A click of the door preceded the Hokage’s departure from the room

A machine hummed next door.

Kakashi appeared out of place among the living; dark mask clashing violently against pale skin, a green bruise occupying the visible portion of his cheek. Mismatched eyes were shuttered against the sun. A hand rested on his chest, decorated with ruddy scratches, crowned with a needle bound by white medical tape. It conveyed a fresh supply of blood via a translucent tube. Iruka’s blood type had matched his own. A wad of cotton was still bandaged to the chuunin’s arm, forgotten.

Iruka sat on the edge of the bed, gingerly guiding the underside of his thumb along the strip of tape, fingers curling to gently greet the open warmth of Kakashi’s palm, its contours calloused and damp; warm.

“Your hand is cold.”

Drawing his arm back, Iruka laughed and formed an apologetic smile, “They’ve been keeping it cool in here.”

“Mmh.”

What happened next was without warning - no alarms or emergency broadcasts. They had no time to retreat or take shelter under the table. The ground pulsated erratically, settling once the door was thrown open.

Panting heavily, Gai braced himself against the door frame, eyes narrowing dramatically at the light-haired ninja, “Ka-ka-shi …”

Maito Gai never cried – he channeled Niagara Falls.

The green-clad jounin hurtled forward, tugging Kakashi into a seated position, clutching him fiercely to his chest, “My eternal rival, you’ve returned at last!” Kakashi glanced to the side in pained bemusement, grunting faintly.

“The power of youth prevails!” Gai squeezed the younger male’s torso emphatically. Iruka caught sight of Kakashi’s gaze, silently extending his sympathy.

Sitting back, Gai gripped his fingers in a tightly compacted fist, shaking it passionately, “What a fascinating demonstration of determination. How will I ever compete?” The tears continued to transpire, watering the bedspread.

Kakashi fell back into his original position, adopting a dead stare, “Mn.”

Gai slouched dejectedly, “So few words. How hip.” Recovering quickly from the spell of defeat, he raised his head and smiled resplendently, teeth glinting in perfect rows, “Get well soon!” He flashed an enthusiastic thumbs-up, on his feet once more.

A streak of spandex and the dark-haired jounin was gone.

Kakashi sighed audibly, eying his remaining visitor, “There’s really no need for you to stay.”

“Trying to get rid of me already?” Iruka responded with humour, absently glancing around the room. Upon the bedside table sat the brown rabbit, a look of mourning upon its pinched face, fur streaked with dried blood. It was dirty and worn, the kind of thing routinely tossed in the garbage by parents of children who had moved on to more impressive things. He recalled the brown mass unraveling from the jounin’s vest, an unexpected reminder; memories stuffed and stitched, bound together by threads which weakened over time. The chuunin frowned faintly, folding his arms across his chest, “Kakashi-sensei?”

“Hmn?”

Iruka knew there would be no inciting Kakashi to speak and no subsequent outpouring of emotion. While the physical wounds the jounin had endured were healing in front of him, there were injuries still jagged around the edges, too fresh to yield a scar, their mark entrenched in places people couldn’t see. No medical equipment could detect them, but Iruka was very much aware of their presence. However, he was reluctant even to inquire if the jounin felt all right, should it be regarded an insult to his strength and resilience.

Kakashi was a great collector of masks and neglecting to vocalize something did nothing to distill its intensity. In the absence of expression the things he wished to conceal were merely locked away, the combination gassed and burned. Emotions were veiled and forcibly forgotten; buried canisters of toxic waste, breathing softly in the dark. Out of sight, out of mind. That’s what they said, wasn’t it? Only it didn’t work that way. Things had a way of resurfacing, no matter how deeply you buried them. The tiniest fracture permitted a gradual release of the very pollutants you’d sought to conceal. Once the hull ruptured you had no means of repairing it, no method of reversing the damage done. You turned off the lights with the intention of embracing the shadows, only to discover you glow-in-the-dark.

For Kakashi there was no catharsis – there was only distraction.

Of all the questions he could have asked, and all the things he could have said, Iruka gently uttered, “It’s nice to have you back.” He smiled softly, genuinely.

“Thanks.”

They’d met many times before in this place, always by coincidence, mourning in synchronization. Sometimes they spoke. Sometimes the silence passed between them unhindered. Iruka often wondered how long Kakashi stood there, so still.

Before departing Iruka laid a hand upon Kakashi’s shoulder, exchanging a final thought without the burden of speech.

The names were heavier than the stone in which they were carved.

Little had changed in his absence, the passing of time marked only by layers of dust crowding over everything. A note on the table was left by a member of the Inuzuka clan. It read like a ransom note.

We have your dogs.

At first the hot bath water burned and itched, then it became tolerable. Kakashi scrubbed rigorously. A white film of dead skin formed on the surface of the murky water. The friction rubbed his flesh raw, painting it with reddened hues, invoking a searing tingle whenever the source of his attention was submerged. His fingers and toes aged a hundred years before he finally pulled the plug, sitting still as the water swirled around the drain, leaving the ceramic basin slippery and slick. He exited carefully, wrapping a towel around his hips as he padded off to the bedroom, leaving partially constructed footprints to dry in the hall.

The fridge was mercifully devoid of alien lifeforms, sheltering a soggy head of cabbage, and several eggplants in a similar state of decay, both of which could easily be replaced by the contents of his garden. Everything stored in the cupboards had a reasonably long shelf life and was still in a condition where it could be consumed without being thrown up again. He closed the door empty-handed. Even his beloved eggplants were unappealing.

In bed Kakashi laid listlessly, hands behind his head, bothered by the ceaseless ticking of his bedside clock. Each tick ruptured the quiet he had grown accustomed to, extending a teasing instance of noiselessness followed by a jarring mechanical click. He muffled the clock beneath a nearby pillow, and still, maddeningly, it continued to pulse, a ceaseless heartbeat wrapped in wire. Finally, he turned it off - another excuse to add to the growing anthology, only this one was true.

I’m late because my clock makes too much noise when it ticks.

Sleeping had not been an issue under the influence of high doses of pain killers. Now lacking a dreamy stupor, Kakashi found the act laborious. There was no position more comfortable than the one which came before or followed after. Once the sun set the room was cast in a dull black, darkening the outline of objects and filling empty spaces with grayish tones. He could still make out the writing on the spine of a book across the room. As little light as there was, he found it disruptive, burrowing beneath the blankets, arising several minutes later, flushed from the heat. Petulantly, he flopped around on the surface of the bed, tugging a pillow over his head. It was warm and stuffy with his face pressed to the mattress. He removed the pillow from its resting place, beating it against the wall.

Finally stripping a blanket from the surface of the bed, Kakashi coaxed his feet into the bathroom. There he closed the door. The jounin stretched out in the bathtub at an awkward angle, shifting around, eventually curling against the cool ceramic, drawing the blanket on top of him, capturing enough warmth to prevent his body from shivering. Peaceful, he slept.

He awoke several hours later, smashing an ankle into the faucet as his leg lashed out, distracted briefly by the warm currents of pain, the blood like sunlight on his cold foot.

Whatever had inspired such a reaction was already retreating from his memory, leaving a tangled blur of chaos and malcontent. The dark invoked sickly panic and confusion, terrifying in its purity.

It was the last time he slept in the bathroom.

“Hey! Kakai-sensei! Open up, old man!” A whirlwind of anxious fists pounded against the door, generating frantic wooden beats. When the door was drawn back a bit, Naruto plowed forward, shoving it aside, pouncing the older male and clinging fiercely to his frame.

Kakashi urged the door shut with a toe, balancing to counter the weight of the boy who was nearly as tall as he was. “Hey, hey, Naruto.” He ruffled the blond shinobi’s hair.

Naruto disentangled from his sensei, gazing up inquisitively at the older male, “What happened? You were gone a long time, you know!” The young ninja squinted at the jounin, wrinkling his nose in disdain. “Idiot-sensei! Always has to be late …” Naruto inclined his head, slumping forward to rest briefly against Kakashi. “Tell me the next time you plan on disappearing like that.” The boy stepped back, hmph-ing as he crossed his arms abruptly, only to unfold them seconds later, pointing accusingly. “I lost my appetite because of you, dattebayo!”

“Sorry,” the jounin murmured gently, trailing along as Naruto drew him toward the kitchen.

I lost my appetite because of me, too.

Though his focus momentarily wandered, Naruto digressed to the original point-of-interest, reiterating the question, “Kakai-sensei, where did you go?”

Kakashi said nothing. Naruto prompted the jounin again, “Everyone came back to the village and said you went off on your own. There was a lot of them, wasn’t there? Did they catch you?” The boy whipped open the fridge door, leaping back in horror. “Ack! What the hell?!”

“Vegetables, Naruto.” Kakashi’s hands delved into the pockets of his sweatpants. He tilted his head to the side, smiling distantly.

