Archive of Our Own

Sakura doesn’t know how she ended up getting dragged here again. Another wedding. Another formal affair.

Another reminder of how perpetually single she is.

At least, as far as the rest of Konoha is concerned.

It’s not like she’s clan-born like the rest are, or of any high-status or high position of authority; nor is she married to anyone that is. She’s certainly not in a relationship with one… that anyone here would know about, much less understand.

So really, there was no obligation for her to come.

Instead, she could be doing so much at the hospital right now. There’s a growing backlog of reports on chakra thread integration procedures, a list of surgeries Tsunade left her to follow up on, and three interns who desperately need supervision before they accidentally rupture someone’s lung.

No one would’ve batted an eye if she didn’t show.

But she’s one of Konoha’s pillars, and she guesses appearances matter. It’s also Kiba who’s getting married. He’s an old friend of Naruto’s—Hinata’s especially, considering they were on a genin team together—and with Hinata being Naruto’s wife, and Naruto practically a symbol of the village in his own right, there was no escaping it.

He’d also begged her to come. Repeatedly. Annoyingly. With that usual Naruto charm that makes it harder and harder to say no, even when she knew—should’ve known—there was an ulterior motive. Because of course there was.

Sasuke is here. Sasuke. Back in town again, conveniently timed with the wedding, and of course Naruto arranged it all. Another setup. Another attempt to force something that doesn’t exist anymore—if it ever really did.

When is Naruto going to get the hint?

Sasuke certainly has. He’s made no efforts beyond what’s needed to keep Naruto off his back, which, frankly, just reinforces the reasons Sakura stopped trying. Naruto has always been the priority for him—not her.

Never her.

Once, she might’ve accepted that. Once, she was willing to fight for something fragile and broken just for the sake of old promises and childhood dreams. She forgave him. She forgives him still. And she had been ready to stay by his side even after the betrayals, the blood, the attempted murder.

But then he left again. No warning. Barely an explanation. Just a vague goodbye and an even vaguer promise of something more—something that never came. No letter. No message.

Well… he sent one to Naruto.

She guesses she just wasn’t important enough.

It’s not that she doesn’t care about him. She always will. She understands the pain that shaped him, the reasons behind his choices. But she’s done waiting for a kind of love that never seems able to reach her. She wants more. Deserves more. Someone who chooses her—not out of guilt or history or obligation, but because they see her.

Who sees her, and stays.

Who chooses her first, every time.

And she has that now… even if nobody can know. Even if it’s a secret kept between just the two of them.

The reception is in full swing now. The ceremony is over—vows exchanged, kisses sealed, tears shed, the whole thing. Kiba is somewhere at the center of it all, laughing loudly in a circle of clan heads and well-wishers, arms clapped around his shoulders, his new bride glowing beside him. It's loud, too warm, and buzzing with all the kinds of political and social chatter Sakura would rather not be involved in.

She lingers at the cash bar instead, comfortably perched on a high stool, nursing a modest glass of plum wine. Her dress is simple but elegant—an off-shoulder dark red that hugs her just enough without trying too hard. Her hair is loosely curled, falling over her collarbone, makeup soft and unassuming. She fits the part—enough to meet expectations, not enough to draw attention. Just how she likes it.

All the important people are busy—Hiashi, Choza, even Shibi, each in long-winded congratulations and subtle negotiations disguised as well-wishing. Kakashi, naturally, is right in the middle of it. Hokage hat off, but the title impossible to remove. He’s surrounded by clan heads and village elites, nodding politely, occasionally smiling, holding a drink he’s probably not had a chance to sip. He looks every bit the respectable, responsible leader.

But she knows better.

When his eyes briefly meet hers across the crowd, he doesn’t hide the weary look in them. Tired, mildly exasperated—and if she isn’t imagining it—just the faintest glint of envy. She smiles into her glass, suppressing a chuckle. He probably wishes he were here in this quiet corner, too, tucked away from everyone. But that’s the job. It was never a surprise he hated the role. He was never built for the spotlight, and yet, there he was.

Really, she’s kind of glad she’s civilian-born with no… public ties to important figures.

Mostly.

She’s just starting to settle again when she hears it—that unmistakable voice behind her.

“Sakura-chan!”

Naruto. Of course.

She turns on her stool, half-dreading what’s coming next. And there he is, bounding over with all the subtlety of a stampede, one hand waving, the other dragging behind him the last person she wants to deal with right now.

Sasuke. Naturally.

She offers a polite wave. Reserved. Formal.

Her eyes linger on him only as long as necessary before she’s turning to Naruto and steering the conversation in a different direction. “Where’s Hinata?”

Naruto perks up immediately, “Ah, yeah—she got pulled into some political stuff with the Hyuuga elders. Something about new clan policies. We ended up getting separated and I just managed to sneak out.”

Sakura raises a brow. “Did you sneak out, or did she shove you out so she could focus?”

He grins, sheepish. “Maybe a bit of both.”

She hums in amusement, casually sipping from her glass. Hinata has grown a lot since their genin days. Long gone is the shy girl who used to freeze up and stutter just at the sight Naruto. Now, she was comfortable and confident and unfortunately married to the biggest man child Sakura’s ever known. Though, Sakura has to admit—Naruto has grown, too.

At least, up until he opens his mouth again.

He gestures vaguely at Sasuke beside him, who has remained wordless. “Anyway, Sasuke just got back, you know. Doesn’t really come to these things, but I finally got him to show up. Right, Sasuke?”

There’s a moment of silence. The kind that makes Sakura want to groan.

And then, as if sensing Naruto’s desperation and surrendering just enough to appease him, Sasuke speaks up—monotone, curt.

“…It’s been a while.”

Sakura resists the urge to sigh and instead turns her eyes back to her wine.

Here we go again.

Sakura forces a smile—polished, polite, practiced. The kind she’s used in too many meetings and political gatherings where real feelings have to be hidden behind veneer. She turns her gaze to Sasuke, lips curled upward just enough.

“Oh? And how long will you be staying this time?” she asks, tilting her head slightly. “A couple days? Maybe a week—if we’re lucky?”

The question, on the surface, is harmless. Courteous, even. The kind of thing anyone might ask an old teammate or a passing friend. But the implication isn’t lost on anyone—not on her, not on Sasuke, and certainly not on Naruto, whose easy grin falters almost instantly.

