Dreamcatcher
By Airyo
The Last Supper - 2
He was avoiding Hinata.
He'd never sought out the identity of the little girl because she had been trying to hide her face. He would respect that need, and yet in the same moment of that thought, judge himself as an arrogant coward.
Itachi had studied the brunettes that made genin around the same few years of Sasuke. But no seemed to be her. It had never occurred to him that a girl with such ambitions would have never passed the genin exam.
Because he did wonder - how could he not? All these years had inevitably expanded his memory of her into something unrealistic. She would have become a kunoichi, probably already in ANBU. She would have shattered all preconceptions of weakness and strength and found a place in league with Tsunade.
She would - should - have become great. Legendary.
Because anything less was admitting that his choice that day of the almost-massacre had been entirely his own. That the choice he almost made was just as much his responsibility as the choice he did. And in between the tangled lines of duty and love, he had been just as likely to murder his clan as he had been to save it.
Itachi had never forgiven himself for that.
But he had run out of excuses, and Mother was adamant, and Itachi went to meet her.
"Itachi-san, good evening," Hinata greeted with a slight bow.
It was difficult on several levels to force his perspective of what should have been two very different people. He was disappointed to see how beaten Hinata was compared to the little girl who was still fighting, the image of a warrior that he'd depended on to assuage his guilt. But it also hurt to realize that she must have fought until she had been beaten.
Hinata squirmed under his stare.
"Um...Itachi-san...?" she said uncomfortably.
What was wrong with him? At this rate, he'd turn into pubescent teenager, incapable of anything but staring awkwardly at the crush who never knew he existed. A relationship born solely of his delusion.
"My apologies," he said gently. "I suppose the best way would be to say it directly." He knew that the implication that his pause was devoted to being more polite would appeal to Hinata, and her shoulders relaxed. "You are invited to dinner with my family. Tomorrow at 7."
For all his morose thoughts, Itachi couldn't help but chuckle when every fiber of Hinata's body tensed as if she had been struck with a Chidori - ever her hair seemed to puff out in surprise - and she flushed a lovely, boiled-lobster red.
AN: Let's pretend I wrote this from the beyond, where writers hide from their patient readers...
