Tenzou remembers hearing somewhere, most probably a television talk show, that it is quite easy to spot a happy marriage. According to that most-probably-a-talk-show-host, based on research, people ‘in love’ being to acquire each other’s traits. So much so that they actually being to look and behave alike. The admiration for each other is so strong that naturally enough, they both want to become what they revere and hold dearest.
Tenzou concludes that he must be blissfully, hilariously (ironically, because, really, given his background and how his sole purpose in life is to serve Konoha from the shadows, who would have thought) so in love because three months into the marriage, in the middle of the sweltering heat, there he is, fourth Sunday of the month, giving their bathroom a full scrub down, bleach, detergent, disinfectant and all. He just got back an hour ago, and there he is, channeling what’s left of his energy from the soldier pill boost he had about two hours ago (he’s been away for seven, fucking weeks).
This is something Iruka does religiously, every fourth Sunday of the month. Not only does Iruka give the house a full top to bottom polish, he also airs out their pillows, rugs, trims up the garden, and takes the opportunity to bleach all their towels so that it remains looking like laundry out of a detergent ad on television - pearly white. Tenzou pauses mid-scrub with a toilet brush, blinking and looking over his shoulder at the two buckets filled with everything white, soaking in bleach. It’s in that moment his brain decides to point out that he should bring the pillows in; it’ll be exactly forty five minutes in ninety seconds and Iruka never, ever leaves the pillows outside in the sunshine too long.
Tenzou doesn’t realize how he adapts into Iruka’s routine so readily up until that moment, chuckling in amusement as he’s fluffs their pillows after bringing them indoors again, stacking them neatly on the chaise in their bedroom. At first, he didn’t understand why Iruka maintains a very strict cleaning routine. Tenzou had asked, about a month into their marriage, just a little before he left for his second mission.
Iruka had looked at him with a bit of a frown between his eyebrows, his nose wrinkling and said, “Well, this is our home. It’s something you made, took the time in renovating. I am doing my part, as your husband in caring for it. Not because I’m obligated to this kind of maintenance, but because this is ours. Our world. And it means a lot to me.”
Our world .
Tenzou remembers that moment vividly, thinks back to it very fondly more times in a day than he can count. It’s a thought that keeps him warm when he’s so far away from home, knowing that just because he’s seemingly lightyears away from his world , Iruka at least is not isolated. He’s safe, he’s contained, surrounded by things that reminds him of their marriage. Now, as the memory floods into Tenzou’s mind, as he tugs the sheets off the bed to replace them, he can’t stop but take a look around at their home. Iruka didn’t bring a lot of his old belongings when they moved in, opting to donate and declutter. It’s surprising how much junk he’s accumulated over the years in such a small space. In the end, Iruka fits all his belongings into six neat boxes (including the bulk of his books and his small closet of clothes). So their home, while fully furnished and new, still looks relatively bare, all things considered.
It’s not a large home but it’s a lot more spacious than both their previous apartments combined. It’s a lot more modern in its aesthetic, with their cherry wood floors, one wall of each room a deep burgundy pinewood, white paint, white drapes, gray rugs and glass ceilings above their bedroom. Their sofas, chaise and pouffes is a splash of color in what would have been very minimalistic. There is little to no plants indoors, save for the small line of cacti by the kitchen window, and potted plant of red daisies by the living room. All this is surrounded by an eden with a gazebo that overlooks the stretch of Konoha’s forest and the horizon beyond, cushioned by Iruka’s infamous collection of mismatched cushions.
Which Tenzou suddenly remembers needs washing, too. He still had to scrub down the kitchen.
Tenzou is not obligated to do all this while Iruka is away to cover for someone else at the mission desk on a Sunday (Tenzou knows this because even when he’s gone, Iruka makes sure to leave a note on their whiteboard in the kitchen, just in case Tenzou comes home and he isn’t around; much like that day).
Tenzou doesn’t mind doing all this work at all; it’s not exactly tiring. If anything, it’s actually quite relaxing. It’s also not like he’s got anything else to do and this is the first time he’s able to do this given he’s always away. Or misses the fourth Sunday of every month.
This is his world, too, just as much as it is Iruka’s.
And if Iruka wants it to be perfect, well, Tenzou is very much okay with that.
*
Tenzou is still wide awake and unable to wind down from the energy and chakra boost. He may have been a little too over excited to get home after having to fight through a swarm of Rain ANBU.
