Archive of Our Own ^beta

It happened when he was ten. When he still saw himself he was a piece of garbage that had been lucky enough to be molded into a weapon by Lord Orochimaru, and honored enough to be used by the hand of Lord Danzo. When he was still so desperate convince himself that he was in fact the body that reflected in the mirror, the one that everyone called, “she,” and “her.” When he was named Kinoe, and he truly believed nothing mattered beyond the mission.

He’d thought it never would, that the rumors he’d heard of people gaining the mysterious etching of a their soulmate’s name unto their skin after meeting the person, as if some magical, supernatural event, had to only be true of fairy tales, and people far less broken.

But, ten years old, reigning back an attack on the young ANBU Black Ops Captain that he had assumed to be an intruder to The Foundation, and landing beside his Master, to be introduced to Hatake Kakashi, Yamato felt the brilliant burn against his skin. He’d covered the mark on his forearm without looking away from the masked man across him. And later, when finally able to steal a moment alone, Yamato forced himself to accept the sight of Kakashi’s name, forever marked into his skin, and wept. His soulmate.

Foundation members didn’t get soulmates.

Foundation members lost their soulmates by irrefutable orders and their own murderous hand.

No past. No name. No future.

No soulmate.

Yamato hid his marking, and for a while, was able to avoid Hatake Kakashi. Though he wondered, in the latest hours of the night, or when washing blood from his hands, if, that day when they’d met, he too felt the burn against his skin.

Secrecy from The Foundation was something that did not live long, doomed from the first moment of its inception.

The small, infrequent, but hardly insignificant interactions Tenzo managed to have with Kakashi as the years stretched on, sparked within the nin, the greatest treason against The Foundation - hope.

It did not go unnoticed from Danzo, and no longer did the etching of Kakashi’s name into his subordinate’s arm.

The orders came for Tenzo to eliminate his distraction.

He could not do it.

Prepared to trade his own life for a man he barely knew, Tenzo returned to The Foundation, faced his Master, and found himself in the depths of their headquarters, strapped to a table for reconditioning and retribution. Only then, he was set free, saved by his most brave, and determined soul mate.

He found a new home, a new Captain, a new name, a new way of life.

He was Tenzo, called so by Kakashi. A “heavenly creation.” Someone worthy of a past, and on the path to a real future.

To be so far from the life he’d known, to be so close to this man he knew to be his soul mate, was like living suddenly at the summit of a mountain, and Yamato’s lungs strained at such an overwhelming change in altitude. Pits to peaks provided the most glorious view, Yamato often thought, watching his Captain simply live and breathe a stride in front of him.

Kakashi was cold. He was aloof. He preached of teamwork and camaraderie, and then disappeared from the reaching grasp of his subordinates like smoke through their fingers. He was tortured. He was erratic. He was mourning. He was in desperate need.

And his arm was covered at a constant, along with practically every other inch of him.

Yamato ached to know what marking might be tucked under all those coverings, knowing that, with each day, he loved that broken man further than he imagined the bounds of his heart would ever know.

If soul mate meant deepest, most intimate comrade and teammate, then Tenzo was more than ready to be just that.

If soul mate meant a protector and support from the shadows, then Tenzo would accept that with honor and joy.

But, if somehow, soul mate meant a love that were to ignite passions, and claim life-long promise of partnership, then Tenzo would not know how to ever accept such an impossible perfection.

The pair of them grew older, and Kakashi, despite his hesitations and guard, grew closer.

Their eyes would meet. Their hands would touch. They would find any and every reason for their paths to cross, sitting in silence with one another, mouths full with every beautiful, dangerous unspoken sentiment.

In that same silence, Kakashi sought Tenzo’s comfort in the middle of the night, coming into his bedroom, caressing a trembled touch over his subordinate’s face and pressing a masked kiss into parted, breathless lips.

The rest unraveled immediately.

Fevered kisses crashed between the pair of them, unbridled, hungry, sloppy and needing. Kakashi was rid of his mask in an instant, suddenly and completely unafraid, peeling away then at the layers over Tenzo’s heated body.

Tenzo returned the favor, taking his time, savoring every inch of scar-riddled, muscle-ripped skin that came into view after so long.

And then, panting and bare, they stopped, a heavy sadness pouring over them, and with it, tears from Tenzo’s cheeks as they noticed very clearly, the marking of Kakashi’s name into Tenzo’s skin, and the absence of Tenzo’s name in Kakashi’s.

“What does it matter?” Kakashi had said. “I don’t need a mark on my arm to tell me what I already know…”

And for a while, that was enough for Tenzo.

The two melded together in an effortless bliss. They carried each other’s baggage. They broke light through each other’s dark clouds. They laughed and loved, dreamed and lived.

Kakashi told his beloved of his sins. Of Obito and Rin. Of his father and Minato Sensei. Of his shame and grief unending. And Tenzo loved him all the more.

Tenzo told Kakashi the truth he could barely admit to himself. He told his beloved, that he believed his body to have never matched his soul.

And Kakashi loved him all the more.

Kakashi embraced fully all that Tenzo was. He encouraged the cutting of Tenzo’s long, silky hair, as soon as the brunette voiced the desire to do so. He researched and showed to Tenzo the history of so many shinobi before them, just the same as him, born into the wrong body only to truly become themselves later in life. He purchased for Tenzo his very first binder, and worshipped the sight when his partner wore it to bed for the first time. He used proper pronouns in their own private company. He would trace his fingers down Tenzo’s jaw, lifting it to meet their eyes and whisper in pride, “my man.” And, he fully honored Tenzo’s wishes to remain closeted and un-transitioned for the time being.

