The sun was dipping low, painting Konoha's rooftops in shades of orange and pink. Haruka trudged home from the Academy, his mind a tangle of Quincy System notifications and Minato's relentless teasing about his "fancy clone glow." He was still getting used to this life—silver hair, ninja prodigy status, and a sister who wasn't just a memory from Earth but a living, breathing person. Sora.
Their house came into view, a modest two-story tucked away on a quiet street. It was nothing fancy, but it was theirs, bought with the inheritance their ANBU parents left behind. Haruka pushed open the gate, the faint scent of jasmine hitting him. Sora's doing. She loved her garden, even if she complained about the weeds.
"Sora, you home?" he called, kicking off his sandals at the door.
"In here!" Her voice floated from the living room, soft but warm, like a melody you couldn't forget.
He found her curled up on the couch, a sketchbook balanced on her knees. Her silver hair, a mirror of his own, spilled over her shoulders, catching the last rays of sunlight. She looked up, her gray eyes sparkling with that quiet intensity that always made Haruka's chest tighten. Sora wasn't a ninja, wasn't built for battle, but there was a strength in her—something that grounded him in this crazy world.
"Long day?" she asked, setting her pencil down. Her smile was small, but it lit up the room.
Haruka flopped onto the couch next to her, stretching his arms over his head. "Yeah. Made some glowing clones, freaked out the teacher. Minato's already planning to one-up me tomorrow."
Sora laughed, the sound like wind chimes. "You two are ridiculous. Always competing."
"Gotta keep things interesting," he said, grinning. But his eyes softened as he looked at her. Sora was his constant, the one piece of this life that felt… right. On Earth, he'd been alone, just a guy with a laptop and too many anime torrents. Here, he had her. And lately, he'd been noticing things—the way her laugh made his pulse race, the way her hand brushed his when they cooked dinner together. It was confusing as hell.
She nudged him with her elbow. "You're staring, dummy."
"Am not," he lied, cheeks heating up. He grabbed her sketchbook to distract himself. "What's this? Another masterpiece?"
Sora tried to snatch it back, but he held it out of reach, flipping through the pages. Her drawings were stunning—landscapes of Konoha, portraits of their parents from old photos, even a sketch of him practicing kunai throws in the backyard. He paused on that one, his heart doing a weird flip. He looked… heroic in her eyes, all sharp lines and confidence.
"Give it back!" Sora lunged, half-laughing, half-pouting. They wrestled for it, tumbling across the couch until she ended up pinned beneath him, her wrists caught in his hands. Her face was inches from his, cheeks flushed, eyes wide. The air felt charged, like the moment before a lightning jutsu.
Haruka swallowed hard. "You're… really good at this," he said, voice quieter than he meant. He wasn't just talking about the art.
Sora's blush deepened, but she didn't look away. "You're not so bad yourself," she murmured. "Always showing off at the Academy, making everyone fall for you."
"Not everyone," he said, the words slipping out before he could stop them. "Just… the ones who matter."
Her breath hitched. For a second, neither of them moved. Haruka's mind screamed at him to back off—this was Sora, his *sister*, even if this world's rules and his Earth memories blurred the lines. But the way she looked at him, the way her lips parted just slightly, made it impossible to pull away.
"Sora," he started, but she cut him off.
"Don't," she whispered. "Don't say we shouldn't. I know what you're thinking, Haruka. I've been thinking it too."
His grip on her wrists loosened, and she sat up, closing the distance between them. Her hand found his cheek, soft and warm. "We're not like other people," she said, her voice steady despite the tremble in her fingers. "We've only got each other. Always have."
Haruka's heart pounded. He thought of their parents, the ANBU masks hanging in the study, the jutsu scrolls locked away for him to master. They'd left him a legacy of power, but Sora was his real anchor. Earth or Konoha, that truth hadn't changed. And maybe… maybe this feeling wasn't wrong here.
He leaned in, slow enough for her to stop him. She didn't. Their lips met, tentative at first, then deeper, like they'd both been holding back for too long. It was soft, electric, and a little desperate, like they were stealing a moment the world might not allow. Sora's fingers tangled in his hair, and Haruka's hand slid to her waist, pulling her closer.
When they finally broke apart, both of them were breathless, foreheads pressed together. Sora's eyes were bright, a mix of fear and defiance. "We're gonna be okay," she said, like she was convincing herself as much as him. "Right?"
Haruka nodded, his grin shaky but real. "Yeah. We'll figure it out. Together."