Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

These days, he takes to selling wickerwork hats at a stall by the gates. People flock to them at first, watching his fingers weave practised patterns with threads of shaven bamboo and filling his pouch with a heavy sum of ryō. He keeps an assorted supply, favouring wider-brimmed kasa that are in high demand during the rainy season, and business is good. At first.

Now, with the change of seasons, half the village has one. As market goers spare him no more than a glance, he marks today as the last he’ll be vending here. Already, a new money-making scheme is brewing in his head. Next week, he’ll make fortune charms. Humans eat that shit up. And, well, being a tengu is an asset here; the humans think of his as a clan of guardians. Tengu-made charms? If he sets up shop somewhere near the barracks, they’ll wipe out his supply in days or less.

Madara doesn’t know anything about any of this, off hiding from Lord Hashirama, who is still mourning the loss of his wife. She’s moved back to Uzushio, as the lord of the land has been lost and the position needs filling, but he acts like she’s gone off to war. Despite Madara being the clan head, it’s easy for things to pass the old bird by, and that’s for the best.

Obito doesn’t have a vending license.

It’s the hottest part of the day. While listening to the screaming cicadas and the quieting thrum of the crowd, Obito dithers between packing his wares and holding out another few hours. If he leaves now, he’ll have a lot of leftover stock to contend with. Carrying it home will be annoying. At the same time, it doesn’t look like he’ll make many more sales at the rate he’s going now. In three hours, he’s sold just as many hats. If he counts his losses and packs up now, he can put his time into starting those charms instead.

While weighing his options, Obito spots the silvery frame of an obvious yōkai. The man is tall and slender, shoulders squared with eyes as pale as his hair, like someone sucked the colour from his body. Under the right light, it feels like he might glow. This man isn’t from Konoha; the village is large, but yōkai don’t even make up a full half of it, so everyone knows everyone. There are no secrets between the clans, not in so many words, and someone like that would be hard to miss.

This man is a foreigner. Konoha doesn’t get many of those. Not yōkai, anyway; most are reluctant to venture beyond their territory. They’re homebodies, one could say, and Obito is no different. Were they not chased out of their homelands, the tengu would probably still be up on their mountain, refusing to leave.

The man pauses in the street to scent the air. Probably a mammalian yōkai, then. They’re always sniffing around like that, and it’s fucking rude. But when he remains there, stuck to that one spot, Obito starts to wonder if he’s lost. Whatever. It’s not his business. The last thing you ever do is get friendly with an unknown. So, Obito ignores this silent cry for help in favour of packing up his wares and removing the banner on his stall. If some random yōkai’s going to be hanging around here, he won’t take the risk. They’re unpredictable at the best of times, and by the gods, he can’t be bothered.

When he’s wrapped his hats and turns to the road, their eyes meet. The stranger tilts his head, and Obito groans. Now that he’s been spotted, he can’t just turn a blind eye; that’s how you wind up cursed.

“Where are you headed?” he calls out, grabbing the yōkai’s attention. Those silvery eyes look him up and down like a piece of meat. Ugh. A predator. The worst.

Well, Obito’s a predator, too. But he’s also a guardian.

The man fixates on the limp wings hanging from Obito’s back. “Tengu?” he asks curiously.

“That a problem?” Konoha was formed when their clan was driven off the mountain and into the human settlement below. There were squabbles, then war, and when the two clans came to a truce, their combined numbers formed Konoha. So, there are a lot of tengu in the village. A lot. They’re infamous for it, in fact, so no travellers should ever be shocked to see them.

“Is it?”

The worst. “Do you need directions, or not? I’m not gonna sit here playing games with you. I’ve got places to be.” He doesn’t. The most he’ll do back home is plan out the charms he’ll be selling next week. But this guy doesn’t know that.

The man walks over so they’re no longer shouting back and forth across the road, which is nice. They were starting to get looks. He scents the air one more time—ugh—and his lips part just enough to show the trailing edges of pointed teeth. “Well, I could use a guide.”

“Not the deal,” Obito counters. “I’m running a business, you know. I don’t have time to ferry you around.” This he says while ignoring that he’s already packed up.

The man looks at the wicker hats as though it’s his first time seeing them, all tied up and ready to be carted off. It’s clear to anyone that Obito’s done selling for the day. He doesn’t call Obito out on his bluff, though, and absently pulls out a pouch fat with coins. “You could make time if I bought out the rest of your stock, then.”

It’s quiet for all of three seconds before Obito holds out his hand, smiling politely as the whole damn pouch is offered up. It’s heavy, too, and more than enough to pay for the rest of the wicker hats he has yet to sell. But just to be sure, he loosens the tie around the mouth of the pouch and peeks inside. Gods, he hasn’t seen this much ryō in a long time.

He pockets his earnings and is suddenly very interested in this person he previously disliked. “So, it’s your first time in Konoha? Not to worry. I know this place better than anyone. Want a tour? What are you looking for? Hot springs? A hotel? The best restaurants? Do you like ramen? I know a place.”

Money is a terrible, terrible thing.

Konoha’s market is flanked by brothels, inns, and more restaurants than any one man can frequent in a week. Though they don’t get many tourists, the village is a common stopover for merchants and tradesmen ferrying between Lightning and Water, so it has the accommodations to match.

They sit on a bamboo bench with meat buns in hand. Obito’s new sponsor keenly observes the comings and goings of the villagers as more stalls pack up for the evening. The night market will open in the square soon, and he absently mentions that as they stuff their faces. Anything from the Five Great Nations can be found in the night market, so they say; Obito’s never participated in a trip there, forbidden as he is of the basic niceties of his homeland. He recites stories of it anyway, as though it’s as much a part of his history as anyone else’s, but the yōkai isn’t paying his tales any mind.

“What brings you all the way to Konoha?”

“I’m here to meet someone,” the man says absently, and doesn’t elaborate. “You’ve quite the infestation of humans. How do you keep them in check?”

Konoha is one of the few settlements where humans and yōkai coexist peacefully, so this sort of talk is expected. To most yōkai, humans are a source of energy, or a free meal. Some worship yōkai at shrines and temples, and if they’re deemed worthy, will gain the protection of a minor god. But outside Konoha, it’s rare for them to comfortably co-exist. So everyone says, anyway; Obito isn’t allowed beyond the village border. “We protect them, and they protect our land. It’s a mutually beneficial relationship.”

The man hums, plucking another meat bun from the small basket between them, turning it in his hands. “They have a tendency to over-complicate things, don’t they?”

With the way the stranger looks at the bun, Obito wonders if he’s ever tried it before. Plenty of yōkai feed off raw meat, and the humans’ style of cooking is something unique to them. Asking is a bad idea, and trying to identify the yōkai, even more so; it’s hard to know what sort of prodding might see him cursed or snapped at.

“Don’t like the food?” he asks, holding out a hand. “I’ll eat it if you won’t.”

The man eyes him and leans away, taking a large bite out of the meat bun, as though afraid to lose it.

Obito snorts. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Human food is great. I can’t imagine having to hunt vole and rats like the elders did.”

He waits for acknowledgement that doesn’t come, and supposes he should expect as much from an outsider. It’s rare for a human and yōkai to find something about one another to admire. Even in Konoha, sentiments aren’t always friendly, though the tengu are beloved.

Obito stares at the wickerwork hats stacked by the bamboo bench, wrapped and tied by a large cloth, and huffs. They’ve sold, but he doubts a feral yōkai who doesn’t even enjoy the comforts of human cooking will find any use for them. Most likely, when they part, Obito will have to give them away before Madara takes notice and catches onto his (technically illegal) schemes.

The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, and the yōkai feasting upon meat buns next to him raises his arm to block its rays. Now that the rainy season has passed, it’s been nothing but sunshine and heat, and somehow, he doubts this man likes either of those things. With a huff, Obito unties the knot in the cloth wrap and pulls one of the wicker hats free of the stack, leaning up to set it atop the man’s head. Silver eyes find him, a pale, clawed hand tracing curiously along its brim.

“If you bought it, you could at least wear it,” Obito grumbles. “It takes a while to make one of these, you know.”

The man lowers his hand and faces forward, no longer squinting against the sun. “Why do you sell these?”

“Why does anyone?” Obito asks. “To make money.”

“For what purpose?”

He shrugs, unwilling to confess to this perfect stranger what he can’t even share with his clansmen. They haven’t yet made it to introductions, after all. “Gotta eat to live, and gotta work to eat. Simple as that.”

“The humans don’t supply you with food?” the man asks. “You are their guardian, as you said.”

Obito snorts. “Did you not see me pay for this earlier?” He nudges the basket, where a sole bun sits, no longer steaming. “Guardians or not, we don’t lord over them. We’re paid our dues for our service, and use that money to pay them for theirs.”

“And yet, you run a stall.”

Their eyes lock, and Obito looks away, fisting his hakama. Yes, he does. Because unlike his brethren, Obito has never trained as a guardian. Long before he was old enough to hold a sword, his future had already been stolen from him.

He puts the lid on the wooden basket, re-ties the cloth around his many hats, and stands up. “You said you were meeting someone?”

