Chapter 9: Support

Laying back to back, Obito yanked the bed sheets from Emi's grasp and crossed his arms over his chest to secure his hoard.

"We agreed you would hold me in the mornings," he stated.

"Yeah, but I wanna be the little spoon right now," she whined, curling into a ball. Her obnoxious teeth-chattering did not sway the steely man. He shook his head and denied her material comforts.

"You were the little spoon yesterday morning too. It's my turn. Suck it up." He wiggled closer, squishing her. The imminent threat of her skin touching the exposed metal below the window on the back door drew nearer.

Groaning, kicking her feet, calling him a baby, tossing and turning. She made a big show of rolling over and snuggling up to the big oaf. At the first contact of her cold nose on his hot back, a content sigh left her mouth and she ran her lips over the mottled skin between his shoulder blades.

The way their bodies fit together when she was the big spoon was imperfect. His too-broad back blocked her view. It forced her cheek to press against his slight muscles, instead of admiring them from afar. Her neck ached at his expanding breaths. Due to their height difference, his butt rested on her thighs. None of it was convenient, but she'd put up with the neck cramps and inability to breathe correctly if it meant Obito felt loved.

Emi used all brain power to channel her just-woken-up strength into her flaccid arm around his middle and crushed him to her small frame. He had let go of the sheets, but she didn't take them. His warmth was adequate.

Obito fanned his fingers over her hand grazing his stomach and laced them, bringing them up his chest to sit over his heart. The muscle that beat for her.

The moment his eyes opened this morning, anxiety prickled him in itchy sweat. Today would be promising, or rather, he promised much to today. And he wasn't sure if he could live up to it, and her expectations.

"Let me know when you're ready to get up," she said.

He moved her hand up to his parched mouth, sliding her smooth fingernails over his lips. Fidgeting while his brain assaulted him and went blank all at once. He tried to soothe himself by brushing the nails back and forth, back and forth, jamming her knuckles under his chin until his gum stung. The pain. Her touch. Fuck, anything to drown out the terror of his thoughts.

"Just a few more minutes."

Dry desert transformed to open flat lands of cracked soil. Greenery interrupted the dirt in patches, starting small, then grew from withered trees to rolling hills, to ancient Redwoods streaking the powder blue sky as it opened for the majestic mountains. Creeks slithered along the road and under bridges where natural waterfalls surged. The van climbed, dipped, and climbed again. Their ears popped.

Deducing a family of baby turtles could've beaten them in a race, Emi parked at a fast food restaurant to give the van a break, noting the wisps of smoke coming from the brake pads as she went inside.

"Ow, ow, ow-"

Obito leaned forward to rise from the table just as the door was kicked open and Emi leapt in, hissing, cursing, face full of scorn directed at the two paper cups in her outstretched hands. The dark liquid licked the underside of the lid as she dropped them on the table and waved her hands in the air to cool them off.

"They ran outta the cardboard sleeve things so I just carried them." She clicked her tongue and shut the door. "That's what I get for feeling guilty about using their Wi-Fi without buying something.

"So, did you narrow it down?" Emi asked, flopping next to him. Her knee knocked the corner of the table, sending the coffee sloshing; she glared at it to stop, and it did.

Obito made himself look at the screen. Unease twisted his stomach as he read the banner at the top of the webpage. Emi's laptop had many tabs opened up, explaining as she clicked them; a few were for therapists in Konoha, the others were online only if he felt more comfortable having his sessions over video than in person.

The faces and names blurred.

He was defeated at the very first step, like he knew he would be.

Keeping his hopelessness inside and not in his expression he answered, "No, not really. Uhm." He blinked, willing the biography of the woman on screen to make sense. It was filled with accolades and spouted many expensive degrees from expensive Universities. At the bottom was her clinic's email and phone number. "Do I send in an application, or?"

Emi schooled her features from the wry smile tugging at her mouth. "Like a job? No. You contact them over the phone and set up a consultation to see if you're a good fit for them. They may even have time then and there to talk to you. Or you can email them and set up the call that way." She put her index finger to the trackpad and moved it to the phone number on the page, pulling his phone beside the laptop. She looked from the phone to the number on the screen, holding for a beat on both, forcing a smile. "Yep, that's all you do."

"O-Okay.." Obito's head swam with the information. Overloaded and all she did was explain two methods of contact. His eyes hurt. His body hurt. His brain was stuck in an endless loop of how that conversation would go; spilling out all his problems in one neat sentence. To which he would be told his issues were out of their skillset and he would be rejected.

He wiped his hands on his pants. Craving the coarse fibers scratching, burning his skin the longer he kept up the motion. Palms red, hoodie damp with sweat.

And Emi sat there. Scrolling on her phone. Eyes alert, lips upturned. Reading her emails. Ignoring him.

"There's a truck stop across the road that should have showers. I'mma take one and give you some privacy." She smiled and nodded at his phone. In long, fluid motions she gathered her change of clothes and toiletry bag, humming, merry as all get out.

All the while he was cemented to this wretched spot. Arduous future highlighting his face. The ropey nerves that made up his body dislodged themselves from his limbs, combining themselves into one big knot in his belly. A chant of failure echoed in his head.

