Chapter Text
They finally let us out of the shelter after a day, and we’re informed of what happened.
Uzushio was attacked under the cover of night by a joint force of shinobi from Iwa, Kiri, and Kumo. There are presumed heavy casualties.
That’s it. That’s all we’re told.
Gossip says most of the tracking teams in village have been dispatched to look for survivors, and almost all of them had what few Uzushio shinobi in Konoha with them. I’m not too certain if they’ll find anyone.
I remember the surviving Uzumaki scattering with the wind, being snatched up by other villages or living in obscurity. Naruto was the only significant Uzumaki left in Konoha when he was a kid.
I stand impassionately at taijutsu practice, waiting for my turn to fight. Ryuu-sensei has been having us do random matchups in front of class so he can judge our skill levels. Usually this sort of thing would be fun to me.
Akimichi Jiro punches Yamagishi Masako out of the ring, and Ryuu-sensei writes something down in his notebook.
I eye the empty spot next to Mikoto instead of watching Jiro pick Masako back up.
Kushina has been out for three days.
It’s to be expected. When you find out your whole village and family is dead, who could blame you for needing some time to grieve?
“Seiko-kun, Mikoto-kun, please enter the ring,” Ryuu-sensei instructs. He doesn’t look up from his notes, but I know he’s watching anyway. Jonin never turn off their hypervigilant perception. It’s their curse.
I do as he bids, rolling my shoulder and clasping fingers with Mikoto to do the seal of confrontation.
“Begin.” Ryuu-sensei looks up from his notebook, dark eyes sharp.
I take a deep breath, and then we’re off.
Sparring with Mikoto is like dancing.
It’s odd, when I spar with most other people, it feels like we’re two idiots trying to hit each other harder, regardless of technique. An exchange of blows wherein I try to put them down before they knock me on my ass. It’s fun, but has an inherent childishness to it. Like a step above a brawl.
I shift my feet just so, sliding out of the way of a kick aimed at my side and go to jab my fist into Mikoto’s stomach. Like that, we’re off. With every action a reaction, faster and faster.
Speed versus speed. Precision versus precision.
Flow state takes over as I jump over Mikoto trying to kick my legs out from under me. She loves kicking. I go to try and kick her in the face while she’s still kneeling from her own attack and graze the top of her head with my shin.
Mikoto flips in a complicated little twist, standing on her hands and trying to get me in the chin with her foot.
I grab her leg, whip fast, and flip her over my shoulder, towards the outside of the ring.
Mikoto hisses a little bit like a displeased cat. She doesn’t banter while she spars. Just focuses on the kill.
I turn quickly, seeing Mikoto just barely land in a crouch at the edge of the ring. I push the advantage, going for another kick to her face.
She grabs my ankle just as it makes connection with her cheek, and holy sh*t that must hurt, before she tries to physically haul me over the edge of the circle.
I jump, and in a twist only possible because of the freaky stretches they’ve made us do since age five, nail her hard in the shoulder with my other foot.
Mikoto cries out in pain as I land on my back, and I resist the urge to look at Ryuu-sensei. I can’t take my eyes off my opponent while she’s cornered and got my ankle in her hand.
Mikoto taps my ankle three times and drops my foot, and I immediately remove myself from her bubble.
“Sorry, Mikoto-chan,” I offer with a small wince.
“It’s okay,” Mikoto mutters, clutching her cheek.
I carefully walk over to her and offer a hand to help her up. She takes it, and we stand before each other as I fuss a little over her injuries. I was being too rough. I need to tone it back.
Threatening to hit someone in the face is different from letting it connect.
“Seiko-kun, refrain from hitting your classmates in the head in the future,” Ryuu-sensei instructs, and I can hear his pen scratching against his notebook. “Please help Mikoto-kun to the infirmary, as well.”
“Hai, sensei.”
Our classmates are muttering things to themselves like “So cool!” and “I wish I was that good at taijutsu” as I carefully take Mikoto’s hand into my own and lead her out of the training yard.
They took the wrong message from my spar. Or I suppose the right one, if the point is to teach them all to be bloodthirsty.
We enter the academy doors and the AC hits us like a glacial wall. Mikoto’s grip on my hand tightens as she bursts into a few shivers, skin hot compared to the air. I think it’s an Uchiha thing, running unreasonably hot. She probably won’t like missions to Suna if she ever takes any.
The doors shut behind us and we walk silently over the lacquered wooden floors. There’s low sounds of classes taking place here on the first floor, especially since this is where all the first and second years are shoved and they can get loud.
