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Sticky heat, summer sun, bleeding into pale moonlight. Obon had crept up quickly and quietly. Half of another year gone in the blink of an eye.
Streets full of color and light and laughter. Young children gripping tight to their parents' hands, yukatas, pointing and pulling them in every direction. Stalls lined the streets, smoke from grills and fryers curled into the air, poured from the front, over the queues of people waiting patiently to order. Chatter ebbed and flowed, wooden sandals clicked arrhythmically over the asphalt.
Obito stood next to a large tree, arms crossed, waiting nervously, shifting around in his shoes that he so regretted wearing, feet aching, surely rubbing raw against the straps. He’d spent far too long deciding on whether or not the geta were worth it, whether or not they’d add anything to the impression he was trying to make. Any other day, and he could have dressed normally. Any other day, and he would not be sweating from both the air and the nerves, fanning his hand in front of his face, trying to calm himself down.
Kakashi was late, or maybe Obito was early, and the anticipation was eating away at him.
Two teenagers ran past him, hands full of yakitori, one yelling after the other. The sounds blended in with the constant drone around him. Somewhere, drums echoed out from the crowd, readying a stage for performance. Crowds surged in both directions before him. With each wave, he tried to pick out the messy, white hair he knew so well.
Maybe he was by the wrong tree. Maybe he had gotten the time wrong.
He turned, peeling his eyes from the growing river of festival goers, pulling his phone from where it was tucked under his arm, to be met with a wide smile behind him.
“Boo,” Kakashi behind him, all shaggy hair and gray eyes reflecting lamplight. His yukata was much nicer than he’d let on when Obito had asked what he would wear. Deep green patterned with swirling white lines and waves, shimmering threads under the deepening skies. Flawlessly pressed and folded, tied with an equally flawless obi. He looked flawless.
Obito felt his cheeks heat as he looked him up and down, the stark difference between his casual demeanor and casual dress with how he looked now, proper, bordering on noble, made his head fuzzy.
“You look beautiful,” Obito said, half-longing, half-worried that he now looked far less put together than he believed. His own deep red, less patterned attire felt plain and uninspired, even though Kakashi had assured him that what he chose was perfect.
Kakashi’s face melted, softer, sweeter, eyes darting around, still just as affected by Obito’s compliments as he had been in the beginning. For a moment, Obito wished they were anywhere but here so he could do something about it.
“So do you,” he said quietly, “Red is definitely your color.”
He traced a finger over the collar, pulling lightly at the folds.
“Last week you said it was blue,” he smiled, forgetting the purpose of all of this. Forgetting the looming shadow was why they were here.
Kakashi frowned, unconvinced. “Did I?”
Obito reached up and hooked his own fingers around Kakashi’s, pulling them down to his side, breaking free of the building tension, reminding himself that he did not need that on his mind right now. That this was the night he’d been mulling over all week, practicing for.
“Where is-”
“I had him wait a little further back. I didn’t want to overwhelm you right away,” Kakashi laced his restless fingers between Obito’s.
Always so thoughtful, always so caring.
“You ready?” he asked, searching Obito’s face for a moment. Mapping it.
It was now or never, he supposed. Heart beating fast, blood rushing in his ears. It was just one person, just one night.
Obito nodded, despite how not ready he felt. Maybe it was the day, the realization that he’d never had to worry about impressing anyone because there’d been no one to impress. Or that he had never considered his parents disliking the company he kept, because he hadn’t been old enough when they’d died. He had never done this before. Any of it. The dating, the meeting, the first-impressioning. The hoping and praying that the most important person in his lover’s life did not hate him. But it was now or never, and he was not going to run.
Smoothing over his yukata with his free hand as Kakashi led him through the crowd, he ran over the interaction he’d imagined in his head. Replayed his lines, his introduction. Smiled and laughed when appropriate. He wasn’t an overthinker, but this required some overthinking.
