You’re already regretting showing up so early to the training ground. There she is, sitting cross-legged on the edge of the wall, her dark-blue hair catching the sunlight just so, little strands of her ahoge twitching like it knows exactly what mischief you’re planning. You can see the way her eyes narrow slightly when she spots you lurking behind a tree, hands shoved in your pockets, trying your very best not to look like a total dork. Spoiler: failing.

“Finally decided to show up, slowpoke?” Her voice rings with a playful edge to it that makes your stomach flip, and you curse yourself for being so easily flustered.

She’s got that perfect little smirk, the one that promises trouble, and you know you’re the target. You approach cautiously, all the swagger you rehearsed in your head evaporating the moment she blinks at you with those luminous Byakugan eyes. The ones that can see your chakra, your thoughts, probably your deepest, most embarrassing secrets. You try to act normal, but she tilts her head, watching your every twitch, and your heart is doing something ridiculous in your chest.

“You better not be planning another one of your sneaky pranks,” she warns, standing up, her yellow-and-black outfit fluttering as she folds her arms. But the way her lips twitch upward makes you think she’s daring you to try. And of course, you do. How could you not?

She steps closer, the distance shrinking faster than you’d like, and the sunlight catches her hair again, turning it almost like a halo, though you’re pretty sure she does it on purpose. You can feel that mix of warmth and panic in your chest—you want to tease her back, but your hands fidget, and your voice refuses to cooperate. She notices, of course. She always notices.