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The day dawns warm. The sun rests against Souma’s skin, warm and comforting. Gentle—for now. Standing on the porch, he breathes out slowly. His dreams had been restless things, made worse by the humidity of the night. He’d woken up to the sheets kicked off, twisted off the bed, hanging loose. The window had been open, but there’d been no cool sea breeze until the early hours of the morning when he’d started stirring.
Where Konoha often had muggy, humid weather in summer, Uzushio usually had a few heat waves, only made bearable by the cool sea surrounding them. Souma had suffered through his first few summers in irritation, nightmares worsened by the heat and humid nights, but eventually he’d figured out ways that made things easier, if not better. And he’d asked others how they managed, figured out tips and tricks that helped him.
(Years after his escape from ROOT and Konoha, he now understands that the humidity of Uzushio’s summer heat waves subconsciously reminds him of Konoha. The experiences he endured there that shaped him, the ones that hurt in more than one way, and the memories of things done in the name of Konoha, whatever face the village had worn at the time. Trauma does not leave him, does not leave any of them, unscathed. It stays with him, a companion through the years, but it is not the only one, and that makes things slightly more bearable.)
The sun continues to rise. The temperature rises. The sun’s rays turn scorching. Sora steps out onto the porch; stands next to him. He looks at her while she looks out at the street. He categorises her scars, traces the ones he knows well with his eyes, takes note of the ones he doesn’t remember properly.
Sora turns. Faces him. Smiles. It’s lopsided and has been for almost as long as they’ve been on a team together. The scar on the left corner of her lips is barely visible, only spotted thanks to his proximity and familiarity with her. For a moment, Sora looks like she hasn’t changed throughout the years he’s known her. The same old teammate, same old ex-ROOT, same old kunoichi. Then he blinks and the image is gone. Laugh lines are etched into her skin now, creases around the corners of her eyes, lines by her mouth. There are a few strands of grey hair scattered amongst the brown, but he can’t see them. He only knows they’re there because they’d laughed over them as a group, trying to find grey hair on one another.
“You alright?” Sora asks, words quiet as if speaking aloud would mean fracturing the world around them. It feels that way, like speaking will break something. In the distance, there’s an insurmountable object bearing down on them. It beats against Souma’s bones, a constant thud he cannot escape. But there’s nothing out there, nothing to see and nothing to fight. There’s only him.
He breathes out, tilts his head backward and feels the sun against his skin. It’s not too hot, but in another few minutes it will be. Nevertheless, he doesn’t think about that, instead he thinks about the sheets thrown off, the breakfast left out in the kitchen for him, the letter with his name on it written that morning before he got up.
(It would’ve taken time, stolen the few free minutes Toru has each day that are his and his alone, but Toru had done it anyway. Unplanned, Souma reckons. A moment of spontaneity. Done out of love, out of understanding, out of care. A letter to remind him that he is loved, always, and that he will live through this.)
“Yeah,” he says at last, and it feels like it could be true. A heat wave might be beginning and the nightmares might be waiting for him, but that might be okay. Right now, it is, and that’s enough. Sometimes it has to be enough.
Sora doesn’t question him, just keeps standing beside him, like there’s nowhere else she’d prefer to be. He hears a thud from inside and laughs, smiling as he turns back, goes indoors with Sora following him.
Somehow, Dai has managed to beat them and appears to be fine as she washes her bowl and cutlery in the sink. She’s relaxed, shoulders loose, but there’s a subtle hunch to them indicating humiliation. It’s well-worn, a familiar routine, and more done for laughter than any actual shame. Still, as Souma trails past, he brushes a hand over her back, absent-mindfully presses the sign ‘love’ against her back, (verbally is not the only way to communicate, not for them).
He passes the couch on the way to his bedroom, notices the stain on the floor in the perfect shape of a bowl, smiles but says nothing, (routine but still not on purpose). He doesn’t need to change, but he fastens his weapon pouch to his leg, makes sure that it’s stocked, then heads back out.
Dai’s ready by the door, frowning at the sun outside. The heat’s noticeable now. It won’t interfere with their abilities, won’t make them weak, but it makes them struggle on a personal level, makes it harder to stay awake, makes it harder to stay on task.
Last to join them is Sora, something sly to her walk, a hint of a ploy successfully made. Souma doesn’t know what it is, can’t bring himself to ask. It won’t be anything dangerous, never is with Sora, and if it goes badly? Well, a few hours apart to think for themselves and then an overdue conversation later works wonders for communication. They never mean to hurt one another, but it can happen accidentally.
