I awoke so drenched in sweat that I questioned if I had sleepwalked into someone's shower. Not only that, but judging from how absolutely gasping for breath I was, I must have sprinted into it and run in place for a few minutes with the water running. This seemed highly unlikely the more I envisioned it. There's no way I wouldn't have slipped and fallen, and I had no new injuries to show for it.
Considering I had officially reached "recurring nightmare" status, signs pointed to that being the culprit of my night sweats and current sleepless, shooketh state. I aimlessly wondered what time it was as I dragged myself into the kitchen. The clock read 3:14am.
Ah, yes, the perfect time to make mochi treats.
I was not going back to bed. Even awake, even with my eyes open, I could still see vague images of that bloody baby and distantly hear it's agonizing wail consisting of an indeterminable number of screams blending into one horrible, disjointed amalgamation of sheer terror. Mochi snacks sounded great.
I took care in not creating too much of a clatter as I went about the kitchen gathering various bowls, utensils and ingredients.
"Rice flour, rice flour, where could you beeee…." I sang in a whisper accompanied by a tired little wiggle as I scouted through a cupboard on my tippy toes, not quite tall enough to see.
"Back left." A voice startled the absolute beans out of me from behind. I flung around with an admittedly over-the-top gasp, whipping a wooden spoon in the direction of the source without a second thought, my free hand grasping at my heart.
Killer instincts, girl.
Itachi, not even batting an eye, reached out in an instant to pluck the spoon from the air as he coolly approached the cabinet I stood in front of without a word. He paid me no mind as he reached past my head, his chest pressing against me lightly as I stood between him and the counter, still frozen in place. I couldn't help but notice he smelled vaguely of sandalwood and sage, a combination I found myself enjoying quite a bit. After a brief moment that I wished lasted a bit longer, Itachi pulled back, a ceramic container of rice flour in his hand. He set it on the counter beside me and took a small step away, regarding me curiously and holding out a spoon.
"You dropped this," he offered calmly, as if I didn't just chuck it at his head. I flushed at the far too recent memory, snatching it back with a quiet apology and a nervous laugh.
"Accidents happen," he said patiently, the corners of his lips upturning in a pleasant curve, apparently not entirely put off by my display of shinobi-level cutlery throwing. "Late night snack?" he asked with a raised brow.
I sighed and let out a dithery laugh, tapping the spoon against my palm. "Something like that."
He looked at me with that expressionless glaze over his eyes that made me feel like I was supposed to keep talking.
"I couldn't sleep," I elaborated. My stupid little lizard brain hated that I barely filled the silence.
"Well I could sleep, I just wasn't very good it," I elaborated further.
Still those same eyes. I fidgeted with the spoon, slapping it against my palm even faster.
"Well, you see, I've been having nightmares since the last memory seal was broken," I elaborated even further with a sigh.
Holy crow, that's enough. For the love of all that is holy, give the man a chance to respond.
"I see…" he finally interrupted my impressive show of how to converse using minimal social skills. "I don't suppose you need assistance with…this?" He gestured to the counter loaded with a variety of foods and equipment.
"Mochi with red bean paste filling," I answered quickly and smiled far too widely at his offer. "Well, it will be anyway. I'll get you an apron!"
"Is this necessary?" he asked as I skipped up to him with the mostly white, albeit somewhat stained garment.
Now it was my turn to raise a brow. "Itachi…" I began very sternly, he looked at me with his head cocked in waiting for whatever dumb thing was about to come out of my mouth. "I know out there," I gestured vaguely to the outdoors and training areas, "you're Mr. Perfect or whatever."
"Mr. Perfect?" he repeated quietly with the hint of a smile.
"Yes. You know all the ins and outs, how to survive and what to do in any given situation. Winning all your little fights. Always keeping it cool and whatnot. But here? You're in my domain now, and in my domain, we wear aprons."
"A simple 'yes' would have sufficed," he teased. I rolled my eyes and moved behind him before he could protest, swiftly wrapping the apron around his waist and securing the ties in back.
Itachi was kind of adorable to watch bumble around the kitchen, attempting to follow my directions to the best of his ability. The realization struck me that all his time had been spent learning how to kill people and snatch flying spoons, so he never had time to learn an art such as cooking. I took great pleasure in teasing him about the deformed mochi abominations he was turning out next to my perfectly round, little red bean cherubs.
