Chapter Text
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The sun beat down on the wooden planks of the back deck, warming them until they smelled faintly of sun-scorched cedar and old varnish. Naruto lay sprawled across the boards, one leg bent lazily, the other stretched out as if he were testing how far his bones could reach. His white tank top clung to the line of his ribs, sweat darkening the collar, while the breeze played at the hem of his shorts, offering brief, teasing relief from the heat.
His left hand lay over his forehead, thumb pressed against the tender bruise above his eye. The skin was swollen, a muted red that had begun to turn dusky purple at the edges. His knuckles raw and angry lay splayed against his cheek like small, private confessions. Beside him, the old guitar that had once belonged to his father rested against the deck rail its worn wood catching the sun in soft streaks of amber. He hadn’t played it in weeks. The strings were probably out of tune, but just looking at it made something deep in his chest shift. Like there was still music in him, somewhere, waiting. He kept his eyes closed, not to shut out the world but to hear it better the hum of summer insects rising and falling like distant prayers, the far-off murmur of a creek winding its way down to the valley floor, the soft sigh of wind rattling the chimes Grandma had hung on the eaves.
Beside him, a plate of sliced apples glistened in the sun, their pale flesh beginning to brown at the edges. He didn’t touch them. The sweetness of the fruit seemed too gentle, too clean for the sharp taste in his mouth anger, shame, a bitterness he couldn’t name.
He shifted slightly, feeling the boards beneath him creak in protest. The sun pressed down, a heavy hand that made everything seem slower, more deliberate.
Inside the house, the world moved with an entirely different rhythm.
The kitchen was cool and shadowed, the thick wooden beams of the ceiling older than memory. The old woman moved with the quiet assurance of decades, hands deftly slicing through ripe tomatoes that bled red onto the worn cutting board. Each slice was deliberate, the knife moving with a soft, rhythmic whisper that felt almost sacred in the hush of the kitchen.
She paused only to glance at the stove, where a pot of miso soup simmered quietly, steam rising in lazy spirals that smelled of seaweed and earth. The air was alive with the quiet music of the countryside the ticking of the old wall clock, the occasional hum of a cicada echoing through the open window.
The woman’s hands were lined with age, each crease a testament to a life lived in patient devotion hands that had held babies, pruned stubborn tomato vines, wiped tears from cheeks that no longer needed wiping. Her fingertips were stained faintly with green, the faint scent of the tomato plants clinging to her skin.
She set the knife down for a moment, wiping her hands on the cloth at her waist. She didn’t look up—she didn’t need to. She knew Naruto was out there, baking in the sun like he was trying to burn away everything he didn’t want to carry anymore.
“Summer’s cruel,” the old woman said softly, almost to herself. Her voice was low, carrying the weight of years and the gentleness of acceptance. “It forces everything to grow. Even the things we’d rather stayed hidden.”
She turned back to her task, the blade moving through the next tomato with the same steady patience. Outside, the breeze shifted, carrying the scent of the river and the distant sweetness of wildflowers.
Naruto let the old woman’s words settle in his chest, their weight both comforting and heavy. He shifted again, rolling onto his side, his bruised knuckles catching the light. He opened his eyes, staring out at the stretch of green fields that rolled away from the house, each row of tomato plants standing at attention like soldiers in the midday sun.
He thought of the rumors. The sharp, cutting voices in the hallways at school. The laughter that wasn’t laughter just sharp edges meant to wound. He thought of Kiba’s fist, the way it had felt so final, like a period at the end of a sentence he didn’t even know he’d started.
He pressed his palm over his heart, feeling the slow, steady beat beneath his ribs.
“You can’t run from what you are,” he murmured to himself. “But you can learn how to carry it.”
He closed his eyes again, breathing deep. The air was hot and tasted of earth and salt. It felt like a promise. Or maybe a challenge.
