Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Something soft was pressed against his back. The contrast between that, and the solid bone he last remembered feeling, jostled Iruka into wakefulness. He clumsily sprang up, grabbing his forehead when the blood rushed to his brain and made his vision swim, and simply sat there, breathing in slowly through his nose and out his mouth as he waited for his equilibrium to return. When it felt safe to open his eyes, what he saw made no sense to him.

Iruka was laying in a thick, far-too-large futon that had a navy blue comforter over it—over most of him for that matter—that was sprinkled with a strange, boxy pattern sewn in white thread. The room was very traditional, though sparse in decoration despite how large it was, and the tatami looked well cared for even though Iruka could tell they were old by the wear and tear around their edges. Lining the wall to his right were three sets of shōji, the paper thick but a bit yellow with age, and the lattice work made with a dark, rich oak that made the whole thing look classy in a way Iruka associated with an older person’s antiques. Like what the old man, who used to live next to him and his parents, had scattered about his home and loved to tell Iruka about when he’d visit after school, enjoying cups of peach oolong tea and each other’s company.

That is, until that man died when he was ten.

Who knew that would only be his introduction to recurring tragedy in his life, and he hadn’t even gotten to go to a junior high school yet. Hell, he hadn’t even gotten to bask in the fact that he’d graduated from elementary school before his uncle had taken him in.

His uncle…

Suddenly, the events of last night, of the past two and a half years really, came back to the forefront of his mind, sending Iruka’s heart into a rapid, panicked staccato, his hands grabbing onto the comforter tightly. Where was he? Had his uncle found him? Iruka had never seen much of the house Anago had inherited from Iruka’s grandparents, but he knew it had been a very traditional home, as had been all the houses down the block from it that he’d glimpsed as he had been running for his life.

The last thing Iruka remembered was being in that forest clearing, somewhere near that Inari shrine, and he’d been found by…

Well, no, that couldn’t be real.

Iruka shook his head, and his body began to shake as he tried his damnedest to get his rational mind to work properly. The Gashadokuro had been a product of delirium, surely—some morbid, exaggerated imagery created by his sense of fear of being found and, specifically, his belief that he would die if he was caught. Yeah, that sounded like something his parents would’ve said, but even with that rationale there to derive comfort from (or, really, the imagined sound of his parents’ voices, rationale be damned) that didn’t answer his initial question.

Where the hell was he?

Iruka’s body was still shaking, his grip still incredibly tight on the comforter, and when he heard footsteps begin to head down the hall and towards the room where he was sitting, utterly defenseless, he felt his heart leap into his throat, choking the breath back into his lungs and keeping it there. He couldn’t blink as he stared at the wall of shōji, the sound of someone’s approach getting louder, and his fearful gaze zeroed in on a silhouette as it came into view and slithered along the path of oak lattice and aged paper. 

It was the most terrifying shadow puppet show he’d ever witnessed.

When that shadow stopped, standing at the cusp between a waking nightmare and a dreadful reality for Iruka, the poor boy tried to swallow his fear, tried to be ready to face whatever horror he was about to confront. But his heart continued to hammer away, still lodged in his throat, and he was quivering so badly he thought his bones might shake loose of their shape.

Bones…

Even if that Gashadokuro had all been some figment of his imagination—some desperate and unusual attempt to control the terrible things that were happening to him—Iruka would take the beast that would’ve devoured him whole over facing his monster of an uncle any day.

He wished it was his Gashadokuro behind that paper door so much that his chest felt tight, and a cold sweat broke out on the back of his neck, but even as the door started to open he didn’t look away. Wouldn’t look away, as one final act of defiance against his uncle, if his worst fears were about to be made real.

The sunlight on the other side of the door was bright, far more blinding than the moonlight of the night before, and whoever was there must’ve known it because they didn’t move. They stood there, waiting for Iruka’s eyes to adjust, and let their body block the light as much as possible until Iruka could finally focus on them.

It wasn’t his uncle.

It was a young man, probably no more than a few years older than Iruka, but his unruly hair was a striking silver color that belied his youth entirely. His left eye seemed to be injured, covered by a white, medical eye patch that had scarring peering out from both the top and bottom, but his impassive expression showed no signs of pain, meaning the wound was likely old. At the corner of his mouth, also on the left side, was a little beauty mark that was oddly charming, disarming Iruka completely to this stranger, despite the utter lack of emotion he was displaying. But, strangest of all, was that the thing that pushed Iruka’s heart back down into his chest, freeing his throat up to breathe again, was the fact that the yukata the young man was wearing had the same blocky, white-lined pattern as the comforter draped over him.

The wave of relief that crashed over the boy was immense and, before the stranger said a single word, or even took a step into the room, Iruka was in tears. They filled his rich, brown eyes so quickly and so intensely that it almost hurt, pouring down his face as uncontrollable hiccups and hardly-suppressed sobs burst out of his mouth. It was only for a moment, before the tears got too thick for him to see anything clearly, but Iruka saw the young man’s face break its stolid stance and show alarm and concern at the sudden meltdown Iruka was forcing him to deal with. So, amongst all the other noises he was making against his will, Iruka tried and failed to say, “I’m sorry,” several times.

He could only imagine what he was putting this guy through, blubbering like a baby, but try as he might, he simply could not make it stop.

“Kakashi, what did you do?” Iruka heard someone say. They sounded feminine, but Iruka couldn’t be sure as all he could see was a moving, blurry blob that had a lot of red in their color palette.

“I...I just opened the door, that’s it,” the young man, Kakashi, replied, and Iruka babbled out another unintelligible apology for how distressed the guy sounded.

Several shoosh-ing noises made their way over to Iruka, followed by the feminine voice telling him that he had nothing to apologize for. Then a pair of hands very carefully and very gently brushed over his shoulders, down his arms, rubbed circles into his back, and overall provided a plethora of comforting touches that Iruka hadn’t known he’d so desperately needed. When his hiccuping sobs died down, and he was left with only his still-persistent tears and slight, uneven breaths, the comforting hands came up to his face and, while one combed through his bangs, brushing them away from his forehead, the other did its best to dry his face with a shirt sleeve.

With the tears mostly gone from his eyes, Iruka could finally see the red blob clearly, but what he saw almost sent him back into a crying fit.

It was a woman with beautiful, bright green eyes and silky, long red hair that pooled carelessly over her shoulders, unstyled and unbound as it was. Her expression was so soft and kind that it had Iruka’s chest clenching again, some unconscious part of him feeling as if he was undeserving of such a look. And her clothes were that of a miko, a white, unblemished kimono top and red hakama that rivaled the red of her hair, making her feel warm and safe merely by looking at her.

It took everything within Iruka to keep the composure he’d only barely gotten back.

The priestess smiled widely, the skin at the corner of her eyes wrinkling in a delightfully playful way, and she said, “There we go, that’s much better. Now I can get a good look at you.”

Iruka felt his face flush and couldn’t help but bashfully look down at his lap, feeling vulnerable and embarrassed for how awfully uncouth he’d acted. These people seemed to only want to help him, and the first thing he did was bawl like an infant, worry the young man, and get snot on the nice lady’s kimono sleeves. God, if only his Gashadokuro had been real and eaten him, saving him from the shame he now felt.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. None of that now,” said the woman as she caressed his face with both hands, lifting it up so they were looking each other in the eye. 

“You’ve obviously been through a hellish ordeal,” she spoke again, but with each articulated word her voice became huskier than before, and her expression shifted into sharper angles that compelled Iruka to pay close attention, and wonder if he was imagining things. “It’s only natural to cry when you know you’re in a place of safety, after enduring whatever terrible experience you’ve survived. That’s nothing to feel ashamed over, Little One.” The smile that blossomed on the woman’s face was thin, but showed her teeth that gave the impression they were sharper than they were, and while, under normal circumstances, this would’ve sent alarm bells to go off in Iruka’s head, seeing that look on her face at that moment did nothing but soothe him.

Those sharp-but-not-sharp teeth felt like an offer of protection, and a warning to those that would do him harm.

As soon as the change within the woman came, however, it went away, her facial features smoothing out into soft, nonthreatening lines. Her voice returned to normal as well as she fixed her sitting posture to be a proper seiza (instead of the careless sprawl she’d been in while attending to Iruka), tugged on Kakashi’s arm until he joined her to sit beside Iruka’s futon (he seemed reluctant, but even Iruka could tell it was all just playful posturing), and cleared her throat to speak.

“So first thing’s first: I’m Uzumaki Kushina, the head priestess of this Inari shrine,” she stated proudly, earning a slight nudge in her side by Kakashi’s elbow that had her clearing her throat again, this time looking a bit abashed as she rubbed the back of her neck. “Okay, so I’m the only priestess at this shrine, but—” she made sure to side-eye Kakashi purposefully then, to which the young man appeared to ignore entirely, “—that still makes me the head priestess. Even if it’s only by process of elimination.”

Iruka couldn’t help it, he chuckled, as awkward as it felt to do so. This earned him a pleased grin from Kushina and, surprisingly, a little hopeful, relieved smile from Kakashi.

“And this brat over here,” Kushina began, indicating said ‘brat’ with a revenge nudge with her own elbow into his side, but by the way his body swayed with the motion she had been much less gentle about it, “is Hatake Kakashi. He works part-time here as a priest during the summers—has ever since he was a little squirt barely out of diapers—but when he’s not working he just hangs out here and reads those trashy romance novels of his. Like this was a manga café and not a respected Inari shrine.”

Iruka watched in fascination as the poker-faced Kakashi flat-out pouted, mumbling, “They’re not trashy. They’re art.”

Kushina let out what Iruka could only describe as a cackle, reached up to ruffle Kakashi’s silver hair until it stood up in an even crazier way than before, and said, “For a guy who passed the exam to become a priest when he was only a munchkin, your taste in ‘art’ is truly bizarre. I guess you would need to be a genius to be as weird as you are.”