“I knew that,” grumbled the blond, closing the door with distaste, stepping to Kakashi’s side, childishly tugging at his sleeve, “Ne, ne, tell me, tell me!”

Admit he’d been caught? The thought was revolting, yet there had been too many of them. Too many. A small army delivered him to his captors, yet there was part of him which felt their numbers were no excuse for failure. It was a poor reason. Why had he continued to pursue them instead of disappearing when he still had the chance? It was the dogs who chased the fox, not the other way around. If he had chosen differently, if he had escaped …

She might …

“It doesn’t concern you, Naruto.”

This was not the answer the blond ninja was looking for and he protested vehemently. Eventually the futility of his efforts registered. Dusting himself off, Naruto huffed and took a seat, “Say, sensei – learn any new jutsus?”

“Drink this.” Sakura set a cup of tepid liquid in front of Kakashi, its contents steeped in boiling water, traces of colourful herbs floating to the top.

Kakashi gazed at the fluid, cringing inwardly, fixing the pink-haired girl with an apprehensive stare.

“Don’t look at me like that,” she scolded sternly, “It’s for your own good, you know.”

“I don’t see how any good can come from something that smells this awful.”

“It’s not that bad! Don’t be such a baby.” Sakura was not unpracticed when it came to contending with difficult patients, but the training did nothing to assuage her temperament. She sighed, calming herself. “You’re so pale, Kakai-sensei. Are you having trouble sleeping?”

Yes.

“Not really.”

“Appetite?”

Eating is unnecessary labour.

“Fine.”

“Energy levels?”

Come to think of it, everything is unnecessary labour.

“Normal.”

“Concentration?”

“Did you say something?” Kakashi inquired blankly, grinning faintly as Sakura growled and gave him a shove.

“Drink it before it gets too cold.”

Iruka absently brought the tip of his pen to the bottom tier of his lips, staring at the page in front of him. The words blurred together – their meaning obscured, content too laborious to draw his attention for long. He turned his head to check the clock, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Someone needed to incorporate new chairs into the next budget. It was too early for this.

When Kakashi entered the room he was immensely grateful for the distraction and he smiled warmly. The jounin echoed the expression half-heartedly, depositing a stack of papers on the desk.

The chuunin lowered his head, regarding the extensive collection of information with a degree of reverence typical of his post. There was so much of it that the pile barely held together, bound by a strained staple. Had Tsunade asked him to turn in a mission report? It was unusual for Kakashi to heed any such request in a timely fashion, no matter who it came from. When he looked up Kakashi was already gone.

Iruka tipped his head to the side, supporting it with the open palm of his hand. Unoccupied fingers rose, rubbing the bridge of his scarred nose. The papers were re-arranged in a stack in front of him, silent now.

Why did this happen?

__________________

Kakashi rotated a piece of barbequed pork between his partially-gloved fingers, the dark leather warm and damp, crinkling as his fingers straightened and released the meat. A moist tongue lashed against the juicy morsel, catching it between rows of pointed teeth, gobbling it down. The meat was replaced with a piece of broccoli, inciting the dog to shrink back, ears flattening against its mangy head. Kakashi narrowed an eye at the animal which hung its head in silent acceptance, biting into the luxuriant green, spitting it on the ground as it trimmed back the clusters, pawing it through the dirt to dull the taste.

Iruka settled into a seat beside the light-haired jounin. Alarmed, the dog retreated hastily, creeping back at gradual intervals, watching Iruka intently, back-peddling in response to each subtle shift in the chuunin’s posture. He smiled weakly, “I’ve never seen him get this close to people before. Naruto chased him around for an hour the other day, trying to give him something decent to eat.” Iruka laughed lightly, peering discretely over at Kakashi upon placing his order. Kakashi never touched the contents of his bowl for his own consumption, focusing instead on feeding the stray, bit by bit. The dog crept to the jounin’s side, dragging soft curves through the dirt with its tail, nudging his open hand, receiving another scrap of meat.

When his ramen arrived Iruka stared into its contents, immersed in thought. Keeping his comments to himself was a grueling endeavor. He was swelling on the inside, a fattening vein to which the circulation was cut, unaccustomed to emotional restraint, pained by the self-imposed restrictions, all too aware of the human compulsion to apologise for things which were not their fault, and still all he wanted was to say that he was sorry. The things he’d read, written by Kakashi’s hand, had formed hot coals in the hollow of his chest, their glow fed by the constant mingling of anger, sorrow, and anguished frustration. Thinking of what had been done to him brought immediate tension to Iruka’s frame followed by an uncomfortable sensation in his stomach. To toy with a human life as if it was nothing more than a disposable commodity, a natural resource which knew no source of exhaustion, was a crime beyond justification. He didn’t know how Kakashi could sit there looking so calm after everything he’d been subjected to. The jounin’s silence tormented his ears.

There had to be something he could say, even if in doing so he was only expressing himself in part. It was better than the plague of raging stagnation which ailed him. Having made up his mind, Iruka devoured a mouthful of ramen, milking courage from the warm noodles. He pivoted toward Kakashi determinately, bringing a fist to the countertop, and then froze.

Kakashi’s elbows were planted firmly upon the counter, fingers curled tightly against his palms, his arms pressing against the sides of his head as if blocking out a horrible sound. The dog imparted a low, growling whine, front paws rising to balance on the edge of the stool, snout digging into the man’s side. Kakashi’s breathing was heavy and irregular. He was shaking.

The words retreated from Iruka’s tongue.

There was a history between them. It was neither rich nor extensive, spanning only a few years, consisting of scattered moments and brief instances of warmth, but it provided the architecture for a sturdy structure open to expansion. Initial flickers of animosity had long-since faded, remnants mutated to reflect a sense of camaraderie. Kakashi’s absence had struck like an arrow in the back – unexpected and difficult to grasp.

To nurture was instinctual, a process rooted even in the behaviour of non-human primates. Regardless of the outlook, a fallen ape, body broken, would be caressed and coddled by its companions, soothed even when the ability to negate pain was lacking. In humans the effect was no less prevalent, albeit limited by sociological and psychological factors. It was not impossible to ignore. Having benefited from its effects, Iruka embraced the inclination.

Kakashi stared off in the direction of the village, sunlight flaring over the rooftops. He turned swiftly, lowering his head.

Bright flashes tapped metal bolts to his temples. His bare feet ground against wandering pebbles, searching for friction. Blood flowed from between his lips, drizzling down his chin. Choking. Drowning. Again.

The dog barked urgently. Kakashi dropped his head, smacking the metal plate of his hitai-ate against the counter. He raised his chin wearily, smiling faintly, sheepishly, a stubborn affirmation of strength when his actions threatened to betray otherwise. Panic nested in his chest. The taste of bitter iron pervaded.

Pivoting on his stool, Kakashi shakily placed the ramen bowl on the ground, mostly broth remaining. He sat on his haunches, halting the trembling of his hands, stroking the dog’s bristly fur as it lapped at the warm fluid. Iruka turned his head to watch. The dog skittered back. Iruka laughed awkwardly, “Not very trusting, is he?”

“Trusting people has never worked to his advantage.” Gingerly setting a hand upon the underside of the dog’s chin, Kakashi stared gently at the animal, pale fingers smoothing over its muzzle, rubbing between its eyes, advancing forward to stroke the outskirts of the animal’s ears. The dog rumbled faintly, content. Iruka moved slowly, lowering a hand to touch the dog’s back. The canine tensed, threatening to bolt, assuaged gradually by soothing fingertips on the scruff of its neck. Iruka patted the dog’s head, grinning as its tail beat against his leg.

“I like that he trusts you,” Iruka stated softly, “People would be better off if their senses were equally as acute.”

Kakashi knew what Iruka was implying. He’d witnessed ninken, ninja dogs with whom he held a summoning pact, tear people apart, tossing entrails with flicks of their heads, yet they would nestle upon the chest of a dying ANBU member they’d previously ignored. They were possessed of a sense most humans lacked, detecting pain and emotion the way people smelled something burning in the kitchen. You couldn’t hide anything from a dog.

“The problem with people is not their lack of sensitivity. It’s the assumption that they’re capable of understanding everything they’re not.” Kakashi replied flatly.

“What do you mean by that?”

“We observe the way things work, process the information, analyze and compare. Sometimes the data matches. Sometimes it doesn’t. We define the world by process of elimination. We know what things are not more often than we know what they are.”

Iruka’s stomach growled. He reclaimed his seat, snapping his chopsticks apart. “For most people being able to see something and categorize it is adequate enough. They don’t question why things are the way they are.”

Kakashi nodded slowly, closing an eye.

Iruka changed the subject quickly. “You look tired. When was the last time you slept?”

“I don’t know, exactly.” Kakashi stroked the back of his head. “My clock is broken.”

“Is that the one your dog tried to eat? I thought you bought a new one.”

