Chapter Text
Kakashi returned to Konoha like a ghost slipping back into its body.
The village was louder than the Land of Waves ever could be. No crashing waves, no mist thick enough to swallow sound, no dramatic fighting with rogue ninjas. Just the hum of life, familiar and almost jarring after days of tension coiled tight in his muscles.
Team 7 dispersed at the gates. Naruto was already halfway into a rant about getting Ichiraku's ramen, which made Sakura scold him. Sasuke, as usual, acted as if he was deeply annoyed by all of it.
Kakashi lifted a hand in that lazy half-wave of dismissal, ready to go home, grab something to eat at Utage's and sleep for days. But then, like a switch flipping somewhere deep in his brain, he remembered Icha Icha's new book released three days ago.
Fuck, he got so caught up in the mission and trying to keep his students alive — almost failing at that, for the matter — that he forgot his favorite book series had a new book coming out.
He vanished just as fast as the thought popped up in his mind.
The first bookstore smelled like paper, dust and disappointment. Kakashi eagerly asked the man working there about his book, to which he replied
"Sorry, sold out."
The girl working at the second bookstore didn't even let him finish asking.
"Icha Icha, right? It's sold out since yesterday."
By the third, Kakashi stared at the empty shelf like it personally betrayed him. There was a little handwritten sign:
"LOW STORAGE: LAST COPIES OF ICHA ICHA'S NEW BOOK."
Cruel. He lingered a heartbeat too long, hands buried in his pockets, his visible eye drooping into something that could pass for indifference. It was a convincing performance, good enough for strangers, for passersby, for anyone who doesn't know the language of his silences. But the truth leaked out elsewhere: in the quiet slump of his shoulders, in the way he seems just slightly unmoored, like the weight of this quest has hooked into him and refused to let go.
A civilian slipped past him, clutching what he could only assume to be the last copy of Icha Icha the store had to offer. Kakashi tracked the book's retreat like a man watching the love of his life walk out the door. Behind the counter, the young clerk didn't even hesitate. He wiped the board clean with practiced indifference and scrawled SOLD OUT in decisive strokes.
Tragic.
By the fifth store, Kakashi didn't even bother going inside.
He told himself it was a practical decision, the book clearly became a phenomenon, and there was no point in waging war against an already-decimated supply. The truth was less dignified: he couldn't stomach another disappointment. So he stayed outside, hands in his pockets, peering through the glass like a man already rehearsing the loss.
Empty display, of course.
The great Copy Ninja, reduced to window shopping. Won the fight against Zabuza Momochi, lost it against the invisible hand of the market.
By the time the sun started dipping, he gave up. Not dramatically, Kakashi doesn't really do drama. But there was no point to keep trying, he would have to wait for the bookstores to restorage. He exhaled behind his mask and tilted his head. Acceptance. Some missions you fail.
He just hoped no one would spoil the book for him
*
Utage's place was warm. It always was.
She finished moving just before he went on his mission and, truth be told, the place looked pretty nice. It was put together without trying too hard. Every piece of furniture felt unmistakably her, from the pink cushions with the Uchiha sigil embroidered on them to the "Home is where the door creaks, the kettle sings, and no one questions why there's a ninja napping on the couch" frame quote on the wall. On the desk in the living room sat a photograph Kakashi made a point not to look at for too long: Utage and Obito, frozen in that brief, golden sliver of time when he'd just made genin. Both of them were smiling, bright and unguarded, like the future was something generous waiting just around the corner.
There was something about her place that felt... lived-in in a way his apartment never quite managed. The faint smell of food was already lingering in the air as Utage was next to the stove still cooking. They were having Tonkatsu today. Good, at least something on that God awful day went right.
"Yo."
She didn't even flinch as he announced his entrance. When Kakashi was in town, her door would only ever be locked at night; during the day, it stayed permanently open: an unspoken invitation, or maybe just a concession to inevitability. It was a habit she picked up after the incident. He'd forgotten a kunai, found the door locked, and, rather than consider anything as mundane as waiting or knocking, came in through the window while she was asleep.
She screamed louder than the day she fought against the cockroach before recognizing it was him. Ever since, the door stayed unlocked.
"You're unusually late."
"I got lost on the path of life."
She lifted her eyes from the pork, staring at him with a look that made it clear she saw straight through his excuse and was mildly offended he thought she wouldn’t.
"... You went to buy it, didn't you?"
Kakashi froze mid-step. Shit, he was caught. It's not like Utage kept time with any real discipline, but still — there was something off about making her wait on a meal she cooked while he strolls in late to eat it for free. She'd told him, more than once, that she didn't mind. That she'd rather wait and eat with company than sit through dinner alone.
Didn't make it feel less... wrong. A faint, almost self-deprecating thought flickered through his mind — funny, how that particular discomfort never quite extended to his students.
He leaned against the wall, feigning nonchalance. "I have no idea what you're talking about."
She appeared in the doorway wearing her pink apron that had the Uchiha symbol stitched to it, arms crossed and one eyebrow slightly raised at him. Kakashi, who was almost a professional at pretending nothing was wrong, didn't answer.
She sighed, but there was something slightly amused in it.
"Idiot."
Rude. Accurate, but still rude.