Emi said she'd be back soon and left him. Alone. Alone in the van. Parked in the sun, yet the inside was overshadowed. Alone with his thoughts. Alive, yet rendered completely dormant.

"Oh, babe." Emi's wet hair slapped her face as she whipped around and grasped the door to close it behind her. Second guessing, she stopped just before it shut, slowed, and completed the act without noise, letting go of the handle as it locked. She drew the blackout curtain to block the light from the windshield and whispered, "Are you okay?" suspecting he had a migraine.

Wincing at the creaking laminate wood, she stepped over the uneven spots, and saw more tabs open on the laptop. His phone sat in the exact place she left it, untouched.

Crouching to the crumpled man taking up the entire length of the bench seat, all she could see was his dark brown, almost black hair. His hand shielded his eyes from view and his other arm was wrapped around his chest, hugging himself.

"Can I touch you?"

He shook his head. She frowned.

Emi picked up her laptop and crawled under the table, feet on either side of the matte black metal post holding it up. From here, she couldn't see much else of his face, but she convinced herself her proximity was helping him. At least it comforted her to be at his side. In sickness and in health.

Dimming the screen, she cycled through the new tabs. A few therapists were pulled up, a search for jobs in Konoha, a picture example of a resume, and finally, a listing for a programmer position at Kakashi's workplace. She closed them all, one by one.

"Can you stay next time?" he asked. His pitiful breath rattled in his chest, hurting Emi's heart the longer she listened to him try to calm it.

The pieces came together. She was in the wrong. She prioritized her own comfort over his and bailed on him. His pain must've been beyond what she imagined if it left him like this. When she had the spare time, she would reflect on what unspoken signals he gave and how she could do better to not miss them. An exam she would study for if it meant he never felt abandoned again.

"You run away a lot." The hurt in his voice and the stinging accuracy of those little words despite knowing each other for a week served as her wake up call.

"I do," she admitted. "I'm sorry for dumping all this on you and leaving. We'll try this another day."

His clawed fingers left his shoulder where they had been holding on for dear life. He rested them, palm up, along the fabric seat. He kept his face hidden, but offered what he could. Inch by inch, he scooted the limp meat of himself closer to her and further from his body. He extended them slowly. Healed creases along his joints going taut as he stretched them as much as he could. He waited. Two warm fingers crossed his and he curled them in, retreating their hands to the safety of his mess of hair at the crown of his head.

She closed her eyes and offered her silent support as he rode out his panic attack.

Dragging his hand from his brow, across his damp eyelashes, to his tender cheeks, scrubbing his chapped lips, Obito peered at her for the first time. She flashed the smile he cherished above all others. The medicine he needed.

"Wanna see something?" He looked at her expectantly, but didn't respond. She woke up the laptop and typed something in with one hand. Shifting her weight on her sore butt cheeks, she slid her palm under the computer and held it up to his eye level. "My application was approved. This is our new apartment."

His eyes glistened at her choice of wording. Our apartment. Something belonging to him, too. Something they shared.

He flicked his gaze from her glowing jubilance to the slideshow of images on the screen.

Something well above what he could have provided. Something too nice for him to contribute to. Something she earned and he was taking advantage of. His eyes dulled.

"It looks nice." He fought for more words.

She kept up the conversation for him. "It's not super close to your apartment, or downtown in general, but I didn't have many options this time of year."

The stainless steel appliances, marble counters, hard wood floors. The bright white walls framing a multitude of windows to allow in plenty of sunlight. A balcony decorated in creeping vines interwoven through wrought iron railing and up a brick exterior. It matched the aesthetic of her van to a tee.

"It looks expensive," he murmured, doing his best attempt at keeping the bitterness at bay.

Emi shut the laptop with a satisfying snap and tossed it on the opposite seat. "Don't worry about rent. I planned to live there by myself, remember? When you get a job, you can help out, but until then, I'm perfectly happy having you live with me free of charge."

She couldn't have quoted Kakashi's words better if she tried. It was the same deal. Except back then Obito assured him he'd find a job in a week and start paying his half of the rent pronto. How wrong he was.

He lasted one week-one week-as a waiter. His manager was more than gracious to not fire him on the spot after he dumped wine on a well-known woman's white blouse, and proved more so charitable when Obito showed up late the following three days after. It was when he walked out the back door of the kitchen and never looked back he decided to burn that bridge. What broke him? The hundredth whispered comment about his appearance from snobs who had never experienced a life like his. Who had no empathy. Speaking under their breath with their blue-white teeth about his scarred face. The one in particular that set him off was in reference to "handsome" scars men had in books; ones cutting across from their eyelid to their brow, giving them a ne'er-do-well look, while Obito was just plain unfortunate looking in their eyes. Unfortunate. That was their adjective of choice.

"That reminds me! You never took the money from my wallet." He blinked, ridding himself of the scenes barging his mind. "The first half of your payment for helping me this week," she clarified. He let go of her fingers and withdrew into himself, tucking his chin, folding his legs in. His feet had become icicles, the cold of the back doors penetrating his socks. His humid breath filled the pocket of space between his chest and his hoodie. When one embarrassment from his life came up, more soon followed. He didn't want to go down this road. He needed a distraction.

