Ridiculous. It’s utterly ridiculous, Kuroo tells himself. There’s no way he has a crush on two people. Absolutely not. And two people he doesn’t know well, at that. This has to be some sick prank his body is playing on him. But pranks are supposed to be funny, and not bothersome, right?
So why are there these butterflies in his stomach, this bubbly feeling in his chest and the yearning to see her again? ‘Her’ being the pretty, new roommate Kenma has. Well, technically, she’s not his new roommate. She moved in with him about two months ago, so it’s been a few weeks, but since then he only got to catch a glimpse of her here and there when he was – yet again – hanging out at Kenma’s. She hasn’t even said a word to him yet and he’s somewhat glad because if she did, he’d be done for, surely. All he knows is Kenma offered her his spare bedroom without hesitation when she needed a place to stay. Therefore, the intensity with which his body reacts to her, is astonishing considering how little he has seen of her. But he won’t pressure her, so he continues to cherish the moments when she comes into the kitchen to grab a snack or drink, before scurrying back to her room.
And then there’s you. Kuroo smiles like an idiot every time he hears you say something over the mic when Kenma and the two of you are playing another round of Call of Duty. When you’re laughing, there’s this pang in his heart as if you were shooting him, despite the game mode making friendly fire impossible. Like Kenma, you’re a streamer, playing a variety of games in vastly different genres: a little Ori here, Mario Kart there, sometimes you’re taking care of your island in Animal Crossing – the list is endless. And even if he has no interest in the game you’re currently playing, he turns on your stream anyway because he likes to watch you. Or rather: he likes to listen to you. Because your face is a mystery. You don’t show yourself on stream, on social media or anywhere ever. But he doesn’t mind. At all. He likes to put on your stream, lay down and just listen to your voice clouding his thoughts. It’s so calming and–
The deep rumbling of his controller rips him from his daydream, and he can only watch as his aragami dissolves into thin air. Your laugh comes through his headphones, right to his ears, and he swears his heart is melting on the spot.
“Kuroo, what was that? Why would you walk out of the shadows right when a guard is coming at you?”
“Oh, shut up. You’re not even playing. I was just trying to lure him over,” he argues.
The excuse is lame and utter bullshit and he’s seething as Kenma calls him out on it, “Do you remember how I told you he has a crush?”
“Damn...” you taunt him. “Are you gonna tell me, who the lucky woman is?”
You, he thinks.
“No,” he answers the second Kenma says, “How many subs are you offering?”
Kuroo knows, his best friend is kidding, but he still throws him a warning glare across the screens between them, almost followed by a controller.
The both of them are sitting in Kenma’s streaming room with two remarkable gaming systems, so they could game together regularly.
“You’re practically living here already, so it makes no difference,” Kenma had said when he had shown him the new furnishing after a complete overhaul of his studio.
The only thing keeping Kuroo from ripping Kenma a new one – physically or virtually – is the fact that neither you nor Kenma’s are streaming. Oh, the horror had this been streamed live on the internet, for tens of thousands of people to hear, captured forever.
“It’s my roommate.”
His eyebrows furrow in confusion. He expected Kenma to rat him out, to tell you about both of his crushes.
“Although he has barely seen her,” his best friend adds instead.
You chuckle.
“I know it’s stupid,” he grumbles, “How can one have a crush on someone they have only seen so far? Like, I haven’t even talked to her. She only ever greeted me with a nod or something.”
“She’s a lucky woman,” you say to his surprise.
Again, Kuroo’s confused. He wholeheartedly expected you to tease him. Instead, your tone is soft, serious, genuine. No sarcastic undertone, no snarky remark.
“Love is unfathomable, Kuroo,” you add, the tenderness in your voice sending a shiver down his spine.
At the same time a certain guilt gnaws on him. He feels like he’s betraying you and himself with his crush on Kenma’s roommate – or is it the other way around? Which of these feelings are the true ones? The genuine ones? Are the things he experiences for you real and the ones for Kenma’s roommate his mind playing tricks on him? Or does he actually like the roommate and only imagines he has a crush on you?
Then again, does he know either of you good enough to have serious romantic feelings for you? Or is he so desperate for romance or female attention that his heart jumps on the first woman to notice him? But Kuroo was never one who had problems with girls’ attention. Women would ask regularly for his number or give him theirs when he went out for drinks and sometimes even when he was doing trivial things like getting grocer–
A siren going off outside rips him from his thoughts. It’s so loud he swears he hears it coming from Kenma’s and your mic too.
“Kenma, what is up today? That’s like the third one, no?”
“Third or fourth,” Kenma agrees with you. “And every time they’re loud enough to get picked up by my mic, no matter how much I lower the sensitivity.”
Kuroo tries to get back into the game but you’re too distracting, always taking his mind off the objective of crossing through the derelict graveyard, always getting him caught by a guard.
Something hits his head. Kenma threw a crumpled piece of paper at him. “You suck. Get a drink or something.”
Grudgingly, he listens and leaves for the kitchen where he stands in front of the fridge, the handle in his hand, staring into the void.
The door to Kenma’s roommate’s room opens and she comes out, but he refuses to look at her. If he did, his body would act up again: he would blush, his hands would get sweaty, and his mind wouldn’t be able to form a coherent sentence.
She takes a deep breath. “Hey, Kuroo.”
He freezes. Her voice is one he would recognize under thousands – no, millions – despite never having it heard in reality. It’s slightly different than over the mic, but still recognizable. His brain short-circuits. He sees lips moving, but he doesn’t register the words coming out because all he can think about is you. It’s you. You’re her and she’s you. You are one and the same person.
“H-Hey,” he stammers.
There’s a moment of heavy silence between the two of you. His brain is still trying to grasp what is happening, trying to process the new information he just got, but it’s too much. His brain is overwhelmed, and he doesn’t know what to do, what to say, how to react. What you say next, certainly doesn’t help either.
“So... you have a crush on Kenma’s roommate, huh?”
A/N: The Tobirama brainrot is real. Writing this one was smoother than butter, I wrote this in like three days, I think? Coincidentally i finished it before his brithday, but where I'm from congratulating someone early brings bad luck, so here we are with a belated birthday writing for Tobirama! I'm also working more with writing in second instead of first person, so please have mercy with this!
Tobirama Senju was known for being relentless on the battlefield. He had killed Izuna Uchiha without hesitation and he would’ve killed Madara Uchiha had Hashirama Senju not stopped him. They would be just two more names on the endless list of people he had defeated – plenty of them Uchiha like you. In his eyes, restraining oneself never did anyone any good.
And this included sparring sessions too. Hitting your bodies threshold was the only way to surpass yourself. How would one become stronger if they never reached their limit? Therefore, it was necessary both sparring partners gave their everything until the last piece of chakra was used.
Thousands of times had you heard his speech about it. He followed this rule religiously – at least that’s what he claimed. But lately he seemed to be holding back when the two of you sparred. It had subtly started with him not using his shadow clones anymore and had been followed by the Flying Thunder God Slash vanishing from the training ground. While they used to be a consistent part of your sparring sessions, you hadn’t seen them in weeks. And now he seemed to slow down his Flying Thunder God Technique. You saw the kunai flying by your head with your Sharingan and expected him to teleport behind you, pressing another one to your throat. But he didn’t, throwing you off-guard. A whole second passed until he appeared in your back, one hand on your arm to keep it from moving, the other holding another kunai to your neck, its blade reflecting the moonlight.
His proximity made you nervous. Your body felt hot like it was burning and your heart was racing. One could blame the physical activity or the thick layers of clothes you wore to protect your body from Konohagakure’s icy winter, but you knew your body well enough. This was different. “You’re holding back, Tobirama”, you pressed out, careful to stay still. “What happened to giving it your all?”
His hot breath tickled your neck, causing a shiver to run down your spine. “I knew you would expect me to appear instantly, so I waited to throw you off – and see, it worked. I won.”
“Bullshit”, you spat back. “You haven’t used you clones or Flying Thunder God Slash in weeks and now you’re slowing down your movements. One might think you’re going easy on me.”
Silence filled Konoha’s wintery air for a second and you heard him gulp. His hand pulled the kunai pointing at your throat a little closer in an attempt to act confident, the tip puncturing your skin. “Shut up, Uchiha.”
You smirked although he couldn’t see it, he would hear it in the tone of your voice anyway. “You only call me that when you’re angry. Did I strike a nerve?”
Abruptly letting go of you, he took a step back, the snow crunching under his feet. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. It’s late. Go home.”
With a scoff you turned around to him, but only got to see his back as he gathered his things, deliberately avoiding looking your way. It made you angry. Tobirama had never been one to be affectionate but being this distant was unusual – even for him.
“Tobirama.”
He stopped and eventually turned around, finally letting you see something else than his back. Despite the low temperatures drops of sweat glistered in the moonlight on his adamant face. “What?” The cold had colored his nose red, but you could tell despite the obscurity his cheeks were burning from something else.
“Aren’t you tired?”, you asked, gesturing between the two of you. “Of whatever this is between us?”
With eyebrows furrowed, he crossed his arms in front of his chest. The tension between you was so thick one could cut it with a knife. “This? There’s nothing between us. We’re sparring partners, nothing more.”
You knew he didn’t believe his own words but they didn’t hurt any less because of it. There was no way he – as a sensory type – didn’t notice the change of atmosphere between you over the last few weeks. There was no way he didn’t notice the lingering gazes, the lingering touches, the lingering warmth when you were close to each other.
“The fact that you have point out that it’s ‘nothing more’ shows you know very well you’re lying. You’re trying to convince yourself of the truth behind these words more than you’re trying to convince me, because you’re doubting the truth behind them just as much as I do.” Unintentionally your feet had brought you closer to him with every word you had said and now you stood in front of him, not more than a foot between your bodies. “You’re holding back because you’re afraid to hurt me.”
Both your breaths formed little clouds in the air, softly brushing over the other’s face, as you stared into each other’s eyes. Right now, he was good at hiding his emotions behind the stoic, stone-cold expression and leading one to believe you had only imagined the feelings developing between the two of you lately.
His jaw tensed, before he spoke, “It’s better like this.” The additional ‘for the village’ hung in the air, left unspoken. When you were about to return something – anything – he continued, “The Uchiha clan is cursed. I am aware your clan can love deeply, more than any other clan, but within the blink of an eye this same love can turn into hatred stronger than the love you felt before.”
