Chapter Text
Marriage had been the last thing in his mind. A renowned general and a respected duke, Uchiha Obito never did think that the day would come that he would be chained down to a woman.
“Obito-kun!”
Along with the denial came the flashes of a familiar gentle smile, brown hair swaying in the wind, and equally dark eyes shining with warmth and light.
Obito closed his eyes in disdain.
Well perhaps he did, but with a different person.
As the servants continued to move several wooden boxes into the lounge, he began to regret attending the annual noble summit last week. However, how was he supposed to know that one slip of his tongue would lead to his downfall? He could still see his older half-brother, Uchiha Madara, smirking over his glass of wine as he sealed his fate of ending his life as a bachelor. Sasuke had been relieved, Shisui had frowned disapprovingly, and Itachi had remained blank throughout the process. When everything had been settled, with Izuna mediating and Obito trying his best not to burst at the seams and go commit bloodshed, Sasuke had pulled him aside and offered him a few words of advice.
“You can just ignore her if you want,” the younger man had said. “She won’t care if you were to frolic off with another woman or fool around.”
Obito had glowered at him. It was Sasuke's fault why he had landed in this situation after all. If only the wily bastard didn’t break off his engagement with the youngest princess of the Uzumaki clan, then Obito would still be free to roam the battlefields. But Sasuke was still young, and his hormones ran wild, preventing him from remaining filial to one woman.
It didn’t help that the said woman was a cripple.
“How can I have heirs with a woman who doesn’t even have control over her legs?” Obito remembered Sasuke protesting at the meeting. But the older man knew that his nephew was just making excuses; it was no secret to the whole kingdom that the youngest prince was arrogant and entitled, only wanting the best for himself. For him, a cripple was no more but a liability and a defect.
His contemptuous behavior would never fail to disgust Obito.
“Whatever Sasuke told you, do not believe him,” a voice came from behind. Not even the least surprised by the unexpected arrival, Obito turned to see Itachi sauntering to him coolly, his lips pressed into a thin line as he surveyed the scene below. They were in his estate at the capital, leaning over the balcony to watch the workers scurry around with cargo and unpacked boxes that contained the possessions of his soon-to-be-wife. A scowl pulled on his mouth at the reminder.
“She’s a lovely thing,” Itachi murmured. His hands rested on the smooth marble balustrade. “Quiet, yes, and she loves to read books. She’s very easy to please. Give her a little attention and care, and everything will be fine.”
“Then why don’t you marry her instead?” Obito countered snarkily.
As if pacifying a child throwing an unreasonable tantrum, Itachi smiled at him, genuine regret on his otherwise impassive face. “You know I cannot. I have been engaged far longer than you have, Obito. Izumi and I are set to be married this winter.”
Disdainfully, Obito scoffed. “Sasuke was engaged to her since childhood. Look where that ended,” he retorted with no real heat. Under his simmering anger towards the man’s younger brother was pity for his bride. It was already unlucky enough that she had become a cripple three years ago, but even more unfortunate that she was to be married to him of all people. Obito was a general, a soldier, a man who would always be deployed to the frontlines whenever there was a war. She would not see much of him, and there was also the danger of her being harmed by those who wanted him dead. Shisui would have been a better option than him.
“She’s similar to Rin,” Itachi suddenly said, breaking into his thoughts.
The placating tone in the man’s voice almost made Obito laugh. Ten years had already gone by since his first engagement that had been concluded into a fiasco. Nohara Rin had been his first in everything, as he was hers, but everything crumbled down when his face was heavily scarred by the war against the Senju . Rin had been near hysterics, violently claiming that she did not want to be married to a man who was so disfigured, even a bear would run away from him. Those words, so bluntly spoken, had spurred him into leaving on an impromptu patrol mission for half a year to give her some space, only to come home to his dearest fiancee in bed with his closest friend.
It was a silent fact that beauty was more valued than integrity in the high-class world, and Obito had not been spared of it.
“I certainly hope not,” he responded bitingly. “Once is enough.”
At the insinuation, Itachi stayed quiet, but there was a calculating weight in his eyes that Obito overlooked.
~~~~
When his bride was carried out of the carriage, the first thing that caught his attention was her rosy-hued hair that glimmered softly under the moonlight. She’d arrived at night with a grand entourage behind her, her emerald gaze locking into his dark ones almost instantly. Curious, he held her stare with half-hooded eyes under his mask, taking note of every detail— from the dominant burgundy of her dress, the gold jewelry adorning her, and her petite form hidden under all the layers of her clothing. “She’s a lovely thing,” Itachi had told him a week ago. Clearly, the man had not been lying; the woman looked like a fairy dressed in human clothes.
“Hello,” she greeted him softly on nearing him.
Obito did not answer her. Instead, he mounted off his horse and nodded at the person carrying her— a man with pale skin, black hair, and equally dark eyes that held no emotion in them— for him to let him hold her. At the nonverbal command, defiance flashed in the servant’s face for a second, briefly breaking his apathetic mask, and he looked down at his mistress as if asking for her consent. The rosette dipped her head. Carefully, Obito gripped her waist and hoisted her up on the saddle of his steed.
Then a thought struck him.
“Are you alright with riding horses?” he questioned. Would it affect her already damaged legs in any way?
A nod. “I used to ride horses,” she responded, her hands coming to clutch the reins.
Pleased, Obito inclined his head at her in acknowledgment, then turned to her waiting entourage. “Go home,” he said commandingly. “You are not welcomed here.”
A ripple of surprise went through the crowd, hushed murmurs of confusion reaching his ears. All eyes turned to their mistress who was now contentedly petting his steed, but there was something in their gazes that alerted Obito. Whilst submissive, it carried an undertone of disdain. His bride didn’t seem to notice, or rather, Obito thought, she was good at ignoring them. There was a subtle quiver in her hands as she played with his horse’s hair, eyes pointedly avoiding the brunt of the stare of the crowd before them.
He narrowed a glower at them. “Did you not hear me?”
The Uchiha Empire was not a friendly place. Its capital thrived on being secluded, only receiving merchants and traders as visitors, but always turning down large companies of travelers. It was for security purposes; they had a lot of enemies, and a siege from outside was easier to defend than a siege from the inside. As such, Obito simply just couldn’t allow for his bride’s entourage to come through due to protocol.
“My lord,” the man who had carried his bride spoke. “We have traveled day and night to reach your esteemed capital. Can you not spare us a night of rest?”
“There are nearby towns for that,” he said dismissively, digging into his pocket and tossing a gold plaque with his name at the man's direction. “Go rest there. You can put any of your expenses on my account.”
He didn’t wait for their reply. Swiftly, Obito ascended his steed, wrapped one arm around his female companion’s waist, and rode away, the central gates closing at his wake.
~~~~
Haruno Sakura, he soon learned, was her name. She wasn't a difficult person to be with; in fact, her quiet presence made it seem like she wasn't there at all. She only spoke when spoken to, always shied away from his eyes whenever she could, and avoided physical contact surreptitiously. For the first few days of her arrival, the maids and servants danced around her on a thin line, not wanting to provoke her in any way. But she was mild-tempered and almost nothing could faze her, except when he was in the room.
It was evident that she didn't like him very much.
With her legs crippled, the only way she could move was by her device that was similar to a chair, only it had wheels on the bottom of each leg. He could just carry her around, of course, but the way she never asked him for help was a clear statement that no, she didn't need him at all. He could only look after her as she wheeled around the house, but more often than not, she would be in her room with her door locked.
Obito didn't pay much attention to it until the headmaid informed him that his bride hadn't gone outside her room for three whole days out of the five days he was absent because of an unscheduled patrol at the borders.
“But did you make her eat?” he demanded as he strode to the upper floor in quick steps. He'd had a ramp installed by the side for her wheelchair since her room was just across his. “Well? Did you?”
“We always left her food outside,” the headmaid said nervously, wringing her hands. “But she never touched it.”
Fuck.
He knocked on her bedroom door.
Was Sakura trying to starve to death?
When there was no answer, he fueled all his anger to ram the door open with raw strength, almost letting it fly off its hinges. The atmosphere was dark despite it being early noon, the curtains drawn to prevent light from coming in, and he stepped inside, a scowl twisting his lips when he spotted a human-shaped lump hidden under the covers of the canopied bed. His shoes echoed angrily against the marble-tiled floor.
“Sakura,” he called. When the lump didn't respond, he shook it none too gently. “Sakura.”
Slowly, the lump began to rise, and the covers fell to her waist, revealing mussed-up hair, a pale face, swollen, groggy eyes, and chapped lips. Gods, she looked terrible. Patiently, he waited for her to bear her senses, his hand a firm anchor on her shoulder.
“What…” drowsiness clouded her emerald eyes as they roved around; but on seeing him, they cleared immediately of the fog, and Obito was startled to see relief coating her features. “You're back.”
“Good observation,” he drawled out, sitting down and trying his damndest to rein in his ire. The mattress dipped under his weight. “Now, will you tell me why you haven't been eating your food?”
Her hands found purchase in his traveling coat, and he went rigid when a sob spilled out of her lips. “I'm sorry for ignoring you,” she whispered, pulling him closer. Her arms wrapped tightly around his torso, and unused to the contact, Obito almost flinched away. But her hold was firm and unyielding, he had no choice but to reciprocate the embrace with an awkward pat on her back. “I'm sorry.”
Her face was now buried into his chest, hot tears staining the thick material of his shirt.
“Please don't leave me,” she pleaded, her words so soft, Obito almost didn't hear them.
Her dismal and timid voice almost broke something in him.
Was she crying out of guilt or of something else?
“Alright,” he replied, uncertain how to respond properly to the situation. “But you'll have to eat, you understand?”
A muffled yes, and Obito didn't press the subject any further.
~~~~
She was a confusing woman, that was for certain. With a thoughtful frown, he stared at her profile on his desk, his fingers drumming against the wooden surface.
Didn't she hate him?
After the crying incident, Sakura had refused to let him go until she had fallen asleep. Even then, the strength of her grasp never diminished, and he was forced to lie down with her, gently prying her fingers off his clothes. However, with every movement he had made, she stirred, until Obito gave up entirely and instead made himself comfortable.
It had to be trauma of some sort, he concluded. Was it trauma from Sasuke breaking off his engagement with her? Was she, perhaps, afraid that the same thing would happen again?
His jaw clenched.
Just what the hell happened between her and Sasuke for her to react so strongly?
But with no definite answers, he could only drown in his speculations as the lamps in his office flickered warmly, casting a soft glow over the dull ambiance of the room.
~~~~
He made it a point to join her in every meal whenever he could. They were soon to be wedded— it wouldn't do for them to be strangers. Still as reclusive as ever, Sakura preferred to dine alone in her bedroom, and so he would always have to walk in, uninvited, and order for the maids to bring his meal to her table.
The first time it had happened, Sakura went rigid like a statue and only ate in small bites throughout the session. Her eyes would dart to him from time to time, apprehensive and anxious, which he would return with a flat stare and continue eating. Under the brunt of his gaze, her hands trembled, until he was sure that she would drop her eating utensils.
“Do you not want me to be here?” he asked her softly.
“I…” she swallowed hard and looked down. It was obvious that she knew what he was trying to accomplish— a congenial type of camaraderie with her as an anchor to their future together. With her limp rosy locks and pale cheeks, Sakura was a small, pitiful thing compared to his existence that naturally demanded attention, and she fumbled courageously as she answered, “Give me time.”
Time. He had that luxury.
Contented with her response, Obito nodded and leaned back.
“Alright.”
Unspoken, it then became their routine for him to dine with her, and the servants soon learned to lay down an extra plate for their master across from where Sakura would be sitting. As time passed on, she became comfortable in his presence, often offering him a hesitant smile in greeting. Their conversations were painfully short as he did not have the gift of talking, but it was progress.
And progress, no matter how little, is something that should be acknowledged.
~~~~
It wasn't just him, he noticed. Sakura was afraid of men in general. She would flinch whenever a male servant was near, lock herself in her room when Shisui would come by to visit with all his boisterousness, avert her gaze whenever he was speaking to her, be it calmly or in his normal voice.
She knew of it too. Obito could see her failed attempts in holding a mundane conversation with him, but at least she was trying. Timid smiles, a hesitant touch here and there, a polite inquiry on how his day went— small things that would seem insignificant to an outsider. Then she would swallow and return back to her shell, and Obito would be left to pick the pieces of their interaction.
“You don't have to be afraid of me, you know,” he gently told her one evening. He'd come to know that she preferred him speaking to her in soft tones and none of the harshness he was accustomed to. Sakura hated loud noises. “Whatever Sasuke did, I will not repeat any of his mistakes.”
