Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Waking up in the hospital was rarely a good thing, particularly when Iruka’s entire body was one big ache and he could feel an IV taped to the inside of his elbow. He was wearing a hospital gown, an arm cast, and little else. Through slightly blurry vision - and whether that was from head trauma or the fact that his glasses were missing, he couldn’t rightly say - Iruka saw that it was still daytime, so not much time had passed since….

Well, wait, he didn’t wear glasses. And he didn’t recognize the stranger at his bedside, either. What had happened to land him here? Was he dead? Or did he just have severe amnesia?

Seriously, who was the man in the chair?

His sudden memory loss should have taken precedent over the man sitting next to him, but Iruka’s brain didn’t have its priorities straight today, which is why he found himself openly gaping, head lolled to his shoulder as he took in the tall, slouched picture of masculine perfection currently reading by his bedside. He had a shock of silvery hair, held back from his face by a simple, black band and gelled up and back with an expert hand. His face was pale and angular, perfection marred only by a single, thin scar that vertically bisected his left eye. He was dressed casually in a simple black turtleneck, the thin yet expensive-looking material tucked into plain black trousers, his slender waist accentuated by a brown leather belt adorned with a brass buckle. His long legs were thrust out in front of him, crossed at the ankle in a pair of sturdy brown boots.

When Iruka managed to focus his eyes on the man’s, they were looking at him, concern and curiosity plain in his greenish grey irises. The book was held loosely in one hand, and he let the arm holding it fall slack at the elbow, his entire attention now directed towards Iruka. He didn’t speak, however, not for a long, uninterrupted moment.

“Uh,” Iruka tried, and his voice cracked with disuse, “Oh, hmm.” He cleared his throat, the knuckle of his index finger pressed to his lips. “Er, sorry, what’s going on?”

Still, the man made no reply. Iruka was too disoriented to be properly frustrated by the handsome, enigmatic stranger. He just wanted an answer, but he figured he would get one in its own time. With a sigh and a cracking of his shoulders, Iruka relaxed back into the flimsy hospital pillow, wincing as he felt a twinge and a pull in the muscles of his lower back.

What the hell had he done to end up in the hospital? And why was there a stranger here with him? He’d been going to get groceries, that he was pretty sure of. His empty stomach was telling him that he hadn’t eaten breakfast, and the store was only a few blocks from his house. Had he fainted, maybe?

He sat there, wondering and listening to the doctors and nurses walking by beyond the curtain that separated his little bed from the rest of the area. He was probably in the emergency room, right? The man next to him kept not saying anything, and eventually he returned to his book. Iruka tried not to be troubled by his silent presence. His head hurt too badly for him to want to worry about things like that.

A nurse eventually peeled back the curtain and walked up to the other side of his bed, carrying a chart. She had a kind face, and when she checked his pulse and removed the IV from his arm, her hands were warm and soft.

“Not too badly hurt, Iruka, although it is a shame about the broken arm. Still, it was a clean break, so you should heal nicely. You don’t have a concussion, but try not to go to sleep before midnight tonight, just to be safe. You’ll be free to go soon. I’m just going to fill a little prescription for you for the discomfort you might feel over the next few weeks.” The nurse talked with an easy assurance and used her hands all the while. She hung her clipboard on the wall while she fiddled with some things on a nearby supply cart. “Make sure to contact your primary care doctor if you have any trouble or concerns with it. Definitely have it checked by the end of the month.”

She turned to face him and smiled. A cloth sling was in her hands, and she gently hung it around Iruka’s neck, slipping his bandaged arm into it, careful not to jostle the aching limb. “I know being struck by a vehicle can be pretty scary. It’s good you had a friend with you. Maybe in the future just pay a little more attention to staying in the crosswalk, hmm?”

Iruka was dumbstruck as the nurse left the room. He’d been hit by a car? Suddenly, he remembered a screeching of breaks and a blinding white light. He didn’t remember being hit, but he remembered the sensation of falling. He couldn’t remember crossing the street, either. It was a patchwork of a memory. Going to the store, a gorgeous summer day, screeching and the light, then falling, and now this.

Honestly, it was probably for the best that he didn’t remember everything. Still, it unnerved him to think that there could be no warning of something like that, such a dangerous, life-threatening occurrence to have happened out of nowhere. He liked to think of himself as pretty in-shape, if not exactly an athlete, so the car must’ve come on pretty fast for him to have no time to react, to jump out of the way.

Finally, the stranger made sound. A small sound, the clearing of his throat, but then he said, “You feel okay?” in a smooth, sonorous tone. He sounded like a shot of bourbon, smoking and sexual, and Iruka felt the pit of his stomach clench, just a little bit.

“Hard to say,” he responded. It was the truth.

“They gave you some serious stuff.”

This was probably true, if he’d had to have a broken bone set. He didn’t remember any of that, either, which spoke to either the severity of the impact or the quality of the painkillers.

“Well, it’s wearing off.”

That was true, too. Iruka was aware of a thousand small aches that he knew would only grow worse as the minutes ticked by and whatever had been in his IV worked its way out of him. He wasn’t looking forward to the rest of his day, especially because he probably hadn’t succeeded in getting his groceries, and now he didn’t feel so much like returning to the store.

The man stood and stretched lean, muscular arms over his head, the book still gripped between two fingers. It had a bright orange cover, and it disappeared in a flash as he tucked it deftly into the back pocket of his pants. “Give you a ride home?”

Iruka looked down at himself. “I don’t have a better option. You got me here?”

The man nodded. “Least I could do.”

“Well, thanks.”

Now, it was officially awkward. Iruka was talking to his savior, not just some random, but he still didn’t know his name. How do you introduce yourself to someone who evidently scraped you off the side of the road?

The nurse returned with Iruka’s clothing in a cloth bag and tucked a little yellow bottle of marked pills into it before placing it at the foot of his bed. “You’ll have to visit the desk to sign your discharge paperwork yet, but you’re good to go, Iruka.”

Iruka watched her leave, then turned his eyes to the stranger. “I, uh, need to get changed.”

The man ambled out. “Take your time. I’ll meet you at the desk.” Before he slipped past the curtain, he tossed a two-fingered salute over his shoulder.

Iruka watched him leave, his thoughts trending more towards lechery than gratitude as his eyes tracked the movement of the man’s toned backside. He shook his head to clear his thoughts totally on reflex, then winced as his head reminded him that he’d been hit by a goddamn car. He slipped out of the hospital gown and into his clothes, maneuvering awkwardly around his bandaged arm. The cast was ungainly and cumbersome, but Iruka managed eventually. He’d been wearing a t-shirt and jeans which were only a little worse for wear, but his watch face was hopelessly broken, which was a shame. It had been a gift from his little brother Naruto, but now it probably wasn’t even worth fixing.

Iruka shuffled out of the little curtained room and into the hallway, the plastic bag with his pills dangling from his good hand. He shuffled up to what he presumed was the front desk, where the stranger was chatting with the petite, young desk attendant. Her high ponytail bobbed cutely as she nodded her head at him, and Iruka silently mourned his own ponytail. He’d never be able to get a hair elastic in with one hand. As it stood, his hair was hanging loosely around his face and would start to annoy him any moment now.

Things were shaping up to be a pretty awful day, actually. Cue annoyance.

“Hey,” Iruka said as he sidled up to the stranger, then addressed the young woman. “I need to sign my discharge forms.”

She produced a clipboard and a pen for him. “Just your name and information on that bottom line, sir.”

Iruka took it clumsily with his left hand, then signed his name sloppily before staring hopelessly at the lines for his address, phone number, and other relevant information.

“Need help?”

The stranger took the pen from his hands and began to write as Iruka blushingly dictated to him. Great, now his would-be hero knew his age and address. Today just got better and better. Iruka was a little embarrassed at his age and totally embarrassed by his address. He didn’t really live in a great neighborhood, but he lived alone and couldn’t really afford better on his teacher’s salary. It wasn’t the look he was going for when meeting cute strangers, although Iruka was pretty sure there were more important considerations in this circumstance than whether the other man swung his way.

They left the hospital together and emerged into the bright, hot sun of the afternoon. Iruka’s skin was hot in an instant, and it was only then that the strangeness of the other man’s black turtleneck and slacks fully hit him. He was dressed like it was a blustery fall day in the dead of summer, and the mysteries only piled up when he hit his keyfob and a gleaming black, obviously expensive SUV lit up in the parking lot.

Dressed oddly if not well, doesn’t say much, clearly wealthy. What had he been doing driving around Iruka’s neighborhood?

Iruka hopped up into the passenger seat and was greeted with pleasantly cool air. The air conditioning had been running, and the car was seemingly climate-controlled. It was even a little chilly, which seemed to be entirely for the benefit of its overdressed owner.

“Where to?” the man asked.

“You saw my address.”

“Yeah, but I’m not trying to be weird about it.”

The stranger cracked a smile, and Iruka found him even a little charming, then. He was charmed enough to feel comfortable asking some questions, at least, and after Iruka had given him basic directions into his neighborhood, he said, “I’m Iruka, by the way.”

“I know,” the man said. His eyes roamed the road somewhat boredly, his one hand lax on the wheel while the other touched at the side of his hair. He produced a pair of dark sunglasses from the center console and slipped them on.

Iruka’s brows furrowed. “You’re generally supposed to offer your name when someone gives you theirs.”

“Is that what I’m supposed to do?” the stranger asked, smiling a cocky little grin. “Fine,” he relented, “Kakashi.”

“Kakashi,” Iruka repeated, “Okay, Kakashi, how did I get hit by a car, exactly?”

Kakashi looked sidelong at him. “You don’t remember?”

Iruka shook his head, and again, he winced. “Not much. I know I was going to the store, but I don’t remember being hit.”

“You were coming back from the store,” he corrected joylessly, “Your, ah, your groceries didn’t make it, I’m afraid.”

“Well, shit.”

“Want me to drop you there?”

Iruka tried to shrug, but his shoulder hurt too much. He settled for a long-suffering sigh. “I’ll probably just spend the money to get some delivered. Somehow, I don’t feel like returning to the scene of the crime.”

Kakashi’s face was blank except for the subtle twitch of his right eyelid. He let Iruka’s comment stand in silence for a moment before saying, a little hesitantly, “Ah, well, maybe I can treat you to some take-out?”

Iruka’s brow furrowed. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Well, maybe I want to.”

“Why would you want to?” he pressed.

Kakashi’s gaze flitted to his briefly, then returned to the road. “You deserve something, at least, after the day you’ve had.”

Iruka couldn’t help but agree, but it really didn’t solve his problem. “Seriously, I don’t want you to go to more trouble for me. You’ve already done too much.” The words stuck awkwardly in his throat, but he felt they needed to be said. “I’ve ruined enough of your day already.”

Again, Kakashi was silent as his eyelid twitched again. Iruka wondered if it was a permanent tick. He swallowed the urge to continue apologizing for something that was, ultimately, completely out of his control and settled for staring out the window until Kakashi asked for the more detailed directions to his house once they reached his neighborhood.

Iruka lived in what relators referred to as the “up and coming” part of town, which was to say, you could shop at Lululemon half a mile down the road and drink $12 beers, but half a mile in the other direction and you’d find the hottest place to buy heroin in the city and junkies shooting up at bus stops. Some found it charming, and on a good day, Iruka tried to take pride in living in the more authentic part of town, but most days, he wanted to be on a whole separate planet from his neighbors, let alone the same street. Kakashi’s boat of a vehicle with its gleaming, silver grill and custom 22 inch rims stood out like something far worse than a sore thumb, and Iruka let himself be terrified for a moment that his well-meaning savior would have his car stolen to reward his good deeds.

They walked up to the brick two-story rowhouse that Iruka called home, and he rammed his key into the deadbolt lock to let them in. Whereas the outside of his home was nothing to brag about, Iruka’s mortification was assuaged with the knowledge that he was a creative interior decorator. What little money in his budget he’d spent on decor, he’d stretched to create a very pleasant living space. A sizeable couch in a tasteful burgundy fabric, a modest flatscreen on a colorful, upcycled stand found on trash day, and a sprawling, woven rug dominated his living space. Above them hung dozens of leafy, flowering plants that reached down towards the ground, and the ones that Iruka didn’t keep trimmed formed a waterfall of greenery that mingled with the orb-like paper lanterns that gave the room a soft, casual lighting, necessary at all hours due to the towering three-story buildings across the street that blocked light from entering his first floor.

Kakashi followed him inside and remained standing, the vines of a pothos playing with his hair as he bent his neck to look at his phone. “Nice place,” he said off-handedly.

“Thanks.” Iruka took the compliment, figuring Kakashi for a man of few words and allowing himself to be satisfied the man was speaking at all. “Make yourself at home, I guess, if you insist on staying for lunch.”

“You like China House?” he asked, still looking at his phone.

Iruka wandered over to the television stand and attempted to light a candle. Using his left hand was tricky, but he managed it without singeing his thumbnail off. One of the blessings of being a former smoker was he’d always be pretty dexterous with gas station lighters, no matter how shitty and broken they may be.

“China House is fine,” he said, “I’ll eat some lo mein, I guess.”

“You’re probably not hungry, but you should eat something,” Kakashi said, “It’s not good to take pills on an empty stomach.”

Iruka had set the plastic bag from the hospital down on the couch, and he went back to look at what they’d given him. He didn’t really know anything about pain medication, but he probably wouldn’t end up taking any unless things got really bad for him. He sat down on the couch and let out a heavy sigh. He hadn’t realized how tired he was until he hit his favorite spot, but now he felt his eyelids grow heavy as he struggled to think of something to say back to Kakashi. He was probably being a terrible host, but hadn’t Kakashi insisted on coming in? Or had it just been to drive him home?

He woke up to the thick, salty smell of chinese food and Kakashi sitting cross-legged on the floor, eating plain rice from a paper takeout box. He looked over at Iruka when he stirred and stretched, and then he said, in a tone that didn’t betray any emotion, “Yours is probably still hot.”

“How long was I asleep?” Iruka asked, feeling the clog of drowsiness in his throat. He yawned and, on reflex, tried to move his hand to cover it, and yelped as pain shot down his broken arm.

Kakashi remained still as a stone, his mouth set, but his eyes were full of concern as he watched Iruka gingerly move his left hand to touch his right shoulder. Iruka’s arm was throbbing violently, and he suddenly wasn’t so certain about whether or not he’d take the pills.

“A little over an hour, not long,” Kakashi finally said, and then he stood up and joined Iruka on the couch. He picked up the takeout bag and retrieved Iruka’s lo mein for him, opening it and handing him a pair of chopsticks.

Iruka fumbled with them clumsily, feeling foolish and embarrassed in front of this near-stranger, who was looking perfectly at ease in his home in spite of the awkward circumstances. His hands clutched the chopsticks tightly as he tried to bring the tips together to pinch a stem of broccoli from the box.

“Can I help?”

Iruka looked up and flushed as he realized how close Kakashi had become. They were nearly shoulder to shoulder, knee to knee, and Kakashi was looking at him warmly, head bent close to capture his eyes. Gingerly, he took the chopstips from Iruka’s hand, and with his long, nimble fingers, brought a helping of noodles to Iruka’s lips.

Iruka opened his mouth, and his blush deepend. He couldn’t believe this was happening to him! Bad enough to have to lean on this stranger’s kindness for a ride to the hospital, but then he’d even taken him home, bought him food, and was feeding him?! The only thing keeping Iruka from leaping out of his skin from shame was the fact that this stranger was almost otherworldly in his handsomeness, and if Iruka was going to die of embarrassment today, he may as well get his money’s worth before he goes.

Kakashi fed him another bite, and then he snuck one for himself. “Mmm,” he hummed, “Can’t beat China House, honestly. The name’s deceiving. You’d think it’d be bad.”

“You’ve ordered them before?”

“Yeah.”

Something didn’t add up, but Iruka’s mind was too addled to figure out what the missing piece was. “Do you live around here or something?”

An uncertain pause, and then, “No, I, uh, I’m sometimes in the neighborhood, though.”

“More,” Iruka said boldly and tilted his chin up, waiting for the chopsticks to raise to his mouth.

The corner of Kakashi’s mouth quirked up in a half-smile, and then he stole another bite. “You know, your place is really nice, considering.”

“Considering?” Iruka nudged his chin up a few more times, hoping it conveyed his impatience.

Kakashi obediently fed him another bite. “Considering how terrible most of the places around here are. Gentrification hasn’t made it to this block yet, but you’re doing well for yourself.”

“Well, I’m not exactly a gentrifier.”

“You’re the right age for it.”

Ah, his age. Iruka fought down the blush. He had much worse things to be embarrassed about now than the fact that he was barely twenty-one. “Yes, but you have to have money to gentrify a place.”

“Too true. Kind of bold for you to live alone in a place like this.”

“What makes you think I live alone?” Iruka challenged, and now the first twinge of fear crept into him. Kakashi was right. It was dangerous to be alone in the city no matter what, but to live in this part of town without so much as a dog to guard you was, as he put it, a bold move. What was more dangerous, perhaps, was letting a stranger into your home without knowing more than his first name.

“One pair of shoes by the door,” Kakashi said hollowly, “One coat on the hook. No footsteps upstairs.” He shrugged. “Am I wrong?”

Iruka couldn’t think of a convincing lie. “No. I used to live with my little brother, but he’s away for the summer now.”

“Where does he go?”

“He stays with a friend up north where the weather isn’t so insufferable.” Iruka didn’t know why he was over-explaining this to Kakashi, but somehow, it felt good to talk about it. He didn’t have many friends that he talked to anymore, mostly just other teachers, and he didn’t really keep in contact with coworkers over the summer breaks. “It’s good for him to get out of the city, I think. The friend lives on a farm, and Naruto helps out.”

“That’s good for a kid,” Kakashi agreed, “Living here can make kids weird.”

Iruka snorted at that. It was true. “Must be lack of oxygen.”

Kakashi brought another bite to his lips, but Iruka shook his head. “I think I’m done for now.”

“You sure?”

“I’m sure,” Iruka insisted, “And listen, while I maintain you really didn’t have to do all of this, I really appreciate that you did.”

“It was the least I could do.”

“You keep saying stuff like that, but it’s not true. You’re a stranger. You technically didn’t have to do anything.” Iruka rolled his eyes and looked sidelong at Kakashi as he sunk down a little further into the couch, wiggling into its comfort. “It’s not like you hit me or anything.”

