Dokuzetsu is glad at his progress and takes the stacks of papers and requests with accepting hands.
"Thanks for helping," the troubled teen says, shuffling the pieces into a neater file once he separates them according to artists. "If you want to help out again, I can drop in a good comment for you."
"Thanks," Obito grins. "It's really enlightening."
"I take you had fun loitering around the art exhibition?" Dokuzetsu asks, neatly placing the papers into another folder. Obito assumes it's for handing to the art teacher, or some other higher up that he has to answer to.
"Yes," Obito nods. "I saw some pretty impressive artwork and their meanings are pretty deep."
"You looked at their statements?" Dokuzetsu asks, raising a dark eyebrow at Obito.
"I glanced at only the first ones while I was waiting," Obito explains hurriedly, waving away the topic. "It doesn't matter anyway because you know me when it comes to art. I know nothing about it, and when I can't understand what's going on but know there's a deeper meaning, then I'll just say it's deep."
"Right," Dokuzetsu nods. He studies Obito for a while, his gaze a kind of heavy in weight that makes Obito very uncomfortable. Funny, he remembers that he does not like Dokuzetsu as much as he likes Jozetsu, even though the two Zetsus are practically inseparable. You can hardly see one without the other unless it's rare times like these when they both have things that do that require them to be apart from one another.
When the two are apart, though, Obito could see clearly their differences. In fact, even when they are together you couldn't ignore the stark differences between the two brothers. They're twins, yet no one has ever mistaken one for the other. They aren't fraternal twins, but for some reason, Dokuzetsu looks way tanner than Jozetsu.
Coupled with their almost polar opposite personalities, where one is serious and the other is much of a jokester, Obito didn't need anything more to be reminded that they're two different people.
And Jozetsu never has a gaze this heavy, pregnant with a strange kind of judgment that is way too loaded with negative emotions for it to just be about him peeking at the artists' statements.
"Well, if you don't need me for anything else," Obito says curtly, nodding his head and steeling himself against the weighty gaze. He shifts his shoulders and stands a little higher, using the few centimeters difference of height to express superiority above Dokuzetsu.
Obito is sure the sense of having to forcefully express his dominance toward Dokuzetsu has always been. It is fact to him at this moment and nothing else matters. By peering down at Dokuzetsu over the bridge of his nose, Dokuzetsu seems to shrivel just a little and nods once more.
"Alright," he says dryly. "Whenever you feel it, come back to only help."
Obito doesn't know if it's a threat. Whatever this art exhibition means to this school, or to the Principal, him just peeking at the statements does not warrant this kind of reaction. If Dokuzetsu isn't Jozetsu's older brother, he'd stop any relations with him at the first given chance.
They're friends in nothing but name. There is no trust. Obito feels it in his bones.
He doesn't say anything else after that, giving no wave as he turns to leave. He passes through the schoolyard again, though this time taking his time to avoid the students that are playing basketball.
He eventually makes his way toward the entrance of the school, recalling the entire day on the way there fearing that he had forgotten something, like having to see a teacher before he actually leaves. But seeing as his very reliable mind and memory doesn't come up with anything, he steps foot out of the rather modern building and heads for the open street.
The sun is still bright out, the entire area coated in a stark white light reflected with the help of the concrete jungle. Everything's in a plain, metallic glow and with a number of people milling around, anyone not born in a city would wonder what kind of festival is going on.
The crowd flows like a solid mass of water with no sense of direction, thousands of people pushing against each other in opposite directions like a raging river split into multiple areas, fighting against the current to get to where they wish to go.
No one is forgiving and everyone is persistent, which makes Obito rather lucky in catching a flow of people that are heading toward the direction he's going. He allows them to drive him to the train station, even though he isn't sure everyone is heading to the same destination despite heading the same direction.
The city is a crisscross of hidden locations and turning a corner would lead you to a whole different world. It is not much different from the roads of life where you can take one wrong turn and end up somewhere completely where you did not think you would end up. Obito finds that rather familiar in more ways than one.
He steps into the body of the train before the door slides closed with the warning beep, pushing against the crowd to prevent himself from being squished by the unforgiving doors. He leans back against them once they close, letting his head rest against the transparent pane that makes up the windows on the door.
The city zooms by him, blurring into one terrible mass. As he looks on with his gaze unfocused, peering out the window. With the dirt on the wind-resistant glass and the speed of the train, an image begins to form as his mind tries to make up for the hazy skyline in front of him.
Gaps fill, flickering across the still blue sky. The differences of height between certain buildings form into a hole, for a single eye. The lights from a tower behind glows purple and it shines through the being's eye socket, gleaming at him.
The mouth opens and with a flicker of what looks like ten tails, the deformed monster lets out a blood curling scream and Obito snaps back awake, eyes widening and breathing hard.
