Chapter 14: in the rain

Toshiro is a bit like a bull, with Konoha being the china shop. Sometimes it's all Kakashi can do not to get swept away by the force of it all, to not drown in him. Kakashi feels odd. More than usual. It's as if his actual eye is a sharingan as well. The world is sharp and clear, the colors vivid — most days he actually gets out of bed without having to psych himself up. Not having to deal with the pressing, ugly weight of despair dragging his bones is…

New.

He's surrounded by energy. By people. There are children who flock to him, who preen under his casual compliments or smile when he ruffles their hair into a mess. There's dogs. A whole lot of dogs. Silence doesn't exist in the Hatake Compound. Strangely, he can't bring himself to care.

Kakashi never wondered about having a family. He'd convinced himself he never wanted one. The idea of children — his own flesh and blood — was both terrifying and appalling. He'd been content to let the Hatake line die with him, the last of a once fearsome Clan. The dog contract would fade into obscurity, the Alpha of the Realm stealing the scroll back so it never fell into anyone else's hands. They would work with the Hatake, or no one at all.

Now there's eight new Hatake children. Brimming with hope and pushing to reach for the light, to grow from the roots that had tried to choke the life from their little bodies. They're already better than him in every way, and he's….

Proud.

Even if he hasn't really done much.

You gave them a home. A purpose. A Clan.

Toshiro's voice echoes in his head, the words smokey and soft. Kakasho thinks he could listen to Toshiro talk all day, and he doesn't quite know what to make of that thought.

Kakashi once likened Toshiro's Will of Fire to an inferno, blazing ahead of all the little candle flickers in everyone else's chest.

Forget an inferno, Toshiro burns like a star.

Kakashi has felt lightning in his palms, has expelled fire from his lungs and dug into the earth to shatter bones. He's a weapon, a commander of the elements, the man of a thousand jutsu. Yet inside he's cold and dark and weakly hovering over the last embers of himself. He wants to soak in the brilliant beams of light Toshiro gives off. Wants to horde it for himself until he burns and swelters. Wants to swallow the sun if it means standing at Toshiro's side.

His head gets foggy sometimes, but a different kind of foggy. Not like the haze of depression and guilt he usually blinded himself with. The kind of foggy that has him tracking every one of Toshiro's movements through the house, following his nose and inhaling the familiar scent of mint and ink and rubbing alcohol. The kind of foggy that has him tearing his nails through his own palms to stop himself from — something. Doing something. He's filled with a wild sort of desperation that feels ill-suited to his character. It's embarrassing.

Kakashi has never wanted many things. Not really. He feels old and tired and, most of the time, very bitter — even though he doesn't show it. Twenty-four and he feels like he's lived a thousand lifetimes.

(Like he's snuffed a thousand lives. These hands of his, they're dirty.)

Toshiro falls asleep on the couch. He eats five peaches in one sitting then complains that they're out. He hasn't gotten rid of that rose printed blanket, even though it's apparently almost eight years old at this point and one of the corners is stained with ink. Toshiro hums when he does laundry. His skin turns rosy when they train, grows wet with exertion. He tells Kakashi 'Goodnight' and 'Welcome Home' and many other inane, minor things that are actually pretty big, aren't they? Otherwise Kakashi wouldn't be so caught up on them.

Kakashi doesn't know what he wants. His life is full, bursting to the brim — there's no time for despair when he's got so much to handle all at once, all the time. It's nice.

Feeling needed.

Also terrifying, because he wants none of these kids to end up like him. They can take his name, but never his pain. Through it all, Toshiro is there.

A supernova.

Odd, that such a force of nature would be so kind. Oh, Kakashi knows Toshiro can be angry. Toshiro's anger does not rage like the ferocious heat within him. No, his anger is the icy, deceptive kind. You don't notice unless you're looking for it. It's like a knife in the back. Serrated steel. A blade. Swift and devastating.

Kakashi doesn't know what he wants.

But he's finding that he likes coming home to a full house instead of a bare, silent one. He likes hearing the padding of little feet and paws across the hardwood, knowing something wonderful is growing in the house he'd left for dead. Revitalized, now. Kakashi likes the kids. He likes eating with Toshiro, talking with Toshiro.

