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Sunday brought sunlight and the hearty smells of the Akimichi diner—tonkotsu broth simmering rich and milky since dawn, skewers crackling over the grill, a faint salt-snap of seafood in the air. The place was lively, clatter and chatter filling every corner, while Choza and his wife hovered like benevolent hawks, determined to see both Minato and Sakura fed within an inch of bursting.
“Eat, eat,” Choza’s wife urged, plopping another cutlet onto Minato’s plate.
He looked more relaxed than Sakura had ever seen him, practically glowing. She wasn’t much better off—warm, a little flustered, and trying hard not to notice how his grin kept finding her.
Halfway through the meal, Minato set down his glass of water with a little too much purpose. “So,” he began, “we should come up with names of endearment for each other.”
Sakura blinked. “What for?”
Minato almost dropped his chopsticks. “What for? What for? Sakura, that’s for people in a relationship!”
Her lips twitched. “Are we in a relationship now?”
Minato gaped, scandalized. “Are we—?! Of course we are! What else would this be?” He pointed between them. “Unless—” He leaned in, lowering his voice in theory but not in practice. “Unless you only wanted me for my body?”
The nearest table went dead silent. Someone coughed. Sakura flushed crimson.
“You!” she hissed. “Say that again because I don’t think the entire town heard you.”
He faltered, his indignation slipping into something quieter, almost uncertain. “Well… then what are we?”
She dropped her gaze, mumbling into her tea. “…You didn’t ask.”
The entire diner leaned forward as though watching a final move in shogi.
Minato’s expression softened. He straightened, calm now, but every word ringing clear, he asked, “Sakura, will you be my girlfriend?”
Sakura’s lips parted. For a beat she could only hear the hum of the diner—the scrape of plates, a baby gurgling, half a dozen people pretending not to stare. She swallowed, then said, dripping with sarcasm, “Fine. Since you asked me so discreetly—and totally not like I was cornered in the single most congested spot within a five-mile radius on a weekend—just so the whole damn restaurant could hear me say it—”
She broke off, eyes dropping to her tea, her voice gentle, “Yes. I’ll be your girlfriend, Minato.”
The diner detonated. Applause, whistles, a cheer of “finally!” even Choza banging his hand on the counter like it was a drum. Someone shouted, “Now pick an endearment!”
“Call her dumpling!”
“No, pumpkin!”
“Snuggle fox!” a boy yelled.
“My aunt uses sugar bean!”
“Go with honeybun!”
“Or sweet cheeks!”
Choza bellowed, “Dumpling’s already taken!” as his wife swatted at him with a towel.
Sakura buried her burning face in her hands. Minato, meanwhile, basked in the uproar like it was the most natural thing in the world, grinning as if he’d just won a public election.
By the time they escaped into the street, Sakura’s ears were still ringing. She marched ahead, arms folded, muttering, “Never again. I’m never setting foot in that place again.”
Behind her, Minato trailed easily, far too pleased. “Sure, Pumpkin,” he tried.
“No.”
“Sugar bean?”
“Stop.”
“Kitten?”
“Absolutely not!” Sakura glared.
“Snuggle fox?”
Sakura whirled on him, finger jabbing his chest. “If you ever call me that, I might actually murder you.”
He only grinned wider. “Sweet cheeks, then.”
Her groan could’ve rattled the roof tiles. “Minato—”
“Fine,” he said, catching her wrist before she could storm off again. His voice softened, though the smile was still there. “Girlfriend works just fine.”
Sakura’s breath caught despite herself. Her cheeks warmed all over again, though she quickly turned her head away. “Still never going back in there.”
“Of course not,” Minato said solemnly. “Too many witnesses.” A beat. Then his grin resurfaced. “But you are my dumpling.”
Sakura snapped her gaze back at him, eyes narrowed. “Call me that, and I’ll think you’re calling Choza.”
“Sweetie?”
“Yes, mom?”
Minato raised his hands in surrender. “Fine. Babe.”
Sakura blinked. “Why am I called ‘babe’?”
“Because you’re my baby,” he replied with a straight face.
She groaned, then laughed despite herself. “That’s probably the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Minato’s laughter joined hers, low and easy, as if her joy alone was worth the joke.
But Sakura wasn’t done. “Fine. If you’re into pet names, then I’ll call you… my wittle froggy woogy.”
Minato froze, visibly pained. “No. Absolutely not. Pet names are banned.” He stepped closer, catching her hand again. Their eyes met, close enough for her breath to brush his cheek. His voice softened. “You’ll just be my Sakura.”
Sakura held his gaze for a beat, then her teasing melted. She slipped her hand into his, fingers threading with his. “My Minato doesn’t sound so bad either.”
They walked on like that, hand in hand, the air between them quieter now but charged with something unspoken.
Sakura’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, her words spilling almost like a confession.
“You know, I usually hate pet names. They always sounded fake to me—like people didn’t mean them, or worse, like they were being a little patronizing.”
Minato tilted his head, brushing her cheek with his knuckles until she met his eyes.
“And if I call you one?”
Sakura hesitated, then smiled—small, shy, but unshakably hers, “If you call me one, I’ll let you. Because I know you mean it.”
Minato’s grin curved, warm and boyish, and triumphant. “Then how about honey?”
Sakura almost doubled over laughing. “Honey? That’s even worse! What are you, somebody’s dad trying too hard?”
Minato’s grin turned sly. “No… but I can be your daddy.”
Her fist shot to his stomach before he could even finish. “Pervert!”
He wheezed, clutching his side, but his eyes were still dancing. When he straightened again, the smile softened into something steadier.
“Just think about it,” he said, leaning closer now, voice gentler. “Because now I can finally say it—‘Honey, I’m home.’”
Sakura blinked, her laughter faltering. For a moment, she just stared at him, the street noise fading to a hush. Their eyes held, quiet stretching between them, saying what words couldn’t. Her cheeks warmed, and with a sure smile tugging at her lips, she murmured, “…You can call me ‘Honey’ if you want. Because I’m the one you want.”
The world seemed to narrow to just the two of them, her hand in his, his grin softening into something deeper. Then Minato bent closer, and when he kissed her, it wasn’t corny at all.
When they finally pulled apart, lips still flushed pink from the kiss, Sakura narrowed her eyes at him, “You realize you haven’t even properly asked me out on a date yet.”
Minato blinked. “I—wait, what?”
“A date,” Sakura repeated, crossing her arms. “You know, what sweet things couples do. Or do you think pet names are all it takes?”
His grin returned in full force. “Then tell me. What’s your ideal date?”
Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “You’ll see.”