Archive of Our Own ^beta

Kakashi was going to hang himself today.

After twenty-three years of an illustrious military career, most of which was spent as a SOF operator, he was forced to retire. The honorable discharge left an acrid taste in his mouth. What was honorable about being too washed up, too broken to continue? What was honorable about leaving his men behind?

This was all he had ever known.

He joined when he was 17, breezing through OCS. As soon as he was eligible, he applied to join special operations and he made it through the six-month selection process while 90% of his peers failed.

There were some whispers.

That his place was inherited.

That it even was his birthright.

Kakashi ignored it all.

In his mind, he struggled to be mediocre enough to stay as an operator, let alone have the arrogance to act like he was anyone’s better. But his skills were evident. Undeniable. During his first deployment, he single-handedly saved his entire unit when an operation went wrong, and those same whispers quickly evolved into hard earned respect.

Kakashi was awarded every medal of recognition, valor, and service that was available, yet they sat in a neglected drawer collecting dust. The accolades never interested him, neither did advancement. Consequently, he never made it past Captain, turning down promotion after promotion that would inch him closer behind a desk and further from the front lines. His place was always in hell, shoulder to shoulder with his unit facing impossible odds rather than making calls from an operations center hundreds of miles away.

Besides, he lived for this shit.

He looked forward to each combat deployment, to the conflict and chaos of war. It was where he felt most comfortable—being on the precipice, functioning at his very limit. That was where he felt most alive.

But the passage of time was cruel.

Throughout the years of high-risk SOF missions, Kakashi nearly died over a dozen times. Once, he held his own intestines in his body, returning enemy fire for hours while awaiting an evac. Another time, he lost half the blood in his body and spent two weeks in a medically induced coma after being ambushed by an insurgency in a country they were not supposed to be in. He had more musculoskeletal injuries than he could keep track of. A hip replacement surgery at the ripe age of 30 after too many rough HALO jumps. A total disc replacement of his C5 and C6 vertebrate in his neck. He was partially deaf in his left ear from repeated grenade blasts and automatic gun fire—RBE they called it. And he had a potent cocktail of TBI and PTSD.

He had all the fucking acronyms.

But it didn’t faze him. This was all merely the cost of doing business, so he pushed through the injuries. He managed what many would consider debilitating pain with a few painkillers, alcohol, and a ‘shit could be worse’ attitude.

Besides, it was nothing he couldn’t handle…

…until he couldn’t handle it anymore.

The day Kakashi realized he could no longer serve at the level required—that he would continue falling behind to the point he risked becoming a liability and jeopardizing the safety of his men—was agonizing.

It was understandable, he was 40 years old. The oldest operator by a long shot, in a profession where most either washed out or died young. But it still killed him that his career didn’t kill him. He always thought he’d die in battle. Frankly, he planned on it because what scared him most was the after.

After decades of missions and cheating death by the skin of his teeth, he was lost.

Aimless and without purpose.

Without duty.

His attempt to adjust to civilian life was miserable. It was too bright and loud and crowded. He was constantly on edge, assessing threats and looking over his shoulder. Unable to trust his surroundings, he blended into the people around him, content with always being another nameless face and the perfect stranger. He barely used his voice for months. Traditional beds were unbearably comfortable and gave him anxiety. A mug shattering at a coffee shop, or a car backfiring, made him spiral. It was difficult to even think sometimes or remember where he was or what he was doing.

To put it bluntly, he was a fucking basket case.

So, what does society do with a multi-million dollar killing machine that had expired?

Sometimes he wished his superiors had taken him out back and shot him.

Talking about his rough transition in mandated therapy didn’t help. The psychiatrist did his best but was overwhelmed with hundreds of cases in the understaffed and underfunded veterans’ hospital. And Kakashi was very good at pretending that he had it together. Saying just the right things to pass psych evals had been one of his specialties.

But he knew he had his fair share of problems. He tried to do the work, admitting that he had trouble sleeping and was constantly tense. And even acknowledged that his reliance on painkillers and alcohol could be considered problematic. With the best of intentions, the psychiatrist prescribed him some benzos. It was meant to be a small dosage to start, but then the pharmacist fulfilling his prescription made a mistake and added an extra zero to the intended dosage.

Kakashi was in full blown psychosis two weeks later.

And he didn’t remember any of it.

When he finally resurfaced back to reality, he realized he was involuntarily committed to a psychiatric ward. What terrified him most was the lost time and the fact he wasn’t in control of his body. He knew he could do terrible, terrible things. Yet all anyone deigned to inform him was that they had quite a bit of trouble bringing him in.

He read between the lines.

It was a miracle he didn’t kill anyone.

After 10 months of being painstakingly weaned off the prescriptions, Kakashi found himself back to square one. Only he couldn’t risk any other coping mechanisms either. No alcohol, no painkillers—not even an Advil.

His demons got a little worse. His guilt deepened and really ate at him.

Why was he so incapable of normalcy? Why was he the one who survived and got out?

He had no one.

He was no one.

It had been thirteen months since he left the service when he decided to leave the bustling city near his old base and move to a remote farming village of 500 people in the mountains. It was called Konoha, which was apt, as it was nestled in a thick forest. He figured if ‘normal’ life was a bit slower, a bit quieter, things would get easier.

But it didn’t.

And he was tired.

So fucking tired.

He lasted a month before deciding to do everyone a favor.

It was a balmy and pleasant day. The thunderstorm the night before made the air crisp and clean. Renewed. Rays of sunlight, filtered through dense foliage from high treetops, danced on the forest ground below. The faint chatter of critters echoed around him.

Today was as good as any to die.

As Kakashi walked the dirt path to his rental, he mentally reviewed if there were any remaining loose ends. He paid his landlord a year’s worth of rent in advance. That would be enough time to find and remove his body, renovate, and then find a new tenant.

He found a sturdy structural support beam that could hold his body weight and tested it a few times. Wrote a couple letters, absolving anyone of responsibility for his failures. Organized what little possessions he had in clearly marked boxes to be donated.

With each step he took, a sense of calm washed over him—acceptance that this was the right thing to do.

It was the responsible thing to do.

Yet fate had other plans.

Suddenly, a pitiful cry erupted from a bush. It was a desperate whine of something in tremendous distress. Kakashi didn’t know what compelled him to stop and investigate, but he did. Crouching down, the gravel grated loudly against his boots. He pulled back the thicket and saw a small pug, caked in wet mud and shivering. It seemed only a few months old, and it was alone.

Abandoned.

Kakashi sighed, not entirely sure how to proceed with this turn of events. But then the pup looked up at him, eyes wide and pleading.

It was a calling.

Shit.

Gently, he picked the pug up and held it close to his chest, nestling it within his jacket to warm it up. After a moment, his life now entwined with another’s, Kakashi continued his journey to his rental.

He postponed his hanging.

…..

Three months later, Kakashi belatedly realized he had a problem.

Given he assumed responsibility for another life, he couldn’t very well proceed with his plan. He researched the average life span of the breed and let out a low sigh.

12 – 15 years…

Well, he never failed a mission, and he wasn’t about to start now.

So, he named the pug Pakkun.

It was an adjustment for Kakashi, having something so entirely dependent on him. It was the first time he tried to nurture something, because he sure as hell never nurtured himself. The concept was rather foreign to him, as his mother died when he was a toddler and his father followed suit a few years after that.

Every day Pakkun rose before dawn and had to be let out to take care of business. Then came his breakfast. And then came Kakashi’s PT. Initially, he tried to leave Pakkun alone at the rental, figuring his stubby legs and young age would hinder his ability to keep up. But Pakkun was a persistent thing, escaping the rental each time he was left alone. So, Kakashi relented, warning the pup he wouldn’t carry him if he fell behind (which was a blatant lie).

Pakkun seemed to immediately understand.

