balls

"Dad, I'll be fine. You're overreacting as usual." You struggled to keep the exasperation out of your tone as Kenma pulled up to Kuroo's apartment complex.

Kenma killed the engine but kept a white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel. "I'm not overreacting. I'm being realistic based on your...track record." His jaw clenched minutely before continuing. "Just promise me you'll exercise some semblance of self-control this time?"

You pursed your lips, refraining from an outright eye roll. "It wasn't that big of a deal, okay? A few too many people at my place, that's all."

The flat, unamused look Kenma leveled your way made you shrink back slightly. "Neighbors had to call the police to break up your 'few too many people,' and I had to bail you out after they found you...indecently exposed with two random guys. Again."

Heat crept up the back of your neck at the reminder. In your defense, you'd been severely intoxicated and those two strangers had been very persuasive...and enthusiastic. Not that your father wanted to hear any of the details, based on the muscle ticking in his jaw.

"Look, that's why I'm leaving you with Kuroo this time," he pressed on, voice taking on that no-nonsense edge. "He'll keep you in line until I get back from this business trip. No promiscuous behavior, no binge drinking, nothing that could jeopardize your future."

Your fists clenched at the insinuation you were just some reckless, irresponsible child who needed constant supervision. Yes, maybe you enjoyed letting loose a bit more than most well-behaved college students. But you were an adult, damn it! Perfectly capable of looking after yourself without strict babysitting.

Before you could unleash the sharp retort burning on your tongue, there was a rap on the window. Kuroo's laidback grin appeared in the glass as he waggled his fingers in greeting.

"Ah, right on time! Was starting to worry you two had bailed on me," he chuckled, eyes crinkling in that easygoing way you'd always adored.

You seized the opportunity to exit the car before further lecturing could commence. Kuroo pulled you into one of his trademark bear hugs once you were vertical, squeezing with affectionate zeal.

"Took you long enough to get here, troublemaker," he murmured fondly into your hair. "Was starting to think I'd have to stay bored and lonely without my best girl around."

A pleasant shiver danced along your nape at the husky timbre of his voice so close to your ear. Kuroo had always been an indulgent, affectionate presence in your life - a welcome counterbalance to Kenma's frequently stern parenting. Growing up, you'd often admired the easy charisma and confidence your father’s best friend exuded. Part of you wondered, in a distant, abstract way, what it might be like to bask in that roguish charm aimed at you directly...

You quickly banished the stray thought, burying your face into Kuroo's solid chest instead as his arms tightened further. "Don't be so clingy, old man. I'll only be here for a couple weeks."

Behind you, the driver's side door creaked open, signaling Kenma's arrival. Kuroo tossed your father a grin over your head, not loosening his hold on you in the slightest.

"Ah, there's the doting dad now! C'mon, we can continue the lecture inside over some beers." His eyes danced with undisguised amusement as Kenma bristled slightly at the jab.

"Very funny, Kuroo," Kenma muttered, mouth set in a flat line. "But I do need to lay down some ground rules if she's staying with you for a while."

You extricated yourself from Kuroo's snug embrace, stepping back and crossing your arms over your chest defiantly as Kenma stepped closer. The tension between the two best friends thrummed familiarly - Kuroo radiating easy humor while Kenma maintained stern disapproval.

Your dad took a steadying breath before fixing you with a level stare. "I'm serious about this. You are not to throw any parties, end up in compromising positions with strangers, or make any unilateral decisions that could derail your education-"

"Oh my god, Dad!" The whine escaped before you could stop it. "I'm an adult, not a misbehaving toddler! When are you going to start treating me that way?"

Kenma opened his mouth, eyes flashing dangerously, but Kuroo quickly moved to insert himself between you both. His hands landed on your shoulders, calm yet firm, pulling your heated focus to him.

"Now now, you two, let's not jump straight into argument mode so soon. We'll have plenty of time to bicker later." He shot you a wink before shifting his gaze to Kenma. "I've got this under control. I know exactly how to keep our little hellraiser in line without killing her spirit."

Kenma stared at his friend, a thousand unspoken retorts flickering behind his eyes. You could practically see his inner monologue debating whether he could truly trust the two of you alone together for an extended period. At last, a weary sigh slipped past his lips.

"Fine, I'm putting my faith in you, Kuroo. For now." He leveled you with one final, intense stare that made you want to squirm. "But any misbehavior at all and I'm sending in reinforcements, understood?"

Whether he meant to hire an actual bodyguard or simply sick your mother on you, the threat was painfully clear. You nodded tersely, holding Kenma's gaze and refusing to be the first to look away. A battle of wills you were determined not to lose, if only to prove how much of an "adult" you were.

At last, Kuroo chuckled and slung a companionable arm around your shoulders, breaking the weighted tension between you and your father. "See? All settled! Now how about you head out and let me get my quality niece-uncle bonding time in before she gets sick of me?"

Though the sarcastic jibe brought a faint smirk to Kenma's lips, you could tell his dubious hesitation lingered. Nevertheless, your father stepped forward to enfold you in a tight hug, one you returned fiercely despite your earlier exasperation.

Kenma pulled away first, squeezing your shoulder and studying your features carefully. "Stay out of trouble. Please? For me?"

You mustered up your most reassuring smile, leaning in to peck his cheek lightly. "I'll be a perfect angel, Daddy. I promise."

The obvious lie should have rankled more than it did. But Kenma simply sighed and shook his head in resignation, adjusting his grasp on his travel bag as he prepared to depart.

"I'll hold you to that. Behave for Kuroo and...and I'll see what souvenir I can find for you in Italy..."

His muttered bribe brought an inadvertent grin to your lips as Kuroo ushered you back toward the apartment with a theatrical bow and exaggerated flourish of his free arm.

"And so the bonding festivities commence! C'mon troublemaker, prepare for the best girls' staycation your hot single uncle can provide!"

Kuroo's playful declaration had you rolling your eyes so hard they threatened to relocate. "Hot single uncle? Seriously? That's just creepy on so many levels."

He shrugged unapologetically, steering you through the lobby with his arm still slung around your shoulders. "What? I'm hot, I'm single, and while not technically related by blood, I'm about as close to an uncle as you've got."

You pulled a face of exaggerated disgust. "Please don't ever call yourself my uncle again. That's like...an instant boner-killer."

Kuroo's barking laughter echoed through the small space, and you grinned despite yourself. There was something innately infectious about his easy charm and rapscallion energy. "Wow, damn! Way to just completely obliterate any sense of family-friendly bonding, kiddo."

"Don't call me kiddo either," you retorted as the elevator doors slid open with a chime. "I'll be twenty-two next month, remember? Not exactly a child anymore."

You could feel the heat of Kuroo's assessing stare sliding over you, just on the periphery of your vision. The casual rake of it made you sit up fractionally straighter, all too aware of how your low-cut shirt gapped to reveal hints of cleavage from this angle.

"Oh trust me, I'm well aware you're not a kid anymore," he murmured, the undercurrent to his tone giving you pause.

But when you glanced over at him, Kuroo's expression was as impassively playful as ever. Not a single lascivious hitch to indicate he might have been venturing into more suggestive waters...which, of course, was precisely where your own thoughts had begun meandering unbidden.

The elevator dinged your arrival at Kuroo's floor, and he ushered you out ahead of him with a hand pressing warmth to the small of your back. The hallway blurred past in a vague tableau of drab carpeting and nondescript doors until he was guiding you into the first one off the small entry corridor.

You turned in a slow circle as Kuroo flipped on the lights, taking in the surprisingly spacious guest suite. Abstract art prints lined the walls, lending a vibrant splash of color amidst the black furniture and modern fixtures.

"Not too shabby," you remarked, lifting an impressed brow Kuroo's way. "Not what I pictured at all for a washed-up old man with no wife or life."

Kuroo scoffed in faux-offense, tossing the small duffel of clothes Kenma had packed for you onto the plush queen bed. "First off, I'm only fourty-six, brat. Second, I'll have you know this place is basically an Adonis' palace where all the finest honeys flock."

You quirked a dubious eyebrow, gaze deliberately sweeping over the space with exaggerated appraisal. "Right, 'cause I can totally see you whipping out those cheesy lines while trying to seduce some poor girl back here."

Before you could evade, Kuroo closed the distance and yanked you flush against his chest in a grip far more sensual than the earlier hug. You inhaled sharply at the sudden intimate proximity, meeting his intense stare from beneath your lashes. Kuroo smelled of sandalwood and peppery musk, a scent that was bafflingly more intoxicating than you'd ever noticed.

"Who says I'd need lines other than the truth?" He murmured, voice pitched low enough to ghost tingles down your nape. "Why go for cheesy when 'I want you' works just as well in the right tone?"

Your mouth felt abruptly parched, throat clicking in a tight swallow you couldn't quite stifle. The steady thrum of Kuroo's heart against your own fluttering pulse made you hyperconsciously aware of the lack of space between your bodies. The hard wall of his chest, the sinuous strength of his arms bracketing you against him, the faint tickle of his breath against your brow...

You rallied yourself with visible effort, putting on a show of extracting yourself from his arms and rolling your eyes in dismissal. "Wow, Kuroo, can't take you anywhere without the bachelor desperation vibes taking over," you chided with an airy laugh. "Good thing any girl with half a brain knows your bark is way worse than that impotent bite of yours."

Kuroo snorted, clearly unfazed by the brush-off. "Ouch, that hurts coming from my favorite companion." He hooked a thumb over his shoulder toward the hallway. "C'mon, I'll give you the full penthouse tour while the slander is fresh."

As you followed him out, you couldn't resist one final flustered jab. "Please, do not refer to me as your 'companion' ever again. I don't need those gross old-man vibes getting all over me."

But even as the teasing counters continued flowing freely between you, brimming with practiced ease and playful brio, a newfound undercurrent seemed to lace each exchange. There was a thrilling energy now, veins of irresistible temptation and tension brimming just beneath the surface.

You found your gaze continually straying to trace the lines of Kuroo's body in ways it never had before. Mapping the shift of firm muscle and masculine definition barely concealed beneath his fitted t-shirt. Fixating on the sharp hollow of his throat each time he tilted his head back in unrestrained laughter. Drinking in the ruggedly handsome contours of his face as if seeing them for the very first time through the lens of burgeoning desire rather than familial fondness.

And from the heated glances you continually intercepted raking over your own frame, Kuroo seemed equally as preoccupied with thoroughly appreciating the woman you'd matured into, absently licking his lips whenever you turned away. Almost as if he too were acutely, viscerally aware of the new precedents being set between you.

Still, when you wandered back to flop gracelessly onto your temporary bed with a contented sigh, Kuroo knew better than to allow things to escalate too precipitously. One broad palm landed atop your head, smoothing your tumbled hair back from your forehead with an endearment more akin to an indulgent older brother than anything else.

You shot him a sly look from beneath your lashes, immediately recognizing this for what it was - Kuroo's subtle attempt to steer you both back into familiar, innocuous territory before the simmering undercurrents got away from you.

Well, two could play at that game.

With a put-upon huff, you rolled onto your back, deliberately arching your spine in an indolent stretch that made your shirt ride up to bare a sliver of toned midriff. You caught the telltale stutter in Kuroo's breathing, the way his heated stare latched onto the newly exposed stretch of skin like a magnet.

Slowly, methodically, you trailed your fingertips along the taut vee of muscles just visible beneath the hem of your top. Your tongue darted out to wet your lips in a show of exaggerated absentmindedness as you continued trailing indolent circles around your navel.

"Mmm, you know..." you murmured, letting your voice drop into a lower, sultrily purring register that had Kuroo's undivided attention snapping back to your face. "I could use a little...stress relief after Dad's interrogation out there."

You punctuated the blatant invitation with another tantalizing arch of your spine, pushing your breasts higher and straining against the thin fabric. A calculated glance slanted his way revealed Kuroo swallowing hard, looking distinctly like a man warring with his baser instincts.

"I'm sure we could find a fun way for us both to unwind after he put me through the wringer," you pressed, tracing patterns lower, dangerously closer to the button of your too-tight shorts. "Work off all that...heated tension before you call me out for dinner?"

Kuroo's nostrils flared as his jaw went rigid, and for a breathless heartbeat, you were certain he would finally succumb. That the carnal need simmering behind those sharp hazel eyes would win out over restraint and detonate between your tangled forms here and now. Your blood thrummed with peaky arousal, entire body liquid heat and tightly-coiled anticipation.

But then Kuroo expelled a low, rueful chuckle and the spell was broken. He raked one broad palm through the artful disarray of his hair, regarding you with an undeniable glint of dark amusement that only fuelled your petulance.

"Nice try, kiddo," he husked, the low timbre sending unwanted tingles rocketing through you. "But you're gonna have to work harder to unravel me with those moves. Not my first time fending off your wiles, remember?"

Your lips twisted in a pout you knew full well drew his gaze inexorably. "Maybe I don't want to just fend you off," you retorted, hoping the petulant whine in your tone conveyed precisely how turned on you were feeling. "Maybe this time, getting you riled up is the entire point."

Kuroo's brows winged higher as his gaze openly raked over your splayed form once more. This time, his yearning appraisal brought tingles of wicked satisfaction rather than self-consciousness.

"Trust me, gorgeous," he managed at last, voice gone tellingly husky. "Part of me would love nothing more than showing you just how riled you've gotten me. But we both know how that story has to end – with your dad hunting me down and gelding me within an inch of my life."

Your mouth opened to formulate a retort - a scathing denial of your tame, saintly reputation that had Kenma forever playing over-protective warden. But Kuroo didn't give you the chance to voice it.

One broad, calloused palm cupped your cheek with surprising tenderness, the rough pads of his fingers trailing sparks against your suddenly oversensitized skin. You felt the air leave your lungs in a harsh exhalation, held paralyzed beneath the searing, unguarded intensity of Kuroo's molten stare.

"So as tempting as you look," he rasped in that low, wrecked timbre that shot liquid heat arrowing through your core, "I'm not about to jeopardize what we've got over one round of pent-up games, yeah?"

Something inside you clenched at the implicit reminder – no matter what sinfully delicious tension existed between you, Kuroo still saw himself as almost family at the end of the day. He would never actually cross that forbidden line, no matter how persistently you tempted and goaded.

The realization flooded you with an odd blend of yearning, frustration, and reluctant respect for his restraint. You opened your mouth to spit out whatever caustic retort might help preserve your carefully cultivated blasé front-

"Tell you what," Kuroo pressed on before you could marshal the words, his thumb tracing a searing path along the plump bow of your lower lip in a blatantly intimate caress. "You promise to stow that wicked mouth and insatiable appetites of yours for the rest of the evening? And I'll take you shopping tomorrow night, just the two of us."

Your breath hitched audibly as he leaned closer still, heated exhalation gusting against the sensitized whorls of your ear to send delicious tingles arrowing straight to your core.

"Show me you can be an honest-to-god good girl for once, and I'll give you a grand adventure worth staying out of trouble for..."

With that sinful promise dangling tantalizingly in the air, Kuroo pulled back, lips curved in that same roguish smirk yet now laced with the undisguised promise of rewards still to come. He regarded you through heavy-lidded bedroom eyes, blatantly awaiting your breathless capitulation or further, fruitless temptation.

Your chest heaved with sharp, ragged pants you couldn't quite stifle. With tremendous effort of will, you kept your rebuttals and wanton offers leashed, refusing to give him any further cause to refuse your attempts at seduction outright. Not when the carrot of some unknown indulgence dangled so enticingly above you.

Eventually, Kuroo seemed satisfied by your mute surrender. He dipped his chin, lips brushing your fevered brow in a shockingly tender brand of possession and benediction.

"Good girl," he murmured in a hoarse growl that had your core musculature fluttering anew. "Put this behind us for now, and I promise you'll get everything you've been craving later..."

With one final searing caress that felt burned into the curve of your flushed cheek long after he retreated, Kuroo turned and made his way out of the guest suite. Leaving you a hot, shaky mess of thwarted need and simmering what ifs that felt poised to burst into searing reality sooner rather than later – even if he wouldn't be so easily taken before then.

As Kuroo moved about the kitchen preparing dinner, his thoughts were utterly consumed by the simmering tension now charging the air between you and him. He couldn't tear his mind away from replaying your bold attempts at seduction earlier, or how painfully tempting you'd looked splayed out so wantonly on the guest bed.

His hands stilled on the cutting board, knife poised over half-chopped vegetables as Kuroo's gaze went hazy with recollection. The way your shirt had ridden up to tease at soft midriff and the teasing vee of your hips. The subtle roll of your spine as you arched into an indolent stretch - so calculated yet seemingly artless in its invitation. And that come-hither rasp of your voice dropping into unrepentant sin, offering searing delights Kuroo shouldn't even entertain indulging.

A harsh exhalation gusted past his lips as desire, so cruelly reawakened yet stubbornly restrained, gave a sullen throb low in his groin. Kuroo couldn't deny being utterly transfixed when you turned your wiles on him like that. Some deep, primal part of him yearned to surrender - to take you up on that scorching proposal and show you exactly how "riled" you'd gotten him all these years with the slow burn of your teasing.

In his mind's eye, Kuroo easily pictured stalking back over to crouch above your reclined form, pinning your wrists to the mattress on either side of your head. He'd drink in every molten inch of you spread wantonly before him, from the sheen of exertion and arousal glazing your skin to the impudent quirk of your lips as you challenged him to make good on unvoiced threats.

Kuroo could practically taste the erotic potential crackling between your barely parted forms. All it would take was one decisive roll of his hips to grind his cock against your cloth-dampened heat. You'd stifle a strangled sound of yearning, back arching greedily to chase that first forbidden frisson—

"Tetsurou?"

The sound of his given name on your lips jolted Kuroo violently from his spiraling fantasy. The knife slipped in his suddenly vice-like grip, knicking open his palm with a bright blossom of crimson. He hissed out a sharp curse, both at the stinging pain and the fact he'd been so utterly consumed by his hunger for you he hadn't registered your approach.

You tsked sympathetically from somewhere behind him now, sending tingles of visceral awareness skating down his nape. "Need me to kiss it better and make the owie go away?" You crooned in that soft, saccharine tone Kuroo knew damn well was more velvet sheath for venom than genuine innocence.

He whirled to face you, pulse jackrabbiting beneath his ribs when he found you perched on the counter directly beside the scene of his lapse in focus. One leg was folded up against your chest, the other swinging lazily off the edge - all purposefully indolent insouciance and inescapable awareness of the effect you had on him.

"How generous," Kuroo forced out in a roughened rumble, trying for glib detachment even as his gaze raked hungrily over the strip of thigh exposed beneath your tiny sleep shorts. "Pretty sure I've got some bandaids around here somewhere that'll work just as well, but thanks."

Rather than retreating, you merely smirked wider and leaned forward a fraction, putting your breasts on indecently tantalizing display in that threadbare tanktop. "Suit yourself. But I was hoping for an excuse to get on my knees and lavish some personal attention for once..."

The blatant invitation hung suspended between you in a haze of static charge and spiraling heat. Kuroo could feel his self-restraint fast eroding, each labored breath stoking the banked embers of temptation simmering hotter by the second. His mind raced frantically, scrambling for some witty deflection or hasty retreat—

Before he could succeed, your tongue slipped out to trace a maddeningly slow path over the plump swell of your lower lip. "You know I've been told I have exceptional mouth-to-mouth skills for this sort of...situation," you murmured, voice pitched low and rough enough to feel like a physical caress along his thundering pulse. "Seems a shame to let that talent go to waste any longer than necessary, hmm?"

Kuroo couldn't stop the low, graveled growl of undisguised yearning that tore free from somewhere primal and smoldering at your teasing insinuation. Nor could he tear his gaze away from the wanton paths your fingertips traced over the bare expanses of skin you'd so meticulously put on display. Stomach clenching with mingled arousal and heated frustration, he took a single step forward, fully intending to—

He cut himself off sharply, turning on his heel and stalking away from the temptation of your poised, feline sprawl with every ounce of restraint he could muster. You watched him flee with heavy-lidded awareness, lips curved in a victorious smirk that only stoked Kuroo's smoldering urgency further.

"I need a cold fucking shower," he tossed over his shoulder in a guttural rasp. "Don't wait up, gorgeous. I'll come collect you when I've regained some goddamn rationale around that mouth of yours..."

The last, damning word seemed to resonate in the weighted silence he left hanging in his wake. Kuroo tried desperately to focus on the promise of frigid spray rather than the tortuous vision of your plump lips wrapped so prettily around that very phrase - and what other searing delights they might bring to blissful fruition between your tangled forms.

Somehow, he had to regain control before the next few weeks of close proximity eroded the last of his resolve entirely. You deserved far better than falling to his weaknesses in such a desperate moment. And he deserved far sterner retribution than even Kenma could deliver should he ever give in to the temptation of tainting you so profanely...

Dinner passed in a tense spiral of heated glances and loaded silence. Despite your outward veneer of angelic politeness, Kuroo could see the glint of challenge smoldering behind every coy flutter of lashes directed his way.

You seemed utterly focused on dismantling his restraint inch by excruciating inch. From the way you lapped up every stray crumb or droplet of sauce from your full lips with maddening leisure, to the insistent press of your stocking-clad foot tracing sinuous paths along his calf beneath the table's cover. Each tiny gauntlet thrown down made Kuroo's blood rush hotter, stoking his arousal to increasingly painful intensity with every passing moment.

By the time you'd retired for the evening with a sultry murmur of "Sweet dreams, Tetsu," Kuroo could barely see straight past the relentless fog of yearning clouding his thoughts. His skin felt seared from your seemingly innocuous caresses and teasing touches, every nerve ending overwrought to the point of maddening hypersensitivity.

The second Kuroo's bedroom door thudded closed behind him, he was already shucking his clothes in a fevered whirlwind - buttons popping and fabric tearing as he frantically shed the barriers separating him from the relief he so desperately craved. Within moments he collapsed back onto his bed in only his boxers, hand shoved unceremoniously beneath the tented cotton to fist around his painfully hard cock.

A guttural groan of pure ecstasy gusted from Kuroo as he started shamelessly pumping himself with rough, frantic strokes. Visceral scenarios of bending your body over the dinner table and rucking up that little skirt you'd worn instantly unfurled behind his clenched eyelids. He could practically feel the tight, slick heat of your cunt gripping him to the hilt as he surged forward to stake his claim.

"Fuck...gonna feel so goddamn good wrapped around me," He hissed through gritted teeth, thrusts becoming more erratic as the sinful image of your head thrown back in rapture crystallized hotly. "Been driving me crazy...teasing little bitch...need to teach you a fucking lesson..."

Kuroo's free hand flew up to claw at the rigid plane of his abdomen, leaving behind bright ribbons of crimson as his pleasure barreled relentlessly onward. He imagined capturing those wicked lips between his teeth as punishment for every taunt and flagrant provocation you'd issued so seamlessly all evening. Driving himself to brutal, punishing depths over and over until you sobbed and keened and swore to stay good - at least for a little while.

Even picturing your pleas for mercy in that breathless, wrecked timbre you'd used earlier was enough to have Kuroo teetering wildly on the razor's edge. His balls drew up tighter as electric jolts of blinding bliss raced along his synapses with each twist of his calloused grip. Already he could taste the coppery tang of his own strained groans filling the bedroom, breath sawing harshly and release imminent—

A metallic jangle from the front entranceway had Kuroo's orgasm aborting before it could quite crest. His eyes flew open in the same instant he stilled, body strung taut as a bowstring as a cold tendril of realization slithered down his spine.

The midnight quiet echoed with hollow, careful pacing as if someone were sneaking tiptoeing movements. Then, the unmistakable vibration of the front door's locks being disengaged from the other side pulsed through the apartment in a searing staccato.

Kenma's parting warnings slammed back into Kuroo's lust-fogged brain with all the force of a sledgehammer: "Watch her closely. I wouldn't put it past her to slip out looking for trouble the second you blink..."

You. Sneaking out alone into the night to find some godforsaken revelry, no doubt. And despite his current state of painfully swollen and unsated dick, Kuroo felt the switch within him flip from hungered deviant back to protective guardian in a heartbeat.

With a growl of exertion half frenzied lust and half recalcitrant duty, he wrenched himself off the bed and stumbled to locate the first shred of clothing in reach as stealthy footsteps crept ever closer.

Kuroo's footsteps slowed to a prowling gait as he neared the living room, every muscle in his body tensing like a predator catching the scent of prey. There you stood at the front door, hand curved around the knob as if seconds from twisting it open and slipping outside.

But it was your appearance that stole Kuroo's breath and ignited molten need pulsing through his veins anew.

The scrap of crimson fabric you wore could barely even be considered a dress - more like a lingerie bodice sculpted to your lithe curves with indecent intimacy. It cupped the swell of your breasts, forcing them into a tantalizing plunge of cleavage before tapering off into a loose, flowing skirt portion that revealed teasing flashes of thigh and the lace garter adorning your upper leg each time you shifted.

Kuroo drank in the delectable tableau you presented with undisguised starvation, any lingering notion of rebuke or chastisement withering before the scorching promise of your provocatively clad form. You seemed to sense his hungry regard boring into you, shoulders going taut as you tilted your head slightly in acknowledgment.

"Going somewhere?" Kuroo finally grated out, throat parched and pulse jackrabbiting beneath his skin.

You didn't startle or try to fabricate some trite excuse. Instead, you pivoted to face him fully - the motion causing the wispy material to flutter around your body like scarlet flame, offering a split-second's teasing glimpse at the bare curve of your hip and abdomen beneath.

Kuroo barely suppressed a low, ravenous sound at the visceral temptation.

"Not going anywhere, Tetsu," you murmured in a voice like dark, velvety honey dripping straight into Kuroo's veins. "Just thought I'd slip into something more...comfortable while you were gone."

Your tongue darted out to trace a slow, meandering path over that full pout of your lower lip and Kuroo felt the final tethers of his restraint starting to splinter like overheated metal.

"Is that so?" He breathed out a fractured exhale, unconsciously prowling closer now despite his rapidly unraveling discipline. "And just who were you hoping might appreciate the view should they happen by?"

Rather than blanching or feigning innocence, your lips curved into a slow, eminently satisfied smirk that would have put the most depraved temptress to shame. With maddening deliberation, you allowed the bodice's sheer skirt portions to slip open even further - shamelessly revealing the absence of any panties and giving Kuroo an unobscured view of your bare pussy glistening with arousal beneath.

"Oh Tetsu, don't be coy," you crooned in a voice that liquified Kuroo's bones and made his shaft strain against its confines. "We both know precisely who this little show was meant for..." You punctuated the brazen insinuation by trailing one hand up the dip of your waist and over the slight swell of your hip before palming one of your tits shamelessly.

Something inside Kuroo seemed to splinter with a visceral, protracted ache at the image you painted. Some primal, proprietary need he could no longer wrestle down or contain reared up with a vengeance. In two strides, he crossed the remaining distance separating you, muscles tensed for violence.

Before you could so much as flinch, his fist lashed out, slamming into the door's frame beside your head hard enough to rattle its hinges. You went rigid, every shallow breath gusting between your parted lips in teasing wisps and ghosting over Kuroo's own straining chest.

"Don't you fucking dare," he snarled, bracing his other palm against the door to cage you in fully and blanketing your slighter frame in his looming heat. His voice dripped with seething menace, hazel eyes boring into yours with unflinching demand. "You want to play your wicked games, little girl? Then you can stay right here and sate them properly for once instead of traipsing around and dangling your charms for any passing degenerate to see..."

As his words hung in the electrically charged space between your bodies, Kuroo allowed the tip of his thumb to graze the over-sensitized swell of your lower lip with a maddening brush of friction, heart hammering an erratic staccato beneath his ribs.

"That's what you've been gagging for all night, isn't it? For me to finally break and give you exactly the kind of thorough, unrestrained claiming you've been begging for with those eyes?"

His hoarse murmur reverberated straight through you, hips canting subtly forward to grind the hard outline of his cock into your lower belly and banishing any distance between your bodies. You gasped softly at the delicious contact, pupils blowing wide with naked hunger.

Kuroo snaked his other hand with slow, almost torturous care around your back, fingertips skating over heated skin to palm your ass with unabashed greed. He squeezed firmly enough to lift you and force you up onto your tiptoes, your gazes locked in an endless battle of wills and unleashed, unstoppable need.

"Well?" His breath ghosted over your parted lips in counterpoint to his rumbling challenge and the rhythmic grind he established against your core. "If you've finally had enough of playing coy and pretending you don't want this as badly as I do, now's your last chance to walk away before I cave to the beast you keep trying to unleash..."

The molten whisper hung between you, thrumming with electric inevitability. Kuroo could feel the ragged flutter of your pulse against his palm cupping your feverish skin, the delicate shudder coursing through your frame as you swayed instinctively closer.

Your lips parted further as if to give voice to either undeniable surrender or a breathless plea for Kuroo to finally claim you with the ferocity you'd been stoking all night. He tensed in anticipation, every over-sensitized nerve ending screaming for your explicit permission to shed the last threads of restraint still holding him paralyzed on that razor-thin edge.

For a dizzying moment, he could almost taste the searing potential of finally unleashing himself, ravaging your pliant body as roughly and thoroughly as the beast prowling his veins demanded. Kuroo could picture hoisting you bodily into the searing cradle of his hips, pinning you helplessly against the door as he ground your molten centers together with punishing friction...

That's when Kenma's words sliced through the desire-soaked haze enveloping Kuroo's thoughts like a bucket of ice water:

"If I ever find out you so much as looked at my daughter the wrong way, I'll neuter you myself. And that's after my wife gets through kicking your ass first..."

The haunting vow rang with merciless clarity in Kuroo's mind - a bucket of sobering reality to counter the lush temptation of violating the most sacred of boundaries with the woman openly offering her wanton surrender mere breaths away. He froze utterly, gut clenching with a queasy lurch of shame. How could he even consider jeopardizing his friendship with Kenma over some fleeting, heated indiscretion?

You seemed to sense the shift in Kuroo's demeanor, that he'd regained some tenuous grasp on restraint despite the fever still thrumming between your bodies. A tiny, frustrated noise slipped free as your features contorted in a glare of disbelieving outrage.

"Don't you dare fucking pull away from me again, Tetsurou," you growled in a cadence dripping with such naked challenge and need that Kuroo nearly faltered anew. "I swear to god, if you think shutting me down now is going to make me stop craving your cock, you're delusional!"

Kuroo shuddered fully despite himself, arousal jackhammering nearly to the point of pain at the visceral promise of your guttural words. But he dug deep, clinging resolutely to the kernel of conscience beating like a metronome through his lust-fogged thoughts. He couldn't - wouldn't - be that level of betrayal to Kenma, no matter how sweetly the temptation painted itself.

With a fortifying inhale that felt like drawing in shards of glass, Kuroo untangled himself from your sinuous clutches, ignoring your outraged hiss of protest as he forcibly restrained the urge to lay claim so savagely.

"It's late," he managed in a tone gone desert-dry and rough enough to scour his raw throat. "And clearly my better judgment is waning enough for the night. We'll discuss this further after you've had a chance to...cool down."

You watched him with those mercurial eyes gone molten with frustrated fury, chest heaving with ragged pants that did nothing to detract from your brazen state of undress. For a prolonged heartbeat, Kuroo expected an explosive outburst or further attempts at seduction from you. But then, miraculously, some spark of compliance or defeated resignation seemed to bleed the raging inferno from your gaze.

With a toss of your head that made soft tresses spill artfully around your bare shoulders, you sneered. "Whatever. Don't come crying to me when the strain of denying yourself gets to be too much to handle alone at night anymore..."

Kuroo drew himself ramrod straight, pouring every ounce of willpower into keeping his gaze locked forward rather than allowing it to track the provocative bounce of your ass as you spun on your heel and stalked away down the hall. He waited until the muffled thud of your bedroom door slamming echoed like a death knell through the apartment before slumping back against the wall and dragging in a harsh, shuddering breath.

How the hell was he going to survive the remaining weeks of your tempestuous presence while keeping both your ravenous desire and his own treacherous impulses properly leashed?

The following morning found an undercurrent of smoldering resentment still permeating the air. You seemed determined to punish Kuroo for his rejection with frosty glares and curt one-word responses to any attempt at conversation or banter. Your simmering fury was nearly palpable enough to scorch any time he entered the vicinity - deliciously thrilling and unnerving in equal measure.

Finally, unable to endure the bristling awkwardness any longer, Kuroo cleared his throat over the remains of his breakfast. "Look, we both know moping around sulking isn't going to make this go away," he drawled, careful to keep any hint of condescension from creeping into his tone. "Maybe we need to get out and do something a little more fun together? Give you a chance to blow off some of that pent-up steam more...productively?"

Your gaze was skeptical as it flickered up to meet his, clearly wary of any potential olive branch representing ulterior motives or opportunities for seduction. But Kuroo held steady under your scrutiny, offering his most disarming grin.

"C'mon, we can make a little day trip out of it if you'd like? Grab some lunch, do a little shopping, maybe hit up a few sights if the weather cooperates..."

Resentment warred visibly with intrigued temptation across your features before the latter finally won out with a resigned huff. "Fine. Not like I have anything better to do until Dad gets back anyway." You paused, worrying your plump lower lip between your teeth in a way that made Kuroo have to swallow thickly. "Just promise to keep your hands to yourself and maybe I'll consider not holding last night's debacle entirely against you..."

A spark of challenge lit in Kuroo's chest even as he gave a genial shrug of acquiescence. "Whatever you say, princess. Although that begs the question of whether you'll be able to control your own wandering paws around little old me for once..."

You scoffed in a pantomime of offense even as the barest hints of a wry smirk curved your lips. "Oh, I think I've proven my restraint is far superior to your own when push comes to shove, Tetsurou."

The familiar note of salacious teasing had Kuroo's blood heating despite himself. But he held your gaze levelly, determined not to let you regain advantage - at least not so swiftly in the wake of his hard-fought self-denial.

"We'll just have to see about that, won't we?" He countered at last, allowing his eyes to rake over you with unguarded appreciation. "After all, there's only so long either of us can hold our breaths before one of us is bound to...come up gasping..."

The blatant undercurrent of wager and innuendo made your own stare spark in undisguised awareness, the air between you shivering in a deliciously renewed charge. Kuroo rose, movements lazy and confident as a predator scenting fresh prey.

"Better go get ready, sweetheart," he drawled as he moved towards the hallway, uncaring you tracked his every step like a starving woman admiring an exquisitely prepared feast. "It'll be my pleasure making things...interesting for us both today."

With one final, searing glance over his shoulder that promised indulgences still to come, Kuroo sauntered off to prepare himself for the delectable temptations and torments ahead. He only hoped the day's distractions would be enough to purchase him another reprieve from your mutually cataclysmic desires...at least for a few blissful hours more.

The tension that had lingered from the previous night's heated confrontation seemed to dissipate as you and Kuroo ventured out together into the crisp morning air. He tried to remain hyper-aware of the simmering undercurrents still crackling between you, but genuinely found himself getting swept up in simply enjoying your company as the day unfolded.

Over a laidback brunch at a cozy café, you fell back into your usual effortless rapport of teasing banter and roguish quips. Kuroo realized with a strange sort of fondness how easy it was to forget the obscenely tempting woman you'd matured into when you were grinning up at him with syrup smeared at the corner of your mouth, looking for all the world like the same mischievous brat he'd watched grow up.

Still, there were moments that would jar him back into visceral awareness of the barely-restrained desire pulsing between you both – like when you stretched lazily and your shirt rode up to expose a tantalizing strip of toned midriff, or when you casually licked a glob of whipped cream from your fingertip with slow, indolent focus. In those heated instances, Kuroo had to actively tear his stare away from drinking in the lurid tableaus you unconsciously presented.

After brunch, you wandered through a nearby outdoor market – pointing out quirky items that caught your fancy and sharing stories of your latest college misadventures as Kuroo listened with poorly restrained fondness. He couldn't resist the occasional playful nudge or tug on your hair, relishing in your indignant squeals.

Small, innocuous gestures that nevertheless filled Kuroo with a strange sense of nostalgia for cherished days long since passed when your relationship held no murkier underpinnings. Back when things had been simpler...easier.

But then your hand would brush his with purported innocence, or you'd lean in fractionally too close as you tugged the sleeve of his shirt to get his attention, and the nostalgia would instantly combust into that now-familiar scorching heat low in his core.

By the time evening rolled around, that same tantalizing friction was back in full force – only heightened by the casual intimacy you'd both lapsed into over the course of the day. Almost as if all the emotional groundwork of boundaries and uncertainty had already been blazed through, leaving only the heady longing and pent-up tension still smoldering beneath polite veneers. ik

Kuroo felt like he was walking on a tightrope, trying to balance enjoying your company without giving in to the overwhelming desire simmering between you two. As you strolled together down the lively shopping promenade, he was hyperaware of every accidental brush of your arm, every sly glance you shot his way. The sexual tension hung thick in the air, stoking the fire raging within him.

You reminded him of his promise to take you shopping, that coy smile playing on your lips. Kuroo wanted to refuse, to steer you both back to safer territory. But the gleam in your eyes made his resolve falter. He knew you wouldn't let this go, not when you could sense his weakening restraint.

"Sure, one store," he agreed reluctantly. "But we're keeping things PG, got it? No funny business."

Your grin only widened at his futile attempt to set boundaries. "I'll be on my very best behavior," you promised, though the suggestive lilt in your tone said otherwise.

True to form, the moment you stepped into the trendy clothing boutique, you barreled straight towards temptation. Kuroo watched, jaw clenched, as you selected increasingly revealing outfits to try on – tight dresses that clung to your curves, low-cut tops that exposed a tantalizing swell of cleavage. Each time you emerged from the dressing room in a new ensemble, his eyes were helplessly drawn to your body like a magnet, drinking in every inch of skin on display.

You preened under his heated stare, arching your back or bending over just a bit more than necessary as you posed and asked his opinion. Kuroo tried to keep his responses clipped and neutral, but his voice emerged as a strained rasp each time.

Finally, you slipped behind the door again, and Kuroo forced himself to turn away before you reemerged in something even more sinful. He paced the small waiting area, hands fisted at his sides as he wrestled with the escalating ache between his legs. Get it together, Tetsurou, he scolded himself. You can't let her temptations break you.

The soft creak of the changing room door made his head snap up, breath catching at the sight of you. This time, the delicate black dress you wore could barely be called clothing – the flimsy material was practically see-through, clinging to your body like a second skin and leaving absolutely nothing to the imagination. As you sauntered closer, each swaying step made the dress ride up tantalizing higher on your thighs.

"Well?" You locked eyes with him, open challenge burning in your gaze. "What do you think about this one, Tetsu? Think it would look better..." You trailed off, slowly dragging your hands up your sides to emphasize your breasts straining against the sheer fabric. "On the bedroom floor?"

Kuroo's throat went dry as you closed the distance between you, plush lips parting invitingly as you pressed yourself flush against his body. He could feel the pebbled peaks of your nipples grazing his chest, smell the intoxicating floral scent of your skin and hair. The blood was pounding so fiercely in his ears, he barely registered your next words.

"Come on, old man," you purred, tilting your hips in a slow grind against his growing hardness. "You can finally give in, just this once. No one has to know how badly you want me..."

With a guttural groan torn from his very core, Kuroo captured your lips in a searing, desperate kiss. All of his flimsy resistance and halfhearted objections crumbled entirely as he pulled you harder against him, one hand burying itself in your hair while the other shamelessly groped your ass.

You eagerly reciprocated his hunger, mouth opening to allow his probing tongue to delve deeper as your nails raked over his shoulders. The kiss was all heat and wet friction and the slick tangling of tongues, devolving rapidly into messy desperation.

When you finally broke apart, lips swollen and breath sawing harshly, Kuroo's gaze was molten with naked need. "Fuck it," he rasped out, guiding you backwards toward the dressing room. "You want this so bad, princess? You got it..."

With a low growl, he yanked the flimsy dress clear over your head, leaving you beautifully bare before his ravenous stare. As he crowded you against the wall, hands greedily roaming your body, all thoughts of resistance fled entirely. You'd baited him expertly, and now there was nothing left but surrender to the raging inferno of lust you'd both fanned for far too long.

Kuroo pinned you against the dressing room wall, the flimsy door shuddering on its hinges as he ground his clothed cock against your naked heat. Your head lolled back, mouth falling open in a silent moan as his lips and teeth blazed a scorching path down the column of your throat.

One of his powerful thighs shoved between your legs, forcing them obscenely apart to make room for the delicious friction he established. You clung to his broad shoulders, nails raking over taut muscle and bunched fabric as you rocked wantonly into the exquisite pressure.

"Yes...oh fuck, Tetsu, please..." The entreaty slipped free in a shredded whimper as molten licks of rapture sparked outwards from your rapidly liquifying core with each punishing grind of Kuroo's hips.

He swallowed your cries with another deep, bruising kiss - all teeth and slick tangling of tongues as he laid utterly merciless claim. One large palm clamped over the generous curve of your breast, kneading and tweaking the peaked nipple with expert command until you arched into his brand with a ragged plea.

Just as the two of you threatened to shred through the last vestige of control, a shrill ringing cut through the haze of panting breaths and slick glides of skin. You startled against Kuroo's unrelenting attention, scrambling to locate the source of the interruption.

"Fuck, ignore it baby," Kuroo growled against the swollen swell of your lips as he tried to recapture your mouth. But you placed a palm to his heaving chest, stilling his insistent motions just long enough to locate your buzzing phone abandoned beside the discard pile of outfits you'd tried on.

The name "DADDY" glared up from the screen, undeniable and utterly disruptive in its timing. You froze, equal parts mortification and a sudden rush of clarity dousing the raging inferno like a bucket of ice water.

Kuroo seemed to experience a similar sobering, judging by the way he abruptly wrenched himself from your tangled clutches with a guttural curse. He pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, harsh breaths sawing raggedly through the quiet changing alcove.

"Answer it," he bit out in a grating tone when you continued staring numbly at the vibrating device. "It's probably Kenma checking in finally..."

Obediently, you connected the call, fingers trembling as you lifted the phone to your ear while Kuroo dragged himself back from the precipice of utterly losing control.

"H-hey Daddy..." you stammered out, unable to fully erase the undercurrent of breathy desire still permeating your voice. "Did you make it to the hotel okay?"

You kept your eyes trained resolutely on the wall opposite as Kuroo raked his tortured stare over your flushed, gloriously debauched state. His jaw ticked visibly with the strain of warring compulsions before he seemed to reach some grim inner resolve.

Without ceremony, he snatched up the discarded pile of clothing and strode for the exit, steps tight and precise as he headed for the register. You watched his exit helplessly with one hand clapped over the mic, entirely uncertain how to process the harrowing swing between total debauchery and cold sobriety.

Finally, you shook yourself from your daze. "Yeah, I'm just...just out getting a few things with...with Tetsu," you mumbled hoarsely into the receiver, unable to mask the warring torrent of disappointment and relief thrashing beneath your skin. "No, no everything is totally fine and...and normal here..."

You trailed off staring blankly at the dressing room's mirrored wall – the debauchery reflected back at you a bitter mockery of your platitudes. Hickeys darkened over the swell of your breasts, hair a riot of tangles from Kuroo's merciless grip, the proof of your arousal stark and glistening between your thighs and smeared incriminatingly over your inner thighs.

Far from fine or normal.

With a trembling sigh and a desperate prayer Kuroo would maintain his reforged nobility for just a while longer, you slunk into the bathroom to quickly restore some semblance of dignity and untangled poise before braving whatever storm awaited on the other side.

The drive back to Kuroo's apartment was cloaked in a heavy silence, the air thick with unresolved tension. You kept stealing sidelong glances at him, eyes tracing the taut set of his jaw and the way the tendons in his neck corded with strain. His knuckles were practically white from gripping the steering wheel, biceps flexing beneath the material of his shirt. You found your gaze lingering on those sculpted forearms, remembering the scorching imprints his large palms had branded into your bare skin not long ago.

A heated flush crept up your chest as you recalled the urgency of his touch, the blazing intensity in his smoldering stare as he'd pinned you against that dressing room wall. Just thinking about how utterly you had unraveled him, how close you'd both teetered to the edge of no return, made a spiral of arousal rekindle low in your belly.

Finally, you couldn't take the charged quiet any longer. As if giving voice to the roiling torrent might somehow lance the turbulent undercurrents between you. "Are we going to talk about what happened back there?" you ventured, keeping your tone carefully neutral despite the way your pulse thrummed with reawakened yearning.

Kuroo's Adam's apple bobbed convulsively as he swallowed hard, sharpened jawline tensing further. "What's there to talk about?" His gravelly response held an undercurrent of forced nonchalance that did nothing to mask the storm clearly raging behind his eyes. "Just a lapse in judgment that won't be happening again."

The curt dismissal ignited a fresh flare of indignant frustration deep in your core. As if he could so easily disregard the raging inferno he'd stoked and indulge in willful blindness. You bristled, the flames of desire now sparking into defiance as you bristled. "So that's it? You're just going to pretend like you didn't want me just as badly?"

Shifting in your seat, you arched your back slightly to thrust your breasts forward and let your hand trail up the inseam of your skirt in a slow, sinuous caress. You parted your thighs a few tantalizing inches, holding Kuroo's burning stare in silent challenge. The rapid dilation of his pupils and the way his throat worked around a convulsive swallow did not escape your notice.

"I felt how hard you were, Tetsu," you murmured in a voice gone low and syrupy with provocation. You bit your lower lip slowly, letting it plump up and glisten with the brief sweep of your tongue. "How turned on you were, having me pressed up against you. Don't tell me you’re just gonna ignore that."