The curtain swished. Shafts of light illuminated the underneath of the table. Emi stood at the end of it and counted out the cash for him. It didn't matter how high she counted. The lurking tendrils of dread embraced his self-doubt. Gloom bloomed disappointment. This wasn't a distraction, it was a knife in his ribs pointing out the glaring differences between him and her. The security in their lifestyles had never been more apparent. Whatever number she she said aloud last was moot; she saw dollar signs, he saw: the rent he owed Kakashi, the bills his owed Kakashi, the grocery money he owed Kakashi, all the times Kakashi fronted him cash for going out, the phone bill four months behind because he could never catch up, and the biggest setback of all, the student debt he hardly chipped at after flunking. The absolute severe evidence he was a failure.

"I saw an ATM at the truck stop. I'll go with you if you want." She tapped the money on the table. His silence blended in with the shadows. The shake of his head was heard, not seen. "Want me to do it for you?" He seized his wallet from his pocket and thunked it on the table, telling her his PIN.

Emi idled at the side door. Looking from it, to him. She was leaving again. But this time it was for a good reason, so it should be fine, right?

"Will you be okay?" her question lodged itself in her throat, cutting out her voice as her worry ebbed in. He wasn't telling her any of the information that could help her understand him, and what little he did show, so far she dismissed as common anxiety, not registering the full weight of what he was going through.

"I'll be fine," came the somber whisper of her destitute boyfriend.

Emi sighed and left.

Reading others was frustrating. Annoying enigmas she'd experienced all her life. People say one thing, but mean another. They tell you they're fine with a frown and expect you to know they're not. Though, hypocritically, isn't that what she did? Blend in by employing their own tactics? Maybe her and Obito weren't so different after all.

Busying her mind, she opened Obito's cracked pleather wallet and her steps faltered. Her sudden guffaw startled a family of deer chewing on low tree branches. Obito's brooding face scowled up at her from the clear plastic slot on the side. The expiration date was equally as telling as his outdated look.

The little photo was adorable. So fucking adorable. She held it so close she was going cross-eyed to see all the details of this version of him. His hair draped over his shoulders and covered his right eye in a glorious side part of a bygone era. He was so handsome it was unfair; his prominent brow, his wide nose, his square jaw overtaking his understated cheekbones.

She held the ID to her forehead, smiling at the clouds, downright charmed to see this glimpse into his past.

The facts beside the photo were as expected, but she read them over. Several times.

Name: Uchiha, Obito

Hair: Brown

Eyes: Black

Height: 6'3"

Then she saw his birthday. His birthday! A fact she didn't know. February tenth, four days before Valentine's day. Oh, she couldn't wait to spoil him the whole week.

At the ATM, she input his card and PIN. And her momentary bliss was put to an abrupt end. This wasn't her account, she knew that, but seeing the numbers coated her in a mist of sweat. Her arms hung at her side. She gawked in stark mortification.

The zeros with no leading number in his savings account was to be expected, but the minus sign next to three digits in red in his checking dizzied her mind, scratching at old traumas.

Feeding the bills into the machine at rapid fire pace to appease the negative number, Emi stopped periodically to flatten the ones crimped in her clammy fists. She dug through her wallet for spare change and inserted that too. When she looked up at the sun-faded screen, she squinted at the green number and ripped his card out of the slot, punched the Exit button on the side, and jogged to the van.

Emi crawled under the table to examine the body that had not moved. Obito's hands were over his eyes again, his face ducked down and his knees drawn in. Shoulders moving in stunted belabored breaths.

The pain. A sharp jerk at her sternum. The imaginary red string attached to their hearts called her to him.

On her hands and knees, she flattened her body against the cool wood under the fabric seat and rested her head near his. The yearning grew as she suppressed the innate urge to hold him. To touch him. To promise she'd fix everything.

Her heart rapped its fist on her ribs. Her lungs collapsed as she fought the need for physical comfort.

At last, the sound of his head moving on the rough fabric. His hair tickling her nose. When he didn't object, she dove deeper. Filling her dilapidated lungs with his scent, its familiarity relaxing the tension on the chord of anxiety strung in her throat.

"Can I lay with my head in your lap?" he asked.

Both becoming animated at once, Emi scrambled to sit at the edge of the bench while he switched to laying on his back, knees pointing at the ceiling. He clasped his hands over his chest and she guided his head to her thighs.

"Do you mind if I have your bank account info?" she asked, careful to keep her voice neutral. "It'll be easier to wire you the rest of the money."

Spreading his fingers, he slapped along the table until he found his phone and logged into his bank app and handed it over to her. Side by side, Emiko entered his information into her app and chewed her lip, contemplating the box where she would input the amount to send him. Blank. Number pad taking up over half of the screen. Her thumbs hovered over her choices.

Fuck it. Impulse decisions were her forte.

She placed the phones down at the exact moment his buzzed from a text. He groaned and held it over his face, blocking most of his expression from her. Except for the piling of wrinkles on his forehead.

"Why did you.." He lowered the phone to search her eyes, of which were looking anywhere but him. "This isn't what you owe me," he stated.

She pried the phone from him and placed it next to hers, darkening the screen, briefly noticing their matching backgrounds. Bringing her gaze to her palms circling his cheeks, she asked, "Can I touch you?" He nodded. His positive answer called her to the surface from her own spiral. Losing herself for a moment as her thumb stroked him from nose to ear and her fingers combed his hair back from his scars.

