Chapter Text
You were so small, when you were born.
Just a tiny little miracle, a tangible love.
There was so much we wanted you to be, so many things we wanted for your future. We couldn’t wait to see what you bloomed into, and how you would tackle the road of life. You had eyes like the sky and hair like the sun. You were just made to be the centre of our world.
We watched you grow, we watched you change, we watched you learn to love.
And now, you can take on the world. Now you can be whoever you want to be.
Now, we get to see who you really are.
Now, you start to become your own person.
So now go do the best things in life.
Shine your light on this world.
It was seven thirty already.
“You’re not going to school until you eat something,” Ino said firmly.
Inojin stared at the kitchen table, chewing pensively on his lower lip. “We’ve got a test today. I have to go.”
“And if you’ve got a test, you’ll need energy. Eat, or you’re staying home.”
Inojin sighed, pushing his bangs away from his face. “But Mom-“
“No ‘but Mom’s, we’ve talked about this before.”
“I can eat with Shikadai later. I told you, I’m not hungry-”
“And you’re only ‘not hungry’ when something is bothering you.” Ino crossed her arms, staring her son down. “Talk to me, or go back to bed, but you’re not ignoring the problem.”
Inojin made a disgruntled groan under his breath. His head snapped up as Sai entered the kitchen, looking distractedly at a handful of paintbrushes. “Dad, Mom won’t let me go to school and I have a test.”
“Uh-huh,” Sai said, eyes still on his brushes.
“You’re not listening,” Inojin protested.
“And you’re not talking,” Ino said. “Your dad isn’t going to be sympathetic if you don’t communicate. Do you need me to talk you through your routine, or can you do it alone?”
Inojin groaned again.
“That’s not an answer.”
“Hm, fine,” he slouched further in his seat. He let out a loud breath. “I can see you and Dad and the window, and I can hear the birds and the fridge running and . . .” He trailed off, needing to focus. “And Dad’s footsteps. I am feeling frustrated, and my tummy hurts. That enough?” he looked hopefully up at Ino.
“That’s enough,” she assured. “Now, I know you’re frustrated at me, because I’m not letting you get away with avoiding things. Do you know what you were feeling before you were frustrated?”
He spoke into his chest, sinking lower in his seat. “. . . Tummy hurts.”
“Why?”
“. . . ‘Cause ‘m upset . . .”
“What’s upset you?” she asked softly, sitting down next to him and putting an arm around his shoulders.
“S’nothing.” He leant into her.
“Come on, sunshine, you know better than that. Now, what’s wrong?”
Inojin shrugged, staying silent.
“Are you fighting with one of your friends?”
He shook his head.
“Is someone teasing you at school?”
“It’s nothing,” he insisted, pushing harder into her, as though to hide.
“Nothing usually means you’re embarrassed,” Ino said.
“M’not.”
Sai finally seemed to notice there was a conversation happening. He asked, wonderingly, “What are we embarrassed about?”
“Nothing,” Inojin mumbled. He closed his eyes, hoping to block out the world and the conversation, but Ino nudged his chin with a finger.
“Eyes open, sunshine. You don’t get to hide while we’re talking.”
He opened his eyes with a strangled whine, squirming in his seat, the whole situation setting him on edge. He knew, though, that Ino would persist until she had pried the information from him. It was easier to give in.
“Field trip,” he finally muttered.
“What field trip?” Ino stroked a hand through his hair.
“Mist.”
“Inojin, think and then speak.”
He made a shallow, frustrated noise, but finally added, “The class is going on a field trip to Mist. For a week.”
Ah, Ino thought. He’s nervous. “I’m sure you’ll have fun.”
Inojin’s head shot up at her words, quickly realizing they were a cleverly disguised way of saying ‘You’re going whether you want to or not’. “But, Mom-“
“No buts. You’ll be fine. It’s good to get out and try new things.”
“But a week.”
“Shikadai will be right there with you. So will Chocho.” Ino squeezed him reassuringly. “And you can call me if you need to. And you know exactly what to do if you get worried, don’t you?”
Inojin answered sulkily, “Three things I can see, three things I can hear, and what I’m feeling.”
“Perfect,” Ino squeezed him closer, dropping a kiss onto his head. “Now, what do you want for breakfast?”
Inojin made a face. “I’m not hungry.”
“Not an option, and you know it.” Ino stood up. “Toast it is. Peanut butter or cheese?”
The whole class was talking about the trip to Mist. It loomed over Inojin like a dark cloud, and he approached his friends, hoping to gain comfort from the familiarity of being with them.
Boruto and Sarada were arguing again – it was all they ever seemed to do – and Chocho was mediating loudly.
“Need a hug,” Inojin muttered, thunking his face onto her shoulder.
Chocho wrapped her arms around him without question, squeezing firmly, and not once breaking her streak of reprimands. Inojin relaxed into her a bit. Hugs, he discovered, could be wonderful things. They were warm and soft, and the pressure helped him feel like he wasn’t falling apart.
There were only a few people he was comfortable enough with for hugs, and Chocho was always one of the first he would go to if he needed anything. He still recoiled from physical contact with other people, finding their unfamiliar touch to be off-putting, but it helped having friends who were willing to do whatever he needed.
