Chapter 5: Secrets

Obito woke up to Emi tracing little circles on the plains of his chest.

He curled his large hand over her hips until it cupped the other side of her waist and he rocked back, pulling her in, keeping her too close to witness the tragedy of flesh he hadn't the courage to show anyone else, ever.

To most, this type of embrace was saved for lovers after a long night, but it was a surface level intimacy. Parts of him were hidden behind a wall of anxiety he wasn't ready to tackle just yet, despite their breakthrough yesterday. He had opened up and she accepted him. Not only accepted him, she liked him.

Obito pressed his mouth to her hair. Maybe he was growing too attached too soon, but he wanted to experience her sunlight, to have her hold him, take care of him, soothe his worries away. He would do anything to have her raw kindness bestowed upon him morning, noon, and night. Well, he would do most things. Being vulnerable and trusting was not his forte.

What was left on the blanket should've grossed her out, but to Emi, it was evidence he was attracted to her. Carnally, emotionally, romantically, the specificity didn't matter. Even if it was a weakness in the moment, it was a chance. A chance she could get under his skin, feel his love. Some relationships started physically and led to more. She had a chance for more.

Emi raised her head to force his lips to her temple. Each beat of his heart pulsed against her jaw; it was music to her ears.

"Good morning," Emi murmured.

"Morning," he whispered. He drew his leg up hers and tossed it over while sliding his hand up her shirt to her shoulder blades. The shirt moved up as he dug his thumb in and swept it along the length of her muscles, returning the favor for the massage. The fabric bundled below her breasts and their stomachs touched, mixing their body heat.

In their new position, she had to veer back to look at him, and he had to duck his head to see her tooth-aching sincere smile. Sun broke through the edges of the blackout panels, and in the low light, he smiled back

"I don't even wanna check the time," she said.

"Yeah, you'd have a heart attack."

She groaned and pressed her cheek to where it begged to be, over the soft drum of his heart. It spiked at her exploring hands; one grazing his side, the other down the trail of thick hair over his abs.

He wriggled from her hands, poorly concealing his laughter. "Stop! Stop, that tickles!" Ever up to no good, Emi skirted her fingertips over the jumping muscles, cackling at his bucking. "That's it!"

Obito ripped the blankets off of them and topped her, back hunched, hands poised above her ribs. His taunting had no effect. All gloat fell from his face. He stared down at her smirk. Her annoyingly alluring lopsided grin, confident she was triumphant despite being at his mercy.

"Go ahead, but remember where my legs are," she said, prodding her knee on his inner thigh. "Plus." She gripped the cushions of the bed and scooted down until her face was under his and her feet hit the side of the van. Gripping his chin, she pulled him in for a kiss, but just before their mouths touched, she held up a finger between them. "We have a lot to do today. First, I have to finish my registration and find my shipping container-"she held up a second finger, swiping his plush bottom lip"-Then we have to set up the tent." He closed his mouth, giving three of her fingers a gentle kiss. "And finally, the fun part, sorting and tagging everything that needs a price tag. That's your job."

His eyes glinted at her, amused that she would not only distract him from exacting his revenge, but refuse to kiss him knowing how much she wanted it as well. "Sounds fun," he said, muffled by her fingers.

They dressed with their backs to one another, listening intently to each rustle of fabric, imagining what it covered. Emiko's stomach experienced a zing of excitement at the sound of his pant's zipper. Obito couldn't keep himself from picturing her soft curves under the baggy overalls. They obscured them well, but he knew the secrets of her body. After this morning, he could summon them in his mind's eye at a moment's notice. Seeing her stomach sink and her back arch under him.. If they didn't have a legitimate reason to get up, he'd take her up on her offer from yesterday.

"C'mon, slowpoke. It's just a few streets up," Emi said as she took down the blackout panels and started the van.

Emi flashed some pink papers to a man at the front gate of the largest parking lot Obito had ever seen. The van rocked on washboard gravel. Weather beaten neon flyers for past flea markets sealed themselves to the ground. She drove around for some time, peering at cars and rows of shipping containers. Giving up on her hunt, she parked and grumbled.

"Why don't you find us some quick breakfast while I fill out the rest of my paperwork and find this damn container." She rolled open the door, one foot suspended in the air. Her face narrowed in a glare at him in the kitchen. "And no candy." The door shut with a bang at Obito's sneer.

