Chapter Text
The summon came at dawn. A single knock on his window signalled the Anbu’s presence. “Kakashi san. You are to report to Hokage sama, immediately.”
Kakashi’s chest tightened from where he had lay awake in Iruka’s bed, unable to sleep. He didn’t need to ask why.
Iruka’s stipulated mission deadline had passed yesterday. Yet there was no word. No sign of a familiar brown ponytail bobbing back into his apartment. No warmth of bronze skin and a blinding smile with a faint blush painting the scar on his nose. Kakashi had spent most of the night pacing the apartment, trying to convince himself that he was overreacting, that Iruka would appear just a day late with a feisty reprimand for worrying so much.
But now. Now the summon had come.
He felt like he was moving in a hazed state as he threw on his clothes in a blur, fingers fumbling with his flak vest, mask tugged into place with hands that wouldn’t quite stop shaking. Then he was out the window, rooftops flying past under his feet as he pushed his body harder, faster. The world only looked grey, the sun a smear of shed blood.
Tsunade was already waiting behind her desk when he burst in. Her usual air of brusque confidence was gone, stripped bare, leaving only a grim weight on her face. She didn’t speak at once.
The silence was worse than any words.
Kakashi’s gut twisted, sinking like lead. He shut the door quietly behind him, suddenly afraid of what she might say aloud. His throat was dry beneath the mask.
“Tsunade sama? I-is he…?” The question hung heavily in the air, barely audible.
Her eyes met his, steady but heavy with emotional weight. Her voice cut through the silence like a kunai.
“Hatake,” she said. “He’s alive.”
Kakashi’s body sagged with sheer relief as he scrubbed a tired hand through his hair, not giving a damn shit about shinobi propriety then.
But she wasn’t done.
“Umino sustained a severe concussion during his mission. Physically, he’s fine now, but…” Her pause stretched. “He’s suffering from amnesia. T&I have given their analysis and there’s no sign it will return soon.”
Kakashi felt the world pull out from under his feet.
“What does he remember?” His voice came out in the barest whisper, afraid of the answer.
Tsunade closed her eyes, taking a breath and composing herself before continuing. “No one. Apart from his knowledge of concepts, his role as an Academy sensei and his individualistic identity, he can’t recall any of the connections he has to others.” She looked up at him. “That includes Naruto and… you.”
Kakashi didn’t know what expression he was making then, but the pained look on Tsunade’s face told him everything.
“I’m sorry, Hatake.”
His hands trembled violently as he barked out a short laugh. “No… I can take care of him in the mean time. With time surely he’ll remember-”
“With amnesia like this, forcing recollection could lock the damage in permanently. And the closer you are to him, the more dangerous it will be for Iruka.”
Kakashi’s chest tightened. “You’re saying– ”
“I’m saying,” Tsunade cut in, “you cannot tell him about your relationship. You cannot try to reestablish it. You can’t even approach him. For his sake. For his recovery.”
The words hit him harder than any weapon could. For a moment, the world tilted on its axis. Kakashi whispered, raw and hoarse and desperate with the realisation. “You’re ordering me to be a stranger.”
Tsunade straightened her spine, firm and resolute. “I’m ordering you to protect him. Even from yourself.”
Something inside him buckled as his legs gave way beneath him. He collapsed on his knees, the weight of Tsunade’s order pressing down until he couldn’t breathe.
Eyes pained, Tsunade gestured for the two jounin at the door to enter. Under her silent order, two familiar chakra signatures approached a hyperventilating Kakashi. Gai and Yamato eased him to his feet, each supporting an arm with quiet solidarity, as they guided him out of the Hokage’s office.
“Senpai… we’ve got you, we’ve got you.”
“Rival… we’re bringing you to your house.” Gai was uncharacteristically serious.
With a body flicker, they brought him to his bedroom. He let them deposit him onto his bed as he sat, slumped there, the sheets far too cold for comfort. Physically, he might have moved but his heart was left behind on the floor of the Hokage’s office, wrapped in words that had destroyed his world.
“Rival…”
“Get. Out.” He bit out harshly. “I need to be alone. Please.”
Yamato and Gai stared, unmoving.
“GET. OUT.” He yelled.
They flinched and moved towards the doorway.
“We’re here if you need us senpai.” Yamato smiled sadly before they let themselves out, closing the door behind them gently.
For a long time. Kakashi just sat, trying to exist in a world without his love. But it was hard, for every second alone was a second too many, and every second passed alone cut into him like the sharp edge of a kunai.
His fractured gaze moved towards his pillow where a single long strand of brown hair lay. Brushing his fingers over it, he picked it up and tenderly pressed a kiss over it.
He recalled his last moments with Iruka before that god damned mission. Having always been an early riser, Kakashi’s favourite pastime was to watch Iruka wake up. He remembered the way the brunette had stirred in his arms before snuggling into the warmth for a few seconds more. Kakashi had carded his hands through the deep brown hair that he had loved so much, hanging on tight and wishing he didn’t have to leave. His love had just laughed at him, pinching his cheek affectionately before getting out of bed to get ready. As Kakashi fussed over his weapons and his field pack for the umpteenth time, he had given an exasperated sigh and looked at him fondly.
