Sleep slid away with the encroaching dawn and Yamato clung to the final shreds of it like a drowning man to land. The hangover was immediate and unforgiving and he wanted no part in anything that would make it worse, choosing instead to pull the covers up and roll over into the warmth of his bed mate.

Only, that didn't happen. He was met with cool sheets and the pale light of past dawn and nothing more.

Yamato swallowed thickly, disappointment dropping into his already churning gut and settling like the bottom of a lake, bitter and strewn with stones.
He drew the covers up over his head, blocking out the morning and focused on breathing, certainly not thinking, not dwelling on the steady boil of hurt he felt or the accompanying anger, nope.

A count of ten and then another and he was throwing off the blanket and pushing unsteadily to his feet. He needed to eat, to drink, balance out his headache and retreat to the couch or back to bed and just sleep off the hammering effects of the sake, that was it.

The door left ajar and the kitchenette beyond were within stumbling distance and he made it to the threshold before pulling up short.

Pale skin and tousled silver greeted him, the image of Kakashi, disheveled and relaxed, preparing tea in Yamato's home, not one that he'd ever expected to be greeted with.

The hurt bled away, replaced by a shamed blush; Yamato feeling more than a little chagrined at having jumped to conclusions so quickly. He slumped against the bedroom door frame as the tension ebbed away and offered his acknowledgment in a weak greeting, eyes downcast as his face flamed.

"..Good morning."