Ship: Kakashi Hatake x Obito Uchiha

Genres: Friendship – Family – Slice of Life / One-shot

Rating: +16

Summary: Obito had never regretted listening to his grandfather quite so much. Nor had he ever regretted choosing the wrong dates for his stay. Or perhaps not, after all…

Enjoy!

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“Go and see your family back home,” they said. “It’s a chance to have a holiday,” they said.

“FUCKING COUNTRY!” he spat, taking advantage of a gust of wind strong enough to ensure he wasn’t heard.

There was certainly no shortage of that at the moment, as he finally arrived at the inn where he was renting a room for the duration of his stay.

Once inside, he grimaced in disgust at his completely soaked clothes.

It was a made-to-measure Italian suit, a gift from his grandfather to mark his first job, and it was now fit only for the bin… And he’d be better off not looking at his shoes, or his fury would make him roast on the spot!

Furiously shedding the waterlogged leather shoes in favour of the slippers provided, Obito left the genkan and headed for his room, vaguely hoping to change into something dry and warm before having to face up to his pitiful situation.

He ignored the employee who’d just arrived, nearly bumping into him as he strode past in a rage, droplets of water trailing in his wake.

The room was comfortable and rather pretty—he’d give it that much—but it wasn’t enough to soothe him.

Ever since he’d landed in Japan, he’d felt as though his worries were just piling up, as if he had to make up for a whole lifetime abroad in the space of the few days he’d be spending on the archipelago!

Leaving his soaked clothes in the bath, he returned to the main room, grateful at least for the thick bathrobe provided, appreciating the comfort after such a rotten day.

When his grandfather had urged him to return to the family homeland, he’d been reluctant, and above all uninterested in that whole branch – the entire family tree, in fact – but he’d eventually given in, without much conviction.

When he was younger, of course, he’d been curious about all those Uchihas with whom he shared a name and genes, but whom he’d never met. Nevertheless, he’d come to terms with it and eventually distanced himself from them, moving on with his life whilst thinking about them less and less.

“Stuck-up arseholes,” he hissed.

Wiping his hair with a towel, he watched nature rage outside, focusing on his anger and frustration so as to flinch as little as possible.

How could Japan still be inhabited, with natural phenomena like that? And let’s not even get started on earthquakes! Between the two, he’d always preferred typhoons, but he wasn’t so sure anymore…

If he flinched again, it was this time because someone knocked on his door, taking him by surprise.

“Sorry to bother you, sir, I just wanted to offer to take care of your suit.”

The employee might have been the one he’d nearly knocked over a little earlier, but Obito had no intention of acknowledging him, let alone apologising. Instead, he stared at him, his eyebrows furrowed, whilst he thought it over.

“It’s a write-off; I don’t see what more you could do with it,” he finally replied, gruffly.

“A friend of mine runs a dry cleaner’s; he works wonders!”

Behind the face mask the young man was wearing, there might have been a smile, judging by the fleeting movement. But it would take more than that for the customer to entrust the precious garment to a stranger.

Crossing his arms and straightening up, he eyed him up and down, his eyebrows furrowed even more deeply, as he scrutinised him, trying to work out what he might be up to.

Call him paranoid if you like, but you didn’t get very far in his line of work without becoming so.

Instead of reacting in a way that, if not normal, was at least expected, the employee seemed to maintain his smile and held out his hands towards him, signalling for him to hand over his coat.

Obeying – though not without letting out an exaggerated sigh of defeat – Obito went to retrieve his coat and placed it in the large towel that had magically appeared in the other man’s arms, who swiftly wrapped it up.

“I’ll take it straight away! I’ll let you know when you can collect it!”

And with that, he vanished, preventing his companion from asking him a single question.

“…Either I’ve just been robbed, or I’ve just been ripped off…” he remarked in the empty corridor.

Making a mental note to check his bill carefully when he left, to ensure it hadn’t been artificially inflated by dry-cleaning charges, for example, he closed the door and changed into something more casual, now that he was dry and warm.

As he had nothing better to do, he took out his phone, hoping to check his emails, before suddenly berating his secretary for deliberately changing the password, claiming that, otherwise, he wouldn’t be able to make the most of his holiday.

“This isn’t a holiday, it’s just a taste of hell,” he grumbled.