Inside, the old woman finished slicing the last tomato and set the knife aside. She lifted the cutting board, sliding the bright red slices into a small bowl, adding a pinch of salt with the same careful deliberation. She stirred slowly, watching the juices bloom and pool at the bottom of the bowl.
She carried it to the open door and stepped out onto the back deck, her steps quiet, measured. She set the bowl down beside the plate of apples, her eyes meeting Naruto’s briefly just a flicker of blue, deep and knowing.
“You hungry, boy?” She asked, his voice calm, unhurried.
Naruto opened his eyes, blinking against the sun. “Not really,” he said honestly.
The old woman nodded, as if he’d expected nothing else. “That’s all right,” She said. “Sometimes hunger isn’t about food anyway.”
Naruto watched her retreat into the cool shadows of the house, the door swinging shut behind him with a soft click. He stared at the bowl of tomatoes, the bright red slices glistening in the sun like something alive.
He reached out finally, fingers hesitating over the rim of the bowl. He picked up a single slice, the skin warm against his fingertips. He brought it to his lips and bit down, the sweetness and acidity exploding across his tongue.
He closed his eyes as he chewed, letting the taste of summer fill his mouth sharp and real and honest in a way that words couldn’t be.
And for a moment, just a moment, he felt like maybe he could grow too.
~
The sun had begun its slow descent beyond the green slopes, washing the small wooden house in a soft amber glow. The countryside fell quiet with the coming dusk, save for the low hum of cicadas that rose and fell like an ancient chorus. The kitchen smelled of simmering broth and fresh tomatoes a fragrance as old and comforting as the lines on Grandma Hana’s face.
Naruto sat at the wooden table, slouched slightly, his bruised knuckles resting against the grainy surface like secret confessions. A faint line of smoke curled upward from the Black Cherry cigarette balanced in the ashtray near his elbow, its sweet scent mixing with the earthy tang of the tomato stew that steamed between them. His guitar leaned in the corner behind him worn, battered, waiting.
Grandma Hana moved quietly around the small kitchen, the only sound the rhythmic clink of chopsticks against ceramic as she set the dishes down simple, hearty- rice, miso soup, a small plate of pickled vegetables, and a bowl of fresh tomato slices glistening in their own juices.
Naruto lifted his head, pushing a strand of sweat-damp hair behind his ear. His eyes were bright, but tired like a boy who’d learned to wear armor he didn’t quite believe in.
“Eat,” Grandma Hana said softly, her voice carrying the weight of years. She sat down across from him, folding her hands neatly in her lap. She didn’t press, didn’t probe. She just watched him with those patient, unreadable eyes.
They ate in silence for a while an easy quiet that felt like the hush after a long storm. Naruto smoked in small, measured pulls between bites, the cigarette’s ember glowing softly in the low light. The Black Cherry scent was sweet, a small rebellion he clung to.
Finally, he set down his chopsticks with a soft clack, the sound like a question in the still air.
“Oba-chan,” he began, his voice low and careful, “I’ve been thinking…” He paused, the words catching in his throat, but he forced them out anyway. “I want to drop out of school.”
The words hung between them, suspended like dust motes in the fading light.
Grandma Hana didn’t flinch. She didn’t ask why or tell him he was making a mistake. Instead, she looked at him really looked, and her silence was deeper than any lecture.
She reached for the teapot, pouring herself a small cup of steaming green tea, the movement deliberate, grounding. She sipped once, eyes closed, then set the cup down with a soft exhale.
“I’ll sign the papers,” she said finally, her tone so calm it startled him. “If that’s what you’ve decided.”
Naruto blinked, stunned by the ease of her reply. He’d expected a fight, or at least a weary sigh of disappointment. But she didn’t give him either.
“You’re not… angry?” he asked cautiously.
She lifted her gaze to meet his eyes the same clear, unshakable blue they’d always been. “No, Naruto,” she said. “I’m not angry. Life doesn’t always fit into neat boxes. School… it’s just one path. Not the only one.”
