Chapter Text
The first year of officially being Hokage has been tough on Naruto. So tough that he’s honestly starting to wonder if exhaustion is playing tricks on his mind.
Like now.
Because Boruto—his proud, loud, utterly-not-a-morning-person son—is kneeling on the tatami in his office, forehead pressed to the mat, blushing bright red and respectfully pleading .
Naruto stares. Then blinks. Then rubs his eyes, like that might rewind time or wake him from some weird, paperwork-induced hallucination. Boruto even has a perfectly formal posture, back straight and neck bared, like some academy textbook example of shinobi etiquette. Naruto can’t help but feel a little impressed. Who taught him that? Naruto himself can never pull off that pose—his knees always end up pointing to different cardinal directions, some kind of side effect of living with toads during formative years.
His ears finally catch up to what Boruto just said, and the words slam into him.
“Uh. The what, now?” Naruto stutters. That’s probably the most eloquent thing his static-filled brain can manage right now.
Boruto doesn’t quip back about his old-man hearing, like Naruto half expects. Instead, the blush climbs all the way to his ears as he keeps his head bowed. He speaks slowly, like he’s delivering some dire confession.
“Please. I cannot celebrate it, but I swear on my life I won’t interfere—if it’s what you really want.” Boruto must have also changed a lot during the last year. The sweet cherub of his child is nowhere to be seen, and in his place there's a blonde brat with long limbs and a broader back than Naruto remembers having at that age.
Naruto just stares, his brain tripping over itself to keep up.
What is he even talking about?
The awkward silence stretches. Boruto must mistake it for refusal, because he closes his eyes tightly and keeps pleading.
“Just—at least swear you’ll be discreet about it from now on. Hima deserves to enjoy her innocence a little longer. And please don’t make that stuck-up nerd my stepsister.” The boy could really enunciate like his life depended on it.
Stepsister? Naruto’s brain rolls through its mental bingo book of academy-aged kids. Just like those slot machines he had to tear grandma Tsunade from, where beautiful red and black drawings of cranes would come and go... but with old file photos of ugly preteens.
A nerd.
A girl nerd.
A stuck-up girl nerd.
Oh. He quickly blinks, and an image of Sarada Uchiha pops into his head. Sharp glasses and that unwavering glare that could probably split boulders. He blinks and tries to connect the dots, but his brain keeps stuttering, unsure of how Boruto made the leap from discretion to stepsister.
Where is this going? His exhausted mind provides him the memory of a deep voice—Jiraiya, rambling during one of their travels. What was it the old pervert used to say about pretty girls? He was always being lectured about it from one dusty town to another under the sun's unforgiving heat. Something about the strength of the hair that grew out of a maiden’s armpit. Or was it not the armpit? Maybe it was—Naruto jerks his thoughts away before that train of thought can derail any further.
But the point of it—focus, focus—was something about how a woman’s will could pull more weight than a yoke of oxen.
It was a saying, Naruto is pretty sure. Folk wisdom or some old tavern rhyme about men humiliating themselves for the sake of a pretty girl. Always the same, no matter the age or the circumstances. He remembers tuning out Jiraiya halfway through the story and figuring it out on his own. He wasn’t a great listener back then, but he was a fast learner.
And now, staring at his son—blushing furiously, stiffly bowing, and demanding discretion—Naruto gets it.
He gets it so fast it almost makes him want to laugh.
Shaking his head clear of Jiraiya’s voice and the hair-versus-oxen imagery, Naruto finally snaps back to the present. His lips curl into a grin, and he lifts an ankle onto his knee, leaning back in his chair like he’s about to deliver some sage judgment.
“You’re wasting your Hokage’s time,” he says with exaggerated seriousness, lacing his fingers behind his head. “Rest assured, Boruto, whatever weird fantasy you’ve convinced yourself of, Sakura-chan is just a friend. And while I do love her…” He rubs his chin like he’s pondering something profound. Maybe he should grow some facial hair. Just because he can.
“It’s just not that kind of love.” He pauses for dramatic effect before adding, “Anymore.”