He wants to press close enough to burn. Sometimes the desire is overwhelming and he has to get ahold of himself before doing something stupid. Kakashi has never, ever been a touchy person. Physical contact for him mostly happened during training or fighting for his life. Casual, soft touches of affection were foreign. A landmine. It made his skin crawl, but at least he was getting better. Apparently much better.

But only when it came to Toshiro.

Because he wants to slot himself within that blistering, endless explosion. Wants to take it for himself. It's a completely selfish and ridiculous thought. But he rereads the same page in Icha Icha five times before realizing he's been imagining Toshiro's name in place of one of the characters. His brain is stalling. Stalling. Stalling.

What would Toshiro sound like, if his legs were spread wide like the woman in the book? If he let Kakashi slot himself between them, let Kakashi bite at his skin; marking, claiming, promising. What would Toshiro look like, face down and cheek pressed to the pillow, one pink eye looking back at him hazily, his hair a wave of washed-out gold spun around his head like a watercolor painting? With Kakashi's hands on his body, forcing him further into the bed? Neck bared, skin bared —

Kakashi throws his book at the wall.

His skin burns with a heady, violent flush, scorching his insides and exposing his heart for the world. Scarred hands grip at his wiry, spiked locks and pull taut, until his skull aches and the force threatens to tear the hair from his scalp. The pain helps him breathe through the utter mortification that sweeps through him.

Reading Icha Icha is one thing, it helps him hold people at bay and contains a plot that's not terrible. (Jiraiya-sama is actually a decent writer, his stories are raunchy and laced with perversion, but the way he writes emotion is masterful.) Having sexual thoughts about his close friend? Kakashi has never, in his entire twenty-four years, gotten distracted by the body and attributes of someone. He'd thrown himself into blood and battle with a suicidal tenacity that left little room for anything else.

Pushing himself ahead of everyone so quickly had led him to missing out on more than he'd initially realized. Like a normal teenaged experience. His body had still reacted to the flush of testosterone and puberty hormones of course, leaving him with embarrassing dreams and adrenaline-boners. But that was it.

Never had it been brought about by a person.

For awhile he didn't think he….worked like that. People could be attractive, sure, but maybe the whole romance thing just wasn't for him. There was no want for people. Sexually. Emotionally. He didn't see the need to touch or be touched. Because there's no way he deserved it.

What a mess. He channels his inner Nara. No one taught him how to deal with this.

Toshiro slumps on the couch, tipping to the side with little grace. A seventeen hour shift at the hospital after a bad night's sleep has left him exhausted, a tension headache blooming behind his drooping gaze. As much as he adores the kids and wants to give them a normal childhood, he's relieved that they're all incredibly self-sufficient. It makes it a little easier for their overworked guardians to...well, work.

They're almost all out of the house now, likely hanging out with their friends or somewhere in the compound with their pup. Toshiro can only sense one person in the house, and that's Sai. It's not unusual, the boy has moments where he needs some time to himself.

His cheek presses into the arm of the couch and he shuts his eyes, blinking for only a moment —

He wakes.

There's a blanket on his body, his favorite rose printed one. There's a tuft of hair under his nose and a weight against his chest. Toshiro blinks, wondering when he got so comfortable here that being joined by a napping buddy didn't wake him. Bleary pink eyes peer down, noting the inky black hair and flashes of pale skin.

Sai breathes softly, tucked against Toshiro, half on him and half hanging off the edge of the couch. His white puppy — named Kenshin, if Toshiro wasn't mistaken — is curled awkwardly by Toshiro's knees.

"You were asleep for awhile." Sai whispers.

Toshiro brushes a hand over his tired eyes, "Sorry. What time is it?"

The shadows have elongated since his return, the sun low in the sky. The house remains quiet despite the obvious passage of time.

"Almost six. Ino told me that talking about your problems is the key to overcoming them."

He blinks, looking down at the boy pressed to his chest, little fist curled in his rumpled shirt. Sai doesn't make any attempt to look up, mouth level with Toshiro's thumping heart.

"That's probably the healthy thing to do." He replies slowly, "It's certainly helpful for most. It's hard to grow if you don't openly acknowledge that you have a problem to begin with." That was a problem most shinobi had. They refused to admit there was anything wrong even when they were hanging on by a single thread.

