It is on nights like these that Iruka cannot sleep. These nights come sporadically, sometimes days and sometimes weeks apart. They come in on the whispers of butterfly wings, echoes of voices on the wind, and when the sun disappears and world is cast into darkness, a heavy silence descends upon Konoha, one that causes the people of the village to talk and sing loudly, nervously, in an effort to ignore the silent reproaches of the dead. On these nights Iruka walks away from the painfully bright lights of homes of families and friends, moving into the shadows. He follows the breaths of whispers on the wind, follows the darting of shadows, out the gates of Konoha, just like he does every night this darkness falls. Shivering, clutching his arms around his body, he stumbles out to a hill far from the gates and falls to his knees, listening.

There Iruka stays, alone, shaking in the cold, listening to the dead voices plead and beg, scream and curse. They whisper and he listens, leaning into the wind. They scream and he apologizes, shrinking down into a ball. He does what the voices ask of him, what no one else will do. He cries for them, scalding tears down a cold face, and he listens to them, whispering apologies to the condemnations, and he bleeds for them, blood running down his arm in dark spills.

It is Kakashi who finds him, who kneels down and touches his shoulders gently, turning the teacher to face him. “Why,” he asks, softly, gently, “why did you come out here?”

Iruka turns away, looking over Kakashi’s shoulder, searching desperately for something as he shivers violently. “They’re calling me. Can’t you hear them? They’re calling, and they’re lost, and they want me to come-”

It is Kakashi that leads Iruka back into the village, pulling him along gently by the hand, patiently steadying him when he stumbles, calling his name when he stops and looks behind him, searching for something only he can see. It is Kakashi that pulls the chuunin into their apartment, tugging him into the warm, bright room, closing out the shadows and voices when he shuts the door. When Iruka looks at him, confused, Kakashi turns away.

“You left me again,” he whispers, voice gruff and broken. Hearing Kakashi’s voice, Iruka understands now. It’s so much like the other voices, the soft, sad voices that call for him on these nights.

“You’re lost.” It’s stated simply, quietly, understandingly. “You’re calling for me.” Kakashi shakes his head, pushing Iruka onto the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of him to bandage up his arm silently. Iruka rests his other hand upon Kakashi’s head, fingers tangling in the silver hair. “I’m cold.” A soft, confused statement. “Why am I cold?”

Kakashi glances up, peering into the brown eyes before he returns to bandaging. “You’re back.” At the chuunin’s look of uncertainty and annoyance he leans up, kissing Iruka’s forehead. “You went for a walk, remember?”

He shakes his head, looking at his bandaged arm with self-hate. “No, I… Why?”

Kakashi pushes him gently down on the bed, curling around the chuunin’s back, pulling blankets up to cover them.

“You couldn’t sleep.”

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