Because everyone hears the silent edge behind the question. The truth she isn’t bothering to soften anymore: what’s the point in hoping for anything, when he’s never really here?

Sasuke, unsurprisingly, doesn’t flinch. He never does. And because—really—he understands, too.

He meets her eyes, calm and impassive as always. “I’ll probably be gone after a couple of days,” he says plainly.

Naruto looks at him now, eyes soft and a little sad. Like he’s hoping Sasuke will change his answer if he just stares long enough. And for a moment—even Sasuke seems to shift. There’s something tight in his jaw. Not regret, exactly, but discomfort. Like he knows he’s being put in an impossible situation but still feels the guilt and shame of it anyway.

Only Naruto could get that reaction out of him.

Sakura doesn’t say anything more. She’s already said enough. She’s long since let go of the resentment, worked through the ache, moved forward. But Naruto keeps pulling the thread loose again.

Like now. He’s already grinning. Too big, too forced, and too obvious. “Well, in those few days we should all hang out sometime, really! Y’know, catch up like old times! Or even—” he adds with not nearly enough subtlety, “if just the two of you wanna do something—”

Sakura sighs. Loudly. She doesn’t bother to hold it back this time.

Naruto flinches.

“Naruto.” she practically growls, her death glare sharp enough to slice stone.

He lifts both hands like he’s surrendering to a wild animal. “Okay, okay!” He’s already backing away. “Don’t kill me! Geez.”

She squints harder, and that’s enough to send him spiraling into full retreat mode. He glances to the side like he’s just seen something incredibly urgent. “Oh—wait—yeah, I think I see Hinata calling me.”

She is not.

“I’m just gonna—go catch up with her real quick,” he adds, already turning. He pauses halfway, then spins back and points at Sasuke. “You stay here with Sakura. I’ll be right back!”

And then he vanishes into the crowd before she has the chance to yell at him again.

Sasuke remains in place. Still. Awkward.

Sakura exhales, rubs her temples slowly with her fingers, eyes closed.

“I swear,” she mutters, “he gets worse every year.”

Sasuke stays silent. Predictably.

Sakura doesn’t expect a response—not a real one, anyway—so she continues to fill the silence, like she always has to do with him, her voice low and tired, talking more to herself than to him.

“He thinks he’s helping,” she mutters, eyes still on the rim of her glass. “But really, he’s just making it worse. Making it awkward. And I don’t know how to get it through his thick skull that this—” she gestures vaguely in the air between them, “—isn’t going to happen.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Sasuke shifts slightly.

“I guess,” he says.

That’s all. Typical.

A non-answer. Giving away as much in his words as he does his emotions—absolutely nothing.

But Sakura’s known him too long. She sees the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way he briefly looks off like he wants to be anywhere else. The flat, reluctant edge in his voice. It’s not disinterest—it's discomfort. Not because of her, but because he knows Naruto keeps pushing for something that neither of them are asking for.

And it is pointless. He knows it. She knows it.

Sakura sighs again and turns fully away on the barstool, refocusing on her drink. Fine. Let Sasuke stand there and listen to Naruto's equally as pointless request if he wants.

She’s not letting it ruin her night.

He does eventually wander to sit a few stools away—just far enough to give them space, but not far enough to totally abandon Naruto’s ridiculous command. Close enough to technically still be around. Classic Sasuke. Non-compliant in the most compliant way possible.

She’s just starting to feel the tension ebb from her shoulders when someone else slips into the seat beside her.

She turns slightly, and it's a man she doesn’t recognize. Shinobi, judging by the posture, and the ease with which he moves. An unfamiliar face, probably from another division or clan. He gives her a sideways glance, amused, as he sets his drink down.

“Not having a good time?” he asks, nodding in the direction just over her shoulder where Sasuke is seated.

She blinks, then laughs—quiet but genuine. “Funny how a total stranger can pick up on that,” she says with a smirk, “but our best friend still hasn’t figured it out.”

The man raises a brow. “That bad?”

She swirls the wine in her glass. “Yes. That bad.”

He chuckles. “How about this—I buy you a drink? Something stronger than what you’ve got now. Seems like you need it.”

It’s a smooth offer, not pushy. He’s got a kind face. Confident in a relaxed way. She could probably get along with him.

She hums. “Tempting. But I think mine will be enough.”

A polite decline. No offense taken, no awkwardness created.

He nods in understanding.

He was nice. Charming in the right way. She might’ve considered it—on another night. Another lifetime. If she didn’t already have someone.

Not that he would know.

No one did.

The man then lets out a low, amused chuckle—deep and quiet, the kind that rumbles more than it rings. “Was it the cliché pick-up line?” he asks with a crooked grin, not at all offended by the rejection.

Sakura’s eyes widen slightly in surprise before a soft giggle escapes her. She’s always appreciated people who could laugh at themselves. “Well,” she muses, “you never know. Some people like simple. Some people want fireworks and poetry.”

He lifts his brow, intrigued. “And you? What do you like?”

She gives him a genuine smile at the straightforwardness of his question—not cocky, not demanding, just curious. Respectful. It’s almost refreshing.

Still… it is a little flirty.

“I think you should just always be yourself,” she says simply. “No point in getting someone to like you if you have to walk on eggshells around them.”

He hums thoughtfully, nodding, and takes a slow sip of his drink. He doesn’t push further—maybe because he catches the second gentle rebuff beneath her answer, just as easily as she caught his second not-so-subtle attempt.

Her mind lingers on his words, though, and just for a second, her eyes catch onto Sasuke. Still seated nearby. Still brooding. Still silent.

And maybe it’s petty. Maybe it’s beneath her. But she can’t let the moment pass her by.

“I like men who make you a priority,” she says, her voice calm, deliberate.

The man tilts his head slightly, listening now with interest.

“Men who won’t drag you down with their baggage,” she continues, and flicks her eyes again—just briefly—in Sasuke’s direction.

She meets his gaze, and for the first time that night, he flinches at her. Barely. Just a twitch of his expression, a shift in posture—but it’s enough. He heard her. He knows exactly who she’s talking about.

And he knows she’s right.

“And,” she finishes, “I like men who keep their promises. Instead of sidelining you for someone else.”

She turns back to her companion at the bar, whose brow is already raised in amused understanding.

“Ah,” he begins, slightly hesitant, “how… oddly specific.”

