In Naruto, I Have an Affair with Mikoto and Kushina

Kushina glanced between them, suspicion growing. "Okay, what the hell is going on?"

Souta set Mikoto's tea down and leaned on the counter. "Nothing at all. Maybe you're just overthinking."

Kushina crossed her arms. "Hmph. I don't buy it."

Mikoto took a sip of her tea, ignoring Kushina's scrutiny. "You think too much."

Kushina pouted, clearly unsatisfied, but let it drop. For now.

That night, Mikoto found herself at the river again, though she had told herself she wouldn't come. Yet, her feet had carried her here without a second thought.

Souta was already waiting, as if he knew she would show up.

"You're here," he mused.

Mikoto crossed her arms. "You're awfully sure of yourself."

Souta smirked. "Only when I'm right."

She sighed and sat on the rock. For a while, neither of them spoke.

Then, Souta broke the silence. "You ever think about it? Leaving?"

Mikoto stiffened. "Leaving what?"

"Everything. Duty. Expectations. All of it."

She didn't answer right away. Instead, she let the question hang, staring at the ripples in the water. "That's not an option."

Souta studied her, his gaze thoughtful. "Maybe not now. But if it ever was?"

Mikoto exhaled slowly. "It doesn't matter."

Souta leaned in slightly. "Doesn't it?"

She turned to him, and for a moment, there was something raw in her expression. But then, just as quickly, it was gone. "I should go."

 ...

The next few days passed in a deliberate shift. Souta avoided Mikoto.

It wasn't outright—he didn't suddenly vanish or act hostile. He was simply... absent. Whenever she visited the tea shop, he kept their exchanges brief, professional, and distant. No playful remarks, no lingering glances, no stories under the moonlight.

At first, Mikoto ignored it. But soon, she noticed the absence more than she liked.

When she entered the tea shop one evening, Souta was speaking to Kushina, his easy smirk present, his laughter light. Yet the moment he acknowledged Mikoto, his expression turned neutral, as if a curtain had dropped. "Your tea?"

Mikoto hesitated a fraction before nodding. "Yes."

She took the cup, and even as she sipped, her mind raced. This was different. Deliberate. 

And she hated that it was working.

The next night, she didn't go to the river. instead, she stayed home, convincing herself it was nothing. Just a shift. Nothing worth thinking about.

But when she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, she felt restless. As if something was missing.

The following day, she arrived at the tea shop earlier than usual. Souta greeted her with the same distant politeness, and that was when she knew for certain—he was doing this on purpose. 

A trick. A push and pull. 

He wanted her to feel the space between them.

Days passed, and he didn't show at the river. 

Mikoto found herself going there anyway. Alone. Sitting on the rock where they used to talk, staring at the rippling water, arms crossed as the wind tugged at her hair. 

And then, one night—

Footsteps. 

She turned sharply, and there he was, hands in his pockets, looking like he had never left. 

Mikoto scoffed, masking the strange relief bubbling inside her. "Thought you wouldn't come."

She narrowed her eyes. "So. What exactly are you trying to do?"

Souta tilted his head. "Whatever do you mean?"

Mikoto studied him. "You know exactly what I mean. The sudden distance. The avoidance. You're playing a game."

He smiled, but there was something unreadable in his expression. "And if I was?"

She opened her mouth, then closed it. The river murmured beside them, filling the silence. Finally, she exhaled, shaking her head. "You're insufferable."

Souta grinned. "And yet, here you are."

Mikoto said nothing, but she didn't leave either.

Souta took a step closer, his smirk fading. "You know," he murmured, tilting his head slightly, "you're not as unreadable as you think."

Mikoto exhaled through her nose, arms crossing tighter. "And you think you can read me?"

"I think," he said, stepping even closer, "that if I took your hand right now… you wouldn't pull away."

Mikoto stiffened. Her first instinct was to scoff, to tell him off like she always did when he got too familiar. But this time, the words didn't come. Her body betrayed her, standing still instead of stepping back. Her hands, curled into fists at her sides, didn't rise in protest.

Souta's eyes flickered, catching the hesitation. Testing the waters, he slowly reached out, fingers brushing against hers. A fleeting touch—soft, light, barely there. But it sent a shiver down her spine.

She should pull away.

But she didn't.

His fingers traced up, ghosting along her wrist before resting against her palm. Not gripping, not forcing—just waiting.

Mikoto swallowed, her throat tight. "This is reckless," she whispered, but there was no heat in her words, no conviction.

"Probably." Souta's voice was lower now, smoother. "But I think you like that about me."

Mikoto exhaled sharply, more of a release than a laugh. "You really are insufferable."

"Maybe," Souta murmured, his thumb tracing slow, idle circles against her palm. "But you haven't let go."

She finally looked down at their joined hands, fingers barely entwined, yet it felt more intimate than anything before. This wasn't a mistake born of exhaustion, of fleeting impulse—this was deliberate.

She didn't know who moved first, but the space between them had vanished. Souta was close enough that she could feel the warmth radiating from him.