She was fifteen years younger than him, and Obito was certain, given his experience with women his age, that he could coax her to venture out of her comfort zone. He just needed patience. Taking a bite of his apple, Obito watched her as she shifted in her chair, her fingers deftly threading her embroidery needle into a clean handkerchief. It was one of her pastimes these days, and he was more than glad to encourage her interests.
“I know,” she murmured. A pause, then, “Sasuke wasn't all that bad, truly. But then—” it didn't escape his notice how Sakura tensed and swallowed back what she was about to say, but Obito didn't mention it. He was more than satisfied to hear her talking of her own volition, rather than him patiently speaking to her and hoping that she would engage to his subtle coaxes.
Hesitation cloaked her and she glanced at him, her lovely viridian eyes clouded with an emotion he couldn't quite decipher. ”Things just happened,” was her despondent and vague explanation, as if apologizing for not being able to say more. Her gaze, however, for how unreadable it was, held a depth of sorrow that struck a chord in Obito’s heart.
Sakura smiled at him, misery gleaming in her barely exposed pearly whites.
“I am terribly sorry that you, a famed general and someone who deserves a better woman, had to be stuck with a cripple like me.”
He didn’t know how to respond to that.
~~~~
She liked flowers, he soon came to realize when he found her thumbing the petals of the roses in the vase that had originally been placed in the center of the dining table. Now, however, the ornament was being cradled in her arms as she admired the red blossoms. She was careful not to let any of the plant’s water drip into her dress, and nine-year-old Moegi, the child he had assigned to be her handmaid, stood nearby with watchful eyes. The roses had been a present from Shisui who had visited that noon, something he had brought in hopes of seeing Sakura. When the rosette never showed up however, he left it in Moegi’s care instead.
Tucking that small information in the back of his mind, Obito left the woman to amuse herself.
The next morning, Sakura was greeted by a bouquet of irises sitting on her bedside table. There was no note as to where they came from, and with a wary frown, she instructed Moegi to throw them away. When the action reached Obito’s ears, he approached the rosy-haired woman tentatively during dinner.
“Did you not like flowers?”
There was surprise in her eyes as she regarded him. “You were the one who sent them?”
He nodded.
Horror dawned on her features. “I'm sorry,” she apologized in a rush, “I— I didn't know.”
The apology was so innocently spoken, but Obito could hear the fear in her voice as she gazed at him pleadingly for him to understand. Soothingly, he reached for her trembling hands and enclosed them in his larger ones, covering them with his warmth.
“It's alright,” he said. “I was only asking.”
With tremulous eyes, she shook her head. “I really am sorry. I wouldn't have thrown them away if I had known that they came from you.”
“But did you like them?”
A moment of hesitation. Then,
“Yes. Yes, I did.”
And every morning, there would always be a fresh batch of flowers on her nightstand, meticulously arranged in a ceramic vase. She never threw them away; in fact, she would press them into bookmarks whenever they were already wilting to preserve them for herself. Some bookmarks she would give to him with a shy smile, and he would accept them readily, tucking them inside the pages of the thick books in his office.
~~~~
Despite the numerous dresses and jewelry Sakura had brought, Obito immediately discovered that she disliked them, if the downturn of her lips every time the maids came to dress her was of any indication.
“Do you want me to call a tailor?” he asked her one afternoon over tea.
She looked up from her book. “What makes you think I want a tailor?”
The bewilderment coloring her tone had him second-guessing his intuition of her aversion to the clothes she had brought. “A change of pace perhaps?” he tried.
“You do not have to do that,” she denied, but there was hesitation as she spoke. It was gone instantly however, and she again turned her focus to the book she was reading. Her long skirts covered her feet as she sat draped on the cushioned couch, a plate of fruits on the side table near her. It was well within her reach, but somehow she hadn’t even touched nor glanced at it. Obito frowned. Was it not to her liking?
From the armchair he was seated on, he stood up and walked to her, plucking an apple. “Do you not like fruits?”
Sakura again glanced away from her book and stared at him. The apple, which fit in his large palm perfectly, was juicy and plump, carefully picked in hopes that she would take the invitation to eat, because gods, she hadn’t eaten properly ever since she came and he was getting worried whether the food here was not to her tastes—
“Mother never let me have fruits,” she finally replied, closing her book in a docile manner. “She always told me that I was allergic to them.”
Obito could only watch as she settled into a sleeping position, curling protectively into herself. It was a lie, he knew, since he had seen Moegi scurrying into her bedroom with meticulously sliced apples. While there was a chance that Moegi had gotten them for herself, he'd also seen the girl leaving Sakura's room immediately without the plate of apple slices. The empty plate on the rosette’s bedstand he'd come to while he was leaving his usual bouquet of flowers was evidence that she liked apples enough to indulge on them from time to time.
Her words raised an uncomfortable feeling within him.
What kind of mother would forbid her own child to indulge in sweet fruits?
~~~~
“How is she?” Itachi asked. It was autumn, and the two men were shooting bullets at the wooden target plastered on the trees. “No trouble?”
“She's…” Obito paused to find the right words, “She's adjusting. Is she normally so shy?”
“Before her accident, no,” Itachi replied. He pulled the trigger of his gun, and a shot rang out. “But she became afraid of male company after she became a cripple.”
Curiosity spiked up in him. “Why did she become a cripple?”
The younger man shrugged, but no matter how casual the movement was, Obito’s sharp eyes took note of the subtle tightness of Itachi’s jaw. “The news said it was because she fell off a balcony by accident. There was no one with her when it happened.”
His bland, sarcastic intonation clued something in Obito, and he narrowed his eyes at him. “What is it that you know, Itachi?”
Soulless black eyes stared back at him apathetically. “There are rumors saying that it wasn't because she fell off, but because she was forced.”
“Forced to fall?”
“No,” Itachi shook his head, “forced to give up her virginity.”
Raped was the unspoken word.
At the newly found information, Obito turned on his heel and left.
~~~~
Raped.
The thought rang over and over in his mind, and it muted everything else as he rode his steed home. His blood was boiling hot; his lips twisted into an ugly scowl, enhancing the dark aura exuding from him. The moment he entered the lounge, Sakura came to greet him in her wheelchair, Moegi just behind her.
“Obito,” she nodded with a soft smile. In her hands was a crocheted doll with black hair and a princely outfit, which she hesitated to give to him. He gave no attention to it though, instead lifting her up unceremoniously in his arms and striding to the stairs. He vaguely noticed the doll falling out of her hands, nor did Moegi's surprised squeak register in his clouded head. Sakura's hands clutched at his shirt, frightened, and he carried her away to her bedroom, his steps heavy and loud.
Gently, he lowered her into her bed and kneeled.
“Who was it?” he hissed with venom, a contrast to how delicately he was holding her waist to ground himself from completely raging.
She was trembling now, her bottom lip quivering as she stared down at him, uncertain. “W-Who?”
“The one who forced you,” he said snappishly. “The bastard who dared lay a hand on you. And don't you defend him, Sakura, because what he did was not justifiable.” His voice shook with every word, and he grasped her arms tightly, his teeth gritted viciously. The scarred half of his face, as usual, was hidden with his mask, but he was sure that rage was still imminent in his features with how distorted it was.
“Sakura.”
But her breathing had become erratic, her eyes blown wide, and she flailed in his hold. “I-I don't know anything!” she cried. Tears were now flowing freely down her cheeks, fear tinting her voice. “Pl-Please let me go. I swear, I d-don't know anything!”
“Sakura,” he tried again, backtracking and calming his voice into a lower tone to soothe her. “I am only trying to help you—”
“No, no, you aren't,” Sakura gasped out, her breaths becoming uncontrollable sobs, and she lashed out at him, successfully freeing herself , “That's what they all say b-but then… You're all the same—!”
Ah. He inhaled through his nose in an effort to calm himself down. This was a pain. With no other leads, how was he supposed to hunt down the vagrant who had made her this way?
“Alright,” he sighed in defeat. Tenderly, he gathered her in his arms and sat on the bed in her stead, rocking her gently to and fro. She was small compared to his larger frame, and she fit so perfectly in his embrace. Obito pressed a kiss on the crown of her head. “Alright. I won't ask about it again.”
Her sobs echoed throughout the room until she fell asleep, cradled so securely against him.
When he had tucked her into bed, Moegi came in quietly and handed him the doll with a somber face.
“You mustn't treat her like that, my lord,” the young girl said, bowing her head respectfully. “My lady was waiting for you all day to give you this.”
The doll, with all its flaws and charm, resembled him, and he noted with amusement that it also wore a mask on its right side of the face, similar to his fashion. It was also then that he realized that Sakura had not yet seen the extent of his facial scars, and the thought that she would fear the sight of his marred features curled a displeased frown on his mouth.
Would she still accept him despite his wrecked face?
~~~~
“You can't yell at me like that again,” Sakura said hushedly when she'd woken up.
Apologetically, he reached for her dainty hands and enclosed them in his calloused ones, basking them in his warmth.
“I won't,” he promised.
The instantaneous relief that sagged her tensed shoulders was imminent, and Obito brought the back of her hand against his mouth and kissed it lightly— a silent apology. Stunned, Sakura could only stare at him as the moment passed, but there was sadness in her eyes when his actions had finally registered to her.
Obito could only wonder about it.
~~~~
It was from that incident that Sakura began having nightmares. At first he didn't notice it; only saw the dark circles under her eyes which were cleverly hidden with powder but still visible to him. He didn’t ask anything of it however, unwilling to make her cry again. Nowadays, it seemed like he was walking on eggshells around her, guilt weighing down in his heart as he thought back of the time that he had terrified her.
But then he'd been jolted awake from his sleep when a scream pierced the midnight silence one night.
She was thrashing wildly in her bed when he arrived, Moegi by her side crying as she tried to shake her mistress awake. The child was clearly frightened, but the firmness of her hands as she jerked Sakura’s shoulders to and fro alerted Obito that this wasn't the first time that this had happened.
“When did this start?” he asked in a sharp tone.
Moegi looked at him with watery eyes, “Last week.”
Last week was when he'd lost control of his emotions and almost took it all out on Sakura. A scowl took over his lips as he became furious at himself for scaring the woman so, enough to subject her to nightmares in her sleep. When he tried to gather her small frame into him, she lashed out, and a curse spilled out his mouth as he took the blow to his face.
For such a pitiful woman, her punches were certainly jaw-breaking.
“Sakura,” he called her with gritted teeth, trying his hardest to ignore his throbbing nose. “Sakura.”
But Sakura continued to wail.
Sighing, he nodded at Moegi. “Leave.”
His hands were gentle as he slipped them under her, and his quick reflexes allowed him to dodge most of her involuntary attacks. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, her forehead scrunched in distress, and sweat clung to her like a second skin. He sat down on her bed, and like before, he rocked her tenderly, humming reassurances under his breath. Her screams toned down as she screamed her voice hoarse, replaced by heart-wracking sobs that tore at Obito’s chest.
As the night bled into dawn, Obito held her tightly, stuffing down the regret that had taken over his heart.
~~~~
“The maids are moving my things into your bedroom,” Sakura interjected over breakfast. She poked at the yolk of her eggs with her fork and watched as yellow spilled over the white surface of her plate. “May I ask why?”
Obito took a sip of his coffee and welcomed its bitter taste. “We'll be wedded soon. I think it's high time for you to start making yourself comfortable in my bed.”
“But we still aren't,” Sakura retorted. Her tone was biting, but Obito could sense the quaver beneath her strong front. She placed her fork aside and fixed her gaze on her lap. “It isn't proper.”
He was about to reason out that he only wanted to be near her whenever her nightmares started again, but when she lifted her head, all explanations died in his mouth as he saw the fear and apprehension in her emerald eyes. Raped. The word rang again in his mind. On seeing that she was dutifully waiting for his answer, Obito stood up from his seat to go to her.
“Sakura,” he started softly, but it didn't do much to abate her doubts. When he reached to take her hand, Sakura even flinched.
Oh, so they were back to square one.
Displeased, Obito withdrew with a sigh, and Sakura’s eyes went wide in alarm. “Wait—”
But the man was already walking away, only sparing her a final glance in farewell. “I'll give you some space for the time being,” he said patiently. “I'll be back this evening, and if you have not changed your mind to sleep with me in my room by then, I will not force you.”
Frantic to make him stay, Sakura flailed in her seat, her hand outstretched to him. “No—” her pupils were now blown wide— “I just meant—”
The door closed behind him.
~~~~
When he came back, Moegi was at the door waiting for him, a frown on her face.
“She cried all morning after you left, if you must know,” she told him without preamble in a tone that was too mature for her age. “My lord, are you truly so cruel as to cause my lady a grieving heart almost every time you are with her?”