She hums into her drink, not denying it.

He leans in a touch closer—not invading, but conspiratorial, his voice a little quieter now, that confident certainty returning. “Well… even if you’re not interested in me,” he says, “if it’s payback you want, I can always take you to the dance floor. No strings attached.”

Sakura quirks a brow at him. Bold. But oddly considerate.

She angles her head, amused. “And what would you get out of it?”

He grins. “Oh, I’d get to dance with a pretty lady,” he says easily. “And even though nothing’ll come of it with you, I’m sure I’d have a better shot with the other ladies once they see me dancing with the Sakura Haruno.”

She blinks once, then lets out a surprised, melodic laugh. “Wow. You really know how to work the room.”

“I try,” he says, sipping his drink with a self-satisfied nod.

Then, with a mischievous glint in his eyes, he tips his glass subtly in Sasuke’s direction. “Or,” he continues, smirking, “you can stay here with the brooding guy you seem to have… an interesting history with.”

Sakura throws her head back with a genuine, warm laugh—full-bodied and bright enough to draw a few glances from across the room.

“Sure,” she says, amusement dancing in her eyes. “Why not?”

She sets her half-finished drink down and rises from her seat with fluid, unhurried grace, reaching for his hand as if it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“I didn’t come here to not enjoy myself,” she adds, tugging him to his feet.

And honestly? All she’s been doing is sulking alone in the corner, nursing a cocktail that, frankly, he was right to point out wasn’t nearly strong enough to make up for the awkward company—or the lack thereof.

Besides, it would be a good way to get a little payback at Sasuke for all the trouble he’s caused her, even if she has since forgiven him. A girl’s allowed to be just a little bitter, is she not?

And who knows, maybe Naruto will finally catch on, too.

But really… the only person she’s hoping to catch tonight, the one she’s actually with—can’t be seen with—is already here.

And if anything’s going to draw him out…

This might just do the trick.

—

They’ve been dancing for a while now—an easy rhythm between them, neither too close nor too distant. Just enough space to keep things light, conversational. His hand rests gently at her waist, guiding her through the subtle turns and steps, and Sakura lets herself follow, even as her eyes keep drifting past his shoulder.

Her gaze scans the dance floor, the edges of the room, slipping along the crowd like a thread searching for a needle. She doesn’t spot him yet—but she knows better than to expect to. Not right away. Not when he doesn’t want to be seen.

“You seem rather distracted for someone trying to have a good time,” the man comments lightly.

She blinks, caught off guard, turning to look up at him.

He just offers a sly grin. “So,” he says, spinning her lightly before drawing her back into a slow sway, “who’s the mystery man?”

“What?” she asks, too quickly.

His grin only widens. “C’mon. You don’t mind my company. Seem to enjoy it, even. But every time I blink, you’re glancing over my shoulder like you’re hoping someone else is watching.”

Sakura’s lips twitch. She can’t help but be a little impressed. He’s perceptive—more than most.

She plays it off with a smooth shrug. “Maybe I’m just trying to gauge Sasuke’s reaction—” she corrects herself casually, “—the guy I wasn’t having a good time with at the bar.”

He chuckles. “Maybe that’d be believable… if you actually seemed to care that much about him.”

Sakura falls silent at that, because… he’s not wrong.

Sasuke’s not what’s been on her mind, motivating her every decision.

Her dance partner nods subtly past her shoulder, continuing, “Besides, he’s over there. And you? You were staring in a completely different direction.”

She feels her face warm. Just slightly. A faint prickle at the back of her neck. She didn’t realize just how obvious she’s been. And here she is, dancing with a stranger while looking over his shoulder for a completely different man.

She manages to will the heat down, refusing to let it rise to her cheeks, and meets his gaze with a teasing smile.

“Maybe I’m just looking out for better prospects.”

His eyes widen in surprise at her audacity, though not in offense. If anything, he looks mildly amused. “Wow, brutal.”

She laughs then, a soft breath of relief mixing into the sound. He’s making this easier. Less tense. Less serious.

And then she feels it.

A shift—small, but distinct. A subtle disruption in her chakra network, something nearly imperceptible. Most wouldn’t notice it, especially not in the middle of a crowded wedding reception while dancing with a fellow guest.

But she does.

A change, delicate and deliberate. The fine-threaded manipulation of chakra that begins to adjust her senses—sight, sound, scent.

A genjutsu.

Her steps don’t falter. Not even for a breath. But her heart gives one quiet, steady thud against her ribs.

Normally, she wouldn’t be able to pinpoint what the genjutsu was affecting without breaking it—only that it was there at all. But this is different. This time, it doesn’t distort or confuse.

It reveals.

The person at its center is clear. Familiar, though to anyone else, completely disguised. They’ve used a henge, layered over with chakra suppression so refined it would pass unnoticed by even the most seasoned shinobi—including herself.

But Sakura knows better.

Everyone here sees a stranger. She sees him.

Kakashi.

Not a threat. Not an intruder. And certainly not unwelcome. Never with him.

She doesn’t dispel it.

This isn’t the first time he’s done this, and it won’t be the last. That’s what the genjutsu is for. A whisper between them. A private trick. A way to stay close in a world that would ask too many questions if they were ever seen too clearly.

She finds his gaze through the illusion, steady and knowing. Her heart quickens louder this time, impossible to ignore.

The man she’s dancing with notices her gaze drifting again, following the direction of her eyes with a curious lift of his brow.

“Is that the mystery man?” he asks, amused, voice low and teasing.

She turns back to him with a smirk, tone just as playful.

“The better prospect,” she corrects.

He lets out a short snort of a laugh. “What they say about you is true: you don’t pull your punches.”

Sakura grins, turning her eyes back toward the one in question, and just in time to catch him.

Kakashi, in his disguised form to everyone else, is reaching for another woman’s hand, leading her confidently onto the dance floor. She’s giggling, flustered by the attention, but his gaze never leaves Sakura’s. Not once. He walks backward through the crowd, smirking faintly at her as though to say, Two can play this game.

She scowls.

Her dance partner must pick up on the shift in her posture—incorrectly—because the next moment he’s slowing, gently beginning to pull away. “Well,” he says kindly, with a small smile, “I don’t want to keep you any longer. I appreciate you dancing with—”

“No.” The word comes sharper than she intends, and she’s already pulling him back into the rhythm, her hand returning to his shoulder as if nothing had changed.

