Chapter Text
Sasuke, abandoned, looked across the room at Pakkun, whose body language he could barely read, being unused to the company of canines. He wasn't upset at the dog’s presence, but he wasn’t sure what to make of it. So Pakkun wanted to talk to Sasuke. Why only Pakkun, and not the others? Had he been chosen as the de facto representative of the pack, or was he the only one interested? What would be the impact of this conversation? Anxious might be the right word for how Sasuke felt. There could be some things hinging on this.
This isn't a war meeting, Sasuke reminded himself. He tried not to approach it like one in his mind, but he wasn't exactly successful. Habits.
“You used to be smaller,” Pakkun noted. He finally lifted his head up, giving Sasuke some of his attention, and this served to lessen the imperial air he had been putting off.
Sasuke nodded, simply. He felt a subtle pressure to make a good impression; a vague desire to convey that he was someone Kakashi could be trusted with. Though, he had met Pakkun before; this certainly wasn’t their first encounter. However, it must have been longer than five years ago, if Sasuke had grown larger since. He’d stopped growing before he was 20. The relationship between Sasuke and Kakashi had developed since then, and Sasuke had, he thought, matured somewhat over the years.
“You were a pipsqueak.” Surely not in comparison to Pakkun. He was a rather small dog. “But still arrogant. You thought you were bigger than you were. You thought you could handle yourself and disdained everyone else.” Sasuke tried to stop his face from sinking into a scowl, only because Pakkun's description was fairly accurate. Yes, and? he thought peevishly. “Now, it looks like you’re bigger, but less arrogant.” That could only work in Sasuke’s favor, right? It was almost a compliment. “Humans, and their weird vertical growth,” Pakkun grumbled. From the kitchen came the sound of glass clinking, cupboards creaking open. Kakashi’s footsteps were silent, however, and the only way one could tell of his presence was by hearing the sounds created by the objects he interacted with, like some kind of ghost knocking things over and making a house’s framework creak.
“Why’d you want to see me?” Sasuke found himself asking, searching for a concrete answer, though he had a good guess. His eyes slid over with with preoccupation to an origami crane placed on the top shelf of one of the bookshelves. It was folded from a disposable napkin and looked very familiar.
Kakashi had kept it.
“Why can’t I, huh? The Boss spends an awful lot of time with you, and I wanna know what gives.” As Sasuke had thought.
Pakkun’s ear twitched at the sound of liquid pouring in the kitchen.
“Hn.” Sasuke decided to be proactive and go on the offensive. ”How are you, anyway?” he asked, curious despite himself. There was little danger in asking personal questions of someone else’s summoned animal; no chance of unwanted intimacy. What must it be like to exist as one, your will subservient to another? It sounded abhorrent to Sasuke, but maybe the psychology of summons were different. They weren’t slaves; they got something out of it, they had complete liberty to refuse to make a contract with anyone, and they could leave (back to the realm of summons) at any moment if badly treated. That said, such a departure was only temporarily, as once a contract was made, there was no stepping back and withdrawing permanently until the human’s death. The nature of the contract necessitated a certain obedience. “I heard you were sick a while back and wouldn’t take your pills,” he mentioned, trying to draw the dog out, needle him. He remembered Kakashi had mentioned the matter when they had had drinks together a long time ago; that night he’d confessed the whole mess to Kakashi and received the advice that had led to him finally ending things with Sakura.
Pakkun’s ears pulled back, and he looked at Sasuke with what Sasuke thought might be a disgruntled expression, though it only looked (and Sasuke admitted this grudgingly) cute on the pug's face. “He told you that? Hmph! I’m doing well. My health is very sturdy.” He shook his head insistently, like he had an itch in his ear. “Now,” he said, blatantly changing the topic, “I have an important question, and depending on the answer, we’ll either get along, Sasuke-kun, or we won’t.” Sasuke raised his eyebrows, tensing. “What’s your favorite animal?”
How anticlimactic. Sasuke blinked, then answered without thinking about it, eyes drifting back over to the crane. “Dinosaurs?” He flushed in embarrassment as he realized what he’d said. At his grown age, while he was here of all places? It was one thing to be caught up in memories in the private sanctity of his own home, but quite another at Kakashi’s, with company.
“Huh,” Pakkun said thoughtfully. “I wasn’t expecting that. Thought you’d say cats, and that wouldn’t be good at all. Dogs, well, we’d get along, or I’d think you were tryna butter me up. But dinosaurs aren’t really on the scale. I’ll have to think about what that means.”
Sasuke wanted to explain, but it would be similarly awkward sentimentally recounting a childhood memory starring his older brother, so he reluctantly discarded the plan.
Then he frowned. He was struck all at once of the ridiculousness of the situation. Here he sat, perched uncomfortably on a worn, armchair cushion littered with dog hair, in the home of a man who he held feelings for, across from a talking pug whose censure seemed calamitous.
The brief burst of clarity worked to unwind his nerves, and the entire predicament seemed lighter, more deserving of gaiety. In the grand scheme of things—no, even in the minor scheme of things, the scenario held very little danger; if Pakkun developed a negative opinion of Sasuke, Kakashi’s opinion of Sasuke might lower by a notch or two, but Sasuke could afford that. Kakashi was not someone who drew his opinions from the opinions of others, after all. Sasuke didn't know much about how Kakashi felt about him, but the one thing he did know was that Kakashi liked him enough disapproval from others wouldn't stop him from seeing him.
He decided to treat Pakkun as an extension of Kakashi, instead of approaching this like a job interview. Honesty. The reason behind his answer was embarrassing, but not horrendously so. Besides, who would Pakkun have to gossip to?
Sasuke released some of the muscles in his back keeping his spine straight as a steel rod. It wouldn’t hurt to be transparent here. He could trust the inhabitants of the apartment. He could relax his guard.
“I had a stuffed animal, when I was a child. A green dinosaur.” It was easier than he had expected, though a segment of him cringed at the idea of revealing anything about himself that recalled his youth to mind when Kakashi could hear. He didn't want to be thought of as a child. He had been such an obnoxious teenager, too.
Thinking of the man, Sasuke grew distantly curious at what sort of drink he was mixing up, since he was still in the kitchen, scooping something rocky, probably ice-cubes, by the sound of it. Must be some sort of cocktail. It pleased Sasuke that Kakashi was putting such an effort in, though it was a little surprising all the labor he was doing. He was certain Kakashi was eavesdropping right now—Sasuke would have, too, and Kakashi had that right—and it made him feel awkward, like he and Pakkun were being supervised.
“So your preference remains the same today,” Pakkun stated curiously.
“No. I was thinking of my past recently,” Sasuke corrected, a little taken aback at his own candidness. He absently rubbed the bumpy fabric of the armrest with his forefinger, trying to focus on Pakkun and not Kakashi. “I don’t know about now. Favorite animals aren’t really the sort of thing I’d think of at this age. Birds, I guess…Hawks, which are my summons,” he said, thinking of their clever eyes, sharp beaks, and sleek feathers, the beauty of their forms. "Or crows.” There were many crows in Konoha, and whenever he saw one, it was a bittersweet reminder.
