#otherwise he'd have another 20 layers on

[sinsofsummers]

cool about it

3.4k | boston!joel miller x f!reader

summary: it’s that day again. you don’t know why joel’s so withdrawn, but you help him manage it in the best way you know how. based on 'cool about it' by boygenius. warnings: angst angst angst, angsty smut (sorry), 18+, mdni, implied age gap (joel 50s, reader late 20s) grumpy & sad joel, drug use, alcohol use, oral (m receiving), p in v, creampie, shoulder kisses, pet names & slight praise, body worship kind of, feelings but also joel is bad at feelings, established...situationship. thing. pining (but don't tell them that). romance?? how dare you accuse them of such treachery note: i am so sorry...this is pure unbridled self-indulgence. pls forgive me. also this is set in boston qz, reader and joel have a similar relationship to the one he has with tess, but she doesn't exist in this au (i'm so sorry). also i am kind of so proud of this one

It's been years since you met him, since you've begun to crack his otherwise hard exterior, helping him shed every icy layer to reveal the tired, aging man beneath it all. You've both gone to unbelievable lengths to protect one another against any trouble, or enemy, or plague, that has cast itself in your way. Each night concludes with your limbs tangled together, hands tucked safely within each other's reach. A promise, so quiet it's hardly binding—I've got you.

You've never defined exactly what it means when he calls you sweet pea, or when his lips drop a chaste kiss to your forehead in the morning, or when his hand lingers on your elbow a little longer than normal in the QZ. It never needed to mean anything, so the two of you never spoke about it. You belong to him; he belongs to you.

And yet, every year, on the exact same morning, Joel Miller wakes up a stranger to you. His eyes return to the icy dark depths that you met him with, and his hands find purchase in his pockets rather than absentmindedly rubbing circles on your skin. Every year, without fail, he retreats to his past, a place he won't ever let you see, despite your every wish.

i came prepared for absolution, if you'd only ask

A few years after you met him, you had tried asking him to explain, to let you into his head. It wasn't an attempt at intimacy, or a vulnerability that resembled anything that you hadn't seen from him before, but he'd done nothing more than shake his head.

"M'fine," he'd said. The entire day, every time you asked, no matter how softly, his answer remained unchanged. "Don't feel much like talkin'."

So instead of talking, you'd resorted to letting him come back to you on his own time, in his own way. With rough hands pushing you down to lay on your back, his eyes far away even as he brought you to the edges of bittersweet ecstasy. His kisses were always softer, more distracted. But it was the only communication you ever got out of him on those days.

When he rolled over at night, his hands curled into loose fists, you let him be. He never refused your touch, but you knew enough to recognize when it wouldn't come as any comfort to him. Not on those nights. Never on those nights.

The closest you'd get to falling asleep in his arms on those nights was with a hand placed purposefully between your chest and his back, just close enough that he might lean into it, should he shift in his sleep. And in those soft brushes of skin against cloth lay a million questions.

Forgive me, you'd begged inwardly one night. Forgive me for not understanding, and I'll forgive you for not sharing.

When the sun rose on a new morning, he was always back to the man you were used to, that you had grown dependent on. When his hands reached for you, and when his mouth painted swirls on your chest, you knew that it was out of want for you, not to distract himself from the ghosts of his own past.

He always praised your body's reaction to him, and you always relished in the way that his hips rocked against yours, stretching you out for him—tongue, fingers, his hard intrusion—on those mornings after.

You'd left it at that, for a year or two.

once i took your medication to know what it's like

He'd been resorting to more intense solutions when you decided to do it. When that day came as it always did, you watched as he drowned out the hours with whiskey and pills. You never knew where his supply came from or who was responsible for getting him his drug of choice; you could only sit idly by and watch his features droop from the effects of the dangerous combination, shuffling to your shared bed before he'd pass out until the sun rose on the next morning.

It only took three instances of this before you'd resolved to go through the day exactly as he would, as if it might help you understand. Perhaps it wasn't anything you were meant to understand, but you'd grown weary of seeing him motionless for hours on end. Usually, you never said anything. You didn't really believe he would take enough to cause any real damage; you were blindly faithful in his will to live.

"Joel," you'd said one year. That was all. One syllable, so familiar, and yet it bled with enough warning in your tone that he paused. Don't.

