Archive of Our Own

He is seized by a coughing fit that chokes the breath out of him, bleaching the knuckles of his one remaining hand, sending spots dancing before his eyes. The cough tears his chest apart from the inside, fracturing ribs. A phantom sense of death presses down on his chest; sticky blood on his hands forces a shudder through his entire body, eating its way under his fingernails, flooding the corners of his lips with a metallic taste, fleeing his body.

It is so ironic. To have looked death in the eye so many times, to have challenged gods, survived wars, resurrection, and the fall of the moon, only to die like this now — lying in the mud, bleeding out beside the only person he desperately tried to kill. Or save. The line had blurred long ago.

Unfair.

And then, everything vanishes.

The taste of blood and smoke no longer stagnates in his throat. His lungs greedily inhale crumbs of fresh air. The pain that tore at the shoulder where an arm used to be dissolves into nothingness. Blades of grass whisper in his ear, tickling his skin. Somewhere high in the sky, birds are clucking. Water touches the skin of his feet, washing away fatigue.

The pain in his temples, where the consequences of using the Sharingan pulsed, recedes slowly, replaced by the soft touch of lips. Sun creeps through his eyelids; its warmth spills over his face like golden honey. Furrowed brows form a crease on his forehead in gloom, and someone's fingers smooth it out, tracing the skin again and again.

He is forced to open his eyes.

The azure of his irises, unsullied by red, shimmers in the sun like a clear mountain lake on a hot day. The sky merges with his eyes.

While the darkness before his eyes has not yet fully receded, while the world is still blurred and unreal, fragile hands weave a flower into his black hair. Those same hands draw a thin line down his neck, trace his collarbones, stop at his heart. Warm breath tickles his cheeks. A splash of water is heard.

"Damn it..." he can't hold back, and his voice sounds hoarse. White fabric envelops his body. "Stop staring at me, idiot. It makes me sick," Sasuke whispers, gently pushing the hands away from his face.

Naruto sits nearby, leaning on his elbows. His golden hair is disheveled by the wind, plastering a few strands to his forehead. He is smiling — widely and carelessly.

"You're always like this, Sasuke," he says, and his voice holds something between offense and tenderness. "Not romantic."

"Damn you, Naruto," Sasuke falls silent for a minute, looking at the sky. Clouds drift slowly, changing shape. And then he speaks again: "I am so tired," he sighs heavily, and this confession weighs more than all their battles, more than all the years of war and hatred.

Naruto suddenly leans over him, blocking out the blinding sun. His face is in shadow, but his eyes shine. His short-cropped hair is caught by a breath of wind, curling softly along his neck. His smile — the same one that annoyed and saved him at the same time — now seems to be the only source of light in this world.

"A moment ago we were lying on the stone hands of statues, bleeding out," Sasuke speaks quietly, examining his body as if he doesn't believe in reality. "And now I am melting in the grass next to you," something breaks in his gaze. "Did I end up in heaven? Or do you have hidden powers?"

"I wish I could do that," Naruto snorts, shifting his gaze to the sky. "If I knew how to create places like this, I would have done it long ago. For both of us." He looks at Sasuke again. "But no. You've read too many books."

"Books aren't needed in war."

"Are we still at war?"

"Right now — no, but a moment ago..."

"Already two moments, Sasuke," Naruto interrupts him and presses his lips into a thin line. Suddenly he looks older, tired. "It has passed. Enough."

"Not enough!" Sasuke sits up sharply, clutching his chest. His heart beats too loudly, too fast. "I feel blood on my hands."

"Then look at them, you fool," Naruto grabs his hands with both palms, traces circles on the palms, outlines every finger, every lifeline, and shoves them right in Sasuke's face. "They are clean. Whole. No blood. No wounds. No scars. Talk to me instead. Just talk, to me, finally."

Sasuke tears his hands away and turns aside. His palms tingle. He clenches them into fists, looking at the river flowing slowly, carelessly.

"When was the last time we just talked?" Sasuke asks instead after a minute of silence, rolling back onto the grass. The stems are soft under his back. "I don't think we know how to talk."

"That's not the question to ask right now. It's not yet time to talk about the past."

Naruto smiles gently again, as if he wants to grant oblivion from the war and blood before their eyes. He reaches for Sasuke's bangs, brushes them from his face, fingers the strand. And a moment later he lies down next to Sasuke, right on his shoulder. Sasuke freezes for a moment, then places his palm on the crown of Naruto's head, tangling his fingers in the golden hair.

"Your brother would be proud of you," Naruto says quietly into the fabric of the kimono on Sasuke's shoulder.

Sasuke freezes. His fingers tighten in Naruto's hair.

"You think so?"

"I know it," Naruto lifts his head, looking Sasuke in the eyes.

"I'll believe you," Sasuke whispers, and his voice trembles.

"Wow," Naruto tilts his head. "I'm surprised. No, seriously. Did someone cast a truth jutsu on you before our conversation? Because I don't recognize you. Where is your: 'You know nothing, Naruto, and don't interfere in my life'?"

"Get lost," Sasuke speaks quietly and closes his eyes. A phantom sensation of tears begins to prick at the corners of his eyes. "I feel like this is a confession before disappearing forever."

"Then confess," Naruto shrugs effortlessly and lies down under his heart again. "Be honest with yourself for once."

Swallows in the sky make patterns, telling their stories to their friends. The wind whispers something to the grass, and it sways in time. The river murmurs its eternal song.

"Did I die, Naruto?" the question hangs in the air.

"Do you think so?" Naruto traces circles on Sasuke's stomach with his finger.

"Yes."

"You don't deserve death."

"And you?"

Naruto doesn't answer. His face is detached, his eyes have lost their focus somewhere far away. Instead, he sighs heavily and stands up, shaking the grass from his kimono, which falls in waves. Sasuke watches Naruto's face — the line of his jaw, the way the sun plays on his skin. Naruto reaches out his hand to Sasuke, leaning down.

