WAYFARERS. | hatake kakashi.

01 | a wet dog

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we were the best. we were good.
we never fully realized it until it's too late.

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Shizune doesn't know you, but you do.

The words you both exchanged from time to time are often duty-bound and partitioned by a mask. You frequent the building, of course. (Kakashi was shit at taking care of himself.) Sometimes you would spend an entire day or two on guard outside or inside the Hokage's office. Invisible, but always present when danger strikes.

Shizune doesn't know you, at least not without the mask.

"How can I help you?" Shizune asks.

You look around, eyes glazing every corner to search for the man in question. "Is the Hokage around?"

"Ah, Kakashi-sama left for a meeting a while ago."

"When will he be back?"

"Around lunchtime perhaps."

You glance at the clock on the wall (11:35, she notes) then back. "It's fine," you say and nod. "Do me a favor and give one to him, will you?" You offer two sacks which Shizune warily accepts until their content melts the sentiment off her face. "There's plenty for everyone."

Shizune doesn't know you, but she mentally makes note to be kind to you in the future.

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"Today's pretty lively," you idly comment, as kids blitz past you who is spending the afternoon with a warm bowl of katsudon at your favorite restaurant.

Three years is a long time. Everything around you have grown out of familiarity with the same skin, but when you observe a little closer, some remain the same in details. Peace is still something you finds strange to exist in. Remnants of the Fourth Great Ninja War are still thick, death lurks in the shadows, nevertheless it is an era of peace where children of war wouldn't adjust to anytime soon to and should appreciate more.

"Everyone's panicking on what to gift for the village hero's wedding." Mai, the old lady who cooks for the restaurant, slides onto the empty chair next to yours and continues to peel more potatoes, dumping curled skins on the ground. "They all grow up so fast."

Three years since you dived into the plight along your porcelain masked peers, before the invitation, bound to a hawk's tarsus, requested for her return. You weighed the pros and cons, confided, pulled and ruffled your own hair. The table turned when the promise of good times stood out too convincing for a 'no'.

The rice and katsu cool on the curve of your spoon.

"Remember that one time—no, that many times Naruto painted the Hokage Rock. Kakashi got his Sunday occupied with writing and sending apology letters." You chuckle at the fond memory. A sense of longing washes upon you.

"Kakashi—you mean Lord Sixth?" Takane, Mai's husband, snaps his fingers, easily abandoning the newspaper he has been drowning himself in since your arrival. "Aha! Sakumo's kid. Ain't he that brooding boy who used to hang out with you?"

You hum as a 'yes' and old Takane harrumphs in triumph. "That boy, huh. Never been the feral type. Always knew he'll be someone great."