The yōkai finishes that last of his meal, licking his fingers clean, leaning heavily on his knees. His eyes catch on Obito’s primaries as they hover above the ground, and he reaches out, but Obito draws back his wings before this yōkai can so much as brush one of his feathers. He tilts his head curiously, and doesn’t complain. “Are you acquainted with the tengu patriarch?”

“Madara?”

“I believe that’s his name, yes.”

Obito clicks his tongue and crosses his arms. Now he knows why he was singled out, being the only tengu who hangs around the humans all day. He was out in the open, not manning any of the guard stations around the village nor tucked away in the Uchiha district. “I think he’s with Lord Hashirama today. He probably won’t make it back to the clan grounds until the evening. Or tomorrow, if Lord Hashirama is in a mood.”

“That’s fine,” the man says. “Where might I lodge for the night?”

Obito scratches his chin, then stares down the road to the big plaza at the far end, where all the paths on this side of the village converge. It’s there that the night market takes place on the final weekend of each month, a three-day affair where vendors come from all walks of life. It’s when Konoha sees the most foreigners, and the most violence, which is why Obito is forbidden from participating while his fellow tengu attend to keep the peace. He hates to be treated like glass, but never had a chance to prove his worth.

There are hotels down in the plaza, but he’s not sure if he should send this unknown predator their way. “Most of the facilities are run by humans,” he states, watching as the man’s lip curls ever so slightly. Yeah, that’s what he thought. For a foreigner like this, lodging among humans might be something of an insult. It wouldn’t be safe for the staff, either, to have to cater to a yōkai they’re unfamiliar with. Most have unique quirks, some of which can prove deadly, and humans lack the claws, teeth, and magic to protect themselves. Their lives are fleeting enough already. “My residence has a spare room. I can offer it to you, I guess. Madara lives within the same compound.”

The man watches, the scowl falling from his face, and hefts himself off the bench. He’s tall and lean, his frame wiry as he bends forward to pluck the basket off the seat and into his arms. (He’s really taken with the meat buns, isn’t he?) Then he turns to Obito, and nods vaguely in a random direction. “Lead the way.”

The main Uchiha compound is reserved for the eldest of the tengu, those old men who still remember their mountain and how it was taken from them, and the endless war with the Senju that followed. They govern the main body of the clan and speak on behalf of their brethren when the council convenes, so they’re considered of the utmost importance. Obito just happens to reside within the compound due to circumstance.

He leads his guest along the engawa to his private dwelling at the back corner of the compound. Compared to the compound’s other inhabitants, his space is small, but it still outmatches the homes of the rest of the Uchiha district. A glance back shows him that the predator is… unimpressed. Silver eyes pass over the elegant gardens of the courtyard as though he were walking past a patch of half-dried weeds, and Obito wonders where it is he hails from. Even to most yōkai, the Uchiha lands are considered extravagant.

Obito nudges the door to his storage room open with his foot, his hands filled with his bounty of wide-brimmed hats, and on the other side lies his stashes of—

“Trash,” the man comments, his head cocked to the side as he leans into the room. “You’re storing me with your trash. How lovely.”

Obito closes his eyes, sucks in a breath, and reminds himself of the fat pouch of ryō tied to his waist that he’d really love to keep. He lets the comment flow over him like water. “It’s not trash,” he states calmly, as though he were a bigger person than he is. “Everything in here means something to me.”

To his credit, the room isn’t messy, and it’s furnished well enough to hold guests. Years ago, he took a liking to one of the street orphans that used to steal from his money-making stalls, back when it was located in the south-eastern corner of the village. (He has to relocate regularly to not be discovered by his patriarch.) On a whim, he offered up this room for the child to bunk in over the winter months, and has kept it neatly organized ever since in case he’d like to come back. Time moves differently for yōkai than it does humans, and that boy he considers little more than a fledgling has all but reached his height. Tengu are deeply sentimental, and Obito still holds out that he might be in need of a room again, somewhere along his journey.

Tengu collect things that are shiny and new, or house a story. The tapestries draped across the walls are from periods of history Obito recalls fondly, or were crafted by artisans he admired who have long since fallen to the challenge of time. The gems, jewellery, and baubles in the drawers of his console are eye-catching reminders of the lands beyond this one, foreign craftsmanship gifted to him by the human orphan during his travels. The kid knows how weak Obito is for things that shine and sparkle. Even the room divider leaning against the wall is from one of his brethren.

These things are all precious to him. It's not his fault that tengu tend to hoard.

Obito steps into the room, mindful of his taloned feet on the tatami mats, and goes to grab the futon and blankets out of the closet at the back. When his guest tries to follow, Obito hisses.

“Take your shoes off,” he demands. “Show some courtesy when someone offers you help. Is it so hard to be decent?”

Obito’s always been sharp-tongued. It's why the clan doesn't allow him to attend court. But the man isn't angry as he locates the slippers just outside the room and puts them on, lining his sandals against the outer wall. He may not be used to human cuisine, but he's familiar with other customs. Interesting.

Thinking of that heavy pouch of ryō, Obito lays out the futon in the middle of the floor with its many blankets, and moves some of the clutter over to the walls. He should be accommodating. And nice. Friendly, even. “The outhouse is outside and to the right, my room is to the left. There's a cold storage cellar at the back of the building if you need it. Want a bath?”

The man watches him smooth out the wrinkles in the blankets, then looked at the tapestries and other art lining the walls. “A bath would be nice.”

“I'll draw you one,” Obito says. “Get settled for now, and I’ll fetch you when it’s ready.”

Obito doesn’t wait for acknowledgement, dipping out of the room and over to his own, sliding the shōji open and slamming it shut behind him. He keeps his talismans on the low table against the wall, and grabs one, sticking it over the seam of the door. The air ripples with its wards, and he grins. The large tansu at the back of the room contains a secret. As Obito grabs the handles at its sides and lifts it from its perch against the wall, he reveals the trap door beneath, prying open the iron slab and slipping inside.

Most occupants of the compound have compartments like these built into their quarters. In Konoha’s earliest days, tensions were raised between the Senju and Uchiha. No one trusted the humans to keep their truce, so the tengu designed failsafes. There are underground rooms meant to store their wealth, and there are tunnels that burrow beneath the village for quick escape.

He lands on the cold slab of earth below, and coughs as plumes of dust kick up from the ground. Madara doesn’t know about this tunnel. Everyone must have forgotten about it beyond Izuna, who was the previous occupant of these quarters, and it’s here where Obito stores his secrets. Opening the first chest on his left, he empties the pouch tied at his waist into it, the flood of coins rattling against the rest of his stash, and can’t keep the smile off his face. Next to it sits a fully-stocked supply bag, a med kit he stole from a human he favours, and a velvet-soft box filled with talismans.

One day, Obito will leave this place.

His night vision is good, but not fantastic. The only light in the tunnel is from above, where the trap door hangs open, and two feet ahead of him, the tunnel sinks into an inky black. He’s followed it at length to where it comes up beyond the village walls, and knows the guard station routes well enough to slip by. But tengu aren’t widely accepted by humans beyond Konoha, so the stories go, and if he doesn’t amass the wealth he needs beforehand, he might not be able to find work. Losing the creature comforts found in Konoha would be miserable, and Obito hasn’t hunted a day in his life. When he leaves, he hopes to continue eating human cuisine, and sharing in their culture.

He doesn’t want to leave at all, really. But there’s no choice.

His smile falls. He shuts the chest and climbs out of the tunnel, closes the iron slab, and replaces the cabinet overtop. Peeling back the talisman stuck on the shōji, he steps outside and shakes out his wings to dislodge the dust and grime now coating them. The tunnel is just large enough to fit him, but not to spread his wings, and he always feels dirty when he leaves it.

Alright. Wealth secure. Now, to prep the bath for the picky predator lodging in his storage room.

Obito fills the large basin at the side of the building with water from the stream that passes through the Uchiha district, and crouches down next to it, chin in hand, waiting for it to boil. He’s not well-versed in chakra manipulation. The orphan is off learning now with that oni, Jiraiya, and when he returns, Obito will have to pester him to share his knowledge. Sometimes, it feels like humans can do anything when they’re feeling stubborn enough, and some even learn to control fire, like the kitsune. The most Obito can manipulate is the wind, and not well, since he wasn’t formally trained.

“Quite slow, isn’t it?”

Obito jumps and falls back, landing on his hands and ass, his feathers puffed out. Beside him, his guest crouches there, watching the basin as the fire below it warms the water. His heart pounds wildly in his chest, and his talons dig into the dirt. Shit. He hadn’t heard a thing. This man could kill him, and Obito wouldn’t even notice. A silver eye slides over to him.

Obito clears his throat and swallows his stress, patting the dirt off his hakama as he rises. “Thought I told you to stay in the room.”

“I got bored.”

Boredom is a powerful yōkai’s most hated thing, of course. They’re so long-lived that they fear it worse than death. But surely, this guy could have handled an hour by himself.

“This is taking too long,” the man says. “Do you do this every time you need to bathe?”

Obito eyes him, wondering if he might have servants back home to heat his baths. “Tengu don’t typically bathe in hot water. This bath is reserved for guests.”

The man hums, nodding absently. “Where do you bathe, then? I might be convinced to try something new.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “It’s not often that I travel, and you’ve been a good guide thus far. I’m interested in learning your customs.”