“This is the new one.”

“What happened this time?” Iruka arched an eyebrow. His students invented similar excuses about their homework.

“I started getting up in my sleep to turn the alarm off.” The jounin grinned boyishly, a hint of colour invading his cheeks. His outward attitude had changed; the closing of one circuit and opening of another. It meant ignoring the past. It meant forgetting he was human.

“What does that have to do with the time?” Iruka responded, holding back a laugh, his dark eyes vivid with amusement.

“It got mixed in with my laundry.”

“Broken beyond repair, is it?”

“Broken, but very clean.”

The younger male laughed shamelessly. “You need someone to wake you up in the morning, then it won’t be a problem.”

“Is that an offer?”

Iruka winked, placing a hand on his hip, “You bet.”

“How much do you charge for your services?”

“How long does it take you to get out of bed?”

“Out of bed, or in bed?”

Iruka choked on his spit, taken off-guard by the suggestive response, as if everything leading up to it was devoid of subtext. Just thinking about such things made his vest uncomfortably warm.

You walked right into that! Now what are you going to say? ‘What should I be wearing?’ Ah! No! I can’t say that. Damn him! He reads everyone so easily and most of the time I can’t even tell if he’s serious or not, unless he has that serious look on his face, or is working in a professional capacity, looking out for … That’s not helping! Say something!

“You’re getting off the subject!” The urgency in his voice annoyed the part of him which was attempting to remain calm. Forceful tones were better suited to students who stuck their gum on the underside of their chairs.

“Never mind, then.” Kakashi casually shrugged off the outburst and right when Iruka thought it might all soon be forgotten the jounin opened his mouth again. “You’d have more luck getting me in bed than out of it.” Smirking, the light-haired male pocketed his hands and walked off.

Iruka was temporarily stunned. When a sufficient degree of self-awareness returned he stomped after the jounin, flushing violently, “Don’t think you can get away with that!”

“I already have.”

_______________

“I don’t care what it says!” Iruka growled, thrusting the brightly-coloured book away from his face, cheeks warming with annoyance. He tugged a stack of paper out from beneath Kakashi, who was sitting on his desk, “Get down from there. You’re making a mess.”

Undeterred, the jounin replaced the familiar text in front of the chuunin, tapping on a page, giggling faintly, boyishly, with amusement, “Look here, look here.”

Iruka slumped back in his chair, placing a hand over his eyes, “I’m not looking.”

Kakashi slid off the desk. Iruka dared not open his eyes.

“Afraid?” Kakashi questioned. “You’re a little old for that, aren’t you?”

Gripping the sides of the chair, Iruka glared at the light-haired male, looking serious and firm. “I am not afraid.”

“Then take a look at this.” Giddy, Kakashi helped himself to a space in the chair, though space for him there was not, and he sat mostly on top of Iruka, displaying the text proudly.

All it took was a few dirty words he would have never allowed his mother to hear him speak and the weight of the lanky jounin to upset him, throwing the chair off balance, dumping them both on the floor. The chair skidded away, tipped on its side. Papers drifted off the desk. Pencils rolled from their resting places.

Iruka grunted softly, grabbing Kakashi by the collar, shoving him against the floor, “Idiot! You’d better help clean this up.”

Kakashi tilted his head to the side, raising an eyebrow. “Why do you get to be on top?”

Maintaining his grasp on the jounin’s collar, Iruka shook him roughly, “You’re the one who did this!”

“That was part of your plan all along, wasn’t it?” inquired the jounin, his tone devoid of inflection; calm.

“I don’t enjoy falling out of my chair.” Iruka responded, oblivious, ceasing his assault. Smirking, Kakashi lifted his head, bringing the tips of their noses together, the pitch of his voice increasing, “Iruka-sensei is so big and strong. If you don’t let me up I’m just going to have to lie here and let you have your way with me, in the middle of the afternoon, in the -”

“It’s not like that!” roared the younger male, giving Kakashi one last shove before standing, the fire in his cheeks spreading down his neck. His anger vanished quickly, but the fire did not. It was unusual for him to get upset about something only to be over it less than a moment later. Normally it took hours for him to cool down.

“You’re so rough.” Kakashi stated, still smirking, stretching as he stood.

Iruka swept a hand along the metal strip at the base of the chalkboard, coating his fingers with white powder. He whirled around, smacking the back of Kakashi’s vest, leaving a handprint there.

Kakashi turned his head and brought his shoulder forward, trying to get a glimpse at the marking, “That wasn’t very nice.” His fingers discretely formed a series of seals.

Again the tray was robbed of its contents. Using both hands, Iruka rubbed the chalk dust over his knuckles, punching him in the shoulder. Kakashi touched his arm and frowned, “Ow.”

The laughter came in a swift burst with Iruka pointing at the jounin, finding his reaction mildly hysterical.

Shrugging, Kakashi watched Iruka clasp a hand over his chest, the younger male shaking his head in bewilderment. The shorter of the two failed to notice the chalk dust streaming off the tray, gathering at his feet, until it rose behind him in an arc and crashed over his body in fine particles. He was coated in the stuff. Once the dust cleared Iruka spat out the bitter residue, leaving a wet spot on the floor. Kakashi arched an eyebrow and stared, “You know you can swallow that, right? It won’t kill you.”

Iruka’s expression went from surprised to clueless. Yes, he could have, but why would he want to? It was chalk.

“Better not let any of your students see. They’ll think you do a lot more in here than grading papers.”

It clicked, and Iruka went for the throat. They tumbled down again, wrestling on the floor, each man reaching up on a regular basis to obtain more ammunition, raising a pale fog. When the commotion finally settled they sat up, panting softly. Iruka shook the chalk from his ponytail, freezing as Kakashi’s hand settled on the side of his face, gazing at the jounin inquisitively.

“Now look what you did, “ Kakashi stated huskily, his masked lips resting near to Iruka’s ear. “It’s everywhere.” Taking a thumb, he smeared a streak of chalk across the chuunin’s cheek and began to laugh.

“Grow up,” Iruka grumbled, batting his hand away. He assumed automatically that the comment had some perverse connotation and this time he refused to give it any thought. Knowing it was something he’d rather not know was good enough. Dusting himself off, he rose to his feet, collecting the papers from his desk, “When I’m done, why don’t we see if the fish are biting?”

Kakashi gathered the sheets of paper strewn across the floor, adding them to the pile, “Might as well.”

When Kakashi entered the Hokage’s office Tsunade was already rubbing her temples. Had he been expecting anything else, he would have taken it as a bad sign.

“ANBU is leading the investigation,” she began, wasting no time on pleasantries, “They searched the area and found nothing to suggest who was responsible. There was a lot of blood found on the premises, most of which was yours. The rest belonged to the young girl, whom we have yet to identify. We can locate nothing relating to the abduction of a child who matches her profile; no relevant reports or mission requests in any other country.”

Tsunade’s fingers angled into a steeple, her brow furrowing, “It is unclear what became of the other bodies or other organic matter left behind. It is possible that another party may have cleaned up the evidence before we got there, but even after blood stains have disappeared there are traces of the elimination process left behind. It’s a top priority to ascertain how anyone could have been made aware of the circumstances before we were. Is it possible that they may have had any companions you were unaware of or a contact close by?”

The weight of Kakashi’s hands in his pockets felt abnormally evident, “It’s possible. It didn’t occur to me at the time.” Tsunade scribbled something down, shaking her head disapprovingly. Observing this, a shard of ice twisted in Kakashi’s stomach, gouging its lining. He swallowed dryly, fingers turning cold against his palms.

“How’s your memory?”

My memory?

“As good as yours, if not better,” the jounin replied, lazily meeting her gaze, refraining from elaborating on his response, at least out loud. At your age, at least you have an excuse. He was incensed by an undercurrent in her demeanor – the forceful churning of impatience and disbelief.

Her eyes told him nothing.

“After questioning the villagers who placed the original request to aid their companions,” she continued, “it was determined that they knew nothing of what occurred. This has lead us to believe the possibility of someone acquiring the information between its inception and its release. As you know, mission requests are kept confidential and accessed only by those with proper authority.”

Clearing her throat, she brought her elbows to rest on the table, “The poison you were exposed to is rare, which explains why you had little resistance toward it, but it is not so rare as to be found in isolated areas alone. Possible sources are being checked for leads. Unfortunately, many of those who trade in such goods are not easy to find and reluctant to discuss any business transactions. They’re not exactly selling fruits and vegetables.”

Exhaling with a sigh, the Hokage closed the book in front of her, pivoting the chair to face the window, “Take it easy for a while. I’ll keep you updated on the situation if you wish to have any further involvement”

“Let me know when you hear something.”

“I will.”

“Oh, and Kakashi?”

“Mhn?”

“I thought you would have learned to recognise your limitations by now. Don’t make the same mistake again.”

