Mercury’s Manifestation

Alright. Carpe diem or whatever the fuck the poet say.

You grab the bottle with reckless determination, shut your eyes, and tip it back. The burn is immediate, bitterness clawing its way down your throat, but you power through.

By the time the last drop slides past your lips, you slam the bottle down onto the table—hard. A trail of drool clings to your chin.

Oh. Shit.

The world tilts. Not in the dramatic, everything-spinning kind of way, but just enough that you feel off. Your vision sharpens and blurs at the same time, like your Byakugan is trying to activate on its own.

A slow, creeping warmth spreads through your body. Your limbs feel oddly light, yet heavy. And your brain—oh, your brain—feels like it's floating just a few inches above your skull.

"Oh shit," you mumble, blinking rapidly.

Hidan bursts out laughing, smacking the table. "Oh-ho, that hit fast! You serious? One bottle and you're already looking like you've seen Jashin himself."

Sasori, still unimpressed, hums. "For someone who eats like a starved animal, your tolerance is pathetic."

Konan tilts her head, studying you. "...You okay?"

Zetsu is just watching. No judgment, no amusement. Just pure, neutral observation, like he's documenting the exact moment alcohol ruins you.

You point a wobbly finger at them all. "I—I got this."

You do not got this.

Heat rushes to your face, blooming in shades of pink—no, red. It spreads fast, creeping up your neck, tingling at the tips of your ears.

You blink. Once. Twice. A third time.

Your vision swims, thoughts slipping through your grasp like sand.

You can't think straight at all.

The room suddenly feels too bright. Too loud. Every little noise—Hidan's cackle, Deidara's distant grumbling, the clink of bottles—rings in your ears like a damn explosion.

Your body feels loose, unreasonably warm, like you've been wrapped in a cocoon of heat. You sway slightly in your seat. "Why," you pause, blinking, "why does everything feel so... funny?"

Konan chuckles, propping her chin on her palm. "You're drunk."

"Me? Drunk? Impossible."

Zetsu—fucking Zetsu—just stares at you. The black half tilts his head, the white half sighs. "It's possible."

Sasori, arms crossed, watches you with open amusement. "You look like you're about to fall over."

"Noooo," you drawl, waving a hand dismissively. Your movement is way too exaggerated. "I'm fiiiiine."

You attempt to stand, and—oh. Oh no.

Gravity is not your friend right now.

Your hand shoots out, gripping the first thing within reach—Sasori's sleeve. The moment your weight shifts, you practically drag him down with you.

A sharp tug. A very undignified yelp. And then—

Thud.

You land right on top of him.

The room erupts.

Hidan is howling, smacking the table. Kisame lets out a deep, amused chuckle. Deidara is wheezing, clutching his stomach like he's in pain. Even Konan—Konan—has to cover her mouth to hide the small grin playing at her lips.

Sasori, on the other hand, is seething.

His face is twisted into a grimace, brows twitching as he glares up at you. His cheeks are ever so slightly pink—not from embarrassment, but from pure, unfiltered annoyance. (And you're not sure how he does this, given he's a puppet)

"Get. Off."

You blink down at him, mind sluggish from the alcohol. "Oh... whoops."

No attempt to move. None.

Sasori's eye twitches. "(Y/N). Now."

"Owieeeee— dont scream, HAAACHOO!"

Sasori physically flinches when you sneeze right in his face.

"Are you kidding me?!"

His voice is strained—like he's holding himself back from murdering you right then and there.

The others are dying.

Hidan is cackling so hard he's practically wheezing. Kisame has to turn away, shoulders shaking from silent laughter. Deidara? He's doubling over, murmuring something about pissing himself.

Konan's barely keeping it together. Even Zetsu looks amused.

Meanwhile, you?

You're just sitting there, still straddling Sasori, looking way too out of it to care.

"...My legs aren't working," you announce.

Sasori stares.

"Then fix them."

Another blink.

