Work Text:
“Yamato, another drink?” Genma asked, gesturing towards the fridge as he approached it. It took Tenzō a moment to realize he was being spoken to. It wouldn’t be so hard to remember “Yamato” if Kakashi didn’t refuse to adopt the new name, constantly calling him “Tenzō” and crossing his wires.
He shook his head. “I’m alright, thanks.”
“Come on ,” Anko insisted, leaning across the couch to invade his personal space. “You’ve been nursing that one all night. Let loose, won’t you?!”
Tenzō smiled politely at her. With the flush on her cheeks and the way her words were slurring together, certainly no one could accuse her of nursing her drinks.
Truth be told, Tenzō had no idea how to ‘let loose’. It hadn’t been until recently that he’d even attended his first Jōnin party. He had been shocked to learn how rowdy this group of elite ninja could get. It wasn’t the type of behavior that would be tolerated in ANBU, even off the clock.
But ever since he’d been assigned to captain (and eventually co-captain) Team Seven, Kakashi had been steadily bringing him into the fold, at first dragging him along to lunches and eventually pushing him through Asuma’s front door for what was apparently a monthly get together.
This was his third time at one of these Jōnin social events, this time on his own because Kakashi was out on a mission, though had still insisted that Tenzō attend. While he liked the company, he could never quite get comfortable in an environment like this. Alcohol flowing freely, loud cursing, smoking, and altogether too much physical touching, in his opinion. Especially tonight, without Kakashi, Tenzō felt like a fish out of water.
Kakashi was virtually the only person that Tenzō could be himself around. Kakashi had known him since he was just a kid and had no expectations for how he should act. With anyone else, Tenzō couldn’t help but be self-conscious about his social skills. He’d been out of Root for more than a decade, but some of those nuances in facial expressions or body language that seemed to be so obvious to others still eluded him on occasion. He was always nervous about saying the wrong thing or upsetting someone.
He’d learned his lesson, too, about relying on alcohol to loosen his tongue after he’d woken up one morning with a headache and fuzzy memories of ranting belligerently about Kakashi to Asuma. From then on, he’d stuck to just one drink, which put him firmly within the minority of the party goers.
“Yeah,” Genma agreed, returning from the fridge with a fresh beer in hand. “‘Kakashi-senpai’ isn’t here so now’s your chance to let your hair down,” he leaned over the back of the couch, dropping a hand on top of Tenzō’s head and ruffling his hair, “figuratively speaking, that is.”
Tenzō frowned at the teasing, even though he knew it was meant in good fun.
“Ooh, yes!” Anko agreed, reaching out clumsily to grasp Tenzō’s forearm. “Tell us about Konoha’s Sharingan Kakashi!!”
Tenzō blanched. They didn’t really think he was going to start divulging Kakashi’s secrets, did they? He was already shaking his head when Kurenai spoke up from across the living room.
“Have you seen his face?” she asked curiously.
“Of course he’s seen his face!” Anko replied for him. “They’re fucking!”
Tenzō grimaced at how vulgarly she had put it. He wasn’t one for flowery language but he didn’t like to hear his relationship with Kakashi described in such a reductive way.
“Anko, you’re upsetting him!” Kurenai exclaimed, walking towards them and taking the seat on Tenzō’s other side. “Sorry about her, Yamato. She’s drunk.”
“We’re all drunk,” Anko muttered indignantly.
“Still, it must be nice, right?” Kurenai said encouragingly, a soft smile on her lips. “To be the only person Kakashi lets see him without his mask?”
Tenzō wasn’t sure how to respond to that. Of course it was nice to see Kakashi’s face, but it wasn’t as simple as that.
“Later,” Kakashi said, gently pushing Tenzō’s hand away from where it had been, index finger hooked under his mask.
Tenzō faltered, suddenly unsure of himself. It had been three weeks since he and Kakashi had breached the boundary between friends and lovers. It had been Kakashi who had made the first move, shocking Tenzō by pulling down his mask abruptly one night when Tenzō was over for drinks. Tenzō had only had a second to look before Kakashi’s lips were on his and he was too close for Tenzō’s eyes to focus on.