Her words felt like a balm and a challenge at once. He swallowed, his fingers tightening around the edge of the table.
“But you can’t just… drift,” she continued, her voice gentle but firm. “If you’re not going to school, you’ll need to find work. The farm can only carry so much weight, and you’re old enough to start carrying your own.”
Naruto looked down at his plate, pushing a grain of rice around with his chopsticks. His mind felt like a guitar string pulled too tight, thrumming with questions he didn’t know how to ask.
“And more than that,” Hana added softly, “you need to figure out what you want for yourself. Who you want to be in this world.”
He lifted his eyes slowly to hers, the quiet power in her gaze holding him steady. “I don’t know,” he admitted. The words felt small in his mouth, but honest.
“That’s all right,” she said, her lips curving in the faintest smile. “You’re sixteen, Naruto. You don’t have to know. But you do have to ask yourself the question. Keep asking it, every day, until the answer comes.”
He took a slow breath, the smoke from his cigarette drifting upward like a prayer. “What if it never comes?”
She reached across the table, her hand warm and steady as it closed over his. Her skin was soft, paper-thin but strong, callused from decades of tending soil and holding lives together.
“It will,” she said quietly. “Because you’re already looking for it. And that’s more than most people ever do.”
Naruto’s throat tightened. He looked away, out the window where the first stars were beginning to blink into view above the dark line of the hills.
“I’m… I’m good at the guitar,” he said finally, the confession soft and a little unsure. “It’s the only thing that feels real, like… like it’s a part of me that doesn’t care what people say.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes kind. “Then play. Play until the truth of it comes out of your hands. Work until the song of you grows louder than the noise around you.”
He blinked, a sudden burn behind his eyes. The music had always been his refuge his father’s guitar, his own trembling fingers finding chords that felt like home.
“You don’t have to have all the answers today, Naruto,” Grandma Hana said, her voice as steady as the earth beneath them. “But you can’t stop asking the questions. That’s how we grow. Like the tomatoes slow and patient. No forcing, no rushing. Just… tending.”
Naruto closed his eyes, breathing deep. He could hear the quiet crackle of the old radio in the kitchen, the smell of sweet miso and warm earth, the soft rustle of the fields outside as the night settled in.
He opened his eyes again, meeting his grandmother’s gaze. And in that quiet, he felt something shift a tiny sprout of hope pushing through the cracks of his bruised, uncertain heart.
“Okay,” he said softly, his voice clear. “I’ll figure it out.”
She squeezed his hand once more, then let go. “I know you will.”
They finished their meal in a silence that wasn’t empty, but full like the space between heartbeats, or the pause before a song begins.
Later, when the stars were bright and the house was quiet, Naruto stepped out onto the back deck again. He lit another Black Cherry cigarette, the ember glowing red in the darkness. The guitar waited by the door, patient as the night itself.
He picked it up, fingers brushing the worn wood like a promise.
~
The cicadas had all but vanished from the countryside, traded in for the low hum of vending machines and the distant wail of a passing train. A month had passed since Naruto dropped out, the slow rhythm of farm life replaced with a kind of restless energy that even the endless rows of tomato plants couldn’t soothe.
Naruto spent his days working at his grandmother’s market lifting crates of vegetables with bruised, callused hands and charming old ladies with wry grins and sarcastic remarks. He still wore his white tank top and tattered jeans, a cigarette tucked behind his ear like punctuation to a sentence only he could read. At night, he played his guitar under the slow drift of stars songs half-finished, half-whispered to the warm summer dark.
But today was his day off. He’d fallen asleep curled up in his small bed, guitar propped against the wall like a silent guardian. The smell of fresh earth and wood smoke still clung to him, softening the edges of the city that lay just beyond the hills.
His phone a battered flip phone that had survived too many falls and too many arguments buzzed and clattered across the wooden nightstand.
“Fuck…” Naruto muttered, half-conscious, scrubbing a hand across his face. He flipped it open, voice thick with sleep. “Hello?”
