Fic: Shūryō To Kaishi

[waltzingstar]

Title: Shūryō To Kaishi
Author/Artist:  waltzingstar
Code Name: Mongoose
Prompt: Beginnings
Rating: NC-17
Pairing(s): Kakashi/Iruka
Summary: The funeral of a friend brings Kakashi home to a town he'd desperately wanted to escape, and the man he'd left behind.
Contains [warnings]: character death, angst,.
Word Count: 7983
Author's Note:  Written for the Kakairu Fest Genjutsu challenge. Titles are based on the stages of the funeral customs in Japan. I learned about these only through research, videos, and bothering the poo out of some of my friends. If any of this is inaccurate, I apologize; no offense was intended. Also, a huge thank you to the lovely mods for putting up with my incessant last minute questions. You are all so amazing, and I'm so stoked to be a part of this.

This is the original work, unaltered. I'll be uploading a revised version complete with explanations of the funeral process and so forth onto AO3 at a later date, and I'll link to it here. Again, thanks to everyone who helped, beta'd and cheered me on, I am so lucky to have such wonderful friends.


Kakashi stares at his suitcase, the plastic covering glinting in the moonlight like some twisted version of Morse code telling him to run like hell - to get out of here before he gets sucked back into this quagmire of a town.

There are too many memories tucked into the dark corners of Konoha; too many fissures in the foundation that can drag an unsuspecting man down into its depths, never to resurface again. He knows that even if he closes his eyes, his feet will still be able to find the pathways that lead him to his best of times, to the ruination of the moments he’s been trying so hard to erase.

With a sigh, he tosses his luggage onto the bed, letting a finger trail over the zipper but completely unable to actually open the damn thing. Opening his suitcase will lead to unpacking, and unpacking will make this whole situation undeniably real. He’s not ready for that; not yet.

He contents himself with taking in his surroundings, sea foam eyes tracking over the walls of the room he’d grown up in - a place he’d stormed out of years ago with the solemn vow that he’d never return. The memory of those words seems ludicrous now, since here he stands.

It’s funny how life has a way of sneaking up on a person, making him eat the bitter words he’d spat at anyone who would listen.

But he can’t think about that. Best to let the past stay in the past, no matter how hard a memory clamors from within the box he’s shoved it into and stuffed in a dark, unvisited corner of his mind.

Below him, he can hear the rustlings of his mother as she prepares for supper - dishes clinking and pots clanging in a chaotic soundtrack to her movements. No doubt she’ll be in a frenzy, trying to whip up Kakashi’s favorite dish from his time at home, a subtle reminder that his leaving has carved out a sizeable chip she likes to keep on her shoulder.

He sinks onto his bed with a scowl, trying not to let the deceptive, comforting familiarity of the room seep into his skin. Running a hand through his shock of silver hair, Kakashi wonders if maybe he should have stayed at home. He misses his bed, his pug, and the freedom to walk naked through his apartment already.

More than that, he misses the new friends he’s made - the ones that don’t gaze at him with barely concealed disdain. Of course, they are more acquaintances than friends - Kakashi has his ways of keeping them at arm’s length - but he’s discovered that this is how he likes it. The less required of him, the smaller his chances are of fucking everything to pieces.

He glances at the clock, thinking that he really should be getting downstairs, but finds that he can no longer keep his eyes open, the soporific cocktail of jetlag and his mother’s impending questions dragging him into oblivion.

TSUYA

When Kakashi wakes again, it is morning, or perhaps late afternoon, judging by the slant of the sunlight as it stretches thick fingers through his opened blinds.

The first thing that strikes him is that he’s still fully clothed, lying in the same position he had fallen into hours earlier. The second is that his mother hasn’t changed a single detail in his childhood room. It hangs suspended, as if his entire life had simply been paused at the age of seventeen, just waiting for him to return home to pick up where he’d left off.

His bed is still the same, narrow mattress, plunked onto a platform frame that his feet dangled at least four inches off of as a teenager. Now, his toes scratch the rug beneath the bed frame. The writing desk he used to study at is huddled beneath the window. If Kakashi had to bet, he’d put money on the guess that the old flashlight he used to wake his neighbor with was tucked inside the single drawer, behind the picture of him and Iruka that time the Sarutobis let him tag along on their camping trip.

Iruka.

Shaking his head, Kakashi stands, his fingers idly scratching at the sliver of skin beneath his shirt, which has bunched into wrinkles that rest beneath his ribs. He can’t let himself think of... of him just yet.

His tongue feels heavy and dry in his mouth, and his body is coated with a thin film of sweat that glues his clothes to his skin. Groaning inwardly at the thought of facing what or who will be beyond his door (waiting with an expectancy he’s sure to disappoint), he entertains the thought of diving back into the bed. A quick sniff of his underarm has him reconsidering. Grabbing up his toiletry bag and some new clothes, he heads out into the hallway, clinging to the shadows like some halfcocked ninja as he moves on the tips of his toes.

He is crossing the threshold of the bathroom when he hears his mother’s voice from the bottom of the stairs.

“Kakashi! Are you hungry?”

Sighing, he pokes his head into the hallway. “Yes, Mama. Thank you.”

