Disclaimer: I do hereby disclaim all rights and responsibilities for the characters in this innocuous interlude. Oodles of respect for Masashi Kishimoto, the creative force behind Naruto. Please do have patience with me and with the ninja who really is a genius.
SIXTEEN: HIGH PLACES
On the morning of the second festival day, Sukea and Iruka reported to the bathhouse as promptly as if they'd been summoned by their superiors. Kisame smirked in an approving way.
Sukea groused enough to give the impression of a hangover, which only pleased Kisame further, since he showed no ill effects from the previous night's indulgence.
"I'll feel better once I find some food," Sukea promised. "Should we all go to breakfast from here?"
Kisame angled his gaze toward Itachi. Whatever he saw there inspired a dangerous grin. "Might just do that. Sure."
Iruka eased into the steaming water on Itachi's end of the bath, same as usual. It was becoming routine. But Sukea didn't seem eager to spend time in Itachi's company. Perhaps for good reason. If they'd both served in ANBU at the same time, who knew what might spark recognition?
Striking the balance between nascent trust and needful lies would be essential. Kisame must approve of this four-way friendship enough to accept future meetings. Preferably without making him jealous.
Every mission had its obstacles.
With a slosh of hot water, Kisame crossed to Iruka's side and slung an arm around his shoulders. While he wasn't quite radiating killing intent, he leaned heavily enough that the pressure counted as bullying.
Iruka kept his calm. "Have I offended you somehow?"
"Could be. Got something to confess?"
"Yes." He tried for a sheepish smile. "I made sure Itachi rested. He didn't eat much, though. Sorry about that."
Kisame's eyes narrowed. "Why do you care?"
Iruka was honestly confused. "You asked me to."
Surprise flashed across his features, and he relaxed into a shark's grin. "Maybe I should ask for more, seeing as you're so accommodating."
"How about directions to the best breakfast in town?" proposed Iruka.
"Don't need directions to the restaurant where I found you last time."
"Ah, ah, ah! They're all closed up for the festival." He lowered his voice conspiratorially. "But I know where they set up their booth. And Itachi will probably like their sweet buns."
Again, Kisame's gaze flicked to his partner's face. "Might just do that," he repeated.
Iruka thought to add, "We'll need to climb some stairs."
"So?" Rolling his eyes, he muttered, "Take 'em slow if you need to. Doesn't matter to me."
"Or me!" promised Sukea, whose hangover appeared to be easing. "You show us to the food, and we'll show you to the drinks. Right, friend?"
Kisame laughed and lunged back to his usual spot. "You gonna make me carry all of you home tonight?"
"I wasn't that drunk!" Sukea protested.
While they bantered and boasted, Iruka sank past his shoulders and murmured a good morning to Itachi.
Black eyes opened to consider him.
Iruka's smile came easily. Like they were friends. That's what it came down to. Because Iruka couldn't have faced this mission any other way. He knew this about himself.
What he hadn't know was the fact that Itachi could smile back.
Sukea was some kind of genius. Had to be.
He circulated like a breeze, wafting between stalls and weaving between people in the crowd. He kept the conversation flowing with a mix of questions and commentary, and he distracted from their slow pace by calling attention to items in every stall. By now, Iruka was used to being drawn into his pace.
The mountain was equally impressive in its way. Stairs meandered toward a distant peak, climbing in short bursts, but also leading onto level sections, as if the village founders had worked to terrace the slope. Taking advantage of these flat areas, stalls, booths, and seating marched right up through the trees, between which streamers and lanterns had been strung.
Sukea frittered coins at every turn, and Iruka doubted he'd ever be able to erase the image of Sukea feeding takoyaki to Kisame. It looked dangerous. With ever snap of his jaws, Iruka hoped the Mist nin never found out they were actually enemies.
Slipping an arm through Itachi's, Iruka offered silent support. Before long, the younger man was leaning on him. Not a good sign.
Iruka said nothing, but Sukea—who really had to be a genius—began competing with Kisame to see who could find open seats. Their upward stroll now moved from bench to bar stool as they ate and drank their way higher.
Near the halfway point, they finally arrived at their original destination. Sukea ordered everything on the menu for lunch while Kisame secured a table in the shade. Iruka felt bad for the men who wisely scattered before him. At least Kisame hadn't resorted to violence.
"Hungry?" murmured Iruka.
"Rarely."
"Their food is good."
Itachi folded his hands together on the table. "Are you going to try to make me eat?"
"It would please Kisame."
"Don't be so sure."
"Try?" whispered Iruka.
With a slight inclination of his head, Itachi murmured, "A little."
Despite his assent, Itachi showed no interest in his food. Iruka couldn't very well force the man to eat, but he spent the entire meal insisting Itachi taste one thing or another. It was blatant nonsense, given the very same things were on all their plates. But Itachi would give him strange looks, then pluck up the offered morsel and place it in his mouth.
Or palm it. You never could tell with a ninja.
Only when their usual waitress brought a plate of fresh sweet buns and a pot of tea did Itachi take some initiative.
"This can be as far as we go today. But we'll have to do it all over again tomorrow." Sukea pointed to the upward trail. "The festival finale takes place at the top."
Kisame grunted. "What's the point?"
Sukea pressed a hand to his heart. "You haven't heard? It's a good story!"
"Skip the story," ordered Kisame. "Give me a reason, or give me a quiet corner and more of last night's shochu."
"Straight to the payoff, then." Sukea laughed and lifted a finger, then darted to a nearby stand. They'd been placed at intervals all along the mountain path. He returned with four wooden tags clattering on their strings. They were simple things. A cut of smoothed wood still showing bark along the edges, with a hole bored for its hanger.
Waving back toward the stand, Sukea explained, "There are pots of ink and brushes at each station, but any pen or marker will do. So long as you get the ink colors right."
Kisame inspected one of the tags with little interest.
Iruka had already heard about the tradition from the villagers, but he left the explanations to Sukea.
"With a black pen, you write a mistake on one side."
"You accusing me of mistakes?" Kisame demanded gruffly.
Sukea chuckled. "Fine. We'll call it a regret. Most people have one or two. I certainly know what I'll write on mine."
Kisame snorted.
Itachi slowly reached for one of the tags and inspected it.
"The regret goes on one side, written in black," said Sukea. "Your wish goes on the opposite side, written in red. From what I hear, traditionally, it was written in blood."
Kisame grinned. "That's more like it."
"At the shrine on the mountaintop, they gather the tags and burn them as an offering to the god of this place. Regrets can be forgiven and forgotten. Wishes can become reality."
The Mist nin's eyebrows shot up. "What's the catch?"
Sukea smiled. "Lots and lots of stairs."
With a solemn expression, Itachi slipped the tag into his sleeve.
Iruka and Itachi left their partners to their own devices and shambled back to the inn, slightly inebriated after sipping some of the fabled shochu. Parting ways without fanfare, Iruka entered his room and prepared for bed.
While folding away his yukata, he discovered a festival tag, partially hidden in the folds of his night clothes. On the front, red ink made a wish.
To protect your smile.
It was signed with a henohenomoheji.
Kakashi.
Iruka was smiling when he flipped the tag to see if anything had been written on the opposite side. Black ink spelled out his regret.
Ordered to extract. Tonight.
End Note: originally posted on December 29, 2020. 1,363 words.