Kakashi poked at his plate with something approaching morbid curiosity. He bared his sharingan and watched as the – food? – on his plate slid apart, the bread on top sliding sideways precariously, seeming to stay in place by willpower alone. Cautiously, he lowered his mask, pushing a finger through the pile and bringing it to his mouth for a taste. It was chunky, tasting like meat with several different spices mixed in.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake!” Iruka reached across the table to fix Kakashi’s meal, righting the bread and somewhat centering the entire mass on the plate. It now looked more or less like a huge, shapeless blob, barely contained by the bun. In fact, the meaty mixture had spilled out of the bun, until the bottom part was completely covered. Giving it another dubious look, Kakashi raised an eyebrow at his lover.
Iruka was glaring. Nothing new there. He kept looking pointedly between Kakashi and the seat, silently demanding he sit. Deciding to oblige, Kakashi sat. And stared.
Next to him, Iruka managed to wedge his fingers underneath the overflowing mess, somehow finding the bun hiding beneath. He picked his up gingerly, cradling it like a sandwich, and brought it to his mouth. After a couple bites, he swallowed around his mouthful and glared again.
“Well?” Iruka gestured to Kakashi’s food again (with is eyes; it would’ve been messy had he tried with anything else) and cocked his head impatiently. “Aren’t you going to eat?”
Incredulous, Kakashi’s eyebrow climbed even higher. “I’m supposed to eat this?” He looked at his plate, then back up. Iruka was not amused.
“Of course you eat it! What did you think you did with it?” His voice goes slightly higher when he’s angry, Kakashi noted, for future reference.
“I was thinking about giving it to Bull.”
A vein pulsed in Iruka’s forehead, and his jaw tightened. Kakashi quickly scouted out the exits, having become well-attuned to Iruka’s moods. This particular brand promised death to anyone within reach.
To his surprise, the chuunin simply pulled in a deep breath before exhaling explosively, massaging his temples. “Kakashi, I swear… one of these days…” He gathered up both plates and strode into the kitchen muttering under his breath. “I try to expose him to new things, but no! ‘I’m supposed to eat this?’” He mimicked. “Ugh! Uncultured bastard.”
The dishes clanged loudly in the sink, and Iruka half-turned back to a bemused Kakashi, who was resting his chin in his hands on the table, watching him putter and rant.
A mini staring contest ensued. Iruka finally threw his hands in the air, “I give up! You’re getting dinner tomorrow. I can give these to Naruto. God knows, that kid’ll eat anything.” He turned toward the sink to pack up the rest for his favorite student.
With his back to the jounin, Iruka failed to notice the satisfied smirk flit across his face. Kakashi: 2, Culture: 0.