The Uchiha manor buzzed with an unusual energy that evening, the golden lanterns casting flickering patterns across the garden as Shisui strode in with purpose. His mother, Amaya, sat beneath the pergola, her delicate fingers effortlessly guiding the needle through silk, though her attention drifted the moment she caught sight of her son.
Kagami, seated in his usual high-backed chair, exhaled a slow breath over his tea. He didn’t need to look up to know Shisui had something planned—his son never marched in with that much determination unless he was about to upend something.
"Father, Mother," Shisui declared, his voice steady, "I’ve decided. I’m marrying Kakashi at the Amaterasu Festival."
Amaya’s embroidery was forgotten entirely. "Finally!" she exclaimed, a grin spreading across her face. "I knew it was only a matter of time before you took the lead. Oh, my dear, you’ll be breathtaking under the festival lights. The two of you together—it will be magnificent."
Kagami raised a brow, setting his cup down with deliberate care. "And how exactly do you plan to accomplish that? We know Sakumo supports you, yes, but the Hatake elders have spent months stalling. And the rest of them? You expect them to suddenly abandon their beloved traditions?"
Shisui smirked, crossing his arms. "If they refuse to give their blessing, then I’ll simply take Kakashi. A wedding is a wedding, whether they attend or not."
Amaya clapped her hands, positively delighted. "Now that’s the spirit! Just like your father when he courted me." She threw Kagami a glance, to which he merely chuckled.
"But," Shisui continued, his tone shifting to something sharper, "we can’t let the clan take the heat for this. If things go wrong, it can’t look like the clan is involved in my decisions. We need to make it appear as though this is a personal matter, not a clan affair."
Kagami’s lips curled into something between amusement and approval.
"I see. A clever move," he murmured, tapping his fingers against the table. "Don’t worry, Shisui. The clan’s name will remain untouched. We’ll handle the rest."
Shisui inclined his head, a glint of satisfaction in his eyes. "Good. Because I have an idea."
The Hatake estate was quieter, but no less grand. Sakumo sat in the main hall, flanked by his wife, Kaguya, and the clan elders, including the formidable Rorik. The elders’ presence was suffocating, their disapproval of Kakashi’s marriage evident in every glance.
When the Uchiha delegation arrived, Kagami and Amaya stepped forward with Setsuna and Fugaku trailing behind them. After pleasantries were exchanged, Kagami got straight to the point.
"My son has decided to marry Kakashi," he announced, his voice firm. "And since your elders seem intent on delaying the union, he has devised an alternative. Shisui will run away with Kakashi from the festival."
Amaya added, her tone gentler but no less resolute, "We felt it necessary to inform you of the plan out of respect for your family. We suggest you avoid attending the festival and not bring kakashi to the festival to save face."
The Hatake elders erupted into protests almost immediately.
Rorik slammed his fist on the table. "Ridiculous! The Hatake clan has attended the Amaterasu Festival for generations. We’ve paid our dues to the goddess, and her blessings are tied to our presence. To miss it would be an insult to our traditions!"
"We cannot disrespect our traditions," Sakumo started, "The Amaterasu Festival is more than just an event for us; it is a sacred bond with the goddess, one that we have upheld for generations. However..." He paused, his eyes flickering toward his wife, Kaguya, before returning to the elders. "This is not something that can be hindered, not by any external pressures. We are bound by our honor and will not dishonor the clan’s path.
Kagami, finally spoke, his voice firm. "I understand your concerns, but we wanted to inform you beforehand to avoid any misunderstandings. Should Shisui marry Kakashi and bring him to Uchiha Manor, I cannot, in good conscience, allow Kakashi to be turned away." He glanced around the room, ensuring his words were clear. "It would not be in accordance with our traditions to deny my son's partner stay at our home, especially after such an important event. To do so would be disrespectful not just to him, but to our own values as a clan." he continued "We are not here to entangle the clan in any unnecessary drama or conflict. I do not want this to reflect poorly on our reputation, nor do I want this matter to become a spectacle. We must uphold our honor, and this—this is the right thing to do." His gaze sharpened as he finished, his voice unwavering. "As the clan head, you have all been given notice of this decision. The rest is now up to your free will. The clan will not take responsibility for what follows."