He blinks, a little surprised, but the moment passes. Composure settles easily back over him, and he follows her lead without missing another step. A spark of understanding glints in his eyes as he glances once more toward the disguised man across the room.

“Why do I get the feeling,” he says, tone lighter now, amused, “that this has turned from payback into a jealousy mission?”

Sakura arches a brow, smirking. “Maybe that was the plan all along.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Touché.”

She tilts her chin playfully. “Well? Don’t you want to dance a little longer with the Haruno Sakura? Thought you wanted to look good in front of the other ladies.”

He grins. “Good point.”

And just like that, they keep moving—elegant, poised, drawing curious glances. A perfect picture of something that’s not quite real.

But it doesn’t need to be.

It just needs to look like it.

—

They’re still moving in rhythm, her steps light and practiced as he goes to spin her again—his hand guiding hers with a graceful turn.

She spins once, twice—

And just as she’s about to settle back into his arms, another hand catches hers. Steady. Familiar.

She’s pulled into a different embrace entirely.

Kakashi.

Her eyes lift, unimpressed but unmistakably entertained, before slipping into a smile that’s all charm and deception.

“And who do I owe the pleasure of meeting?” she asks sweetly, voice bright and laced with mischief, as though he were a stranger—which he is, as far as everyone else on the floor is concerned—and not the man she’s spent countless secret nights teasing and trading barbs with, along with… other activities.

Kakashi doesn’t bother playing along. He scowls.

She tsks lightly, swaying with him as the music shifts to something slower. “You know, scowling like that? And ditching your poor dance partner mid-song?” Her eyes flick briefly over his shoulder to the flustered woman he abandoned. “Not exactly the way to win a woman’s heart.”

He exhales, speaking in that cool, quiet voice of his, eyes on hers as they move together. “I didn’t leave her with nobody.”

She raises a brow, smirking. “No, just a stranger. Though, he was much better company than you. Less grumpy for starters.”

“You seem taken by him,” he replies dryly.

She laughs, soft and honest this time, thoroughly amused. “He actually caught on to what I was plotting. Probably explaining the whole thing to that poor confused girl right now.”

Kakashi frowns harder, his jaw tightening in that subtle, telltale way she knows too well.

“Aw,” she drawls, eyes bright, “did I make you jealous again?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just keeps dancing, holding her a little closer as the music pulsed around them. Eventually, his expression eases—just a little—and he mutters, dodging, “I assume that’s what you were plotting?”

She grins. “Part of it.”

He only hums in response at first—a low, noncommittal sound deep in his chest—before pulling her in even tighter.

The shift in his hold is subtle, but undeniable. His hand presses firmer against the curve of her lower back. His other hand slides along the line of her arm, deliberate and slow before settling at her waist. Every motion is smooth, practiced, but now tinged with something else. Possession. Affection. Intent.

His touch becomes a language—unspoken but unmistakably clear.

Mine.

It’s in the way his thumb brushes a slow arc against her side. The way their steps fall into perfect sync, how he draws her into his space like they’ve danced this same dance a hundred times in the dark, away from everyone else. Every subtle contact a silent reminder: you’re not with him. You’re with me.

She inhales sharply, skin prickling under every lingering brush of his fingers. It’s ridiculous, she thinks—how easily he can fluster her without even trying. But there’s something intoxicating in the wordless way he stakes his claim, and she can’t help the soft giggle that escapes her lips.

Then suddenly, he spins her—quick, smooth, unexpected—pulling her flush against him, back to his front. One arm curls around her waist, holding her tight. His mouth dips close to her ear, breath warm against her skin as he murmurs low, tone velvet and dangerous:

“Why are you laughing? You got jealous, too.”

A shiver shoots down her spine. Her face flushes instantly, warmth blooming at her cheeks and crawling down her neck. Her lips part in silent protest, but she doesn’t get the chance to say anything, because in the next second, he spins her again effortlessly, and when she’s facing him once more, it’s as if nothing ever happened. He’s dancing like before, calm, polite, composed. A perfect stranger again. The heat of his whisper might as well have been a dream.

She frowns, clearly not as quick to drop the act as he is. And he—

He just smiles.

That signature crinkle in his eyes, so infuriatingly smug, while that damn mask hides everything else.

Still there, despite the illusion.

She narrows her eyes. “Good point,” she says coolly. “You danced with someone else, too. Didn’t see me pouting.” she pauses. “Well, at least not until now.”

She emphasis her point with a sharp glare.

He frowns again, like she just bruised his ego. “Sounds like you would've preferred to just keep dancing with him then.”

She rolls her eyes, “Oh, stop it. If I didn’t want to dance with you, I wouldn’t have kept scanning the dance floor to try and catch your eye so you’d drop that genjutsu on me.”

She then arches a brow, her tone lilting with mock challenge. “You’re not exactly easy to find when you’re hiding under all that illusion and smugness.”

He hums—acknowledging her answer, if a bit reluctantly. The tension in his brow softens just slightly… but only slightly.

Then, after a slight pause, he says, lightly, “You seemed perfectly content dancing with him for the rest of the night. Even after I made my presence known.”

Sakura quirks a smug little smile. “Please, I knew you’d get too jealous to keep up your own petty revenge. I was just waiting for you to come whisk me away.”

Which of course, he did.

He arches a brow, mouth curling behind the mask. “And you dancing with him in the first place—what’s your excuse?”

The tone is casual. Playful. But she knows better.

He’s still bothered. Just a little. Not enough to make a scene—but enough that she hears it in the spaces between his words.

She exhales, exasperated. “Kami, you’re so insecure Kakashi. I did it to draw you out!”

He leans in closer at that—just a hair's breadth from her ear, voice dropping teasingly quiet. “Now, now… don’t say my name so loud. We’re supposed to be a secret, remember?”

She rolls her eyes, irritated but unable to fully hide the small grin tugging at her lips. “You’re right. Technically, I’m single. I can dance with whoever I want.”

That earns a frown.

She snorts. “I’m kidding, really. Besides, Naruto was being annoying again trying to set me up with Sasuke. Where were you when I needed rescuing?”

Kakashi makes a sound—half a snort, half a scoff. Somewhere between amusement and disapproval. “Well, don’t expect me to go thanking the man for it.”

