Colliding Constellations

Chapter 10: Father

It was winter again, and the frost had pulled over Konoha. This year the snow did not fall, as it often did not, but there was a chill in the air. Wind crashed against the house walls, howling against the windows, the clouds in the sky completely engulfing the moon.

The frost was thick along the streets, and yet as he walked he made no sound. His footsteps as quiet as fresh snow, a cat's prowling pace. He wore no symbol, no alliance, no clan, just a thick cloak wrapped around his shoulders, and a bandana strung along his head.

He climbed onto the threshold of the house, silently stalking the doorway. The knob turned and a flood of warmth touched his skin, a woman in a soft glow alit with emerald eyes.

"You're late," she whispered.

He had spent two years in this very house before the Kaguya endeavor had called him away, and now here he was again, running out of time, yet still there.

Not for long. Not this time. Maybe not even the next.

"I know," he whispered back, "I'm sorry, Sakura."

Tears slipped down her cheeks and he pulled her into a hug, silently caressing her back. They pulled apart and she gave him a tearful nod, letting him inside the warm household. She spared no words, just the little actions, the angle of her head telling him it was okay, her body pointing in the direction that would lead to his long-awaited destination.

She didn't follow him as he moved forward, heading towards the doorway along the hallway. He turned the knob and caught his breath.

On the bed was a child, a child that seemed just on the cusp of two, her midnight locks dragged messily across her face, and a small smile lit on her cheeks as she pulled a puppy plushie closer.

"Karasu," Sakura whispered softly from the hallway arch, "That is her name." She moved forward, forcefully bringing him inside the room, which he had so hesitantly refrained from before. Sakura let go of his hand and reached out to caress the child's cheek, before sliding her arms underneath the child's sleeping form.

She lifted her up, carefully assuring that the child did not awaken, and once more looked over to the man beside her. She motioned for him to carry her, and he seemed so hesitant at first, it didn't seem possible. But in a few split seconds, he took the chance and reached out, grabbing the child, and carrying her in his arms.

The child's warmth immediately soaked into his clothes, her fingers reaching out to clutch the cloth of his cloak. He stared down in bewilderment, before silently closing his eyes in resignation.

The air was warm and yet full of silent suffering.

Can I really call myself a father?

The light had ascended and once more his footsteps fell on the frost-covered porch. His eyes warily watching the cold morning Konoha, still sluggish, just crawling from its sleep.

He breathed in the air, slowly climbing down the stairs.

"Who?"

It was the soft sound of a child's voice.

His steps faltered.

He knew, he knew without looking- and yet. His head turned and he watched as the child's hair flitted through the cold morning breeze, her onyx eyes full of wonder.

Too late.

He turned away abruptly, "Go back."

One step forward, you can't turn back.

"Wait," the child called.

Two steps. Three steps. Four steps.

"Papa?"

The breeze descended once more and the leaves fell where his footsteps had once stood.

The back of his throat squeezed in pain.

No turning back.