A/N: My first Naruto fic, so I figured it would be best to start with a simple one-shot. To be perfectly honest, KakaIru makes absolutely no sense to me, yet due to some excellent fanwork, I was converted anyway.

I'd appreciate it if you would point out any fallacies or informational errors since I'm not all that familiar with this series.

Implied SasuNaru, because I felt like it.

As always, reviews are appreciated and flames are ignored.

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto. -MeeLee

A Complicated Thing

BEGIN

The night air is freezing. Not that it really matters to me. But still, despite all my stoicism, I cannot help but put some haste in my movements as I traverse the rooftops of Konoha, because I really am searching for warmth. A different kind of warmth, though.

I came back from my mission barely two hours ago, and immediately headed off to the mission room to turn in my report. He wasn't there, but I had expected that. As I headed out the door with a murmured commendation from Tsunade, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that several of the other ninjas present were giving me strange looks. Not that I'm surprised. Hatake Kakashi turning in reports on time? Preposterous.

That is, until he found a reason to be more punctual. And that reason lies in a certain house in a certain corner of Konoha, and is most likely fast asleep at the moment.

I shake my head a little to myself as I leap off from the top of another building, allowing a small smile to make its way out beneath the confines of my mask. A lot of people still don't know about it; I've never been much of the talkative type, and he's rather shy about the subject. I'm sure, though, that were people to find out, they probably wouldn't care.

Well, Naruto would probably throw a fit. But I could calm him down pretty easily by mentioning his recent…activities with Sasuke. Seems like teachers and students are more alike than they think.

The smile has broadened, but it fades as I feel a sudden twinge shoot up from my leg. Immediately I land agilely on the nearest tree branch, taking a moment to catch my breath. I was expecting this. After all, it was an A-rank mission. Those are never easy, and you seldom get out of one unscratched.

It takes only a moment for the ache to fade away, and then I am on my way again. My movements become almost mechanical as I approach my destination; I don't bother keeping to the shadows or checking around me as I continue my journey. I think it's because I'm tired, and I just want to go home. Go home and be with him again.

Finally, I see it: the only open window in the entire chuunin apartment building. I come to a stop, perched on the roof right above it. I can only see darkness inside and frown slightly, shaking my head. I've told him countless times to keep that window closed and locked, but he never listens to me. It was exasperating at first, but I've learned to live with it. After all, he does it for me. I don't have the key to his apartment; he's offered it to me many times but I've always refused. It's not my way, and he understands that. And so he keeps the window open for me, so that I can slip in without any hassle.

Which is precisely what I intend to do as I flip agilely down, grabbing the edge of the roof so that my body spins in a wide arc, releasing my hold at just the right moment so that I land soundlessly on the carpeted floor of his bedroom.

The first thing I do once I am inside is look toward the bed. I recognize him instantly, though the blanket almost completely covers his body. I've memorized that form from head to toe; I could recognize it anywhere. The long dark-brown hair, lean face, well-toned body that I have explored to great extent. Oh, and the scar across the bridge of his nose. His defining mark, just like the one that cuts across my Sharingan.

I really should head to the bathroom and clean up. I'm a mess: dirt, sweat, blood—some of it is my own. An A-rank mission.

He shifts slightly in bed and the pale moonlight falls upon his face, illuminating him in an eerie, almost angelic glow—and I am paralyzed with awe. In this light, I can see every dip and curve of his features, from his delicate eyelashes to the slight upcurling of his lips. And before I am even fully aware of it, I am kneeling by the side of the bed, reaching out toward him.

My fingers gently brush strands of chocolate brown first before dipping to trace the contours of his face: his lean cheekbones, his sharp nose, the roughness that is his scar. I've long since stopped asking him how he got that scar. I have to keep a lot of secrets from him, no matter how much I don't want to—it's only fair that he has some of his own to keep from me too.

As I gently trace his lips with my thumb, he begins to respond. His breathing quickens a bit and his eyes flutter. Inwardly I sigh. He is a chuunin; he should have been on his feet by now, kunai in hand, ready to fight me as an intruder and possible threat. I reprimanded him for this at first, but now it no longer matters to me. After learning of how he purposely takes on extra work, how he spends half the night grading papers, how he stays in the mission room hours after closing time, how he questions every jounin and chuunin he comes across about whether or not I've returned from my mission, whether I'm all right, have I been hurt…you really can't blame him if he's exhausted at the end of the day.

Love is a complicated thing.

Slowly, two dark brown eyes flutter open in the dark. He blinks groggily a few times before finally focusing on me, and a smile slowly makes its way onto his thin lips. "Hi," he whispers.

"Hi," I answer back to him.

He shifts a little, eyes half-open as if he is fighting the urge to go back to sleep. "When did you get back?"

"Two hours ago."

"Did you get hurt?"

"Nothing serious."

"Good." He yawns, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face and blinking up at me. For a moment there is only silence as we stare at each other. Presently, though, he brings his hand up and wraps it around mine. "Missed you," he whispers, kissing my palm lightly.

I nod slowly, allowing my one eye that is not hidden by my hitai-ate to smile at him. "Missed you too."

There follows another long silence. I am not inclined to break it, but at length, he does, releasing my hand and scooting back a bit on the bed to create more room. "Come on," he says, yawning again. "You must be tired." He lifts the blanket invitingly.

I have to say it. "I'm a mess." But already I've untied my hitai-ate and pulled down my mask, and am in the process of unzipping my vest.

He smiles again in the darkness. "You and I both know I couldn't care less."

It's true and so I make no objection as I set my vest gently on a nearby chair and approach the bed, sliding slowly under the covers, careful not to put pressure on my more serious wounds. He welcomes me readily, wrapping his arms around me and snuggling into my chest. I was surprised at his submissiveness at first; usually we fight for dominance. But, as with everything else, I've long since learned that he does this because he is suffering too, because he needs to feel my warmth, my strength that defines me. Because he knows me, and he loves me.

I bury my face in his hair, inhaling his sweet scent, and close my eyes. I am just on the verge of sleep when his voice comes to me, jolting me awake with my jounin senses. "Kakashi."

"Hm?"

"When is your next assignment?"

I wish he wouldn't ask me this. It's too painful to think about being separated from him again, to have to live with memory instead of the real thing. But I answer him all the same. "I don't know. Soon."

He replies the same way he always does. "I see." There is resignation in his voice, an acceptance of the truth that is our relationship. Because this is how it will always be: I will always go, and he will always stay, and he will always wait for me.

Love is a complicated thing.

I gently press a kiss to his forehead. "Go to sleep, Iruka," I whisper. "I'll be here in the morning at least." He doesn't answer but his grip on me tightens. I sigh quietly to myself, closing my eyes, bringing him close, losing myself in him. We made this choice; this is the way it will always be.

Love is a complicated thing.

FINI