Just not snakes. Sasuke still held the contract, but he hadn’t summoned them in many years, and they stayed away as well, sensing his leeriness. Maybe someday…
He didn’t elaborate on the “crows”. Let Pakkun extrapolate it himself, as he clearly wasn’t ignorant on Sasuke’s personal affairs. No doubt Kakashi shared much with him. The idea was slightly disagreeable to Sasuke. With any hope, Kakashi didn’t share everything. Some things were highly personal.
“Birds, huh. I’ve got no quarrel with birds. In fact, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so you’ve secured a solid position for yourself,” Pakkun declared imperialistically, like they were talking about something far more crucial.
“Good to hear,” Sasuke responded in a serious tone, echoing Pakkun’s, though his eyes slid distractedly over to the crane on the shelf again.
A third look only confirmed his immediate conclusions, and he didn’t see where else Kakashi would have acquired a crane neatly folded from a paper napkin, bearing—his Sharingan flipped on, then off—the imprint of Sasuke’s chakra. It had been awarded, bafflingly, a place of honor not, as expected, in the trash bin but on a shelf in the living room where all could see, even though it had been half a year since its spontaneous creation. Perhaps the care Kakashi had shown it then—carefully tucking it into his pocket—matched its current treatment, but Sasuke hadn’t expected that Kakashi would actually treasure the hastily gifted trifle. It shouldn’t have been such a cause for shock—Sasuke was one of the closest people in Kakashi’s life, and he had to keep reminding himself of that—but he wasn’t used to seeing physical evidence of it. The crane’s flattened wings had been carefully unfolded, and it sat firmly planted in front of a treatise on military combat tactics which had a spine embossed with gold. There was no sign, even, of wear or tear.
“You know, Kakashi used to sleep with a stuffed animal.” Sasuke tore his gaze away from the crane to gape at Pakkun.
“What?” he asked incredulously. He supposed most kids had, at one point, but he found it near-impossible to picture Kakashi doing so. Taking that a step further, it was difficult to picture Kakashi as a child. His spirit, image, and personality were too fixed, constant, implacable, like he had popped into the world fully formed. Sasuke envisioned a much shorter, softer-faced Kakashi wearing an oversized Chunin vest, shock of silver hair on his head, and wanted to smile, but the image immediately dissipated.
“Oh, yes,” Pakkun said happily, glad to have Sasuke’s direct attention back. “He gave it up pretty soon after I entered the picture, but he didn’t throw it out for a while. Boss used to be much smaller." Pakkun laughed, tail beginning to thump against the sofa cushion. “Just as stubborn though.” He lowered his voice, though he must have known the futility of trying to keep his words from Kakashi’s ears. “He shoved it up on the shelf in his closet and pretended it didn’t exist, even though he slept badly without it for weeks.”
The thought invoked surprisingly tender feelings in Sasuke. So Kakashi, too, had once been little and lost sleep over a beloved toy. “What was it?” he asked. That Kakashi had been orphaned suddenly became not the dry, accepted, if unfortunate and relatable, fact it had been before, but a distinct tragedy; there were few people left who would be able to share such stories of the young child Kakashi—not the remote, prodigal machine his classmates had seen and beheld with discomfort and jealousy, but the boy. The person.
“A dog, with pink fur that had faded to white. He named her ‘Doggy.’” Sasuke smiled in amusement. A stunningly creative name. “She was bought before he was born by his mother.” Pakkun sighed and his ears twitched, eyes dismal. “Too bad he got rid of her permanently when his father—”
“What nonsense stories are you telling Sasuke, Pakkun?” Kakashi interrupted, striding in with two simple, unembossed clear glasses of cream colored liquid, the texture thick and viscous. Sasuke had barely noticed him approaching through the hallway, too engrossed in the recounting.
“Nothing to be ashamed of! You were a cute kid,” Pakkun said indignantly, like he was defending himself on some essential political belief he held.
Kakashi’s lips parted and twisted in a withheld grimace—his mask had been pulled off his face and hung around his neck now, the fabric bunched—but he didn’t respond. He handed Sasuke a glass, pulled two ivory coasters from the coffee table’s slim drawer, and set them on the coffee table, placing his own drink on one. Then, he settled down onto the couch next to Pakkun, dropping backward onto its surface as if he were some building collapsing backwards after its structure was destroyed by a chakra-enforced blow. “I think you need to even the score,” he said, looking at Sasuke with an innocent smile, posture relaxed and lazy. “Regale us with an embarrassing childhood tale.”
Sasuke thought gloomily to himself, Was mention of the dinosaur not enough? Kakashi must have known what dangerous territory this was; every facet of Sasuke’s early childhood had ties to Itachi, and it was impossible to untangle the threads. If Pakkun hadn’t been there, if it had been just the two of them, he would have been less hesitant.
Despite that, he tried to think of something sufficient. Pretend the dog is an extension of Kakashi, he reminded himself. His memories of his childhood were muddled and indistinct, save the unnaturally vivid ones involving Itachi. He couldn’t even remember his mother’s voice.
Well, here was a solution: He could omit Itachi’s character—speak with passive voice and skim over the role Itachi had starred.
After several more beats of silence, he thought of something satisfactory, a story that was related to Kakashi’s and not too embarrassing.
“I used to carry around Danuja, my dinosaur, wherever I went. I was very attached to it.” Itachi had bought it for him. “I didn't look after my things very well. Like any other child, I misplaced my things easily. So, one day, Danuja went missing on an outting, I think to the market with my mother, and I threw a tantrum. We searched for an hour but couldn’t find it, and my mother dragged me home while I sobbed in her arms and embarrassed the family. At dinner, when Father was done with work, I demanded he have his police officers search for Danuja.” He couldn't help smiling at the memory, and noticed Kakashi’s answering smile. “He refused and told me to stop being childish.” Itachi had comforted him, though. “In any case, it was found within about 24 hours,” by Itachi, who had diligently searched for it for hours, “but I can still remember feeling devastated.” To think, his problems had once been so simple and easily solved.
Kakashi’s eyes sparkled with mirth. “Thank you, Sasuke-kun,” he said mock-seriously. He closed his eyes for a few seconds, then chuckled suddenly. “That’s hilarious. I can totally imagine little toddler-you insolently demanding that of Uchiha-sama. We used to joke that…” He trailed off, looking assessingly at Sasuke. Sasuke raised his eyebrows, trying to convey that whatever offensive thing he had joked about with his friends about Sasuke’s father didn’t matter to him, and he wasn’t risking offending Sasuke by sharing it. Kakashi continued with more confidence, voice warm with nostalgia. “...that he looked like someone was holding natto under his nostrils all the time.”
Sasuke snorted. “I don’t remember his face very well, but I have pictures, and I don’t disagree. But,” he added, somewhat challengingly, “I think that might just be another part of the Uchiha curse, not anything unique to my father. There weren’t many of us who didn’t look like that.”
“Touche," Kakashi said with a nod. "Don’t put yourself down, though. You only look like there's natto under your nose when you’re silent or around strangers.” He gestured loosely towards Sasuke’s face. “You’re smiling right now.” Sasuke hadn’t noticed. “Anyway, you’re not the only one who has the, 'don't speak to me, mortal' look down pat.” He tapped his own cheek impishly.
Sasuke wouldn’t contest that. Those who knew Kakashi today were well-accustomed to the lighthearted and sometimes ridiculous demeanor he liked to put on, but enemies, and Konoha-nin who had known Kakashi before he, as he called it, “simmered down a bit”, knew that his masked face easily morphed into that of a demon’s, his presence scathingly cold, deadly.