"Money doesn't solve all problems, but it sure as fuck solves most of them." Her motions went heavier as her bottom lip trembled. Obito leaned into her nails scratching his scalp, his eyes twitching closed and eyelashes fluttering; his own lips parting in a light moan. These responses mimicked his ones for sexual gratification, but this was fulfilling a different need just as important.

"You didn't have to give me that much."

"Do you feel better knowing it's there? That you don't have to worry about paying a therapist, buying new clothes, hell, buying a suit for job interviews. Actually buying something that makes you happy when you see it. A new game, a book, whatever." She angled her face above his. At her finger's insistence, she made his hair part to the side like his ID photo.

"You mean far too much to me to watch you suffer," Emi said, voice shaking for unspoken reasons. Cold fingertips prodded his skull. "So, please, just focus on yourself. I'll take care of the rest."

"I'm afraid of failing you," he admitted in a whisper.

"The only way you could fail is by not trying."

Her thumbs focused their energy at his temples, circling, while her fingers raked as far as they could go. He tilted back into her adoring touches, basking in her light.

His chest rose with a deep breath to ask one of the questions that had plagued him for days, "What happened to you after your husband died?"

Confusion drew her brows together.

He elaborated, "I lost my parents thirteen years ago and you lost your husband only two. Clearly, I'm still a mess. How have you handled it so much better than me?" Her hands stopped moving and she looked to the opposite wall for answers. Obito second guessed his phrasing, not meaning to come off as rude, and opened his mouth to restate his question again when she answered.

"He'd been dead for about half an hour before the paramedics came," she said, evenly. "I was in the shower when he fell. He'd just come home from grocery shopping. I thought the sound was him dropping something, so I didn't rush. The paramedics weren't allowed to announce his death, so they started the process of taking his body to the hospital and that's when the cops showed up to write up the report. They said I needed to call someone to be there during the process for emotional support, but.."

Emi shut her eyes, inhaled through her wet nose, out her sticky mouth. Her petting through his hair became gentle strokes again. "I had no one. I was no one. I had no job, no friends, no family I could rely on. Definitely no one in Konoha. And I couldn't drive.

"Since we met, and for sure since we married at twenty, I lost myself. I was never introduced as Emiko. I was introduced as his wife." She tapped the back of her head on the white wood boards above the bench. "I never made friends of my own, they were always his first. So many times I went to parties with him and overheard people trying to remember my name. For six years, at every group gathering, they never remembered it.

"I didn't even have my own name." A tear landed on Obito's Adam's apple and dripped to her shorts.

"Anyway," she said, shaking her head to get back to the point. "I told the cops I didn't have anyone and they kinda just.. looked at each other. One suggested I call his parents to tell them the news and I think I broke out in hives just at the thought of having to do that, talk on the phone, I mean. Actually-" Emi rolled up the sleeve of her pastel green sweatshirt to show him her forearm, "-I still have some from talking to my client the other day. The one who bought all those baby clothes."

Obito understood now why she left him earlier. Her apprehensions about talking on the phone were the same as his. The awkwardness, not being able to read physical cues, the static on the line obscuring the vocal ones. He brought her knuckles to her lips and graced her with many kisses of solidarity; in regards to the phone, and feeling like a complete and utter nobody.

"What'd you do after the funeral and all that?"

"Survive, mostly," she answered bluntly. "I used what money he had in his bank account to pay the rent. I ignored most of the bills. We had started selling vintage clothes a few months before that, so I had some stock on hand to sell online to keep me fed. His parents were too poor after paying for the funeral service to help me." She added as an aside, "Not that I told them how bad I was doing. They're very nice people and I wanted them to mourn without worrying about me. I'm extremely lucky my agent saw something in my book and got it in front of important faces right as the money ran out and I couldn't pay rent another month. I got my van and got the fuck out of Konoha."

"What about your parents?"

Emi worked her jaw at the mention of them. Her eyes glazed over, hands finding his face to smother her childhood memories in his hair. "They always monopolized my diagnosis into being about them and how much they failed as parents." Obito winced for her. "Plus, there's no way in hell I would move back there, even temporarily. Two of my younger brothers still live with them along with my grandmas and all their cats and dogs. Well, the cats are fine, but everything else is so loud and overwhelming. None of the furniture matches. It's so cramped and-" She stopped, eyes wide. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry for sounding so, so.. ungrateful about my family!"

"Emi, if that's your experience with your family, then that's your experience. I'm not hurt by it."

She nodded, not entirely convinced he was okay with how disconnected she could be from her emotions, so she delved into that topic after settling her hands; one cradling the back of his head, the other on top of his right one on his chest, thumbing over his scars. "I tend to feel things either at zero, or a hundred, with no in between." She pressed her lips in a fine line. "His death was a zero. By the time I was out of survival mode and could process it, there was no grief left in my body. My family is a zero, too. You, however. You are a hundred." She beamed at him. It lacked a bit of her natural mirth, but it was a warm ray of hope, nonetheless. "You will always be my hundred."