Yeah, sure. As though Obito is foolish enough to show a predator such a vulnerable place. He tests the water, and deems it hot enough. “Your bath is ready, Sir,” he declares, effectively shutting down the request. “Please, enjoy.”

He can feel the man watching him as he slips back into his room to find a change of clothes, grabbing a second set for himself. When he comes back, he finds his guest submerged in the metal tub, his arms draped across its edges, and pale skin peeking out above the steaming water. He ignores it, setting the clothes on the rack by the basin.

“You can use these. I noticed you didn’t have much luggage with you,” he mutters. “I’m stepping out for a moment, so don’t cause trouble. My hospitality will only stretch so far.”

Obito feels a gentle tug on the feathers of his left wing, and snaps back to glare at the man holding a black feather between clawed fingers, smoothing his thumb along the dull, black vane, watching the barbules shift.

“Maa, you’re covered in dust, Tengu. Your feathers feel grainy.”

Obito yanks his wing free with a huff, glares at the man, and tucks his change of clothes behind the sleeve of his haori, out of sight. “Don’t your kind teach manners? Don’t touch my wings, you rude bastard, or you can find somewhere else to sleep tonight.”

The man raises his hands, as though in surrender. “I mean no disrespect.”

Obito stomps off, leaving his guest behind. What an infuriating man. He usually wouldn’t be so forthright with his temper in the face of an unknown, but damn, this guy is the worst.

Kakashi watches the tengu march down the dirt path and around the bend, disappearing behind the wooden posts. What a curious creature, so sharp-tongued and lively. He wonders if his betrothed might be of this man’s ilk.

Above, the sky is switching colours, moving from the yellow-oranges of evening to the red-purples at the tail end of sunset, and he sinks into the basin. The stars are faintly visible now, and with them, the moon.

He wonders how Mother is doing, and if she might visit soon.

Kakashi didn’t want to make this trip. He’s not interested in a union, nor the political motives backing one. But if this is beyond his control, then he would prefer to acquaint himself with his chosen before their bond has settled, and prepare himself accordingly.

His betrothed is a tengu. Kakashi has no experience with them, not before today, when he happened upon the merchant who heated this bath for him. They’re different than he expects, larger; when he heard they’re birthed from raven nests, he expected them to be petite things. He supposes what happens is that, in a clutch of raven eggs, one might become possessed. That egg would grow and grow, warmed by the parents of the nest who are none the wiser, until it hatches into a young tengu and is found by the clan. Their feathers are soft, and their wings are large. He wonders what their wingspan might be at full length.

Kakashi licks his lips, craving more of those meat-filled delicacies the tengu fed him earlier. He’s never tasted anything quite like it. Alas, he ate the last one remaining before he began to wander, and there’s nothing left for him to pick at. Might the tengu show him something new tomorrow, as well?

Strange, isn’t it? For him to crave something human-made, as though they aren’t just parasites and prey.

Kakashi leans his arms over the rim of the tub and rests his chin atop them, staring out at the quick-falling night. His eyes work well in the dark. Even now, he can make out each building within view and the paths between them. He spots the lush wildlife encroaching the property, and the zen garden they passed on their way to the tengu’s quarters. Would the tengu be able to see so clearly at night, though? He isn’t sure. All he knows about their species is what he’s seen.

Meeting this stranger has given him a new perspective, and he wonders what accommodations he might need to make for his betrothed to live comfortably. If they prefer human food, how will the servants feed them? If they don’t bathe in warm water, what should they use as an alternative? Do all tengu hoard bits and baubles, or is this one unique?

Time passes, and he climbs out of the basin, disposing of the fire burning beneath it. He wouldn’t be a very good guest if he burned down the residence, would he? There’s a towel left out for him that he uses to dry off, and clothes similar to what the tengu wears hanging on the rack by the basin. He feels the material between his fingertips, mindful not to snag the threads on his claws, and dresses.

Boredom finds him again, and he sighs. The tengu is still out, and Kakashi doesn’t feel like staring at the ceiling in his room of trash for however long it takes him to return. Instead, he follows the scent of his host, which covers this section of the compound, until he catches on the trail leading behind the building.

The Uchiha lands stretch all the way to the back of the village, against the cliff faces that mark the smallest of Lightning Country’s mountains, right along the border. The trail leads to that cliffside and the greenery beneath it, following the stream until buildings and fields give way to trees, and a pool at the base of the rocks. A thin waterfall trickles down from above, nothing of the torrents near the Hatake compound, and below it, a person.

Kakashi stops, watching black wings spread across the night air, puffed up and loose, almost like they were when Kakashi startled the tengu by the bath. Water falls onto them, and they ruffle, spreading and flapping, sinking further under the stream. One wing bends in, and fingers comb through it carefully as the other stretches. Is the tengu… preening?

He shouldn’t, but he lingers there, head tilted. The tengu’s body is blocked by his wings as he fusses with them, his hair weighed down by the water. When he turns, Kakashi can make out that scowl he so often wears, but he doesn’t look angry.

Ah, well. This is probably rude, too, and he’s trying not to offend. Kakashi turns back around, leaving the bird to preen, even though watching has charmed him to this unfamiliar yōkai.

Returning to the compound, Kakashi makes his way to his room, but pauses. He suspects his host won’t be back for some time. Not one to ignore curiosity, he instead finds the tengu’s room left of his, and slides open the door. Inside waits a more subdued mess, still filled with all these useless things Kakashi doesn’t understand, pictures on the walls and knick-knacks on the furniture. He takes off his shoes and steps inside, curious to find a large stack of talismans. What might those be for?

As he snoops, Kakashi notices a strange edge beneath the large tansu at the back of the room and shifts it out of the way, staring at the iron trapdoor fitted around the tatami mats.

Oh? A secret. Kakashi loves those.

Below the room, what appears to be a dank and filthy cellar is actually a tunnel. He sees a supply bag, several other kits and chests all lined up against the wall. Curious. Kakashi might want to go in and explore, but he did just bathe, and whatever all this is, it’s none of his—

“Hey.”

Kakashi raises his head out of the hole in the floor and looks behind him. There the tengu stands in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, his wings and hair still rumpled from his bath.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing in here? I thought I told you not to cause trouble.”

Kakashi blinks, turning back to the blackened view of the tunnel below. “If I said I got lost, would you believe me?”

“No.”

He shrugs, shifting to sit cross-legged on the floor. Kakashi doesn’t fear retribution, not from some village-bound bird. But he knows the tengu’s anger is entirely on him, and accepts that.

Outside, there are voices. The tengu’s head snaps up, staring at something beyond the shōji walls, and his eyes go wide. Soon, he’s shoving himself into the room, sliding the door shut, and slapping one of the talismans on it. The air ripples, magic tingling Kakashi’s skin, and suddenly, the sounds of night are completely cut off. A barrier?

With a long, stressed sigh, the tengu slides down the door, scrubbing a hand over his face. His feathers puff out again, but not for the same reasons as before.

For the first time in many years, Kakashi feels guilt. He doesn’t like seeing this creature upset.

“I’m sorry,” Kakashi says. “I overstepped.”

The tengu glares at him, but it’s weak. His eyes fall to the trap door, and Kakashi leans over to close it, hoping it might erase his stress. It doesn’t. But the anger isn’t there anymore, and all he looks is tired.

“You must have questions,” the bird mutters.

“It’s not my place.” Though yes, he does. Many, actually, mostly pertaining to what they might eat for breakfast.

The tengu nods approvingly. But his eyes fall back to that iron square, and as he gets up to move the tansu back over it, he bites his lip. “You won’t… say anything, will you? To Madara.”

How big of a secret has he stumbled upon for this man to be keeping it from his patriarch? “No,” he promises. “That’s also not my place. I might be a rude bastard, as you said. But I won’t insert myself where I’m not needed.”

The man presses his lips together and moves back to the door, sliding it open a crack and peeking through. Sound filters in, the barrier pauses, and the host clicks his tongue when he hears even more voices, loud and boisterous on the wind. The door slams shut, the barrier re-activates, and he takes a seat in the centre of the room.

They sit and wait, the tengu lighting a lamp on one of the tables. Kakashi’s eyes fall to the scaled, taloned feet that he hasn’t seen up close before. He wonders how it's fair that Kakashi must take off his shoes to enter a room, but the bird doesn’t wear shoes to start. The talons are long and hooked, and look like they might sink deep into their prey, should this man hunt.

He wants to touch them. He does not. Though regretful, he’s learned that tengu don’t appreciate casual touch, least of all with strangers.

The tengu notices. He huffs, tucking his legs under himself and hiding what he can beneath the loose fabric of his hakama. “Rude bastard,” he says again. Then, drawing out one of the tables from the wall, he sets it in the middle of the room and looks through a drawer, pulling out a cloth bag. “You want a snack? We can’t leave until they do; I don’t want them seeing you in here and asking questions.”

Kakashi perks up, settling at the table and waiting patiently as the tie is loosened around the bag, and a dry, textured disk is placed in his hand. He sniffs it curiously.

“It’s senbei,” his host says, “a rice cracker. You can eat more than just meat, right? You handled the meat buns well.”

