Orbiter
Kakashi Hatake has never allowed himself somewhere to land. But here you are. Steady. Constant. Warm. A home he'd never allow himself to call his.
Pairings: Kakashi Hatake x Reader
WC: 2.1k
Warnings: Angst, mentions of loss, fluff.
A/N: Noah Kahan owns my whole Spotify at this moment and I'm not even sorry. So many songs make me wanna write fluff or angst and Orbiter immediately made me think of Kakashi never seeing himself as worthy of happiness in a way so I hope you enjoy.
By the time Kakashi Hatake noticed he had begun measuring missions by how quickly they would bring him back to you, it was already too late.
It happened the same way rivers change their course. Not all at once. One season, the water lingered a little longer against one bank. The next, the current carved something permanent.
He had simply woke one morning after a routine escort assignment and realized his first thought had not been Report to the Hokage. It had been I wonder if you’re awake yet.
The realization sat strangely inside him. Not frightening. Not comforting. Just undeniable.
He had spent most of his life believing attachment announced itself like thunder.
Obito.
Minato.
Rin.
His father.
Every love he had ever known had entered his life carrying enough gravity to rearrange it. Every loss had done the same.
So he became someone who traveled lightly. No roots. No expectations. Nothing that couldn’t fit inside a mission pack and be abandoned at a moments notice.
Until you that is.
You never chased him.
That was the first thing he noticed in a village where most people expected something from him.
Advice.
Leadership.
Approval.
Strength.
Even companionship carried an expectation that he should be the one to close the distance. But you never did.
If he disappeared for two weeks on a mission, you welcomed him back with the same easy smile. If he canceled dinner because another mission appeared, you simply nodded and told him to eat properly while he was gone. If he forgot himself inside grief for a few days, you never demanded an explanation.
You only left tea outside his door. No note. No signature. As though kindness didn’t require acknowledgment.
It unsettled him.
Not because it felt unfamiliar. Because it felt dangerously close to peace.
Iruka once told him, “You know she likes you.”
Kakashi lazily turned another page of his novel. “I know.”
“So?”
“So what?”
Iruka sighed, shaking his head after taking a sip of his tea. “So what are you going to do?”
Kakashi’s attention moved to the children who raced through the park. Their laughter carrying on the breeze before disappearing into the trees.
“Nothing.”
“You’ve been doing ‘nothing’ for over a year.”
“I’ve gotten rather good at it don’t you think.” Kakashi smiled at his friend.
“You’re hopeless.”
“I’ve heard.”
Kakashi’s gaze moves across the street again as he hears your laugh. He watches as you set the boxes down for an elderly shopkeeper, your smile bright as they shake your hand.
“What if someone else notices her?”
“They already have.” He answers quickly, still watching you.
“And?”
You continued down the street. He watched as your fingers tapped rhythmically on your purse before reaching out once you reached the florist. You always paused to admire the flowers there but never bought any.
“I don’t need to own any. Looking at their beauty is enough Kakashi.”
Kakashi had never understood that. If something made him happy, why wouldn’t he keep it?
Then again, he had spent years looking at you from a distance. Perhaps he understood better than he admitted.
“They’ll notice.” He moved his gaze back to his book. “But they just won’t see.”
Iruka stared, blankly. “What does that even mean.”
“It means she’ll always choose people who need her.” Kakashi smiled faintly behind his mask as he closed his book. “And I’ll always convince myself she deserves someone who needs her less.”
He began noticing the seasons because you noticed them.
Before you, autumn had simply meant colder missions. Now it meant stopping beneath the enormous maple outside headquarters every morning. You always looked up at it before walking inside. As though greeting it.
Winter became the knitted scarf you wore until spring despite insisting it wasn’t that cold.
Spring became plum blossoms tucked behind your ear after difficult days.
Summer became evenings spent sitting beside the river with your sandals discarded in the grass.
Of course none of these things mattered. Except they did. Because all of these things mattered to you. And eventually, that became enough.
He wondered if this was how homes were built. Not from walls. From repetition. From knowing where someone would be when the leaves changed. From expecting their laughter before you heard it. From missing them before they were gone.
The thought frightened him enough that he volunteered for a month-long mission the following week.
The mountains were beautiful.
He hated them.
Every sunrise reminded him that you would probably be walking to headquarters now. Every shared campfire made him wonder whether you remembered to eat breakfast.
When snow began falling, he caught himself imagining how you would complain about frozen fingers before secretly trying to catch flakes on your tongue.
Ridiculous.
He had survived wars. He had buried people whose names still echoed through dreams that woke him before dawn.
Yet somehow… missing you proved more relentless than grief.
Grief eventually exhausted itself. You lingered. Like a song whose melody refused to leave long after it ended.
When Kakashi returned to Konoha, you were exactly where you always were.
The training grounds.
The grass was silver with dew, the sky a deep indigo. You were sitting on the low fence, legs dangling, watching the fireflies pulse like slow breathing.
He realized then that he had imagined this moment every day he was away.
Not dramatic. Not cinematic. Just this. Just you.
He moved closer. Close enough that you heard the soft exhale behind his mask, pulling your attention to him.
You smiled. “Welcome home.”
Home. The word caught somewhere beneath his ribs.
You hadn’t said welcome back. You hadn’t asked about the mission. You hadn’t apologized for assuming he’d return. You simply welcomed him home. As though it had never occurred to you that there might be somewhere else he belonged.
