Fic: Omurice
Title: Omurice
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Iruka wakes up on his birthday to find that Kakashi made him omurice, which puzzles him; doesn't Kakashi hate fried things?
Author's note: Mostly fluff. I started writing it on Iruka's birthday, but it took me a while to finish it. ._. Sorry, Iruka-sensei!
---
Iruka woke up to the familiar smell of omurice wafting in through his open bedroom door. For several moments he thought he was dreaming of his childhood, when his mother would make him omurice on special occasions like his birthday, or the rare occasions when he behaved; the growling of his stomach, however, convinced him otherwise.
He got up slowly, fingers rubbing his eyes as his feet searched for his slippers. He noted the open bedroom door and sleepily connected it to Kakashi's absence; memories of Kakashi's visit the previous night cluttered his mind like a jumbled collage as he made his way to the dining table. A-rank mission to Iwagakure. Away for two weeks. Kakashi's face going from weary to relaxed as he quickly ate Iruka's curry. Kakashi's warmth enveloping Iruka in the futon, his fingers tracing the contours of Iruka's body as if memorizing them for future reference. The empty space next to Iruka when he woke up, a regular enough occurrence whenever Kakashi stayed the night. Kakashi may have had a reputation for tardiness, but it wasn't as a result of oversleeping---this much Iruka was sure of.
A plate covered by a bowl greeted Iruka at the small dining table. When he lifted the bowl, the smell of freshly-cooked omurice hit him full-force, and he found himself sitting down so he could take it all in. Before him sat a mound of ketchup-reddened rice topped by a perfect yellow omelet with the words "Happy Birthday Iruka-sensei" painstakingly written in ketchup. Iruka knew he hadn't cooked it, and unless his mother's ghost had somehow started haunting his kitchen, Kakashi had made him omurice for breakfast. Kakashi, who hated fried foods with a passion. Kakashi, who had been dropping all kinds of subtle hints all week, though of what Iruka hadn't known, couldn't have known until now. Kakashi, who had come to him the night before with apology in his eyes and in the kisses and caresses with which he'd soothed Iruka to sleep.
Sometimes it was too much trouble to try and understand how Kakashi's mind worked; sometimes it was easier to just accept whatever forms his love took, and be content. Iruka picked up the spoon, delicately broke off a portion of the omelet---he avoided the ketchup lettering, he'd take a picture of it later---and scooped up some rice. When he put the spoonful into his mouth the first thing he thought of was his seventh birthday, the first time his mother had made him omurice. She had written "Happy Birthday Iruka" in ketchup on the omelet, and surrounded it with seven colorful candles. It was one of the happiest days of his childhood.
As Iruka got up to fetch his camera, he made a mental note to pass by the wet market for saury and the grocery store for eggplant in a couple of weeks. When Kakashi returned, it would be Iruka's turn to make breakfast.
* *
5 Days Before
"Ne, Iruka-sensei. Tell me about your favorite food."
Iruka looked up with the quizzical expression on his face that Kakashi loved. Iruka was about as uncomplicated as a Konoha shinobi could get, and Kakashi loved that, too. There was a solidity about him, a stability that never wavered. He was like a landmark, a well-loved face that helped Kakashi find his bearings. Their dinners together were the highlight of Kakashi's week, and he made it a point never to miss them, though he might be late every so often. Such as that night, when the path of life had meandered to his favorite book shop---the new editions of the first Icha Icha books had just been released---before leading towards Iruka's doorstep.
"My favorite food?" echoed Iruka, his chopsticks poised over his bowl. "I'm sure I've told you, Kakashi-sensei. I like ramen, though not as much as Naruto, obviously."
Kakashi pouted, then eased his lips into a neutral expression when he remembered that his mask was down for eating. "Ah, yes. Ramen. Not really the province of the amateur, is it? It requires skill honed through many years of training."
Iruka's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, you could say that. But, why do you ask, Kakashi-sensei?"
"Oh, just a passing fancy." Kakashi waved a hand as if to dismiss the topic. "Is there anything else you like to eat, Iruka-sensei?"
Iruka's face scrunched up as he thought up an answer, and Kakashi's mind quickly supplied him with images of Iruka in bed, making similar, if somewhat more strained, expressions. He managed to tone down the smirk on his lips when Iruka looked at him again and replied, "Well, I used to love omurice as a child."
