Ok, so I haven't posted anything for a while now, and for that, I apologise. Anyway, school holidays are here now, so I hope to get more out.

Enjoy :)

Someone must have told the weather to be cliché as agonisingly possible on the day of the funeral. The grey skies above darkened and darkened until it slowly pattered down – leaving the morning to be even gloomier than it had to be. And thank heaven it was only autumn – the wind gusting through the valley would not freeze everyone to the bone in three seconds flat.

The young adolescent pulled his blankets up further until he realised that the fabric he was pulling was not that of his duvet, but a jacket – her jacket. He sighed with a heavy heart and drew the light green coat up to his chin – only to bury his face in her familiar sweet scent. The boy had forgotten he had been holding it the night before – looking at it for hours wondering what he could have done before his heavy eyes gave way. Today was the day, he knew that, but every fibre in his body was resisting his eyes to open to the world (or more so his bedroom). He figured that if he kept them closed, he could remain in his dream where she – where they all – were still alive.

But alas, dreams always disintegrate into the air – especially when an eleven year old is jumping on top of you and peeling your eyelid open to investigate for life.

"Boruto," she whispered, staring eagerly with faded blue eyes. The sixteen year old peeked up through his lashes before opening one eye to his sister – glaring at her irritably. Her straight bangs hung crooked with her head bent, and her long blue-hair flowed to the side of her back. The girl rolled over and lay next to her older brother. He quickly pulled away the jacket not wanting her to see it and know that he had it. The last thing he needed was for her to make a big fuss, or worse, alert his mother – who would only make a bigger fuss.

"What, Himawari?" Boruto scratched his nose and inched further towards the wall.

Himawari was not about to give in though, and as she leaned in closer, asked, "What is PTSD?"

Boruto screwed his nose up at the ridiculous and unexpected question. Well it could have been worse. He thought of when she had come in asking where babies had come from. His response was that you pay for one at a vending machine, wait for it to dispense, and then you take it home. Inner Boruto smiled when the look on his sister's face lit up excitedly and she ran off believing his silly joke. It would be nice to return to that time, the saddened teenager frowned.

"Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder," Boruto answered, opening his other eye – now having to think more than he wanted to for the day. "Why?"

"What does it mean?" She was still whispering and Bolt figured it was because they were the only ones awake it the house (an idea which would later prove incorrect).

"The hell?" he hissed. "Go figure it out on your own." He knew his sister, who was now eleven and already in the Academy, was smart enough to go break apart the words, or at least find a dictionary. I just want to sleep. The younger girl shifted closer on the pillow until he could feel her hot breath on his face, and smell the faint whiff of mint.

"I did, genius," she mocked in a stirring voice. "But I thought that you only got it in the war. Like Uncle Kiba."

"Then why are you here?" Bolt mimicked her voice.

"Because," she began sitting up. Her long indigo hair was now messy, and strands of blue where going wild down her back. She turned around and pulled her knees together, ignoring the fact that she hit him in the process. The boy closed his eyes briefly, welcoming the black as he pulled an arm out and used it to rest his head on. When he opened his eyes he met his sister's grim expression. A crooked frown that attempted to remain positive was slowing fading. "I heard Dad talking to Mom and the other grownups about it." Boruto sighed and looked up to the white ceiling. Is it peaceful up there? "They said that you might have to see a doctor."

The boy could tell that his sister was scared and when her eyes started to water he grabbed her hand and pulled her down. He pattered her back – something he used to do when she was younger to help get her to sleep. He had a feeling that it was his father's idea, and of course, that bastard never listened to him. "What did Mom say?"

"She said that she doesn't want you to. She thinks it's too soon," her anxious voice cracking. The eleven year old exhaled like she had lived in the world for hundreds of years and knew all the hardships and cruelty that it liked to throw at you. "You still don't remember anything, do you?"

"No." Bolt shook his head, still staring at the ceiling.

"But I don't understand. I hit my head all the time and I still remember everything." That was the point where Boruto remembered that she was still just a child. She wasn't on the mission, she doesn't understand. But neither do I… I don't remember…

"It's different than that, Hima." The chastising gone from his voice as broke his gaze away from the ceiling and rested his head on the girl's. His messy blonde hair completely contrasts against her dark locks. He wanted to tell her to drop the subject, but he couldn't find the strength to say no.

"So, if you don't remember, how are you going to go back to the Academy? You're a chunin now, but will they make you repeat the year? Would Aburame-Sensei really do that?" She fired a million questions rapidly and the sixteen year old immediately regretted his decision to let her continue. "Would they still let you train as a ninja if you don't remember? Can you still become Hokage?"

Hokage, huh? That was one thing that Bolt hadn't thought about. It wasn't his dream to follow in his father's footsteps – it had been hers – but she was gone now.

