Hello!
Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Long Vacation nor do I make money out of this. I simply get great satisfaction of having tones of review ;)
This chapter was written with the help of StarsOfYaoi, who feels like she is a horrible beta who can't respect schedules, and is very sorry and if you want to bitch you can message her.
Author note: I'm very sorry for the delay. This chapter should have been posted way sooner around 8 months ago, but unforeseeable events kept pushing back the release date. Please accept my sincere apology.
Thanks all my lovely reviewers: Azure Flames; onidra; itachisgurl93; counter-intuitive; Stargazer; Elelith; NANA-Chan101; daemonkieran; prettypurpletiger; runes01; moeoep; Miyuki1393; Kichou; 2x2justfau; saya420; Sarah1281; blucross; Narutopokefan; Eien-Kiseki; MangaFreak15; Lazaros; Bella216; mi5tan; HiKaRi-ChIbI; Q3Apo; 107602(sorry I could not answer your review via the site. I always find the "advices" in magazines to be very… bizarre and generally unhelpful); breaker99; fan girl 666; RoxasIsReal13 (sorry but the site would not let me answer your review. I thank you very much for loving the story so much. I'm sure you'll love the new ItaNaru goodness in this chapter. I sure loved to write it); pennypigeon; Maple100; Nani; hypersreak; ElementalFallenStar; richon; Saharra Shadow; kate-sama; Zenc-zenc; Keitsu Han'ei; Unseen; Noien-sama; Snowflake; Mina Hikari; TripOverFlatSurfaces(Sorry I could not answer your review properly before. I hope you'll love the new development in this chapter on the ItaNaru front! As for Sakura being the victim of a bashing… it's only because it's convenient. She just happened to be the one Naruto liked in the manga… and I did not want to create an OC. Of course, she is totally Out Of Character here); hazel-3017; Sesshomarus 1 heart stealer; Artistic18; Saniwa;lover-of-light (Sorry for not replying through the fanfiction site it would not let me do so. I did indeed found the "love advices" on the first page of a search engine. I found them ridicule and perfectly adequate for the story, so I use them.); Hesunohana; Anonymous (X3); freaky bitch; anime music marshmellows love; pandora vanity; loveliness decays; KyuuKitsunex3; Rennasakura; Frostfire613; XxDevilxX199; sapphireblue12; devilsxgirl; Ryu Pendragon; akasuna hime (X2); Miso Muchi; Lawlipop In My Jeevas Mailbox; RukaRukia (X2); Islandmare; Astrophel Thracius (X2); AnimeObssesed1116; kasia110.
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– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
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Long Vacation 13
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– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
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Waking up next to someone, Naruto decided, was definitely a weird but nice feeling.
He had resurfaced from a deep, restful sleep slowly, cosily, languidly stretching in bed and allowing himself some time to wake up, eyes fluttering open to stare at the ceiling, confused for a moment before he remembered where he was, and why he could feel strong, warm arms around his shoulders, holding him close to a firm, naked chest.
Then memories flooded his brain and he relaxed instantly, smiling so wide he felt silly, and tilted his head up, shuffling a bit to move away from Itachi's body in order to admire the man who was embracing him.
Itachi was still asleep, his chest moving softly with a deep, even breathing.
He watched intently Itachi's visage, his curled eyelashes, so long, standing out beautifully against the pale skin of the man; he was handsome, and the thought that such a man was sleeping in bed with him sent a wave of fluttering giddiness through Naruto's belly. Blue eyes travelled down the slope of Itachi's nose, lazily regarding his chapped, pink lips with an intense stare.
Naruto licked his own lips, finding them swollen and tender, resisting the urge to shift forwards and press his body flush against that of Itachi, reaching out to lick his thin lips to see if he could moisten them.
The older man's hair was scattered all over the pillow, black streaks against white, and Naruto remembered the feeling of that soft, luscious hair under his fingers, how he had gripped it tightly, lost in pleasure and trying to find something to anchor him.
Closing his eyes, bathing in the feeling of Itachi's strong arms keeping him close even if the older man was still asleep, Naruto breathed in the familiar, intoxicating scent of Itachi's skin, feeling it washing all over him. He felt secure, relaxed. He felt like he belonged here in Itachi's warm embrace, and the feeling was overwhelming.
The giddiness only seemed to increase as he idly recalled what they did the night before, a soft blush covering his cheeks as he pressed his nose against Itachi's collarbone.
Their heavy breathing turning into short, needy gasps as skin rubbed against skin. The breathless sounds they made as they moved in unison, matching each movement, seeking each other out.
He remembered clearly Itachi's hands slowly caressing his frame, delicate and teasing, sliding against his neck, then his collarbone as they removed his clothes, leaving Naruto bare and open to the hungry, lustful gaze.
