Sorry, it took me a while to get this right! I hope you like it!
He took the old, worn jacket out of the box. It looked new enough, but if you looked closely, you could see the orange and blue were starting to fade. You could see the spots where the cloth was torn and crudely stitched back together multiple times.
Boruto remained silent as he gently brushed off the dust that had gathered on the jacket…his father’s old jacket.
Why wasn’t Boruto with his mother, who had been trying her hardest to console a hysterically sobbing Himawari for the past two hours? Even now, he could hear the faint crying coming from his heartbroken little sister, his mother’s gentle voice trying to soothe her. Why wasn’t there with her, helping her instead of going through boxes of stuff from a time before he was born? Being as strong as she was?
Oh, that’s right…Because he isn’t as strong as she is. And nowhere near as strong as his father either, he’s come to realize.
Momoshiki and Kinshiki, those bastards…Attacking his old man when he had his back turned.
Then again, his back had only been turned because Boruto had been too scared to move. He’d never been involved in a real fight before, not with anyone outside the village. So he’d been a sitting target who only survived because Sasuke saved him.
And now…his dad…
Honestly, hours after the incident, with the village in upheaval over the assault and their missing Hokage, Boruto still wasn’t sure just what had happened to his dad.
Every time he tries to sorts his thoughts out, all he can see is his dad’s final smile.
Boruto unfolded the jacket in his hands, looking at it with cold eyes. He shrugged off his own jacket before replacing it with the bright orange one.
What ninja would be caught dead wearing this? Boruto had scoffed and grumbled that a couple years back when his father had shown him a picture of the old Team 7, of him wearing this very jacket in his early genin years.
Now here he was, sitting on the cold floor of the dimly lit room, wearing that same tacky orange jacket. It seemed he was the same size his father was back then, the jacket fitting well. There was a slight scent to it.
Ramen? How typical…Dirt…Grass…Like a forest. The faintest scent of blood…Sweat…Kinda gross…
But it smelled like his dad.
He felt numb as he curled up into a ball on the floor.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but eventually he couldn’t hear his sister’s cries anymore. Boruto slowly left the room, still wearing his father’s jacket. He wandered down the halls, eventually stopping at Himawari’s bedroom.
He saw his mom putting Himawari to bed, gently stroking her hair and smiling at the small girl. Boruto flinched when he spotted the tearstains on Himawari’s cheeks.
His mom finally turned and they made eye contact. He didn’t miss the way she jumped, the way her mouth opened, as if she was about to say a name that wasn’t his own.
She always did say he was the spitting image of his father.
His mother quickly recovered from her surprise, that gentle smile that always comforted him back on her face as she exited the bedroom, closing the door behind her.
She lead him to the living room, so they could talk without waking up his sister. But every time Boruto tried to say something, his throat closed up and the jacket he wore weighed heavily on him.
His mother leaned down a bit, checking him over, still staying as strong as ever. He noticed how red her eyes were now, his own eyes starting to water.
“How are you?” she asked, the slightest quiver in her voice.
“Mom?” he began, his shaky voice matching the way his body was trembling. He felt weak when the tears finally spilled from his eyes, he didn’t want to cry in front of her, “Can I…?”
He hiccupped and gripped the edge of the jacket.
“Can I…borrow this for a while?”
His mom’s response was to engulf him in a hug, his sobs muffled against her shoulder. As her arms surrounded him, Boruto tugged the jacket so that it was tight around him, that familiar scent enveloping him.
He could almost pretend his father was there, hugging him too.