A muscle ticked in his chiseled jaw, the corded sinews of his neck snapping taut. But Kuroo kept his glass-cutting stare locked resolutely on the empty road ahead, seemingly laboring to maintain his rapidly crumbling veneer of forced restraint. His chest rose and fell in harsh drafts, utterly at odds with his white-knuckled grip on the steering wheel.

With a sharp swerve that jostled you both, Kuroo abruptly pulled over on a quiet side street. For a split second, you expected – hoped – that he would finally surrender. That the smoldering heat in his hooded stare would arc forward and consume you both in the searing release of passion too long stoked and denied. You even leaned subtly into his space, lips parting in breathless expectation.

But instead of seizing you in the punishing kiss you craved, Kuroo squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose in a gesture of clear self-restraint. The sharp ridges and hollows of his profile were limned in stark relief by the ambient glow of the streetlamp, casting his features in an almost pained mask of stoicism.

"You don't understand, [Y/N]," he grated out in that deliciously rough timbre that made your pussy flutter traitorously. "It's not just about age or consent. You're Kenma's daughter, for fuck's sake."

The reminder lanced through the gauzy cocoon of longing clouding your thoughts – a sudden dousing that left you recoiling slightly. But even the fleeting pang of guilt was not enough to extinguish the ember of desire still burning molten and insistent in your core. You worried your plump lower lip with your teeth again, noting the way Kuroo's gaze tracked the unconscious gesture with naked yearning.

"So what? The two of you aren’t related by blood."

Even to your own ears, the attempted rationalization rang thin and hollow – a transparent grasp at justification for indulging in this increasingly inescapable compulsion arcing between your charged forms.

Kuroo's jaw clenched hard enough to throw his chiseled features into harsh relief, full lips peeling back from gritted teeth in a rictus of frustration. "That doesn't matter!" he exploded, the blaze finally detonating behind those piercing emerald eyes. "Kenma is my oldest friend, my brother in every way that counts. And betraying his trust like this by lusting after his little girl?"

His words emerged guttural and fraught, the muscle jumping sporadically along his tensed jawline as his chest heaved with the force of containing the twin maelstroms of lust and self-loathing clearly at war within his formidable frame.

"It's unforgivable..." he finished in a voice gone hoarse with effort that seemed to resonate through you in a full-body tremor of apprehension and answering hunger.

The car idled around you, the low thrum of its engine seeming to give voice to the pulse of hunger you refused to quiet so easily. You absorbed Kuroo's weighted condemnation and rationality through the molasses-thick silence, tasting the bitter truths on your tongue...and dismissing them with a willful defiance that roiled and snapped through your veins like liquid fire.

"What if," you hedged at last, carefully modulating your tone to a lower, syrupy warmth. "What if he didn't have to know? Just this once to get it out of our systems."

The insinuation hung wreathed in ephemeral promise – one you punctuated by allowing your hand to slowly creep higher along Kuroo's taut thigh until your questing fingertips brushed against the outline of his cock swiftly taking shape beneath the coarse denim. You relished the punched-out groan that gusted free of him despite his visible efforts to contain it, his powerful thighs parting incrementally in a reflexive, unbidden welcome to your temptation.

"[Y/N], baby...don't..." Kuroo's graveled entreaty was unmistakable even as his willpower hemorrhaged. You refused to grant him quarter or pause now, shuffling gracelessly across the console until your lips ghosted searing friction against the sandpaper rasp of his own in a tantalizing brush of silk over steel.

"Don't act like you don't crave this just as much as I do," you breathed against his parted mouth, your damp exhalation seeming to scorch its heated path along every molecule. "I can feel how much you want me..."

A visible tremor wracked Kuroo's powerful frame then, his control stretched gossamer-thin and shredding. With a ragged curse torn from somewhere deep in his chest, he crushed his mouth down over yours in a searing, desperate kiss that threatened to steal the very air from your lungs. His large palms slid over every lush curve and swell in a heated brand of possession – bunching the fabric of your skirt up over your hips without preamble as he hauled you bodily into the cradle of his lap.

The action pinned you flush to the hard-on you'd been so purposefully teasing, eliciting a shamelessly wanton moan that Kuroo swallowed greedily. A dizzying spiral of tongues and teeth and lush, bruising friction commenced between you – frantic and ferocious and lit by the feverish promise of total surrender. Kuroo's every ragged exhalation scorched over your flushed skin with the guttural relish of starvation, his powerful body undulating beneath you in open invitation.

It was finally happening – the dam breaking to unleash the turbulent waters you'd strained against for far too long...

Then, with an animalistic growl torn from the depths of his core, Kuroo abruptly tore his mouth from yours. You both panted harshly in the aftermath, chests heaving and bodies glistening with the visceral efforts of that brief conflagration. Kuroo's eyes bored into you from beneath hooded lids, burning with an intensity that nearly made you moan at the visceral, proprietary promise you found there.

"We can't..." he rasped out, even as his hands roved hungrily over every exquisite swell and hollow of your wanton curves. He kneaded the lush flesh of your ass shamelessly, grinding your molten pussy against his aching cock. "Fuck, you have no idea how badly I want to just fuck you right here..."

You arched against him with a keening sound of entreaty, nipping sharply at the corded tendon straining along the column of his throat with your kiss-swollen lips. "Then why are you fighting it? I'm right here, Tetsu...all yours for the taking if you just give in..."

A shudder wracked Kuroo's broad shoulders and he momentarily buried his face in the fragrant hollow beneath your ear, seeming to inhale the humid fusion of your desire and dizzying feminine musk. You felt the rasp of his tongue caressing the feverish jump of your pulse point before he leaned back, jaw visibly ticking with the strain of containing the beast howling for release within.

"Kenma..." he ground out through gritted teeth, chest sawing with exertion as he visibly warred to regain the tattered shreds of his composure. "I can't do that to Kenma...fuck, I can't betray him like this no matter how tempting you make it!"

You issued a wordless growl of sheer frustration and smashed your mouth back against Kuroo's in a punishing kiss of pure, wanton possession. Your hips surged erratically against his, grinding and circling in search of any exquisite friction to soothe the mounting ache. His hands – those peerless instruments of dominance and barely-restrained power – squeezed your hips with bruising force, meeting your agonized roll for ravenous roll as you both teetered ever nearer to the abyss.

"Don't think about him or anyone else," you rasped out between the wickedly slick tangling of tongues and fevered sips of lush, parted flesh. "Just think about me and what you're going to do to me once we get back..."

A full-body shudder wracked Kuroo's powerful, delineated musculature then, making you momentarily dizzy as your senses swirled with the intoxicating scents of your feverish exertions and his spiced, earthy virility. For a suspended, panting heartbeat, you thought he might actually give in right there and now – shed his shredded composure and take you right atop the creaking console in an animalistic frenzy of unleashed hungers.

But then Kuroo's expression slid into grim determination, emerald eyes glinting with a resolve too steely to ignore. "Get off me, princess," he grated out in a voice thick and molten from your arduous joining. With gentle yet unmistakable force, he untangled your limbs from around him, depositing you into the passenger seat with surprisingly finessed care.

You opened your mouth to protest or cajole further, but Kuroo fixed you with a look that brooked no additional discussion. Shaken by the authority blazing from his banked stare, you simply slumped back in sullen, heated frustration as he started the car and pulled back onto the empty road with sharp, jerky motions.

The drive passed in a thick, tension-laden silence once more – your own frustration and simmering yearning mounting with every block traversed and minute ticking past. From the passenger seat, your gaze traced over Kuroo's stern profile and lingered on the prominent set of his kiss-swollen lips before flickering towards the backseat...

Where easily a dozen glossy shopping bags lay scattered and overflowing with the entire selection of risque garments you'd sampled earlier during your flagrant attempts at seduction. The sheer volume of them, crammed haphazardly across the plush leather, suggested Kuroo had spared no expense in purchasing every single indecent offering you'd modeled so shamelessly for him across the evening.

You absorbed this visceral evidence of just how deeply your provocations had affected him – no matter how firmly he tried distancing himself from the primal, lust-choked demands you'd elicited. The sight of all those dresses and scandalously revealing tops, the ghost of their heated exchange permeated the fine material in a way you doubted would ever be expunged now.

Silently, you turned your gaze back out the window, chest constricting with equal parts yearning and a newfound flush of humbled apprehension. If even an evening as blatantly purposed to incite Kuroo's basest longings had pushed you both to such explosive limits, how on earth would either of you survive the smoldering compulsions newly awakened between you going forward?

Man and woman – both undeniably enraptured, yet torn between morality and forbidden lust...what choice did either of you truly have but to succumb entirely to the raging inferno now threatening to consume you both utterly?

The remainder of the evening passed in a blur of simmering tension and loaded silence. As soon as you entered Kuroo's apartment, you stormed down the hall without a backwards glance – the sharp staccato of your footsteps and the punctuating slam of the guest bedroom door ricocheting through the quiet like auditory shockwaves.

Kuroo stood frozen in the living area, shoulders rising and falling with deep, calming breaths as he struggled to regain equilibrium. Every inch of his body still thrummed with unspent arousal and the ghost of your lush, wanton curves pressed so urgently against his own aching hardness. The dusky floral scent of your desire seemed to permeate the very air, making his head swim dizzily.

He sank onto the sofa, scrubbing his palms over his face as warring tides of lust and self-loathing churned within. How close had he teetered to that razor's edge of indulging his most depraved impulses? Minutes from dragging your willing body back against his and consummating the forbidden, treacherous cravings coiled like a serpent around his resolve?

The thought sickened him as much as it made his cock throb insistently. With a muffled groan, Kuroo shoved himself upright to stumble towards the safe refuge of his room. Perhaps distance and unconsciousness would dull the overwhelming tempest now lashing against his shores.

He intended to seek you out later, when coherent sentences and rational discussions became possible again. An effort to assuage your understandable ire and work towards diffusing this entire disaster before it fractured something irreparable between you.

But for now, Kuroo needed to retreat and regroup – escape the torturous haunting of your essence clinging to every space if he had any hope of eventually confronting the minefield you had both set dancing across.

Sleep, however, proved equally elusive in light of his spiraling thoughts. Each time Kuroo closed his eyes, visceral flashes assaulted him – the slick swell of your parted lips, the blissed out arch of your spine as you ground down against his aching cock, the primal mewls of desire spilling wantonly past the swollen pout needing nothing more than his tongue to swallow them once more.

At some point in the restless fever dream, he found himself wandering down the dimly lit hallway, a silent wraith pulled towards the forbidden as surely as helpless debris caught in a riptide. He paused outside the guest suite, gaze riveted to the sliver of spilled illumination glowing from beneath. He could picture you stretched out on those rumpled sheets so achingly vivid it made his fingers ache with the urge to trail worshipful paths over every exposed expanse...

A ragged exhalation gusted from Kuroo's parched lips. He sagged back against the opposite wall, fighting off the insidious temptation to breach that final barrier. Clearly your alluring presence had completely unraveled his normally steadfast self-control and rationale. For both your sakes, he would have to keep a healthy gulf between you...at least for now.

With monumental effort, Kuroo retreated back to his room and the refuge of cool, clean sheets blessedly void of the temptress' haunting essence. He lasted a grand total of an hour sprawled out in solitary torment before surrendering what little composure remained and indulging himself in a rough, curse-laden fantasy that would have made even your wanton desires seem quaint by comparison.

By the time the first pale ribbons of dawn streaked across the horizon, a raw-throated and shuddering Kuroo finally succumbed to fitful slumber with the sticky residue of his cum cooling in streaks across his tensed abdomen. And through the shredding vestiges of restless unconsciousness, he swore he could taste the phantom heat of your tongue laving scorching paths along the insides of his thighs in leisurely benediction...

Sunlight filtering through the bedroom's gauzy curtains roused Kuroo from his lurid fever-dreams at last. With monumental effort, he tugged leaden eyelids open to blearily assess his surroundings – half expecting to find you a tousled, inviting vision spread out beside him after the feverish imaginings plaguing his slumber.

But the rumpled sheets beside him remained untouched, unsullied of any presence save his own. A sudden, petulant hollowness seemed to yawn through Kuroo's core at the realization, far more visceral than he cared to analyze.

Huffing out a frustrated exhalation, he finally levered himself upright and scrubbed his hands through the sweaty disarray of his bedhead. The motions caused his shoulders to crack in relief, reminding him of just how restlessly he must have tossed and turned throughout the night. Each minute of failed slumber scored into his senses by the molten brands of fantasies too lurid for conscious recollection.

With jerky, still sleep-clumsy movements, Kuroo tugged on a pair of sweatpants before making his way towards the kitchen and the steadying ritual of brewing a strong pot of coffee. He needed fuel and sustenance if he harbored any hope of somehow diffusing the powder keg now smoldering so perilously on his doorstep.

Kuroo fully intended to seek you out, clear the air, and work towards patching the cracks already webbing between you with remorseless speed. Before more irrevocable sins and unspeakable hungers could leach through and fracture everything apart.

But the moment Kuroo shuffled into the front living area and spotted your silhouette perched on the sofa, all intentions scattered like ashes in a downdraught. You sat utterly motionless, hands folded demurely between your knees and shoulders hunched beneath a thick sweater that seemed to swallow your slender frame.

For several weighted heartbeats, Kuroo simply stared – part of him frantically scrambling to piece together what apologies or arguments or tempering explanations might be fitting for the storm no doubt still churning your stare.

But when you lifted your chin and met his gaze full-on, he knew in an instant that the tumultuous anger and hurt smoldering behind your depths had dimmed to low embers overnight. All of the thorns and hissing defensiveness he'd steeled himself for seemed...muted, dampened to a bemused sort of weariness.

"Morning," you murmured, offering an uncertain smile that halted Kuroo in his tracks. "There's coffee made already if you want some."

And just like that, it was as if some unspoken truce had been negotiated over the empty hours of sleeplessness plaguing you both. No blazing recriminations or bitter wrath, simply a thin veneer of civility draped between your respective wounds like gauze still awaiting a more permanent salve.

Part of Kuroo wanted to tear through the falsely calming atmosphere with demands and impassioned pleas to finally hash out the forbidden hungers simmering between you openly and without restraint. A larger, more guarded piece of him reveled in the reprieve – no matter how brittle its origins or longevity.

For now, there would be no knock-down-drag-out confrontations about culpabilities or unspeakable transgressions. Just the steady, comforting motions of two friends clinging to the shreds of propriety still distinguishable through the smoky haze of sin.

"Thanks," Kuroo rasped out at last, gesturing vaguely towards the hallway. "I should hit the shower, but I'll grab a mug after."

You merely nodded without lifting your chin, as if any sudden movements or excess attentions might shatter the delicately-reforged peace between you. Kuroo allowed the hazy beat of silence to stretch and congeal around him for a few more endless seconds before retreating with a self-conscious clearing of his throat.

Hot water scouring his fatigued muscles did nothing to cleanse the heavier burdens now bearing down upon him. Each droplet scissoring down his well-muscled frame seemed to whisper your name in a haunting sussurus laced with equal parts damnation and devotion. Over and over until his skull echoed with the weight of it all, the agonizing decisions and tempests of lust still holding court behind his eyes as he fought for purchase on elusive clarity.

By the time Kuroo finally emerged, towel slung low around his hips and bare feet damp against the living room floor, he found you exactly where you'd been. Your eyes flickered over the exposed expanse of defined musculature, trailing down the dewy hollow of his throat to the thick, coarse hair trailing down his navel before hastening away.

A flush stained your cheeks despite your otherwise placid expression and Kuroo felt the bottom drop out of his stomach in sympathy. It would seem neither of you was quite immune to the molten brands of temptation searing between your shared spaces after all.

Some desperate instinct prodded him to break the ice, to raise a jest or levity to at least mask the simmering current tugging them both down into murky depths once more...until he saw the two mugs already awaiting on the coffee table.

And beside them the cheerfully plain cardboard box containing the six-pack of fancy cookies he favored but rarely indulged. His stomach clenched, suddenly painfully unsure whether the gesture stemmed from simple thoughtfulness and consideration...or carried infinitely murkier underpinnings of appeasement or delayed capitulation.

"[Y/N]..." Kuroo murmured, the name dripping from his tongue like fragrant benediction and damnation all at once. "What...?"

But your only response was to lift one shoulder in a tiny shrug before inclining your head towards the prepared dishes silently. The weight behind your compliant silence made Kuroo's gut churn for reasons he could barely fathom.

He crossed the space more out of instinctive compulsion than true desire, sinking onto the couch cushions careful inches away from where you huddled beneath the oversized sweater. For one teetering heartbeat, he was frozen - every fiber of his being screaming at him to reach out and map the enigmatic hollows and slopes of your features with desperate reverence. To try and see past whatever crossroads you had navigated in the cold depths of morning while he wallowed in his own disgraced indecision.

But in the end, he simply reached for the prepared mug of steaming brew, cradling the heat and steadying ceramic between his palms as a penitent before an altar he longed to glimpse...yet dared not risk profaning further with any more selfish, craven demands.

The silence stretched between them, thick and weighted as Kuroo sipped his coffee. He stole furtive glances at you over the rim of the mug, brow furrowed slightly as he tried to decipher the strange shift in your demeanor. Gone was the defiant fire that had blazed so brightly the previous day, the blatant challenge and provocation that had nearly unraveled him completely.

Instead, you seemed...subdued, almost chastened. Your eyes remained downcast, fingers worrying at a loose thread on the sweater you were huddled in. Kuroo recognized it as one of his own - the sight of you engulfed in the worn fabric sparked an unexpected flicker of tenderness amidst the swirling uncertainty.

Just as he opened his mouth, prepared to finally broach the smoldering tension crackling between them, you spoke up in a soft murmur.

"I'm sorry about yesterday." Your gaze flickered up to meet his, equal parts contrition and a guarded wariness he couldn't quite decipher. "I acted like a brat, and I crossed so many lines I shouldn't have."

Kuroo's brows hiked up, the apology catching him completely off guard. A thousand potential responses flickered through his mind, but he remained silent, letting you continue uninterrupted.

"You were right to shut me down," you pressed on, worrying your lower lip between your teeth. "What I was trying to push you into...it would have been a huge mistake. A betrayal of my dad's trust in the worst way."

He watched, utterly transfixed, as you visibly gathered your composure with a deep, steadying breath. When you met his gaze again, there was a newfound determination glinting in your eyes that made his chest constrict painfully.

"I need to be better than that," you stated, more to yourself than him. "I can't keep letting my...impulses and selfishness rule me, not when it risks hurting the people I care about most." A wry, self-deprecating smile curved your lips. "Especially over something as stupid as a cheap thrill that would have ruined everything in the end."

Kuroo's mouth had gone dry, his coffee suddenly tasting ashen on his tongue. This measured, earnest side of you was so at odds with the wanton temptress who had pushed him to the boundaries of control mere hours ago. He couldn't decide if he was relieved at your apparent change of heart, or if a deeper part of him mourned the loss of that smoldering, unchecked passion.

"From now on, I'm going to be focusing on my studies," you continued, voice strengthening with conviction. "No more distractions, no more chasing selfish whims that could jeopardize my future and hurt the people I love."

Despite himself, Kuroo couldn't contain the incredulous huff of laughter that slipped past his lips. You cut him a mildly reproachful look, but he simply shook his head and lifted one shoulder in an unapologetic shrug.

"Sorry, I just..." He searched for the right words, sarcasm warring with sincere consideration. "After everything that happened yesterday, you'll forgive me for being a little skeptical about your sudden resolve to become a model student again."

To his surprise, you didn't bristle or retort defensively. Instead, you simply held his gaze steadily, mouth set in a solemn line.

"I mean it, Tetsurou," you stated, each word laced with sober emphasis. "Things went way too far yesterday, and we both know it. I refuse to let my lack of self-control ruin things any further between us or with my dad."

He searched your expression, looking for any hints of deception or lingering temptation simmering beneath the surface. But all he found was earnest determination and...an undercurrent of what could only be described as regret. Regret for the lines you had crossed, for the dangerous territory you had led him towards so brazenly.

Kuroo felt something within him loosen at your sincerity, the constant knot of wariness and residual arousal slowly unspooling. Perhaps you had both needed this reckoning, this moment of clarity amidst the maelstrom of lust and indecision.

With a slow nod, he set his half-finished coffee aside and leaned back against the sofa cushions. "Alright, if that's really what you want..." He let the implication hang in the air - giving you one final chance to contradict or deflect.

But you simply met his gaze evenly and offered a small, resolute smile. "It is. I promise."

He found himself returning the smile, some of the heaviness that had weighed on him since yesterday finally dissipating. "Then I'm with you. Whatever you need to get through this..." He waved a hand vaguely. "...whatever this chapter is, I've got your back."

A shimmer of gratitude flickered across your features, and you nodded silently. The air between you seemed to clear, the tension bleeding away to be replaced by a newfound sense of solidarity and understanding.

As you rose to retreat back to your room, likely to tackle some studying, Kuroo couldn't help but marvel at the shift. Just yesterday, the mere sight of you had set his blood boiling and restraint hanging by a gossamer thread. Now, you were calm waters, your determination sending ripples of pride through him rather than turbulent desire.

Part of him wanted to bask in this newfound sense of solidarity, to trust in the sincerity he had glimpsed burning in your eyes. You seemed so resolute, so committed to reining in the chaotic impulses that had nearly led you both down an irreversibly dark path. For a fleeting moment, Kuroo allowed himself to truly hope that the worst had passed - that you had both exorcised the ravenous temptations and granted each other the space needed to heal.

But another, more cynical part of him couldn't shake a lingering wariness - a nagging suspicion that this abrupt shift in comportment was simply a new gambit in whatever twisted game of seduction still simmered beneath the surface. He knew you too well, had witnessed firsthand just how adept you were at manipulation and preying on his weaknesses when the mood struck.

Was this whole 'good girl' act merely a calculated move to lull him back into a false sense of security? To bait him into dropping his guard entirely before the next onslaught of provocation? Kuroo clenched his jaw, resisting the urge to rake his palm through his disheveled bedhead. He couldn't afford blind trust anymore, not until his senses managed to fully disentangle themselves from the drugging aura of your temptation.

The rest of the day passed in that same strange, uneasy truce. You remained tucked away in the guest room, a silent sentinel devoted to your apparent studies. Kuroo tried to busy himself with mundane chores and mindless distractions, desperate to avoid falling back into the same spiral of fevered ruminations that had plagued him the previous evening.

When at last the knock at his door dragged him back to the present, the dimly lit hallway revealed your silhouette hovering uncertainly just past the threshold to his bedroom suite. A woven blanket was wrapped securely around your lithe form, soft locks tousled by evident restlessness.

"Hey," you greeted in a low, rough murmur that somehow still managed to caress over his nerves with unbearable gentleness. "I didn't mean to disturb you, I just..."

You trailed off, gaze flickering away as one slender hand worried at the blanket's edge. Kuroo inhaled a steadying breath, forcing himself to remain impassive rather than closing the distance to offer...well, whatever fragile intimacy his body instinctively longed to provide.

"Everything okay?" He prompted when you remained locked in uncertain silence.

Finally, you nodded and met his probing stare fully once more. "Yeah, it's just...I don't know, never mind. Sorry, I shouldn't have disturbed your evening."

As you turned to retreat back down the hallway, something deep inside Kuroo clenched at the thought of you withdrawing further into solitude and shadow. Before his rational mind could override the impulse, he found himself calling out to your departing figure.

"Wait!" It emerged more gruffly than intended, making you freeze in your tracks and glance back over one shoulder. Kuroo groped for an appropriate excuse, something benign enough not to raise defenses all while affording your company a while longer.

"Ah, I was actually planning to head into the office for a bit later," he fibbed. "Get a head start on some paperwork since I'll be out for the next couple weeks." Kenma's extended business trip suddenly provided convenient cover for maintaining a credible pretense.

"If you wanted," he pressed on, feigning nonchalance. "You could come along? Maybe grab a bite or something afterwards? No pressure or anything, just a chance to get out of the apartment for a bit."

Silence stretched between you as you seemed to mull over his proposal. Kuroo waited with studied patience, refusing to allow his desperation to bleed through the carefully measured tone of his offer. If you sensed how imperative it suddenly felt to draw you back out of your isolated solitude, there was no telling what fresh deceptions or exploitations might be unleashed...

"That's very kind of you," you said at last, rewarding Kuroo's lungs with oxygen once more. "But I think I'll pass tonight. I'm actually making really good headway on this literature review for my Criminal Justice class."

The unexpected excuse shouldn't have landed with such a hollow pang in Kuroo's core. He forced a tight smile and a nod as if your wholesome refusal was precisely what he had expected all along.

"Well hey, can't argue with putting education first. That's my girl." The endearment slipped past his lips before he could rein it back, making something almost pained flicker across your features.

"Thanks for understanding," you murmured, hugging the blanket tighter around yourself as you began retreating once more. "Really, Tetsu, this is exactly what I need right now, so just...don't worry about me for a little while, okay?"

The words sliced through Kuroo like a physical blow, leaving him unmoored and reeling in their wake. Before rational thought could intervene, his body propelled itself forward of its own volition - powerful strides devouring the distance until you were engulfed in the circle of his arms.

You went rigid at the sudden embrace, shoulder blades tensing beneath Kuroo's palms as he crushed you against the solid plane of his chest. For a breathless heartbeat, you remained frozen - two tautly strung bowstrings lashed together and thrumming with twinned uncertainty.

Then you seemed to melt fractionally, slender form softening into the cradle of Kuroo's insistent hold as you allowed your cheek to pillowed against the reassuring thrum of his heartbeat.

Kuroo drank in every visceral detail greedily - the fragrant whisper of your shampoo, the pliant silk of your hair brushing his jawline, the delicate points of your body pressing into his with undeniable substance and fever.

Without conscious thought, he angled his face downward, allowing the rough rasp of his stubble to score delicate friction against the downy slope of your temple. He inhaled deeply, pulling your combined scents into his lungs like a man starving for sustenance.

Your breaths hitched in response, mingling with his own in tremulous susurrances that sounded dangerously akin to shared whimpers of need. Before Kuroo's tenuous grasp on control could splinter entirely, he tilted your face up towards his with two blunt fingertips beneath your chin.

Your features were suffused with ethereal shadows, making your eyes glimmer with haunted liquid fire. Kuroo stared into those molten depths, every muscle in his body locked taut as he waged a silent war with the compulsions howling through his bloodstream.

To claim your lips in the searing, profane manner they had taunted and tempted with such maddening ardor? Or to retreat from the brink of that scorching precipice once more before he immolated the last tattered remnants of restraint still just barely tethering his hungers in place?

Kuroo could feel the answer being etched into the twin brands of your shared exhales, the tantalizing give of your body cradled against his hardening form. Every atom and synapse screamed for capitulation to the searing potential hanging like a livewire between your mouths.

With what felt like monumental effort, he dragged his lips across your searing cheekbone instead - angling his mouth to brand a searing path towards your brow. You shuddered fully beneath his roving caress, fingers clenching in the thick material of Kuroo's sweatshirt as if to tether yourself in place.

Finally, Kuroo pressed his lips against the warm silk of your forehead in what felt like a ghosting benediction – an aching promise to soothe and protect the most fragile innocence blooming within the banked furnace of your temptations. He lingered in that tenuous stasis, coaxing the stinging behind his eyes to relent long enough to steady his voice.

"Sleep well, little one," he rasped out at last in a tone gone rough with too many competing compulsions. "I'll be back before you know it, so try not to study too hard for once while I'm gone."

Reluctantly, he allowed his arms to fall away from you – slowly enough to avoid any abrupt separation that might shatter the fragile symbiosis you'd achieved. Then he turned to retreat, unable to risk glimpsing whatever swirling riptides of emotion still churned behind your mercurial depths.

Kuroo made it as far as the corridor leading towards the stairwell before his breaths began sawing erratically again, lungs burning with the effort of containing the turbulent hungers still prowling his inner battlefields.

The rest of the short trip towards the office building passed in a blur. In an effort to quiet his riotous thoughts, Kuroo found himself spontaneously re-routing his steps towards one of the neighborhood's more upscale bakeries instead. Perhaps a sugary indulgence and the simple, unassuming ambiance of the place could buoy his spirits and purchase some semblance of peace once more...

He had just collected a small box of artisanal marzipan fruits and some chocolates from the smiling confectioner when his phone began trilling. Kuroo felt his gut plummet straight through the floor as Kenma's name flashed on the screen.

Nearly dropping his purchase in the scramble to accept the incoming call, he pressed the device to his ear and tried to ignore the way his voice cracked upon answering.

"Hey, everything okay? You're still in Italy, right?"

There was a pregnant pause from the other line, followed by a low clearing of his best friend's throat. "Ah, yeah...yeah, I'm still in Milan until the weekend at least."

Another terse silence stretched between them - leaving Kuroo plenty of phantom shadows to populate with increasingly paranoid visions of half-articulated transgressions exposed. He was just about to blurt out some frantic platitude or innocuous excuse when Kenma's mild baritone interjected again.

"Sorry, I don't mean to call unannounced like this," he began in his usual reserved candor. "It's just...well, I've tried reaching [Y/N] herself but she hasn't picked up all day, and I wanted to check-"

"Oh, no, she's totally fine!" The words burst out in a panic-soaked rush before Kuroo could help himself. He forced himself to take a steadying inhale before continuing in a more modulated tone. "Yeah, we've just been...keeping busy and all while you're away. You know how she gets sometimes."

He winced at his own flustered rambling, but pressed on, desperate to steer the conversation away from dangerous territory. "Actually, it's kind of impressive. [Y/N] has really doubled down on her studies this week."

There was a pregnant pause on the other end before Kenma's responding laughter filtered through, dry and mildly disbelieving. "My [Y/N]? Studying voluntarily without being threatened bodily harm? Now I know you're kidding me, Kuroo."

Kuroo smiled thinly, well aware of how unlikely his claims sounded given your typical scholarly apathy. Still, he persisted, an idea sparking with sudden conviction. "I'm being totally serious, man. She's been holed up in her room almost nonstop, burying her nose in books and typing away at assignments. It's like she got body-snatched by a model honors student or something."

The laughter faded into skeptical quiet as Kenma seemed to realize his best friend wasn't joking around. "Wow...I, uh...I don't really know what to say," he admitted, sounding mildly bewildered. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm thrilled if she's taking her coursework seriously for once. But you have to admit it's a pretty drastic turnaround for my little hellraiser."

Kuroo couldn't help but grin ruefully at the apt description, old memories of teenage hellraising antics replaying in his mind's eye. "Tell me about it. I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop and some massive rager or scandal to emerge."

"Hey now, don't give her ideas!" Kenma's feigned scolding was tinged with paternal fondness that made Kuroo's chest clench unexpectedly. "I'm putting my faith in you to keep her on this suddenly motivated path."

"You got it, don't worry," Kuroo assured him, tamping down the reflexive urge to confess the twisted detours you'd nearly led him down already. He sighed, shifting the bakery box to his opposite hand as he stepped out into the dusky evening air. "I'll keep a close-"

His words trailed off abruptly as his gaze landed on a darkened alleyway across the street. There, illuminated by a security lamp's harsh glow, a couple was intertwined in a heated embrace against someone's parked car. More specifically, the unmistakable figure of a young woman in a criminally short dress was straddling her companion's lap, hands fisted in his hair as she devoured his mouth with wild abandon.

Despite the poor lighting, something about the tumble of hair and feminine curves sparked a flicker of disquieting familiarity in Kuroo's chest. He squinted, trying to make out more details before forcing out an awkward chuckle.

"Damn Kenma, you're never gonna believe what I'm looking at right now," he muttered, unable to tear his gaze from the brazen public display even as he cringed. "Some chick literally grinding on some poor bastard's car like she's filming the intro to a bad porno. And get this - she looks dead-on like [Y/N]!"

The crass attempt at humorous deflection died on his lips as the security lamp flared brighter, casting the woman's face into sharp relief. Because there was no mistaking the upturned nose, the sensuous curve of those lips currently trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along her partner's stubbly jawline...

It was you.

His daughter. His precious, frustratingly impulsive little girl straddling a stranger in the filthiest backstreet grope Kuroo had ever witnessed...right under his nose while he regaled Kenma with laughable tales of your studious reformation.

Something seemed to splinter behind Kuroo's ribcage as numbness descended like a burial shroud. He barely registered Kenma's concerned voice buzzing against his ear until the words "...llo? Kuroo? You still there?" pierced through the fog.

"Uh...y-yeah, sorry," he stammered weakly, unable to tear his gaze away even as you gyrated against your would-be lover with shameless abandon. "No, you're...you're absolutely right. Just another unfounded worry on my part."

He forced out a hollow chuckle, bile stinging the back of his throat as his stare stubbornly remained transfixed. "Don't worry about a thing over here. Everything is...is totally under control as per usual..."

The lie dripped like acid from his numb lips, curdling what little remained of his composure into smoldering embers. Before Kenma could probe or contradict further, Kuroo managed to force out some pithy excuse about paperwork needing attention and quickly terminated the call.

He stood rooted in place, chest heaving with ragged breaths as he absorbed the full, damning picture before him. You - tender, smart, mature you who mere hours ago had sworn up and down to reform your rebellious ways - rutting against a stranger in the most brazen, obscene manner imaginable.

The girl Kuroo had admonished himself to protect above all else, even his own pitiful weaknesses, was practically unraveled beyond recognition before his eyes. And all he could do was stand helpless witness while the sordid tableau unfolded around him like the punchline to a particularly cruel, cosmic joke.

Kuroo's entire being detonated into an inferno of fury as he watched you grind shamelessly against the stranger, uncaring of the sordid public spectacle. Every muscle went taut, tendons straining beneath his skin as a crimson haze of rage descended.

Part of him raged at the brazen deception - the fresh wounds of your earnest vows to reform and focus on your studies still burning raw. He'd actually begun to entertain cautious hope that this tempestuous chapter between you might reach some semblance of equilibrium once more. But here you were, spitting on that fragile detente without a shred of remorse.

But an even larger part seethed with something darker, more visceral. A primal, proprietary need to rip you away from that defiling embrace and reclaim what was his by...what? Right? Possession? The twisted tangle of sinful cravings you'd awakened anew these past few days that now clamored to be sated at any cost?

Kuroo's jaw clenched hard enough to grind enamel as you threw back your head in apparent bliss, lips parting in a punched-out moan of shameless rapture. His vision whited out momentarily, entire body going rigid as that same bestial impulse to claim and conquer you flared with blinding intensity.

Before conscious thought could fully intervene, his legs propelled him across the street in long, devouring strides. You didn't even register his thunderous approach until he was upon you, one large hand fisting in the hair at your nape to wrench you backwards.

"What the everloving fuck do you think you're doing?" Kuroo's voice lashed out in a guttural snarl so unrecognizable, even he barely identified it.

You yelped at the violent snapping of your heads, features contorting in a wince of discomfort as you were forcibly separated from your would-be conquest. Your erstwhile partner blinked in shock before bristling indignantly.

"Hey man, what the hell is your pro-"

Kuroo whirled on the hapless stranger with a look of such barely leashed violence, the other man actually flinched back. You seized the momentary distraction to scramble off the car's hood, chest heaving and confusion written large across your delicate features.

"Tetsurou, what are you-"

But Kuroo cut off your protest by reaching out and fisting an iron grip in your upper arm. You gasped at the punishing force, squirming futilely as his fingers dug in without mercy.

"We're leaving," Kuroo spat out through grinding molars, hauling you bodily against his side. "Now."

The unfortunate bystander who'd had his lurid plans so rudely interrupted seemed to rally his machismo at last. Squaring his shoulders, he took an inadvisable step forward - fists clenched and chest puffed out in a transparent display of misguided intimidation.

"Hey pal, I don't know who the hell you are," he sneered in a tone that was almost laughably unthreatening to Kuroo. "But you need to back the fuck off before I make you. The lady and I were in the middle of something private."

You opened your mouth to protest or deflect - undoubtedly either an innocuous excuse or an outright attempt at sneaking away if Kuroo had to guess. But any chance of mitigating this catastrophic situation through words or hollow placation had already burned to ashes in his blistering fury.

"Shut your goddamn mouth before I shut it for you," Kuroo growled, voice descending to a register of pure hellfire and devouring intent.

He didn't wait for the confused fratboy to rally another feeble retort. With insulting ease, Kuroo dragged you around and slammed the smaller man against the hood of the same car that had been the backdrop to such sordid debauchery only moments ago.

"This woman is my girlfriend," he snarled directly into the man's ashen face, not even registering the lie as it spilled from his bile-stained tongue. "And if you so much as look at her the wrong way again, I'll bury you out here in a shallow fucking grave. Nod if you understand."

The other man nodded with frantic obedience, every trace of posturing now wiped away by the tangible promise of violence rolling off Kuroo in searing waves. He barely registered you trying to twist out of his bruising grip, frantically motioning towards the terrified bystander.

"T-Tetsurou, stop! You're scaring him!" You hissed through plump, swollen lips. "Just let me handle this, you're only making it worse!"

With a wordless rumble of unadulterated venom, Kuroo tightened his fist in your hair and wrenched your head aside until your full attention focused solely on him.

"Don't you dare try and control the narrative now, little girl," he spat in a tone laced with sulfur and sin. Noting your flicker of apprehension at the potent authority in his commanding rumble seemed to kickstart some sadistic amalgam of satisfaction and self-loathing in his gut. "You lost all privileges to dictate anything when you decided to spread your legs and make a whore of yourself five minutes ago in public like a desperate fucking slut."

Your eyes widened into saucers at the vulgar insult, color searing your cheeks to match the angry flush staining your chest. But you wisely remained silent, apparently sensing the knife's edge Kuroo now teetered upon.

Not sparing the traumatized third wheel so much as a glance, Kuroo finally released his grip only to seize your arm once more. He dragged you away from the sordid scene in a wake of your stumbling footfalls, beelines towards where his car idled with ruthless intent.

"I swear to every higher power listening," he growled through clenched teeth as he hauled you implacably forward. "If you so much as look at another man between here and home, I'll toss you in the trunk like a misbehaving pet."

You couldn't entirely muffle the wounded sound that wrenched free, even as the furious compliance in your strides never faltered. Kuroo relished the heady swirl of shame and debauched satisfaction with equal relish - an intoxicating amalgam of brutality and corruption that threatened to rip the very seams of his tattered control wide asunder.

The drive back to Kuroo's apartment passed in thick, seething silence. You huddled against the passenger door, arms wrapped defensively around your midsection as you steadfastly avoided Kuroo's burning glare. The air was choked with unspoken recriminations and simmering fury.

Kuroo's knuckles were bone-white where they gripped the steering wheel, tendons standing out in harsh relief against his forearms. His jaw muscles ticked and flexed as he ground his teeth, struggling to contain the torrent of anger and disappointment roiling just beneath the surface.

When they finally arrived, Kuroo threw the car into park with more force than necessary, the tires chirping in protest. Without a word, he flung open his door and stormed towards the building's entrance, expecting you to follow. The fact that you immediately fell into step behind him only stoked his ire further.

It wasn't until you were both inside, the apartment door slamming shut with an ominous thud, that the dam finally burst.

"What the hell were you thinking?" Kuroo's voice lashed out like a whip crack in the tense quiet. He turned on you, eyes blazing with a mix of fury and something darker, more visceral. "Going off half-cocked like some reckless teenager chasing the next cheap thrill?"

You lifted your chin defiantly, refusing to be cowed. "I don't need to explain myself to you, Kuroo. You're not my father."

"You're damn right I'm not," he growled, advancing until you were forced to tip your head back to maintain eye contact. "Because if I was, I'd have spanked your disobedient little ass into next week a long time ago."

Your nostrils flared, clearly affronted by his harsh words. "That's real rich coming from the guy who nearly mauled a complete stranger just because he was getting a little action."

A muscle in Kuroo's cheek twitched at your mocking insinuation. "Don't play dumb, [Y/N]. We both know that shameless display had nothing to do with a casual hookup. You were out there practically begging to be treated like a glorified street walker."

His voice was low, dangerous, but you didn't back down an inch. If anything, your eyes glinted with fresh belligerence.

"And what if I was?" You challenged, jutting your chin out stubbornly. "My body, my choice who I decide to allow all over it. What's it to you, really?"

Kuroo closed the remaining distance between you in two strides, his larger frame suddenly looming over yours in clear intimidation. But rather than shrink away, you simply tilted your head back further, almost goading him with your refusal to yield.

"You want to act like a selfish, rebellious brat who doesn't comprehend consequences?" His voice was a rough growl now. "Fine, we can do this the hard way."

Your eyes widened a fraction at the tacit threat, but you disguised any trace of unease with a derisive snort. "Oh yeah? You gonna put me over your knee too while you're playing stern disciplinarian? Because we both know how well that worked out last time."

There it was - the flash of unmistakable hunger flickering to lurid life behind Kuroo's stare. You saw it, knew exactly which button you'd just pressed to fan the flames of his smoldering temper into something...else entirely.

"Keep pushing me," he rumbled, so close now that his words puffed hot over your parted lips. "I'm begging you, princess. Give me one more bratty remark, one more button to justify bending you over and showing you exactly what dealing with a selfish little brat like you really entails."

There was a beat of loaded silence, the undercurrent between you becoming a live wire of yearning and reproach in equal measure. Your tongue darted out to wet your lower lip, and Kuroo's gaze tracked the motion with laser focus, a muscle feathering in his clenched jaw.

"Is that a promise?" The words were little more than a throaty rasp, both challenge and outright invitation wrapped in velvet sin.

Kuroo's harsh exhale ruffled your hair, the sound more akin to a predator's growl than anything remotely human. Then, without warning, his hands landed on your hips in an unforgiving grip as he wrenched you flush against his rigid frame.

The breath stalled in your lungs as they finally breached that last fraying tether of resistance. One of you moaned - you couldn't tell who - before your mouths collided in a bruising, frantic clash of lips and teeth and shuddering need.

Kuroo's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips hard enough to leave lurid blossoms of mottled imprints as he wrenched you against the searing brand of his cock. A ragged growl tore from deep in his chest - part exaltation, part feral conquest - as your bodies collided with heated friction.

"You want this so fucking bad, don't you?" The words emerged in a gravel-roughened rasp that seemed to reverberate straight through to your molten core. "All those pouty little teases and wanton displays, just baiting me to give you exactly what your greedy body has been begging for."

He didn't give you a chance to respond before crushing his mouth over yours in a bruising, devouring kiss that rapidly turned slick and filthy. His tongue swept past your gasping lips to lash against yours in blatant possession, searing paths of possession that seared straight down to your quivering center as surely as any physical brand.

You whimpered against the onslaught, hands scrabbling up Kuroo's broad back to clench in the taut musculature knotted there. His hips rolled against you with a carnal grind of dominance that made you instinctively part your thighs wider in helpless invitation.

Kuroo noted your wanton display instantly, growling his viciously smug approval against the vulnerable curve of your throat where his scorching path led next.

"Fuck, look at you..." he rasped in a tone transmuted to pure gravel-laced decadence. "So goddamn desperate to take everything I've got already, and I've barely even begun claiming what's mine."

His fingers squeezed even tighter into the giving flesh of your ass, hauling you up until you were forced to lock your legs around his narrow hips to avoid tumbling fully into his punishing momentum. Kuroo took advantage instantly, rutting against your cloth-dampened heat with searing undulations that made your head fall back on a breathless moan.

"That's it, beautiful," he growled against the rapid flutter of your pulse point before lathing a heated path along the bared slope with his tongue. "Let me feel every one of those pretty little whimpers you've been dying to release..."

One large palm slid higher to palm the generous swell of your breast with merciless ownership. Your back arched as if electrified, nipples pebbling to diamond-sharp points that were promptly soothed by the calloused friction of Kuroo's palm kneading the swollen curves.

"A single night of you taunting me with that heavenly body was almost my undoing," Kuroo confessed in a fractured rasp that set your nerves afire. His lush lips branded a molten path up the vulnerable column of your throat until you trembled against him fully.

"Fuck...I can only imagine how quickly I would've self-destructed if I'd had you spread out and waiting for me with those big eyes begging for my cock night after night..."

Your entire body seized at the guttural benediction, walls fluttering against the scorching outline of Kuroo's cock still rutting against you with blistering intent. He swallowed your keening whimper with another punishing kiss that left you dizzy - tasting coppery crimson and utterly overwhelmed in the wake of his ruthless dominion.

By the time he tore his mouth from yours at last, you were quaking against him like a leaf in a storm - overwrought and delirious with a forbidden inferno now raging unchecked.

"Stay with me..." Kuroo entreated in a cadence that felt scored straight into your flayed nerves. The calloused rasp of his fingertips trailed rioting spirals of shattered restraint as he petted your sweat-dampened tresses back from your flushed features.

"Stay right here while I finally put that dirty little mouth of yours to use..." He ground out the barely-cloaked threat through gritted teeth. Those piercing hazel eyes you'd admired for so long now sparked with more lust and menace and proprietary challenge blazing behind them than you'd ever glimpsed before.

And the most terrifying part was how it didn't make you quail or retreat but rather molten thrills of eagerness knot in your quivering belly as Kuroo slowly lowered you back to your shaky feet. Heat sang straight through your veins at whatever reckoning had finally been unleashed between you...and how utterly powerless you felt to halt its all-consuming torrents even if you'd wanted to.

Kuroo stepped back at last, allowing you space enough to sway in dizzy abandon at the sudden deprivation of his scorching embrace. He watched you with the heated focus of a starving man beholding the most decadent delicacy - eyes burning over every trembling inch as his chest heaved with ragged drafts.

Then he lifted one hand towards you in a cruelly languid beckoning that made your entire body ignite with fevered possibility. That same hand you'd felt cradle your cheek was now extended imperiously, awaiting the benediction of total capitulation from your wrecked, overblown form.

