Chapter Text
It is a fearful thing to love what death can touch.
– Judah Halevi
Gai burned with bright flames.
Sometimes Kakashi felt like a moth, unable to stop looking at the man, helplessly drawn to him despite knowing better. Sometimes he wondered if maybe his fate was to be Icarus, if Gai, brilliant as the sun, would only ever burn his wings with warmth he did not deserve.
It was an absurd thought. Kakashi did not believe in fate anymore. Maybe in the past, before everything shattered into pieces, before he ruined everything, he would believe something like that existed. Now fate was just another word people used to dress up loss, to make it feel purposeful instead of cruel. He had learned that lesson early, and he had learned it thoroughly.
Still, his eyes followed Gai who was moving quickly ackross the training field.
The day was bright, unbearably so. Gai moved on the ground and didn’t seem to pay attention to how hot it was or how the sun was making him squint his eyes. He always belonged to the light, always found positive aspects of the most hopeless situations. He laughed loudly at something Lee said, clapping a hand on the boy’s shoulder with unmistakable pride. Lee straightened under the attention of his beloved master, chest puffed out, eyes shining.
Sometimes Kakashi wondered how it is to find someone so similar to you in a positive way. How it is to look at someone with pride, to know that they’re like you and be happy about it. He envied Gai, knowing that reflection of himself didn’t hurt him everyday. When Kakashi looked at Sasuke, the only thing he could feel was fear so big it almost swallowed him whole. He saw himself in that boy and he could only watch as Sasuke destroyed himself in the name of revenge. His chest hurt every time he interacted with Team 7. It was hard to stay afloat when reality always found some way to remind you of what you lost, of what you could have and what could be.
Kakashi sighed and leaned against a tree at the edge of the field, posture loose, arms folded. From a distance he looked as he always did: half-present, half-asleep. Gai never did anything in halves, always giving one hundred percent of himself no matter if it was about something irrelevant or extremely important. Kakashi often felt like he was only half all the time. Half a heart, one eye, half-present most of the time.
From the outside he gave the impression of someone who was content to observe rather than engage. In reality, he always wanted to engage but had no idea how to do it. No matter where he would go, he always felt like he didn’t really belong. He tried to convince himself that distancing was easier. It was safer. If you didn’t have anyone to care about, you couldn’t lose them. You couldn’t grief and be in pain. And Kakashi wasn’t sure if his already half-broken heart could endure more death and loss.
“Kakashi!”
The sound of his name cut through his thoughts before he could bury himself in them again. He glanced up, trying to look as if he wasn't thinking about the past again. Gai was waving at him, his grin wide and unapologetic. Kakashi wondered how it is to smile so brightly and freely, too. He wanted to know how cheeks hurt from smiling too much.
“You’re watching us instead of reading,” Gai said cheerfully, stopping just a little too close. Kakashi didn’t like it when his personal space was invaded – perhaps years he spent on his own had to do something with it – but he found himself enjoying Gai being close more than he would ever admit. “That must mean Lee’s youth is inspiring even to you today!”
Kakashi’s visible eye curved in what passed for a smile. He was grateful he was wearing the mask. It helped with hiding his emotions and battles he was fighting with his own mind. “Don’t let it go to his head. He already thinks he can outrun lightning because of your teachings.”
Lee saluted so sharply it was almost comical. “I will train harder to prove my youthful spirit worthy of Kakashi-sensei’s acknowledgement!”
“See?” Kakashi muttered.
Gai laughed in that loud and delighted way he always did, the sound settling somewhere deep in Kakashi’s chest, in a place he refused to acknowledge. He felt it there every time when he was around the other man. The warmth he didn’t know what to do with, as if he was standing too close to fire in winter and pretending not to notice the heat.
“Come train with us!” Gai said suddenly. “The day is perfect for it!”
Kakashi didn’t miss the way Gai’s eyes lingered on him, hopeful and earnest. He never did. Gai was terrible at hiding how he felt about anything. Kakashi also decided to not comment on how Gai considered every day to be perfect for training, even if the whole town was flooding with rain.
“I’ll pass,” Kakashi replied lightly. “Someone has to supervise.”
Gai frowned. “Rival, you always supervise. You can’t be like that!”
“I like to supervise.”
There was a brief moment of silence. Gai tilted his head, studying him with that frustrating perceptiveness he never seemed to realize he had.
“You work too much, you look tired,” Gai said, his voice softer now. Lee went to train on his own again, clearly not wanting to interrupt his sensei’s conversation with his ‘eternal rival’ like Gai liked to call them.
