Chapter Text
By the time Obito realizes he loves Kakashi it is already too late.
This epiphany didn’t hit him all at once. Slowly, very slowly, the voice in the back of his mind that whispered you are wrong, so wrong grew louder. He ignored it, locked it away tight in the back of his mind. Every disdainful word and careless glance, every time he broke Kakashi’s heart over and over again, added to the weight in his chest until he could no longer contain it and the truth spilled too messy for him to lock away again.
His sensei had saved him from Madara’s twisted hold, but not before he witnessed Kakashi killing the girl he loved. Obito shadow-eyed and hollow returned to the village, a hateful, venomous little shadow of the boy he used to be and Kakashi had been so glad for it, his relief palpable even through the haze of grief he found himself in. Kakashi was alive, repentant, docile, desperate to make amends all while Rin’s blood crusted under his fingernails. Obito thought he could smell her death on him, a lingering rot that drove Obito to near insanity.
“Do you blame me?” Kakashi had unwisely asked him, looking so small and lost, and sorry that it made revulsion curl in Obito’s belly.
Obito smiled sweetly and pulled Kakashi close to him, concealing the disgust he felt when Kakashi all but fell into his arms. Obito, his face hidden in Kakashi’s starlight hair, dropped his smile when he hissed into his ear, “Yes.”
That was the first time he broke Kakashi, but it was far from the last. Every word and look was calculated to hurt and Kakashi took all that pain like he was grateful for the punishment—like he deserved it which did nothing but enrage Obito more. It took the combined efforts of both Minato sensei and Kushina to drive back the madness that he was teetering on the edge of, a hairsbreadth away from falling in and drowning.
I still hate Kakashi, he told himself stubbornly. It felt like a betrayal to look at him with anything other than thinly veiled loathing. Finding new ways to subtly hurt him had become habit at that point. Kakashi had grown accomplished, respected and yet he still looked to Obito for what-? Forgiveness? Absolution? Obito didn’t know. He relished in the hair-thin cracks he caused in that perfect aloof mask, the fleeting pain in his eyes before his expression shuttered blank again. Even as he gleefully provoked and tormented Kakashi while maintaining the guise of cruel indifference about his teammate, something felt off in him—an ache that wasn’t quite there.
Even amidst his insanity, Obito still sought Kakashi out—secret, furtive moments that he could steal away to watch and fuel his hatred. He doesn’t remember what spurned him to seek out Kakashi that night years ago— some irritating event long forgotten had him returning to Kakashi’s apartment again like a cat licking his wounds. Obito hadn’t yet mastered using kamui at that point but he was still proficient enough to be able to comfortably swirl to spots he frequented a lot and unfortunately for Kakashi, a spot Obito was intimately familiar with was a sturdy tree branch, suitably hidden among thick leaves with a perfect view into Kakashi’s bedroom window and an even better place to eavesdrop if he strained his enhanced senses hard enough. That night was already a little different. Obito visited later than he usually did and Kakashi’s bedroom light was off, but the moon was high in the sky and Obito still had enough light to see through Kakashi's window and what he saw nearly had him tumbling out of his hiding spot.
Kakashi was on his knees, chest touching his mattress, pants pulled to his feet like he just couldn’t wait to get them off entirely. The object of his obsession and hate in equal parts was panting like a whore as he plunged his fingers to the knuckle into his tight pink pucker. Obito couldn’t tear his eyes away. Shame and anger at seeing Kakashi pleasure himself mindlessly made his cheeks heat up. Fury overtook his shame when he wondered who Kakashi was thinking of as he struggled to insert a third finger in himself, whining pitifully as his feet dig into the mattress messing up his sheets, hole too tight to fit another digit even as Kakashi sobbed with the exertion of reaching behind himself. His cries are what finally tipped Obito into shoving a hand down his pants with a snarl, gripping himself roughly as he timed every jerk of his wrist with Kakashi pushing his fingers inside himself. Obito came in messy mind numbing bliss before the shame crept back in and he disappeared into kamui, distressed at his body’s reaction to seeing Kakashi in that way.
Darker thoughts plagued his adolescence after that, of forcing himself on and taking Kakashi against the cold unforgiving surface of kamui, a stark difference from his pampered little bed and sheets, and derived pleasure from picturing how Kakashi would cry and try to fight him off even as his hole was speared open, welcoming his cock. And in quieter moments when he was too exhausted to control his thoughts he wondered what it might be like to hold Kakashi without any of the violence, soak in his light and let it sink into his skin. Those moments of uncharacteristic vulnerability continued to puzzle him for years until Obito grew up too despite himself. The poison that was planted in him, evaporated from his veins slowly. His insides felt mangled, empty except for the dying ember of hatred he desperately clung to until that fizzled out too and there was nothing left to keep him warm.
