Ah, here is the next chapter. It seems I am being quite slow about this. However, I shall try harder.
Hopefully there will be more reviews in the future! No, I'm not begging. It would be nice to know what the readers think, though. Have I lost my touch?
I suppose these things happen. Well, on to chapter two.
The sound of gentle tapping, erratic, is what wakes him from the darkness. Slowly peeling open one eye, enough only to allow a small glimpse through dark lashes, he sees it is the blinds tumbling against his window, as a breeze continually and sporadically pushes them out, and the reclaims them violently. A sliver of orange light spills through the corner of the window, exposing a fragment of the grey-green quilt twisted around his body, illuminating the wall opposite to his bed in a fiery streak.
Moaning softly, he slowly opens the other eye, fixing both now fully upon the wall set ablaze. It must be evening, he hears crickets shrilling somewhere in the distance…His body, tangled in the blankets and covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, aches sorely, although he cannot remember what physical grievance caused such a thoroughly steady amount of pain. It isn't sharp or defined, and yet, it is much more wearying than an outright stab wound; it makes him tired, beyond reason, and immobile, slow to reaction. Barely brushing the blinds with his fingertips, he attempts to silence their ceaseless battering against the window sill.
The window is open.
I see it coming. I see it coming in on me.
He struggles free of the confining bedclothes and shuts the window tightly, with some effort. His arms feel swollen and useless, as if someone had squeezed them quite harshly. Rubbing them absently, he gingerly slides his feet onto the floor, feeling for the solidity that ensures he won't fall.
He recalls, vaguely, having been in the school yard. He knows he sent the children home. He doesn't really remember how he got home... He glances out the window. The orange sky has faded into a soft purple, like the colour of a rotting fruit, a bruise.
There is another chi in his apartment….faint, barely detectable. At first, he hadn't felt it out, it didn't exist. He feels now, a hard, thick flow, if weak and unidentifiable. Could be one of his students? But he had sent them away, and it would be strange, anyhow, seeing as they didn't particularly care for him. Summoning any strength he can. Iruka pads softly across the room, peeking out from behind the doorway cautiously, before his form is swallowed by the shadows dancing about in the hallway, moving about with the swaying of the trees and the direction of the street lamps.
A moment and the room's shadows are dissipated. He flicks on an overhead light, observing his surroundings. Nothing is as it was; it is all the same as he left it, and yet there is a stagnancy that permeates decay, as if….as if he has been unaware, as if he has been gone for some while, far away, and this is all that remains in his memory.
The only presence that seems safely tucked away from such morbidity is Hatake Kakashi's, who is leaning against the corner of the wall, feigning disinterest in Iruka's awakening. He looks up at the disoriented chuunin for only a brief moment, then snaps his gaze on some unseen object floating just behind the other man's smaller form. He refuses to make eye contact with him, and perhaps that is what saves him from this fate of slowly rotting.
"I suppose you brought me here…"
"I saw you sprawled over by the side entrance to the academy."
"I'm sorry about that. To have troubled you," Iruka stares violently at the floor, rubbing his socked feet gently against the worn tatami.
"It was no trouble, Iruka-sensei. You must have had quite a day, with those children. I believe they must have the upper hand on you, these days."
"Well…"
Kakashi's hand waves nonchalantly by his masked face, a quick motion that ends abruptly. "Anyway, I have nothing against helping people, if that's what you mean." His eye slowly and rises to meet Iruka's face fully, watching intently. Iruka brings his hand up to his face and strokes his cheek unthinkingly at his cold glare. Perhaps cold isn't the way to describe it, but Iruka felt it was scrutinizing him viciously, looking for something he couldn't explain to the jounin.