He was surprisingly resilient, keeping pace with Kakashi’s 12-mile ruck marches that were completed before the sun even rose. Afterward, the pug would take his morning nap, snoring away without a care in the world as Kakashi proceeded with the rest of his PT in the front yard. It was a rather grueling calisthenics circuit that quieted his mind, even if only temporarily.

A month passed as Kakashi fell into a strict daily routine.

Pakkun. PT. Eat. Read. Sleep—or at least try to. Repeat.

Though once a week, he would venture deep into the mountains to hunt small game. It was a sustainable way to source protein, and it kept his marksmanship sharp. Pakkun always accompanied him wearing a bright orange safety vest and little booties on his paws. He was not as intimidating as the Belgian Malinois that had accompanied Kakashi during his operator days, but he had become quite adept at flushing out game.

Kakashi rarely ventured into town, most often going to pick up groceries and supplies delivered to a P.O. box. He knew he was incompatible with crowds and incapable of basic human interaction, so he kept his distance, stiffly nodding at everyone he passed.

One of the very rare interactions he did have was when he visited a used bookstore. He had always been an avid reader with a proclivity for sappy romance novels. His favorite series was Icha Icha. He got a lot of shit for it in the service, yet invariably his copies would go missing, often found in the eager hands of his comrades.

The bookstore was run by a young man named Shikamaru, who often napped at the register or was found squatting on the front stoop smoking a cigarette. It was clear that he was too intelligent and clever to be in a dead-end job, in a dead-end village. Quantum physics textbooks, heavily annotated with cracked spines, were piled behind the register—stuffed with overdue notices of student loans. Regardless, what Kakashi appreciated about Shikamaru was that he neither exchanged pleasantries nor asked questions. There was a mutual respect and understanding between the two.

The rest of the townsfolk gave Kakashi a wide berth, but the one thing such a small community cultivated was an audacious curiosity. People naturally whispered and gossiped, theorized where he was from and what he was doing here. It was abnormal for anyone to move to a village that had dwindling job prospects and was getting swallowed up by the forest inch-by-inch with each passing year. If anything, people fled.

Kakashi rented from an old man, Kenpachi. The generational farmhouse, that was void of internet and had a barely working landline, was converted into a duplex by his ‘very successful granddaughter.’ He often offered, in a grizzled and insistent tone, to set Kakashi up with her—which he always politely declined.

Kenpachi lived in a city three hours away, and he initially told Kakashi as they were negotiating a rental price that the reason why he left was that the quiet pace of mountain life would only kill him faster.

And that’s what sold it for Kakashi—he hoped that he would be so lucky.

But until Pakkun passed, he settled for a life of solitude and whatever this version of ‘normal’ was.

Well, until one day, she moved in.

…..

The first time he saw her, he was returning to his rental with Pakkun hot on his heels.

His weighted vest felt heavier that morning and he missed his personal record by over 30 minutes. Maybe he really was getting old. The sun was now up, bright light cutting through the morning haze, and he saw clearly over the horizon a massive moving truck blocking the dirt road. Half a dozen burly men swarmed about, carefully lifting packaged pieces of furniture into the other side of the duplex. Box after box, it seemed never ending.

Right.

Kenpachi did leave him a voicemail mentioning that his granddaughter was moving in.

She was a small, obvious thing, trying her hardest to be inconspicuous while dressed in all black linen. A massive straw hat and oversized sunglasses obscured her hair and most of her face. Despite her efforts, it was evident she was stunning. She paced while chain-smoking cigarettes. It seemed like a newly formed habit, due to the way her mouth grimaced and her nose scrunched up in disgust after each drag.

Yet she was insistent with each inhale.

Stubborn.

As he walked up to the rental, Pakkun let out a chipper bark in greeting. Kakashi subtly watched her, and she brazenly watched him.

But they did not introduce themselves.

As he slid the door closed behind him, opting to do his PT in the backyard instead, he only hoped that she was quiet.

A few hours later, the truck and crew left, leaving a plume of dust in their wake. As Kakashi was washing dishes, he briefly glanced out the window into the front yard and saw her finally take off her hat.

Long pink hair.

How unusual.

He didn’t think much of her after that, but Pakkun was immediately smitten.

The first time they were forced to interact was after Pakkun broke into her home. Although renovated, it was still a very old and traditional house. The paper sliding doors were no match for a determined pug that barreled through.

Her knock on his door was demanding, almost as if she wasn’t used to doors not automatically opening for her.

As Kakashi slid open the door, they sized each other up.

He towered over her, even as he slouched. His face, admittedly attractive, was unreadable, and his plain clothes did little to hide how physically imposing he was. For some reason, she knew he wouldn’t blink if a gun was pressed to his temple.

She was petite and ethereal. Kakashi never knew someone could be so subjectively pretty in real life before. Comically swimming in oversized clothing, it was clear she was trying to hide herself. And although she seemed delicate, like porcelain, he immediately sensed there was an edge to her.

She was surprised by his indifference before it dawned on her that he didn’t know who she was. She felt relief for the first time in a long time.

He immediately noticed her hardened and stormy stare, one that could only be acquired through incredible hardship. He felt curious for the first time in a long time.

The first words she said to him as she handed back Pakkun was, “I don’t like dogs.”

Pakkun didn’t seem to mind.

But Kakashi immediately disliked her.

…..

There was something severely wrong with this woman.

First was the drinking.

It was two in the morning and his neighbor was drunk, screaming into the night and throwing empty liquor bottles on her side of the property. If they were a few miles closer to town, he was certain the local sheriff would be called. Pakkun let out a soft, concerned whine over her antics. Kakashi placated him with a few pats on his head.

His immediate concern was that the glass bottles, exploding into shards like shrapnel, would make it treacherous for Pakkun to go out in the morning. However, a few hours later, when he rose to start his day, he noticed she cleaned up after herself. Not a single piece of glass could be found.

Second was her incessant smoking.

Day in and day out she diligently went through packs of cigarettes. Even during torrential downpours, she sat on the stoop and smoked. She stopped coughing as much, indicating her body was finally getting used to the habit, but her lips still curled in disgust. What struck Kakashi was that yet again she was neat, not a single stray cigarette butt could be found and mistakenly consumed by Pakkun.

Third was her destructive anger.

One day, in a fit of rage, she threw a wooden chair through her paper sliding door with incredible force. It gained momentum as it rolled down the hill and cracked the wire fence around the property line, making a hole. Before Kakashi made it his business to fix the hole, out of concern for Pakkun’s curiosity getting the better of him, she had a carpenter from town repair it. He noted how she paid with an obscene amount of cash.

Upon reflection, she seemed intent to considerately destroy herself.

And she wasn’t always loud.

Sometimes she’d stand outside, dressed in a nightgown, and quietly stare at the stars. Bathed in moonlight, she was more like an apparition, but haunted rather than haunting. Kakashi would stay awake those nights. They were remote enough that a bear or pack of wolves would be curious rather than intimidated by her presence. And she seemed the type to run headfirst into danger.

He’d bet considerable money that she’d pick a fight with a bear.

Despite how annoying she was, she was equally interesting. And Kakashi couldn’t help but wonder what was driving her to lash out at herself and the world. After weeks of her unhinged behavior, as he saw her screaming herself hoarse into the abyss of the night, Kakashi made a comment as he returned to the rental one evening.

“You’re going to fry your vocal cords,” he said in passing.

To this day he didn’t know why he initiated.

“That’s the point,” she snapped before turning back and screaming.

An agonized, raw scream that pierced the night.

It was stupid how she still managed to look beautiful with a face full of contempt.

…..

Most nights, Kakashi awoke panting, drenched in a cold sweat that soaked his bed. There would be an unbearable weight in his chest and his fists would be painfully locked, nails digging into his palms. The indentations would remain well throughout the day. He always hallucinated blood—his arms and hands covered in a crimson, viscous liquid. He’d stumble into his bathroom, blindly turn on the faucet and wash his hands raw until the water ran cold.