“So, does my story passes muster?” Sasuke asked sarcastically.
“Absolutely,” Kakashi responded cheerfully. “In fact, I won't be able to forget it. You’re off the hook, Sasuke-kun.”
Sasuke pretended to wipe sweat off his forehead, but despite his mocking gesture he was relieved the period of mandatory sharing was over. He occasionally shared intimate details about his past with Kakashi without prompting, spontaneously unloading himself in pursuit of greater closeness with the man as well as relief from the burden of being the sole keeper of a secret, but he had never seriously initiated such a process when commanded to do so, whether by therapists, by girlfriend, or by friends.
“I’m gonna get some sleep,” Pakkun said suddenly, making Sasuke jolt, as he had somehow half-forgotten the dog’s presence. “Have fun, boys.” Without waiting for a reply, he disappeared in a cloud of smoke, leaving behind an empty couch-seat bearing a circular imprint and the slight echo of his words in the air. Presumably, he had disappeared to go gallivant in the summons’ realm.
Kakashi looked at the empty spot with an unreadable expression, lips slightly parted. “Try your drink,” he finally said, ending his examination. “It’s called ‘Bourbon Cream’. I worked hard on it, so my feelings will be hurt if you don't like it.”
Sasuke obliged him and took a hesitant sip, braced for cloying sweetness, based on its vanilla-like appearance. He made a surprised noise. It was sweet, but mildly so, and the taste of cream and bourbon wasn’t overwhelmed by what he thought was probably maple syrup. It made him curious about the possibility that Kakashi had worked undercover as a bartender. The job would suit him; standing behind the grimy bar polishing glasses deftly with a rag, prying out others’ secret troubles with a smooth voice that invited confidences and a deceptively soft smile.
Sasuke took another sip, holding the cool liquid in his mouth and savoring the flavor before swallowing. The ice cubes inside were small perfect spheres, and they brushed against his lips, texture cold and silky, when he lifted the glass to drink.
“Do you like it?” Kakashi asked. Sasuke looked up, enjoying what he saw in his gaze, which was anxiously anticipatory. He set his glass down on the coaster—better to savor it slowly than chug it all down now, no matter how low the alcohol content tasted.
“It’s good.” His words were certainly an understatement. He licked the side of his mouth and resisted his desire to take another deep sip. The drink had been rich and creamy, the flavor luscious, and though he usually found himself ordering the simplest of drinks—he was the opposite of a cocktail person, unlike, say, Sai and Ino—he knew he would be asking for ‘Bourbon Cream’ the next time they were at the bar. “Very good,” he elucidated.
Kakashi smiled, handsome lines creasing the area around his mouth. “Thank you. I put a lot of effort into that little mixture.”
“What’s in it?”
“It’s pretty simple. Just what it tastes like: bourbon, cream, and maple syrup.” Kakashi picked his up and drank from it with relish. “The trick, however, is getting the right ratio. After some trial and error, I've finally found the perfect amount of each ingredient. No measuring necessary; I've trained my hands to know when to stop pouring.”
“Hn. So, were you ever a bartender?” Sasuke had to check.
“No,” Kakashi grinned, wide. “Was it that good?”
“Subpar,” Sasuke retorted scathingly and looked way, belligerently contradictory.
“Alright,” Kakashi said readily, eyebrows raised, “but don’t worry about saving it. There’s more where it came from.” Sasuke picked his glass back up; he didn’t need any more encouragement. “Plus, it’s Friday night.” Kakashi made a vague gesture. “The end of the week, the time to unravel, the evening of leisure.”
“Certainly,” Sasuke agreed, holding back a snort. Ridiculous man.
“Your posture doesn’t reflect your agreement,” Kakashi noted a little unhappily.
“Ah.” Sasuke relaxed further into his seat, trying to relax as prompted.
“Better. Music?” Kakashi queried.
“Yes, sounds good,” Sasuke said, alert now. Did Kakashi have a radio? He wondered what kind of music Kakashi would choose. Very different atmospheres could be created by different songs.
Kakashi stood and walked over in a couple of strides to the tall wooden cabinet. He opened its doors, revealing a series of shelves occupied by miscellaneous items, most of which Sasuke couldn’t identify, though he spotted an old green Chunin vest, several sealed cardboard boxes, and a cowboy hat, the last of which made him terribly curious.
Kakashi pulled out a large box, made of wood and plastic, with a wire running from the end. Shoving the cabinet closed with his elbow, he returned to the table and placed the box on its surface, then grabbed the cord and plugged the end into a socket on the wall; the cord was just long enough to reach with extra slack. Rather dramatically, he opened the box, which hinged backward, revealing—
A record player.
“Nice, huh?” Kakashi said, catching Sasuke’s eye. Sasuke nodded, genuinely impressed. They were expensive, finicky, and had to be imported from lands far away. Some people had them—he remembered his family had had one, but he wasn’t sure where it had gone after the massacre—but it was a luxury that many didn’t bother with. Sakura’s parents had had one as well; he remembered her obliquely mentioning it once, a while ago, in a conversation to do with imported goods, reminding him they were merchants.
Kakashi always managed to surprise him like this, revealing small details Sasuke hadn’t known before. He wondered how many more were secreted away in Kakashi’s cryptic character. What if he had a secret penchant for tap dancing, or something weird like that? It wouldn't necessarily be out of character.
Kakashi walked over to the bookshelf and stopped there. His position alerted Sasuke to the fact that it housed not only books—he hadn’t noticed before, but the lowest shelf was filled solely with vinyls. “What would you prefer?” Kakashi asked. “My selection has most genres, and I’m up for anything.” He paused. “Preferably something more relaxing, though.”
Frankly speaking, Sasuke didn’t listen to music. Music hadn’t ever taken a considerable (or even small) space in his life, and though he remembered some melodies from his childhood—songs his mother or had Itachi hummed to him—alongside the war chants and rhymes taught at the Academy, which were hard to forget, that was the extent of it.
Well, he had been to a few Kabuki Theater performances, either in disguise in the audience or hidden in the rafters (both for ANBU), but it hadn’t been for his own enjoyment; the aim was always reconnaissance or violence. Thus, he wouldn’t have been able to identify a favored genre of music if asked, and now he wasn’t even sure what sort of music he wanted to listen to on the record player. Maybe, something…soft, a pleasing melody. Something soothing. Which was about the same thing Kakashi had said.
“I don’t know. You can pick.” Sasuke peered at the titles on the spines of the records that he could see. Jazz for Perfect Relaxation, Chiharu Matsuyama: Tabidachi, Art of the Koto, 3 Hours of the Bamboo Flute, Taeko Onuki: Mignonne, The Red Birds: Takeda no Komuriuta, Classics of the Shamisen, Yayoi Tanaka’s Greatest Hits, Classic Folk Songs and Lullabies, Gai’s Youthful and Exuberant Party Mix… He recognized not a single artist’s name.
…Minus Gai’s, which he was going to ignore for his own sanity, as he could only imagine what kind of music Gai would pick for a record.
“Something soothing, like you said.” He amended his words: “I don’t want to drop off to sleep, though.”
