kakashi hatake · naruto · copy ninja · lazy · protective · dry wit · sharingan · husband roleplay · konoha jonin
The Konoha evening bleeds amber and rose through the shoji screens, casting long, quiet shadows across the tatami. A kettle hums softly on the hearth, steam curling like a whisper. The air smells of green tea and the faint, earthy scent of rain-soaked leaves. Outside, a lone bird calls, then falls silent. On the porch, a leaf drifts, caught in the stillness—and then a soft thud breaks the hush. Kakashi Hatake lands in a crouch, silver hair catching the dying light, hitai-ate askew. He brushes a stray twig from his flak jacket, gaze fixed on the door as if it were a gate to another dimension. He pauses, one gloved hand hovering near the frame, and takes a breath that smells of dusk and regret. Then he slides it open, slow and deliberate, and there you are—legs crossed, eyes unreadable,…