Boruto’s ears twitch, and his head snaps up like some kind of ninja dog catching a scent.
“It’s a shame, though,” Naruto teases, turning up the mischief. “Sarada’s such a cute little girl, don’tcha think? I bet your mom would love for her to be part of the family someday.”
He turns back to his desk, picking up yet another rejected gross receipts report. This time, it’s from an office he doesn’t even remember existing, which can’t be a good sign.
There’s a long pause, and when Boruto finally speaks, his voice is tight.
“Yeah, no shit.” Boruto scoffs.
Naruto freezes mid-signature. Did his son just swear? at him? He looks up, and sure enough, Boruto’s blushing, but he’s got that same determined look on his face that Naruto’s seen so many times before. He’s standing his ground, even when his hands are clenched into white-knuckled fists at his sides.
“Stop screwing around with me,” Boruto snaps. “No one’s talking about Aunt Sakura.” That potty mouth used to blow spit bubbles, not even that long ago. He remembers spending hours in the middle of the night crouching over the cradle, just watching wide eyed at the toddler exploding them with laughter. Adorable, delighted, rocking back and forth while holding his own toes. Since when had he the nerve to talk like this?
The words land, sharp, between them. Naruto’s grin drops. His hands still over the paperwork.
For three long heartbeats, they just stare at each other. Boruto’s face is flushed, but his expression isn’t sheepish—it’s stubborn, offended, and maybe a little scared.
One. Sarada.
Two. Sarada minus Sakura.
Three. The imaginary slot machine in Naruto’s brain spins and lands on— It lands on Sasuke.
The realization hits him hard enough to make his ears burn. He’s once seduced a literal goddess—he cannot possibly be blushing right now.
“Don’t waste my time, Boruto,” he says, scratching the back of his neck and hating how ticklish his new short hair feels. “I don’t know what you’re implying, but it sounds ridiculous.”
“Ridiculous is developing matching tattoos,” Boruto shoots back, folding his arms across his chest with pettiness, and Naruto feels like correcting soul markings defensively won't exactly help his case.
Naruto winces. “They’re not tattoos. It’s—it’s a shinobi thing! I could explain it, but—”
“Mom never got matching tattoos with her teammates.”
“That you’ve seen.” His mouth reacted quicker than his brain this time, a testament to how umcomfortable it feels to be even having this conversation with his son. Why did he even say that? Hinata will kill him.
Boruto recoils, nose scrunching like he’s recieved physical harm. “Euuccchh.”
Naruto can’t help it—he chuckles. Tormenting kids is so funny, he sometimes regrets never taking on a genin team. But the laughter fades quickly as Boruto steps forward, his gaze suddenly more intense.
“Stop deflecting,” Boruto says, quieter this time. “And just tell me"
Then he takes a breath and asks, softly but firmly:
“Are you in love with Sarada’s dad?”
Naruto hesitates. He’s been in life-or-death situations more times than he can count, and yet this feels harder.
His son doesn’t back down.
“Answer. If not for me and Hima, then for Mom.”
Naruto’s mouth opens, then shuts again. For a moment, he stares at his son, completely lost for words. Boruto looks at him with a mix of frustration and something else—something vulnerable, like he’s scared of what Naruto’s answer might mean for them.
They break eye contact for a split second, as Naruto’s gaze drifts upward toward the row of portraits lining the office wall, looming over the weight of his silence. The former Hokage stare back, stern and eternal. His father’s face catches his eye first—Minato Namikaze, with that uncharacteristically serious look, staring at a horizon Naruto can’t see. He wonders, not for the first time, what kind of dad Minato would have been. Would his old man have known how to answer questions like this? To navigate moments like this? Probably, Naruto thinks. Minato always seemed so perfect in his mind—calm, wise, the kind of person who could handle anything with grace.
But then again, Minato never really got the chance to be his father. And that thought is like a cold hand gripping his chest.
Naruto swallows hard. He’s a scatterbrain, sure, but he’s not stupid. He knows he’s been fumbling his way through this, trying his best to be something he’s never seen before. No lessons, no examples—just a string of imperfect role models and whatever instincts he can scrape together on the spot.
