it too, even the subtle lift of his lips in cognizance.

“I thought you didn’t believe in consumerism, huh?” Rangiku presses.

“You mentioned helping?”

—--------------------

“This is a character development,” Rangiku brandishes Hitsugaya as if he’s a centerpiece.

“The last time I invited him, he stayed holed up in my room,” Ichigo echoes. “It’s a good thing you could come, Hitsugaya.”

He could only grumble. He hates crowds, but even more so crowds during Christmas. Humans are so obsessed with ephemeral things like celebrations. His displeasure, however, does not dampen their rowdy party: Ichigo, Orihime, Chad, Uryuu, Rukia, Renji. Rangiku, Kira, Shinji, and Hinamori. A mismatched group but still whole, before the world crashes down on them the next few months.

He carefully side-eyes his childhood friend. She looks better, happier even, ever since Shinji arrived. In place of her long hair is a short bob underneath a dark plum beret. She doesn’t wear the scarf he gave ages ago, not after he stabbed her, not after that time when he thought he lost her. The snow globe is tucked in the first drawer of his table. He takes a peek every morning and watches that side of the world stuck in time.

“You’re gonna fall behind.” It’s Hinamori’s voice. They’ve kept their distance, described at best as amicable, recognizing each other’s presence only through a nod of a head, so this is her first direct reference to him with the many layers of conversation peeled back bare.

Hitsugaya freezes on his heels while the rest of the people move forward. Someone ahead of them shouts, spotting a celebrity, and the number triples in seconds. He wants to go to her.

“Captain—” Hinamori resists the surge of movement. “Shiro-kun, what are you doing?” She shoulders her way against bulky figures, but she’s too petite and she stumbles backward to be engulfed by the sea of motions.

His instinct kicks in and he catches her, his grip finding anchor on her waist. He pulls her to the curb where there’s enough space to breathe. “Shinji or Rukia must have noticed our reishi separating from their group. They’ll find us soon.”

He glances at her and finds her unshaken. In the chaos, she lost her beret, and all of her hair is now swaying in the night breeze. “That’s all right.”

“It’s my fault. I don’t know what came over me.”

“No worries. It’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

“What is?”

“To be away from the crowd. It’s more peaceful in this corner.”

Hitsugaya nods. “It’s good that you could come.”

“Ah I was peer-pressured mostly by Renji and Rangiku,” she softly laughs. “Captain Shinji also said it would be nice to go out and have fun.”

He sighs, “Too bad you couldn’t have fun now.”

She lightly shoves him, still laughing against her mittens. “Don’t be silly. I’m having fun now. I’m with you.”

He hears his own sharp intake of breath and his eyes hyperfixate on the minute details of her face, the way her eyes remain on the streets, how the changing lights reflect on her irises, her lips chapped from the cold, the little braid behind her ear. “Momo, you should stop doing that.”

She turns to him slowly, and he realizes how red her cheeks are. “Doing what?” She must be so cold.

“Making my heart—”

“Hey you two!” Ichigo shouts across the street. Beside him is Chad who basically towers over everyone and ultimately serves as their beacon for direction.

“Oh they found us. You were right, Shiro.” She suddenly scrambles to get to them.

“Wait for me, Momo.” Hitsugaya grabs her hand just before she ventures into the moving cluster of humans. “I might get lost again.” He sees Shinji catching his act, smirking as he confirms his long thought out theories about the two of them.

He plans to let go of Hinamori before they reach the whole group, but the tower clock suddenly strikes twelve, followed by a clamoring of bells and fireworks. Squeezed against warm bodies, it registers to Hitsugaya and Hinamori that everyone is kissing.

Someone nudges him forward. “Yo dude, you should kiss your date. It’s tradition.”

He’s suddenly weightless, reeled in by some force of gravity. In hindsight, he should’ve let go of Momo, shoved her backwards, or redirected his body as if in battle. But this is human world, and he is riding on some ephemeral happiness, and so he stumbles against her, shoulder to shoulder, and his lips graze her cheek.

He waits for a slap, a reprimand, but Hinamori looks out of breath as well. He loosens his grip, gives her an out if she wants to, but it’s her fingers that wrap against his this time.

“They’re looking for us.”

“Momo.”

“Hmm?”

“I— Someone pushed me—”

“I know. I saw.”