With his mind spinning from all this new information, but not in a bad way, Iruka almost missed it when the two settled down and, after Kakashi fixed his hair, he softly asked, “What about you?”

Iruka flinched. He didn’t mean to, and it wasn’t as if it were an unfair question to ask of him, but his muscles tensed up when he heard it, and his hands latched onto the comforter tightly once again, anchoring him as much as it could against the anxiety that sprang up within him at the inquiry. Kakashi must have noticed—he was oddly observant for a guy with only one eye—because he was quick to clarify.

“Your name, I mean,” he said. The look in Kakashi’s single eye was strangely intense as he waited for Iruka to answer.

Lowering his gaze to his clenched hands, Iruka took a moment to calm himself, slowly releasing the poor comforter from his grasp and feeling the joints in his fingers loosen with each controlled breath. When he finally answered, it was with a tiny voice, but his eyes were clear and his heart was gently beating away in his breast.

“Iruka,” he said, looking back up at the two of them. “Umino Iruka.”

“A name that paints a picture,” Kushina said, a lovely smile blossoming on her beautiful face. “I must say, that suits you.”

The last mental picture that Iruka had painted had been of his uncle, so he only hoped that whatever Kushina saw was much better than that.

Iruka wasn’t sure how to respond, but thankfully Kakashi didn’t let a strained silence settle in and reached out his hand, his expression both intense and unreadable as he simply stated, “It’s nice to meet you.”

Glancing between the outstretched hand and Kakashi’s face, Iruka was struck with a strange sense of nostalgia, as if this scene was somehow familiar. His brow furrowed a bit at that, not sure how any of this could be considered ‘familiar’, but he nevertheless returned the gesture and shook the young man’s hand. “The pleasure is mine,” he said, although it felt a bit weird to be so polite, when the only person he’d talked to (if you could call it that) for the last two and a half years was his uncle. 

As Kakashi pulled his hand back, Iruka felt the edge of one of Kakashi’s fingernails subtly trace his palm, sending an inexplicable shiver up Iruka’s arm and down his spine. He didn’t know why, but that small touch sent Iruka right back to last night, and the impossible image of a mythical beast towering over him overlapped with the sight of the two people beside him. It didn’t make much sense, but it must’ve been obvious on his face that something was wrong with him because Kushina’s expression twisted in concern, while Kakashi’s became withdrawn, almost completely blank if not for the small furrow in his brow.

“You’ve gotten so pale,” Kushina said softly, cautiously reaching out to gently touch the side of Iruka’s face. 

This similar, yet completely different touch jarred Iruka back into the present, and he unwittingly flinched. Kushina immediately retracted her hand, a somewhat sad smile on her face as she looked him over, but her green eyes glistened with an oddly determined sheen that kept Iruka from apologizing for his unseemly behavior. 

Again, he wondered what she saw, but he was too afraid to ask.

“Iruka-kun,” she gently called, completely bypassing any sense of formality between them, not that he minded, “it’s still pretty early in the morning, only a little after seven o’clock, so why don’t you lay down and rest for a bit longer? I’ll go get breakfast made and then we can all eat together. How does that sound?”

While the idea of leaving the large, nearly-empty room he was in spiked Iruka’s anxiety a bit, he nodded at her suggestion nevertheless, glancing at Kakashi as if to make sure he was alright with that as well. Not that Iruka thought Kakashi could make decisions for him, let alone Kushina, but he still felt a bit relieved when the corner of Kakashi’s lips twitched upwards and his visible eye smiled even more than his mouth.

It resembled acceptance, that look, and Iruka’s body felt like a cord of tension had been cut as Kushina helped him lay back against the futon. She pulled the comforter up to just under his chin, shamelessly planted a warmhearted kiss against his forehead, and gracefully stood up to walk over to the shōji. Kakashi followed her and slid open the door, taking a step out and, once again, blocking the sun from blinding Iruka, which Iruka was now quite convinced was on purpose.

“Any food requests?” Kushina asked before she too stepped out of the room.

Iruka shook his head, the kindness he was being shown lodging a thick, burning emotion in his throat and making him unable to speak.

A smirk appeared on Kakashi’s face and he told Iruka, “Don’t worry, Kushina-chan won’t be the one cooking, so no matter what it is, at least it’ll be edible.”

The last thing Iruka saw before Kakashi slid the shōji shut was Kushina using her kimono sleeve to whack Kakashi straight in the face, causing Kakashi to make a strange sound that was somewhere between a groan, a grunt, and a laugh. It was so comical that Iruka couldn’t help but grip the comforter by his face with both hands, bunching it up over his mouth to muffle the chuckle that was forced out of him at the sight.

The laugh faded into a sigh as he watched their silhouettes walk away, and Iruka found the stark silence left in their absence to be oppressive in a way that he was disturbed to find reminded him of his uncle’s storage closet. He hated the comparison—that such a horrible place had the audacity to try and take away the safety and warmth of the room he currently occupied—so Iruka roughly turned onto his side and grit his teeth, clenching his eyes shut. A pathetic facsimile of the laugh from before slithered out between his pursed lips, and quickly devolved into something more like a sob.

He turned his head, pressing his face into the futon pillow as hard as he could, hoping to smother the sound, but it only got worse as every emotion he had been desperately trying to suppress came bubbling up to the surface. Iruka fell back asleep like that, nearly suffocating himself against the damp, wrinkled pillow.

Just outside the room Iruka now slept within, Kakashi was leaning against the wall, his arms crossed while his lips turned downward into a displeased frown. He’d lingered behind as Kushina carried on, something weighing his feet down the further he got away from Iruka, until he’d gotten no farther than just beyond the shōji before he’d felt compelled to stop. 

And then he’d heard the sound of weak laughter.

Laughter, which had quickly deteriorated into the kind of crying that only someone, whose last strand of composure had finally snapped, could cry. 

Kakashi’s hands clenched into fists against his crossed arms, his fingers pressing so tightly against his palms that he could feel his nails breaking his skin and drawing blood. It was only when the sound died down and, Kakashi presumed, Iruka finally fell back asleep, that he let his arms hang loosely at his sides and he could breathe again. The heart-wrenching sound of Iruka’s sobs had stilled his breath, trapping it in his chest and winding an unnamed tension throughout his body, which only dispelled once the high-pitched buzz of silence was all Kakashi could hear.

He lifted his hands enough so that his eye could take them in, watching the sluggish flow of blood from his nail marks slide down the contour of his palm, dripping lazily to the wooden floor below. His eye narrowed and Kakashi tucked his hands into his yukata sleeves, a sense of resolve overcoming him.

As the weight keeping him in place finally lifted, Kakashi cast a long, thoughtful glance in Iruka’s direction, before turning around and walking away.

He’d have to miss breakfast. He was hungry for something else. 

Kakashi was starving and, for the first time, he looked forward to the hunt.

It was the feeling of his side being pushed and pulled by a pair of tiny hands that withdrew Iruka from the calm nothingness that his unconscious state had been floating around in. The peaceful void was immediately missed once he became aware of the living world again, but Iruka still cracked his eyes open, cautiously turning his head to look behind him and see what was treating him like a loaf of bread dough that needed to be kneaded.

A young, blond boy, who couldn’t be any older than 5 or 6, was the culprit in question. A part of Iruka wanted to be annoyed—wanted to sleep for much longer, and couldn’t fathom what the munchkin wanted from him to disrupt that desired sleep like this—but a much larger part of him was oddly amused by the whole thing, especially since the boy’s tongue was sticking out as if it took all of his concentration to shake Iruka’s body to and fro.

That look of concentration was quickly replaced by a lopsided, but very wide grin when the boy made eye contact with Iruka. “You’re up!” the boy shouted, and Iruka helplessly chuckled as it was so obvious that the boy had been tasked with waking him. He must’ve been so proud of himself that he accomplished his task. Just look at those huge, bright blue eyes.

They practically sparkled.

As Iruka slowly sat his tired body up, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever looked like that. He hoped so. He hoped his parents had been shaken awake by a younger, more innocent version of himself, and had been unable to get mad when faced with his unmitigated enthusiasm that only someone so young could have. Forcibly shaking those thoughts loose from his mind, Iruka looked at the boy, and was immediately reminded of Kushina by the shape of the boy’s facial features, which meant this was probably her son. The coloring must’ve been from his father, which made Iruka wonder how many uniquely colored people lived at this Inari shrine. Silver, bright red, now blond...he’d certainly found himself in a strange place, amongst strange, but kind people.

“Is breakfast ready?” Iruka asked in a sleepy, groggy voice, earning a few eager nods in reply.

“Papa’s making omurice!” the boy announced, springing to his feet in one smooth, cat-like movement. He skittered over to the door, seemingly powered by an endless amount of energy that was making Iruka want to lay back down simply watching him, and pushed the sliding doors open.

“Kura-mama tried to make hot cakes, even though Mama said she wanted to, but then there was a fire and Papa saved the day! He kicked them out of the kitchen and now he’s cooking.” The boy laughed as he explained what had happened while Iruka was asleep, and Iruka, unable to help himself, laughed a bit as well when he tried to imagine it. He had no idea who ‘Kura-mama’ was, but they sounded like a welcome addition to the already interesting motley crew they had going on here. 

Who knew someone like Kushina could help contribute to such chaos and destruction the moment they stepped into a kitchen? That dichotomy was pretty funny, Iruka had to admit. He couldn’t help but wonder, though, why she’d tried cooking when Kakashi had said she wouldn’t. Hadn’t he been there to stop the destruction before it began?

Well, maybe she was merely too much of a force to be reckoned with, Iruka thought with a little laugh that was more of a sigh.

