Fragments (Sequel to Dollface)

My Mask Hides Rotten Teeth

"I was late for this, late for that, late for the love of my life. And when I die, when I die alone, when I die I'll be on time."
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"Four hours and thirty five minutes, that's gotta be the new record, eh?"

Kakashi didn't glance up from his battered book, idly flipping a page. Humming under his breath, he mentally wished for the woman in front of him to just leave him be.

She didn't.

She leaned against the wall opposite him, legs crossed and arms that hung limply at her side. A carefree smile was plastered on her face, and at first glance any lesser man would detect nothing amiss.

But Kakashi was no lesser man, he saw the way sharp, hazel eyes assessed him. How her smile was a little to wide to be real and her muscles too tense to be anything but natural. She seemed to be searching for something, and it instantly put him on edge. A challenge, she seemed to say.

His lone eye narrowed, feet subtly shifting into a fighting stance. Icha Icha, remained in his hand, though the pages were no longer being turned. Well then come on, he answered back.

They were silent for a while, almost statue-like. The weekday buzzing of the hokage tower faded into static. For a moment there was nothing but the two of them, and white noise.

She tilted her head minutely before a wide grin broke out on her face, exposing crooked teeth. Her eyes seemed to shine, as if she found whatever she was looking for.

"Let's get dango."

"I have a meeting with Tsunade-sama." He drawled.

"Not anymore," she replied easily.

"She's waiting for me."

"Nobody is waiting for you. Not anymore." He stilled. She turned around and walked away.

"The dango is getting cold." She spoke without looking back. Kakashi sighed, suddenly feeling terribly drained, he followed her back out on the streets of Konoha. Ignoring the openly hateful glares and hushed whispers as he passed by.

Hate and grief were like old friends. They ruffled his hair when he found Sakumo, bathed in his own blood.

A disgrace, they called him.

Nothing, five year old Hatake Kakashi felt. For he had already met death, had already known what the putrid scent of rotten flesh was. There was nothing to say, with a void in his mind and a gaping wound in his heart. For the little boy was a shinobi, and they felt nothing.

So he walked out the room and put his mask back on. The black cloth was stiff, the fabric smelt new on him. And he didn't even twitch when Minato looked at him with glassy blue eyes.

"I'm sorry." His soon to be mentor had whispered to him, his embrace was warm and he smelled like ink and smoke.

Yet Kakashi still couldn't shake the coldness off him.

Couldn't fill the void when Kushina smiled at him with genuine kindness and welcomed him into her home.

And he couldn't stop the thoughts to be better than him, and, I am a shinobi, the empty clay vessel in which the Will of Fire burns.

And they held his hand when Obito got crushed by that boulder. Rin sobbed into his arms, rocking back and forth, calling his name out like a broken record.

Kakashi could only stare at the remains of his comrade(friend-itshouldhavebeenmebutnowhesdeadandicant-), could only look in horror as Obito gifted him his Sharingan. Kakashi wanted many things in that moment.

That wasn't what he wanted.

And when the clan that ostracized Obito, spat on his name and bared their teeth, Kakashi did nothing. Even when Minato fought- viciously- he did nothing. What could he do in the face of the truth?

His mask had remained on his face, it started to break in, fitting every curve and crease almost perfectly.

And they wrapped him in a cold, stiff embrace when he plunged his hands through his best friend's chest. When Obito's eye felt like a thousand shards of glass fell into it, and how warm and soft her heart felt in his hand. She once told him that he would always have her heart.

His mind went blank, while Rin grew stiff and cold in his arms. He couldn't look Minato in the eyes. Could feel the weight of a hundred stares on him. Like he was a disease.

They called him Friend-Killer Kakashi. And for him, he had never felt more like a shinobi than in that moment. He felt like the only worth he had, was nothing.

His mask was worn now, it felt more like him than anything else. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't seem to wash the smell of blood away.

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Damn now I gotta break this chapter in two cause it's damn long ugh-

Kakashi is so complicated to write and I can't seem to get him right.

Anyways say hi to my OC, she's nothing major don't worry. We'll get back to Naruto and The Sauceman soon.

Sorry for the late updates. Next half posting soon.

~Grimm