If Ryouma was here, he probably would have hugged her. But Ryouma was good at that—good at people. Kakashi was mostly awkward.

I thought happy thoughts for you, once.

He had, and Kakashi had copy-catted him back a bedtime story about burning rabbits. Ryouma had fallen asleep anyway, curled close and exhausted, wrapped around Kakashi like a broken shield. But there was ten months of history there, fractured around six months of absence. Eight years, if you counted that long-ago meeting when they’d both still had teachers and Kakashi had hated Ryouma on sight.

He didn’t know Katsuko. Except that they both had the same taste in men, and alcohol.

“Puppies,” he said at random, snatching the only topic that wasn’t revenge out of mid-air.

Katsuko looked at him. “Puppies?” she repeated, slowly.

“They’re nice,” he said. “Fluffy.”

Katsuko threw her head back and laughed, something like silver and solace coursing through her scent. “I didn’t know it was possible to get secondhand drunk.”

Kakashi ignored the sudden heat in his face. “Your turn,” he said, persevering. “Pick a nice thing.”

She tapped her chin. “When rather fit shinobi bend over to pick things up.”

“Sex,” he agreed, mouth quirking. “Pick another.”

“Fresh pork buns from the bakery,” she said, frowning in thought. “Oh! And egg custard tarts, too.”

Figures she’d like sweet things.

“Salt-fried saury,” he offered back. “That’s my favourite.”

A grin sharpened the angles of her face. "I love saury! But my favorite is tuna. Hey, you like sushi?"

It felt oddly like admitting a weakness. “I do,” he said, a little cautiously. “Saba’s good—strong flavour. Anago, unagi, bonito—I think I’m making myself hungry.”

Katsuko’s stomach rumbled loudly. “I forgot that I hadn’t eaten,” she said, glum-voiced.

Kakashi glanced sidelong at her. “If you’re drunk enough, we could get food.”