The Temptation of Going Home

Late at night, in Mikoto's home in Star City's East District.

Warm light filled the spacious living room, coating the beige walls, the raw-wood furniture, and the silent figures on the sofa in a soft, gentle yellow.

Outside the window, the night had already deepened. All was quiet, save for the occasional faint sound of a patrol car passing in the distance.

Sasuke sat somewhat dazed on one side of the long, soft sofa, his back straight, his hands unconsciously resting on his knees, his fingertips slightly curled. The black hair over his forehead was a little disheveled, and the swelling on his left cheek from Gaara's blow had faded a great deal, but on closer look, faint red marks were still visible.

His head was lowered slightly, his gaze fixed on the cup of clear tea on the coffee table before him. It had long since gone cold, untouched. The surface reflected the ceiling lights, and also reflected the sorrow in his eyes that had yet to fully settle.

Mikoto sat in the armchair diagonally across from him, her long hair loose over her shoulders. Her eyes still held the faint redness left after crying, but when she looked at Sasuke, the tenderness, guilt, and precious relief of recovering what had been lost in that gaze were so intense they almost overflowed.

She did not sit too close, as if afraid of startling the son she had only just found again. She only watched him quietly with those beautiful black eyes, as though she wanted to make up for every minute and second missing from the past six years.

Temari and Kankuro sat on the short sofa on the other side. Both of them seemed somewhat restrained and silent, doing their best to minimize their presence.

Gaara sat alone