under the same sun
[ghost]
summary: he was nothing but a phantom reminder of what she lost, but for some reason, she couldn't let him go.
rating: T+
characters: Obito/Tobi, Rin
honorable mentions: Kakashi, Minato
note1: yo dawg, i heard you like drabbles so i put drabbles inside your drabble (for those who don't know the internet: this is a drabble consisting of drabbles. drabbleception.).
note2: remember: this is an AU (capitalized and bolded – for those who skip notes). i know that Obito never met Rin as Tobi/Madara, but for this prompt to work, i had to take some liberties. it's also a Tobi/Rin drabble. yeah, i went there.
.
.
.
.
.
"You're waiting for me."
It wasn't a question – he was merely stating a fact; a true, embarrassing piece of information that makes her want to cringe away in shame. She didn't even know his name – only the alias' he gave her that always changed – but still waited patiently for him to show up.
Like a...puppy.
Once a week, he would be there, sitting by the pond where they first met. Sometimes he'd bring dangos, other times he'd bring a bloodied weapon or an injury for her to heal. He never asked her to fix his wound (or gave her a reason for why the weapons were stained with blood that wasn't his), he just sat there until she slowly inched closer and started patching him up.
("You need to stop getting hurt so much," she would reprimand.
"Hn," he would nod sarcastically. "I'll try.")
He was…an enigma that she couldn't figure out. One onyx eye could be seen from the swirled orange mask he wore, covering his face from her peering curiosity. When she asked about the mask, he would only say: "Man is least himself when he talks to his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth.*"
It was hard for her to decipher his cryptic words. He hinted sometimes on them being previously acquainted, but would then quickly change the topic, ignoring her pleas to elaborate. The man was subtle in his grace; he moved silently, almost obscured, and deadly.
There was so much (and really nothing) to be afraid of when it came to him.
She didn't know where she stood, only that he hadn't killed her – yet – so she must have done something right.
…Right?
Rin wasn't sure anymore.
.
.
.
.
.
The first time they met, she was sitting by the pond near the abandoned Uchiha estate, gazing blankly at the moon hanging in the azure sky, alone and silent. His presence was completely unknown to her – though, inexplicably, it was bordering on the edge of not-quite familiar, but not necessarily foreign – until he shifted.
It was only the slight movement that caught her attention.
Startled, Rin tensed, waiting for the attack –
– gripping a kunai under the long sleeve of her shirt tightly in her fist –
– that never came.
Tense, she sat, waiting for him to make a move. He ignored her entirely, one leg prompted up with his chin resting on his forearm. The other slung loosely around his shin. Dressed in all black – black trousers, black sandals, and black cloak – he looked intimidating, dangerous.
And she was scared.
She tried to avoid danger for the most part. Nothing good came from actively seeking it out. Even though common sense and logic told her to run - run far away and never look back - she chose to stay.
Neither of them filled in the gaping quiet settled around them that was broken only by the soft sounds of the night-life.
Rin was slightly worried about saying something and breaking the peace that lingered between them. What if she said something and it snapped him out of whatever trance he was momentarily caught in? Maybe he knew someone of the Uchiha household and wanted to pay his respects.
(Or maybe, like her, he was unable to let someone go just yet.)
Whatever the reason, he stayed with her until the early hours of the morning. The only inclination he gave to acknowledge her existence with a single tilt of his head in her direction before he was gone, leaving nothing but a vague impression of fear on her and memory of a man shrouded in mystery and dressed in all black.
With a sigh, Rin stood up, casting out last look to the old Uchiha manor, and resumed her daily duties as though nothing unusual happened.
She doubted the stranger would be back again.
(A small part of her hoped he would; the momentary relief of loneliness that crept up on her throughout the years was temporarily stated in his presence, if only for a few hours.)
.
.
.
.
He didn't return until two weeks later.
That was the first night he showed up in tatters, blood seeping through the cuts on his arms and legs.
"I-I can…heal you," she whispered tentatively. "I'm a…a medic."
He hesitated.
Then slowly, he nodded.