"Come here..." Kuroo husked out with quiet promise that brooked no refusal. "And let me feel that greedy little cunt stretched around me while I teach it some manners for once."

With a strangled gasp, you stumbled forward on leaden legs. You didn't dare tear your gaze away from the predator's eyes that pinned you with such carnal hunger. Didn't risk shattering this fever-dream of temptation and utter ruination that seemed poised to engulf you completely.

When you were within arm's reach, Kuroo wasted no time, wrenching you flush against him with a bruising grip on your hip. Your lips parted in a startled gasp at the searing contact of his rigid cock grinding against the soaked gusset of your panties, but before any sound could escape, Kuroo had already seized the back of your neck with his other hand.

Your eyes flew wide in shock at the sheer possessive weight of his grip pinning you in place. But even as you tried to wrench away, a sharp slap across your ass stilled you immediately.

"That's right, beautiful," Kuroo purred, low and deadly. He rocked his hips in a punishing roll against the soaked seam of your underwear that made you shudder in helpless bliss. "You've got no say anymore. Not when you decided to behave like a reckless, attention-starved little brat and beg for someone else's cock like a cheap whore. No..."

He gave a rough, rumbling growl that vibrated all the way down your spine. Your toes curled against the floor, thighs quivering with the effort to remain upright under the onslaught. His words were like a physical brand, scorching their way through the remnants of your tattered resistance.

"From now on, I own every inch of you, including that perfect pussy," he crooned, the filthy promise making your cunt clench. "Every single delectable inch is mine to do with as I please. And if that means teaching you a lesson in the process..."

You could feel his smirk against your ear, the sharp, dangerous edge of it making you whimper. His palm slid from your neck, fingers wrapping around your throat with a firm pressure. Your eyes fluttered closed at the deliciously heady sensation, pulse fluttering under his touch.

"Then so be it."

You squealed as Kuroo suddenly lifted you off your feet, his hands gripping the back of your thighs to hoist them up and around his waist. Without a word, he started carrying you toward his bedroom, a small, distant corner of your brain marveling at his effortless strength.

Your back collided with his mattress a moment later, the abrupt impact forcing the air from your lungs in a startled gasp. Kuroo stood over you, hands working furiously at the buckle of his belt and the button of his slacks. The sight made something dark and twisted unravel deep in your belly, a need so overwhelming it threatened to drown you entirely.

The belt came free first, followed shortly by his pants. He made no move to remove them, simply lowering his boxers just enough to free the engorged length of his cock. The sight stole your breath all over again, your eyes greedily drinking in the sight of the thick, veiny shaft, already dripping with an ungodly amount of precum.

You didn't get long to stare, though, because a second later, Kuroo was grabbing your ankle and dragging you towards the edge of the bed. You yelped at the unexpected jolt, hands scrabbling for purchase in the soft sheets beneath you as he flipped your body around with ruthless ease.

His cock was now directly above your face, the tip dripping with need. With a low groan, Kuroo wrapped his fist around his throbbing shaft, pumping it slowly as his free hand grabbed the back of your head. Your scalp prickled at the sudden tug on your hair, a low, wounded sound escaping the back of your throat.

"You wanted this so bad, remember?" he grunted. His hand continued to pump his length, the head inches from your lips. You could see the way his cock twitched, hear the obscene sounds his hand made as he stroked himself, and your tongue darted out to swipe across your lower lip.

"Beg for it."

The command was simple and straightforward. Yet it struck at the deepest, most secret part of you, the part that was so desperate to be claimed, used, and ravaged, no matter the consequences. The part that had been aching for him since the day you'd first stayed with him.

"Please..." The word came out as a whine, pathetic and pitiful and needy. "Kuroo, please. Please fuck my mouth. Use me, however you want. I'm yours."

"Yes, you are," he rumbled. His hand tightened in your hair, pulling your face up to meet his cock. It slapped against your cheek, sticky pre-cum smearing along your skin, and a moan spilled from your lips. "Mine."

The tip of his cock dragged along your cheek, up towards your parted lips. It brushed across them, leaving a trail of his essence that you eagerly licked up, the bitter-salt taste flooding your mouth.

Kuroo groaned above you, eyes dark and dangerous and so fucking hungry. He thrust forward, cock sliding into your waiting mouth, and the world narrowed to that point of contact, the sensation of his length pressing against your tongue.

You moaned around his girth, and Kuroo's eyes fluttered closed, a hiss escaping him. He held your head in place as he began to fuck your mouth in slow, shallow thrusts, cock gliding along your tongue.

Your body felt alight with need, skin burning and prickling and electrified. Everything was too much and not enough, the air charged with anticipation and desire and an undercurrent of desperation. Your thighs pressed together, trying to alleviate some of the building pressure, and a muffled cry escaped you at the friction.

Kuroo opened his eyes at the sound, gaze darting down to where you squirmed on the bed. A low chuckle rumbled from him, and he withdrew his cock, letting it hover in front of your face. A thin trail of spit and pre-cum connected the tip to your lips, and the sight sent a shiver through you, made you clench around nothing.

"Is someone feeling left out?" Kuroo murmured, voice dripping with wicked promise. You nodded, unable to speak, and his cock twitched, another bead of pre-cum leaking from the slit.

"Then be a good girl and get yourself off for me. I want to watch while I fuck your mouth."

He waited until you'd shifted onto your knees, hand sliding down your belly, before plunging back inside your mouth. You moaned, the vibrations making his cock twitch, and slid your fingers underneath the band of your panties.

Your arousal was coating the insides of your thighs, had likely left a damp spot on the sheets beneath you, and you bit back a whine at the slick, gliding sensation as you ran two fingers along your folds. They slipped inside effortlessly, your walls already pulsing and hot and so, so needy.

Kuroo watched it all with an intensity that was both thrilling and terrifying, the hand not holding your head steady flexing into a fist as he fought for control. His hips rocked into you with more purpose, and your own fingers found the spot that had you seeing stars.

The room filled with the wet, squelching sounds of your fingers pumping into your pussy, the slap of Kuroo's balls hitting your chin, and his deep, guttural moans. Your free hand came up to cup his balls, and he growled, thrusting deeper into your mouth.

"Fuck," he rasped. His eyes were hooded, and you could feel him swelling in your mouth. "Take your panties off. I want to see you cum with my cock down your throat."

You shuddered at the crude words, pulling your soaked fingers from your dripping pussy and hooking them around the fabric to pull it down your legs. It fell to the floor, and you spread your thighs wider, fingers diving back to the apex of your legs.

A strangled noise tore from Kuroo's throat, and he thrust harder, the head of his cock hitting the back of your throat with each snap of his hips. His pace was growing erratic, and you could tell he was close, could feel his balls tightening in your palm.

You pumped your fingers faster, the pressure in your belly building, coiling tighter and tighter. You were so fucking close, and the knowledge that Kuroo was seconds away from blowing his load down your throat was almost enough to send you over the edge.

"Look at me."

You obeyed instantly, eyes locking onto his. The intensity of his gaze nearly shattered you, the raw desire, the possessive hunger, the sheer need written on his face. Your walls clenched around your fingers, and the dam broke, a gush of liquid heat spilling from your core as you came.

Kuroo swore, his eyes fixed on the puddle of cum soaking into the sheets, and then his hips stuttered, cock jerking violently as he came. Hot, sticky ropes of cum coated your throat, and you swallowed around his length, milking him for every last drop.

His chest was heaving when he finally pulled out, his fist releasing its hold on your hair to lazily squeeze the remnants of his orgasm onto your lips. You opened without thinking, licking his cum from your lips as it fell, and Kuroo groaned.

"Fucking hell, you're perfect," he breathed, tucking his cock back into his boxers. He bent to scoop you up in his arms, cradling you to his chest like a precious treasure. "Kenma raised a fucking goddess. I don't know how the hell I'm supposed to ever let you leave this bed now."

The rest of your stay was a haze of sweat-slicked skin, tangled sheets, and broken cries. Kuroo spent the remainder of the week fucking you every way he could, on every available surface, until you could no longer think straight, until your legs were trembling from exertion and you were covered in a multitude of love bites and hickeys.

But the one thing that stuck with you most, the image that had been burned into your mind from the moment you'd arrived, was the look of pure, undiluted worship in Kuroo's eyes.

And it was that look that made you realize you would never be able to leave him, not for good. Because somewhere between the late-night talks and the teasing banter and the way he looked at you, Tetsurou had taken root in your heart.

The day of Kenma's return dawned with an electric undercurrent thrumming through the apartment. You stirred against Kuroo's furnace-hot skin, roused by the featherlight caresses he was trailing down the dips of your spine.

"He'll be here soon," Kuroo murmured, the graveled timbre of his morning voice making you shiver. There was an unspoken weight behind the words, an acknowledgment that your insular haven was nearing its inevitable end.

Rather than being cowed by the looming presence of reality, you felt a defiant spark flare to life in your core. Pushing up to your knees, you allowed the tangled sheet to slip sinuously from your body in a gauzy susurration until you knelt gloriously bare before Kuroo's riveted stare.

"Then we'd better make the most of our time left," you breathed, bracing your palms on his powerful chest as you straddled his hips purposefully.

Kuroo's hands flexed against your waist, fingers digging in with delicious possession. "You're insatiable, baby girl." His voice dropped an octave, dripping with undisguised sin. "Thought I'd have worked some of that greedy energy out of you by now."

"You'll just have to try harder then, won't you?" You leaned down to slant your lips over his in a messy, eager clash.

Kuroo surged upright with a growl, rolling you both until he caged you beneath the solid brand of his weight. His broad palms mapped scorching paths down your body until he was gripping the underside of your knees. Then he shoved your pliant legs apart to make room for his cock to grind forward in one slick, insistent thrust.

You cried out at the searing friction, back bowing as he bottomed out within your velvet depths. Kuroo swallowed the ragged sound with a searing kiss, setting a punishing pace that knocked the breath from your lungs.

"That's it, babygirl," he growled against the swell of your gasping lips. "Open up and take every thick inch of me while you still can..."

He drove into you then with undisguised relish, the bed frame creaking ominously beneath you. You locked your ankles at the small of Kuroo's back to brace yourself, fingertips scoring delicious crimson streaks along the corded ridges until your shared grunts and rough gasps filled the room.

You lost track of how many times he brought you to that shattering precipice, your cries reaching a fevered peak before Kuroo dragged you inexorably back over the edge with each new brutal joining. Only the muffled buzzing of Kenma's text chime finally caused Kuroo to slow his insistent rhythm.

"Looks like daddy's on his way up," he rumbled, sweat-slick hair hanging in wild disarray around his beautifully wrecked features.

Pinning you with a smoldering look of pure sin, Kuroo rose onto his knees, thick forearms flexing as he gripped your hips and heaved them upward to allow even deeper penetration.

sharing some conversations with queen furina’s royal advisor, neuvillette, wasn’t a bad way to pass the time. and it certainly was effective because people were far too nervous to approach him with the queen nearby. the friendship he shared with the royal advisor wasn’t new knowledge to society. almost everyone and their mothers had heard about the tale of the current duke meropide and the queen’s royal advisor being close friends during their early days of childhood and onwards. though wriothesley sometimes admits—he surely misses his youthful days.

it’s not like he's that old now. he’s currently thriving at the young age of twenty-five! not too young, not too old either. “and just how long are you going to stand by my side tonight, wriothesley?” neuvillette asks, his eyes focused on the crowd below him. there were pairs dancing gracefully in the middle of the venue as the quintet orchestra played by the side. wriothesley doesn’t glance at him as he answers. “just a bit longer, i suppose. i could still feel their eyes boring holes into me.” he mumbles the last part, leaning closer only for neuvillette to hear, as he refers to the mothers that attempted to make their advances on him earlier. neuvillette simply chuckles at his remark.

“still refusing marriage, i see?” he replies. 

“i’m confident that you’re well aware of what my answer to that is going to be, neuvillette.”

wriothesley feels comfortable like this. but he’s aware that he couldn’t spend all of his time by his friend’s side. soon after, wriothesley decides to take his leave after making sure his coast is clear. he then exited nearby and found himself wandering into the garden. surely, the workers at the house of hearth had done a splendid job maintaining this garden. he reminds himself to commend duke arlecchino for this if he ever gets the chance.

the wind tonight was quite cold, yet it’s nothing wriothesley couldn’t handle. he stumbles upon what seemed to be the center of the garden, surprised to see a fountain there. the moonlight shines brightly in this area—but what actually made wriothesley curious was who was sitting by the fountain? he steadily approaches, careful not to make the wrong move and sits by the fountain as well. there was still some distance between the two of you—a lot of it. it would be indecent of him to burst into a woman’s personal space. his father did not raise him to be that sort of man.

“what brings you here tonight?” he suddenly finds himself asking. it was a poor attempt at small talk, he thinks (he could do much better than that, he swears). wriothesley doesn’t even dare steal a glance at you, as much as he wanted to. you hesitated before answering him, still sinking in the fact that you suddenly have company in this garden now. “avoiding society as usual, especially the members of society who cannot give up offering their hand of marriage towards me, i suppose,” he hears you sigh. huh, how ironic. did wriothesley just bump into someone who suffers from the same problem as him? 

the answer was most definitely yes.

“oh, what a coincidence—i suffer from such a predicament as well.” he chuckles bitterly in reply—too bitter for his liking. he didn’t want to suddenly ruin the mood now; the conversation had barely even started. “is that so? i’m delighted to know that i’m not alone in this boat then.” the tone of your chuckle was different from the chuckle you got from wriothesley. a comfortable silence was then enveloped over the both of you, enjoying the scenery around. he takes this as his chance to steal a glance, and he quickly takes it back. yet he finds himself glancing again.

and again

and again. 

he doesn’t quite understand it himself. however, there was something about you that had this alluring effect on him of some sort. he just couldn’t tear his eyes off of you for some reason. “enjoying the view much, duke?” you asked, meeting his gaze. wriothesley then turns away suddenly, embarrassed that he was caught red handed in the act of practically ogling at you. his father did not raise him to be like this at all. he did not spend his childhood and teenage years training how to be a proper gentleman for his debut in society just to be ogling at a lady he just met at a ball. he needs to snap out of it.

“my apologies, but how could i resist putting my attention on a stunning lady like you?” he tries to play it cool. (keyword: tries.) it was a strategy that he learned to adapt every since he made his debut into society. playing it cool always works for him—surely his old trick wouldn’t fail at him now of all times, right? but wriothesley soon snapped out of his thoughts, and he then asked another question. “wait, you know who i am?” 

you were taken aback by his words. is he seriously asking you that? “who wouldn’t know you? you’re quite famous with the other ladies.” you asked him back. he simply replies with a short “fair point.” and silence takes over once again. but this time, it was a bit awkward. you decided to introduce yourself to him, stating your name and title. he nods in acknowledgement of your introduction. he has heard of you before, of course. your family has quite a reputation in society, making you get quite a bit of attention at formal parties as well. 

wriothesley doesn’t dare steal a glance at you again, as he has seemed to learn his lesson from what happened earlier. you, on the other hand, took this as your chance to take your leave. “although your company has been quite interesting, duke meropide, i’m afraid that i must take my leave first. i seem to have forgotten that i excused myself from lord jackson earlier.” you got up from your seat, already walking away from the fountain—that is, until wriothesley speaks.

“lord jackson? you mean the lord jackson who’s known for his… awful history in relationships?”

“i don’t believe there’s any other lord jackson in this society, duke meropide.” you turn around to face him.

“what business do you have with him?” why am i even asking? he thinks.

“he’s simply another one of the men who my mother had decided to set me up with for marriage. i was told to accompany him for tonight but you see, his company isn’t really... the best.” you replied, choosing your word carefully. despite you not liking lord jackson at all, it would be informal for you to speak ill of him when he could be the man you’ll actually marry.

actually, scratch that. as if you’ll ever allow yourself to marry a man like him. lord jackson was a creep, to say the least. you were aware of the talk that goes around him. but your dear mother is still kept in the dark about these stories, and she decided to set you up with him without your prior knowledge. so by technicality, you really had no choice. “you can’t marry him.” the man in front of you suddenly says.

“i beg your pardon?” you asked, afraid that you misheard him the first time. “you... you can’t marry him.” he repeats and then he continues. “i mean, surely you have heard the news about him—his temper makes him vicious. your marriage with him wouldn’t prosper at all.” you held back the urge to scoff at him. “i appreciate your concern, my duke, but our society works in an unfair way at this age. i cannot just declare that i do not wish to marry, unlike you. that is a privilege that i cannot simply afford.” you shot back at him.

wriothesley suddenly feels like a light bulb in his head has switched on.

“we could pretend to form an attachment.” he then says. you were getting more baffled by the second this conversation held on longer. “whatever do you mean?” you weren’t stupid. but you refused to believe that what he’s hinting at is also the one you foolishly thought. “with you in my arm, people would think that i have finally found my duchess. as for you, your mother would raise her standards and find more suitable candidates for your hand in marriage. because although i could be wrong, but have you ever told your mother what traits you find in a man?” he replies, a small smile slowly tugging on his lips. he clearly enjoys this idea.

“i… i suppose not.” he got you there. “but this is an absurd idea.” you protested.

“i find it quite brilliant, if i do say so myself.”

“you do know the risks of what you’re proposing right now, am i correct?”

“i do. but you do not wish to marry me, and i do not wish to marry you, so whatever should you have to lose?” he’s insisting. he’s insisting like this plan would work perfectly fine for the both of your benefits (well, if you were to be completely honest, there is a chance for it to be successful. but you grew up to believe that you shouldn’t expect for things to go so smoothly in your life). “i…” a lost of words. that’s what you are. too many possibilities are running through your head at the moment.

however, the duke did have one hell of a good point.

“fine. you got yourself a deal.”

and that’s how you got roped into the situation you have now. with an arm interlocked with the duke meropide’s, all eyes were bound to set upon you both. wriothesley could see the amusement in neuvillette’s expression; the same goes for the hint of amusement in queen furina’s eyes as she spots them in the crowd. wriothesley slowly guides you towards the dance floor, just in time for another dance to begin. gracefully, you took his hand as you step onto the dance floor with him. a familiar song started to play, one that you remember memorizing as dance class was mandatory for being a debutante in society.

“are you bothered?” he then asks in a whisper as he twirls you around. “whatever for?” you ask him back. “the staring. i could feel all of them looking at us right now, honestly,” he chuckles lowly. “hm, i’m trying not to mind it that much. but i suppose you’re probably enjoying all of this attention now, aren’t you?” a simple tease on your part, and wriothesley smiled at that. “my, are we on casual terms now?” 

“chemistry should be a major factor that we should have in this plan, yes? so we might as well start by being more casual with one another.”

“indeed. glad to know that you’re quick to pick up on things.” he says. “of course i am. what do you take me for, duke meropide?” you asked him, a slight pout forming on your lips. and wriothesley smiled at that again before replying. “nothing offensive, that i can assure you.”

“i’m delighted to know that the ever-so-famous duke of meropide doesn’t harbor any sour feelings towards me then.” 

it was a bit suffocating, all of the staring. yet at the same time, you understood why they’re staring in the first place. wriothesley, the current duke of meropide, is suddenly on the dance floor with a young woman. and he seems to be quite interested in her as well. people would assume you’re the reason why the duke has rejected so many marriage offers up until now—because he already had you in the first place.

the other unwanted attention you’d get from that assumption alone was enough to make you distracted to the point where you almost stepped on wriothesley’s foot. “i—my apologies, duke.” you stammered. “it’s alright. just look at me,” he says. you scrunched your eyebrows at him in confusion. “pardon?”

“just look at me; don’t focus on anyone else. it will help ease your mind.”

with hesitance, you followed what he said and locked your eyes with his. the duke’s eyes were a fine shade of grey. a unique color, if you do say so yourself. and surely he was correct. shifting your focus and thoughts to him did ease you from all of the other eyes that are locked onto both of your figures that’s moving along with the music.

time felt like it had stopped, as it also felt like you were the only ones present in the room.

to wriothesley’s surprise, the night passed by faster when he was with you. because before he knew it, he was already accompanying you back to your carriage. a lot of things had happened in the span of just a few hours. but wriothesley does not regret a single second of it, now that he recalls everything again. he wonders why—was it because he encountered you in the garden tonight?

maybe. that’s where it all started anyway.

he quickly snapped out of his trail of thoughts as he heard you speak. “i suppose i’ll see you soon then?” you asked him. “mhm, i suppose so. safe travels, m’lady.” he bids you his farewell by gently grabbing ahold of your hand and pressing a soft kiss onto your knuckle, refusing to break his eye contact with you as the footman closed your carriage’s door.

“safe travels as well, my duke.”

— — — — — — — — 

word spread fast about you and the duke of meropide. your mother was shocked at the news—yet happy that you finally became “independent on finding your match” as per her words. you had no specific agenda for the day, so, as you usually do whenever you are free, you decided to visit the modiste—where your good friend chiori resides. 

the sound of the bell chiming as the door opened made chiori perk up to see who would possibly need help making a new dress. but when her eyes met yours, she just knew you weren’t here to ask for a new dress. “i heard about the commotion last night.” she says, setting down a cup of tea for you as she takes a sip from her own cup, waiting for your response. “commotion is a vulgar term for it, chiori. i prefer to call it a memorable event.”

“i suppose it’s memorable for you to enter with your arm wrapped around the duke meropide just like that. how did it even happen? i vividly recall you telling me that you had no intention of marriage.”

“it’s… a long story,” you sighed, taking a sip from your own cup of tea. “oh? are you implying that there’s more to this than meets the eye, then?”

“i guess you could say that.”

“well, then tell me all about it.”

“i… i can't. my apologies, chiori.” it's not like you didn't trust her. in fact, there are more secrets that are held within this fine modiste’s place than one could ever imagine. but it was a silent and automatic agreement between you and the duke that no one must know of your plan. (although you already hinted to chiori that there's more to it than meets the eye.) besides, chiori is a smart woman who has known you before she could even have her place built.

she doesn't need to be a genius to find out that there's something up. she'll pick up on it sooner or later.

“it's alright. there’s no need to feel pressure to tell me now, but do promise me one thing: you're not doing anything against the law, right?”

you couldn't help but burst out in laughter at her question. “chiori! do you take me as a criminal? of course, i’m not!” you replied, laughing in a fit of giggles in between your words. “thank goodness. well, how was i supposed to know? you almost never stop by so we rarely have the chance to catch up. every bit of news i hear from you is usually from the other ladies who sometimes talk about you.”

“don’t worry, my friend. i’ll stop by more often from now on, but seriously, are you still eavesdropping on your customers? i thought we were past that.”

“it isn't my fault some of them whisper way too loudly for my liking,” chiori scoffs.

as you two have a few more conversations, it is about time for you to take your leave, as the time has reached for the hour when chiori would usually have customers. “it was truly a pleasure to catch up with you, chiori.” you said as she escorted you to the door. “a pleasure indeed. do drop by more often, alright? it can get quite lonely here, you know.” a giggle leaves your lips at her response. “will do. i believe i might need a new dress soon for the upcoming firestone ball?” you say and you notice how chiori’s had some sort of sparkle at your mention of needing a new dress. she had always loved making dresses for you.

“is that so? i promise to suggest some designs that you might like once you return.”

— — — — — — — — 

the fountain of lucine was a famous spot for a walk in the park type of day. every day, you’d see different individuals make their wish upon the fountain. whether that is a prosperous marriage, being blessed with a beloved child, or even gaining wealth, everyone wishes for all sorts of desires towards the fountain. but you never found yourself doing the same. it’s most probably because you've already been content with your life up until now. you never had any struggles when it came to growing up.

but again, that is up until now. 

you took a step further towards the fountain, silently stating your wish and threw the coin into the fountain’s small pool of water. “penny for your wish?” you heard someone say beside you. quickly turning your head to the direction of the voice, you were surprised to see the duke there. “duke meropide! i—i didn’t expect that you were going to be here today.”

“i decided to go out for a stroll; the weather is quite nice today, is it not?” 

“ah, yes, i suppose it is,” you replied, looking around. the weather was indeed nice today. perfect for a quick stroll around the area. “would you mind taking a stroll with me today? it would be a shame to waste this fine weather talking in the same spot.” he says, offering his arm for you to take. “i’d be delighted to.” your arm gets hooked on his.

“how are you faring lately? it has been quite a while since our last meeting,” wriothesley starts. he personally prefers his attempt at small talk today to his attempt at small talk the night he met you. it has been a few days since the ball held by the house of hearth. and within those few days, you haven’t spoken to the duke since. though, your house suddenly has suitors calling for you during your calling hour. all hopeful to gain your interest in them instead of the duke.

(however, you all shut them down politely. you found yourself repeating your apologies to the lords that have called upon you during those times.)

“i’ve been well. certainly, the stunt that we pulled during the ball held in the house of hearth did not go unnoticed. my social energy has been drained because of the suitors who called me.” a sigh leaves your lips. “oh? i apologize for that then. i hope that your social energy isn't at it’s lowest right now,” he chuckles. you gave him a playful glare at his remark. “are you making fun of my previous predicament, duke?” 

“oh, heavens no. my apologies, did that offend you?” he says, holding back a smile at his words. he was definitely not apologetic. “you’re not that sorry for it, aren’t you?”

“perchance.”

“you cannot just say perchance!”

a laugh erupts from wriothesley at your response. it was the first time you heard him laugh like that. and in the public eye, you two would seem like a joyful couple spending some quality time walking around the fountain of lucine as a pastime. well, that was technically the goal. to show the public that you and the duke of meropide are madly in love with one another. what could possibly go wrong?

— — — — — — — — 

by the time the firestone ball had taken place (which is nearly just a week after the ball from the house of hearth), you and the duke were on the dance floor once again.

“i believe we have yet to discuss our other terms and agreement for our plan, your grace.” you said, following his lead in the waltz. “ah, you’re right. well then, why don’t you start? ladies first.” he says. “i was hoping that you’d have some ideas on what terms we should have; after all, this was your idea, if i may remind you.”

you continue speaking as wriothesley continues to lead you through the dance. “i am starting to be convinced that this will be more than just a simple game of pretend just so we could fool the members of society, or my mother, or the women you have wanted to get away from every time you step foot in public. a life is at stake here, your grace, my life, and i just simply cannot have this go wrong. so if you are not in agreement with that, then you should tell me now.” the duke never broke his eye contact with you as you spoke.

“i shall agree… on one condition.”

“your grace, i believe that you do not understa—”

“you must call me wriothesley.” 

there’s only one word to describe you at the moment: speechless. and wriothesley takes your silence as a chance to continue his words. “if we are truly to be courting, and if we are truly to prove that this is a match like no other, then you should call me by my name. after all, weren’t you the one who suggested that we should be more... casual with one another?”

he was right, and he had yet again another one hell of a good point. you mentally sighed, “very well then… wriothesley.” a laugh dares to escape your throat but this does not go unnoticed by the man who has his hand held in his at the moment. “is there something funny about my name?” he asks you, raising an eyebrow at your reaction. “no, no. it is a perfectly fine name. it is also quite unique, if i may add.” you replied, calming yourself down. laughing loudly while you’re in the middle of the dance floor would raise questions, after all.

“oh, perfectly fine? very well then… (name).” wriothesley’s voice seemed to have lowered itself an octave lower as he said your name with a slight rasp. your eyes looked away from his as you shifted your gaze to his collar instead. both of you went silent, yet you were still moving to the rhythm of the music.

wriothesley’s hand, that was supposedly at your waist, trailed upwards. just below the nape of your neck and also before your spine starts. your breath hitched at the contact of his cold finger tips there.

“i do hope that this plan will be successful.” you said, gaining your composure.

“have faith in us.”

— — — — — — — — 

meetings with the duke of meropide became more frequent than you expected. whether that may be a coincidental meeting or a planned one—no one could really pinpoint it, much to their dismay. 

it started off with a simple meal. then another walk. then an official invitation to accompany him to a ball or two. or three; in fact, he has invited you for a lot of them now. you haven’t thought much about the future as of late, always focusing on the present, where you’re definitely by wriothesley’s side. there was never a dull moment with the man. it was always entertaining to be with him. whenever another man (a man whose appeal is not to take interest in a sense) would approach you, wriothesley would pull some sort of stunt that’s connected to his “wild jealousy” of some sort. it’s a bit hard to hold back a laugh whenever this happens. there are times when he would talk to you about the other nobles present in the party and how he’s acquainted with them, and you’d admire the fact that he has many connections (something that a duke like him should have; he’s doing well in his duties, you’d note).

there are also times when you two will find yourselves alone, secluding yourselves from the crowd. these were, personally, your favorites. with the moonlight shining brightly upon you both once again, you’d always be reminded of the night you met. at these moments, this is when you and the duke would share… more personal things with one another. things that neither of you had expected to share with anyone else. like how he avoids marriage because of the huge responsibility that comes with it. or like how you doubt that others, especially men (minus the duke), would understand your struggles as a woman in this society.

wriothesley might have a lot of connections, but he was just the same as you. both of you kept your circle quite small (and by small, you both have only one person you truly trust to confide in). but even if you both wouldn’t admit it out loud, trust had also bloomed between the two of you.

(yet is trust the only thing that has actually bloomed?)

tonight, you found yourselves in yet another garden. “have you ever heard of why a flower wilts, wriothesley?” you decided to start this time. “hm? i suppose it’s because nothing good actually lasts long in life.” 

“how… pessimistic of you to say.” you sweatdropped at his response. he chuckles yet again, you noticed that he always chuckles apologetically while looking away before he actually says his apologies. a habit of his, perhaps. “my apologies; i must repeat myself. the less a person sees of me, the happier their life is.”

“why so? i enjoy your company quite well.”

“oh? and are you sure those words aren’t forced because you’re stuck with me with this little ruse we have ongoing?” he asks back. these exchanges became frequent. one would ask a question, and the other would ask another in return. “i’m being quite honest, wriothesley. i really do enjoy your company quite well.”

“the feeling is likewise, (name).” there’s something satisfying about how your name rolls off of his tongue. he pronounces it the same as everyone else does yet how does it feel different when he says it? it’s baffling, that’s one thing for sure. “is it awful that i’m actually quite enjoying this?”

“you mean my wild jealousy?” he asks, playfully offended.

“fooling society.” you corrected. “there are some in the crowd who secretly know everything about everyone. yet we have them utterly convinced that we are mad for one another.”

“we are awfully clever then.” he says in amusement. “indeed we are.” you chuckled at his reply.

if there’s one thing you would always notice between the two of you, it would always be how you were glued to one another. like there’s some magnetic pull that automatically drags the other to their side. 

this moment is no different because you could feel his knuckles grazing against yours ever so lightly. it starts with the hook of your pinkies, then slowly turns into you grabbing a hold of his other fingers. wriothesley could feel his heart beating fast at the contact. he glances at you, admiring your features underneath the moonlight once again. you glance at him as well. was he already this close to you when you started walking in this garden? because you swear your faces are inching even closer to each other. wriothesley’s other hand gently grabs your nape, guiding you as he gently pulls you in for a kiss. 

his lips were soft against yours, something you didn’t expect from him. he kisses you like you were delicate (to which you were, delicate to him, at least), eyes closing themselves as he enjoys the sensation of your lips against his. you kiss him back in the same way, not really knowing what to do next—but you kiss him back. that’s all that matters. his lips leave yours as wriothesley latches his lips onto your neck, continuing the light kisses against it.

you let out a gasp at the contact as you lean your head back so you can give him more access. he intertwined his other hand with yours; it was quite scandalous. having a moment like this on someone else’s property. you extracted him from your neck, pulling him in for another kiss. this time it was a bit more rough—desperate, even.

well, that was until he pulled away from you abruptly. you looked at him in a daze yet you were confused. “we must return; we’ve been out long enough,” he says, letting go of your hand in the process as he fixes himself. he tries to catch his breath, processing what has just happened. did he really just kiss you? he supposes (or, in other terms, hopes) that it’s normal. ultimately, this should’ve been part of your agreement in the first place, right?

“i… you’re right. my mother could be looking for me any moment now.” what could possibly go wrong, you ask? well, apparently, many things could go wrong.

but if there’s one thing that got stitched into your mind tonight, it’s only one thing:

the duke of meropide is one good kisser.

however, what will become of your relationship now?

— — — — — — — — 

you found yourself going to chiori again. the familiar sound of the bell chiming against the door notified chiori of someone entering her place. and once she saw you, she could just feel the distress radiating off of your body.

“what happened this time? i haven’t heard any good news about you two from last night’s party.” she says, pouring you a cup of tea. “good news? more like insane occurrences,” you sighed, watching the tea leave the teapot as it transfers onto your teacup. “ insane occurrences? what happened to ‘memorable event’?” she asked, confused with your choice of words.

you let out another sigh, finally revealing everything to chiori. luckily, today was her day off. with another ball just held last night, she would get at least a day or two of good rest before she opens up again. chiori takes in every detail of your story well, surprised that this is what you’ve been up to.

as soon as you were done talking, you decided to take a sip of your tea. “so you’re worried that you almost slept with the duke of meropide?” chiori states. and you choked on your drink once you heard her. “you didn’t have to word it like that! have some decency!” you exclaimed, embarrassment surging through you. 

“i don’t get it, though. what are you so worried about? it’s almost as if… wait.” she pauses.

“it’s almost as if what, chiori?”

“do you love him?”

“huh? love who?”

“don’t play dumb with me, (name). do you or do you not love the duke of meropide?”

this time, it was your turn to pause. do you? well, certainly, he is nice company. and he treats you well despite neither of you having the wish to marry each other. he is also a good kisser (something that you don’t really feel like counting but it’s still a fact). recalling everything that has happened now, the only things that come into mind are the things you’ve noticed about wriothesley. how his eyes are the most remarkable shade of grey, his scar below his right eye. the feeling of the callouses on his hands as you held them on the dance floor.

it can’t be. there’s just no way. he’s a duke of all people—he’s out of your league in so many ways. he’s too far for you to reach. and besides, this is all just a game of pretend, is it not? surely that kiss would’ve meant nothing to him. 

fuck.

“i do.” you replied to her in a whisper

“i’m glad that you’re not dense.” chiori says, flicking your forehead. you yelped in pain at the contact. 

yes, you do love the duke of meropide.

and you stand by that.

meanwhile, on the other side of the coin, wriothesley had a crisis himself. “you’re quite lucky today, to ask for my presence while queen furina is occupied with duke arlecchino with her. so what assistance can i offer for you today, wriothesley?” neuvillette states, pulling his chair so he could take a seat before the man in front of him. wriothesley leans back on his seat, an elbow propped on top of the chair’s arm rest as his index finger is rested upon his lips. 

wriothesley sighs. before spilling everything to neuvillette. his friend’s expression grew more amused as he continued on with the story, finding every detail unexpected for a man like his friend. “i see. so that’s how it is. well, let me ask you a simple question then, my friend.” 

“shoot.”

“do you love her?”

wriothesley pauses. neuvillette’s questions echo repeatedly in his mind. do i love her? he then asks himself. he was not stupid. wriothesley did not need to become some sort of genius to find the answer to that question—because the answer is no. he doesn’t love you. yes, he has grown to trust you with things he would never even dare tell anyone else. but he’s scared. wriothesley is scared because he has never thought of commitment in this way before. romance was just a frivolous belief to him, after all. so surely, this would all just mean nothing.

he ponders about it for a few more moments. he’s too scarred—too damaged—to be loved by someone like you. he feels undeserving of it. he knows there’s another man out there who could be the man you want to be. someone who will make you happier than he does. someone who is willing to commit himself to you. someone who could love you with nothing holding him back. 

“i don’t.” wriothesley firmly says.

no, wriothesley cannot be in love with you.

(neuvillette gives his friend a sigh as his friend takes his leave. he returns back to the room where queen furina is currently spending time with duke arlecchino. the duke had a habit of bringing the queen sweets from their travels abroad. the queen has excitement written all over her eyes as she makes eye contact with the pastries set in front of her.)

— — — — — — — — 

it wasn’t hard to put two and two together to realize that wriothesley has been avoiding you.

it has been a few months since you decided to start your ruse. although he still accompanies you, once it’s quite crowded, he will deliberately avoid your presence like a plague, and you have no idea why. you first thought that may be he was just feeling unwell but it has occurred more frequent now and it just stings, really. it stings because you thought that you two had formed quite the bond over the past few months.

“wriothesley, is something wrong? you know you could always talk to me, right?” you asked him, finally cornering him as he had successfully avoided you for the past two hours ever since the party started. “it’s nothing of your concern,” was all he said before leaving you again. but that answer wasn’t enough—hell, it wasn’t even a proper answer for you. so you decided to follow him.

“where are you going?” you asked him. speeding your pace up to catch up to him. wriothesley doesn’t answer and just continues on walking. he ends up going into a secluded room, not even bothering to close the door. you followed him in and shut the door behind you as you faced him. he had his back facing you as you heard him take a deep breath. “wriothesley, what’s wrong? and don’t even dare say that it’s none of my concern because it is.”

wriothesley could feel himself going mad. he can’t do this tonight. what even caused him to behave this way?

ah, he remembers. it was that unbearable sight of you interacting with marquess lyney. he should’ve been happy that you finally seem interested in someone else because all you two have to do now is plan how you should end things. but that thought made wriothesley realize two things. one, he cannot bear the sight of you with another man (but why? it’s not like you’re actually his in the first place). and two, he doesn’t want things to end between the both of you. whether it's a ruse that feels too real for his own liking or whatnot, he doesn’t want to lose you in his life.

he loosens the buttons on his top so that he can breathe more properly. you got closer to him, but only if you knew that was a dangerous move on your part. you grabbed his arm in hopes of getting a view of wriothesley’s expression at the moment.

he then faces you, his eyes searching for something in yours but you just can’t find out what. it was silent; neither of you dared to speak a word. and wriothesley finds himself pulling you for a kiss. it was a bit rough how his lips crashed against yours. he then pulls away, his eyes widening at what he just did. “i… my most sincere apologies.”

and he leaves. just like that.

the familiar door to the modiste is presented at you as you knocked. it was late at night. the party you attended earlier with wriothesley was long over. but you knew your dear friend would still be up even at this late hour. 

“(name)? what brings you here at this hour?” chiori asks, opening the door wider so you could enter.

“i need a goddamn drink.” you said.

— — — — — — — — 

“so you’re telling me that he just… kissed you again, and then he left the party? just like that?” chiori repeats. you take another shot of the alcohol chiori provided for the both of you. “hey, calm down. this one is actually pretty strong, you idiot.” chiori warns you.

you lean back, slamming the shot glass against the table. “just like that, chiori. like what is wrong with him? is he perhaps sick in the head?”

“i honestly don’t know if i should be at least grateful that he apologized.” she says, taking a shot as well. you glare at her remark and she raises her hands in return. you sighed this time, “are men always this… complicated?”

“hm, i don’t think so. maybe it’s just the duke.”

“you’re not helping!”

“you never said you wanted help in the first place.”

— — — — — — — — 

seven days.

seven days since you last spoke to wriothesley. seven days since you last heard of him. it has been seven days yet he hasn’t made any attempts to contact you since. 

just what was up with him? he was fine before. did you do something wrong? did you accidentally say something that was offensive to him? everything has changed now. wriothesley is treating you like he treated you before he actually met you—cold. 

your mother has decided to throw a ball this time—something about her not wanting to fall behind the other mothers. you complied, having to accept that society is nothing but competition against one another. and on the day of the ball, you found yourself lonely. if only chiori wasn’t busy with her other orders, then maybe this night would’ve been more entertaining.

wriothesley has yet to make his appearance (or perhaps he is already here yet he has decided to avoid you again). but you have decided on one thing tonight: you will talk things out with that stubborn man no matter what it takes. because you cannot just bear to stand idly by when wriothesley could be struggling alone. you once heard from your mother that love makes you do the craziest things and tonight was the night you realized that she was right. but isn’t it worth it if it’s all in the name of love?

the outdoor area of your home was also used for the ball, and decorations are displayed here and there to make the area look more eyecatching. to your family’s dismay, it has begun to rain. making all of the guests head inside to continue the festivities. but as you made your way to follow the crowd, you spotted someone too familiar—it was the man you’ve been looking for all evening, wriothesley.

looking around his surroundings, wriothesley spots you getting drenched in the rain. his eyes widen as he quickly makes his way towards you, removing his coat to drape it over you instead. “are you insane? you’re getting drenched!” he exclaims in worry. you scoff in return, pushing yourself away from his coat and allowing yourself to get wet by the rain.

“am i insane? i should be the one asking you that!” you said, glaring at him. “how… how could you? do you know how worried i have been because of you? you avoided me, then kissed me, then avoided me even more! i had no idea if you were okay because you didn’t even dare speak with me while i was here stuck waiting for you. why? because i didn’t want to pressure you into telling me what’s wrong!”

wriothesley is at a loss for words at your outburst. he just stares at you in return, guilt written all over him. he deserved your anger. but he didn’t mean for things to go this far, yet he also didn’t know how to handle things. you continued speaking, “wriothesley, i have no idea what’s clouding over your heart but i do know one thing: you musn’t keep it to yourself.”

“(name)...” he softly says—hesitantly, even. like he’s scared to even say your name in the first place. you take a step forward, both of your hands reaching out to hold his face. your touch was gentle on his skin, making sure you weren't making him uncomfortable. “tell me what’s wrong, wriothesley. i’ll listen.”

and tell you, he does. he voice shakes at first yet he begins to steady it as he unravels to you everything that has been bothering him up until now. his jealousy, his inner turmoil, and his insecurities. and you listen to him, understanding every word that escapes his lips as your hand never leaves his face, your fingers gently brushing over his scar below his right eye. and once he’s finished, you choose your next words carefully.

“there’s something that i realized in life that i believe you should know. just because something is not perfect does not make it any less worthy of love. you made yourself believe otherwise. you made yourself believe that you had to be without fault just so you could be loved but you’re wrong, wriothesley. should you need any proof of the matter, then look just here.” you weakly laugh at the last sentence, and wriothesley just stares at you. you couldn’t find out what’s going on in his head but you know that he’s listening.

your voice shakes as you continue. “i am tired of this sick game of pretending. i am tired of pretending—of acting as if i do not love you, because i do. i love you more than you could ever imagine. every scar, every flaw, every imperfection—i love all of you. you may think you’re too damaged or too scarred to allow yourself of happiness but you can choose differently, wriothesley. you can choose to love me as much as i love you. that should not be up to anyone else—that cannot be up to anyone else.”

“it can only be up to you.”

he was still silent as you slowly let go of his face but wriothesley was quick to catch them. he grabs ahold of your hands, and with his slight shaking, he takes a deep breath. he realizes something when you profess your love for him. he puts two things together: commitment and you. and the conclusion he draws from that is that he doesn’t mind commitment, as long as he’s committing himself to you. that’s how much of an impact you have on him. yes, he’s scared. and yes, this might not go like he hopes it will. but that doesn’t matter to him because he knows it will all be worth it for you. wriothesley is a coward when it comes to love and the like—that, he admits. but he isn’t allowing himself to be a coward for the rest of his life. why deprive himself of the serene type of happiness that he could only achieve when he has you by his side?

he kept his eyes on the hands he’s holding now as he began to speak. “i.. i do not wish to be alone. i know that now. but what i do not know is how to be the man you wish for me to be—the man you truly deserve. i do not know how to do any of this, but i do know another thing: i love you too. i love you. most ardently.” he then meets your eyes as he notices one thing in them. love.

“you stay. you stay and we’ll get through this. together. that’s where we’ll start. we have all the time in the world.”

“may i… kiss you?” he hesitates to ask. but you give him a nod of approval before you’re met with the familiar pleasure of his lips on yours. he relishes every second of the kiss, taking this as a chance to ground himself into reality—refusing to believe that this is some sick dream that his mind decided to play in his head. a hand slithers its way to the nape of his neck and wriothesley groans at the feeling as his hand grabs your waist tighter. wriothesley thanked his lucky stars for the night he met you because this wouldn’t be possible if it weren’t for them.

love at first sight was a frivolous belief for a man like wriothesley. 

it’s small at first: those expensive macarons you like from that bakery, the bouquet of roses that couldn’t be cheap, a nice dinner he insists he can pay for every once in a while. and then it starts to get bigger: fancy tea from the side of town neither of you even think about shopping at, perfume from a brand you can’t even pronounce, a necklace that’s more than what you can afford yourself.

it starts out slow, and then all at once, wriothesley has what you imagine to be more money than he knows what to do with. because why else spoil you like this? why else blow money on things for you when he could be putting it towards himself?

not everyone gets to have a head start at life—wriothesley is proof of that. it’s hard, more than most people realize, to be orphaned so young and move through foster home after foster home. he’d gone to jail once too—he doesn’t talk about that either, and you never ask. it’s hard, more than anyone gives him credit for, to be knocked down by life so many times and make a living for yourself.

you can’t understand where the sudden change comes from, can’t pinpoint where along the line he started getting so comfortable. it’s not unwelcome, you would never want to watch him just barely scrap by, but it concerns you how he seems to have so much all at once.

and then you get your answer.

“what—what happened to you?” you ask in disbelief, eyeing the blood caked by his nose and around his knuckles. that’s the best of it, unfortunately—the gashes on his chest and the bruises somehow look even worse.

you’d consider him lucky that his ribs don’t seem cracked.

“just a fight,” he shrugs, not meeting your eyes. wriothesley is a lot of things: resourceful, conniving at times, and braver than most. good at lying is not one of them, however—at least not with you. “just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“where were you, then?” you challenge, staring at him hard enough that he doesn’t have to meet your eyes to shuffle uncomfortably in his spot. he doesn’t answer. you’re almost fed up. “wriothesley,” you say in a warning tone.

there’s a sense of finality he doesn’t like.

