"Step softly, for a dream lies buried here..."
His voice, no matter how the words were drawled or slurred from laziness or drink, was always clear, even through his mask. But now, they were soft, almost muffled. Rememberance, maybe. Sympathy, maybe. But never pity. Obito had always hated that.
"Brought you more flowers. Same kind as every time. Same kind Rin used to bring.."
He trailed off, and gently tossed the few orange tulips onto the grass that covered the old grave. Obito's body had never been recovered- something that still disturbed the silver-haired man- but a grave had been erected nonetheless. His name was on the memorial. This