Obito sat up. Her admittance should've been disconcerting, but he took it in stride. Her sunshine grew, welcoming him into her arms. Squaring his shoulders to her, cracking his back something fierce, his hair flopped to his forehead and stuck out in disarray, just how she liked it. She was pinned. Under his arms. Under his gaze. His hand dipped the plush cushion alongside her thigh, fingers skirting under the hem of her shorts. The back of her neck was locked in the curve of his elbow as he brought their foreheads together.

His low whisper danced over her lips, inviting her to give in to his tango, "You've made it more than clear how much you value me, time and time again. Your love is known. Am I doing the same? Do you know how much I love you?"

Emi willed herself from his intoxicating presence long enough to refuse the knee-jerk, pleasant-as-pie response to tell him yes, he was doing everything perfectly. "I'm lenient because you have a lot to work through with yourself first, but I would like to hear it more often, so it doesn't feel so one-sided when I gush about you and you don't do it back."

"Got it," he said, nodding, moving her face with his. "I'll be more verbal with how I'm feeling. Not only when you do things that make me absolutely fall in love with you all over again, but when I'm hurting, so we don't have misunderstandings." He tempted her lip with a brush of his. "Like the past hour. You saw I was in pain; I communicated a little too late, but you still did more than I could ask. You sat here with me, took care of me, gave me way more love than I deserved-"

She pulled away to show him her face drooping in mild exasperation. "Stop saying negative things like that."

He took inventory of her raw disappointment when he regressed to his usual insecure habits. "You're right."

"Now that's a positive thing I like hearing."

Obito rolled his eyes.

"We'll tackle therapy another day," she said to their original conversation, bringing her hands to his front to capture the bunched collar of his hoodie, fisting the fabric. Her chest swelled with deep breaths. Despite her best efforts, tears rimmed her bottom lashes. "B-Because do you know how fucking bad I want what you said last night?" She paused, letting him remember. "I want you to come home to me. I want to take care of you now so we can live that life sooner. Sending you texts while you're working, meeting up with you for lunch. Seeing you in a suit. Goddammit, Obito. I hate the thought of a regular domestic life, but that's all I want to do with you.

"On the days I'm busy writing, I want to wake up early and make you a lunch to take with you. Stuff it full of little love notes. I want to hear your keys jingle and be waiting at the door to give you a hug because I've missed you all day. I want to ask you how work went." Curling the fabric under her chin, she urged his mouth to hers. "I want to know what it's like to miss you and go weak in the knees when you walk through the door of our apartment."

Oxygen left her lungs. She was crushed under his weight. The sheer power of his kisses swelled her red lips. Unsatiated, he opened her mouth with his tongue, tracking down hers for a taste. Ravenous in his need to gorge on her corporeal body to complete his. A glutton lapping up her palpable love. It was only when her whines for air cut through her moans, he stopped to tell her, with words, just how much he wanted her vision.

"Fuck!" he howled at the ceiling. Emi's kisses trailed over his bobbing throat. His body had changed position to straddle her, his overwhelming force causing her to go feeble under his domination. He hooked his thumbs under her jaw and tipped her head back to observe the wild animal lurking in his eyes. "I want nothing more than to live this boring domestic life with you. I can't fucking wait for you to text me how much you miss me while I'm at work. Coming home to you, standing behind you while you write your next novel. Massaging your shoulders, running my fingers through your hair. I want it more than anything I've ever wanted in my pathetic life." He cut off her reprimanding with his lips. "I know, I know, no more putting myself down. It slipped out."

His ass bumped the table. The coffee cups rocked. His feral heat cooled to soft passion. Emi's phone beeped with an endless amount of emails. He growled, trying to keep them in the moment with heated kisses. The throbbing in his knee increased. A kid in the parking lot screamed. The situation froze over. They kept their lips glued together until the last moment when Obito had to sink to the seat. Rubbing his knee, eyes squeezed shut. He mumbled something about not being able to put much pressure on it after all the surgeries.

Emi picked up her phone to silence it, and instead grimaced. Opening an email, she read over it, and tossed the useless hunk of technology, mouth in a hard slant. Obito kicked his leg up, scarred thumb putting as much pressure on the joint as it could.

"What happened?"

"Besides being blue balled?" she grumbled. "I got my first round of reviews for my second book. Three good, one.." She harrumphed. "Scathing."

"Can I see?" he asked and she swept a hand at the bearer of bad news. He picked up her phone and read over the email. "Aw, it isn't that bad. Just the part about what you did to the dragon, and still, you got three good ones."

Emi gave him a pointed look. Obito raised an eyebrow in challenge, then set the phone down. Right, he reacted the same way yesterday. All these nice comments about him and he still focused on the negative. Such was the human psyche.

She glanced around the van and proposed an opportunity, "Wanna vacation from this vacation? I think we could both use one after today."

Obito answered in pain, massaging his knee, "God, yes."

Emi got up. The ice cold cups of coffee taunted her.

"Want me to throw them away?" he asked. She puffed her cheeks, eyeing the place she kept her pots as if she was genuinely considering heating it back up so as to not waste it. "If I'm the one to dump them down the drain, will that ease the blow to your recycling, composting, eco-friendly heart?"