Iruka. Kakashi-sensei. Jiraiya. Even Tsunade-baachan. None of them ever sat him down and said, This is how you build a family. And this is how you raise a kid. How could they? They didn’t have parents either. They were orphans, like him, doing the best they could. Just like now, standing here, staring at his own son with a lump in his throat and no idea what to say.
He presses his lips into a thin line, fighting the ache in his chest. If there’s one thing he knows for certain, it’s that raising him took more than just one person. It took Iruka’s quiet kindness, Kakashi’s rare but firm guidance, Jiraiya’s insane lessons—and the love of a whole village. And somehow, all those little pieces stitched themselves into something like fatherhood.
("Great fatherhood means different things each day," Sakura had whispered to him once, late at night. They’d been sitting on the front porch, Hinata inside with the kids, and he’d made some offhand comment about how Sasuke’s relationship with Sarada seemed distant, hesitant, awkward. Sakura had just smiled softly and said, “That’s why it’s so difficult.”)
Sakura used to have a father, once. That made her the de facto expert on parenting, at least to the rest of Team 7. She’d said it so simply, but it had stuck with him. Great fatherhood wasn’t a title you earned or a technique you mastered. It was something you built, day by day, one decision at a time. And right now, being a good father meant swallowing his own prudish unease and facing the hard stuff head-on.
Naruto feels the weight of it settle in his chest like a stone. He straightens with a slow breath, heavy limbs protesting the movement, and takes a step toward Boruto. His son is still kneeling, fists clenched at his sides, but his bravado is cracking around the edges now. Naruto sees the vulnerability there, the doubt, and it’s like looking at himself as a kid, desperate for answers.
Carefully, Naruto crouches down. He slides his hands under Boruto’s arms and lifts him up onto his feet. It’s startling how light Boruto still feels in his grasp—like all those hours of diligent academy training hadn’t added a single ounce of weight. The thought makes his heart ache, but not in a bad way.
Boruto stares at him, wide-eyed and caught off guard, but Naruto doesn’t let go. His hands rest gently on Boruto’s shoulders as he leans in slightly, dropping his voice to something softer.
“We’ll talk about this,” Naruto says, his words steady even if his pulse isn’t. “But not here.”
The air in his office feels too thick, too cramped. It smells of old takeout and nervous sweat, the kind of place where half-spoken words could curdle and hang forever. There are better places for this—a place where they can breathe, where Boruto can look him in the eye without the weight of the Hokage’s hat between them.
He glances at the desk, piled high with paperwork, and then back at Boruto. His son looks like he wants to protest, but the tension in his shoulders eases slightly under Naruto’s grip.
“C’mon,” Naruto says, standing fully now. He doesn’t wait for Boruto’s response, just raises a hand and feels the surge of chakra humming through his fingertips. The hiraishin technique flickers to life, and in an instant, the office vanishes.
When the world settles again, they’re standing on the cool grass at the top of the Hokage Monument, the village spread out below them like a sea of light. The air is crisp, the night wind pulling at Naruto’s hair, and for the first time in hours, it feels like he can breathe again.
He turns to Boruto, who’s already glaring at him with that same stubborn tilt of his jaw.
“It’s okay,” Naruto says, softer this time. “It’s just me. Go on. Ask again.”
“This has to stay between us,” Boruto warns, taking a step back and fixing Naruto with a sharp, almost suspicious look. His eyes flicker over his father’s face, studying him like he’s a puzzle that needs solving. “Are you… are you in love with Sarada’s dad or not?”
The world doesn’t stop turning. The ground doesn’t split open beneath their feet.
Naruto keeps breathing, keeps blinking, even though his brain feels like it’s short-circuiting. He hears the distant hum of the village below them, faint but steady, a reminder that life doesn’t care about the questions that tie you up in knots and keep you up at night.
So this is it, huh? Naruto thinks, stunned but not entirely surprised. People have always avoided asking him this outright—tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, circling it but never daring to look it in the eye. He knows why. He’s known for a long time. It’s not the kind of question you ask someone lightly, not when the answer could shift the way you see them. And people needed to see Naruto in a certain way. Needed him to be a certain way if they wanted their village to survive.
