Asuma knew four years was a long time. He’d returned a different man to who he was when he left, but almost foolishly, he expected the village and the people within it to remain the same. He felt a little less sure of himself now that he was back. Quietly, he looked at himself in the mirror. He saw his father stare back at him for a second, but he blinked, and then he was gone, replaced by his reflection tracking water in from the bathroom.

He pushed his damp hair up with his forehead protector and pulled a long-sleeved shirt over his head. Kurenai stood outside, just beyond the stairwell's frosted glass panels, making him swallow nervously. He’d only just returned the day before and while they had agreed to meet up, seeing her was still a shock.

Learning that she’d made Tokubetsu Jonin hadn’t sunk in until he saw her. The respect the rank commanded wasn’t something a letter could convey but he could tell she’d settled into the role by how she handled the chunin at the check-in point.

Before he could muster up the courage to open the door, she noticed him at the door, walking over until she could see him and beamed, forcing him to open it. She marched toward him, arms folded over her black t-shirt as she stared at his face.

“What?” he asked, ignoring the self-conscious prickles dancing across his skin. “Do I have something on my face?”

She stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. “...You just woke up, didn’t you.”

“Are we going or not?” He shook his head and walked in front of her.

“Slow down; you don’t even know where we’re going. It’s been so long you’d get lost without me to guide you.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” he scoffed.

She laughed and took the lead, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her red jogging bottoms. Asuma followed her with his head on a swivel, taking in the shops and sights like he’d never seen them before. Kurenai led him into a bustling side street off the main road. He looked up at the washing lines strung across the buildings and the street performers. The scent of freshly roasted meat wafted through the air and Asuma closed his eyes and pulled it in.

“Wait… I know where we’re going,” he said.

She smiled. “Guess I underestimated your memory. I’m glad you remembered this place, though. It’s not like it’s important, right?”

He winced at the edge in her voice—forgetting this place would have been a monumentally stupid move on his part. It was the restaurant where their jonin sensei took them after every major milestone: their graduation test, first C-rank, and eventual promotion to chunin rank.

If he ever had children, he'd probably bring them to Yakiniku-Q too.

“Where’s Raido?” Asuma asked as they entered the restaurant. “And do you think that lazy bastard can make it or is it just us?”

“We’re early, but there’s a bunch more people coming. You might not know all of them, though.” She sat in the booth nearest to the door. “Here.”

Asuma poured from an already prepared jug of water and pushed the glass across the table.

“...What have you done with the old Asuma?”

He laughed as he poured himself a glass. “Let’s just say my time out has been good for me and leave it there.”

“I’m glad,” she said with a smile.

It was almost comical how easily they slipped back into their old dynamic.

Kurenai rambled while he sat back to listen to it all. She paused every so often to check that he was still paying attention, which was usually his signal to chime in. Usually, his focus drifted and he found himself thinking about something completely unrelated and then she'd notice and fix him with the off-putting stare she was known for… which she was doing right now.

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“I’m listening,” he said.

A raised eyebrow was all she needed to show her doubt.

“Really. You were talking about your promotion from chunin to tokubetsu jonin, right?”

She blinked slowly.

“Told you,” he said with a smile, “I’m a new man now.”

“You know,” she took a measured sip from her glass, “I could get used to this new Asuma.”

He smirked and rested against the sofa in self-satisfaction as she started back up again and slowly, his eyes began to close. Somewhere between three and five minutes in, she suddenly cut herself off. Asuma sat up, afraid he’d missed a question, but he came up blank.

He stared questioningly at her and she squirmed out an answer: she felt bad that she had spent fifteen minutes talking about herself and her life when they hadn’t seen each other for four years.

Asuma laughed harder than he could remember, wiping tears from his face and controlling his breathing. “It was just that? Don’t worry about it. I’m just glad our friendship’s the same.”

She smiled a little tightly and nodded. A strangeness clung to his insides, coiling and twisting—and he didn’t like it.

A boisterous voice boomed behind them, “Did somebody say friends?”

Asuma popped his head out of their booth and grinned at his best friend’s scarred face. “Raido, that you?” He walked into the busy restaurant, clad in the standard shinobi uniform. “Looks like you’re still as stiff as usual. I mean, come on—who goes to a gathering in their uniform?”

“Someone in it for so long that it becomes their natural state of being. Leave him alone, we’ve all been there,” another voice chuckled, deeper and more gravelly than Raido’s. He whipped his head back to Kurenai, who smiled until her cheeks dimpled pleasantly.

He rocketed out of his chair and stepped around a grinning Raido to envelop his sensei in a bear hug.

“Easy there, wunderkind,” His sensei patted his back, “hugs from you have felt weird since you outgrew me a few years ago. I get all the ash and tobacco smell on me and have to explain it to my wife.”

Asuma broke the hug but gripped both his shoulders firmly. “That’s half the fun, Shikaku-sensei. You passed your filthy habit onto me and then quit, leaving me high and dry, so in my eyes: that’s the least you deserve.”

“I blame you for that till this day, sensei.” Kurenai wrinkled her nose and leaned out of the booth.

“Come now, Kurenai,” said Shikaku, trying for a smile. “We both know he would’ve done it anyway. I think you’re forgetting how rebellious he was as a brat.”

Their small booth quickly became a den of boisterous conversation. More friends arrived as they talked and drank—or so he was told. Asuma recognised the first few and gave them enthusiastic greetings but more unfamiliar faces began to pop up, either as their plus ones—so many people had arrived that they’d had to move to the first floor.

Orders were placed in no time and for a while, they all talked over sizzling cuts of beef. He found himself lingering on the edges, too unfamiliar with the topics of conversation to chip in but as he was the person everyone was dedicating the afternoon to, it wasn’t like he could just up and leave. That left him in a tight spot where he had to rely on his close circle—Shikaku, Raido, and Kurenai. Raido and Shikaku’s jobs were a round-the-clock thing, so they had to leave after two hours, leaving him with just one lifeline.

Asuma popped the last bite into his mouth and searched for Kurenai. He made his way through the clusters of socialising people, clutching a half-empty tumbler to his chest.

“Hey, erm… welcome back, man!”

He raised a hand to greet a group he didn’t recognise, slowing his stride down.

“Idiot,” a lady who must’ve been his friend hissed, “I told you his name was Asuma—so how the heck did you forget it in less than twenty seconds?”

“...Sorry, alright? I don’t even know the guy, even if he’s a jonin, he’s been gone for years!”

She dragged him away, directing an apologetic smile his way. Squeezing between them and a table, he weaved around half a dozen more people before he reached Kurenai—though he heard her laugh before he saw her.

She was part of a small circle of kunoichi talking animatedly to each other. Asuma froze as he watched life carry on around him. While he probably could’ve got her to come over, he didn’t—rather, he couldn’t. It was his party but it felt like he was the one intruding. Everywhere he looked, people were in the middle of conversations that he didn’t know enough about to disturb.

Still holding his half-empty glass, Asuma returned to his seat and called for another order of beef, settling the seasoned slices atop the grill and taking small, sour sips of his drink. He slipped a piping-hot side of beef over his tongue while the sounds of conversation boxed him in from either side.

He held a hand up for the waiter posted at the top of the first-floor staircase. “Waiter, another round of drinks for my friends, please.”

The simultaneous cheers from everyone didn’t make him feel better, but he raised his half-empty glass with enough false cheer to make himself grin anyway.