Chapter Text
"Do your eyes ever get tired?" Iruka asks into the silence.
There's merely a soft hum in response, as though Kakashi didn't quite catch Iruka's question. He glances up from his grading, and seeing Kakashi there — curled up on the couch, a book in one hand, the other lazily thrown behind his head — reminds him all over again just how ridiculous this whole thing is. Kakashi treating his couch like a park bench. Iruka letting him.
“Your eyes," he repeats. “I was wondering if they get tired, that’s all.”
“Oh." Kakashi readjusts, settling deeper into the couch. "Not really.”
“Right,” Iruka drawls, making no effort to hide his doubt.
There's no denying that Kakashi is an incredibly strong shinobi. Strong enough that when he shucks off annual physicals and hospital visits post-mission, no one pays it any mind. No doubt that if he bothered going to any of those appointments, the medi-nin would spot in an instant what Iruka has picked up on over the past few months.
“Totally unrelated," Iruka starts before he can talk himself out of it, "my mother got migraines all the time when I was a kid. My father had this way of helping to relieve them that I’ve been trying to remember. Would it be alright if I practiced on you?”
Kakashi's one visible eye widens slightly, the brow arching and disappearing under his hitai-ate. When they were younger, there was just a hint of what would become the wrinkle across the bridge of his nose. The one that always comes out when he's caught off guard. It's easy to miss, right at the juncture where his mask meets his hitai-ate, but it's there. Seeing it has always felt like a victory — getting through the laissez-faire facade Kakashi's built his reputation around, but has never quite been the full picture to Iruka.
“That’s … that would be alright.”
Great. Awesome. Perfect. That's … that's exactly what Iruka wanted to happen. He totally planned on actually doing this when he offered it. Definitely wasn't just the first idea that popped into his head.
Kakashi looks at him expectantly and it’s only then that Iruka realizes he actually has to do something since Kakashi agreed to let him try this. He goes slowly, hoping that his deliberate movements come across as confidence and not what they actually are.
It's probably best for Kakashi to stay where he is on the couch, so Iruka goes around the back of it to stand behind him. Iruka starts to move his hands where he needs to. Hesitates. Tries again. Gets a little closer. Still can't.
“Can I … I need to, uhm — is it alright if I touch you?”
Very smooth, Iruka. Nice work. Totally not awkward at all.
Kakashi's laugh is annoyingly melodic as he chuckles out, “Have your way with me, sensei.”
Iruka rolls his eyes at him, which only makes the dumb smirk that Iruka's certain his mask is hiding widen. That doesn't matter right now though. Kakashi's teasing isn't important — what he's trying to remember is.
He’s seen this done so many times, but the last one was over a decade ago. It’s like trying to recreate something out of a dream. The memory of the original fills Iruka with a warmth only found under well-worn covers saturated in sunlight. The smell of someone he loves cooking breakfast wafting in through an open door.
When his parents come up, it's usually in the context of their deaths. It's so rare to get a chance to remember their lives. The little moments of normalcy that made up his childhood.
Stumbling out of bed, hair tousled and eyes still bleary, and seeing his parents in very much the same position that he and Kakashi are in now. His mom laying on the couch with her eyes closed and his dad methodically moving his fingers across her face — starting at her chin and inching up to her forehead. His dad silently motioning for him to keep quiet and Iruka smiling and nodding wildly as he snuck into the kitchen, picking up where his parents left off with making breakfast. Wanting to make sure that they could all eat together once his dad was done. The jutsu wasn't over until his dad sealed it with a kiss to her forehead.
Iruka takes a deep breath and forces himself to cup Kakashi's jaw before he has a chance to think himself out of it. He settles his thumbs along Kakashi's jawline and resists the urge to trace the curve of it.
It's clear that Kakashi isn't used to being touched. Which makes sense. For a shinobi, that can often mean death. He's too disciplined to fully squirm, but it's a close thing. Kakashi tries to counteract his instinct to move away from the touch by holding himself as still as possible. Tightening every muscle in his shoulders and neck and face until he feels like stone under Iruka's fingers.
Iruka can't possibly do what he's supposed to if he's like this.
"Relax."