Kakashi hums, breaking the disk in half and raising it to his lips, not yet ready to taste. “I can,” he assures. “But I can’t say I’m familiar with… this.”

The tengu laughs. “Foreigners never are. You don’t know what you’re missing out on.”

Eyeing the disk, Kakashi takes a bite. It has a strange, dry texture to it, and a savoury taste that fills his mouth as he chews. This is not the impressive new flavour of the buns he had earlier, and he dismisses it at first. But then he finds himself taking another bite, and another. It might not be as lovely as his earlier meal, but he’s enjoying it all the same.

“They’re better with green tea. My kettle is in the kitchen, though, and…” He gestures vaguely to the door and the clansmen wandering around beyond it.

“I’ll take your word for it.”

They sit there for a while, picking at the senbei and allowing the silence between them. Now and then, the tengu’s eyes fall to the tansu and the iron door below it, his mouth twisting in displeasure. Kakashi doesn’t ask, staring at the paintings this man seems so fond of, wondering about their appeal.

“Humans raised me,” the bird confesses after some time, his voice low and tired. “Ah… for a while, I mean. They don’t live long, so when I was still a fledgling, they withered, and passed away.”

Kakashi tilts his head, wiping the crumbs off his face with the back of his hand. To be raised by humans… What must that feel like? They’re short-lived and foolish, and mustn’t know the first thing about caring for a yōkai cub. How isolating must it have been?

“They stumbled upon me before I hatched. I was far beyond Konoha’s reach, so they intended to guide me there, but then… They were like parents to me. Tengu… we don’t have parents. Not like some yōkai do. Every clansman is our sibling.”

Kakashi thinks of his father, and wonders what it would feel like to be without. Not for Father to die, but for him to have never been there.

“I was brought to Konoha after they died,” he continues. “Around that time, Kumo’s Raikage sired an heir, and Madara saw it as an opportunity. Kumo’s yōkai chased us off our mountain long ago, before our villages were established. He thought if we curried favour, we might get them to return some of our land, you know? Our mountain was important to us.”

Kakashi stares down at the bag still containing a final few senbei and leans forward, resting his chin on his hand, tapping his fingers on the table. He knows the story, of course. It would be silly if he didn’t. But hearing it from the other side… It’s interesting.

“They offered human brides at first, but they’re too short-lived. I don’t blame the Raikage for refusing. But raijū are…” The bird makes a face, rubbing the back of his neck. “They’re violent, and vicious. No yōkai will willingly bond with a beast that throws a fit every time the weather turns south.”

Kakashi stops tapping, and lifts his head. The tengu isn’t looking at him.

“I was brought into the clan late, and the elders consider me an outsider. So, to them, it only makes sense to offer me over their brethren, right? It’s… less of a loss.”

His eyes widen, and he sits impossibly still, staring at his betrothed. Something flickers through his chest, like excitement, his whole body tingling, and—

And he looks at the tansu blocking the trap door, and thinks of the supplies ready and waiting in the tunnel. “You plan to run.”

The tengu heaves the biggest sigh, burying his face against his arms. “I don’t wanna leave,” he mutters into his sleeve. “I love Konoha. I love the people, and my clan, even if it’s not mutual. But if I stay, I’ll have to leave, anyway. I’m sure Kumo’s representatives will come for me soon… I would rather live freely on my own than be tied to some mutt who’s liable to tear me apart whenever it rains.”

Kakashi stares at the dark head of hair in the flickering lamplight, and reaches out. But he pulls back, his hand falling to his side, and swallows the lump in his throat instead. “Are they so terrible?” he asks. “The raijū.”

“So the rumours say.” Lifting his head, the tengu glares dully at the table. “I’ve heard… stories, I guess. About their tempers, and what they do to humans. I couldn’t love someone like that. It’s a political marriage, so love isn’t really a factor anyway. But my parents were human. And when I think of those stories, it makes me sick.”

Kakashi takes a deep breath and stares at his hands.

“So screw the mountain. We’ve been fine without it. I’m not selling my soul for a piece of land.”

He flexes his fingers, and wonders what this feeling is. This is an arrangement he hoped to avoid, too, across these endless years. And yet there’s this pit in his stomach that continues to grow, sinking like a stone.

The tengu rises and checks the door again. Sound returns, but no voices greet them, and he sighs in relief. “All clear. You can mosey back to your room now, and this time, stay out of trouble. ”

Kakashi rises off the floor and steps onto the engawa, where his shoes are waiting. It’s fortunate no one walked this way, because they would have noticed them sitting there, in front of the room of a yōkai that does not wear shoes. As he slips them on, his eyes go up, meeting the red stare of his betrothed, and his heart sinks.

“Don’t you say a word,” the tengu hisses, waggling his finger. “I mean it. If Madara finds out, I won’t last long enough to be married off, anyway.”

“I won’t,” he promises, placing a hand over his heart. “Never.”

The tengu eyes him again, falters, and lowers his gaze. He shifts awkwardly, scuffing his talons against the wood planks below them, and stops when he realizes. There are pre-existing gouges in the wood grain, though, and it seems he makes a habit of this. “Thank you. Really. And, um… It’s Obito. My name.”

It’s a sign of trust, and it’s bittersweet. “Kakashi,” he says lightly, hesitant, wondering if Obito might know the name of his betrothed. But there’s no recognition, and he isn’t sure if what he’s feeling is relief. “Might I ask something?”

Obito watches him suspiciously. “That depends. But go on.”

“What does a tengu’s true form look like?” he asks. If he’s returning home empty-handed, then it would be nice to see his betrothed in full, at least once.

The tengu watches him carefully, and then smiles. He gestures down at himself, brow raised.

Oh.

Kakashi covers his mouth with his hand, sizing the man up carefully, and feels his face heat. All this time, he assumed Obito took an in-between form to appease the humans, like Kakashi is now. “A-ah. You’re very… human, I see.”

That smile widens into something bright, like he’s heard the greatest of compliments. “We aren’t like animal spirits. If you thought I’d turn into an oversized raven, you’re out of luck. Tengu don’t even use glamours.”

Kakashi nods, feeling somewhat ashamed. That is, indeed, what he thought he would see. Many mountain yōkai work similarly, taking on a humanoid guise to communicate with one another, or to wander without drawing attention. But their true forms are those of beasts.

“You, though…” Obito leans in, and Kakashi leans away, anxious after learning what this man thinks of him. But Obito’s smile doesn’t falter. He doesn’t know. “You smell like wet dog,” he says with a laugh. “An okuri-inu?”

An… escorting dog? Really? He steps back, hoping the tengu won’t continue to guess, because there are only so many species of yōkai that scent could mistakenly belong to. “Not quite.”

“You’re a beast, though, right?” he asks, looking Kakashi up and down. “You seem a bit flustered that I’m not. Does it bother you?”

“It doesn’t,” Kakashi answers, and is surprised to find honesty in his words. A part of him rather likes that he can see his betrothed in his true form, that the feathers he watched ruffle beneath the water are real, and that the faces Obito makes are genuine. His fingers are long and slender, and Kakashi wonders how his claws might feel through a wolf’s thick fur.

That isn’t something he can have, he supposes. But it’s a nice thought.

He’s glad he came.

“Well, alright, then…” Obito scratches his head, one hand on his hip, and nods to the next room over. “Let’s get some sleep, alright? Madara should be back tomorrow. I think Lord Hashirama is having one of his, ah… crying nights. He’ll need company.”

Kakashi doesn’t care to meet Madara anymore. But he nods and starts toward the other door. As he slides it open, he looks at the tengu’s back, and calls, “Will you guide me again tomorrow, by chance?”

Red eyes watch him through the night, highlighting warm skin and a growing grin. “How much money you got left?”

Flustered, Kakashi pats himself down, only to realize his belongings are inside the room.

Obito laughs, and says, “I’m kidding. Go to bed, Kakashi, or you’ll be late for breakfast.”

His betrothed disappears behind the shōji screen. Kakashi lingers there, watching the soft glow of the lamp through the rice paper and shadows moving in front of it, wondering what breakfast might entail. As he returns to his room and stares at the junk piled on top of the furniture, he finds it doesn’t bother him as it did before. Beneath layers of blankets and atop a thin futon, he stares at all these things the tengu has collected, and wonders why he cherishes them.

Kakashi will see to it that his betrothed can remain in the village. For all that he might not understand this place and its quirks, or why the tengu keep their humans so close, he sees what it means to Obito. Obito’s pride when Kakashi tried their food, and his warmth when compared to them. His determination to stay for as long as he can, even when his escape is mapped out in the tunnel below his room.

It may not be within his power to call off the arrangement, but there will be something he can do.

As he rolls onto his side, he finds the wickerwork hat tucked away in the corner, and smiles. At least during his trip home, he won’t have to worry about the sun getting in his eyes.

Chapter Text

Obito is up and moving by dawn’s first light, scurrying around the kitchen with his sleeves pulled back as he tests and re-tests the many dishes he’s preparing to share with his guest. He plans on showing the, the—whatever he is—the dog what a traditional breakfast looks like in these parts. Maybe he wants to see the faces Kakashi makes as he tastes more human food. So what? It pays to have pride in one’s homeland, doesn’t it?