After several minutes without making any move toward her, she cautiously inched forward, gripping a small kunai for comfort. She reached out and grasped his arm gently, careful not to disturb any of his wounds. It was a mess of blood soaked scraps of his cloak and undershirt, and she worked quickly to peel the tattered remains of fabric from the gashes on his arms.
Seeing the lacerations made her flinch.
It was deep and would definitely need stitches.
It took longer to heal and regenerate skin than it did to stitch it and let it heal on its own. She doubted that she had enough chakra to take care of all the minor – let alone major – cuts. Grabbing her medic bag she carried around with her, she rifled through the contents until she found a needle and thread, and some gauze.
"This might hurt," she says, dabbing rubbing alcohol on the wounds to clear away the blood.
He doesn't even flinch as the liquid is poured on his injuries. Stoically, he sits with his head facing away from her. Undaunted by the lack of response, she continues. In and out, she watches the black thread slip through his skin like paper and come out on the other side, making neat, precise lines that bind the separated skin together.
When all the wounds are tightly bound in gauze and the bleeding has stopped, she leans back and wipes the beads of sweat from her forehead.
"There," Rin says, exhaustion weight her down. "Good as new."
He hummed in response.
"How did…" She swallowed thickly when his unmasked eye shot to her face. "H-how did you get those wounds?"
He stands, ignoring her question, and turns to leave.
An apology is forming on her lips, but she clamps her mouth shut. Why should she apology to someone she doesn't even know? Rin keeps quiet and looks away.
"Let's just say," the sarcasm in his voice is thick, and she winces at his tone. "There was this lady and her purse."
And then he's gone, leaving nothing but tattered remains of bloodied scraps of fabric.
(His words, for some reason, haunt her for the next two weeks, sounding almost…nostalgic.)
.
.
.
.
Sometimes he would come to her with blood spattered on the front of his cloak, the rusty color seeping into the black, staining it grotesquely. Gasping at the sight of so much blood, her medical intuition takes over and she's checking him over before she really knows what she's doing.
His deep chuckle and the absence of any wounds make realization dawn on her heavily.
"Scared?" He mocks, resting his elbow on the knee of his crossed legs. He cocks his head at her, his fist folded under his chin, silently daring her to do something, anything.
Swallowing down a bitter taste in her throat, she hesitates. "I…"
She wasn't scared.
Rin was terrified.
That much blood soaking through his clothes would mean that whomever he killed was…dead, maimed…slaughtered.
The intensity in his onyx eye only fuels the terror raging inside. "Yes," she rasps, drawing her knees to her chest and pushing her head down. "I'm…scared."
She waited for the inevitable to happen. He was going to finish her off. Why else would he have shown her the surplus amount of blood from whomever he killed? It was a warning – an example of what was going to happen to her next. Soon, she would the nameless blood staining his clothes for someone else to ask about.
Moments passed, but she was too afraid to look up.
A heavy object landed on her head –
– and she yelped embarrassingly –
– but nothing happened.
Blinking, she peeked out from the save haven of her arms. He was sitting beside her, looking at the estate –
– with his…hand on her head.
"Um," she whispered. "Aren't you going to kill me?"
His head snapped in her direction the moment she uttered the words. The intensity in his visible eye slightly unnerved her.
"…Never."
(And against all logic, she believed him.)
.
.
.
.
"…His name was Obito Uchiha," she doesn't know why she's telling him this.
It's such a sensitive subject for her. The mere thought of reliving the traumatic happenstance makes her want to curl into a ball and weep. Nobody knew about this – not even her own teammates – and she kept the feelings, the lingering grief, all tightly wrapped up inside of her.
Why was she telling some strange man who didn't even trust her enough to divulge his own name? She only knew him for a mere month, and yet she was willing to share her pain, her memories, of her best friend who perished five years ago. It made no sense.
She should stop.
Take back what she'd said and pretend that his name never came up.
"He was my best friend."
The words poured out without restraint, as though they wanted to be said.
"He was so weak," she laughs humorlessly, dropping her gaze to a crack in the ground. "But, at the same time, he was the strongest person I knew."
