A/N: Long time no see. (In fact, over a year, I just realized. Wow. That startles and saddens me a bit.) This was sitting around partially completed for a long time, as so many other WIPs of mine are. (Sigh. I've categorized most of them as hopeless by now, I'm afraid.) In honor of Kakashi's birthday I decided to try and finish at least one thing, and this was the first thing that caught my eye. So here we are. It's odd that for such a long time I was only comfortable with Sasuke's perspective, yet recently I've been exploring Kakashi. I'm not sure if my Kakashi is entirely satisfactory, but, well, he's mine, and I've tried my best to capture him accurately. I hope you enjoy him.

It starts, and ends, with Kakashi’s hand on Sasuke’s wrist, and it always will. Long fingers, warm palm. Always slightly clammy, as though Kakashi is in a constant state of nerves over life; over fitting into a society that requires his services yet doesn’t accept him, over holding his small, frightened squad together, over holding himself together. Over holding onto Sasuke.

And Sasuke wants to rip away, to run away, but to do so would mean his fall. So he allows his wrist to be in Kakashi’s grasp.

It’s raining. How clichéd. It’s raining and Kakashi is taking a walk with no umbrella. He feels eight again. (Eight being the peak of his teenaged angst phase. He grew up fast. Always stoic, after that.) He’s not sure why, really. The sky is so gray and dreary today, a Saturday, nothing to do with his ragtag team; sitting at his kitchen table with a stone cold mug of tea before him, watching the cool gray sky, he began to feel markedly lonely. What was he doing with his life when a day without a group of three bratty twelve year-olds was making him miserable? And so he left the silence of his apartment in favor of the sound of his sandals hitting the moist street, the pitter patter of rain. Little drops of water sliding down his skin his companions.

It feels remarkably—lame. Unbefitting a man of his age and status; whatever that “status” really is. Feels like something the young avenger might do. He chuckles at this, a bit hollowly. He shouldn’t really mock the boy, they are frightfully similar, though Kakashi would never let on to that. He is also unnaturally (for him) fond of Sasuke, which he would also never let on to at all. It’s not worth it, not with the life they lead. Sasuke would either scorn him and scoff at the favor, construing it as base pity (most likely), or become far too used to having a squad leader who is fond of him, a rather rare situation for a shinobi (that eventuality was highly unlikely, though).

So it’s all just pointless, and Kakashi doesn’t even know why he’s dwelling on this. Something about the rain, the loneliness, the endless gray sky. Just Kakashi and the clouds. Konoha shuts down when it rains. Gradually he comes across a small bridge above a river that is typically small to match, but today is somewhat flooded, flowing much faster, swollen. There is a black mass in the distance, standing at the side of that bridge with a red bamboo parasol. Kakashi, hunched over slightly as he walks, hands thrust into his pockets, drops of water dripping off his bangs which are plastered to his face, approaches the figure slowly, wondering who else is despondent enough (wait, since when was he officially considering himself despondent?) to be standing around in the rain. He draws closer.

“Sasuke,” he remarks flatly as he’s passing by, halting suddenly.

He has an umbrella? Now Kakashi really feels immature. Sasuke startles up from his reverie, glancing behind him with an expression even Kakashi has trouble interpreting. Sasuke doesn’t say anything. Just blinks. His eyelashes are moist, crystal drops like dew on a spider web. Can’t be tears. Sasuke crying seems just wrong to Kakashi, but then, he looks back on himself, a little boy pretending to be stoic and sobbing so hard into he pillow at night that he couldn’t breathe. Remembering that, and how similar they are, and maybe it’s not so strange, but Kakashi’s not really sure. Probably just rain. Still, Kakashi sobers up a bit.

“What are you doing here?” he asks gently, barely audible over the rain.

“What about you?” Sasuke asks in response, suspicion present in his voice and his face.

“Oh, following you, of course,” Kakashi mocks dryly, annoyed by the doubt. Does Sasuke really think Kakashi is that much of a loser?

“I was just watching the water,” Sasuke speaks after a while. Kakashi peers over the railing, placing his hands on it.

“Huh. Interesting stuff.” He is soaked to the bone, freezing, and just wants to go home, done with his moping for the next few weeks. But Sasuke compels him. He half wants to ask if he can get a spot under the umbrella, but the question sounds imposing in his head. He is surprised to find, in a moment Sasuke shuffles a bit closer, straining up on his toes to attempt to shield Kakashi from the miserable precipitation. The image is—cute, and Kakashi would let Sasuke continue straining, since he hates to be helped anyway, but Kakashi really does want to stop being in the pouring rain, so he reaches for the handle, holding the umbrella over both of them.

They’re stranding rather close together, and it floods Kakashi with painful awkwardness. He’s not supposed to be friendly or whatever this is, he’s just supposed to prepare the boy. For the future. For leaving. Kakashi knows already that Sasuke will leave. He can’t be tethered, even if sometimes Kakashi wants nothing more than to tie Sasuke to a tree. It would do no good, though. Sasuke is leaving. All Kakashi can do is prepare him. Kakashi clears his throat. He can feel a cold coming on. Damn it.

“It’s been lovely sharing this miserable weather with you,” he speaks slowly, “But I do believe the indoors are calling me. Thank you for the brief respite.” From the rain. From everything. He hands the umbrella back down to Sasuke.