Was he just now dreaming? It has to be a dream. How the hell are his dreams leaking into reality - twice now, if he counted it correctly.
Obito looks around the train. People are either looking down at their phones, on the floor or staring out blankly at the windows. They're not even paying attention to anything that's happening, uncaring of the announcer's voice when it comes on to remind passengers what the next stop is.
They rock with each motion of the train, moving as one squirming mass. Obito feels claustrophobic, his breathing still heavy. He doesn't want to stay staring inside the cabin of the train, but he cannot look out the window either, lest the buildings turn back into that grotesque image of a monster with ten tails.
He pulls out his phone and tries to occupy himself with that, trying to control his breathing. He takes a few deep breaths before opening a newsletter application to occupy his mind. Obito personally doesn't really care about what's going on around him if it isn't anything directly related to him.
He's the kind of person who would only keep his eyes on his own goals. Why care about anyone or anything when they won't care about you, right? You have to be the first one to learn to treat yourself, or else no one else would do it for you. Who would love you if you don't love yourself?
He scrolls through the home screen, scanning the headlines and giving them a few courteous glances if they were interesting, otherwise, he ignores them and keeps scrolling. There's really nothing interesting happening in the news right now. It's a quiet period in Japan.
Some news about a local festival catches his attention, about a dance and some explosions, with flashing colors. It would be held in a few cities away but Japan isn't terribly big enough to the point where it'd take you days to make it to and from.
Obito thinks he knows someone who would be interested in going if he hasn't already decided he wanted to go.
He locks his phone and shoves it back into his pants when he hears the monotone announcer's voice ringing through the body of the train, notifying his stop is arriving. Obito moves and nudges a little way to the door, waiting for the train to stop and the doors to open.
The sun still shines and it still creates a raging glow of white, but it's getting cold so the ray is a little less aggressive, its glow just a little more welcomed than it would be in the summer. The city remains lit up as Obito steps out of the train, leaving the station altogether after paying for the fee to cross the gates.
In the enormous, constantly moving city, Obito stands alone, phone in hand. Everyone walks on, reaching for their own goals for the day and in their life.
By the time he reaches his apartment, walking up the steps and entering through the tiny gates, the sky is already darkening and the streets are bright with the white fluorescent lights that carry a small amount of blue tint in them.
The quiet buzzing of the blue-white lights fills the relatively quiet neighborhood building he lives in, though he finds no comfort in them. He shoves his key in the lock of his door and opens it, pushing it open and taking off his shoes at the threshold.
It's an old-fashioned apartment, the first step of the floor still raised. He nudges his shoes to the side, where the rest of the shoes are, and takes the step, walking down the hallway.
The house is warm and filled with a comforting homely orange glow. He turns his head to look around, peering through rooms to see where his grandparents are. He spots his grandmother sitting at the dining table immediately to his right, so he enters the room.
"I'm home," Obito says, catching her attention since she seems to only be focusing on the television.
"Welcome home, grandson," his grandma says, still not taking her eyes off the television screen. "Grandpa went out to buy something for us to eat tonight."
"Oh, okay," Obito nods, taking a step back and heading to his room. He drops his backpack on the floor of his room and takes a seat at his desk, sighing when he sits.
He pulls out his phone, staring down at the slick black screen reflecting the artificial light in his room. As the clock clicks with each second, driving the gears of his mind to work, Obito comes up with an idea.
He unlocks his phone and taps on Dokuzetsu's contact, opening up the message box. His fingers curl over the digital keyboard, lips pressing into a small thin line. Should he do it? It might seem a little creepy. He isn't even sure if Dokuzsetsu has his number...
The bubbles of their previous conversation stare back at him. The little blue line blinking in the message box, taunting him with each flicker.
Whatever. Obito discards his so called good idea and locks his phone, tossing it onto his bed. He grabs his backpack and pulls out his homework, deciding to work on it before grandpa comes back with dinner.
Time is a woven sheet of sand, formless and ever changing. Time does not travel in a way where people think it might - sure, it goes forward and perhaps the average person may think it can only go forward, but it doesn't have to. Time can move and change and shift through itself, creating clashes and confusing most everyone.
Time is life. With life, there is an understanding of time. Time can exist with itself and without, and time can exist both in the past and the present.
Biting the back of his pen, Obito pauses in his work, staring blankly at the sheet of paper. Time is something no one can understand, so how is he to do that? Does what he's experiencing have anything to do with time?
There has to be. There's no exact reason for it, but those visions only trigger when his eyes are closed when his mind drifts away - when he doesn't focus on the passing of time.
Obito is broken out of his reverie with the sound of his grandfather coming back home and locking the door shut behind him. The metal parts of the lock create a loud rattling sound that is all too familiar for Obito, and the boy lets go of his pen, pressing the head against his chest in a halfhearted attempt to dry it off before setting the tip back on the piece of paper.
