Their father made them stop sharing when he found out. "It's no trouble," Itachi murmured. It wasn't. Sasuke was a handful in the daylight, too loud and too bright and too noticeable; but not at night. He didn't kick or flail or make noise, just snuggled against him, small and warm, and fell asleep almost instantly. And Sasuke's asthma attacks were becoming both irregular and frequent; it was easier monitoring him in the night this way.
It made sense and was practical, but their father said gravely, "Sasuke's old enough to sleep on his own." Something about the way he said it made Itachi feel guilty and confused. It was like being told that he was less of a shinobi for not minding; like he was in the wrong, somehow, to be ten years old and not demand to have a bed to himself. Sasuke just stood at the doorway to Itachi's room, clutching a soft toy and looking wide-eyed and uncertain.
Itachi said, "Yes, Father," and moved aside, letting his father pass through. He helped Sasuke ready his bed in his own room in silence, trying to pinpoint what he'd done wrong.
Since he made chuunin, his missions took longer, taking him away for anything from a couple of days to a month and a half. In the First War Memorial week, he went to Waterfall country on a B-rank, and came back after midnight. All the lights were out, but when Itachi came to his room Sasuke's eyes were wide open above the sheets, liquid, reflecting the moonlight that trickled in through the blinds.
"Go to sleep, Sasuke," Itachi said, softly so their father wouldn't hear. Sasuke's eyes closed, but ten minutes later after Itachi had stripped off his uniform and gotten into his own bed, Sasuke was at his side whispering "Nii-san, nii-san."
Itachi shifted over, and Sasuke climbed in with him. In the morning, even though they didn't have training, they both bolted upright in the bed and froze, listening. Their parents were asleep; the shifting of the air was calm and unhurried, and when he exhaled and relaxed, so did Sasuke.
Sasuke tipped his warm cheek towards Itachi's and mumbled, "How's the mission?"
"The targets were all dealt with," Itachi said, ruffling Sasuke's soft spiky head. "Come on, Sasuke. I'll make you breakfast."
It would have been asking for trouble if they did it often, so they didn't. If Itachi came back while his parents were still awake, Sasuke didn't seem to need cuddling. Itachi found himself disappointed, because some missions required a level of detachment he couldn't muster yet. He was old enough to know that it would be wrong for him to ask; he was a qualified shinobi. So he never did. Their father wasn't fond of mornings and Kaa-san had relied on Itachi to wake Sasuke up for years, so they didn't seem to know about it, but it wasn't a secret; they weren't being dishonest. He would have thought differently, but Itachi felt that this was and always would be between him and Sasuke; as long as he was competent and efficient and didn't fail as a shinobi, no one had grounds for complaint.
The summer Sasuke's asthma reared its head once more, they couldn't at all; Kaa-san began sleeping in the same room as him, on a futon Itachi helped carry in. He'd been a chuunin for a year by then, so the Hokage began assigning them longer missions, and Itachi came back after a five week-long stint spying on a daimyo's cousin in Tea to find Sasuke breathing shallowly in stuttering gasps.
"He's been like this for the past three days," Kaa-san told him when he asked. "The healer said he should be fine, as long as he takes his medicine and doesn't exert himself."
Itachi took off his sandals and sat cross-legged on the bed, stroking Sasuke's hair. The way he was flopped down on the bed suggested bone-deep exhaustion, so Itachi began rubbing his shoulders and neck gently. He moved Sasuke's head on to his lap for a better angle, and Sasuke made a quiet, happy mewl.
"Where does it hurt, Sasuke?" Itachi asked. Sasuke's hair wasn't as thick and warm as it normally was; it hung limp under his fingers, as ill as the rest of his brother.
Sasuke shifted slowly, painfully. "Everywhere," he mumbled. Then his eyes widened, life flooding sluggishly into them, and he made to move away. Itachi helped him raise himself to a sitting position. "Nii-san, go away. You'll get sick, too."
Itachi reached out and drew him back in, and Sasuke came without resistance. "I'll be fine," he said, smiling. "Worry about yourself, Otouto."
He resumed rubbing Sasuke's shoulders, first with one hand, and then the other. That was how he remembered that summer, afterwards; the draining intensity of his missions, and coming home to help Sasuke fall asleep.