He was forced to confront himself and engage in some unwelcome introspection and relearn some long-forgotten truths. Yes, he loved Rin—with all the fervor that a boy that age could anyway, but he had loved Kakashi too. Obito feels a phantom hand constrict his heart when he realizes it must have been child’s play for Madara to manipulate that endless love into hatred. Love and hate, after all, were different sides of the same coin.
Minato and Kushina gently unraveled the lies threaded in his brain and reminded him, “Kakashi is hurting too, Obito. Be kind to him.” But Obito refused to see the world in anything but the black and white simplistic view of a child. He continued to merrily twist a knife in Kakashi’s wounds because he was a coward.
Obito tastes ash in his mouth. Fuck. I’m so fucking sorry, Kakashi. I was wrong.
It feels too late. Kakashi shrinks away from him and his eyes never land on Obito for more than a split second—for good reason, Obito thinks sourly, vehemently cursing his past actions. Over the years, Kakashi layered more clothes over his body and grew out his hair to fall wild over his eyes, a shield to hide himself as much as possible, from me, Obito knows, because practical Kakashi would would never willingly hamper his abilities as a shinobi otherwise. Kakashi formed connections with his unit over the years and made easy friends with Gai. He was moving on even as he would look back over his shoulder like he couldn’t help it, his eyes would flit to Obito’s for the space of a breath before he would drop his gaze again.
Don’t leave me, Obito thinks desperately. It’s Sunday when he has his revelation and he needs to see Kakashi as badly as he needs to breathe. The sun is high in the sky and Kakashi is most likely sparring with other members of his unit. Obito rushes out of his apartment, running in the streets like a madman, grateful for his reputation because people part for him easily. His heart is thundering by the time he reaches the edge of the clearing where he knows Kakashi and his team like to practice.
He catches a flash of silver and his chest constricts painfully. He remains in the shadows, watching as he catches Kakashi’s eyes crinkle in a smile through the gossamer veil of his hair as he helps Itachi up from the ground The mask is ever present over his face but he must say something as he gestures the rest of the team over. He ruffles the hair of another team member and his movements are so easy and free without the weight of Obito’s gaze to paralyze him.
He looks beautiful and Obito feels something new flower in his chest next to the guilt that weighed him heavily a moment before. He continues to watch Kakashi as he takes position for another spar. Obito had grown tall and broad, muscular, while Kakashi remained small—his tiny body, deceptively strong and fast, quick, agile—but in terms of raw strength Obito had him beat. It used to be a point of pride for Obito, bitter delight warming him at finally surpassing that silver-haired genius at something. Now, however, something else stirs in his gut when he watches Kakashi practice, his clothes doing little to hide that small waist, so quick, as he moves his shirt lifts up slightly revealing a tantalizing glimpse of the moonlight pale skin of his lower back and Obito needs.
Something twitches inside him and it’s distressingly familiar. Love and hate feel too similar to Obito. He hates himself because he doesn’t know what extreme is worse. Obito’s eyes narrow when he sees one nameless teammate throw his arm over Kakashi. While his sensei may have liked to believe Obito was reformed, Obito knows a touch of obsessive madness still lingers in him. He wishes he could say his forced growth left those dark fantasies behind but he knows that same darkness still lives inside him even when he tried his best to stamp it out. It scares him. It would be easier to just avoid Kakashi entirely if he truly wanted to shield him from his dark impulses. He had already done enough damage, but he is a selfish man and he won’t survive cutting Kakashi out of his life entirely. He’ll earn his forgiveness and maybe if he was lucky Kakashi would allow him by his side again and that would be enough. It would have to be.
A plan on how exactly to approach Kakashi never fully developed in Obito’s mind. He was as impatient, dumb, and over-eager as he always was when it came to the silver-haired shinobi. Obito only got as far as conjuring a hazy image of groveling at Kakashi’s feet for forgiveness, before his brain sputtered out of ideas.