He scribbles down the answer he already has in his mind long ago, simply writing it down with nothing else crossing his mind. He crudely looks over the other questions, sighing when he sees something he doesn't like. Obito tries to look and act busy as he hears his grandmother helping grandfather pull the takeouts from their plastic constraints.
They're placed on the table and pried open, the Styrofoam food container screeching its protest as it's clawed open.
Chopsticks clatter the wooden table and Obito braces himself, already putting down his pen.
"Obito! Come eat dinner!" His grandmother calls, sounding like she's moving herself to sit down at her usual seat.
Obito stands up, his chair rolling away as he does. He leaves his room the way it is, not even bothering to turn off his lamp when he does.
His grandparents are already seated at the dinner table, chattering among themselves, talking about their neighbor and what she did with her dog, something or another. Obito doesn't really care enough to want to know. His grandparents are already retired and have nothing much to do other than gossip about others, usually complaining about the most mundane things as they live off the government's subsidies. Obito doesn't want to get involved unless he absolutely has to, like if their neighbor killed her dog or something similarly extreme.
He sits down in his usual seat and picks up his chopsticks, muttering that he's about to eat and starts to dig in. Dinner is like this usually, between the two different generations, years of wholly dissimilar experiences cause communication to be rocky and bland. They sit in silence and Obito sometimes would scroll through his phone while his grandparents chatter away.
It isn't popular dinner table etiquette and Obito knows it, which is why he left his phone in his room. But still, he did not attempt to join in on his grandparents' conversation, barely able to even lend even half an ear to listen to whatever they are saying. His mind is too plagued with the events that happened earlier today.
As the sound of his grandparents' talking blurs, Obito doesn't find himself eating his dinner anymore. He sits across the now unmistakable blonde, watching him eat dangos in some old-fashioned store. He could feel the man become irritated, then his mouth opens again not to eat, but ask him why he's staring and not eating his own snack.
"Obito," his grandmother says, "are you alright?"
Obito blinks, looking down at his box and feeling heat rush up to his face when he realizes he dropped his chopsticks. "Yeah," he mutters, picking them up. "I'm just tired from school today. I had to stay behind and help the art exhibition."
"That's nice," she replies. "You're helping around at the school. You're such a good boy."
He smiles, hurriedly finishing his meal. He stands, picking up the box and the chopsticks, uttering that he'll be returning to his room first. He throws away the rubbish on the way out and half-jogs back into his room, kicking the door shut before practically throwing himself down onto the bed.
Grabbing his pillow, he cries out into it, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to rid himself of these visions. What the hell is going on? He's way too confused right now to focus on doing his work, so he doesn't bother. He sits back up when he remembers he still has to take a shower and change out of his school uniform.
Letting the pillow fall, he looks down at his hands, touching them with a slightly concerned expression. Why does his skin feel so weird? He remembers that he used to love to wear gloves - especially half finger ones - and after a while, taking them off would leave your skin feeling prickly, as if unused to the world it has spent years feeling.
He squeezes his fingers in his right palm, trying to ignore the feeling and just move on. The day has become too weird for him to comprehend. It has to be stress from school that forces him to remain above the water.
He needs to move on.
88
When morning comes, Obito finds himself unable to get off the bed, frozen there by some force that keeps his mind reeling. What is he going to do? He wants to... well, talk to him. There's something there that Obito wants to acknowledge and he needs to know if Deidara feels it too. Or knows it. Or experiences it.
He had the night to think. It had to mean something that in his visions, in his dreams, that he keeps showing up. Maybe it doesn't really mean anything, maybe he really has heard of the bomb incident and seen his face somewhere while walking around school grounds, the face ingrained in his thoughts and the name seeping into his body.
But still, he wants to know even if it probably means nothing. There is such a strange feeling that Obito feels like he knows the blonde before, that they had been close. Have they met?
Growling out in frustration at his once again frantic mind, Obito tosses a pillow across the room and promptly falls off the bed by the strength of his throw. He tuts himself and rubs his back, grumbling about how he's an idiot as he picks himself off the ground, grabbing his phone from the charger to silence the alarm.
He always wakes up before it, anyway. It's there only because there are times where he oversleeps. His grandparents never know to wake him up.
Obito removes himself from the floor, sighing with the effort. He tosses his phone on his table and heads toward his closet, where he has hung up a new set of uniform the night before, after his shower. He takes it down from the hook and holds onto the clothes hanger, taking it with him into the bathroom.
It doesn't take him long before he's done preparing for school. His teeth brushed, hair straightened from being bed-ruffled, face fresh, and uniform tidy. He looks every bit of the student he is. Not a good one, but not a bad one. Just a student who knows better than to do something that would attract the Principal's attention.
What a scary woman she is. No one wants to deal with her, not even the two head prefects who have to constantly has to because of their job. Obito does not envy Pein and Konan their jobs and responsibilities.
