Souta blinked, then grinned. "Missed me that bad, huh?"
She stepped away, arms crossed, staring at the water. "It's lonely," she said. "The clan's a mess—meetings, tension, Danzo's eyes everywhere. Itachi's all I've got at home, and he's so quiet. I'm just… stuck. You're the only one who makes it feel alive."
He watched her, grin fading a bit. "Didn't think you'd risk sneaking out for me. Danzo's got your place locked down."
"He does," she said, nodding. "I had to be careful. But I couldn't wait—not tonight."
Souta moved closer, head tilted. "Guess I'm special then."
She glanced up, a faint smile showing. "Don't push it."
"Already am," he said, chuckling. He scanned the dark, the night still calm. "You're here now. What's the plan?"
Mikoto paused, then sighed. "I don't know. Just this. You."
He brushed her arm. "Works for me." He paused, grin creeping back. "How about you take me to your place?"
She froze, turning to him. "What?"
"Your house," he said, stepping closer. "Sneak me in. More time together."
Mikoto stared, confused. "Are you serious? Danzo's watching, and Fugaku could come back anytime. The clan meeting—could be hours, could be done already."
"Yeah, but you slipped out," he said. "You're good at this. We'd make it."
She shook her head, voice sharp. "No way. That's crazy. What are you thinking?"
"I'm thinking," he said, not backing off, "you're lonely, and I could fix that. Sneak me in—Fugaku won't know."
Her eyes widened. "Souta, stop. If he walks in—or Danzo's guys spot you—it's over. It's too dangerous."
"They won't," he said. "You're a jōnin. You'd hide me. Come on, Mikoto."
"No," she said, stepping back. "The meeting could end any minute. Fugaku'd lose it if he found you there."
"He won't," Souta pressed. "You said it yourself—could be hours. We'd hear him coming. Take me back."
She rubbed her forehead, flustered. "You're out of your mind. It's not just Fugaku—Danzo's Root are everywhere."
"I don't care," he said, leaning in. "I want you, not some quick river meet. Let's go—your place."
Mikoto glared. "You don't get it. One slip, and we're done."
"I get it," he said, grinning. "I just don't stop. Come on, you want this too."
She sighed, arms dropping. "You're insane."
"Yeah," he said. "So?"
She looked away, then back, jaw tight. "Fine. But if Fugaku shows up, you're dead."
He grinned wide. "Worth it."
They moved fast, Mikoto leading him back through the trees, sticking to the shadows. She kept her steps light, checking corners, pulling him along when a Root ninja's silhouette flickered nearby. They reached her house—a side window, low and dark. She slid it open, climbed in, then waved him through. He followed, quiet but grinning like a kid who'd won a bet.
Inside, she shut the window and turned to him, voice a whisper. "Stay silent. Itachi's sleeping—little kid, his room's down the hall. One sound, and we're screwed."
Souta nodded, but his grin didn't fade. He stepped closer, hands sliding to her waist. "Silent, huh? I can work with that."
She stiffened, cheeks flushing. "Souta—"
He kissed her, slow this time, pulling her against him. She hesitated, then gave in, hands gripping his shirt. Her heart pounded—embarrassment mixing with a thrill she couldn't shake. He moved her back, pressing her to the wall, hands roaming. She pulled away, breathless, whispering, "Stop it, this is—"
"Fun," he finished, Smiling. "You're not stopping me."
Her breath hitched, half-embarrassed, half-caught up. The house stayed quiet—Itachi asleep, Fugaku still gone. For now. Then she shoved him back, not hard, just enough to break free. "Wait," she said, voice shaky. "I'll—I'll get some tea."
Before he could grab her again, she darted off, disappearing around the corner toward the kitchen. Souta leaned against the wall, chuckling under his breath. "Tea, huh? Sure."
He stayed put, hands in his pockets, and he let out a laugh. She was rattled—red-faced and running, but she hadn't kicked him out. That thrill in her eyes? She wasn't mad, just flustered. He glanced around the dim room—wooden floors, a few shelves, quiet as a tomb. Itachi's room was down the hall, Fugaku could walk in any second, and here he was, pushing every limit. Worth it, though. Mikoto was too hooked to say no for real.
In the kitchen, Mikoto fumbled with the kettle, hands shaky as she filled it. Her face burned, and she muttered, "What am I doing?" That kiss—his hands—it was too much, too fast, and in her own house. One wrong move, and Fugaku could catch them. She set the kettle on, took a breath, and grabbed two cups. Tea was a dumb excuse, but it'd buy her a second to think.
She came back, handing him a cup, her voice low. "Here. Drink it quiet."
Souta took it, sipping slow, his grin softening. "You're good at this sneaking stuff."
She sat across from him, holding her own cup. "Had to be. Too many eyes out there."
He leaned forward a bit. "You're tougher than you look, you know that? Keeps me coming back."
Mikoto glanced at him, a small smile slipping out. "You're trouble. That's what keeps you coming."
"Maybe," he said, voice soft. "But you're worth it. Always are."
Her cheeks went pink again, but she didn't look away. "Stop talking like that."
"Why?" he said, sipping again. "It's true. You're the best part of this mess."
She shook her head, but her smile stayed. They drank in quiet, the steam curling between them, words turning softer—little things, how he liked her laugh, how she missed feeling this alive. The house held its breath around them.
When the cups were empty, she stood to wash them, still jittery. At the sink, she scrubbed fast, water splashing. Souta came up behind her, gentle this time, and pulled her back into his lap as she dried her hands. She tensed, then leaned against his chest, his arms wrapping around her.
"Relax," he said, voice low in her ear. "We're good."