"It's time for us to go."

"Where?" asks Sasuke in surprise, but takes his hand anyway. Naruto's palm is strong, warm. He stands up, and the world sways for a moment.

Naruto shrugs.

"We'll see."

Naruto carefully touches Sasuke's elbow, leading him out of the reeds. The darkness of Sasuke's eyes turns one last time to the depths of the river, where the sun plays on the bottom.

"This all seems familiar to me," Sasuke looks around. "Where are we?"

"Look."

In the shadow of oblivion and peace, shrouded in sunlight, a garden has spread its arm-trees. Branches intertwine in complex patterns; flowers whisper, and petals tremble in the wind; birds hop from branch to branch; the sun amuses itself, playing through the leaves with golden bunnies. And deep within, under a towering oak that stretched its arm-branches over half the garden, a blanket is spread — red, with white flowers.

Laughter rings out.

Red hair, loose over shoulders, shimmers in the sun. Red lips smile, dropping something tender. Red apples in a basket, juicy and ripe. The gold of fruits, baskets, smiles, rings on fingers. The blackness of hair, the blackness of eyes.

Sasuke feels his breath catch. His heart, which should have stopped, skips a beat, then another. His knees go weak. He turns to Naruto, who is already looking at him.

"Naruto, this isn't..."

"Yes, Sasuke, yes."

"You can't do this to me," Sasuke shakes his head, wants to step back, but his legs don't obey.

Naruto smiles.

Kushina runs her fingers through the gold of a baby's hair sitting on her lap. The child tries to take a toy from another baby — a raven-haired one with dark eyes, who is determined not to give up his toy. Mikoto smiles, and the sun reflects in her pupils. She holds her son, presses him to her chest, kisses the top of his head.

"They will be good rivals," Minato says quietly, watching as the babies, even in their mothers' arms, still reach for each other.

"Or friends," Fugaku answers softly. "Not everything has to be tied to rivalry. Not for them. Let them be what we could not."

Sasuke sinks to his knees right there, on the grass. His body shudders, and he hugs himself by the shoulders, trying to hold something inside.

"I first saw my parents in the war," Naruto says quietly. "My father died twice on my birthday. It's nice to know they found peace."

"Naruto..."

Naruto looks down at him, shrouded in this peace of gardens and sun, and to Sasuke, he seems like a saint in this light. Angel, demon, friend, death, lover — all at once. Naruto sits down nearby, shoulder to shoulder. Sasuke covers his face and exhales noisily, trying to assemble himself piece by piece.

"I definitely died, Naruto," he says finally. "There is no other explanation. I died, and this... is some kind of purgatory. Or hell."

"Don't be so pessimistic," Naruto wipes a tear from Sasuke's cheek. "The question isn't where we are. The question is, where do we go next?"

"Do we have a choice?"

"Oh, yes," Naruto smiles, and this smile resembles the sunrise after the longest night. "All your life. Every moment. So where do we go next?"

Sasuke is silent, looking at the garden where their parents laugh, where their child versions play, not knowing what awaits them. Then he looks up.

"My whole life is war. I don't want to go back there."

"We must, Sasuke." Naruto stands up and reaches out his hand again.

Sasuke looks at the hand, then at Naruto's face.

"The Academy?" he asks, his voice ringing with childish vulnerability.

"The Academy," Naruto confirms.

"Terrible," Sasuke winces, taking Naruto's hand. "I hate it."

"You were the best," Naruto objects.

"I didn't care."

"Why did you enroll then?" Naruto interrupts, curiosity in his eyes. "You know, you had other options."

"You were there," Sasuke answers simply.

Naruto freezes.

"Not an answer."

"The truth," Sasuke doesn't look away.

Before them, doors rise, woven from vines of thorny roses. Thorns glisten in the sun, promising pain, promising blood. The sky scatters blue above them; the sun comes out to greet them. The songs of swallows fall silent — crushed in this prevailing silence. White kimonos change into school uniforms; the flower in Sasuke's black hair dries up and falls to his feet.

"It's time for us, Sasuke," Naruto reminds him gently.

"I know, but..." Sasuke squeezes his hand so hard that knuckles crack.

"Don't cry, you fool," Naruto wipes a tear that has gathered in the corner of Sasuke's eye. "We can go to Sakura if you want."

"That looks like forgiveness."

"That is what it is. Let's go."

The doors open before them, the world behind has already melted like morning fog. The garden disappears, the parents disappear, the peace disappears. And everything is so white, white that eyes squint. The warmth of Naruto's palm spreads through the entire body and remains as a small flame in the chest.

The noise ahead forces them to forget the fading memories. Voices of children, laughter, screams, crying — everything mixes into a cacophony of life. They take a step, then a second, a third, a fifth.

The doors close with a quiet click.

Sakura's apartment is bathed in violet pre-sunset rays. Dust hangs in the air in tiny particles, in no hurry to settle — every speck dances its slow dance in the golden light seeping through the uncurtained windows. The aroma of freshly baked cookies — vanilla and butter — envelops the room in a thick warm blanket.

Pillows are chaotically scattered on the floor — pink, blue, one embroidered with a kitten, another with a yellowed-with-age drawing of flowers. A huge ancient tome lies in the center of an improvised circle of three twelve-year-old children. The cover of the book is cracked at the edges, the leather peeled in places, exposing yellow pages.

Naruto reaches for a cookie, Sasuke slaps his hand with a quiet hiss and a curse about what a pig Naruto is and that he's crumbling on the carpet. Crumbs do indeed fall into the pile of the carpet, and Naruto tries to press them deeper with his finger. Sakura rolls her eyes and gets up to close the curtains.