There's one long, quiet moment in which Toshiro feels Sai inhale deeply, "I named Kenshin after my brother."

The puppy snuffles against the back of Toshiro's knees.

"His name was Shin. He died for me, in Root."

Toshiro exhales, forehead creased with tension. Why did Danzo continue to haunt them all? There were quite a few choice words about the man floating around in his head, none of them appropriate for the current company. Sage, how could they have let that man get away with this for so long? How could Sandaime-sama let this happen?

"He was older than me, with hair the color of Kakashi-san's, but...bluer." Once the words start, they seem to rush out like pus from a wound. "Eyes as dark as mine. We weren't related by blood, but sometimes I pretended we were because of that. He was the only person I ever loved, before I knew what love was."

Toshiro raises a hand and presses it gently to the back of Sai's head, carding his fingers through silky black locks. Whatever manner of comfort he can give the boy — he'll do it in a heartbeat. "I'm sorry."

There isn't much else he can offer. He was sorry. Toshiro wasn't going to prod, so unless Sai revealed it on his own there was no telling how long ago Shin had...died. It didn't stop the surge of guilt at the thought that perhaps if Danzo had been exposed sooner there would be nine Hatake kids instead of eight. Possibly more.

"It's okay." Sai finally pulls away a little, and Toshiro's eyes widen upon seeing the faintest smile on the boy's pale lips. "I don't know what dead people feel, but I think he would be happy right now. I'm with you, and I have an older sister and six younger siblings. I have Naruto and Ino. I miss Shin. It hurts in my chest and I don't know how to explain it. I don't know a lot of things. But I do know that you're allowed to have more than one big brother." Pale fingers curl tighter around the bunch of fabric in his grip, face still bearing very little expression but his words genuine, "So I think it's okay now…. To call you Toshiro-nii and Kakashi-nii."

Toshiro feels his expression soften even further, hands pressing Sai close to his chest for a tight hug that the boy doesn't even try to squirm out of. "I'd like that very much."

They sit quietly for a moment. Content. The soft, failing rays of a setting sun warm against their skin. It'll snow soon, the weather cooling significantly as the season changes from fall to winter.

"Two of my back teeth fell out today." The boy suddenly informs, "I think we should have ice cream. I heard the temperature has soothing effects on sore mouths."

Toshiro huffs a laugh, "Sure, why not."

Konoha is vastly different from the village it had been just a few short years ago. The hospital is flourishing, the orphanages almost complete — and Sai had been bringing Aburame Shino around lately, which was great for the boy and for clan relations — Kakashi complained about Council Meetings yet still went diligently to each one, and Inoichi had begun mentioning the implementing of mandatory therapy. Toshiro had lit a spark and now it was up to others to fan the flames. Damn it all if he wasn't proud.

"Auntie! I don't like broccoli!" Touma whines, watching in dismay as Yukimura-sensei plops a helping of the green vegetable on his plate.

She smiles in bemusement, "Strong ninja need plenty of vegetables in their diet."

Family dinners.

What a weird thought. Toshiro thinks, even though it isn't anymore. The awkward am-I-allowed-to-have-it joy he'd felt in his chest when they'd first started this has shifted into a comfortable, familiar softness.

Their kitchen table is heavy with food, all made by Yukimura-sensei since both Toshiro and Kakashi remained relatively hopeless when it came to cooking. It wasn't often they were all free, and therefore moments like this held a special place in Toshiro's heart. The kids were sitting at the table, at the island, by the couch — spread around the open area, talking and laughing and being kids. Dogs tumbled underfoot and play-wrestled, stealing bites of food from plates.

"Auntie! Auntie! You have to make the takoyaki again!" Haruki exclaims, cheeks puffed with the very food he favors, "Next time!"

She gently slides him a napkin, "Of course, Haruki-kun. I'm glad you all enjoy my cooking."

Kakashi presses his shoulder against Toshiro's, chin dipping and voice barely a whisper, "Is there no way we can get her to move in here?"

He sends the silver-haired menace an amused glance, "No, she's needed at the hospital. We don't need a live-in cook."