He gave her a brief glance as he took off his coat. “I only wanted to give her some room to think—”
“She almost fell out of her chair trying to reach for you,” Moegi said sharply, her eyes criticizing. “When I helped her back into her seat, she was already inconsolable in tears, hyperventilating. But no, my lord, you just had to ignore her pleas to wait, didn't you?”
At the swift narrative, Obito rubbed a palm across his eye and cursed. “Where is she now?”
“In your room. I helped her bathe her a while ago, but knowing her, she must be crying again now.”
The maid was not lying it seemed, when he opened the door to his room and found Sakura lying down and hugging one of his pillows to her chest with her face buried in it. Although she was silent, her shoulders were heaving, betraying the fact that she was, indeed, crying.
His voice was soft when he called her name, “Sakura.”
Her head immediately whipped to him eagerly, and Obito guiltily took note of her bloodshot eyes and reddened nose and cheeks. Hurriedly, she scrambled into a sitting position and would have crawled to reach him if it weren’t for him reaching her first. Her arms instantly snaked around his torso, and she draped herself on him, pressing her face into the crook of his neck.
Her hot breath fanned against his skin. “Are you angry?”
He kissed her bare shoulder from where one sleeve of her nightdress had slid down. “Not with you, no.”
“Then why did you leave?” she demanded, hurt seeping through her words.
“I—”
“Don’t walk away from me again,” she interrupted him pleadingly. Her hands clutched the back of his shirt tightly, and her whole body trembled as she began to cry once more. “Never again, you hear? You can yell at me all you want, you can even hit me, but stay.” Her voice broke into a sob, “You can't —”
“Please don't leave me,” she had cried to him a long time ago.
“I only wanted to give you some time to think about our sleeping arrangements,” Obito said carefully, rubbing circles on her back. “And I also had to take care of some things in the palace. I never intended to leave you permanently.”
A deep breath. “Promise you won't break our engagement?”
He hummed and pressed another kiss on her skin.
“I won't.”
~~~~
As a prideful person, Obito usually didn't ask for advice. But with the recent crying episodes he had experienced with Sakura, the man decided that it was high time that he asked for help.
His decision led him to the only other female he was close to— Uchiha Mikoto, his sister-in-law.
“You made her cry,” the woman stated flatly when he had finished explaining his side of the story. They were sipping tea on her veranda, eyes fixed on the setting sun by the horizon. A long-suffering sigh, “Why am I not surprised?”
“I didn't come here to be judged by you, Mikoto,” Obito said sarcastically. You run the rumor mill. What do you know about Haruno Sakura?”
Mikoto sipped daintily on her tea. It was jasmine, her favorite. “Oh, you know. Just the usual facts. Crippled from a young age because she fell— which, may I add, is quite unfortunate; she was quite a beauty before her accident, very well-sought by men. Now, however,” she shrugged, pity betraying her calm voice, “she isn't of any value anymore. Poor thing.”
His temper spiked up on hearing her words. “She is still lovely even now,” he retorted harshly. At his defensive response, Mikoto shot him an amused smile which she cleverly hid by lifting her teacup to her lips. “You should already know by now that even flawed things can be perfect.”
“Ah.” The older woman’s eyes glimmered knowingly. “Are you genuinely defending her, or simply projecting yourself in her place?”
A snarl curled Obito’s lips, and Mikoto laughed, waving him off. “I was only teasing you, dear,” she gave him a playful smile. “No need to get all angry on me.”
“Perhaps I chose the wrong person to come to,” he said snappishly, rising from his seat. A hand grabbed his wrist however, and with deceptive strength, Mikoto pulled him down. Irritated, he scowled at her and shook her hold off, which she did without any complaint.
Ignoring him, a thoughtful look crossed the woman's lovely features. “As far as I know, Sasuke was smitten with her before she became disabled. But the heart is fickle, and with her inability to walk, my son's adoration for her faded.” A moroseful laugh, “Sasuke used to tell me how pretty she was. He'd come home from diplomatic missions with the Uzumaki clan and would immediately regal me stories of her wits and intelligence, and of her expertise with weapons—”
“I'm sorry,” Obito interrupted, incredulous, because Sakura? Sweet, meek, and timid Sakura? Handling weapons? With her current fragile state, that was a picture he couldn't imagine. But Mikoto took only one look at him and raised an eyebrow.
“What, she didn't tell you?”
“No.”
“Hm.” Mikoto shrugged dismissively. “Then I suppose she didn't want you to know then. Or perhaps she forgot to tell you.”
Interest piqued, he leaned towards her. “What weapons did she like?”
When he went home that evening, he found Sakura by the fireplace, curled up on the couch with a blanket on her feet. Moegi was nowhere to be found. With her rumpled day-to-day dress, it was clear that she had fallen asleep waiting for him. Obito briskly walked to her and smirked amusedly on seeing that most of her rosy hair had cascaded on her face, covering most of her features. How could such a delicate woman handle weapons as he did? The notion was almost absurd, given that she seemed so fragile. Tenderly, he brushed some of her locks away.
His touch stirred her awake.
“Hello,” he chuckled when drowsy green eyes met his dark ones. “How have you been?”
“Mhmmm…” her arms opened towards him and he bent forward, accepting her embrace. “You're back.”
Warmth flooded his chest at the adorable sight. Was this what home felt like? If so, then he'd dearly cherish it until his death. Gently, he hoisted her up into his arms and nuzzled her cheek in fondness before heading for the stairs. She was startled, understandably, a surprised squeak escaping her at his affectionate behavior.
“Have you bathed already?” he queried as he settled her on his bed.
Sakura shook her head, “I fell asleep after dinner.”
“Shall I help you bathe then?”
The offer was out of his mouth before he could stop it, and Sakura’s head snapped to him, her eyes searching for any sign of deceit on his face. But Obito, despite his unplanned statement, refused to avoid her stare and folded his arms across his chest in an act of stubbornness. “Well?”
“B-But—” her cheeks were endearingly turning red— “we aren't married yet!”
“We aren't married yet but we already sleep in the same bed,” he pointed out.
Flustered, she looked away. “That's different!”
“How so?” In the mood to tease, he bent down to her, his fingers coming to hook under her chin and tilt his head up to him. Viridian green shimmered with uncertainty as she stared at him with an adorable blush. He smirked, “No need to get all shy with me, Sakura. We are set to be wedded after all.”
In defeat, she hit his chest, but there was mirth, as well as anxiety, in her eyes. “Insufferable,” she grumbled.
He grinned. “Is that a yes?”
That was how they winded up in his tub with him pouring warm water over Sakura’s head. Bubbles clung to her as he lathered her back with soap, a sweet aroma hanging in the air when he rubbed ointment all over her arms. Her shoulders were tense, given the situation, and her skin broke out in goosebumps when his fingers grazed her bare spine.
“You're so sensitive,” Obito teased her with a low laugh. As if to prove his point, he kissed the back of her neck, relishing at the indignant little squeal that she promptly bit back before glaring at him.
Then she hesitated. “You… You don't find me repulsive?”
There was insecurity in the timid question, and Obito, with the need to assure her, leaned forward and placed another tender kiss, this time on her cheek. “I don't. Not at all.”
“Truly?” she pressed.
“Truly.”
The relief that broke on her pale face was endearing, and he smiled at her affectionately, to which she reciprocated with a happy, little grin. She had dimples, he realized, and scolded himself for not noticing sooner. But that was understandable, with how rare Sakura’s smiles were.
He didn’t see the somber look that fluttered on Sakura’s face the moment her smile dropped.
~~~~
It became a tradition that every time he left, he would always bring back something for Sakura to enjoy when he came back home. A box of dango, some trinkets, or books— but never something extravagant, since he'd discovered earlier on that Sakura hated costly things. It was a wonder, knowing that she had grown up in the wealthy Uzumaki clan, but Obito couldn't bring himself to ask her of it. What if she started crying again?
Four months had already passed since her arrival, and spring had now transitioned into summer. As the humid days passed, he found himself enjoying every minute of her company even more. Granted, the first and second months were rough, full of her crying episodes and him toeing a thin line around her as he tried to make her comfortable with his presence, but they had now settled into an easy-going friendship, and Sakura was no more afraid of him.
Shisui, despite his dense behavior, was the first one to notice his growing fondness for the younger woman.
“I was already expecting it, but somehow I'm still surprised,” the younger man remarked. They were cooling down after a grueling spar, Shisui sprawled on the ground in an undignified manner and Obito propped against the tree with his chest heaving hard.
Obito rolled his eyes at him. “You're always surprised.”
“I'm serious,” Shisui rolled onto his stomach to stare at him grimly. “It horrifies me to know that you're falling in love with her.”
What?
Perhaps he had an incredulous look on his face, because Shisui gave him an unimpressed scoff and looked away.
“Despite your mask, you're very easy to read,” he retorted. “You have that same look on your face when Rin accepted your proposal. I just hope this won't end up in a disaster.”
“Sakura isn’t Rin.”
“No, she isn’t,” Shisui agreed, now rolling onto his side to bodily turn away from him. “She’s far more precious than Rin.”
Warning bells rang in Obito’s mind. Shisui’s words were far too affectionate to be platonic. Furrowing his eyebrows, Obito straightened and gently prodded the younger man’s back with his boot. Shisui didn’t rise to the bait. “Take good care of her for us,” he responded thickly instead. A shaky breath, “She loves too easily, and is easier to love. But I suppose you already know that, don’t you, Obito?”
An unpleasant feeling swirled in Obito’s gut. “You—”
“Cherish her, protect her. Only a fool would waste her love.”
There was a scornful laugh, and Shisui finally turned to face Obito, his eyes glassy. His right hand fisted the grass, perhaps to ground himself or some other unnameable emotion. There was a hint of scarlet swimming in his pupils, but Obito was too stunned to see his normally cheerful relative in such a vulnerable state to care.
“Don’t be a fool, dear uncle,” Shisui gave him a broken smile. “Don’t be a fool like me.”
And Obito was left mulling in his thoughts when the younger man picked himself up and left on an uncalled business. So Shisui loved Sakura then? It would certainly explain why he had been consistent in his visits. A sour taste entered Obito's mouth, and he glared at the bright blue sky.
Did Sakura love Shisui back, per chance?
~~~~
“I didn't know you were a man who liked flowers, Obito-kun,” Mikoto said knowingly as she packed him some rice balls. It was no secret that his estate was going through some extensive renovations to accommodate a garden in the grounds. “It's honestly adorable.”
“Sakura likes them,” he retorted. With calloused fingers he accepted the packed food and prepared to leave. “She can't go very far because of her legs, so I wanted to gift her at least a paradise of her own.”
Mikoto hummed. “Let us visit her sometimes. I've been wanting to see her for a while now.”
He paused. Thoughtfully, he considered the invitation; it would do Sakura good to meet some people and have human interaction instead of being cooped up in his estate.
Obito inclined his head at the older woman. “I'll let her know.”
“I do not want to,” was Sakura's reply when he opened the subject that evening, however.
Stumped, Obito stared at Sakura who had her mouth pressed into a subtle scowl, her eyebrows knitted as she gazed back at him.
He sighed. “Is it because of Sasuke?”
But she stayed silent, her hands fidgeting on the sash of her dress as if waiting for something. Her shoulders had hunched up defensively, her gaze had turned blank, and her lips had clamped shut into a thin line. It was clear that she didn't want him to press the topic further.
Obito took a step towards her with his hand reaching to gently grasp her shoulder. “Sakura—”
It was only for a second, but for a trained eye, the movement was evident. Sakura had flinched. Her breathing had now quickened as she stared at him, wide-eyed, and she swallowed thickly, “Yes?”
He withdrew his arm. It was clear that she had been expecting him to hurt her in some way, and that mentality had him questioning what, exactly, she had gone through with Sasuke to have such an extreme notion in her head. Slowly, he kneeled down, letting his hands rest on her lap instead.
“If you truly do not want to go, then I won't push, I won't ask,” he told her, and Sakura visibly relaxed. He engulfed her quivering hand with his bigger one reassuringly. “But I do hope that sooner or later, you will tell me what's wrong. Alright?”
The rosy-haired woman swallowed once more and nodded.
“Okay.”
~~~~
Sasuke was decidedly a little shit, Obito thought with a growl as he parried another attack. The younger man had his face trained into a scowl as he struck blow for blow, and Obito was forced on the defensive. They weren't sparring in a sense, because the reason why they were exchanging swords— on the palace grounds nonetheless— was because Sasuke had let his temper get the best of him again.
“She isn't a captive for you to lock her up,” Sasuke snarled, and sparks flew as they clashed once more. “Do you know how much she hates being detained?”
