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It is night and it's raining, the littlest droplets are slowly wetting the school’s parking lot, the wind is whistling through the trees surrounding the place.
By the time Iruka is done talking with the guard, there are puddles here and there, but he at least has an umbrella and a content smile to share with Kakashi. The wind almost takes it away when he opens it while trying to keep a hold on his bag, though, and Kakashi takes to himself the task of carrying the thing. They don’t fight over it. They leave shoulder to shoulder, and Iruka has his bag firmly pressed against his chest lest wetting his papers.
They don't talk. Iruka seems completely caught in his thoughts and Kakashi is okay with not bothering him for now, instead appreciating the flutter of street colors on his face, how they make his eyes shine with amber, reddish brown and greenish golden.
It's fine. Until it is not anymore.
The littlest droplets multiply and become faster, fatter and heavier. The wind, before a whistle, howls and seems about to sweep them off their feet at any given moment. Their legs and part of their upper bodies are all soaked, but Kakashi thinks it could be worse.
Because of course it could. And it becomes worse. Everything is stark white and the loudest roar thrums around them. Even in the chaos it is possible to hear a cat screeching, and when it runs in a blur in front of them, while Kakashi very discreetly freezes, Iruka screams and jumps and, as if the stronger his hold the safer he would be, grabs his arm - the one holding the umbrella. Iruka is hiding behind Kakashi as they watch in a dead silence their only shield being carried away by the wind.
The rain goes on over them. Wide eyes connect, stunned glint in them, and then they’re running.
In front of Iruka's building Kakashi makes his halt. He watches the sensei take one, two steps ahead of him before being able to stop himself, and for a couple of minutes his shoulders go up and down as he stabilizes his breathing.
He turns around. He stares and is stared back. Kakashi takes in the soaked clothes glued to his body, the mess of his ponytail, stray strands of hair like tentacles curling over his face and neck, a droplet falling from an eyelash to a cheek and down, by the side of red, trembling lips, until dropping from his quivering chin. At the sight, he sighs. His heart hammers against his ribcage this wild way he’s already becoming used to. Under the warm yellow light of the lamppost above them, all damp and trembling, this man couldn't be more beautiful. And here is Kakashi, pretty sure in a similar state of mess, but tending more to a frail wet cat than the main character from a romance movie.
Finally Iruka steps closer, and stops. His breath is a puff of freezing air against Kakashi’s face and his eyes are steady, focused on Kakashi’s. He waits. Kakashi wonders if he's being given a moment to run and feels like laughing at the absurdity of it. As if.
Then slowly, oh so slowly, Iruka leans in. Cold lips press against his cheek, and, fuck, how come it be so warm? The feeling spreads. From one cheek to another and to his neck, then his chest, and it is burning there, his arms, legs, his curling toes - his all. Kakashi is sure he’s going to melt. Maybe he already is. His eyes flutter shut in delight and he moves slightly, just so his nose caresses Iruka's cheek in return. His nostrils flare and chest touches Iruka's as he inhales his scent. It’s already so familiar, so cozy. Damn. He wants to dive in it. A satisfied hum vibrates quietly in his throat.
"You smell so fucking good, Iruka-sensei. I-"
"Shut up, Kakashi", he murmurs while clearly trying unsuccessfully to repress a smile, lips brushing Kakashi's cheek.
Kakashi does as he’s asked, but just for a couple of seconds.
"Won’t we kiss for real, though?"
"Fuck you", is answered still against his cheek, smile broader.
"I’d appreciate it very much, too."
This is when Iruka puts some inches in between them both, his beautiful eyes shining more than ever as they move over Kakashi’s face until stopping on Kakashi’s, his lips stretching in an easy smile.
One, two seconds go by - and then the space between them is no more.