He can picture her then, nodding her head in lieu of an answer, shuffling to the small kitchen to start his breakfast. He waits until he hears the sounds of dishes being pulled from shelves, then shuts the door behind him, quickly stripping off his clothes and kicking them into a pile by the sink. He tries to keep his mind blank as he plucks the soap up from the small bowl that is perched on the lip of the tub, focusing on the feel of the bar as he slides it over his skin instead of giving in to the thoughts at the back of his skull.

They buzz around like bees, bouncing off his brain and regrouping to attack him again and again. By the time he sinks into the water-filled tub, he doesn’t feel like fighting them off any longer, and shuts his eyes to the onslaught of images that wait for his attention.

* * * * *

“Obito called this morning,” says his mother as she watches him eat breakfast. Kakashi starts, bits of rice falling from his lips as his eyes fly up to meet hers. “I told him he could come around this afternoon. I thought you might want to walk with him to the wake.”

“Well, thanks for that one.” He’s harsh and sardonic and he knows it’s absolutely not okay for him to be speaking to her that way, but the words are out before he can think to stop himself. Shame washes over him, and he pinches the bridge of his nose with a muttered apology.

“I don’t know what you expect of me,” she answers softly, tucking a strand of platinum behind her ear, her expression weary. Not for the last time, Kakashi is nearly overwhelmed by the change the years have wrought. Wrinkles have dug crevices around her eyes and mouth, and the bright blue of her eyes have faded to a shade of washed-out sky. Her hands are rough and spotted, and when she walks her gait is slow, her body folded into itself as if it can’t bear the weight of her.

He reaches out a hand and squeezes her wrist, uncertain. “I’m sorry, Mama.”

Their eyes meet, wary blue on meek grey. Kakashi watches her, trying on a smile in hopes to push past the moment and guide them into safer waters. With her free hand, she pats his fingers, letting them linger briefly before she releases him.

“Seeing Obito will be nice,” Kakashi nods, tucking back into his food. He pretends not to see the worried glance she throws at him as she stands to her feet and goes to put the kettle on.

* * * * *

“Kash,” Obito grins, his arms encircling the taller man’s waist to pull him close, before the door is completely opened. It’s awkward, but not unexpected. Obito has always ignored Kakashi’s personal space, and though he’d never say it aloud, Kakashi has come to appreciate his friend’s displays of affection. “It’s good to see you, again.”

Scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, Kakashi nods.

Time has been kind to Uchiha Obito. A growth spurt has put him nearly eye to eye with Kakashi, and he’s finally learned how to tame his thick, black hair. Instead of the pseudo-afro he used to sport, he’s soothed the strands into stylish spikes that, oddly enough, suit him.

A v-necked shirt shows off his many hours put in at the gym, and Kakashi can’t help but smirk at the thought that Obito’s braces really did straighten out that gapped-tooth smile he used to tease his friend about.

“You look great,” Kakashi says, mostly because it’s the truest thing he can think of, and he respects Obito enough not to butter him up with over-the-top flattery.

The other man makes a face. “You look fat.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Kakashi laughs, and his friend smacks his ass, cackling when Kakashi jumps back against the wall, effectively blocking any further hits.

“I told you to stay away from the all-you-can-eat places,” continues Obito, eyes zeroing in on Kakashi’s lower half again. “I really hope your mother isn’t letting you sit on her couch; that ass would break the damn thing!”

It’s as if they’re fourteen again - insults leading to punches, which ends in their being tangled on the floor, slapping at each other’s faces like little girls. The dance hasn’t changed, each step flying up from the back of Kakashi’s mind until they reach the expected outcome: Obito pinned beneath Kakashi’s feet and pleading for mercy.

Like before, Kakashi doesn’t keep him waiting. He reaches out a hand and hefts the other man up, both of them bright-eyed and grinning. Kicking the door shut, Obito heads for the couch, leaving Kakashi reeling with nostalgia. It’s thick in his throat, clumping until he finds he can hardly swallow around the lump that’s amassed.

“Get me a beer, will ya?” Kakashi blinks; he’s hearing the words, but not really able to make sense of them as they float through the muddled space between his ears. Obito snorts. “Still a dimwit, eh? I guess you can take the idiot out of the village, but that won’t make him any less of a village idiot.”

Kakashi barks a laugh, flipping his middle finger up at the grinning man on the couch. The weird moment has passed, and he strolls into the kitchen, grabbing some drinks from his mother’s refrigerator. By the time he plops down onto the cushion beside Obito, sweating bottles in hand, he’s regained his composure.

They sit in silence for a few minutes, Obito taking long swallows of his beer while Kakashi picks at the label around his bottle with trembling fingertips, questions percolating behind his lowered eyelids a mile a minute. He’s grateful when his friend breaks the quiet, asking him safe questions that he grabs onto like a drowning man clutching a lifesaver to his chest.

“Do you like it in Tokyo?”

Kakashi hums, pressing his bottle cap into the fleshy part of his palm and wincing at its bite. “It’s different. Busy.”

“In a good way, or...?”

“I suppose.”

“Vague,” says Obito, landing a smack on Kakashi’s shoulder. “I bet it’s cool. I hear there’s a shit ton to do and loads of people to meet. Speaking of which...”

Kakashi listens to his friend switch topics effortlessly, filling him in on his job, his family, and his girlfriend. It’s all things he knows he should want to hear, but with every passing second, Kakashi finds his interests narrowing down to a singular focus.

“How is Iruka holding up?” he blurts out at random, and something flashes behind Obito’s eyes. The dark-haired man bends to place his bottle by his feet, and when he sits up it’s gone, leaving Kakashi slightly bewildered.