"Omurice?" Kakashi scratched his nose with a finger. "Isn't that just fried rice and an omelet?"
"It is, but it was much more to me than that." Iruka smiled, and his face grew tender in a way that made Kakashi's heart ache, in a good way. "My mother only made it on my birthday, or when I wasn't going around town making an ass of myself, which wasn't often. She would even write things on the omelet in ketchup, things like 'Happy Birthday' or 'For My Favorite Son.' I have a lot of good memories associated with omurice."
"So it's the sentiment and not the dish that counts, eh, Iruka-sensei?" Kakashi leered at Iruka affectionately. "You wouldn't mind a botched attempt?"
"Depends on what you mean by 'botched.' I won't eat anything burnt, even if it is omurice."
"No need to worry, Iruka-sensei, you won't be eating anything burnt anytime soon."
* *
3 Days Before
"Ne, Iruka-sensei, I happened to pass by the convenience store on my way here and I remembered you."
The blush that spread on Iruka's face was worth more than Kakashi's signed copy of the first Icha Icha book, though he'd never admit it out loud. "Really? What did you get?"
Kakashi reached down into the little plastic bag next to his feet and pulled out a squeeze bottle filled with ketchup. "Tada!"
Iruka's face when he gaped was worth more than Kakashi's limited edition poster of the first Icha Icha movie; Kakashi sometimes daydreamed of taking a photo and having it blown up so he could hang it on his wall, facing his bed. "A ketchup bottle? You remembered me and bought a ketchup bottle?"
"Think of the convenience, Iruka-sensei. All the minutes wasted shaking the ketchup out of the bottle." Kakashi got up and headed to the small kitchen. "I'll just put this away for you, no need to thank me."
"Suit yourself."
Kakashi peeked into Iruka's refrigerator. "I see you're running low on eggs," he remarked. He opened the cabinets. "Soy sauce, too, and mirin."
"Oh?" said Iruka. "You seem awfully concerned about the state of my food supplies."
"Of course! Wouldn't want you to run out on important dinner ingredients, now, would I?" Kakashi winked. "So, what time will we go grocery shopping tomorrow?"
"We?" Iruka stared at him suspiciously, but Kakashi maintained his best innocent expression; as (almost) always, Iruka relented with a sigh. "After class. I'll meet you at the grocery store."
Kakashi grinned. "Can't wait."
* *
1 Hour Before
Kakashi surveyed the cooking implements laid out on the kitchen counter with the same critical eye with which he checked his weapons. He had laid them out in a neat row, along with the necessary ingredients. He felt as if he were going on a cooking show; he even had on the plain blue apron that Iruka wore while making dinner. He was tempted to put on kitchen mitts---nothing irritated him more than hot oil splattering onto his skin---but he decided to forgo them. Like any worthwhile endeavor, cooking entailed sacrifices, and Kakashi was no stranger to enduring sacrifices for the people he loved.
His hands were lost in a blur as he chopped the onions, cut the chicken, and beat the eggs. He slowed down as he sauteed the onions---oil splatters were inevitable, but they could be minimized with enough caution---and added the chicken, then the rice. He squeezed a liberal amount of ketchup and a dash of salt onto the mixture as he stirred before setting it aside. He poured the beaten eggs onto a new pan with utmost care, following the procedure outlined in the illustrated cookbook he'd bought the day before. He accidentally tore the omelet while folding it up the first time around; he transferred the ruined omelet onto a plate before trying to make a new one. Knowing that he had to eat his failures, he got the next one right, and not a minute too soon: he could sense Iruka beginning to wake up.
Kakashi had learned early on that he worked best under pressure. Squeezing out a handwritten message in ketchup was by far the trickiest part, but he managed it in only one try, his strokes swift and sure. After covering the finished omurice with a bowl, he ate his botched omelet in two quick bites---when he held his breath, he could pretend that it was a greasy ration bar---and quickly tidied up after himself. Sparing a glance at the bedroom door he'd left ajar, he smiled, shouldered his pack, and departed silently. No doubt Gai was already waiting by the eastern gates.
Kakashi looked forward to the day when the path of life once again led him to Iruka's apartment; somehow it always did, no matter how far away he went. He knew that Iruka would be there, waiting, with a hot meal and cheerful words.
His mask hid the smile that spread across his lips as he sprinted, leaving clouds of dust in his wake.
