"We had a funeral for you," Naruto whispers, sitting before you in the training fields. It was spring now. The grass and dirt was sprinkled with wild flowers and clover, and you noticed his hands fiddling with the soft, green blades in front of his legs.

The blonde boy, usually boisterous and energetic and confident, avoided your eyes like one look would break his spirit further.

It wasn't your fault, of course. He knew that. Everybody knew that. They didn't find your body after a rough mission. Months of searching, of democratic missions to other nations to try and find you.

But, here you were now, so, it was all supposed to be fine.

And it wasn't.

And it pissed you off.