When Takuya was a chuunin, right at the beginning of his troubles, he'd been young enough and angry enough and bitter enough to believe that he had hit rock bottom. That his life was as terrible as it was ever going to get, and that crushing, unbearable weight of the clan's collective shame and disappointment bearing down on him was going to be the end of him.

But he was wrong. Back then was only the beginning. The end did not come for him all at once.

No, the end is just this. A thousand little deaths, like needles pushed into his skin, like swallowing broken glass and having to take seconds, like being cut open and stitched shut filled with hot coals that burn hotter with every breath he takes, every step, every heartbeat.

He'd thought himself to be past disappointment, past sorrow, past anger.

And he was wrong.

It doesn't seem that Uchiha Takuya can ever exhaust himself of being wrong.

He doesn't know how long he's been standing here. Outside his empty, shuttered house.

They moved without telling him. His parents. That or they died, but were that the case there'd be at least someone gossiping about it. Takuya doesn't expect much out of the family, but he does expect Ayane would have heard something of her own sister's death, and he would like to think that she would say something to him about it.

But then, what does Takuya know about anything anyway.

He's not really sure why he came, just that it's been a long time since he's been home. It's been colder lately. He brought some things for nabe, though he wasn't going to stay for dinner.

They're still his parents.

...well, it's still his mother.

It's not like it matters, not really. They're a shinobi village. Plenty enough people don't have parents at all. This is little different.

Takuya sits down on the porch of the empty house and doesn't move again for a while.