Why Are You Opening the Door Dressed Like That?

When the knocking started, Kitahara Kaede had just finished his shower.

Water was still dripping from his hair, so he casually tossed a towel over his head. He was wrapped in a dark gray bathrobe, the belt tied in a loose, sloppy knot.

Who could it be at this hour?

Without a second thought, he twisted the door open.

Tsunade stood outside.

She held a cloth bag in her hand, her hair loose instead of tied in its usual ponytail.

She wore a light gray, wide-collared short-sleeved shirt paired with shorts that revealed her long, slender legs.

On her feet were house clogs, as if she had walked straight over from her home.

The two stared at each other for a second.

Tsunade's gaze slid down from his face—

His hair was dripping wet, the towel draped carelessly.

Water droplets trickled down his neck, rolling along his collarbone and disappearing into the open neckline of his robe.

The robe only covered his lower body.

His upper body was completely bare—broad shoulders tapering down to a firm waist and abdomen. The contours of his abs rose and fell slightly with his breathing, and his V-taper cut diagonally down his sides, vanishing beneath the edge of the robe.

Tsunade's breath hitched.

She instinctively raised a hand, covering her eyes directly.

But she left a massive gap between her fingers.

Her peripheral vision was still darting toward him.

When he wore his ninja gear, you couldn't tell at all...

When did this guy... grow up like this?

Tsunade's throat bobbed.

Kitahara Kaede's voice drifted over, carrying a hint of amusement.

"If you want to look, just look. With your fingers spread that wide, do you take me for blind?"

Tsunade's face flushed bright red.

She yanked her hand down and glared at him.

"You—why are you opening the door dressed like this?!"

"I just finished showering. What else would I be wearing?"

Tsunade sniffed the air; it was indeed the scent of someone who had just washed.

Soap mixed with steam, and something else that was hard to define.

Kitahara Kaede leaned against the wall, his tone excessively casual.

"At this hour, who else but you would come looking for me?"

He turned and walked inside.

"Come in. I'm going to change."

Tsunade stood at the threshold, biting her lip.

What did he mean by "who else but you"?

So you knew only I would come, and you still dressed like this?

On purpose?

She kicked off her clogs and stepped over the threshold, her bare feet touching the wooden floor of the entryway.

Sounds of rummaging for clothes came from the inner room, muffled by the bamboo curtain, making everything look shadowy and indistinct.

Tsunade pursed her lips, her gaze lingering on the bamboo curtain for a moment longer.

Should've taken a better look just now.

The moment that thought popped up, the back of her head went numb, and she wanted to slap herself.

Get a grip.

Kitahara Kaede walked out from behind the bamboo curtain.

He wore a black short-sleeved shirt and trousers. His hair was half-dry, and he tossed the towel aside after a quick rub.

Tsunade swept a glance over him.

He'd put clothes on.

He looked good with them on, too.

She cursed herself for the third time in her head and set the cloth bag on the table.

Two bottles of sake made a heavy and a light thud.

Kitahara Kaede looked at the bag, then at her.

"Bad mood?"

Tsunade ignored him.

She sat cross-legged, pulled the stopper from one bottle, filled the cup in front of him, and pushed it over.

Kitahara Kaede picked it up and drank.

Only then did Tsunade pour one for herself and downed it in one go.

The liquor was sharp, stinging her throat.

She set the cup down and began tracing the rim with her finger.

"Can't sleep."

Her voice held no discernible emotion.

"Had a dream?"

"Dreamed of Nawaki." Tsunade's fingertip paused on the rim. "My head was full of the sound of explosions. I was running until I couldn't breathe, but I could never reach him."

She poured herself another.

"Once I wake up, I can't fall back asleep. It's been like this for several nights."

Kitahara Kaede watched her profile.

Candlelight caught her cheekbones, casting a thin layer of warmth, but it couldn't hide the dark circles under her eyes.

She really hadn't slept well in days.

"It was supposed to be just a C-rank mission." Tsunade gulped down some sake, hissed, and rubbed the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. "I don't even know what I'm afraid of."

"Your intuition has always been more accurate than the intel."

Tsunade looked up at him.

Kitahara Kaede set down his cup.

"For that mission of Nawaki's, I requested to be the accompanying jonin."

Tsunade's hand froze mid-air.

"...What did you say?"

"I submitted the request this afternoon, and Hiruzen approved it."

Tsunade stared at him for a few seconds.

Then, slowly, she lowered her head.

Her shoulders slumped—not bit by bit, but all at once, as if a stone she'd been carrying for days had been lifted away.

"When did you—"

"I was already thinking about it when you went to see Hiruzen to check on the team situation."

Kitahara Kaede poured himself another drink.

"Nawaki is my student. Since it's his first time going on a long-distance mission, I'll feel better if I'm the one leading."

Tsunade gripped her cup and downed it.

As she set it down, her wrist snapped, and the base of the cup clicked against the table.

"Thanks."

"Are we really saying that to each other?"

Tsunade's lips curved, though she quickly suppressed it.

But the sense of relief was impossible to hide.

She leaned against the wall and poured herself another, drinking more slowly this time.

"Kaede."