And maybe that’s why, deep down, he’s always wondered. Wondered if saying it out loud—just alluding to it, even—might somehow break something. That the moment he acknowledged it, life as he knew it might crumble around him. It wasn’t silly. It wouldn’t even be the first time something that big had been kept from him. He plays with Kurama's chakra, sending it back and forth to the tip of his feet.
For years, he convinced himself that no one else noticed. That if he stayed quiet, the weight of it would stay buried, and maybe he could go on pretending it wasn’t there.
But Boruto—his son, bold and stubborn as a summer storm—doesn’t avoid it. He looks his father in the eye, standing tall even as his voice wavers, and he asks.
Naruto’s throat tightens. His son, young as he is, has more guts than anyone else Naruto’s ever met. More than any of their friends, more than the villagers, more than the people who always danced around his connection to Sasuke without naming it.
It makes him proud. Proud enough to feel like he has to rise to the challenge and answer honestly. No dodging, no deflecting. No trying to laugh it off.
“I don’t think so,” Naruto says at last, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It’s the kind of smile that crinkles his eyes, soft but sure of itself. The certainty in his expression clashes with the words, and Boruto blinks, thrown off guard.
Naruto feels young again, clumsy and awkward in the face of his own feelings. But that doesn’t matter right now—this isn’t about him. His son needs something else, something steady to hold onto, so Naruto keeps his voice calm and even.
Boruto studies him, hesitant, searching his face for any cracks in the truth. Naruto doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t get punched in the stomach either, so Boruto must decide he’s being honest.
“He was just my first friend,” Naruto adds softly.
Boruto frowns. “What does that even mean?”
His voice has turned deeper. Naruto notices it now, and for some reason, it tugs at his heart in an odd, bittersweet way. He’s growing up too fast, Naruto thinks. His son’s voice is starting to sound less like a kid’s and more like his own.
Only one person had ever asked him a question like that before, with that same stubborn need for reassurance. Naruto feels dumbfounded to realize that Sasuke and Boruto could share anything in common at all, but there it is.
He blinks, pushing the thought aside. He stops to think—really think—before answering. It’s a habit he picked up not so long ago, one he still struggles with, but it’s served him well. He’s sure of his answer, but he takes a moment to figure out how to say it in a way that won’t leave Boruto even more confused or anxious.
Naruto tilts his head slightly, considering, and finally one shoulder rises in a slow, unmistakable shrug. The gesture is casual, almost lazy, but it feels monumental.
There. The secret’s out. For the first time in his life, he doesn’t deny the possibility. Doesn’t dodge it, doesn’t laugh it off. The truth, or at least part of it, is out in the open now, and he’s admitting it to his son of all people.
He’s been to the moon and back, and somehow this is one of the Weirdest Things he’s ever done.
“I… I guess it means he’s a very special person to me,” Naruto says slowly. His voice is steady, even though his heart feels like it’s somersaulting in his chest. “And by now, I’m pretty sure it’s the same for him too. But it’s not in the way you’re asking, you know?”
It’s clear from Boruto’s scrunched-up nose that no, he does not know, and Naruto feels a familiar rush of frustration at how terrible he is at putting feelings into words. He rubs the back of his neck, wishing—not for the first time—that Hinata were here. She’s so much better at this, at translating his emotions into something that makes sense.
“Wait,” Boruto says, tilting his head and squinting. He doesn’t look affronted anymore, just curious. “Is he in love with you, then?”
Naruto blinks. For a moment, he sees Boruto as he used to be—back when Hinata was teaching him how to read, tilting his head in exactly the same way when he came across a kanji he didn’t know. His son had always been smart like that, guessing from context instead of throwing tantrums like Naruto used to.
Hinata had raised such amazing kids. Ready to stand their ground, open to things they didn’t yet understand. Naruto wishes he could take credit for that, but right now, all he feels is embarrassed. Embarrassed that his emotional immaturity is spilling into the lives of the people he loves.
