Chapter Text
Well into February, renovations were complete. After the rinnegan incident, Sasuke and Obito had been incorporating their jutsu into their work relatively freely, to speed up the process and to help Fukuda save up on the materials and tools.
With the tension of the first few weeks gone, even their training sessions were more fruitful. Sasuke had stubbornly refused to use his dōjutsu if he could avoid it, but rather than getting angry when he lost, he reflected on his mistakes and focused on improving the efficacy of his hits as much as possible.
When they weren’t sparring, Obito practiced his mokuton. In the span of a few months he had gone from being able to only summon deadly spikes and spears, to creating perfectly sized wooden planks, boards and anything else Sasuke might have asked of him for the temple.
Luckily, Fukuda knew close to nothing about ninjutsu, and suspected precisely nothing about Obito’s ability to use mokuton.
As for Sasuke, he perfected some of his one handed seals, and was now able to produce every single variety of chidori he could do with both hands.
With the shrine fixed, there wasn’t much to do, so Fukuda helped Sasuke find work in the town, while Obito offered to maintain the temple ground’s gardens.
During their time there, there hadn’t really been much garden to speak of, because of the state of utter abandonment Fukuda had let it fall into. But with the temple now looking like a proper place of worship, it was time to focus on the land. On top of that, it was yet another excuse to practice his mokuton.
Sasuke, on the other hand, had been hesitant to agree on working in a bustling town, where chances to be recognized were higher. It was only when Fukuda found him a job at a tiny, ancient looking teahouse – which Sasuke suspected Fukuda was the only reason it was still open – that he felt more reassured. There were barely any customers, other than regular visits by Fukuda every morning before lunch.
Sasuke’s hair grew long, and he kept it in a low ponytail for convenience. He sometimes caught a glimpse of himself in the reflection of a mirror, or an open window, and he had to stop, then. Remind himself that Itachi was dead, and that the image he saw was his own.
In the early spring, it was Obito that brought up the topic of hair. Talking over rice and steamed vegetables, he asked the girls what his hair looked like.
“Weird,” said Miwa immediately, provoking a soft laughter in Kaori. “It’s all black now, except the ends.”
The young girl, who was sitting opposite of him, reached out to stroke his shoulder length hair, fingering the thin ends.
“It’s still white here.”
Obito hummed. “Well, that won’t do.”
Smiling, he turned in the direction of Sasuke, always at his side.
Sasuke raised his eyebrow. “What?”
“Wanna cut my hair?”
Everyone at the table had their eyes fixed on him, curiously awaiting his response.
Sasuke, making a show to look as unbothered as possible, kept eating for a few moments more. Then, “Do I have to remind you every single day that I don’t have an arm?”
At that, even Fukuda laughed. The old man had been in a much happier mood since the end of winter, though Sasuke suspected it had very little to do with the weather.
Perhaps seeing the shrine he had dedicated his entire life to rebuilt had made him hopeful again. He made a mental note to try and invite some of the teahouse customers to leave some offerings at the shrine. Fukuda would have been overjoyed.
“It’ll be fun!” Obito insisted, elbowing him lightly. “Come on.”
Even after all those months together, Sasuke had a hard time figuring Obito out. There were times when Obito’s playful mockery was obvious, clear as day. He was often purposefully annoying, so those moments when he wasn’t, the moments where it felt like Obito was offering something important, something sincere, always left Sasuke at a loss for words. He wondered if that was one of those times.
“Fine,” he said eventually, deciding to take the gamble.
That very afternoon, in the garden-in-progress on the back of the main shrine, Sasuke brought a chair, a towel and a pair of scissors.
Obito was already waiting for him with Miwa and Kaori, explaining his plans for the garden. Once his work was done, he said, the two of them had to take very good care of it, lest it die again soon.
“Won’t you be there to keep it alive?” Miwa asked, innocently.
The corners of Obito’s mouth curled up in a bitter smile. “Not forever.”
They hadn’t talked about leaving yet, but there was an unspoken mutual agreement that they would depart as soon as Sasuke made enough money to resume their journey,
Considering that the teahouse didn’t make a lot of money, it was uncertain when that would be, though Obito assumed they would be ready to leave by the end of the summer. Earlier than that, if they were lucky.
Miwa and Kaori didn’t respond to that, and Obito guessed it meant they were saddened by his words.
“Sit,” Sasuke told Obito, stepping into the backyard with the chair.
Obito let Miwa guide him to it and, obeying his relative, he sat down.
Sasuke placed the towel across Obito’s shoulders. It was green, rough to the touch and probably older than both of them.
Miwa and Kaori sat cross-legged on the grass, intrigued. Sasuke saw in their eyes the same curiosity with which he watched Itachi’s every move, when he was a child.
Shaking his head, he sighed. “Alright, here goes nothing.”
He brushed Obito’s hair – which he had had the decency to wash himself – with a comb he borrowed from the girls. At one point, Fukuda joined the group, bringing a wooden tray with tea and biscuits for everyone.
“You know,” began Obito, addressing everyone and no one in particular, “our clan is very particular about haircuts.”
Sasuke’s hand froze, his fingers buried in Obito’s hair. He clenched his jaw, tightening his grip on the comb.
“Really?” Asked Miwa. “What do you mean?”
“Oh, you know, we have rituals and everything. I remember the first time my grandma cut my hair, it was a whole deal.”
The girls beamed at him, their attention fully drawn by Obito’s words.
“Like what?” They asked in unison.
Fukuda, though he sat quietly behind the girls, looked captivated as well.
Obito explained how different hair lengths had different meanings, and that a well groomed clan member was living proof that he had someone to take care of him. Men of their clan could have long hair, but preferred to keep them short, generally no longer than their shoulders.
