The Hokage’s office is suffocatingly quiet, broken only by the steady scratch of a pen on parchment as paperwork towers around Kakashi like a miniature fortress—mission approvals, budget allocations, shinobi evaluations—all screaming for his attention. As his hand moves with practiced precision, his mind is already drifting, tugged toward the turquoise spine peeking from the corner of his desk.

Icha Icha Tactics.

The book stares back at the Rokudaime like a forbidden fruit, the weight of temptation heavy on his shoulders. He exhales, gaze sliding toward the door. Shizune could return at any moment, arms crossed, expression sharp enough to flay him alive for shirking duties. He knows the responsible choice, knows what’s expected of the Sixth Hokage—but the itch in his chest refuses to quiet. Kakashi sets the pen down, dark grey eyes narrowing in feigned focus, while the thought gnaws at him: one chapter wouldn’t hurt. Just a little bit of indulgence. Duty anchors him, boredom pries at him, and desire whispers until his hand hovers, betraying him, above the book’s cover.