Chapter Text
Beep. Beep. Beep beep beep–
Iruka shifted, squinting blearily as a harsh stream of light hit his eyes, forcing them half-shut. He felt like there were knives stabbing through his skull, and his body screamed in protest at even the smallest movement.
With effort, he pushed himself upright, his breath hitching as a sore ache rippled through every muscle. His throat was dry, lips cracked, and he looked around, trying to get his bearings.
A faint tug at his arm made him pause and look down, blinking in confusion at several thin wires taped against his skin, each one hooked up to a machine at his bedside. It was also the source of the incessant beeping that was echoing through what looked to be a hospital room.
In an instant, the door flew open.
A young woman with pink hair rushed in. “Iruka sensei!” She gasped. “Tsunade sama! He’s awake!” Her hands flew as she checked the wires and got rid of the beeping that was starting to create a major headache for Iruka. Supporting him, she propped a pillow behind him for him to sit up.
“W…ater please.” He croaked, voice hoarse from disuse.
“Yes, of course!” She brought over a cup of ice chips, slipping one between his lips. “I’m so glad you’re okay Iruka sensei.” She whispered, tears filling her green eyes. “We were all so worried!”
Swallowing the dissolved ice chip with some difficulty, he leaned his head weakly against the pillow, confusion settling in. “Not to sound rude, Miss, but… do I know you?”
The room fell into dead silence as shocked green eyes stared at him and he shifted uncomfortably under her fixed gaze.
“Um…”
Just then a blonde middle aged woman with two pigtails strode into the room. She had a diamond mark on her forehead and a stern countenance, with green robes smelling faintly of sake. A woman in a dark yukata holding a… pig(?) trailed in after her. “Iruka! Good to see that you’re up. Report!”
Iruka blinked up at her, startled by the sheer authority in her tone.
“Uh… report what exactly?” he repeated, voice cracking with uncertainty. “Where am I? Am I missing something?”
The woman’s sharp gaze narrowed, flicking briefly to the pink haired girl who was still in a stupor. “You… don’t remember?” she asked slowly, each word measured.
Iruka shook his head, throat dry. “No Ma’am.”
The crease between her brows deepened as she pulled a chair over. “This is a mess. Call Ibiki and Inoichi over. NOW!”
“Yes, Tsunade sama!” The woman with the pig spun around and hurried off.
The blonde woman groaned. “What do you remember?”
“I… I am Umino Iruka. I…” He looked down at his green vest. “I…” He clutched his head and hunched over as a few images surfaced in his mind. “I’m a teacher at the Academy of the Leaf Village. I… I…” He let out a wail when another sharp pain shot through his head as he tried to recall.
“Iruka sensei!” The pink haired girl let out a gasp as she went to support him.
“I… I don’t know where I am. Or who– ” His voice faltered. “Or who any of you are.”
A silence stretched thin and heavy. The younger medic bit her lip, shifting as though she wanted to say something, but the blonde raised a hand to signal silence.
“I’m Tsunade,” the woman said finally. “The Hokage, or the leader of the Leaf Village.”
Iruka frowned and tilted his head. It was evident that the lady in front of him was important, but the name didn’t ring any bells.
“And this is Sakura,” She waved her hand at the pink haired medic. “She was one of your students.”
She smiled weakly, causing a stab of guilt to go through him.
Tsunade continued on. “You were on a mission to collect a scroll when your team was suddenly ambushed by a band of rogue ninja. You hit your head in the process, passed out and your teammates carried you back. The mission was complete but you’ve been unconscious for a few hours. We’re going to run some tests on you now, but it seems that you have a rather unique case of amnesia.”
Iruka could only respond with a slow nod, taking all of this new information in.
Two men in black materialised behind her in a swirl of leaves. They loomed over his bedside, one broad-shouldered and scarred, while the other sported a long blonde ponytail.
“Ibiki! Inoichi!”
“Yes, Hokage sama!”
“It appears we’re facing a case of amnesia. Run some tests now to make sure there’s no trace of enemy interference.”
The man with the long blonde ponytail approached him and smiled. “Hi, I’m Inoichi, head of Torture and Interrogation. And this is Ibiki.” The scarred man grunted.
“Huh?!” Iruka jumped. “T-torture? But I did nothing wrong!”
Inoichi laughed. “No, it’s not that. I’m going to have to poke around your mind for a bit to see what’s going on there.”
“So like… mind reading?”
Inoichi inclined his head. “To put it simply, yes.”
Ibiki’s scarred face tilted, his gaze sharp as kunai. “If you’re hiding something, I’ll know.”
The accusatory words stung, and Iruka flushed angrily. “I’m not hiding anything. I really can’t remember jackshit right now! If this helps prove it, then… do whatever you need.”
Inoichi gave a slow nod. “Alright… this may feel strange so bear with it.” His palms pressed gently against Iruka’s temples, fingers splayed with clinical precision.
The world dissolved.
White swallowed everything– sound, light, sensation– until Iruka floated in a vast, colorless expanse. Then came the intrusion: a slick, alien presence, cool and formless, sliding through the folds of his mind like liquid glass. It wasn’t painful, but it was deeply unsettling, like something half-alive writhing where no one should ever touch.
Seconds stretched into what felt like hours. Iruka’s breath echoed unnaturally loud in the emptiness, his pulse skittering as he clenched his fists against the bedsheets in the real world.
And then just as suddenly, the presence was sucked out. The view of the infirmary slammed back into him, leaving Iruka dizzy and clammy, as though someone had rifled through the pages of his history only to slam it shut again.
He gasped, panting as sweat dripped down his temples.
“That was weird as hell!”
Ibiki scoffed quietly. “He sure hasn’t forgotten his potty mouth.”
Inoichi offered Iruka a small, reassuring smile before turning back to Tsunade. His voice, however, carried a solemn weight.
“Hokage sama, I can confirm it’s amnesia brought on by the concussion. There are no signs of foul play. But… it’s peculiar. His memories aren’t gone, they’re sealed away somewhere beyond his reach. He retains knowledge of concepts, roles, and his own identity, but none of the connections that tether him to others. For instance– he understands what a Hokage is, but he cannot recall who the Hokage is.”