It's as if there is chakra laced in the words. The simple command sends Kakashi's shoulders down away from his ears — lets the muscles in his jaw ease ever so slightly.
"Much better," Iruka murmurs, momentarily forgetting his promise to himself from earlier that he wouldn't trace.
His dad tried to explain the process of this to him after Iruka made it known that he wanted to be able to help his mom with her migraines too. It's not quite a medical ninjutsu and not quite a genjutsu. Maybe his dad had a more refined grasp on it, but Iruka couldn't have been more than seven the last time he asked his dad to teach him. Eager to be able to help his mom if she ever needed it.
Infusing chakra into another person requires a deceptive amount of chakra control. Iruka can handle basic first aide just fine. He's had years of practice healing the cuts and scrapes of his pre-genin. But head injuries are tricky. The chakra pathways there are far more delicate, not to mention there's no room for error when operating so close to the brain, which is why it should only be left to trained medi-nin.
So this isn't that. It's more similar to forming chakra into a thick paste and plastering it over the outside of the afflicted area. When his dad did it, the chakra barrier helped relieve the tension the migraine was causing and created what his mom always called a "lingering warmth" that made the effects last for a few hours. It doesn't actually make the migraine go away, it just makes it a little less painful while it runs it's course.
It's even more clumsy when Iruka is the one doing it. Remembering and learning all at once. His hands move awkwardly over Kakashi's cloth covered skin. It's hard to tell if what he's doing is having any affect, but Iruka attempts to project confidence anyways. Even if this isn't perfect, a little relief is better than none at all.
Iruka focuses more chakra into his left hand than his right. The specifics of how Kakashi ended up with a Sharingan are a story that he's never offered the details of and Iruka has never felt it his place to ask about, but the physical effects are obvious beneath his hands. The muscles in the left side of his face hold far more tension than the muscles on his right. A distinct jagged energy radiating from that side of him.
Softness is Iruka's mandate — his silent prayer for his chakra as he channels it over Kakashi. Iruka tries. With everything he can, he tries to give him softness. But Kakashi's body isn't used to it. The rejection of anything foreign and desire to accept it anyways plays out underneath Iruka's fingertips.
The mask isn't helping. Not because the barrier makes the technique less effective or anything. But it's itchy — not to mention it catches on every callus littering Iruka's hands. Truly the worst choice Iruka could imagine for a piece of of fabric that stays pressed to the face all day. It's hard to keep his hands in one place for too long without needing to pick them up to scratch an itch. Which he can't do because if he breaks contact then the jutsu ends.
The compromise he settles on is running his fingers back and forth along the fabric every time they start to itch. Using the rough grain of the fabric to ease the irritation it caused.
It's strange. Feeling so thoroughly a face he's never seen. His hands would be better able to recognize Kakashi's face than his eyes would be after this.
There's a spot he keeps catching himself returning to. A divot on Kakashi's left cheek. Is it a dimple? Or does the scar across his eye really go that far down? Maybe if he traces it again he can —
"Eww! Yuck! Iruka-sensei, what'd you let this guy talk you into?!"
Kakashi flinches as Naruto lets himself into Iruka's apartment. Wrinkles crease the corners of his eye as he shrinks away from the intrusion. No doubt it's jarring for Kakashi to let himself be less aware of his surroundings while he lets Iruka try this. Iruka sends a stronger pulse of chakra into the technique, hoping it will be enough to preserve all of his hard work thus far. It seems to do the trick. Kakashi's eye is still closed, the wrinkles dissipating until there's only smooth skin beneath his fingers once more as be begins working into his temples.
"Naruto, that's not very polite."
Maybe that extra wave of chakra had been too much. He feels Kakashi's skin warm slightly under his touch. It looks little pinker around his cheeks too, though he only has a small patch around his right eye to go off of.
It's probably nothing.
"It's bad enough he's always here, now he's having you feel him up!"
Is Kakashi really always here? Sure he's here often. Probably three or four nights a week ever since this all started. But always feels a bit excessive.
"This was my idea. Not Kakashi's."
"That's even worse! That means he's already infected you with his perversions," Naruto laments. "Pretty soon you're gonna be walking around the village with those same awful books you're always yelling at him for reading in public!"
