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Breakfast of Champions [Dec. 26th, 2013|10:59 pm]
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[User Picture]From: [info]hatake_kakashi
2013-12-27 06:50 am (UTC)

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Kakashi cleared his throat.

Minato jumped, chakra rippling, and caught himself in the next split second, spitting guiltily into the sink. He wiped his mouth. Kakashi handed him the pyjamas, and when Minato was dressed—in plain dark blue, none of Naruto’s frogs—cajoled him back to his bedroom. By the time they reached the door, Minato was leaning on his shoulder. Kakashi tumbled him down onto the Hokage’s king-sized bed, and Minato rolled reflexively to the right side, settling into his usual spot. Kakashi pulled the covers back up.

“Need anything?” he asked.

Minto shook his head drowsily, damp hair fanning across the pillow. “You heading back to barracks?”

“And suffer the wrath of your offspring?” Kakashi said, wry, like he wouldn’t have stayed anyway. “I’ll be on the couch.”

Minato let out a long, slow sigh, and slouched further down, blankets lapping at his nose. Visibly grappling with the edges of consciousness, he mumbled, “You’ve got my kunai?”

He couldn’t actually mean a hiraishin kunai, that would signal Minato when thrown. They were in the same house.

Of course he meant that.

“I’ll be a room away,” Kakashi said, stone dry. “If I get attacked so badly that I need you to come through and fall on them, I’ll toss a shoe at the wall.”

“Don’ waste weaponry,” Minato slurred, words melting together. “Toss’t at th’enemy.” Dark gold eyelashes flickered against his cheekbones, some final thought sleeting past, and then he was out.

Kakashi let out a breath.

And then another, deeper, sinking into the living silence of a home that finally had all its people accounted for. The only person he hadn’t heard from was his mother, and as far as he knew, she was on the other side of the world, handling politics in an entirely different battleground. Which made her as safe as she ever was.

On the left bedside table, Kushina’s picture grinned at him from a plain wooden frame. It was from the early days of her pregnancy, when she’d only just started to show. She was wearing denim overalls, one hand curled protectively over her stomach, and managing to look thrilled, nervous, and ever so faintly vengeful—as Kakashi recalled, that had been a bad day for morning sickness. He nodded at her, and left her watching over Minato.

True to his word, he went back to the couch—taking a brief side-stop to clean up both the bathroom and the kitchen—and stretched out again, feeling weariness drag at him. Between the spar with Katsuko and Minato getting home, he’d only managed a few hours sleep. At least hot water had helped the bruises and sore muscles. The television was still playing a faint buzz of sound; it had changed over to a documentary about Tea Country imports.

Kakashi spent thirty seconds learning about a new kind of blue-tipped tea leaf before he slipped sideways into a doze, senses resting easy near the warm, familiar signature of Minato’s chakra.