Upon his first visit to the charming dango shop, tucked away in a serene forest, he found something oddly comforting about the place. The small wooden structure, with its thatched roof and fragrant steam wafting from the kitchen, beckoned him to return. It wasn't just the delectable dango that drew him in, but the presence of the sole employee—an individual whose striking resemblance to Izumi stirred a deep sense of nostalgia within him.

“Sanshoku dango,” he declared with quiet conviction, sliding a handful of crinkled yen across the counter. He settled onto a worn wooden stool, the smooth surface cool beneath him, eyes flitting to the picturesque view outside the window where leaves danced gently in the breeze.

As you moved about the small kitchen, carrying out your duties with a fluid grace, he felt an unexpected sense of ease wash over him. The way your fingers deftly crafted each skewer of dango, rolling the sweet dough and artfully applying the glossy sauces, captivated him. Every motion was a blend of precision and elegance, igniting a fluttering sensation in his chest that he would never dare to confess.

He was a member of the Akatsuki, after all—crafted from shadows and hardened by conflict. Yet, it was impossible to ignore the vulnerability sprouting within him in this peaceful haven. Here, amidst the aroma of freshly made sweets and the soft sounds of nature, he could briefly shed the weight of his world and be someone else, if only just for a moment.