Iruka's fingertips rest on the crown of Kakashi's head. The only part of the memory left incomplete is the kiss to Kakashi's forehead. His body starts the motion.
"I'm telling you, Iruka-sensei. This guy's rotten company."
Then thinks better of it.
/////
At the sound of the final bell, Iruka's students are tripping over themselves to head home for the day. Some of them call See you tomorrow, Iruka-sensei! over their shoulder as they leave, but most are too busy shouting animatedly with their friends to remember their manners. Iruka chuckles to himself as he watches them trip over each other to gain a few extra seconds of play while the sun is still out.
For the first time all day, his classroom is quiet. Iruka breathes it in, appreciating the silence and the emptiness and the —
"Hey!" Anko shouts, throwing the door open without knocking. "We still on for dinner?"
Iruka smiles, but weariness keeps it from making it all the way to his eyes. "Yeah, I just need to stop by the teacher's lounge then we can go."
The first half hour or so after teaching all day, Iruka's brain is liable to be fried from over use. This has never phased Anko, who could talk the ear off a brick wall. She spends the whole walk there recounting the mission she'd been away on last week. Iruka is content to listen to her as she talks enough for the both of them.
The teacher's lounge is sparse, but serviceable. They keep tea and coffee on a small table with a few old chairs surrounding it. The back wall is primarily archives, extra copies of lesson plans, other reference scrolls the teachers all have access to. The mailboxes are more like an old filing cabinet, but each teacher has one with their name on it for people to leave scrolls and paperwork in.
Iruka opens the small door of the cabinet with his name on it. The updated medicinal herb foraging guides he requested are there, but so is a scroll he isn't expecting. He unrolls it to find that it's another form thanking him for his interest in joining the Headmaster's Advisory Council and reminding him that the applications are due next Friday. Iruka doesn't bother suppressing the groan that spills out of him.
"Ugh, I need to talk to Sandaime about getting me off the list for these. This is the third scroll I've gotten this week. I don't know why they keep sending them." Iruka re-rolls the scroll and tosses it towards the trashcan. "None of the other teachers are getting them."
Anko catches the scroll halfway through its arc and gives it a quick once over.
"Oh, yeah. I signed you up for this."
"You what?!"
Iruka's head whips around. First to Anko, indignation and disbelief battling for promenance across his face, then to make sure the teacher's lounge is empty. He relaxes marginally when he re-confirms that no one else is here.
Unperturbed by all of this, Anko smiles with all her teeth. "Yeah! Come on, Iruka, you'd be great at it. You're still a few years too young to be Headmaster and Harutaka probably won't retire for a few years anyways, but this is a great step to —"
Heat rushes to Iruka's cheeks. Everything is suddenly far too hot. Too much going on in his head to keep track of all at once. Balancing all of it is more than he can handle. It threatens to tip over. Spill out of him before he has a chance to stop it. The embarrassment and the confusion and the shame and the frustration and the —
"Anko, why would you do that?"
"Because I knew you'd never do it for yourself."
Her words cut straight through his skin and muscle to a part of him that's too raw to be exposed out of the blue like this.
"Yeah, because I don't want to." He rushes to shut her down.
"Please," Anko rolls her eyes. "Other people might buy that, but I sure as hell don't. You would be really good at this. Just apply! See where it leads. What's the worst that could happen?"
Thousands of possibilities flood Iruka's brain in overwhelming unison.
Versions of the future where he doesn't get it. The humiliation of everyone finding out that he wanted to take a step towards becoming Headmaster, but wasn't good enough to get it. The looks and stares and whispered pity. Poor, naive little Iruka, thought he could be important. How stupid of him.
Versions of the future where he does get it. Where he has the chance to do something he's always wanted to do, but fucks it all up anyways. A council full of people has a front row seat to watch him fumble and the whole school has to pay the price when he does. Concrete evidence that the voice in his head, the scathing timbre that sounds too much like him, was right all along. He can't possibly do this.
"The application isn't due until next week," Anko prattles on, completely unaware of Iruka's internal turmoil. "That's plenty of time to —"
"Anko." Iruka cuts her off. "No."
