Yamato was tense, muscles held taught by the preternatural stillness of someone willing their body to move or do anything other than it's current state. Kakashi had clearly made himself at home and on any other day, Yamato would be touched; coming home to an apartment that wasn't empty, was an extremely rare occurrence and one that warmed him, and made continuing to hold himself together, almost impossible.

"Good evening, Kakashi-senpai.. Did you need something?"

He fell back on routine. This scene had played out before, many times in fact, but back at HQ and it was easier to fall into the script, uttering words he'd said 100 times before, than to think and consider anything else.

His uniform chaffed, grimy with use and Yamato desperately wanted to change or maybe head back out immediately, choose an assignment from the bingo-book and disappear behind his mask for good. Gloved hands flexed in response to the thought, but he held fast.

Thoughts like that were a good way to get himself killed.