"You've been sleeping for almost three days now…"
"What?" Iruka pulls his hand away from his face, surprised. But he quickly averts his eyes, shrugging, "I've been exhausted lately. You're right, Kakashi-sensei. I'm not doing such a good job anymore." He smiles slightly, "I hope you haven't been looking after me…"
"As a matter of fact I have. Well…." He steps closer, chin in hand, "….not really all that much. What, you look disappointed, Iruka-sensei," smiling widely behind his mask, "Perhaps I should have? Now I am starting to regret it," He has a laugh in his voice.
This man….Iruka was afraid of him. He had tried becoming more friendly with Iruka over the past few months, since Naruto went away. He would sometimes walk partially home with him after work, not saying much of anything or looking in his direction. He would drop his paperwork off at his desk specifically, and linger about, asking him how he was. Iruka would question himself as to why a jounin, especially such a powerful and distinguished one, would become interested in himself, even if it was because of his former students. Generally, teachers would often keep some connection with the young ones they trained, but it was unusual for them to seek out others who also shared in the student's training. Iruka had never been befriended by anyone, save Naruto; besides, a man like Kakashi wouldn't feel the need to have acquaintances about him. His level of performance was his companion, as it made all in Konoha favorable dispositioned towards him, but not so stiflingly close as to hinder him.
And now, here, facing him…he felt cold. "Thank you very much for your concern, Kakashi-sensei. I hope you didn't really go to any trouble. I am sorry," he bows carefully, and quickly starts for the door. Kakashi's sudden and heavy hand on his arm stops him and temporarily stuns him; his grip is serious enough, but Iruka doesn't pull away. He only ceases movement.
"What's the matter, Iruka-sensei," Kakashi's voice is low, probing. Iruka looks away.
"Iruka-sensei, I'm not going to go get you a physician yet. I doubt," he sighs, "I doubt….you would want that, yes?" He grasps Iruka's chin solidly, forcing him to look at that strangely placid, dark eye. "There's nothing the matter," he whispers, straining slightly against the pull of Kakashi's fingers firmly gripping his forearm. "I'm tired, that's all--"
"You had collapsed."
"It's just I'm getting older--"
"You're very young to be getting old, already."
"I--I--"
"Iruka-sensei, you had tears streaked down your face, like this," hands drawn quickly down his cheeks, "You had ink all over, too. Your face. And you kept saying--"
"STOP!" Iruka pulls away violently, pushing Kakashi back with one arm, to free himself. Kakashi gives no resistance, and Iruka, having overestimated the amount of strength he'd need to escape the other man's tight grasp, falls to the floor, catching himself with his other hand. His face hit the floor hard, despite this last effort, and he bites his lip, causing a small puncture. Blood leaks out soundlessly.
He feels it long before he hears it. It can't be him, screaming like this; holding his ears, tearing out his hair, clawing his face; someone is holding him, someone is asking him a question, someone is shaking him, but he can't see them, there is only a blur , a terrible, resounding shriek that echoes through his heart, into his brain; and hands, hands forcing him, arms away from his face, forcing him against a broad chest , controlling him.
His knees have given away; he muffles his cries into the black shirtfront of Kakashi's uniform, grasping the material tightly enough to turn his knuckles white. He rocks, gasping and shuddering for breath in between chaotic, unpredictable shrieks, while he holds onto, and is held, to keep him from sinking under. The pain is unbearable and so heavy, and it has no form.
Kakashi allows this to go on for several hours. He stays exactly as he is, unmoving, silent, with a firm hold as this person clings to him and pushes him away simultaneously. He feels saliva and tears soaking his clothes, and probably some blood. It seems he has done some injury to himself.
He did it, too, when he didn't know how to control it better.
When he was less detached from himself.
Iruka's sobbing has quieted to a shuddering, gasping sound. Kakashi feels his fingernails biting into his chest, an his moaning, softly vibrating against his flesh. He says nothing, only continues to embrace Iruka, cautiously stroking his back.
He hears a small, trembling voice, raspy from having strained itself so harshly.
"Mama….Daddy….what is happening to me…."
Kakashi doesn't know how to answer him.