The journey back to Konoha was a grueling blur of muddy trails and endless forests. Souta and Hinata moved steadily, her Byakugan scanning for threats. By the time Konoha's towering gates came into view, the late afternoon sun painted the village in hues of gold and shadow, a familiar warmth cutting through the chill of early spring.
Souta adjusted his pack, the straps digging into his shoulders, and let out a low whistle. "Home sweet home," he said, his grin crooked but genuine. "Thought we'd never make it."
Hinata's lips curved faintly, her pale eyes softening as they traced the village's skyline—the Hokage Rock. "It's… good to be back," she murmured, her voice filled with relief. She shifted her cloak, the damp fabric clinging to her frame, and glanced at him. "You're heading to your place?"
"Yeah," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Need a bath and a bed that doesn't smell like river muck. You?"
They passed through the gates, nodding to the familiar faces of the gate guards, who waved them in with lazy grins. The village buzzed around them—vendors calling out, kids darting through the streets, shinobi weaving through the crowds with purpose. Souta kept pace beside Hinata.
They reached a fork in the road, where the path split toward the Hyuga Compound and the quieter outskirts where Souta's house was. Hinata slowed, turning to face him, her hands clasped lightly in front of her. The sun caught her dark hair, framing her face, and for a moment, she looked less like the fierce kunoichi who'd saved his life and more like a woman carrying a secret she wasn't sure how to share.
"Souta," she started, her voice low, deliberate. "I'm going to the Hyuga Compound. I need to… check in, handle things." Her eyes flicked to his. "What happened out there—us—it stays between us, alright? I don't want it reaching the clan."
He nodded, understanding. The Hyuga were rigid, their eyes always watching, their expectations heavier than stone.
A civilian like him, tangled up with their prized kunoichi? That'd stir a mess neither of them needed—gossip, pressure, maybe worse. "Got it," he said. "My lips are sealed. You don't need to explain."
Her shoulders relaxed, a flicker of gratitude crossing her face. "Thank you," she said softly. "It's not… I'm not ashamed. It's just—"
"Complicated," he finished, his grin softening. "I know. Don't worry, Hinata. We're good."
She held his gaze a moment longer, something warm passing between them—trust, maybe, or the promise of something more, later. Then she stepped back, adjusting her pack. "I'll see you soon," she said, her voice quieter now. "Take care of yourself."
Souta's grin widened, and before she could turn, he leaned in, quick and smooth, pressing a kiss to her cheek. Her skin was soft, warm under his lips, and he lingered just a second, catching the faint scent of her—clean, like rain and cedar. "You too, princess," he murmured, pulling back with a wink.
Hinata froze, her cheeks flushing a soft pink, her pale eyes widening before narrowing in mock reproach. "You...," she muttered, but her lips twitched, betraying a smile she couldn't quite hide. She swatted his arm lightly, more reflex than anger, and turned toward the compound, her steps steady but her flush lingering.
Souta watched her go, her silhouette shrinking down the path, her dark hair swaying with each step. The Hyuga Compound's gates were in the distance. He stood there a moment longer, the kiss still tingling on his lips, then shook his head with a chuckle. "Trouble," he muttered to himself, turning toward home.
The walk to his house was quiet, the village's noise fading as he hit the outskirts. His place—a modest two-story tucked among scraggly pines—looked smaller than he remembered, the paint chipped, the porch sagging slightly. He pushed the door open, the familiar creak greeting him, and dropped his pack with a thud.
He kicked off his boots, heading for the kitchen, his stomach growling. The cabinets were bare—figures, after weeks away—but he found a stale heel of bread and a jar of pickled plums.
Good enough. He slumped into a chair, chewing slowly.
Souta's eyelids grew heavy as he leaned back in the creaky kitchen chair, the stale bread and pickled plums settling uneasily in his stomach.
The house was quiet, too quiet, the kind of silence that made every creak of the old wood feel like an intrusion. He rubbed his eyes, ready to collapse onto his lumpy mattress.
Then—BOOM. The front door exploded inward, splinters flying as the hinges shrieked in protest. Souta jolted upright, heart slamming against his ribs, his hand instinctively grabbing the knife on the counter. "What the—?!" he yelped, spinning toward the wreckage, half-expecting Root ninjas or some new brand of trouble.
Instead, framed in the shattered doorway, stood Kushina Uzumaki. Her crimson hair blazed in the moonlight, wild and tangled, her eyes narrowed to slits of pure fury. She stormed in, her fists clenched like she was ready to punch through stone. "Souta, you idiot! Where the hell have you been?!" she bellowed, her voice rattling the windows.
Souta blinked, knife still raised, his brain scrambling to catch up. "Kushina?! What—my door! You just—why?!" He gestured at the wreckage, shock giving way to exasperation. "You couldn't knock like a normal person?"
"Knock?!" she snapped, closing the distance in three strides, her finger jabbing his chest hard enough to make him wince. "You vanish for weeks, no word, no nothing, and you think I'm gonna knock? I thought you were dead!" Her voice cracked on the last word, anger mingling with something raw—worry, maybe, or hurt.
He lowered the knife, setting it on the counter, hands up in surrender. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry! It's been… a lot. I didn't mean to ghost you." He rubbed the back of his neck, his grin sheepish but genuine. "Didn't think you'd blow my door off its hinges over it, though. That's new."
Kushina huffed, crossing her arms, but her glare softened a fraction, her shoulders slumping as the adrenaline ebbed. "You're lucky it was just the door," she muttered, kicking a splinter across the floor.