.
.
He had lost another match. This time, Kakashi was the one to deal the finishing blows, the sharp end of a tanto blade slicing against the meat of his arm. After the match, Obito slunk behind the bleachers at the training grounds, nursing the cut on his arm when Rin came up to sit beside him.
"Let me see," Rin said, and Obito lowered the ice pack to show her: the whole lower part of his face was bruised, the tender swell of his lower lip throbbing painfully. Rin frowned and dug through her medical pack, pulling out antiseptic and gauze and reaching up to gently daub at his wounds.
Obito didn't say anything. He didn't know why she was still sitting with him, even though he was pretty sure he was the laughing stock of the entire shinobi class.
He hated it. Heat rose to his cheeks and he was intensely aware of how close Rin was sitting, how her small fingers curled around the tender bones of his wrist.
"It wasn't that bad," Rin said, because she was a girl and girls could read minds, and even though he liked that she was spending time with him, he didn't like that it was because she felt sorry for him. "Do you want me to stitch that up?"
She took his arm again, and dumbly Obito sat beside her. She opened her pack and pulled out a straight suture, holding his arm against her lap. "It's because you need someone to practice on, right?" Obito said, because he was sulking and upset and he was sick of everybody feeling sorry for him.
"Yeah," Rin said. "It is." And Obito sulked even more, before Rin giggled and nudged at his shoulder.
"You make me a really good medic," Rin said, and Obito blushed, because at least he was good for something, for once. She smiled at him and he wanted nothing more than to reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, because maybe then she would look at him. Maybe then she would actually see him.
But he didn't do anything. Instead, he stared at his hands. There was dirt under his fingernails and his knuckles were scratched and bruised.
"Hey," Rin said. "What is it? I can't read your mind, you need to tell me what's wrong."
At the time, he couldn't say anything. Couldn't tell her that all he wanted to do was sink into her chest, that just sitting next to her made everything go away.
xXx
.
She was his best friend. He liked to think the feeling was mutual, and he was pretty sure it was, because she smiled and laughed and gripped his hand, and she was grinning wide when she told him he was like a brother to her, closer than family. She didn't mind spending time with him. Even when he felt stupid and lonely, she cheered him up and he made her laugh, and they enjoyed each other's company, even if half the time she was gushing about other boys who were better than him.
He wondered what it would be like to kiss her. Her lips looked soft. Once, she had dropped a stick of cherry chapstick on the training grounds, which Obito had furtively picked up and snuck into his pocket. Experimentally he rubbed a little on his hand and decided that it felt goopy and a little sticky. But he still glanced behind him and dropped a quick kiss on his wrist, to see what it would feel like. He decided it felt nice. He pressed his lips together, relishing the feel.
There were a lot of things Obito wondered about. In the darkness of Madara's cave, Obito stared up at the ceiling and wondered what it would feel like. What it would feel like to hold her, to have her lie against his chest and bury his nose into her hair.
He found out, several months later: her body, limp and unmoving. Her hair, sticky and matted with warm old blood.
xXx
.
Deidara was drunk. It was the first time Obito had seen his supposed partner this way: face red, slightly slurring his words, Deidara laughing and throwing marble-sized bombs that burst like firecrackers in the small tavern. If Deidara were even the least bit sober, Obito would shake his head and implore Deidara-sempai to please watch where he's throwing things, they could hurt someone! But Deidara was drunk and Obito dropped the act, watching his partner with hooded eyes.
Around him, people were laughing. Civilians were carousing and rough-housing, and the sounds of laughter gathered and rose like waves. Deidara had disappeared and Obito was alone now, watching with a predatory stillness as the men in the tavern laughed, loudly.
There were women standing outside the tavern, leaning suggestively and soliciting the patrons of the bar. Their faces were painted garish, bright colors, layers of heavy make-up caked in the small lines of leather skin.
He has never touched a woman. In the early years after Rin's death, he had been angry and disgusted with his younger self, who openly fantasized about her as if she were something disposable. A hole for his perverted pleasure. At the time, it had made him angry and ashamed.