But it never washed off.

He was perpetually stained.

Pakkun would always be beside him during these episodes, rubbing his calves with his body, nudging him insistently to break him from his trance. Seeing his sweet, wrinkly face immediately grounded Kakashi.

It seemed the pug knew when he was needed.

Yet he didn’t seem to know when he wasn’t wanted.

One day, after Kakashi picked up a few new titles to read, he saw her waiting for him outside. She paced back and forth in front of his door with Pakkun in her arms. The pug appeared entirely too pleased with himself as his tongue hung out. Kakashi noted how elegantly she moved, like a nymph floating with each step she took to an unheard rhythm.

“Your dog keeps breaking into my house,” she called out in an annoyed tone.

Her voice was like a bell, clear and purifying. Clearly the consequences of smoking hadn’t taken effect yet.

And her annoyance seemed forced.

The way she cradled the pug gently in her arms, securing his hind legs and subconsciously scratching him behind the ear, gave her away.

“Ah, apologies,” Kakashi said easily, yet made no move to take custody of the pug.

“Well,” she replied with a scowl, “Make sure he doesn’t.”

“He’s a stubborn one. I could not possibly control his whims,” he shrugged.

After she carefully handed Pakkun back, she nervously tucked a long strand of hair behind her ear. It was obvious that she was underweight. Her collarbone protruded and her arms were so stick thin that he could envelop them completely with one hand.

Narrowing her eyes, she levied a threatening finger at Pakkun and muttered, “Don’t come into my home.”

Pakkun’s only response was to unsuccessfully lick her outstretched finger.

There was a moment of silence as they both stood still, not immediately turning away from the other like they normally would.

After a moment, she broke the impasse.

“I hate how quiet it is here,” she confessed to Kakashi in a whisper.

It was understandable, the quiet could be unnerving. It was easy to get lost in thought. It was easy to get overwhelmed by memories.

“Then why did you move here?” he gently prodded, his curiosity getting the better of him.

She looked at him with pained eyes, burdened with an immeasurable weight of despair.

And Kakashi immediately understood.

She came here to die too.

…..

One day, the landline rang, and Kakashi immediately regretted answering it.

“Kakashi, you stupid bastard, I thought you were dead!”

The voice of the caller registered—Genma.

“Not yet, staff sergeant,” Kakashi said in a tired tone.

“It’s sergeant first class now,” Genma enthusiastically corrected him, “Which you’d know if you went to my goddamn promotion ceremony.”

How did Genma get this number?

“Ah, the details probably got lost in the mail.”

Though knowing Genma, he probably annoyed one of his superiors enough to get it. Kakashi was required to have a permanent address and working number on file. Being a multi-million dollar killing machine meant you were on a carefully monitored list.

“Not surprising when you moved to the middle of fucking nowhere! Also, get a mobile, you fucking dinosaur.”

They caught up, or more accurately, Kakashi listened while Genma provided a full run down of what he had missed in the past year and a half. The old unit was doing well, some members retired and settled down with families. Others dove even deeper into the life, actively chasing back-to-back deployments—and Genma was one of them.

Eventually, Genma pivoted the conversation to focus entirely on Kakashi. Not surprisingly, he wasn’t as forthcoming. But Genma was surprised when Kakashi bothered to mention that there was an annoying tenant next door, a girl—

“Is she hot?” Genma interjected.

Kakashi ignored the question.

—and she was crazy with long pink hair—

“Pink hair?” Genma interrupted again, “You mean like the idol?”

Kakashi paused.

“Idol?”

“You really live under a rock,” Genma scolded, “Sakura Haruno, you know, the most popular singer of this decade who suddenly vanished from the spotlight? Almost everyone in the unit had her pinned in their locker!”

It didn’t ring a bell.

“Seriously, she was such a babe and always so sweet and nice in interviews. A literal angel. Definitely sung like an angel—”

Kakashi thought of the woman passed out in the front lawn next to a pool of her own vomit. Pakkun persistently pawed at her with concern as she snored loudly through what he anticipated would be a brutal hangover.

Shaking his head, Kakashi muttered, “No, that’s definitely not her.”

…..

Kakashi immediately noticed the red-haired man.

Late-twenties, short in stature, and went to the gym for aesthetics. One could consider his features doll-like. His clothing was tailored and expensive and he was meticulously groomed. It was evident the man was a perfectionist. He stood out in a village of farmers and craftsmen who barely made ends meet and lacked the capacity to care about their appearance. And he almost certainly was a civilian.

Kakashi wouldn’t have dwelled on the man further, but something in his gut rang an alarm.

And he always trusted his gut.

By chance, Kakashi found out his neighbor also frequented the same used bookstore he did. They never crossed paths before, but today they did. She was wearing a medical mask and the same oversized sunglasses and hat as when he first saw her. As she stepped out, Kakashi was stepping in.

She gave him a small nod, which he returned.

As she walked away, in his peripheral he saw the red-haired man walking slowly in the same direction. But what made Kakashi slightly frown was the obsessive look in the stranger’s eyes as he stared after his neighbor.

And the fact he didn’t seem stupid.

Just eager.

Hungry.

Kakashi catalogued it in his mind as he proceeded to buy a stack of books. Uncharacteristically, he initiated conversation as Shikamaru was ringing up his fare.

“Do you know anything about that red-haired newcomer?” Kakashi asked in a neutral tone.

Shikamaru met his gaze with a thoughtful look on his face before replying, “Allegedly he is visiting his grandmother.”

Allegedly.

Kakashi tried to remind himself to mind his own business. Not everything was a potential threat and perhaps the man was a harmless admirer at worst. But it was a simple equation in his mind. His neighbor was a pretty, vulnerable thing and that attracted predators.

So, his first step was deterrence.

Every day Kakashi asked his neighbor to borrow something inane—with Pakkun standing next to him panting with delight.

A fork.

A pinch of salt.

A roll of toilet paper.

Initially, she seemed wary of his sudden shift in demeanor, and he couldn’t help but feel pleased by her appropriate reaction. She should be wary of strangers. She should be wary of men like him.

Yet she always fulfilled his requests and then would initiate a short conversation. Kakashi tried his best to reciprocate, but sometimes he felt tongue tied given he wasn’t used to idle chatter. It was odd how she seemed to physically restrain herself from petting Pakkun. He couldn’t discern why, but regardless, he learned a few things about her: she enjoyed reading non-fiction and had a debilitating sweet tooth. And she managed to learn a few things about him: he strictly read fiction and detested sweets.

He made his presence obvious and known in her life for a few weeks. Just in case. Then one day Shikamaru confirmed that it seemed the stranger finally left town.

But Kakashi really should have confirmed it himself.

With that reassurance, he went back to sleeping poorly every night, as opposed to not sleeping at all. And he stopped dropping by every day, much to his neighbor’s disappointment. But he didn’t know that, nor would he have ever believed that.

One night he awoke to Pakkun in hysterics. Growling and barking incessantly with a ferocity that was abnormal for the sweet dog.

He heard glass shattering.

That was rather normal.

A bookcase being knocked over.

That was rather typical, too.

But then there were noises indicating a scuffle—and then a scream.

Not a scream stemming from anger or sorrow that he was accustomed to, but from fear.

“Stay,” Kakashi commanded Pakkun, who obeyed with a soft whine in protest.

He immediately rose to check on his neighbor.

Much like Pakkun had done, Kakashi crashed through the paper sliding door and rushed into her home. What he saw made his stomach drop—his neighbor battered, covered in blood, with tears streaming down her face as two hands attempted to choke the life out of her. And the red-haired man towering over her with a cold, unyielding look on his face, determined to finish what he started.

Blood thundered in Kakashi’s ears as his eyes narrowed and he gritted his teeth.

And then he blacked out.