It was a bit of a struggle, but Iruka stood up from the futon, straightened up and folded the comforter to look as neat as he could make it, and then turned to face the young boy. He flinched, not expecting the boy to be right there when he turned around, but he nonetheless stared silently back as the boy’s unblinking eyes looked up at him, apparently taking him in. After a full minute of silence, the young boy must’ve judged him to be alright, because he reached out and tugged on the hem of Iruka’s dirty, torn shirt, and smiled brightly again.

“I’m Naruto,” the boy said, turning around and using his grip on Iruka’s shirt to lead him out of the room before Iruka could say anything in response.

As they wandered down a hall, although he was in somewhat of a daze and hadn’t even introduced himself back, Iruka remained quiet and couldn’t help but look around, fascinated by the traditional structure of the shrine-cum-home. He was especially taken with the large garden that seemed to be the center point of the house portion of the shrine, and had been the first thing he’d seen as the room he had been in was one of many rooms that directly faced it.

The further away from his room they got, Iruka took in more and more of his surroundings, finding nothing particularly strange or out of place, and yet he couldn’t help but feel that something was...off. He couldn’t put his finger on what gave him such a feeling. It almost felt like a fun house at points; as if the outdoor halls were too wide, or the indoor halls too narrow to be made for humans, and the atmosphere was filled with a sense of mystery that kept Iruka guessing as to what was causing it, laughing at him as it refused to give him even a sliver of a hint. Despite the unnerving nature of the shrine, Iruka didn’t dislike it.

It felt more real, more alive, than the four cold, dark walls of the storage room he’d lived in until now.

Pulled out of his musings by the sudden halt in their forward trek, Iruka looked down at the boy leading the way with a questioning expression. Naruto just smiled up at him, opened the door they’d stopped in front of, and pointed inside.

“This is the bathroom. Papa made sure to get the bath ready for you, and some new clothes, so go ahead and use it!” Naruto said, his smiled only getting bigger as if he had been the one to prepare this luxury for Iruka.

Glancing down at himself—his clothes torn, bloodied, and lord knew he probably smelt awful—Iruka was struck with shame, feeling his face heat up significantly and his expression twist in embarrassment. Dear god, he’d slept in one of their futons like this, and even worse, he’d sat there and spoken to two people while looking (and Christ, smelling) as awful as he did...Kakashi had touched his hand—he had to have been disgusted by Iruka’s overall state, yet he still touched him. 

All at once, Iruka wanted to cry again, and that only made him feel more terrible.

Despite being so young, Naruto seemingly honed in on Iruka’s distress because he carelessly flung himself forward, wrapping his arms around Iruka’s midsection and nuzzling his face against his stomach. “It’s okay!” Naruto loudly declared, his voice hardly even muffled by Iruka’s clothes, it was so loud. “No one is mad at you for being messy!”

Naruto pulled his face back enough to stare up at Iruka, whose face was already facing downward out of shame, so he wound up staring right back at the young boy, and thus Iruka saw the heartbreaking expression on Naruto’s face. This child was trying so hard to make Iruka feel better, was trying to take away Iruka’s pain…

Iruka’s urge to cry grew, only this time for an entirely different reason.

Unaware of his effect on Iruka, Naruto waddled backwards into the bathroom with Iruka still in his grasp, and although Iruka could have sworn he saw something whip past him, that came from behind the young boy, and shut the door, he was in no state to think too deeply about the strange occurrence. He was far too focused on Naruto’s face and his small arms around him.

“I get messy all the time,” Naruto said once they were safely inside the bathroom, breaking the silence. “Mama sometimes yells at me for it, but she and Kura-mama never really get mad at me about it. ‘Kashi makes fun of me when I’m messy, and Papa laughs and think it’s funny. No one actually cares about mess, they only care if I get hurt or break something.”

As he spoke, Naruto’s whole visage seemed to give off a feeling of him being older than he was, and the look in his eyes was very profound even if what he was saying wasn’t all that deep. It didn’t matter, as it still struck Iruka for just what this child was trying to accomplish. Someone so young had so much empathy within them that he was trying this hard to make Iruka feel better, to no longer feel ashamed of his appearance—hell, by the sound of it, Naruto was even trying to shoulder the burden of his shame.

What an incredible kid…

But Iruka was older, and he took the responsibility of his age seriously. 

He was about to gently remove Naruto’s arms from around him, play off the whole thing as a moment of weakness, and let them move on, but, once again, Naruto surprised him.

“So I’m an expert at getting clean!” Naruto said, smiling brightly as he rested his chin against Iruka’s stomach, tilting his head back and forth in a ridiculously charming manner. “Let’s take a bath together.”

Stunned to silence, Iruka was utterly at the mercy of the boy holding onto him and sighed, simply nodding in reply. He hadn’t bathed with anyone in what felt like a very long time, so he was a little awkward about it, but Naruto’s nonchalance helped him ease into a routine that neither of them had practiced but so naturally fell into. It struck him, as he was scrubbing shampoo into Naruto’s hair, that the last time he had the chance to do anything remotely close to this was almost 5 years ago, when he had gone on vacation to Yufuin Onsen with his parents during Golden Week. While his mother went into the women’s side alone, his father had sat next to him while they washed up before going into one of the large, outdoor baths, and had been more playful than usual as he’d surprised Iruka by attacking his son’s long hair with more soap than necessary, creating a soapy afro on his head that made his father laugh so hard he actually teared up.

And now, with that memory he hadn’t thought of in so long replaying in his head like it had happened only yesterday, Iruka felt himself tearing up in a way that very much differed from the memory of his father.

The hands still settled in Naruto’s soapy hair started to tremble, and Iruka bit his lip as hard as he could to try and quell the feeling bubbling up within him. Despite his best efforts, however, a small sound escaped him, causing Naruto to turn around and look at him inquisitively. The boy’s expression flashed with something like panic, and as he turned his whole body to face Iruka, dislodging Iruka’s fingers from his hair, his hands flailed a bit in the air before settling against Iruka’s arms. Naruto’s gentle touch, which slid down his arms until they were holding both of his hands, made Iruka unable to stop the sob he’d been desperately holding back from echoing throughout the bathroom any longer. Hearing the awful noise bounce off the walls and back at the two of them was humiliating, and Iruka scrunched his eyes shut tightly.

Naruto was blessedly silent as Iruka cried, but he wasn’t still. 

The boy stood up, letting go of Iruka’s hands, and, before Iruka could mourn losing the comfort that touch had given him, he was enveloped in warmth as Naruto hugged Iruka’s head to his tiny chest. Under more normal circumstances Iruka would be embarrassed by the fact that he was being hugged like this, with only a towel wrapped around each of their hips for modesty, as he cried his eyes out in front of a child while only half clean, but hearing the sound of his own weeping had pushed him past the point of caring. He carefully wrapped his own arms around Naruto, less as a response to being hugged first and more as a need to have something to anchor him in his distress, and let loose a grief he hadn’t realized he’d kept bottled up all this time. 

Iruka hadn’t had a moment’s peace, after the passing of his parents, and now that he was safe and being properly cared for it was as if his very soul understood that now, right here, he could finally start to let go of the two people he had cared for more than anything else in this world.

He had no idea how much time had passed—it could’ve only been a few minutes, or an entire hour—but Iruka’s tears eventually stopped flowing so freely, and other than a small hitch in his breath every once in awhile, those ugly sobs from before had shriveled up and died. He gladly buried them. Naruto was the one to pull back first, but only enough to place his hands on either side of Iruka’s face and tilt his head upwards so they were looking each other in the eye. He had such a soft expression that Iruka felt something in his chest break.

It was probably his heart.

“Papa says that crying makes you stronger,” Naruto said, his normally loud voice properly subdued to match the mood. “He says that, when you cry, it pulls all the things that hurt you out of your body, and the wind carries them far away from you, where they can’t hurt you anymore.”

His mouth formed that same, lopsided grin from before, and he added, “I always think of the time Kura-mama had to use tweezers to pull a bug out of my ear when I hear Papa say that—crying must pull the bad things out of you like the tweezers pulled out the bug—but I’d rather cry than go through that again so...crying is much better!”

As seemed to be the theme with Iruka and the people within this shrine, the boy’s words had Iruka laughing helplessly, unable to stop himself. It was such a ridiculous comparison, but the absurdity of it, oddly enough, made Iruka feel better, and when he let out his last laugh and breathed deeply, settling himself down, he looked into Naruto’s eyes and hoped that the gratitude he felt was shown on his face as much as it filled up his beaten and battered heart.

It must’ve gotten through since Naruto gently patted his cheeks, as if to say he got the message, and then he told Iruka to turn around because he was going to wash his hair and scrub his back. It gave Iruka the time to properly collect himself, and soothed him greatly when Naruto’s careful and slow ministrations helped wash away the pain and grief, if only for the moment.

From there they finished their shared bath with no more emotional breakdowns. It was a close call when Naruto, who helped towel-dry Iruka’s hair, had his shockingly blue eyes trace something over Iruka’s face that he couldn’t see, and the sympathy within them stabbed Iruka in the chest, but he managed to hold the torrent of emotions that rose up at bay, if only just; he didn’t even know what Naruto had been looking at, but the way he looked at it was much too understanding for a child of his age. Instead of allowing any more tears, Iruka found himself chuckling a few more times as Naruto told one crazy story after the next, and he didn’t even realize they’d finished, got dry, and changed into their clothes (Naruto’s clothes were the same as before, but Iruka’s were a clean black button-up shirt and black pants that were both a little too big for him, but he hardly minded) until they were standing in the doorway of a new room.