Glass raised, the rim already pressed to his lips—the lips of which you knew every crack and curve—pills already dissolving on his tongue, he'd paused. His eyes never looked at you, though. He sat there, frozen but for the whiskey sloshing gently in the glass before he resumed, swallowing the dark liquid in one go. With hardly a glance in your direction, he'd collapsed to the bed.

You didn't know exactly why you did it, or why it had been that year that you'd become fed up, but you couldn't ignore the fear that struck your chest when you saw him hit the mattress. Before you knew it, you'd swallowed the pills, scowling at the burn of whiskey down your throat.

It had never been your choice of liquor, but you braved the sting in your foolish hopes that it might tell you something about the gray-haired man in your bed. Like drinking his whiskey might envelope you in his arms and whisper his secrets to you.

Laying down beside him, you'd curled up to his side. He was already deep in his drugged slumber; he wouldn't be conscious enough to move from your touch. With a hand on his chest, poised over his heart to reassure yourself that he still had one, you closed your eyes and succumbed to the heavy press of sleep.

When he woke, saw your own empty glass and pill bottle left open on the table, he shook you until you startled awake. Eyes bleary, the effects of the drugs wearing off, you caught him staring down at you, his nose brushing your cheek and his lips a hair's breadth from touching yours.

"Don't ever fuckin' do that again, sweet pea," he snarled, but his words held no malice. You tried to ignore how big his eyes were, pupils blown wide.

You'd wanted to snap at him, to tell him the same thing, but you heard the desperate begging in his voice. The unspoken please. So rather than causing a scene, you'd nodded slowly and let your fingers brush the hem of his shirt. "Okay," you'd whispered. "I won't. Never again, Joel," you repeated, a mantra as you slipped your hands underneath his shirt.

Sliding his arms under your body and pulling you to him, he pressed a kiss to the tip of your nose, then your cheeks, both of your eyelids. He finally bent to your lips, chasing the taste of you and finding only his own mistakes on your tongue.

The day had passed. He had survived. With the gentle lull of his hips slotting against your own, he had breathed shakily into your mouth as your hands wandered along his skin. Like clockwork, Joel Miller had returned to you, if only for a short while.

i ask you how you're doing, and i let you lie

One day, the pills ran out. The whiskey didn't do anything on its own, so Joel was stuck to find something else to distract him. Whether you were the one that flushed his pills or found who was supplying him, you'd never admit. It was much too close to a confession of something than either of you were comfortable with, so you'd stayed quiet. Helped him find a new vice.

These days, you've lost count of how many years you've seen him withdraw into himself, a shell of the man you know. You've stopped trying to follow where his mind goes when the sun rises on that early autumn day, and he's never made the attempt to explain. For just one day a year, the two of you are silent except for a few mumbled words. Your hands rarely touch on those days, always a few centimeters from each other as he sits at the table.

A reminder. That you're there, that he's there, and that the day will pass. It always does.

His new vice becomes you before long, and you can manage that. He's never particularly rough on those days, anyway; he just needs your body to distract his mind. It takes him a bit to sink into the comfort of your curves, but you always help him get there. Until he's twitching under your hands and letting his eyes flutter closed as you expertly undo his jeans.

You never make him fuck you when he's like this, but you're happy to oblige when he slips a hand between your thighs, reaching for your core and always finding it ready for him. If it pleases him, you let him take whatever he needs.

With whispered moans that make your chest constrict and rough fingers pressing bruises to your hips that he'll kiss away the next morning, he gets through the day.

Today, you know it's not one of those mornings. He's already been awake for a while when you open your eyes, based on his tense posture as he sits on the edge of the bed. He's facing the window, which means his back is to you, withholding his face from yours.

Of course, you don't need to look at him to know what his face will look like. His chin is tucked toward his chest, and his eyes will be closed, hands clenched together as if in prayer. But you know better than to think of Joel Miller as a spiritual man. Whatever faith he might have had all those years ago has withered into scraps. His only faith is in your constant presence in his bed each night.

You sit up slowly, and the sound of rustling sheets makes him twitch his head to the side, the sight of his jaw ticking the only acknowledgement of you being there. With slow movements, you move to sit behind him, your legs on either side of his hips but never close enough to touch. He's gotten better at allowing for a few more moments of contact, and you think this means he's making progress.