When Kakashi came to, there was blood on his hands and a dead man staining the tatami mats with a face bludgeoned beyond recognition. His fists ached from the repeated blows. It had been a while since he killed a man with only his hands, and he definitely overdid it.

His neighbor let out a small, agonized whimper before she leaned over to vomit, her torso violently heaving as bile poured out of her. When the episode finally passed, she sat back up panting as she wiped her mouth with her sleeve. Her eyes were fixated on the corpse as a blank expression befell her face.

Kakashi didn’t dare utter a word or move, not wanting to startle her further. He tried his best to shift the power back to her and let her dictate what came next.

After a moment, she broke the silence.

“My name…” she painfully rasped, “Is Sakura.”

Her throat was raw from the tight grip that squeezed her neck.

“I’m Kakashi,” he murmured back softly.

His voice was deep and restrained. It was his best attempt at being soothing. Although he was well desensitized to death, he knew she was not.

They both heard Pakkun’s dog collar jingle as he tentatively wandered into the room. Concerned whines filled the silence as his paws softly padded against the tatami mats. Accidentally stepping into a pool of blood, they both watched as Pakkun stamped what had transpired all over her living room floor. Making his way to Sakura, Pakkun gently nudged her to be picked up.

She complied.

After a moment, fresh tears started streaming down her face as she hugged Pakkun tightly against her chest.

“Don’t leave me,” she pleaded with wide eyes at Kakashi.

It was a calling.

“Never,” he reassured.

Sakura then outstretched her hand, motioning for him to come closer. Slowly, Kakashi made his way to her before sliding down to the floor. She then leaned into him, resting her head against his left shoulder, and began to uncontrollably sob.

He tensed at the contact for only a second before relaxing into her.

And they sat like that until the morning.

…..

Kakashi called Genma and asked for help—which immediately alarmed his former subordinate.

As his Captain explained the situation in a nonchalant tone, Genma progressively swore loudly at the unfortunate turn of events. It seemed his worst fears were realized. He immediately went to his superiors and requested that he manage the incident in-person, reassuring the higher ups that he’d personally ensure Kakashi was detained. They couldn’t leave this to local law enforcement, who at most dealt with runaway cattle or fence disputes among farmers.

Yet when Genma arrived, with military police and a forensics team in tow, the pit in his stomach disappeared as he took in the scene.

“How the fuck is Sakura Haruno your neighbor?” Genma hissed as he cornered Kakashi in the front yard.

A swarm of personnel was collecting evidence, and two MPs were getting Sakura’s statement. She sat with Pakkun in her lap, mindlessly petting him while still covered in blood, calmly recollecting what transpired.

Kakashi merely shrugged at his former subordinate.

Shaking his head, Genma continued, “We thought you completely lost your shit and murdered a civilian, but it’s obvious this was in defense of another. Of course you’d move to a tiny hick village, end up being neighbors with one of the most famous people on the goddamn planet, and then run into a wanted serial killer.”

“Ah,” was Kakashi’s eloquent reply.

Truth was stranger than fiction sometimes.

“We’re going to deal with this quietly,” Genma firmly assured, “You’re too decorated and she’s too influential for this to get out. It’d be an absolute shit storm. And no one is going to miss that bastard.”

Right.

And that was that.

Many hours later, after the commotion died down and everyone left, dusk was quickly approaching.

Sakura stood at her doorway and surveyed her home. It had been turned entirely upside down, but any visible evidence of what transpired had vanished. All the tatami mats were torn out and destroyed. Blood splatters were cleaned. And the windows were left open to circulate air.

Still, she had no desire to return to this space.

Kakashi, sensing her hesitation, called out to her, “Pakkun would appreciate it if you joined us for dinner.”

It wasn’t an exaggeration, as Pakkun energetically circled her in a futile attempt to herd her to the other side of the duplex.

Nodding, Sakura called out, “Okay,” while making her way into his rental.

Pakkun enthusiastically barked.

Although he never really hosted anyone before, Kakashi figured even his poor company was better than being alone right now. And while he wasn’t particularly gifted in the kitchen, he was sufficient to handle basic dishes. He would have starved as a child if he didn’t figure out that much.

“It’ll take about twenty minutes,” he said before encouraging her softly, “You’re welcome to take a shower and get cleaned up.”

Slowly, Sakura glanced down at her form. She was still wearing her nightgown from the previous evening and dried blood clung to the fabric and her limbs. The forensics team took plenty of samples from her body, cataloging each bruise and scratch the red-haired man inflicted on her and the deep gash on her arm from when he threw her into a glass coffee table. They also scraped underneath her fingernails for his DNA after she ineffectively clawed at him.

“It’ll wash away?” she asked pensively.

For the most part.

Kakashi’s eyes crinkled at her, and he reassured her with a small smile, “Of course.”

An act of kindness.

Fifteen minutes later, Sakura reemerged with her skin flushed bright red from the hot water and intense scrubbing. Her body was nearly drowned out in the clothing Kakashi provided her.

Sensing her while plating the food, Kakashi called over his shoulder, “I’m just wrapping up, please have a seat.”

Sakura made her way to the low tatami tea table at the center of the living room and sat down. Pakkun immediately jumped into her lap with delighted snorts. She started playing with his paw pads, marveling at how soft they were.

Looking up, she saw Kakashi make his way over to them carrying a tray. Setting it down, her mouth watered at the homemade meal of miso soup, grilled saury, steamed vegetables, and rice. Her stomach growled loudly—something she had been so accustomed to ignoring in the past.

Eyes watering, she smiled at him and said, “Thank you.”

Her smile temporarily dumbstruck him.

They ate in silence, but a comfortable one. Sakura felt she ate more in that one meal than she had in years. It was the first time she felt satiated in a very long time. With the plates picked clean, Kakashi swiftly collected them. When she tried to protest and offer to clean up instead, he only shook his head.

A few moments later, he mentioned he needed to take a quick shower as well. It didn’t even register to Sakura that he would need one, given how brutally efficient he was in disposing the red-haired man. The only evidence was the dried blood on his hands that were washed clean hours ago.

Pakkun had migrated to the couch and was snoozing with ease, his belly full of scraps. As the shower ran, Sakura took a moment to peruse a bookshelf in Kakashi’s absence. Her eyes grew wide as she scanned each title, a wide variety of romance novels that some would consider fluffy or cheesy. All with happy endings.

It was rather sweet.

She didn’t notice the water cutting or Kakashi coming up slowly behind her.

“Want some tea?” he softly offered, careful not to startle her.

Turning around, she nodded at him, though she was distracted as he casually stood before her in a fitted t-shirt and baggy sweatpants. She quickly adverted her eyes as they subconsciously started to trail downward.

What she didn’t know was how utterly charmed he was by the sight of her in his clothing.

Once again, they found themselves sitting around the low tatami table, but now each with a cup of hojicha tea. It was late in the evening, and they were equally exhausted after everything that happened, yet neither wanted to succumb to sleep. They didn’t want this rare moment of peace to end.

After a few minutes of silence, Kakashi asked in a low voice, “Want to talk about it?”

They both heard some variation of that question so many times in their lives. In the past, it always felt more of a rhetorical platitude than a genuine offer. But his offer was sincere, and she knew it too. And although they both knew the ‘it’ was the incident with the red-haired man, she couldn’t help but start from the beginning—her ‘it’ being her entire life.

Almost in a trance, the floodgate opened as she gradually started to share.

Sakura used to be an idol.

She smoked and drank and screamed herself hoarse because she wanted to destroy her singing voice. It was an insidious curse that only ever brought her misfortune and pain.

She grew up impoverished with a drug-addicted mother and a father that gambled. Going a few days without a meal in favor of fueling those respective addictions was normal in their household. As her mother’s tolerance got higher and her addiction deepened, money became tighter, and the fights and bickering only worsened. To secure a few extra dollars, her father made her busk as a toddler until one day someone noticed her talent.

