Title: All's Fair (Don't Forget the Paperwork)
Author: Emmy Kay
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Kakashi likes things the way he likes them. And no one, not even a certain ponytailed stranger, is going to change that.
Contains [warnings]: AU.
Author's Notes: Written for the Winter 2011 round of the KakaIru Fest for Sejitsu.
Prompt: Coffee shop AU. Many thanks to Anenko for excellence in beta-ing and encouragement. All errors are mine after the fact, because I couldn't stop picking at it.
Disclaimer: Naruto and all affiliated characters belong to Kishimoto Masashi. This story is written without permission and for personal/fan/nonprofit entertainment purposes only.
Kakashi woke up late, but not too late. He stretched luxuriously on his very soft, custom woven cotton and linen blend sheets. (Thread counts were for the gauche.) It was, after all, Saturday. He allowed himself this indulgence one day a week. He showered leisurely and then spent a moment in front of his closet. Just because most of his clothes looked the same didn't mean that he didn't care. His mother had shown him that the nicer the clothes, the nicer they sat on the body, even if one slouched as terribly as he did in public. He picked a simple white shirt and dark slacks. Just in case it turned out to be chillier than usual, he pulled out a fitted navy cashmere jacket.
His father, long since deceased, had once joked to a pre-teen Kakashi about the difficulty of finding properly fitting socks. A few months later, Kakashi had turned over a series of computer-aided designs that ultimately revolutionized the sock-making industry, making better fitting socks with greater energy efficiency. It also netted the family a tidy sum and set Kakashi on his way to his current, loose job description as engineering genius at-large.
He whistled for his dog, the shrill sound echoing through the mansion. After a short and brisk walk through the park, with a stop to visit the veteran's memorial, they ended up outside the coffee shop. (As wonderful as his housekeeper was, she had refused to master the baristing arts.) There, he tied Pakkun up outside the store, like he did every Saturday, and entered, quite pleased with himself. Things were as they always were. As it should be.
He ordered his Saturday usual: a single-shot espresso. On the rare occasion he felt the need for additional fortification, he would get another after he finished the first. But today was not such a day.
When he turned to his regular table, he halted in shock.
Somebody was sitting there already. A man, somewhere in his late twenties, with brown hair and a ponytail, was at Kakashi's table. He had several stacks of papers around him, a drink and a plate perched precariously on what little remained of the table's surface. He raised his face to peer out of the window, idly rubbing the scar across his nose. He was kind of cute, in a rumpled, clothes a-little-too-big for him sort of way.
Not that it mattered. Nobody, but nobody messed with Kakashi Hatake's way of doing things, especially on a Saturday.
Kakashi slithered up to the table. "Excuse me, you're sitting at my table."
The man looked up, a genial smile on his face. "Oh, yeah? Sorry. But there's plenty of free tables here." He gestured to the open space in front of them.
"But it's my table."
"Sorry." The smile slipped, but the look he was giving Kakashi remained pleasant. "I've got all my stuff here already. Maybe you could go to another table - like that one." He pointed to the table farthest away from their current location.
"It's MY table."
"It doesn't have anybody's name on it," the man said, finally stirred to irritation.
"MINE."
The man looked at Kakashi with an expression that said, 'you, sir, are clearly, totally, insane.' He gestured to the empty chair across from him, sarcastically. "Would you like to share?"
Then he proceeded to look rather confused when Kakashi did sit down, placing his demitasse and saucer directly on top of one of those piles of paper.
After a moment, he shrugged and returned to his grading.
The sun was in Kakashi's eye, the one not covered by an eyepatch. He could still see the concentration the man was putting into his work. The man stuck his bottom lip out, just a bit, and tapped his pen against it as he thought hard about something. He was really cute.
Not that it mattered. That guy was sitting in Kakashi's chair. And because he was in that chair, he was free from the sun's glare.
Kakashi, accidentally on purpose, pushed a pile off the table.
The man looked up at the sound of the paper hitting the floor. "Hey! What -?"
"Sorry." Kakashi smiled so falsely it was a wonder his nose didn't grow.
"What is the matter with you?" asked the man.
"It was just an accident."