As she set the dinner on the table, the room got filled with the warm and familiar scent of something done right.
The coating of Utage's tonkatsu was that perfect shade between amber and sin, crisp enough that it would crackle under the slightest pressure, giving way to tender, juicy pork inside. There was a faint sweetness in the air from the sauce — Kakashi was already salivating, her sauce had this sweet-but-very-spicy flavour to it that restaurants couldn't really copy — and the sharper note of shredded cabbage waiting on the side, clean and bright to cut through it all.
Not instant, nor improvised. Actual homemade and delicious food.
It's not like he couldn't cook. He was a fully functional adult; he could manage himself just fine. Still, it would be a stretch to pretend the day Utage caught him eating a cup of instant ramen and calling it dinner had been some rare lapse. He got lazy sometimes. That wasn't a crime. And it's not like this arrangement bothered him. If anything, it was dangerously convenient.
Utage's cooking was better than his, by a margin wide enough to make the comparison feel almost insulting.
Which is why, when Kakashi sat down quieter than usual, idly picking at his food instead of tearing into it, something was clearly off. He wasn't a glutton, but he did love Utage's tonkatsu. Sure, he was no Maito Gai, prone to loud declarations and theatrical approval, but he was never this... absent about it. He usually devoured the food quickly, silently expressing his how much he liked it.
He still looked relaxed at a glance, posture loose, movements unhurried. But there was a faint thread running underneath it all, subtle and wrong, like a note just slightly out of tune, easy to miss unless you know the melody by heart.
"...Every store?" she asked.
"...Every store."
"None?"
"None."
There was a faint expression in her dark eyes that almost resembled amusement.
"...How tragic."
Was she making fun of him? Probably, but his situation was so pathetic that he didn't take it personally at all.
They ate their meal together, slipping into that easy rhythm they've built without ever naming it.
When their little agreement first started, it was kind of weird as they've never been particularly close in the past and there was a fair share of baggage between them. But Utage was funny, not a loud kind of funny, but she had this dry and ironic kind of humour that matched his. Now, the mood between them could only be described as pleasant: conversation that comes and goes and silence that wasn't awkward, like they were not really living in two separate apartments. Just... two different rooms.
When they finished eating, she stood up, gathering the plates. But there was something a bit off about her posture, like she was a mischievous child planning something. And boy, did Kakashi know that stance from mischievous children.
"Oi," she said, like it was an afterthought when it clearly wasn’t. "Check the counter."
Kakashi didn’t move at first, highly suspicious of her behaviour.
"Why?"
"Just do it."
He got up anyway, stepped into the kitchen and stopped. There it was, beautiful and brand new. A single copy of the new Icha Icha novel. Untouched, just waiting for him. The cover practically glowing under the light like some sacred artifact.
For a second, Kakashi just stared at the book, blinking twice as if he wanted to make sure the book was real and wouldn't flee from his hands. Then, slower, he walked over to the Uchiha woman.
"... Utage."
"Hmm?"
He picked it up like it could disappear if he was too fast.
"You robbed someone?"
"Please," she scoffs from behind him. "Should I remind you that I own a bookstore?"
Ah.
Right.
That explained everything.
"I saved one." she said, quieter now. "When you sent me that letter letting me know your C-rank mission suddenly became an A-rank one, I expected it to take longer than originally planned, especially considering you had to take care of your three genin. So, when I got my hands on the shipment, I made sure to take one home just in case. I figured you'd be too slow"
Rude. But then again, it was also completely correct.
Utage knew he read Icha Icha. He had lingered often enough after he finished doing the dishes — something they've argued about more than once. She said it was unnecessary, he insisted it wasn’t; shelves don't break nearly often enough for that to count as a fair trade for dinner.
He usually stayed after that. Ended up stretched across her couch, which would be rude anywhere else, but, really, he was the reason that sofa made it up the stairs in the first place. He read while she handled the bookstore's accounting or flipped through one of her fantasy novels, the comfortable silence of two people who enjoyed being alone, but chose to be alone together.
He'd assumed she didn't pay much attention to what he was reading. Not enough to notice patterns, let alone favorites. Apparently, he'd been wrong.
It was... unexpectedly sweet. And, at the same time, entirely on brand as being considerate and attentive to detail ran in her family.
He turned the book over in his hands, cherishing it just a bit more than the ones he bought himself. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something that expressed his gratitude adequately, but what actually came out was:
"...Thanks."
It was simple. Low. But he really meant it.
She shrugged it off like it was nothing. "Don't mention it. You help me around the house, I make sure your terrible taste in literature is supported."
He hummed, too grateful to argue, but too offended to stay silent.
"Terrible, huh."
"I would say you're reading actual garbage, but that would be offensive to the trash over there waiting to be thrown out."
He opened the book and gave it just a glance, reading the first line just to confirm it was real
*
Later, he sprawled on her couch, book in hand, completely absorbed.
Dinner plates washed, trash taken out and the mission fatigue completely forgotten.
From behind her own book, Utage watched him for a second and shook her head, a stubborn little smile taking over her lips. And then she went back to her own reading.
Things were quiet between them. Comfortable, even.
Like this was normal.
Like it had always been like this.