Heavy burgundy velvet rustles, absorbing the light. The room immediately plunges into semi-darkness; only thin golden needles of sun break through the cracks, drawing lines on the floor. Sakura strikes a match. A flash, the smell of sulfur — and the wick of the candle catches fire. The flame dances, casting trembling shadows on the children's faces, making their features sharper.

"This is nonsense," Sasuke throws out, crossing his arms. His voice is firm, but a muscle at the corner of his mouth twitches treacherously. "Spirits don't exist."

"How do you know?" Sakura leans closer to the candle, her green eyes reflecting in the flame, becoming almost transparent, like glass. The shadow of her face falls on the pages. "It says here that if you do the ritual correctly, you can ask the spirit three questions."

She points a finger at a page with bizarre drawings: faceless figures with unnaturally long limbs, surrounded by runes and unfamiliar words.

"Where did you get this?" Sasuke asks skeptically, peering at the pages.

"In the library! Ino says she already summoned him."

"And what did he say?" Naruto sits hugging his knees, eyes burning with curiosity. He scoots closer to the book, trying to make out the drawings in the trembling light.

"She doesn't want to tell. But she went pale when I asked."

Silence fills the room like water fills a glass. Heavy, thick. All three look at each other — eyes meet, look away, and then meet again. Somewhere outside the window, a bird screams — sharply, unexpectedly, and all three shudder. The wind rustles the leaves of the trees, and this rustling is like a whisper, like someone's voices saying something incomprehensible.

They hug their knees tighter, scoot closer to each other. Shoulders touch shoulders. Breathing becomes more frequent, quieter — they try not to breathe loudly to hear if there are any other sounds in the room.

"So what do we have to do?" whispers Naruto, swallowing loudly.

"We hold hands," Sakura extends her hands to them — one to Naruto, the other to Sasuke. Palms open, fingers splayed. "And don't let go, no matter what happens! This is important!"

Naruto's palms are warm and moist with excitement. Sasuke clenches his teeth — this is nonsense, absolute nonsense, but he doesn't let go of the hands. Sakura's fingers are cold, thin, trembling barely noticeably. The circle closes — three pairs of hands, six palms holding tight.

"Now let's speak together. 'Spirit wandering in darkness, we call to thee...'" reads Sakura. "'We open the doors...'"

The candle goes out.

Instantly. Without a last flicker. Darkness covers them overhead, so absolute that colored spots dance before their eyes — first yellow, then purple, then black. Even the strips of light between the curtains disappear.

"What?!" Naruto jumps up, but doesn't break the hold. His heart pounds so loudly it seems to beat not in his chest, but in his ears, in his temples, in his fingertips.

"It's just the wind..." Sasuke's voice sounds a tone higher than usual.

"I closed the balcony," whispers Sakura.

The gloom has weight, presses on the chest, on shoulders, on faces. Time blurs. And then something scratches on the floor. A quiet, methodical sound of claws on wood.

Closer.

Even closer.

"Did you hear that?!" squeaks Naruto. His fingers are now not just warm — they are burning, squeezing his friends' hands to the point of pain.

"Quiet!" Sasuke tries to inhale, but the air becomes cold, like in a freezer. Breath turns into vapor.

The scratching stops right in front of them. Complete, dead silence, in which only the pulsation of blood in the ears is heard. And then — breathing. Heavy, raspy, with a gurgle, as if someone is choking on water. A sweet, putrid smell of wilted flowers fills their lungs.

"I want to go home," whispers Naruto.

"Who... who is there?" squeezes out Sakura.

A second. Two. Three.

"You... called... me..." a whisper-scream tears the silence.

Naruto and Sakura scream in unison.

"Light! Sasuke, do something!" yells Naruto.

Sasuke fumbles in his pocket for a kunai, activates an illumination seal. A sharp, blinding flash hits their eyes painfully. When their pupils narrow, they see him.

On his hind legs, tilting his head to the side, sits a pug with bulging eyes.

"Pakkun!" Naruto falls onto his back, clutching his heart. "I almost died!"

"But the voice..." Sakura looks around, her face paling.

From behind the balcony, laughter explodes. Kakashi pushes back the curtain, squinting with amusement. His eyes curve into crescents.

"You should have seen your faces! Especially yours, Sasuke! You actually jumped!"

"Kakashi-sensei!" they shout indignantly.

"I didn't jump!" Sasuke blushes to the tips of his ears and instantly crosses his arms, trying to regain his mask of indifference.

"Jumped like a frog!" Naruto is already laughing too, although his hands are still trembling, and his heart is still pounding too fast.

"There are no such things as spirits," grumbles Sasuke.

"They exist!" insists Sakura. "It's just... just they didn't come this time!"

"Because Kakashi-sensei is a fool," Naruto whispers resentfully, pointing a finger at the teacher.

Kakashi's eyebrows shoot up, as if hearing what Naruto is muttering under his nose. He crosses his arms over his chest, leans towards them, and the shadow of his figure falls on the children.

"It seems, my dear students, you forgot about training at six."

"It's not even five yet," objects Naruto.

"Correct, Naruto," Sakura says sourly, pointing at the clock, where the big hand froze at eight, "because it's already eight..."

Kakashi smiles through his mask.

"Someone is in for a punishment for being late, my sweet spirit-angels."

Kakashi realizes the moment has come when Sakura asks for the seventh time in a week if he wants tea, and is ready to brew it even when he says "no."

They are sitting on the balcony of Kakashi's apartment after training. The evening summer air is thick, saturated with the tart scents of heated asphalt, fruit trees, and distant bonfire smoke. Sakura stands over him with a teapot in her hands, which gleams in the orange rays of the sun. Naruto is already finishing his third cup of ramen — loud slurping is heard, drops of greasy broth fly onto the tiles, but he doesn't care. Sasuke pretends he isn't there — sitting in the farthest corner, exposing his pale face to the sun, arms tightly crossed on his chest, fingers digging into the fabric of his t-shirt.

