Sown

forty-seven

It had been seventeen days since Kakashi had last seen Hanae. He didn't know why he had started counting but the number had grown everyday he hadn't seen her. The Tuesday after the war had ended Kakashi meandered his usual path but she never joined his side. Neither did she the next day, the day after that, or the day after that. It was probably around that time he had started counting.

He would scan the sky from the Hokage's office or whip to the direction of every excited child's voice so quickly it nearly gave him whiplash. They had talked so often that he should know her voice by heart now but Kakashi had begun to hope that every female voice he heard would become her's ; it probably had something to do with the dull void that had started to eat away at him or the waning hope that he could hear that soft call of his name again.

The jounin stared at the still too dark ceiling above where he lay. The sun would be rising soon signaling just before six in the morning. This was one of the too common mornings where he found himself unable to sleep, but he had a feeling it had nothing to do with the rain drumming against his rebuilt apartment.

Rain made funerals that much harder. The wetted grass would lick at the attendees' toes through their open sandals, umbrellas would collide, and the sea of black clothing would eventually become humid and uncomfortable. For Kakashi the pattering of rain would remind him of the tears of everyone around him. Should he be crying as well? It would probably be fitting.

He had become so tired of funerals. They forced him to be surrounded by other people when all he wanted was to be alone. Everyone needed time alone, to mourn in silence, to hide themselves from the truth too hard to swallow. Even the Hokage needed time alone. Most of all, he was tired of the apologies.

So many people had approached him to offer their condolences. He accepted them, outwardly warm and inwardly void. So many flowers littered his room, trash can becoming quite the sightly bouquet. The windowsill had grown into a garden of spider lilies and the desk a sea of hydrangeas. Kakashi had never felt anything in particular towards flowers but these few he found himself unable to toss.

One duty of the Hokage that no one had ever told him about was the signing of death certificates. In hindsight it should have been obvious, what with every birth certificate having the signature of the current Hokage on it, his own bearing the mark of the Third. But when the documents kept flowing in while shadowing Tsunade, Kakashi couldn't help but question what they were.

"When someone dies on Land of Fire soil, the Hokage has to sign the death certificate before delivering it to their family. When a citizen, native or naturalized, dies in another country, we have to sign them after the other Kage or daimyo. If they don't have any family we can send them to, then we keep the certificate in our records." Her voice was blunt when giving the explanation, a sure sign that it was one of many things she didn't enjoy having to do. He did not have to sign any of the papers, thankfully ; instead he was given the task of sorting them to be delivered to their respective countries. Anything to keep his mind busy.

His hand stilled on one particular certificate. He didn't want to set it down. "Are we allowed to make copies of the certificates?"

The blonde stopped her signing, looking up at him with quirked brows. "Someone you know?" She motioned for him to hand her the document in question, right hand flexing to ease the ache of gripping the pen for so long. Her perplexed stare softened when she found the name printed in bold across the sheet. "I'll send Shizune to make a copy for you," she murmured, handing the document back. Kakashi set it in it's own special pile.

He clutched that paper on his way back home, the sun long set and street lights being his only company. This was the only time he was allowed to be alone like he wanted and Kakashi took advantage of every second of that walk. He wandered here and there, moving along the buildings until all of their lights had long extinguished. Anything he could do to keep from returning home, he did it. Sure, he had convinced himself he wanted to be alone, but that wasn't actually what he wanted. He didn't want to be alone, but he couldn't be around the person he wanted to. Therefore, being alone was the next best thing. This and the fact that his path was random was what he had convinced himself of.

In reality, the direction his feet carried him in was anything but random. Some days it took longer than others but every day without fail he managed to find himself standing in front of the chain sectioning off an empty plot of land. It was natural. He had walked this way for so long, come to this place so often for nearly a year. It made sense that this was where he ended up every night.

Kakashi looked over the packed dirt, wondering if the plot felt as empty as he did right now.

For shinobi, love was an occupational hazard. While disheartening, someone falling in the line of duty was natural. He was sure it was the same for samurai. It probably felt just as painful for both sides. Happy endings were the goal for every warrior no matter their beliefs or fighting style. But Kakashi wasn't allowed to have a happy ending.