Sasuke hesitates, before nodding curtly and turning his eyes back down to the water. Not one for tearful goodbyes, and this doesn’t surprise Kakashi. Kakashi turns away, mapping out the quickest route home, wondering whether it would be overkill to dash the entire way. He really needs to go into hiding for a while after that burningly awkward interaction. Kakashi begins strolling away. Alright, he’ll walk for a couple blocks on the off chance Sasuke is watching, and then he’ll pick up some speed.

After having gone most of a block, he decides to quickly glance back at Sasuke. Just to affirm himself that Sasuke was still there, still real, that the whole conversation wasn’t just an elaborate hallucination. The bright red umbrella is lying abandoned on the bridge. He has to squint to get Sasuke into focus, and Sasuke’s hands are on the railing, his foot pushing up against the bottom rung. Vaulting himself up. Kakashi’s heart nearly stops, and he runs with extraordinary speed even for him, hand desperately reaching out and yanking Sasuke’s wrist, tugging him away from the railing violently, desperately, his sandals losing their traction on the slippery wooden bridge. He falls on his ass and Sasuke topples against him, and Kakashi’s panting.

Fuck. Maybe Sasuke had just been climbing up to sit on the railing, or maybe who even knew what, but Kakashi was probably just overreacting to nothing, and now Sasuke is going to be severely pissed—Kakashi watches silently as Sasuke struggles against him for a moment before going entirely still, catatonic, head slumping against Kakashi’s wet vest.

He doesn’t know what to say. Or do. Does he disentangle himself and drag Sasuke to the hospital? Or to his home? Or even Kakashi’s home? None of them present themselves to his mind as being the blatantly proper response. The umbrella is just barely in reach, he strains out a long limb to be able to snag the handle with his fingertips and drag it slightly closer before being able to pick it up fully, holding it above Sasuke. No sense in both of them getting wet. His other arm nervously creeps around Sasuke’s waist, just needing to steady him while Kakashi sits up, scooting backwards until his back hits the railing. There. A better position. He’ll be able to sit like this, holding the umbrella up, for quite a few minutes, he thinks. However long it takes. He drops his arm away from Sasuke’s midsection.

Sasuke slowly comes back to motion, but just his own arms, reaching up and clinging to Kakashi’s front.

Kakashi clears his throat again. Stupid cold.

The silence seems to drag on forever, stabbing Kakashi in the temple with its pressure. He needs to say something, surely. He can’t. He should. But he truly cannot bring himself to. He is Sasuke’s teacher and leader, yes. Not his therapist. Not qualified to deal with this.

Kakashi stares down at the wet, jet black head of hair buried against his chest, feeling warmth radiating into his skin through his wet vest every time Sasuke exhales.

Kakashi remembers.

He almost threw himself off the top of the cliffs overlooking Konoha. When he was young and lonely and aching, needing his father back, overwhelmed momentarily by the crushing force of the emotions that ripped through his mind, forgetting entirely all of his goals and plans and motivation, only thinking that such pain was unbearable and life wasn’t worth living.

He’d forgotten about that day, though the thought of forgetting such an occurrence seems mildly absurd, even to Kakashi. Perhaps blocked out was a more fitting term.

“Sasuke,” Kakashi speaks calmly. Sasuke picks his head up, glancing at Kakashi with an expression Kakashi is almost tempted to classify as timid. Kakashi doesn’t say anything more, lets his visible eye do the speaking, and his free arm, wrapping around Sasuke and squeezing the small form tight to him. He can’t let go. He can allow Sasuke to leave this city, when the moment comes, but he cannot let go.

Unbridled pain flickers across that visible eye, and he bows his head to hide it, forehead pressing against the top of Sasuke’s head.

“I’m sorry,” Sasuke murmurs in a small voice, arms shifting, sliding, resettling around Kakashi’s neck. The embrace is awkward, partly due to the fact that Kakashi is still holding the umbrella above Sasuke. Mostly just because this is them embracing.

They breathe.

Kakashi’s lips, covered in cool moist fabric, press gently against Sasuke’s forehead. Sasuke wrinkles his nose a bit at the sensation, wanting badly to feel warmth, skin, uncovered lips. His fingers gradually sneak to the top of that mask, gripping it—Kakashi’s hand shoots up, grasping Sasuke’s wrist tightly. He can’t allow that tumble, either. He wishes momentarily that he could, before hard, unfeeling logic pushes into his mind.

“Go home,” Kakashi speaks, authoritative but gentle, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

They slide apart, the umbrella passed back into Sasuke’s grip, both standing. Sasuke’s lower lip is trembling slightly, and Kakashi imagines it’s from the cold. Sasuke keeps Kakashi’s gaze for a brief, tremulous moment before his eyes drop to the ground, and he turns, walking away. Kakashi’s logic is satisfied. He almost turns to go himself.

Then he darts quickly forward, catching up and grabbing Sasuke from behind by the wrist. Sasuke turns to look at Kakashi, expression questioning, and Kakashi rips down the mask, smashing his lips desperately against Sasuke’s, hoping to capture the moment, to capture the boy. Can’t let go. Can’t.

The kiss is hard, unrelenting, and Sasuke accepts it, dropping the parasol, arms once more settling around the back of Kakashi’s neck, holding the man close to him. Kakashi’s fingers still wrapped around a thin wrist. They keep Sasuke from falling. They part, minutely, still close enough for breaths to mingle. Rain slowing. Heart rates slowing.

“Don’t let go.”