Call my name and save me from the dark

Thérése does not belong to you

A/N SHES BACK

...

Boruto dazedly blinked awake, it taking a painfully long time before he returned to clarity. He was slumped against the window in a car seat, the window cold against his cheek, his breath puffing steam across the window. The car was on a motorway. It was late, and the roads were deserted, the only lights coming from the headlights of the car and the occasional lamppost. He straightened, grunting as he cracked his neck. He'd laid on it awkwardly. He kept his head pointed at the road, but peeked to the drivers side out of the corner of his eye. Kenji. He was still with him, then.

Why were they in a car? Something was off. He tried to remember what Kenji had said. It'd been important, he knew it. Something had happened, and that something had caused them to leave. His breath hitched. Had they found him? Was Kenji trying to escape them? He stared at the wing mirror, expecting - hoping, rather - to see some car or something chasing them.

Nothing. There was nobody. They were alone. He didn't want to question Kenji. By his white knuckles clenching the steering wheel, he was still angry. Boruto didn't want to risk provoking him, especially if his anger could cause him to potentially swerve off the road and kill them.

But then, what was Kenji intending to do? Maybe getting killed in a crash could be more bearable, he mused, than whatever Kenji had planned for him. Was he going to kill him, bury his body in the woods somewhere? Start hacking off pieces of him and leaving them in a trail for his father to find? Or, would Kenji try to...

He clenched his fists, trying to ram down his imagination. He didn't want to think about any of that. He didn't want to finish that last train of thought, he knew it'd make him sick. His breathing grew shallow. He was panicking. He was scared, he didn't want to die. He wanted to go home, to his mom, his sister, his dad. He regretted the argument. He wished he hadn't said what he did. He didn't want his potentially last words to his father to have been ones of anger and judgement.

He missed his friends. He missed Sarada's bossiness. As much as it aggravated him, it grounded him at the same time. Sarada being in control meant everything was okay. Mitsuki. Even if he was creepy, he always ensured things went smoothly. Shikadai, for all his uppity-ness and genius (and wrecking him at Shogi every time), he was his best friend. Boruto missed him almost as much as he missed his parents and sister. Maybe more, even, in a different way.

He wanted them back. All of them.

...

Naruto wasn't sure how to feel. When Shikadai had brought him the photo, he'd been skeptical. But when Shikadai had given an address (according to Sarada, that string of letters had cost him an entire nights sleep, which she'd assisted with), he'd taken the chance.

They'd knocked on the door first. It was a tiny, rundown little apartment, in a block not dissimilar to Mitsuki's. Nobody had answered. Sasuke had scanned the place with his Sharingan.

Empty. It was empty.

They'd kicked the door down. 

It was somehow even more rundown on the inside. It reeked of damp and mould, and was somehow worse than even Naruto's old apartment - a dry joke from Sasuke, which in any other situation Naruto likely would've laughed at.

But not now. He glanced around the deserted apartment, searching for any indication Shikadai had been right. The house seemed bare, like a showroom. Unlived in. The living room, dining room and kitchen were all one big space, with three separate rooms at the sides. It seemed normal enough. But little things were wrong. There were three locks on the front door, alone that could be seen as normal, it was a rough area, but the rest of the apartment made it all wrong.