Just the memory of those eyes shadowed with desire made him feel hot inside, made his toes curl and his skin tingle.
Itachi had mapped every inch of his body, careful and gentle, every touch like a reassurance of his feelings and his need barely hidden behind his restrained composure as he made sure to find all the spots that made Naruto moan the loudest.
Itachi's tongue tracing his ear, sucking on his lobe, whispering sweet nothings with his voice dripping like honey…
Naruto had never been happier to let himself drown, coherence and words failing and only touches and feelings and sweet reassurance remaining behind.
Itachi had made love to him, owned him with words and touches and he had never felt better.
Naruto's eyes widened in shock as understanding finally downed inside him: he was not a virgin anymore.
Not a virgin anymore!
His heart leapt to his throat as he choked down a squeal. He wanted to dance around in glee, shout to the world how happy he was. But Itachi's arms around his shoulders still held him captive, making him burn with this happiness he could not show.
He moved away from Itachi's collarbone, hoping to catch another glimpse of his lover's sleeping face, thinking that maybe that would be enough to calm him down. He was still tired, he did not feel like leaving the bed yet, it was too soon…
This close, Naruto could see Itachi's face: the tense lines had disappeared from his face, leaving his pale visage smooth and shiny. Naruto smiled, he wanted to wriggle and free one arm from around Itachi's motionless body to trace his cheek with a finger, but he feared that if he moved too much he would wake Itachi up.
He took a deep, satisfied breath: he did not have to worry –he could take all his time with exploring Itachi's face and his body later.
He gently laid his head on Itachi's shoulder, closing his eyes slowly, his smile stretching wider on his lips.
Ah… it had been a very good night, indeed.
– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
Sakura had had a very bad night.
After the fiasco at TakuTaku, one she did not even want to think about anymore, she had tried other bars.
One of the bars, not the very best but classy enough to be passable in her eyes, had a nice outwards appearance, and she had been pointed to it by a nearby couple who had just left it, so she had strutted there, ready to look her best.
She was making her great entrance, ready to test her seducing skills on a very handsome, dark-haired man, when one of her ex sex-friends noticed her. He had stormed up to her, enraged and uselessly pathetic, and made a scene, a scandal even!
Sakura had broken up with all of her sex friends –there were four, just above the average number of men a woman was expected to have during her life-span– just a week prior to her 'wedding ceremony'. Apparently this particular one, a charming dark haired, dark eyed man called Yukio, was under the misconception that he had been in for more than he had gotten.
Fidelity was not an option in their relationship –if it could even be called a relationship, since they had just gotten together to release some steam and for her to use him– Sakura was sure she had made it clear since the start.
Apparently not as clearly as she should have, though, because Yukio, just like many others, was nothing more than a brat who whined when he did not get what he wanted: in short, her.
Sakura might have found that flattering, any other time, but not since that little stuck-up had stormed up a scandal in front of all the people in the bar!
There were things Sakura could tolerate, and there were others that simply made her curl her upper lip in disdain, and trying to make her seem like a bitch in front of other people was definitely on the second list.
Could he not understand that he had nothing that interested her anymore?
Ah, of course he was rich, and handsome and popular… but all of this was nothing next to the aura of pure magnificence that her Sasuke–kun exuded.
Compared to him, Yukio was nothing more than an average-looking man with no resources nor charisma, one that Sakura had indulged into until better opportunities had arisen.
Nobody, no matter their looks, or appeal, could ever come close to Sasuke-kun, and he was her goal, and she would never stoop as low as this guy ever again.
Needless to say, Sakura had decided that the bar would be black listed from there on; she did not need anybody to remember her solely by that first bad impression. She needed to look perfect, to be perfect, and she could not accept that such a lousy person had dared to make her look so bad.
As soon as Ino was back from wherever she had disappeared the previous night, she would get her friend to help: the bar would be close in a matter of months, maybe even weeks. That would teach them to never try and ruin her, because she was as vindictive as she was beautiful.
To be honest, Sakura had hoped they would start organizing the boycott as soon as she had reached Ino's appartment, but unfortunately the flat had been empty, with Ino nowhere to be seen. Sakura would have to scold her for not tagging along; after all, was Ino not her best friend? It was a sacred duty as her best friend, to always be by Sakura's side to help her.
And not just that! Sakura was a guest at Ino's home, and what kind of bad host did not want to entertain their guest?
Well of course, Sakura could forgive Ino for her lacking actions. They were friends, after all, and there was no need to make poor Ino feel too guilty. Sakura needed her at her best, was that not so?
She had, though, tried to call Ino on her cell phone, only to have her call directed to voice-mail. Sakura briefly entertained the thought that Ino was filtering her calls… but no, she snickered, that was not possible. She was HARUNO Sakura. No one filtered her. She was the one who black-listed people, not the other way around.
Plus, Ino had no reason not to answer her calls, so Sakura was probably over-thinking it.