Instead of deflecting, Naruto squats down to Boruto’s level, resting his elbows on his knees so they’re eye to eye.
“Huh… I guess you’d get it better if you met the guy,” Naruto says, scratching his head. “I forget how small you were the last time he was around. Must’ve been a while for you, huh?”
Boruto doesn’t respond, but Naruto takes his silence as permission to keep talking. He draws a deep breath and starts what can only be described as a clumsy, heartfelt rant.
“Look, I’ll explain the best I can. But some things, you won’t really get until you’re older. That’s just how it is, so bear with me, will you?”
Boruto nods, though his expression is skeptical. He’s putting on a brave face, and Naruto bites down a smile.
“I’m no expert,” Naruto admits, rubbing the back of his neck again. “Because the people who raised me weren’t experts either. But love—it’s one of the big feelings, y’know? And because it’s so big, it takes a lot of forms. You can feel… uh, things for people you barely know. Or when you’re really young. And I’m not saying that’s not real—because it is. But the kind of love you see in the movies—”
Boruto raises an eyebrow.
“The wholesome kind,” Naruto clarifies quickly, clearing his throat. “The only movies you should be watching, by the way.”
Boruto’s unimpressed stare is almost comical, and Naruto sighs, realizing he’s getting sidetracked again.
“Anyway. That kind of love? It’s not something that just happens overnight. It’s something you build. Day by day, little by little. And even then, you gotta be lucky enough that the other person chooses you back. That they want to walk the same path as you. And trust me, kid—that’s rare. It’s so rare, and it’s so… hard.”
Naruto doesn’t realize he’s blushing until he sees Boruto blushing too. He starts to speak faster, flustered now.
“Especially if you’re—uh—messed-up people. And Sasuke and I, we’re pretty messed up. So we never… we never did that. Stuff happened to us, and between us, and—well, that’s a confusing conversation for another day.”
He folds his arms across his chest, looking off into the distance, and mutters almost to himself: “And you know what? I think we did pretty good this time around, all things considered. So yeah. We do share something huge. That bond is a huge part of who I am today.” He turns back to Boruto, his expression softening. “But it’s not the main part anymore.”
“So you’re lying to Mum, then?” Boruto blurts, his hands flying to his mouth like the words escaped before he could stop them.
“What?” Naruto recoils, offended on instinct. “What gave you that idea? No! Not at all! Do you even think your mum can be lied to?” His tone sharpens as his pride kicks in. Boruto’s wide-eyed expression mirrors his own disbelief, like they’ve just committed a mutual sin by even entertaining the thought.
“Listen,” Naruto continues, waving his hand as if to clear the air. “Don’t get things twisted. This life—this one, right now—this is the only lifetime I’ve got with your mum. When I’m not by her side, it’s because I’m out here, working my ass off to shape the world you and your sister will live in. I love her. I love her very, very much. And I love you and Himawari very, very much. That’s why I spend every day building this life we’ve got together. Our life. The one we chose for ourselves. To hell with whatever fate thought it had planned for me.”
His voice doesn’t waver, but a thought creeps into the back of his mind, uninvited and sharp.
Who are you really arguing with here?
Boruto wouldn’t understand. He doesn’t know anything about old brotherly feuds, about intricate threads of fate tangled in every choice Naruto and Sasuke ever made. He doesn’t know about the promises that came before him, the vows made and broken in lifetimes of conflict and redemption. Naruto bites the inside of his cheek and lets the words stay buried.
Every choice Naruto had made in his life had been for the people he loved most. When Boruto and Himawari were little, he’d begged Kakashi to keep the Hokage hat a little longer—just until his kids were old enough to understand why their dad would be everywhere at once. It wasn’t that he hadn’t been there for them. It was just that he’d been everywhere for everyone lately.
And somehow, without realizing it, he’d shielded Boruto so much from the horrors of his story that he’d alienated him from what made him who he was.
“That’s why we never went down that path with Sasuke,” Naruto says, his voice softer now. “I don’t know, kid. We picked each other for some things, but not for others. We had the strongest of bonds, but different dreams. And sometimes… that’s just how it is.” He looks Boruto in the eye, offering a faint smile. “Am I making sense?”
