Chapter Text
Two lines.
Five sets of them, in fact.
Sakura blinked at the stark, undeniable pink stripes in her hand, glancing to the matching four other tests she’d taken throughout the night, and swallowed the worm of anxiety she’d been fighting that curled and twisted in her belly.
She needed to keep her head. Process; and not panic. She’d just come home only four weeks ago—back to the Leaf, while Sasuke continued his ventures and sought out atonement. She was needed here, to lead the Medical Department. She’d been gone too long, lost in the dream of having Sasuke all to herself for slow mornings and talkative nights.
Everything had just been so… wonderful. Cozy conversations by campfire, sunny mornings with birdsong and a camp breakfast. They’d taken turns cooking, though Sasuke had always been the one to ready their coffee. She’d poked at him, noting how he was a lot like their sensei in that aspect; Kakashi was always one for a cup.
They’d lazed under sunsets and slept under the moon. She’d even gotten him to twirl with her in the twilight once, with the help of some sake they’d been given as thanks from a small farming village for ridding their bandit problem.
It’d been a fairytale. A complete dream.
One she was very suddenly waking from.
She swallowed again, blinking twice at the two pink lines staring back at her. And let it clatter to the floor, as she pushed her now-empty hand into her hair and leaned her back against the bathroom wall.
She was pregnant.
With a baby.
Sasuke’s baby.
Would he even want it..? What would he say? What would her parents say?
She scrunched her eyes shut.
No—that didn’t matter. She barely spoke to them ever since she’d moved out; but the anxiety of their judgment still crossed her mind even now. Whether it was over her interior decorating choices or the fact she was living alone, unmarried, and pregnant. With a controversial figure’s child.
Because they hated Sasuke. They hated her involvement with him, and had practically hunted her down to try and convince her to stay when they’d heard she was leaving. She hadn’t told them: they’d asked her work when they’d spotted her shopping for traveling. And her work, not knowing how much she’d distanced herself from them, had told them practically everything, from her day of departure to who she was traveling with—and they’d been furious.
He betrayed the Leaf, Sakura! He’s a fugitive.
He’s been pardoned by the Hokage, Mom, he isn’t a criminal—
He’s been pardoned by your sensei. Surely even you have to see the bias in that.
You don’t trust our Hokage?
I don’t trust that man’s judgment when it comes to his students. You were all entirely too close.
Her mother had only said that, though, because Kakashi-sensei had tried talking with them when she was fourteen and training with Tsunade. They’d been upset at her training with a Sannin, saying Sakura had no need for such highly intensive training from such a renowned shinobi. Had argued it was ‘setting her up for death’; as if it were painting a target on her back. Sensei had told them Sakura was far more talented and capable than they realized, and that she’d do great things—if they let her. They’d acquiesced on the surface, but Sakura could see how clearly they despised him underneath ever since. Her mother always rolled her eyes and scoffed any time Sakura mentioned him, and her father always formed that tight frown of his with the pinch between his brows.
She couldn’t tell them: they’d never support her. They’d only make everything worse, and ask her a million questions she didn’t have the answers to. She couldn’t tell Sasuke, at least not immediately. He wouldn’t get her letter for some time, and even then, it’d be longer for him to come back home.
She ignored the hushed whisper in her head: if he came back home.
He would. It would just take longer than she needed right now.
Tsunade? Away from the village. She was out living her life free of any and all Hokage responsibilities. She and Ino had grown closer, but not that close. Not yet. And Naruto would only freak out with her.
She needed someone to tell. Someone she could talk to, who could talk her back down to being calm. A level head. A steady voice against her own that she knew would shake when she said it out loud for the first time.
She spread her hands over her face, inhaling a counted breath and holding it before releasing slowly. She did it again for good measure, scrubbing her hands over her eyes before dropping them to stand upright and wrench the bathroom door open. She grabbed her keys by the door, and opened it to step into the night.
—0—
The crickets were especially loud tonight, she thought, as she made her way across Kakashi’s garden, not particularly thinking about how loud she crunched the grass underfoot.
Well.
Calling it Sensei’s garden was a stretch; it was more like Gai’s. She looked for the lilies Gai-sensei had just planted not too long ago, and as she spotted them, a ghost of a smile twisted its way onto her face as it fought with her anxiety.
She was grateful for Gai. He did wonders for Kakashi-sensei’s overall wellbeing. She wondered idly how much she was like Gai for Sasuke; if she was supposed to be more like some beam of unending light to contrast their partners' gloomy nature.
