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It had been a month.
Thrown across the sofa was Tenzo’s jacket, weathered and torn, a sewing kit half opened on the dining table. Kakashi lifted a brow, pushing at the spools of thread. When did he have a sewing kit? He should have had one. Now he had one.
He looked up. The walls didn’t feel so cold. A couple of pictures were pinned to a cork board. Photos of Team 7, of their time at the Academy, one of Obito, Rin and Kakashi, that didn’t feel real, and one of them at one of Tenzo’s birthdays. He had the rare pleasure of picking his birthday, the memory of it lost along with nearly everything else that had made him. Kakashi used to envy him sometimes for the loss of self. He used to spend days wishing to forget. But then Tenzo came along, wanting to know.
Another picture pinned next to their blushing, drunk faces was one of Team Ro. Kakashi touched the photo, tracing the lines of his mask. He sometimes felt the lines etched into his face as clearly as the scar across his eye. Did Tenzo ever feel them too? Another photo, recent, sat at the top titled “ Moving day ” with them both opening the door together.
Memories old, and to be made.
What else had Tenzo brought with him?
Counters weren’t just for one, but for two. Both seats at the table got used everyday. And like now, the shower ran when Kakashi wasn’t in it. Tenzo liked long showers, the steam slowly stretching out through the ajar door. The electricity bill had shot up since he’d moved in, but spread across the kitchen counter Kakashi noticed a list, several words underlined. Joint account. My name on lease. Spare keys. Gifts for the neighbours. New carpet. Kakashi smiled, tracing Tenzo’s elegant handwriting. . Did Kakashi even know the names of the neighbours?
He pushed off the counter and knelt beside the bookshelf, Tenzo’s additions precariously stacked. The bookshelf was one thing here that Kakashi had filled. Reading, was escape. It was comfort. It was laughter, it was love. It reminded him a lot of Tenzo. Drawing his fingers along the spines, he began to tidy. Did Tenzo like it alphabetical by author, sub categorised by genre? Or something simple like alphabetical by title. No. Ridiculous. He smiled, seeing the look on his face at the suggestion.
Kakashi pulled down a handful of Tenzo’s books into his lap. ‘ The Land Of Earth’s Defining Architecture post Third War ’; ‘ Sand and Sun - the Beauty of the Hidden Desert’s Homes ’; ‘ Hashirama - First Hokage, but Also Prodigy Architect? ’. He smiled, remembering seeing the second one at Tenzo’s old place one night by his bed, bookmarked with a sock. Piling a few more of Tenzo’s additions onto his lap, Kakashi stared at his collection, the bright red warning signs on most of the spines making an odd, disjointed pattern.
He thumbed the cover of ‘ Sand and Sun ’, remembering seeing it more than once at Tenzo’s side. He pulled out one of his eroticas. Then another. He loosened the cover of the one in hand ‘ Pillars of Pleasure - an illustrated tale of lovers separated, then united ’ - probably the filthiest one he owned - and with a wry smile, pulled off the cover of ‘ Sand and Sun ’ and switched them. Taking another erotica, he did the same, and again, and again.
“What’s for dinner? I was thinking something with beef? Kurenai got us that new griddle. I’d like to try it out.”
The door opened. Kakashi quickly shelved what was in his lap, the bookcase shuddering as he slammed them back onto the shelf, the rest falling to the floor. A distraction. He needed a distraction.
“Uh. Why are you doing push-ups next to the bookcase?” asked Tenzo as he tied the towel around his waist, and turned to the list on the counter, scribbling a few notes at the bottom.
“Change of scenery.”
Tenzo blinked. “Right. I think you need an early night.”
It had been six weeks, two new photos on the board, and a second name on the lease.
Didn’t Tenzo read anymore? Kakashi leaned across the kitchen counter, ignoring his tea as he stared at Tenzo as he pottered around the room, bowl of cereal in one hand, his list in the other.
“Did you even paint these walls when you moved in?” asked Tenzo as he ran the back of his hand down the grimy cream paint, chipped in places, marked in others.
“Ten, you know you’ve been coming to my place for years,” said Kakashi lazily.
“You could live in whatever mess you wanted to before. Now,” he paused, the list pointed toward Kakashi. “It’s our mess.”
“Old sentimental man.”
