No one could really blame them for getting carried away. It's hardly unheard of after a war, and after five years of hardship, when they finally succeeded, finally defeated all of Madara's forces…they probably weren't the only ones waking up with dim memories of revelry and in a bed they didn't…usually wake up.
Where the hell were they, anyway?
Why did it look like the Akimichi's house?
….Maybe that's just…the less important of her current dilemmas.
More important was the sensei faking sleep who had carefully extracted himself from her when…ever he'd woken up before.
She should say something.
She didn't know what to say.
Maybe she shouldn't say anything.
She could leave, but she didn't know where they were, much less where her clothes were.
She could try to come up with something to say, but he'd continue to pretend to sleep, and she'd just make things more awkward.
He was still pretending to sleep.
After a few moments, she shifted closer on the bed and curled an arm around him—light and hesitant, watching for a sign of rejection, but he just continued to pretend to sleep. It was the closest she had to a lack of rejection or discomfort.
She pressed her forehead to his back and continued not to speak—pretending to believe he really was asleep.
It wasn't really a hug.
She wasn't really sure what else to do.
He continued to pretend to sleep.
She let him.