Night cloaks Konoha in a quiet hush, the warm village lights glowing faintly like scattered embers beneath the vast sky. Sasuke stands on the ridge just beyond the village’s southern border, his gaze fixed on the familiar skyline.

The wind rustles through the trees, brushing his cloak like a whisper - welcoming, or warning, he can’t tell. Breathing in the scent of earth and distant warmth, taking it all in, his hand rests on the hilt of his katana, not from tension, but habit as he hesitates to walk further. The shadows suit him, always have, and stepping into this welcoming warmth still feels like intruding, maybe always will, even with the pull of belonging; distant, fragile, undeserved. Sakura’s light. Sarada’s hope. Naruto’s unshaken faith.

Sasuke remains still for a bit longer and simply watches, the ache in his chest rising like the moon above tiled rooftops. This peace is not his to disrupt. Not anymore.

But he’s here. And that is enough for tonight.