Of course.

Kakashi turned back and leaned one shoulder against Ryouma’s doorjamb, since smacking a hand over his face would take effort and also hurt. “Do you ever get the feeling the universe is just punishing you?”

“Frequently, this week,” Ryouma said. He pushed the door open and leaned against the other side, watching Naruto ping-pong around the tiny apartment in frantic haste to examine everything. “He’s kinda adorable, though. Guess I didn’t expect the Hokage’s son to be this bouncy. You look after him often?”

“Since he was born,” Kakashi said softly.

Or near enough. Nothing but a direct act of god would have separated Minato from his son in those first few desperate days after the Kyuubi, when Konoha smoldered and Kushina’s body was laid to rest. But the war had been less than a year over then; Minato had needed to reforge his village, and drive away the circling wolves. The first time he’d handed his son over, it had been to Kakashi.

Nothing had ever been quite as terrifying as those eight pounds of milk bubbles, blue veins, and unholy screaming.

Ryouma was looking at Kakashi now, instead of the three-and-a-half-year-old pulling out the contents of his bookshelf and scattering them across the floor—lots of movies, no books. “He sure loves you,” Ryouma said, and Kakashi couldn’t quite read the inflection in his voice. Disbelief?

No, something closer cut.

Envy.

Ryouma hadn’t mentioned family. For the first time, Kakashi wondered if he had any.

“Well, he has poor taste,” Kakashi said. Inside the room, something shattered.

“Oops,” said a tiny voice.

Kakashi closed his eye. “Tell me that wasn’t something expensive.”

“I don’t think I have anything expensive,” Ryouma said, voice fading slightly as he stepped into the apartment. “Nope, not the TV, we’re good. Just a mug. You okay, Naruto-kun? Sorry, must’ve forgot to clean that up when I headed out.”

“S’rry,” Naruto mumbled, sounding—unusually upset.

Saya-san yelled a lot, then she cried.

Kakashi was going to kill that woman. He pushed away from the door and found Naruto staring down at a sea of blue shards, biting his bottom lip. Ryouma had dropped into an unsteady crouch, sweeping fragments into his bare hands, which was just going to get him—

“Ouch.”

Cut.

Ryouma shook his hand, droplets of blood beading up along the edge of his thumb. Naruto bolted up like he’d been kicked, yelling, “Bandages!” and ran to a med-kit he’d apparently unearthed in his earlier explorations. He lugged it over, with a roll of bandage bumping and unrolling behind him. Ryouma caught the box with a hasty grab before Naruto accidentally whacked him in the face with it.

Puppies in a basket, Kakashi thought, and went to see if Ryouma had a dustpan and brush.

Surprisingly, he did. Given the film of dust, a previous occupant had probably left it behind. Kakashi liberated it and took care of the murdered crockery while Naruto swathed Ryouma’s entire hand in a roll of bandage, mummifying each finger in its own careful cocoon. He had a little trouble with the final knot, and ordered Ryouma—who seemed mystified but willing—to help.

The final result was a bandage bow, a clean floor, and the return of Naruto’s grin.

“Whew, Naruto-kun,” Ryouma said. “Studying to be a medic-nin already?”

Naruto made a scrunchface of scorn. “Nooo. I’m gonna be Hokage. But Rin-neesan says a Hokage’s gotta know everything.” He surveyed his work and nodded proudly. “Good job, me.”