Was Sasuke her partner..? Could she really call him that? They’d done everything only a couple would do, she figured, except make it official. Except talk about it in any way that mattered. They’d gone through all the motions and felt all the sparks, without acknowledging it in that way. Sasuke had told her how grateful he was for her; how he wanted to earn her trust again.
She’d told him he already had it. But he’d only shaken his head minimally, and repeated himself: “I want to earn it.”
And yet, he wasn’t here. Earning it.
That isn’t fair, she scolded herself with a frown, as she stopped in her tracks in front of Kakashi-sensei’s door. It’s not like I asked him and he said no. I told him I needed to come home. He understood. He said he needed to keep doing what he was doing, and I agreed. I said I’d see him again soon. It was mutual. It was a discussion. I’m not being fair.
This entire situation isn’t fair, another hushed whisper echoed in her thoughts. She had to immediately deal with this. Sasuke didn’t.
She raised a fist, middle knuckle extended just enough to knock quietly—
But found she couldn’t.
…What was she doing here? What would Kakashi-sensei be able to do about it? Nothing. He was her sensei, and he had his own life. She had hers. He was Hokage, and likely sleeping on his desk right now on top of some paperwork he’d fallen asleep doing.
He didn’t need her problems. She was an adult now—she could cope. She could deal. She would deal.
She lowered her fist, squeezing it once before releasing it, and realized her hands were shaking. She turned on her heel, and made her way back across the garden.
She’d really, actually almost cried to her sensei about some midnight pregnancy tests. Tests that were positive because of their other teammate, who wasn’t even here. Would he judge her for sleeping with a teammate on a mission? It wasn’t a real mission, but still; it kind of was—
“Sakura?”
She froze, nearly jumping from the unexpected voice behind her.
Kakashi-sensei.
He must have sensed her chakra as she’d twiddled her thumbs outside his door, like some forlorn puppy needing reassurance. She was twenty-one years old; she wasn’t the same needy twelve year old she’d once been, clinging to her sensei’s side. Or the same sixteen year old, who’d clung just as much. Or the eighteen year old, glued to his side during their entire battle with Kaguya.
She’d grown. She’d grown, and she was an adult now. She reminded herself that Sensei had only been five years older than her when they’d become a team. She couldn’t imagine leading a team of genin anytime soon.
“What’s wrong?”
She willed herself to turn and see him; it wasn’t like she could ignore him. He’d come out to check on her, despite how late it was and despite her age and despite the fact she had her own parents—
And yet, there he was. With a slightly furrowed brow, indigo yukata, and a thinly-veiled question in his eye. It was almost funny, looking back to when they’d first met. He’d been so guarded back then. She knew now that he’d been fresh out of ANBU, so it was understandable; but it also made the situation funnier. Straight out of ANBU and put in charge of children. It was hard to believe how much he’d changed since then. For one, his emotions were so much more open now. She could see the slight frown beneath his mask even from halfway across the garden. Twelve year old Sakura would never have seen such blatant concern.
When she met his eye, though, his frown deepened, and he stepped further out the door. She wondered what he saw that made him gently pull the door behind him, and she watched him walk, in his slippers, through the cool, summer grass to meet her. She said nothing as he stopped in front of her, little more than an arm’s length away, and she fought the unexpected sudden sting in her eyes as she watched him patiently wait.
The tip of her nose tingled, and against all her efforts to stay collected, she could only watch as her vision blurred, before feeling the heat of unbidden tears spill over her lashes and onto her cheek.
She lifted her hand to swipe them away with the pad of her middle finger, and swallowed as she tried to summon the right words to say. Kakashi-sensei made no move to rush her, or swoop to console her. It was one of her favorite things about him: he didn’t interfere with their process. He’d only step in when one of them was truly, deeply upset. Nearly inconsolable. Then he’d swoop in to try and fix it.
“I—um…” Her throat tightened, as though some part of her were still fighting to keep it a secret. She felt silly for rushing to her sensei for guidance. What could he tell her that she didn’t already know..? He didn’t even have children.
...Never babies, anyway.
But another, greater part of her still needed to tell someone. To air it out into the world. It was the truth—it was reality. She needed to face it. Talk about it. Figure out what to do, even if it was just by working her way through her thoughts out loud.
“It’s—I’m—” Her throat worked against her again, and with a frustrated scoff, she dragged the side of her hand under her eye as more tears spilled against her will. A sudden, short gasp of a cry was pulled from her, more of a hiccup than anything, and she rolled her eyes at herself. Crying before she even got the words out.