“What about the women?” Asked Kaori, arching her eyebrows.
“Well, it really depends on status, role within the clan, or just simple preference. My grandma was a widow, so she kept her hair in two braided buns on the sides of her head.” He smiled, looking like he was remembering her fondly.
Meanwhile, Sasuke kept brushing his hair mechanically, though he felt like screaming. He hated Obito for talking about family and clans; he hated him for making shit up just to impress the girls. More than anything, he hated himself for wanting to hear the rest of Obito’s story.
“What about the rituals?” This was Fukuda, joining the conversation for the first time.
Obito smiled. “We would sit outside, like we’re doing right now, and someone would bring a basin filled with warm water. Traditionally, every member of the family participates in washing the hair, even if just to give a quick scrub. In my case, it was just me and my grandma, so…” He shrugged. “Then, depending on how old the person is, or, I guess, whatever meaning they want to convey through their hair, everyone cuts a small strand of hair. Then the oldest member finishes up.”
He mentioned how haircuts were usually done on specific days of the year, something to do with moon cycles, how it became a community event, because all your neighbors would participate, too.
When Sasuke started cutting the biggest chunks of hair, he let it fall to the ground. The thin white hair, remnants of the time Obito had played god, were nothing more than dead things in the green grass.
He kept cutting until it was so short he might as well have used a razor, but with only one hand it was the only way he knew to make sure the cut was even.
Obito had fallen quiet, and the girls lost interest, so they returned inside.
When Sasuke was finished, he removed the towel from Obito’s shoulders and shook it to let the hair fall down.
Fukuda stood, lifting the tray from the ground. Before returning it to the kitchen, he paused.
“Your family really did all that?” He questioned, arching an eyebrow.
A beat of silence, while Obito ever so slightly tilted his head towards Sasuke. Then, back to Fukuda, he shrugged.
“Just a story for the girls,” he said. “We don’t have a clan.”
The owner of the teahouse was an old lady called Momoka. She always wore a flowery patterned kimono, each day in a different color, though she favored her greens and her yellows, and kept her gray hair in a big bun. From the wrinkles on her face, it was clear that she was older than Fukuda, and Sasuke wondered what the relationship between the two of them was, though he didn’t feel like intruding.
With nicer weather, more customers showed up and Sasuke started making a decent earning.
As weeks went by, as he kept catching himself staring at his own reflection, he kept thinking about what Obito had said about the clan. He wondered if it was all true, or if it truly was just a story for the girls. Sasuke didn’t remember haircuts being a big deal in his family; not to mention Itachi had almost always had long hair. It amazed him how hung up on Obito’s words he was. How easy it was to believe him, to believe that something so mundane as cutting one’s hair could be so sacred, an act of love, a show of affection among kin. Family.
He thought of Itachi, his long, straight, black hair and he missed him more than he had ever missed anyone. Every day since his death, every day without him felt like he was missing half of himself.
When he returned to the shrine after his shift at the teahouse, he looked at Obito with a yearning in his heart he loathed. Obito was not the Uchiha who should have lived, but he was everything Sasuke had left of his clan. If anything were to happen to him, Sasuke doubted he would be able to bear that pain, too.
It ate at him, day after day, and as day turned to night and back to day again, to care so much about the man who had killed so many of their people. It disgusted him that he couldn’t help it. He felt ashamed, as he remembered the bodies of the Uchiha children – many of them younger than even Sasuke had been – laid out on the streets of the compound, of all those men and women, shinobi or otherwise, knowing he loved the two people responsible for it.
Although he had forgiven Itachi, and loved him so hard it hurt, he had not forgiven Obito. During their time at the shrine, and especially through their sparring sessions, Sasuke had come to terms with his love of him, sickening though it was, but he was still angry. He didn’t think he could ever stop being angry at him. Despite his best intentions to let go of his rage, Obito was the one person he couldn’t find it in himself to forgive. His talks about family, clan and traditions had done nothing but rekindle the flame of Sasuke’s grief. How dare he, Sasuke thought constantly, how dare he talk about family when he was the one who slaughtered them; when he was the one who took it away from Sasuke.
So as the days passed, as the sun grew warmer and Obito’s garden blossomed, Sasuke sat with his rage and his love, hopelessly entangled with each other, clawing at Sasuke from the inside whenever he laid his eyes on Obito.
April came, slow and lazy, bringing with it something Obito hadn’t felt in decades, something he had only glimpsed in the brief moments he got to share alone with Kakashi, before his departure: peace. He lamented not being able to see the fruit of his labor, but its fragrance woke him up every morning. Miwa and Kaori followed one step behind him every day as he watered his plants and the few trees he had managed to produce with mokuton. They described what the garden looked like in varying degrees of detail. Some flowers were “all shades of pink and yellow, many petaled and rich with pollen, with bees delicately flying around them”, other flowers were just red.
“Were you a gardener in your village?” Kaori asked curiously.
Obito didn’t answer immediately. After the incident with the rinnegan, they had agreed with Fukuda to remain vague with the girls: they informed them that Obito and Sasuke had shinobi training, but mentioned nothing of the war. For all Miwa and Kaori knew, they may have never killed anyone.
“Not really,” he answered, after some thought, “but I had a friend whose family owned a flower shop.”
He didn’t know why he thought of Yamanaka Inoichi, all of a sudden, as they had never been truly friends. They barely spoke to each other at the academy, but he figured it was a good enough excuse.
The answer seemed to satisfy Kaori, who trotted merrily ahead to go catch some bugs.
“The girls have taken a liking to you,” remarked Fukuda one afternoon, when Sasuke was away and the girls asleep in their rooms. The two men were sitting on the entrance porch of the main shrine, with tea between them.