Maybe she had just lost her phone, or maybe… maybe she had found a new boyfriend. One she had yet to tell Sakura all about.
It could happen: Ino had not had a boyfriend in a while. Sakura had entertained the idea, more than once, to get her together with one of the guys she had tried herself, but then she had thought that none were good enough for her best friend.
To be honest, Sakura did not care who the boyfriend could be, not as long as Ino was happy… well, that was unless it was a person whose influence Sakura could use to get a bit closer to her Sasuke–kun. Ah, that could be why Ino had not told her about him?
Sakura remembered that Ino had once told her to forget about her Sasuke–kun, almost managing to look angry, and sad.
Sakura had been sure then that it was just because of the stir she had been the centre of when she had first caught the attention of her adored Sasuke–kun. He had been of course too shy to come to her then, poor darling, and, at the time, the person who had prevented him from finding Sakura and admitting his love for her had been an evil woman. Sakura was not sure about who she was, just some secretary or another –Ino had mentioned to Sakura how afterwards she had become her boss (surely through some underhanded method)– and Sakura just knew it: so jealous of the obvious closeness between Sasuke–kun and herself, the bitch had ordered Ino to keep Sakura away. Of course Ino could not refuse, it was her job! But she admitted that she had been a little peeved at Ino for choosing her job over her –even if she could understand.
Sakura gritted her teeth, a flash of anger passing through her face, then forced herself to calm down; she did not want to think about jealous little minxes anymore, it would only ruin her perfect visage. What better way to get those pesky problems out of her head than going to the hairdresser? She had seen what the latest trends in the US were: some exotic, queer hairdos that would look perfect on her.
She wanted to try them.
After all, as the princess of Kyôtô, she needed to be always Avant Garde, set the trends instead of allowing others to come first. That was how she had grasped control of fashion, how she was looked up at by crowds of young admirers, considered the star, the best there was.
Even if that 'best' was in fact ridiculous to her eyes –adding feathers to one's hair? How weird! But foreign women always looked so beautiful, so enchanting, even when adorned with feathers, and who was Sakura to condemn fashion trends?
She wondered if her usual hairdresser had heard of it already.
Chuckling to herself, uncrossing her legs and stretching them in front of her, massaging some life in her thighs, Sakura nodded: of course, Naomi would have heard of it. She was the best hairdresser in the whole prefecture… maybe even of the whole Japan!
Perhaps, though, she would have to make a stop at one of those fishing stands first, to buy some feathers. She had heard that this was where the americans found them…
She would have it dyed pink, too… to go with her hair.
Smiling in satisfaction, already excited by the new prospective, Sakura stood up, bouncing towards her clothes to get ready.
– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
Ino woke up feeling disgruntled.
After a few deep breaths, her mind cleared enough to understand why she was feeling so bad –she had a strong headache, burning from the base of her head and up to her forehead, making everything fuzzy.
She blinked a couple times, trying to focus her eyes on something, and looked around, trying to remember where she was.
Nothing of the room seemed familiar, though very luscious, and that left Ino even more confused.
What had she done the previous night? Where was she?
The ceiling was of a warm, soft colour, and the walls followed the same scheme, with arabesque–like patterns on beautiful wallpapers. The window was closed, but there was enough light filtering from there to give Ino an idea of how big the room was.
The bed also felt nice, much nicer than her own blankets.
She rolled over to the side, and groaned in pain; she had moved too quickly, and her head throbbed in pain, her headache only worsening.
"Ah the sleeping beauty is finally awake!" A voice whispered so close to her ear that she felt her hair stand on their ends.
Ino scrambled up in a sitting position, pressing one hand delicately on her ear as she twisted on the bed, automatically tugging the white sheets up to her chest, covering her body from waist up, and glared at the person who was at her side.
It was Sai, only wearing boxers, leering at her covered chest half-interestedly.
"Don't worry, we did not do anything." Sai said with a smile that did not quite seem to reach his eyes. "What you lack in some departments is actually the only thing I am interested into. You are, unfortunately not to my tastes."
Ino glared at him, feeling a rush of dislike for the man, then completely ignored him as she looked around the room, trying to think the quickest, most efficient way to gather all her clothes without showing too much of her skin.
She wondered why she was naked, if they had not done anything. Argh, her head hurt too much to think about it.
"… but you know," Sai continued, staring at her barely covered behind as Ino bent down to the side of the bed to grab her underwear, "I could always make an exception for you."
"You wish!" Ino answered quickly, struggling to put on her underwear and clothes on while also keeping the sheet high enough to cover her modesty.
"Ah, you so wound me," Sai replied, theatrically placing a hand over his heart.
The smirk on his face completely invalidated his words, but then again it was not like Ino believed him to begin with.
