Interior of a Heart
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto; all characters contained within and involved in sexual and/or lewd/lascivious activities are over the legal age of eighteen. This applies for all future chapters.
It's Been Forever
He talks about lots of things. Like the obscure fallacies of his old crush. Like the taste of his first kiss. Like the cowlick on the back of his head that's always annoyed him. Like simple, petty things that make Sakura glad that he's nothing like Kakashi or his entire generation—that he's the odd one out from his flock.
And somehow…his mass deformation doesn't bother her. She doesn't even see the grotesque scars and the warped flesh on his right side. The crude absence of his left eye doesn't even deserve more than a passing glance. Because the things that she absolutely adores—cherishes—about Uchiha Obito, alive, warm, and sitting in front of her in that hospital bed as he recovers from everything, completely override whatever physical defects he may harbor.
She watches him draw a smiley face in the "O" of his name on those official hospital reports, and when she signs it, herself, she ends the tail of her signature with a heart.
It's the first time that he presses his lips to hers, stitches stretching, taut, scarred skin of his cheek rubbing against the smooth skin of hers.
And she doesn't mind at all.
Not even when Naruto, happy and content because everything is back to normal in his world, walks in and almost has a heart attack.
Not even when Kakashi, stoic and disapproving, but happy that his friend is back, shakes his head and visits every chance he gets.
Not even when Sasuke, down from his revenge high after the death of his brother and finally home, huffs a soft, almost unnoticeable, "You always knew you'd fall in love with an Uchiha."