“what happened to wrio, sweetheart? you’re killin’ me here, i come home to you all bruised up and you’re here beating me down harder—”

“wriothesley, i’m worried about you,” you whisper tiredly. it’s defeated—it’s almost helpless. he frowns, finally looking up at you from his place between your legs as you sit on the bathroom counter.

“you don’t have to be,” he mumbles, “i can take care on my own. i always have.”

“there’s no being on your own when we’re together,” you shake your head. your hands fall to either side of your body, shoulders slumping in exhaustion. “don’t you understand? neither of us is supposed to be on our own anymore—not when the other is here.”

“yeah,” he crosses his arms—you try to ignore the wince he lets out as he moves, “and now you’re not handling things on your own anymore. i’m carrying my weight. just need to fight a guy or two.”

“you’re carrying your weight by fighting?” you blink at the realization. he doesn’t look you in your eyes, keeping them trained on the floor again. “oh my god—is that what these are from? because….because you’re fighting some punks in the middle of the night? that’s illegal—and you could get in trouble again—”

he doesn’t seem to like being reminded of his past. that’s clear when he clicks his teeth and glares at you. “and what am i supposed to do, stay cooped up in your place and eat your food?” he asks bitterly, making your brows furrow.

“not necessarily, but you can—”

“what, so i just live paycheck to paycheck and shower at your place and sleep in your bed so my water and electricity bills aren’t too high for the month?”

“wrio—”

“i’m earning, aren’t i? what’s the big deal?”

“the big deal is this,” you wave your hand exasperatedly, tears welling up by the lash line of your eyes as you stare at his bruises with trembling lips, “look at you. it’s not worth it if you come back to me like this.”

“but i come back,” he mumbles, taking your hand—he kisses the knuckles, rubs a rough thumb over the smooth skin before laying your palm against his cheek and sighing. “i always come back.”

you love wriothesley—have since the day you met him, you think. he’s easy to fall for like that, to feel your stomach go in twists and knots every time he makes a sarcastic joke and throws you a charming smile. life has been tough on the man you love, unfairly so. it’s hit him harder and harder and pushed him back to his knees before he ever got a chance to fully stand up.

he’s hitting back, now. maybe in a more literal sense than you’d hoped, but….but maybe you can help him if you can’t change him. maybe you can keep the pieces together until the plaster holds and they’re not so fragile anymore.

“i don’t like seeing you hurt,” you whisper, leaning in to kiss the broken skin on his cheekbone, “you don’t have to do all this. we were doing okay before that.”

we. he shudders at that. it’s always we and never i—even when you did all the heavy lifting. even when he was barely getting by and you were giving more than you should’ve had to, more than he should’ve needed. it’s always we. never i.

you and him.

“i know,” he melts, humming as your fingers thread into his tousled hair, scratching his scalp as he buries his face into your neck, “just let me save a bit more. and then i’ll do something real with myself. i promise.”

you pull away after a bit, taking in every bruise and every cut, every dry patch of blood and swollen patch of skin. it’s shaky at first, your voice when you finally speak.

“‘s all bruised,” you say quietly, running a finger over the marks littering his chest. he’s painfully still—doesn’t move a muscle as you lean in slowly and press a kiss to the purplish stain on his skin, gently trailing them to the next one, and the next one, and the next one. “you don’t deserve all this.”

“yeah?” he chuckles—its breathy, a little strained. your arms loop around his waist and bring him closer, “what a sweet thing,” he coos, “nobody ever treats me so gentle.”

you frown at that. the world is not gentle with wriothesley—you’ll have to be extra gentle to make up for it.

“you’ll be safe? you’ll pull out when it’s too much, right? and you’ll come back? without being too hurt, right? wrio, you can’t—”

“yeah, yeah, i got it,” he huffs, pressing his forehead to yours, letting your hands cup his cheeks. he leans closer to your touch, shudders as you slowly trace his cheek with your thumb, “just wait at home all pretty for me, yeah? i’ll bring you back something nice.”

“bring me back yourself in once piece,” you huff.

“done,” he smiles, “i’m strong, if you haven’t noticed.”

“yeah? explain this,” you challenge, pressing down on a bruise and making him wince.

“you should see the other guy,” he whines, burying his face back into your neck. you roll your eyes, there’s a scoff in your throat but a smile on your lips.

wriothesley is safe—for now, that’s all you can ask for.

“i love you,” you mumble, “so much. no matter what, okay?”

“no need to get so emotional on me, baby,” he chuckles—and then there’s a tightening of strong arms around your body, a kiss pressed delicately to your neck before a soft, “but i love you too” is murmured into your skin.

“i hope you’re ready to clean those cuts. they’ll sting for sure,” you grumble as you pull away. he grins—handsome, charming, yours.

“will you kiss them better?” he bats his lashes, making you snort.

“no.”

For a boy who had nothing at all, what you offered him was like placing the universe itself in his hands. And even at twelve years old, with you and that book sitting between his legs and a blanket thrown over his body, he knew he'd found a dream.

The older he got, the more he clung to that. 

You were the one he came back to when he was lost. The one who made the orphanage a home. The one who gave him a raggedy atlas of the world and whispered purpose into him.

Something to cherish. Something to protect. Something to love in this world when he had little to spare.

Though time had changed everything in his life, he still found it hard to abandon the welded pieces of your conjoined hearts.

Unlike Wriothesley, you had chosen to return to the surface after you finished serving your sentence.

It was lonelier beneath the crushing pressure of the sea without you. He made sure you knew that, too, always bringing it up whenever you came by to visit in the most nonchalant ways.

The Fortress of Meropide was a home both of you had discovered after years of being without one. "Come home already," he used to complain when he was still just a regular inmate and you were dropping by with a care package. "I miss you."

Nowadays, he made certain you understood the gap in his heart without you by other means. Like, say, when he would invite you personally to his office for a cup of tea and some cake, which was a rare treat you missed out on as kids.

Once, you called him out for attempting to bribe you back down into the iron fortress which he, of course, denied with his chest. Still, you never failed to make the trip down despite your outspoken disinterest in being back in the prison, and his weak offer of sweets since you now worked at one of the most prestigious bakeries in the city.

You had initially greeted him this time with your hands all over him, arms wrapped so tightly around his neck in a hug that he could barely breathe. Sweet smiles and kisses pressed to his cheeks and fingers pinching his nose—every action endearing and a remnant of your childhood spent together.

Now, you're seething in the office at his simple question: how are things on the surface?

"... That's when I turned to Lady Furina and, get this, she somehow ate every pastry I'd brought in a matter of seconds!" You huff, pacing back and forth in front of Wriothesley's desk while you rant about your latest visit with the Archon.

Furina was often in your schedule in one way or another, and almost always she wanted you to bring along sweets from the shop you worked at.

Wriothesley finds humour in your woes, following you around in your pacing with his arms folded over his chest.

"You know, you could just show up to your audiences with her without treats."

"She would call high treason and toss me back in prison!"

The Duke just snorts, earning him a well-deserved glare. Even with the pull of your lips into a thin line and the narrowing of your eyes, he thinks you look like a breathing angel under the warm orange light of the office.

There was nothing in the world you could do that would make him stop loving you. Not even glaring daggers at him like he's your mortal enemy.

"You're exaggerating," he hums, trailing behind you once again as you pace around the desk. 

"No, I'm not. She's absolutely crazy. She's insane—!"

He nearly bumps into your back when you suddenly halt in your steps, attention stolen from the conversation. The hands that were flailing around in the air to animate your anguish drop to your sides.

Wriothesley peers curiously over your shoulder at what has caused you to stop so abruptly.

Oh. Oh, Archons. He can sense the heat rising to his ears.

He feels as though he's been spotted in vulnerability, even though that isn't at all what has happened and that you would be the last person to judge him even if he was.

But he feels seen. Caught in the act of sentimentality just because you've picked out the book you gave him all those years ago when all you had was each other.

"You still have this?" You gawk, pulling the atlas from its prestigious position on his bookshelf. It's in a spot that he can always see as soon as he enters the room—in his direct line of sight, he has a part of you with him.

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, I just thought..." You consider the words for a moment, tasting them in your mouth before admitting embarrassingly, "I just thought you'd have thrown it out for a newer atlas. You know this is out of date, right? Half the oasis in Sumeru is covered in sand now."

"Why would I ever throw it out?"

"It's old," you lament again.

"And?"

"And... you can't even use it?" Your statement comes out more as a question and he can't help but roll his eyes.

"I can still use it," he insists.

You raise a brow, slotting the book back into its regular spot. "Good luck. When are you ever going to have time to do that, oh great and powerful Lord of the Fortress of Meropide?"

He ignores your little jab, as he's gotten so good at throughout his life. There's a sense of familiarity that rises in his chest, a strange nostalgia that drives him to open his mouth once more.

"Actually, about that..."

You turn to look at him again, hand coming up to brush the hair from his eyes. You always used to scold him for not taming it better. Now it seems permanently stuck as a fluffy mess.

"What is it?"

Your fingers graze his skin and he falls apart on the spot, feeling as though you had just tipped him over the edge of the cliff he's been too afraid to dive off of.

His hand catches yours, holding it just beside his cheek for a moment before lowering it to his side and tugging you just a little closer.

If he didn't ask now, would he ever?

"Let's leave this place," he murmurs, reciting the dream you promised him when he was twelve years old. "Let's travel all across Teyvat."

The silence that follows is so loud that it makes his ears ring. For a moment he falters, thinking he may have misread the situation and in turn whatever feelings he thought you may have harboured for him.

But then you take a daring step forward, nearly flush against his body. There's a look of wonder in your eyes that makes his heart race.

"Just you and me?"

"Just you and me." Just us.

There's a heavy implication behind that and you both know it. More than a proposal to chase a dream of bygone days, it's starting to sound like a confession. In his own roundabout ways, of course.

He can see the hitching of your breath, the subtle widening of your eyes, and all he wants to do is laugh at how seriously adorable you look.

"And what about the Fortress?"

"People here are less problematic nowadays than you may think."

"Won't the paperwork back up?"

"I can deal with it whenever I come back."

"Why me?"

Another silence.

"You ask too many questions," he says quietly, dodging your interrogation. In reality, he already has an answer. It's instantaneous, resting comfortably in his mouth but never leaving.

Why would it ever be anyone else?

He's having trouble focusing on anything right now with your chests so close together and his thumb running along your knuckles.

"Wriothesley," you say his name and it sounds like honey, the sweetest thing in all of Teyvat. And the look you're giving him, so touched and melting into nothing but a smiling mess—he isn't sure his heart can handle this. "I can't believe you remembered that."

"You kiddin'?" He laughs, slowly closing the distance between you. "It's all I've thought about my whole life."

He watches you carefully as you swallow down the lump in your throat. Your hand squeezes his and that's when he knows he's got you. You kiss him and he can feel the curve of your lips, the ever growing smile on your face meeting his. His knees are on the verge of buckling by the time you pull away.

"Surely you'll miss this place in your absence. This is your home now, isn't it?" You tease.

"Well, you know what they say." He gives you a grin so wide that his eyes crinkle. "Home is where the heart is."

It didn't matter if you were braving a sandstorm or the rainforest or the depths of the sea. 

Wherever you were, you would be his dream. You would be his home, too—just as you always had been for as long as he could remember.

The house-party had long dwindled, its only remnants the waste and the wasted. He should have left already, thought Matsukawa.

“You know what else they say about you?” It was a rhetorical question, evident in how she closed her eyes and let her head bow back. “That you fuck like an animal—that you’re so mean.”

He hummed, a sound of impatience. Matsukawa made to leave when she continued, louder.

“You can be mean to me, Issei. I promise I can take it.” She was fussing with the hem of her dress when he looked over a shoulder to the girl.

“Don’t call me that,” he said, impassive, and slated for the door.

You were asleep when Matsukawa returned to your shared apartment. He was ever quiet, not wanting to wake you. He smiled softly when he found a container of food for him in the refrigerator, his name on a yellow post-it.

“Issei?”

He startled but eased just as simply. You stood at the edge of the kitchen, hair tousled and your stare half-lidded.

“Morning,” he said softly, the corner of his lip pulling upward.

You blinked and rubbed an eye; the clock in the living room stated it was in the third hour. Dawn would soon come. “How was the party?” you asked, leaning against the counter as you yawned.

Matsukawa shrugged flippantly, placing the plastic container in the microwave. He kept the post-it in his pocket. “It was alright,” he said. “Did I wake you up?”

And you shook your head, propping yourself up to sit on the laminate countertop. “Couldn’t sleep,” you mumbled, tugging at the jacket you had pulled on to be closer to your body. It was so cold in the kitchen, in the entirety of the apartment.

“Bad dreams?” he cooed, removing the food and setting it on the stove.

“Yeah, something like that.”

He began to eat as he said, “Don’t you have class in the morning?”

You breathed out a laugh. “Don’t you have work?”

And Matsukawa inclined his head as if to say, ‘fair enough.’

You had both reached twenty-one years of age, had both chosen to remain near home. Though, where you had continued with university, Matsukawa resigned after his first year.

“I’m not good at it,” he had told you when you asked him. “I don’t even think I want to do it.” And you were understanding, you were supportive. Through the duration of the following summer break, Matsukawa searched in trade jobs, opening jobs—any business willing to give an eighteen-year-old boy with a modest résumé the time of day.

At which he had not expected a tattoo and piercing parlor to return his call.

“How many appointments do you have tomorrow?” you asked.

Matsukawa sucked on his teeth. “Five, I think. All piercings.” He smiled then, “Why? You wanna come in and get something done?”

You granted a pointed stare toward him. “No.”

“It’ll be on the house,” he said and lifted his thick brows. “Besides, you know I love it when you come to visit.” Matsukawa finished his food and placed the tupperware and utensils in the dishwasher. “Makes me feel so special.” And he truly did enjoy your company on days that were slow. He cherished it more than he would admit.

You hummed noncommittally, a habit you found yourself falling into when you initially moved in with Matsukawa a year prior.

“Do you have any classes around lunch?” He was tidying the kitchen now.

“No—”

“Great, my lunch break is at twelve. I can get something for the both of us.” He was ushering you back to your bedroom, a large and warm hand at your back as you tiredly let him.

“Fine,” you amended, “but at least let me pay you back. You make me feel like some kind of freeloader whenever you buy my food.”

♥ It was pathetic to admit, but he’d never had a girlfriend before, so the scarce intimacy he accomplished in these brief moments were his everything.

♥ It also helped block out the constant glances from other patrons interrupting his focus honed on you.

♥ Amongst your friend group Obito viewed himself as the odd one out. A little quiet. Painfully shy. Not nearly as charming as Kakashi. Not nearly as attractive as Hidan. Not nearly as successful as Genma. And year after year, he was forced to listen to them ask you out on dates, and though you turned them down with a coy smile, it never eased the panic in his throat that one day you would answer “yes.” Afterall, you have had plenty of relationships since you met in grade school; it seemed only friends were off limits when it came to dating.

♥ And that’s all Obito was.. a friend.

♥ Stomach in knots, Obito listened to the conversation idly, wringing his hands. Perking up when you spoke, and hiding his flushed cheeks in the distorted pint glass, nodding in agreement to whatever you said. Otherwise, he was far too distracted on your bouncing knee rubbing his shin.

♥ This had to be rock bottom. Finding comfort in even your knee.

♥ He was down bad, but how could he not be? His crush on you spanned for over a decade.

“Say, you’re single, right?” Kakashi canted his head in your direction. Tearing your eyes from Obito, you addressed him with a simple hum, and knowing he had the power of your attention, Kakashi slid his arm around your shoulders, giving your bicep a squeeze. You laughed openly at his blatant flirting and patted his hand.

“Yeah, why?”

It was the quickest flicker–Kakashi locked onto Obito’s abrupt frown, losing all joy he once had when your foot was hooked around the back of his shoe, woefully dejected when, like always, Kakashi made a move on you right in front of him.

Kakashi’s smirk bloomed from under his blue surgical mask. “I heard Obito’s single too.”

Genma turned away from his heated exchange with Hidan and raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t he always?”

“Not always,” Obito grumbled against the rim of his beer.

“Have you ever even had a girlfriend? I figured you’re a virgin, but geez.”

“Oh, leave him alone,” you said, removing Kakashi’s arm from your person. “I think it’s sweet he wants to wait until he finds the right person to commit.”

Obito returned your smile, no matter how small. Boyish, tugging at the scars on his cheek.

“Yeah, maybe you could also implement that lesson first, before your clothes come off–”

So strange how a peanut managed to hit Hidan square in his eye at the most opportune moment, right when he was going to take a drink. “Hey!”

Kakashi defended you with a bored sigh. “It’s what you deserved. Come on.” Hidan was escorted to the bathroom to mop up the beer spilled down the front of his shirt and Genma excused himself to get some napkins and order another round.

In the roaring silence hanging between you, it took all of Obito’s power to move past the joke doled at his expense, whilst simultaneously confronting the words he knew to be true.

“Don’t listen to them.” Your encouragement was sweetened all the more when you looped your forefinger around his, urging him to unclasp his hands from his empty glass. He picked his head up and lost himself in the twinkle reflected in your eyes from the fairy lights strung across the roof. “You’ll find someone. I know you will.”

Your touch lured his hand to the center of the table. Holding more than a few of your fingers. Warm. So warm. Inviting a genuine grin to lift his lips, and his spirits. Wanting to be here, in your palm, forever. Too afraid to speak in fear of ruining your easy friendship.

Until Kakashi returned and slung himself into the seat next to you, way too eager. “Obito finally asked you out, huh?”

You looked at Kakashi. Kakashi looked at you. You looked at Obito. Obito stared at Kakashi. You looked at Kakashi again, but now he was looking at Obito, eyes impossibly wide. And in the rapid swap of shocked expressions, you missed the stern shake of Obito’s head at Kakashi; signaling that no, he did not ask you out like he said he would last week when Kakashi orchestrated this whole thing to get you two alone.

♥ Least to say, many more drinks were had by Obito in particular. Downing another until his skin grew numb, yet tingly. Chasing the fuzzy feeling you gave him when you held his hand.

♥ Pleasantly buzzed, the rest of the evening went off without further incident, besides Hidan’s shirt having a giant stain on it, but that was hidden behind his leather jacket. Kakashi and Genma headed towards the subway together while you and Obito walked in the opposite direction. Brushing arms with every other step. Then every step. Then he was wincing. Then he was suppressing a grunt escaping his throat.

You lowered your voice, keeping close and speaking softly after all the noise of bars and nightclubs faded in the distance the closer you got to Obito’s apartment. “Is it your knee?”

“An–my hip,” he admitted, working his jaw like he was grinding his teeth.

“Here.” You grabbed his hand and brought it to your shoulder for him to use as a crutch.

A damnable offense. It took all his concentration to not flutter his eyes closed and release the most unforgivable sigh of relief the moment his skin touched yours.

♥ When you arrived at his apartment complex, he tried to dismiss you by insisting you should walk home while the streets were populated, but you waved him off. In fact, you rolled your eyes when he said he was fine.. Ignoring the fact he struggled to ascend the stairs by himself and swayed where he stood, wearing a goofy grin he reserved for when it was only you two; insecure about the way his mouth gaped and the scar tissue on his cheek warped to a million little wrinkles around his droopy eye, losing his vision and control of the muscles on the right side of his face in one fell swoop thanks to a car accident in his youth.

♥ You guided him to the elevator and down the hall to his door. You even took the keys from him and went through the effort of turning on the light in the living room and the lamp in his bedroom, flipping on the TV to a low volume. Easing him into his routine like you were more acquainted with it than he was.

♥ All Obito had to do was hiss when you helped him sit on the edge of his bed and you were rummaging through his medicine cabinet, procuring his pain relievers and a tall glass of water before he could register the sound of the tap turning on.

♥ You were nice. Too nice. With a few more grunts and sleepy blinks you giggled and heeded his request, getting the CBD cream from the fridge and opening it for him.

You sniffed the pot of lotion. “Does this stuff even work?”

“No idea.” He shrugged. “It is soothing, though, I guess.”

You snorted at his blasé attitude for a product he didn’t know worked considering the price sticker on the lid. “Do you..” You tilted the pot towards him, standing there awkwardly while he seemed to decide on something in his head.

Obito made a show of rolling onto his elbows, moaning and groaning like he was in dire pain, talking in garbled sentences as if he had far more pints of low ABV beer than were alluded to on the receipt.

Especially since Genma switched him to the non-alcoholic hoppy faux IPAs after a single drink, having the forethought he might need his meds later.

You may have suspected his ruse, but you said nothing.

Rubbing the lotion between your fingertips, you smoothed it over his kneecap, up to his thigh. Working in little circles, massaging along the tense muscle locking his leg in place, checking his face to make sure you weren’t hurting him when you applied more pressure to the unfeeling skin grafts surrounded by gnarled fissures of scar tissue encapsulating his knee and switched to the sensitive flesh of his inner thigh, making your way to the underside of his leg. Tender, and so intimate. Understanding him when he was silent, tending to his needs when he couldn’t because you were attentive and learned him over the years. Happy to spend your time with him despite his sheer uselessness. His inconvenience. His burden.

Yet, in all his lack of self-confidence, he couldn’t surrender his delicate hold on your wrist as you stood to leave his bedside. It was his last chance. One last surge of pretend liquid bravery to admit his dependence without words.

Tugging your hand towards his chest, reeling you in and regarding you with nearly-closed eyes and a lofty smile contributing to his pitifulness, Obito whined for you to come back. “Can you put on a movie for me?”

“You’re such a baby,” you scoffed, sinking into the mattress beside his waist and reaching across him to grab the remote, touching your forearm to his bare stomach where his shirt rode up.

An unreal sensation, causing Obito’s flush to deepen and your breath to hitch.

“S-So,” you stuttered and cleared your throat, eyes decidedly on the TV and not at all on the reveal of the coarse hair trailing above the waistband of his shorts, “what kind of movie do you want me to put on?”

“Uh–Could you scroll through them? I can’t read the titles from here.” A wonderful excuse to keep you there longer.

♥ When given the opportunity, he was so needy.

♥ Riding his courageous wave, it didn’t take long for his hand to rest on your back; pretending to be casual when he was anything but, broken out in a nervous sweat since his brain conjured the idea.

♥ Timidly, he explored your lower back. Curling his fingers in to run his knuckles over your spine. Back and forth. Advancing to circles while you recited the lame synopsis tacked onto the shitty horror movies you were entranced with, buzzing his fingertips with your energetic renditions of the slasher film.

♥ He was so smitten. Fitting the heel of his palm to your waist and stroking his thumb over your shirt, eyes stinging from forcing himself to stay awake just for the opportunity to listen to you ramble.

“That one sounds good,” he conceded to whichever one you were on.

The movie started. The plot began. You sighed and set the remote on his nightstand, keeping your eyes on the floor, bracing to leave his apartment.

But he stopped you.

“Can you stay until the painkillers kick in?” he asked, eyes glazed over like they started working minutes ago.

“Yeah.”

♥ He would’ve been ecstatic to settle for you sitting in his proximity–hell, he’d be happy to sit in the same room as you as long as you were within reach–but when your face lit up in the soft glow of his orange lamp and the white text on the TV, you surprised him.

You slouched unnaturally, dipping into the edge of his mattress to display the unnatural way it tilted your hips, and just how uncomfortable it was. “Do you mind if I lay down with you?”

Obito managed to squeak out a tiny “yes” during the rev of a chainsaw. Finding it difficult to come to terms with reality when you clicked off the lamp and walked to the other side of his bed, blocking the gory scene on the TV. Then, his body rocked, and there you were, next to him.

You teased him, “Still only one pillow, huh?”

“Yeah.” It was but a hoarse exhale.

“I guess we’ll have to share.”

“Yeah.”

♥ Affixing one another with stares like you were utter strangers, you moved around each other clumsily, yet familiarly so.

♥ After years of being your shadow, he reacted like one. Reading what you wanted and reacting accordingly. Communicating in body language, no words necessary.

♥ Obito was a passionate cuddler and you were so blessed to discover that for him.

♥ He had never been in this position, holding a woman in any way other than a hug, yet he adapted instantly. Melding his body to fit the curves of yours. Sharing a temperature unique to the heightened desire passing through your shared touches. Your mutual latching onto each other, locking legs over legs.

♥ He was clingy. Delightfully so.

♥ Hardly processing what was happening in the movie, your needs and comforts were his top priority. Tamping down his impatience waiting for you to move your hair out of the way. Curling his arm at an odd angle to support your head on his shoulder. Relaxing into his blankets so you could slot yourself into the vacancy at his side, trembling at the swell of emotions taking hold of him, and begging himself to stay calm and not mess this up.

♥ You were just friends. Friends could do this, platonically. He could do this without getting attached.

“Is this okay?” you asked him sweetly, resting your hand on his stomach, lightly pinching his shirt between your gentle fingers. He nodded, rubbing his chin in your hair and feeling your breath cool the anxious sweat on the unscarred half of his chest.

You rolled further into his grasp. Slid your leg between his. Created some excuse about how it hurt your hips if you didn’t. And he accepted you without complaint.

Obito rocked you with his arm, curving his hand to your hip, beckoning you closer. Closer. Closer still. Needy and giving in to his desires when he shouldn’t.

His grip was strong and his restraint was weak.

He just wanted to know, for one night, what it would feel like to have a girlfriend.

♥ Affection was crucial for his survival, that much was clear when you sank into the crook of his arm and rewarded him with a peaceful hum despite the screams on the TV. It was all the initiative he required to go forth with his stupid plan.

♥ Desperate for more, he grasped his arms around your middle and hugged you tight to his chest. Counting the seconds he could get away with. Counting the rapid heartbeats pounding against your ear. Counting each memory flashing before him of all the times he could’ve done this, yet never tried. And counting all the ways you reciprocated.

♥ You clutched onto his shirt. Nuzzled your forehead into the side of his throat, hearing his weak swallow. Shifted your leg to bring his thigh between yours. Locked him into place where he belonged; embracing you.

He came this far, he might as well ruin it now.

“How come you never dated me?” he whispered, unsure he could be heard above the chase scene in the movie. Unsure if he wanted to be heard above the chase scene in the movie. Speaking so low it could be excused for tired mumbling. “Is it because of how I look?”

You jerked your head up and he shrank into the pillow at your fierce frown. “We never dated because you never asked me out,” you responded sternly, though you surrendered to the edge of giddiness in your voice at the revelation. “Do you really think I’m not attracted to you? With how I’m almost constantly flirting with you? Making an idiot of myself just so we can be alone and hold your hand? Always sitting across from you so I can stare at you without being so obvious?” Limited by your position, you made an elaborate display of surveying the dark room before continuing, “I’m literally in your bed spooning you, Obito.”

“O-Oh.” It was all he could muster in your jumble of honesty. “I thought you would turn me down, and it’d be too weird to remain friends, so I never tried..”

“I thought you just weren’t interested in me.”

He nearly choked. “No! I’m–very interested!”

He blinked at you. You blinked at him.

And all at once, you both broke out in laughter. Holding each other through the fits and shakes. Releasing years worth of pent up yearning in the form of entwining your bodies until you were completed by the other. Never letting go.

♥ Obito loved to cuddle. Loved to run his hands along your sides, smiling against your lips to smother your giggles. Loved reaching across to grip his elbows in a strong hug, squishing you until you begged for air. Loved keeping track of the little shapes you drew on his bare chest. Loved huddling under the blankets; bed or couch, it didn’t matter. Loved the way you took care of him when he was having a bad day full of judgemental looks. Loved pampering you in foot rubs after a long day at work.

♥ It was everything he wanted. Everything he hoped for. Everything he dreamed of. You in his arms, falling asleep.. His girlfriend, in his arms, falling asleep. Perfect.

You weren’t the most observant person. Not the best at puzzles. Not the greatest discerner when it came to those “spot the difference” hidden image books as a kid, but even you could tell the picture on the seed packet staked into the soil wasn’t quite what was growing in front of you. “Can you come here?”

The top half of Obito’s face peeked from over a bushel of wide floppy leaves one row over. His hair was dusted in golden pollen from the yellow flowers shaking under the stress of his blade as he sawed through the stem of a summer squash. “Is it another spider?”

“You’ll find one in your bed tonight if you keep it up.”

Grunting, he pushed himself to his feet and came around to your side. He crouched to your level, and in doing so, placed himself peering over your shoulder; to where his frustrated exhale hit your cheek and his knee was a pleasant pressure on the small of your back.

The corner of Obito’s mouth sloped into his usual frown and it was all you could do to not learn each intricate curve of the scars engraved into his cheek when he leaned forward and plucked the laminated paper from the garden bed, mulling over the large, orange, spherical pumpkins in the photo, and the measly, flat, sickly white one fitting into the palm of your hand.

“There must’ve been a mix up with the seeds at the store,” he sighed. “All that work to grow that little thing.”

“I think it’s cute. It’ll be the perfect decoration for the table, don’t you think?”

He agreed, but remained unswayed. “I wanted the big pumpkins though.”

“How come? Either way they’re not edible, right?”

He readied himself to correct you on their edibility, but he clammed up. He couldn’t explain why he wanted them. Couldn’t explain why he encountered difficulties recovering his composure when he discovered your proximity, biting his tongue when your nose came into focus after almost colliding with it. Couldn’t get a hold of his emotions long enough to stop his staring. Couldn’t help himself from diverting his attention from your eyes, to your nose, to your plump, precious grin.

“They make good jack-o-lanterns,” you filled in where he left off, in the beckoning space between your mouths. Snapping him out of his intrigue and severing his blatant wonderment at the softness of your lips.

“That’s an activity for children.” He was back to his usual self.

“Maybe, yeah. But if it’s one you never got to do as a kid and wanted to do it now, that’s okay too.”

Heat crawled up his throat under your rapt surveillance. “I-I forgot my knife. Over there.” Expelling a flustered swear, he dropped the marker and shook his head, returning to the row he was working on and nearly flattening himself to the dirt to escape your view, mumbling something about caterpillars on the spinach again. Providing you the perfect opportunity to tuck the picture of the pumpkin into your notebook for later.

Once you harvested the rest of the ripe vegetables without a single word exchanged, Obito hoisted the woven basket onto his hip and opened the door for you, placing the bounty on the countertop beside the sink while you laid out his old towel to dry off the produce after he washed it. The tattered towel had been demoted for causes like since you replaced it with a new set last week.

You tried your best not to fall into the trap of watching his capable hands work the brush across the russet potatoes, turning the water earthly brown with the same organic matter outlining his manicured fingernails, but, lost in your admiration, you dried the same eggplant over, and over again. His nails were kept short. Practical. Water dripped down his muscular forearms, flowing over his veins as he inspected the tomatoes; appreciating the effort it took to create life from scratch, like you appreciated the steady rise and fall of his chest as your breaths synced.

Visit by visit you grew closer, and with the first bloom of friendship, you lost yourself to his unintentional charm. A fact you stopped denying three weeks ago when you attempted to hold his hand and he did not refuse you any longer.

Disrupting him in the middle of rinsing a cucumber, you caught sight of the time and gasped. “I should get going!” He looked at the clock too, schooling the pinch between his brows.

“Already?”

“Sorry,” you said, rolling down the sleeves of your cardigan, “but I’ll be back for dinner.”

Pulling himself from scrutinizing the time, Obito ran his wet, calloused palm over the back of his neck and kept his gaze down. He passed a sweeping glance over the vegetables left to clean and shifted his weight, turning to you slowly. Stalling as if he needed to prepare himself. Leaning back on the counter, crossing his arms, observing you from under his heavy brows only when you were about to leave.

“Did you eat lunch yet?” he blurted out.

You shrugged. “I had a protein bar.”

“Protein bars are not a meal,” he scolded; a deep rasp present in his voice matching the irked creases on his forehead. “Give me a second.”

Quick like it was routine, he grabbed ingredients from the fridge. Lecturing you at each swipe of the butterknife across the bread, spreading mayonnaise. Folding the ham slices in the precise fashion he knew you preferred. “That’s nowhere near enough nutrition for your level of activity. You really need to take better care of yourself. What about those recipes I gave you for simple meals to make on the weekends so you had easy food to microwave in the breakroom before coming here? And what about those snacks I sent you home with? Don’t tell me you ate those for dinner–” He smashed the sandwich closed and handed it to you. “Why are you smiling like that?”

Smirking wider, you accepted your free lunch and made a swift backwards exit out his kitchen door. “You see, if I did all those things, I wouldn’t be able to keep tricking you into making me a sandwich. Bye, sucker.”

“You’re insufferable,” he muttered to himself, trudging to the front window of his cabin to glare at you. And wave goodbye. Because you always turned around to wave at him right as you reached the bend in his driveway. It felt like bad luck if you didn’t.

“Bye,” he mouthed, watching your lips form the word too as you waved the sandwich at him with an all-too-wry grin at his defeated face in the window. His expression could be taken as him being jaded at your antics, but with the high sunbeams and low shadows of his deteriorating porch roof obscuring him, his features subdued to something much more forlorn when you escaped his view.

Obito walked back to the kitchen. Passing by your knick-knacks, your chair at his table, your framed decor, your calendar. He picked the rooster themed kitchen towel off the floor and wrung the damp fabric between his fingers. Twisting it and twisting it.

This is how it should be. This is what he knew would happen when he suggested you come here less often, seeing him a few times a week when your schedule allowed. It was better this way. Establishing a healthier work-life balance to ensure you had more energy for yourself.

But..

The clock’s minute hand ticked far too soon for you to be leaving. You looked at the time and departed before he was ready. Cutting the days shorter and shorter, magnifying the hours between stays longer and longer.

This is how it should be, but..

The slow withdrawal of your attention devoured his thoughts in the overbearing absence of your presence in his house. Inciting a craving like no other to keep you there when he should not. Wanting you to take up space in his cabin with all the seconds you could spare, but not knowing how to be so blunt in asking for this favor when it was clear you had other–better–things to do.

“Is this my punishment?” he asked the ceiling at complete opposites with himself from months ago. “I can’t have one thing go my way?”

~~~

You opened the door to your apartment and immediately considered its worth as a shield, scurrying behind it and daring to spy a single glimpse at the shadowy creature within, and his glowing eyes of immeasurable disappointment aimed in your direction.

“I know, I know. I’m sorry,” you apologized to him, ”today was an Obito day.”

Approaching the hurdle seated on your sofa with a bowed head and clasped hands, you addressed your unamused orange tabby cat with utmost respect. At his cranky command, you sprinkled a few extra kibble in his nearly-full bowl and offered him a mouse toy stuffed with catnip.

“I’ll be with Obito tonight, too, so you won’t see me for a while.” Your heart raced hearing yourself say it out loud. Speaking a not-date into existence.

Surely, it wasn’t a date when it had become so regular. People didn’t call what you’ve been doing “dates”, right? Temporarily living with someone as their caregiver, then making it a point to eat at least one meal with them every few days since.

It was practical. You were hungry. And it was.. nice to spend an evening not alone in your apartment.

He staggered on his three legs and batted the mouse for you to toss, which you obliged. He chased it down the hallway amongst mounds of dirty laundry and precariously stacked magazines. “Maybe I should clean up before I go..” you said, just as a crash sounded from the bathroom and he came trotting out with a face displaying pure innocence despite the tube of lip gloss rolling behind him.

~~~

“I can’t believe you made me do all the cooking when you’re this good.”

“I’m not that much better than you. I follow the recipe.. and don’t burn things.”

“But look how thin you’re slicing the bell pepper!”

Obito looked at the red pepper he was cutting for the stir fry and compared it to the green one you were mangling, for lack of a better word. Throughout your stay over the summer your dishes improved in quality and flavor, but one thing was consistent: your bad habits. Having never learned proper techniques, your work was inefficient and unsightly at best.

About to correct you, he debated the best way to phrase his remarks without letting his exasperation slip through in regards to you being a grown adult in dire need of basic kitchen skills. However, his animosity dissipated the second your face appeared around his bicep. Situating your chin in the crook of his elbow to watch his amateur method; honed over two decades of wandering the earth utterly alone with no other options than to fend for himself, and all it took was one woman’s curiosity to make his confidence crumble.

The knife in his hand trembled. Any ill feelings towards you escaped in the faint breath he held watching your eyelashes flutter as you examined the placement of his suddenly inept fingers losing their grip on the slick vegetable peel.

“If-If you could–uh–back up,” Obito pleaded, swallowing thickly when you gave him a questioning glance.

Years he spent training dignity into his body. Grace, eloquence, charisma. All to undertake the name of a shinobi greater than himself: Madara.

Years forgotten in the turn of a clock and a dwindling facade. Regret, impatience, a sense of loss. Obito crumbled witnessing your friendly resolve contort to an aura of dejection. Shrinking away from him and going back to your pepper with an unreadable expression.

He knew why your change in demeanor bothered him, and for once, he didn’t loathe his intrinsic urge to soothe you. The words, “I’ll show you,” tumbled from his clumsy mouth, and the simultaneous sparks of understanding–of picturing exactly what he meant by his proposition–stunned you both. You stood still replaying the scene like a movie. He blushed darker, and darker still, realizing what he said.

Obito moved behind you. Standing in a way you didn’t have to look each other in the eye. This was preferable. At your back, he inched closer, to where your skin tickled from his shirt touching yours. Inching more; dragging his knitted socks along the sides of your feet, broaching the idea of his hips meeting your spine. His arms enveloped you, tilting his head to see over your shoulder while his hands found your wrists. Curving his chest to take you into his hold the same as his fingers fit themselves over yours. Discovering every ridge, every wrinkle, every soft tissue under the joints, every harsh scar winding down his pallid white skin. Thrilled to be embarking on an adventure unsuitable for mere acquaintances. Instead of admiring the rise and fall of his chest from afar, you were the cause of it. Swallowed into him whole. Becoming aware of the nervous pounding in his rib cage, huddled against the secret of his body bending to yours.

“Pinch the blade between your thumb and index. Lighter.” Under his guide, he slid your thumb into place. Your forefinger followed his lead. You lessened your grip as instructed. Made the mistake of turning your head, seeking his approval.. It had been so long since you had come to know the vulnerability of a man’s throat.

Obito never knew the enlightenment of a woman’s head resting on the crook of his neck, thus revealing an excruciating ache to keep you there until he was no more. Exposing a vicious yearning in his soul that would not rest until he succeeded, and the desire to do so struck him so candidly, water sprang to his eyes. He did not explain the surfacing emotions away, for you did not ask him to. Understanding the hitch in his breath like you understood your needs were the same as his. Melding into the comfort of his arms to nurture your shared interests.

“And my other hand?” you prompted him from his thoughts, sending your words to graze the edge of his jaw with a momentous degree of gentleness.

“Right,” he said in a voice barely above a whisper. He flipped the pepper so it was skin side down and clawed your fingers out of harm’s way. “It’s easier to cut this way.” Working as one, he steered your hands, ordering the pepper into neat slices while his lips were parted in concentration, gifting you with soft exhales brushing past the baby hairs curled around your ear.

All too soon, you moved on to the onion, the garlic, and the chicken. Separating when necessary to wash your hands, but joining again when the distance became too unbearable. Asking him to show you how to dice things as finely as he did, and never paying attention long enough to learn. He articulated the lesson in a thorough manner, but your gaze was elsewhere. Prioritizing the way his mouth moved over whatever he was saying.

“Where did you learn to cook?” you unintentionally interrupted him.

The shrug he gave enclosed you for a blissful, prolonged moment. “I’ve been alone most of my life, even as a kid. I taught myself through trial and error.” From the corner of your eye, you saw him staring at his white hand. “Even when I didn’t need to eat, sometimes it was nice to have something to do.”

“Did you have other hobbies before we met?”

Before we met. Like it was a significant event in both your lives where they changed for the better.

You liked the sound of it. Before we met. He liked it as well.

“No,” he answered, “and now you keep me busy enough I don’t have the time.” He gave another wry grin to stave off your hunger for a true smile.

Coming to terms with the fact the pale pink strips of chicken had been sitting on the cutting board for a length of time neither of you would address–considering it would be admitting how long Obito continued to hold you without reason–he stepped away from you and adjusted the burner on the stove. Distracting himself with the skillet, giving you the grace to fan your face and reign in your thoughts about your favorite customer.

~~~

While the chef himself put the finishing touches on dinner, you set the table and pulled out his chair for him as he walked the skillet over. He made your plate. You filled the water glasses. When he reached over for another helping of chicken and bumped your knee under the table, it had advanced from an accident. Over the days it became habitual. A subconscious decision to a solid choice. This was it. This was the routine. Having dinner with Obito in comfortable silence. A nice silence; broken by hums of enjoyment, compliments, and the occasional question. Awkward at first, like it always was, but as you fixed your eyes on your plates, and focused on anything besides the scorching embrace minutes ago, you settled into the new ordinary together.

His leg relaxed against yours. No longer did he jerk away. No longer did he check your reaction and jolt. He kept it there. Unlike the first few anxious meals together–full of nervous sweating and vapid musings–you maintained your heart rate, and he maintained his position.

“So, how did you get all this furniture up here anyway?” you asked. You learned a while ago to approach topics with care. Obito lived a vastly different life from you and finding common things to discuss was difficult. Of course, he didn’t shy away from his past, but relating to you when it came to anything beyond the last two years usually ended with him clearing his throat and picking at his callouses as he meandered his way through a dreadful sentence.

His life was hapless, but you were happy to be sitting next to him. You said, “I hope you don’t expect me to haul you a new mattress up this mountain.”

“Most of what’s here was from the last owner.” He wiped the corner of his mouth on his sleeve, surveying the barren den. “I didn’t need much else delivered besides the washing machine–which Kakashi brought himself. But.. I have been thinking of ordering a few things.”

“Very light weight things, I hope.”

He cocked his head at your frightful stare and waved you off like you owned all the muscle in the world. “A small side table to put at the end of the couch for a lamp or something. And maybe a coffee table.” It was obvious he was covering his mild enthusiasm, squirming in his seat and checking your face. “That’s it. Is that too much?”

“I’ll bring you anything you ask for.”

And you meant that. Truly. You’d make it happen.. Within reason.

Avoiding your reverent eye contact, Obito pushed his chopsticks around his plate. Wrestling his inner turmoil to the point of bouncing his knee against your outer thigh. “I apologize if I came off as rude earlier. You’ve far exceeded what was expected of you since we met. You cooked for me. Cleaned for me. Dedicated your time to taking care of me over the summer. Your food was amazing. Delicious, even, and I needed it. So what if you didn’t know how to cut an onion. That doesn’t make you any less competent-”

“Obito?” He looked up from his muttering, hosting a pitiful frown tugging at his scared lip. “You didn’t say anything like that out loud..” You narrowed your eyes. “Were you thinking it?”

“I.. Maybe.” Knotting his fingers on the table brought them closer to yours resting around your drinking glass. “What I’m trying to say is I appreciated you cooking for me when I was..” Tapping your knuckles on the back of his hand caused his jaw to flex in the dim light coming from the kitchen. “Earlier I was also thinking about how much you improved. I mean it, and I should’ve led with that instead.”

What an interesting man you’ve made him into. His past wasn’t alleged, but seeing him in his current state, the juxtaposition was great.

“Aw, am I melting your little heart, Obi?”

Oh, what a wicked spell you cast on him. Adding a wink to your teasing grin. Adding a wink to his name, cutting it short. Though, the raw sincerity in his praise turned you into the flustered one. “Maybe you are.” A truth neither of you were equipped to deal with at present.

Quickly shoving the rest of the cold food in your mouth and pushing back from the table with a loud screech from your chair, you rushed to excuse yourself. “I should get going. Dai needs his dinner, too.”

“D–?” Obito froze. You moved around him; picking up your plates, putting on your shoes, pulling on your sweater and untucking your hair from the collar. Still, he sat at the table. Blank faced. Processing. Motionless in the stark reality of you saying someone else’s name.

“My route is busy tomorrow, so I won’t be able to stop by the store and pick out a side table until Monday. Is that okay?” Maybe he nodded. You were already turning in the doorway to wave at him. “Bye, Obi!” You giggled at the nickname and disappeared beyond the small porch light.

Dai needs his dinner, too.

Dai needs his dinner, too.

Dai.. His.

“Who’s Dai?” Obito mumbled in the direction of your empty chair.

~~~

Monday couldn’t come soon enough.

After a grueling weekend of overtime with your coworkers helping sort packages following a mishap at the distribution center, you were more than grateful to have a quick route of only letter mail in the morning and the afternoon off.

Walking the streets of downtown Konoha, you adjusted Obito’s unassembled side table under your arm, and slowed your pace in awe to gander up at the municipal workers stringing orange lanterns across the cozy shop’s walkway. A banner above you whipped in the wind, welcoming all to the upcoming celebration. The alleys were decked with twinkly lights and hung charms spouting good fortune for the turn of season. You hadn’t attended a festival in years, and upon remembering them, your brain filled in the blank space of going alone. Coloring in a visual of someone standing next to you with his haori’s sleeve draped over your linked hands.

Sighing wistfully, you veered onto a side street towards Obito’s cabin, ready to give him the first thing he rightfully asked you for.

Rather, you dragged yourself up the mountainside to dump a burden into his outstretched arms.

“You’re really just going to sit there and watch?” Obito gestured to the many slabs of wood circling where he sat on the floor in front of the fireplace.

“I’m tired.” To prove so, you yawned and slouched further into the recesses of the couch, pouting extra hard the longer he adorned his face with a bored expression. You prodded his shoulder with your toe. “Don’t you have an extra blanket and pillow? I seem to remember bringing them a few weeks ago..”