Walking out of the bathroom, Obito heads back into his room to grab his schoolbag - packed after his shower last night - his phone, and his wallet.
The television is on, softly playing the news. He vaguely catches today's weather, but it isn't anything impressive. Just the usual cool, moody autumn as it slowly gives way to winter. His grandfather sits at the table, reading the newspaper as he eats breakfast.
"Good morning, grandson," he says in his gruff voice, taking a sip of his tea.
"Good morning, granddad," Obito replies, pulling out his usual chair to eat the small breakfast the old man had made for him.
Grandmother never wakes up this early. She used to, but her age prevents her from being energetic nowadays. Obito pours himself a glass of orange juice, setting it down next to his empty bowl of rice.
Pressing on the rice cooker's latch, he bats away the steam that rushes out of the container, reaching for the rice paddle to serve himself some rice.
He places a paddle-full into the bowl, observing it for a second. "Is that too much?" he asks himself, then shakes his head. "No matter."
He places the bowl down and begins to dig in, taking in some salted fish to serve it with the rice. He could hear his granddad put down his newspaper, shifting in his seat.
"Kakashi sent mail," the old man says suddenly, stopping Obito in his tracks.
"I don't want to read it," Obito replies coolly, continuing to eat his breakfast. "Throw it away."
"Why do you not want to talk to him, son?" His grandpa doesn't turn to face him, eyes now glued to the TV screen. "It's not his fault, Rin wrote so."
"I don't care," Obito hisses. "He couldn't protect her. I told him if anything happens to Rin, he has to talk to her, keep her safe. He didn't do it."
"Do you regret that we moved here?"
"...no." Not anymore.
The old man nods once, almost glad that he said that, and they lapse into a silence. Obito quickly finishes his breakfast, placing his chopsticks down delicately on the table and packing up most of the dishes he has finished.
"I'll be heading to school, now," he says to his grandpa, who simply grunts in return.
Obito gives the old man a glance, then grabs his backpack, his phone and wallet already in his pant pockets. The apartment door clicks loudly behind him, but he is used to the noise. He heads down the staircase and into the road, the dead lights overhead silenced for the morning sun.
The sun is weak, feeble rays wavering through the air and barely enough to keep Obito warm. Winter is definitely coming. He sighs, fishing into his pant pocket to grab his phone, unlocking it with a few strokes of his fingertips and bringing out the message box.
He has to try. There's no way his mind would let him rest this case if he doesn't. But maybe just not with Dokuzetsu, he isn't sure what the darker twin would make of the entire situation if he does ask. He exits out of the conversation with him, switching instead to find the lighter side of the Zetsu twins.
"Hey," he types in the box, sending it first.
The reply is almost instant, Jozetsu coming online and typing out a quick "hiya."
"Don't ask me why, but I need to know Deidara's number," Obito narrowly avoids walking into someone in front of him, who had stopped by the side of the road to take a smoke. The man glares at him, stabbing the cigarette butt into the ashtray embedded at the top of the trashcan to suffocate the burning tobacco.
He doesn't give that man any more attention and continues to head down the road to the train station, typing a response as best as he could without slowing his movement. Dangerous and idiotic and no doubt bothering the other pedestrians on the road, but Obito is not able to find himself to care.
He grips his phone tight as Jozetsu replies, probably already at school but hanging out near the convenient store outside to grab a quick snack as he is wont to. "I won' n' I can't 'cause I don' have his number. Dokuzetsu probably has it, he's responsible for most of their stuff. Even if he doesn', I'm sure he can ask one of the other peeps he's friends with."
"No, don't get your brother involved. Don't tell him we've had this conversation, either."
"Ok."
"Do you at least know where I can find him after school?"
"Accordin' to Doku, he almost always never leaves immediately after the bell rings. Either he's in the art room workin' on his displays or he's practicin' with the theatre club."
"Any more hints?"
"Heard today's timetable for his class has the second elective as the last lesson."
Obito steps onto the train, not the least impressed with the size of the crowd inside the train. He manages to stand in a spot on the cart without any unwanted physical contact so that he could respond to Jozetsu in peace, staring down at the glowing screen and ignoring virtually everyone and everything around him.
"And his second elective is?"
"Theatre."
"Artistic."
"They have a show comin' up, I think. Merchant of Venice by our dear ole pal, Shakespeare. You'll find him in there, I'm sure."
"Thanks."
Obito locks his phone right after the message sends, showing the delivered label. He shoves it back into his pant pockets, grabbing hold of one of the overhead handrails in the cart to keep himself steady as the train continues to rock as it twists and turns under the spiderweb of tunnels all mapped across Tokyo.
88
The school is loud and rowdy after the bell rings, the noise growing as each second pass. Students crawl out of their classrooms and leak into the canteen, gathering around the campus store for remaining snacks and drinks, chattering about whatever comes to their mind.