“I’ll see you soon, my love.” He pulled Kakashi in for a long deep kiss, parting with a sigh as he rested their foreheads together. His eyes sparkled mischievously. “I’ll be so quick you won’t even notice I’m gone.”
Kakashi pouted but relaxed into his embrace as Iruka stroked a thumb across his cheek in a soft caress.
“Love you. Come home safely to me.”
“Love you more.” He murmured. “I’ll do everything in my power to return home to you.”
Another quick chaste kiss and Iruka went leaping out of the window. Kakashi hadn’t known then that it would be the last time he would have Iruka in his arms for a long while.
He hesitated, before reaching under the pillow. A ‘pop’ sound echoed as a plush velvet red box appeared. With trembling hands, he pushed it open to reveal matching 2 silver bands with a single diamond on each. Kakashi hadn’t hesitated to buy them the moment he laid eyes on them. Simple yet elegant, it practically screamed Iruka.
Countless nights, Kakashi had lain awake, eyes tracing Iruka’s slumbering form, his throat tight as his fingers toyed with the little box. Time and again, he’d lost his nerve to ask– too afraid to propose, too afraid of shattering the wonderful dynamic they shared.
Now, he would never get the chance to.
Wet droplets fell onto the metal as a guttural cry ripped through the room. Kakashi only registered the painful sound as his own when his throat burned and his chest heaved. He screamed in frustration, grief and loss as he crumpled forward, hands pressing the plush box over his chest, as though it could heal the tears in his heart. But the sobs kept coming, wrenching out of him like something primal, something unstoppable.
It felt as though someone had reached into his chest and torn his heart out, leaving nothing but a raw, gaping wound behind. And still, Kakashi would have chosen that pain a thousand times over the emptiness he now had to live with.
Curled into his side, clutching the box and the strand of hair to his heart, a red rimmed grey eye staring blankly into nothingness– that was how Gai and Yamato found him the next morning.
**
The next week blurred into nothing.
Kakashi didn’t move much. He sat, tucked into his bed with his hands slack in his lap. His gaze was fixed onto a spot on the bed, unseeing. Morning bled into evening without distinction and he responded to no one, not even his closest comrades.
Periodically, the door would slide open as Yamato would set a tray of food in front of him.
“Senpai, please, you have to eat something.” Despite Yamato’s pleads, Kakashi never responded. The food remained untouched until it was quietly taken away.
After the first day, it was evident that Kakashi wasn’t going to respond to anything. He didn’t eat, he didn’t drink, he didn’t get up to use the bathroom. In desperation, Yamato had sought out Tsunade for medical help and she had made her way down as quickly as possible, Sakura in tow.
“Brat,” She sighed, taking in the broken view in front of her. “You really want to die that badly?”
“Just let me go.” Kakashi croaked, responding for the first time. “My life is nothing without him. I am nothing without him.”
“Kakashi sensei…” Tears welled up in Sakura’s green eyes, unable to stand seeing her usually nonchalant sensei in such a state.
Tsunade pressed a hand against Sakura’s shoulder as she gave her a firm instructive nod. Brushing her tears away, she steeled her resolve as she made to insert an IV bag and a catheter to her sensei.
Kakashi barely reacted to the discomfort of having his former student handle his intimate areas, but he did shoot Tsunade an icy glare.
“I said to let me go.”
“BRAT.” Tsunade roared. “You will NOT tell me what I can or cannot do in my village. Your death, Hatake, doesn’t just concern you. It concerns the livelihood of every shinobi and civilian in Konoha, and the position of the Sixth Hokage.” It was no secret that Tsunade had been eyeing on Kakashi as a potential successor, but it was the first time she’d ever admitted it. “Until then, I don’t know how or what, but you WILL keep yourself alive.”
With that, she barked a bunch of orders at Yamato and Gai before storming off, Sakura following meekly in tow.
Kakashi just returned his empty gaze back to his bed.
Over the week, Yamato and Gai took turns taking care of him, with Yamato changing his IV drip at mealtimes while Gai would bustle in with forced cheer, the edges of his voice cracking as he tried to mask his own grief. He would wipe down Kakashi and redress him into clean clothes, also changing his catheter with a quick lesson from Sakura. Sometimes, he would even coax Kakashi to lie down for a few hours and get some sleep, with the latter never failing to fly awake with a scream, before realising his nightmares couldn’t have been worse than reality.
Most of the time, Kakashi just stared into space. Just silence, an endless hollow, as though his soul had slipped away and left only a shell behind, which was getting increasingly sallow as the days went by.
He didn’t move. He didn’t train. Even his Icha Icha volumes gathered dust on the nightstand.
One day, Gai strode into the room with a letter in hand.
“Rival, you might wanna read this.” Gai cleared his throat as he placed it into his palm. “It’s from Iruka.”
Kakashi stared down at the cream coloured hope. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he unravelled it to reveal familiar writing.
Hey you!
So it turns out I may have gotten myself into a bit of a pickle when I got concussed on my previous mission. I’m alright now(if you could call it that) but I’ve been diagnosed with amnesia and I can’t recall anyone around me.
If you’re receiving this letter, know that you were special to pre-amnesia Iruka. To my friends, it meant you were my laughter, my strength, my family when I needed one most. I’m extremely frustrated that I can’t remember the people dearest to me, but I know that my life isn’t over just because my memories are scattered. I’m still here, still standing, still learning how to live life again. And though we may not be able to meet in the same way we did before, I believe this world is small enough for our paths to cross again. When fate allows it, I believe we will find our way back to each other again.