“Are you safe?” Kakashi-sensei asked, as calm and steady as ever. She looked to him. He was giving her yes or no questions—far easier to answer, than it was to communicate effectively.
Her eyes stung again at the gentleness of the help, but she nodded.
“Are Naruto and Sasuke safe? Everyone’s okay?”
She nodded again. Kakashi mirrored her, though less hurried.
“I'd like to know what's on your mind, if you have the time. Are you free to come sit with me?” He asked, as though he were the one that'd come to her. A chuff of watery laughter escaped her, some complicated mixture of relief and comfort and nerves as she nodded, stilted, and moved to follow him to the engawa. She took her place next to him as he sat, and consciously made the effort to not fold her hands and fidget.
Kakashi didn't look to her expectantly, as she'd thought he might. Instead, his attention seemed wholly on the pond ahead of them, full of lily pads and frogs that croaked into the night air. Small, summery baubles of sunshine floated across the garden too, all little echoes of each other as they flew above the crickets.
“Gai insisted on making something pretty out here,” he said, gesturing subtly to the pond and lilies and stone paths. “Said I wasn't appreciating the space enough. You should've seen him when I said it was fine how it was.” She saw the telltale shift of his mask that only happened when a smile was on his face, and a fractured mirror of it subconsciously appeared across her own.
“He’s got an eye for beauty,” Sakura agreed, and then snickered at the quick, joking side-eye Kakashi threw her, as she realized belatedly that could imply him. She’d seen his face once before, though, and couldn’t exactly say she disagreed. It was funny how conventionally attractive their sensei was, and yet he chose to hide his face all the time. When she and Naruto had asked why he did it, he’d shrugged and said it kept what he was thinking ambiguous, as he’d apparently had a tendency to wear how he felt on his face as a kid; and as a six-year-old chunin with chunin-grade missions, he’d needed to keep that tendency under wraps. He’d shrugged and said he’d never taken it off out of habit; though Sakura figured the benefit that was hiding a life of tragedy was another perk a mask brought. Only people who knew him well could tell his real expressions even from behind it.
“Sometimes,” Kakashi agreed with a half-hearted tilt of his head. “I could live with less green, though.”
She was surprised to hear herself outright laugh, a juxtaposition to the tears still drying on her lashes. Maybe it was from thinking of Gai’s vibrant jumpsuit and personality in contrast to Kakashi’s more muted palette—or maybe it was from the overly green kitchen she found herself envisioning.
Either way, she felt her smile spread to her dimples as she dropped her gaze back to the pond, watching a frog’s throat work as it croaked.
It was only from half a lifetime of being a shinobi that she reflexively looked to where she felt eyes on her, and was surprised to see Kakashi watching her, eyes crinkled with that subtle affection of his he’d grown to look at them all with over the years. Usually when they were all having a moment of fun or peace together, she’d notice him get discreetly sentimental. Naruto had surprisingly noticed too, once, and even called him out on it—though he got little more than a lazy shrug in return, much to his dissatisfaction. He’d clearly been looking for some wildly out of character, extreme reaction from their sensei for pointing out that he cared about them.
Sasuke had never mentioned it, though surely he’d had to have noticed. Sasuke never missed anything, it seemed like; but the fact that he never brought it up, even in private between just the two of them, was endearing to her. There was an unspoken (but glaringly obvious) understanding that after nearly ten years of knowing each other, going through everything they had together, and somehow all coming out alive, they were practically family. Sakura looked to Naruto and saw a brother. In Sasuke, a partner. And Kakashi—
She willed herself back to the present moment, softening her smile to match Kakashi’s.
Kakashi was well-aware what he was to them—all of them. He had to be. She knew that. It wasn’t embarrassing, and yet… It was. How much she’d grown to rely on him and look to him not as a normal student would to their sensei—but as something scarily, very nearly parental. And she knew she wasn’t alone in that. Naruto hadn’t gone into great detail with it, but he’d mentioned after a night of him, her, and Sasuke drinking together how he “kinda wished” he’d asked Kakashi instead of Iruka to attend his wedding as his father, since looking back, Iruka was more like an older brother to him, whereas Kakashi had been there when he needed him for years, time and time again. And Kakashi called him more, and they’d talk for hours every time. He’d stopped there, and flushed crimson right after, likely from remembering how Sasuke wasn’t exactly a sharer and he’d expected Sasuke to dig into him for such a vulnerable admission; but Sasuke had only nodded, and taken another sip of his sake. Sakura could still see the look on Naruto’s face when Sasuke had said, “I get that. I want that, too.” He’d looked directly to her after he’d said that, and she flushed, even now, at the memory. He’d obviously been implying their wedding, and had it been any other time, Naruto would have leapt on it to make fun of them.