Naruto took his hand and led him over to the decently-sized dining room table. They sat down side-by-side and both looked at the two adults fluttering about the kitchen, which wasn’t that far away from where they sat, and Iruka felt a reserved smile form on his face at the fact that neither Kushina nor her husband even realized they were there yet. They probably weren’t used to Naruto entering a room quietly, or were so caught up in each other that the rest of the world had merely faded away. Iruka didn’t blame them. Kushina was a beautiful woman, and the man that had to be Naruto’s father was so handsome it was kind of hard to look at him—actually, it was hard to see him, overall, like he was an image with its opacity settings a little below 100%, but Iruka thought he was just imagining things—so the sappy looks they kept giving each other as Kushina complained that she did know how to cook, really she did, and the man smiled and nodded as if to placate her, were understandable. His own parents used to look at each other like that, and sometimes didn’t notice he was there, so Iruka wasn’t bothered or embarrassed by it.

Naruto, on the other hand, only let it go on for so long before he threw back his head and let out a long, childish groan, announcing, “I’m starviiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!”

A few things happened all at once, after that.

The man jumped as if startled, blushed deeper than any adult man Iruka had ever seen, and looked at both him and Naruto apologetically as he placed the omurice in the frying pan he was holding on a plate he’d prepared on the counter; for a split-second Iruka thought the man’s ‘opacity setting’ dipped to below 50%, but he blinked, and the man was back to normal. 

He didn’t have time to really think about it when Kushina followed up with a bright greeting, drawing his attention, and then brought two plates with omurice on them over to the boys. One was normal, with nothing but a squiggle of ketchup on top and a spoon set beside it, while the other had a very generous helping of ketchup on top, and a little Japanese flag stuck in the middle of it.

It wasn’t hard to guess which one was going to Naruto, and once again Iruka was helplessly charmed by the boy’s very existence.

Well, really, the whole domestic scene was entirely too charming for him to take, so Iruka kept his eyes pointed down at his food as he said a quick thanks, then slowly began to eat. It was delicious, better than any of the watered-down bowls of soup/gruel/whatever it was Anago gave him to eat twice a day, and Iruka had to bite the inside of his cheek to push down the urge to cry again; he’d had enough of that, thank you very much. Naruto finished his plate before Iruka was a full third through his omurice, and Iruka couldn’t help but worry that he might be eating too slowly, becoming a nuisance, when he watched Kushina bring over another serving for the boy and affectionately ruffle his hair.

But before the concern could fully take root he was distracted by the feeling of something frigid falling over the contour of his shoulder, something so cold that it sent a chill right down Iruka’s spine. When Iruka looked over he saw Naruto’s father standing next to him, his hand on Iruka’s shoulder, and although Iruka could now see that the man’s hand for himself, it didn’t feel like he was actually being touched—it felt more like a cold mist had merely concentrated into a ball on his shoulder, and nothing more. It was the strangest thing, but he didn’t dwell too much on it when he looked up into the man’s friendly face.

“Don’t worry about eating too slowly,” he said, his voice soft and kind and so much warmer than his touch. “Take all the time you need. I don’t want you to make yourself sick, and I’m sure you haven’t...eaten a proper meal in a while.” 

The man’s lips dipped into something a bit more sorrowful, but he made the attempt to look happier as he said, “I’m Naruto’s father, by the way, although I’m sure a clever boy like you already had that figured out.” 

He chuckled lightly, and something about the sound of it reminded Iruka of soft bells chiming in the distance. It was a calming sound that made Iruka’s anxiety melt away. “My name is Namikaze Minato,” he added, his eyes smiling just as much as his mouth. “While I wasn’t allowed to give my name away, or take Kushina’s, I promise you I don’t mind in the slightest if you happen to call me Uzumaki-san. In fact, I would very much enjoy it.”

While Iruka found it a bit strange that he was Kushina’s husband, and yet they didn’t share a family name, he felt like he was a pretty open-minded person and didn’t question it too much. In fact, he was a bit beguiled by the man, who looked so delighted at the very idea that Iruka would call him by his wife’s family name; Iruka thought so when he first saw Minato in the kitchen, staring at his wife with an utterly besotted expression, but the man was very much wrapped around Kushina’s finger. 

Or, at least Iruka thought, it was more likely that Minato willingly wrapped himself around her finger and refused to let go. 

Unable and unwilling to stop himself, Iruka chuckled quietly, turning back to his omurice with a soft expression on his face. “Thank you, Uzumaki-san,” was all he said in response, not bothering to introduce himself back as he was sure Minato had heard all about him by now.

A response came in what Iruka assumed was Minato patting his shoulder, though it was more of a strange fluctuation between the room’s warmth and that unique chill Minato’s touch brought with it, and the man headed back into the kitchen to wash up. The rest of breakfast passed in the blink of an eye, although Iruka was sure it took him far longer than he would’ve liked to finally finish his meal, and once they were done Naruto wrapped Iruka’s hand in his own, like he had done before, and led him to another room that was only a sliding door away from where they had been.

The room they entered was even larger than the room Iruka had woken up in, and was obviously made for gathering together with others and relaxing. There was a large couch that circled most of the room, with several thick, comfortable-looking blankets folded neatly and strewn over the armrests; large, thick pillows were placed evenly between each couch cushion, just begging for Iruka to pile on top of them and take a nap; and a long table in the middle of it all that had a perfectly-sized comforter pressed underneath the table-top and falling to the floor so invitingly, making Iruka’s eyes widen as it was the longest kotatsu he had ever seen. Adorning the wall the couch faced was a large, flat-screen TV, and not for the first time Iruka thought that, although this was an Inari shrine with a very traditional outward appearance, the inside furnishing (like the kitchen/dining room with the tall dining table and new appliances, and now all of this) were very modern.

Iruka grinned a bit to himself, wondering if you could describe the environment someone lived in as gap moe, or if that was only reserved for personality types.

Naruto tugged Iruka over onto the couch and sat him down, snuggling up against Iruka’s side once Iruka seemed settled, and it wasn’t long afterwards that Minato and Kushina made their way into the room and got comfortable themselves. A silence filled the room, but it was thankfully a comfortable one, but right when Iruka thought he might actually sink into the couch pillows and take that nap he’d thought about before someone spoke up.

Naruto had shuffled until his head was in Iruka’s lap, with the older boy responding by brushing his fingers through Naruto’s hair like one would when petting a cat’s fur, and waited a beat before he bluntly asked, “So what happened?”

Iruka flinched, stopping his fingers for a moment, before he carried on the motion that was as soothing to him as it was to Naruto. He opened his mouth to reply, but his voice refused to vacate his chest, leaving his parted lips trembling as he struggled to get his body to comply with his desire to be upfront and honest with these people. People who had no obligation to help him, to take care of him, but had been nothing but kind and gentle to him from the moment he opened his eyes to this very second.

Clenching his eyes shut tightly, Iruka felt his face flush in what could only be described as shame, or maybe embarrassment, and let his hands slip from Naruto’s silky hair to clench the material of his shirt over his stomach in a quivering grasp. He felt nausea churn in his nervous gut, but he ruthlessly ignored the feeling; the last thing he wanted to do was revisit the delicious breakfast he’d been served.

It must’ve been so terribly obvious that he was struggling to come up with an answer because he felt Naruto shift into a sitting position next to him, softly placing a hand against his arm in a small gesture of comfort, and he heard someone else come closer and sit by his unoccupied side. When he felt the couch cushion next to him adjust to the weight of a body sitting atop it, gravity pulling him in slightly, Iruka cracked his eyes open and was surprised by Minato kneeling on the floor in front of him, while Kushina had been the one to sit beside him. He’d only heard one person approach, so it was quite unexpected for both of Naruto’s parents to be there. The man didn’t make any noise as he moved, like he was a ghost, and Iruka would be impressed if he wasn’t so busy trying not to have what he was now recognizing as a panic attack.

Kushina slipped an arm across his shoulders and drew Iruka into a sideways hug, her hands rubbing his arms in an attempt to console him, while Minato simply stared up at Iruka with an expression that slowly but surely melted away the abashment that had been gnawing on Iruka’s insides. It was as if Minato was telling him that it was okay, he could take all the time he needed, and it was such a simple message, but, as it had been what Iruka needed to hear during breakfast, it was what he needed to see at that very moment. 

Iruka almost felt feverish as he came down from the spike of whatever awful thing he’d just experienced, leaning all of his weight into Kushina’s side as he took a few deep breaths, willing his body to stop trembling. Kushina kept rubbing his arms slowly, Minato’s cold touch blanketed Iruka’s knees (and this time he was thankful for the chill, rather than perturbed by it), and Naruto had taken Iruka’s hand closest to him in both of his own, holding it against his chest. Iruka didn’t know if Naruto was aware of how comforting that was, as he could feel the boy’s heart beating quickly and nervously within Naruto’s chest, but he was thankful all the same.

“I’m...okay,” Iruka eventually managed to say, once he felt calm. He sat up straight, no longer relying on Kushina to keep him upright, but he didn’t move away from her hold, nor Naruto’s. He simply looked down at Minato, into that expression that became an anchor for him, and finally found the courage to say what needed to be said.

So Iruka talked, and talked and talked, until his throat felt dry. He explained how his parents died, how it was his uncle that took him in, how for years he’d been living in a prison that should have been a home, and how he'd been told that he was 'perfect'. Iruka told them every detail of how he eventually dug his way to freedom, of how he ran into the night with no destination in mind, and how he’d wound up at the bottom of the steps that led up to the Inari shrine. It was at that point that he stopped talking, chewing nervously on his bottom lip as he looked away from Minato for the first time, and knew he couldn’t say anymore.

Was he supposed to say that a skeleton taller than the forest tree-line had found him? 

Or that, in a moment of exhaustion and weakness, he’d offered himself up to the skeleton like some midnight snack? 

No. He definitely couldn’t say any of that. Especially since it was all merely a product of his warped imagination, to begin with, and secondly it’d make him sound absolutely insane. 

So instead, Iruka closed his eyes for a moment as he took a fortifying breath, then looked back at Minato with a strained smile and said, “Seeing those stairs is the last thing I remember, before waking up in a room here at your shrine.”

