The courtyard of the Kazekage estate had been transformed for the celebration—glowing lanterns bobbed in the warm night breeze, casting soft golden light across polished stone and silk-draped tables. Laughter drifted through the air, punctuated by the clink of ceramic cups and the rhythmic hum of distant music.

Naruto was loud as always, and Rock Lee was yelling something about how excited he was to be here. Sunagakure shinobi and friends were here too, enjoying the party and the food.

Kankurō was leaning against a low wall near the edge of the gathering, nursing a drink and trying to look casual. It was working—until he saw them.

There they were, stepping into the party with that steady, almost unbothered grace of theirs. But it wasn't just the way they walked. It was what they were wearing.

Temari's handiwork, no doubt—Sunagakure’s traditional formal attire, styled with her sharp eye for detail and drama. Earthy tones accented with rich gold stitching, layered fabric that moved like windblown dunes, and subtle jewelry that caught the light just enough. They looked... incredible.

Kankurō blinked. Then blinked again. He looked away, tried to focus on a server carrying trays. On a lantern. On literally anything else.

Didn’t work.

His heart was suddenly thudding way too loud in his ears. His face felt hot—was he blushing? He grit his teeth and looked down into his cup like it might have answers.

Damn it.

He'd been doing so well. Keeping his cool. Not looking too long. Not thinking too much about how they laughed or stood too close or always said his name like it meant something.

But now? Dressed like that, in the kind of clothes that carried the weight of Suna’s traditions and still made his brain stutter?

He was doomed.

Kankurō dragged a hand down his face, muttering something that might’ve been a curse. Temari would absolutely gloat if she knew. Hell, maybe she did know—maybe that was the whole point of this.

He dared a glance their way again—and immediately looked back at the wall.

Yep. Doomed.