The man frowned. He got up. Kakashi's spirits started to lift. Carefully, he stacked his piles of paper into one big pile and placed it on an empty chair. He replaced Kakashi's cup and saucer on the now bare surface of the table. Then he sat down again, pen in hand to complete his task. Kakashi's spirits crashed. The man was not leaving.
The man had made more room at the table. How thoughtful. Not that it mattered. Kakashi was still unhappy. Kakashi put his elbows on the table. Which was incredibly rude, and his mother would have had words with him had she been there. However, as she was safely in another part of the world with other unshackled maternal types looking to pick up their next husbands/sugar daddies, he felt completely free to behave as he liked. Not that he wouldn't have anyway, but sometimes, mentions of his mother did remind him of how regular people behaved.
He slid his elbows along the table until they were touching the man's own elbows.
The man looked up, his eyes glinting with a barely checked temper. "Look -"
"Oh, excuse me." Kakashi smiled again. Those eyes were really nice, all warm and brown, like spicy hot chocolate.
Speaking of hot chocolate... the man was just steaming. "I don't know what your problem is, but you really need to get your head adjusted."
Kakashi's eye curved up happily. "Thanks."
The man grabbed his papers, stuffed them into a worn canvas satchel, and stalked off.
Well, thought Kakashi huffily. The man could have been more polite. He had left his dirty dishes behind.
Two Saturdays later, Kakashi halted abruptly near his own house. The "For Sale" sign on the neighboring property had a "SOLD" placard on it. It wasn't a great house - it was a small two-bedroom that had been allowed to get a little run down. It wasn't a great lot - it was a corner lot that was much smaller than the standard lot the city currently allowed. Even the landscaping was substandard - the grass, what there was of it, lay all patchy and yellow and dying.
Kakashi had meant to purchase that property when it went up for sale a few months ago, but had forgotten about it until just now. Because, surely, everyone knew that he had first right of refusal. Everybody except the person who just bought that house, that is.
Who had bought that house? He had to know.
He reconsidered. It didn't matter. It was his.
The doorbell rang. Nobody rang the doorbell on the Hatake mansion on Sundays.
Kakashi opened the window and stuck his head out from the upstairs library. It was the brown-haired man from the coffee shop! Kakashi quickly withdrew, a little nervous. What was he doing here? How did he find out where Kakashi lived? How did he know today was the housekeeper's day off?
The doorbell rang again. Resigned, Kakashi climbed down the many stairs that circled the great foyer. Maybe if the man saw Kakashi, he would go away, like he did at the shop.
Kakashi opened the door. The man was holding out a plate of cookies. "Hi - " he began, and then he stopped. His eyes narrowed. "You!"
Kakashi smiled. "Yes?"
The man withdrew the plate, scowling. Then he turned to leave.
"You rang? Why?"
The man turned back partway. "I'm your new neighbor." He stomped off.
Kakashi chased him. "Hey, stop!"
"What?"
"I'm sorry. For the way I acted at the coffee shop."
The man nodded. "Okay. Fine."
"I'm Kakashi Hatake. What's your name?"
"Iruka Umino." At first, the words came out reluctantly, but it seemed his better nature reasserted itself. "How are you?"
"I'm fine, I'm fine, Iruka Umino. Tell me, what do you do?"
"I'm a teacher at the high school."
"Excellent. How much for the house?"
"What?"
"I want to buy your house - how much?"
"That's not how you behave with a new neighbor!" Iruka looked at Kakashi as if he had sprouted another head right then and there. "I just bought that house - why would I sell it to you?"
"It completes my property. Your house was the caretaker's house when the land belonged to my family. My grandfather gave that house and property to the last caretaker when he retired. I wish to bring it together again."
"But it was listed for a while. Why didn't you buy it then?"
"I was out of town, and then I forgot. But that doesn't matter," Kakashi dismissed it all with a wave. "I know schoolteachers don't make very much money. Tell you what - why don't you tell me how much you paid and I'll give you 10 percent on top of that."
"No."
Nobody said no to Kakashi Hatake. "No?" he was incredulous.
"No." Iruka had the temerity to start to smile.
"You know what - I'll pay you anything. Name your price."
"A million dollars." It was a patently ridiculous amount. They both knew it.
Kakashi thought for a moment. "How about less?"
"No." Iruka walked away.
