Chapter Text
Carefully considering it now, the events transpired during this rather unremarkable spring, mere days before Naruto's return from his training. Having concluded his mission debriefing and granted a brief respite, Kakashi, finding night already fallen, made quick work of tidying up and set off towards his apartment. As he walked, Might Guy passed him by like one might pass a flower stem exhausted from blooming, offering a fleeting hand on the shoulder and a glance before ambling onward.
Ah, well, he conceded inwardly. After expending his entire quota of social capacity on the mission, this weariness was simply his due.
Approaching the apartment building, his index finger hooked the key in his pocket. A figure drew nearer. Kakashi turned his head to identify it. An acknowledgement seemed necessary, perhaps dredged from the dregs of that depleted social reserve. "Ah, good evening, Iruka-sensei—"
…What? He hadn’t time to evade it. A kiss severed the trailing languor of his words. Cupping his cheeks, a kiss pressed against his face.
"I waited and waited, but you didn't come home," Iruka sighed, concern spilling forth. "Didn't you just return from a mission?"
Kakashi… remained rooted for a considerable moment. The past seven days of pertinent memories flew through his mind while his ears received the other man’s murmured admonitions. Ultimately: "Huh?"
"...So tired? How many all-nighters did you pull?" Genuine concern, unmistakably so.
"Wait?"
"Kakashi," Iruka’s expression held a trace of vexation, reminiscent of when he occasionally quarreled with Naruto. "When asked a question, one answers."
Then, a hand took his. The other's fingertips were dry and warm, clasping his half-open hand as one might gather a wisp of cotton. The situation felt profoundly aberrant. Were he and Iruka-sensei truly so close? Since when? He possessed no recollection of such a development. Was he even the principal party involved?
Hatake Kakashi discreetly deactivated his Sharingan, confirming with regret that the other was neither an illusion nor an enemy shinobi in disguise. The thought process was rational, even as his free hand drifted upwards to conceal his half-reddened ear.
"Fine... I won't press you. Let's get inside, the food's gone cold," the chuunin laughed, his tone exceptionally warm. "--You can eat it cold."
This won't do, Kakashi thought. Persist, and he would soon cross the threshold into the other man's home. Their dialogue to date hadn't exceeded twenty panels' worth; their relationship was akin to Naruto's with the tree beside the Hokage Tower—nothing beyond shared residency in Konoha and the occasional passing word. This proximity felt entirely inappropriate.
"Wait, Iruka-sensei, apologies... permit me a question," the jounin instructor managed to extract his hand, striving not to resemble a petulant adolescent. "Has something... transpired in the village? Between us? Recently?"
The preceding conversation, by any measure, had transgressed boundaries. Never had anyone maintained... that particular kind of relationship with him.
"..." Iruka withdrew his hand, suspended momentarily in the air, and scanned their surroundings. "Kakashi, even your best prank won't catch me off guard now."
The accused felt profoundly wronged. "No such intention. I genuinely fail to comprehend the situation... What are you searching for?"
"Naruto. Seeing if he returned early..." Iruka mused internally; even grown, the boy's mischievous spirit surely lingered. "The possibility of you both conspiring to tease me cannot be discounted."
"No such possibility exists." Kakashi's social reserves were utterly depleted. The Academy teacher's onslaught had left him virtually bankrupt, verging on collapse. Decisive action was required to seize any chance of reprieve. "Then... what is our relationship?"
"It's been three years now?" Iruka sounded almost amused, yet perplexed. "We... are involved. Romantically."
…What? No. No, no, no. "In my recollection, no such thing has occurred..." Hatake Kakashi truly felt near collapse. Topics of the heart were a critical strike upon his fragile emotional constitution.
Iruka seemed halted by his words. For a minute, Kakashi couldn't decipher the expression before him, only catching the final shake of the head. "Let's discuss this inside. It's too cold out here."
In the end, he entered the dwelling. The lingering spring chill that slipped in with them was swiftly devoured by the enveloping warmth. The room felt snug. Simple ornaments, photographs, and student-gifted plush toys were arranged with care, nestled beside potted plants. A wooden frame bore a tiny, carved name in one corner – unmistakably Naruto's handiwork. Though the jounin remained on guard, his composure incrementally steadied by the domestic comfort.