Music and conversation breezed past them as they maneuvered toward the outer edge of the festival. Oppressive heat wavered a bit with the crowd thinning.
Kakashi didn’t have to point him out. He’d seen photos before, plenty of them to recognize the man waiting, but even they did not do justice to how similar they looked.
When the older man’s eyes caught sight of the pair, Obito thought to pull his hand away, fix his hair, smooth his clothes again. But Kakashi’s hand tightened and gave him a reassuring squeeze as they broke free of the crush of people.
Up close, it was like looking at Kakashi twenty or so years into the future. Same wide gray eyes, same messy white hair–though his was much longer. Their noses were identical, straight and strong.
Obito thought he might fall over, either from the heat or the stress or how unsteady he felt on his feet, but managed to make it through a bow without tipping forward into the pavement. He swallowed down the lump in his throat.
“It’s very nice to meet you,” Obito said, hating the sound of his voice, sure that somehow this was going poorly. Somehow, he would mess this all up.
But Hatake Sakumo’s eyes crinkled at the edges when he smiled, the same way Kakashi’s did, and he felt a small crack in his nerves. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Obito. I almost feel like I already have with how much this one talks about you.”
Kakashi’s eyes were on the ground. Obito couldn’t help but let his lips quirk into a small smile.
“All good things, I hope?” Obito asked. Off script, but feeling far more confident than he had been before. Breath steadying with each passing second.
“Oh, absolutely. I was sure you were some sort of saint the way he goes on and on-”
“Dad, please shut up,” Kakashi grumbled, eyes still trained down, tips of his ears bright red.
Sakumo let out a hearty laugh. It was sweet. Affirming.
They let themselves wander. Stopping by food stalls, waiting in queues, watching the mess that was people trying to navigate the crowds. Conversation became bits and pieces of Obito’s life, and shared opinions on food. Mostly, it was sharing embarrassing stories about Kakashi. Sakumo refused to spare details about all of the ridiculous things he did as a child. Continued into adulthood. All the while, Kakashi pretended to be upset with them, averting his eyes, jabbing at his father with his elbow.
It was easy. Far easier than he had expected. Far less intimidating.
Obito felt his heart squeeze at watching Kakashi get to be a kid. Watching him interact with this myth of a man he’d heard so much about. Bearing witness to something special and intimate, being invited into this part of Kakashi’s life.
Searching for a spot along the river to watch fireworks and lanterns float aimlessly along the water, the three of them traded memories about the others. Kakashi finally getting his revenge, sharing equally humiliating anecdotes about both of them.
Settling into an empty patch, sun blurring the horizon, starless sky spreading further over Tokyo, Kakashi disappeared for a bit to get lanterns for the three of them. Obito couldn’t help but watch him leave, feeling that constant string of yearning pull tighter. Feeling a bit more exposed now that he was alone.
Obito stretched his hands behind him, keeping himself propped and steady, trying not to let the nerves creep back in. Being left to himself with Kakashi’s father. Not long at all after finally meeting him. Sure, that was just fine.
“So, Obito, do your parents live close enough to pester you as much as I pester my son?” Sakumo smiled. He really could not get over how much they looked alike. He knew that’s how it worked, you looked like your parents, but still, the thought lingered at the forefront of his mind.
He shook his head, “No, my parents actually passed away when I was little. I’m sure my mom would have though.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. Kakashi never mentioned that. Sakumo offered him an apologetic smile.
“No, no, it’s alright,” Obito shook his head again, more animatedly. “It was a long time ago.”
Obito couldn’t help but think again about how this was so foreign to him. Thinking about how this may have gone if the roles were reversed. Bringing Kakashi home to his parents, big smiles and teasing. Wondering if they would have loved him as much as Obito did. Knowing they would have because it was impossible not to.