How could you ever be sure, though? When he still won't reveal the pain of today?

"Did you wake up to see the sunrise?" you ask gently, leaning forward and bracing your hands in front of you, waiting. His response will determine how you'll distract him for the coming hours.

As usual, Joel doesn't say anything, but his back reclines an inch. It's all you need.

"I'll bet it was real pretty," you continue, trying to keep your voice soft. This is one of your many routines; you lift your hands and press them to his back, just enough for him to feel your fingertips. You don't know if he listens to anything you say, or if he even cares. This part is just for you. This is how you get through these days.

You lean just a bit further, letting your forehead rest on his shoulder. Your hands slide around his middle and your stomach flips selfishly at the feeling of his muscles tensing beneath your featherlight touch. Reaching down for his lap, you rest your palm against his jeans, feeling him twitch against your hand. There he is.

Maybe it's sad, maybe it's fucked up, but fuck what anyone else would say. This is what he needs, the only thing that helps him stay out of his nightmarish memories, whatever they may be. You'll never ask him to show that side of himself, not anymore.

Pressing a kiss to his shoulder, you deftly work the button on his jeans, pushing the zipper down and reaching into his waistband until his half-hard cock comes free. It rests heavy in your hand, and you're comforted by the weight of it. His shoulders are too broad for you to see it, but you're not bothered by this. With another kiss, this one landing on the soft skin of his neck, you give him a languid stroke.

Joel's chest rises and falls as he breathes, and you can feel his arousal stirring as he grows firmer in your grip. His hands begin to unclench, but his fingers remain flat on his tights, never touching you outside of where your legs are hooked to his, your chest flush with his back.

The room is silent except for his breathing, every second getting more shallow. You can feel the tension in his back release a little, and you let your thumb rub a slow circle over the slit on his tip, precum just starting to leak onto your hand.

You stay like this for a few minutes, one arm wrapped around his stomach and your other hand on his cock, tugging slow enough not to overwhelm him, and fast enough to keep him pulsing in your hand.

Only when his hips buck involuntarily do you let go, moving from your place behind him to the floor. Your knees hit the wood hard, but you ignore the pain as your hands slide up his thighs.

His own hands remain still on his jeans, and he lets you interlock your fingers with his own. A small mercy. Today might not be as bad as the years before, and you dip your head to lick a stripe from base to tip before closing your mouth around the head of his cock.

Joel's fingers twitch in your grasp, and you squeeze back, hardly noticeable. Just enough to act as thanks. Thank you for letting me do this. For you.

You never look up, afraid of what his eyes will betray when your mouth is around him. You know this is only a distraction, a slow respite from his thoughts. So you ignore the impatient pulse between your thighs and take him as deep as he'll go, your hopes lifting when you hear his shaky sighs.

One of his hands released yours and lands on your head, smoothing your hair as his hips fight to keep still. Your head bobs up and down, your spit mixing with his precum to leave a shining mess on his shaft.

He pats your head softly, the wet sounds of your mouth on him the only noise in the room. But then he's opening his mouth, and he's combing his fingers through your hair, and he's mumbling, "thank you, sweet pea," just quiet enough that you think you're imagining it.

Maybe you did. He doesn't say it again, and you don't look up to see how wrecked he looks. You're content to remain on your knees the entire day if it means he can relax, let go of whatever's haunting him.

But then he's pulling your head back, his cock leaving your mouth with a wet pop. Hands under your arms, he tugs you to stand in front of him. This time you do let yourself look at him, but his eyes don't lift to meet yours. He tugs your shorts and panties from your body, and once you step out of them he splays his hands on the backs of your thighs to pull you onto his lap.

His head is still tipped toward where your bodies rest against each other, rocking your pelvis against the length of his cock with a shuddering sigh. But you don't mind the view; you sit just a few inches taller than him in this position, so you can brace yourself against his shoulders, your chin resting against the top of his head.

He reaches down to rub a few quick circles on your clit, and you let him move your hips when he's ready, lodging his cock at your entrance. You're dripping, you have been this entire time, but you'd shoved down the heady desire that had punched its way through your body until he was ready. Now, with his hand guiding his tip into your sopping cunt, you let out a breath. There he is, a voice in your head repeats.

