The bedroom door slammed shut from the inside with a bang.
The sound was like a decisive final rest, shutting out the mad world beyond the door-the world of science, plans, and Orochimaru.
In an instant, the room fell so quiet that only their two heartbeats remained.
Tsunade was still slung over Shinichi's shoulder, looking at the familiar furnishings of their bedroom upside down,
along with that bastard's sturdy back, which swayed slightly as he walked.
Her face was as red as a ripe tomato, whether from anger or embarrassment, she could not tell.
Shinichi walked steadily to the bedside, then, with the utmost care,
gently set her down as though he were placing a priceless, fragile treasure.
Her feet touched the soft tatami once more.
Once Tsunade had found her footing, she clenched her fist without a word and aimed it at Shinichi's chest,
ready to deliver a "loving iron fist" infused with the essence of her lifetime of medical knowledge.
But her fist stopped in midair.
Because she saw Shinichi's eyes.
Those dead-fish eyes, always so languid, as though nothing could ever interest him,
were looking at her with a seriousness she had never seen before.
There was no joking in them, no teasing, only a kind of... stubbornness that made her heart tremble.
"Uchiha Shinichi,"
Tsunade finally could not hold back. She jabbed a finger hard against his chest and said through gritted teeth,
"You looked utterly ridiculous back there! Anyone who didn't know better would've thought you were some mountain bandit king dragging home a kidnapped bride!"
"Close enough."
Far from arguing, Shinichi nodded as though he were perfectly justified.
He reached out, caught the hand still "assaulting" his chest, and drew her a little closer.
"Tsunade,"
he said, lowering his head, his voice much deeper