It was a simple request expelled in a compelling lilt, Obito knew that. An ordinary ask between friends. An implication. An expectation. A desire to rest your eyes. Perhaps you had taken naps in many homes, but this was an intimacy foreign to him. No one had ever found peace and comfort and safety at his side long enough to nap.

“You want to sleep on my couch?” he repeated with a heaviness in his tone. An infinite depth in his intense stare.

Your voice escaped in a feathery exhale, “If that’s alright.”

It must’ve been alright with the way he jumped up and slid to his doorway in his socks. Yanking open the dresser, testing the strength of the last remaining handle. He was quick to return, but it wasn’t until you laid your head down, and he averted his gaze, did you realize it was his pillow. Not the extra you bought. His one pillow. From his bed. His pillow. You’d recognize the scent anywhere.

Cuddling the fuzzy blanket to your chin, you thanked him. “It’s been a long couple of days.” Your explanation was sealed with an abating, drowsy will to keep your eyes open. Blinking up at him standing in the middle of the room; an unsure sway in his stance, of which you consoled by nuzzling into the pillow like he did that one day at the end of summer.

The conflict in his eyes subsided. “Get some rest.”

~~~

Obito did his best to quiet his nerves. Wincing when he dropped a single screw. Gritting his teeth when he had to hammer a nail into place. Whipping around to check you were still asleep after he knocked his knee on a sharp corner and let loose a curse. He did his best to smother his unrighteous indulgences, and yet, as he completed another step on the instructions by sliding the drawer into place and thus finishing the project, he grew aware he was leaning against the couch again. Far from the first time he found himself magnetically drawn to your presence. Lord knows he felt the tug in his heart from the very first time you met. But this? What he was doing while you were asleep? He shouldn’t.. It was wrong. You were taken.. Unless he misheard.

Dai? Die? Dye? You could’ve said a different sentence entirely.

At least, that’s what he told himself when he thought about you having someone to go home to. To wake up to.

He tried to suffocate the ripple of envy, convincing himself in some twisted sense of joy that you chose to spend your half-day with him, which meant you valued him more than whoever you were seeing. If you were seeing someone.

Regardless, Obito felt like a king when he sidled up to the couch, pressed himself firmly against the side, and rested his temple on your exposed forearm. His eyelashes grazed just above your wrist, neighbors to your hand. And when your fingers curled–maybe on instinct, maybe seeking another to complete their circle–he became the champion of the gentleness of your palm. Beholding the demure brush of his jaw along the heel of your hand. Drowning in his impulses. Stopping once his lips reached your thumb.

Enraptured, he listened for your dreamlike inhales. Your faint exhales on the back of his neck.

Accepting his fate as a tempted man, he achieved his need for physical touch, and left it at that. A fleeting caress while you were sleeping. You weren’t even touching him–he was touching you–but it was a semblance of what he could have had if he were born of a different fate. If he had led the honorable existence you deserved; and if you were undoubtedly single, this is what he could have had. If he were brave enough to ask and receive.

Even so, with the little skin contact he earned, his worries relaxed into thoughts of optimism.

Even so, he sighed into your palm and tore himself from his longing before he had a lapse in judgment and discovered just how considerate your fingers were cupping his cheek.

Even so, with his back turned, he did not bear witness to your eyes screwed closed, steeling yourself against the yearn to smooth down his hair from tickling your arm. He did not see the slight twitch of your forefinger in the direction of his nape. Did not notice the sympathy in your eyes, nor your poor performance of pretending to wake right then.

You stirred into a sitting position and awed over the finished side table. “Oh, nice! It’ll look good next to the couch. Not too out of place with the other wood furniture.” You tried to sound as natural as possible, but with Obito’s shyness under your observance, and your urge to rub the spot on your arm where the heat from his cheek was dissipating, the air in the room changed from amiable to awkward.

Still, you smiled through the adversity taking your heart hostage, aching with a need to gather him in your arms and tell him it was okay to want to be held. 

“It’s–yeah–it’s fine there,” Obito said, finally, standing back while you walked the side table next to the armrest where he usually sat, facing the blank wall next to the fireplace; you’d caught him more than once sitting there alone in the dark with a mug of cold coffee in his hand.

That reminded you. “Your coffee table will be next, I think.” You tapped your chin. “Just need to find one I can carry.”

“You don’t have to go through the trouble..” He was already wringing his arm. “The side table is big enough, my coffee can go there,” he mumbled his way through another meek excuse to evade your generosity.

“Stop acting like a bother,” you bulldozed over his self-doubt. “I can start looking for one today while I’m out shopping. Dai didn’t like the salmon I bought him, so it’s back to the canned chicken, I guess.” You snorted and gave an elaborate shrug after letting go of the doorframe to slip on your shoes, opening the front door to bright red roses blooming between the gaps in the porch railing. “I tried to spoil him with the fancy stuff, and that’s what I get.”

You turned to wave goodbye and caught the tail end of Obito rearranging his face from an expression so glum it caused your stomach to clench. You couldn’t understand what was wrong, so you assumed the worst: you were too harsh on him earlier, using a curt tone when telling him to stop calling himself a bother. Yes, that must’ve been what soured his feelings.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you, but you should know..” you started. His interest was piqued. Obito was visibly hanging onto your every word, leaning towards you with a greediness in his undivided, unwavering, blatant attention. It was all-consuming, and flattering to be fully engrossed by him. “You’re not a burden. Never have been, never will be. Whatever you need, I’ll get it.”

“I know.” He jerked his chin at his voice cracking.

“Do you, I wonder?” Throwing on your hat, out you went. To your life. To your city. To your grocery store. To your familiar faces on your way home. To your bed. To your.. someone.

Leaving him alone. Alone in his cabin that was only cozy when you helped warm it. Alone with his thoughts when you waved right before the bend in his driveway and ducked under the branch of yellowing leaves blocking his line of sight.

It was all but confirmed. You have someone waiting for you at home. Maybe?

Obito hung his head and released a frustrated growl through the tightness in his throat. With his hands covering his face, he groaned, “I’m so fucked.”

~~~

Sitting across from Obito at his dining table, you flipped through the hardback cookbook you ordered a few days ago in preparation to plan out dinners for the week. It had become a frequent occurrence that you’d pick out a meal and were missing exactly one ingredient, so you suggested having an afternoon where you sat together and made a list to take to the grocery store because whoever writes these recipes really thinks the average person has ungrated nutmeg and four different cheeses on hand–

However, Obito was once again vying for your input before you could read another line of the page you were on.

“Should we choose one from here?” Obito’s large hand encroached your peripheral as he slid the infantalyzing Cookbook for Singles towards you. You gave him nary a glance, much less a chance of consideration. You returned your nose to the book you already had open in an attempt to re-read the same sentence for the third time.

“Don’t you think we can handle something more advanced?”

He hesitated. “Is it not still.. relevant?”

“Uh, I mean, those recipes are a little too simple in that one, don’t you think? Here, why don’t you pick out one of the other magazines I got from the bookstore. They were expensive. And use more than just salt and pepper as seasoning.”

Running his fingers over the trenches of scars on his forearm, cheeks red with shame, he conceded and put the cookbook away, choosing to unwrap a magazine sealed in plastic to bury his woes in. Mind too unfocused to realize it was upside down until you got up to leave–early–and teased him about it.

~~~

It took you a week, but you were proud of the coffee table you found. You brought it to Obito almost in one piece, leaning the tabletop against the porch banister, handing him the legs and screws from your mail bag. You expected him to appreciate the furniture, yet he seemed less than enthused; lips thinned into a grimace whereas the corners of his eyes were crinkled with disappointment.

“Is something wrong?” you asked, standing near the steps. He was across from you idling in the doorway, fiddling with his sleeve cuff, gaze drifting anywhere except at you. You waited for him to respond to your question, but he continued his indecisive movements. Obito had been in a strange mood lately, and this was no exception.

Patiently, you raised your eyebrows and gave him room to sort out his thoughts. Etching the image of him rubbing his hand over the back of his neck and squeezing his nape into your mind palace, along with the subtle flex of his chest under his gray t-shirt as he struggled to speak, yet remained silent. There was a question in his eyes, but he refused to ask it. You knew him well enough to understand that much.

In fact, you knew his tendencies as well as your own. You were also awfully cognizant of the fact you had trouble voicing the things on your mind as of late when it came to the man who graduated from modest daydreams to obsessive cyclical notions of more. He was never not who you were thinking about when the girls in the breakroom were talking about dates and crushes. Stammering nonsense when your coworkers asked about your mysterious customer at the end of your route who took all your free time. If they knew the truth, that you were serving Obito Uchiha, they would faint. You quite liked the idea of that.

He was so silly, not telling you what was worrying him, just like you were silly bottling these feelings and locking them away. There was no reason to deny what you’ve known for months, but you couldn’t confess. The fear of rejection, of ruining his progress, of muddying his trust, halted you. You had to suppress yourself until it was clear he was ready to hear them. Until he made the first move. A real move. Like asking you on a date. Or outright kissing you. Something neither of you could misinterpret.

To preserve what you had, you would wait until he made a move. If he ever made a move.

“Dai’s appointment is at 2 o’clock, so I should-”

“Should get going,” he finished, a bitter sadness in his tone. He didn’t say it in a spiteful way, but the host of emotions overtaking his speech were difficult to parse. A certain hardness to his words cutting you like stone, then a soft exhale of apology in his sagging shoulders.

“I’m sorry.” You twisted the strap of your mail bag. “I’ll make it up to you tomorrow, I promise. With a big surprise!” Excitement rushed in your veins as you remembered what day it was, knowing your week of coordination behind his back would soon pay off.

“A surprise?”

“A big surprise,” you said, holding your arms out wide, roughly the size of a large gourd. He did not get it. But, whatever was distressing him lessened its strength, allowing him to step onto the planks of his porch to see you off. Walking into the dappled light, if only briefly.

You said, “I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow.”

And he questioned, “Early?”

“Early,” you replied, not giving him any more clues.

It was hard leaving him there, but if you wanted to make Daidai’s neutering appointment on time and finish your coworker’s route to ensure you scored his day off tomorrow in exchange for him doing your route, you needed to say goodbye to Obito.

It was never easy. You supposed at one point it might have been, but not anymore. Not for a long time has it been easy to walk the bend in his driveway aware you wouldn’t see him until the sun rose again.

~~~

The jean jacket you hugged around yourself was a poor replacement for your bed. It hardly stopped your teeth from clacking, or your frosty breath from showing. It did not warm the crisp air stinging your lungs, nor did it provide shelter from the bits of hay floating in the wind. You were up bright and early, as promised, waiting for the Autumn Festival to open.

Dai’s surgery went well and was spending most of the day recovering at the vet’s office. He was in good hands, though, that didn’t stop you from tossing and turning the entire night, no matter how much he scratched you when you hustled him into a carrier.

And yet, your fatigue was forgotten the moment a man dressed in a jonin vest got one word deep into his speech about the history of the festival. You were off! Sprinting for the older woman’s booth at the front and skidding to a halt, wrapping your arms around the biggest pumpkin available. So large your fingers could not touch when you strained to lift it. Others must’ve spotted it last night as well, for they too scrambled from their spots at the beginning of the street and raced for your pumpkin, but you defended your territory, baring your teeth at anyone who dared reach for it.

“I’ll take this one!” you exclaimed at the baffled woman behind the cash register, raising your chin high and mighty against the adults around you muttering about your score and how their precious children deserved it more.

~~~

Shocked awake in a cold sweat, Obito acted on instinct. He threw off his covers and ran to the front yard in a state of disarray, ripping the door open so hard it slammed against the wall and swung on its hinges. He tripped. A twig snagged his pajama pants. One of his house shoes was left on the porch step like a princess’ glass slipper, the other was lost to a pile of crunchy orange leaves he barreled through as he yelled a heroic “I’m here!” after your first cry for help.

“What’s wrong?” Heart in his throat, he looked you over in a panic, jumping his gaze from one body part to another until he reached your dirty loafers and found nothing out of the ordinary. Once more for good measure, he visually assessed you for injuries, pausing at certain points–his favorite points–lauding the special way your lips lifted in a scoff. Observing your windswept hair and experiencing the rush of want in his muscles, reaching forward to brush the loose strands from your face, wishing to replace the breeze with his fingers combing gently through it.

He’d only been near you for seconds, and already his convictions were forgotten.

“Are you going to take this stupid thing or keep gawking at me?”

Confused, he panned down to the object pressed into his stomach and spoke with all the airy mystification of a child receiving an unprompted gift. “A pumpkin?” It was a gasp of awe. “You bought me a pumpkin.”

“Hurry,” you pleaded, fingers squeaking on the rind as it slipped from your hands, not seeing his were outstretched in the first place.

Obito whispered relief between his teeth at the divine intervention of a pumpkin of all things stopping him from acting the fool. Instead of your head cradled to his chest as his ridiculous mind ought to do, he held the pumpkin tighter to his middle than necessary, grasping at your fleeting body heat sinking through the long sleeves of the thin shirt he slept in.

“Phew!” You shook out your arms and patted the gourd he had a death grip on, sending a swell of vibrations to his core while you amused yourself at the hollow smacking sound it made. You glanced up at him for his reaction. The joy was shared, even if he didn’t smile; he was sure to highlight the ardency in his wide eyes when he regarded you, so there was no doubt your gift went underappreciated.

It was the least he could do. It was the most he could do.

You smoothed your hand along the grooves of the pumpkin, committing to the accidental clasp of your palm over the back of his fingers. Investing in an intimate touch he longed for. “It’s the exact variety you wanted to grow for carving.”

“You didn’t–This is too much–and–you don’t have one–” His denials came as they usually did, as a cumbersome and mopey spew of minimizing his feelings. You were being tender with him again. Valuing him. Showering him in more affection than he’d experienced in a lifetime combined. You were too sweet to him, especially considering the sinful themes of his daydreams keeping him awake last night. Someone like him did not deserve your gentleness.

“Just accept it and invite me inside, Obito.”

Not for the first time, he shut up and listened to you. Followed your lead. Embraced the impressive pumpkin and watched you unfold newspapers from your mailbag with numb fingers, bending over to where he could catch a glimpse under your jacket and see you were wearing a cable knit sweater with your standard pantyhose and tight skirt. He was beginning to wonder if you owned any other clothes, even as he changed into his standard navy blue cotton pants and white t-shirt himself.

“Were you working today?”

“Nope,” you said, snapping your fingers as something occurred to you, and heading to the kitchen to gather a random assortment of knives for him to carve with. “Got the entire day off. I’m yours.”

As casual as you made it sound–I’m yours–it was anything but when you set up his place at the end of the coffee table and made eye contact for what was meant to be a passing second.

Tension was held in the slight tic of his eyebrow. His parted lips. An impalpable whisper confining his tongue. An unspeakable luxury.

You were his for the day.

Obito failed to speak, so you supplied a distraction from your coy choice of words. “There’s no way I could’ve carried another pumpkin with me, so I’m gonna write letters to my friends back in Iwa.” You sat at the other end of the table and shook out your mail bag, dumping your stationary around you. Rolls of washi tape bounced, stickers sprinkled like snow, an assortment of lovely cards spilled from the table to the floor, and pens clattered wherever there was room left.

“I’ll start a fire for us,” he said.

Us.

You were his for the day.

~~~

Time passed in crackling logs and glowing embers tumbling to the stone hearth. In folded paper and seeds plunked onto a baking tray. Of black ink and stringy orange pulp smeared onto palms. Laughter and quiet. Noise and reflection. Mindlessness and thoughtfulness. It crept in introducing parts of one another’s past. In shins brushing under the table. In feet touching through pantyhose and socks. Time revealed itself in the culmination of hours spent agonizing over silly crushes.

Time crawled as Obito wiggled the knife into the same shape he’d been cutting out since he started. Eyes trained above the stem of the pumpkin, watching you lick envelope seals, press them closed, and add them to the top of the growing pile.

“It’s not like growing up as a civilian was always awful,” you said, carrying on the conversation. “Iwa’s Shinobi Academy was giant, and we attended a class of fifteen people near the back entrance to help protect us. Avoiding bullies really brought us together. Most of us worked in the government buildings downtown, so we were able to stay in touch everyday. Between my school friends and my post office friends, we made our own little close knit family. A lot of us became roommates after being emancipated from our families. But,” –you tapped the pink gel pen on your bottom lip– “that did make the dating pool incredibly small. We all ended up swapping spit with each other at some point. Oh–!”

Jealousy stung the pit of Obito’s stomach, inadvertently causing his hand to act on instinct.

A branch popped in the fire, lighting the scarred half of his face in haunting shadows, illuminating an unsettling glint in his heavy-lidded gaze. He extracted the knife from the Jack-o-Lantern’s eye socket. Pulling rind and guts. Dragging seeds out like macabre bugs to litter the newspaper on the coffee table. Triangle eye cutout on the tip of his kitchen knife like a head on a spike.

And as menacing as he appeared to others, you laughed.

“I didn’t date any of the people I’m writing to,” you teased, thinking his reaction was in jest, ignorant to the true resentment influencing his foul mood. “It’s not my thing to keep in touch with past flings, anyway. I like the present, and the future, much better. You know that.” He did. But he liked hearing you say it more. Your affirmations helped settle the beast within him. Tame him. Charm him into complying. Enticing him to unfold his legs so you could stretch yours out at the first nudge of your heel on his knee. Placing your legs in between his like you belonged there, as if his feet on either side of your thighs would protect you from harm.

“I take it you didn’t meet your Prince Charming?”

“Nope. Just a bunch of frogs.” You intended it to be a joke, but of course his mouth kept it’s tight line, turned down at the corners despite his best effort to keep his bad temper at bay.

“What’s it like.. dating in Iwa?”

You waffled, holding your hand out flat and rocking it back and forth. “As bad as Konoha, I imagine.”

Obito noticed your pause and glanced up at you, hearing your expectation for him to agree, but he shook his head and gave a small shrug, returning to his carving. Using his white hair and black eyelashes to shield the dullness in his eyes. “Do I strike you as the type of man who dates?” Even saying the word had his heart pounding in his ears, muffling your response which he sorely required to quell his anxiety.

“Are you?” you ventured.

“Kind of hard for someone like me to do that.” It was an easy answer. One he could physically, and practically, dismiss with a flash of his knife at his exiled life in a cabin in the woods on top of a mountain. A default response that gave nothing else away. Not his longing, not his hurt, not his raging grudge against anyone who had the pleasure of having you in their arms and taking it for granted.

“Do you have any interest in dating?”

“It’s not something I ever considered for myself.” To keep his mind busy, Obito slapped his palm on the pumpkin head to steady it and drove the knife into the stenciled gap-toothed smile, sawing at the jagged edges. But in the midst of getting out his frustrations, he missed the sudden way your face fell.

“Dating strangers sucks,” you said to fill the silence. “I got stood up a lot, even when it was my friends trying to set me up with someone they knew. It was just as awkward if they showed up, regardless. You’d think meeting someone for the first time would lend to talking about literally anything, but I rarely felt a connection with them. They were so boring; I’d rather be sitting at home watching TV.” Twiddling your pen in your fingers, you sighed at the miserable memories. “I’ve had long term relationships in the past, but the dating part wasn’t all it lived up to be. Maybe I watch too many romcoms, but I think it’s much more romantic to be friends first. Fall in love slowly. Deeply. Settle down with one another without realizing it, like it was the next natural step of the relationship.”

Your grin was one of godlike loveliness, and Obito fumed from across the table, unable to read your mind if the twinkle in your eye was attributed to the card in your hand decorated with glittery butterflies, or if it was for him? Or if it was for him?

Even now, Obito couldn’t do it. Couldn’t get the words out. Who’s Dai? Is he your boyfriend? Do you go home to him every night? Do you share a bed? Are you in love with him?

Clutching onto what little hope he had left, he worded his question innocuous enough to deny what he really wanted to know, “Have you made friends since moving to Konoha?” A friend like him. Or Dai. Someone you could.. see yourself with..

“I think so.”

He twisted the knife deeper, deeper into the heart of the pumpkin. Juices weeping like blood over his blade. Staring straight ahead and clenching his jaw due to what you did to him.

Under the table you were shaking your foot. He had the same nervous habit, but with how you were positioned, the movement rubbed his inner thigh. A spot no one else had touched except for him. A high, dangerous spot near the crease of his pants. Sensitive, so sensitive it had his nerves praising each quick graze. Stimulating a stir of motives he had trouble ignoring.

To save himself further embarrassment, he cleared his throat and suggested you start lunch, feigning interest in finishing his carving before getting up from the table and tiptoeing down the hall to the bathroom only once he heard you slicing radishes in the kitchen.

And it was as you placed the finished salad on the table, he returned to the den with flushed cheeks, sitting next to you like any other day. Except, today was different. Today you were his, and you had another treat in store.

“Can I come over Saturday night?”

“At this point you could show up unannounced and I wouldn’t throw you out.”

“Good! Be sure to wear your gray sweatshirt and sweatpants.”

~~~

Eager children pushed their way up cobbled streets, dashing from one game stall to the next, burlap sacks stuffed with candy bouncing on their hip, eyes shining under their masks from the festive lanterns hung above bales of hay. Spindly trees with gnarled fingers stole the moon, clinging onto the last of their brown leaves fluttering in the pitch black night. Somewhere, in a deep forest, a single hollowed pumpkin’s ghoulish face flared from the waxy candle in its mouth, acting as a beacon for the companionless girl roving the sylvan domain, and once she found her way inside the Home of the Lonely, the shuttered windows flickered with life.

“See! Now we match!” You spun in an unnecessary circle to show off your gray set of sweatshirt and sweatpants with the stripe down the side and logo embroidered on the chest just like his.

Obito was about as unamused as ever. “You bought the same clothes as me. Great.”

“We look cute together,” you baited him, laying your hints on thick by holding out your arm along his so he could see the stripes were the exact shade of blue and everything, as if it weren’t obvious. But to you, it was simply a ploy to be near him. To touch him through the layers of fabric. To play into your height difference, giggling at his dark eyes feasting on how you were dressed.

“They look better on you.”

“Wow. An actual compliment. This truly is a special occasion. I might just faint.” You put your hand on your forehead and tipped backwards, earning a groan from him at your antics.

“I’ve never seen you in casual clothes,” he said. “It’s different.. You look nice.” Maybe your glee was too obvious, clasping your hands to your face and cooing over him. He unintentionally copied you at first, bringing his hand to his cheek, unaware he was running his fingers over his scars while fixing his gaze on your hair. You wore it styled down for the first time, and when he detected he was staring again, he failed to eliminate his stutter. “S-So, why did you want to come over so late?”

You offered him a pitying, snarky titter. An evil cackle. A devious twirl on your foot and brandishing of your night of entertainment in your hands. On a dime, you stopped spinning, reached into your mailbag, and deadpanned, “We’re celebrating.” 

He squinted at the thin plastic packages. “Movies?” He scanned the array of titles you fanned in your left hand, lifting his features in an impressed way at your selection. “Horror movies.”

“I didn’t know what you preferred, so I brought some slashers, some thrillers, a true crime documentary or two, and uh..” you trailed off, grabbing a few more from your bag, sheepishly avoiding eye contact at the pretty pink cases next to the black and red ones. “Some romcoms. You know, in case you get scared or whatever and want to watch something lighthearted before bed.”

“Uh-huh.”

You didn’t need to see him to know he was suspicious. “Anyway! Do you drink?”

Obito took the six pack from your right hand, then another, then a third, wondering what else your bottomless bag could hold. “It’s been years since I’ve drank, but the better question is how are we going to watch any of these? In case you weren’t aware, I was denied a TV, so my house isn’t up to date on state of the art technology.”

“Would you stop bringing that up,” you muttered. “Pardon me for not carrying an entire TV up a thousand stairs. I have my projector with me. Now, go make yourself useful and put the beer in the fridge while I set it up.”

Smirking to himself, he did as you told him. Besides, he needed the break. The time to open the freezer and let the artificial icy air compete with the heat on his throat. Cooling his skin, and his mind. He needed to keep a level head for this night to go smoothly. Gray sweatpants were not forgiving when he let his thoughts wander.

Carrying one of the six packs, he rounded the corner to the den at the exact moment you bent over to adjust the device on the coffee table, rocking your hips side to side as you lined up a white image on the wall in front of his spot on the couch.

Obito set the drinks on the side table and immediately opened one.

This would be a long night.

“Okay! Let’s pick the movies.” You clapped and gestured for him to sit on the couch with you. Digging through your mailbag, you found the rest of the DVDs and began reciting the synopsis on the back to him, snickering at the bad grammar on the B-movies, and waggling your eyebrows at the half naked ladies on the covers. Eventually Obito relaxed his hunched posture; unfolding his arms from his lap to help flip through the collection, musing about how when he was kid the only movies he saw were in theaters on the rare occasion he could afford it. He didn’t realize how convenient they were to watch nowadays.

“This one, I guess?”

You ‘ooh’ed. “Night Terrors III. That’s a good one. And how about one from this pile over here?”

“The romantic comedy pile,” he supplied, giving you a hard stare.

“Like I said, it’s to lighten the mood in case it gets too scary.”

“You mean to watch before you walk home alone in the dark.”

“No!” you huffed.

“Then–if you’re not afraid–pick whatever’s on top and we’ll watch that first.”

“First?” Your voice was but the squeak of a mouse. It was quite late and you only planned to watch two or three movies at most. A nail-biting horror, then an upbeat romantic comedy to make you laugh and soothe the paranoia before walking out into a creepy forest at the witching hour. Horror, then comedy. That’s the order you always watched them in. You supposed you could do comedy, horror, comedy–but then Dai might worry when you came home late.

“Unless..” His breath tickled your hair standing on end. “You’re too scared.”

Obito couldn’t be serious, teasing you like this. With Night Terrors III’s egregious run time, it had to be horror, then comedy, that’s all you had time for.

You made up your mind.

The horror DVDs in your lap slid to the floor and the stack of comedies tumbled into the projector as you scrambled for it with the Night Terrors III disc in your hand, intent on playing it first.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Obito laughed–maybe even smiled–when he grabbed the back of your sweatshirt and pulled you to the couch. But his sudden bout of silliness was knocked from him. He misjudged his strength and tugged you too hard. Again.

Your feet slipped from under you and a blur of gray rose to your face. You latched onto the solid object breaking your fall and slowly drew your gaze upwards: over the dizzying rise and fall of the embroidered logo, the divided tan and white column of a neck, observing a cheek marred with pinkened scar tissue peppered with grains of freshly shaved stubble, and a set of persuasive lips waiting for you to notice them. Obito sighed what oxygen was in his lungs, and you watched him do it, just as he watched you inhale the smallest gasp.

Intoxicating heart beats surged under your flattened palms. You squirmed to relieve the pain of his hip prodding your waist, serving only to bring you closer. He had you draped over him, using his body to break your fall, but his presence did not subdue the heady rush of excitement turning your world upside down.

His lips were most definitely trembling. You witnessed their every tic. Every motion of his tongue wetting them. Their dull shine, for which you had the remedy.

“Sorry–” He struggled to speak, voice quiet like a suppressed secret.

“It’s okay,” you said, shaking your head an imperceptible amount. It took all your strength to command your gaze up, away from his lips, to his eyes. His eyes. Oh, his ravenous eyes; devouring you the indecent way a friend shouldn’t. Fanning flames in places it shouldn’t. Clenching your thighs when it shouldn’t.

But, God, was it exhilarating being ravished by him.

With his arm pinned between you and the couch, you felt the flex of his bicep drawing you in. Fingers of steel letting go of your top to spread over your shoulder blades. Traveling the length of your spine to the curve of your lower back with purpose. With courage. A blissful endeavor.

“We can watch the slasher first,” he whispered, and you experienced every vowel, every constant, every wistful letter; the vibrations, the hums, the pauses. He could order you to do anything and you would comply.

He was powerful, he was strong, and he made you weak.

“No, no,” you soothed him. “We’ll watch the comedy first.”

You meant for your next move to be consoling, if not a bit flirtatious. You rubbed his chest back and forth in an arc from pec to pec, batting your eyelashes, glancing down at his lips and lingering there. The motion was intended to convey an absolute avalanche of hints, but instead of reading between the lines, he added a quick, “If you’re sure,” and stopped exploring your body before he entered the territory of more than friends.

Maybe Obito was the least observant man on the planet. Or he wasn’t ready. Or he was inexperienced. Or he was nervous. Or he wasn’t all that into you. He was difficult to read, especially when he coughed into his fist and ran his palm over his thigh as if your compromising position was something to be ashamed of.

Alas, you ducked under his arm and followed suit, finding your own section of the couch to dominate. Took your first breath not solely comprised of the minty scent of his toothpaste and reached past him to grab a beer for yourself.

This would be a long night.

Audibly swallowing, he began to say, “Really, we can watch Terrible Nights or whatever–”

“Shut up.” He shut up. “We’ll watch It Happened One Winter.”

Sitting an appropriate distance apart for casual acquaintances, you put the disc in and forced yourself to sink into the cushions after pressing play. The speakers funneled tinny music over the opening credits, suspending your stilted conversation in lieu of the title screen. The air of nonchalance you both emitted was apparent–sipping on your beers, heads facing forward, eyes strictly on the actress blotting her running mascara–but the separation between your bodies was a grievous error. Wide enough for two hands to fit.

Dust motes drifted past the projector’s beam of light. Around you, the den was illuminated by the story of a woman arguing with her boyfriend, of her not being treated right so she left their apartment in tears and bumped into an attractive stranger on the street, and his coffee bumped into her new coat. Soon, he would offer to pay for a replacement and she–frazzled from her boyfriend’s degrading words–would offer to buy him a new coffee. They would both laugh off the blundering first impression and agree to go inside the coffee shop and thus begin the start of their relationship. You knew the plot well, having watched this film hundreds of times when you lived alone in Iwa. Obito, however, was thoroughly engaged.

The scene transitioned from bright city lights to a quaint cafe for the actors to sell their witty banter while the man gathered napkins to dry off her coat. Obito leaned forward and rested his beer can on his knee; his other hand gripped the armrest, running his thumbnail over the fabric. His eyebrows were tucked in concentration, absorbed in the fictional couple’s first meeting. Wringing his mouth when the male lead touched the woman's hand from across the table and her inner monologue revealed how tender it was in comparison to her boyfriend’s.

“Does that actually happen?” he blurted, pointing at the screen.

“Does what happen?”

“Her leaving her boyfriend for the guy she just met. That’s where this is going, right? Does that happen in real life? Breaking up to pursue someone else?”

You shrugged, hoping to alleviate his bizarre hounding. “Sure. It happens. Sometimes you don’t realize how unhappy you are in a relationship until someone else shows you. She ruined his suit too, but instead of getting mad like her boyfriend would, he understood it was a mistake. He’s kind, and patient, and clearly in love with her from the start. See, he’s putting his arm around the back of her chair and giving her that lovey-dovey look you give someone when you feel the spark. That’s a clear sign he’s interested in her, but is respecting her boundaries. It’s very romantic.”

“In conclusion, she’s willing to leave her boyfriend–who she shares an apartment with–for this stranger because she feels a romantic connection.”

“Yes.”

“So, he has a chance with her.”

“Yes.”

“She’s leaving her boyfriend because she likes the other guy better.”

“Yes, Obito.”

“Okay,” he grunted and downed the rest of his beer, getting another for himself and cracking open the tab for yours before handing it over.

For the first time in weeks, he could relax.

Empathetic music swelled during the messy break up scene, then the mood shifted to smooth jazz once the couple reunited and the woman confessed her feelings. You repeated the lines quietly to yourself, whispering words of grandeur to no one. But Obito listened. He watched. He learned.

The couple arrived at her apartment door and Obito was captivated. The camera closed in and they tilted their heads. On the couch, he did the same. He leaned his head to the side, as did you. The movie went quiet, only the sound of their moans when, at last, they kissed. He heard you sigh, but he couldn’t look away. Not when the woman invited the man inside and Obito discovered another thing he was unfamiliar with.

Most people would find watching sex scenes together awkward, but not Obito. He was enamored. Viewing it like research. Fascinated by the actor’s ability to undress another person with ease, unhooking her bra like it was nothing and tossing it to the floor along with her blouse. Noticing where the man put his hands and what sort of response it gave. Following where he decided to put his mouth on her and storing the information for later, if needed. He may never get the chance to use it, but he could dream.

“You look like you’re watching a nature documentary!”

Obito whipped around and glared. Your hand was clasped over your mouth, trying your best to cover your snort, but it was futile. The more his face turned sour, the more you doubled over with another round of belly laughs.

“Whatever,” he moped, rousing a hiccup from you as you reigned in control over your mouth and what came out of it.

“Sorry,” you said, positioning yourself to where you faced him, bringing your knee onto the couch. “You’re so adorable, I couldn’t help it.”

He knocked his knee into yours. “Sounds like a strange way to admit you enjoy teasing me.”

“So you can read between the lines.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing,” you answered. You stood up to go to the bathroom, pointing out you were leaving him so he could watch the rest of the sex scene in private, provoking him with a sly, knowing smile, to which he sneered.

~~~

You frowned at the bathroom mirror above the sink. Boring into your own image. Picturing what he saw. What he didn’t see.

Running your hand through your hair, it was still cold on your scalp from where it sat on your thigh, fingers open and palm towards the ceiling in hopes of being noticed. You left it there, overt and obvious, for an embarrassing amount of time, but it remained overlooked in favor of the picture-perfect romance happening before his eyes.

Maybe he saw your desperation and politely ignored it to save you the humiliation. Maybe he didn’t think your hand needed to be completed by another.

“Or maybe,” you spoke aloud to your hand, “he’s just an idiot.”

You blew out a long breath and leaned over the sink. Willing positivity to flow in and fight the negativity bringing down your night. Invoking the alcohol to quiet your thoughts about you being the one who could not take a hint.. “He did say this looked better on me.” You pulled at the cuffs of your sweatshirt and stepped back to truly appreciate the compliment. When he said it earlier, it came out of his mouth so swiftly, you babbled whatever came to mind first to dispel his sudden affability. But you had to admit, seeing yourself dressed down out of work clothes had a special sort of allure to it. Perhaps more so to him, who had never seen you this way; the way you would be dressed if this were a normal day and you two lived together. “He said I looked nice.” And you did. He thought so.

Accepting your fate, you finished freshening yourself up with a swipe of his chapstick across your lips, and left the bathroom in time to recognize the ending credits music.

“Ah, perfect,” he goaded you from across the room, holding something in his hand. “I was about to play this and didn’t want you to miss a second of it.”

“Great.”

Obito took the initiative to put the disc in this time, ensuring there were no tricks up your sleeve to play another sappy movie. The tray on the projector closed and haunting ambient noise rolled out like a fog over the room. You perched on the edge of the couch and wiped your clammy hands on your sweatpants. A vivid green forest played on the cabin wall; its cheerful colors in dissonance with the eerie chords.

“Relax.”

You flicked your gaze to the owner of the voice and could do anything but relax. Obito had sat forward to get a better look at you, his elbows on his knees and chin in his palm, eyes half closed from booze. He looked.. sweet. Not smiling, but nearly. So sweet. Until he opened his mouth again.

“Unless you want me to shut it off because you’re too scared.”

“I’m not scared,” you said and heeded his annoying advice by relaxing your tense muscles. He turned the volume up a notch on the projector and flopped on the couch, and like the oaf he was, he brought you with him.

The gap was no longer between your two bodies. It was defeated. Vanquished by Obito, who sat closer to the seam of the cushion separating you, causing you to dip towards his weight. You slanted until you were fully supported by him, the length of his body cozied to yours. The roundness of his shoulder at your cheek. His strong upper thigh bracing under the impact of your hand accidentally landing there.

His heart skipped a beat, but yours more than made up for it, hammering a sweltering flush to your skin. You let go of him and sputtered a lightning fast apology, praying you could save the rest of your dignity by wiggling into a better position, but it was useless. No matter how much you squirmed, you would eventually come to rely on him to keep you upright, slouching until you were curled into him, with his arm and leg too close to call this anything other than what it was. Cuddling.

Your hints were working. You had to believe your hints were working. You needed your hints to be working, because if this was an inebriated accident, you’d never recover from the tragedy of embracing him from afar.

~~~

Thirteen minutes into the runtime and you were making your second excuse to leave the room.

“Do we need more beer? I’ll get us more beer.”

“Remember to turn off the kitchen light this time.”

You grumbled choice words and flipped the switch, shuffling into the jet black den with a fresh six pack. You settled into your spot on the couch and swore he sat unfathomably closer. His legs were spread as well, taking up the space you depended on to not fall prey to your inclinations. Annoying.

~~~

By complete happenstance, you needed to wash melted chocolate off your fingers from the candy bar you ate. The blood-chilling, heart-racing suspenseful plucky violin strings playing as the murderer walked into the room of a sleeping girl with a knife behind his back had nothing to do with your sudden absence.

~~~

“Just gonna–” You pointed at the bathroom and got up.

“I know what you’re doing,” Obito called after you, ever observant. “You’re leaving right when things get scary.”

“No, I’m not,” you shouted from behind the closed door.

Alone, Obito finished another beer to avoid acknowledging the murder happening on screen. For a while he was critiquing the inaccuracies. How the victim should be gasping for their last breaths, not screaming. The sound effect of a blade slicing through skin when it should be a pop. Too much blood in some areas, too little in others. It wasn’t real. He reminded himself again; it wasn’t real. But it was hard to remember it wasn’t real when you were gone, leaving him to fend for himself. That’s why he needed you beside him. To bring him into the present.

His mail carrier. His reluctant acquaintance. His friend. His best friend.

No–you were more. You had to be, because if you weren’t, he’d never forgive himself for losing the opportunity to call you the best thing that has ever happened to him.

~~~

It was a coincidence you paced in the bathroom until the music died down and the shrieks ceased.

Opening and closing the door behind you, you crossed your arms and prepared to sit for an average of seven to eight minutes until the next killing, but when you hunkered into place next to Obito, you knew you belonged there for longer.

It started cautiously. Escalating minute by minute towards the climax. First, fingertips brushed a gray sweatshirt. Next, they bent to catch the material between the forefinger and thumb. Curling more to take it into their grasp. To feel the person underneath shudder out a breath, and wince. In the movie, the girl with chin length brown hair awoke, but instead of her nightmare disappearing, he stood before her, and she released a blood-curdling scream.

All at once, you clutched onto Obito’s arm and he, in turn, closed his eyes to the chase scene, his painful grip on your thigh wrinkling your sweats where his fingers dug in. Your stomach flipped at the thrills overtaking you–the fright, the giggly rush of endorphins, the relief–but being so near, you discerned Obito’s stifled panting and alarming pulse.

You lifted your face from where you childishly ducked it into his shoulder and kept your tone light, asking, “Are you okay?”

“It’s.. bad memories,” he said, blinking rapidly at the image of the killer’s pool of blood oozing on his cabin wall.

“Oh! Oh my God, I’m such an idiot.” You sprang forward and paused the movie on the black screen with tiny white names scrolling by. For him, it could end on a good note. The little girl won. He didn’t need to see the after credits scene. “I’m so sorry, Obito. I wasn’t thinking, playing something so insensitive.”

He shushed you in a croaky voice, “It bothers me less than you think, but.. it’s better when you’re here. Easier to deal with. And it’s better when I’m here too, right? You’re less scared.”

A statement lost on two people who dare not confess to its accuracy.

“Yes. I’m less scared when you’re here.”

Obito seemed to be lost in his thoughts. Retrograding to his former self. Hunching into his chest, nodding subtly to something you couldn’t hear, tracing the edge of the beer can with his thumb. You weren’t sure he was listening, but after taking a few sips he spoke again. “Can we watch another movie together?”

Time was of no consequence when it came to comforting him. “Of course.”

~~~

Romantic comedy. That was the genre name even when it leaned heavily into the romance and the jokes didn’t land. Obito was under the impression these were your favorites, considering you knew all the cheesy lines by heart, but when your temple came into contact with his shoulder, he was surprised to find you asleep. Though, at the same time, he was more than happy to practice the butterfly-inducing venture of putting his arm around you without the pressure of judgment. He could always remove it before you stirred, anyway.

He was learning. At his own pace. This was the second movie where they showed this sort of gesture happening. It had to be romantic, his heart told him so, skyrocketing when he cupped your chin to help raise your head. A delicate moment, entrusting himself to maintain composure with your face tipped back and your available lips a fraction away from his. This was romantic, his fumbling told him so. The charismatic men in the movies made it look so effortless. So easy. Obito meant to lift you gently, but in his tipsy blundering, he shoved you, and upon teetering on falling in the wrong direction, he threw his arm around your shoulders in effort to reel you back to him.

A sea of metal cans glinted around the projector; it was no wonder you couldn’t keep your eyes open, and he couldn’t keep his urges in check.

He was a boy again.

Carefree, whimsy, and proud of his juvenile accomplishments.

Your head rested where he felt it belonged, in the pocket his arm created stretched in a protective hold over you, your cheek on his chest. If you were to smile, your lips would graze the scars of who he was. Obito Uchiha. No better than the horrors in the movies you proclaimed scared you, yet, here you were, gifting him the luxury of pretending he deserved a happy ending.

He was a boy again. Lonely in this world that didn’t want him. Pathetic in his ways of stealing affection. Grieving what he did not know.

But as you snaked your arm around his belly and gathered his sweatshirt into your fingers, you released a dreamy sigh despite being in close quarters with an unredeemable monster. He was a boy, a teenager, a young man, an adult exploring a brief glimpse into a better life. One he could not bear giving up on.

The handsome man in the romcom held his lady tight. Hands formed to her waist and foreheads together, swaying to music. Dancing in a lavish living room teeming with velvets and tapestries, alerting Obito to another hurdle between him and the suave man he wished he was. He didn’t know how to dance, much less swoon you over his scratchy hand-me-down couch or his creaky wooden floors. Not to mention, if you were to fawn over him like the lady was, you would be wise to his scarred body for the first time.

He broke out in a cold sweat. You tucked your legs under you and bound his shirt tighter, warning him of your rousing. Dread sloshed in the pit of his stomach. Not only did you have impeccable timing waking up during the explicit sex scene, he hadn’t come up with an explanation for why his arm was around you.

Thankfully, mercy was granted. Instead of accusing him of being a creep towards his assigned civil servant, you nuzzled harder at his solid chest and continued to sleep. This could not have been a finer outcome. In his bout of drunken unholiness, he polished the beer he was holding and set it on the side table, freeing his hand for better purposes. He slid his palm along your fist, cradling it. Slotting his pinky around yours and crooking it slightly. Almost holding your hand again. Smirking at the actor’s orgasm face plastered across his den. He may be enjoying himself, but Obito was elated beyond a quick release. He was the hero in his own movie.

“I just–! Felt the spark with you the first time we met,” the woman in the movie raved. Another running theme Obito noticed.

The spark. At first Obito questioned what they were talking about, what it felt like, and the importance of this innate sixth sense. Did it hurt? Was it obvious? Did he feel it the first time you met? Or the second?

Did one know when they felt the spark if they’ve grown accustomed to living with it day after day, slowly, deeply, like it was the next natural step in the relationship?

~~~

The old cabin stretched its bones and groaned; its two inhabitants inside mimicked its fuss and noises of working through drowsy disorientation. The room had been bathed in black for several loud ticks of the clock in the kitchen. After the credits ran their course, the projector defaulted to stand-by mode, flashing nothing but a logo in the center.

“Obito,” you shook the dozing man who was putting a crick in your neck. “‘Bito,” you huffed, rubbing his stomach until he cut his snore short.

He sucked in the drool threatening to pour over his bottom lip and lifted his head, confused as to what was going on. “Did I–?”

“You fell asleep on me.” Selling your complaint, you rolled your neck back and forth, groaning about the pain of his head slumping on top of yours when he nodded off. You put your best acting skills into raising your arms above your head and yawning.

Taking it as his out, he removed his arm from around you, leaving behind a trace of his warmth like a ghost of the hug you wanted it to be. He didn’t try to justify why it was there, he just acted like it never happened. “It’s really late, isn’t it?”

“Super late.”

“Will you be okay walking home alone?”

“I know how to protect myself.” You made chopping motions with your hands, somehow kicking the coffee table in the process. Both of you cringed at the clanging ruckus of cans falling over to the floor.

“You sure do.” He stood. “I’ll take you through the woods.”

“As an escort? I’m so charmed, Mr. Uchiha.”

He scoffed and hurried you out the door to the chilly night. Try as he might to regress into the grump he was, you knew better. You knew the weight of those arms lifting branches out of your way. You knew the tempo of his gait as he paved your path. You knew the flutter of his heart as he stole another glance at you. You knew the complexities of his fingers pointing out a spider web to avoid. Their strengths and weaknesses. How he revealed his fears in his brutal grip when he became vulnerable to his memories, and his kindness when locking pinkies in the midst of a tender love confession happening in the fake world of the movie reflecting in his eyes.

His treasured touch reserved only for you. And only when you pretended to be asleep.

At the forest’s edge a grassy cliff and train tracks divided your and Obito’s lives from one another. Tree roots wove under the earth where you waited alongside him, blowing out puffs of air fogging the dome of twinkling lights radiating from Konoha like a premature dawn. During your last not-date he said he’d never gone this far. Not a single step into the trimmed cliffside maintained by the odd landscaper who regretted their job toeing the line of what lies beyond the whispering boughs.

“Do you want to walk me to the top of the stairs?”

Obito’s posture stiffened. His Adam's apple bobbed with a visible gulp. Plunging and leaping from the stored breath he refused to release. One foot outside his reclusion, that’s what you asked for. One step towards the train tracks. Nothing to you, everything to him; and as you dragged your knuckles down his forearm, he was taking more than one step. Borrowing your courage to complete something people took for granted.

