It was very quiet in the Hokage's office, the only sound to ruin the perfect silence was a moth that kept drumming its wings against the ceiling light's glass.
Kakashi sat behind his desk and peered curiously at the piece of paper that lay infront of him.
"That's what you get for doing paper-work all day", he thought. The whole sheet was covered in numbers, written in what looked like his own hand, but no matter how long he stared, he could not make any sense of it. It seemed as if he, or who ever had written this, for he could not, by any means, recall doing so, had jotted down the characters at complete random. No doubt – the apparent randomness was some kind of encryption, but even so, why would he write an encrypted note to himself if he did not know how to decode it? Well, he could think of reasons to do so, but none of them seemed to match with the unimaginably peaceful conditions they were currently living in.
Then again, why would anyone writing an encrypted note to him go through the trouble of imitating his handwriting? And lastly, who on earth would think of pinning said encrypted note to his office's wall, of all places?
He placed his fingers on the piece of paper and turned it slowly counterclockwise – not because he thought this would do any good, but because he did not really know what else to do with it. Maybe he should just put it aside, get someone who actually felt comfortable with tight grids of random numbers to decode it tomorrow.
He felt tired and exhausted and, once more, a little irritated by the fact that office-work seemed to strain him way more than he had expected it to. A dull pain, which usually did not dare to make itself noticed unless Kakashi's body felt entirely and rightfully wronged, started to emerge from behind his left eye. Maybe he should just retire – maybe, in order to maintain the newly established peace, the only right thing to do was to close down the Academy and – go home, get some sleep.

The second he got up, the pain behind his eye subsided, turned from dull to razor sharp, spread out and almost knocked him off his feet.
Steading himself with one hand on the windowframe, he breathed deep, willing the pain to go away. It wasn't far, he reminded himself, he practicalyl lived next door. Granted, there were an awfull lot of doors and corridors on the way, but he would managed.

He got as far as the Academy's exit, before his legs finally gave way and send him crashing into the next wall. There were two ways to surpress pain, he thought while clinging on to consciousness as good as he could. As in this case fighting it evidently did not work very well, he allowed himself to relax, to slide down the wall he leant against.
He had half slipped into darkness, when a sudden slap in his face ordered him back to reality. He forced his visible eye open. In the dim light of the streetlamps and partly hidden behind the grey clouds that kept clouding his vision, he was able to make out the blurry image of a woman squatting in front of him. She seemed vaguely familiar. She also seemed to be talking to him, but it was hard to make out her words. Finally she wrapped his arms around her shoulders, tried to get him back to his feet again.
"Just, bear with me here, senpai", her strained voiced came from somewhere far, far away.
„I'll get you to the hospital."
The next second her voice, her shoulder, the wall behind him as well the ground beneath his feet dissolved into nothingness.

When Kakashi awoke, he found himself lying in his own bed. Outside the sun was shining and the sky had dressed itself in the most perfect blue.
Yesterday's headaches seemed like a far away dream.
Kakashi rolled to his back, unconciously bit his nails. Maybe this was it. He had finally lost it.
He neither remembered taking a shower (the faint smell of his shampoo and the slightly damp pillow were a dead giveaway), nor coming home in the first place. He recalled leaving his office, feeling slightly dizzy. Everything thereafter was hidden inaccessibly behind thick layers of mist.
He stopped, midthought, persuaded his teeth to let go of his fingers for a moment. He raised his hand, looked at it intently, giving special attention to the space under his perfectly clean fingernails. Yes, he definitly was losing it, he thought. There was no sensible explanation for the faint taste of blood on his fingers.