He pushes your hips down at an agonizingly slow pace, your pussy swallowing every inch of him, the sounds of your moans colliding at the feeling. "So good to me," he mumbles, pressing a kiss to your sternum and tilting his head back, closing his eyes. "Perfect."

You know that he doesn't think he deserves your praise, but you give it to him anyway. "That's it," you hum, squirming with his cock buried to the hilt. It's all you can do not to lift your hips and drag yourself up and down his length. "Take what you need, Joel."

He never lasts long when he can feel your walls squeezing his cock for all it's worth, your body betraying you when your mind just wants to remain warm and wet and ready for him all day long, until he's ready to be done with you. But with one look at you, his dark eyes finally connecting to yours, he blinks. "Thank you, sweat pea," he murmurs again.

You lift your thumb to his forehead and you trace the lines on his weathered skin, watching as your touch releases the tension from his face. All that's left is his desire, his need for you, however distracted it may be.

Joel lets himself enjoy this, as he rocks his hips into yours, the head of his cock brushing that spot deep inside you until you're shaking in his hands, forehead tipped against his as you let your moans fill the space between the two of you. He lifts your hips, pulling you nearly all the way off of him until he shoves you back down, the delicious squelch of your pussy on his cock wrenching a knee-buckling groan from his lips. "Where?" he asks, as he does every time.

You don't need to tell him, but you do. "Fill me up, Joel," you coo, a shot of pleasure spreading throughout your entire body. "Come with me, I'm right here with you."

"That's it, darlin'," is all he groans before he's wrapping his arms around your back, tugging your chest to him in a tight embrace. His face disappears into the space between your breasts and you feel his entire body quiver with yours as you reach your peak. Warmth floods your core as he spills his release into you, your walls fluttering with the intensity of your orgasm. You pull him to you, returning his near-painful embrace.

You're as close as lovers, as close to one another as you can physically get, but it'll never be enough.

The high after he comes inside you is fleeting. Only a few minutes pass before the line inevitably returns to his brow and his frown deepens after he softens. He doesn't lift you off of him, though, so you soak up the feeling while you can.

"Better?" you whisper, eyes locked on his.

He nods slowly after a moment, his mouth set in a grim line. "Always," he mumbles gently, his hand cupping your jaw as his thumb strokes your bottom lip. He presses his thumb into your mouth to the first knuckle, letting you taste salt and old sweat and your nectar on his skin.

You know better than to believe him, but you don't argue. Not today, never today. So you lift the corners of your lips in a sad smile and pretend that it doesn't feel like water rising in your lungs every time this day comes.

but we don't have to talk about it

i can walk you home and practice method acting

i'll pretend being with you doesn't feel like drowning

tellin' you it's nice to see how good you're doing

even though we know it isn't true

Joel will never tell you what's on his mind. Never today. September 26th won't ever mean anything to you, so why would he bother? For him, it's everything and nothing all at once. Brown curls and sparkling young eyes and blood crusted on his arms and the unforgettable weight of death in his arms.

Another year older, he sighs, his heart clenching in grief. Another year older, and another year further from everything he's lost.

tysm for reading, here's a box of tissues. :') i love u all

[ichigomaniac]

OC-Kun + 7

7. In winter clothes

[peekintoeternity]

i'm sorry to reblog my own post (?) but i just love how people have been finally talking more about this scene and the layers upon layers of significance these panels have to both kakashi & obito's past, but let me just add (because i haven't seen it mentioned much)

it was confirmed in chapter #599 (titled "Uchiha Obito") that Obito didn't just "forget", he was very clearly/specifically distracted by...

Naruto - Chapter #599

Remember the iconic "Obito dramatically dropping the roses that will forever be ungiven, unspoken, unknown" moment?

Basically Obito got promoted to chūnin around the same time Kakashi was made jōnin.

He thought Rin asking to meet, probably secretly, right after he shared with her how he was finally a chūnin, must've meant that she saw him differently after he worked his ass off, training through winter and all; that maybe she finally "liked" him that way because he'd proven himself or something.

This was the last time Obito got his hopes up about possibly "winning" Rin's affections, and the last time we ever see Obito seriously having romantic thoughts about Rin.