Insulted, Obito growled at him and flung him back with much force. “Captive? Detained? I haven't done anything of the sort. And if you truly know her, then tell me,” his teeth gleamed viciously when his blade found Sasuke's jugular, “why does she flinch whenever I am displeased? Why does she cry so easily? Why is it that despite my reassurances that I will not break my engagement with her, she still thinks that I will in the future?” His eyes zeroed on his nephew who was still glowering at him in disdain, as if he had snatched away his favorite toy. “Why?”
Sasuke sneered at him rebelliously. “Because she's afraid of you, that's why.”
Hurt lashed out within Obito like a snake about to strike. His vision blurred, and he angrily bit on the inside of his cheek to ground himself. The taste of metal tingled in his tongue. Sakura? Afraid of him? Enraged, Obito dug his blade further into the man's neck. It drew out a trickle of blood, thick and red, streaming down to his collar and staining his white shirt. Everything had become muted as blood pounded in his ears, and somewhere from the distance, a familiar voice yelled at him to stop. But Sasuke was smirking at him gloriously, every inch gleeful at his broken composure, and Obito roared in rage, his other hand curling into a fist and swinging back to hit him.
The strike would have hit its mark, if it weren’t for a flash of pink catching his attention.
He jolted into a stop, his fist one centimeter away from Sasuke's perfectly sculpted nose. Mikoto was hurrying towards them, her skirts gathered daintily in her gloved hands as a worried gasp took over when she saw their disheveled form.
She was wearing a black dress with pink roses embroidered in its hems.
“And what has happened here?” she demanded on reaching them. Obito glared and withdrew his sword, Sasuke following suit. Instantly, her fingers were grasping Sasuke's soiled features, prodding gently at his scratches as she examined him. “Well, gentlemen? Will one of you speak up?”
“I suggest you discipline your youngest son before I beat him to death, Mikoto.” His voice was so calm and dark, Obito almost didn't recognize himself speaking. “Unless you want him to have an early grave.”
Then he turned and left, his cape billowing behind him.
~~~~
Sakura was in his study when he arrived home, sitting by the window ledge behind his desk and contently reading a thick tome. When the creak of the door announced his presence, her eyes lit up and she beamed at him in greeting.
He could almost imagine her leaping from her seat and running to him for a hug if her legs hadn't been disabled. However, he couldn't bring himself to come to her, not with Sasuke’s earlier words ringing back to him.
Scared. Sakura was scared of him. But why? Was it because he was bigger than her and could hurt her easily? Or was it because he was a man of war with much blood on his hands? Or because of the mask he wore daily so he wouldn't frighten her away?
“Obito?”
Her call broke him out of his thoughts and he looked up to see her staring at him confusedly, clearly wondering why he still hadn't come to her with a greeting like usual. A bright smile pulled on her lips when he began walking to her, replaced by a bewildered look when he promptly lifted her up by the waist and sat down on her stead, letting her straddle his lap in such a way that they were facing each other with both of her legs folded on either side of him.
He wrapped his arms around her, burrowed his masked face into her chest, and inhaled to calm down his raging thoughts. Was this okay? Or would his way of handling her terrify her even more? Fuck. Morosely, he chuckled. Was this how Sakura felt every time her insecurities arose?
Her fingers threaded through his hair, gently massaging his scalp. “Something wrong?” she asked quietly.
“Nothing,” the single word was muffled. He didn’t dare tell her of Sasuke. “Just a bad day.”
Humming, her arms moved until they were loosely hanging over his broad shoulders, and she pressed her cheek on the crown of his head. “I've had plenty of those back at home,” she said serenely. “With Mama's scandal, I had to endure a lot in my childhood. And when I finally hit puberty, my sister's husband fancied me, and it cost me my legs.”
Her confession was lightly spoken, but it made Obito’s head snap up to her, horror etched in his very soul. “Forced to give up her virginity,” Itachi had told him so long ago. Sakura smiled down at him, pain reflecting in her green orbs, and the slightest hint of hesitance swimming in them. She wasn't touching him anymore, and as she looked at him searchingly, there was dejection written on her face.
“I thought that you should know,” she added softly, “especially since we are to be wedded.” There was a small quaver in her voice, “If it disgusts you so, then you can call everything off while you still have the chance.”
His grip on her waist tightened, “And why would I be disgusted?”
“Because I'm not pure anymore.” Pain was laid bare in her words, and her bottom lip quavered, an action she stopped by biting into it. It drew out a drop of red, and Obito was almost tempted to brush it away with his own tongue. Would her blood taste sweet? Or would it also taste like bitter iron akin to the scent of the corpses in the battlefield?
But he prided himself as a man of great restraint, and instead, he brought his thumb to the small cut of her lip and pressed on it gently.
“It does not matter to me as I am also tainted myself,” he told her, black pupils alight with sincerity and fervor. “My hands have ripped away countless lives and I am covered with the blood of many. My duties to this empire has me acting like the human incarnate of the grim reaper. I am drenched with my sins, but you are drowning in the immorality of another man. In a sense, you are still pure; perhaps purer than anyone I know.”
The rosette stared at him, uncertainty seeping into her doe eyes. “It does not matter to you?”
Sakura, as far as he knew, was an illegitimate child. She did not really carry the Uzumaki name, her mother having eloped with a commoner by the surname Haruno when she was pregnant. But her mother had been a valuable healer in their clan, and even with her disgraceful actions, she was still welcomed back after she was caught, and young Sakura was left to shoulder the mistake her mother had made. Unfortunately, she had plenty of step-siblings when her mother married back into her clan, and so Obito had no way of knowing which sister she was talking about.
His hold around her tightened. “No,” he kissed the underside of her jaw in an effort to cheer her up. “And so I will not be calling off our engagement. Until you say so otherwise, you are stuck with me like I am with you.” Another kiss, this one on her cheek. “Unless you have a valid reason, I won't be letting go of you now, not even if you beg for it.”
Despite his vehement words, deep inside he knew that if Sakura were to ever plead for him to let her go, even if it were for an irrational cause such as her loving another man, he would do so at the expense of his own heart. Perhaps Shisui was right, Obito mused as he continued to bask in Sakura's affectionate touches. Because why else would he feel this way with her?
~~~~
The first storms came in the form of Hashirama coming to visit the empire two months later. As he was Madara's dearest friend, Obito was forced to meet him by the gates along with his other brothers, and he didn't bother hiding his displeasure at the coercion. Nevermind the fact that Sakura was having a high fever, and he would very much like to stay by her side until she recovered.
“Madara!” Hashirama was all smiles as he unmounted his horse, a wide grin on his face. Obito's face twitched in annoyance. The brown-haired man was the emperor of the Senju Empire, but he had the social manners of a commoner. “What a warm welcome. It's nice to see you again!”
Madara only nodded at him. “Hashirama. Were there no troubles in your journey?”
“No, none at all!” Hashirama chuckled. “We did leave our entourage behind though in my haste to see you. I hope they can still enter if they were to arrive tonight?”
Senju Tobirama, Hashirama's younger brother, watched the interaction from the rear on his own horse, his expression scornful. Obito chuckled amusedly. It was a known fact that the white-haired man despised the Uchiha greatly, unlike his older brother. Just like him, Obito was certain that Tobirama had only been coerced to string along with the boisterous Hashirama, as was his duty as the heir, and could only watch his dripping disapproval when Hashirama clapped Madara on the shoulder with much force and a bright smile.
Obito's eyes zeroed at the gesture. Truly, it seemed that the Senju emperor had no sense of formalities even with his rank. The lack of etiquette made Izuna growl from his steed, his eyes venomously narrowed at the blatant disrespect. Vaguely, Obito suspected that the only reason Madara tolerated Hashirama was because of their long-standing friendship and their equal status.
“And you must be the great General Uchiha Obito!” Hashirama greeted him. Obito politely returned his acknowledgement by canting his head to the side. His insides, however, were already boiling with contempt. “How is my sister-in-law? Not too much trouble to take care of, I hope?”
The innocent statement clearly implied that Sakura must be a burden to him, and the insinuation made his eyes darken. Did they think of Sakura as tiresome then? A bland smile tugged on his lips, efficiently masking his hostility. “She’s a darling to be with, if you must know,” Obito replied, not bothering to hide his fondness for the rosette. When Hashirama's grin became strained and irritated, the Uchiha's smile widened into a goading smirk. “I should extend my thanks to you for giving me such a sweet fiancée.”
With how honed his senses are, he saw Tobirama’s gaze flicking to him, red eyes holding an unreadable emotion. The atmosphere became charged with an indecipherable tension, and Hashirama spared his younger brother a brief glance, not fully hiding the dirty look that had taken over his smiling face.
A string of suspicion pulled in Obito’s stomach, taut and tight, but he kept his polite facade in place. What was it that felt so wrong? Nothing looked out of place— at least, on the surface. “Look beneath the underneath,” his old teacher had used to say. His instincts hissed at him, fueling his unease. There was a certain weight in the air that hounded him, and Obito shot Izuna a quick glance to see if he could sense it too.
Izuna, in turn, shook his head subtly in warning, his eyes darting to Madara’s back.
Madara would skin them alive if they were to act on their instincts alone.
“Move out,” their older brother's voice resounded commandingly.
At the verbal interruption, the crackle in the air was gone the next moment, leaving only the grim sense of foreshadowing in its wake.
~~~~
“There's a banquet tonight at the palace,” Obito told Sakura that afternoon as he coaxed her to drink her medicine. “I was invited, but if you do not want me to go, then I will stay.”
Some of the syrupy concoction trickled down her chin, and Sakura rubbed it away with the back of her hand, nose scrunching at its bitter taste. “Will Hashirama and Tobirama be there?”
“The banquet was organized for their sake, so yes.”
Viridian eyes locked into his coal-black ones earnestly. “You will be careful, won't you?”
Assuringly, he nodded.
“Promise?” she pressed. “Hashirama would want to talk to you about me, as would Tobirama. They might say things that would sully my name.” She hesitated, “You won't think of me any less if that were to happen, right?”
“Sakura,” and he grasped her waist firmly, “are you telling me that they would attempt to break us up?”
Sha faltered. “Possibly.”
“And how many times have I already assured you that I won't be calling off our engagement?”
Another bout of hesitation. “Three? Two?”
“Exactly.” He tapped the tip of her nose and smiled. “So why are you still worried?”
Sakura didn’t answer; instead, she tenderly cupped his face, careful not to accidentally remove the mask covering his right side, and kissed him fully on the lips. It startled him for one jerking moment, causing him to stiffen, and Sakura took his surprise for rejection. Dejectedly, tears welled up in her eyes and she withdrew and began rubbing his lips with her nightgown sleeve to erase her imprint, murmured apologies tumbling out of her mouth on instinct.
Those apologies were replaced by a squeak when his larger hand engulfed her smaller one that was dutifully rubbing at his mouth, accompanied by a delighted, roguish grin.
“Do it again.” Obito drew his face closer to hers, his gaze flickering to her glistening lips that were now slightly parted in her shock at his request. “I didn't get to savor that properly. So do it again.”
It didn't miss his notice that it was the first time Sakura initiated physical contact with him; not to mention that it was also the first kiss— amongst many, he hoped— they had shared together. Elated, he waited for Sakura to gather her courage again, but the woman had already retreated to her shell, her shoulders hunched defensively.
“Never you mind,” she responded, a pretty blush dusting her cheeks. “Just promise me you won't leave me if Hashirama or Tobirama ever try to set us apart, will you?”
The sense of foreboding was back again and the string in his gut tightened even more.
“I won't.”
~~~~
The banquet was already in full swing when he arrived, and the dance in the middle of the hall granted him seclusion in the corner. Up in the balcony, Madara and Hashirama sat in golden gilded chairs, their respective younger brothers standing behind them dutifully, and Obito snorted at the civility they seemed to display.
Only a fool would not notice the negative energy crackling between Tobirama and Izuna.
A waiter passed by with a tray of wine, courteously offering him one which he immediately accepted. He wouldn't be staying long, not with Sakura still partly sick. Careful not to attract any unwanted attention, he skirted around in the shadows to reach Shisui, who was chatting with some lady he couldn't recognize.
“Late!” Shisui mocked him, raising his wine glass as a greeting. The younger man's arm was wrapped around his female companion’s waist, and it seemed that the woman liked it very much, if her melting to him was any indication. “Did Sakura keep you up, cousin?”
“Perhaps,” he answered vaguely. It had no real bite however, him being used to his cousin’s banters. Civilly, he nodded at the female in their midst. “Another fling?”
The woman made an offended noise in the back of her throat.
“Oh, don't you go into that subject, Obito,” Shisui said exasperatedly. His grin, however, had turned strained. It was evident that the man was only trying to cope with his recent heartbreak. “We're here to have good fun. Not pick on my date.”
