It's the everlasting silence that seems to drive them into a never-ceasing madness. Fingers curled around a slim waist, one that has been though hell and high water just to keep the other living. The fingers almost seem skeletal and boney, A muted heliotrope color that stretches across the knuckles, the faded coloring of bruises, the marks upon the flesh.
Bare skin of the collarbone exposed across the cold air. Raven strands falling across the flesh draped over the soft material of the fishnet shirt. His fingers are spasming beyond his control, twitching from the pain flashing across his inner eyelids. The vermillion color leaking from the comer of his eyes dripping, polling as it slides across the skin. The steady drips as it splashes across the inner palm of his hand.
Looking like small colored spatters of snow almost across the tanned flesh in which the scarlet liquid seems to stick out upon. His mouth open, making this borderline moaning noise from the pain awakened from his eyes. He can feel the calloused grip, that keeps the light from hitting them, keeps them in the oblivion to try to dim the pain.
His own hand wanting to rip his hair out from the pain. Despite what he has felt before, this feels like an agony on his body. There's another moaning noise- that escapes his parted lips. He sees white behind his closed eyes. He can hardly think at this point, he can't process that pain. Every-time the pain in his eyes comes around he stops thinking. The pain in his head makes everything ring, and the slightest light hurt his eyes.
The albicant light seems smoldering across his eyes. It's like a fire eating at them. He wants to cry out, and scream or even shriek at the top of his lungs but instead he lets out these low degrading moans of pain, that seem everlasting. Blood pooling in his open hand. His words not making any sense that do escape his tongue and lips.
He tries to catch his breath, lungs feeling as if they are being burned. The sharp pain in them sempiternal, despite the medications he's taken for his illness that will win sooner or later. His words fragmented and broken Japanese being spat and muttered between whimpers. "Please, I-" It's choked and broken as if he's trying to speak English.
Raven hair thick, covering deep cinnabar eyes, stare at the mere child that is almost shrieking from the pain. His fingers digging almost into the flesh of his wrist almost making moon shaped bruises in them, by how hard he's gripping his wrist. "Shh." He mutters,soft into the ear of the young Uchiha almost like a cooing mother.
Almost, but without the caring affection of one. "It's almost over." There's a pause in his voice, almost sounding like near amusement, borderline pleasured from the other 's a moment where Itachi goes slack in the hold. A brief second where the pain stops and he can breathe without feeling like there's acid in his throat. A moment where his eyes aren't given him a migraine that leaves him feeling like he wants to collapse on the spot.
Tremors are ranking though him. After-effects of the seeing pain. Itachi opens his eyes for a moment seeing the tanned flesh of his hand. Blackness to his eyes that are failing with his vision, it's evident in them. His free hand moves to cast Madara's hand away from his eyes. Blood seeping from them still dripping from his face.
There aren't words that either of them say. They don't speak of this. They don't mention each other's pain. Itachi never acts like this ever happens, he hides it. Pretends that he doesn't feel anything, but at heart he has a weight that is unbearable on his heart. The twisted lies that he casted upon his younger sibling at such a young age.
There's nothing said as the elder Uchiha brushes a strand of hair from Itachi's face moving it away. Brushing his own dark locks from his eyes to look at the child, parting his lips for a moment almost to speak but he stops midway changing his thought.
"It would be wise to sleep, child."
Nothing more is said as hair falls back across the elder's eyes turning to walk away. Not uttering another word to him, a fleeting moment of emotion as his fingers meet the other's as his hand slips away from his wrist, and Madara retreats to his own corridor leaving the Uchiha standing looking as if he had cried bloody tears.