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Chakra depletion is messy.
Sometimes, Kakashi will be holed up in the hospital for weeks on end as his body tries to adjust to the gaping dearth of such a vital substance, his muscles weak, gone to jelly, and his systems shot to shit. Other times, he’ll have enough strength to get home, but his limbs won’t quite cooperate with his brain so he’ll slump against a building or a tree until either an ANBU or a friend deigns to check in on him. And there have even been instances in which Kakashi’s comparable to that time he’d come home after a plum-wine drinking contest with Guy -- noodle-limbed, confused, and weepy.
Everyone reacts to it differently.
Iruka, for instance, doesn’t experience any of those symptoms. Instead, he gets migraines, diarrhea, and incurable insomnia for at least forty-eight hours.
Fortunately, he’s not the one inclined to frequent bouts of chakra depletion, because he thinks if he came home, sick as a dog and whining about it, Kakashi probably would’ve left him long ago. Instead, with Kakashi’s Sharingan constantly sapping at his reserves, he has the misfortune of running on near-empty more than most.
So, unfortunately, Iruka’s not at all surprised when Guy knocks on the front door late in the evening with Kakashi slumped against his side.
“Iruka-sensei,” Guy bellows, “What a pleasure to see you this fine evening! I wish that it could be under better circumstances, but I’m afraid my eternal rival here used up his chakra trying to teleport himself home from the hospital.”
“I love him so much,” Kakashi says, head lolling onto his shoulder. “I’m so lucky to have him.”
Mostly he just looks like a very pitiful scarecrow -- quite apt, considering his namesake.
Iruka sighs at Kakashi, but offers Guy a kind smile. “It’s good to see you, too, Guy-san. Here,” he says, opening the door wide enough for Guy’s bulky frame to fit through. “You can drop him on the couch.”
Leagues nicer than Iruka, Guy takes care not to bump Kakashi’s head on the doorframe or knock his lanky limbs against any of the furniture, then gently lays Kakashi out on the sofa cushions. Iruka probably would’ve just tossed him and let his limbs splay where they fell.
“Would you like some tea?” Iruka offers, shuffling off towards the kitchen. “Or I could make a snack for you -- I’m sure you’re hungry, just getting home from a mission.”
From the couch, Iruka hears Kakashi lament, “Iruka drinks tea!” before devolving into sobs.
Weepy it is, Iruka thinks, eyeing the jumble of boneless limbs peeking out from behind the couch.
“Oh, no, you are far too kind,” Guy demurs, well-practiced at ignoring Kakashi’s chakra-depleted antics. “I must be off! I have planned a midnight mountain climb with my precious students!”
Yikes. “Okay, well, um. Be safe,” Iruka says. He walks Guy out, waves him off before he catapults himself to his hands to take to the streets.
Kakashi’s still sobbing quietly when Iruka returns to the couch. He nudges at Kakashi’s hip and sits next to his sprawled form. “Hi, Kakashi,” he says, valiantly fighting off his smile.
Kakashi gasps in surprise -- and then starts crying harder. He reaches a trembling hand out to try to touch him, but it flops right back down to his side.
Iruka trails a hand across Kakashi’s hip, gauging his reaction; he doesn’t flinch or grunt or grit his teeth, so apparently, touch is okay. He might still be a little sore, but at least it hasn’t radiated out into the flu-like symptoms where even his skin hurts.
“I know,” Iruka murmurs, “I’m here. All yours.”
Kakashi whimpers softly and tries again to reach out. “Iruka.”
Nodding, Iruka wraps his fingers around Kakashi’s bony wrist and drags his limp hand up until he can press it against his own cheek the way Kakashi’s clearly struggling to do. “That’s me,” Iruka says. “How are you feeling, Kakashi?”
He gives a shuddery huff and shakily curls his fingers, his eye glassy and scanning like he’s not quite sure that Iruka’s real. “Missed you,” he says. “Missed you so much. Always miss you.”
“I know,” Iruka murmurs again, cheeks heating despite the fact that he does. Because he does know. He knows it better than anything else; he can count on Kakashi’s love and touch and devotion more than he can count on the Hokage (not that he’d ever say as much out loud). “I’m so glad you made it home to me.”
Parts of his heart always ache when Kakashi’s gone, but they scab over and stubbornly heal every time he returns.
“Are you feeling okay?” Iruka asks again, petting a hand over Kakashi’s masked cheek. “No injuries?”
Kakashi shakes his head and then it lolls half-off the couch. Another tear ekes out of the corner of his eye when Iruka reaches over to help him prop it back up against a small throw pillow again. “Not hurt,” Kakashi confirms. “Just…hungry?”
“What sounds good, Anata?” Iruka asks, petting over Kakashi’s hair. “Anything you want?”
Kakashi’s big sleepy eye blinks slowly, expression full of open adoration regardless of the fact that most of his face is still hidden. Times like these, Iruka won’t take his usual liberties with Kakashi’s body -- not when there’s a chance that he could be saying or doing things that he doesn’t truly mean. So, for now, mask on and gentle touches only.
“Saury,” Kakashi breathes, little more than a whisper. “An’ rice. And umeboshi.”
“Mm, pretty sure that’s been out of season for a while,” Iruka says, not slowing or stopping the stroking of his hands. “What about an eggplant miso instead? Or some herring?”
Iruka really shouldn’t be surprised when Kakashi’s eye begins watering all over again and he really shouldn’t acknowledge the way his heart tugs when Kakashi gives a wobbly, “Okay.” It makes him want to research some time-space jutsu that would allow him to teleport a few months back to stock up on the damn fish just so he doesn’t ever have to see this expression on Kakashi’s sad little face ever again.
“I would get you some saury if I could,” Iruka croons, brushing the tears from the corners of Kakashi’s eye. He pats at Kakashi’s hand and then makes to get up. “I’ll run down to the corner store and get you a bento.”
“Nooo,” Kakashi whines, “I just got you back.” His pout’s visible even through the mask.
Iruka stifles a sigh. “Anata,” he says, just a little more firmly, “You’re hungry and I want to make sure you feel better. That means you’ve gotta eat.”
“But I missed you,” Kakashi says, blinking slowly once again. “Don’t want you to go.”
“Okay, okay,” Iruka soothes, petting dirty hair back from Kakashi’s hitai-ate. “I won’t then. Guess you’ll just have to starve.”
Kakashi’s stomach, as if it summoned, gives a low, mournful growl loud enough to reverbrate between them. Tears well up in Kakashi’s eye again.
“That’s it --” Iruka straightens and peels Kakashi’s grasping fingers away from the front of his shirt. “-- I’m going to get you some food and no amount of whining or crying is going to stop me. I’ll be back in five minutes. You can survive five minutes without supervision, right?”
Kakashi’s pouting lower lip trembles through the mask, but -- Iruka stays firm, true to his resolve. Thanks to a chakra-eating shunshin, Iruka makes it back in three minutes, but Kakashi weeps and clings to him as if he’d been gone for three months.
Later, after he’s hand-fed Kakashi an entire bento, sat with him through a nice, long soak in the tub, and cuddled him to sleep, all Iruka can think is that he’s undoubtedly going to have to do this again. He’s a little less surprised to realize that --
Well…maybe he won’t mind too entirely much.
He buries a fond smile into Kakashi’s drying hair and holds him just a little tighter, drifting off to gleeful thoughts about how embarrassed Kakashi’ll be in the morning.