SILVER SINS
In The Ruins[Part-1]
[Part-2]
Synopsis:-
You knew you should've ran.
Should've pretended you didn't hear a particular silver haired Shinobi reading icha icha out aloud.
Should've ignored the desire to listen to his sultry, silky voice.
But if you did, how would you have known what swallowing glitter felt like.
ďź*â˘ĚŠĚŠÍâŠâ˘ĚŠĚŠÍ*ËăË*â˘ĚŠĚŠÍâŠâ˘ĚŠĚŠÍ*Ëďź
Mission reports always smelled like dust.
Ink.
And regret.
You discovered that somewhere around your third year as a shinobiâsomewhere between blood-stained scrolls, sleepless nights, and paperwork that somehow managed to feel more exhausting than combat.
Tonight was no different.
The scroll tucked beneath your arm felt heavier than it should.
Not because of its contents.
Not because of the mission.
But because of who you had to deliver it to.
You walked through the streets of Konohagakure with your jaw set and your pulse entirely too aware of itself.
The village was beginning to quiet.
Shop lights glowed warm against dusk.
Children were being called home.
Street vendors packed away skewers and sweets.
And somewhere above all of itâ
The moon was beginning to rise.
Silver.
Of course.
Because apparently even the sky enjoyed mocking you.
You tightened your grip on the scroll.
âGet a grip.â
An old woman walking past gave you a concerned look.
You smiled politely.
Kept walking.
Definitely not talking to yourself because you had to deliver paperwork to Kakashi Hatake.
Definitely not.
Absolutely not.
That would be embarrassing.
You climbed the steps to the Hokage building.
One.
Two.
Three.
By step twelve, your heartbeat had become irritating.
By step twentyâ
You were considering faking a shin injury.
By step thirtyâ
You were considering death.
âPathetic.â
You pushed open the front doors.
The building greeted you with quiet.
Paper.
Wood polish.
And memories.
Shinobi moved through the halls with purpose.
ANBU masks.
ChĹŤnin vests.
Low conversations.
Boots against polished floors.
Normal.
Professional.
Exactly the kind of environment where a person should absolutely not be thinking about their superior officerâs hands.
Or voice.
Or silver hair.
Orâ
You stopped.
âStop.â
A passing clerk blinked.
You smiled again.
Too brightly.
He walked faster.
Coward.
You continued down the hallway.
Kakashiâs office sat at the far end.
Second floor.
Last door.
Quiet.
Private.
Dangerous.
You hated that your body knew the route without effort.
Left.
Right.
Upstairs.
Last corridor.
And thenâ
You froze.
Because his doorâ
Was open.
Not wide.
Just enough.
A crack of warm golden light spilling across the floorboards.
And from insideâ
A voice.
Low.
Smooth.
Lazy.
Entirely too familiar.
Your stomach dropped.
No.
Nope.
Absolutely not.
You knew that voice.
And worseâ
You knew that tone.
The one he used when he was amused.
When he was entertained.
When he was about to ruin someoneâs day.
You should knock.
You should walk in.
You should hand him the report.
Say goodnight.
Leave.
Simple.
Professional.
Adult.
Insteadâ
You heard him sayâ
âHer breathing hitched...â
And your entire body stopped working.
You blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Surelyâ
Surely not.
Thenâ
His voice again.
Softer now.
Lower.
Each word dragged slow.
Deliberate.
Like he knew exactly what he was doing.
âShe wanted to look away...
But desire had always been crueler than common sense.â
Your pulse slammed against your ribs.
No.
No.
No.
Was heâ
Was he seriouslyâ
Reading Icha IchaâŚ
Out loud?
You stared at the half-open door like it had personally betrayed you.
This was ridiculous.
You were a trained shinobi.
You had fought missing-nin.
Been stabbed.
Poisoned.
Nearly drowned once.
And somehowâ
Somehowâ
This was worse.
You should leave.
Immediately.
Right now.
Before your dignity packed its bags and moved countries.
Insteadâ
You stepped closer.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Until you were standing just outside his office.
Hidden.
Breath held.
Listening.
Like an idiot.
Like a complete, hopelessâ
âHer pulse betrayed her...â
You shut your eyes.
Oh, this was bad.
Very bad.
You leaned lightly against the wall.
Scroll forgotten beneath your arm.
Heart doing deeply unprofessional things.