"...I don't know how."

Sasori moves his fingers — threads, attached to your limbs, pulling you off of him with precision. Your back, collides with the table but it wasn't hard.

"You're a mess," Sasori mutters, dusting himself off like you've contaminated him.

You blink up at him, vision still a little fuzzy. Your limbs feel weird—like they're moving without you actually telling them to. You're about to say something when Hidan slaps the table, still laughing. "Holy shit, this is the best night of my fucking life—"

"Shut up." Sasori glares at him, then turns that same deadpan look on you. "And you—" he crosses his arms, unimpressed—"I don't know what alien biology you have, but you clearly can't handle alcohol."

You freeze.

The air shifts.

Oh.

For a moment—just a brief moment—you think, He knows.

But then—

"Hah! Alien!" Hidan snorts, oblivious. "You make her sound like she's from another planet or some shit."

The tension evaporates in an instant.

You force out a stiff laugh, shaking your head. "Haha, yeah! Crazy, right?"

Sasori gives you a look.

You're not sure if it's suspicion or just the usual I-don't-give-a-shit expression he always has. Either way, you hate how close that was.

"If I were an alien..." you murmur, a flushed mess that you are. "You'd be the first one I'd eat..."

The room goes silent.

Sasori blinks. His lips press into a tight line as he stares at you, his expression unreadable.

Then—

"Hah!" Hidan howls with laughter, clutching his stomach. "You hear that, puppet boy? She wants to devour you!"

Deidara, who has been observing from a safe distance, snorts. "Ugh, disgusting, un. Get a room."

Sasori's eye twitches. "I will kill you all."

You, meanwhile, are too drunk to process the chaos you've just caused. Your head tilts slightly as you squint at Sasori.

"...Would you be crunchy?" you mumble, your words slow and deliberate. "Or... chewy...?" Everyone seems to be really entertained by all of this.

Itachi drops by the table then hands you a cup of water. "You should drink this,"

Your head lolls lazily to the side, eyes fluttering up to meet his. For a brief, fleeting moment, your vision is crystal clear. Itachi, with his usual calm, unreadable expression, holds out the cup of water with an air of graceful patience.

Then—

"Hic!"

Oh. Never mind. You're still drunk.

You squint at the cup, as if it's some sort of mystical artifact. "Whyyyy," you drawl, voice sluggish, "does this not look like more alcohol...?"

Itachi exhales, his eyes narrowing just slightly. "Because you've had enough."

Hidan leans forward, grinning. "Let her drink more, Itachi! She's just getting to the good part."

Deidara snorts. "Yeah, un. What if she starts revealing more of her alien thoughts?"

A long silence follows.

You freeze.

Itachi's gaze sharpens ever so slightly.

... Oh shit.

"How the hell am I an alien?" you ask, almost too sober for someone who was just slurring moments ago. Your face scrunches in annoyance, like the mere suggestion offends you.

Deidara opens his mouth, about to spout something smart, but Itachi is faster.

"Enough." His voice is quiet, but there's a finality to it.

Hidan clicks his tongue. "Tch. Buzzkill."

You huff, pouting as you take the cup from Itachi's hand. "You're no fun," you murmur, but you drink the water anyway. Itachi watches as you sip, his expression unreadable. If you didn't know any better, you'd think he was studying you—like he suspected something. But that's impossible, right?

Right?

*

Obito has been.... quietly observing you from a far. He leans on a wall, holding a cup himself. Besides him stands Pain. He takes a few sip, deliberately, only ever lifting his mask slightly.

Pain, arms crossed, doesn't look at him but speaks anyway. "You've been watching her for a while now."

Obito doesn't react immediately. He swirls the liquid in his cup before taking another measured sip. "Haven't we all?"

Pain exhales through his nose, gaze locked onto you as you sit among the others, still red-faced from the alcohol. You're sloppy like this—unguarded in a way that's almost unnatural for you.