Frozen manicured blades of grass crunched. Lumber train tracks thudded under the treads of his sneakers. Icy metal burned his hands wrenched around the handrail at the landing atop his mountain. The city he helped raze to the ground now stood tall, grand. Crowded with buildings full of families resting in the morning hour.

“Wow,” he whispered.

“You did it, Obi,” you congratulated him, matching his quiet amazement. Screaming internally at yourself for nearly ruining his moment with a hug.

“It’s so different from when I was little,” he said. “Where do you live?”

You pointed to the eastern sector. “Over there. Tiny building, can’t see it from here. One bedroom, one bath. Way too much rent.”

His face changed, losing his youthful awe for discovering what existed outside his secluded exile. “Is Dai waiting for you?”

“He’s probably asleep.”

“Mm,” he answered. A reserved response alluding to his white-knuckled grasp relinquishing the hand rail. Squaring his shoulders and addressing you with restraint present in his nuances. Clenching his fist, flexing his jaw, working through the morals which kept him from acting upon what was obvious.

You gazed up at him with hopeful, wanton desire in your eyes. This is where he should lean in and kiss you. It happened in both movies he watched. The man walked the woman home and kissed her goodnight. You weren’t exactly home, but there was no way he’d miss the hint. Your expectation was evident.

He did not take the hint.

“We forgot to pack up your projector and movies,” he said.

“Oh, it’s okay. I can get them some other time. Feel free to watch whatever you want.” You rocked onto your toes, throwing in a giggle at your forgetfulness. Adorable as you could be for him. Swishing your hips like the pretty girls in the movies. Still.. he nagged you about your well-being instead of taking the damn hint.

“I didn’t know how long your walk home was. Will you be safe?”

Again, you shrugged at the cityscape. “I’ll be careful. Do you normally worry this much about me–?”

“Yes.” It came sharp and without complexities. “Yes.”

“Don’t.” You smothered your months-long yearning and clapped your hand over his bicep in a friendly manner. As friendly as one could get when imagining their best friend’s lips on theirs. “But you can watch me go if you want.”

“I will,” he stated, “to make sure you’re safe. I’ll stay here until you’re home.”

“What a gentleman.”

You waited. And waited. He did nothing, so you left. Stair by stair, reminiscing on your night. Walking to your apartment unaccompanied. Ignoring the spike in awareness nagging you to fix your eyes on the top of the southern staircase at the person who haunted you most. Closing your door and locking it to symbolize pushing Obito out of your mind. Though, it never worked.

“Daidai!” Dai scurried from the bedroom and performed figure eights around your ankles, tangling your legs as you shuffled to the bathroom to run a makeup wipe over your face before crashing in your bed.

“Sorry I’m home so late,” you said in breathless earnest, grunting at his little paws stabbing your ribs, climbing on top of you to lay on your chest. “I cracked the code, I think.” You cupped his cheeks and doled out circles of pets along his scent glands. Your lungs vibrated with the intensity of his purrs. “Obito doesn’t like me after all.”

Dai gave a cranky meow.

“Or maybe he does! I don’t know. Maybe he does, maybe he doesn’t. He’s just so–so–ugh!”

Dai gave a more positive meow and headbutted your nose.

“I know you missed me, Buddy, I’m sorry,” you said, halting your habitual rant. Once Dai acclimated to being an indoor cat, he became extremely affectionate and attached at your side. Ripping your heart to shreds when you had to leave him for such long periods of time. “It’s funny, if you were Obito’s cat, I’d see you all the time.” Between your normal route, your extended route from your coworker on maternity leave, and keeping up with who you owed what favors to, you were hardly home. Your free time was spent at Obito’s. “If you were Obito’s..”

Obito was lonely. You were too, but less so. Daidai needed a true caretaker. Someone who could dedicate their time to showering him with the love he truly deserved.

“If you were Obito’s cat..”

~~~

“Thanks for helping me out.”

Kakashi shifted the bag of litter higher on his shoulder and climbed the stairs ahead of you, smiling. His mask obscured the pleasantry, but his warm eyes told the story. “I was more than happy to assist you,” he said. “In actuality, I’ve been searching for a purpose to disappear from my desk all afternoon.”

“It’s a wonder you have your job with how often I pass by the creek and see you taking a nap under a tree.”

“Ha, you’ve caught me, huh?” He tilted his head. “Being Hokage isn’t a particularly difficult job, but I enjoy my time away when I can. Though, Shikamaru usually finds me before I fall asleep.”

You narrowed your eyes. “What did you tell him you were doing to be away this long?”

The sudden lack of eye contact was apparent.

“Oh, you know.. Aiding a damsel in distress, or something.”

“Am I the damsel, or is Obito?”

“Either!” he surmised after a pause. “I haven’t been able to escape my invaluable duties of signing papers approving of a third ramen shop on the main street long enough to visit Obito in a while. I’m looking forward to seeing him.”

“When was,” –Dai meowed from his carrier– “I know, Buddy, just a little longer,” you babied him, then spoke to Kakashi, “When was the last time you saw Obito?”

Kakashi turned at the last landing at the top of the staircase, allowing you a brief glimpse at the switch in his demeanor. Losing the sagely crinkles of joy at the outer corners of his eyes, a glint of time flying by in his dull stare. “Months? No. Nearly a year.”

“Oh.”

“Tell me,” he continued, starting on the footpath, “has he said anything concerning in front of you?”

There was no need to clarify. “He.. has. But I think his mental health has improved since the last time you visited. It’s too bad you’re coming here so late into the season, we’ve already covered the roses for the winter. He takes such good care of them. And yeah, he still struggles with finding a purpose, but I think me coming around so often gives him something to do.” You sighed fondly at the memories. Until your brain caught up with your mouth. “Not like that! Uh, anyway. He doesn’t sleep in anymore. He takes care of his house, and himself, without me asking. He cooks meals for us. I have lunch or dinner with him most days. Or both. I really shouldn’t because it affects my sleep schedule, and interferes with taking care of my own apartment–oh yeah, and it cuts into my routes, but I just can’t help it. I like hanging out with him. Obito has grown so much, I think he’s responsible enough to take care of Daidai. They need each other. And in a weird way, they’re a lot alike. They’ll be a good fit.” You almost bumped into Kakashi, who stopped mid stride. “Lord Sixth?”

In truth, he had been giving you a strange look for the entire last leg of your journey to Obito’s front yard. “Did you say you have lunch and dinner with him?”

“Yeah, totally! He’s really good at cooking and likes teaching me. We pick vegetables from his garden and he shows me how to slice them up. I have so many cookbooks from when I was taking care of him over the summer, it’s nice to choose recipes together. We talk–well, I talk–while we eat. We’ve learned a lot about each other, and yeah.” You hiked up your shoulders and moved past Kakashi before he could analyze your toothy grin. “He’s nice to be around once you get to know him. Even if he does grimace when I mix wet and dry ingredients together in the same bowl.”

“I was aware you came here often over the summer, but you still take those stairs every day during or after your mail route?”

“Yes, sir. So if you’d like to build me an elevator, I’d appreciate it.”

“Duly noted.. Er, are we not going through the front?” Kakashi asked as you veered off course to the side of the cabin, stepping over beds of reedy plants laying dormant until next spring.

“It’s usually locked. I always go through the back.” Resituating the bag of dry cat food on your hip, you opened the door without knocking and placed what you could on the kitchen counter. He lifted his eyebrows at this piece of information.

“No knocking?”

“He doesn’t mind. Obito!” You shouted his name, but no answer came. “Maybe he took a nap. Obito, wake up!” You called louder, entering the den with Kakashi standing beside you, peering into the hallway. “You have two special guests who have come to see you! Kakashi and Dai are waiting.”

The bathroom door ripped open.

Obito loomed taller than he had any right to be. Glistening from his shower. Tanned skin billowing with steam from the heat of his glare. Slick white hair stuck to his forehead. Harsh scars running rivers over his abs with lustrous droplets winding their way to the too-small towel slung loosely about the muscular contours above his hips, stunning his audience with a peek at the thick black hair trailing his stomach to the arousing flash of his upper thigh. He was posed forward like a threat, jaw set to intimidate, hands wrenched into fists. Ready and willing to fight for what was his.

His chest heaved with rage. Obito looked from you, to Kakashi, to the luggage in your hand. He blinked. He looked from your gaped mouth, to his friend’s coy expression, to the oddly shaped luggage in your hand, and the yellow eyes beyond its mesh paneling.

Kakashi spoke first, “I didn’t realize you two were this close.”

You slapped your hand over your eyes and spun around. “Put some damn clothes on!”

Obito yelped and shut the door.

You apologized to Kakashi. He just laughed it off, which was somehow worse than his teasing and did not help ease the tension when Obito reemerged wearing a pair of light wash jeans, a black shirt, and red flannel. Exceedingly handsome. Approaching you with a lightness in his steps, a friendliness to his aura. Confident. Like a great weight had been lifted from his chest.

“Sorry, I, uhm, thought there was an intruder and I–” Obito tsked at Kakashi’s egregious chuckling. “I really did. But.. Dai?”

The airy gentleness in his tone when focusing on you was one you’d never forget. Gone was the hoarse, scratchy voice he normally asserted when grousing at Kakashi. When looking at you, he softened. You were infatuated with both versions, naturally, but it was flattering being the special one he let his guard down for.

You knelt, and he did too, crouching to his knees in front of the carrier you placed on the floor. “Do you want to meet him?” Obito nodded. His face was blank from emotion. You dragged the zipper framing the door and his splendid lips parted with a gasp.

Out sauntered an orange tabby with one eye and three legs.

“This is Daidai, the stray cat I rescued a few months back.”

“Dai,” he whispered the name for the first time without anger. “This is Dai.”

Keen, Dai sniffed his surroundings, bobbing his head and twitching his tail, getting a feel of this new place with only one step out of the comfort of his carrier, pupils growing to big black lakes taking in the crowd of humans. Cautious, he swiveled his ears, listening to you instruct Obito on how to coax a grumpy cat like him, but your directions were cut short. Daidai plowed into his awaiting fingers. Rubbing his cheeks back and forth, driving them into the wood floor and trapping his knuckles, forcing Obito to pet him until he was satisfied.

“Ow,” he said.

“Yeah, he’s a cuddle bug when he wants to be.”

Obito made the mistake of sitting with his legs crossed. Also known as the perfect position to display an available lap for a cat to curl into.

Dai’s wobbly balance was endearing, earnings ‘aww’s from around the room. He plodded in a few circles on Obito’s calves to knead him into the ideal bed and laid down in a purring heap. Flumping like the chubby king he was, nuzzling into the warmth. Though, Obito was less than excited for the orange cat hair clinging to his clothes, muttering, “His claws hurt.”

You unhooked them from his pants leg. “It’s called making biscuits. It’s a sign he’s happy.” He snorted at that.

Petting the base of Daidai’s tail, the backs of your fingers brushed Obito’s stomach through his shirt, drawing his gaze away from the cat, to you, who was leaning into his arm.

“I’m not home a lot,” you spoke as gingerly as your touch. “Dai deserves more attention than I can give him. He’s older. A little grumpy, but a sweetheart, too. Once he trusts you he wants to be at your side all the time, and.. he already trusts you. He eats wet food for breakfast and dinner, and likes a bowl of dry food to be out for him to graze at whenever he wants. His litter box needs to be cleaned once a day. I brought all his favorite toys and scratching posts.” It was your greatest act of restraint to refrain from kissing his scarred cheek smelling of aftershave. “Can you take care of him for me?”

He uttered his answer as if the wind were knocked from him. “Yes.”

You may have responded with gratitude. Maybe you nodded, thanked him, and pinched your arm to see if you were dreaming; you don’t know, the pleasantness of his face was a reverie in itself.

However, in reality, Kakashi observed you two lock gazes and stare into each other’s eyes like two ripe lovebirds on their first date for an agonizing amount of time without committing to something more entertaining. It was as wholesome as it was awkward.

“So,” Kakashi cleared his throat.

“Right!” You flinched, remembering there was a third person in the room. “I’ll go find a spot in the bathroom and set up the litter box.” Collecting the aforementioned items from Kakashi, you scurried out of the den, dropping the bag of litter in the hallway not once, but twice, before he could convince you to come back.

“Well.. Okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “It’s good to see you, Obito.”

Meekly, he responded in kind, “It’s good to see you, too.”

Kakashi folded his legs under him and sat next to Obito, holding out his hand out for Dai to smell. His Highness turned his nose up at the musty canine scent, then accepted a few scratches between the ears, anyway. “How have you been?”

How could one summarize how one has been in an entire calendar year to a friend who felt like a stranger?

“Good, I guess.” Obito straightened up and rolled his shoulders. “You?”

“Busy.” It wasn’t an excuse, but it sounded like one.

“Figured as much.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine,” Obito said. “You’re Konoha’s Hokage and I live out here in the woods. You’re busy. It happens.” No malice was meant, yet the sting hurt all the same.

Kakashi withdrew his hand to his lap and sighed into his chest. Lackadaisical, lazy, unbothered. That’s what he appeared to be when he put up his shield. And he may be those things, but they did not account for the overwhelming amount of guilt slowing him down, causing him to sleep at his desk, to lose time reminiscing on where he went wrong, missing what he once held dear.

Shaking his head, a grayed silver hair bounced against his forehead as he jerked his chin in the direction of the bathroom. “You two seem to get along well.”

Obito sneaked a glance at him from under his lashes. “Yeah, she’s nice.” He used his mangled hand of healed scars and Hashirama’s cells to trace the edge where Dai’s own right arm was amputated. “I’ve told her some of my past, but she doesn’t know why I look like this. She never asked. She’s kind like that.”

Doing his due diligence to steer the conversation away from the areas of Obito’s life which ended in disaster, Kakashi surveyed the abundance of art covering the walls. “You’ve certainly decorated the place since I last came by.”

It’s funny, Obito had grown used to the grandma style decor after a while. He’d hardly noticed it anymore. In fact, he couldn’t remember when you dressed up the dining table in the ugliest floral needlepoint tablecloth he’d ever seen. There’s no way he would’ve approved of it, even if he did think the colors were complementary, and the handiwork was truly masterful, and there was a particular rose he ran his pinky over when you both reached for the butterknife and grabbed hands on accident. “It’s all her stuff,” he mumbled. “She kept bringing it over the summer when I was sick. Felt like I had no choice but to keep them since she was doing so much for me.”

“It makes your place look lived in. Like a home.”

“Yeah,” he breathed. “It does.”

From the unlit hallway, you made yourself known, attracting the interests of both men by saying, “Litter box is ready to go. Kakashi, did you want to stay for dinner?”

His stomach rumbled. “If that’s alright with you two.”

Obito rolled his eyes. “Of course it is.”

You cheered, “Of course it is!” After a pause you squinted in thought. “What should I make?”

“I have enough leftovers in the fridge from last night’s dinner if you want to heat them up on the stove,” Obito said and turned to Kakashi. “If leftovers are okay.. Or we could make something fresh. Or..” Poor Obito, he’d never had to entertain multiple guests before. He was working himself up into a worry over the smallest things, glancing from you to Kakashi, imploring one of you to make a decision for him.

“I’m just happy to eat anything that’s cooked for me,” Kakashi said.

“Leftovers is it, then! And Obito?” He blinked at you. You clasped your hands in front of you and swayed your hips cutely, pouting your bottom lip. “Can you start a fire for me? I’m cold.”

He was up and throwing logs onto the metal grate before Dai could land on his feet.

~~~

Night fell early. Tips of evening sun fanned above the bottle brush pine trees, bidding the mountain farewell too soon after rising. You were sitting on the floor at the coffee table, your bowl of soup half empty, a spoon on its way to your mouth forgotten about mid-air, besotted by the rekindling friendship between the two men on the couch.

“Did he ever–” Kakashi laughed. “Did he ever tell you about the old granny panties he stole?”

“Shut up!” Obito begged, face in his hands.

“He swears he was hanging up some old lady’s laundry, but when I passed by her house on the way to team sparring–which he was late for, might I add–he was running at me with them on his head, yelling about birds or something.”

Obito revealed his burning red cheeks. “I told you,” he enunciated. “While I was hanging them up there was a big gust of wind and they fell off the clothes line and landed on my face, and yes, I screamed, which startled the mockingbirds into diving-bombing me! You know what? I’m really regretting you being here.”

You patted Obito’s knee twice. Smoothing your hand over the slope of his thigh and leaving it there after the final consoling gesture. “Aw, it’s okay, Obi. I still like you even if you do steal old lady’s under–”

“Hush it.” The playful ferocity in his narrow-eyed glare sealed your coquettish lips. “How about I tell you the story of Kakashi catching a kunai with his left asscheck.”

“Still have the scar too!” Kakashi quipped.

The rest of dinner was shared rotating stories, each of you taking a turn to reflect on the silly things in your lives which used to be tremendous deals at the time, now serving as mindless fun. Obito knew most of yours–a byproduct from how much time you spent together–but he nodded at the appropriate beats and added tidbits to Kakashi about your coworkers to fill in the gaps you left out. To someone else this may seem boring. Not to Obito. He earned the right to know you better than anyone else. Besides, your gracious hand on his leg when he spoke was more than enough motivation to participate.

Winding down the party, Kakashi hooked a finger around the folds of fabric gathered around his neck and slipped his mask over the lower half of his face. You understood the cue and stopped fiddling with the hem of Obito’s jeans and pushed yourself to your feet, rubbing the aches you collected from sitting on the floor for so long. A third chair for the dining table was next on the house’s list of needs.

“I’ll take that,” you said as you stacked Obito’s bowl and spoon on top of yours, rounding the back of the couch to add Kakashi’s to the teetering tower balanced in your palm.

You spun to take them to the kitchen when Obito reached over and caught you by the cardigan. A small latch and tug at your sleeve for an hour, it felt, with how long you waited for his eyebrows to unfurrow and for him to speak in that gossamer voice he manifested only for you. It was so gentle, Kakashi held his breath.

“Don’t wash them by yourself,” Obito said, barely above a whisper. “I’ll be there in a minute.”

One did not require a trained eye to see Obito’s fingers skim the curve of your palm, nor the adoring light you regarded him in when he made sure to include you in stories from their youth, welcoming you into their old friendship like you welcomed them to the home of your heart.

“Take your time,” you requested of him and walked away. Obito watched you leave, engrossed in your movements until you left his sight, and even then, he immersed himself in your shadow cast outside the kitchen doorway.

Icha Icha did not compare. The insurmountable reverence passing over Obito’s face far eclipsed Jaraiya’s poetry. Lewd rhymes ending in titillating adventures held no candle to his friend’s unguarded expression.

“Have you thought more on your future?” Kakashi asked.

It was clear from his reflexive scowl he knew where this was going. “No. I haven’t.”

“Not even with–”

“Don’t.” Obito ended the discussion before it began. He closed off his body language from further investigation and fixated on the fire, daring it, too, to prod into the dark place it did not belong.

The mood flipped to the bleakness of Obito’s outlook on life. The mismatched hands he wrung were not souvenirs of his past, they were his future. Marked for eternity by his mistakes. The rough palms he wiped on his jeans were not from the honor of protecting people, they were the result of manual labor to keep himself fed. The white hair he combed through was not the fruit of growing old, with his scars acting as merry wrinkles from an endless amount of smiles, it was all shit. All a disservice to those he cared about most.

He wanted more. He craved more. By the searing light of hope at the end of the tunnel, he needed more.

Yet, his brain mocked him.

Antsier and antsier, Obito fidgeted, until at last, he broke. He used his thumb and index to pinch the bridge of his nose out of desperation to alleviate his throbbing headache and confessed, “I thought Dai was her boyfriend.”

Kakashi slid his gaze to the napping cat on the coffee table, then back to Obito. “You’ll have to explain that one to me.”

Expelling an exhaustive sigh at his own cowardice, he clarified, “Every time she came over she’d talk about “Dai this” and “Dai that.” Never once did she say he was a cat. When she’d leave me to go home early, she’d say she needed to feed Dai. I thought that meant she was having dinner with her boyfriend and didn’t want me to know.”

“Do you normally think someone would phrase having dinner with the loved one as “having to feed them?””

Obito groaned. “I know how stupid it sounds. You don’t have to rub it in.”

“On the bright side, now you know she’s single, so why not make a move?”

“Because–because.. I can’t.” He ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I just–can’t.” Bowing forward, he curled his shoulders in to make himself as small as possible, picking at the flaky skin around his fingernails, focusing on anything but the impending doom swelling in his chest making it impossible to breathe through the tightness in his throat.

“Why not?” Kakashi asked delicately, keeping his voice below the sound of the running faucet. “It’s obvious she likes you as more than a friend, and you’ve devoted yourself to the very ground she walks on. Why not give it a chance?”

With the exact, nagging question he wanted to avoid being asked, everything crashed.

Obito bit back the pained noise escaping past his gritted teeth. The type of whimper a man made when struck with the fears he swore he’d never confront.

Emotions surged. His shoulders shook in bursts, as did his hands. He sniffed and turned away to swipe his knuckles under his eyes, pretending he could hide it. Once in denial, twice to fight the truth, a third and fourth time when he accepted this punishment was his repentance. He scrubbed the harsh cotton of his sleeve over his cheeks until they were matching scarlet and pleaded with Kakashi to understand the water lining his lashes. To drop this once and for all. “She deserves better.”

“And what does that mean to you?”

He spoke towards the armrest. “She deserves to live in the city. To settle down and start a family. To have a house, and a yard, and children that get to live a normal life. She deserves to find someone who can take her out on dates. Who can show her off and walk her down the aisle in front of her friends. Someone who s-she can love and–f-fuck.”

Who knew a fractured person could wallow so deep in their own misery they could not see the shattered pieces for what they were.

Kakashi closed the distance and laid a warm hand on his friend’s back. “Has she ever actually mentioned these things to you?”

“No.”

“Then have you considered these things you imagined as her dealbreakers never crossed her mind in the first place?”

“No, but..” Kakashi considered cutting him off, but Obito was moving more frantically now. Shrugging and looking around desperately. Slapping his hands on his thighs and lifting them, utterly hopeless. Stressed and at his ends frustrated with Kakashi’s lack of comprehension.

With effort, Obito managed to reign in his voice to a seething timbre, looking him directly in the eyes. “I can’t do anything for her, Kakashi.” His tears spilt to his shirt without care. “I can’t get a job. I can’t provide for her. I can’t leave my fucking house. I can’t visit her in Konoha. I can’t give her anything she wants. Don’t you get it? Don’t you think I want to spend every fucking second of my day paying her back for everything she’s done for me, but can’t? She doesn’t deserve my future. She’s too good a person for that.”

“She doesn’t care about those things.” He didn’t say it as a question to guide Obito to the correct answer; he was direct, intending to get through to him. “Don’t you get it? She doesn’t come here nearly every day, twice a day, with or without delivering you mail because it’s her job. She does it to see you, because she wants to spend every second of her day being your friend because that’s all you’ll let her be, and still, she convinces herself she’ll be okay with that because, at the very least, she gets to watch you grow into the man I knew you would become.”

“Kakashi–” he choked on a sob.

“Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance. You both deserve to know the potential to be happy.”

“I can’t.”

“Try.”

“She’ll say no.”

“She won’t.”

For minutes, they argued in the bathroom whilst Kakashi expressed regret for missing out on Obito’s progress under your care, and Obito washed his face with cold water, pondering the potential of his words.

Obito looked at his lifelong friend in the mirror. Someone who witnessed the worst parts of who he was as a human and forgave him. Someone who had more mercy than necessary. Someone who praised his smallest victories like he wasn’t a fuck up. Someone similar to.. you.

He imbued his voice with the raw sincerity he felt in his heart upon realizing his house was full, full of guests come to see him specifically. “It was good seeing you again, Kakashi.”

~~~

Kakashi’s head, shoulders, and hand poked from around the kitchen door frame. “I’m taking off,” he said. “The food was delicious; don’t let Obito take all the credit, he already admitted you baked the bread.”

Bubbling with laughter, you waved, sending a cascade of water dripping from your yellow dishwashing gloves. “Take care, Kakashi. And please,” you emphasized with a truer smile, “Please come by again. I think it really helped him.”

Nodding, he agreed, “I will,” and left.

The front door opened and closed. You picked up the cutting board Obito used earlier in the day and started scrubbing, passing the rag over the stained orange splotch in the center from a few weeks ago when you chopped more carrots than rabbits could dream of. You washed Obito’s spoon, his bowl; sloshing liquid in a trance, searching for his coffee mug, when you sensed a presence approaching you.

“Come to help me, Obi?” you asked, rinsing off a plate.

He didn’t respond, but you recognized the sound of his feet dragging, and the scent of his soap in your nose as he neared your side.

“I got most of it done already, but you can..”

His sleeve caressed your hair, alerting you in delightful tingles to his arm being draped along the shelf of your shoulders.

In the reflection of the midnight-black window, you watched him wrap his other arm around you. Weak at first, crossing it over your chest to your waist, the other rested behind your neck. He stood stock still. The grand scope of his embrace relaxed. Taking it in. Slowly. Deeply. Feeling you breathe against him. Learning the significance of your frame fitting into his. Indulging in his fantasy.

You were facing forward, he was turned to the side. His glassy-eyed stare was set above your head, boring into the clock above the stove. Keeping calm as the minute hand ticked by. Waiting. Waiting. Resisting the urge until.. until he gave himself permission.

He brought you in for the first hug he’d given since boyhood.

Euphoria bloomed. Giving into the visceral relief of him acting on his desires, of him submitting to you, of losing himself in the pleasure of his hands admiring you wherever he was allowed to. Overlapping his arms to pull you in. Tighter and tighter, digging your shoulder into his sternum.

“Thank you,” Obito murmured above you. You tipped back to study the marvelous way his mouth formed those words, and what a treat it was to be swept into the uncontrolled vulnerability of his actions. “For everything,” he finished as he lifted his chin, using the entirety of his palm to guide your head to the hollow space it created, tucking you against his chest. Entrusting you with the power you had over him.

Locked as one, he swayed you slightly. Rocking you, almost, in the echoey room away from the fire you depended on for warmth. Coping with the fact his stomach shouldn’t be this twisted in knots over hugging a friend. Just a friend. So deep in denial, he convinced himself you were just a friend.

The water on your gloves glided over the rubber to the metal sink you gripped to keep steady. You whispered as if he were an animal about to startle, “Do you want me to hug you back?”

He shook his head, messing up your hair sticking to his damp cheeks. “No,” he said. His fingers danced on your skin, increasing their limp strength upon his brain telling him this was wrong, that he should stop before he became too attached, that this was all he could have and he should be grateful for it. You may have been single, but it was obvious in your stance you did not wish to reciprocate. It was a harsh lesson he should’ve picked up on long ago. Kakashi was wrong about you. An unsurprising revelation, truly, and Obito felt stupid for believing it for the split second he considered you would settle for someone like him.

“No,” he repeated, on the verge of tears evident in his trembling. “I wouldn’t know how to let go if you did.”

“What if I’m okay with that?”

All tension left his body. His chest collapsed like the wind was knocked from him. “What?”

Tugging finger by finger, you removed your dishwashing gloves and placed them on the counter. With your head sitting on his chest at an odd angle, he realized you were looking at your reflections, making eye contact with him through the window. He roamed your expression with urgency, disbelieving the sight of your hands snaring his forearm.

Instead of rejection, he was met with your glorious face, encouraging and hopeful for more.

He could give you more.

He shifted his palm from the base of your neck, up, catching your hair between his fingers. Strumming his thumb along your cheek, he tested the newness of the sensation and craved reassurance, and in return, you closed your eyes and sank into the touch.

You gave him all the validation he needed.

Released to his vices, his yearnings escalated in desperation. His other hand climbed your body to join the one supporting your head; brazenly flowing over your hip, your waist, to the soft flesh of your shoulder, to your neck, grazing his knuckles along your jaw to your chin, tilting it up, and up until you rose to your tiptoes to meet him.

Your lips curled into the radiant smile you wore only for him.

His imposing stature faltered. Relying on you to keep him upright. Depending on you to support him as you reached into the abyss of his suffering and grasped whatever you deemed worth saving.

He cradled you to his throat. Your world went dark in exchange for the heat of his pulse covering your eyes. The bridge of your nose stroked the edge of his jaw, back and forth, nudging the palace beneath his ear and residing there, your new home. You held him. Winding your arms around one of his, confining him to your embrace with strength honed from carrying packages, and groceries, and gardening supplies up a mountain for the one man you sought refuge in day after day.

His arms crushed you beautifully. Your face was enveloped in the entirety of his palms, stretching the expanse of his obsession to touch you from your temple downwards, gliding his thumb along the curve of your lips. His chin rested atop your head, springing goosebumps where he pressed his nose to your scalp, and hummed a sigh along your skin.

Except, his fingers stopped moving. Then he breathed deeper, filling his chest, once, twice.

“Why do you smell like me?”

“I use the same shampoo as you. Conditioner and soap, too.”

A warm tear streaked down your temple.

Obito worshiped you for his epiphany by burying his lips in your wet hair, expressing his rejoice in simple words like delicate kisses to your forehead, “Of course you do.”

He was so close to performing the sign you were looking for. A hug was not a kiss. Dragging his lips across your skin was not a kiss. You could not assume them as so. You had to wait until he made the first move. It was too great a risk losing him if you confessed too soon.

But, none of that mattered at this moment. In his arms. In your arms. Praising you between the brows. Venerating him along the pale column of his neck. Both of you careful to disguise your true motives, to make the actions as small as possible, to have excuses at the ready if one were to ask..

Neither of you asked. Both of you too spineless.

~~~

At the top of the staircase, you descended a step, expecting him to stay on the landing to say his goodbyes, but of course, he was full of surprises tonight.

“Are you sure?” you asked.

Obito scanned the horizon and shrugged. It wasn’t so scary when you were here. “I want to.”

He joined your step, and took the next one of his own accord, eliminating some of your height difference. You sized him up and descended further than him, two steps this time. His ego accepted the challenge, moving past you, daring you to keep up.

And when you couldn’t keep up with his stride, you grasped his sleeve above the wrist and he waited. He waited for you to catch up, for you to shove his shoulder, for you to call him a jerk for being faster than you, and he waited until you were pointing out the buildings you were naming to close his eyes and imagine this was a future he could obtain.

At the halfway point, he stalled, and you stopped with him. He shrank away from the handrail to a nook in the mountainside protected by the stairwell where the city’s illumination did not reach. There was a noticeable lack of streetlights near this side of town. You managed your way home through the dilapidated houses on familiarity alone. The reason why this section of Konoha remained abandoned stood beside you, and he was well aware of his reputation, seeing the stark wilt he caused in person for the first time.

“Right here is fine,” he said, tugging you an irrefutable fraction closer to the alcove.

Your bad habit of swaying back and forth when given the opportunity to earn his attention reemerged. You slipped your fingers under his sleeve cuff and grinned. God, you’d never grow tired of flirting with him. When Obito blushed, it was as if your world was complete. More so, when he learned the importance of reciprocation and rotated to where his thumb and forefinger entwined yours, capturing you for a beat of his heart, and letting go.

You wondered if he also knew the importance of your left ring finger as he squeezed it. The tic of awareness in his eyebrows said he did.

“Remember to feed Dai again when you get back,” you whispered. There was no need to talk louder.

He placed his hands in his pockets, arms tight against his sides, shuffling his feet to expel his nerves. “I will.”

Silence clung to the space between your teeth. You didn’t want to leave yet, but couldn’t form a conversation to keep you there. Obito didn’t mind. He cherished the periods where you distracted yourself. How else would he get away with staring at your lips this long?

You yawned. “Well, it’s past my bedtime, I think. Early shift tomorrow.”

“Will you actually eat breakfast this time?”

“No promises.”

“Thought not.”

You forced what laughter came, and positioned yourself to leave. Granting him a second chance to sweep you off your feet, confess his undying love, and kiss you under the canopy of stars.

Regretfully, he did not stop you. He nodded goodbye and turned away, heading up the stairs to his cabin in the woods.

You curled your fingers inward from a wave he didn’t care to see and dropped your hand to your side, disappointed despite the tender embrace he gave you in his kitchen.

Feeling the weight of his indifference sagging your shoulders, you continued traveling in the opposite direction of him.

“Oh yeah,” he said. You spun around. “I meant to give Kakashi a letter earlier, but forgot.. I guess you’ll have to come by tomorrow.”

“Guess I will,” you drawled coyly, already smiling. “Lunch or dinner?”

“Both. I.. really want to see you again for both.”

No question at the end of his statement. No stuttering in his demand. No second guessing if he should ask for less. He knew what he wanted, and he posed it with the brave lift of his chin, thankful your eyesight could not discern how badly he was sweating at this distance.

“Both, huh?” You pretended to think about it. “I think I can do both.”

“Good. Uh, great, I mean. Bye.” He couldn’t leap up the stairs fast enough.

You giggled. “Bye, Obi.”

~~~

That night, Obito slid his arms through the cool, silken sleeves of his clan’s haori, tying it at his waist and climbing into bed. Draping himself in opulence tantamount to your own touch on his naked skin. He wore the collar cuddled to his face, inhaling the scent of him. And you. Sleeping peacefully for the first time in weeks.

Today was no different, you both were sitting on his bed in his apartment.

You both decided to skip school that day. Your university classes were becoming stressful, and you needed to get your mind off of it all.

Obito, being the sweet guy he is, offered to share his stash of marijuana with you. You were all in for the idea, and you ended up coming over that afternoon since his roommate wasn’t around. Plus, you didn’t want to pass up the opportunity of getting high with your buddy, so you figured you’d go.

You got stoned pretty quickly. Obito always got some top notch weed from the school stoner. The two of you felt like you were on top of the Earth, and you wanted nothing more than to feel this high for as long as you could.

Holding the blunt between his fingers, Obito blew smoke towards the ceiling. The odor of the drug filled your nostrils. You were too high to complain about it, and you didn’t even care in the first place.

“You’re quiet..” Obito spoke, his voice was somewhat hoarse.

You sat up, leaning your weight against the wall behind you. “I’m just..thinking,” you shrugged your shoulders.

His brow quirked up once you responded. He placed the blunt on an ashtray that was right beside his bed. “Thinking about what?” he looked at you curiously.

If you were being honest, you didn’t know what you were thinking about. Your thoughts weren’t exactly the most clear, and every time something did pop up in your head, it would be slowly tuned out by another random thought.

You couldn’t really answer his question.

“I don’t know.. just life or something,” you nodded your head side to side.

Obito hummed in response, he really didn’t have much to say if he was being honest. The high was making him zone out, and he was starting to feel a bit sluggish.

Fearing he might fall asleep, you hoped to start a small conversation. You didn’t want to be the only one awake while he slept away his high. That’d be really boring, and you didn’t want to deal with being by yourself. It’s happened to you plenty of times before, and it was super annoying.

“What’s like..” you started, “The freakiest thing you’ve ever done?”

Obito opened his eyes, a look of surprise took over his features. You weren’t really straightforward like that before, so it took him back a bit.

Though, he was going to answer the question regardless.

“Um, I dunno, I’d have to think about that for a second,” he looked up at ceiling, trying to gather his thoughts.

You played with the strings of your sweater, waiting for his reply. Obito seemed to be taking a really long time to think about it as well. Most guys you knew could come up with something on the spot, but you were both under the influence of drugs. It could take a little while before you got a response.

He opened his mouth to speak. “I once fingered a girl in the backyard of a frat party, if that counts,” he looked over at you with hazy eyes.

You blinked for a few seconds, trying to process what he had just said to you. “Really? That’s it? I’m surprised that’s happened,” you shifted around on his bed.

Obito furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. “How so? Do you think I wouldn’t do that kind of stuff or something?” he nodded his head to the side.

You put your hands up defensively. “What..? No? I’m not saying that at all, but I’m just surprised you did something like that,” you shrugged.

He nudged your side with his elbow. “Okay, then tell me, what’s the freakiest thing you’ve ever done?” he crossed his arms over his chest.

A laugh came from your mouth. “Okay.. um..” you trailed off, trying to remember a moment.

Part of you was having a hard time trying to think of something that was really freaky. Sure, you’ve done some pretty crazy things with guys, but most of those activities were common. Not many people would classify some of the things you’ve done as really “freaky.”

You sniffed, turning your head to look at him. “I got fingered in a Wendy’s parking lot at two in the morning,” you said, “That’s the only thing I can think of,”

Obito didn’t respond, he only had this look of stupidity on his features. He was looking at you like he was waiting for you to continue, but you weren’t going to. It was really the only thing you could recall that was pretty freaky, at least in your world anyway.

“What? Why are you looking at me like that?” you furrowed your eyebrows.

He chuckled, running his fingers through the strands of his dark hair. “I think that’s the most generic thing ever,” he replied, “Like.. c’mon, a Wendy’s parking lot? At least do it in the Wendy’s to make it more interesting..”

You rolled your eyes in annoyance. “And? What? Do you think you’re much better? You fingered someone in the backyard of a frat house,” you said.

He looked at you, “Not saying that, I’m for sure better at fingering than whoever that guy was, but I’m just saying it was generic,”

A scoff came from your mouth. “Really? Don’t get such an ego, Obito. You’re the most soft guy I know,” you shook your head.

Obito raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Oh, yeah? You think I’m soft?” he sat up, cocking his head to the side.

“You heard me,” you replied in a bold tone.

What happened next felt like a total blur to you. You weren’t sure how you got into this position, but the scene was unfolding so quickly that you didn’t even have time to keep up.

You were on top of Obito. Your thighs were on either side of his hips. The shorts you were wearing were now tossed off, and lying next to you on the bed. Pants and moans were falling from your lips blissfully as Obito’s fingers twisted and curled inside of your weeping cunt.

Your hands were on his shoulders, squeezing at the muscles that flexed beneath the fabric of his shorts. You felt like you were on fire, burning brightly as he pumped into you with such ease.

“Mmm.. right there!” you let your eyes fall shut as his fingers reached your g-spot.

Obito’s sweatpants felt like they were suffocating him. His cock was extremely hard. He could almost cum on the spot from how erotic the situation was. You were such a fucking sight to him.

Your lips were glossy, eyes heavy and tinted red from the weed. God, how pretty you were on top of him like this.

“You like that..? Say my name..” Obito groaned, using his thumb to increase the pleasure on your cunt.

Burying your face into his neck, you let out several heavy breaths. “O-Obito.. yes, shit!” you grinded your hips against his palm.

The slick from your pussy was covering his fingers. You were so fucking wet. Obito was surprised that you were this turned on by him, but he wasn’t going to say anything. Seeing how quickly you fell apart from just his fingers was enough to satisfy him.

Deep down, he wanted to fuck you so badly. He wanted to fill your cunt with his fat cock. His name being ripped from your throat so everyone in the building could hear your sweet voice.

He was tempted, but you weren’t ready yet.

The knot in your belly was tightening with every pump of his fingers. You could cum at any second, but the bliss you were feeling was enough for you to not want it to end. Though, you did want to feel the orgasm he’d give you.

“You gonna cum, baby..? Is your pussy gonna make my fingers dirty?” Obito trailed his hand up to your cheek where he cupped it.

You nodded your head eagerly. “Y-Yes! ‘Gonna cum, Obito..” you whined, pants falling from your lips.

His thumb pressed onto your clit again. A cry of pleasure escaped your mouth. Your mind was turning into clouds, and every time his finger brushed over that one spot inside of you, your eyes saw white stars.

Your orgasm hit you, hard. Your walls tightened around Obito’s fingers; arousal coating them. Small squelching noises came from your pussy as he fingered you through your orgasm, causing sensitive moans to come from your throat.

Your thighs trembled, and you felt very tired. You weren’t sure if it was because you were high, or because the orgasm you had was so strong it knocked you off your feet. One thing was for sure, you were satisfied with it.

“Where you going..?”

You turned your head to look at Obito. He had this smirk on his face. “Huh..?” you nodded, furrowing your eyebrows.

“At least let me get us some food. We gotta get our energy back up,” he winked at you with that cocky grin.

You put your finger near his face. “We never speak of this again,” you said with a serious tone.

Obito closed his laptop and shoved it off his chest, frustrated and pent up from searching for porn for nearly an hour to no avail. Nothing was working. The women in the videos weren’t into him. They didn’t moan his name. They didn’t lift their head from his lap and lock eyes with him as his fluttered closed. They didn’t have the same tenderness of holding his hand through a powerful orgasm after edging all week, praising him for covering their faces as a reward.

Sighing, he resigned himself to the one thing that got him off without fail and grabbed his phone from the folded hand towel beside him. Bringing it to his face, he scrutinized his reflection. Glancing at his eager eyes and messy hair disguised amongst the array of pillows on his bed. You hadn’t slept over in months, but he couldn’t justify getting rid of the ones on your side. Just in case.

Frowning at how pathetically horny he was, he unlocked the screen with a swipe of his thumb and eliminated the sad image. Sooner or later he’d untrain himself from this particular vice.. But tonight was not that night.

Opening his nightstand’s drawer, he pulled out a bottle of lube and set it on the edge of the table, eyeing the source of his troubles from over his phone. Erection surging at the sound of the cap popping open, knowing relief was imminent. Stretching his plaid boxers painfully taut. Begging to be freed.

Truth was, he’d never even tried to stop this habit. Not when you were a few taps away.

Obito maneuvered his thumb across the screen to his camera roll. Heart racing at the anticipation of release, pounding louder in his ears with each scroll. Hand wandering down his chest to palm the base of his cock, curling his thumb around and meeting his fingers through the fabric. Stroking once. Just a short little tease. Shaking it, wagging it like a dog waiting for its mouth-watering treat. Inner thighs tensing, tilting his hips upwards at the inadequate brushes of cotton over his needy tip.

His hand was nothing in comparison to what he really wanted, but he’d make do.

He started with the solo pictures of you. Thirst traps taken in front of your mirror, posing in strappy leather dresses before going clubbing with your girlfriends. A few of you in a low cut tank top rolling around in your plush bedding, staring into the camera all dreamy, smiling coyly at the almost-nip-slip. One or two of you in a bikini from the beach vacation your friend group took together years ago on Spring Break; the same day you swore you dropped something in the hotel hallway and bent over, brushing your round ass over his lap, accidentally stimulating him into a babbling mess of covering his hard-on before one of the guys noticed.

His cock throbbed into his palm, touching himself lightly, running his fingers in gentle circles over his swollen head at the memory of your mouth engulfing him that night after asking you out on a date.

Obito filled his chest with a sigh, bobbing the phone up and down where it rested on his stomach. His thumb hovered, allured to the next set of treasures he procured when you were dating. Naughty things he promised to get rid of months ago.

After the break up, you both mutually agreed to delete all private photos taken and videos made for one another while you were together, out of respect. Yet, here he was. Hoarding recordings of his past endeavors for his own pleasure.

He dove into his depravity. Tapped on the first video and pulled down the waistband of his boxers, letting loose an airy groan from the back of his throat as the full weight of his decision warmed his hand. He groped blindly at the nightstand, eyes on the video, and shushed his morals with a long squeeze of cold lube dripping over his twitching cock.

“Fuck,” he moaned, outloud and in the video as he was treated to delicate delights in the form of tongue and fingers.

“Mmm, you like that?” you asked with a faux whine of concern as his knees jerked, caging you in between his legs. The video was short. Taken in a hotel room on an unfamiliar bed. Obito was an amateur back then, unable to keep recording during his climax, but the scene was a stunner regardless; the way you looked up at him, eyes heavy-lidded with desire, lips swollen and glistening. Teasing him with flicks of your tongue on the underside of his tip. Suckling on the most sensitive part of him. Trying to edge him for fun, but as you found out in the next few seconds after the video ended, he’d never received head before, and even the smallest sensations of your lips tightening around his cock had his toes curling.

Busting in your mouth for the first time was one of his favorite experiences. No way he was getting rid of that video.

Properly warmed up, he slipped his hand up and down his shaft, slicking the lube in his grip and fondling his balls while he found another picture. Cupping his sac and swirling his hand over the thin skin, feeling their heft and patience; heightened senses standing his hair on end, pebbling his forearms in sensual goosebumps.

The next photos he flipped through were taken as a set. Kneeling on his bed with your legs spread wide. Wearing little else other than your hands as a bra and a strip of fabric that functioned as a poor excuse for a pleated skirt. The first two images were sexy, posing all sweetly for him. Smiling lopsided, tilting your head and averting your eyes like you were suddenly shy. The next three had him stroking from base to tip, lube squelching as he applied more pressure on the thrust up his length; twisting his wrist as he neared the end, working the muscles in his bicep.

On his screen was his personal heaven. You straddling him, skirt lifted to show him a peek of black panties stretched over the swell of your pussy. Taming his cock to lay flat while you grinded down on him. Dragging your hips back to hit the spot that had your mouth gaped open, hands on his chest, arms bringing your tits together right in front of his phone.

A lovely reminder of what he used to have. The intimacy of your weight bearing down on him. Your easy “I love you’s” whispered into his ear while cuddling and your morning “Wanna smoke before class?” texts. It was uncanny how similar you two were. How many shared interests you had. How compatible you were, both fiercely loyal to a fault. Wholly devoted to being there for each other.. Like best friends.

How he screwed up the one beautiful thing in his life was beyond him. Becoming way too chatty after a few beers and hurting your feelings in the worst way. Losing his girlfriend and best friend in one slurred speech questioning if your fling would last, or if you had a future together.

To your credit, you tried to remain friends with him, but the damage was done.

Obito closed his eyes for a moment and slowed the pace of his fingers gliding over his shaft. He took a deep breath and peered beyond his lashes at the messaging app, tapping it open and lighting him with an eye-searingly white background. His thumb hesitated over the keyboard. Thinking, and overthinking. Scanning the walls of texts and voice messages sent over the years, acknowledging the dwindle in frequency, and then the major gap in recent times as he scrolled up to when you two were together. Playing a few clips of your voice; unimportant memos about an assignment in class or whatever. Yearning for something, anything, new to appear as he returned to the bottom.

It was stupid. He was stupid.

He typed out a simple message. In a trance. Unaware of anything except his throbbing cock demanding some sort of connection.

Obito: hey

The message sent before he could think twice. And like an idiot, he waited for a response for the longest three seconds of his life before going back to his camera roll and selecting a video.

“Ah-Ah! Obi–to!” you gasped as he pounded the breath out of you. Laid out on his bed, tits bouncing out of your lacy lingerie in time with the relentless slaps of his hips on your ass. Digging your nails into his bruising hold on your hip to keep you steady on the edge of his mattress while he struggled to hold the phone still. Capturing the carnal elegance of your body writhing under him as you clenched around his cock, dropping your head back, vocalizing the second orgasm he gave you before he left for work.

Turning his thumb and forefinger into a circle, he assaulted the lipped edge of his tip with fast, greedy strokes. Mixing the leaking precum with lube. Mimicking the way your lips sucked him off time and time again. Causing his knees to bend, toes to curl into the sheets, and his hips to rise to the occasion. Bucking at the aggressive stimulation. Bring him closer, closer–

You: hey!

“Jesus!” Obito dropped his phone, startled by the vibration and ping.

Picking it up, the notification at the top of his screen slipped from view and his trembling thumb chased it, opening the message app and staring at the text. Reading it several times to really sink it in.

You replied.

Adrenaline heated his skin, stinging a deep blush across his ears and cheeks. Realistically, he knew there was no way you knew what he was doing, but he glanced around the room in shame to check no one was there and closed out of the video before attempting to answer.

Obito second guessed sending you a voice message in hopes you’d send one back–knowing he sounded far too winded to come across as normal–and started typing out something on the keyboard, when you texted him again.

You: i was just thinking about you

You: i’m wearing one of your shirts

Texting you was a spur of the moment act of weakness. But having it result in the best possible outcome had him fighting off a smile. He tapped out a message while his other hand was busying itself where it left off. Alleviating the ache in his abdomen.

Obito: which one?

An amusing alternative to the question he really wanted to ask: “What’re you wearing?” Not that his version was innocent; and he wondered if you would read it in his husky voice.

Waiting for your answer, he found another video to jerk off to. He didn’t view this one often due to the harsh noonday sun backlighting your silhouettes from where the phone was propped against a lamp, but there was something magnificent in watching your outline ride him on the living room couch before his roommates came home. Arms wrapped around the curve of your waist and passionate fingers learning the arch of your back like it was the key to his survival. Throwing your head back at the same time his lulled to the side.

You: hold on

You: this band tee you let me borrow

Oh yes, he knew exactly which one you were talking about before the photo even loaded. And, of course, once it did, his urges rose to a new level, increasing the long drags of his slick palm along his throbbing cock with renewed vigor.

It was a mirror selfie of you sitting on the edge of your bed in just the way he liked. Utilizing the dip in your mattress to spill your round ass on either side of your thick thighs. Hair tousled about your shoulders like you just woke up. Wearing his shirt, and only his shirt. Knotting your hand in the fabric to gather it around your waist.

This wasn’t immoral, right? Pleasing himself to something you sent apropos of nothing. Another thirst trap meant to tempt his blood flow elsewhere other than his brain. Sitting all innocent on your bed, yet your smirk said otherwise.

You: just realized it looks like i’m not wearing shorts

You: i promise i am lmao

Obito tucked his chin and expelled a low groan at the next photo. He kicked his legs out and drove his hips up in short thrusts, keeping his fist where it was. Grunting, starting to pant.

Seductive and sweet. You had gotten off your bed and sent him the most delicious shot of your backside. You followed up the selfie with the words “new silk pajama shorts,” as if he gave a damn.

On your tiptoes, twisting your hips and hiking his shirt up to show off your ass, he couldn’t decide where to zoom in first: the shadowy glimpse of underboob or your cheeks hanging out of what you generously called shorts. Brazen and unabashed. Practically naked, considering how tight they hugged your body, rewarding him with the marvelous contour of your pussy pressed firmly against the shiny black fabric.

A perfect recipe for reminding him of his favorite set of videos. A two parter.

Obito: nice

Obito: my shirt looks good on you

Obito: gorgeous, but you know that

He smiled at the silly messages, then began his dark descent.

The first video was.. ravishing, to put it lightly. Damning and unforgivable to put it honestly.

“Do you like watching me?” you lilted mockingly, pouting your bottom lip as he beheld you with only hunger in his eyes. He panned the camera to his twitching cock. Light glimmering off a pearlescent drop of need dripping from his tip, pleading to be touched. Then he snapped back to you, accusingly so. “Hm? Is this turning you on, baby?”

You circled your hips again, regarding him with half-lidded eyes, taking a long drag on the joint pinched between your fingers before handing it to him for his turn. He inhaled until the paper crinkled to ash, awashing himself in peace to cope with your torture.

Straddling him was nothing new. However, grinding your wet pussy on his cock while he was only allowed to look, not touch, was pure evil.

Your lips twisted into a wider smile at his pitiful search for relief. Keen to every insufficient drive of his hips back and forth opposite yours. Trying his best to entice you with the pressure of his tip grazing your clit, lifting the hem of your shirt in the process.

The dual exhales of smoke clouded the scant reveal of your cunt treating him to a few powerful ruts. Spreading your knees wider, stretching his band tee to the curve of your hips. Vigorous in your efforts to tease him at your entrance, and then withdraw before he had the opportunity to slip inside.

He clung to your thigh and begged for more friction. You punished him with a laugh, and reverted to the slow, agonizingly weak, circular grinds of your hips. Working his shaft. No longer interested in his tip outside of causing it to brush his stomach with each swirl, too light to ease the tension in his core.

Now that he was alone, there was no one to deny his climax. He wrung his warm fingers around the head of his cock. Each curve of his digits administered fluttery moans of pleasure. Fully immersed in a fantasy until, again, his phone alerted him to a text.

You: watching our show tonight like usual lol

The accompanying photo was, primarily, a point-of-view angle of you laying in bed with the TV in the background paused on the intro to the show you watched together numerous times. But it was framed in a way that had Obito drooling.

His shirt was bunched around your hips, fallen to the curve of your ass from your crossed legs. Bathed in shadows, but not a pair of silky shorts in sight. His perfect angel.

“Baby,” he sighed heavily at his phone and enlarged the photo before switching to his camera roll again, playing around with zooming in on your bare cunt just out of sight while the next video loaded.

“Babe,” Obito’s stern voice cut through the soft sound of your ass cheeks caressing his cock. Ordering you to comply with his needs.

“Nuh-uh,” you giggled, removing his hand from the crease between your thigh and hip, where he was using it as leverage to pull you further up his length to the sweet spot on the underside of his cock that would’ve had him cumming half an hour ago.

Your persistence, your cruelty, knew no bounds.

Your ass job was an act of downright wickedness. Exploiting the weakness of his favorite position with you on top, cowgirl style–yet, not fucking him. Only fucking with him. Stroking your sopping wet cunt stretched over his girth from base to almost-tip. Stopping at the point where the head of his cock poked out from between your cheeks. So close to cumming all over his stomach. Just a few more brushes of skin on skin contact.. But you never gave it to him.

Flustered at your proverbial slap on his wrist, Obito rolled onto his elbow, straining to keep the phone recording, while he reached around and teased you in his own way.

“I know you wanna cum, baby,” he said, smoke adding a rasp to his voice. You sucked in a breath and whined at his finger’s magic. Two soft fingerpads pressing on either side of your clit, circling. Matching the tempo of your hips grinding on him–harder, now. More urgent. Listening to his hand’s insistence and nestling his tip against your entrance, covering him in your arousal.

His high settled in. Tingling every nerve in his body. Feeling each touch with the intensity of a thousand suns. Accepting that in this lust-driven state, nothing would ever compare to the feel of your cunt stretched over his cock.

Obito flexed his strength. He laid back and caught your ass cheek in the palm of his hand mid-bounce and forced you to lean forward. Exposing your pussy for him to use as he wanted.

At first, he used his thumb to shove his cock between your cheeks and thrusted, sensing your muscles constrict around him at the thought of losing your game. Any time he lined himself up to enter, you rejected the notion of him getting his release, jerking away to deprive him, smirking over your shoulder.

You had denied him one too many times.

Shivering, crazed, and unsatisfied, Obito used his one hand to discipline you. He slapped your ass, grinning as you gasped and pitched forward, tilting your hips to the perfect angle for his thumb to slide his needy–swollen, aching, oversensitive–tip into your entrance and clasped onto your hip, slamming you into his lap. Sinking you onto his cock until it disappeared and your mouth gaped in a loud, vulgar moan of his name.

He moved you. He seized your waist and compelled you to ride him, guiding you up as he relaxed into the mattress and then bore down at the same time he clenched his ass and drove upwards. Sending you rocking on his lap in lewd, wet smacks. Never letting you ascend more than a few inches. Wholly fixated on cumming inside you.

Obito released an animalistic grunt, staring at his screen. Flipping from the video to the image of you on your bed. To the video, to you. To exiting out of the photo and letting the screen languish on the messaging app. Eyelids drifting closed and lips parting as he played the rest of the scene in his head.

Broken out in a sheen of sweat, he bent his knees and worked his heels into his blankets, bracing himself to recreate the best fuck of his life.

“Fuck,” he uttered, breathless, engrossed in his gratification. He clutched onto his phone and rested the back of his hand on his burning forehead. Focused on the one thing he earned after all this delay.

He pumped himself faster. Jerking his hips erratically. Losing the tempo, the force. Spasming. Each roll of his hips unique from the last as his thighs twitched and his toes curled. Quick slips of his fingers from his tip to an all-out frenzy of recreating the sensation of your cunt clenching around him as you brought yourself to orgasm, gushing on his length, enthralled with the way he bossed you around.

“Mm!!” He bucked into his fist, letting the rest of the video play out in his mind. Bringing you down on his cock one last time and filling your pulsing cunt with everything you deserved.

“I want to fuck you so fucking bad, baby,” he admitted one second, and the next, his chest was covered. Collapsing into his bed. Muscles gone limp. Weightless. Stroking half-hearted tugs, milking his cock. Body wracked with aftershocks. Shuddering in the wake of his finger grazing his overstimulated head. Relieved. Able to concentrate on anything else now that he was a satisfied, trembling mess of a man.

He let his phone slide and drop to the bedding while he used the towel to clean himself off and close the lube, putting it away. Breathing out his nose in a hum as the flush cooled from his skin.

Remembering he didn’t reply to your message, he lit up the screen, and unlocked his phone, rubbing the sleepy lust from his eyes, blinking into clarity the choices he made today to reestablish a connection to you, feeling validated you replied at all.

He brought his phone to his face. Blinked again. Read over the last messages sent. Shook his head thinking he’d lost his place in your exchange. Tried to scroll to the bottom. Tried to scroll to the bottom again.

His smile vanished.

“Oh.. Fuck.”

The 1 minute and 27 second WAV file didn’t budge.