Tsunade’s expression hardened. “Will he be able to recover his memories?”
Inoichi winced. “It’s complicated. He could recover them months from now… or maybe never.”
Sakura gasped, her eyes filling with tears.
Inoichi continued. “His mind is extremely fragile right now. Forcing him to remember anyone or pushing him too hard could shatter the balance that’s keeping him stable. There is no guarantee he’ll recover all his memories, and if they all return in a flood, the overload may very well break him. In the worst case… he could lose all his memories. Or fall into madness.”
The room fell into a tense silence. Iruka’s fists clenched at his sides, nails biting into his palms as he gritted his teeth.
“Is there even anything I can do?” He laughed bitterly.
“Well… we could schedule a couple of therapy sessions to build stability and resilience for your mind. Mental exercises, grounding techniques– things that give the mind structure. But the real healing…” Inoichi paused, searching for the words. “…the real healing has to happen naturally. Your memories need to come back in their own time, and in fragments small enough for your mind to process without breaking.”
Tsunade crossed her arms. “So you’re saying there’s no way to stimulate his memory without risking catastrophic damage?”
Inoichi inclined his head solemnly. “Exactly. Right now, his mind is like a cracked vase. Pour too much water all at once, and it shatters. But let the cracks mend on their own, slowly, and it might just hold again, bit by bit.”
Iruka didn’t like what he was hearing. His lips pressed into a thin line. “So I’m just supposed to live half a life? Pretend like there aren’t pieces missing?”
“Not pretend,” Inoichi said gently. “Live. The more you keep moving forward, the more you give your mind the opportunity to stitch itself back together. The memories will return when your mind is ready.”
He turned toward Tsunade. “Another thing. You’ll need to make it clear to everyone in his life– colleagues, friends… lovers, that they mustn’t approach him as if nothing has changed. Any attempt to reestablish those old connections before his mind is ready could trigger a collapse.”
Iruka felt his heart clench as Sakura let out a horrified gasp next to him. “But… Tsunade sama!”
Tsunade gritted her teeth and looked away, giving just the barest of nods, her jaw clenched.
“Umino Iruka, this is an order from your Hokage. For now, focus on reacquainting yourself with your knowledge, skillsets and habits. Start rebuilding your life. When I deem you fit for service again, you may go back to your post at the Academy. But Iruka…” She leveled her honey eyes at him, sharp as kunai. “You’re not to force any memories. Understood?”
Iruka felt a lump rise in his throat, but he managed a stiff nod. He wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, to demand answers, but the look in their eyes told him that he won’t be getting any.
“I do have one request,” He started. “Could you please help me leave a note to the people closest to me?”
**
“I’m leaving!” Iruka called. The empty hallway echoed back at him.
He adjusted the strap of his satchel as he stepped out of his small apartment, the crisp morning air filling his lungs. He fixed a smile onto his face as he set out on his path to the Academy. It was a strange feeling, the path he had walked countless times now seemed foreign, each step tingling with unfamiliarity. Yet, he was grateful that this was one peaceful routine that he managed to get back in his life, filling it with some semblance of normality at least.
2 weeks after he was first admitted, Tsunade finally announced him fit for duty. He had gone through a couple of mind therapy sessions with Inoichi since then, and they had managed to discover a way to tap into the emotions tied to his memories, granting him partial success in reacting to objects or people that had once felt familiar.
For instance, he had squinted at Ibiki who was present at the scene.
“I don’t know why but something about you…”
Ibiki squinted back.
“...annoys me.”
Ibiki had barked out a laugh and slapped him across the back, causing him to choke. They had just laughed and left it at that, both knowing that Iruka wasn’t quite there yet. But the incident had caused Iruka to feel a spark of warmth and guilt, knowing that friends from the life he didn’t remember were close by and watching over him in their own ways, even if it was difficult for them.
Bit by bit, he regained the rhythm of his routine. On his first day back at the Academy, it was extremely overwhelming as he didn’t recognize any of his students, but he methodically worked to recall their names, and before long, had begun to settle into the flow of the classroom. Fortunately, his lesson plans had remained intact in his head, unscathed by the concussion, offering him a small relief. With that anchor, he quickly regained his confidence and slipped back into his role as an educator.
Not having friends to lean on was undeniably an isolating experience. Weekends stretched out into empty hours, leaving Iruka slumped on his couch, staring at the ceiling and wondering if his old life had really been this boring. The thought made him snort and shake his head. Well if it was, I’ve got to do better this time.
So he picked up a few cookbooks and threw himself into the kitchen. The results were almost always disastrous– burnt beyond recognition, collapsed in the middle, or laughably inedible. But at least it gave him something to do, and well, the effort was fun in its own chaotic way.
On other days, he wandered to T&I. His scheduled mind therapy with Inoichi was one thing, but it was also exciting for him to pester Ibiki. Suspecting the gruff man had probably been close friends with him before the accident, Iruka decided to make it his personal mission to replace that surly exterior with shock or surprise. His strategy? Pranks sprung at the most unexpected moments just so he could watch the unflappable interrogator twitch. It became a game, a way to shake off the loneliness, and though Ibiki grumbled or roared every time, Iruka liked to think he enjoyed it too. Whoever he was in his previous life, he sure had a knack for pranks.
As Iruka passed through the small park next to the Academy, his eyes drifted across a figure slumped on a wooden bench, like a faded mark of grey against the lush landscape. It wasn’t the first time he had passed the man, but today, curiosity ate at him as he caught a closer glimpse. Clumped grey hair stuck up at odd angles, a mask obscured his face and an eyepatch covered one eye. Smaller grey hairs poked through the mask, and he was clad in worn black clothes, a simple long sleeved tee and slacks– a clear sign that the man had not shaved or indulged in proper grooming for a while. His cheeks were sunken in and he sat hunched over like he had the weight of the world on him.
He didn’t appear that much older than Iruka, yet his eye told a different story. His gaze was fixed distantly ahead, unfocused and unmoving. Yet Iruka couldn’t shake the odd prickle at the back of his neck, the feeling of being watched by unmoving eyes. When he had passed the man for the first time, he had chalked up his worn expression to him having an unusually bad day. But seeing the man day after day, unmoving in the same place with the same hollow stillness, Iruka grew curious.