Her smile falters slightly at his reaction. “Gee, thanks.”

Kakashi notices, and his expression softens, genuinely this time.

“I understand,” he says, quieter now, and presses a brief kiss to her lips—still masked.

She immediately scowls deeper.

“What?” he says, pretending innocence. “Was the kiss not enough?”

“Kakashi, I swear—”

But she doesn’t finish, because in the next second, he tugs his mask down, giving her exactly what she‘s been craving.

Time slows.

That damn smirk—the real one—is there in full view. His whole face unobscured, and her heart stumbles straight into her ribs, the rest of the world blurring and falling away.

Her eyes catch the familiar beauty mark nestled just below the left corner of his lips—the tiny detail that never fails to unravel her.

Then he kisses her.

Really kisses her.

Deep, confident, unhurried. Like he has all the time in the world to remind her exactly who she belongs to—mask or not.

When he finally pulls away, he slides the mask right back up like nothing happened.

She’s left blinking, flushed so red she could melt through the floor, trying to piece her thoughts together. “You are—you’re so damn ridiculous,” she mutters, flustered and breathless, stumbling through her words. “A mask… over a genjutsu… over a henge… over what is probably another real mask underneath just to screw with me—”

He just laughs under his breath, hand resting lightly at her waist again.

“Well,” he says, his laugh softening into a light rumble, “I’m afraid if I show you my face too often, it’ll lose its charm and you’ll fall out of love with me.”

Sakura gives him a look—fond, a little serious, but undeniably amused. “You know that’s not the only reason I love you.”

He tilts his head, still teasing. “No?”

She rolls her eyes gently. “Of course not. Don’t be silly.”

“Oh?” he smirks. “Then tell me—what else do you love about me?”

She pretends to think hard, lips pursing as she glances upward. “Hmm… well. I love how much of an idiot you can be.”

“Ouch.”

“And annoying.”

“Harsh.”

“And infuriatingly laid back. Almost suspiciously uncaring.”

Kakashi feigns offense now, brow raised dramatically. “Aren’t you supposed to be complimenting me?”

She grins, closing the distance just a little. “And your charming face.”

He leans in like he’s won something. “Ah, I knew it. It is the face after all.”

“You’re right,” she deadpans, smirking. “You’re just terrible. A mess, really.”

He responds wryly. “Wow. Way to improve the mood.”

But beneath the playfulness, she catches the softness in his eyes—a glimpse of something real.

She smiles warmly. “But you are my mess of a person. And all the bad and good parts—I love them all. Just as equally.”

His teasing fades completely now, and he nods once, low and affectionate. “Mm,” he murmurs, heart full.

Then, after a pause, the teasing slips back in with a crooked smile. “But mostly the face.”

She laughs. “Mostly the face.”

Kakashi chuckles, then spins her slowly again in rhythm to the music. “Well, I suppose I can’t complain… if it means I get to be here, dancing with a beautiful woman.”

Sakura comes out of the spin with a light giggle, still grinning as her hands find their place on his shoulders again. “Tell me,” she says, breathless with amusement, “how did you get out here? Thought you’d never escape all the politics and formalities.”

He smirks, eyes gleaming. “Let’s just say I’m highly motivated when I see you dancing with other men.”

Sakura shoots him a glare.

“I used a shadow clone.” he amends quickly.

She hums, letting it slide just this once, and purses her lips in mock sympathy. “How torturous for your poor clone. Poofing him into existence just to be stuck with all that diplomatic drivel while you get to come out here and steal me away for yourself.”

“My clone will survive,” he says with that casual, smug tone of his. “I’m very enduring.”

She snickers, leaning in slightly. “Think we can make him more jealous?”

He tilts his head, considering. “If we find him, we can. Though try not to push it too far—I’ll remember it all later.”

She grins wickedly. “Even better.”

—

Sakura steps off the dance floor, brushing her hair back from her face, still a little flushed and breathless. She barely makes it a few feet before she hears familiar voices calling her over.

“There you are, finally,” Ino huffs, hands on her hips, eyes gleaming with a mix of exasperation and amusement.

“Yeah,” Tenten adds with a grin, “you gonna leave some of the men for the rest of us?”

Sakura smirks, amused, brushing invisible dust off her dress. “I only danced with two guys.”

Ino snorts. “Yeah. Only. You and that second guy were practically all over each other.”

Sakura glances away, a faint blush blooming across her cheeks. “That’s not— We weren’t—”

“Oh please,” Tenten cuts in, laughing. “I don’t know how you manage it. Every time there’s some kind of formal event, you always have ridiculous chemistry with someone. Meanwhile, I can’t even get a guy to buy me a drink without him vanishing ten minutes later.”

Sakura flushes, fumbling for a response. “Well, uh…”

Because really, what is she supposed to say? That it’s always the same guy—Kakashi—putting her under a genjutsu and wearing a henge, showing up as someone new each time just to keep it all under wraps?

Before she has to come up with a half-lie or some awkward excuse, Ino barrels right past the question.

“What even made you two stop?” she asks, scrunching her nose. “I thought it was never going to end.”

Sakura rolls her eyes but can’t help chuckle at the memory. “Oh, well…” she begins, choosing her words carefully, “…we happened to make our way near Kakashi-sensei while he was deep in conversation with a group of clan elders.”

It feels weirder to say Kakashi-sensei then not at this point.

Tenten raises a brow. “Let me guess, he did something thoughtless and ended up pissing them off again?”

“When doesn’t he?” Sakura replies with an amused grin.

“Okay—and?” Ino nudges, practically bouncing in excitement. “Don’t leave us hanging. Spill!”

“After a while,” Sakura continues, still smiling, “the ‘Kakashi’ standing there slashed himself with a kunai mid-sentence—poof. Clone. Right in front of half the Hyūga and some old lady from the Aburame clan. Ended up getting separated in the commotion.”

Ino’s jaw drops. “No way.”

Tenten snickers. “Guess all their endless lecturing was too much for the poor clone.”

Sakura laughs with them, the memory warm and vivid in her mind. “Yeah, definitely.”

Because it had been too much—for the clone, anyway.

Though, they only know the half of it.

What they don’t know is she had intentionally wandered closer to the circle of elders. That the “Kakashi” standing tall in Hokage robes, nodding politely through stiff conversation, had only been a shadow clone… because the real one was the man holding her close just a few feet away, murmuring teasing nothings into her ear, fingertips grazing the small of her back with just enough pressure to steal her breath.

