He flinched at the contact, the space between Obito's hand and his skin suddenly cooled, blocked from the heat of the flames. It took a moment for the words to register and another for the shame to hit; he was being sent away from the scene to compose himself. He wasn't fool enough not to recognise it.

And he wasn't strong enough to reject it. Sasuke nodded, a jerk of acknowledgment, and turned for the stairs without trying to force words out. The cooler air outside the cellar door was already beginning to smell like smoke, but when he stepped outside there was still no hint of what had happened in the house.

A clear, cloudless morning had risen, birdsong cacophonous.