As he lays out a small feast across the chabudai in the sitting room, he puts his hands on his hips, and grins. Mom and Dad taught him all their recipes when he was small. Tengu are born further developed than human infants, roughly the size of a young child, so he was able to work in the kitchen as soon as he gained control over his limbs.

He remembers his hatch day. His parents found him early in the morning, in the nest of raven eggs where he’d spawned. The chicks had hatched, and Obito’s shell was leaning into them, threatening to fall. At first, all they wanted was to dislodge the oversized egg before it could cause damage. Then they felt the weight of it, and understood what they were looking at. It was halfway down the mountainside when Obito’s foot broke free of the shell, its contents spilling out, and a large pair of hands caught him before he hit the ground. He looked at them, unknowing of what they were, saw himself and the similarities between them, and made assumptions. They never corrected him.

Mom helped clean his wings when they were too small for him to reach. What was usually reserved for a tengu’s elder siblings became the responsibility of two lost, friendly humans, and before they ever reached Konoha’s gates, they were family.

Obito scratches his head, wondering what ‘family’ might mean to the yōkai still lounging in his storage room. He doesn’t know. Perhaps Kakashi’s an ōkami. They’re not particularly violent, or overly friendly. Sometimes they hunt humans, but they’ll offer guidance and protection, too, in much the same way a tengu does. That feels appropriate, considering Kakashi’s back-and-forth behaviour yesterday. But Obito doesn’t know the familial structures of the ōkami, if they keep packs or remain alone. He’s never met one. They’re rare, especially here in Fire Country, where tengu and kodama dominate.

It doesn’t matter. Obito’s not sure why he’s hung up on this, anyway. Or, no, well…

Obito scratches his cheek, warmth rushing through him, and feels himself flush. He thinks, at least on some surface level, they might be… friends?

Gods, what an idiot he is, to feel friendship toward some yōkai he just met. Until late in the night, he almost hated the man. Kakashi listened to something he’s never shared before, though, without judgement or prejudice. He promises not to share Obito’s secret, and for whatever reason, Obito believes him.

He’s never befriended a yōkai from beyond his clan. It’s not safe to, and anyway, there are never any around for long. Konoha is home to other, smaller clans of yōkai, but they keep to themselves, and don’t intermingle with the tengu. Hell, his brethren don’t even allow him to attend court.

With a huff and a self-chastising remark, he slips onto the engawa and announces himself at the storage room door. “Kakashi? Rise and shine. Breakfast is ready.”

Nothing. Not a single damn movement. It’s rude to enter a stranger’s sleeping place, and Obito isn’t in the habit of getting cursed, so he tries again, but louder. “Kakashi, breakfast! It’s gonna get cold if you don’t move your ass!”

There’s a groan, soft and barely there, and the shuffle of fabric.

“Can I come in?”

“Mm,” is the only acknowledgement he gets.

Rolling his eyes, Obito slides open the door and finds the yōkai sitting on the futon, sheets pooled in his lap as he rubs his eyes. He’s barely coherent, so obviously sleep-addled that it’s a bit funny. Clearly, this one isn’t a morning person.

Kakashi looks up, finally notices him, and bows his head politely. Confused, Obito bows back. They linger like this until Obito slips further into the room and crouches by the futon, arms hanging over his knees. “You gonna make it to the table, or should I cover the food?”

“I can…” Kakashi yawns, revealing sharp teeth.

Huffing, Obito prods the man out of bed and directs him to the sitting room where they’ll be eating. As Kakashi stumbles away, Obito stares down at the futon, where a dusting of white fur breaks up the solid green of the fabric. Obito lifts one strand between his fingers, and feels a static shock. He stares at the length, wondering if he might determine the size of Kakashi’s true form and unveil what he is with that. But he could be a large dog with short fur, or a small dog with long fur, and Obito isn’t well-versed in canine yōkai to know the difference, anyway.

Damn it. Why does he care?

Obito follows his guest out and sees him standing in front of the sitting room, poking his head inside and scenting the air. He follows after, stepping around the dog’s tall body and taking a seat on one of the floor cushions. Kakashi lingers, eyeing the several side dishes laid out on the chabudai, and eventually sits, unsure of where to start.

Obito scoots forward, pushing the fish closer to Kakashi’s side. He made extra meat, knowing his guest might appreciate it. “Try it,” he urges. “There’s grilled salmon, rice, miso, tamagoyaki…” He points to each dish with his chopsticks. “Some picked vegetables—don’t give me that look, they’re good—and… what? What’s that face for?”

Kakashi looks up from the spread, silver eyes watching Obito. He’s hard to read, like he was when they first met, no longer the softening, flustered friend Obito unwittingly made in the night. “Are human meals always so grand?”

“Um, yeah,” he lies. He has several extra dishes that he wouldn’t usually have made, hoping to cater to his guest’s tastes. Extra protein. “Great, isn’t it?”

When the silence goes on, he starts to wonder if there’s something wrong with the meal and double-checks each dish. They’re all pretty normal, but maybe it doesn’t match a yōkai’s taste? Someone so used to hunting in the wilds could find it unappealing.

He should have just waited outside the damn meat bun stand until it opened and bought several of those instead.

Kakashi picks up his chopsticks, assessing Obito’s hold of his own. Thinking about it now, he might be used to eating in his other form. Sharing a table, eating a warm meal with company, and holding utensils… That might not be common in his circle.

Obito stares down into his lap, wondering if the silence at the breakfast table is his fault. “You can transform, if that’s more comfortable,” he offers. “I don’t mind.”

Kakashi watches him for a long moment, then takes a piece of grilled salmon between his chopsticks, and tastes it. His brow furrows as he chews, and Obito holds his breath, waiting, waiting, waiting. No yōkai has eaten his food before; he’s only ever cooked for humans.

“This is salmon?” Kakashi asks, plucking another piece up with his chopsticks and turning it over curiously. “It tastes… different.”

When Kakashi eats that piece, too, Obito slumps in relief. Good different, he means. Obito smiles, and his stomach settles well enough to eat. “It’s marinaded. I soaked it overnight in soy sauce, mirin, and sake. Do you like… Well, guess I don’t have to ask.”

There is no grilled salmon left for Obito. He made two plates, but one is empty, and Kakashi has already dragged over the other. Oh well.

“Try some of the other dishes,” he grumbles, nibbling on the pickled vegetables, as he deems Kakashi least likely to enjoy those.

They sit there for over half an hour, sharing the meal. Kakashi doesn’t remark about the taste, but it’s easy to tell when he likes something, because he’ll keep eating it until the plate is empty. Shockingly, one of these favoured dishes is the miso-glazed eggplant, which Obito made for himself.

They don’t chat much, aside from absent dialogue about their meal. They don’t know each other beyond a secret that wasn’t meant to be shared, so finding common ground wouldn’t be easy, even if they tried. But after the meal, Kakashi looks about ready to curl up for a nap, slumping against the wall, and Obito grabs one of the blankets from the storage room to wrap around the dog’s shoulders when he leaves to wash the dishes. He sees all the empty plates and can’t stop grinning, feeling like he accomplished something great.

When he returns to the sitting room, Kakashi is slumped over the chabudai, fast asleep. Well, this gives him some time to work on those charms. But before that, he really should see if Madara returned.

Obito wanders the compound, sidling up to Madara’s rooms. Sure enough, he catches the old bird on his way in from a long night of comforting the Hokage, his face sour and eyes darkly-rimmed, looking like he’ll gouge out the eyes of any who cross him. So, of course, Obito steps right into his path, and feels his glare with pride. He’s betrothed to the raijū heir, much as he loathes it, and if Madara wants the damn mountain back, he can’t bring Obito harm.

Madara knows this, and hates him for it.

Red eyes narrow on him, and Obito crosses his arms, unflinching in his defiance.

A pale hand scrubs over Madara’s face. “Yes, brat? Something you need?”

“You have a guest,” Obito says.

“Dismiss them. I’m not seeing anyone today.”

Obito rolls his eyes. Madara may be their patriarch, but he’s an irresponsible one. If he’s so miserable after spending his hours with Lord Hashirama, then he should learn to decline an invitation. “He’s from out of town; it wouldn’t be appropriate to send him off. I think he came far.”

Madara pinches his brow, swipes a hand down his face, and finally stands tall. He buries his exhaustion somewhere deep inside himself, and tries to give off the air of a clan head. “His name?”

“Kakashi,” Obito supplies with a shrug. “That’s all he gave.”

Why is it that Madara falls so still? His brows knit together, eyes trained on Obito’s, and he curses under his breath, stomping into his room.  “Bring him to me. Now.”

Obito follows, eyebrow raised as he finds Madara tearing into one of his tansu in search of clothes. It’s for the best; he reeks to the Pure Lands of alcohol, even to Obito’s nose. Poor Kakashi might retch if he has an audience with the patriarch. “He’s sleeping. Can’t it wait until he’s up?”

“No,” Madara hisses, rounding on Obito. His wings are puffed up, feathers parting, making himself large in his anger. “Now, Obito. This meeting is important.”

Says the one who wanted me to dismiss him.