“So, you know where my heart lies. Now tell me what is stopping you from following yours.”
This was the closest the both of you would get to confessing to the other. Either of you had said what needed to be said. Both of you knew what the other felt for you, but neither of you acted on these feelings.
“I killed Izuna Uchiha”, he said, breaking the eye contact by turning his head away from you.
“So what?”
His head flung around again as he looked at you angry, stubborn and desperate. “He was your cousin!”
“Yes, and I held him dearly, however I have as much Senju blood on my hands as you have Uchiha blood on yours. We can’t change it, but that is in the past and we can learn and move on from it.” Your voice softened as your heart clenched at his persistence.
He shook his head, heart colder than the winter. “Hardly, according to Madara.”
Nails dug into the skin of your palm as you balled your hands into fists, the pain helping to hold back the tears. “I’m not Madara!”
“He’s your clan leader!”, he countered.
Before you realized it, you had slapped him across the face. At least you tried, though thanks to his happuri it hurt you probably more than him – not that he needed to know. It was the principle what mattered, the message. “And I’m still my own person. Just because Madara is my clan’s leader doesn’t mean he dictates everything in our lives. I was one of the first Uchiha to follow the Senju’s path to peace, despite Izuna and Madara refusing. You claim you want to move away from thinking as clans to thinking as a village, as a family, but here you are, refusing to follow your heart because of the clan I belong to.”
The only confirmation you had struck a nerve were his knuckles turning white as his hands gripped tighter on his upper arms and his lips pressing together into a thin line. “Moving on from thinking in clans doesn’t mean turning a blind eye to potential threats.”
A single snowflake landed on his cheekbone, melting instantly, and you refrained from brushing it away with your fingers, simultaneously fighting the urge to slap him again for what he had said. Instead, you shook your head. “So, you believe certain Uchiha, like Kagami, are able to escape our clan’s curse and follow the Will of Fire, but you don’t believe I am one of them.”
“I don’t want to be the one to blame when another Uchiha falls victim to the Curse of Hatred.”
A sigh left your lips. “In case of your death, the Curse of Hatred could get me anyway, no matter if you stood by your heart in that moment or not, because I would still lose a loved one. The decision you make about acting on your feelings does not shape the influence the curse might have on me.”
More snowflakes came down, landing on his face and fur collar, filling the silence for a moment.
“Listen, Uchiha, I–”
With a raised hand in front of his chest you interrupted him, never touching his armor. “Save it, Tobirama. If you intend to treat me like any other Uchiha except on the training grounds, fine. I’ll look for another sparring partner then. Goodbye.” You turned around and walked across the clearing in the direction of the Uchiha compound, ignoring the piercing jab in your chest and bowing your head as a greeting to one of the trees at the glade’s edge. “Madara.”
Two red eyes appeared, glowing in the dark, tomoe swirling around the iris before melding into Madara’s distinctive Mangekyou Sharingan. “This was truly an interesting love confession.”
Not touching upon his remark, you continued walking home, the cold air suddenly gnawing through your clothes. You should’ve known Tobirama Senju, the incarnated pragmatism, would reject the idea of getting into a relationship requiring emotions rather than rationality. You should’ve seen it coming, but your heart’s longing was stronger – after all, Uchiha were driven by their heart instead of their head.
Madara left you be for a few minutes to gather yourself, before catching up. “Didn’t I tell you it was a foolish idea to get involved with the Senju?”
“It’s just one particular Senju, Madara.”
He clicked his tongue. “And still your heart chose this one out of all the other Senju men.”
The snow and dry twigs crunched under your shoes, almost swallowing your next words. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You fell for the most problematic man you could fall for – especially as an Uchiha – but you didn’t do it intentionally. It’s an unfortunate path the universe chose for you, so no Uchiha will put any blame on you. We know best that nothing ever –”
“– goes as planned in this accursed world. I know.” you paused, biting your lip. “How much did you hear earlier?”
He chuckled. “Enough to know your hand hurts probably more than his face.”
Your cheeks burned, knowing he had witnessed almost everything of the conversation you had with Tobirama. “And you’re not mad?”
Madara’s deep laugh echoed through the silent forest, startling a rabbit on its way to its burrow. “I’m not mad, sweetheart. How could I be mad at someone who hit Tobirama Senju?” The clearing of his throat gave his next words a serious tone. “He may be the man who killed my remaining brother, but I won’t tell you who you can and can’t love. I liked what you said about us having as much Senju blood on our hands as they have ours on theirs. The Senju – as much as I might despise some of them – aren’t the only guilty ones in this mess. And at least he’s not acting as if nothing happened, he acknowledges he killed Izuna.”
Side by side the two of you walked the remaining distance to the Uchiha compound in silence, your hands behind your backs and your heads up to gaze into the distance. In front of your house, he sent you off with the words, “He’ll come around. He’d be an idiot if he didn’t.”
He was already a few feet away when you thought of something. “Madara! What did you want around midnight at the training ground anyway?”
“Something that can wait”, he answered with a mischievous smile before he disappeared into a cloud of smoke, keeping you from questioning him any further.
Inside you stripped off your Uchiha robe and the rest of your clothes to take a shower. With nobody around, today’s exhaustion took over your body. The warm water relaxed the tension in your burning muscles from training and melted the icicles Tobirama’s words had left in your heart. And there, in the confinement of your own home with no one around, you let the tears flow, because what hurt the most was, you could see his reasoning. You understood it made sense from his position as he was one of the founders of Konohagakure and, as a consequence, one of its most important people.
After your tears had dried up, you got to washing off the sweat and dirt the hours on the training ground had left behind. While drying yourself off, you noticed Madara was right: Tobirama did come around – and sooner than you expected.
He stood next to the table your Uchiha robe was lying on, half his back to you and fingers caressing the crest on the back. Next to it rested his happuri. His armor was still dirty and obviously the same he wore before, telling you he didn’t go home to change. The fur on his collar was drenched from the snow melting, drops falling to your floor. His head turned a little so you could watch his profile, noticing the softer, almost dreamy, expression he wore. Despite his excellent sensory nature, he was still to mesmerized by the fabric – or whatever he was thinking of – to take notice of you.
“You know, some people consider it rude to enter someone’s home without their permission.”
His fingers paused for a moment, before he turned around to you, folding his arms. “I apologize. I just wanted to talk to you before some Uchiha murders me in broad daylight in the middle of the street. As much as I despise admitting this, I’m currently not in a state to properly defend myself.”
Crossing your arms in front of your chest as well, you raised an eyebrow. “The Uchiha – just like every other clan in Konohagakure by the way – agreed to approach issues with diplomacy instead of violence. Apart from that it’s currently one in the morning, so there’s no ‘broad daylight’ outside.”
“Political matters, yes.” The wooden floorboards creaked as he shifted his body weight from one leg to the other and the knuckles on his hands turned white as his grip on his upper arm tightened. What he said next was hard to pronounce for him. “Though I’m afraid it becomes a personal matter when I intend to court one of their clan members. Especially in case said person is the leader’s close family like a cousin. God knows what rumors Madara is spreading right now, about how I broke your heart earlier. And with your eyes it’s always like broad daylight.”
You gave him a teasing smirk and took a few steps closer to him. “I assume you’re here because I am the cousin you intend to court. May I ask what changed your mind?”
Once again, the floor creaked as he shifted his weight visibly awkward, before twisting his expression into his typical scowl and grumbling, “My brother.” He cleared his throat and looked to the side, avoiding eye contact. “I talked to him – or rather he talked some sense into me.”
“Oh, how the tables have turned.” Your feet brought you even closer to him to the point you stood as close to him as earlier on the training ground.
Without addressing your remark or returning your gaze despite you standing directly in front of him, he continued, “He told me if you can adapt the Senju’s Will of Fire, I can adapt at least some of the Uchiha’s passion and follow my heart sometimes.”
The teasing smirk on your lips turned into a soft smile as you laid your palm on his cheek. His skin heated up under your touch and turned almost as red as the marks on his face. “I appreciate this very much, Tobirama.”
“How’s your hand?” He changed the topic, his gaze still flickering around the room, focusing on everything but you. When you didn’t give an answer, he cleared his throat once more and added, “Because of earlier...”
Chuckling, you ignored his stiffening frame and wrapped your arms around his waist, pulling him into a hug and resting your head against his chest and on his still folded arms. “It’s doing great. I’m mad if you really think that hurt me.” You propped your chin up on his arms to look at him. “Don’t worry about me. I survived countless battles and I’m still doing fine.”
Finally, he looked at you. For a second your eyes crossed, but then his gaze shifted down. “What about your throat?”, he asked as his phalanx brushed over your skin there. “It seems like I hurt you, you’re bleeding.”
“My god, Tobirama. I’m not made of glass. I thought of all people you should know best. So, stop worrying about me.”
Instead of a proper answer, you only got a grumpy sigh and him breaking away from your eye contact, so you cupped his face, observing the red tinted cheeks, and pulled him into a soft kiss. Although you had to pull his face down quite a bit, the kiss still caught him by surprise, causing him to slightly lose his balance and almost making the two of you fall. He caught himself last second, grabbing you by your waist to steady your bodies.
“I’m sorry”, he mumbled when pulling away.
The evident embarrassment on his face coaxed an amused laugh from your lips. “Relax, Tobirama. It’s all good. Now that I know where your heart lies, I’m willing to be patient with it no matter how long it may take, I promise.”
Warnings: little suggestive and if you intend to be aphobic, you can fuck right off :)
Track: Slaves – Warning From My Demons
A/N: This is kinda self-shippy, since this is very similar to how I experience my asexuality. Remember that every ace and their experience of asexuality is different. So just because I feel like this, doesn't mean every other ace feels like this.
You’re warm. Or maybe it’s because his hands are cold, the blood slowly gathering somewhere else. Either way, Atsumu doesn’t care. All he can think about is you straddling his lap, your thighs touching his, and your hands on his ribs to steady yourself. How he came here? He doesn’t remember. What time it is? He can’t tell. His thoughts are clouded with the taste of your lips and the comfort of your weight on him. He’s reveling in the feeling of your soft skin under his fingertips. Usually, you’re quick to pull the hem of your top down in case it slides up enough to reveal any skin, but not today. Today, Atsumu gets away with his thumbs inching higher and higher until they touch you, savoring the time you take to place his hands gently but firmly above your clothes again. He’s too selfish to do it by himself.