They spent the week leading up to Sasuke's seventh birthday training in the forest. Itachi had a few weeks off because his entire team was down from chakra depletion, and Sasuke had been hinting none-too-subtly about shuriken jutsus ever since Itachi's chuunin exam. He'd tagged along before when Itachi trained, but he'd been a quiet, unobtrusive presence, no more than a pair of bright onyx eyes peering out from behind a tree as Itachi hit target after target, or a squawk and rustle of dried leaves as a kunai landed near his feet. But Academy was drawing nearer for him, and Sasuke was coordinated enough to handle something that was largely comprised of sharp edges; so Itachi took him out with him, after murmuring a largely unnecessary promise to look out for Sasuke to Kaa-san.
Sasuke crawled into bed with him every night that week without asking, snuggling up to him and falling asleep within one heartbeat and the next. He had grown, but not by much; he was still gentle lines and rounded edges, puppy fat and whisper-soft dark hair. Itachi knew from the way he held himself that Sasuke would grow up to be tall and lean; there was the unmistakable hint of agility and truly exemplary speed in his movements.
One day, Sasuke would be all long poky legs and vicious-sharp elbows, and the bed would no longer be big enough for both of them. He thought that even once that eventuality came to pass, it wouldn't be enough to stop his little brother from trying to squirm in under the sheets with him if he really wanted to.
Itachi smiled.
The order was given in a civilian-owned abandoned building, far enough away from the Hokage monument to feel like they weren't even in the village anymore. There was a thick sheen of dust over everything, a lingering, malicious grime that clung to him where he was kneeling. The hilt of his sword was summer-warm under his chilled fingers.
After Danzou left, Itachi stayed for a while, crouched with his fingers twisted like claws around his sword. The cobwebs and decades-old dust bounced back his wild, stricken breaths to him, the echoes shattering into his sanity and making the rigid line of his spine snap, sprawling him across the floor, bringing him down to their level.
Presently, he stood up, corrected his expression, and left for the Uchiha compound, and straight to bed facing the wall.
His door cracked open, a shard of light inching tentatively across his bed.
Go away, Sasuke, Itachi thought he said. The words got entangled in the traps and tangles of every other thing he'd ever said, and never made it out. Sasuke crawled in beside him, unbidden, unchastised, and curled up behind against his back. His fingers on Itachi's spine made him shiver.
Itachi stayed on his side and tried not to feel the warm puffs of breath against the back of his neck. He stared at the wall, separating himself from the dark panicked undertow of his thoughts, molding himself towards the unshakable structure of it needs to be done.
"Nii-san," Sasuke said softly.
Itachi froze in the dark, his slipshod mental fortress crumbling.
Sasuke didn't say anything more. He slipped his arm over Itachi's waist and rested his hand over his stomach, and eventually, Itachi stopped shaking, and they both fell asleep.
There were no illusions of peace after he killed his clan. It had happened quickly, efficiently, everything a shinobi mission strived to be, and afterward Itachi watched silently as Madara washed his scarlet-tinged weapons and hands in Nakano River. His own hands were spotless and ghost-pale in the moonlight.
"It's done," Madara straightened. "I would have preferred there to be no complications, but."
Itachi didn't say anything. His hand tightened its grip on his sword. Madara, seeing this, grimaced and said, "Well, better get going, then. Konoha prefers to get rid of its trash under cover of darkness."
Itachi glanced at him before he vanished. "Don't go near him," he said, rigidly.
Madara's sharingan crinkled. "Wouldn't dream of it."
The illness that ravaged his body was nothing but the jangling coins in a currency of underwhelming consequence. The powder that the healing woman from Iwa gave him was bitter and dry as bones; he spent nights coughing up the sandpapery serration of his throat, staining the sheets with the scarlet of his judgment.
Once, after he'd knelt for the first time before Leader but before he'd been paired with Kisame, he came to his rooms wet and cold and half-asleep, one military government crumbled by a kunai against a throat and a taste of Tsukuyomi. There was a band of mercenaries after him, but they wouldn't reach where he was for at least half a day and by then, he would be gone. He took his sandals and muddy, dripping-wet cloak off, and then crawled into bed and mumbled a, "Sasuke, could you get in here?"
He heard himself say it, and shocked awake, his throat constricted. He gripped two handfuls of the bedding and held on tight.
Leader's chakra was a chokehold, stifling in the rain-heavy humidity of the air.
"Your next mission," he said, unblinking as Itachi's sharingan bled into life without forethought.
Images: a man with a weary, lined face and a tired, indulgent smile; a woman, yellow hair like spun gold falling to her waist. A boy who smiled like the sun's rays were tangible, long thin fingers outstretched towards a falling, dew-tinted leaf.
A family.