“Alright,” Kakashi said, considering the options available in front of him. “Hmm.” He finally pulled a record from the shelf and returned to the table. “Say something if you don’t like it—I’ll change it.”
“Hn.”
Kakashi had picked out one of the records Sasuke had seen in advance: The Red Birds: Takeda no Komoruita. The cover had a parchment colored background with red flowers, and the lettering was simple but aesthetically pleasing. Kakashi took out the disk and placed it on the record player, then lifted the hand and let it drop carefully onto the vinyl, pressing a button, which set the track spinning.
After a few seconds of silence overlaid by a scratchy, fuzzy noise, the first song began. It was an uplifting but nostalgic, and slightly archaic song—something traditional, maybe, well-sung by generations of parents, as Sasuke thought he recognized the melody—without complicated technology altering the pure sound of the instruments. Because the volume was set to low, Sasuke didn’t feel like it was intruding on the space.
Sasuke met Kakashi’s eyes, nodding slightly in appreciation to convey his approval. It figured that their tastes in music aligned, as so many of their tastes in other matters (aside from some…reading material) did. He couldn’t help but compare, in the back of his mind, their relationship to that which he’d shared with Sakura; from the start, his and her worldviews had been vastly different, and often small disagreements had morphed into large arguments as a result of vastly contrasting ways of looking at things. That was a problem that never occurred between Kakashi and Sasuke.
Perhaps, Sasuke mused, it was because they were both orphans. Perhaps it was because they’d both experienced extreme traumas at very young ages.
Or perhaps they were just moulded from the same clay.
Whatever the case, that was one thing Sasuke greatly appreciated about the man sitting across from him; some things he felt were utterly unnecessary to explain, because he simply knew he would be understood. He wouldn’t be judged or castigated as “pessimistic” , “cynical”, “violent”. There was no chasm to attempt to cross.
Kakashi looked at the table briefly, eyelids, with their delicate grey lashes, briefly cast downward, and his lips quirked. “I’m glad you like it,” he said in a low voice. It wasn’t an exuberant reaction. It wasn’t loud, nor was it verbally effusive, like Naruto’s joy was. Yet, it was all the more special to Sasuke, for its rarity and genuineness. He would trade just about anything—kill however many people—to have the chance to see that small, gentle, but real smile every day for the rest of his life.
“Hn,” was Sasuke’s simple response. Certain things were unthinkable to put into words.
But something must have shown on his face, as Kakashi looked up and laughed quietly, with real pleasure, before changing the subject.
Some days, Sasuke felt as if Kakashi was impossible to read. Other days, his long familiarity with the man allowed him to pick out and interpret a multitude of subtle micro-expressions and alterations in body language. Tonight, it was the latter. Settling into themselves, the music disippating what had felt like an odd tension in the air, it was as if they were perfectly in sync. As they spoke on a number of varied topics, from the culture of the ANBU locker rooms to the most bizarre and out of touch nobles they’d each encountered, Sasuke read Kakashi’s placid, objectively inexpressive face and thought, with a hot charge of possessiveness, Yes. I know him.
This was a side to the Copy Nin that others rarely, if ever, had the opportunity to see. Not simply his bare face, but the unguardedness to his posture; the careless movement of his arms as he gestured while speaking; the way he looked back into Sasuke’s eyes without barriers or reservations, no needless guile or showmanship disguising his expression. It was a privilege only Sasuke, and a scant few others, was afforded.
Good, Sasuke thought spitefully. This intimacy belongs to me.
In return, Sasuke allowed himself to be someone most shinobi of Konoha would be unable to recognize as the violent, taciturn, and prickly weapon they thought they knew. He offered a version of himself that was normally totally closed off from the outside world: Uchiha Sasuke, the genuine article—not whoever he needed to be, whoever he was expected to be, whoever his automatic defences manufactured, hackles raised. He needed to see Kakashi’s surprised, warm laughter again, the laughter that came from deep in his chest and reminded Sasuke of roasted chestnuts during summer, so he made a joke; he was playful. He didn’t restrain or smother the small smile that was threatening to break out over his face, nor did he try to minimize, or maximize, the presence of his missing arm, as he sometimes thought was prudent in other situations, around other people.
And when Kakashi said, in that lilting, half mocking way he always did, “Sasuke-kun,” as if they were both in on a ridiculously stupid and thus amusing private joke, Sasuke was struck by such a strong wave of overwhelming, desperate desire and violent affection, that all his previous reservations and fears suddenly seemed superfluous. Watching the movement of Kakashi’s thin lips as he explained the backstory behind Gai’s record; the way Kakashi’s eye’s shape turned into a half moon when he smiled fondly, thinking back to his lonely eighteenth birthday, brightened only by the presence of his oldest, strangest friend; the drum of his fingers against the table top as he suggested Sasuke explore different musical genres, because it had been a comfort to Kakashi when nothing had been able to reach him; watching all this, Sasuke wondered, half mad, half subsumed by a piercing clarity greater than he’d ever felt before:
What did he care what the village thought? What did he care what the rest of the team, what society, expected or desired? He had never spared a thought for such things before. Kakashi was a man. So what? Kakashi had once been Sasuke’s teacher. So what? Whenever Sasuke had wanted something, in the past, he had chased it with a single-minded abandon, and as soon as it was within his reach, he had taken it for himself—violently, angrily, greedily, with no care as to the consequences. He hadn’t always chased the right things—had, in fact, done many things he now regretted—but, at his core, that was the kind of person Sasuke was, regardless of whatever the disparate character he’d tried to shape himself to conform to after the end of the war would have to say about.
None of that garbage mattered; the scale of balance was scarcely even. If he had Kakashi, if he could obtain him, could be as close to the man as it was possibly for any two human beings to be, the rest of the world could could burn in the flames of Amaterasu for eternity for all he cared.
It was time to let go of the delusion that Sasuke could change himself, that such a thing was even desirable. In his youth, Sasuke may have been a bastard, more so, he thought charitably, than he was now, as a reformed traitor and commitor of fratricide, but at least he’d not been deceiving himself. The same couldn’t be said about the pathetic creature he’d been, these past several years. He had been a selfish child, even before the massacre. And he was selfish now, no matter what nonsense soft, optimistic Naruto liked to spout about his good heart or caring soul.
There was no question that Sasuke wanted Kakashi, with heat, with a tenderness that was frightening for all the vulnerability it revealed. The only question that remained was, Does he feel even a fraction of what I feel? And if he doesn’t, how can I make him?
Sasuke felt as if a great weight had been lifted off his chest. Unburdened, he returned his focus to the conversation.
“Are your ANBU team mates still giving you the cold shoulder?” Kakashi asked lightly, the topic transitioning from a discussion of the isolation he’d felt during his early years in ANBU. His brow was slightly furrowed, head cocked to the side. The body language reminded Sasuke, as it often did, of a dog. He couldn’t find the right descriptive word for what he felt about it, though he did have the slight urge to strangle something—maybe Kakashi. Kakashi’s concern, also, warmed Sasuke’s insides, though it wasn’t as if Sasuke really gave a damn about the treatment the other ANBU were giving him. He’d never been a team player, and, when it came down to it, he could trust Ox, Boar, and Salamander to put the needs of the mission above their personal dislike for him, even if it grated having to follow his orders. Roach, at least, had been civil as of late. Had even tried, if weakly, to start a conversation during a joint night-watch recently. ‘It’ll be festival season, soon,’ wasn’t much, but it was a step above the silent, heavy, accusing glances he had received when a snake slithered into view a while back as the squad was gathering stones for a fire pit.