She glared. Then hemmed and hawed. "Yes." He stood with the table's assistance and emptied them, crushing them into the recycling instead of the trash. Emi held her tongue, not having the energy to explain that those cups were lined with wax, and thus, couldn't be recycled. He tried.

Making their way to the front of the van, she opened the map on her phone and scrolled around until she found a lake and selected it for their next adventure.

The microscopic town consisted of a handful of cabin style buildings framing the two lane dirt road. Emiko stopped at the one labeled All Purpose Store and walked up the bowing, petrified plank steps to an otherwise, modern, fluorescent convenience store. Albeit the advertisements lining the walls were years past date. The yellowed chipped tile also left more to be desired. And the three aisles lined with products were in need of dusting. Still, other patrons besides her were perusing the shelves with backpacks towering over their heads.

Emi looked over the first aide section at the entrance. Pain pills, bandages, sanitary napkins. No condoms. Who had she pissed off in life to be treated this way? Her lower body ached to be filled after that make out session.

They were in national park territory, directly in the path hikers used to exit the mountain range and continue north. Did hikers not have sex? The price tags labeling a few empty shelves happily taunted her. She bent over to read them.

No. Apparently hikers had lots of sex.

She swept through the lacking store for her other needs and stood in the check out line. Her attention was stolen by the two women on the porch. The chipped door remained latched open, allowing their conversation to be overheard by all.

One of the women, wearing a matching purple tracksuit, long blonde hair in a high ponytail argued with the other, who had outgrown pink dyed hair in pigtails jutting out behind her ears. Fingers were pointed, voices were raised.

The one with pink hair snatched the blonde's hiking pack and upturned it. Out tumbled the last of its contents; a collection of rocks, bouncing and scattering around their other gear.

"See! I knew you were hiding shit!"

The blonde fumbled over the rocks and her words, "T-These are souvenirs! For our time together, you idiot. I'm not getting rid of them."

The other girl didn't seem bothered by the insult. She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed. "I know you're more sentimental than me, but you can't keep all of them. They're weighing you down and we need to catch up to the others. We've already tossed the other stuff you didn't need," she explained, gesturing to the extra pair of hiking boots, a ripped umbrella, and a single, broken trekking pole.

The clerk caught Emi's attention. "They've been out there for hours."

She snickered, listening to the last of their conversation as he rang up her items.

"Fine, you can keep them, but don't be surprised when I leave you in the dust."

"I'd like to see you try."

"Here you go," the clerk said. Emi took her reusable bag and gave him, and the women, a smile as she left the store and found Obito in the van.

"Do you drink?" she asked him, holding up the cold six pack.

He regarded the drinks warily. Once upon a time, he drank heavily to gain the confidence to go up to girls at last call before the bar closed, only to get rejected on the spot. Or worse, go home with them and get rejected when they sobered up to his appearance. "On occasion," he answered tentatively.

"Is this an occasion?"

"Seems like one."

An occasion to make new memories to override the sad ones.

Emi put them in the fridge and opened a cardboard box from the pantry. Once settled in the driver's seat, she gave him the other half of a fudgy chocolate brownie decorated in multicolor candy sprinkles. The ones she remembered from her childhood. The ones she bought yesterday as a peace treaty.

Obito stuffed the entire thing in his mouth while she took a delicate bite of the corner of hers.

She stared at him.

He stared back.

He brought his hand to cover his mouth, registering with each bite just how big of a brownie it was. With bulging cheeks, he chewed with his mouth open. Slowly. Teeth sticking. Tongue bogged down until the weight of the confection.

Unblinking eye contact.

Then she snorted at his absurdity. He snorted in return.

They doubled over laughing; laughing until their stomachs hurt and his palm was covered in crumbs as he inhaled down the wrong pipe and coughed.

Emi's eyes burned with tears of glee. She would love this goof until the end of time.

They traveled to the furthest corner of the oblong blue shape on the map, passing open semi circles of beach where families parked their cars to camp for the night. Emi slowed, approaching an empty spot. The trees shrouded the sandy bank and the van could block the view from the road, leaving them in their own private oasis.

Lazy waves lapped the shore. Emi ran full charge with a stiff blanket over her head, whipping it in the wind, and settling it on the edge where the grass gave way to sand. Out of the van's back doors hobbled Obito with the canvas bag full of goodies. He shook his head at her childishness, finding it the most opportune time to rub his hand over his lips. Not to hide his adoring smile for her, no, never; he just had an itch is all.

Emi plopped herself on the blanket and made grabby hands for the bag on Obito's shoulder. "Want me to put sunscreen on you?"

His mind wandered. The reddening around his ears came too easily. She'd never tire of teasing him. "Can you put some lotion on my back first? The desert really dried out some patches." He turned around and pulled his shirt over his head, though kept it covering his chest and lower arms. He sat in front of her where she patted the blanket.

Unscrewing the lid, she dipped her fingers in the lotion and rubbed it into the flaky spots of pink skin where scars met the unscarred. Once she was done, she attempted to pop open the sunscreen multiple times, each time her grunts growing in strength, and each time Obito tried to take it from her.

"Whatever!" She handed it to him and he opened it like it was the easiest thing in the entire universe to do. "My hands are all slippery."

The first application of sunscreen came as a splat as she slapped his back, but her annoyance only made him laugh at her more.