(Again, as I've talked about in another post, Obito's wishes when he thought he was dying wasn't to be with Rin or anything like that; just that he wished he could've been honest with her—told her how much she really meant to him. Then, in Kaguya's dimension, Obito's thoughts about wanting "alone time" with Rin is quite obviously a poor attempt to diminish the true significance of his actions, painting it as disingenuous or light-hearted, coated with sarcasm���a typical "dudebros disguising/downplaying their sensitive feeeeelings" typa shit—because again, obviously it had nothing to do with Rin or romantic intentions with a girl who died almost 20 years ago at 13yo, but was literally just Obito giving his life to save Kakashi again, because he never once wanted Kakashi dead; because obviously, he always loved Kakashi as much as he loved Rin.)

So Obito went to meet Rin as she asked, with all these ideas & hopes he'd built up in his teen-hormones-addled brain, all psyched up because he thinks he actually has a chance again, and probably even thinking Rin was going to have a gift for him to celebrate his promotion; an offering he would respond to with his own: the roses and a confession.

Little did he know she also invited... basically their whole class and the whole thing was actually to celebrate Kakashi being made jōnin. (lmfao)

You know that lyric in Billie Eilish's song "Happier Than Ever", about her toxic ex who "made all my moments your own"?

That probably captured the bitterness pre-teen Obito might've felt deep down, because even when he thought he'd accomplished something, and that Rin finally saw him (instead of just pitying him or something), it turned out to be, yet again, all about Kakashi. (At this point this should be clear, and I think it was even mentioned in canon, but preteen Obito had a lot of issues with inferiority complex and hiding that with his bravado.)

In the morning before their Kannabi Bridge mission, likewise, Minato & Rin prepared gifts and congratulated Kakashi for having become jōnin. No one (in canon) celebrated Obito.

When Kakashi emphasized that it was a big day for him, it must've only emphasized for Obito that it wasn't just Minato & Rin; it seemed even Kakashi didn't care that Obito had finally made chūnin.

Of course, looking at the shinobi system, it probably really isn't a big deal to be made chūnin.

(Realistically, there might've even been an unspoken understanding that Konoha was giving out more promotions more readily than they otherwise would've were they in different times; since it's canon that they were so overwhelmed and losing badly during the Third Shinobi World War and hence were forced to even send children to the battlefield.)

But in Obito's defense, for a child his age who had always seen himself as inferior and not good enough, "the black sheep of the Uchiha clan", who was constantly told probably by teachers and everyone—and in canon, by Kakashi—that he brought shame upon his clan (and village), he probably thought at least now that he'd been made chūnin, Kakashi would at least pick on him a little less or something. Treat him a little differently, maybe, with a little more respect? But nope, nothing seemed to have changed at all. (more on this later)

(I just realized this whole paragraph is going to sound so sad like Obito's some wounded puppy expecting scraps because he knows it's all he'll ever get lmfao.)

That said, Obito didn't seem to have too much jealousy & bitterness at Kakashi for this. Even when he realized that when Rin asked him to meet it was about Kakashi, he only felt embarrassment (for himself) and then faked a smile, went along with the proverbial show that must go on. Rather than being overtaken by the green monster, so to speak, it seems the only effect of that humiliating ordeal (for preteen Obito) was him being so distracted by the whole spiral it put him through—realizing his hardwork still barely got him anywhere and coming to terms with how his feelings for Rin would never be reciprocated and all that—that he probably forgot he was supposed to have a gift for Kakashi by the day of the Kannabi Bridge mission.

And, of course, it seems he really did feel bad about this. After all, he ended up trying to "make up" for it by giving Kakashi his eye, the most valuable thing he could've given. Also worth noting how another reason for him not having a gift for Kakashi could've been that he simply didn't know what to get, since, well, we know what Kakashi was like at the time. When Obito gave him the eye, Obito even said "don't worry, this won't be useless", remembering the exact words Kakashi used to dismiss Obito's feelings / emotions (and by extension Obito himself) as something useless, unnecessary, worthless; better off completely discarded.

Naruto - Chapter #241

"Better nothing, than a useless burden."