"Whatever, Weirdo!" Ino retorted, using the nickname Naruto had given Sai.
Ino was aware that Sai was… a very special person. He was rarely serious, always with a smile stretching his lips, and someone who liked to joke around. His sense of humour was also weird, and hard to understand… not to mention most of the time he sounded offensive, and he never looked apologetic either.
Still, she had spent enough time around the photographer that she could now almost claim to understand his mood changes. He might have always a smile on his face, and his words were always blunt, but he rarely truly meant to hurt someone, and his bluntness, rather than being harsh, was merely his way to be honest, although far too direct most of the time.
Ino had learned with time how to recognise whenever Sai was serious and when he was instead simply joking around.
Sai enjoyed having someone answer him on tone, and Ino was not one to pull her punches then; they bantered often, sometimes even teaming up together to tease Naruto, which was always fun; it made working with him a lot easier, and the vexing extra hours she had to take due to her slave-driver of a boss (apparently working as a model for the company's biggest client was not a good enough reason for Ino not to finish her paperwork in time; her 'selfishness' not being enough to make her workload shift over to her 'innocent co-workers') a little easier to take.
Sighing to herself, Ino knew she would have to go back to work the next day; she hoped that it would at least calm down her annoying boss, and prevent her from bitching too much.
She had considered filing a complaint to Obito-sama, but Ino was anything but a whiner, and she would not begin now, after all this time.
What would it say about her, if she ran crying to him because her boss was unfairly pushing more work on her shoulders?
Whining was for the weak, and Ino was not weak!
Even if her boss was an annoying piece of bitch, who always delegated her work to others, complained about them, and tried to make Ino's life a living hell, that did not mean much. Ino could make it out of that job on her own strength, and become better and stronger thanks to it.
Besides, she was not going to stick around and make a career out of this job; she merely needed it to support herself until her father deemed her ready to take over his place as head of the Yamanaka's Ikebana.
When that time came, she would quit this unpleasant, unrewarding job, and go back to what she truly enjoyed doing.
Her skills in Ikebana, her father had bluntly stated, were improving, but were still not good enough for such an important, full of responsibilities position. Nevertheless, he had given her the opportunity to show her art, her skills, her improvements: a few weeks before, he had informed her that he would let her in charge of the decorations for the annual gathering of the masters of Ikebana.
It was a huge meet up, where people from all over the world would come together to enjoy the finer beauty of Ikebana art, and people of the calibre of KISHI Eiko, and SAKAGAWA Kikuto (who would be coming from Germany especially for the occasion ) (1) would be present, and judge her work then.
Ino's heart fluttered in excitement at the thought, and she was unable, as always when she let her thoughts stray to this big chance, to restrain a shiver of happiness.
Her dream was so close, at hand's reach, just waiting for her to stretch out and grab it. The thought made her smile to herself.
Maybe she could ask her friends to help, maybe even Naruto. He might not know anything about flowers –he could not even see the difference between a rose and a tulip on his own– but his cheerfulness, his eagerness and bright attitude would be the boost she would surely need when things would turn difficult.
This was a chance of a lifetime, and knowing she had friends who would not leave her side was already a great encouragement for her.
Ino, not for the first time, was thankful she had met such a good friend.
She remembered like it was yesterday the very first time Naruto had talked to her.
He had been actively wooing Sakura for a few weeks by then; he had cornered Ino after P.E., while she was standing guard for Sakura in front of one of the toilet doors.
Naruto had been shorter than both Ino and Sakura at the time, dressed with something silly and so unfashionable Ino's sense of fashion had been hurt on his behalf, and yet, he had been wearing that stupid, far too bright all-tooth smile on his face, looking hopeful and maybe a tad bit fragile.
He had asked her, all flustered and excited, if she could help him after school to choose the right flowers to offer to Sakura as a gift.
Ino had been annoyed at his presence –Naruto was not a subtle person, and he was also very loud– but she had felt flattered that the boy would go as far as to ask for her opinion when so many of Sakura's admirers had never even bothered to acknowledge her existence.
Ino was Sakura's best friend. She knew her inside out, and if any of them had tried to be nice to her, admitting they would need it, she would have helped them.
None had even thought about that, so she had always kept what could have been helpful tips to herself.
And yet… Naruto had a way with people. He could make them do whatever he wanted just by glancing at them with his bright blue eyes, so full of hope, so expressive. He had used them on her, too, begging her to help him, telling her that he could not do it without her, because Ino was important to Sakura, and Sakura was important to Naruto, and that was why he had gone to her first.
She had ended up agreeing, albeit a bit reluctantly, because she still did not know him, just so he would get out of her face. Those annoying eyes were making her waver.
Naruto had led Ino to a small shop she had never been into before. It was a few streets down the school, very close to where Naruto lived, and to be honest, it did not look like much on the outside. Ino had never passed in front of it, but just by glancing at it, without entering, she had classified it as not much interesting.