It doesn’t stop him, though. Rather than that, he just starts drawing circles above your clothes, his hands travelling over your waist to your spine, trailing it up and down, and back. Instead of getting lost in the feeling of your skin, he gets lost in your scent—a mixture of the perfume he gifted you for your birthday and your natural scent. Your body’s weight is soothing, like a weighted blanket giving comfort. Atsumu is on cloud nine, wishing this moment would never stop. You shift slightly, but enough to feel him–
Your body stiffens at the sudden contact and you pull away—much to Atsumu’s dismay. Within a second the temperature has dropped ten degrees. Avoiding to look at him, you slip from his lap. “You should go.” Without saying anything else, you disappear into your bathroom. The bolt clicks when the door is locked.
Throwing his head back, Atsumu fights a frustrated groan, his lust, and his pounding heart at once. He hates these words. It’s the same thing, over and over again: Somehow the two of you end up on your couch, kissing, but as soon as his hands slip just a millimeter into the wrong direction, or his tongue licks across your lips, asking to be let in, you clam up and ask him to leave.
He sighs. Despite his cold hands, placing the back of his hand on his forehead does nothing to cool him down. So he just sits there, hot and bothered. Not for the first time and not for the last time. Other guys would’ve stopped coming back after being left like this multiple times, but he’ll always come back because he likes you. No, he realizes, he loves you. And if this everything he’s going to get, he’ll gladly take it and treasure every moment. No complaining, no pushing you, nothing more.
It takes half an hour until enough blood has returned to his brain to function properly again, thoughts not as hazy as before, albeit still desperate. The apartment is absolutely still, the only sound disrupting the silence is the clock’s ticking coming from the wall.
With heavy limbs he gets up. He stops in front of your bathroom, about to knock. But he stops when your muffled sobs reach his ears. A deep breath gives him enough courage to knock. Though it’s timid, just like his voice calling your name.
“Please talk ta me,” Atsumu pleads.
Another minute of silence passes before the lock clicks again. You come out, eyes red and swollen, but you’re not crying anymore. His arms reach out by themselves, wanting to hold you tight. Your words stop them mid-air.
“Let’s end this.” The silence following is not deafening enough to drown out his heart shattering. Nothing more he could’ve lived with. Nothing at all he can’t handle.
“What?” he rasps, holding back tears.
“I said, let’s end this,” you repeat, voice colder than before, less broken. His finger tips reach out when you brush past him, but they only graze you.
He follows you into the kitchen like a lost puppy, while his brain still can’t wrap around what you just asked. “End it?” He knows he sounds like he has a single braincell left and while that isn’t true—he’s smarter than many people think—it’s all he can utter while his thoughts are empty, trying to figure out what has gotten into you.
“Yes. Whatever this”—you wave one of your hands dismissively around—“is.”
“Does this”—he mocks your gesture—“mean nothing to you?”
“It does!” you snap when you turn to him. “And exactly that is the problem, Tsumu! Sex isn’t for me. I haven’t felt sexually attracted to anyone ever and I don’t like doing these things with people. Even thinking about doing it with someone else turns me off.” With his nickname leaving your lips, so does the coldness. You sigh resignedly and Atsumu senses the desperation in you too.
Unable to hold his gaze any longer, you walk to your fridge, just to have something to do.
“Is that why you always pull away, when…?”
Your throat is dry, so you nod.
“But you like kissing me?”
“I do. I do so much, you wouldn’t believe it. But everything beyond that is too much for me.” There’s a metallic taste on your tongue and you realize it comes from gnawing on your lips.
“And?”
Your eyes start to burn. He doesn’t get it, does he? “Do you realize what that means? I don’t want to have sex. Ever. And that’s nonnegotiable.” You close your fridge again, only to slide down, your back against the cool surface. “Fuck, Tsumu. I wish I could, but I can’t give you what you want in a relationship.”
Frustration at the situation turns into anger at you, although you don’t deserve it. It’s not your fault, but who are to know what he wants in a relationship? Who are you to decide he couldn’t be happy with you? “So?”
“So? Atsumu, I know you! We’ve been friends for years. You came to me when you wanted to vent about your then-girlfriends and told me how unfulfilling all of these relationships were. And don’t get me started on your countless one-night-stands. A sexless life isn’t for you. And I can’t compromise on that.”
The blame isn’t on you for thinking like this. With the number of flings he’s had in the past, one can be easily let to believe he’d rather live without love than without lust. But none of them was you. You’re different. “Let me try! Please! I wanna be with ya! And isn’t the point of dating to determine if people are compatible or not?”
“I don’t want to be an experiment for you to see how long you can go without sleeping with someone. I won’t let you get my hopes up, only for them to be crushed soon after when you realize a relationship with me isn’t fulfilling enough.” The dam breaks and tears stream down your face.
“But–”
“No.”
“Love, please give me a chance.” The pet name slips past his lips before he can stop it.
You bite your lip and shake your head, a distressed look in your eyes. “Don’t do this,” you plead.
“What?”
“Don’t call me that. I can’t say no when you do…”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to manipulate you or something like that.”
“It took so, so much time and mental work to come to terms with this myself; I thought I was broken for years. If you were anyone else I wouldn’t care, but you… you could destroy all of this accomplishments again. Simply because you mean so much to me and I know if you said I couldn’t make you happy because I’m asexual, I would be back where I was before.”
Atsumu sinks down beside you, carefully wrapping an arm around your shoulder to pull you close, your head softly falling on his shoulder. For the next minutes, he’s just holding you, silently, while you cry your heart out. With his nose buried on your hair, he gives you gentle, almost unnoticeable kisses to the crown of your head.
“You know,” he starts after a while, “even if it turns out we’re not working out, you’re perfect the way you are. You deserve to be loved and cared for, no matter your sexuality. And anyone who can’t see that, isn’t deserving of you and your love either.”
Then and there, Atsumu swears to himself he will do whatever it takes to make your relationship work. It’s what he wants so desperately. And he couldn’t stand seeing you like this ever again—especially not if he himself is the reason. He might not be good with relationships, but he knows you and he will do his best for you. Because you’re worth it. No fuck in the world could keep up with the bliss of having you in his arms, feeling your warmth. It’s what you deserve: someone who loves you unconditionally.
A/N: AHHHH I'm so excited to share this fic with you guys and I can't believe this is the first time I'm writing for Kakashi. I love this man, how have I not written even once for him until now??
Under The Skin masterlist
Guidance
It was a lovely day in Konoha. The spring sun shone brightly in the sky, slowly disappearing behind the buildings with only a few clouds to be seen and warming up the cold atmosphere the winter had left behind. A soft breeze made the cherry blossom leaves twirl and dance around, gently landing in people’s faces. With the advent of spring, the dull and cold atmosphere of winter left and the people’s hearts thawed with the sun. Through the glass front of your studio, you could watch the people on the street running errands or taking a walk. It had been a rather quiet day with no appointments in the morning and only one in the afternoon, Karui, who you were currently working on.
“Hey.” She cleared her throat. “Would you mind a short break? I know, it’s probably not much left to do, but a bit of walking would be nice, I think.”
Over the past few months, you had turned her naked arm into a full sleeve after she had initially only asked for a pair of butterfly wings on the inside of her upper arm. As soon as the wings had healed, she had been standing in front of your desk again, asking for more, obsessed with getting more ink on her.
Under the mask you wore while tattooing, you smiled at her. “Sure thing. You’re doing great and I admit, I expected you to ask for one sooner. But you’re used to everything by now, right?”
Karui laughed. “Yeah, by now I could probably fall asleep while you’re working on my arm. It’s just my legs and my back need a stretch after sitting in that chair for so long.”
While she walked around through your studio, you pulled down your mask to take a sip from your water bottle. “Would you like something to drink?”
Karui shook her head and sat down in the chair again. Pulling your mask back on, you got back to putting the finishing touches to the colors when the bell above your front door rang and Genma’s voice sounded through the room. Sparing him only a glance, you continued focusing on the work before you, still listening with half an ear.
“You can ask, but she won’t do it. Believe me.” He smirked, his senbon bobbing between his lips as he spoke. “She’s a little peculiar in this regard.”
With a sigh, you paused tattooing and looked at Genma with a raised eyebrow, giving him a provoking glare. “You’re not talking about me, are you?”, you asked, daring him to say anything else. “Or do you want your next tattoo to be a giant dick? The next one you wanted was a chest piece, right? I bet your next hook-up will love it!”
He chuckled. “Baby, I’d take every piece of art you make.”
“Alright then, do you have a selfie for reference?”
His hand grabbed his chest over his heart and his face twisted in feigned pain. “Ouch, baby. That hurt. But I’m not the one with business. My friend here”, he threw his arm around the other man’s shoulders, “is the one with an issue.”
“Lord Sixth!”, Karui greeted with a bow of her head.
Only then did you look at Kakashi Hatake, who was accompanying Genma. “I’ll finish this and then we can talk about your business.” His eyes were full of surprise, but you couldn’t tell if it was because of your informality or something else.
Soon enough, you put your machine down and blew some air over the brand-new tattoo, before wrapping Karui’s forearm in plastic foil to protect it. “You already know, how to take care of this now, do you?”, you asked her with a smile that was only visible through your eyes.
“Yes!”, she answered enthusiastically. “Thank you for your time and creativity, I really appreciate it!” She slid the necessary bills and a hefty tip over the counter and left your studio with a wave and a happy grin. It always warmed your heart when a client left your studio in such good spirits.
Clapping your hands together, you turned to Genma and his companion. “Okay, so what’s up?”
Kakashi took a deep breath. Even with half of his face still covered, his awkwardness was obvious. “Do you do cover-ups?”
“Yeah, if it’s possible and nothing pitch black, I can do it. Where and what is it? Do you mind showing me?”
This is where he became very hesitant. His heart was racing like crazy and he couldn’t remember a time he had been more nervous – not even during the Fourth Shinobi War. He threw a glance at Genma asking for help, who just raised his hands defensively and took a step back. He sighed and took of his flak vest, before pulling his left arm from his long-sleeved, hands shaking. His gaze fixed on you he turned his naked arm to you. “This one.”
The whole arm was naked except for the bright red flame marking Konoha’s Anbu.