(They all have triggers. Some are on a hairline, and others can only be trigged by a hard stomp. But they go off, always. They struggle and they breathe and they come together, always. Then they go out into the world and keep going, because there is no alternative. Some days that makes him rage, other days he knows how to live with it. On his best days, he’s thankful it’s not worse.)
Sora leads them out, taking to the rooftops, and Souma feels comfortable to settle on her right with Dai on her left. The position is easy, the repetitive nature makes it harder, the sun settles against his bones, uncomfortable but immovable. He breathes in on one step, breathes out on the next. Breathes between each foot being placed down, feels the strength of the tiles beneath him, knows what they have weathered, (the blood-slick ground of a massacre disguised as a battle), and knows that some will never weather it in his time, (the blood of their ninjas as they die in droves).
The Uzukage office is mildly busy as it always is. The open-door policy works well, especially when paired with the numerous advisors and important government figures in the building. They enter through the door like the visitors they’re not. Toru doesn’t look up and doesn’t seem to outwardly change, but Souma finds himself breathing that little bit slower, (calmer, with his last teammate nearby and in his sight).
The ANBU guards fall back and Souma let’s his awareness of them drop to the back of his mind. They’re still close, technically still on Uzukage guard duty, but they let Toru’s team stand closer, take up primary positions while they drop to secondary positions, (technically, none of them are on Uzukage guard duty, but they’re Toru’s team so his health will always be paramount). It’s not necessary, not required, and certainly wouldn’t be allowed for anyone else. But they’re not like anyone else and that’s exactly the point. None of them would be here if things had been otherwise, (and that is something Souma will always be grateful for, even on his worst days).
A few moments pass in silence and then Toru is shuffling his paperwork, moving things from pile to pile, and looking up at them, smiling with his mouth and with his eyes. Souma scans him critically, searches for any sign of vulnerability, of tiredness, of disregarded self-care, but there’s nothing there. It’s rare that there is, these days, and the past few weeks have been full of good days for Toru, so perhaps it’s to be expected.
(And his teammates are there, as they always are, ready to support one another and remind them of their own needs. That self-care is important and that they will help, if it’s wanted, if it’s needed. And it’s always accepted.)
Toru wears the stress and hardship of the Uzukage position well. He always has. It’s not like the position was made for him, although Toru certainly recreated it skilfully so that it suits him, and the responsibility sits well on his shoulders. It helps him keep his chin up, meet the gaze of everyone around him, adds strength to his words, (all these things were already there, Souma knows, but there is reason now, people trust him more for the position he has).
Sometimes Souma wonders if Toru will ever tire of being Uzukage. He can’t imagine it. Can’t imagine Uzushio without Toru as Uzukage and can’t imagine Toru not being Uzukage. They seem like impossibilities, even if they must come true one day.
(None of them will be ninjas forever, but it’s not a life Souma is ready to commit to, or even think about. He’s happy as is, guarding the Uzukage, guarding Toru, and taking up missions when he’s called to. He loves his life, loves it more than he has words for.)
There’s no grey hair hidden in Toru’s hair, no laugh lines crinkling his eyes or creasing the corners of his mouth. Too young, for all those things. Too old not to have them, Souma sometimes thinks.
“You’ve been busy,” Toru says, words amused; and he’s looking at Sora. There’s something here Souma’s missing, something going unknown, but he rests his weight in his heels and lets it roll over him like a distant wave. He’ll know soon enough.
Sora shrugs. “First heat wave of summer has come,” she says. “I think I recall mentioning that we should make plans for the first heat wave at some point last summer.”
Turning his memory back, Souma tries to remember if Sora had said such a thing. But last summer came and went, months ago, and the memory flees from his searching fingers. Marked unimportant, gone unremembered, by all—it seems—but Sora.
“I don’t,” Toru says, still amused, “but you remembered for us.”
Sora laughs, gleeful, edged with excitement. And it sets Souma’s heart racing like he’s running across the ocean towards Uzushio, despite the heat of the day. “So, Toru? Is that the agreement I need?”
A piece of paper lies flat in front of Toru. From where Souma stands, it doesn’t look like an official form of any kind. Not anything he knows, at least, which isn’t much when considering there’s a whole government system of paperwork out there. But Sora’s hand-writing is familiar, although the other two aren’t familiar enough that Souma can recognise the writers. A signature is scrawled across the bottom—the Uzukage’s. Toru’s.