Once inside, though, she had had to change her mind. While small, it was a real maze of small alleys where flowers of all kinds were lined up neatly, creating walls of colours. Ino had been amazed at the amount of different plants, breathing in the multiple scents of all the various flowers mixing together in a very deep, powerful scent.
Potted Chrysanthemum and Geraniums blossomed beautifully in every corner, together with small bamboo samplings, every kind of rose Ino could name, and even dandelions, and Queen Anne's lace. There were plants she recognised but could not remember the names of, some bouquets artfully disposed on little, small Greek half-columns, and everything was placed in a way that showed that no matter how small the shop could be, it still had a lot to offer.
It was almost astounding for Ino, who had grown up surrounded by vast spaces with flowers neatly divided by groups, and who could not get enough of this tightly–spaced variety.
The counter was in the centre of the shop, square and simple in contrast with all the colours around, and in it there was an old man and a young woman busy working on a flower arrangement.
Naruto had dragged Ino around the shop, even though her eyes kept falling back on the duo and their work, wanting to see their skills, and he showed her all the flowers he wanted to buy for Sakura; he had stopped in front of the branches of Cinnamon flowers, first pointing at them, and then taking a few in his hand. Then, he had dragged into to the coral roses, choosing three of them, and trying to marry all the flowers in his hands together.
Of course, Ino had had to put her foot down at that; while the choice was not that bad –Cinnamon flowers could symbolize Naruto's deep love, and the coral roses his enthusiasm, reflecting Naruto's personality to a T– she had known Sakura all her life.
Unfortunately, despite the gorgeous bouquet that Naruto's choices would make, any flowers that were not pink would sadly be lost on Sakura.
In that, she was the quintessential of lack of taste. Pink was her sole colour, her love, her obsession, fitting everything to it, moulding her life, her clothes, her room, even her hair to all the shades of that colour.
Nothing else would do for her.
To be honest, Naruto had not seemed deterred by that set back. In fact, he had put himself to work for hours, trying to gather the perfect bouquet for Sakura under Ino's careful approval.
Ino had expected to grow bored, but… no. she had fun watching Naruto's antics, running around like a madman, clumsily trying to fix flowers together in what was growing to become an impressive pink and white gift.
She had whispered, snickered and goaded him along, laughed with him, not at him, like she had never laughed before. They had bonded, then, in a way she had not expected.
He had worked for hours on it, not even once losing his cheerful disposition, creating the perfect bouquet for his love. For Sakura. And Ino had watched on, slowly allowing herself to be taken amidst the whirlwind of Naruto's enthusiasm, cheering for him.
That day, Ino had realised how much she loved the colours, the odours, the soft yet sophisticate harmony of Ikebana compositions.
Thanks to Naruto, of all people –thanks to his passion, his cheerfulness– that day had rekindled in her the passion for the art that her family had strived to achieve for centuries.
Ino owed Naruto a lot, even if he would never know.
Shaking herself out of that train of thoughts, Ino found herself in front of her car, keys in hand, and realised she had left Sai's flat without so much of a parting word; she had been too busy recalling past times, moments in her life that had made her happy.
Oh, well, Sai would not get angry at that, and she would surely find a moment to talk to him, and make sure things were still ok.
Still, she had a lot of planning to do. She had to think of those colours, of those odours, simple or overly complicated, themed to the season or maybe centred on a single colour.
So much to do, so little time, and she had to hurry and start gathering together all she needed.
She could not wait for another chance to come along, this was her one opportunity and she would grasp it in her hands, squeeze it, and win it over.
– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
Itachi slowly opened his eyes, stretching his legs as far as they could go under the covers, and instantly he winced at the bright pink colour of the walls.
It clashed horribly with the neon orange and deep blue of the sheets of the bed, and it made his aesthetic sense cringe in pain.
His arms were strangely, upsettingly empty, so he stretched one hand to the side, feeling around for his bed companion.
He was alone in bed.
The sheets were not even warm in that empty space at his side.
Itachi frowned a bit, for a moment wondering if he had just dreamed it all –if the hazy memory of Naruto's naked body pressed against his own was naught but a creation of his mind.
Was it all a dream?
No, it was not, he assured himself.
Suddenly, as he shifted in bed, licking his lips and enjoying the residual warmth of his covers, Itachi felt his heart constrict in his chest.
The feeling was strong, as if someone had suddenly gripped him from inside, tight and unforgiving.
A fire lit inside him, spreading through his veins and making his skin feel like it was burning. At the same time, a cold weight settled in his stomach, heavy and thick. He felt so hot, and yet he was shivering, his teeth clenched tightly to prevent any sound.
Itachi gasped through gritted teeth, the sound barely leaving his lips as his nails dug into the sheets of the bed, holding onto them as he felt the dual sensation of burning and coldness fight one another, stealing his breath away.