The look on Kakashi’s face was positively damning. Up until now, he’d maintained a good poker face, but the look in his eyes was like an open book to Iruka, who suddenly bolted up from the couch fast enough to white out his vision and make his head spin. “You hit me?!”

Kakashi was up like a shot, his hands on Iruka’s shoulders to steady him, but Iruka batted him away and took a step backwards. “Why didn’t you say anything?!”

Kakashi held his hands up, but he followed the retreating Iruka. “It never seemed like a good time. You tell me, when I was supposed to admit it?”

“Your car is a tank, how am I alive?”

“I wasn’t going fast.”

“You hit me with your car!”

“It was an accident. I’m so sorry.”

Iruka’s back hit his front door. “Shit.”

Kakashi took a step back, seemingly mollified now that Iruka was braced against something and not teetering precariously around the room. “I want to make it up to you. I feel awful about it. Your groceries, your arm,” he trailed off and raised both hands to the back of his head, elbows pressed forward as he inhaled deeply. “Seriously, I really owe you.”

“You seriously do,” Iruka repeated. His vision was finally clearing, and the room had returned to a stationary position. He took a step forward and lurched back towards the couch. Kakashi shot his arms out and helped him down, and Iruka didn’t have the strength to prevent him. “You owe me so bad, dude.”

“Just tell me what you want and I’ll get it for you.” Kakashi sat down next to him, and though his hands had left his body, Iruka could feel the lingering heat from his touch. “I’ll get you anything you want.”

Iruka thought about making a joke about getting him a new arm, but he didn’t feel like being shitty to Kakashi, not really. He was shocked, sure, but it explained why Kakashi was hovering around him so attentively. A worse person would have just dumped him at the hospital, their obligation fulfilled, or left him at the scene to die. Kakashi had made sure he was okay and wanted to make it up to him, so either he was really scared Iruka would sue him, or he genuinely felt bad for the accident.

“I need time to think about it,” Iruka said finally, “Anything I want is a tall order.”

“Anything,” Kakashi repeated, “More than lunch, at least.”

“Way more than a lunch. A hundred lunches would be a start,” Iruka joked, and when Kakashi cracked a smile, that made him feel a little better.

“You want a car? New furniture?” Kakashi asked, “I’ll pay your rent. I’ll get you a dog.”

“Whoa, that’s suddenly a lot more than some lunches. Exactly how rich are you?”

“As far as you’re concerned, I’m your fairy godfather.”

Iruka considered this. The day had just been so strange, he didn’t really know where to begin with Kakashi’s offer. Actually, wait, he did. “I want groceries.”

“Groceries?” Kakashi repeated, nonplussed. “I’m offering you a lot more than some groceries.”

“Yeah, but I don’t need a car. I need groceries,” Iruka reasoned.

Kakashi laughed, then, and it was an incredible sound, rich and deep. “Fine, you’ll have your groceries, but I don’t think I can consider the debt paid with that.”

“Well, we’ve got time to think about it.” Iruka could feel the tiredness creeping back into him, and he stifled a yawn. “Today’s been terrible, even if I did get a new friend out of the deal. You let me think about it, yeah?”

Something in Kakashi’s posture shifted at the mention of the word “friend”. The individual pieces were almost imperceptible: his shoulders dropped half an inch, his forehead wrinkles smoothed, and his eyes seemed to open a fraction wider. Suddenly, he seemed more vulnerable, less of a mysterious entity and more of a, well, of a person.

“Yeah, you think about it,” he said, then, “Can I help you up to bed?”

“Please.”

Kakashi guided him up the narrow stairs to the second floor. There were three rooms total: two bedrooms and a bathroom. The first room he used as a home office when Naruto wasn’t living there, and the second was where he slept. A simple double mattress suspended on a cheap but sturdy bedframe sat underneath a lone window, flanked by a tall stereo system on one side and a nightstand on the other. His humidifier chugged away happily on the stand, while about a dozen dirty coffee mugs littered the tops of the stereo speakers. The room wasn’t as lovingly furnished as the living room, but it still held quite a bit of personality. Deep burgundy tapestries hung from the walls, giving the space a warm, cozy feeling. Iruka liked his bedroom to be as cave-like as possible, especially when he was nursing migraines from his students, which was more often than not.

He laid down on the bed and sighed into its comfort, wrapping the duvet around himself and letting his head hit the pillow. He balanced his broken arm on his chest and let the tension drift out of his upper back. “I can’t believe what a day it’s been.”

“And not even half over,” Kakashi joked, but Iruka could hear the guilt in the forced-upbeat tone. He wasn’t terribly concerned with assuaging said guilt, however, because Kakashi really ought to learn to be more careful.

Whatever Kakashi decided to do now was out of Iruka’s hands, as he could feel the dark comfort of his room pulling him into a trance and down, down into the darkness of sleep.

Chapter Text

The sound of music from downstairs drifted into Iruka’s ears, and he woke to the unpleasant throbbing of his broken arm and the equal throbbing of his head. With considerable effort, he strained his abdomen to move himself into a seated position, then staggered to his feet on shaking limbs. He badly wanted a shower but wasn’t sure how he was going to navigate that particular challenge just yet.

Out in the hallway, the music grew louder, and as Iruka made his way slowly down the stairs, he recognized it as jazz music, soulful and smoky as it filled the room like a haze. In the darkness of sundown, his living room took on an almost magical glow from the lamps and the plants, and the effect of the music took it to the next level. A mournful trumpet strain danced over rambling piano and the steady beat of a soft drum, and had the pain not woken Iruka up, he surely would have let the scene lull him back to sleep.

He snagged his medication from the couch and stepped into the kitchen to fill a glass from the tap. There, he found the source of the music. Kakashi was standing in his kitchen, knife expertly plunging into a spaghetti squash to halve it. Beside him was a paper bag of groceries and a bottle of expensive-looking olive oil, which he drizzled into the squash halves and sprinkled them with seasoning from a grinding mill.

“Uh, hey,” Iruka said, more to announce his presence than anything else. Kakashi seemed to be in his own world, and he didn’t want to startle a man who’d already tried to kill him once today, especially now that he was holding a knife. It was a joke but just barely.

Kakashi looked up at him, and his lips quirked up in a small smile. “Uh, hey,” he repeated back, then motioned to the bag. “I picked up some things. Figured I could get a start on those meals I owe you tonight, if that’s alright?”

“Sure, sure,” Iruka said as he reached for his glass cabinet. He snagged the first thing he could reach, which was a rocks glass normally reserved for cocktails, and filled it from the tap. He shook a pill out of the plastic tube with a grimace and swallowed it, chasing it with a gulp of the water.

Kakashi watched him idly out of the corner of his eye, still mostly consumed with preparing the squash to roast in the oven. Iruka barely used his oven for more than boiling frozen vegetables and rice, so he was honestly a little amazed he even owned a roasting dish. Kakashi’s pianist hands cradled the large, yellow halves and placed them in the dish, then striped them with some balsamic vinagrette and a final dash of salt.

“How did you sleep?” he asked.

“Well,” Iruka said simply, and it was the truth. He’d slept like the dead he should’ve been up until the pain woke him.

“You look well,” Kakashi commented, letting his eyes drift along Iruka’s body like he was sizing him up, “Very well?”

“What are we having?” Iruka asked a little too suddenly, desperate to change the subject and get Kakashi’s appreciative eyes off of him.

Kakashi turned away and slid the dish into the oven. “Not sure. I’m kind of just letting the ingredients inspire me here.”

Iruka peeked into the bag. “Well, hopefully that bag of shrimp is really speaking to you, then.”

Kakashi smiled in amusement. “I think it is, actually. The lemon, too. And, uh, parmesan is never a bad decision.” He pulled the fruit and the triangle of cheese from the bag. “Do you have a zester?”

Iruka knew he shouldn’t laugh at Kakashi. The man barely knew him, so it wasn’t his fault he was asking such absurd questions. “No,” he said simply, “But I think I have a grater. Will that do the job?”

It was clear from Kakashi’s face that he didn’t relish the task, but he was gracious enough not to give voice to his displeasure. He took the grater from Iruka and dropped the shrimp into a pot of water boiling on the stovetop.

Iruka sipped his water and enjoyed the sight of Kakashi cooking in his kitchen. The man was fine like a work of art, and he moved with a dancer’s grace, careful steps and arm movements that spoke to an economy of movement Iruka rarely saw anyone else employ. Of course, he was used to Naruto, a terror of a kid who knocked something over every time he entered or left the space, so any amount of care beyond that was somewhat alien, but Kakashi seemed to take it to the next level. He grated the parmesan over the squash and the shrimp with elegant flicks of his wrist, and he bent at the waist to check the oven like a thespian taking a bow.

When he reached into the grocery bag and produced a bottle of champagne more expensive than Iruka’s now-broken watch, he thought his jaw might drop. “Oh, uh, you really didn’t have to go to all this trouble,” he stammered, feeling a flush rise to his cheeks. Cooking him dinner, buying champagne, unwarranted compliments. Was he crazy, or was this a date?

“I feel like I kind of did,” Kakashi teased, and with practiced ease uncorked the champagne with a smart pop. He poured Iruka’s into his now-empty rocks glass, but when he looked into the glass cabinet, Iruka watched a small frown crease his lips.

“No,” Iruka said, “I don’t have champagne flutes.”

“Why would we need those?” Kakashi asked, but Iruka knew he was disappointed. He pulled another rocks glass from the cabinet and poured himself a generous amount of champagne, then raised his glass to Iruka’s in a toast. “To new friends.”

Iruka raised an eyebrow and touched the rim of his glass to Kakashi’s. “To unexpected friends.”

Kakashi sipped his champagne and made an appreciative noise. Iruka sipped his, too, and he was amazed at how smooth it tasted. Normally, he wasn’t much for champagne, but this was very good stuff.

“Why don’t you go have a seat, and I’ll bring your plate out to you?” Kakashi suggested as he leaned his hip against the counter. “The squash will be another minute or two.”

Iruka had been enjoying watching Kakashi cook, but he couldn’t admit that to the man. He wandered out of the kitchen and into the living room, then turned back as a thought occurred to him. “You might want to check on your car,” he called back into the kitchen, “This is a rough neighborhood, and it’s really too nice to be parked outside my house.”

“It’ll be fine,” Kakashi replied distantly.

Iruka went to the window and shifted the curtain anyway, just to be certain. He lived in a little alley off of slightly smaller street, so all of the cars that parked had to put their two right side tires up on the sidewalk just to avoid being sideswiped, and even that sometimes didn’t work. Iruka suppressed a shudder as he looked out at Kakashi’s SUV. Seriously, that thing must’ve gotten five miles to the gallon, tops. Nonetheless, it remained unmolested, parked right out front for all to see. It was obtrusive, standing out in stark contrast to the rolling junk parked all around it.

One of his neighbors across the alley was also peeking out of their window, also staring at the car. Their eyes were wide and mistrusting, and in a flash they noticed Iruka’s attention and snapped their blinds shut.

He couldn’t help but stare at the bumper as he imagined how it might’ve broken his arm, how it might’ve happened. When it hit him, how far did he get knocked back? What had Kakashi been doing, how could he not have seen Iruka walking? What did it sound like? Had there been a lot of blood?

Iruka shook himself out of his thoughts and moved to the door. He leaned out to his mailbox, snagged the circulars and junk mail post cards, and shut the door, deadbolting it behind him. He sifted through the envelopes as he wandered back into the kitchen to throw them away, bringing his glass along for a refill. Kakashi was plating the shrimp on top of the squash and sprinkling it with another layer of grated cheese. It smelled heavenly, and Iruka couldn’t help but drift over to admire his work.

“It looks amazing.”

Kakashi smiled at the compliment. “Thanks. Now get your butt back in the living room. I’m trying to serve you here.”

Iruka held up his glass. “Serve me more champagne?”

“In the living room, I promise.”

Iruka did as he was told and took a seat on the couch. He brought the candle onto his little coffee table - another trash day treasure - and waited as Kakashi put the finishing touches on their dinner. He placed Iruka’s plate in front of him along with the appropriate utensils and refreshed his glass, then sat beside him and dug in.

Iruka was in heaven. It tasted better than amazing, especially considering he hadn’t had to cook it. The shrimp was lightly fried and seasoned, buttery with a hint of lemon and pepper. The squash was tender without falling to pieces, and the olive oil made it taste almost better than pasta would’ve. Normally, Iruka wasn’t one to shy away from extra carbohydrates, but the squash was a decadent enough substitute that it didn’t feel like too healthy of a substitution.

Suddenly, there was the sound of loud, insistent knocking at the door. Iruka could have cursed his terrible luck. Seriously, how was his day still getting worse? He recognized the pattern of the knock, and it reminded him that he’d woken up to several missed calls from a likely drunken Mizuki, his disagreeable ex who - in spite of being the one to break up with Iruka nearly a year ago - couldn’t seem to get over him.

Knock knock knock. “Iruka?”

Kakashi looked troubled. “I’m sorry. Did you already have plans tonight?”

Iruka put a finger to his lips and dropped his voice to a whisper. “He’ll go away.”

Kakashi’s eyebrows crept up towards his hairline. “You sure about that?”

Knock knock knock knock knock. “‘Ru, open up!”

“I’m sure.” Iruka rolled his eyes. “He does this all the time unfortunately.”

“Babe, ‘Ru, I know you’re in there!” Mizuki called through the door, and the slight slur of his words told Iruka what he needed to know. “Answer your phone, babe!”

“Babe?”

“He’s my ex.”

“How are you going to get rid of him?” Kakashi asked, his tone betraying his amusement at the situation.

Iruka wasn’t sure how to get rid of Mizuki. Usually, he just went upstairs and hid in the dark comfort of his bedroom until he left, or Naruto would chase him down the block. “Good question,” he said, then, “Sorry. This is kind of ruining the nice dinner you made for me.”

“Not at all. I have a suggestion, if you’ll indulge me.”

When Kakashi stood, Iruka had a brief, not-too-irrational fear that Kakashi was about to go hit Mizuki with his car. It was, after all, his modus operandi as far as Iruka knew. He was pleasantly surprised when Kakashi disappeared into the kitchen instead, and the volume of the jazz increased, effectively drowning out Mizuki’s shouts.

Well, almost. The knocking became louder as Mizuki became indignant, now that he had proof Iruka was, indeed, inside. Kakashi returned and looked down at Iruka. With practiced grace, he offered him his hand. “Care to dance?”

Iruka didn’t feel like now was the time to admit he’d never really danced before, and judging by Kakashi’s romantic efforts so far - dinner, good booze - he was probably also the type who knew how to dance really well. So, instead of kicking up a fuss, Iruka allowed Kakashi to pull him up to his feet.

There wasn’t enough room in the living room to do much dancing, in actuality, which was a blessing for Iruka, who really just had to stand there, moving his feet and being held as Kakashi took hold of his good arm and held it up by their shoulders. His broken arm remained in its sling, no longer throbbing quite so badly now that the painkiller had kicked in. Kakashi’s other arm slid gingerly around his waist, pressing close but not so close as to jostle the injured limb. It was intimate in its simplicity, and Iruka let himself relax into Kakashi as they swayed to the music.

Mizuki gave up somewhere in the second song, and then there was nothing to ruin the perfection of the moment. Iruka knew there was something unforgivably strange about dancing with the man who’d hit him with his car, but he was ready to embrace the strangeness. Kakashi seemed like a nice enough guy, even if he was still a bit of a mystery to him. If this was the start of something, well, he’d never been so happy to be roadkill in his life.

“So, what do you do?” Iruka asked, “When you aren’t trying to charm your way out of a lawsuit, I mean.”

Kakashi hummed thoughtfully as he led Iruka in a little spin in place, raising his arm up high and brushing the other along the flat of Iruka’s lower back as he turned. “I’m in business for myself. I have a small contracting outfit. I do everything from appliance repair to grouting bathrooms to landscaping.”

Iruka was starting to get whiplash from all the strokes of good and bad luck. “Well, I’ve just figured out the second thing you can do to make things up to me. It just so happens my bathtub needs to be re-grouted.”

“You wouldn’t be the first person I’ve dated who’s taken advantage of that particular perk. That and installing air conditioners.”

“Slow down, we aren’t dating. You’ve known me for ten hours, tops, and I’ve been unconscious for half that time.”

“Yes, but you’ll have to forgive me. I can’t seem to help myself around you.” Kakashi let his hand wander down, grazing the waist hem of Iruka’s pants with careful fingertips.

Iruka laughed a little breathlessly at that. “I seem to have a lot I need to forgive you for.”

“I’m good at getting people to forgive me.”

“Oh, yeah?” Iruka looked up into Kakashi’s eyes, and his breath was stolen by the smouldering intensity he found. Kakashi was positively devouring him with his eyes. It was equal parts exciting and unnerving. Nerves and anticipation pooled in Iruka’s belly, lighting up his senses and sensitizing them to the barest movements of Kakashi’s limbs, the shallow intake of his breath, the scent of his cologne. God, they were just so close, Iruka could reach up on his tiptoes to reach his lips if he wanted to. He wouldn’t even need to stretch that far, and the distance was closing as Kakashi’s eyes came closer and closer, hypnotizing him with steely desire.

Kakashi dipped his head and pressed his lips to the side of Iruka’s neck, right beneath his ear. His mouth was hot, and the sensation on his pulse point sent a wave of desire coursing through Iruka. He wanted this man, oh, he wanted him badly. The simplest touch of his hand on Iruka’s waist was nearly driving him to madness with the need to put those hands elsewhere. The sound of the jazz drove his body forward, thrumming into Kakashi like he’d die otherwise. He wanted more, as much as he could get.

Kakashi led him in another little turn and then pressed his hand to the center of Iruka’s back, pushing him gently towards the couch. Iruka relaxed into the cushions as Kakashi hovered over him, knees on either side of Iruka’s thighs. He loomed above, neck bent to hold Iruka’s eyes, and then he took his good hand in his as his lips pressed against Iruka’s with the gentle insistence of a man used to waiting for what he wanted.

Iruka thought he might cry from the sheer perfection of the feeling. It had been so long since he’d kissed another man, not since Mizuki left him. He’d forgotten how good it felt to taste someone else, to feel their warmth on top of you, the sensation of their skin against yours. Kakashi kissed him completely, leaving no room for Iruka to want more. His tongue pressed inside of him, hands on either side of his face, tilting his head upwards as he drank in Iruka’s little gasps and hums. They kissed for either a minute or an hour, and when they parted, Iruka’s lips buzzed with energy, throbbing and raw.

