'You can't heal what you refuse to confront.'
"Obito." she hesitantly began. "Why does no one come visit?"
He held a finger to his lips in contemplation; how best to explain it to her?
His family wanted nothing to do with him after he told them that he didn't care to follow in his forefathers footsteps as a farmer. His mother despaired and his father was angry — he was an only child — and so he ran away.
He didn't get very far until a golden man with blue eyes and wide smiles took him back home.
Only, there was no home. It had burned to the ground. The harvesting machine had exploded and they died. No one would have found their bodies.
He lived with the golden man for a time, then a red woman came and butted in where she wasn't needed. He hated her for taking his golden man from him.
He ran away again. A black-haired man, pale of face and sharp of eyes found him.
No one found him after that.
And here he was today, with the hands of a murderer, the soul of a twice-damned coward and the eyes of a vigilante trying to atone for his sins.
The sharp-eyed man had a house of white, white, white.
I hate white.
He made friends, lost some, gained a few more, got them out of and into trouble on a regular basis, and no one visited.
Obito seldom felt sorry for himself. He let them die, he left him without a word, he killed him.
Why would anyone come?
So he wrote No idea. But so long as you're here, it's enough.
She looked up at him, confused, but stood him up anyway and took him for a walk.
It truly was enough.