Sasuke said as much. “It would’ve been fun,” he added, echoing a wistful desire that occasionally made itself known when he watched from a distance the team joking together, fully at ease when outside the apparent miasma of his presence, “to be on a team with you. Before you left the Corps.”
Kakashi smiled, expression thoughtful. “I think we would’ve made a good team.” They’d been on missions together, of course, and they’d worked like a well-oiled machine, had for a long time, but ANBU missions were a different breed from typical Jonin ones, requiring a different level of violence, psychological readiness, and mutual understanding. ‘Hound’ was still a legend in ANBU. Sasuke had gradually earned himself a similar reputation. In another world, where there were fewer years between the two of them, he could imagine—
But it was useless to speculate on this for long. Sasuke was fond enough of the Kakashi he had in front of him, for all he wondered how much easier things would be if they were the same age, rather than a decade apart, without the barrier of “student” and “teacher” strait-jacketing them into certain roles, even after all these years.
“Don’t be tetchy,” Kakashi prefaced, lips twitching, “But I suggest you respond to Roach’s overtures. Even the strongest shinobi is less vulnerable having a teammate he trusts without reservations guarding his back.”
Even though hew knew it was the sort of worry any friend might express, Sasuke felt happy. “I’ll think about it,” he responded absently, watching Kakashi’s lean neck as Kakashi stretched his hands behind himself and shifted his weight back onto his arms. He let his gaze dip to Kakashi’s forearms, corded with tense muscle, then, after a self-indulgent second or two, he tore his eyes away. Kakashi was looking at him when Sasuke looked back up. “She could’ve picked something less boring, if still innocuous,” he complained, a tad childishly, urged to speak to move past what may have been an awkward moment. “Such as…how can I replicate that technique of hers where she makes her opponent bleed from all their pores?”
Kakashi chuckled. “Is that innocuous? And I suspect that is an Aburame-exclusive, so be careful how you approach that conversation.”
“Tsk,” Sasuke groused. All the clans of Konoha were known for their secrecy surrounding their clan-exclusive techniques—and that included, not just ninjutsu and genjutsu, but taijutsu, kenjutsu, and the like, as well. Sasuke was aware of the fact, if irritable about it occasionally, even if the early demise of his clan meant most of the Uchiha legacy had been lost to him forever. The Aburame may not have been as violently communicative about the fact as the Hyuuga, but they were no less willing to weaken their clan by sharing techniques. “I’ll just use my Sharingan,” he joked rather darkly.
In any other company, such a thing would probably not be considered a joke but a very rude threat, but here, next to Kakashi, Sasuke’s words simply warranted a short, fond snort. “Your etiquette about that used to be awful,” he reminesced.
“Oh, shut the fuck up,” Sasuke cut in, pinching the bridge of his nose. In some ways, he was a shameless man, but even he felt embarrassed remembering the way he had copied Rock Lee’s taijutsu during that disastrous Chunin exam.
Kakashi laughed, face brightening. “You know, I’m glad I knew you when you were at that age, because I have so many embarrassing stories to weaponize against you today.” He wet his lips with a mouthful of liquor from his drink, a twinkle in his eye.
Yes, Sasuke thought foully, that’s one reason I wish we hadn’t met until I was an adult.
He leaned back, head inclined in a mock-thoughtful pose, finger tip tapping against his chin. “Hmm, maybe I should speak to Gai,” he said softly, as if to himself. Of course, a conversation with Gai would be a trial in and of itself—as a result of the growing closeness between Kakashi and Sasuke, Gai had begun, over the years, to treat Sasuke with greater fondness and exuberance, treating him to frequent verbal attacks on the subjects of “the youthful strength of compassion and forgiveness” and “beautiful bonds forged in the flames of great trials” and “the most youthful and splendid bond between a wise teacher and a youthful student who has outgrown his cool teachings”—but the trade-off would be worth it, if Sasuke came out armed with some embarrassing childhood stories, to even the scales. The stuffed animal story hardly counted—it was more cute than anything. From what he knew, as a kid, Kakashi had had a real stick up his ass for several years.
…Before he experienced several extremely traumatizing events that entirely changed his worldview and led to the development of a different life philosophy.
But that was getting a bit too serious.
Kakashi groaned. “Please don’t,” he begged.
Sasuke continued, smiling now, “I think he’d enjoy telling me about your, hm, ‘youthful exploits’.”
“Alright, alright, I get the message,” Kakashi said in an exasperated voice. “I’ll lay off the…reminiscing.”
“I guess I’ll put off that talk,” Sasuke conceded in response, though the malicious smirk remained on his lips.
Kakashi eyed him warily, then asked, “Weren’t you going to show me your kusarigama?” It was a clear change of subject, but not one that irritated Sasuke. He’d briefly forgotten about the weapon, but the reminder brought with it a wave of cheerful anticipation. Sakura, while an extremely skilled shinobi devoted to her profession, had never cared much about weapons, preferring her fists and the occasional ingenious usage of ninja wire, kunai, or shuriken—the standard shinobi arsenal. She was appreciative to the extent that any shinobi would be when faced with a deadly weapon, but no more than that. Kakashi, on the other hand, had a special interest in weapons, as a kenjutsu fighter like Sasuke.
“Hn,” Sasuke acknowledged, cheerfully. Moving slower than he wanted to so he wouldn’t betray his eagerness, he reached into his cloak pocket to pull out the sealing scroll that held the weapon. With a burst of chakra he unsealed the kusarigama and caught it deftly in the middle of the cloth-wrapped handle with his right hand. He took a moment to appreicate the heavy, grounding weight of the iron sickle blade, the metal chain extending from the back of the blade, and the iron weight on the end of the chain. Four chakra strings had left the stump of his left arm easily at the moment of unsealing, the technique near-instinct at this point, to keep the iron from dropping onto the ground, something he would have used his left hand for, as was proper, if he still had one.
It was a well-designed kusarigama, clearly of high quality, if not necessarily ornate. In crafting it, practicality had been valued above intricacy or refinement, but Sasuke thought there was a certain beauty to the weapon itself, bereft of embellishment; the blade was reminiscent of a crescent moon cut in half, drawing to a sharp, dangerous down-turned point, and the handle, clasped in Sasuke’s grip, felt well-balanced. Dredging back old memories, he remembered learning briefly about the kusarigama in the Academy, many years back, during a History of Weapons elective; they were, as Kakashi had said, an archaic weapon, no longer common among the shinobi nations as they had been during and prior to the Warring States Period, but that was due to a changing culture, not necessarily any fault in the weapon itself. The chain and weight lent it a versatility that the sickle alone did not have, and, while Sasuke had never trained with one or learned any forms, he could think on the fly of a dozen interesting techniques that could be utilized with it—it was simply a fun weapon.
Flicking his wrist and twisting his chakra suddenly, Sasuke sent the weight swinging piercingly into the air, though he refrained from extending to its full length to avoid damaging the sanctity of Kakashi’s walls, and, with a sharp grin, he shot it towards Kakashi’s throat at a speed that, though perhaps fast by civilian standards, was more playful than dangerous to shinobi of their caliber.