The ice melted and flowed from the concave in which it pooled. When he reached the door the water was already boiling.

If birds could speak in doggerel, surely it would have sounded something like this; the cacophonic shrieking of a thousand tongues swollen under the weight of discordant, mismatched words. Ugly words. You get the impression that even if you could understand what they were saying, you wouldn’t want to know.

Electric blue ribbons infiltrate the flock. Birds are encircled and anchored to crackling currents of energy, spun into a luminous sphere. Static elevates the hair grounded in your flesh. The scent of ozone foreshadows the impact, acrid and sulphuric.

It isn’t until it’s about to hit you that you realise the birds are screaming.

The ball of chakra glowed in the slanted shadows of the forest, molding to the open palm of Kakashi’s right hand, the opposite of which tightly gripping the opposite arm. His feet spat back clumps off moss as he hurtled forward, covering a short distance before the underside of his sandals made contact with a sheer rock face. Chakra flaring at the soles of his feet, he ascended the cliff, bolting toward his target. Rocks skittered down the stone wall, upset by the jounin’s rapid movement. A dark eye narrowed murderously. Objective within range, he bounded and fell into its shadow.

The old, crooked tree had drawn his focus early on. It was the way it stuck out from the rock, jutting toward the sky at an awkward angle, sturdy despite its decrepit appearance. It prevailed where not even grass would grow; a long ago seed wedged deep into a crack. It was a survivor; a worthy target for any assassin.

It was not merely the conversion of chakra from its unrefined state to high-voltage currents of electricity which occupied the jounin’s mind – the process itself was fueled by the anger and bitterness which accompanied a lack of closure; too many unanswered questions. There never was a choice. He either drew attention away from the vulnerable less-accomplished ninja who were challenged far beyond their capabilities or he watched them die. He hadn’t anticipated the outcome; sure as hell hadn’t asked for it.

Recognise my limitations … I do! And you know what? If I had to make the same decision, I’d do the same thing! Again and again! Only difference is – this time, I wouldn’t let her go.

A deft, well-practiced motion of his arm and the base of the trunk was obliterated, coughing up bits of sawdust, spitting the tree to the ground where it bounced and rolled before crashing to a stop in the underbrush, split down the middle.

Momentarily satisfied, Kakashi slid back to the base of the cliff. Each branch was torn from its position and whipped against the bark, leaving harsh pink markings engraved in its pale flesh; the leaves frayed and dislocated. When a stick was worn down to a feeble strip another was taken in its place. Eventually the tree was rendered naked, bloody and scarred. Kakashi briefly stared at the blood before examining his right hand. The chakra had scorched his palm, leaving a large hole in the center of his leather glove. Around the edges of the open wound the blood had begun to clot in dark clusters while the interior bled freely. He hadn’t felt it. Only when he looked at it did it begin to hurt, throbbing sharply, a fresh layer of blood welling to the surface with each pulse.

Kakashi shrugged, pocketed his hands, and headed for home.

Iruka was on his way home for the day when he spotted the light-haired jounin, waving in the other’s direction. Kakashi smiled lazily, raising a hand in response. The chuunin stalked over to his side, snagging the older male’s wrist, glaring at his palm.

“What do you think you’re doing?” growled Iruka, tugging Kakashi roughly toward the school, “Trying to scare the kids? You’re bleeding all over the place. Or were you too busy reading those trashy novels to notice?” Dealing with rowdy children all day typically left his tolerance for crap at a bare minimum by the time his students were dismissed.

“No, no, it’s fine,” Kakashi insisted, waving an arm in protest as he laughed nervously, digging into the ground with his heels.

“It’s not fine!” Refusing to allow the jounin to escape in such condition, he practically dragged the older male, leaving streaks of resistance in the sand. He knew if Kakashi really wanted to get away he had no chance of holding him back, but his expression foretold the consequences of such. Kakashi couldn’t hide from him forever. “Walking around like a brainless idiot …” grumbling to himself, Iruka attempted to shove Kakashi through the front door, grunting and giving the jounin’s backside a kick when the older male braced himself against the frame.

“That’s going to leave a bruise,” muttered Kakashi, hanging his head, fingertips grazing the back of his neck.

Iruka snorted softly, directing Kakashi into the staff room, herding him up to the sink. Removing a first aid kit from a nearby drawer, he cut the remaining fabric from Kakashi’s hand and turned on the water, forcing the other’s fingers beneath it. He stood behind the older male, gently rotating his hand beneath the stream. The blood washed away and he examined the extent of the burn. Turning off the water, Iruka applied an excess of burn cream to Kakashi’s palm, rubbing it into the skin in a slow, circular motion. The jounin lowered his chin, wordlessly watching Iruka’s hand maneuver, the darker colour of the other’s skin contrasting against his own. He liked that they failed to blend into an unrecognizable mass, beginnings and endings unidentifiable. They stood independent and apart yet unmistakably together. Flexing his fingers, he closed the digits around Iruka’s hand, halting its progress. Iruka linked his free arm around Kakashi’s waist, pulling back to capture the jounin in an awkward hug. The older male tensed at first but relaxed gradually, settling against him.

After applying the last of the cream to Kakashi’s burn, Iruka bandaged the injury, “Be careful, will you?”

The jounin rolled an eye.

“I mean it!” Iruka snapped, smacking the other upside the head.

“Are you that concerned?”

There was no fumbling for something to say or burning in his cheeks. If Kakashi had intended to embarrass him, it would not work this time. Iruka replied calmly, flatly, “Yes.”

Surprised, Kakashi rubbed the back of his neck, smiling slightly, “Well then, try not to worry too much. You’re going to give yourself an aneurysm,” he replied, giving the end of Iruka’s nose a tap before showing himself out the door.

It’s probably nothing. Maybe he’s finally catching up on his sleep.

Iruka’s knuckles halted abruptly before making contact with Kakashi’s door, suspended over the hardwood.

What if he is asleep and I wake him up? I’d feel really bad.

It had been days since he’d last seen Kakashi. The jounin’s previous mission was logged as complete, but he had failed to report for duty since. No one took issue with this. He was permitted as much time as he felt he needed to fully recover.

I’ll come back later.

Several steps were taken away from the door before Iruka froze.

He shouldn’t be alone for too long. He’s not well. Is there food in the house? What if he’s hurt, or needs help? If he tripped and hit his head, he could be bleeding to death!

Iruka didn’t bother to knock. The unlocked door swung wide as the chuunin kicked it in, bouncing hard off the wall, nearly abandoning its hinges in the aftershock. It was more instinct than necessity.

Softly, apologetically, he closed the door behind him, darkening the room.

What the hell?

It was not natural darkness. Even with the lights turned off during the day there was no reason for the room to be saturated in pitch. The windows must have been covered. He turned his head, noticing even the strip of light which should appear beneath the door was absent.

“Kakashi-sensei?”

He felt around blindly, locating a light switch before long, flicking it. Pieces of wood were scattered over the surface of the floor, ranging in size from barely visible scraps to large islands. They were as thin as pencil shavings.

Did something explode?

A kunai was strewn amongst the debris. The moisture evaporated from his mouth.

“Kakashi!” he screamed, taking off frantically. He skidded around a corner, the light growing dim and far away. His foot caught on something, causing him to lose his balance, bringing his knees to the floor. Hands against the wall, he rose cautiously, fingertips seeking another light source. The wooden boards were uneven, their texture altered.

Got it!

The light turned on. Kakashi, seated a few feet away, raised an arm to shield his eye from the sudden flare.

Iruka breathed heavily, staring at the wall in confusion and disbelief. There was no mention in the mission report of the hours Kakashi had spent distracting himself with the shallow lines and deep trenches woven through the rock wall in the room where he was held.

This was an exact copy of the original.

Kakashi kept an arm pressed tightly to the side of his head, a pair of floppy ears twined around his wrist, his free hand drawing a finger along to another point on the wall, settling there. The rabbit was placed in his lap.

Moving meticulously, he ensured each footstep was heard and registered clearly to avoid startling the elder shinobi, each motion fully detectable previous to its outcome. Iruka progressed nearer to the jounin, watching him intently. When raised among humans, a wild animal was still inclined to bite. This instinct could not be eradicated and Iruka had no intention of getting bitten. When he was close enough he reached out slowly, cautiously depositing a hand on the older male’s arm, drawing it away from its protective position. Kakashi bowed his head to stare at the ground, rubbing an eye wearily.

All Iruka could do was question the obvious. “Are you all right?”

Screw Kakashi’s pride. If he was offended by being distinctly not all right under these circumstances he was operating in a world entirely of his own.

Kakashi nodded slowly. “I’m all right. I’m good.” He took the rabbit by the mid-section. It hopped on his thigh. “Just taking a break.”

Denial was better than delusion. Or were they the say thing?

“Since you’re taking a break, why don’t you try getting some sleep?”