If… by any chance I had a lover from my past life, and if you’re reading this, I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the pain you must be going through now. Because I just know that whoever you were, I was very fortunate to have had your love in this lifetime.
I pray that I never took you for granted. That I told you enough times how much you meant to me. But in case I didn’t, let me say it now: thank you. Thank you for loving me, for choosing me, for walking beside me in this unpredictable, dangerous world.
I don’t know if we’ll find our way back to each other. I don’t even know if I can recognize you when I pass you in the streets. If fate brings us together again, I’ll be so thankful. And yet… I don’t want you to feel obliged to wait for me, waiting for someone who may never remember. You deserve to keep living, to find new laughter, new warmth, even if it isn’t mine. You deserve to be well, and live your life to the fullest, even if I’m not the one by your side.
I know this is selfish to ask, but if you can– if it doesn’t hurt too much– would you think of me whenever you pass the place where we first met? It would ease my mind knowing that at least one small corner of the world still holds a piece of our love. And if the fates are kind, perhaps one day I’ll be able to find my way back to you again.
Until we meet again.
With all the love I can give,
Iruka
Kakashi’s vision blurred as he pressed the letter to his chest. Sobs wrecked through his body as he felt a warmth pull him into an embrace.
“Rival… Kakashi…” Gai sniffled. “I hate to see you like this.”
“Why does it feel like goodbye.” He whispered brokenly.
“Iruka has always been kind.” More tears poured from Gai’s eyes. “Letting someone go is also a form of love, Rival, the most touching act of youth!”
But Kakashi shook his head, fingers trembling as they clutched the letter tighter. “No… I can’t. I can’t live in a world without him. I won’t give up on us so easily.” His voice cracked, but there was a desperate fire in it.
As his eyes ran through the letter once more, the same words jumped out at him again. The place where they first met. If Iruka believed fate could possibly lead him there again, then Kakashi would make sure of it. He would go. He would wait. If Iruka’s heart carried even the faintest echo of what they once were, then maybe– just maybe– he would find his way back.
And if it took days, months, or years, Kakashi was ready. Because for him, love wasn’t about letting go. Obito, Rin, Minato sensei… he wasn’t going to lose another loved one again. Not while they were still alive.
“Gai,” he said at last, the brilliant cogs of his shinobi mind turning. “I need your help.”
**
“Hatake, this is ridiculous.” Tsunade frowned. “We can’t have Konoha’s best operative stuck out here over heartbreak. Ibiki, run the psych tests.”
Ibiki glanced over at the man. Kakashi remained rooted to the spot on the bench stubbornly. His eye gazed into the far distance, unseeing.
Sighing, Ibiki placed a hand on the man’s head and closed his eyes.
After a short while of silence, Ibiki opened his eyes, pained. He knelt, lowering his head.
“Ibiki what–”
“Hokage sama. I’m appealing to you not as a shinobi, but as Kakashi’s and Iruka’s friend. This man has given most of his life to Konoha. And he might have just very well lost his entire world.” Ibiki sent a sorrowful glance towards Kakashi’s direction. “Please, Hokage sama, you of all people should understand. There is no bigger torture than love itself. I must request that you give him time to find his footing again. Sending him out onto the field in this state will only kill him.”
Tsunade turned away, clucking her tongue loudly. Despite her brusque attitude, she was only human. A human who had lost too much, and understood the pain of grief very well.
“Very well.” Ibiki glanced up in surprise. “Im giving him five months. Five months to heal. Any more than that and I will be personally intervening.”
Casting a final sympathetic glance at the hunched figure on the bench, she huffed and briskly left.
Ibiki heaved a sigh, rising to his feet. The first drops of rain had just started pattering down, each drop sinking into Kakashi’s clothes, clinging to him like unfading memories. Yet, the man remained not the least bit fazed, sitting resolutely at the bench.
“You heard her.” Ibiki muttered, voice gruff. “Five months it is.” He retrieved a seal from his pocket and placed it gently on the bench, tapping it lightly to activate it. A blue barrier shield sprung upwards, its dome shaped shelter now shielding the bench from the rain. “That’s my last one too. He ah, he would’ve wanted you to have this.” Ibiki huffed. “Your ass would have been kicked for being out in the rain like that.”
Easing himself onto the bench next to him, he sighed. “Take it from someone who’s spent his life in T&I,” Ibiki said. “The mind isn’t as fragile as it looks, Kakashi. Memory can be twisted, broken, and buried deep. But the strong will of a person can bring it back, and we all know how stubborn that man is.”
The slightest twitch of Kakashi’s hands in his lap showed that he was listening.
Ibiki continued, voice hardening, as though daring him to argue. “I’ll remind you of this as many times as you need, Hatake. It is possible for him to regain what was taken. All is not lost.”
For the first time since the heartwrenching news, something flickered faintly in Kakashi’s chest. A stubborn ember, refusing to be snuffed out.
Ibiki stood and made to leave. “And I’ll remind you, as often as it takes.”
A hoarse voice, rough from disuse stopped him in his tracks.
“Thank you, Ibiki.”
Ibiki smirked, and carried on.
**
The first time Kakashi saw him in a long while, his heart thudded violently in his chest.