“A three-day trip across Uzu no Kuni’s islands,” Toru says, “to explore our country and make sure the Uzukage is known and welcomed by communities and by individuals. Officially, at least.”
“And unofficially?” Dai asks, smile on her lips.
“A break and a trip without any official duties or tasks,” Sora says. “It’ll be a vacation!”
Souma considers it. Days spent out in the heat; nights trapped beneath the night sky with all of its humidity. It doesn’t sound particularly appeasing. But he considers spending days with his teammates, alone for the first time in months, (because Toru cannot leave whenever he wants to, he has to be in Uzushio more often than he is out of it, and the times they do leave never lasts for long; besides, it’s always for a mission). There’s nothing in his chest urging him to run, yet it feels like something is rushing towards him. It won’t be a proper break, never can be with such a short time and responsibilities always sitting on their shoulders, but it could still be relaxing.
“Sounds nice,” he says, eyes sliding away from Sora and Dai towards Toru. The last holdout, technically, but only because he is the one who cannot leave whenever he wants, (yet is not trapped, not as Uzukage).
“I have been cleared to go,” Toru says. “But—starting today.”
(He doesn’t add that there are things that will not wait for him. Doesn’t need to. They are all far too aware of such things.)
“Starting today,” Souma agrees. The words feel like they settle within his ribs, a promise waiting to be understood.
They head north first, heading across the waves at an even lope. The water’s calm, droplets clinging to Dai’s legs. In winter, it would’ve made her break out in goose-bumps, but now it only feels pleasantly cool with the heat of summer doing its best to bake her alive.
Due to the number of boats around them, they can’t race each other and it makes the whole thing feel surreal. Usually, when heading out on a mission, Toru would let them race one another for a few minutes, enjoying the speed and the wind and laughing the whole time, (they know to pace themselves, but it’s always glorious to race one another just for fun).
There are no ninjas nearby and Toru’s not wearing anything that identifies him as the Uzukage, so they make their way to the next island without stopping. When they reach the shore, Toru pauses, stands still on the sand, and seems uncertain in a way he rarely shows.
Sora and Souma appear to be waiting on him to do something, decide something, and it makes Dai a little bit sad, (it almost makes her mourn for the things they lost, the childhood they never had, but she’s worked past that grief, it is not hers to carry, and those things are in the past). Before Uzushio, Dai hadn’t had any direction to go in. She’d been a refugee, always looking over her shoulder; all too aware that her parents were waiting to be found, to be attacked, to be killed.
(She will never forget the way they reacted when Uzushio’s call came for them. It had been a call she felt in her bones, words whispered in her head, but it had been to something unknown, to something she’d only heard about in stories. Her parents had cried, hadn’t believed it at first, but they had followed Dai when she left because she had believed in it. When they got to Uzushio, they’d cried again. They hadn’t been alone.)
And so Dai’s used to not having a path to follow, to letting the world guide her rather than choose something to do. But… her teammates are not. Toru, for so much of this life, has been focussed on his goals; whenever he leaves Uzushio he is going somewhere, about to do something. Sora and Souma are the same—whenever they leave home, it’s to complete an objective.
They’re ninjas, made into soldiers, (some by their own hand, some by external forces), violence and death are major parts of their lives. Relaxing, for the most part, is downtime. Self-care. Taking a break from your responsibilities without abandoning them. It’s something that happens in the village, rather than outside of it.
(Sometimes Dai wonders what Toru’s first life had been like. Because, surely, he should remember these things, but maybe they’re memories left to fade in the past. Or maybe he never experienced such things and Dai tries not to think about that. She often tries to keep herself from thinking about the past of her teammates, tries to avoid actively thinking about how much better it could be. She can’t change the past, no matter how much she may want to. She just has to deal with the scars that remain and hope that things are better now.)
When she was a child, Dai had once visited the beach with her parents, (they had thought it to be risky, but Dai hadn’t known then, hadn’t understood). She remembers how blue the ocean had been, the way it appeared never-ending. She remembers playing in the lapping waves, building sandcastles, and jumping in the water with a few other civilian children who’d been at the beach for the day. She doesn’t remember getting sunburnt, although her parents say she complained about it endlessly for a week. She doesn’t remember the salt crusting at her skin, but it must have. She doesn’t remember much else from the day, but she clings to the few things she does.
