| [Apr. 20th, 2009|10:58 pm] |
Kakashi barely noticed when Shiba tumbled into his lap. He caught her with an automatic hand, steadying the fragile little body, and stared at the man across the room. At the calloused artist's hands, held carefully still. The shoulders drawn so stiff they could have been carved from stone, the shadowed dark eyes looking at nothing at all.
It was interesting how fast you could go from anxious to furious. But family did that. Especially the family that left you behind.
Reason I ended up on the streets, Ryouma had said, the first time Kakashi had accidentally tripped over the subject, is 'cause my mom died when I was three years old, and my granddad drank himself to death when I was eight.
Eight.
Family that hurt you was a thousand times worse. Kakashi had never drowned in that particular crucible, but Ryouma--
They liked it.
He could remember Sadao's touch exactly; it had only been a month ago. The bite and the broken bones, the sharp edge of fear when he'd realized he was losing. But Ryouma had been there to tear the man away. To exact revenge in chakra and blistering rot before he'd called the medics, carried Kakashi home, and stayed the night, watching the dark while Kakashi slept and tried not to dream.
Who the hell had been there for him?
Behind black cloth, lips peeled back from dangerous teeth. Hoshika's head came up, long ears pressing flat. A soft whine curled in Shiba's throat. Kakashi slid to his feet, shedding the warm weight of dogs, and crossed the room with silent steps. Ryouma was seated on the side of the bed closest to him. Dark eyes came up when Kakashi drew near; they tracked him warily as he stopped and sank down into a crouch, right in front of Ryouma. One hand settled on a khaki-covered knee, fingers splayed carefully over the broken-healed bone.
"Tell me they're dead." He tried not to growl. It didn't quite work. |
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