and the scarry skies above
pillars
"There is talk the Uchiha are planning a coup."
The slow and steady grind of stone on steel never falters.
Itachi continues to run the whetstone over his kunai, and his sensei continues to stare at him. He can feel her gaze all but burning a hole into his head. He wants to resist, wants to remain steadfast and unreadable, he does – but the moment he looks up and meets her curiously flat green eyes, everything inside him caves. His very heart calls for surrender, and he would give anything to make that cool look go away.
The people of Konoha called him a genius, he muses as he watches her for a moment while contemplating his next words, but even a genius is bound to have some weak spot.
Perhaps Sakura is his.
His unprotected hamstring. His achilles-heel. Perhaps she carries the key to bridle his unhindered ascent.
"There is?" he asks, voice carefully neutral. Sakura snorts, rage sparking in her eyes. "Don't give me that crap, Itachi. I've known you for thirteen years. Don't you dare lie to my face."
He flinches, puts down his kunai. Hurt curls around his chest as he faces her anger which is – perhaps for the first time ever – directed at him. Strange. Somehow he'd always thought he could do no wrong in her eyes.
"I wouldn't call it planning a coup," he offers in a low voice, drops his gaze. "However, there is some level of discontent among the clansmen, yes."
Sakura huffs, throws herself down on the ground next to him. "Understandably so," she growls. Angry fingers begin ripping up blades of grass. Always so expressive. "The whole situation after the Kyubi was gravely mismanaged. If I had anything to say about it…" She bunches up the grass and chucks it violently across the training field. It unravels mid-flight and gently floats to the ground, unimpressed with her simmering rage. "Sometimes I regret not having gone into politics."
"You would have been terrible," Itachi replies softly. She laughs and the taught line of her shoulders relaxes. "I would have, wouldn't I? I don't have the patience."
"Or the temper."
"Or the presence."
"The manners."
"My manners are fine when they need to be, shut up. The far-sight."
"The neutrality," Itachi smiles. "Also, your language is really bad."
She grins. "It is, isn't it?"
Plucking the kunai from his hands and idly spinning it around her finger, she looks up through the canopy. "And I've never been any good at staying neutral. I've always been very partial to the people dear to me."
He looks at her, the way her eyes flit across the first stars that start to tentatively peek from the rapidly darkening sky, how her braid curls around her neck like a content cat. There's a scar, ragged and faded, that slants across her throat and dips beneath the collar of her shirt.
He lifts his hand to hook a finger under the fabric and pull it down, to see how far the mark stretches.
Sakura turns her head to look at him, gaze now open and warm and more like home than anything he's ever experienced. Something inside him clenches, and he checks his fingers which are nearing her throat. Tugs at her braid instead, snatches the kunai from her hand. Cuts his palm.
"You should be more careful," she admonishes, green chakra dancing over his broken skin, mending the gash.
"You should stop spending energy on inconsequential matters," he retorts, swallowing against the lump in his throat.
"Like I said," she says and smiles up at him. "I'm partial."
He's drowning in her eyes. He's forgotten how to breathe. Just looking at her – just looking seems enough. Right now.
She startles the air back into him when she raises her hand, drags her scarred knuckles across his cheek. "You're almost gone, Itachi," she whispers. "I've almost lost sight of you."
The corners of his mouth twist down in a sudden pang of pain and longing. He leans into the touch of her palm, hands fisted tightly into the fabric of his pants.
"You will always have me," he murmurs, closes his eyes. Pushes back against the longing. She huffs lightly, and her breath ghosts over his face in a warm puff.
"A pretty dream," she sighs. "But the truth is, Itachi … you are no longer a child. I shouldn't hold onto you as if you were. You don't need me anymore. I just –" She stops, frowns.
"I just want to say I'm sorry. I know I'm always meddling, when you're perfectly capable of standing on your own two feet." She smiles. "Little Itachi, grown so tall. You really are the best this village has to offer. In every way."
Her hand leaves his cheek and without its support he stumbles, tethers, pitches forward against her smaller form. The breath leaves him in one fell swoop as he tries to catch himself, disoriented as he is, throws her back against the tree whose roots are sheltering them.
"I will always –" he chokes out, digs his hands into the soft material of her shirt, face pressed against her stomach. Dizzy and drowning in all that is her as hesitant fingers slowly card through his hair. I will always need you, always, always, hammers away painfully inside his head. But his throat is tight and his lungs are filled with whispers of green tea and herbs and she runs soothing hands over his back. He thinks it might be enough.
It has to be.
A/N: Well, this is it. The one chapter I've been teasing for the past month or so. I really, really loved writing this one, and I've been tinkering with the wording for ages, but not all of a sudden I'm really afraid you're not going to like it as much as I anticipated. Let me know?
Thank you so much on your feedback on the last update! I hope you will continue to stick with this story until the end (which, in all honesty, is kind of looming on the horizon).
Have a good weekend!
Lots of love,
planless