As if to prove him right, a gust of wind shook the building immediately after he’d made that comment.

When Madara had encouraged him to return to his homeland, Obito had had mixed feelings.

At the moment, he was torn between setting the estate alight and having a nap.

He understood better why his grandfather had slammed the door, despite his status as clan leader, all those years ago. They were too alike for him to fail to notice, whilst he felt as though time had stood still, trapped amidst outdated and endless traditions.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the younger members and was reassured to see them just as unenthusiastic as he was.

He felt a slight twinge of sadness as he realised that this was their daily life, whereas he had escaped it.

He then vowed to stuff the old man with every inarizushi in the world, and so be it if his carers scolded him because of his state of health. Not only had he had to endure that ordeal, but if he hadn’t made a run for it, he’d have ended up in the same boat!

He didn’t expect to be welcomed like the prodigal son – let’s not get carried away – but that disapproving frown and that cold aloofness…

Then again, perhaps he was simply too used to his life in Canada. He had to experience his first cultural clash, right within his own family – yippee.

At least his Japanese was decent. He wouldn’t dare imagine what it would have been like otherwise.

But, worst of all, it was definitely the weather.

Out of habit, Obito had tried to mask his anxiety with a bit of humour, but no one seemed to take the bait (well, actually, the neighbour’s son had chuckled, which had cheered him up a bit. However, he wasn’t the intended target, so it didn’t really count).

Come to think of it, he didn’t understand why he was sticking to his guns. The clan elders refused to relax in his presence, seeming to hold his grandfather’s actions against him, whilst the adults – and the current clan leader – remained aloof. As for those of his own generation and the younger ones, they had nothing in common.

He was becoming increasingly reluctant to go home straight away, rather than pointlessly wasting any more time with people who clearly couldn’t care less about him.

The worst part was that he couldn’t shake off the rage this situation stirred within him, and he found himself all too often tossing and turning on his futon at the inn when it was time to sleep.

The weather only made his state worse, as he had to struggle through every journey, the care he took with his appearance ruined by torrential rain and strong winds.

All too often, he found himself sitting on the genkan step after a wasted day, his face buried in his hands and his shoulders slumped, surrounded by other people’s shoes and slippers, dripping with water.

Why on earth was he forcing himself to do this?

Something soft struck his head, covering it.

Grabbing hold of it, Obito recognised one of the establishment’s towels. He removed it and looked around, a flicker of surprise battling against the exhaustion that was deafening him.

It was then that he spotted the only member of staff he’d met since his first day; the man was carrying more towels and was smiling as he waved, as if to greet him.

“You should dry yourself off before you catch a cold!” he exclaimed cheerfully.

“I thought they said round here that idiots can’t get ill,” Obito snorted, complying nonetheless.

“I’m afraid we’re all idiots.”

He stepped forward, crouching down beside his customer, and handed him a fresh towel.

“Throw the other one on the floor; I’ll pick it up later.”

“Thanks.”

The silence was a little awkward as the towel slowly soaked up the rain.

“I know it’s none of my business, but… long day?”

A sigh as if the world were ending seemed to empty the customer’s lungs as he buried his face in the crook of his hands once more, the towel sandwiched between them. An unintelligible grumble then escaped him.

“You’ve no idea,” he said at last, sitting up.

Setting the towel down, he began to take off his suit, but given how damp it was, it was a real, uncomfortable struggle.

“Let me help you.”

Placing the clothes on the floor, the employee slipped round behind him, grasping the jacket at the shoulder seams and slowly pulling it away, taking his time to separate it from the shirt underneath.

The tie followed, as did the belt, then they stopped there, feeling awkward.

“I should carry on in my room,” said Obito.

He nodded in agreement, yet neither of them made the slightest move, remaining in the same position, the silence broken only by the storm raging outside and the usual sounds of the inn.

“How do you do it?” the tourist finally asked.

“To take off your jacket?”

Confused, the employee frowned, shifting to catch a glimpse of his companion’s face, searching for a clue.

Instead, he nodded towards the door and, by extension, the torrential rain outside.

“Ah, that!”

He squeezed the jacket between two towels, almost mechanically.

“The first few years were hell, and let’s not even talk about the earthquakes! But I’ve almost got used to it. Obviously, I’m still a long way from the locals’ composure, but I like to think I’ve settled in.”

