Archive of Our Own

[Konoha, Hatake Residence, 1994]

Staring at the ceiling, the man closed his eyes again. Why do I keep doing this?  Every morning, it becomes more and more difficult to wake up, but he still falls asleep, even though he hasn't needed sleep for a long time.

With a heavy exhale and a loud groan, completely uncharacteristic for a young man, Obito sat up on the bed, his feet touching the wooden boards.

It's so cold.

He felt for his slippers, put them on, and slowly stood up.

The man went to the window and leaned his forehead against it. He watched as the raindrops in front of his face dripped down the glass. Obito breathed hot air on it and drew a smiley face. Moving away from the window, he headed for the bathroom.

He looked at himself in the mirror and began to wash his face. The water is freezing. Obito wiped his face with a towel, staring at his reflection, at his empty eye socket. He reached out to trace the outline of his eyelid, then his scars. He continued the movement up to his neck, tilting his head to the side, studying it carefully, as if searching for any changes.

Nothing new.

Kakashi was sitting in the kitchen. In a sweater. Too big. Obito exhaled and nodded to him, walked over to the sink and got himself a glass of water, several ninken trailing behind him.

The Hatake household is always quiet in the morning. They both prefer silence and casual gestures over empty words. The only sounds are the clicking of dogs' claws on the floor and the occasional heavy breathing of Kakashi.

Leaning against the kitchen counter, Obito sipped his water, stroking Bull's head and out of the corner of his eye tracing the outlines of Kakashi's silhouette, who was quietly finishing his breakfast while reading a book, its pages yellowed and worn — obviously read dozens of times.

How will he react if I buy him a fresh copy?  Obito thought involuntarily, scratching his stomach. 

Looking from the fingers holding the book to the plate, Obito watched as Kakashi scooped up food with his chopsticks. It looked like he had made scrambled eggs with spicy stewed eggplant and reheated yesterday's mashed potatoes. Obito glanced over to the stove, where a frying pan was sitting, holding two more scrambled eggs, some fried mashed potatoes with a golden crust, and some eggplant.

When Kakashi cooked for himself, he always made two portions. One for himself, the other for later. But sometimes, when Obito was feeling human, he would steal a second portion and eat it with Kakashi. Surprisingly, Kakashi never objected, even though it was a waste of food.

Today, Obito felt like a human.

After scooping food onto his plate, he sat down opposite Hatake. Bull immediately lay down next to him. Bumping Kakashi's leg with his ankle, he began eating breakfast. Kakashi just glanced at him lazily, turning the page. Obito was terribly annoyed by how sleepy he looked in his sweater.

Today, Kakashi was at home, unlike Obito himself — he had to interrogate a particularly silent prisoner and sort through a pile of documents.

He chewed, watching Kakashi, who had finished his meal long ago, but continued to read motionlessly, as if he were reading the most exciting thing in the world.

Obito knew what exactly so exciting could be found there.

Pervert.

As if on command, Kakashi's cheeks turned pink, and a faint smile appeared on his lips. Well, sure enough, he had reached a "particularly interesting" scene. It was usually pretty mediocre porn. For a moment, their eyes met. Obito managed to notice the dilated pupils before Kakashi lowered his head, hiding his eyes behind a lock of hair.

"I can't believe you've been reading this since early morning, right after waking up," Obito muttered, stirring his tea, pouring in even more sugar.

Kakashi looked at him with his right eye, the pupil back to its normal size. He ran his tongue over dry lips, a smile blossoming on them.

It was at moments like these that Obito hated that he sometimes walked around the house without a mask.

"How did you know I was even asleep?" Kakashi closed the book, holding his index finger between the pages like a bookmark. Obito glared at him, not expecting any other answer.

"And what were you doing all night? Reading?" Obito nodded at the book.

Kakashi just mumbled in response, opening the page again.

Obito exhaled heavily. Only now, looking closely, could he notice the dark circles around Kakashi's eyes.

"Dumbass."

Obito slowly looked around his desk, returning to the department. Mitarashi Anko was already sitting on it. Today, surprisingly, she was calmer than usual: her movements were smoother, her gaze less frantic, even her hair didn't look so wild. The only thing that spoiled this image was the blood that had hardened under her sharp nails. Obito had almost no doubt: she was bored, and she had chosen him as the next "victim."

"Having a rough day?" he asked, stopping in front of her.

"More like a week. Or maybe a month," Anko exhaled heavily and slid back a little, settling down more comfortably.

"Whole life?" Obito suggested.

She snorted.

"Well, it definitely didn't treat you right. And to think that all of this has led you to the point where you're sitting here and..." she grabbed the first piece of paper on the table and quickly scanned it, "... writing reports about spies and amateur attempts to kill the Hokage. I can't imagine that such a capable person is being tasked with paperwork."

"The days I work outside the buiding are much more interesting, aside from the torture and interrogation, of course," he replied dryly.

Obito noticed from the corner of his eye that several colleagues nearby were watching him suspiciously. And for good reason — from time to time, he would pull little pranks: swap someone's bento, cover someone's office with glitter that couldn't be washed off, leave strange notes for assistants, stick stickers on his boss's back, or hang posters of unknown origin on the walls of the restroom. No one ever had any proof — but everyone suspected.

Fair.

"I've been sent on an elimination mission for the third time in a week. You may be jealous," Anko's eyebrow arched elegantly, and her mouth took on a smug look.

"Is that why you haven't had time to take care of yourself?" Obito remarked softly.

She smiled predatorily — he had clearly hit the mark.

Before jumping off the table, Anko deliberately knocked over a stack of books. They fell onto his work surface with a loud thud. Anko didn't even flinch.

"Oops," she said with absolutely no remorse and walked away leisurely, her hands in the pockets of her beige coat.

Obito glanced at her, exhaled, and began to clean up the mess.

He will count it as a draw.

Today's victim of his information-stealing methods turned out to be a kid hardened by a hard life. Protective walls can be built, but they can also be dismantled slowly, brick by brick, leaving only a naked, vulnerable nature.

Obito, at that moment, saw only a child in front of him, who should never have been in such a situation. Children's hands should not be stained with red-hot blood.

CRIMINAL REPORT

Hidden Leaf Village — Department of Homeland Security

Gender: Female

Age: 16 years old

Status: Civilian (suspected of involvement in several of serious crimes)

Notes: Suspected of possessing Kekkai-Genkai, which allows for prolonged invisibility and disappearance.

KNOWN DATA

At approximately ten years of age, the subject was picked up by an unidentified rogue shinobi.

The suspected mentor had been teaching her survival skills, silencing her own emotions, and fostering total distrust of those around her for several years.

The subject eliminated her mentor after completing his "last lesson."

CRIMINAL ACTIVITY

To survive, the subject resorted to:

thefts;

murders;

debt accumulation;

performing "dirty work" and immoral assignments.

The subject's last recorded purpose was to attempt to collect the bounty for the assassination of the Fourth Hokage.

MOVING AND BEHAVIOR IN KONOHA

She arrived in Konoha about a week ago, posing as a civilian.

The subject was recorded to have carefully studied the layout, security, and weak points for a possible strike on the Hokage.

POTENTIAL AND CAPABILITIES

The subject demonstrates high natural abilities, in particular Kekkai-Genkai, which allows:

become invisible;

to remain unnoticed for a long time.

This ability makes her extremely dangerous as a hired assassin.

MISSION FAILURE

Question: What caused the failure of the attempt to eliminate the Fourth Hokage?

 

Answer: Seven-year-old Uzumaki Naruto.

On his way home, Obito decided to run to a restaurant and buy a takeaway dinner for Kakashi, because he had eaten his second breakfast this morning. And Hatake definitely wouldn't be cooking today: he was probably still asleep.

As soon as Obito opened the door, Bull met him in the hallway. Ninken just stared silently at the package in his hands.

"It smells tasty," he grumbled, as always terse.

"How's Kakashi?" Obito asked, taking off his shoes.

Bull nodded to the side. Obito looked up and saw Kakashi in the shadows of the passage. He stood leaning against the doorframe, looking both rested and exhausted. Like a ghost.

Obito bit his lower lip.

"I brought you dinner."

Exactly what he had feared: Kakashi was angry with him. His gaze was cold, his eyebrows furrowed, his stance tense to the point of exhaustion.

Obito slowly moved closer.

"How is your head?" he asked.

Kakashi looked down at the floor.

"You know how."

"Did you take the painkiller?"

Shaking of head. No.

"Sorry," Obito said quietly.

Hatake looked at him again with his right eye — sharp, too clear.

"You know, what you least expect from the person you trust the most?" he began calmly, but unusually firmly. His Sharingan slowly opened, a black pattern on red cutting through the semi-darkness.

While Obito's slow brain tried to gather his scattered thoughts, his heart had already jumped to his throat and settled there.

"That," Kakashi continued, "this person will use the technique he uses against enemies on you. And for what? To make you fall asleep. Knowing the consequences. Knowing how poorly the human body tolerates sleepy spores."

"You know I wouldn't do this if you went to bed like a normal human being!" Obito exploded. "Stop sulking. Go eat."

The Uchiha abruptly pressed the food package against Kakashi's chest — almost pushing it into his hands — and disappeared in a whirlwind of Kamui.

[Konoha, Training Ground No. 7, 1982]

"It's irrational, Minato-sensei," Kakashi hissed, trying to reach his mentor, "to keep me here, forcing me to play genin with them. As an active chunin..."

"Don't forget that your chunin status was temporary and only valid during martial law, Kakashi." The teacher reminded him gently. "For now, you are still officially considered a genin, just like them." Minato pointed his palm in the direction where the Uchiha and Nohara were practising their useless, chaotic movements that were hard to call techniques. "If you want to pass the exam, you should wait until your comrades catch up with you."

"This will take forever," Kakashi remarked, frowning.

"As much as they need." 

"Here," Loser-Number-One stood over Kakashi, his awkward silhouette blocking out the sun. He held a small bento in his outstretched hand.

"What is this?" Kakashi asked skeptically. As far as he could remember, he hadn't lost his lunch boxes. Could it be that this was a bribe?

"This is bento, idiot," Jackanapes grimaced and impatiently shook the box in Kakashi's face.

"Why do I need your lunch?" Does Kakashi look like he's starving? Kakashi examined his thin but well-muscled arms.

"It's not...! Argh! It's just... Whatever!" The Uchiha abruptly thrust the bento into his hands and turned away just as quickly, hastily running away as far as he could. Kakashi watched as he clumsily climbed a tree and disappeared into the leaves in an instant.

"It was his grandmother who made it," a calm voice from behind told him. Kakashi turned his head to see Nohara Rin sitting on a rock nearby. She was slowly chewing on something from her bento, almost identical to the one the Uchiha had pushed into his hand.

"And?"

"She prepared bento for the whole team and asked Obito to hand it to us," Nohara nodded towards Minato, who was eating lunch, sitting in the shade of a tree and chatting with his girlfriend, "mine even has shrimp in it." her eyes sparkled playfully.

Kakashi looked down at the box on his sharp knees.

There were also shrimp inside this bento.

"You're doing it wrong," Kakashi observed the team for five whole months, not interfering in their training process, fulfilling their obligations, diligently completing low-rank missions, training regularly and interacting with the team as little as possible. According to his calculations, in half a year, his "team" should have improved its level... But he clearly overestimated their capabilities, especially when the individual "Uchiha Obito" cannot even correctly place his fingers for a simple sign.

"Huh?" The Uchiha looked around uncertainly, as if he didn't immediately realise that he had been addressed. His gaze finally focused on Kakashi. "What?"

Kakashi sighed, stood up and moved closer. He raised his hands, displaying the Ox sign.

"The fingers should be in this position. You're putting them wrong," he held his hands almost in front of Obito's face. Obito looked at them as if they had offended him personally.

Then his face twisted in anger — a standard Uchiha reaction.

"I know that! I don't need your stupid lectures!" The idiot pulled back, slapping Kakashi's hands.

Kakashi remained standing, neither his hands nor his gaze removed. And for the first time in a long time, he felt a familiar, unpleasant gnawing in his stomach — the kind that only accompanies true disappointment.

"We used to be friends," Kakashi watched as Rin's bare feet slapped the surface of the water when she suddenly spoke, "remember?"

"No," Kakashi cut off the attempt to start a conversation with him.

"And I thought your memory was better than mine," Rin smiled broadly, showing all her crooked teeth, "walking around after the academy until late...  the evenings in the kitchen... green wounds on my knees, mosquito bites on my arms. I miss those times. You disappeared from our lives so abruptly that we didn't even have time to say goodbye. You've changed a lot, you know?"

Kakashi continued to silently stare at the lake, where Obito was trying to learn to walk under his teacher's supervision. His chakra control was still... well, abysmal. He couldn't skillfully multitask: maintain focus, keep chakra in his feet, and, for example, catch the rhythm of a game of hand-to-hand clapping with Minato.

The Uchiha was currently singing some silly song while simultaneously trying to dodge the beach ball his teacher and his clone were throwing at him. His feet would dip partially, but he would immediately put them back up.

"Progress," Kakashi remarked aloud.

Rin looked at him, confused, as if trying to read his expression.

"I guess so," she said uncertainly. "You can't escape change."

[Konoha, T&I, 2000]

Obito looked at the dead man lying on the morgue table, biting the inside of his cheek. The corpse was fresh, dead for about three days.

His Sharingan blossomed, Obito's gaze swept over his chest, his eye registering the almost faint traces of chakra that adorned his body in ragged patterns. The chakra he saw had no direction; it was chaotic, like an explosion that could not seem to gather into shape. No specific techniques, just a presence.

It definitely belonged to the victim himself, while the killer either hid the chakra or had almost none.

Gender: male, approximately thirty-five years old.

Degree of decomposition: minimal. Three days — but without the characteristic swelling, without a pungent odour. As if someone had muted the natural process.

The Sharingan slowly spun, a red light gliding over the body. Neither injury was fatal in itself; the person seemed to be dying from trying to survive the chaotic changes in the body.

The victim's eyes were missing, removed almost gently.

Obito leaned closer, peering into the empty eye sockets. Whoever did this either didn't want to leave any trace of emotion or was afraid to look their victim in the face.

Examining the half-open mouth, Obito noticed the absence of teeth. Taking the instrument, he pushed back the cheek tissue to examine it more closely. As he suspected, all the teeth had been removed, and the wounds neatly healed. The tongue was adorned with the seal of muteness; the killer did not want to hear the screams of the victim.

He looked down at the man's hands, which lay folded on his stomach, fingers intertwined in a familiar gesture.

The hands and ankles were clean, and there were no marks. As Obito read, the analysis showed the presence of a paralysing substance in the blood. So the victim felt everything, but had no way to resist.

All three victims had injuries of varying degrees, but they were united by three factors: all three had fresh, healed wounds; all three were washed clean; all three had their hands folded in a jutsu sign.

Obito wrote the following in his notebook:

Victim #3 — Hare

Rin was washing her hands in the sink when Obito found her in the sick police officer's ward.

Today, a colleague who had been performing autopsies on the bodies of all three victims fell dead at his workplace. Obito noticed the pattern too late: he constantly joked that he saw "shadows" — and died in a short period. As it turned out, he had been ill for a long time. According to others, the deterioration of his condition was recorded about two weeks ago. According to Obito's chronology, the period of his illness began shortly after his first contact with the victims of the "Twelve Signs". Contacting the Konoha police, Obito confirmed his theory by receiving answers.

Members of the group who had contact with the corpses either: either were lying sick in the hospital; were already lying in the ground.

He immediately went to the hospital.

List of symptoms that doctors managed to record:

Sensory failure accompanied by distorted perception of the environment; pulsations in the fingertips; tingling on the skin

Dissociations and hallucinations

Violation of chakra channels

Also, physical symptoms that appeared too late:

Coughing up blood

Small blue spots on the chest

Convulsions that come in waves

Feeling that the heart is beating in two rhythms at the same time

Doctors felt completely powerless: there was no infection, no toxins, no curse — but people were dying.

The flow rate was as follows:

Mild symptoms - after 24 hours.

Hallucinations and chakra disorders - after 4–7 days.

Severe physical manifestations — 7–9 days.

Death - on the 12th day, if it progresses to the end at all.

Rin looked surprisingly cheerful, working through a stressful situation, Obito noted. She walked him out of the hospital and out the door once he had all the information available.

"It looks like an amateur in medicine is trying to create a bicycle, using massacre as their tools. Be careful, Obito," she kissed him on the cheek, sending him off into the snowstorm, her smile soft.

This killer didn't just slaughter his victims — he left something on them.

Something contagious.

Something that had no name.

The next day, another body was found.

Victim #4 — Bird

Obito had been to all the locations where the bodies were found, but each time he had returned with nothing. It was obvious that the killer had transported the bodies from somewhere else — where he had been conducting his experiments — and then moved them, probably with scrolls.

Having outlined the points on the map, he noticed that the four places of death formed a clear diamond.

The killer followed a pattern.

He added symmetrical points, mirroring the existing ones, and repeated until he had a larger rhombus of eight vertices — with a ninth inside.

The last three dots created a kind of "tails", turning the rhombus into a kite.

Having passed the tip to the leadership, he ordered ANBU patrols to be posted in these places.

Less than three days later, he was summoned to the interrogation room. There sat a frightened boy who, according to the ANBU report, had brought the scroll to the entrance to the Hokage Residence and activated it, releasing the fifth corpse.

Obito ran his finger along the top of the diamond on the map and wrote in his notebook:

Victim #5 – The Dragon

"I didn't know what was in it!"

How did you get this scroll?

"I found it on the table in the apartment; it had a note with a threat to harm my family and me."

Is that really all?

"It also said about the reward... and not to activate the scroll prematurely. And instructions on how to do it and where to go."

He was telling the truth. He had no contact with the killer. No involvement.

The killer was no fool.

Obito visited Orochimaru, but he only laughed sarcastically:

"I leave no trace behind, Uchiha. I prefer the complete destruction of the bodies and the removal of evidence. This guy of yours wants a show. They want everyone to see what they're capable of. Let them finish the show.”

Sometimes it seemed to him that this man did not exist, and that the whole affair was a figment of his overactive imagination. After all, it would be so easy to ignore the murders, wouldn't it?

He thought he was looking out of an open window, but in reality, he was looking into a mirror.

He imagined himself in the murderer's place - and saw himself.

Can a person, blurred in their own reflection, catch someone who may not be real?

[Data missing]

Cold, I'm so Cold. 

The dampness gnaws at the bones. Whole body aches—as if his skin and muscles have been ripped off. Everything is bloody. Blood. Blood. Blood.

There are no limbs. None. Crushed.

Heart is beating too fast, head is pounding.

Where am I? 

Can a corpse have feelings?

He hates. There is so much, so much hatred in him. But all he can do with it is let the hot tears flow down to his ears.

It's unfair.

It's unfair that the only thing keeping him warm here is his tears. 

It's unfair that they instantly freeze, leaving icy trails on the skin.

It's unfair that his neatly constructed world collapsed the moment he fell under the rubble.

It's unfair that what he believed in all his life turned out to be a lie.

It's unfair that he survived.

Unfair. 

He cannot stay conscious for long; his body is too tired to support itself.

The old man says nothing when he faints in the middle of his monologue, falling onto the cold stone wall. He leaves him there.

He dreams of Rin and Kakashi.

Dead. Bloody.

While training with Guruguru and White Zetsu, he began to notice that his body mass was rapidly increasing: every day he became stronger, and his movements more skilful. The old man sometimes trained him too, showing him cool techniques through genjutsu, because his own body was already almost at the limit — strong enough only to reach the toilet... although Obito wasn't even sure if he went there. Was there even a toilet here?

The strange foreign matter that had replaced half of his body covered his torso unevenly, a daily reminder that he had lost a part of himself that day. He was almost certain that everyone thought he was dead.

And every day he wondered if this was hell.

When Obito's chakra finally stabilized in his new body, he was finally able to warm himself, igniting the fire within him. He got burned a few times, but it was worth it.

There were no mirrors here, and he was already starting to forget what he looked like. He spent long sleepless hours running his fingers over his face, trying to remember his features. Touching the deep scars, he begged Rin not to be afraid of these wounds when she saw him again. He felt disgusting enough, knowing that his empty eye socket must have looked repulsive.

He began to transform into something inhuman: hunger no longer bothered him, the need for the toilet disappeared, and his body became half-alien. There was nothing to do here except train and sleep — although once he spent many days without sleep, testing his suspicion that he no longer needed it either, and it turned out that he was right.

Days and nights were lost; he did not know what part of the day it was. Only the cold and darkness of the cave surrounded him. When he fell asleep, it seemed to him that he could sleep for weeks. It seemed that by not needing sleep, he began to forget the need to wake up.

How long has he been here already?

His hair grew longer, falling in dirty, heavy strands over his shoulders, in his eyes. There was nothing sharp here to cut. It had become so tangled that he began to miss his grandmother — she would know exactly how to untangle it.

He remembered sitting with Kushina on the riverbank, weaving flowers into her hair. It came out crooked, but for some reason, she liked it. He kept the picture Rin had taken then and hung it on a board in his room. He missed her and her sunny smile so much.

I am in hell.

[Hell, 1986]

He held Rin's still body in his arms, hugging her gently. His palms left bloody marks on her porcelain skin. Tears, mixed with rain and blood, flowed down his cheeks. Rin wasn't breathing. The buzzing in her ears was slowly fading. The dead bodies of enemy shinobi lay all around her — a crimson mess.

But this was not enough. 

An ideal world where you can bring back the dead...

He turned his head sharply when he heard a painful intake of breath from the side. A wild hatred flared in his chest: how dare anyone breathe when Rin could no longer?

Standing up, he carefully placed Rin's body on the ground and found the unconscious Kakashi. A strange memory flashed through his eyes — the hand piercing Rin's chest, the chirping of birds.

Something sharp grew from his hand, something he gripped tightly and aimed at Kakashi's heart.

“Die” , he said in a stranger's voice.

A hoarse, choking sound came from Rin's throat. Obito was beside her in an instant, his warm hands cupping her cold cheeks. Her body was convulsing, and she was coughing up blood from her destroyed lungs. He held her, begging for one thing only: to get her to the hospital this very second.

When his eye opened, a bright light cut into his vision; the white walls of the hospital seemed to mock him. The medics on the night shift were frightened by the appearance from the air, but when they saw the Konoha headband on Rin's forehead, they instantly rushed towards them. The last thing he saw before falling into darkness was Guruguru, who dissolved into the wall, waving his hand cheerfully.

Obito and Kakashi stared into each other's eyes, as if playing a game of "who will blink first." 

Obito stared at his Sharingan in Kakashi's left eye and at his vertical scar. Kakashi stared at Obito's empty eye socket and the Sharingan framed by scars. They had been sitting like that since Obito had woken up and noticed Kakashi beside him. He wondered who would be the first to break the silence.

Obito tried to smile, with only one thing on his mind: I missed you so much. Seeing you and Rin...

Rin.

Why is Kakashi crying?

Kakashi, didn't you...

“Where’s Rin?” he croaked.

Kakashi cried harder and buried his head in the hospital blanket. Obito froze. He had no idea what to do with this killer crying on top of him. He put one hand on his shoulder and the other, the artificial one, gently buried itself in his hair.

Obviously not the right decision: Kakashi looked up and gave him a strange look.

"Kakashi..." Obito croaked again. His fingers caught the strand of hair covering Kakashi's left eye, his eye. "Where's Rin? What happened?"

Kakashi's eyes trembled, framed by long white eyelashes.

"I'm sorry," he choked out, choking back tears, repeating the word over and over like a mantra. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... I'm sorry. I couldn't keep my promise..."

Obito's heart sank and he saw red.

"She's in critical condition. In a coma. The enemy shinobi sealed a tailed beast inside her to make a time bomb. She rushed under my technique to kill herself and save the village, but she was slower — I only hit her lungs. Master Minato and Kushina are now trying to stabilise the seal."

He took a breath.

"As for you... You've been tested for authenticity. Your memories have been reviewed up to the moment of your 'death.'"

"How long have I been gone?"

"Eleven months and sixteen days."

[Konoha, Academy, 1978]

Rin sat on a warm rock under the shade of an old pine tree, gently rewinding the scratched hand of one of the children in their group. The summer wind swayed the treetops, and the smell of pine needles mingled with the noise of the children practicing nearby.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Obito distracted from his training again.

The boy was holding a shuriken in his hands… but he was no longer looking at the target.

His gaze, stubbornly, almost mesmerized, slid toward the other boy—the only one who was practicing like an adult.

Kakashi moved sharply, cleanly, too cautiously for his age.

Rin smiled softly and almost imperceptibly.

He just stood there, clutching the metal star in his small hand, biting his lip shyly. As Kakashi made another perfect move, his cheeks almost lit up.

In the tall grass, Obito squinted against the orange sunset, his eyes hidden behind heavy eyelids. He couldn't take his eyes off Kakashi, who stood in the middle of the field at the edge of the forest, breathing heavily, practising his strikes, his movements seeming too mature for a boy his age. Obito's heart was pounding anxiously; he was afraid that Kakashi would notice him peeping.

His eyes widened as the other boy jumped up and quickly formed a seal. A small palm slammed into the ground, causing it to roll in waves, distorting the landscape. One of them headed to Obito - he couldn't help but yelp as he was knocked off his feet.

Kakashi turned his head sharply, his eyes flashing. He moved towards the sound, but found only rumpled grass. Running the back of his hand across his sweaty forehead, he crouched down, touched the footprints, and, levelling himself, ran after them into the forest — whoever he was chasing was sure to be faster.

Father taught him to hunt from a young age.

His first kill was a rabbit with large red eyes that stared fearlessly at him without looking away, while Kakashi held the kunai with a trembling hand, tears streaming from his eyes. Father's warm eyes watched as he held the rabbit and guided Kakashi by the wrist with his calloused hands.

It was the first time he had felt blood on his hands. Taking his son's small hands, his father dipped them into the hot entrails of a freshly killed animal and held them there until the blood had hardened on the skin, and he had no more strength to cry, driving himself into a stupor. At home, his mother spent a long time washing the traces of the first murder from under his nails with warm water, arguing with his father, proving that the child was not ready for such a display of cruelty.

The father only said that the children would never be ready for it.

As a result, he raised a person who was trained from childhood to hold death in his hands.

Lowering his dark mask from his nose, he took a deep breath, trying to make out the smells of the forest. Pine trees. Wet soil. Wildlife running past. But what he was really chasing smelled like a campfire, something sweet and cosy. An inner voice told him to stop, but animal instinct and the desire to finally catch his prey told him to run on.

He burst through the bushes, scattering wood chips underfoot; the cold wind whipped at his ears as he ran through the fields; branches grabbed at his clothes; dry leaves crunched underfoot.

Trying to remember where he had smelled these scents before, he noticed that they had always been associated with hunting and a racing heart. Something inhuman made him run right at that moment — something he couldn’t yet understand at his age. He was afraid of losing the scent, because in the village it would be almost impossible to track. Hunting was not a game for him. It was something etched in his blood, something innate and wild.

As he sprang out into the first streets of Konoha, the scent dissolved among hundreds of others.

He froze. The trace disappeared.

In a nearby alley, Obito leaned his back against a rough wall, trying to regain his breathing and heartbeat after his long escape.

But even that didn't stop him from following Kakashi in the future.

He was incredible.

[Konoha, Hospital, 1973]

The night was too quiet.

The candles trembled with every scream, and the shadows on the walls moved as if alive. The air was thick, heavy, saturated with sweat, blood, and fear. His wife's screams broke the silence sharply and were almost inhuman.

Sakumo stood beside her, holding her hand. His fingers trembled, gripping it tightly, as if he was afraid of losing her.

"Breathe... I'm here..." he repeated it more to himself than to her.

Blood. Too much blood.

"He's too early," the midwife's voice was tense, reserved, but Sakumo caught something in it that was more frightening than a scream. "He's too early."

When the baby was finally pulled out, time stood still.

The tiny body lay motionless. The skin was unnaturally blue, almost purple, cold-looking, as if life had not yet entered it. The eyes were closed. The chest did not move.

Sakumo wasn't breathing.

“Why isn’t he crying?” he gasped.

