Chapter 2: Hope

The laundromat belted a cacophony of noises leading to one crescendo. The swish and churn of soapy suds working through towels, the low hum of heat drying out a man's work uniforms, the drone of the morning news on four TVs, one in every corner. Two beeps. The end of a washing cycle. The lights turned off above. The curtain was drawn on the performance.

Dawn's yellow sun blazed through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Emiko sat at a small cafe table at the end of the row of dryers, warming her bare arms in the glare. Her bedding was a long tangle of sheets spinning around and around, hypnotizing her one-track mind as of late. She propped her feet on the plastic chair opposite her and glanced at her phone. It laid face up.

It didn't light up with a text. She could've sworn it did.

Idly, she traced the juvenile carvings in the table. Symbols, names, declarations of love. She tapped her phone to show the lock screen. No text.

The white and grey bedding braided itself, encircling her reflection like a portrait. If she focused, her surroundings disappeared. The moms with sleepy children hanging off their shirts turned to blurs of color, the talking heads on the TVs became fuzz. Only her eager face stared back.

To say she scrambled for her phone when it vibrated was an understatement. At the first sight of his name, her heart leapt quicker than her feet. The chair scraped the cement floor. Obito was answering her inquiry about his state of being and if he was ready for their trip.

Emi: Howdy partner! Let me know when you're awake and I'll come pick you up. I'm doing some last minute chores this morning, should be done soon. :)

Obito: who the hell wakes up this early?

Obito: you can get me whenever

Obito: i'll send the address in a sec

Her retro van crawled to the front of the address in the text, standing out in the gray metropolis. Emi hunched until her chin hit the steering wheel. The glass building dominated the shorter ones around it, obscuring the sun and causing them to be forever in it's shadow.

The streets were relatively empty this hour. Emi parked in a metered spot out front. She stuck her head out of either window, inconspicuously surveying the area for anyone in uniform issuing tickets. It didn't matter too much, she knew the unspoken rules; as long as the van was running, she could pull away without any lip.

Emi picked up her phone to shoot a quick text to Obito-it proved unwarranted. A glass door swung open and Kakashi stepped out wearing the t-shirt she sold him with a pair of sweatpants. Most of his face was hidden behind a mask, but his body language was apparent. Bickering, argumentative. Obito pushed himself around his friend, suitcase bumping over the metal doorstop, eyebrows angled down in frustration. Kakashi must've said one last thing because Obito squared his shoulders and refused to take whatever was being handed to him. Kakashi shrugged and put the item in his pocket and jogged the rest of the way to the van.

Emi greeted them both at the side door, hoping to ease the tension with her award winning smile. The stern downturn of Obtio's mouth lifted and his eyes relaxed upon seeing her. His pink cheeks darkened to red.

"What do I do with this?" He held up the suitcase and she took it from him. It was unceremoniously shoved under the table in the back and he felt foolish for not doing it himself.

Obito grabbed the frame and hefted himself into the van. Emi gave him a double thumbs up, asked if he was ready to go, and fell into the driver's seat in one swift movement. Obito kept his eyes on the floor and nodded. He grabbed the door handle and yanked the sliding door closed-God, he hoped he didn't just slam it-and crouched to maneuver between the seats. There was an overhead shelf above the seats he almost banged his head on.

He became very aware of his body. Did he knock any of her stuff over? No, the drinks were in the cup holders. Was he walking funny? He stepped on a wire trying to get around the armrest; Emi picked it off the floor and plugged it into her phone, bringing up a map and mashing it into the cradle on the dashboard. Cold sweat dotted the back of his neck until, finally, he was able to fold himself in the passenger's seat and make himself as small as possible.

In the side mirror, Kakashi's eyes were narrowed in fox-like slyness, rounding the corner from the back of the van. They locked on Obito and advanced on him, nearly prancing in delight.

Kakashi folded his arms and rested them on Obtio's open window, though he was talking to Emi. "I saw your bumper sticker back there. You two be safe, now." Obito looked at her. Emi, with a speed no human had witnessed, shifted into gear and backed away from the curb, checking all mirrors and ignoring Kakashi's cackle as his elbows lost purchase.