The jounin sat alongside the wall, resting his head against it, “They won’t let me.” His words were tired, as if spoken a thousand times before, the final hint of an echo before it disappeared. The space between them stretched for kilometers.

Iruka tightened his grip on the older male’s arm, “They can’t hurt you any more, Kakashi. There’s only you and me.” He studied the jounin, wondering how much of his behaviour was beyond his control, and how much was accepted as a form of self-punishment. It had occurred to him that Kakashi might blame himself for events beyond his control, but he could not be certain of its depth.

Kakashi continued to shake his head, muttering softly, “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I can’t answer what I don’t know. How many times do I have to tell you? I don’t know … I don’t know.”

“It’s nothing,” the chuunin stated, sliding his hand to Kakashi’s elbow.

Curling forward, Kakashi drew his arms toward his knees, squishing the rabbit against his chest, shivering despite the drops of sweat which darkened the sides of his hitai-ate, “I didn’t tell them anything, I swear! I didn’t …”

Iruka undid the light-haired male’s hitai-ate at the back. Kakashi always tied it vertically. He set the protective metal aside but kept it close, soothing a damp strand of hair back from the other’s face, his reply firm, “There was nothing for you to tell.”

“Nothing …” Kakashi repeated the word to himself, even after it faded from his tongue. Had it all been for nothing? Was it presumptuous to assume there was any other outcome?

Subtract everything and you’re left with nothing. But would nothing then be something, and all that remains everything? If nothing was all there was, would it not also be considered everything?

“What does that mean to you?” Iruka questioned cautiously, knowing his companion to be in a volatile state-of-mind.

Kakashi’s arms unfolded, returning to his sides, and he leaned back a bit, supported by the sturdy frame behind him. He laughed a little, “It’s the village motto.”

“What village?”

Kakashi drew a wide circle, directing Iruka’s focus to an area of the wall. The jounin’s finger advanced to a spot where two paths appeared to merge, “They have it written on a sign, so everyone who comes will know. Sometimes people paint over the letters, but someone always fixes it … puts the letters back together … ‘Nothing makes sense. We only convince ourselves that it does.’ It’s a good motto. We fixed the sign once.”

We?

Iruka studied the wall carefully. When Kakashi moved his hand he saw the spot to which he had pointed. There was a rectangular bump on the edge of the path ; a sign.

“It’s a map of the world,” Kakashi explained in a scholarly tone.

“Seems like an interesting place. Can you tell me more about it?”

The older male had a childlike flare for rambling excitedly about small details, things that only a child would notice and see fit to point out, mindless to the fact that adults would only stare, see nothing, and say whatever they thought would appease them most. He explained the local landscape, described the members of the town, and recalled recent events.

“He wanted to go for a walk yesterday but his leg fell asleep. We made lots of noise. When it got too loud his leg woke-up, but by then he no longer felt like walking.”

“They put cucumbers on the road and it made the seagulls very angry.”

“Obito wouldn’t eat the lasagna because it poisoned his rodent launcher. It’s his job to feed the butterflies.”

Obito?

As Kakashi spoke he shifted back gradually until he was resting against Iruka, making it easy for the younger male to eventually urge him to his feet. “Come on. You need to sleep before you decide the whole house needs redecorating and your furniture ends up on the lawn. You’re safe here.”

Kakashi made a move to pull away, leaning back toward the wall, but Iruka would not allow it, eventually getting the elder shinobi pointed in the right direction without resistance. The jounin stretched out on the bed. Iruka sat nearby.

“Are you going to wake me up?” Kakashi inquired, sounding mostly asleep, which Iruka suspected he had already been for some time now.

“I’ve already got you in bed, haven’t I? Might as well see if I can get you out of it.”

Kakashi laughed faintly and then was quiet.

Iruka shifted a hand from his lap, fingers out-stretched, hovering above Kakashi’s head. Gradually it settled, delving into the pale strands of the tired jounin’s hair. The tips of his fingers moved tentatively at first, tenderly raking soft tendrils; an anarchy of soft, almost metallic tones.

A subtle alteration in Kakashi’s position brought his head to rest in Iruka’s lap, one arm sliding around his back while the other draped languidly over a leg, fingers curling loosely against the fabric of his pants. Iruka continued the idle caressing of his companion’s hair.

It wasn’t long before Kakashi was asleep.

It seemed repugnant and unfairly sadistic to think anyone could be suited for pain but it inexplicably complimented Kakashi. The jounin’s expression was robbed of emotion but lacked subtle hints of boredom or disinterest. The result was something simple and almost serene; a form of silent acceptance. Kakashi’s dark pupil dilated, occupying a larger portion of his lone visible eye, conveying a sense of sorrowful affection. It was frightening at first to see the infamous copy ninja look so human - unnatural. But with time Iruka realised Kakashi wore each hurtful ache with dignity and grace. It was inexplicable to him that someone could look so beautiful and yet so sad.

Iruka stood outside the stone circle while Kakashi crowded the monument, giving the two ample space. To cross the line from the dewy grass to the cobblestone had all the appeal of infringing on holy ground, treading where he lacked the authority to be. There was nothing prohibiting him from being at Kakashi’s side but the dull sense of unease gnawing at the walls of his chest. At the moment it was somehow important for Kakashi to be alone while remaining in the presence of his company. That much he could tell.

He waited for the sun to dry the grass before stretching out, head resting against his arm. The light was warm and soft on his face and he closed his eyes, savouring the scent of freshly cut grass which drifted from the village. Iruka dozed lightly, effortlessly, and awoke sometime later, finding Kakashi seated across from him with the cover of a brightly-coloured book further obscuring his face.

“You could have woken me up,” the chuunin exclaimed, combing the grass out of his ponytail as he sat up.

“You looked happy,” Kakashi replied, rising to his feet.

Iruka rose alongside him, turning toward the village, dragging his feet as he thought of the pile of marking which awaited him, not to mention cleaning the bathroom, doing what little laundry he allowed to accumulate, de-frosting the freezer … He was slouching dejectedly by the time he realised he’d gotten ahead of Kakashi. In fact, the jounin hadn’t moved a step. He just stood there staring at him. “What?” the chuunin inquired, shifting a bit, feeling awkward under the intensity of Kakashi’s gaze.

“Can I kiss you?”

Can you …

No appropriate response came to mind. All Iruka could think to do was nod his head in affirmation, feet grounded in the same position. Only gradually did he manage to turn, forcing his toes to point in the opposite direction.

Kakashi approached him slowly, focus unwavering. Like everyone in Konoha, Iruka had invested a fair bit of time into contemplating what Kakashi looked like beneath the dark layers of fabric. It was possible that he was hiding something, an embarrassing flaw or a battle scar inclined to frighten small children. Iruka generally discounted such things with the understanding that the contours of Kakashi’s face visible through the ever-present mask were subtle yet normal in every respect. Over the years he’d begun to suspect that whatever Kakashi was hiding had nothing to do with his appearance. Knowing he was about to find out for certain, one way or another, left him nervous and excited.

The jounin’s index finger slid along the bridge of his nose, dipping beneath the material, drawing it downward, slipping it beneath his chin with an abrupt tug, his hand still at his throat as he inclined his head, seizing Iruka’s lips in a fervent oral crush. Iruka was startled by the sleek plain of Kakashi’s lips - damp and smooth, unnaturally soft from countless hours confined to darkness. As his fingertips began to explore the contours of Kakashi’s pale face, Iruka found a lack of abnormal growths and other such cringe-worthy afflictions, only gentle alabaster minus its protective cloak. To his toughened hands it felt fragile and new.

Kakashi curved a hand around Iruka’s side, gripping his waist. He grazed the dark-haired male’s bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, nibbling lightly on the other. They tasted faintly of salt, as if kissed by the sea. A pang of nervousness hit the centre of Kakashi’s chest and he drew back hurridly, casting his focus elsewhere, a wild crimson flush overtaking his cheeks. He made a desperate grab for the fabric tucked beneath his chin, an eye widening as his hand was met with resistance.

In that instant Iruka concluded Kakashi looked mildly terrified. He took Kakashi’s hand, kissing the corner of his mouth, “Again.”

Kakashi stood with a stunned expression, unresponsive at first as Iruka greeted his lips with his own, finally coming around when the chuunin gave his arm a forceful squeeze.

He breathed softly though his nose, inhaling Iruka’s scent, the pervading fragrance of summer, lips parting, granting access to the interior of Iruka’s mouth. Their tongues mingled with eager caresses, slick and heated. Hesitant, exploratory kisses evolved into ardent exchanges, the regular pattern of their breathing faltering, clothing tugged and tightly compressed between closed fingers. They were both wearing various shades of red long before the kiss broke, Iruka’s grasp firm on Kakashi’s side, digging into his shirt to make contact with the scarred flesh beneath.