No one answered.

The seconds dragged on like hours. Someone was pushing. Someone was whispering prayers that shouldn't have been in this room.

And then — a thin, belated scream tore through the air.

Not strong. Not loud.

But desperate.

It was as if life itself was late—and now trying to catch up.

Sakumo felt his knees buckle. He laughed and cried at the same time, holding Kaede's hand, which was pale and exhausted but alive. Her fingers squeezed him lightly in return.

"Kakashi..." she whispered, even before it became his name.

The baby was wrapped in a cloth. He was too light. Too quiet between fits of crying. His breathing was ragged, as if he hadn't yet decided whether to stay.

Sakumo looked at his son—and felt a strange, cold sensation under his ribs.

This child did not survive by accident.

And the world will never let him forget, at what cost.

The night became quiet again.

[Konoha, ANBU Headquarters, 1991]

ANBU newbie, huh, thought Crow, pressing the salted nuts button on the machine and looking at the shinobi with long brown hair in the Cat mask, standing next to the Hound and Kite in the middle of the ANBU headquarters corridor.

He looked calm and uncommunicative, his back straight as if he had a stick up his ass. Crow opened the package and put the nuts in his mouth, still watching the newcomer.

Tenzou sat on the futon, straight, as if he were being interrogated. His hands were on his knees, palms open—a habit his body wouldn't let go of. The air here was different: warmer, softer, without the taste of metal or dampness. That was why it wasn't reassuring. It was alarming.

He listened to the house, counting the small sounds, as he once counted the steps in the corridors of the Root. Somewhere deep down, water in the pipes. A barely audible rustle of fabric. Breathing. Different, living.

Obito said something before he went to sleep—short, as if by chance. Not a question, not an order. Just words that didn't require an answer. Tenzou nodded, because it was safer. Nodding was the universal language of survival.

Kakashi said goodnight as if it were a thing that could actually be good. No pause. No checking. That was more confusing than the scream.

When the lights went out, Tenzou didn't lie down. His back remained tense, his shoulders raised. He waited for a signal that wouldn't come. He waited for someone to tell him where to stand, what to do, where to look. But the house was silent.

The chakra under the skin stirred, like roots searching for a crack in the stone. He pressed it inside, sharply, painfully—as always. There was no room for error here. It was even worse here than in the ROOT, because there were no rules to hide behind.

Tenzou finally lay down, but he wouldn't let himself close his eyes. The ceiling was a dark spot, and in that darkness there were no orders. Only the feeling that he was here—not a tool, not a shadow, not a weapon. And that was what scared him the most.

He didn't relax. Not tonight.

But the house remembered his breathing—and that was enough for something to slowly, almost imperceptibly, begin to change.

Night mission, they are on the same team for the first time.

Cat is silent, works precisely and cleanly, as if these were not his first missions in ANBU.

Crow was light and graceful in his movements, with dark eyes that followed everyone.

When they first meet in battle, their synchronicity is almost perfect, as if they had been practicing for years.

After the mission, Crow says:

"You know... you move like you're afraid to leave a mark."

“I’m afraid of doing something wrong,” Cat replied.

Crow constantly violates discipline - disappears, fraternizes with civilians, takes risks.

Cat is his complete opposite. He is assigned as the Crow's shadow to "watch over."

At first, they were incredibly annoying to each other.

"You're not a human, you're a guard," Crow snapped, trying to escape from Cat.

“My job is to keep you from dying because of your own impulsiveness,” he said, jumping after him across the rooftops.

They continue to be put on the team because others can't handle them.

“Stop analysing me,” Cat growled.

“Then stop pretending you’re planning something,” Crow replied in the same tone.

Their first mission together, where they are left alone in an ambush for 48 hours, brings them closer together through quiet conversations and lots of questions.

They start asking to be paired up more and more often.

Crow speaks to the phlegmatic Captain Hound:

"That teenager with the tree is perfect. I want him."

“Alright.”

[Konoha, Hatake Residence, 1977]

The watermelon was cold and too sweet.

Sakumo cut it neatly, as he did everything else—even slices, without rushing. The juice ran down the board, sticking to his fingers. Kakashi sat next to him on the engawa, his feet barely touching the ground, holding the piece in both hands and eating slowly, carefully, as if it were a task.

Outside, cicadas were chirping; the house was silent.

"Father," Kakashi said, swallowing, "where's mom?"

Sakumo didn't stop. He lifted the watermelon to his mouth, took a bite, chewed. The seed crunched between his teeth. He wiped his fingers with a towel and looked at his son—directly, without a shadow.

“Kaede’s dead,” he said evenly. “And Rei’s dead too.”

Kakashi blinked. Once. Then again.

“I see,” he said. “On a mission?” he asked, his tone steady, as if he were clarifying his schedule.

"Yes," Sakumo replied. "They won't come back."

Kakashi looked at the watermelon. The red flesh was covered in tiny black seeds. He carefully removed one and placed it on the edge of the plate.

“Rei…” he began and stopped. “He was supposed to teach me how to run faster.”

Sakumo nodded.

“He was a good dog.”

Kakashi took another bite. He chewed long, slowly. A small, quiet tear gathered in the corners of his eyes, not flowing, just there. He didn't wipe it away because he didn't notice.

“Father,” he said after a pause, “is Mom a heroine now?”

Sakumo exhaled. Barely noticeable.

“Yes,” he said, “she did her job.”

Kakashi nodded, accepting it as he accepted everything else. He finished a piece down to the green skin, stopped, unsure of what to do next, and placed it on his plate.

“Can I eat later?” he asked.

"Of course," Sakumo replied.

Kakashi stood up, carefully, without making a sound. Before leaving, he looked back at the plate of watermelon — bright red, too vibrant.

“Father,” he added quietly, “I will be strong so that you don’t die too.”

Sakumo didn't answer. He just sat there, holding his piece of watermelon, which he never finished.

[Land of Fire, 1985]

"This is what you and Kakashi and I would look like if we were the opposite sex!" She opened her notebook to a page with a drawing in a manga-like style that she seemed to be inspired by.

Obito looked closely and couldn't help but have an admiring expression on his face.

"Kakashi hasn't changed much," he observed. "Do you think long hair would suit me?" he asked, pointing to the painted tousled locks of his female version.

"Sure, why not. Long hair suits a lot of people," she tilted her head slightly and smiled sincerely. The wind caught her locks and gently blew them around her face.

Something in Obito's stomach fluttered gently, tickling from within.

On the drawing, the boy Rin also had a bob hairstyle and stripes on his cheeks; his smile was as warm as hers. Obito thought for a moment: no matter what, he would always love Rin.

And this made the warm thought suddenly turn inside him - because it turned out that he would also like like Rin the boy.

Surprisingly, the idea didn't scare him, just made him feel a little strange, but not unpleasant.

His wandering through his own thoughts was interrupted by Kakashi, who had returned to the camp with the game he had killed. His gaze was focused and serious. He paused, assessing the scene.

"You were supposed to build a fire and put out a cauldron of water. I don't see either one. What were you doing?"

Obito scratched the back of his head, squinting and pretending to try to remember.

"Oh, you know, there was an attack, uh..." he looked around in confusion.

"Wild grannies!" Rin finished cheerfully for him.

Obito glanced at her in panic, but she only shrugged innocently.

"Sure," Kakashi nodded dryly, not believing it for a moment, and snatched the notebook from Obito's hands. His brows furrowed as he studied the drawing.

Turning the next page, he suddenly froze. Rin instantly blushed and panicked.

Kakashi opened his eyes wide and almost jerked away, handing her the notebook back.

Obito tried to peek, but Rin wouldn't let him - she pushed his head away with her palm, not taking her guilty gaze away.

Kakashi takes off his gloves slowly, already knowing that Obito is standing too close. He doesn't touch — but the warmth from him is palpable.

"You..." Obito pauses.

Kakashi doesn't look at him. He wipes the sweat from his neck with a towel, opening his throat—an automatic, habitual gesture. And that's when he notices Obito turn away abruptly.

Obito clenches his fists so hard that his nails dig into his skin. He takes a step back as if he's been pushed away, even though Kakashi hasn't moved.

"Forget it," he mutters and quickly walks away.

Kakashi remains standing. He feels something strange - not guilt, but something like an awareness of power.

He is just… seen.

And he knows what it does to Obito.

Kakashi is tired. It's not weakness — it's a fact. And he knows who to call.

“Obito, cover up,” he says without raising his voice.

Obito reacts instantly. He doesn't even ask how long. He doesn't even check his own chakra reserves.

Kakashi steps back behind him. He allows himself a second of respite. He allows it because he knows: Obito will hold out.

And just for a moment - a very brief one - he catches himself thinking:

"He always holds out. For me."

Kakashi brushes the thought away. He tells himself that it's just teamwork. That everyone does it.

But when Obito limps later, and he remains silent, it's no longer just teamwork.

Rin sits on the windowsill and examines the bandage on her arm as if it were something more interesting than people.

"Have you noticed," she says suddenly, not looking at Kakashi, "that Obito always gets between you and danger?"

Kakashi shrugs. "He's just impulsive."

Rin smiles. Not widely. Not happily. "And you just allow it."

She finally looks at him. Her gaze is soft but attentive—the kind that misses nothing.

“You don’t do it on purpose,” she adds quietly. “But you know he’ll give it his all. And sometimes… you take advantage of it.”

Kakashi wants to object. But instead he feels a coldness under his skin.

Rin jumps off the windowsill. "I'm not saying you're bad, Kakashi. Just be careful. He can't stop himself.”

She left, leaving him with a thought he wasn't ready to fully develop.

She didn't notice it right away.

First, the little things. How Kakashi stops halfway when Obito speaks too loudly. How he doesn't interrupt him - even though he interrupted everyone. How his shoulders relax when Obito is around, even when the situation is tense.

Rin told herself it meant nothing. Team. Habit. Years together.

But then there was that moment. Obito had cut his hand—a small, almost comical wound. There wasn't even any blood. Rin was already reaching for the bandage when Kakashi took a step forward faster than her. Without words. Without an order. His fingers were too careful, too precise, as if he were touching not someone else's skin but something fragile and unbreakable.

"It's a small thing," Obito grumbled, smiling.

Kakashi didn't answer. He just held his hand a little longer than necessary.

Rin froze. Not because of the touch, but because of the look.

He wasn't worried. He wasn't professional. He was… open. For a second. Just enough for her to see.

Kakashi let go of his hand as if nothing had happened and put his mask of indifference back on.

Obito spoke again, waving his arms, lively, loud, whole.

And that's when Rin realised:

Kakashi doesn't look at him like others. Not like a comrade. Not even like a friend.

He looks as if the world might break—but not while Obito is standing by.

Rin looked away first.

Because it wasn't her right to know.

But she already knew.

A big lump stuck in her throat — she felt nauseous from the thoughts, throat constricted from the tears. Her sister always said you shouldn't cry over boys... but it still hurt so much.

When you love innocently, sometimes it's enough just to know that that person is safe.

When you keep your secret to yourself, you collect memories like little treasures, enjoying each one.

But she caught too many glances. She saw something she shouldn't have seen.

She broke someone else's secret.

Kakashi likes Obito.

Rin's body trembled as the first tears rolled down her cheeks.

[Lightning Country, 1996]

Flickering before his foe, deflecting attacks, Crow moved from foe to foe with lightning speed, eliminating them with near-perfect precision. Each move merged with the next, like a stream of light. To his side, Cat trapped his attackers in wooden coffins that grew from the ground, crushing their bones with cold efficiency.

They worked in tandem, so in sync that it seemed as if they were afraid to breathe out of it. Years of joint missions had made them dangerously alike. Crow watched the battlefield closely, catching the slightest movement of everyone present, his Sharingan glowing in the darkness of his mask, cutting out every threat before it even realised its own intent.

When anyone got dangerously close to Cat, Crow would react instantly, slitting the throats of anyone foolish enough to try. He hated it when his partner got hurt, even though he knew Cat was capable of fending for himself.

Once again, Crow took the kill from Cat, hiding it under the guise of competition.

“You know I can’t stand losing, Kitty,” he would say whenever Cat looked at him judiciously through his eared mask, silently reproaching him. Sometimes the corners of the Crow’s lips would turn up under the mask — he loved those looks.

If Cat did get hurt, Crow insisted that he be the one to help with the wounds. They would find a secluded spot — usually somewhere high in a tree, out of sight. There he would catch every heavy breath and tremor of his partner’s body, trying to mend it, making unnecessary, overlong touches to the skin that made no medical sense. Just to stay closer.

Cat endured, sometimes clenching his fists, but did not stop him. He watched every action from under the mask with attentive, silently warm eyes that held much more than the words of both of them together could express.

But he once commented when Crow carelessly allowed himself longer touches.

“You’re delaying the mission,” Cat said, breathing heavily from the pain.

At which Crow only smiled under his mask.

Obito tries to live in an illusion, pretending to be a normal person. But everything in his life screams the opposite — he is just an echo of the person he could have become, lost dreams and a longing for something innocent, simple. His willpower is constantly wavering.

Just give me something to believe in, he turned to Kakashi in his mind every time he felt like he was losing control of his life.

And each time he found the strength to continue by feeling a strong hand on his shoulder, a bold look in others' grey eye, and a tired exhale at the end of the day.

"Well, while we're at it, I have to ask: what gift do you think Kakashi would like? And also: where would you go on the perfect first date? Would the confession be dramatic or sweet?"

"Kakashi doesn't need any flowers or gifts. You can't give him anything he doesn't already have," Obito sighed, leaning his shoulder against the door frame.

His face turned slightly red, but he quickly looked away.

"There's no need to be jealous, Obito!" Gai flashed his teeth so that for a second it seemed like the sun had risen a second time. "There's always been a place for only you in the heart of my eternal rival! I have no intention of separating such a bright couple as you two!"

He stood right on the doorstep of Hatake's house, looking as confident as if he had built it himself. Kakashi, of course, was not home; he was wandering around in his usual style.

And Obito —  as always when talking to Maito — kept a cautious, almost neutral expression. Not showing his true feelings was harder than it seemed.

His fingers tightened their grip on the door frame for a moment. A nervous reflex. Grounding one. 

Obito raised an eyebrow.

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he asked coldly, looking at Gai as if he were a man who suddenly needed to have his meaning beaten out of him. A faint twitch passed over his temple — the only permitted expression of irritation.

Gai theatrically closed his eyes and shook his head with exaggerated humility.

“Someday the time will come, and you will be ready to open your hearts so that your love can blossom!”

The breeze stirred a few leaves that flew between them.

Obito stared at this...enthusiast for so long that it seemed like he was calculating the trajectories of all possible ways to escape: closing the door, teleporting to Kamui, becoming a tree — anything to avoid listening to another tirade about the "flame of youth."

“Maybe it would bloom faster if you stopped screaming every time you appeared out of nowhere,” he finally grumbled. “And I don’t need your… romantic philosophy to figure out my own feelings.”

"There's no point in hiding your tender feelings, Obito!" Gai straightened up abruptly, punching his own chest. "Tell me: when did you first realise that the flame of Kakashi's youth melted your cold soul? What is it about Kakashi that inspires you to be a better person?"

"What." Obito's face twisted, "Gai, stop talking this heresy or get out of my house."

"Oh yes! Your house!" Gai exclaimed happily, winking so hard that Obito almost broke his hand on the door. "You'd better prepare a confession, because Kakashi can't wait forever! As his best friend, it's my duty to make sure he's happy and surrounded by family warmth!"

The door closed with a sharp "thud" right in front of his nose.

Gai continued to shout something outside — judging by the intonation, it was wishes for love, happiness, and some kind of "extraordinary romantic initiative."

Obito, with a deep exhale, returned to his business.

None of them knew that from the beginning of this conversation, the very object of the conversation, Kakashi, had been sitting on the roof above them, knees pressed to chest, mask lowered to chin, and laughed quietly into his fist.

It's strange, he thought, which of the two of them is in a bigger crisis right now?

[Data missing]

It seems there is nothing human left of him.

Tearing flesh with his fangs, digging into it with his sharp teeth, he groaned, finally feeling the burning blood flowing into his throat. His heart pounded so hard that he felt like he was about to lose consciousness; his eyes darkened, and the world shrunk to a red fog. His claws gripped convulsively for anything that might keep him from losing control completely.

Rib bones showed through a gnawed hole that led deep, to something precious. The texture of raw meat between his teeth felt like coming home. He took a deep, shuddering breath: the damp wood, the sweetness of the berries, and the hot coals all hit his nostrils, blending into something familiar, something dear. He buried his nose between his collarbones, inhaling the scent as his fingers felt for the pulsing muscle inside that cavity.

A warm hand gently touched his head.

How come you're not in pain?

How are you not disgusted?

This is me. These are my feelings.

I want to devour your heart.

Can I?

The man beneath him only nodded silently. And then, with one last jerk, he tore out his heart—something that didn't belong to him, but which he held in his hands as if it were the most precious thing in the whole world.

They kept their eyes on each other as he choked on a man's heart, taking big bites and swallowing almost without chewing. His whole face was covered in warm blood, his hands, his neck, and his chest too. Swallowing the last morsel, he slowly licked his fingers, while the warm, calm eyes beneath him continued to watch his every move.

I see your darkness,

I see who you are,

And despite this,

I yearn to spend

An eternity with you.

And then he woke up.

[Konoha, Hatake Residence, 1993]

One evening, Kakashi returned from an ANBU mission with wide, lifeless eyes. It was a deep night, and Obito, who had not slept, was sitting on the living room couch watching an animal documentary, paying no attention to anything but the television. As soon as Kakashi saw him, he went over, knelt, put his head on Obito's knee, and whispered that he couldn't live like this anymore — finally allowing himself to break down in front of him.

Confused, Obito grabbed his head and sank to the floor himself. Touching the cold skin, he realised that it was covered in blood — Kakashi’s own or someone else's, it was hard to say. The stench of blood was unbearable. His eyes were blank — typical for ANBU soldiers. He was breathing heavily, and his body was shaking. Obito had never seen Kakashi so broken; something in his chest tightened into a painful knot.

With trembling fingers but sure movements, he began to remove the ANBU equipment, starting with the vest. Kakashi sat still and let him move his limbs like a doll. Examining the crimson stains, Obito mentally begged that it was only someone else's blood — there were enough cuts on Kakashi's carved arms as it was.

“I need to take all your clothes off. Can I?” he asked softly, gently touching his cheek while maintaining eye contact. Already, the torn clothes on his stomach, sides, thighs were visible—and, probably, the deep wounds underneath.

Kakashi's unfocused gaze sought escape; his eyelids drooped wearily. He nodded slowly and turned his head away.

Obito removed the porcelain mask from his temple and set it aside. He tugged at the edge of his outer garment — the fabric was sticky with blood — and pulled it off, revealing a map of deep cuts across his chest and stomach. He didn't dare look up — not now.

“I can bring you something to cover your face,” he offered.

Kakashi shook his head slightly, already dipping his fingers into the waistband of his pants to remove them. Obito hurried to help, afraid that he would pull painfully at the wound. As he suspected, his legs were the most affected. Clots of blood and dirt dragged along the fabric, breaking away from it with unpleasant sounds. Last, he removed the long, elegant gloves — his favourite part of Kakashi's uniform.

"Can you walk?" Obito asked cautiously, picking him up by the elbow.

Kakashi didn't look him in the eye, but let himself be led by the hand to the bathroom - like a wounded wolf who trusted only him.

The warm water quickly filled up. Obito helped Kakashi into the tub, only in his underwear; the water reached his hips.

“There are no wounds under your underwear, right?” he clarified, just in case.

Kakashi gave a weak sidelong glance. It meant: "Don't ask stupid questions."

With a clean cloth, a bowl of water, and a sea of ​​emotions that couldn't fit in his chest, Obito began to carefully clean the skin around the wounds. He washed away the dirt, sweat, and blood. At first, Kakashi flinched at every touch, but then he relaxed.

He wrung out the warm cloth, and the water slowly ran down his shoulders. Kakashi shivered—but not from the cold. Obito kept talking quietly: about something unimportant, but grounding — to keep him here, not in the darkness after the mission memories. The water turned pink, then dirty red. He drained it and filled a new one.

The hot steam relaxed his muscles; Kakashi's gaze focused somewhere on the turquoise tiles. When Obito took the dipper and began rinsing his bloody hair, he breathed a sigh of relief — there were no wounds there.

The slow massaging movements on his scalp revealed something alive in Kakashi: his eyes half-closed, his fingers twitched; he let out a soft, satisfied "hmmm," as if he had finally regained control of his body.

After the bath, Obito wrapped him in a lint-free towel and ran to get clean clothes. Kakashi emerged from the bath, flushed and warm, but still blank-eyed.

On the bed, Obito began to disinfect the wounds. When the antiseptic began to sting, Kakashi flinched slightly and immediately apologised through gritted teeth. Seeing the cut on his chin, Obito carefully cupped his fingers to clean it, stubbornly avoiding looking at his lips. Kakashi nervously touched his rough lips with his tongue.

Kneeling before Kakashi, he carefully treated each wound on the milky skin. His touches with his other hand were like the feeling of the surface of water on his fingertips. Just as light and gentle, almost imperceptible.

When he accidentally looked up, he met Kakashi's attentive gaze - predatory, hazy, and at the same time defenceless.

Several deep wounds needed stitching. Obito was applying neat stitches, holding the wound with his palm, because Kakashi couldn't help but shiver. The tremors in his hands were getting stronger, whether from pain or exhaustion.

He opened the jar of ointment, scooped out some, and slowly began to apply it to the cuts. Kakashi's breathing quickened; Obito's fingers glistened with ointment as he touched the warm body. As he applied it to the cut on his chin, he touched his thumb to his lower lip, coating it with gloss.

After that, he took the bandages and began to slowly, carefully wrap them around his chest and sides, securing the bandages.

When he finished, Kakashi was no longer trembling. He just sat there, too still, too empty.

Obito removed the bandages, sat down next to him, and reached out his hand hesitantly, not wanting to scare him with an unnecessary touch.

But Kakashi himself leaned towards him, resting his forehead on his shoulder.

“Can… stay?” he whispered hoarsely.

Obito hugged him as if he were holding something fragile and precious, hiding his face, which showed too many raw feelings, in the dampness of his hair.

Kakashi just squeezed the fabric of his shirt tightly with his fingers and truly exhaled for the first time.

Obito held him until Kakashi's shoulders stopped twitching, until his breathing evened out.

Until he became a living person again — and not a shadow in a mask.

Obito went out into the courtyard, closing the door behind him so quietly, as if he didn't want to disturb even the night. The air was cold and clean, with that special smell of winter that hadn't yet arrived but was, already, somewhere nearby. He lit a cigarette, pressing it between his lips, and closed his eyes for a moment, letting the smoke warm his lungs.

Somewhere in the depths of the street, footsteps were heard. Not sharp, not hurried—familiar. Obito didn't turn around, but the corner of his mouth twitched slightly in a smile.

Kakashi emerged from the shadows, tired enough to not want to speak. He stopped beside him without asking permission and leaned his shoulder against Obito. For a few seconds, they just stood there, listening to the night breathe with them.

"It's cold," Kakashi said quietly.

"Yeah," Obito replied.

They were silent. Not because there was nothing to say, but because everything important was already here: even breathing, a quiet without tension, the presence of the other next to them. Kakashi looked into the darkness of the courtyard, Obito at the light of the stars above his head, and that was enough.

When the cigarette burned out, Obito stubbed it out on the edge of the ashtray. Kakashi leaned forward slightly, as if he was about to say something, but only exhaled.

They stood there for a moment longer. And then, almost simultaneously, they turned toward the door—as if this silence was an agreement they both wanted to maintain.

Under the warm, orange light, Kakashi sprawled out on the restaurant couch, lazily watching his friends toast him. Obito, across from him, had been watching the slightest changes on his face all evening. From that cautious uncertainty at the beginning of the evening, to the slow blossoming of genuine pleasure that his relaxed body and the warmth of his radiant eye betrayed.

Everyone was drunk, except for the ever-sober Obito — no matter how much he drank, he wouldn't get drunk. But his insides burned intoxicatingly every time Kakashi threw sweet, overly soft glances in his direction.

Anko was talking animatedly, making everyone burst out laughing. Kakashi's wide eye twitched into a smile.

Obito looked away — Asuma touched his shoulder.

“A smoke break?”

The early autumn evening blew fresh air into his face as he exhaled puffs of smoke from his lungs. The paper lanterns filled the street with a soft cosiness, and in the darkness, the night barking of street dogs could be heard. Asuma stood nearby, inhaling tobacco, and between puffs, softly humming the melody of the same metal band they had discovered at sixteen.

His cheeks were flushed with alcohol, and his smile was carefree.

“We should sing karaoke again,” he said confidently, his voice hazy with smoke.

Obito exhaled wearily. He didn't like the whole process of this "entertainment" at all, starting with the choice of song and ending with Gai's drunken howls.

"They just fell silent," Obito frowned. He didn't feel like starting a second round of trying to pull Maito off the table. The man was currently lying on the couch, holding an ice pack to his forehead. His head was on Rin's lap, who was healing him.

"The night has just begun, Obito," Asuma smiled at him attractively.

So he ended up on stage with a microphone, along with Asuma, shouting songs from the same band. Obito almost lost his voice from the intensity of the vocals; his friends cheered them on, and Anko even sang along without hitting the notes.

Later, they began to dance together. Gai, now fully healed, was a whirlwind in the middle of the room, twirling Rin in his arms as she squealed with laughter. Kurenai, Asuma, and Kakashi — their lazy trio — moved slowly, measuredly, calmly, as if the dance itself was lulling them into a light reverie.

Anko coaxed Obito to dance with her, leaning in and softly singing into his ear. Her hands glided over his body smoothly, hypnotising him, as if luring him into her rhythm. Surrendering to the moment, Obito allowed himself to get lost in her, feeling something briefly slip from inside him — a particle he hadn't had time to hold on to.

When the restaurant closed, the group spilt out into the streetlights of Konoha, laughing loudly and wandering around in search of a new place to continue their Kakashi birthday celebration. They went down to the river and settled comfortably on benches; the night had become quieter and fresher.

Obito sat on the steps and raised his head to the stars. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Kakashi quietly crouching down next to him. The conversations behind him were slower as the alcohol began to evaporate from the blood.

"Aren't you cold?" Obito asked quietly after a while, noticing how Kakashi was sitting a little tensely, and small shivers were running through his body.

Hatake tilted his head to the side, studying his face with his wandering, soft gaze.

“A little.”

"Wait," Obito whispered and disappeared into Kamui.

On one of the cubes, he found a wool blanket in his "nest," where he sometimes dozed or hid from the world. When he returned, he carefully draped it over Kakashi's shoulders, involuntarily smoothing the fabric with his palms, as if trying to rub some of his own warmth into it.

Wrapping himself up tighter, Kakashi hid his head under the blanket. Obito turned away, not wanting to give away the desire to hug this warm ball, withdrawing his hand.

"Thank you," came a muffled voice from inside the blanket.

Obito gave him a light shove with his shoulder and stayed like that for a few seconds longer.

They returned home late at night. Obito led Kakashi to his bedroom—he had a bad habit of wandering around when he was drunk. After putting the half-asleep shinobi to bed, he headed for the door.

"Ma-a, stay a little longer," Kakashi said, lowering his mask from his nose and looking at him with half-closed, soft eyes.

"No, sleep," Obito swallowed the lump in his throat.

"Is it fair to refuse a birthday boy's request, Obito?" his voice was hoarse. "You're still not going to sleep."

"Your birthday ended four hours ago," Obito grumbled, "and you stink."

Kakashi laughed.

"Shh," Obito reminded, "Tenzou is sleeping."

“Oh, Ten—!”

Obito quickly covered his mouth with his hand, only Kakashi's eyes peeking out from under his fingers.

Obito decided to stay, making a selfish choice for the first time in a long time. Kakashi moved aside, making room for him.

Once, when they were younger and stupider, they could fall asleep together, whether seeking warmth or escaping the nightmares that tore through their dreams. They never spoke of it, but they both knew that they found peace at night only in each other's presence.

Over the years, it had become too intimate. Obito was sure that if they continued, he would just explode or something.

