The grass tickles at her forehead. She holds her bow for another few seconds, sitting upright and staring at the stone plinth. Their names have been engraved now. Looking at the neatly carved characters makes her throat feel too tight, leaves her chest aching and her eyes burning.

  She forces herself to keep looking anyway.

  Miyu doesn’t talk aloud to them anymore. Not knowing that she might be watched after the events of the past week.

  Still, she wants desperately for Mother’s unyielding stare over the smoke of her pipe. Her sparse words of advice, shrewd and concise.

  Her confidence in Miyu, and the silence of her steadfast support.

  She closes her eyes, and lets herself picture it. Mother, leaning in the doorway of Miyu’s room. The scent of tobacco drifting from her pipe, the exact quirk of her thin brow, the slight downward tilt to her lips.

  “I don’t know what to do, Mother.”

  Her unimpressed stare. And then, a faint, challenging smirk.

  “You’ve always loved those games, girl. This is no different. Get playing.”

  Gods, but she doesn’t want to. Shogi, poker, those things are easy. Miyu’s goal is to win, or to lose, and she can make either of those things happen.

  But here? Here, she wants Itachi. She wants to play shogi. She wants the clans of Konoha to thank her and move on, not put forward marriage contracts, fuck –

  She huffs out a frustrated sigh, and stands.

  It’s a game, that much she knows. Just not one she wants any part in.

  She makes her way to the market, mind moving much faster than her feet. The scrolls have trickled in throughout the two days since the clan gathering.

  Surprisingly, the first had been from the Uchiha.

  Sugawara Miyu, it had read.

  You have our sincere thanks and gratitude for saving the life of our honoured clan heir, in addition to ensuring the safety of Uchiha Sayuri and Uchiha Hideki. We offer you a position in the house of a revered cousin of the head family in return.

  Uchiha Asahi recently lost his wife, and his children are in need of a caretaker. Their education and etiquette as well as their general wellbeing is of primary concern.

  Should you choose to accept this proposal, your position as their caretaker will start immediately.

  A governess. They want her to be a governess.

  Then, the Nara.

  Miyu-san,

  As implied at our shogi game over tea not long ago, the Nara are interested in extending a marriage contract to you.

  Nara Ensui, first cousin to the clan head, is our suggestion.

  Please consider our proposal, and we can discuss the matter over tea and shogi.

  The Hyuuga had been next.

  Sugawara-san,

  The Hyuuga extend our thanks for protecting Hyuuga Junpei from a fate worse than death. As a sign of our goodwill and gratitude, we offer you a marriage proposal to the honourable nephew of our revered clan head.

  Hyuuga Neji is a jounin of Konoha, and of marriageable age.

  Please consider our offer, a clan representative will be in contact shortly.

  It hadn’t stopped there. The Yamanaka, Akimichi. Even the Aburame. A few merchant clans had sent scrolls, too, and Miyu had read them all, feeling steadily sicker as they went on and on along similar tangents.

  Noticeably, the Inuzuka have not put forward a proposal. She wonders if it has anything to do with the fact that their clan head is a woman.

  “Heya, Miyu-chan!”

  She starts, dropping the pomegranate she’d been holding for much too long in the action.

  “Ah, sorry,” Naruto’s voice drops into something more reasonable when there’s barely a metre between them. “Kaka-sensei told me you’d probably be getting more groceries for dinner. This is on my way to yours anyway, so I thought I’d come help.”

  Miyu looks down at the overflowing trolley before her, and makes a mental note to thank Kakashi later.

  “Thanks, Naruto,” she flashes a smile up at him, and the one he gives her in return is blinding.

  He fills the space between them with low chatter revolving around missions and Sakura and Sasuke, his mother and father, and a group called ‘the rookie nine’. Miyu listens, grateful for his warm presence, and they make their way to her apartment at a steady pace well-suited to her whirring thoughts.

  When they make it up to her apartment, Naruto immediately pounces on Sasuke, demanding they face off in a game of shogi. Itachi is already working on dinner while Kakashi reads a book with an orange cover at her island bench. Sakura is lounging on the couch.

  “Welcome home,” Itachi murmurs to her, hand brushing against hers as she unpacks the various bags Naruto and his clones had carted up the stairs for her.

  She smiles, cheeks feeling hot as the air seems to burn between them. In the days after the incident he’d given her some much needed space, but gods, every interaction since then has been fraught with tension.

  “I’ll get started on the noodles,” she murmurs, wondering who’d been the first to arrive and move her offers from the island bench to – gods, she doesn’t know where. Has Itachi seen them?