He'd show her.

Obito put up the bedding-avoiding eye contact with the comforter-and lifted the table into place. Digging through the refrigerator, he laid out all the ingredients he needed next to a large skillet on the stovetop. She never did remember to teach him how to work it, but the interface was easy to navigate; he cranked up the heat and started cooking the meal she made him the other day.

He couldn't stop smiling. Cooking for someone else. A woman. One who could, and did, change his life.

The source of all his problems, and their solutions, opened the door and gasped.

"You're.. Aw, you're actually cooking!" Emi clasped her hands and swooned. She pressed her face against his bicep and observed him scraping a few burnt peppers off the bottom of the pan. "You're the sweetest man. I think I'll keep ya."

He groaned at the pinching of his cheek, though it did nothing to assuage the grin from his face.

"I found my shipping container, so we can get started whenever," she said, setting out plates for him to dole out the potato hash.

This time, Obito didn't have to second guess if he should leave room for her to sit next to him on the bench. She sat first, leaving him more than enough room. Her hopeful smile was one he could stare at for days.

"You really do look so handsome in that flannel."

This domestic life.. Living with someone, taking in their familiar comforts.. He would make it happen.

In a perfect example of their personalities, Emi jogged to the shipping container, black boots slapping the asphalt, messy bun bobbing up and down, and childish overalls jingling at each thud. The pair she wore today were dyed purple and painted with white daisies to match the ribbon in her hair.

Obito chose to stroll, cycling between watching her and eyeing the open containers full of boxes and people in faded t-shirts and jeans digging through them with shouts ranging from a deep chorus of "yo!" to "are you fucking kidding me?" They held their phones out to record whatever they were looking at. His gaze settled on Emi again. She was waving at two people standing outside a pair of white and orange metal boxes large enough to fit an entire family of elephants. Adrenaline spiked in his gut, quickening his steps. These were her friends and he wanted to make a good first impression, employee or not.

The woman waved them over as the man stacked boxes. Her hair was curled and secured into a ponytail. The jet black tresses gave the illusion she was paler than she actually was. The bearded man dropped the box in his hands and reached into the pocket of his leather vest to pinch out a cigarette and light it. His broad shoulders raised at the first drag and fell as he reached out a meaty hand to clap Emi on the shoulder.

"Good to see ya again, kid," he said, blowing the smoke over Emi's head. He looked at Obito and waved the cigarette. "I'm Asuma. This is Kurenai." He pointed it at the woman, smiling pleasantly. "You must be Obito, the sucker helping Emi."

Obito gave a wry grin. "Sucker indeed."

"The things we do for women."

Kurenai kicked a small cardboard box at Asuma's leg. "If you have time to talk, you have time to sort." Her glare mirrored ferociously on his sunglasses. "And no smoking around the clothing."

Emi whistled while walking away from them, nodding at her open container, signaling Obito should follow. His mouth twisted up at the matching gold bands glinting on the bickering couple's left hands.

Having no patience, Emi ducked her head out the container. "Hello? I didn't hire muscle to stand around and chitchat. Especially with such a bad influence," alluding to Asuma with her tone. Obito groaned, knowing he only stood there for an extra second or two.

Asuma's belly laugh teased him. "Good luck, son," he said, stamping out his cigarette, obeying his wife's orders.

Obito didn't bother to hide his elation at his assumption, though. The wild prospects of other people thinking him and Emi were a couple were going exactly as planned. The more he could convince the outside world, the more he could convince her. He needed tangible hope that she wouldn't leave him once they returned to Konoha. He couldn't out-right ask such a thing of someone he just met, but if she fell for him, maybe he wouldn't have to beg.

The bright sun stunned his eyes, forcing him to blink away spots as he entered the darkness of the container, and once they faded, his breath hitched at the sight of her.

Emi had opened a box at her feet, giggling and holding something up to her chest. "Cute, right?" The strappy red swatch of lace called lingerie was sheer, showing off her overalls through it. She held the cups to her breast and debated the size.

If her bikini left little to his imagination, this would certainly leave none.

Obito gulped and shoved his hands in his pockets.

"Want help with the tent?"

"H-Huh?" Obito stammered, neck reddening.

"The tent." She swept a hand at the blue canopy and metal poles he was seconds from tripping over. "Kurenai was waiting for us to show up so we could set them all up together."

"Oh, yeah. Right."