“Wow,” he breathed.

Kakashi climbed off Iruka and stood, then took their plates into the kitchen. Iruka waited for the longest moment of his life until Kakashi returned, two fresh glasses of champagne in his hands.

“I’m sorry,” he said next, not sounding entirely like he meant it.

“It’s okay,” Iruka told him, because really, what else was he supposed to say. He liked it? He wanted more? He wanted so much more forever and ever, amen.

“I’d like to see you again, if I could.”

Iruka’s head hit the back of the couch, and his breath left him in a happy little rush of a sigh. “How much of me are you trying to see?” he joked, a cocky little smile on his bruised lips.

Kakashi’s eyes were leering at him. “As much as you’ll let me.”

“I’ll need another dinner.”

“Anything. Literally anything you want, Iruka.”

That was nice to hear. How long had it been since someone had made the effort for him? The days of Mizuki had been full of nothing but Iruka providing food, money, a place to crash, everything. But parasites were like that. He couldn’t believe Mizuki had actually shown up at the house. He was glad it hadn’t ruined things with him and Kakashi. Although, at this point, Iruka wasn’t sure what could ruin things, considering where the relationship had started.

Kakashi and Iruka drank their champagne in the quiet, listening to the music and soaking up the peace of the moment. Iruka felt his eyelids growing heavier and heavier with each sip. By the time he’d finished the glass, he was ready to call it the end of a truly confusing, terrible, amazing day. Kakashi helped him up to bed, promising to lock up after letting himself out. Iruka used his last moment of consciousness to once again marvel at how trusting he was of this stranger - who by all accounts he should be deeply mistrusting of - before letting himself slip into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

Chapter Text

A few days passed without word from Kakashi, which was likely due to the fact that Iruka was still staring at the scrap of paper he’d left in his kitchen with his phone number on it.

He was having serious trouble working up the nerve to call the man, even though his bathtub really needed re-grouting. He had the perfect excuse to call, but he was nervous. Iruka had always been a shy person, which was why his actions that day had confused him more than a little bit. He’d just been so bold. It wasn’t like him at all to let a stranger into his home, let alone kiss them. What had it been about Kakashi that inspired him to recklessness?

He hadn’t called Naruto to tell him about the accident, either. It would only make his little brother worry. Not that he ever really stopped worrying - they both turned anxiety into an Olympic event - but Iruka knew Naruto would have a conniption if he found out Iruka had been hit by a car. He’d never spend his summers with his friends in the country again, that was for sure, and Iruka didn’t want to take that away from him.

His arm wasn’t hurting him that terribly anymore, either, although the body aches were still giving him trouble. He was having issues doing certain things around the house, and he hadn’t been outside in a few days, either. Iruka just felt lucky school wasn’t in session. It would’ve been impossible to manage his classroom in his current state.

Iruka looked into his fridge for the third time that morning, but it was no less empty than before. He really needed to get groceries, but he was a bit trepidatious to leave the house. He could always call Kakashi. Iruka was sure he would swing by on a moment’s notice, although what he would expect as payment was still unclear. The way his body felt now, he wasn’t too sure he wanted to add more aches and pains to the mix by inviting Kakashi to have his wicked way with him, though he had to admit the thought was tempting.

Resigning himself to his fate, Iruka slipped on his sneakers, grabbed his canvas tote bag, and locked his door behind him as he stepped outside into the punishing afternoon heat. Summers in the city were groggy and draining, not to mention he’d be soaked with sweat within minutes. A quick trip, that’s all this would be, although he couldn’t help but think about the last time he’d made a quick trip to the store.

Luckily, this trip was more uneventful, although navigating his purchases into his bag with only one good arm was tricky. He was just starting to head back to his house when he heard someone call out to him, and the sound of their voice chilled his blood.

“Iruka!”

Mizuki trotted up from beneath the shade of the side of the store, where he’d been leaning and smoking a Newport. He let the cigarette hang to the side of his lips while he fell into step with the unfortunate Iruka, who tried not to look as unhappy as he felt as Mizuki easily overtook him.

“Jesus, ‘Ru, what happened to your arm?”

“I had an accident,” he said simply, willing Mizuki to leave it be even though he knew the other man wouldn’t.

“Hell of an accident. Why didn’t you answer the door the other night? Didn’t you hear me yellin’?”

Iruka grit his teeth. “You have to stop coming by.”

“Why?” Mizuki pressed, “You don’t like me anymore?”

“No. We broke up, remember?”

“I remember,” Mizuki said, grimacing, “But you’re the one who won’t take me back, ‘Ru. What am I supposed to do?”

“Leave.”

“Aw, jeez, Ru, you don’t mean it, though.”

Iruka took several deep breaths and attempted to walk faster. Mizuki matched pace effortlessly and plucked the canvas bag from his hand. “Lemmie help you.”

“I’m fine,” Iruka insisted, but now that Mizuki had his bag, he was really out of options unless he wanted to cause a scene in the middle of the street.

“How you been?” Mizuki asked obliviously, “Sucks out today, doesn’t it?”

“Yep.”

“How’s the kid? He up at Sasuke’s still?”

“Yep.”

“Gimmie somethin’ to go on here, Iruka. You’re bein’ bitchy.”

Iruka schooled the rage off of his face. He didn’t want to deepen his frown lines, as his students already told him how scary and old he looked when he got angry. “I want to be left alone, Mizuki. I don’t want to talk to you.”

“Aw, you don’t mean it.”

They turned down Iruka’s street at long last, and Iruka stormed up to his stoop, whirling and holding his hand out for his bag. “I do mean it. Thank you for carrying my bag, even though I didn’t want or need you to. Please go away.”

“Let me help you put it away, at least?”

“No. I have someone coming over soon, and I don’t want you hanging around.”

Iruka knew Mizuki, and he knew this would piss him off. For someone who’d dumped Iruka pretty callously, Mizuki was possessive of him, and he hated even the mention of other friends when they’d still been dating.

Mizuki’s expression darkened at once, like a sudden summer storm. “Who’s comin’ over?”

“Just someone. He’s doing some work for me, and I don’t want you in his way.”

“Who is he? Would I know him?”

Iruka debated answering honestly. He’d never heard of Kakashi before and wasn’t sure there’d be any name recognition, but then again, maybe Mizuki was just checking to see if Iruka wasn’t lying. Iruka was a terrible liar, and Mizuki knew this. “His name’s Kakashi.”

“I don’t know any Kakashi.”

Iruka scoffed. “Well, I do, and he’s going to be here any minute, so get lost.”

Mizuki backed up a few paces then scowled. “Why you gotta be so mean, ‘Ru?” he asked grumpily, “You were always like that.”

“If you think I’m being mean, it’s because I don’t like you,” Iruka said, then snapped his door open and slammed it shut before Mizuki could keep the conversation up. He flipped the deadbolt with finality and listened to Mizuki’s angry screeching while he practiced yoga breaths to calm his racing heart rate. It was just his luck that he’d run into Mizuki at the store. Ever since he lost his job and went on unemployment, he’d had nothing to do but loiter alongside the building, smoking those damn cigarettes until he ran out and needed to run in for a new pack.

Mizuki hadn’t always been that pathetic, either, which really kind of broke Iruka’s heart. They’d both been at the same university for their teaching degrees, but Mizuki had never finished. There had been an incident with his student teaching, something Mizuki never wanted to talk about. He’d finished with a general degree instead, and he hopped from job to job, staying long enough to get fired so he could go back on unemployment until, ultimately, his time ran out there, too.

Looking back on their relationship, Iruka couldn’t help but be a little sick with himself for trying so hard for someone like that.

He put his groceries away slowly, feeling the scrap of paper with Kakashi’s number on it like a physical presence in the room. After he put the groceries away, he got out his cleaning bottles and scrubbed the room spotless. Then, when there was no more work to be done, he picked up his phone and called.

“Hello?”

“Kakashi?”

“Iruka,” Kakashi said warmly. Iruka could hear muted voices in the background, a hushed argument. “Sorry, one second.”

The phone went mute for a minute and a half, during which Iruka quickly lost his mind at what could have been happening on Kakashi’s end. Then, when the connection came back, the arguing had stopped. “What’s up? I’m so glad you called!”

“Me, too,” Iruka said, “I just, uh, wanted to know what you’re up to today. Want to come over again? You don’t have to grout my bathroom.”

“Dinner?”

“I was thinking pizza.”

“I make excellent pizza.”

Iruka had been trying to let Kakashi off the hook, but it seemed like the man was determined to continue to impress him. “Would you mind?”

“I’m happy to. The crust may take a while, unless you’re able to start it?”

Considering Iruka’s experience with acquiring pizza started and ended with a phone call, he felt entirely unequipped to “start the crust”. He didn’t even truly know what that meant. “I, uh, I don’t know how to do that,” he admitted.

“It’s fine! I’ll start it at my place and bring it over. I’m done for the day, anyway.”

“Perks of being your own boss.”

“Something like that.”

“Well, feel free to come by whenever.”

“How’re you feeling, Iruka?”

“Better,” Iruka lied.

“Good, that’s good. I still can’t tell you how awful I feel that I hit you.”

“Well, get over it,” Iruka joked, “It happened. You’re more than making up for it.”

“Iruka, I worry for your mental state. A few dinners does not more than make up for hitting you with my car.”

“You’re working on it.”

“Thank you for letting me.”

Iruka blushed faintly and was glad that Kakashi couldn’t see him. “Sure. Anyway, when will I see you?”

“Two hours okay?”

Iruka checked his watch. “Yeah, perfect.” Enough time for him to get a shower and clean his room, just in case.

“Alright, I’ll see you then. And I can’t wait to see you.”

Kakashi purred the last line, and the timber of his voice went straight through Iruka. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, “You, too.”

Kakashi hung up, and Iruka took extra care cleaning himself in the shower. He washed and blow-dried his hair, putting a little product into it before clipping it out of his face with a little plastic claw he’d bought to replace his elastic hair ties. He wouldn’t be able to wear one until either his arm healed or he figured out how to do a pony tail with one hand. He looked at his face in the mirror appraisingly, wondering what exactly Kakashi saw when he looked at him. Iruka knew he had a certain boyish handsomeness to him, with dark skin and freckles smattering across his cheeks and nose. Like Kakashi, Iruka also had a facial scar, a long thin line that bisected his face. It was faint from age, an accident from when he was a child that he couldn’t rightly remember.

Kakashi’s scar was interesting. It made Iruka wonder where he’d gotten it from. To have such a straight, clean slash over his eye, it looked almost surgical in nature given how precise it was. He kind of wanted to ask about it but wasn’t sure if that would be rude.

Iruka went to his closet and selected one of his nicer outfits, a plain black v neck tee made of a heavyweight cotton blend that accentuated his wide shoulders and narrow hips, paired with charcoal joggers that had a delicate vine of embroidery along the sides. It was understated, but the pieces were quality and on trend. He admired himself in his full length mirror, turning from side to side to check hadn’t gained too much weight so far this summer. The only thing bringing his look down was the sling and the bandages, but that couldn’t exactly be helped.

He flitted around his house, lighting candles and fluffing pillows, throwing away trash and sweeping up. He wanted the place to look nice for Kakashi, and he wondered a little dreamily what Kakashi would be wearing and whether he’d bring a nice bottle of champagne for them. He was looking forward to their second date, and it made him feel even a little silly for waiting so long to call.

Half an hour after Kakashi had said he’d arrive, and Iruka was starting to reconsider that feeling.

An hour hater and he wasn’t sure he’d heard Kakashi right. Had he said two hours or three?

An hour and a half later and Iruka was pulling the plug on his hopes and dreams, blowing out candles, and microwaving a container of instant ramen he’d found in the back of the cabinet. It was Naruto’s favorite flavor, and it made him ache a little in his chest with loneliness. The day had been a bit too much, maybe, between Mizuki harassing him and Kakashi standing him up. Maybe he should dig around in his freezer for some ice cream, put on his rattiest sweatpants, and call it a night.

He was in the process of doing just that, curled up on his couch with a spoon in his mouth and Netflix on the television, when there was a knock on the door. It wasn’t Mizuki’s pattern, thankfully. The knock was a little slower, more assured, two quick raps and then silence. Iruka hoped it wasn’t the cops as he unfolded himself from his position and shuffled to answer.

Kakashi stood in his doorway holding two dozen roses and a lumpy, clear plastic bag of bread dough. He looked dangerously sexy in a black bomber jacket, dark grey tee, and tight-fitting, low slung jeans that clung to his thighs and hips. He held the bouquet up between them and smiled sheepishly. “Sorry I’m late.”

Iruka felt his face flush. “You were supposed to be here two hours ago.”

“I got held up.”

Iruka sorely wanted to cross his arms. He made up for it by fisting his good hand on his hip. “Doing what?”

“You don’t want to know.”

Kakashi pushed past Iruka and stepped inside, taking in the sight of the ice cream and Ru Paul on the screen. “You started without me.”

“Two hours, seriously?” Iruka spun on his heels. “You might as well have not showed up at all.”

Kakashi turned to look at him, and now he was frowning. “I’m sorry. I should’ve called.”

“You really should’ve,” he insisted, but now he was deflating somewhat. Kakashi’s apology softened him somewhat, even if it was too little too late. “I thought I was being stood up.”

“Well, hopefully dinner will make up for that.” Kakashi raised the bag of dough, then looked to his other hand, still clutching the bouquet tightly. “And, uh, these probably.”

“Red roses?” Iruka asked, “Really?”

Kakashi grinned. “They’re supposed to be romantic.”

Iruka flushed and took them from Kakashi, admiring the sheer size and quantity of them. They filled the room with a delicate fragrance that was, admittedly, a little romantic. “Thank you,” he said graciously.

As he walked into the kitchen to find a vase - dear God he hoped he owned a vase! - Kakashi followed and leaned his hip on the doorway, watching Iruka search his cabinets. “Do you like plants, then?”

Iruka snorted. “You’ve seen my living room, right?” Finally, his fingers closed around the lip of an old piece of glassware that used to hold old fashioned candies that someone, somewhere had thought would be a good present for him. He filled the glass with water and attempted to wedge the two dozen stems in. They barely fit, but the result was admittedly very lovely. Iruka carried them back into the living room and placed them to the side of the coffee table, shutting off Drag Race before returning to the kitchen.

Kakashi was rolling out his dough on a cookie sheet. “I didn’t see a pizza pan,” he explained, “So I hope you like Sicilian.”

Iruka watched him work until he realized he was wearing his grossest sweatpants, then excused himself to change back into his nicer outfit. When he returned, Kakashi spared him a long, appreciative glance over the chopping of the toppings. Iruka blushed at the attention and scrambled to change the subject. “Seriously, what kept you up?”

“Work stuff.”

When Kakashi didn’t volunteer more information than that, Iruka felt his irritation spike. “What kind of work stuff?”

“Does it really matter to you?”

“Yes.”

“Fine. I had to fire someone.”

“Oh.” How that could take two hours, Iruka couldn’t say, but he felt a twinge of sympathy. “That sucks.”

“It does suck. He’s been with my company for years, but he made a few bad mistakes, and I had no choice.”

“Well.” Now, Iruka just felt a little embarrassed that he’d pried that out of Kakashi. “Thank you for telling me.”

“Sure.”

Kakashi set an expensive-looking bottle of red wine on the counter and felt around in his pocket, producing an elegant corkscrew. He gave Iruka a generous pour before guiding him into the living room and onto the couch, where he proceeded to kiss Iruka so passionately and expertly that he scarcely noticed the time go by before he heard the beeping of the oven, signaling dinner was served.

Iruka allowed himself to be served, his wine topped off, and the evening was starting to take a turn for the better when there was another knock on his door.

Knock, knock knock. One, then two in quick succession. He pulled back from Kakashi, whose hands were on his waist and tongue in his mouth, and listened. “That doesn’t sound like Mizuki this time.”

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth became a firm line. “Go upstairs.”

Iruka furrowed his brows. “What?”

Kakashi stood, bringing Iruka up with him. “Trust me. Go upstairs.”

The knock came again, louder this time.

“What’s going on, Kakashi?”

“Go!”

Iruka scampered up the stairs. There was no arguing with that tone. He ran to the window of his second bedroom and peered down into the street. It was an awkward angle, but there was a car parked in the street, black and nondescript, and a man was standing by the passenger side, looking towards the house.

Another man, the one at the door whom Iruka couldn’t get a good look at from his angle, began to speak.

“Boss, it’s not good.”

“I know it’s not good.” Kakashi said, his voice low and tight. “Is that really what you tracked me here to say?”

Iruka cracked the window to hear them more clearly. The man by the passenger side of the car looked up at him, but Iruka was crouched out of sight.

“It’s not just him. There were others.”

“Fuck. How many?”

“Two.” The speaker’s voice became quieter, so quiet that Iruka couldn’t make out what he said. He presumed, however, they were names.

“Fuck,” Kakashi swore again. “Fuck.”

“What are your orders?”

Orders?

“Do you have them?” Kakashi asked.

“We caught them trying to flee across the bridge. They’re in the car.”

There was a long pause then. Finally, a sigh escaped Kakashi’s lips. “I’ll deal with this tomorrow.”

“Busy tonight? Are you, perhaps, entertaining?” The man in the street said this, entirely too loudly and with a cheerful grin that made Iruka want to shudder.

“Keep your damn voice down,” Kakashi snapped, “Just keep them locked up. They’re answering to me, first thing.”

“And then?” The first man again.

“What do you think?” Kakashi’s tone left no room for Iruka to wonder what he meant. He sounded dangerous, murderous.

The men exchanged a few more words before the car sped off, and Iruka shuddered to think of the fate that would befall the two captives inside. He was terrified to go back downstairs. Was Kakashi in some kind of trouble? Why had those men called him boss? They hadn’t looked like plumbers or electricians to Iruka. Why had they asked for his orders? The way they’d talked to him, they made Kakashi sound like some kind of crime boss, but that couldn’t be right, could it?

Iruka remained on the floor, listening for footsteps in his living room. Kakashi seemed to pace for a moment, Iruka seemingly all but forgotten, but then he head him, his voice calling up the stairs: “Iruka?”

Iruka stood on shaky legs. “Just a minute,” he called back, his voice quavering.