  The thought makes her stomach sink.

  Itachi unpacks the groceries behind her, keeping out what they’ll be using for dinner. He’s already got the shabu-shabu broth simmering on the stove, and the cutlery as well as two hot-pots have been set out on her dining table.

  Miyu prepares the noodles, and after a considering look at Kakashi, washes and peels the eggplants she bought to make a dish for him. Braised eggplant with garlic, one of Masa’s specialties. She also preps some steamed greens to be topped with soy sauce, and goes about preparing some tofu to be used in the hot pot.

  She faces the stove most of the time, while Itachi does his prepping at the island. Though their backs are to one another, she’s hyper-aware of his presence. When she does turn to place the tofu beside the other prepared additions, their arms brush against one another – only slightly.

  Miyu slants a look up at him, and finds that he’s already staring, his dark eyes intense and focused. She feels her face steadily flushing, but finds that she can’t look away. Her gaze drops to his lips, just for a second. When she meets his eyes again, his pupils are blown wide, leaving only a thin sliver of his dark brown iris’ to be seen.

  She’s startled out of the moment when Kakashi closes his book with a snap.

  “I’d be careful, Miyu,” she can see Kakashi’s grin even through the material of his mask, “he bites.”

  “Kakashi!” Itachi sounds – oh, gods, he sounds flustered-

  “Mah, who needs Icha Icha when I have you two around?”

  Miyu only cocks her head to the side, “What’s Icha Icha?”

  Itachi chokes a little at that, and Miyu pats at his back absently, eyebrow raised at Kakashi.

  He slides the orange-clad book over, but before she can reach for it, Itachi has –

  “Is dinner ready yet?” Naruto’s shout masks Miyu’s own yelp as the book goes up in flames. The blond is beside them in a heartbeat, “Hey, what’s going on here?”

  “Eye sex,” Kakashi says, at the same time Itachi deadpans, “Nothing.”

  Naruto looks to Miyu, who is staring at the ashes that had once been a book in horror.

  “Itachi,” she turns her focus to him, “you just burnt a book! How could you!”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  They eat their hotpot around a table bursting with noise and laughter, and Miyu feels much lighter by the time they’re washing up – despite Itachi’s apparent pyromancy.

  While the men clean up and settle down around her coffee table with a few of her shogi sets, Miyu steps outside for a breath of fresh air.

  She stares out over the street, absently watching as people go about their evenings. Her mind wanders - from the children in her class, to the children that disappear in the cracks of Konoha, with no one to stand up for them, no one to look for them. She's long overdue a trip to Konoha's flower district, for information, and perhaps just a hint of what home had once been.

  The balcony door slides open and shut, and almost soundless footsteps alert her to another’s presence. The flutter of pink at the corner of her eye is comforting.

  “I keep having this dream,” she murmurs, knowing Sakura will hear her, “that I’m in my old room. It’s on fire and… I can’t move.”

  She doesn’t mention the shogi board on her ceiling, the fact that she can’t make the pieces do what she wants. That they threaten to topple and crush her beneath them, just as active a danger as the fire licking up the thin walls.

  She doesn’t mention the screams that get trapped in her throat, or the crashing in the next room over – her father, knocking her mother around.

  She says nothing of the details that plague her more than the premise of the dream itself.

  Sakura picks up on her undertone anyway.

  “Shit’s frustrating right now,” she says, leaning on the railing beside her with a sigh. “You save those kids, and suddenly you’re a prime candidate for marriage. As if that’s the only thing worth giving you in thanks.”

  Miyu snorts, and then covers her mouth after the fact. Sakura only slants her a wry smile.

  “I get it. I… had to fight my way to where I am now,” says the medic, gaze dropping to the street, “My family are merchants. Well off, but still civilians in a village built on the backs of shinobi legacies.”

  Her green eyes are distant, absent and… tired.

  “It took a long time for anyone to look at me and see someone of worth.”

  Miyu’s own lips quirk down at that. Slowly she extends a hand, and settles it on Sakura’s shoulder. The teen doesn’t start. Only leans towards her slightly, offering a distracted smile.

  They stay like that for a few minutes, until crashing from inside has Miyu rushing to make sure no one has damaged any of her shogi sets.

  .

  Miyu takes her usual seat, uncomfortably aware of the sudden attention focused on her by her unusually early classmates.

  “Hello,” greets the woman seated to her left, bowing slightly, “I am Hyuuga Shiori. You saved my nephew last week. Thank you, Sugawara-san.”

  Miyu bows to the woman, “It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Hyuuga-san. I was just doing my job, but you are most welcome.”