He smiled, feeling words disappear in his head as the breeze lifted your hair. He watched the motion like he was memorizing it.
He stepped closer, pushing a strand of hair from your face. The touch featherlight, almost hesitant, as if he were afraid you might dissolve beneath his fingers. His glove brushed your cheek, and the contact lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary.
You didn’t move.
The fireflies drifted between you like tiny lanterns, and the silence stretched like a blanket, comfortable and warm. His hand fell, but his gaze didn’t. Instead, he let it trace the curve of your jaw, the gentle tilt of your head, the way your breath synced with his own.
“I thought about this,” he admitted, voice low. “Every night. I thought of you sitting here. Waiting.”
You tilted your head, a soft smile on your lips. “And now that you don’t have to think about it? Now that you’re here?”
He exhaled, lowering his mask so you could see the relaxed smile underneath. “It’s better than I remembered.”
The words hung in the air as he stepped closer still. He lifted his hand back to your face, fingers curling ever so gently beneath your chin. The touch was deliberate, a question asked without words. He tilted your face upward, starlight catching the gleam in your eyes.
For a moment he just looked at you before leaning in.
The kiss was slow, tender. His lips met yours, warm, soft, and certain, like he had been holding this moment in his chest the whole time he’d been gone. His hands moved to cradle your face on both sides as if you were something precious he was afraid to break.
When he finally pulled back, it was only a breath’s distance. His forehead rested against yours, and you watched the smile dance across his lips as his shoulders relaxed fully.
“So much better than I remembered,” he murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
“You look tired.”
You said it one evening while walking back from the training grounds.
Besides the kiss upon Kakashi’s return, he had put the wall back up and kept his distance again. He insisted he wouldn’t trouble you with the burden of him, so he took another week‑long mission to give you “time to breathe.”
He expected you to be angry. Upset. But you welcomed him back to the training grounds with the same soft smile you always had and a box of his favorite tea.
“I’m always tired.”
“Not like this.” You frowned as you looked at him.
He shrugged, kicking a rock out of the path, watching with disinterested eyes as it skittered down an adjacent alley.
“I’m fine.”
“No.” The answer was gentle. Matter‑of‑fact. And it brought his eyes to you. “You’ve been carrying too much again.”
He laughed softly, his smile not quite reaching his eyes. “You always know.”
“I don’t always know.” You adjusted your bag on your shoulder and kept walking. “I just pay attention.”
The words stopped him more effectively than any punch ever had. He remembered saying those same words to you once, years ago. He hadn’t realized you’d kept them.
The rest of the walk was quiet as the moon climbed higher in the sky.
You smiled and invited him in for tea once you reached your apartment, but he shook it off, walking home the long way instead.
By the time he got home, the moon sat high and bright.
Kakashi unlocked the front door, but his body carried him to the roof as if on autopilot.
He watched the moon cross the sky. Always moving. Always returning. Always being pulled by something invisible.
He understood it better than he wanted to. His entire life had felt like motion.
Mission. Recovery. Another mission. Another goodbye.
If he kept moving, maybe the past couldn’t catch him. Nothing could. Not memories. Not guilt. Not hope.
Hope was the dangerous one.
Rain arrived without warning the next day. One moment the village smelled of warm stone. The next, the clouds broke open.
You laughed, hard, and instead of running for shelter, you lifted your face toward the sky.
Kakashi watched as raindrops collected along your eyelashes, completely mesmerized.
“What?”
“N‑nothing.”
“Liar.” You smiled as thunder cracked, another laugh bubbling in your chest.
Kakashi grabbed your wrist and tugged you gently under an abandoned awning. You smiled at him, eyes knowing as they met his.
“You’ve been somewhere else all day.”
He had. He’d been inside every possible future except the one standing in front of him. Tsunade had offered a mission that would take him away for a year, but the thought of you made him hesitate.
He imagined leaving. Letting you go find the love you deserved.
He imagined staying. Loving you poorly, losing you entirely because of it.
Every road ended in fear. Every road except one.
The simplest and hardest.
He reached up to wipe a raindrop from your cheek, his hand lingering.
“I’ve spent years believing I was protecting you,” he whispered, leaning his forehead against yours. “From me.”
“I know.” You placed your hand over his on your face.
“You… knew?”
“I think you’ve mistaken distance for kindness.” You turned your head slightly and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. “You disappear whenever you’re happiest. You leave before anyone has the chance to.”
He closed his eyes, sighing because he knew it was true.
“I wish,” you murmured, leaning into his hand, “I wish you’d let someone choose you before deciding they deserve someone else.”
Kakashi opened his eyes.
The village faded into the rhythm of the rain. Lanterns flickered awake. The world softened around its edges as he looked at you. His own loneliness reflected back at him as you slowly opened your eyes.
Not because you carried his same loneliness — but because you never asked him to carry it alone.
All these years he had imagined himself like a fleeting thought. Like the moon.
Distant. Scarred. Forever circling the village. Circling you.
He’d never been so wrong.
He wasn’t wandering because it was his destiny. It wasn’t that he didn’t have a place to return. He’d just been too scared to lose the home you’d given him.
“Kakashi.”
He smiled, relief flooding him as you stepped closer. He leaned in, lips pressing featherlight against yours, still wet from the rain.
Home had never been a place he was destined to lose. Home had been a person — one who had never once asked him to earn their warmth. Only to stop drifting long enough to step inside it.
And for the first time since he was a boy, Kakashi allowed himself to believe that staying required more courage than leaving.