"The Fire's daimyo's half-brother," Leader said. No inflection. The swirls of his eyes were a living thing, twisting and godly-still at the same time. "Take care of it."
Kisame, beside him, nodded once briskly, and tows Itachi away. As they were leaving, an image of the boy filled Itachi's mind once more, only this time he could almost taste the boy's happiness, and the sharp just of his hipbone where his dark jacket was riding up had become accusingly clear.
Leader knew Itachi better than most.
The brother that grazed past his life four years later, like the trajectory of a deflected kunai, was neither the one that he kicked to the dirt nor the one he was pushing him towards. At twelve years old, Sasuke was a flash of sharingan and the chirping of birds, speed and fury and betrayal that still stung sharp and deep. He favored his left leg when he moved. He needed a haircut.
Itachi wondered, in the inhale before the killing blow that made Sasuke's hair glow blue and skin look translucent, how he'd ever thought that he could manage to keep away.
The jinchuuriki unharmed, his own continued existence confirmed indirectly to the village elders, Itachi began to almost wish that he hadn't returned, however briefly, to Konoha. More than any remnants of misplaced nostalgia, it was his single chance to glimpse who Sasuke was when he wasn't surrounded by the corrosive influence of his clan, when he was on the road that would one day make him as strong as his spirit.
His clan was his family and the road was one of carnage, but Itachi was also made acutely aware of the loneliness- more potent than his need for vengeance, and far more damning than his carefully-nurtured hate- that was enthroned in his younger brother's mind. He saw the skin-deep madness seeping inwards, spreading like cancer, and felt, for an instant, like the greatest fool to ever have lived.
The three years after that came and passed in a steady trickle, bracketed by the spinning patterns of Sasuke's eyes. He went on more missions with Kisame, and not all of the targets Leader assigned them were boys with a certain bone structure and dark hair; his eyesight deteriorated parallel to his body, hurrying him towards an end, a purging, even as he mixed his elixir of bitter medicine and resolve.
News reached him with the feather-light brushes of his summons' minds against his; they spoke of defection and Orochimaru, of a fantastic pulse of incompatible chakra merging reluctantly, setting a waterfall backwards and briefly splitting the earth itself. Hawk-master, his crows called Sasuke, clear-sighted, slow with their admiration. They were bound to Itachi, but not to his perceptions; they had their own yardsticks of improvement and his little brother seemed to have come up to par.
Accordingly, he tied up loose ends and lay low. Sheathed himself in the Uchiha fan, because Sasuke had always been impulsive and no amount of rigid discipline of mind would be enough to reignite his hate if he faltered, even once. His overtaxed eyes frequented the shadows gratefully, and his limbs folded themselves haltingly into a position that didn't make his breath hitch with pain. Thus, he waited.
And as he waited, he dreamed.
The Sasuke he received next wasn't so much a surprise as it was an open-handed slap to the face.
Sasuke- transformed, transfigured, reborn, in a way that would have been staggering if Itachi hadn't been frozen in place. Sasuke has traded the protective high-collars and soft drape of Uchiha jackets for something more brutally honest. The unfocused hatred, the desperation for approval, the confusion and soft childish anger- they had all given way, consumed by a hard, cold knot of searing confidence. His skin wasn't shown; it was unsheathed. His darting gaze and hesitation had turned into brittle frigidness and surety. When he looked around, it wasn't to evaluate, but to accuse.
So this was what his brother looked like when all the potential had been brazenly unleashed, like liquid magma. This was what Sasuke was capable of becoming when his own dampening presence was removed. And it was all Itachi ever hoped for, and far more, because it wasn't at all what he'd envisioned –this was Sasuke's own brand of linear logic and take-no-prisoners honesty. Sasuke was physicality and emotion and tightly-wound control, and Itachi was at a complete loss how to react.
Itachi was lost and wandering in a foreign world, because Sasuke –his little brother- had changed the rules and rewritten reality, altered his perceptions so that all the things he'd been telling himself about Sasuke became null and void.
"Nii-san," Sasuke said, and Itachi had to close his eyes to let the two realities superimpose themselves, and when had Sasuke's voice become so deep?
"Sasuke," he said levelly. Waiting. Instinctively wary.
Sasuke stepped forward, further into the shadows. Before he slipped through Itachi's first layer of genjutsu, he said, "I came for you, onii-san, not for vengeance."
His chakra stayed perfectly still, clouded by Itachi's own.
Itachi said, "There's no difference. Your vengeance lies within me."