"She's... interesting," Obito continues, voice even. "Don't you think?"

"That's one way to put it," Pain nods before adding "Although, I didn't think she'd last this long. Figured she would have been dead by the third day."

Obito chuckles, low and amused. "You're not the only one who thought that." He tilts his head slightly, watching as you attempt—and fail—to stand without wobbling. Konan reaches out, steadying you, her expression unreadable.

"Yet here she is," Pain continues, his voice holding something almost like curiosity. "Not just surviving, but fitting in."

Obito hums in agreement. "She's a strange one. But..." His gaze lingers for a moment longer before he finally pushes off the wall. "Strange has its uses."

Pain doesn't reply immediately, but his silence speaks volumes. "Surely," he says after contemplating his choice of words "She reminds me of.... Zetsu but in a civilised manner."

Obito lets out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "Civilized? That's debatable."

They both watch as you dramatically gesture with your hands, telling an exaggerated story to Konan and Zetsu—only to nearly topple over again. Sasori, still seated nearby, mutters something under his breath, unimpressed.

"But I get what you mean," Obito continues. "She's... adaptable. Like being in a criminal organisation is a normal occurrence."

"Or maybe she's just too stubborn to leave."

Obito chuckle at this "As if we'd let her leave after stepping a foot here."

Pain exhales through his nose, almost amused. "True enough."

Across the room, you're now dramatically poking at Kisame's bicep, seemingly fascinated by it. "What the hell are you made of?" you slur, squeezing his arm like you're testing the durability of a weapon.

"Muscle," Kisame replies, clearly entertained. "Wanna feel the sword next?"

"What sword?"

"Do you think we should get rid of her?" Obito asks, his jaw cranes to his side to look at Pain. His voice sounded almost playful.

"What sword?" Kisame gapes at you, utterly offended. "Samehada, obviously—"

But his words are drowned out by Obito's casual, almost teasing question.

Pain doesn't react immediately, his eyes fixed on you as you continue pestering Kisame with drunken curiosity. Then, after a beat of silence, he responds with a neutral tone. "She's proven herself useful. No reason to discard her."

Obito hums, rolling the thought around in his mind. "Yeah, but..." He takes another sip, gaze dark and unreadable behind the mask. "What happens when she stops being useful?"

"Explain to me how can she be useless." Pain glances at the Uchiha from his peripheral vision.

Obito chuckles, swirling the liquid in his cup lazily. "I'm just saying, everyone has an expiration date, Pain." His voice is light, but there's an edge beneath it. "People get sloppy. They get comfortable. And when that happens..." He trails off, tapping his fingers against the cup.

Pain exhales slowly, eyes half-lidded as he watches the scene unfold. "She's unpredictable," he finally says, voice neutral. "That makes her dangerous. But it also makes her useful."

Obito hums in amusement, tilting his cup slightly. "Useful... for now." His single eye flickers toward you—head tilted, prodding Samehada like a curious child. "But what happens when she stops being useful?"

Pain doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he looks at you again, his Rinnegan unreadable. "Then we'll deal with it."

"Huh, that's exactly what Zetsu said." The Uchiha shrugs, twiddling with the cup in his hand.

"Zetsu has good instincts."

"Then let's hope she doesn't become a problem," he muses, taking another deliberate sip from his cup. "Otherwise, we might have to clean up after Zetsu's 'useful' asset."

Pain doesn't respond. Instead, he simply watches as you—completely oblivious to their conversation—poke at Samehada again, making Kisame swat at your hand with an exasperated sigh.

You pout at Kisame before your gaze shifts to the masked man.

The moment your eyes land on him, your face brightens—like the first rays of sunlight at dawn.

Obito watches as your expression shifts—bright, unguarded. The sheer contrast to the weight of his previous words is almost amusing.

You raise a hand, waving at him enthusiastically. "Tobi~!" you call, voice carrying a lightness that makes a few heads turn.