They’d wanted the clone to see. Made it see. Prodding at it. Testing its limits. Trying to make it jealous—just a little.

At first, it held steady. Played the part. But then the scowl started to creep in—subtle at first… then less so. A tick of the jaw. A faint eye twitch.

Until finally—

Swoosh. Kunai to the arm. A puff of smoke.

Gone, mid-sentence. Right in the middle of a long-winded discussion about diplomatic trade routes with the Land of Rivers.

They hadn’t expected that.

The elders were left in shocked silence. Brows lifted. Eyes wide.

And then came the offense.

First, that he’d dared to use a clone to speak with them at all, like their time wasn’t worth the real Hokage’s presence. And worse, that the clone had dismissed itself mid-conversation. As if it had been so thoroughly miserable in their company that it couldn’t even pretend any longer.

The uproar was instant.

A Hyūga matron actually scoffed. A Nara councilman muttered something under his breath about disrespect. The Aburame representative’s hand tightened around his teacup until the poor thing cracked.

And in the center of that rising chaos, the real Kakashi—disguised as her nameless dance partner—just groaned softly, breath brushing the side of her head as he leaned in, clearly burdened with the full memory of what his clone had just endured and the ramifications of how it reacted.

She’d turned her head toward him with an innocent blink. “What was that about?”

He let out a sigh, quiet and deeply annoyed with himself. “I underestimated how jealous I could make myself.”

That made her giggle.

Kakashi just shook his head. “Spiteful clone,” he muttered. “Left me with nothing but the memory and ‘this is your problem now.’”

She bit her lip, trying not to laugh too loudly at the utter ridiculousness of him sabotaging himself.

He’d pressed a soft, lingering kiss against her temple then—gentler than she expected, and far too brief. “Sorry,” he murmured regretfully, “but I need to go do damage control.”

And just like that, he slipped away, presence vanishing into the chaos with his shinobi skill.

But she can still feel it. The brush of his mouth. The warmth of his hand. The spark of his chakra only revealed to her through the layers of his illusions.

"Earth to Sakura."

Ino’s voice snaps her out of the memory, and Sakura blinks up back to her, startled. “Huh?”

Tenten’s already giggling, clearly having noticed her staring off. Sakura flushes, caught red-handed in thought.

Ino raises a brow, hands on her hips. “Seriously, are you scouting out another man?”

“What? No!” Sakura blurts, and for once, it’s not a lie.

Though, in a way, it still kind of was. They thought she’d been staring off looking at someone, not staring off lost in thought thinking about someone—thinking about Kakashi.

And she didn’t correct them.

Ino narrows her eyes like a hawk zeroing in on a mouse. “Or is it the same one?”

Sakura’s heart stumbles.

Wait. Did she figure it out?

Her eyes snap wide. “What—?”

But Ino just rolls her eyes, tone full of mock exasperation. “The guy you were just dancing with. Are you already looking for him again?”

Oh.

Right. She means same as in the guy from a few minutes ago. Not all the other times.

Sakura exhales a breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding, letting it out on a soft, relieved laugh.

Or at least, what should have been relief.

She pushes it down, looking away and smirking to herself. “I don’t know,” she says coyly. “I think I might keep looking a little longer.”

After all, who knows who Kakashi will disguise himself as next?

Tenten groans beside her, rolling her eyes. “You’re insufferable,” she says, though there’s no real heat behind it—just envy. Sakura feels a small tug of guilt. Tenten’s been trying to find a decent guy for a while, and her own ongoing secret romance—no matter how weirdly complicated—probably doesn’t help her confidence.

Ino, of course, is already paired off. With Sai, no less. She’s unaffected by this particular struggle and remains as blunt as ever.

“Ugh, you make no sense, Sakura,” Ino sighs dramatically. “You turn down guys all night long, then suddenly pick one out of nowhere and spend almost the entire evening with him—only to never talk to him again?”

Sakura freezes. For a second too long.

Now she’s going to piece it together, she panics. Surely she’ll figure it out.

But…

Do I really not want her to?

No.

Don’t be ridiculous, she tells herself quickly. Nobody can know.

Before Sakura can spiral further, Tenten—thankfully—cuts in, unknowingly covering for her.

“Why does it even matter?” Tenten says, shifting the conversation seamlessly to what she considers to be a more pressing matter, “Next time you find a good guy you don’t want to keep around,” she says, bumping Sakura lightly in the shoulder with a teasing grin. “Introduce me.”

She says it playfully, but Sakura can hear the edge beneath it. It’s light, but real. Vulnerability buried beneath the laughter.

And just like that, an idea strikes.

“Oh!” Sakura chirps, eyes scanning the crowd. She lifts herself a bit on her toes, searching. Is he still— yep, there he is. The same guy she’d danced with earlier—the one who’d lit Kakashi’s jealousy like a fuse.

And he’s alone, too. Perfect.

Sakura spins back to Tenten, grabbing her hand.

“C’mon. I’ll introduce you now.”

“What!” Tenten stumbles after her, eyes wide. “Sakura, wait—!”

“Trust me,” Sakura says as she weaves them through the crowd. “He’s really nice, considerate, and funny. Takes the initiative.”

Tenten gives her a narrow-eyed sidelong glare, flustered. “If you like him so much, why don’t you just date him?”

Sakura falters for half a step, face flushing. “It’s not like that,” she says quickly, voice higher than she means.

Because it’s not. Not at all.

But she can’t explain further. She can’t say, Because I’m already in love with someone else. Because the man she’s taking Tenten to meet was just a placeholder. A spark to make Kakashi act.

So instead, she shrugs, tossing her hair a little. “He’s not my type. Besides, if you haven’t noticed by now… I like to keep my options open.”

The phrase almost tastes bitter on her tongue. 

Tenten frowns at that, but there’s a subtle shift in her expression—nerves. Hesitation. And maybe, despite her resistance, a flicker of hope.

As they draw near the man, Sakura slows her steps, eyes meeting his.

He recognizes her quickly, pleasantly surprised. “Oh—Sakura,” he says, standing a little straighter. “Hello again.”

“Hi,” she replies, smiling easily before turning slightly to gesture at her friend.