All of it proved too much as time went on. Living on the summit of a mountain, became living on the surface of the sun, too boundlessly brilliant, with a burn far too intense to endure. Knowing that any day could be the day that Kakashi’s arm bore the name of another. Knowing that he, himself, was likely keeping Kakashi from knowing such a happiness.

The Captain insisted he already knew such a happiness, that he didn’t need the marking of a name.

But the guilt of what Tenzo deemed as utter selfishness, to hold Kakashi as his soulmate with no chance for him to find his own, was unyielding.

Years exploded like fireworks between them, and then, tragedy struck through the hands of their former teammate, and set before Tenzo, the opportunity to truly show Kakashi the breadth of his love.

Kakashi was reassigned, away from ANBU, to be a sensei in The Village, and Tenzo let him go, severing their ties, cherishing the precious time be was lucky enough to have spent with a most undeserved soulmate, and setting Kakashi free to find such an experience of his own.

Neither man knew peace apart from each other’s company.

Two halves torn from a whole, they tried their best to make do and move on.

In some ways, they were successful, growing into a sense of security born of independence, rather than codependence. The years also moved Tenzo into the open embrace of his true self, soul through body. And he became Yamato.

Still, an ache through the letters marked on his arm rang through his soul. An unclosed wound for the pair of them. Growing. Festering.

Until Yamato had a thought, one last ember of hope, that his match might somehow, finally bear his name in return.

Kakashi stood, as he often did, in front of the Village’s Memorial Statue. Even after the years that had passed without seeing each other, Yamato had no doubt that this is where he would find Kakashi.

He inhaled, slow and steady, exhaling his doubt, and crossed out toward his soulmate.

“Hey...” he started, catching Kakashi’s attention from behind. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I mean no disrespect.”

Kakashi’s visible eye fluttered and widened at the sight of the man in front of him.

“Tenzo?” He gaped. “You-you look- wow... It’s so good to see you...”

Yamato shifted on his feet, face lighting a soft pink.

“It’s good to see you too. I’ve been permitted a few weeks off after completing a long-term mission. Thought I would come reintroduce myself.”

“I’m really glad you did.”

Kakashi’s mouth went dry. Yamato in the body that reflected his soul was a stunning thing to finally behold. He stood so tall, with thick, rolling muscles over his broadened frame. His hair cut even shorter, and the sharpening of his jaw were perfect accents to the rich deepening of his voice. The best, however, was the pride with which he stood, chest nearly puffed out to display a pair of pectorals that had, at last, undergone their top surgery.

“How have you been? How do you feel?”

“Wonderful. Like I’m finally myself in my own skin. How have you been?”

Mouth opening beneath his mask, Kakashi was at a loss for what to say.

“Mah, you know...”

He ran a hand through messy silver hair.

“I’m a terrible sensei...”

“I’m sure that’s not true, Senpai. You’re probably only slightly subpar.”

A chuckle broke between the two of them.

“I’ve missed you so much, Tenzo... There’s not been-I haven’t gotten...”

Kakashi shoved his hands deep into his pockets, looking to the grass.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t ask, do you still go by ‘Tenzo’?”

Yamato shook his head.

“Well, no. But, I think you’re the only person that I still enjoy calling me ‘Tenzo.’ You’ve always seen me as I really was.”

Kakashi smiled.

“Your name?”

“It’s Yamato.”

Kakashi’s eye shot up to Yamato’s.

“It was a codename assigned to me for a mission once, and I always really liked it. Felt strong, sturdy, and simple.”

Nodding slightly, Kakashi remained silent, soaking in this reintroduction between the two of them, and all he imagined it could mean.

“Well,” Yamato sighed. “I suppose I’ll head on then. Probably get checked in at my hotel. Wanted some time away from ANBU headquarters while I could. Thank you for allowing me to interrupt. Good evening, Senpai.”

He turned to go, caught by the sudden, desperate outcry of the man behind him.

“Tenzo! Can I- ah, shit, no… Yamato, do you think I could see you again soon?” Kakashi asked, apologizing softly after. “I’m sorry, old habits die hard, I suppose.”

“It’s really alright. As I said before, I don’t think I’ll mind you using my dead name, if you’d like.”

“I want to use the name you’ve chosen for yourself, your true name,” Kakashi insisted, stepping forward, Yamato noticing the welling of a small tear in the corner of his eye. “The name I now bear…”

Yamato’s mouth fell open, eyelids closing, and head shaking in disbelief.

“The name you now bear…?”

Slowly, Kakashi lifted his arm, pulling up his sleeve to reveal the fresh golden gleam of his soulmate’s name, at last revealed.

Yamato.

Seeing the letters through the haze of his own watery eyes, Yamato laughed, light and joyous, smoothing the touch of his thumb over the name.

“I told you I knew it,” Kakashi whispered.

Their foreheads met, warm orange beams of sunset glimmering between them through a pink sky.

“I wondered if... I had hoped that maybe the issue lie in the fact that, while you still knew and loved my soul, that you hadn't received your marking because you hadn't truly been introduced to me yet... And, I suppose, I hadn't been introduced to myself until recently either...”

Beaming into each others eyes, the shinobi intertwined their hands, drawing even closer.

“Yamato…” Kakashi crooned. “My man…”

“You said, you wanted to see me later. How’s now?”

“How’s always?”

Yamato chuckled, answering, “A little sounding like a line from one of your Icha-Icha books, but, perfect. Always would be perfect.”

Kakashi pressed a masked kiss to the forehead of his soul mate.

“Always, then.”