Kakashi's dark eye flickers around from the content kids to the mountain of well-cooked wood. He turns back to Toshiro, "Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes," With a roll of his eyes, Toshiro hides a smile behind a mouthful of tempura. Kakashi squints hatefully at the fried food. "I'll figure out how to cook if you're so desperate for home cooked meals."

"Tempting." Kakashi lets out a put-upon sigh, "But you have too much on your plate." Then he smiles with his eye, scratching at his masked cheek with one pale, scarred finger. "Still, a home cooked meal from you would certainly be interesting."

Toshiro flushes and turns back to his food.

"How do you breathe with those on?"

The moon is bright and near-full in the sky, scattered stars glimmering faintly against a backdrop of deep black and indigo. Soft sounds of the night trickle in through a cracked window. Kakashi's room is relatively bare, just a bed perpendicular to the window, a nightstand shoved next to it and a dresser against the opposite wall. There's a framed photo of his old genin team atop the well-aged wood, Yondaime-sama's smile bright even in the dimness of the bedroom. There's nothing lining the walls, no personal touches — just a well organized closet and an assortment of books and scrolls stuffed into a bookcase beside the dresser.

Fitting. A little sad, but fitting.

The house is quiet once more, the kids spread out among various compounds for sleepovers. The Hatake kids are always so eager to spend time with their friends, no matter the difficulty some of them have when expressing happiness. It's a freedom they know not to take for granted, keeping friends.

Kakashi looks up from where he's lounging on his bed, lazily flicking through the pages of an Icha Icha book. Which one, Toshiro isn't sure. He's never read them and doesn't really have any desire to. (Part of it is probably just his annoyance at the author.)

"Hmm...with my lungs."

Toshiro puckers his lips at the blithe answer, the soft yet sturdy material of one of Kakashi's masks hanging from his fingers. "You're hilarious. Really, is it seals? How haven't you broken out with some serious acne?"

"Good genes."

This time he scoffs a laugh and raises a brow, "Yes, rub it in why don't you." He pauses, peering back down at the fabric. "Is it seals? A super elaborate genjutsu?"

"Seals," Kakashi relents, "For scent blocking. The fabric itself is extremely breathable."

"Hmm…" He's yet to ask Kakashi exactly why he's so insistent on wearing the mask — two, in fact — but isn't quite sure he really should. Or wants to. Does it matter, really? That's a callous thought, Kakashi's reasons could be really serious or trauma related. Still, it wasn't any of Toshiro's business, not until Kakashi allowed it to be so.

(Remaining masked wasn't really a problem, anyway. The man could do whatever he wanted if it made him comfortable.)

It's just….

Sometimes.

Sometimes Toshiro wishes Kakashi would wear it a little less. At least around him. It's an embarrassing thought, one that makes his cheeks flush crimson and his lips press tight together. It's not even that Kakashi is attractive, even though the man clearly is, unfairly so, it's that dropping the mask around Toshiro is a sign of extreme trust. One that very, very few people have experienced. Most of them now dead. Toshiro isn't even sure Gai has seen Kakashi's face, or at least not in its entirety. It's a sobering thought, because Gai is Kakashi's best friend, no matter what the man said, and what exactly did that make Toshiro?

Just another thought to make him blush. He's really getting ahead of himself here, with these assumptions. Toshiro, no matter how easily he pastes on a smile or projects kindness, has never been particularly good at understanding the depths of emotional love. He feels it, sure. Drowns in it. But love comes in many different shapes and — well, he loves Kakashi. Of course he does. The man is one of his closest friends. He also likes Kakashi, in ….every sense. Romantically. Emotionally. Sexually. Maybe he isn't quite at love just yet, but it grows closer to that precipice every day.

Or maybe it's more like he sinks a little deeper each day. Stuck in quicksand up to his thighs and descending slowly, steadily, down and down until he's entirely submerged. Some days the sand around him is soft and warm, washing across his skin like a caress. Other days it's itchy and annoying, like going to the beach and getting sand down your swim trunks or in your socks. It's wild and refreshing and — all Kakashi.

Every bit of it.

Every uncomfortable, painful part. Every soft, quiet moment.

Kakashi is a livewire, electricity thrums in his veins. He's difficult and hard to understand because he doesn't want people to understand. He smiles with his eyes and not with his mouth, and usually you'd think the eyes were what mattered but that wasn't the case with him. Lies were just as easy to tell with his gaze as they were with his tongue.