He finally lay down next to him. Kakashi smiled softly, burying the left side of his face in the pillow. Obito noticed something was bothering him: the way he hid his glassy gaze, the uncertain, quick glances in his direction.

"Do I really stink?" Kakashi asked with a smile.

Obito snorted, "What did you expect after drinking so much alcohol?"

He watched Kakashi. He looked incredibly handsome, nestled in the warmth of his bed, looking at him with heavy, sleepy eyes.

"You stink of cigarettes," Kakashi said. "But I put up with it."

"No one is forcing you," Obito replied quietly. "You can always kick..."

"Oh no, we're not having this conversation now, Obito," Kakashi grumbled, sitting down. He began to remove the top layer of his clothes, then lay back down on his back.

Obito looked at him predatorily; he wanted desperately to press his face against the bare skin and defined muscles.

"You and Anko..." Kakashi broke the silence, turning his face away. "Is there something between you two?"

The question hung in the air. Kakashi only asked such things when he was drunk.

"Anko? No. I'm not interested in her... in that way." Obito was ninety-nine per cent sure of that. Despite the constant flirting, their relationship had always remained friendly on both sides.

Kakashi hummed and turned to face him again. It was as if a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. After a few minutes, he was breathing peacefully.

Memories of four years ago flashed before Obito's eyes —  the day he met a strange young photographer in Konoha named Sukea.

The boy had soft, fluffy-looking brown hair; his face was adorned with vertical purple stripes, and a small mole was visible under the left part of his lip.

With a camera around his neck, Sukea was constantly taking pictures of everything he saw along the way. 

That's how they met.

Obito was sitting on the railing of the bridge, his legs dangling over the water, jotting something down in a notebook. Suddenly, a shutter clicked behind him, and he turned around.

Sukea looked a little younger, but not by much. His soft hair bounced in the wind and fell across his face every time he smiled—light, warm, in a way that was bound to stick in the memory.

In memory for years.

Obito always wondered why the memories wouldn't fade from his mind. Why is the image of Sukea stuck so stubbornly.

And now that everything had finally come together—something that had been right under my nose for years—the answer became obvious.

"Hello, Sukea. Long time no see," he said quietly, walking over to the still sleepy Kakashi who was preparing breakfast.

Kakashi no longer wore a mask at home, so Obito had full access to his face. And now he saw everything he had previously looked at but not seen:

a mole under his lip, the same sharp fangs that made his insides clench, and a vertical scar over his left eye—the same one that had once been hidden under purple stripes.

It was him. It was always him.

Kakashi wasn't surprised; he wasn't embarrassed. He just flipped something on the pan and said casually:

“It took you long.”

His smile was soft and cheeky at the same time—the kind that made Obito's heart get stuck somewhere in his throat.

[Konoha, Hospital, 1987]

What do you mean she's dead?

Obito squinted, trying to wake up, as if everything that had happened in the past year could only turn out to be a painful, lingering dream.

But when he opened his eyes, he saw the same thing as a moment ago.

Minato stood over his hospital bed, watching with his bright blue eyes, calm as always—too calm to be good news.

“When?” His own voice seemed foreign to him, dry.

"Six months ago," Minato replied quietly, as if he was afraid that raising his voice would break him completely.

Obito looked down.

He has no family left.

Everyone died.

He swallowed the lump in his throat—heavy, hot, like a disease.

Who will help him with his ever-tangled hair now?

Who will wake him up in the morning with light caresses on his arm?

Who will cook a hot dinner?

Who will knit another sweater while sitting in a chair, adjusting her little glasses?

His grandmother… can’t be dead.

Such people simply do not disappear.

Minato placed a hand on his shoulder — carefully, almost shyly.

“Losing loved ones always hurts.”

Obito couldn't stand it anymore and cried.

Kushina held him tightly in her arms, channelling all her strength to him. She sobbed softly into his shoulder; Obito buried his fingers in her long, silky hair, clinging to it as if it were something real in this new, cold world.

The next time she visited, she brought scissors.

She trimmed his tangled locks, running her fingers through his hair again and again, as if checking for any knots.

Obito touched his short, spiky hair, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he could breathe deeply.

When Rin came from her hospital ward, she would sit next to him on his bed. They would read manga, turning the pages slowly, as if afraid of finishing. Sometimes she would bring her albums—drawing something, and Obito would look at her longer than at the drawings.

He was incredibly grateful that she was still alive.

Kakashi didn't come again after that incident.

Maybe Obito was convincing himself it would be better this way.

But one day, someone else stood by his bed — a stranger.

Inhuman, snake-like eyes stared at him from the darkness of the chamber. The man introduced himself as Orochimaru. He coldly, almost with the curiosity of an anatomy teacher, explained that Obito had a seal on his heart that could have unpredictable consequences.

It sounded like a sentence, but no one explained what it was.

The most unexpected visit came from the elders of the Uchiha clan—and their head, Fugaku.

When Obito saw them, a tiny, timid hope flared up in him:

Finally… maybe… he was recognised as part of the clan?

But it turned out that they didn't come for him.

"We want you to return the Sharingan you gave to Hatake Kakashi," one of the elders said.

"What?" was all Obito could say.

And the hope that had barely had time to be born died faster than the previous one.

Obito's frustration with the village and the entire Shinobi system had long since reached a boiling point.

The way Konoha treated the Uchiha clan — relegating them to the periphery of village life, assigning them the role of "police," and effectively isolating them in a separate area — seemed unfair to him.

Obito himself never felt like a true Uchiha. And after the clan tried to take away the Sharingan that was gifted to Kakashi and expelled him for violating the "code", he finally realised: his relationship with the clan was ruined.

But despite everything, he was once part of this family — thanks to his grandmother, who raised him, and this experience has not disappeared.

The situation with Rin hit even harder. The way the village perceived her life as a resource, as a weapon to be sacrificed, shook the last remnants of faith in the "system."

Her decision to sacrifice herself for Konoha seemed to him to be something terribly wrong: the result of propaganda that had taught Shinobi from childhood to protect the Hokage — the king in shogi — and to give their lives for the "greater good."

But what is this “greater good” if it requires the death of a thirteen-year-old girl?

If everything was on the line, Obito would have traded hundreds of lives without hesitation for Rin to see tomorrow. And he was being honest with himself about that.

And now another Konoha decision that knocked the ground out from under its feet: Minato sends Kakashi to ANBU. A boy who went through two wars as a teenager. Who was broken by the death of his own father — a death that might not have happened if those around him had even a shred of empathy.

Obito was also heartbroken over the loss of Uzushio, but he was equally heartbroken over Hatake Sakumo.

He couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment and frustration. Anger burned within him as he watched Minato, the man he once looked up to, act as if this was just another tactical move.

Kakashi can't be left alone with his own demons. Not now. Not after everything.

All of this only reinforced his growing contempt for the Shinobi system.

And no matter where Kakashi went, Obito would follow him. Without a doubt, without hesitation, without a second thought. He had already made his choice.

"I see you, even if you're hiding."

She shouldn't have told him that—that's what she said.

This was their family technique, an inheritance that they should protect silently and jealously.

"But it's not like anyone from my clan would stay behind to scold me for spilling secrets," Kushina smiled bitterly, and that smile hurt more than any blow during training.

She had been teaching Obito for the past few weeks as if she were preparing him for war. The tasks she had devised were so intense that they eclipsed even Minato's harsh lessons.

Since the Hokage was now constantly busy with state affairs, it was Kushina who took it upon herself to test Obito's strength - and polish what was already dormant in him.

He could now move in time with her, keep up with most of her attacks, and absorb new techniques faster than he had imagined he was capable of. Kushina helped him level up his ninjutsu, but most importantly, she decided to pass on the knowledge to her clan: the Uzumaki chakra chains.

At first, Obito didn't understand why she was doing this. She was the last of her kind.

But then she confessed:

She always saw Obito as more than just a student.

Someone who could be family.

Words that broke his caution and touched the most naked part of his soul.

A few weeks later, she asked if he wanted to join her clan officially.

“You don’t have anyone else, do you?” she said quietly.

His throat tightened. He just nodded.

"But first, a compatibility check," Kushina added, her voice becoming businesslike but soft.

She called him into her workshop, a small room that smelled of metal, ink, and dried seals. A prepared sheet of paper was already lying on the table.

Kushina ran the ritual blade over her finger and allowed a few drops of her own blood to fall onto the paper. The Uzumaki symbol slowly emerged, as if a living pattern was unfolding.

Then she handed the knife to him.

Obito held his breath. The hilt was warm, as if it held her chakra. He cut and let his blood touch the sheet. A moment of silence. Then movement.

The symbols of the seal moved, as if coming to life, swirling and changing colour. First, the sheet turned green, then a sign grew on it — a rhombus divided into nine equal squares.

Kushina inhaled sharply.

“This…” she squinted, as if she couldn’t believe her eyes.

Obito stared at her, feeling something cold and hot at the same time rise to his spine.

"You already have a clan," she whispered.

Pause. Long.

It was as if the world had stopped before speaking the truth.

That day he learned that he belonged to the Hatake clan.

Hound stood motionless at the door of the Uzumaki house, while Kushina played with little Naruto in the living room. Their laughter softly spread throughout the room like the warmth of a fire.

When the child finally fell asleep, Kushina carefully closed the door and, returning to the living room, sank onto the couch. She ran a hand wearily through her hair and exhaled — long, heavy, with that special note of a woman who sees more than she says.

"Kakashi, can we talk?" she said suddenly, but calmly.

"Mrs Uzumaki, please..." The Hound began in his usual businesslike tone, but she immediately interrupted him:

“Don’t start this nonsense. There are only three of us here. Come here.” She patted the spot next to her.

Kakashi came over and sat down next to her on the nearest chair. His back was straight, his shoulders seemed numb. His mask was on as usual.

Kushina folded her arms across her chest, looking straight at him.

“Take off your mask,” she ordered.

"Kushina, I'm on duty," he replied in the standard language of protocol.

"Kakashi, I need to see your face." Her voice became quiet, but with the pressure sharp as a kunai. "This concerns Obito.”

He froze for a second—whether at the name or the implication—but he slowly removed his mask. His face remained neutral, but something in his eyes tightened.

Kushina stared at him, as if trying to decipher every shade of emotion.

“You are dangerous to him,” she said. “He is dangerous to you.”
But…” she leaned forward, speaking softly, sincerely, almost motherly, “you will die without each other.

Kakashi blinked slightly.

“Don’t forget this,” she continued. “Only you two will always have each other. And only you can pull yourselves out of the darkness that has grown into your lives. I don’t know what to call it—fate, karma, or just stubbornness on both of your sides… but don’t you dare stop protecting each other. Even if the world says you can’t do it.”

There was a painful sincerity in her voice, such that Kakashi couldn't immediately respond.

"Kushina... I don't understand," he said quietly.

“You may think I’m a local nutcase,” she smiled through her fatigue. “But I see connections between people. And yours… he’s dangerous, wild, complex. But it is alive. There are almost none like it. So promise me… don’t turn your back on him.”

Kakashi was silent for a few seconds, looking down, then nodded briefly.

“Okay.”

Kushina breathed a sigh of relief.

And Kakashi, looking out the dark window, felt for the first time in a long time that he had made a promise that weighed more than any mission.

The Kunoichi could be heard running down the corridor, her steps quick and purposeful. Behind her, a Shinobi lazily followed, and even further behind, eight dogs, the clatter of their claws echoing off the walls. The man tried to understand where his friend was heading so resolutely. The only thing she managed to say before breaking into a run was: "Let's go."

Her worn cloak billowed as she walked, her long legs moving evenly and economically across the tiles. Kakashi, however, was not looking ahead, but out the wide window along the corridor, so he did not notice at all when the door opened right in front of him.

The blow was deafening. The only thing he thought about at that moment was how to avoid falling on his dogs.

Hearing a blow, a familiar howl, and a million apologies, Rin stopped abruptly and turned around. In front of her was Kakashi on the floor, and Obito was bending over him, reaching out his hands but not daring to touch him. Kakashi was clutching his forehead and nose, his face contorted in pain. His ninkens instantly surrounded their master.

Rin rushed to her friends. But not to help Kakashi, but to give Obito a good slap on the back of the head.

"What were you thinking!?" Her eyebrows shot up almost to her hairline.

Obito's eyes widened.

"How could I know!? It's his fault he's flying in the clouds!" he shouted.

"That's not what I'm talking about!" Rin spread her hands. "What were you thinking when you took on the mission!? You were just discharged!"

Ah, so that's what it was about, Kakashi thought, rubbing his nose. Several dogs began licking his face while Nohara and the Uchiha argued in the background. He ignored them, staring out the window at a particularly large, fluffy cloud.

Kakashi turned his head to examine the door he had crashed into. A regular brown hospital door. Not to someone's ward or office, because in this wing... Kakashi wasn't even sure where he was. Hatake had never been here before. Preferring simple visits for temporary leave in his own, so-called, ward. Kakashi wasn't in the habit of wandering around the hospital. What was this door doing in the middle of a long, empty corridor anyway?

"...and just so you know, it's not what you think! How much money can I live on if I spend most of my time..." Obito began.

"Ma-a, what are you talking about?" Kakashi drawled, standing up and interrupting the argument.

"What?" Obito flushed. "It's true!"

"Not really. Considering you've been living off my money for the last few months and haven't even paid rent," Kakashi pointed at him, then removed it and tapped his chin with it. "Although..."

"Don't even think about it," Obito muttered.

Kakashi moved closer, trying to slip into the door Obito had just exited from, but he blocked the passage with his body.

"Hey, you have nothing to do there," the Uchiha straightening up, standing right in the doorway.

"What were you doing there?" Kakashi looked at him from under his brow.

“I’m curious too,” Rin added. “I was told you were in this wing, but I didn’t know where exactly.”

"Sorry, but that's none of your business. Let's go to the lake."

Kakashi looked at the door again. His curiosity was piqued, but not strong enough. He turned and followed Obito.

"Secrets, huh..." he muttered.

Rin just glanced at her friend.

Obito lay on the grass, chewing on a stalk. He could feel ants crawling over his skin — small, ticklish sensations that usually drove him mad, but today he tolerated them. Lately, he’s been trying to “become one with nature,” or something. This whole Mokuton heresy, to be honest, is already in his liver. He can create an endless supply of toothpicks, and that’s more than enough for him.

Rin stood next to him in her dark swimsuit. She was applying a thin layer of sunscreen to her sun-kissed skin, slowly, intently. Her movements were as precise as if she were applying medicine, not cream.

Kakashi snatched it from her and, without thinking, sprayed it straight into Obito's face.

"Kakashi!" Rin shouted in a judgmental voice.

"Why!?" Obito sat up abruptly, and the thick cream slowly ran down his cheeks in thin white streaks.

Kakashi just chuckled and ran towards the water. His feet tapped lightly on the surface of the lake before he suddenly dove under it and disappeared into the distance, as if dissolving.

Obito, muttering something about a "brainless slacker," scuttled after him, smearing the remnants of the cream all over his body like a warrior's war paint. He dove to where he had last seen Kakashi and tried to see anything underwater, but it was in vain — the water was murky.

Surfacing and gasping for air, he scanned the surface, but saw no bubbles or movement. Within a minute, he was panicking, desperately searching for the familiar chakra.

Suddenly, something grabbed his legs and pulled him sharply downward.

He almost struck out in fright, but recognising Kakashi, he already aimed his fist intently, ready to teach the joker a lesson. Kakashi dodged, his eyes arching into familiar playful crescents.

They squirmed in the water a little more — Obito had to prove his point, and he wasn't going to put it off on principle — and then swam to shore, competing to see who was faster.

Obito ran to the shore first, triumphantly, almost slipping on the wet sand. Rin just let out a heavy breath, looking at the two of them as if they were two wild animals.

She stood in front of the mirror, looking at her body—now adorned with a navy blue seal over where her heart was. Rin touched it with her fingertips, feeling the ridges of the ink beneath her skin.

It's strange: one day you're an ordinary girl, and the next you're one of the tailed beasts' jinchūriki.

She bit her lip. Now considered a valuable weapon, she underwent intensive training under the supervision of Konoha's second jinchūriki, Uzumaki Kushina. Rin grew stronger every day, even learning basic sealing techniques.

It wasn't that she didn't feel grateful... She just kept wondering if she would be allowed to return to what she truly loved and was good at in the future — medicine.

She looked down at her thighs, where small wounds from her training had reappeared. Activating her medical jutsu, she began to heal them with green chakra. Then she took a brush, combed her hair, and climbed into the bathroom.

When she came out, wrapped in a towel, she almost bumped into her sister in the hallway. Moe looked her over carefully from head to toe, making sure Rin wasn't hurt. Her gaze lingered on the seal peeking out from under the towel.

"I'm sorry," Rin hurriedly stepped back and apologised for her haste.

Moe, though a civilian, belonged to the Nohara clan — and while she supported her younger sister, she remained wary of anything related to the Shinobi world. Her attitude certainly didn't improve after she learned that Rin had almost died protecting said world.

She will never understand, Rin thought.

Moe looked up uncertainly at her sister's face.

"You... do you hear the beast? Is it talking to you?"

Rin shifted awkwardly from foot to foot.

Sometimes she heard someone mumbling, and when she lay awake in silence, the sound of drops breaking on the surface of the water. The beast itself never tried to speak to her; she didn't even know if it could.

She shook her head.

Jun pinned his opponent against the wall, pressing his body against his, and squeezed his neck. Chiro glared at him, waiting for the moment to act. They were both breathing heavily, their joined chests sharing a common heartbeat.

"You'll regret it," Chiro croaked, his eyes glassy from lack of air.

Kakashi tilted his head and raised his hand to place it around his neck, pressing hard. He felt his heart beating fast, his blood pumping, and a slight dizziness. A strange feeling spread through his stomach as he imagined himself in Chiro's place.

The white-haired man's leg slid between Chiro's thighs in an attempt to silence him, but instead he got a completely different result - Chiro's mouth opened in a muffled moan, causing Jun's eyes to darken.

He was always attractive, Jun thought, looking at Chiro, this inhuman beauty that belonged only to him drove me crazy.

"Let go," Chiro moaned, and Jun only moved his hand to the side of his neck, feeling his heart pounding. His leg...

Kakashi abruptly closed the book, his face turning red.

She clutched her son, whom she had carried under her heart for nine months, holding him tightly as he cried out against her chest.

I will never give birth again, Kushina decided for herself, having survived the terrors of that night. She did not want to risk another life, because the seal could break again. 

Little Naruto now had a seal tattooed on his stomach in the shape of the sun, which held back the other half of Kyubi's chakra, and Kushina blamed herself for the fact that her son now had to bear a heavy burden from birth.

But they were all alive, and that was the most important thing.

This happened often:

Kakashi talked to someone for too long, paid someone just a little too much attention - and Obito's chest felt an unpleasant tingling.

He began to notice how nervous he got when other girls complimented Kakashi; how annoyed he got when someone made a too funny joke around him; how his gaze always sought Kakashi without even thinking about it, and he blamed it all on their past enmity—but it wasn't like that.

They had become close friends over the past year, and their old dynamic was a thing of the past—now something new, unique was emerging—something that didn't yet have a name.

[Konoha, Hatake Residence, 1992]

He sometimes annoyed him so much that he wanted to grab his long hair and pull his head, push him against the wall, and then connect their lips in an angry kiss.

And what pissed him off the most wasn't even the fact that Obito wasn't doing anything, but how much he affected him, just by being around him. His very nature made all of Kakashi's sensors simultaneously on high alert, expecting utter chaos if he made even one wrong move, so he would build walls of defense, immediately attacking anyone who dared to get close.

Obito had no idea how many times he had reached the point where Kakashi stopped thinking rationally. His careless smiles, the tilt of his head, the habit of looking straight into his eyes - every gesture was like a punch to the stomach. His shoulders tensed slightly, his breathing became more ragged, and his neck was strangely sensitive. It wasn't fear. It was another nature—one he hated to admit.

It's a common thing to see a bird or a cat on a tree branch. But will they sit side by side and calmly talk about what's bothering their hearts, sharing secrets between the two of them?

Crow also never thought he would find himself in such a situation.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched as Cat picked the hardened blood from his hand guards, as if trying to calm himself.

“Do you ever feel like you only feel safe wearing a mask?” Cat asked finally. His voice sounded like he had been pondering the question for a few minutes, debating whether to speak or not.

After a pause, the Crow quietly admitted:

"The mask is the only way for me to be truly myself. Other roles force me to be perfect, and this way I can just... exist."

"Even if your name doesn't belong to you?"

"Crow is also my name. Like the one my mother gave me at birth. But I chose Crow myself."

Cat looked down at his hands.

“I always felt like none of the names I had were truly mine.”

“Do you have many of them?”

“Three.”

“That's a lot of darn names you have”

And for the first time, Cat allowed himself to laugh next to him.

And for the first time, Crow let someone see him tired.

Obito sat on the engawa, admiring his garden as the warm May rain splashed on the green leaves. Beside him sat several cats, who had found shelter from the rain under the canopy near Obito.

When two Mokuton users live in a house, it's hard not to end up with a yard full of plants and trees, as well as an interior where every surface had to have at least one clay pot with flowers.

Obito even felt as if something long-lost had returned to Kakashi's troubled soul, seeing his garden alive again, and his vegetable garden flourishing. It seemed as if this gave him the strength to continue living with a peaceful heart. He often went to this very place, seeking solitude, sitting alone or next to Obito, quietly reading.

Stepping through the wet grass, dirtying his sandals, Shisui stood before Obito holding a blue umbrella.

“Greetings. I came to visit my favourite people.”

Obito looked at the boy critically. Shisui had been visiting more often lately, coming to just talk about nothing and relax in their homely atmosphere, or to complain about training. Sometimes he would bring his record player with him and turn on the music on the cassettes, enjoying the company.

Obito greeted and patted the seat next to him. Shisui sat down, and they began to exchange words.

The boy told of his recent training and encounter with a particularly difficult Shinobi, whom he eventually defeated. It was difficult to hit the Shunshin Shisui, but it was still possible. According to the boy himself, the only person who could defeat him in battle was Obito himself, because you can't hurt what you can't touch.

As usual, he asked about his progress with Kakashi, to which Obito rolled his eyes. The boy himself shared that he seemed to be starting to like a person he had recently met. Obito warned him not to get too carried away, because then it would be difficult to catch air from the bottom of the sea.

"You speak from experience, eh? All right, old man, I won't." Obito only lightly hit him on the shoulder.

Later, they went inside and invited the others to drink tea with them.

Tenzou, as usual, didn't come, saying he didn't want to and asking what Shisui had forgotten here once again.

"I was passing by," he replied, smiling only at him. Tenzou was clearly getting annoyed with Shisui, because he rolled his eyes and closed the door right in front of him.

Kakashi made himself a cup of coffee and sat aside, reading.

Ideal family atmosphere, Obito thought as he sipped his hot drink.

Otter was cleaning the blood from her katana, slowly, methodically, as if it were a form of meditation. The blade lay on her lap, the cloth sliding over the steel in smooth movements. Her long purple hair was tied in a high ponytail; a few strands still escaped and touched her neck.

"You left a stain," someone said quietly.

Otter did not raise her head.

“It’s from the soil,” she replied evenly, focusing on it.

Kite sat nearby, his elbow resting on the table, sharpening a kunai. The stone rustled softly. He hummed in a low voice the tune that came from the record player in the corner—an old, slightly hoarse melody that kept getting lost, as if the tape was worn out.

"Change the record," Hound said, not looking up from his papers.

"This one is calming," replied Kite. "It already used to us."

"And we too," Hound grumbled and turned the sheet upside down, trying to make out his own sketches. The handwriting was small, choppy, crossed out in places. "Does anyone remember at what stage we lost the third contact?"

"We didn't lose it," said Crow, without looking up.

He sat at the table opposite Cat. Between them was a shogi board. The pieces moved quickly, almost without pause. Their voices were low, muffled masks.

“You retreated,” added Cat, and moved the general.

"Tactical displacement," Crow replied calmly.

Their fingers touched for a moment as they both reached for the same cell. The contact was accidental—and instantaneous. Both withdrew their hands abruptly, as if the board had become hot.

"Your move," Cat said dryly.

Weasel sat a little to the side, on the floor, with the first-aid kits spread out. He checked them one by one, opening them, checking their contents, writing down the quantity and names. Each item fell into place with equal precision.

"The blue ointment is running out," he said, without looking at anyone. "Next time, be more economical."

"It wasn't us," said Otter. "They were fighting dirty."

"Ointment doesn't care," Weasel replied. "It just wants to be enough."

The room fell silent again. Only the rustle of stone, the click of figurines, and the screeching of pen on paper.

Having finished with the kunai, Kite stood up. As he passed Hound, he placed his hand on his shoulder for a moment—without pausing, as if by chance. The touch was light, but it left a wave of goosebumps in its wake.

Hound raised its head. “Where are you going?”

"I'll check the corridor," Kite replied from the door. "And don't turn off the music."

The doors closed almost silently.

The hound looked in that direction for a few more seconds, then looked down at the report again. "Did anyone see him take my pencil?"

"You put it down yourself," said Crow. "On the left. Next to the book."

Hound silently found a pencil and nodded, as if this was the only possible end to the conversation.

The world was turning slowly.

First, the pain. Dull, diffuse, as if the body was remembering itself piece by piece. Then, the smells: medicine, clean water, metal. And only after that, the sound. Quiet, uneven breathing very close by.

Kakashi didn't open his eyes right away; his eyelids were heavy. He lay motionless, giving himself a few seconds to realise that he was alive. The hospital ward was dim, curtains drawn, the lamp light dimmed to a minimum.

He slowly looked away, scanning the room.

Obito sat by the bed, bent forward, elbows on his knees. His shoulders were tense, as if he were afraid to even move. His eye was wide, red, and wet. He looked at Kakashi as if he were afraid to blink lest he disappear again.

Kakashi wanted to say something, but his throat only made a dry sound.

Obito shuddered.

"...Kakashi?" The voice was quiet, broken.

Kakashi blinked. He nodded slightly.

Obito stood up abruptly, too abruptly—the chair creaked softly. He leaned closer, but didn't touch. As if afraid that touching would erase the moment.

“You…” he paused, took a deep breath. “You were unconscious for three days. I…” the words fell out again. “I thought I was late.”

Kakashi slowly looked at his face. He noticed the dark circles under his eyes, the tense jaw, the tear that never fell, hanging on his eyelashes.

"You... stayed," he said hoarsely.

Obito smiled crookedly, and the smile was painful.

“Where would I go?” he replied quietly. “You’re here.”

The silence between them was thick, but not empty. It had everything: fear, guilt, relief.

Kakashi barely moved his fingers. The movement was difficult.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I… didn’t plan to.”

Obito shook his head.

“You always say that,” he whispered, “and then you scare me to death.”

A tear escaped and fell onto the sheet. Obito quickly turned away, but it was too late -—  Kakashi had already seen it.

"Crybaby," Kakashi said gently, extending his hand to Obito, who clasped it in both hands, holding it like a treasure.

Obito finally exhaled—a long, shuddering breath—and looked at him again.

“Just… don’t disappear like that anymore, okay?” he begged. “I’m not very good at this.”

Kakashi smiled faintly, tiredly but sincerely.

“I’ll try,” he said. “I promise.”

And this time, Obito believed him.

Winter caught him by surprise.

Kakashi left the house faster than he thought — his skin still remembered the warmth of the room, and the cold was already cutting his collarbones. The snow crunched under his feet, the air was sharp, clean, the kind that immediately hits your lungs. He pulled up the collar of his uniform, and only then did he realise that his coat was left on the back of the chair, and his scarf was where it always was.

"Damn..." he breathed, but didn't stop.

The mission did not wait.

The first gust of wind hit his chest, making him flinch. Kakashi took another step — and the world around him collapsed.

Kamui curled around him gently, almost caringly, like someone else's hands intercepting him mid-step.

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

Obito's voice was sharp, but not angry— more like scared. Kamui's space hummed softly, and Obito was already standing above him, too close, his eyebrows drawn together.

"You'll freeze, you fool," he added, without waiting for an answer.