That was nearly a year ago now. She didn’t know if Naruto had ever told their sensei that, or if it’d stayed between them that night on Naruto’s engawa.
But she had a feeling Kakashi somehow knew regardless.
He’d put his attention to the stars while she thought, giving her the time and space to sort through herself, and she fought tears again at the peace that coming here had already brought her. If she’d gone to her parents, she’d be screaming at them right now. Her mother would be huffing and crying and asking how she could have done this to them and herself, and her father would be sat at the table with his head in his hands; she could see it so clearly. The tension, the high energy, the constant defense she’d have to give herself—all of it. Sitting on Kakashi’s engawa listening to crickets and watching stars as she took her time putting together her thoughts, feelings, and words was a kindness he likely had no idea he was giving; or at least, she doubted he knew the gravity of it to her.
But then again, he’d met her parents himself. Had tried talking to them, when they shut him down again and again and again until finally just agreeing, solely so he’d leave.
…So maybe he did know.
She noticed herself fidgeting with her hands, and clenched them into fists before tucking her hair nervously behind her ear. She slid them beneath her thighs, pinning them to the engawa as she found her voice.
“Sorry I’ve been a little… all over the place tonight,” she started, figuring she needed a clean slate in order to retry starting this how she’d originally wanted to. Collected, capable, and not panicked. Not even a little. Not even at all.
Her mouth had never been dryer, it seemed like.
Kakashi barely waved a hand, aloof as always as his attention stayed on the inky sky.
“Being alive is messy,” he said, and Gods, had she never agreed more. She had the most complicated feelings towards Sasuke right now, though she knew it was only because of the situation, and it’d be worlds different if he were just here.
A noise of complete agreement left her, and she saw the twitch of a smile under his mask again. It was easier this time to match it.
…But at the growing silence, she felt her stomach flip again. She thought herself ready, and that she finally had the right words. She’d been rehearsing them in her head as they sat, as her mind absently played a highlight reel of their team’s history.
And yet, the words still wouldn’t come out.
Kakashi’s eyes slid to see her, face still towards the stars, and she blinked away her again-blurry vision, until it was clear once again.
A hand, warm and dry and steady, covered her shoulder blade. She looked to see him watching her with that shadow of concern again, and she was immediately reminded of what she’d thought about earlier: how he only stepped in when they were really, truly upset. She wondered what it was on her face that gave it away. What made him decide it was time.
“You don’t have to say anything you’re not ready to, Sakura. But if you want to, and the problem is that you’re worried about saying it perfectly, then just say whatever comes to mind; it doesn’t have to be eloquent.” Something panged in her chest—maybe from being known so well, and specifically being told it didn’t have to be perfect and pretty and right. Kakashi smiled at her then, but it was one of his sunnier ones. Like after Sasuke left, when he’d told her things would go back to normal, and they’d all be together again and everything would be just like it was.
“Remember: I know you. However you say what’s on your mind, I’ll figure it out and fill in the gaps. Give me some credit,” he added with a wink.
And whatever dam she’d been trying to keep up broke. She felt her eyes heat and well again, her nose tingling right on cue with his wink, and before she could consciously think to keep them there, her hands were free and winding around her sensei in an all-too-desperate hug—though it resembled more of a clutch, really, from the way she felt herself holding on.
A beat, likely from surprise alone, before she felt him return it, tight and warm and secure under the stars as she tucked her face into his shoulder to bite back the cries her body tried to do.
She’d been worried for two weeks; that's how long it'd been since she noticed she was late. But she'd attributed it to stress and travel. She’d been panicked most of the day, as she did test after test to be sure; but held it in to try and keep a handle on herself. She’d wanted to lose it after the last one; but had dropped it to instead try talking about it first, before panicking and falling apart.
And yet, here she was: falling apart. Though with less panic, since she was with her capable, competent, calm sensei—but it was still threatening, on the horizon.
She’d been obsessed with leading up to it just right. Finding the perfect words at the perfect pace to break the news to him, to try and avoid as much disappointment as possible. She didn’t care about her parents’ disappointment—it was their outrage she wanted to avoid. They were always disappointed anyway, and always had been.
