Esthesia

x by Ebony x

Chapter 3

I have no rights to Naruto

Thank you very much to reviewers. You make my day.

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Nii-san…

A sleepy pair of eyes opened, then closed again against the sharp morning sunlight that was drifting in through the open window to illuminate the room. It caught the crafted metal frame of one of the pictures sitting on the dresser, glinting brightly on and off. The sun hovered on the far-off horizon like a great neon ball, threatening to roll away and cast the world into a cold blackness. The trees had been turned into spidery silhouettes against the rosy sky, wispy clouds drifting leisurely into day. It was quiet, save the long breaths of the lone figure in the bed and the chattering of the birds outside.

The boy's small hand reached up to rub his eyes, puffy and flushed from sleep, a breathy yawn escaping his lips. After blinking a few times so his eyes could grow accustomed to the sudden and painful vividness of his surroundings, the boy jerked upwards, his hand frantically patting the empty space beside him. There was nothing; just rumpled white sheets and a pillow half falling off the futon. They were lacking warmth, no hints of any body heat at all remaining.

"Nii-san…"

Sasuke's hand retracted to his chest, where it curled into a fist like a cat pulling in its claws, trembling minutely. He drew in his lower lip and bit into it gently with his teeth, not nearly enough to draw blood, just to make a small indentation in the smooth flesh.

Had it been a dream?

No, he thought, giving his head a little shake, his brother had been there. He was sure of it. It was too real, the memory far too intricate and breathtaking to have been a dream. It didn't seem like his dreams anyways; they were always odd and vague, or weird. He winced as recollection filled his petite head.

Some dreams were just plain stupid, like the one where everyone was a bird including himself, but others… others were graphic and dark, causing him to wake dripping with cold sweat. He would lie still while desperately clutching himself, teary eyes clamped shut so tight it hurt, until morning came to save him. Sometimes he would gather the strength to walk down the hall to Itachi's room, and ask if he could sleep there for the rest of the night. Just something about being near his older brother, made him feel reassured and safe. Besides, he didn't want his father to think he was some scared little kid or anything, so their parents' room was out of the question.

But the things in his dreams… He didn't know where they came from inside his head, but somehow they did, and that's what scared him most.

Mentally scrubbing his head clean of such things, Sasuke shed the light-colored sheets that were tangled around his legs and waist and stumbled into standing position. Instantly, the blood rushed from his head, causing vertigo and nausea to sweep over him. His one arm flailed out, palm striking the wall sharply in attempt to keep himself upright. For a while, he stayed like that, trying to keep his breath steady, letting his heavy head hang down, strands of inky black hair cascading down over his visage. Soon enough, the odd colors and patterns faded from sight and he managed to take a few unstable steps, still not in full control of his half-asleep body.

After changing out of his sleeping robe, the boy made his way through the semi-mute hallway. The metallic pitches of dishes clanging against one another were the only sound to be heard, coming from the kitchen. He slowly made his way there, the sound of his bare feet against the tatami mats like a soft drumbeat beneath the light cacophony.

In the doorway to the kitchen, he paused, dark eyes flitting over the scene. At the breakfast table, Itachi sat with impressive posture as he ate his breakfast in small bites and sips. A little bit of worry lifted from Sasuke's mind. Of course, Itachi wasn't going to wait for his little brother to wake up; he had to get ready for training! Satisfied with this explanation, Sasuke forced his legs to take him to the table where a plate and cup sat waiting for him.

Their mother looked up from the sink, wherein she was scrubbing their dishes clean, soapsuds clinging to her lower arms like shackles. Each plate and bowl was perfect and white, with the Uchiha crest hand-painted in the centre of each one.

"Good morning, Sasuke," she said in her comforting, cheerful mother's voice, as she always did. "Did you sleep well?"

"Pretty good," Sasuke answered, sitting down across from his brother.

Itachi's eyes did not come up to meet Sasuke's, nor did the older boy seem to take any notice of his presence at all.

"M-morning, Nii-san," Sasuke tried, slightly confused, leaning forwards a bit as to get his brother's attention.

Itachi's eyes flickered to Sasuke for a second, before traveling upwards, to the figure standing behind and to the left of his clueless younger brother.

"Good morning, Otou-san," Itachi said softly, obsidian eyes unblinking as they stared into and past Fugaku. Sasuke glanced up shyly in time to see his father give a slight nod before continuing through and out of the kitchen.

"Don't take too long," he said to Itachi as he passed, "You're being assigned a mission this morning." He paused again in the doorway, as if waiting for an answer. "Ita-"

"I know," Itachi replied bluntly.

Other than that, the meal was eaten in an impure silence. Mikoto began drying the dishes, humming quietly to herself (so she wouldn't hear it).

Itachi looked back to his breakfast, his expression mostly blank but almost troubled. Sasuke watched him a little longer before digging into his own breakfast, but even then, he couldn't help sneak glances at his older brother. Why was he acting so different than he had the night before?

Oh, right, Sasuke remembered, he has to go get a mission… that must be why. Then again, Itachi always acted oddly around their parents… mostly their Father.

Itachi ate gradually and precisely, the knife sawing the white flesh of his eggs into smaller pieces before he gently speared them with his fork. The metal bit into the swelling yolk and a goopy yellow liquid began to seep out, slowly forming a puddle over the Uchiha fan.

Itachi gazed motionlessly at his meal a while longer before leaning the fork and knife against the slight rise at the edge of the plate and picking up his dishes.

Sasuke dropped his utensils onto his dish as well, quickly scrambling up to follow his brother. He couldn't eat anymore anyways; ever since his father had come in, a welling sickness had been growing in his stomach, enough to make his hand pound and his throat tighten up like it was trying to strangle him from the inside.