“So it seems,” Obito smiled.
“You have any kids?”
Obito gracefully but barely managed to not spit out his tea. He swallowed his sip and set the cup down.
“No,” he said.
Fukuda scoffed. “Why not? A man your age ought to have a family of his own.”
Obito shook his head, but didn’t answer his question. Rather, he returned it back to him.
“What about you?” He asked. “Do you have a family or does the priesthood not allow it?”
Fukuda was silent for a long moment, and Obito felt like an asshole.
“There was a woman, when I was young,” he said in a hushing voice, and Obito could swear he sensed embarrassment, “but that was a long time ago. She married another man and I, well, I came here.”
Obito hummed, sympathetic. He couldn’t exactly say he understood, but he knew what missed chances looked like.
“Sad,” he said apologetically, “but it seems those girls really needed you. Maybe this priest thing isn’t so bad, no?”
“I love it here, to be honest,” Fukuda said over the rim of his cup. “I hope this shrine will fill with life again, I hope your hard work wasn’t wasted, I hope a new generation of priests will take over, and I hope to live to see the day.”
Obito listened in stunned silence: Fukuda had come so far from the insufferable, grumpy drunk he was when they first met. Not quite changed, but perhaps himself again.
“Right now,” he continued, “my only regret is that the girls are so lonely.”
Obito couldn’t help but agree: Miwa and Kaori almost never left the shrine and, when they did, it was always to run some errands for the shrine. They didn’t seem to have any real friends in town, or anywhere else. Fukuda was their entire world.
“Did they go to school?” Obito asked. “Maybe they had some friends there that–”
“No,” Fukuda said grimly. “Education here is costly. I did my best here at the shrine.”
Obito nodded. That he understood: he supposed ninja academy couldn’t be all that different from religious teachings.
“Well, you found a job for Kensuke and you barely know him,” said Obito, the fake name rolling easily on his tongue out of habit. “I’m sure you can find something for the girls too. Something they’d love.”
“They love being here,” laughed Fukuda, though he seemed sad. “And they love your garden.”
Obito smiled, uncertain about how he should feel about it. “There you have it, then. They could work at the town temple.”
Fukuda gasped, taken aback as though the thought had never crossed his mind.
“Mh,” he said, then, “I’ll keep that in mind. Oh! Kensuke’s back.”
Obito tilted his head when he heard light footsteps on the stone stairs leading up to the shrine. They stopped just a couple of steps away from the porch, the air stilled in anticipation.
“Inosuke-san,” Sasuke’s voice was heavy, serious, “can we talk?”
Although Fukuda had retreated inside to give them some privacy, Sasuke walked away from the temple, putting some distance between them and anyone who might be listening in – namely the two very curious young girls that lived at the shrine. They walked in silence, farther and farther away from the temple grounds.
“I’ve been making a decent amount of money,” Sasuke said. “We might be able to leave before the summer.”
Obito nodded, hands in his pockets, pensive, following behind Sasuke until he recognized the familiar path to the olive grove. There, Sasuke stopped.
“Good,” he replied, unconvinced, “but this isn’t what you wanted to tell me, is it?”
Sasuke was quiet, so quiet even his breaths were inaudible over the chirping of birds and the sound of the gentle breeze.
If he was being honest with himself, Sasuke hadn’t really thought that through: he hadn’t set out to take Obito aside and have an uncomfortable conversation. He had been overthinking again, mulling over Obito’s lies and half-truths and pure unadulterated honesty. For weeks he had been losing sleep over it, and despite his best efforts to let it go his determination had come up short.
A terrible feeling had been growing in his belly for weeks, ugly and insidious. Sasuke had attempted to choke it out, to seal it away, deep inside his stomach so that it may never see the light of day. Yet in that moment Sasuke could feel the enormity of his failure inside the marrow of his bones.
He recognized the feeling because it was very familiar. It had laid dormant for a long time, and yet for no time at all. It had been a little over a year since he had fought Itachi, and now he felt almost the same way.
Unable to restrain himself any longer, he punched Obito. His fist struck Obito’s face too fast and too hard, knocking him to the ground.
Obito was caught completely off guard, so shocked he couldn’t even speak. He brought his hand up to his cheek, numb to the touch. Before he could speak, another hit landed right on the other side of his face.
“What the fuck?!” Yelled Obito, and he could swear he was getting a déjà vu.
“You’re not my family!” Sasuke spat, so unused to raising his voice that it came out hoarse. “I hate you for what you’ve done and I will never forgive you!”
That, more than the punches, struck Obito. He didn’t fool himself into thinking that Sasuke could find forgiveness in his heart for him, he never had. But the months at the shrine had seemed to change so many things, had lulled Obito into a sense of safety and calm that he thought the same of Sasuke. How wrong he had been.
Not knowing what, if anything, he could possibly say to make Sasuke feel better, he stayed quiet.
Sasuke kicked him. He hated that Obito was so still, so silent, accepting every hit like he deserved them. Like he thought that would make things better.
“Stand up!” He ordered, but Obito didn’t comply. Fed up, Sasuke hoisted him up from the collar of shirt, fisting the fabric so hard a few buttons fell off. “Fight me!”
Obito shook his head in disbelief. Was that what Sasuke wanted? A fight? Had all their training been for this?
All the progress, the improvements, the fucking teamwork had been for nothing. All just an excuse to get to know Obito’s new fighting style, so that Sasuke could take advantage of it and defeat him easily. As if he needed it.
Sasuke could set the whole world on fire and watch it burn to ash if he wanted, and Obito had no way to prevent it.