Her life only got worse from there.

She always wanted to be a doctor, she shared in a wistful tone, but that required time to devote to studies that she didn’t have. Her father would push her to do audition after audition, meeting after meeting with adults who made her feel gross after every interaction. They’d always ask her to smile more and twirl around in short skirts, and she wanted to vomit every time she complied.

Her downfall was how genuinely talented she was, and the penalty imposed by her father for any perceived failures. He never hit her, because he couldn’t damage his only meal ticket, but nevertheless, he had complete control over her. Only once did she fail to get a callback after an audition. Consequently, her father killed her three-month-old puppy in front of her. He said it was her fault for not being the best, for letting herself get lazy and distracted. He also pinched her torso and said that she was getting fat too.

She was twelve years old then.

Sakura let out a shuddered breath, temporarily overwhelmed as she recollected the incident. She blamed herself to this day for not protecting that innocent life that for a fleeting moment brought her so much joy and happiness. Kakashi extended his hand out to her, which she immediately accepted. Although his hand was calloused and so very capable of killing someone, she never felt safer than in that moment when their hands touched.

Taking a moment to control her breathing, Sakura continued.

After that hard lesson, she made sure to always be perfect. She danced and rehearsed until she vomited from fatigue and her feet bled. She sang until her vocal cords gave out. She never let anything, or anyone, distract her. When her mother was eventually hospitalized with acute liver failure, jaundiced and septic, instead of visiting, her father essentially pimped her out to the many old and powerful men that orchestrated her career, which really took off once she finally went through puberty.

Kakashi’s thumb started rubbing circles on her hand at a soothing pace.

She never complained though. The money poured in. That was what paid for her mother’s hospital bills, kept her father occupied at the poker tables without the fear of loan sharks, and paid off greedy relatives who would circle like vultures. So, what if she didn’t have a childhood? If she never had a friendship that didn’t end in betrayal or blackmail? If she never knew love, only fanatical worship and cruel entitlement? Or that she never had been able to make a single decision for herself?

She was on tour when her mother died alone in a sterile hospital room, and she couldn’t even go to the funeral. There wasn’t one. Her father refused to pay for anything other than cremation and he demanded she focus on wave after wave of media engagements to capitalize on public sympathy for her loss. After her eighth interview in a row that day, something broke inside her.

But it would still be years later until her father finally followed suit. And when that time came, she paid for his funeral, but only so she’d have a grave to spit on.

And although she was finally freed from his presence, the suffocating control was still there.

The studio, her label, her fans all owned her—her voice, her body, her soul.

And her sanity.

And so, on the night of the launch of her biggest world tour to date, just before she stepped on stage, she took a step back. Still in a skimpy, couture costume that cost tens of thousands of dollars and dug painfully into her ribs, she sweet talked a venue employee into borrowing his car and drove off.

She had an epiphany then, concluding that if she couldn’t have any control over how she lived, her absolution would be choosing how she died.

She called the only person that potentially wouldn’t sell her out or exploit her. Kenpachi was her maternal grandfather, someone her father often badmouthed and isolated her from, especially after her mother passed. She faintly remembered how he’d intimidate her father, and she held on tight to the memories of how kind he was to her, without any ulterior motive.

To her relief, her instincts about him were right.

When he offered to have her move into the duplex, reminding her that she technically paid for all the renovations, she immediately accepted. But he failed to mention that the duplex already had a tenant, informing her when she was already on her way in the moving truck.

Kenpachi was adamant that Kakashi was a good egg, mentioning he had recently retired from the service, and he couldn’t think of a better living situation than that.

“The kid’ll protect you,” Kenpachi grunted over the phone, much to Sakura’s confusion.

Sakura then paused, a pretty blush blooming on her cheeks as she confessed, “I didn’t know what he meant, really. When he mentioned retired, I thought you’d be…”

“Old,” Kakashi supplied with a chuckle.

“Yes… and it made me nervous when you were so very not.”

He didn’t quite understand what she meant by that.

Apologetic, Sakura admitted she may have been a bit hostile.

It was only because she didn’t account that someone would be around as she was hell bent on destroying herself. But as the weeks passed, something awoke within her, a curiosity to see through another day, to have one more interaction with her strange neighbor and persistent pug that pained her to turn away.

It didn’t hit her until the red-haired man was choking the life out of her, as the cold, merciless end was drawing closer, that she didn’t want to die anymore.

Looking up at him, she trailed off, a lifetime of tension in her shoulders starting to dissipate.

Kakashi was transfixed by her eyes. They were such a deep and brilliant shade of jade, like a never-ending bamboo forest that invited one to get lost in.

“Thank you cannot even begin to cut it—” Sakura started.

“Ah, don’t worry about it—” Kakashi nonchalantly interrupted with a shrug.

“No, no, don’t just brush it off—” she insisted as her eyes narrowed.

He found her attempt to be menacing rather adorable.

“Ask Kenpachi to give me a break on rent then,” he joked.

There was a pause before she whispered, “I know you paid a year’s rent in advance, Kakashi…”

It was suddenly hard to keep eye contact with her, with a gaze so knowing, so filled with compassion.

He didn’t like feeling exposed.

After another moment, Sakura asked lightly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

It was a lifeline thrown by someone who was also treading water, but who could also understand like no one else.

Kakashi thought hard for a minute. He was always the type to consider his burdens as his own. It took years for Genma to successfully pry out a thought or feeling that didn’t apply to the mission ahead. But given how incredibly brave the woman across him was, showing a level of vulnerability that made him realize how much stronger she was than him, it inspired him to try.

He started slowly, in a measured tone that he typically took when giving his mission reports. But his deliberate pace was due to the foreign nature of the exercise as he had never told anyone any of this before.

Kakashi used to be an operator.

His father had been an operator as well. He was a bit of a legend, but ended up killing himself after a mission went wrong. He made the decision to save his unit, rather than complete the directives, and it resulted in an embassy bombing in Kiri. Over one hundred people died, including an entire class of children who were visiting on a school field trip. The men he saved ended up disavowing him and his superiors dishonorably discharged him for failure to follow orders.

Kakashi had been the one to find his father’s body.

He was six years old.

His mother died when he was young. All he had was a single memory of her singing while washing his hair. But sometimes he felt like he made it up in his head. A coping mechanism. Alone in the world, he felt burdened with the weight of atoning for his father’s sins. The only path that laid before him was following in his father’s footsteps and doing better.

Being better.

And he was.

His career was illustrious, and his entire identity and self-worth hinged on pushing himself to be as good of an operator as he could. But he was only human, and every human had limits. He was unable to save everyone under his command, and each death haunted him deeply. The worst of it was five years ago when his best friend died saving him.

Kakashi paused for a moment, before softly continuing.

His name was Obito Uchiha, and he was a PJ. It was a batshit insane specialty, a role that was sent out into the field to save the asses of operators behind enemy lines. The washout rate to become a PJ was over 90% and Kakashi didn’t think even he could make it if he tried. Obito was truly special—always had a beaming smile on his face even if he was being airdropped under enemy gunfire.

He was smiling even when he died.

“It should have been me that died,” Kakashi gritted out, brows furrowing as the memories threatened to consume him.

His words faltered after that. He tried sharing the guilt he felt with missing Obito’s funeral, too much of a coward to face his pregnant wife Rin. How physically and mentally broken he was by the end of his career. The rough transition he failed miserably at. How he knew that the structural support beam on his side of the duplex could hold his body weight.

But nothing came out. His eyes widened, slightly panicking at his inability to speak.

Sakura gave his hand an encouraging squeeze that grounded him, preventing him from spiraling.

“It’s okay Kakashi,” she soothed, “You can tell me more next time.”

Next time.

Next time.

There was a next time.

She then asked him to tell her about his favorite novel, Icha Icha.