“Nope. Absolutely not”, you said firmly while shaking your head. “Not happening. First off, I’m not allowed to cover these tattoos since Anbu members need to be labelled as such. And second, even if I was allowed, I’d rather not cover up my dad’s work.”
The frustration on his face was evident. His eyebrows furrowed and it seemed he started brooding over it. “You could ask him...”
You shook your head again. “Then we would be back at problem one. Even with my dad’s permission it’s still an Anbu flame. I’m sorry.”
His shoulders dropped and the disappointment in his eyes broke your heart. “There is no way, you’d ever make an exception, right? Not even for the Hok–”
“Sorry”, you interrupted him. “I’d have to make a huge exception. And if I make an exception once, other people will ask me to make one for them too and if I don’t budge, I’m losing authenticity. Look, I know who you are outside of these walls, but in this studio, you are just a regular customer like Karui, like Genma, like everyone else.” You sighed again. “Besides, I’m really not allowed to cover up an Anbu mark and not even a Kage can change that.”
“Right, right” He nodded slowly, putting his arm back into its sleeve. His nails dug into the palm of his hand as he desperately tried to keep himself together and not fall apart right there in your studio. There was no one to blame beside himself. Genma had warned him and he had ignored it. “I get that. Sorry for bothering you.” With his head hanging low, he left through the front door. The happy jingle of the bells rang in sharp contrast to the distressed mood Kakashi had left behind.
Not once in the over fifteen years since you had started tattooing here, had a client left the studio in such a sorrowful way and it stung. Absent-mindedly you stared through the glass front onto the lively streets, the sudden silence ringing in your ears. You wanted to run after him so bad, apologize for being so cold and rejecting and call him back in to tell him you would do it. But no matter how bad you felt, you couldn’t.
Genma clicked his tongue and shrugged. “I told him you wouldn’t do it.”
His voice caused you to snap out of it. “It’s fine”, you answered after a moment. “You never know for sure until you ask, so it’s better he asked. I just don’t like people leaving my studio like this – or anything else than happy in general.”
“Has anyone ever left your studio anything else than happy?”
This time, you nodded. “Yeah. But I can count them on one hand.”
“Do you have any appointments left or are you up to talk about my chest piece?”
As much as you appreciated Genma’s enthusiasm to get your ink all over his body – thereby helping you pay rent – right now he was a little too hasty for your liking. “Genma, I haven’t finished your rib tattoo yet. How about waiting until that one’s done and healed and then we can talk seriously about the next one. Sakura’s gonna kill you if you ask her again to heal you. She’s probably fed up with it already.”
“I thought about a tiger... Do you need a look at these muscles to determine if you can do on them or not?”, he asked, his eyebrows twitching teasingly and a smirk on his lips.
Tease had to be his middle name. Ever since you had finished his first tattoo, he came back and always tried to flirt with you. That was just him. You never lived in the illusion you were the only one he treated like this and it never bothered you. You had no interest in pursuing a romantic relationship with him, so your flirting was always more of a friendly banter. And right now, it helped you get your mind off Kakashi, even if it was just for a little while.
“Oh, really?” Cocking an eyebrow, you returned the smirk. “I thought we set on a giant dick earlier. Don’t you like my idea anymore? Besides, a tiger on the chest is such a cliché. Don’t you want something more creative? More special?”
Genma started laughing, the senbon bopping in his mouth. “We talk about a creative motive and you propose a dick? Oh, the irony. Sweetie, a dick is the most uncreative thing you can draw on a person – good luck next time.”
A moment of silence passed between you, the only sound being the radio playing softly in the background.
“By the way, you’re closing soon, right?”, he changed the topic. “Are you up for some drinks?”
The crack of your back when you stretched your body echoed through the room. Karui’s tattoo session hadn’t been the longest you had ever done but sitting on the stool and focusing on your work before your for so long had taken a toll on your muscles and joints. Today hadn’t been the most stressful day you had ever experienced and still you were exhausted.
“Sorry, Gen, not today”, you declined, suppressing a yawn. “I know it’s been a while since the two of us had a drink but I don’t feel like it. Maybe next time, alright?”
His eyebrows furrowed as he eyed you up and down. “You’re not overworking yourself, are you?”
Doing nothing to hide the rolling of your eyes, you walked over to your desk to finish today’s paperwork. “Rich coming from the shinobi who’s on a new mission every week on average.”
For a moment only the quiet hum of the air conditioning was heard as Genma continued watching you.
“I swear I’m not overworking myself. Karui was my only appointment today. I’m just mentally drained and not in the mood for people.”
The receipt for Karui’s payment got filed in the appropriate folder and next week’s schedule found its way under your transparent desk mat. Grabbing your keys, you walked to your front door, shooing Genma before you out of the studio, and after promising him again you weren’t overworking yourself, you watched him disappear in the crowd of people. You locked up the door and put up the single sealing jutsu you knew as an additional safety measure before leaving the studio behind.
However, instead of on your own front door, you found yourself standing on the porch of the one person you wanted to see. Your safe harbor, one might say.
Your dad was pleasantly surprised to see you on his doorstep. Usually, you came by once a week and your last visit had been only a few days ago, so he wasn’t expecting you.
“Hey, Little Fox. What are you doing here? Bad day at work?” He took a step back to let you in. Usually, when you stopped by outside of your weekly visits, it was because you had trouble at work and needed advice from someone with several decades more experience.
“All in all, it wasn’t that bad but someone left in a sour mood.” You let yourself flop on the couch in the living room. “They wanted a cover-up I can’t do.”
As if it knew you were coming by, your dad’s kettle piped, signaling the water was boiling. Without asking, your dad got two mugs from his cupboard and made your favorite tea for you.
“You can’t make everyone happy, dear”, he said with a little grunt as he took a seat next to you, prompting you to lie your head on his shoulders. “That’s life, we can’t do everything and there will aways be people leaving unsatisfied.”
Neither of you said anything as the two of you got lost in your thoughts, drinking tea and enjoying each other’s company in the warm light of the setting sun.
“You know”, your dad spoke up after a while, “I, too, had a customer wanting a cover-up I couldn’t do come to me years ago. He approached me when I was out, travelling. I was forbidden to cover it, but he had a very good reason and it was really hard to decline his request, like I had sleepless nights over it, seriously contemplating to do it anyway. Despite him saying he understood, I could tell it bothered him. He was a young man, not even eighteen, whose village had failed him.” His tone was rapt, his mind back in that day. “It’s been years but I haven’t forgotten about him. And I never will.”
“Sounds auspicious”, you murmured.
Your dad let out a hearty laugh. “I didn’t tell you this to cheer you up – it’s too tragic for that. I told you, so you know things like this happen. I believe everyone will meet at least one person in their life who they crave to help but can’t. It’s a lesson to grow on and to learn from. You’ll never be able to help everyone and sometimes we have to accept failure, whether we want to or not. However, that does not mean we as a person are a failure.”
Genre: established relationship, angst, hurt/kind of comfort?
Wordcount: ~2.3k
Warnings: mentions of death, dealing with the loss of a loved one
Track: Beethoven – Moonlight Sonata (1st Movement)
A/N: Have another Genma post! And surprise: I can write established relationship! Writing this was honestly hard. Not in a "I don't know what to write" way but rather in a "I relate to this way too much and I don't know how to put it into words" way and I had to listen to my party playlist after finishing this. Let me know what you think!
It had been a long day. Genma knew why he preferred to stay as far away from everything political bureaucratic as possible. Meeting after meeting regarding the Chūnin Exams had strung together, barely giving him time to breath. Conferences about the security for the attending daimyo followed meetings deciding the order the fights should take place and were followed by meetings about the arena’s layout – meetings about things that should’ve been clarified weeks if not months ago, not the day before. He understood it was necessary, but that didn’t make it any better. He hadn’t asked for this, but when the Third Hokage had approached him, he couldn’t say no, knowing they needed someone to proctor the final round badly.
“Genma”, the Third Hokage had said only days ago, the day after they had found Hayate, tone as diplomatic as ever. “Since Hayate isn’t able to fulfill his task, we need someone else to lead the last round of the Chūnin Exams and I’d like to entrust you with it. Raidō will take over your role as my guard and Kotetsu and Izumo are in charge of coordinating the medical aid for the participants.”
Never in his life had it been so hard for Genma to contain himself. Shinobi were supposed to thrust every emotion impacting their logical thinking aside but the cold and nonchalant tone Hiruzen Sarutobi used to talk about Hayate’s death as if it was nothing evoked a certain anger in him.
A sigh left his lips. Hayate. He was supposed to do this. He was supposed to supervise the Chūnin Exams, to keep the genin under control, to bring them to show their potential. He had always been better with kids than Genma. Depending on his proficiency at handling the final round he was supposed to get his own team of genin, he was supposed to become a sensei. After the preliminaries Hayate had almost gushed about the genin this time, about their strengths and skills, about their determination. He had been genuinely excited about being chosen to proctor the final. Emphasis on ‘had been’. It was still hard to believe Hayate was gone.
Arms carefully wrapping around his waist pulled Genma from his haze and a face burying itself in his chest. His feet had stopped in front of his apartment door while his mind had still been with Hayate. How much time had passed as he had been standing there, thinking in front of the closed door?
“Hey, you.” His tongue was thick, heavy as he greeted you.
You squeezed his torso before lifting your head from his flak vest and looking up at him. The tears in your eyes glistened in the moonlight, your face was puffy and red. You had been crying. Seeing your like this broke his heart. You had probably spent the last hour sobbing over the cutting board Yūgao had gifted the two of you when you moved in together, holding one of the knives Hayate had gifted you two on the same occasion, desperately trying to cook something for him.
“Gen, I’m sorry”, you sobbed. “You must be hungry and I don’t– I couldn’t–” Your whole body shook as the sobs became overwhelming and you pressed your face into his torso again, your fingers clawing into the fabric of his shirt.
So, he held you. Right then and there, silently, in front of your shared apartment, not worrying about your sobs potentially waking the whole neighborhood, because there were more important things.
Eventually, when your sobs died down, he brought you to your couch, softly placing you down, before disappearing to the kitchen, making sure every stove was turned off and your apartment wouldn't burn down to the ground.
Returning to your figure in the living room, he let himself plop down on the couch as well, his back in the corner and his legs stretched out over the seats. He motioned you to come over, but you only looked at him questioningly. “Aren’t you hungry? I imagined they kept you from eating all day.” Your voice was nothing more than a hoarse caw.