One of Madara’s feathers falls to the floor, and they both watch. Oh joy, he’s molting in his stress. Again. One would think the most affluent tengu in their clan would be in good spirits, but no, Madara is quite high-strung, even for a tengu. When Lady Mito first departed and Lord Hashirama was inconsolable, Madara lost so many feathers that he couldn’t even fly.

Well, that was probably Lord Hashirama’s fault. He kept growing plants everywhere in his mourning, blind to it, and ruined the infrastructure of the buildings he visited. Everyone demanded Madara keep him in check to save the village from itself—even Lord Tobirama. Lord Hashirama is half yasha and half human, and when his emotions run wild, so do his powers.

Well, best leave the old bird to stress by himself. Madara hates being crowded.

Obito returns to the sitting room, where Kakashi continues to sleep. He crouches down beside the yōkai, arms folded over his knees. At least now, Kakashi doesn’t smell so much of wet dog. He was still drying when they parted last night, but the scent has settled now.

Obito feels bad for waking him. He looks exhausted.

“Kakashi,” he calls, “sorry, but the old man wants you up. Madara came home.”

Kakashi shifts a bit, letting out a contented sigh. His arms stretch across the table, fingers splayed, and then he curls in again as his eyes slide open, settling on Obito. He rests his head on one arm, the other reaching up, the pads of his fingers gliding over the feathers of Obito’s wing. Obito bristles, but the touch is gentle, and Kakashi still seems out of it. There’s no grabbing, so he doesn’t pull away.

“Oh,” Kakashi remarks quietly, “they’re clean now.”

Obito scowls down at the damn mutt, eyes narrowed. “I bathed.”

“You preened,” Kakashi corrects, his eyes crinkling. “It was very cute.”

This time, Obito does pull back, stretching out his wings and shaking them to rid himself of the phantom pressure from Kakashi’s fingers. “You were watching me? ”

“Not on purpose.” Kakashi looks up, as though thinking about it, and yawns. “Well, maybe a little. I didn’t linger… maa. Not for long.”

Obito reddens and rises to his feet, wondering whose reflexes would be faster if he tried to gouge out this bastard’s throat with his talons. Great, wonderful, fantastic. He led a predator straight to the clan’s favourite bathing pool. Now, if anything happens—

He narrows his eyes on the dopey almost-smile this tired bastard is wearing, and can’t imagine him going there to feast upon unsuspecting tengu. It would be so much simpler if he tried his hand at some random humans in the village centre, or the travellers along the road. And… he appreciates human food. Now he does, at least. So…

Obito scratches his head, forgetting what he’s mad about. Kakashi wouldn’t have seen anything, he knows; Obito bathes while facing the cliffs, and the span of his wings covers the vast majority of his body from behind.

“Voyeurism is unwelcome in Konoha, you rude bastard. Don’t do that again.”

Kakashi hums an acknowledgement, and finally sits up. “Understood. I apologise.”

With a reluctant sigh, he nods to the door. “Anyway. Like I said, Madara’s home, and he’s ready to see you. I’ll take you there.”

Obito guides his guest away from his own quarters and to Madara’s instead, which are over twice the size, and three times as confusing. Madara has a large room set aside for important meetings, so that’s where Obito brings them. Sure enough, the old bird is settled there with tea, looking a lot more put-together and reeking less of alcohol than he did twenty minutes ago.

Madara notices them, but his eyes settle solely on Kakashi. He gestures to the empty floor cushion, his wings no longer ruffled and his loose feathers conveniently out of sight. “Please, have a seat.”

Kakashi looks to Obito, who folds his hands together, and waits. With a sigh, Kakashi complies, bowing low before the patriarch and seating himself.

Madara turns sharply on Obito, and says, “Leave us.”

Gladly, you old gizzard.

Obito bows, if only to keep up appearances, and turns back to his quarters, supposing that now is as good a time as any to start on those charms. At least with Madara occupied, there’s no risk of him happening upon Obito’s latest money-making scheme. He grabs the sheets of paper he prepared several days ago, finds his inkstone beneath several thread-bound books, and gets writing.

Kakashi looks at the sky and wishes to sleep. Instead, he’s presented with the tengu patriarch, and has to keep up manners.

He tries not to stare at the talons peeking out from beneath Madara’s robes, because that’s impolite. But knowing that every tengu he meets is wearing their true form feels strangely intimate. Usually, those forms are reserved for kin, battle, or hunting, not flaunted about in public. It makes sense, though; these creatures are so human-like in appearance, carrying just enough distinct features to prove themselves yōkai, and they coexist with the humans of their village. They can communicate freely, and the humans must see them as kin, too, in a way. Their clans have been together for centuries, after all.

“You’ve met your bride, I see,” Madara says. He sets his hands on his knees, his back straight. There’s pride in his stance, and it reminds Kakashi of how it feels to sit across from his father. He has Obito’s eyes, that same red. Kakashi wonders if all tengu share that trait. “Is he to your liking?”

Kakashi thinks of all the food he’s been fed since yesterday afternoon, and nods. This is the first time a stranger has shared a meal with him, and the first time he ate with company at his table. Perhaps what he feels is only curiosity, or the vaguest stirring of affection, but he never expected to feel anything at all for his betrothed.

Madara barks out a laugh. “Wonderful! Will you be taking him now, then? I can have him ready by day’s end. I know your father wants you to wed in Kumo.”

He thinks of those secret words shared with him last night, and understands why Obito pre-prepared for his flight from the village. Obito knows how quickly his patriarch is willing to throw him away.

“Maa, I would rather he stay in Konoha, if that’s possible,” Kakashi says, watching the grin fall off Madara’s face. “He’s happy here.”

The tengu leans forward, his fingers intertwined atop the table, tea cooling by his hand. “Lord Sakumo specifically requested that your bride leave for Kumo,” Madara says carefully. “As such, there’s no longer a place for him here. Rest assured, he’s well aware of this, and understands his role.”

Understanding and accepting are two very different things, Kakashi doesn’t say. He lifts the steaming cup off the table and sniffs it, making a face at the strangely bitter scent of the tea. It’s something he’s seen his father drink before, but as Kakashi rarely attends court, he hasn’t had to drink it himself. He wonders if this might be green tea, which Obito insists pairs well with the senbei they shared. When he takes a sip, he tries not to let his reaction show. It’s strange on his tongue, and he’s not sure if he likes or hates it.

Setting the cup down, he meets the old bird’s eyes. “I’ll speak with my father,” he says. “If my betrothed must come with me to Kumo for the ceremony, so be it. But I want him to return to his homeland after we’ve wed.”

Madara twitches, as though holding back something he ought not to say. “May I ask why, my lord?”

Kakashi recognizes that look from when he touched Obito’s feathers in the bath, and raises placating hands. “Maa, I don’t intend to void your deal with my father, Lord Madara. You’re welcome to keep the land we offered for his dowry. But while I may not understand Konoha’s culture for myself, I’ve seen his fondness for it. Kumo isn’t a suitable replacement. He loves Konoha, and if he loses it, I fear he’ll deteriorate.”

The tengu’s scowl is a perfect replica of his young clansman’s. Madara looks the way Kakashi felt when drinking the tea, all harsh edges and confusion, and he scratches his chin while he thinks. “You seem to know him well for having just met him.”

Kakashi smiles, his eyes crinkling fondly. “What can I say? He’s an excellent host. Very hospitable. Very friendly.” Their talk from last night plays in Kakashi’s head, all the words that settled miserably in his stomach, I couldn’t love someone like that.

Not many can, evidently.

Madara drinks his foul-tasting tea and looks out at the garden, his wings shuddering at his back. Curiously, one of his feathers shifts out of place, as though it's come loose. “The dowry stays?”

“The dowry stays,” Kakashi confirms.

Madara grunts, crossing his arms over his chest. “Speak with your father, then. If he permits it, Obito’s quarters will remain his own. He’ll always have a place in the village.”

Kakashi smiles, bowing his head. “You have my thanks.”

They exchange small talk for what feels like centuries but can't be longer than ten minutes, and Kakashi is free to go. When he looks back, he sees the old bird prying free several feathers from his wings, and wonders if that's normal. Tengu must molt, right? Will Obito do so, and is there anything he should know about it?

Ah, well. It's not really his problem, is it? Theirs is a paper marriage. It might not be the solution Obito wants, but it'll keep him in this place he loves, and he won't have to strike out on his own. For all that tengu are predators, too, this one is soft, so comforted by his lifestyle that he likely hasn't hunted a day in his life.

Kakashi finds his betrothed in the sitting room with his sleeves rolled up and black ink splattering his fingertips. His arm is steady as he lines perfect characters onto a paper with his brush, moving slowly through each stroke. He's so focused that he doesn't notice Kakashi coming up beside him, or the eyes watching over his shoulder. It's charming how intense he is when he works. No matter what he does, he puts his all into it, regardless of how small.

Obito's brush lifts off the paper, and he finally breathes, quite satisfied with himself as he sets the brush down. Beside the paper is a stack of others, all with the same neat writing on them.

“What do they say?”

The tengu jumps, a small noise puncturing his surprise, and snaps his head to the right. “When the hell did you get back?!”

“Maa, two minutes ago, just about. What are you making?”