And Chocho gave the best hugs.
“You smell like peanut butter,” she informed him.
He smiled against her shoulder. “Breakfast.”
“Hey, Inojin, everything okay?” Boruto asked.
Inojin didn’t have the energy to look at him, but he nodded. Interacting with Boruto could be draining, with his exuberant presence often pulling all Inojin’s energy away from him. Things had been tense between them in the past, but these days they mostly got along well. Boruto had learned not to push, and Inojin had learned not to look, and they did fine together.
Boruto’s genuine concern warmed Inojin’s stomach, but he was still a bit much to handle sometimes.
“Are you excited for the field trip?” Sarada asked, in a far gentler tone. Inojin liked the way she spoke to him – she was always patient and aware. She kept her tone as neutral as possible, and that helped, because sometimes Boruto’s torrents of emotion confused Inojin, and he couldn’t understand what was being said to him.
Sarada was clear spoken and clinical when she talked to him, and he could always understand her.
“Maybe.” He wasn’t sure how to answer. It sounded like fun, but at the same time worrying.
Chocho finally released him, having decided she had squeezed him enough to recharge his confidence. He stayed close to her side, not quite touching, but in her space.
Boruto and Sarada took up their argument again, and Inojin was content to listen. Most of it went right over his head – he had trouble following rapid speech, and hated arguments because he could never keep up with them. He relied on Shikadai to do the talking when things got heated.
Speaking of, he hadn’t seen his best friend that morning. He nudged Chocho’s arm, whispering, “Shikadai.”
“Hasn’t arrived yet,” Chocho shrugged. “Probably sleeping in. If he doesn’t come you can sit next to me.”
Shino chose that moment to arrive, and the class scrambled into their respective seats. He made it halfway through the first lesson before Shikadai sauntered in, looking unapologetic.
“You’re late,” Shino said flatly.
“Family issue.” Shikadai plopped into his seat next to Inojin.
“You know that’s not an excuse.”
“Wanna call my mom and tell her that?” Shikadai asked, with one raised eyebrow. Chocho sniggered behind her hand.
Shino’s mouth tightened into a thin line, but he said slowly, “No. Don’t let it happen again.”
Inojin shifted into Shikadai’s space, relieved to finally have him close by. He didn’t feel up to talking, and that was okay because Shikadai didn’t mind if he couldn’t speak. Shikadai gave him a sideways smile, and it instantly made Inojin relax.
He dropped his eyes down to the surface of the desk for a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. He knew he was supposed to pay attention to whatever Shino was saying, but it was hard to listen sometimes. He stared out the window instead, eyes on a nearby tree.
There were no birds on it, but he studied the leaves, noting how they swayed in the gentle breeze. There were a few clouds drifting by as well. He was counting the clouds when Shikadai elbowed him.
“Huh?” he dragged his attention back inside the classroom.
“Inojin,” Shino said reproachfully. “Pay attention.”
“Sorry,” he murmured. He heard someone snicker behind him, and his cheeks flushed pink.
He tried, he really did, to keep his attention on Shino, but there were too many other things that held his interest. The wood grain on the desk was fascinating, and he loved to stare at it and find pictures and shapes within the swirls and variations. He could find different things almost every day, and he traced his fingers over the new findings.
There was a shadow and a knot in the wood that looked like a bird. He ran his nail over it, imagining what it would be like to draw it. He smiled to himself, moving on to the next shape. This one was a daisy flower, his mother’s favourite, and right next to it was a butterfly.
His musing ended abruptly when Chocho laid her hand over his wrist, halting his tracing. He startled slightly, a low squeak escaping him.
“It’s break time,” she said gently.
He looked at the clock, startled. Class had only just started. “When did . . . What did I miss?”
Shikadai sighed loudly. “It’s a drag, but here’re my notes.” He shoved a page under Inojin’s nose. “Give them back when you’re done copying them. I’m gonna take a nap.”
“Outside?” Inojin asked, as the rest of the class started milling out the door. He wanted to draw Shikadai. He loved drawing Shikadai, and it helped that Shikadai was easy to get laying still.
“Yeah, sure,” Shikadai shrugged, and Inojin smiled. “A nap in the sun sounds nice.”
Inojin was meant to be doing his homework, but his mind was wandering. He could see birds through the window, and was watching them flit around outside, watching how they moved and hopped.
He liked doing his homework at the kitchen table; it meant he could watch the birds and listen to Ino moving around, and sometimes she would leave the TV on so there was a constant drum of indiscernible noise in the background.
“Inojin.”
He blinked, wondering when Ino had appeared next to him. “Hm?”
“I’ve called you three times. Did you not hear me?”
He shook his head, adding, by way of explanation, “Birds.”
Ino studied him. His focus was growing worse. Shino had spoken to her more than once, observing Inojin zoning out during class, and often she called him for meals and received no response. She worried about him, concerned his attention would drift at a time when he needed to focus.
“This is your new medication,” Ino said, plopping the bottle in front of him. “We’re starting at a half dose for a few days, to see how it goes.”