He eventually asked, and I had sensed it coming forebodingly, about my nightmares. I divulged the chaotic details to him as vaguely and nonchalantly as possible, not looking to come off as a psychopath that dreamt of blood-covered babies on the reg, but he wasn't really having any of that, pressing me until I came out with all the creepy details.
Patient as ever, he allowed me to veer off track several times with long-winded rants on my favorite books, my theories on fish-people, Kisame in particular, and the merits of eating dessert before dinner. Despite my near-constant attempts to derail the conversation, he would humor me to an extent before forcing me back on track.
"It sounds like you have quite the troubling memory trapped somewhere in here," he speculated with a tap to my forehead, looking at me in the same way you might look at a tower of precariously piled dishes. I absently wondered how many more plates I could take before they all came crashing down.
"Yes, and now I have a big streak of cornstarch on my forehead, don't I?" I deadpanned with a hand on my hip.
"Perhaps… perhaps not," he said with a barely perceptible smirk. "What would make you think such a thing?" he asked with a degree of innocence that made me scoff.
"Itachi… you have corn starch all over your face." I waggled my spoon around in loose circles, gesturing at the modern art adorning his features in the form of white streaks and splotches. "And here I was thinking you were just innately good at everything," I mused as I began wetting a cloth. Turning to him, I had to stifle a giggle as I was met with the frowning Uchiha, clearly not used to being bad at anything and certainly not being called out on it.
"I'm sorry," I caved in playfully. "Looks aren't everything." I said, looking down at the endearing little misshapen mochi lumps Itachi had produced.
"First you attack my cooking, now my looks. Izumi, I'm beginning to wonder if I should leave." He said with a shake of his head. He was joking... I hoped.
"Not your looks!" I immediately backpedaled. "God, I don't think you have anything to worry about there..." I said under my breath with an incredulous snort.
"Oh?" He cocked an eyebrow. Guess he heard that.
Oops.
"I was talking about the mochi before!" I defended, quickly attempting to move away from my accidental admission that I found him rather pleasing to look at.
"Well, yes, but then you were talking about me. I didn't mind that." He leaned coolly against the counter, his eyes steady on me. I wished they weren't as I felt the heat of my blood prickling beneath the skin of my cheeks. The entertained expression he wore seemed to grow even more-so. Was he trying to fluster me? I simply couldn't allow it.
"I'm sure you didn't mind, considering it was a compliment." I tried to take a page out of his book and play it cool.
"You wouldn't happen to have any more, would you? Perhaps one that's not muttered under your breath and punctuated with a noise that a pig might make?"
Oh, he was good. I could feel myself getting all riled up, scrambling for something witty to sling back at him. Calm and collected. That's what I vowed to be and darn it, I was going to be those things. I mustered my resolve and gave him a scrutinizing once-over.
"Well, I can't compliment your cooking."
"As we've established," he agreed. "Surely there's something else?"
Well isn't he in a cheeky mood at 3 am.
"And you already know you're attractive," I added, matter-of-factly.
"Do I?"
I swallowed as I realized he was backing me into a corner, and boy did he know it judging from the look on his face. How on earth did smug look so good on him?
Psh… you're not backing me into a corner, I'll march right into that corner all on my own, thank you very much.
"Fine. You already know that I think you're attractive. Is that better?"
"Oh, significantly."
It was becoming increasingly more difficult to maintain 'calm and collected' and the temptation to devolve into a state of utterly flustered was just that, tempting. He looked quite pleased and I couldn't tell if it was with himself, me or both, though as ruffled as I was, I couldn't help but want more.
"But you had already mentioned that," he cut into my thoughts. "Not that I'm bothered by hearing it again, but I am still waiting for another."
"You want another compliment?" I asked, clicking my tongue and pushing my jaw forward in a challenging sort of way. He merely looked on at me in waiting, clearly amused to see where this was going. "I'll give you another compliment…" I grumbled, balling up the wet cloth that had been in my hand and flinging it at him with a smug look of my own. Without breaking his relaxed lean or even looking at the darn thing, his arm shot out quickly to catch it before it splatted against the cabinet behind him. All according to plan.
