Inspired by Il Volo's beautiful voices.

Red chopsticks slipped grilled fish past a mask and into lips, faster than the girl could see. She was trying to be sneaky again, slipping glances his way as he devoured the simple meal of fish, rice, and miso. Sarada alternated between several different methods of seeing his face, coming to the conclusion that if a certain tactic didn't work the first time, eventually she would catch a glimpse of her parents' teacher's face. Kakashi, now fully in middle age, still found great amusement in messing with those whom really wanted to see his face.

Sakura ignored them, skewering a piece of fish violently, her self-control preventing the dish, table, and floor from becoming dust.

"I think it's already dead, Sakura-chan," Kakashi remarked, smiling behind the cloth. Sarada giggled, swinging her legs in her chair- not quite tall enough yet to touch the rug. Sakura glared, bristling green eyes making contact with crinkled gray ones. He looked away, memorizing the texture of the rice in his bright pink bowl. Sarada had been three, and she'd fallen in love with a bright pink dish set. Two later, they still ate from the set whenever Kakashi came by for dinner.

Sarada's dark eyes tinged uncertain, the stiff nature of her mother's shoulders and neck becoming more noticeable.

"Sarada-chaaan, did I ever tell you about the time I went bald?" Her small eyes behind her red glasses turned back to him, widening. Kakashi leaned toward her ear, whispering ominously: "this is a wig," as he pointed at the silver rat's nest.

Sarada brushed her teeth upstairs as Sakura smashed the pink dishes hard enough for them to make semi-satisfying sounds but not so hard that any of them chipped. Kakashi leaned precariously against the kitchen island behind her, pretending to be absorbed in what looked like a guide to harvesting rice (Icha Icha under genjutsu).

He pretended not to hear her stifling sobs. Not to see her shoulders warped inward from stress, anger, disappointment and pain. He heard Sarada gargle, then spit. Sakura's back quivered and he rested a palm over her shoulder, before whispering: "I'll tuck Sarada in,"

Satisfied that no one was near, the sixth hokage touched the cenotaph, lightly tracing the smooth edge. Kakashi knew pain well. A lifetime of dead family members, dead teammates, sacrifices, wars, assassinations... his heart was either stone or gone.

But it was neither, it was flesh. It beat, pumping oxygenated blood to his body, and deoxygenated blood to the lungs. It didn't break- cardiac muscle does not break. It tore. It split. It erupted, bursting messily.

It twisted when he learned Sakura gave birth on a mission. It tore in fantastic new ways every time Sarada's dark eyes peered out the window, saying nothing. Sakura raging quietly for seemingly no reason. Sakura destroying training ground after training ground after training ground.

His heart burst and erupted whenever she smiled and slid a pink bowl of rice with grilled fish on top.

Instead of clutching his chest, crumpling into a heap, and lamenting the mysterious, lacerating ways of the heart, Kakashi smiled.

Smiled at the fatherless child- the husbandless wife. Smiled, sarcastically, at himself.

Sasuke's house, Sasuke's garden, Sasuke's wife, Sasuke's daughter. Things he coveted.

He'd decided Sakura was too dangerous. He didn't trust himself, there. Her pink lips were too softly swollen for his self-control.

So he smoothed flowery blankets over Sarada as her mother left to destroy another training ground, spinning a fantastic tale about a princess ninja.

The sun beamed softly through the large windows of the Uchiha household. Sunrise. Kakashi's face twitched as he awoke. His body was numb, rejecting wakefulness. Someone had tried to cover him with a too-small blanket, his feet comically sticking out.

He sat up, lifting the lavender throw blanket and setting it aside. Sakura snored from the other couch, mostly covered by a yellow throw blanket.

Kakashi stretched, his spine crackling dramatically. Sarada peered at him from the stair's bannister. He flopped back on the couch.

"Thanks for tucking me in, Sarada-chan," he smiled, straightening his mask.

"Kakashi-sama, go back to sleep,"

"Sarada-chan, you're not supposed to be awake,"

Gray and black eyes stared at each other. Sakura and Kakashi stayed up all night discussing a new method of creating a shunt from scar tissue to reroute cerebrospinal fluid, reducing pressure in those with hydrocephaly.

"I couldn't sleep," she whispered.

"Do you want this couch?" Kakashi stood, picking up the lavender throw blanket. Sarada shook her head, skipped to Sakura's couch and burrowed into her mother's side. Kakashi moved, covering the two of them with the yellow blanket as best as he could.

"That one's yours, go to sleep!" she said, as he started to cover them with the lavender one. Her chubby hand gestured at the couch he'd abandoned. Kakashi smiled, laying down on the couch and covering himself with the lavender throw blanket, kicking off his shoes.

There was no pillow, and the armrest stabbed slightly into the back of his head. The faint scent of Sakura's rosy perfume and Sarada's baby shampoo soothed him to sleep. Sarada started snoring, shockingly loud for a five year old. Kakashi felt weightless as he fell asleep.

Kakashi strolled up the entrance, leaning lazily as he waited. Dressed like a penguin, he was Sakura's escort to the fundraising gala for the mobile medic clinic. Every year, a variety of medics traveled to less fortunate villages to offer a variety of care. The money raised at the gala covered the cost of supplies and transport.