I should say sorry again. It’s not cool to hit your friends in the face, even if I wasn’t trying to kill her. Her eyes are really important to her clan. What if I damaged them?
“I really do apologize, Mikoto. When I fight you I get a weird impulse to stop holding back,” I state, lips pursed as I look at Mikoto beside me.
She blinks, surprised as she looks at me.
“Really?” Mikoto asks. Our hands swing between us. Her skin is so pale compared to my own, and her nails are painted a pretty pale lavender. “You’re more closely matched to Minato-kun than me. Why am I different?”
“It’s like we’re dancing,” I say nonsensically, turning from her and looking down the empty hallway. “We’re both so fast that it feels more real than other spars. Does that make sense?”
I hope it makes sense. I’ve been in a poor headspace since Uzu got f*cking flattened, and it’s making it harder for me to focus on academy sh*t.
I wonder what Kushina is doing right now? I hope people are with her. She’s probably sad and angry.
“I think I feel the same,” Mikoto says slowly. We turn the corner and the infirmary is only three doors away. “When we fight I can only think about fighting. It’s like you suddenly take up my entire vision and all that matters is hitting you first.”
I nod in agreement.
“Have you seen Kushina-chan since the evacuation?” Mikoto asks, and we stop just by the door of the infirmary. She looks at me, still with one hand clutching her bruising cheek and frowning. She flinches everytime her shoulder moves a little weird. “They wouldn’t let me into the Senju compound when I tried to visit her yesterday.”
What? Some kind of weird Uchiha discrimination, maybe? But that doesn’t make sense. It’s not old windbags guarding the front of the compound, it’s random, non-Senju chunin. The Uchiha are still a highly respected noble clan right now.
“Did they explain why?”
“They said Kushina-chan wasn’t to have any visitors. That’s all.” Mikoto pouts, dark eyes getting soulful. “You should try and see her today, if you can. I have clan training all this afternoon, so I can’t.”
Mikoto is giving me very pitiful puppy eyes. I give in almost instantly. What else am I meant to do? Say no to a ten-year-old I just kicked in the face?
We enter the infirmary and I go over my plan of attack. How does one approach a grieving, ten-year-old jinchuriki?
—
This is a stupid idea.
The bag of takeout in my hand sways with every step as I get closer to the Senju compound, and I know I’ve got a look of disgruntled determination on my face.
Step. Step. Step. Crinkle goes the plastic bag. I wonder where they produce plastic in the shinobi nations.
I come to a stop at the gate, because there’s a new, bored-looking chunin at the front of it. Before, it would have been a Senju clan member, but there’s fewer and fewer of them every year, and not enough to justify keeping someone at the gate at all times.
So they outsource to random chunin.
“Halt, what’s your business in this compound?” the chunin asks, and man does he look like he needs entertainment. He’s practically dozing where he’s leaned against the wall.
I suppose not much happens in front of the Senju compound, and few people go in or out. Thus, bored chunin.
“I’m here to visit my friend, Uzumaki Kushina,” I state. I wonder if the food is getting cold. I hope it’s not cold. I can smell it from the bag and the ramen is making me super hungry.
The chunin straightens up and frowns. He’s unassuming, black haired and brown eyed.
“Uzumaki Kushina isn’t to have visitors right now,” the chunin says dully.
“Why?”
It’s a dangerous question to ask in a shinobi village, but for Kushina? It’s worth it.
“Because her entire clan was just killed, you oblivious brat,” the chunin says blandly, like I’m stupid.
“No, I understand that,” I counter with a wave of my hand. “I mean, who ordered you to keep her from getting visitors?”
Did Kushina ask for this? Or did some meddling adult decide for her?
The chunin’s eyes get narrower.
“Watch your tone. I don’t have to tell you who ordered me, so scurry along and visit later.”
Are we having two separate conversations right now? What’s happening? Where am I?
I glance around. The streets around us are relatively uncrowded, and nothing out of the ordinary is happening. Just clear skies and an asshole impeding my way to my friend.
“No. I will not be. Why are you so on edge right now? I’m just an academy student,” I say, turning my face into oblivious confusion.
Why is he getting defensive? If it didn’t matter who ordered him, he could just tell me. He’s the vision of a bored, mostly paper focused chunin. Those types love lording information over others and deferring to hierarchies.
I get a whiff of sake and fresh tilled earth in the wind and turn to look behind me.
Slowly ambling up the road towards us is Tsunade the Sannin.
