Kakashi sighed as he pulled himself out of bed. He flipped the light on and made his way to the bathroom, absently rubbing the crick from the back of his neck as he did so. Another morning, another day, one more down. He stood in front of the mirror, just looking at himself, once again unsatisfied with what he saw. Uncontrollable silver hair, long wiry muscles but not thick enough skin to make them actually look strong, an otherwise lean and tall body, and then the face. His father's face, his mother's face. Somehow, he had them both. Between the hair and the eyes, he was often mistaken for his legendary father, which was honestly alright by him despite the memories associated with the White Fang's suicide. It was the part of his face he kept hidden that bothered him the most. A finely shaped nose, supple but thin lips, long jaw line, all emphasized by a notably delicate structure. The hidden lower half of his face easily softened the hardness he often kept in his eyes. He didn't keep the mask on to hide it from the world so much as to hide it from himself.
Your face just doesn't match your personality. A memorable line from one of the only people he actually considered a close, necessary friend upon seeing him without a mask for the first time. Yamato couldn't have been more right. His gentle, sensitive features were a stark contrast to his aloof, often icy personality. Might as well keep them separate, it just made life easier.
With another sigh Kakashi pushed himself away from leaning on the sink and started the shower, deciding on scalding hot water this morning rather than icy cold. Hot water was distracting enough to get his mind out of whatever depression he happened to be falling into. Cold water was for when he felt like punishing his arrogant younger self, as that temperature seemed to encourage deeper thought. Kakashi rarely ever took comfortable showers.
He rubbed the scars on the inside of his wrists as he finished undressing. Most of the time he didn't really notice or care about those cut scars hidden from the world by his fingerless gloves, but when he did it was often a subconscious sign that his mental state would take a turn for the worse. It made him start questioning the "what ifs" about that day. What if Gai (another of the necessary friends) hadn't found him? What if he had died? Wouldn't that have been for the better? Or what if he'd just woken up alone, weakened from the blood loss but the alcohol having been absorbed enough by his system to let him think straight again? Would he still be with ANBU? Would he have tried it again?
Definitely scalding water this morning, he thought, I've got to shake this before heading out to train, Yamato and those kids are too damn observant.
Yamato's morning had a specific routine. He was, after all, a pretty routine oriented-guy. His alarm went off at 6am, he pushed off the covers, put his feet on the small rug beside the bed (directly where his feet would land every morning), stood up, turned around, made the bed, turned off the alarm then took his neatly folded clothes for the day from his top dresser drawer (where he stacked and lined them up after he finished laundry every week), and went to the bathroom to take his shower.
He never bothered to look at himself in the bathroom mirror, nothing ever really changed, so why concern himself with it. He turned on the water, lukewarm as he hated the extreme temperatures, and proceeded to take 10 minutes under the running water to sufficiently wake himself up and feel clean for the day. As a shinobi, especially ex-ANBU, he felt that daily showering was an absolute necessity to feel even the tiniest bit hygienic. Showers in the evening also tended to happen, but he often let those run longer, closer to 30 or 40 minutes to account for getting blood and dirt off.
After the morning shower, he dried off and dressed quickly, and then went to picking up anything that had fallen on the floor or cleaning anything he might have missed the day before while eating or something. His apartment did have a tendency to be described as "suspiciously clean." He made himself some eggs and toast, ate them, and cleaned his dishes immediately after finishing. No coffee this morning as he hadn't had any alcohol last night. He checked his two weapons pouches, tied them on, and left his apartment, locking the door and slipping the key back under the mat as he left.