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The night before the next stage of the Chunin Exams, Haruto found himself wide awake, lying in his bed, staring at the ceiling as the silence of his room pressed down on him. He should've been preparing mentally for the challenge ahead, but instead, his mind kept circling back to one thing. One person.

Obaa-chan.

No matter how hard he tried to focus on tomorrow, her face, her voice, her warmth invaded every thought. She had been the closest thing to family he had, the one who had cared for him at the orphanage. Since leaving, he had only gone back to see her once. Just once. And now, she was gone. A life taken so cruelly, so suddenly, and he hadn't been there when she needed him most.

Haruto sighed deeply, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. He had gone to her funeral, of course, but even then, he hadn't let himself feel the full weight of the loss. He couldn't—he had to stay strong, had to focus on the future. But now, with the Chunin Exams looming and the village quiet around him, the weight of that loss was impossible to ignore.

I should have been there for her. The thought gnawed at him, as it had every night since he had heard the news. His chest felt tight, the guilt swirling with each breath.

He needed air.

Haruto grabbed his vest and slipped outside, hoping the cool night air would help clear his mind. The village streets were quiet, most of Konoha already asleep. The soft glow of the moon cast shadows along the rooftops, and the occasional breeze rustled the leaves, but otherwise, it was still.

As he walked through the village, his steps slow and aimless, he tried to push the guilt away, tried to think about tomorrow, about his team, about the Forest of Death. But the memories of Obaa-chan refused to leave him alone. He hadn't visited her enough. He hadn't been there. Now, she was gone, and all he had left were regrets.

Turning a corner, Haruto was so lost in thought that he didn't notice someone coming toward him until they nearly bumped into each other.

"Haruto?" a familiar voice said gently.

He blinked, looking up to see Shizune standing a few feet away, concern immediately flickering in her eyes as she took in his expression. She had always been able to read him easily, and tonight, it was clear she knew something was wrong. She had been there at Obaa-chan's funeral, and now, seeing him like this, she could tell that the weight of that loss was still pressing down on him.

For a moment, they just stood there, the quiet between them filled with unspoken understanding. Then Shizune stepped closer, falling into step beside him as they started walking together.

Haruto didn't say anything at first. He just kept walking, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his eyes downcast. The silence stretched on, but Shizune didn't push him to talk. She knew him well enough to know that he needed time, that he wasn't ready to open up just yet.

After a few minutes of walking side by side, Shizune finally broke the silence, her voice soft but steady. "It's okay to be sad, Haruto."

Haruto kept his eyes forward, his steps slowing slightly, but he didn't respond. He wasn't used to admitting things like that, wasn't used to showing how much something hurt. He had always tried to push through the pain, to keep moving forward no matter what. But now, standing here in the quiet of the night, it was hard to pretend.

Shizune didn't push him. Instead, she added gently, "But you don't have to be sad alone."

Her words hung in the air for a moment, soft and understanding. Haruto didn't say anything, but after a beat, he reached out and took her hand, his grip firm but wordless. Shizune squeezed his hand in return, a simple gesture that told him she was there, that he didn't need to face this on his own.

They continued walking, side by side, neither of them saying a word. The silence was no longer heavy but comforting, a shared quiet that said more than words ever could. Shizune knew that sometimes, being there for someone didn't mean talking or trying to fix things. Sometimes, it just meant walking alongside them, letting them know they weren't alone in their grief.

Eventually, they found themselves at Hokage Mountain, climbing up to a spot where they could sit and look out over the village. The stars above them twinkled in the dark sky, and the village below seemed so peaceful, so distant from the weight that Haruto carried.

They sat there together, side by side, the cool breeze brushing against them. Haruto looked up at the stars, his heart still heavy, but somehow… lighter. The vastness of the night sky made everything feel a little smaller, like maybe, just maybe, the weight wasn't so unbearable after all.

Shizune didn't say anything more. She didn't need to. Her presence was enough.

Haruto allowed himself to sit with the sadness, to feel it, without pushing it away. He didn't have to face it alone.