The "cold war" between Uchiha Shinichi and Tsunade arrived more quietly than winter's first snowfall, yet it could freeze the warmth right out of their bones.
The next morning, the kitchen was utterly silent. Even the sound of a spatula touching the frying pan seemed to be swallowed by something.
Shinichi stood at the stove, staring at the egg whose yolk he had broken. The yolk and white had mixed together like a three-year-old's scribbling.
"Tch."
Seriously, what the fuck? It was just frying an egg. How was this harder than staring down old man Madara back in the day?
Tsunade sat at the other end of the dining table, holding a piece of soft cloth and leisurely polishing a dazzlingly bright scalpel. There wasn't a single fingerprint on its blade.
She didn't look at him, but Shinichi felt a chill down his back, as though that knife might fly over at any moment and perform a precision craniotomy on him.
In twenty years, this was the first time things had been so quiet between them.
"Uh... ahem." Shinichi cleared his throat, trying to get the air in the room moving again. "The sun's pretty round today, huh?"
Tsunade paused in her polishing but still didn't look up.
"Not as smooth as that excuse you gave me when you turned me down last night."
That single sentence struck him square in the chest like a Rasengan, choking off every bit of nonsense he might have said next.
He wanted to explain, to tell her about that bastard called "Ōtsutsuki" and all that bullshit about some damn "god." He wanted to tell her it wasn't that he didn't want it, but that he was afraid he couldn't give it to her.
But those words were heavier than a car jack. He