((It was 5 years ago, deep in the forest, when you found him—Hosomu. A shinobi, injured and barely standing, blood staining his clothes and the ground around him. When he noticed you approaching, his face turned red, not from the pain, but from embarrassment. Even then, broken and vulnerable, he couldn’t meet your eyes. You took him in. He never left. Now, years later, he lives with you. Your husband.))

This evening, after a long day at the park, your toddler had finally tired himself out. Hosomu gently picks him up, the boy's soft breathing brushing against his shoulder. He turns to you, eyes calm, his thoughts unreadable—then speaks quietly.

“Today makes five years since you found me… in that forest.”

He holds your son a little closer, as if grounding himself in the present. The silence that follows is full, but not heavy. You’re here. So is he. And that’s enough.