At those words, as if to contradict him, the whole inn seemed to be shaken by a gust of wind stronger than the others, making them jump.

“Perhaps I still need a few more years to settle in,” he muttered, glancing up at the ceiling.

Deciding it would hold, he went back to his task, concentrating on wringing the excess water from his clothes.

For his part, Obito was mulling over what had just been said to him, more out of habit than anything else, and to take his mind off the tropical depression.

“You’re not from round here, are you?”

“No! I was born in Australia. But it seems I’m destined to live only on islands.”

“Me neither.”

Starting to feel the cold, he’d leaned forwards, curling up slightly, wrapping his arms round himself and rubbing them unconsciously.

“I was born in Canada. But my grandfather was born in this town.”

Satisfied with his work on the jacket, the employee folded it roughly and set it aside, this time picking up the tie and repeating the process.

“Visiting family?”

“More like here to waste my time,” he grumbled.

A brief silence stretched out before he realised what he’d just said.

“It’s not… it’s not that they’re horrible! It’s just…”

“Are you from the Uchiha clan? That’s your surname, isn’t it?”

“How did you…”

But a simple raised eyebrow was enough to give him the answer.

“Of course, the register,” he sighed.

A soft chuckle escaped his neighbour as he slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand.

“It’s a fairly well-known clan round here. Sorry to hear you’re affiliated with them.”

“And so am I…” he whinged.

His hand slid down from his forehead, along his face, until it gripped his jaw.

“We should head for a room that’s a bit… further away from the draughts,” the employee finally said. And you should go and get changed, have a hot shower, that sort of thing.”

“You’re probably right, but… I don’t feel like moving,” he admitted.

Without a word, the man patted him on the shoulder before standing up, slipping behind him and gripping him by the upper ribs, pulling him upright. He let go once he was standing.

“There you go, now you can go back to your room.”

And he walked away, holding the towels – clean and dirty – as well as the jacket and tie.

Now alone and suddenly aware of the slight draught, Obito did as he was told, and couldn’t help but agree: a hot shower was exactly what he needed.

Come to think of it, he felt as though he’d spent every time he’d returned home in the shower, trying to find the warmth that this distant family denied him.

But perhaps he was just overthinking it.

When he came out, dressed as he would be at home, and not as he’d forced himself to be since his first day here, there was a knock at the door. He opened it to find the employee’s profile—as mysterious as it was now familiar.

Now that he thought about it, he couldn’t recall seeing another one… Was he the only one running the place?

“I see you’ve taken my advice! I’ve put your clothes out to dry; would you like me to take care of the rest of your outfit?”

Obito hurried to fetch his trousers and shirt. His underwear would have to make do on the edge of the bath—that would be enough!

“Would you like me to bring you a hot drink? We have all sorts of coffee and tea, and our hot chocolate is very good!”

At this time of day, coffee was a bad idea, and he’d downed so much tea whilst with the clan that he wondered if it hadn’t actually replaced his blood by now.

“I’ll have the hot chocolate, then.”

And, seized by an impulse he couldn’t rationalise, he added:

“And do join me!”

Above the paper mask, the grey eyes widened in surprise.

“Well, if it’s not a problem for your boss or your work…”

He quickly recovered, seeming to smile at the expression on his face.

“The inn belongs to me, and you’re my only customer at the moment. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

Then he disappeared, no doubt to hang out the laundry he’d been given and prepare the drinks. This left Obito time to stow away what needed stowing and tidy the room up a bit.

Admittedly, the other man must have come in regularly to clean, but it suddenly felt different with him inside. In any case, he needed something to keep him occupied; it was better than nothing.

He was in the process of trying to fluff up the cushions when the door opened again, this time to let the employee in, laden with a tray bearing two cups and plates, no doubt filled with treats to go with the drinks.

“I took the liberty…”

“Make yourself at home,” the Canadian cut him off, waving his hand. “After all, you are, aren’t you?”

He said nothing but did as asked, closing the door behind him and setting his tray down on the small table, arranging the items on it, whilst the sweet aroma of chocolate suddenly seemed to fill the room.

No matter how closely Obito scrutinised the pastries, he was unable to recognise them.

Then again, in his defence, apart from the language as a whole and a few specific topics such as the correct way to wear a yukata, he knew very little about Japanese culture.