"Bye!" Emi yelled as monotone as she could muster.

"What bumper sticker?" Obito asked.

Emi joined the little bit of traffic. "Anyway, we'll get outta the city first. Then I'll stop for some gas and show you around the van and stuff."

"Uh, sure, okay."

Stoplight after stoplight, they crossed intersections to the highway, and finally the last exit signs for Konoha. Obito shifted in his seat. He laced his hands, unlaced them, clasped them in his lap, wiped them on his pants. The holes in his hoodie's sleeve grew. He kept his face turned to his window, but he wasn't taking in the amber veins of clay Emi cooed about in the carved mountains surrounding the road. No, his gaze was elsewhere-traveling around the dashboard, taking in all the little marks showing she'd been living in it for some time. But he never looked past her phone. It was an invisible line known only to him; it divided their spaces evenly and if he looked past her phone, that would be her territory. And if he crossed that line it would mean coming to terms with him being there. Being there with her; a girl who requested his company. He'd had to face the reality that he was dumb enough to feel hope again.

Like a video on an endless loop, he analyzed their conversations, scrolled to the beginning of their text thread in search for answers. The way she talked about the Sakura Bowl made it obvious she'd been there many times. In the past she hired help, and instead of going with someone she had worked with and trusted, she asked him. On a whim. A fluke.

With Kakashi's meddling lately, he did question him if this was all an elaborate set up. The shame festered every time he remembered Kakashi's dejected face. The sudden strike of realization and sympathy in his eyes, his deep frown, the way every muscle seemed to sag and sigh. In an uncharacteristic rush to console Obito, he assured him he had never met Emiko. Any connection they made was genuine.

"So," Emi brought him out of his thoughts, "What kinda music do ya listen to?"

"I don't really listen to music." In his peripheral he could see her bafflement.

"You don't listen to music? That's some serial killer shit." He did it. He looked at her. He looked at her and started to stutter a reply. She snickered. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding!"

The flutters in his stomach raged. He couldn't help but be drawn to her. His brain told him to save himself, to go back to looking out the window, to squash the hope.

The sun backlit her black hair. Today it was curled. Relaxed, effortless curls like she went for a swim before picking him up. The golden rays dipped from her nose to her lips in one long stroke of yellow. Her tank top and shorts exposed the wildest array of tan lines. Her arms were comparable to a Pantone swatch card. He managed to avert his gaze when she leaned forward to tap her phone.

"We'll stop in a few minutes."

The last gas station for forty miles, the sign advertised.

"I was looking up the Sakura Bowl yesterday and it doesn't seem like this should be a four day trip."

The door squeaked on its hinges as Emi pushed it open and hopped out. Most of her was hidden by the seat, though her hand on her hip was obvious, nonetheless. "Funny thing about an entire apartment on wheels. It's heavy." She patted the interior. "This baby doesn't get the speed she used to. Plus, I like to take the scenic route." After the tank was full, she parked to the side of the store where there were less people, away from the clockwork circles of cars searching for a vacant pump.

Emi flipped the driver's side armrest up and stood at attention in the kitchen, arms posed like an airline steward. Obito's knee refused to bend fully. His step dragged as he emerged beside her.

"Here's the bathroom." She moved the curtain back from the enclosed area Obito thought was a closet. "The compost toilet. It diverts.. everything. At the bottom is peat moss for the compost process to work. Toilet paper is totally fine to use, it's even recycled bamboo!" She stopped her over enthusiastic instructional gestures. "Of course, we can still stop somewhere after coffee in the mornings, if that makes you more comfortable."

Obito's brain caught up. "So, you really weren't joking about having a toilet in here," he said, referring to their texts from last night.

"Of course not."

Obito gripped either side of the plastered walls and leaned in. His thumbs ran over the white tile. A hanging rack of mismatched towels was on the opposite side of the aforementioned toilet. A swimsuit hung limp on the lower rung. A sketched circle sat in the middle of the room.