Genma shook his head and beckoned you over again. “I’m not. If I ate something now, I wouldn’t be able to keep it down.”
“Still, you should eat something.” Contrary to your words you crawled over to him, sitting between his legs with your back against his chest and your legs bent resting against his leg, thereby preventing him from getting up and actually eat something.
Not that he minded, the both of you needed support rather than food right now and he could still eat before the final round the next day.
“How was your day?”, you asked. By now a certain numbness had settled in your body, even in your tone. You sounded colder than you intended, but after years of knowing you, Genma knew you meant no harm.
He sighed. “If this wasn’t an emergency, I would’ve thrown in the towel. They talked about the Kage’s protection today. Today! Can you believe that?” Running his hand over his face, his other arm wrapped around your waist. “I get they had to renew the line-up after Hayate...” He still couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. “But today? What the hell did they do the last days? I get everything’s messed up, but the final is tomorrow. So, why the fuck are they sorting important things like this out only today?”
Deep down in his heart he knew how stressful everything had to be for the Hokage and the higher-ups. It wasn’t their fault. Hayate hadn’t simply died. Someone had murdered him and that meant there might be a greater threat out there, posing a risk to the Chūnin Exams and Konohagakure. But he had to let out his pent-up stress somehow. He wasn’t angry or frustrated at them, but rather at the overall situation.
Gently, you pulled his hand from his face and gave it a kiss. “You’re worried something will go wrong tomorrow.”
Humming softly, his lips brushed over your shoulder to your neck. The sharp tip of his senbon poked into your skin, puncturing it. Usually, you would protest and make him lay it aside or straight up pull it from his lips yourself, though today you didn’t. Ever since his academy days he kept one between his lips, even showering with it. He had explained to you how it helped him maintain a clear head, how it gave him a little comfort, and you didn’t want to take this away from him now.
“I have this uneasy feeling. What happened to Hayate is evidence enough something’s going on and I’m convinced Orochimaru’s planning something. He showed up in the second stage and I bet it’s far from over. There’s no way that literal snake was only there to mark the Uchiha boy.”
You leaned your head back to look at Genma. “Mark the Uchiha boy?”
He nodded, brows furrowing. “Anko told you about her Curse Mark, right? Apparently, Orochimaru gave Sasuke one too when he bit him. Kakashi put a seal on it, but said seal is only as strong as Sasuke’s willpower to resist the temptation of using it.”
Curios, you raised an eyebrow. “That sounds like top secret information, how did you get at it?”
“Kakashi warned me in wise foresight. Just in case shit goes down tomorrow.” The frown on his face only deepened.
You kissed his cheek before turning your head forward again. “I wish you the best for tomorrow. You got some rather interesting competitors there.”
He sneered. “That puts it nicely. Our genin are all strong and it’s been a while since so many beginners took part in the exams – especially in the final round – and I do feel just a little bit of pride, but something about the Suna genin bothers me. Besides, they are still all kids. You know I can’t stand children.”
“At least you can watch them beat each other up.”
His chuckled warmed your heart. It was a good sign he could still laugh after losing Hayate who had been like a little brother to him. “That’s the only thing I’m looking forward to, you know?”
Sinking further into his embrace, the two of you shared a moment of comfortable silence, simply savoring the other’s company and appreciating their warmth.
“I haven’t asked about your day.”
You shook your head. “Today was hard enough for you, you don’t need me bothering you.”
“Idiot”, he said. “You’re never a bother. I love you and as your boyfriend I’m more than willing to listen to your struggles. You don’t have to do everything alone. I’m there to take some weight off your shoulder. Besides, you were crying into my chest earlier, I'm not sure if my day was really the worse one.”
A sad smile tucked on your lips. “I visited Yūgao.” You waited a moment before you continued, “She’s acting tough on duty, but she’s hurting. She cried less today, but I’m not sure if that’s progress or if she’s just bottling everything up. She has his sword lying on the dinner table as if they were waiting for him to return and take it with him on his next mission. I think even though she’s a shinobi and we’re always told our comrades can die every mission she didn’t expect him to die first. I get a feeling she suffers from a sort of survivor guilt.”
Genma took a while to return something. “I think most of us did. Or at least we all expected this damn coughing to be his death.”
“I remember the faces some genin made when he told them how important a shinobi’s health was – and then coughed so hard, I thought his lungs would come out of his mouth too.” A little laugh mixed with a sob bubbled up in your throat.
Laughing a little himself, Genma added, “Their bickering about hypocrisy, because he told her to be careful and take care of herself before a mission and Yūgao returned how he should practice what he preaches first, since he was the one with dark circles under his eyes and a chronic cough. I stopped counting the times she complained about his coughs waking her up in the middle of the night, but as soon as someone even hinted, she could sleep in another room, she shot that down, saying she would sleep even worse without him there.”
You snuggled deeper into his chest. “Because as shinobi we only have so much time with our partners and we never know when the last time we see each other will be.”
“We can only hope it’s not this time.”
“Did you know they were considering marriage? And kids, based on how well he would get along with a team of genin?”
He laughed again, his breath fanning over your neck, causing a comforting shiver to run down your spine. “His hypothetical question if I would agree to be his best man was very telling. And I saw him looking at engagement rings a while ago when Yūgao was out on a mission.”
You chuckled. “Purely hypothetical, huh? I can see you smirking at him, not believing it’s really a hypothetical question. Did he ask where one could look for a decent tuxedo next? Only for a friend, of course.”
His nose brushed through your hair when he shook his head. “No, he did not. Tough this is a question one better asks Asuma anyway.”
“So, you would ask Asuma?”
A few kisses were placed on your shoulder and he paused a moment before answering, “I did, yes.”
The smile on your lips faded. Thinking about marrying Genma was fine, the two of you had talked about potentially taking the plunge, but back then it seemed to be some time in the future. Now, it suddenly felt too real, too close. How could you even think about this when this milestone had just been ripped from Yūgao? How could you ever invite her, remind her of something she would never get with Hayate? And you couldn’t imagine a wedding without her by your side.
Genma, sensing your uneasiness, brushed his thumb over the back of your hand.
“I can’t, Genma, I–”, you stopped yourself. Words failed you, despite there being so many things you wanted to say. The happiness you felt about Genma’s proposal was quickly overshadowed by guilt. How could you be happy when your best friend had just lost her love?
He gave you a feathery kiss on the back of your head. “I know, baby, I know. It was about a month ago. As bad as I want to marry you, we will put this on hold until you’re comfortable to tell Yūgao, because I know you’d like to have her there.”
New tears burned behind your eyes and a sob escaped your lips. “I feel so bad for crying, because she lost her partner while I lost ‘just’ a friend, and at the same time I feel guilty for laughing over things and feeling happiness, because she’s hurting and I feel like I dismiss Hayate, as if I don’t care about his passing, but I do and I– I–”
“Babe, it’s alright. Your feelings are valid, but let me tell you, nobody thinks you don’t care about him and the loss of a partner is always a different kind of hard than the loss of a good friend. He was like a little brother to me, but I still have you to help me through this.”
You slowly nodded, tears retreating as a numb feeling spread in you. “Can we talk about this tomorrow, maybe? After the Chūnin Exams are over?”
His arms around your body squeezed you. “Of course. Whatever you want, baby.”
Warnings: language, mentions of periods, implied sex, suggestive insinuations
Track: 5 Seconds of Summer – Teeth
A/N: This one's for @rosesandtoshi 's Enemies to Lovers collab so make sure to check out the other works! Did I go a little overboard with this? Maybe. Do I care? No. Enjoy!
A quiet swoosh was heard when the doors slid open. The bright light of the fluorescent tubes was almost blinding compared to the soft light eradiating from the moon and the streetlamps outside. I made my way through the aisles, wandering around and looking for something to eat. It was late, so I didn’t want to eat anything too hearty, but whatever snacks I had at home weren’t good enough. The market was quiet, only disturbed by the slight buzzing coming from the neon tubes and the squeak of my shoes on the linoleum floor.
My stomach grumbled, craving for food, since I hadn’t eaten something warm all day. After having wandered around the market for the third time, I ultimately settled for some onigiri – filling but not too hearty.
Behind the counter sat the same blonde guy around my age who sat there half the times I came here. He was attractive and I contemplated asking him for his number a few times, but he was at work and hitting on people at work was just inappropriate and rude in my opinion, so I had never talked to him outside of a payment process.
Without looking up from his manga, he typed the right amount into the cash register, a cigarette hanging between his fingers as always. “I hope this is not your dinner.”
“And what if it was?” Something about his tone rubbed me the wrong way. Though it was a nonchalant one, I felt like getting lectured.
He sighed. “Then make sure you eat something proper.”
My eyes narrowed. God, how I hated people telling me what to do. “Don’t worry, grandma. This is only a late-night snack and I had a proper dinner”, I lied with a fake smile, not even trying to hide my annoyance.
An eyebrow cocked, he eyed me up and down, clearly having a hard time believing me. Though he remained silent.
Clenching my jaw, I fought the urge to throw the food at him. Why did I even worry about being nice when he was so openly rude to a customer? “There's nothing wrong with the occasional late night onigiri!” Why was I even defending myself? What I ate was none of his business, so why did I feel the need to justify myself?
“This is the third time this week you’re here.” With another sigh, he looked up from his manga and at me. “Listen–”
“No, no”, I interrupted him. “It’s fine. I just wanna know, if this is something you tell all your customers or if I’m the only one?”
“I say it to customers who I think need a reminder.”
I was about to talk back, but a swoosh cut our conversation off. The both of us turned our attention to the two boys coming in. One of them was quite short with fuzzy orange hair, the other one was taller with a shaved head. The latter stopped dead in his tracks when his gaze fell on the cashier. “Shit.”
“Tanaka! Hinata!”, he barked at them. “Do you have any idea what time it is? I swear to God, if you skipped dinner today because you trained until the janitor had to throw you out again, the both of you will stay on the bench against Seijoh! And if one of you is late to practice or lacking energy tomorrow, the both of you will run ten additional laps around the gym!”
Both boys froze and nodded violently. “Yes, Coach!”
He threw two energy bars through the market, which were successfully caught by the boys. “Now get out of here, you rascals! You’re too loud!”
