“Somehow, that slipped my mind,” Kakashi said dryly. “Must’ve been all the traumatizing nudity. I made her take a shower.”

Ryouma brightened. “So she did get naked!” he exclaimed, and actually punched the air.

“She kisses girls, too,” Kakashi said, hooking an arm back to trap Ryouma’s head and scruff his ridiculous bedhead. “You should ask her about it sometime.”

Ryouma went faintly cross-eyed. “That barista at the coffee shop by the river likes girls...”

“It’s amazing anyone in Konoha ever has children,” Kakashi said thoughtfully. “Since everyone seems to be gay.”

“Asuma’s not! I could set her up with him, if the barista doesn’t work out,” Ryouma said, with the kind of fervour that normally led people to shave their heads, take up prayer beads, and stand on street corners handing out pamphlets that said Have You Taken The Light Of Matchmaking Into Your Heart Today?

Katsuko drew a half-smothered breath against Kakashi’s knee. Her arm was still curled loose around his wrist. She smelled like trapped chakra and scorched heat, toothpaste and stress and half-drugged sleep. There were shadows beneath her eyes, and a restless downturn at the corners of her mouth.

“How about I figure out how to get her to her next birthday first,” Kakashi said, low-voiced, dropping his arm loosely around Ryouma’s shoulders, fingertips resting against one heavy collarbone. “Then you can throw her at the Hokage’s nosy brat.”

Ryouma closed his eyes, just for a moment. “No luck yet?”

“I know about twelve new ways to twist her coils up and kill her,” Kakashi said wearily. “Not sure that counts as progress.”

Ryouma turned his head and pressed his mouth against Kakashi’s knuckles. “Sure, that’s progress. Twelve ways not to do it.”

“Optimist,” Kakashi accused, mouth quirking despite himself. He brushed his thumb over Ryouma’s knife-blade cheekbone and looked back down at Katsuko. “Is there a protocol for insomniac drunk girls the next day? Or do we just draw on her with a marker and take pictures?”

“I like the marker idea,” Ryoum said, lifting himself higher on his elbow, glancing around the apartment. “Do you even have markers? Do you have a camera? Is she blackmailable?”

“I have ink,” Kakashi began, then cut off abruptly when Katsuko nuzzled her face against his knee again, drew a snuffling breath, and whimpered. Her scent spiralled tightly inwards, breaking into rust and nightmares, echoed by the lines drawing down between pinched eyebrows.

She grabbed his arm with her other hand and hugged him tighter. Kakashi froze, because markers were one thing but reflexively breaking your houseguest’s fingers probably crossed the line. Very, very carefully he extracted himself, shoved up, and got himself over Katsuko and out of the bed before she could latch on again.

Ryouma blinked, and Katsuko rolled into him, grabbing limpet-like.

“Your turn,” Kakashi said, and made his escape to the bathroom.