"I meant for this to be a shower at some point. Maybe one day I'll finish it, maybe not," she said, voice tinged in humor as she raised a shoulder.

It was then that Obito became aware of their position. He had her pinned in the opening of the built room. Her only escape would be to step inside the practical sized bathroom or ask him to remove one of his arms around her.

She turned in his protective circle. His forearm brushed her waist. Her breath rolled over his chest. His shallow exhale wound through the baby hairs around her ear.

Emi saw nothing wrong in analyzing his face. The curls of scar tissue centered around his right eye. It stopped short of his eyebrow, reaching in an arc to his temple. It cascaded in rivers down his cheek, curving over his jaw like a waterfall. On the opposite side, black stubble ran from beside his ear to the center of his chin. The need to rub her own cheek against it nearly consumed her.

As soon as her eyes were preoccupied, he stopped denying himself and roved her body. On her left collar bone was a mole, and around that, a smattering of freckles. The strap of her tank top hung loose around her bicep. Down, he traveled to her waist, yet another shade of beige not matching the ones on her arms. He checked her face-she was busy studying his-and he pressed his forearm to her. Technically it was his hoodie's sleeve touching her, but if he concentrated, he could feel her body heat around his injuries.

"You're the strangest person I've ever met," he mumbled. Their half-lidded eyes met.

"Am I?"

"A weird little vegan hippie girl living in her van with a toilet in it."

She hummed while rocking on her heels. Her swaying forced their bodies closer and closer. Over and over, she would rock back until his arm bent around her hips, then she went forward, brushing the length of her body against his. "Accurate."

This close, he could count her eyelashes.

At some point, his body acted on its own. It leaned in when she neared. His face angled down as hers angled up.

"The rest of the van," she said. Her heels stomped. She ducked under his arm. Obito shoved his hands in his pockets.

Emi swept through the rest of the tour with ease. "I'll show you how to use the stove later. The fridge is in here." She lifted one of the countertops to reveal a top-down refrigerator. "The cabinet to the left is all the cleaning products, and beside that, pots and pans, that sorta stuff." On the opposite side, where the stove was, she opened two doors to show him the fully stocked pantry. Below the sink were the water tanks.

Emi sat at the table. "The cabinets above the counters are spices, sauces, stuff for cooking. The one above the sink has my toiletries. You can brush your teeth and wash your face in the sink." Obito didn't exactly wash his face, but he nodded along. "To make water come out you have to step on the foot pedal thing down there"-she pointed at a black square on the floor-"It's a pump they use on boats or whatever. Works perfectly for van life since you can control exactly how much water comes out." She patted the bench cushion. He hesitated, assuming it was an invitation to join her, but she expounded the secrets that lied beneath before he could embarrass himself more, "This side holds the lame stuff; the electrical system, batteries for the solar panels, tools. The other bench has extra food, clothes, and camping gear. The cabinets over the benches have books, clothes, and extra towels. You do a lot of laundry on the road."

Obito pulled his eyebrows together. "I didn't even notice you had windows back there." The double doors each had a square window with a sheer white curtain hung above it. Hardly private, more for aesthetics.

"Mmm, yeah. And the table collapses down to the middle piece of the bed. The cushions for the back of the benches go in the middle to complete the mattress." She completed the tour by patting her hands on the table.

"Sounds good." He repeated his words in his head, grimacing at himself.

One bed? Sounds good.

"Let's put up your suitcase!" She beamed.

One by one, she read over the products he brought. Shampoo, soap, lotions. A striking lack of conditioner. He could borrow hers. She stored them in the mesh pockets of a nylon bag. It had a plastic hook on top that proved most useful when hanging from the shower head. It came with a little mirror, visible when unzipped fully. Obito opened the cabinet above the sink and stored his plastic toothbrush next to a bamboo one. Emi spun a large plastic tub of cream in her hand to read the label.

"That's for my scars. It stays out."

"Okie dokie." She opened one of the kitchen cabinets closest to the bed. It was previously deemed for pantry items only, but she put it on the top shelf for him. His clothes were folded and stored in the cabinets over the benches next to hers. His suitcase was shoved into a boring bench cubby next to a plastic gas can.

