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“Hey, have you seen my list? I can’t find it,” Iruka asks, checking his pockets for the hundredth time. Still not finding it there (surprise, surprise), he grumbles in annoyance and wanders over to where his flak jacket is hanging on the back of a chair. Rifling through the vest’s front pouches, he finds a scroll, a couple kunai, and a coupon he’d been looking for last week, but no list. The delight of getting 50% off his next order of ramen is overshadowed by his mounting frustration. He glances around for his messenger bag so he can start tearing that apart, too. “Dammit, I had it just the other day, but now I’ve gone and lost-”
“Right here,” Kakashi says, appearing behind him and supplying the list with a flourish.
“Thanks,” Iruka says distractedly, then stops to actually think about it. “Whoa, okay, wait, hold on, why would you have this? It’s my list.” He stares suspiciously at Kakashi, who has as much a poker face without his mask as he does with it on. He simply shrugs, nonchalant as ever.
“Thought you didn’t need it any more. So I kept it.”
This really doesn’t answer Iruka’s question. In fact, now he has more.
“You what? Why would you…? Kakashi, if I didn’t need the list any more, then just throw it away.”
“Naw, I’d rather keep it with the others.”
“With… others? What others?” Iruka is thoroughly confused by this point, and if he hadn’t been with Kakashi for a few years already he’d probably be a little scared, too. But Jounin will be Jounin, so he hears him out.
“You know. Like all those other little notes you leave lying around.” Kakashi digs in his sweatpants for a moment, then pulls out a post-it reminding Kakashi that his dinner is in the fridge and he’d better eat the damn mushrooms. “See?”
“I…you…you KEEP them?” Iruka gapes at him, gaze flicking between him and the note in disbelief. “Like, ALL of them?”
“Of course.” Kakashi grins, his eyes shining with amusement. “I keep all my old love letters, but to be honest I just skim them for the dirty bits.”
“D-dirty?” Iruka bristles, feeling his face heat up. “How on earth are any of them dirty?!”
“I’ll prove it. Come on.” Kakashi crooks a finger at Iruka, who follows after an obligatory eye-roll and deep sigh. He leads him to the bedroom, where he kneels down beside the mattress and drags out a small, inconspicuous trunk that Iruka is not ashamed to admit he’s tampered with before out of curiosity/boredom, with no luck. “They’re all in here.”
“That’s what’s in there?” Iruka raises an eyebrow, unimpressed. He gets a snort in return.
“What’d you think I kept in here?”
“Honestly? Your porn.”
Kakashi cracks up at that, doubling over the trunk and clutching it for support. Iruka is still not impressed.
“Oh, please,” Kakashi gets out between chuckles. “It’d have to be much bigger than this.”
“ …Wait what-”
“Moving on,” he quickly cuts in, fiddling with the lock on the trunk. He does a series of hand signs too fast for Iruka to follow, but he feels the soft pulse of chakra, and the lock pops open, followed by the lid. Inside are dozens, if not hundreds of different papers, all folded and packed together in a crude sort of filing system. Ignoring the itch in his fingers to properly sort and categorize the mess, Iruka watches as Kakashi carefully picks out a tatty-looking scrap of paper and reads aloud.
“Ramen. Noon. Be there.” He looks up at Iruka and waggles an eyebrow. “Like I said. Dirty.”
“It was a lunch date!”
“Was it, Sensei? WAS it?”
“…Yeah it was, actually. We had ramen at Ichiraku’s at noon. That’s. IT.”
“Here’s another.” Kakashi picks up another note. “Kakashi, for the love of God, do the laundry. Going commando is not nearly as sexy as you think it is. I had to wash your pants twice.”
“…Okay well that is dirty in one sense of the word-”
Another scrap of paper, this one a vivid pink.
“Roses are red, violets are blue, come home in one piece, and I’ll go down on-”
“I DID NOT WRITE THAT!” Iruka squawks indignantly, his cheeks burning because he knows he did.
“And then there’s THIS one-” Kakashi holds up a homemade coupon for a free kiss. “Excuse me, sir, I’d like to redeem this now-”
“It’s expired,” Iruka snaps back. “Seriously, I made that for you over a year ago.”
“Ah, didn’t see the expiration date on the back.” Kakashi pouts for a moment, then goes back to rifling through the trunk, searching for more particular favorites.
“…You actually kept all of them?” Iruka asks as he crouches next to Kakashi, joining him in inspecting the multitude of papers. They range in size, shape, and color, varying from short notes to shopping lists to full-blown scrolls Iruka had written to Kakashi during lengthy missions away from Konoha. Some are rather new, probably no older than a week or two, while others are faded and wrinkled, the edges ragged and torn with age.
How long has Kakashi been collecting these? Iruka wonders. Since the very beginning?
“I’m sorry,” he says aloud, guilt washing over him. “I haven’t kept anything of yours.”
“Never too late to start,” Kakashi replies cheerfully. “The love letters are my thing, you just have to find something sentimental for you to keep. Let’s see…” His fingers tap a rhythm on the trunk’s side as he stares off into space, thinking. “You could keep my underwear. I have just the pair-”
“Pass.” Iruka makes a face. “How can you even call these love letters?” he goes on, thumbing through several notes that tell Kakashi in increasing annoyance to not let the dogs in the bed. The last one threatens a sex strike. “They’re mostly just me bitching at you.”
“Iruka,” Kakashi says, and though it’s quiet, his voice has that deep, serious tone that makes Iruka look up and meet his eyes. His gaze is soft, but firm, the blood-red Sharingan heightening the intensity of the stare. “Every note you leave me, every pissed-off reminder to take out the trash or wash the dogs or meet you somewhere is a reminder of YOU. Of US. They remind me of what we have, and what I never want to lose. They remind me of home when I’m away, and give me a reason to come back alive.” He pauses to let his words sink in. “They’re love letters, and don’t you dare tell me otherwise.”
Iruka doesn’t. Instead, he looks away, chastened and painfully self-conscious. He’s hot and trembling a little, because while Kakashi is rarely ever like this, it’s always such a shock when he actually IS that it leaves Iruka overwhelmed and a bit breathless.
He silently resolves to write many, many more love letters for Kakashi, maybe even a few real ones.
And properly sort and file his collection, it’s an absolute mess.
“Here’s my favorite,” Kakashi murmurs in his ear, catching his attention. Iruka glances over to see him holding a piece of paper so old and faded he’s a little worried it’ll disintegrate in the Jounin’s hands. It’s discolored in several spots from faded bloodstains and dirt, and wrinkled in a way that makes it obvious it rarely leaves Kakashi’s person. Kakashi unfolds the paper delicately, careful not to tear the worn creases that threaten to rip at the slightest mishap. Iruka leans closer to read the scribbled, washed out words.
U.I. + H.K., doodled on the corner of a blank mission report.
Iruka lunges for it, but Kakashi dodges nimbly aside and dashes off into the hallway, cackling.
Yup, Iruka thinks to himself, giving chase. From the very beginning.