And his voiceâ
God.
His voice.
Warm.
Quiet.
Amused.
Like velvet dragged over open skin.
You hated it.
You hated him.
You hatedâ
âShe wondered if he knewâŚâ
A pause.
A page turning.
Thenâ
Softer.
Lower.
Almost intimate.
âOf course he did.â
Your breath caught.
A tiny sound escaped you.
Barely a sigh.
Barely a breath.
Barelyâ
A mistake.
Silence.
The reading stopped.
The page stopped turning.
The entire hallway seemed to stop breathing with you.
Your pulse pounded.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
And thenâ
His voice.
Calm.
Knowing.
Dangerously amused.
âIf youâre going to stand outside my officeâŚâ
A pause.
Long enough to kill you.
Thenâ
âYou might as well come in.â
Your eyes widened.
Heat rushed straight to your face.
No.
No, no, no.
Maybe he meantâ
Someone else.
Another shinobi.
A clerk.
Aâ
âUnless,â he added lazily,
âyouâd rather keep listening from out there.â
âŚDeath.
Immediate death.
You stared at the door.
At the golden light.
At the shadow of silver hair cast across the floor.
And realizedâ
With horrifying clarityâ
Kakashi had known.
The entire time.
For three full secondsâ
You didnât move.
Didnât breathe.
Didnât think.
Which, admittedly, wasnât unusual around Kakashi Hatake.
But thisâ
This was new.
This was humiliation.
Refined.
Personalized.
Delivered directly to your doorstep.
You stared at the crack in the door.
At the strip of warm light stretching across polished wood.
At the shadow moving lazily beyond it.
And considered your options.
Option oneâ
Run.
Option twoâ
Fake a heart attack.
Option threeâ
Jump out the nearest window and trust your shinobi instincts.
Option fourâ
Walk in there like a functioning adult.
âŚ
Option four felt wildly unrealistic.
His voice drifted through the doorway again.
Lower now.
More amused.
Which shouldâve been illegal.
âIâm starting to think you left your mission report outside.â
Damn him.
You looked down.
The scroll was still tucked beneath your arm.
Warm.
Slightly crumpled.
A casualty of your dignity.
You inhaled once.
Twice.
Then pushed the door open.
And immediately regretted having eyes.
His office was lit in gold.
Late afternoon sunlight spilled through wide windows, turning dust into floating stars.
Mission scrolls lined the shelves.
Maps covered the walls.
Stacks of paperwork sat in neat, disciplined piles.
And right in the center of itâ
Kakashi.
Relaxed behind his desk.
One leg crossed over the other.
Orange book still open in his gloved hand.
Silver hair catching the light like moonlit steel.
Visible eye smiling.
Watching you.
Not surprised.
Not even slightly.
Like heâd expected this.
Like heâd been waiting.
Your throat went dry.
He looked back down at his book.
Turned a page.
And saidâ
âDoor.â
You blinked.
âWhat?â
Without looking upâ
âYou left it open.â
Oh.
Right.
Because apparently your brain had packed up and left the village.
You turned.
Closed the door.
The click sounded suspiciously final.
When you turned backâ
Kakashi was watching you again.
Still smiling.
Still entirely too comfortable.
Still ruining your life.
You walked toward the desk.
Each step louder than it had any right to be.
Your boots.
Your heartbeat.
Your poor decisions.
All equally obvious.
You placed the scroll down.
A little harder than necessary.
âMission report.â
Kakashi glanced at it.
Then at you.
Then back at the book.
"Mm."
That was it.
Justâ
Mm.
You narrowed your eyes.
âThatâs all?â
He turned another page.
âDid you want applause?â
You hated him.
Deeply.
Professionally.
Possibly romantically.
Which was frankly inconvenient.
You crossed your arms.
âYou knew.â
He looked up.
Slowly.
âKnew?â
âThat I was outside.â
A pause.
His eye softened.
Curved.
Dangerously.
âYes.â
No hesitation.
No denial.
Justâ
Yes.
Like it was obvious.
Like you were obvious.
Your face heated instantly.
âYouââ
You stopped.
Because apparently words were no longer available.
Kakashi closed the book.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Like he knew exactly what that sound did to you.
Then placed it on his desk.
And stood.
Oh.
No.
No no no.
Standing Kakashi was unfair.
Sitting Kakashi was manageable.
Annoying.
Distracting.