Iruka shook his head, tugged at the strap of his satchel, and forced himself to look forward. The Academy awaited, lessons needed to be prepared, and life had to go on. Yet even as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the image of the grey figure on the bench.
**
The sky had darkened sometime during Iruka’s morning classes, and by the time the lunch bell rang, fat droplets were already beginning to streak the academy windows. The steady patter of rain filled the otherwise quiet room as the students hurried off, leaving behind the mingled smells of rain, chalk and ink.
Iruka leaned against the window frame, a bento in hand. He let his eyes wander beyond the Academy yard, across the path that led into the small public park. There, just visible through the drops of rain, was a familiar smudge of grey. Though slightly blurred through the curtain of falling water, the outline was unmistakably the grey man.
And there he still sat, hair drooping from the force of the rain.
Iruka hesitated, then pushed away from the window with a determined exhale. He couldn’t just sit here eating lunch in comfort while the man drowned in the rain. He didn’t want to be like the passers-by who just threw the man strange glances without extending a helping hand.
By the time Iruka reached the park, the drizzle had turned into a steady downpour. Water pooled on the stone path, and he had to step carefully, using a bit of chakra to avoid slipping. As he drew near the bench, he noted the figure hadn’t moved an inch. The man sat perfectly still, as if carved from marble, though his thin shoulders trembled faintly under the rain’s chill.
Bento in one hand, Iruka slipped a waterproofing seal from his pouch and pressed it against the bench’s backrest. Chakra lines flared briefly as a faint shimmer expanded overhead, repelling the rainfall in a dome just large enough to cover the two of them. The bench itself bore a torn, faded set of seals beneath the fresh one– something he registered briefly but chose not to linger on.
“Didn’t want you getting wet,” Iruka said, settling down beside him. He set his bento on his lap, nonchalantly brushing stray droplets from his sleeve. The silence stretched for a beat, broken only by the soft hiss of rain against the invisible barrier.
The man said nothing, but his single visible eye shifted its attention onto him.
“What are you doing out here in this weather?” Iruka asked, keeping his tone casual. He unwrapped his bento box, sniffing as he eyed a burnt piece of home made egg roll he’d just picked up with his chopsticks.
The grey haired man stared at him for a long while. When he finally answered, Iruka was surprised to hear a deep smooth baritone, though it carried the roughness of someone who hadn’t used it in far too long.
“I’m waiting.”
Iruka blinked. “For?”
The man turned his eye back towards the front. “For someone.”
That was it. No explanation, no clarification.
Iruka chewed thoughtfully. There was a sharpness in the man’s stillness, like a blade hidden under dust. Yet there was also something broken there, hollowed out in a way Iruka recognized from the faces of veterans who had seen too much war.
He decided not to push. People who sat in the rain like this, people who stared at the world unseeingly– they weren’t always reachable. Even if what they waited for was something long gone, hope and routine was what kept them alive. And really, who was Iruka to question that? He felt a twinge of empathy towards this man.
“Well,” Iruka said softly, “I hope they show up soon. You’ll really catch a cold like this.”
The faintest curl of… something tugged at the man’s visible eye. Iruka could have sworn it was a half smile.
“So do I.”
They spent the rest of the meal in silence, with Iruka grimacing as he somehow managed to finish his less than satisfactory lunch. He peeked at the man. Up close, the man looked even more worn than he had from afar, almost like he could be blown away by the wind. A faint smell also lingered about him, evidence that he had neglected personal care in a while. It certainly wasn’t the most pleasant, but Iruka caught a whiff of a deeper scent buried under there, something akin to wildflowers.
Iruka had half a mind to think he was homeless. Or worse, someone abandoned by the system, left to rot quietly in a place no one would think twice to look. Stop that, Iruka chided himself. It’s only rude to speculate.
“Listen,” Iruka tried again, gentle but firm, the same tone he used when coaxing a stubborn student. “I don’t know who you’re waiting for, but… if you ever need a hot meal, or just a roof over your head while it rains, there are shelters in the village. I’m sure that your someone will eventually make it back to you, regardless of your location.”
They sat in silence for minutes.
“No.” The man said at last. “No, I have to stay.” His gaze never wavered from that distant point in the rain.
Iruka felt a prick of frustration, but was also incredibly moved by the act of devotion. “Well whoever it is, they really are lucky.” He said softly.
The end of lunch bell rang faintly from the Academy, its clear notes carried over the rainfall. Iruka stood, brushing crumbs from his lap and gathering his bento. He looked down at the slumped figure one last time.
“I’ll be heading back now. Take care of yourself, alright?”
The man didn’t respond nor move. Only the faintest flicker of his eye betrayed his gaze as it tracked Iruka’s form while the man ran through the rain to get back to the Academy.
“The lucky one had always been me.” He whispered, his words swallowed by the rain.
By the time Iruka had returned to the Academy, he glanced out of the window once again to check that the shimmer of the waterproof seal still held against the rain, smiling as he glimpsed the familiar blue barrier.
Waiting for someone.
Maybe the grey man had lost his mind. Or maybe he was just another casualty of a war that had left too many comrades behind. Comrades that could never come home.
Either way, Iruka decided it wouldn’t hurt to keep an eye on him.
**
“‘Afternoon,” Iruka greeted, balancing two bento boxes in his arms. He offered one out sheepishly. “I, uh, made extra.”
The man blinked once, slowly. Iruka supposed that was enough to convey his shock. His visible eye shifted down to the box, then back up to Iruka.
“You didn’t have to,” he said.
“I know,” Iruka said, plopping the box onto his lap. “But cooking a meal for more people always feels better anyway.” He grinned, taking his own seat.
Half expecting the man to reject his cooking, Iruka was surprised to see the man lift the lid of the box and stare at the contents with an unreadable gaze.
“Go on! Give my fried miso eggplant a try. It’s my first time making it.” Iruka hummed as he lifted his own box and started digging in, wincing when the eggplant crunched HARD in his mouth. He gagged as the taste of salt filled his mouth and his eyes watered.
