Konohagakure
The yukata still smelled faintly of cedar.
Rei held it in her hands for a long time before she even dared try it on, her fingers brushing over the soft, pale fabric like it might vanish. The edges were embroidered with faded lilac thread—simple swirls of wind and sakura blossoms that danced along the hem like a memory. Her mother's memory, maybe.
She didn't know why she'd kept it. It had been shoved into the back of the dresser drawer, untouched for so long that it bore the gentle creases of time, untouched by war or duty or Orochimaru's cold instructions.
Now, standing barefoot on the wooden floor of her room, Rei slowly slipped it on.
The cotton was cooler than she expected, whispering against her skin like a sigh. She tied the sash a little too tight, then loosened it, her reflection fidgeting in the mirror across from her. It was strange seeing herself like this—no forehead protector, no mission gear, no weight of steel or blood. Her arms, usually lined with bandages, were bare now except for the faded ghost of old scars. Her collarbone peaked just above the loose neckline. Her hair—dark and heavy—had been brushed out and braided down the side, the streak of crimson woven like a ribbon through the black.
She didn't look like a shinobi.
She looked like a girl.
And that realization—soft and staggering—sent something unfamiliar racing up her spine. Her hands hovered at her sides, uncertain. This version of her felt like someone she'd locked away, someone who existed long before Takeshi was comatose, before Kakashi's accusations, before Orochimaru's cold smile and the scent of snake skin in the air.
It was almost enough to make her tear it off again.
Almost.
But then her eyes landed on the crumpled yozakura blossom.
It had been pressed inside a book overnight, but its petals were still creased and imperfect. Rei hesitated, then slipped it into her obi sash, tucking it just enough to hold.
It didn't matter that it was broken. The gesture had mattered. The boy had mattered.
Her cheeks burned at the thought, and she quickly turned away from the mirror.
A knock on her door made her pause.
Takeshi.
She could tell from the rhythm of his steps—steady, uneven, but stronger than they had been. He didn't speak as she opened the door and stepped into the hallway.
He stared.
Not rudely. Not critically. Just... stunned.
His eyes swept over her, taking in the soft colors, the braided hair, the flower tucked in her sash. She didn't need a mirror to know how drastically different she looked. She could feel it in the way her body held itself—not like a fighter, but like something delicate. It unnerved her.
"You're going out?" he asked finally, his voice gentler than usual.
Rei nodded, clearing her throat. "Just... something at the Uchiha compound."
Takeshi arched a brow. "That's not 'just' anything."
She shrugged and looked away. "It's a festival."
There was a long pause between them, and in that silence, something passed that didn't need to be said. Takeshi wasn't questioning her out of suspicion. He was surprised. Genuinely surprised that she still knew how to do this—that she could still exist in the world outside of survival.
"You look like Mom," he said at last, barely audible.
Rei's chest tightened. She didn't reply. She didn't trust her voice to hold steady if she did.
"I'll be back later," she muttered instead, brushing past him.
He didn't stop her. Just watched her go, something unreadable in his eyes.
Rei stepped into her sandals, the sun warm on her skin as she slipped out the door and into the fading afternoon light. The village buzzed in the distance with the first notes of celebration, the faint crackle of paper lanterns being lit and voices rising in anticipation.
And for the first time in what felt like forever, she wasn't walking toward a battlefield.
She was just... walking toward something unknown.
But for once, she didn't feel afraid of it.
As Rei walked, she passed families emerging from their homes, children darting through alleys with pinwheels and lanterns in hand, and vendors wheeling carts of sweets and yakitori toward the Uchiha compound. The air smelled of grilled rice cakes and early summer, a soft wind stirring her loose braid. Laughter echoed from somewhere up ahead.
It had been a long time since she heard laughter that didn't feel like a memory.
The further she walked, the more conscious she became of the flower tucked in her sash. The yozakura bloom had bent slightly during her walk, its stem too fragile to hold perfect shape—but she didn't remove it. She couldn't. It anchored her, somehow.
