The room was dim, only the soft glow of street lanterns making it through to illuminate the space around them but his head still swam from the stimulus.
Yamato closed his eyes against it, fighting off the bout of dizzy movement, curling more onto his side and murmuring in discomfort.

He only opened them again when he felt Kakashi shift closer, the mattress sinking under his weight and he was greeted with the sight of a very pale torso and the even paler lines of the other mans neck and jaw.
Despite his best efforts, Yamato's gaze lingered there for a moment; taking in the vision of Kakashi kneeling over him, sans shirt and mask and swallowed thickly around the complicated squirm and flip his insides executed.

He'd closed his eyes for barely a minute, surely he couldn't be asleep already?

His dark gaze trailed further down and ah, there, he certainly wasn't dreaming, his mind would have never fitted that scar across Kakashi's ribs; still angry looking even in the half light and enough to make him flinch with guilt, but not enough to stay his hand.

Yamato reached out, mindless with the need to confirm his friends presence and to rewrite the image of Kakashi he held in his head to include the mark of his own indiscretion. The touch of skin was warm and real under his fingertips, the texture still glossy with new growth even these months later and something inside of him relaxed, like a sigh of relief.

This wasn't a dream, they truly were here and still alive despite what had happened; even with the lines blurring between them with each new boundary crossed, this was the most secure he'd ever felt.