The chunin tenses, shoulders setting and feet widening just so. I smell something clinging to his chakra as it rolls uneasily. Fear. It’s salty.
Unprofessional. How did he even get promoted with such obvious tells?
“Tsunade-sama!” I call out in greeting, waving at her.
Tsunade squints her eyes at me as she gets closer, then seems to sigh.
“Shina-chan’s rival. What are you doing loitering at my gates?” Tsunade asks, arms crossing. She’s wearing her jonin fatigues and looks like she’s been sparring, from the singe on her vest and the dirt clinging to her fists.
“The guard says Kushina can’t have any visitors,” I parrot dutifully, then blink, as if remembering something, and turn to the guard. “What’s your name, chunin-san?”
Chunin-san looks like he wants to do anything but say his name in front of a Sannin. A pity. Maybe he shouldn’t be doing things at the Senju compound without the express consent of the Senju clan head.
Tsunade comes to a stop beside me, looking irritated.
“Yes, what’s your name?” Tsunade asks, tapping her manicured nails on her arm. They’ve held up very impressively considering she must have been punching boulders or something earlier.
“Muto Koji,” the chunin replies. His eyes are nervously looking to Tsunade and away. Do they give just anyone a chunin promotion these days? I know the war is bad, but this is silly. He could at least have the dignity to pretend he’s collected.
“You’re dismissed, Muto Koji. Get the f*ck off my property,” Tsunade orders with a flick of her hand, like swatting a bug. She looks like a princess right now, even covered in dirt.
Muto Koji opens his mouth, closes it, opens it again , and then mercifully puts himself out of his misery and shunshins away.
“Someone was paying him to do that,” I observe mildly, kicking one of the falling leaves now on the ground. “Someone high up enough that they could force him not to mention the name.”
I have my own ideas for who that could be.
Let’s play a game called “Is it Danzo or the Hokage”, in which no one wins and only disappointment follows. It's probably Danzo, but the Sandaime did leave Naruto to rot by himself.
He wouldn’t bother with subterfuge though. So Danzo. Definitely Danzo.
“That’s adult business, you freaky little brat,” Tsunade grunts, grabbing me by the shoulder and walking me into the compound.
Adult business until I get a headband in a few months.
“I’m not freaky, am I?” I ask with genuine curiosity. “Definitely a little brat, but freaky seems out of character.”
Tsunade ignores me. “What’s in the bag?”
I lift the takeout bag and shake it a little. “Ramen. I figure Shina could use some of her favorite food right now.”
Tsunade frowns and looks away from me. There’s something violent brewing in her eyes, and—
Is that killing intent? I can feel it. An oppressive danger. The low rumble of a coming earthquake. The smell of it makes me breath in deep, air filling my lungs and the taste of iron just touching my tongue.
It’s not directed at me.
“Yeah. She could use that right now,” Tsunade says instead of whatever else she’s thinking.
I stare at her for a second. Take a guess at what she may be thinking and my mouth moves before I can stop it.
“They’re your cousins too, Tsunade-sama. It’s alright if you need time to work through what happened as well.”
Tsunade looks down at me sharply, and there’s danger in her eyes. Like a caged animal much bigger than me, and it knows it.
There’s a little switch in most shinobi’s brains that they turn on and off. Trained killer here to reap death and destruction, and the human they are when they’re not doing it. Tsunade’s switch seems to be at the halfway mark.
I’m not afraid. Fear does nothing for you in the face of death. I would know.
“Stay in your lane, kid, before I teach you how to,” Tsunade says threateningly, but her hand doesn’t tighten on my shoulder. I wonder if the bones of it feel tiny under her fingers, like a bird’s.
“Anger is justified in a time of great sorrow, Tsunade-sama.” I ignore the threat and reach up to gently pat her hand on my shoulder. The Senju compound is so quiet despite being full of homes and it being the afternoon. How many cousins has Tsunade lost these past few years? Just on her Senju side, and now her Uzumaki ones.
No wonder she leaves the village when Dan dies. That would be my last straw too.
Tsunade works her jaw for a second, and the killing intent washes away in the breeze, like it was never there at all.
“You’re going to be a problem when you grow up,” Tsunade comments, looking very displeased. “Like if a Yamanaka, a Nara, and an Uchiha had a f*cked up little baby.”
I laugh, because life is too short not to laugh. Tsunade grumbles about children and we stop at the front of Kushina’s house. It was Mito’s house, but now I suppose it’s just Kushina’s.
My heart aches. One little girl in a big house, all alone.
