He jolts upright at that voice, its inflections as familiar as his own. 

Ironic, that his grief falls away so quickly at the appearance of the one he grieves for. The response is automatic, and he hoods his eyes from the scrutiny he can feel, though he dares not look. 

Kakashi has his mask on, but he has never felt more exposed. 

It’s hard, almost impossible, like reassembling a broken snowman, but he schools his expression into something he hopes is less agonised, less broken.

“Everybody lies,” he says, because it is the kind of glib remark he has always hidden behind. 

He realises he has to explain his presence here, in Minato’s apartment. And it is Minato’s. It had always been. Kakashi had never allowed himself to think of it as theirs. Never. 

“I was — I came to get my clothes. Sorry. Didn’t know you would be here.” Measured. Quiet. As if Minato hadn’t just accused him of lying a month ago. Of… loving him. 

The thought is just as distressing as it had been that night, and every night since. Kakashi imagines that he is surrounded by thick, cloying fog and crosses his arms to keep his hands from worrying at the bedsheets. 

He frowns at his knees, half his attention on breathing evenly, the other half on Minato, the glimpse of flared nostrils he’d seen earlier, the elevated heartbeat, the roughness of his anger. It is all he can do to keep the torrent at bay, keep himself from spilling apologies and confessions at the other man’s feet.

Perhaps most powerful of all, however, is the idiotic, selfish urge to whisper don’t hate me into the crackling silence between them.

Minato stands rooted to the spot, oscillating between anger and sorrow.

There is a part of him that will always crumble into ash when Kakashi is near, as ridiculous as it seems, another part of him that loathes himself for falling so easily. For allowing Kakashi to break him like this. But he is shattered, and the shards of his heartbreak cut at every part of him, drawing poison. He swallows, emotion a rock in his throat that chokes him.  Fast, faster than he’d intended, he’s across the room, his fingers knotted in Kakashi’s stupid vest, shaking him lightly. His cheeks burn, his eyes sting, and he knows he must look wild like this, feral.  “Stop it,” he growls, teeth bared. This close, he can smell Kakashi, the loam of the forest clinging to his skin, the sweat and fading smoke of somewhere he’s been. It sloughs at Minato’s anger, wears it down to a smooth stone instead of an avalanche. “You don’t have to say it, just...just stay.” 

Fingers tremulous as they curl over the edge of Kakashi’s mask, Minato pulls it down, sucks in a breath wet with fear, and presses his lips to Kakashi’s. 

“Just stay,” he whispers again, lips brushing over Kakashi’s when he speaks.

Ok so! My friends in california are moving pretty soon, and have to get rid of their dog. Now what I  didn’t expect when meeting this animal on my visit is that I was pretty much greeted by one adorable Mabari. Honestly, this is the sweetest most chill creature. All he wants is pets and to sleep alongside my bed every night. He gets along with other dogs, the cat sleeps on him at night, and he’s over all tolerant of everything. He’s a big scary looking fluff ball. If anyone wants more info please get ahold of me here or add rydersempai on skype and let me know your from tumblr lol.

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波風ミナト | Namikaze Minato

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There’s no real reason for him to come back here, Minato thinks as his hand rests on the knob of the door to their old apartment. No true, valid excuse for the way he lifts his fingers, watching the ghosts of his prints evaporate, leaving the handle clean again. He could leave, could step away and fade back into the farce of a life he’d created in Kakashi’s absence, but...  “Ridiculous,” he mutters to himself, shoving into the flat, stopping abruptly on the threshold, his stomach stone heavy. Nostalgia is like a suckerpunch, ripping away his breath, causing tears to spring to his eyes, hot and biting. 

Here, he sees Kakashi reaching for a cup of tea, there, the shape of his imprint on the cushions of the couch. There’s a pockmark in the table from where Minato had thrown something at him once in the heat of the moment; he swears he can hear the sound of Kakashi’s laughter, low and throaty as he dodges easily. 

Angrily, Minato swipes at his eyes with the heel of his hand, then wrings it, as though he can throw the sorrow to the floor to be crushed beneath his heel. A bitter laugh at the thought before he freezes, suddenly hyper aware that he’s not alone. 

On cat-quiet feet he moves to their bedroom, freezing when silver catches his eye, the sounds of sorrow unmistakable. For once, he doesn’t melt into empathy, doesn’t find the vice-like chill about his chest thawing in the face of Kakashi’s masochism. It constricts, makes it hard for him to breathe.  “Liar,” Minato says, and his voice sounds strange to his ear, foreign. “You’re a liar, Hatake Kakashi.”

