Obsidian
Chapter Five: Loss
Asami's eyelids fluttered open, the dim, muted light of early morning stabbing at her senses. Her head felt as if it were made of stone, heavy and thick with disorientation. Her heart was pounding, the remnants of the panic attack still clawing at the edges of her mind.
She blinked slowly, gathering her bearings, and realized she was lying in her bed in her apartment. The familiar surroundings should have been comforting, but instead, there was only a lingering sense of shame, like a shroud suffocating her.
Asami looked around the room, her heart sinking when she finally saw Genma sitting by the window at her desk. His arms were crossed over his chest and his expression was unreadable, but there was an intensity to his gaze, a quiet concern.
"You're awake," Genma said, breaking the silence. His voice was calm, almost soft, but his eyes held something deeper— something like understanding, or maybe pity.
Asami shifted, pushing the blankets away, the heat of embarrassment at the thought of Genma pitying her already rising to her cheeks.
"You've been out for a while," Genma continued casually. Asami's stomach churned at the memory of collapsing in the exhibit room after Shizune's sudden request. It wasn't just the panic attack— it was that Asami couldn't keep it together that she'd let herself fall apart and allowed them to see it.
Asami wanted to speak, to assure Genma she was fine, that she didn't need anyone's pity, but the words stuck in her throat. Instead, she swallowed the shame and quietly said, "I'm fine."
Genma raised a brow, an almost imperceptible smile tugging at his lips at her stubbornness, "Yeah, you will be."
"Thank you for bringing me home," Asami muttered, reaching for a glass of water placed on her nightstand.
"Jirroko brought you back here," Genma corrected, "I saw him carrying you home."
Asami's heart skipped. "Jirroko?" She didn't even try to hide the surprise in her voice.
The air around her suddenly felt heavier. She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. Jirroko. The thought of him, standing over her as she panicked, as she crumbled into herself— she wanted to disappear. She had always been the strong one, always maintained her composure... and now she was weak and he had seen all of it.
Her stomach churned. She wanted to look away, to run from the feelings swelling inside her.
"I'm... sorry," she said, her voice barely a whisper, "I didn't want anyone to see me like that."
"Why apologize?" Genma's voice was softer, almost a murmur now, but with a knowing edge. He stood from her desk chair, approaching the open window as if he sensed her desire to be alone.
Jirroko grunted, pushing himself faster around the training grounds to ease his mind from the frustration and worry brewing. He could still hear the sound of Asami's breath— shallow, erratic, broken— echoing in his ears. The way she trembled in his arms, helpless and shattered, made something inside him twist. Something sharp and hollow, like a hole he couldn't fill.
He hadn't been able to fix her. Not then and not now.
His fists clenched, a ripple of familiar anger coursing through him— not at her, but at himself. He was supposed to protect her, but all he'd been able to do was hold her, like a shattered mirror trying to hold itself together, until Genma arrived.
Jirroko slowed to a halt as he sensed her familiar presence. He turned, watching as Asami entered the training grounds, deliberately slow. Jirroko's heart thudded painfully in his chest and he forced himself to breathe.
Asami stopped a few feet away; her face still pale but slowly regaining color, her eyes unsure. For a long moment, neither spoke, the tension thick between them. he could see the weariness in her— both physically and emotionally. He knew she was still battling the shame, that fragile thing she clung to in moments of vulnerability.
"How do you feel?" Jirroko finally asked, his voice rougher than he intended.
Asami swallowed hard, her gaze shifting from his eyes to the ground and back again. "I...I didn't want you to see me like that."
The words cut deeper than she probably meant. He could see it in her posture— the way she was trying to pull herself together, the way she was shielding the pain with cold distance again. She was embarrassed and ashamed and it hurt Jirroko to know she didn't trust him enough to at least admit it.
"You shouldn't be embarrassed," Jirroko muttered, the words low and raw, "And you don't owe me an apology."
Her lips pressed together, and she looked at him with those dark, quiet eyes— eyes that hid so much. The guilt in his chest gnawed at him. She was hurting, and he couldn't fix it regardless of how much he wanted to.
"Jirroko," she said, her voice breaking slightly, "I... I can't do this."
She turned to leave, but he reached out, his hand closing around her wrist, holding her there. She didn't pull away, but the tension in her body was palpable.
"Jirroko..." Her voice was softer now, almost pained. "Please don't look at me like that."
There it was— the weight of the unspoken. The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted to respond, to say something comforting, something that would make her feel less exposed, but the words wouldn't come.
The silence between them stretched taut, heavy with everything they couldn't say. He stood there, his chest tight, feeling like the air itself had gone still around them. He could feel it building inside him— the urge to say that it didn't matter to him, that he was there for her, that it didn't change how he felt about her.
Just as Jirroko parted his mouth, ready to spill the words he'd kept hidden for too long damned be it all, a voice interrupted them.
But the moment was slipping away, and before he could open his mouth, there was a rustle in the trees behind them. Jirroko's eyes darted to the movement, his heart sinking as two figures emerged—Kakashi and Jiraiya, walking casually toward them.
Kakashi, in his usual nonchalant manner, gave them a small wave. "Hey, Jirroko, Asami. Hope we're not interrupting anything."
Jiraiya was right behind him, flashing a grin that seemed entirely too knowing for the moment. "Looks like a nice little scene here, doesn't it?"
Jirroko's grip on Asami's wrist tightened before he let go. He could see the disappointment in himself reflected in her eyes and he hated it. Jirroko felt the words he'd been about to say—the ones that had been sitting at the edge of his tongue, suffocating him in his chest—slip away like sand through his fingers.
Dammit.
"Master Jiraiya stumbled across some old ruins during his travels. He thinks it might be of use to us," Kakashi explained.
"Ruins?" Asami repeated.
"Yeah, I know I've got a scroll around here somewhere," Jiraiya muttered, patting himself in search of the document. "Shit, I think I left it in Tsuna's office."
Jirroko shifted his weight from one foot to the other, the weight of the moment still hanging in the air like a cloud. He glanced at Asami briefly before he turned to Jiraiya, who still searched for the scroll he'd misplaced.
"Alright, let's go get it then," Jirroko muttered, trying to keep his voice steady. "You said it was in Lady Tsunade's office?"
"Yeah, yeah," Jiraiya replied, already turning to leave, his mind clearly elsewhere, "Or maybe I dropped near the bathhouse when I was doing research?"
Jirroko sighed, his frustration bubbling up as he followed the older man. He glanced over his shoulder once more at Asami, but she didn't meet his gaze. The words he'd wanted to say earlier—those fragile, unspoken things—felt even more distant now as if they were lost in the wind.
As they disappeared into the woods, the tension between Asami and Jirroko seemed to linger like a ghost. Kakashi, having watched the whole interaction unfold with quiet observance, shifted his gaze toward her. The subtle changes he had noticed over the last few days were all too clear now.
Asami stood still for a moment, lost in thought, before turning her attention to Kakashi, her voice soft, but laden with the weight of embarrassment, "You saw me at the Memorial Stone, didn't you?"
Kakashi's visible eye softened slightly, and he replied in his usual measured tone, "I did." His gaze flicked to her, then down to the ground. There was an almost imperceptible shift in his posture, as though he was weighing his words carefully. "It's... hard, isn't it?" He added, not probing, but acknowledging.
Asami hummed softly, her gaze drifting downward as she processed Kakashi's words. He hadn't tried to comfort her or offered empty words of encouragement. Instead, it was as if he simply saw her, and understood her pain in a way that felt real, not patronizing. That in itself was more meaningful than any reassurance.
Kakashi broke the silence, his voice softer than usual. "Your hair," he began, pausing briefly as he rubbed the base of his neck awkwardly, "It's custom for Somas to grow their hair long after awakening their eyes, right? I don't think I've seen your hair long since we were kids."
The unexpected shift in conversation caught her off guard. She blinked, frowning slightly as she looked at him. "How did you know that?"
Kakashi hesitated for a moment, then answered sheepishly. "Research."
Asami's fingers instinctively went to tuck a strand of her short hair behind her ear. She let out a small, quiet sigh. "Long or short… it doesn't change the way I feel."
Kakashi's visible eye crinkled as he smiled, the expression gentle. "I understand the feeling."
Asami looked at him in surprise. "You… do?"
Kakashi shrugged, his hands slipping into his pockets. He looked away, his voice low but steady. "You've heard the rumors, I'm sure. Kakashi, the 'friend killer.' They say I took this eye from Obito."
There was a moment of silence as Asami let his words sink in, the weight of his own pain almost strangely mirroring hers. "I never believed those rumors," she replied quietly, her voice soft but steady.
Kakashi gave a small, half-hearted shrug. "Doesn't matter what they think, does it? It doesn't change how we feel." His tone was nonchalant, but there was something deeper there—a quiet acceptance of the burden he carried.
Asami studied him, her gaze lingering to memorize his visible face, the way his hair defied gravity, and how his shoulders seemed to carry more weight than before. She felt the years pressing on both of them, the silent told of everything they'd lost The world had stolen so much from them, and now, even the few who remained didn't seem to have the answers. She glanced away, focusing on the trees ahead, her fingers itching for a cigarette.
"We were kids..." Asami trailed off, her voice distant, "I thought we had time... time to figure things out, to grow into the people we were supposed to become," Asami's lips pressed into a thin line, "But I didn't."
Kakashi's expression softened as his own losses stirred in the quiet between them. He didn't respond right away, his hands slipping into his pockets as he shifted his weight. There was a long pause, the silence hanging heavily between them. He wasn't used to seeing Asami so... defeated.
"I don't know what it means anymore," Kakashi finally said, his voice softer than usual, "Maybe it doesn't mean anything. Maybe we're just here because we're still alive, because we have no other choice but to keep going. What I do know is that the hole in your heart is something other people can fill. If you keep rejecting your friends' feelings and this world... no one will ever come to you. And so that hole won't be filled either. As long as you don't give up, you can still be saved."
Asami let out a slow breath, acknowledging his words. For a while, she was quiet.
"Maybe," she finally muttered, her voice a bit distant. Asami's gaze remained fixed on the ground. She wasn't sure what to say to that. She wasn't sure she could ever accept that, but somehow, hearing him say it made the weight of it all feel a little less heavy.
For a moment, they stood in silence, the distant sounds of the forest around them growing louder in the stillness. Neither of them spoke, but in the quiet, Asami felt something shift—something between them that was familiar, yet tinged with the sadness of everything they had lost. They weren't the same people they'd been when they were kids. They were older, scarred by time and battle, and perhaps, they had been since the moment they lost their teachers, their comrades.
But in the end, they were still here. Even if neither of them knew why anymore.
The Hokage's presence was like a weight, the tension in the air thick, the kind of atmosphere that always preceded serious business. Lady Tsunade was hunched over her desk, her eyes scanning the papers before her.
When she looked up, her expression was sharp, her voice clipped, "Kakashi. Asami." Lady Tsunade stated, not wasting time with pleasantries, "I've got a mission for you two."
Kakashi tilted his head slightly as he slid his hands into his pocket. Asami remained stoic, hands clasped behind her back, instantly noticing Shizune's absence.
"Jiraiya came across some ruins near the border of the Land of Tea. I'm sending you two to investigate," Lady Tsunade explained, her voice steady.
Asami's brows furrowed, "Lady Tsunade, how are these ruins of use to us?"
Lady Tsunade leaned back in her chair, "That's what you're going to find out. Dismissed."
"Understood," Asami confirmed, turning to leave, her body already moving with the familiar automatic grace of someone used to going into dangerous situations. Kakashi fell into step beside her as they walked down the hall, the quiet between them comforting.
Asami could feel it—the weight of the mission pressing down on her already, her mind slipping into the familiar rhythm of preparation.
Kakashi and Asami parted ways once they reached the front of the Hokage's building. They had decided to depart at first daylight. Asami ran across the rooftops, veins coursing with adrenaline at the thought of the mission. She needed to prepare, gather supplies, and double-check everything she needed for the journey.
As she neared her apartment complex, she saw the familiar silhouette of her cousin Kyami nearing.
Asami halted, landing several feet away from her cousin. "I didn't realize you were waiting for me," Asami stated, trying to sound indifferent, but the sharpness in her voice betrayed her weariness. The last few days had taken a toll on her, both physically and emotionally, and she wasn't in any mood to entertain her cousin at the moment.
"This is the longest you've stayed in Konoha after a mission. This means you're here to stay, right?" Kyami questioned, the edge in her tone cut through the air.
Asami stepped closer, the knot in her stomach tightening. The tension between them was nothing new, but it had been simmering for a while now. Kyami's resentment had been there since they were kids. It was the kind of thing Asami couldn't really name, but she felt it in the air, in the way Kyami's eyes always seemed to linger on her— calculating, measuring, waiting for an opportunity.
"You're always here, aren't you?" Asami muttered, unable to stop herself. "You think I don't notice you watching?"
Kyami's hands clenched at her side, her jaw tightening. The fire in her eyes was unmistakable now, and it was clear the simmering resentment she carried wasn't going to stay buried any longer.
"Yeah, I've been watching," Kyami spat, her voice laced with venom now. "Watching you act like you're so much better than me. Like you're the only one who's suffered— the only one who's lost anything." Kyami's words were like a slap, the anger boiling over in a way that frightened Asami, although she would never give her cousin the satisfaction of admitting it.
Asami's hands tightened into fists, the bitterness of Kyami's words settling in her gut. She had heard this before. Not directly, but enough. And still, it hit her like a wave. Kyami wasn't just jealous, she was furious. Furious that Asami seemed to glide through the world, untouched by the pain that had ripped through everyone. Furious that Asami carried herself like she had a right to be here when so many others weren't.
Asami found it ironic.
"You think I haven't lost enough?" Asami's voice was low, dangerous now. The familiar cold fury boiled inside her, threatening to consume everything around her. "You think you can just decide you're better than me because you've been through some hardship? Do you even know what real loss feels like?"
Kyami's breath was quick and shallow, her body tense as the fury inside her activated her eyes.
"I don't need you to tell me what loss feels like!" Kyami shouted, her voice full of rage, "I lost my father! But you act like you're some kind of martyr! Like you're the only one who's had to suffer!"
Asami's gaze sharpened, her eyes glowing as her chakra surged. Kyami hesitated, sensing the shift in the air, the dark aura radiating off her cousin. She knew, at that moment, she might have miscalculated.
"You dare look at me with those eyes," Asami hissed, her voice low and venomous.
"We have the same eyes now," Kyami shot back, her voice steadier than she felt. her heart pounded in her chest, but the fire of her anger still burned bright.
"No, we do not," Asami whispered, her voice a cold blade. In an instant, Asami lunged, and before Kyami could react, she found herself ensnared in a genjutsu. The world around her twisted into a grotesque battlefield, blood and screams filling her senses.
Asami's hardened expression softened just slightly as she watched Kyami struggle within the illusion. Her cousin's breaths came shallow and ragged, eyes wide in terror. Then Asami noticed it—a scroll jutting out from Kyami's flak jacket pocket, partially hidden but easily within reach.
With a flick of her wrist, Asami plucked the scroll from her cousin, tucking it into her own pocket without a second glance.
The genjutsu dissolved, and Kyami collapsed to her knees, gasping for air. Her chest heaved with every breath, her body trembling from the aftershock.
"I'll surpass you, Asami," Kyami whispered between ragged breaths, her voice strained but full of determination. "I'll become stronger than you ever were, and then you'll truly understand."
Asami's lips twisted into a disapproving click of her tongue. "You think you're the only one who understands loss?" she murmured, barely audible.
Kyami's eyes burned with fury. With one last glance at Asami, she pushed herself to her feet and leaped from the roof, vanishing into the night.
Asami stood alone in the cold, October wind, the silence swallowing the words that had been said. She closed her eyes for a moment, allowing the chill to seep into her bones, grounding her. The familiar ache settled in her chest—the weight of something lost. She had no more words left, and Kyami's fury burned too hot for anything to reach her now.