“Mhm.” Obito took a sip of his red wine. “I was just warning her.”
“Riiight,” Shisui drawled out sarcastically. “And I'm a frog.”
“Sure, you are,” Obito agreed. “Haven't you looked at yourself in the mirror?”
The song ended and another music began to play. It was slightly faster than the first, and it stirred the dancing crowd into a frenzy, skirts blooming out and everyone weaving to and fro around their partners. There was a single rhythmic clap from the audience, which then echoed as multiple hands began to clap to the tempo, a cheer ringing in the air. Shisui laughed delightedly, placed his now empty glass on a nearby server's platter, and pulled his female partner to join in the dance, who gladly complied with a laugh of her own. Now alone, Obito watched as they were swallowed up by the crowd.
For a while, he was content to view the scene before him. Warm lights casted an overglow over the dancers, allowing him to blend in seamlessly with the other audience. Sakura would have enjoyed watching this with him if she wasn't so reclusive. Perhaps, if she had been able to walk, the two of them would have been a part of the dance— he could imagine her swirling in and out gracefully, a happy smile adorning her lips as he indulged her. The notion brought out a smile of his own and a spike of longing pierced his heart. Should he head home early? No one would notice his absence, not with the festivities around.
His plans were foiled when a familiar voice broke him out of his peaceful reverie, though.
“General.”
It was Tobirama. It had escaped his attention that the white-haired man wasn't guarding his older brother anymore, and had managed to track him down. With distaste, Obito turned and nodded. He'd been hoping that he could leave the banquet without any unwanted conversations.
“Lovely night, isn't it?” Tobirama said politely, but his words held an undertone of curtness. Obito observed him; the man was wearing his usual furs around his neck, his suit nice and crisp. A gun holster was clipped on his left side, and a sword scabbard on his right. Ambidextrous then. Obito had never seen him in action before, but from Izuna's tales, Tobirama was an enemy to reckon with.
“Yes,” Obito replied. “Lovely night.”
“Then you must know,” and the curtness in his voice turned into apparent disdain, “that Sakura would have very much wanted to go outside tonight.”
Obito hummed. “Strange for you to be concerned over my woman,” he deflected smoothly. He smiled charmingly, mock hidden under the ruse. “Or is it because you do not have a woman of your own?”
Sakura had been sent to marry him for the sake of permanently allying the two empires. It had been Sasuke’s idea, supported by Shisui and Itachi, but the responsibility had fallen onto him to wed her. Accordingly, it was said that it was Uzumaki Mito, Hashirama's wife, who had pushed Sakura to accept the arrangement. It stirred Obito's jealousy: did Tobirama, in some way, have some emotional attachment to the pink-haired woman before she came here?
“Sakura is my cousin-in-law,” Tobirama pointed out, undeterred. “Additionally, she carries an important role to unite our two countries. I think that is enough reason why I am concerned over her well-being.”
“Funny,” he murmured. “Sakura never mentioned anything about you being a caring in-law to her.”
The dark tone his voice had adapted made Tobirama smirk. “Then it seems that Sakura is withholding familial information from you, hm?”
Withholding. The word made Obito realize that he didn't know anything about Sakura's personal life; only her likes and dislikes, and the fact that she had some sort of hidden trauma. Her childhood background remained a mystery, as well as her friendships and other affiliations. Perhaps she didn't mean to hide it away from him since he hadn't asked anything of her, but wasn't it a given? With the time they kept on spending together, they were bound to open up to each other.
Then again, Sakura wasn't the type to take initiative.
“Think about it, General,” were Tobirama’s parting words. “Sakura is more cunning than she seems.”
Obito had to bite back a snarl, even as doubt began tingling in the corners of his mind.
Was she?
~~~~
There was a stack of books by his bedside table, a sleeping Sakura lightly clutching a familiar tome that had his family's insignia burnt on its cover. It was splayed daintily on her chest, some of its pages crushed by the weight of her hand that held it in place. Gingerly, he pried her fingers off the leather-bound book and placed it on his nightstand before tucking the blankets securely to her chin.
The book detailed his family's gift that had suddenly disappeared in their generation— the Sharingan. It would turn their eyes scarlet and grant them various abilities: speed, fighting prowess, phantom armor, and techniques that varied in each individual. Madara used to have it, and so did Izuna and Fugaku, but for some unknown reason, the gift vanished suddenly in their prime. The younger generation never managed to manifest it again, and the Uchiha were left lacking, which they quickly compensated by building unconventional weapons such as guns.
As he quickly stripped off his shirt, impatient to slide in under the covers and cuddle with Sakura, he heard a sleepy groan. There was an audible shuffle, and he turned around just in time to see Sakura sit up, her hair thoroughly mussed-up and her eyes glazed as they searched the dark surroundings. Obito hadn't bothered to turn the light on. The only reason why he could see her was because of the moonlight streaming through the large windows behind her. When her eyes finally adjusted to the dim lighting however, a soft smile graced her lips, and Obito’s heart almost stuttered on seeing the affection glimmering in her emerald orbs.
The doubt he felt earlier that evening instantly cooled.
He didn’t waste any time. In a second, he was beside her, the blankets pooling around his hips as he reached for her waist and pulled her to him, his nose burrowing into her hair and her cheek pressed against his bare chest She smelled sweet, like roses and vanilla, and her oversized nightgown had her sleeves falling off her shoulders again, revealing milky skin and the valley of her breasts. Now he could understand why some great kings had chosen their darling women over their kingdoms— females were natural seductresses given their wiles.
“How was the banquet?” her voice was drowsy, a clear telling that she was trying to stay awake for his sake. “Nothing bad happened?”
Except for his interaction with Tobirama? He chuckled, not wanting to cause her any more worry, “Not really.”
“Mhmm,” Sakura hummed with a yawn. Her arms lethargically came to wrap around him, their body heat mingling together. “That's good,” she murmured. “I was afraid Hashirama or Tobirama would act up again.”
It dawned on him that Sakura was on a first name basis with the two men despite their differences in status. But was it strange, considering that Hashirama was married to one of her closely related cousins? Obito had a hard time denying it.
“Again?” he asked her instead, but Sakura’s eyelids had already fluttered shut, leaving his words hanging in the air. Soon, her breathing evened, and Obito had to laugh at how fast she had fallen asleep.
Well, he would just have to bring the topic some other time then.
~~~~
Two weeks after the Senju brothers had arrived, Hashirama brought the first stirrings of an impending disaster.
“Burn it,” he heard Sakura demand stonily as he was returning from an errand. As his instincts told him, he waited in the shadows of the lounge's doorway, black eyes quietly observing the scene unfolding in front of him. Moegi was by the fireplace, a satin-wrapped box in her hands, and she looked torn at her mistress's request. But Sakura was unrelenting from where she sat, her emerald eyes taking on a jaded look he hadn't seen before. It crackled under the hearth's glow, illuminating the darkness it held beneath.
“However, my lady—”
“I said, burn it,” Sakura repeated, her face contorting into something similar to a bitten-back snarl. Heat stirred in Obito’s stomach at the unexpected sight. “I have no use for that abomination.”
“But it is just a pair of earrings, my lady,” Moegi tried imploringly. “Surely you will—”
“I do not care,” her tone was stubborn and enraged. “Obito can provide me any jewelry I want as it is his responsibility to take care of me. Hashirama, however, is a different matter. He is not my fiance; he is the husband of my cousin. And what do you suppose will happen if I were to accept gifts from another man who is already committed to another?”
“But he is your cousin!”
“In-law,” Sakura corrected the girl. “But it matters not since the only man allowed to give me lavish gifts is Obito. Now, burn it.”
When Moegi did not make a move to obey her order, Sakura glared at her. “If you do not burn that immediately, I will crawl out of my chair and do it myself,” she said quietly. It wasn't an empty threat; there was resolution in the way she'd said it, and Moegi faltered, but not enough to heed her. Another second passed, and Sakura began to rise from her seat with her hands using the armrest as leverage, arms quivering in exertion.
Before she could hurt herself, Obito stepped out to intervene.
He spared not one look at the surprised maid as he seized the box, and did not hesitate in chucking it into the fire as per Sakura's request. It was made of wood, and as the flames ate it up, he sauntered to the rosette who was staring at him, evidently startled at his sudden appearance. She'd fallen back into her seat at his arrival, and there were beads of perspiration lining her forehead, allowing some of the strands of her hair to cling to her damp skin. Obito knelt down on one knee and met her eyes.
“Do you want me to fire her?”
Her eyes widened. “What?”
“For disobeying you. Servants are supposed to obey their masters with no questions or complaints. And she,” he nodded at Moegi who was now shaking in fear, her mouth agape, “she has broken that primary rule.”
Sakura was quick to react, “Wait!” Her hand reached to grasp his imploringly, “It's just one mistake. Her first offense, Obito. I'm sure she won't do it again, right, Moegi?” The frightened ‘yes’ echoed pitifully, and Sakura smiled tentatively. “See?”
Too kind. His jaw clenched. But even through his bubbling anger, he was careful as he lifted her from her armchair, one arm cradling the back of her legs and the other supporting her back. “Go back to your quarters,” were his cold words to Moegi who instantly scuttled away. His footsteps were heavy as they climbed the staircase to his room, and he impatiently placed Sakura on his bed before turning away to shed his outdoor clothes.
“Obito?” he heard her call.
“Should I be worried that your cousin-in-laws seem to be closer to you than they should be?”
It hadn't been the first time that Hashirama had delivered a gift to her. Obito had brushed it off at first, reasoning to himself that the man was just simply being courteous, but as the days dragged on, his gift-giving hadn't stopped and although Sakura never accepted any of them, it still stirred his jealousy. It didn’t matter that Hashirama was a married man, since liaisons were common in the noble world. Was Sakura affiliated in an unfilial relationship with him? Or had she been? Tobirama’s warning all those weeks ago came crashing back to him. At the reminder, his hands curled into fists, and he let out a heavy breath to calm himself.
“You needn't worry about him,” Sakura said in a pacifying manner. “There isn't anything going on between us.”
“His actions speak otherwise,” he intoned brusquely. Carelessly, he tossed his shirt onto the floor with his cape. “What kind of man would even give loads of presents to a woman who is not his spouse?”
“Obviously the kind of man who is deranged,” Sakura scoffed. “You must understand that he's got a screw loose in his head, and even Mito has a hard time dealing with him.” The sound of shuffling, “Now come to bed, Obito. The blankets aren't enough to keep me nice and toasty; I want your warmth.”
And as she curled herself into him, pulling the covers over their bodies, Obito found the anger in his heart melting.
~~~~
It was a surprise when Sasuke hunted him down a few days later, all somber and serious. They had been invited by Madara to go hunting with their Senju guests, and Obito was grooming his steed in the stables when Sasuke found him.
“Keep her away from them for as long as you can,” he said with a hint of a bite in his sentence before Obito could even acknowledge him civilly. The younger man's black eyes glowed ominously, his mouth flattening in displeasure, “And whatever you do, do not leave her alone. Especially not with them.”
Behind Sasuke, Itachi stared at him soullessly.
~~~~
“How much do you know about your family's gift?” Sakura questioned as they ate dinner one evening. Dressed in furs and blue with her hair curled prettily and framing her face, she looked like a lovely nymph. It was during times like this that he'd picture himself a beast when next to her for his own sick amusement.
He leaned forward and threaded his fingers together in front of him, having finished eating first. “You do know it's forbidden to share information about the Sharingan to an outsider?” he told her teasingly.
“But you let me read medical data about them,” Sakura countered as she tried to cut through a piece of ham. Upon the scraping of her knife against her plate, Obito took initiative to cut her meat in her stead. She looked at him pointedly. “Isn't that the same thing?”
“Here,” he nudged a cutlet of ham in her direction with a fork. “Eat.”
Sakura accepted the offered food easily and chewed on it as she continued, “It's strange, really. The Sharingan couldn't have just disappeared out of nowhere because it is genetic. Inherited. So maybe its manifestation is being suppressed instead. Don't you think so?”
“It was already proven by Ashina Uzumaki, Mitos's father and your uncle, that there were no runes or any enchantments sealing the Sharingan away. That was around twenty or eighteen years ago,” Obito told her indulgently. He fed her a spoonful of rice which had a slice of cured sausage on top of it. “His affirmation closed the case.”
“Maybe it is because there really weren't any runes but another kind of medium,” Sakura mused to herself.
