Ryouma met Kakashi’s eyes again, over Katsuko’s bent head. The Sharingan wasn’t spinning anymore, but its dull black-and-crimson gleam still wasn’t exactly soothing. Neither was the veiled worry narrowing Kakashi’s grey right eye, the subtle pinch of his mouth beneath the mask, the new tension that seeped back into his shoulders as he retreated back to the other side of the table. Katsuko wouldn’t know him well enough to notice. She’d seen his initial unease at her visit, sure—Kakashi had made that clear enough with his dig about one-nighters—but even if she realized that Kakashi used knife-edged humor as a defensive shield, she wouldn’t know why.

If Ryouma was completely honest with himself, he didn’t know either. But he could make a good stab at guessing. Kakashi had never done well with letting people in, into his home or his head or his heart, and Katsuko had just barged as far as she could into all three.

Kind of like Ryouma himself had done, eight months ago.

He left Katsuko with a firm pat on the shoulder and edged around the table to Kakashi’s side. “Thought you already wore the collar,” he murmured, low. “What’d you do with it, anyway?”

Kakashi looked puzzled for a moment. Then his brows lifted, just the tiniest fraction, and Ryouma would have bet half a year’s worth of back-pay that the faintest of blushes was burning under that mask. “Returned it to the Quartermaster with everything else.”

“Pity,” Ryouma said. He braced one hand on the far side of the table, leaned in far enough to solidly block Katsuko’s view, peeled Kakashi’s mask down to his chin, and kissed him.

Then he pulled back, and shoved a piece of toast between Kakashi’s teeth instead. “Eat,” he said. “It helps with saving the day.”

Kakashi’s eyes startled even wider. But he chewed obediently, swallowed, and even managed a quiet, barely shaky laugh. Then he let his breath out on the ghost of a sigh and tipped his forehead against Ryouma’s shoulder. “Okay. But you’re doing the dishes.”

“Deal,” Ryouma said. He tucked his chin down into the wild fluff of grey hair, closed his eyes, and, for just a moment, let himself be silently grateful to whoever might be listening.

He’d always believed family was something that happened to other people. Maybe now it was finally starting to happen to him.