Boruto’s brow furrows for a moment, but then he shakes his head with a half-smile, the kind that says no, not really, but I’m trying to keep up.
“You could’ve just said no, y'know?” Boruto groans, his voice dripping with exasperation. “Oh my god, you’re so lame.”
Naruto grins, a spark of mischief lighting up his face. “Well, what can I say? Your old man’s a Hokage. I gotta make it sound important.”
Boruto rolls his eyes but doesn’t push back. The tension between them is easing now, like a taut string finally loosening.
“What’s all that crap about fate, though?” Boruto asks, his head tilting. “I don’t get it, but you know what? You’re lame, so I don’t want to get it. Just tell me—there’s definitely nothing scandalous going on, right?”
Boruto’s tone is teasing, but the words strike Naruto square in the chest. His son doesn’t care if his father might’ve been in love with an old teammate. All Boruto cares about is that their family stays together. Naruto swallows hard, his heart swelling in a way that almost makes it hard to breathe.
“Hey,” Naruto says, grinning, “at least let your old man think his dirty little secret is a bit scandalous. Without that, then it’s definitely just all uncool mushy feelings.”
Boruto snorts, but Naruto leans back, studying his son. “What brought this on, anyway? Where did you even get the idea there was something going on? You’ve never even talked to the guy, have you?”
At this, Boruto’s ears go red—bright red—and Naruto almost lets him off the hook. He’s about to let the boy keep his secrets when, to his surprise, Boruto starts talking. And talking fast.
“So, haha. That’s the thing. It’s weird as hell we haven’t met him, right? Sarada’s worried about it. And when she’s worried, she makes me worried. Her dad’s never around, is he? And when he is around, he stops to see you first. And—and her mum swears they’re a family, but if that’s true, why isn’t he ever around? Doesn’t he want to be? And—” Boruto fumbles his words now, uncharacteristically clumsy, and Naruto realizes with a jolt that he sounds… like him. He sounds like Naruto.
Boruto presses forward, words spilling out. “And then there’s this picture. It’s not even a real picture of them together—it’s just an optical trick, and Sarada thinks that’s sad. She thinks that’s her family: two people tricking others into seeing them as something they’re not. And—”
Boruto stops short, his frustration shifting to something heavier, quieter.
Naruto feels the words slam into him like thunder, the weight of them rattling through his chest. He hadn’t realized how grown up the kids were now. How aware they were of everything the adults thought they’d hidden so well.
“Is Sarada worried?” Naruto asks, his voice softer now, almost hesitant. “Why didn’t she come to me? I could’ve made him come back.”
He knows he can’t make Sasuke stay—Sasuke gets skittish when he’s home too long, starts pacing like a caged animal. But he could make him come back.
Boruto frowns, crossing his arms. “See? That’s exactly the problem. You saying stuff like that is why she’s worried. Why would you be able to make him come back but not her mom? That’s weird.”
Naruto exhales, rubbing his temple. “Yeah. Okay. I get your point. But it’s… complicated. And it’s not my place to explain.”
Boruto frowns harder. If he keeps that up, he’s going to get premature lines and end up looking more like the Third Hokage than the Fourth.
“Sarada needs to have that conversation with her mom,” Naruto says, his voice steady now. “But listen. You’re underestimating Sakura-chan. She doesn’t need him here to be part of an ‘united front.’ She’s not like us dumb men—she’s really cool. She knows what she wants. And she chose Sasuke to be her family, knowing exactly what that meant. And Sasuke? He would never trust his family to anyone else. That’s their bond.”
Boruto’s piercing stare says Naruto’s way off the mark, but Naruto presses on anyway.
“She’s not going to crawl and beg him to come back just because she misses him,” Naruto adds with a grin. “She’s cool and proud like that.”
“That’s cruel to Sarada,” Boruto mutters, cutting him off. “Who would choose to have a family like that?”
Naruto swallows hard, a knot forming in his throat.
