Click. Click. Click.
The silver haired man snapped his silver lighter open and shut absentmindedly, staring up at the dirty white ceiling from his position on the threadbare dark green sofa. His mismatched eyes followed the discoloured mark where his neighbours had pleasantly forgotten to turn off their tap and had flooded their entire house.
Click. Click. Click.
Boredom had always proved a dangerous state of mind for the copy-nin. It made way for painful memories and unnecessary brooding, however it was a state not easily broken. The huge collection of books in the corner of his room were suddenly too far away and his body was too tired to even try to sate his idleness.
How did Minato-sensei cope when Obito died? He wondered. The man had always known what to say and what to do but Kakashi couldn’t remember exactly what Minato had done. He had been too overcome by his own grief to notice anybody else’s. He was sure Minato must have suffered but could never remember him grieving in front of them.
He stared at the flickering flame his lighter produced as if he would find an answer in its depths. Not for the first time, he found himself wishing his teacher was still alive because he still subconsciously believed that he had all the answers. Snapping the lighter shut, he let out a long sigh and closed his eyes. His hand reached out blindly to the small wooden coffee somewhere to his left and when his fingers brushed against a flimsy plastic covered box, he grabbed it.
An onyx eye opened lazily as he opened the box of cigarettes and cursed inwardly as he realized he only had one more. Despite his complaining, he pulled the cigarette out and slipped it between his lips. The lighter clicked as he lit up and closed his eyes, letting the artificial calm spread throughout his body. The box dropped from his hand and onto the faded wooden floor.
“Wonder what Rin would say,” he murmured to himself, letting out a soft, humourless laugh.
Her image sprung to mind and he swore he could see her dragging him to his feet and stomping on his cigarette. His imagination pulled at the corners of his lips but they fell slack once reality stepped in brief moments afterwards. He supposed he should pack for the mission he was going on with the other three tomorrow but they were probably expecting him to be late anyways.
As rare sleep persuaded him into its tantalizing embrace, he came to the conclusion that they wouldn’t mind if he was a little late.