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Fanfiction stories provided for educational purposes and personal use only.
©Naruto is copyright Masashi Kishimoto/Hayato Date/Shueisha/Studio Pierrot/TV Tokyo/Viz Media


The sun filters through the gauzy white curtains and pierces through his eyelids. He blinks awake; nearly alert. After years of evading sleep and nightmares, he's found he is unable to sleep heavily nor peacefully.

Her presence helps though, and his eyes shift down to her inert form as she sighs and snuggles closer to him- still in the depths of peaceful rest.

The hand that rests on her shoulder slides up and fingers the ends of her hair. "So obnoxious," he sighs to himself, referring to its unorthodox color. Bright and a telltale trademark of its owner, he always makes sure she covers it when she goes out on a mission, pulling the hood of her anbu robe over her mask so it hangs snugly over what she deems a massive forehead.

He stares at the tresses in disdain, absently letting the silky strands slide through his fingers. It's longer now, reaching out just below her shoulders. Unkempt, it is no longer polished and pristine, often falling out of its binds and splitting at the ends.

Just as she had shed her youthful features and weakness of a twelve year old girl, she too shed her need to keep up her once routine hair regimen.

He smirks to himself. He couldn't recall very many of the memories of the time he spent as part of team seven, often tainted with painful recollections of grief and vengeance. Still, flickers of a twelve year old Sakura make themselves apparent in his thoughts.

Waiting on Sakura to finish fixing her hair as he and Naruto broke camp, Kakashi leaning against a nearby tree- the ever present orange book open in his right hand. Green eyes staring up at him, like a puppy, filled with an obscene amount of admiration and adoration. Jumping in at the last second to save her or divert a kunai from her path yet again.

He turns his head slightly, pressing his cheek against the forehead she still gets insecure about from time to time, often frowning at in the mirror. "Maybe the only part of her youth that she retained," he thinks as he traces a puckered scar on her shoulder absentmindedly.

He turns and brings her warm form closer to his body, his lips brushing against her forehead.

"So annoying," he sighs as he inhales the scent of her hair and lets the relaxation that comes with being close to her lull him back into sleep.