Sasuke
I awoke to the irritating sound of Itachi dragging a mattress across the room. I pulled a pillow over my head with a groan. "Go away, It's early."
"It's not early, it's nearly eleven."
I glared at him from the crack between the pillow and the mattress. "I don't have school. That's early. What are you doing anyway?" He gave me a disgusted look but didn't say anything.
Then I remembered the sleeping arrangements from the night before- he must have given up! "Guess it's a good thing your room has plenty of extra space," I snickered. He did his best to ignore me, but the look on his face gave away his displeasure.
"So, how long are you planning on keeping me here?" I teased. If it meant kicking him out of his bed, I was more than happy to stay in his room. He just glared at me and picked up a stack of sheets.
Between the shattered water glasses and busted alarm clocks, my sleeping habits had given me plenty of trouble in the past. However, seeing Itachi now made it more than worth it.
When he finished he turned to face me, looking stern. "What did you do with my handcuffs yesterday?" I smirked. He finally remembered did he?
"Oh I'm sorry, did you expect those back? I'm afraid there was a little accident and I dropped them out the window at the hospital," I said, trying not to laugh at the expression on his face. He was not amused. Actually they were sitting well hidden in my room, but I had no intention of returning them. Revenge and all. Itachi rubbed his temples, clearly exasperated but trying to keep his cool. That's what he got for chaining me to a bed.
"Also why the hell do you carry around handcuffs?" I asked.
"So that I have them when I need them," he responded, like it should be obvious.
I rolled my eyes, "And why exactly would you need them?"
Itachi thought a moment. "They're useful." I thought I saw a glimmer of amusement in his eye.
"Well that answers my question." Weirdo.
Itachi ignored me. "Alright, now that you're awake you've got fifteen minutes to get ready, then meet me in the kitchen for breakfast."
My eyes widened. "Don't tell me you're planning on cooking?"
"And if I am?"
I grimaced. "No way am I going to eat your crappy health food."
Itachi smirked. "Then it's a good thing I have no intention of making crappy food."
"I guess we'll see," I scoffed, and then blanched. That would mean I actually had to try it. He smirked and I glared at him, although I admit I was curious about what exactly Itachi was planning on making that he thought I would eat.
"Fifteen minutes," he said again, dismissing me. Itachi had given me plenty of time to run off. My window might have been a straight drop to the ground, but Itachi's had a convenient tree. And with him downstairs…
But then I'd just be avoiding eating his food. Besides, although Itachi was unlikely to give up on me, if I proved to be a hopeless case he might just say fuck it and move on. That was an outcome I wanted to avoid, but that didn't in any way mean I had to let him succeed in getting close to me. Actually so long as he believed he could succeed, failing would only make him more determined. The more committed he was to helping me, the more I'd be able to make him suffer. And I did want to make him suffer. He deserved it.
When I went downstairs, Itachi was in the middle of cooking.
He looked over at me and tilted his head to the side. "Are you… wearing eyeliner?" he asked. I gave him a blank look. He stared at me for a long moment and then shook himself. "Sit," he said, pointing to a chair.
I glared at him and then deliberately sat in the chair across from the one he pointed at. He rolled his eyes and went back to what he was doing. As I watched him cook, I realized with a sinking feeling what he was making. It was a recipe for banana chocolate chip pancakes. One of our mom's. Come to think of it, I did vaguely remember Itachi helping her out- a long time ago. I was still in elementary school. I was pretty sure he hadn't cooked them since, but then again Itachi wasn't one to forget a skill.
I was starting to regret agreeing to try his food, but at this point it would've been childish to refuse to eat it- especially if it was better than anything I could make. Regardless of how Itachi saw me, I was not going to behave like a child. Unfortunately, breakfast wasn't my strong point, so if he came up with something decent then there wasn't much I could do.
Itachi walked over and set a plate down in front of me. I tried to suppress the painful memories of my mother brought back by the food as I poured syrup over the pancakes and started to eat. He actually did an impressive job. It wasn't a perfect imitation, but unfortunately it was quite good.
He smirked at my disgruntled expression. "Problem?"
"Not at all," I replied coldly, "It's not as good as mom's, but not bad."
As I ate, I realized I could still turn this to my advantage. To be sure, mom's was a high bar to meet, but until a year ago, I spent a lot of time helping her out in the kitchen. When it came to dinner, I was pretty confident in my skills. Itachi tended to avoid eating with us, so he probably didn't know that.