He had visualised that moment a thousand times, but nothing could have prepared him for the familiar sight of his brown ponytail bobbing as he made his way somewhat hesitantly to the Academy, clutching his worn book bag like an anchor.
Every cell in his body screamed for him to take him in his arms. And yet he stayed, staring into the distance, willing his eyes not to follow after him for Iruka’s sake. Iruka’s gaze swept past him, catching Kakashi only in the periphery, and that tore through Kakashi’s chest harder than any blow he had ever felt in battle.
That’s right, Kakashi thought bitterly. I’m just a stranger to him now.
A storm raged inside him, with the relief that Iruka was alive and well, and the recurring heartbreak of being forgotten. His chest ached, his throat tightened, and a part of him threatened to crumble entirely.
Yet, he forced himself to remain still, unmoving. A mask slid back into place, concealing every tremor of emotion, every flicker of recognition. He could not– would not– break in front of Iruka. Not when there was so much at stake. A quiet determination took root. Yes, he would watch over him silently, no matter how long it takes.
One day, Iruka’s eyes finally caught onto his figure on the way to school and lingered a beat too long, studying him faintly, with polite curiosity, before he shook his head, seemingly chastising himself and walked on. Kakashi’s heartbeat thudded loudly in his ears as he swallowed the lump in his throat. Yet, he stayed, frozen on the bench, letting his body hold the secret that his soul could not.
**
The first time Iruka approached him, Kakashi felt like he was in a dream.
For weeks he’d sat on that bench, hunched into himself, half-expecting to vanish into the background the way forgotten things do. People passed him by without a glance, or if they did look, it was quick and pitiful, sometimes even scornful. And he couldn’t blame them. He knew what he looked like: unshaven, clothes worn thin, his hair sticking out in jagged clumped tufts. He smelled terrible, of sweat and exhaustion and too many sleepless nights. He looked every bit like a man who had given up and lost his mind. But it was all worth it just to catch a glimpse of Iruka everyday.
When fat droplets hit his face one afternoon, he closed his eyes and mourned the loss of the last umbrella seal from Iruka that Ibiki had given him.
It wasn’t for long though as a shadow passed in front of him, blocking the light for the briefest second as the raindrops striking his face stilled.
“Didn’t want you getting wet,” Iruka said simply, hands lifting from where he had just pressed a seal into the bench behind him. A faint shimmer spread above his head, and the patter of the rain dulled, the drops sliding harmlessly down an invisible barrier. The man himself settled onto the bench as if it were the most natural thing in the world and opened his bento.
Flabbergasted, Kakashi’s breath caught behind the mask, his eye sliding to Iruka in shock. It shouldn’t have been possible. No, Iruka wasn’t supposed to come close, not when he had no memories of Kakashi, and certainly not when Kakashi’s presence threatened the very state of Iruka’s mind. And yet– here he was. Squinting at a burnt eggroll, his presence as steady and grounding as it had always been.
The moment tugged Kakashi straight back to the first time they had met on this very bench. Years ago, he had been slumped over the very bench in the dead of the evening, scraped up with blood trickling from a particularly nasty kunai wound in his thigh as his vision turned hazy through half lidded eyes. He had barely come back alive from a particularly gruelling Anbu mission, and collapsed before he could make it to the Hokage.
I guess this is it for me, he thought foggily, closing his eyes as the sky started to cry.
Just then, he felt a presence near him and immediately jumped to a defensive position as best as he could lying down.
“Whoa!” Pretty brown eyes blinked down at him in surprise from under an umbrella. “Hey, it’s okay, I’m here to help.”
Kakashi grunted, collapsing back on the bench, recognizing the Chunin vest and the forehead protector as a fellow shinobi.
“Hokage–” He wheezed. “Mission– Report…”
“Slow down there Mister.” The pretty Chunin frowned, jabbing the edge of his wound with a finger. Kakashi yelped and almost passed out from the pain. “We’re dealing with this first. You can give Hokage sama your report from your hospital bed.”
“Urgent–”
“Yeah yeah, that’s what they always say.” The Chunin rolled his eyes. “Anbu are always so dramatic. Hold this for me, will ya?” He forced the umbrella into Kakashi’s hand, humming as he examined Kakashi’s wound.
Kakashi groaned. “Has anyone ah– ever told you you were this, OW, bossy?”
“It’s practically my middle name.” The Chunin licked his lips. “Now, hush. I’m gonna do some first aid now.”
Green chakra flowed into Kakashi as he felt the torn tissue knit back together, enough to temporarily stop his blood loss and reduce some of his aches. He slowly sat up, blood rushing from his head in the sudden movement and nearly toppled over if not for the Chunin supporting his shoulders.
“Okie dokies, let’s get you to the hospital!” He chirped, before they disappeared in a whirl of leaves, poofing into Konoha’s General Hospital a moment later, scaring a poor nurse.
“Excuse me! Could we get some help here?” The Chunin asked, beaming sweetly like he wasn’t supporting a half dead Anbu dragging an umbrella around. Some frightened nodding and scurrying around later, Kakashi found himself deposited onto one of the hospital beds.
“Now, you stay here and be an angel for Nurse san alright?” The Chunin sniffed and patted his chest patronisingly. “I’ll let Sandaime sama know of your plight.”