“Huh?

“I saw it, Shiro-kun,” she smiles, “so please don’t say sorry.”

She saw, Hitsugaya thought, which meant she had every chance to move. “Huh?” This won’t be the last time he’ll be out of words in front of her.

“Merry Christmas, Captain Hitsugaya.” Then she lets go of his hand.

—--------------------

“Humans are sure fond of merrymaking.”

They find themselves in the same place many years after, when the worst was finally over and the aftermath of the battles have become simply a memory, navigating the maps of human bodies and still finding a place beside each other. Hinamori thinks it’s nothing short of a miracle—to come out of the wreckage and remain unchanged (in whatever this is, she adds in her head).

They decided, on a whim, to visit the human world. Spontaneity is a foreign concept, both of them so used to rigidity of routines and structures, but somehow there has always been an exception in moments where it concerns the other. The group they went with before is leading their separate lives. They are busy making memories and seizing the present, heightened from the cusp of losing the privilege of existing.

It is this sentiment that they are riding tonight—the possibility of missing a chance��though this, they may never admit out loud.

“Are you regretting it now, Shiro-kun?”

“The crowd, yes,” he replies in all honesty, brows furrowed, lips in a tight line. Then he glances at her and everything softens with a rare smile. “That doesn’t include you.”

“Good, I really wanted to see the fireworks,” she reasons.

“Haven’t Shinji taken you several times?”

“They’re always different. They change colors, sometimes they have patterns too.”

He chuckles beside her, and something behind him catches her attention. Stragglers hang thin strips of paper with their handwriting on the bare branches of a large tree. Hinamori tugs on Hitsugaya’s sleeve, and he catches her off guard by holding her hand and pulling her to the activity area.

“I might lose you,” he says under his breath. (Did you know, Momo, it was the same words he uttered when he faced Aizen and when he battled without Hyourinmaru? He could never lose you.)

She looks at the writings holding the people’s many wishes into the universe for the coming year. Human lives are short compared to those like them who could live out centuries. The intentions varied from simple (‘I want a boyfriend!’) to more complex ones (‘I want to be finally happy’). Hinamori considers how happiness is subjective across souls, and how, right at this moment, she could describe herself as happy.

“What are you writing?” Hitsugaya asks her. “I already put mine up.”

“Huh?” She surveys the papers in front of them. “That’s unfair, I didn’t get to see it.”

“I don’t think you need to see it.” He turns a shade of red. “It’s personal.”

She relents with a sigh. “You probably wrote longer nap times.” She turns her back on him as she quickly scribbles the first thought that comes. Hitsugaya tries to appear uninterested but she can see him in her periphery stealing glances over her shoulder. It’s a good thing that she remains taller than him.

“Ha! Done!”

“Well, that’s unfair,” he echoes.

Their banter gets interrupted by a loud trumpet, followed by a clock ticking down to midnight.

“Oh, it’s happening!”

The lights on the ground turn off to emphasize the dark night sky.

“Ten…night…eight…seven…”

Hitsugaya chooses to set his gaze on her. “Did you remember that tradition..?”

“Six…five…four…”

“Yeah, I remember.” Hinamori tears her eyes from the sky and stares back at him against the darkness.

“Two…one… Happy New Year!”

“Can I kiss you?”

She sees Hitsugaya’s face lean in just as the fireworks start their ephemeral performance. The air is crisp with winter air and firecracker smoke, and she’s combusting when his lips find hers underneath the bursts of light.

He pulls away in mere seconds, and she can see the gears of his mind work towards an overdrive. He is second guessing and wondering if it was enough, if he could ever be enough, and she wants to tell him—

“Yes.” And she pulls him to her again and kisses him back with certainty. When it’s all over, the people have scattered, the sky has retreated to its shadows, and she’s still in his arms.

“Happy New Year, Momo.”

—--------------------

Hinamori finds it’s the afterparty she looks forward to the most. Long after all the plates have been washed, the cups flipped to dry, and the doors locked, the silence basks in the traces left from the evening’s friendly noise.

They managed to clear majority of the clutter, but strips and pieces of litter remain scattered about—ribbons, gift wraps, firecracker ashes—a nice chore best reserved for the first day of the new year.

