Treading on Water
Disclaimer: I don't own all the characters in this story, Kishimoto does. Don't bother with a lawsuit; I'm broke anyway.
Summary: Kakashi's one secret ambition is to meet his perfectly ideal girl. Will he, though? KakaIru. One shot.
Note: I think I should warn you beforehand that the romance here is virtually nonexistent. Extremely subtle, that is. So if you're looking for some hardcore KakaIru theme, I'm afraid you won't find it here :(
Like the back of his hand, he knows the face of the girl he's going to marry. He would meet her one day along this dirt road, on one of those yellow days when the sky is clear and pretty much all his duties for the season are nominally accomplished. It could be on his students' graduation day or some other person's birthday. It could be on Valentine's Day or on one of those holidays that cancel missions. Whatever date fate chooses, he would meet her in the exact same manner he's imagined, wished for, and cried for over and over again.
In his mind, it's happened for as many times as he could count and remember. She is sitting there by the benches lining the Konoha thoroughfare. The weather is doing fine in that time of the month, which would explain the modesty of her attire: a sleeved round-neck top and knee-length skirt that Kakashi is sure would match a pair of leather boots. Her hair is trimmed just a little below her ears, which is considered vogue in that period of the decade. Her youth is evident from all angles and untainted by a shinobi ancestry. She is exactly the type who'd make a good housewife, as any girl coming from a non-warrior clan would. Her skin is on the rosier side of the pasture, her lips small, and her eyes bluish and dark. They aren't perfect in terms of symmetry but to Kakashi, it is of lesser concern. Amidst the early hustle-bustle of the day, she doesn't stand out enough to attract any passerby's attention. She is no investment in the aesthetic department and neither does she seem to attempt to be one. She is ordinary and she just sits there with a seamless composure that for some reason bothers Kakashi. She would tease the confounded man's senses just by sitting there, secure in her little place in this otherwise perfect world. Clueless, she is too.
Now the rising action: Kakashi approaches for no rhyme or reason as it would appear at first. She would look up from her lap and give him a questioning glance. From where Kakashi stands, he could see how soft and smooth her palms are; not a drop of blood has graced those hands. Perfect. Face to face, Kakashi blushes. But beneath the black mask there's nothing quite to be made out. He is safe for now as long as he keeps quiet and deep down he prays, please let not words be my constraints. He opens his mouth with enormous effort; her expression shifts into gentle amusement; he starts speaking,
"I think you might've dropped this." He would say and stretch out a thin pocketbook. Plain sailing, this task seems to him.
"Oh why, thank you! I thought I already lost it." She would exclaim happily and act all of a sudden grateful.
In the next few seconds, she would charmingly insist that he sit down with her. He would comply after several polite and formal attempts at declining. She would ask her as to how he tumbled upon the precious novella; he would recoil inwardly, knowing that he skillfully toted it off her handbag prior to this meeting so as to have an excuse to be introduced to her. It has to be as accidental as possible. He would answer coolly in his eagerness to convince her. They would converse on one topic for a few minutes, turn the crack, laugh, get serious, then repeat. She would invite him to tea some other day when she's not too busy. His scheme works, naturally: They would hit it off from there, he's quite sure. He has braced himself for this all along.
This scene, as it has to be noted, has undergone unnumbered revisions. It has been reconstructed as many times as it has been destroyed by Kakashi, if in the effort it would yield itself closer to perfection. It has become concrete after much replaying and Kakashi isn't about to let go of it. It is the perfect outlook, the one missing bit to complete his life's ultimate perfection. He is certain it will all be under his belt soon.
As of the moment, he is ambling about the area we just described. Hands buried in his pockets, Kakashi seems to effect an infirmity in posture. Unlike what he has pictured, the day isn't bright and one with him. It is silent to the point of barrenness, precisely the atmosphere preceding a good deal of rain. The residents might've sniffed the forecast and have decided to stay at their homes. Kakashi slows down around the corner as he perks his head up. His eyes narrow at the sight that greets him. In lieu of the woman of his dreams, Umino Iruka occupies the seat, extracted from the world at large and totally consumed by a classroom textbook. No doubt he's prepping himself up for another lecture.
In a bit, Kakashi makes his quiet entrance. Iruka looks up and gives Kakashi a warm smile.
"Vacant, are you?" Iruka gives it a start.
"No missions."
"Ah, I see." Iruka replies almost indifferently and sinks back down the pages of his book.
Kakashi frowns at this point. Why on earth does destiny have to make it this complicated? Thirty out of those thirty-seven times he's tried to find the woman in this spot, he found Iruka instead, driven by his usual leisure. What a sight this is! Kakashi cocks his head a little, lest Iruka senses something. He wants to revolt against reality and demand explanation for its unfairness. In the end, he lets his shoulders collapse. Thirty out of thirty-seven can only roughly be considered as chance: something's got to be gravitating Iruka toward him, and vice versa. Either that, or the Chuunin is being sneakily deliberate.
Iruka closes his book and stretches himself up.
"You're leaving?" Kakashi says in slight disbelief.
"I suppose so. I wouldn't want to trouble you, Kakashi."
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I get the feeling that you mean to meet someone else here. I shouldn't be here when that happens, right?"
Kakashi looks at him. Dispersed thoughts assault each vein in his head, fearing to have exposed what he tries so hard to conceal. Was I being that obvious? He asks himself several times over until he seems to have lost track of the passage of time. Having found no answer, he shakes his head. Maybe that girl isn't coming after all. Think about it, if reality ever hinted at her being alive would I, copy-ninja Kakashi, ever find it hard to get her? No! His mind rages on, declaration accepted by all. That woman does not exist, not in this world or in the bloody next.
Outwardly, Kakashi refuses to get upset at this discovery. No, not in front of Iruka now. He has paid his due and his reward is this. What's worth blowing up now?
"Iruka, would you like to have some tea with me?" Kakashi blurts out before he could stop himself.
"Why, certainly, sempai." Iruka responds. The pleasant look in his eyes dispels the lonely film covering the sky, or so it would seem. Suddenly, everything's bright, and the sun shines with such yellow intensity. They walk down Eleventh Street's tea shop, exchanging a word or two en route. Later still, they converse, shift topic, laugh, get serious, then repeat. Beneath the impermeable mask of blackness, Kakashi smiles. And he smiles for reality, rather than for fantasy this time around. Kakashi knows too that he would invite Iruka for dinner one of these days and not expect a perfectly ideal woman sitting in one of those random benches anymore. He would head there nonetheless.
Because in the long run, it's Iruka he's going to find right there and no other.
END