Minato’s deep blue eyes scanned Iruka’s face, though what he was trying to find Iruka didn’t know, and was silent for all of a beat before he smiled back at Iruka and nodded. “Thank you for telling us,” he said, pulling his hands away from Iruka’s knees and standing up, all in one smooth motion. He looked towards the sliding doors and called in a voice that was louder than he'd ever spoken, “Did you hear all of that?”

For one terrifying second Iruka thought he’d been played, that this had all been a trap set by his uncle to make him think he’d gotten free only to have it all wind up being a lie. His heart started a match of one-sided fisticuffs with his rib cage, before leaping unceremoniously into his throat, only to drop right back down like a stone when the sliding doors were pushed open and a familiar face stood on the other side. 

Not even for the first time it wasn’t his uncle.

But Hatake Kakashi.

The amount of relief that Iruka felt made him feel malleable, like metal that had been pounded by a hammer over and over again until it no longer had any discernible shape, and he unconsciously slumped back into Kushina’s side as he let out a soft, trembling exhalation. His head rested against her collarbone as he felt all of his strength leave him, and was more than happy to accept it when one of the hands that Kushina had used to rub warmth into his arms moved to his bangs, beginning a gentle rhythm of brushing them back, letting them fall, and brushing them back again. By the time he recognized that Kakashi and Minato had kept talking, he’d already missed half of their conversation.

“—found the trail, so I know where the bastard lives,” he caught Kakashi saying, the growl in his voice oddly nice to hear, though Iruka couldn’t quantify it.

“Good,” Minato replied, the smile on his face much sharper than the last one Iruka had seen, “then we can pay him a visit later on.”

If Iruka hadn’t felt like a wrung out dishrag he might’ve connected the dots and realized who they meant, or what the malice in their words towards the ‘bastard’ Kakashi mentioned implied, but everything was a bit too much at the moment and he didn’t have an ounce of strength left in him to be cognizant of what was going on. In fact, before he knew it, he’d closed his eyes and let the sound of Kakashi and Minato’s deep voices fade into an indistinct, inconsistent beat that he quickly began to fall asleep to.

The last thing he heard was Kushina’s voice in his ear, but it was the harsher, huskier tone that he’d heard come out only once before.

“Sleep well, Little One,” she said in that peculiar tone, her arms holding Iruka close. “The world will be a safer one when you wake.”

Safe...Iruka wanted to be safe more than anything, wanted to believe her words more than anything, and so he did as he was told and let sleep rise up to claim him.

Little did he know what it really meant for the world to be safer. 

Or what horrors awaited his uncle when he next ventured into the dark.

The sun was setting.

Or, that was what Iruka had thought when he’d woken up, back in the same room he’d first awaked in, and had slowly stood up and made his way over to the shōji to slide them open. The reds, oranges, yellows, and soft pinks of the sky had painted the garden outside his room in a beautiful array of color, and he couldn’t help but stand there and stare, waiting for the colors to darken until the moonlight washed them out. However, they only got brighter, bluer, and it took Iruka far too long to realize that the sun wasn’t setting, but rising. 

And it was at that moment that he understood...he’d slept all of the previous day away.

How long had he been awake before conking right back out? Several hours, at least. He’d taken his time getting to breakfast, what with his and Naruto’s bath-detour, and then eating breakfast had been a slow affair, which then led to him then spilling his guts to Kushina, Minato, Naruto, and (to his surprise) Kakashi. Four-ish hours in total, perhaps? Still, Iruka found it hard to reconcile with the fact that he had wasted so much of a day sleeping, even if he had been completely exhausted by everything that had happened.

He felt his brow furrow, staring up at the sky that now was bright blue, with not a single cloud marring its clear canvas, and had no idea how long he stood there and stared. That is, until a thin, pale finger came into view and lightly flicked his forehead, pulling him out of the staring match he was destined to lose with the sky.

“What the—” he squawked, slapping a hand up to his forehead to rub at the abused spot. 

“I just wanted to be sure you weren’t broken or something.” 

Iruka peered up at the familiar face of Kakashi, who was leisurely staring back down at him with a small twitch at the corner of his mouth that Iruka knew had to be him suppressing the urge to smile. Unwittingly, it made Iruka’s own mouth tilt upwards, a warm and pleasant feeling spreading throughout him at the sight.

Parting his lips to say something casual, or perhaps a little teasing, Iruka instead paused when he noticed something smeared near Kakashi’s left ear, right at the juncture of his jawline. It wasn’t anything big, almost as if Kakashi had washed his face and just missed a spot, but it stood out in crude contrast to how fair Kakashi’s skin was, and so Iruka couldn’t help but notice it.

Without even thinking about it, Iruka pulled his hand away from his own forehead and reached up to gently cup the side of Kakashi’s face, hardly noticing the older boy’s eyes widen in surprise. “There’s something—” he said, but didn’t finish his sentence as his fingers traced the shape of Kakashi’s cheek until they reached his jaw, their touch feather-light as they slid just under Kakashi’s ear, his thumb resting over the offending, dark red smudge. He put some strength into his thumb and pressed it over Kakashi’s skin, successfully wiping whatever it was off of the other boy’s face in a single swipe, smiling a bit to himself.

“There,” Iruka said, his eyes squinting happily as he looked into Kakashi’s uncovered eye, “all better.”

As Iruka watched, Kakashi’s expression morphed into a few indiscernible emotions, but before it could settle on anything that Iruka could identify Kakashi turned away, the movement causing Iruka’s hand to slip from his face and float awkwardly in the air between them. Iruka blinked, and then felt his skin grow warmer as embarrassment started to build within him, but before he could say anything, apologize for his careless action most likely, Kakashi, though he remained facing away from him, grabbed Iruka’s floating hand and used it to start pulling Iruka gently down the hall.

“You don’t have to be sorry,” Kakashi said, as if reading Iruka’s mind. “I’m just not...used to people wanting to touch me, is all…”

The hand enveloping Iruka’s own was warm, a little bigger than his own, and clumsy, but it was far more comforting than it had any right to be. Iruka felt himself calm down rather quickly, aided by the fact that, although his back was facing him, Iruka could still see Kakashi’s nape and the backs of his ears, both of which were deeply flushed; perhaps it was unfair of him, but knowing that Kakashi was flustered, and over something as small as Iruka’s touch, made him feel relieved, and oddly triumphant. It was nice to know he wasn’t the only one affected by the actions of those around him, as strange a thought he was sure that was.

Iruka knew his smile could be heard in his voice as he said, “Well, you touched me first, so I thought it was only fair.”

He heard Kakashi let out what sounded like a scoff, or maybe it was a laugh disguised as a breath, and then the older boy mumbled something Iruka couldn’t quite make out, but he definitely heard the words ‘not the same’ and ‘brat’.

After turning a few corners, and heading down a couple halls, Iruka realized that the path they were taking was a familiar one, and was happy to see the same kitchen and dining room from yesterday eventually come into view. Iruka felt a sliver of glee when he looked down at his hand, still held in Kakashi’s grip, and thought about it being the second time he came to this space only after being led to it. The feeling only grew when a similar scene played out before him in the kitchen, of Kushina and Minato playfully talking to one another as the man cooked and the woman pretended to be of any help, but this time both adults noticed him and Kakashi in the doorway rather quickly, their expressions noticeably brightening.

“Kakashi, Iruka, come sit down! Minato’s making a huge breakfast,” Kushina announced, coming around the kitchen island to take Kakashi’s hand into hers. They became a train of three people as she led them both over to the table and sat them down side-by-side, and although Kushina relinquished her hold on Kakashi to return to the kitchen, Kakashi kept Iruka’s hand in his own. 

Iruka didn’t mind in the least.

Naruto took up Iruka’s other side, leaning against Iruka’s arm as he shot a toothy grin up at him. Iruka was unafraid to admit that his heart melted at the sight, and from there they all shared what was indeed a very large, traditionally Japanese breakfast, with contentment and easy conversation shared all around.

It was the most serene Iruka had felt in a very, very long time.

He didn’t even realize he and Kakashi didn’t let go of each other’s hands throughout the entire thing—Kakashi used chopsticks with his left hand so easily that no one noticed anything peculiar about it—until they were standing up from the table to help clean up everything. Kakashi let Iruka go as if he’d never held on to begin with, and Iruka stood frozen for a moment, a few dirty dishes in his grasp, feeling the warmth that had been pressed into his skin slowly fade away.

If Kakashi wasn’t going to say anything about it, Iruka decided not to either, and played it as cool as he could as he brought the dishes into the kitchen and placed them in the sink. Kakashi had already walked away from the kitchen, heading to the gathering room next door, so Iruka made to roll up his sleeves and get started on washing the dishes but was promptly stopped by Kushina, her hands on his shoulders as she urged him out so he could go sit with Kakashi, Minato, and Naruto on the large couch in the other room. She said something about how Iruka should relax, get comfortable, but her tone of voice was noticably hesitant, nervous almost, and Iruka was more zeroed in on the sound of it than what she was really saying.

Strange…

The wonderfully peaceful atmosphere of their breakfast began to slowly dissipate with each step towards the sitting room, being replaced by an uncertain, but not wholly unpleasant feeling in its place; it was a weird combination, most definitely, but it didn’t make Iruka fearful of what was to come. It reminded him of when his parents tried to throw him a surprise party the year before they died, but weren’t certain if he’d like being surprised when, as a much younger child, he’d bawled his eyes out when they’d popped out from behind the kitchen island and shouted congratulations at him; they hadn’t tried to surprise him like that again, until years later. Their second attempt had been met with a far better reaction—of course it had been, as he hadn’t been a toddler like he was the first time, he thought wistfully—but he understood their reluctant hope nonetheless. They had been first-time parents back then, so, until they knew how he felt about, or where they all stood on certain things, they had tended to treat him like something fragile. Something that would break with the slightest provocation.

And just when they’d finally gotten the hang of him, Iruka had been forced to lose them both.