The gate to the Uchiha compound came into view as she rounded a bend near the river bridge. Two young clan guards stood on either side in their formal yukata, scanning arrivals with casual ease. Paper lanterns shaped like small foxes and suns hung from red cords strung across the gate, swaying gently with the breeze.
And standing just beneath one of them, nervously shifting from foot to foot, was Obito.
He spotted her before she even reached the gates.
His mouth opened in surprise—then closed again, as if words had caught in his throat. His usual orange goggles were pushed up onto his head, and his hair, wild as ever, had clearly been brushed... or at least attempted. His yukata was indigo with a subtle white flame pattern along the hem, slightly crooked at the sash. His sleeves hung long over his hands, which he clenched and unclenched at his sides like he couldn't figure out what to do with them.
But the second he saw her clearly, his entire posture changed.
He straightened, his eyes wide and unblinking. "Whoa."
Rei slowed as she approached, the sound of drums and music in the distance rising behind her. The flickering paper lanterns cast a gentle glow across Obito's face, and for once, he didn't speak first.
"You waited," she said, her voice soft.
Obito blinked, then grinned. "Of course I did." Then he hesitated, his gaze running over her again. "You look... different. Not in a bad way! I mean, good. Really good. I mean—uh—you look... like a princess or something."
Rei laughed—actually laughed—short and breathless. "A princess?"
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Okay, maybe like a scary princess who also wins sword fights. But still."
She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks flushed warm. The breeze picked up again, lifting the red streak in her braid.
Obito's grin softened. "I'm glad you came."
"I almost didn't," she admitted, eyes tracing the gate's arch. "But... I'm glad too."
He held out his hand. Awkward. Unsure.
Rei hesitated for half a breath, then took it.
The warmth of his palm was surprisingly steady.
Rei didn't think about it as they walked — not really. She told herself it was just the festival, just the noise and color and laughter making her feel unmoored, and that the weight of his hand in hers was simply something grounding. But the truth was, she hadn't held someone's hand like that in years. Not in comfort. Not in invitation.
Not without needing to pull away.
But she didn't pull away.
They passed under strings of lanterns swaying gently above them, their painted fox faces flickering with gold and orange light. Music drifted through the compound — soft shamisen and the bright beat of festival drums. The scent of grilled mochi and roasting chestnuts carried on the breeze. Children in yukata dashed past with pinwheels and masks, some wearing paper fox ears, others dragon tails made from cloth.
Rei said nothing for a long time.
Obito didn't either.
He walked with her like it was the most natural thing in the world. His steps matched hers without trying to lead. Every now and then he'd glance at her — not to check if she was still there, but just to see if she was still breathing, still standing. Still okay.
She didn't know what to make of that.
She wasn't used to being looked at like she wasn't a problem to solve, or a weapon to sharpen.
"You've really never been to this festival before?" he asked after a moment, voice light.
She shook her head, watching a little girl twirl in front of a vendor's stand. "No. The last festival I remember was the fire festival back when I was younger"
Obito made a small sound in the back of his throat — thoughtful, almost disapproving. "That's lame."
She glanced at him sideways. "Some people don't have time for fire lanterns and candy stalls."
"Well, that's exactly why you should now," he said, grinning at her like it was the simplest truth in the world. "You've got time tonight. So... make it count."
Rei didn't respond at first. Her eyes lingered on a nearby stall, where children were scooping glowing orbs from a shallow basin of water. Their laughter echoed across the courtyard.
She didn't know how to explain it — the tightness in her chest when she looked at them, or the way her fingers twitched to break away, to slip into a shadow and disappear again.
Obito looked down at their joined hands, then up at her.
He didn't tighten his grip. He didn't say anything.
But she didn't let go.
They reached a small open clearing lit by hanging lanterns and low torches. A fire pit sat at the center, surrounded by clusters of benches and tables. Someone had stacked piles of paper slips and ink brushes near the pond's edge, where folded lanterns floated gently on the surface.
Rei watched one drift by with a painted dragonfly across its face. The candle inside flickered with each breath of wind.
"You can write a wish," Obito said, gently steering her toward the long wooden table beside the lantern basin. Dozens of small paper strips fluttered in the warm breeze, each one anchored to a delicate candle that would be set afloat on the water. "You don't have to say what it is out loud. You just write it, light the candle, and let it go."