"I don't know, Himawari." Boruto was getting annoyed again and his sister could sense it. She lay off the questions and went back to a simple phrase.

"You shouldn't go and train with Uncle Sasuke then, you should just stay here."

Just as she finished her sentence, the door swung open and both the Uzumaki children turned around to see their mother standing in the doorway. Her lips were pressed and her thin, black brows knitted together with motherly concern. Boruto was beginning to grow sick of seeing that expression – something she had been doing all week.

"Himawari, stop annoying your brother please," she lectured, trying to shoo the younger sibling away from the other.

"I'm not!" Hima whined in her upright position. "We were just talking…" her voice trailed off as her mother pulled the door open wider and gestured her head for the girl to leave.

"Go get ready please." Boruto's mother looked at him with her pearly-white eyes. "It is going to be a big day."

The young Uzumaki huffed and crawled off the bed, again ignoring the fact that she kneed her brother in the process. Stomping past her mother, she sulked down the hall and into another room before yanking the door behind her. The older woman crossed her arms and turned back to her son.

"Boru…" she began, raising a nimble hand to her chest.

"I am fine, Mom." He told her, trying to convince both her and himself that he could at least make it through the day.

Hinata exhaled, letting her shoulders drop and continued to stare at her child with great unease. She nodded, giving him a kind smile before turning around and walking down the corridor. She wanted to give him enough space.

"When you are ready, breakfast is downstairs." With that, she was gone.

X.x.X.x

Looking in the mirror, Boruto came face to face with his solemn reflection. A broken, pale face stared back with gloomy eyes which looked like they hadn't received much sleep. The boy felt oddly uncomfortable covered in black clothing – not used to wearing attire fit to bury the dead. Outside, the rain drizzled down miserably from the dark clouds and Boruto hoped that it would stop before he got to the service.

Though, it wasn't until half an hour later that the patters on the roof finally stopped. Boruto stepped inside the building and watched as people flooded towards him. His father managed to hold them away or at least distract them with speeches from the head of the village. Boruto scoffed in spite as his father walked away – leaving only himself, his sister and mother to deal with the others who managed to sneak their way up. Classmates, teachers, friends, strangers – people kept hugging and offering condolences, and Boruto tried desperately not to swear or yell at them.

Hima pushed herself next to him, seeing her brother struggling, and slipped her thin hand into his shaking one. He gripped both her hand and his teeth tight and stared straight ahead. Boruto's focus was broken, however, when a girl with black hair tied in two pigtails ran up to the duo. She bowed and offered her sympathy – not that it made Boruto, or anyone feel any better about the situation.

"Thank you, Saki." Boruto nodded. Himawari grabbed the girls hand and turned to look at her brother using her facial expressions to ask if she could go with her friend. Saki was a kind girl, something she definitely didn't inherit from her mother. Boruto thought that Ino Yamanaka was pretty, but she could be quite the gossip sometimes. It didn't help the situation that her son and he were very good friends, or that her daughter and Hima were best friends. Speaking of… Boruto looked around the room to see if he could find Inojin. When he couldn't manage to spot the eccentric blonde, he turned to ask Saki, but the girls were already gone.

He tried again, and his breath got caught in his throat when he saw them. Sarada's parents. Like everyone else in the building, they too were dressed in black. But it was something else that made Boruto's heart drop. Sakura was wearing a sleeveless qipoa dress. Her dress. Boruto smiled remembering all the times that he would tell her to put a coat on when it was cold. The pink-haired woman was lucky that she had the same physical frame as her daughter and was able to fit the dress – but Boruto couldn't help but feel a little angry that she wore it. Isn't she being a little selfish? You weren't the only ones who loved her, he told them bitterly.

Before he turned away, ready to hide the fact that he was on the verge of crying, Boruto noticed the item in his Sensei's hand. In a strong, but shaking hand, Sasuke Uchiha held a pair of red glasses. The sixteen year old started to hyperventilate thinking back to the failed mission. As his stomach somersaulted – threatening to throw up – Bolt sped away from his mother. He pushed his way through the crowed, avoiding anyone who wanted to offer sympathy, and rushed into the bathroom – locking it behind him.

With his breathing still rapid, the adolescent tried to grab onto the sink before his legs gave out from underneath him. The coloured tiles felt cool on his palms and were the only feeling that kept him from giving in to the dizziness. Eventually the pain in his bottom subsided and the room stopped spinning enough for him to bring his knees to his chest. Fuck it, he swore as tears rolled down his face. He tried to wipe them away with his sleeve, but it only caused more to pour from his aching eyes. Boruto rocked back and forth, hating the tight feeling of guilt and fear crushing on his chest. Can't breathe… it hurts… I'm sorry…

THWACK

The sound of the slap echoed in the small bathroom. The stinging on his cheek felt real enough, but that idea evaporated when he looked up to see Sarada leaning over him. She smiled down and blinked her large onyx eyes. She isn't wearing her glasses…

"You don't have to talk to 'em," she said simply. It took Boruto a second to realise she was talking about her parents. "I wouldn't wanna speak to 'em either… they're so freaking depressing." She fell to her bottom in front of him – a little more elegant than his decline to the floor.