Forcing those thoughts out of his head, he stepped into the sitting room and circled the enormous kotatsu, making his way to a corner of the couch that he tucked himself away in and held a small pillow in his arms for solace. He spared the others in the room with him a quick glance, getting a read on their expressions, before leaning his head back, letting his eyes slip closed for a moment as he did as Kushina had suggested and relaxed. Truly relaxed.

If this strange group of people had something to say, were handling him like something fragile same as his parents had, then Iruka decided he’d be forbearing. He’d let them come to him, so to speak, rather than forcing the issue.

They’d been so patient with him, it was the least he could do to be patient with them right back.

With his eyes closed, Iruka listened to the rustling of movement to his left, his lips threatening to smile when he felt a small body lean against his side and rest its head against his arm. Then he laughed very softly to himself when that same body restlessly wiggled its way under Iruka’s arm instead, apparently deciding it’d rather be embraced than merely supported, and Iruka was more than happy to obliged by holding that tiny body close. 

When it—that is, when Naruto—sighed contentedly, almost making what Iruka would call a purring sound, it seemed that was the signal for his patience to be rewarded.

“Iruka-kun,” Minato said lightly, then paused, causing Iruka to open his eyes and look at the man when he took that as his cue to make eye-contact. It was both endearing and a little concerning when he realized Minato was wavering, rather than waiting for Iruka to look at him, and was wringing his hands the way a child would when anxious to say something. “Iruka-kun,” he tried again, “we have something to discuss with you.”

He felt Naruto’s arms slip around his waist in a hug, tightening around him in a little, comforting squeeze as if to press a bit of his childlike strength into Iruka; what he’d need it for, he did not know, but he was thankful for the gesture all the same. Offering a squeeze of Naruto’s shoulders in return, Iruka then glanced at Kakashi, who hadn’t really moved since he’d sat down opposite of Iruka. His hands were linked together and resting against his knees, his one visible eye staring down at them, almost as if in silent supplication. Again, Iruka didn’t know why he looked that way, or why he may have had a prayer on his mind, but he decided to have his own faith in these people and looked back at Minato with a steadiness he was surprised he didn’t have to fake.

“I’m listening,” Iruka said softly, his tone pulling a small breath out of Minato, causing the man to relax and let his hands sit loosely in his lap. Oddly enough, he seemed more solid than usual, less like Iruka was looking at him with an opaque film over his eyes that made him appear other-wordly, and Iruka wondered about that.

He wondered about a lot of things, ever since meeting these people, but he kept it to himself as Minato began to speak.

“You don’t have to worry about your uncle anymore,” he said, and if he noticed Iruka’s grip on Naruto tighten, he kindly didn’t mention it. “He will never bother you again.”

Iruka’s lips parted, but no voice passed between them, his mouth sitting agape as he floundered for something to say in response to that. His brain was going a mile a minute, but couldn’t latch on to anything coherent, and they sat in pure silence for what felt like hours, even if it was barely a few minutes. Iruka’s heart leapt up into his throat, a sensation he was becoming far too familiar with these days, but Naruto’s arms gave him another one of those little squeezes and now Iruka knew what he was borrowing Naruto’s strength for.

So he took a deep breath, gathered that courage, and resolutely looked Minato in the eye as he finally managed to ask, “What...does that mean, exactly?”

Minato made a tiny humming sound, obviously considering his words carefully, but before he could answer Kushina quietly walked in, and, as if she had burst madly through the door, all the eyes in the room flew to her. Almost in synch, Kakashi, Minato, and Naruto looked towards her, watching her move on silent, graceful feet across the room, until she sat on the couch next to Iruka, calmly occupying the side that Naruto was not.

It was so bizarre, the intensity in which all three of them had watched her, but Iruka felt like he could somewhat understand when he got the sense that the person sitting next to him wasn’t actually Kushina.

He couldn’t properly articulate the feeling of it. It wasn’t even the first time he’d looked at her and, for a sporadic instance, it felt like someone else was looking back at him through Kushina’s eyes. And that person, whomever they were, was so much more than any one person could possibly be; someone unfathomable and trustworthy, if not wholly definable. It was no wonder, then, that the others looked at her now so intently, as she had that mysterious aura about her right then, and it hardly surprised him at all when she spoke with that huskier tone of voice that always felt like it pierced Iruka right down to his very soul.

“It means that you are free, Little One,” Kushina said, her bright, green eyes curved into the same vulpecular smile as her beautifully painted lips.

She reached over in a slow, deliberated movement that gave Iruka the chance to move away if he felt so inclined (he did not), and ran her fingers gently through his unbound hair until it was smoothed down, neat, and sat over his shoulder in a quaint twist of strands, in lieu of the ponytail he normally wore. Kushina then lifted her hand to Iruka’s face, cupping his cheek as he simply stared at her, watched and felt as she moved, and then she brushed her thumb over something. He hadn’t noticed all this time, but there was some kind of indentation carved into his flesh, like a deep scratch, that travelled over his nose from cheek to cheek. Iruka suddenly had images of the night he escaped flash through his mind, sending a disturbed chill down his spine that he was sure both Kushina and Naruto felt.

That was right...there had been something sharp that had cut his face, right as he broke free of his dug-out tunnel. He’d completely forgotten about it in his desperation, and it was a wonder that there wasn’t a long bandage wrapped around his head for it, or stitches sew into his skin; it felt like an old scar under Kushina’s fingers, like he’d always had it, and Iruka didn’t know what to do with that. He remembered Naruto’s eyes tracing some shape over his face as they bathed together, the sympathy the child had looked at him with, and he felt a sense of clarity clear away some of the cobwebs that his mind felt littered with.

A little, terrifying thrill shot through him at the idea of looking in a mirror, seeing that mark for himself, and he wondered if it would feel as familiar to him as it did under Kushina’s gentle touch, or if he’d look at the person in the mirror and not recognize whoever it was that stared back at him. He wanted to find out, but he also he dreaded finding out, and something of that contradiction must have shown in his mien for Kushina’s caress stopped, and her fingers trailed down the contour of his jaw until they curled under his chin, keeping his eyes locked onto hers.

Preventing him from looking away.

“Although a part of you may never truly be free from him,” she said, and the hairs on the back of Iruka’s neck stood up, “so long as you are one of Mine, Little One, your uncle, nor anyone resembling that filth will ever dare to even look at you again.”

Iruka couldn’t explain it.

He wasn’t sure if the words actually existed to explain it.

But the fire in Kushina’s eyes, the profundity that husky voice conveyed, and her words and their absolute conviction spread the sensation of utter safety over him, and he felt tears spring to his eyes. Iruka bit his lip, however, and refused to cry; he’d had enough of that to last him a lifetime, thank you very much, and was so tired of collapsing into a weeping, bumbling mess in front of these lovely people.

Kushina saw it all—watched as her touches and her words impacted Iruka, and how Iruka fought with himself to not express it—and when she smiled it was all teeth, still seeming sharper than they actually looked, but Iruka saw it for the kindness it was trying to impress upon him.

“But I don’t—” Iruka blurted out, nearly biting his own tongue with how harshly he cut himself off. He closed his eyes for a few minutes, counting his own breaths as he got himself under control, then opened them only once he felt more steady. It helped that Naruto hugged him tighter, unabashedly offering that strength again, and the affection that welled up within him for that little boy gave him the foundation he needed to stand on in order to properly face Kushina.

To face whoever it truly was that was sitting beside him.

“I still don’t understand,” he said, and Iruka was immensely relieved at how calm he sounded, despite the slight tremor threaded through his words. “My uncle has custody of me, he’ll drag me back there the moment he finds me, and I don’t have any other family to take me in...so how am I free?”

Iruka’s brow furrowed as he spoke and, just as with the idea of his reflection, he both dreaded and anticipated the answer. But still he asked.

“How am I free?”

As he was looking at Kushina when the question passed through his lips, Iruka couldn’t help the way his shoulders flinched when it was Kakashi who chose to answer him.

“Your uncle is out of the picture,” Kakashi said, and Iruka shivered at how deep his voice came out, and the simmering ferocity of it. Iruka was allowed by Kushina to turn and look at Kakashi, as her fingers under his chin disappeared, and the single, inky black eye staring at him felt like it was pulling Iruka in when Kakashi elaborated.

“A...wild boar attacked his home last night, and decided he’d make a decent meal.”

The tears Iruka had fought so hard to keep at bay spilled over with no regard for his own wishes, falling hot and thick down his flushed cheeks, but other than the slight hitch to his breathing and his trembling body, Iruka didn’t seem terribly affected by the sudden emotional onslaught. His eyes never left Kakashi, even if the other had become nothing but a blurry, amorphous blob in his sight.

“He’s...dead?” Iruka whispered, not sure if he was asking them, or desperately trying to affirm it with himself.

“Yes,” Minato answered anyway, drawing Iruka’s wet gaze. Iruka blinked hard, shaking loose some tears so he could see somewhat better, and allowed the word ‘yes’ to really sink in. Once again Minato appeared semitransparent, like an after mirage of his own sitting figure, but he smiled kindly at Iruka and, even if he were some ghost, or a strange figment of Iruka’s tired imagination (and hadn’t those become more welcome than real people, lately?), Iruka didn’t care. As unbelievable as it was—as much as his anxiety wanted to fight the news he’d been given, and tell him it was a lie, a joke, and that his uncle would find him at any second and force him back into that storage room—he saw nothing but pure honesty in Minato’s ghost-like face.

Iruka believed him.

“The police probably found the evidence of what he did to you by now, too,” Kakashi interjected, drawing Iruka’s attention back to him. “That wild boar really did a number on your uncle’s house,” he said, and that deep voice sounded viciously pleased. “Saw the damage myself.”

“You—” Iruka choked on the word.