“As well as can be expected.” Obito crosses his arms over his chest, his gaze guarded. “Sarutobi-sama was the closest thing Iruka had to a real father.” He shrugs, and really, nothing more needs to be said.

Kakashi remembers the day Iruka was adopted by the Sarutobis, the day he marched into school with Asuma and knocked Kakashi flat on his face.

“It’s a good thing he has Yamato,” Obito is saying, and Kakashi’s head snaps up at that. His heart has picked up speed, though why it bothers him that Iruka is friends with Yamato he has no clue. “Asuma is...he’s not in a good place. Hardly comes out of his room, won’t speak to anyone... you know what I mean?”

“Nice of Yamato to be a friend to Iruka, I guess.”

“Kash...” Dark eyes search his face, and his stomach sinks with dread.

“Hmm?” The dispassionate sound he’d been striving for is ruined by the crack of nerves in his voice, and Obito seems to have noticed.

“Kakashi, Iruka is with Yamato.” Kakashi watches his friend shift uncomfortably in his seat, his eyes darting from wall to floor to window - anywhere but Kakashi’s face. “They’re more than friends, man.”

Strange, Kakashi thinks, his chest constricting with sorrow and something darker. After all these years, he hadn’t ever thought of Iruka belonging to someone else. In hindsight, he could see how foolish that was, because of course Iruka would find another. Kakashi wasn’t the first to fall into those infinite eyes, and he wouldn’t be the last. Iruka would be loved, because Iruka is... well, Iruka.

“Ah,” Kakashi says with a lightness he doesn’t feel. He smiles, eyes crinkling amiably. Obito opens his mouth to say more, but Kakashi cuts him off. “Shall we go now, or do you want to be a few minutes late?”

* * * * *

He wasn’t prepared.

That’s his first thought when he sees Iruka, his hair tied back into a sleek bun with loose wisps that frame his soft, dark eyes. His black slacks are low and fitted, and the black button-up shirt he has tucked beneath a gray vest is rolled up at the sleeves.

The light from the candles lined up in the alcove of the room carves out hollows in Iruka’s cheeks and darkens the scar across his nose, dredging up images of the first time Kakashi kissed that raised line to torture him.

Thankful for the shadows, Kakashi leans against the wall, letting himself stare until he’s nearly sick with longing.

“How we holding up, Kash?”

Kakashi glances at Obito, his eyes falling to half-mast, as though he’s bored out of his mind. “I’m fine.”

“Aren’t you going to at least say ‘hello’?”

Kakashi bristles at the pity in Obito’s eyes, straightening out of his slouch. “Of course I am.”

His feet drag as he closes the space between himself and Iruka, his heart flopping in his chest when Iruka finally notices him.

“My condolences, Iruka.” Kakashi offers, bowing slightly.

“Thank you, Kakashi.” Iruka looks uncertain, shooting the tall man beside him a desperate look.

“It’s good to see you again,” says the man, extending his arm. Kakashi doesn’t need to look at his face to remember his name.

“And you, Tenzo,” he says coolly. He makes no move to return the gesture.

“Please, call me ‘Yamato.’”

“I’d rather not.”

“Kakashi,” Iruka chides, futilely.

Kakashi is grateful when Yamato excuses himself, his attention caught by Obito, who waves him over. Both he and Iruka watch him go, turning back to each other with tight smiles.

“So, Yamato, is it?”

“Kakashi,” Iruka warns, lifting an eyebrow menacingly when Kakashi simply shrugs.

“Funny how you moved on so quickly.”

“Quickly? Quickly?” He has mere seconds to think oh shit before Iruka leans into his face, his cheeks flushed with anger. “I never wanted to move on at all, Kakashi. You ruined everything, so don’t you dare come at me like I’ve done something wrong by finding someone else.”

All of the blame laid bare at his feet is more than he can handle. “I ruined everything? What about you? I told you that I have issues, Iruka.”

“Oh, don’t I know it,” Iruka hisses, turning away from him, “but you know something? Everyone has issues. What makes you so fucking special that you can’t set yours down for five seconds and think about someone else for a change?”

Kakashi’s mouth hangs open, and his skin crawls with panic as he watches Iruka move away from him. On impulse, he reaches for his arm. Iruka stills, his eyes flickering from Kakashi’s pale fingers up to his face.

“I think you should go.” Yamato’s voice makes Kakashi flinch, and the way he wraps an arm around Iruka’s waist protectively has Kakashi’s stomach roiling with nausea. Desperately, mindlessly, he reaches for Iruka once more.

“Iruka, I-”

“Leave.” Iruka doesn’t look at him when he says it, but Kakashi sees the tear that spills from his eyes, and it’s enough to shame him. Glancing around the room at all of his friends, their faces distorted by disgust, Kakashi turns to go.

“Well, that went well!” Obito says when he catches up to Kakashi, a bright smile plastered to his features. Kakashi makes a face. “Why don’t we get you home?”

“If it’s all the same to you, I’d like to walk,” Kakashi says tiredly. “Thank you for the offer, Obito. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Before the other man can speak, Kakashi takes off, his feet leading him in a very specific direction.

* * * * *

It’s strange how time alters everything, while the mind keeps it safely preserved for future reference.