Tenten, however, stands frozen. Her shoulders tense, arms rigid at her sides, eyes darting anywhere but at the man in front of her. She’s usually so confident—easygoing, even bold—but when it comes to dating, all that charm seems to short-circuit.

Sakura’s pretty sure that’s half the reason it never works out for her—and why this guy might just be perfect for her.

She nudges Tenten in the side—gentle, but unmistakably firm.

She shoots her a glare.

The man, picking up on her silence, offers a warm smile and says, “And who might you be?”

Tenten’s mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

“I—I’m…”

“This is Tenten,” Sakura finishes for her in with a sunny grin. “And she is very single.”

Tenten goes rigid beside her, eyes whipping toward Sakura like she’s just committed a high-level betrayal. Her cheeks flush a deep pink.

The man lifts a brow, amused. “Well, very single Tenten,” he addresses her with a chuckle. “I’m Keiji.” He flashes a lopsided smirk, clearly enjoying himself. “Nice to meet you.”

Tenten just nods in agreement, unable to get the words past her throat.

Sakura blinks. Keiji. Huh. First time she’s actually gotten his name. Fitting, somehow. She probably should of asked sooner.

“Good thing I’m very single too,” Keiji continues lightly, filling in the silence as he offers his hand to Tenten. “Care to dance? My last two partners left me for other guys. I’m starting to feel like the common denominator.”

Sakura shoots him a dry look, but his attention is fully on Tenten now, smile wide, voice softening a touch. “Help me break the streak?”

Tenten blinks up at him, visibly torn between embarrassment and curiosity. But her hand moves—hesitantly at first—then confidently into his.

“I… guess I could manage a dance,” she murmurs.

Keiji beams.

Sakura watches them step onto the dance floor, the music folding around their figures as they begin to move. Tenten’s shoulders ease bit by bit, and Keiji’s easy charm coaxes a soft laugh out of her. It’s clumsy at first—but then, slowly, they find a rhythm. Something light, something real.

And Sakura smiles.

She lingers for a moment longer, watching them spin gently across the floor—uncomplicated, open, free to flirt and fumble and smile without the shadow of a secret hanging over them.

Then she turns, slipping away from the edge of the floor without a word.

Two Kakashi’s made jealous… one friend possibly charmed…

Her fingers drift to her lips, brushing the ghost of Kakashi’s kiss—the one hidden behind illusion and mask and henges. Warmth floods her chest… but it settles strangely tonight. Lopsided.

Not a bad night, she thinks.

But as the music swells behind her and laughter rings from the dance floor, she adds, Just… one I wish didn’t have to be so hidden.

***

“Most of the council has been pacified—for the most part,” Shikamaru says evenly, collecting the last of the papers from Kakashi’s desk. “But if you don’t keep a firmer grip on things over the next few weeks, they’ll start coordinating just to make your life harder. I’d get ahead of them. Politically.”

Kakashi exhales, rubbing the back of his neck. “Right. Of course.”

“And don’t pull a stunt like that again.” Shikamaru adds, more pointedly now, giving Kakashi a sharp look over the stack in his arms.

After working so closely for years, they’ve long since passed the point of sugarcoating things—especially when Shikamaru feels Kakashi is being careless.

Kakashi chuckles, sheepish. “Yeah… noted.”

His clone really had stirred up a mess. It’s only his first full day back in the office since the wedding, and most of the council still won’t look him in the eye. Half of them ignored his input during the morning meeting. The remainder of the wedding party had been even worse—cold smiles, stiff greetings. All of them, silently judging.

Shikamaru had stayed behind afterward, trying to smooth things over both then and again today, and Kakashi hadn’t missed the effort. He can’t help but feel guilty for not being completely honest with Shikamaru when he’d pressed him earlier about why he did it.

Especially now, knowing he’s about to make things worse.

Shikamaru straightens, offering a brief nod of farewell and turning toward the door when Kakashi speaks.

“Shikamaru.”

The younger man pauses mid-step and glances back over his shoulder, brows lifting in that familiar mix of curiosity and what now.

Kakashi hesitates. His eyes drift to the corner of the room, avoiding Shikamaru’s gaze, already regretting how little thought he gave to phrasing this properly. The question comes out clipped—too direct, too telling—but if he’s going to follow through with this, there’s no one whose advice, opinion, or discretion he trusts more than Shikamaru’s.

“Has there ever been a Hokage who’s done something… controversial?”

That gets Shikamaru’s attention. He turns fully now, one brow slightly raised—curious, but not surprised. There’s a hint of suspicion in his expression, but it’s tempered by interest. His posture shifts subtly, more alert.

Kakashi internally winces. Too obvious.

But Shikamaru, to his credit, doesn’t pry. Doesn’t narrow his eyes or ask what Kakashi means by controversial. He just folds his arms and leans a bit of weight into one leg, thinking.

“Well,” he says slowly, “Hokages have made plenty of controversial decisions. Some political. Some strategic. Comes with the job, really.”

Kakashi hums quietly—acknowledging, but saying nothing more. It’s a small encouragement, the kind Shikamaru easily picks up on.

Shikamaru continues, now watching him a little more closely. “But if you mean something more… personal.” He lets the sentence trail off just enough for Kakashi’s silence to answer for him.

Kakashi shifts, eyes flickering toward the window. Flinches, just barely.

That’s enough.

Shikamaru nods to himself, understanding blooming without pushing. “Well, the Fifth had half the village whispering about her before you ever stepped in,” he offers. “Gambling debts. Drunk out late with strangers. Started more than a few fights with her ANBU detail trying to rein her in. Think she hospitalized one who tried cutting her off at a bar ‘for her own good.’”

Kakashi can’t help it—his lips twitch, just faintly. “That sounds… about right.”

“She was still one of the most respected Hokage we’ve had,” Shikamaru adds, tone more serious now. “Not because she avoided scrutiny. But because when it mattered—she stood by what she chose. That’s what people remember. Not the scandal. The conviction.”

Kakashi nods, the informational more reassuring than he expected—though, it’s exactly what he needed.

Shifting in his chair, Kakashi presses more seriously, “I know you didn’t work under her, but do you know at all how she managed the… immediate backlash?”

Shikamaru shrugs lightly. “Well, between some of Shizune’s rather… interesting venting sessions, and the council’s constant comparisons between your reign and hers, I’d say she had made it very clear she didn’t care. That she wasn’t going to budge on the matter. That it’d only be a problem if they made it a problem—and from what I heard, they really didn’t want to have a problem with her.”