He meets her gaze head on. Unwilling to back down.
Iruka cannot let any of those versions of the future come to pass. The only way that he can be sure that nothing changes is to change nothing. So that's what he's going to do.
"Fine," Anko grumbles. "But this isn't over."
Iruka sighs heavily. It doesn't make him feel better, but at least he's bought himself some time.
"I'm sure that it isn't."
/////
Iruka needs a fucking drink.
This week was the first time all of the pre-genin got to attempt fūinjutsu. And Iruka was the one who had to lead the unit.
Call it some of the older teachers still remembering their classrooms being demolished by Iruka's own knack for fūinjutsu back when he was a student and finally having a golden opportunity for revenge. Call it the fact that Iruka has only been a teacher for a year and a half and is still well within the getting stuck with all the grunt work window any new job entails. Or call it that Iruka is simply, supremely unlucky. Whatever name it went by, the outcome was the same — Iruka was fucked.
People always assume the week where they learn to practice throwing kunai or try a basic transformation jutsu are the hardest times to be an Academy teacher. But those who have to grade their written assignments know that some of the kids can't be trusted to legibly write their own names.
So one can imagine the amount of chaos a technique that requires tremendous precision with penmanship can create.
He'd had to stop six of the kids from blowing up their classmates and another three from blowing up themselves. How they managed it when none of those nine have any knack for Fire Release is still a mystery to him. Four of them — who do have an affinity for Fire Release — had banded together and combined their tags to create what Iruka could only describe as the fiery gates to a Hell dimension. Another three had handwriting so abysmal that the seals weren't able to do anything, which was a relief because they couldn't add to the chaos, but troubling because it meant Iruka would have to continue the unit into next week to make sure those kids didn't fall too far behind their peers.
The most dangerous though is always the one kid who's a little too good at it. This year it had been a girl who's particularly strong with Wind Release. She managed to store enough chakra in her seals to trigger every fire alarm in the whole Academy in perfect unison while everyone was at lunch. By the time they came back, the sprinklers had damn near flooded the whole building. They were gonna be finding water logged nooks and crannies for weeks.
But all of that is over now.
School is out and it's officially the weekend and Iruka's only responsibility for the rest of the day is to meet up with Anko and down a respectable four beers. Plus whatever else she ends up convincing him to drink.
It must be a light week for missions, because it seems every other shinobi in Konoha has the same idea. Iruka wades through most of the active duty chunin and jonin before finding Anko at a table tucked into the far corner. And table is a literal descriptor this time, since she's not at their normal two top (which is being generous, seeing as how that "table" barely fits one person comfortably, let alone two). This time they have company.
At the table directly across from the one Iruka expected to be spending the evening sitting at is a large round table, encircled by a booth that curves to match it, where Iruka finds his friend. Anko's sitting at one end, with Genma, Asuma, Kurenai, and Guy filling the remainder of the seats.
And Kakashi. Kakashi is here too. Sitting on the far end across from Anko.
Or, well, technically across from Iruka now, as he scoots into the booth on Anko's side — shoving her further in to make more room for himself. She yanks out his ponytail for the transgression and Iruka just lets her, already pulling another hair tie off his wrist to re-tie it as she turns back to continue yelling at Genma about whatever he'd been saying before Iruka arrived. Anko takes the hair tie around one finger, draws it back with her other hand until there's a decent amount of tension, then launches it directly at Genma. It hits him right between the eyes, leaving a small, angry red mark in its wake.
The whole table erupts into a cacophony of laughter. It vibrates through the wooden booth they all share — connecting Iruka to everyone around him.
Iruka steals a glance at Kakashi, whose arms are folded over his chest as he does his best to shrink away from it all. Which Iruka can't say is all that surprising. Granted, he has quite a skewed sample size of interactions with Kakashi to go off of. But even at Iruka's apartment he doesn't go out of his way to talk.
That's never stopped Iruka though.
He leans around the table toward him. "So did it help?" Iruka asks, just loud enough to be heard over the noise, but not so much that his voice carries to the rest of the table.
"Did what help?"
"The other night," he clarifies. "When I, you know, touched or … felt uhm … — the migraine relief thing. Did it help your eyes?"