“Sasuke–”
Before he could say another word, Sasuke broke down. A bone-chilling scream escaped his throat, and a hard thud told Obito he had fallen to his knees. His breath came in choked, pained sobs, and Obito felt utterly disarmed.
Sasuke had been struggling to contain his sorrow for months, but now it was overflowing and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Why did Itachi have long hair?” He slurred, because the tears were suffocating him and because he was trying to keep himself from shaking too hard, glad that even though Obito could hear him cry, at least he couldn’t see the state he was in.
Guilt washed over Obito, old and familiar, as he realized it had been his words that had sent Sasuke spiraling.
What he had said about the clan’s traditions was true, even though he had never participated in any loving communal ritual himself. His grandmother would very unceremoniously sit him down in the bathroom and shave his head with a sharp knife. But he remembered the stories from his older relatives, and how he fantasized about having a big family and learning to braid his sisters’ hair. The truth was that the tradition was already almost lost when Obito was little, and his grandmother was way too busy to waste time inviting whatever relatives survived still over to assist with the boy’s haircut.
Some families kept the tradition alive, especially those with high ranking members.
Obito knew of Sasuke’s need to belong, and he had hoped to share something about their clan as an offer, a suggestion. Some knowledge to begin to make amends. Instead it had hurt Sasuke even more.
“Because your father was too busy to cut it,” he answered, because there was no point in lying now.
Sasuke wiped his nose on his sleeve. Just as abruptly as it had started, it was all over. Tears kept streaming down his face for a little longer, but he wasn’t sobbing or shaking anymore. He glanced at Obito and his heart betrayed him.
“Will you cut my hair?”
Obito produced everything they needed right on the spot – he owed Sasuke that much. With his mokuton he created a small pool and with an easy water jutsu he filled it up. Sasuke sat on the grass with his back to the pool, reclining his head back until his long hair was soaking.
From the small bag he brought to work, Sasuke grabbed a soap bar and handed it to Obito.
Crouching on the other side of the pool, Obito rinsed Sasuke’s hair before he rubbed soap on the lengths. With slow, soothing movements he massaged Sasuke's scalp, careful not to let the soap get into his eyes.
He ran his fingertips over the base of Sasuke’s neck, making sure to not leave an inch unclean. Then, he rinsed it again, cupping his hands and pouring water over his head.
Taking off his blue haori, he rested it on Sasuke’s shoulders and rummaged through Sasuke’s bag for what he was sure to find: his kunai pouch.
Sasuke hadn’t moved at all, as Obito found him exactly where he had left him. He moved the small pool to the side and sat cross-legged behind him.
“You sure about this?” Obito asked, resting his hands on Sasuke’s shoulders. He had the kunai in his lap. “I won’t see what I’m doing.”
Sasuke nodded slowly. “Yes.”
His voice was firm and, although Obito still hesitated, it didn’t leave room for debate.
Brushing his hair with his fingers, Obito tied it in a loose ponytail and braided it. Then he made the first cut above the tie.
With a soft, almost nervous laugh, he handed the braid to Sasuke. “Wanna keep it?”
Sasuke stared down at it but didn’t answer. Retrieving the tie, he threw the braid as far away as he could. He touched his now-shoulder length hair, making an unsatisfied noise.
“Can you cut it shorter?” He asked without looking at Obito, like a shy child, scared of an older relative.
Obito rinsed the blade in the pool to get rid of the hair that had escaped the braid. “Sure.”
He chopped until Sasuke told him to stop, until his hair was so short it didn’t matter that it had no shape.
When he was satisfied, Sasuke kneeled in front of the pool to see his reflection. His hair had never been so short, even as a child, but he didn’t hate it. It was just long enough that he could cover his left eye and not have to wear an eyepatch, and shorter on the underside. He looked different than he was used to, odd even, but he liked it. It could work.
He glanced up at Obito, who was fidgeting with the kunai, letting it spin expertly between his fingers.
“So? How do you feel?” Asked Obito, tilting his head slightly to the side.
Sasuke had no idea how he felt, didn’t know whether this changed anything, but he was inexplicably relieved, as if a massive weight that had been sitting on his lungs for a long time was lifted all of a sudden.
“Lighter,” he answered, making Obito laugh.
“I bet.”
They emptied the pool and brought it back to the shrine.
Miwa was the first one to see them, as she was playing shōgi outside with Fukuda. She pointed at them excitedly and, when Fukuda turned around and saw them, he, too, smiled.
“You sure you’re not his father?” Fukuda asked Obito, once they got close enough.
Obito sucked in his breath, remembering the last time he had dared say Sasuke was his son, not to mention Sasuke’s fist was still hot on Obito’s cheek. Surprisingly, Sasuke didn’t hit him again.
“He’s uglier than my father,” he said simply, then stepped inside the temple.
Fukuda raised an eyebrow, evidently eager to ask but discreet enough not to. Instead, he focused on the bruises on Obito’s cheekbones and, frowning, asked, “Fuck happened to your face?”
In the following weeks, Obito began to feel more useless by the day, as the girls took over the garden and Fukuda insisted he let them. He didn’t mind Fukuda’s company, but he was growing restless. Even the training with Sasuke wasn’t consistent anymore, as Sasuke worked more shifts at the teahouse. Summer approached, and Obito didn’t know what to do with himself.
Ever since they had fixed the residence building, everyone had moved there: they had bigger, more comfortable rooms and a warm communal space that allowed them to enjoy each other’s company without disturbing the enshrined deity’s everlasting slumber. Only Fukuda preferred to spend most of his days at the shrine proper, cleaning and leaving offerings, even though he rarely prayed.
Endlessly bored and, in spite of himself, unspeakably curious, Obito followed him around.