When he and Iruka were younger, the little stepping stones that led to the garden were new, the grass they marched through kept short, uniform, and utterly empty. Now they are worn, where the grass had thrived now blooms little wildflowers, their faces poking through the gaps between each stone. There are leaves and overgrown bushes that bracket the pathway, and Kakashi nearly trips on a one of the large rocks that are placed haphazardly alongside the walkway.

But there are some things that years cannot alter, and when he steps into the clearing of the garden, it’s as though he’s crossed some strange threshold and landed in the past.

The pond still rests in the center, lily pads floating on the surface while koi dart beneath their shadows. The trees are taller, but all the same, and all manner of flowers blockade the tiny space so that it’s like its own little world.

Around him, insects whirr and flowers whisper as wind rushes through them. He lies back, staring at the stars overhead while he lets his body sink into the earth under him. For the briefest of moments, he can pretend that he never lost Iruka.

* * * * *

The snapping of a twig as it echoes through the garden startles Kakashi awake.

“Shit,” he mutters, digging the heel of his palm into his eye and sitting up quickly. It takes him a few beats of his racing heart to remember where he is, how he’d ended up in a pool of his own spittle in Sarutobi’s back yard. He groans softly, wiping the side of his lips with the back of his hand, only to freeze when his eyes land on Iruka, who is staring at him in bemusement.

“Kakashi?”

“Yo,” he says, offering what he hopes is an apologetic grin. It melts into a frown, though, when Iruka swipes at his eyes and nose with his wrist, looking so small and fragile that Kakashi’s breath is sucked from his lungs. The urge to wrap his arms around Iruka is nearly crippling in its forcefulness.

“What are you doing here?”

There’s something in Iruka’s voice that Kakashi can’t quite define, something that reminds him that he no longer knows the man across the garden. This man who stands in the grass, their eyes locked together - this man whose dreams, secrets and body he’d known so intimately he could’ve traced the whole of him in his sleep - is a stranger. The realization hits him like a fist to the gut, and instinctively he wraps his arms around his stomach.

“Kakashi, it’s nearly dawn and I’d like to know why you’re in my father’s garden.”

A million reasons race through his brain (because I’m sorry, because I’m an idiot, because you’re mine), but when he opens his mouth he hears himself say, “I didn’t want you to be alone.”

Iruka blinks, the column of his throat bobbing with a swallow as he takes a few hesitant steps toward Kakashi. Wordlessly, he drops to the ground, pulling his knees up to his chest and resting his chin on them. A few moments of tense silence tick by before Iruka speaks.

“Do you remember how we used to come back here and talk for hours?”

Relief makes him lightheaded; he hadn’t realized how much he’d wanted Iruka’s forgiveness.

“That’s not how I remember it,” he answers wryly.

“Oh?” Iruka wrinkles his nose, tilting to bump shoulders with the other man. “What is it that you remember?”

“Hmm,” Kakashi feigns deep thought. “I seem to remember a lot of your tongue down my throat.”

Iruka rolls his eyes, his expression a blend of vexation and affection all at once. “You would remember that part.”

“My favorite memory is that time we were at the movies and you let me -”

“Kakashi!” Iruka blushes savagely, clapping a hand over the silver-haired man’s mouth. Kakashi’s eyes widen, and Iruka jerks back as though he’s been burned, staring at his palm like he’s expecting to see an injury.

His big, brown eyes fasten onto Kakashi’s, confused. But there’s something else in their depths, too; something that makes Kakashi’s mouth go dry and his pulse race.

“Iruka,” he murmurs, leaning in until their noses nearly brush. And just like that he’s sixteen again: stuck on stupid while staring at Iruka’s lips and unable to move forward or back - suspended. The hitch in Iruka’s breath makes Kakashi sigh, his control nearing its end. “I wish I hadn’t left.”

Both of them jump at the words. Kakashi desperately wants to take them back, because Iruka’s face is unrecognizable again: all hard lines and reticence.

“Yes, well, you did.” Kakashi stares helplessly as Iruka stands, dusting off his pants. He pauses, considering the man below him before he turns to leave. “I think you can show yourself out. Goodbye, Kakashi.”

Watching Iruka’s retreating back, Kakashi wonders if he’ll ever be forgiven - by Iruka or himself.

SOSHIKI

Someone is singing in the distance, and the sound of it is like an old, jilted lover; sad and sweet and familiar, yet completely inaccessible. He hurries away from the song, his sneakers kicking up rocks and debris in his haste. For a moment he is struck with the odd image of what he must look like: a grown man running from an invisible pursuer, clouds of cartoonish dust spurting out from beneath the soles of his feet, like smoke signals to guide his trackers.

He’s late to the funeral, after a long morning spent arguing with himself over the merits of his attendance.

After everything that’s been said and done, Kakashi wonders if perhaps he’d been wrong in coming. As much as he wants to say his goodbyes to Sarutobi, he isn’t sure that the drama caused by his presence is worth it. Maybe it would’ve been wiser to wait until his burial to come. At least then there would have been no yelling in a room full of grieving people.

The building is surprisingly packed; Kakashi didn’t realize that Sarutobi was so well-loved. There are people everywhere, and by the time Kakashi reaches the shrine to offer his prayers, he has been standing for well over two hours.

His words are short, and he moves efficiently when he bows to each set of family and sprinkles incense into the proffered bowl. Then he is on his way out, the next person stepping up. As he turns to leave, he catches a glimpse of dark hair in a room off the main entryway.