Toshiro wants to know what the other man is feeling, wants to know if he can fit himself somewhere in that iron castle Kakashi has erected around himself. Is there space for me in your chest? To be nestled beside that broken, bleeding heart of yours?

It's okay if there isn't any. The friendship they've wandered into is something Toshiro would not destroy for the world. (He's moved on from love before, he can do it again and still be happy with the bits of Kakashi he's allowed to have.)

That doesn't stop him from hoping. Quietly and in the dark of night when he's alone and it's just him, the moon and his face pressed to the pillow.

He slips the mask over his head, pulling a few stray hairs out from under the fabric when he settles it around his neck. Carefully, he pulls it up and over his nose, the fabric cool and just as breathable as Kakashi had stated.

It smells overwhelmingly of Kakashi. Enough that Toshiro's heart stutters severely in his chest, almost uncomfortable in nature. He presses his hands faintly to his face, wondering if the heat on his cheeks is visible over the brim of the mask. "What do you think, can I pull it off?"

Kakashi's dark eye is piercing. Under the intensity of the moon, his hair glows the way his chakra does, bright and hard to look directly at. The Icha Icha book hangs loosely from his fingers. The silence feels supercharged. Toshiro wishes the other man was showing his face.

"No."

Toshiro frowns under the fabric, not sure if he should be offended or not. The tone Kakashi had used wasn't particularly rude, so… "What? Is it the hair? Mask and bun combo not doing it for you?"

Kakashi flickers his gaze away. "I just think it's a shame to hide those ridiculous freckles of yours."

"Funny," Toshiro replies dryly. He moves over to Kakashi's bed, plopping beside the man with familiar ease. "Some people prefer that, actually." More traditional families, civilian or shinobi, saw freckles as unattractive. It was some stigma from japanese culture that somehow carried over into this world. (Which was still a bit odd to think about. The whole world spoke japanese?)

"Hn, well," Kakashi taps his book lightly against his chin, in a classic thinking pose. "I suppose the world does need a few idiots."

"Are you saying you like my freckles?" Toshiro can't help but tease, fluttering his eyelashes. Kakashi coughs and pulls the mask from Toshiro's face, letting the fabric pool around his throat. Scarred, svelte fingers brush his neck carelessly while doing so, and Toshiro feels a jolt of mortified terror at Kakashi discovering the rapid pulsing in his veins.

"There's nothing wrong with them. It's an endearing quality to have."

Toshiro reaches out. Kakashi lets him.

He pulls down Kakashi's mask.

"You're going to embarrass me with those kinds of comments." He manages to jest. He still feels the soft press of fabric against his face. The brush of Kakashi's mask against his lips when he'd spoken.

Forget that.

Shuffling, Toshiro flops down on the bed next to Kakashi and buries his face in the other man's pillow. It smells just as overwhelmingly like Kakashi as his mask does. Like steel and sandalwood. Heavy ozone and faint traces of dog. For a brief moment Toshiro has the mental image of standing in the middle of a summer thunderstorm.

"A flustered Toshiro is one I rarely get to see." Kakashi comments idly, not protesting the medic's movements. His bed isn't very large, just a bit larger than a twin bed in width. They fit side by side like puzzle pieces, limbs brushing and pressing without comment. It's a little different from how they usually enjoy each other's company, because Kakashi isn't a touchy person and Toshiro rarely pushes his boundaries.

Tonight, however, Toshiro is feeling a little bold.

A little wanting.

Kakashi would tell him to stop if need be. Maybe not with his words, but definitely with his body. Toshiro is pretty fluent in Kakashi-speak now, so he knows when the man reaches his touch limit. He'll pull away in a second.

Always running a little hot, Kakashi is a beacon of warmth that Toshiro mindlessly presses close to, until his nose is brushing the man's arm. At any moment, Kakashi will tense. His arm muscles with jump or his chakra will waver or —

He waits, taking what he can get. Tactile comfort is a guilty pleasure of Toshiro's. Growing up an orphan in Konoha really meant you ended up touch-starved. He's sworn the Hatake kids will get as many hugs and hair-ruffles as they desire, because they deserve it. They deserve to feel loved and be able to express that love.

A little more.