He'd walked to the event center, certain that Sakura would be late. He pulled out Icha Icha, rereading the titillating 9th chapter for the millionth time.

Sakura arrived, breathless. She muttered something about an injured chuunin and the struggles of even eyeliner. Kakashi offered his arm, breathless. Perhaps more nervous than usual. Her plump lips had taken on a glossy surface.

All night, Kakashi stood beside her as she thanked the entire village for coming. This was as far into diplomacy he would venture into after his retirement as hokage. The usual polite nods, fake eye crinkles and occasional bows were punctuated by a sense that something was off.

His eyes swept the perimeter. Well-dressed villagers mingled and there were several open, easily accessible exits in case they were necessary. Nothing felt strange there. He looked at Sakura.

Her dress was the same- some simple black thing at a respectable knee length. So was her hair: pinned into a tiny low bun. Her green eyes pierced his soul as usual, and he wanted to lick the gloss off her lips.

Slowly, foolishly, he realized it was himself.

Instead of just showering, the lingering scent of Seville orange, cedar, moss, and white musk balm clung to him. This suit was more tailored, displaying the sixth hokage's physique instead of swallowing him in two extra sizes. It had been easy to agree to the cologne after the tailor fitted him into the new suit. But who was he trying to impress?

The sixth hokage didn't, shouldn't try to impress. Especially not with several devastating layers of impropriety between himself and the student of Tsunade. Shame settled into Kakashi, and he resisted replacing himself with a clone. He waited for the eternal gala to end, resisting the urge to hide behind Jiraya's masterpiece.

Eons later, Sakura kicked off her shoes, wiggling her toes. Kakashi was dropping her off at her door, as usual. She would notice something was amiss if he disappeared immediately. Every year he accompanied her to the gala, walked her home, and laid on her roof staring at the stars until Kurenai dropped a sleepy Sarada off. Kakashi stretched, fingers nearly reaching the ceiling of the Uchiha porch, pretending everything was the same. Pretending his self control hadn't slipped.

Sakura brought him into an extended hug, wrapping her arms around his torso. She leaned her face against his chest as his heart ignored his orders and beat faster than a horse on a racetrack. Under the mask, his face contorted in surprise, glee, confusion, shame, excitement, devastation.

"Kakashi-sama-" Kakashi stopped breathing. He realized his arms betrayed him: they were around the medical director. His body burned, invisible flames furiously searing though him where he made contact with Sakura. He felt the world spin- he was embracing Sakura in the Uchiha porch, in front of the Uchiha house. Even if she thought it was a platonic hug the heat coursing on his skin made it the complete opposite, for him. Sakura moved her head to look up at him, words beginning to form on her lips. Gray eyes bore into green ones.

Kurenai saved him. Kurenai destroyed him. Kurenai arrived, carrying a sleepy Sarada. Kakashi slipped onto the roof, Acqua di Parma's faint notes the only trace he left.

He breathed through Kurenai's brief visit, through Sarada getting tucked in and through Sakura's nightly routine before the patterns of the stars distracted him. They shined, winking at him in a profound mixture of black and deep midnight blue. Kakashi's heart calmed, but it didn't stop burning.

Kakashi hummed, opening the gate to the Uchiha garden. He'd be due for dinner soon, and he was sure the fragrant tomatoes were ripe. He'd slice them up to accompany tonight's grilled fish. The garden looked vibrant: thriving with cucumbers, tomatoes, radishes- he stopped mid-hum. Sasuke was shoving his tongue down Sakura's throat next to the apple tree. The apple tree Kakashi trimmed lovingly once a year. He disappeared.

At dinner, the dishes were white and the chopsticks were bamboo. The only fish present was a variety of sashimi surrounding a mound of crimson basashi. Deep fried battered vegetables and prawns were hastily piled high next to the abomination of raw fish and horse. Kakashi sipped his miso stiffly, having mentioned he was sick and only needed miso and rice.

Sarada spoke nonstop, staring at the man she could only remember from pictures. Sakura smiled and fawned over her husband, serving him more blood-red basashi whenever his plate was empty. Sasuke said nothing, expressionless. Kakashi ran out of miso, so he slowly moved one grain at a time into his mouth, distracting himself by attempting to swallow the sticky grain whole and without the aid of liquid. At some point, Sasuke sent Sarada to brush her teeth and the adults retired to the living area.

The yellow and lavender throw blankets were gone, probably folded up and stored in a closet. Sarada's colorful variety of toys were gone too, probably put away in the usually empty storage chest. How could she play with them if they were put away? Kakashi declined sake, citing his illness.

Sakura reached for him, intent on checking his vitals. "No, Sakura-chan, I think Ichiraku is getting senile... I don't think he washed his hands," deciding that those words were convincing enough, he dissolved into a puff of smoke.

Kakashi's body felt heavy as he walked into his quiet apartment. He reached for a friendly bottle of shochu. Maybe this would extinguish the flames.

Thanks for reading :) I'll be putting up the rest soon.