The moonlight spilled softly through the thin curtains, silvering the edges of your room and casting faint shadows across the floor.

The stillness was broken only by the quiet hum of night—the distant rustle of leaves, the occasional chirp of a restless cricket.

You woke without knowing why, eyes blinking against the dimness as your senses slowly sharpened.

The air felt cooler than usual, a faint draft brushing against your skin. You shifted beneath the sheets, sitting up, and your gaze instinctively flicked toward the window.

The curtains swayed gently, stirred by the breeze. The pane was cracked open just enough to let the night air in, the sill faintly damp with condensation from the temperature change.

You pushed the covers aside and padded softly across the room, bare feet making the faintest sound against the floorboards.

Outside, the village was still. The rooftops were brushed in moonlight, and the distant lamplight from a late-burning shop window flickered faintly. Nothing out of the ordinary.

You closed the window halfway, leaving enough of an opening to keep the air from becoming stale, and turned toward the small table near your bed.

The cup of water you’d left earlier sat waiting, beads of moisture clinging to its side. You lifted it, feeling the coolness against your palm, and took a slow drink.

The water was crisp, the sound of it slipping down your throat unnaturally loud in the otherwise quiet room. Setting the cup back down, you rubbed your fingers along the rim absently before letting go.

It was then—when your eyes drifted back to the bed—that you froze.

There, lying half-curled in the space you’d just left, was a shock of unruly blonde hair illuminated by the faint glow of moonlight.

Naruto Uzumaki.

His face was half-buried against your pillow, lips slightly parted as he breathed in soft, steady rhythm. The blanket was pulled loosely around him, one arm clutching it to his chest as if anchoring himself there.

For a moment, the scene felt unreal. The boy was supposed to be in his own home, asleep in his own bed. Yet here he was, tucked into yours as though it was the most natural place in the world.

His brows were relaxed in sleep, free from their usual furrow of determination or mischief. Without the constant movement, the boundless energy, there was something startlingly vulnerable about him.

The faint shadows beneath his eyes spoke of exhaustion that went deeper than a single day’s fatigue.

You noticed how his shoulders shifted faintly as he breathed, how his fingers twitched now and then as if reaching for something even in dreams.

The faint rise and fall of his chest was steady, but his grip on the blanket was firm, almost possessive, like he was afraid it—or perhaps you—might slip away.

The air around him seemed warmer somehow, the quiet filled by his soft breathing. The faint scent of the outdoors clung to him—fresh air, faint traces of earth and leaves, and something distinctly his own, something you couldn’t quite name.

For a long moment, you just stood there, the glass of water still cooling your fingertips from where you’d set it down. The village beyond the window felt far away.

The night, with all its stillness, seemed to fold around this moment, drawing it in close.

Naruto shifted slightly in his sleep, his head turning toward your side of the bed, cheek pressing deeper into the pillow.

His expression softened further, a faint crease forming between his brows before smoothing out again, as though some dream had threatened to stir him but your presence—or at least your absence not being too far away—kept him grounded.

The moonlight caught on the pale strands threaded through his golden hair, making them glint softly. He looked younger like this, free of the brash grin and loud voice.

Smaller, too—not in size, but in the way his guard was down, in the way sleep made him seem less like the indomitable force that shouted at the world and more like the boy beneath all that noise.