~~~

“I want to fuck you so fucking bad, baby.”

…

“I want to fuck you so fucking bad, baby.”

…

“I want to fuck you so fucking bad, baby.”

Your legs clamped together, squirming. Fumbling to turn your vibrator up a notch. Rocking from the sheer bliss of reaching your peak to the sound of his gravelly voice playing over, and over, directly in your ear. Pressing your lips together and whining, wishing it was him doing this to you.

You gasped his name, missing the warmth of his arms embracing you as the tension waned from your body.

Coming down from your high, you turned off your toy and tossed it aside, taking heaving breaths, searching your sheets for your phone you displaced in the throes of your orgasm.

You closed out of the video you were watching before he sent the voice memo. It was one you promised to delete months ago, but.. Obito’s face just looked so good between your legs, making eyes at the camera as he blessed your clit with his tongue. It was prime self-love content; you couldn’t get rid of it.

Going back to the messaging app, you giggled. An absolute slurry of typo-ridden, panic-induced apologies followed the accidental recording of him cumming, moaning your name.

It was adorable. And hot.

You: want me to come over? i’ll bring a bowl to share

You found some jean shorts laying on your floor and slid them on, disregarding panties. In the mirror, you straightened out his band tee, and used your fingers to fluff up your hair, laughing at your own love-struck smile. You laced up your shoes and locked the door behind you.

Obito: yes

Lord Sixth stalled for time.

For the past fifteen agonizing minutes the great Hokage of Konoha, leader of the renowned city whose prosperity extended far past the borders of the Land of Fire, shuffled through the manila envelope in his hands and came up empty. He couldn’t find the job application he was searching for, nor the transfer papers, nor the glowing referral faxed to him from Iwagakure that morning. And yet, he closed the folder and set it on top of the teetering stack of decrees on his desk as if this was all going exactly according to his plan. “So, you’re the new mail carrier I hired?”

Sitting beside him, his long time friend sighed and spoke out the side of his mouth, “You really should organize your desk.”

You unclasped your fingers and spread your arms in a meek shrug, forcing yourself to grin at your new boss. “Yes, sir. As I was saying, I relocated here four days ago and today was supposed to be my first day, but I received a notice that you wanted to see me for orientation? I can promise you I’ve been studying the routes on the map my manager supplied me with back in Iwa and I’m ready to start-”

“Can I see your map?”

“Er, sure.” You fished it from your pocket and unfolded it for him to see.

“Oh, that one’s outdated now.”

“But it says here on the top corner it was mocked up last month?”

“It was.” Lord Sixth pushed himself away from his desk and presented his astounding view of Konoha with a lazy sweep of his hand, gesturing to the scrawling suburbs and impressive multi-story buildings. “As you can see, after the tragedies that befell us two years ago, Konoha has undergone quite the reformation. We’re still restructuring sectors, adding apartment complexes to accommodate the influx of population, and advancing our public transportation system.” He delivered the statement without enthusiasm; dull and monotonous like he’d memorized a speech written by someone else about their lack of urban planning and shortage of government staff which led to transfers like you hundreds of times.

You scanned the horizon in acknowledgement. Of course you’d been busy moving into your new apartment, but in the respites between unpacking boxes, you ventured around your block and had grown accustomed to seeing the construction sites. Hearing the construction sites. Feeling the construction sites every morning at 5AM when they drilled into the concrete sidewalk opposite your doorstep.

“Yes, I am quite aware of the state of your village,” you droned, glaring at nothing in particular aside from the ever-blooming dust cloud hanging in the air. “But Lord Sixth-”

He returned to his casual disposition. “Please, call me Kakashi.”

“And I’m Gai!” His friend posed with his arms up in a bicep curl.

“Nice to meet you, Gai. But–uh–Kakashi, sir, if you want me to learn my route and start delivering today, we need to get this whole orientation thing going.” The map in your fist crinkled as you spun your fingers. “It’s getting pretty late into the afternoon.”

“Ah, great point,” he agreed, though his body language did little to ease the rising tension in your shoulders. Nonchalant as one could be, he took his time clearing his desk. He handed loose scrolls to Gai for him to collect in his lap, scattered reams of paper on the floor, pushed aside important legal documents–all of which were missing his stamp of approval on the signature line, and unearthed a map plastered to the veneer of his desk from corner to corner.

“Isn’t this one outdated too?”

“Yes, but it doesn’t matter for now. See here?” He pointed to the outer ring of forests surrounding Konoha; beyond where your little printed map of the city cut off. “Your job is to deliver to a cabin here. That’s it.” He circled a particular patch of green trees to the south.

Gai wheeled up to Kakashi’s other side and leaned in, side-eyeing Lord Sixth, pressing his lips in a hard line.

“All the way out there?” you asked, glancing out the window to the south. Quite a ways from the Hokage’s office. And even further from your apartment.

“Yep! That’s your job for the time being. You’ll make deliveries to this one residence until you're acclimated to Konoha’s new layout. Once we’ve found you a permanent route, we’ll just tack this resident on it. Sound like a deal?”

Sounds like a deal too good to be true. One delivery a day for the same pay grade? “Just this one person? Yeah. Sure. Sounds good to me.” Sounds like you’ll be sitting on your couch watching TV while getting paid for it!

“Excellent!” He yanked open a drawer and shoved a box in your hands, ignoring Gai’s glower. “Here’s your package for today. This resident may not require daily deliveries, so you’ll get a notice in your locker to come see me when you’re needed.”

The deal kept getting sweeter and sweeter. “Awesome!” However, you examined the box in your hands, turning it over and over. “Sir, it’s missing an address. Or at least a name?”

Kakashi waved his hand like he was shooing you off, eyes closed in mirth, most certainly beaming under the cloth mask covering the lower half of his face. “Oh, that won’t matter. You’ll know the cabin when you see it!”

“Uh-”

“Better get going. You have quite the journey before sundown.”

You blinked. Sure, as you reminded him earlier, it was a little late to start a brand new route, but how long could delivering one piece of mail take? Regardless, you were being dismissed as he placed his chin in his palm and drummed his fingers on his desk.

“Right, I’ll just get going then,” you mumbled, balling up your useless map and tossing it in the trashcan on the way out to the elevators.

It was only on the way down, when the elevator doors dinged open to a lobby full of people, did you question the nameless cardboard box roughly the size of a coffee mug. “Oh God, this better not be drugs.”

~~~

Gai gripped his wheelchair and rolled himself back and forth, fuming at Kakashi’s lackadaisical attitude. “You know he’s not going to appreciate someone showing up on his doorstep like that.”

“She’s just a civilian, Gai. She’ll be fine.” Then, Kakashi added as an afterthought, “It’s not like he’ll hurt her.”

Shaking his head, Gai admonished him, “You still should’ve warned her first; she has no clue what she’s getting into.”

“Maybe you need a healthy dose of optimism! What if she doesn’t come running back here screaming and crying and threatening to quit? What if she makes friends with him, hmm?”

“Yeah, right,” Gai said, rolling his eyes at Kakashi’s facetiousness. “Friends. We’ll see if she comes back at all first.”

~~~

A rogue basketball smacked the court and ricocheted away, getting lost amongst construction rubble. School-aged children stopped their game to witness you hesitate at the staircase they were warned never to touch. They were told those stairs were cursed. They were told a man–no, the devil himself–laid at the top of them, waiting to snatch misbehaving children from their homes. They were told he was destruction incarnate. They were told he was pure evil. They were told he was the cause of their parent’s death.

And there you were, tempting your fate like a lamb to slaughter.

“One delivery, huh,” you muttered, craning your head back, and back, until your neck cricked. “Were the walls always this tall?”

It was about time it dawned on you Konoha was rebuilt in the crater of what it once was. You were in a pit, a bowl with towering sides you swore were less.. towering when you moved in. Or rather, the drop off didn’t seem as steep when you were traveling downhill. Now, tasked with going uphill, the enormity of the Hokage’s request sank in.

One delivery. And it’d take you all day to get there.

Better yet, the stairs were substandard. Jutting out from the mountainside in a zigzag pattern with the thinnest handrail known to man to keep you from falling to your death. At every turn there was a landing to rest on, but otherwise, they were minimal. Only functional to those daring to risk it. Not at all grandiose and carved from whitestone like the stairs you’d seen on the other side of town.

You clutched the rusted handrail and took your first step. “Well,” you said to the small box in your hand, “here’s to a new job, a new life, and a new beginning.”

By the one-thousand-six-hundred-and-fiftieth step you were cursing absolutely anything and everything. “Look at that vulture circling the sun!” You stabbed a shaky finger at it. “Hey bird! You could literally be flying anywhere right now. Anywhere! You could be at the beach in Suna, and yet, here you are, waiting for me to die!” Panting, sweating in crevices you’d rather not be sweating in; you dispassionately splayed your limbs and waited for the scorching sun to end your new job, new life, and new beginning.

“Miss?”

“Huh?”

An upside down man wearing a hardhat entered your field of vision. “Miss, are you alright?”

“Oh,” you started. He held out his hand and helped you off your back after seeing you fling yourself to the top of the landing, steadying you as your quaking thighs struggled to support your weight. “Thank you, kind sir.”

He guided your wobbly self away from the edge of the stairs and to the plush grass, walking you over to his group of coworkers smoothing out a layer of gravel next to long metal beams. “We didn’t expect anyone to be using those stairs. Are you lost, ma’am?”

“No, just trying to deliver a package.” You held up your stupid, insignificant box with a grimace. Hoping they wouldn’t question your sanity, but it was too late.

All of them, all the burly men with heavy brows overhanging their eyes, paused their mallets in the air and lifted their gaze to you. Their weather-beaten faces registered your proclamation and wrinkled in concern. Then their eyes sharpened, horrified at the way you were dressed. Wearing a simple blouse, an office worker’s skirt, pantyhose, heeled loafers unfit for running away due to the blisters on your feet disrupting your gait, and worst of all, no visible weapons.

“You don’t mean.. delivering to him,” the man who had come to your aid indicated with a tip of his head to the overgrown footpath leading into the forest. A trail visible to those who sought it and no one else. A maze to your destiny. A road to a man, apparently.

“Yes, I believe so. I’m the new mail carrier for this route. On the Hokage’s orders.” You solidified your stance and shook off his doting hand from holding yours. Ruffling your proverbial feathers; annoyed that once again you were reduced to a damsel who was too weak to defend herself. Inciting a deep-seated hatred in your bones.

A different man spoke up, “Listen little lady, no one goes into those woods and comes out alive.”

“Would hate to see someone so young end up as another trophy of his.”

“Yeah,” another agreed. “Should’ve locked him up for good. Or, y’know.” He sucked his teeth and drew his thumb over his throat.

Fed up with their excessive scaremongering, you marched over the bed of rocks towards the path–slipping and sliding, nearly breaking your ankle–and huffed out a quick, “Whatever! Mind your own business and go back to building your, your-”

“They’re train tracks, ma’am.”

“Why don’t you build a fucking elevator instead!”

You approached the forest’s edge. Lush and vibrant. Hues of green and yellow, the colors of life. Nothing to be afraid of.

“There’s a wolf in them woods,” a distant voice warned.

The men’s eyes burned into the high rise of your shoulders as you took a steely breath and passed the threshold. Weeds tickled your knees, twigs leapt to put a hole in your tights. Low branches lunged for your arms as you turned sideways and shimmied past them. Wildflowers swayed despite the thicket being too dense to allow a breeze. Birds quieted their teetering.

The sounds of construction faded, replaced by stillness. Canopied tree tops dulled the world in shadows. Quiet. Peaceful. Nothing to be afraid of. You followed the footpath weaving through clusters of trees, veering off and widening after what felt like minutes of senseless wandering.

Whoever owned the cabin was thoughtful enough to beat back the brush to make a driveway up to their house. There was no mailbox at the end of it, but otherwise, it was the type of quaint place you saw plenty of back in Iwa. Like it was plucked from an unassuming street and dropped smack dab in the middle of nowhere. You scoured the area for anything out of the ordinary, but found little to be put off by, aside from the silence.

The cabin appeared handmade judging by the craftsmanship. It had a simple sloped roof and small porch with three steps leading up to it. It made use of the space cleared out front by having two flower beds set up on either side of the stairs, though no flowers grew from it.

“Cute,” you complimented aloud while walking up the stairs. The last flickers of burning red daylight dappled your hand through the holes in the porch’s roof as you knocked on the solid wood door. “Hello?”

Admittedly, your voice wasn’t as brave as you’d hoped after the men’s warnings. “They’re just local legends,” you comforted yourself in a whisper. Whoever lived here was a hermit, that’s all. A hermit who had rumors spread about him. The type you’d tell around a campfire. Childish tales. Nothing to be afraid of.

You knocked again. It sounded hollow. Like it echoed in the empty house. “Hello? I’m your new mail carrier. I have a package for you. I’ll leave it on the porch.” You ducked to set it down and out of the corner of your eye you caught the flutter of a curtain being peeled back from the window next to the door.

The hair on the back of your neck stood on end. Sweat dripped down your throat like blood.

For a moment you remained cowering like prey.

Petrified with fear.

Then your feet moved before you commanded them. Bolting. Leather loafers clacking thunderous steps on his porch, his concrete steps, his useless driveway. Trampling wispy grass. Breaking through twisty branches scraping the back of your hands. Catching razor sharp briars on your pantyhose. Suffocating in your too-tight skirt and too-buttoned blouse.

Darkness grew. Eyes opened. Yellow, murky pupils followed your uncoordinated steps.

You were disoriented in the twists and turns. Panicking at the thorns pricking your legs. Fighting the vines snaring your ankles. Trembling at the blooming spots of blue and black like bruises on your body.

They were from the juice of blackberries. Nothing to be afraid of.

And like a feral beast who had the displeasure of tasting rotten meat, you were spit out by the forest at the very edge you started on.

Gulping lungfuls of fresh air, you gathered your wits in front of the men who seemed impressed at your survival. You straightened your skirt, dusted the dirt from your shoulders, and held your chin high. “No wolf to eat me today,” you said, limping past the construction workers on your way to the stairs, leaving them to gawk in awe.

Children waited for your arrival at the bottom. Crowding around the crooked pole for the netless basketball hoop. Whispering to each other as you returned alive.

And you wondered, then, if the wolf wasn’t hungry that day.

~~~

There was a thin line between bravery and stupidity.

It was brave of you to not resign on the spot when you opened your locker and out floated a white slip of paper summoning you to the Hokage’s office.

However, stupidity drove you to this residence with a plan in your head.

You patted the government issued mail carrier cream colored circle brim hat on your head. Straightened your government issued mail carrier shiny name badge on your government issued mail carrier powder blue short sleeve blouse. Tugged on your government issued mail carrier pristine white cloth gloves. Ran your hands down your government issued mail carrier navy blue impractically tight knee-length skirt.

Grabbing a pen and pad of paper, you knocked. “Hello?” You waited for no answer. “It’s me! Your new mail carrier. I have a package for you to sign for.”

The curtain peeled back again, but flapped closed as soon as your gaze traveled to it. The owner of this cabin may be shy, but unfortunately for them you were relentless. You stooped to peer through the corner of the window where you knew him to be and knocked harder on the glass, rattling it, shouting, “I know you’re home! You need to sign for this package or else I’m taking it back-”

The door knob clicked. Turned.

You stepped in front of the door, brimming with joy. Smiling your friendliest customer service smile at the slice of darkness. You presented your pen and paper pad to no one, for he remained hidden behind the solid door. “Hi! Just sign right here, please.”

“I’ve never had to sign anything before,” he rasped, imbuing each word with mistrust and spite. He sounded hoarse. Like his throat was dry from not using it for some time.

You regurgitated the lie you prepared, “New regulations.”

“Kakashi wouldn’t make me..” He closed the door slightly, preventing you from even a glimpse into his life; not that you could see anything beyond the shallow landing where he kept a pair of house slippers. “I’m not signing anything. Leave it on the porch.”

“If you don’t sign, it will be marked as return to sender.” You rapped the pen on his door and jostled the papers. “I just need your signature here on the dotted-”

He slammed the door in your face.

You knocked again, hellbent on solving the mystery of your newest customer. “Sir!”

“Go away!”

Recoiling from the deserved vitriol he ground into his husky voice, you pouted your bottom lip and shoved the pen and paper into your shoulder bag. You took out his package and dropped it right on his doorstep. Delivering it precisely how he earned it. “Rude,” you said to his door and left.

Finding your way back to the stairs was easier this time on account for the wreckage you left in your wake. Snapped branches laid stark against the flattened grass. Butterflies fought over the wildflowers you managed to leave intact. Waxy green leaves lined the path like flower petals on a bride’s wedding day.

At the bottom of the staircase, you were doubled over catching your breath, when a woman spoke up.

“That man is pure evil.” She ushered a group of children behind her with her protective arms spread across their chests like a shield. The thin skin on her forehead wrinkled many times over, encumbered by her frown dragging her lips down in harsh lines bracketing her nose. “Leave while you still can.”

You checked behind you to make sure she was talking to you. “Oh? I just deliver his mail.” Maybe you were being too short with her, but all the intrigue surrounding this single man was getting to you.

She grasped one of the boys from the crowd and pushed him forward. “That man killed his father, my son. And his mother, my daughter in law. You should quit while you still have the choice.” The boy chewed his bottom lip. Watching you. Lines of snot streaking from his nostrils.

You whispered fragments of her sentence. “Your son and his wife?”

The little boy twisted his fists in the hem of his shirt. The other children behind her observed you with equal interest. All a variety of complexions, face structure, and builds.

They were orphans and she was their caretaker.

“He was supposed to have a sister,” she hissed, shaking her grandson’s shoulder as a tear dripped from her quivering chin.

A blood curdling chill ran up your spine, tingled your nerves. Itched the senses in your logical brain telling you this many instances weren’t coincidences. They weren’t scary stories to tell in the dark. They weren’t folktales crafted to scare children into being obedient.

They were worse. They were the truth.

You averted your gaze and hurried to the alleyway past her, but her yellowed fingernails snagged your sleeve. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I’m just the mail carrier.”

“Please,” she begged with all the misfortune she bore witness to in her old age welling in her eyes. ”Quit.”

She was hardly your first, or last, warning that day. On your journey from the Hokage’s office to the southern staircase, numerous people did double takes upon seeing your steadfast march to your death. Whispers trailed the clack-clack-clack of your shoes. Gossip formed the square of your shoulders, the hardened downturn of your mouth. Rumors blanketed the area around you.

But those were easy to ignore. Those words were wind. Come and gone without impact. Those did not tug at your heartstrings. Because none of them affected you like the woman clinging to your arm so desperately, whose voice held the same choking loneliness as the one yelling at you to leave. She was the same as the man in the woods.

“I will.”

A lie had never tasted as sweet as the one coming from your blackberry stained mouth.

~~~

This was a cruel and unusual punishment.

It was also your job.

A fully fledged letter was waiting for you in your locker. It was of thick parchment, addressed to your name with striking penmanship, and was sealed with Lord Sixth’s wax stamp. You assumed your new mail route would be inside, something worthy of this caliber of fanfare. But alas, it was much worse than a solid sleep schedule to keep you from napping on the couch, taking you away from your daytime reruns of a show you’d watched thousands of times while a half-eaten pint of ice cream sealed itself to your side table. What waited for you in that folded piece of paper was truly reprehensible.

It was a grocery list for your customer.

As you reached the top of the staircase, you raised the plastic grocery bags and jostled them at the construction workers as a hello. They waved back, tiny in the distance like ants. It had been over a week since you last delivered mail to the hermit in the woods and they had moved along the rim of Konoha, installing the train tracks.

You entered the forest, arms shaking. Fingers strained under the weight of the bags. Handles like wires slicing into your joints, numbing the tips of your fingers. Shoulders aching in their sockets, inundated by the bounty of potatoes this man apparently needed.

Innocent blue birds chirped a merry tune above you. “This was not in my job description,” you grumbled, opposing their gaiety. “But neither was delivering to murderers, I guess.”

The week off gave you too much time to think.. during commercials and such.

Some days you dreaded opening your locker. Other times you considered trekking up those damned stairs dressed in all black with a pair of binoculars in hand just to hide in the bushes outside his cabin. Snooping was wrong, but what choice did you have? How could you resist a glimpse at the mysterious man who spurred such grievous warnings?

The more weary glances you earned and advice you unsolicited, the less you believed the tales attributed to him.

It was hard to admit, but your heart leapt upon seeing the letter. Your chest pounded with hope of seeing him again. Hearing him again. Learning his name.

Standing in his driveway, you inhaled deep through your nose and held it until technicolor stars burst in your vision, and released it. Palms slick, hands cramped. Prepared to introduce yourself to the wolf of the woods. Confident no one worth fearing hid behind a door from a lonesome girl on their porch.

You began to ascend the final three steps of your quest, when you heard a sound coming from around the back of the cabin. A thunk followed by a scrape. The sound of a tool striking the earth and dragging soil with it. Undoubtedly wielded by a person of considerable strength.. Meaning today was your lucky day. Your mystery man was outside, digging something in the backyard.

With every step your heart pumped blood to your face, heating your cheeks. Wondering if he resembled the brief fantasies you conjured in your head late at night as you fell asleep.

You rounded the side of his house, and greeted him. “Hey! I’m here to-”

The tool was aimed at you. Arced high over his head. A hoe with three prongs, gleaming sharp in the sun. His arms lurched. Muscles constricted, contouring their length. Taut with anticipation. Bracing for impact. Intent on harming you.

He swung. You fell.

You slipped, dropping the bags around you. Spilling his food across the mud. Covering your head with your arms. Releasing a scream louder than the one in your ears as the wind from his swing whistled past your cheek–knocking your hat off and loosening your hair. The ice-pick prongs of the weapon in his capable palms sank into the ground where your hand was milliseconds before. Stabbing a carton of milk. Splashing liquid to the dark soil of the fresh dug grave behind his staggered stance.

It all happened so quickly. Registering his attempt, then noticing his face. Scarred beyond an average shinobi’s. White hair, matted with sweat. Eyes as crimson as fresh spilt blood. A drive, a purpose in his body language. Reaching for you.

Instinct. Fear. Survival kicked in. You scrambled in the shallow, cold mud. Sliding across the surface. Digging your shoes in and kicking yourself away from him. Launching into an inept crawl-sprint. Catching yourself on your knees and pounding your fatigued muscles into working.

He yelled something at your retreating back, but your own wheezing drowned him out. If you could hear him, you weren’t far enough away.

~~~

“Who the fuck is he?” Kakashi lifted his eyebrows at his door being slammed open. “Don’t look at me like that. Who exactly am I delivering mail to?” You hooked your shoe around the chair opposite him, yanked it away from his desk and sat. Arms crossed. Staring him down. A myriad of mixed emotions twitching at your face.

Shikamaru glanced between you both and stood from his corner desk. He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept his head low, making a swift exit. Not interested in hearing his boss defend the reason for his father’s death.

The door clicked shut, sealing you in silence. Draping the room in your agitation and Kakashi’s reluctance. Straining to keep your mouth shut while the shadow of his moved under his mask, drawing in a breath to compose himself for the conversation he was about to have. Preparing himself to explain why he hired you from the other applicants, knowing he’d have to find someone to replace you by the end of it.

“How much do you know about the Fourth Shinobi War?”

You shrugged. “Just what I’ve heard through word of mouth and propaganda.”

He opened his eyes. “So..?”

“Nothing. Not the facts, at least.”

“Alright.” Kakashi chose a different starting point, one you should know. “Does the name Obito Uchiha mean anything to you?”

“Look, Lord–Sir, you were never born a civilian, so I’ll fill you in.” The backrest of your plush chair creaked as you lounged in it. Getting comfortable as you were about to make him uncomfortable. “Being a civilian is like being born last into a large family. You know family secrets exist, you hear whispers of them, but no one tells you anything because you’re the baby. You go to school, but are left out of every social circle. You work, but not the good paying jobs that earn you respect. You scrub the floors of those ranking above you and hope you don’t slip up and disrespect someone much larger, much stronger than you; legally allowed to carry weapons on their person all thanks to that little metal plate tied across their forehead. You live a life of servitude to keep the economy afloat during wars you didn’t agree to and hope you don’t find yourself wandering down a dark alley on your way home from a 12-hour shift where the war veteran who took your waist-deep bow as a sign of disrespect is waiting for you. To him, you should’ve been on your knees, kissing his feet to thank him for the blessing of being alive.”

You took a moment to roll your lips, blinking away the hard line of water trailing your eyeline. “I’m told I’m the lucky one for not knowing the trauma that you do, Kakashi. And I would never envy you in that regard. But I was unfortunate enough to be born a disappointment to my family.

“Let me guess,” you croaked. “You hired me because I’m too ignorant to know who this murderer is you have me delivering to?”

Kakashi worked his jaw. Empathizing with your anger and adding it to his burdens, his shortcomings as a leader. “You’re right. I owe you the facts.”

Much like when you met, he exuded peacefulness when filling in the details of the war. Using his calm voice to illustrate the horrors he faced. Painting a picture of what was lost that day in lush pigments. Clarifying the painful history behind the man who orchestrated it all.

Fact: Obito Uchiha sought vengeance on Konoha once before, attacking his former teacher and letting the Nine Tailed fox run rampant in the city; responsible for the deaths of the two people who viewed him as a son.

Fact: Obito Uchiha directly aided Itachi Uchiha in the massacre of their clan.

Fact: Obito Uchiha, the true leader of the criminal organization known as the Akatsuki, allowed Pain to raze Konoha in search of Naruto Uzumaki.

Fact: Obito Uchiha instigated the Fourth Shinobi War.

Fact: Obito Uchiha indirectly and directly slaughtered thousands upon thousands of shinobi over a single night; leaving the ones left alive to serve as witnesses to his atrocities.

Fact: Obito Uchiha was manipulated as a vulnerable teenager into doing many of these things. Few people believed him. Even fewer forgave him.

Fact: Obito Uchiha was Kakashi Hatake’s best friend and now lives under his protection to atone for his sins.

“I’ll find you a permanent route by tomorrow morning. Or, if you want to resign and return to Iwagakure, I’ll fund your moving expenses.” Kakashi laced his fingers, rubbing his thumb over a scar on his first knuckle. Fueling the stillness in his office as he laid your options out for you to mull over.

You released the hem of your skirt and smoothed your damp palms over the wrinkles you created during Kakashi’s brutal recount. You reminded yourself to breathe, and to relax. Digest a reality you’d never imagined; far worse than any telltale whispers you heard since your arrival about the wolf of the woods.

The longer Lord Sixth went on, and the longer you sat in your feelings, you knew the decision you made from the moment you entered his office was the right one.

“I’ll do it.”

“What?”

The hurt in Obito’s scratchy voice. The alarm in his red eyes. The horrified gasp cracking his dry lips when he almost hurt you. His strangled cry when you were running away, “Wait! I didn’t mean to!”

Obito Uchiha needed someone to believe him. Forgive him. Befriend him. Be his one connection to the outside world and show him it wasn’t so awful on the other side.

“I’ll deliver mail to Obito Uchiha.”

~~~

Obito sat on the bottom step of his porch, same as he did yesterday, and the day before that, tracing the edge of the envelope in his hands. Waiting. Reflecting. Loathing.

The pressed paper had more of a life than him. It had a reason to exist, somewhere to go. Someone to appreciate it. Someone to hold it, read the message written inside, and respond. It was once a tree, tall and kind. Serving a purpose in its previous life and the next. Serving a worthy existence of no harm.

A single piece of paper had more reason to live than him.

It was wanted.

Heavy footsteps snapped his mind to the present before it veered too far off into the past, and never into the future. The person forcing him to live this miserable life had come to see him. Come to tell him that once again, the newest hire quit and he needed time replacing them.

Obito’s stomach clenched around nothing but an empty pit of dread. Ready to reap the consequences of his mistake. Tallying it with the growing list of others he’d never atone for even if he spent the next eternity repenting.

Mourning this life he did not earn, he dragged his gaze from the beads of blood swelling from the papercut on his finger to the loose stones pebbling his driveway amidst the overgrown grass, squinting at the leather shoes invading his territory. Not the toeless sandals he was expecting.

Ogling the pantyhose clad legs, not the standard shinobi pants he was expecting. Not the hips, the chest– You cleared your throat.

Obito looked at you, confused as to why you were here.

“Hey there,” you greeted him, approaching slowly, keeping your face neutral while you reached into your large shoulder bag and produced two letters with his name scrawled across the front, stamped with the Hokage’s wax seal. Moving deliberately. Precise and thoughtful. Like the slow trickle of a stream to demonstrate your serenity in his presence, not the rushing rapids of stark-white fear of trying to escape, as before. “I’ll be your mail carrier from now on. Okay, Obito?”

Reading your nametag, he confronted the fact that you were, indeed, not Kakashi. “You’ll be..” he trailed off, not understanding why you would return. Why you would take the risk of associating with him. Why you bared the responsibility of making eye contact with a monster. Why you stood there, brave, tolerating his ineptitude. “My mail carrier,” he finished. Smothering the first spike of hope–of assurance–flourishing in his chest, aching from experiencing anything other than hatred.

“Yep.” You shrugged, offering him a small smile like it was nothing. But to him, it was astonishing. Sun lighting you in its golden rays. Eyes gleaming with amusement after addressing him by his name. Coy lips twisting at the corners after using them to acknowledge who he was, and thus, the weight of his crimes like you were in on a joke. Like he was in on it too, showering him in undeserved affection in the form of a teasing giggle.

You waved the letters in your hand and gestured for the one in his, “I’ll trade you.”

“O-Oh, yeah, here.” He winced at his nervous stammer and, on accident, you released a honking snort worthy of a goose, contributing to both his mortification and yours.

Ready to hurl yourself from the stairs, you heel-turned and squeaked out a, “Welp, see ya!” and prayed he would never talk to you again.

“Wait!” he coughed. He began to stand up, then thought better of it, sitting down again. Slouching. Trying his best to appear unintimidating. “I didn’t mean to.. Uhm..” He struggled to organize the jumbled words in his head. “I didn’t mean to hurt you the other day. I was back there gardening, and when you came around the corner, you scared me. I was already mid-swing and couldn’t stop. I.. I’m sorry.”

You paused your retreat and cocked an eyebrow. “I scared you?”

“Yeah? You snuck up behind me and started harassing me about my groceries-”

“Oh! That reminds me.” You dug through your bag and tossed him a carton of milk. “Sorry if it’s a little warm. It takes a while to get up here, y’know.”

Annoyed at being interrupted, he turned the carton over in his palm, once, twice, telling himself to let go of his pet peeve and recognize you were doing him a favor. “Thank you,” he said in earnest. “I have something for you, too.” He stretched up to the porch and grabbed your hat from where he left it the other day, holding it out to you sheepishly. “I didn’t think you’d come back, so I didn’t clean it..”

He started to mumble another apology, but you accepted the crumpled, dirty hat and plopped it on your head; in need of something to protect you from the sun and shushing him in the process. “I’ll see you soon, Mr. Uchiha.”

“Tomorrow,” he corrected instantly, cringing at how eager he sounded.

“Tomorrow,” you repeated, waving goodbye and disappearing into the needled greenery of the pine saplings growing around the bend.

Obito sat on the bottom step of his porch, elbow propped on his knee and head ducked to scrub a hand through his white hair. He stared at the carton of milk in his hand, chest rising and falling with a sigh as he contemplated the simple gift.