Emi's strained arms shook as she waited for Obito to help click the last tent pole into place. Kurenai's red canopy whipped in the wind. Asuma hefted sandbags around the legs to keep it in place.

A warm body pressed along her back. A scarred hand reached above her and completed the task, pole clicking into place. Emi let go, huffing and shaking the feeling back into her limbs. As she turned, a blur of black and red came into focus.

Being in Obito's vicinity like this brought the same tranquility it always did. But picturing his body a different way, unclothed as it was this morning, lean muscle laying in wait, the swell of his chest, the warmth of his throat as she refrained from the insatiable urge to nibble the thin skin under his ear.

Emi closed her mouth before the drool leaked over.

Obito raised his eyebrows. He didn't move away.

For the first time, she appreciated the charcoal black of his eyes. The color was unique to him. She could wax poetry of its depths.

His fingers brushed her arm up to her shoulder. They skipped over her neck to skim over her cheekbones. The movements happened fast in reality, slow as she savored them. He acted with purpose to trace her jaw and angle her chin upwards.

Nothing else existed. He was the only color in her life. Her eyes closed. Obito leaned in, not for the first time since they met. Nothing else mattered.

Asuma flicked open his lighter. The mechanism sputtered to a flame.

Obito was the first to recover. His hand left her chin to land atop her head. Like an awkward nuisance, he ruffled her hair. Emi's abrupt anger seethed.

Obito's face and tone changed from voracious wanton desire to impassive patronization. "Good job."

"Oh, fuck off." She swatted at him and joined Kurenai on her walk to the containers. Asuma covered his laugh with a hacking cough at Obito's unfortunate case of nerves.

Emi dictated what Obito did through shuffles and grunts. She assembled the metal clothing racks at the speed of lightning while he opened boxes and sorted them into clothing types: t-shirts, mens outerwear, womens outerwear, baby clothes, and lingerie. She teased him about the last one saying as much as she'd love to watch him struggle to hang all the delicate bits of lace, he'd be better off shoving hangers in sweatshirts. Thus, he dug through the plastic tub of pullovers from long before he was born and hung them on the racks for her, placing the ones without price tags to one side for later.

Emi was too busy to notice. She searched through the boxes of tees on a mission. Panting, stiff fingers aching. Every so often she would unfold one, click her tongue, and toss it in the pile with the rest.

Until she found the one. It was kept folded and stashed away in her reusable canvas bag, of which was also promptly folded over to hide what was inside. Once she found what she was looking for, she flipped through the baby clothes, placing some in white trash bags.

Obito took a break for fresh air, not at all surprised to see Asuma doing the same but for smoking. Kurenai's portable speaker echoed off the metal walls with intense drumming he swore pumped his heart faster. Asuma complained about being bossed around-then he winked at Obito, saying he liked it. Obito had no response but a simple stammer acknowledging he heard the man.

Hours later, sneezing from dust and in need of a shower, all four emerged and passed Emi's phone around to order food.

Paper bags went tumbling in a cascade of brown onto the table in the van. The boys threw themselves on to the benches while Kurenai gathered cutlery and Emi filled glasses of water. Obito and Asuma mirrored one another, heads back, legs splayed, and arms draped across the back of the seats.

Emi sat as she normally did, not caring they had guests over. She cozied up to Obito until every part of their legs touched and her shoulders nudged his arm around them. A relaxed smile graced his face. He wasn't sure what he was thinking, whether it was the pressure of Asuma's eyes watching them under his sunglasses or Kurenai's twisting of her wedding ring or Emi's lax policies regarding public displays of affection, but Obito was overcome with an urge to show her what she meant to him.

He straightened himself up and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. It was a sorry excuse for where he actually wanted to kiss her, but it would do for now. A band-aid fix for earlier. Her friends looked surprised at the very least.

Kurenai placed everyone's order in front of them and the questions began. "So, how long have you two been dating?"

His arm retracted from her shoulders as if she scolded him. Reality dropped his love-sick facade. In two seconds, he'd have to hear Emi reject the idea of them as a couple.

Emi sat in silence for a beat, face blank, then broke out in her typical blaring smile that melted social tension. "Oh, we're not dating!"

Her denial hurt worse than anticipated.

"How long have you two known each other? You seem pretty close," Asuma asked, skeptical, mouth stuffed with tacos. Hot sauce fell out the back end, streaking his beard, and Kurenai was quick to hand him a napkin.