"Time for your chest," she said after wiping off what was left on her palms around his hips and squirting more on her fingers.

He hesitated. His body went rigid, stunting his movements as he faced her. She motioned for him to take off the shirt, impatiently indicating the sunscreen on her hands was for him.

"Take it off! Take it off!" she chanted at him. He soured his face at her catcalling. But it worked. The short sleeves pooled at his wrist. The fabric hiding his chest fell to his lap. He looked around, scanning the area and the other banks across the lake. "O-bi-to," she groaned at his pace.

"Sorry, it's because.." He fiddled with the hem, head hanging to avoid looking at her. "You've never seen them in broad daylight like this. Only in the van, at night."

Emiko's eyebrows pinched upwards. She ran her knuckles over the coarse black hair covering his arm. Then her sympathy was over. "Obi, I basically pledged my life to you this morning. We're married in all but name. I've had your dick in my mouth and haven't stopped thinking about it since. I've dreamed about it filling me everywhere. I wake up and the first thing I crave is the feel of your skin on mine. When are you going to realize I love you and your body? I think you're fucking hot." As she said this, she wrested the shirt from him and tossed it in the sand. She placed her firm palms on his broad shoulders and pushed him, using her weight to keep him down.

The blanket scrunched around his head. The red around his ears had traveled across his nose, down his neck, and flushed the left half of his chest.

"Was that so hard?" she teased, referring to his discarded shirt. Her hungry eyes flicked down to his shorts. "Asked and answered."

If he had hackles, they would've risen. Instead, he narrowed his eyes and chastised her. "Y-You don't have to be so, so.."

"Attracted to you?"

"Honest, direct, lewd. Pick one," he hissed.

She smirked when he glared at her. It didn't matter. She won. She rubbed the sunscreen along his upper chest as it swelled with a deep inhale and exhale as he breathed out his burdens. Namely ones she caused.

"So, what're these deeper scars? They kinda look like octopus suckers." She mimicked the sound she thought their tentacles would make if stuck to glass, popping her lips.

He ran his good hand over the tissue covering his lower stomach and ribs, tugging it to expose more near his hip. He scrutinized her as she sat back and watched. There was no more lust-filled drive to persuade her attention elsewhere and pass over the pieces of him he hated the most. She had to see it. And he had to see her. Her face, hands, posture, any feature could give away her gut reaction.

"When you get burns, the infection rate is insanely high," he explained, sitting up on one elbow. He ran his fingers over one of the scars, a puckered purple circle. Emi copied his movement. She brought her face to it to inspect it. "The nurses have to scrape off the necrotic tissue like clockwork. Day after day, an hour was spent peeling the wet bandages off me to clean the wounds and dress them. Over and over. My skin couldn't handle it and bubbled up like this in response."

Her finger stopped tracing. From his missing nipple to his hip were tense knots of calloused flesh. Her eyes, full of pain, looked into his. He wasn't sure if she saw the same hurt that followed him for the last thirteen years, but all of her softened. She placed a gentle kiss on his forehead and urged him to lay down again, promising to take care of him. Like usual, he had no reason to worry. He was safe.

"That sounds awful. I'm sorry, Obito."

He shrugged. "Years of pain killers helped."

Not finding his nonchalance as funny as he did, she didn't match his smile, choosing to apply more sunscreen to his stomach and arms. He attempted to kick her off when she reached his legs, but she insisted.

Once she was done with him, she tended to her own body where she could reach. Her gaze was far away. A train heading through dark tunnels, seeking the light.

"I can do your back," Obito offered. Before she could open her mouth in protest, he squeezed sunscreen into his hands and waved them at her, knowing she couldn't refuse now. "Turn around," he commanded. She arched an eyebrow in response. The corner of her lips lifted. Did he mean to use his husky voice knowing she couldn't refuse that, either, while also steering her mind away from the upsetting visuals he painted for her? Perhaps. Was it working a bit too well on him as her round cheeks settled between his legs? Maybe.

Forcing his line of sight to the clouds for a blood-pumping beat, he swayed his instincts to the back of her bikini top and not an inch lower. "So, this is why you have the most bizarre tan lines." He plucked at the criss-cross of strings. They wound around the center like a spider's web.

"If you're done snapping them like a teenage boy discovering a bra for the first time, could you spare the time to put sunscreen under them so my tan doesn't get worse?" she asked in a sickly sweet voice, twisting her hair over her shoulder and out of the way for him.

"You look for any excuse to tease me and one day you'll regret it," he deadpanned. He slid his hands under her bikini, noticing her sharp intake when his fingers lingered near her ribs, closer to the front than need be. He leaned down to her ear, whispering, amused as his breath sent goosebumps down her neck, "Please tell me you got condoms at the store."

"They were all out."

He thumped his forehead on the meat of her shoulder. "I'm begging you to take us to a normal grocery store in a normal city tomorrow."

"You have my word."

After a dip in the ice cold lake, the two of them sprawled out on the blanket in the sun. Obito chose to remain face down after adjusting himself. Emi blindly searched the bag behind her head.

Tss. The sound of a can opening, then another. She passed one to him, clinking the metal together as a "cheers." He sipped; she sat up to down hers, and laid back with her book in hand.