He narrowed his eyes at Kakashi. “And if you leave the room I’ll have my methods of finding you.”
“You’re annoying.” He squinted.
“Well, you’re stubborn!”
“YOU’RE aggravating.”
“YOU’RE dramatic.”
“You’re cute.”
The Chunin blinked, as surprised as Kakashi felt. Clearly the blood loss had caused him to lose control of his tongue. Nevertheless, he felt pleased seeing a slow flush overtake his features. Twirling a long strand of hair around his finger and scratching his cute facial scar, the Chunin replied. “Well I– I mean… I already knew that. But thanks for the reminder.”
“Now, stay here will ya.” He winked before disappearing with another poof.
Exhausted, Kakashi slumped against the pillows, slowly losing his consciousness to the black spots surrounding his vision. Damn it, he didn’t even manage to get his name.
Back to the present, the memory hit him with a quiet pang. Amnesia or not, Iruka hadn’t changed. That compassion, that kindness and above all that stubbornness that Kakashi loved so much was still there. That’s right, he never had been one to shy away from those in need or avoid trouble.
Registering Iruka’s question, Kakashi finally replied.
“I’m waiting.”
Iruka blinked. “For?”
For you.
He turned back towards the front. “For someone.”
Kakashi lowered his gaze, suddenly overly conscious about how unkempt he must look to Iruka. Surely, he must think him insane. And how he smelt… he wouldn’t be his own first choice to sit next to either. Surreptitiously, he tried to angle his body away from Iruka. Yet, Iruka didn’t budge, close enough that Kakashi could feel the warmth radiating from him despite the rain-chilled air as he ate his bento.
“Well,” Iruka said softly, “I hope they show up soon. You’ll really catch a cold like this.” His tone turned somewhat reproachful at the end. Kakashi’s facial muscles twitched despite himself, the familiar nagging tone igniting his heart with warmth, a soothing ache.
“So do I.”
After a lecture on shelters and self care, Iruka finally stood, brushing crumbs from his lap and gathering his bento.
“Well whoever it is, they really are lucky.” He murmured. “I’ll be heading back now. Take care of yourself, alright?”
Kakashi’s lone eye followed Iruka’s figure as he ran through the rain. Truly...
“The lucky one had always been me.” He whispered, his words swallowed by the rain.
**
That night, Gai and Yamato were startled when Kakashi stirred from his usual slouch on the bench and rasped, “...Could one of you take my shadow clone to the bathhouse?”
The silence that followed was so thick. Yamato blinked, unsure he had heard correctly. Gai, on the other hand, practically jolted upright, eyes widening as if he’d just been challenged to a duel.
“Rival!” He boomed, emotion swelling in his voice. “A bathhouse? Did you– did you just request a bath?” His eyes shone so fiercely that Yamato pressed a hand to his forehead, already bracing for his dramatics.
But Kakashi wasn’t finished. “And… maybe a bento. Please.” He looked down, unable to meet their eyes.
Yamato’s mouth fell open. “You actually want food?” he asked carefully. In the long grueling past few weeks where they had been assigned to check in on Kakashi, every meal had been a battle– if not the IV drip, it was force-fed bites filled with endless coaxing and a stubbornly shut mouth. Kakashi had never once requested sustenance. Until now.
Gai clutched his chest with both hands, trembling like a man overcome by poetry. “Oh, my eternal rival– ! You cannot fathom the joy, the sheer flames of youth this sparks in my heart!” His voice wavered on the edge of tears. “At long last, you are embracing life again!”
Kakashi groaned and scrubbed a hand through his oily hair.
Yamato eyed him curiously. “Senpai, what happened?”
He hesitated, eye darting to the floor as he recounted the day’s events, Gai’s sobs cutting in midway through. “Rival, this is great! You’re part of his life again!”
Kakashi grimaced. “I wouldn’t say that exactly but… I want to look presentable at least.”
“Oh,” Yamato said softly, hiding a knowing smile behind his gloved hand.
“My youthful heart cannot take this!” Gai wailed, actually dabbing at his eyes. “You are grooming yourself! For Iruka! This is a miracle! A wondrous victory for the spirit of love!”
Kakashi scowled.
Yamato only chuckled over Gai’s exclamations. “Bathhouse it is. And I’ll pick up a bento on the way back.” He glanced down at Kakashi, eyes gentler now. “We’re just glad to see you taking care of yourself again.”
Kakashi turned his head, unable to meet his eyes. Truth was, he couldn’t care less about his well-being. What mattered was that tomorrow, Iruka would see him clean, fed, and not entirely hollow. And if it meant easing Iruka’s mind and not repulsing him away, that felt like something worth preparing for.
**
The first time Iruka showed up at the bench with an extra bento, he did so with an apologetic smile and a weak excuse, rubbing at the back of his neck like he was embarrassed.
A bento was pushed into Kakashi’s arms, carrying one of Iruka’s ‘experiments’. Kakashi unboxed it slowly, and for a long moment, he just stared. The neat little compartments, the slightly overcooked white rice, the charred eggplants and small burnt tako wieners.They were simple and imperfect, yet made with so much care. Even before the accident, Iruka had always insisted Kakashi take charge of the kitchen, with him being the better chef, but on occasion, Kakashi would feign exhaustion just so he could eat Iruka’s homemade meals. After all, it had been a long time since anyone cooked a home cooked meal for him with so much care.