"Sensei," Sakura holds out the cup again, and the porcelain tinkles quietly against the saucer in her hands, "well, drink just a little more..."

Hot steam rises from the tea, hits the face with a moist cloud, curls in a thin ribbon, and dissolves in the twilight. Sakura's fingers have turned red from the heat of the cup, the skin is taut, but she stubbornly doesn't let go.

"Sakura," Kakashi gently covers her palm with his, stopping the movement. His gloved hand seems rough next to her childish skin. "I don't want any more tea."

"But this one is with honey!" high notes of desperation ring in Sakura's voice. "And with cinnamon. Your favorite, Sensei!"

"I don't want it with honey."

Sakura exhales and sits right on the balcony floor. The cup is still in her hands, pressed to her chest. Her shoulders are slumped, lips pressed into a thin line. Kakashi feels sticky sweat running unpleasantly down his back under his t-shirt. There is something more here than just tea.

He looks at his three students. At their scratched knees, dirty elbows, at how they breathe and quarrel. Kakashi realizes: they are almost thirteen, and after thirteen — fourteen, and after fourteen — fifteen.

Kakashi forcefully massages the bridge of his nose, feeling a headache pulse under his fingers. The skin under his mask itches from the heat. He stands up — knees crack with a dry, senile sound, a familiar spark of pain pierces his back. He returns from the apartment with a small book. The white glossy cover sticks to his fingers.

Three children raise their eyes to him.

"Is this... about tea?" Sasuke squints, peering at the drawing of a cup on the cover.

"Yes," says Kakashi, clicking the floor lamp switch. Yellow electric light floods the balcony. "But actually, no."

"I don't understand anything," sighs Naruto, placing the ramen cup on the floor.

Kakashi sits down, opens the book to the first page — the paper rustles. The children instinctively scoot closer — Sakura crawls up from the left, pulling her knees to her chest; Sasuke scoots up from the right, squats, leans his hand on Sensei's knee; Naruto leans in from behind, puts his chin right on Kakashi's shoulder, blasting his ear with hot breath.

Kakashi thinks: "I am too young to die of awkwardness. I am only twenty-six."

"So," his voice sounds hollow, vibrating in the chest to which the children are pressed, "imagine you offered someone tea."

"Okay," Sakura nods, and pink hair tickles Kakashi's cheek. "I do that constantly."

"I noticed. That is exactly why we are here." Kakashi reads on, running his finger along the lines so as not to lose his place: "If they say 'yes, please' — you brew the tea. Everyone is happy."

On the page, a smiling person with a cup in their hands is drawn, a thumb raised up.

"Logical," agrees Sasuke, peering at the drawing.

"But," Kakashi turns the page, "if they say 'no, thank you,' then you do not insist."

On the next page — a person shaking their head, hands raised in a gesture of refusal.

"You don't say 'but it's special tea!' or 'I already brewed it!' or 'just try a little bit!'," Kakashi looks at Sakura over the book. "No offense, Sakura. You just say 'okay' and take the tea away."

Sakura suddenly blushes — the flush starts from her neck, spills over her cheeks, rises to the tips of her ears.

"Oh," she says quietly and hides her face in her knees.

"Yes," Kakashi looks at her. "Oh."

"But I just wanted to be polite..." her voice trembles. "I didn't want... I didn't think..."

Kakashi places his palm on the crown of her head, running through her hair in a soothing gesture.

"Respecting a 'no' — that is the greatest politeness, Sakura."

He runs his finger along the lines, feeling how three pairs of eyes intently follow his movement.

"If a person said 'yes', but while you were bringing the cup — they changed their mind... They have the right to do that. Even if the tea is already in the cup. They can choose not to drink it."

"But that's a waste of tea," grumbles Sasuke, nervously yanking the zipper on his collar. Zip-zip. Zip-zip.

"Sasuke," Kakashi turns his head, and their gazes meet. "People are always more important than tea. Always."

"Are we really talking about tea right now?" Sasuke stops yanking the zipper.

"Both yes," says Kakashi, not looking away. "And no."

Kakashi turns the page. There, a person sleeping on a sofa is drawn, mouth open, with symbolic snoring sounds coming from their head.

"Here is the most important part," says Kakashi. "If a person is sleeping..."

"They can't drink tea," Sakura adds quickly, having regained her confidence. She looks up, seeking recognition in Kakashi's eyes.

"Exactly!" Kakashi actually jumps with joy that at least someone grasped the essence. His shoulder hits Naruto's chin, and he whines. "Even if they previously said they want tea. Even if they promised to drink tea. Even while they were waiting for tea, but fell asleep."

"That's obvious," grumbles Sasuke again.

"You'd be surprised how many adults don't understand this," Kakashi answers dryly.

Naruto suddenly straightens up, his chin slipping off Kakashi's shoulder. Kakashi feels Naruto's breathing accelerate tenfold.

"Wait. Wait-wait-wait," Naruto's voice becomes squeaky. "We are now talking about... about..."

He blushes so hard it seems steam is about to come off him, like from that teapot. The heat from his face is felt physically.

"About boundaries," says Kakashi calmly, looking at Naruto over his shoulder. "About the fact that your body and your decisions belong only to you. And the bodies and decisions of others — belong to others. This applies to everything. Hugs. Sparring. Words. Touches."

He closes the book. Looks at each of them in turn. First at Sakura, who is trembling barely noticeably, then at Sasuke, who looks away with feigned indifference, then Naruto, who is biting his nails.

"You are growing up," says Kakashi, and his voice becomes quiet, almost intimate in this darkness. "Soon you will start to be interested in each other. Or have already started." Sasuke sharply turns away, Sakura for some reason looks at Naruto, Naruto looks at the sky. "And that's normal. And I want you to know: consent is simple," he raises three fingers and bends them one by one. "Ask. Listen to the answer. Accept it. That's all."