Characteristically unsurprised, Kakashi’s head quickly, but still, somehow, in a manner that came across as lackadaisical, bent to the side, the weight swinging painlessly through the empty space above his shoulder. Before the iron could swing in the opposite direction, or twist around his neck, Kakashi’s hand snapped into motion, catching the iron ball between thumb and forefinger and stilling its motion.
In a real battle, Sasuke would have interrupted this response pretty quickly, but since this was just a bit of fun, he let Kakashi halt the attack, something hot shifting in his stomach at seeing the man in action. Thirty six. It wasn’t just “not that old”. It wasn’t “old” at all. Given that a shinobi lived to that age (something that couldn’t be taken for granted), thirty six was around the peak of any shinobi’s strength, and for all Kakashi liked to gripe about his “advanced age”, this fact was apparent now; he was as fast as ever, and his eyes were no less sharp than they had been ten years prior.
“You’ll make me think you don’t like me,” Kakashi joked, looking away from the iron to smile at Sasuke.
“I don’t,” Sasuke lied. He tossed the weapon over to Kakashi, who caught it in his free hand. “Cool, right?”
Kakashi nodded, examining the blade more closely. With a thoughtful expression, he adjusted his grip on the weapon, then, glancing at Sasuke for a brief second, stood up, backed up a few feet, and made a few experimental strikes. “Hmm,” he said. He glanced up at the ceiling fan not far above his head and sighed a little, deflating. “Not really the right place to test it to its fullest extent.”
“I haven’t had the chance to yet,” Sasuke said regretfully, remaining seated. “I’ll bring it next time we’re at the training grounds. We can play around a little.”
“Sounds good,” Kakashi responded, sounding slightly less disappointed. He cut another strike through the air, disemboweling an invisible enemy, and made an appreciative noise. “Still, it’s nice.” He tossed the handle up into the air once, then caught it. “Well-balanced,” he murmured, echoing Sasuke’s own observation.
“It was wasted on its former owner,” Sasuke commented as Kakashi returned to his cushion across from him. At Kakashi’s curious look, he elaborated in a scathing tone. “He used it like an ax.” There was little need to say more—a beautiful weapon like this deserved to be wielded artfully, with creativity and ingenuity, not as if all it was useful for was hacking.
Kakashi’s grimace matched his.
“You did the kusarigama a service, then,” Kakashi said cheerfully, “by killing that person.” He passed it back to Sasuke, respectfully, handle first, and Sasuke sealed it back in the scroll and returned it to its pocket. “Thanks for showing me.”
“Hn,” Sasuke intoned agreeably.
“Makes me want to…” Kakashi sighed. “…Go shopping.” Recovering, he looked at Sasuke and his own empty glass, grabbed them, and stood up. “I’ll get us a refill,” he said and left towards the kitchen, padding away silently.
Sasuke, left alone in the living room, tossed off his cloak, having warmed up as a result of the long conversation and drink. Under his cloak was a simple long-sleeve black shirt—identical, pretty much, to what he wore every day. Glancing around idly as he waited, he noticed now, at the cessation of speaking, that his mouth was rather dry. Only when he was with this particular person did he open up to the extent he felt a slight strain from talking an unusual amount.
“Want some satsumaimo?” Kakashi asked from the kitchen, projecting his voice.
Sasuke shrugged, though he knew Kakashi couldn’t see him. “Sure.”
Thus, on his return, Kakashi placed on the table not just two full glasses of bourbon cream but also two plates of warmed (presumably with fire jutsu) satsumaimo, with a pair of tiny silver dessert spoons, handles artfully carved to resemble katanas. He turned over the record, which had reached the end, music drawing to a silence, and set it back going again, then settled back down on the cushion, making himself comfortable in a cross-legged position. As the first words of the folk song quietly pierced the air, he resumed the conversation. “So, you know that traveling circus that passed through last spring?” he started, the beginning of what would be a hilarious story.
Several rounds of drinks and many subject-changes later, Sasuke found himself in a more introspective, somber mood, head lolling forward a little, hair hanging over the side of his face. He wet his dry lips with his tongue, fingers twitching on his lap before lapsing into stillness, as if forestalling an attempt to hold onto something that was no longer present. The plate beneath his gaze, white porcelain with the burgundy peel of the consumed potato littered across its surface, resembled the luminous image of a full moon.
Stupid thought.
“Do you ever feel as if everyone around you has moved on, adjusted, but you’re still stuck back there?” he asked slowly. He internally cursed at the inelegance of his phrasing, which failed to capture what he was attempting to describe. ‘There’, being… “Before the Great Peace.” ‘The Great Peace’ was the corny name that most of the shinobi nations used to refer to the inter-hidden-village cooperation that had resulted after the war, rallied together by Naruto and the threat of extinction. At Kakashi’s thoughtful gaze, he added, “I’m not sure either of us was bred for peace-time.”
“No,” Kakashi concurred, eyes distant. “We were not.” Some of the presence returned to his face as he said, “It’s something I’ve grappled with, too. The sense that I had more purpose when the village was internally united against an outside threat. Back when every individual had to step up and face the brutality and the ugliness of humanity together…When people like us were needed more than grudgingly.” He met Sasuke’s gaze, eyes serious if wry and a tinge tired. “But, as a veteran of three wars, let me tell you something, Sasuke: The peace never lasts.” The words echoed ominously in Sasuke’s mind, reminding him of the book critiquing Naruto’s leadership he’d started reading earlier. “Maybe during this lifetime, maybe during the next—there’ll be a need for people like us again.”
“I’m not looking forward to it, but I miss it,” Sasuke murmured. “I can’t relate to the mentality of the new age. It’s disgusting…Weak and naive. Soft. Foolish.” He sighed, recognizing that he was just listing out characteristics of a certain friend of his at this point. “And it’s just what Naruto wanted.” He couldn’t erase the reluctant fondness in his tone, though. His recent introspection on his relationship with Kakashi, and his resolution to do what he wanted instead of worrying like an obnoxious, lovestruck girl, had made him acknowledge he missed his stupid friend, even if their worlds were vastly far apart. Sakura, too. Perhaps there was something to Kakashi’s advice about not cutting off everyone close to him except for…Kakashi.
The significance of it sounded really obvious when Sasuke put it like that, internally. He wondered what Kakashi had made of it.
“On the flip side,” Kakashi hedged, “isn’t the Konoha we live in today one in which an Itachi could never be created?”
Sasuke frowned, focusing on the discussion again. Kakashi occasionally brought out such hypotheticals in conversation. For all he was a pragmatist, he was very thoughtful and analytical in an abstract way that wasn’t instinctual for Sasuke. “I suppose,” he said. He knew they were both talking not about Itachi’s skill, per se, but about a shinobi that would massacre his clan if ordered to by the administration. Sacrifice not just his mortal life, but just about everything, systematically, for the village. “I’m not sure, though,” he added after thinking for several seconds. “The propaganda is still there. The order wouldn’t be given, Naruto wouldn’t allow it, but if it was, to the right individual, it’s possible it would be carried out.”
“Not necessarily as soft as you said, then?” Kakashi asked, content to push Sasuke along the line of thought without participating in it much himself.