She’s no longer a child, but she had been once. And the memory is hers to treasure in its simplicity. Surely, there are things she can still enjoy about the ocean, especially with her teammates. There’s no one in the immediate vicinity either—any towns are outside of her sensory range. Besides, anyone daring to attack Uzushio ninjas in the ocean deserve what’d come for them. They’re safe.
So Dai slips off her sandals, lines them up neatly on the sand. It’s warm enough that she could probably go into the water with her clothes on and they would dry quickly, but dry clothes are nice after a swim. The top comes off first, folded, and then the pants placed on top.
Souma catches on first, which isn’t unsurprising but also wouldn’t be Dai’s first bet. Like Dai, he slips off his sandals first, then his top and pants. He follows her into the water, but hesitates when it reaches his knees, (and she’s so glad to see him hesitate—that he’s willing to show it here, so far outside their home in what’s unknown territory, technically). He hesitates, likely not out of fear, but uncertain, Dai reckons. She smiles at him, steps further into the ocean, stumbles and faceplants into the water.
It sends a shock through her system, and there’s laughter sitting high in her throat. She gets her feet beneath her, resurfaces, and lets the laughter bubble out, unstoppable. Souma’s staring at her with wide eyes, surprised, probably by her lack of grace. Dai’s laughing at herself for it. Really, a ninja of her calibre probably shouldn’t be tripped up over an unexpected dip in the ground.
She scans the others. Sora and Toru both look relaxed, amused more than anything else, (and it’s good that they hadn’t jumped to try and save her; they’re letting themselves be at ease and relax). They’re both entering the water now as well, so Dai just heads further into the water until she’s standing in shoulder-high water.
The others join her and they seem less unsure now, although she’s displeased to realise the water isn’t exactly shoulder-height on them. Cons of being the shortest in the group probably. That’s fine though, it lets her shift so she can leap onto Souma’s back and cling to him. He shifts beneath her weight, but remains steady, moving his arms to support her better. In his ear, she whispers her plan. His frame shakes with silent laughter. She grins.
(She doesn’t remember why Sora had suggested they make plans for the first heat wave of the season, but she’s not surprised. Souma tends to withdraw in the humidity, while Sora gets louder, like she has to prove that she’s here. Toru doesn’t change, but the weather has never seemed to bother him as much as certain dates do. And she knows herself well enough that while the weather doesn’t cause problems, her worry over her teammates can trip her up.)
Souma charges forward, aims straight and true for Toru, who’s caught off-guard and falls backward into the water with a complaint rising from his lips. He disappears beneath the calm water, submerged, and then rises up beside Sora, hair flat against his scalp. There’s a smile on his face, laughter in his eyes, and Sora boosts him onto her shoulders.
“Unfair,” Dai complains, even as she squirms to be on Souma’s shoulders. “Souma, kick Sora’s knees out from beneath her!”
“As you wish,” Souma says, voice low and amused, and clearly content, (further from the shinobi stuck in his thoughts that he had been this morning, closer to the present, to their actions, and further from overthinking).
This time, Sora charges forward and Toru attempts to grapple with Dai, poking at her ribs and shoving at her shoulders. Dai gives back as good as she can get, with Souma trying to help her by splashing Sora who splutters and does the same back.
(There’s no clear loser in the end, no clear winner either, but laughing, laying beside each other in the sun on grass in dry clothes, it’s hard to feel like anything else but champions.)
Sora watches the sky turn from night to day alone. The others are all asleep, somehow remaining relatively near one another despite the heat that has yet to fade. It’s starting to grow hot already; which Souma will grimace about when he wakes up, even if he doesn’t actually complain aloud about it.
She hasn’t been up all night and there’s no watch either, (just seals that she’s learnt to trust over time), nor had she been woken up abruptly by dreams. She’d just gotten up, earlier than usual, and known she wasn’t getting back to sleep. If she’d gone to bed early yesterday, it might’ve made sense, but it’s summer and the nights come late, and they’d only gone to sleep hours after the sun went down.
The sunrise is starting to fade when Toru wakes up. Unsurprising. He’s usually one of the first up, and first out of the house too, going to the Uzukage office for his normal long hours. They don’t speak and Sora just sits in the sunlight, staring up at the sky, (and it’s so big, never-ending, and it’s so far away; so far from the things she had once known). Meanwhile, Toru starts preparing breakfast, unsealing things they’d packed briefly before leaving Uzushio. They hadn’t actually gone home, just to the markets and bought food that they might need.