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Iruka wakes up on his birthday to find that Kakashi made him omurice, which puzzles him; doesn't Kakashi hate fried things?
Author's note: Mostly fluff. I started writing it on Iruka's birthday, but it took me a while to finish it. ._. Sorry, Iruka-sensei!
---
Iruka woke up to the familiar smell of omurice wafting in through his open bedroom door. For several moments he thought he was dreaming of his childhood, when his mother would make him omurice on special occasions like his birthday, or the rare occasions when he behaved; the growling of his stomach, however, convinced him otherwise.
He got up slowly, fingers rubbing his eyes as his feet searched for his slippers. He noted the open bedroom door and sleepily connected it to Kakashi's absence; memories of Kakashi's visit the previous night cluttered his mind like a jumbled collage as he made his way to the dining table. A-rank mission to Iwagakure. Away for two weeks. Kakashi's face going from weary to relaxed as he quickly ate Iruka's curry. Kakashi's warmth enveloping Iruka in the futon, his fingers tracing the contours of Iruka's body as if memorizing them for future reference. The empty space next to Iruka when he woke up, a regular enough occurrence whenever Kakashi stayed the night. Kakashi may have had a reputation for tardiness, but it wasn't as a result of oversleeping---this much Iruka was sure of.
A plate covered by a bowl greeted Iruka at the small dining table. When he lifted the bowl, the smell of freshly-cooked omurice hit him full-force, and he found himself sitting down so he could take it all in. Before him sat a mound of ketchup-reddened rice topped by a perfect yellow omelet with the words "Happy Birthday Iruka-sensei" painstakingly written in ketchup. Iruka knew he hadn't cooked it, and unless his mother's ghost had somehow started haunting his kitchen, Kakashi had made him omurice for breakfast. Kakashi, who hated fried foods with a passion. Kakashi, who had been dropping all kinds of subtle hints all week, though of what Iruka hadn't known, couldn't have known until now. Kakashi, who had come to him the night before with apology in his eyes and in the kisses and caresses with which he'd soothed Iruka to sleep.
Sometimes it was too much trouble to try and understand how Kakashi's mind worked; sometimes it was easier to just accept whatever forms his love took, and be content. Iruka picked up the spoon, delicately broke off a portion of the omelet---he avoided the ketchup lettering, he'd take a picture of it later---and scooped up some rice. When he put the spoonful into his mouth the first thing he thought of was his seventh birthday, the first time his mother had made him omurice. She had written "Happy Birthday Iruka" in ketchup on the omelet, and surrounded it with seven colorful candles. It was one of the happiest days of his childhood.
As Iruka got up to fetch his camera, he made a mental note to pass by the wet market for saury and the grocery store for eggplant in a couple of weeks. When Kakashi returned, it would be Iruka's turn to make breakfast.
* *
5 Days Before
"Ne, Iruka-sensei. Tell me about your favorite food."
Iruka looked up with the quizzical expression on his face that Kakashi loved. Iruka was about as uncomplicated as a Konoha shinobi could get, and Kakashi loved that, too. There was a solidity about him, a stability that never wavered. He was like a landmark, a well-loved face that helped Kakashi find his bearings. Their dinners together were the highlight of Kakashi's week, and he made it a point never to miss them, though he might be late every so often. Such as that night, when the path of life had meandered to his favorite book shop---the new editions of the first Icha Icha books had just been released---before leading towards Iruka's doorstep.
"My favorite food?" echoed Iruka, his chopsticks poised over his bowl. "I'm sure I've told you, Kakashi-sensei. I like ramen, though not as much as Naruto, obviously."
Kakashi pouted, then eased his lips into a neutral expression when he remembered that his mask was down for eating. "Ah, yes. Ramen. Not really the province of the amateur, is it? It requires skill honed through many years of training."
Iruka's eyebrows shot up. "Yes, you could say that. But, why do you ask, Kakashi-sensei?"
"Oh, just a passing fancy." Kakashi waved a hand as if to dismiss the topic. "Is there anything else you like to eat, Iruka-sensei?"
Iruka's face scrunched up as he thought up an answer, and Kakashi's mind quickly supplied him with images of Iruka in bed, making similar, if somewhat more strained, expressions. He managed to tone down the smirk on his lips when Iruka looked at him again and replied, "Well, I used to love omurice as a child."