The shadows cradling Sasuke shifted as he stepped closer. "Don't," he said, his voice flickering with reigned-in fear.
Then: "Nii-san, you're hurting yourself."
Afraid for him. Itachi raised his hand to press down on his temples, and let loose a long, exhausted sigh. "You were told," he stated.
There was a jerky up-down motion of Sasuke's head. "Kakashi found out." A pause. "He convinced me to go back to Konoha."
Itachi looked at him sharply. Sasuke's chin tilted up, a hint of a smirk fluttering about his face. Perhaps he could see how badly he disconcerted Itachi –or, more likely, he correctly assumed that this threw all his calculations off balance.
"Another time, then, our disagreement," Itachi said, rising to his feet. "You're clearly in no state to defeat me."
Sasuke's hand went to his back, and a katana slipped out, reflecting the sparse light of the torches. That was new. "There is no disagreement," he said. "You are Uchiha Itachi of Konohagakure. And you're coming back there with me."
Itachi held back a sigh. "Foolish Otouto," he said, and Sasuke's entire body flinched. "I still have the blood of your clan on my hands."
There it was: the faint shadow of guilt that was the opening Itachi had been waiting for. His own confusion, desperation, and yes, the heady delight of seeing his brother step up to his potential- they could wait. The adulation of killing him would go to Sasuke and Sasuke alone.
When Sasuke broke through the first layer of genjutsu –his chakra wild and ferocious- Itachi stood behind him, close enough to force Sasuke's shinobi instincts to kick in. "You seem to forget," he said, driving his point home by the whisper of his breath gently ruffling the havoc of Sasuke's hair, a moment that was thrillingly, inconceivably physical, "that I killed our parents, Sasuke."
Sasuke was very still. His hand was flexing on his katana, his knuckles going red then white.
"Or will you let that slide?" There wasn't much finesse in the blatant goading –Sasuke saw through it, but Itachi was careful to choose the words that would strike messily if shallowly. Itachi needed Sasuke to see- see beyond his childish vindication, his concepts of redemption, see that in the end, Itachi must die, because that was the only way their clan's sins would be purged and Sasuke would be forgiven in the eyes of the world.
"Will you run away once more, Otouto? Realize that no matter how many excuses you make, we both remain orphans because of my actions."
Sasuke's eyes flicked to his, the fire ablaze, but still, but still, his katana remained half-drawn. His throat worked; something was holding him back, almost physically. Something was blocking the path Itachi had set down for them, and the stalemate echoed across the hall because he would not be the one to instigate this fight.
Itachi closed his eyes and relaxed his stance. "Come back later, Sasuke," he said wearily. "Once you've finally gathered the courage to kill me."
"Itachi."
The senbon whistled past his face, and abruptly, a trickle of blood began streaking down his face. Itachi stopped moving.
"I am stronger," Sasuke said, because Itachi hadn't indicated that he wasn't listening. "I'm strong enough to see that what they did to you was wrong, nii-san, and they're going to regret making you suffer."
Itachi moved to turn around, because he was genuinely beginning to lose his temper and Sasuke's sincerity made his chest ache oddly, but he realized that his limbs weren't obeying, weren't-
"Sasuke," he murmured, and Sasuke moved forward, catching him awkwardly when he stumbled. He seemed strangely far away. "Sasuke, what have you done?"
Sasuke –sharp-edged, vicious-brilliant Sasuke- was beginning to lose focus, his outline growing blurry. Itachi's mind tried to grasp the connection –Sasuke's a lethal poisons expert, his training couldn't have included sedatives, how-
"I'm sorry," Sasuke said. "Nii-san, listen to me. You've protected me my entire life, don't- nii-san, don't deny it. I asked for help, for once- you deserve better, nii-san, and I- I want you to be able to-"
"Your genin team," Itachi realized, his voice coming out thickly. He attempted to shake his head. "No, no, Otouto, you don't realize-"
"But I do, nii-san," Sasuke said, laying him down gently, his hand pillowing Itachi's head. "There's a medic-nin in our team, she's supposed to be the best, she can- and then-"
"Sasuke, no," Itachi said again.
"I don't know what I'd have done if I'd killed you, nii-san," Sasuke said. "I'd lose my mind. And it's been so hard- Itachi, no, don't- and I'm going to make things right," and Sasuke stroked his hair, looking wretched and determined and certain. Everything was darkening rapidly, and Itachi had difficulty keeping his eyes open. "I love you, nii-san," Sasuke whispered, soft, against his cheek, and he felt the softest pressure on his lips, and again, the words, "I love you," before Itachi's eyes fell shut.