(The sad fact of the matter is that they all have their go-bags on them. They can be mission ready in seconds, picking up more weapons for home, but they always have survival kits on them. However, since they’d planned to leave, they could afford to buy fresh food that would last the trip.)
“You alright?” Toru asks at last, voice quiet in the morning silence, as he takes a seat beside her.
Sora takes a minute to consider it. Her immediate answer leans towards the positive, the early morning wake-up hadn’t been expected but hadn’t been bad. She doesn’t feel tense, feels relaxed and content in the outdoors with her team. “I’m good,” she agrees, leaning a bit more on her weight against him as she takes a bowl of granola and fruit. “You?”
He breathes out slowly. It’s not measured or even, just slow. Doesn’t quite respond verbally, but settles comfortably against her. She’ll take that as an answer. Of all people, she knows how difficult words can be, especially when trying to describe your emotions. They’ve known each other long enough, lived beside each other long enough, that she can read his answer as far as he understands it—not tired and not bad, but not quite good either. Something he doesn’t have words for, not yet at least.
Souma’s awake now and moving quietly to let Dai rest for a bit longer. He smiles at them in greeting, something offered on reflex rather than thought, and it makes something in Sora settle. Like Sora, he grabs a fruit bowl made by Toru, who’s usually the one who makes breakfast for all of them as he’s first up, and crosses his legs, sitting across from them. He looks good in the sunshine, loose muscles and tranquil face; far from the quiet, overthinking teammate he’d been yesterday.
The others might not remember, but Sora does. She’d promised to make plans in the first heat wave of summer the year previous. Part of that had been because heat waves unsettle Souma and put Sora on edge until she gets used to it, part of it is because Toru works tirelessly and never complains, (wouldn’t think there is anything to complain about), and Dai—despite missions—starts getting restless every so often. The reason’s multifaceted but, in the end, it comes down to the fact they haven’t had a proper break to just be with each other for months. They might live together, but there’s always something waiting, something hanging over their heads. They try to leave work outside of the house, but it doesn’t always work.
That’s alright, though. They just have to find time, make it. They’ve done it in the past and they will do it again. Although, they’ve never done it like this before—new things to keep them on their toes, Sora figures.
(New things to experience when every day feels like the same day lived again and again and again.)
“Do you think we could check out the volcano?” Sora asks as she wipes down her bowl with a damp cloth. She’s seen a volcano before, both in Uzu no Kuni and elsewhere. The point isn’t visiting the volcano, not for Sora—besides the volcano on this island is extinct. It’s the height that Sora wants, the ability to see the world around her, the sky that forms a dome, the horizons that never get closer, (the openness and the freedom it comes with; far from cave walls that never opened up to the sky above).
None of them are leading technically. They don’t travel with a destination in mind, no plans, just a time limit. But Toru is their leader, always has been and always will be, (if he is to fall and they do not fall with him, they’d survive, somehow, but no one would ever fill the gap that Toru would leave behind, none would step into the position of leader that Toru has fashioned for himself—because he is not just their leader). “Sounds good,” Toru says, standing up and stretching. “Dai, time to wake up.”
Dai opens a single eye, lazy and half-asleep. She groans, buries her head in her makeshift pillow for a moment, before rolling up onto her feet and stumbling towards them. At the grabby hands she makes, Sora passes her breakfast with an amused smile. Given the chance, Dai’s often the last up and when she’s waking up, she’s all lax fingers and clumsiness, (it’s almost strange to see, but Sora’s glad for it, at least one of them has something like a normal childhood). Half the time, Sora figures, Dai does it for the laughter it creates, and the rest of the time it’s just because she doesn’t care and is willing to be vulnerable around them.
Pushing herself upright, Sora starts packing up the camp alongside Souma and Toru. Dai finishes her breakfast quickly and cleans everything used, packing them away. In minutes, they’re ready to go with no sign of their passing. The world will not remember them passing, they are ghosts, invisible.
(But they are alive in all the ways that matter.)
On bad days, in bad moments, Toru clings to breathing like it’s the only thing he can do. Sometimes it feels that way. But- But.
“Doing alright there?” Souma asks, settling down behind Toru, lifting Toru’s head up before placing it on his lap. Leaning backward, he rests his weight on his hands, letting the younger shinobi enjoy the sun on his face rather than shadows.