His wet eyelashes fluttered as he blinked rapidly, finally clearing his vision of tears to see Kakashi properly. Kakashi’s lips, punctuated by that endearing little beauty mark to the left of them, were quirked up in one corner in a handsome smirk, revealing a bit of one prominent, sharp canine that Iruka couldn’t look away from. “You went there? To...my uncle’s house?”

Kakashi nodded, finally untwining his fingers and bringing his hands up to cross his arms over his chest, leaning back against the couch in such a smooth movement that Iruka was reminded of Kushina’s earlier grace. That unnatural, yet simple poise that Iruka had only ever seen from the people in this Inari shrine before. Kakashi looked relaxed, but dangerous, still wearing that little smirk as he said, “You left a bit of a trail, with the way your face had been bleeding, but it was nothing in comparison to the state I found your uncle’s house in. Blood everywhere.”

The way he said it made it sound like a personal achievement, but despite how horrible an image that made, the thought of his uncle’s house covered in blood and torn asunder, Iruka was more than happy to allow Kakashi whatever accomplishment he thought he’d earned from it. Iruka didn’t feel bad about it either. If that made him a shitty human being, well…he’d known someone far worse.

And that person was now dead.

Of its own volition, Iruka’s body slid towards Kushina, who was ready to hold him in her arms as if she’d pulled him in herself. With Naruto in his own embrace, Iruka found himself, once again, in a train of three people that Kushina had control of. Silence blanketed the room, but the sound of Iruka’s blood rushing in his ears made Iruka completely unaware of it. His mind was filled with a cacophony of thoughts, all tripping over themselves and unable to form a single, coherent thing for him to latch on to, and he was only able to get himself under control when, through the chaos of his mind, Kushina’s voice near his ear somehow managed to make itself heard.

“Little One,” she whispered, and the sound of her voice was like slipping into a warm bath on a freezing cold day. A little too hot that it stings the skin, but a welcome pain that quickly becomes comfort all the same.

Iruka tilted his head to look up at her, noticing the almost cat-like slits her pupils had become, and he didn’t look away, didn’t even blink as he asked, “What do I do?”

Iruka watched every second as Kushina’s pupils pooled outwards, rounding out to look more normal again, more human, and that strange, mysterious aura that had been wrapped around her like a cloak since she entered the room finally faded away into nothing. All that was left was Uzumaki Kushina, the kind miko he’d spoken to when he had first awoken, her expression shaped with gentle curves and not a hint of danger in sight. The question of how she could change like that sat heavy on the tip of Iruka’s tongue, but he held it back, as the one he had spoken aloud was far more important at that moment.

“It’s up to you what you want to do,” Kushina said, not unkindly, her smile almost painfully sweet.

“We’d like to offer you an option, however, if you’re willing to hear it,” Minato threw out, drawing Iruka’s attention towards him. When Iruka nodded, his racing mind going thankfully silent to give Minato his full attention, Minato glanced at his wife and son with a significant look in his eyes before sliding his gaze back to Iruka. The smile that blossomed on his face somehow managed to be even sweeter than Kushina’s had been.

“We will do everything in our power to make whatever you want from here on out to happen, if there’s any other options you may have in mind, but,” he paused only long enough to stand up, walk over to Iruka, and kneel by his knees as he’d done the day before, “the truth is, we’ve all gotten quite attached to you over these past couple days, some of us more literally than others.”

A laugh bubbled out from his throat before the joke had even fully registered with Iruka, but he hardly wanted to stop it from happening. Naruto and Kushina both squeezed him in tandem, making their positions as Iruka’s personal koala bears blatantly known, and Iruka felt his heart galloping in his chest with hope as he pleaded with any higher power that would listen that he knew what Minato was about to suggest.

Minato’s smile widened, showing off two rows of perfect, white teeth, and Iruka’s brain was starting to associate the chill of Minato’s touch, as he once again placed his hands over Iruka’s knees to complete the mirror image of how he’d been positioned yesterday, with kindness and, contrarily, warmth.

“And we’d be more than happy to have our home become your home too.”

Iruka spared a brief moment to wonder if this was how ducklings felt when they imprinted on the first person they saw, because he hardly had to consider the idea before he was clinging onto Naruto and Kushina as best he could, daring anyone or anything to try and pry this family away from him. Minato would’ve been included in Iruka’s grasp if he’d had an extra pair of arms, or if he was truly certain that he could’ve held onto Minato’s ghostly existence in the first place, but the almost twinkling look in Minato’s eyes spoke of understanding Iruka’s intent regardless.

“I-If you’ll have me,” Iruka said, clearing his throat to dislodge the overwhelming emotions that were clogging it up. “I would...I would like that very much.”

Kushina and Naruto both whooped loudly, as if they had just won the lottery, and pulled away from Iruka only long enough to throw their arms in the air in celebration, then flop themselves unceremoniously back onto him. They wound up in something of a gangly mess of limbs, Iruka’s upper-body happily tangled up in it, and he felt more than saw Minato stand up from his kneeling position and pull his hands from Iruka’s knees.

“Of course we’ll have you,” he said, sounded quite pleased, “but if you want to think about it more, before making a final decision—”

“No!” Iruka nearly shouted, somehow managing to carefully wiggle himself free from the dogpile, as it were, leaving Naruto and Kushina to hug each other as he stood up. He took a steadying breath, smoothed out the wrinkles in his black, button-up shirt (still a bit too baggy, and still borrowing them from whomever they belonged), and looked Minato in the eye. He felt, for the first time in, well, years really, an absolute certainty settle in his bones as he said, “No, I don’t have to think about it.”

“You’re sure?” Kakashi asked, unexpectedly, causing Iruka’s gaze to dart over to him. Kakashi’s single eye was staring back at him, and was so dark, so intense, that it once again had that strange quality to it that felt like it was dragging Iruka forward. It was like falling into a bottomless pit, staring into that pitch black iris, but Iruka surprised himself with how steadfastly he thought that he’d willingly jump into it, if given the chance. A chance he felt (perhaps merely wished) he was being offered right now, despite it cleverly hiding behind Minato’s own offer.

And so jump into it, he did.

“Absolutely sure,” Iruka said, and as the words fell from his tongue, his lips curved into a broad, genuine, although unfamiliar shape. 

It was only by seeing Kakashi’s answering grin that Iruka realized he was, for the first time in far too long, smiling with pure wild abandon.

That night, as Iruka lay on his side in his futon, skin flushed and warmed from the long bath he took, and stomach full from the celebratory feast the Uzumakis had put together on the fly, he stared at the wall of shōji softly illuminated by the bright, waxing gibbous outside. It was late, probably closer to early morning than a more reasonable hour to be awake, but Iruka didn’t feel any rush to go to sleep.

His hands were curled side-by-side near his pillow, the thumb of his right hand rubbing slow, little circles against the side of his index finger. Iruka dragged his eyes from the wall to watch the movement, but his attention was truly drawn inward, his mind unhurriedly turning his thoughts over and over like the gears of a watch lazily counting down the time.

It hadn’t really been explained to him, the logistics of how any of this was going to work, and Iruka knew enough about the world to know that there was no way it was as simple as him saying he wanted to stay. Even with his uncle now dead, surely there were legalities they’d have to slog through to make it work, to be adopted by the Uzumaki family properly, and whatever inheritance he might have had left from his parents (that his uncle hadn’t taken and squandered) would be another legal battle all on its own. 

And what about his schooling? Would he be homeschooled, or would he go to an academy somewhere nearby? How many school years behind his peers was he academically? And would he have to start in a younger grade to make it up, or would he miraculously somehow be allowed in his proper grade if he just worked harder than everyone else or something...?

Iruka had so many questions, so many concerns, but no answers or solutions for any of them.

Minato had reassured him that it would be fine. His promise to do anything in their power to make Iruka’s choice a reality had not been lightly made, and they had their ways to see it through. Or so he said. Kushina had confidently added that the grown-ups would handle it no matter what, and the children shouldn’t worry about anything.

Well...that was, in theory, a lovely anecdote that Iruka wished he could simply accept and move on. It wasn’t in Iruka’s nature to not worry, however, which led him to his current restless state.

So it was quite welcome when a soft knock came from the oak frame of the sliding door he was facing, and Iruka already knew who it was by their moonlit silhouette.

“Kakashi?”

The shōji slid open just enough to reveal Kakashi kneeling on the floor by the door, his face hidden by shadow, but his hair shimmered as if the very starlight above was threaded into each strand. He was hauntingly beautiful, and Iruka wondered what it was about Hatake Kakashi that had his adolescent mind waxing poetic about him at any given opportunity. Iruka was only thankful it was dark enough to hide the blush he knew had crept its way onto his face.

“Can’t sleep?” Kakashi asked, his voice barely above a whisper but, with how quiet it was, might as well have been speaking right into Iruka’s ear.

Iruka hummed in affirmation, glancing down at his thumb still moving in those repetitive, methodical circles against the side of his index finger. Something about the movement made him think of Kakashi, though he couldn’t say why, so he looked back up at the real thing before him and felt the start of another one of those awkward but real smiles as a corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

“Can’t sleep either?” he asked back, and a warmth spread throughout his body when he heard Kakashi chuckle very softly in reply.

“I can’t help it,” Kakashi said, and Iruka delighted in hearing the grin shaping his voice that Kakashi must have been wearing under that shadowy veil of his. “I’m a bit of a night person.”

Iruka hummed again, finding that, with the image he made before him at that moment, Kakashi certainly fit being a creature of the night. Not that he didn’t make one hell of a picture in the daylight, but with that starlight hair and how comfortable he seemed wearing the darkness like a cloak...yeah, the night definitely suit him.

The two of them sat in easy silence for awhile, the sound of the gentle breeze rustling the leaves of the trees outside providing a soothing background music. Iruka looked back down at his thumb, but with Kakashi’s reassuring presence only a few feet away, his thoughts didn’t spiral into a thousand questions this time, allowing instead for the stress that Iruka hadn’t bothered to acknowledge to slowly seep out of his body with each slow, relaxed breath. He was almost certain he was about to finally fall asleep when Kakashi spoke again.

