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It takes almost twenty years for them to kiss, and even then, it is entirely by accident.
There’s a quietness offered in Tenzō’s home that is largely by design. While the Hokage’s residence acts as the focal point of the village, surrounded on all sides by the ever-expanding population of Konohagakure, Tenzō’s house remains on the edge of the forest, abiding by the village’s moniker of hidden in the leaves. For one reason or another, Kakashi’s presence has become a regular occurrence here, perhaps drawn by the opportunity for stillness, without advisor or ANBU guard in tow. There are no expectations as the two sit beside one another, reading silently.
“It’s getting late,” notes Tenzō, when the sun has long since set, and they rely on the lamp at Kakashi’s side to keep their light. “Will you be heading home, or shall I grab the futon?”
Kakashi shifts, but doesn’t make an earnest attempt to get up, revealing his fatigue. “I can leave if you’d like,” he offers.
Tenzō smiles, closing his book. “You know you’re welcome here.”
“In that case, I wouldn’t mind sleeping on the couch,” replies Kakashi. Spending nights together, too, has become a habit. There are enough years and shared missions between them that it feels quite natural to sleep in the same place.
Tenzō nods. “I’ll get you some bedding,” he says, without Kakashi needing to ask.
It’s late enough in the season that the blanket is probably unnecessary, but even so Tenzō rises to retrieve it. He likes to offer what few comforts he can. Kakashi isn’t under the illusion that he’s imposing, but regardless he tries to make his company as unassuming as possible. So it falls to Tenzō to anticipate what isn’t said.
He has far more blankets than he needs, for a man living alone. That is also largely by design. There’s never been any words exchanged about their team visiting, yet they’ve all found their way here over the years, both individually and with each other.
Still, by far, Kakashi is his most steady company, as he always has been. It’s something he’d barely considered before the war, having something to come home to after missions. He finds he likes it.
In the few minutes it takes Tenzō to gather the linens, Kakashi has already stretched out on the couch, breathing deeply. He has set his flak jacket down beside him, but appears to have forgotten his hitai-ate, the headband still tugging his ludicrous silver hair upward.
With a fond sigh, Tenzō drapes the blanket over Kakashi and goes to remove the hitai-ate himself. The other man will wake up with a headache if it pulls at his hair like that while he sleeps. He leans over Kakashi and gently tugs the cloth to the side to untie it.
Kakashi’s eyes open, half-lidded, when the knot begins to loosen. “Thank you,” he murmurs.
“Goodnight,” says Tenzō, sliding the headband over his hair.
“Goodnight,” says Kakashi, and leans up enough to let his masked lips press against Tenzō’s.
And then, suddenly, they are both awake. Tenzō draws back, and Kakashi sits up. They stare at each other, wide-eyed, before Kakashi quickly says, “Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”
Tenzō feels his eyes get wider. “Your instinct was to kiss me when you weren’t thinking?” he asks.
Kakashi doesn’t have an answer to this. Anyone else might have looked like more comical, with their mouth opening and closing like that, but the mask makes it hard to discern what exact expression he is making. In absence of words, he shrugs, looking at the blanket on his lap as if it might have the answer to his social deficiencies.
Because his own brain has fled the village entirely, Tenzō breaks the silence to say, “I wanted to kiss you too.”
Kakashi looks up. “Just now?”
“Whenever,” says Tenzō, with his own shrug. He wonders if it’s too honest an answer, but it’s there now, filling the space in the too-warm room.
“I see,” says Kakashi, in a quiet voice which sounds as though he does not see at all.
Tenzō wonders how they’ve gotten through this many years of shared time for them to become so inarticulate in the span of three seconds. He sits down beside Kakashi again. Tenzō stares at his hands, and then at Kakashi, when it becomes clear the other man is going to continue to look at him.
“Sorry,” says Tenzō, because he doesn’t have anything else to offer.
Kakashi takes a deep breath, and Tenzō finds himself doing the same. It feels oddly reminiscent of being in ANBU together, and steeling themselves to make a move. He doesn’t know whether they’re aiming for an engagement or a tactical retreat.
“When you say ‘whenever,’” begins Kakashi slowly, “What is that you mean?”
His heart speeds up a little, but his trust overrides his nerves. “Then,” admits Tenzō. With a little hesitance, he adds, “After.”
“Then. Before the war,” Kakashi says, and it’s not a question. It’s the strongest benchmark they’ve had in the past few years.
Though this isn’t the full truth of it, Tenzō nods. “Not always,” he clarifies. “Just... sometimes. It’s... there, in the background, if I were to think about it.”
“Do you think about it?” asks Kakashi. When Tenzō doesn’t answer right away, he responds to his own question. Running a hand through his hair, he tells the other, “I’ve thought about it. But we’re...”
“Friends?” says Tenzō with half a smile. There’s a tinge of amusement in his voice as he continues. “Old? Troubled? Too wrapped up in being shinobi?”
Kakashi chuckles. “Something like that.”