A lump rose in his throat, as he struggled to keep his expression neutral.
He watched as the blackened eggplant crumbled from his chopsticks, his heart feeling the lightest in days as a horrified Iruka looked on. He really did love this man. So much.
When the first bite hit his tongue– charred eggplant, oversalted and absolutely burnt to a crisp where it had definitely stayed too long on the pan, his eyes watered partly due to the shock to his taste buds. Yet, it was the best thing he’d eaten in months. Because it was Iruka’s.
“It’s a little burnt but it’s good. Thank you.” He didn’t trust himself to say more.
While listening to Iruka go on about his day, Kakashi chewed slowly, carefully, as though he was living a fragile fantasy. He really wanted to show Iruka his full appreciation of the meal, but his stomach rebelled almost immediately, too long neglected to handle more than a few careful mouthfuls. He felt his gut coil tight, warning him to stop. And it gutted him. How much he wanted to devour every bite, scrape the box clean, taste every flavor and every bit of care until it was gone, but his own body betrayed him.
He had missed this. Missed sharing a meal with him, missed hearing him ramble on about his day, missed the way his hands would fly about as he attempted to paint a picture of his rambunctious genin. Slowly, he relaxed, allowing himself the privilege to soak in this precious moment with the man he loves.
A comfortable silence ensued as Kakashi felt brown eyes running over him. Then a pleased:
“You look better today.”
Kakashi looked down at the half-eaten food in his hands, a whirlpool of emotions threatening to drag him under. Joy. Yearning. Something dangerously close to hope. He swallowed them back, one by one, forcing down the terror of wanting too much. No. No, he would not unravel Iruka’s fragile process of remembering for one moment of happiness.
He set down the bento and faced forward again, drawing his walls up again. Sensing the conversation was over, Iruka sighed, packed up and left.
But the meals didn’t stop. Every time Iruka brought him food after that, he inched closer to that feeling of hope. That quiet warmth of being thought of that he missed. He wished he could tell Iruka what it meant to him. But he bit down on those words, hard, until they dissolved into silence. Only listening, nodding when spoken to, content to let Iruka fill the silence with small stories or casual observations.
It was already more than he could have asked for.
**
The first time he truly allowed himself to hope was when Anko and Ibiki ambushed his bench.
“Hatake!” she barked, breathless. “He remembered. Iruka remembered me.”
The words struck him harder than a kunai. For a moment, he couldn’t move, couldn’t remember how to breathe, only hearing the echo of her words. It unraveled something knotted inside his chest.
Kakashi’s broken gaze slid to Ibiki, whose steady nod confirmed it. It was true then. Iruka’s memories weren’t gone forever. They could return.
Feeling lightheaded, he grasped the handle of the bench to steady himself, grounding himself as his chest filled with something dangerously bright. Hope. The first he had allowed himself in so long.
If Iruka could remember them, then perhaps one day… he might remember him.
**
The days grew colder as autumn settled in, the air sharpening with every passing dusk. Despite curling breaths of white air, Kakashi remained stubborn as ever, refusing to layer on more than his usual attire. Yamato’s and Gai’s exasperation mounted each night as they tried to force a blanket or cloak on him. The offending material eventually found its way to the ground the next morning, brushed off in silent rejection. The unsaid truth was, Kakashi simply didn’t feel like he deserved the warmth.
The nights were the worst. Cold seeped into his bones, and more than once his consciousness slipped away, dragged down by the frost. Each time, he surfaced to Yamato’s anxious voice or Gai’s booming panic, rough hands shaking him awake, a cloak pressed insistently over his shoulders. He bore their concern in silence, letting the garment slip away when they weren’t looking.
With the increasing lengths of darkness each day, Kakashi felt his life force slipping slowly but surely away, as the small pool of hope that had built in his gut slowly siphoned off. Despite his progress with Anko and Ibiki, Iruka showed no signs of remembering Kakashi at all.
Tsunade had dropped by to inform him that his five months were nearly over and Kakashi had barely responded. Sakura had flinched when she saw her former sensei, barely even a shadow of the man he once was.
Kakashi felt each day pass slowly like an enemy’s genjutsu. His movements grew more sluggish and his visits to the bathhouse and meals grew more infrequent. Bitterly, he thought of the irony of his namesake as he sat there, poised like a tawny scarecrow.
Until one night. He abruptly jerked awake from a light doze to find something draped around him. No, it was not the coarse wool cloak Yamato favoured, nor the heavy green blanket that Gai always carried. A soft burgundy scarf, so carefully tucked around his neck, unmistakable in its softness and its scent of sandalwood.
His Iruka’s.
Fingers brushed it lightly before they curled into the fabric disbelievingly, holding it tight against his cheek. Burying his face into the soft material, he wrapped his arms around as much of the material as he could gather in a frantic embrace– the closest he could ever get to holding Iruka in his arms.
He finally let himself go, hot tears sliding free to join the ones already on his cheek as he clutched the scarf like a lifeline.
The gift had cut deeper than any blade. Knowing that this kindness came not from the Iruka who had loved him, but from the Iruka who looked at him with the eyes of a stranger. Someone who offered care out of a place of compassion, and comfort to a broken man.
Kakashi hadn’t known that kindness could wound so sharply.