Pain doesn't react, but Obito? He hesitates for just a fraction of a second before his hand lifts ever so slightly in return. A small, almost lazy wave. His mask tilts, and though you can't see his expression, you just know he's smirking behind it.

"Tobi— you're the only one who understands me," you slur, words tumbling out in a mess. "These—these primitive monkeys forced me... to drink this suspicious liquid from Kisame— and, and now my motor functions are all messed up."

Tobi lets out an exaggerated gasp, clutching his chest like you've just delivered the most tragic news. "These monsters!" he cries dramatically, though his tone is dripping with amusement.

Kisame snorts. "Hey now, you did that to yourself."

You shake your head, wobbling slightly. "Lies. Slander. This is a conspiracy against me."

Tobi closes his distance with you, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Don't worry, (Y/N)-chan. Tobi is here. Tobi understands." He nods solemnly, playing along with your drunken antics.

Pain, still standing nearby, simply sighs. "She'll regret this in the morning."

Without warning, you wrap your arms around his waist, shamelessly wiping your drool on his clothes.

Obito freezes. For a second, the whole room seems to go silent.

Then—

"Oi, what the fuck?" Hidan barks out a laugh. "She's marking you like a damn animal, Tobi."

Kisame whistles low, thoroughly entertained. Even Itachi, ever composed, raises a brow.

Obito, however, does not immediately react. He just stands there, his hands awkwardly hovering like he's unsure whether to push you off or let you continue drooling on him. "Uh..."

You nuzzle into him shamelessly, smearing more saliva onto his black compression clothing. "You're so comfy," you murmur.

"Okay." He finally grabs your shoulders, attempting to pry you off. "That's enough. Let go."

You whine, gripping onto him tighter. "Nooo. You're warm. I'm staying."

Deidara cackles from his corner. "Holy shit. Tobi, I think she's claimed you."

And then—it happens.

Something inside you churns, rising up like a force of nature, unstoppable and inevitable. Without warning, you hurl all over Tobi's pants, still clutching onto him like he's your lifeline.

The room goes dead silent.

Obito doesn't move. Doesn't speak. Just... stands there, arms still awkwardly outstretched, while warm, disgusting vomit soaks into his pants.

A slow, agonizing second passes.

Then—

"PFTTTTT—" Hidan howls with laughter, doubling over. "HOLY FUCK— SHE REALLY FUCKING DID THAT."

Deidara slaps the table repeatedly, wheezing. Kisame has to grip the back of a chair to steady himself. Even Sasori, Sasori, exhales an evil chuckle.

Konan pinches the bridge of her nose. "I shouldn't have let her drink."

You, meanwhile, blink sluggishly, head swaying. "Mmm...."

Obito finally exhales, long and slow quietly under his breath. Sharingan activated and all as if he's in some kind of danger. "I am going to kill you." He says just loud enough for your ears. The room is filled with incoherent noises of people dying of laughter.

You release him immediately after the ordeal, staggering back as if he were the one who had just contaminated you. "Hmmmm~ Tobi, what's that on your pants? Did you piss yourself?" You slur, tilting your head with exaggerated innocence.

Hidan loses his mind. He physically collapses onto the floor, banging a fist against it while howling with laughter. "Oh my fucking god—" he wheezes between gasps. "SHE'S GONE. SHE'S ACTUALLY FUCKING GONE."

Obito, on the other hand, stands completely still.

Just. Staring at you.

A single twitch in his jaw.

Kisame barely manages to keep himself together, grinning like a shark. "Damn, Tobi. You should probably go change before anyone else notices."

Deidara is practically choking on his laughter, clutching his stomach. Finally, someone manages to actually put that fucking idiot in his place. "M-maybe he really did piss himself, un."

You sway slightly, eyelids heavy. "Ahh... don't worry, Tobi... accidents happen~"

Obito inhales slowly through his nose. "You."

He grabs your face—gently (shockingly)—thumb pressing against your cheek.