Obito eyes him, that face he makes ever so amusing, and sighs. “Fortune charms. I'm gonna start selling them next week. Humans like that kind of stuff… I'm not a proper guardian ‘cause of my situation, but I can place minor blessings, at least.”

Kakashi hums. All these things Obito does to make money are for his get-away, aren't they? He makes wicker hats and crafts charms to escape his betrothed. Realizing this, Kakashi wishes there was more he could do to break their union.

“You can't read it?” Obito asks.

He shakes his head. “My homeland only uses the written word for record keeping.”

“Oh…” The tengu frowns, staring at the clutter on the chabudai. “You’ve never read a book, then? That's a shame.”

“Is this another human comfort you wish to accost me with?”

Obito rolls his eyes and starts cleaning the brush. “Plenty of yōkai read, you know. It's a good way to learn… And it can be fun, too.”

You should teach me, he doesn't say, because if Father is agreeable, their wedding night will be the last they see of one another.

Kakashi should come clean, he supposes, and rip off the bandage. Only by doing so can he explain their new arrangement. But the words stick in his throat, and he shies away from watching last night's vitrole turn from the unknown beast Obito’s made up in his head to the one who sits with him now. They can't avoid it forever. But at least until he returns to Kumo, it would be nice to continue talking freely like this.

“May I touch your wing?” he asks suddenly.

Obito sputters, his feathers ruffled as he shakes them, and holds his wings tight to his body. “What? Why are you even asking?”

“I'm trying to be polite,” he says. “You keep calling me rude.”

“Because you are. Why the hell do you want to touch them?”

Because raijū are tactile, and explore through touch. Because they draw my eye, and I like them. Because they're pretty, and I won't have an opportunity to do so once we’ve married.

Kakashi shrugs noncommittally. “Curiosity.”

“I'm not a side-show attraction, y’know.” But even as he says this, Obito stretches one wing toward him. For someone with so many complaints, he sure is indulgent.

“Of course not.” Kakashi's fingers run gently along the bones of the wing, following the path of the covert feathers to the ones beneath them, feeling the way they overlap and fan out as Obito flexes. “Can you fly?”

Obito scoffs. “Can I fly? What kind of tengu can't fly?”

“Chickens can’t fly,” he comments absently, the trail of his fingers reaching the bottommost feathers. Obito didn’t pull away earlier, either, and he wonders if it was the way Kakashi grabbed them last night that made him angry.

“Do I look like a chicken to you?”

Kakashi stares at him long and hard, as though considering it.

“Fuck off.”

He laughs, allowing his hand to fall back into his lap before he strains his host’s good graces. Teasing the bird is quite fun.

Obito packs his charms into a little wooden box and occasionally holds one up for Kakashi to see. To him, they all look the same, and he isn’t sure how something so inconsequential would make a difference.

“I made a few different types,” Obito says, “but I still have to bless them, and I’ll sell them in silk bags once I get my hands on some. I know a guy. Anyway, this one’s for good luck.” He shuffles through the papers until coming upon one with different text. “This is for protection. I’ve got one for health here somewhere… Oh, there’s one to ward away evil, too.”

Kakashi listens to his betrothed ramble on about his next business venture as they wander the engawa, and the charms are shoved below layers of clothes in Obito’s tansu, right above the entrance to the tunnel. Apparently, Madara can’t know about the stalls Obito keeps, and the only reason Obito hasn’t been caught before this is because his patriarch so rarely leaves the Uchiha lands unless it’s by the request of the Hokage.

Kakashi should leave. His business in Konoha is over now, and the sooner he speaks with Father, the sooner Obito can be reassured that he won’t have to abandon his home.

“Oh, right.” Obito closes the drawer and looks up at him. “Was there somewhere special you wanted to go today?”

Kakashi leans in the doorway, his arms folded over as he considers the tengu. “Maa, I should be heading out.”

“Already?”

“I only came to discuss something with the tengu patriarch. There’s no reason for me to linger here.”

Obito rises to his feet, absently scratching at his arm. “But you haven’t even seen the night market… That seems like a waste.”

Kakashi tilts his head, watching this bright, loud man wilt there in his room. He mentioned the night market during the brief tour he gave yesterday, and spoke of it as a feature event in Konoha. “Is it really so grand?”

“Well—” Obito looks past Kakashi, unable to meet his eyes. “I’ve never been, actually. I’m not allowed.”

“Why not?”

The tengu closes the distance between them, poking his head out to scope the area, but no one is there. “A lot of foreigners attend, and there tends to be a lot of squabbles. Sometimes, they turn violent. Since I was promised to the raijū heir, Madara won’t let me do anything that puts me at risk. It’s why I wasn’t trained as a guardian, and why I can’t get a vending license. I’ve been sidelined from most activities in the village.”

Kakashi looks beyond his betrothed and into this room with its fancy art and trinkets, these little collections built up steadily over time, and understands that these are all Obito has. His stomach knots knowing that, even if he did not order it, part of the blame for this falls on him.

“Entertain me, then,” Kakashi demands, pushing off the wooden beam at his back and nodding to the path. “There must be several hours to burn until the night market starts. We’ll attend together.”

Obito’s eyes widen, and he pokes his head down the path towards Madara’s quarters, as though expecting his patriarch to punish him for the mere thought. “I can’t, you idiot. I just said—”

But Kakashi cuts him off with a diffusing smile, and says, “Madara won’t complain if you’re with me. I can assure you of that.”

Obito sits atop one of the stony outcroppings of the cliff face behind Konoha, staring down at the village. He’s been up here for several minutes, having flown from the ground just to prove a point to Lord can’t-tell-the-difference-between-a-chicken-and-a-tengu Kakashi, who is still making his way up the rocks by foot. Obito has been watching him climb, and he’s incredibly agile, but his athleticism doesn’t beat the convenience of wings. He seems used to the rough terrain, though, and as he pulls himself onto Obito’s perch, he hasn’t even broken a sweat.

The displeasure on his face is well worth the wait.

“Maa, I requested for you to entertain me, not abandon me, tengu.”

Obito arches a brow, trying to stamp down his amusement. “Well, you aren’t bored, are you?”

All he gets in response is a huff.

They’ve been out of the compound for a few hours now, and Obito continued where he left off on his grand tour yesterday, now that they’re not so cautious with one another. He showed off the temple dedicated to the minor gods of their land, pointed out the academy where fledgling humans train in the fundamentals of life. But after a while, he could feel the discomfort oozing off his guest, saw those silver eyes flit over the humans that were crowding as the sun settled high in the sky, and knew something needed to change.

An infestation, Kakashi called them.

The dog settles with his legs over the cliffside, leaning back on the heels of his palms. His wickerwork hat is doing its job blocking the sun from his eyes, and Obito tries not to smile. When they set out this morning, he didn’t expect to see Kakashi leaving the storage room with it on. It might have endeared him to this infuriating man, if only a little.

From up here, Obito can point out Konoha’s monuments without a current of lively bodies ebbing and flowing through the surrounding streets, and he names them off one by one. It’s hard to say if Kakashi’s species has the same sharp day vision that the tengu do, but if they don’t, he doesn’t complain. Already, his tension is gone, and he’s back to the easygoing man who fell asleep at Obito’s chabudai. I made a good call, he thinks, and he can just imagine what would have happened if someone had bumped into Kakashi while they were down there. Many yōkai are easily provoked.

The humans were nervous, too. For all that the dog’s current form is more human-like than Obito’s, his unnatural colouring is like a flashing beacon to potential prey.

Twenty minutes into Obito’s never-ending serenade to Konoha’s wonders, he spots a shock of yellow and white in the streets below and abruptly cuts off his monologue. At the front of the village, toward the gate, is an eerily familiar speck moving down one road and then another, stopping momentarily to speak with a passerby. Obito hops up, stretching his wings, readying to take off, when he feels a tug at his sleeve.

Kakashi watches him curiously, head cocked to the side. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh, no, I—” Obito looks down below, eyes narrowed as he tries to locate the vanished white-yellow speck. “I thought I saw my human.”

“Your… what?”

“My human,” he repeats, as though that answers any and all questions Kakashi might have. “But I must have imagined it. He’s apprenticing under a seal master now, so he wouldn’t be here.”

Although.

Obito can’t quite recall how long the boy’s been gone. Time doesn’t move for yōkai like it does for humans, and what feels to Obito like the blink of an eye could be a decade or more for the little orphan he favours. They’ve been apart long enough for Obito to miss sharing his rooms, but apart from that, it really doesn’t feel like much. He remembers when they parted, and the way the boy hugged him, arms squeezing Obito’s ribs, because he wouldn’t return until his apprenticeship was complete.

Nah. It couldn’t be.

Biting his nail, Obito scans the crowding aisles between houses, the battering of the wind filling the silence in his stead. Then, several minutes later, he sees that shock of yellow again, now close enough to distinguish, and his face lights up.

Obito turns on his guest with a grin. “Wanna fly?”

He shouldn’t.

“Excuse me?”

He really shouldn’t.

Obito gets behind the yōkai, hooks his arms under Kakashi’s, and takes off. But this is his first time ferrying a fully-grown adult through the air, and he doesn’t account for the burden of all that extra weight on his wings. He’s untrained, lacking the spells of a proper guardian to keep them afloat, and flaps his wings hurriedly as they rapidly descend. It’s halfway down that he manages to reinforce them with the weak magic he does know, and their mad drop becomes a slow glide.