Kakashi hums, absorbing the information.

After a pause, Shikamaru sighs and cuts in, voice lowering.

“But if this is about you—”

Kakashi glances up—probably a little too fast. He immediately regrets it. This is Shikamaru, after all. Sharp as ever, and absolutely nothing gets past him.

Shikamaru’s eyes narrow, the recognition in his expression confirming he’s already halfway to the truth.

“—then that same approach won’t work for you,” he says, tone steady, like he’s stating a fact. “You listen. You’re open to negotiation—even when you act like you don’t care or aren’t paying attention. I know it. They know it.”

He shifts his weight, fixing Kakashi with a dry, almost pointed look.

“It’s why they tolerate your occasional bouts of completely ridiculous laziness and inconsiderate behavior.”

Kakashi can read between the lines: he’s talking about the wedding.

Then Shikamaru adds with a shrug, “They’d still rather deal with that than another Tsunade.”

Kakashi rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “Right… sorry again.”

Shikamaru waves it off, dropping the matter. “I’m not saying you’re a pushover,” he says, voice even. “But if you try to put your foot down, it won’t land the same. They’ll see it as a bluff. A false threat.”

Kakashi frowns, quietly conceding the point. Shikamaru’s right. It’s happened before—he’s stood firm on matters, only to find himself gradually worn down, outmaneuvered until he had to trade away smaller victories just to keep the peace. He’s no stranger to compromise, but this… this isn’t something he wants to haggle over.

He exhales. “So what would be the best course of action, then?”

Shikamaru shrugs like the answer’s obvious. “Make them think it’s their idea.”

Kakashi furrows his brow.

Taking the hint to elaborate further, Shikamaru folds his arms and leans back against the doorframe.

“Find something close to—whatever this issue is. Something they want out of it, then shape the conversation so they’re the ones trying to cut a deal with you—not the other way around. You need to flip the balance.” He pauses, smirking faintly. “Frankly, with how things are going for you right now, you need a win like that.”

Kakashi leans back in his chair, thoughtful. Something they want…

Before he can fall too deep into his thoughts, Shikamaru speaks again, cutting through the silence.

“Well? Are you going to tell me what this is really about?”

Kakashi looks up at him, face unreadable for a long moment before it softens into that familiar, lazy smile.

“Maa… what do you mean?” he says, tone light, easy. “Just curiously inquiring.”

It’s a lie. A transparent one. A deflection wrapped in a casual grin. And Shikamaru knows it.

Of course he does, but he also knows better than to press when Kakashi’s decided not to talk. Getting answers out of him when he doesn’t want to give them is like trying to wrestle fog—pointless, and a waste of effort.

He gives Kakashi a tired look, brow ticking ever so slightly, then exhales through his nose.

“Just make sure it doesn’t bite me in the ass later,” he mutters, already turning toward the door. “I’m the one who has to clean up your messes.”

And with that, he leaves.

Kakashi hums to himself, soft and almost satisfied, as the door finishes closing behind Shikamaru.

But before the latch clicks fully into place, it’s nudged open, and in waddles Pakkun, shaking off imaginary dust from his fur like he owns the place.

“Is this about Floral Green?” the pug asks, straight-faced.

Kakashi freezes, shooting him a sharp look. “Would you not say that so loudly?”

Pakkun snorts. “Relax, boss. Just ‘cause my ears are good enough to eavesdrop, doesn’t mean Shikamaru’s are. He’s well out of range.”

Kakashi knows that. Of course he knows that. But still—“That’s not the point,” he mutters, already rubbing his temple.

“Anyways,” Pakkun continues, hopping up onto the chair across from Kakashi’s desk, “if you’re gonna be more open about it anyway, you shouldn’t be so cagey.”

“Being public about it won’t happen overnight,” Kakashi replies dryly, reaching for the top folder in his stack. “And I still have to ask Sakura’s opinion on the matter.”

Pakkun scratches at his ear lazily. “Got a suspicious feeling she’s been waiting for you to be ready for it.”

Kakashi glances at him. “What do you mean?”

The pug just grins. “Like I said—my ears don’t miss much.”

Kakashi stares at him for a moment before giving an unimpressed hum, clearly deciding not to dignify that with a response. He flicks the folder open, eyes scanning the first line, already trying to shift back into work mode.

“Did you need something?” he asks flatly, not looking up.

“No, just wandering,” He uses the edge of his desk for a quick stretch. “We do a lot of that now since you became Hokage.”

Kakashi snorts without looking up. “You mean become a pack of snoops?”

“You won’t tell any of us anything otherwise,” Pakkun fires back, unbothered. “Especially not about your relationship with Sakura.”

Kakashi stills for a breath. Mentally, he concedes the point.

The once-formidable tracking and intelligence-gathering unit of ANBU-nin Kakashi Hatake—Hound—reduced to village gossip canines who’ve taken a concerningly active interest in their summoner’s personal life.

His only mercy is that they’re loyal to a fault. But that doesn’t make them any less of a nuisance. Not when they barge into parts of his life he prefers to keep behind several very thick, very locked doors.

Pakkun, as if reading that exact thought from the air, inches closer, paws now on the desk, more serious now. “So… why the change of heart?”

Kakashi doesn’t answer immediately.

He lets the question hang there in the quiet, flipping a page he doesn’t read as he weighs it. Why does he want to stop hiding it?

There are a lot of reasons.

One, he loves her. That one’s simple. And if he wants anything real with her—any kind of future—they can’t live behind masks forever, despite his inclination.

Two, the constant planning, the disguises, the sneaking around… it’s exhausting. He’d rather spend that time actually with her, not orchestrating workarounds just to get a few hours.

Three, well, just because he’s a private person, that doesn’t mean Sakura is. In fact, she’s the opposite. Bright, open, always giving. Too much sometimes. And never asking for enough in return. If what Pakkun said is true—that she’s been waiting for him to be ready to go public—then maybe it’s time. Overdue, even.

All of those are valid, thoughtful, solid justifications he could admit out loud, if pressed.

But the real reason—the catalyst that finally pushed him over the edge?

Kakashi finally looks up from his paperwork, a slow smirk tugging at his mouth.

“I can’t have everyone thinking she’s single.”