"You're good at catching things," I said very sincerely.
He smiled, uncrumpling the cloth and inspecting it listlessly. "How very convenient, considering I was recently told I had something on my face. Thank you, Izumi, that was very thoughtful."
"You're very welcome, Itachi. I'm a thoughtful kind of gal." I said as I watched him wipe his face, missing much of what needed to be cleaned. Whatever game we were playing, I liked it. Not only did I like it, I wanted to win.
"Looks like we found another thing you're not so good at. I don't suppose you need my help?" I offered, taking a step towards him.
"Need is a strong word," he admonished, though the humour in his voice belied the stern look he attempted to give me.
Stubborn man.
"Would you like my help?" I edited, closing the space between us and tugging the cloth from his fingers.
"Well, since you're here and have apparently commandeered my only rag…" he trailed off, as if there was nothing he could possibly do about it.
"True. I imagine it would be quite difficult for you to steal back such a thing, what with my incredible strength and speed."
"Incredible indeed," he said in a pointed way, his eyes oddly intense upon me.
Something about his gaze made me feel stupidly flushed. I chewed on my lip in an attempt to bite back any further comments and brought the moist cloth to his skin, gently wiping the white powder from his nose before moving to his cheeks, making my way across his face and ending with a particularly large smear just below his lips. My throat felt dry when I got to that part and I hoped he didn't notice how audible my swallow was.
"You act like I'm the only one," he speculated, staring down at me and pulling the rag from my hand without breaking eye contact, "in need of assistance," he finished.
"Well if you recall, Itachi, you're the one that got crap on my forehead," I scolded. He smiled contently as he wiped the smudge in question.
"Fair enough, Izumi, I'll take accountability for that one," he paused with a tilt of his head, his eyes travelling down to my lips, "but how would you explain this one?"
The coolness of the cloth glided across my chin beneath the guidance of his thumb, inching towards my lips and just barely grazing the bottom edge. I wondered if it felt like this to him, the comforting pressure of someone tracing lines across your skin with the cool, damp cloth. He continued the gentle wiping, moving extra delicately around the wound on my temple and pausing to examine it more closely.
"This is a burn?" he asked, blotting around it, likely trying to identify it's cause. I didn't want to talk about my injuries though.
"Yes. Now enough about me, how's your wound doing?" I asked, taking the rag back and placing it on the counter. No more distractions.
"My wound?" He seemed genuinely perplexed.
"Yes. Your wound. The one you got because of me, back when I fell in that water. It was a stab wound to your abdomen if I recall correctly?"
"Ah, yes. That was nothing." he recalled and waved off with swift casualness. My eyes narrowed and I wished it would make me look intimidating like him instead of a petulant child at worst, angry teddy bear at best.
"My injuries are nowhere near as bad and I wasn't allowed to get away with saying 'it's nothing'" I reminded him sharply, closing it out with my best Itachi impression before folding my arms across my chest, an impatient tap to my foot.
He stared at me with a furrowed brow and a certain calculating look, probably trying to determine if it would be more painful to just appease me or continue to push back. I watched the conflict play out in his expression before he ultimately let out a sigh and stared up to the ceiling in defeat, his hands moving to lift his shirt.
Wise decision, Uchiha.
I stepped back and stooped down to get a closer look. I assume I'm probably going to hell for this but at first I didn't even see the scar, I was entirely too distracted by the small trail of hair creeping up from his pantline towards his navel, which, by the way, sat perfectly nestled within some rather exceptional abdominals.
Ahem… concerned about his abs, are we?
Right. I quickly shifted my focus to the slightly angry, pink scar just above his hip bone. While it did look mostly healed, I certainly wouldn't have called it nothing.
"Does it still hurt?" I asked, my fingers reaching out with a mind of their own to lightly to trace the edges of the fresh skin. A small twitch of his muscles caused me to pause, worried it had indeed pained him.
"No," he eventually replied, probably downplaying it as his voice was noticeably strained.
"You don't have to act so tough, you know" I tutted. "Not with someone like me. I could see you at your weakest and you'd still be stronger than me." I laughed softly to myself, thinking about our insane power difference. He continued to regard me in silence which was fine by me as I continued to be quite distracted by his exposed midsection.
