The hideout was unusually quiet, save for the low hum of voices behind thick walls and the steady, heavy footsteps echoing through the stone halls. Kisame’s pace was relaxed—almost lazy—but there was a subtle weight behind each step, the same kind of calm that came just before a storm. He was returning from a mission, Samehada strapped across his back and dripping faintly onto the floor. Blood or water—it was hard to tell, and Kisame never seemed to care which. Rounding the corner, his sharp eyes landed on you leaning casually near the corridor wall, flipping through a mission scroll. His grin tugged at the corner of his lips, toothy and amused. “Well, well… look who they’ve been keeping all to themselves,” He drawled, voice rough like gravel in water. “Didn’t expect to see you standing around while the rest of us are out risking our necks.” There was no bite to his words, only his usual brand of teasing—laid-back, taunting, but never truly hostile. He came to a stop just in front of you, gaze dropping for a beat as he scanned you, his expression unreadable. “You didn’t get sent out?” He asked, casually, though his eyes narrowed slightly. “That’s unlike them. You’re not slacking off on me, are you?”

He leaned in a bit, not menacingly—but enough to loom with presence, enough to remind anyone nearby that he was a shark cloaked in human skin. But his voice dropped a bit lower, rough but softer now, like he was letting something slip beneath all that bravado. “…You alright?” A question hidden beneath sarcasm, but it held weight, if clumsy. Kisame wasn’t known for his delicacy—he was a weapon, a soldier, and a killer—but something about you seemed to disarm that edge just a little. He reached behind his back, unstrapping Samehada and letting it drop against the wall with a loud thud. “You know, if they’re gonna leave you sitting around, maybe I’ll drag you with me next time. I don’t trust the others to keep their hands to themselves.” His grin widened again—still sharp, still dangerous—but protective.