A quick surreal KakaIru I baked up with my too-tired mind. Yes, the narrator is Iruka. This is a strange sort of interpretation of he and Kakashi as characters. It shows Iruka as having too many worries and responsibilities and needing to have an escape from that, and Kakashi being the opposite, starting to lose himself and needing something to keep him grounded. 'He' is Iruka, 'the man' is Kakashi.

S i l e n c e

He enjoys the silence that fills his house when he comes home. The thick, suffocating silence that cuts off the blood from his brain so he doesn't think, he only feels the cool wood beneath his feet, the light of the moon falling through the cracks in the drapes. The feeling of nothing falls on him and he walks slowly through small rooms, aware of each step step step of his bare feet on the ground.

He has no furniture in his house, only the simple bed in the corner of his bedroom. No one knows but he always finishes his work at the academy so he doesn't have to do any at home. He'll stay as the moon clocks across the sky with his tired hands shaking so much his red correcting pen leaks and spills ink across his cluttered desk. Everything in his life is cluttered but his home, his haven; everything is loud and noisy and hurts his head and makes him think. He loves his home, where he doesn't need to care or remember he can just lie there.

He never takes visitors, and others say jokingly that it's because his house is such a wreck. He doesn't care that they're wrong. It's his heaven and he didn't shouldn't wouldn't care if other people knew what it was like.

He takes his first visitor after the man corners him on his way home. What are you doing outside so late? the man asks and he doesn't reply, because already he was getting used to the silence enjoying the silence enough to stop thinking. They press their cold wet lips together and he likes the way he doesn't have to think, even as he can hear words and voices and feel things brushing touching kissing his skin. He likes the small noises as they hug and kiss in his simple bed, the small things that for some reason help his forget to think, forget to remember.

He doesn't see the man again for days, and by then he's settled into his old routine, though now there is some deep animalistic need for something more, for another reason to stop thinking. He finally corners the man in an alley as he passes by without his team, kissing his neck and cheeks and lips. He can feel the man begin to relax under his touch, beginning to kiss back and leading them to his own house. This house is messier than his own, cluttered with things that keep the mind alive active thinking. The bed is smaller, and so they press together, arms wrapped around each other as they kiss. They don't speak, haven't spoken since that first time but they both understand. The man can see his need to forget, to stop thinking and he can see it in the other man's eyes, his need to stay alive. He kisses back violently as the other caresses his body softly, and together they perform some strange silent dance, only interrupted by the small creaking of springs or the dripping of the light rain outside the window.

The two of them never speak anymore, and people begin to take notice. Did you fight with sensei? his old student will ask, and he only smiles blankly and shakes his head. He never speaks anymore, as long as he can help it. At one time silence was a secret haven, but now he doesn't mind it when other people know what makes him happy. He thinks about quitting the academy, because now all he craves is the animalistic passion that thoughtlessly feeds his soul, and he doesn't want anything to change that.

He finally becomes a jounin a year after the man first came to his home, and now they only meet a few times a month, whenever they're both home from missions. He wakes up early and wraps his arms and legs, something he hasn't done in years. He dares to let himself make noise as he drops his pack of kunai to the ground with a clatter. The noise wakes up his mind enough for him to feel the desire, and he quickly slips on his small cloth mask and goes to the mission office for whatever he can find.

Soon he becomes known as the first Konoha nin ever to have a perfect success rate whilst only taking up assassination missions. He hears whispers follow him as he walks through the streets with his new clean red and white mask, hears them asking themselves where he went wrong. He doesn't mind. The noise makes him think, and thinking makes him remember the man he hasn't seen in nearly two weeks. He meets the man and without a question they make their way back to the man's house. They never look twice at each other's bloody bandages as they strip in the light of the moon coming through the drapes; never question the fresh scars appearing on previously smooth patches of skin. They don't talk at all, never have since they're first night together. The man still needs something, some warmth to keep his mind alive, and he still needs something to help his thinking mind go to sleep.

He begins to feel the guilt catching up to him. He will hear the whispers following him and he can suddenly feel the blood on his hands like gloves of white hot iron, weighing him down until he can no longer carry his sword or pick himself up off the red-soaked ground. He starts going home every night and making himself be slow, silent, so he won't have to think anymore.

He and the man talk again, for the first time in three years, and the man speaks in a low whisper. Do you love me? the man asks, and he is at a loss for an answer. Love was such a strange concept, and their relationship even more so. The man seems to understand this, to feel the same way, and the almost-silence of their fucking makes him restless, makes him think about the guilt and the blood on his heavy hands. The man tells him goodbye as he leaves the next morning but he doesn't reply.

He and the man don't meet anymore. They can both see that they have no need for each other anymore; can see that the man has recovered and can now keep himself from falling asleep and can see that he no longer had any need to stay awake.

He hands in his resignation with his heavy bloody hands and returns to his silent house, basking in the thick quiet that cuts off the blood from his brain so he doesn't think anymore. He takes his loud kunai and stuffs them under his bed where they won't wake him up, cleaning his house until there's only his simple bed and nothing to make him think.

The next day he starts teaching at the academy. He can hear whispers wondering whether he's still stable after his stint with the animals but they let him back anyways, and slowly he begins to talk again. He smiles at his students and teaches them how to make it in the world, working late in the classroom as the moon clocks through the sky. And every night after he's done he walks home in the deafening silence, smiling blankly because he doesn't have to think or care or stay awake, and that's the way he likes it.