They fight all the time; that's something everyone in the village knows. Kakashi and Gai disagree and argue and compete. Always have, always will. But those fights, the "normal" ones, the ones they have with clock-ticking regularity, are nothing like this one.

This one is starting to grate on Kakashi. Because it's not I can't stand your hip and modern attitude any longer, Rival! and it's not Hah, you think I can't do that? I will prove you wrong!, no, this time, it's an actual, serious fight. About something that matters.

It's not that Gai is incapable of understanding Kakashi's point of view, it's just that Kakashi can't see the full picture. He only sees one side of it, the genius-side; he's never been on the other side; he's never been called a loser and a drop-out and he's never had to prove anything to anyone.

So maybe he isn't wrong about Gai being more invested in Lee's training than in Neji's and Tenten's, but he doesn't see why.

Please, Kakashi thinks, like it isn't completely obvious. Sure he gets it. Lee is more like Gai than Neji and Tenten. Gai looks at Lee and sees himself, and that's all there is to it.

Kakashi used to be in the exact same place.

It didn't end well.

"Lee isn't Sasuke," Gai says bluntly.

"I never said he was. But he's not your only student. Which was my point." Kakashi grabs the back of one of Gai's rickety kitchen chairs and leans over it. He's tired; it's been a long day. One he didn't think would end like that, with him standing in Gai's kitchen, having an argument.

Kakashi wishes there was a way to un-know information, to un-learn it, or maybe just to go back in time to start over.

"I know that!" Gai is usually quick to fall into his ranting and flailing habit, to jump up and shout, but this time he remains seated, arms folded, cooler than Kakashi is used to seeing him. "I care about Neji and Tenten; I train with them. I put just as much youthful passion into—"

"No, you don't," Kakashi interrupts. He's had enough of this, and he's pissed. It's not just the fact that he had to hear about this, it's also that he didn't get it from Gai himself. No, it had been Ebisu. "I heard about your little promise to Lee," he says and his voice is terse and brittle like dried-out bones, ancient.

Gai's face doesn't change, not even a raised monster-eyebrow, not even a twitch, but then, if he'd actually tried to keep this from Kakashi, Ebisu surely wouldn't have known.

"That's in the past, rival. It doesn't matter anymore." He leans back in his creaky chair, and the pupils of his eyes slither away to avoid Kakashi's gaze. He is ashamed then. Good.

Kakashi, however, isn't done. He feels like he'll never be done with this issue because his heart tells him that it's a betrayal, it's abandonment, and it's not fair. Kakashi never asked for a promise, but Gai made one regardless.

"Doesn't it?" he asks and his voice is soaked with bitterness and accusation that the fabric of his mask can't cover up. "What if something happened to him now? He got through this one, but he can still get hurt or die, you know that."

"I know that."

"So?" And Kakashi regrets that question the very moment it leaves his mouth because Gai's jaw is set, his muscles turn to cement and he does look Kakashi in the eye now, which makes Kakashi want to turn away.

"He is my Ninja Way. This is what I've chosen."

It stings, and that makes Kakashi angry, more at himself than at Gai, though. He's been an idiot, should have kept his distance. What was he thinking?

Kakashi hangs his head, looking at the tiled floor for a second. His palms are beginning to hurt slightly; he's stiff and tense and his body feels heavier than usual for some reason.

"…I was afraid you'd say something like that," he says eventually.

Gai just sits there for a little bit, unusually quiet, in the silent kitchen, where nothing can be heard but their breathing and the constant dripping of Gai's old faucet.

"You're going to get Sasuke back," Gai says after a while, eight drips, and Kakashi can't tell if he needed that interval to muster the conviction he put into that sentence or to fake it. It's a change of topic anyway, a distraction maybe, and not a very elegant one.

So he almost laughs at it, but what comes out is only a single dry snort. "It's not up to me anymore."

"You can't say that!" Gai's outrage is real now, Kakashi is sure.

He shrugs, straightens. He's going to walk out of the apartment in a moment. "I just did."

"Kakashi—"

"Look at us, we've grown old. Arguing about the kids like that…"

This time, Gai does jump up and bangs on the table in protest. "I'm not old!" he shouts. "I'm still in the spring time of life!"

"Well, you're certainly older than me," Kakashi drawls for routine's sake. Then he sighs, a true old man's reaction. "So this is where we stand, huh?"

Kakashi leaves on that note, with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

"Nothing's changed, Rival." That was the last thing Gai said to him, and Kakashi carries those words out the door and onto the empty street and wonders.

If he asked them, the people of the village would probably say the same thing. Kakashi and Gai have been like this for decades! Nothing will ever change with those two!

But if nothing's changed, why does he feel like this now?