Smiling, Toru hums. The sun’s warm against his skin and they’re not moving, so he feels like he can just bask in the heat. It makes him sleepy. The moment presses against him and he tries to engrave the sensations into his memory. The warmth enveloping him, the grass brushing against his skin, the comfort effortlessly offered by Souma. It’s so easy to breathe, almost feels unnatural, how at ease the moment is. He breathes—not because he has to, not because it’s the only thing he can do, but because he’s so surrounded in love it just feels easy to relax and meditate on breathing.
He’d needed this. Not just the break from work, from responsibilities, from caring for an entire village. But… He got to watch Souma come to himself before things got too bad, got to see Dai share childhood memories and remake them, got to see Sora stand on the volcano rim and stare out at the world like there was no place she’d rather be.
And he felt the anxiety rising in his chest, trying its best to choke him, retreat. Sometimes he gets caught up in the fact he doesn’t have an end goal to march towards, just possibilities. Just empty hands. Kami, maybe that’s okay. Not knowing what lies ahead, not having a future aim, maybe that’s alright. He’s learning to live with it and his team’s always willing to remind him that he can, even when it feels like he can’t.
Souma shifts, and a careful hand runs through his hair, detangling it with gentle movements. Toru doesn’t open his eyes, lets himself relax further with a hum deep in his chest. Everything feels perfect, feels fake, feels like a dream. It’s not. It’s reality and it makes him want to run and run and run because the very thought fills him with energy.
He opens his eyes, meets Souma’s even gaze. “Love you,” he says, and Souma smiles back at him.
“Love you too,” Souma says easily. Then he shoves at Toru’s shoulder, and Toru pulls himself upright with a grunt. “C’mon, let’s go find the others.”
Toru knew the others had vanished somewhere. He wasn’t sure where, nor when it had happened; he’d probably been napping during it, but he doesn’t feel worried about it at all. It’s a vacation, (it’s something he’s never quite had before, knew the word as something civilians had, but maybe it’s something for everyone). “Where’d they go?” He asks, following Souma.
“They went to the village first,” Souma answers, “getting some fresh produce. Then they said they’d find us a campsite for the evening.”
The last evening, Toru knows. It’s a sad thought, but a distant sad thought. Something that could be an ache if pushed, but is willing to just be a gentle press from time to time. He doesn’t want to leave all of this behind—the memories, the laughter, the love. But those are things he has back in Uzushio too, and his team will be with him then, (will always be with him).
When they reach the other two, the sun is a few hours from setting and Toru is definitely ready for dinner. They could’ve gotten there faster, but the walk had been nice. Simple, perhaps, and far slower than their usual pace and maybe that had been why it’d been so nice.
The trees hadn’t been colossal giants, nothing like the massive trees surrounding Konoha, but they’d been big. And Toru had felt small next to them. The trees had to be decades old and must have seen so much in their time, (Uzushio’s fall, Uzushio’s rise), and Toru only has a few decades to his name. The stories these trees could tell… he wonders what they’d say.
“We have cold udon!” Dai says cheerfully when they arrive at their new campsite.
“Fresh produce, you said,” Toru says, shooting Souma an amused look. The older ninja just shrugs and sits down, taking the bowl handed to him by Dai. “I don’t quite know if noodles count as fresh produce.”
Sora grins. “A battle plan never survives first contact with the enemy,” she quotes and Toru can’t help but laugh.
“I don’t know if you could call a shopping list a battle plan,” he answers.
“I know you’ve been to a market,” Dai responds, mock-seriously, “it definitely is a battlefield.”
Toru doesn’t bother hiding his smile as he starts eating dinner. The conversation is casual, pausing only for them to finish mouthfuls, but never stopping. It flows easily like a river running out to sea.
Eventually, the food’s been eaten and the sun has set. The weather’s warm but it’s their last evening before all of this ends, whatever it is. And so, they fall in a pile of limbs like they do at home, soft and gentle and together in a way that’s always comforting. The silence begins to fall but Toru doesn’t want to sleep. He wants this to last forever, wants the memory to never leave him. “You see those three stars?” He asks, pointing at them. He gets murmurs in response. “Right, well they’re part of the constellation for… Shinju! Shinju was the loyal hound of a samurai called Kyō.”
He makes up a story, just like how he made up the constellation. The story’s easy to follow, falls from his lips as a cobbled together movie plays out in his head. It’s all made up, wild and chaotic and ringing false the entire time. But he makes his teammates laugh when he finishes telling the story and grins into the evening; the stars gaze down at them, bright as ever.
