Whatever Remains

It happens, eventually. You receive a letter with a name. The name of your ward, assigned to you by fate. When it happens, you go to the kitchen, brew yourself some tea, and sit with it for a long time, reading the letter addressed to a patron. You learn that you must activate a special mark, which for three years will bind you to your ward. You learn that if you refuse, your physical condition will deteriorate — slowly, then all at once — until you die. Because it is an honor to be a patron. Because in refusing your duty, you commit a crime. And so you sit at the kitchen table, staring at the name written on the paper, and try to calculate how long you can hold out without activating the mark. Because once you do, the countdown begins, and in just three years you will never see this person again. Patrons come once — and then they are gone forever. Kakashi tossed and turned until four in the morning, then gave up and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. He caught his reflection and thought, I should ask Rin for some concealer — the circles under his eyes had gone dark. Only a month had passed since he received his ward's name and chose not to activate the mark, but the first side effects had already arrived. The first week, he simply took longer to fall asleep. The second, he lay awake for an hour even when he was exhausted. The third — well. He could guess what came next. He made breakfast. His eyes kept closing, though he knew sleep wouldn't come the moment he got back into bed. His hands were shaking. The eggs nearly went to the floor. He got lucky — during the all-hands meeting at the office he managed to doze off for a few minutes without anyone noticing. It helped. A worried Rin caught him in the hallway and tried to talk sense into him. She'd figured out the situation and kept insisting that Kakashi activate the mark before it was too late. "Why? You know what happens if you don't…" "I can't." Kakashi could barely focus on his computer screen — the numbers and formulas kept blurring. He wanted to yawn constantly. His arm itched terribly. Without Obito, he would have gotten a formal reprimand. Obito didn't try to reason with him — he just quietly took on part of Kakashi's workload and muttered curses under his breath. But this can't go on much longer, Kakashi thought, blinking hard to clear his vision. It felt like someone was constantly cutting onions in front of his face. There was even a taste in his mouth now. But the worst of it was the constant heaviness in his body, a fatigue that never lifted. His phone buzzed. A message from Minato — an invitation to a birthday party. Kakashi exhaled. He'd almost forgotten. Picking out a gift after work, Kakashi noticed a pair nearby. A middle-aged woman and a teenage girl, high school age, standing at a display counter and debating whether to get a rubber duck in blue or classic yellow. The woman had a black pattern on her wrist — the mark of a patron. The girl had the same. The cashier reminded them impatiently. Kakashi paid and walked out onto the street with a large gift bag. The Namikaze house was loud. Laughter was spilling out from Naruto's room. Minato was animatedly telling the guests another story from work. Kushina pulled Kakashi into a tight hug the moment he walked in and rushed back to pull something out of the oven. The smell was wonderful — a good dinner, champagne, and that particular scent of the Namikaze home that Kakashi had always loved: freshly laundered linen and lavender floor wash. Wherever the Namikaze family lived, it seemed they carried that warm, familiar smell with them everywhere, and Kakashi always felt a little easier when he breathed it in. Tonight, after several sleepless nights, even that was enough to put a lump in his throat. Minato's birthday was always a proper occasion. His many friends, colleagues, and relatives all came together. The Sabaku family even drove in from another city just for it. Kakashi tried to keep up with the conversation at his end of the table, but his attention kept drifting toward Naruto's group. Naruto was sitting with Gaara, Temari, and Kankuro, deep in a conversation about patrons. Everyone except Naruto already had marks on their wrists. They were sharing what it was like to have a patron, and Naruto, though he smiled along, grew a little quieter with each story. "Don't worry," Gaara said. "You'll have a patron too, Naruto. It just comes at a different time for everyone." "Yeah, looks like mine's showing up when I'm already retired," Naruto muttered. Kakashi had known Naruto since he was very small, and there was something strange and at the same time quietly captivating about watching him grow. He remembered him at one, then five, then eight — and now he was sixteen. Kakashi rubbed his arm absently. On the inside of his elbow there was a patch of red, irritated skin, and he knew it would spread up the whole arm before long. Kakashi loved the moment when the guests finally trickled out. The table left in ruins — half-eaten salads, scattered plates, a dish with the last crumbs of cake. The bottles that had been tucked away came out, and conversation slowed to something unhurried: memories, gossip about old acquaintances and new ones, a loose and comfortable kind of talk that went nowhere in particular. Naruto gradually pulled Kakashi's full attention, and at some point Minato and Kushina started clearing up while