“On second thoughts, just don’t.”
He watched in horror as the man lifted a blackened looking eggplant and it disintegrated from the chopstick’s hold.
“Hmm.” The man picked up another blackened looking one and shoved it behind his mask faster than Iruka could comprehend. “It’s a little burnt but it’s good. Thank you.”
Iruka scoffed. “Don’t lie to my face. Try the white rice too. This is the least burnt it’s been. Dare I say this could become my specialty dish.”
They ate in silence for a while.
“Don’t you have colleagues to eat with?”
“Mm yes, but they don’t make the best company when I need an outlet to rant. I mean I love the kids but they can really be a handful at times. And I have to be careful with what I say y’know, what’s with office politics and all.”
“What did the kids do to you?”
Iruka filled the silence with small chatter. Complaints about grading papers, almost being skewered by shurikens during practice, and the pranks they pulled. The man didn’t react much, but every now and then his shoulders eased, or a faint hum escaped from behind the mask, to show that he was listening.
And to Iruka’s own surprise, that was enough to give him the acknowledgement he didn’t realise he needed. The truth was, despite his newfound routine and life, he was incessantly lonely and didn’t realise how much he was craving simple company to talk to. He was extremely grateful for the man on the bench.
Giving him a once over, Iruka noticed that the man looked fresher somehow, and more cleaned up. The lingering smell around him was gone, replaced with the deeper scent of wildflowers, and it was evident that he had shaved and washed his hair. Iruka inwardly smiled.
“You look better today.”
The man froze and clammed up, putting the bento on the bench and returning his faraway gaze to the front of the bench, a sure sign that the conversation was over.
Sighing, Iruka glanced over at his lunchbox. At least he had eaten some of the food.
Iruka tidied up the bentos, stood up and stretched. “That’s the bell so I’ll get going now. I’ll see you again tomorrow!” He ran off, unaware of the warmth that he had given the other man.
**
Sessions with Inoichi were starting to bear fruit, as Iruka recounted how the memories of his parents’ death unexpectedly came to him one night.
“You’re making better progress than I expected,” the Yamanaka admitted, flipping through his notes. “Most people with your degree of amnesia take much longer to find stability.”
Iruka scratched his scar, embarrassed. “I have my stubbornness to thank for that.”
Slowly but surely, he could feel the changes in himself. There were strange little moments of familiarity, the way his body remembered which market stores he enjoyed purchasing from before his mind did, the way his hands instinctively performed jutsu signs he hadn’t consciously recalled, or the way he painted umbrella seals for his own use without thinking. All these were just breadcrumbs on a wider path he was finally beginning to see.
**
The first time he remembered a whole fragment of memory, it happened on a whim.
He had been walking through the market, half-distracted with thoughts of his lesson plans, when the craving for dango suddenly struck him. Without thinking, he joined the queue at a teahouse with a snaking queue, and by the time he reached the front, the vendor handed him the very last box, flipping the sign to say “Sold Out”.
Sighing in relief at his luck, he was just about to leave when pattering footsteps and a disappointed sigh caught his attention.
“Aw, man. And here I thought I would be able to make it in time. I was really looking forward to those.”
Iruka turned to see a woman with spiky purple hair, a fishnet shirt beneath her trench coat, and a pale face pulled into a pout.
“Oh! Sorry, I got the last box.” He said, then hesitated before opening the box and holding out one skewer. “Here! You can have a stick. I can’t eat them all anyway.”
The woman blinked at him, surprised. For a moment, her sharp features softened entirely, eyes widening like he had said something completely unexpected.
And then it hit him.
His temple throbbed suddenly and the world spun. He gasped, clutching his head as flashes of a memory burst through the haze.
A girl laughing in front of him, the purple spiky hair clearly revealing that it was the same woman from the dango store. Both of them, running across an orphanage’s courtyard, her shrill voice- no, Anko’s shrill voice, daring him to keep up as they jumped over the fence and run into town. They had pooled together their pocket money for a single stick of dango. She had pouted then too, whining that she was hungry and he had pushed the stick into her hand without hesitation.
“Yay! Thanks, ‘Ruka!” she had chirped, cheeks full with the first dango. Her grin imprinted itself in his mind.
The memory fractured and dissolved just as quickly as it had come, leaving Iruka panting in the middle of the marketplace, the skewer still outstretched in his hand.
“Anko…! Your name is Anko…!” Iruka gasped, voice raw. “We… we were always together, weren’t we? Back then. At the orphanage.”
Her lips parted, but no sound came out. However, words weren’t needed. The look on her face was heartbreaking enough, pleased, yet overwhelmed with so much sadness.
Iruka shook his head, forcing a rueful smile. “I can’t remember everything. I don’t even remember our friendship, not properly. But– I know you were, are, important to me.”
For a long moment, silence hung between them. Anko sniffled, brushing her tears away roughly with her sleeve. Then, she reached out to accept the skewer gently, before grabbing and pulling Iruka into a large hug. Iruka closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around her. It felt like home.
“Took you long enough, ‘Ruka.” She sobbed, hitting his arm with her hand. “You absolute idiot. I’ve missed my best friend.”
**
That night, Inoichi’s brows lifted high as Iruka ran to tell him what had happened. “A spontaneous recall,” he said, impressed. “Triggered by an emotional anchor. That’s good– very good. It means your mind is beginning to trust itself again and gaining the capacity to recall more of your memories.”
Iruka smiled excitedly. “Does that mean I can hang out with Anko now?”
Inoichi pondered. “Hmm… I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try with Anko and Ibiki. You seem to be making good progress too. But do take care not to overwhelm yourself, Iruka. No more than short meetings each time. Please end the meeting if more than 3 memories are triggered on the spot.”
“Yeah!” Iruka cheered. Finally, he could talk to his friends again!
**
The next day, he brought two bentos to the bench again as he’s slowly grown accustomed to doing.
“Something good happen?” the man asked, eye flickering briefly toward him as Iruka hummed while sitting down.
Iruka chuckled. “Yeah. Extremely good.”
The man didn’t press, but his eye lingered on Iruka for a heartbeat longer than usual.