His hand halted from cutting another chunk of ham. Thoughtfully, Obito reminisced about the time Ashina had declared that the Sharingan was gone permanently without any explanation. He'd been seventeen years old back then, five years younger than Madara, and still a fledgling in the ranks, but he had already had the Sharingan— with one eye which he'd given to Kakashi at a near death experience. The bastard repaid him by sleeping with Rin, but that was an old wound already. Then the Sharingan vanished, and Obito was left with no special gift. The palace had been in an uproar when the unexpected incident happened, and when even well-known healers could not identify the root of its sudden dormancy, Madara called his old friend Hashirama to check if there were any unwanted spirits in the palace, who in turn, brought Ashina, a fuinjutsu expert, with him to identify if there were any enchantments in place.
“You're calling the Senju emperor a traitor,” Obito chuckled as a jest. “He was the one who recommended Ashina, if you must know.”
But Sakura was unsmiling. “Everyone has betrayed someone one way or another,” she spoke apathetically. “It isn't a common occurrence.”
Her words had him wondering if she'd undergone such an experience.
~~~~
“Careful,” were Itachi’s murmured words when they crossed paths in the market three days later. His fingers grazed Obito’s hand and discreetly slipped something— a note by its texture. “Don't trust too easily.”
When Obito opened it later that day, a masculine script was displayed to him.
‘Won't you go home to me, my darling Sakura?’
~~~~
In his opinion, Hashirama was far more dangerous than Tobirama. It wasn't because of his status, but because of the way he could lower one's mental defenses with his carefree smiles and empathy. He used his joviality on any given occasion, garnering attention and adoration everywhere he went. At least Tobirama never bothered hiding his distaste for the Uchiha.
His judgement of Hashirama was proven right during the stormy evening when Obito was stranded in the palace, unable to go home with the streets so slippery for any horse to trot on. It spurred his irritation, but all he could do was wait until the heavy rains subsided. Impatiently, his boots tapped on the floor as he watched the dark skies with a scowl from his older brother's study, the dim glow of the candle by the desk the only light in the room. He was granted only several moments of silence before the door creaked open and a familiar voice spoke.
“Good evening.”
Obito didn't turn around. After all, what could a devil do if ignored?
But Hashirama didn't mind his quietness. Footsteps echoed hollowly against the marbled tiles, and soon he was by Obito’s side, his hands folded behind his back as he hummed. His presence made Obito itch in disgust. Here was the man who gave gifts to his dear fiancée without any regard for propriety, and Obito disliked him very much. He didn’t care if Hashirama was one of Madara's close friends; he'd fully throttle him if given the chance.
“Is there any reason why you are barring Sakura from going outside?” came the polite question.
Obito’s fingers twitched as his ire grew. Was it because of the weather that he was more irritable than usual?
“Sakura, as quiet as she is, is someone who enjoys socializing very much,” Hashirama continued, unaware of Obito’s darkening mood. “Surely you must know that, being her betrothed and all.”
Lightning streaked across the gloomy sky; and the thunder boomed over the roar of the rain. The candlelight flickered, eerie shadows dancing in the backdrop of the dismal office, adding to the mounting sensation of doom. Obito’s jaw had tightened, a sneer contorting his mouth as he stared down at the older man. He was taller by a head, and it gave him wicked glee to know that Hashirama had to crane his neck to look at him.
“And you must know,” Obito’s tone had clear derision in it, “that it is improper to shower someone's woman with gifts when you are already married.”
“But is she even yours to begin with?”
The innocently-asked statement had jealousy rearing its head up, and Obito had to restrain his bloodlust from lashing out. Half a year. They had already been engaged for half a year. By the next summer season, they would already be married, thus sealing the fact that Sakura was his, and his alone. A feral growl rumbled deep in his throat, the beginnings of a snarl taking form on his mouth.
But Hashirama simply laughed. “I came here to bid farewell, not initiate an argument,” the man said appeasingly. “We’ll be leaving tonight,” a friendly smile that had his teeth gleaming against the dim candlelight, “aren’t you going to say goodbye?”
As if on cue, the skies bellowed menacingly.
~~~~
‘Won't you go home to me, my darling Sakura?’
Blood roared in his ears as he spurred his horse to run faster despite the wet cobbled roads. The only light he had were the streetlamps, but even their glow was half-dimmed from the ferocity of the rain. However, Obito didn't care— he had matters to clarify, words he had to blot out, and doubts he had to appease from his earlier conversation with Hashirama.
“Then it seems that Sakura is withholding familial information from you, hm?”
Indignation seared up; for who, he didn't know. Was it for Tobirama’s hateful words, or the fact that he knew almost nothing of Sakura's personal background? Was it because, despite the time they've spent in each other's company, Sakura still hadn't deemed him worthy to open up to him about her fears? About her trauma?
Or was it, perhaps, because of the pity that had glimmered in Tobirama’s eyes as he spoke that mocking statement?
“Sakura is more cunning than she seems.”
The accusation was vile; for all Obito knew, Sakura was a sweet soul. A bit broken, yes, but every action of hers did not hold any deceit. Cunning? He thought of her timid smiles, warm smiles, and the way she had slowly begun to reluctantly let him in her life. Surely not. Surely not. But as Tobirama’s words replayed over and over again, doubt started to take root in Obito’s heart.
Surely not!
“Careful,” Itachi had said.
Confusion, mingling with rage, had taken a firm grasp on his rationality. Careful? From whom or what should he be careful? Tobirama’s word play? Or Hashirama's uncanny obsession over Sakura? Or Sakura herself?
Or was it the fact that she was exchanging notes with someone unknown to him?
Maids greeted him at the door when he finally reached home, but he took no note of their greetings and only shook them off as he began a frantic search for his beloved rosette. “Sakura!”
His dripping clothes trailed water behind him, mud coating his shoes and soiling the clean floor, his whole form askew and disheveled from traveling rushedly in the howling monsoon. He first hurried to the lounge in quick strides, only to find it unoccupied other than the cleaning servants. His study was next, but Sakura also wasn’t there; neither was she in their shared bedroom. Only her chair remained. His heart speeding up on finding that she wasn't in her usual haunts, he slammed every door open and searched like a madman, calling out her name loudly until his throat was hoarse and his voice cracked. At his haste, he did not notice the servants whispering amongst themselves in confusion, too caught up with the haze in his mind.
Where could she be? Where could she have gone with her crippled legs? Moegi also was nowhere to be found, he realized. Briskly, Obito walked up to the nearest maid, who had been watching his frenzy with wide eyes.
“You mistress, where is she?” he all but demanded, ignoring how the maid cowered under him. He’d think about compensating her later for frightening her once his head had cleared, but right now, finding Sakura was his priority. However, the maid shook her head and looked upon him as if he’d grown Satan’s horns.
“We h-haven’t had a mistress since your b-broken engagement with Lady Rin, my lord,” she stammered in a quavering, and slightly worried, tone. “Are you talking about her?”
His words did nothing to placate him, and his nose flared in anger, “You do not see Sakura as your mistress?” he coldly snarled. “You are still hung up on that whore of a woman who had messed around with another man whilst I was away; but never respected Sakura even with all her kindness?”
“But my lord—!” the maid was absolutely terrified now, bewilderment evident in her freckled face. “We do not have a ‘Sakura’ here!”
“I should have you punished for your insolence!” he hissed, finally completely losing his composure. “No Sakura? Not only have you not been respecting her as your mistress, but you have also been neglecting her existence? Is that why she always preferred not to socialize because all of you had been treating her like a damn ghost? I should—”
“Obito!” A strong hand grabbed him back just as he was to advance towards the thoroughly terror-stricken maid, and his head snapped at the person who had dared to touch him. His inky gaze met Shisui’s frantic eyes. It was clear that the man had also braved the storm to reach his residence with how soaked he was, but Obito had no compassion at the moment and only sneered at him.
“You know better than to interrupt me when I am angry.”
But Shisui’s next words would make his heart drop.
“Madara's dead.”
~~~~
The whole court was in chaos, but that was to be expected. With Shisui beside him, Obito strode towards the meeting hall, his eyes dark and his mouth twisted into a menacing snarl. Was it a coincidence that Sakura had disappeared the night his older brother was assassinated?
“Shisui!” Sasuke met them by the doors, uncharacteristically worried. Itachi lurked behind him in the shadows, his own lips a grim line and a hand on the sword on his left hip. Swiftly, Sasuke's hand shot out and grabbed Shisui, pulling him to the side and whispering something furiously. From time to time, he would sneak a glance at Obito whose contorted face grew more twisted with each passing second, until his patience snapped.
“What?” the scarred man demanded bitingly. “What are you not telling me?”
Itachi rested a placating hand on his shoulder. “Calm yourself first.”
A growl was the only response he got.
When Shisui finally turned back to him, his face had turned pale, the gauntness in his features becoming more apparent. Wearily, he grounded a palm into his eye in a display of agitation, and Obito caught a glimpse of scarlet beneath his pupils.
Shisui glanced at Itachi and sighed. “There's no bluffing out of this, is there?”
“Unless you can find another person who has pink hair, I don't think so,” Itachi grimaced. “This time, it won't just end up in a rape.”
Pink hair. Rape. His suddenly missing fiancée.
Obito narrowed his eyes at them. “What is this about Sakura?”
Shisui casted him a mournful look that had his hackles rising.
“What is it?” He took a step forward, a growl on his tongue. “What is it that I do not know?”
“Sakura—” Itachi hesitated, “Sakura has been framed.”
And that was all it took for Obito to connect some of the puzzle pieces; and when it did, his heart hammered thickly against his chest once more, and, ignoring Sasuke's surprised yelp when he pushed him aside, Obito slammed the doors open with much raw strength. The trio didn't follow him—or rather, couldn't, follow him, since they were not of the higher court. Upon his arrival, everyone who had already gathered around the table looked up at him, varying degrees of surprise and anger in their faces on seeing him strode forward and take his designated seat.
One such elder rose up in indignation, “You dare—”
From across where he was sitting, Izuna stared at him, his gaze unforgiving and hard. Anger simmered underneath his calm mask, betrayed only by the tense set of his jaw. Obito held his stare, unafraid. Although they were only half-brothers, they were close enough for Obito to be lax around Izuna despite his ire.
Obito drummed his fingers on the wooden surface. “Time of death?”
The elder who had risen sneered at him. “Shouldn't you know that yourself?” There was derision in his mocking response. “Weren't you here when it happened?”
“I was not asking you,” Obito snapped. “Unless you want me to send you to hell early, you will shut your mouth.”
Enraged, the elder wailed. “Do you see this, Izuna? The disrespect! I am telling you that he had a hand on our emperor's death along with that pink-haired witch!”
Izuna glowered. “Enough.”
“I do not understand why my fiancée is being dragged into this,” Obito scoffed disdainfully. “She cannot walk, much less kill someone. She hasn't even stepped a foot out of my house ever since she came here. Furthermore, you stupid old ass, I was probably here in the palace during the murder because I got caught in the storm. And Sakura was not with me at the time.”
Tiredly, Izuna studied him. “Do you vouch for her then?”
It was of no hesitation when he answered, “With my whole heart.”
Protests immediately broke out, the hall echoing with various levels of furious murmurs and hesitant whispers. “Traitor!” another elder spat out. Obito bore it all, his eyes roving at the chaotic scene and glaring at anyone who dared to even glance at him with trepidation. Izuna did not partake in the outraged cries; in fact, his face even became more bone-weary as he listened.
“This will incite a war,” Izuna said the moment he council had been dismissed, granting them privacy. “And you will bear the brunt of it, being the empire’s top general.”
“That isn’t anything new,” Obito replied dismissively, his temper not the least abated. Despite the threat of war looming over the horizon, he couldn’t help but feel betrayed by Sakura instead. He trusted her, cared for her, and while she in turn seemed to return his affections, it was evident that she did not trust him at all. If she had, then perhaps this incident could have been averted. Not even a goodbye, he thought cynically. Had she asked for it, he would have taken her matters into his own hands and mediated on both sides to appease whatever she had against Madara while protecting him.
But now his older brother was gone, along with his fiancée who had now been labeled a murderer.
“It was Tobirama.”
Breaking out of his thoughts, Obito glanced at Izuna. “What?”
Izuna smiled at him humorlessly and clapped his shoulder. “For a man who is so righteous in defending his fiancée's reputation,I can see that you certainly are full of doubt towards the very person you are vouching for.” Then his eyes dimmed, and he sighed. “It was Tobirama. The one who killed Madara. The only reason why Sakura has been blamed is because there were pink strands of hair in Madara's bedroom. But I've fought Tobirama a couple of times now, and I can say that the wound that killed our dear brother was Tobirama's doing.”
“But—”
“However, I cannot say that Sakura is entirely innocent in this matter, because there is still evidence of her being present at the time of Madara's death,” Izuna continued. “I am willing to brush it off, though. Especially since she's already helped us several times.”