Dangerous.
Standing Kakashi?
Standing Kakashi was a war crime.
Tall.
Broad.
Silver and black and effortless confidence.
Like someone had taken moonlight, sarcasm, and poor emotional boundariesâŚ
And built a man.
He started walking toward you.
One step.
Then another.
Then another.
Your body reacted before your brain did.
You stepped back.
Once.
Twice.
Then stoppedâ
Because your back hit the bookshelf.
Wonderful.
Perfect.
Death.
Kakashi stopped just inches away.
Close enough to smell rain.
Cedar.
Ink.
And something warm and distinctly him.
Your pulse became a public embarrassment.
He tilted his head.
Studied you.
Slowly.
Painfully.
Like he was reading something far more dangerous than Icha Icha.
âYou stayed.â
Not a question.
A fact.
You swallowed.
âMaybe.â
His eye smiled.
âLiar.â
Your fingers curled slightly at your sides.
âWhy were you reading it out loud?â
A beat.
Thenâ
Kakashi leaned closer.
Just slightly.
Enough to make breathing complicated.
âWhy were you listening?â
Your heart forgot its training.
Your mouth opened.
Closed.
Opened again.
Nothing.
No words.
Just heat.
And him.
Watching.
Waiting.
Entirely too amused.
Thenâ
His hand lifted.
Slowly.
And your entire body froze.
He reached toward your faceâ
And brushed something from your shoulder.
A leaf.
Justâ
A leaf.
He held it between two gloved fingers.
Studied it.
Then looked back at you.
âDistracted.â
The bastard.
You glared.
âIâm not distracted.â
His visible eye droppedâ
To your lips.
Then back up.
And suddenlyâ
Suddenlyâ
The room felt very small.
Very warm.
Very dangerous.
Kakashi leaned in.
Slow.
Deliberate.
Giving you every chance to move.
To run.
To stop this.
You didnât.
Of course you didnât.
Because apparently survival instincts abandoned you around silver-haired men with emotional damage.
His voice dropped lower.
Softer.
Barely above a whisper.
âYouâre breathing wrong.â
Your lips parted.
Entirely on their own.
And Kakashi noticed.
Of course he noticed.
His gaze darkened.
Just slightly.
Just enough.
And suddenlyâ
You realizedâ
This wasnât teasing anymore.
This was something else.
Something heavier.
Something slower.
Something far more dangerous.
And Kakashiâ
Kakashi knew it too.
Silence.
Not the peaceful kind.
Not the kind that settled over forests after rain.
Not the kind you found on rooftops at midnight.
This silenceâ
Was alive.
Heavy.
Breathing.
It sat between you and Kakashi Hatake like a third thing in the room.
Watching.
Waiting.
Your back pressed harder against the bookshelf.
Wood dug lightly into your shoulder blades.
Grounding.
Necessary.
Because nothing else felt particularly reliable right now.
Especially not your pulse.
Kakashi stood close enough that you could feel his warmth.
Close enough that every breath you took felt borrowed.
Close enough that if you movedâ
Even slightlyâ
Youâd touch him.
And somehowâŚ
He wasnât touching you.
Not yet.
Which was worse.
Much worse.
His visible eye stayed on yours.
Steady.
Patient.
Far too knowing.
Like he could hear every chaotic thought ricocheting through your skull.
Like he was enjoying every second of it.
Whichâ
Knowing Kakashiâ
He absolutely was.
Your throat felt dry.
Your palms felt warm.
Your dignityâ
Well.
Your dignity had left around chapter three of Icha Icha.
âYouâre staring.â
The words slipped out before your brain approved them.
Kakashiâs eye curved.
âYou noticed.â
You hated him.
You hated how your face warmed.
You hated how your heartbeat responded to three stupid words.
And mostlyâ
You hated how he knew.
âAre you always like this?â
You meant it to sound annoyed.
Sharp.
Controlled.
Insteadâ
It came out breathless.
End of part 1.
đŹ 0  đ 0  â¤ď¸ 1 ¡ End. ¡ In The Ruins[Part-2] Are you always like this?â You meant it to sound annoyed. Sharp. Controlled. Ins
âPart 2
Signing off.
Silver Sins đ
~Akari
â§ÍâşË*シŕźâžăâ˝ŕźď˝Ľ*Ëâşâ§Í
