Tenzō nods, because he can’t deny any charge. He’s younger than Kakashi, who’s not so aged himself, but they’ve both witnessed two wars, decades of hardship, and their team growing to have families of their own. It’s hard not to be feel old these days. “Probably would’ve made more sense if we tried it earlier,” he says thoughtfully.
“I’m not sure if I would’ve been ready for it,” Kakashi says quietly.
Tenzō raises his eyebrows. “Were you ready just now?” he asks.
The question surprises Kakashi, but he takes his time to search for words. “I don’t like change,” he says finally. There’s embarrassment, but it’s tapered by familiarity. “I suppose I can’t say I’ve ever been ready for new things. Even if I’ve thought about them at length.”
The phrasing draws out some warmth in Tenzō, but he holds it, just as he’s held it in the whenevers of his life. “You don’t have to change anything tonight,” says Tenzō gently, reaching out a hand to place it on his friend’s.
Kakashi laughs again, low and soft. “I think I already have.” He turns his palm upwards under Tenzō’s fingers. “But you’re not so new, are you?”
The warmth returns in earnest. “No, we’ve established that we’re both old,” says Tenzō, not solemn enough to hide the teasing. “Far past our ‘best before’ date.”
“Decrepit,” returns Kakashi.
“Gray,” Tenzō says, moving his free hand to pat Kakashi’s hair. “It’s nearly time for us to hand things over to the next generation.”
“Too old, probably, to keep beating around the bush,” says Kakashi, leaning into the touch with crinkled eyes. “I’m going to kiss you again, Tenzō.”
And he does, with his mask down this time, skin flushed either from the barrier or from the contact. It’s the clumsy sort of kiss that comes from something so long-anticipated it forgets to be hesitant. It’s tongues and teeth and even a bit of laughter, when they lean too far forward and almost pitch themselves off the couch. Kakashi solves the problem by laying down again. Tenzō follows in a mess of blanket and tangled limbs and well-known hands.
They’re kissing, and though it’s heat and desire and eagerness, it’s also peace. Tenzō’s lips turn up at the corners. Maybe Kakashi can feel it, because his own do the same.
“I should’ve quit thinking a long time ago,” groans Kakashi.
The kiss doesn’t last, because Tenzō has to pull away to laugh into Kakashi’s shoulder. His shoulders shake silently as Kakashi’s indignant hands try to coax him upward again. It takes him several moments to catch his breath. When he does, he turns his gaze back to the man beneath him. But then Kakashi says, “It’s rude to laugh at someone when they’re kissing you,” and that sets him off all over again.
“I can’t help it,” says Tenzō, in between chuckles. He raises a hand to Kakashi’s cheek. Offering a kiss that’s mostly obstructed by his grin, he says, “Try not to think about it.”
Kakashi cracks up at that. Unlike Tenzō’s quiet laughter, it’s obnoxious and abrupt and completely undignified. It’s been a while since he’s heard Kakashi laugh like this. He’s gotten better at hiding his absurd noises of amusement while he holds the title of Hokage. The slip-up is a welcome one.
“We’re strange,” says Kakashi, when he manages to regain his voice.
“Don’t drag me into it. You’re strange,” counters Tenzō.
A thumb prods at Tenzō’s lip almost like an admonishment. “Not what I meant,” Kakashi says lightly. “What you said before was true. We’re friends, and we’ve had a long and tiring past. This should be more difficult.”
Tenzō considers the statement, and leans his forehead against Kakashi’s. “I think things have been difficult enough for us, don’t you?”
Kakashi closes his eyes. He doesn’t answer, but he slides a hand into Tenzō’s hair and sighs. This gesture, too, feels easy. Natural. There are many things that could hold them aloft from one another, but the years have worn those burdens down, and left them with the something they have now. New and intoxicating. Old and comforting.
They are friends, thinks Tenzō. And that makes a difference. Because in spite of his earlier nerves, he isn’t worried about what follows. He trusts Kakashi. His heart is of Konohagakure, and there is no one who knows its rhythm better.
“We’re strange,” says Kakashi again, smiling. “But I’m happy,” he adds, like it’s the simplest thing in the world. It’s almost another sigh, uttered absentmindedly as his hand threads through dark hair. His eyes are still shut.
“I’m glad,” Tenzō tells him.
He moves to kiss Kakashi again, but their lips are barely touching before Kakashi yawns against his mouth. Tenzō splutters, laughing again. “I think I should be offended,” he says, amused.
Bleary eyes finally opening, Kakashi murmurs, “In my defense, I was already half-asleep when all of this started.”
“That doesn’t help your case,” says Tenzō, but he smiles as he moves to settle against Kakashi on the cramped couch.
“You’re going to sleep right there?” asks Kakashi, still moving his fingers slowly against Tenzō’s scalp. At his companion’s nod, he adds, “We’re going to have sore backs in the morning.” He doesn’t sound particularly put-out about it.
Nevertheless, Tenzō delivers his rebuttal against Kakashi’s collarbone, closing his eyes. “I’m sure you’ll get over it.”