  The woman smiles, her pale eyes soft, and says, “I apologise for taking the seat beside you. The clan head as implored me to befriend you in hopes you will consider his offer of marriage into the clan.”

  Miyu doesn’t wince only through years of training her face to remain blank.

  “I think that’s ridiculous,” states the woman, not unkindly, “and I would like to let you know that I, as well as many of my younger, more… modern clansmen, are not in support of this movement.”

  Miyu very carefully doesn’t express anything but polite interest when she says, “I take no offence, Hyuuga-san.”

  She doesn’t specify whether that statement is for those for or against the contract.

  “I only mean,” continues the woman, “that we believe it is unfair to you. Now you must accept something from at least one of the clans, and all of them have offered you the same thing. It’s inconceivable to men, sometimes, that woman’s greatest wish is not marriage.”

  Miyu smiles a little at that.

  “I thank you for your concern,” and your warning – though the second part goes unsaid. She knows she must accept something, and the fact that the Uchiha option, meant to spurn her, is the most appealing at the moment, makes her feel ill.

  “My decision will not be made easy. The clans of Konoha honour me with their consideration.”

  The Hyuuga opens her mouth to speak, but Iori-sensei begins the lesson at that moment. Kushina-san is not in class, and Miyu tries not to feel disheartened at the fact.

  “Today,” Iori-sensei begins, “we will familiarise ourselves with a few different types of ink that are favoured in modern calligraphy.”

  Miyu listens, ignoring that many women are casting her glances over their shoulders. When their teacher encourages them to collect three different types of ink from the front of the class, Miyu waits until the first wave of people have passed before she rises.

  She can feel people watching her, catches whispers of her name, hushed conversations – mostly gossip – about what went on at the clan gathering.

  She ignores it, collects her different inks, and returns to her desk without any mishap.

  As she settles in, experimenting with the inks and a few clean brushes, she starts to think that maybe the class will pass without anyone bothering her, despite the obvious chatter around her.

  “Ah… Sugawara-san, wasn’t it?”

  Well.

  Miyu looks up from her work to see that a middle-aged woman with light brown hair, wearing an overly elaborate kimono for a daytime class such as this – one who had been gossiping about the daughter of her supposed friend who got pregnant by a ninja out of wedlock last week – has approached her.

  “I’ve come to congratulate you on your recognition by the clans.”

  Miyu blinks at her.

  “Ah – I only mean, you are civilian, dear? I know our lot has a much harder time climbing the social ranks in a place like Konoha, and you took a mighty leap – for us all, I hope!”

  Miyu can feel the eyes of the Hyuuga beside her boring into the woman.

  “I am a civilian, yes,” she says after a brief pause. She stops herself from saying anything more, unsure of how, exactly, to address this woman.

  “On behalf of the civilian women of Konoha, I thank you for being a source of inspiration, dear.”

  Her tone rings so false that Miyu has to suppress a frown.

  “Ah… but I did hear some concerning talk of the clan meeting, you see.”

  Dark blue eyes meet hers, filled with exaggerated concern. “That a certain man has finally taken up his position as clan head, and that he… approached you, publicly.”

  Miyu blinks blandly, wondering why the woman is still talking.

  “Please be careful, Sugawara-san. Though he may now be the head of a once-great clan, they call him friend-killer-Kakashi for a reason.”

  Miyu can’t help the way her back stiffens.

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she says, not bothering to dull her sharp tone.

  “Sharingan Kakashi is famous in Konoha… perhaps you have heard some of his unsavoury past, but I thought to warn you anyway, dear. Civilian woman to civilian woman.”

  Miyu’s hand is clenched so tightly around her calligraphy brush that her knuckles turn white.

  “Excuse me?” her tone has lost all sense of amicability. Civilian her ass, this is just –

  “Now, everyone, I expect-” Iori-sensei must sense the impending confrontation, because she tries to speak up. Miyu is having none of that.

  “How disheartening,” she takes care to ensure her voice projects into the room. Everyone’s conversations that had lulled when this woman approached her stop entirely now, “to know that citizens of Konoha do not hold their frontline ninja in enough esteem to keep from mindless gossip.”

  The woman presses her lips together briefly before shaking her head, “No – No, I didn’t mean it like that, dear-”

  “How did you mean it?” demands Miyu, and when she smiles she knows it’s all angles. Sharp and unforgiving. The woman flushes, face splotching ruddily from her neck upwards.

