| [Nov. 19th, 2011|06:43 am] |
Yes.
Kakashi pressed his hand over his eyes, visible and covered, but not before the view of the packed dirt between his feet blurred. Ryouma’s arm tightened around his shoulders. He dragged a searing breath, unable to process what it smelled like, and tried to keep himself together. He’d already cried yesterday, and six months ago, both in Ryouma’s arms.
Sakumo didn’t need tears fourteen years too late.
Ryouma’s broad-palmed hand curled around his left arm, over the defunct ANBU tattoo Kakashi couldn’t take off, rubbing from shoulder to elbow. He was tall and warm, wrapped around Kakashi like armour—
And he’d just been tortured.
Kakashi made a sound that might have been a laugh, if it hadn’t wrenched. He pulled his hand away, looking at the man who’d only just come home. “I’m sorry. I know your head’s hurting. This should’ve waited.”
"My head'll hurt whether we talk or not,” Ryouma said, immovable as a wall. “You're hurting, too. I'm not going to ignore that this time."
No running.
Strings, instead. Talking, instead. Ryouma had already laid himself bare, and Kakashi had tried yesterday, but he hadn’t said it all. Hadn’t told Ryouma the thing he was really afraid of.
“I won’t be a missing-nin,” he managed, voice splintering in his throat. “I can’t be an ANBU. I don’t want to kill myself. I don’t know what to do.”
Ryouma’s voice was right next to his ear, quiet but firm. “Kiss me.” When Kakashi stared at him, he repeated patiently: “You asked me what you should do. Kiss me. I’m going to need it.”
Shaken enough to trust blind, Kakashi tipped his head up and pressed his masked mouth to Ryouma’s chapped lips. Instantly, Ryouma’s other arm wrapped around him, hands joining between Kakashi’s shoulderblades, and disordered chakra surged into a pure, clean shape, guided by rapid seals.
Kakashi didn’t even have time to say what? before the translocation ripped them both off the bench, through the middle space of nothing, and landed them in the centre of his darkened apartment. Protective seals lashed up, snarling and lethal, but retreated at the startled flare of his chakra. Kakashi staggered, but stayed on his feet.
Ryouma collapsed.
If it was possible to have a cardiac event in motion, Kakashi managed it. He dropped down next to Ryouma, yanking him onto his back; Ryouma made a faintly dying sound and clutched his head, blood trickling from his nose. But he was still breathing.
“... I don’t have words,” Kakashi said, remembering the way Reiko had hammered her fists against Ryouma’s chest. He was more inclined to kick Ryouma through a wall. “Are you trying to kill us? You don’t have chakra!”
Dazedly, Ryouma levered himself onto one elbow. “I got us here, didn’t I? An’ maybe I left my headache behind...” He shoved himself up with a groan. “Nope, just my balance.” Three lurching stagger-steps carried him to the bed, where he collapsed. “Now tell me what you couldn’t say in the street.”
Still on his knees, Kakashi managed not to have a stroke, either. “I was telling you, you incomprehensible lunatic. I used words.”
"You were talkin' about something so bad your options included going missing-nin or killing yourself. On a public street, five minutes from ANBU HQ,” Ryouma rasped, curling onto his side and wiping his upper lip with the back of his hand. In the nothing light, his eyes were cuts of shadow. “An' I don't think it was just 'cause of your dad. What did you talk about with the Hokage?"
Kakashi dragged both hands over his face, shoulders shaking, and breathed through his fingers. Calmed himself. Then he stripped off his hitai-ate, shed his jounin vest, clambered to his feet and tossed them over a chair back. Kicked his shoes off, letting them scatter where they landed, and switched a lamp on. Fetched a cold, wet washcloth from the bathroom.
When he sat down on the bed, Ryouma winced.
“You,” said Kakashi. “Sit up.” |
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