…Well. He was no longer surprised to find his preferred dishes laid out on the table.
"You truly perceive nothing amiss? Iruka-sensei?"
"I did notice the furnishings seemed odd... thought perhaps you'd rearranged them to some prior state for a reason. I didn't consider this possibility." Iruka gestured for him to sit and eat. "So... have I been affected by a spacetime ninjutsu? Yet the date seems correct..."
"Highly probable." Kakashi conceded the problem might lie with him, though rifling through years of memory yielded no recollection of such a technique. "...Perhaps you exist entirely outside this spacetime continuum." Meaning, fundamentally, a different world. He was reluctant to entertain this as either the future or a past possibility.
"Still, in my memory, you haven't changed a bit." Save for that lonely gaze that rendered one speechless. The Academy teacher chuckled softly, patting Kakashi's hand in a gesture of reassurance. "It's alright... proceed at your own pace. I shall adapt to the present circumstances. There's no need to force our... previous dynamic now. That would be too burdensome."
The shift occurred then. Before Kakashi could flinch, he watched as the hand resting on his own recoiled violently. Its owner sprang from the chair as if launched. Eight o'clock sharp – a textbook reaction.
"What on earth is this...!" The incredulity was palpable, the innocence mirroring the perpetrator's perfectly. "Kakashi-sensei?! What's happening?"
"...Returned to normal, I see." Hatake Kakashi brushed invisible dust from his vest, averting his gaze. "Shouldn't I be asking you that, Iruka-sensei?"
In any case, one must eat. They managed a semblance of cooperation while clearing the dishes. Silence pooled thickly between them, swirling in the sink water, threatening to overflow. Once this crowded task concluded, the two shinobi found themselves in the living room, eyes meeting – or rather, deciding instantly not to meet.
Two individuals whose ears matched the hue of the early cherry blossoms outside stared fixedly ahead, as though the television held profound fascination. After three minutes, one realized the small, dark rectangle before them was quite inert. Ah, splendid. They hadn't even switched the device on.
"Goodbye." Hatake Kakashi effected an air of nonchalance as he drifted towards the apartment door. He missed the first step entirely.
Suffice to say, no one dwelled excessively on that cheek kiss that evening. The following morning, locking his apartment door, Hatake Kakashi even reminded himself to watch his step. Morning training proceeded uneventfully, mercifully devoid of the previous day's inexplicable, mortifying exchanges. Had the genjutsu dissipated? If so, all the better; the situation hadn't yet warranted reporting to the Hokage.
"Kakashi." A certain unnamed shinobi, a senbon between his lips, passed by. "Saw it all yesterday... you and Iruka, down by the apartment building..."
No, Genma. Clarify whether 'all' signifies you specifically, a general observation, or implies a defined audience range. The jounin instructor in question shifted his gaze: The weather is truly splendid today. Yesterday's resplendent cherry blossoms are already withering under the sun. Excellent.
"Not that it matters... since the ones maintaining that sort of thing are the two of us, it hardly suits such public displays." Genma's expression was inscrutable. "Kakashi, about us... shall we consider it concluded?"
…Hn?
"Indulge my inquiry, Genma." Hatake Kakashi drew a deep breath, attempting to summon some semblance of vitality, yet still feeling profoundly enervated. "...Nothing transpired between us, did it?"
So enervated. Truly. Before fate, before the present state of the world, he felt utterly depleted.
"Right... nothing at all." Genma couldn't suppress a short laugh, nodding lightly. "Though next time, remember to inform the other party before arranging your next rendezvous. Clean breaks are best, Kakashi."
…No. Something was definitely amiss. This transcended the question of 'something' happening.
"Farewell. Don't trouble yourself." Shiranui Genma waved a hand as naturally as one might stroll towards the market after work, unburdened, and departed.
Who would even listen to an explanation?
…No, wait. Why should he explain? What precisely had he done?
