Loser
Disclaimer: Naruto belongs to Kishimoto Masashi. I own 15 cats and a computer.
Pairings: KakaRin.
Summary: They're standing in front of a big, grey rock.
Kakashi doesn't remember the first time he saw Uchiha Sanji throw a chair into his son. He does remember Obito's wounded face, though. It's always reminded him a little of this Sand-nin he once interrogated. The eyes especially.
Rin's eyes are nothing like Obito's. They have a sort of green tint to them, a sea green, foamy and soft. When she's angry, they get these little gold flecks that flash harshly in the sun. Right now, they're sort of a mix of green, gold and grey; the sun poking out on a stormy sea.
They're standing in front of a big, grey rock, and he's hating himself and hating the red mark that's suddenly growing beneath her right eye and hating the fist that put it there. His fist. His fist put it there. And she's staring at him, and her eyes are bright and glistening but she's not crying because of the pain, or the fact that the one she loves has just pounded a bruise into her face, but because she knows why he's done what he's done, and understands.
He wants to stop, he just wants to stop and go home and sleep for the next twenty years of his life or until this war is done, done, done. But he knows that even if he could, nothing will have changed. Obito will still be dead when he wakes up, and the feeling of Rin's raw skin under his fist will never go away.
The silence between them is awkward and stale, but he can't think of anything to say and he doesn't want to hear Rin's gentle voice because he knows how it will sound. He knows it will be muffled with pain and hurt and he doesn't think he can listen to that. So when he sees her lips part he does the first thing he can think of and stills them with his own.
It takes about 3 seconds for him to realize what he's done, what he's doing. Rin's lips taste sweeter than anything he's tasted before, but they're hard and unyielding under his. He's ripped down his mask, which lies limply around his neck, a dead and forgotten thing. It should bother him. He reaches up and tears it down the middle.
It's a harsh, frustrated kiss, their teeth and lips mashing and grinding together. Swallowing them both. He's drowning in it, hands awkward and unsure, sliding from her shoulders to her neck to the small of her back. For a moment he wonders if she's ever been kissed before, but kills that train of thought almost as soon as it's born. She's been in love with him for years, of course she hasn't.
They finally break apart, both breathing harshly. The purple stains on her cheeks are muddled, his left eye is burning, and his throat aches like nothing ever before. He feels like trash, worse than trash as his eyes slide away from hers to the big grey rock they're now leaning on. The words on the memorial stone impale themselves into his skull.
Uchiha Obito, age 13.
And the first thing he thinks is, Beat you again, loser.
:Owari: