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Kakashi rises before dawn, before Iruka, just as he does every other morning. And just like every other morning, he shuffles out of bed as quietly as he can, so as not to wake the sleeping man next to him. After all, one of them is recovering from a day-old mission; the other, having to prepare to teach twenty aspiring genin in three hours time. Iruka's left to snooze, loose hair framing his face in a silky, disarrayed halo. His face, devoid of the stress brought on by his overbooked schedule, is smoothed over by the tranquility offered only by rest. Rest he hardly ever allows himself to take. Rest Kakshi insists on each eve he comes strolling back into the apartment post-mission.
Kakashi ruminates on the dark humor edging its way into the romantic dynamic he and Iruka share: the soldier quietly begging the caretaker to simply care for himself.
His bare feet pad silently down the hallway, tiny grains of dust sticking to the skin of his heels and toes. He makes a quick mental note to sweep before Iruka crawls out of bed, determined to remove all obstacles from the path leading Iruka toward a day of rest. The tea is being made, with breakfast to follow. The dishes have been washed, dried, and put away. The trash emptied. The bathroom cleaned. The laundry folded. All is well in the Umino apartment; all is settled. All that's left to follow is the resident himself.
Kakashi grabs the empty tea kettle from the stovetop, fills it with tap, then returns it to its place atop an active burner. As the water boils, he rifles through the pantry for Iruka's favorite green tea, fills a metal strainer with the overpriced loose leaves, and plops it into one of Iruka’s many “Best Teacher” mugs. The water takes its time to finish heating, and Kakashi uses this time to sweep. When he hears the tell-tale sign of a whispering kettle hinging on the cusp of a whistle, he puts the broom and dustpan away and hurries to the kitchen to shut off the burner.
Once the water has been poured over the tea strainer, the green tea leaves suffusing evenly throughout the liquid, he walks silently back to the warm, still-darkened bedroom. The bamboo door slides open and Iruka stirs. Kakashi watches one lone foot peek out from beneath the sheets, no doubt looking for his own. It's one of Iruka’s endearing, subconscious habits; even in sleep, he keeps physical tabs on Kakashi's presence.
Kakashi moves swiftly, setting the tea mug on Iruka's bedside table before moving back to his side of the bed. He crawls beneath the sheets, touching his toes to Iruka’s just in time to watch his bed partner’s frustrated expression smooth over. Iruka's brows relax, the lines between them disappearing with his frustration. His lips, twisted up in a small scowl, part now to let out a soft sigh. The sigh turns into a breathy groan when Kakashi's foot slides up from the heel of his foot to the strong muscle of his calf. His nose, losing the childlike appearance it takes on when turned up in anger, takes in even breaths. Kakashi scoots closer, and listens to Iruka follow the trail of his nose leading him toward the aroma wafting across their bedsheets from the bedside table. Kakashi knows this path will lead his partner to wakefulness.
Basking in the solitude Iruka's sleeping form offers, Kakashi uses his last few minutes of privacy to study him. Fingers, not worried much about waking their captor now, walk themselves across the broad expanse of Iruka's chest, down the bony canyon of his sternum, only to rest directly above his naval. Here, Kakashi can feel Iruka's body working in real-time; he can feel that heartbeat “pat-patpat” as it stirs into wakefulness.
With an uninhibited gaze, both eyes trained on the wiggle of Iruka's scar and the flutter of his lashes, he watches Iruka wake up. The abdominals beneath his hand clench, only to relax a moment later when warm, dark eyes open, revealing the honey-soaked trust that can be found only in his partner's gaze. Those irises, blown wide by blackened pupils seeking Kakashi out in the dark. Kakashi can see the moment they finally adjust to the dark and match his gaze. The wrinkles that encase them breathe fire on the hearth built inside Kakashi's chest, the accompanying smile Iruka wears is a lifeline. Kakashi tugs that string, the one knotted around the soft cavities of his heart with the lead wrapped around Iruka's finger. Kakashi beckons with a silent plea and Iruka answers his prayer, scooting in closer so that the tips of their noses graze.
“Good morning,” comes the raspy huff of Iruka's sleep-parched voice. Kakashi hums, wrapping both arms around his partner's strong, but utterly pliant, body. He pulls him in close, tucking that beautiful halo of hair beneath his chin. He savors the few minutes he has left to run his fingers through its silky strands before Iruka confines it to his signature ponytail.
Following the path laid out in sleep, Iruka turns his head, his sensitive nose catching a whiff of the green tea steeping at his bedside. He hums, and Kakashi feels the echo of that contentment reverberate throughout his chest. His very bones sing for the man lying in his arms, their frequencies resonating with each and every one of Iruka's honeys and please and Kakashi.
“Kakashi.”
There it is. A whisper of thanks woven into the very fabric of Kakashi's name. One stitch: the moment he reached for Iruka all the years ago. The second: the first time they shared a smile over a warm meal. The third, the fourth, the fifth, all threaded by the precise, sturdy fingers of one Iruka Umino, until “Kakashi” no longer meant “Kakashi.” It meant “my love.” It meant “thank you.” It meant “home.” Iruka had made him a home.
Iruka had made him a home.
Carved out a place for himself in that cold, restless heart of the Hound, and made peace with his new surroundings. Kakashi does his best to at least keep the fire warm.
He doesn't reply to any of Iruka's voiced hellos. Instead, he reaches over and grabs the cup off the nightstand, bringing it back to Iruka's ready hands.
The smile awaiting him breaks with dawn, filling their room with fractals of sunlight. Dust motes dance in and out of the rays, following the turbulent path of Kakashi's love.
“Good morning,” Kakashi finally whispers to the kindled star he's managed to capture for himself. He pulls that light in by its frayed edges and hugs him close to his chest. Iruka his own body sings. It is not the first time he's reminded of the blessings brought into this life. Kakashi knows he's undeserving, but he's never been one to question miracles.
He pulls the miracle in closer and kisses the scar tracing the bridge of his nose.