Rin likely had parents, and Minato had a jōnin's salary, but Obito in canon is an orphan (the grandma thing is pure filler, in canon it was explicitly stated he grew up just like Naruto) who even his clan hated.

I feel like a lot of people forget this part of Obito's (early) life, that he likely struggled with poverty. It makes much more sense, when you understand this, why in that OVA from the video game which supposedly was written by Kishi (it's only confirmed that he had a hand in writing the script/drafts/storyboards), Obito lied and said he wasn't hungry when Kushina gave him the lunch she prepared. Knowing how prideful the Uchiha clan can be, and how shinobi are raised, it's obvious he likely felt like a huge burden because he had to take Kushina's "handouts", since it's likely he couldn't always afford a good meal every day.

Unlike Naruto, he didn't have Hiruzen providing him with monthly provisions. Obito probably had to do some forms of child labor and/or lived off what little his parents left him before their deaths, if any; since Kakashi similarly had to fend for himself, though this is shown in filler. Either way, it could not have been easy, since, again unlike Naruto, Obito grew up during a wartorn era, a war which Konoha was losing (until Kannabi Bridge); so probably even Clan Head Fugaku's kids couldn't feast on a full meal every night at the time. So, obviously, would an orphan like Obito with no known relatives or even a clan that supported him during wartimes have been able to afford a "worthy" gift for a genius with a legendary father, like the custom kunai that Minato gave Kakashi? One that Kakashi wouldn't immediately mock and stomp on (in Obito's mind at least)?

Add all that to his inferiority complex, and it wouldn't be hard to imagine that Obito literally would not know what he could possibly get to give Kakashi that Kakashi wouldn't chew him out for anyway, and/or throw away right after receiving it, because it wasn't good enough.

Anddd let's not forget, Kakashi's friendship actually means a lot more to Obito than most fans seem to understand.

The first time Obito was shown to be seriously upset with Kakashi was when he said he was OK leaving Rin in the hands of their enemy—and god knows what happens to girls/women captured by enemy soldiers (unrelated reminder that in anime-only episodes, Karin & her mother were strongly implied to have been sexually assaulted while being held hostage during the war). And of course, Obito was infuriated at Kakashi, finally saying "I've decided I don't like you"—as if before that, even with how much of a "bully" he must've perceived Kakashi to be (although preteen child-soldier Kakashi had no such intentions ofc, he was just bad at social interactions), it was only at that moment, when Kakashi turned his back on Rin, that Obito truly decided then that he didn't "like" Kakashi (strongly implying a different sentiment before).

Naruto - Chapter #241

"I've decided... I don't like you!"

Also important to note, Obito never made ad hominem / personal attacks to Kakashi even then, beyond saying he "didn't like him" (the mildest goddamn insult, thank goodness Madara helped him with his roast game later) (couldn't even say "I hate you"?)—when he was probably angrier and more disappointed in Kakashi than he had ever been at that point in time.

He explicitly stated, even as a 13-year-old, that it was the shinobi system that he blamed & hated (based af): he said the true scums were the shinobi who believed in abandoning comrades (i.e. forsaking people's lives and wellbeing) for the sake of the mission (winning / stoking the war, etc.); and then he swore to destroy all the shinobi who thought that was what being a true shinobi meant.

Again, it's interesting how it seemed he was shrewd enough even at that age, in that situation (probably the most scared & concerned & frustrated & disapponted & betrayed & just emotionally wrecked that Obito had ever been in his life), to identify the problems within the way shinobi were raised, the chain of command, and the system of wars and violence and dehumanization and missions—blaming those things while at the same time freeing Kakashi of the bullshit he was brainwashed into believing about his father; rather than call Kakashi a coward or a disappointment to his father or other cruel words (which, OK, he probably wasn't even capable of, but no one could've blamed him if he'd said those things when Kakashi had effectively said, albeit out of ignorance/trauma/state-brainwashing/etc., that he didn't care if Rin was killed, tortured, raped, or whatever).

It's alsooo worth noting that even Minato never said the White Fang was a hero for choosing to save his comrades; in fact the way he said Sakumo's body, mind, and will deteriorated almost implied he thought Sakumo became less of a man as a result of the trauma. Minato also said Sakumo was faced with a difficult decision, meaning for Minato, both the mission and his subordinates' lives (immediate well-being) were equally important or almost so; when for Obito, we already know it's not difficult at all, and that he would save his comrades or prevent clear/immediate harm to them every. single. time.