"Let's.... get you clean up and put you to bed, shall we?" His voice is of Tobi but the way he says it, is in a more, authoritative manner. Quiet enough for only you to hear.

"whaaaaaaat? but the partys not over yet?"

"The party's over for you," he says firmly, his grip on your face steady but not harsh. "Unless you want to throw up on someone else?"

You blink blearily. "Mmm... maybe Kisame."

Kisame snorts. "Hey, don't drag me into your mess."

Obito sighs heavily. "Alright, that's it." Without another word, he hoists you up—one arm hooking under your knees, the other supporting your back.

"Wha—?" Your body goes limp in his grasp, but you still manage a halfhearted struggle. "Nooooo, lemme go! I still wanna— wanna talk to Zetsu...!"

"Zetsu will still be here in the morning," Obito replies smoothly, already walking toward your room. He's speaking in that voice again "Unlike your dignity."

Behind you, the rest of the Akatsuki watches in varying levels of amusement.

"Damn," Hidan cackles. "This might be the only once in a lifetime where we can see something get under Tobi's skin."

Deidara smirks. "Think she'll remember any of this tomorrow?"

"God, I hope so," Kakuzu mutters.

From a distance, Itachi observes the scene, his expression unreadable.

Perhaps there's a hint of concern in his gaze. After all, he knows the truth about Tobi—knows that beneath the facade lurks the most dangerous member of the Akatsuki.

Once you're far enough from the others, you cling to Tobi, arms wrapped tightly around him as if he's the only thing keeping you upright. You reek of alcohol and vomit, the stench clinging to you like a bad decision.

Tobi—no, Obito—says nothing, still carrying you with ease as he makes his way toward the shared floor where both your rooms are.

Without hesitation, he steps into the bathroom.

The cool air of the bathroom hits your flushed skin, making you shiver slightly in Obito's arms. The moment he steps inside, he nudges the door shut with his foot, sealing the two of you in the quiet space.

Your dazed eyes flutter open slightly. "Mmm, Tobi... why's the room spinning?"

Obito exhales sharply, adjusting his grip before kneeling down, carefully lowering you onto the closed toilet lid. "That's what happens when you drink an entire bottle like a dumbass," he mutters, rolling up his sleeves. He doesn't bother to try and hide himself this time. You shudder just the slightest.

Your head lolls back against the wall. "Oooohhh, so it's my fault now?"

"Yes."

"You enabled me," you accuse, pointing at him sluggishly.

Obito simply ignores you, taking off his robe before turning on the faucet. The sound of running water fills the space as he dampens a small towel, wringing it out before crouching in front of you.

He takes your chin in one hand, holding your face still as he wipes away the remnants of vomit and drool with the other. His movements are surprisingly careful, methodical—almost like he's done this before.

You squint at him. "Tobi..."

"Hm?"

"You're being nice."

He pauses for a fraction of a second before resuming. "Shut up."

Without warning, he tosses the towel at your face. He turns to the faucet, in an attempt to clean himself off your liquid.

You peel the towel off your face with an exaggerated gasp, blinking at him in mock betrayal. "Tobi! I thought we were having a moment!"

Obito barely spares you a glance, scrubbing the crotch part of his pants furiously. "The only moment we're having is me regretting ever bringing you here."

You hum, kicking your legs idly. "Awww, but you carried me. Took care of me. Cleaned my face so gently." You clutch the towel dramatically to your chest. "Isn't that romantic?"

Obito lets out a long, suffering sigh "You threw up on me."

You wave a dismissive hand. "Details, details."

He finally looks up, deadpan. "You wiped your drool on me before you threw up on me."

You blink, then nod sagely. "Foreplay."

Obito freezes mid-scrub. You can practically hear his soul leave his body. "What?" you tilt your head all innocent like "Never tried them before?"

Obito grips the edge of the sink, his fingers tightening like he's physically restraining himself from throwing you out the window. "You are so lucky you're drunk," he mutters under his breath.

