Ginta had expected anything from Kakashi but that. Anything but stark admission that what they were really wrestling with wasn't injuries, or pursuit, or Tsuyako's death, or the failure of Ginta's mission. It wasn't even the word 'friend' at issue. It was a man Ginta had once called friend, and Kakashi probably didn't call anything at all, but should call 'lover'.

Ginta took a slow breath, feeling his heart beat under bruised ribs. Kakashi's back was to him, his face turned so Ginta could see only profile. Masked features sharp under black cloth. A heavy-lidded grey eye that expressed far more than Kakashi was likely to want it to. Right now it held weariness. Weariness and waiting.

He'd called Kakashi a coward for running away--the man was no coward now.

Ginta took another breath. The oil lantern burned steady, casting a yellow glow over the wooden interior. Wind rocked the tree, and suddenly the blankets couldn't keep him warm enough. He shivered and hunched down a little lower in the bed.

Who was a coward here?

Kakashi still wasn't looking at him.

"Why?" The word hung in the air for a moment. "Why..." Why what? Why Ryouma? Why not me? Why the fuck did you do that? Why are you here now? Ginta's voice was low and steady, but edged with splinters. "Why did you even come out in the hall that night, after I tried to walk away?"