The house is polished, every surface gleaming, a faint scent of citrus hanging in the air. Tenzou has washed off, dressed down in clean clothing and is now attempting to nap on his favorite side of the modular sofa.
With total failure.
A good fuck ought to wind him down, and usually works like a charm, too. But his dearest husband is nowhere in sight, there’s nothing in the house to engage Tenzou so he makes a decision to train.
Or spar.
The thought of sparring with his teammates is promptly dismissed when they’re all probably exhausted and spending time with their families. Tenzou only has a handful of sparring partners, most, after reading his briefing, are currently not present in the village.
Kakashi’s name pops up like a flicker of a candle in the dark.
Their schedules rarely align and with Tenzou drawing a clear boundary line in their arrangement, Kakashi had been, if anything, quite respectful. It’ll be months since their last encounter, long before that bullshit mission to Snow. They haven’t had the chance to meet, spar or even bump into each other since then.
Tenzou weighs his options, wondering if Kakashi is even in the village at all.
*
Tenzou forgoes seeking Kakashi out and instead, begins to work off his excess energy in the first available training ground. In his quest to exhaust his energy, he pretty much destroys copies of himself and about half the forest. Which he then regrows and destroys once more with energy to spare.
Half way through his energy reserves, Tenzou realizes the error of his method. As he regrows about a kilometer of trees, he admits to himself that this would have been a lot easier with a partner.
*
Tenzou debates marching to the mission room. Selfishly. Maybe even petulantly. To retrieve his fucking husband, the mission desk shift be damned.
It’s an irrational thought. Certainly not becoming of someone of his station.
It certainly isn’t something he normally would even entertain. Or think about. Not even in passing. It’s so not him. It’s fucking weird.
It’s a thought that sends a thrill coursing through Tenzou;s body, warm, hot, need pulsing like arousal to have Iruka in his arms again, to kiss him and sink into the warmth of his body, listen to Iruka’s breath stutter out of him as he rides out his pleasure, loses himself to Tenzou’s ministrations, forget that there’s anything else outside the two of them.
The thought is so out of place, so shocking in its manifestation that Tenzou gets punched in the fucking face by his own goddamn mokuton clone. It sends him flying backwards, chakra induced punch and all, crashing through shrubbery and widllife until he topples over to the next training ground, right in the middle of a fucking crater.
He probably deserved that godawful punch. His nose bleeds, his mouth flooding with copper at the impact of the punch that he should have been able to easily dodge. What an awful rookie mistake. So much so that his clone stands over him, head tilted in question, eyebrows quirked as Tenzou pants, pushing himself off in the middle of the crater and pressing a first aid jutsu to his face to stop the bleeding.
An apology forms at the tip of Tenzou’s tongue, as a presence rustles behind him. He is on his feet, dispelling the jutsu and wiping the blood of his nose with his sleeve, ready to apologize to his fellow shinobi for stumbling into their training ground.
Except the person standing there, looking just about as terrible as Tenzou feels, is Kakashi. Droopy eyed, dusty, flak jacket gone, gloves a little torn, probably from practicing with raikiri again, and dark circles the size of teacups under both eyes, the sharingan spinning lazily.
“Senpai,” Tenzou says, the syllables coming out hoarse.
“Tenzou.” Kakashi nods.
“Sorry for interrupting,” Tenzou apologizes anyway, dispelling his clone in a puff of chakra smoke.
“Hmm,” Kakashi shrugs, dismissing the apology with a noncommittal hum.
Tenzou give Kakashi a once over. Nothing has changed in Kakashi’s demeanor, his aura, the sense of failure still sitting heavily on his shoulders, as if Sasuke had only left yesterday, as if Team 7 was only disbanded yesterday.
(It’s never going to change.)
“You mind helping me out?” Tenzou asks, clearing his throat. “I’ve got a soldier pill I want to burn off. Need a hand practicing?”
There is a pregnant pause between them, Kakashi’s expression mostly walled off; Tenzou isn’t sure what to make of that. In the end, Kakashi pushes off from the tree he’s leaning on and descends down to the middle of the crater. “It’s been a long while,” Kakashi nods. “When did you take the pill?”