"Omurice?" Kakashi scratched his nose with a finger. "Isn't that just fried rice and an omelet?"
"It is, but it was much more to me than that." Iruka smiled, and his face grew tender in a way that made Kakashi's heart ache, in a good way. "My mother only made it on my birthday, or when I wasn't going around town making an ass of myself, which wasn't often. She would even write things on the omelet in ketchup, things like 'Happy Birthday' or 'For My Favorite Son.' I have a lot of good memories associated with omurice."
"So it's the sentiment and not the dish that counts, eh, Iruka-sensei?" Kakashi leered at Iruka affectionately. "You wouldn't mind a botched attempt?"
"Depends on what you mean by 'botched.' I won't eat anything burnt, even if it is omurice."
"No need to worry, Iruka-sensei, you won't be eating anything burnt anytime soon."
* *
3 Days Before
"Ne, Iruka-sensei, I happened to pass by the convenience store on my way here and I remembered you."
The blush that spread on Iruka's face was worth more than Kakashi's signed copy of the first Icha Icha book, though he'd never admit it out loud. "Really? What did you get?"
Kakashi reached down into the little plastic bag next to his feet and pulled out a squeeze bottle filled with ketchup. "Tada!"
Iruka's face when he gaped was worth more than Kakashi's limited edition poster of the first Icha Icha movie; Kakashi sometimes daydreamed of taking a photo and having it blown up so he could hang it on his wall, facing his bed. "A ketchup bottle? You remembered me and bought a ketchup bottle?"
"Think of the convenience, Iruka-sensei. All the minutes wasted shaking the ketchup out of the bottle." Kakashi got up and headed to the small kitchen. "I'll just put this away for you, no need to thank me."
"Suit yourself."
Kakashi peeked into Iruka's refrigerator. "I see you're running low on eggs," he remarked. He opened the cabinets. "Soy sauce, too, and mirin."
"Oh?" said Iruka. "You seem awfully concerned about the state of my food supplies."
"Of course! Wouldn't want you to run out on important dinner ingredients, now, would I?" Kakashi winked. "So, what time will we go grocery shopping tomorrow?"
"We?" Iruka stared at him suspiciously, but Kakashi maintained his best innocent expression; as (almost) always, Iruka relented with a sigh. "After class. I'll meet you at the grocery store."
Kakashi grinned. "Can't wait."
* *
1 Hour Before
Kakashi surveyed the cooking implements laid out on the kitchen counter with the same critical eye with which he checked his weapons. He had laid them out in a neat row, along with the necessary ingredients. He felt as if he were going on a cooking show; he even had on the plain blue apron that Iruka wore while making dinner. He was tempted to put on kitchen mitts---nothing irritated him more than hot oil splattering onto his skin---but he decided to forgo them. Like any worthwhile endeavor, cooking entailed sacrifices, and Kakashi was no stranger to enduring sacrifices for the people he loved.
His hands were lost in a blur as he chopped the onions, cut the chicken, and beat the eggs. He slowed down as he sauteed the onions---oil splatters were inevitable, but they could be minimized with enough caution---and added the chicken, then the rice. He squeezed a liberal amount of ketchup and a dash of salt onto the mixture as he stirred before setting it aside. He poured the beaten eggs onto a new pan with utmost care, following the procedure outlined in the illustrated cookbook he'd bought the day before. He accidentally tore the omelet while folding it up the first time around; he transferred the ruined omelet onto a plate before trying to make a new one. Knowing that he had to eat his failures, he got the next one right, and not a minute too soon: he could sense Iruka beginning to wake up.
Kakashi had learned early on that he worked best under pressure. Squeezing out a handwritten message in ketchup was by far the trickiest part, but he managed it in only one try, his strokes swift and sure. After covering the finished omurice with a bowl, he ate his botched omelet in two quick bites---when he held his breath, he could pretend that it was a greasy ration bar---and quickly tidied up after himself. Sparing a glance at the bedroom door he'd left ajar, he smiled, shouldered his pack, and departed silently. No doubt Gai was already waiting by the eastern gates.
Kakashi looked forward to the day when the path of life once again led him to Iruka's apartment; somehow it always did, no matter how far away he went. He knew that Iruka would be there, waiting, with a hot meal and cheerful words.
His mask hid the smile that spread across his lips as he sprinted, leaving clouds of dust in his wake.