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Who: Hatake Kakashi, Umino Iruka
Status: Active and Closed
Style: Tenses switching (all of it)
Where: Hisato - Kakashi's doorstep
When: Week 1, Day 5, in the evening after this
Rating: PG - 13 / R
Warnings: Mentions of sexual content, sadness, heartbreak
It is the urge to set things right, the urge to fix things, undo the damage, comfort, give and take back what he does not mean that gives Iruka's step a purpose. Determination comes with each step, as fear comes with each breath; this walk is not easy.
He'd taken this walk before so many times. It's familiar, but the path is different and changed, now. Back then, it had been quiet dinners and pleasant soaks in the onsen, nights spent either in each other's arms or sliding against each other's bodies, where no words were needed, where Kakashi's heart had been home even at his weakest. When Iruka's fingers traced the face the world did not know and had not seen, when they threaded through hair, held a hand, sometimes even both. Even when the illusion had dissipated and there had been distance between them, Iruka never let go. And he knows that Kakashi never really did either.
(Even when Kakashi was so close to death, when he bled and his heart spoke in the haze of the sickness that nearly took him away, you knew that he loved you. Knew that you held his heart as much as he held yours.)
The distance had been there back then. But not like this.
This is Kakashi stepping away. This is Kakashi wounded in a way he does not deserve to be. Because under that mask, and in the depth of that eye, Iruka knows what the world does not see, what the world does not understand. One look and two words had been enough to rip the breath out of Iruka, to have his lungs constrict and pass through his ribs by a force he cannot even begin to understand. It is like plummeting straight for an endless pit and he does not know if he'll make it out of this fall intact.
It still echoes in his mind how Kakashi had been silent. It was a warning siren or a flat line signifying the lack of a pulse. The dread that followed after hearing that long dragging absence of noise consumes him, blinds him with tears that don't prickle behind his eye lids yet; though they are there, gathering under the weight of the crushing guilt over the silence Kakashi throws his way.
He knows what that silence means. It's as good as goodbye. It had been betrayal and it's by Iruka's hands. It is a look that Iruka never wants to see on his face because it is a look that Kakashi should never wear. It is out of place, wrong, scarring. Iruka sees beyond the mask and that face is seared in to his mind permanently and one that is enough to bring him to his knees.
But he does not fall.
Instead, Iruka has spent half the day panicking inwardly while searching for some herbs in a daze, and the other half preparing himself for a confrontation. He should go tell him, he should go tell Kakashi that he did not mean it face to face. He should remedy that silence, explain himself, he deserves that chance at least, doesn't he?
Because he knows Kakashi and it is not something he can easily forget or erase.
(You tried that before and look what a mess it made. Look what damage you've inflicted on the man you claim to love? Do you remember how the tears streamed down his cheeks? You carried everything inside you, under your skin, the image of how he sprawled in bed and read in the evenings, how he sat across from you at the table - miso, eggplant, fish and rice, shochu, fruit because he does not like sweet things - how he chews and what he picks to eat first. You know the amount of salt and spice required. You know how he walked, how he spoke, how he laughed and smiled at you. With you. You know what it felt to be in his arms, to hold him and to welcome him, to wake up to him and breathe everything that defined him, all earth and fields and Konoha. Home. Because even after it was all gone, it wasn't over.
You still prepare what he liked the most, still liked. How can you not when it's already a part of you and your habit?)
But you're not together. There isn't a you and him anymore. What do you need a chance for? You've done it now.
He tells himself it doesn't matter, tells himself that it is important to be honest, to stop this madness he's putting himself through. He needs his closure. He wants his chance to explain. Because he knows - he feels - that the basket of fruit he found this morning was Kakashi's doing. Oranges and peaches and all that Kakashi knows he likes.
Iruka stops before the door and he hesitates, because he is carrying in his hand a box that holds an offering, much like that basket of fruit. Except he is going to give it to him instead of leaving it there. He steels himself, takes long breaths and - just do it! - knocks firmly. The wood seems to resist his knuckles, and the echoes of each knock drown out all other sounds. There is no wind here, blowing through tree branches and winter leaves -- just the quiet thunder of what sounds to him like pounding. He realizes only a minute later that it's his heart.