“This village has way too many kids who grew up without any family at all,” Naruto says, his tone sharper than he intended. Boruto flinches, recoiling slightly. Naruto softens, realizing his son doesn’t understand. His son never had to imagine that kind of loneliness. Naruto made sure of that.
“I know it’s hard to understand,” Naruto says. “But some people would trade everything they have for even one loving parent. What Sarada’s family has… it works for them. And that’s enough.”
Boruto looks down, processing the words. Naruto sighs, the weight of his son’s unspoken questions pressing down on him.
“You know what? You’re right. I’m not as cool as Sakura-chan. I’m lame. I’m getting sappy with age. And I’ll absolutely drag him back from the end of the world if Sarada asks me to. But that’s up to her.” And it's so weird, but he is only now realizing that what was true for all of humanity was also true in Sasuke's case. Just that the little girl who could maybe move his will was only now between them.
Boruto nods slowly, letting the words sink in.
“What’re you smiling about?” Boruto asks, his eyes narrowing suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Naruto says, his grin widening. “Just that it was about Sarada all along.”
“Oh, for the love of—no! Shut up. You old perv,” Boruto groaned, throwing his hands up as if surrendering to Naruto’s endless supply of embarrassing comments. His face was scrunched in irritation, but the bright flush creeping up his ears betrayed him. “Some of us have normal friendships, okay? It’s you who—it’s you who’s got that messed up thing for her dad, so stop projecting! You’re so embarrassing!”
He squeezed his eyes shut, as if physically trying to block the mental image from creeping any further into his mind. “She can never know you’ve got the hots for him. It’d go straight to her head.”
Naruto snorted, barely holding back a laugh. “Well, kid, he’s got a wild look going on these days, sure—but back in the day? You’d have trouble finding someone who didn’t think he was at least a little hot. What can I say? He had an awfully pretty face.”
Boruto’s eyes snapped open, wide with horror. “I’ll puke,” he warned flatly. “I swear I’ll do it.”
That did it—Naruto’s laugh finally broke free, loud and warm. He raised his hands in mock surrender, still chuckling. “Alright, alright. I’ll stop. Geez.”
The laughter settled, and Naruto tilted his head slightly, his voice softening. “So. What do you think? About it. About… all of it. Other than your old man being embarrassing.”
Boruto hesitated, his brows furrowed in thought, but then he shrugged. “I’m cool if Mum’s cool,” he said simply. “She is, right? She sees everything.”
Naruto smiled at that, the kind of smile that made his eyes crinkle at the edges. “I think she was one of the first to get it, even before us,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I never asked how or when. She’s just amazing like that, your mum.”
He let himself linger in the thought for a moment, remembering the warmth Hinata always carried. The way she never made him feel judged, even in his most uncertain moments. “Actually,” Naruto said after a pause, his grin turning teasing, “why didn’t you just ask her?”
Boruto groaned, dragging a hand down his face dramatically. “I did! She’s worse than you, though! Way worse!”
“Oh yeah?” Naruto raised an eyebrow, amused. “How so?”
“She went on and on about some ‘special gift’ she thought someone else gave you first, but how that didn’t mean she couldn’t,” Boruto explained, his tone dripping with exasperation. “Hima may still think it’s about a scarf, but I’m not a kid anymore. I can see through the bullshit analogies, and honestly? I’d like someone to erase my memories now, thanks.”
Naruto blinked, caught somewhere between confusion and amusement. “Wait. You do? What do you think you know?”
“I know enough,” Boruto muttered darkly, crossing his arms. “I know all adults are perverts.”
That pulled another laugh from Naruto, one he tried to stifle but couldn’t. He leaned in closer, resting his arms on his knees as his grin softened. “Listen,” he said, his voice more serious now, but still warm. “Let me give you some advice. You might not get it now, but someday you will. And yeah, I might tease you,” he added with a small shrug, “but I don’t care who it’s with. If you ever want to build a bond with someone—whether it’s a friend, or something more—I want you to trust me enough to come to me. Or your mum. Or Sakura. Even Hanabi. It's your choice, just don't try to go through it alone”
At that, Boruto recoiled, his nose scrunching up in pure disgust. “Not Aunt Hanabi. Ugh, just—no. Absolutely not.”
