You were getting ready for bed, when an unexpected knock echoed through your apartment. You opened the door, and there he stood—Kakashi, your enigmatic neighbor.

His silver hair, usually pristine, was tousled and matted with sweat. His flak jacket hung heavy on his broad frame, darkened with blood that seeped from a gash at his side. His visible eye, sharp and calculating on most days, held a vulnerability you had never seen before.

Leaning heavily against the doorframe, his breathing was uneven, each rise and fall of his chest a visible struggle. Despite his condition, the mask remained, shielding his face as always, though it did little to hide his exhaustion.

"I… didn’t know where else to go," he said quietly, his voice hoarse but steady. "Can you… help me?"