#obitouchibutt

Obito rolled over a little so he could face Kakashi better. “He insisted I ask you. His argument was that, since it was just another you and another me, it wasn’t really that weird...”

Obito saw him resist against the inborn urge to lash back, creeping up his spine and into his dark eye. And then… he deflated. He fell and shattered, the pain in his jaw crumbling inwards with all the fight in his body. Obito felt his own jaw tense and ache. How dare he. 

"You," he drew his elbow back again in a sharp, jerking motion, "trash.” His arm reached the arc of its recoil, quivering in the air with barely suppressed force. How could he? There was a fuzzy, white noise building in his ears, his throat straining with the intensity of it in his head.

Obito’s arm released like a piston, rocketing forward in a blur of synthetic skin and sweat. 

The fist struck the plaster wall beside Kakashi’s covered eye. The sound was like an explosive tag going off, his hand breaking through the plaster and wood. Knuckles strained and popped, a nail tearing a gash trough his thumb.

No time was wasted as Obito reared back, dry, gritty plaster still flying in the air. He threw his head forward, cracking his forehead against the cockeyed headband. He was so close to Kakashi’s face that his features almost doubled before his eyes. His voice tore its way through his throat, scraping it hoarse as he roared past his natural range, teeth overexposed and spit flying from his mouth, “HIT ME!”

           ”—…………………….”                   “I don’t care.” Kakashi snaps back, more interested in his novel than in whatever argument his friend wanted him to partake into.

And Obito; mad, loud and spitting-fire angry, is suddenly in his face, the force hitting him unaware.

One hand traces the edge of his lower lip, fingers coming wet even through the fabric. The Uchiha’s punch had landed with unexpected ferocity over his jaw and Kakashi just hopes none of his teeth had come loose at the encounter. He hated dentists. Always had. Carefully, he checks with his tongue and only finds broken skin and an iron tang in the taste. That was good, at least. Nothing’s cracked.

He thinks about Obito’s eyes then, with his own blood drying under his nails. He thinks about how they looked back then—— in the War they don’t talk about but feel in every breath they draw in ( if to thank or resent remains to be determined… )—- like sharp blades of resolve and chaos.

Never taking his eyes off the fuming male, aware almost by defect of how much more, of how badly and completely the Uchiha could ruin him next ( further, if he so wished ), Kakashi relaxed his shoulders, tranquillity forced by will alone. He knew those eyes, the ones burning right through him right now, as familiar as the lines over his own hands. Those were his Obito’s eyes.

He didn’t need to—worry over those eyes.

Protect, destroy; destroy, protect—Kakashi fell upon those two instincts by nature. Surrendering to the violence Obito lashed out, that was obvious, that much was natural. The protectprotectprotect urge chanting inside his head released him from the duty to retaliate against any injury he received, if it was the object of his affections the one bruising him up. It was alright if it was Obito.

Because Obito was—Obito.

Guilt suffocates him from the inside out; building up and up and choking him. He is dirt, he is lowerlowerlower than dirt; he is trash—— must be. He must be. He deserves no mercy. No hesitancy, no gentleness, no forgiveness.