His last statement struck a bewildered chord in Obito’s mind. “Helped?” he echoed.
There was a cunning glint in Izuna's dark eyes as his voice dropped into a murmur, “Tell me, Obito, did you know that Sakura was once a spy for us?”
~~~~
As the tale unfolded, Obito found himself growing incredulous with every sentence Izuna spoke. Apparently the Senju had been conspiring their downfall for years now, a fact he hadn't known due to him being constantly away before his engagement; and Sakura had been the bridge between their empires. Itachi, Shisui, and Sasuke were her intel points, and she'd slipped some information of Hashirama's plans whenever she could through letters during the days she was still in good health and promised to Sasuke. But after her engagement with the younger Uchiha was broken due to issues Izuna was not informed of, her goodwill towards the trio faded like dust.
No wonder she hadn't liked being in Shisui’s company, and neither had she felt inclined to accept Mikoto’s invitation to visit.
But couldn't she have told him that that was the case? An ache pricked his hardened heart, which he ignored so easily by grinding his teeth together. Did she not trust him enough even with the time they had spent together?
“Oh, don't look so glum,” Izuna chided him, knowing him all too well to not recognize his self-deprecation. “Even I wasn't aware of her role in all of this until recently.”
Obito pushed down the bitterness coating his tongue. “She would have been more comfortable with Shisui, than with me.”
Izuna shrugged. “On the contrary, Shisui would have been a terrible match for her with how debauched he is. She wouldn't have been able to satisfy his lustful needs with those crippled legs of hers.”
The world knew of Shisui as a charming manwhore, but Obito knew that the man had his heart in his sleeve when it involved Sakura. After all, their clan were the purest when it came to love, and that often led to destructive consequences.
A boundary that Obito was on the brink of crossing.
“I want to know why she and Sasuke broke up,” Obito demanded as he struggled to maintain a cool head. It wouldn't do for him to take his anger out on the wrong person. He would have to wait until he had the full explanation of what was happening. He already had the gist of it, of the events leading to Sakura's trauma, but with no affirmation from an individual involved, it was hard to draw a solid conclusion.
“Then you better ask Sasuke that,” Izuna deflected. “As you know, I did not have any connection with the lady.”
And Obito did an hour later.
After being pummeled to the ground by an angry Sasuke, that was.
“You're fucking kidding me,” Sasuke snarled right at his face as he placed all his weight on him and pushed him down, down, until his cheek was grinding against the hard soil. “I told you not to let her near any of them! What the hell do you mean she's gone?”
Obito didn't have the heart to fight him, and as another punch slammed into his cheek, Sasuke's eyes flashing viciously, he reveled in the pain it brought. Blood thundered in his ears. The scent of earth seeped into his senses. A burst of laughter escaped him— was it his curse to be so ill-fated in love? Insane laughter resounded in the air as Sasuke pounded him with bruised knuckles, his rage ever present. But there was also another emotion visible in his features, an emotion Obito easily recognized, having experienced it himself.
Love.
The brat actually loved her.
Ignoring the blood trickling from his broken nose, Obito grinned at him savagely.
“I had always wondered why you gave her up so easily,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “From Sakura’s perspective, you weren’t so bad; every time she had broke down, I always assumed that it was related to you, but she always denied it.” His eyes darkened stormily as a sneer danced on his lips, “So why did you give her up so easily, Uchiha Sasuke?”
The younger man’s shoulders were quaking, pain spilling from his own dark orbs that mingled with loathing. “You know nothing,” Sasuke snapped. “Sakura had already sacrificed so much; I couldn’t let her suffer even more. Hadn’t she told you? The reason why she lost her ability to walk—” a choked sob— “it was because of me. If I hadn't convinced her to be my spy, Hashirama wouldn't have violated her as punishment.”
The confession, so contrite and genuine, triggered something in Obito, and he found himself falling in a void, flashes of his memories with Sakura being illuminated in the blackness one by one. Her smiles, her laughter, her careful fingers as she thumbed through the books he bought for her, the slight displeased quirk of her lips whenever dessert was too sweet, her warmth as she pressed herself to him in the icy nights, her hesitance in showing open affection—
“You fucking bastard—!” he heard himself roar as he struck back at his nephew, every slightest bit enraged at the new information. Sasuke, the little shit, for all his flaws and shortsightedness, had the gall to drag an innocent woman into their empire’s matters? More so it was Sakura— sweet, lovely Sakura who was not built for pain, who was afraid of being abandoned, who shied away from physical contact on instinct— the realization had his blood boiling. “I should just fucking bury you right here and now—!”
More flashes —Sakura's fresh tears and helpless sobs every time she collapsed back into her fears, her cold arms as they wrapped around him desperate to seek for comfort—
Another wrecking hit to Sasuke’s aristocratic features, and another raging bellow deep from his chest. All around them people had gathered, shock and terror clear as they watched the fistfight, but making no move to stop it in fear of getting harmed. He must look like a madman, Obito thought with a terrorizing grin and a wolfish laugh. The Great Devil Uchiha Obito. Merciless and scarlet-handed, spilling violence everywhere he went. Yes, his mouth stretched further into a devious smile. This was the real him, wasn’t it? Long before Sakura came into his life and he had to restrain himself so as to not scare her away—
“Obito,” a hand pulled at his shoulder firmly. “Stop it.”
When he glanced back, Itachi was standing behind him, sorrow shimmering in his otherwise apathetic eyes before they flashed red for the briefest of seconds.
Obito felt all his strength leave and saw darkness.
.
.
.
.
.
“Gear up for battle,” were Izuna's first words when he woke that evening. “The Senju have sent up a missive declaring war.”
Despondently, even with every fiber of his being screaming at him to bring Sakura back by force or persuasion (we should lock her up next time so she won't ever leave us again, a dark part of his mind hissed), Obito gathered himself enough sense to heed to his brother's orders. His whole body ached, his nose pulsing in pain even though someone had already snapped it back into place, and his entire face felt like it had been mauled with a hammer. Sasuke had heavy punches, Obito would give him that, but he had also rendered quite the damage to the young man. Shisui was already waiting for him outside, his own gun and sword girded, his mouth a grim line when he emerged.
“You look terrible,” his nephew teased in an attempt to lighten the mood.
Obito ignored him. “When did the missive arrive?”
Shisui dipped his head and sighed, “An hour after Itachi knocked you out.”
“Ah,” he nodded in acknowledgment, “I didn't know that he had the Sharingan.”
When Shisui tensed, his mouth opening to deny it, Obito stopped him with a knowing look. “Don't fool me. I know the Sharingan when I see it.” His lips pulled down into a contemplating frown, “But I am curious as to how he managed to obtain it. Our family gift has been lost for ages.” Intrigued, his eyes flicker to the younger Uchiha. “Do you have it too?”
“What makes you think I have it?” Shisui countered testily.
“Because I know for certain that Sakura has been researching about it,” Obito dryly said. “And if she had found any leads on how to bring it back, then you would be one of the first people she would've told since she's known you long before she came to our land.”
A beat of silence. Then Shisui blinked, and Obito almost laughed wryly on seeing three familiar swirls revolving around the man's black pupils. Another blink, and the pattern changed into intricately designed pinwheels, his red irises becoming more pronounced and sinister. The Mangekyō. A hybrid form of the original Sharingan that would grant the user unique abilities. Obito used to have it, and it allowed him to travel through pocket dimensions and have an impenetrable defense in battle. Shisui's Mangekyō, however, should vastly vary from his.
“Does Sasuke have it too?” he asked quietly.
Shisui shook his head, his curly bangs bouncing at the movement, “Not the Mangekyō yet. But he's already completed the tomoe.” Then he blinked, and his eyes reverted to their normal black. “Speaking of Sasuke, what happened between the two of you?”
The anger was back before Obito could register it, and he grounded his teeth together, a vein throbbing by his jaw. “He told me he was the reason why Sakura was violated,” he spoke hissingly. “If that is not enough of a reason, then what is?”
Surprisingly, Shisui only cracked a dry smile. “You’ve never been good with chaining your emotions down; but cousin,” a humorless quirked mouth tainted with regret, “Shouldn't you have saved your anger for later? Hashirama's face is much sturdier than Sasuke's, given that he can control trees.”
It was useless provocation, and the both of them knew. Among the Uchiha, Obito was known to be the one of the most hot-headed and violent, only second to Madara in his youth. His bloodlust had dwindled down over the years with his active participation in the battlefield, but it was still there, caged up in his heart and waiting to burst. He had enough stamina to take down a dozen men alone, and he certainly had enough wrath to pour on Hashirama should he be given the chance.
“My sister's husband fancied me, and it cost me my legs,” Sakura's words echoed back to him.
“Does Mito know?” was Obito’s quiet but furious query.
Shisui snorted at him bitterly.
“Why do you think Sakura was sent to you in the first place?”
~~~~
Three nights before Madara's funeral, another missive arrived, detailing where and when the battle would take place. Obito took it with unholy glee, his bloodlust itching to massacre the man who had dared to taint and spirit Sakura away. Izuna only took one look at him and shook his head exasperatedly, but said nothing as he continued to monitor the trading system in their supplies in case there was a sudden siege.
However, the night before the war was to take place, an envoy arrived with a white flag.
“This is ridiculous,” Sasuke scoffed incredulously in the face of the diplomat. “Whoever has heard of a war being cancelled?”
Indeed, the reason why the Senju had sent a diplomat was to bargain for peace yet again. The Uchiha royals, distraught and in disbelief, stared down at the poor messenger from their high podium, their lips curled into their infamous scowl. Izuna drummed his fingers against the golden-gilded rest of his seat as he studied the unfolded scroll on his lap. Ever so curious, Shisui inched a bit closer to the man to see what exactly was written on the parchment, his eyes consequently widening; and Itachi, with all his impassiveness, looked on disinterestedly. Only Obito was transparent in his displeasure as he toyed with his knife.
“I cannot stand for this,” he stated, skillfully twirling the blade around his fingers. “They ask for war then ask for peace again with no solid reason as to why.” He sneered, “Who's to say that we won't be attacked in our sleep?”
But Izuna only hummed and tossed the scroll at him. “Read it.”
The scroll smelled vaguely of wax and oil, and its texture was crisp to the touch. Obito skimmed through it quickly, his eyebrows rising in unbelief at its contents. Dead. His eyes stopped at the word that stuck to him the most. Dead. Deliberately, he thumbed the parchment, a laugh rumbling from his mouth.
“Hashirama is dead?” he parrotted, a manic shimmer in his dark orbs. Instead of being pleased, Obito felt rage that his prey had fallen victim to another predator. A vicious snarl, “Who killed him?”
The envoy fumbled, sweating profusely, “I also do not know, sire. Lady Mito is keeping every detail of it a secret. But she says she is willing to talk about it over some tea.”
Tea? Obito almost sneered. The request was utterly laughable. The wife of the murdered man who had wanted the Uchiha Empire to fall was inviting them to come to her domain just to have a discussion over tea and some snacks? What kind of madman would willingly walk into their demise?
But despite his cynical thoughts, he knew that peace relations would have to be restored. If they were to reject Mito's invitation, it would be the people who would suffer from constant wars and skirmishes.
“Do we have a choice in this matter?” Izuna sighed, also realizing the implications.
Imploringly, the envoy bowed his head. “Of course, sire, you always have a choice. My lady Mito is not a terrible person to deprive you of your rights—”
“But she is still an unknown factor,” Itachi concluded, “and someone who has not earned our trust yet.”
“A-Ah,” the man stammered, caught off guard. “Perhaps so, but Lady Sakura— she already has it, yes? If I may, my lords, will you not do it for her own sake instead? Apart from her cousin's company—” his eyes pleadingly met Obito’s, no doubt desperate to keep his own head should he fail— “Lady Sakura has gotten so lonely, and Lady Mito plans on wedding her to a close ally of theirs. The Hyūga, most probably— eek!”
The knife that had landed by his feet, reinforced by the glare Obito and Sasuke simultaneously threw in his direction, was enough to make his mouth clamp shut, eyes widening even more in fright. “Marry?” Obito repeated ominously. “I was not aware that our engagement had been broken.”
There was an audible gulp, and the diplomat began to retrace his steps, fumbling on how to fix the hole he had dug for himself. Obito didn't allow him to. Deathly calm, he rose from his seat and descended down the stairs, footfalls heavy and purposeful, anger rolling off him in waves. No one dared to stop him; not even Itachi who was the most cool-headed one among them. Obito’s gloved hand held sinister strength when it shot forward and grabbed the envoy by his cheeks, crushing his face inwards bruisingly.
“Tell your lady I accept her offer,” he smoothly acquiesced, sick amusement written on the slight curve of his mouth. “And she better keep her hands off my fiancée, you hear?”
