Disclaimer: Naruto does not belong to me. It was created by Kishimoto-sama. This is a work of fiction.
Author's Note: This is dedicated to Hatake Kakashi as a birthday present (September 15). It came to me as I was taking an evening walk on his birthday- the weather and conditions described here are taken straight from that day, so there is a small element of non-fiction. I was also very touched by the Gaiden arc of the Naruto manga, and had always wanted to write about it. I haven't written a one-shot in a while. This is also the first fanfic I've written in second person. It came out rather well, didn't it? I'm rather fond of this fanfic. I hope you come to love it as much as I do. Happy birthday, Kakashi!
Enjoy,
RaiMidori
POV: Obito
It was cold on your birthday, even though it was only September. It was as if the gods themselves had decided to speed up time to remind you of the pain you would still be feeling, even in the depths of the uncertain future. The slender, tapered fingers of winter wrapped themselves around the trees, casting the ensorcelled aroma of amaryllis flowers to drift upon wave after wave of frigid gale. The petals, exploding with unbound colour, had lost their magic just as the last rays of sunlight dissolved behind a waiting horizon, and twilight, just as promised, just as you knew it would, fell upon the dim landscape.
The frost clambered over dusk-bitten windows, encapsulated shadows freezing over. Jack Frost himself etched his dreams into them, precious little entities captured upon still-life glass. You knew better than to touch them. Anything beautiful in that world, anything of worth, of value, would simply slip through your fingers as you reached for it. And so, on that day, you kept your hands in your wrinkled pockets, trying hard not to see the creeping, wistful patterns, draped over the edges like the pallid, lifeless dress of the lady of death.
You were waiting. Waiting for someone that you knew that, surely, would never come back. Someone that had been left behind as you walked forward, decaying wordlessly under the rocks flung from the gates of Hades. Perhaps, it was your punishment for doubting I could ever disappear.
Those eyes of yours, trailing across the sky, following the flight of an invisible bird, had lost their luster, sacrificing their light in an empty remembrance. I followed your glance, but I couldn't see anything. Regardless, you remained there, both eyes riveted on the sky, searching for a fleeting sign.
It was those eyes of yours that captivated me. That jagged scar, carved heartlessly by an enemy whose face that you and I had both forgotten, ran parallel to the stray strands of unkempt hair that framed the scarlet orb, once belonging to someone else. Where a normal person would have wrinkles- in the corners of their eyes, from smiling- the skin was as smooth and pale as the rest of your face. I wondered to myself if it hurt you as much as it hurt me to see that face.
Was it because you were alone? You stitched your greatest creation –your true smile, brighter than a bouquet of morning glories- onto your face, but it looked out of place on the unmasked visage. You were waiting, like always, preparing yourself just in case I would emerge from behind a tree to confront you, just so I wouldn't have to share your burden. If you showed me that magnified glimmer of happiness every time you saw me, you decided, I wouldn't have to worry; I wouldn't have to feel the same stabbing pain that was lodged like a thorn in your heart. You cared about me, and so you lied. Thinking you could see through me like you could everyone else, when, really, I could see through you.
Spiraling breaths, puffs of air drifting upwards into an endless empyrean, will rise one day, on a day just like that one. On that day, I'll catch that warm breath of air in my hands, and feel it through my body like the unspoken promise between us. I've said goodbye, but I'm not really gone, right? Right?
On that winter-touched day, frost dripping off opaque plaques, a weary sky adorned with dancing deities, the only things out of place were those eyes of yours, one, obsidian as the night, and one, red like the blood of a comrade, your blood. I think you knew. I think you knew, so you closed your eyes.