“Four hours ago. Five hundred milligrams,” Tenzou sighs, giving Kakashi’s answering eyebrow quirk a sheepish look. Tenzou didn’t need to be told that it’s rather reckless. Then again, Kakashi himself often make a lot of reckless decisions with no care for himself, if it means saving the team.
It’s unfair to compare Tenzou’s selfish decision to take the pill to speed up and be awake on a sunday morning, where he had hoped to find his husband, to say, Kakashi trying to save his teammates.
Kakashi says nothing though, his actions speaking louder than words when raikiri ignites on his fist. Tenzou has but a few seconds to feel relief that the energy in his veins can be depleted a lot faster before Kakashi launches forward.
*
Tenzou hits the ground like a ragdoll, limbless, breathless, sweat on his face, his shirt torn in a few places, faceplate gone and flushed all the way down his chest. He stares up unseeingly at the orange stretch above, the color of fire hearths and tangerines. Silhouettes of birds flies home across the sky that gradually creeps to a vivid magenta. Tenzou lies there, until his chest isn’t heaving as the mauve of the dusky intensifies, humidity soaking into the cracked earth under him. Tenzou closes his eyes briefly, his mouth relaxing to something slack, as the exhaustion sets bone deep.
Gods, he’s so fucking exhausted.
He should have stopped an hour ago, but something had forced him to continue the spar. Something had fueled him to not just up and go, leave Kakashi in the desolate forest, with nothing but destruction around him.
A few feet away, Kakashi is lying face up to, his heavy breaths now as even as Tenzou.
It’s a while before Tenzou musters the energy to force himself to his feet. He offers Kakashi a hand, who stares at it for a long while before he allows himself to be pulled up to his feet. They go about packing their belongings and exiting the training ground like they always do, like nothing has changed between them.
Except everything has changed between them.
Years ago, Tenzou used to think that Kakashi had it all. The name, the talent, the fame, the opportunity to work and grow under some of the very best, friends, family (however broken, however temporary); Tenzou remembers how he had wanted to be a part of that. How he wanted to be just like Hatake Kakashi. His idol. The only person in his life that means something. The man he respects the most.
Tenzou thinks he still wouldn’t hesitate to give his life to Kakashi. Would do absolutely anything for him.
Just as that thought occurs, Iruka’s face flashes in Tenzou’s mind.
Well, maybe not anything , anymore.
Not surprisingly, nothing about their routine changes, per se.
They step into their usual izakaya, situated in a corner of a very busy food and bar street, the night now a bustle with shinobi and civilian alike flooding the establishments. It gets busy earlier than normal given that the next day is a working day. Tenzou sits there, across from Kakashi, quietly nursing an ice cold drink, just to clear the dryness in his throat, a result from the previous gruelling hours of sparring.
Their meal doesn’t take long to be served. They mostly eat in relative silence, the only conversation occuring between the in between bites of their meal circulates around their earlier spar. It’s familiar, comfortable even, with Tenzou’s shoulders mostly relaxed. He can’t say the same for Kakashi. Kakashi who gives a sense of openness, deceptive in his act of being relaxed. It would have fooled anyone -- everyone in the village.
But not Tenzou.
Tenzou knows better than to ask about Team seven. He knows better than to ask if Kakashi is okay. Normally
Instead, he orders sake, pours them both a cup before making the announcement he wished he had a better opportunity to share. After all, for the longest time, the only name listed as his emergency contact had been Hatake Kakashi, no labels, no titles. Just his name. Tenzou remembers being young, still fresh under Kakashi’s care, trying to figure out his paperwork, a little after he’s been assigned from Root to the Sandaime. He remembers staring blankly at all the forms, pen frozen in hand, until Kakashi pointed at exactly ten fields he should fill, and casually said, if you’ve got no one to put in your emergency contact, you can put me .
It remained unchanged for years.
Until now.
“I got married,” Tenzou announces, whisper soft, as he lifts his eye from the cup momentarily to hold Kakashi’s gaze.
Kakashi’s face remains perfectly placid. “Congratulations.” He deadpans, before his visible eyes arches to a perfect arc. “I didn’t get the invitation~ What a terrible kouhai.”