You grin, wiggling your brows. "Am I? Or are you just flustered, Tobi~?"

He flicks water at your face in response.

"Kyaah~" You yelp trying to protect yourself from the droplets coming your way. "Not fair!"

Obito scoffs, shaking out his wet hands. "Not fair?" He turns his head slightly, eyes gleaming behind his mask. "You vomited on me, (Y/N). Consider this mercy."

You lower your arms, lips tugging into an unrepentant grin. "I see" You got up from the toilet, wobbling on your heels.

He watches you in mild curiosity, leaning over the sink.

You turn on the faucet on the tub. Revenge in mind.

Obito straightens instantly. "Don't." His voice is flat, edged with warning.

You grin wider. "What? I'm just—" You dip your hand under the running water, testing the temperature. Then, in a single, ruthless motion—

Splash!

The water arcs through the air, landing squarely on his undershirt and already ruined pants.

His grip on the sink tightens so hard you think it might crack. For a moment, there's nothing but silence.

Then, slowly, he turns his head toward you.

"You," he breathes, voice dangerously low.

You take a cautious step back. "Me?"

His fingers twitch. "Run."

Your laughter bounces off the bathroom walls, mixing with the sound of running water. A mischievous glint flashes in your eyes as you attempt to bolt—only to realize a crucial detail.

The door is behind Tobi.

You skid to a stop, nearly colliding with his chest. His head tilts slightly, as if amused by your futile escape attempt. Yeah... you're not getting out of this.

Obito tilts his head, ever so slightly. The tension in the air shifts.

"Go on," he says smoothly, stepping away from the sink. "Run."

You weigh your options. The window? Too small. The vents? You're not built like Zetsu. Your eyes flicker to the floor, then back to his masked face.

"...Truce?" You flash your best, most innocent smile.

Tobi cracks his knuckles.

Yeah. You're screwed. Instinctively, you take a step back—only for your foot to betray you. The slippery floor sends you tumbling backward, and with an unceremonious splash, you land straight into the tub.

"Ow..." you whine, rubbing the back of your head. Then, realization dawns. The faucet is still running, and now your entire backside is drenched.

Obito just stares at you. Then, slowly, his head drops into his hand. A heavy sigh. "You're hopeless."

You blink up at him, blinking water droplets from your lashes, cheeks puffed in frustration. "Maybe. But at least I'm entertaining."

Obito doesn't respond—he just reaches over, turns off the faucet with an exasperated flick of his wrist, and then offers you a hand.

You grin, taking it.

Big mistake.

The second your fingers latch onto his, you yank with all your might—

Splash.

Now he's in the tub, drenched from head to toe, even worst on top of you. And you hug him.

Your laughter fills up the room once again, echoing. This time much more louder, tears actually were trying to escape.

Obito sits there, utterly still, water dripping from his undershirt, his mask slightly askew.

You're gasping for breath between fits of laughter, clutching your stomach after letting go of . "Y-You should see yourself right now!"

Slowly, he lifts his head. His soaked bangs cling to the edge of his mask, and there's a moment—a single, deadly moment—where the air shifts.

Then—

Splash!

He doesn't hesitate. He shoves a wave of water right at you, soaking your already drenched clothes even further.

Your laughter cuts off in an instant. "Wait—WAIT—NO—"

Hand seals. Boom! Mysterious water squirts out of the tub, splashing you from under.

"TOBI, YOU LITTL—"

Now it's his turn to chuckle. "Not so funny now, is it, (Y/N)?"

You screech as a wave of water crashes over you, courtesy of Obito's merciless assault. "Wait—Wait!!! I surrender! I'm drowning!" you gasp between fits of giggles, flailing dramatically as if the shallow water were pulling you under.

Obito pauses, arms still mid-motion, water dripping from his sleeves. "Oh? You surrender?"

