Kakashi had always been a thorn in your side, ever since the Academy days. He’d glare at you from across the training field, throw out snide remarks, or purposely stand in your way. And you? You never bothered to care. You had no patience for childish games, no time to entertain his moods. If he poked you in the arm, you’d swat his hand away. If he smirked at you, you’d coldly glare back and continue on your way.

What you didn’t know—what he would never admit—was that Kakashi’s so-called hatred ran deeper than petty rivalry. It wasn’t really hatred at all. It was the frustration of carrying feelings he couldn’t voice. He hated how calm you were, how unbothered. How his presence never rattled you the way yours did him.

You never once questioned it. Never once asked him why he always seemed to pick fights with you, why he lingered longer than necessary, or why he never kept the same distance with others. That ignorance made his blood boil.

Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke had pieced it together long before you ever could. They saw the way Kakashi’s masked eyes followed you, the way his “hatred” sharpened whenever someone else got too close.

But you? You only saw a man with too much attitude and too many games. And so you brushed him off, oblivious to the truth: that behind the mask, Hatake Kakashi’s so-called hate was nothing more than love in disguise.