Iruka would love to blame his awkwardness on the alcohol, but he hasn't had any yet. He rectifies this, reaching out and snatching the first glass he can get his hands on and taking a big gulp. Some beer dribbles down his chin and Iruka uses the hem of his shirt to wipe it up. When he looks back up at Kakashi, the other man is staring at him … intensely. Weird.
The heaviness in his gaze dissipates as soon as Iruka notices it, swapped for hunched shoulders and a tilted head. It makes his hair even floppier than normal.
"I haven't stopped thinking about your hands since, sensei."
Iruka feels his face flush against his will.
It's not fair. Kakashi doesn't actually mean it when he says things like that. And yet Iruka can't seem to beat that lesson through his own stupid, thick skull enough to stop himself from getting caught off guard every time it happens.
When Kakashi teases, there's a layer of innuendo — encouraging people to look underneath the underneath or whatever version of the idea he's constantly babbling about. But Iruka's pretty sure he just talks like that because people expect him to. If one were to actually read between his lines, they'd find hollow pestering and a man who's intentionally using the couple seconds of buffering his words cause to duck out of an unwanted conversation before anyone can stop him.
Iruka takes the hint, rolling his eyes and settling back deeper into the booth. It occurs to him how weird it is to see Kakashi somewhere that isn't the Mission Desk or his apartment. No one else here knows that's weird, and that might be even weirder. They don't know about the months of quiet companionship. The late nights spent reading and grading in tandem. It's a nice little secret.
A firm punch in the shoulder from Anko brings him back to reality.
"Lost in the clouds, loverboy?"
"Loverboy?" Iruka scoffs. "What happened to asshat? Or moron? Village idiot? Don't tell me you're going soft."
"Don't get your hopes up, shithead." Anko takes a smug sip of her beer and Iruka tampers down the urge to throw his beer in her face to wipe said smug look off of it. "Loverboy just seemed more fitting seeing as how you're finally getting laid again and all."
She must be drunker than he thought.
"Trust me, if I start getting laid you'll be the first to know. In excruciating detail."
"Quit lying. You've been all happy recently. That doesn't just happen."
Has he been happier recently? It's not the sort of thing he keeps frequent tabs on. Just getting by is enough for him most days. But now that he's thinking about it … yeah. Maybe he is starting to feel happy again.
It's been so long he started to forget.
Whatever was causing the change certainly wasn't anything Anko had in mind though. "There are other things that can make people happy besides sex, Anko. Please tell me you know that. It's important to me that you —"
"Save it, Umino. This is no time for diversions. This," she gestures vaguely at Iruka, "is the kind of happy that only comes from getting your brains fucked out. Or fucking someone else's brains out. I don't really care which as long as I can't hear it from my apartment this time."
It occurs to Iruka that they're having this conversation very loudly at a table full of other people. Some of whom he's only marginally close with. But he's too invested in correcting Anko to stop talking, so he charges on full force.
"There is no this time because I know you didn't hear shit last time. You were just trying to get my apartment to stop letting me have visitors, but instead you almost got me evicted."
Iruka has never had a more mortifying conversation than the day his landlord came to talk to him about the content of the noise complaints. If the rent wasn't so cheap, he would've moved out of his own free will just to never have to face the man ever again after that.
"Can you blame me? Someone had to try to stop you from fucking Mizuki. You weren't listening to any of us! I had to get creative."
So it does in fact appear like everyone was listening.
For the first time all night, their table is silent. All staring at Iruka with a mix of bewilderment and pity and … something he can't quite place. It crawls like fire ants under his skin. A burning certainty that he's done the wrong thing.
Eager to be able to blame the redness he feels creeping up his neck and cheeks on anything other than shame, Iruka reaches for the flask he knows that Anko keeps strapped to the outside of her thigh. He should definitely be more afraid of whatever she's filled it with than he is, but chugs until the coughing fit starts anyways. How Anko manages to drink this stuff is beyond him. It burns the whole way down, stinging his throat and lungs as he prays that the beer he chases it with will somehow ease the scorching sensation.