“Our dear hostess must be tired.” Hitsugaya’s hands ease on her shoulders and massage the tight knots that have accumulated over the day.

“Come on Shiro. I know the kids drained your energy today.” She stifles the bubbling laughter from a recent memory of when Renji’s and Ichigo’s respective toddlers ran amok across the courtyard and Hitsugaya had to chase them off his rock installations.

“They’re not toddlers.”

“And they’re also still kids.”

The winter breeze lands on her skin and she shivers at the contact. Her husband pulls her to the kotatsu, entangling her legs with his underneath, a fairly good excuse to just snuggle and burrow and pretend to hibernate (at least until the weekend’s over).

They’re sitting across the wide windows where they’re afforded a rare view of a perfect night sky, a blank charcoal slate after being painted with bursts of colors from earlier festivities. The moon and stars are cruising in a silent voyage to an audience of two.

Well, three.

Hotaru manages to crawl on Hitsugaya’s lap and juts out his nose for a boop. He brings with him Hinamori’s red scarf, frayed from several wears, and is now his favorite blanket. She reaches over and indulges their blind, snow-colored cat. Seemingly happy, his paws start making biscuits while his purrs lull them into a much awaited slumber.

Soon enough, the heavens open up to a muted shower of snow. It is a familiar sight, a nostalgic picture of their childhood home, a picture contained in a glass globe from a long ago gift.

Hinamori almost falls asleep with her head on his shoulder, but her eyes quickly catch the stroke of bright light across the sky.

“Momo, make a wish,” Hitsugaya whispers against her hair.

A moment passes. “Done.”

“So, what did you wish for?”

She looks at him, baffled. “You always ask for that!”

“I can’t help it if I’m curious.”

“No.”

He changes tactics. “Okay, I’ll offer you an olive branch. One wish of mine to one of yours.”

“That’s unfair. I always wish for the same thing.”

“Since when?”

“Since we went on that mountain.” Hinamori considers the length of time she knows him, the gravity of memories and circumstance, and the very privilege of having that prayer answered. “I asked for the very same thing I’m wishing for right now.”

She sees how he recalls the moment, watches how the playfulness of his features soften into that of understanding and gratefulness. It had been that long.

“To let us stay in each other’s lives, not for a while, but longer, maybe forever-kind-of-long.”

To be together, even for a little longer. Despite the changes.

“Hmm.” He smiles and then chuckles. “Did you know I asked whatever god there was that day to let me stay with you? It was selfish and unreasonable, especially knowing you really wanted to go. After you left, it sought out many other mountains. I looked for the rest of the shrines, all the genuine and the makeshift, and prayed the same prayer. It turned out I managed to get through to at least one god.”

She could only stare in disbelief. “Wow.”

“What—you never thought I had it in me?”

She shakes her head and laughs. “You were always so tenacious, Shiro.”

“We have this year.” He leans in and places a soft kiss on her lips. “And the next and next and next and next.”

“And the rest of our lives.”

@hitsuhina-week

#hitsuhina #hinamori momo #toushirou hitsugaya #hitsugaya #hinamori #bleach fanfic #bleach fic #hitsuhina gift exchange 2023 #fic!pinkhairedlily #fic!pseudolily #sorry this got delayed so much #a belated happy 2024 to all (but not for me regretfully)

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pinkhairedlily · 6 months

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tadaima

sharing my piece for @sasusakubpzine which i'm so grateful to have been selected for. we are holding leftover sales so get a copy now if you haven't yet! 🛒-> https://t.co/DM3t6gqkDo

“Tadaima!”

Sasuke heard this greeting many times when they were kids. After classes, after missions, after errands. Everyone had families to come home to. Only Sakura had this privilege in their team, her parents still alive, but never once did he catch her uttering it.

He envied her regardless. However casual and mundane the word was to her, he craved to use it. Maybe letters strung together could bring back his dead.

But it was Sakura, his anchor after the war, who made it possible again. “Tadaima.”

And today, he’ll hear her say it to her family.

Only that, she isn’t herself. He sees her plant a longer kiss on Sarada’s forehead and feels her squeeze his arm a little tighter, signs of her anxiety bursting to the brim.

“We can go another time.”

Sakura shakes her head and grins her way out of his silent prodding. “Let’s take advantage of this while we can. A complete family. I can show them that.”