But if Kakashi-sensei was…
She squeezed her eyes shut, hot lines of tears running down her cheeks at the movement.
Just say it. Just get it over with. Do it.
“I’m pregnant.” Done. Done and out and—real. Very real, now that she’d said it out loud. The words had practically tumbled out of her in her rush to just say them. “I’m pregnant and I don’t know what to do.”
She felt him still; even his breathing paused.
She held her own breath, feeling her shoulders tighten as she felt her whole body stiffen with the anxiety of what he’d say. She could hear him now: ‘Are you serious? When? With Sasuke? You’re a jonin now, Sakura, you’re supposed to stay professional in the field—’
Instead, she felt a hand cup the curve of her skull, and a thumb stroke her hair silently; until she felt his hold tighten, and his head rest against hers.
“Okay. That’s okay.”
It really wasn’t—at all.
“Knowing you, you’ve double-checked?”
She nodded against his shoulder.
“Five times.”
She strained to hear him repeat “Five times…” to himself under his breath, and nearly (hysterically) laughed at the way he said it: like he’d expected nothing less. His hold relaxed as he released her somewhat to stroke her back; slow, broad sweeps that worked to make her shoulders fall back to where they should’ve been. It was enough to make her realize her body ached—likely from the amount of anxiety she’d been carrying for weeks now.
“Does Sasuke know?”
She shook her head against him.
“Does anyone? Besides me?”
She shook her head.
“Okay.”
He slid his hand up and down her back some more. “You don't seem very happy about this,” he noted, and though she analyzed his voice for any trace of judgment, she found none.
She shrugged, tight, and shook her head again.
“I don't know if I am; I'm not right now. What am I going to do with a kid?” She felt him stop to squeeze her shoulders.
“Wha’d’you mean? You’d be fine, if you decided to keep it.”
She blinked, and pulled away in surprise from her temporary sanctuary from reality.
“If?” She asked, to make sure she'd heard him right.
He arched a brow.
“You're head of the medical department—surely you know how common it is for shinobi to decide against parenthood. And for good reason.”
She knew. And a large part of her knew Kakashi would never look sideways at it; it had still remained a wonder to her, though, how he'd react when it wasn't a stranger, and it came to someone he knew.
She nodded. “Yeah… I know. I just—” She racked her head and her heart for somewhere solid to stand, though she reminded herself she'd only known for maybe half an hour now; but she'd suspected for weeks. She'd just tried to give it time. Reminded herself bodies reacted to change in a million ways, and a delayed period could very well be one of them. She'd replayed her and Sasuke’s goodbye in her head a thousand times since, though, and it was in the right timeframe. She'd just tried to be logical and weigh every possibility.
“I don't know what I want. Part of me does want this, some picture-perfect life where I tell Sasuke and he races home and everything is happy ever after,” she said. A wedding strictly because she'd gotten pregnant seemed hardly romantic, though, and if she were being honest, that was exactly what she didn't want: Sasuke only asking because of this.
Kakashi didn't interrupt, only patiently waited for her to continue.
She raised and dropped a hand helplessly.
“I just wanted it to be later. When I wanted it to happen. And I also—I want to keep things as they are. My career, where I'm at with Sasuke, my life… I don't want them all to change inauthentically, just because of this. I wanted them to change organically, like they should and when they should. But because of me, not because of…” She trailed off, but Kakashi nodded anyway.
“It feels like forced change? Instead of earned and expected?”
Yes.
She agreed, feeling her shoulders relax more at being understood. He hadn't been kidding: he really did fill in the gaps well.
“Change is change. It's not inherently good or bad; it just is. You don't have to feel only one way about it. It can be both.”
“But it can't—it would only be one or the other.”
Kakashi shrugged, a welcome easiness to him that contrasted her own razorblade nerves.
“It doesn't have to be. Is Sasuke another concern?” He asked, and again, Sakura was surprised at the intuition. She hesitated before nodding.
“I don't want things with him to change like that. I would hate for him to ask me to marry him, only because of this. Because I know he would,” she said with a frown. She flicked her eyes back to meet Kakashi’s. “Y’know… because he's so big on his ‘do the right thing’ train right now,” she added, making Kakashi chuckle.
“Yeah, I've noticed,” he murmured, shifting on the engawa to get more comfortable. “If he asks, tell him no. Tell him what you just told me.”
Sakura’s eyes bugged.
