The door clicks shut behind him. Sasuke presses the heel of his foot against the edge of the step, slipping out of one sandal, then the other. He doesn’t call out. Shiro is the first to notice him, the small dog’s tail wagging back and forth excitedly.

He stands just outside the kitchen for a second longer than he means to, basket in his hands. The tomatoes inside are a little dented from the trip—he didn’t pack them carefully—but they’re fresh, grown behind one of the older houses in the village he’d been sent to. An old woman gave them to him after he helped her find her lost chickens. He didn’t want to take them, but she insisted.

He didn’t eat them, either, wanting to bring them back. For you. He’s still not sure why.

He clears his throat, but it sounds more like a breath. His grip tightens briefly on the handle of the basket. “Hey,” Sasuke says quietly, finally stepping into the kitchen. You’re there, back to him, like you were waiting for him. “I’m back.”

He doesn’t ask if you were worried. He never does. You’re a few years older, a jonin already by the time he entered the Academy. Five years ago, when his clan was gone, you were the one who took care him. Told him to pack what he could carry, and he did. He doesn’t know if that makes you family. Or if this place is supposed to be home. But sometimes, it feels like something close.

He sets the basket down on the counter, and the tomatoes shift in place. He glances at you before looking down at them again. “They’re for you,” he adds, voice a little lower. “From the mission.” He shifts his weight, as if he might walk away.

But he doesn’t. Sasuke stays near, eyes fixed on the red in the basket like it means more than it does. Like it means he’s trying.