Obito was so painful to talk about. He became a taboo to her teammates; they didn't mention his name without forlorn sighs and choked emotions. His presence with them was so sudden, ending before it had time to progress.
She missed him – a lot.
For five years she let the guilt, the regret, suffocate her. It…feels good to tell someone.
"I miss him so much," she sobbing now, openly and unashamed.
He doesn't offer her any comfort or say pretty words to make the ache go away. He sits quietly, dropping his hand on her head, and listens.
Rin talk through the night about Obito.
Like that time he sprained his wrist and made her sign his cast.
Or that time he came to practice, battered and bruised and claiming an old lady with a bag had beat him up.
And those smiles, that laugh, his dreams (however outrageous they were), his aspirations, his hopes, his ideologies, his idiosyncrasies. They all spill from her lips, leaving her laughing and sobbing.
It hurts, but at the same time, she feels so much better.
At the end of her reminiscing tirade (she leans against his shoulder, eyes fluttered closed from exhaustion), he let's out a deep breath and slowly shakes his head.
"This…Obito Uchiha," he mutters. The words slightly muffled and hazy as she wearily blinks in and out of unconsciousness, but his voice, the subdued tone makes her want to listen. "He sounds like a…"
"-good ninja…" she finishes for him with a sleepy smile. "And my best friend."
"…Hm."
(When she wakes up the next morning, she's in her bed with no recollection how she got there.)
.
.
.
.
It was stupid to feel so safe being near him.
(But she did.)
He'd made it abundantly clear that he was stronger than her. With minimal effort, all he had to do was concentrate just a little chakra into his fist, and she would be dead. Her life would end at his hands, like many before her. It wouldn't even matter to him. Her life was so expendable.
She shouldn't trust him.
(But she does.)
It's maddening how confused he makes her.
Sometimes, she thinks that he might hate her – the sidelong glances nearly scorched the exposed skin he looks at, igniting her with a fearful burn and an ache that starts when his gaze lingers.
His gaze captivates her. She can't move, can't speak. Running away or screaming for help was never an option when he looks at her like that. All coherent thoughts rush out of her mind. Then, his gaze flickers away and the spell is broken.
She's left sitting there, trembling and feeling caught between hot and cold.
(Why does his looks do this to her?)
Sometimes, she thinks that he wants to hold her – the subtle shifts in his posture as he changes his stance, edging closer to her until their legs or arms touch. It sends a jolt – much like the clichéd electricity feeling that other girls talk about when referring to their boyfriends, only this doesn't feel very pleasant – through her. He moves away a minute later after they make contact. He must feel that same electrical charge, too, because sometimes his touches linger a second too long.
(It feels like she's on fire, but there's a catch: the fire burns are like magma and solid ice on her skin.)
His voice – the deep, husky rasp that makes her knees quake when he speaks – is what really gets to her. It's so…enchanting. Even speaking in whispers, he commands attention; or when his voice catches that childish lit to it, the playful taunt that lures people into a false sense of security around him that is ultimately their downfall.
It was incredibly stupid to feel safe around him.
The sound of her name falling from his lips sounds so enticing and right. Its familiar – like this wasn't the first time he'd ever said her name. He says it with such familiarity and affection that she blushes. The only thing that's missing when he said her name is the "-chan" suffix at the end and the way he said her name would sound almost identical to her onyx haired friend.
(Really, it's strange, but she doesn't ponder too much over it.)
He's an enigma she can't work though.
Sometimes, she wants to run from him; other times she wants to run to him.
(Whatever it was, she looks forward to their little rendezvous each week – mostly because there isn't much else to do, but mainly because she's a little lonely.)
.
.
.
.
Her mind keeps drawing these strange conclusions every time he says or does something.
But…most of them are completely ridiculous.
…There was no way any of them could be true.
(At least, she hopes not.)
She was just chasing a ghost. It was a phantom figment of her overactive imagination gone awry with her delirious hopes and idle fantasies.
Besides, there was nothing even remotely similar between the two. The only common ground they shared was the color of their eye(s) – but Kakashi had almost the same shade, only a little lighter – and her. If he was truly…him, then everything that happened would be too out of character. It was a stupid notion.