We ate in silence, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Was Itachi remembering cooking with mom as well? He had a look of slight frustration on his face, as if trying to pinpoint exactly why his cooking didn't quite measure up to the original. He might be skilled, but mom poured her heart into her cooking- something he was probably incapable of.
"Lamenting an imperfect replication?" I asked.
His jaw tightened. "Are you saying you could do any better?"
"I'm merely suggesting that although you have the skills, you can't recreate the heart she put into her work. Seeing as you don't have one."
"Emotions don't play a role in cooking. It's a science."
"How sure are you? I'll show you exactly what real cooking is at dinner tonight." He blinked at me. Yup, he had no idea how much time I'd spent in the kitchen over the years. His victory over breakfast would be short lived. His expression quickly turned to amusement though.
"You're cooking for me?"
I scoffed. "That's hardly the point."
"I'm looking forward to seeing what you come up with. Don't worry, my expectations are low."
"And I'm looking forward to wiping that condescending smirk off your face when you are forced to accept my superiority." It was clear he still saw me as the child I used to be, and I would prove him wrong.
After we were through eating, we both went over to the living room. Itachi approached the shogi board sitting at a table in the far corner. "How about a game? How long has it been since we last played, years?"
"And whose fault is that? Go to hell Itachi. I have no intention of playing with you."
The corners of his lips twitched up. "Because you know you'd lose?"
"I would not lose," I snapped, then grit my teeth as I realized I had, yet again, been played. He knew exactly how to get what he wanted from me. If I backed out now, he won by default
"Then prove it." He sat down and began setting out the pieces, leaving no room for me to argue.
Itachi had taught me to play years ago, but I'd never beaten him. Now I was much older, and much smarter. Maybe this would be a good opportunity to show him how much I'd grown. I'd occasionally played against my classmates, and I'd only ever lost to Shikamaru. I may not have liked it, but no one won against Shikamaru, and I'd certainly put up a hell of a fight, which was more than most of his opponents could say. I was pretty confident in my skills and not particularly worried about losing.
I sat across from him and set up my pieces as well. "Fine, I'll play," I said. "But let's bet on it." Raising the stakes would make the game far more interesting, and more satisfying to win. I smirked. "If I beat you, give me back my knife." I knew I didn't have any chance of getting it back, of course, I was just saying it to provoke him. The dark look in his eyes told me I was succeeding, but other than that he kept his cool.
"You really think I still have that?" he asked. "Here's an idea, when I win you give me back my bed."
I snorted. "You wish. I won that one fair and square." I frowned and bit my lip. Trying to make material bets was unlikely to get us anywhere. But if I could get some information it might be more useful to me in the long run anyway.
"Your job," I said. "If I win you tell me what it is, and why you refuse to talk about it." He had to either accept the bet, or justify rejecting it- something he couldn't do without revealing at least something about what it was. I got curious when I found out he carried around handcuffs, and for whatever reason he clearly wanted to keep it a secret.
"No."
"What's your excuse? You've decided to stick around, but you can't expect anything from me if you won't even tell me what you do all day. If you claim to care about me, at least try to act like a human. You may have ditched your position as my brother, but you're acting like my jailer." Not that any amount of empathy would win me over, but it was fun to watch him suffer. As I spoke, his face clouded over and he narrowed his eyes.
"Fine," he growled. "And if I win you will tell me exactly what you were thinking when you nearly killed yourself." I flinched- I hadn't expected him to go that far.
"Fine," I snapped. It won't matter anyway since I was going to win.
As we started playing, the atmosphere around us turned even more frigid. Neither of us spoke a word, fully focused on the game, and on our own agendas. I was intent on kicking him into the ground, and I wanted to know exactly what I said earlier that had bothered him so much. Was it about his keeping secrets? Hopefully he'd tell me after the match.
The game stretched on. Neither of us could keep the lead; our skills were nearly even. Just when I thought I was starting to pull ahead, the game turned around. With each passing minute the tension around us grew.
"That's game," Itachi said finally, looking up at me with a dangerous smile. I stared at the board in dismay, trying to figure out where I went wrong. Ah. He'd been playing me the whole time. My expression darkened.