Obito rarely travels this path, walking down an unfamiliar hallway that leads him to the rest of the expansive art facility this school has. He takes this moment to admire everything around him, unknowing of all the awards and competition the school has entered and even won.
He traces the plaques with the tip of his finger and feels the engraved words beneath his skin, running along the length of the smooth golden metal. Cleaned almost every day, Obito muses, removing his finger when he notices that there isn't even a single dust particle inside the edges of the chiseled words. The Principal must be really strict about it all, no doubt proud of their work in the artistic side of Japan.
The artistic side of Japan is weird. Obito presses his lips into a thin line as he tries to recall where the theatre room is. Eventually, he finds the right path, turning right and reaching the double doors that lead him into the room. He peers through the tiny windows installed on the painted doors, noting the large amount of people on the stage.
The teacher is sitting in the audience, scribbling down on her notebook. Obito remembers her from when drama was a compulsory lesson during the beginning years of high school. Mrs. Sarutobi, he thinks her name is. She's friendly enough, he recalls, she'll let him in even if he doesn't really have a legitimate reason to be there.
Hell, he doesn't even know half the people in there on stage. None of his friends like drama.
Grabbing the handle, it twists in his hand and the door lets him in. It doesn't attract any attention and Obito stealthily slips by, remaining at the top of the stairs in order not to attract any attention. He looks down at the stage.
The whole room is bright. There is no special lights or effects to point out the main character and the people in the background are moving quickly. Although he has no clue what is happening, he recalls that when the light is not on them, the people in the background are officially classified as "invisible" to the audience, and thus no attention should be paid.
A boy, whom Obito does not think he knows and is probably of the lower forms, is delivering some lines to a person stage right. Much to his surprise, it is Deidara.
"There is more difference between thy flesh and hers than between jet and ivory, more between your bloods than there is between red wine and rhenish. But tell us, do you hear whether Antonio have had any loss at sea or no?" the boy is saying, not looking down at the script in hand.
"There I have another bad match!" Deidara exclaims. Obito struggles to keep up with the lines, unable to guess from such little context clues and limited knowledge of the play what character he is playing. "A bankrupt, a prodigal who dare scarce show his head on the Rialto, a beggar that was used to come so smug upon the mart. Let him look to his bond. He was wont to call me usurer; let him look to his bond. He was wont to lend money for a Christian courtesy; let him look to his bond."
"Why, I am sure, if he forfeit thou wilt not take his flesh," the boy responds, sounding all the most worried and confused. "What's that good for?"
"To bait fish withal." Deidara pauses, staring intently at the boy. "If it will feed nothing else, it will feed my revenge. He hath disgraced me and hindered me half a million, laughed at my losses, mocked at my gains, scorned my nation, thwarted my bargains, cooled my friends, heated mine enemies—and what's his reason?"
For all Deidara seemed to the rest of the school, Obito has to admit that he is a good actor. There are general heat and anger within his voice, trembling as each mockery is listed out. Obito contemplates on pulling out his phone and checking who he's playing but finds he cannot move from the spot as Deidara continues to speak after the small pause in his speech to catch his breath.
"I am a Jew," he eventually says, pressing his lips and turning away from the boy. He seems to think for a second and then looks back up, at Mrs. Sarutobi. "Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands, organs, dimensions, senses, affections, passions?"
He turns at an angle, putting his back toward the boy, pacing and physical language uneasy. "Fed with the same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases, healed by the same means, warmed and cooled by the same winter and summer as a Christian is?" The blonde turns back to face the boy this time, gesturing wildly as if to prove a point. "If you prick us, do we not bleed? If you tickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die? And if you wrong us, shall we not revenge? If we are like you in the rest, we will resemble you in that."
There is a mockery of a laugh. The rest of the cast is silent as they listen to him. Obito wonders idly, as each word Deidara utters seep into him, why the artist has not slipped up with his speech pattern. During his meeting in the art room yesterday, it seemed like he couldn't control himself with each grunt after a sentence. "If a Jew wrong a Christian, what is his humility? Revenge. If a Christian wrong a Jew, what should his sufferance be by Christian example? Why, revenge. The villainy you teach me I will execute—and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction."
"Okay!" Mrs. Sarutobi shouts, standing up from her seat and closing her notebook. "That's good. That's good, Deidara, you remembered your lines this time."
Deidara laughs, a chime that Obito seems shocked to hear, and bats his hand in the air. "I forgot my lines only once, hmm!"
"Once is enough!" Mrs. Sarutobi laughs merrily, slipping out of the row of seats. "Now, remember, practice is perfect. The show is in less than three weeks, so please re-read your lines if you have the time to. If you forget, make it look intentional. I'm very sure your schoolmates do not read Shakespeare in their free time and have the brain capacity to recall each line better than you. And, well, if there actually is a schoolmate who is that talented, please ask them to join the class."