Kakashi didn't have time to say anything.

The coat fell on his shoulders abruptly but surely. Obito pulled it closer, the smell of cold air and familiar chakra mixed, and the scarf —  warm, still preserved by human warmth — wrapped itself around Kakashi's neck in a few movements.

Too attentive. Too caring.

"You're not in the habit of protecting yourself," Obito grumbled, tying the knot. His fingers lingered for a moment at Kakashi's throat. Just for a moment.

Kakashi swallowed his words.

It was quiet in Kamui. Too quiet not to hear his own breathing. Too close not to notice how close they were standing. Kakashi felt the warmth through the fabric, through the gloves, through the scarf - and he thought it was a mistake, that Obito was trying so hard just because he was... a good...

Friend.

Partner.

Someone who just cares.

"I'm fine," he finally said, evenly. "You didn't have to..."

"I did," Obito interrupted. Quickly. Too quickly. "Because you..." he paused, looking away as if he had found something interesting in Kamui's emptiness. "Because you sometimes forget that you are not alone."

These words hung between them.

Kakashi thought he must have misheard something.

“Thank you,” he said, more quietly than he had intended.

Obito nodded. Once. Sharply.

"Go ahead," he grumbled. "Mission."

Kamui shuddered again.

When Kakashi reappeared in the winter air, his coat warmed his shoulders, scarf —  his throat —  and a strange, inexplicable warmth remained in his chest.

Obito stood in Kamui's void for a few seconds longer than necessary.

And he thought that it was probably just care.

Because there was no other way to explain how painful it was to let go, even for a moment.

[Kamui Dimension, 1988]

Obito sat on one of the stone blocks, slowly chewing a nectarine. He had recently discovered that he could also enter his pocket dimension, and now he was returning here more often. In front of him stood a pile of junk that he and Kakashi had been dumping in Kamui for months: dead trees, broken rocks, crumpled notes, and even a copy of Icha-Icha that Kakashi had accidentally sent here and was very disappointed about.

There was already a pile of rotting fruit and vegetables lying nearby, the remains of which they had once dumped here. Obito frowned as he looked at the dung: the nectarine in his hand suddenly didn't seem so tasty.

"To the left!" shouted Kite, sharply rushing forward. His foot struck his opponent in the stomach, knocking him off balance. Without wasting a second, he used Mokuton: the tree vines instantly wrapped around the enemy, squeezing until he lost consciousness.

Meanwhile, Hound fought off another attacker. His movements were precise, almost like a dance — months of training with Kite alongside had finally paid off. Their coordination was better than ever: as if something had changed in each of their hearts along with the changes in their lives.

Staring at Hound's graceful work, Kite didn't notice the blow flying straight into his face. Only with his peripheral vision did he catch the movement - and at that moment the body became intangible. The enemy's fist passed through his head without any resistance. Seizing the moment, he moved forward, materialising behind the attacker, entangling him with chakra chains and threw him aside, attaching an explosive seal. The attacker's scream was cut off by an explosion.

Behind him, something fell heavily to the ground. Obito turned around and saw the headless body of a Shinobi: blood spurted from his neck in a fountain. His heart sank sharply - he immediately began to look for Hound. He was already lying on the ground, unconscious.

Kakashi opened his eyes in the ANBU headquarters infirmary. A cold white light flickered under the ceiling. Obito sat on a chair next to him, his Kite mask pulled down to his temple, looking at the tiles without emotion.

"See anything interesting?" Kakashi asked, slowly standing up.

Obito gave him a lazy look — and Kakashi immediately realized that he is about to be scolded.

"The only interesting thing in this room is you. Or rather, your way of thinking," Obito began. "Remind me, what did we agree on when we trained Kamui? Yeah. That you wouldn't use the Eternal Mangekyou in battle without increasing your chakra reserves."

He raised an eyebrow.

"And how many times have you broken that promise already? Twice."

Kakashi ran a hand over his face wearily.

“I already understood, Mom.”

The gentle sound of bells rang out every time Hound took a step. Naruto was in his arms, secured in a sling, babbling happily, holding his favourite toy.

"The ones on top look better," Hound remarked, nodding slightly at the juicier tomatoes.

Kushina hummed contentedly, scooping a few into her bag, and paid the vendor. Her gaze immediately darted further between the rows of the market, and Hound followed her, maintaining calm vigilance.

He reflexively dodged as Naruto reached for his mask with his fingers. The child only laughed, persistently repeating his attempt. Then Hound leaned lower, allowing the curious boy to touch the cold surface of the mask.

“What do you think of these, Hound?” Kushina paused in front of a basket of beautiful eggplants that shone in the morning spring sun.

"Perfect," the soldier nodded, calmly assessing the goods.

Some people looked back at him with fear, not used to seeing ANBU members like this — just in broad daylight, next to civilians. But when they noticed Kushina, the Fourth Hokage's wife, they immediately understood that he was there as a guard. The looks quickly softened, mixed with reserved respect.

Back home, Kushina set about preparing dinner, leaving Hound with the task of putting Naruto to bed.

When alone with Naruto, Kakashi always took off his masks, knowing how important it was for a baby to see facial expressions. He didn't want to be nothing to the child, just another unhappy face in his life.

Seeing Kakashi's bare face, Naruto screamed excitedly, reaching for him.

Kakashi approached, smiling at the little boy. Naruto began to awkwardly touch his cheeks and grab his grey locks, pulling painlessly.

Obito looks at Hound sitting to the side of him, his back resting against the tree trunk.

“Give it here,” he says, taking the mask off Hound's face and putting it on himself.

Kakashi wasn't fazed by the sudden removal of his mask; he simply gave Obito a bored look with his only visible eye.

Instead, he took Kite’s mask hanging from Obito's belt and put it on.

Obito made a camera with his fingers, pointing it at Kakashi, pretending to take pictures by clicking his tongue like the sound of a camera shutter.

"My name is Kakashi and I have a huge ego," he parodied his friend, moving grotesquely. "I love reading my perverted books without worrying about what people think."

Kakashi shook his head and smashed Obito's imaginary camera with his hand.

“My life's work!”

"This is for mischaracterization," he punched Obito on the shoulder before he even had time to react, "and this is for nagging," he said, knocking the laughing Obito onto his side.

Obito knocked on the sliding door, standing on the threshold of a house he hadn't been to in three years. It was strange: he used to come here almost every week, visiting his aunt and cousin. But after being expelled from the clan, he didn't want to even look at the Uchiha compound, even more so to visit it, even if no one formally forbade him.

The door opened, and he was greeted by Shisui's familiar, friendly face, which immediately broke into a smile.

"Obito! How nice to see you. What brings you to our humble home, hmm?"

"Hello. I wanted to talk to Aunt Hatsue about family matters... and just drop by. Is she home?"

“Yeah, come in.”

Shisui led him inside. The interior seemed not to have changed a bit: the same paper walls, warm lanterns, the smell of green tea and sakura that came from the garden on the wind. Everything was as cosy and homely as before.

Hatsue sat on the engawa with a cup of sake in her hand.

"Mom, we have guests," Shisui said.

She turned at the voice and almost dropped her cup when she saw Obito standing in the aisle.

“Obito!” She stood up to hug him. “You’ve grown so much, my dear!”

They exchanged pleasantries and short life stories. Shisui sat nearby all the while, playing with pebbles in the garden and eavesdropping on the conversation, occasionally interjecting with comments of his own.

Finally, Obito decided to get to the point.

"Auntie... do you know if we are somehow related to the Hatake clan?"

"Hatake? Hardly... Mother was married to father, and he was from a common-law family, and she gave birth to your mother and me from him. And Sumiko fell in love with your father, who was... well, not exactly a Hatake. Sakumo and his mother were the last Hatakes at that time."

"You're afraid that you and your boyfriend might suddenly turn out to be related, huh?" Shisui blurted out.

Obito blushed and gritted his teeth to avoid saying anything inappropriate in front of Hatsue. Shisui had grown into a real rascal.

Turning to his aunt, he continued:

"I passed the clan check... it turned out I was a Hatake. I thought there must be one of them in our family tree."

"Oh, dear… Mom would know exactly what to tell you. You've come to the wrong person. I don't understand this at all. Sorry," she put her hand on his shoulder. "Try asking someone older in the clan, they'll definitely know something."

“Thank you anyway, and for your hospitality too.”

Shisui led him to the exit, and already at the threshold, he thrust a book into his hands.

"I'm sure I've read about something like that. What you're looking for is probably here."

Obito picked up the book and examined it. The crimson cover with black patterns looked ancient and expensive.

"Are you sure? It looks expensive."

"I'm sure. What you're looking for is much more valuable, I think."

Obito ruffled Shisui's already wild hair — just like he did as a child — and said goodbye.

They sat across from each other on the grass, their eyes closed in concentration.

Obito felt bored and opened his eyes to look at Kakashi. He was sitting with his back straight, looking as if he was sleeping, but after a moment, his eyebrows tightened.

“Obito,” he said, “I see myself through your eyes.”

"Really? How?" He moved closer to Kakashi, almost face-to-face.

"It's damn strange to see myself like this," he whispered. "I'm not sure how, I just followed the faint trail of chakra your eye was giving off. It led to a larger, much larger volume of chakra. I was there and heard the echoes of your thoughts, thinking that was all, but then you opened your eye," said Kakashi, opening his own, the grey one, and his gaze instantly doubled, merging into one image. His head began to spin.

Listening to his body, Obito could sense that there were two presences in his head at the same time, his and Kakashi's. The next moment, breathing became easier inside, and Kakashi was already clutching his own head, leaving Obito's consciousness.

The chirping of birds accompanied the soft afternoon sun, casting warm rays on the two young Shinobi, huddled together so close together, as if protecting themselves from something only they could see. A light summer breeze whispered its secrets, stirring the leaves above their heads and gently swaying the shade of the tree under which they dozed.

In his sleep, Obito shuddered restlessly, almost waking up. Kakashi, sensing this movement, unconsciously placed his hand on his friend's warm neck — cautiously, almost uncertainly, as if instinctively trying to calm him. Obito's breathing gradually evened out, and he fell back into a peaceful sleep.

They continued to doze, hugging each other tightly, and their hearts seemed to beat in unison.

And after awakening, they won't talk about it.

Even if Obito stares at the sleeping Kakashi for a long time, and when he starts to move, he quickly closes his eyes, pretending to still be asleep.

Even if Kakashi held his gaze on him for a few seconds - too long to be attributed to chance - and then abruptly pulled away, as decisively as if ripping a Band-Aid off a fresh wound.

The boys stood facing each other. When they opened their Sharingans, their gazes merged into a single field of vision.

Obito saw the world through Kakashi's eye, and Kakashi saw it through Obito's eye, his other eye remaining hidden under the cloth.

Obito jumped — and in others' vision, too.

He leaned closer, almost touching Kakashi's face, to get a closer look at himself.

"Super weird," he muttered, scratching his nose. "So, shall we get started?"

Their plan was simple: to establish a stable chakra connection and learn to move within their own bodies, guided by another's gaze.

Simple — in theory.

In practice, they spent half an hour, as Obito could not break through anything resembling Kakashi's mental barrier. Kakashi just shrugged it off as if it were a small matter.

For training, they chose bare-handed sparring—a safe and effective method, except that their coordination was initially disastrous.

The first few minutes of movement seemed slow and confused.

From the outside, it looked like two monkeys picking at each other, looking for fleas.

This thought echoed in Obito's mind—and in Kakashi's mind, too.

No one knew who thought of it first, but they both laughed.

Gradually, their movements became bolder: their punches became stronger, their dodges more precise. The training ground was filled with their laughter and swearing as they learned to synchronously repel “their own and others’” attacks.

Near the end, Kakashi's body dodged the blow before his mind even registered the movement.

Obito only had a thought - and Kakashi's body was already acting.

The exchange of an eye between Uchiha is a sacred union, a marital act in its nature, Obito read, scratching his scalp.

The transfer of the Sharingan is the transfer of a part of the soul and hereditary chakra, which is considered the highest expression of trust.

According to the old laws of the Uchiha clan, the one who receives the eye symbolically enters the lineage of the giver.

But there is a flip side: the giver also becomes connected to the lineage of the one who receives.

The Uchihas have an ancient rule:

“One who receives the eye becomes the guardian of my soul;

"The one to whom I give my eye becomes half of my life."

This rule has been interpreted in different ways, but in the deepest tradition, it is an act of unity, like a wedding ring.

This doesn't make them relatives—it makes them related, as spouses or as spiritual partners, depending on the interpretation.

The clan seal binds not only the eye chakra, but also the giver themselves, to the new "branch".

Uchiha avoid this, so eyes are usually only passed within the clan.

But Obito did it voluntarily and in a state of emotional peak.

Therefore, the seal was completely fixed.

Kakashi automatically became a "member of the giving clan", but at the same time, Obito was an "honorary member of the receiving clan".

That's why the Uchiha clan couldn't take Kakashi's eye away.

Because it would break the spiritual union, which in ancient Uchiha customs is considered the equivalent of a marriage vow.

They can't confiscate an eye without violating their own code.

The only way was to officially expel Obito from the clan. Which they did.

The eye was no longer a “sacred possession of the clan,” but a “souvenir from an invalid member.” So they stopped demanding it back.

Obito gave him the eye as "his other half", not even knowing that he was recreating an ancient marriage ritual.

Kakashi wore his eye as a symbol that he belonged to Obito, without even realising it.

The Uchiha knew this. That's why they avoided conflict with Kakashi and couldn't forcefully return the eye.

Obito's head was pounding with the amount of new information he had yet to digest. He slammed the book shut and lay down on his back.

It turns out Kakashi is his husband...?

Kakashi raced down the corridor as if he were being chased by more than just one person, but at least a squad of ANBU.

“Give it back!” Obito growled from behind, his bare feet sliding across the wooden floor. “I saw where you hid it!”

"You're wrong," Kakashi said over his shoulder, his voice suspiciously cheerful. "I don't have anything of yours."

He turned sharply into the kitchen, almost knocking over a chair. Guruko and Shiba, who were dozing by their bowls, jumped up instantly.

"Play?!" Shiba barked happily and rushed after him.

“No!” both boys exclaimed in unison.

Kakashi slipped past the table, jumped over the ninken couch, and dashed into the living room. Obito almost caught up with him, his fingers sliding across the fabric of his T-shirt and missing.

"Your legs are too long!" Obito said indignantly.

"No one stopped you from being born with these," Kakashi snorted and ducked behind the sofa.

The Ninkens took this as an invitation. Yuhei jumped onto the sofa, Biscuit jumped behind him, and Guruko started circling, barking like it was the best day of his life.

"Treason," Obito muttered, stepping over the tails. "I'm feeding you, you bastards!"

Kakashi jumped out from behind the couch and raced along the wall.

"Obito, seriously, it's just..." he trailed off.

Obito's hand finally caught him—firmly, confidently, by the waist.

“Gotcha!”

Together they lost their balance and fell onto the tatami, rolling over. Kakashi was on the floor, panting, a strand of hair in his eyes. Obito was on top, also panting, but with a victorious smile.

The Ninken instantly surrounded them.

“Boss, you lost,” Pakkun said next to him.

Kakashi laughed, covering his eyes with his forearm. "You're acting like a child."

"And you," Obito leaned closer, taking the stolen scroll from his fingers, "are a terrible thief."

"It was a test," Kakashi grumbled.

Obito snorted.

"Run faster next time."

The Ninkens barked again—unanimously, joyfully.

After one of the missions, Kakashi returned with broken knuckles, and Obito, for the first time felt a panicky fear that could not be explained by logic.

Fear of loss.

That night, he lay awake for a long time, lying on his back and staring at the dark ceiling.

It hurt him to think that someone could hurt Kakashi. It hurt as if something inside him had been damaged.

He asked himself: Why am I reacting like this? Why is it… so intense.

And for the first time, he admitted a thought that frightened him: Maybe I... love him?

He immediately dismissed it because he didn't know what to do with it. But the thought remained.

Rin gestured briskly as she told the story, her voice ringing in the warm evening air. Outside the window, fluffy snow was falling, and the golden light from the street lights reflected off the glass, filling the room with a soft glow.

Kushina was laughing heartily, her eyes shining with joy. Naruto sat on her lap and pulled his little hands to everything in sight - jewellery, hair, someone's sleeves.

Kakashi sat nearby, but it seemed as if he was only there in body. His gaze was focused on Obito - calm, attentive, almost thoughtful. He silently watched as Obito enjoyed the holiday, laughed, listened to Rin, and let himself be carried away by the atmosphere of warmth.

The laughter in the room grew louder. Obito glanced in Kakashi's direction, and for a moment their eyes met. He felt a subtle change in the air, subtle, almost imperceptible.

Kakashi's gaze was fixed, grey, completely focused - and somewhere deep down, there was an emotion hidden that he was not allowing to escape.

The moment was cut short when Naruto let out a joyful, squeaky cry—his fingers were already tightly tangled in Kakashi's hair.

"Naruto, stop it!" Kushina laughed. "You'll pull Kakashi's hair out!"

Kakashi flinched as the baby jerked harder, and his usual calmness was shattered for a moment. He gave the child a mocking look:

"You little brat... I'll shave all your hair off someday."

Naruto responded with a triumphant yelp and another powerful yank. Rin and Obito burst out laughing. They were too amused by the sight of Kakashi struggling helplessly with the child to remain serious.

[Land of Earth, 1990]

Waking up with a terrible pain in his temples, he felt as if someone was hitting the inside of his skull with a hammer. Kite covered his face with his hand from the blinding sun and froze.

He slowly looked at the hand. Pale. Bony. In fingerless gloves.

Oh no.

Obito sat up abruptly, and the world around him shook. The battlefield, the smell of hot metal and ash... and himself, pressed against a tree, in his ANBU mask.

"No-no-no..." Obito crawled to his own body and knelt down, his trembling fingers checking his pulse, his neck, his breathing. The same face, only frozen, as if he were sleeping on the verge of death. Burns that were healing quickly covered his skin.

"Kakashi! Are you there? We're in trouble!" He knocked on the mask as if it were a door, waiting for the owner to open it.

His heart was beating too fast. The smells hit his nose, the sounds scratched his nerves - everything was too vivid — a familiar feeling he had seen in Kakashi but had never felt himself.

He started shaking his body by the shoulders, trying to wake him up. What if this was a trap? He didn't stop moving. He tried to lift his body to escape from here, but he almost tore his back - he forgot that he was now in the body of Kakashi, who was physically weaker than him.

Taking a breath, he took off Kite’s mask and slapped himself as hard as he could. The eye under the mask opened sharply—wary, wide-eyed. Then it recognised the features.

"...Obito," Kakashi said hoarsely in his body. "The one who did this... is dead."

Getting used to someone else's body meant learning to breathe again, to move his fingers, to control chakra that wasn't flowing the way it should. This was definitely not the day he had expected. They were stranded in another country, far from Konoha, in hostile surroundings, in each other's bodies, and even just running was exhausting.

After Obito found himself in Kakashi's body, he immediately blacked out. Meanwhile, Kakashi continued to fight — quickly adapting to the alien body, he finished off the attackers with a paper bomb, but accidentally killed the person who had made the substitution, and he himself received an injury from which he fainted.

They reached a secluded spot to lick their wounds and “become one” with their new bodies, as Rin would say. The hideout was hidden in a narrow canyon, with a waterfall of crystal-clear water nearby.

Kakashi treated the burns on Obito's body, undressing himself without any ceremony.

"Maybe I should look after my own body?" Obito asked awkwardly.

"This is my body for now, and I have to take care of it," Kakashi replied stubbornly, pulling down his pants.

"You know that everything on me heals like on dog..." Obito grimaced as Kakashi took off his underwear.

“Don't want to get an infection.”

“I'm immune.”

"Obito, it hurts like hell!" Kakashi raised his voice and was scared by his own tone. Turning away, he covered his face with his hand and stepped into the cold water.

The alien sensitivity felt like strings stretched to the limit. The icy water soothed the irritated skin. He washed the wound for a few more minutes, until the cold had penetrated to his bones. In Obito's body, he found it much easier to tolerate heat than cold.

Obito felt constantly tired - the desire to sleep wouldn't let go, and Kakashi sent him to rest.

He lay on his back, his tongue running around his incredibly sharp teeth, which he didn't notice at first until he accidentally bit his tongue until it bled.

"Kakashi," he called. The latter turned his head. "Why the hell are your fangs so sharp?"

"To eat you, Little Red Hood," Kakashi replied, his eyes smiling slyly. An all too familiar manner.

Obito fell asleep watching Kakashi struggle to master a large volume of chakra.

Waking up in the darkness, he heard only the howling of the wind and the silence of the stars. He felt his own chakra nearby and relaxed.

Obito turned on the gas lamp.

“No need, turn it off.”

"What are you wearing?" Obito muttered, trying to make out Kakashi's silhouette.

"Genjutsu. Hid our ANBU uniforms and sent clones to scout the area. There's a village to the northeast. We'll head there in the morning," Kakashi's voice sounded exhausted.

"You can already create clones?" Obito was genuinely impressed. "Is it safe to go to the village?"

"You need provisions. We're six days from Konoha. None of us planned on getting stuck here."

"Maybe you'll master my Mangekyo faster?"

"It's dangerous. Neither you nor I are touching the Sharingan until we get used to our bodies."

He didn't have time to protest — his stomach rumbled.

"Oh sage, I'm feeling hungry again. What do you have to eat? Tell me you take something..." he looked at his own body under Kakashi's control, and felt a predatory, almost animalistic desire to eat himself. A strange, unsettling feeling.

"Only nutritional pills. They're in the bag on my leg."

Obito lowered his mask, receiving a strange look.

"What? Its not like I can see your face."

Kakashi nodded.

The pill was disgusting. Very disgusting.

The orange stone houses of the village were enchanting. The paintings on the them shone with patterns, the rounded forms of the architecture added softness.

The climate was much warmer, and they had purchased light linen clothing. Kakashi, wrapped in the fabric of his temporary body, looked surprisingly handsome. Obito found himself thinking that seeing himself from the side was strange, bizarre, and exciting.

Kakashi's characteristic habits remained, but he sometimes touched his hair in Obito's manner.

Local children ran up to them with greetings, laughed, and pulled their hands, sensing that they were “travellers.” One boy handed Obito a fruit, but he almost dropped it because of the increased sensitivity of his fingers.

"You're nervous," Kakashi noted quietly, glancing over his shoulder.

"I'm not nervous," Obito grumbled, biting into the fruit with his too-sharp teeth. "It's just... your body is weird."

"My body?" Kakashi raised an eyebrow. "And you act like a hungry wolf in mine."

“It’s not me! It’s… your… dentistry!” Obito snorted softly.

Kakashi laughed softly - so sincerely that Obito momentarily forgot who exactly was standing in front of him.

There was something dangerous about that laughter: to be in another's body means to see what is usually hidden.

But their warmth was interrupted: from behind the house, an alarming flute melody rose - the watchman's signal. Someone strange had entered the village.

And at that moment, they felt each other simultaneously — the chakra in their bodies trembled in the same way. It was as if the thread between them had been stretched to the limit.

"Let's not separate," said Kakashi.

"I didn't plan to," Obito replied.

Waking up the next day, they tried to get themselves back in shape… while in being someone else’s bodies. And that meant one thing: morning routines suddenly filled with new difficulties.

Kakashi's long hair fell into his eyes as he washed himself. Heavy dark strands stuck to his cheeks, blocking his view, and he tried to shake them off in annoyance. Obito, leaning against the door frame, watched him and laughed softly.

Approaching from behind, he slipped his fingers under the elastic band hidden under his sleeve. Kakashi froze — someone else's touch on his own wrist felt different, sharper in this body.

"I'll be quick," Obito whispered.

Removing the elastic, he pulled his long hair into a ponytail, his fingers catching the unruly strands. His fingertips slid over his cool neck and ears, and Kakashi shivered, shrugging his shoulders.

“Done.” Obito clapped his hands, backing away.

Kakashi looked around, his freshly washed skin gleaming, and Obito forgot how to breathe for a moment. Even in his body, he managed to look... absurdly beautiful.

"This is... strange," Obito muttered, standing in a fighting stance inside Kakashi's body and feeling his muscles react differently than he was used to.

"Accept the body," Kakashi advised dryly in Obito's body. "And don't be afraid to break it."

Obito lunged forward—and the next moment he was on the ground, his tendons simply unable to withstand the usual jerk.

"Are you serious?" Kakashi rested his hands on his knees, almost falling over laughing. "I have thin tendons there, don't tear them!"

"Are you serious!?" Obito jumped up, trying to make a catch. "First you say one thing, and then another!"

The catch was successful... but only because Kakashi shifted his weight too sharply and also buckled.

They both fell to the ground.

"Come to think of it," Kakashi breathed from below, "that's the stupidest taijutsu I've ever seen."

"Shut up! You fell stupid!"

Kakashi stretched out in the dust and only whispered:

"Obito, get off me."

Obito jumped back sharply, feeling a rush of heat to his face.

A little later, Obito lifted his outerwear, revealing a deep bruise on his stomach from another failed experiment on Kakashi's body.

Kakashi immediately took out the ointment, placed them on the stone, sat closer than necessary, and began to apply it with light movements. Kakashi's body was too sensitive, and Obito, in his bod,y flinched.

“Your skin reacts to everything,” he muttered.

"You react too," Kakashi replied quietly. "Don't blame my body."

His touches were longer, warmer than they should have been.

The stony desert stretched out like a long gray-white sea. The wind blew at them, merciless as always.

"Maybe we can go back through our connection?" Obito suggested, jumping over a crack in the ground.

In his own voice, Kakashi replied, dryly and measuredly:

"Extremely dangerous. Let's not risk combining our connection with an unknown technique."

Obito shuddered—hearing his own voice from another mouth was still too strange.

In the evening, when they sat down to rest, Obito was silent for a long time. The fire crackled, and Kakashi turned a page in a book.

"Kakashi... there's something serious," he began. "Something I've been meaning to say for a long time, but... I haven't had the time. I don't know how this will affect us, and I can understand if you're upset. And in general, now's probably not the right time to talk about it, but..."

Kakashi looked up at him. In someone else's body, with someone else's eyes, but his gaze was recognizable — a little wary, a little thirsty for the truth.

"You and I are married," Obito breathed.

The book fell, but Kakashi's quick hands caught it.

"A stupid joke, Obito."

"I'm not kidding." He pointed to the place where Kakashi's Sharingan was hidden. "This is our engagement ring. The spiritual partnership of the Uchiha, cemented by the transfer of the eye. On that day... we became clan-bound."

“But romantic feelings were not involved.”

Something in Obito's chest shook unpleasantly.

“Sometimes it works without feelings. I… am already part of the Hatake clan. Why do you think the Hatake house and compound perceive me as the owner and allow me to manage the seals and protection? Because I am Hatake

Kakashi blushed—almost imperceptibly, but enough for Obito to feel something inside him tighten and thaw at the same time.

"That... doesn't prove anything," Kakashi grumbled.

“Don't be stubborn.”

"How long have you known?" Kakashi asked quietly.

“Two years.”

“And didn't tell?”

"I didn't know how you would react. I felt like I had violated the sanctity of your clan by barging in without permission."

Kakashi looked down, and at the end he whispered:

"If that's the case... I don't mind you becoming part of my clan."

At these words, it was as if a mountain had been lifted from Obito's shoulders, and he smiled shyly, looking into the depths of his own black eyes.

And then:

“Is it… possible to dissolve our… marriage?”

Obito gritted his teeth as he finished his portion of stew.

“Yes. If you will you give me back my eye voluntarily.

“We could—”

"No," Obito stopped him abruptly, not wanting to hear anything else his mouth would say.

“But…”

“I said no.”

Five days later, they returned to Konoha and reported to the Hokage.

Minato stared at them for a long time—too long.

"Kakashi? Obito?" He looked first at Kite, then at Hound. "What... um... happened?"

"We have the sealed corpse of the Shinobi who did this, Lord Hokage. If you permit to transfer it to T&I, they will get all the important information."

"Of course. Do everything you can to put everything back in its place."

“Thank you, Lord Fourth.”

