𝟼. ᴏʀᴀɴɢᴇ ꜰʀᴏꜱᴛɪɴɢ

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I do not own Naruto.

No Beta ~ beware of grammatical errors!

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Chapter 6: Orange Frosting

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The air between the two blondes was spiked with distinct waves of awkwardness - the majority of it, of course, being caused by Mirai's unwillingness to speak or acknowledge the man beside her in any sort of way.

The day was nearing its inevitable end, the sun casting molten rays of gold and orange and maroon to flood the village. The bleeding colors of the sky painted the trees and buildings with glowing colors, reflecting off of glass, wood, and faded paint, and creating a kaleidoscope of warm hues to illuminate the faces of the busy market's inhabitants. Leaves swayed with a warm and gentle breeze, one that lapped at Mirai's face in a tender caress, playing happily with the windblown and messy wisps of her bangs.

Stubbornly, the girl kept her head angled ahead of her, eyes trailing across the market with plastic interest as she rather pointedly refused to acknowledge the presence beside her.

Unfortunately, ignoring the man was proving to be a difficult task - Minato was undoubtedly charismatic, his friendly, warm, and disarming smile filling her with the warmth of a rising sun and the guilt of a killer. It was becoming increasingly clear that her intentions of keeping everyone away from by her heart were being smashed mercilessly.

As of now, the pair was travelling at a rather sedate pace to Minato's home. Minato's home.

Her father's home.

And Kushina... would she be there too? Her mother could be waiting for her at home, and that thought made her so terrified and so happy--

'Shut up,' she warned herself, the words reverberating in her mind. This wasn't her home. Her home was gone, destroyed, crushed by a boulder that--

(Smashed his bones with a sickening series of crunches and snaps, grinding them to nothing more than dust. A cough escaped his lips, blood spraying in a way that was painfully similar to hers. His lips moved, mouth forming words that he didn't have the breath (or lungs) to speak aloud.

'Dead,' her mind screamed, 'Dead. He's dead-!'

But he wasn't dead. He wouldn't be for at least a couple of hours. Not that it mattered. He might as well be dead, because she couldn't save him. She knew she couldn't and he knew she couldn't.

But she stayed with him, held his hand until the light faded from his dark eyes, glazing with the white frost of vacancy.

"Goodbye, Yamato-taichou."

She had failed again, and it hurts.)

Mirai snapped back to her senses, a warm weight settling heavily on her shoulder, effectively pulling her feet to a stumbling halt. Minato stared down at her warily, "Back into your thoughts again, Mirai?"

She cleared her throat nervously, absentmindedly noticing that due with the distraction her thoughts gave her, the air of awkwardness that had swarmed her person had gradually been replaced with something that was weighed down with darkness, dense and painful - and the change hadn't gone unnoticed by Minato in the slightest.

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