Pondering why you replaced his cheap milk with a luxury brand out of pocket.

~~~

“Open this door before I–!” The door creaked open and you clicked your tongue at his appearance. “Why did you make me wait-”

“I said give me a minute,” Obito grumbled. Bent over, hand on the doorframe for balance, slipping on his other shoe. Dressed in the same sweatpants and stained navy blue t-shirt as yesterday. Wearing a scowl in spite of the pillow crease cutting across his cheek.

“You said that over a minute ago. I’ve been holding these things for hours! Carrying them up the fuckin’ side of a mountain for you, who couldn’t be bothered to be awake before noon.” You shoved the boxes at his chest, not waiting to make sure he had a hold of them first before letting go. “I can’t feel my arms or even uncurl my fingers!” You demonstrated, trying to flex your clawed hands. Arms trembling from the strain of lugging his delivery around Konoha all morning.

He scoffed at your feebleness and stepped out into the sun with his myriad of stacked cardboard boxes containing the flowers he ordered. Some potted in plastic to be transferred into the flower beds on either side of his stairs, some in heavy ceramic pots. He picked through the flowers on top one by one, setting them next to the beds, scrutinizing a lost petal here, a crushed leaf there. Blabbering on and on about how you should’ve taken more care transporting them, showing no empathy for your treacherous journey.

“Did you drop these? There’s soil all over the bottom of the boxes.”

Full of theatrics, you waved your arms and feigned victimhood. “What kind of mail carrier would I be if I went around dropping my customer’s packages? How rude to accuse me of such negligence!”

The sharp shadows lining the scars on his cheek elongated as his mouth drooped with a tired expression. “You have a hole in the left knee of your tights. I can see the blood where you scraped it.”

You crossed your left leg behind your right. “Oops.” Your cheeky grin did little to placate his curmudgeonly rants; he seemed to be working harder, grunting and moving the ceramic pots around to drown you out.

“Okay, Mr. Flower Guy.” You folded your arms on the banister and goaded him with a saccharine smile, enjoying the perspective of towering over him as he looked up at you from the ground. “What’s with the flower obsession?”

“I’m not obsessed,” he spat.

“You seem obsessive.”

“I’m not. I’m just making sure you’re doing your job right.”

“Do you have a long history with flowers?”

He heaved all the air from his lungs. “No.”

“Did you like them as a kid?”

“Definitely not.”

“Do they hold some special meaning to you?”

“Not really.”

“Then why are you so uptight about them?”

“Because– I don’t–” he grew flustered–”I don’t even like flowers,” he admitted, surrounded by flowers, “but Kakashi said they’d.. cheer me up or something, with how alone I am out here.” The moment he let the smallest candor begrudgingly slip past his lips his ears were tinted red, spreading pink to his unscarred cheek and across the bridge of his nose. Embarrassed to let you judge his miserable existence so bluntly.

And Gods, did it shatter the illusions the townsfolk created of him.

You knew the truth. The vile truth; and yet, you wanted to know what compelled Kakashi to forgive the one who caused him such immense amounts of grief; wondering if you too could foster a friendship with a man so opposed to kindness.

Obito misinterpreted your silent introspection as an offense at his hostility. He calmed his movements, kneeling in the wispy grass and digging shallow holes in the flower bed with his hands. Mindful of the worms and bugs who made their home in the dirt and working around them, attending to their survival rather than acknowledging the foreign glimmer in your eyes and the precious way you clasped your chest over your heart. “Kakashi imported these from a country up north. He sent me a weather report yesterday and knew there'd be another cold front coming in, so if I plant them now, they’ll acclimate before the last freeze of the season.”

“Wait.. What?”

“What?”

You blinked at him. “Is Kakashi your weatherman?”

“Well, yeah–how else would I know the weather?”

“A.. television?” you spoke to him slowly, like he was an old man.

He sat on his heels and wiped the soil from his hands on his pants, leaning on his thighs as he challenged you, “If you want to carry a TV up here, be my guest.”

“Point taken.”

You observed him work for a while longer. Not ashamed to gander at him with your cheek smooshed on your fist, rocking back and forth like an infatuated schoolgirl. Afterall, he was mesmerizing. Unique.

He bowed his head and the sun struck his blindingly white hair like a halo. His skin was mottled with sections devoid of life, pallid and thick with scar tissue. The blue veins in his tanned forearm bulged as he lifted a tray from the box, shifting his round shoulders under his thin t-shirt. His mismatched palms tenderly cupped a cluster of pansies, guiding them into the hole he created and packing dirt around the stem, careful to not disturb the delicate petals, nor the caterpillar on one of its leaves. Not two years ago he used those same compassionate hands to ravage generations without mercy.

“What’re you..”

“Helping you,” you said, hopping down the last step and using the handrail to swing your weight towards him.

“You don’t have to do that,” he mumbled.

“I want to.”

You removed your white gloves and stuffed them in the waistband of your skirt. He stiffened. You sank to your knees and pulled a plastic tray of orange flowers towards you. His chest broadened with a full breath meant to refuse your indulgence.

“Don’t you want to go home, or something?”

You shuffled until you were at the edge of the wood chip border and began scooping holes for the daisies you chose. “Lucky for you, I’m taking a long lunch.”

He didn’t respond to your jest, knowing it was well past lunchtime. Indeed, he didn’t move for some time. Wholly fixated on the side of your face. Studying the humble curve of your lips. Your cheek, dewy with sweat and catching the light. Your eyes, half-closed in concentration. Bewildering him; fathoming why someone dressed in ironed clothes would willingly dirty them for the sake of charity.

“I didn’t volunteer so that you could slack off,” you huffed.

He dragged his eyes from your hands: small and soft and innocent; gardening outside his lone cabin hidden in the woods: solitary and fearsome and tragically deprived of happiness; to the streak of soil on your forehead from helping a man who did not know what to do with the emotions he felt upon comprehending your generosity: lost and useless and far too wretched for you to be associating with him.

By the time he worked up the courage to plead with you to leave him to suffer alone, you had moved on to the second flower bed and gestured for him to follow. He stayed kneeled: gawking and curious and enraptured by the unfamiliar lightness in his chest.

“Judging by how you’re staring at me, I’m going to guess you haven’t seen a woman in some time.” His glare competed with the sun scorching the back of your neck.

Without exchanging words, you worked together. You dug the holes while he prepped the flowers, popping them from the trays and planting them. Once the boxes were empty, you watered while he arranged the house plants in ceramic pots on his porch to his liking. Changing their places again and again until he was satisfied.

“Not bad,” you said, joining him in the driveway to view your hard day’s work in full. “I had big plans for watching the premier of a new show tonight, but this was nice too.” You turned to smile at him, and your joy wilted before it could bloom. His face was blank and eyes empty. Seeing the flowers, but not experiencing the cheer he was promised. “If you don’t like them, we could try again next spring. Like a different arrangement or types.”

Dazed, he repeated, “Next spring,” in the haunted tone of a man who had no intention of meeting it.

Heavy was the pain encumbering your heart. Enduring his hurt and doing what little you could to lessen it, even for a moment. You lifted your chin and joked, “Yeah, next spring. Y’know, the season after summer, autumn, and winter. Next year, it’ll be spring again. Maybe you should ask Kakashi for a calendar next.” Obito rolled his eyes, and despite it being at your expense, you were relieved to see it.

“Whatever.” He started towards the back of his house and looked over his shoulder at you standing there, alone. “Did you want to see the other garden?”

“Other garden?” You followed him around the corner. “Oh–” you exclaimed, slapping your forehead– “This is a garden!”

Dumbstruck, he surveyed the raised garden beds filled with soil and marked off in rows of laminated paper tabs with pictures of the vegetables planted there. “Yeah? What else would it be?”

“Well, when you tried to murder me the other day, I thought they were graves.” You took a second glance at them. “Or maybe coffins.”

“Graves?” He put his fingers to his temples and administered soothing circles for his growing headache. “First of all, I wasn’t trying to murder you. Second of all, they’re clearly not graves.”

“I watch a lot of scary movies.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

“You could too, if you had a TV,” you said brightly. He groaned. “Speaking of scary movies; it’s getting late and I’m not about to get lost in these woods at night.” Picking your gloves from the waistband of your skirt, you slid them on and waved goodbye while walking to the driveway. Grinning wider when you saw him trailing you, muttering sweet nothings behind your back.

“Oh, good, you’re leaving.”

“What was that?” You spun around and laced your fingers cutely, bending at the waist and angling your ear to him. “Were you thanking me for helping you?”

Guilt stung Obito’s cheeks. His mouth hung open for yet another retort, and there you were, covered in dirt and sweat, fabricating a lie to.. spend time with him. You were nice. And he was annoyed at you being nice, convinced he did not deserve the goodness you brought to his doorstep. The smiles, the easy laughter, the kind gestures like replacing his milk without the expectation of reimbursement.

“I was, yes,” he stated, and after you prompted him by raising your brows, he continued, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome!”

You bid him a goodnight and left his property before true darkness set in and the monsters came out. Hankering for a nice long bath and a microwaved meal you didn’t have to cook.

Obito waited until the leaves ceased their rustling, until your steps waned and the moon waxed. Until the world stilled around him. Until the unnerving silence of the forest suppressed the cacophony in his head.

He turned away from where you once were, with your silhouette burned into his mind, and replaced it with the looming structure of his cabin. Beholding the colorful flowers planted out front, unsure what to make of sprucing up the outside when the inside was so pathetically barren.

~~~

Fate.

Luck.

Fate brought you to Obito’s doorstep. Luck brought you to Obito’s doorstep drenched in freezing rain. Violently shivering, teeth clacking so viciously they could break. Sinuses stuffed with early onset sniffles, temples pounding with pressure. Extremities turned to ice–most notably your fingers.

You knocked on his door and hissed in pain at your throbbing knuckles.

Without peeking through the window to check who was disturbing him at the late gray hour, he threw open the door and relief flooded you in the form of a gust of warm air greeting your chafed cheeks.

“O-Obi-to!”

“Why are you-?”

“Mail,” you whimpered.

He sighed, “Come here,” and yanked you inside his cabin for the first time–right into him. Seemingly surprised when you collided with his chest despite dragging you in like a sack of grain; underestimating your willingness to enter his house and trivializing his own strength.

You screwed your face on the impact, dappling his shirt in wet splotches, bunching it in your unimpressive fist. Stumbling, using him for reassurance that you were, indeed, saved from hypothermia.

Obito was rooted on the spot with your arms in his grip. Brows pinched, jaw tight, running the tip of his tongue over the back of his teeth, formulating which snide remark he should scold you with first. Surmising you were truly irresponsible to show up at his cabin during a storm. Jumping at the chance to teach you a lesson about negligence, but at the same time, his mind was blank. You were closer than you were last week.

You were touching him, and he was touching you. Heightened senses roiling in the meaningful exchange.

His every inhale was a timid acceptance. Filling the space in his lungs and expelling it across your stinging flesh. Sending wave after wave of goosebumps prickling in its stead. Arousing your hair to stand on end while his hand seared your wrist, warming you with each pulse. Burning you from the inside out.

His hardened stare softened as he acknowledged your raw lips. Gaze trailing a raindrop falling from your chin, gliding to the base of your unblemished throat, and collecting on your soaked collar. Drawing his curiosity lower–as if by some cosmic desire–lower still to where your shirt stuck to you. Outlining curves he perceived before, now at the forefront of his mind.

Your chest swelled with a breath and his attention jolted to your face before you caught him. He shook himself from his private thoughts and asked, aghast, “Why aren’t you wearing a jacket? I told you there was a cold front coming and you didn’t wear long sleeves or bring an umbrella?”

You appealed to him with an exaggerated pout. “It didn’t feel that cold this morning when I went to see Kakashi. Besides, how was I supposed to know it would start pouring when I was half-way up the stairs of all places?”

“Your TV didn’t tell you?”

Considering your hands were too preoccupied to perform rude gestures, you provoked him with your mouth instead, “By the way you’re holding me, I’d think you’d never touched a woman before.”

Red in the face, Obito dropped your wrist–but not before lingering a moment longer. Reluctant to give it up. Stroking his thumb over your forearm, sweeping beads of water clinging to your skin to the floor, adding to the ever growing puddle under your feet. Latching onto the novelty of holding someone with unstained hands for the first time in decades.

“A woman? You feel like a dead fish.”

“Uh, rude!” You snatched your frigid arm from him and wrung his leftover warmth from it. “So, I see you have a fireplace.”

At first, he merely hummed a noncommittal answer. Aware he was supposed to act like your presence annoyed him, treat you as a nuisance so he could live out the rest of his life sentence in mournful solitude, but..

You kicked your shoes off and made finger guns at his fireplace, lurching towards it. Expecting a denial, yet giving him the benefit of a pause to stake his claim. Which you would’ve conveniently ignored anyway.

But..

You fell to your knees in front of the crackling fire. Too close, endangering yourself in effort to dry off and stop shaking.

He felt it, then. The evocation of a particular emotion he could identify; one he could pin from his youth, when he had teammates, friends.

Obito wanted to protect you.

“You’ll get a fever if you stay wet,” he croaked. “I’ll get you a towel.”

“Thank you,” you sang as he disappeared into a hallway, leaving you alone to examine the house of a man who you once thought was trying to murder you.

Funny how things change.

You were comfortable in the den of the wolf. Cozy, even. Thawing in front of his fire, in his living room, in his cabin. Taking up space on his wooden floor with a modest couch behind you and a round dining table in the corner opposite the partitioned kitchen. A small house for one, or big enough for you to huddle near the fireplace while he knitted on the couch, if he were so inclined. Sharing time in stories, or significant silence. Though, one thing was amiss. The walls were blank. There were no decorations on display, nor pictures hung. No additional furniture, nor wares. Only the bare minimum to get by.

“Here,” Obito said, lobbing a single bath towel at your head.

“Just one?”

He raised his shoulder in a shy shrug. “That's all I have.”

“Oh.”

Reserving eye contact for only when necessary, he drummed up another excuse to leave the room while you rubbed his only towel–used that morning–all over your body. “I can make you tea, if you want.”

“I’d love some tea. Wait-!” He had nearly scurried out of sight when you stopped him. “What about your package?” You dug through your bag and held up the reason for you being out in his neck of the woods; a heavy wooden box wrapped in ornamental paper tied off with twine. “I did my best to keep it dry.”

“I didn’t order anything,” he said, eyeing it before ducking into the kitchen. “It’s probably something from Kakashi. You can open it. I don’t care.”

You mumbled something to the effect of certain acts being against the law and placed it beside you.

Settling in, you removed your hat and gritted your teeth through untangling your ponytail, tossing everything you weren’t wearing onto the stone hearth to dry out. You unfastened the top three buttons of your blouse and patted the towel over your neck, your face, your nose..

The scent of the soap you bought him from the grocery store clung to the fibers. Clung to you. Embraced you in the smell of him. Enveloped you as you hurried your pace, hearing Obito scuff something across the stove’s burner.

Confirming he wanted you to commit a criminal act, you yelled to him, “Do you really not care if I open your mail?”

“No,” he answered.

Folding the towel under yourself, you grabbed the package originally intended for him and unwrapped it, revealing a box inlaid with stylistic flowers. Clearly, a considerate gift for him picked out by Kakashi. You grasped the lid and wiggled it open.

“Oh, wow,” you gushed, not expecting to be met with a finely tailored article of clothing neatly tucked inside. You pinched it by the neckline and presented it in all its glory.

The haori was beautiful. The jacket was meant to be worn over a kimono on formal occasions, made of finespun cotton dyed midnight blue with a lustrous pale lavender silk lining. Embroidered on the back was an emblem, though you did not recognize it.

You slipped it on without much consideration. Wrapped yourself in the oversized clothing and snuggled into the material, stuttering the fire with a content sigh. Lulled into a blissful state of daydreaming about a picnic in the summer sun with a temperate breeze stroking your hair..

That is, until the sound of a ceramic mug shattering on the floor leapt your heart to your throat.

Obito stared at you, the haori you were wearing.

You stared at him, the waves of tea spilling across the floor.

“I..” he tried.

“Are you okay?” You ripped yourself away from the fire, pantyhose dampening your footsteps as you glided across the wooden floorboards. Haori fanning behind you in a wondrous display of domestic familiarity. Like a housewife wearing her husband’s clothing.

“Obito,” you roused him from his stupor, “Are you okay?” You had to ask again, for he had the strangest look on his face, lost somewhere between stunned and embarrassed. Blushing deeper than previous, dividing his attention in brief glimpses from your face to somewhere lower.

Assuming he was wide-eyed at his hand formed around air and the aforementioned mug broken into pieces around his feet, you sprung into action.

“You don’t..” he trailed off, voice hoarse.

“”Have to do that,” I know,” you finished as you knelt before him and collected the shards in your palm, careful of their sharp edges. Smiling up at him, cleaning his mess without reservation. “I want to help. Let me help.”

When asked, he directed you to the trash can in the kitchen to dispose of the mug, but otherwise, he stood where he was. Crowding the entryway to the living room with a puzzled crease between his white brows. Darting his focus from you, to the floor, to the home you made at his fireplace. Grasping at a lost concept in his head.

In the quiet he provided, you mopped a rag over the tea and wrung it in the sink; back and forth until the floor was dry and his features flattened into something adjacent to misery.

“You okay?” You rose to your tiptoes to peer at him closer, pressing against his arm. “Are you sure you’re not the one with the fever? You look warm.”

He grunted a terse “no,” and dodged your hand reaching for his forehead, opting to sit on the couch with his elbows on his knees, glaring at the flames dancing across the deep pits of his scars.

“You’re such a grump, you know that?” Agitated at his lack of thanking you, and positively annoyed at his refusal to articulate more than a few words, you glanced about the bare room and made an educated guess on what caused his sudden bad mood. “Is it the tea? I’ll make us some more.”

“You can’t,” he stated plainly. “That was my only mug.”

Maybe you should’ve been more polite, but the surge of empathy mixing with the sheer urge to strangle him coalesced into you blocking his view. Shrouding him in your shadow as you tapped your foot. “Really? Your only mug?”

His forehead wrinkled as he regarded you, apathetic to your stubborn frown. “It was the first thing Kakashi had you deliver to me.”

“What’d you use before that?” you asked. You crouched to his level, returning the light to his face.

And like that, the desire to antagonize him receded to the outer banks of the swirling sea in your mind.

You were captivated by his proximity. Enamored by the reflection of flickering flames in his charcoal eyes, limning them in a sweet glow like embers. Endeared by his white hair cast in streaks of orange, sticking out at odd angles like he had risen from bed and forgone a comb day after day. Enticed by his nervous tics.

You patted his knee like it was nothing. But to him, it was an awakening.

A thoughtful, tender, stroke of your thumb over his kneecap.

A single, wanted, touch was all he required to crumble another wall.

“I drank from the pot I steeped it in–I don’t have a kettle,” he answered the question in your eyes. “My one towel. My one mug. My one spoon I washed to use for sugar, then left on the counter because I couldn’t decide if I should put sugar in your tea or not, and I didn’t want to look like an idiot and ask you. My one pillow, my one blanket, my one everything because it’s pointless to own more.”

“Obi-”

He avoided the stabs of pity in your delivery of his name by admitting another truth of his circumstance. “I’m planting the garden in my backyard so you don’t have to buy me groceries so often. If I can grow the produce, I can subsist on the shelf-stable things you bring me every two weeks or so. That way, you can live your life and only have to come here when Kakashi sends you.”

“If you keep sounding any more pathetic, I’d think you’re trying to make me visit you everyday.”

“What?” he balked.

You batted your lashes. “I think you’re trying to make me feel sorry for you so I come see you every. Single. Day.” You punctuated your sentence by poking his cheek. He accentuated his fierce glower in response. “I think you like it when I’m here to cheer you up.”

Tickled by his sour expression, you shrugged the haori higher on your shoulders and kept eye contact as you burrowed your nose into the layers of fabric gathered about your neck, allaying him with a kittenish grin as he sat there, frustrated. You vacated his cold presence in favor of the toasty fire. Eyes closed, arms wrapped around your legs. Happy.

Obito hated it. Despised the way his hand lunged on its own accord to cover the spot where he swore–he swore–he still felt your finger’s imprint; agonizingly deprived of touch. Eyes devouring the hellacious outline of the fire encircling your body. Greedy for more. More conversations, more smiles, more brushes of your fingers through your hair to expose your nape directly above the symbol of a last name he abhorred.

He leaned forward. Picked at his dry cuticles. Rubbed his calloused palms together. Hung his head. “Do you know what that symbol on your back stands for?” You shook your head. “It’s my clan’s crest.”

A log popped. Sap sizzled.

“Your..” You whirled, eyes alight with regret. “Clan! I’m so sorry– I didn’t mean to. I shouldn’t be wearing this,” you expelled in the midst of undressing. He stopped you.

“Don’t,” he commanded. Ordered. “You can wear it,” he granted. Permitted.

His words were a spell of which you obeyed.

Rigid, hesitant, you worked it up your arms slowly. Dragging it up your tense shoulders. Draping it over your bent legs. Hiding your flustered self in the confines of his haori. His haori with his clan’s crest on it. Pulling it tight over your chest like it brought you comfort when it caused him only anguish.

“I didn’t realize that’s what it was..” you explained as you swiveled around to the fire again, blood pumping loud in your ears.

“You’re not from Konoha, are you?”

“No. I’m from Iwagakure, but Kakashi was very, uh, thorough in explaining who you are.”

“I see,” he said. His anxious tendencies peaked. He dropped his heel, bouncing his knee quicker than a hummingbird’s wings. Tore his nails. Ran his hands through his hair until his scalp hurt. Muffled into his sweaty palm clasped over his mouth, “What’s your family like?”

You meant to steal a glance at him to discern the source of his grave tone, and instead locked onto him. He was looking at you, ghosts of his past lurking in the shudders wracking his body. “They’re okay. I don’t have much of a relationship with them. A mom, a dad, three brothers,” you rattled the facts off, hoping one of them answered the question he wouldn’t ask.

“Are they.. Did they.. participate in the war?”

“Obito,” you stressed. “They’re all shinobi, but worked remotely in Iwa. They’re fine. They’re all fine.”

They’re alive, he heard.

It hurt, watching him hurt. The undercurrent of unease in his tone, present in his every movement. Afraid and unaccepting of your friendliness. Confused and questioning the twinkle in your eyes. Broken and wrought with guilt; glued together from pieces of trauma he’d never heal from alone in his cabin. Rejecting help in all forms.

You were gentle with him. “I’m a government employee. They did a background check before I was hired. They wouldn’t have sent me here if there was a conflict of interest. Besides,” you grunted, withdrawing from the fire’s warmth. “Haven’t I made it abundantly clear I have no ill feelings towards you?” You succumbed to the need to close the distance between his voice and yours ears, sat before him like it was your sole purpose to listen to him. Understand him.

Obito chose to bide his time in significant silence. Knitting his fingers, twisting them. Running his jagged nails over his bottom lip. Thinking your words over in the minuscule space between your nearly-touching toes; forthcoming and intimate. Perceiving how you met, versus now, sitting on his floor. Near enough to brush the tops of his feet with his haori as you folded your arms. Near enough to witness the beat of his heart in his jugular. Near enough to poke his knee, where one his hands held his grip on reality.

“Also,” you drawled. “What’s with the one item of everything schtick?”

“It’s not a schtick.”

“What if I wanted to stay for dinner? I’m going to assume you have one bowl, one plate too. How am I supposed to eat? Would we share the spoon?”

“What does it matter? You’re my mail lady. You wouldn’t stay for dinner.”

“I would stay, if asked.” You swam in the dark pools of his eyes as he dove into yours. “Kakashi would too, y’know.” You explored the understated handsomeness of his rugged face as he roamed yours. Seeing all in the narrow separation of your crossed arms hugging your knees and his twiddling thumbs between his thighs. “Can I ask you something?”

“When has my permission ever stopped you from launching into an endless amount of questions?”

“True!” you agreed heartily. “How come your eyes were red when we met?”

He cocked an eyebrow, mouth in hard slant. “Did they not teach you about other clans and their kekkei genkais in Iwa? We were tested on them, since it’s important for strategy and infiltration missions.”

“Ah,” you said, dipping your chin to your chest. “They don’t really teach that stuff to civilians.” Not only had you not progressed far enough at the shinobi academy with your peers to learn about clans in other countries, you had never heard the fancy words he used to refer to his eyes.

“Right, sorry. It’s my clan’s special ability, the Sharingan, but I don’t–and can’t–use it anymore, unless I have to.” His focus zeroed in on his mismatched thumbs, twirling white over tan, and your thumbs, copying his. “I fatigued myself during the war and exhausted my other regenerative ability. My body doesn’t heal like it used to. If I keep using it, my sight will deteriorate until I’m blind.”

“Does it bother you,” you drew a breath, “being normal now?”

“Lots of things bother me,” he said, back to his gruff self.

“Do I bother you?”

A muscle in his cheek twitched–the start of a smile, but he denied the impulse before it began. “What do you think?” he asked with an air of mock boredom.

“I think it stopped raining as soon as I walked in, but you haven’t thrown me out yet.”

The moment you were invited over the threshold, going from recurring annoyance to woeful acquaintance in need of shelter, the pitter-patter on his sloped roof lapsed to the drip-drop of single streams from his gutters onto the muddy ground below.

“I can remedy that,” he said, and true to his word, he stood. Face hidden in the shadows of his dreary cabin. Nothing but a pair of rapturous eyes gazing upon the girl who insisted on carving out a spot in his life.

His sheep in wolf’s clothing.

You pouted out your bottom lip to the dour man imposing himself in your personal space. “You’d really throw little ol’ me out?” Taking the intimidating roll of his broad shoulders as an answer, you scrambled backwards and fetched your dried hat and gloves from the hearth. Busying yourself with slipping on your shoes rather than stare at the way his shirt clung to the apex of his firm chest a second longer.

“Pout all you want, the pests out there will welcome you as one of their own.”

“You’re so mean to me, Mr. Uchiha,” you complained on the way to the door, quickening your pace as you felt him hot on your trail. But before you could reach the knob, he lunged from your side and grabbed it.

Obito opened the door for you. A gentlemanly effort, except, in order to beat you there, he blocked you from exiting. His hands were planted on either side of the doorway, arms acting like barriers across your chest. You shot him a look and ducked under one, grazing his inner elbow with your hat. Brushing your shoulder past his stomach. Causing him to stutter awkward excuses when you stood on his porch, body heat radiating in the confines of your chests rising and falling in tandem. Daring to be closer–against all odds, closer–to the wolf.

“I should give this back.” You began disrobing the haori, exposing your damp blouse to the nippy, humid air. And like before, he interrupted you mid-shiver.

“Would you stop,” he sighed, wrenching his eyes closed. “It’ll keep you warm on your way home, just bring it back whenever.”

Complying, you nestled into the cozy fabric, not understanding why his cheeks reddened so suddenly, but utterly elated by it nonetheless. “If you insist.” You turned and took one step away from him. One insignificant step, and the reaction bursting forth from the both of you was as if it was a leap into the great black expanse above.

“Do you think the flowers fared well?”

“Do you want me to walk you to the forest’s edge?”

“What?”

“What?”

You pinned him with a soft, but devious grin. Forever knowing he wanted to keep the conversation going as badly as you did. “I can find my own way back by now, but thank you.”

“R-Right, uhm,” he cleared the huskiness from his throat and ran his thumb over a chip in the doorframe, immersing himself in the pattern of the wood grain. “I just thought..” He left the rest unspoken, tucking the words away deep within his heart, guarding them like they were treasures. “The flowers are fine. They adapted to the climate up here and there were new buds on two of them yesterday. They probably won’t bloom for another few days but, yeah,” he rambled.

“Hopefully I’ll be delivering you some mail and can see them in the daylight.” You smiled, open and welcoming.

He hunched, closed and reserved. “Yeah. Bye.. Be safe.”

“Bye, Obito.”

Your girlish giggle joined the night; melding with the articulate splash of water droplets plummeting from rustling branches as you disappeared amongst the fog around the bend in his driveway. Obito watched, as long as possible. Listened, as long as possible. Considered escorting you, as long as possible, to the forest’s edge–to the perimeter of Konoha if he had to–to ensure you made it home without falling, scraping, bruising, or getting lost.

Ultimately, he remained where he was inside his cabin. Closing his door, shutting himself off from the world beyond his porch. Strangling the allure to follow you until it was a quiet weep in the pit of his soul.

Obito rested his forehead on the scuffed wood. Thunked it once, twice.

He knew it, then. The name for the very familiar feelings stirring in his chest. So familiar, and so very frightening.

“God damnit.”

~~~

Unable to stop yourself from grinning since you left Obito’s house, you beamed at the cashier at the convenience store, who appeared to be struggling with counting your change. He maintained unwavering eye contact, unblinking. Trembling fingers fumbling with the ryo in his till, handing it over. Gulping when, at last, you thanked him and left his store.

Hit with a gust of wind billowing Obito’s haori open more than it was, you hugged it tight around your middle and walked the rest of the way to your apartment with the plastic bag bumping your thigh and visible breath puffing from under the neckline of the divine silk snug over your mouth.

Once home, you flicked on the bathroom light, hung the haori on the back of the door, and put your new soap away under the sink. You stood, and saw yourself in a mirror for the first time since you left this morning.

“Oh my fucking God.” Not only was you blouse absolutely fucking see through, it was unbuttoned past the point a cleavage. No, it practically plunged to the point of showing the bra band caught under them. A black bra. With a white blouse stuck to it. A thin black bra. Showing shadows of just how cold you were.

You thought of the head-turns you earned in the store, the cashier’s heavy blush across his brown cheeks. Obito.. Obito’s red face..

“I’m a fucking moron,” you groaned into your hands, hoping if you couldn’t see yourself, it made the shame go away.

It did not.

~~~

“Did you see that Uchiha crest on her back?”

“Yeah.”

“Mhmm,” the first man concurred and took a drag of his stubby cigarette. “Wanna do something about it?”

“You know it.”

The second man downed the rest of his beer and crunched the can, sending it clanging down the dank alleyway. The cigarette was flicked against the brick wall, arcs of ash lighting two sets of heavy-lidded vengeful eyes.

Soon the last hotdogs were eaten and the firwood burned down completely. It's minus 6 degrees now and you are absolutely done with it all so you announce that you are going to disappear into the tent. A very drunk Anko and Rin agree to go to sleep too, and soon everybody packs their things together. Kakashi goes with Gai and Genma in the only three man tent you brought (something old, left over by Gai’s father Dai, who loved going on outdoor family trips) and Obito climbs into your tent behind you.

Soon the last hotdogs were eaten and the firwood burned down completely. It's minus 6 degrees now and you are absolutely done with it all so you announce that you are going to disappear into the tent. A very drunk Anko and Rin agree to go to sleep too, and soon everybody packs their things together. Kakashi goes with Gai and Genma in the only three man tent you brought (something old, left over by Gai’s father Dai, who loved going on outdoor family trips) and Obito climbs into your tent behind you.

It is insanely cold, even with the little mattresses you use so you don’t have to lay on the ground. You know that wearing less in a sleeping bag helps keep you warmer, but you can’t imagine actually undressing in this weather, so you only take off your jacket, shoes and socks and slip into your bag, zip it up and bring your little pillow in position. Next to you Obito is also undressing a little, but he seems to have much more issues with his bag. You can see how thin it is from the corner of your eye. Well he is in for a long night, you think.

“Please scooch over, come on,” Obito begs, his cold fingers grabbing your body suddenly. “I’m sorry if you are too stupid to bring an actual warm sleeping back, ‘Bito, you should have known its going to get cold.” He grunts annoyed and moves closer to you anyway. You can feel his frontside brush up against your behind.

You are well aware of the advantages of two people retaining body heat between them on cold nights, but just the idea of opening up your bag now seems out of the question. So you nod to yourself:  Obito would have to suffer on his own. “Please”, he whispers so close to your ear that you feel the hot air on your neck. He calls you again, pleadingly and you want to hit him very badly. “Drinking a lot didn’t help with falling asleep did it?” you mock him and he sighs, his hand reaching over you.

“If you’d help me get warm I’m sure I’d fall asleep immediately, I swear, I’m actually pissed out drunk”, he explains. His breath makes your skin prickle strangely and you scratch the place he was just breathing over. Ugh, you really don’t want to get out of your cosy position, just enough warmth for your feet to feel like feet again, but what can you do when a friend pleads with you like this? It’s not like you want him to freeze to death, even if this stupid trip was his idea. “Fine,” you grind your teeth together and open the zipper of your sleeping bag.

Obito immediately draws the arm away, a “yes!” escaping his mouth that smells like beer and hot dogs and he opens his bag too. “We can layer it!” he explains excitedly and you can’t help but roll your eyes. It is hard to believe that any layering technique could make you as warm as the zipped up bag would have made you, but what to do. “First yours”, you instruct and Obito throws his thin bag open up like a blanket over you. “Wow, you only spend 20 on this huh? It's barely noticeable”, you mock him and he squirms a little in embarrassment.

“Mine next,” you say and he helps you pull your opened bag over the both of you. His frown turns into a satisfied grin at the new gained warmth and he turns to you: “Now us.” You scooch over to him to sling your arm around him, but he pushes your hand away: “I have to be the big spoon!” he screams, a little louder than necessary. “I have more body, I will be the big spoon.” You scoff: “I don’t think it has anything to do with body size.” Obito is unrelenting though: “I have to be the big spoon, come on, it needs to be me. Don’t say you won’t allow it, come on-”

“Oh god, just let him be the big spoon to make him shut up”, Genma yells back from the tent next to yours and you let out a sharp breath: “Fine” you say again, your teeth even more grinding together than last time. “If you touch me inappropriately you are dead, Obito, okay?” you say in a slightly lower voice, hoping it doesn’t carry through the night and Obito nods a little bit too eagerly. You turn around and lay back down on your little pillow and he moves close to you, his frontside again brushing up against your back.

It is warm with Obito's arm slung around you and his body pressed against yours. “Hey”, he slurs into your ear and you bite your lip a little. Why do you suddenly feel so uneasy with him close? “What?” you say, trying to sound cool and unbothered. “You feel nice.” You don’t know what to say to that, so you say nothing. Lightly humming, he buries his head into your neck, his hair tickling your skin a little. “I’ve always thought you look nice.”

“T-thanks,” you reply, suddenly very insecure about the position you are in. What does he mean with that? “I’m glad you came out with us”, he continues, his lips mere inches from your neck. You can’t stop your heart from increasing it’s pulse as he pulls you to him a little bit closer. He whispers your name and your breath catches in your throat a little.

This is Obito Uchiha, right? A little chaotic and all over the place, a good friend, a loyal friend, someone who’s opinion you’d always valued highly. But you’d never thought about him in any other way, not in that way. But now that he is so close to you, you can’t stop thinking about him in that way. He is handsome for sure, scars or all, funny and maybe your eyes had always followed him a little, maybe his eyes had always followed you…

“I know you told me I can’t touch you…” Obito rips you out of your thought spiral and back to reality. Your face feels cold in the little isolated tent, but underneath the covers you can feel yourself warm up at fast speeds, not only because of the double blanket. He takes a breath before he continues: “... but I really want to anyway.” Oh god, he is the honest kind of drunk. The heat is in your face right away. What a direct way of asking that question! 

You move your neck a bit away from his lips to gather yourself. “Obito, I don’t think that is a good idea”, you hear yourself say, but only half mean it. Now that you’ve thought about it, maybe you want to fool around with him, a little at least. But it could permanently end your friendship with him, a friendship you greatly value. The dilemma is heavy on your mind, but ultimately it is Obito who chooses for you, as he leans forward just a little to brush his lips to your exposed neck.

“I’m sorry”, he whispers, his lips touching your skin with every word, “I’m sorry, I broke my promise.” You can feel the heartbeat in your ears. “I-It's not like you touched me inappropriately, Bito, that was….innocent mostly” you say, voice flying with nerves. “Hm”, he makes and before you can say anything else he kisses your neck again, a bit closer to your throat this time. His nose brushes your ear. “What if I would want to though?” he breathes, “Touch you … not innocently?”

Common sense and rationality leaves your brain as his tongue moves over your earlobe. What the hell, friends should also be allowed to make out once in a while, you decide. You’re stuck in this god damn cold tent for a whole night, so you might as well have a little fun, right? At least that is your way of rationalising it. You take his hand that is still draped over your hip and move his fingertips to your lips. You kiss the tips gently. “Fine”, you say a third time in the last hour.

Obito lifts his head a little and he lets out a sound deep from his throat. You can feel him vibrate with excitement. He dives back down to your neck, kissing you deeply, sucking your skin in. You grab his hand tighter and can feel your body shiver through his touch. Oh, now that you’ve decided to have him, you really do want him.

Apparently satisfied with his work in your neck, he pulls it sideways with the hand you have been holding so that he can meet your lips with his. You can’t help but moan into it. This shouldn’t taste good at all, with all the alcohol he’d been drinking, but it does. His tongue finds yours and you breathe heavily as he engages you more urgently. He is so sweet, so tasty and sweet. You know right then that you could never go back to being friends.

With his fingers entangled into yours you lead his arm back down your chest and let him bury himself under your sweater. He touches your naked skin, pinches and strokes over your nipples until your head spins, continuously kissing your neck and throat. You moan a little, trying to be quiet enough not to arise suspicion in the other tents.

He props up an arm around your head, his fingers playing with your hair as he lets go of your mouth to kiss your neck again. His cheeks are as cold as yours feel, but your core keeps you warm. “Can we go one layer down?” he asks sweetly, his tongue once again feeling for yours. You worry about the cold a little, but could never deny him a request asked in such a manner. 

You dive under both of the blankets and wriggle yourself out of your sweater, with Obito stunned watching next to you. “You need some help?”, he asks and you can hear his smirk through his words. “No thanks,” you reply and finally get the sweater over your head. The tshirt you had worn underneath gets stripped off with it. Your topside is now exposed to him in the dim light. “Oh”, Obito makes, his eyes wandering over your naked frontside. “That will do nicely,” he grins and pulls you closer again.

Obito lets his hands wander over you, now unhindered by any clothes. His tongue keeps yours engaged as he does and you can feel your breath getting more heavy beneath it. He’s a good kisser, not that you’d ever doubted, but still. Your hands touch the ends of the pullover he is wearing, a warm, full cotton one, and you dive your fingers under it to touch his chest. He is not wearing a shirt underneath. How could he have come to winter camping so unprepared?

A little breathless he pulls back and then with a smile aimed at you he pulls his own pullover off over his head, exposing his naked chest to you. You’ve seen him in bathing shorts before, so the view is not new to you, but somehow it feels oddly different this time. You know by the heat on your cheeks that you must have turned red. Yearning for him close again you stretch your hand out and he cuddles into it, your naked chests now pressed together. 

You thought your feet would cool out if you’d share one sleeping bag with Obito, and you’d been completely wrong. Now, skin to skin, you feel warmer than you’d ever done before. His lips find yours and you brush yourself as close to him as you possibly can, both of you now completely hidden under the two sleeping bags. He groans in delight at your touch on his back and you wonder how much of this he will still remember come sunrise. Maybe this would not leave a dent in your friendship after all.

Obito’s tongue trails down your neck and collarbone to your naked nippels in front of him. He sucks and licks over them that you see stars, finding no other outlet than to crawl your fingers deep into his black hair. While he still keeps you occupied in your chest area, his hand sneaks his way into your sweatpants, opening the cord to loosen them just enough to get inside. “Bito…” you breathe as he moves his thumb over the fabric of your panties. He lifts his head to sigh your name back in return before he catches your mouth again.

“I will now touch you inappropriately,” he whispers into your ear, before biting your neck a little. Your heartbeat sounds in your ears. “A-alright”, is all you can say, because his hand is already on the move, touching from your clit to your entrance and back up without ever moving the panties out of the way. You are desperate for him to actually touch you and arch your back into him. It is hot under the blankets and you feel the heat burning all over.

He continues the tease a little longer,  his fingers moving along the hemline of your panties and scratching lightly over your naked leg, but then he finally moves it out of the way, just enough to give him access to your cunt. You sigh loudly as he moves over you and you can hear your own wetness ring in your ears. Obito watches you through low hung lids and you want to bite the satisfied grin off his face. “Don’t be too loud”, he breathes against your lips as he starts moving with purpose. “The others might hear.” You swallow the next moan down as it comes.

Your head falls back on the ground of the tent, hard and it hurts a little, but you ignore the short pain. Obito is now kissing your nipples again, his fingers moving over your most sensitive spot with pressure that feels just right. It is impossible for you to keep your eyes open now and think any rational thoughts. You want him to go faster, make you cum, once, maybe twice. Your fingers feel for the hard erection in his pants and move over it. The movement is rewarded with a sigh out of Obito’s mouth. He takes your hand and puts it into his own pants.

The pants feel tight around your hand, but you have just enough space to stroke him along to reap blissful sighs from his mouth. He increases his movement too, circling your clit with his finger until your core clenches. Your lips are pressed together with his, only leaving slight room for breath, to keep your voice low enough for the others to sleep. When you open your eyes just a little you can see him still looking at you, watching you through heavy lids. You can read in his face how satisfied he is with what he sees, how much he loves your messy state.

You give in quicker than you expected, overstimulated by his tongue, his hand on your back, your hand on his cock and of course his finger. A gasp escapes you that he can’t quell and you cramp your legs a little trying to arch yourself further into the feeling. “Shhh”, Obito makes, a grin on his face as he kisses you through the ecstasy. You stroke quicker, your hand pressed hard around him, the other one in his hair. It is warmer than any campfire ever could be, warming you from your heart to your head. Everything spins around you, your pulse racing blood through your body. “Obito…” you sigh and he says “Shh” again.

He doesn’t let go of you at first, forces you through the intense feeling of your orgasm even as you whine into his lips, but then Obito seems impatient, shifting a little to give your hand more access. His cock is twitching with anticipation. “I’ve wanted to do this for a long time”, he says softly, his voice sending shivers down your spine. He lets go of your cunt, leaving it wet and swollen behind and you get to catch a breath, but only a moment, because his hands are already on the move again.

Without another word he pulls your pants down with his hands, just wide enough to expose you for him. You look up at him, his dark eyes glittering in the light of the moon shining through the walls of the tent. The heat behind them burns on your skin, his desire readable on his face. You take him up on the challenge, move his pants down too, so that his cock can finally be free and grow to its full length. For a moment you just remain like this, his hand on your naked ass and your hand on his cock, but then you whisper: “So what now?”

Obito’s eyes are a raging fire as he moves onto his back to take a hand into his backpack behind him. He ruffles through it and finds what he is looking for: a condom wrapped in blue plastic wrap. “You brought something like that on a camping trip?” you breathe, crooking an eyebrow. He winks: “I thought maybe something might happen. I - had hoped something might happen.” He slurs his speech a little, still so drunk. You take the condom out of his hands. Well this would certainly end your friendship forever.

There is a little bit of fiddling involved with opening it under the two sleeping bags without letting the cold outside air in, but you get it done after all. Obito watches you again, eyes expectant and hot, as you pull it over him. He breathes out at your touch on his balls. He is so hard. “So what?” you whisper, fingers stroking over him softly. You can't really leave these blankets, you think, otherwise either of you might freeze to death. He smiles: “Turn around again, let's spoon.” 

You do as instructed and turn around, wiggling your feet out of your pants in the meanwhile. Naked, you are naked now, at minus degrees in winter in a tent. “Tomorrow I will be sick”, you can’t help but think, but then Obito rips you out of your thoughts again as he moves your legs apart just enough for him to move his cock between. His teeth are at your neck, his breath hot and heavy, but he just leaves it there for now, thrusting blindly through your legs. You can feel the movement over your slit and you crawl fingers into your arms. It drives you wild.

“Come- come on”, you say whiny, pleading again with him and he laughs a little: “If you insist.” He angles himself differently, moving a bit back. Pushing your legs even further open he feels for your entrance with his fingers and then, slowly, he inserts himself into you. A loud moan escapes your mouth before you can stop it. He breathes out heavily and starts thrusting forward. “Oh yeah,” he breathes as he moves, hands moved around your body to keep steady.

From this position he has an easy time hitting that spot inside of you that lets you see stars. You use your free hand to move to your own clit and circle it, all the while he continues his movement inside you, only occasionally moving forward to leave hot kisses on your neck and shoulder. It is hard now to keep your voice low, you have to bite your tongue to keep the pleasure to yourself. But you are unable to mask how wet you are. The lewd sounds are probably echoing through the night, you think weakly. Everyone in 4 miles must know what you are doing. You bite your lip until it bleeds.

“I’m glad I drank so much”, he whispers into your ear, pulling out and pushing into you so hard that you whimper, “I can hold on longer.” Maybe it is easier to hold on for him with all the alcohol, but you did not drink a lot, plus you are adding to the stimulation by massaging your own clit. Obito takes his tongue off your shoulder and changes his position slightly, so that he can move faster, harder and deeper. In accordance with him you increase the speed of your finger. And soon enough you feel yourself unravelling again.

You press your hand to your mouth, biting down hard on your own fingers to avoid screaming. Everything feels hot and electric now, your body no longer yours to control and guide. Obito notices your twitching, feels how your cunt is pulsing around him, and goes even faster, pushing that spot inside you harder and harder. You throw your head back into him, let him bite you and suck into your skin, unable to form a coherent sentence in your mind and think of anything else but him. “Obito…!”

He grunts a little, delighted that you’re calling out his name in such pleasure. Your hands run over the bottom of the tent, a plastic sound and the blanket slips from both of you, exposing you to the cold. This should have stopped either of you, but instead it seems to fire Obito up more as he is moving even faster to find his own end. “A-almost..” he presses out, more to himself than to you and you moan a little, your back arched into him as far as you can bend. His cock twitches inside of you and you know it must be near.

Obito groans as he comes, a long sigh leaving his chest right after. He crawls his fingers into your shoulders and moves his hips through his own release. You close your eyes and let him ride it out, oddly satisfied with how relieved he seems. Seems like he really had wanted to do this for a long time. Now that your own high is slowing down you feel oddly flattered by that. He sighs again, his head falling into the crook of your neck. He whispers your name quietly into your ear and you lift a hand to touch his hair. 

“We should try to get back under covers”, you say, suddenly so tired, as he pulls the full condom off his cock and wraps it into a piece of paper he got from somewhere. It is a miracle that neither of you are frozen to the core, with both of you naked in such a cold without much cover, but then again it was always said that skin to skin contact would keep you warm. Still, it’s hard to believe how sweaty you are. Obito throws the covers over both of you and you turn to him, your foreheads touching as he kisses you again. “I’m glad you touched me inappropriately”, you say and immediately feel like eating the smile off his face again.

Obito’s eyes find yours and you can see the light in them shining happily. “I think it's great that you let me do it.” Both of you giggle like school children. “I wanted you to come specifically you know”, he admits, his hands playing with your hair. “I made Gai bring a three man tent so you’d have to share with me.” You crook an eyebrow. “Is this why you bought a very cheap sleeping bag? So you could lay closer to me?”

“God no, I’m just stupid” he says laughing and its so infectios that you laugh too. Now that the heat between you is dying down you can feel the cold again at your shoulders, at your feet and you move closer to him, let him wrap his arm around you. “Do you think you will remember this by morning?” you ask him, your nose touching his jaw. He kisses the top of your head gently. “I sure hope so. Wouldn’t want to forget any of that.”  Maybe it's not such a bad thing that your friendship has ended, you think. Maybe it was instead turning into something even closer.

Suddenly a light crosses his eyes, you can read that an idea popped up in his mind by his facial expression. “Obito, what fucked up thing did you think about now?” you ask, knowing his stupid ideas just too well. After all, you are here, freezing, because of one of these facial expressions. “We go to the car” he says and adds after seeing your confused face, “We just sleep in the car, you know? Turn on the heater, get warmed up. I bet the others are sleeping so nobody will know.”

“That's bad for the environment”, you state. “Come onnnn,” he replies and pats on your naked back. “If Shell can dump a million litres of oil in the ocean then we can sleep in a warm car for a few hours for one night. Don’t tell me you aren’t freezing.” Your toes feel like you bathed them in ice cubes so there is no reason to deny it. “I mean I didn’t want to sleep over in a tent in winter in the first place!” you complain and he kisses your head once more. “Ah, I’m sorry, I’ll make it up to you I promise.” 

As quickly as you can you dress back into your sweaters and sweatpants, your snow boots quickly on your feet. Obito is right, there is nothing but snoring audible from the other tents. You pray that nobody heard anything from your nightly activity. Too embarrassed to even imagine what they would think about you. Obito unlocks the car and lets you in on the backseat, turning on the heater on the front just enough so you can start feeling your face again, then he comes around to you. Your hand entangles into his as your head falls to his shoulder and his head onto yours.