**
Iruka met both Anko and Ibiki at a BBQ place on a weekend, where he found out that they were actually dating.
“Wow, that’s huge!”
“Sure, but I HAVE been together with ‘Biki for about 5 years now.” Anko grinned. “You were there to watch it happen too!”
Ibiki nudged her warningly and her eyes widened, in fear that she might have triggered an onslaught of memories. Iruka frowned and tilted his head, feeling almost disappointed. Strange, he really did think that statement would have triggered something. He guessed it was still at a stage where it was unpredictable.
“Sorry ‘Ruka… I’ll be more careful about what I say,” Anko apologised sheepishly.
“No, no it’s totally fine. I know my limits, and I would be really glad if I could at least remember something new today too.” Iruka scratched his scar sheepishly.
“That being said, how did I meet Ibiki?”
Ibiki sighed, grimacing. “Are you ready for a potential memory trigger?”
“Yes!!”
“Does the phrase ‘glitter bomb shower’ mean anything to you?”
A small fragmented memory appeared in Iruka’s mind then. He was expecting to feel more head pain, but somehow the fragment wasn’t as intense as the last. Perhaps his brain really was getting used to it.
Flashes of memories came. Ibiki in his youth, much less scary but still surly and bigger than the rest of the kids in his age group. Other kids whispered and avoided the big man, but only Iruka, undeterred, had rigged a glitter bomb trap at the door, and it had hit Ibiki the moment he walked into class. Ibiki had scowled and blushed, an unexpectedly cute reaction from such a big guy. Iruka had stopped and stared, then asked if Ibiki had wanted to be friends.
Iruka sat up straighter as the memory dissolved, eyes sparkling. “Holy crap, I really WAS a genius.”
Ibiki scoffed. “Genius, my ass.”
Anko crowed with laughter, hitting his bicep fondly. “There there ‘Biki. We all know you love it.” The big man just grumbled into his sake cup.
Watching as Anko fondly put more pieces of pork cheek onto Ibiki’s plate, Iruka smiled warmly at how happy his best friend looked. But inside, he felt a gnawing sense of emptiness, like something was missing. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
“Say…” Iruka swirled his cup of sake. “Was I ever in a relationship like you two?”
The two adults stopped in their tracks and looked at each other with an unreadable expression.
“You know we can’t tell you anything, Iruka.” Anko said finally, looking uncharacteristically serious. “It’s dangerous for you.” Ibiki fixed him with a dead eyed stare, and Iruka had the impression he was peering into his brain.
Shrugging off the tension, Iruka just forced a smile and raised his sake cup. “That’s what I thought. Well, no matter. Here’s to finding my friends again!”
They cheered and continued exchanging life updates.
**
The days grew shorter, with the sun dipping beneath the horizon earlier with each passing evening. A subtle bite had crept into the air, curling around the edges of Konoha’s streets, nipping at exposed skin. Quietly but unmistakably, autumn had arrived.
Iruka rubbed his eyes blearily as he finally left the Academy well into the evening. His desk was still littered with unmarked assignments, but he had reached the point where the words blurred together and the ink began to smudge under his sluggish grip. He locked up the classroom, telling himself he would be fresher in the morning.
By the time he left the Academy gates, a dim path of street lamps was the only light left to guide him home. As usual, he passed through the small park. He inadvertently shivered as his breath misted faintly in front of him. Stopping in his tracks, he noticed a familiar grey figure slumped against a bench.
The man was still there.
But this time, his body was limp against the backrest, his arms folded as his chin rested slightly on his chest. Fast asleep. The dim lamplight cast shadows across his face, accentuating the sole dark eye bag that peeked through his covered face. His grey hair even more unkempt than usual, and the lines around his single visible eye were softened in exhaustion. He shivered in his sleep and lightly sneezed once.
Something tugged inside his chest. Iruka knew nothing about this man beyond the scraps of conversation they’d had, yet his heart ached to see him like this, waiting in the creeping cold with too thin clothes.
Silently, Iruka tugged at the burgundy scarf wound around his own neck, fingers brushing against the soft fabric. Carefully, so as to not wake him, Iruka draped the scarf over the man’s shoulders, taking care to cover his chest and neck. He fussed around lightly, ensuring that he was well covered. The faint rise and fall of his breathing was relieving to Iruka, to say the very least.
Iruka drew back, a bittersweet smile pulling faintly at his lips. Who could possibly be worth this? Who was the person he waited for, day after day, enduring the rain and the cold? It had to be someone extraordinary, for sure. Someone who had carved themselves so deeply into this man’s heart that he was willing to endure it all. Iruka briefly recalled how happy Anko and Ibiki had looked together and the thought pressed something heavy into Iruka’s chest.
Pulling his cloak tighter around himself, he cast one last glance at the man slumped on the bench, snug now in the borrowed scarf as he snuffled and muttered something in his sleep.
Iruka smiled sadly.
“To wait for someone like this, you must really love them so much.”
And with the weight of unasked questions bearing down on him, he trudged on home.
**
The morning air was crisp with the scent of drying leaves as Iruka puttered about the Academy with posters in his hand, preparing for the Academy’s Autumn Equinox Festival. The trees were mostly bare, having lost their leaves to the incoming wave of winter. This gave Iruka a clear view of the park, frowning as he caught a glimpse of a commotion happening at a bench that he knew all too well.
“Hey, take care of these for me for a while please!” He thrust the posters at the nearest teacher and leapt out of the window.
The grey haired man was there, as always. But instead of the silent and weary countenance that he always waited with, he was on his knees in the dirt, palms flat against the ground, body bent low in a desperate dogeza. Contractors in bright vests crowded around, tools clattering as they cursed and kicked at the man for blocking their path to the bench.
“For god’s sake, old man, move out of the way!” One snarled, kicking at his head. “This thing’s a nuisance! We’re tearing it down. Orders are orders.”
The man’s hoarse voice broke through the noise, strained with anguish. “No. Please. Not this bench… it’s all that I’ve left… it’s the only way he can come home to me!”