Rei stared at the display, her steps slowing. A festival volunteer handed her a fresh paper slip and brush, and she took them with a quiet nod.
"Last time I made a wish," she said softly, almost to herself, "it didn't come true."
Obito blinked, his smile faltering slightly. "Oh." He waited a beat, then asked gently, "What did you wish for?"
Rei didn't look at him. Her gaze was fixed on the surface of the water, on the dozens of flickering lights already drifting across it. "For my mother to come home."
Obito said nothing at first. He shifted awkwardly, the quiet between them settling like a weight.
She added. "Takeshi helped me write it. I spelled 'safe' wrong."
He let out a breath—almost a laugh, but not quite. "I still mess up kanji sometimes."
Rei's lips twitched, but the smile didn't last. Her fingers hovered over the paper.
"I think putting something out into the world... even silently... still matters," Obito said at last. "Even if it doesn't fix anything right away. Maybe it's just about not carrying everything by yourself."
Rei's throat tightened.
What could she possibly write?
She didn't write anything, not yet.
Obito sat beside her, awkwardly hunched over his own paper. His tongue stuck out a little as he concentrated, scribbling something quickly and folding the lantern shut like he'd done this a thousand times before. His fingers were clumsy, his brushstrokes uneven, but his smile was genuine as he watched the candle take light.
Then, without a word, he placed it on the pond and leaned back.
Rei set her brush down. Her hand hovered over the lantern.
"What'd you wish for?" she asked before she could stop herself.
He looked at her.
Then he looked away.
"Not telling," he said quickly — too quickly. "It's bad luck if I say it out loud."
She snorted, but didn't press.
He didn't look at her again right away, but his voice was quieter when he added, "But it was about someone. Not something."
Rei stared at the water.
The candlelight reflected against her face, softening the harsh angles she usually wore like armor.
There was something in her chest. Something strange. Something unfamiliar and warm and frightening.
She told herself it was just the festival.
Just the lanterns.
Just the music.
She stood and folded her own wish without writing anything on it. Her fingers were steady as she lit the candle inside.
Then she stepped to the pond and let it go.
And Obito watched her like it was the first time he had ever seen her clearly.
Even as Rei stared at the ripples her lantern made, some part of her was painfully aware of how close he still stood. How quiet he had become.
And though she didn't look at him, she didn't step away either.
She didn't need to understand it.
Not yet.
The hush between them lingered as the candle drifted away, swallowed slowly by the lake of flickering light. All around them, other lanterns floated outward like silent prayers, each one a small hope in motion. The air was thick with the scent of sweet smoke and blooming evening blossoms. Laughter rang out from the far side of the courtyard where festival games continued, and someone strummed a shamisen with stumbling enthusiasm near the food stalls.
Obito cleared his throat. "Wanna check out the sparklers next?"
Rei glanced at him, and for the first time that night, her smile came easily. "Sure."
They turned toward the pathway leading out of the lantern garden, walking shoulder to shoulder through the slow-moving crowd. Paper streamers flapped in the breeze, and the rhythm of taiko drums pulsed faintly from deeper in the compound.
But just as they reached the corner where the path narrowed between two rows of lanterns, Rei spotted a familiar figure ahead—two, actually.
Rin.
She stood at the edge of the festival walkway, tugging impatiently on the sleeve of someone who looked utterly uninterested in being there. Silver hair. Slouched posture. Cold eyes scanning the crowd without much enthusiasm.
Kakashi.
Rin was halfway through a sentence when she turned and spotted Rei. Her face lit up in recognition, and she waved immediately.
Kakashi's gaze followed hers.
And for a moment—just a moment—Rei and Kakashi locked eyes across the flickering lantern light.
It was brief. No more than a few seconds. But in that stretch of silence, the memory of the night at the memorial stone slammed back into her like a wave.
Her mother's name carved into stone.
Her fists clenched against her knees.
The things she'd said. The way her voice had broken.
She wasn't sure what showed on her face now, but Kakashi's expression didn't shift. Not obviously. He just stood there, unreadable, as Rin grabbed his hand again and led him toward them.