Emi's stomach growled as they stood across from one another in the kitchen. "I wanna find somewhere better to eat."

"This isn't good enough?" he asked.

"You'll see. A parking lot just isn't the vibe I'm goin' for." She made for the front of the van and paused. "I built this one too." She knocked on the overhead storage he stopped just short of running into earlier. "This holds all the bed stuff. And the first aid kit. And maybe a book or two, some mail, I dunno. It's pretty deep and I can't reach all the way back there."

"What sort of.. Vibe are you going for?" he asked after they were in their seats. Though the gas station may not have been a national park, it was perched uphill with a view of sloping trees and brush.

"Oh, you know. Candlelit dinner by the sea."

"It's lunchtime."

Over the next hour Obito watched the sharp mountains diminish to flat plains. Rocksides gave way to wild grain flowing in the wind. The temperature dropped and a wide expanse of blue greeted them in the distance.

Sand swept the road. It didn't take her long to reverse into a parking spot along the coastal highway and throw the back doors open. The salty air invaded Obito's lungs. It tousled his hair. Eroded rocks awash with seaweed and barnacles acted as a barrier between them and the stomach clenching drop to the pebbled beach below.

Emi switched on the fan above the kitchen and brought out the cookware. One pot and one pan crowded the two burner stovetop.

"Can I help?" Obito stretched behind her.

"I can handle it." She convinced him with a smile. Obito conceded, knowing this was her domain and he would be a bother. He sat at the end of the bench, alternating between closing his eyes and letting his mind wonder, and watching the ocean ebb and flow.

Seagulls soared and dove at crabs waving their claws. Cars zoomed past, but the shore was desolate, free of surfers or vacationing families. The waves were lackluster and people envisioned sunny, sandy beaches over the ones where rocks could slice the soft underbelly of your foot at a moments notice.

"Here ya go." Emi thunked a bowl on the table and pushed it to him with a fork resting on the side. Pasta, a dish he'd made plenty of times due to it's inexpensiveness while still being very filling. However, this sauce wasn't an unnatural shade of red, nor did it come from a jar. Tomatoes were cut into slivers by hand and cooked down. Fresh basil wilted on top.

"Oh, thank you.."

Her lips cut across her face like a horizon, grinning as bright as the sun. Obito couldn't remember the last time someone cooked for him. He supposed Kakashi might have a few times when they first started living together. Any time before that was his grandma. Certainly never a girl, romantic interest or not.

He spoke around the food in his mouth, "This is delicious."

She laughed off the compliment, making an excuse that it was no big deal. A blush tinted her sun kissed cheeks. Under the table, their feet danced around one another.

After lunch, she washed the dishes by herself, shushing him when he volunteered to help dry.

Obito lingered near the makeshift bathroom, catching her eye when she was stacking the melamine bowls in the cabinet. "Do I just.. Uh, can you? This isn't very private.." He fingered the curtain.

The bowls clacked. "Right! Yeah, totally. It can be awkward. I'll wait outside." The finger guns did not assuage the tension like she thought it would. Alas, she skirted around the table and out the double doors.

Once Obito finished pinching the bridge of his nose, he stepped inside the tiny room and confronted his first fear of this trip. Thankfully, he could stand to his full height in here too. And the toilet looked as normal as it could. The back of the van tilted to the right, then straightened. He steadied himself and undid his fly. This unfamiliar lifestyle might just be the end of him.

Unsurprisingly, the soap next to the sink was some eco-friendly brand touting all it's holistic uses on the label.

Obito squeezed past the table and his announcement died on his lips. His throat closed around the air leaking from his lungs. Emi was squatting on one of the angled rocks, mouth agape in fascination. A large snail crawled on a strand of seaweed near her twitching fingers. His black and red flannel flowed around her.

"Hey," Obito called over the wind.

Emi yelped. She jumped. Her foot slipped. Her arms flailed in large circles.

