Coming to Konoha
A man came walking on the dusty main road. One could see from his tattered clothes and slightly unkempt hair that he had been on the road for quite a long time. But there was no sign of where he was from, no indication of where he was headed.
There was aimlessness in the man's pace. It seemed there walked one man with no roots, and no plans for the future whatsoever. Where he walked was no one's care, and he would not be remembered tomorrow by those who saw him. Though, he wouldn't remember them either.
Large gates approached him, high and mighty, illuminated by the noon sun. Somehow they seemed different from all the other village gates the man had passed on his endless journey. They had a great stone frame, ornamented with a leaf symbol. They were the gates of this land's largest village; the village of the hidden leaf, Konoha.
Walking behind a crowd, the man passed through the grand entry, nodding to a guard as he did. The guard eyed him with a keen eye, taking in his foreign clothing style, the wide brimmed straw hat that shaded most of his face, and his long brown hair that reached around his shoulders.
By his looks, the man was a stranger, and any stranger should be stopped and questioned his orders told him. Though this one seemed familiar somehow, maybe because of the casual greeting or the accustomed way he walked. Anyhow, the guard let his attention move elsewhere; to the people still entering the village.
Once inside, the man distanced himself from the group he came in with, and headed towards the centre of the village. Impressive buildings passed him on both sides, and eventually he came to a wide street. It gave him a view of the mountain that the village resided next to, and to the village's monument that honoured its leaders. Five faces were carved into the stone; four men and a young woman. The man eyed the woman's face, raising a brow at her smirk, but as he started to walk again he did not cast the grand Hokage carvings a second glance.
The man's walk was more determined now, and he strode no longer with an air of aimlessness on the streets. He came to a ramen stand, and the appetizing air that drifted out of it made him stop. He could hear the voice of an old man and a young lady from inside, their laughter accompanied by a louder one, by a boy who had just reached the age when his voice began to break.
Hearing the laughter, the man felt something stir inside of him, and took a step towards the stand, intent on entering. But when a large group of people walked past him and into the stand, the man's determination vanished, and he continued his walk on the street.
After a while he came to a large apartment block. He walked past many doors and then looked up, and where he expected a dark closed window; an apartment waiting for its occupant to come back, it had been opened and joyous sounds emerged. The door was flung open, and a man kissed his lover goodbye, leaving her laughing at his antics.
The man crept into the shadows, hiding from the strangers, and continued on his way.
He wandered on the streets, and found himself outside of an Academy. It was for ninjas, by the looks of the games the children were playing outside on the schoolyard. He was guided there by the sounds of the children; their screams of delight and laughter mixed with mock bawls and woes. Occasionally the voice of an adult would ring above the children's noises, calling them in for classes, or shouting out warnings for the careless ones.
The playground was not unlike any playground the man ever saw. There were children of all variations, some wild, and other content with staying in the shade of an old tree. He knew the games and other activities like the back of his hand, all of the rules and variations of rules, and also at least two names for each game.
But contrary to a belief he didn't know he possessed, he did not recognize any of the children's faces, nor their supervisors. He caught the eye of one, and before the other had time to react, the man hurriedly walked away.
He ended up before an old rundown apartment door. He didn't knock, because somehow he knew its occupant was not home; never had been this time of the day. A tanned hand reached up, and touched the painted wood on the door, feeling an unusual calm coming over him. He had nowhere else left to go. Was this his goal? Had his wandering ended?
Some time passed, and silent footsteps neared. They rounded the corner of the building, and stopped. The man glanced at the other one under the wide brim of his hat, his eyes hidden by the shade. Dark clothes, a strong build, his face hidden by a mask, and wild silver hair. He was a ninja, and high-ranked at that.
'A jounin', the man's subconscious told him.
The other man leaned indifferently to the wall, looking at him from head to toe. He had his hands casually tucked into his pants' pockets, and his only visible lazy eye peered into the shade of the other's hat.
