I hadn't really been going out.
Days had passed, but my world had shrunk to these walls, this quiet house that suddenly felt too large and too small at the same time.
I kept telling myself I was "recovering," "processing," "resting."
But the truth was simpler: I still hadn't finished sorting myself out.
The rain muted everything. The village. The sounds. My thoughts.
So, when the knock came—the same timing as always—I already knew who it was.
"Come in," I called.
The door slid open, and Shisui stepped inside. Damp hair, tired eyes, that soft smile he kept pretending wasn't hiding worry.
He really had been coming every day.
"Morning," he said gently. "How are you feeling?"
I shrugged. "Alive." His smile twitched. "Progress."
I looked at him more closely today. The shadows under his eyes. The faint tremor in his hands. The exhaustion he tried to bury under his usual brightness.
"Shisui… how is it out there?"
He sank to the table opposite me, sighing into his palms.
"…Bad."
I waited.
"The clan is restless. ANBU are stationed around the entire sector. People glare at us wherever we go. Some whisper. Some yell. Some… just stare like we caused all of this."
I frowned. "And the village leadership?"
"Keeping their distance. Or keeping us contained. Depends who you ask."
"And you?"
"I think people are scared." He exhaled. "And fear makes them stupid."
That… sounded about right.
I took a slow breath. "Thank you."
He blinked. "For what?"
"For coming every day," I said quietly. "For checking on me. Even when you look exhausted."
He tried to deny it. Reflex. Habit. I didn't let him.
"Shisui," I said softly, "you look tired."
He flinched – just a tiny twitch. Then he looked away.
"It's nothing. Patrols. Clan meetings. It's just… a lot."
I hesitated… then forced myself to speak.
"…Stay here."
He jerked his head up. "What?"
"You come here every day anyway," I said. "You shouldn't be out walking alone when the tensions are this high. Until things calm down… you stay here."
"Kuroha, no–" he sputtered. "I can't impose like that."
"You wouldn't."
"It's not that simple."
"Why not?"
He hesitated—really hesitated—before whispering: "…I can't leave my mother alone."
I blinked.
"Your mother?"
"She's been sick for a while," he admitted. "Some days she can barely sit up. I need to look after her."
My heart sank.
Of course he wouldn't say anything. Of course he'd drag himself here every day anyway.
"Then bring her too," I said. "Both of you can stay."
"Kuroha, that's—"
"Not negotiable."
He opened his mouth to argue—
"It's fine." I cut him off. "And I'll also stop lying here all day, let me help you move,"
And that's when his entire expression changed.
Awkward. Tense. Like he suddenly had no idea where to put his hands.
"Kuroha…" he said slowly. "About that."
I narrowed my eyes. "About what?"
He rubbed the back of his neck, avoiding my gaze.
"It's just… there isn't much to move."
"…What do you mean?"
He swallowed.
"My house was destroyed," he said quietly. "Completely. There's nothing left."
I stared. Cold washed down my spine. And he hadn't told me. Not once. Not a single word.
"It's fine," he rushed to say, smiling too quickly. Too lightly. "We're staying in a temporary shelter. It's just until things rebuild–"
"No." My voice was steady. Unshakable.
"That's even more reason for you to stay here. This house is safe. It has space. And you… both of you… shouldn't be in a shelter right now."
"I meant what I said. I don't want to be alone right now either."
His breath caught, relief cracked through his expression like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. "…I'll talk to her," he whispered. "If she's comfortable with it… we'll come."
Something loosened in my chest.
"Good," I said softly. "
"…Thank you, Kuroha."
A while later, I finally stepped outside, the air hit me like a physical blow.
Ash clung to broken rooftops and flooded gutters. The rain only made everything look worse ruin washed into muddy rivers.
People moved slowly through the streets.
Quiet. Grief-blurred. Worn down to the bone.
A child stumbled in the mud a few meters away, falling to his knees with a soft cry.
Instinct moved me before thought. I stepped forward. "Are you oka—"
"STOP!" The mother sprinted over, yanking the boy back with a sharp, panicked motion. She pulled him behind her like a shield.
Her eyes were wide. And fixed on my face—no, not my face.
On the fan-shaped crest on my sleeve.
"Stay away from my son," she hissed.
I froze.
The boy peeked from behind her skirts, confused.
The woman trembled fear, not anger.
I stepped back slowly. "I wasn't going to—"
"Just stay away."
She gathered the child into her arms and hurried off, never looking back.
I let out a breath that tasted metallic.
"…Of course."
Rumours. Whispers. Fear.
Most likely seeded by someone who knew exactly how to use them.
Danzo.
For a moment, I stood there in the rain, watching the water wash past my sandals.
Everything was crumbling. The clan. The village.
The future I dread is still coming closer.
I clenched my fists. Then I exhaled.
"Alright," I murmured to myself. "Enough hiding."
It was time to work on the future.