“Who’s the god mine and my relative’s trouble has all been for? I don’t believe I ever asked.”
“You never have,” agreed Fukuda, “and if you come from the east you wouldn’t know her anyway.”
“Her,” noted Obito. “So, a goddess.”
Fukuda chuckled softly. Obito approached the stone statue at the center of the shrine and knelt before it.
“I have seen a goddess once.” It was a murmur that sounded like a confession, like regret. The tone wasn’t lost on Fukuda.
“If you fought in the war I bet you have seen many,” the old man replied, getting closer to Obito. “I hear two men fought off the whole army alone.”
Obito tensed, his fists clenching the fabric of his pants.
“They were no gods,” he said bitterly, “just two fools with way too much power.”
Fukuda lowered himself and sat down beside Obito with his legs crossed. He laid a hand on Obito’s shoulder and squeezed it gently.
“I’ve never been to war. My lifestyle has led me to the opposite path, so I cannot understand what you went through. I do not fault you for running, and neither should your Hokage.”
Obito wanted to laugh, loud and hard, at the absurdity of that statement. Had Fukuda known the truth, he would have tried to kill Obito himself. Yet the mere mention of the Hokage poked a wound in Obito’s heart. The Kakashi shaped wound. The knowledge that Kakashi should fault him, but didn’t. That his crimes were far, far greater than desertion, yet he had been spared the eternal torment of Konoha’s dungeons.
“I was a coward,” Obito said, truthfully, “and cowardice gets good people killed.”
“War gets people killed,” Fukuda rebuked, clicking his tongue. “You didn’t start the war.”
Obito pursed his lips. “Right.”
Their conversation was mercifully interrupted by Kaori and Miwa, who passed by the main shrine on their way to town to buy groceries. When the two girls left, Fukuda sighed heavily. He looked upon Obito and Obito felt his eyes on him. He released the grip on his knees.
“I could help you find a job, like I did the boy,” Fukuda offered, but Obito refused.
“If I start working in town as well we’ll never leave.”
Fukuda was silent for a long moment, then sighed. “Would it be such a bad thing?”
Obito didn’t answer.
Momoka was easy to work with: she wasn’t too demanding and she always fed Sasuke during his lunch breaks. He thought he must have reminded her of some nephew or grandson of hers, perhaps someone long lost, since she didn’t seem to receive any personal visitors at the teahouse. Some habitual customers, but never any family. When Sasuke told her about his intention to leave before summer, she looked sad.
She told him the summer months were the busiest ones, and that he would be leaving right when she would need him the most, but Sasuke could tell that wasn’t the only reason she didn’t want him to leave. He didn’t need the sharingan to see that the old woman had grown very fond of Sasuke.
“I’ll try to find someone to replace me,” he offered, then, “I’m sorry.”
If Sasuke was being honest with himself, they didn’t really have to leave: nobody had found out who they truly were, and nobody was looking for them. But when, every night, at the end of his shifts, he returned to the shrine, he looked at Obito playing board games with the girls or chatting with Fukuda and felt entirely out of place. They looked happy, in that quiet place, so unlike anything Obito and Sasuke had ever known, and every night he felt like he was intruding, like he was disturbing their peace.
He sat beside Obito at the dinner table, like he did every night, and he listened to them talk about the garden, about the few visitors who were beginning to show up – for which they would thank Sasuke, as he had been telling his customers about the shrine – and their plans for the future, and something inside Sasuke stirred. After dinner, he sat outside where, at the beginning of spring, the girls had brought out several wooden chairs and benches, and watched Obito drink with Fukuda and gossip like two old men who had known each other their entire lives. Sometimes he drank with them, but he never joined in the conversation, as it was always the continuation of some previous conversation they had been having throughout the day that, working, Sasuke had missed.
One of those nights, when Sasuke retired to bed, Obito surprisingly followed him immediately.
When he reached his room and realized Obito wasn’t moving towards his own, he turned to face him.
“What is it?”
Obito lightly pushed him inside and slid the paper door shut behind himself. He looked troubled, his eyebrows knitted together and his hands restless.
“Fukuda asked me to stay here.”
Sasuke was begrudgingly fairly sure his heart had skipped a beat. He couldn’t say he hadn’t seen it coming, he was more surprised Fukuda hadn’t proposed it earlier. Or maybe Obito had actually been sitting on this for a while, and had only now decided to tell him because he had decided to accept.
There was a time where Sasuke would have been glad to be rid of Obito, where he thought he would lose his mind if he spent one more minute in his presence. Now that time seemed like a lifetime ago. As his brain processed the news, he realized what the thing poking at him from the inside had been, and he didn’t like it one bit.
Swallowing hard, he forced himself to speak. “And?”
“And… what?” Obito asked.
Sasuke clenched his fist. “What did you say to him?”
Obito looked perplexed, with his head slightly tilted to the side. “What the fuck d’you think? I said no.”
Sasuke’s mouth fell ajar, his eyes widened every so slightly. He was surprised.
“You said no?” He echoed.
Obito shook his head, confused. “Of course I said no. Why do you sound so shocked?”
“I thought–” Sasuke’s voice came out weak, so he cleared his throat and spoke a little louder. “I thought you liked it here. Thought you’d like to stay.”
Obito raised an eyebrow and crossed his arms, making sure Sasuke felt like an idiot for even suggesting the idea.
“I do like it here,” he said eventually, kinder, “but it’s no place for me.”
Sasuke disagreed: he thought Obito was quite well suited for the temple life, tending to his garden in the summer and eating soup by the fire in the winter. He got along with Fukuda really well and the girls adored him, so there really was no reason Obito couldn’t stay. There were no reasons Obito wouldn’t fucking love to stay. Yet, inexplicably, he didn’t want to.