Tenzo snorted a laugh as he ate a mouthful of his cereal. “Says you,” he muffled through his breakfast.
Our mess.
He’d never really had ‘our’. Or, he had, but he never let it be. Since Obito, since Rin, our, had been scrubbed away. It wasn’t something that he wanted much of anymore. He existed as a singular with others. Because when it became ‘ours’, when it became ‘we’, it quickly became gone. Life as a sensei had softened his singularity, though. Did he have three kids to thank for his changing heart?
“Your tea is going cold and that’s the expensive stuff. Please drink it,” said Tenzo as he walked past, spooning another mouthful of cereal, his list pinned between two fingers.
It was cold and bitter, but Kakashi took a sip, watching Tenzo kneel down by the bookcase. Kakashi’s heart missed a beat as he waited expectantly, hiding behind his cup of tea. But his shoulders sagged as he watched Tenzo prod at the skirting board instead and mutter “Mouldy.”
“Fix it then,” he said, sipping his bitter tea, trying to not make a face.
“I’m still eating my cereal,” he said through another mouthful.
Kakashi smiled, watching him sit back onto the floor and eat, the list folded neatly onto his lap.
It had been almost nine weeks, a new carpet, he’d finally convinced Tenzo to have sex on the balcony, and he still hadn’t read a book.
A lazy afternoon, slow and hot, hung in the air. Every window open, nearly all clothes off. Kakashi sat on the kitchen counter, sewing together a hole in his favourite gloves. Tenzo told him to just buy new ones. Kakashi asked why did he bring the sewing kit then. Tenzo said to fix things other than ten year old gloves that smelled like feet. Kakashi sewed harder.
Tenzo moaned, lying across the sofa face first, arms dangling off the side. “A fan. Put it on the list.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Did you put it on the list.”
Kakashi continued to sew. “Yep.”
Tenzo moaned again, dragging himself off the sofa. The tv was off, the radio on, the low, comforting droll of the easy afternoon music hanging in the air with the heat. Kakashi had decided that the excitement of organisation, of list making and delegating jobs must have made Tenzo forget about his enjoyment of picking up a book. But now, he saw him kneel before the bookcase and reach up, fingers tapping over the spines as he looked.
Kakashi paused, needle poised, as he watched.
Not that one. Of course you want to read something new, or one of my books now. Oh - wait -
Half off, half on the counter, Kakashi saw him pick up ‘ Sand and Sun’ , or what he thought was ‘ Sand and Sun’, then drag it and him back to the sofa, sprawling his half naked form across the cushions again.
Needle still poised, Kakashi watched. And waited.
“Could you refill my water?” whined Tenzo from the sofa, dropping the book on his chest.
“Can’t you just make some?” Kakashi set down his glove, needle stuck into the leather, and footed to the sink.
“I’m not going to drink the water I make. That’s like - like drinking my sweat, or piss,” said Tenzo as he picked up the book, and opened it up on a random page. “What the-” Tenzo sat up with a start, holding the book out straight in-front. “That’s not a pillar.”
Kakashi bit his lip.
Tenzo tilted the book. “That’s a penis.”
He looked back at the bookshelf and rubbed his eyes. Was he dehydrated that bad that he picked up one of Kakashi’s porn novels? He snapped shut the book and stared at the cover, his finger tracing the words, his mouth echoing. No. He was right. He opened it again, this time at a very graphic depiction of a blow job. “Wow. That’s - that’s really well drawn. Look at the saliva. What am-wait- this was you. ”
Kakashi sipped at the water, trying hard to keep a straight face. “I didn’t tell you to pick up the dirtiest book on the shelf.”
“You switched the cover. Look!” he said, needlessly, as he pulled it off and waved it around, watching the small smile form Kakashi was trying to hide behind the glass and hand.
“I think you’re a little dehydrated,” he said before trying to take a sip. But in a second, the water was tipped over him, dampening his silver hair and dripping down his bare chest. Tenzo’s palm was open, his Mokuton stretched to Kakashi’s hand that he’d knocked, just enough, to spill.
“I think you’re a little wet.”
Kakashi shrugged and ran his hands over his hair. “Just what I needed. Thanks.”
A thin vine wrapped around Kakashi’s wrist, pulling him towards the sofa.
The book tumbled to the floor.