That day, the door hinge broke.
It was not badly broken. It gave a long creak whenever the door opened, like someone slowly sighing inside the wood. Kiyo pushed the door open early that morning and was so startled by the sound that he stepped back half a pace, nearly bumping into Morita Yu.
"It's protesting," Kiyo said.
Morita Yu looked at the hinge. "It just needs oil."
"Don't make a door's feelings sound so boring."
Che sat by the window, lowering his head to sharpen a pencil. A curl of wood shaving formed, then broke off at his fingertips. He looked up at the old door and thought of how, lately, doors had become the busiest things in their training: the door of the roster, the door of the records room, the kitchen door, the side door of the Konoha Police Force, and those doors they could not knock on carelessly now. When the old hinge creaked, it was almost as though it were reminding them that doors, after long use, would reveal their own sounds.
When Takuya came in, he was holding a small bottle of oil and a stack of paper.
Kiyo's eyes lit up. "Teacher, are you fixing the door?"
"First, listen to the sounds inside yourselves." Takuya set down the papers. "Today, write about the doors you've knocked on recently."
Kiyo froze. "We have to write about doors too?"
"People too," Takuya said.
Che lowered his gaze to his pencil tip. The old hinge was still creaking, as if reminding them that doors revealed their sounds after long use, and people did too. The formal stage of the ninja academy, the rift between the Uchiha and the village, the shadows of Itachi and Sasuke—all of them were waiting outside the door. But life was not