You nod furiously, wiping at your face, grinning like an idiot. "Yes, yes! I'm waving the white flag—metaphorically, because I don't actually have one."

He tilts his head. "Hmmm." Then, in a slow and deliberate movement—he reaches for the faucet.

Your smile drops.

He cranks it to full blast.

"TOBI, NO—"

WHOOSH!

The water from the shower head crashes over you like a waterfall, soaking you from head to toe again. You shriek, flailing like a cat thrown into a pond.

"WHY!"

"Since Im already soaked with you, why not go all in," he says, absolutely unrepentant, arms crossed as he watches you suffer.

You scramble to escape, arms gripping the edge of the tub as you start to pull yourself out—almost there—

Until Tobi grabs you by the waist and yanks you right back in. Water sloshes over the sides as you land with a splash, flailing. "TOBI—!" You yelp, half-drenched, half-betrayed.

He leans over you, arms braced on the edge of the tub, effectively trapping you in. "Where do you think you're going?" His voice is light, but there's a certain smugness to it.

You blink up at him, water dripping from your lashes. "Away, obviously."

"Hmmm." He tilts his head. "I don't think so."

"You can't keep me here forever."

"Can't I?" He taps a gloved finger against his mask, as if considering it. "You're small. I could probably just pick you up and stuff you somewhere."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Oh, I would."

The tension is thick. The air between you charged.

Then—

You kick water at him. Hard.

Obito doesn't react—at least, not outwardly. But behind his mask, he's smiling. There's something exhilarating about this, something he hasn't felt since his genin days. It's absurd, really—playing splash wars in a tub with you of all people. He's drenched from head to toe, and so are you. Yet, despite the chaos, his grip on your wrist is unexpectedly gentle.

You blink down at his hand, warm despite the soaked gloves. His grip isn't tight, not restraining—just there, grounding you.

For a second, neither of you move. Water drips from your hair, your clothes clinging to your skin uncomfortably. But there's something oddly... light about the moment.

Then, with no warning, he tugs you forward.

You yelp, crashing into his chest, water sloshing violently around you. "TOBI—"

He lets out a low chuckle, his mask tilting ever so slightly downward as if amused. "What? You started it."

You sputter, pushing at his chest. "I did not! You pulled me back in!"

"And you kicked water at me."

"Self-defense!"

He hums, clearly unconvinced. His thumb brushes over your wrist absently, like he isn't even aware he's doing it.

You stare at him, feeling the strange thrum in your chest. A warmth that has nothing to do with the water.

"...Tobi," you murmur, tilting your head.

He doesn't move, but you can tell he's watching you closely.

The playful energy from before lingers, but it's shifted into something else. Something heavier. You swallow, the sound barely audible over the water still trickling from the shower head. This was different. Different from the hotspring with Itachi, where the warmth lulled you into a haze. The cold water sharpens your senses, forcing you to recognize just how close he is.

Your chest rises and falls—maybe from exertion, maybe from something else. But you don't move away. Neither does he, but his fingers flex slightly around your wrist, as if debating something. His mask, ever the barrier between you, reveals nothing.

Your gaze flickers to the door near the sink. You could leave. You could break the moment with another joke, another dramatic declaration.

But you don't.

Instead, you tilt your head, searching for his eyes through the holes in his mask. "Tobi," you say again, softer this time.

His grip tightens—not forceful, but deliberate. Like he's anchoring himself. Or maybe anchoring you.

"...You should change out of those wet clothes," he finally says, voice lower than before. Almost reluctant.

You blink at him. Then—

A smirk tugs at your lips. "What, worried I'll catch a cold? Or perhaps worried that you'll be seduced by a wet me?" You're insane . You're insane. Why did you say that? The moment the words leave your mouth, you realize just how ridiculous they sound. You search for any reaction, but—damn that mask. It hides everything.

For a moment, Obito doesn't respond. Doesn't even move.

The only sound in the bathroom is the faint dripping of water from your soaked clothes.