“You can go.”

They bowed and left together - with different steps, different gait, but side by side.

They took the body to T&I, where they thoroughly examined it, extracting everything they could about the technique used. After that, they sealed it, ensuring maximum safety.

The technique turned out to be an advanced, twisted version of body swapping, with a touch of something suspiciously similar to the methods of the Yamanako clan.

When Kakashi asked Inoichi, he just sighed heavily and said that the DNA test confirmed that the enemy was indeed from their clan. Which means he takes responsibility for the incident. And the help that can be provided, too.

Obito was constantly hanging around the T&I offices, going from window to window, door to door, eavesdropping, looking for even the slightest bit of information. He was torn between curiosity and fear: how were they going to counteract the technology that even Yamanako was stunned by?

A simple body swap, classic for the clan, didn't work for them at all: it only temporarily relieved the condition, but brought hellish pain. It was as if the enemy's technology itself had a hidden, inaccessible layer that blocked any attempts to reach the core.

While T&I racked their brains, they tried to live their lives as normal people—in other people's bodies.
And it affected everything.

The process of taking a shower was almost blinding for Obito: strange hands, different motor skills, a strange sense of invasion of privacy, even though he did everything as quickly as possible. He was a strong man — but definitely not in this area. He was ashamed even at the thought of touching Kakashi's body.

Kakashi didn't comment on his tendency to hide his face — but Obito still covered all the mirrors in the bathroom and in his room with towels. He couldn't bear the thought of seeing a reflection that he was supposed to remember... but had no right to study.
Especially when he took off his mask.

And he won't admit to anyone that in the dark, lying in bed, he carefully touched someone else's face, trying to map it by touch: soft, incredibly plump lips; a straight nose; a relief on the left under the lip. A memory he had no right to have.

Even stranger, his body was demanding something he had never liked. A sudden craving for meat. Raw. Bloody. He knew it was the voice of Kakashi's body, but he still felt broken by this foreign hunger.

He felt like the caretaker of a Tamagotchi that for some reason had become his own body.
Kakashi's needs were stronger and more chaotic than his own: the urge to go to the bathroom was constant; drowsiness seemed to be eternal, but he could hardly fall asleep; appetite was either sharp or absent altogether; and panic when he caught himself thinking that he had forgotten to "feed" someone else's body.

Kakashi seemed to be going through a similar, but strangely muted, process.
He stopped eating.
At night he disappeared into thin air —  he clearly didn't sleep.
During the day, he kept his face stony, perfectly neutral.
And something about that was disturbing.

No seals were found on their bodies. So there were no physical traces of the technique.
This means either that the enemy's powers worked completely differently... or that some of the traces were hidden.

But what exactly?
Is it in the chakra?
In the residual chakra, to be more precise.

Obito meditated for an hour, trying to feel it. And he found only one thing — his own chakra at the other end of the channel.
He followed it.

For a moment, he saw the world through Kakashi's eyes. In the mirror. He saw himself—his body—naked after a bath. He saw his own hand running over his cheek, as if recognising its contours. And the other one sliding shyly over the muscles of his torso, lingering at every curve.

It wasn't him.

It was Kakashi in his body.

And Obito felt something shoot up in his chest - shame, curiosity, and fear all at once.

Rin immediately realised that something was wrong with them: Obito was too quiet, but when he spoke it was as if he couldn't control his intense emotions; Kakashi, on the other hand, was unusually talkative.

When she visited her friends, she definitely didn't expect to find out that an enemy’s jutsu had forced them to swap bodies, and it was unknown whether the effect would be permanent or temporary.

"I didn't even think that such a technique could be long-lasting. Maybe it has an expiration date?" she said, analysing the boys' bodies with her medic's eyes.

"I don't think my consciousness is firmly anchored in Kakashi's body, and it's practically impossible to get out of it without damaging my mind."

"Did you try to swap bodies through your connection?"

"Kakashi said it could be dangerous."

“I still think it is.”

"And me too," Rin nodded, folding her arms across her chest. "Especially knowing you two. You're always... too attached to your own bodies," she glanced briefly at ‘Kakashi’, who stood there with an too-lively expression for his usual self.

He snorted - sharply, Obito-like.

"This isn't funny, Rin. I..." he trailed off, clenching his fists as if the words were stuck in his throat. "Everything in his body is different. Breathing. Strength. Even anger—it comes faster."

"And in yours," Obito added quietly from the side, his voice low, reserved, "there's too much silence. I hear my own thoughts, so clearly it's... scary."

Rin froze for a moment. She wasn't looking at their faces—she was looking at their posture, their micro-movements, the way they unconsciously behaved as one.

"You're already starting to mix," she said slowly. "Not just with your body. With your reactions."

‘Obito’ tensed up.

“Is this dangerous?”

"Not necessarily," Rin shook her head. "But if it goes on long enough... the boundaries might blur. You'll start reacting like Obito. And you," she looked at the other, "will hide just like Kakashi. Even when you come back."

Silence fell.

"So, what should we do?" Obito asked, not looking up.

Rin sighed and smiled—tiredly but warmly.

“First, stop pretending that this is just a “technical problem.” This is an experience. Unsolicited, but real.”

"Second," she moved closer, "don't be alone with this. Talk. Even if it seems stupid."

"And thirdly..." she paused. "Don't try to break the bond yourself. If it's really an enemy jutsu, abrupt intervention could leave cracks."

"Cracks?" "Kakashi" asked.

“In memory. In the way you feel,” she replied softly. “And you’ve lost too much already to risk that.”

Obito nodded slowly.

"Then... are you with us?"

Rin didn't hesitate for a second.

"Of course. Until you become yourself again."

She paused, then added more quietly:

“Whoever 'yourself' turns out to be later.”

The kitchen was too bright for the morning.

Obito stood by the table, feeling Kakashi's body strangely loud— every movement gave off heat under the skin, every breath was too deep, as if the lungs demanded more air than usual.

The heat rose in waves, from his chest to his neck, then to his face. His heart beat faster than it should, for no reason.

He mechanically rested his hand on the tabletop, trying to compose himself.

And then he saw himself.

Kakashi — in his body — stood opposite, leaning his shoulder against the door frame. Relaxed, a little sleepy, with that familiar posture that Obito knew by heart. But now... something was different.

The gaze was stuck. Not on the face — lower. On the neck. On the collarbones. On the way the body moved in space.

The thought appeared abruptly, almost aggressively.

"Right here. In the kitchen. Now."

This made something inside him twitch—sharp, shameful, dangerous. His breathing hitched, his fingers tensed, as if his body had already made a choice without him.

"...what the..." he breathed out, without finishing.

Obito looked away sharply, as if he had been caught in the act. He pressed a hand to his chest, his heart beating as if he had just run.

He swallowed, trying to calm his unruly body.

What's happening to me?

Kakashi said something - casually, calmly — and the sound of his voice only intensified this strange, uninvited feeling.

Obito gritted his teeth.

This is the body.

This is not his wish.

This is something else.

And this thought didn't make it any easier.

Kakashi stopped in the passageway of Obito's room when he heard a sharp, slightly breathless voice:

"Don't come in. Seriously...just get out."

It was so unlike Obito's usual tone that Kakashi still looked inside.

The room was in semi-darkness.

And immediately, something caught my eye that shouldn't have: crumpled napkins on the floor, on the futon, even on the table. The air was warm, oversaturated, as if something was boiling in it.

Obito lay on the futon, his face buried in his hand. His hair was matted at his temples, his breathing uneven, his shoulders tense as if he were trying to hold himself within the confines of his own body.

Kakashi froze.

And at that very moment, he was struck by a familiar, unpleasantly clear realization.

“Damn…” he blurted out quietly. “I forgot to warn you.”

Obito raised his head sharply.

"What are you talking about..." he broke off in mid-sentence, gasping for air. "I've been... something's wrong all day. I'm angry, hot, like..." he gritted his teeth. "And the thoughts aren't my own."

Kakashi entered and closed the door behind him. Slowly. Without sudden movements.

"I saw," he said more calmly. "You've been walking around darkly all day. Silent. I should have understood right away."

He leaned his shoulder against the wall, not coming closer—giving space.

“Do you know what this is?”

“Yeah,”  briefly.

He ran his hand through his hair, relieving the tension—an old gesture, almost automatic.

"My body has… periods. Hormonal. They're not always tied to thoughts or desires. Just physiology."

Obito frowned. "Are you saying this is... normal?"

"It's normal for me," Kakashi clarified. "I usually know how to deal with it. The routine, the cold, the isolation. Control."

He looked straight ahead. "But you're in my body now. Without instructions."

Obito swallowed. “I mean… those thoughts…”

"They don't mean they're yours," Kakashi interrupted calmly. "The body can react before the head. Or without it."

A silence hung between them—not heavy, but dense.

“I’m sorry,” he added quietly. “I should have warned you.”

Obito looked away, but the tension in his shoulders eased a little. "Then... tell me what to do."

Kakashi nodded faintly.

He suddenly remembered when it had happened for the first time: the night had come suddenly, heavy and stuffy, as if someone had covered the room with a thick blanket. Kakashi had woken up then to the fact that his body was burning. Not like with a cold — no pain, no weakness, just a strange, annoying warmth under the skin, spreading across his chest and stomach, making him breathe faster.

He sat up in bed, touched his wrist. His pulse was too fast. It was scary.

Kakashi didn't cry—he had learned not to do that long ago. But the fear was physical, dull, like a ringing in his ears. He checked himself as he always did: cold logic, counting his breaths, trying to concentrate. Nothing helped. His body lived its own rhythm, as if someone else was quietly turning a lever somewhere inside.

He stood up, careful not to creak the boards. The house was empty and too quiet—the silence that comes after death, not sleep. There was no one to say: I feel sick. There was no one to ask: Is this normal?

Kakashi poured himself some water and drank it in one gulp. It didn't get any better. He leaned his palms on the table and froze, listening to himself. His ears caught every sound: distant footsteps on the street, the rustling of leaves, even his own breathing seemed too loud. The smells became more pungent — wood, dust, metal. This confused him even more.

I am sick, he decided. It was the only explanation that didn't require someone else's presence.

He sat on the floor, leaned his back against the wall, and wrapped his arms around his knees. His heart beat fast but steady. His body wasn't breaking—it was changing. And that was more frightening than the pain.

Kakashi closed his eyes and forced himself to sit there until the warmth became a background, until it stopped being the whole world at once. When the wave receded a little, he exhaled—short, almost angry.

In the morning, he acted as if nothing had happened. He always did that.

But he didn't know that this was his legacy. He didn't know that the body sometimes remembers more than the mind. He didn't know that this wasn't danger or failure—just a cycle that hadn't been given a name yet.

That day, Kakashi realised for the first time: there were things that happen to him without permission.

And that he will have to deal with them himself.

"Here we are at Konoha Hospital," said the genin who were giving a tour of the Akatsuki members, who were visiting the village for the first time as part of a peace initiative. "Over the past four years, a real medical revolution has taken place here. It is associated with the name of Nohara Rin - a medic and the Three-Tails' Jinchūriki, as you know."

“She was the first to speak not only about healing the body, but also about Shinobi breaking down from within,” the second genin continued. “After the war, the losses, and the endless missions, she insisted: psychological health is as much a part of combat capability as chakra.”

“Thanks to her initiative, new departments, rehabilitation programs, and mandatory post-mission check-ups appeared in the hospital. For many, it was inconvenient. For some, it was unacceptable. But Konoha could no longer afford to lose Shinobi who were only physically alive.

Rin watched them from her seat by the window, surveying the participants. There were five of them, all dressed in long robes and wearing protectors from different villages. Their postures were straight, their gazes were critical. She had heard about them, and was very happy that they had finally come to Konoha with the aim of establishing relations and starting to cooperate.

She caught the gaze of the girl with hot orange eyes that were watching her intently, and they stayed, even though they were caught. Rin smiled at her, and left the hospital.

The channel opened quietly—not like a door, but like a confession.

Obito felt this not for the first time: a slight pressure somewhere behind his eyes, as if someone had touched a memory he had not allowed anyone to touch. The chakra pulsed evenly, carefully, recognisably. It was Kakashi—not a voice, not an image, but a presence entering without permission, because permission had been granted long ago.

They didn't speak. The contact didn't require words.

The penetration was slow. Not a sharp break, not a rough intervention, but a glide—like fingers studying a scar blindly, knowing in advance where it would hurt. Obito felt his thoughts shift slightly; the centre of gravity inside him was no longer his.

It was frightening. And at the same time, it was reassuring.

Kakashi was touching not memory, but the core. Not what Obito showed the world, or even what he allowed himself to know. It was touching the place where fear and trust existed together, not mutually exclusive.

In response, Obito reached out himself.

The channel widened, and now he was sliding into Kakashi—through layers of restraint, through levels set up like traps. It was colder there. Quieter. Lonelier.

And too familiar.

Their minds intertwined, not rubbing together but overlapping, like two hands finding each other in the dark. Obito felt Kakashi's heartbeat—not the physical one, but the deeper one that set the rhythm for everything else. Kakashi felt Obito holding on—not to his thoughts, but to his very being.

The return began almost imperceptibly.

The consciousnesses slid back into their respective bodies, but the touch did not disappear immediately. It trailed along, a thin thread that did not break even when the channel began to constrict.

Obito inhaled—with his own lungs.

Kakashi blinked - with his own eyes. And everything was back in place.

Obito was rummaging around in the kitchen, more out of boredom than necessity. The morning was dragging on slowly, Kakashi had a meeting today and something else to do that always took up his time. Obito opened the cupboard, looked at the shelves, sighed, and began to arrange everything on the table, as if checking what was actually there.

Rice balls. Dried fruits. Salted nuts. Something sweet. He froze for a moment, holding the orange in his hands, and automatically threw it aside.

"Not that," he muttered.

He remembered how Kakashi had once returned from a mission almost empty—not physically, but somehow. He sat up, took off his vest, drank some water, and said he was “fine,” but never touched any food. Obito hadn’t said anything then. He had just remembered.

Now he was putting everything together slowly, with a strange care. Not too much. Not too heavy. Something that could be eaten quickly, without thinking, between tasks. He looked at the pomegranate that had been lying around for several days and began to cut it. Red juice spurted to the sides as the knife cut through the juicy part of the fruit. With sweet hands, Obito separated it slowly, unhurriedly — as if he were dealing not with food, but with something fragile.

The skin cracked dully, with tension, and inside revealed a dense mosaic of seeds—too bright for the morning light. Obito put down the knife, took out the pieces with his fingers, careful not to crush any too much. The juice ran down his wrists, leaving sticky trails, and he mechanically wiped his hands on the towel, but only half-wiped them—his fingers still glistened.

He didn't pour the grains into a bowl. Instead, he separated them segment by segment, cleaning them of the white films that stubbornly clung to them.

The container stood nearby, clean and dry. Obito spread the grains in an even layer, not allowing them to stick together. When the container was full, he shook it slightly, levelling the contents, and closed the lid with a characteristic click.

Then he looked inside again, checking to make sure nothing was crushed, or the juice was leaking. Only then did he wash his hands properly and put the container back where Kakashi always found it without even looking for it.

He wrapped everything in cloth, tied a knot—sloppy but secure—and set it aside.

When Obito found him, Kakashi was already putting on his shoes.

“This is for you,” he said casually, handing over the package as if it were some small item that could easily be forgotten in a pocket. “Just in case.”

Kakashi looked at it for a few seconds, then took it.

"You know I don't always..."

"I know," Obito interrupted, already turning away, pulling up his sleeve. "Just throw it in the bag."

And that's all.

Then it happened again. Another day. Another morning. Another mission. The package would appear on the table, or in the bag, or simply in Kakashi's hands without any explanation. And Obito would find himself automatically adjusting: adding more salt after difficult tasks, less sweet if Kakashi seemed too focused.

He never asked if he had eaten, and Kakashi never thanked him.

Rin looked up from her papers at the polite knock on the door, which opened a few seconds later.

"Hello, Nohara Rin," said the woman with blue hair and a piercing under her lip. "My name is Konan. I have come on behalf of Akatsuki."

Rin stood up, putting the papers down neatly, almost mechanically.

"Come in. Are you from the… delegation?"

"You could say that," Konan said, gesturing to the man next to her. "This is Isamu. He specializes in reconstructive regeneration and toxicology."

The man next to him nodded, reservedly, without unnecessary words.

"I've heard about you," Rin looked at Lonan. "Mostly between the lines."

“Between the lines is the most interesting thing,” she responded. Her voice was even, but there was a hint of attentiveness in her intonation, as if she wasn’t just listening, but verifying something within herself. “We didn’t come with demands. More like… with a proposal.”

Isamu pulled out a thin folder and placed it on the table.

"Exchange of protocols," he explained. "Methods for stabilising chakra channels after extreme interventions. They say you have a strong school."

Rin scanned the first page, her eyebrows slightly raised—not in surprise, but in interest.

“This is not basic,” she said. “You are offering more than even allies are usually given.”

“We would like to offer an exchange. Of experience. Of technics. Perhaps joint research.”

Her gaze returned to Rin—direct, attentive, without pressure. Not judgmental, but not indifferent either. Rin suddenly felt like she wasn't just being listened to—she was being taken seriously.

“I am open to cooperation,” she replied after a short pause. “But on condition of complete transparency.”

“That’s fair,” Konan nodded. The corner of her lips twitched almost imperceptibly—not a smile, more a sign of approval. “You’re used to working honestly. It… feels good.”

Rin looked down at the notes, then looked up again.

— If we talk about specifics, we'll need more time. And, perhaps, a quieter place.

“I thought so,” Konan replied. She tilted her head slightly, the gesture discreet but attentive. “We’ll be in Konoha for a few more weeks. If you can find a window in your schedule—”

"I'll find it," Rin said, faster than she had planned.

Konan nodded, as if accepting the decision as fact.

"Then I will wait for your message."

She turned toward the door, but paused for a moment.

“It's nice to see a doctor who isn't afraid to look beyond the usual boundaries, Nohara.”

And only when the door closed did Rin realise that the room had become quieter.

They met in the hospital for the third time, not out of necessity, but out of inertia.

Konan came with papers—an exchange of notes, clarification of formulas, a few questions about stabilising chakra channels after injuries. Rin sat at the table, listening intently, occasionally looking up—not directly, but slightly to the side, as people who are used to thinking more than speaking do.

"You look as if you're checking your own thoughts, not mine," Konan observed calmly.

“I’m used to checking both,” Rin replied.

They smiled almost simultaneously. Not warmly, more cautiously.

Konan started coming regularly.

Not always with a reason. Sometimes, with a question, she could send in a letter. Sometimes, just to leave new notes. She never lingered long, but she always walked away a little slower than she should.

Rin was the first to notice it.

"You're not in a hurry," she said once.

"I always know when I can afford it," Konan replied.

It wasn't flirting. But there was something in the air that felt like permission.

For the first time, they didn't talk about medicine in the evening.

The hallway was quiet, the light from the lamps warm, the hospital slowly calming down after the day. Konan stood by the window, Rin next to her, holding a cup of tea that she never drank.

“You always look like you’re holding on from the inside,” Konan said. “That’s… rare.”

"And you look like you've learned a long time ago not to show how you feel," Rin replied after a pause.

Konan looked at her longer than usual.

“Sometimes it's the same thing.”

They stood over a table with notes spread out. Rin leaned over, pointing at something on the diagram. Konan did the same, and their fingers touched.

No one pulled their hand away immediately.

It wasn't an impulse — more like a test. Is it allowed?

Konan removed her hand first.

“Excuse me.”

"Its nothing," Rin said quietly.

After that, a new caution appeared between them. And at the same time, a new attention.

Rin didn't understand this right away.

First, she noticed that she had started to wait. Then, she remembered the steps in the corridor. Then, she caught herself thinking:"How is she today?" even before Konan herself appeared.

Konan understood differently.

She didn't come one day. And she realized that she missed this place. Not the hospital — Rin in it.

They sat side by side on a bench near the hospital. The evening was cool, but not cold.

“I don’t often allow myself to get attached,” Konan said, looking ahead.

"I don't often let myself be seen for who I am," Rin replied.

The pause was long. But not empty.

Konan gently touched the back of her hand—not squeezing, not pulling.

Rin didn't pull her hand away.

They didn't call it love right away.

They called it stay.

Stay for one more conversation.

For one more meeting.

One more touch that needs no explanation.

And that was enough for something more than friendship to emerge between them — and much deeper than simple sympathy.

Konan said it as if by chance.

They stood at the hospital exit, not quite inside and not quite outside, in that in-between zone where conversations always turn out more honest than planned. The evening was cool, the sky low, and the city breathed softly, as if it were listening too.

"I'll have to leave Konoha soon," Konan said in an even voice. "The Akatsuki don't stay in one place for long."

Rin didn't answer right away. She looked at her as if trying to keep her in sight a little longer than politeness would allow.

“I guessed,” she finally said. “You never sounded like you were here forever.”

Conan nodded. Her gaze drifted to the side, to the streetlights.

"I'm... glad I spent this time here. With you. It was..." she paused, searching for a word, "unexpectedly good."

That “good” hung between them. Not loud, not final—but heavy enough to make Rin feel something tighten in her chest.

"Konan," she said quietly.

But she turned. Their faces were close—too close for simple conversation, too far away for anything definite.

Rin felt something inside her break—not painfully, but rather, as if it was losing its hold. She didn't give herself time to think. She simply took a step forward and kissed her.

Not harsh. Not demanding.

It was a kiss that was more of a confession than a request. Warm, short, but one that left a shiver in its wake.

Konan froze for just a moment—the moment when the world decides which way to turn. And then her hand rose and rested gently on Rin's waist, answering just as restrainedly, just as attentively.

When they stepped back, there was silence between them again. But now it was different—not empty.

"I'll remember that," Konan said softly.

"Me too," Rin replied.

And that was enough.

[Konoha, 1984]

Obito sniffed and continued down the crowded street beside the old woman, a heavy bag full of groceries in his hands. The sun beat down mercilessly on his black hair and dark clothes today, sweat beaded on his forehead under his goggles, and condensation covered the glass; he almost regretted leaving the house today. Maybe Minato will take them to train at the river today...

He stopped abruptly when the grandmother stood still and turned toward the door of the house.

"Here we are, honey. Thank you for your help, Obito," she said, and went inside, leaving the door ajar. Her package was still in his hands.

Obito panicked and rushed into the cool shade of the house to give her the groceries—and almost ran into the old woman, who was holding an ice cream cone.

"Here, hold on. I hope this will help you survive this terrible heat for a little while."

“Oh, thank you very much, Ms Katsuhito,” he bowed and exchanged the heavy bag for the life-saving ice cream.

After saying goodbye, he hurried to his team, greedily devouring the cool dessert.

Kakashi greeted him with a grimace and another remark about being late. Rin just looked up from the manga, nodded at him, and hid herself again between the pages. Just one look at the cover was enough to give Obito goosebumps. One day, she had carelessly left the volume at his house... and he, to his great misfortune, had decided to look at it. It would have been better if he hadn't…

(And no one will ever know that he spent a sleepless night devouring page after page.)

Obito was sitting by the fire. He wasn't warming himself—he was just there, his shoulders a little tense. In his hands was a stick, with which he mechanically stirred the embers, preventing them from going out.

Somewhere far away, beyond the tree line, a wolf howl stretched out. One. Then a second, answered from the other side, as if testing the boundaries.

Kakashi didn't wake up abruptly — he just opened his eyes. His body was still warm in the sleeping bag, but his mind was already alert, collected. He listened. There were no footsteps. Only night, smoke, and night sounds.

"They're not letting you sleep?" Obito whispered, without turning around.

Kakashi sat down quietly, pulled his knees up, pulled his hood up. He nodded. No words were needed.

The wolves howled again. Closer. Not aggressively, more like a warning.

“Do you think they’re onto us?” the whisper again. “Or are they just passing by?” A pause. “They don’t attack without a reason, do they?”

Kakashi looked out into the darkness between the trees. The night was thicker there than anywhere else.

"No," he said quietly.

Obito chuckled, as if that wasn't enough.

"And the people?" he asked almost immediately. "Why do people attack for no reason?"

Kakashi didn't answer. He took the mug from Obito's side and took a sip of cold water. A branch cracked somewhere — the night had taken on a life of its own.

“Have you ever thought,” Obito leaned forward a little, “that we’ve been doing this for years, and yet…” he paused, choosing his words. “Still, we’re still the same kids who are afraid of the dark?”

Kakashi glanced at him. His profile was sharp in the charcoal light, but his eyes were too lively for this hour.

“You’re not afraid of the dark,” he said.

"I'm afraid of silence," Obito replied immediately. "When it becomes too long."

They fell silent. The howling died down, leaving behind a void that rang in their ears.

"Kakashi," the whisper came again, quieter now.

“Mm?”

"If they come any closer... will you tell me?"

“Mh.”

Obito turned his head, met his gaze for a moment, and nodded.

The fire breathed a quiet spark. The night retreated a step.

[Ruins of Uzushio, 1989]

The sound of seagulls and the crashing of waves filled their ears; the warm sand clung to their feet. The salty air smelled of seaweed and the old, dead ruins that guarded the shore.

"I can't believe this is my first time seeing the ocean. It's beautiful," Obito breathed, running a hand through his long hair, which glistened in the sun. The wind picked up the strands and scattered them in different directions, making it even more alive.

Kakashi watched him out of the corner of his eye, his gaze fixed on the admiration that was spreading in his eyes. Something in his chest tightened pleasantly and painfully; the tips of his lips lifted in a bitter, too-soft smile.

You are beautiful.

Obito turned around abruptly, blinding him with a wide, sunny smile. A look full of hope, happiness, and something so pure that Kakashi felt the silence inside him crack.

The salt in the air touched their lips, as if hinting at something forbidden.

"It's good that you're here," Obito smiled softly.

If I kiss you right now… will I hate the taste of salt forever?

His hand involuntarily rose as Obito turned to the horizon, but Kakashi lowered it abruptly, as if he had been burned. He turned his gaze to the endless water, hiding the blush and the longing that was swelling in his chest.

I can't. If I touch you, I'll love you forever and the taste of salt on my lips.

"Do you think... will we ever be truly happy?" Obito asked quietly.

Kakashi remained silent, staring at the emerald waves crashing against the rocks beneath the ruins of Uzushio.

"The last one to the water is... the last one!" Obito decided and, unable to think of anything better, ran to the water, dragging Kakashi along the hot sand.

"Obito!" Kakashi barely managed to keep his balance.

He let go of his hand and was already pulling on the collar of his outerwear, throwing it onto the warm stones. The sun glinted on his skin, and Kakashi looked away.

Obito entered the water and immediately began splashing in his direction, laughing, beckoning like a child.

To the sound of the waves, Kakashi began to undress, leaving the mask on his face.

"Kakashi! We've been living together for so long. Stop hiding what you're hiding! Take it off, it's only getting in the way!" he shouted, straightening his hair.

Kakashi froze for a second.

The fingers reached for the mask involuntarily.

Then they stopped.

It took an effort for him not to show how much he hesitated.

He shook his head and slowly walked into the water.

Halfway there, he was met by Obito, who was tying his hair into a wet bun; black strands stuck to his neck and collarbones, trails of hair were visible under his armpits, and Kakashi bit his lip.

Obito's gaze slid down Kakashi's bare chest and lingered longer than it should have. He quickly turned away, stepping deeper into the water.

"Do you even know how to swim properly?" Kakashi shouted, trying to gather himself and not look where he shouldn't.

"I don't think so! I've never swum in a sea!"

"Don't go far. I don't want to look for you at the bottom of the sea."

“But it's not deep her—”

A high wave covered him head-on.

Kakashi rushed towards him immediately. His heart was pounding so hard it was in his throat. Every second he didn't see Obito was tearing his insides apart. He scanned the sea, trying to find chakra...

And suddenly, two strong hands grabbed his hips and pulled him down.

Kakashi looks down sharply — and Obito, laughing, lifts his head out of the water, shaking the drops from  his hair. The salt water runs down his cheeks.

“Worried? Because you didn’t want to do the mouth-to-mouth technique?” he said with red, moist lips, poking a finger at his pale thigh.

Kakashi clenched his jaw, feeling something flutter in his lower abdomen. He grabbed Obito by the shoulder, trying not to show how much he was drawn to him.

"Next time I'll leave you to die."

"You won't leave me," Obito laughed and pulled him closer, wrapping his arms around his hips warmly.

The wave again covered them both up to their waists.

Now they were standing so close that their breathing mingled with laughter.

"Never," Kakashi replied quietly, so quiet that even Obito couldn't hear over the sound of the waves.

The first thing he noticed about the boy was his purple stripes. For a second, Obito even thought it was Rin standing behind him, but luckily, his eyesight was fine. The boy's smile was infectious, and for some reason, Obito couldn't help but smile back.

“Enjoying the views, huh?” he greeted.

"Something like that. I hope you don't mind me taking your picture. You seemed so relaxed in your movements that I couldn't help myself." His plump lips lifted in an inviting smile.

Obito stood up from the bridge railing and extended his hand to the boy:

"Only if you show me a photo sometime. The name is Obito, by the way. I've never seen you in Konoha."

The boy shook his hand with his own, dry but warm:

"That's because I'm passing through here, Obito. I've been documenting different places and cultures across countries, and I finally made it to Konoha. I'm from the Land of Snow myself, and it's quite hot here, I think."

“Well, maybe if you take off your coat and scarf, it will help with the heat.”

"Oh, are you trying to undress me already? At least invite me to dinner first," his gray eyes sparkled slyly.

"I don't think you even told me your name, or did I miss it?"

“A name is the least way to find out information about a person, but people always care what your mother called you. There's something poetic about that, isn't there?”

"And what should I call you then, o great philosopher?"

"Sukea is fine," he finally took his hand away, squeezing it one last time. Obito was already longing for his warmth.

The next time they met in the rain. It was late evening, and Obito was walking, stepping over puddles. In the darkness, he noticed someone standing under a lamppost without an umbrella. When he passed by, he recognised the same mysterious photographer and greeted him, feeling an inexplicable attraction to him:

“What are you doing here in the rain?” he asked uncertainly.

"I was taking nature photos," Sukea said quietly, not looking up as the rain ran down his hair. "It started to rain heavily, but before that, I saw frogs jumping in the water. I couldn't leave until I had finished watching."

He finally looked up.

“And then you came along… and now I have something much more interesting to observe.”

Why does he look at me like he’s known me for hundreds of years? The thought came suddenly.

“Do you flirt with everyone like that, or am I special?” he joked carefully, covering Sukea with an umbrella. “Are you just implying that I’m more interesting than a frog?”

"Obito," he said his name so softly that it made Obito's skin crawl. "I've probably never met a more amazing person than you. And thanks for the umbrella—I'm already soaked to the bone and freezing like a dog."

"You can borrow it," Obito said, rubbing his neck, "it's not far from my house anyway."

"That's very kind of you," Sukea smiled and bit his lip.

For a second, Obito thought he saw something… wrong.

His fangs are longer than those of an ordinary human. Too sharp. Too predatory.

Like a vampire.

Or a wolf.

Sukea is a vampire-werewolf?

“…Obito?” Sukea tilted his head, his smile even softer.

Obito disappeared into Kamui's vortex faster than he could come up with an explanation for himself.

Obito strolled through the evening market. The lanterns swayed in the wind, their light fell in spots on the cobblestones, and the smell of hot food mixed with the hubbub of voices. All this gradually relieved his fatigue after a hard day.

Stopping at the candy counter, he selected a dango and handed the money to the vendor. As soon as he took a bite of the first ball, a sharp flash blinded his eyes.

“Oh. Sorry, I forgot to turn off the flash,” a familiar voice said.

Obito blinked, focusing his gaze.

"Hey! You again!"

"Me again," Sukea smiled, his fangs flashing. The smile was so warm that something in Obito's heart clenched softly. "Let me make up for it and buy you more... as many as you want."

Obito lowered his eyes to the pebbles beneath his feet.

"Maybe... if you're not busy... you could show me your photos?"

Sukea responded with a smile that had a strange, calm warmth to it, and with a slight gesture invited him to follow him.

Obito stared at him for a moment. There was a different pace to everything Sukea did—slower, more attentive, as if he lived in a gentle rhythm that didn’t obey the noise of this world. And that was probably what appealed to him the most.

“Listen… I’m sorry I disappeared so abruptly last time,” he said on the way.

“No, it's a cool trick. I checked it out,” — Sukea winked cheerfully. “And I'm not angry at all. Although your umbrella died heroically, the wind finished it off. I apologise.”

"Oh no! My beloved umbrella," Obito bit his lip, pretending to be sad.

Sukea even looked genuinely confused for a moment.

"Really? Well... then I'll have to compensate with a box of dango. It's a matter of honour now."

"A box of dango... always a good idea," Obito chuckled.

They reached a secluded spot in the park. Fairy lights twinkled on the branches of the trees, casting a soft light on the bench. Obito had only been here a few times; he had always thought it was too beautiful a place for him. Today, for the first time, it didn’t seem that way.

They sat down close together, legs together. Sukea took an album out of his bag and handed it to him.

"This album is about Konoha and the Land of Fire," he explained.

The pages were neat, each photo carefully placed. Landscapes, markets, rooftops at dawn... And suddenly —  a photo of Obito. He was sitting by the river, bent over a small notebook.

His heart beat louder.

That was very... personal.

“These are… beautiful photos, Sukea,” he said quietly, handing over the album.

"Thank you," he replied just as quietly.

They sat for a long time. They talked about nothing—and everything at the same time. The air between them was light, warm, and at the same time charged with some strange, quiet tension.

Obito didn't notice when a thought flashed through his mind: these brief encounters leave a deeper mark than the entire days of his life.

Lying on his bent arms at the table, Obito watched out of the corner of his eye as Kakashi played with toys with Naruto. The latter acted out the scene between the dog and the fox, like a little everyday story, adding different voices, gestures and funny pauses. Most of the words were lost on Obito - he listened more not to the content, but to the timbre itself: soft, warm, rare for Kakashi.

Kakashi's visible eye shone with concentration and genuine concern. Obito found himself thinking he could stare at this for hours.

Kushina noticed his gaze and gently nudged him in the side, raising an eyebrow, almost mockingly.

“What?” he looked at her in surprise.

"Nothing," she smiled a wide, wide smile. "I love listening to Kakashi play with Naru, too. But I'm listening."

She narrowed her eyes slyly. "You're clearly not thinking about the fox."

"It's just..." Obito frowned and waved his hands above his head. "I sometimes have... periods when my brain just shuts down."

Kushina repeated his gesture without any pause.

"I understand," she said, and there was a little more knowledge in her smile than he would have liked.

Naruto, seeing their strange synchronicity, imitated the movements with interest, then walked over to Obito and handed him a stuffed bird.

"Beeto, play," he asked, almost climbing onto his lap.

Obito smiled broadly and scooped the little one into his arms.

Naruto immediately settled down comfortably, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Kushina looked in Kakashi's direction and noticed him look up.

Kakashi's eye glowed with the same softness that had been on Obito's face a moment ago.

The same quiet, inexpressible tenderness.

Kushina snorted. Fangs flashed.

And the two boys, without noticing it, looked at each other with identical looks.

Obito went into the coffee shop to grab some tea and coffee for Rin, who was working her shift at the hospital and was probably holding on by sheer willpower. The smell of freshly ground beans inside made Obito's nose wrinkle involuntarily — he couldn't stand the smell of coffee, but for Rin's sake he was willing to endure it.

He stood in line, his gaze wandering absently over the wall decorations, the warm lamps, and the fresh pastries in the windows. Everything looked cosy, almost sleepy, until his attention was interrupted by something bright—a familiar face in the crowd.

Sukea.

A warmth instantly spread through his stomach, rising in waves to his chest and getting stuck somewhere in his throat. Sukea, barely catching his gaze, smiled sweetly and waved briskly. Obito felt his cheeks burning, and he didn't notice how an equally warm, slightly foolish smile spread across his face. He nodded in response — briefly, restrainedly, but with the same inner flare.

The line started moving, and when Obito had already picked up his order, that strange, pleasant fog in his head hadn't cleared. It seemed like he was no longer in the coffee shop, but somewhere much higher up — in his own clouds.

Later, when he arrived at the hospital, Rin tapped him on the shoulder:

"Hey, where are you flying? What's wrong with you?"

Obito looked down at the floor, feeling the thought of their chance meeting warm him up again. But he just shrugged.

“It's… nothing.”

He couldn't tell her — it was too personal, too fragile. He didn't even fully understand what was happening to him.

I wonder if we will see each other again?

The night was clear, almost empty. Obito jumped across the rooftops not because he had nowhere to go—he simply wanted silence, where the city wouldn't be intruding on his mind with words and lights.

Click.

The sound was quiet, but too clear to be accidental.

Obito froze, instinctively tensing. A few steps away, at the very edge of the roof, stood Sukea. Camera in hand, strap around his neck, body gleaming in the moonlight. He didn't flinch or turn around immediately—he just slowly lowered the camera, as if he knew Obito was there.

"Greetings," he said calmly, almost lazily.

"You're loud," Obito grumbled, stepping closer, "for someone looking for footage of a quiet night."

Sukea chuckled and finally looked at him. The look was attentive. Too attentive.

“Would you like to see the view closer?” Sukea said, stepping back a little, making room for himself. “The city looks… more honest from here.”

Obito hesitated for only a moment. He approached. He stopped nearby.

There were only a few inches between their shoulders. Close enough to feel the warmth. Far enough to pretend it didn't matter.

The city below glowed in spots—windows, streetlights, roads stretching like nerves. Sukea raised the camera again, but didn’t take a picture. He just held it.

“Do you often jump across rooftops, as if running away from something?” he asked quietly.

"I'm not running away," Obito replied. "I'm... looking for rest."

“Mm,” he said shortly. “Then you and I are similar.”

He looked at Obito again. This time, longer. As if he were studying not the face but the reaction.

Why do I like that he's watching me? Obito turned away from the city, feeling the thought burn from within.

“Are you always so quiet?” he asked, trying to break the silence.

"Only when I don't want to lie," Sukea replied.

The wind tugged at the hem of their clothes, forcing their shoulders almost to touch. Neither backed away.

They stood like that for a few more seconds—the two of them on the roof, above the city, in a tension that they couldn't quite name. And neither of them seemed to be in a hurry to leave.

The fog lie low on the training ground, swallowing up the contours, making the world soft and fuzzy, as if someone had deliberately reduced the sharpness.

Obito was already there.

He moved silently, with concentration—strikes, steps, turns. His feet found the ground blindly, his body remembering trajectories better than his head. His breathing settled into a rhythm, and for a moment it seemed that he was the only clear thing in this fog.

Click.

He didn't stop immediately—one more movement, another half-turn—and only then did he turn his head.

Sukea stood at the edge of the playground, half-dissolved in the mist. The camera was pressed to his face, his hair slightly damp with dew. He lowered it when he caught Obito's gaze.

“I didn’t mean to bother you,” he said quietly. “It just… it looked beautiful.” He looked down at the ground shyly, covering his mouth with his fist.

“Beautiful?” Obito frowned slightly, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “I’m just practising.”

Sukea shook his head as if it didn't matter.

“You move as if you hear music that isn’t here.” He smiled at the corner of his mouth.

Obito snorted, but moved closer. The fog parted between them, leaving a distance of a few steps.

“Are you capturing something I can’t see again?” he asked, nodding at the camera.

"That's why I do it," Sukea replied. "Do you want to try?"

He tilted the camera slightly, as if offering Obito process itself. Obito instinctively crouched down next to him to get a better look at the mechanics, the old body, the lens, which still had moisture from the fog on it.

"Careful," Sukea said more quietly as Obito reached out. "The button is tight."

Their fingers met on the shutter release—a brief, accidental touch. Warm. Real. All too noticeable in the cold air.

Click.

Obito jerked his hand away sharply, as if he had been pricked.

"Accidentally," he grumbled, standing up.

Sukea only smiled slightly, not commenting. He raised the camera again, looking through the viewfinder, but this time not at Obito, but at the fog that was slowly beginning to lighten.

Obito stepped back, returned to his exercises, but his movements were erratic. His heart was beating faster than it should have after such a warm-up. It was annoying.

He left the site earlier than planned, cutting through the fog with his shoulders. It was only after walking a few meters that he realised that he was breathing more rapidly than after any training session.

And that, for some reaso,n my heart still doesn't calm down.

Obito ran his fingers over the book spines, carefully reading the descriptions and evaluating the covers: this one was too vulgar, that one was too flashy. But this one, simple and unassuming, was just what he needed. Immersed in the text, he didn't immediately notice the shadow behind him.

“Philosophy, psychology… That’s what interests you, right?” Sukea’s voice slid along his neck, and a sly smile already hovered over his shoulder.

Something warm and sweet spilt over into his stomach again. Obito turned around abruptly—so abruptly that their cheeks collided, cold against warm.

“Sukea…” he quickly looked back at the book, trying to hide his blush. “What brings?” he chuckled softly, trying to sound indifferent.

“I was passing by and saw you,” just as quietly, but with a different implication. He traced his fingers around his waist — a light, slow movement that was completely unnecessary… and all too welcome.

Obito's heart stopped, and his skin from the back of his head to his cheeks flared red. Sukea watched the colour change as if he were savouring it.

Kakashi would never do that.

But... I wanted him to.

"And…?" Obito timidly turned his head, meeting his gaze, which was too close for him to breathe properly.

"I thought I'd say hi," Sukea whispered directly into his ear, leaving his hot breath on his skin.

"Hi..." Obito replied just as quietly.

"Hi," Sukea's gaze dropped to his lips, lingering for a moment that completely blew Obito's mind.

Kakashi wouldn't even look at me like that...

Obito's head moved forward slightly, his eyes half-closed, and the world shrank to two breaths touching each other.

“Are you two going to buy something?!” The saleswoman’s irritated voice cut through the moment.

Obito flinched and jerked back, his face burning so hot it was almost infernal. He mumbled an apology and practically slipped out the door without looking back.

Sukea remained standing in the middle of the aisle — quiet, calm, with a slight sadness in his eyes.

That was the last time they saw each other.

Evening was settling in gently. The river was calm, the surface catching the sun and breaking it into golden streaks that trembled slowly with the current. The air smelled of damp grass and warm stones.

Sukea sat on the bank, his legs crossed, his notebook resting on his knee. He wrote quickly but leisurely, as if he were keeping up with his thoughts, not the other way around. Obito stood a little to the side, not daring to approach at once—a strange feeling as if he were disturbing something fragile.

“Sit down,” Sukea said without looking up. “You can hear the water well here.”

Obito sat down on the grass beside him, keeping a careful distance between them. They were silent for a while. The sun was slowly touching the edge of the horizon.

Sukea turned the page, stopped his pen.

“Have you ever felt,” he said, looking out at the river, “that someone sees you for who you really are?”

The question hung between them. Obito felt a tension rise in his shoulders, as if he had suddenly become visible.

"I don't know," he replied dryly. "People see what they want to see."

Sukea nodded, accepting the answer without objection. But his gaze, brief and attentive, slid over Obito as if he already knew more than was said aloud.

The wind caught the edge of Obito's collar and crumpled the fabric. Sukea reached out—the movement was simple, almost routine—and adjusted the collar. His fingers touched his neck for a moment longer than politeness required.

Obito froze. The heat passed suddenly, like an electric shock. He inhaled—and instead of moving away, he leaned closer.

There was no pathos or determination between them—just silence, water, and the sunset light. Obito touched his lips briefly, uncertainly, as if testing whether it was even possible.

Sukea did not pull away.

The kiss was quiet, almost invisible, like the reflection of the sun on the water—and that's why it was remembered forever.

That was the last time they saw each other.

He will fall in love with anyone who shows even a little attention to him.

Then why not with me...?

Kakashi bit his lip, trying to hide his sob.

Standing at his post, Obito watched Kakashi go about his business from afar, not noticing that his eyes were watering. Lifting his mask slightly from his face, he wiped his eyes and felt the moisture on his fingers. He thought it was sweat—but it was just bitter tears.

For some reason, it hurt so unbearably that his heart clenched.

Late evening.

The two of them are sitting on the roof of the academy, because they didn't want to leave after training. The wind is pulling Kakashi's hair a little, and he's muttering something quietly about the technique he still can't master. His eyes are irritated, and his voice is tired.

And Obito suddenly finds himself not hearing the words. He's just staring.

The way the sunset light glides across his face. The fine lines around his eyes from stress. The way his hand moves when he gestures.

And he… stops.

Silence explodes inside him.

Sage, he thinks, I fell in love…

Just a quiet, clear understanding that completely absorbs him.

After that, he began to see signs everywhere. How his heart reacted to Kakashi's every touch; how he caught his gaze and forgot what he wanted to say; how every word Kakashi said affected him more than it should have.

He felt scared. And at the same time, it was as if everything had finally fallen into place.

I love him. I always have…

That was the moment he stopped deceiving himself.

[Konoha, Playground, 1976]

The boy on the nearby swing had been hiccupping so loudly for four minutes that they echoed throughout the yard. Night was approaching, and his father was about to come and take him home.

Kakashi slowly turned his head and immediately met the gaze of large dark eyes that were studying his face intently. The boy hiccupped again, his whole body jumping.

Kakashi frowned.

The boy leaned over, as if trying to get a closer look.

“Why are you wearing a mask?” he finally asked, quite seriously, pointing at his face.

Kakashi shrugged.

“I look like a real ninja.”

“What do the real ones look like?” the boy squinted.

"Like the ones they show in cartoons. Have you never seen one?"

"Grandma says that TVs ruin your eyesight. And our eyes are special, I'm Uchiha. We need to take care of them. My name is Obito, by the way. And…” he looked critically at Kakashi’s silver hair. “I like your hair. Do you want to be my friend?”

Obito's smile was so sincere, so defenceless, that for a moment it even confused Kakashi. He was not used to such straightforward people.

Kakashi looked down.

“I don't need friends.”

“Why?” Obito cocked his head to the side like a puppy. “Everyone needs friends. Even…” he thought, choosing his words, “grumpy boys like you. You especially, I think.”

Kakashi sighed.

"You can't give me anything of value. Therefore, friendship would be meaningless."

“I can!” Obito even stood up on the swing.  “I know a lot of interesting facts about animals and plants!” he nodded rapidly to himself.

"You just proved that your information is useless to me. Forget it."

He jumped off the swing just as his father appeared on the playground. The little pug that had been napping in the sand immediately jumped up and ran after them, muttering something to Kakashi.

Obito was left alone, swaying slowly in place. He followed Kakashi with his gaze, as if trying to understand why even very small people could be so complicated sometimes.

I'll make you happier, just you wait! 

[Konoha, 1999]

They entered the house quietly, shaking snow off their outerwear, almost in unison, as if afraid to stir the air. The smell of the New Year's still lingered — warmth, alcohol, fireworks, and something familiar and homely. At the party, they kept their distance, but an invisible thread, taut to the point of pain, trembled between them all the time. They exchanged glances all evening, each unaware that he was igniting an inner fire in the other.

Someone then pushed Obito into a circle of dancing with jokes:

“Unwind, dance at least once in your life!”

He gave Kakashi a helpless look. Kakashi didn't want to dance. He hated dancing. But he sighed and walked over.

"Insure me," Obito whispered.

And all that was left for Kakashi to do was place his hands on Obito's waist, whose hands found his shoulders.

They thought they were creating a show, but ended up creating a deadly, intimate trap for themselves.

Body to body.

Their shared warmth.

Separate breaths, but one desire.

Obito laughed nervously:

"You don't seem to know how to dance."

To which Kakashi replied:

"But I know how to hold you."

Moving forward is moving backwards.

Kakashi's hands are on his waist.

Obito gulped air greedily.

The music is loud.

When the song ended, they stood with their noses almost touching.

No one dared to leave.

Obito took off his shoes and froze for a moment, remembering that Tenzou was probably asleep inside, returning home earlier.

Kakashi quietly closed the door and did not move. He watched with a relaxed gaze as Obito looked uncertainly at his dark suit, as if searching for any imperfections.

As the toasts and conversations were being made, Obito cracked a clever joke, making the audience laugh, his gaze immediately finding Kakashi, who was looking straight at him and allowing himself a small but genuine smile.

Obito almost choked on his drink then.

A moment later, he felt the opposite leg slide down his shin under the table—and disappear only a few seconds later.

Too late.

Obito didn't forget about it until the end of the evening.

"Kakashi..." Obito whispered, and that whisper contained everything: a warning, a request, a plea.

Kakashi didn't flinch at his voice. Soft. Tired. Dangerously honest.

With one movement, he adjusted the collar of Obito's coat.

When he first saw him in a suit with a high-necked shirt and a leather coat, his first reaction was to want to strip everything off Obito with just his teeth.

It was unfair that he looked so good with minimal effort. Not even his black hair was in place, just it's usual state.

Obito touched his wrist, stopping the movement, and that was the point of no return.

When someone else touched Kakashi, and he smiled too warmly in return, something terrible stirred inside Obito, pushing him to go and claim what belonged only to him.

“If you don’t move away,” Obito breathed through his teeth, “I won’t be able to stop.”

Kakashi didn't move away.

He took a step closer and slowly pulled his mask from his face.

Obito pulled him painfully close by the wrist, cupped his face, and intensely watched every emotion on Kakashi's face before connecting their lips in a sensitive, real kiss.

Kakashi's hands roamed over his back, as if trying to grab Obito all at once. Their lips moved awkwardly and too quickly, as if they were dying and a kiss was the only way to survive.

Kissing him harder, Obito pressed him against the wall; his hands slid under his clothes, gripping his sides and trying to merge with the warmth of his skin, his fingers digging painfully into its softness. Kakashi opened his mouth wider, allowing Obito to deepen the kiss; Kakashi's fingers dug into his thick hair, grabbing strands. Obito's hands moved over his body, memorizing every inch, leaving a trail of goosebumps.

Obito kissed him as if he wanted to swallow him whole; the movements were rough, the touches were hard. Kakashi greedily absorbed each one of them.

Placing his hand on the side of his neck, Obito lifted Kakashi's head by the chin, but paused for a moment, checking to make sure he was doing everything right; their lips deepened the kiss one last time before pulling away and trailing small kisses down his neck just as he always wanted. Kakashi inhaled sharply, reacting to the contact, his fingers in Obito's hair digging into his scalp, and a soft moan escaped his lips — so sensual that Obito, unable to resist, sank his teeth deep into the tender skin.

With a muffled groan, Kakashi threw his head back, leaning his whole body against the wall; his heart pounded wildly in his ears, and something trembling and impatient bloomed in his stomach. Obito licked the bite with a hot tongue, caught his waist in strong hands, and turned him sharply, pressing his larger body against the wall. The contours of their silhouettes matched perfectly, as if they had been made for this. He carefully watched Kakashi's reaction before continuing.

Burning with every kiss and movement of his tongue, he continued his hungry and hesitant touches, examining his lover's body: now hastily, now almost reverently, feeling the tingling of electricity on his tongue. With each new movement, Kakashi's eyes rolled higher and higher under his closed eyelids; hot lust spread through his veins and vessels, penetrating deeper — right down to his bones. The desire to be absorbed completely, without a trace, covered him in a wave.

Breathing in the scent of ozone where his neck met his shoulder, Obito dreamed of merging with him into something single. His feelings were destructive, doomed to destroy them both for everyone.

Wandering here and there with his lips, trying to express more than words could allow, he almost unconsciously whispered, as if delirious, fragments of confessions, framing them with light kisses. The hand under Kakashi's clothes finally found what he had been chasing for years.

His heart.

It was beating at a frantic pace, the pulsation felt in Obito's fingers, which involuntarily clenched around it, as if trying to feel it closer, to reach it from the depths of his chest.

He pressed his forehead to the back of Kakashi's neck and hugged him tightly from behind.

"I love you," his lips whispered, light as a feather's touch, tickling his skin. Kakashi's head tilted of its own accord, as if trying to absorb every breath into his skin.

Turning his head, Kakashi touched Obito's cheek and pulled him closer, a warm wave, like static energy, passed from his cheek to his shoulder.

Breathing just above his ear, Obito ran his tongue over it, receiving a sweet exhalation in return and a shiver throughout Kakashi's body. He gently kissed his cheek and pressed his own, enjoying the silence between their heartbeats. The lingering warmth in his stomach and the pleasant lump in his throat accompanied him the entire time — a tart, inescapably familiar sensation.

Their lips found each other again, a little awkwardly, eagerly, as if trying to fill the gaps of wasted years. The kiss was warm, but something crackled inside it: thin, restless sparks slid across Obito's lips and pricked like tiny needles.

He shuddered, pulled away slightly, and touched his swollen lips with his fingers.

Kakashi's lips instantly snapped after him, as if they couldn't let go.

"Are you… electrified?" Obito asked hesitantly.

Kakashi looked as if he were standing on the edge of something primal: his pupils were dilated, almost eating away at his grey and red irises; his gaze was wild and deep; his breathing was ragged, his heartbeat could be heard almost in the air — rapid, unnatural, completely uncontrolled.

He turned and reached closer, grabbed Obito by the hair, pulled him close so that a dry crack of static ran through his fingers. Kakashi touched his thin skin with his lips — lightly, almost gently — and Obito felt a clean, short shock, like the hot touch of a bare wire. He sucked in air. Not deeply — sharply, as if something had struck him.

"Sorry..." Kakashi croaked, leaning closer. "I can't control myself."

The words came before he sank his teeth hard into the neck — not too hard, but enough to cause the skin to bloom with a thin trail of blood.

Obito exhaled heavily, pushed him closer, closer with his hip — and pressed together, trying to find the rhythm.

"I know..." he hardly whispered directly into Kakashi's ear. "And I'm not asking you to hold back."

Kakashi covered his mouth with a sharp, almost predatory kiss that made Obito dizzy. A flash of white flashed between their lips for a moment — sparks ran down his chin, and a metallic taste appeared in his mouth.

The kiss was so deep that each of their collisions was accompanied by a dry crack, as if the air itself was cracking from overvoltage.

Something glowed beneath Kakashi's skin, faint, uneven, but bright. The light pulsed with his heart, bursting from within through the bits of lightning, as if he were made of pure chakra.

Obito whispered, barely touching his lips:

"You... are glowing right now."

Kakashi exhaled into his cheek, low, trembling:

“Obito…”

His gaze was pleading and hungry at the same time; he bit his lip so hard that Obito's heart stopped for a moment.

He kissed him — gently, quietly, not at all like a moment ago — as if calming something wild inside him. Their hips met again, more smoothly now, more in harmony, in a rhythm that was born between the two of them, not against them.

The warmth spread thickly, sweetly, and captivatingly in their bellies; their breath mingled with the moans they caught in the same kisses, not letting any of them get lost.

Kakashi reached for Obito's belt and began to slowly unbuckle it — one-handed, confidently — without taking his eyes off him. They were attentive, deep, intense.

Obito swallowed, his throat feeling dry, as if he had forgotten how to breathe. His gaze fell on Kakashi's hand, and at the same moment, a trembling, almost inaudible sound escaped his chest as a warm hand finally gripped his cock.

Letting out a plaintive groan, he threw his head back as Kakashi set a slow, rhythmic pace with his hand. Obito allowed Kakashi to change their positions — easily, confidently — pressing him against the wall with his whole body without stopping.

Kisses slid along the jaw, adding to the heat with gentle bites. Obito melted beneath him, his fingers gripping Kakashi's waist tighter than he realised.

A sudden, hoarse breath escaped him, his body leaning forward. Almost instantly, he straightened his back, pretending not to feel everything Kakashi was doing to him so much, even though his cheeks were burning.

Kakashi, on the other hand, enjoyed every microreaction, catching them, amplifying them, as if he were studying them.

It was as if he wanted to extract every sound, every tremor, every unmanifested movement from Obito.

Their lips connected again, and Obito continued to exhale moans into Kakashi's lips, completely lost in the moment. Kakashi's hand began to slow down, and then he removed it, leaving Obito breathing heavily.

"You're so loud," Kakashi said softly but piercingly, leaning into his ear. "I suggest that until Tenzou wakes up, we find a more... secluded place."

Obito didn't waste a second. He grabbed Kakashi by the wrists and carried them to Kamui, where a large block of futon, blankets, and pillows lay in the peaceful darkness. The dimension hummed with a soft, almost inaudible echo, as if space itself had quieted for them. The deep black, endless sky towered above them, both a witness and a cool blanket that kept their secret.

Without breaking the kiss, Obito slowly lowered himself down, finding himself between Kakashi's legs. The sight from above — pale skin, white hair, eyes darkening with desire — cut him to the bone.

"You're beautiful," he breathed out and wrapped his hands around Kakashi's thighs, squeezing lightly. His fingers reached for the zipper on his pants. Kakashi smiled, his cheeks turning slightly pink, and Obito leaned in to kiss the sensual blush.

His hands trembled as he pulled his pants and underwear down, exposing the velvety thighs he dreamed of marking with teeth. Slowly removing the fabric, he covered the tender skin with rows of kisses, investing in every hunger that tore at him from within.

Kakashi writhed beneath him, every movement ethereal, soft, yet inviting to pain. Obito leaned toward his neck, his fingers carefully unbuttoning the annoying buttons of his black shirt. The same one in which Kakashi had been driving him crazy all evening.

He kissed the jawline and pulled the fabric from his shoulders, revealing a body he had always noticed but dared not touch. The warm skin responded to every touch of his lips, as if absorbing his breath. Kakashi's back arched towards him, surrendering completely to Obito's control.

His tongue slid over the sensitive nipple, and his fingers pressed against the other, rubbing the tension between them that pulsed with electricity. Kakashi buried his hands in his dark hair, his mouth open in a soundless moan.

His hips rose towards his, seeking contact, and Obito moaned into his skin, feeling a wave of pleasure pass through him. He left a final kiss on her sensitive areola and began to hastily remove his clothes with Kakashi's help, their movements instinctively in sync.

When Obito freed himself from his pants, he found himself kneeling over Kakashi, completely naked, vulnerable to every glance he gave him. Kakashi pulled him closer, pressing their chests together. Their bodies moved together, hot, tense, breaths intertwined.

They kissed slowly, deeply, as if trying to convey to each other all the years of unspoken things. Their naked erections rubbed against each other, smoothly and sensitively, causing both of them to let out muffled moans.

Obito's hips moved wildly, greedily, as if he was afraid of losing this moment. Kakashi cupped his cheeks and focused his dark pupils on his eyes.

"Obito..." he breathed hoarsely. "Tell me... is this your first time?"

Obito nodded faintly, his breath hitching.

“The first time with someone I have feelings for.”

Kakashi gave a soft, contented purr and pulled him into a kiss that said more for him than any words could.

Teeth clicked briefly, tongues found each other, with even greater hunger and care. Greedy hands explored the bare skin, searching for the perfect spot to stay there forever.

Obito pulled away for just a moment, grabbing the edge of the glove with his teeth, trying to pull it off.

"Don't take it off," Kakashi said quietly, looking away.

Obito froze, then slowly touched his cheek, lifting his chin.

“Don’t take your eyes off me,” he said softly, his thumb sliding over his lips.

The lips opened obediently at the touch. Kakashi closed his eyes for just a moment, breathing in, remembering the warmth. Obito's eye flashed, and he pressed harder, searching for a pass.

A gentle mouth opened, enveloping the tip of his finger in its moisture. Kakashi tasted the leather of the glove and closed his eyes, savouring the moment. Something trembled in Obito's chest - quietly, but stubbornly. His hand slid down Kakashi's stomach; he ran his hand uncertainly over the other man's cock, getting used to the weight of the length in his palm; confusedly, he tried to look down and then up at Kakashi's face, seeking guidance.

He was pulled from his thoughts by a touch on his cheek, leading him closer —  and he followed it, their foreheads meeting in the middle. Kakashi looked into his Sharingan with his own — they simultaneously opened in a red flower, remembering each other forever as they were — desperate and thirsty for love.

Obito felt the channel between them open wider, striking them with their shared feelings. They both exhaled sharply at the same time. Obito felt an incredible wave of alien emotions wash over him: a mixture of longing, hesitation, and a sense of measured love that teetered on the edge of hunger and fear of loss.

Kakashi conveyed a simple but undeniable feeling of approval: You are doing everything right.

Obito shivered with pleasure and kissed the tip of Kakashi's nose. His fingers gripped the other's length more boldly, sliding over it, making Kakashi take a ragged breath and throw his head back. The finger on his lips began to explore the mouth more deeply, his gaze fixed on the large fangs. He touched one of them, studying their shape anew.

Kakashi's lips trembled as Obito's hand slid more intensely over his cock, and he suddenly bit his finger, leaving a dent in his gloves. Obito smiled amusedly, his eyebrows rising.

"You bastard, you can bite it off like that," Obito moved closer, studying the other's face, "although that's probably what you'd want, right?"

Kakashi just exhaled through his nose, letting out a laugh, and groaned as Obito squeezed his length harder.

He pressed his tongue, pushing his finger deeper into his throat. Kakashi's eyelashes fluttered sensually, and he swallowed around his finger. His tongue slowly began to travel over his finger, while his body trembled with the pleasure he was accidentally sending to Obito.

"That's it," Obito chuckled approvingly, pushing his finger in more and more precisely, making Kakashi choke on his own saliva. His eyes rolled further and further, his breathing becoming uneven.

He pulled out a wet finger and cupped it between his lips, looking all the while into Kakashi's eyes, whose cheeks were reddening in Kamui's cold light.

Obito leaned down to leave light kisses along the jaw, leading a path down Kakashi's body; he kissed the neck, left red marks on the collarbones and light bites near the chest, wet tongue marks finding their place on the plane of his stomach when he finally reached the hot flesh.

Kakashi squirmed beneath him the entire time, grabbing the stiff locks of black hair, guiding Obito to where he felt the most pleasure, and Obito obediently followed.

Obito tentatively touched the dripping head with his lips, and wetted his lips with it, licking them involuntarily. Kakashi hissed through his teeth, arching his back. Maintaining eye contact, Obito stroked the length of his cheek, smearing the liquid over it. Kakashi placed a hand on his sticky cheek as Obito buried his nose in the light hair below, inhaling deeply.

With leisurely touches, he began to memorise the length of someone others cock with his hot tongue, making the man beneath him tremble in quiet satisfaction.

My one and only one, Obito said, meaning for only Kakashi to hear, who responded with a soft groan and a look that meant everything.

"I loved her, but I wasn't in love with her," Obito corrected, his voice quieter but no less sincere, for Kakashi admitted that he still thought Obito had feelings for Rin, "she's like my soulmate, the light to my shadows. But... my feelings for you..." He struggled to find the right words, his fingers once again moving along Kakashi's thigh to express his emotions. "They're deeper, more intense. They consume me. Your name is engraved on my soul. There is no you without me, and there is no me without you."

Kakashi remained silent as Obito spoke, letting his words sink in. He could feel Obito's emotions through their bond, a tangle of love, guilt, grief, and a hint of fear.

He understood these feelings very well.

When he first developed feelings for Obito, it was an almost painful realization. He didn't understand why his heart beat faster next to Obito, why his breathing hitched when their eyes met, why his thoughts seemed to be about Obito when he least expected it.

"I don't know how you didn't notice that I was completely in love with you all these years," Obito swallowed the lump in his throat. Kakashi just smiled sweetly, kissing him on the lips.

Kakashi's grip loosened, his fingers tracing feather-light lines over the skin of Obito's jaw as he considered the question. "Do you really need to ask?" he countered softly, his gaze never wavering. 

His thumb continued its slow tracing over Obito's lips, the touch both soothing and electric. 

He leaned forward, the weight of his body pinning Obito against the futon, his lips just a breath away from Obito's ear.

"Because you're Uchiha Obito," he said, his voice firm. "Because you're the idiot prankster who pulled a desk prank that failed because I was in the classroom and snitched. Because you're the one who would sneak into my room through the window just to tell me one stupid joke before running off again." 

He leaned forward, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Because you blinded me and everything about you… even your feelings. You are the boy who saved me from death by sacrificing his own life. You are the boy I have loved since I was six and have never stopped. Not only that, but you are the boy who bears the scars on your face that prove your courage and your desperation. I love you so much that I cannot imagine life without you. You have settled in my lungs forever, and only through you can I truly breathe."

Obito didn't notice it right away.

First, on the automatic. Standing at the gates of Konoha, waiting for Kakashi to make arrangements with someone from ANBU, he froze, staring at the road, and his hand slipped into his vest pocket. His fingers froze in the emptiness for a moment, searching for the familiar paper box.

Nothing.

He blinked, as if waking up, and took his hand away, not paying any attention to it. It just… wasn’t there.

Another time — late evening, on the roof. The wind was pulling at his hair, the city was breathing below, and it was exactly the moment when he had lit up earlier: between thoughts, between fatigue and emptiness. Obito leaned his elbows on the railing, inhaled deeply — and only then did he remember that there were no cigarettes even in his bag.

He snorted under his breath.

"That's strange," he muttered, more as a statement of fact than a complaint.

Kakashi, who was standing next to him, didn't turn his head. He just changed his position a little, so that their shoulders barely touched. That turned out to be enough.

Gradually, it became a habit—or rather, the lack of it. Obito still reached for his pocket when he was nervous. When he waited too long. When his thoughts got tangled in a tight knot. But each time the movement stopped somewhere in the middle—and his hand either fell or found something else: the fabric of his sleeve, the edge of his vest, Kakashi's warm wrist, if he was nearby.

The smell of smoke had disappeared so imperceptibly that he only realised it when someone outside lit a cigarette next to him, and he suddenly felt… uninterested. Not disgusted. Just indifferent.

Kakashi didn't say anything. Didn't ask. Didn't praise. Only when Obito stood silently for a long time after a difficult mission, staring into the darkness, did Kakashi hand him a mug of hot tea — and Obito automatically grabbed it with both hands.

The warmth of the tea was more familiar.

And somewhere between these little things—empty pockets, broken habits, other ways to breathe—smoking disappeared from his life just as it had once appeared: without ceremony, without promises, simply giving way to something—someone—more important.

"Don't pretend it was anything incredible," Obito leaned his shoulder against the tree trunk and shook his head, watching Kakashi tie the bells back onto his belt. "If three green genin could outwit you, then I have a much better chance."

Kakashi didn't look at him right away. He just pulled the knot a little tighter than necessary and chuckled.

“They worked as a team,” he replied calmly. “And now you’re just blabbering.”

“Oh, so you admit that I alone am a threat?” Obito broke away from the tree and took a step closer, deliberately closing the distance. “That’s nice to hear.”

"I admit you're cocky," Kakashi finally looked at him, lazily, with that familiar spark of challenge in his eye. "Do you want to check?"

Obito smiled before his body could react. Chakra slid under his skin, space trembled slightly, and Kakashi instinctively shifted his weight, disappearing from his spot just as Obito's hand was about to grab the air where he had just been.

"Uh," Obito turned around, laughing. "Running away?"

"Just teaching," Kakashi's voice came from behind him, closer than expected.

Obito crouched down sharply and rolled over, feeling Kakashi's hand slide over his shoulder. The ground beneath his feet was well-trodden, familiar—the perfect place for a game of speed and reaction. They moved in circles, almost dancing: a step—disappearance—appearance—a brief touch that didn't have time to become a thrill.

"Bells, Kakashi," Obito reminded him, leaning forward and disappearing into the warp of space. "I'm not hunting you. Not yet."

Kakashi smiled faintly under his mask and jumped back, letting the space burst right in front of his side.

"We'll see," he replied. "Try to pick it up."

Obito moved first, abruptly, without warning. Space crumpled at his shoulder, and Kakashi felt the familiar pull of Kamui, as if someone had pulled him by the collar into another side of reality. He didn't have time to disappear completely, only twisted, letting the technique slip off the edge of his vest.

"Wow," Kakashi breathed, spinning on his heel. "This isn't training mode anymore."

"You insisted," Obito replied, and now he was very close.

They came together almost simultaneously: Obito's hand slid to his belt, his fingers touched the metal of the bells for a moment - and were immediately intercepted. Kakashi squeezed his wrist, turned it sharply, pressing Obito to him, using the inertia of the movement. Their bodies collided, and it wasn't painful - more like... too tangible.

"Too slow," Kakashi whispered close to his ear.

Obito grunted and disappeared half a step into Kamui, letting the grip pass through him. He appeared from the other side, almost behind Kakashi, and rested his chest between his shoulder blades.

“You taught me not to stand still,” he said, leaning closer. “Relax.”

Kakashi didn't have time to answer. Obito clipped his leg, and they went down together, in a controlled fall that ended with a roll on the ground. The sand rustled, and in a moment Obito was sitting on top, his knees pressed against Kakashi's hips.

"Here," he said contentedly, tugging at the rope. The bells jingled, loud and triumphant.

Kakashi lay still for a few seconds, looking down at him, then slowly placed his hands on Obito's hips, moving his palms up and down on them.

"Congratulations," he said calmly.

Obito leaned closer, still holding the bells in his fist, and his smile became completely different—quiet, warm.

"So I passed the test, teacher?"

Kakashi hummed softly, burying his fingers under Obito's uniform and sliding them along his bare sides. The touch was sure, precise.

"I'm afraid I won't be able to teach a Shinobi as distinguished as you anything new," he said, outlining Obito's waistline and holding him in place.

"Oh, I bet," Obito smiled playfully, leaning closer, "there are many more things you can show me."

Kakashi chuckled, but didn't take his hands away.

"I have to refuse. My awareness does not allow me to date my student."

Obito burst into laughter—genuine, lively, the kind that always disarmed.

"For a first-rate pervert, you're pretty boring when it comes to sex role-play."

He rose easily from his hips, as if it wasn't an escape, but a deliberate pause.

Kakashi stood up after him, slapping his hands on his pants.

“A self-respecting man cannot have a moral code?”

"Of course you can, my dear," Obito replied, pulling him by the waist and leaving a short kiss on his cheek - warm, possessive, without any haste.

The field near Hatake's house was quiet, only a light breeze swaying the spikelets. They lay on an old blanket, Kakashi pressed against Obito's chest, the sun gently warming his back. Obito silently ran his fingers through his silver locks, whispering softly that barely reached Kakashi's ears. The warmth of their touch spread between them.

"...you always breathe so calmly," Kakashi whispered, his shoulder shaking with laughter mixed with heated whispering.

"Do you always listen carefully?" Obito replied quietly, and they smiled at each other without the need for words.

"Oi!" A startled cry came from behind them. Obito raised his eyebrows, Kakashi even higher; they both almost jumped up at the sound, their hearts skipping a beat.

Obito turned his head tensely towards the sound to see a confused Naruto, his eyebrows rising to his hairline. He looked at them with wide eyes, as if seeing them for the first time.

“What are you guys doing here, lying so close?” he pointed at them.

Kakashi exhaled wearily and rolled over with Obito, sitting on the blanket. Obito followed suit, getting ready to speak.

"What does it look like, Naruto?" Kakashi asked quietly, pressing his head into his hands.

"I don't know, I've only seen this with parents and couples in movies... But you're both boys!" Naruto's voice cracked with laughter and seriousness at the same time.

"A very apt observation," Kakashi whispered to Obito, lightly touching his shoulder.

Obito exhaled heavily, then patted the blanket next to him. Naruto moved closer, and Obito explained:

"Naruto, when two people love each other very much..."

"Oi, stop it, my parents have been buzzing my ears with these pistils and stamens," he waved Obito away. "Obviously none of you have pistils, so it's irrelevant."

Kakashi snorted, his body shaking with laughter.

“So,” Obito continued, suppressing a laugh, “when two people love each other dearly, they become a couple, show feelings for each other, and spend time together.

"I know, I'm not stupid," Naruto rolled his eyes. "These two hypothetical people you're talking about — you and Kakashi, right?"

“Yes.”

Naruto's face took on a very serious look, as if unable to fully comprehend what he had been told

“But you are men,” he repeated for the second time that day.

"And so it turns out that I'm head over heels in love with Kakashi."

"Totally," Kakashi added.

"Totally," Obito agreed.

"So... a boy might like... a boy?" A trembling thought flashed through Naruto's mind.

Obito and Kakashi nodded in unison.

Naruto nodded thoughtfully:

"I understand. And how long have you been... together?" Naruto asked, starting an episode of his own talk show, "One Hundred and One Awkward Questions."

Do you always lie together like this? — Yes.

Are you holding hands? — No.

Kisses involved? — Maybe.

Is it a secret? —  None of your business.

Do you sleep together? — Yes.

Under the same blanket? — Yes.

Do you have dinner together? — Yes, sometimes.

And who cooks? — Both of us, but it doesn't always work out.

Is anyone jealous? — Probably…

Do you quarrel? — Yes, like all normal people…

Who goes first to reconciliation? — Both.

Do you carry each other on your shoulders? — No? Why?

Do you laugh together? — Constantly.

Do you exchange secrets? — Of course.

Do you protect each other? — Yes, always.

Do you hold each other's hands when you're scared? — Yes.

Do you talk in your sleep? — Maybe.

Who snores? — Nobody.

Do you read books to each other? — Yes, sometimes.

And who chooses the movies? — Kakashi.

Is anyone hiding sweets? — Both.

Do you have fun together? — Constantly.

Do you give each other surprises? — Yes, sometimes.

Do you sing to each other? — No.

Who sings worse? — Kakashi.

Do you both use the same towel? — No.

Is someone hiding their socks from someone else? — Kakashi.

Who kisses more often? — Me.

And who was the first to say “I love you”? — It’s none of your business.

And who fell in love first? — Me.

"Teacher Kakashi, why don't you have a girlfriend?" Sakura's voice sounded innocent from Obito's side.

Obito froze with his chopsticks raised halfway to his open mouth and slowly turned his head. Sasuke looked irritated: he was finishing his ramen and was not at all eager to participate in such conversations. Sakura, sipping juice through a straw, blinked at Kakashi with wide eyes. Naruto froze with his head tilted forward, although his eyes furtively followed the development of events with his side vision. Kakashi himself was sitting behind an empty bowl, reading a new novel, and looked completely at ease.

"Ma-a, Sakura, I can't have a girlfriend, I'm a married man," he drawled lazily, turning the page. A pleasant warmth spread through Obito's stomach, and a small smile appeared on his face. He quietly continued to sip his noodles.

Sakura's eyes widened instantly, she abruptly removed the straw from her mouth — the juice remained forgotten in her hand. Sasuke finally turned his head in their direction, looking somewhat surprised.

“Really?” She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “And how did we find out about this only now?”

"I didn't know that this was important information for teaching little genins," Kakashi replied dryly.

“Show me the wedding ring!” Her eyebrows shot up; she pointed to his right hand in a fingerless glove.

“Don't wear it to work”.

“How convenient. Then tell us about your spouse.”

“Well, they're super awesome-sauce and I love them and that's all that you need to know.” He shrugged.

"Do Shinobi have time for such wasteful things as marriage?" Sasuke said skeptically, breaking his silence.

Naruto finally shuddered and intervened:

"Of course there is, you stupid creature!”  He tried to smuck Sasuke's head, but failed. “Shinobi are people, too! Are you suggesting we not fall in love and start families?!" Naruto said in a hoarse voice, indignantly.

Obito met his gaze briefly: a subtle exchange of understanding. Sasuke just snorted, returning to his food.

Obito finished his ramen, exhaled with satisfaction, and inadvertently caught Sakura's attention. A total mistake.

"And you, Obito? Where's your girlfriend?" Her gaze fixed on him with suspicious curiosity.

Obito's face twisted; he didn't want to answer at all. He opened his mouth to say something harsh, but Kakashi interrupted him.

"Well, has everyone finished?" he said loudly, closing the book and standing up, easily drawing the attention of the entire team to himself.

Naruto hurriedly finished his dinner, picking up the empty bowl; Sasuke was already standing at the exit of Ichiraku, ready to leave; Sakura waited a few more seconds for an answer, but, realising the futility, sighed and joined Sasuke.

As he passed Kakashi, Obito's hand involuntarily slid down his waist, lingering for a split second.

Naruto, following out, gave them a quick, completely homely look - brief, intelligent, not at all childish.

"You have a much stronger sense of smell. Are there any special ones on you?"

"I smell like dogs, mostly. Because of the ninken."

He moved to take a few light bites along Obito's jaw, slowly moving to the other side.

"But besides that, I also smell of steel and sparks, like ozone before a thunderstorm. And I also smell of you. Our scents have mingled like a brand. Subtly, but its there."

"Does anyone else know?"

"Inuzuka clan do. I'm pretty sure they sensed long ago that we belonged together."

“And what do I smell like?” Obito laughed faintly, running his fingers over the softness of his neck.

"Raw wood, aloe vera, and clay," he breathed directly into the reddened ear, and grabbed the lobe with his teeth. Obito's hand moved closer to his groin, stroking the inner side of his thigh, as if trying to grab Kakashi all at once.

Kakashi arched into the touch, surrendering. Obito slowly stroked his cloth-covered thighs, pressing harder and occasionally touching his groin, which was gradually bulging.

"That's good, I want everyone to know that you only belong to me," Obito whispered, burying his nose in his collarbone.

Kakashi wrapped his gentle fingers around his hair, stroking it as if to lull him to sleep.

Sasuke and Naruto were having another heated argument — the kind of fight where both of them don't even remember where they started but are already completely involved.

Obito just watched at first, then tilted his head, blinked in interest, and glanced at Kakashi. Kakashi replied with the same look, "I was tired before we got here," but still turned to face him.

Obito gave a barely perceptible nod to the quarrelling couple.

Then - on yourself.

Then - on Kakashi.

Kakashi's eye widened.

"No way," he said, barely audibly.

"Yes way," Obito replied in the same tone, nodding again.

“No…”

“Yeah.”

"Damn," Kakashi gave up.

Obito, satisfied, continued with his gestures: he pointed at the two of them, made an exaggerated kissing motion with his lips, and shook his head again towards Naruto and Sasuke, who were now almost banging their foreheads.

They too? his gaze asked.

Kakashi snorted softly, trying not to smile and feeling his ears heat up. Obito also barely managed to keep himself from laughing out loud.

Obito shifted his eyes to Sakura.

She stood slightly to the side, arms crossed, eyebrow arched so high, as if she was already reading the moral into everyone's heads.

"Why are you staring at me?" Sasuke nodded at Obito later.

"I was thinking," Obito replied calmly.

"About what?" Naruto asked curiously.

"About things you don't need to know," Obito replied.

"Adult jokes. Don't bother," Sakura rolled her eyes.

"I'm an adult too!" Naruto shouted at her.

"No, you're not," Sasuke and Sakura objected in unison.

[ANBU Headquarters, 1997]

A pleasant warmth rolled between his shoulder blades every time Crow caught Cat's gaze. Cat looked after training, when they stood there, breathing heavily; looked when Crow joked; looked after bloody fights. And there was something too deep in those looks, something that couldn't be a coincidence.

Crow caught his gaze and smiled faintly.

Cat watched in the locker room as he slowly removed his uniform before the shower, revealing his back: broad, tired, alive. Cat stood still as a shadow, following him with a gaze that held too much hunger for his fellow ANBU colleague. But Crow—everything he did—watched back.

And that look when they were undercover... when Cat first saw his face without the mask... when he recognised Shisui Uchiha — the same one who teased him, who lived next to him, who drove him crazy. There was a desire to touch in that look. A lot of it.

Cat was bandaging Shisui'і  cut, his fingers trembling and tangled.

“Your fingers are shaking again,” said Cat dryly.

"Because you're too close," Shisui breathed. The night after the dangerous mission was the last thin barrier between them.

Shisui took his face in his hands, staring into his eyes as if he was afraid they would disappear.

"I thought I'd never see you again," he whispered.

“Don’t say that,” Cat looked away.

"If you say no, I'll stop. Forever."

Cat clenched his jaw.

The silence stretched like a string.

“I don't know how to be with someone…”

“But can you?” Shisui ran his knuckles along his cheek, and Cat's eyelashes fluttered.

"I don't know," he said quietly. "But... I want to try."

That night, the hotel room was filled with hot breath in the semi-darkness and the soft creak of the bed. Cat was between his thighs, plunging into the depths of those bottomless black eyes that followed his every reaction. Concentrated, attentive, dangerous in his silence. Shisui looked as if his world had been shaken: his cheeks burning, his breath hitching every time he felt Cat's hot lips around him.

Shisui was utterly broken, almost defenceless in his desire, and Cat saw something beautiful in that. He took his time—but he didn't spare, either. Every sound that escaped the Uchiha's throat echoed off the walls and back to them in a tense, hot silence.

He calmly watched his chest, which was rapidly rising and falling from his rapid breathing, thinking about ways in which he could have a greater impact on Shisui's body and soul.

Cat closed his eyes, swallowing the cock deeper, his fingers exploring the skin as far as they could reach. He ran his fingers over his skin, squeezing his soft breasts, rubbing his nipples, and caressing the tenderness of his muscular thighs—playing the piano of bodily sensations. The touches were precise, confident, almost methodical. He leaned lower, taking him deeper into his mouth, listening to Shisui swallow air in ragged breaths.

His long fingers slid down to the most sensitive spot, and touched lightly. Shisui sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, and his hand gripped other's hair tied in a ponytail, unconsciously pulling.

Hearing no words of protest, he quickened his head movements and began massaging the hole.

"Where the hell did you learn that, you bastard?" Shisui hissed, throwing his head back. "I Don't Know How To Be With Someone' he says."

Cat released his cock, making a short pop sound with his lips, and continued to leave kisses all over the erection, not touching the head, teasingly.

“When you have erotic literature all over your house,” he looked up, “it’s hard not to pick something up… by accident.”

Shisui gasped and laughed hoarsely, looking both completely broken and completely happy.

Cat made a path down, simultaneously sliding his fingers over the fluid that had gathered at the edge of the cock and pressing, lubricating the passage. He pressed his mouth against the ring of muscles and began to move his tongue and lips in tandem.

Shisui arched his back, tensing his hips.

"Damn it," Shisui cursed, rolling his eyes, "Tenzou..." he whined, his voice breaking, the name coming out almost pleadingly, the code names suddenly became funny, foreign. Here, in this semi-darkness, they were not Cat and Crow - they were people who had finally stopped keeping their distance.

Tenzou, having lubricated the passage with saliva, slowly put in the first phalanx, and later burying his fingers deeper and more precisely. Each movement was on the verge of mastery. Shisui trembled, his body betraying every response. When Tenzou touched the right spot, Shisui saw sparks. His back lifted off the bed in a curved arch, his body trembling sensually, and his hands dug into the sheet. He unconsciously continued to whisper the name until the slippery fingers hit a particularly sensitive place inside.

Watching, Tenzou hummed contentedly.

"Shisui," he said softly, leaning closer, "can I kiss you?"

“What do you think?” he choked, trying not to burst out in a trembling laugh. “Your fingers are in my ass!” Uchiha groaned awkwardly.

Tenzou's smile was brief, barely perceptible. He didn't wait—he just leaned in and touched his lips. The kiss immediately deepened, hungry and with a tremor that neither of them would admit the next morning; Shisui felt a salty taste on his lips and moaned softly into the kiss.

What he definitely didn't expect was that his first kiss would be... in exactly such a compromising situation.

As they kissed, Tenzou continued to move his fingers inside, driving Shisui almost to the edge. His movements were precise and ruthless, intent on finishing the job.

He continued his kisses on the other man's neck, his other hand cupping his cock, sliding faster.

Shisui winced, his fingers digging into Tenzou's shoulders, as if it was the only way he could stay in reality.

His body convulsed in small spasms until he arched one last time, holding his breath in a soundless cry.

He collapsed onto the sheets, hot and broken, and a hoarse voice escaped his lips:

“Ten… zou…”

Tenzou leaned closer, kissed his neck, and whispered:

"You look incredibly beautiful when you let yourself go."

Shisui just exhaled, pulling him closer, drowning in his own emotions and confused feelings for this man.

[Konoha, 1993]

They found themselves together again by chance - on a narrow street in Konoha, where the evening light barely touched the cobblestones. Rin was the first to notice her: Konan was standing near a small kiosk, her hands in her coat pockets, her shoulders slightly tense. It was immediately noticeable: the past years had left their mark.

"Konan..." Rin said, a little timidly, almost in a whisper.

Konan raised her head. Her gaze was colder, more reserved than when they had left each other. A moment's hesitation - and then she nodded, barely perceptible:

"Rin. Nice to see you."

Rin felt her chest tighten. She wasn't alone: ​​Gai was next to her, the laughter that had recently echoed in their training together. Rin looked away from him, timidly keeping her distance.

"I'm... just here for a little while," Konan said, a little distantly. "The Akatsuki are having a festival here."

Rin tried to smile, but it came out weak. Past and present merged into a strange wave of warmth and alienation at the same time.

"I'm in a relationship now," Rin added quietly, nodding at Gai as if apologizing to herself.

Konan only nodded, her lips slightly pursed: her eyes no longer burned with the frank feelings they once had, but there remained a certain imperceptible tenderness that suddenly seemed heavier to Rin than any warmth.

They stood side by side for a minute or two. No words came, but the air between them was saturated with the memory of everything that had happened and the distance that had grown between them.

"Maybe... some day..." Rin began, but Konan had already stepped back slightly, turning her shoulders toward the dark street.

"Maybe," she said, coldly, but not without a hint of what had once been. And she disappeared into the crowd, leaving Rin with a mixture of pity and tender pain.

[Konoha, Hatake Residence, 2001]

Face pressed against the bed, restricting air flow—loud moans muffled. Obito's strong hand held Kakashi's body tightly in place, preventing him from moving even if he wanted to. With each thrust of his pelvis, Obito slid deep inside, making Kakashi tremble helplessly beneath him.

His head was spinning from the lack of air, combined with precise, almost mechanical movements that reached right to his core. Tears and saliva soaked into the sheet under Kakashi's face, forming a wet stain as he screamed silently.

Obito, watching closely, could sense when Kakashi was on the verge of losing consciousness, and would grab his hair, lifting his head to allow him to take in greedy gulps of air. His face was molten with excitement—wet, flushed, with heavy, half-closed eyelids and a glassy gaze that could not focus.

He was literally melting from the fact that he finally didn't have to think.

The smell of long-lasting sex was all around him, a mingled scent of skin and sweat. Obito adjusted the movements of his fingers in his hair, timing each thrust.

Obito pulled Kakashi's hair closer to his face, and he groaned, right into his lips as Obito thrust into a particularly sensitive spot.

He turned Kakashi's head sharply, pressing his face back against the sheet, and wrapped both arms around his waist. Obito's movements were becoming erratic, the feeling of being on the verge of collapse becoming more intense.

With one last thrust, he climaxed inside Kakashi, moaning loudly; his body trembled as he leaned against his lover. Kakashi moaned loudly, experiencing the fullness and weight of the body above him, frozen in bliss.

Taking a breath, Obito carefully moved away, watching his seed leaking, and lay down next to him, caressing Kakashi's cheek.

"Love you," he whispered, kissing his beloved's nose. "Now roll over onto your back, darling," he commanded.

Kakashi slowly complied, his back resting on the pillows behind him.  Obito leaned closer, ran his cheek over his cock—slowly, with such intent that he immediately flinched. He breathed heavily, deeply, as if savouring his scent.

His fingers slid down again, to the reddened passage from which semen flowed, and each movement made him squeeze the sheet as if his life depended on it.

He worked rhythmically, sharply, without giving a single second of rest.

Kakashi choked on his own breath, his head fell back, and a muffled sound escaped his throat that he didn't even try to suppress.

Obito dropped lower, moving quickly. Kakashi shook under him in hot jerks, looking as if he was about to break in half.

With gentle movements of his other hand, he began to caress his penis, leaving wet kisses along its shaft. When he took it into his mouth, the movements became quick, precise - and Kakashi couldn't hold it in, bursting into a soundless moan, spilling over with a wave of pleasure and remaining helpless in the soft luxury of the dirty sheets.

As Obito climbed onto his chest, his hand gripped Kakashi's jaw tightly. His fingers dug into the skin, forcing him to look up and open his mouth.

Kakashi's eyes were red and wet, his lips plump. He obediently opened his expectant mouth, barely breathing, his tongue sticking out. Obito hummed approvingly and opened his mouth, allowing the warm moisture to connect their mouths in a thick thread of cum and saliva.

Kakashi trembled as he greedily drank everything Obito offered him. He wrapped his hand around his neck, pulling him down, and pressed his lips to his—a cold, hungry, almost desperate kiss, full of salty taste and tension that still hadn't subsided.

After sex, Obito laughed as an unexpected thought occurred to him. He shared it with Kakashi.

Kakashi responded with a shaky laugh, feeling Obito's weight diminish as he shifted and lay down next to him.

"Younger us? They'd probably flip their shit," he said, his eyes shining with amusement. "Remember how much you hated me back then? Always called me cold, rule-following bastard. I never would've guessed that one day we'd be here, covered in sweat and come, with your cock been buried balls deep in my ass."

Obito grinned, running his fingers along Kakashi's side.

"Remember how you always brushed me off, saying 'stop being a crybaby'? I never thought one day you'd beg me to fuck you like a bitch in heat."

"We'll talk about 'bitch' next time you jump on me, moaning like a girl," said Kakashi, who had pulled out a book out of nowhere and was lazily leafing through it.

Obito's eyes widened, and he snatched the book from his hands, throwing it somewhere in the room, and pulled Kakashi into a kiss.

"I never hated you. I admired you, you know."

“I know.”

[Konoha, Hatake Residence, 2000]

Shisui lay in his arms, his nose buried in the crook of his collarbone, as if trying to hide from the world there. Tenzou ran his fingers slowly, rhythmically through his hair, occasionally lightly brushing his scalp. Shisui was almost asleep — his breathing evened out, his shoulders relaxed.

Suddenly, something slammed loudly in the hallway, and then several objects rolled across the floor, knocking against the walls.

Tenzou could barely contain his smile.

The lovebirds are back.

Shisui's head instantly lifted — his dark eyes widened in alertness, listening for possible danger.

Tenzou pressed him back, resting his head on his chest, and touched his temple with his lips:

“It's just them.”

"Tenzou, move in with me," Shisui muttered, just as softly as he had every time for the hundreds of years before.

Tenzou sighed. This conversation was a rock for him, one he carried long and carefully in his chest. On the outside, the answer seemed simple—be with the one you love. But on the inside… everything was more complicated.

He didn't even want to move.

This house is the first one that truly became a home.

These people are the first family he has ever had.

And yes, privacy with your lover is a priceless thing, especially when the nights get long, and touch is needed more than air. But how will he explain to everyone else why he's suddenly living with Shisui? Uchiha, of all people? What views will this raise? What questions?

Tenzou tucked a strand of Shisui's hair behind his ear and kissed him softly again.

And at that very second, a muffled groan was heard from the corridor.

Then another one.

Then a sound that clearly didn't belong to the furniture.

Shisui slowly raised an eyebrow.

"Tenzou!" Kakashi's breathless voice came out. "Are you home?"

Shisui sighed, almost growling with irritation, and pressed his forehead against Tenzou's chest:

"Instead, we would lie in silence right now..." The movement of his lips on his skin was barely perceptible, but it made it even warmer.

"I know," Tenzou replied quietly. He leaned down and placed a short, gentle kiss on his forehead.

Shisui wanted to continue:

“And instead of…”

But Tenzou leaned down and kissed him directly on the lips. Slowly. Calmly. Sincerely. His hands gently cupped Shisui's cheeks — warm, caressing, which instantly filled with blush. Shisui lost his thoughts, bit his lip, and was silent for a moment, confused.

Another suspicious sound from the hallway was so loud that the windows almost rattled.

Tenzou stood up, dragging the boy behind him.

“Let's go.”

Shisui didn't have time to say anything — Tenzou had already opened the window.

The night air, cool and full of the smell of pine needles, hit his face.

He held out his hand. Shisui grabbed it without any hesitation.

And together they rushed outside, disappearing into the starry darkness—running away from the rumble, from the groans, from the domestic chaos that had become commonplace for them.

They ran away - not from their family, and to be alone in silence for once, just the two of them.

Hot wetness enveloped his chest as lips touched a sensitive nipple. Kakashi leaned deeper, indulging in the taste of skin, his hands firmly holding Obito's waist, pulling him close to him.

Obito arched, his voice breaking into a hoarse moan—a wave of sound swept through Kakashi's body, causing his hips to shudder and push deeper, stroking right over his prostate.

"Kakashi… hands," Obito croaked, swallowing air between groans.

Kakashi obeyed, raising his hands, revealing himself. The vines immediately came to life, wrapping around his wrists, pinning them above his head.

Obito, sensing this submission, moved his hips in a circle, slowly, savouring every moment of fullness.

Kakashi threw back his head — the whole world gathered around his quivering spine and the walls tightly hugging him from the inside.

Silent words escaped his lips—messy, passionate, prayers and confessions in one breath.

As Obito began to rise and fall, taking him deeper with each movement, Kakashi's body arched in an arch, the air in his chest escaping.

Obito felt every breath he took, every sound—sweet, broken, tense with pleasure. It made him move faster, harder, deeper.

His own length rubbed against his stomach—heavy, tense, with drops running down his skin—hungry for any touch.

The vines crawled lower, wrapping around Kakashi's milky neck, squeezing gently but powerfully.

Kakashi's lips parted, gasping for air, but the deeper Obito moved, the less air he got.

Obito paused for a second, watching Kakashi struggle with the air, with quiet delight.

Obito's hand squeezed his own length, adjusting to the rhythm of the thrusts again.

The vines left red marks on Kakashi's wrists - they held him tightly, yet gently, in a way only Obito could.

"Obito..." Kakashi croaked, arching towards him, trying to meet his every move.

The world narrowed to sounds: the slapping of skin, the wet slippery sound of their connection, uneven breaths, ragged moans.

Obito leaned in, covering his lips with a deep kiss, swallowing his gasps.

His fingers pinched Kakashi's nipples, teasing them, while his lips slid down to his collarbone, leaving marks that would speak for him later.

Obito felt Kakashi's arms curling in vines above his head, his body tensing and shuddering beneath him. The sight of his lover lost in bliss, the feel of his cock throbbing hard in him, pushed Obito closer to the edge.

Obito gasped at the beauty of this picture.

Kakashi's hot, wet eyes, wide open under the pressure of the vines, stared straight at him.

"Look at me. Pay attention," Obito's voice became low, dangerous.

He slowed down—deliberately, brutally, stretching out the pleasure.

In response, Kakashi let out a wordless scream, his head thrown back, his red eyes rolling with tension.

Obito's movements became uneven, impatient; the point of no return rolled so fast that it became impossible to breathe. Pre-cum sprayed from his cock, flying straight onto Kakashi's face, which he greedily licked with his tongue.

Obito's face is open, exposed, the kind that no one has seen except Kakashi.

Eyebrows shot up, lips trembled with ecstasy, and body arched in a beautiful arc.

Kakashi loved every expression on Obito's face, from anger to tenderness to happiness. But this one was his favourite, purely from a possessive point of view.

With the last movement of his hips, Obito's body arched in an incredibly beautiful way, his cock quivering. Thick liquid splashed onto his stomach, painting it white, and his nails dug into Kakashi's thighs.

His loud moans echoed off the walls, and savouring each one, Kakashi slid in one last time—and exploded inside him, squeezing Obito's body with his hips.

The vines let go, and Obito settled on top of him, trembling and breathing unevenly.

Kakashi wrapped his arms around his husband, pressing him to his chest, kissing his temple, cheeks, neck — wherever he could reach.

Obito always experienced orgasms with difficulty—sometimes so much so that his body would shut down for a minute, or, conversely, fall into a light trance.

And every time Kakashi held him.

That's right — tightly, firmly, carefully.

Living together every episode, every moment.

The Konoha hospital was quiet at this time of day — not the silence of night, but the silence of work, of concentration. The smell of antiseptics, muffled footsteps in the corridor, the rustling of papers.

Rin was just finishing dressing when a pink head appeared hesitantly in the doorway.

"Excuse me..." Sakura stood, her fingers gripping the strap of her bag. "Can I come in?"

Rin looked up and smiled—softly, but tiredly.

"You may. Just be careful," she nodded toward the bed. "The patient is asleep."

Sakura nodded too quickly and took a few steps forward, as if afraid she would be kicked out if she delayed.

“I…” she swallowed. “I wanted to ask you something.”

Rin secured the bandage, checked the pulse, and only then did she step back and turn fully to face the girl.

“I'm listening.”

Sakura straightened up.

"I want to learn medical jutsu. Seriously. Not just for the team—for myself. And..." she clenched her fists. "I want to learn from you."

Rin blinked in surprise.

“Me?” she tilted her head cautiously. “Why?”

"Because you don't look at people as 'incidents,'" Sakura said quickly. "I've seen you work. You... remember names. Even when you're really tired."

Rin was silent for a moment. She leaned her hip on the table, her arms crossed.

"This is not a romantic profession, Sakura," she said calmly. "There's a lot of blood. Mistakes. Moments that stay with you forever."

"I know," Sakura replied. "And that's why I'm here now, not 'sometime later.'"

Silence lingered between them.

Rin looked at the girl carefully—not up and down, but as an equal. She saw the tension in her shoulders, the concentration in her gaze, a strange mixture of fear and stubbornness.

"If I agree," she said slowly, "these won't be nice lessons. You'll start with the basics. Cleaning. Sterilization. Night shifts. I'll be strict."

"I need this," Sakura said quietly.

Rin sighed—and suddenly smiled a little wider.

“Okay,” she straightened up. “I’ll take you under my wing. But if you ever lie to yourself that it’s “too hard,” I’ll be the first to notice.

Sakura's eyes lit up.

"Thank you! I won't let you down, I swear!"

"Don't swear," Rin interrupted gently. "Just come tomorrow at seven. Don't be late."

Sakura nodded, then stopped half a step away.

"Teacher Rin, how did you know this was yours?"

Rin thought for a moment, looking out the window, where the sun was gliding across the glass.

“When I lost my first patient,” she said quietly, “I realised I didn’t want to give it up anyway.”

Sakura nodded. She didn't fully understand—but she felt it.

"Then... see you tomorrow."

"See you tomorrow, Sakura."

When the girl left, Rin stood silently for a few more seconds.

And then I took a new medical history, already with the feeling that I had made the right choice.

He didn't find the key right away.

First, he felt it. The metal pressed into his thigh as he bent to tie his shoe. Tenzou pulled it out of his pocket, turned it between his fingers for a long time, examining the scratches on it’s head. Not his. Not from Hatake. Not from the barracks.

The keychain with the manga character that Shisui loved so much was looking at him with a sneer. He knew this key.

Not because he had it before—but because I saw it being used.

Shisui.

Tenzou sighed and, without knowing why, felt a kind of guilt. As if he had been caught doing something he shouldn't have noticed.

He came to the flat for the first time three days later.

He knocked, out of habit. Then he smiled to himself and unlocked the door.

Shisui was inside. He was sitting on the floor with a book, his back against the sofa, and he looked up as if he knew that Tenzou would show up today.

"You took your time,” he said lightly.

“You sneaked me the key,” Tenzo replied without asking.

“Yep.”

The silence wasn't tense. It was... familiar. As if Tenzou already knew this space.

He didn't stay the night. Just sat there, drank tea, listened to Shisui talk nonsense about the mission without going into details.

The key returned to the pocket by itself.

The second week, he started coming after training.

Sometimes Shisui was there. Sometimes he wasn't.

When he was there, he didn't ask why Tenzou had shown up. When he wasn't there, the apartment didn't feel empty.

Tenzou left a change of clothes there. Then a towel. Then a plant in a clay pot that he had brought from the market, without any explanation.

Shisui silently moved it closer to the window one evening.

“There’s more light here,” he explained, as if that was important.

Tenzou nodded.

In the third week, he caught himself thinking that he was going back there, not to Hatake's house.

Not because he felt bad there.

It was just different here.

Shisui began leaving things for him: a cup that no one else was using; a blanket folded on the couch;  various notes.

Don't forget to close the window!!

I'm gonna be lateee :(

I love your smile :)

Dinner at Ichiraku? 

Love you <3

On the fourth week, he brought his old watch there.

He put it on the shelf.

And then realised that this was a decision.

Shisui didn't comment. He only said once, standing in the doorway:

“You can take your time.”

Tenzou nodded. He was in no hurry.

The Hatake house was left behind quietly.

His room there stood for a long time as he had left it: a neatly made bed, things neatly folded, the smell of wood and paper. No one had occupied it. No one had touched it.

It was waiting.

And Tenzou was learning to live in another place, where the key with its funny keychain no longer seemed foreign.

[Konoha, Hokage Residence, 2002]

Minato didn't have time to understand what had happened.

There was no alarm. There was no surge of chakra. There wasn't even a sense of threat.

He was standing in his office, his back to the window, reviewing a report—when the world simply collapsed.

Not darkness, not pain—a sudden absence.

His body stopped responding before his brain could register it. His fingers wouldn't obey. His breath stopped mid-breath. His heart went out of rhythm, as if someone had inserted an extra pause between beats.

She was already there.

She didn't suddenly appear — she emerged.

It was as if she always stood in the shadows between reality, like the twenty-fifth frame.

Her chakra didn't press. It didn't cut. It was imposed, gently but inevitably. The technique of the final stage: not muscle paralysis — a break in synchronisation between body and will.

Minato fell to his knees without a sound.

He tried to activate Hiraishin—but the marker didn't respond. His chakra was… not blocked.

It just couldn't get into shape.

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. Not to him, but to herself.

He looked up at her. His eyes were still alive. His mind was still working. That was what was needed.

Her face expressed nothing—neither triumph nor anger. Only the concentration of someone completing a long project. She worked quickly. Neatly. Without haste—but without hesitation.

This was a finale, not an experiment.

He understood.

Not hers.

The system.

When it was all over, the body was no longer fighting.

The heart stopped not from the trauma but from its own exhaustion.

She washed her hands.

Then she activated the scroll.

The Fourth Hokage's body appeared right in front of the tower. Not abandoned. Not mutilated.

Folded hands. Clean clothes.

The sign —  complete.

She was standing nearby when the scream went up. She didn't run. She didn't disappear.

When the ANBU took her into the ring, she raised her hands.

Her chakra was empty. The technology was off. The job was done.

"I'm done," she said simply.

When Obito entered the square and saw Minato's body, he understood everything even before he looked at her.

He came closer. He looked at the folded hands. At the lack of struggle. At the perfect silence around death.

Victim #12 — Horse

He didn't recognise her right away.

Not with a face, but with a pause.

That strange delay between movements, as if the world had to allow her to exist. It was the same then, many years ago: the girl who had disappeared, leaving no trace of chakra or memory—only the feeling that someone had passed through reality without opening the door.

Obito stopped behind the glass of the interrogation room. She sat straight. Her hands folded. Her gaze was calm, but not empty. Not fear. Not submission. Expectation.

“You disappeared,” he said quietly, as if that might be the clue.

She didn't answer.

The interrogation lasted for hours.

The questions changed form. The tone was pressured. Then silence.

Obito opened his Sharingan and went deeper, to where words no longer mattered.

He had broken her mind once. It had worked once.

Now — It is not.

Her consciousness was not strengthened. She was cut off. The layers of memory slid like water on glass. And then he saw it—not as a wall, but as a signature.

A stamp. Old. Rough. Pressed into the very foundation of thinking.

Obito left the room without looking back.

The decision has already been made.

Danzo waited. As always, as if he knew he would be found.

“Lord Fourth dug too deep,” he said calmly, folding his hands. “Under the Root. Under the system. He didn’t even notice he had dug his own grave.”

Obito remained silent.

"You see," Danzo continued, "some people are not made to protect the village. They are made to kill for the sake of it. I just gave her directions.

The air shuddered.

Obito's chakra unfolded abruptly, without warning—not like an explosion, but like a cliff. The space between them broke, as if someone had torn a frame out of reality.

"You didn't give any direction," Obito said. "You gave signs."

“Uchiha Obito, a student of Namikaze Minato himself. I didn't expect you to decide to see the matter through. A coward and a crybaby once, a coward and a crybaby forever. Incapable of anything and helpless. — Pause, — Very. Stupid. Decision.”

"Well, very good," Danzo said, when met with silence. "Today will be your end," he let his cane fall to the floor with a characteristic thud.

The roots moved first from Obito, and the battle began.

He stood in the middle of Kamui.

The surrounding space hummed softly, as if it were breathing—slowly, wearily. The torn reality closed and opened again, obedient only to his will. Danzo's blood hung in dark spots on the debris of the earth, not flowing away—there was nowhere to go. The body was no longer moving. His eyes stared into nowhere, never understanding at what point control had become the end.

Obito felt no triumph.

Only silence, which finally stopped resisting.

He exhaled slowly—and Kamui curled up like a wound that no longer needed to be kept open.

Konoha woke up different.

Without the voice that was always in the background.

Without a presence that was only noticed when it was gone.

Flowers were placed in front of the Hokage Tower. At first, cautiously, as if people were afraid of taking up too much space. Then, more and more. The smell of incense and fresh earth mixed with the dust of the streets. No one spoke loudly.

Minato was not just Hokage.

He was the guarantee that morning would come.

Kushina sat by the window, holding Naruto in her arms. She wasn't crying—not right away. Her back was straight, her shoulders tense, as if she was carrying something heavier than grief. Naruto sobbed softly, his broad shoulders seeming small in his mother's arms.

Kushina held him tighter. Only then did the tears fall—silent, heavy. She lowered her forehead to her son's blond hair, as if promising: "I will endure. For him. Despite everything."

People in the village spoke in whispers.

About betrayal. About the shadow. About how evil doesn't always come from outside.

The ANBU were silent. The elders were silent. Danzo's name had disappeared from the records faster than from memory—struck out like a mistake too shameful to admit out loud.

Obito was rarely seen.

When they saw him, he walked straight, calmly, with the look of a man who had already made his choice. He was not stopped. He was not questioned. It was as if Konoha instinctively understood: this man had seen enough.

Minato left—but the void didn't go unanswered.

And somewhere between the mourning ribbons, between the flowers and silent bows, a new shadow began to form. Not the one that was hiding.

The one that stands in the light — and remembers the price it holds.

The square in front of the Hokage Tower was packed, but the silence was so tight it could be touched with a hand. No flags. No music. Just the black ribbons on the shinobi's sleeves and the heavy, shared breathing of a village that had not yet learned to live without its Fourth.

The stone underfoot was cold—even the sun dared not warm it this morning.

Obito stood at the top, wearing the simple Hokage cloak that seemed too heavy for his shoulders. He didn't look at the crowd. His gaze was directed forward, to where a few days ago the irreplaceable man had stood.

The words of the ceremony were short. Formal. It was as if everyone had agreed: less talk means less pain.

"By the will of the Council and with the consent of the village..." the councillor's voice trembled, but he did not break. "Uchiha Obito accepts the title of Fifth Hokage..."

When the hat was handed to him, he did not hurry to take it. For a moment - a very brief one — he closed his eyes. It was as if he had inhaled not air but a memory: laughter, quick steps, a warm hand on his shoulder and a voice that said "you will manage".

Then he took it.

Below, among the shinobi, stood Kakashi.

In black, still as a stone. His face betrayed no emotion—but his gaze was fixed upward, never looking away. He saw Obito's every movement, every hold of breath, every shadow that ran across his features.

This is not a triumph, he thought. It is a promise made on the bones of loss.

When Obito turned back to the crowd, their eyes met.

No smile. No nod. Just a brief, almost invisible tension in the air between them—and a quiet, stubborn confidence.

I am here, was read in Kakashi's eyes.

Obito exhaled a faint sigh. His shoulders straightened, not with pride, but with determination. If this burden had to be carried, he would carry it to the end.

When the ceremony ended, no one applauded. People dispersed in silence, with respect and pain. It was not a celebration. It was a collective recognition: time moves on, even if the heart is still on its knees.

Kakashi remained standing until the square emptied.

This is my husband, he thought, looking at the figure in the Hokage's cloak. Not because he stands above everyone else. But because he agreed to stand first, when no one else wanted to.

And in that thought, there was a quiet, painful pride.

Evening. The kitchen is still warm from the midday sun.

Kakashi puts the kettle on the stove. He does it mechanically, as if his hands remember. He takes out two cups — without asking.

Obito enters silently. His cloak slides off his shoulders, settling more heavily than usual on the back of his chair. He doesn't sit down right away—he stands for a few seconds, looking at the floor, as if checking to see if the day is really over.

Kakashi pours water. Steam rises between them.

"Today was difficult," Obito says quietly, without pathos.

"I know," Kakashi replies just as simply.

He moves the cup closer. He doesn't look, but he knows Obito will reach out his hand right now.

Obito sits down. His palms warm against the ceramic. His shoulders finally drop.

Kakashi leans against the tabletop next to him. Their elbows touch—accidentally, but neither moves away.

Konoha is bustling outside the window. It's quiet here.

"It'll be easier tomorrow," Kakashi says after a pause.

Obito exhales, almost smiling.

"If you're here."

“I'm not going anywhere.”

The tea cools slowly. So do they.

[Konoha, 1979]

He was almost blown off the hill, which was dancing with windy waves, shimmering with greenery. Kakashi squinted against the sun that blinded his eyes.

Uchiha Obito appeared suddenly, panting, red-cheeked, and carrying a kite that was too big for him. The fabric rustled, its tail trailed across the grass. The Uchiha ran closer and, without stopping, tried to throw the kite up. It fell, flipped over, and got tangled in its tail again.

"You're launching against the current," Kakashi said, looking at the sky.

“I know!” Obito lunged forward again, and the snake again disobeyed. “It’s just… it doesn’t want to.”

Kakashi moved closer and carefully took the rope. He placed Obito slightly to the side, straightened his shoulders, and nodded when to run.

"Don't pull right away," he said quietly. "Let it find the wind."

Obito nodded and ran. Kakashi held the rope, feeling the fabric finally catch the current. The kite twitched—once, twice—and rose. Low at first, but surely.

“It’s flying!” Obito laughed until he choked. “Look!”

Kakashi looked up. The sky was clear, blue. The kite was trembling, but it managed to hold on.

Obito held the coil with both hands, his tongue sticking out between his teeth in concentration, while Kakashi stood nearby, watching the sky.

"Pull it more slowly," Kakashi said. "If you pull too hard, it'll twist."

"I know," Obito grumbled, but he obeyed anyway. "It's just being a bit... stubborn today."

"It's not it. It's the wind," Kakashi squinted, assessing the movement of the wind with his finger. "It's changing."

The kite flinched, but held on, moving higher. The red cloth trembled in the sun, and Obito chuckled happily.

"See? He's flying! I told you he could."

"I didn't say he couldn't," Kakashi replied calmly. "I said you were impatient."

Obito snorted and narrowed his eyes at him.

"You always say that. It's like you know everything in advance."

"I'm just watching," Kakashi shrugged. "If you look closely, a lot of things become clear."

They fell silent. Only the rustle of the thread and the distant noise of the village could be heard. The kite floated as if glued to the sky, where clouds were gathering.

"Do you think," Obito suddenly said, without looking away, "that everything always ends the way it should?"

"Not always," Kakashi replied after a pause. "But often."

"So... if something bad is going to happen, it will?"

Kakashi thought for a moment. He wasn't looking at the kite, but slightly past it, as if he could see something further away.

“People like to think that,” he said quietly, “as if it absolves them of responsibility.”

Obito gripped the reel tighter.

At that moment, the wind jerked sharply. The thread tensed, the fabric shuddered—and tore with a dry crack.

The kite broke.

It hung in the air for a moment longer, helpless, and then went down, spinning, falling over the hill.

Obito froze, looking behind him as if in disbelief.

Kakashi slowly lowered his hand, which still held the broken end of the thread.

“We are inevitable accidents, waiting to happen,” he said evenly, never taking his eyes off the spot where the kite had disappeared.

Obito turned sharply to him.

"I don't believe it," and ran in that direction.

The wind died down again, and the sky remained grey and empty.