For a moment, they just sat there together on the Hokage Monument, the wind rustling the grass around them. The village stretched out below, alive with the quiet hum of lights and distant voices. Naruto looked at his son—still red in the ears, still trying to act cooler than he was—and felt that now-familiar ache of pride and gratitude swell in his chest. This time, the quiet between them felt less like stubborn silence and more like understanding. Naruto looked out over the village, the soft glow of lights below them reflecting the life he’d worked so hard to build.
“You know,” he said, his tone shifting slightly. “Sarada deserves to talk to her dad. And you deserve to see for yourself what kind of person he is, and that he is and could never be a threat for our family. He is family. ” Naruto said firmly. “His mission is truly important, but the man never knew when to take a break. I’ll drag him back from wherever the hell he is—again—so you two can talk to him.”
Boruto blinked, caught off guard by the promise. “You will?”
Naruto grinned, reaching over to ruffle Boruto’s hair. He just winked.
“Good,” Boruto muttered, swatting at his dad’s hand but failing to hide the small smile tugging at his lips.
“And hey,” Naruto added, his voice softening, “next time something’s bothering you—or Sarada—don’t wait so long to come to me, okay?”
Boruto nodded, his face settling into something serious, though the blush still lingered faintly at the tips of his ears.
Naruto leaned back on his hands, exhaling a long, slow breath as he let the weight of the conversation settle into the quiet of the night. The village lights twinkled below them, a living map of everything he’d worked so hard to protect.
“Hey, Boruto.”
His son paused, glancing back over his shoulder with a suspicious frown. “What now?”
Before Boruto could blink, the world around them flickered and shifted in a rush of chakra. The cool grass beneath his feet vanished, replaced by the hard floor of Naruto’s cluttered office. Boruto barely batted an eye, his arms crossing petulantly as he realized what had happened.
“Seriously?” he muttered, shooting his dad an unimpressed look.
Naruto grinned. He couldn’t help but worry that the day was fast approaching when hiraishin no jutsu wouldn’t be enough to impress his kids anymore. For now, though, he’d milk it for all it was worth.
The moment was interrupted by Konohamaru bursting through the office door, arms full of scrolls and his face red with exasperation. “Finally! Where did you go? We were looking everywhere for you!”
Naruto, still grinning, leaned back casually in his chair. “Relax, he was with me,” he said, jerking his thumb toward Boruto.
Konohamaru blinked, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “I wasn’t talking about him.”
Naruto’s grin turned sheepish as he scratched the back of his head. “Oh. Uh, well… hey, did you teach my firstborn how to plead, by the way?”
Konohamaru’s panic was palpable. “... Not on purpose.”
Boruto shot his dad a look that said, That was unnecessary, but Naruto ignored him entirely. Instead, he stood and started opening random drawers, rummaging through papers, half-empty ink bottles, and old mission kits until he found an empty travel scroll.
“Uh… what are you doing?” Konohamaru asked warily, watching as Naruto started stuffing the seals with no particular rhyme or reason—some spare clothes, a stack of instant ramen cups, a kunai pouch, and a toothbrush. Two toothbrushes.
“We’ll be out for a bit,” Naruto said lightly, slinging the bag over his shoulder. “Family matter.”
“Family matter?” Konohamaru repeated, transitioning from red to green in the face. “Naruto-sama, you’re in the middle of a storm of work right now! You can’t just leave—what am I supposed to tell the council?”
Naruto tilted his head, pretending to think about it for a moment. Then he flashed his signature grin. “Tell them Sakura’s in charge until I’m back. You know the drill. ”
Konohamaru groaned audibly. “You’re going to give her a heart attack. Seriously, where are you even going?”
Naruto paused in the doorway, one hand resting on the frame as he glanced back. His grin softened just a bit, but the spark of mischief never left his eyes.
“Tell them they can prepare a new chair,” he said cheerfully. “We’re bringing the teme back home.”