Reporting to the Hokage was imperative. This phenomenon was clearly not an isolated incident. Hatake Kakashi quickened his pace towards the Hokage Tower, his gloom encapsulated within a meter-radius aura of despondency. Since this aura wasn't entirely unfamiliar, few villagers discerned any particular distress beneath the quarter-mask.
"Kakashi... sensei," a girl's voice approached, the accompanying footsteps drawing near. Hmm, is he troubled? "Heading to see Lady Tsunade as well?"
"...Hn. Some reports," he acknowledged, offering a vague response. Curious. Was the student always this... effusive? He ventured a question. "Sakura, during my mission... any unusual phenomena in the village?"
She paused. "Ah... I am aware of one instance, though it seems isolated to an individual. Observing the villagers generally, nothing felt particularly amiss." Her tone was placid as still water.
"Which is?"
"Myself. Me."
"...You? What happened?"
"Since it's you, Kakashi-sensei... I suppose it's fine to tell." Sakura seemed to have a sudden idea, a spark of something indefinable – perhaps mischief? – crossing her eyes. "Actually, since I need to report to Lady Tsunade anyway, you could accompany me inside and hear it directly."
Though... that look held a certain disquieting quality. Still—
"..." Kakashi tacitly agreed, driven by the need to unravel the string of bizarre events. His student surely harbored no malice or hostile intent. If it was a jest, so be it. And why did 'sensei' feel so unnatural on her tongue? Had his social standing eroded so completely? Had he committed some grievous lapse in propriety these past days?
…No. Not that. A dreadful hypothesis surfaced in his mind, swiftly dismissed as he rubbed his temples wearily. Impossible. The assumption is far too extreme.
Ascending the stairs, the girl habitually moved her fingers towards his palm. The jounin nearly recoiled reflexively, yesterday's encounter fresh in his mind. A student, though... surely permissible? A small recompense for tousling her hair years ago, perhaps.
He was overthinking. She seemed to catch herself, the gesture abruptly halting.
"—Lady Tsunade, an urgent matter. Concerning my current situation."
"What is it, Sakura?"
"Discussion is needed on how to return me to my correct temporal location." Sakura smiled, her demeanor radiating a confidence that belied her apparent sixteen years. "A spacetime ninjutsu, it seems. I blinked, and found myself here."
"Hmm...?" Tsunade regarded her with concern. "So then... how many years have passed, Sakura? You originate from the future, I assume?"
"Approximately ten," the pink-haired kunoichi deduced calmly. "Naruto returns from his training in a few days, yes? Meaning this is my past, ten years prior."
Ah. That explains it. The student projected an inner confidence, a strength suggesting significant growth. A flicker of pride momentarily eased his brow. She began filling out the incident report form.
…Why this sense of foreboding?
"Name presents no issue. Surname..." Sakura's glance flickered towards him, then away. "Shall I put Haruno? Though I changed it some time ago."
The jounin instructor felt the premonition solidify. His toes curled inside his sandals. Escape.
"For differentiation from the present Sakura, if your mode of address significantly differs from hers, please use the designation appropriate to you," Shizune added kindly, offering a warm smile. "Congratulations... the grown-up Sakura appears content. That brings us relief."
"Thank you." Sakura's smile was radiant, projecting a poise beyond her younger self. She continued, "In that case, 'Hatake' will suffice for this section." She tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear, sweeping her bangs clear of her vision. "It's been registered for several years now."
Shizune fell tactfully silent. The Fifth Hokage paused for precisely three seconds before turning her formidable gaze upon the jounin attempting to dissolve into the very fabric of the room.
The man held his breath, neither speaking nor affecting nonchalance, purely engaged in the art of playing dead. Hazily, across his Sharingan's field of view, a spectral bridge materialized, an old woman at its center, ladling soup.
Forgive me, Obito. The last glimmer faded from his already lackluster eye. Simultaneously, Tsunade's voice, sharp as a kunai hitting wood, cleaved the air with his name. ...The ferrywoman calls me to queue. This, it seems, is the final future granted to me.
The jounin instructor's expression remained impassive, his gaze distant, his spirit exhibiting a brittle fortitude, now perilously close to shattering within the confines of the Hokage Building.