She heads up the stage and hands them pieces of paper. "Have your parents sign this and give it to me tomorrow. You'll need to stay behind on Thursday in order to make sure the costumes fit, it won't take long but it's still important for your parents to know," she hands Deidara his letter last, patting his shoulder. She is taller than him by a few centimeters, so he lifts his chin a little to look at her in the eyes.
"Good luck on your art show!" she says, grinning wide. "We'll miss you next year."
Deidara grins back, thanking her. She lets go of his shoulder and waves to everyone, dismissing the class just half an hour later than the school day's end.
As she's jogging up the long stairs, she finally notices Obito standing near the door. "Tobi!" she calls his name, catching his attention and surprising him with her memory. "It's been a long time since I've seen you! Are you looking for me?"
"Ah, no," Obito smiles faintly, shaking his head. "I'm, uh, I'm looking for... one of your students here."
She studies him for a moment seemingly wondering if she should ask but then lets him go and nods. "Well, take your time. They still need to pack up the props and I have a meeting to attend. When you leave, remind them to shut the lights and lock the storage door."
"Okay," Obito nods, waving goodbye when Mrs. Sarutobi leaves, the door letting out a click when it shuts behind her. He turns his attention back to the stage, watching the people walk around and chattering. They seem excited and approachable, but Obito doesn't move toward the stage, instead opting to remain at the top of the stairs.
He isn't sure what he should do, to be honest with himself. He bites his lip as one by one, the theatre kids hop off the stage, walking up the stairs and giving him odd glances. Much to his surprise, Deidara didn't seem as eager as the other students to leave. That works to his advantage.
Not even five minutes later, the theatre room is void of life, except for backstage. Warily, Obito trails down the steps, his footsteps quieted by the carpet floor. He climbs the stage's steps and peers into the curtains, trying to catch a glimpse of bright blonde hair.
He hesitates near the edge, his hand gripping the soft fabric of the curtain. What he's doing is rather... creepy. He didn't know exactly why he's doing it, just that he knows there's a feeling deep inside of him that won't let him rest this case if he doesn't. He'd rather be able to focus than have to wonder 'what if's for the rest of his life.
Pushing those thoughts away, Obito looks around once again, eyes lighting up the moment he spots the blonde. Deidara has his hair down now, the river of gold cascading down his back. He wonders if he should call out, but then again he didn't want to spook the guy.
Deidara seems tense, working on packing up whatever props is left on the table. Ah, hopefully, he isn't creeping out the guy too much.
"H-Hey!" Obito finally decides to call out, lest he drags this on and has Deidara stand there forever since it seems obvious he's uncomfortable with his silent presence. "Deidara?"
Deidara doesn't move from his spot, but it's obvious he has stopped packing up. "I-I, uh, I wanted to talk to you," Obito tries to say, feeling at a loss for words. He laughs nervously, pitching himself in a tone that hopefully delivers as friendly rather than creepy.
"What?" Deidara finally says, turning around to glare at him through the strands of hair, blue eyes ablaze with a fire that could freeze any man's attempt at a heartwarming gesture.
"I, um, I was very moved by your performance!" Obito quickly says, letting go of the curtain and hastily heading over to Deidara, head bowed and hands clasped together.
Deidara seems unconvinced, or is it that he's disturbed by the fact that Obito had stood there and watched his practice? Obito doesn't know, and he doesn't think he wants to know, either. "A-And your art, too," Obito adds quickly, in an attempt to salvage this already seemingly unsalvageable conversation.
"...right..." Deidara mutters, turning to face him at an angle, still ready to bolt of Obito tries anything. They've only met once, and that meeting wasn't particularly good in the artist's book.
"I wanted to - to, discuss art with you," Obito says suddenly as if that idea just popped into his mind. "Do you want to go to the café? My treat!"
Deidara stares at him, confusion obviously written on his face, but he doesn't seem to have a good enough excuse to deny Obito. For a moment, it's just a staring contest, Deidara's darker golden brows coming together as his frown deepens.
"Alright, hmm," Deidara eventually says, sighing and turning away, grabbing the box of small props and heading toward the storage room.
Obito heaves a relieved sigh, shoving his hands into his pant pockets to stop himself from clenching them too hard, flattening them against his thighs to wipe off the sweat that had gathered. This is more nerve-racking than any unprepared exam he had to take combined. Are interpersonal relationships that important to him?
88
Even though it's nearing rush hour, given the extra time Deidara had spent practicing the Merchant of Venice and packing up the rest of the props that the younger members didn't want to help clean up, the café is nearly empty, with only a handful of other customers to tend to.
It is quiet, much quieter than any other time he has been here. Perhaps the other patrons must have accepted it to be a place unspokenly claimed by the students who often come here immediately after school ends, much like how Obito and Zetsu does.
