sonofwhitefang:

Time moved like a dream; tailed the sun and the passing life beneath its rays like dribbling streams of murky water. It swarmed the sky, and it leeched the lingering chill of encroaching fall from his skin. Life went on in a slow, sluggish pace, and those lucky enough to have survived the calamity ‘Madara’ wrought with his self-centered delusions, now merely tried to pick their lives off the grounds once more. And what a sight—what a bitter sweet dusk to behold upon returning to Konoha; wan, smiling faces, grateful waves and the gleeful laughter of nearby children greeted him—still, Kakashi found no solace in the sight of home. And they—those people who laughed and smiled the could never know why.

The memory of fight clung to his body lovingly, as though every moment in his sad, quiet walk back to his apartment were meant to torment him with faint promises of bruises to come. He recalled obito’s eyes, his body, his snarling maw, and the terrible sound of his voice rippled in heat resonated with a painful clarity that the Jounin hated. It was only in the midst of his confusion, and his utter dread upon seeing the familiar paths leading home, that one thing became abundantly clear:

Last night was proving quite hard to forget.

“Stupid,” Kakashi declared aloud in a voice nearly lost to the wind,

‘Absolutely ridiculous.’

The wind whipped sharply, screaming past him in a shrill noise that stole away his breath for just a moment. And it returned tasting of ash. Kakashi’s thoughts raced—Perhaps the long way home—perhaps just a few more moments in the sun, perhaps—No. Kakashi never stopped, couldn’t stop, and his feet continued to carry him down the inexorable road home. It was for the better, he supposed, better not to delay the inevitable.

—

The daylight passed in an instant, and left a lazy tapestry of orange and purple to mingle in twilight; once more stealing what little warmth remained from the atmosphere with a cruel yank. Kakashi’s steps became slow, sure, trained as the he donned his mask of indifference and made for his flat door as he’d done countless times. It was then that he finally stood on edge, uncertain for only a moment—

Click.

A gentle shove and a waft of chakra released with his presence wafted, cradled itself against his chest then faded as he passed into the darkness of his apartment. Kakashi took one step, then felt a sudden, vicious weight gather on the edge of his awareness. He turned in time to see Obito leap from the dark wide eyed, like some untamed beast, bearing a Kunai that Kakashi noted with hyper awareness.

Stupid, the cold thing in his gut reminded him, careless—Rookie mistakes.

Kakashi moved seamlessly, without sound, and bore his new found anger within the depths of his lone gray eye as he took hold of Obito’s wrists. He couldn’t fathom the anger that drew him tight, quivering as he squeezed, “You—?” he groused, his hot breath teasing his dried lips like salt in an open wound.

His mind blazed with anger, and that cold, grinning thing in his stomach clenched tight—never letting go.

“—In my house?”

Obito wheezed involuntarily as he was slammed against the door.

He’d been too slow after all.

Defeat stung him sharply, but still not near as sharp as the sting of the acute bend of his wrists, gripped tight and wrenched in Kakashi’s–frustratingly–stronger grip.

“Right in your fucking house,” he spat, petty and raging. “Right where you live.” He kicked out as best he could, catching Kakashi close-range in the shins, which earned him a grunt and a snarl (and, oh, Obito remembered those vicious teeth).

He saw the fire spark in Kakashi’s entire countenance, saw an explosion swell behind closed doors. He was relentless, his lone eye dark with rage. He bent Obito’s wrist back, and the sudden pain of it made Obito gasp, involuntarily leaning into Kakashi’s space to lessen the pressure. Powerful thumbs jabbed between ulna and radius, killed Obito’s grip and made the kunai slip from suddenly neverless fingers.

He’d been as powerful as a god once, he thought, crying out in pain and frustration.

Where was that now?

Two things happened at once: Kakashi deftly caught the kunai in his own hand, and in doing so Obito’s left hand came free, enough to catch Kakashi in the gut with a dirty suckerpunch. There was barely any force behind it; Kakashi absorbed the blow with only the slightest exhalation, already pivoting to counter him.

Obito bellowed in fury and threw his entire weight forward. Off balance–and still at the mercy of Kakashi’s iron grip–the pair of them stumbled across the living room. Obito felt a dull shock of pain as his thigh finally made hard contact with the arm of the couch. With their momentum absorbed, Kakashi regained his footing. In a flurry of movement, Obito found himself bent facedown over the couch, one arm pinned painfully behind his back, forcing him to arch, stilling only as he registered the heat and weight of Kakashi at his back. 

The kunai bit suddenly into the skin of his throat.

Obito exhaled, shaky; their relative positioning now dawning on him, now filling him with sick dread.

Hips pressed against him from behind and, almost as if in answer, Kakashi’s angry, panting breath disturbed the hairs on the back of Obito’s neck.