A complete family. Sasuke always thought Sakura had it easy, but not all families mean home.

x x x

Sasuke hears the Harunos before he sees them. Their noise is as loud as their eclectic hair styles and colors, but they quiet down when they register their arrival. The grand entrance ends on a neutral note when Sakura beckons him to the empty seats beside her parents at the center table. Hot seats.

Kizashi and Mebuki manage lukewarm nods towards the three of them. Not so much as a kiss or hug for Sakura or an awed expression for Sarada inside her baby wrap. Sasuke doesn’t know which of the two irks him more.

The luncheon goes well for the first half. Everyone keeps to their little conversations. The meat is a little too hard and the broth a little too rich, but nothing out of ordinary. Perhaps it’s the food coma that makes some cousins plant their attention on them.

“Did you learn love potions at that ninja academy?” Eyeliner Guy asks. “Couldn’t think of any other way.”

Sakura smiles. “No, but I'm an expert with poisons.”

The death threat flies over their heads.

“You probably baby-trapped him, no?” Thick Lipstick side-eyes him. “What a catch.”

Sasuke tries to smile, if only for his wife’s sake, but his annoyance seeps through his reply. “Great theories, but we actually met at the academy, fell in love later on, and got married. Contrary to what you think, Sakura is quite the catch.” He takes a sip of his now-cold tea. “I’m sure you’ll find someone in your forties. Don’t lose hope.”

Sakura almost chokes on her dango. “She’s in her twenties, Sasuke,” she chastises under her breath.

“Such a shame we didn’t see your marriage registry. We tried to find it, you know,” Green Mohawk smacks his lips, “for fun.”

“We got married outside the village, but we appreciate your effort.” He hopes his cold tone diffuses their burning curiosity, bordering on assault.

Some old people gravitate towards their seats upon hearing this. “We heard you came from traveling.”

“Ah, yes, the Land of Flowers was so beautiful.” Sakura tries to turn the conversation light, but no one takes her bait.

“Wasn’t that too dangerous during your pregnancy?” Paper Fan Grandma asks.

“You should’ve been more careful, Sakura,” Mebuki chastises, “And you should’ve known better, boy.”

“It’s Sasuke,” Sakura butts in, “And Mom, I’m a doctor. I can take care of myself.”

Mebuki not remembering his name doesn’t bother him as much as her occupation escaping them.

“So what’s your work, Sasuke?” Cigarette Smoking Uncle asks.

Sasuke has half a mind to use amaterasu on the nicotine stick. “I have duties beyond the borders of the village.”

“Ah, you’re always traveling then?” Paper Fan Grandma loves to gasp a lot.

“You could put it like that.”

“And you leave her? With a baby?”

“Sakura is very important in the village. She’s the hospital director.”

The three cousins sneer loudly at this while the older group does not feign their disappointment and tut-tuts. Sakura’s grip on his thigh tightens.

“This is why I keep telling her to focus on being a housewife,” Mebuki tells her husband as if Sakura is not in front of them. “The horrors of being a single mom! Did you hear what happened to Ayako? In debt and cheated on!”

Sakura is a strong woman.

She never backs out from a fight or cowers in fear. She faces all her battles head-on. She has grown out of the shells of her childhood and adolescence and into these beautiful myriad of forms: a healer, a soldier, a mother, a wife.

“I can balance my work —”

But this Sakura’s voice wavers and he sees how one of Konoha’s pillars regresses into an insecure girl who only wants her family to see her, know her, and accept her.

Kizashi scoffs. “Sakura, do you know how hard it was to raise you? Your mother and I lost count of the sleepless nights we had because you wanted to become a ninja.”

Green Mohawk adds, “Bad decision. You’re lucky you came back in one piece.” He throws an apologetic look at Sasuke’s lost arm.

Arthritic Grandpa points his cane at Sarada. “A child with two nin parents? Preposterous. Ninjas don’t grow well. They become orphans.”

Sakura stiffens beside Sasuke. He offers her his hand which she clasps in support, but really, it was just to stop her from springing when he says his piece, “Then I’m glad Sakura grew up okay despite being related to you. Clearly, you didn’t know her capabilities– or you only pretended to.”

A look of shock passes through their faces. Sarada takes the momentary silence to wiggle out of her baby wrap and onto Sakura’s lap. She squeezes her Mama’s cheeks, a gentle gesture of, Don’t worry Mama. I love you.

