The nights in Konoha were always cold, not bone-deep cold, just cold enough to feel through the thick clothing that was his Shinobi uniform. Kakashi had always loved the feeling the cold would bring; how laying atop his apartment building's roof would dig into his back, but not too uncomfortable to move; he could reminisce and make promises that would be broken to the night sky, and attempt to see familiar faces in the stars to keep them fresh. When he reincarnated in this new life, it wasn’t the same; the stars unfamiliar, the rooftops soft against his back, the nights too muggy to give him the chill he remembered in his bones.
His soul ached to find something familiar—which he had found in his vigilante years, the fighting routine to him, to the point where he knew he was addicted to adrenaline, the feeling of life in his veins, as his heart pumped a familiar tune that was only felt in battle. Japan was too peaceful, and despite being in UA—a school where he was allowed to legally fight people—he could never feel the rush he needed, the rush of his life on the line. Hitoshi would probably never feel it again in this too peaceful land. His heart ached to see his students once more, to eat ramen with Naruto, to listen to Sakura bicker with Sasuke, and to watch over the Uchiha from a distance; but that would never come back again, despite how much he dreamed for it.
Aizawa and Hizashi were kind, and he enjoyed living with them, but he could never forget the nights alone in his apartment, staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to take him, and while that last part was familiar, the ceiling was too different, missing the cracks he had memorized, and the bed he laid in was different to the one back in Konoha. Even after fifteen years of existing in the new world he still tried to desperately cling onto Konoha, to feel the wind of home once more, to run through the trees Konoha was named after.
He rolled onto his side and stared at the familiar-unfamiliar wall in a familiar-unfamiliar house, breathing silently, his mind too active to even dream of falling into a light sleep. He didn’t feel like expending the effort to get up, silently just counting the seconds, waiting for either the sun to rise or for sleep to forcefully take him; a dream he knew would never come. He looked around his room from his position, taking note of all the hero merchandise that Hizashi and Aizawa had gotten him, some from when he had moved in, and knew that if this was Konoha he wouldn’t have anything of the likes. He was stuck in limbo between two lives and he couldn’t decide which life he should let go of, to accept the other one as his true life, because while he cared for Konoha and his students, he didn’t truly live in that life, but in this life he had never felt the feeling that had made him feel alive in Konoha.
Limbo was a terrible feeling, of being between two concepts and unable to decide which one is better, but choices such as these aren’t easy. The choice to stay as Shinsou Hitoshi, a traumatized child that became a vigilante, or stay as Kakashi Hatake as a main part of his personality, all lethal grace and murderous intent. He knew what he would choose, too attached to ever give up his one remaining link to Konoha, and he knew that in nights too dark with a brain far too awake, he would give himself the choice again, and always pick the same answer. To stay as Kakashi Hatake, and pretend he was only in a deep cover mission, to cope with the loss of his home his own way.