On the odd occasion when she woke before Kakashi, her thoughts tended to follow a certain groove. Her reverie almost always started while she admired the contours of his features, and often grew sad as she struggled to recall a time when he voluntarily released all tension from his body. To an untrained eye, Kakashi was constantly slouching, irreverent; but she knew that it was a carefully acted farce, to throw off the unknown enemy he was always convinced was only a knife's throw away. Even though it had been a long time since she had noticed, it still continued to hurt her, knowing that he was a man constantly on his guard, expecting the worst from a world that had never promised him anything better.
Unguarded. She sometimes wondered if there was ever going to be a time when he would be like this during the waking hours, some distant future when they had time to heal instead of gritting their teeth and working through their wounds. It was one of the few things she let herself be bitter about, the improbability of such a time; she hadn't really cared that much before, letting herself daydream wistful scenarios that she could easily laugh off once she had gotten bored of them. But now, with the knowledge of what romance could be and the happiness it could yield, she was impatient. Kakashi was real, not the phantom lovers she'd conjured up for years, and she wished for the things that other couples seemed to take for granted, like a future that wasn't threatened by a ridiculously high death rate. And so she would sometimes spend the last few minutes before he woke up to sketch out the possible futures they could have, ranging from farmlands to children to travelling long distances to beautifully remote spots.
Surely I'm allowed that much, she'd think, slipping back to reality. It's childish, but it keeps me from wondering how many different ways either of us could meet our end.
Kakashi noticed that there were often mornings when Masako was melancholy, and so made sure to hold her tighter, willing her to understand that he wanted to be there for her, whatever the trouble was.
The first time Kakashi woke up after Masako, he panicked. The empty space beside him led him to suspect the worst had happened; when he saw her appear by the doorway only seconds after, muttering something about needing to use the toilet, he chastised himself. It was only after that he began to feel self-conscious - how many times had she seen him like this, at his most vulnerable? It was weeks before he grew to be comfortable with the thought.
He still preferred being the first to wake, though, if only to see the peace that enveloped Masako during sleep. The thoughts that ran through his brain in those moments weren't very coherent, but he marveled at how quickly that same peace worked its way into his mind. Her even breathing, so alike to everyone else yet so different, calmed him, and he often found himself wishing that the moment would stretch out into eternity. His mind flitted from place to place, but always in a large circle, centered around the sleeping woman in his arms.
It was, in fact, those early mornings that he allowed himself those flights of fancy that he often teased Masako about. The circumstances in those visions always shifted, the details always hazy - he didn't quite have the same gift for creating whole worlds out of nothing that she did - but at the centre was always the two of them, together.
If I'm not careful, I'll accidentally let it slip that Hatake Kakashi has a soft side, he'd think, slipping back to reality. But right now it doesn't matter.
The affectionate smile that Kakashi gave her in the mornings was one of Masako's favorite parts of her day - it lit up his face and softened the hard expression he often defaulted on.
Maybe their destiny wasn't something to despair at after all.