“Are you coming with me?” I ask quietly, at risk of Kushina hearing.
Tsunade lifts her hand from my shoulder like she’s being burned.
“Absolutely not. Good luck,” Tsunade says, before fleeing like a coward.
I frown at her retreating back. She’s twenty-three. Or is she twenty-four, now? She should be doing this. Not me.
Something in me still whispers that that’s too young. In a better world Tsunade would be in college right now, drinking and partying and hopefully untouched by violence.
I shake my head with a sigh, turning back to the door and knocking. People in Konoha are generally poorly adjusted to most social situations that don’t involve hitting people or drinking. This is to be expected. Honestly, more than a few people in my past life had similar problems and less excuses as to why.
I don’t blame Tsunade for running. But she is the last family Kushina has, bar a few elderly Senju cousins already retired from the forces.
“Kushina!” I call into the Hashirama wood door, knocking again. “It’s Seiko! Can I come in?”
There’s a long pause, then the faint sound of footsteps that finally stop at the door.
It opens.
Kushina looks like sh*t.
Red hair drapes lankly over her shoulders like she hasn’t showered since she heard the news, and she has puffy eyes like she’s just been crying.
She’s in a comfortable pair of ramen printed pajamas. They look old, and probably are also what she was wearing when she evacuated if the grass stains at the bottom of the pants are to be believed.
Oh Kushina . I’m so sorry.
“I don’t want to train today, Seiko,” Kushina says with a scratchy voice, looking at me with exhaustion wearing down at her bones.
“Good.” I lift up the takeout bag. “We’re eating, not training.”
It still feels warm. I’m glad the gate guard didn’t delay me too much.
Kushina stares at the takeout bag and swallows, her stomach making a loud rumbling noise.
“Ramen?” Kushina asks weakly, hopeful.
“Your favorite. Pork ramen from that stand you like,” I say with a nod. “Can I come in, Shina-tan?”
Kushina’s nose wrinkles at the nickname but sighs deeply, moving to the side so I can walk into the dark house.
“Has no one checked on you since the evacuation?” I ask as I step through the threshold. I’ve only been inside Kushina’s house a few times, mostly because she lived with Uzumaki Mito and it just wasn’t ok to let random academy kids near her.
Now she’s gone.
“Hokage-sama told me what happened at—“ Kushina shudders, voice breaking. “What happened to— to my clan, dattebane.”
Those f*ckers. Did they just leave her to handle everything else on her own?
I set down the bag of food onto the dining room table, a big ornate thing made for much more impressive dinners than what Kushina and I will be eating.
I turn to Kushina, looking her over again and again. Alive. Alive and miserable.
“Do you want a hug, Kushina?” I ask bluntly, because sometimes bluntness is necessary.
In a blink I’ve got an armful of sobbing jinchuriki, and her chakra is rolling like there’s a storm in her. Ships sinking and great big salty waves.
My sensor abilities are always sharper when I’m touching someone. I press my face into the side of Kushina’s head with a sigh as she cries into my shoulder. It’s hard to ignore how much closer the Kyuubi feels to the surface of her when she’s emotional like this, but I do my best. Acknowledging things like that can attract attention.
“I— I miss Mito-baa-chan,” Kushina whimpers into my shirt, fat tears soaking the fabric of it. “Why am I alone? Why did they all die?”
I grip her tighter, throat aching and eyes starting to sting. What do I even tell her? That the other villages wanted to press Konoha’s hand into surrendering? What does that even matter? Thousands of people are dead.
“You’re not alone,” I say instead, voice cracking. Why isn’t an adult here with her, helping her through this? “I’m here right now, Kushina, and some of your family could have escaped.”
Some of them do escape, for all the good it does Kushina. She may never meet these survivors. The last Uzumaki of Konoha.
Kushina jerks back, grips the side of my arms with sudden strength. Her face is blotchy from tears but there’s something determined in her violet eyes.
“We’re going to find them!” Kushina declares, red hair raising on her head a little. Her chakra is a live wire, begging for something to be used on. “When we become ninja we’re going to find the rest of my family and bring them home, dattebane! And we’re going to kill anybody who gets in our way!”
Will we? Can we do a better job than the tracker teams trying to locate survivors right now?
Well. I do have a very good sense of smell, and I’m a sensor. I suppose if we end up on a team together we can figure something out. Even if we don’t, you can team up with whoever for missions once you hit chunin, and that promotion will be a piece of cake. If Muto Koji can manage it, and I’ll be remembering his name for a long long while, so can I.
