Archive of Our Own ^beta

The train rumbled forward, cutting through the quiet snowfall like a memory trying to find its way back. Obito leaned against the window, breath fogging up the glass, watching the world blur past in shades of gray and white.

It was colder than last year.

Or maybe it just felt that way because Kakashi wasn’t beside him.

Last year, they’d taken this same route together. Kakashi had pressed a sleepy forehead against Obito’s shoulder, mumbling about how stupidly early it was, complaining about how Obito’s grandmother was going to overfeed him again while secretly looking forward to it.

Now, Obito rode alone, clutching a coffee he’d barely touched, his fingers absently tracing over the cup’s rim.

His phone vibrated. Shisui.

> Shisui: Oi, when’s your train reaching?
Shisui: Grandma’s been making dango since morning, we might drown in them.
Shisui: Also, Deidara tried to ‘improve’ the cake. Send help.

Obito huffed a laugh. Of course Deidara did.

Still, the warmth that the messages should’ve brought didn’t quite reach. Something was missing.

He knew what.
Or rather—who.

The house smelled like memories.

Warm broth, soy sauce, and the sweet scent of red bean paste from his grandmother’s endless stockpile of desserts. Obito barely had time to set his bags down before she was on him—fussing, scolding, shoving a skewer of dango into his hands.

“You’re thinner than last time!” she clicked her tongue, patting his cheek before squeezing it with unnecessary force. “Do they not feed you in the city?”

“They do,” Obito tried, words muffled around the dango in his mouth.

Behind her, Shisui snickered.

Then chaos erupted.

Deidara and Sasori were bickering over the cake.

Kisame had smuggled in sake (despite Grandmother Uchiha’s strict alcohol ban).

Sasuke looked like he regretted showing up.

Itachi had stolen the best seat, entirely unbothered.

For a while, Obito was okay. He laughed, he ate too much, he let himself be pulled into stupid arguments and drinking games (which he won).

It was late when he slipped out.

The streets were biting cold, frost clinging to parked cars and shop windows. The café was a familiar refuge—dim lighting, wooden tables, the smell of coffee curling through the air.

Obito didn’t expect to see him there.

Kakashi.

Sitting at their usual table, fingers curled around a steaming mug, as if waiting.

The silence hung thick between them, heavy as the snow outside.

Obito hesitated. Part of him expected Kakashi to look up, scoff, and leave. But he didn’t. He just… sat there.

So Obito sat too.

And for a long time, neither of them spoke.

--

Kakashi had told himself he wouldn’t do this.

Wouldn’t come. Wouldn’t sit here like an idiot. Wouldn’t let Obito see how much of a wreck he still was.

But here he was. And here was Obito. Still as familiar, still as frustratingly distant.

Finally, Obito broke the silence. “How have you been?”

The words cracked something.

And Kakashi—**who should have answered with something detached, something easy—**didn’t.

Instead, he slapped Obito across the face.

“You—goddamn bastard.”

The café went still.

Obito barely flinched, fingers slowly touching his cheek where Kakashi’s palm had landed. His expression **didn’t waver, but his eyes—**his eyes looked like Kakashi had just ripped something out of him.

“You left.” Kakashi’s voice was shaking. “You left and didn’t say a damn thing. And now what? You sit here like nothing happened? Like I’m supposed to—” His breath hitched. “Like I’m supposed to just be okay?”

Obito swallowed. Hard.

Kakashi’s eyes were glassy. Not quite tears, but close enough.

“I was never okay,” Kakashi whispered. “And I hate you for thinking I could be.”

Silence.

Then Obito pulled him into a hug.

Kakashi fought it. At first. But Obito held firm, one hand at the nape of Kakashi’s neck, the other curling around his waist, grounding him.

“I never wanted you to be okay without me.” Obito’s voice was rough, low. “But I was scared, Kakashi.”

Kakashi exhaled against his shoulder. “Scared of what?”

Obito hesitated. Then, softly—“That if I came back… you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

Kakashi punched him in the chest.

Not hard. Just a frustrated little thing before he fisted Obito’s stupid coat and kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Like all the years between them collapsed into this one moment.

Obito kissed back with everything he had.

The café blurred into nothing. It was just **heat and closeness—**Kakashi’s hands gripping at his shoulders, Obito’s fingers curling into silver hair.

They kissed until it turned slow, soft. Until Kakashi sighed into his mouth, like he was finally exhaling something that had been lodged in his chest for too long.

Obito murmured something against his lips. “Are we okay?”

Kakashi didn’t answer. Just kissed him again, softer this time.

And again.

And again—until they weren’t just making up, they were making up for everything.

By the time dawn crept in through the café windows, they hadn’t stopped touching.

Obito held Kakashi like he’d never let go again.
Kakashi let himself be held.

The ring in Kakashi’s pocket stayed there.

For now.