Sakura suddenly leans forward and hugs him. Her arms are thin but tenacious, digging into his vest.

"I'm sorry, Sensei. For the tea."

"It's okay. You're learning."

"And if," Naruto nervously scratches the back of his head, "if I ever offer someone tea," he stammers on the word "tea", awkwardly lowering his gaze, "and she says no, but I wait? Can I ask again?"

"You can," nods Kakashi. "If time has passed. If you don't pressure. But there is a rule," he raises two fingers. "Two times. Maximum. After the second 'no' — if the person wants tea, they will come to you themselves. Understood?"

"Two times," repeats Naruto, as if carving it somewhere in his head.

They sit silently for a minute, digesting the information. The sun has completely disappeared behind the horizon, the light from the floor lamp crawls over their bodies. The air has noticeably cooled, the first stars have descended onto the satin of the sky. Somewhere far away a bird screams.

"Sensei," says Sakura quietly, still pressed to his side, "why are you telling us this right now?"

"Because you are at that age when you will start making important decisions." Kakashi looks at the stars, at the vast dark sky above them. "And I want these decisions to be right."

He sighs.

"You will make mistakes, because who doesn't. I made mistakes. Very many times. And I want to save you a little bit from pain."

Naruto leans on him again, now hugging his neck with both arms, almost choking him in delight. Sakura presses against his side. Sasuke hesitates for a moment, and then rests his head on Kakashi's shoulder, burying his nose in the rough fabric of the vest. Kakashi feels their heartbeats, their breathing, their warmth breaking through the layers of his clothes. And in this moment, it seems to Kakashi that perhaps they have a chance not to shatter after all.

"You," Sasuke glances sideways at Naruto, and something playful rings in his voice, "learned that lesson poorly."

Naruto turns to him, raising his eyebrows in surprise:

"What?"

"You chased me for so long that you seem to have forgotten why you were chasing."

"But we only fought twice," whines Naruto. "Twice. And you gave up. You stayed with me. You exist right now with me. Is it possible to dream of anything more?"

"I didn't give up," says Sasuke quietly. "I just... accepted your offer."

"Oh?" Naruto comes closer, and almost no space remains between them. "What offer exactly?"

They stand so close that Sasuke feels the warmth of his body, hears every breath. Their younger versions still sit on the veranda, listening to Kakashi, but the adults no longer look there. They look at each other.

"Naruto," says Sasuke slowly, and his voice sounds like a warning.

"Yes, Sasuke?" Naruto smiles that smile of his.

The silence between them is thick, electrified.

"You know," Naruto tilts his head slightly to the side, and his eyes become more serious, darker, "I want to ask you again. Sasuke, do you want to drink tea with me?"

Sasuke freezes.

He looks into those impossible blue eyes. And suddenly something clicks in his head. The metaphor. Tea. That same lesson from Kakashi about consent, desire, and "special circumstances" which they just observed.

Blood instantly rushes to Sasuke's face, burning his cheeks.

"You..." he stammers, trying to find words, "What, Naruto, no! You insufferable idiot!"

Naruto explodes with laughter — ringing, causing the very sky to vibrate. He throws his head back, enjoying Sasuke's embarrassment.

And from this laughter, the world around begins to dissolve.

Everything fades. The tree, the old balcony, their childhood shadows — everything melts like sugar in tea. Only blinding whiteness remains and a feeling of absolute weightlessness.

And then from the whiteness emerges something simple — a small round island of green grass. In the middle — a small round table, two chairs. A teapot, from the spout of which steam rises, and two porcelain cups.

Nothing else. Only them and eternity.

Sasuke looks at the table. Then at Naruto, who is still smiling, but now this smile is soft, tender.

"Tea," says Naruto simply, pointing at the table. "Just tea, Sasuke."

The training ground is drowning in emerald greenery. The heat stands such that the air buzzes above the ground, distorting space, making it fluid like water. And amidst this wild world, a spot of unnatural, almost aggressive pink color blooms.

Sakura stands over her creation and the sun tangles in her hair, igniting it with fire. A pink tablecloth, stolen from home (Mom will kill her when she finds out, but these are all future Sakura's problems), is spread on the grass. On it — a tea set from Mommy's buffet. A white teapot with a crack on the spout. Cups of different sizes — none matches another — one with blue flowers, another with a chipped handle, a third completely cracked. The saucers are also completely different. Cookies on a plate are piled in a pyramid, which has already managed to half-collapse.

Naruto sits on his haunches, holding a teddy bear in his hands.

"So, Mr. Bear," Naruto's voice vibrates in the hot air, "sugar? Perhaps pass the cookies?"

"Naruto," Sakura rolls her eyes so hard her head tilts back.

Sasuke sits slightly apart, about two meters away, leaning his back against a tree, with arms crossed on his chest. He looks at all this with an weird expression.

When Kakashi appears, time slows down. He emerges from the heat, lazy and relaxed, and freezes. Light plays in sparkles on the sequins of the costume which Sakura pulls out like a sacred artifact. Pink tulle, glitter, wings fluttering in the wind.

"Oh no," exhales Kakashi, and capitulation is already audible in this sound.

A moment later he stands in the middle of the clearing, transformed. The pink skirt catches sun bunnies. Wings behind his back catch the wind. He takes a tiny, cracked cup, lowers his mask, and takes a small sip.

Naruto's laughter tears the silence, flying into the sky, startling the birds.

Evening doesn't just descend — evening spills like thick, viscous honey. The sky is heavy with colors: ripe peach melts into violet shadow, the sun reluctantly hangs over the horizon, clinging with rays to the branches of trees. The air stands motionless, saturated with the tart smell of dry dust, heated grain, and that special summer fatigue that is sweeter than sleep.