“Yo, Naruto.”
At the sound of Shino’s voice, Naruto’s eyes snapped open. He sat up fast enough to make the bed creak, his blanket sliding to the floor in a heap. “Shino? Holy shit it’s been forever.”
Shino chuckled, the sound low and steady, like a secret shared between friends. “You sound like you’re still half in a coma, man.”
“Not my fault,” Naruto grumbled, running a hand through his hair. “Some of us have been hauling crates of tomatoes since dawn these days.”
Shino’s laugh rumbled in his throat, a sound that always made Naruto feel like the world wasn’t as cold as it sometimes seemed. “I bet you’re still sleeping in your tank top and shorts like a lazy cat.”
Naruto smirked, glancing down at himself. “Hey, it’s a vibe. So what’s up? You feeling okay?”
Shino paused, his silence soft but full. “I’m good today. Hospital’s been quiet for once. I was wondering if you wanted to meet up? I’ve got an afternoon pass.”
“Hell yeah,” Naruto said, grin slipping easy onto his face. “Let me brush my teeth and pretend I’m not a hobo first.”
Shino’s voice softened. “I’ve missed you, Naruto.”
Naruto’s smile wavered, something gentle flickering in his chest. “Me too, Shino. Me too.”
~
Naruto met Shino at the train station in Tokyo where the air tasted like exhaust and possibility. Shino stood leaning against a pillar, dressed in dark clothes that made him look like he was carved out of shadow. He had that same quiet authority he’d always carried like he was born with gravity in his bones.
Naruto approached with an easy grin, cigarette tucked behind his ear, guitar slung over his shoulder. “You look like a funeral director, Shino. Or a poet. I can’t decide.”
Shino raised an eyebrow, his mouth curving in a small, knowing smile. “Better than looking like a half-drunk busker.”
Naruto barked a laugh, bumping his shoulder lightly. “Touché, asshole.”
They wandered through the city together, weaving through the press of bodies like they belonged to the flow of it. First, they lost themselves in a record store dusty shelves of vinyl and cassette tapes, the air heavy with the scent of old paper and static. Naruto thumbed through rows of records, pulling out covers with wild art and half-forgotten band names, holding them up for Shino to see.
“This one looks like it was drawn by a guy high on paint fumes,” Naruto said, turning the sleeve over.
Shino smirked. “Sounds like your kind of vibe.”
Naruto flicked his cigarette’s cherry into a nearby ashtray, eyes glinting. “Better than Kiba’s bullshit taste in boy bands.”
Shino’s gaze turned sharp at the mention of Kiba. “You gonna tell me what really happened there?”
Naruto shifted, his lips twisting. “Later,” he muttered. “I’m not trying to ruin the day.”
Shino didn’t press. Instead, he gestured at a dusty corner of the store. “Come on. There’s a listening station over there. Let’s see if you still know good music.”
After the record store, they drifted into a comic book shop Naruto’s laughter echoing off the cramped aisles as he flipped through bright pages of heroes and monsters. Shino moved slower, fingers tracing the covers with quiet reverence.
“You always liked the weird shit,” Naruto teased. “Aliens and ghosts and all that.”
Shino shrugged, a faint smile playing at the edge of his lips. “Weird shit’s honest. It doesn’t pretend to be anything else.”
Naruto tilted his head, something in his chest tightening. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I get that.”
~
By dusk, they’d found themselves in a hole-in-the-wall ramen joint steam rising from cracked bowls, the air thick with the tang of soy and ginger. Naruto slurped his noodles noisily, flicking Shino a grin.
“I swear this is better than that fancy place you dragged me to last time,” he said between mouthfuls.
Shino chuckled, his eyes bright. “Cheap ramen always wins. You just like anything that doesn’t judge you.”
Naruto paused, chopsticks hovering. “And you’re gonna act like you’re not the same?”
Shino’s smile was small, but it reached his eyes. “I don’t pretend.”