“Once more,” the jounin spoke softly, lips following the curve of Iruka’s neck to the hollow of his throat. Catching the other’s flesh between the rows of his teeth he sucked softly, careful not to leave a mark which wouldn’t fade by the morning, his tongue tracing the half-moon impression - pale around the edges, flushed between its curves.

A low groan rose from the depths of Iruka’s throat as he tilted his head back, fingers catching in the jounin’s hair, Kakashi’s tongue flicking from his chin to his mouth where the chuunin caught it between his lips, sucking briefly on the damp muscle, kissing him deeply. He pressed his frame intently against that of the older male, arching his back as Kakashi’s hands migrated to the base of his spine, tugging his hips forward. Iruka gasped, feeling the heat trickle down from his cheeks, and when Kakashi made a sudden grab for his backside he emitted a startled squawk.

Arching an eyebrow, Kakashi peered at the younger male, quiet until the expression on Iruka’s face urged him into easy laughter.

It was refreshing to hear him laugh, that distinctly human sound.

It suited him.

___________

Faces locked in emphatic declarations of concentration Kakashi and Iruka busied their fingers, multi-coloured buttons clicking softly. Iruka leaned forward, tilting his controller to the side. On the television his graphically-rendered vehicle (it looked more like a demented baby carriage) skidded around a sharp concrete corner, narrowly missing a red box which would have exploded upon impact, dropping a banana in his wake. Behind him Kakashi was approaching the same corner. The jounin blasted the banana out of the way with a carefully aimed green shell, firing a second shell, this one red in colour, immediately after. The shell went careening after Iruka, smashing into the side of his carriage, popping the last of his three balloons. Iruka dropped his head, loosening his grip on the controller. Kakashi snickered softly.

When the next course was brought up Iruka tightened his fingers around the strangely shaped plastic, holding it firmly. He wouldn’t lose to Kakashi again.

Kakashi’s passengers consisted of a large dirt-coloured ape and a small pony-tailed, spiky-shelled creature of dubious origins. Iruka’s kart contained a larger version of the mysterious creature and a lithe monkey - the latter of which was inclined to pound itself repeatedly on the head when faced with a loss, which was at least better than all the crying and screaming provided by Kakashi’s miniature monster under similar circumstances.

This time Iruka strategically positioned a banana behind an items box, from which one obtained a variety of ‘weapons’, and Kakashi vaulted into the dip not noticing it until his kart was spinning, a balloon popping overhead.

“Bananacide!” Iruka called out, elbowing the light-haired male who grunted faintly and placed him in a temporary headlock.

Kakashi took off and circled around, returning with an arsenal of mushrooms to increase his speed, ramming Iruka into the sideboard. As if that wasn’t bad enough, the act removed one of Iruka’s balloons and gave it to Kakashi, who now had an extra to potentially secure his survival. Iruka drove around in search of the perfect position from which to conduct an ambush, settling between a pair of pillars. When Kakashi came into sight he fired. The shell brushed past him harmlessly, too far ahead.

“Premature release,” Kakashi chided, prompting Iruka to turn swiftly and pound him on the shoulder. Still, Kakashi continued to admonish him. “Don’t get overzealous. If you displayed more control it wouldn’t come shooting out so fast.” The jounin laughed boyishly, notably less focused on the game. Iruka exploited the sudden lull in Kakashi’s defenses, using his star power to zoom past the jounin and reclaim his balloon. Kakashi barely noticed or barely cared. Either option was inevitably the same thing.

Iruka darted in and out of narrow corridors, speeding across the screen. With Kakashi hurtling in his direction he spun around quickly, dropping a massive banana, nearly running into it himself as he maneuvered out of the way. Still snickering to himself, the jounin saw the banana and stared, not even bothering to avoid it. He smashed into the over-sized fruit, dividing it into multiple smaller versions.

“That was a big banana, Iruka-sensei,” he stated, grinning crookedly.

The chuunin snorted faintly, refusing to be distracted. Kakashi moved in, intent on nailing him with a green shell only to miss by a fraction. The shell came spinning back at him, popping his second balloon. Only one remained.

“I shot myself,” Kakashi exclaimed, his tone shocked, fingers rising to caress the back of his neck as Iruka zoomed around, discarding relatively useless or difficult to use items in search of something better with which to deliver the final blow. He didn’t want to risk granting Kakashi the opportunity to recover. At last he acquired just the thing for the job, a red shell – equipped with heat-seeking capabilities. Kakashi was puttering around aimlessly, more amused by the act of shitting out bananas at regular intervals than attempting to win this round. Iruka stalked the jounin, waiting for him to steer clear of the banana field where the precious shell could easily be wasted. Eventually Kakashi noticed what Iruka was so delicately conveying and some form of survival instinct kicked in. He increased the distance between them, hugging the corners closely where the shell could venture too close to the wall and explode.

Iruka gradually forced Kakashi into a patch of open road where the jounin began to zig crazily from side-to-side, “Don’t do it!” the older male protested, “Hold it in!” The chuunin released the shell just as Kakashi yanked the controller out of the console with his foot, the wire caught between his toes. Nothing happened. Iruka moved to attack the older male but Kakashi saw it coming. He adeptly plucked the second controller from its socket with the same foot, fingers curling around the wires as he intercepted the tackle, catching Iruka around the middle and throwing him down on his back. He had the ends of the cables tied around Iruka’s upper arms before the chuunin even realised his efforts had been wasted. The dark-wires crisscrossed his torso, pulled tight against the inside of his thighs.

Flipping over, Iruka shifted to all fours, a hand falling firmly upon his shoulder.

“Stay still,” Kakashi instructed.

“What are you – Oof!” He was shoved flat against the ground, managing only to raise his hips, an electric shudder permeating deep in his flesh as the cables wrapped around again, snugly framing his groin. On the length of his back the controllers themselves crossed, forming a silver butterfly beneath his shoulders. Iruka could move a little but the friction and the way the wires pulled together made him wonder if that was really a good idea. His skin was hot beneath and the tightly tied cables strained in all the right places. Blushing violently, hair coming lose in his face due to the progressive unraveling of his pony-tail, he was yanked to his knees, back to the older male. Iruka blew his hair from his eyes and turned his head. The jounin’s smile held a degree sweetness which only the truly guilty were able to manifest. It was fortunate that Kakashi was supporting him for when the other proceeded to kiss his neck he doubted he would have done a very good job on his own.

One of Kakashi’s hands curved to fit the side of Iruka’s face, teasingly brushing their lips together, pulling his head back just enough to prevent further contact whenever Iruka attempted it. Finally he tilted the chuunin’s head in accordance with his own, kissing him, a hand invading the confines of Iruka’s shirt, stroking his bare skin where his clothing wasn’t forcefully pinned down.

Iruka bit down on the inside of his bottom lip, arching against the older male, rocking his hips slowly. He tipped his head back, moaning softly. The last thing he expected was for the cables to loosen, going slack against his frame before falling off. Kakashi placed the controllers on the floor, smirking as he bent to bite Iruka’s shoulder, “I win.”

Faint, barely audible vocalizations, monotone ‘mn’s and ‘nh’s which rose from the jounin at sporadic intervals made Iruka wonder what Kakashi was dreaming about. The older male was spread languidly over the couch, atop the chuunin, lips parted against the damp skin of his neck. Iruka had a hand on Kakashi’s back, stroking it softly, light from the television flickering over them. He pressed a kiss to Kakashi’s temple, closing his eyes.

Iruka was asleep when Kakashi awakened in a panic, breathing harshly, afflicted with a series of forceful tremors. When the quaking ceased, leaving only his hands shaky and unsteady, he bent his legs, kneeling over Iruka’s frame, gazing down at him. The younger male appeared peaceful and content. It registered as a forceful blow to the chest.

What am I doing here? We’ve become too close. I never should have allowed this to happen. I’m going to lose him like I lost the others.

I can’t.

He remained awake for the rest of the night, watching Iruka sleep, aware all the while that he was only making things worse; harder. Iruka awoke early, greeted by the soft touch of Kakashi’s lips on the scarred bridge of his nose. Smiling sleepily, he linked an arm around the other’s neck, “Hungry?”

Kakashi nodded methodically, thighs pressing against Iruka’s hips. The dark-haired male stared up at him, his chest heaving suddenly as he felt the warmth of Kakashi’s fingers there, roaming beneath his shirt. He drew Kakashi’s head down to kiss his mouth, lips parting eagerly, flicking their tongues together. Kakashi ground into him, inciting simultaneous gasps. Iruka bucked his hips, groaning softly as Kakashi’s index finger circled his nipple, rubbing its hardening contours.

Kissing the older male harder, Iruka bit down on Kakashi’s bottom lip, tugging it hard enough to make it sting, causing the jounin to grunt faintly and return the favour. The more voraciously Iruka’s lips stung the more he realised they could never burn enough; never sting so badly that the pleasure faded into pain. The constant tingle only left him wanting more. He was now beyond the point of caring how he was going to explain the teeth marks to a room full of curious children. Iruka’s hand passed down Kakashi’s back in a wavering, serpentine motion, drifting back and forth over his spine, halting briefly at its base before sliding down his pants, stroking the curve of his backside.