Turning my attention back to the blonde man, I cocked an eyebrow. “So, customers who need a reminder? Like a high school student?”
“That’s not what I–”
But I cut in once again. “Like I said, it’s fine.” I put the money on the counter before snatching the onigiri and turning around to leave.
Behind me, he sighed for the third time. “Fine. If you wanna be rude and annoying, do it but not in my shop.” I was almost out the door when I heard him yell, “You gave me too much money, idiot!”
“Keep the change, you’ll need it when I get my stuff at Shimada’s from now on.”
The door slid shut with the same quiet woosh it had opened and left me unsatisfied. I really needed a door I could slam shut.
And for four weeks I stood by my words. For four weeks I stayed well clear of the Sakanoshita Market and its stupid cashier. Unfortunately, Fortuna left me in the fifth week when I as well as Shimada were out of pads, forcing me to return to the store I had avoided for so long.
The scowl already on my face, I entered the shop in search of my preferred brand, hoping that maybe the guy wouldn’t be working, but of course he was – if reading with your feet on the counter could be considered working. And of course, he had to get on my nerves again.
“So much for getting all your supplies at Shimada’s, huh?”, he teased with a smirk, eyes on a manga and another stupid cigarette between his lips when I approached the checkout.
I chucked the two packs of pads on the counter. “Don’t flatter yourself, it’s only an emergency.”
He let out a dry laugh, typing on the cash register. “Someone’s feisty today.”
A moment of silence passed between us as I expected him to say something about it being ‘that time of the month’ and ‘hormones’, but no such comment was made. “What? No remark about me being aggressive because I’m on my period?”, I asked, my tone challenging.
To my surprise – and admittedly annoyance – he shook his head, focusing on the manga in front of him again. “Women are allowed to be feisty and angry whenever they want. Blaming it on hormones is just plain sexist and stupid.”
His answer had been more than unexpected and saying I was flabbergasted would be an understatement. Not knowing what to return, I closed my mouth. And what he said next threw me off guard even more.
“I hope you’re eating enough.” The subtle change of his tone didn’t slip my mind. Just like his wording, it was softer. Instead of demanding like the last time, it sounded rather worried.
And yet, I rolled my eyes, slipping the money over the counter. It was still not his concern how much and what I ate. “Do you want to come over and watch me cook? Is this your plan? Your way of flirting? Creep. Grow up.”
He chuckled and got the change from the cash register, not even slightly intrigued. “Right, guys are only ever interesting when they’re over six feet tall. Come on, it’s only two inches!”
I refrained from commenting something along the line ‘that’s what she said’ after he had kept his mouth shut about my pads and instead snapped, “Why do you even care?” Right after the words had left my mouth, I felt somewhat guilty about my harsh tone. Maybe because there was this tiny hint of hurt in his voice – or was I imagining things?
“Because eating enough is important and I don’t want my customers to starve. I encourage a lot of people I meet to have proper meals regularly.”
“Whatever.” I grabbed my things and left the store, internally hoping I got to never see him again.
Of course, hopes are only hopes and deep down I knew there was no way to avoid him forever, except when I moved far away, and so I was disappointed but not very surprised when our glances met across the bar a few days later. Instinctively, I rolled my eyes before shaking my head and turning my eyes back to my drink. He wouldn’t come over anyway. He had no reason to talk to me. At least that's what I thought.
“Hey”, came his voice suddenly from next to me.
As much as I wanted to pretend, I didn’t hear him over the music, my body betrayed me by flinching. “What do you want?” Still focusing on the glass on the counter, I tried to think of a reason he would strike up a conversation with me.
He chuckled. “I’m wondering what you’re doing here all by yourself. Do you want some company?”
“I’m good. My friend just went to the bathroom. Besides, I’d rather cuddle with a porcupine than talk to you.”
The click of his tongue was almost completely drowned by the music blasting through the speakers. “There is no friend. You’ve been sitting here all alone the whole time.”
I could only hope the bar was dark enough to hide every indication of embarrassment from being caught red-handed on my face. Why couldn’t he just leave me alone? “So what? What if I’m drinking on my own? It’s none of your business anyway”, I mumbled just barely loud enough to be heard about the music.
“You shouldn’t drink alone.”
One could probably hear my eyes rolling. “Who cares if I do?”
His chest heaving was the only sign he sighed. “You look like shit.”
That stung. Even though it shouldn’t, because it came from someone I didn’t get along with, it hurt. Tears burned behind my eyes and I bit my lip to keep them from slipping. I got up from the bar stool, turned to him and slapped him across the face. Hard.
“Shit.” He chuckled. What kind of an asshole did one have to be to chuckle after insulting someone like this? I grabbed my things and brushed past him when he grabbed my wrist. “I worded that wrong. I’m sorry.”
Without looking at him I tore my arm from his grip and made my way to the exit. If I had to spend one more second in his presence I would burst into tears and I really didn’t need him to see me cry. The embarrassment earlier had been enough already.
I ignored the man standing next to the entrance and smoking a cigarette and headed down the street, my eyes focused on the gray stones dotting the sidewalk to keep me from crying, but biting my lip wasn’t enough anymore and the first tear fell down my cheek. Fuck. I heard the door open again and assumed the guy had gone back in.
“Oi, Keishin! Are you leaving already? Holy! What happened to your face?”
Steps behind me jogged closer. “Something I deserved.” At least he recognized that. “Hey, please wait.” But I kept walking until he stepped in my way. Fortunately, he refrained from touching me this time. “Listen, I’m sorry. That came out wrong and I didn’t mean it like that.”
Another tear slipped from my eyes which were still staring on the ground and I knew my voice would crack if I said something, but I couldn’t help it. “That’s what they always say.” There was no way he didn’t noticed my voice choking with tears.
“I know. And I know I can’t take back what I said no matter how much I wish I could.” He put his index finger under my chin to lift my head, gently wiping a tear away. And for the first time that day I really looked at him.
Instead of his orange hoodie and apron he wore a black hoodie with a leather jacket and jeans just as black. His hair was missing the headband, causing a strand of his blonde hair the hair gel couldn’t hold to fall into his face, just asking to be brushed away. The mix of streetlights and moonlight highlighted his jawline and nose before it got caught in his soft brown eyes. Eyes that were filled with genuine regret. Shit. Why was my heart racing like mad?
And then I did something stupid. Like really stupid. I kissed him. Even worse, not only a quick peck but a real kiss where I buried my fingers in his hoodie to pull him closer to me. His lips moved against mine after he had overcome the initial surprise, reciprocating the kiss.
We pulled away after a while, both panting heavily. “You’re not gonna slap me again, are you?”, he asked warily, still breathless.
Silently I shook my head. This time, I wanted to slap myself. But instead, I did the incredible and the probably second most stupid thing ever – ranked right after kissing him the first time – and kissed him again. Though this time he saw it coming and met me halfway.
Two kisses turned into three, three into four, and soon enough we were practically making out on the street with his hands squeezing my hips and mine buried in his hair. My mind was clouded – if from the alcohol or his scent I couldn’t tell – and the words slipped out before I could stop him, “Yours or mine?”
When I woke up the next morning, I knew instantly where I was. No moment of getting lost in the lover’s sweet scent before realizing one shouldn’t be waking up in it, no. Regret was the first thing I felt as I wished I had drunk enough to forget last night.
The other side of the bed was empty and nothing could be heard through the door. That he was awake meant I couldn’t secretly slip out, but at least he wouldn’t insist on cuddling.
After getting dressed I opened the bedroom door and wanted to take a beeline to the front door, but I got curious when the whole apartment stayed silent. He had really left me alone in his home. The nerves. Though I was thankful because I didn’t run into him and could just slip out to go home and never see him again.
Sadly – as I hadn’t moved across the country within seconds and still lived here – things hardly go as wished-for in this universe. For me, this meant I couldn’t get my groceries from the Shimada Mart as usual, because I had forgotten about Shimada being on vacation. Shit. I couldn’t delay the shopping until Shimada came back since I would’ve died of hunger by then, so the only option was going to the Sakanoshita Market. Knowing how much the universe loved to fuck with me, I knew he would be the one sitting behind the counter again with a stupid manga in his hand and a cigarette between his way too soft lips.
“Oh, you’re awake”, he greeted me.
I scoffed. “That’s the first thing you say? You left me alone in your fucking apartment. Who the hell does that?” Considering our ‘relationship’ I would’ve expected he believed I would trash his belongings if left alone, but he didn’t seem to think like this – or he simply didn’t care about it.
He shrugged, turning a page of his manga. “I figured I should get away from you before you wake up and hit me again.” Involuntary, I flinched. “Besides, I had to begin harvesting in the morning and I didn’t want to wake you at four in the morning.” He took a drag from his cigarette, slowly breathing out the smoke again. “I guess I could’ve left a note or something but I’m not good with words.”
“Yeah, I figured.” He had been harvesting in the morning? When did he even sleep? I shook my head. It was nothing of importance for me. “Also, I wouldn’t hit you for neither the kiss nor for what happened after. That was my fault. I did it willingly and no matter how much I regret it, I consented, so I can’t accuse you of anything.”
His jaw tensed visibly as he took a deep breath before asking, “You regret it?”
Did I? I didn’t hate myself for it and wished it never happened, but I couldn’t say I’d eagerly awaited a next time. “I don’t know. It wasn’t bad, but I’m not happy about what I did.”
“I see.” He sighed heavily before pulling something from under the counter. “Here, take this. It’s on the house.” It was a bag from the store, filled with various onigiri and ramen – all in flavors I liked. Was that a coincidence? Probably.
I looked at him confused. Why would he give me a bunch of food – especially the more expensive brands – on the house? Particularly after what happened last night?
“You look thinner”, he explained when he noticed my bewildered expression, slight worry in his voice.
“So what? Yesterday you seemed to be pretty into it.”
Rolling his eyes, he looked up from his manga, his gaze a mix of annoyance, resignation and... hurt? “You have fun painting me the bad guy, huh?”
Snatching my stuff, I narrowed my eyes. His behavior making me wary. “Don’t act like the hostility isn’t mutual!”, I snapped, before sighing. “But thanks”, I pried through gritted teeth, though my tone a little softer than before. The fact that he was still acting so nice even though we clearly disliked each other made me want to vomit. At the bottom of his heart, he was a genuinely nice person – though not necessarily in my eyes – and I hated it. Just like I hated his stupidly good-looking face.