He made the journey down the hall, every step feeling more like a mile than a foot, but all too soon he was at the bottom of the stairs, staring wide-eyed at Kakashi, who was standing in the shadows looking dark and menacing. He never could maintain a poker face, so he was sure the truth of things was written all over him: he’d heard everything. He only hoped Kakashi could somehow convince him that he wasn’t some kind of criminal and hadn’t just casually talked about murdering two people.

When Kakashi didn’t offer any explanation for a long, drawn-out minute, Iruka cracked like heated glass. “I heard everything.”

“I figured.”

“Tell me it isn’t what it sounded like.”

Kakashi took a step forward, and the light from the street lamp outside cast the scarred side of his face in eerie, yellow light. “It is.”

Iruka sunk down into his couch, his legs unable to support him any longer. “Kakashi, what are you?”

“I would’ve told you.”

“Told me what?”

Kakashi paused, holding himself as still as the darkness itself. “Those were my men,” he began, “I’m not a contractor. I’m a bounty hunter.”

Relief washed over Iruka’s face. “Oh, God, okay. Why didn’t you want to admit that?”

Kakashi grimaced. “It’s not exactly the kind of job people are comfortable with.”

Bounty hunters, he could deal with. It was legal to be a bond enforcement officer. They even called them officers! Iruka had been terrified it was drug smuggling or human trafficking or something equally heinous - it wouldn’t be surprising, in his neighborhood - but he could handle Kakashi being a bounty hunter. Mizuki had been picked up by a bounty hunter once, after missing a court date for a possession charge, and the fact that Iruka hadn’t broken up with him on the spot was embarrassing to admit.

“Well, it’s fine by me. A little morally grey, I guess, but it’s not like you’re killing people.”

Kakashi looked visibly relieved. “I appreciate you being so understanding, Iruka.” He smiled. “But I’m still very sorry my men interrupted our evening.” He gestured to the open bottle of red wine still on the table. “Should we continue?”

Iruka sat down and picked up his glass, then raised it to Kakashi, bringing their glasses together.

“You must be a really good bounty hunter to afford such a nice car,” he commented.

Kakashi shrugged. “We do a lot of business.”

“Do you work for a bail bond agency?”

His eyes slid down and to the right briefly before refocusing on Iruka’s. “No. We’re freelance. The work’s pretty steady, though. Too much sometimes.”

“I don’t envy you that,” Iruka said with an attempt at a lighthearted chuckle. Somehow, Kakashi’s mood remained black, even though he seemed to be melting back into the conversation. It felt a little stiff, and Iruka was trying hard to loosen them both up. Had the mention of work and those people in the car really shaken Kakashi that much? True, he’d seemed upset when he was talking to his men on the street.

“I’m glad I get a nice, long break from my job,” he continued, keeping his voice upbeat, “Three beautiful months of no kids, no lessons, no detention supervision.”

“You’re a teacher?” Kakashi’s face was beautifully surprised. “Where do you teach?”

“North High, right around the block.”

Kakashi grimaced comically. “That’s a tough crowd.”

Iruka laughed a little shakily. “You’re telling me. I’m sure you’ve picked up a fair amount of alumni from there when they skip their court dates.”

Kakashi’s expression remained perfectly neutral, but did Iruka detect a tightening of his lips? He resolved not to mention Kakashi’s work again, for the sake of their evening.

“I really like teaching, but those kids need way more than classes.” Iruka shook his head, his hair swinging freely. “They need so much more than I can give them, but I try for them, I really do.”

“It must be hard,” Kakashi offered sympathetically.

“Some days are worse than others. They’re good for me, at least, but it breaks my heart when they tell me about their home lives.” Iruka’s fingers tightened around his glass. “Some of them don’t even have homes. For some of them, school lunch is the only regular meal they get.”

Kakashi’s hand fell to Iruka’s knee, and warmth spread all through the limb at the touch.

“Still,” Iruka said, resolved, “I do my best for them.”

“That’s all you can do.”

Iruka nodded, then drained his glass. “Wow, sorry I’m such a bummer.”

Kakashi shook his head and chuckled. “You’re not the bummer. I started it.”

“Well, let’s end it, shall we?”

“Your students aren’t much younger than you, are they?”

Iruka resisted the urge to frown. His age had come up yet again. Well, he figured he might as well address it now. “I skipped a few grades. It made me very popular with my peers, growing up.” His tone was sardonic, mocking himself. “My students never make fun of me, and fellow teachers always give me the respect I deserve.”

Kakashi blew a breath through his teeth. “Yeah, that’s gotta be tough.”

“I thought it would get better when I turned eighteen,” he said, “Then twenty, then twenty-one. I just had to accept, eventually, that people were always going to judge me because of how young I am.”

“I’m just glad you’re interested in an old guy like me.”

Iruka raised an eyebrow. “You’d better not be as old as all those greys suggest.”

Kakashi shook his head. “Totally premature. I’m barely over thirty.”

Secretly, Iruka was relieved. Kakashi didn’t truly look that old, but people could deceive you, and Naruto would give him hell if he ended up dating a geezer, even if that geezer cooked like a god and brought them expensive gifts.

He finished off his wine and allowed Kakashi to pour him another, his head pleasantly fuzzy and light. It was the strangest thing, but he felt totally relaxed. Kakashi had that effect on him. Iruka would never describe himself as a particularly easy-going person, but somehow around Kakashi, he found himself easing into the other man, unwinding the tight knot around his heart. He truly did not trust easily, and though his relationship with Kakashi so far had been pretty mired in lies, he found himself not minding. After all, Kakashi eventually told him the truth, unlike certain other men in his life, who only did so when he stood to benefit.

Kakashi’s hand fell to his knee, and then Iruka felt the warmth of his palm travelling up his thigh. It was a heady sensation, even completely clothed, and it left Iruka trembling for more. He longed to have Kakashi’s nimble fingers dancing along other parts of his body, ached for him to touch him even as his mind tried to remind him that nothing good came from sleeping with men so early on. They either felt the conquest complete and left, or like Mizuki, realized how easily manipulated he was and wrung him dry for their every wish and whim.

Iruka wasn’t listening to his mind, which is why he took Kakashi’s wandering hand in his and led him up the stairs, into the bedroom.

Several candles were lit, casting the room in a warm, entrancing glow, their light vanilla scent perfuming the room with delicacy and grace. Iruka let himself be taken in by the effect, drifting over to his bed and lying down. Kakashi followed him and put his knees to either side of Iruka’s hips, arching down and sealing him to the mattress with strong hands and a blistering kiss. Iruka gasped into the touch, pressing himself up to meet Kakashi, his hips thrusting a little desperately. He felt so needy, and that’s because he was needy. He needed Kakashi.

With surprisingly gentle fingers, Kakashi undressed them both, taking great care not to jostle Iruka’s broken arm. Iruka flushed as his body was revealed to him, wondering how he must look with the giant cast on his arm. Kakashi was unreadable as his eyes took in the sight before him, and then he lowered himself back down and continued kissing Iruka almost lazily, like his body felt none of the urgency it was clearly displaying to Iruka.

And god, the sight of him. Kakashi was incredibly well-endowed, his generous member brushing against the softness of Iruka’s belly. He was sure that he wouldn’t be able to fit it all in his hand, let alone in his mouth, but he burned with the need to try.

Kakashi explored every inch of Iruka with his hands and mouth, moving from his neck to his shoulders, then skimming along the flat plane of his chest. Hot, open mouthed kisses pressed to his sensitive ribs, stirring him to a straining arousal as passion ignited within him. It had been so long since anyone touched him like this, he forgot just how amazing it could feel, and Kakashi seemed determined to drive him to the edge of his self-control with his impossibly slow, sensual movements. After a lifetime and a half of teasing, Iruka squinted his eyes shut and gasped as he felt Kakashi’s hand close around the base of his erection, his nose nudging at the tip. Then, he took him into his mouth, warm and wet and sinfully tight, and began sucking with an aching rhythm.

Iruka rocked up in time with Kakashi’s movements, moaning and panting at each twitch of his fingers, every clench of his jaw. Kakashi’s cheeks hollowed, and Iruka hadn’t thought the pressure could build to such dizzying intensity. He gasped, and tears sprung to his eyes as the force with which he held back his orgasm caused his abs to tighten and strain.

“Wait,” he pleaded hopelessly, “Wait please.”

Kakashi slid up and off, giving the underside of his head an affectionate lick with his talented tongue. “Not ready yet?”

“Not until you’re inside me.” His cheeks reddened as the words tumbled from his mouth, but he was so far gone it was hard to care, especially when Kakashi’s eyes widened like that, like Iruka had delivered him the most beautiful of surprises.

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed like a cat sighting its prey, and then they slid to the nightstand. Without waiting, he reached for the handle and opened the drawer, withdrawing a little tube of lubricant, barely enough for one use. His eyebrows raised, and Iruka flushed deep scarlet.

“It was, uh, a sample.”

“We’re going to need to get you some more.” Kakashi tore the corner off of the sample packet and spread some onto his fingers. “For next time.”

At the mention of a next time, some primal part of Iruka began to purr. So this wouldn’t be a one-time affair, then. Well, good, he was glad. He would’ve slept with Kakashi anyway, but the knowledge that Kakashi wanted more, was planning on future encounters even before he’d had the first one made Iruka feel an emotion too embarrassing to admit to.

When Kakashi’s fingers began to stroke at him, to ease and coax him open, Iruka sighed into the touch, though he’d never been good at this part. He always found it difficult to relax completely, and Kakashi seemed to sense this. He bowed his neck and took Iruka back into his mouth, matching the rhythm of his fingers with long licks of his tongue. Iruka struggled to breathe through the heavy sensations, pleasure pulling and tugging from behind his navel. Kakashi added a second nimble finger, and Iruka felt his breath catch in his throat, his face suddenly becoming very hot.

“Still good?” Kakashi asked, lips pressed to the juncture of his hip and thigh.

“Um, aah,” Iruka mumbled, gasping and flexing his hips, “It’s been a while.” His face flushed.

Kakashi raised his eyes to Iruka’s. “How long is a while?”

His flush grew deeper. “Almost a year.” It was embarrassing to admit, but he’d been put off of dating since the messy end with Mizuki, and he’d never been the casual hookup type.

Kakashi looked deeply into Iruka’s eyes, and he looked a little sheepish as he admitted, “I know what you asked for, but this might not work.”

Iruka was certain his face was going to spontaneously combust any second now. Of course, he should’ve known a man like Kakashi would prefer an experienced parter. He should’ve been up front with him. He’d only ever been with Mizuki after all. It was probably weird that he’d even asked in the first place, wasn’t it?

“You’re right,” Iruka said, chuckling breathlessly and hating how his words seemed to catch and stick in his throat. He sounded besotted with Kakashi. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Kakashi looked surprised for a moment, and then he shook his head. “No, Iruka, I mean-,” he paused and looked pointedly down to his own erection, “I’m kind of large. I wouldn’t want to hurt you.”

“Oh.” Now, he was blushing for an entirely different reason. Kakashi was terribly large, wasn’t he? Iruka had never had much of a problem with Mizuki, but now that he thought of it, there was a whole lot more to Kakashi than their was to his ex. “Well, can we try?”

Kakashi leered at him. “What kind of man would I be to say no?” He reached over Iruka’s head and grabbed one of the pillows at the top of the bed, then lifted Iruka’s hips and slid it underneath him.

He set back to work with a vigor, stroking Iruka open and sheathing him full to the hilt in his talented mouth. Iruka choked on a cry, tensing his muscles on Kakashi’s hand. It felt at once painful and deliriously good, and the second moan tore from his lungs as Kakashi’s fingers twisted inside of him, curling and massaging at the sweet, sensitive spot he’d found. Iruka threw a hand over his face and bit the flesh of his hand. Fuck, he’d forgotten how good it could be.

Kakashi slicked his hard, dripping cock with the rest of the lubricant and positioned himself over Iruka. He held himself steady with one hand while the other sought Iruka’s. Abdominal muscles straining, he eased himself forward.

Iruka hadn’t imagined it would be so painful. He inhaled sharply, resisting the urge to cry out. His hand tightened on Kakashi’s.

“Shh,” Kakashi hushed, “Relax.”

Iruka squinted his eyes shut and forced himself to breathe deeply as Kakashi pushed past that first ring of tight muscle. He stretched wider than he thought possible, and his mouth dropped open in a surprised gasp.

“Okay?” Kakashi asked, stilling.

“Just, ah,” Iruka panted, “Just a second.”

He breathed in and out steadily, trying to get used to the feeling, but there was just so much Kakashi, he worried whether or not he’d be able to take him all.

Kakashi stroked the inside of his wrist with the pad of his thumb and bent low over him, pressing an open mouthed kiss to his neck. “You’re doing great,” he murmured, and then slowly began to slide forward.

“Fuck,” Iruka breathed, feeling every centimeter of Kakashi as he filled him. His knees dropped to his sides, and he angled his hips upwards, lifting slightly off the pillow to increase the sharpness of the angle. It made it a little easier to take him, and then the feeling changed abruptly from pain to pleasure as a white hot jolt streaked through him. Kakashi’s hips met his, and they both paused a moment to revel in the sheer feeling of it.

“Fuck,” Kakashi said.

Iruka groaned in response, his hips twitching slightly.

Experimentally, Kakashi slid out just a fraction, then pushed back in. Iruka twitched and shuddered, the sensation of being so full already threatening to overwhelm him. The friction of Kakashi moving inside of him had him teetering on the edge of his sanity, and he felt hot tears spring to his eyes.

“You feel amazing,” he gasped out.

Kakashi’s hand tightened on his. He began a slow, easy rhythm that was closer to making love than fucking. He rolled his hips into Iruka, who responded with little movements of his own, positioning himself instinctively to hit deeply on each of Kakashi’s languid thrusts. With the pillow supporting him, he felt each stroke of Kakashi inside of him brush against that irresistible spot, and the pressure within him began to mount. His own cock began to harden, untouched and trapped between them, and the friction of it only added to his pleasure.

“Fuck.” Kakashi’s head dropped to Iruka’s shoulder, back arching like a cat as he curled over him. His hand left Iruka’s and fell to his cock, wetting it with his mouth before he began to give it the attention it so desperately craved.

“Faster,” Iruka half-pleaded, half-demanded, straining up into Kakashi’s hand. His other senses totally gone, all Iruka knew was the feeling of Kakashi, hard and deep within him, and his insistent hand upon him, stroking hard and fast and bringing him dangerously close to climax.

Kakashi obeyed, driving himself against Iruka with sweaty insistence. Little gasps escaped him, falling unbidden from lust-swollen lips. His eyes, half-crazed and wild, focused intently on Iruka like he was all that was anchoring him to the world. Iruka looked back into Kakashi’s eyes like his life depended on it, and just when their pleasure reached its fever pitch, Kakashi managed to find a deeper place within Iruka. He gave a final, powerful thrust, and Iruka was lost to oblivion as he cried out, head thrown back as he spilled himself up onto Kakashi.

The movement inside of him slowed, then stilled, but it was a long moment before Kakashi withdrew. They both seemed almost frozen in time, staring at one another, a little lost and utterly shattered. Then, Kakashi slipped free, and Iruka gave him one final gasp, this time at the sudden feeling of all-encompassing emptiness that, somehow, brought stinging tears to his eyes.

Kakashi wrapped him tightly in his arms as he rolled to the side, bringing Iruka with him, nose to nose. He kissed the red skin beneath Iruka’s eyes, along the flush of his scarred nose and cheeks, and on his trembling lips. Iruka came down from climax like a freefall from a skyscraper. He breathed in the comforting scent of Kakashi’s sweat and musk until he felt whole again, and then he looked up.

Kakashi had his eyes closed and was breathing evenly, his fingers stroking along Iruka’s shoulders absently. He looked perfectly at ease, naked in Iruka’s bed. It made Iruka feel things he hadn’t felt in years, and he probably should’ve been more afraid than he was, but somehow, he knew Kakashi wouldn’t hurt him.

Iruka heaved an enormous, contented sigh. He felt physically exhausted, but his mind was alert, and almost without really deciding to, he began to touch Kakashi back, little brushes with his knuckles along his spine, feeling the ridges and smooth skin, unbroken except for one long, thin scar that ran straight up and down. Iruka’s fingers worried lightly at the scar. Like the one on his face, it was surgically precise, an even depth the whole way down.

“Are you wondering about it?”

Kakashi spoke so suddenly, Iruka felt like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. He blushed lightly, then admitted the truth. “A little. It reminds me of the scar on your face.”

“I wish I could tell you about them.”

“You can’t?”

Kakashi shook his head. Iruka felt the motion of his chin against the top of his head. He burrowed further into Kakashi’s chest, signing again. “Then, I wish you could tell me about them, too.”

“I like you, Iruka.”

Iruka tightened his hold. “Then be honest with me.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“Why shouldn’t it be?” Iruka straightened a little bit, looking up into Kakashi’s eyes. “First, you don’t tell me you were the one who injured me. Then, you lie to me about your job. Now I can’t know about your scars. I get that we’re basically strangers, Kakashi, but how do you think people become more to each other than that?” He brushed his knuckles along Kakashi’s chest, the parts he could reach, anyway. His fingers danced along Kakashi’s clavicle, feeling the skin dip and stretch over the delicate bone. “I want to be close to you.”

“I want to be close to you, too.”

Contrary to his words, Kakashi pulled away. He rolled to a sitting position and then stood. Iruka listened as he left the room, turned on the water in the little hallway bathroom, and then returned with a washcloth. With almost worshipful attention, he cleaned Iruka’s thighs and chest of the mess they’d created together. He removed the pillow from underneath his hips and tossed it to the floor, then helped Iruka sit up and rested his back against another one, making him comfortable against the wall.

Iruka allowed Kakashi to settle him in, squirming in only mild discomfort at the ache in his lower body. He didn’t know what Kakashi was thinking about, but he hoped something he’d said had gotten through to him. Not one to let the silence sit, Iruka continued. “I’m not really the casual type, and I don’t say that to freak you out or anything. I’m just interested in more, and I think you are, too. But I can’t start a relationship with someone who holds so much of himself back.”

“I understand.”

Kakashi sat with his hands clasped, elbows resting on his knees. His expression was largely unreadable, but Iruka knew his mind was a swirling storm of thought.

“Kakashi.” Iruka reached his hand out, ignoring the soreness in the stretch, and put just the tips of his fingers on Kakashi’s shoulder. “Talk to me.”

“I’m not a bond officer.”

The admission was so sudden that Iruka wasn’t exactly sure what he was talking about.