“Tell him no? Are you serious?”
Kakashi rolled his head across his shoulders to fix her with a deadpan look.
“It won't kill him. Or you. I think you're right to not want marriage just because of that: so don't marry him if he asks. Tell him why. Talk about it. Problem solved.”
Sakura squirmed in her seat at the idea, but as she chewed it over, realized maybe it really was that simple. She didn't want Sasuke to ask just because of that; so if he asked her again later, it'd be genuine.
She nodded slowly, adjusting to the idea.
“Anything else?” He asked, looking to her.
“My career. I don't want to uproot it and just be someone’s mom.”
Kakashi seemed to really understand that one, if his micro-expressions and body language had anything to say about it.
“Yeah, kids get in the way of that. For a little while, at least. But it wouldn't be forever.”
She wasn't so sure—she was at the top. An impressive feat for her age. She was younger than practically everyone under her.
If she wasn't there, they'd need someone to fill in that spot, and whoever did would likely not appreciate the idea of stepping down when she returned.
“Ask Tsunade,” Kakashi said, and at the idea, Sakura’s brows reached her hairline.
“Ask Tsunade? She's practically retired—I can't just ask her to come back and hold my spot while I have a baby.”
Kakashi looked unimpressed.
“I'm currently holding Naruto’s spot, and will be for literal years—probably a decade, at least. Tsunade can hold yours for a few.”
A smile fought its way onto her face at the way he said it. His deadpan, casual delivery of acknowledging just how much he was doing for Naruto.
“I’m not trying to sway you either way, so you know. You just seem conflicted, and I'm giving ideas.”
She knew that, but appreciated him saying so anyway. Her smile spread somewhat, and she nodded.
“I know. Thank you.”
“I can ask her, if you don't want to bring it up to her yet. I'll tell you what she says, so you can weigh your decision better.”
Her eyes stung, yet again at the surprising-but-unsurprising gentleness he offered.
“I'd really appreciate that.”
He nodded, settling back to watching stars again.
“I'll ask her in the morning. She'll say no out of spite if I call now.”
She laughed at the image, knowing damn well he wasn't even exaggerating.
He turned his head to the side to meet her eye, and asked, “Anything else on your mind?”
And for the first time in weeks, even with her looking for something—there wasn't. She'd said it all, gotten it out into the air. It felt… freeing, to have spoken about her anxieties so openly, and receive neutral feedback that was genuinely helpful.
She shook her head, but it was with a smile this time, and only misty eyes.
“No. I think that's everything.”
He smiled at her, easy and reassuring, before placing a hand to her back again.
“See? How hard was that,” he asked, and in her lingering nerves, it took her a moment to realize he was referring to earlier, when he'd asked her to say what was on her mind.
A laugh left her at the question. “Hard, ” she answered, and was pleased to hear a low laugh leave him.
“Yeah. It gets easier, though.”
“Being pregnant?”
“Sharing your worries. Wouldn't know anything about what you said.”
She laughed, and was pleasantly surprised to find how easy it suddenly felt to do so.
She had a lot to think about. A lot to weigh and consider and deliberate over.
But it felt more manageable now. Less of a heavy secret, and without judgment weighing on either choice.
Kakashi had all but outright said he wouldn't hold either against her. Had reassured her she could make it work as a working, unmarried parent. And also that she had every reason to decide against it.
She felt him sweep his hand over her back once more before letting it drop back to the engawa.
“When did you last eat?” He asked. She found herself having to truly think about it, and realized it hadn't been since that morning; she'd forced down a slice of buttered toast and an orange. And the night before, she'd made herself eat half a bowl of rice with an egg. She’d known she had to eat to manage everything better; but eating when your stomach was in knots was so hard. She'd been battling herself every day to eat through the nerves.
She decided to be honest. “This morning.” It came out almost sheepish.
Kakashi slid his eyes to her, the crickets managing to deliver his message well enough all on their own. He tapped the back of his hand against her arm, and moved to stand.
“Gai made curry udon earlier. I'll make you some.”
She followed him in, and as she toed off her shoes by the door, she watched him begin to ready her the first real meal she'd had in days.
If she'd gone to her parents, she'd be in tears on her couch right now. She'd have left angry and hurt, and been alone and unfed right this very moment as she cried herself to sleep.
Instead, she was smelling Gai’s delicious cooking, and was sat next to her sensei as she ate and he pointed out constellations Minato had once shown him.
It was the most at peace she'd felt in weeks.