He disliked this feeling, he hated how familiar it felt, spreading through him, clutching his lungs, forcing panic to raise inside him, making his whole body turn into a twitchy wreck.
A similar feeling had paralyzed him when he was just a young boy, making him feel weak, making him get so scared he almost never wanted to leave the house; every servant in the house had also grown familiar with it, sometimes having to give a hand to him, making him sit down and breathe in, breathe out, until it went away.
Even his estranged cousin, Obito, who had been in the past an older playmate, was privy to this confidence, although Itachi had never told his parents about it, nor his younger brother.
It had been his luck that his father was such a snob: he would rather have him tutored by the best teachers in Japan, rather than let him mingle with students who would evidently never be on par with the Uchiha prodigy. Itachi had been home schooled, much to his pleasure, which allowed him to face this burning feeling less and less.
The same had not been true for Sasuke, though –what was not good enough for the Uchiha heir was sufficient for his little brother.
But alas, Sasuke was not aware of Itachi's pain, either.
The oldest Uchiha heir had lived with those attacks for most of his life, so much they had become a common occurrence, appearing at every important moment in his life, without fail.
Each time he had to make a decision, important or not quite so important, his heart had felt like this –like someone was squeezing it tightly, like a punishment– and his skin had started burning, small trickles of fire lashing at his fingers, making them tingle. And of course his stomach, not wanting to be left out, had turned into icy lead, freezing over.
Itachi had spent a lot of time trying to understand the pattern of those attacks, in order to find out the reason, find out how to fight them, how to conquer this horrid feeling and come on top.
Itachi had tried researching the problem in the Uchiha library –an enormous, far too spacious room filled with row after row of books, some of which had not even been opened by human's hand before, but were still taken care of by the many servants of the family, so that not even one of them had a layer of dust on them– and the answer had been, much to his disappointment, simple:
Panic Disorder.
Itachi, a person who had so much on his shoulders, who was looked up at, whose father considered only for how much he was worth, for his skills and his genius, was prone to having panic attacks.
Reading about it, the details, the reasons behind which his disorder had been born, had helped Itachi understand what he was fighting against. The severity of the attack was scaled: it depended on his own stress, on the depths of the situation and how much it would rattle Itachi's mind.
Whenever Itachi himself was overly stressed, whenever something was demanded of him in such a way that he could never complain, never say no (which was basically all the time, because as the heir of the family, Itachi was forced to be always perfect), the attack would be stronger, cutting him deeper, always without a cure.
The books had been useless to find a way to help –they all listed one single thing as the only able to help and that was… therapy.
Itachi had been afraid then, and this fear had turned into another attack, forcing him to kneel in front of the bookshelf, panting and clenching his fingers inside the wood, inside the pages of the book, almost tearing them out.
He was afraid because… if he was not the perfect son his parents had deluded themselves into believing him to be, and they were to find it out… would they abandon him, like they had abandoned whatever had outlived its usefulness before?
His parents never cared for what they left behind; they never looked back, never felt badly for their harsh, unforgiving attitude. All they cared was their status, their pride as a family, all for show. Itachi was a perfect doll, a puppet born and raised to meet those standards.
What if he could not meet them anymore?
Would he be left behind to die, ignored and unwanted?
This deep fear, rooted in the knowledge, at such a young age, that his parents only ever liked him for his genius, was the reason Itachi had decided to work on it by himself, without asking help, without backing down.
He had worked hard to expose himself to more and more of the same situations that caused him panic, seeking them out with masochism, lips pressed into a thin line, heart racing in his chest, pupils constricted in fear.
It had worked.
A slow, painful process, but it had worked, and his attacks, controlled and steered into obedience, were now less frequent, only ever resurfacing when Itachi allowed himself to relax, and even less intense. Itachi could understand himself, and his feelings, better. Nevertheless, they were equally bothersome, happening at the most inopportune moments.
Especially, and that was the worst part, whenever his parents were around.
It was not much of a stretch to associate their presence with most of his attacks, and the starting root of his panic disorder.
Itachi had believed he had freed himself from this when he had finally broken the chains bounding him to his parents; the feeling of utter, overwhelming relief he had felt when filing off the papers that would free him from the expectations his parents had burdened him with. That day, he had left the family house without as much as a glance, nor a goodbye to his parents, had made him feel weak in the knees.
He had breathed in the cold air outside their mansion, closing his eyes and feeling better than he had ever felt before.
He had guessed that if he abandoned them before they could denounce him, it would be over.
Itachi had to admit that, if only to himself, he had acted similarly with all his previous relationships.
Abandoning them before they could find out, before they could leave him, he had protected that weak part of himself that he disliked but that he could not live without.
