Title: Tradition
Summery: Tradition was the one thing they had to hold on to…a (very short) Kakashi/Sakura one-shot.
Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Naruto (yet).


As always, he slid through the hospital window—quiet enough to make it seem as though he didn't want to wake her, but loud enough to make his presence known.

As always, she would stir slightly—relaxed enough to seem like she still slumbered, but sudden enough to let him know she was waiting for him.

As always, he seated himself by her side—tentative enough to not seem too forward, but quick enough to let her know how much he missed being near her.


It was a tradition they held… to greet each other whenever they arrived home from missions. This time it was her lying in the hospital bed, clean ANBU gear folded on the small bedside table by some unknown attendant, her newly cracked mask lying almost shamefully next to it.

Neither one was quite sure when they fell in love. The only thing they knew was that they were and yet they weren't allowed to be. They could merely pray for these short, quiet moments they could sometimes find for each other and bask in the exhilarating, warming peace that came with being together. No one could know such moments ever existed. They knew that eventually one of them would crack and fall into shambles under the pressure, but they accepted that fact without a thought for the sake of the euphoria each brought the other. After all, they were shinobi; they had become accustomed to living with Danger breathing its foul, scalding breath down their necks.


As always, he leaned towards her ear and mumbled that he loved her—gentle enough to make it seem as though he said it every day to her in happy daylight, but strained enough to remind them both that he couldn't.

As always, she turned her head towards him and breathed his name—soft enough to make it seem as though she was dreaming but loud enough that he could hear the yearning in her soul.

As always, he ran his fingers through her pink locks and bent over to kiss her forehead—slow enough to make it seem like he was content to let her sleep but deliberate enough to let her know he felt the same.