Iruka’s heart twisted. Though they had never exchanged names, the past few months spent in his presence told him enough about this man. Enough to recognize his strength behind the weight in his slumped shoulders, the grief hidden in that single dark eye and the unwavering loyalty as he stayed, unmoving on the bench. Seeing him pressed into the ground, begging and in pain, something inside Iruka snapped.
“Stop!” Iruka’s voice rang out as he strode forward, putting himself between the man and the contractors.
One of the contractors sneered over his shoulder. “Mind your business, teacher. This bench is coming out, festival regulations. You want to argue? Take it up with the committee.”
“I am the committee,” he snarled. “And I say the bench stays.”
The contractor spat to the side, getting up close to Iruka. “With a backbone like that, no wonder you’re still stuck as a chunin. This guy’s been squatting here for weeks. Look at him– filthy and insane. You want to defend that?”
Iruka bristled, tightening his fists. His chest burned with a fierce protectiveness. “How fucking dare you. He’s not ‘that’. He’s a person,” he said coldly. “One of our people. And this bench is clearly important to him. If you have an ounce of decency, you’ll respect that.”
Another worker muttered, “Waste of space,” and raised his boot to kick the bench loose.
Without thinking, Iruka moved instantly. Slapping down a barrier seal on the bench, the force field of the erected barrier sent the workers sprawling back. He puffed out his chest, hands against his hips as his voice rang loud and clear: “If you want to tear this down, you’ll have to go through me first.”
The contractors hesitated, irritation crackling in the air as they eyed the barrier warily. Then, the oldest of them huffed in annoyance. “Damn teachers, always sticking their noses where they don’t belong. Fine. Have it your way. But don’t blame us if the festival looks crooked.”
One by one, the men withdrew, muttering curses under their breath as they shouldered their tools and stomped off, leaving only silence at the bench.
Iruka exhaled slowly, realizing just how hard his heart was pounding. He quickly took down the barrier seal and helped the man back onto the bench, brushing the dust from the man's shoulder where a contractor had kicked him.
“You- thank you. You didn’t have to…” the man rasped.
“Yes, I did,” Iruka interrupted gently, crouching so he could meet his eye. “They had no right. Not when it means this much to you.”
For the first time, the man looked him directly in the eye. With only one exposed eye, it was still enough to reveal the rawness there– grief buried so deep Iruka could feel the weight of it in his bones.
“I don’t fully understand your situation,” Iruka admitted softly. “But I don’t need to. I can see enough.”
The man leaned back against the bench, shoulders trembling faintly as he smiled behind the mask for the very first time. His voice came out in a broken whisper. “Thank you… Iruka.”
The teacher froze, startled. He hadn’t remembered telling this man his name. Not once. A dozen questions pressed to his lips, but when he looked at the grey haired man, ragged and exhausted, clinging to the bench as though it were life itself, he couldn’t bring himself to ask.
Instead, Iruka eased himself down onto the bench beside him. His hands brushed the cool, weather worn wood.
“They won’t touch it again,” he said with quiet certainty. “Not while I’m here.”
The man didn’t reply. But his eye softened, and for a moment, Iruka thought he saw the faintest glimmer of something beneath the mask. Not quite relief nor gratitude, but something deeper that made his heart beat a little faster.
**
On his way back from the Academy that night, Iruka decided to take an alternative path from the road he normally traversed to take in the sights of the festival preparations scattered through town. He smiled, burying his face into his scarf as the cold nipped at his nose.
Suddenly, a whiff of something really delicious caught his attention. He glanced up to see a large lantern with the characters Ichiraku on it as it glowed warmly, invitingly. His stomach grumbled as his chest swelled with the feeling of home.
Following his nose and his gut, he pushed open the curtains and stepped inside.
“Welcome! Welc- oh.” From the expression of the chef and his daughter, Iruka could gather that he’d most certainly been here before.
Scratching the scar on his nose, he mumbled shyly. “Heya, I gather that I used to come here pretty often?”
Teuchi only smiled, a thousand emotions flitting through his face as Ayame teared up. “Welcome home, Iruka sensei. It’s been a long time.”
**
“Here you go! One large miso ramen, with extra Naruto toppings. On the house for my favourite customer!” Teuchi winked as he handed Iruka the bowl.
“Wow! Thank you so much!” Iruka beamed as he sniffed the bowl of soup. Taking out his spoon, he took a small sip of the broth. Thunder rumbled, the skies parted and all Iruka could see was heaven. His hand moved continuously, faster and faster as he shoved noodles, broth, pork chashu and bamboo shoots into his mouth at a ravenous speed.
“Teuchi san this is SO GOOD!” Iruka cried out. The man’s booming laughter was familiar and comforting to hear all the same.
Slowly reaching the bottom of the bowl, Iruka’s hand paused as his chopsticks rested on one of the naruto slices. Something was tugging at his gut. Relying on his muscle memory, his chopsticks picked up the naruto slice and hovered towards the seat next to him, as if putting the naruto slice into someone else’s bowl. He gasped as it hit him all of a sudden.
Memories of a small boy with fox whiskers, squinting up at Iruka as he loudly proclaimed that he was going to be the future Hokage, despite not being able to produce a single shadow clone. The golden haired boy requesting to try on his headband at that very seat, blue eyes boring into his. The kid loudly clamouring for Iruka to treat him to more ramen as he patted his own empty wallet, ruffling his hair and giving him his remaining naruto slices to appease him. The unsurmountable love he felt for the kid that wasn’t even his.
Iruka came out of his longest string of memories yet, gasping long and painful. Tears clouded his vision as he buried his face in his hands and his shoulders shook.
“I remember…!” He gasped, hyperventilating in shock. “How could I have forgotten…! Naruto…” He sobbed. “I’m such a terrible person.”
He heard movement as Teuchi came to sit next to him, resting a warm hand on his shoulder. “Iruka… none of this was your fault.” Sobs wrecked through his body as he leaned into Teuchi.
Iruka pressed his palms harder against his face, but it did nothing to stem the tears. His chest felt like it might cave in, every breath ragged with guilt. How could I have forgotten Naruto? His laugh, his ridiculous stubbornness, the same loneliness we feel, the way he made every corner of my life brighter…
“I should have remembered him first.” He choked out, voice breaking. “He depended on me, and I– ” His words dissolved into another sob. “What kind of teacher– what kind of man– just forgets his own son?”