Obito leapt from the van and hissed upon landing. The millisecond spent suspended in the air was filled with regret. But Emi was in danger. His knee sent shocks of pain from hip to ankle. He doubled over, body refusing to cooperate. He couldn't even fucking hobble to her. All he could do was shut his eyes at the excruciating reminders he couldn't be normal, he couldn't simply jump and run and catch her. The aches, emotional and physical, stung. Any moment, he would hear her scream. And there was nothing he could do about it.

Gentle waves lapping the shore. Squawking seagulls. Emi's silence. He confronted a second fear and opened his eyes.

Emi was bent back at an odd angle, but stable. She righted herself, clenching her toes to keep balance and bounded from rock to rock like a gazelle. She gave him a double thumbs up. "I'm okay! Oh.. Are you..?"

"My knee," he grunted. He gnashed his teeth together. The vein on the side of his neck pulsed. Emi placed her hand over the one holding his kneecap, running her thumb over his knuckles in an effort to soothe him while she apologized.

"Let me help you. I'll get ice." His arm turned to cement on her shoulders. His fingers dug into her flesh; it went ghostly white, then bright pink. The slick door handle evaded her grip as she buckled under his weight. His lungs ached with the annoyed breaths he kept inside. Two agonizing tries later, the side door rolled open and Obito clambered to the laminated floor.

"It's better if we can alternate ice and heat."

"Okay!" Frazzled, Emi stepped up past him and sloshed water in a pot to boil. The stove beeped and she fell beside Obito with a frozen bag of peas in hand. She held it on his knee for him. He tried to take it from her, but she insisted since it was her fault he was hurting. She moved the bag around his kneecap, cooling it from all angles, checking his face for winces, flinches, or other afflictions.

Obito resigned from fighting off her doting. Minutes stretched as the chill seeped through his pants to numb his knee. Minutes shortened as the proximity of her leg warmed his. Emi's unfathomable kindness served as an additional reminder that he was being an asshole; purposefully playing up his pain since it had died down to insignificant pinches. Her being startled was an accident and his jumping out the van was instinct. It was blameless, yet she took it all upon herself.

"Emi.."

Bubbles burst on the surface of the water in the pot. Emi kept her eyes down as she took his hand and placed it over the bag of peas while she made a hot compress out of an old water bottle from the recycling bin. When she sat, it was with great effort to unfocus her gaze, calm the wrinkling on her forehead, and blink away the wetness trailing her eyes. Still, her chin dimples remained as her lips trembled. She tried to keep her own hurt hidden from him.

"I'm sorry," her voice quivered.

"There's no need to apologize," Obito said, his voice a gentle caress to console her. "I've had four surgeries on my knee. They never could get it back to normal and I should've known not to land on it like that." He motioned for the bottle and had to pry it from her fingers to hold it himself. He tossed the bag of thawed peas to the kitchen. "Some days I wake up so stiff it takes me half an hour of physical therapy just to get out of bed." He looked at her until she looked at him. "Are you sure you still want my help? It's not too late to turn back and drop me off."

"Why would you say that, like I don't want you here," she asked, confused. "No, really." She took the bottle back from him. He let his hands fall to his lap. She closed the distance between them; her face inches from his. He had to submit to her scrutiny. "Why do you consider yourself a burden?"

The ocean was a myriad of smells, yet as he inhaled a long, slow breath, her shampoo stood out against the other scents. Her hair swept his shoulder. His mind raced. Her words sank to the bottom of his stomach. He was trying to find the best way to appease her question without spilling his heart out when the insecurities crept in. Depression, shame, survivor's guilt. He reverted to his default emotion, and unfortunately, that was bitterness; at the world and his life.

"Because you pitied me," he spat. "You could've asked anyone to come with you, even Kakashi, but you chose me because you saw a sad, insecure man who couldn't look you in the eye and you felt sorry for him. You know I'm safe, you knew I wouldn't hurt you, and you knew I'd say yes because no one ever gives me that sort of attention. Especially not someone so-"he had to cut the compliment short"-like you, and in turn, you feel good about your charity case." Emi opened her mouth and Obito interrupted her. "Prove me wrong."

