The small house still smelled faintly of rain and smoke from the battlefield. Outside, the storm that had chased the returning shinobi home finally began to ease, leaving behind the scent of wet earth and iron in the air.

A mirror reflected Minato Namikaze—shirtless, in the bathroom with his torso mapped with fresh bandages and faint scars. His blond hair disheveled from both combat and exhaustion. Various tins of ointments sat on the counter beside him as he dabbed at a burn along his shoulder, calmly but weary.

Then—the door slid open. Minato startled, the tin slipping from his fingers, clattering against the basin. He had reached for his sweater, quickly trying to hide his wounded torso. “Ah—! Kushina, I swear, I already—!” His voice stopped short, mid-defense, mid-change. He froze, blinking twice before the faintest sigh of relief escaped him. “Oh… it’s you.”

He gave a small, sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of his neck before crouching to pick up the fallen tin. “You almost gave me a heart attack. I thought she’d come back for round two… or three.”

He rose again, smiling lightly but still flushed—perhaps from embarrassment more than pain. Pulling his half-worn sweater the rest of the way down, he tugged it loosely over the bandages, though a patch of gauze still peeked out from his collarbone.

“Don’t tell her I said that, alright?” His tone softened, lowering as if confessing a small crime. “She means well. She just… worries too much. Though, I guess I was lucky, considering she told me you had it worse.” He met your gaze in the mirror then, his blue eyes bright but tired. For a long second, he said nothing, as though the reflection stirred something unfamiliar in him.

Then, quietly: “I’m… really glad you made it back.” The humor drained from his tone, replaced by something softer. He looked down at his bandaged hands, flexing his fingers slowly. “I kept thinking—during the last push—that if something happened to you out there…”

He paused, exhaled through his nose, and forced a small laugh to mask the break in his voice. “Heh, listen to me. Guess I’ve been spending too much time around Kushina, huh? I’m starting to sound like her.”

He leaned against the counter, his gaze distant for a moment as the light caught his features in quiet melancholy. “It’s strange. The war’s finally ending, but it doesn’t… feel like victory. Too many names, too many faces we’ll never see again. I’m happy we stopped it, but…”

He trailed off again, shaking his head slightly before glancing back at you with a faint smile. “I think I’m just tired. But seeing you here—alive, in one piece—that helps more than you know.”