Stung, Kakashi sat back on his heels. She might have people back in Konoha, but his people ran Konoha—and, dammit, he’d stayed. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Might want to stop thinking so loudly, then,” Katsuko said, bland as skim milk. She tilted her head. “You have people here, too.”

Kakashi looked at Ryouma, who was sprawled face-down on his stomach between them, destroying his conjured mask against the sheepskin. He still had one arm curled around his head, hiding his face. He’d called Kakashi a hero yesterday, even if he’d been joking. And this morning Kakashi had woken up with Ryouma's hand in his hair—which he was still wondering about, actually. Raidou had stayed awake all night, managing civilians and pouring his own chakra into other people. Genma had navigated an entire team's worth of healthcare from his own bed, flat on his back—and he'd thanked Kakashi, even if he'd been a pain around it.

Then there was Katsuko, with her scars and her jokes and her army of clones. And her perception like a cat's claw, unsheathing when she needed it, and invisible the rest of the time. She'd passed out half-naked in his care yesterday, and just now she would have let him leave.

Would she have trusted him again, afterwards?

Kakashi pushed his ANBU mask to the side. “I liked you better when you didn’t have layers,” he griped.

“Who, me?” Katsuko said, eyes glittering. “Don’t be silly. I’m an open book.”

“You’re an open bear trap,” Kakashi said, and finally dropped down and turned, putting his back against the bulwark by Ryouma’s head. He brought a knee up and braced his elbow on it, stretching his shoulders against the aches crawling up his spine. That was the problem with staying still; when you stopped, you felt everything that hurt.

Ryouma drew a deep, raspy breath, and turned his head slightly. “Wanna sheepskin?”

Kakashi blinked down at him. “How long have you been awake?”

“S’this awake?” Ryouma said, with the bludgeoned groan of the barely conscious. “Thought it was hell.” He levered himself up onto both elbows, fished a sheepskin out from underneath himself, tossed it onto Kakashi, and collapsed again. His head barely missed Kakashi’s knee. “G’sleep. It’ll be better in the morning.”

Kakashi pulled the sheepskin off. “It is morning,” he said dryly.

“Next morning,” Ryouma muttered.

“Ah.” Kakashi extracted another cloth mask from his belt—only one spare left now—and leaned over Ryouma. “Hold still.”

“Wha—?” Ryouma managed, before Kakashi wrestled the mask down over his head. Ryouma squawked, spluttered, and clawed the mask down below his chin, glaring up at Kakashi. “I don’t smother you in my fashion choices.”

Katsuko snickered.