The manager of the restaurant also swoops into the awkward exchange by bringing the bill and a blank paper. “It’s a pleasure to have you dine with us, Dr. Uchiha. You saved my sister in an invasion once, but you probably don’t remember it anymore.”

Sasuke silently thanks the man for reminding Sakura what she is, what she has become.

Sakura smiles. Finding her footing, she quickly gives her autograph “for display” and nods to Sasuke. At this cue, he gives the manager a wad of cash and ushers his family out of the restaurant without so much of a goodbye to anyone else.

x x x

"I think I made a good impression." Sasuke breaks the silence as they enter their home.

Sakura's shoulders — broad, strong, dependable — tremble. But it's only laughter she can't contain.

"You sure did." A soft grumble passes between them and she erupts in louder chuckles. "Can't believe I paid for food I haven't eaten. I'm so hungry."

As they enter the kitchen, his shoulders rub hers, another language meant to hold her hand. "Great timing then."

“Okaerinasai!” Kakashi, Iruka, and Yamato, caliber soldiers, rightfully feared, don brightly-patterned aprons as they rambunctiously navigate a foreign space. Clutter decorates the countertops, and different, appetizing smells permeate the corners.

It smells like home.

Sasuke watches Sakura’s face light up at the chaotic sight.

Sarada is quickly lifted off Sasuke's embrace into the cradle made by three pairs of arms, and her greeting involves biting the cheeks of her uncles — her attempt at a kiss.

"No fair, Yamato. Don't turn your cheeks into wood!" Iruka bursts out. "It's painful for Sara— ow!"

"You forget she's Sakura's daughter." Yamato massages the flushed red side of his cheek where thick gums and milk teeth had clamped down hard.

Kakashi heeds fair warnings. "Now Sara-chan, why don't I kiss you instead?" But the toddler has other plans as stubby fingers pull down his mask.

“Now don’t hog my goddaughter like that.” The three house-nins part for Tsunade whose arms are already open for Sakura. “How’s my best student?”

Where no one touched her earlier, here she is received. In laughter, in pats, in hugs. Casual, mundane things that tell of love.

It feels like home.

“I didn’t invite you.” Sasuke notices the two empty sake bottles on the sink. “But I see you’ve already made yourself welcome.”

“Kakashi said this is my homecoming. Besides, you rarely play host.” Tsunade shrugs, her innocence quickly morphing into slyness. “Why don’t we play cards?”

Another bottle to the mix and a relocation to the patio later, the fifth hokage finds herself losing with an expectant audience.

"Sakura, sit next to your shishou.”

"Sakura, no."

A student still obeys her master, and like clockwork, a gust of wind loosens her top. Sasuke grimaces at the distraction.

"Aha. I win!" Tsunade puts down her hand. "See, Sakura, you're always my lucky charm."

“Don’t tell me you didn’t see that coming?” Iruka jests.

“I recommend Icha-Icha’s Education Against Seduction.” Kakashi pulls a book out of his apron to give to his former student, but Yamato’s the first one to flip through the pages.

Annoyed, Sasuke turns to a half-flustered, half-laughing Sakura. “She cheated. Again. How did she even become your teacher?”

“How did you even become her husband?” Tsunade rolls her eyes. “I bet Orochimaru taught you love potions. Why would the most beautiful kunoichi even marry you?”

“She has the best chakra control,” Kakashi pipes, “I bet Sakura can beat your genjutsu now.”

“Monstrous strength for a doctor.” A specific memory sends shivers to Yamato’s spine. “Don’t let her fix your bones while conscious.”

A consensus runs through the group which stops Sakura’s laughter. “Are these supposed to be compliments? Why do I feel offended?”

Inside her crib, Sarada giggles. Iruka leans down to her and whispers in acquiescence, “I know. She’s a loving mother too. You’re gonna grow up fine, Sara-chan.”

Sasuke trains his sight on Sakura whose face is painted in happiness. There is nothing to prove, nothing to say, nothing to do. She is seen for what she is, all the sides and parts of her that make her her: a student, a doctor, a wife, a mother.

A loud bang interrupts the scene, followed by a powerful rush of chakra.