His own mother knew just as little, having left the country as a baby before being adopted by Madara and his husband. It was therefore their grandfather who served as their cultural guide, and even he wasn’t particularly interested in passing on this heritage, repeating that he hadn’t abandoned it just to teach it and live on through it—thank you very much.

Curious as a cat, he scrutinised each sweet, trying to guess its flavour.

“Looks like I guessed right,” the other man chuckled softly.

Taken aback, he raised an eyebrow at him.

“Given what you were telling me, I figured you’d never tasted wagashi before. Well, I suppose the clan must have offered you some, but those sourpusses have no flavour at all,” he snorted.

“You seem to know your stuff.”

“My godson has taken a shine to the chief’s second son, Sasuke.”

“Ah, I think I’ve bumped into him! A little blond boy? He was the only one who laughed at my jokes.”

“It sounds as though you’ve met Naruto. He’s always complaining about the food over there, but when we point out that he doesn’t have to force himself to eat, or hang about there for that matter, he retorts that he’s not going to let his best friend suffer all on his own!”

The eye-roll seemed so automatic that it was clear the memory had been rehearsed many times over, forcing Obito to stifle his amusement as he took his first sip.

And what a sip! All the richness of the chocolate, yet not as sweet as he’d feared!

The journey home was going to be painful after this near-sugar fast, but he was also aware that he’d have to ease himself back into it gradually.

The last thing he needed was to go back to work with mouth ulcers, mind you.

“Delicious,” he sighed with satisfaction.

“Thank you!”

Then, a first plate of the famous wagashi was presented to him, and a long finger began the presentation, pointing out each item as they went along.

From time to time, Obito would take a cautious little bite to try them out. Sometimes it was a success and he would devour the rest with pleasure, and sometimes it was better to move on to the next one.

His reactions greatly amused Kakashi – whilst tucking into a handful of tokoyo, he’d remembered to ask him about it – who seemed increasingly excited at the prospect of presenting him with the next treat and, above all, of watching his reaction.

Despite the setbacks, it was still far more pleasant than what he’d endured since arriving at Narita Airport. Kakashi was an interesting person and understood his current experience to some extent, even though he hadn’t suffered quite as much from culture shock.

From what he’d gathered, he’d grown up in a Japanese community in Australia before following the Namikaze family when they’d decided to return to Japan.

“Looks like the senbei aren’t really to your taste,” he teased good-naturedly.

“The combination with hot chocolate is awful,” Obito complained.

“Got quite a sweet tooth, haven’t you? You should try this, then.”

He pushed another plate towards him, on which sat three small balls of dough threaded onto a skewer, but Obito merely stared at them suspiciously.

A suspicion he immediately regretted the moment he brought them to his mouth, his eyes sparkling with delight, almost humming as he did so.

“Looks like I was right!”

“What’s it called?”

“They’re just dango. They’re very common; you can find them just about everywhere.”

Fortunately, the castella also found favour with him, as did other varieties, but nothing quite measured up to the dango, which were, unfortunately, swallowed up far too quickly.

Seeming to realise this, Kakashi smiled.

“You know,” he began. “If you’re not too worried about getting soaked in the rain, and if you’re free, I could show you round a bit. And stop off at the dango stall round the corner.”

Completely won over by his new discovery, Obito felt excited at the idea. No tedious visits with a family as dull as stones, sweets galore and some company…

Realising the direction his thoughts were suddenly taking, he flinched slightly as he felt his cheeks grow warm.

Facing him, his elbow resting on the table, his mask removed and his hand cupped beneath his chin, Kakashi was fixing him with an intense stare that made him wonder if he’d just read his mind.

“That… that would be lovely, thank you,” he replied after clearing his throat. “I’d very much like to.”

“I don’t know when you’re leaving, but it would be a shame if you didn’t take any good memories away from your stay,” added the innkeeper. “I’ll make sure of that.”

He raised the cup to his lips, keeping his eyes fixed on Obito’s, which seemed to sparkle with amusement, whilst the promise seemed to freeze the present moment, and his lips curved into a mischievous smile around the rim of the porcelain.

In spite of himself, Obito swallowed. But his enthusiasm didn’t wane for all that.

He couldn’t wait to find out what Kakashi had in store for him.

Very much so.