heyy, i miss reading your naruhina fanfics. Love them. if you have time can you write a short fic about boruto maybe picking out his pink shirt? the spoilers are getting to me haha
For as long as Boruto can remember, pink has always been his colour of comfort. His mind recalls hazy memories of falling asleep on his mother, his cheek nestled against her soft, pink shirt with her heart beating a steady lullaby to sing him to sleep.
He remembers, he loved that shirt. Whenever Hinata carried him and she was wearing that pink shirt, he’d bury his head against the soft fabric and feel the laugh rise up from Hinata’s chest. His little fingers would clutch at the cotton and when he’d close his eyes, pink would still press against the inside of his eyelids, bright and hot as stars.
“Why do you think he does that?” Naruto asks Hinata once as Boruto presses his eyes into Naruto’s orange shirt. The smell is different- a little like noodles, a little like sunshine- but this way, the colour is the same. Pink starbursts behind Boruto’s eyes, lingering before melting into black.
“Maybe he’s shy?” Hinata suggests, her fingers combing gently through Boruto’s fluffy hair.
At her touch, Boruto turns and smiles blearily at the blurry sight of her. He sees a smudge of pink and automatically leans towards it, reaching for her.
“I think maybe he just wants you,” Naruto laughs. Boruto doesn’t get passed over so much as he does just climbs into Hinata’s arms. A happy coo bubbles up as he presses his cheek against Hinata’s warmth, snuggling against the familiar cotton.
It’s partially true; but as Boruto closes his eyes against the pink of her shirt, he watches hot pink ignite in the darkness, imagines that the colour trickling to the back of his throat stirs into a rumble, believes the brightness lingering in his eyes allows him to shoot laser beams.
“Little lion,” his parents called him affectionately for his wild mane of hair. Gold is what makes Boruto look the part, but the pink in his throat itching to be let loose in a roar is what lets him live up to it.
At some point, Boruto knows Hinata figures part of it out, which is of no surprise since she has always been able to understand him best. His childhood is littered with pink memories: a knit blanket he played superhero with, his first apron from Teuchi, a carrier that Naruto proudly toted him in until he outgrew it.
As Boruto grows older, old enough to choose clothes for himself, he carries the colour proudly with him as he goes with Hinata to buy his first set of training clothes. A tracksuit in black is hardly worth a second look, but the pink lining, bright and hot as stars, is exactly what Boruto wants. It’s powerful and impossible to miss.
But they don’t walk away with just a set of training clothes for him. A sensitivity to pink alerts Boruto to a rack of casual t-shirts in just the right shade of soft pink. It’s been years since Hinata’s carried him, since he’s fallen asleep to the rhythm of her heartbeat drumming away under her pink shirt, but his fingers reach out and clutch the shirts on the rack like second-nature.
The cotton is soft beneath his hands. He picks out a shirt in his size and turns to Hinata with his prize. She takes it, and knowing brackets her smile like she finally understands a secret.
It becomes Boruto’s favourite shirt. He wears it often enough that Naruto ends up going out and buying more of them in bulk; but no matter how many shirts crowd Boruto’s wardrobe, the first will always be the best.
It’s a fact that Hinata accepts, that Naruto understands, and that Himawari questions.
“Why do you wear that shirt the most?” Himawari asks curiously. “What’s wrong with your other colours?”
“Pink is comfortable,” Boruto says. A mischievous grin splits across his face as prepares to launch himself from the chair and onto an unsuspecting Naruto slumbering peacefully on the couch. “And pink is unforgettable.”
He leaps into the air with a mighty roar, a lion constellated in pink and gold.
“Oh,” Himawari murmurs as she looks up to her brother. “I want a pink shirt now too.”