"I'm done too," he announced, following his brother to the counter where the dishes were stacked to be washed. He went around the corner too fast, though, and balance was lost to him for a few moments before he lurched forward to regain it, and the plate slipped from his hands. He felt his temple connect with Itachi's boyish chest as he stumbled, followed by a loud crash. His squeezed his eyes shut, the sick feeling in the pit of his stomach only growing.

His mother's humming had ceased. Only the residual ringing of the shatter sounded in undertone.

"Here…"

Sasuke felt the warmth of Itachi's breast removed (and he missed it dearly but said nothing, as the void in his abdomen had swallowed the foolish things he was thinking). After a few moments, he willed himself to open his eyes, finding his mother frozen at the sink, and his big brother crouched down on the ground in front of him, carefully picking up small shards of jagged white china.

"I… I'm sorry," he murmured.

(what's wrong with me?)

"It's okay. It's just a plate,"

(why didn't I catch that?)

"Better it than you," she said, forcing a smile.

(idiot)

"Don't move, Sasuke," murmured Itachi.

His little brother's legs stiffened. He wouldn't dare.

His mother's warm eyes worriedly surveyed the eldest. "Be careful, Itachi," she said, as if she were not talking to a trained killer whose specialty was dealing with sharp objects.

The small pile of broken pieces in Itachi's hands continued to grow. Finally, he had gathered what seemed to be all the fragments and stood, carrying them over to the garbage. Halfway there he stopped, the expression on his face unchanging as he slowly let the breath escape his lungs.

"Nii-san…" Sasuke's eyes began to widen, and he rushed recklessly forward. "Nii-san, you're bleeding!"

Itachi looked down at his foot, turning it so he could get a better look at the tender underside, a curved piece of china sticking abstractly out of his foot. Redness blossomed, sharp against the paleness of his skin. It gushed out thinly, spilling onto the tiles of the kitchen floor.

He had gotten all but one piece…

"Nii-san," Sasuke whimpered again, unsure of what to do.

Mikoto moved forwards, clutching a clean dishtowel. "Stay still, Itachi. Sasuke, run and get the bandages. They're in the medicine cabinet."

Sasuke gave a shaky nod before he fled to the hallway, sprinting in the direction of the washroom.

It was… odd… to see his near immortal, perfect older brother's blood. True, Itachi had injured himself before, whether in training or otherwise, but it had not happened for a while… and Sasuke was beginning to doubt his brother could shed blood.

He grabbed the bandages and some disinfectant (just in case), and ran as fast as he could back to the kitchen. The scene had changed slightly since his leave. His father stood by the doorway, critically watching over his family. Itachi sat on the table, his injured foot propped up on his knee so he could access it without much trouble. Mikoto knelt beside him, her eyebrows furrowed in worry.

"I got it!" said Sasuke, holding up his retrievals to his mother. With another faux smile, she took it, unrolling the bandages until they were at the length needed.

Sasuke turned his eyes away, searching the room for another focal point. The ill feeling pushed up his ribcage, a wave of heat coming down upon his face. He shook his head to try to rid himself of it, catching sight of his father. Coyly, he looked up at the man's solemn face, but was greeted with nothing but a disappointed and almost disgusted frown.

Sasuke quickly swiveled back to Itachi, had drawn the shard from his flesh, causing more blood pulsing out. He ran his fingers over the wound, and using the small bit of healing he knew, he stopped the flow of blood and healed the damaged muscle, though there was still a small cut.

"I'm sorry…," the boy said again, but no one seemed to hear him.

With the wet cloth in her hand, Mikoto began wiping at the miniature red lake forming on her kitchen floor.

Sasuke took a small step closer, eyes glued to his brother. "Does… it hurt?"

"It does. A little," Itachi answered, eyes a little wider than usual as he stared at his blood, somewhat entranced. "I'll be fine."

"Will you be able to train today?" their father said gruffly.

"I think so," Itachi replied coolly, wrapping the long strips of cotton around the wound.

Sasuke's small, clumsy hands reached forwards, as if to take the bandage from his brother and wrap it himself. There was a swaying ache in his head that made the world feel like it was distorting and stretching apart. "Here, I'll help Nii-san…"

"That's okay," Itachi said, tying off the bandage. "It's nothing but a scratch now­­­­."

Sasuke's hands drew back a little. After finishing with the mess on the floor Mikoto stood, her fingers fidgeting nervously with each other. Her ministrations stopped abruptly with a glance from Fugaku.

"… I'm sorry," repeated Sasuke, tears welling up in the edges of his eyes. The world tilted and he went with it, leaning into Itachi. His head nestled into his older brother's lap, arms wrapped around Itachi's slender waist. At first Itachi did not move, but soon Sasuke could feel his brother's hand digging into his hair like a comb, his thumb making concentrated circles on his stiff-muscled neck.

Sasuke held his eyes shut, not wanting to let his foolish tears escape. He mumbled something inaudible into Itachi's lap, causing a sliver of a smile to dance across Itachi's face, so slight one could easily mistake for a twitch of the lips.

(does… it hurt?)

"Itachi," came Fugaku's demanding voice, "We have to go. Now."

Itachi gave a curt nod and brought his hands to rest on Sasuke's shoulders, pushing him away with care. The younger compiled, taking a few awkward steps away. Mikoto went back to the dishes she had yet to towel (even though most of them were dry by that time anyways), and her pleasant humming resumed. Itachi and his father left the room like phantoms, and without a single glance backwards at Sasuke. As if he was not even worth the time to acknowledge… Not enough.

Deeply unnerved, Sasuke remained sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the small pile of cracked china he had broken… shattered… destroyed…

He didn't mean to make Itachi hurt.

(what if he doesn't love me anymore…? What if he hates me?)

It was an accident…

(I'm never enough)

The bloodied fragment lay still on the table.

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