Beneath the Sun

Chapter 10

On the sixteenth day of Tenzou's enforced medical leave, the call of the summoning hawk comes before dawn.

It is still dark outside, without a whisper of sound from the usually busy street of Iruka's block. Tenzou's quiet, surprisingly regretful soft sigh breaks the silence as he tightens his hold around Iruka's body, pressing his nose into Iruka's hair, lips settled over Iruka's nape. Iruka remains blissfully asleep, doesn't even shift in Tenzou's arms as Tenzou carefully pulls away from warmth he doesn't want to leave behind. He watches with something unguardedly fond and tender curling in his chest, like smoke from a cozy fire, as Iruka rolls over to the opposite side in Tenzou's direction, refusing to peel himself away from Tenzou's warmth even in his sleep, soft fingers curling over scarred skin of Tenzou's hip before Iruka settles and continues to sleep, a small throaty noise of complaint tapering off to quiet breaths.

Tenzou can't recall a time when he wishes, with every fiber of his being, that he could just stay and just not answer the Hokage's summon at all, pretend to be deaf, stay in bed and gather that wonderful, beautiful body in his arms and let the world burn.

Tenzou can't recall a time when he has hesitated when summoned. When he has regretted being summoned.

Regret isn't a foreign concept to Tenzou, but it is never a pleasant feeling. He's felt regret in failing his missions, regret in not being able to save a comrade, regret in carrying the weight of the dead home, or having to make a decision to leave the dead behind. He's felt it when he looks at a teammate with helplessness, when he sees the shadows of a past in mismatched eyes, tension coiling in his spine, the weight of loss pulling broad, pale shoulders down and keeping it there. Regret and helplessness goes hand in hand, Tenzou had discovered a long time ago. Regret tastes sharp, like the copper tang of blood. It cuts like a thousand needles sliding down Tenzou's throat, cutting all the way down. That kind of regret cuts from within, feels as sore as a flesh wound. The pain would persist like a bad burn as it heals and scabs, and eventually, the pain dulls to something numb and nothing more than a scar.

Up until that moment, as he reaches down to brush incredibly smooth, silky hair off Iruka's serene sleeping face, Tenzou didn't know that regret could feel like a deep seated ache in one's bones. The kind that lingers like an onset of a horrible fever, a slow and steady burn that paves the way to a need that Tenzou knows he can never hope to quench. He didn't know regret could hurt more, that it didn't have to be brought on by loss and death and the bloodied remains of a comrade, however broken or whole, left on a battlefield. Regret is leaving behind this quiet moment, this comfort and the very embodiment of all things good and worth fighting for. This kind of regret makes the weight of the sword on his back and blood-stained armor heavier, more constraining.

Tenzou didn't think a day would come when he would hesitate, when his ten minute response window would be wasted on wrapping his arms around a breathing body and pressing lips to Iruka's temple, the kiss long and warm, as he closes his eyes in the quiet of the still darkness outside and feeling the steady thrum of Iruka's heartbeat under his fingers.

There's never been a time when he had wanted to disobey a summon outright, when something under his ribs claws like a savage beast and tells him to fuck it, fuck it all.

This attachment, Tenzou knows, with everything in him up in arms and screaming in alarm, is dangerous.

He should go, like the many times he had left Iruka tucked into the cocoon of his bed.

He should leave quietly, not look back.

(He shouldn't actually come back – not with how attached he is now.)

But like the countless times in the week he had spent with Iruka, Tenzou gives into his whims, trails an open mouthed kiss to Iruka's ear and whispers, "I have to go..."