"They upgraded the place," Obito says idly as he looks up from the edge of the new menu, cold sweat beginning to gather on his forehead when Deidara has not uttered a single word since they sat down. "The new lumber work is quite nice."
Deidara stares at him like he just spontaneously sprouted a second head. "What are you doing, hmm?" he grunts.
"I just - I just wanted to know," Obito pauses, tracing the plastic sheen of the menu with the tip of his finger as he tries to think of whatever that isn't I had dreams with you in it even though I've never met you and the feelings I felt when I looked at you shouldn't be this way. "More about you, I guess. Your art... it moved me. It was very touching, especially the one with the two birds."
When Deidara doesn't immediately respond, Obito fidgets and tries to pick up the flow of conversation. "So, who are you playing? In the... In Merchant of Venice?"
"Shylock, hm," Deidara says slowly, each word felt around his tongue before he utters them. "The antagonist."
"Oh!" Obito perks up, even though he isn't sure who Shylock is, he knows what the word antagonist means. "That's interesting. The speech you did seemed very righteous."
"Well, the enemy of his is a Christian and you know how they feel about themselves, yeah," Deidara says. "But even though Shylock is the supposed antagonist of the story, he has a point about how others judge and hate him just because of one characteristic of his. I should know, hm."
"You should know?" Obito tilts his head.
Deidara shoots him another glare that Obito could practically feel dig into his skin. "Why are you so behind on everything, yeah? Even kids from other forms know."
"Oh," Obito blinks. "I mean, yeah, totally. I know. I understand what you're saying."
The blonde heaves a sigh. "You can ask, hm."
It feels too private for him to. "No, no," Obito says quickly. "It just slipped my mind. I remember now. Say, do you want to order some food? I am getting hungry."
Grinning, Obito puts his hand up to wave a waiter over, ordering one of his favorites of the café and remaining silent when Deidara orders his meal too. They lapse into another silence when the waiter leaves after refilling their glasses with water, studying each other with barely concealed curiosity.
"What is art, to you?" Obito suddenly asks, putting his palms flat on the wooden table and feeling the creases of the material underneath his hand.
"You don't seem like a person to appreciate art, Uchiha Obito, hm," Deidara says almost teasingly, making Obito sputter, at a loss of words. Deidara waves him away, immediately picking up and refusing to let him put a word in before he manages to finish what he wants to say. "But I know, art is different to everyone, hm. Maybe you just couldn't find any meaning to art other than it being pretty to look at, maybe you're blind, yeah, but to me, art is more than just something I create.
"Life is fleeting, hm. One moment you're here, the next, you're gone. There's nothing you can do, yeah," Deidara nods along to his own words, looking away from Obito to pick up his glass of water and taking a sip from it. Obito watches him. "And anything in your life is also fleeting, too. Gone in a flash, hm. Memories, thoughts, ideas... feelings. Anything, yeah. There's nothing you can do about it.
"But when I sculpt it, yeah, when I make the clay take form and shape in my hands... It's different. That feeling never goes away and it feels like anything I pour into my art stays inside my mind, hm, that I remember every single detail. So in order to remember, I put it into my art, hm, to ingrain it into my brain. When I burn it all up, it's like a final stage where I'm sealing it all inside to prevent it from ever leaving, hm. Even if the physical sculpture is gone, I still remember it. It's still there, yeah."
Obito blinks, not even realizing their food had come in the middle of Deidara explaining his art. There's something different about this Deidara, something he couldn't put a finger on. He seems to be more... focused, filled with a kind of melancholy that he cannot help but retaliate. There is something that Deidara misses, but is it really his business to pry?
"Sometimes, yeah," Deidara suddenly speaks up again after their moment of silence to eat their ordered meals, his fork remaining inside the cake he has embedded it into. "When I sculpt, I feel happy, hm. Like I know someone will see it, hm, someone I... well. I'm not good with talking, yeah, I'm not good with expressing my feelings, that's another reason why I make my artwork. I make my artwork so that I can express myself, hm, so that other people can understand me and how I'm feeling."
Obito remains silent again, content with just listening to Deidara, the rumble of his baritone vibrating every fiber in his body. His words paint a picture in his mind, a picture of Deidara standing near the edge of a cliff, the wind blowing through his hair and a dully colored butterfly floating out of his outstretched palm, fluttering against the strong wind. He turns and Obito is once again greeted with those striking sapphire eyes, something twinkling beneath them that isn't its usual painful fire.
It seemed to him - as Deidara continues to talk in front of him - like he is looking for approval.
"Besides, art makes me feel free, hm. I don't need to follow anyone's rules when I make art. I'm free, yeah," Deidara finally turns his head and looks back up at Obito, blue eyes seemingly glowing as the sun begins to set outside, dousing the café in a pale golden glow.
