His hand moved slowly back and forth, the brush steady as it glided over the nail plate, leaving behind a brilliant violet that gleamed in the low light of later evenings. The nails devoid of the purple shade were incredibly pale, no pink to truly be seen. He shivered beneath the blanket, a thick down comfortor that should've kept him warm. It didn't. His hand was delicately held, each finger, in turn, raised to recieve the purple polish. His face, which should've been flushed with the fever, instead glowed with a sickly pallor. Not to be underminded, he was beautiful all the same, his skin whiter than the comforter. Despite the iron deficiency, he had not developed koilonycha, but instead retained a perfect shape, gracing the ends of his elegantly long fingers with a quiet beauty, hard to notice. He turned over the boy's hand, watching as his fingers curled instinctively, as if he were about to bite the blade across the thin, veiny skin, and brushed his fingertips lightly over his pulse. Even without pausing, the tachycardia was evident. Beads of sweat dripped down his forehead languidly, and stopped just as fast. His heartbeat calmed and he shifted slightly. Suddenly, he drew his left leg up, his toes curling into the sheets, shifting uncomfortably. A low, whining noise emitted from his throat, and he let out a choked cry, barely audiable. The older of the two capped the nail polish and began to rub his leg soothingly.
"Pins and needles?" he smiled.
The younger shook his head, his lips forming a barely-there, "Yes."
Tears dripped out of the corners of the younger's eyes as he shifted and squirmed beneath the older's touch. When he finally relaxed, the older wiped tears from the corner of his eye, watching blood trickle slowly, slowly down the corner of the crow-haired boy's mouth. He moved his long hair away from his face, stuck fast with sweat and tears, blood clumping into the long, dark tresses. Though, the older thought, it was hard to see the blood in the dark-brown hair.
"It'll be okay," he whispered, more for himself than for the suffering one, as he wore a grim expression, dimmed with sadness to watch the younger like this.
The younger's eyes suddenly lost focus of the ceiling, as he had been staring at before, and began to turn, slowly, in his head, first to the older, then to the wall, until he had to close his eyes. Blood, now, also leisurely dripped from the corners of his eyes. He seemed to pay it no mind, and seemed not to react, either, until he began to shiver even more than before. The older went to the closet and grabbed a thick quilt and another pillow, propping it up beneath the younger's head (So he wouldn't drown in his own blood. How ironic.), and spread the quilt over him. He stroked his hair steadily, feeling the heat and cold of his body rage in a dominant fight for control of his health. Fight for his sanity. The older leaned down and whispered, his breath gracing his forehead with a reassuring warmth, "I'll be right back."
When he returned, he bade the younger one to sit up and held a steaming liquid to his lips in a deep spoon. The younger refused, simply staring at it as if it were a totally foreign object, or a dangerous liquid poisen, and it would kill him if consumed. He held a blank expression and continued to stare.
"It's lentils. It'll help your Anemia."
He still refused. The smell was incredibly strong, the scent reminding him of the smell of blood, which he had inhaled quite enough of in his thirteen short years of life. He shook his head no. The older read what that ment. "There's something other than lentils in there."
"Okay, okay. I took the doctor's advice-" Itachi made an unpleasant grimace at this, "Relax, will you? It's tomato based, and it has spinach and such in it. The extra iron, and that dreadful smell, unfortunatly, is from the iron supplements, which are incredibly strong in scent when cooked. But it's good. It'll help."
He read the younger's eyes. "No. It'll make me vomit. You know this. Trying to consume extra iron makes me vomit, Shisui."
"I know that. And use your words. You don't read the dictionary for nothing."
"Why are you trying to make me eat that? It's not like I don't appreciate it, but I've had enough of blood for the evening." He lay back against the pillows, sighing softly.
"Because, Itachi, you're gonna freeze to death internally if you don't get your body temperature up. And it's either this, or garlic cloves in water, and you know how you hate that."
"...true. Especially by consumption method."
Shisui nodded in agreement, then presented the spoon to the younger's lips once more. "Itachi."
Itachi sighed in resolved and allowed himself to be fed. He let the hot liquid run down his aching throat, only to begin to wretch in dry heaves. Shisui rubbed his back soothingly and waited for them to subside before he offered a glass of water, which Itachi turned down with a polite shake of his head. "No."
Shisui offered once more, persistant, and Itachi resigned, once more, and swallowed the icy water.
"See? Doesn't that feel better?"
The look in his eyes said it all.
"Well, that isn't very nice," Shisui pretended to feel downcast, yet wore a victorious smile and stroked the dark tresses behind Itachi's ear, then presented him with the soup once more.
"When I puke, it's your fault."
"And I take full responsibility, Cara mia," Shisui soothed. "You don't have to worry about a thing. I'll clean it up if you do, anyways."
Itachi sent him something between a glare and a glance of shock. Shisui swallowed hard, then smiled. "I want you to get better."
"It's cronic..." Itachi whispered. "It won't go away for a while."
"Neither will I. You've eaten enough. Sleep now, Cara mia, alright?"
Itachi closed his eyes. "Alright."