Privately, Sasuke was glad. Ever since that day in the clearing, when he had Obito cut his hair, Sasuke had come to know two truths about himself: the first one was that he was more resolved than ever to restore the Uchiha clan, its customs and traditions; the second one was that Obito had to be there to witness it.
It went beyond simply wanting Obito to live in the Uchiha compound; they had gone too far from where they had started, Sasuke had confessed too much to Obito to let it all go to waste. There was a tether, of sorts, keeping them together. Sasuke felt it pull at his lungs every time the mere suggestion of Obito not going with him was brought up. He wondered whether Obito could feel it, too.
“So then,” he croaked, “why are you telling me?”
Obito’s shoulders fell. “Why are you being impossible tonight?”
“Impossible?” Sasuke raised his voice.
“Yes,” Obito insisted, “Impossible. I’m telling you because I don’t keep things from you. Anymore. What I meant is– I’m trying, okay? And I’m so fucking bored. I love it here and these are really nice people but don’t you fucking think about leaving me here.”
Again, Sasuke was speechless. So that was what Obito was worried about, he realized: being left behind.
Had it been another time, another place, Sasuke would have been delighted to allow himself that small cruelty. As it were, Sasuke could think of few things worse than continuing on his journey alone.
“You think I’d leave the most dangerous man in the world here alone with two little girls and an old man?”
Sasuke hadn’t decided whether it was supposed to be sarcasm or a jab at Obito, but the latter cracked a smile nonetheless.
“How much longer do you have to work?” Obito asked, leaning on the doorframe.
“Until I find a replacement. The old lady really needs a hand in the summer. I’ll screw her over if I leave without finding a substitute.”
“I guess two hands would help even more,” Obito remarked.
“Very funny.”
Obito smirked. “Leave it to me. Now get some sleep, your shift’s in the morning.”
“I know when my shift is, dickhead.” Sasuke pushed him out of his room and Obito had only the time to mumble a quick g’night before he slid the door back shut.
During Sasuke’s lunch break, the following day, Obito visited the teahouse. With him were Miwa and Kaori, dressed in casual civilian clothes, which Sasuke found equally as shocking as their presence there.
“Kensuke-san,” the girls bowed politely. Sasuke nodded, but he was focused on Obito, on the smirk on his face.
“Inosuke-san,” he said, “what are you doing here?”
Instead of answering, Obito lightly pushed the girls ahead, as though encouraging them to speak.
They looked shy, which was unusual for them, but eventually Kaori lifted her chin up and flashed him a timid smile.
“Inosuke-san suggested we replace you here,” she said, her confidence building up as she spoke. “That way Fukuda-sama won’t have to worry about us never leaving the shrine anymore.”
Miwa nodded, though she looked less convinced.
“You love the shrine,” Sasuke remarked, to which Miwa immediately nodded in response.
“I told them it was fine,” she muttered, “but they insisted.”
Obito patted her head. “Cheer up! You’ll still live there, and you don’t have to spend the rest of your life in this teahouse. It’s just for the summer.”
Miwa rolled her eyes but quit complaining. Kaori, on the other hand, appeared more enthusiastic. Curious by nature, she seemed genuinely excited for this new little adventure.
“Momoka-sama!” Kaori bowed deeply as soon as the old lady entered the tearoom.
Her lips curled up in a gentle smile. She was wearing the usual floral kimono, and approached the small group of people gathered in the room.
“Fukuda’s girls,” she greeted them, “what a pleasure this is. Have a seat, I’ll have tea ready immediately.”
Her eyes lingered on Obito for a long moment, curious.
Remembering the two of them had never met each other, Sasuke gestured towards Obito and introduced him. “Inosuke-san is a relative of mine. We’ve helped Fukuda–”
“I know,” Momoka nodded, smiling, “Fukuda told me. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, Inosuke-kun.”
Obito flashed her a charming smile. “The pleasure is all mine,” he said, bowing his head.
Later, when Momoka returned with tea for everyone, Kaori told her about Obito’s idea.
As the girls spoke with her and Obito, Sasuke studied Momoka’s face to gauge her reaction. He couldn’t tell exactly what she thought of Kaori and Miwa replacing him at the teahouse, but she didn’t look displeased. Obito’s presence seemed, somehow, to help.
When they agreed to let the girls try it out for a week, assisted by Sasuke, Obito thanked the woman and left the shop, followed by his two little shadows.
“I’m happy to see those girls out of that shrine,” she commented, once again alone with Sasuke. “Hopefully spending time here in town will help them make some friends.”
Sasuke considered her words, then shrugged. “They don't really feel as lonely as you might think.”
Momoka hummed. “They will when you two leave.”
Sasuke’s eyes met hers, but he didn’t say anything else.
He couldn’t say he had bonded with either Fukuda or the girls, but it was clear as day how fond they had grown of Obito. Sasuke was relieved Obito was determined to leave with him, but he didn’t take any pleasure in hurting their hosts’ feelings.
As he finished his shift for the day, an idea began to form in his mind, and he told Obito as soon as he got back.
“A party,” Obito’s blindfold lifted following the movement of his eyebrows.
“Not a party,” Sasuke shook his head, “just a nicer dinner. To say goodbye.”
Obito crossed his arms, pacing up and down Sasuke’s room.
“I’m not really an expert in social events,” he said eventually, “as I’ve spent most of my life as a recluse. But that sounds like a party.”
Sasuke rolled his eyes. “It’s not a party. Parties have music and–” He paused, realizing he had never actually been at a party or, if he had, he had been too young to remember. “Whatever. I’m just trying not to be an asshole.”
