The wind chimes over the flower shop door jingled like crazy, sunlight slicing through the glass and splashing glittery patches across the floor.
Makoto Uchiha reached out and ruffled Ino Yamanaka's little head. Her blonde hair felt like cotton candy under his palm, warm from the sun.
Ino didn't dodge; she actually tilted her face up, eyes squinting into happy crescent moons, nose nuzzling his wrist like a kitten getting pets. A tiny, satisfied "mm-mm" slipped out of her throat.
She was rocking a sunshine-yellow tank top today, arms so pale they practically glowed, like they'd been dipped in milk. Two emerald clips pinned back her short golden hair, making her whole face pop; sweet, spunky, like a freshly peeled lychee.
Mid-head-rub, Ino's eyes flicked sideways, brows twitching almost imperceptibly.
Corner of the shop: a pink-haired kid stood on a wicker chair, clutching a spray bottle. Water dripped plink-plink onto the floor, soaking a dark little puddle.
Little Pinky; Haruno Sakura; was staring at Makoto, mouth slightly open, totally zoned out. Breathing optional.
Ino's brain screamed: Abort mission!
She'd basically raised this pink gremlin. Back when Sakura cried over her "huge forehead," Ino had tied a red ribbon around it and hyped her up until the tears stopped. Besties ever since. Ino knew exactly what that starry-eyed look meant.
Drooling incoming in 3… 2…
Ino scooted closer to Makoto, looped both arms around his, and rubbed her cheek on his sleeve like a clingy cat. Voice extra syrupy: "Makoto-nii, I've got stuff to do today. Next time I'll come play at your house; I miss Auntie Mikoto's cooking!"
She shot a quick victory glance at the corner, chin tilted like a peacock that just claimed the whole yard. No touchy.
Makoto followed her gaze. Sakura jolted like she'd been shocked, head ducking so fast her spray bottle clanged to the floor.
Ears flaming red, neck turning pink; she scrambled to pick it up and nearly toppled a flowerpot in the process.
Makoto clocked the scene: Ino in his face, Sakura in full meltdown. In the original timeline, these two were the ultimate frenemies; ride-or-die on the surface, but total plastic besties the second a cute boy walked in.
He caught Ino's little power play instantly.
"Cool, swing by whenever. I'll have Auntie Mikoto whip up all your favorites." He patted Ino's hand; soft, warm, like polished jade; then swiped the carnations Kabuto had been eyeing and bounced.
Two steps out the door, the bickering started behind him.
Makoto didn't look back. Real men don't turn around for girl fights over them.
Sun baked the street golden, air sweet with cherry blossoms.
He marched straight to the corner where Kabuto Yakushi stood under a telephone pole, twisting the hem of his faded gray jacket, eyes still glued to the shop door.
Kid was debating: Buy flowers? Visit the orphanage dean? He'd finally ditched Root; he could go home now.
Footsteps snapped him out of it. His guard had dropped hard since quitting spy life; still just a kid, really.
Panic flashed, then he straightened up fast.
Makoto shoved the carnations into Kabuto's arms. "If you wanna see the dean, go. Biggest regret in life is leaving stuff unsaid."
He knew Kabuto would probably defect with Orochimaru soon; rough road ahead, but at least he wouldn't have to kill Nonō, the woman who raised him. One less ghost.
Kabuto froze, fingers clamping the stems so tight his knuckles went white.
Head down, long lashes casting shadows, expression unreadable. He'd spotted Makoto earlier; ex-Root didn't forget a face.
Makoto's wanted poster had been plastered everywhere in Root. Danzo's personal order: Spot the evil Uchiha brat outside clan grounds; drag him in. Resistance? Terminate.
A few days ago the order vanished; no explanation, posters still up. Mission on ice, maybe.
Didn't matter. Kabuto wasn't Root anymore.
More importantly: when Orochimaru pulled him out of that hellhole, he'd dropped one line.
"Uchiha Makoto recommended you. Kid's got a sharp eye."
That single sentence lifted a boulder off Kabuto's chest. He owed everything to the boy in front of him.
He'd been stuck on how to say thanks; now here Makoto was, sun haloing his hair, way too chill for his age.
Kabuto bowed, cradling the flowers like glass. "Lord Makoto-sama."
Makoto grinned, waved it off. "Just Makoto-nii is fine."
He jerked a thumb toward the orphanage; its roof glinting soft brown in the light. "Go talk to her. No more hiding. Walk in like you belong; because you do."
Kabuto's eyes stung, nose tingling. Still just a kid.