“It’s not like that,” Tenzou huffs, a little bit amused. He’s already heard an earful of stories of how Iruka is getting flak from his friends for not having a reception. He supposes this is his version of it. Muted, and coming from just one person. “We officiated before I left for a mission. The Hokage and a clerk from the Family Registry were the only ones present…”
Tenzou doesn’t realize how he’s holding his breath until the cup touches his lips. He tips the contents of his sake backwards, not breaking eye contact. Kakashi says nothing for a moment, opting to look at Tenzou with a measuring gaze that isn’t forced happiness like the earlier arc of his eye, nor is it completely blank like he’s acting guarded. It’s actually an expression Tenzou isn’t quite sure how to interpret. He’s never seen quite something like this on Kakashi’s face.
“Well, would you look at that…” Kakashi says, the words quiet, maybe even gentle. It’s odd.
Tenzou cannot stop the flush from flooding his face. He brings a hand up to his mouth to clear his throat, eyebrows furrowing to a slight frown as he tries to force the heat away from his face.
“I took on his name. I’ve got a surname now. Umino,” Tenzou adds, pouring them another cup of sake, Kakashi’s face remaining cool and collected, if not a little bored like the usual whenever they’re in public. “I wanted you to know. I wish I had told you sooner.”
Kakashi doesn’t say anything immediately, and for a moment, it makes causes a tendril of something to curl somewhere in Tenzou’s chest. It makes him wonder if sharing this news at all had been a good idea. The instant the doubt forms, Tenzou’s entire body begins to coil with tension, and with it comes a swarm of questions, buzzing deafeningly like a distrubed hornets’ nest. Before he concludes that this may not have been the right time to say anything of the sort, Kakashi speaks.
“Are you happy?”
Tenzou doesn’t dare look up, doesn’t want to look up too
“He’s all the good worth fighting for,” Tenzou murmurs, thinking of Iruka kindness, his patience, his unshakeable loyalty and compassion. He thinks of acceptance he readily hands out without question, the way Iruka looks at him, Tenzou, a literal nobody with nothing to show for save for the DNA in his body that doesn’t even belong to him, like he’s of value; someone worth cherishing, loving, and not just a shadow in the dark, a means to an end in a war no one really hears about, or knows about. “He’s the best of us. You’d understand if you get to know him…”
“Well, then I’m happy for you,” Kakashi suddenly says, startling Tenzou out of his thoughts. Kakashi has his cup raised, visible eye arched.
Tenzou looks up at the man he respects the most, probably second to his now husband, and nods, the buzzing questions eventually dying down at the back of his head as he picks up his sake cup and clinks it with Kakashi’s raised one.
“Thank you,” Tenzou answers, hoping that the syllables, the weight of his gratitude shows just how much Kakashi’s blessing and acceptance means to him.
*
That night, when Tenzou comes home, he finds Iruka urled around Tenzou's side of the bed, his hair is still damp from the shower. Tenzou has his presence tightly suppressed, as he leans by the doorway watching Iruka lie there, unmoving. The sight Iruka makes sends an ache coursing through Tenzou's body like an electric shock, burning everything in its wake. Seven weeks used to feel like nothing in the past.
Now it feels like a lifetime.
Tenzou releases the hold on his hidden presence, watching with a slow smile tugging at his lips as Iruka stiffens in bed, sitting up almost immediately to turn and face Tenzou.
"You're back," Iruka says, breathless.
"I am. I have been since this morning; you weren't home --"
Tenzou closes his eyes when his words are suddenly cut off, Iruka crossing the space between them, arms tight, warm, and gods, it feels so good to be held like this after so goddamn long. Tenzou breathes deeply, drowning in Iruka's warmth, his suddenly all encompassing presence, the scent of of his skin, the heady mix of orange and cinnamon and sunshine and home -- Tenzou pulls back to look at Iruka's face, sees the lack of sleep lingering around the corners of his eyes, the fatigue that presses dark circles under the shadows of his long lashes. Iruka's face is a touch narrower, a little pale even. Iruka has been stressing again, working himself hard to keep himself busy, just to make the wait a little easier, a little emptier.
Tenzou holds him tighter, presses his lips to Iruka's temple, dragging his lips down to Iruka's neck where he buries his face there. He can't imagine being anywhere else, can't even imagine going back to his bleak existence after this.
A world without Iruka just isn't a world worth fighting so hard for, anymore.
It's a scary thought. Dangerous. Almost a little traitorous.
But Iruka's hands are in Tenzou's dusty hair, his mouth on his and whatever concern or whispering warning at the back of Tenzou's mind decides to give voice too is promptly silenced.