"Wait! Wait! I'll pay you a million dollars for the house and property."
"No."
"Two million."
Iruka paused, obviously humoring him. "Okay. Send the paperwork."
"Okay," Kakashi said as he watched the younger man walk away with his plate of cookies, the sunlight on his brown hair, a muscular roll in his step. I'll teach you to humor me, Iruka Umino, he thought. Whether or not you know it, war has been declared.
It was, by all accounts, a war of escalation.
Kakashi thought Iruka had parties all the time. Which that meant Iruka had a party. A single party. He had invited several co-workers and all of the of the neighbors. All except Kakashi. It drove Kakashi crazy. He should have been invited. Even if he didn't come, which of course he wouldn't, even if he had been invited. He didn't do parties. Especially with children, whose high-pitched voices shrieked across the vast lawn of the Hatake property, through the mansion walls, and into Kakashi's ears.
Still, it was the principle of the thing. People were parking on the street, in front of his lawn, his house. He should have been invited. He was sure Iruka was becoming well-acquainted with stories of the fabulously rich Hatake family, whose wealth was only matched by their eccentricity. And about Kakashi's mysterious comings and goings.
The reality was much more mundane, if any of the neighbors had ever bothered to do any kind of research. Sure, there was family money, but when one's mother and grandmother had made a point of marrying only incredibly rich men and taking them for all they were worth, well, it's not as if Kakashi could really help it. As for his hours, Kakashi travelled a lot because of his consultation work. And because of his rigid adherence to his schedule (a necessity for the self-employed), when he taught the occasional course at the local university, it was always during the evening. His schedule was rigorous enough to include his consistent tardiness, something in which he saw no contradiction.
Kakashi retaliated. He saw how the teacher's little house remained still on Sunday mornings, which meant to Kakashi that Iruka slept in on Sundays. So Kakashi requested that his gardener, Yamato, mow as early on Sunday morning as possible when he was out of town. Kakashi had a very big lawn. And Kakashi knew that Yamato really wanted to get his hands on that other lawn. Yamato had confessed that it made him a little sick to see it, all faded and patchy and close to death.
This only lasted a few weeks. Then the leaves began to fall. Kakashi saw Iruka at the coffee shop again. Against his will, Kakashi noticed how attractive Iruka was. Even if he was sitting at Kakashi's table. In a rather disgraceful tracksuit.
"Where's my check?" asked Iruka, putting his sneakered feet up on the other chair at the table, effectively blocking Kakashi from sitting down.
"I forgot. I was on the road of life, being busy. I'll send it. One million, right?"
"For a rich guy, you sure are cheap. Three million."
"I thought it was two million."
"It's three now." Iruka smiled, beatific. "For you, I might even go up to four."
"No one is going to thank you. You are going to ruin property values all over town," Kakashi charged.
"It's okay," Iruka said. "I'll have moved by then. Besides, it'll be you they hate. You're the one willing to pay that much."
Kakashi stormed out.
Kakashi began to use the leafblower to blow all the leaves off his lawn and onto Iruka's. He would have asked Yamato to do it, but the gardener wanted no part of it. Yamato really liked Iruka, who took to asking after his family once it was known that a niece was in Iruka's class. Once, Kakashi had even caught Yamato giving Iruka tips on turf maintenance.
Iruka allowed the leaves to accumulate. Then he had another party. On a Sunday. This time, there was a bonfire and lots of children screaming in shrill joy over hot cider and roasted marshmallows. Kakashi was afraid he would have to call the fire department, the blaze of the dried leaves seemed so very dangerous and so close to his own property.
The doorbell rang. Only one person ever dared to ring the doorbell on a Sunday. Kakashi opened the door, filled with trepidation.
He stared into a crowd of children of various ages, who burst out screaming, in unison. Kakashi realized they were singing. Iruka was standing behind them, smiling. Kakashi had not recognized how fang-like his neighbor's canines were until right then.
Once the screaming ended, Iruka said, "They're thanking you for the leaves that made the party so much fun."
Kakashi raised his hands, helpless. "Children, I am so very grateful for your lovely song," he lied.
One little girl, shaking with nerves, walked up to him, and looked at him with wide, melting hazel eyes. She opened her mouth and said, "Mr. Hatake-" then projectile vomited what was once roasted marshmallow and apple cider on to his designer wool slacks, his hand-made leather house slippers, and all over his inlaid marble tile foyer.