Status: Active and Closed
Style: Tenses switching (all of it)
Where: Hisato - Kakashi's doorstep
When: Week 1, Day 5, in the evening after this
Rating: PG - 13 / R
Warnings: Mentions of sexual content, sadness, heartbreak
It is the urge to set things right, the urge to fix things, undo the damage, comfort, give and take back what he does not mean that gives Iruka's step a purpose. Determination comes with each step, as fear comes with each breath; this walk is not easy.
He'd taken this walk before so many times. It's familiar, but the path is different and changed, now. Back then, it had been quiet dinners and pleasant soaks in the onsen, nights spent either in each other's arms or sliding against each other's bodies, where no words were needed, where Kakashi's heart had been home even at his weakest. When Iruka's fingers traced the face the world did not know and had not seen, when they threaded through hair, held a hand, sometimes even both. Even when the illusion had dissipated and there had been distance between them, Iruka never let go. And he knows that Kakashi never really did either.
(Even when Kakashi was so close to death, when he bled and his heart spoke in the haze of the sickness that nearly took him away, you knew that he loved you. Knew that you held his heart as much as he held yours.)
The distance had been there back then. But not like this.
This is Kakashi stepping away. This is Kakashi wounded in a way he does not deserve to be. Because under that mask, and in the depth of that eye, Iruka knows what the world does not see, what the world does not understand. One look and two words had been enough to rip the breath out of Iruka, to have his lungs constrict and pass through his ribs by a force he cannot even begin to understand. It is like plummeting straight for an endless pit and he does not know if he'll make it out of this fall intact.
It still echoes in his mind how Kakashi had been silent. It was a warning siren or a flat line signifying the lack of a pulse. The dread that followed after hearing that long dragging absence of noise consumes him, blinds him with tears that don't prickle behind his eye lids yet; though they are there, gathering under the weight of the crushing guilt over the silence Kakashi throws his way.
He knows what that silence means. It's as good as goodbye. It had been betrayal and it's by Iruka's hands. It is a look that Iruka never wants to see on his face because it is a look that Kakashi should never wear. It is out of place, wrong, scarring. Iruka sees beyond the mask and that face is seared in to his mind permanently and one that is enough to bring him to his knees.
But he does not fall.
Instead, Iruka has spent half the day panicking inwardly while searching for some herbs in a daze, and the other half preparing himself for a confrontation. He should go tell him, he should go tell Kakashi that he did not mean it face to face. He should remedy that silence, explain himself, he deserves that chance at least, doesn't he?
Because he knows Kakashi and it is not something he can easily forget or erase.
(You tried that before and look what a mess it made. Look what damage you've inflicted on the man you claim to love? Do you remember how the tears streamed down his cheeks? You carried everything inside you, under your skin, the image of how he sprawled in bed and read in the evenings, how he sat across from you at the table - miso, eggplant, fish and rice, shochu, fruit because he does not like sweet things - how he chews and what he picks to eat first. You know the amount of salt and spice required. You know how he walked, how he spoke, how he laughed and smiled at you. With you. You know what it felt to be in his arms, to hold him and to welcome him, to wake up to him and breathe everything that defined him, all earth and fields and Konoha. Home. Because even after it was all gone, it wasn't over.
You still prepare what he liked the most, still liked. How can you not when it's already a part of you and your habit?)
But you're not together. There isn't a you and him anymore. What do you need a chance for? You've done it now.
He tells himself it doesn't matter, tells himself that it is important to be honest, to stop this madness he's putting himself through. He needs his closure. He wants his chance to explain. Because he knows - he feels - that the basket of fruit he found this morning was Kakashi's doing. Oranges and peaches and all that Kakashi knows he likes.
Iruka stops before the door and he hesitates, because he is carrying in his hand a box that holds an offering, much like that basket of fruit. Except he is going to give it to him instead of leaving it there. He steels himself, takes long breaths and - just do it! - knocks firmly. The wood seems to resist his knuckles, and the echoes of each knock drown out all other sounds. There is no wind here, blowing through tree branches and winter leaves -- just the quiet thunder of what sounds to him like pounding. He realizes only a minute later that it's his heart.