"I love this," Obito said. Out here, on a vacation after another disastrous day of his life. Exhausted from all emotions except one. The spark he felt watching Emi crack open the dusty tome he picked from the top shelf at the bookstore for her. Days ago, yet it felt like a distant memory. Back then, he only wanted to know her name.

"Hm?"

"You're reading the book you bought when we met."

Emi closed it to read the cover and giggled. She held the book above her, blocking the sun from the gentle curl of her lips. When their eyes met, the same instant crush feeling radiated between them. He was horrible at flirting, and she was a heavy romantic. If he could go back in time, he'd show her from the get go just how crazy he was about her. Fixing little things like being too scared to hold her hand; how stupid he was to refuse to open up. Hours were wasted battling his self-esteem.

Who knows, maybe they would've gone through an entire box of condoms by now if he just stopped being such an idiot.

..How many condoms come in a box?

"Obi?"

"What?"

She clicked a pen on her forehead and scribbled a note in the margins of her book. "I asked if wanted to cuddle with me. I'm cold."

Oh, yes, he could see the evidence of that.

He tightened his hands around his folded arms and tucked his nose into the safe crook of his elbow, hiding his blush. "I can't."

"Whaddya mean you can't?" she asked. "Your girlfriend is cold and demands your body heat."

Only his unamused eyes were visible. "I'm having.. a problem." He returned to the protection of his arms as soon as she opened her mouth. He knew it was coming.

"A problem I could help you with?"

He groaned.

"Tell me," she continued. The sound of the pen underlining something in her book drew out the silence. "How does a man who said, only yesterday, mind you, that Depression killed his libido, have a breakdown this morning and is already horny by noon?"

"I don't control it!" he huffed, scrambling up and to the van.

Birds cawed as her mad cackle reached the trees.

The world went dark. Her laughter ceased. The forest quieted.

She groped at the lump of faded black fabric smashing the pages of the book to her face.

"Wear my hoodie and shut up."

Emi laid on her stomach facing the water, her feet kicking in the air, and her book opened before her. She giggled at a piece of dialogue and flipped the page.

"Something funny?" Obito asked, splashing water with each step. He cupped his hands around an object.

"Well, not really. He's being thrown in jail, but his banter with the guard is pretty witty."

Emi whined and pulled the book to her chest. Obito's dripping self threatened to rain on her possession. Disregarding her cries regarding paper products and their poor resilience to water, he crouched down and placed the object where the book once was.

"Pretty neat, right?"

"A rock?"

"It's so polished," he said, poking at it with his fingertip. "And look at the veins of green. It's like lava, the way it flows through it." His childlike glee diminished some when he saw her knitted brows. "We don't have to keep it, I was just showin'' you." He picked it up after rubbing the back of his neck. She snatched his wrist.

"No," her tone was stern. "We'll keep it. It'll go in our apartment. Our first decoration."

"Our apartment." His smile stretched. "I love when you say that."

"I'll put it somewhere safe," she offered, taking it from him and climbing in the van.

While she was gone, Obito opened the book to the page she was on, grabbing the pen from rolling out. He wasn't sure yesterday, but now he knew the chicken scratch next to the photos in her Textbook of Emotions belonged to her. Loopy, fat font. Hardly legible. A few missing letters here and there as she rushed to complete a sentence.

He ran his fingers over the words, feeling the trenches she wore with her heavy hand. The scrawl was hers, so he retained each unique curve and flow, committing it to memory.

Keeping her place with his thumb, he flipped to the first page, and wrote something for her to discover later.

Bright streaks of color warmed the sky. The sunset flamed the lovebird's cheek as they huddled in the picnic blanket.

Six empty cans sat crushed in the canvas bag. Emi laid on her back with one of Obito's arms wrapped under her neck, his fingers twirling the tassels of the blanket. He mumbled gibberish about the feel of the twisted rope between his fingers feeling like her hair. She peeled her wet cheek off his. Sweat, lake water, or his drool, she'd rather not know.

"Man, you cannot handle your alcohol," she said, buzzed at best. He hummed and snuggled the column of her neck. "And I saw those crumbs on your lips." She sighed and dusted off the remnants of his sandwich for him as he disappeared from view. "Can I ask you something, Mr. Handsome?"

He did his best to respond with words, but it came out as a grunt. He slipped his hand under his hoodie that she was wearing. Once again, not for sexual gratification, but because, as he put it, "his nerves were electrified," and he wanted to touch her skin.

"What's the deep scar on your lip from? The one that makes you look extra pouty. It doesn't really match your burns."

"I got hit with a basketball to the face when I was a kid," he mumbled, nearly incoherent. "Stitches."

"Oh my God, that's hilarious. And precious."

Lazily, he kissed her cheek. "I love making you happy."

Whether he registered she was happy because she was making fun of him or not, she captured his lips before he rejoined the fluffy folds of the hood he scrunched at her shoulder as a make-do pillow. "I love making you happy too, cutie."

Obito's grip crushed her against his body. His too-large hand tangled in her hair. He trailed hot fingers up her spine. His nose found her neck to replace the oxygen in his lungs with her scent. Neither played their role as big or little spoon. They faced each other, fitting together imperfectly perfect.