Yamato and Gai appeared in front of him silently. “Senpai…” Yamato whispered.
“It hurts.” He gasped out in harsh sobs. “It hurts so much.” He bowed forward, pressing the scarf to his heart as his body shook in silent sobs.
Uncharacteristically silent, Gai simply stepped forward and wrapped him in an embrace.
“Let it all out, Kakashi. We’re here for you.”
And through the night, his friends held him like an unwavering pillar of support.
**
Kakashi knelt in the dirt before the bench and pressed his palms flat to the ground. His forehead touched the soil. Despite the gravel that dug into his skin, he did not flinch.
Once, he would have died before bowing like this. Hatake Kakashi, the Copy Ninja, the man who wore a thousand faces of his enemies, never revealing his own weaknesses. Now, he pressed himself into the ground before contractors with calloused hands and rambling words, his pride stripped bare, his mask nothing more than fabric hiding a hollow man.
“For god’s sake, old man, move out of the way!” One of them snarled, his boot catching the side of Kakashi’s head. A flash of pain went through his weakened body, but he did not move. And he would not. Not when this bench was all he had left.
“Orders are orders,” He barked.
Kakashi’s voice tore itself raw, desperate, stripped of dignity. “No. Please. Not this bench… it’s all that I’ve left… it’s the only way he can come home to me!”
The words came out like a confession, a prayer. And they only cursed him for it, calling him filthy, insane, pathetic. And that he was. But he stayed pressed into the ground, unmoving, offering what little he had left of himself, if it meant this place endured.
The bench was more than weathered wood. It was Iruka. It was waiting. It was the knowledge that no amount of time passing could sway Kakashi’s devotion. And selfishly, it was the last fragile tether of hope keeping him alive in this cruel new world without his beloved.
It would ease my mind knowing that at least one small corner of the world still holds a piece of our love, Iruka’s voice whispered in his mind.
“Stop!”
A voice lashed out powerfully. He recognized it instantly, though it had been years since he’d heard that gentle voice burn with such fury. Kakashi lifted his head just enough to see Iruka standing between him and the men, fire in his eyes, his posture tall and unyielding.
For a moment, he thought he was hallucinating. That Iruka, his Iruka, would come to his defense, guarding the bench as though it mattered to him too.
When Iruka slammed a barrier seal onto the bench, the contractors scattering back in surprise, Kakashi could only stare. His throat tightened with a thousand words he couldn’t voice: disbelief, gratitude, and above all, the aching swell of love.
As Iruka helped him back onto their bench and gently swiped the dust off his shoulder, Kakashi thought, Even if he doesn’t remember me… he stood for me. For us. For this bench.
For the first time in a long while, Kakashi dared to believe he wasn’t waiting in vain.
He leaned back against the bench, shoulders trembling faintly from exhaustion as he let out a genuine smile. “Thank you… Iruka.”
**
He didn’t expect his world to crumble with a single sentence.
“One of the teachers– Suzume-sensei– she, uh… asked me out.” Iruka forced a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Caught me a little off guard, honestly. I didn’t know what to say at first.”
Kakashi went numb.
He exhaled shakily, setting his chopsticks down with deliberate care, because his hands weren’t steady enough to keep holding them. His voice betrayed him, carrying a faint tremor.
“And?” he asked. “Are you… happy about that?”
“…Yes.”
**
“If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
**
That evening, he refused dinner.
Yamato appeared first, a steaming container in his hands. Kakashi shook his head before he could speak.
“No.”
“Senpai, you should at least– ”
“Please leave me Tenzou.” His voice was thin and fragile like ice. “Just tonight. Please. If you’ve ever respected me… please let me be alone.”
Yamato pressed his lips thin. Obeying, he stepped away but not before turning back. “For the record, senpai, I’ve never stopped respecting you.” With a firm nod, he left.
Later, Gai arrived, holding a covered bowl. “Kakashi, my eternal rival– ”
“No.” Kakashi didn’t lift his head. “I'm sorry. Please. Go.”
Gai lingered, silence thick between them. At last, he set the bowl down beside the bench and retreated without another word. Kakashi didn’t touch it.
**
The park grew quiet again, shadows stretching long on the dark pavements. Kakashi curled forward on the bench, unmoving. A cold breeze blew by and he shivered violently, but remained still.
Tonight was going to be the first snow of the season. He could feel it in his bones. Rationally, he knew he wouldn’t last the night out here. His clothes were too thin, his body too worn.
Yet, he stayed.
Briefly, he wondered how Iruka’s date was going. Even before the accident, it didn’t take a ninja to know that Suzume sensei had always been interested in him. When they were dating, a small, ugly part of him had always feared that Iruka would see him as a burden, as too damaged and leave him for someone else. He’d always feared people like Suzume sensei, who were kind, warm, gentle and closer to Iruka’s personality than he would ever be.
That fear used to sit quietly in the corners of his mind. Tonight, it had its hands around his throat.
If Iruka chose her, what right did Kakashi have to stop him? None. Above all, he wanted the man he loved to be happy, even if it meant leaving him behind in the snow.
“Ah.”
As he cast his gaze skyward, the first flakes of the season brushed his cheek in a consoling caress. Kakashi's thoughts drifted back to their first kiss.