I had no desire to share my innermost thoughts, but I knew there was no way in hell he'll let me off the hook. Didn't he already blame himself, what more did he want? Was he looking to be exonerated? I wasn't sure I really blamed him, but I was pissed as hell, and hurt. And I certainly didn't have a problem telling him that much.
"Alright, start talking." He was still mad from before, and was probably hoping my answer would be more painful for me than for him. Or something.
I took a breath and started. "For years I idolized you, and maybe you didn't have a lot of time for me, but you were always there." I grit my teeth and tried to keep my voice calm. "And then one day you weren't anymore. I assumed I had done something wrong. Eventually I realized you probably just outgrew me, but since you didn't have the decency to tell me, I spent years thinking it was my fault."
I glared at him. "When our mother got sick, nothing changed! It wasn't only me who suffered, you know? Didn't you ever think mom might want to spend some time with her son before she fucking died?" His face paled.
"No? Guess not, cause whatever else was going on in your life was apparently more important. Is a fucking job really more important than your mother's death?" The thought of our mom was bringing tears to my eyes, but instead of letting them fall, I channel the grief into my anger.
"And then at the funeral you acted like maybe you did have a heart after all, but when it was over, you went right back to your usual self. And I was alone. Only it was so much worse than before, because for a moment-" My voice cracked, "For a moment you actually made me believe that things had changed and you would be there for me again."
I clench my hands into fists. "And then you had the audacity to sit next to me in the hospital and say you cared about me the whole fucking time?" My voice rose. "You would have had to be outstandingly dumb not to realize the affect your words and actions had on me, and do you really think I'm stupid enough to buy whatever crap you're trying to sell about caring about me?!" I yelled. "I have no idea what possessed you to make fixing me your new hobby, but I am not going to-"
"Sasuke I am your brother and as such it is my responsibility-"
"Oh fuck off," I snarled. "I haven't had a brother in years. I can't stop you from trying to watch out for me in some misguided attempt to be responsible, but I am never forgiving you, and I am never accepting you."
I shoved my chair away from the table and bolted into the bathroom. I needed to put some space between us even if I couldn't really go far. Maybe I did blame him; he'd certainly done enough to warrant it.
The rest of the day passed in a heavy silence, until finally it was time for me to start dinner. I knew what I wanted to make, and I hoped we had all the ingredients. I searched through the fridge and freezer and smiled when I found everything I needed. I was going to rock his world with my awesome cooking skills.
As I started to prepare everything, I began to calm down. Cooking again, it was almost like my mother was still here, standing next to me and gently directing me as she had nearly every night for the past few years. Before she got sick, of course.
I'd never cooked anything more complicated than instant noodles alone, but I was determined to create something that would do justice to everything she taught me. I also wanted to make Itachi eat his words. Somehow, I needed to show him how wrong he'd been these past few years, and how much sorrow he'd caused. I fully intended to turn all of it back on him and make him as miserable as he made me.
An hour and a half later I finished, and I was damn proud of my work. Sure it was labor intensive, but totally worth it. Cabbage and pork gyoza. As I dished it up, on an impulse I decided to add a touch of my own. I picked up a few ripe tomatoes, sliced them, and placed them artfully on the side of each plate.
Itachi snorted when I carried the plates out from the kitchen. "Tomatoes huh? I don't remember that being a part of the original recipe." I narrowed my eyes, but decided to let the comment go.
I watched Itachi carefully as he picked up his chopsticks and took his first bite, chewed, and swallowed. For a long time, he looked at me with an emotion I didn't recognize.
"I never meant to hurt either of you. You know that right?" he said at last. I didn't answer him, but the lingering tension from our fight that morning started to dissolve.
As I began to eat as well, I knew I had succeeded. This wasn't an imitation of her cooking, it was her cooking. The authenticity of the food invoked bittersweet memories, much stronger than this morning. Memories of her warmth, and from even farther back, memories of the time I spent with Itachi. He finished off the gyoza, leaving only a few slices of tomato, and then pushed his plate over to me.
"She taught you how to cook," he said as he watched me wolf down the last of the slices.
"Yeah. I helped her in the kitchen a lot, and we made this pretty often."
"I… like cabbage," he said, looking a little lost. "Of the meals she cooked- this was my favorite. Did you remember?" I shook my head, I had no idea.
Itachi's tone grew somber. "Sasuke?" He paused for a moment, hesitating. "You did a good job."
I smirked. "Yeah, I know."
