"Iruka," she says cheerfully, and he feels a bang of guilt. "You missed dinner, but I saved you some. Would you like me to warm it up now?"

"Not hungry," he mumbles, setting a foot on the staircase, when another head pokes around the wall.

"We were worried, Son," the man says, and it's light, airy, nothing dragging the word 'Son' down.

Iruka wants to cry, but he smiles. He's not their son, never will be, but sometimes, like now, he wants to be. They're young, beautiful, happy. More than that, they're alive. He can touch them, feel their warm skin, and when she hugs him, smiling and laughing and saying something about warming up dinner for him, because he has to be hungry, he's a teenage boy, the hidden tears in his eyes burn and burn.

"Thank you, Aunt," he says, because it's the fastest way out. He slides away from her touch, because just the thought of her touching him, after he's been fucked up the ass by another boy, makes him sick. He can see her walk into the kitchen as he runs up the stairs and when he gets into his room he slams his back into the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the ground. He can't let them know of Kakashi, of his dirty little secrets, because then everything will go wrong. He's terrified that they'll hate them, because he loves them both, but he's even more afraid that they'll be fine with it, that they'll laugh and hug him, because then he'll love them more, and he can't afford to love them as much as he loved his parents.

He crawls across his floor, pulling open his dresser's drawers to dig through until he finds a pair of pajamas, then leaves his room for the bathroom, turning on the shower water to as hot as he can get it. He washes and washes, scrubbing at his skin until it's red, until the smell of Kakashi is gone. When he finally returns downstairs, hair dripping water on his pajamas, they're both in the kitchen sitting at the counter, eating ice cream. There's a plate of food sitting across from them and Iruka settles himself on a stool gingerly.

"You took so long in the shower, I had to warm up your food twice," she says, but she's still smiling. Her husband's laughing and she smacks him playfully, and he steals some of her ice cream. Iruka watches, almost awed, and once again, he's reminded of his parents.

"Thank you, Aunt," he says again, and he's never hated the word 'Aunt' so much in his life.

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