' do you have regrets? '
That’s not the question he means to ask. Is it?
Kakashi leans upon the tree. His flak vest drags against the bite of the bark, and somewhere high among the forest’s treetops, a squirrel chitters noisily and picks at a nut. The copy-nin sets his lone gaze toward it, mind working with the answer. Right. It is not unlike Itachi’s eyes, he thinks idly, that leaf fluttering downward all deep in its browns.
He’s younger by a bit, but he cannot fool the son of Konoha’s White Fang. Of course he regrets. He’s twenty, and shinobi do not live very pristine lives, but still. Friend killer. Murderous lead. What, exactly, are your regrets?
The Hound keeps watch. “They used to be all I had,” he offers vaguely. He has this nagging feeling that Itachi’s stilling his tongue – is he troubled? Worried about something? – but refuses to ask. “But you don’t live long here if regrets are your only company.” It makes you uncaring – a little greedy for your demise. Kakashi knows and stills by the burrow.
“Choose your friends carefully,” he says.
Not just a wasting sorrow, or not someone like me? It’s a touch unclear.