Iruka is sitting at a table, staring at nothing while the people around him pass teacups and talk quietly. He doesn’t think about it, really; it’s more like his feet decide for him, and he mindlessly follows them all the way to Iruka. He bends down, ignoring the daggers Yamato is staring into him, and takes Iruka’s hand in his.

“Kakashi?” Iruka seems surprised, but pleasantly so, which confounds Kakashi to no end.

“How do you feel?”

“Like shit.”

“Understandable,” Kakashi nods, squeezing Iruka’s fingers. “I just wanted to tell you that I’m here if you need me.”

“Thank you,” says Iruka, and his smile makes Kakashi forget propriety - he drops a quick kiss into Iruka’s hair.

“Anytime.” He’s halfway out the door when he hears his name. When he turns, he finds that Iruka has nearly caught up to him, his face flushed.

“Come out with us later?” Iruka’s face is so open, so hopeful that Kakashi’s nodding before he even realizes what he’s doing. “Good. We’ll be at Ichiraku’s pub around eight.”

“Eight,” Kakashi repeats, uncertainty wreaking havoc on his insides. But then he catches a glimpse of Yamato, whose eyes are narrowed, and whose mouth is set in a thin line, and he thinks that at the very least, he’ll get a laugh out of this trainwreck.

* * * * *

Kakashi had seated himself between Obito and Asuma to avoid Yamato’s withering glares, but the man kept leaning up every now and again, as if his disapproval of Kakashi’s presence would convince him to leave.

Kakashi just smiles, lifting his glass of whiskey in salute before knocking it back.

Not for the first time that evening, Kakashi lets his attention drift to Iruka, who is standing at the jukebox, his expression thoughtful. Excusing himself, the silver-haired man makes his way over to Iruka, nudging him with his hip once he’s standing beside him.

“Idiot,” Iruka mumbles fondly. Mind made up, he jabs a button and turns to face Kakashi. “Dance with me, Hatake-san.”

The music is some twangy, unfamiliar tune that Kakashi has neither heard nor likes. But how can he say no to Iruka, whose face is glowing with alcohol induced bravery?

With a nod, he steps forward, letting his arm snake around Iruka’s waist, his other hand caught mid-air by Iruka’s own. Sighing, Iruka rests his cheek on Kakashi’s chest.

“This was Papa’s favorite song,” he says after a moment, so softly that Kakashi almost misses it.

“Well, it’s a good thing Sarutobi-sama won’t be remembered for his taste in music.”

Iruka leans back, his mouth a perfect circle of shock, before he bursts into laughter. Kakashi grins, his heart stuttering at the gratefulness in those dark eyes.

“Asshole.”

“You love it,” Kakashi laughs, pulling Iruka to him. When the moment shifts from friendliness to something more, Kakashi can’t say; suddenly all geniality is wiped from Iruka’s face. Instead, his cheeks are tinged pink, his mouth parted, and he’s staring at Kakashi’s lips like a man starving.

“Oh,” Iruka says, his eyes filling with clarity. “Kakashi, I’m sorry, I... I’m not myself tonight.”

Kakashi releases him, watching forlornly as Iruka heads for the restrooms.

When he reaches the table, only Yamato is there. His eyes are on his sake, his face drawn. “Kakashi?”

“Yes, Tenzo?”

The other man scowls, never looking away from his cup. “I told you not to call me that.”

“Of course. My apologies. You were saying?”

When Yamato looks up, there is a determined set to his jaw, and his flinty eyes bore into Kakashi’s. “Don’t take him from me.”

Annoyed, Kakashi stands. “I can’t take someone who isn’t willing to be taken, Tenzo.”

SHONANOKA

In a town as small as Konoha, it shouldn’t surprise Kakashi when he keeps running into Iruka.

And yet, each time Kakashi sees the man, his body reacts as if he’s been doused in icy water, frozen to the core, and then thrown into a furnace. The vicissitudes of his emotions are shocking in their strength, and Kakashi decides that perhaps it’s best to avoid Iruka altogether.

Which doesn’t explain why he’s now getting Iruka a drink, elbowing his way through a crowd of flailing bodies to get back to his side.

It’s true that Obito had promised Kakashi a party since he’d left quietly the first time, but Kakashi hadn’t expected this.

People are hanging out the windows of his modest apartment, each person in varying stages of inebriation. Asuma and his girlfriend Kurenai have ripped down the cheap “Bon Voyage” banner, and are using it to cover what Kakashi sincerely hopes is making out, and not dry humping.

Obito himself is nowhere to be found, but if Kakashi had to guess, he’d bet that the mangled, dying-mule sounds coming from the bathroom belonged to his friend.

“It’s too loud!” Iruka shouts when Kakashi reaches him. “I can’t think straight!”

Kakashi takes a drink from his cup before setting it onto a random bookshelf and grabbing Iruka’s hand, towing him toward the door. They’re giggling when they stumble into the hallway, the door closing them into a more bearable volume.

“Remind me never to use the bathroom here again,” Kakashi says disgustedly.

“Was Obito fucking Rin in there again?” Iruka asks, his shoulders shaking with mirth when Kakashi nods. “Oh, my god, the sounds he makes! How could anyone be okay with that?”

Kakashi laughs so hard that tears prick at his eyes when Iruka imitates the noises, his face scrunched up like he’s in pain.