“It’s truly going to be alright, you know,” he said, and Iruka looked back up at him with a raised, questioning eyebrow. “I mean it.”

“But there’s so much—” Iruka cut himself off when he saw Kakashi’s head shake, and his body tensed in anticipation. For what, he couldn’t say, but the way Kakashi leaned forward ever so slightly into the space between the two sliding doors had Iruka’s full attention.

“You, Umino Iruka,” Kakashi began, and the way his voice dipped into a deep, rich tone felt like a demand to be heard, for he was revealing an ancient arcanum for Iruka’s ears only, “have gained the affection of those who would remake the world for you, if you asked them to. Do not take such a thing lightly.”

A shiver crawled over Iruka’s skin, his thumb finally stopping its movement, and he laid there, utterly still as the gravity of Kakashi’s words sunk in. He hardly did, take it lightly that is, but it was also something he had a hard time honestly believing. How could he have truly ‘gained the affection’ of the Uzumaki family in two days time? And how could they feel so strongly about him, so quickly, that they would weather the storm that was sure to come in regard to making Iruka’s selfish wish of staying with them come true? Iruka wasn’t altruistic enough to not take their offer of home and family, and his heart was too tired to not greedily want whatever tenderness they were willing to give, but a realistic part of Iruka’s brain was determined to paint their feelings for him as nothing more than sympathy and pity. He’d take it no matter what it was—he’d grab onto it with all his strength and never let go—but he couldn’t delude himself into believing that the Uzumaki family saw him as someone to call home as much as he did them.

Two days was all it took for Iruka to cling onto the notion of becoming a part of this strange and lovely group of people, but surely they were merely being kind to him, and humoring his desire for somewhere to belong, somewhere to be safe…

Iruka wasn’t a strong enough person to not take pity and pretend it was love.

The shōji made a loud noise as Kakashi nearly slammed it completely open, standing up from his kneeling position so that he looked down at Iruka’s laying figure with his full height. Iruka flinched at the sound, his eyes wide as he stared up at the other, and the maladroit palpitations pounding in his chest caused his hands to clench into nervous, tight fists. The moonlight now outlined all of Kakashi’s tall, lithe body, making him appear even paler than usual, his skin and hair bone-white, but whatever expression was on his face was more harshly shadowed in the dark than it had been before, and Iruka had no idea what Kakashi felt.

Was Kakashi angry? Had Iruka said his thoughts aloud without meaning to? But no, he was self-conscious enough in Kakashi’s presence to know whether or not any part of him moved, and his mouth had definitely remained still. So then why had Kakashi reacted so strongly towards nothing?

Perhaps Iruka’s face had said all that his voice had not...He really hated, sometimes, that he wore his heart on his sleeve.

“Umino Iruka,” Kakashi said, and again his full name on Kakashi’s lips felt like something of a command, but one that went undefined. “The beings within this shrine are not so careless with their hearts that they would arbitrarily offer them to anyone, nor do they make promises that they do not plan to keep.”

Kakashi took a few steps into the room, and the moonlight followed him in as if it were adorning Kakashi in an imperial cape, acknowledging him for the force of nature he was proving to be in that very moment. He stopped only a couple steps away from where Iruka lay, and though it hurt Iruka’s neck to do so, he stared upwards at Kakashi with wide eyes, conflicting emotions of fear and enrapture battling it out within his thundering heart. Kakashi was beauty and he was danger, and if Iruka had been more brave he would have extended his hand out towards him, but instead he remained still, quiet, and waited for Kakashi’s judgment to come down upon him.

“They do not need more than a moment with someone before they can decide for themselves whether that person is worthy of their hard work, or worthy of their love, and you—” Kakashi kneeled down again, but as he was much closer this time he loomed over Iruka, making Iruka feel as if he were prey pinned to the ground by a predator poised to strike, “—have won that worth.”

Lifting his hand slowly, and oh so carefully, Kakashi reached for Iruka, but he did not do more than trace the scar across Iruka’s face with a single finger, his touch so light it almost tickled. The predatory strike Iruka’s instincts had expected was barely a caress, and it left Iruka bemused but curiously content.

“Take joy in that,” Kakashi whispered, and the ineffably beauteous picture that he made seemed to slip away from him with every second, the cape of moonlight returning to the night sky where it belonged, filling the room with a viscous darkness that threatened to hide Kakashi away completely. “You deserve to feel joy, after everything you’ve been through.”

A terrifying, and yet achingly nostalgic image overlapped with Kakashi’s dark figure for an instant, and when Iruka’s hand shot up to grab Kakashi’s before it could pull away, Iruka had almost expected to feel the peculiar sensation of smooth, solid bone beneath his fingers. Instead, Kakashi’s skin was cooled by the night air but still so much warmer than anticipated, yet something so all-encompassing and so profound filled Iruka’s heart that his expectations and his reality still seemed to overlap in Iruka’s mind.

And perhaps it was that confounding amalgamation of things that gave Iruka the courage to pull the hand in his grasp downward, until he pressed Kakashi’s palm against his cheek. Kakashi only appeared to flounder for a moment before his fingers relaxed, and he cupped the side of Iruka’s face willingly. His thumb began a gentle movement up and down over Iruka’s flushed skin, and Iruka wished the darkness would abate just enough that he could properly see Kakashi’s face and read whatever would be displayed there.

“It’s okay,” Iruka found himself saying, his own voice echoing in his ears, reverberating back to him in a memory of another night. A night that couldn’t have possibly been real, but Iruka wished it had been, as much as a part of him dreaded the very idea of it. “I feel joy,” he murmured, and to punctuate his point he gave Kakashi’s wrist, still in his clutches, a small squeeze.

Kakashi hummed, the sound quiet but rumbling in his chest, and his thumb never stopped brushing back and forth over Iruka’s cheek. “Then don’t let whatever doubts you may have forsake it,” he said, to which Iruka nodded slightly to. With one final swipe of his thumb, leaving behind a ghosting touch over the end of Iruka’s scar, Kakashi’s hand slipped out of Iruka’s grasp and he stood up, walking on silent feet back over to the shōji to step just outside it, his whole body turned away from Iruka as his head tilted up to look at the night sky.

The warmth left behind by Kakashi’s touch seeped into Iruka’s skin, as if imprinting upon him and making some wordless claim, and Iruka wanted it. He wanted that claim and whatever nebulous things it promised. He wanted to never lose its warmth, Kakashi’s warmth, as it began to chip away the film of permafrost that had grown around Iruka’s heart the past two and a half years. He wanted...

Iruka just wanted.

So much so that he called out quietly to Kakashi, earning a slight turn of the older boy’s head towards him to show that he was listening. Clenching his hands near his chest to gather his courage, Iruka asked, “When you spoke of ‘the beings within this shrine’, does that include you?”

Kakashi appeared so still in his silence that Iruka wasn’t sure he was breathing, or had even heard Iruka’s question, but after an excruciatingly long moment Kakashi’s whole body turned a bit more, and faced Iruka. For the first time, since Kakashi had shown up at his door that night, Iruka could make out the features of Kakashi’s face, and he balked when he realized that the eye that Kakashi always kept under a medical patch was uncovered...and it was looking right at him.

Staring into that eye, mismatched from its pair as it was a vibrant, crimson red, its pupil dilated and as black as the void, made Iruka feel as if he were peering behind the curtain and seeing something that he shouldn’t. But Iruka kept staring, refused to stop, because with both of Kakashi’s eyes focused on him for the first time he wanted nothing more than for them to never look away.

Something spilled over the edge of that inhuman, red eye, leaving a trail down Kakashi’s cheek that was far too dark to have been a tear. 

“We shall see,” Kakashi replied, and he smiled a smile so painfully lovely that Iruka felt his heart beat harshly against his rib cage, as if desperately trying to break free of its prison so that it could prostrate itself before Kakashi in reverence.

And with that, Kakashi gently closed the sliding door shut, and Iruka watched his shadow glide across the paper latticework until it disappeared out of sight. 

Laying there in pure quiet, Iruka let the utter lack of sound envelop him, using the time basking within it as a buffer to the absolute emotional chaos that was raging inside of him. He simply breathed in and out slowly, calming his poor, abused heart as best he could, and took up the same circular rubbing motion of his thumb against his index finger when breathing wasn’t enough. It could’ve been minutes or it could have been hours before Iruka felt calm again, and the exhaustion that began to weigh down his eyelids was more than welcome as he was ready to be done with the night.

To be done with the power that Hatake Kakashi had over him, if only for a while.

Before Iruka slipped into unconsciousness, he brought his hand upwards to look at it and his thumb halted its movement. It suddenly clicked as to why the gesture reminded him of Kakashi, and Iruka became hyper aware of the fact that he’d pressed his thumb into the pale, smooth skin along Kakashi’s jaw. Why had he done that? There was...right, there had been something smeared there. Something red and dry.

A wild boar had attacked his uncle.

Kakashi had seen the damage himself.

Blood everywhere, he’d said.

Iruka brought his thumb close to his lips, but didn’t kiss the back of it like he had momentarily considered in an instant of embarrassing foolishness. He sighed heavily, curled both his hands into weak fists and rested them on the pillow beside his head, then turned his face to press into the soft cotton fabric. Iruka’s mind was racing through a million things at once, but the one thing he latched on to was that minute, innocuous smear he had wiped off of Kakashi’s jaw.

Iruka wondered what had made it. He wondered if Kakashi’s left eye sometimes bled, and that was what he had seen tonight. He wondered how much of the destruction of Anago’s home, of Anago’s person, Kakashi had seen for himself. He wondered about the blood. 

He wondered about Kakashi...

He wondered.