Obito would never do half the things that Tobi/Madara/Nobody does.
It wasn't like him.
Obito was soft and meek, and generous and loving. Actively, he always sought out the best in things and (especially) people. Killing mindlessly would have terrified him.
Tobi was arrogant and sarcastic; he killed remorselessly with no regard for anyone. He looked out for himself and his goals only. Everyone else was merely a pawn to be used.
Put them both in the same room as each other and it would have been chaos.
There was one major flaw in her assumptions, too. An obvious roadblock for her crazy conspiracies in the form of the bolder that crushed Obito – a turnpike in her life that she was present for – killing him. She was there. Rin performed the operation to give Kakashi his eye.
(It was just a minor coincidence that the only visible eye was in direction correlation to the one that would have remained.)
She was overacting.
He was not Obito Uchiha.
The notion was heinous and fictitious.
(At the same time, she kind of wished that her baseless guessing was somehow true.)
.
.
.
.
You've been waiting for me, he'd say.
His arms would be folded across his chest and he would stand over her, towering like a looming skyscraper. Imposing. Invincible. Deadly. She could hear the smirk in his voice without having to see it for herself.
No, she would answer back. Don't be so full of yourself.
Crouching low, he would stare at her for a minute. Sometimes it looked as though he was shocked to see her, other times it like he wanted to wrap her up tightly and take her with him, keeping her by his side forever.
Shiver. It's just cold out today. It has nothing to do with him.
When she would look away shyly, he would huff and sit cross-legged beside her. They would stare at everything and say nothing.
Rin would ponder over his words, analyzing them to the last comma.
Was she waiting for him?
This mysterious stranger who managed to throw her for a loop without saying a word? Who actively aggravated her with his self-righteous words? Why would she be waiting for someone like him?
Someone who killed.
Someone who conquered.
He was still, if not only, a man.
And maybe, like her, he was just a little lonely too.
She glanced at him, then to the gloved hand that lingered next to her own.
"…Maybe." Rin reached out and grasped his hand. The warm of his palm seeping through the spandex material and heating her skin made her blush and look away pointedly when he tilted his head toward her. "I-I'm not sure who I'm waiting for anymore…"
His long fingers wrapped around and consumed her small hand. Pale ivory on starchy black. "…Neither am I."
.
.
.
.
The day she slips and calls him Obito is that last time she ever sees him again.
It was harmless, really – a slip of the tongue.
An accident.
(…But it wasn't, not really.)
"…Obito?" He echoes her words, tensing beside her. "Why do you say that?"
She swallows a few times. "I…It was an accident…"
"Was it really?"
"…Yes." No.
He doesn't say anything for a while, just sits there with his fists clenched at his sides.
It's too quiet. "Are you him? Are you…Obito?" Rin's heart it pounding loudly in her chest, painfully squeezing.
She doesn't want him to say anything.
Forget it, she wants to scream. Don't answer.
But it feels like bees have crawled down her throat and sung her tongue. It's swollen and she can't open her mouth to say anything. The words are ringing loudly in her head, but have no escape route. They're trapped.
The silence falls heavily between them like an anchor.
Finally, after a minute, he stands. His head his downcast, refusing to meet her gaze, and he shifts from one foot to the other. She wants to cry and laugh and scream at the same time.
"…Can you handle the answer?"
Yes. No. Maybe. Rin isn't sure anymore.
When she looks up - just as quietly as he came - he was gone.
.
.
.
.
Meeting a ghost was pretty anticlimactic.
She expected some tale of grandeur, completely with a thunderstorm and fog.
Instead all she got was an imposture masquerading as a dead-man.
Sometimes she thinks she can see him – on missions, that strange man who sits in the background of the bar, shrouded in dim lighting, looks suspiciously like Tobi, but when she looks again, he's gone; or when she finally goes home and wants nothing more than to curl up in bed and read until she passes out, the lingering scent of earthy musk hangs in the air, reminding her of his unique smell – a mix between freshly turned dirty and cut grass – but shakes those thoughts off before they can turn into a real boy with black hair, dark eyes, pale skin, and a kind smile.