“I missed you,” Kakashi whispers, leaning in.

Their lips brush, and Kakashi feels his entire world crumbling around him. All of the blocks he’s slid into place over the years - each sealed with a promise that he’d never let himself fall again - are disintegrating like so much ash in the wind. He should walk away, and he knows this. He should disentangle himself from Iruka and go back to Tokyo, back to the life he’s created that makes sense.

Instead, he threads his fingers into Iruka’s hair, groaning into his open mouth as he slides his tongue inside. Iruka answers with a whimper, and Kakashi feels as though he’s on fire. He nibbles at the fullness of Iruka’s bottom lip, his hands sliding down the planes of the other man’s strong back...and then he’s being pushed against, his groping hands coming up empty.

“I’m so sorry, Kash.” Iruka says, his eyes wide. “I can’t do this. I’m sorry.”

Kakashi leans against the wall as he watches Iruka leave, drowning in irony because it’s always been him to run away.

* * * * *

The first night back in Tokyo, he can’t sleep.

Everything feels so wrong, and he wonders how he could ever have been happy or considered this barren shell of an apartment home. More than that, he knows now.

It isn’t obvious to him at first - the weeks drag by with barely an event to mark them save his own torpor. But slowly, understanding dawns on him.

It comes on the heels of his dreams, in which his hands slide over dusky skin and his ears echo with the melodic sound of familiar laughter. He wakes to sadness, his arms empty.

He has to see Iruka again.

SHIJU-KUNICHI

The tombstone is a small, meager thing. Kakashi knows this is what Sarutobi would have wanted, but can’t seem to stifle the disapproval that bubbles up and froths inside his chest.

It can only be a foot or two at its highest, and the epitaph inscribed is simple, forgettable. The monument is everything that Sarutobi was not. The fact that Kakashi stands in the rain, his frustrations funnelled at a slab of granite, should more than prove this.

Kakashi senses more than hears the person beside him, materializing as though he were one of the spectres that are sure to haunt a place such as this. A sidelong glance tells makes him freeze for a moment, his body tensed and heart somersaulting in his chest at the familiar face beside him.

“I miss him, Kash.” The sound of that achingly familiar voice is enough to make him feel lightheaded; he’s suddenly thankful to have the weather as an excuse for his blush-pinched cheeks as he turns to face the man beside him.

Iruka's eyes are deep and wide and beautiful. Bizarrely, Kakashi thinks that if he leans over just enough, he’ll be swallowed whole.

His breath comes in short, quick puffs that send little clouds into the air to be shot down by the rain. When he speaks, his voice is thick. “We lost a good man.”

Iruka snorts, jarring Kakashi out of his strange daze. “I didn't take you to be the sentimental type, Hatake.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but Iruka steps away, a weird little grin on his face as he stoops to the ground.

Kakashi's eyes fly open as the mud hits him square in the face, Iruka's laugh too loud and too obnoxious for him to ignore. He shakes his head, mouth spreading in a lazy grin as he takes a step toward the other man, whose guffaws have melted into tittering.

Iruka’s cheeks are flushed, and Kakashi feels his heart take off in a thunderous gallop, the memories of all the ways he’s seen the other man with that expression enough to make his knees feel unsteady.

To play it off, he leans down to scoop up a handful of crumbling earth. He watches Iruka run, his feet unused to the slushy terrain. When Kakashi throws the mud, he can’t stop his grin at the satisfying splatter as it hits Iruka between the shoulder blades.

“Kakashi!” Iruka yells, bending over to inspect the damage to his clothing. “Papa gave me this shirt!”

Mortification stuns Kakashi, and he’s so concerned with babbling about how he’ll make it up to the other man that he doesn’t notice Iruka’s fist coming up stuffed with sludge until it smacks him in the chest. Confused, he looks down at himself, and then at Iruka as he runs away, cackling like a crow.

How can he resist, he wonders as he bounds after the other man.

Iruka is fast, dodging Kakashi with an ease that both infuriates and mystifies him. They dart through the cemetery, dashing over stones and tromping through mud puddles, their laughter ringing over applause of raindrops.

By the time Kakashi catches up to him, Iruka has stilled, his face raised to the sky and eyes closed. Kakashi can’t tell if it’s tears or rain that leaks from the corners of his eyes, but he knows he has never seen anything so beautiful. Without thinking, he reaches out and takes Iruka by the arm, sliding his own through and linking them together.

They stand in silence, sides melded together and heads tilted to the weeping clouds.

“Kakashi?”

“Hmm?”

“Thanks for coming.” Iruka opens his eyes, shifting so he can press his forehead to Kakashi’s shoulder. He doesn’t know if the slight movement that brushes against the thin layer of his shirt is Iruka’s lips or his imagination.

“Anything for you, Iruka,” he says evenly, though he feels like screaming in euphoria. “Let’s get you cleaned up. I really kicked your ass.”

* * * * *

“Where’s Tenzo?” Kakashi asks, trailing into Iruka’s apartment with his hands in his pockets. His clothes haven’t dried at all, and every time he tries to pull his fingers out it makes an obscene sucking noise.

“He hates it when you call him that, you know,” Iruka grins, tossing his keys into a bowl on a shelf by the door. Awkwardly, they both toe off their shoes, ignoring the squishing of their sopping clothes as they move. “Hang on, let me get you a towel and we can take turns in the bath.”