“I’m the kind of bounty hunter you can only get if you know a guy,” Kakashi continued, and he sounded absolutely miserable, like he took no pleasure in saying so. “I shouldn’t have held that back from you, but when you were so ready to offer the answer, I didn’t have it in me to correct you. I knew you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

“What are you saying?”

Kakashi turned his head sharply, glaring. “I’m a killer, Iruka.”

The room became deafeningly silent, then. Iruka couldn’t even hear his own heartbeat anymore. Kakashi’s stare had frozen him solid.

“My scars are from the one and only time I got sloppy, let someone get too close. They carved me up to make an example of me. I killed them, too, eventually.”

He buried his head in his hands and blew out a long breath. “I’ve known you for a week, but you’re the only purely good thing in my life. I didn’t want to lose that so soon.”

What was he supposed to say Iruka remained frozen in place, his fingers inches from Kakashi. What was he supposed to do? He was in bed with a demon, falling in love with a murderer. He should run, he should scream, he should call the cops. His self-preservation instinct should kick in, and he should do everything in his power to get away from Kakashi.

Iruka moved forward and embraced Kakashi from behind. His arms crossed around Kakashi’s ribs, and he used all of his remaining strength to hold the man as tight as they both needed him to.

“I’m not leaving you.”

“You’re insane.”

Iruka’s shoulders shook, and it took the both of them a moment to realize whether he was laughing or crying. “I’m insane?” he asked incredulously, “Has anyone ever told you not to go throwing stones in a glass house?”

The little smile on Kakashi’s face nearly rebroke Iruka’s heart. He just looked so relieved, so plainly happy to still be in Iruka’s house, in his favor and not naked on the street. “Maybe that’s why we’re good together.”

“Maybe.”

He coaxed Kakashi back down onto the bed, but though he appeared to fall asleep with relative ease, Iruka found he could no longer relax as deeply as he had before. Because Kakashi was right. He was insane, completely out of his mind. What unnerved him about the situation wasn’t Kakashi himself. Rather, it was his own acceptance of Kakashi. What Kakashi had said should have closed the door on the relationship, but looking at him now, so peaceful in sleep and snoring ever so softly, Iruka found the whole hired killer thing pretty hard to believe.

Maybe that was why he felt the persistent tug of sleep pulling him down into unconsciousness. Because he was insane, and because Kakashi’s situation couldn’t be as bad as he claimed. Could it?

Chapter Text

Iruka really needed to get his life together, like, yesterday.

Having a broken arm was officially the most annoying thing he had going on, for sure. He couldn’t put his hair up, he had trouble cooking, and taking a shower was damn near impossible. He was always worried about getting his cast wet, so more often than not, he ended up taking baths most mornings. His water bill was going to be monstrous this month, but whatever. At least baths were relaxing, unlike literally everything else going on.

Mizuki was still sniffing around the house, so much so that Iruka was considering moving. His lease was month-to-month, and although he would regret extending his commute if he ended up in a house further from the school, it would be well worth it not to “accidentally” run into his ex on his way to the store.

Mizuki was hounding him on purpose, he knew. Almost every day, the man was knocking on his door or ambushing him in the frozen foods aisle. It was getting ridiculous. Either he had to move or file for a restraining order. Sadly, moving sounded less complicated.

He was so badgered by Mizuki, he almost sometimes forgot to worry about Kakashi, his new boyfriend who was, coincidentally, a hitman. Only once had he considered having Kakashi take care of Mizuki. It was a horrible thought, too tempting to give more than a second’s thought to. Not that he would really want Mizuki dead, of course, but it did make him think sometimes.

Iruka really wanted to believe he was joking.

The thing with Kakashi, it just didn’t feel real.

It was like it was straight out of fiction or something, and Iruka didn’t really even know where to begin conceptualizing it. Logically speaking, he should not want to be involved with anyone who was comfortable with the concept of killing other people. Sasuke’s older brother had ended up killing their parents before fleeing the country. It was horrible, and as Naruto’s older brother, Iruka couldn’t imagine the pain of having to grow up with that kind of thing hanging over you. It wasn’t something a sane person was even capable of, let alone to the point where they could do it as a career.

Yet Kakashi seemed so terribly sane. He was polite, charming, very successful, and for all appearances well-adjusted. It just didn’t align with the mental image in Iruka’s mind of what a killer should look like. A killer should look like Itachi, strung out and insane, unimaginably traumatized. A killer shouldn’t hold Iruka so gently, offer to pick up his groceries, or drive twenty minutes out of his way because the Indian restaurant on the other side of town has Iruka’s favorite samosas.

Maybe it was dangerous to ignore something like that, but Iruka couldn’t deny the chemistry he felt with Kakashi. It was like the thing between them had a life of its own. Iruka felt its electricity everytime Kakashi was in the room with him. He’d never felt such an instant attraction to another person, let alone have it reciprocated. It occurred to him that something like this was rare, and he’d be remiss if he didn’t at least see where it would go.

Persistent knocking on his door interrupted Iruka from making his lunch. It was ramen again, but he’d gone to the trouble to slice some fresh vegetables Kakashi had brought him. They had boiled with the broth and were smelling like heaven. He looked longingly at his new jar of chili paste as the knocking got louder. With defeat, he trudged to the door.

Mizuki burst inside before Iruka could block him. “I need somewhere to stay for a few days.”

“What? No.”

Mizuki’s eyes pleased with Iruka. He’d never seen the man look so desperate. “I’m in trouble, Iruka.”

Iruka crossed his good arm over his cast. “What kind of trouble?”

“Bad people want me. I need to lay low for a while, and you’re the only person I can turn to.”

“The only person with doors that lock, more like.”

“‘Ru, please?”

Iruka sized Mizuki up. He had a harried look about him, bags under his eyes, disheveled hair, and a lingering scent of sweat. Did Iruka want Mizuki in his house? Hell no. Did he want Mizuki’s kneecaps to get busted? Also no.

“A few days,” Iruka promised reluctantly, “You’re out on Friday.”

“Oh my God, Iruka, thank you!” Mizuki clasped Iruka’s hands and looked so happy he might cry. “You won’t regret this.”

Iruka was already regretting it. “You can stay in Naruto’s room. Be in the living room as little as possible.”

“You’re the boss,” Mizuki assured him, and then he was gone, bounding up the stairs. A moment later, Iruka heard the bathroom door slam and the sound of the water kicking on.

He sighed and locked his front door, peering out the window down the street, but there was nothing to see. It was a quiet afternoon, so why Mizuki had been acting like wild cats were hot on his heels was a mystery to him.

Iruka finished making his ramen, but he had lost his appetite, and even the chili paste wasn’t enough to brighten up his lunch. He didn’t like the idea of Mizuki in his house. The man was nothing but trouble and would probably try to take anything that wasn’t nailed down. He was a leech, and though Iruka felt kind of like an idiot for letting him stay, he knew he would’ve felt worse if something had happened to him because Iruka wouldn’t put his feelings aside.

Mizuki stayed in the shower for an entire hour, and Iruka mourned for his utility bill. Luckily, though, he kept to himself upstairs and was being relatively quiet. Iruka was grateful, but even the thought of Mizuki being in his house again - after an entire year of being broken up - was filling him with unease. Feeling restless, Iruka grabbed his wallet from his coat pocket and pushed it down into the back pocket of his jeans, then took his keys and went for a walk. He needed a release for his nervous energy.

Most people were away at work at this time of day, so the streets were quiet as Iruka made his winding way through the neighborhood, eventually emerging onto the side of the highway. He waited for the light and crossed, headed into the woods beyond. They weren’t much, for woods, but the little copse of trees was about as much nature as he hoped to get without taking a bus out of town. A tall fence with barbed wire at the top blocked the gravel path inward, a sign warning that trespassers would be prosecuted. Iruka ducked through the hole in the fence - cut years ago with bolt cutters by some enterprising graffiti artist - and set off into the underbrush.

The smells of wild grapes and the clean, heavy scent from an overnight rainshower wrapped around Iruka as the highway and the city fell farther and farther away. The temperature dropped as tall, thin trees grew higher and higher, blanketing the path with their broad-leafed shade. What was once a thriving hub for steamliners fell to ruin and was reclaimed by nature, and now the only people who came to the old port were junkies, teenagers, and hobbyist fishermen. Iruka passed the old concrete walls, now covered in tags and graffiti murals, carefully stepping over a large pile of broken glass bottles as he picked his way towards the river’s edge.

As he walked out along the water, the trees fell away, and the sight of the open water spread itself out before him. Gulls landed among the waves, hopeful for fish, their cries carrying on the wind blowing in off the river. Iruka sighed and took a seat, letting his legs dangle off of the high, concrete dock. It was easily twenty feet to the water below, but Iruka could see the shadows of fish swimming around in the murky water.

His phone vibrated in his pocket, and for a moment, Iruka considered letting it ring. Then, he remembered he was supposed to be meeting Kakashi tonight, and he checked the caller ID. Mizuki. He released his held breath. “What?”

“Did you leave? I’m locked out.”

Iruka could not bite back his irritation. “Why would you leave? I’ve been gone for twenty minutes.”

“Iruka, please, I’m outside the front door. Just come back and let me in.”

“Fine.”

Iruka pressed himself up and stretched. So much for escaping for a little while. But then, what else had he expected? Mizuki had never been one to stop at being a minor inconvenience. No, he had always endeavored to be as major of an inconvenience as possible. The thought was a little unfair and more than a little unkind, but Iruka was having trouble reminding himself to be patient.

“One week,” he told himself, “Then, you’ll never see him again.”

When Iruka got back to his house, Mizuki was sitting on the stoop, his head in his hands. Iruka stood in front of him for a whole thirty seconds, and when the other man still hadn’t reacted to his presence, Iruka reached out and gave him a little shake. “Hey, dumbass.”

Mizuki lifted his head, and the zombie-like stare, his slack-jawed mouth, told Iruka everything he needed to know. He grabbed Mizuki by the arm and hurled him inside. “You’re using again?!”

Mizuki’s only answer was to shake his head, but the motion set him off balance, and he stumbled into Iruka’s coatrack, sending it crashing to the floor.

“I can’t believe you!” Iruka snarled. “I let you into my house for less than an hour, and you’re already lying to me. Do you have drugs up in Naruto’s room?”

Mizuki seemed to find his voice. “N’ruka,” he slurred, “Jus’ went outside. Didn’t bring ‘em in.”

Iruka swore at him again, and Mizuki’s expression crumpled. He shoved down any feelings of guilt he had. “You’re fuckin’ out,” Iruka spat, “Go get your damn bag.”

Mizuki’s eyes widened in fear. “Can’t go now, ‘Ru. People after me.”

“Who’s after you?”

“Iruka?”

Oh, hell. Behind them, outside the open front door, stood Kakashi. Because of course Kakashi would be here to witness Iruka throwing his junked up ex-boyfriend out of his house.

“Kakashi,” Iruka said tensely, “I’m sorry you’re having to see this.”

“See what?” Kakashi asked just as Mizuki went sliding to the other side, having belatedly over-corrected himself after crashing into the coat stand. “Wow, yikes.”

Mizuki whirled around as quickly as he could, his eyes wide as saucers. For a moment, Mizuki and Kakashi looked at one another, and then Mizuki began swearing unintelligibly. He moved as if to head further into the house, but Iruka stuck out his foot and hooked it on Mizuki’s ankle, bringing him stumbling into the side of the couch. He huffed as the wind was knocked out of him, then groaned and rolled onto the floor.

“What, uh,-?” Kakashi tried to ask.

“It’s a long story.” Iruka put his fingers to the bridge of his nose and pinched.

“This is your ex?”

Iruka nodded.

“You shouldn’t have him in here.”

Iruka glared half-heartedly. “You don’t say.”

“No, I mean-,” Kakashi paused, swallowing his words, “I’m after this guy.”

It took Iruka a moment to fully process Kakashi’s words, but when he realized what he meant, his face turned pale as a ghost’s. “No,” he mouthed, then whipped his head around to stare, panicked, at the form of Mizuki, lightly groaning on the floor.

“He ripped off some dangerous people to get what he’s on right now,” Kakashi explained, and it sounded like he was trying to force a lighthearted tone, but it wasn’t going well, “I, uh, don’t have orders to kill him, if that helps, but generally speaking, Iruka, people don’t enjoy having me bring them in. It’s not a good thing.” Kakashi’s eyes flashed dangerously for a moment, and then he smoothed over his anger with mild displeasure as its replacement. “I have to admit, finding my mark in your apartment was not something I was prepared to deal with.”

“You can’t kill him, Kakashi.”

“I don’t have to. I already said that.”

Iruka put his palm to the side of his face. “Don’t call him a mark, then.”

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you care?”

“I don’t care.”

Kakashi didn’t seem willing to accept Iruka’s insistence, but he probably wanted to argue about it as much as Iruka did, which was not at all. He inhaled with slow measure, then said, “I still have to bring him in. He has to answer to my client.”

“How much did he steal?” Iruka asked helplessly, “I’ll pay it.”

“You could never afford it. You also said you didn’t care.”

“I don’t care about him,” Iruka repeated, but he was certain the words sounded like a lie to them both, “I just can’t hand him over to you, not like this. Mizuki’s an idiot, but he’s not irredeemable.”

Kakashi’s expression turned sour. “You know, I thought you were better than this, Iruka.”

“What? Better than what?”

“Protecting some junkie scumbag.”

Iruka scowled. “It’s called empathy, Kakashi.”

“Yes, and you shouldn’t have it for someone like him. Hasn’t he screwed you over enough times for you to see that?”

“It’s my life, Kakashi.”

“Yes, and you seem very happy to ruin it over someone you claim you used to love.”

Iruka’s jaw dropped, and his blood ran hot. “Are you implying what I think you’re implying?”

Kakashi shoved his hands in his pockets and looked between Iruka and Mizuki on the floor. “Seems pretty obvious to me you aren’t over him. Why else would you harbor a criminal?”

Iruka spluttered in anger, but no real argument came out. He was seeing red, and his skin was hot, too hot. He felt like he was boiling from the inside. How dare Kakashi suggest all that? How dare he try and act high and mighty? The bitterness inside him longed to tell Kakashi it didn’t see much difference between one criminal over another, but he knew he wasn’t the kind of person who could say a thing like that. It would be too painful, too cruel.

“I thought you were better than this, Iruka.”

Kakashi didn’t seem to hold such reservations. “Fine!” Iruka said, voice pitched high with fury, “Take him, if it means that much to you!”

“It’s my job. It means nothing to me. You mean something to me, and it’s really fucked up that he means anything to you at this point.”

“Excuse me for giving a shit about someone, for thinking people deserve a second chance.”

Kakashi quirked his eyebrow. “And how many chances does this guy deserve? I’d be willing to bet he’s had dozens of chances with you.”

Iruka had no response to that.

“You said he was the one who broke up with you, right, Iruka?” Kakashi turned his head to the side, seemed suddenly very interested in studying the nearby hanging plant. “After everything he put you through, you never wanted to give up until he made you let go. Except he’s still here. So are you really broken up?”

“We don’t sleep together, if that’s what you’re looking for me to say,” Iruka threw back, feeling murderous, “He doesn’t live here. It was only for a few days. There’s nothing between us.”

“Just because you don’t sleep together doesn’t mean there’s nothing between you.” Kakashi gave Mizuki a pained look. “I don’t want to compete with this asshole, especially because it seems like, against all odds, I’m losing.”

“Kakashi, I swear it isn’t like that.”

“Until you can move on from this guy, Iruka, I don’t think we can continue things.” Kakashi put his hand on the side of the doorframe, the other falling to the holster at his hip. “I’m bringing him in, and at least I can promise I won’t hurt him, since that seems important to you.”

“Kakashi, you’re being dramatic.”

Now, Kakashi looked like he was the one feeling murderous. “You haven’t seen dramatic.”

“Wait,I didn’t mean,-” Iruka stopped himself. What did he mean? He wasn’t about to beg this man for anything. They both had things to apologize for, but Iruka’s stubborn pride didn’t want him to go first, even if it meant losing Kakashi because of goddamn Mizuki.

Kakashi’s eyes narrowed. “Sure, you didn’t.”

He stepped forward, and Iruka flinched away. The action, oddly, seemed to get through to Kakashi, who looked as if he’d been smacked. He shook it off quickly and moved to Mizuki on the floor, cuffing him swiftly and hauling him to his feet.

“If you can’t get rid of your junkie ex, then there’s no room for me in your life,” Kakashi said, and then he was gone, shoving Mizuki’s half-limp body out the door and into his waiting car.

Iruka watched him go, feeling utterly hollow inside. He shut the door behind them once Kakashi had driven off and went to his kitchen. There, on the counter, was an empty bowl of soup.

It was a complicated problem. He knew Mizuki needed help, that what was happening to Mizuki was not entirely within his control. Addictions were an illness, and Mizuki had been very sick for years. He was doing anything and everything to get his hands on more drugs, to the point where someone like Kakashi needed to track him down. Who could look at such single-minded self-destruction and think they were the actions of a sound mind?

Iruka wanted to be a part of the solution, of Mizuki’s solution, but perhaps Kakashi had a point. How many times would he try to help Mizuki, only to end up in a worse position because of it?

When he and Mizuki had first met, there was a kind of romanticism to being needed, to having a partner who depended on you. Mizuki was down on his luck, a poor college student just like him, and Iruka was drawn to that kind of helplessness in people, he knew that now. It was what made him such a bleeding heart, the need to care for others and raise them up. Mizuki was always too thin, always holding hands out to Iruka, needing food, booze, love. He needed Iruka in a way Iruka found utterly irresistible.

Things began to change between them when it became more than just alcohol and cigarettes that Mizuki came home smelling of. Iruka started finding joints and pills and little bags of powder squirreled away in cabinets, drawers, places Mizuki thought Iruka wouldn’t look. But Iruka was thorough when he was concerned. The fighting started, then, and it never really ended, not even when they broke up.

Iruka had always pressed for help, for counseling. He swore up and down he’d never call the police on a friend, especially one as important to him as Mizuki was. The police didn’t help. The police were concerned with criminals, and Mizuki was a victim of addiction. He couldn’t throw his friend to the wolves like that. So, they formed a tenuous truce. Mizuki got better at hiding, Iruka got better at pretending to be blind. It worked in the sense that it kept them from screaming at each other every time they were in the same room.

Then, their student teaching placements happened.

