“I’ll get spoiled,” Ryouma warned. “Ask for a story every night. An’ a glass of water. An’ an extra blankie...”

“Hmm.” Kakashi’s hand stilled on the back of Ryouma’s neck as he considered that. “You’re right. You can sleep out on the landing tomorrow. Naked. That’ll toughen you up.”

“Your neighbors won’t know whether you’re bragging or just a sadistic monster.” Ryouma yawned again. “I’ll have to tell ‘em it’s both. Or I can be good, an’ you can tell me a real story.”

“You’re never good,” Kakashi said, but his hand clasped a little tighter, cool and comforting. He cleared his throat. “A very long time ago, the old man in the moon looked down into a big forest on the land, and saw three friends living together. A monkey, a fox, and a rabbit. He wanted to know which one of them was the kindest, so he changed himself into a beggar and came down from the moon to meet them.”

His voice sounded oddly formal, as if he were quoting the story exactly the way it had been told to him. Ryouma wondered who that long-ago teller had been. Had the White Fang of Konoha come home from missions to tuck his small son into bed and tell him folktales? No wonder Kakashi loved him.

He let his eyes drift close, as Kakashi’s voice rumbled beneath and around him. “The friends were shocked by the poor beggar, who came to them in rags and asked if they had any food. The monkey went to the trees and returned with an armful of fruit. The fox went to the river and came back with a silver fish. But the rabbit couldn't find anything to bring, and he was sad and ashamed.”

“Poor rabbit,” Ryouma mumbled. “Can’t share grass?”

Kakashi laughed very softly, like a tiny rockfall under Ryouma’s ear. “I guess not.” His voice slipped deeper again, back to the memorized formality of the story. “But the rabbit was clever and had an idea. He asked the monkey to gather wood, and the fox to make a fire with it, big and bright enough to make the shadows dance. When it was hot and hungry, the rabbit looked at the beggar and said, ‘I don't have anything to give you, so I will put myself in this fire. When I am cooked, you can eat me.’”

“Stupid rabbit,” Ryouma said. “Fish an’ fruit woulda been enough.” He lost the last words in another yawn. “But he’s a good little guy. Reminds me of somebody I know.”

“The rabbit’s friends didn’t want to lose him,” Kakashi said, ignoring him, “but he was too quick for them. He slipped away from their paws and ran towards the fire—but suddenly the beggar changed himself back again, becoming the old man from the moon. He caught the rabbit and took him in his arms, and said: ‘You are very kind, little rabbit, and the bravest of all. But you should never do anything to harm yourself. Since you are the kindest, I'll take you home to live with me.’

“So the rabbit said goodbye to his friends, and the old man carried him above the forest, high up into the night sky, and gave him to the moon. If you look up on very clear nights, you can still see him there, watching over anyone who is brave enough to run into fire for a stranger.”

Ryouma lay still for a long moment after Kakashi’s voice drifted into silence. “That rabbit has a lot to answer for,” he said at last, very quietly. “But it’d be nice to think he’s up there, lookin’ after you.” He sighed, and turned his face against Kakashi’s side. “Thanks for the story. And for the runnin’ into fire.”