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Something isn’t right.
It’s a sense that every shinobi develops from a young age, assuming they have any intention of staying alive for long in their line of work. It could be something as simple as an unnatural creak of a branch or as obscure as a mere suspicion of something being out of place. What Kakashi feels upon stepping into the apartment is more of the latter; there’s no one else in sight and no noise aside from his own breathing, but something in him immediately hones in on the fact that he isn’t alone.
With Naruto still away from the village and the Academy in session, he had expected to find Iruka’s apartment empty after arriving home early from a mission. What should have been a day-long endeavor for the jounin took several hours less than expected, bumping his planned evening return up to a midday one. The mission had been relatively painless and required little chakra, but he was still glad for a few extra hours to recover at home.
Until returning to a home that is decidedly not empty.
Kakashi withdraws a kunai in the entryway, slipping his shoes off so he can pad silently over the hardwood floor. His methodical check from room to room isn’t much different from the one he performs every night before he’s able to lay down to sleep, though this one is executed quickly and without the faintest sound. Having the upper hand over an intruder of already being familiar with the apartment’s layout is useful, but having the advantage of surprise will always trump any other.
The kitchen, living room, bathroom, and hall closet are all vacant and undisturbed.
The bedroom door at the end of the hall is only cracked open, an unusual position for Iruka to leave it in before departing for the day. Kakashi steels himself, silently pushing into the room with his kunai gripped tight—
Only to be met with another room that is empty, save for one softly breathing lump in the bed.
Kakashi lowers his kunai with a frown, stepping cautiously around the bed until he’s met with a dozing teacher’s face poking out of the sheets, his hair down and messy as though he’d never brushed it that morning, let alone tied it up. Having departed for his mission the prior evening, Kakashi can’t be certain whether the chuunin’s left his bed at all.
The thought is immediately troubling. He’d once joked that the world could be ending and Iruka would still go to work— which was hardly exaggerative enough to be a joke at all.
Kakashi pockets his kunai and kneels at the edge of the bed, running his fingers through messy, soft hair. “Iruka?”
Iruka’s nose wrinkles before brown eyes slowly open, heavy-lidded and disoriented. A flicker of surprise clears the haze of sleep, but the moment he begins to pick his head up off the pillow, he flinches and sinks again with a half-muffled moan.
Ah.
Kakashi glances towards the bedside table, confirming the bottle of pills he’d suspected to be around. It’s still nearly full; Iruka’s only ever used the pain medication twice before, and only when his back was hurting badly enough to turn him from stubborn to desperate.
“What time is it?” Iruka croaks, managing to crack his eyes back open with effort.
“A little past noon,” Kakashi answers. “I wrapped up early. Just got back.”
Realization widens the teacher’s gaze. “Ah— shit— I was going to make you dinner to welcome you home…”
“I don’t think you’ll be doing much of anything for a little while, sensei,” Kakashi murmurs, tucking some of his hair behind his ear.
The teacher’s responding I’m sorry is nearly unintelligible with the words caught against the pillow, but given Iruka’s personality, it isn’t difficult to decipher the sentiment.
“You have nothing to apologize for.” He pauses, studying the slight pinch in Iruka’s features; how his tan skin is a shade more pallid than usual. “Have you eaten?”
“M-mnh,” Iruka denies. “Meds made me feel sick. And sleepy.”
Kakashi frowns. “Did they help at all?”
“A little.” He lets out a sigh through his nose, a touch of crabbiness adding to his slight grimace. “Thought I could still make it to work if I took them. Stupid.”
Frankly, Kakashi is surprised that he isn’t actively dragging Iruka home on a day like this. It’s difficult to force him to leave work early when he’s feeling unwell, let alone get him to skip an entire day. If his back is bothering him enough to keep him from leaving home altogether, the thought of what Iruka would have done if his partner hadn’t returned early is an uneasy one.
“I think there’s still leftover miso in the fridge,” the jounin offers, forcing himself back out of his head. “I’ll bring you some.”
He starts to rise, but Iruka catches him by the wrist, only slightly hiding a wince at the movement. “You just got back from a mission. You don’t need to fuss over me.”
“I don’t need to,” Kakashi tilts his head. “Just like you don’t need to make me dinner when I come home from missions. Why do you do that, then?”
Iruka makes an expression that looks like a vague attempt at a grumpy pout, but it’s not particularly effective with pain still pinching his features. The jounin sighs and places a kiss on the man’s temple before padding back out of the room.
There’s just enough soup left for two servings, but he puts off his own lunch for the time being. As he waits for the soup to reheat, he sheds the rest of his gear aside from a couple of spare kunai. Then, arming himself with miso and a glass of water, both of which Kakashi is determined to make sure his partner finishes, he returns to the bedroom.
“Need help sitting up?”
He can already see the no forming on Iruka’s lips, but a sharp curse in the middle of trying to push himself upright interrupts the denial before it can be given. Kakashi quickly sets his offerings on the bedside table to help him up the rest of the way, then keeps one arm around him while he rearranges the pillows as cushions against the wall at the head of the bed. Iruka’s as stiff as a board in his grasp, struggling to hold himself still until he’s guided back into the pillows.