It had taken Itachi a long, long while to finally approach the subject with the kind of honesty that was needed to face it without backing away, and backing away was exactly the problem.
Itachi Uchiha, genius prodigy, coveted and admired and envied by all, was a coward who ran away from things in order to not to face them. He, who had always considered himself so strong, was in fact weak, and hiding this weakness he only made it grew bigger.
As he remained sprawled on the bed, looking at the horrid pink ceiling, feeling his heart burn and his lungs burn and his stomach freeze, gasping through slow breaths, Itachi felt his panic spike even more as he wondered…
Would this bond be another tick in the long list of his failed relationships?
Instinctively, Itachi removed his hands from the sheets and closed them into tight fists instead, the muscles of his jaw tightening as well, until he could feel his gums hurt by how much he was gritting his teeth.
His heart seemed to rebel at the simple concept of not being able to come home to see Naruto's smile, to not hear Naruto's chatter as he prepared breakfast for them both, to not see Naruto's lean body undulating sensually against Itachi's one as his hands caressed his honey-coloured skin, dragging him closer, always closer, never close enough.
If he had been short on breath before, Itachi found the task of taking air in his lungs very much impossible now.
It was almost scary, vertigo chasing his mind as it spun around, and a wheezing sound almost surprised Itachi until he realised it was his own laugh, constricted and squeaky as it had to pass through clenched teeth.
Ah, how could he even think about leaving Naruto, when all the time, just by closing his eyes, the blond Adonis was the only thing he could see?
Itachi had never believed he would fall for someone so much, want to keep them close, want to hold them tight and never let them go, but he had.
Itachi had fallen so hard for Naruto it felt exciting and horrible at the same time, and breathless and scary.
No, he could not leave the blond man.
Bringing one hand to his chest, massaging the skin right above his heart, breathing softly as the pain started to lessen, now that he had finally reached a decision, Itachi forced his body to calm down, absently closing his eyes and smirking to himself.
Well.
If he could not leave his blond man, his sensual, enticing, cheerful and loving Naruto, well then… he would need to make sure that the other man would also never want to leave him.
– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
Minato stopped a couple of feet away from the temple, readjusting his back–pack.
It was such a familiar sight, and for a moment he simply remained standing there, getting a good look at a place he had been away from for so long.
The first thing he felt, aside for the wave of melancholy, was annoyance; he was a bit peeved, nothing seemed to have changed at all.
Maybe it was a little bit greener around the area, with some trees looking older and taller, more grass and some flowers peeking out on the sides; he remembered how one of the trees was curling to the side of the building, barely tall enough to reach the upper windows, and now the same tree was tall and stretched upwards, way higher than the roof, even.
If anything, the red paint of the tori had faded a bit, showing the wooden maroon of the underneath, and there were more faded lines on the side of the steps, but time had passed on and had barely scratched the temple, leaving it just about the same.
Minato observed carefully the curve of the arched doors, the bright golden and red ornaments scattered all over the surface of the temple, the torii still standing tall and proud, red standing against the blue sky behind them, and took a deep breath.
The two proud lion statues that were guarding the temple, both stuck in the same pose forever, were also the same as before: they stared back at him with mean glares and bared fangs, one with an open mouth, showing its tongue, one with a closed maw, depicted with a wide, ferocious smirk, just as impressive as they had been the last time Minato had visited the temple… almost twenty-five years before.
Yes, nothing had changed, and the feeling was strange; Minato himself had changed, the whole city around them had changed, and yet there it was, memoir of a past that never changed, still looking the same, offering him a short trip to a different time.
He approached the two statues carefully, as if afraid that if he made too much noise, one of the lions would come to life and pounce at him, fangs glinting in the light of the sun. His hand reached out slowly, touching the stone mane of the imposing animal, and he instinctively closed his eyes as he felt the stone cold under his fingertips. He let his fingers dance down the back of the lion, taking a deep breath, caressing the body in a parody of petting a large cat, and concentrated on all the abrasions and imperfections time had carved upon the animal.
The sculptor had been skilful and patient, making this creature out of a marble block one inch at a time, and in Minato's mind he could almost see the mallet falling abruptly, but with patented skills, on the chisel, giving the stone its shape, moulding it slowly and beautifully into such a fierce guardian.
Old skills that he could never stop appreciating, arching their way from the past, showing that beautiful things could still remain, that they were not condemned to be destroyed by man.
His mind wandered back, almost against his will, to that past he was finding now in his present, like leftover remains.
The last time he had been there, his hand caressing the same lion like this, had been with Kushina. She had been at his side, then; she had asked him to take her to his favourite place, wanting him to share it with her.
He wondered briefly, almost sadly, if she had known, at the time, that she had been pregnant. She had said that she wanted to talk to him about something important, and she wanted to do it in a place that would mean something to Minato –she could not do it anywhere else, and the strength of her words had convinced Minato.