“The other medicine made me feel weird,” Inojin muttered.
“That’s why we’re trying a new one,” Ino reminded him. “And you still need to take your anti-anxiety medication, at the same time.”
“I don’t need it.”
“It helps you concentrate.” Ino sounded patient. This was not the first time having this conversation. “Remember how hard school was before we tried it? And life is only going to get harder. You graduate in a few weeks, then you’re taking missions. You need to be able to focus for the whole day.”
“No one else has to take medicine every day,” Inojin grumbled. He pushed the bottle of pills away, getting them out of his space.
“You don’t know that,” Ino said airily. “Maybe some of them do, and you’ve just never seen it.”
“The other one made me feel sick.”
“I know. This one shouldn’t do that. But when you weren’t taking anything, you couldn’t focus on anything, and you didn’t do very well in school. You’re doing much better now. Try this, and we’ll see how it goes. You can let me know if you don’t feel well.”
Inojin sighed. “Don’t like it.”
“I know, love.” Ino ran a hand through his hair, moving to stand behind his chair. She smoothed her palm along his forehead, brushing his hair back. “I don’t like it either.”
She wished he didn’t have to suffer. She wished he could just spend each day like everyone else did. She wished he wasn’t burdened with so much. Medicating had felt like defeat, and she had spent weeks agonising over whether or not it was the right decision. It felt like masking the problem, it felt like a crutch, like a cover up. It felt like she was unable to teach her child to live his life.
It had taken a long time to come to terms with the fact that it was necessary. There was no shortcoming in her parenting, or Inojin’s learning. Sai had repeated that endlessly, carefully parroting Sakura’s words, until Ino had eventually slapped a hand over his mouth and hissed, “I know, stop saying it over and over again!”
Now, she continued to fidget with Inojin’s hair. She wanted it longer, but he liked it the length it was. It was still gorgeously smooth and silky, and she leaned down to breathe him in, revelling in how open he was to contact when he was relaxed.
She had to grab hugs and kisses in between bouts of adolescent tantrums and over-stimulation that left him grumpy and uncomfortable with anyone’s touch. Moments like these, when he smiled and let her do what she wanted to his hair, were ones that she cherished.
He was reading the bottle of pills, shaking it occasionally to listen, and humming tunelessly to himself as Ino combed her fingers through his bangs. His head snapped to the door as Sai entered.
“Dad!” Inojin sat up a bit straighter in his seat, but didn’t escape Ino’s hold. “You’re home already? You said you’d show me how to use watercolour paints properly. Can we do that now?”
“Homework,” Ino reminded him gently, letting his bangs fall across his forehead again.
“It’s almost done,” Inojin tipped his head back. He locked his eyes onto Ino’s for as long as he could, before he had to wrench his gaze away.
“Finish it first,” Sai said, coming fully into the kitchen. He leaned over to give Ino a kiss on the cheek, which she returned on his mouth.
Inojin made a face, looking back to his homework. His parents were gross. He picked up his pen, getting his attention back on his work. It was easier to focus with Ino staying behind him, talking to Sai in a low voice and running her hands through his hair. He liked the way it felt. He hummed under his breath, content and relaxed.
“How is he doing?” Sai asked later, watching Inojin through the window as he sat on the grass sketching flowers.
Ino sat next to Sai on the couch, with a slight grimace. “Not so great. Shino says he’s struggling to concentrate. He’s getting distracted too easily. It’s hard for him to focus when everyone is talking at once in class.”
Sai nodded. “That sounds like it might become an issue.”
“It’s already an issue. If he’s struggling in a class, imagine what it’ll be like in the field. When missions start – he needs to be able to focus on his task. I get worried that he’ll get into a fight and get overwhelmed.”
“But he copes okay in training,” Sai pointed out. “He trains with his team and doesn’t get distracted.”
“Temari says the other two cover him too much,” Ino leaned back into the couch. “She says Chocho blocks all the attacks on Inojin and Shikadai keeps him at the back of formations.”
“When last did you train with them? Is he really struggling that much?”
“I haven’t had a chance in the last few weeks,” Ino passed a hand tiredly over her eyes. “Temari and Karui have taken on most of the training sessions this month. I’ll try fit one in with them soon.”
She fell silent for a while, just watching Inojin. After a few minutes, she spoke softly, “I got a new medication for him to try.”
Sai looked at her. “Are you okay with that?”
“Not really.”
“It helps him.”
“I know. But that doesn’t make me feel like any less of a failure. I know I shouldn’t compare him to anyone else, but we’re the only ones with a kid who needs help to function day to day.” Ino shifted a bit closer to Sai, trying to push away the nagging feelings of defeat.
“You know that’s no one’s fault. It’s not your fault.” His words were carefully rehearsed; this was a conversation they had had multiple times.
“I know. But I still . . .” Ino shook her head. “I know that rationally there’s nothing I could have changed, and I did nothing wrong, but I still can’t quite shake that I’m the problem.” It was a constantly lingering thought, that she had failed Inojin as a mother.
And now, with his career as a shinobi looming closer, it felt like all those worries were starting to become real.
She was terrified for him.