Kakashi shrugged. “Someone has to.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Kakashi met his gaze then, just for a moment. Gai’s eyes were bright, open, and unguarded. They always were. There was no calculation in them, no distance or double-meanings. Gai looked at people like he expected them to also lay their hearts on sleeve, to believe that they deserve happiness and all of the good things the world had to offer. When Kakashi looked into those beautiful eyes he liked to imagine that maybe there was another universe in which he would believe he deserves good things. In this world he didn’t think it was possible or needed. His life now was a consequence of everything that happened in the past.
Consequence of killing–
He took a sharp breath and looked away. Suddenly Gai's presence was so overwhelming. He burned and still, Kakashi couldn’t force himself to step away. He felt so vulnerable, as if Gai could read him like an open book. And he probably could, at least to some point.
“I’m fine,” he said even if it didn’t sound convincing even in his own ears. “Really.”
Gai hesitated, clearly unconvinced, but he smiled again anyway. Smiles were so easy for him. “Then I’ll train extra hard today, just for you!”
With that, he turned and jogged back to Lee, already calling out some encouragement, already giving more of himself without any hesitation. Kakashi watched him go and felt that painful feeling in his heart again. What would happen if Gai found out Kakashi wanted him to stay? That he wanted him to look only at him, to see his flawed body and soul, and not look away in disgust?
He knew Gai wouldn’t do it to him. That was the thing about him. He offered his light and warmth freely, without weighing or guarding it. He did not ration affection or ask whether it was deserved. He gave it because it existed. Because it was who he was. Kakashi felt foolish for even wanting to have Gai’s eyes focused only on him, to be the only one person to receive his warmth even if it would kill him in the process.
But he had learned long ago that not everything offered was meant to be taken.
They ended up walking back toward the village together later, dust clinging to Gai’s clothes and sweat darkening the fabric at his collar. Lee had gone earlier, saying he was incredibly sorry for not training longer but he had plans with Neji and didn’t want to disappoint him. Gai of course understood and praised Lee for only god knows what, making the boy cry again.
Gai walked beside Kakashi, hands clasped behind his head, posture relaxed.
“You should have joined us,” Gai said.”Training is a good way to get rid of persistent thoughts.”
Kakashi snorted quietly. If only Gai knew that he was the main thing Kakashi thought about. “Is that what you call it?”
“I do,” Gai replied easily. “You hide it well from others, my rival, but I’ve known you long enough to know the truth.”
Do you really?
“You make it sound like I’m transparent.”
“To me,” Gai said, without hesitation.
Kakashi felt the words settle uncomfortably between them. He told himself it was nothing. Gai said things like that all the time. His mouth was full of intense, sincere declarations delivered without thought of their weight.
Still.
They passed the Hokage wall and the familiar pain tugged at Kakashi’s heart. Mission. Bridge. Boy who dreamt of becoming Hokage, boy with effortless smile who ended up as another name carved into the stone.
Obito under the rock, his eye burning in Kakashi’s eye socket. Obito dying to protect a trash, empty shell without emotions.
Kakashi killing—
“Kakashi,” Gai’s voice bringed him to reality. “Are you… happy?”
The question caught him off guard to the point he stopped walking. He didn’t know what happiness was anymore. It was a feeling that others were talking about and he couldn’t imagine what it tastes like.
Gai turned to face him, his expression serious now in a way that made kakashi’s chest tighten. This was worse somehow. Gai without his usual brightness, Gai genuinely worried.
“Happiness is a strange metric,” Kakashi said carefully.
“That’s not an answer.”
Kakashi sighed. He looked past Gai, at the rooftops, at the sky stretching endlessly above them. He thought of names he did not say aloud. Of faces he saw when he closed his eyes. of all the things he had survived and all the parts of himself he had left behind in the process.
“I’m… content,” he said finally.
Gai searched his face, clearly dissatisfied, but he nodded. “If that changes,” he said, “you know you don’t have to face it alone, right?”
There it was again. That warmth. That impossible, open-handed offering.
Kakashi smiled, small and careful. “You’re a good friend, Gai.”
Gai beamed. “I try!”
They parted way soon after, Gai heading toward his apartment with a wave and a promise to train again tomorrow.
Kakashi stood there for a moment after he was gone, the echo of his presence lingering like heat after a flame had been extinguished.
Friend. The word sat heavy on his tongue.
Gai deserved someone unbroken. Someone who could meet him in the daylight without flinching. Someone whose hands did not still remember the weight of blood and loss.
Kakashi turned toward home, pulling his mask higher as if it could hide more than just his face.
If he was a moth, then this was the mercy he could offer. He wouldn’t fly too close. He didn’t want to risk staining someone as bright and undeserving of ruin as Maito Gai.