Unfortunately, the date, just like numerous others before, had ended in a vicious fight, with Minato cursing, trying to stop his anger from overflowing, and with Kushina storming away from him, tears in her eyes unwilling to fall.
Ah, his relationship with Kushina had had a lot of ups and downs, like probably many couples could testify, and yet the last few months of it had shown far more downs than ups, making it bittersweet for him.
He had felt cramped, forced into a direction he did not feel comfortable with, pressured by everything, unable to make her happy, unable to make himself happy.
Minato wondered, his hand stilling on the lion's mane, what would have happened if he had stayed instead, if he had fought for Kushina.
Would they have raised Naruto together, then? Would they have been happy, despite all the bitter feelings, all the fights, the mean words, and the hurt? Would have Naruto been enough to keep them together?
Shaking his head in dismay, Minato opened his eyes again, and they were filled with a bitter certainty: he should not try to fool himself into believing that whatever he had with Kushina at the time would have been enough to live as the happy family he had always dreamed of. He had been deluding himself, and even back then he had already known that his relationship with her had been over despite his attempts to keep it together just for the sake of it.
Nothing would have saved it, and trying to think he could have done something, after more than twenty years, was just a way to hurt himself more and deny the truth further.
Not even a kid would have helped them, and then… would not it have made Naruto himself unhappy as a child?
No one could want to have a young kid as the glue of a falling apart relationship –it would just be unfair on the child, give him too much pressure, make him feel unfit.
It was painful to admit, but he had been too much of a fool to see the truth of the situation; clinging to an old love was reassuring, calm, even if that love had been already dissolved in smoke, and all that was left was regret.
In his immaturity, he had resented Kushina for the choice he believed she had forced on him; for the few weeks they had eloped together, his bitterness about that choice stirred and grew, and the target of his ill-mood had been, of course, Kushina.
Memories piling up together in his mind, Minato sighed, feeling weary.
He remembered long nights of hard work as a construction worker, returning home to grab a few hours of sleep before going out to his delivery job, wearing himself out and all just to pay the shabby, flea-infested flat they lived in, and a supply of ramen.
He remembered being angry, because while he was working himself off, Kushina slept limply on their futon, body stretched languidly all over it, hair haphazardly scattered everywhere. He remembered how beautiful she had looked before, and how he could not see that beauty anymore then, the sight of her surrounded by empty cups of ramen, equally empty beer bottles, and the ashtrays always filled with cigarettes' butts.
The sight had been jarring and unwelcome. Kushina had been the outlet for all his resentment, his anger, and most of all his self-hatred. He remembered yelling at her, ranting incoherently at her prone form, accusing her of being the cause and the sole reason of every single thing he disliked, no matter what it was.
Looking back, Minato could not believe it; he had turned into one of those men who screamed and verbally abused the women they professed to love, and the thought sickened him.
Not that Kushina ever held anything back, either, giving just as much as he received.
Drunken, stiff and with trembling limbs that never seemed to move the way she wanted them to, Kushina had sent back words of anger and hatred to rival his own.
She had yelled, cried, sent guilt crashing through him, always managing to keep him there some more, until something inside him had snapped and had broken.
Horrified, he realised that Kushina leaving him had actually been a relief, a blessing. This way, he had avoided facing the truth: the fact that the once intelligent, beautiful, independent girl he had fallen in love with had turned into a clingy, drugged addict with eyes injected with red and trembling hands.
Oh, yes –he had known about Kushina's little habits. Their meagre earnings would not have disappeared so quickly if one of them had not taken a nasty habit, and with all the time spent working, Minato did not really have the time, nor the energy, to be the one.
Try as she might, Kushina had never been able to hide the small track marks in-between her toes and on her hips. He had known, but he had chosen to ignore the problem, and instead try to live the dream he and Kushina had eloped for.
He was strong. He did not need help. He could do it all on his own. He…
He had failed, and he had been able to walk away somewhat guilt free, stepping out of Kushina's life and leaving her to fight her own fights. He was a little worse for wear, maybe, but relatively unscathed, with things he could go back to like a little kid. He had rebuilt a life without a care in the world for what had happened to Kushina.
Maybe there had been times he had wondered about her, if the Kushina he had known before had been finally reborn from the ashes of their relationship, but out of guilt, out of cowardice, he had never checked up on her.
He had never wanted to know the real truth.
Even now, standing in front of the temple, he could only think back at her with sadness.
It seemed that nowadays anything tied to his past with Kushina, one way or the other, had the bitter taste of regret.
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– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
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To be continued
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– LV – LV – LV – LV – LV –
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(1) These are names of masters of the Ikebana.
Author Note: The good news is : the lay-out for the next chapter is ready. The bad news: I have no will to write. Reviews might help. (No I'm not blackmailing for review… just a little) :D