It had been after an impromptu Ichiraku meal. They were both pleasantly buzzed as they walked through the park together in comfortable silence, bumping shoulders every once and then, each bump filled with playfulness and unspoken attraction.
“Oh look!” Iruka grabbed his forearm, pulling him over. “There’s the bench where I first saved your life!”
Kakashi scoffed. “You so did not. I wasn’t that close to death.”
Iruka snorted, giving his arm a shake. “Please. You looked about ready to keel over. If I hadn’t shown up, you’d still be slumped there like a tragic old man.”
“Old? Who are you calling old?” Kakashi tackled him lightly, dragging him down onto the bench with him. Their laughter spilled into the quiet park, carefree and joyful as Kakashi ended up with a lapful of Iruka.
The sound eventually faded into a lingering quiet warmth, as Iruka smiled brightly and adjusted himself such that their bodies pressed close and he cuddled up to Kakashi’s shoulder for warmth.
“Brrrrrr. Maybe I’ll be the one to die without you, Kakashi.”
Smiling fondly, Kakashi rested his head on Iruka’s as he wrapped an arm around the other man. “And leave me all alone to fend for myself? I'd rather die first.”
They giggled together quietly when suddenly, Iruka perked up.
“Oh! The first snow of the season!”
A single flake drifted lazily from the sky, white and perfect, before landing in Iruka’s dark hair. He tipped his head back with a laugh, cheeks flushed from the cold, his joy spilling out in warm clouds of breath.
Kakashi couldn’t look away. For a moment, the world was only Iruka– the curve of his smile, the sparkle in his eyes, the soft contrast of snow against his dark hair. It struck him with such force that his chest ached: this, this was the most beautiful sight he had ever seen. It left him with such certainty then that this, this was the only love that he could know in this lifetime.
Without realising, he had lifted a gloved hand. With careful reverence, he brushed the snowflake away, fingertips lingering as he tucked a stray strand of hair behind Iruka’s ear.
Iruka stilled, blinking up at him in surprise. Then the tips of his ears burned crimson, his breath catching as colour spread across his already flushed face, the shade of red that had always, unfailingly, pulled him under. Half bashful, half entranced, he gave Kakashi the same look that had undone him a thousand times before.
Their noses brushed in the barest hesitation before Kakashi finally leaned in, closing the space between them. The kiss was unhurried, a firm, trembling press of lips that carried all years of longing, the ache of unspoken emotions. Vaguely, Kakashi registered Iruka’s warm hands sliding into his hair, gripping him in a way that felt oh-so-good and so steady, anchoring him in this moment that felt all at once like a new beginning and a homecoming.
When they finally parted, panting softly, their foreheads rested together as they laughed shyly into the scant space between them.
“I love you.” Kakashi breathed, as natural as air. “Be mine?”
Iruka’s eyes widened, shining with a myriad of emotions before answering with a shy nod.
“I love you too.”
The snow fell heavier, magnifying the silence, except this time, Kakashi was alone. Alone, with only the memories of their time together to keep him warm.
Kakashi hunched over even more, shivering violently as tears crystallised on his eyelids. That’s right, he had a duty to this place. If death came with the snow, then let it find him here. Let him die defending the wood that had borne their memories, that was all that was left of their love. He wasn’t afraid of death. He was more afraid of enduring a lifetime where Iruka smiled for someone else.
Slowly, he felt his consciousness start to waver. His chest ached with a quiet certainty: this was the end.
And then–
“– Kashi!”
Footsteps. Quick, stumbling, rushing toward him.
“Kakashi!”
He knew that voice. He stirred, lifting his head sluggishly, eye immediately widening in shock as Iruka, yes his Iruka, came barrelling forward into his arms.
Iruka clutched him as though they could fuse together, burying his face into Kakashi’s neck. Their smells, wildflowers, steel and sandalwood mingled together in one perfect moment that made Kakashi choke out a sob. His hands moved without thought, stroking thick hair that he thought he could never touch again before wrapping around the other man fully. One hand cradled the back of Iruka’s head and the other pressed to his waist as if letting go was unthinkable.
“Iruka… Iruka,” Kakashi breathed, pressing a trembling kiss into his hair. “My love. I thought–” His voice cracked. “I thought I’d lost you for good.”
Iruka pulled back just enough to meet his eye, and Kakashi drank in the sight of him– blurred tears, flushed cheeks with tears and snow clinging to lashes, every bit as beautiful as the day Kakashi fell in love with him. His heart swelled, slowly finding the strength to live again.
“You didn’t lose me,” Iruka whispered fiercely. “The date was all wrong because it wasn’t you. It could have never been anyone else but you. I’m sorry for keeping you waiting, my love. I'm sorry for forgetting.”
Kakashi’s gloved thumb brushed tenderly along the side of his face, as if trying to etch the very feeling into his soul. “You're here… you're really here.”
Iruka nuzzled his palm and nodded, tears soaking the glove. “And I'm never leaving.”
Kakashi’s breath shuddered with a sob. Forehead pressed to Iruka’s, his chest swelled with a love that had endured through months of longing, uncertainty and heartbreak.
“I love you so much.” He whispered.
“And I love you.”
The slow tug down of his mask, the gentle press of their noses and the warmth of Iruka’s lips against his– everything fused into a kiss that promised forever, marking the end of the long, aching wait for the man who could not be moved.