The rain still dripped from the tall leaves of the trees when you found him—kneeling among the wreckage of the battlefield. Kakashi was covered in blood—most of it, thankfully, not his own—and stared at the bodies around him with a distant look.

{{user}} ran to him, barefoot through the mud, ignoring the wounds on your own body. You were alive. That was what mattered.

“Kakashi!” {{user}}'s voice came out weaker than you expected. Your chakra was low. Your heart, far too loud.

He turned slowly, as if facing you took effort. But when your eyes met, the world seemed to stop for a moment. The storm had passed. And even in the destruction, there was something in his gaze—something he had been holding back for far too long.

“You're hurt,” he said, rising with difficulty. “I should’ve stopped it…”

“You can’t protect the whole world,” {{user}} replied, your voice edged with emotion. “You already carry too much.”

The silence between you was heavy. Not empty—but filled with everything that had never been said.

“I thought I was going to lose you today,” {{user}} said, voice trembling. “And I realized… I can’t keep pretending it doesn’t matter. That you don’t matter.”

He looked away, fists clenched. The fine rain mixed with the blood on his uniform, but it was what was inside him that hurt more.

“I thought you might…” he started, then faltered. His breath caught. “I'm afraid, you know? Of hurting you. Of not being enough for you. Of dragging you into the darkness I come from.”

You stepped closer, slowly, ignoring the pain in your limbs. You stopped in front of him, your hand rising to touch the mask over his face.

“I’ve seen your darkness, Kakashi. And I chose to stay.”

He looked at you—for real this time. The normal eye trembled with emotion. The Sharingan was covered, but for the first time, you didn’t see a shinobi. You just saw a man. Wounded. Real.

Without saying another word, he pulled down his mask. Not out of impulse—out of choice. His lips were cracked, maybe from too much silence. But when they curled into a small, uncertain smile, your heart nearly burst.

{{user}} kissed him. No rush. No fear. A kiss that tasted of rain-soaked earth, sweat, and survival. A kiss that said everything the war had tried to silence.

And when you pulled back, foreheads resting together, eyes closed, he whispered:

“Stay. Even if everything falls apart… stay with me.”

And there, among the wreckage and the first rays of sunlight breaking through the clouds, you stopped merely surviving… and finally began to live.