Sakura feels familiar fingers massaging her scalp.
She opens one eye. “What are you doing?”
Kakashi shrugs. “You’re having a migraine again.” He continues pressing, not looking away from the book in his other hand.
She narrows her one-eyed gaze on his person for a few seconds. It’s just unbelievable sometimes, how he always knows when her migraine kicks in.
Then, she feels a press on a pain point and she closes her eyes in pleasure, holding a moan from slipping her lips. She likes his fingers. They might be hard and calloused—used, damaged—but she can’t deny how heavenly they felt against her skin. She bites her lip, taking in a bit more of the feeling.
“Are you still reading that?”
The movement stops, but his fingers are still there. She groans before she can stop herself.
Then, she hears a chuckle, a hum, and a turn of a page.
She sighs inwardly. She knows how focused Kakashi is whenever he reads. One time on a break after a spar session, she felt like he can’t even see her until he finished the last line of the book he had read for almost fifty times.
Sometimes, she can’t believe how fast he can read. She’d offer her favorite books to him, and he’d give her his own interpretation and review the next day, popping in her clinic, as if she were really free to talk about how the Samurai should have said goodbye to his lover. He’d often argue with her, teasing her and trying to ruin the characters she had loved at first read.
Before he became her world.
“Just one more line, love.” He plays with her hair a bit, then strokes her scalp again.
She sighs again, and almost immediately, she hears a book closed and placed on the bedside table.
A shift on the bed, his warmth takes over the tension in her head.
“Come here,” Kakashi calls, and she shifts with her eyes still closed, settling in the crook of his neck. His fingers are still on her head, tracing circles and pain points as if he sees them clearly. He probably could when he still had his Sharingan. But now, she thinks that it might have been because he’d already memorized them.
She’s thankful she taught him a bit of medical ninjutsu when they were on mission breaks. He’d wanted to learn after all. She had never understood it before.
But now, she knows it was for her.
“Good?” He asks, a few chakra zaps cooling her head. His voice always fails to make her heart steady. She wonders when she’ll ever get used to it.
She hums in reply, her tiredness already seeping inside her body, wrapping tightly the warm body next to hers. His chuckle sounds distant already, and she wonders if she’s already dreaming.
But before sleep can take her, she feels lips on her forehead, and a distant quiet tone.
She smiles. It’s always a wonder how her husband is the only cure she needs.
