Malachite

While it has not been centuries since a Haruno has been bonded with a shinobi in any capacity,  it certainly has been a while since they’ve bonded with one and had to leave the Haruno Clan to follow their bonded. Let alone a shinobi from a well-known clan. 

In previous cases, the Haruno leaves the clan and hangs up their beads to follow their shinobi partner to their new home. Especially since no one is stupid enough to piss off the nuetral and pacifistic clan, no, those shinobi clans would rather let the one ex-haruno in and treat them well, lest they anger hundreds more and several deities. 

When the Haruno leaves the clan, their guardian deity offers them a lasting and powerful prayer and closes the connection, but keeps a close eye on them. That’s why many shinobi clans have minor, almost non-existent, Haruno blood somewhere in their ranks. And anyone born with pink hair is sent to the nearest Haruno temple.

And while Mebuki’s last name used to be Senju, she has renounced that title and clan. Mainly because she married the clan head, and they never renounce their clan, others marry into them. Secondly, because she hated the pressure and weight her surname bore down on her. Every day of her life. From her father. From her mother. From her older brothers. From cousins. From fellow shinobi.

“Tsunade could do it. Why can’t you?”

“Nawaki has the passion and drive! Where’s yours?”

“Why can’t you heal as well as either of them?”

“A Senju! We can surely turn the tide arou- oh.. Mebuki? Who is that?”

So on and so forth, these comments haunted her life in the shinobi world and Senju compound. 

It's about two years before the Second Shinobi War starts when she first meets him on his way back to the Haruno compound. He struts forward wearing a chūnin vest and iryō-nin sash on his right upper arm. His mauve pink hair is long and braided tight down to his mid back but shorn on the sides with his hitai-ate across his forehead. He has a broadaxe on his back with flower petals and the Haruno Circle etched onto the blade. She doesn’t know what compels her to, but one moment she is trudging forward, dreading to go home to her father, his abuse, his words, the stares, the judgment, the disappointment- the next something urges her to look up and watch the tall young man crack jokes with fellow shinobi. She doesn’t know his name at the time, but anyone with eyes can tell from his pink hair that he’s Haruno.

Only, he isn’t joking with his friends anymore. 

His midnight blue eyes are wide and staring at her in shock. 

Crowds pass both of them, jostling their bodies, but they are stuck frozen. Keeping eye contact. 

Mebuki doesn’t even realize when they’ve both stepped toward each other, in the middle of the road, until he lifts his hand for her to clasp. 

His companions are staring and many of the civilian stalls are waiting with bated breath. After all, the Haruno’s are more well-known and popular amongst the civilians. Being bonded to a Haruno is a great honor and many fantasize about it. There are fairy tales about it.

But Mebuki is concerned. 

Terrified even. 

She doesn’t want to drag this man into her family dram-

“Trust me and take my hand." His deep baritone voice causes mild chills to tickle up her spine.

At 16, Mebuki has never really trusted anyone. She hasn’t trusted anyone in years. But the chakra rippling off the man in front of her is beautiful and serene. His eyes are a deep oceanic blue and the hand held out to her is just as calloused as her own. 

Something about that makes her trust him more than anything. Like she can see his hard work and drive and relate to it. 

The sandy blonde teenager takes his hand and nothing can stop the full body shivers or the chakra wave that bursts from the two in the center of the road. 

Her sandy blonde hair whips wildly around her from the low pig tails she always wore them in to emulate Tsuna-nee-chan. The evergreen of her eyes is completely swallowed by her pupils as she maintains eye contact with the Haruno before her.

Stepping into each other's space, a vortex of chakra swirls around the pair. 

He is looking down at her and she is looking up at him. She is certain their hearts are beating in time with each other and that the thumping she can hear, he can practically feel.

“Haruno Kizashi.” He rumbles down at her.

She doesn’t gape. 

She doesn’t. 

(This is the heir to the Haruno clan. The entire fucking clan. The man who has routinely refused promotions to jōnin and ANBU because he only became a shinobi to honor his Nara father and was later drafted for the war. Someone whose skill is consistently compared to Uchiha Fugaku- a man born and bred to lead a shinobi clan. Whose stern nature was attributed to him not finding any of his ‘supposed’ multiple bonds-)

The grin on his face is because he’s happy to find his bond. Not to tease her.

She hesitates to give her name for a moment before deciding to screw it.

“Senju Mebuki,” She whispers, part in shame. Part to keep the moment from dissipating.

Kizashi only smiles brighter, as if her name was heaven sent. And she wouldn’t put it past a Haruno to imagine it so. 

“As in mesmerizing eyes? An apt choice.” 

She shakes her head and huffs quietly, “As in budding…”

His eyes flash with joy, “Kizashi means sprouting.”

Mebuki blinks at him once before giggling. Surprised at herself and how well they were apparently meant for each other. 

Her eyes are closed as she giggles quietly, so she doesn’t see the pure adoration on his face as he gazes down at her. 

“Budding in spring or spring fields of buds…” He murmurs as his arms wrap around her. Mebuki doesn’t fight it and leans into it. Never before having been willing to acknowledge how touch starved she truly was. 

A quick shunshin and the two disappear from the street where they had gathered a crowd of spectators.