Asuma claims it couldn't possibly be that bad, so Iruka gives him the flask to try. He puts on a brave face, working hard to impress Kurenai, Iruka suspects. It takes another seven seconds before he joins Iruka in hacking up a lung. The flask gets passed around. Everyone trying their luck with whatever's inside or using it spike their drink if they're not.
They drain every glass on the table so Iruka offers to buy the next round. The prospect of sitting at this table any longer suddenly suffocating.
When he bends his knees to stand, the world bends a little with him. It sways and then steadies. Almost like there's a hand on his waist keeping him from falling over.
Maybe he's a little drunker than he thought.
The bartender is a fellow chunin that Iruka knows well from nights like these. It's an odd job for a shinobi, but in a way Iruka supposes there's some logic to it. Better for drunk shinobi to spill their secrets to someone with at least a little bit of mission clearance rather than a random civilian. The man — Jirou, Iruka's pretty sure his name is — lures away the stranger who wraps his arm around Iruka's waist and asks him if he's in need of new plans for tonight. Iruka sends Jirou a grateful nod before taking up the mountain of pint glasses in front of him and walking back to his table. It takes tremendous dexterity to avoid the throng of people filling up the bar. Thankfully the tables are more out of the way than the bar proper, tucked behind —
"I'm game, obviously, but good luck getting Iruka to agree. He never comes out on Sundays anymore," Anko laments, in a tone that would have Iruka chastising his pre-genin about whining.
It would take just a couple of extra steps to round the corner and rejoin them. But after hearing his own name, Iruka decides to linger and listen in.
"Can you blame him?" Genma asks. "He's a teacher. I wouldn't either if I was hours away from having thirty pre-genin sneeze in my face then ask when they get to hold a shuriken."
"That never stopped him before."
It's true. Iruka did used to go out on Sundays fairly often, but he hasn't wanted to as much recently. He's not really sure when it started.
Staying in has just had more appeal than usual as of late.
"Well, on Sundays Iruka …"
That had been Kakashi. But why had he stopped talking? No one's saying anything. Are they all just staring at each other? Maybe he should go back and —
There's the sound of a hand loudly slamming into a table, then Genma yelling, "Man, fuck you!"
Well, now Iruka certainly isn't going anywhere. Not until he figures out what the hell Genma is talking about. He's not sure what he'd expected his them to all be doing in that weird silence, but they were making less sense by the second.
"Are you serious? You already have everything — you don't also need Iruka."
"Hmm?"
"Don't you hmm me," Genma snaps. "You're one of the top jonin in the village, you're mysterious and cool and probably hot, everybody knows you're gonna be Hokage one day — you can't seriously have also bagged Unimo 'eternally single for some fucking reason even though he's literally perfect marriage material with an ass that never quits' Iruka."
Marriage material? Him? And what was that about his ass?
"His greed sickens me," Anko says snidely. Iruka knows her well enough to assume her comment also comes with a stern shaking of her head and a glare that could curdle milk.
"Who said anything about marriage?"
Genma says, "You just did," at the same time that Asuma shouts, "You idiot! You finally get Iruka to agree to date you and you aren't even trying to make it permanent? What're you thinking!?"
"It's not —"
"Oh what?" Anko interrupts. "So Iruka isn't good enough for you? Is that what you're trying to say?"
"I never said that! I think Iruka is … is uhm —"
This time it's Guy who speaks. "Kakashi, my Rival, I can't believe you've been holding out on me! If you had told me that you were finally successful at winning over the heart of Unimo Iruka, I would have stopped trying to help you enjoy your Shining Youth by setting you up on countless dates with every eligible man, woman, and person in Konoha." The tears seem to have started now, if the quiver in Guy's normally steady voice is anything to go off of. "Instead, I have disrespected you and your Most Important Person. In order to atone, I shall prepare the two of you a fourteen course meal — No! Better yet I'll …"
Is Iruka standing under a furnace vent? Or near someone trying to drunkenly show off with Fire Release? It's suddenly oppressively hot. The palms of his hands are so sweaty he's worried he might drop everyone's beers. It's making his heart do weird things too — fluttering and beating against his chest so hard he doesn't know if he wants to throw up or burst into sobs.
He's probably drunker than he thought. He should sit back down. And have a big glass of water.