Obito answered, "We met last week." Emi confirmed, nodding.

"A week..?"

Emi's phone rang on the table and she jolted at the name on screen. "Sorry, gotta take this!" She leapt from the van, gravel crunching under her boots. Obito watched her through the back windows. She held the phone to her chest, pacing for a few seconds before answering.

"Are you.." Kurenai started. "I don't mean to pry, but I assume you're interested in Emiko?" She folded her hands on the table. Her demeanor had changed. She wasn't quite glaring at him, but her lips were pressed and Asuma removed his sunglasses. Around his eyes were tan lines from goggles, giving him a raccoon-like mask. He balled the napkin in his fist. Their undivided intrigue on his love life sent Obito into a pool of restlessness.

"Oh, uh." This felt like a job interview. His fork fell from his hand, sending a cube of tofu bouncing across the table. Drinking water proved to be a useful barrier for dissuading his mouth from spilling out the first embarrassing words that came to mind. He bought his time, setting down the glass. Now, he could answer with confidence. "Yes, I am."

"We ask because.."

"It's clear you like her," Asuma finished. "I don't know how well you two have gotten to know each other in only a week, but there's somethin' you should know about her."

"She's a wonderful person!" Kurenai rushed to console Obito's confusion. "It's just, this may explain some things."

"If it's about her husband's death, I know."

Kurenai smiled softly and placed her lithe, elegant hand over Obito's scarred fist. "It's great she told you that, but this is different. We've known her for years and you may have noticed how, eh, naive she is, and we don't want anyone exploiting her."

Emi's lungs collapsed at the heavy sigh leaving her body and shoved the sweaty phone in the front pocket of her overalls. She closed the van door behind her, clicking on the fan in the kitchen. Everyone had finished eating and threw away their trash while her food sat cold and untouched. She ate it anyway. Stuffing it ruthlessly in her mouth in between breaths complaining about her client and her cancelled flight and the resounding gray-hair-inducing roundabout of booking new flights, hotels, not to mention, praying her luggage was handled appropriately. This sort of trouble wasn't wasted on locals; this client was the one who bought out entire stocks of frilly dresses for infants to sell them in her home country. The money was worth it.

Everyone nodded politely, patiently listening to Emi's venting.

Emi snapped her fingers and pointed at Kurenai. "Oh! Are you pregnant yet?"

Kurenai's red lips twitched into a kind smile. The men's wide-eyed stares reduced to grimaces. Asuma put on his sunglasses and Obito fidgeted, digging his heel into the toes of his other foot. "Not yet, Emi," Kurenai said.

"My client'll be here by tomorrow at 2, so make sure you go through the bags I put aside in case there's any of the really good stuff in there you want."

The laugh was hollow, trying it's best to fill the room. "I'm sure I have enough clothes from you for the first three years of the baby's life." Asuma squeezed his wife's knee to calm the stress on her vocal chords.

"Right, right." Emi giggled, waving off the idea.

Obito spaced out as she ate the rest of her meal in silence. How didn't he see the signs before?

The rest of the day was spent sorting, categorizing, and hanging clothing in order of size. Emi wrote the inventory number and gave it to Obito, who wrote the price and pinned it on the item. Their hands turned green with ink. She locked the shipping container for the night and climbed into the driver's seat. "We'll use my gym membership to shower."

The water plastered Obito's hair to his scalp. It snaked down his temple to the drain in one long string of droplets. It splashed and joined the whirlpool. He ran a hand down his forehead, disrupting the flow, and tried to compartmentalize the information from Kurenai and Asuma into two neat boxes: how he should feel, and how he does feel.

It shouldn't be an issue at all; he should be able to continue treating Emi as he had since they met, and yet, he couldn't help but lose the bite from his tone, keep his bitching to minimum, and mellow out on the grouchy exterior and be all around gentler to her.

Their hypothesis was just that, a guess. They didn't truly know if anything was wrong with Emi, but as soon as they divulged their information, it made sense. A lot of what Emi did made sense.

And worse, he started to question which parts of her were real and which were a farce. Was her sunshine personality all an act?

Emi sat at the kitchen table waiting for Obito. Outside the metal walls, cars honked, dogs barked, kids rode by on skateboards. The debate in her head yelled above all of them.

Obito was withholding affection.