The bottle bounced on the ground. His sleeve around his bicep went taut. Emi fisted the fabric to her eyes.

"Don't say that." She burrowed in the safety of his arm. "I don't know what happened to you, but none of that is true. Don't talk about yourself, or me, that way." Dark spots blossomed on his sleeve. She wiped the cuff of the flannel under her eyes and met his dumbfounded stare in renewed determination, blotchy red cheeks and all. "I picked you because it felt right. I felt drawn to you. That's all there is to it," she implored. "You're here because I wanted you to be."

He had never heard those words spoken to him. He was wanted.

Obito's eyes flitted across hers. Open and honest. And far too trusting of a stranger, inviting him because she thought it'd be fun; regardless, she wanted him here. He left his room, his apartment. He didn't think twice about bailing on his online friends.

She cooked him food, kept him sheltered, promised him a fun road trip, a paying job, and what did he do in return? Hold a petty grudge because of an accident and question her motives.

As if his instant regret wasn't enough of a punishment, still, he had to ask, "Do you always follow your gut? You just float from town to town in some whimsical fantasy life where you do everything on your time? Your van, your rules."

This close, he could count the creases in her lips.

"Yes."

Obito scowled, envious of her perfect life. Resenting something he would never experience. "How old are you?"

"Twenty-eight."

He balked. "Twenty-eight?" he exclaimed and she looked side to side, pondering if she missed a joke. "How the hell are you older than me? You act and dress like a perpetual ten year old." He moved his head back, examining her face with a raised brow.

Emi took the insult in stride. "Thank you! I like the way I dress and act. You should try it sometime." She poked his cheek. "Might even enjoy it."

"I'm twenty-six, just so you know." She shrugged like she didn't care after vetting his age through other means and stood up. The laminate floor creaked under her steps. She offered him both her hands and he grasped them, standing up with her help. He was guided to the passenger seat by an arm around his waist.

"We've got quite some miles to cover, no thanks to you- I'm just kidding! Don't look so grumpy," she said after picking up the discarded bottle and rolling the door shut.

His frown refused to obey him, it acted on its own accord. The muscles at the corners of his mouth twisted up to a teasing grin. "My leg hurts because I saw a fair maiden in distress and leapt to her defense from an immovable rock."

Emi belly laughed, Obito smiled, and she started the van. He liked the look of his flannel on her.

The sun fell and the clouds dimmed to hues of pink. Douglas firs picketed the sky, black silhouettes against purple. A final burst of red proclaimed the coming of navy blue, and at that, Emiko veered off the paved highway to a dirt road; uphill to the mountains.

She followed brown signs to a campground. In awe, Obito watched the quick exchange of cash and driver's license to a ranger. He had never been camping, though, he supposed, living in a van was akin to camping every day and she wanted a safe-and legal-place for them to sleep on his first night. On the way here she spared no details on the strange restrictions on van life; what parking lots were safe for overnight stays, when and how to look out for cops, the black out shades that would be stuck to the back windows to keep out looky-loos. When she saw his pale face, she promised him people looking for trouble, or drugs, were few and far between. But just in case, she would show him where her safety measures were stored around the van.

Emi squinted at the washed-out numbers at the end of each square plot until she found the one on her receipt. She parked and immediately turned off her headlights. Around them most people had assembled their tents hours ago and would be sleeping. Across from them sat a few men in tan fishing vests and light weight jackets. Their campfire roared as merrily as their laughs. One slapped his knee, another guffawed, and a third dropped his burnt marshmallow.

The men were replaced by Obito's worn expression. It had been a long day. He glanced back at Emi ping-ponging around the kitchen, switching on lights, pulling out a pressure cooker. She plugged it into an outlet near the door and emptied a reusable zip-top pouch of vibrant vegetables into it. She stared at him, then rushed over.

"Do you need help getting up?" His answer didn't matter; she hooked her arm under his and started pulling despite his lighthearted protests.