Boruto narrowed his eyes, confused. "They're depressing?" he asked. Of course they are. Your… he sniffled, wiping his running nose and eyes on his sleeve.

Sarada rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't you start." When he didn't respond, the Uchiha scooted closer to him and wraped an arm around him. He let himself fall into her embrace and she squeezed tightly. He waited for her to give her usual lecture about him needing to be more of a man, or to grow up - but she didn't. "Boruto?" worry filled her voice as she placed a gentle palm on the side of his face.

Boruto nudged his head in her hand - wanting to feel her warmth, or smell her sweet fragrance – but there was nothing. He opened his eyes to look at her and tried to say that he missed her, but that is not what came out. "You aren't real."

"Well, how do you know?" She was still joking around, but Boruto had had enough. His sad and loving gaze turned into a glare.

Boruto wanted to talk back, or yell, but he couldn't – there was too much pain. "Because you're–" he began hopelessly before she cut him off. In a swift blur of black hair, Sarada had moved so that their noses were just touching. She smiled at him sweetly, and at that moment, all Boruto wanted to do was reach out and embrace her cherry lips. Before he gave into the temptation, Sarada softly gripped his chin, shifting up so that she could kiss his forehead.

"You are so annoying, Boruto." The Uzumaki boy slammed his eyes shut as his breathing became ragged again.

X.x.X.x

"Are you alright?" the calm voice from outside caused Boruto to jolt upwards and look around the cubicle. Sarada was gone. The sixteen year old stood up quickly, ignoring the black spots that plagued his vision. He splashed some water on his face before opening the door – regretting that decision immediately. The Uchiha patriarch was standing outside waiting – the glasses still in his left hand. "Shit, Boruto." He watched as the boy glanced down at the floor. "I'm sorry," he apologised. Boruto shook his head. You have nothing to be sorry for. The boy was yet to speak to the Uchiha family about the incident; he just couldn't find the right words to say. And neither of their fathers had been pleased about the relationship between Boruto and Sarada – which made the situation all the more worse.

"I'm just gonna…" Boruto stuttered trying to think of something to say.

"Your eyes are red. He knows you were crying." Sarada's voice spoke from the empty space beside Boruto. "Don't make any sudden movements… I think he can detect weakness." She giggled but it seemed that it is only the Uzumaki who could hear her.

"Sorry, Sensei… I better…" Boruto relaxed when Sasuke nodded and he made his way through the doors, down the aisles and found an empty seat at the front. Boruto's cheeks flashed red as he walked – knowing that most people were facing the front, but the ones who weren't, didn't hold back on their whispers and stares. He took a seat on an empty row, hearing behind him all the people shuffling around to find a place.

"Jesus," she groaned from the empty chair beside him. Boruto glanced up to see her scanning the room for people who showed up to the funeral. "I mean, wow, it's like the whole village is here." Having given up on his strength to resist, Bolt didn't answer back. He quickly looked around to see if he could spot his mother and sister – but gave up on them when he saw that his mother was with his father and Himawari was with Saki and her family. "That bitch!" a high pitch gasp came from Sarada.

"What?" Boruto asked, feeling a nudge in his side. He shifted in his spot to see where she was pointing, and caught notice of the dark-brown skin of the Akimichi girl. The boy also realised that he was speaking to no one, and closed his eyes briefly at how crazy he seemed.

"What is Chouchou doing here?" Sarada sounded pissed that her nemesis was attending her funeral. Boruto shook his head, remembering a time when those two were inseparable. "Who the hell told her it's okay to attend my funeral?"

"You're not the only one who's dead, Sarada. It's my funeral too." His wise, yet childish voice fussed as he sat on the other side of Boruto. Boruto suddenly found himself missing his tousled light-blue hair and strange, snowy-white complexion. The Uzumaki watched as his best friend smiled, his pale cheeks turning a little flush. "Maybe I want her here."

"Oh, shut up, Mitsuki." Sarada crossed her arms, slouching down in the chair until her onyx hair flowed on the cream seats.

Mitsuki broke his gaze away from Chouchou and went in search of someone else. Eventually, he too slouched down in the chair with a mix of angry and disappointed embedded in his face. "Dad's not here?" he sighed, blinking twice before letting his eyes drop to the floor. "I thought he'd be here." Boruto felt really bad for his friend – who had the same fatherly issues as he did with Naruto. If I die, that bastard better show to my funeral. Or else I am going to haunt his ass.