Kakashi, overhearing everything from the balcony above, leaned casually against the railing, a wide smile tugging at his lips. His silver hair gleamed under the soft light as he watched the discussion unfold below. Oh, he knew exactly what Shisui was doing—letting the plan slip in front of the clan, knowing full well that the Hatake clan couldn’t back away now without appearing weak. It was a clever move, one that would force their hand, and Kakashi couldn't help but be amused by it. After all, it had been too long—seven years in fact—and now, proposals were coming in from other clans. Shisui had timed it perfectly, ensuring that they couldn't refuse him without risking everything. Kakashi couldn’t help but admire his boyfriend's strategy. The man had them all wrapped around his finger, and Kakashi, standing in the shadows, couldn’t help but smile at the brilliance of it all.
Later that evening, the Hatake household was thrown into chaos as Genma stormed into the main hall.
"What’s this I hear about Shisui kidnapping Kakashi? And how dare the Uchiha's could just leave unharmed after threatening our honor?" he demanded, planting himself in the center of the room.
Aoba trailed behind him, muttering, "Why is it always Genma who hears these things first?"
Genma whirled around. "Because it's about Kakashi, Aoba! Now, I won’t let anyone, not even Uchiha Shisui, kidnap Kakashi. I’ll protect him!"
Genma and Aoba argued about the logistics of protecting Kakashi. Sakumo pinched the bridge of his nose, while Kaguya fought back a smile.
Aoba sighed, exasperated but unsurprised. The elders had named Genma as Kakashi’s intended match long before the Uchiha proposal, and he had taken the role far too seriously—never mind that neither Sakumo nor Kaguya had agreed, nor that Kakashi himself had never acknowledged it.
Kakashi, watching from the doorway, barely contained his amusement. He had long since grown tired of Genma’s self-appointed role as his protector, but at least tonight’s dramatics were entertaining. Rolling his eyes, he slipped away, already anticipating the next move in Shisui’s game.
---
The next day arrived and the Hatake estate was bustling with activity as the festival preparations reached their peak. but the air grew heavier as Kakashi entered, dressed in his simple festival attire. His current attire, a dark silk robe with golden embroidery. It was plain, practical, and entirely remarkable—exactly what Kakashi had intended.
He stood with his usual calm, though his sharp eyes flickered toward the elders, already bracing for their critiques.
“This won’t do,” Rorik declared immediately, his gaze critical as it swept over Kakashi. The elder’s deep-set frown seemed permanently etched onto his face. “Look at the pleated pants—it’s not even proper for the occasion. He could sprint away in this if he chose.”
Elder Thalia, seated beside him, “Rorik, he’s not going to run. The boy has more sense than that. Still…” She tilted her head, studying Kakashi’s robe. “It does lack a certain… gravitas. This is the Amaterasu Festival, after all.”
The third elder, Moriah—a sharp-eyed woman known for her cutting remarks—snorted. “Gravitas? This is an insult to tradition.”
Kakashi, hands clasped behind his back, tilted his head innocently. “It’s comfortable. I assumed practicality was the priority.”
Kaguya, who had been observing the scene with quiet patience, finally spoke. “The robe is perfectly fine. The simplicity reflects humility, which the goddess values. Must everything always be about appearances, Rorik?”
Rorik glared at her. “Humility or not, Do you want the entire clan to gossip about how prepared he looks to be abducted? Or worse, let the Uchiha see this and think we don’t care?”
Kaguya raised an eyebrow, her tone sharpening. “Perhaps you should focus less on what the Uchiha think and more on what the goddess thinks, Rorik.”
Thalia leaned forward with a sly smile. “Kaguya, it’s rare to see you so… passionate. Surely, you’re not suggesting this robe is enough for the festival?”
Kakashi shifted slightly, his expression betraying nothing but quiet observation.
“It’s not about passion,” Kaguya replied, her voice calm but firm. “It’s about practicality. Do you want him tripping over something elaborate while carrying the offerings?”
Moriah clicked her tongue. “No one said anything about elaborate. But this”—she gestured to Kakashi’s attire—“this is hardly appropriate. We need something with more weight, more flow. Something that…” She paused, her eyes narrowing. “That conveys the importance of the day.”
Rorik perked up at her words. “Exactly! Flow! We need something that won’t allow him to sneak off unnoticed.”
Kaguya’s lips pressed into a thin line. “If you want flow, I have just the thing.”