Before them stretches an endless field. A golden sea of wheat that flows in waves at the slightest breath of a leisurely wind, ears bending and straightening. Flowers are scattered along the edges of the field — orange-yellow, bright.

Naruto runs — no, flies, cutting through this golden sea with his chest. The wind picks up his ringing laughter, ruffles his wheaten hair, leads him into a vortex of warmth and sun. The sky is reflected in cornflower eyes, and it seems it borrowed its color from them.

He is barefoot. Stubble mercilessly pricks his heels, dry stalks whip his calves, leaving thin, stinging scratches that will later burn red. But he doesn't stop. This pain is an inseparable part of the pleasure of existence.

He is alive. And the whole world belongs to him.

"Hey, turtles!" he shouts without turning around, and his voice breaks from running. "Last one to that tree pays for ramen!"

Sakura runs after him, and her neatness was left somewhere back there, beyond the boundaries of this field, along with her shoes. Hair hits her face, gets into her mouth. Her skirt is hiked up, a green grass stain spreads on her knee, but in her eyes—only tenderness and excitement. The sun plays on her freckles, tickles, kisses.

Summer gives her scratches, bruises, and happiness.

"You're cheating, Naruto!" she laughs, trying to shout over the rustle of the ears.

Sasuke brings up the rear. He doesn't lag behind, even when he pretends he is indifferent to childish senseless races. Black hair falls over his eyes, hiding the world from him, but Sasuke doesn't brush it back — too busy breathing. His pale skin, which never knows a tan, is now flushed, a blush burning on his cheeks.

His eyes — usually dark and deep — are different now. When he looks at the golden crowns of his friends ahead, a glint appears in the darkness. For this moment he forgets who he is, whom he belongs to, and what his purpose is in this life.

Right now he is just Sasuke.

And ahead is just Naruto. And just Sakura.

Today only this field exists, friends, and the sun.

Naruto suddenly brakes sharply, and Sakura crashes into his back, and Sasuke — into her, and the three of them fly head over heels into the tall grass, tangling in arms and legs. The earth smells of heated roots and life.

"You're an idiot," exhales Sakura, lying on her back and peering into the sky spinning before her eyes.

"I changed our final destination," answers Naruto, gasping with laughter. "And now it is here."

Sasuke throws off his dirty leg. Lies covering his eyes with his arm, tries to calm his frantic heartbeat. They lie in a crater of soft wheat, hidden from the whole world. The heat envelops them.

"Look!" Naruto suddenly pokes a finger at the sky. "The cloud looks like Pakkun!"

Sasuke lazily opens one eye, tracking the direction of his hand.

"It's a duck."

"Are you blind? It's clearly a dog! Here are the ears, here is the tail!"

"Here is the beak and wings," Sasuke points a finger. "Study biology."

"Guys," Sakura laughs, rolls onto her stomach, props her chin on her hands, "it's just a cloud."

They lie in the grass, and the world around lives its own life. The wind rustles the ears, birds sing somewhere high, insects buzz. The sun floods everything with gold — grass, faces, hands, the world becomes honeyed, warm, sticky with the sweets of light.

"Want to do something special?" Sakura sits up, shaking off her skirt.

She starts picking flowers she can reach — blue cornflowers, simple white daisies, red poppies. Her fingers, green from the juice of the stems, skillfully weave the plants into small wreaths.

"Ino told me about a ritual," she mumbles, not raising her eyes, focused on weaving. "Something like a promise. That we will always be a team."

Sasuke wants to snort, to say that this nonsense is for girls, that shinobi don't play with flowers. But he is silent. Lies motionless and watches her eyelashes tremble.

Sakura finishes the first wreath — of cornflowers, bright blue. She leans towards Naruto.

"Don't wiggle," she orders quietly.

Her fingers comb through his unruly hair, place the wreath on his head. Naruto freezes, stops breathing. Looks at her from the bottom up with wide-open eyes.

"Remember, Naruto: we love you," she whispers.

Her fingers reach for the white daisies. The next wreath comes out faster. She turns to Sasuke. Her hand with the wreath freezes in the air for a moment, as if she is afraid he will push her away. Sasuke looks at the flowers. Then barely noticeably tilts his head forward. Sakura exhales with relief and carefully, touching his temples with her fingertips, lowers the wreath onto the black strands. White spills in contrast on black.

"You are not alone, Sasuke. You have us."

For herself, she takes a poppy. Red, fiery. Weaves the wreath quickly, no longer looking, and fastens it in her pink hair.

"And I promise," says Sakura firmly, looking into the eyes of first Naruto, then Sasuke, "to always be near. Always."

They sit in a circle. Dirty knees, scratches on tanned skin, and flowers in their hair. The sun sinks even lower, turning the field into a molten moment.

"Now hands," orders Sakura.

They reach out their hands to each other. Six palms — calloused, dirty, warm — meet in the center of the circle. Fingers intertwine— Naruto squeezes Sasuke's hand, Sakura — Sasuke's hand, Sasuke — Naruto's hand.

They look at each other. In this light, Naruto's eyes seem like a bottomless ocean, Sakura's eyes — like a spring forest, and Sasuke's eyes — like the night that has finally found its stars.

"The three of us," whispers Naruto.

"The three of us," repeats Sakura.

"The three of us," exhales Sasuke.

In this moment the world around melts.

"Forever."

Night comes not with gentle coolness, but with thick, sticky stuffiness. The heat in the room stands like a wall even after sunset. Naruto's apartment is tiny, cramped, cluttered with some boxes, pots with plants that miraculously survived here, and immutable cups from ramen. It smells of dust, sharp spices, and wood heated during the day.

The bed is too small for the three of them.

Naruto is in the middle. Of course, he is in the middle. He sleeps just as he lives — greedily occupying all available space. Arms thrown out, legs scattered. Pajamas twisted, exposing his stomach. On his neck reddens a scratch from a dry stalk, and sweaty hair sticks to his forehead.

