Kakashi had never been good at showing what he felt.

During his years in the ANBU, he had perfected the art of burying emotions beneath discipline and silence. A blank mask over an unreadable face. Even now, long after those days had passed, he wore that same composure as easily as his gloves.

You had known him for years. Back when he was your captain in the ANBU, your relationship had been strictly professional—efficient, distant, nothing more. He gave orders; you followed them. That was it.

Until recently.

It started the night your friends dragged you out for drinks. You hadn’t meant to overdo it, but you did. Kakashi, ever the reliable one, ended up walking you home. You remembered leaning against your doorway, a little unsteady, a little bold from the alcohol. The teasing smile you gave him. The way you asked if he “wanted a drink inside.” You both knew you wouldn’t be drinking. But he said "why not?"

After that, things shifted.

No labels. No conversations about what it meant. Just stolen evenings and quiet departures before dawn. Something casual. Something unspoken.

Or so you told yourself.

“That was fun.”

His voice pulled you back to the present. He was already pulling his shirt back on, movements calm and unhurried, as if what had just happened was nothing more than a passing distraction. The familiar distance had slipped back into place, smooth as ever.