She rose gracefully, leaving the hall for a moment. When she returned, she held a carefully preserved lilac dress. The fabric shimmered like morning dew, cascading in soft folds that seemed to dance with every movement.
The room fell silent as she unfolded the garment.
“This,” Kaguya said, her voice steady, “is appropriate for the festival.”
Rorik’s eyes widened. “That… That’s a wedding dress!”
“It’s not a wedding dress,” Kaguya countered smoothly, though her tone carried a distinct edge. “It’s ceremonial attire. Perfect for the festival.”
Thalia smirked. “It’s certainly dramatic enough. Though I can’t help but wonder if it’s a bit… nuptial”
Moriah gave a low laugh. “Nuptial. indeed. Kaguya, are you sure you’re not trying to make a point?”
“I’m making no point at all,” Kaguya replied with a faint smile. “I’m simply ensuring that my son looks his best.”
Rorik’s hand slapped the table. “He’ll look like he’s walking to the altar, not the temple!”
“Does it matter?” Kaguya shot back. “Flowy garments are traditional. Or have you forgotten our own customs, Rorik?”
Sakumo finally interjected, his voice measured. “Let’s not turn this into a debate. If Kaguya believes the dress is suitable, then it’s suitable.”
Kakashi, still silent, tilted his head slightly, his gaze flickering between the elders. His expression was the epitome of innocence, though there was a faint twitch of his lips that might have been a suppressed smile.
“Well?” Kaguya prompted, addressing her son directly. “Go try it on. We don’t have all day.”
With a slight shrug, Kakashi took the dress and disappeared into the adjoining room.
When he returned, the hall fell silent once more. The lilac fabric hugged his form before spilling into soft waves at his feet. The high collar and intricate embroidery on the cuffs added a regal touch, making him appear as if he had stepped straight out of a festival painting.
Rorik’s jaw tightened. “It’s a wedding dress,” he muttered under his breath.
“It’s ceremonial,” Kaguya corrected, her voice icy. “And it’s perfect.”
Thalia chuckled, glancing at Kakashi. “Well, the goddess will certainly be pleased. As for the Uchiha…” She let the words hang in the air, a knowing smile playing on her lips.
Kakashi met her gaze with a small, disarming smile of his own. “I suppose it’s time to prepare the offerings?”
His words broke the tension, and the elders reluctantly turned their attention to the next task.
____
The festival grounds were alive with color and energy, lanterns strung high above the bustling crowds as music and laughter filled the air. Kakashi, walked beside Kaguya and Sakumo as they made their way toward the shrine. The elders trailed behind, muttering among themselves, though they quieted as they approached the sacred space.
Genma was already there, waiting with arms crossed and a stern expression. He stepped forward as they arrived, pointing toward the shrine.
“This is it,” he said, motioning to the small, ornate platform in front of the goddess statue. The statue loomed above them, its serene face illuminated by the flickering light of the surrounding fire pits. “This is where we will stand during the main offering. The fire pits behind ensure no one can sneak up or escape that way.”
He gestured to the right, where a long table was piled high with offerings of food: fruits, rice, and sweet cakes for the goddess. “The right side is always crowded. People come and go constantly to leave their offerings. It’s impossible to move through there without being seen.”
Finally, he pointed to the left. “And that’s the only entrance. I’ve stationed guards there to keep watch. No one enters or leaves without their approval.”
Rorik, standing behind Kakashi, frowned. “Are you saying we’re trapping our own heir?”
Genma's gaze remained sharp as he addressed the group. "I’m not trapping Kakashi," he clarified, his voice steady but with an edge. "What I’m doing is ensuring his safety. Shisui is no fool, and we can’t predict the lengths he’ll go to get what he wants. My goal isn't to cage our heir—it’s to deny Shisui any chance to get close to him.".”
Thalia chuckled softly. “Careful, Genma. You’re starting to sound like a nervous groom.”
Genma bristled but said nothing, his sharp gaze flickering toward Kakashi, who stood silently, his expression unreadable.
Kakashi's lips quirking into a faint smile as he stepped forward.
For now, he would play along.
Behind them in a certain distance, Genma stood vigilant, his sharp eyes scanning the crowd like a hawk.