"I'm fine! It doesn't hurt, I swear." A laugh rumbled from his chest. Normally this level of coddling grated on his nerves. It reminded him of his early years living with his grandma. But Emi's watchful gaze and tenderness evoked a new emotion.

An inky darkness smothered it.

It told him she was this nice to everyone. That he wasn't special. That he was only here on her impulses. Nothing more. Nothing more could come from this.

"We can shower while this cooks. I'll show you where they are."

Emi locked the doors. A curtain was pulled from behind the driver's seat to block the view from the windshield; it matched the fabric of the blackout panels stuck to windows in the back. On the way to the showers her keys jingled, their nylon toiletry bags swished against their change of clothes, and their towels jounced as they maneuvered around the rocky road.

Checking in late meant quite a walk to the restroom, giving Emi plenty of opportunities to whisper to Obito, asking if he was alright. They parted at the separated brick buildings. He believed he concealed the pain well, but in the low light from tents Emi saw the wrinkling around his eyes as they narrowed and the flaring of his nostrils the longer they were on the uneven ground.

Body clean and hair wet, Emi stood at a mirror. She grasped the sides of the metal sink, cold burning her fingers. Her skin dried to the air, other than the few drops rolling down her back. The restroom was empty this late at night, save for a few women's last calls before bed. In those times, Emi wrapped the towel around herself for modesty and mimicked running product through the ends of her hair as she had seen others do. She offered the women nice smiles and small exchanges of pleasantries.

When they left, the towel dropped. She returned to her blank stare. Her face relaxed. Her eyes glazed over. Her brain honed in on a single stimuli, the feel of the metal under her palm, and she rested. The interactions were over. She didn't have to put on appearances. Dinner and sleep; that's it. Dinner and sleep.

The metal warmed to her body heat. Her mind replayed Obito's words again. And again. A charity case. He called himself a charity case. Her eyes twinkled at the memory.

If only he knew.

Obito's displeasure was an easy emotion to read.

Emi jogged the rest of the way to him. His body was hunched, furiously rubbing his arms to create warmth. He shoved off the van and said a bit too loud, "What took you so long?" A body rustled in the tent next door. "Next time leave the keys with me."

This was one mistake. She was sure she could make up for it. His ire appeared to dwindle as her people-pleasing mask returned in a spew of apologies. She gathered his belongings. She put them away for him. She tended to the pressure cooker. She ladled him a larger portion.

"The soup'll warm you up."

Obito steadied the bowl in his hands and prepared to move down the bench as she sat hers down on the same side. He stopped as she placed her laptop in front of them. A few tapping of keys later and a movie played.

This close, he could put his arm along the back of the cushion and imagine it was her shoulders.

"I didn't think to ask while packing if your van could charge things like a laptop."

"Sorry, I should've mentioned it. It's not an obvious thing, not all vans can-"

"You don't have to apologize so much." Any aggravation he held in his body waned at the constant reminders of her generosity. "The soup's good too."

For once, her smile hesitated to take form. "Thank you."

Obito jerked at her sudden touch. She traced the scars on his knee, tilting her head at the purposeful lines and gouges leftover from the surgeon's tools. "It won't hurt by tomorrow," he whispered. Goosebumps broke over his arms. His hair stood on end as her fingernail traveled up to the end of his burn scars peeking out from under the hem of his basketball shorts.

"I thought it was just your arm and face, but they go all the way down here."

He reeled at the influx of decisions he could make. They appeared like doors in his head. Different paths, different choices, different outcomes. Unknown possibilities. He resisted the inky blackness. He faced his third fear.

He tugged the slinky fabric up to show her more.

"It covers most of my right side. Arm, face, torso, leg." She breathed out an "oh" and tested the smoothness of the hairless flesh by running her finger pad over the mottled skin. He felt every delicate flutter of her curiosity.

She thanked him for showing her.

He wanted to ask her what there was to be thanked for, but she turned her attention to the movie. Her spoon clinked, scooping broth to her mouth. The liquid rippled as her lips puckered and blew.

Their legs were touching. She saw him. She acknowledged how mangled his body was and shared the heat of her body with him.

A brief memory lodged in the forefront of his psyche. One he wished he'd forget.