Obito stiffened slightly beside her. He noticed. Of course he noticed.
The air between them, so easy just moments ago, suddenly turned thick and tense—like a wire drawn taut, humming with something unspoken. Rei could feel it in the way his hand hovered just a little closer to hers without touching. The way his body tensed, not in anger, but in quiet unease. He didn't say anything, not yet. But he didn't need to.
Rin reached them first, her face glowing from the warm lantern light and the joy of the festival. Her yukata fluttered as she skipped the last few steps forward, eyes darting between the two of them with open curiosity.
"Rei! You came!" Rin beamed. "I didn't think I'd see you here tonight. You look... wow!"
Rei blinked. "I—uh. Thanks. I had a good reason to come."
Rin's eyes slid sideways to Obito, her grin widening with subtle mischief. "Yeah, I figured."
She didn't say anything cruel. There was no teasing edge. Just a shared look, like a secret passed between friends who had already done the hard work of mending something broken. Rei felt her shoulders loosen slightly.
Rin turned to Obito, raising an eyebrow. "So, you finally got her out of the shadows. What'd you bribe her with?"
Obito scratched the back of his head, suddenly bashful. "I just asked..."
"With a flower," Rin said, her grin widening. "Don't think I didn't see it earlier."
"It was crushed!" Obito said defensively, face turning red.
Rin waved him off. "Doesn't matter. You still gave it to her, didn't you?"
Rei blinked, caught somewhere between amusement and disbelief. "You were spying on us?"
"I was walking by!" Rin replied, feigning offense. "And besides, it was sweet. Don't ruin the moment."
She turned back to Rei and looked her over again, her expression softening. "You look beautiful, by the way. I've never seen you wear anything like this. It suits you."
Rei shifted awkwardly under the compliment, brushing her hand over her sleeve. "I wasn't sure it would fit. Or feel like me."
"Well," Rin said, stepping closer, "maybe it's a part of you you just hadn't seen yet."
There was no edge to her voice—only honesty, quiet and sure. Rei met her eyes, and for the first time in a long while, saw nothing between them except trust.
They smiled at each other, real smiles, ones that reached their eyes.
It was a small thing, but it felt like a win.
"Rei."
The voice cut through the light mood like a blade—not loud, but heavy with something else.
Rei froze. Not because of the word, but because of the tone.
She turned slowly.
Kakashi stood a few steps behind Rin, half in shadow, hands in his pockets. His silver hair caught the flicker of the lanterns overhead, and for a moment he looked more like a memory than a person—too sharp, too still, like something etched into her mind and not fully real.
His expression was unreadable. But his eyes—they were the same ones she'd seen yesterday night at the memorial stone. Quiet. Watchful. Fractured in a way he refused to acknowledge.
"Kakashi," she said.
It came out softer than she expected.
They held each other's gaze for a long moment. The kind that said more than any words could. There were no apologies offered, no reassurances, no accusations. Just silence.
And something heavy beneath it.
Rin glanced between them but said nothing. She reached out and tugged gently on Kakashi's sleeve. "Come on," she murmured. "We promised Genma we'd meet him before the fireworks start."
Kakashi didn't move right away. He gave Rei one last look, a flicker of something she couldn't name passing over his face.
Then he nodded and turned away.
Rei watched them go, her heart beating too loud in her chest, like it had forgotten how to settle.
Obito was silent beside her. She could feel him there—solid and warm—but didn't dare turn to look at him just yet. Her mind was still back there, caught in the tension between her and Kakashi.
After a long pause, Obito finally spoke, voice low.
"You okay?"
Rei exhaled slowly, surprised by how hard the question hit. She didn't answer right away.
Then she nodded. "Yeah."
She didn't notice how his shoulders eased at her reply, or how his breath caught and released just a little softer.
But she did feel it.
The tightness in her chest loosened. Not all the way. Not completely. But enough.
She looked up at him, her lips tugging into something almost like a smile.
"Let's go see those sparklers you mentioned."
Obito grinned, a full, bright grin that chased off the tension clinging to the edges of the moment.