Picnics, Push-ups, and Pranks
It’s a suspiciously perfect day. Which is always mildly concerning in a shinobi village. But instead of awaiting an explosion, you choose the radical route: relaxing.
The spot is perfect—wide clearing, river humming lazily nearby, sky all blue and ridiculous like it’s trying to show off. There’s a worn blanket spread over the grass, a little crooked, laden with food Anko half-threatened the market vendors into discounting.
You’re lying on your side, the grass warm beneath your elbow, a slice of fruit balanced on your stomach. You haven’t moved in ten minutes. You might never again.
Gai is doing high-knee sprints across the far edge of the field, hooting affirmations like he’s been possessed by a motivational poster.
“THE HEART MUST BE CHALLENGED! SO TOO MUST THE GLUTES!”
Kurenai doesn’t look up from her tea. “I am deeply concerned for the state of his glutes.”
“I’m more concerned about his leotard,” Anko mutters, shielding her eyes. “There’s only so much spandex can handle.”
You flick a grape at her. She catches it in her mouth and gives you a wink that’s somehow both threatening and flirty.
There’s laughter—low, easy, infectious. Kurenai’s tucked beside you under the shade of a wide tree, sipping something floral and mildly alcoholic. Anko lounges like a cat in the sun, sleeves rolled up, already plotting something she’ll later call “a friendly prank” and which will absolutely involve explosives.
It’s the kind of afternoon that slides past like honey—slow, golden, messy in the best way.
Gai suddenly leaps into a one-handed cartwheel and lands in the splits, fists raised. “YOUTH ENDURES!”
“Kami on a burning stick,” you mutter.
“I think I just pulled a muscle by watching that,” Kurenai adds.
“You mean your ‘sarcasm muscle?’” Anko drawls.
“She uses that more than her Sharingan.”
“I don’t have a—wait, was that a joke at my expense?”
“Yep.”
Gai has now shifted to doing lunges up and down the slope, of course. Shouting affirmations at the top of his lungs. You would've been peeved if you weren't so cozy.
Kami, an hour more and you'd mutate into a Nara.
“True strength comes from consistent BURNING efforts of the heart and THIGHS!”
“Please stop yelling about thighs,” Kurenai mutters, sipping delicately from her cup like she isn’t half-laughing behind it.
Anko throws a rice cracker at Gai’s head. Misses. Gai catches it mid-air and eats it without breaking stride.
You're propped on an elbow, half-dozing and half-listening to the comfortable thrum of easy friendship.
Kurenai glances over at you. “You look like you’re starting to relax. Should we be worried?”
“Probably,” you mutter.
Anko stretches out on her back beside you, arms over her head. “Just don’t fall asleep. Gai might get inspired to do squat jumps over our bodies again.”
“That was one time,” Kurenai says dryly.
“Exactly.”
You snort into your drink. Gai, several feet away now and halfway up a tree, is yelling about core control.
The next ten minutes are peaceful. Someone opens a second basket of snacks. Kurenai brings out those little sesame mochi balls you like.
You’re halfway through swiping another when it happens.
Plap.
You freeze. Kurenai’s eye twitches. Anko’s mouth is slightly open. Even Gai pauses mid-flex from his spot up on the tree.
Plap.
Anko slowly looks down.
A glop of white rice—badly formed, clearly weaponized—slides off her shoulder and hits the ground with a wet splat.
“…Was that a rice ball?” Kurenai says cautiously.
Again. Plap.
A sticky, misshapen rice ball has landed directly in the center of the blanket.
The silence is instant.
Then: plap-plap-plap.
Three more, raining down like starchy meteors of chaos.
Anko is on her feet in seconds. “Okay, who the hell is throwing snacks?!”
“Rice bandit,” you say solemnly, scanning the trees.
No chakra flares. No movement.
Until.
Just the faintest rustle.
Your eyes narrow.
You catch movement—a small shape darting through the branches.
“I’ve got eyes,” you mutter, rising to your feet.
“Wait—no,” Kurenai says your name. “Don’t do anything violent, it’s probably just a—”
You bolt after it. The rustling turns into full-blown crashing, and you catch just enough of a glimpse to see a tiny figure dart left behind a thicket.
There’s a yelp. A blur of orange. A series of chaotic, high-pitched battle cries that sound more like “AHHHH!” and “Get away from me, lady!”
You cut right, hop the stream, swing low around a fallen log—
—and snag a fistful of collar as a small blond blur skids into view.
“GOTCHA.”