"Sorry it took so long." Iruka loudly thuds seven pints of beer onto their table.
Drunk people — even drunk shinobi — are as easily distracted as Iruka's pre-genin. A fresh round of beer in front of them is now all anyone can focus on, too busy thanking Iruka or offering to buy the next round to pester him about Kakashi.
The conversation twists and turns until surrounding him on all sides is laughter in the dim light of the bar. The intense heat he felt earlier subsides to the gentle warmth of alcohol coursing through his veins. It makes everything fuzzy around the edges — smiles are bolder, teasing is unrestrained, movements are languid. He finds his own ease reflected back at him in the faces around him. Their rosy cheeks, their unfocused glances, their thoughts that get lost half way through speaking them. So when Kakashi hooks his foot around Iruka's ankle underneath the table, it must just be the alcohol making him forget himself.
/////
Iruka dutifully waits until Naruto has taken the first bite of his ramen before he asks, "So are you going to tell me what's bothering you now?"
Naruto's got a glass face — everything he's thinking or feeling written all over it for everyone to see. Today had been particularly bad.
They were supposed to spar this morning before Naruto had to meet the rest of Team Seven. And Iruka had been late. Very late. He felt horrible about it. Being late is something that Iruka works really hard to avoid. Time is valuable and so is his word.
This morning he'd just been … distracted.
He'd apologized profusely to Naruto for being late — even offering to buy him ramen to make up for it. After knowing him for so long, Iruka thought he knew exactly what Naruto would say next. Darn right you will, Iruka-sensei! You better bring your wallet too, because I'm ordering three bowls with extra pork and there's nothing you can do about it! Believe it!
What left his mouth next was much, much worse.
"If you even have time for me anymore."
Instead of that glass face showing someone who was angry or annoyed or even thrilled at the prospect of free ramen, all Iruka saw was a very sad, very hurt little boy. Naruto hadn't said anything else. Just turned on his heel and started walking to where he had to meet Team Seven, shoulders hunched and feet dragging.
Iruka made a point to be half an hour early to meet Naruto after training. Just in case. He could tell that Kakashi was surprised to see him standing there waiting for the return of Team Seven. The other man tried to strike up a conversation and probe about what his plans were for the rest of the evening. This is about the time of night where Iruka pays a little extra attention to the sounds coming from his window, but he told Kakashi he'll have to take a raincheck before beginning to guide Naruto toward Ramen Ichiraku.
Naruto doesn't look any more willing to talk about what's bothering him now than he did this morning. Iruka's not above bribery though and makes a big show of pulling Naruto's ramen bowl to the other side of the bar before the boy shouts, "It's not like you'll change what's bothering me!"
"Well, how can I know that if you won't tell me what you want me to change?" Iruka slides him back his ramen. Naruto puts one arm around it protectively and uses the other to spoon the broth into his mouth.
"Every time I've been to your apartment recently, Kakashi-sensei is always there too. I can't stand him!"
Iruka reflects back over the past several weeks and can't say that Naruto is wrong. When he isn't away on missions, Kakashi is over at Iruka's more nights than not. When Kakashi and Naruto both end up there at the same time, Kakashi usually leaves as soon as Naruto arrives, but the boy is noticeably happier when he unlocks the front door and finds Iruka home alone.
"Is he really so bad?"
"He's the worst!"
"What makes him so horrible?"
Naruto begins listing things on his fingers. "He's always late."
"So are you."
"He's rude to everyone."
"So are you."
"He's always trying to show off whatever cool jutsu he thinks will impress people."
"So do you."
"He only cares about Sasuke."
"Bold words coming from the same kid who spent forty minutes explaining the Fire Ball jutsu that Sasuke did when we had dinner last week."
Naruto throws his head back in a loud, frustrated groan.
"Uuuuuuggggghhhhh! You're being difficult on purpose because you're in love with him or whatever."
The accusation makes Iruka's face flush. Why do people keep assuming that?
"I am not in love with Kakashi."
"Fine. He's in love with you. I don't care about the specifics. It's just …" Naruto pokes somberly at his ramen. "You can do so much better than him, Iruka-sensei."
Oh. Now he's starting to understand.