Kakashi looked at Iruka. His smile had disappeared. It had been replaced with a look of horror, shocked surprise, and finally, some kind of deep satisfaction.
Kakashi had tried coaxing Pakkun into crapping on Iruka's greening lawn. He found, much to his amazement, that Pakkun refused. It was only when he caught Iruka petting Pakkun outside of the coffee shop that Kakashi realized what was happening. The pug lay, baring his tummy to the sky, his designer cape rucked up against the sidewalk. Further, his tongue was lolling out of his short snout, eyes drooping in pleasure from the deft stroking he was recieving from Iruka's nicely shaped, and evidently, very talented hands.
"Slut!" hissed Kakashi at the dog.
Pakkun's half-shut eyes merely looked amused, as if saying, Jealous, much?
"You're seducing my dog!" Kakashi accused.
"What?" Iruka startled, confirming Kakashi's suspicions.
"Just like what you did to my gardener, and my drycleaner - "
"Your drycleaner?"
"My drycleaner." It was then that Kakashi pounced, figuratively speaking. "You don't deny seducing Yamato?"
Iruka seemed unperturbed by the pouncing. "I just talk to him. He really likes you. It's hard to account for."
"I'll have you know I'm very likeable!" Kakashi could feel himself sweating as he protested. He never sweated while arguing. "And my shirts have not been the same since you moved in!"
"Oh!" Iruka smiled in recognition. "Your housekeeper is a sweetheart."
"You - you got to Mrs. Ukki?"
"She's a sweet lady," Iruka said. "She was really happy to hear that I could pick up your drycleaning when I pick mine up. You know, she's got a ton of relatives - you never seem to ask about them. And if you ever need anybody to dog-sit, I'd be happy to. She'd be interested in taking some time off to see her grandkids, but taking care of Pakkun is keeping her from going."
Kakashi would have sworn that Iruka was making things up, but some of it seemed to ring little dull bells in the back of his head. Mrs. Ukki had said something about that. How long ago was that? He probably just forgot.
"It's weird, because she seems very fond of you. Despite your little memory problem. And the principal wants to make sure I'm very nice to you because of the secret scholarships you offered to the senior class last year."
Kakashi felt the right side of his face seize up. "How do you get these people to talk to you?"
"You okay?" Iruka asked, a devastating little crinkle between his eyes. "You look like you've lost some weight. Not that it's unflattering, but people might start to worry. Maybe it's not the drycleaning."
Kakashi looked at Iruka. "How would you know? Your body has been untouched by drycleaned clothing its entire life," he sneered.
Iruka only smiled and petted Pakkun. He squinted up at Kakashi, adorably. "You like what you see?"
Kakashi couldn't help staring. For a teacher, Iruka seemed pretty fit. And his wash-and-wear outfit seemed to display it to a surprising degree, especially for it being so very off-the-rack.
"First, you steal my table. Second, you steal my house. Now, you're ruining my life! You've gotten to everyone I know!"
"Don't you think you're being just a little dramatic?" Iruka asked.
Frantically, Kakashi offered, "Three million."
"Five."
"Deal."
Kakashi never did send the paperwork. He forgot. (This was a burden he carried his whole life: the inability of others to understand how very forgetful the road of life could make one.)
Kakashi found himself at the window, staring out at Iruka as he went about his day. He couldn't remember when he had started, but now it seemed a habit he couldn't break. It hurt to look at Iruka, because he was so shiny and beautiful and handsome and smiley. It hurt not to look at him more, because then Kakashi couldn't see the shiny, beautiful, handsome smiliness. So Kakashi kept looking.
Yet another thing to blame on Iruka. All this remote stalking was wreaking havoc with his schedule. He was late to his own lateness.
His mother called. "Are you all right?"
"Yes. How goes the husband-hunting?"
"Well. Several prospects. They're not getting any younger and neither am I." His mother laughed, that silvery, bell-like laugh that turned heads everywhere she went. "What are you doing?"