Just as the Uchiha clan, led by Kagami and accompanied by prominent members like Setsuna, and Fugaku, arrived to present their tributes, Genma noticed a shift in the crowd’s movement. The Uchiha clan had barely taken their places when Shisui slipped away, dragging a small entourage of kids—Itachi, Sasuke, and a few others—in tow.
Genma’s jaw tightened. “Where does he think he’s going?” he muttered under his breath.
Sure enough, Shisui was headed toward the food stalls set up near the shrine. The children giggled and chattered as Shisui treated them to sweets, his carefree laughter blending with the festival's vibrant energy.
Genma sighed heavily, choosing to stay rooted. Moments later, Aoba sauntered up to him, wiping his mouth dramatically and letting out a loud burp.
“Ahhh, nothing like the festival's good food,” Aoba declared, slapping Genma on the back and nearly making him choke. “Here, you’ll need this.” He handed Genma a small can of juice with an exaggerated grin.
Genma took it suspiciously. “What is this?”
“Juice,” Aoba said, grinning wider. “From Shisui.”
Genma froze, his sharp eyes narrowing at the innocent-looking can. Without a word, he flinged it at Aoba’s face, the can bouncing off with a dull thud as Aoba yelped.
“What in the world are you doing, you idiot?” Genma hissed. “Why are you taking drinks from Shisui and handing them to me?”
Aoba rubbed his forehead, expression pained. “Relax, Genma! I was at the Dewdrop Pavilion—you know, the food offering area where all the clans serve meals to honor the goddess. Shisui was there, serving food like everyone else. We had a chat.”
Genma crossed his arms, glaring. “What kind of chat, Aoba?”
“Well,” Aoba said, scratching his head sheepishly, “he asked about me, then about you. Wanted to know why you hadn’t joined me for lunch and when you gonna have it.”
Genma’s glare intensified. “So let me get this straight. Instead of giving me updates about him, you’ve been giving him updates about me?”
Aoba blinked, his grin faltering. “Uh... well, when you put it like that...”
“You absolute moron!” Genma exploded, smacking Aoba upside the head. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve turned yourself into his personal spy! For all I know, he’s sitting over there, laughing his head off while you parade around delivering his drinks!”
Aoba winced, rubbing his head. “Hey, it’s just juice. No need to get so worked up.”
Genma pointed a threatening finger at him. “Next time you even think about talking to Shisui without my permission, I’m tying you to the goddess statue until the festival ends!”
Behind them, a soft chuckle escaped Sakumo, who quickly turned it into a cough when Kaguya shot him a warning glance. Kakashi, standing nearby, covered his mouth, feigning disinterest while his shoulders shook with suppressed laughter.
As Aoba muttered something about “overreacting,” Genma turned back toward the shrine, muttering darkly under his breath. Shisui, standing in the distance with a group of children, caught his eye and raised his hand in an innocent wave, his grin wide and mischievous.
Genma groaned. “I need a drink or two."
Before he could dwell on it, a commotion behind them drew his attention. The guards he had stationed earlier were engaged in a hushed yet tense conversation with several ANBU, of course that has to be shisui's friends. Genma scowled and stalked toward them.
“What now?” he muttered under his breath, already sensing trouble. He turned toward the guards, demanding an explanation.
That was all the distraction Shisui needed.
In the shifting glow of the festival flames, Shisui slipped past the line of Hatake guards like a shadow. The moment his fingers brushed Kakashi’s wrist, the world around them seemed to hold its breath.
Then, Kagami and Amaya stepped forward, their timing too precise to be coincidence. The rest of the Uchiha followed in their wake, a silent tide of crimson and onyx.
Sakumo and Kaguya stepped forward, their presence a grounding force in the shifting sea of onlookers. Sakumo’s gaze, steady and sure, locked onto his son’s, and for the briefest moment, Kakashi felt like a child again—seeking his father’s approval, his blessing. But there was no doubt in Sakumo’s face, no hesitance. Only pride.
Murmurs rippled through the gathered families. The ceremonial fire pits, steady in their golden burn, flickered once—twice—before flaring into an eerie, breathtaking shade of deep violet. The unmistakable radiance of Amaterasu bathed the temple grounds in unearthly light, casting shifting shadows over solemn faces. A hushed reverence settled over the crowd as the devout bowed their heads in prayer. Even the Hatake elders, who had met this union with wary silence, closed their eyes and murmured sacred mantras, their voices barely audible beneath the crackling flames.
