Chapter Text
Things were finally settling down again in Konoha. Naruto had left with Jiraiya. The number of missions coming in was leveling out. Tsunade was getting the hang of being the Hokage. All in all, things were going well. At least, that’s what Iruka was thinking as he sat down to a steaming cup of tea and a stack of papers to grade. Despite all the good news, Iruka couldn’t help but feel lonely. He missed Naruto, and strange as it seemed, he missed the way everyone came together in the wake of the Third’s passing. As he picked up his pen, he dwelled just for a moment on his fellow shinobi. With the school closed, he’d worked more closely with them than he had in years. He went on missions, helped clean up the town, and reordered the wreckage that Orochimaru had left in his wake. School was in session again, and life had resumed its normal course, but something was missing.
Iruka sighed, stretching his legs out under the low table and willing himself the motivation to grade some tests. His students were actually decent, not that he’d tell them as much for fear of inflating their tiny egos, but something about surviving disaster had made them want to excel. Iruka flattened his mouth into a thin line. It was hard to predict the rippling effects of one such large stone thrown in a pond, or perhaps several stones and a boulder. Still, he couldn’t help but want a little excitement to interrupt his day once in a while.
The sun was just ducking its face below the city skyline when a little knock sounded on Iruka’s door. He stood, wondering if he’d wanted for excitement a little too much. Dropping the wards, Iruka scanned the chakra on the other side of the door and found it familiar. When he opened the door, the lanky jounin who’d been leaning against it almost fell through his threshold but managed to right himself at the last moment, swinging around in a graceful if exaggerated way.
“Yooo sensei,” Kakashi hiccupped as he braced himself against the railing behind him. Iruka blinked, taking in the flush riding high over Kakashi’s mask and the swaying posture. He poked his head out of the doorway and looked around warily.
“This feels like a prank. What do you want, Kakashi-san?” Iruka asked, narrowing his eyes at the jounin. Kakashi’s single eye crinkled in mirth as he laughed and hiccupped, the smell of sake wafting off him in waves.
“I was on the road of life and thought you might like to join me for a drink, sensei.” He placed all the emphasis on the last part of sensei, and for the first time, Iruka noticed how undone Kakashi was. His vest was half open, some of the pockets unfastened. The leg wraps he normally wore were unwinding themselves down his legs, and it seemed like somehow, he’d gotten his gloves on the wrong hands. Iruka glanced about once more, even going so far as to scan the surrounding area for anyone else who might be with Kakashi, but there was no one. He sighed, a put-upon smile finding his face.
“No, I won’t go drinking with you, Kakashi-san,” Iruka said, enjoying for a moment the way Kakashi stilled like he was mulling over what those words could possibly mean.
“What if I went drinking with you?” the jounin replied, smiling beneath the mask and tapping his temple like that was the most genius thought he’d ever had.
“Still no, I’m afraid,” Iruka said, feeling that mother goose urge coming over him. Kakashi swayed, no doubt thinking of how to ask him next, when Iruka reached out, lightning quick, and grabbed the jounin by his vest. He could just picture Kakashi falling headfirst over the railing, and then Iruka would have to explain to Tsunade what had happened, and in the long run, it wasn’t worth the paperwork.
“As a matter of fact, I don’t think you should be drinking at all.” Iruka pulled Kakashi inside his apartment, closing the door behind him and maneuvering the jounin to his living area. It was cozy. He’d made it that way since Naruto so often found his way over, and having Naruto around was a bit like having a cat. There needed to be comfy places to nap everywhere, so Iruka’s floor was covered in colorful cushions, and throw blankets lived on his couch. The lighting was low and warm, with posters and drawings the young genin had made or collected, littering the walls. Kakashi didn’t fit in, and for a moment, Iruka thought about turning him back outside, but there was that little Naruto-sounding voice in the back of his head. Kakashi had no one. Naruto had said so often enough, and if there was ever a kid with a weakness for lonely, misunderstood people, it was Naruto.