Analyze, decipher, extrapolate, examine. She did it all to their conversations over the past few days until she came to this morning. Their embrace. He returned her unfiltered adoration without apprehension. That afternoon, he almost kissed her on the mouth-unless she mistook his body language.

Then it was all taken away. He hardly spoke to her, looked at her, barely acknowledged when she would flirt with him.

She messed up somewhere. She did something wrong. Now, she had to fix it.

The door handle clacked, the wheels rolled. Emi put her best mask forward, digging deep to find all the love she had, all the excitement she felt in her heart to see his face again.

"Hey!"

"Hey," he said, closing the door.

Emi's smile never failed to brighten his mood. Until now. He passed her without a glance. She forged on with her plan, "I have a surprise for you. I was waiting to give it to you tomorrow, but I just can't!" He hung his toiletry bag and towel in the bathroom as she moved past him to grab her canvas bag from the front.

"A surprise?"

She pulled out a folded black t-shirt, tossed the bag, and held it to her chest like a precious dandelion in a windstorm. Her eyes softened once he stared at her. His body seemed to droop, like his arms were leadened, dragging him down.

"I want you to have this. Wear it tomorrow, it'll make people jealous." She winked and handed it to him. Obito pinched the shirt on either side of the collar and held it up. It unfolded in squares, revealing the full graphic in waves.

"Emi.." Obito's shoulders trembled, then shook, then caved forward as he brought the shirt to his chest. He repeated her name in a high-pitched whisper as thick tears streamed over his cheeks. He buried his face in the fabric, soaking it in big blotches. He swayed, face pained at the memories it brought forth. Hiccuping sobs left his mouth. His knees gave out when she wrapped her arms around him. Supporting his weight was no easy task, but Emi welcomed it. It was the affection she required. She earned it.

Obito came up for air. He scooped her up in his arms. For so long, he had been empty. And the emptiness was replaced by her. Her face filled his bleak thoughts, her warmth spread joy in his hollow chest cavity, her personality coaxed out the one he had lying under his mental illness, her body completed his like the perfect puzzle piece.

He set her down and ran his fingers through her hair, not caring it stuck to his wet face.

"It's okay to cry, I'll be here." She made big strokes with her thumb to gather the tears. "You're happy, right?"

"So happy," he whispered, tucking her against his neck. "You make me so happy."

"I'm glad." The relief showed by her body going pliant on him, melding them as one unit.

"This was my dad's favorite wrestler."

"The way you lit up when you saw it a few days ago.. I knew I wanted you to have it. And, bonus, his flannel matches yours." The wrestler had torn the sleeves off his, but sure enough, it matched perfectly.

They parted and Obito clutched the shirt, smiling at her unabashedly, letting her see the pure happiness she caused him.

She did it. She fixed it.

That night, Obito researched until he was rubbing his dry, itchy eyes more than reading. Everything lined up with the information in the articles, though now he was questioning if Kurenai should've told him at all. He was grateful to hear it, but it invaded Emi's privacy and put more questions in his head than answers.

He loved this woman sleeping next to him.

His arm had gone numb with blood loss by the time she peeped open an eye and groaned. The glow over his face went black as he noticed her coming to. The last thing he wanted was to confront her now, in the hours before her big event. She needed the rest. According to what he read, she must always be overwhelmed and overworking, hyper aware of all interactions and expressions and how to respond to anything and everyone appropriately. It must be exhausting, like the social anxiety he experienced, but several times more intense-because if she failed to read certain social cues, it would ostracize her. The few times her face went lax and her voice deepened foretold the trust she had in him to show her true self. But they were just glimpses.

"You should be sleeping." She kissed his bare shoulder. He responded in kind, flexing the muscles where her lips stayed, and reached up to caress her cheek.

"I know, I know. Don't worry about me." A term of endearment stopped short on his tongue. He wanted to say it, but he needed answers first. Several of them. They could wait. Tomorrow-more appropriately, today-would be long for him, and no doubt, far more taxing for her.

Regardless if he should feel this way or not, part of it irked him. It betrayed every gut instinct to open up to her, and he expected the same. If she was hiding behind masks this entire time, did he fall in love with them and not her?

The negativity was clouding his judgement. He pushed the doubt aside physically, shaking his head. He'll find time to ask her later and go from there. For now, he would continue to regard her in the adulation she deserved. Because she gave him a chance.