Obito bit his lower lip, nodding in understanding. He didn’t want to leave the shrine without a proper goodbye: Fukuda, Kaori and Miwa had been generous and kind, and if Obito had learned one thing during his stay there, it was gratitude. It was an odd new feeling, and he wasn’t quite sure he liked it: he sometimes had a hard time telling it apart from debt, but he was making an effort.
“Alright,” he conceded, “but let’s try not to spend all your money in a single night.”
Sasuke rolled his eyes; his initial idea had been eating out, in town, at a proper restaurant. He hated everything about it – the eating in a public, crowded place, the frenetic nature of restaurants, not to mention the risk of exposure – but he also knew the girls would have loved it. Then he thought it would have been too difficult to walk all the way back to the shrine, especially if Fukuda and Obito drank. So, the next best thing would have to do.
During their trial week, the girls proved to be efficient and trustworthy, just like Obito had predicted. Sasuke wasn’t surprised: he had seen them work diligently at the shrine for months. Even when there was nothing to work on, still they woke up early every morning and found something to do. Only in the late afternoon they would allow themselves a moment of rest, which they usually spent playing shogī or some other board game Miwa made up the rules of.
Even though the shrine was getting more and more visitors, Fukuda managed very well without their help, now that they were working at the teahouse.
The problem with more visitors, however, was that Obito couldn’t risk being seen, which meant that he spent a lot of time locked up in his room, impatiently waiting for Sasuke to come back with Miwa and Kaori. Only then would Fukuda close the gates of the shrine, and the five of them would have the place to themselves.
“How’s the new job going?” Fukuda asked Kaori on Thursday, over dinner, when he felt like it was a good time to ask.
She beamed at him. “I love it! Momoka-sama is very kind and she never raises her voice.”
Obito raised his eyebrows; was that what Kaori had been worried about? Yelling?
Miwa, on the other hand, didn’t look as overjoyed as Kaori, though she had warmed up to the idea of working at the teahouse.
“It’s fine,” she conceded. Then, just to be contrary, “I still like it better here.”
Fukuda smiled softly, filling up her plate with steamed vegetables. “Of course you do, but it’s not so bad in town, is it?”
Miwa shrugged.
As Sasuke listened to the other four’s lively chatter, and as he ate his ramen and let himself be soothed by the cool breeze that came through the front door, he realized he would miss this. He would miss having a warm and tranquil place to shelter in during the winter, and he would miss the company on the stone stairs at night.
He had to leave, and was determined to do so, but he allowed himself to appreciate what the months he had spent at the shrine had given him. He knew he and Obito wouldn’t find another place like this for a long, long time.
Sunday night, when his shift at the teahouse was over, he stopped by several food stalls, on his way home, to buy whatever food he remembered the girls liking. He had told Fukuda beforehand not to cook anything, to let the girls rest because they deserved it.
The uneventful spring had made Sasuke comfortable. He was entering summer slowly, almost lazily. Almost.
A prickle at the back of his neck awakened an instinct in him, engraved too deeply within him to die after a few months of stillness. Alert. He thanked the vendor who served him his order and decided it would be his last.
He forced himself not to look around, to keep walking as though nothing was wrong, and get out of town as soon as possible. The girls were already at the shrine, as their shift had been in the morning, so at least he didn’t have to worry about them.
He took the wrong turn, purposefully, because he wasn’t going to risk leading unwanted guests to the shrine. If someone was following him – if it wasn’t just old habits kicking in on the eve of their departure – then he was going to be careful.
He came to a halt not far enough away from town. Not as far as he had hoped to get, anyway.
Three masked figures were standing in his way and, without having to turn, he knew two more were behind him. They were all clad in red, and their masks resembled those of the Anbu, only with horns growing out of them. There were no shinobi in the Land of Stone, and no Anbu had masks that looked like that.
The figure in the middle stepped forward, and Sasuke noticed the glint of the sharp edge of a kunai in their hand.
“Uchiha Sasuke,” the masked figure said. Their voice was low and modulated. This was a practiced speech. “We’ve been watching you.”
Sasuke didn’t react. He hid his annoyance well, and more importantly his disappointment in himself for not having noticed earlier. “My name’s not Sasuke,” he simply said. Not convincingly enough, judging by the sneer he received in response.
“We heard you go by Kensuke, now,” the figure said, taking another step closer. “And we’ve heard that Uchiha Obito travels with you.”
Sasuke’s jaw clenched. He wondered if there was any point in lying, trying to wriggle his way out of whatever the fuck this was with excuse after excuse, but his stomach turned just at the thought. Playing dumb had never been his style.
“Who are you?” He asked, though as soon as he had seen their masks, he’d had an idea.
“The Children of Kaguya,” the figure said, raising their chin up with pride. So these were the fanatics Gaara had warned him about. The idiots who wanted to live in a dream for the rest of their lives. “We wanted to talk to you.”
Sasuke scoffed. “I’m not a talker,” he said. Then, a warning. “Not a listener either.”
There was a tense silence, as the figure and Sasuke studied each other, both waiting to see if the other would attack, but the attack didn’t come.
The figure tightened their grip on the kunai, slowly circling around Sasuke like a vulture.
“All we want is peace. All we want is the perfect world we were promised by the gods, the world that was taken from us.”
Sasuke eyed the bags filled with food in his hand. It was going to get cold before he reached the shrine.
He sighed. “You know nothing,” he mocked, grinning. “No god promised you anything. You just think you’re special, but you’re not.”
As he spoke, he watched their reactions: fists clenched, frustration just barely concealed, but no one dared strike. They won’t do anything, he thought, unless this one orders them to.