So warm …

Chakra flared at the tips of Kakashi’s fingers, converted to an electric warmth and smoothed over the expanse of Iruka’s chest. What it did to him felt far too good to be natural and imaging that voltaic heat elsewhere had him about ready to tear Kakashi’s clothes off.

Copying Kakashi, Iruka channeled his chakra to the pads of his fingers, warming it to a pleasant tingle, digging the digits into Kakashi’s rear, easing off as his hand shifted to the jounin’s hip, sliding into his pants from the front.

Tensing, Kakashi seized Iruka’s wrist, easing his hand back in the direction from which it had come, pinning it to the couch, easing off the muscular body beneath him. He knew this would be too much; the final opportunity to minimalise the damage. Kakashi felt as if he had no choice but to drive things to this point, strategically forcing himself to back off in doing so. To risk taking things any further, to risk getting any closer, was unacceptable – he would only lose what he’d never intended to find. Taking a seat by the window, he pressed his forehead against the cool glass.

I can’t.

Staring up at the ceiling, Iruka laid in the exact position Kakashi had left him in, panting softly, trying to relax and abate the rush of hormones which left his body needy and stiff. He was finally able to pry himself off the cushions, walking over to Kakashi, placing a hand on his elbow.

Go long enough without confiding in people and you’ll reach the point where you can’t. No matter how hard you try the words refuse to form, clogging the back of your throat with sentence fragments.

Kakashi said nothing.

Iruka could not identify the exact source of the problem and he wasn’t about to start guessing. He moved closer to Kakashi and hugged him tight.

After that he saw much less of him.

It defied logic. Kakashi was marching to the gallows, fitting himself with a noose, and waiting for the platform to pop open underneath him. He was adorning his feet with bloodied meat and dangling them in shark-infested waters. He was smoking in a methane plant.

I’m setting myself up for disaster. You can’t lose something you don’t have. Why have something you’re only going to lose? I’m unlucky, and why should that change?

I can’t ignore him. I can’t be around him without giving him what he wants. Not when I want the same thing.

“Everyone needs a hobby.” Remember when he told me that? It was his 22nd birthday and 2nd bottle of sake. I read everything I could get my hands on. Why is it no longer enough? It was fine! Now this? Why is he more important? What makes him so fucking special?

Kakashi sighed heavily, standing in the cobbled circle surrounding the stone monument. A name for every fallen leaf.

I know exactly what you’d say – that stupid old cliché. That’s what bothers me the most. Not an original thought in your head. Why do I care what you think in the first place? Is it because I can’t ignore the way you see things, knowing your sight to be superior to my own? You see things other people can’t. The only reason why I see as well as I do is because of you. That brings us back to where we started. Your fucking emotional ideals. Your fucking borrowed words, “Better to have loved and lost, than never loved at all.”

He looked to the ground, compelled to lie there, thinking nothing, doing nothing, and when someone happened by and asked what was wrong he would laugh as if they had said the funniest thing he’d ever heard. Each breath was the equivalent of a drawn-out sigh, his throat tense, acutely aware of the dull throbbing positioned directly between his eyes.

I don’t know what to do.

I should have killed her peacefully, in her sleep, when she didn’t have to see or feel a thing, and then done the same to myself, only with my sight and my senses fully aware. Even then it would not be punishment enough.

What the hell have I done?

He rubbed the back of his neck absently, hanging his head. At least the dead were good listeners. A hand rested briefly over his left eye, passing the warmth of his palm through his hitai-ate.

Forgive me for not realising sooner …This is something I have no right to consider. I can only be forgiven by resisting the things I want, not embracing them. To do so is too easy. Too simple. There is no sacrifice involved.

I’m sorry, Iruka-sensei.

An orange butterfly settled on the stone monument, lazily flexing its wings. Kakashi stared at it for a long time. Eventually, he reversed his decision.

The following afternoon a team of Konoha genin were killed in the midst of the chuunin exam. Kakashi didn’t hang around long enough to absorb all the details, taking a path over the rooftops to land at Iruka’s window. He extended a hand, tapping against the glass.

Iruka opened the window with his head bowed, ponytail caught in the midst of coming unraveled at the base. He caught hold of the other’s arm, fingers flitting fleetingly over Kakashi’s wrist, taking a step toward him as the jounin stepped into the room.

Kakashi’s arms encircled the dark-haired male, drawing him near.

The act of comforting someone physically was very different from offering soft-spoken words of reassurance. The majority of practice experience Kakashi had in regard to such was a distant touch or reassuring pat. In the past, physical closeness was foreign and usually uncomfortable, the ashes of a fire which faded with the death of his father. He watched other people interact, studying their behaviour and their mannerisms, contemplating the absurdity of making friends with people you might very well be burying two weeks later. Kakashi never understood such things. Sharing personal information. Making friends. Touching so willingly. Willing to be touched. These were techniques he could not copy.

He sat with Iruka on the edge of the bed, nudging the line of his neck, dusting caramel-coloured skin with masked lips. Iruka turned listlessly, breath shuddering in his throat, chest convulsing. Kakashi unzipped his own vest and wriggled free from the fabric, casting it to the floor. He removed his gloves next, tucking Iruka’s head beneath his chin.

Prior to recent events, Kakashi never felt lonely. It was something he had long ago prohibited himself from acknowledging. To be without company felt natural, discounting any alleged intrinsic link between humans and the psychological need for interpersonal relationships. It may have applied to others, but he experienced nothing of its effects. If there had been a time when he felt otherwise, assailed by the abandonment of affection, of family, it made no difference now. He never thought about it. The emotion was but a harmless ghost. In order to see it, you had to believe in it.

Too many hours in the dark had made him a believer.

To be held by Kakashi felt strange. It wasn’t long ago that Kakashi had displayed reluctance even to touch him, and now the warmth of the jounin’s hands swept over Iruka in a soothing flood, the underside of his lover’s thumbs striking tears from his eyes before they had the opportunity to fall, so close that he could feel the blood beat between them.

Kakashi said nothing, neither telling him to stop nor suggesting that everything was fine and/or going to be okay. They both knew otherwise, and made no attempt to hide it. In the morning the genin would still be dead and pictures they’d drawn in his class would still be packed away in boxes along with all the others he never had the heart to throw away. Nothing would prevent this from happening again. He’d already tried, and Tsunade was less willing to listen than her predecessor when it came to such things.

There was no happy ending.

Did Kakashi comfort him, or just distract him from the pain? Was there any difference between the two? It felt the same as it did before, only Iruka was no longer alone. It did make a difference, he just wasn’t sure how.

This wasn’t as difficult as Kakashi initially feared. Lacking a model to duplicate, the actions were not learned but generated exclusively for the moment. They were unique, created only for Iruka. Kakashi was as patient as he was silent, stroking Iruka’s back, neck, shoulders, finally removing the mask to kiss the salt from his skin; ceaseless, gentle kisses which felt as freely given as any other, rather than the product of obligation. Iruka was expecting it, but Kakashi never did tire of the affections. Their fingers raveled together, knotting tight.

It was late when Iruka finally lapsed exhaustedly into a state of slumber. Kakashi carefully tugged the sheets around the other’s figure, trying not to wake him.

The clock read 6:00 AM. Kakashi checked to see what time the alarm was set for. 6:30 AM. He switched it off and gently pulled the tie free Iruka’s hair, splaying the dark strands over the pillow, fingers lingering there.

“Where’s Iruka-sensei?”

“Iruka-sensei is on an important mission. I’ll be filling in for him today.”

A boy with an aquiline nose and short brown hair rose to his feet, “Who the heck are you?”

“Hatake Kakashi.”

“Are you even qualified to teach this class?”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

The boy stared, unconvinced.

“Approach the desk.”

Muttering his disapproval, the boy progressed to the front of the class where a small box was shoved into his arms. Inside were origami stars, puffed into three dimensions, each one bound to a paperclip, three colours in total.

“Hand these out.”

“You’re the teacher. Why don’t you do it?”

“I’d rather make you do it.”

His protests became more vocal as the boy moved about the glass, distributing the stars, his pessimism as ardent as the bewildered curiosity of his classmates.

Kakashi wrote on the chalkboard:

Pay attention to the colour of your star.
Pin it to your clothes – make sure it’s visible!

Red – Wolf
Orange – Toad
Yellow – Tanuki

He began to speak once the stars were distributed, “There are five of you with red stars. These students will assume the role of a wolf. Toads and tanukis may be caught by them using any technique. Each person will be given a number of cards – ten a piece for ten tanukis, twenty a piece for twenty toads. Each card represents a life. You lose a life each time you are caught and it goes to whomever is responsible for the kill.