The word slipped out unthinkingly, but Teuchi caught it. His hand squeezed Iruka’s shoulder, grounding him. “You didn’t forget, Iruka. It was taken from you. And it’s finding its way back now. That says something, doesn’t it?”
Iruka lowered his hands, eyes red rimmed and puffy. “But he must have thought– he must have felt so lonely.”
“That boy gets his stubbornness from you,” Teuchi interrupted gently. “If there’s one thing Naruto knows, it’s that you love him. You’re family to him, no matter how long it takes you to remember. Nothing will change that.”
The words hit something deep inside him, and for a moment Iruka just breathed, forcing air into lungs that felt too small for his sorrow.
“I remember Ichiraku now.” he spoke quietly, glancing down at the empty bowl in front of him.
“My best memories were all here, eating your ramen Teuchi san.” His lips wobbled. “Thank you for giving me free meals when I was starving as an orphan. And for creating a special space for me to make so many wonderful memories with people I love.”
Teuchi’s eyes softened, pride and sadness mingling in his expression. “You’re always welcome here, Iruka sensei.”
Iruka swiped at his eyes, voice steadier now. “When he comes back from training… I’ll tell him. I’ll make sure he knows I remember.”
Teuchi nodded once, firmly patting him on his shoulder.
For the first time since waking in that hospital bed, the emptiness inside Iruka felt a lot less vast. Naruto’s laughter echoed faintly in his ears, and it grounded him.
**
“...and so that happened.” Iruka recounted confidently. “It seems that I have a much higher capacity to tap into old memory fragments now.”
Inoichi whistled lowly. “Wow, that’s really impressive Iruka. You sure you don’t wanna consider a career in T&I?”
Iruka laughed. “Sorry but teaching is my love.” Then he frowned. “I’m glad I regained many important memories today but… I still feel like something big is missing.”
Inoichi smiled sympathetically. “Please take it slow. You wouldn’t want to force your mind into a corner and undo all of your hard work now, would you?”
Iruka shuddered. “Never again.”
They chuckled together.
**
Their lunches resumed, but neither man brought up the bench incident again.
The two of them sat as they always did, side by side on their bench in the park. Iruka balanced a cheap wooden bento on his lap, picking at the rolled omelettes he’d made that morning. The grey haired man beside him sat with his usual quiet, his eye tracing over the dead tree branches.
Iruka cleared his throat nervously. “So, uh… something happened today.”
The man hummed in vague acknowledgment, tilting his head as though he were half listening.
“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.”
There was a tense silence. It was a while until the man finally exhaled, putting down his chopsticks. “And?” he asked with the faintest tremor in his voice. “Are you happy about that?”
Iruka froze, chopsticks hovering in his mouth. Was he happy? He should have been– Suzume sensei was kind, pretty and respectable. There was nothing wrong with her. And yet, something about the idea made his insides twist. It felt off, mismatched, like trying to wear clothes that didn’t belong to him.
But it was all too complicated to say out loud. Instead, it was easier to say…
“Yes,” he said, the word came out thin and hesitant. “I think so.” He wanted to believe it, wanted it to sound true. But even to his own ears, it rang hollow.
Iruka glanced up, just in time to see a flash of raw emotion– pain, sorrow and heartbreak through the man’s eye. It was gone almost immediately, his features schooling back into his stoic mask, but Iruka’s breath caught anyway.
Had he imagined it?
The man leaned back slightly, gaze returning to the trees, to the empty sky. His voice was steady when he spoke after a long period of silence, though it carried a rough edge of finality. “If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.”
Iruka swallowed, throat tight. He wanted to ask why it sounded so much like a goodbye, but the words tangled uselessly in his chest. Instead, he nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
“Thank you,” he murmured, though he wasn’t sure why the man’s quiet acceptance left him feeling so unbearably heavy inside.
**
Iruka tried. He truly did.
From the moment the date started, he tried to focus on Suzume sensei’s chatter, and on the inviting glow of lanterns as they approached the little restaurant tucked between two narrow streets. But with every step, his stomach twisted tighter. The air was cold, sharp against his cheeks, and yet sweat prickled his palms. Something about this night was extremely off, wrong in ways he couldn’t put into words.
The restaurant door slid open, releasing the fragrant aroma of grilled fish and simmering miso broth. Familiar. Intimately familiar. Iruka froze at the threshold, his chest squeezing painfully as a strange feeling slammed into him. He had been here before. He knew this place. The low beams, the worn wooden counter, the cozy, dimly lit booths tucked against the wall with its private booths, it tugged at something deep inside him.
“Iruka sensei?” A inquisitive voice roused him from his thoughts. “Our seats are here.” Suzume pointed at a private booth.
Iruka forced himself to smile and followed, but with every passing moment the sense of wrongness only grew.
They ordered. Small talk filled the gaps, or rather, Suzume did most of the talking while Iruka nodded absently, pushing food around his plate. The clinking of chopsticks, the low hum of other patrons’ conversations, the soft flicker of candlelight– it should have been nice. Pleasant. Yet every detail seemed to scrape against the hollow ache in his chest, like rubbing salt into an wound.
It wasn’t that Suzume was unpleasant. She was lovely, and he admired her greatly as a colleague. But sitting here across from her felt like trying to force the wrong puzzle piece into place. No matter how hard he pressed, the edges didn’t fit, leaving only frustration and a sharp sting of emptiness.
Suzume’s chopsticks paused midair. She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing gently as she studied him.
“You’re not present,” she said quietly.
Iruka blinked. “W-what do you mean? I– ”
“You’re distracted.” Her voice was steady, kind, but unflinching. “You’ve been distracted since the date started. I can see it.”
Heat rose in Iruka’s face, guilt curling tight in his gut. “Suzume sensei, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to– ”
She shook her head, a faint, rueful smile tugging at her lips. “You don’t need to apologize. It’s obvious, Iruka. You don’t feel the same way I do.”
“I– ” He faltered, words tangling uselessly in his throat.
