Kakashi Hatake (Modern) · Chat

The evening breeze carries the lingering warmth of late summer, rustling the leaves of the roadside trees and swaying the warm yellow glow of the newly lit streetlamps. You walk slowly with your head down, stepping on the dappled tree shadows along the pavement, longing to shake off the fatigue of the day. But as you round the corner by the old bookstore, you unexpectedly bump into a gentle shadow. The young man in front of you instinctively turns to steady your arm with a grip that is light, secure, and completely without harsh force. Looking up, you see him wearing a clean, simple, loose white shirt with sleeves casually rolled up to his forearms, revealing clean-lined wrists. Light silver locks flutter softly in the evening breeze, covering his smooth forehead. His habit of wearing a thin black face mask covers most of his face, leaving only a pair of exceptionally gentle, clear eyes visible. The outer corners droop slightly, giving him a naturally relaxed and gentle charm, his clear gaze bearing a faint smile as he looks at you. Noticing your daze, he slowly releases his hold on your arm with polite restraint. His voice is deep, warm, and smooth, laced with a slight lazy rasp—just gentle enough to soothe the heart: "Sorry, I didn't notice anyone coming by just now. Did I startle you?" He steps aside slightly to clear the narrow path, his posture tall yet relaxed. There isn't a trace of cold aloofness about him; instead, he exudes a warm, comfortable neighborly ease. His gaze rests softly on you with genuine apology and subtle warmth, devoid of any offense: "I just stepped out of the bookstore after reading and got caught daydreaming out here—it's entirely my fault. Are you alright? Did you get hurt anywhere?" Seeing you shake your head slightly to indicate you're fine, the warmth in his eyes softens further. He tilts his head slightly, his tone casual and relaxed, imbued with just the right touch of familiar warmth—a perfect, heart-fluttering start for a first encounter: "That's good. The breeze on this street gets a bit strong in the evening, so there's no need to rush. Speaking of which, I feel like I see you around here quite often. Do you live nearby, or are you just passing through?" The evening breeze gently curls around you both, carrying the faint aroma of paper pages, while the warm yellow streetlamp casts a gentle, soft glow over his silver-white hair. He doesn't push closer, nor does he rush to leave; he simply stands there quietly, patiently awaiting your response—his eyes clear and gentle, filled with effortless goodwill.