The sound of hurried footsteps echoed through the room as their unwanted guest made his escape, leaving behind five undaunted Uchiha to stare after his cowardly back. At his leave, the atmosphere grew considerably lighter, as if an outlet had been created for the smoke to sift through.
“So,” Shisui’s voice rang out. “Who among us should be the ones to visit?”
Obito plucked his knife from where it was embedded, “I will go. Tonight will be my departure.”
“I will go with you,” Itachi spoke quietly. When Obito’s eyes swivel to him in question, the younger one chuckled. “Knowing you, you will use violence and crude threats to negotiate. Someone has to use real words for the treaty to come through.” He inclined his head in thought. “Unless you want Shisui to come with you instead?”
“No,” Obito immediately refused. While Shisui was understandably more social than him, Obito was smart enough to know that he also had a bit of a stormy streak in his nature. Him and Shisui would be akin to a loose cannon together.
Satisfied, Itachi smirked.
“I figured.”
~~~~
The Senju Empire, much to Obito’s disgust, was incredibly hospitable upon their arrival. Attendants flocked to them immediately when they reached the main gates at dusk, offering provender to their horses before replacing them with new, well-rested ones to ride on. Obito would very much prefer to have his own steed; however, he knew that he had mercilessly pushed the animal well enough to its limits. The journey from their empire to the Senju's usually took about a week, but due to his stubbornness, he and Itachi managed to cut it into three days.
As they advanced to the imperial palace, Obito was quick to note that the streets held no solemnity and grievous air, a fact that astounded him. Back home, the people were still mourning over Madara; yet here, in the place Hashirama built stone by stone, no one was sorrowful even though their ruler had been killed. It was ironic: Madara had been hailed as a heartless warmonger and Hashirama had been revered as a kind warrior, but between the two, the former was more cherished by his people.
And did it not speak volumes of Hashirama's true nature?
Joyous laughter and the sound of instruments ringing merrily reached Obito’s ears as they neared the town square, and warm lights greeted them welcomingly. The merry atmosphere broke him out of his musings and drew his attention to the numerous dancing couples before him and the children scattering flowers as they frolicked around. The attendants guiding them had contented smiles on their faces as they watched the scene, and out of the corner of his eye, Obito saw a boy running to Itachi and tossing him a flower with an infectious giggle. His nephew, as a token, popped one of the buttons on his cuff and gestured for the kid to open his hand. With another giggle, the boy did so, and on receiving Itachi’s gift, he blew the man a kiss before disappearing into the crowd.
A festival?
“Should not the people be mourning?” Obito questioned the attendant nearest to him.
The attendant was familiar, he realized. Akin to the Uchiha, the young man had black hair and eyes, and skin so pale, one could see his blue veins. Obito tried to remember where he'd seen him before; it was already on the tip of his tongue. But then the man gave him a bland smile, paired with a short, derisive laugh.
“The world knew of Hashirama as a good leader,” he started, his chuckle fading into a sneer, “but our empire knew better. Although he did not take advantage of taxes to burden us, he was a brute who loved terrorizing our women, as long as they were pretty and of age.” Pupiless eyes glowed hatefully. “Lady Sakura suffered a similar fate.”
Sakura.
Belatedly, Obito’s recollection came to him, “You were Sakura's escort back then.”
The man canted his head in agreement. “My name is Sai. I am an orphan Lady Sakura took in to be her servant.”
“Is that so?” Obito studied him sharply. “Then you must know why, despite what Hashirama had done to her, Sakura was attached to him? Enough to leave me in the middle of the night and wipe my household’s memories of her as if trying to erase her existence from me?”
Sai stared at him for one moment, incredulity flaring in his blank eyes for a second before reverting back to their normal gloom. His lips twitched, uncertain how to react, as he said, “Was there a misunderstanding?”
“What?”
“My lord,” and this time disbelief was openly displayed on Sai's stiff features as if he wasn't used to being expressive, “Lady Sakura came back here against her will. She was all hysterical and inconsolable even with Lady Mito comforting her to the point that she—”
Obito didn't get to hear the next words as Sai suddenly clamped his mouth shut. His eyes narrowed at the man's obvious attempt to keep some facts shut. “You are hiding something from me.”
Quickly, like a passing breeze, Sai's expression changed into something more serene and amicable. “I will have my tongue cut if I were to tell you something I shouldn't.” Then he flicked the reins of his horse and steered away from the crowd, sparing Obito a glance over his shoulder as a subtle gesture to follow him. “Now, come along, my lord. We mustn't be late to dinner, otherwise Lady Mito will be angry.”
~~~~
For someone who had recently lost her husband, Uzumaki Mito showed no signs of grief when she greeted them by the stairs of the palace with a grand procession of maids. The red-haired royal was every bit stone-faced and impassive as she led him and Itachi through the hallways and into a banquet area where food was already set, the bells in her hairpin tinkling demurely and her footsteps soft against the padded floor.
“To be honest, I wasn't expecting for you to accept my invitation,” Mito said in lieu of a conversation starter when they had finally sat down. Excluding the servants ministering to their needs, the only ones in the room were Itachi, Mito, and him; no rosette in sight. Mito's clever eyes glinted, unreadable, and she raised her wine glass to them. “Are the bonds of our empires truly that strong to overcome resentment?”
“Unfortunately not, my lady,” Itachi responded in kind as he daintily speared the meat in his plate with his fork and bit into it. His response drew out a sardonic laugh from their host that had Obito’s jaw tightening. Itachi, ever perceptive of his volatile nature, immediately continued, “Speaking of which, Tobirama wouldn't have agreed to this meeting had he known. Where is he?”
It was a fact Obito had noticed as well. Hashirama's younger brother was infamous for his prejudice against the Uchiha. Regardless of his situation, Tobirama wasn't one to place aside his grudge and strike a treaty with them. No, he would have fought violently against the idea. It was only because of Hashirama and Madara's flimsy friendship that a ceasefire had been reached, but even that feat had been hard to accomplish with Tobirama hounding his brother's decisions at every turn.
“Oh my,” Mito sipped on her glass of wine, “I suppose I did a good job of placing a gag order if you haven't heard that Tobirama has disappeared.” A giggle. “Perfect timing, is it not?”
Disappeared?
Suspicion rose from within him, but Obito pushed it down along with the meat he chewed and swallowed. Across the table, Itachi met his gaze, eyes glinting calculatingly. It was evident that the younger man also shared his doubts, and Obito would make sure to grill him about it later. Perhaps Itachi had a speculation of what had happened. Tobirama, calloused and battle-hardened he was, wasn't the kind of person to just disappear out of the blue; no, there must be another factor, something they were overlooking.
From behind Mito, Sai's eyes gleamed.
The man's haughty expression had Obito’s mouth curling up slightly. Perhaps, in another world, Sai would have been an Uchiha; his behavior certainly reminded him of Sasuke at times, albeit a bit more suppressed.
“Now, state your terms,” Mito said after they had finished eating and everything had been cleared away. Her brown eyes betrayed nothing, not even as she leaned forward to rest her elbows on the table. The bells in her hairpin lightly tinkled with her every move, a hollow echo throughout the grand but austere banquet hall. It was a clear contrast to the silence that had clothed them, and it grated on Obito’s nerves.
“I will be the one to negotiate,” Itachi responded. “But perhaps we should start tomorrow. We have been traveling without any rest, and I do not have the energy to argue about anything.” The warning gleam in his nephew's eyes was unmistakable when they made eye contact, and Obito scoffed at him derisively before reclining in his seat. It was clear Itachi already knew that if his uncle were the one to settle matters, the return of a certain rosy-haired woman would be the first condition.
Agitated, Obito grounded his teeth together into a silent snarl.
“I'm supposing you want to see my younger sister now,” Mito mused, sensing his restlessness. When he canted his head questioningly, the empress smiled in the way adults do when they are speaking to an ignorant child. “It seems like the mad dog has been trained to submission,” she chuckled in a cynical tone, “and it is Sakura who holds the leash.”
As she spoke, her brown eyes viciously gleamed and she let her empty wine glass fall from her fingers.
It shattered on the floor loudly. However, what caught Obito’s attention was not the noise, but rather the darkness hidden beneath Mito's mirthful stare. It did not linger and was already gone after a beat, but the next words that came out of the redhead's lips was enough to convince the Uchiha general that he had not imagined it.
“Another great man has fallen into my sister's charms,” he heard her coldly murmur. “What a pitiful sight to behold.”
~~~~
The Senju Imperial Palace differed vastly from theirs in decoration. Tapestries hung on the walls instead of furs, and every window was made of tinted glass mosaic. Ceramic vases with plants decorated every corner. As Sai led them to their rooms, it became more evident that the place was clearly built for esthetics and comfort, not for battle.
It made Obito’s lips curl.
Their accommodations consisted of a main area that had stairs leading to their bedrooms. His room was spacious enough, even with the huge bed in the center and the bookshelves on the opposite side. A fireplace merrily crackled several meters away from the bed. There was a sofa placed in front of shelves. A soft rug sat underneath it, and cream blankets were draped over its armrest. When Obito came closer, he saw that there was a small table between the sofa and the shelves, and wax had dried all over its smooth surface. Pillows were lined up against the sofa’s backrest, a blend of pink and green.
Absent-mindedly, he took hold of the nearest pillow and examined it.
The door creaked open. “Thinking of Sakura again?” Itachi's voice echoed behind him.
Obito didn't respond.
“You don't have to make your displeasure so clear,” Itachi told him as he shut the door. The fireplace sputtered as if to agree with the man. With narrowed eyes, Obito walked to the laughing furnace, picked up a log from the pile beside it, and spitefully threw it into the hearth. Orange and red reflected in his ember eyes as he watched the flames swallow the piece of wood.
“I will do as I please if it does not directly affect this diplomacy,” he retorted. “And it will not. Mito is wise enough to know that screwing up will mean war.”
“Obito—”
“Their two pillars are gone.” He sneered, throwing another log into the fire. “What more can this empire do?”
“‘Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned’,” Itachi quoted. “Mito is grieving. Nothing good will come out from aggravating her further.” He then strode to the bed and sat down, his eyes flickering to every crevice of the room. A thoughtful hum, “Seems like she never completely removed Sakura's touch.”
Obito stilled. “What do you mean?”
“The rooms we were given; they belonged to Sakura.” Itachi watched his uncle turn to him, and almost smiled when Obito impatiently gestured for him to continue. Admittedly, the younger Uchiha had also been a victim of Sakura’s charm, but duties held him back from pursuing her. To see his uncle suffer the same fate was mildly amusing, however, Itachi was not childish enough to taunt him. Instead, he gestured at the faint feminine touch cloaking the room and continued, “This was her childhood bedroom. She rarely used it though, since she preferred the outside world.”
Sasuke's words echoed back to Obito, taunting yet truthful, “She isn't a captive for you to lock her up,” his nephew had snarled. “Do you know how much she hates being detained?”
Even Tobirama had said something similar. What was it again? Obito clenched his jaw as the memory surfaced, his fingers digging into his palms as they curled into fists. “Then you must know,” Tobirama’s scornful voice filtered in his mind, “that Sakura would have very much wanted to go outside tonight.”
Obito gritted his teeth. Shut up, he hissed back at the memory. He had only done it to protect her. There was nothing wrong in what he had done. Especially when Sakura seemed so fragile, so breakable, so terrified of the smallest things, like she would disappear into a hole when everything became too difficult to bear—
But you caged her, his conscience whispered to him. And you never asked her what she wanted.
His throat became tight. Shut up—!
As if hearing his thoughts, Itachi gave him a consoling smile. “Sakura won't hold it against you. She knows you were only trying to keep her safe.”
“You can't say that,” and Obito turned to the fire, the heat licking his skin like a comforting caress, “Not when you aren't her.”
As he spoke, a weight sank into his stomach, mocking and heavy, like a rock plummeting into the deep sea. He stared at the crackling flames, their orange hue casting shadows on his face. Mindlessly, he picked up another log.
You caged her, his conscience murmured once more. You were a captor. An oppressor. You caged her.
Shut up—!
Through his agitation and rage, Obito barely noticed himself hurling the log at the chimney's stone wall. The loud thump that followed did not muffle the laughing voice in his head. Behind him, Itachi hovered in concern, but he was far too proud to care.
“Get out,” were Obito’s sharp words. He took another log, and flung it at the younger man's direction. If not for Itachi’s quick reflexes, he would have gotten a nasty bruise or two on his face. The log slammed into the wall, just as Obito faced his nephew with an aggressive snarl. “Get out.”
Itachi merely nodded in response, pity briefly flickering in his eyes.
Then he was gone, leaving Obito with his chaotic thoughts.