He mentally prepared himself to beg and cry, knowing that his tears always used to have an effect on Kakashi. He hopes that remains true all these years later. Obito is strong, one of the strongest, people fear and revere him, and he wouldn’t be caught dead begging before anyone. The thought of it makes him gnash his teeth like an animal, but he would let all that pride and strength go if only Kakashi would look at him again like he used to. Obito had been too stupid to appreciate it back then, but it would be different this time. He would happily kneel before Kakashi for the rest of his days if that’s what it took.
He doesn’t get the chance to begin his years-long scheme for atonement because Kakashi is nowhere to be seen in the days that follow. It’s like the universe swallowed him whole. Obito moves like a shadow, staking out Kakashi’s usual haunts, only to be left in agonized disappointment when he doesn’t see that shock of silver hair. He was never good at being patient, so he can only bear waiting a few days before he finally stalks out of his apartment, a gloomy cloud hovering over his head as people give him a wide-berth and cross the street to avoid him.
He finally locates a familiar head of ink-dark hair and slinks behind the person like a ghost. “Itachi,” he greets.
Itachi turns, his placid features not conveying a hint of surprise. “Ah. Hello, Uncle.”
Obito breathes out sharply through his nose. “I’m not your uncle.” Little Naruto calls him Uncle and his best friend, Sasuke, had gotten into the unfortunate habit of calling him that as well. Both Itachi and Shisui seemed to find that uproariously funny and had taken to shouting “Uncle!” at Obito at every opportunity. Obito’s furious glares in response only appeared to cause Itachi and Shisui greater delight.
A smile pulls at Itachi’s mouth. “Sure,” he concedes amicably. He can’t quite contain his puzzlement as he cocks his head. “What are you doing here?”
“Kakashi.”
Understanding dawns in Itachi’s eyes and his mouth breaks into an amused grin. “What about him?”
Obito is not in the mood to entertain games. He levels a black glare at Itachi. “Where is he?”
Itachi taps a finger against his mouth. “Hmm. I don’t know if I can tell you.“
Obito sees red and debates the merits of lovingly wrapping his fingers around his dear “nephew’s” throat and shaking the information out of him. Itachi watches Obito war with himself, thoroughly entertained before his eyes flick over Obito’s shoulder in slight alarm. Obito is just barely able to register the sudden shift in Itachi’s demeanor before he feels a heavy hand on his shoulder. His joints crack audibly as he turns stiffly to make eye contact with a pair of unimpressed blue eyes.
Fuck, he thinks. Instead he says, “Hello, sensei.”
He glumly trails after Minato all the way to the Hokage’s office like a chastised child. Minato closes the door to his office and turns to him, arms crossed over his chest. There is a question in his gaze and Obito stares back defiantly.
Minato finally sighs wearily and slumps into his desk chair. “Why are you asking for classified ANBU information?”
Obito perks up. “So Kakashi is away on ANBU business?”
Minato rubs his temples. “Why do you want to know, Obito?”
Obito tenses at the question for a split-second before he forces himself to relax. “I need to see him.”
Minato stares at him intently. He finally sighs out, “He’s on a mission to deliver an important scroll to another village.”
Obito’s eyebrows furrow. “But the rest of his squad is here.” He doesn’t mention that he only knows this because he stalked each and every one of them while investigating Kakashi’s whereabouts. His spine straightens in alarm. “Is he alone?”
Minato doesn’t question how he knows that information. “Danzo seemed to think Kakashi was sufficient enough to take on the mission on his own.” Obito begins to open his mouth furiously and Minato adds mildly, “Kakashi should already be on his way back by now either way.”
Obito fumes. A reckless disregard for the lives of its people is a hallmark of Konoha. It’s why he refused to participate in any ANBU activities despite his strength making him valuable . He takes his orders directly from his sensei and no one else. Yet Obito selfishly allowed Kakashi to endure it all on his own. His stomach twists in shame. “I’ll escort him home,” he decides firmly.
“Obito,” Minato groans. Obito spares a second to feel bad for causing trouble for his sensei, but this is one thing Obito refuses to compromise on.
Minato must also be aware of this because he offers, “I’ll tell you what route he is likely taking home, if only to keep you from going out anyway and causing more trouble. Go get ready to retrieve him. I’ll draw up a quick map for you.”
Obito springs up from his seat eagerly and he is halfway to the door when Minato calls out, “Obito? Remember to behave yourself.”
Obito throws a bright grin over his shoulder. Like this he almost looks like the boy he was before he nearly lost himself to darkness and Minato can’t bring himself to regret his decision to help Obito. “Thank you, sensei!”
I’m coming Kakashi.