Kakashi nods, letting his eyes drink in the sight of the other man’s ass as he schleps to the bathroom. When Iruka disappears into a room off the corridor, Kakashi takes a moment to look around. The house is wide and open, with gleaming wooden floors and warm colors. There are pictures scattered over the walls, tiny thumbprints of Iruka’s personality in little designs he’s painted onto the surface between the frames.

But the best part is the tree that grows in the middle of the main room. It stretches as high as the ceiling before tapering off into oblivion through the roof. The roots are hidden in the earth beneath the floorboards, and thick foliage shades the sheet of glass that serves as the ceiling.

When Iruka returns, Kakashi is staring at branches that snake out here and there, awestruck. Iruka presses a towel into Kakashi’s hands, their fingers brushing.

Kakashi tries not to shiver as a ripple of desire courses through him. He clears his throat. “Nice place.”

“Thanks,” Iruka grins. “Bathroom’s that way.”

They take turns showering, and by the time they’re both clean and clothed (Kakashi tugging at his borrowed sweatpants that are just a little too short and a little too hellbent on digging into his asscrack), Kakashi is dreading the long walk back to his mother’s house. Besides, he’s too comfortable on Iruka’s futon.

Iruka seems to read his mind, because he leans over and pokes Kakashi in the ribs. Kakashi jabs back, but keeps his finger pressed into Iruka’s bicep, marvelling at the softness there.

“You could stay, if you wanted,” Iruka says, his words thin and quavering. Kakashi says nothing, simply drags his finger up Iruka’s arm and over his shoulder. He doesn’t stop, even when he feels Iruka tremble. “You could...”

Iruka’s voice trails off, his eyelids fluttering as Kakashi’s finger traces the line of his collarbone, pressing into the indention in the middle and feeling the pulse that tap dances against his fingertip.

Every cell in his body is dragging him toward Iruka, to that mouth, to his smooth skin. Iruka’s tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, and Kakashi’s eyes chase the movement, a helpless noise escaping him.

“Fuck it,” Iruka whispers, grabbing Kakashi’s nape and towing him down for a kiss. Kakashi’s hands are in his hair, tugging at the wet strands to tip Iruka’s head back so he can run his tongue over the planes of that gorgeous neck. He walks the other man back, using his hips to press him against the wall and groaning when Iruka’s hands find the waistband of his sweatpants.

Strong hands find his thickening cock and grasp it, a few firm tugs making him dizzy with need.

“Bed,” Iruka says against his mouth, never ceasing his strokes as he leads Kakashi to the bedroom.

Gracelessly, they fall onto the mattress, bouncing a little while Kakashi yanks at Iruka’s pajama bottoms.

“Hurry, Kakashi,” Iruka pants, fruitlessly pulling at Kakashi’s shirt before giving up on getting all of their clothes off altogether. “Please, please, just...”

Spidery fingers crawl beneath Iruka’s tank top, rolling his pebbled nipples between their tips. He laughs when Iruka shoves a tube of lube into his lap. He’s not fast enough for Iruka, though, who squirts a liberal amount of the clear liquid into his palms and slathers it onto Kakashi’s cock.

“Iruka, slow...oh,” he moans when Iruka twists his wrist around Kakashi’s thick head.

Hooking his legs around Kakashi’s waist, Iruka pulls at him, grabbing his ass to guide him inside. It’s as though he’s tumbling, spiralling downward out of himself, yet somehow at peace with this because Iruka is surrounding him, catching him. It takes hardly any effort at all before he’s gone, lost in Iruka’s body and the sweet, nonsensical words Iruka breathes into his ear. Everything is Iruka, and nothing else matters but the push and pull of their bodies sliding together. He groans at the fevered palms on his skin, a voice he recognizes as his whispering Iruka’s name like one of the funeral mantras Kakashi has memorized by now.

The blunt scrape of nails down his back and tattered sound of Iruka’s moans as he comes has Kakashi tensing, his orgasm hitting him like a tsunami. He doesn’t fight Iruka, who drags him into a sloppy kiss, holding him until he stills.

“Damn,” says Iruka, his voice thick with satisfaction. Kakashi can only laugh, hissing as he slips out of the other man and collapses onto a pillow. “You always were my favorite fuck.”

“Oh hell, Yamato!” Kakashi yelps suddenly. He sits up, glaring at Iruka as he tugs the blankets up over his crotch. “If you think for one second that I’m into sharing, I -”

“Kash,” Iruka cuts him off with a finger to his lips. “Yamato and I had only been together for a week before Papa died. When you came back...” he stops, closing his eyes as his face blooms red. “It’s always going to be you, Kakashi. Even when I don’t have a choice, I somehow end up choosing you.”

Kakashi can only stare for a moment, mind trying to process what has just been said. But then he’s moving: showering Iruka with kisses, weaving their fingers together and pressing his lips to each of Iruka’s fingertips.

“But Kakashi,” Iruka says, and the warning in his voice is enough to make the other man pause, “if we do this, you can’t leave again. I can’t... I can’t try to get over you again.”

“Iruka,” Kakashi kisses his knuckles now, tongue sweeping out for a taste of his sweet skin. “Iruka, I can’t leave you. I’ve already tried that, and you see how that turned out.”

“Tell me.”

“With me miserable and also a bit homicidal.” Kakashi grins when Iruka laughs, nibbling the heel of a thumb before going on. “Oh come on, Iruka. It isn’t like ridding the world of one goat fucker is going to hurt anything.”

