together I yamanaka ino

[ 02 ✩ Gladiolus ]

When Ino turns seven, she clasps her hands together and wishes that her mother will come back home. Ino also wants to be friends with Sakura forever and ever! She thinks that wishing twice is okay because she's turning seven this year.

Ino blows out the flickering flame that sits atop of an intricate cake, made up of twisted vines resembling the ivy that tumbles down over Ino's bedroom window. A single gladiolus flower intertwines at the top; magenta shines dully amongst emerald.

"What did you wish for, hana?" Ino squeals as she's picked up by her father. Yamanaka Inoichi's warm eyes rest on her mop of blonde hair, so reminiscent of his own. 

"Otou-san, you know that if I told you, my wish wouldn't come true!" Ino says, beating her tiny fists against her father's back, fierce bluebell eyes glaring at Inoichi's mock-innocent face. He throws his head back, laughing uproariously, and pats Ino's head.

"Not even for me, my little hana?" Inoichi brings his lips to Ino's cheek. He can feel the slow beat of her heart.

"Nope! I want this wish to come true." Ino puts her hands on her hips, leaning back from her father's grip. Her eyes soften as she watches her father breathe in slowly, the chill of winter making the puffs of air twist around in spirals, rising up in the sky. 

The several windows by their table are wide open, letting the frost of early winter curl its edges across their house; beautiful designs are etched out on glass panes.

Ino struggles out of her father's grip, dropping to her feet as Inoichi looks at her fondly.

"What are you doing, hana?"

"Mm." Ino shrugs, climbing on top of a stool, wobbling precariously. "I wanna admire nature."

"Is that so?" Her father smiles, and for a single heart-stopping second, sees the silhouette of Ino's mother. Birch-knot hair, sunlight laughter and flowers weaved into every fiber of her being--Inoichi is heartsick for the smell of floristry. Then he blinks and he sees Ino, happy and exuberant Ino who is at home, tracing the pattern of a rose onto the window pane.

He thinks: come back. He thinks: we need you.

"Yep!" The drawing fades away after a minute or two, and Ino looks the empty space where an elegant set of swirls once existed. "Otou-san?"

"Yes?" Inoichi walks over to where Ino is standing, putting a rough, callused palm upon Ino's unblemished arm. It's milky white, skin that hasn't felt the continuous 'thunk' of a kunai hit the heart. It's so at odds with his own that he shudders, just for a moment--a universal truth in the shinobi world is that nin never have childhoods.  Inoichi is no exception; he was a child born in war, katana in one hand and crimson staining the other.

"When is okaa-san going to come back?" 

Ino tugs at her father's jounin-vest, a signal for him to pick her up. He does so mindlessly, frozen, until he registers the arms around his neck. It's been years since he's had so little control, but he feels instinct snap rigid against his spine: a sharp voice screaming danger. Any nin that gets that close to a vital point is dangerous. His hands tense into fists.

"Otou-san?" 

Inoichi inhales, exhales, hugs her tight. The urge dissipates. He can see her eyes. Ino, with such guileless belief in her Yamanaka eyes. Bluebell, sky-blue, sapphire eyes. Ocean eyes. Dead eyes. 

"Otou-san?"

Eyes are the gate-way to the soul. In his profession, he's seen more than his fair share; he's seen them all, in fact. All sorts of colors, all sorts of conditions. Gouged out, bloody, perfectly fine eyes. Eyes in the color of a rainbow. But Ino's eyes--Ino's eyes--