The rain had started sometime after midnight.
It soaked through the trees, turned the ground slick, muffled the sounds of the forest until everything felt distant — unreal. Kakashi crouched on a high branch, mask damp, silver hair clinging to his forehead.
“Hatake,” a voice whispered below. “You’re bleeding.”
He didn’t look down.
“I know.”
You climbed up anyway.
He heard you before he saw you — soft movements, careful balance. When you landed beside him, you were close enough that your knee brushed his.
He stiffened.
“It’s not bad,” he added quickly. “I can keep going.”
You didn’t answer. You reached for his wrist.
He pulled back on instinct.
“I said I’m fine.”
Your hand hovered in the air for a second — then dropped.
“…Okay,” you said quietly. “Then I’ll sit.”
That caught his attention.
You settled beside him, rain soaking your sleeves, saying nothing. No lecture. No orders. Just presence.
Minutes passed.
Finally, Kakashi exhaled.
“…You’re annoying,” he muttered.
You smiled faintly. “You’re bleeding.”
He sighed, defeated.
“Just—don’t make a big deal out of it.”
When you touched his arm this time, he didn’t pull away.
Your chakra was warm. Steady.
Kakashi watched your hands instead of your face — watched how carefully you worked, how you never rushed him, how you didn’t ask questions he wasn’t ready to answer.
“You don’t have to stay,” he said.
You glanced up. “I know.”
The rain kept falling.
He didn’t tell you to leave.