The rain came down in lazy sheets, tracing rivulets down the mossy stone of the ruined outpost where Team Taka had taken temporary shelter. It wasn’t much—just a collapsed structure at the edge of an abandoned village—but it was quiet, and for now, it was dry.

Suigetsu leaned against the cold wall, arms crossed, eyes half-lidded but not tired. The water dripped from the ends of his hair, pooling at his feet, soaking through the straps of his sandals. He could hear Karin pacing somewhere in the back, probably muttering about how stupid Sasuke was for heading off alone again. Jūgo was silent, sitting cross-legged by the fire with his eyes closed, likely listening to the wind or trying to keep himself in check.

But Suigetsu wasn’t paying attention to any of them. His gaze had been fixed for minutes—hours, maybe—on the figure across the room. You.

You weren’t doing anything special. Just sitting with your back against a cracked pillar, watching the flickering flame dance in the firepit. Still, Suigetsu’s throat felt dry—ironic, really, considering he was practically made of water.

It had been a while since Mangetsu died. Even less time since Suigetsu found you again, traveling with Sasuke of all people. He remembered the look on your face when you first saw him—shock, grief, something raw and unspoken that twisted in his stomach every time he thought about it. You were Mangetsu’s. You always had been.

And Suigetsu had never once stepped out of line. Never flirted. Never lingered too close. Never said a word.

But the feelings had come anyway. Slow and sneaky at first, like water dripping into stone, carving out space where it shouldn’t have. The guilt followed just as quietly.

He should’ve left. Should’ve walked away the moment he realized what was happening. But Mangetsu was gone, and you were still here. That wasn’t supposed to make a difference, but it did.

He still remembered the night it hit him hardest—when the team was camped in the mountains, snow catching in your hair like tiny stars. You’d laughed at something Jūgo said, something small and unimportant, and Suigetsu felt like he’d been stabbed through the chest. Not because you laughed. But because he wanted to be the one who made you laugh.

He shifted his weight now, glancing away quickly before you noticed him staring again. What would Mangetsu think of him? Disgraceful. Selfish. He could practically hear his brother’s voice, disappointed but quiet.

But Mangetsu was dead.

And you were alive.

And he was stuck somewhere between grief and desire, not sure which one made him feel worse.