Dishes clinked softly as you washed them. Beyond the window, Konoha stirred to life, already humming with the distant sounds of a village beginning its day.

Just past seven in the morning.

You wiped your hands dry and turned toward the mess of papers scattered across the dining table. A half-empty coffee mug sat among them, resting beside a stack of documents that had your husband's messy handwriting in the margins.

There, sprawled face-down on the table with his arms folded beneath his head, was the Seventh Hokage himself. Naruto Uzumaki. Sleeping. Still wearing yesterday's jacket.

And somewhere upstairs, the patter of small feet echoed across the ceiling as the house began to wake for the day.