“Oh my god, Kakashi! That was a rumor from primary school, are you serious?”

“The point is, you’re mine. I won’t do anything to jeopardize this again.”

“Promise?”

Kakashi smiles and sits up, splaying Iruka’s hand over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

KAIMYO

“Iruka-kun, do you love Kakashi-san?”

Kakashi’s throat grows too tight, his eyes bulging as he coughs, a bit of miso soup dribbling from his nose. Iruka titters beside him, his skin flushed to the roots of his hair.

“That’s a rather random question, Konohamaru,” he says, awkwardly patting Kakashi in between his shoulder blades.

“Random is a word for it,” Kakashi agrees when he can speak, wiping his face with the napkin Iruka slides over to him. He can’t stop the goofy smile that stretches his lips when Iruka’s hand drops under the table and into his lap, his fingers squeezing lightly at Kakashi’s knee.

“Why do you ask?” Iruka asks, eyes fastening on the boy seated across the table from them. Around them, people chatter and forks clank against plates, and Kakashi has half a notion to ask Iruka again how it happened that they ended up at the kids’ table.

The thought flies out of his head, though, when the hand on his leg slides upward over his thigh, climbing ever higher. Kakashi makes a mental note not to ever play poker or any other type of gambling game with Iruka; his face looks so innocent and open that no one could possibly know his hand is gliding to the seam between Kakashi’s thigh and groin, long fingers slipping down to rub teasingly at his stirring cock.

“Because,” drawls the seven-year-old, rolling his eyes as he scratches at the riot of hair on his head, which pokes over the elastic band of the swim goggles he insisted on wearing to the ceremony. “Sometimes, when you say Kakashi-san’s name, it sounds different.”

“Different?” Kakashi asks, ignoring the petulant noise Iruka makes when he bats his wandering fingertips away. “How’s that?”

“I dunno, it just is.” Konohamaru’s eyes float to the ceiling, eyebrows furrowing in thought. “It’s softer... like it’s supposed to be in his mouth, you know? And you know that your name will always be safe when he says it, Kakashi-san.”

Kakashi can only stare, dumbfounded, as Konohamaru nods in obvious satisfaction.

Iruka, for all of his brazen fondling, has gone suddenly still. When Kakashi chances a glance in his direction, he finds that the other man is smiling so hard his face might split, his eyes shining with emotion.

Later, when they’re breathless and spent, lying sated for the moment, Kakashi will twirl a strand of chestnut hair between his fingers and ask Iruka to say his name.

“Kakashi,” Iruka will whisper and grin when the silver haired man shivers, leaning in to claim a kiss. Then, he’ll ask earnestly, “Are you safe?”

Kakashi will only nod, his fingers raking up cinnamon skin as he clambers into Iruka’s lap for more.

But for now, he only reaches under the table to grip Iruka’s hand, the pad of his thumb rubbing circles into Iruka’s palm.

“So, do you?” Both of the men look at Konohamaru, who seems more interested in stacking his rice balls than getting an actual answer.

“Yeah,” Iruka says softly, and damn it if Kakashi’s heart isn’t turning cartwheels in his chest. “Yeah, I do.”

* * * * *

Kakashi has never asked Iruka what they’ve written onto the ihai; not because he fears he’ll offend the Sarutobis, but because he feels that wherever Sarutobi Hiruzen is now, his name will mean as much to the journey he’s on as it did to the people in this life.

He’s fingering his phone, grinning at a picture of Iruka and himself, that was snapped at some point the night before while they were open-mouthed and laughing at something stupid Kakashi had said, when he glances up to see Iruka, arms full of takeout and Pakkun on his heels.

“What are you looking at?” Iruka asks, setting their steaming boxes onto the kotatsu Kakashi bought him over the weekend. He turns to the box labelled “kitchen” in Kakashi’s chicken scrawl and wrests out a few plates.

“The luckiest son of a bitch alive and his gorgeous boyfriend,” Kakashi says, flipping his phone over so Iruka can see.

“You’re such a cheeseball.” It’s said with affection and punctuated with a kiss, and Kakashi finds he doesn’t mind that it could quite possibly be the truth. “Now, hurry up so we can finish unpacking.”

“I’d rather christen the hell out of this place,” Kakashi leers, earning a smack to his knee. He sighs and rolls his eyes, long-suffering. “Fine, we’ll unpack your underwear, and then I’ll take them off with my teeth.”

“Deal.”

Kakashi grins, a wide, toothy thing that makes Iruka laugh, and Kakashi thinks he could grow old listening to nothing else but Iruka’s laughter - and that would be fine by him. But then, he remembers the way Iruka moans when he’s inside of him, and thinks that maybe that’s his favorite sound in the whole world, because -

“Kakashi,” Iruka chides, cutting into his ponderings. “Stop thinking about sex and eat so that we can actually have it.”

A different kind of thought strikes Kakashi, then: perhaps the reason he hasn’t asked about Sarutobi’s kaimyo is because it doesn’t matter what the old man goes by now. The most important lesson that Kakashi has ever been taught was given to him by a man named Sarutobi Hiruzen.

It is a living, breathing lesson, and if Kakashi plays his cards right, then he’ll get to keep that lesson forever. He can’t help but smile at that, and hope that somewhere, somehow, the man who was once Sarutobi can hear his whispered thanks.