Tenzō thought he’d been granted access, then, as in the following days, Kakashi had frequently bared his face to Tenzō, and, in time, Tenzō had even gotten comfortable removing it himself, as long as they were in private, whenever the temptation struck him to taste Kakashi’s lips. Which, admittedly, was often.
Perhaps he’d gotten too bold before understanding all of the rules, though, because this was a clear rejection from Kakashi. Tenzō sat back, trying to control his anxiety before it got out of hand. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kakashi return to his copy of Icha Icha. Tenzō pretended to do the same with the book in front of him, but even though his eyes were glued to the pages, they weren’t reading.
What was different? What had he done wrong?
They were in Tenzō’s apartment for a change, relaxing idly on the couch, Tenzō sitting upright and Kakashi lounging sideways with his legs across Tenzō’s lap. They’d been in a comfortable silence for a few hours, Tenzō intermittently running hand along Kakashi’s calf affectionately. Tenzō couldn’t think of why a kiss would be unwelcome now.
He didn’t press the issue, though. Obviously it was Kakashi’s prerogative to refuse a kiss if he wanted to. Tenzō just hoped it hadn’t been something he had done.
They stayed like that a few hours more, relishing in a rare, quiet Sunday where they could be still enough to witness the shadows slowly envelop the room as the sun relinquished the sky to the moon. Quiet enough for the rasp of turning book pages to sound like a whispered conversation between lovers.
Tenzō’s eyes were straining in the dark by the time he realized how late it had gotten. He shifted underneath Kakashi, preparing to rise to flip on a light. Before he could displace Kakashi’s legs, though, the older man had lent forward, one hand catching Tenzō’s jaw and the other finally peeling down his mask, allowing their lips to touch.
Tenzō sunk into the kiss, relief easing its way into his bones and freeing up lung capacity. He kissed Kakashi back slowly, promising to himself that he’d learn any rules he needed to in order to be able to continue to kiss this man.
When they parted, Tenzō didn’t have to ask the question that was pressing at the inside of his lips. Kakashi, as always, was one step ahead.
“It’s the mirror,” he said, hand trailing its way down from Tenzō’s cheek to his neck.
“The mirror?” Tenzō asked, eyebrows drawing together.
Kakashi gestured to the far side of the room, where a small, round mirror hung on Tenzō’s wall. It was decorative. Just something he’d liked the look of at a local market.
“I don’t mind if you see me,” Kakashi explained, “But I don’t want to see me.”
Kakashi said the words easily but they didn’t settle like they should have, instead hanging suspended in the air like dust particles, thick enough to choke anyone who breathed them in. Kakashi’s fingers continued to caress him lightly as they journeyed down his neck, stopping to pet softly at Tenzō’s stiff shoulders.
“Kakashi…” Tenzō breathed, searching for the right way to respond to a statement like this.
“When I was a kid,” Kakashi’s hushed voice absolved him of his obligation to respond, “my dad would always say how much I looked like my mom.”
The walls of Tenzō’s apartment were closer together in the dark. The couch was smaller and Kakashi’s breath warmer as he shifted forward, resting his head on Tenzō’s shoulder.
“But he always cried when he said it. Sometimes I’d see his face crumple just from looking at me... Things were better once I started covering my face up. He didn’t want to see her, even if he remembered her fondly.”
The lump in Tenzō’s throat was painful as he swallowed around it, wrapping his arms around Kakashi but not interrupting his testimony.
“I know he did what he did because of what happened on that mission, but I can’t help thinking that maybe if he’d had someone to talk to...maybe if my mom hadn’t died during childbirth…” Kakashi trailed off, fingers stilling on Tenzō’s bicep. “I don’t want to see her either.”
So of course Tenzō was proud to be the only one trusted enough to see Kakashi’s face, but the trust came with a sadness Tenzō could sometimes barely contend with. To stare at the handsome face of his lover and know the other man couldn’t even bear to look at his own reflection was a painful thing.
“Yeah,” he finally responded lamely, both unable and unwilling to explain the nuance Kurenai’s question had missed so completely.
“Forget his face,” Asuma said, joining in on the conversation after having spent most of it thus far sitting back in an armchair, a cigarette between his lips. “What about the missions? Kakashi gets the coolest missions outside of ANBU. I want to know what stories he has.”