Kakashi’s feet hit the ground and he stumbles forward, rounding on Obito with a glare. That was stupid, and Obito decides never to try it again. At least he made the attempt with a yōkai; they’re hardy enough to survive smacking against the hard earth.

Before apologies can be made, he sees it again—that familiar blond hair—and forgets his guilt long enough to run for it.

“Minato!”

By the time the human spots him, he's already wrapped in a crushing grip. Obito minds his strength, knowing how easily humans break, and feels the solid body in his arms.

“Obito-sensei?”

Obito pulls back, bracing against the boy’s arms to get a good look at him. Gods, but he hasn't changed. There might be some miniscule differences, but by all accounts, Obito can't see them. That's good; sometimes, it feels like if he looks away for just a moment, the humans in his life will crumble into dust. He hates how short-lived they are.

“Look at you! You haven't changed a bit. Did you run away from the oni? Was training too hard?”

Minato’s shock fades into a heavy sigh, but he makes no effort to free himself of his benefactor. “Of course not. It's been four years; I completed my apprenticeship.”

“Has it really?” Finally, he releases the boy’s sleeves and steps back, scratching his chin. The more he looks, the more he does see the gentle passage of time, after all. Minato’s face isn't soft the way it was when they parted. It's sharper, a little more defined. His height might be the same, but there's more meat on his bones, now that he's survived out in the wilds. “You're back, then?”

“For now, at least. I'd like to open a practice in the village, and might do barrier work for travellers in the meantime.” Minato smiles, looking so much brighter than he ever did as a boy, and asks, “How have you been?”

Obito doesn't know why his eyes sting, or what drives him to pull his human in for another hug. There's a hand on his back, awkwardly comforting.

They met while Obito was selling knitted blankets in late autumn, some decade ago or more. While the other tengu were off acting as the protectors of the village, the long life of a yōkai was a crushing burden on his shoulders. He fought that daunting eternity by picking up off-hand skills, and later tried to profit off them. It was while packing up his unsold merchandise that he noticed his coin box had mysteriously up and disappeared, and two minutes later, he had a human brat pinned beneath his talons, shaking like a leaf.

The fledgling human he met back then was discarded, his face streaked with grime and his clothes stinking to the Pure Lands. Obito doesn't know what he saw when he looked at that boy, or why he left one of his blankets behind in that dark alleyway. But they saw more of each other. Minato would try to swipe his coin box every other day, perhaps having flagged Obito as an easy target. Gullible, at least. Minato knew that even if his thievery was caught, he wouldn’t be persecuted for his crimes. Then, at some point, Obito would pay the little human a small wage to man the stall here and there, hiding from Madara’s watchful eye. When Obito left the house each morning, he started packing bigger lunches. A few more side dishes, a little extra protein.

It was only a matter of time before the stray he kept feeding would follow him home. When he did, Minato stared at the second place set at Obito’s table, and didn't hesitate to join.

His little human is all grown up now.

Obito pries himself away once more, and it's only then that he remembers the guest he left behind. Twisting around, he locates Kakashi’s miserable face a few feet back, edging away from the wandering crowds. “Looks like I'm the rude one this time. Sorry, Kakashi! I got excited when I saw him, and completely forgot about you.”

The dog is entirely unamused.

Obito grins, hooking his arm around Minato’s shoulders and pulling him in. “This is my human!” he declares proudly, and sees Minato’s confusion from the corner of his eye. “Isn’t he cute? His name’s Minato, and he’s a sealing apprentice—seal master?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘master’…”

Minato’s the modest sort, but back when he first took an interest in the craft, Obito bought him a book about sealing, and within a month, he developed a barrier they placed on the cold storage cellar that wicked away heat and moisture to keep food for longer. To this day, it functions perfectly. That was before that oni, Jiraiya, took him under his wing.

With reluctance, Kakashi approaches the pair, sniffing rather blatantly. Minato tenses beneath the unfamiliar yōkai’s inspection, but doesn’t shy away. He’s grown up. As a fledgling, Minato was scared of yōkai. He lost his parents to one out on the road when he was too young to understand their dangers, and somehow made it to Konoha’s gates before anything devoured him. Even when he started lingering around Obito, and their bond formed, he would often flinch when Obito approached him. Now, he stares Kakashi in the eye, and none of his tension makes it to his face.

Kakashi, too, is behaving differently. This is the first human he hasn’t immediately dismissed. Is it because Obito is making the effort to introduce them?

After a long, drawn-out silence, Kakashi asks, “You keep it as a pet?”

Obito shouldn’t laugh. He can see the insult on Minato’s face and knows how scathing those words are. But just yesterday, Kakashi called humans an infestation, so this feels like progress. From ‘pest’ to ‘pet.’

“No.” He shakes his head, trying to contain the bubble of laughter in his chest. “No, nothing like that. He’s family.”

Kakashi wants to say something, but wisely doesn’t.

“This is Kakashi,” he says to Minato, gesturing to the befuddled yokai. “He’s one of Madara’s guests, and I agreed to show him around. We’re gonna attend the night market later, if you’re up to join.”

They share a silent look, as Minato knows just as well as he does that he’s forbidden to be anywhere near the plaza on market nights. But he, too, swallows his words, and considers the man carefully. “I would be honoured.”

Kakashi is… annoyed. He keeps several paces behind his guide and the pet human accompanying them as the setting sun signals the start of the night market. The swarms of bodies are worse here than even the busiest part of the afternoon, and tension prickles under his skin. Oh, how he wants to leave.

Up ahead, Obito leans down to examine the wares at one of the stalls, smiling as his human speaks with him. Kakashi swallows his complaints.

There are more yōkai at the night market than there were during the day, which is a small comfort. He sees tengu with swords at their hips and armour over their clothes, their eyes black or red and their wings so similar to his guide’s. But Kakashi doesn’t take interest in them the way he does Obito. He thinks of their swords, though, how Obito is the only one unarmed, and wonders if his betrothed might wish to be a guardian like the rest if the opportunity were there.

The market is like a festival. Paper lanterns hang overhead, decorated by the written word. Voices chant across the wind, calling out, and Kakashi smells the human food he’s come to enjoy. For all that he has no interest in this place and what the vendors sell, he likes watching Obito’s excitement, the way he eagerly moves from one stall to the next, partaking in something never offered to him before.

By the end of the night, they return to Obito’s rooms and sit on the engawa, watching the stars. The human is with them, sitting at Obito’s back, his fingers combing through feathered wings as they stretch and fan out. This pet knows how to groom its master, and is allowed to do so as the two of them partake in idle chat.

Minato isn’t a pet, though, but family. Kakashi watches how they interact and listens to their conversations, and to him, it feels like Obito is talking to a younger sibling, or child. He lectures and teases, and for all that his words can be stern, there’s a softness to him that speaks of warmth.

Kakashi understands that when they wed, even though it’s only a paper marriage, this human will in some way become a part of his pack.

Ridiculous.

Minato glances over at him in the dark, his fingers still trailing lightly through the tengu’s feathers. They haven’t spoken, not directly, and Kakashi has no interest in changing that.

“Are you cold?” Minato asks. His voice betrays a caution that his face does not. “It’s a bit chilly this time of year. I could grab a blanket for you.”

Kakashi’s skin itches, and he says, “No.”

Minato’s eyes linger for far too long before he sighs.

Obito leans back to look at them both. “Kakashi’s a dog yōkai. He probably has thick fur, and runs hot. Most live in the mountains, I think. Up in Lightning and northern Fire Country. Land of Snow, too.”

“Oh. I didn’t know that.”

Kakashi didn’t think Obito did, either.

“You can sleep in my room tonight,” Obito says to his human. “Kakashi’s in yours.”

“Sure, that’s fine. I was going to get a hotel room for the night, anyway.”

“Nonsense. Stay. You’re family.”

They’re close. But how a yōkai can be so fond of a human, Kakashi doesn’t know. The culture of the tengu is strange and unique, and he might never understand it.

But Obito hasn’t stopped smiling. There’s something fond in that, too.

When Kakashi sets out in the morning, he finds himself holding a mysterious box wrapped in cloth. He stares at this offering, catching the vague scent of food on the wind, and isn’t sure what to make of it.

Obito grins, pushing it more insistently into Kakashi’s arms. “I packed a bento for the road. Have it for lunch, okay?”

Kakashi nods, a warm rush washing across his body. He opens his mouth to say his goodbyes when something else is placed on top: a small silk bag with a little bell, a word stitched across it that he can’t read.

The tengu rubs the back of his neck, looking to the side. His cheeks are flushed, and his wings shudder. “It’s a protective charm. I blessed it last night. You’re my first customer, okay? So don’t go losing it.”

He smiles, and says, “I won’t.”

Kakashi stares at that charm as he walks down the open road, wrapping the string around his finger, watching the silk threads catch under the sun. He’s not sure if these work, or how effective they are. But that doesn’t really matter.

The words left to him by his betrothed linger in his head, and as Konoha shrinks behind him, his mind is somewhere else.

“Come back for a visit sometime. I’ll buy meat buns.”