"Yeah."

"While you're protecting him—"

She turned her head toward him.

"Make sure you stay safe, too."

Kitahara Kaede looked at her.

The candlelight flickered, and two tiny flames danced in his amber pupils.

"I will."

Tsunade pulled her gaze away.

With her worries set aside, the drinking became more relaxed.

The conversation started to flow—

The chunin in the medical department who couldn't even wrap a bandage properly had finally learned basic dressing; "He still ties a double knot on fingers, but it's an improvement over the three layers he used to do."

The letter Jiraiya sent back from his travels had handwriting as messy as a chicken scratch, but he'd tucked a pressed flower inside. "No idea who that's for."

Kitahara Kaede listened from across the table, occasionally responding or offering a smile.

By the time the two bottles were empty, Tsunade's words had dwindled.

She leaned against the wall, her head tilting slightly. Her cheeks were flushed a faint pink, spreading from her cheekbones to her earlobes.

Kitahara Kaede glanced out the window; the sky was already turning a pale, muted gray.

"It's getting late."

Tsunade hummed, bracing herself against the table to stand.

Her body swayed.

She steadied herself against the doorframe and took a step—her heel caught, and her shoulder tipped to the side.

Kitahara Kaede reached out and caught her arm.

"I can walk on my own." Tsunade tried to shake him off, but couldn't.

"If you get this drunk and collapse on the side of the road, by tomorrow the whole village will know the First Hokage's granddaughter was found face-down in a ditch."

"Then I'll—"

"Just stay here. You take the bed, I'll make do in the living room."

He let go of her and pulled a spare thin blanket from the closet.

Tsunade stood rooted to the spot.

Her ears were already burning.

She opened her mouth—her mind racing—but only managed a whisper.

"Who cares."

Her voice was so weak she couldn't even stand to hear it herself.

As the words fell, she stumbled, her body pitching forward—

An arm swept across, hooking around her waist.

The next instant, her feet left the floor.

Kitahara Kaede supported her back with one hand and hooked his other arm under her knees, lifting her straight up.

He didn't give her a second chance to refuse.

Tsunade went rigid.

Close.

Too close.

His body heat radiated from his arm, from his chest, from every inch where they touched, burning with unreasonable intensity.

Her lips were less than two inches from his collarbone; every breath she took felt like she was inhaling his warmth.

Her heart felt like it was being squeezed, each beat heavier and fiercer than the last.

She turned her face away, refusing to look at him, her ears burning red.

"...Put me down."

Her voice was muffled, the refusal carrying zero weight.

Kitahara Kaede looked down at her.

Her ears were flushed hot, her lips pressed tight, a line of her neck taut from her tilted head.

He didn't answer, striding into the bedroom.

Tsunade felt herself being lowered, her back sinking into the soft bedding.

The quilt held a faint, dry scent.

Very light. But everywhere.

Tsunade's fingers curled involuntarily.

Kitahara Kaede pulled the thin blanket over her and tucked in the corners.

"Sleep."

He turned and walked out.

Tsunade stared at his back, opening her mouth.

Nothing came out.

"Lights out."

The bedroom sank into darkness.

His footsteps crossed the living room, fading further and further away.

With a final soft sound, he lay down on the sofa.

Tsunade turned over, facing the direction of the door.

Nothing could be seen in the darkness, but with only a wall between them, she knew he was right there.

Her heartbeat was embarrassingly fast, yet her body was relaxing bit by bit.

It felt as if she were being cradled from all sides by something.

Not hands, not a blanket, but the scent that lingered in the entire room—the scent that belonged to him.

It was more comforting than the bed in her own home.

Tsunade pulled the quilt up, covering half of her face.

When he held her, his heartbeat had been impossibly steady.

Only she had been panicked to death.

"...Bastard."

The voice was so soft it was almost non-existent.

The corners of her mouth curved upward.

Slowly, her breathing turned into a steady line.

Living room.

Kitahara Kaede lay on the sofa with a thin blanket draped over his waist.

Next door, there were two shifts of movement, then silence.

The sound of breathing drifted through the wall, light and long.

He closed his eyes.

In the blink of an eye, it was dawn.

Morning light squeezed through the cracks in the window frame, casting thin white lines across the floor.

Kitahara Kaede rose and folded the thin blanket.

He walked to the bedroom door—it wasn't shut tight, leaving a gap a finger wide.

He pushed it open.

Tsunade was curled up in the quilt, her long golden hair scattered across the pillow.

A section of the thin silver chain at her neck was exposed, the blue pendant resting in the hollow of her collarbone, swaying slightly with her breath.

Kitahara Kaede watched for two seconds.

He did not approach.

He turned and went to the kitchen.

He tore off a piece of memo paper, wrote a few words with a pen, and placed it under a teacup.

Then he picked up the ninja tool pouch hanging by the door and opened the door with light, careful movements.

He glanced back once toward the bedroom.

He stepped out.

The sound of him closing the door was very soft, so soft that the person inside didn't even wake up when she turned over.

The handwriting on the memo paper was brief.

"There is food in the freezer."

Below it was an extra line.

"Did you sleep well last night?"