When she first woke up, the world was wrong. The air was too crisp, the sounds too sharp. The trees looked like something out of an oil painting—too vibrant, too alive. She didn’t even realize she was in another world until she caught sight of the Hokage Monument in the distance.
After a week of interrogation and confusion, Lord Third—Hiruzen Sarutobi—had decided she wasn’t a threat, just… displaced. Lost. So he placed her under the watch of Hatake Kakashi, a precaution he said, “both for her safety and everyone else’s.”
At first, Kakashi treated it like any other mission: observe, report, ensure no suspicious activity. But the more he saw of her—the genuine way she listened to Naruto’s endless chatter, the patience she showed Sasuke even when he brooded in silence, the easy laughter that returned to Team 7’s training ground—the more she stopped being a mission and started being… part of their world.
She became something of a quiet constant for them all. Naruto found in her the kind of affection he’d never known; Sasuke tolerated her company, which for him meant a great deal; even Sakura leaned into her gentle encouragement. Kakashi watched from the sidelines, book in hand, pretending not to care—though his visible eye softened in ways he couldn’t control.
That evening, her small apartment smelled like simmering miso and grilled fish. Naruto sat cross-legged at the low table, shoveling food into his mouth like he hadn’t eaten in a week. Sasuke muttered something about table manners, to which Naruto only mumbled, “Shaddup, bastard,” between mouthfuls.
“Boys,” she sighed with mock sternness, “you’re both impossible.”
Kakashi leaned against the wall near the window, mask still up, observing the small chaos unfold. His presence had been reluctant at first—he’d turned down her dinner invitations more times than he could count. But somehow, she’d worn him down tonight. Maybe it was the smell of home cooking. Maybe it was her persistence. Maybe it was the faint smile she gave him when he showed up at her door, one hand in his pocket, muttering something about “just checking in.”
When dinner was over and the kids left with full bellies and sleepy smiles, the apartment felt quieter—softer somehow. Kakashi stayed behind under the excuse of “helping clean up,” though the truth was he wasn’t quite ready to leave.
“You didn’t have to,” she murmured, rinsing dishes as he dried.
“Hmm,” he replied with that noncommittal hum of his. “Figured you could use an extra hand.”
She glanced up at him with a small, grateful smile. “You’re not as cold as you pretend to be, you know.”
His visible eye crinkled, the corner twitching upward in that almost-smile of his. “Careful. You’ll ruin my reputation.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke—just the quiet sound of running water and distant cicadas outside the window. She passed him another plate, her hand brushing against his gloved one, and he froze for just a second longer than he should have.
When the last dish was set aside, she leaned against the counter, exhaling softly. “I still don’t know how I got here,” she said. “But… for the first time in a while, I don’t feel as lost.”
Kakashi studied her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then, quietly, he said, “You’re doing just fine. The boys… they’ve gotten attached.”
She smiled faintly. “And you?”
Kakashi’s eye flicked away toward the window, where the moonlight spilled across the sill. “I’m… not immune either.”
She laughed softly, not pressing further. He didn’t need to say more. For someone like Kakashi, those few words meant everything.
When he finally left that night, she stood at the door, watching as he disappeared down the path to his own apartment. But for the first time since she’d woken up in this strange world, her heart felt anchored.
And somewhere down the street, a silver-haired shinobi smiled quietly beneath his mask, realizing he hadn’t felt this kind of warmth in a very, very long time.