The stone with her father's name on it looked cold and it felt cold when she touched it.
"How long has it been?" she asked, a bit embarrassed to but uncertain of the number.
"It's been five years," Kakashi answered, his hand at the small of her back and it was the closeness that surprised her the most.
But she wasn't afraid of it and more than anything else, it was like an anchor on her reality. Sometimes Anko drifted too much into her thoughts. Often, she thought she might never leave them and that one misstep would mean—it would mean disaster, chaos, an ending.
"Five years feels just like a moment," she said, though she didn't put too much thought into her words.
"Memories feel that way for me too," he told her, the warmth of his hand drifting up to brush over her shoulder blades.
She shivered and met his eyes, his other hand raising up to touch the edge of her jaw.
"They fade too quickly and change before you know it, to the point that it all feels like an illusion that you've created in your head to make you feel like a human being with a soul and less the shell you've been shoved into."
"Why are you saying this to me?" she asked, blinking at him and hating that niggling thought that this was some bizarre feeling of deja vu.
"It's something you said to me five years ago," he answered. "Because you were afraid you would lose your father twice."
"Did I? Say that?" Anko asked, her voice shaking. She couldn't recall it. He must have been lying to her.
"You should visit your dad more often. Maybe you'll remember more that way."