Naruto is very all or nothing. Someone is either the best, most aspirational person in the world or his mortal enemy. Iruka has always known that Naruto sees him as worth going to the ends of the earth for. A fact for which he is eternally grateful for, and likely a little undeserving of. He would have assumed Kakashi would have weaseled his way into the first category by now, but apparently not.
Naruto is also incredibly competitive. And written all over the hunching of his shoulders and the averting of his gaze is the fact that he believes that Iruka spending time with Kakashi means that he is losing Iruka in some way. But companionship is not a loss. Iruka would never turn his back on Naruto. He's too important to him. All he has to do is make him believe it.
Iruka softens everything about himself. His voice, his posture, his gaze. He places a gentle hand on Naruto's shoulder. "Naruto, Kakashi and I are not dating."
Naruto tries to interrupt, but Iruka levels him with his best teacher glare. Muscle memory sinks in and Naruto is silent.
"But even if we were, no one is asking you to like him. You're your own person. You get to form your own opinions and it's ok if they're different from mine. But Kakashi is important to me. And me having other people that matter to me doesn't make you matter less."
"Doesn't it though?"
"Not a chance," Iruka corrects. "Love isn't something a person can run out of. It's always inside you. Right here." He pokes the center of Naruto's chest. "As you grow up, you're going to keep meeting more and more people. You don't have to love the people you know now less just to make room for the new people. The love grows with you."
Naruto turns this idea over in his head. It settles his nerves some, back to regular contemplation of a new idea, as opposed to pointedly ignoring Iruka.
There's still something else on Iruka's mind though.
"By the way, now that you're officially a genin, I have a question for you."
Naruto looks at him suspiciously.
"There's a lot of paperwork that goes into being a shinobi. Medical records, mission histories, security clearances — a whole bunch of stuff. Some forms, not every ninja has to fill out and they get left blank. In my file for example, since I'm an orphan too, my next of kin form is blank. Which I figured is a shame, since I do have someone that I consider family, even if we aren't related by blood. So I was wondering how you'd feel about me listing you as my official next of kin."
The smile spreading across Naruto's face is the brightest one Iruka has seen from the boy in weeks.
"Really?!" He shouts loud enough to shake the counter.
"Really," Iruka chuckles.
It seems like Naruto is on the precipice of acceptance, but before he does, Iruka has one more thing left to say. Because even if Iruka won't stop seeing Kakashi altogether, he still wants to show Naruto that spending time with him matters That he's striving to be intentional about it.
"And I can tell Kakashi he isn't allowed over on Thursday evenings anymore. Those can be blocked off just for you."
Truly, the yelling that comes is Iruka's own fault. He should have expected this.
"So Kakashi-sensei gets the other six days and I just get one?! No fair! I thought we were supposed to be next of kin, Iruka-sensei!"
"You know that I do other things besides spend time with Kakashi in the evenings, right? Like work at the Mission Desk and grade assignments and do chores and go on missions and write lesson plans and have other —"
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever." He makes a flicking motion with his wrist to brush off Iruka's (very sound) point. Then he gets quiet again. Thoughts spinning behind glassy, unfocused eyes.
After a few moments, Naruto turns back to him. "Iruka-sensei. If you're serious about the forms, then that'd be alright with me."
The boy's grin is toothy and lopsided and it makes Iruka's heart swell. For the first time since his parents died, Iruka has next of kin again. It makes him feel connected to them in a way he didn't think was ever meant for him. Having someone to pass everything he is onto when the time comes.
They finish another bowl of ramen each. When Iruka attempts to pay, Techui insists that it's on the house. Iruka makes sure that Naruto gets home safe and tells him that he'll see him soon. When Iruka makes it back to his own apartment, the first thing he does is sit down at the table and fill out the next of kin forms to bring with him to work tomorrow.
/////
Two days later, there's an unlabeled envelope waiting for him on his desk when he gets to his classroom. Iruka opens it to find a store bought birthday card that has been doctored to read "Happy 1st Family Birthday". The signed names and well wishes all bleed together, half of them impossible to tell who wrote them, only that their message was written with care. Overflowing with well wishes for Konoha's newest, rag tag family: Iruka and Naruto.