The clone gave Katsuko a dry look. “You are such a lightweight,” it judged.

Kakashi snapped it out of existence. Katsuko managed to catch one of the falling bags, almost pitching onto her face. Kakashi grabbed her by the hood, pulling her back, and caught the second bag. The heat and scent suggested pork buns.

“I think I got yours,” he said.

Wordlessly, Katsuko dropped her bag in his lap and held her hand out, imperious as a daimyo’s daughter. Kakashi gave her the bag.

“Don’t make yourself sick,” he warned. “Because I’ll just laugh at you.”

“I’ll make sure to projectile vomit in your direction, then,” she said, and fell on the food like a starving wolf, shoving buns wholesale into her mouth. Her distraction made it easy for him to eat. He barely had to do the one-handed dance of no-face-here; she wasn’t interested in catching a look.

The sushi was rich, salty, and good. Katsuko’s continued lean against his shoulder was a little disconcerting, but she seemed comfortable, and her scent had lightened up. Less death, more intoxication. She wasn’t too far from done, if he was any judge.

When her eighth bun was tidied away, she turned against his shoulder and slouched down, propping her head on his thigh, stretching her legs out. The glow of distant streetlights made her half-lidded eyes hollow, like an ANBU mask imprinted into skin.

Have you eaten?

Since when?

How much did she have to eat to keep up with her chakra?

He looked down at her, but kept his hands out of her hair this time. For all that she hurt, she wasn’t Ryouma, or one of his pack; he had no right to pet her. She wasn’t one of his.

My boys.

Even if she thought he was one of hers.

Which of course was the moment she looked up and narrowed a glare at him. “Do more of that stroking thing,” she demanded.

Caught short, he snorted. She lifted slim eyebrows, flushed and glazed and drunk on two beers. A little more than that, if you counted the shochu. He’d promised to help her.

Maybe if he was lucky, she’d never remember this.

Careful-handed, he swept dark hair back from her forehead, finger-combing it back into some kind of order. Her skin was still fever-warm. Her hair was surprisingly soft. She made a faintly contented sound deep in her throat, eyes sliding closed.

“You’re not allowed to go to sleep on me,” Kakashi said.