“It hasn’t been very long,” Sasuke muttered, “in reality.” He clenched his fist under the table. “Maybe it is all the same, just under another facade.”
“The Hyuuga branch-family matter hasn’t been resolved,” Kakashi noted quietly in agreement.
Sasuke blinked slowly. “Yes. There is that.” He thought back to that conversation he’d had with Naruto. “Naruto mentioned Hinata is working on that. Diplomacy…Has he said anything to you?”
“A bit,” Kakashi responded. “He tried to ask for advice, but in the capacity of the Hokage, not a friend. My short stint with the hat was enough for me, so I didn’t really let the subject go any further.” He grimaced. “It seems, though, that, as with many things, old traditionalists are what’s stymying all progress.”
Sasuke clicked his tongue unhappily. “I should’ve killed them all,” he snarled. “Back when I was on a streak.”
Rather than acting alarmed, Kakashi merely said, with amusement, “That might have saved us some future trouble.”
Though it wasn’t necessarily a shock, Kakashi’s reaction made Sasuke laugh quietly, dredged-up anger and morose mood forgotten. “I like that you react that way when I say those things,” he admitted, the alcohol loosening his tongue.
Kakashi’s eye widened, and something unnameable passed across his face before disappearing. He seemed surprised at Sasuke’s statement, though it was hardly a declaration of love. Was it truly so rare for Sasuke to say something that acknowledged his positive feelings towards Kakashi?
However, Kakashi recovered very quickly, smiling. “I’m glad you keep me around,” he said, hand snaking around his glass of bourbon without lifting it, fingers tapping without a clear rhythm. He sighed then, in affectation, a signal that alerted Sasuke to the fact that the man’s next statement would be utter buffoonery. “…Even though I’m but a surly, stiff-jointed old man, stuck in the past, with very little to offer a spry youngster like you.”
Sasuke narrowed his eyes, wondering if that sentence held more significance than Kakashi’s tone indicated. Still, he quickly rebutted, “You’re really not that old. You’re—”
“Sasuke, I’m wounded!” Kakashi interrupted. He faked great distress, his stance in the conversation suddenly swinging around to the opposite of what it had been a split second ago. “Did you really have to phrase it in such a way? ‘That old’? You make me sound like a shriveled, decrepit man scared to admit his increasing age. I’ll have you know—”
“You’re annoying,” Sasuke cut in with irritation, crossing his arm against his body. Kakashi had a way of skillfully turning weighty moments flippant in the blink of an eye. He couldn’t help but notice it often occurred when things were getting personal and confessional.
Not that Sasuke was one to speak, in terms of avoiding emotional intimacy or being honest about feelings.
Kakashi gave up on the performance, relaxing his posture and facial expression. “It’s what I aim to be,” he said lightly. He laughed a little. “It’s fun to needle you. You make this face—” He tried, apparently, to mimic it, twitching his nose and jaw in an odd way, but Sasuke doubted it was very successful, as it just looked like he was trying to convey what it was like to be on a mission, hiding during a critical moment and unable to move a single part of your body while a fly buzzed around your face.
Sasuke scoffed. “I don’t look like that.”
“Alright, maybe you don’t,” Kakashi said indulgently. “I don’t have the right face for it. Still, it reminds me of old times.” At Sasuke’s complex expression, Kakashi amended his words: “Not in a bad way. It’s just nice to see some of the age drop off your face.”
“You callin’ me old, old man?” Sasuke asked jokingly, eyebrow raised.
“That’s not what I meant, and I’m sure you know it,” Kakashi said quickly, but not angrily. “It’s more that…time changes us. You’ve been through a lot.” Sasuke blinked in surprise at the sudden serious key. “But that easily-riled up kid is still part of you.”
Sasuke looked at Kakashi’s earnest expression for a few seconds silently. The moment felt heavy in a way it hadn’t just a minute ago. Not necessarily romantic, but…intimate. Too intimate.
His heart clenched. He didn’t know what to say, facial temperature rising, so he changed the subject. “Hn. Well…Something you said to me. You might be right.”
“Oh? And what is that?” Kakashi asked curiously. There was a look to his face that suggested he was restraining the impulse to tease Sasuke. Likely for admitting Kakashi was right about something; stubbornness prevented Sasuke from stating it so baldly most of the time. This was the case not simply with Kakashi, but with everyone. It had, historically, taken a crippling battle to the death for Sasuke to admit the error of his ways and reconcile with Naruto.
Speaking of… “Naruto and Sakura.” He struggled to force the words, ‘I miss them,’ from his mouth, gave up, and instead said, “I shouldn’t have cut them off.” Naruto especially; he meant well and was an outside party to the break-up. After all, it was one thing to not speak to your ex-girlfriend for a year after breaking things off, and quite another to do the same to your best friend, especially the one who, for all his faults, pulled you off of a very dark path in your youth.
Instead of gloating, as a small part of Sasuke had expeccted, Kakashi simply said, “You did what you thought was right at the time.” His voice was gentle and sympathetic. Sasuke felt a short frission of bizarre terror at the extreme amount of patience this man appeared to harbor for him. More, certainly, than he had harbored when Sasuke was sixteen. But perhaps patience hadn’t been what Sasuke had needed the most, at that age. “If you regret your actions, you can apologize and make amends.” Kakashi smiled crookedly. “You’ve been forgiven for far worse.”
That was certainly true.
“I was being irrational about something,” Sasuke explained haltingly. “But things are more clear now that I’ve decided to follow my nature.” He stopped, knowing further elaboration might give himself away. Kakashi was an amazingly perceptive and intelligent man, after all. It was one of the things Sasuke most admired about him.
“Follow your nature, huh?” Kakashi repeated musingly. “That’s an interesting phrase. What does it mean to follow one’s own nature? When is it wrong to do so?”
Sasuke was a little taken aback by the sudden foray into philosophy, but he was relieved Kakashi wasn’t prying, whatever form that took. Perhaps he had sensed Sasuke’s discomfort. The man was often incredibly considerate when it was important. “I think conventional morality would call it wrong to do so if it benefits only yourself and harms everyone else,” was his response. Sasuke had long stopped looking at ‘conventional morality’ for guidance when making his decisions, however. The nature of his profession necessitated the breaking of many of those moral strictures in the first place, and it was hard to respect them when his own brother had killed his entire family in front of him when he was seven years old, shattering any preconceptions he had had about the world being a kind or fair place.
“The shinobi code would say it’s right only if it benefits the mission, or the wellbeing of the village,” Kakashi commented idly. His gaze on Sasuke was analytical. “But what would you say?”
Sasuke smiled thinly. “That it doesn’t matter if it’s right or wrong.” He was profoundly curious as to how Kakashi was interpreting this discussion. It felt buried under a thick layer of metaphor. Still, “In the end, humans are animals. We’re designed to follow certain impulses. The system of laws and rules we created was made to curb them.”
“A novel perspective,” Kakashi said ambiguously. “I’ve heard it from missing nin; less commonly from Konoha shinobi.” He laughed faintly. “But I’m not surprised to hear it from you.”
Sasuke was stuck, however, on Kakashi’s second sentence. “Do you have…philosophical discussions with the missing nin you hunt down?” he demanded, astounded. It was bizarre, but so uniquely Kakashi.