In that fleeting moment of stillness, Shisui acted.
He moved with the certainty of a man who had already walked this path a hundred times in his mind. From the folds of his robe, he withdrew a ring—its slender form glinting as it caught the violet glow of the flames. The band, a seamless blend of white and yellow gold, curved elegantly around his fingers, its delicate arc set with tiny diamonds that shimmered like scattered stardust. At its heart sat a single, brilliant-cut gem, burning red like the Uchiha crest.
Kakashi exhaled, the breath soft, lost in the night air.
The ring he had chosen for Shisui was nearly identical, save for its slightly broader frame, designed to mirror and complement. He had traced its smooth surface so many times in restless moments, yet now, in Shisui’s presence, it felt different.
Shisui slid the ring onto Kakashi’s finger with deliberate slowness, his touch lingering, as if imprinting the moment into existence. His voice was steady, the weight of his words absolute.
“With the goddess as our witness, and our families gathered before us,” he murmured, his thumb brushing over Kakashi’s knuckles in a quiet promise, “I take you as the one my soul has chosen.”
The words settled like a vow etched into stone, heavier than the flames, deeper than the gazes locked upon them.
Kakashi had prepared for every possible outcome tonight—except this. Except the way Shisui’s conviction wrapped around him like something unshakable. Except the way his chest tightened, not with doubt, but with acceptance.
He reached into his sleeve, fingers grazing cool metal. The ring felt impossibly small in his grasp, yet as he looked up at Shisui—at the unwavering resolve in his gaze—Kakashi knew it was the only thing that had ever truly fit.
His lips curved, a rare, unguarded smile breaking free.
“With the goddess as our witness,” he echoed, slipping the ring onto Shisui’s finger, “I take you as the one my soul has chosen.”
The temple flames roared, sending waves of heat curling into the air.
Shisui’s hand found his again, firm, warm—anchoring. The firelight carved sharp shadows across Shisui’s face, but his expression was clear, illuminated not by the flames but by the quiet certainty in his dark eyes. A shiver ran down Kakashi’s spine.
Kaguya smiled, her hands reaching for Kakashi’s, her fingers brushing his knuckles as she clasped them between her own. "The goddess has heard your vows," she said softly, the temple flames reflecting in her silver eyes. "And so have we."
Sakumo rested a firm hand on Kakashi’s shoulder before turning to Shisui, his grip just as strong when he placed it over his. “Take care of each other,” he said. “That is all a parent can ask.”
Kakashi's breath hitched. They had already given their blessing before this night, but hearing it now—here, in front of both their clans, under the eyes of gods and ancestors—made him feel emotional.
And just as the last words left Sakumo’s lips, the air shifted.
The first petals fell.
Soft, weightless, carried by the temple breeze, their fragrance thick with jasmine and myrrh. What had been meant as an offering for the goddess herself now drifted around them, blanketing them in white and red—a celestial blessing they had never dared to ask for but had been given all the same.
Shisui inhaled sharply, his grip tightening around Kakashi’s wrist as if drawn by an unseen force. His other hand came up, fingers threading through silver strands before resting at the nape of Kakashi’s neck, pulling him forward.
The temple, the watching clans, the murmurs of the crowd—all of it faded into the night.
Kakashi’s breath caught as Shisui’s lips met his, the touch deliberate, unhurried. Shisui kissed him the way he did everything—with purpose, with certainty, with the weight of a thousand unsaid promises pressed into the warmth of his mouth. Kakashi had been kissed before by Shisui, had known affection in its many forms, but this—this was different. It was the feeling of a storm after the first break of sunlight, of finding something precious in the midst of a battlefield.
Shisui kissed him like he had always belonged to him.
And Kakashi—Kakashi let himself believe it.
When they finally pulled apart, the petals had settled in their hair, on their robes, at their feet. Around them, the Uchiha and Hatake clan members murmured in quiet approval, voices rising in reverence. Some watched with awe, others with silent acceptance, but no one spoke against what had just been sealed before them.
The Hatake had not lost their son.
And the Uchiha had gained one.
Kakashi had never believed in destiny.
But if it existed—if fate was written in fire and petals and violet light—then this moment, this choice, was always meant to be.