"Good evening, constituents!" Clad in his hokage robes, Naruto commits to his ceremonious entrance. Only Sarada spares him attention with a delighted cooo-caaa.

"Did you bring it?" Tsunade drawls over her words. Already too drunk to balance, she is leaning against Yamato, who looks like a still painting in front of the fire.

Naruto presents another bottle of sake to the group with a flourish. "Of course, old woman!" Despite his desire to hold off on additional liquor, Sasuke accepts the gift.

x x x

The bottle, emptied after making several rounds in the group, now lies under Sakura's feet. The crowded bench trickled down to the three of them, the rest having already found abode on living room futons, limbs all splayed out and tangled like close friends under the warmth of the covers, with Sarada at the center of them all.

In the dark, Sakura's shoulders are hunched, free of the tension that hounded her this morning. The fading embers dance in her jade eyes.

"It had been a long time since we gathered like this." Her words trail smoke in the wintry air. "Too bad Sai had Yamanaka duties."

Naruto chuckles. "He missed a rare sighting of dancer Yamato."

"With deadpan expressions to boot."

Both of them turn to Sasuke at the same time and laughter spills out.

"No, I’m not drunk." Sasuke holds up his sole hand at the wordless prompting, but he puts it down quickly when his world starts spinning out of orbit. Yep, he’s drunk.

"You're no fun." Naruto sticks out his chin in defiance. "Why don't we play a game?"

Sakura claps in agreement. She somehow salvaged a third of the wine's content from their teachers for their drinking game.

"Take a shot if you did this," Sakura grins too widely. "Never have I ever failed a subject in the academy."

The boys clink their glasses and drink. Alcohol tastes like water when you get used to it.

"What? Sasuke failed?" Sakura's pitch climbs a bit higher.

It's an embarrassing admission, "I hated History." Sasuke wonders if his path of revenge would have taken a different trajectory if he had paid more attention. "Never have I ever failed a practical."

"What are these non-controversial questions?" Naruto snorts and empties his glass. Sakura smugly follows suit. "The know-it-all shows himself."

Sasuke shrugs, grateful to be spared from this round, because my god, I can't feel my legs. To be fair, he's doing a good job pretending he's fine. How is Naruto holding up so well?

"Okay, last question, and I have to go home to Hinata." Naruto swirls the remaining contents of the bottle. Probably good for only two shots.

"Hmm," Sasuke sees him rack his brain for more scandalous questions, but it's the one he picks that sears his insides. "Never have I ever fallen in love with a teammate while we were genin!"

“I hate you! That’s not how it works!”

“I’m too drunk to think of anything else!”

Sasuke swipes the bottle away from their reaching hands and swigs it into his mouth. He hopes it numbs down these butterflies and palpitations and somersaults that time traveled when he tried to touch her rosette strands as she scribbled furiously during History class.

"Sasuke-kun? You switched up the rules. You’re supposed to drink when it’s true.”

Sakura turns to Naruto, usually competitive, but has no protestations on this development.

“But it’s true.” The bottle goes round and round in his hand. “I liked Sakura back then,” he sighs his confession into the open, this secret no longer his own.

“No way.”

“I wasn’t just as loud about it.” Sasuke takes another swig, forgetting it’s empty, and the bottle comes loose in his fingers. “It actually faded you know,” he adds a dash of nonchalance, but Sakura, as she always does, sees through him.

“It’s true, Sakura-chan,” Naruto echoes, “Or maybe his definition of like is ‘the only girl he can tolerate’.” That earns him a good old slap on the back of the head.

They’re twelve again, struggling to be teammates, bickering at every conversation, and building bonds Sasuke thought he could fray.

This is family.

“Stop smiling.”

“I can’t stop.”

“You’re as annoying as you were then.”

x x x x

“What was the occasion?” The question hangs in the silence of midnight as she settles on her side of the bed. Sasuke adjusts his body to her presence, accommodating her curling limbs, like fitting two puzzle pieces.

“Nothing. I told them I missed them,” he lies.

Sakura needs her family, that was the message. She needs her home.

His fingers intertwine with the strands he liked, strands he loves. Underneath his skin, he feels her let go of wakefulness, dreams already waiting to claim her.

A murmur, a prayer, as she leaves the day, “Tadaima.”

FIN.

Thanks for reading!

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