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With aching heart and aching body; throbbing with pain that wasn’t really his, he made his way home. Trees blurring into a green background and only the wind past his ears making a sound. His sandals were uncomfortably cold and wet, barely making a footstep in the muddy path. He slipped and fortunately caught himself just in time. A stuttered breath followed by relief. The gates. The gates almost unnoticeable against the stark blackness of night.
A sigh.
The wood beneath his feet creaked gently, welcoming Kakashi’s weight. Both the visible and invisible weight of his being, of being Kakashi Hatake the Copy Nin. The Friend Killer.
But here, he wasn’t just an infamous heartless shinobi. Here he was just Kakashi. Here he was home and the wards welcomed him as such. Shifting and buzzing with familiar chakra that reminded him of Iruka. The quick shower loosened his muscles and his body let go of the tension. Finally he smelled clean and no longer of blood and disgrace. Finally, he’s home.
“’Kashi?” a gentle mumble from the bedroom and Kakashi smiled despite his slowly crumbling mental state. He entered the bedroom and swiftly changed in some loose cottons.
“Hmm, I missed you, sensei,” Kakashi muttered, pressing soft kisses on the back of Iruka’s neck. This was good, this was familiar; routine. Kakashi could handle routine. He was good at pretending he was alright. The teacher in his arms however, seemed to always see through him and his antics. Slowly he shifted and embraced the other in a tight hug. So tight, Kakashi felt his throat burn. His eyes burned. He could almost smell the smoke, see the fire. And the child, in the middle of the house burning down. The child he couldn’t save. His parents screaming, yelling. Suddenly, there’s so much anguish and Kakashi rips himself away from the warmth of Iruka’s being. Brown eyes look up in concern and morph into understanding. Scarred hands move up to pull down Kakashi’s mask.
Iruka strips him bare, both physical and mentally. Kakashi’s walls are down and Iruka’s free to read him like an open book.
“Oh, baby. C’mere,” Iruka muttered, sleep still lacing his words but he’s Iruka and the teacher only knows how to give and give and give. Kakashi only registers the tears on his cheeks when Iruka moves forward to kiss them away. He doesn’t deserve him, Kakashi thinks. How can someone so gentle, so passionate about every small thing he does, so loving and caring. How can someone like Iruka, be with someone like himself.
“I can hear you thinking, stop.” Iruka’s voice is firm and leaves no room for arguments, so Kakashi only leans forward and lets himself be engulfed by Iruka’s warmth. He lets himself be healed, be freed of the voices in his head that keep screaming and pushing and pulling.
At last, it feels like he can breathe and he thinks, I’m so in love with you.
He realizes he’d said it out loud when he hears Iruka chuckle beneath him. “I love you too, you know,” Iruka tells him and seals the promise with a kiss to his forehead. And it makes him feel so small, so vulnerable in this man’s arms that he almost falls apart, but he is Kakashi Hatake and Hatakes don’t just fall apart. They all need someone like Iruka to keep them sane. To keep them grounded.
“You’re like my anchor,” Kakashi hears himself mumble against the tan skin of Iruka’s chest as he traces the scars that mar his skin.
“What was that, love?” Iruka murmurs sleepily, hands still gently combing through his silver hair.
“You keep me in one place, I always have you to get back to or I’d be lost.”
His words float quietly in the bedroom and he thinks; panicked for a second, did I say something wrong? His frown is eased away by Iruka’s fingers as he massages his forehead, pushing away the worried lines.
“I know,” he mutters softly, “And I wouldn’t know what to do without you either.”
It’s moments like these that Kakashi thinks the world is unfair, it has always been that way. He feels so at peace, so tranquil and soft, he thinks; how is he able to wake up tomorrow, knowing he has a mission and take someone’s live again. How is it possible? With these hands that have taken and taken and taken, to be holding Iruka’s hands that are nothing but soft and gentle. How are these hands that caress him lovingly, the same as the ones covered in blood?
“I can hear you thinking again,” Iruka sounded tired but still worried enough to express this to him. Kakashi felt guilty and ashamed, knowing that he’d cause Iruka such concern. He was a selfish man, after all.
“Sorry,” Kakashi replied, soft and fast and definitely an easy indicator about where his thoughts were going.
“Baby, look at me.” Iruka’s voice was gentle but firm and Kakashi had to meet his gaze. Of course, he saw the worry in Iruka’s eyes, but mostly, there was an overwhelming love.
“Don’t be sorry, okay? We’ll talk about this in the morning, but for now go to sleep, please?” Iruka told him and if they hadn’t already declared their love for each other, Kakashi would find it hard to believe this man was in love with him. Kakashi knew then, no matter what happened, he would always love Iruka. The thought made him break the eye-contact, fearing his face would be too easy to read for the teacher.
“Come on, baby.” Iruka nudged Kakashi into an embrace and it felt like coming home all over again. Coming home to a place of love and comfort and understanding. Kakashi knew sleep wouldn’t come easy and the break of day would be another nightmare, but with Iruka by his side he could do it. He knew he’d be there with every step of the way.