“On occasion,” Kakashi replied in a laughing tone, resting his cheek on one fist, elbow propped onto the table. “They don’t always need encouragement.”
“Only you,” Sasuke scoffed, though with a layer of fondness. “Well? What do you think? You haven’t said.” Secretly, he was quite curious. He could make a guess or two, but Kakashi had a way of surprising him.
“I think…” Kakashi began slowly, eyes distant. “…it depends on what, or who, you’re prioritizing.”
“That’s hardly an answer,” Sasuke accused, frustrated. Moral relativism was worse than no answer at all!
“But it’s mine,” Kakashi said, shrugging one shoulder. “If you’re prioritizing the preservation and approval of the society around you, in whatever particular situation you’re in, and following your nature goes against society’s spoken or unspoken rules, then it is wrong. If you’re prioritizing one person you deeply care about, and following your nature would harm them, then it is wrong. On the other hand, if you care the most about—”
“But what do you care the most about?” Sasuke interrupted sharply. So far, Kakashi’s reply hadn’t revealed anything about himself, except that he liked to talk in circles. Mindless of the latening hour, the moon’s position in the dark sky outside the window, Sasuke scrutinized Kakashi for honesty.
A slightly unguarded, vulnerable look crossed Kakashi’s face. His eyes as they met Sasuke’s seemed to soften. Quietly, with a certain degree of gentleness that usually wasn’t there, he said, “I care about…” He stopped, and the moment passed, his face closing abruptly. “What I care about depends on the situation,” he eventually answered.
Sasuke threw his hand in the air from sheer frustration. This man! A tiny sliver of Sasuke had thought, for one second, that Kakashi was going to say, “…you.” I care about you. But maybe that was wishful thinking on Sasuke’s part. “Yamanakas must hate you,” he bit out angrily.
Kakashi laughed, countenance relaxing. “They have been known to express similar sentiments.”
Sasuke didn’t reply, letting the silence sit between them. He took in Kakashi’s image, frustrated, but his heart was warm. He couldn’t find it in himself to be truly upset at the evasiveness—a quality that had characterized the man since Sasuke’s genin days. Kakashi seemed to examine him in reutrn. Who knew what he was thinking?
Sasuke’s eyes kept returning to the forehead protector slung, crooked, over Kakashi’s sharingan eye. He felt a compelling, almost perverse, urge to see the eye. See the scar.
“What are you thinking?” Kakashi questioned in a low, almost inaudible voice.
Sasuke considered telling the truth, versus dissimulating. In the end, something—maybe the drinks he had consumed, maybe that moment he’d felt sure Kakashi had been about to say “you”, maybe the soft, almost beckoning look in Kakashi’s eye—swung him in favor of the former course of action. “Could I see your eye?” he asked, near tonelessly. Surprisingly, he didn’t feel nervous. A different emotion bubbled in his stomach as he processed the slightly suppressed expression on Kakashi’s face.
“Okay,” Kakashi said. And for some reason, Sasuke was not shocked by Kakashi’s easy acquiescence. He had expected it.
Sasuke moved closer, until he was sitting directly next to Kakashi, within arms’ reach. Kakashi turned so that they were face to face, one hand remaining on the table, the other in his lap. He made no move to shift the plated fabric covering his eye, but he seemed almost expectant.
Sasuke drew himself to his knees to have some height over Kakashi, and, slowly, he reached out a hand. His fingers caught the edge of the fabric and drew it upwards, unveiling the sight of three swirling tomoe. In the dimness of the warm, lamp-lit room, the red of the sharingan glowed faintly, movement hypnotic. The raised, slightly pink scar that began above Kakashi’s eyebrow and ended somewhere down his cheek contrasted with the ghastly, otherwordly beauty of the sharingan, a reminder of the identity of the bearer. In the silence of the room, music having been abandoned after they reached the end of the one record, as close as he was to him, Sasuke could hear the quiet sounds of Kakashi’s even breaths. His hand, surprisingly still and in-control despite the trembling of his heart, slipped down to be level with the scar. He traced the path the blade had made with his index finger, imagining the depth and force that had been necessary to leave behind such a distinct scar. This close, he could see the faint purple beneath Kakashi’s eyes. He could see the dilation of his other pupil. He could see the way the man shut his eyes for a beat longer than was natural, and the faint purse of his pale, thin lips.
“It must have hurt,” Sasuke whispered, almost cruelly.
“Yes,” Kakashi said in reply, just as quietly, response immediate.
“Did it bleed a lot?” Sasuke asked, finger paused on the soft flesh directly beneath Kakashi’s eye.
“It did,” Kakashi said in a hoarse tone. He drew in a deep breath, then gently grabbed Sasuke’s wrist, pulling it away from his face, down. Sasuke let him, muscles loose. “But it healed,” Kakashi whispered.
Sasuke looked down at their clasped hands, finally breaking eye contact. “It healed,” he muttered, echoing Kakashi meaninglessly. He could feel the calluses on Kakashi’s fingers against his skin. Their hands were similar in size, but Kakashi’s were colder than his—perhaps due to Sasuke’s chakra nature. A current of electricity seemed to wind up Sasuke’s arm from the point of contact. All of a sudden, he didn’t feel so composed. Strands of his black hair brushed against the sides of his face, scalding, or at least it felt that way, like sand against a burn.
Though his eyes were downturned, Sasuke saw the motion of Kakashi’s free hand from his peripheral vision, bracing himself for he didn’t know what. The hand, rather than touching his skin, merely tucked the hair behind his ear, then returned to where it had come from.
Sasuke anticipated something similar might happen with the other—that it might pull away, warmth receding—so he wrenched his hand out of Kakashi’s clasp before Kakashi could do it first. Steeling his face, erasing any vulnerability that might have been there seconds before, he commented drily, “Of course, the eye still drains your reserves dry and strains your optic nerve.” He was repeating information he’d learned from Sakura, who had been trying to find a way to integrate the foreign eye with Kakashi’s non-Uchiha chakra system.
Kakashi stared at him blankly for a second, then nodded, shifting back slightly. “Yes, there is that,” he sighed, pushing his forehead protector back over his eye.
The atmosphere changed, returning to something more normal, and conversation became casual and prosaiac again. Still, something unnameable remained in the air between them, and when the clock finally struck a late enough hour that Sasuke felt it was time to leave, he thought there was a new current in Kakashi’s voice as he said, “Goodnight, Sasuke-kun.” And maybe there was in his own as well, when he returned the word, mouth inexplicably dry.
He left the apartment via the window and lept onto the nearest rooftop, heart still pounding faster than its resting rate. He took one slow step, feeling the warm, muggy night air embracing him, then quickened his pace. A mixture of fierce, contrasting emotions gave extra energy to each flare of chakra as he utilized the Body Flicker technique.
He may have been too stuck in his own head to see it before, if it had been there, but now he could say, and believe it, that there was something between them. It wasn’t just Sasuke. He couldn’t forget the way Kakashi had looked up at him, eyes half-lidded, pupils dilating, as Sasuke touched the scar bisecting his eye. The way his head had tilted and his lips had parted slightly.
Those had not been platonic thoughts in his eyes.
[Note: This is how I envision the two of them in this fanfiction.]
https://www.pinterest.com/pin/34762228369042642/ https://www.pinterest.com/pin/89509111338012593/