What I hated even more was that I had to thank him somehow. But how do you thank someone you can’t stand? Invite them over for dinner? Better not, that would be too much and considering how interested he was in my eating habits it felt more like I would be fulfilling some kinky fantasy for him. Then again, I had already slept with him, so saying a dinner was too much felt weird.
Suddenly, an idea popped in my head. Since he didn’t get a night of proper sleep, I could gift him a pack of my favorite tea that helped me a lot with sleeping by calming down my mind and body after a long day so I could fall asleep without issues. It wasn’t much, but better than nothing and if it helped him, it was even better.
To get the matter with thanking him out of the way as fast as possible, I headed straight home to get some of it from the pile of boxes of tea I had in my cupboard and to the Sakanoshita Market again after. I wanted to return as soon as possible. Being in someone’s debt was something I avoided if necessary – even more if I wasn’t close to the person I owed. A shiver ran down my spine. Saying ‘not close’ took some nerves. But it was true. We had sex, but I still didn’t know anything about his interests, his hobbies or his life.
When I entered the Sakanoshita Market, the checkout was abandoned with no blonde man in sight. Of course, he was away when I wanted to see him. Wanted to see him. What was wrong with me all of the sudden? I placed the box on the counter with a shake of my head to get these weird thought out of my head and turned around to leave. Just as I was about to leave, I heard someone clear their throat.
“We don’t sell these here.”
His voice sent a shiver down my spine. Turning around with a blank expression, I looked at him. “I know. It’s a thank you for the food. The tea helps me a lot with sleeping and I figured maybe you could put good use to it.”
My name left his lips in a sigh and my mind replayed memories of him. Breathlessly panting my name. Moaning it. He took a step forward, his face twisted while he thought about something. I was about to turn around again and leave when he blurted out, “How about a date?” His Adam’s apple bopped visibly and his eyes widened anxiously.
Slowly, his words seeped into my mind and my eyes widened in shock. “Excuse me? What?!” He was kidding, right? “Are you serious?”
“Yes. No. Maybe”, he groaned, clearly becoming frustrated. “I don’t know. What’s the deal with you?” Did he hit his head or something? Why the hell would he ask me out? “One second you’re as cuddly as a cactus, the next you give me tea so I can sleep better which shows that you seem to care about me at least a little. You confuse me to no end.”
I scoffed. “You’re one to talk. You bossed me around and you’re obsessed with my eating habits. What the fuck is wrong with you? Is this some sort of kink?”
His cigarette fell out of his mouth when his jaw dropped before he burst out laughing. “A kink”, he pressed out between laughing fits that wouldn’t stop for a while.
“Are you finished?”, I asked with my arms crossed before my chest when he calmed down again.
A smirk staying on his lips, he took a few deep breaths before answering, “I’m sorry. That was just the most absurd thing I’ve heard in a while – and I coach a bunch of teenage boys.” He shook his head. “I’m only worried you’re starving yourself because you’ve lost some weight. You know, like people do with people they care about.”
Confused would be the best word to describe me in this moment. “Why do you care about me? You don’t even know me.”
“Bold coming from the person who assumed I had a feeding kink.” I threw him a warning glare, daring him to continue. “You know, I thought you were cute whenever you stepped by to get something. But then you opened your mouth that day and–”
Now it was my turn to laugh. “You bossed me around! You told me what to do!”
“Yeah, maybe I could’ve worded that better, but I was just trying to be nice! Who would’ve thought you would hate me for choosing the wrong words?”
We were interrupted by the doors opening, two boys coming through.
“She looks like the woman Coach was contemplating asking out”, the one with orange hair – I recognized him from a few weeks ago – whispered to the one with shorter, dark hair. Unfortunately, the shop was silent aside from the low humming of the freezers, so we were able to hear every single word.
The other boy cleared his throat, obviously embarrassed, and grabbed the orange-haired by the collar. “Sorry to interrupt, Coach. We’ll come back later. Or maybe not at all today. Come, Hinata.”
When they were just out the door, the boy named Hinata asked, “Is this how adults ask each other out? By shouting at each other?” The rest of their conversation was hidden behind the door shutting with a swoosh.
I turned back to him with a cocked eyebrow, arms still crossed in front of my torso. “Good question. Is it?”
“You know I suck at choosing the right words! Just tell me yes or no, so I can worry in peace whether they heard the part about the kink, because in case they did, I might have to quit as their coach. I can’t have that kind of conversation with highschoolers.”
How he stood there – the artificial light coming from the fluorescent tubes highlighting his face, calloused finger holding his cigarette and the headband holding his soft locks – I thought I might fall in love. “Fine.”
Disapproving he shook his head. “That’s neither a yes nor a no.”
“Wow, you’re just as bad at understanding words as you are at using them, aren’t you? It’s a ‘yes’, god fucking damn it!”
Surprising even me, I had suggested a dinner date as a sign I believed him, when he said he was only concerned about my health, and now he was making some of the prettiest sushi I had ever seen.
My feet dangled from the kitchen island as he worked on the sushi, carefully forming the rice to place a piece of salmon on top of it. He was concentrated, but still smiled a little as I watched him. “What are you looking at?”
There was something about him I really liked but I couldn’t pinpoint what it was exactly. Sure, he was undeniable attractive. A strand of hair had escaped his headband, dangling on his forehead, just begging to be brushed away and I noticed it was the same strand as last time. The fabric of his shirt stretched around his muscular arm – in which he could hold me very comfortably – complimenting his exposed skin. And what made me almost go feral alone were his fingers. Just looking at them brought back the feeling of them brushing over my skin, kneading my flesh and making me feel wanted. But physical attraction wasn’t the only thing. There was something about his character, about him as a person, that made me agree to this date.
“Just you”, I answered honestly.
He chuckled. “Like what you see?” Without looking at me he continued making sushi, but the smile on his face turned into a smirk.
“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t have hooked up.”
The knife he had used to cut the salmon made a dull sound as it hit the cutting board. His hands on the edge of the kitchen island and his head hanging low, he sighed deeply, the smirk suddenly gone and replaced by a serious expression. “You sure about that?” His tone was somewhat hopeful, throwing me off for a moment.
“I am. I wasn’t that drunk and while I have no idea why I wanted it, I’m sure I wanted it.”
With irritation I watched his knuckles turning white the tighter he gripped the counter, before suddenly letting go of it and straightening up, looking through my eyes into my soul. “And you still regret it?”
I clicked my tongue and let out a little laugh. “Are you still hung up on this?” When he didn’t react, I continued, “Regret is a strong word. It’s complicated. What I think about you is fluctuating so much lately that I’m not sure which of these opinions and feelings are real. You drive me up the wall with your rude comments but then you gift me onigiri and ramen in my favorite flavors and I think how deep down in your heart you’re a nice person who I’d like to get to know better.”
“Excuse me? Me driving you up the wall? If at all you are the one driving me up the wall! One minute you slap me–”
“You yourself admitted you deserved–” He didn’t let me finish my interjection and instead just shoved a piece of sushi into my mouth.
“–the next you’re kissing me in the middle of the street”, he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, and his gaze flickered back onto the cutting board before him.
My guilty conscience started gnawing on me. It wasn’t fair how I had treated him. I swallowed the sushi, before answering, “I’m sorry. You know, before we talked for the first time that day, I thought about asking for your number, but flirting with people in their workplace is weird, so I never did and then... I don’t know...” I sighed. “Where did we go wrong, Keishin?”
His body froze like hearing his name from my lips struck a chord in him. “We both fucked up. Somewhere in the beginning. But we both wanted to build a relationship with the other, so how about we start over?”
The atmosphere was thick, keeping me from laughing about his proposition. He was serious about it. “How? I’m literally sitting on your kitchen island.”
A small, shy smile found its way onto his lips as he lifted his head to look at me. “Hey, my name’s Keishin. What’s your name and what are you doing in my kitchen?”
His smile suddenly summoned butterflies in my stomach. It was as if I feel in love in the blink of an eye. With the same smile on my own face, I played along, “Hey, Keishin. Someone invited me here for a sushi date.”
“If that’s the case, who am I to deny you the best sushi you’ll ever have? Here, try this.”
My lips brushed over his fingers as I took the piece of sushi from his hand directly into my mouth. Chewing it, I gave him an approving nod. “I think I’d like to come back for more. It’s exactly my taste – and not only the food.”
He chuckled and softly ruffled through my hair, his smile turning mischievous. “There’s no need to come back if you don’t leave in the first place, we can just stay up all night, watching movies and eating food.”
“Just movies and food? Nothing else?”, I asked, an eyebrow raised in suspicion.
With a shrug of his shoulders, he resumed to preparing more sushi. “I’m not opposed to making out or more, but that’s up to you. If you wish to take it a little slower, that’s fine with me – except if it contains slapping me. Then I’m out.”
I put my hands on my hips, faking indignation. “Slapping you? I would never! Except if you say something really, really stupid.”
Laughter filled his apartment, significantly warming up the atmosphere and easing up any tension left. The setting sun shone through the windows, painting his kitchen and figure in gentle shades of red and orange. I caught myself staring, but I continued. The sight was too beautiful to miss.
“What are you looking at?”, he asked the same question as earlier.
“Just you”, I gave the same answer as earlier.
“Like what you see?”
“If I didn’t, we wouldn’t be hooking up tonight.”
The smirk returned to his face. “Is that a promise?”
“Let’s call it a suggestion.”
Was ‘staying overnight on the first date’ the opposite of ‘taking things slow’? Yes. Did the both of us do it anyway? Yes. Would I regret that now? Definitely.
I would’ve preferred to keep our relationship a secret for a little longer, but I knew that was impossible when I noticed I had forgotten my keys at his apartment and now had to pay a visit to his job and there was no way his noisy students wouldn’t ask questions when I showed up.
“Oi, dumbass! I forgot my keys in your kitchen!”, I yelled through the gym.
From his spot on a table beside the net he groaned, before yelling back, “Wouldn’t that make you the dumbass?”
His students only looked at our exchange wide-eyed. “Has anyone every told you how much of a nuisance you are to society?”
“Yes. You have. Multiple times. Idiot.” Still, he searched for his keys in the pockets of his trackpants and threw them across the court when he finally found them.
I caught them in my hands and slipped the keyring around my index finger. “Thanks!”