In Gaara’s defense he had crawled and toddled his way through a creek and the underbrush of the copse of trees on Minato’s property. Normally, he was quite a clean little child, and was even most of the way through potty training — though he still had accidents on occasion.

Rarely, though, considering what tended to happen to him when he had an accident.

Delighted with the babbling, Gaara cooed in response and settled easily in the warm, shallow water, letting Minato wash him off without any sort of complaining. He was perfectly happy to play with the bubbles as mud washed off pale skin and revealed bright, bright red hair.

Then he paused, tilted his head at Minato. “Mama?” he questioned, unfamiliar with the word. His own mother had died during childbirth.

True enough, but Minato didn't know that, as he didn't know this child. All he knew was that a little boy had shown up on his porch, and he had no clue where he came from.

And, judging by the look that he was given when he mentioned Gaara's mother, it didn't seem like the boy was well looked after. Minato sighed as he kept one hand on Gaara's back, and reached for a towel with the other.  "I guess I'll have to make a few calls...see if anyone is looking for you." He chuckled softly, running his fingers through those red curls. They were so like hers, soft and fiery, fierce and beautiful at once. "It's not like you're a puppy, you know. I'll have to find your parents. Or guardians."

But until then, there was nothing saying that they couldn't have fun together, right?

In Gaara’s case, no one told him much of anything at all, much less in the form of stories or warnings against strangers, or anything of the like. Besides. Minato was brighter than sunshine and had a really nice smile, which immediately endeared the little redhead to him.

Sucking at his dirty, muddy fingers, Gaara gazed up at Minato. He was hungry as well as filthy, but asking never got him food so he wasn’t going to now.

"Min’,’ Gaara repeated obediently, reaching up to pat at the blond’s cheek with a wet hand.

He liked this man already. Much nicer than the other people he usually was around.

Minato loved children, it was true, but he could live without the grime that painted those little fingers, and now his own cheek. Blinking a few times, he swallowed, forced himself not to think about what just happened, and toted the little mudrat into his house.  "Let's...get you undressed," he said, deciding that that might be the best course of action. Especially if he wanted to spare his floor, which had been shined to spotless.  He babbled to Gaara while he undressed him, took him to the bathroom and filled the tub. Unfortunately, his soap and shampoo wasn't child friendly, but he did his best to keep the bubbles from getting into the little redhead's eyes. 

"Where is your mama?" he asked, squirting some shampoo into the bath to make bubbles. "Do you know?"

He’s clearly used to strangers, for one reason or another, as Gaara doesn’t shy away from Minato’s hands at all. He smiles up at the blond, displaying a handful of little teeth, and says, “Hi!” Gaara doesn’t speak very much, as he’s too young, nor does he understand the ‘where did you come from?’ but this man is bright and looks quite nice.

No need to fear him, right?

His little pants are soaked, indicating that he had, in fact, crawled through the creek in question, and the mud smeared on his fingers and cheeks is an accumulation accrued from picking his way across the land.

Solemnly, he points to himself and says, “Gaara.” He knows how to introduce himself, see?

Well, Minato hadn't exactly been expecting Gaara to give him directions to his house, it was just conversational, mostly to convey things like "hey! I'm not here to eat you!" and the like. Who knows what sort of grand tales parents were filling their children's minds with, nowadays. The child is filthy, he sees, wrinkling his nose a bit, wondering what on earth he's going to do with this boy. Surprised at the way Gaara introduces himself, Minato nods, and, just as solemn, points to himself. "Minato."  Now, for a bath. Goodness gracious, what a mess!

Carefully cradling the kitty close to his chest, Gaara follows his Papa inside and climbs up on the sofa. The kitten settles in his lap, purring softly, wide eyes on her new home and her surroundings. 

Birthday? He has vague recollections of what that means — he’s still really little, just turning six — but he remembers that it’s special, that he gets presents and fun foods and lots of love.

"—I love you too, Papa!" he chirps immediately, both arms wrapping around Minato’s neck for big hugs. "She is very pretty and soft!"

"Now, you'll have to take very good care of her, hime-chan. Give her lots of love and make sure she eats and has plenty of water." A pause, and he taps his son's button nose. "But I know you'll take excellent care of her, because you're kind and loving, and that's what makes you special." Carefully, he moves the kitten to the side, making sure that she isn't smooshed while he gives his son kisses and hugs, tickling his round, round tummy. 

Sitting back, he lays his head against Gaara's belly. "Did you think of a name for her?"