“Well, I appreciate you meeting me,” Sakumo tipped his head in acknowledgment. “If you can believe it, I was probably more nervous than you were. That kid’s been nagging me all week to ‘be normal’ and ‘not embarrass him’. I think I succeeded on one of those fronts, but I’m sure I’ll get an earful for the Pakkun story.”
Obito laughed, “Yeah, that sounds like him.”
“First time I’ve seen him this serious in a long time,” Sakumo sighed, a hint of a chuckle. “And this happy.”
Obito flushed. Stayed silent, unsure what to say. Feeling lighter.
Sakumo continued, “He’s a good kid. Always has been. I’m glad he met you.”
“I’m glad to have met him, too,” Obito managed. Trying to keep his face straight. Trying not to go redder than he was, yukata and all.
“This is probably the part where I should threaten you never to hurt my son or I’ll make you regret it, but something tells me there’s no need to.” Sakumo faced him. An expression somewhere between serious and amused on his features.
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” Obito said. And meant it.
He wouldn’t. Couldn’t even imagine wanting to. Kakashi was and would always be the best thing to have ever happened to him. Past and future. Beyond.
They were quiet again, the silence less charged, more comfortable. The air was static, sky a blue-black reflection of a light-polluted city. People of all ages gathered together, some releasing their lanterns, some waiting patiently for the horizon to erupt in color.
Kakashi eventually returned, three paper lanterns cradled gently in his arms.
“You better not have said anything weird while I was gone,” he said, dropping in between them, passing a lantern to either side.
“I was perfectly normal. Obito can attest to that.” Sakumo raised his hands.
Kakashi turned to face Obito, eyebrows raised, face disbelieving.
“He was.”
Kakashi hummed.
They readied their lanterns separately. Kakashi and his father talking quietly about theirs.
Obito finished his first and excused himself to release it himself. Giving them a moment alone. Getting one for himself as well.
The river glittered yellow and orange marmoris. Souls being carried off to wherever they go. A faint breeze carried across the water, pushing them faster, making the paper dance around each other. Ripples slayed across, reaching where Obito gently placed his own.
In a way, being here, together, on this night, it was as if Kakashi had met his parents anyway. If they believed there was an afterlife. If they believed that for a few days every summer, the souls of loved ones returned, even just as a stronger memory.
He watched his little spirit-carrying boat drift further away, switching places with those next to it, light swirling.
Kakashi joined him eventually, kneeled beside him, and placed his own lantern in the faux starry river. Still for a moment, they watched together, heads dipping toward the water, admiring the glow.
“Dad said he likes you,” Kakashi's fingertips inched closer to Obito’s, pinky stretching to wrap itself around the others.
Obito felt whatever last weight had been weighing on him ferry away with the lights bobbing past.
“So I passed?” Obito asked, watching his lantern turning into a pinprick.
“Of course you passed,” Kakashi laughed. “Did you think you wouldn’t?”
He turned to meet those gray eyes. “Yes, I was very worried.”
Kakashi smiled, endearing. Brought his free hand up to one side of Obito’s face, brushed a thumb just under his eye, light and soft.
“It’s impossible not to love you,” Kakashi said, almost in a whisper. Just loud enough for him to hear. “You know that, don’t you?”
Obito let himself sink into the touch, let himself remember how he thought the exact same.
“I wouldn’t mind hearing it again,” he replied. Cheeky.
Kakashi leaned forward, pressed his lips to Obito’s. Gentle and full of every unsaid word. Short and sickly sweet.
“Come on,” he said as he pulled away, “he’s saving our spot.”
Hand in hand, they found their way back. Waited for Sakumo to release his lantern. Sat close to each other, sides pressed together, Kakashi’s head on Obito’s shoulder.
Sakumo returned as the first fireworks sparkled in the sky, casting pink across the onlookers. He sat down next to Obito, cast a glance at his son, cheek pressed into the other boy’s arm, and smiled.
As the sky turned every shade of blue and purple, orange and green, Obito couldn’t help but feel like he’d been welcomed home.