“I bet you I can do better,” Dai says, and then she starts weaving a tale all of her own. They pass the hours like that, telling made-up stories and trying to connect the stars into constellations of their own creation.
(The stars shift across the sky and the moon glows, but all that matters is the warmth of their laughter, of their joy, of their happiness. All that matters it the love they give to one another so easily. It’s their last night, but it’s not the end. It never really is.)
Three days is usually a lifetime on a normal mission, but for downtime it’s not long at all, especially when you’re used to completing multiple missions a week. With friends, though, it seems longer. They do so much, make every moment worth remembering, that it doesn’t feel like a short time at all. Not, at least, in terms of downtime. Souma feels more relaxed then he’s felt in a long time, tension drained from his body and mind at peace. The humidity almost feels like something he can ignore.
At the same time, it hadn’t been enough time. Nonetheless, Souma has a feeling there’ll never be enough time. He’ll always want to spend his time with his team, (his family), but he knows to take whatever he can get and be grateful for it.
Uzushio isn’t far away—on the horizon, just across an expanse of ocean. Not exactly a short run, but not a long one either. It feels like it could be a whole other world though; full of crowds and colours and man-made, far from the quiet nature they’ve been surrounded in for days, but… Uzushio is home, first and foremost. He doesn’t miss it—not after three days; but in time he would, he knows.
“Not long to go,” Dai says softly, tone just hard fact. It provides no insight into her thinking, (but she seems settled into her bones, content, ready to return if nothing else).
“Yeah,” Souma answers, rolling his head slightly to glance at his other teammates. Toru’s standing in the lapping waves of the beach, like he’s considering going in deeper, while Sora’s laid out in the sand possibly napping. “Not long at all.”
Dai hums, rests her head on his shoulder, and Souma breathes out. There’s salt in the air, from the sea of course, and it feels like home. The sand’s warm beneath him, the weather’s hot, and there’s no place he’d rather be.
Then Toru shifts, a subtle movement, but no longer standing in the water, but on it. He’s ready, yet Souma knows that Toru would wait for the rest of them, (in a situation like this, he could hardly do anything else).
Sora opens a single eye and then, with a grunt, rolls steadily to her feet, dusting off sand. She doesn’t look displeased, just calm, and Souma grins at her, nudging Dai as he stands. Dai’s the last up, but she’s also the first to step out onto the water beside Toru.
The path ahead is clear, no ships, nothing to disturb them or make them take a longer route. Toru twists, glances at them, amusement clear on his face—and energy too, something Souma’s missed seeing for a while, (he forgets, sometimes, that Toru is young, for all his years, he is still young even when he seems ageless). “Anyone up for a race?” Toru asks, and the question sends adrenaline shooting through Souma’s veins.
He laughs, gleeful, and steps out onto the water. “Of course,” he answers, and the others quickly voice their own agreement. They’re always willing to race, especially when there are no stakes but the ones they set themselves.
Toru darts off first, no warning, but they’re ninjas and don’t require it. Souma’s quick on his tail, spotting the slight flex of his legs before he’d moved, but the other two are quick to catch up. Toru’s fast, normally the winner of any race he’s part of when it comes down to pure speed, but…
(He thinks of Dai, faceplanting into the water; thinks of Sora, stumbling over a rock and almost falling down the side of a volcano; thinks of Toru getting dive bombed by a bird and falling off a tree branch as a result.)
Nothing’s certain. So Souma darts forward, stretches his stride, feels the water splash against his legs, cool and pleasant. They skate across the surface, daring each other to go faster and faster. The lead isn’t massive and Souma gains, getting closer and closer to Toru. He’s centimetres away when he reaches out, grabs a shoulder, shoves Toru down and sweeps his legs out from beneath him. Toru goes beneath the water, (lets himself be pushed beneath the water), and Souma sprints forward, eyes on the horizon, (on Uzushio; on home).
Except, he’s not alone, (never really is). Sora’s beside him, sending a wave of water to pause his momentum, and takes the lead instead. For a moment, Souma wonders where Dai is, and then—she’s there, leaping out of the water, graceful, and less than a metre in front of Sora.
They run, (they play), they race, all the way to Uzushio’s shores. The winner of the race is difficult to decide, but can’t be refuted; a foot on the shore before everyone else is the clear deciding factor.
(In the end, though, they’ve won everything that mattered a long time ago.)