Kakashi could think of no reason not to tell her. "I'm staring at my neighbor while he's doing yardwork. In his shirt-sleeves. With those high-powered binoculars you gave me last Christmas." Truly, he wished the weather was warmer, so Iruka would be moved to take off his shirt, but even Kakashi knew that was not something one shared with one's mother.
A pause. "I'm glad you found a use for them, darling."
"Thank you, Mother."
There was a delicate clearing of the throat. "Do you like him?"
"I don't know. How would I know something like that?"
"What do you think of him?"
"He's cute. And thoughtful. And smart. And funny. He's good with kids. I think he likes to bake. Not that it matters."
"How you feel doesn't matter?" His mother sounded sad. "Of course it does. It's the most important thing." Neither one of them felt the need to point out the fact that perhaps that was his mother's sentimental problem, not Kakashi's. "Have you done anything else?"
"I went to Tokyo to give a talk, I went to Seoul to eat, I went to London to get some new suits - at that place where Dad used to go."
"Sweetheart, one goes to Seoul after one gets measured for suits. All that kalbi and samgyeopsal."
"It's all right. London thinks I've lost weight."
Her voice sharpened. "Why have you been losing weight?"
"It's because of my neighbor. The way he looks makes me lose my appetite."
"Darling, how bad can it be?"
"He shops from outdoor sporting catalogs. The sales. And I don't think he returns anything." Kakashi had seen the parcels arrive, but nothing leave.
"Oh. Oh, dear."
"And I can't stop looking."
"Kakashi, it can't be that bad." His mother had a thread of laughter in her voice.
"It is," Kakashi mourned. "He's the only person I know who isn't scared of me. Or the money."
"How do you know?"
Kakashi admitted, "I offered him three million dollars for the caretaker's house."
His mother's gasp bounced off one satellite, many receiving towers, and across three continents. Recovering in an admirably short amount of time, she asked, "Did he accept?"
"No." Kakashi's voice turned childlike. "He wanted five. Can you believe it? Five for that place!"
"Did you accept?"
"Yes."
"Have you given him the paperwork?"
"Does it matter? It's five million dollars for a miserable little house on a rotten little lot with a dead lawn! It's just ridiculous!"
"Does it matter to you? Would you care if he moved?" his mother asked.
How did his mother know? If Kakashi thought about it, maybe his mother might actually know, with all the times she'd been married. But he didn't like to think about such things. Not since his mother's first marriage after the death of Kakashi's father.
"Yes," he said, flatly. Kakashi didn't know how or when it happened, but everything Iruka did mattered to him. "Yes, it does matter. Very much. No, I have not started on the paperwork."
"My father, your grandfather, offered your father a lot of money to go away. He wouldn't take any of it. Your father - " her voice, the sound of silver bells that had attracted people to her for as long as Kakashi could remember, cracked. "Your father was my best husband." She made a small noise in her throat. "Darling, you've really got to get out more. Maybe talk to this neighbor. Stop offering money. He might think it's crass."
"Iruka. His name is Iruka." Kakashi saw that Pakkun had escaped from the house again and was digging around in the ground next to Iruka. "I don't think he'll take the money. He thinks it's funny that I'm offering. And he's stolen Pakkun from me."
"Oh, Kakashi," his mother sighed. They were both aware that this was the longest conversation they had had in years. "Take care of yourself. And Iruka."
The first bad winter storm of the season came on, winds howling and heavy snows swirling. It downed several lines, including the ones on Kakashi's street. The mansion had lost power for the first time in many years. He wasn't certain if there were any emergency switches or flashlights or food or water or anything. And even if he did know where to look - going into the dank, labyrinthine basement and the oddly located storage spaces of the old house in the dark seemed like asking for trouble. The one person who might know, Mrs. Ukki, had been sent home hours ago when the first weather reports had come in. He looked across the lawn. Iruka had power. He probably also had food and water. He was the type. Without thinking about it, Kakashi drew on his coat and scarf and walked over.
By the time Iruka opened the door, heavy, damp snow was falling out of Kakashi's hair and dripping wetly on the threshold. Kakashi's legs and shoes were soaked. Pakkun's concerned little face peered out from the neck of the coat.
"Six," Kakashi croaked. "I'll give you six million for the house."