He wriggles like a cat caught mid-heist. “Hey! Let go! I’m a stealth ninja! You can’t just grab me!”
You squint down at him. He’s got whisker marks on his cheeks, bright blue eyes, and a pouch full of disfigured onigiri.
“You’re an annoying little menace,” you inform him.
He puffs his cheeks out. “That’s ninja misdirection! You wouldn’t get it!”
“You threw rice at Anko Mitarashi.”
His face loses a little color. “…Was that bad?”
“Depends how attached you are to having arms.”
You sigh, shifting your grip to the back of his shirt and hauling him up like a sack of potatoes.
“Hey! What’re you doing?!”
“Taking you to the rice crime scene.”
He doesn’t stop squirming until you get back to the clearing—where Anko has a kunai in hand and is talking very calmly to Kurenai about all the ways she’s imagining punishing the ‘rice bandit.’
When she sees you dragging a small, bright orange Naruto behind you, she blinks.
Then throws her head back and laughs.
“Oh this is the culprit? Look at him!”
Naruto crosses his arms. “I’m deadly, thank you very much.”
“You’re adorable,” Kurenai says.
He sputters. “I’m NOT! I’m GOING TO BE THE FUTURE HOKAGE! BELIEVE IT!”
Anko drops to a crouch and flicks his forehead. “You’re like a murder gerbil.”
“I don’t even know what that means!!”
You shake your head, releasing your grip. He stands up and immediately starts brushing off his pants like it’ll restore his dignity.
He glances at you. You glance at him. Then, without a word, you reach into the basket, grab a steamed bun, and hand it to him.
He sniffs it like he thinks it might be poisoned.
“It’s food,” you deadpan. “Not a trap.”
“…You sure?”
You raise a brow.
He bites into it.
Chews thoughtfully.
“…Okay, fine,” he mutters. “You’re kinda cool, I guess.”
You smirk. “Thanks for your esteemed approval.”
He points at another bun. “That one’s mine too.”
“In your dreams.”
A small food-related bicker breaks out between the two of you, until Naruto—apparently satisfied with your level of sass—puffs out his chest and says, loudly, “Well, you’re strong, and not boring like the old people at the Academy. So I’ve decided—you’re my big sis now!”
The conversation screeches to a halt.
You blink.
Kurenai chokes on her tea.
Anko wheezes.
“…You’ve known me for five minutes, kid.”
“So?!”
You open your mouth. Close it.
You try to shake him off. “I’m not taking on a dependent.”
“I come with enthusiasm and a bottomless stomach.”
“That’s not a selling point.”
“I’ll defend you in battle!”
“You just rice-bombed me!”
“I was testing your reflexes. You passed!”
You glare.
He grins.
Eventually, you sigh and shove another dumpling into his hands.
Kurenai is laughing so hard she’s wiping her eyes. Anko just grins and ruffles Naruto’s hair as he pouts.
“Big sis,” she teases under her breath.
You kick her.
Naruto proceeds to argue loudly about why miso is superior to soy glaze until you threaten to sit on him. He retaliates by climbing directly onto your back and announcing that you’re his ride now.
You do not shake him off. Which only makes him smugger.
Gai is mid-lecture about the “four fundamental tenets of youth,” flexing triumphantly with leaves in his hair and a suspicious grass stain down his leg.
The sun shifts across the clearing and the breeze moves lazily through the grass, you find yourself… content. Full. Warm. Surrounded by absurdity and snacks and the kind of laughter that stretches out the heart, just a little.
Later, all of you end up lying back on the blanket—Naruto included—full and lazy and watching Gai do something that might generously be called ‘reverse cartwheel pushups.’
Naruto sits up, eyes wide. “Can anyone do that?”
“Only Gai,” you say solemnly.
“I wanna do that.”
“Let’s start with not throwing onigiri at a group of jounin.”
He scowls. “Fine. But I still think I could take that Anko lady if I had a good head start.”
“Keep dreaming, pipsqueak,” she calls without looking.
Kurenai is still smiling faintly, her eyes following the clouds. “This is nice.”
It is. And you know, in your bones, this will be one of those weird little days you remember years from now. Not for the food, or the weather, or even the company exactly—but for the feeling.
That warm, wild, nothing-to-prove kind of peace.
Where you could laugh with your friends, catch a feral child mid-prank, and feel—just for a moment—like the world might actually turn out okay.
Even if Gai is still yelling about youth and inner fire from the top of a tree.
You close your eyes.
And smile.