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“Want some dango?” Sakura asked. Naruto looked down at the dango stick. He held Hanami with his right arm while she snuggled up to his neck, all tuckered out and drooling on his yellow yukata. And he held Shinachiku’s hand with his left hand. So his hands were literally full, unlike Sakura, with only Arashi held in her left arm. For a moment, Naruto did not consider a single solution, other than to nonverbally remind his beloved wife that he had a sleeping toddler in one arm and a tired little boy in his other hand. The night was old, and Naruto already wanted to go home, and he could tell she wanted to, as well. But the dango was currently, in the present, a more pressing matter. He looked down at the two dango that Sakura had in her hand. One was sanshoku, which oddly did not look appetizing at all. His eyes wandered instead to the mitarashi, the gooey sweet soy sauce yearning to drip off the rice dumplings. It called to him, “Come to meeee!” it said in his mind, although that was