The talking figure was the only one who seemed unaffected. They stepped in front of him, closer than before. “And what do you know, I wonder.”
Sasuke moved before he could think.
He stood beside one of the figures behind him, and watched as three shuriken stabbed through the back of the person who now stood where he was.
Before the one on his left could realize Sasuke had shifted places with their companion, he pierced through them with an amaterasu spear.
As the other two pawns screamed, panicked, throwing everything they could at him, the talking figure remained still. They had taken a few steps back and simply watched as Sasuke butchered their companions, one by one.
When only the two of them were left, Sasuke ignited a chidori.
“Tell me what you want,” Sasuke growled, inching closer.
“I told you. I want what was taken from me.”
“An illusion was taken from you, nothing more.”
The figure’s shoulders shook, and Sasuke realized they were laughing.
“This world is an illusion. Uchiha Madara understood it, and now we do, too.” The figure walked slowly among the corpses of their companions, removing their masks. “Look at them,” they said, but Sasuke refused to. “Some little more than children, others older than even Madara was. And we all share the same dream. The same goal.”
Sasuke’s chidori chirped in his hand, yet he hesitated. Curiosity was stopping him from ending this person’s life, despite his better judgment. Perhaps he was a listener, after all.
“We can’t achieve it by ourselves. Only an Uchiha can, that’s why we’ve been following you. We don’t wanna harm your precious little girls or the old man,” at those words, Sasuke’s chakra spiked and the chidori grew in size, burning his own hand. “But expect to see us again, very soon.”
Sasuke sneered. “You think I’m gonna let you leave just like that?”
Before he could take another step, the figure raised their hand to block him.
“You are, because if my men at the shrine don’t see me come back, they will murder everyone. Now, Obito is not to underestimate, but he’s a blind relic of his old self. Do you trust his chances?” Then, leaning in closer, their mask almost touching Sasuke’s face, “Do you trust yours?”
Sasuke found himself immobilized, though nothing was restraining him. A small movement of his arm and it would end up on the other side of the masked figure, through their ribcage. He thought about Obito; never before he had doubted his strength, but he was doubting it now.
His chidori died out, the crackling noise of lightning replaced by the figure’s laughter.
In a swish of dust and leaves, the figure disappeared, though the sound of their words echoed still in Sasuke’s mind.
Finally, he looked down at the bodies at his feet; the next day the people of the town would find them and wonder what monster could do that in such a holy land of priests and temples. Truthfully, it stung, because he hadn’t meant to kill anyone. If the idiot behind him hadn’t thrown his idiotic shuriken at his back–
Then again, he needn’t have killed the others. He wondered if he did it just to prove to himself that he could. Even one armed, even outnumbered, he was still Uchiha Sasuke. Uchiha Sasuke with blood on his clothes.
He picked up the bags of food and headed towards the shrine, hoping to find everything exactly as he had left it.
The shrine was quiet, though not unusually so. He walked into the main hall and found the door to the backyard open. He braced himself, before he walked in.
He remembered when he walked into his childhood home, a seven year old, to find his parents slaughtered and a masked figure towering over them.
“Where the hell have you been?” Obito’s voice drowned out the noise in his head and the sight of him filled out the hollow space in his heart. “We’re starving.”
When he saw the table set in the garden, the girls sitting side by side, conversing with Fukuda and then looking up at him excitedly, his legs almost gave in.
“Sorry…” he murmured, handing the bag to Obito, who in turn handed it to Fukuda. “It’s cold, I think. I’m sorry.”
The way his voice trembled wasn’t lost on Obito, who frowned at him. He took Sasuke’s hand into his own, recoiled at the heat, then gripped it harder.
“What happened?” He whispered, worried.
Sasuke tried to speak but his voice struggled to come out. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’ll go change, you guys heat the food. Inosuke-san, could you come help me?”
When they were in Sasuke’s room, he let out a deep sigh. Obito hadn’t let go of Sasuke’s hand since he had realized it was shaking.
“What’s going on?” Obito questioned. While one hand was occupied holding Sasuke’s, the other checked Sasuke’s body for injuries. He touched his face and found it wet. He didn’t need to see to know what it was; he could smell it.
“Don’t worry,” Sasuke said, “not my blood.”
“I don’t worry about you,” Obito rebuked, and Sasuke didn’t know how to take it. “Whose blood, then?”
Sasuke sighed, leaning against Obito for support, since his legs felt too weak.
“Children of Kaguya,” he answered, quoting the masked figure. “The fanatics Gaara told us about.” He looked at Obito and felt the urge to punch him, or perhaps to wrap his arm around him in a hug. He resisted the urge. “Are you alright?” He asked, instead.
Obito nodded. “Yeah, why?”
“They said there were more here. More Children. I worried the girls might be in danger.”
Obito shook his head. “We’re all okay.” He squeezed Sasuke’s hand, then let it go. “Change your clothes and wash your face. You don’t wanna terrorize the girls on our last night here.”
Sasuke nodded slowly, steadying himself. When Obito left, Sasuke let himself fall on his bed, panic slowly leaving his body and being overtaken by shame. How could he let those nobodies intimidate him so? He had been brutal, arrogant, up until the shrine’s safety had been threatened. No, he realized, up until Obito had been threatened.
Walking back to the backyard, clean and refreshed, and embraced by Miwa and Kaori who thanked him for the food, guilt eroded him from the inside. Would he have cared if Fukuda, who had given them a home, or if Miwa and Kaori, who had cooked his food and remade his bed every day for months, had been killed?
He sat at the table and ate his dinner and drank his cups of sake, he listened to their conversations and chimed in with a word or two every now and then, and all the while he couldn’t help but feel like he was going to lose his mind if Obito died.