Sentiments

He visited her every second Tuesday, of every month. For treatment, the cancer that was gradually gnawing away at him, making him weak and frail.

A man, who stood tall like a marble pillar, and skin just as pale, clear white like marble and smooth as a skipping-stone visited her every second Tuesday, of every month. He was silent, but when he did speak, it was low in a lewd monotone and his voice was horse as if his voice box had not been used in years. Raspy. Vertical lines faded onto his cheeks and he had long, black hair always tied into a loose messy ponytail that disappeared behind his back. Whenever he arrived, he always wore the same thing. A straw hat, which masked his face and created an obscure shadow over his features. A collared cloak, which kept half of his face hidden cleverly. His chin always down. And setting clouds, outlined in white, coloured in bright red with a background of dark black on the cloak. When he came to a halt by her front door, he would unbutton the first two top buttons, showing his neck, collarbones and the necklace he always wore. Also, Itachi took off his straw hat and fluffed his ponytail.

He was a drifter. She didn't know where he lived, where he came from, why he always came every second Tuesday of every month.

Mizuki never asked him questions; she had learned early on, the man would not answer them. Or prefer to not do so. Their conversations consisted mainly of things that was happening around them, which, frankly, wasn't much.

"New flower bedding?"

"Yeah."

But…she'd always known who he was. Or rather, is. Uchiha Itachi. The man, who mercilessly killed his own family. Even though it was never spoken- but the air that hung about them was not filled with ignorance, or vagueness. He didn't even know her name. Addressed her as 'Dark' or 'Miss', very cautiously and polite. Rarely saw the face she kept hidden under a mask.

Days dragged on, days filtered into weeks, a week evolved into a month. It had been nearly a month and a half before he came to her doorstep again. When he did arrive, Itachi did something peculiar. At first, Mizuki did not know what was going on. Hands rapped against her door, and a loud yell. A frantic, poignant plea to let them come inside. Whoever it was, they sounded desperate.

Tepidly, Mizuki opened the door. To a hunched figure, black hair hung in a creepy curtain over his gaze. Mizuki gingerly flicked a few strands away, to reveal a bloodstained face. Eyes, filled with luscious, glimmering blood. Blindly he grabbed to her, whimpering for aid. Never before had she seen him so broken. His arms had cuts and scratches on them, clothing ripped. His eyes looked glazed and dead. His breathing was erratic, and the corners of his mouth was smeared, where he had wiped the blood away form his mouth.

As always, she did not ask questions and took him in. Tended to his wounds.

It was raining.

He had stayed with her for a week and 2 days. As she mended his sight, which was gradually becoming better by each passing moment soon, she would have to take the bandages off.

They sat outside, a plate of dango on the table, which Itachi daintily ate. However, he was clumsy and could not see. With a clatter, the plate went crashing to the floor from his shaky hands. This loudness hurt his sensitive ears. Under his breath, he gave one solemn curse, cursing himself for being insipid, for being blind. A tremor of sadness overcame him; would he spend his last days like this? Asking help, to be led by someone else. Making kitchen cutlery and plates fall? Wordlessly, Mizuki stood and gathered the shattered pieces and cleaned the smeared patches off the floor.

There was no explanation or apology needed.

She settled in a seat next to him, Itachi cocked his head as he heard movement. He had become accustomed to spending most of his time, familiarizing himself with his senses. Feel, currently under his fingertips he could feel the softness of the chair he was sitting on. The scratchy, wilting bandages on his face, texture of them. The sound: rain hitting the ground, pitter-pattering on the roof. Wind: lazily sweeping trees, whistling in-between the leaves. Smell: sickly-sweet smell of dango, and earth. He could only make out formless shapes, of objects, but he preferred to keep his eyes closed. Faint in his memory, he could see Mizuki in his mind's eye, the mask she had on.

On this certain rainy day, he and she came onto the topic of a certain organization, Akatsuki.

"You wear their cloak." Blandly she started, flat.

Slowly, the silent man looked down at the black robe dotted with red clouds on it. He nodded.

"Yes?" Came his short reply.

"So?" Said she, not wanting to press him for an answer. Also as she turned to gaze at him, something she found herself doing often since he could not see her do so, she noted the bandages on his eyes had become stained a pallid brown form wear.

"You are in Akatsuki, yes?"

"Hn."

Mizuki had come to learn, that he said the little grunt, 'Hn,' differently in response to different questions. She had thought herself to listen carefully for the underlining message, or positive intention this time. His grunt meant 'Yes.' On her terms it did. She had learnt the knowledge she had wanted to ask him for quiet sometime.