Mizuki’s placement was much better than Iruka’s. Mizuki had never really needed to try to be a brilliant student, something else Iruka had loved him for. He went to a nice charter school, whereas Iruka ended up at the public school he eventually moved on to become a full teacher in. And though Mizuki never spoke about his time at the charter, Iruka had heard enough stories to piece together an incomplete picture. The kids Mizuki was selling to were rich and white, too foolish to really know that what they were doing could impact their futures. And, really, it wouldn’t, not when their parents could pay their way to a court dismissal. For Mizuki, however, it was the end of his career. He spent four years of work on a degree he legally could no longer use.

Iruka’s own career was in jeopardy, then, because Mizuki was living with him at the time. Not wanting to be dragged down with him, to ruin his life’s work over something he didn’t condone in the first place, Iruka had gathered up all of the drugs in the house - drugs Mizuki thought Iruka knew nothing about - and flushed them all down the drain. The resulting argument, Mizuki’s fury, his despondence, his violence, was the end of them.

Except it wasn’t, not really. Mizuki never truly left him alone, even after he ended things between them. He never forgot that Iruka would put up with him no matter what. And Iruka was ashamed to realize that it was still true. He was still putting up with Mizuki’s bullshit, a year after their explosive break-up, a break-up that broke Iruka’s nose and bruised so much of his skin that he looked like he owed somebody money.

How much further could he go to help someone like that? Was he helping at all, or was he enabling him, instead? They were questions Iruka didn’t have the answer to, but he knew letting Mizuki get beaten up by some drug lord wasn’t the solution. Except, what could he do about that? Kakashi had made it clear, asking him to help Mizuki would be the end of their relationship.

Iruka bit his thumbnail as he stared at his empty ramen bowl, his stomach growling. Just as he took his finger out of his mouth and reached for the bowl, his phone began to vibrate in his pocket.

“Iruka,” Kakashi gasped when he answered, “Are you still home?”

Iruka’s posture straightened. “Yeah. Why?”

Kakashi’s breathing sounded wet. “Come to the door.”

Iruka scurried to do as he was told, and when he opened the door, it wasn’t Kakashi’s face Iruka was looking at, but two men he didn’t know. They pushed past him unceremoniously, and that’s when Iruka realized they were carrying Kakashi between them. There was blood in his hair, and his clothes looked violently torn.

The men laid him out on Iruka’s coffee table, brushing mail and magazines to the floor with careless efficiency. While one worked on removing Kakashi’s clothing, a pair of medical scissors drawn from a compartment on his bag, the other approached Iruka. “Do you have a medical kit?”

“What happened?” Iruka asked, breathless with worry and a little stunned at how quickly everything was happening.

“You need to focus or he could die,” the stranger stated, voice clipped and professional, “Medical kit.”

“Upstairs bathroom. Beneath the sink in the red bag.”

“Thank you.”

The man was gone in a flash, leaving Iruka with nothing to do but stare at the large knife sticking out of Kakashi’s chest. The other man had succeeded in stripping away his shirt and was working on maneuvering his bulletproof vest around the knife. Kakashi was breathing in loud hisses, little gasps catching behind his clenched teeth. The man’s hands hovered over Kakashi for a moment, and then he turned his head to the side. “Bring me a bowl of water, would you?”

Iruka did as he was told as quickly as possible, and the rest of the impromptu operation passed by him in a blur. The only moment he was utterly cognizant of was when they pulled the knife from Kakashi’s chest. It was done forcefully, like maybe it had been stuck, and the way Kakashi screamed would probably be ringing in Iruka’s ears for the rest of his life.

When all was said and done, the man who’d gone for the medicine kit had tried to give Kakashi some kind of sedative, but Kakashi waved it away with a shaky hand. He couldn’t speak, but the look in his eyes was clear. His men obeyed, and after taking several long minutes to summon the energy, he said, voice strangely normal, “I’d kill a man for some cashew chicken.”

The two men looked at each other, and then one of them shrugged. “I’d eat something.”

“You’re both crazy,” the other said, shaking his head. “Fine. Guard the door while I’m gone, though.”

He left, and with one last backward glance at Kakashi - who gave him a thumbs up - the other stepped outside, as well, still visible beyond the screen door but, mercifully, out of earshot.

“What happened?” Iruka asked, his voice fragile as glass, as he knelt by Kakashi’s head.

Kakashi turned his head, still lying flat on his back. “Your boyfriend had a knife on him.”

“Ex,” Iruka corrected darkly.

“Whatever he is, he’s clever. Kept pretending to be on his downer when his upper kicked in, then got his knife in me. Didn’t matter, I had the guys with me, but still, it was a nice try.”

“Jesus,” Iruka breathed, his voice an irritated sigh, “I can’t believe he’d do something like that.”

“Well,” Kakashi said, his voice tight with amusement, “Believe it.”

“I’m so sorry, Kakashi.” And before he could help himself, Iruka reached out, smoothing his hand through Kakashi’s hair, still sticky with drying blood.

Kakashi closed his eyes and leaned into Iruka’s touch. “Not your fault. Obviously.”

“Obviously,” Iruka repeated, but he wasn’t so certain. “I’m going to fix this.”

Kakashi cracked one eye open. “How?”

“He’s going to come back here. No matter what Mizuki does, he always comes back to me. We’ll lay a trap for him here.”

Kakashi’s expression was intrigued, but there was a concerned, downward tilt to his lips.

“He’s no danger to me,” Iruka assured him.

“He was already picked up here once.”

“I’m all he has,” Iruka asserted, “He’ll come back.”

“That’s depressing.”

“But you can’t turn him in once you have him.”

“Iruka.” Kakashi looked like he wanted to sigh but that the action would be painful. As it was, he was already sweating a bit from the exertion of talking.

“Please listen to me. Mizuki needs help, and I don’t want to be the one trying anymore. I don’t want to keep accidentally enabling him when he needs more than I can give.”

Kakashi remained silent, listening. Or, at least, not speaking, which was sort of like listening.

“You can’t take him somewhere they’ll just kill him. He needs help, like a crisis center or something. He’s not irredeemable, I know he’s not.” Iruka bit his bottom lip. “I don’t want to see him get arrested, either, but if that’s the only way to keep him alive, then we might just have to turn him in to the police instead.”

Iruka placed a hand on Kakashi’s wrist, lightly. He dared to sound hopeful as he asked, “Do you think he could end up in some kind of court-ordered rehab?”

“If he committed a crime that wasn’t heinous enough to warrant serious jail time, probably,” Kakashi said musingly, “Like private property damage, but then you’d have to sue him. It would get messy for you, too.”

“How messy?”

Kakashi shook his head, flicking a stray, silver lock out of his eyes. Iruka brought his fingers up to brush it from his forehead gently. “Too messy.” He closed his eyes, seeming to enjoy the touch, then said, almost accusingly, “You’re an idealist.”

“So what if I am?”

“Why don’t you let me handle it?”

“How are you going to handle it?”

Kakashi fixed him with a powerful look. “Can you trust me?”

Iruka didn’t think about the question long. “Of course.”

Chapter Text

Luring Mizuki back to the house turned out to be a lot easier than Kakashi thought it would be. Logic would have sided with him, too. Why go back to a place where you’ve already been captured once? But Mizuki had always had a bit of a blind spot for Iruka, and so when Iruka gave him a call one night, asking if he could stop over for some alone time, the man was all too eager to put in an appearance.

He came crashing through the front door with a wide, conniving smile. “Seen the error of your ways?” he asked in a tone Iruka had once thought was kind of suave, but now it only served to send a chill down his spine.

“The error of my ways?” he couldn’t help but ask.

“Well, sure,” Mizuki continued, his grin turning cruel and narrow, “It was only a matter of time before that guy left you. Honestly, ‘Ru, I don’t know why you’d do that to yourself when you know I’m the only guy who’s going to accept you.”

Ah, classic Mizuki, to jump to the wrong conclusion and then negg Iruka with his very next breath. Iruka fought to keep himself calm. Mizuki was wrong, of course, but he always did have a way of getting under Iruka’s skin in just the right way to make him explode.

Mizuki shut the front door behind him, and Iruka knew that Kakashi would be taking up position on the other side, guarding the only escape until their secret weapon arrived. All Iruka had to do was stall Mizuki any way he could until that time. He only hoped things didn’t go too far before then.

“You know something, Mizuki? I don’t know why you think so highly of yourself.”

“Call it a gift.”

“It’s a curse!”

Mizuki frowned. “Why’d you invite me here? Was it to scream at me?”

Iruka sighed, rubbing his good hand along his face. “No. I just want to talk to you.”

“Just talk?”

Iruka’s brow twitched at the disappointment clear in Mizuki’s tone. “Were you hoping for something else?”

“You know I was.” Mizuki sounded angry. He crossed the living room to stand in front of Iruka, positioned by the couch with his arms folded across his chest. “You know I’ve always wanted more from you.”

“Then, why’d you leave?”

It was an honest question and one Iruka could never really figure out. Sure, Iruka had destroyed all of Mizuki’s drugs, and that was the catalyst for their break-up. But, well, he always figured he would have to be the one to end things with Mizuki. The fact that he hadn’t, that he was the one who’d been dumped, had kept nagging at the corners of his mind. If Mizuki wanted to keep Iruka around, why did he leave?”

“I never left.” Mizuki gave Iruka a questioning look. “When did I leave?”

“You broke up with me,” Iruka pointed out, feeling irritated.

“Yeah, but I didn’t leave.” Mizuki sounded incredulous, and he spread his arms wide to illustrate as he said, “Look around you, ‘Ru. In case you didn’t notice, I’ve been here this whole time. I’m here now, I’m there when you go to the corner store, I’m always calling you. You’re the one who won’t pick up your damn phone half the time. Point and tell me when I left you.”

“You literally said you were ending our relationship.”

Mizuki shrugged. “I say a lot of things.”

Iruka felt like he was hearing dial tone in his head. “You’re trying to tell me you don’t think you broke up with me?”

“Well, I mean, it isn’t as easy as that, but Iruka, you’re not thinkin’ about things.”

“Oh, my god,” Iruka muttered, “You don’t think we’re still together, do you?”

“More like on a break, aren’t we?”

“Oh, my god.” This time, he yelled it. “Mizuki, I can’t believe you! We’re not together! I don’t even like you anymore!”

“Then why did you invite me here!?” he shouted back, his hands balled into fists at his sides.

“I just want to know, Mizuki! I just want to know why you won’t get help! I tried so hard to get you to see how messed up everything was, and now you’re in trouble with Kakashi, don’t you get it!?” Iruka felt tears springing to his eyes, but he held them back through sheer power of anger. “I did love you once, the version of you that wasn’t using all the time. You used to be a good person, and I guess,-” he hesitated, feeling his anger cooling rapidly inside his chest, “I guess I’m just wondering why I wasn’t enough of a reason for you to stop.”

Mizuki was dumbstruck. His lips opened and closed, fishlike, but he didn’t produce a sound. Eventually, he managed to gather up some of his thoughts, and he said, “It’s my life, ‘Ru, not yours. How come you never loved me for me?”

“What are you even talking about? Of course I loved you, dummy.”

Mizuki shook his head, and now his anger was back. “No, you never did. You loved this version of me, this perfect guy you thought I could be. Well, newsflash, ‘Ru, I ain’t him! I’m not gonna be perfect for you. This Kakashi won’t be perfect, either. You might think you’re something special, and if you are, great, but the rest of us are just regular guys.”

He wrinkled his nose, staring down at Iruka. “You were always trying to change me, when you’re the one who’s screwed up.”

“I’m not a fucking user, Mizuki.”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.”

“No, it’s true. You’re trying to tell me I’m some kind of perfectionist? I’m not. I wish you were a regular guy and not someone who was constantly making the cops come to my house.”

Mizuki’s hands were shaking at his sides now, and Iruka stared at them, a little helpless as he considered their proximity, his broken arm, and the tone he’d been taking so far. “Listen,” Iruka tried, a little more gently, “It’s not too late for you. It never will be. You can always try to be better.”

“There you go again! Be better, Mizuki! It’s not too late, Mizuki! You make me sound pathetic!”

Two things happened at once. Mizuki raised his arm, fingers curled into a fist, and Kakashi burst through the door, charging towards them with his head low. The noise temporarily distracted Mizuki, so Iruka backed out of the way quickly as Kakashi came in and tackled him at the knees, bringing him down efficiently - and loudly.

“What the fuck?!” Mizuki screeched, flailing as Kakashi attempted to restrain him.

“Keep your hands to yourself,” Kakashi chided, a little winded as he struggled to pin his target.

“Why the hell are you back?”

“You’re still my mark, idiot.”

“Iruka, you better not have set me up!!”

Iruka covered the side of his face with his good hand, making an expression that could only be described as yikes.

Kakashi tightened his hold as Mizuki continued to struggle, but even recovering from a knife wound, he was stronger and more efficient. He put a knee into Mizuki’s back, holding his arms and twisting them, making Mizuki pant and whine. It was, frankly, hard to watch. Iruka crossed the room and peeked out the door.

There was a large, navy van parked in the street, its four-ways blinking. A woman stepped out of the driver’s seat, listened for a moment to the sounds of the struggle, then cracked a smile and gave Iruka a thumbs up. “Didn’t know I was in the right place without Kakashi hanging around, but I’m assuming this is it?”

“Uh, hi,” Iruka greeted lamely as the woman mounted the steps. She was slender yet solid, with a tight knot of dark hair and a smug expression that seemed permanent. Cocky eyebrows, a thin nose, and even thinner lips contorted in wry amusement as the yelps and pleads inside the house continued.

“Name’s Anko, it’s a real treat to meet you, Umino.”

“Iruka,” he clarified, feeling somewhat exhausted by the entire situation, “Pleasure’s mine, really. Thanks for offering to help.”

“Oh, how could I resist?” she joked, her laugh like a bark, “Shall we step inside?”

Iruka led Anko into his home to survey the mayhem taking place. Mizuki had somehow slipped Kakashi’s grasp and was evading him around the living room. Kakashi had a hand to his wound - over his clothing but still visibly paining him - and was making a weak effort to give chase.

“Bastard kicked me,” he wheezed, circling to the door so Mizuki couldn’t make a break for it, at least.

Iruka caught Kakashi in a half-hearted grip. “Are you okay?”

“Never better.”

Anko snorted. “Long time no see, Kakashi. Hell of a time finding the house. You were supposed to be waiting to flag me down?”

Kakashi rolled his eyes. “I was busy.”

The three of them turned their attention to the reason for their gathering, who had just now noticed who, exactly, had come to collect him. Mizuki backed himself into a far corner, arms rigid and hands grasping for some invisible weapon, or perhaps a lifeline. His face was a mask of fear, frozen with disbelief and horror. He stammered nonsense syllables, his ragged breaths chopping his words to pieces.

“Anko.”

“Mizuki, you miserable pile of nothing,” Anko said, sounding entirely too cheerful given the current situation. “I heard you’ve been up to your usual shenanigans, bothering nice, young schoolteachers when you should be behind bars or in the ground, huh?”

Iruka watched from the doorway, unsure if his intervention would become necessary or even what he would do if it was. His arms remained around Kakashi’s waist.

“You know how much you owe me, you bastard?” she continued gleefully, advancing on him with a razor sharp smile. “You know how much you got away with, or at least, would’ve gotten away with had you had the good sense to skip town last year?”

“Anko, please,” Mizuki tried.

Anko cackled as she shook her head. “No more please, baby boy. You’re coming with me after you apologize to this nice young man for stalking him.”

Kakashi cleared his throat. “And me?”

Anko rolled her eyes. “You don’t care that he stabbed you.”

“I barely care that he stabbed me,” Kakashi pouted, “I’d still like an apology, while he’s at it.”

“Fine. You apologize to Iruka for being a pain in his ass, and you also apologize to Kakashi for being a pain in his chest.”

“And that’s it?” Mizuki dared to ask hopefully.

Anko cackled again. “And then I drag you back home, my lost little sheep. I haven’t decided what I’ll do then. What sounds better? Ten years in prison or ten years of licking my boots clean every morning?”

Iruka winced as Anko brought a long, thin whip of a baton down on Mizuki’s shoulder, catching his skin and making him shriek. Iruka backed away as he lunged for the door, whereupon Kakashi tripped him through it and Anko, with lightning-quick reflexes, trussed him up with a few plastic ties and chucked him into her waiting van.

Kakashi’s eyes trailed the proceedings, unamused. “The one that got away.”

“Who, Anko?” Iruka asked.

Kakashi clucked his tongue a few times, watching with calculating eyes as she tied him into his seat with what looked like a whole box of zip ties. “She was the best trainee I ever had, until she decided she could make it on her own.”

“How does she know Mizuki?”

Kakashi looked down at Iruka. “Do you really want to know?”

Iruka considered the question, teeth worrying at his bottom lip. “Do I?”

“Probably not. She did hire me to bring him in, after all.” Kakashi turned his full attention back towards Iruka. “Are you going to be alright? I heard what he was saying to you in there.”

Before Iruka could answer, Anko was returning, dusting her hands on her jeans casually. “He shouldn’t be breaking out of those anytime soon. I was told something about tea?”

Iruka peered through his front door at the van still blinking in the street. “My neighbors aren’t going to be happy you’re blocking the road.”

Anko smiled sunnily. “Tough.”

Kakashi nudged him. “Tea?”

Iruka sighed long-sufferingly. “I’ll be right out with it.”

He left the two crazy bounty hunters on his couch and went into the kitchen to prepare some of the special green tea he kept on the shelf. It had been a gift some Christmases ago, so hopefully it was still okay tasting. He shook the fragrant, loose leaves into a strainer and set a pot of water to boil on the stove. While he prepared the cups and waited for it to boil, his mind combed through all Mizuki had said to him.

Why did he always go back to Mizuki? Why were things only starting to change now? It had taken him so many heartbreaks to realize the toxicity for what it was, but even after everything he’d been through, Mizuki was the one to leave him.

Or, well, was that true? Mizuki seemed to think he never left, that Iruka was the one who ended things. Or tried to. Continually tried to, but Mizuki just kept forcing his way back inside. Because Iruka hadn’t been ready to make the hard moves, not until Kakashi came into his life and made him realize he was making the same bad choices every time.

Sometimes, a relationship was salvageable, and sometimes it wasn’t. Too much had happened between he and Mizuki, there were too many feelings, too much bad blood. It had been so long since they really understood one another. Maybe Mizuki was right about some things. Maybe Iruka was trying to force him to be someone he wasn’t. Even if the person Iruka saw was better than the real Mizuki, who was he to try and push for that change?