Iruka chivvied Kakashi into the house. "You're freezing! You should have come over earlier." He pulled Kakashi out of his wet clothes, seated him on a worn couch, and rounded up a hideous maroon fleece robe, old sweatpants and big floppy socks to cover him. Kakashi would have said something snide about the couch or the clothes, but he was too cold. Pakkun curled himself up next to the ratty armchair, as if he had done this hundreds of times before. The radio was on, the news was all about the storm.
Iruka handed Kakashi some tea, which he drank down eagerly. The tea, made from a bag, of all things, was indescribably delicious.
"You have ruined my life," Kakashi moaned, clutching the empty mug with both hands. "I can't go anywhere without someone knowing you, asking about you. You've gotten all my people under your command. I don't have my freedom, I don't have my dog, I don't know what to do. I don't even have power or food or water or anything."
"Don't be silly," Iruka chided. "I had nothing to do with the storm taking down the lines."
"My mother," Kakashi continued, "my very own mother wants to make sure you are taken care of."
"That's nice," Iruka said. He gave Kakashi a side-long look. "It's funny that you talk to your mother about me."
"I told her that I offered to buy your house."
"And?"
"That you refused three million dollars."
Iruka looked interested. "What did she say?"
"I think she swallowed her pearls." Kakashi couldn't help smiling from the memory.
"Why do you want to buy my house?"
"Your house has all the good things. Like power and heat." And you, but he didn't say it.
"I'm sure your house has got those things too. Just maybe not tonight."
"You lured me into your home with the promise of electricity," Kakashi accused.
"I can't help what I've got, Kakashi," Iruka said, gently ironic.
Kakashi thought, You've got me. "No," he said instead. "You can't."
Iruka knelt next to him and took the mug and placed it on the floor. Then proceeded to chafe Kakashi's hands with his own, somewhat rough hands. "I can't believe how cold your hands still are."
Kakashi said, "Stop."
Iruka looked up, his bottom lip sticking out slightly. And then Kakashi kissed him, unable to resist that final little detail. At first, Iruka sat still. When Kakashi started to slip away, Iruka grabbed the back of his neck and kissed him back, urgent and hot. It was a very, very good kiss. It was like walking into a shabby little fire-lit room lined with fleece blankets when one had been out walking in cold and wet designer clothing one's whole entire life. It was quite possibly the best kiss ever.
Iruka pulled away, checking Kakashi's reaction.
"Please," Kakashi whispered, surrendering.
Iruka leaned forward until his forehead lay against Kakashi's. He exhaled a little laugh, breathy and desperate and filled with rueful fondness. "You have no idea how long I've been waiting to hear you say that."
They kissed again. The way Iruka tasted - it was better than anything Kakashi could have imagined - like tea and milk and sugar and the promise of joy. Kakashi wanted to climb into Iruka's lap, absorb the heat and scent and feel of this man. He wanted to rub himself against Iruka, soothing the growing ache below his waist, and the immense, ancient ache in his heart. He wanted everything, anything, all the things that could be given for as long as he could have them.
And on that worn couch, and then later, on Iruka's little bed, they had one of the best nights ever. It was the kind of night that made one dizzy with the idea that there could be more such nights, that made one crave such nights and be unable to continue with life until one knew there would be more of them.
The next morning, Kakashi breathed in the wondrousness that was Iruka Umino, half-asleep beside him. Iruka had been impossibly generous, and wicked, and funny, and kind. Kakashi's heart expanded with relief that it wasn't all some fevered dream. "Five," he said.
Iruka opened a single eye. "Cheapskate," he yawned. "You said six last night."
"Five and rights to the table in the coffee shop." Kakashi could feel Iruka's silent laugh. "For eternity." Because, at the heart of it, all's fair in war and love. And Kakashi knew what he wanted and how much it mattered. "Please."
"Deal." And because Iruka knew a little something about Kakashi by now, he said, "Don't forget the paperwork."
A/N -
Galbi (갈비): pork or beef ribs, cooked on a metal plate over charcoal in the centre of the table. It is often called "Korean BBQ", and can be seasoned or unseasoned.
Samgyeopsal (삼겹살): Unseasoned pork belly, served in the same fashion as galbi. Sometimes cooked on a grill with kimchee troughs at either side. Commonly grilled with garlic and onions, dipped in ssamjjang and wrapped in lettuce leaves. (wikipedia)