Kakashi hates Iruka. He hates the way that when the chūnin walks down the street everyone smiles at him, waves, and generally looks happy to see him. He hates the way that Iruka smiles back whether he feels like smiling or not. He hates the way Iruka's shoulders droop ever so slightly when he closes the door of his apartment behind him, the weight of pretending escaping from him in the breath of a sigh. He hates that he is the only one who notices this.
Kakashi knows that hatred, especially towards a fellow shinobi, is bad. It can cause you to lose sight of your goal, and it is entirely too easy to be consumed by it. But somehow he feels drawn to watch the teacher, to follow him, to hate him. He can't help it. Whenever he thinks of the slightly curved scar stretching across that tanned face, or catches a glimpse of that freely given, open smile it feels like his whole body is on fire, consumed by a vile loathing.
He hates the fact that he is the only one Iruka does not smile at. When he hands in his mission report the man stutters and blushes and looks away, ordering him gone as soon as possible. A proper chūnin should not have a reaction like that to anything. He thinks Iruka needs to be put through interrogation training. Maybe if the chūnin were stronger he wouldn't feel this burning desire to put him in his place.
Iruka yells at the jōnin and other chūnin; for not completing mission reports properly, for trekking mud and blood into the mission room, for not going to the hospital and getting themselves fixed up immediately. He does not yell at Kakashi. Nobody yells at Kakashi. Kakashi wonders what he would do if the chūnin yelled at him. If it happened, it would at least give him a reason for the hate he can feel.
So he submits half completed, soggy reports that he gets Pakkun to write, the little pug holding the pen between his teeth and eyeing the steak he'd get for his trouble. Iruka doesn't yell, but his eyes look a little sad. Kakashi watches as he stays long after the mission room is closed filling out Kakashi's reports on a fresh form with his neat, rounded handwriting.
He hates Iruka's eyes, his face. He hates how expressive it is, how easy it is to get lost in the depths of those murky brown orbs. Shinobi must keep their feelings hidden at all times to be successful. Kakashi thinks Iruka is a failure.
Iruka dances when he thinks no one is watching. But Kakashi is always watching, and Kakashi hates this too. He gets a horrible twisting feeling in the pit of his stomach when the brunet shakes his hair loose of its constricting ponytail, closes his eyes and spins. In these moments Iruka is graceful and at peace, and not the harried looking chūnin at the mission desk or academy getting hounded by students and jōnin alike. Kakashi names this feeling hate because he's not sure what else it could be.
There is never any music when Iruka dances, but Kakashi suspects it plays in his head. He wants to know what song it is because he thinks it's always the same, and knowing might help him understand why he obsessively hates the chūnin. But Iruka only ever hums the tune, and never all of it. Kakashi is waiting for the day he lets his secret slip.
Kakashi really hates the way Naruto touches Iruka, and the way Iruka lets him. He doesn't hate Naruto, how can he? Naruto is the only thing left of the Fourth's, and he'll guard the kid with his life. But that doesn't mean the blond should be allowed to hug and tackle and just touch like that. Iruka is his chūnin to watch, and nobody should be allowed to touch him. He hates Iruka for not realizing this.
The village's resources have been sparse lately, and Kakashi has been on a lot of high-ranking missions. He is used to it, but it means he has less time to watch Iruka. He returns tired from his latest mission. He doesn't even remember what it was, as they are all starting to blur together.
He wants a smile from Iruka, to see what it's like to be on the proper receiving end of one. He's seen it happen to other people, watched ninja come in injured and unhappy and leave buoyed slightly and smiling. He doesn't like it, and wonders if it would be different if Iruka smiled at him directly.
Iruka doesn't smile; he merely stares at him in stunned silence with those big brown eyes as Kakashi drips blood over his desk. Kakashi glares and slams down his report. He hadn't thought it was too much to ask for, but apparently it is. He goes home and passes out on his bed. He doesn't want to go to hospital.
The next mission he's assigned to he's not ready for. His arm is not yet fully healed and he needs at least twenty-four hours of sleep to catch up on what he's missed in the last three weeks. He goes anyway, because it's his job. He's surprised to see Iruka waiting for him, and furious that the Sandaime thinks it's okay to send a chūnin – especially this chūnin – on a mission with him.
He's never hated Iruka more than he does when the chūnin moves when he's not supposed to and takes the blade meant for him through the chest. It's fatal, he knows that and Iruka knows that, and he doesn't understand why Iruka would do it. He wants to ask but he can't, because the hate is burning so strongly that it's blurring his vision and he can't see.
Kakashi wipes his eyes with the back of his glove and it comes away wet. Iruka's fingertips slide gently down his jawline, and the touch sears through his skin, burning a path down his chest and making his heart clench. It's hate, he assures himself, but he's not so sure anymore.
"Kakashi," the chūnin whispers, and Kakashi feels like he's breaking. "I'm sorry."
Iruka's eyes slide shut. He gives a soft smile, and Kakashi hates it. He'd give anything, now, to not see that smile. He wishes he'd never asked for it.
oo
A/N: If people like this enough and if I can be bothered I'll write a second chapter from Iruka's point of view.