All noise drowns out, the hum of traffic and the chatter of other diners cease. Obito could only swim within those ocean eyes, content with the bright future of uncertainty.
And slowly, a grin forms on his face, the sun reflecting against his skin and making it almost a little too blindly bright. "You can call me Tobi, you know," he says softly.
A truck passes by and bumps against the road outside, causing a loud crashing noise as its contents rattle inside. The noise fades when the truck drives further away. The slight flicker of light causes Obito to look away from Deidara's face, narrowing his eyes at the stream of light that is flowing through the large windows of the café.
A small inhale of air attracts Obito's attention, making him turn back to face the blonde sitting opposite of him. Deidara is grinning, ever so slightly, an expression that Obito cannot believe is directed to him. "Thanks, Tobi, yeah," the artist says, and in that moment, Obito does not think it is important to ask about what he did that made Deidara thank him.
88
It becomes a routine. Sure, it took a little while for Obito to convince Dokuzetsu to let him help every time, but at least Deidara is glad that Tobi is there for him.
They talk about nonsensical things, as well as communicating without really talking. It is strange to think that they have not been close before. Deidara hands Obito a tray filled with pieces of dried clay, and the Uchiha stares down at them with a confused expression.
The artist doesn't bother explaining what artwork it is a part of. He waves his hand and Obito obediently turns to head out of the door, knowing full well - because he has done this for three days now - that Deidara would be right behind him.
The two have clicked in a sense Obito has not been expecting, talking and bickering like old friends despite really meeting each other only a couple of days ago. Arriving at the exhibition room, Obito stands still with the tray in hand as Deidara picks the sculptures from it, placing them neatly and stylishly around a display they had both moved downstairs just yesterday. Obito has been more inclined to be Tobi around the blonde, poking and annoying the slightly younger boy whenever he gets the chance.
Teasing Deidara about his non-existent boyfriend is one of Tobi's favorite pastimes, and he is usually rewarded with a knuckle to the head. He doesn't mind because it feels way too natural, too familiar. The fire he has never been surrounded by but has always missed.
It feels right. It feels like for once in his life, he is complete and whole.
He places the empty tray into the sink per Deidara's orders but refuses to help the blonde wash it. He loiters around the room, peering here and there the leftover artworks of previous years' students as well as the work in progress artworks of the ones in lower forms. He wants to touch them but remembers the heavy scolding Deidara had given him when he tried that yesterday.
Shivering at the memory and rubbing his shoulder from the phantom pain of Deidara's furious punch, Obito turns and wonders where said fiery blonde is at.
Deidara is cleaning up the art room now that he has finished up what he planned to do today. He ignores Obito for the while, letting him do whatever he wants to while he cleans up the brushes and the tools he has used to fix up the sculptures. He made new pieces, too, on the fly, which left Obito to merely blink in amazement.
Unconsciously, Tobi finds himself heading over to the sinks. He stops his footsteps, but he is already closer than before. He contents himself with watching Deidara clean the bucket and the carving knives, somehow finding Deidara doing the simplest of tasks entrancing.
It is like Deidara could feel his eyes on him, and the blonde turns, those heavy eyes resting on Obito's suddenly too bare face. Taken by surprise, Obito acts merely by instinct, his lips curving into the most genuine smile he has ever sported ever since hearing about Rin's death.
Deidara rolls his eyes, but snorts out a laugh, pointing at the tray Obito has left unattended in the other sink. The artist very soon returns his attention to the dirty tools, but his smile remains on his lips. At that moment, the sun is the brightest, the glow of gold so much softer than Obito has ever known, leaving him stunned and rooted to the ground.
It is art. Tobi reaches out and holds it in his hand, in his heart, feeling it within his very soul, resonating. And it is beautiful.
Hey guys, Red here.
I'm not satisfied with Deidara's speech, but it's probably because I've spent way too long editing and thinking of what he'd say in the given context. My view of art to his is different and since I can't really ask him "what is art" I had to make it up for him. My memory of his art form isn't really that good so there might be some confusing points. I apologize.
If the speech pattern is weird to you, fear not. I made it so. In my mind, this is spoken in Japanese, as they are Japanese. Japanese grammar is obviously different, and I am using that idea to translate the sentences into English to better portray what they are really saying. It might be a bit confusing and I'm sorry about that.
I'm also sorry if this seems all over the place - I haven't been able to fully read everything over and make sure things make sense carrying down. It's been sitting alone and getting longer and longer, I had to quickly finish it before I decide to add at least two thousand more words into this chapter. As much as I think readers love long chapters, there should be an end to it and this is much longer than I originally anticipated. The ending, as you could probably tell, is rushed because I'm not good at describing montages - especially relationship building montages. My excuse for writing what I did will be explained in later chapters.
Note: from now on, Obito and Tobi would be used interchangeably.
Thanks for reading and feel free to drop a review,
redskiez:)