Just a bit more.

He's still waiting.

…

He falls asleep.

Kakashi wakes up with his unmasked face pressed into the back of Toshiro's neck. Their legs are tangled together, the shorter man's back pressed to Kakashi's chest and one of Kakashi's arms is heavy over Toshiro's waist. An ache in his chest and mouth prompts him to slip his lips open just a tad.

And he breathes.

His entire body feels like it trembles at the overwhelming burst of mint and paper, the night's clean sleep-sweat and Kakashi.

Toshiro smells like Kakashi. Their scents swirl together until his nose can;t distinguish the two. He doesn't know where Toshiro begins or Kakashi ends. There is a burning, pressing, insistent desire to put his teeth into the soft flesh before him. To mark the sensitive skin of Toshiro's vulnerable neck. Kakashi doesn't think he can move.

His whole body feels frozen, yet he shakes with a severe sort of tension and desperation. It feels odd and weird but not completely foreign, even though he's never felt something like it before.

Instinct.

My instincts are humming.

The day dreams from a while ago hit him once again with full force. He could roll over on top of Toshiro right now. Pin him down and press their bodies together until the younger man cried for it. Screamed for it. Like the people in Jiraiya's books. So many flowery, raunchy words to describe an act of passion and pleasure. The emotion and feel of the whole scene — every breathy moan, shuddering gasp and delicious bolt of ardor — he remembers it all.

I can make you feel like that. He thinks, a fleeting thought that sends utter mortification surging through him. No, no. I want Toshiro to be happy. To feel good.

A shift of Toshiro's slumbering form, his ashy hair half-spilling out of his bun.

There are many ways to do that.

As a friend. Even if Kakashi was bad at social cues or figuring out the feelings of those around him, he knew it wasn't very platonic to think the things he did about Toshiro. It makes him sick to his stomach — not the….gay thing. Kakashi could care less about the fact that he was attracted to a man, and if the Council ever finds out about his fluid preferences they can fuck right off. It's the influx of emotions and the awful realization that he doesn't know what the hell he's doing that's making him sick.

Is it normal to feel so lost in yourself but yet found? Pressed against Toshiro like this, sharing body heat and scents, it feels a lot like home.

"In less than a year, Itachi will be Hokage." Shisui says the words out loud like he still can't believe them, even though it's been well over a year since the decision. As the day looms closer, it brings with it a brand new tsunami of change.

"He's pretty hard at work already," Toshiro comments absently, finishing up a few medical reports at his desk. Shisui decided to pick him up after his shift, only to find Toshiro still chugging away.

"Right, the education reforms." The Uchiha sighs, "It just seems so crazy. Like it's too good to be true."

"Hn."

Shisui squints, "You know, maybe you have been spending too much time with the Uchiha. My stuffy relatives are starting to rub off on you. Better not tell Fugaku-sama, I'm pretty sure he's about ready to let you have your pick of anyone in the clan just to solidify a marriage contract."

Toshiro accidentally draws a sharp line through his kanji in surprise. "What, he's still on that? I thought he was done!"

The curly-haired Uchiha just shrugs, sharp smile betraying his endless amusement at Toshiro's plight, "Say, if I wasn't completely and utterly devoted to Hoshi-chan, would you choose me for a marriage contract?"

"As if," Toshiro scoffs, almost unable to help from laughing, "I do have some standards."

"I thought I fit them pretty well, though." Shisui mutters, pouting but not looking very put out at all. "Tall, male, face scars, one sharingan."

This time ink splatters across the whole page, and Toshiro stares in dismay down at his near-complete form, now completely ruined. A steady, burning flush blossoms across his freckled cheekbones and he gapes at his friend indignantly. "Shisui!"

"What!" The man replies in the same tone, "I still have one eye, I'm not blind."

At least it was obvious that Shisui cared little for the whole sexuality debacle. That didn't make the situation any less embarrassing, even as the last stirrings of anxiety faded away in the face of Shisui's easy-going nature.

Toshiro groans and puts his head down on his desk, not even caring about the threat of fresh ink. "Ugh, please tell me it's not as obvious as you're making it out to be."

"Well…." Shisui drawls out, smiling sheepishly, "I did say Fugaku-sama was willing to let you pick anyone."