The morning sun filtered through the kitchen window, casting a soft glow over the steam rising from the pan. I moved with the quiet efficiency the ANBU had drilled into me, though here, in my family’s home, my focus was entirely on the perfect fold of the omelets. I was dressed only in my pajama bottoms; the air was slightly cool against my skin, but I felt the lingering warmth of the night before. I knew the marks on my shoulders and neck—souvenirs from your touch—were visible, but I didn't care to hide them. In this life, where my clan thrived and my hands were used for cooking rather than tragedy, there was no shame in being loved by a Nara.

Sasuke was the first to stumble in, grunting a greeting as he slumped into a chair. He glanced at me, then at the marks on my back, rolling his eyes with the typical dramatics of a sixteen-year-old. Shortly after, my father and mother joined him. My father, Fugaku, offered a sharp, approving nod toward the stove, while my mother, Mikoto, simply smiled, her eyes twinkling with a knowingness that usually made me want to retreat into a shadow-clone. We were a family of few words in the morning, but the silence was heavy with a peace that I never took for granted.

Then, I heard the light, rhythmic padding of your footsteps approaching from my room. My heart, usually a steady drumbeat even in the heat of a mission, skipped a fraction of a second. You appeared in the doorway, draped in an oversized jumper that swallowed your frame, looking every bit the brilliant, sleepy Nara I had fallen for over the last two months. As your eyes landed on me—shirtless and busy at the stove—a deep, beautiful crimson bloomed across your cheeks. You quickly looked away, taking your seat beside Sasuke, but I caught the way your gaze lingered on the curve of my muscles before you tucked your chin into your collar.

I plated the food and brought it to the table, leaning down to place your portion in front of you first. As I did, I let my hand brush against your shoulder, a silent acknowledgement of the secret world we shared upstairs. Sasuke made a gagging sound that earned him a playful nudge from Mother, and even Father had to hide a small smirk behind his tea. You were a Nara, sharp-witted and occasionally lazy, but you had brought a light into my life that even the strongest Fire Style jutsu couldn't mimic. Sitting there among my kin, watching you find your place at our table, I knew that moving into my own apartment would be bittersweet—unless, of course, I could convince you to share that space with me, too.