The last woman who saw his scars intimately.

It was during a heavy makeout session, slightly drunk. As her hands went south to the bottom of his shirt, Obito's grip left her thighs and began taking off his jacket. She straddled his lap and he captured her mouth. Sloppy kisses trailed anywhere but her lips and he struggled to tug off the sleeves damp with sweat.

In the low light of her living room, she cocked her head at his arm. Everything was still fine. She saw his hand, his face, and now his arm; some of the worst of the scarring.

Until her hands went up his shirt. The sour look on her face upon feeling his skin was forever imprinted on the back of his eyelids. Curiosity, confusion, then not-so-thinly veiled disgust. To say the least, he was thrown out the door before he could refasten his belt and call a cab.

This experience with Emi was leagues better. Then he hated himself for conjuring the comparison. Of course Emi wouldn't take offense to his appearance. She was essentially a temporary roommate who gave him a temporary job. Two weeks from now he'd never see her again. She wasn't romantically interested in him, they weren't friends; she had no reason to feel one way about his scars or the other.

And he couldn't succumb to the idea of them together, even temporarily. He couldn't hope.

Emi started cleaning dishes. He blinked at the movement. He finished the movie, and soup, without noticing when either ended. Neither of them uttered a word for some time.

"I'll make the bed," she said, giving him room to slide out from the table. Obito shrank to the kitchen as she crawled under. A few mechanisms clicked and the slab of wood lowered as air gaskets hissed.

Emi smashed the cushions from the back of the benches to the table. The bed expanded the entire back of the van. She brandished sheets, pillows, and a comforter. Obito tried to help, got in the way immediately by kneeling on one of the cushions she was trying to lift to put the fitted sheet over, and regulated himself to the kitchen sink and brushed his teeth. After plugging in her laptop to the outlet near the sliding door, she joined him in the dental hygiene department.

"I, uh, didn't quite take your height into consideration here," she said, kneeling on the bed with two pillows clutched to her chest. "I don't think you can sleep like me, where your feet face the kitchen, but maybe across? Or even diagonal? I can just curl up in a ball in the corner." She demonstrated by falling over.

Obito reminded himself he should refer to her as a woman, not a child, although it became increasingly difficult the longer he was with her. The tie dye t-shirt with a graphic of a melting smiley face wasn't helping.

She flipped over as he laid down. Head to toe, he fit without wiggle room from bench to bench. Laying across meant he'd be pinning her in unless they switched positions. If she wanted to leave the bed, she'd have to climb over him. He started to voice his concerns and a pillow was shoved under his head.

Emi threw back the comforter and snuggled in, back facing him. "Can you turn off the lights? The switch is by the door, I'm sure you've seen it. Fair warning though, it gets pitch black."

Affronted that she thought he'd be afraid of the dark, Obito obliged, chest puffed.

The lights turned off. He discovered what pitch black meant.

The sound of skin gliding over wood countertops and puffs of breath filled the cavity of the van. Every creak and groan gave away his movements. The cushions dipped as he sat and fumbled for his phone. He dimmed the screen as low as it would go. The soft glow bounced off Emi's rising and falling form, utterly swaddled in the comforter. He imagined she tucked the sheet under her chin like a safety blanket.

There were a few increasingly concerned texts from Kakashi asking his whereabouts the longer they went unanswered. Obito shot off a quick summary of his day and promised he was alive and well.

He opened the few social media apps he had. He'd lost touch with most of his friends when he moved away after the accident; whatever they posted was all he knew about them as adults.

A group he had been a part of in middle school posted a posed photo of them at a dinner. He scrolled. A girl he knew had gotten engaged. Scroll. A baby announcement. Scroll. Someone venting about a sports team not winning the playoffs. Scroll.

He turned the screen off and set his phone aside. His life had become empty. He had nothing to share. He hadn't contributed anything online in years. He had no job, no love life, nothing worthy of telling people who he thought of more than they thought of him.

He was empty. And when he closed his eyes, all the embarrassing times he tried to be full overflowed in loneliness.