Sakura is on the left. She has pressed herself to his side with her whole body — cheek on his shoulder, arm thrown across his chest, leg tangled in his leg. Pink hair scattered on the pillow, tickling his nose. She breathes in unison with him, almost silently: inhale — Naruto's ribcage lifts her head, exhale — lowers it back.

Sasuke is on the right, shrouded in wakefulness.

He doesn't press close — never presses close right away. Lies on the very edge of the bed, back to Naruto, staring into the darkness. This crampedness annoys him. The unbearable heat annoys him. It annoys him that Naruto is hot and sticky, that he snuffles right over his ear, and his knee unceremoniously digs into his lower back.

Naruto suddenly jerks in his sleep — mumbles something unintelligible and loud — and bends his arm over Sasuke's body. Sasuke freezes. He wants to throw it off. He should throw it off. But he doesn't do it. Instead, slowly, holding his breath so as not to disturb Naruto's sleep, he turns to the other side. Facing them. And scoots a little closer.

Naruto instinctively gathers him closer, like a big pillow. Sasuke tenses. Counts seconds. One. Two. Three. Slowly exhales. Tension drains from his shoulders, and he allows himself to simply be.

The clock on the wall ticks, counting seconds of silence. Naruto mumbles something again and nuzzles into the top of Sakura's head. Sakura smiles through her sleep. Sasuke lies motionless, listening as their breathing gradually merges into one rhythm.

Moonlight crawls along the floor, snatching from the darkness three pairs of sandals and three wreaths of wildflowers near the entrance, dumped in one dirty pile.

The veranda of Kakashi's old house groans under the weight of silence. Wood dried by time creaks lengthily every time the wind hits the windowpanes and lifts the edges of weightless curtains.

Sakura sits next to Kakashi. Shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. She leans her back against the wall — warmed by the sun, it should have been warm, but it seems to consist of a thousand needles digging into her spine.

She looks like a shadow of herself. Her skin isn't pale — it is ashen, gray like paper. Deep violet shadows have settled under her eyes. Lips, bitten to blood, are covered with a dry crust. The whites of her eyes are flooded with red — capillaries couldn't withstand the strain. The wind picks up her hair, plays with strands, throws them back and picks them up again.

The black mourning kimono cuts off access to oxygen, presses on the ribs. With physical pain, it is easier to realize that you still exist. Her feet are barefoot. Soles dirty, scratched by stones. Her shoes were lost somewhere on the way from the cemetery, but she didn't even notice walking on the cold ground.

She looks in front of her. In the abandoned garden, the wind bends the bushes. Insects fly between the flowers of a wild rose, birds make noise on the branches of an old apple tree. Life goes on, and this seems like the greatest insult. The sun slowly hides behind the fence, taking away the last colors.

Kakashi is silent. He hasn't said a word since he led her away from the graves.

The world becomes blue and cold. A shiver runs through Sakura — a spasm passing in a sharp wave from the back of her head to her heels. Kakashi reacts instantly: pulls off his vest and throws it over her chest.

She finally blinks. Slowly, heavily. And rests her head on his shoulder.

"I still feel their presence on the periphery," her voice is hoarse. "I can't bear it."

Kakashi looks down at her.

"I will leave Konoha."

"Good."

"For a long time. Maybe forever."

"If that makes you happy."

"Nothing will make me happy anymore, Kakashi," she looks forward again, at the darkening garden. "Happiness ended with them."

"Life is long, Sakura," he says quietly.

"They were my life," she whispers, "My whole life is them."

"You were with them for ten years," Kakashi speaks softly. "And ahead — is much more. Forty. Fifty. Maybe a hundred. That is the essence of life, Sakura. We live longer than those we love."

"I don't want such a life for myself."

"They would want you to live a long, happy life."

"You don't know what they wanted!" she shouts sharply, and something alive wakes up in her voice — rage, anger, pain, fire.

"No one knows," he agrees. "But they loved you. That I know for sure."

"If they loved, they wouldn't have left!" words tear out of her sharp, digging fangs into the skin. "If they truly loved, they would have survived! But they didn't love me enough to return."

Silence falls on the veranda like a heavy blanket. Only the wind whistling in the cracks of the floor is heard.

"No, Sakura," finally says Kakashi. "This was the highest gift of their love for you."

She opens her mouth to object, to scream that she doesn't need such a gift, but the words get stuck in her throat. Tears, which she held back for the last hours, break the dam. She shudders with her whole body and buries her face in Kakashi's chest and howls — lengthily, terrifyingly, like a wounded beast. Kakashi hugs her. With one hand holds her back, pressing her to himself. Holds her tight so she doesn't crumble into thousands of fragments right here, in his arms.

And opposite them, leaning on the wooden railing, sit two.

Naruto and Sasuke. Forever seventeen. Forever in white kimonos in which they were buried. Forever with closed eyes, with calm faces, without wounds, without blood, clean, as they were never seen alive.

Naruto has an urge to reach out to Sakura, tuck her hair behind her ear and whisper something silly. Sasuke rests his head on Naruto's shoulder.

They don't speak. Just watch. Watch Sakura shudder with sobs. Watch Kakashi hold her — the only thing he has left. Watch the wind play with her hair, how the moon illuminates her face, wet with tears.

The moon rises higher, illuminating the veranda with white cold silver.

Four sit in silence — two living, two dead.

Team 7.

Incomplete.

Forever incomplete.

The restaurant drowns in soft, amber light. This is that special hour before sunset when the world becomes golden and a little unreal. Huge windows are thrown wide open into the garden, where cherry blossoms bloom endlessly. Pink petals slowly circle in the air, not touching the ground.