“I thought I might have a chance,” Suzume murmured, eyes dropping to her untouched tea. Her next words were softer still, almost as if she hadn’t meant to say them aloud. “Now that…”
She cut off her sentence abruptly, lips pressing together. But the damage was done.
Iruka’s eyes widened, his heart skipping violently in his chest. Now that what?
But Suzume was already shaking her head, her smile returning, brittle around the edges. “Never mind. Forget I said anything.”
Something inside Iruka snapped. That same gnawing sense of absence, of something missing, sharpened into a stabbing pain. His pulse roared in his ears. He couldn’t breathe. The room tilted slightly, the familiar-yet-wrong setting suffocating him. He had to leave. Now.
The next few moments were a blur as he mumbled a quick apology, dumping enough cash to cover both their meals on the table as he pushed his chair back, and all but stumbled outside into the cool night air.
The cold hit him like a slap, sharp and bracing, but Iruka welcomed it. He staggered into the street, dragging deep breaths into his lungs and watched them come out in puffs. Lantern light shimmered faintly on the wet cobblestones, painting the night in fractured gold.
And then–
Something feather light brushed his cheek.
He stilled, tilting his head to the sky.
Snow.
The first flakes of the season drifted lazily from the darky sky, soft and fragile as they brushed light kisses onto his skin. He stared upwards, transfixed as the night sky thickened with white, each delicate crystal catching the glow of the lanterns before vanishing against the warmth of his face.
His heart lurched violently as the memories came roaring back.
Years ago, he was at the same restaurant. The same lanterns had cast pools of amber across the table but nothing could detract him from the man sitting in front of him. A mask was tugged down just enough for the man to sip from a cup of sake, revealing a beauty mark beneath his mouth. His silver hair fell boyishly into one eye as the other hid behind an eye closed into a wink.
A laugh– low, muffled and smooth spilled across the wood, vibrating straight into Iruka’s bones. He remembered how his own cheeks had burned, not from the alcohol but from the teasing voice that followed. “Careful, sensei. Any more of that sake and I’ll be carrying you home.”
He remembered the heat. From fingers– warm and calloused, brushing his own where they rested nervously on the table. Fleeting, yet so impossibly tender.
A head bent close as they conversed in low murmurs, the glint of mischief in a lone grey eye softened by candlelight. The way he leaned in, as if he would give up the whole world just to listen to Iruka talk.
Iruka let out a painful sob, staggering back a step, gripping the edge of a lamppost to keep from collapsing as the memories poured in faster, unbottled and unstoppable.
A voice whispering his name in the dark, raw with a kind of vulnerability and want that no one else had ever been allowed to hear. Laughter muffled in the crook of his neck as mornings were spent waking up tangled in sheets, the faint scent of wildflowers and steel lingering on the pillow beside him. A crinkly-eyed smile over breakfast. Banters melting into peppered kisses. Promises exchanged in glances and soft caresses without having to be said. I’m here. I’ll always be here. No matter what.
And finally.
A gloved hand brushing the first snow of the year from his hair, tucking a loose strand of hair behind his ear with such reverence, Iruka’s heart had hurt from it. A chaste bump of noses as the man had moved in slowly to capture his lips for the first time. It was neither passionate nor rushed, but slow and aching, the kind of kiss that carried years of yearning, of unspoken truths pressed into a single, intimate moment.
He remembered the snowflakes caught in the man’s silver hair as it glittered against the fading light, and remembered the way his hands felt threaded through his locks as they had laughed together on their bench. The place that had started it all, from their first meeting to their first kiss.
And beneath all the memories, Iruka had the unshakable certainty that he had never been alone. That someone had always, always been waiting for him.
“Kakashi.”
The name tore from Iruka’s chest like a sob, ragged and broken, his breath steaming in the frozen air. His knees buckled beneath the weight of it.
Kakashi.
Not a stranger on a bench. Not a ghost of society.
His partner. His love. The one who had waited so devotedly. The one he had forgotten.
His vision blurred, tears spilling hot and fast, each one immediately kissed away by the cold.
He remembered. He remembered it all.
The ache, the joy, the love so fierce it burned.
And he knew, without hesitation, where he had to go.
**
The bench.
Of course it was the bench.
And there he was. Hunched over, his shoulders trembled as his thin frame shivered in the cold, the snow peppering a grey head, bowed so low as if the weight of waiting had finally pressed him into the wood.
Kakashi.
Iruka’s throat closed, tears streaming hot and fast as he stumbled closer. “-‘Kashi!” His voice cracked, broken with desperation. “Kakashi!”
The man stirred, lifting his head sluggishly, cheeks pink from the cold. One eye blinked open, dull and weary, and then widened in shock as Iruka barreled forward.
Iruka collapsed into his arms, clutching him as if he could fuse them together, burying his face into his neck, taking in the familiar scent of wildflowers, steel and something uniquely so him. His voice was muffled, shaking with sobs.
“I remember– I remember now! Gods, Kakashi, I’m so sorry– I’ve made you wait so long, I didn’t know, I didn’t know– ”
Kakashi’s arm hesitantly stroked his hair like he was in a dream, before wrapping around him instantly, fiercely, one hand cradling the back of Iruka’s head, the other clutching his waist like he could never let go.
“Iruka… Iruka.” His breath hitched as he pressed a kiss against Iruka’s hair. “My love. I thought– ” His voice broke. “I thought I’d lost you for good.”
Iruka pulled back just enough to meet his eye, his own blurred with tears. Snow clung to Kakashi’s lashes, his mask damp with condensation, but beneath it, Iruka could see the rawness in him, the ache of months spent waiting.
“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 gaze searched his face wondrously, brushing a thumb tenderly down the side of his face. "You're here... you're really here."
Iruka nuzzled his face into his palm and nodded tearfully. "And I'm never leaving."
Kakashi’s breath shuddered with a sob, and his forehead pressed against Iruka’s. “I love you so much.”
“And I love you.” Iruka rubbed their noses together fondly before tugging down his mask and joining their lips in a kiss that felt like the promise of eternity.
The snow fell thicker now, blanketing the world in white. But nestled in Kakashi’s arms on their bench, Iruka felt only warmth.