"Kakashi-kun."

"Hmm? What is it, Iruka?"

"I... uh... wanted to... umm... never mind. Sorry."

"T'sokay."

The two men continue their lazy meal at Ichiraku Ramen bar, shoulders bent over bowls, slurping, and on Kakashi's part, humming occasionally. Iruka tried to eat, but it felt like there is a humongous stone jamming the entrance to his stomach. Every gulp was forced, noodles tasting like ash in his mouth. He glanced nervously at his friend - the jounin was calm, as though he was unaware of the sensei's tense muscles, or the reason behind the sensei's tense muscles. Iruka knew he knew, it was a constant in his life after all, Kakashi just knowing these things… it was like Naruto's eternal love for ramen.

Speaking of ramen, Iruka's managed to slip back into its bowl from his chopsticks just now.

"Your hands are shaking." He noted airily, and true, Iruka's hands were shaking. "Why is that?"

He wanted him to say it out loud, but he could not. He put his chopsticks down, tidily placed next to each other on top of the bowl, and sighed. His breath was shaky, and that something inside was threatening to overspill if he let go of this tenseness even a little bit.

Then there is a hand on his shoulder, long and warm, and there.

Iruka, in a fraction of a second, collapses within.

He drops his weary head into his hands, and starts crying. It's not loud, nor heartbreaking, nor is it beautiful in any sort of way. His eyes become red and puffy, his chin shakes as he takes gasps of air, gulps for it, swallowing large amounts so that he ends up hiccupping at the end, and there is some brown hair sticking to his wet cheeks that he tries to brush away and fails all together, only making a bigger mess. His hitai-ate slips from its place and jangles up his eyebrows; his scar stands out vividly and wrinkles, deforms itself on his face as he squeezes out another batch of heavy tears. He tries to hide his face, but his hands are trembling, and his shoulders won't keep still either, and all he manages to do is push his half-empty bowl off the table, chopsticks jumping on the ground with dull little thuds, porcelain…

…. The porcelain is caught by a gloved hand, slowly moving its catch back to the stand. Not a drop was spilled, and it lands quietly on the wood.

Kakashi moves the stool as close as he can get, and wraps one arm around the other.

"T'sokay…" He mumbles, but he knows that the problem is not, only that he is here, and gripping for Iruka.

Iruka cried until midnight.

The other paid the bill, took him home, and put him to bed.

Kakashi clutched him until dawn.