Someone who wants to keep him out of jail, the voice in the back of his mind chimed in. Iruka groaned in frustration and tousled his own hair, pulling on it for a moment before composing himself, smoothing it with a now-practiced hand back into its clip. Focus on what you can fix, Iruka, he told himself. But he’d always been a fixer. That’s what made him such a good surrogate father to Naruto. He never gave up on someone if he could help it. It took meeting Kakashi to realize just how badly that was hurting him.

The tea boiled, and Iruka steeped the leaves briefly before pouring them into the cups. It was a little tricky to manage with one arm, but he finally got them on the tray and brought them out to his guests with only minimal spillage.

“Thank you, Iruka,” Anko chirped, sliding her calculating gaze over to Kakashi, “What a nice young man he is.”

“Stop saying young man,” Kakashi muttered, taking his own cup with a, “Thank you, Iruka.”

Iruka took a seat across from the couch and sipped his own cup gingerly. “I appreciate you helping us out, Anko.”

She waved her hand as if to swat away his words. “I can’t believe Mizuki was still around the neighborhood. He must be some kind of dumb.”

Iruka grimaced. “I think he was doing it for me.”

“Welp, that’s over now.”

Iruka’s frown deepened. “Yeah.”

Kakashi was looking at him, his eyes heavy with concern. “Are you going to be alright?”

Iruka found he couldn’t hold Kakashi’s gaze. “I want to be alright. I want to not care about him. Does that count for anything?”

Kakashi didn’t answer, and there was a long moment of thoroughly awkward silence. Then, Anko shrugged audibly, grunting her indifference as she quipped, “It be like that sometimes.”

Anko stayed to finish her tea and then left with promises to come back again soon, although Iruka didn’t remember extending any sort of invitation. That said, he found himself unable to help liking Anko. She was nice, if a little crazy. Was that what his life was becoming? Being adopted by increasingly insane people?

He watched her go, worry gnawing at his stomach lining for Mizuki, and he only looked away when Kakashi cleared his throat and said, “She’s not going to kill him, at least.”

Iruka sighed and moved the curtain back into place. “I’m really sorry that I care.”

Kakashi inhaled as if to speak, but then the words caught in his chest, and he let the breath out with an emotion like resignation. “It’s okay. You can’t help it.”

Kakashi sounded uncertain. It was perhaps the only time since Iruka had met him that he seemed as human as he really was. Kakashi always projected a larger-than-life aura about him, accomplishing everything he did with swagger and a casual attitude that disguised the power of the man beneath. Now, though, he was simply Kakashi, raw and unformed and worried that Iruka might not like him like that. It was as endearing as it was unsettling.

“I want to be with you, Kakashi,” Iruka said, crossing the room to stand in front of him, “I don’t want any more distractions or obstacles. I want to see where this goes with you.”

“Can you get over him, though?”

“I already have.”

And then they came together like two water droplets sliding down a windowpane. It had all of the hesitance of two people meeting for the first time but with the magnetism, the inevitability, of those destined to be. Kakashi opened up his arms and Iruka fell into him, as simply as that. Their lips met, and the kiss felt like the seal on something important, the punctuation on a frighteningly serious sentence. Iruka tried not to let it overwhelm him. He felt Kakashi respond to his closeness, to his touch, and he allowed himself to relax, truly relax, and he couldn’t remember the last time he felt so peaceful.

They didn’t sleep together that night. Kakashi made dinner for them, like they were both sort of used to by now, and Iruka spent the night talking. He talked about his childhood, talked about Naruto, talked about his job, and even talked a little bit about his parents, what he could remember of them. All the while, Kakashi listened. He didn’t offer any stories of his own, but that was okay for now. Iruka would be patient, wouldn’t expect Kakashi to be anything other than himself. Someday, he was sure, he would open up to him, and Iruka would be ready for that day.

Iruka talked himself hoarse, and then when his voice began to strain, they sat together and listened to the buzz of the silence around them. In the wake of everything that had happened and on the precipice of everything that would happen, it was exactly enough for now.

Chapter Text

Iruka Umino had made peace with the fact that his life would never be normal.

Whether it was men running him over with their cars, crazy stalker exes hiding drugs in his house, or his new boyfriend running around shooting people for a living, there was always something lying it wait, ready to rip Iruka from his perfectly happy, normal life and throw it into a nightmarish pit of chaos and drama. He had always been assured by his peers during his formative years that he was a boring nobody, and no amount of prank-pulling would make his life more interesting or attract people to him. That, it seemed, was no longer the case. His life was now very interesting, and he had attracted more than his fair share of weirdos.

After Anko had taken Mizuki into her custody, Iruka began to receive monthly progress-slash-apology letters from the man, delivered by Kakashi and liberally censored before the handoff. Often, the letters contained nothing more than “Dear Iruka”, three paragraphs of black marker scribbles, and then “sincerely, Mizuki”. Anko sent her own letters along as well, which were friendly and chatty, and Kakashi left those untouched. She was always sending Iruka new flavors of instant ramen to try, which made her Naruto’s new favorite person, even though he didn’t know her last name or where she lived.

Kakashi didn’t think Mizuki should be contacting Iruka. Then again, Kakashi also thought he was a hitman and was constantly leaving incriminating shit as Iruka’s apartment, so he wasn’t entirely ready to take his opinion as truth. Just the other day, Iruka had found pieces of a sniper rifle lying on his desk, and when he’d asked about it, Kakashi had insisted on showing him for forty minutes how to properly clean the barrel.

“I really couldn’t guess why you keep this up,” Iruka told him, phone wedged between his ear and his shoulder as he chopped scallions in his kitchen for the ramen bubbling on the stove. “You know I already think you’re rugged and masculine, so it’s not entirely necessary to keep pretending to be this Man of Mystery.”

“Iruka,” Kakashi said, in the tone of a man who had already said the words a thousand times and was beginning to give up, “Why would I lie to you? I thought you were going to wash your hands of me, if you knew.” The ringing sound of a shot being fired cut through the otherwise empty pause before Kakashi continued speaking, saying, “I honestly never confronted the fact that you might not believe me.”

“Contract killers don’t exist,” Iruka said matter-of-factly, punctuating his words with knife slashes, dicing a leafy green onion into little rings for his ramen noodles, “I’ve done a lot of thinking about it.”

“And a lot of arguing with me.”

Another shot rang out.

Iruka flinched but pressed on. “Right, because I’ve come to the conclusion that you’ve been fucking with me this whole time. You’re probably just at a range right now, or something.”

“What’s your evidence?”

Iruka swayed over to the pot, cutting board in hand, and with his other completely healed arm - how novel! - brushed the onion slivers into the pot. “Naruto! Sasuke!” he called out loudly, projecting his voice up to the second floor. “Get in here!”

“Ow,” Kakashi said, “Loud.”

“Sorry,” Iruka said half-heartedly, “Anyway, my evidence is that you’ve never done anything illegal in front of me. Mizuki was always doing sketchy things in my apartment, but you’ve been a model citizen.”

“You want me to start leaving severed fingers in your pickle jar? I could do that.”

“Har har,” Iruka fake-laughed.

“I’m serious. You want proof? I’ll bring you the body parts.”

“My students have a word for people like you.”

“Oh, and what’s that?”

“Edgelord.”

Kakashi cackled, then swore and hissed as another gunshot pinged. “I gotta go. Tell the kids I said hi.”

“Sure thing. Dinner tonight?”

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Iruka hung up the phone and set it down on the counter, ladling portions of ramen into three bowls just as the sounds of two individual footfalls pounded down the rickety wooden stairs. Naruto came barreling into the kitchen, all wide eyes and youthful energy, followed quickly by his friend Sasuke, coming in at a clip but significantly more dignified.

“Thank you, Iruka!!” Naruto cheered, scooping up his bowl with sloppy hands that sloshed hot broth onto the counter inches away from Iruka’s phone.

Sasuke lifted his gently, holding it in one hand and getting out two pairs of chopsticks from a drawer with the other. “Thanks, Iruka.”

“Sure,” was all Iruka had time to say before the boys were gone again, up to Naruto’s room to continue doing God knows what. Iruka didn’t question what went on upstairs; he knew way better than that. The music was loud, the door was closed, and that’s where his observations ended.

Iruka carried his own bowl up to his room, setting it down on his desk by the windowsill. He was working on lesson plans for school next week. Sure, the kids wouldn’t want to do much on the first week of school, but Iruka liked to have something prepared. He drummed his fingers against the wood a few times, looking out into the cloudless, sunny day. Like the students probably did, Iruka was feeling restless. It was the last bit of summer before they went back, and students and teachers alike knew to savor this final taste of freedom.

xoxoxoxo

Kakashi pressed his back to the brick wall, sighing as he tucked his phone into the inner pocket of his flak jacket. He peered over the lip of the roof, certain he’d been made, but the guard who had spotted him must have convinced himself he’d only seen a bird, because he’d gone back to looking down the road, his gun in his hands but lowered.

Kakashi crawled a few feet in the dust, away from where he’d been spotted - or perhaps just heard, judging by how thoroughly the guard just did not give a shit about him - and set his sniper rifle back up. He braced the barrel against the edge of the roof and looked down onto the entrance of the warehouse through the scope.

So, Iruka thought he was lying. Kakashi scoffed noiselessly, ghosting his finger over the trigger of the rifle. Iruka thought he was just some run-of-the-mill bond enforcer, bringing in perps who’ve missed their traffic violation court dates or other inane, way below his pay grade nonsense. His hawk-like eyes tracked the movement of a second guard as he came out of the warehouse to speak with the first guard. The two of them conferred a moment, and Kakashi could almost read their lips, the scope was that powerful. Kakashi would bring his boyfriend their thumbs, proof of his kill, except he wasn’t supposed to kill them tonight.

A faint car engine, nearly silent in the muggy evening air, came crooning down the street. A black Aston Martin pulled up to the entrance and idled there for a moment. The two guards took up their places on either side of the passenger door, snapped to attention with their weapons up.

Kakashi inhaled slowly, curling his trigger finger. He felt the burn in his legs from crouching, the cool metal of the scope warming where it was pressed against his brow, the slight ache in his neck from crouching on the roof for hours, waiting for his mark to arrive.

A man emerged from the car, dressed in a conspicuous white suit. A slight breeze, the first in hours, carried the scents of an incoming thunderstorm and fried wontons from the Chinese takeout place a block south of the warehouse.

Kakashi exhaled, eye wide open, and squeezed the trigger.

The shot was silent, but the man was not as crimson blossomed beneath the ivory threads of his clothing. Kakashi was already on his knees, dismantling the rifle and packing it away into his duffel bag with all of the speed and efficiency of someone who definitely fucking did this for a living, Iruka. He laid flat and crawled away from the roof, then sprang to his feet and ran the rest of the way to the fire escape on the far side of the building.

He was thinking of taking a vacation soon, scooping up Iruka and heading to some faraway island where there would be no criminals to bag, no murderers to, well, murder, and most importantly, no lesson plans for his boyfriend to obsess over. His school year hadn’t even properly started yet, and still Iruka was a whirlwind of activity every time he went over, mapping out his entire semester like a serial killer planning his murders. It was kind of cute, but mostly it frustrated Kakashi, who just wanted to relax after a hard day of breaking kneecaps and peeling up fingernails - joking, sometimes - and maybe get a little cuddle action with the feisty teacher.

Unfortunately, the man was even more obsessed with his work than Kakashi was, so more often than not, Kakashi sat on the other end of the couch, eating his dinner and watching Iruka build study-guides for lessons that were months away. It was peaceful, in its own way. Kakashi would moan and gripe, but deep down in the part of him he never admitted existed, it was nice to have someone who felt so normal, so scrupulous, so good.

The sounds of panic and confusion reached his ears as his feet hit the solid ground of the alley, right between two overfull dumpsters, but he was already out and running before the aromas of stale beer and rotting meat could truly do their worst. Kakashi ran about six blocks before he made it back to his car - a nondescript black truck - and slung the duffel bag into the back. He leaped into the driver’s seat and started the engine, taking off his hat and cranking the radio loud.

He drove past the warehouse along a side street, taking in the flashing lights and wailing sirens with the barest prickle of nerves. He hadn’t been made, which was a relief, but something about those blue and red lights never failed to send a shiver all the way to his toes.

No, there would be no thumbs for Iruka tonight.

Iruka’s little rowhouse was always a sight for sore eyes, the canopy of green and faerie lights like an enchanted grotto visible through the large first-story window, even with the gauzy curtain blurring the view from the street. Kakashi circled the block, parking well enough away so as not to draw suspicion to the house. Kakashi never drove the same car to Iruka’s more than once, and never parked on his block. It might’ve been paranoia, but better to be paranoid than to walk into a disaster.

It was just as he was thinking this, key in hand, that the door burst open, and a dark haired teen with wild eyes was there, clutching the doorframe with wrists still bound together with a plastic tie, a split second away from crashing straight into him. Behind him was another boy, still ripping the duct tape from his mouth with similarly bound hands, and he too stilled at the sight of Kakashi.

“Iruka’s gone,” the dark-haired teen managed to spit out, voice admirably level, given the circumstances.

The blond fared far worse. His eyes were bloodshot and his mouth twisted in an agonized, frantic shout. “They took him!!”

xoxoxoxo

Iruka awoke to a ringing in his ears and a mouth full of cotton. Literally, there was a cloth gag in his mouth, and it tasted like dirt. His head was swimming, so much so that he wasn’t wholly ready to believe he hadn’t been hit by a car again. His hands were bound behind his back with something sharp and tight, and when he tried to move his legs, a horrible surge of pain rose up in his hips. He wasn’t yet ready to say whether it was a bad angle or a broken bone, but wouldn’t that just be his luck?

He cracked his eyes open a fraction, but it was too dark to see anything going on around him. He was on the floor in some kind of garage, maybe a mechanic’s shop? It smelled like oil and grease with the sharp, metallic tang of iron and sweat. He tried the bonds holding his wrists, but they were sharp and bit into his skin. He moaned a little, unable to silence his frustration and pain.

Footsteps, drawing closer. Iruka’s heart began to race, and he grunted as the toe of a boot prodded him in his side.

“Hey there. How you holdin’ up?” a man asked from above.

Iruka squinted, and now he could just barely make out the silhouette of a figure standing above him. A light clicked on behind him, and the shock dilated Iruka’s eyes painfully. He slammed his lids shut, and the stranger chuckled.

“Makes sense. Sorry about all this. It’s not personal.”

He bent down, taking Iruka’s chin between his thumb and index finger. His hands were dirty with grease and uncomfortably warm. His eyes were dark and cold as they looked over Iruka’s face.

He’d been making dinner and talking to Kakashi on the phone. He was listening to Sasuke and Naruto’s music through the wall and working on lesson plans. There’d been a knock, and that was odd. It was too early, and Kakashi never knocked anymore.

A cloth was tied around his eyes. It was thin material. Iruka could see shadows moving around, backlit by the single lamp. The stranger’s hands remained on his face and neck, feeling for something, perhaps. Iruka didn’t know what. The stranger’s hands trailed down his shoulders. They prodded muscle and scraped skin with blunt nails.

Iruka had gone to answer the door. A man with a gun had told him not to scream. Iruka had, so loudly and harshly, the birds on the telephone wire flew away in alarm. He didn’t know if Naruto or Sasuke had heard him. Their music was so loud. There were strong arms pulling him out of the house, something hard and blunt hitting him on the head, twice.

Why had he been taken, and to where?

“I see what he likes about you,” the stranger commented, and Iruka felt hands at his waist, his lower back, then lower still, gripping the soft muscle of his backside. The pain flared. Iruka whimpered. It didn’t feel like a broken bone, but the pain was terrible. Pain, and shame.

The hands released him, and the stranger straightened up. The light clicked off.

xoxoxoxo

Sasuke plugged his phone into Iruka’s computer, and a program began to run automatically on the screen. Ones and zeroes, a lightning-quick scroll of black and white, and then a symbol like a red and white fishing bobber blinked in the center of the screen.

“You’re sure you can find him?” Naruto asked, wringing his hands into knots. He stood beside the computer, staring over Sasuke’s shoulder at the incomprehensible data.

In spite of the blaring sirens and flashing red lights that comprised Kakashi’s current mental state, he had to hand it to the Sasuke kid. He was quiet and had a face that made him look perpetually unimpressed, but he was competent.

“I’m sure,” Sasuke said, fingers flying over the keys, “If he still has his cell phone, I mean.”

“If they know what they’re doing, they’ll have gotten rid of his phone,” Kakashi muttered, mostly to himself, but he saw Sasuke’s shoulders stiffen. Guiltily, he amended, “Unless they’re trying to ransom him, in which case they might be willing to let us know where they’re holding him.”

“Who would want to kidnap Iruka?” Naruto pleaded, “They’d better not be any of your freaky friends, Kakashi!”

Kakashi grimaced. “It’s the only reason someone would grab him like this. Unless you know of any enemies Iruka’s made?”

“Iruka is a goddamn saint!” Naruto yelled, poking a finger into Kakashi’s chest.

“He knows, Naruto,” Sasuke interjected, voice quiet and long-suffering.

Naruto’s face reddened. “We just gotta find him.”

Sasuke hunched over the keys, face inches from the monitor. “Why does Iruka still own a Dell? This thing is, like, ten years old.”

“He’d probably say it works fine,” Kakashi suggested.

“Don’t talk about him like you know,” Naruto said.

Kakashi arched a brow. “But I do know.”

“Kakashi, why would your friends want Iruka?” Sasuke asked.

“Well, all I’m saying is you haven’t won me over yet,” Naruto continued obstinately, arms crossed. His brow was furrowed with worry, his eyes squinted. “Especially if you can’t protect him from getting nabbed in broad daylight.”

“I’m sorry, was I the one who was home with him when this happened?”

“Doesn’t matter!

“Also, it’s ten pm.”

“You suck, Kakashi!”

“Naruto,” Sasuke said warningly.

“Did anyone ever tell you not to insult literal murderers?” Kakashi asked blithely.

“You’re a murderer?” Sasuke asked.

Naruto glowered. “Did anyone ever tell you not to be such a giant dickhead!”

“Ooh, nice one, kid,” Kakashi mocked, feigning offense, “My feelings will never recover.”

“Can you two cut it the fuck out?” Sasuke asked, voice level but impatient, “I found him. They’re heading for the old warehouses down by the docks.”