But that was then, and the years that pass have all but numbed him completely to the goings-on of normal men. Pain. Love. Hurt. Fear. It was all inconsequential to him. Even Rin's death was a strangely divorced from the rest of himself, that wounded, worried part of himself an unnecessary distraction.
"What's with the mask?" someone said, and Obito looked up, saw the woman leaning against his table.
He glanced at the clock. It was well past midnight, and Obito didn't need to sleep. It was one of the few advantages of having Hashirama's cells implanted in his body, which let him move without eating or sleeping for days on end. He was grateful for this: the rare times his human half needed rest, he was plagued with nightmares, broken bodies and dead gray eyes.
The woman was leaning forward, jutting the tops of her breasts in full view of his gaze. Normally he would not even entertain the thought of doing something so pointless. Sex didn't interest him. Though he would use his body as a tool if the situation so called for it, sex in and of itself was useless to him.
But the hour was late, and there was nothing for him to do but wait for Deidara and stew in his thoughts. He had a few hours to kill, and he would be lying to himself to say he wasn't at least a little bit curious.
He came to a decision. He reached for a satchel of coins.
The clock ticked. In the darkness, he stood motionless; she knelt in front of him on her knees. He was limp but she was doing her best, bobbing her head and swallowing, obscenely.
He felt nothing. Not even as he felt her massaging his flaccid cock, running her thumb under the wilted underside of his glans before gamely sucking him again.
What was he doing? Around him, moonlight puddled like spilled milk, and Obito pushed her back, tucking himself back in.
"What?" The prostitute looked up at him, frustrated.
"That is enough," Obito said, and he zipped up his clothes. "Your money is on the dresser. I do not require anything further."
"But you didn't get off."
His jaw tightened. He strode across the room, pulling open his bag.
"Look," the prostitute said, standing. "I can't read your mind. You need to tell me what's wrong."
Obito stopped.
"What did you say to me?" Obito said. The prostitute blinked, uncertainly.
"I said, you need to tell me what you like. If I'm doing something wrong-"
"Get out," Obito said.
"Wait, what?"
"Leave," Obito said. "Now."
And the prostitute stared at him one long moment, then snatched up the satchel of coins, pulling on her clothes.
xXx
.
The day Kakashi beat him, he was humiliated. It wasn't enough that he lost the match. They jeered at him, and Obito knew, as he always did, that he was an outsider, that he didn't belong.
He was sitting at the edge of the river when Rin came out from nowhere. Wordlessly, she sat beside him, not saying anything and waiting for him to speak.
"I'm a failure," Obito said, finally. He looked at his hands; bruised knuckles, the scrap of bandage tied around his arm. "They're all right. I shouldn't even be here."
Across from them, the setting sun was a blaze of colors. Burnt out reds and bright orange streaks turning in every direction. "That's not true," Rin said, and the streak of golden light caught her face. The wind rose, and she moved a hand to push back her hair. "For what it's worth, I'm glad that you're here."
He looked up at her. She was looking out into the horizon, hair stirring in the soft breeze.
Nohara Rin. The only person who was kind to him. The only one who cared if he was there or gone.
Eyes filled with a warmth he couldn't explain, and Obito hunched into himself, pulling his goggles down and pulling his knees to his chest. Wordlessly, Rin rubbed soothing circles against his back until he leaned against her, squeezing his eyes.
Now, years later, he sat alone in the dark, hands clenching into fists. There was a tightness to his neck and shoulders and a burning behind his good eye.
There was a scar on his left arm from when Rin had stitched him, years ago. The scar was raised and jagged, and quietly he ran his fingers over the pearly bump, remembering. Gentle fingers curling around his wrist, a soft halo of blue chakra, healing him. A soothing warmth easing the pain.
In the next room, Deidara was snoring. Quietly, Obito adjusted his mask and looked out the window, at the bones of naked trees, and at the darkness that was streaked with the light of a solitary moon.