Then—

A low chuckle rumbles from behind the mask. It's slow, deliberate, and something about it makes the hair on the back of your neck stand.

"Oh?" His voice is amused, but there's something else lurking beneath it. "And what if I was?"

Your brain malfunctions. What. His free hand, traces over the collar of your shirt. You shiver. Wet, cold, brushing against your silky skin.

You expected an exasperated sigh. A scoff. Maybe even another flick of water in your face. But not this. Not him actually playing along.

Your mouth opens, then closes. For the first time in your entire existence, you have no idea how to respond.

Obito leans in slightly—not much, just enough for his presence to feel heavier. "Cat got your tongue?"

Your fingers twitch. Panic. Deflect. Survive. Your brain short-circuits. Panic flares in the form of impulse—before you can think better of it, you slap your palm over the only opening in his mask, effectively blocking his vision.

Victory! You've successfully blocked his vision. You are now safe.

...Except, no, you're not.

Because Obito just sits there, silent and unmoving. His face mere inches from yours. "Really?" he says, voice edged with amusement.

You don't dare move your hand. "Yes."

A beat of silence. Then, he sighs—long, drawn out, exasperated. "You're ridiculous."

"And you have poor reaction time," you quip back, still keeping your palm pressed firmly against his mask. "I could've killed you just now."

"Oh, please," he scoffs. "If you were trying to kill me, you wouldn't be straddling me in a bathtub like an idiot."

"...Touché."

Then, without warning—he grabs your wrist.

A jolt of surprise shoots through you as he effortlessly pries your hand away from his mask. He doesn't let go immediately, though. No—he holds it for just a second longer, thumb briefly ghosting over your pulse before finally releasing you.

"Alright, enough," he mutters, removing you off of him before stepping out of the tub. "Clean yourself up and go to bed."

You blink.

What just happened?

"Wait— you're just going to leave?" You step out of the tub swiftly. The floor drenched from the water dripping down from you and him.

Tobi stops mid-step, shoulders tensing slightly. He doesn't turn around.

"What, did you expect me to tuck you in too?" His voice is flat, but there's something—something in the way he lingers.

You cross your arms, pouting. "Well, considering you carried me here, cleaned up my mess, and played splash wars with me, I'd say tucking me in is the natural next step."

Silence.

"Aftercare!"

Then—

"Tch." He scoffs, shaking his head. "You're unbelievable."

You grin. "And yet, here you are, enjoying our little warzone."

This time, he does turn around, just slightly. The lighting catches the edge of his mask, highlighting the water droplets clinging to it.

"I must've lost my mind."

"Ah, so you admit it." You take a step closer, teasing. "Tobi has a soft spot for me~"

"Don't push your luck."

Another step. "Or what?"

This time, he says nothing. Just watches you for a second longer before turning on his heel and walking out the door.

You huff dramatically. "Hmph! Coward!"

A hand appears in the doorway.

The towel he tossed at you earlier comes flying straight at your face—again..

You release a shaky exhale, convinced he's finally left for his room. Your chest feels tight, your mind a mess. You never thought a creature like you could experience something so—intense.

You grip the towel tightly before shoving your face into it, as if that alone could smother whatever this feeling is.

Your heartbeat is unsteady, pounding against your ribs like it's trying to escape. What the hell is wrong with you?

You're not supposed to feel like this.

Not here. Not with him.

And yet, the moment replays in your mind—his voice, the weight of his hand on your wrist, the way he lingered. The way he looked at you, even if you couldn't see his expression.

You groan into the towel, as if that alone could erase the memory.

"Get it together," you mutter to yourself, pulling the fabric away from your face. Your reflection in the bathroom mirror stares back—cheeks still flushed, eyes slightly hazy from the alcohol. You look... shaken. You’re never ever touching alcohol ever again.

And maybe, just maybe—

You don't hate it. Don’t hate how it all turned out.