So, Iruka guided Kakashi to a large, round, and bright orange cushion on the floor and sat the man down on it. He squatted before Kakashi, holding out his hands, a move which the jounin mimicked.
“Do you have dogs, Iruka sensei?” he asked, looking at all the cushions. Iruka just laughed.
“One, but he’s away right now,” he replied, taking Kakashi’s hands lightly in his own and removing the gloves that were on wrong. He noticed for the first time how long and thin Kakashi’s hands were. They were nicked with little scars, and the palms looked to have been burnt repeatedly. Dried blood was crusted under his nails. He glanced up at Kakashi, who was watching him placidly, pupil still a little too large for sobriety. Still, they’d rarely been this close, and for a moment, the fight before the chunin exams came back to him. Kakashi wasn’t a nice man; Iruka would do well to remember that.
Iruka took a step back and went to grab a glass of water for Kakashi. The jounin was looking around his apartment with great interest when he returned. He took the water and drank it all in one large gulp, keeping his lone exposed eye on Iruka the whole time before slamming the glass back down on the table and shattering it.
“That was water,” he said, not even acknowledging how his hand was bleeding around the shards of glass. Iruka’s temper jumped into his throat, the desire to rip Kakashi a new one strong. He tamped it down, rubbing a hand over his scar and reminding himself that the man was severely impaired and probably didn’t know his strength right now.
“Yes, it was, how very perceptive of you, Jounin-san,” he snapped, willing to let a little of his anger through as he went and got his first aid kit. Iruka was busy with Kakashi’s hands again, wrapping them this time, when he spoke.
“I was hoping for sake.” Kakashi was slowly leaning into Iruka’s face, and the room seemed to be heating up. The jounin’s exposed eye was darting very obviously between Iruka’s eyes and his mouth. Iruka swallowed hard, trying to focus on the task at hand. The thought that he might be prey waivered in the back of the teacher’s mind. He clocked more dried blood on Kakashi’s dark blue shirt and some splatter on his pant hems and ankles. Iruka knew he was no match even for an intoxicated Kakashi, but that didn’t matter. As he wrapped the long fingers and cleaned up bright crimson blood, he noticed the slightest tremor in Kakashi’s hands and wondered what he'd been doing right before showing up on Iruka’s balcony.
“No. Water is better, it might just save you from a hangover tomorrow,” Iruka murmured, refusing further eye contact with Kakashi. Instead, he finished quickly, feeling Kakashi’s gaze on him the whole time. He was acutely aware of the warmth of Kakashi’s skin under his and every little twitch in his hands as he worked. He had definitely been pining too hard for some excitement. This wasn’t much, but it did tickle that little need deeply seated in Iruka’s chest. He’d had it since he was a kid. Since he’d lost his parents. The Third was the first to notice it in him, to nurture that need to be useful. It was so practical, at school, at the mission desk, even as a shinobi, but sometimes Iruka wanted to be needed, not as a single part of a larger machine, but just as Iruka.
The teacher straightened up, shaking the tension from his neck and shoulders. He’d cut up some fruit yesterday to keep around the house; now seemed like the perfect time for it. If he had to put money on it, he’d bet Kakashi couldn’t even hold a pair of chopsticks right now, but then again, he might be surprised. Either way, when he returned, Kakashi had stripped out of his vest and was swaying along to a tune he hummed. Iruka raised an eyebrow at the drunk man in his living room, but set the food down before him.
“I need to get some grading done. Eat that,” Iruka ordered. Kakashi slapped a hand to his forehead in mock salute as Iruka grabbed his papers and headed to the desk in the corner. He rarely used it, but doing so tonight would afford Kakashi a little privacy as he ate since Iruka sat with his back to the jounin. He felt a vague curiosity as to what Kakashi looked like under the mask, but he didn’t turn around. There were some things he knew to leave alone, and that was one of them.