She's delusional.
That's all.
Too many nights at the hospital, she chalks it up to, and writes herself a prescription for sleeping pills later in the evening. Some nights she wakes up and can't get rid of the feeling that someone was holding her during the night. The spot next to her in the bed was always warm.
It's her stray cat she picked up on a mission.
That's all.
In the rare moments of solidarity, Rin thinks she misses him.
She always misses Obito – always.
But now, she kind of might miss Tobi, too.
Tobi – the stoic, imposing figure adorned in black who easily tramples over the delicacy and gentle quality of Obito with a smoldering air of arrogance. The masked stranger who quotes Oscar Wilde and speaks in tongues of Spanish, German, French, English, Italian, and even the dead languages that no one thought to revive over the centuries.
Him.
She doesn't tell anybody any of this – not even Kakashi. Tucking it away into the confines of her mind, she blocks all sound, light and thoughts from entering. The only way in is through a series of quipped words and phrases that confuse and conquer, grasping whomever dares to tread through the thick waters by the shoulders and driving them away. It's kind of like a safe, she supposes.
Not even the infamous Yamanaka clan could get through her walls.
I should be sorry to miss you.
She writes the words on a piece of paper and tucks it neatly under the pillow beside her own. If he has sneaked into her room at night and lying on her bed (she should feel irked that someone was invading her privacy, but she's more shocked that she hasn't noticed – and that he was able to get past all the protective seals Minato graciously put around her apartment), he would surely get the note.
When she sleeps, she dreams about Obito.
He's laughing with her, scowling at Kakashi, looking eagerly at Minato to learn a new technique.
Then he's lying under a rock. Blood – there is so much of it – pours from his wounds freely, drenching her knees and hands in the sticky red substance. She tries to say something – tell him not to worry, that everything's going to be all right – but nothing happens. She sits there helplessly and watches his eyes turn from black to grey.
"Hello, Rin-chan…" He whispers, slowly.
Tobi was standing in his place now, clutching her hands. "Hello, Rin."
"Hello? Don't you mean 'Goodbye'?"
Lines that look like a spider's web cut through the porcelain orange sharply, creating deep black lines.
The mask –
– crack –
-shatters into a million tiny pieces.
The left side beaks off first, dissolving into shards of blood and ink.
It's…
She can't see. Everything is hazy.
Something drops at her feet, echoing hollowly. Looking down, she sees –
- the mask, lying on the ground by her feet.
Rin opens her mouth to say something but then -
"Goodbye, Rin."
- She's in her bed, panting and clutching her chest.
Her eyes dart wildly around the room. He was here; she can feel him still.
"O…Tobi…?"
Fumbling and shaking, her hands dive under the pillow beside her, and her fist closes around a piece of paper. Dragging it from the cocoon in her sheets, she pulls it to her chest and opens the crumpled paper. There's a messy scrawl underneath her neat writing. The words make her heart stop before beating erratically.
If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life.
And she cries because she knows.
"Goodbye, Obito."
In the silence of the room, an echo whispers softly: "goodbye, Rin."
.
.
.
.
note3: pretty ambiguous ending, there. not to mention it's super long. i'm actually really happy with this; i tried a new style of writing, so hopefully it all turns out okay. i was listening to the album, Oshin by DIIV. it is the perfect soundtrack for November, 'nuff said.
note4: sorry for being lame with the updates, but procrastination was all like, oh, are you trying to work? LOL, not today, brah. thanks for all the wonderful reviews! i really didn't expect this collection – that's what a book of drabbles and one shots are called, right? – to get more than ten! =) you all are special unicorns for reviewing. =)
reference:
- "Man is least himself when he talks to his own person. Give him a mask, and he will tell you the truth." – Oscar Wilde;
- I should be sorry to miss you. – I'm pretty sure this, too, is Oscar Wilde (correct me if i'm wrong.);
- If you are not too long, I will wait here for you all my life. – Oscar Wilde