the two of them were still talking. Kakashi blinked often, fighting sleep, smiling as he listened to Naruto — and maybe the only thing he wanted in that moment was for the evening not to end. But everything ends. Kakashi was back in his apartment, standing in front of a bed with cold sheets. He took a sleeping pill, hoping it would help, knowing it wouldn't. On the weekend, Naruto came over to stay the night. He'd noticed Kakashi's state at the party and was genuinely worried. He wanted to help; he held out as long as he could, but eventually fell asleep — and Kakashi sat watching him. Then he went to the kitchen and took out the letter he had been hiding from himself, the letter that named the patron he refused to become. He turned the paper over in his hands, read the name again, exhaled slowly. Just three years? he thought — and put the letter down. Then he formed the seal, and with the black pattern spreading across his wrist came a relief so sudden it almost startled him. The moment his head touched the pillow, he was asleep. The next morning, Naruto woke Kakashi up with a shout of pure joy. He had a patron! His life was going to change! A patron was always a perfect match for their ward — a mentor, a friend, someone who could understand him better than anyone! Kakashi sat up half-asleep and listened with a tired smile, nodding, trying to share in the happiness — and couldn't quite manage it. "What's wrong? This is amazing! Aren't you happy?" Naruto's eyes were bright. Kakashi was about to say everything was fine, that yes, of course he was happy — but Naruto's gaze fell to the mark on Kakashi's wrist. He stopped smiling instantly. The black patterns on their arms were identical. "Looks like you won't have to wait until retirement after all," Kakashi tried to joke. It landed weakly. When you become a patron, you have obligations — and you do not break them. Even knowing that in three years you will no longer have a family, however unofficially that family was formed. Kakashi had met Minato when he himself was a teenager, in the darkest stretch of his life, when his own existence had felt like a side effect of failed contraception, and he had sat answering social worker questions wondering if it might be better if he hadn't existed at all. Minato had proved him wrong. He had become something like an older brother, if not a father, and for years had helped Kakashi carry the black, unhealing hollow in his chest. Now Kakashi would do everything in his power to return that debt. Even if the thought of the parting felt like something dying in him — he would take the grief of those he loved onto himself, and he would do whatever he could. There is something greater that binds a patron and a ward. Three years had convinced Kakashi of that. He always knew when Naruto needed him and found himself there. He always knew what to say or do to get through to him. They spent a great deal of time together, and it seemed Kakashi did nothing extraordinary — yet everyone around them noticed how Naruto was changing, quietly, steadily, into someone more whole. When the three years were nearly up, it was Minato's birthday again — a family dinner, conversation stretching past midnight. Kakashi looked around the familiar house as though he were trying to memorize every detail. "Next year, get me that pair of ties we saw," Minato said, his tone deliberately light. "God, not those hideous striped ones," Kakashi laughed — as though he genuinely believed he would be there for the next birthday. At the door, Kushina and Minato held him longer and tighter than usual. No one knew what happened after three years. They were only trying to act as though things would be fine. "Sunday, at the fountain — you remember?" Naruto asked, a little nervously, as Kakashi called the elevator. "Of course." He gave a small wave. The elevator doors closed. Saturday was the last day. Naruto had wanted to stay over again, but something came up and he got pulled away somewhere. He didn't even answer Kakashi's message. On Sunday, the black mark was gone. Nothing dramatic happened. An ordinary morning, breakfast, coffee, the usual thoughts and feelings. Kakashi felt that he was supposed to be somewhere, but couldn't remember where or why. He called Obito, and they agreed to meet by the fountains. At the appointed time he sat down on a bench. The water shot up high, the sun cut through it, and a rainbow hung in the mist. Still warm out. Obito arrived, and just as they were getting ready to leave, a fair-haired young man with blue eyes asked them to take a photo of him with his friends who were visiting from out of town. Kakashi took the phone, raised it, and something sharp and inexplicable caught him in the chest when he saw the fair-haired young man's happy face on the screen. As he handed the phone back, their hands touched briefly — and for just a moment, the young man looked at Kakashi with a puzzled expression. "I feel like I know you somehow," the young man said, with an awkward smile. "Maybe we've crossed paths somewhere," Kakashi said, and shrugged. They looked at each other a little longer than strangers usually do. Kakashi rubbed his wrist. "Look, this might be strange," the fair-haired young man said, gesturing toward his group, "but we're going to the cinema — would you want to come along?" Kakashi smiled. It was a strange offer, genuinely. But something inside told him the right answer was yes.