But after such a taxing day, and such a taxing conversation, they both finally succumbed to their exhaustion.

They fell asleep at the table, their hands still entwined with each other.

…..

Kakashi was content to just be near her.

She was the sun, and he was at her mercy, orbiting her. Always close but never colliding.

And that suited him just fine.

The days quickly blended as they fell into a rhythm of domesticity that was new to them both.

One of his favorite things, something that he would hold on to with his dying breath, was simply sitting mere inches apart on the couch with her, each reading their respective books. They’d crack open a window to create a draft and Pakkun would dream deeply at their feet, letting out an occasional snort as he chased imaginary pork chops.

Another one of his favorite things was when the morning sun flooded his living room, it encased Sakura in a halo of light, illuminating a faint splash of freckles across her nose. Her hair seemingly iridescent at times.

And when she’d stretch her arms above and he could no longer see the definition of her ribs anymore, a result of her new, enthusiastic appetite for everything he cooked.

And she didn’t look as haggard, having ditched her intent to smoke and drink herself to an early grave.

And the way she’d hum to herself when brushing Pakkun. It was always shaky and unconfident at the start, almost as if she felt that anything akin to singing was a sin—a behavior she had long forsaken. But eventually her hum would strengthen into a pure melody that he felt in his soul.

Although he cherished every waking second with her, trepidation loomed in the back of his mind. He was terrified that his darkness would snuff out her light.

He didn’t deserve any of this.

Touch was a funny thing for him.

In the past, most of the time when people touched him, it was threatening. There was a malicious intention to do him harm. And then occasionally when he was touched, it was affable in nature. He’d get a fist bump or quick pat on the back from a comrade. On very rare occasions, there were touches at a bar. Those were covetous, and small, slim hands roamed his body with shallow aims.

He’d stiffen anytime anyone touched him.

But now he found himself insatiable with want for the first time.

A want for Sakura to touch him—ever since that night when they confessed to each other their vulnerabilities, when he had initiated, and she didn’t let go.

He didn’t dare initiate again, even though sometimes he had to catch himself from playing with her long pink hair. For so long, she had been intimidated and controlled, and he didn’t want to even remotely pressure her.

Always close but never colliding.

However, slowly, Sakura’s hands would seek him out. A fleeting touch on his arm as she came up behind him for a cup of tea in the kitchen. Her hand briefly enveloping his when he passed her a dish while they ate dinner. Mere inches turning to less than a centimeter apart as they sat on the couch together, her leg momentarily brushing against his whenever she readjusted how she sat.

One day, she asked if she could touch his hair.

He never had someone do that before, but he wanted to try with her.

As he sat on the ground between her legs, she played with his hair on the couch. Her touch was soothing, nimble fingers gently applying pressure to his scalp as she moved them through his unruly hair. He couldn’t define this experience, it wasn’t violent or seductive, but it seemed too intimate to be merely friendly.

All he knew was that he wanted to sit here forever.

“It’s unfair how soft your hair is,” Sakura scowled as she continued to explore, “You use like a seven-in-one soap that I’m pretty sure could be used as motor oil.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest at her pouting.

Raking her hands through his hair, she tugged his head to the left with some force.

A shiver of pleasure went down his spine.

“And how were you able to keep your hair so wild while serving? I mean, it would be criminal to give you a buzz cut, but I thought the military had pretty strict standards?”

Kakashi had shared a few unclassified photos from his time as an operator and he looked the same as he did then.

She had bemoaned how unfair that was too, given he didn’t even have a skincare routine.

“Ah,” he answered while gathering his senses, “Special forces have relaxed grooming standards. Makes it easier to blend in to local populations as an operator.”

Tilting his head up to catch her eyes, his breath nearly caught as she stared down at him with a smile.

She really overwhelmed him sometimes.

With a tilt of his head, he crookedly grinned at her before teasing, “I did have a buzz cut in boot and then OCS, but those pictures have long been burned.”

Sakura lightly slapped his shoulder before whining, “That’s so unfair!”

Pakkun barked, seemingly in agreement with her distress.

Kakashi didn’t think he was necessarily a selfish man, but he found himself so greedy for her attention. Sometimes he wondered if he was being too demanding, hovering around her, but she didn’t seem to mind it one bit. If anything, their interactions seemed to be drawing them closer. And closer. With just a sliver of space left between the two.

It’d be easy to stay demarcated—to keep whatever they were doing, whatever they were, uncomplicated.

Simple.

Maybe unsatisfied, but safe.

Because it was so hard to trust. And even harder to let oneself fall.

But one night, her eyes wide and bright, with sincerity and clarity, Sakura closed the distance.

They were on the couch again reading, although this time they swapped books, out of interest to explore each other’s interest. She was wearing sleeping shorts and an oversized shirt, while he sat comfortably in sweatpants and a tank top.

Setting Icha Icha down, Sakura turned to him and said, “I’m going to try something. Let me know if you don’t like it?”

Tilting his head at her, not really understanding where this was going, he gave her a nod as he put his book down—an autobiography of a music executive by the name of Tsunade Senju.

He trusted her completely.

Sakura then moved toward him, somewhat hesitantly at first, as if mentally working up the courage. Determination settled on her face as she lifted a leg over him and straddled him.

Kakashi’s eyes widened, pupils immediately dilating. She was so close that he could feel her breath on his skin. Feel the warmth of her body seep into his lap.

Outstretching her hands toward him, she whispered, “Is this okay?”

He nodded, temporarily at a loss for words. Blood thundered in his ears.

Tenderly, she cupped his jaw with her hands and one of her thumbs ghosted his beauty mark on his chin.

He couldn’t bear to touch her back though. His hands tightly gripped the couch fabric to his sides.

Her hands started moving downward as she asked again, “This still okay?”

“Yes,” he rasped, prompting her to explore with more confidence.

She leaned into him more, the slight adjustment creating a modicum of friction that he desperately wanted to chase. But he denied himself, adamant on going at the pace and to the extent that she dictated.

Her hands trailed down his biceps before she gave them a light squeeze.

“It’s okay to touch me,” she encouraged.

Kakashi didn’t move, still hesitant. He wanted nothing more than to do that, but…

Sakura’s thighs tightened around Kakashi as she intentionally ground into him, her hands roaming back up his body. Her fingers threaded through his hair, and she gave a strong tug, eliciting a stifled groan from him.

“You won’t break me… or hurt me,” she reassured sweetly, “I want this… you.”

Loosening his hold on the couch, he gently pulled one of her wrists to his face, kissing it before mummering against her skin, “Are you sure you want this… me?”

His other hand traveled to her hip, his fingers gripping her tightly with delicious pressure, the fabric of her tiny shorts acting as a flimsy barrier between their skin.

He didn’t think he could ever let her go once they crossed this line together.

But he was already hers as much as she was already his.

“More than anything,” Sakura gasped as she ground down on him again, swiveling her hips against his hardening length. Her heart fluttered in her ribcage at how thick and large he felt.

She desperately wanted him inside her.

To fill her up to the brim.

To lose himself in her.

“Fuck,” he hissed lowly at the sensation, “Tell me if you ever want to stop, okay?”

Sakura absentmindedly nodded, entirely too distracted by his strong hands holding her waist as he brought his hips upward to meet her. The friction sent a shiver down her spine as a thrum of heat ran through her body. His comforting, masculine scent washed over her as she inhaled deeply.

Leaning into her, his mouth found its way to her collar bone, trailing kisses up her neck. He licked the slight sheen of sweat on her skin, inhaling her intoxicating scent that was purely hers. She relished the feeling of his hot breath on her neck, prompting goosebumps to emerge. Large, calloused hands migrated further upwards and downwards, enveloping her breast and squeezing her ass, but still obstructed by the fabric of her clothing.

It wasn’t enough.

She wanted more.

She needed more.

