Songs For The Heartbroken: That's What You Get

Chapter 17

"You do know there's no rush, right Pup? We can clear the house once you feel a little bit better," said Tsume as she grabbed another box from the kitchen.

After a few nights of unconcealed sleep in my now empty house, I had decided to sell it. I talked it over with Hana and Itachi one afternoon over tea, and both of them had agreed to help me however they could. Hana had even asked her mother for help with the paperwork and applying for a new apartment. Tsume had not only agreed, but also offered me the spare room at their place until we managed to get me settled.

The first part of the application had been approved quickly enough thanks to Miyako-san's connections, and the shinobi housing committee was now on the lookout for a place suitable for my rank, age and pay. It would take about a month they said, so in the meantime we were putting all my stuff in storage or for sale along with the house.

"I am feeling better, Tsume-san, but I'd like to perform my best and staying in this house is not helping." I answered as I took a pile of books from Itachi's hands and put them in a box. "Besides, I can't stand the look on everyone's faces, like they are expecting something I cannot give."

Everyone stopped what they were doing then, they all knew what was expected of me, they all knew it was part of an old tradition, but none of them could help but feel sorry for me; none except Itachi. He was the only one who kept working alongside me while the others took in what I'd just said and the implications behind it. Eventually, Akira-sensei and Tsume-san started working again and the others followed soon after.

My genin team had been staying at my place ever since the funeral, keeping an eye on me, making midnight snacks and tea if they woke up to find me very much awake and having a fit with the training dummy in the garden; helping me breathe whenever grief took over and putting me to sleep; or even staying up all night with me, be it in silence or having quiet conversations. That day they had volunteered to help me pack up as well, and Taka had even offered to house me until I found a place to stay.

Fugaku had not been happy with my decision to leave the compound and had even offered me one of the apartments the clan saved for orphaned children; but thankfully, Mikoto intervened and convinced him it might be better this way. An unstable shinobi was no good after all.

So here we all were, emptying a house that had become a home without me noticing and which would feel like my last for a while. It took two days and little to no rest, but soon the house was seemingly uninhabited and ready for sale. I made a complete sweep of the place one last time, just to make sure we hadn't missed anything, and ended up in Shisui's room. It was bare, every picture and scroll that had one hung from its walls, safely stored in boxes in a warehouse somewhere in downtown Konoha. I could only stand there staring at the empty spotless room. It was the room of a great shinobi alright; he had made sure no hints of his presence had ever made its way there. It felt uninhabited, unused, like his clothes had felt once; devoid of his scent and trace like he had never existed in the first place. I hated it.

I only saw it in my desperate search for a piece of Shisui in that room, I doubt I would have noticed otherwise. Had my desperation not been as great, I would have never noticed the traces of fuinjutsu nor paid the creaking ceiling beam any mind. The house had been relatively new when Shisui had bought it, there was no reason for it to be caving under the weight of the roof unless it was being strained by something unaccounted for or had suffered damage of some kind. And then there was the seal. I walked up the wall and hoped on the ceiling beam so as to give it a closer look. I was no expert on fuinjutsu, but I knew enough to identify them and tell if there was need for someone more experienced to take a look at it. All of it was an excuse of course, deep inside me I hoped it was something that my brother could have left behind, something else to remember him by. Right in the junction with the opposite wall, the wood had been carved into a vertical line, thin as a senbon.