Naruto - Chapter #240

"There, he was forced into a difficult decision. It was a toss-up between completing the mission and saving the lives of his teammates..."

"Obviously, it's against the law of our village to abandon any mission... But he put his comrades above the task at hand."

"The whole ordeal caused his body and soul to deteriorate, and Sakumo took his life..."

And! Minato only told Obito about Kakashi's father in the first place because Obito asked him about Kakashi, because he just couldn't understand why Kakashi had to be so cruel (in his mind). No one, not even Rin who claimed to love Kakashi, ever showed this kind of care for Kakashi's situation; for why he was, uhhh, generally unhappy. (I don't even recall the new Team 7, i.e. Naruto, Sakura, and Sasuke, ever asking anyone about why Kakashi was mostly alone and so depressed, etc.) And in a filler flashback episode, Obito was also the only one who cared when told that Kakashi's then-teammates hated him and said awful things about him behind his back. It wasn't Rin or Minato or anyone else, but Obito who tried to approach Kakashi, sitting alone by the lake.

(It's almost funny that a big part of the Naruto-Sasuke dynamic is how Naruto always wanted to approach Sasuke when he seemed alone and sad and shit, but could never bring himself to do that. And then the writers for that filler episode thought, yep, Obito would totally just approach Kakashi just like that, lol.)

Naruto - Chapter #240

"I... I know teamwork is important..."

"But... when Kakashi keeps belittling me, always rubbing his nose in my lack of discipline..."

"Err... No. What I mean is, I might be born into the elite Uchiha Clan... but I'm just a washout..."

It's also funny and almost endearing, if a bit fucked up, the way he struggled to form his question, and how he started off almost criticizing Kakashi, or at least just confessing how hurt he is from how Kakashi always belittled him—but then corrected himself and shifted to self-blame, saying that (despite his "mask" as a happy, self-assured child) he was the one who wasn't good enough; a washout, dead-last, black sheep... with the "hence probably deserving of all the shit I have to put up with" strongly implied.

In obvious conclusion, Obito may not have been overt about it, but he probably actually cared about Kakashi (much) more deeply than anyone else in the team; which is kinda hella insane considering Kakashi was the meanest to Obito, not just in the team but lmao, in like Kakashi's whole life. (Seriously. He's never been as mean or condescending at any point in his life as he was with Obito—even with those adult shinobi subordinates who complained about him, they only ever brought up Kakashi's bad teamwork or lack of care for their wellbeing; there was no mention of verbal abuse or condescension or anything.)

(The flip side, of course, is that Kakashi is clearly nice, or at least becomes much nicer, after the conflict with Obito was resolved; largely thanks to finally getting over at least parts of the trauma & hangups harbored from his dad's suicide and dishonoring—thanks to Obito's words & sacrifice.)

Againnn, jokes aside, I'm not saying Kakashi is a bully or abusive friend or whatever because he was going through his own fucked-up shit. The point is, this whole thing speaks way more to Obito as a character; a deeply hurt child who yearned for friendship, who maintained the most precious sense of loyalty, and whose thoughtfulness and emotions were never quite snuffed out by the harsh shinobi system; who could've begun to resent his friend but instead never stopped trying to reach them, to catch up to them, to give them the benefit of the doubt, all to ultimately help them—even when they were actively hurting him.

(No wonder Madara thought, "Ah yes, this boy with such deep love would be perfect for my plans! Just needs a cursed seal as the cherry on top to suppress all that kindness and devotion from anything but the plan...")

And uhhh this has gotten ridiculously long, so let me just close with—I think it's ridiculous how most people reduce preteen/pre-Madara Obito to just a sweet summer child who disliked / was jealous of Kakashi; there was so much more going on with him, and so much more to how he actually felt about Kakashi, even in what little canon showed, if you only looked.

Naruto - Chapter #239

Kakashi to Minato:

"You're a real pushover. You should be getting angry at Obito... every single time."

Naruto - Chapter #239

"Rin, you're too easygoing toward Obito... This is a very important day for me..."

Naruto - Chapter #239

"That's fine... Make yourself useful... Carry my stuff for me!"