“Wow, they hate each other”, I heard a boy with black hair and the number nine on his jersey.
The two older looking boys standing near him, gave each other knowing smirks. I recognized the one with short dark hair as the same boy who had dragged the orange-haired boy out of the shop a few days ago. He wore the number one and winked at the grey-hired boy with the number two. “No, they don’t. Not really.”
The grey-haired boy patted the younger one on the back, clearly teasing him. “Kageyama, what do you think how she forgot her keys in his kitchen?”
“See you!”, I said to them before leaving.
“Oi! Idiot! You better return them or wait for me to come home!”
One day Kakashi Hatake, the Sixth Hokage, came into your tattoo studio, asking something impossible from you. With a heavy heart you had to decline his request, but it kept haunting you and you refused to accept this was the end of it.
Track: Vinsmoker, Anthony Meyer – Dancing Thru My Mind
A/N: Thank y'all for the love and support you gave the first chapter! I appreciate every like and every reblog <3
Under The Skin masterlist
Support
Kakashi’s dull eyes haunted you. Not in a sense that you felt watched or saw him everywhere, but rather whenever you closed your eyes to sleep you saw his Anbu flame before your inner eye or whenever you worked a design for a customer your mind wandered to motives that could cover up the flame or whenever the bell above your door rang you hoped it was him about to tell you he didn’t want the cover-up anymore.
You refused to accept Kakashi’s case as a failure. Whether because of pride, determination or guilt, you couldn’t specify. Probably because of all of the above.
What plagued you the most was the question why someone would even want to get an Anbu flame covered. To your knowledge, the Anbu were a very well-respected force directly under the Hokage’s order. Only the best shinobi were given the opportunity to join, so wasn’t it a sign of honor? Why would someone feel the need to hide it?
Two weeks later, you still couldn’t think of anything else and in a lousy attempt to get your mind off Kakashi and his tattoo, you convinced yourself it was time to clean out all the old files from your office. The tiny room in the back was more of an archive than anything else and filled with racks, which were overflowing with folders to the point they could collapse should anyone put any more weight on them.
During your raid you found old documents, dated years ago – receipts, sketches, letters from thankful customers. You put all the letters to your dad in packing cases you found behind one of the shelves and put the full boxes next to your front desk to take them with you when you would leave. As for the receipts and sketches you were indecisive if it was better to put them in alphabetical or chronological order, however that could wait until you had emptied all the racks and scattered everything on the ground, leaving said ground nowhere to be seen under all the paper, aside from the one spot for yourself to sit down.
Before starting the sorting process, you looked around the room again, scanning the shelves if you had missed anything, and noticed how different the angle from the floor was. While usually the room felt small and narrow, the shelves now seemed to have grown, towering over you and changing the perspective. When you checked the last shelf again, the one in the right corner, you noticed something sticking to the lower three boards.
Careful to not destroy the organized chaos you had just created, you got up and tiptoed over, kneeling on the ground. And sure enough, someone had taped a folded sheet of paper on each of the undersides of the three lowest shelves, so thin and hidden one wouldn’t spot them looking from an upper angle. Your fingers gently removed the tape from the old wood, cautious as to not damage the varnish, and then from the papers before unfolding them. You recognized your dad’s line work and drawing style instantly.
The first paper depicted a crow in front of a waterfall, wings spread and its beak torn open in a screech and a red Anbu flame worked into its stomach and chest, a thin line of what seemed to be uncolored skin separating it from the tattoo’s design. Despite it being only a sketch, the waterfall and the bird’s feathers were incredibly detailed and its visible eye contained some sort of red and black pattern. After years of knowing your dad, these were the parts he intended to do with your family’s special ink, bringing the water and the crow’s feathers to life.
On the second sketch, the pattern of the crow’s eye was pictured bigger. It was a red circle, outlined with a black border. The pattern inside was just as black as the outline and shaped similar to a shuriken with four barb-like corners. Inside was another red circle in the middle which – in turn – had a black dot in its center. Behind the circle, water shot up like a wave breaking at a cliff. And again, the very same flame was worked into the pattern with the very same uncolored bound.
Lastly, the third paper displayed a fan with a blaze in the background. Sketched on the red leaf was a slightly darker ring with three black tomoe circling around a single black dot. This time, the Anbu mark was worked into the fan’s white handle – again separated by an invisible line. But something about the fan struck a chord with you. You could’ve sworn you had seen it before but your brain wouldn’t tell you where or when.
Searching the three concepts for more details or hints, your gaze fell on the initials written lightly with a pencil on the bottom right corners of each sheet. U.I. You took another look at the third design. The fan looked like a symbol... maybe a clan symbol?
Your knowledge of the shinobi world and its clans was limited despite you being a chūnin on paper. Absolving the academy and becoming a genin was a requirement in your family to learn the special technique of tattooing which got passed down from generation to generation. And while you were taught said technique from the cradle, your dad had refused to let you work full-time in his studio until you were fifteen, so you spend the years in between to have an income from completing missions and making it to chūnin just a few months before your dad allowed you to resign from missions and work full-time for him. Therefore, you knew something about everyday shinobi life but coming from a team with neither a well-known sensei nor well-known teammates, you never came into much contact with shinobi politics or the elite, the members of powerful clans, aside from a few stories here and there.
And then it clicked. Uchiha. The fan was the Uchiha’s symbol and the pattern with the tomoe had to be their so called Sharingan. From what you had heard, they used to be a powerful clan, until one Uchiha had eradicated the whole clan in a single night, only leaving his younger, now traumatized brother behind.
Your dad’s words rang in your ears. ‘He was a young man, not even eighteen, whose village had failed him.’ Was he the boy your dad talked about that night? But why would he feel bad for refusing the request of a criminal? You shook your head. They were probably not the same person. Still, what if you...?
Discarding the chaos in the archive, you jumped to your feet and ran over to your front desk and pulled out a few blank sheets of paper and a pen. Quickly, each of the papers had the flame of your recent restless nights in the center. Though your enthusiasm was quickly hushed when a big problem arose. What motives would fit? You knew next to nothing about Kakashi, his life or his preferences.
Someone flicking your forehead made you snap out of it, reminding you where you were. It was Genma. You had totally forgotten about his appointment. Hastily, you stashed your dad’s design under your own sketches, hoping he didn’t see them.
“Is the thing with Kakashi still bothering you? Or has he, perhaps, stolen your heart?”, Genma teased, nodding his head to the sketches in front of you.
With a little shake of your head, you started drawing random lines around one of the flames, in hopes of sudden inspiration. “None of your business, Shiranui.”
“I pay you by the hour and if you charge me for the time you spend lusting over Kakashi, it becomes my business.”
Figuring work would keep you distracted for a while, you got to continue Genma’s tattoo of the Allied Forces headband, a reminder of the beginning of a peaceful era he and his comrades from all shinobi nations had helped create.
Neither of you struck up another conversation, so the only noises in the room were the humming of the air conditioning, the ticking of your clock and the buzzing of your tattoo machine. You cursed yourself internally for forgetting to turn on your radio earlier. Technically it wasn’t silent but it was still quiet enough for your thoughts to drown out all the noise and it was too much for you. You needed a distraction from your thoughts – a good one, since this wasn’t helping.
“Has he told you why he wants it covered?”, you asked. “Isn’t it an honor to be eligible for this special command? After all, only the most capable shinobi are offered a part in the Black Ops, no?” You mentally slapped yourself. This was anything but a distraction – on the contrary, it only added fuel to the dumpster fire that was your mind.
Genma took long enough to answer for you to look up from the motive in front of you. His eyebrows were furrowed, his arm behind his head and his senbon was moving from one corner of his mouth to the other and back again. “Kakashi is... How do I put this nicely? How do I say this without sounding like a jerk?”
“Since when do you care about sounding like a jerk?”
“We’re talking about Kakashi. This man saved my ass more than once. He’s the Hokage. My boss. My friend. You won’t catch me dead talking shit about him.” He clicked his tongue. “Anyway, what I wanted to say is: Kakashi is a good guy who’s been through a lot. I suspect, he’d like to forget his Black Ops era. The Anbu are ruthless. He isn’t. People say he is, but they’re wrong. Knowing him I would say he hates looking at it, hates remembering this part of his life.”
You nodded slowly, understanding, letting Genma’s words sink in. The idea to surround the flame with good prompts, things he liked to remember, grew even more on you. It was a good middle ground between the cover-up you weren’t allowed to do and the nakedness emphasizing the – apparently – horrible memories of the Anbu mark.
Although you still had no idea what exactly to draw around, you figured the solution sat right in front of you. “What do you know about him? What does he like? Are there any things that would make a great tattoo motive?”, you asked, avoiding Genma’s eyes by drawing the character for ‘shinobi’ on the forehead protector on his ribs.
Still, you could see him smirk in the corner of your eye, his twitching senbon attracting your gaze. “You’re really interested in the mystery that is Kakashi Hatake, huh? You like him that much after meeting and talking to him once?”
“I may have a solution that makes both of us happy. It’s not a cover-up but rather I’d add things around the flame, reminders of the good things in his life, representation of his friends or people close to him. And therefore, I need someone who knows Kakashi very well for the details.”
A little surprised, Genma raised an eyebrow. “Like the designs you stashed under your sketches earlier?”
You gulped nervously. “You saw?”
“The Uchiha fan isn’t something that slips a shinobi’s eye and neither is a Mangekyō Sharingan.”
The wording struck a chord with you, pointing out just how out of touch you were with events in the shinobi world since you had quit that life – aside from the war, but that had been something unavoidable. “Guess I’m not shinobi enough”, you joked, covering up the flicker of hurt in your heart. “Anyway. Who can help me figure out the right motives?”
“Lucky for you, I know just the right someone.” With a wink he disappeared into a cloud of smoke, leaving you behind in a state of irritation, sitting on your stool, the machine still in your hand.
When Genma had said ‘someone’ , you had expected said person to be him, not a pug he brought when he returned to the studio an hour later. Granted, he also brought two other shinobi with him, who introduced themselves as Iruka and Yamato, but you were too distracted by the dog almost ripping off Genma’s face when he tried to hold him up.
“This is Pakkun. He’s one of Kakashi’s ninken who have known him since his childhood, so he should be an excellent help. Just don’t try to pick him up.”
Pakkun gave him a glare before turning his attention to you. “How can we help you, young lady?”