Naruto leaned back in his seat, exhaling smoke as he reached for his cigarette pack. “That’s why you’re the only one I still want to hang with.”
~
They walked side by side as night fell, neon lights blinking in fractured constellations across wet pavement. Shino moved with quiet purpose, his breathing measured and even, despite the faint pallor of his skin.
“So…” Shino said at last, breaking the easy quiet. “What really happened with Kiba?”
Naruto’s jaw tightened. He flicked ash to the side, voice rough. “You don’t want to know, Shino.”
“I do,” Shino said simply, his tone gentle but firm.
Naruto’s shoulders slumped, and he spoke but his words were hidden from the reader, swallowed by the hush of the city around them. Shino just listened, his expression unchanged, the steady presence that Naruto needed but didn’t know how to ask for.
When Naruto finished, Shino shook his head slowly. “I never liked that guy,” he said flatly. “He’s always been a storm looking for somewhere to break.”
Naruto huffed a small, humorless laugh. “Yeah. Tell me about it.”
Shino reached out, laying a hand on Naruto’s shoulder. “I never believed the rumors about you,” he said quietly. “Not for a second.”
Naruto swallowed hard, something burning behind his eyes. “Thanks,” he said softly. “That… means a lot.”
Shino gave him a small, understanding smile. “You’re not the mess people think you are, Naruto. You’re just… real.”
Naruto blinked, then grinned, flicking Shino’s hand off playfully. “Fuck off, philosopher. Let’s go find somewhere with cheap beer.”
Shino laughed, the sound low and steady. “Lead the way, troublemaker.”
They turned a corner, the street buzzing with life drunk salarymen weaving home, girls in bright dresses laughing under the neon glow, the city alive with the sharp, electric scent of rain on pavement.
And that’s when it happened.
A sudden, sharp argument split the air. Two men, one calm and silent, the other a furious red storm in a hoodie and combat boots. The calm one had hair as dark as midnight, his eyes half-lidded, a flicker of amusement at the edges of his mouth. The angry one had hair the color of fresh blood, his voice a rasp of fury that cracked against the night like a whip.
Naruto wasn’t paying attention too busy flicking his cigarette butt into the gutter. He walked straight into the calm one, knocking the other boy slightly off balance.
“Shit-watch it,” Naruto snapped, instinctively defensive.
The red-haired boy turned on him, fury sparking in his eyes. “Watch yourself, asshole,” he hissed, his voice sharp as broken glass. The hood of his sweatshirt slipped back, revealing a face pale and fierce, eyes lined in black like a warpaint mask.
Naruto’s brows knitted, jaw tightening. “Who the fuck are you supposed to be?” he shot back, voice dripping with teenage bravado.
The calm one dark hair, eyes that saw everything just smiled faintly, his gaze steady on Naruto. There was something unsettling in that calmness, like deep water that hid more than it revealed.
The red-haired boy Gaara spat a curse in Naruto’s direction, his anger boiling over. But the calm one laid a hand on his shoulder, his voice a quiet ripple. “Let it go, Gaara. He didn’t mean it.”
Gaara glared, his breath ragged, but he turned away like the storm had passed as quickly as it came.
Naruto watched him go, something hot in his chest, but he couldn’t tear his gaze from the calm one.
The boy looked at him really looked. Eyes like ink and midnight. “Be careful,” he said softly, his voice low, calm, almost tender. “Tokyo’s full of sharp edges.”
Naruto blinked, something electric running through him. “Yeah,” he said, voice rough. “So am I.”
The calm boy’s lips curved, a secret smile. “I can see that.”
And in that brief moment amidst the neon and the noise, the promise of music and cigarette smoke something shifted. Like the world had turned a fraction of a degree, just enough for two broken boys to find the edges of each other.
Shino watched quietly, the faintest smile touching his lips. “Looks like you found trouble,” he murmured.
Naruto grinned, his bruised knuckles flexing at his side. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”