"Can I help you?" the silver haired man inquired.
The man turned towards him, letting his hand fall from the door.
"Do I know you?" he asked.
The jounin raised his visible brow, hesitating with his answer.
"That all depends" he replied at last.
"I figured as much" the other said under his breath. He lifted a hand up and took off his hat, bringing it to cover the lower half of his face, revealing his intense brown eyes.
"Then, do you know me?" he asked, his voice somewhat muffled by the straws shielding his face.
The other man gave him no reply.
"Tell me." The man's voice was pleading, as were his eyes. "Do you know me?"
He removed his hat; now his face was fully exposed.
A single eye widened in shock of recognition. The man before him was someone the jounin had thought was gone. It was a face he though of never seeing again. He was someone grieved for never returning, for being lost. He was standing in front of him. His eyes were pleading.
A gloved hand reached out to stroke stray locks from a tan face, revealing a high cheekbone marked with a scar that ran across the bridge of the nose, to the other side. Brown eyes peered into his single one. Lost, hopeful, searching. Breath was held, waiting for an answer; a confirmation.
And it came, in a voice broken with emotions, fighting to keep steady.
"I know you... Iruka."
There was a startled gasp. Then brown eyes swivelled upwards in their sockets, lids were heavy, and a mind dark. A single word escaped the tan skinned man's lips, before he fainted:
"Kakashi."
Stunned, the silver haired jounin caught the unconscious man. His strong arms steadied the limp form, his hand pressed the back of the head to his chest; stroking brown hair in mechanical motions.
He felt the body's warmth against his own. It reassured him that it was real, that the impossible came to be. The man he so missed was once again here, near him, and alive.
Kakashi became vaguely aware of birds twittering in a tree not far from his apartment. It became his world; the warmth of the body in his arms, the faint smell of perspiration that escaped them both, the strong rays of the afternoon sun, and the birds that chirped in the tree. He knew he should go inside, he knew he should put the man to lie comfortably on his bed. But he didn't, because that wasn't part of his world. Not right now. Not yet. He wanted to savour this moment a little more.
Half to his disappointment he felt Iruka stir, and the man put his hands to his chest. The body steadied itself, and dark eyes rose, searching for the single eye above. When they met a smile graced a handsome face, and tears fell down scarred cheeks.
"I'm back" Iruka sniffed. "I... I didn't know where... I was lost. I couldn't find my way. I... I didn't remember. But now that I'm here... now that I'm home again, I..."
His voice broke, and his breath hitched in his throat.
He had wandered. He had been on the road for who knew how long. Lost, in an endless search for something he might remember. He had seen cities, forests, mountains and seas. He had met thousands of people, but none of it had even remotely made him remember. But now he did. He remembered. He remembered him. Kakashi.
A gloved hand caressed his cheek, drying his tears away. Foreheads were pressed together. A clothed nose was pressed against a scarred one.
Kakashi took a deep breath.
"You're back" A pause. "You went away, you disappeared. Everyone thought of you as dead, gone. I... "He cleared his throat."Remembering you, every day, I regretted for never-... but now that you're here, now that you're home again, I..."
He paused to take another deep breath. His eye bore into Iruka's, and he steadied his grip on the other man's shoulders.
"I can't wait any longer." He said. "I never really told you, I don't want to regret it again. I... I want to tell you that..."
His voice broke. A lump in his throat stopped him from saying another word.
A tanned hand sneaked up, tugging at the cloth covering his face. It brought it down, past his cheekbones, and the tip of his nose, past his slim parted lips, his fine jaw, revealing his pale handsome face. And he let it happen. For the first time in his life he let it happen, because he knew that there was no reason not to.
A pair if lips were only half an inch from the other pair. Hot breath was caressing pale and tanned skin. A single eye gazed into chocolate orbs.
They saw that words were no longer needed.
And so they kissed.
The end.