I lightened the pressure of my touch to barely a breeze as my fingertips whispered across the pink scar one last time, again, his abdomen shivering just ever-so perceptibly at my touch. I pulled away frowning, wishing there were more I could do to help.
Well, there is that one thing…
I cleared my throat. "So, I recently learned about an ancient healing technique, Itachi. I could try it out on you, if you don't mind," I offered, looking up at him with big eyes. He tore his gaze from the ceiling to meet mine.
"Consider my curiosity peaked," he said, somewhat skeptically.
"It won't hurt," I assured with a smile before gently taking his tugged up shirt into my hands, freeing his. He seemed hesitant to relinquish control of the garment and when I glanced up, he was staring down with a markedly tense look painting his face.
"Don't you trust me?" I asked, looking up at him and blinking, wanting nothing more than to put him at ease since his eyes were trained on me with such anxious intensity. His adam's apple bobbed with a swallow before answering.
"I do," he said evenly, slowly. While I was taking tremendous joy in apparently flapping the unflappable shinobi, I was starting to become genuinely concerned that he thought I would screw something up so bad it might actually harm him.
"Now keep in mind, this healing technique may be ancient but I'm new to it, so I can't guarantee results," I reminded apologetically as I averted my gaze from his uneasy expression to the scar that marred his lower-right abdomen. I breathed in deeply before I slowly, sweetly, as gently as possible, planted my lips against the far edge of it. Despite his fingers always being cold, I took note of the warmth that emanated from his core. Feeling the muscles in his side spasm, my free hand moved to rest against it to offer a sense of steadiness, mindlessly rubbing my thumb across the skin and over his hip bone.
I nearly startled back as I felt Itachi's fingers comb through my hair, entwining with the strands before coming to a pause and resting atop my head. At first I thought it may have been to halt me, but after a moment of stillness and his nails gently scratching at my scalp, I realized, much to my excitement, he was encouraging me. Between that and enjoying the feeling of his skin against my lips perhaps a bit too much, I decided one more was in order. Afterall, the scar was rather long, more of a slice than a gouge, and I had really only treated one end of it.
It's only right…. right?
I withdrew just slightly to move across the newly formed pink scar to the other edge before planting my lips there as well, the breath coming out of my nose in a long, soft exhale as I did so. My thumb continued to move lazily back and forth over the protruding hip bone in some sort of comforting gesture and I did my best to keep the pressure of the kiss light so as not to aggravate the healing wound, but the barely detectable sound that Itachi seemed to breathe out made me pull back with a start.
"I-I'm sorry, did I hurt you?" I worried at my lip and straightened up in a snapping motion, pulling my hands back to myself.
"No," Itachi assured quickly but stiffly, his head angled upwards so I could only just make out that his eyes were clenched shut with brows knitted as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an alarming show of emotion. He stayed like that for a short moment as he let out an exhale and a pang of guilt shot through me.
"I'm so sorry, it was only meant to be… I don't know, I was being stupid. I'm really sorry, Itachi, I didn't mean for it to hurt." I could feel myself shrinking. Pathetic.
"It didn't hurt," he reassured once more in a strained voice like his mind and focus was elsewhere.
Like perhaps the pain he's in… because of you by the way, pressing your idiotic face against unhealed wounds, you absolute goober.
I backed away into the counter with cherry red cheeks, inwardly admonishing myself for thinking he might possibly enjoy such a childish thing, only to be even more embarrassed for clumsily knocking into a ceramic dish on the counter which went shattering against the floor. The symphony of shards skittering across the tile immediately snapped Itachi out of whatever mode he was in.
"Don't move," he ordered, his eyes scouring the floor and taking note that while he had shoes on, I wore none. Without any time to protest, he swiftly lifted me onto the counter.
"You truly are dangerous," he said with such a look, his eyes darkened more than usual, that I couldn't be sure what he was referring to.
"Sorry," I winced.
He laughed lightly and shook his head. I loved that laugh, however small it was. I was half-tempted to huck another dish on the ground in the hopes that I'd get to hear it again.
A/N: You best believe things are about to HEAT TF UP. I mean, at least a little bit anyway :3 So, what are we thinking? Do we like Izumi with Itachi? Hmm? HMMM?