Abruptly she got up and moved to him. Touched his face and leant foreword, hands reaching to behind the back of his head. Itachi didn't dare move, his blood turned ice cold.

"Miss, what are you doing?"

Mizuki was sure that was the longest sentence he had ever said to her.

"Removing your bandages, you should be able to see now."

Itachi heard the material strip form his face, before light hit his corneas. Instantly he whined and raised his hands to his eyes, shielding them form the light, his eyebrows knitting together in frustration- he could not open his eyelids.

"Open your eyes, Itachi."

For a moment he just sat there, refusing to obey. Screwed his face up, but Mizuki took his hands in hers and lower them. Yet, his eyes where still stubbornly closed. And then he opened them, blinking feverishly. He groaned. There was a burning, numbness in the upper local of his face; it stung down to his forehead and under the skin, pain-hitting tendons, nerves veins, capillaries.

Why the hell did she have to remove the bandages?

Another irate groan escaped his lips, but this time he did what he was told. It was an excruciating experience.

"Arugh," He began, and grabbed her hands, tried to get the bandages from her and tried to put them back on. But she pulled away, and was left to flounder. This time he really did open his eyes. There was a blinding white light, and he narrowed his sight. He could see! Rubbing his eye, he looked around. At the colours, the shapes, the woman in front of him. She was smiling. His eyes followed the scar on her face, from her left temple to her right cheek. Strawberry blond hair that ended by her mid back. She was, pretty. He'd always curiously, like any man would wonder, what was underneath that mask of hers.

Itachi felt his heart leap into his throat. Chest tightened, into an unfamiliar feeling of joy. And blatant pain, a throbbing.

"Better?"

She asked him. And he nodded copiously his mouth slightly ajar in surprise. Everything was crisp, sharp clear; it was like looking at a photograph. A very well taken photograph. He stood, and went to the mini-balcony and leaned over it. Something close to a smile flirted with his lips. Eagerly, he leaned a little more forward, a droplet of water splattered onto the tip of his nose, and for the first time in an immensely long time, he chuckled. It was low, sonorous, but it was there. Epicenter of that chuckle was his chest, and it still rumbled slowly, tickled his ribs.

At a low grumbling sound, Mizuki turned. Was that a laugh?

She noticed Itachi wiping some wetness off his face. At that moment, a look of complete content clouded his face. It was strange to see sporadic snippets of emotion from him. Sometimes these moments just kind of crept out. When Mizuki would least expect it, she would turn to see Itachi lounging backwards and then there was a small smile on his face, as if he was thinking back to a good, warm tender memory. And then there would be a look on his face, so unhappy so sour it was almost unbearable to look at.

Itachi was a confusing, brooding soul.

"Hn."

Mizuki stifled a laugh too, and shook her head as Itachi lunged for some dango.

Thunder, clapped her awake that night. Mizuki did not like thunder, or electric storms. She lay still, paralyzed in her bed. For what felt like, a decade. The air around her head was electrical and static, crazy. There was no way in hell she was going outside, another treble tremor shook her body and she rubbed her arms to warm herself up. She stood alone in her kitchen for a moment, thinking of what she could do. Her eyes narrowed when outside she saw to figures, conversing just by her doorstep. Breathing catching in her dry throat she stepped closer. Only to see Itachi, and a blue man speaking to each other. Wearing the proverbial cloak she had seen Itachi wear. On his shoulder, this man wielded a massive sword on his shoulder.

Him and Itachi were nodding, ever so often Itachi would stop, cough and then shake his head, indicating no. Mizuki's body stiffened even more and yelped surprised when lightning flashed into the cracks of her windows, trough the curtains. Itachi's shadow was illuminated on her wall, it looked big, looming. Fearsome. What he truly was. Then came the sound- lightening struck. It felt like it happened right by her ear, next to her.

She had overheard the words, 'Akatsuki', 'Join' saw Itachi shake his head and the blue man replied with, 'by force'. The rest of their conversation was carried away by winds.Itachi left him, the blue man, whom Itachi referred to as 'Kisame', stood outside, allowing rain to pelt him.

Itachi entered Mizuki's home again, dripping wet. Traced patches of water footprints onto her wooden floors. Water clung to his face; his mouth was a tight line. His body was stern, shoulders back as he walked closer to her.

"Itachi?"

In an instant, he was by her, grabbed her shoulders and held her into his chest. Blazing red eyes- eyes of one who had seen too much blood in their life- started back at her; and he whispered, as he shook her shoulders:

"Run, Mizuki…run.."

END