“That okay? I can grab another pillow if you need—”
Iruka reaches out to put his hand over Kakashi’s, silently patting him with closed eyes and a tight grimace. Once he finally releases a breath and opens his eyes, he answers, “This is fine. But thank you.”
On his worst days, the chuunin generally exists in one of two states: either sitting reclined against cushions, or laying down on his stomach with a pillow under his hips. Anything else inevitably engages the muscles in his back or places too much pressure on sensitive points— something he can grimace through if the pain is milder, but on a day like this, can hardly breathe during.
“I already know what you’re thinking,” Iruka says as Kakashi leans over for the bowl of soup, “and I appreciate your help, but you’re not feeding me. I’d like to keep at least one shred of my dignity today.”
“It isn’t a bad thing to need help,” the jounin points out, though he hands him the requested bowl without any further argument. He has to resist the urge to stare at the slow and stiff movement of Iruka’s arms, well aware of how quickly his boyfriend can go from a mildly crabby patient to a downright grumpy one— and making him feel scrutinized is one of the fastest routes to get him there.
Kakashi understands, far from a fan of being hovered over either, though becoming closer with Iruka over the years has made him uncomfortably aware of what it feels like to be on the other end of someone resisting care.
He forces himself to stand, taking the opportunity to change out of his uniform and into civilian clothes as an excuse to stay close to Iruka without making him feel suffocated. His own hair isn’t particularly neat either after a morning out in near-constant wind, which he tries to at least somewhat smooth over with his fingers in the small mirror on top of Iruka’s dresser.
“How was the mission?”
“Mm?” Kakashi hums absently, continuing to fidget with his hair before turning to glance over his shoulder. “Smoother than expected.”
“And your mission report?”
There’s a knowing look in Iruka’s eyes. Kakashi flashes a sheepish smile.
“Well, you see, I lost my first draft, and then the ninken ate my second, at which point it seemed that the universe itself was discouraging me from finishing a report.”
“The universe itself.”
“It works in mysterious ways. I don’t claim to understand it.”
Though brown eyes are exasperated, there’s a tiny smile tugging at the corners of the teacher’s lips. “You’re lucky I’m not working the mission desk tonight.”
“I am lucky,” the jounin readily agrees, padding back over to the bed to place a kiss on his cheek, “because now I get you all to myself.”
Iruka huffs a sigh as the empty bowl is taken from him and set back onto the bedside table. “I don’t think getting an invalid all to yourself is something to be excited for.”
If his partner’s back wasn’t killing him, Kakashi would grab him by the shoulders and shake him right about now. Even if he could, he knows there’s next to nothing that will get Iruka to stop thinking of himself that way. As big as the chuunin can puff himself up with his short temper, it had been surprising to see for the first time just how small he tries to make himself when he’s behind closed doors with a partner.
If Kakashi allows himself to think about that for too long, he only succeeds in flaring an old anger he’ll never be able to do anything with, unless he feels like breaking into a prison.
Which is tempting, sometimes.
He settles instead for peppering him with more kisses and murmuring a gentle, stern, “Shut up.”
Iruka does shut up, but not without another grumpy pout.
“Do you want to lay back down?”
The teacher hums, glancing towards the doorway. “I don’t know. I’ve been in here all day…,” he begins, then pauses, seeming somewhat self-conscious. It takes several seconds for him to complete, “Could you help me to the couch?”
Kakashi knows what he means is can you support me while I painfully wobble my way into the living room and try not to show that I feel like I’m being stabbed. Again. But what Kakashi does— albeit carefully and with a warning— is pluck him out of the bed and carry him there.
It’s a hell of a lot faster, and has the bonus of immediately sending the chuunin’s face to a spectacular shade of red.
“I think you do this sometimes just to show off,” Iruka mutters in his grasp.
“Well, you do enjoy watching me show off.”
The teacher coughs something that sounds suspiciously like maybe a little.
Kakashi laughs, the resulting rumble in his chest only seeming to make Iruka’s blush deepen.
After getting him settled on his stomach, the jounin takes up a spot on the floor in front of him, just tall enough to poke his legs under the kotatsu while he leans back against the couch. He assumes Iruka to be asleep, but a page into his new Icha Icha novel, Kakashi feels a hand enter his hair, playing lazily with the silver strands as Iruka’s breathing steadily slows.
It’s undoing the hard work Kakashi put into correcting the wind-induced mess, but he can’t really complain. After a night in the field without much sleep, the gentle touch is admittedly soothing, threatening to make him fall into a nap right alongside his partner’s approaching one.
At least now, he has a viable excuse to give to a strict chuunin in regards to an unfinished mission report.
After a few minutes, he gives up on trying to continue pushing through the first chapter, shutting the book in favor of leaning further into Iruka’s touch with a sigh. The lazy hand in his hair slows, and he thinks Iruka’s finally asleep before a soft murmur comes, half-muffled against the couch:
“Love you.”
He still isn’t used to hearing those words. For a battle-hardened jounin, Kakashi probably melts far too easily at them. Probably shouldn’t be here to begin with, getting far too comfortable in an apartment he’ll inevitably have to leave again with no certainty that he’ll make it back home.
He pushes off pondering that too deeply for the moment, settling instead for an equally foreign, but wholly sincere, “Love you, too.”
In his peripheral, he catches a small smile twitch at Iruka’s lips before he nods off.