The whispering woke him- gave him a brief brush against consciousness, leaving him to claw his way desperately out of sleep. They were the sort of whispers he knew too well. He was still mostly disoriented, and his mind refused to process what his senses offered. Eventually, when he was about to surrender and push himself up, the whispering rose to a shout: "Oi, Sasuke! Come over here for a second!"
A grunt, pathological in its disinterest.
Itachi relaxed, his limbs succumbing to the bone-deep weariness that was, at this point, strikingly familiar. He was blindfolded- a clever, if unnecessary, move. He took a moment to appreciate the cool caress of the darkness and the light, rough pressure on his eyelids. What wasn't familiar was the floral-green chakra trickling alongside his own, soothing his battered internal organs and-
He sighed. "Sasuke."
A gasp, and the sound of a chair toppling over. Whoever it was that Sasuke had seen fit to bring along had absolutely no experience in masking his reactions.
Sasuke was a stark contrast: "Nii-san." Steady, defiant.
His tone made it momentarily hard to breathe. Itachi had to remind himself that Sasuke was fine, he was here and he was fine, smelling of wood smoke and fresh grass, his chakra summer-warm. Sasuke was here.
His spiraling heart rate slowed. He sensed cautious eyes that missed nothing on him, and suddenly, unexpectedly, felt the urge to laugh. Sasuke, his mind chanted, euphoric and utterly ignoring reason; Sasuke Sasuke Sasuke.
"Nii-san." His silence seemed to have been negatively interpreted. Sasuke was always terrible at reading people by the subtler signs; he needed the definitions of clear-sharp eyes and expressions.
Itachi pushes himself to a sitting position -the shinobi in the room, three in total, shift accordingly- and says, carefully, "what did you do."
Silence. Sasuke had gone still, as if that would somehow muffle the guilt and stubbornness pouring off him in waves.
"We'd…better go," says the same voice as before. "And, um, Itachi?" A grimace, followed by a grin. "Sakura-chan says you shouldn't move around, or take off the blindfold. She's the one who healed you."
Itachi murmured, "Please thank her for me, Naruto-kun," and Sasuke looked at him sharply, but the boy didn't notice. He nodded, once, and set off out of whatever enclosure they're all in -it felt like a wood cabin, near the mountains- but hesitated to communicate silently with Sasuke.
"Bastard," Naruto said eventually. He didn't sound offended.
Sasuke made an irritated 'tch' noise. Soon after, both Naruto and his near-silent companion faded from the room and a door slammed shut behind them.
The room fell quiet. Itachi brought a hand up to his covered eyes briefly, touching the thick-smooth layers of bandaging, feeling the darkness pushing outward.
"How bad is it, nii-san?" Sasuke asked. "How much longer would it have been until you went completely blind?"
The floorboards creaked tellingly as Sasuke came to stand over him. His pace was slow, uncertain- Itachi made room for him under the covers, and he felt Sasuke's glower.
When he crawled in, it was sharp knees and wrists and soft heavy hair tickling across Itachi's face. Sasuke's legs were impossibly long, and they awkwardly tangled with his so that their ankles were fused together. His hands clasped on his chest, his elbow digging into Itachi's side, and finally, he went still.
In the silence, that unfettered refrain persisted in his ears: Sasuke's here thankyouthankyouthankyou.
Sasuke was lying beside him, the lithe weapon of his body once more reverted to the sloppy unquestioning warmth of a younger sibling. It was ludicrous. It was so much than he had ever dared ask for, even when his sanity was compromised and everything hurt, even in the quiet moments when he allowed himself to drift; which was why he was on his guard. Instinctively, he knew that the next crushing blow was on the way. Fate was not so kind as to deliver his brother -whole, familiar yet utterly new, like a crescendo spreading out into eternity- to him and not extract recompense.
"Uchihas live by the strength of their convictions, Otouto," Itachi said quietly. "Don't mistake impulse for clarity."
Sasuke flinched. "I'm not!" Automatic, instinctive. Itachi almost smiled. "It's not like this is a stupid whim! You have no idea-" his breathing grew ragged, his hands clenching and unclenching compulsively, making his elbow dig deeper into Itachi. When he spoke next, his voice was perfectly level: "I know what I want, nii-san."
Of course you do. Sasuke, if he ever cared to stop and look behind his shoulder, would find a charred path of despair and white-knuckled determination. Itachi was the one who always believed in harmony. In letting the potentiality of the world flow through him, in looking past the refracted illusions and immediacy around him and seeing in terms of what could be.
