'It's the same thing every time.
This floating here,
In between desperation and desolation
And of course...,
That one person who wants you to stay in the moment.
How...
How do you begin to tell them what you really feel?
When every other time,
You have been met with heartache, loss, and distance?
Begging, pleading, asking politely for you to tell,
To spill your secrets.
Unwilling, however, to burden them.
And afraid, so very afraid,
Of what it all means.
Where, where would I even begin to tell the tale?
A half-remembered beginning?
Something that happened so long ago that has triggered all that is?
Was it one thing or a multitude that brought this on?
What is,
Could it have been prevented?
Could it have been stopped?
Could it have been different?
Could I be different?
Something else, Someone else?
So many questions and never any answers.
I have searched, long and hard,
But nothing seems to fit.
I am, what I am.
Why..., Why I am, remains to be seen in its entirety.
Try as I might,
Nothing ever seems good enough.
But still,
I am wanted to try.
I am wanted to Be.
But what..., what do I want?
I think you know.
I have said it,
I have cried it,
I have yelled it,
I have dreamnt it.
Never..., never am I given it...'

Obito sat at his desk in his room, tipping his chair back on it's two legs. Pencil, idly tapping the notebook, he reread his words, over and over. He sat the chair back down, sighing. Everything was just so damned difficult! He closed the notebook. His homework was done now. And..., actually, he felt moderately better. More grounded. Just like he knew he would. Writing usually had the effect, if he was lucky.

He glanced around his room, it was moderately cluttered. Black and orange sheets and blankets on the bed, notebooks stacked on the shelves beside his bed, a few pairs of boxers and jeans in a basket in the corner, his tv and gaming console beside that, in the doorway of his moderately sized closet a pull-up bar, and right beside that doorway, his baseball stuff.
Sighing again, he grabbed his black glove and a ball, next snatching his iPod from the shelves and trotting down the stairs as he one-handedly strung the iPod and headphone cord down his shirt. With slight difficulty, he popped both earbuds into his ears and set the volume to lower than usual. Mama by Louna began playing as he began the walk to the park not far from his home. As he walked, he threw the ball in the air, catching it with practiced ease.

Going to the park alone. Meeting no one there. Going to play catch with himself. It was something he did almost everyday. There were generally others there, at the park. He knew they whispered about him. He knew they talked about him. He was teased a lot in school. He was a sophmore. Most of those who did the teasing were in his grade or sometimes, one below, which made it worse because then the ones in his grade would tease him further about how those in a lower class would heckle him.

Still, he went. He stayed until it started to get dark. Eventually, he would usually move to the playground equipment and work on pull-ups. He could do them at his house, in his room, but the change in scenery was always nice. He pushed himself harder there than in his room. To prove he was strong. To prove he could rise above.

Drenched in sweat, he walked back, simply holding the ball in the glove. Upon returning to his room, he put the glove in its usual spot, finally, removing his goggles and grabbing a fresh pair of boxers and then traveling down the short hall to the bathroom.
He showered and redressed in his boxers, going to his room to lay in his bed and game for a few hours. He played Soul Calibur II the whole time, eventually growing frustrated and bored, thankfully, it was time for him to go to bed by then. After turning everything off, he laid down and closed his eyes, willing his mind to quiet soon so he could get some rest.

In the morning he dressed in plain black skinny jeans and an equally black shirt. Goggles on, notebook in hand, he trotted down the stairs, grabbing a few cereal bars for breakfast and a can of soda, he left and locked the house. Once he arrived at the bus stop, he carefully set his can down and ate the food he had brought. He was halfway finished with his can when the bus pulled up. He and a couple other teens boarded the bus, him finishing his drink as he climbed the steps.
He took his seat by the window, his seat staying unoccupied until the last stop, but even as someone sat down, they ignored him completely. Sighing inaudibly, he continued to gaze out the window. Just another day.

English wasn't until fifth period. So he sat through gym, as usual, being virtually useless because no one thought he was worth anything. Sitting quietly through second through fourth period, only quietly answering questions if he happened to be called upon. Normal. All normal. He walked with earbuds in down the halls, class to class. Trying to drown the noise of the students and teachers and administrators.

Upon arriving in English, he took his seat in the back, getting out his notebook. He sat with it and pencil in hand, staring into space until the bell sounded. Dimly, hearing the usual heckles.
It was no secret, this teacher hated him and those like him. Quiet, good at writing and reading, not actively sportsy. He scribbles his name, date, and period in the upper right corner of his paper before ripping it out gently and handing it forward.

As they work upon an assignment for that days class, Obito looks up, Madara is staring directly at him. He returns the stare, his face perfectly blank, Madara looks away first, and Obito resumes his work. He didn't even remotely like him. He wouldn't report shit. He kept writing on the assignment, his knuckles getting paler as he gripped the pencil tighter and tighter, ceasing to write and simply stare at the paper.
The bell rang, signfying lunch.
He packed his things and made his way to the gym, where he would sit and read for a half hour before going to his sixth class. As much as he was sure Madara wouldn't report him, he still thought on it. What would happen if he did, what he would do, who would be involved.
Shaken, from his thoughts, by none other than Hatake Kakashi.

"Wha?"

"I said, do you have a partner for this assignment?" Kakashi repeated himself, something he knew the other male hated to do.

Stuttering and blushing madly, he replied he did not, course. To which Kakashi informed him they would work together, half the work for each of them. It was a relatively simple math project. Making and solving their own problem and explaining exactly how to solve it.
Kakashi was the best in the class, he could have easily done the project all on his own, but their teacher was forcing them to do it in pairs. It would be interesting to say the least to work with him. He was generally of few words and most of them cold and sometimes insulting.
For all that though, Obito felt the darkness of his mind lifting as he gazed at the back of the boy who would be his partner for the project. It was strange... Really.