"I thought this would more fun," a blunt comment came from the floor. Bolt gawked down to see Shikadai sitting on the carpeted ground – his knees crossed and bothered look on his face. He stretched up before putting his hands behind his neck and rolling to lie on his back. He let out a long, tired sigh. "Not the dying part. I mean, dying's boring as shit, but I thought my funeral would be a little bit livelier, ya know."

"Let me just go get the party poppers," Sarada put bluntly.

Mitsuki joined in on the sarcasms. "Yeah, and I think I have some balloons out back."

"Oh, fuck off," Shikadai scoffed and shook his head with a grin. Mitsuki chuckled and Sarada giggled. Just like old times, Bolt thought of all the fun times they had shared together growing up – which only made him sad to think that they would never share the excitement again. Eventually, they all began to think of the same thing, and their smiles faded.

"Maybe he is just running late." Mitsuki tried to reason out his father's unforgivable actions. Boruto watched Sarada, expecting her to make a sly comment, but she kept her mouth shut. So, she has finally learnt to control her temper… definitely learnt there are lines not to be crossed.

Shikadai didn't hold back on telling everyone how well she had learnt her manners – though it was a bit late. The blue-haired teenager on Boruto's left side inched forward as though he wanted to say something, but he didn't. With no one to protest against him – not even Sarada – the spikey-haired boy on the floor cracked his knuckles.

With Sarada still glancing around the room for Mitsuki's father, and Shikadai almost asleep on the floor, it left just Boruto and his friend to be staring up at the black coffins. Boruto had tried to avoid looking up at them as he walked down the aisle and taken his seat, but now he couldn't tare his gaze away from the three wooden boxes. Mitsuki glared at his with hatred burning in his eyes, and Sarada, after turning back around, sadly looked at her own. The teenager on the floor peeked an eye open, then curious as to what was being gawked at, sat up and faced the front.

"This is fucking morbid," Shikadai moaned as he put his hands behind his neck again. All four of the chunins where staring up at the coffins – their bleak expressions showing that they wanted nothing more than to fast forward to the part where they are buried beneath the ground. They just wanted it to be over.

"Yeah," Sarada said, raising an eyebrow.

Mitsuki nodded and rubbed his eye. "Hn," he agreed.

It was at this point that Boruto realised that he was alone. He would have done anything for a miracle – for the chance to have his friends sitting beside him for real and not about to become food for the earth. He knew it was selfish, but he needed them back – all three of them – he needed them back for the rest of his life. Or at least, just long enough for them to tell him what happened, seeing as his brain couldn't remember on its own.

The sixteen year old turned to face the Uchiha beauty who was still staring sadly at her closed casket. She turned to face him, and as their eyes locked, her frown flickered up into a smile. Boruto's heart melted, and suddenly, he didn't care if he looked crazy talking to the air.

Boruto only had one thing to say to her. "Sarada…" Music filled the room, echoing around the large building – filling the silence and cutting the boy off. He took a short breath as they fade away – all three of them dissolved into the miserable morning. He might not have gotten the chance to tell her, but he knew deep down inside that she already knew. I love you, Sarada.

Himawari was suddenly by his side, with Saki close behind her, and both of them climb onto the chairs to his right. Boruto watched as his parents spoke with Sakura towards the back – who broke into hysterical tears before being comforted by a cuddling Hinata. Sasuke shuffled silently in the pew behind Boruto, sitting down with a puppy-dog face, and holding back tears as he watched his daughter's coffin. The man looked broken, Boruto could see that now. His Sensei placed a comforting hand on the boy's shoulder – but Bolt felt nothing.

That feeling of loneliness continued to grow, even as his parents made their way to the same pew as Sasuke. Sakura eventually came and was cradled by Sasuke's protecting hold. Boruto made a mental reminder to add Shikadai and Mitsuki's families to the list of people he had to go and offer his apologies to. He would have rather been up there with them – would have gladly given anything to be the fourth coffin sitting on display.

Boruto couldn't care less who he had to act tough in front of, and as the pastor took to the stage, he let his tears fall.

It doesn't matter now, it won't make a difference… it won't make it better. Nothing will make this pain better. They're gone – my friends are gone and they're not coming back. I can't even remember how they died. I am so sorry. Shikadai, Mitsuki… Sarada, I am sorry. Please don't leave; I don't want to be alone.

Ah, done! Um, this is terribly edited (or more so – lack thereof). I is tired, and tired me equals terrible grammar, spelling and punctuation. So for that I am very sorry.

Hope you liked it.

Don't forget to leave a comment, review... thingy (whatever) :)