Kakashi and Naruto both leaned over opposite sides of Sasuke’s shoulders, peering at the map rendering on the screen. The red and white bobber logo was holding static inside a warehouse out along one of the piers.

“Since he’s still got his phone, that means this is definitely someone trying to get to you?” Sasuke asked.

Kakashi’s mind was like the eye of the storm. All around him, chaos and fear swirled, but at his center, there was clarity and focus. “Likely. But I’m careful. No one should know I’m involved with Iruka.” His eyes slid left, touching Sasuke’s. “Did the kidnappers leave anything?”

Naruto saw his moment to rejoin the proceedings. “You were the one outside, dummy.”

“Shut up, Naruto,” Sasuke said with no real bite to his tone, “We should go take a look.”

The three boys pounded down the stairs to the front door, and sure enough, an overlooked bundle of glossy paper was tied to the railing of the front steps with a zip tie. Kakashi slid a knife from his pocket and sliced the tie.

“Is that-?” Naruto asked.

“What the hell?”

Kakashi stared down, eyes narrowed to slits, at the Chinese takeout menu. “We always order from this place.”

“Maybe that’s how they found out about you and Iruka?” Naruto suggested.

“Maybe,” Kakashi repeated mockingly.

“Iruka wouldn’t like you picking on me, you know.”

“Probably not.”

“Can we focus?” Sasuke suggested.

The three of them stared at the menu for a moment, then Kakashi tucked it into one of the many pockets on his flak jacket. “I’ll drive.”

They took Kakashi’s car down to the pier, following the map Sasuke had pulled from the computer and back onto his phone. The night was dark and quiet, with the hint of a storm lingering damply in the air. A sliver of the moon hung limp in the sky, like a gossamer thread of hair clinging to a dewy leaf. Kakashi circled the pier a few times, headlights off and crawling down the streets, then ditched the car a few blocks away behind an abandoned factory.

He snatched his duffel from the trunk and leaped up to catch the end of a rusty fire escape and shimmied up the first few rungs. “Wait here while I get a better look,” he instructed the boys, then scaled the rest of the ladder and appeared on the roof, which was an absolute wasteland of sunken masonry and broken glass. He picked his way to the edge and crouched, reaching into the duffel and quickly assembling his rife, if only so he could look down the scope.

The warehouse Sasuke’s phone had pinpointed was dark, but through the scope, Kakashi could see a few cars tucked around the side of the building and a man loitering and smoking near a black van, probably left to be a lookout. His finger brushed the trigger, indulging his rage for a dark moment before letting his logic pull him back into the rational world. Best not to alert everyone right away. He didn’t know why the kidnappers wanted to lure him out. If it was to kill him, well, he wouldn’t be doing himself any favors by announcing his presence.

Kakashi snuck back down off the roof and reappeared at Sasuke and Naruto’s sides. Naruto was pale and trembling, either from worry or fright or both, and Sasuke was only faring better in the sense that he could somewhat control his own shaking.

“Do you want to wait in the car?” Kakashi asked, in what he thought was a gracious tone.

Naruto went from panicking to outraged in an instant. It was only Sasuke’s hand, hastily slapped across his giant mouth, that stopped him from blowing their element of surprise.

“We’re fine,” Sasuke said, “What’s the plan?”

“Other than being very loud,” Kakashi said, eyes on Naruto, then turned to Sasuke, “And being good with computers, do you two have any other skills?”

Naruto and Sasuke exchanged an uncertain look.

“Can you shoot a sniper rifle? Can you use a knife? Tear gas?”

Another look. “I’m pretty fast,” Naruto offered.

Somehow, Kakashi suppressed the urge to strike himself on the forehead. “Okay, can you drive?”

“Legally?”

“What makes you think I meant legally?”

Naruto’s eyes fixed themselves on the barrel of the rifle sticking out of the top of Kakashi’s duffle bag. “No idea.”

“Okay.” Kakashi breathed deeply, reminding himself to think of Iruka. Iruka, who had been kidnapped because some half-baked villain wannabee was trying to draw Kakashi out, for reasons that were currently unknown. Iruka, who was probably undergoing some kind of interrogation right now in that warehouse not one hundred yards from where they were standing. Iruka, who was beautiful and kind and smart and would kill him in a hundred different ways if he was here to see Kakashi enlisting his kid brother in a dangerous rescue operation.

“Okay,” Kakashi repeated, “Here’s the plan. I’m who they want, which makes you two my back-up. It’s the safest way to extract Iruka. Sasuke, you’re going to figure out how to shoot this.” He thrust the duffle bag at him. “Naruto, don’t think I’m leaving you out.” He reached behind him and withdrew one of his handguns. “Hold it with both hands, and point the barrel away from yourself before you fire.”

Naruto and Sasuke accepted their gifts like children at a funeral receiving candy. You didn’t want to be there, but oh my God, candy.

“I’m going to sneak up and break through the back. You two are going to watch the main entrance. Sasuke on the roof, Naruto in the van. Keep the engine running and the lights off. When I come out with Iruka, cover me.”

There was silence for a few seconds, and then Kakashi asked, “Okay?”

“Can we know just a little bit more than that?” Sasuke offered, “Just so we know what’s going on in there.”

“I wanna go in with you,” Naruto declared.

Kakashi shook his head. “I know you think that, but trust me, you are not prepared for what you might see.” His eyes rolled upwards. “Also, you’re too loud.”

Naruto pursed his lips, visibly repressing the urge to shout his rebuttal. Sasuke only nodded his agreement.

“You’re most useful to me, to Iruka, out here. Having more than just myself in there is only going to slow me down,” Kakashi said, “ And truly? I don’t know what’s going on. There’s at least four men in there, definitely armed, but their goal isn’t to kill Iruka.” He inhaled deeply for a moment, looking them both in the eyes, then asked, “I’m trusting you. Trust me?”

Naruto considered this, then nodded. “Don’t get hurt,” he said.

Kakashi turned towards the warehouse. “We’ll see.”

xoxoxoxo

Whispers in the dark. Footsteps pacing along the concrete floor. The acrid smell of old sweat and metal. His own fear, thick around him, hanging like a weighted blanket.

Iruka tried to focus on breathing through his nose. His chest felt tight with panic, and the ache in his hip had reached a feverous pitch. It was a cramp, he had realized, from the position he was forced to sit in. A gunshot wound would’ve been a little more bearable for his ego, but at least he knew he wasn’t actually injured.

Well, physically.

The stranger kept returning, his hands squeezing and feeling along Iruka’s tired, bruised body. They felt like tentacles, slimy and obscene. They felt like ropes, itching and burning his skin. He wanted it to stop, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. So, when the stranger returned, Iruka retreated inward, thinking about his lesson plans and the dinners he was hoping to cook this week and whether or not Naruto and Sasuke were still hungry after only one bowl of ramen.

“Kakashi chose you well,” the stranger would say, or, “I bet it would piss him off royally to know I was touching his stuff.”

Kakashi would never think about Iruka like that, he wanted to say, but it wouldn’t matter. He wanted to fight back, do something, but he was bound and helpless on the concrete floor. He couldn’t rebel or submit to the stranger’s thoroughly unwanted attention by virtue of not having a choice in the matter either way. It was seriously pissing him off.

The stranger mentioned Kakashi often. It was clear Iruka was here as a way to draw Kakashi out, and Iruka hoped Kakashi wouldn’t be so stupid as to fall for the bait. Iruka wanted to be rescued, absolutely, and not that he didn’t believe in Kakashi’s ability to rescue, but Iruka was the one who answered the door. Iruka was the one who’d gotten grabbed. The least he could do was get himself out.

But how?

The answer eventually came in the form of a piece of broken glass Iruka had found rather accidentally. He’d scooted into it while trying to get away from the stranger’s hands, and his cry of pain as his leg found the shard was mistaken for a cry of something else entirely, judging by the way the stranger had gone on teasingly, hands up Iruka’s shirt, about Stockholm Syndrome. Iruka bided his time until the stranger left, gleefully picturing all of the ways Kakashi would dismember the stranger when he finally arrived, and when he finally got back up and left, Iruka twisted himself subtly to grab the shard.

He scrunched his nose and brow and rubbed his head against the grimy concrete floor until the cloth covering his face had inched up far enough for him to see clearly, and then he began, painstakingly, to work on the tie binding his feet. It was terribly painful, the glass cutting into his fingers as he sawed away at the tie and his back cramping from having to arch it so deeply. His muscles were on fire, and the glass felt like it was cutting to bone, but eventually his ankles came free with a glorious, agonizing snap of plastic.

Iruka hauled himself up to his knees, hissing and breathing through the pain in his cramped hip. He paused, heart thudding in his chest as he listened for any signs that the stranger might return, and then dragged his carcass to his feet and limped into the darkness.

xoxoxoxo

Kakashi plunged into the dirty, garbage-infested water of the river and swam around to the top of the pier, the last place they’d expect him to come from. He hauled himself from the water, scaled the side of the high concrete wall and, freezing and half-drowned, crept low up to the side of the warehouse.

He liked Naruto a whole hell of a lot. He was a good kid, if a little thick in the head. Kakashi understood perfectly why Iruka loved him so much. Even Sasuke, really, though that kid would probably rather jump into the garbage river than admit he cared for the blond. Naruto had an enormous heart, and he was brash because he was sensitive. It didn’t necessarily suit him well to hostage-rescue missions, but…

… Well, actually, now that he was thinking about it, Naruto was pretty athletic, and his loyalty to people would make him an excellent teammate. Back-up wasn’t really Kakashi’s thing, but he had felt unusually secure in himself when he dove off the side of the pier into the water, knowing Naruto and Sasuke were watching his six.

Sasuke, too. That thing with the phone tracking had been handy, and the kid was pretty level-headed, all things considered. He’d definitely make a good sniper, which was most of the reason why Kakashi had trusted him with the rifle. He hoped Sasuke wouldn’t have to shoot it, though. That thing was like his baby.

Kakashi reached the back of the warehouse and peered around the side, towards the direction of where he’d left his teenage crew. He gave a thumbs up, not knowing but hoping Sasuke would see it from his position, then assessed the back of the building. No handy fire escapes this time, damnit, but there was a second-story window. Kakashi’s eyes scanned the rest of the building, then bid a final farewell to his fingernails - admittedly, pretty chewed up from scaling the pier - and worked to find purchase in the crumbling brick.

He picked up the pace and dove through the window elbows first, glass shattering, when he heard the ferocious, angry shout.

xoxoxoxo

“WHERE THE FUCK DID HE GO?!”

Iruka pressed himself against the wall, holding his breath as he listened to the direction of the pounding boot steps of his captor. A few more footfalls joined the stranger, and Iruka began to sweat bullets. How many men were there? Three, four? He’d made it to the second story of the warehouse, but now he was trapped, hidden behind some old cargo boxes and rotting burlap while he caught his breath and tried to think of a plan.

The zip tie binding his wrists was now totally soaked in his own blood, his hands a lacerated mess, but his cramp was more or less gone, which allowed him to move about more quietly. Crouching hurt like hell, but he was afraid, and his animal instincts were telling him to get low.

CRASH!

Iruka ducked as he heard the sound of a nearby window shattering, fear electrifying his senses. For a moment, his vision went black, and he clenched his teeth, willing his body to remain conscious. His chest hurt, he couldn’t breathe, and his head was pounding. Would he die here? Why had the window blown out? Was someone shooting the building?

Footsteps, impossibly soft but sounding like thunder to Iruka’s terrified senses, drawing closer. He couldn’t help it; he gasped. It was soft, but it halted the footsteps.

Then, “Iruka?”

Iruka felt like he might collapse at any moment. “Kakashi,” he said, exhaling the word like the ending of a prayer.

Kakashi was in front of him, hands touching everywhere, checking for cuts (many) and bruises (some). He searched Iruka’s eyes, and then they were kissing, harsh and desperate and perfect. Iruka let out a hitched, sobbing breath, probably more noise than was wise, but relief was like being dunked in ice water.

“Just a little longer, Iruka, and we’re gone, okay?” Kakashi murmured, his lips pressed to Iruka’s earlobe.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, echoing and menacing as Iruka’s captors came for him. Kakashi squeezed his shoulder and then shoved him to the floor. Iruka watched as Kakashi flattened himself against the stacked cargo boxes, head tilted to the side, and pulled a long-barreled hand gun from inside his utility vest.

“Where the hell are you, pretty boy?” the stranger called, angry but still trying to be playful with him, still flirting with him, “You know we need you to get Kaka-!”

Iruka heard the discharge of the gun like breaking the seal on a new jar of pickles. The stranger fell to the ground. More footsteps, more pops, and then silence. He heard Kakashi exhale.

It was the longest moment of Iruka’s life before Kakashi said, in a normal volume, “It’s over.”

Iruka was already on the floor, but he became boneless in his exhaustion. “Fuck.”

Kakashi put his hands on the back of Iruka’s head and neck and scooped him into his chest, holding him against his heart. “Christ, Iruka.”

“You’re telling me.”

Kakashi let go, and Iruka slumped back to the ground, but now he was smiling as he asked, “A little help with this?”

“Oh, fuck.” Now it was Kakashi’s turn to swear as he looked down at Iruka’s bound, bloody hands. He pulled a gigantic fucking knife from god knows where, and with all the delicacy of a chef julienning a carrot, broke the plastic tie. “Oh, my God, Iruka, are your hands okay?”

Iruka didn’t have the energy to be snarky. “I broke the tie on my feet with some glass I found.”

“You’re so fucking metal, baby.”

Iruka laughed windlessly. “Who the hell kidnapped me?”

“You know, I should go check.”

Kakashi stood and vanished from sight. Iruka listened to him bend over the bodies - and yikes, his brain hadn’t yet processed the fact that Kakashi had just literally killed people - and heard him rustling through their pockets for a moment before he sighed heavily. “I know these guys.”

Suddenly, Iruka found the energy to be snarky. “I was hoping. The alternative is that some rival history teacher was out to grope and kill me.”

Kakashi was in front of him in an instant. “Who groped you?” His tone was cold as death, his eyes as hard as the steel of the knife in his hand, and Iruka’s eyes tracked the way his knuckles gripped the handle.

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“I’ll cut his balls off.”

Iruka snorted. “Don’t do that. It’ll become your calling card or something ghoulish like that.”

Kakashi offered him a hand. “Can you stand up?” he asked.

Just as Iruka was letting Kakashi bring him to his feet, a man hit the top of the staircase and shot Kakashi in the back.

Iruka was screaming even as Kakashi was shoving him to the ground and whirling in place, knife in hand. Iruka scrabbled back to the crates and ducked, feeling stupid and useless but not knowing what else to do. His mind was full of nothing and yet so jam-packed with panic he knew he was close to blacking out again. Kakashi was shot. Kakashi had been shot. Kakashi was hurt.

The sound of Kakashi’s knife hitting flesh was a ghastly thing. The man Kakashi was stabbing fired his gun a few more times, but there was too much gurgling and screaming going on for Iruka to tell if any were Kakashi’s. His vision went out for real this time, his ears ringing as his mind retreated into his body, only coming back at the gentle coaxing of Kakashi’s hands and voice, bringing him up out of the darkness.

Kakashi was offering him his hand once again, his mouth set into a grim line as he announced, “It’s taken care of. Are you alright? Are you with me?”

Iruka stood and wavered. Everything felt very still in that moment. Kakashi wasn’t bleeding, but his eyes were hollow. Iruka’s hand went to Kakashi’s chest searchingly. He asked, “How-?”

“Bulletproof vest,” Kakashi said, his voice matching his eyes, “I was working, remember?”

Iruka would never fucking question Kakashi on his job again. He hesitated as Kakashi pulled him away from the safety of the crates, resisting, and when Kakashi looked back at him, he swallowed thickly. “Could you, uh, I mean-,” he stopped, collected himself as best he could, and held up the old blindfold in one hand, “I don’t want to see.”

Kakashi slipped the cloth over Iruka’s eyes, and then his feet left the ground as he was pulled into Kakashi’s arms. They moved together down the stairs, and Iruka focused on breathing with his entire concentration, trying and only mostly failing to think about the bodies of his dead captors at their feet.

When the cool night air hit his face, Iruka squirmed to get down and removed the blindfold himself. “Where the hell?”

“We’re on the old piers,” Kakashi explained shortly, “Naruto and Sasuke are at the van.”

xoxoxoxo

Kakashi made his first real mistake of the night, and he realized it instantly.

“Naruto and Sasuke are here?!”

Kakashi ducked as Iruka’s fist came sailing for his face. He backed up a pace, hands raised, but Iruka was still advancing. “They were worried, and they wanted to help.”

“I don’t care what they wanted!!” Iruka shrieked, “You brought my boys to an abandoned warehouse on a pier to rescue me?!”

“Yes?”

Kakashi ducked again, and then he decided he’d really had enough, and in one fluid motion, gathered both of Iruka’s bleeding wrists in one hand - careful not to hold them too tightly - and snaked his other arm around Iruka’s back, reeling him in. “Stop hitting me,” he asked nicely.

Iruka became meek in an instant. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine. You’re still a little shocked,” he said smoothly, “The boys were worried about you. The kidnappers did them up in duct tape at the house. They deserved to be here.”

“I have to disagree.”

“Tough.”

Kakashi kissed Iruka, then, and he opened like a blooming flower, lips and arms and shoulders unfurling as he melted into the strength and safety of Kakashi’s arms. Kakashi let go of his wrists, and Iruka’s hands found a place on his biceps, gripping as he let himself be swept utterly away. His tongue grazed Kakashi’s bottom teeth, and they both shuddered into each other, Iruka swallowing the tiny hitch of his breath into his own mouth. His fingers traced down Iruka’s spine, delighting in each ridge and bump and press of warm flesh that meant Iruka was alive, he was whole and wholly his to touch and love.

A shot rang out, a bullet burying itself a whole two feet from where Kakashi and Iruka were tangled up in each other. Before Iruka had a chance to catapult back into panic - Kakashi was already there, was always kind of there to begin with - Naruto’s angry shouts reached their ears.

“Get your damn hands off my brother!!”

Iruka laughed a full, hearty laugh, his chest rising and falling as his heart continued to beat like Kakashi’s own, which was pounding double time as it pumped a cocktail of affection and protectiveness through his veins. He would never, ever let anything happen to this man ever, ever again.

“Still glad you brought them?”

“Nope. Still glad you asked about my work?”

“Nope.”