Ah, f*ck it. I don’t have any real life plans besides making it to twenty. Why not dedicate myself to Kushina’s dream?
“We will,” I say just as Kushina starts wilting from my silence, nodding. “We’re going to bring your family home.”
We’ll probably need to get the ones that were kidnapped into other villages while we’re still at war, so it doesn’t cause an international incident.
Kushina’s hands squeeze my arms and a big watery grin splits her face. “We’re gonna be unstoppable, dattebane.”
We eat the ramen I brought while I tell Kushina what she’s missed at school. Apparently someone’s been dropping her homework off for her at her porch, but she hasn’t done any of it yet.
“You should take a shower, Kushina, then we can work on your homework,” I say after she finishes her food. I’m only about halfway through my own ramen. Kushina is a much faster eater than me.
Kushina looks a lot more alive now than she did earlier, if still prone to bouts of solemn silence.
“Fine,” Kushina mutters, pushing herself from her seat and standing. “You can’t leave while I’m gone, alright? I’ll be right back!”
I nod easily, slurping up some noodles and swallowing. “‘Course, Shina. I wouldn’t leave you here alone. That’d be rude.”
And I’m worried she isn’t going to take care of herself if I leave. I’ll need to tell Mikoto about what was happening with the gate guard tomorrow, and we’ll both have to do our best to keep an eye on Kushina. Someone wants her isolated and that just won’t do.
Kushina is my rival, and more importantly, my friend. Nobody gets to leave her to rot in her sorrow. I won’t let them.
Kushina hurries away, shouting about how fast she is. I offer a comment about how washing yourself probably shouldn’t be too fast. Kushina doesn’t dignify me with a response.
I lean back from the table and look around the fine dining room. Paintings of nature line the walls, along with Senju and Uzumaki crests. There’s even an Uchiwa beside one of the Senju paintings.
I shut my eyes, and breathe.
Kushina isn’t the type to say she’s going to do things and forget, not when it’s paired with an emotional outburst. Before, she wanted to be the first female Hokage. Now?
Uzushiogakure’s people lie scattered and battered. The Uzumaki clan, the clan that made up the majority of their population, may be wiped out almost completely.
I have a lot of thinking and planning to do, I suppose. If Kushina wants this then I’m going to need to make sure it happens in a way that doesn’t get the both of us killed. Hopefully we’ll be on the same team and have a sensei that’s useful.
Maybe an Uchiha sensei? Controlling the nine tails will be important in case Kushina loses control.
…something about that thought makes my brain itch. Like a piece of a puzzle just clicked into place, but I’m not sure which puzzle it is.
Regardless!
I’ll need to focus on information gathering as a skillset. I’m already middlingly good at it, thanks to the work I’ve done to be memorable but unremarkable these past few years. Charming my way into knowing where any wayward redheads are will be essential for the plan. Whatever plan that this will end up being, besides “Bring Kushina’s family home.”
I open my eyes and take another bite of my ramen. Distantly I hear water running through the pipes in the house. I hope Kushina isn’t actually rushing herself, cleanliness is important.
Ugh. Whatever. I’m not her mom.
—
What was supposed to be a short visit to figure out how Kushina was doing has turned into a sleepover. I can’t find it in myself to be annoyed.
“Are you going to school tomorrow?” I ask Kushina, having changed into a pair of her pajamas and now flipping through one of her books. Cartoon narutomaki fish cakes line my pants. This girl really is obsessed with ramen.
Kushina makes a face. She looks much better now that she's showered and changed clothes. She’s brushing her hair, though it looks more like she’s getting in a fight with the brush. And losing.
“Do I have to?” Kushina asks, whining a little. At least she has a reasonable excuse for whining.
“No,” I respond simply, flipping a page of the book. It’s an adventure novel, and it feels vaguely familiar. The main character is named Naruto, too—
I pause, turning to look at the back of the book.
‘By Jiraiya, the Toad Sage’
Oh.
Uzumaki Naruto gets named after this book. I flip to the front again and reread the title. The Tale of the Utterly Gutsy Shinobi . Eugh. He would’ve sold more copies if he had named it better.
“Are you reading that book Tsu-oba gave me?” Kushina asks suddenly, pausing her battle with her brush to peer over at it. “Is it any good? Apparently her pervert teammate wrote it, so I didn’t bother.”
“It’s pretty good,” I murmur, distracted as I open back to the page I was on. The man’s prose is good for a first book. “When did it come out?”