“The details of S-rank missions are classified,” Shibi spoke up from where he stood, leaning against the entryway to some hallway. Tenzō hadn’t even noticed that the man was there until now. In fact, he was surprised to see him at an event like this at all. Did every Jōnin really enjoy nights like this?
Asuma was waving a hand dismissively at Shibi. “Yeah, yeah, but everyone talks to their significant other, right?”
“No,” came Shibi’s immediate response, but it was ignored by Asuma.
Tenzō found himself almost wishing that Gai were here tonight. Though he found the man’s personality to be a bit overwhelming, he could usually count on him to keep the mood light and, in a scenario like this, Tenzō could have used an ally in protecting Kakashi’s privacy. Unfortunately, though, Konoha’s Blue Beast had a mission of his own, so Tenzō was out of luck.
Tenzō caught the glint of Genma’s senbon as the man leaned even further over the back of the couch. With him perched just to Tenzō’s left, Anko all but lying in his lap, and Kurenai seated to his right, Tenzō was starting to feel like this was more of an interrogation than a friendly conversation.
“Good point,” Genma agreed. “Give us the deets, Yam.”
Tenzō found himself shaking his head. “We don’t discuss missions. Like Shibi said; they’re classified.”
“Uughh, what is the point,” Anko lamented, finally falling fully so that her head was resting on Tenzō’s legs as she stared up at him, “of dating Hatake Kakashi if you don’t even get to hear about all of the cool missions!”
“I’m getting you another beer,” Genma declared, pushing up off the back of the couch and making his way towards the kitchen.
Tenzō hoped that after two unsatisfactory answers, the conversation would take a turn to another topic. He didn’t enjoy being the center of attention, especially not when his responses kept disappointing his peers. But he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know how to explain that it wasn’t like what they were imagining. There was no way to tell these people that they didn’t really know Kakashi.
Tenzō’s cheek was pressing into the unyielding surface of the living room wall. There was one hand fisted in his hair and another gripping the kunai pressing into the delicate flesh of his throat. He heard the hardwood floors creak as the man behind him shifted his weight forward threateningly.
“Kakashi,” Tenzō said calmly, voice muffled partially by the wall. “It’s me,”
There was no response from the man behind him. Just labored breathing. Tenzō lifted one hand slowly, palm open. He felt the pressure of the blade increase, the fingers in his hair pull tighter.
“I’m unarmed,” he said, holding his empty hand where Kakashi could see it before lifting it higher, placing it gently on top of the one Kakashi had on his head. “Let go. It’s okay.”
A strangled sound escaped Kakashi’s throat, as though he were physically struggling against his instincts. The kunai’s blade, for just a fraction of a second, pressed tighter, slicing open Tenzō’s skin the smallest amount, and he worried for a moment that instinct had won. But then, all at once, Kakashi released him, knife falling with a clatter to the floor. Tenzō turned to see him take several shaky steps backwards.
Kakashi was hardly recognizable to him this way. Home from a mission twelve days later than anticipated. Long enough for Tenzō to have started sleeping in his apartment, not wanting to miss his return.
Hair usually silver and springy fell limp over his headband and in front of his eyes, caked with mud and undoubtedly blood. His visible eye was bloodshot, a heavy bag underneath it indicating many nights’ lost sleep. His skin was pallid, almost translucent. He looked gaunt. The rest of his body was a tattered constellation of ripped clothing, lacerations, bloodstains, and burns. Torn pages from a book that, if reassembled, would tell a gruesome story, Tenzō was sure.
“Tenzō,” Kakashi said in recognition, and Tenzō heard the tremor in his voice.
“Welcome back,” Tenzō offered softly.
Kakashi crumpled at the words, dropping to his knees on the floor, a shaking mess.
“Drink,” Genma demanded, thrusting an open bottle under Tenzō’s nose. “And we’ll stop asking questions. Fair?”
“ Genma,” Kurenai admonished, but Tenzō was more than prepared to accept this deal.
“Fair,” he agreed, taking a swig. Anything to extricate himself from this uncomfortable conversation.
