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Gai wakes at his usual early hour.
The meager light that is fighting its way through his curtains is dim and dismal. If he didn’t trust his own internal clock, he’d be hard pressed to guess that the sun had even risen.
He takes a deep breath, holds it for a count of ten, and then slowly exhales, feeling his muscles pulse with the flood of oxygen as he wakes from sleep.
Rain is tap-tap-tapping on his window. He sighs, it figures. It seems that, without fail, it always rains on this date. It’s almost as though the very earth knows the somber mood that will be hanging heavy on Kakashi’s shoulders and weighing densely on his heart.
Gai takes another deep breath, followed by another count of ten, then another slow exhale. Another deep breath, another count of ten, another slow exhale.
Gai gets out of bed, feeling his body adjust from slumber before doing some mild stretching to start the day.
He wants to leave as soon as possible, but he knows that his presence isn’t welcome, at least not yet. It’s best that he lets some time pass to allow Kakashi his solitude.
Despite the early time, Gai knows that Kakashi will have woken before him, if he had even slept at all. How he wishes Kakashi would allow him to spend the night, to hold him through his troubles, ease him through his nightmares and be there when the memories fight their way to the surface, undoubtedly fresh and clear, untainted by the years that separate them from the present.
But he tamps down the yearning to do so. No matter how supportive he wants to be, he knows as a shinobi, that there are burdens that cannot be so easily shared.
It doesn’t stop him from doing his all to alleviate them, however.
With a sigh, he goes through his morning exercises. He makes himself a hearty, healthy breakfast. He showers. He dresses.
It’s all strangely robotic when his mind is so heavily focused elsewhere. It’s unusual for him to be so distracted, but Kakashi has always been a special case. Especially on today of all days.
Going to the kitchen, he prepares a thermos of Kakashi’s preferred tea. Steeping it just long enough to keep it from going bitter. He debates packing food, maybe something light and nutritious, but prior experience has told him that Kakashi won’t eat it. He probably won’t eat the rest of the day, a fact that always irks Gai. It’s a battle he always wants to pick, but knows he’ll, regrettably, always lose. To be honest, it’s likely the tea will go untouched as well. But a warm cup in cold, damp hands is surely a welcome comfort to anyone.
Thermos prepared, he puts it in his bag and grabs his biggest umbrella from a stand by the door.
With a fortifying breath, he steps into the rain and makes his way through Konoha. The streets are slightly less bustling than usual, people are choosing to stay out of the weather, no doubt. He offers a few greetings with his usual smile as he keeps walking. What people he sees become less and less the closer he gets to the outskirts of the village.
As the memorial field comes into view, it’s not a surprise to see Kakashi’s familiar form standing in front of the main stone. His shoulders are sloped and his head is bowed forward. Even with his view of Kakashi’s back, Gai knows that his eye will be unfocused, staring at the smooth form of the stone, seeing faces and hearing voices long gone from this world.
Not for the first time, Gai’s heart aches with sympathy at the thought of reliving so many horrible moments. Gai knows of Sakumo, Obito and Rin. But he can only guess at how many unnamed others Kakashi lost to ANBU, how many missions he’s remembering, and how many lives lost. Gai is thankful every day to have played a part in pulling Kakashi away from whatever edge he had been teetering on during those dark, dark days. He wouldn’t have been able to forgive himself if he lost Kakashi. The thought alone chills him to the bone as he imagines standing in this very field, mourning the loss of his rival, best friend and first love.
He suppresses a shiver as he approaches.
There’s no point in being quiet. Somewhere, from the depths of the memories he’s entrenched in, Kakashi knows he’ll be coming. So, he makes his way up the path, stopping at Kakashi’s side and bringing his umbrella to cover them both.
The damage is already done, however. There’s not an inch of Kakashi that isn’t soaked through to the skin. Gai sends a silent thanks to whoever is listening that at least the temperature is fairly warm.
He looks at Kakashi’s profile before reaching up to gently swipe a sodden lock of hair from his rival’s visible eye.
“Kakashi,” he says, somewhere between a greeting and a question.
Moments pass. The rain falls. Kakashi takes a breath that visibly moves his body.
“Hello, Gai,” he says, voice barely audible above the rain pattering away at the umbrella. If you knew Kakashi as well as Gai does, you’d almost think it sounded grateful.
It’s a far cry from earlier years where Gai’s presence would be met with silence or worse, and more heartbreaking, anger and rejection.
Gai hopes, deep within his heart, that each year will continue making this more bearable. He knows grief all too well himself and knows that it never truly goes away, but even the slightest lightening of the load is something that he welcomes for his beloved friend.
He can’t stop a gentle, barely-there smile as he reaches into his bag and shuffles the umbrella to pour some tea into the lid of the thermos.
“I’ve brought tea,” he says, encouraged when Kakashi slowly reaches for the lid with a hum of thanks.
As expected, he doesn’t drink it, but Gai hopes the warmth helps. He leans closer, pressing ever so gently against Kakashi’s side, hoping that warmth helps as well.
Kakashi doesn’t pull away so Gai remains there, steadfast, as he turns his gaze to the stone.
He thinks about Rin, about Obito. About both of their fathers, both gone for so long now. About the countless others that have come before and will come after.
It’s raining. They are gone.
Gai stays by Kakashi’s side.