Kushina clams up, looking away.
“Just before the summer break. Tsu-oba said it would keep me busy while…”
I frown.
“Don’t worry about it, Shina-tan. I don’t need to know. Plausible deniability is good.”
I don’t doubt Kushina has had an ANBU assigned to her ever since she got the fluffy problem. I’d rather not get dragged off for an interrogation with the Hokage.
Kushina looks over at me, wide eyed.
“Plausible dene—deniability means you know!” she hisses, stumbling over the word deniability. It makes sense. She’s ten.
“I don’t know anything. I’m just a normal academy student who is oblivious to my surroundings and who can hit very hard. Nothing interesting to see here.” I reach over and carefully remove her brush from her thick crimson hair. Kushina sputters.
“You’re making fun of me!” Kushina hisses, grabbing my wrist as I brandish the brush, scooting over on the bed to help her with her hair.
I remember a lifetime ago my hair was as long as hers and just as thick, and taking care of it was a task I didn’t master until well into highschool. Maybe I’m not that girl anymore, and I become less like her with every year that passes, but I did learn a thing or two.
“I’m making fun of your brushing skills, maybe, but everyone starts somewhere,” I say contemplatively, attempting to work away at the knot in her hair with my fingers. It’s a task that requires patience, something Kushina needs to work on.
“Mito-obaa-chan used to help me,” Kushina admits quietly, looking away from me.
My hands don’t pause in their mission to vanquish her knots, gentle and precise.
“Best thing to do when you have a knot like this is to slowly run your fingers through it,” I instruct as the tangle loosens. “If that doesn’t work, then you can get some conditioner and work it into the problem area. That makes the hair easier to work with.”
“How do you know this stuff?” Kushina asks. “Your hair is short.”
“My hair was long when I lived at the orphanage. The matrons wouldn’t let me cut it,” I say honestly. It’s true, my hair was long back in the orphanage, down to my mid back. I chopped it off the day they gave me an apartment, by myself. No neighbor needed.
It was pretty hair. Now it’s gone. Good riddance.
Maybe when I’m older and as strong as a Sannin I’ll bother growing it out. Unlikely, but I could.
“Did you know your parents?” Kushina asks suddenly.
“No. My mother died when I was two. I don’t know who my father is, it’s not on my paperwork.”
“So he could be alive?” Kushina sounds curious at the prospect. A secret father out there, waiting for me.
“Maybe. He’s probably dead, though, or a civilian.” Or an enemy shinobi. I don’t say that aloud. Better not to put things on my dear dead mother who can’t defend herself.
Honestly I’d prefer a missing nin father over a civilian. The sexism with civilians is notably worse right now, not that the ninjas are much better. And I don’t want some random man thinking he’s in charge of what I do just because he got my mom pregnant. I’d have to do something drastic.
“My parents are dead,” Kushina says bluntly. I finally work my fingers through the knot and bring up the brush to run it through her hair. “My tou-san died before I came to Konoha, and my kaa-san died when I was really young.”
Orphans. So many orphans. We should start a club.
“I like imagining that I’ll just make a family of friends when I get older. That I don’t need parents if I can just find people I like on my own,” I comment idly, the sort of thing I never say aloud. The brush goes through Kushina’s hair and outside the moon is rising.
“We can be family, then. Along with Mikoto-chan, and even that mean Yamanaka you like so much,” Kushina says, fidgeting with her hands before grabbing a pillow to hug to herself.
“What about Minato?” I ask with a giggle. Arguably she’ll like him as family most.
Kushina makes a grossed out noise. I laugh properly now.
“Do we have to? He’s annoying,” Kushina whines.
“I think you’ll both be good friends one day.”
No way me being here would change that. Butterfly wings or not, why would I have the ability to keep them apart? Not like either of them will be dating me instead.
A problem for my teenage years when the hormones start brewing. Provided I live that long.
I hope I do. I’ve started getting excited about the future, lately. Suppose letting myself stop pretending to be a normal child will do that. Real good for the old mental health.
Kushina’s hair gets fully brushed and I end up laying beside her in her bed. No futon, go me! Futons are easier to make and store, but a proper bed is always going to feel better on my back.
The light is turned off, and I go through my nightly routine of running through hand signs while staring at the ceiling. Thinking.
“You look so creepy right now,” Kushina grumbles, eyeing my fast moving hands.
“Creepy is better than slow,” I hum agreeably.
We both end up late for school in the morning, oversleeping. Kushina’s sharp knees make my back ache. It’s worth it.