-
Two hours later, the alcohol had reframed the party for Tenzō, generously easing away tension, improving the entertainment value of Shibi’s stories, bringing out the pleasant qualities of Anko’s weight on him, and generally giving everything and everyone in the room a bit of a shine.
Tenzō was enjoying himself, now. Being out of the spotlight and a few beers deep was allowing him to simply relax and enjoy the company of his fellow shinobi, something he’d thus far not been able to accomplish. The camaraderie felt nice. Tenzō supposed that this was what Kakashi had wanted for him. Why he had kept insisting that he attend social events.
Kakashi always knew what was best for him, it seemed. Tenzō couldn’t think of a single positive turn in his life that hadn’t been somehow orchestrated by Kakashi. Truth be told, it sometimes made him feel guilty. Just because he’d risen through the ANBU ranks with Kakashi as his superior, he didn’t want their relationship to be one-sided, especially not now that it had turned romantic.
But Tenzō was still grappling with everything he’d learned about Kakashi. With how much he’d opened up in his own way. With how much new there was to learn about someone he’d known almost his whole life.
“You took down the mirror,” Kakashi remarked. It had taken him fewer than thirty seconds to notice the change upon entering Tenzō’s apartment.
“I did,” Tenzō agreed.
“You didn’t have to do that,” Kakashi said, eyebrows creasing together.
“I wanted to,” Tenzō insisted. “I want you to be comfortable here.”
It wasn’t until an hour or so after dinner, with many conversations in between, that Kakashi responded to Tenzō’s statement.
“I am comfortable here. With you.” Kakashi’s words precipitated out like like raindrops from a cloudburst, falling quick and heavy, drenching Tenzō’s heart in just a few short seconds.
They were leant over the railing just outside Tenzō’s second floor apartment, enjoying what was likely to be one of the last warm summer evenings of the season. Cool breezes had been slithering through Konoha lately, coaxing weaker leaves off tree branches and hushing persistent crickets. Tenzō was sure a cold snap was coming, but they could relish these balmy september evenings while they lasted.
“I’m glad,” Tenzō said, but it didn’t seem to measure up to Kakashi’s declaration.
“You seem nervous,” Kakashi said, directing his observation out into the blackness beyond the railing.
Tenzō bit his lip. “It scares me, a little,” he admitted, scrutinizing Kakashi’s profile for a reaction. “You’re trusting me with a lot. I don’t want to mess it up.”
“You won’t,” Kakashi replied immediately, and Tenzō saw the corner of his eye crinkle. It made Tenzō’s nerves settle some, but not entirely.
“How can you be sure?” he asked.
“Have I been wrong before?” Kakashi countered, turning to face him.
Tenzō thought for a moment, looking at Kakashi and seeing the man who’d rescued him. The man he’d follow into any battle. The man he loved.
“No,” he said finally, with a small laugh.
“That’s what I thought.”
It was late, and while there were still several in the room who showed no sign of slowing down anytime soon, Tenzō knew it was time for him to go. He’d had plenty to drink and didn’t want to risk getting sloppy.
As he rose from his seat on the couch, a chorus of ‘boo’s erupted making his cheeks turn even pinker than they already were from the alcohol. Tenzō had to admit it felt nice to be wanted. As he made his way to the front door he felt triumphant. He’d survived his first solo Jōnin party and had maybe even ignited a few sparks that could one day forge friendships.
“Wait, Yamato!” Anko called out after him as he opened the door. “Just tell us one thing about Kakashi before you leave! Just one thing! Anything!”
From her position sprawled on the couch she looked like a mischievous cat to Tenzō. Everyone else in the room turned to watch for his reaction, some swaying slightly where they stood. Tenzō stared at them. These people didn’t know Kakashi like he did. They probably never would. But they cared. And they were Kakashi’s friends. And, maybe, they could be Tenzō’s friends, too.
They deserved something , at least. And the alcohol was doing its job after all.
“He’s very good in bed,” Tenzō said quickly, slamming the door closed behind him, muffling Anko’s delighted scream and a cacophony of shocked shouts and coughs.
Tenzō was sure he wouldn’t need an invite from Kakashi to attend the next party.