But this felt too much like redemption, a second chance, so he didn't say anything. Mostly because he knew Sasuke would listen. Sasuke was impulse and impetuousness and instinct followed closely by motion, but these were just the offerings upon the altar. At his word, Sasuke would realign his sense of order itself, he would move mountains and bring entire civilizations to their knees.
"So," he said, nudging Sasuke gently through his misery, "what next, Otouto?'
Beside him, Sasuke stopped breathing. Itachi felt his body undulate and sink into the futon with the weight of his words, thrown together with his own expectations. In response, Itachi angled himself towards Sasuke, trying to tell him what he couldn't trust his words -his sharp-toothed snares of words- to say.
Sasuke exhaled once, a loud, shuddering sigh. "Nii-san," he said. His hands reached out and touched Itachi, on the face, butterfly-light, brushing his hair away, and flat on his stomach.
"Nii-san," Sasuke said again, voice shaking. He pounced and straddled Itachi's hips, his fingers rubbing carefully along Itachi's cheekbone.
Itachi tried and failed to find the stillness inside him; pushed aside by Sasuke's inherent motion and Sasuke's fingertips blazing, star-shaped, on his stomach. He thought he wanted to die, but he understood that the current running through him was Sasuke's way of pulling him towards the surface and to the light; Sasuke was, in that lopsided yet fiercely linear way of his, telling him to fight.
It was only natural that Sasuke leaned down once more and brushed his lips against Itachi's.
"You're making enemies of powerful potential allies, Sasuke," Itachi said, when he'd regained his breath. "However ineptly, the village raised you."
"Then I'll change it," Sasuke's voice was low, deep. "I'll change all of it. Naruto -that idiot- he's going to become Hokage, and when he does-"
"People will still struggle to accept me," Itachi interrupted gently. "Your good intentions -and those of your friends- will only cause more strife and frustration."
He had resigned himself to a quick, electric burst of anger, but instead, above him, Sasuke leaned over until his breath tickled across Itachi's ear. His hands were still running along his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose, hungry, memorizing the shape and feel of them.
"Not if," Sasuke whispered, and Itachi could feel his fear. Eight and thirteen years old again, and they never did get around to shuriken practice. "Not if you help us, nii-san."
"We have a plan," Sasuke went on, when Itachi didn't say anything. "Kakashi, he's been gathering evidence from ANBU reports, and Naruto has a spy in Root. It's how they convinced me not to kill Danzou, by proving we could take him down, but-"
"He'll kill you."
Sasuke kissed him again, close-mouthed and soft. Mortifyingly, Itachi's toes curled.
"No he won't," Sasuke said. "And I know what you're going to say next, nii-san, something about the clan's reputation." He ducked down to slant his lips over Itachi's again, and when Itachi raised his hand, his cheek was hot. "So," Sasuke continued, only a little breathless when he pulled away, "I remind you of what you used to say when we were little, nii-san."
Itachi's hand buried itself in Sasuke's hair of its own accord. He had a muscle memory of the weight of it, how it felt in his hands; Itachi sighed with something close to contentment. "And what's that?"
"That the clan's name was only as good as those who bore it," Sasuke recited. His eyes were burning on Itachi's face, and Itachi felt two hands carefully unwrapping the bandaging around his eyes. He lifted his head obediently, and Sasuke stroked the back of his neck. When he was done, he set the bandages away and kissed both of Itachi's eyelids, with a naked reverence that made Itachi's chest feel oddly tight.
"We're the only ones left," Sasuke said. "We could change everything."
Itachi opened his eyes. He felt, rather than saw, Sasuke's breath catch and his hands freeze.
His gaze -naturally- focused on Sasuke first. Sasuke, always and eternally. He drank in the sight of him, the jagged edges and sharp angles of his little brother, and saw his own near-fanatic devotion and want reflected back at him in Sasuke's eyes so perfectly that it was like looking through a clear lake or an unbroken mirror, so Itachi reached out and hugged him and whispered unsteady promises into his hair.
"Yes?" Sasuke asked, rubbing his thumb over Itachi's hip. His eyes glowed in the dark. He looked like a pilgrim, his lips parted, his reverence whole and complete.
Itachi poked him on the forehead and Sasuke's eyes grew wide, becoming his baby brother once more as he pouted. When he ran his thumb over Sasuke's lips, his breathing hitched.
"Yes," Itachi said, and pulled him closer.
END
A/N: Hope you liked.