Once caught, you are freed again and that same person cannot pursue you again for five minutes. You may give a life card to a member of your own species if they are running low. The goal is to prevent any member of your species from losing all their cards while collecting as many cards as possible to ensure the success and survival of the team.

As I said, wolves can take cards from toads or tanukis. Tanukis can only take cards from toads. For each player the toads can sneak past various points they will receive more cards. Wolves will surrender their cards to me for failure to function as a pack. They begin with two each. Any questions?”

The class stared in silence.

“Good. Let’s get started.”

Kakashi escorted the class to a shady, wooden area where it would be safe for them to play. He had already drawn clear boundaries in the dark earth. The starting point was where the kids dropped their backpacks, carted along so they’d be able to eat their lunch later. First he handed out the cards to the toads, reminding them that their main objective was to remain hidden, and for those who were better at it to assist those who were less adept. The toads were given a head start. The tanukis followed afterward. The wolves departed last.

It was good practice. The toads helped one another and tried hard to remain unseen. The tanukis watched their backs, pouncing a toad whenever the opportunity arose. In theory, the wolves had it easy, but Kakashi was highly critical of their behaviour, deducting cards for petty arguments and the inability to get organized enough to function as a team. Some leapt ahead while others lingered behind. They fought over who got the cards they earned, and no one wanted to share. They spent most of the morning surly and aggravated.

After lunch everyone was refreshed. The wolves stopped arguing and got into the game. Everyone explored new and different ways of doing things in order to accomplish their goals. Most importantly, they worked together. One of the smaller toads had been yelled at earlier in the day by its team members for being caught several times. Now his companions clustered around him protectively in their hiding space. When the wolves attacked chaos ensued. Kakashi pried a toad free from one of the pack, the amphibian enraged at the canine for taking a card from his smaller companion. Even as he was held back he kicked and swore.

Kakashi was pleased with the results and they finished early. Everyone wanted to keep playing. They cooled their feet off in the river. Someone caught a toad and they all crowded around to look, chattering excitedly, as if it was something they’d never seen before.

The class was in a good mood when they went home for the day.

Exhausted, Kakashi returned to Iruka’s house, entering through the window. He stripped down to his sweat pants and shirt, as before. The chuunin was still asleep and he flopped into bed next to him with a soft groan. Iruka awoke several hours later, groggily peering over Kakashi’s frame to gaze at the time.

6:25? Isn’t it a little light outside? I have to get up in five minutes …

When his alarm didn’t go off he eyed the clock again.

6:32 … PM!

Grabbing Kakashi by the arm, he shook the jounin violently, “What the hell happened to the alarm?!”

Kakashi frowned and shifted a bit, tired, “Turned it off.”

“What?!” Iruka was furious with him now, and the shaking persisted, “You really are a lazy bastard!”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Don’t worry? That’s easy for you to say! You’re not the one who -” The dark-haired male’s mouth was captured mid-rant, his tongue suddenly occupied by something other than the formation of angry words. When he pulled back his cheeks were flushed, though some of the colouration was undoubtedly owed to the fact that he almost wanted to strangle Kakashi as much as he wanted to kiss him.

“I took care of it.”

“What?” Iruka’s tone softened considerably.

“You heard me. I have no intention of repeating myself.”

“Why did you …”

“So you wouldn’t have to.”

Iruka felt bad for yelling and jumping to conclusions, though from what he knew of Kakashi he was hardly being unreasonable. “Thank you,” he stated, smiling softly as he kissed the jounin’s forehead. “Please go back to sleep.”

Sliding out of bed, he got up and opened the window, letting a breeze in.

A turn of the reel snapped the bail back into position. Iruka watched the bobber float downstream at a leisurely pace, curling his toes into the wet sand. Something tickled near his ear, likely a bug, and he swatted his neck. The sensation stopped but returned again shortly after. Once more he slapped at the spot and once more the tickling reoccurred. He turned his head to find Kakashi with a long blade of grass between his teeth, its feathered tip hovering near his neck. The jounin smiled sheepishly.

Laughing, Iruka punched the older male in the leg, “Quit that. I’m trying to concentrate.”

“Why? So you can catch more fish salad?”

“I’m not fishing for salad!”

“Mmhmm,” Kakashi replied, flopping back down on the blanket, returning to his reading, facing away from Iruka with his head resting against the other’s back.

Iruka brought the line in a bit, giving it a tug. Additional weight brought the rod tip dipping down and Iruka jerked it back up abruptly, reeling wildly.

“Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Shut up!”

Whatever was on the other end felt nice and heavy and the closer it got to the shore the more excited Iruka became. It emerged from the water glistening in the sunlight – a large clump of weeds.

“Fish salad,” Kakashi affirmed. “It even ate your worm.”

His worm was unaccounted for though Iruka had a suspicion that the weeds were not the culprit. Disentangling the aquatic plants from his hook, he then sifted through his metal bucket for a fresh worm.

Kakashi spread the weeds out over the grass and picked at the water beetles.

A newly acquired worm was procured and inserted onto the hook, with considerable protest on part of the worm. Though the fish were decent in size they had small mouths, meaning they were more inclined to pick at their food than swallow it whole, especially if it was a large portion. This was problematic because whichever segment of your worm happened to dangle freely in the water would inevitably be devoured, leaving whatever was still on the hook and no fish. In order to solve this dilemma, it was common practice to pierce one end of the worm and work the hook along the length of its body, leaving nothing free for the taking.

His line was re-cast and Iruka waited patiently. It had taken his companion less than a minute to pick up where he left off. Iruka was thankful for whatever inspired Kakashi to turn around. Between the fishing pole in his hands and the sound of Kakashi giggling like a school girl behind him Iruka was somehow deeply contented.

Iruka fished more weeds out of the river but hauled in no fish. It was the wrong time of day and with full bellies his death trap would have failed to look overly enticing. He vowed to even the score next time.

They walked toward Kakashi’s house, joined for a while by the stray dog which kept its head low and trailed behind. He stopped when they stopped and though the animal appeared nervous at their approach it stood its ground, eventually leaning in to the affectionate petting, butting them with its head when the soothing fingertips halted too soon. The dog didn’t demand too much of their time, departing on its own accord.

Kakashi’s own dogs had moved back in several days ago now that he possessed sufficient energy to take care of them. Their first day back they wouldn’t allow him out the door, teeth clamping firmly around his clothing, holding him back. Even now they barely tolerated permitting him out of their sight and raised a fuss when he got up to go to the bathroom, filling the house with forlorn howls.

Iruka could hear them clawing at the door as he stood on Kakashi’s front step. One of the jounin’s legs hooked around his own. Iruka shoved him roughly against the wall, catching hold of the cloth separating their lips, pulling it down to reveal Kakashi’s neck. It was here that the older male was placed an advantage, for it mattered not how affectionately battered his skin was; there was no one else to see it. Iruka held the light-haired male by the collar, decreasing the distance between them to an absolute minimum, arms encircling and tightening around the other’s neck, sucking on the spot mid-way between his ear lobe and his jaw bone.

Kakashi moaned lightly, grabbing Iruka’s left hand, the upper portion of his middle and index finger disappearing into the heated confines of his mouth. He arched against the wall, manipulating the digits with his lips and tongue, humming pleasantly around their contours, rubbing Iruka’s wrist.

The vehement sucking of his fingers made Iruka’s groin ache, unable to resist the temptation to watch exactly what Kakashi was doing out of the corner of his eye. He pried his mouth off the other’s neck, leaving a definite welt, stroking the older male’s chin with his thumb, damp fingers slowly pulling free, thread-like strands of saliva crisscrossing between them. Iruka threw himself against the door, twisting the knob only to release it suddenly, before it was turned all the way, halting where he stood, panting heavily, giving himself an exasperating but well-deserved mental beating , “I have to … I have to …” Pausing, he waited to catch his breath, hugging Kakashi around the waist; the jounin standing, waiting patiently.

“I have to prepare an exam for tomorrow and I haven’t even started.” It was true that he could have used an old one, but each year he preferred to alter the questions in accordance with the class’s strengths and weaknesses. It was integral to their growth as young shinobi. Each year the students were different and each year they struggled with different things. “I … Ngh …” Tempted to beat his head against Kakashi’s shoulder, he opted to rest it there instead. He always had examinations prepared ahead of time. It was true that Kakashi had been distracting him lately – but could he possibly be that distracted? It astonishing and unacceptable.

“Tomorrow, after school?” Kakashi suggested.

“Yes,” Iruka replied; at least it was a Friday and they would have the weekend to … be together.

They kissed until Iruka couldn’t stand it any longer and he left muttering to himself in anguish.

Kakashi had to force the dogs away from the door as he opened it, their tails wagging collectively, striking the walls and the furniture.

Obito. Thank you.