As he nipped her earlobe, she shuddered, wantonly grinding on his hardened length. A low moan escaped her lips when Kakashi’s hand slipped underneath her shirt, his thumb dragging over her nipple. She then felt his canines indent on her neck before his mouth began sucking her skin like a man starved. Like a man intent on permanently marking her. The sensations were dizzying as she lolled her head to the side to give him better access.

She whined when he lifted his head from her, but her stomach rocked with desire as she stared into his intense gaze. One that was so utterly focused on her, filled with a hunger deeper than the ocean and a tenderness that left her breathless.

“Kiss me, Kakashi,” she panted, cheeks flushed, and eyes blown wide with want.

She could already feel herself dripping.

With a slight nod, he gently cupped the back of her head with his hand and brought them slowly together, the anticipation nearly killing her. Pressing his lips against hers, he was slow but insistent. Savoring the softness of her lips that always drove him crazy when she smiled or scowled or pouted.

One of her hands settled to the base of his head and the other roamed up and down his torso, enjoying the definition of his muscles under the fabric of his shirt. Kakashi then coaxed her mouth wider with his tongue to deepen the kiss and she eagerly reciprocated.

She tasted sweet.

She tasted like a second chance at life.

The pace at which they explored each other was languid and reverent. Sakura burned with his every touch, as if he was searing himself into her, forever making her his.

And she was.

They delicately helped each other peel off their shirts before their lips joined once more. He could feel the heat radiating from her flushed skin and he wanted to memorize every soft curve of her body. His hands roamed up her thighs, then over her back to feel the dip of her spine, then her breasts and ass that fit perfectly in his palms, sliding up her arms before roaming back down.

She fervently explored him too as they continued savoring each other. Her fingers lightly traced the scars that littered his body, traveling from a knife to the back just under his left shoulder blade, trailing down to when he got nicked by a sniper rifle from two miles away, to a constellation of small scars from grenade shrapnel. Kakashi felt nourished, cherished under her touch.

Sakura then lifted herself slightly before palming him through his sweatpants, gripping his bulge.

“I want you inside me,” she moaned against his lips.

“Soon,” he promised, smiling as she groaned impatiently, “I want to explore a little more.”

He ghosted her folds over the fabric of her shorts, his jaw tensing as his fingers felt the inviting dampness that had soaked through. With slightly more pressure, he traced her again, his thumb searching for her clit. Her hips jolted when he found it and began pressing it with a circular motion that made her writhe and whimper loudly.

One of her hands started tugging insistently at his waistband, trying to pull his pants down. Lifting his hips up, he only managed to shimmy his pants halfway down his thigh before she stopped him. It was just enough to let his erection spring free. Her hand immediately gripped his length, giving it a squeeze as she rubbed the tip of his head against her shorts.

“Shit,” he gritted out as he nearly slipped into her if it were not for the fabric.

“Now,” Sakura whined, “You can explore more next time.”

Next time.

Thank God there was a next time.

Unable to deny her, he acquiesced.

Slipping his fingers through the opening of her shorts, he dragged them sideways and aligned his cock to her opening. Sakura dropped her hips back down, coaxing his length into her. As she sank on top of him, inch by inch, her walls tightly encasing him in her warmth, he nearly saw stars.

“You feel so good,” she slurred from pleasure as he bottomed out into her.

A low, rumbling noise emerged from his throat in what sounded like agreement. She felt the vibrations throughout her body, deep within her core. They both relished the sensation of their union as Sakura tentatively lifted her hips then sank back down, fully adjusting to his size, but still incredibly tight and wet.

In a guttural tone, Kakashi praised, “You’re lovely… so lovely….”

Her walls fluttered around him in response as she began to move, setting a slow pace to start. The room filled with her moans and whimpers, and his grunts and curses under his breath. The rhythmic squeaking of the springs in the couch. The obscene gush of his cock thrusting into her pussy.

Keeping one hand on his chest while the other grabbed the back of the couch, Sakura began to rut against him at a faster pace. Her breasts swayed in his face with each thrust, but he was entirely focused on where they were joined, mesmerized by the sight of him rhythmically disappearing into her soaking heat. He slipped his thumb over her clit and began building a tantalizing pressure within her.

“Fuck me harder,” she gasped out in between thrusts.

Kakashi immediately started snapping his hips upward, never once losing the pace at which he worked her clit. Savoring her whimpers as he coaxed her closer to her release.

“Come in—inside me,” Sakura panted as her leg started to shake, faltering her pace.

“What?” Kakashi groaned, his hips stuttering at the implications of her words—being able to fully lose himself inside her.

Having his come dripping from her.

He bit the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from coming from that thought alone.

“I want,” she pleaded shakily as her walls began to flutter and tighten around him, “I want you to come deep inside me.”

Her eyes suddenly slammed shut, her face contorting in pure ecstasy as her mouth parted wide. Kakashi marveled at how beautiful she looked when she came. Her walls convulsed around him as he continued to pump inside her, quickly following suit. Squeezing his eyes shut, Kakashi gave a final deep thrust before emptying himself, his cock deliciously pulsing hot come inside her.

Neither of them said it aloud.

The words remained on the tip of their tongues.

But that was okay, for there was always next time.

As Sakura began planting soft kisses on the crown of his head, Kakashi thought that maybe, quite possibly, living wasn’t so bad.

….

The day two tinted, black SUVs rolled into the driveway was the day Kakashi realized he really wanted to live.

As a man stepped out, he immediately recognized both the man and the meticulously polished four stars on his uniform. His name was Jiraiya, a high-ranking General, and they had crossed paths before throughout their respective careers.

Although a civilian now, Kakashi couldn’t help but stand at attention despite the General’s protest. But when Jiraiya started exchanging light pleasantries, Kakashi interrupted with a sigh.

“Want to cut to the chase, sir?”

That’s when Jiraiya’s face became solemn.

And that’s when Kakashi knew he was being sentenced to die.

His former unit, commanded by Genma, had been dropped far behind enemy lines and ambushed. Half had been killed in the fire fight and the other half taken hostage. Kakashi was the only living operator, active or retired, that had experience in that region and with the culpable insurgency. And clearly despite being a civilian for almost two years, it seemed he hadn’t lost his touch.

“Son,” Jiraiya said in a regretful tone, understanding precisely what he was asking of the man in front of him, “We need you.”

That was all it took.

Kakashi had that evening to pack before deploying—and for the first time he realized he didn’t look forward to it.

It was the first time he ever hesitated.

It was the first time he was ever scared.

In the past, he could never really empathize with other operators that spoke of the agony in leaving their family and loved ones behind during deployments. But now he did.

Sakura was devastated.

Her tears cut him deeper than any enemy blade—the same tears he had secretly sworn to himself he’d never make her shed. She pleaded with him to stay. She told him that she loved him, and that he made her feel that one day she could finally love herself. That maybe, quite possibly, living wasn’t so bad.

What cruel irony this was.

But he had a duty that he was bound to, and she knew he had to go.

Their coupling was an act of devotion, worshipping each other as if this was their last night on earth. As if this was the last time that they could be entwined with each other. As if this was forever goodbye, despite Sakura’s insistence on a next time.

In the early morning light, as an SUV waited for him outside, he whispered in between departing kisses to her forehead that he loved her. Asking her to look after Pakkun while he was gone. Promising that he’d return—that’d he come back to her soon…

But Kakashi lied.

…..

Sakura was about to go on stage.

There was a crescendo of excited cheers from clamoring fans, eager to bear witness to their beloved pop star.

The idol.

She took a deep breath, squeezing her eyes shut as she rolled her neck side to side, her now short hair following the movement. She had chosen her own outfit for this event. Decided how the glam team did her makeup and hair. Dictated the setlist and choreography. And even selected the audience and where she was about to perform.

It was her first appearance in nearly two years.