On the table, on a snow-white tablecloth, stands a bottle of dark glass. Sun bunnies shimmer in two glasses, refracting in the ruby liquid.

At the table sit two.

Naruto is forever seventeen. He is in the same kimono, slightly crumpled at the sleeves. His golden hair shines as if it absorbed a piece of the light of this place. On his cheeks — the same three stripes.

Opposite him — Sakura. Time didn't just touch her — it sculpted her anew, line by line. She is eighty-five. Maybe more. Deep wrinkles diverge from the corners of her eyes. Hands lying on the table are covered with age spots, veins showing through thin skin. Hair, once short and bright pink, has now faded to silver and curls over her shoulders. But the eyes — the eyes are the same. Green, like spring forests.

She looks around confusedly, blinks, trying to focus her gaze. The light cuts her eyes after the long darkness.

"Hi, Sakura," says Naruto. His voice is the same. Loud, warm, with that raspiness she remembered all her life.

Sakura freezes. Looks at him, and seconds stretch into eternity.

"Naruto?" her voice trembles. "You... you haven't changed at all."

She lowers her gaze to her hands. Then again lifts her eyes to him, untouched by time.

"And I... am not at all like I was."

"You are beautiful," he says simply. "You died, Sakura."

She covers her face with her palms. Shoulders begin to tremble finely.

"Finally," she whispers through tears. "Finally. I was so tired, Naruto. So tired of waking up without you."

Naruto leans across the table and takes her hand in his. The contrast cuts the eyes: his broad, strong palm, and hers—fragile, bird-like. His fingers wrap around her fingers, squeeze gently.

"I know. I am so sorry, Sakura."

"You were seventeen," she wipes wet cheeks with the back of her hand, not ashamed of tears. "You were children. And I lived a whole life. It is so unfair. We were supposed to be together forever. You were supposed to live life next to me, I was supposed to have you next to me all my life. And instead, I buried you both. In one day."

Naruto stands up, walks around the table — slowly, so as not to scare her. Hugs her. She presses against him, digs weak fingers into his clothes, and cries as she hasn't cried for decades. All tears hidden under layers of years finally come out — for him, for Sasuke, for lost love and the life they could have had.

They sit like this for a long time. Time doesn't exist here, so there is no count — a century passed or a single moment. Naruto strokes her silver hair, whispers quiet words of comfort until the crying subsides, turning into tired breathing. Only peace remains.

Sakura pulls away, wipes her face with trembling hands.

"Sorry," she says hoarsely.

"There is nothing to apologize for," Naruto returns to his seat.

"Are you my guide?" asks Sakura, looking at the glass, then at him.

"As you wish, Sakura," Naruto lifts his glass to the light, and the wine shimmers, plays with reflections of the sun. "Tell me about your life. About all those years you lived."

Sakura takes the glass with trembling hands — fingers still don't obey, but she tries to hold on tight.

"That will take a lot of time," she says.

"Oh, don't worry," Naruto smiles that sunny smile of his that always saved, gave hope. "We have infinity itself, Sakura. All of eternity, if needed."

They clink glasses. The sound is ringing, pure, scatters through the restaurant, echoes off the walls, disappears somewhere in the garden outside the window.

Sakura takes a sip. The wine tastes of summer, youth, and something sweet, like first love.

"I became a doctor. A real one, not a field medic. Ran away from Konoha. Worked in hospitals all over the country. Saved others because I couldn't save you." she smiles bitterly. "Atoned for guilt."

"You saved thousands," says Naruto softly.

"But not you," she whispers. "Never you."

Silence falls on the table, filled only by the rustle of petals outside the window.

"Did you have a family?" asks Naruto finally.

Sakura nods, looks into the garden outside the window.

"Yes," she says quietly. "I got married almost at thirty. He was a simple doctor. Quiet, calm. He knew about you. Knew that part of my heart is buried in Konoha, but never reproached. We had twins."

Naruto smiles, and this smile illuminates everything around brighter than the sun.

"What did you name them?"

Sakura laughs.

"Sasuke and Naruto. My husband said I was crazy, but agreed."

"Poor kids," snorts Naruto. "Hope that Sasuke was less problematic."

"He was wonderful," smiles Sakura. "My husband died early. At forty-five. Sudden death. And I again could do nothing."

Naruto reaches for her palm, covers it with his. Sakura is silent, watching eternal spring circle outside the window.

"And then came Kakashi," she says eventually.

Naruto straightens up, leans closer, eyes widening.

"Kakashi-sensei?"

"Yes. He appeared at my husband's funeral. Gray-haired, but still the same. He started stopping by. Just sat in my living room, read his stupid books, sometimes talked about the weather, sometimes was silent for hours. And one day..." she falls silent, choosing words. "One morning, when I was forty-three, I woke up and realized I fell in love again. With an old man with gray hair who read erotica in my living room and brewed the worst tea in the world."

Naruto laughs ringingly, throwing his head back.

"Old pervert! And how long were you together?"

"Twenty years," Sakura's face brightens, wrinkles seem to smooth out. "Twenty amazing, beautiful years. We didn't get married. Just were together. He died at seventy-seven. In his sleep, holding my hand."

Naruto squeezes her fingers tighter.

"He is here," he says quietly. "Kakashi-sensei. He is already here."

Sakura freezes, eyes wide open.

"He... where?"

"In his place," Naruto smiles. "Walking his path, like all of us. Maybe you will find him. Who knows? Time works strangely here. People meet when they are meant to meet."

"And Sasuke?" her voice trembles when she asks. "Is he... is he here too?"

Naruto becomes serious for a moment.

"Yes. He is here. He is waiting, Sakura. Always waited only for us. When you are ready. When he is ready. When the time comes."

"I waited so long," she whispers. "So long."

"We have eternity, Sakura. Eternity. So what do you want to do?"

"I want to eat a huge bowl of ramen, Naruto."