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Obito couldn’t sleep.
Rain struck the canvas ceiling of the tent like the hooves of ten thousand cavalry, punctuated frequently by an explosive roll of thunder. He sat cross-legged on the bedroll with the blankets draped around his shoulders, a cup of jasmine tea steaming between his palms. The wind snatched at the pegs keeping the tent flap closed, the canvas creaking under the strain as another fork of lightning turned the world outside a dazzling white. Terrible weather, but good for a sneak attack. He didn’t envy those on watch duty tonight, shivering at their posts. He wished them an uneventful shift. No one should be out in this, not even a Senju.
Madara was out in it.
He’d been gone for hours, since well before the storm broke. The other side of the bed was cold and empty once again. It was becoming a regular occurrence these days, but Obito refused to go out and look for the reckless fool. He knew when he wasn’t wanted.
And he hadn’t felt wanted since before Izuna died.
Obito breathed around the lump in his throat and gulped down a mouthful of scalding tea, ignoring the way it burned his tongue. He blinked furiously. Let the idiot catch his death out there, see if Obito care—
Obito slammed down his teacup, sloshing tea everywhere, muttering curses against Madara and his (their) entire ancestral lineage as he reluctantly abandoned his cosy nest of blankets to dig around in the wooden chest where he kept his clothes. Shrugging on his warmest cloak, he made his way over to the tent flap and swiftly undid the toggles, ready to step out into the storm to look for that moronic, pig-headed—
Madara was right in front of him, back to the fastenings. Facing the rain. He turned at Obito’s arrival and blinked like someone wakened from a daydream. Drenched did not begin to describe the state of him, torrents of rainwater running off his hair and sodden clothing. The tent flap slipped out of Obito’s surprised grasp and opened out like a beating wing, allowing gusts of rain to blow over him before he regained his senses and, with a snarl of aggravation, seized both the canvas and Madara’s wrist. “Why the fuck are you standing out in the rain like a simpleton?” he snapped, tugging his clan head inside and wrestling the tent opening back into submission.
Madara stood watching him, mutely dripping onto the floor. His usually unruly hair was plastered flat to his head, and his lips were trembling and tinged faintly blue. “Lost track of t-time.”
It wasn’t just his lips that were trembling, Obito was quick to notice; his whole body was wracked with shivers. The sight of him looking so pathetic instantly dampened Obito’s ire, and concern was at the forefront of his mind once more. He sighed. “Idiot. Let’s get you warmed up.” He reached for the hem of Madara’s shirt.
Madara knocked his hand away and shot him an irritated look from under his bedraggled fringe, peeling the wet shirt over his head. “I can undress myself,” he said, gritting his teeth hard so they wouldn’t keep chattering. “I’m not an infant.”
Obito turned his back on him, stung. “Could’ve fooled me.” Sometimes he didn’t know why he even bothered. Selfish prick. Did Madara think he had a monopoly on grief? That he was the only one who cared about Izuna? Fuck you too.
Obito stormed back over to the bedroll and crawled back in, throwing himself down on his side and wrapping the blankets around himself. All the blankets. If Madara wanted in, he could damn well beg. He lay there stiffly in the semi-darkness, glaring at the trembling flame of the lantern with his one good eye, as if it were somehow responsible for his relationship problems, rather than the gaping person-shaped hole in both their lives.
When Madara came to lay down on the futon behind him, he was still shaking like a leaf in high wind. He looped an arm over Obito’s blanket-encased waist and pulled him close. His lips were icy as he pressed them to Obito’s scarred cheek. “Sorry.”
Obito jerked at the freezing touch against his skin and bit back a yelp of surprise. Rather than giving him a proper reaction, he settled for an unconvinced grunt, feeling colder by the second with Madara’s rain-chilled body shuddering behind him. “Are you now.”
“I know that I’ve been—” Madara trailed off into silence and sighed deeply. For a long moment he said nothing, the damp of his towelled-off hair seeping into the pillow. When he spoke again, his voice was strained and quiet. “Please. Don’t leave me.”
Obito’s chest twisted painfully, and despite his determination to stay angry, he slipped a hand out of the blankets and gripped Madara’s fingers tightly. “I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”
Madara squeezed Obito’s fingers like he was trying to break his hand, though his grip was still weaker than usual. “Obito.”
Obito threw open the blankets and ushered Madara inside, wriggling out of his own clothes so that the other man could benefit from his bodyheat. He sucked in a sharp breath as their bodies lay flush against one another, because holy fuck Madara was freezing. “You’re not allowed to leave me either, do you understand?” he demanded, clamping his arms fiercely behind Madara’s neck.
It was the thing he dreaded most. He’d been alone most of his life – a parentless child in a clan that already had too many mouths to feed. If you didn’t fight, you were deadweight. When he’d been caught in an explosion as a boy, shrapnel scarring his face and blinding him in one eye, he’d been written off as someone of no consequence by almost everyone. Madara, eldest son of the clan head, had been the only one who had ever shown him kindness that wasn’t tainted with pity – at least until he awakened the Mangekyou a few years back.
He could not lose Madara.
Even if Madara seemed determined to follow Izuna into an early grave. Since the funeral his behaviour was increasingly reckless and erratic, and Obito knew that the other man no longer held his own life in any regard. It hurt to realise that, as always, he just wasn’t enough. Madara did not care for him enough to go on living for Obito’s sake.
Madara didn’t love Obito as Obito loved him.
“You can’t die,” he declared, tone low and fierce. “I won’t allow it. If you get yourself killed then I’ll find a way to bring you back so that I can kill you myself for abandoning me, do you understand?”
Madara made a noise against his shoulder that might have been a laugh.”Since it’s you, I don’t doubt you could find a way.”
”Don’t make me,” Obito warned, rubbing one of his calves against Madara’s to try and feel warm again. The first shock of coldness was fading, and Madara was no longer shaking quite so hard, but it was still far from comfortable.
Outside, the thunder had grown quieter, but the rain was still pelting down as relentlessly as ever. Obito cleaved to the man in his embrace, determined to keep him safe.
Even if he had to burn the world they knew to cinders.