There was a small flutter in her stomach, equal parts of excitement and anxiety. Adjusting her in-ear monitor one last time, she heard the audio technician confirm they were a go.

When the curtains lifted, her eyes flew open, and her lips spread into a dazzling smile that made people jump up from their seats. A sea of military fatigues greeted her as a deafening roar of cheers erupted.

As the music started playing, Sakura opened her mouth and sang.

…..

When Kakashi first disappeared, Sakura tried to remain hopeful.

He was only missing in action.

MIA, they said.

This lasted for a few weeks.

During that period, she tried to keep some semblance of a routine. Going for walks with Pakkun and cuddling with him. Visiting the used bookstore and chatting with Shikamaru. Checking in on her grandfather. Reading the stacks of romance novels that littered their shared home, reading happy ending after happy ending. Gripping tight to the delusion that she too could have a happy ending.

Forcing herself to eat.

Forcing herself to sleep.

Forcing herself to breathe.

She held onto hope, because without it, what could there possibly be left in life?

But when the General who initially visited their home visited her again, mouth set in a grim line and carrying his service cap underneath his arm, Sakura knew her world was about to shatter into something unsalvageable. She had read up on the process of who delivered the news in the event of a soldier’s death. A gnawing, morbid curiosity that she gave into the day after Kakashi left. Typically, it’d be a CNO, but the fact it was the General standing before her was like a nail in the coffin.

It meant they were confident that Kakashi was dead—even if they didn’t have a body for her to bury.

The casket was empty at his funeral. As they lowered it during a formal gun salute, she cried harder than she had ever cried in her entire life, tightly clutching the flag presented to her while Pakkun whined at her feet, not understanding what was going on. There was no next of kin, however before Kakashi deployed, he signed away all his assets to be bequeathed to her in the event he didn’t make it.

She was his loved one.

Her grief was overwhelming. She felt like she was constantly drowning in a black tar pit that pulled her deeper and deeper into darkness. One night when it became too unbearable, she stumbled into a medicine cabinet intent on ending it all. But as she stared into her palm overflowing with pain medications, a small whimper from Pakkun broke her trance.

Staring down at the pug, his eyes pleaded with her. If she died, who would remember Kakashi? Who would continue to love him? And while maybe she didn’t care about herself right now, Pakkun clearly did. Her grandfather did. And they both would be all alone if she was gone.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror—eyes bloodshot and puffy, face gaunt from not eating in days, dark circles under her eyes from not sleeping in days—she forced herself to smile.

It was crazy, absolutely crazy, but it bought her time.

That night, Sakura flushed the pills down the toilet and cried herself to sleep with Pakkun in her arms.

The days blended together like one horrible dream that she couldn’t shake herself awake from. With each passing day, his scent and presence seemed to dissipate from their home. She felt like a ghost chasing after a ghost. What kept her going was being there for Pakkun. It forced her to leave their bed and go outside. It forced her to think of another living being and think through the consequences of tempting actions. It forced her to think rather than only wallow. She eventually started to think about what the next day would look like. And then the week after. And then a month after. And then even a year after.

She started to think about the future.

One day, on a whim, Sakura cold called a music executive she had long admired. She didn’t think anything would come from it, but when she mentioned her name the assistant immediately connected her to Tsunade Senju.

When a strong woman’s voice answered on the line, Sakura immediately started to babble. Like a broken fire hydrant, a string of consciousness burst from her—explaining who she was, how intently she followed Tsunade’s career, why she disappeared, confessing how lost she felt, not knowing why she really called. After twenty minutes, Sakura trailed off as mortification set in after she essentially trauma dumped on a complete stranger.

“Umm…” Sakura croaked, “I’m sorry—actually, never mind—"

“What do you, as Sakura Haruno, want out of this life?” Tsunade firmly, but not unkindly, interrupted.

“I guess…,” Sakura confessed in a shaky tone, “I want to choose how I live… if that’s okay?”

“Is it okay?” Tsunade pressed her.

“Yes,” Sakura said in a more confident tone.

After a pause, she thought she could hear the smirk on the other end of the line as Tsunade replied, “Good, I can work with that.”

The next day, Sakura packed a single bag with Pakkun in tow and left Konoha.

Tsunade demanded excellence and delivered excellence, but also respected Sakura’s opinions and desires, from the direction and sound of her music to how she wanted to be present herself to the world. When Tsunade asked her what she would like to do for her first public appearance, the words left Sakura before she could even think.

“I want to sing for the troops.”

Tsunade raised a brow, understanding that there was more to the request. She had gotten bits and pieces from Sakura throughout their partnership and had an inkling of how deep this woman’s trauma went. What most people tended to forget, often blinded by the glitz and glamor of a billion-dollar industry, was that music was inherently therapeutic.

This was Sakura’s process, so Tsunade followed her lead.

“Sure, I have an old friend—he’s some big shot General now. We can start with one of his barracks,” Tsunade agreed.

A few weeks later, they were in a room filled with thousands of service men and women. There were thousands more civilians at the gates of the military base, having caught wind of the return of the idol, desperate for even a glimpse of her entering or leaving the building.

After Sakura’s final bow in front of a screaming crowd, the curtains closed. Tsunade stepped into view from offstage, clapping with a satisfied look on her face.

“You did good,” she complimented.

“But I wasn’t perfect,” Sakura sighed, reflecting on her slight misstep with the choreography, how pitchy she was at the beginning of song three, and how rusty she felt with her facial expressions.

Tsunade snorted, “No one asked you to be. You should be proud of yourself.”

Sakura fought back her tears.

She was proud of herself.

She wondered, wistfully, if Kakashi would be too?

Over the next hour, Sakura went around profusely thanking the venue and security staff, her audio and visual staff, her dancers and the rest of her team, including her first genuine friend, a spitfire dancer and choreographer by the name of Ino Yamanaka. They clicked instantly after Ino called her out during a practice for being distracted, but then also spent three extra hours coaching Sakura through an intricate series of movements. And then afterward they sat in the dance studio for a few hours more drinking beer and eating fried chicken and just talking.

It was an incredible feeling.

And as she made her way back to her dressing room, Sakura realized that for the first time after a performance, she didn’t feel like throwing up or crawling out of her skin.

It was another incredible feeling.

She wished Kakashi was here so she could tell him everything.

When she opened her dressing room door, Sakura expected that Pakkun would be enthusiastically waiting to greet her. Yet he was noticeably absent from the room that seemed to have exploded with flower bouquets and congratulatory gifts.

“Pakkun?” Sakura called out in a slightly worried tone, walking deeper into the room and scanning behind furniture and around vases.

Then she heard heavy footsteps come up behind her and stop, and the jingle of dog tags.

“Sakura,” a voice rumbled behind her.

Deep and rich.

One she knew intimately, but she thought she would never hear again.

Whipping her head around, she inhaled a staggered breath at who she saw.

Kakashi.

He looked utterly exhausted, as if having spent almost a year in hellish captivity. He wore an eye patch now, and it was clear that a nasty scar bisected his left eye. His right arm was in a cast and sling, but Pakkun was in his other arm, cheerfully panting at her.

And his eyes were filled with pure adoration.

Love.

Joy.

Giving her a crooked grin, with his eyes starting to water, Kakashi said in an apologetic tone, “I’m sorry I’m late.”

Sakura abruptly ran toward him and enveloped him in a hug, equally cursing him and thanking the heavens he was alive. Breaking out into a hysterical sob and in between heaving breaths, she demanded they get married right now—with Pakkun enthusiastically barking in agreement.

And then there was the abrupt arrival of two intimidating looking blonde women who stormed into the room, concerned about the commotion, and being stunned at the scene before them.

And then Genma finally caught up with him and poked his head in the room, panting heavily with crutches in hand and his entire right leg in a cast, starting to yell at Kakashi for being an asshole for walking so fast.

And that’s when Kakashi thought that living was pretty fucking great.