  “I-I merely hoped to warn you-”

  “Against Hatake-san, who has shown nothing but kindness to me since I’ve come to Konoha,” Miyu’s voice is strong and firm.

  “I only meant – his reputation, dear, I speak only in interest for your safety-”

  “You met me last week,” she states blandly, “you know nothing of me, though I thank you for your concern.”

  “He has killed before!” the woman’s eyes are wide, and her shout is loud in the extreme quiet of the room.

  “He is ninja,” Miyu responds, her calm doubly apparent in the face of the woman’s lost composure, “and this is Konoha. Forgive me, did I not just express my distaste for mindless gossip? There’s a clinic a street over, dear, I suggest you get your ears checked. Out of concern for your safety, of course.”

  “I-I-” the woman’s initial outburst seems to be morphing into embarrassment now as she becomes aware of the many eyes on them.

  “I imagined that a considerate civilian such as you would have more respect for the people who risk their lives for the continued safety of the village.”

  At this, the woman just about chokes on a sob. Miyu feels no remorse as she surges to her feet and flees the room. The fact that she – and gods know how many other civilian women in the room – felt the need to kindly warn her of Kakashi sets her blood burning with fury.

  She forces her grip to loosen on her brush, taking in a deep, calming breath as she room remains frozen.

  “Sugawara-san,” it’s the Hyuuga that breaks the silence, “Junpei asked after you this morning. He’s looking forward to the continuation of your classes.”

  And just like that, the tension in the room breaks, and chatter starts up again. Miyu knows most of it will revolve around her, but she doesn’t have it in her to care.

  She’s never been one to keep within her square just to blend in.

  No, Miyu was born to shift across countless squares, adapting and overcoming because she’s had no other choice.

  She and Shiori chat amicably for the rest of the lesson, and when they leave it’s without any interference from their classmates.

  .

  Miyu exits the shower in just her towel, damp hair heavy as it hangs down her back.

  She’s halfway to her dresser before she realises Itachi is sitting on the edge of her bed.

  “Shit!” she gasps, half-jumping out of her skin, “Warning, please!”

  “Sorry,” he murmurs, but his eyes are dark and unapologetic as he meets her gaze.

  Miyu takes a cautious step towards him, head tilted as she takes in his every movement. He looks relaxed, leaning back on his hands with his hair loose and a lazy smile on his mouth. He doesn’t shift as she takes another step closer, and Miyu wonders, not for the first time, what would have happened the other night if the alarm hadn’t interrupted them.

  She’d been much too fragile in the immediate aftermath of the incident to properly think about them, but here and now – with only a towel, a metre, and his soft, loose home wear between them –

  Miyu approaches him slowly. Gives him time to back away, or project his discomfort. He does neither as she raises her right leg and settles her knee on the bed at his side.

  She locks eyes with him as her hands come up around his neck, and she eases her other leg up onto the bed, too. The towel is loose around her legs, exposing her thighs dangerously high, and Itachi’s hands leave the bed to settle against her skin.

  His touch is cool, though that might just be the heat lingering from her shower. His fingers skim up the sides of her thighs, and she breaks eye contact only to let her gaze drop to his mouth.

  He’s not smiling anymore, and she watches as his jaw flexes as she shifts her weight forward experimentally.

  His hand slips beneath the loose edge of her towel, tracing the curve of her ass with a calloused palm. He gives it a squeeze, and her breath hitches as it sends warmth trickling through her, promising.

  She bites her lip, shifts her weight forward a little, and rolls her hips down.

  “Miyu-”

  He cuts himself off, adam’s apple bopping as his hands tighten, squeezing almost painfully at her ass cheek and thigh.

  She lets her fingers slip into his hair.

  Meets his eyes.

  And does it again.

  He makes a sound, low and gruff and wanting.

  “Touch me,” she demands, breathless now because she can feel him, hot and hard between her legs, his clothes the only barrier between them. Gods, she wants this.

  The hand that had been clenched against her thigh slips beneath her towel, and Miyu huffs in frustration as he keeps his pace slow. His fingers trace up her side, tickling as they pass the underside of her ribs. They stop at the curve of her breast, and she mewls impatiently, grinding into his lap again.

  “Is this what you really want, Miyu?” his voice is deep and husky, and she opens eyes she hadn’t realised had closed to meet his serious stare.

  “Yes,” she says, leaning in, “I-I’ve never-” she takes a breath, “the only thing I’ve ever wanted as much as this is to play shogi.”

  If he were anyone else, he might have laughed in that moment.

  But he’s not anyone else, he’s Itachi, and he understands the gravity of her words.

  He doesn’t waste time with any of his own.