8.
The morning sun announces the call of a new day as orange spills across the sky , transforming into pinks and purples as it floods through the clouds. The morning light seeps through her veins, promising better days as she awakens to a portrait of black strands sticking to an art form; his face is a perfect curvature with his slender nose and his sharp jaw. She could live all her mornings waking up to this view, she thinks, as silence masquerading as peace fills the spaces in between them, their hands now unclasped - a movement, a slight shift in the night. Nothing more, nothing less.
She closes her eyes once more, wanting to capture this moment and allow it to reside in her mind somewhere safe ready to pluck out at a moment's notice when it is most needed. It is a familiar feeling, she feels, to feel so close to him, yet so different at the same time. She can recall happier days, carefree moments from days long past, but nothing from then has ever felt so strong - so heightened - as it did now. So it is, when he stirs and eventually arises from the bed, she misses the warmth beside her, and hopes that he does not notice her sudden stagnant breath, as she holds her breath in order to pacify her rapidly beating heart.
It is when he reappears from the bathroom and sits atop the bed only to pull his shoes on does she finally stir, signalling her woken state to him.
"Are you leaving already?" she asks, as she sits up, facing his back. He nods in response.
"It's only 5:30am," she points out, trying her best at concealing the disappointment in her voice. The loss of him leaves her displaced, she knows now. But his presence keeps her uprooted, lively even.
He straightens up and regards her coolly as he turns his head slightly towards her.
"I need to freshen up. Get a new set of clothes, prepare a few things," he says as a way of explanation. "I need to ensure I'm ready here for 7." She nods back in understanding.
"So," she interjects, a question on hand. "Is it your car you're returning to? Or... do you have somewhere a bit more permanent, immobile to return to?"
A slight pause. It hangs in the air, signifying the distance they still keep between themselves, the distance that he creates, she notes. "That's not your concern," he finally responds. "Focus on what you need to. On what's important."
His tone punctuates the end of this exchange of words, but to her, amidst everything she stands for and hopes to achieve, he too is still important. The thought lies half-formed in her mind, barely there - a fetus still forming. She cannot yet distinguish and decipher what exactly she feels for him, but it is more than friendship she knows that for sure. She watches him leave by the window, and she is once again, alone. Isolated. With servants and maids swarming around outside of her doors for her pleasure - for her downfall, she believes - she is stranded in a house too big that could never be home.
They pass wordlessly on open corridors, no eyes set upon each other in order to extinguish any suspicion. Instead, she partakes in conversations with others, learning about how to fund the families that work for her future husband, as she does so, she learns that Itachi has garnered all of the Uchiha inheritance allowing for some puzzle pieces to click into place.
Later, she pardons herself from a conversation and makes her way to the study room. It is on the way that she sneaks into an all too familiar broom cupboard.
"I think I understand now why Hiruzen always offered to pay for your expenses, as well as Naruto's," she informs him. "He must have known that there was no inheritance left. So if you stayed in Konoha, once you had turned 18 there would have been nothing left for you. Only your Uchiha name to keep you afloat."
His frown remains fixed on his face, unrelenting of any other emotion to pass.
"I don't know how he did it," she continues. "But surely he has traded tricks with the devil."
Time runs out, she is summoned by the call of her name. Where is she and wouldn't she like to learn about the etiquettes of a high woman in all sorts of social situations?
They float around each other, through hallways and corridors like the seamless time that, too, floats across, leading them to each other hours after ending whatever chore or errand they were engrossed in.
"I've been thinking," she murmurs to him as they glide across otherwise empty staircases together. "About how you have been surviving. The car you mentioned you have, the suits. It's all Orochimaru, isn't it?"
She glances up at him and receives a pointed look in turn. With no words emitting from his lips, it is enough to know that she has bordered across fine lines. His silence is also confirmation.
"I'm not judging you," she adds, wanting him to know he still has a friend in her, someone to console to when ready. "I just want you safe." They turn corners. Part ways. Inevitably, planned, they end up together in her room five minutes later. "I just want to know if you know what you're doing. Aware of what you're dealing with."
He strikes back at her, like a snake. "Do you know what you're dealing with?"
'I'm still here because of you,' she wants to say, but instead what permeats from her mouth is, "I know enough. And I have purpose. To learn of what I can and gain my skills in politics and the dark-webbed history of it all, before I disentangle it. Before I cause chaos, and restore order. I know what I want, Sasuke. I know what I want to get out of this. I want to liberate myself, and all those who are too stuck like me, with no way else to go but remain stagnant with nothing to achieve," she retells her story of her own grief, of having nothing else to live for but her dreams that currently remain unachievable, a birth of fiction. She takes a step towards him. "But I also want to help liberate you. Your soul which remains trapped in this now barren land where once our innocence resided. I want you to be free." 'To join me,' she almost says, 'in my freedom'.
"Now tell me," she continues, "What is that you want after? What is it that your blood fights for?" In a whisper she adds, "Why do you sell your soul to the devil?" She has breached the lines of his conditions of staying silent on the matter of Orochimaru and the mark which she believes is cursed. She swallows as she looks at his eyes, wild with... what? Resentment? Anger? His eyes fall to her breasts, where the pendant lies, winking back at him as it taunts the two of their roles in this disenchanted play.
In a sudden step of close proximity, he holds her hand and brings it to his chest. An uncharacteristic move that it leaves her mind whirling for a while, unable to catch up. But still, she is sure that she did not fabricate hearing the words, "I wish to take your hand and mend all your broken wings. To step beside you as you reach new heights. Just... give me time and space to do what I must do."
She is perplexed, unable to make of his words as her brows stitches together in uncertainty. "You... want to take my hand?" she repeats, the only words that she could possibly comprehend. "Even if it's been promised to another?" It is marriage that she speaks of, they both know. But she is unsure of his own meaning.
She feels his body tense, freeze, at her question. She almost expects him to drop her hand, and maybe he almost does. But, for some reason unknown to her, he squeezes her hand back. Is it a signal of comfort? She does not know, does not need to. For she knows that she has sealed companionship, in whatever sense of the word.
"He will never have you," he whispers against her, as more firmly does he press her hand against his chest, to feel his beating heart. It is of a steady pace, and he is relaxed. Oh, if only he knew how fast hers was beating right now. Why did he have this affect on her? He has cast a spell on her, and she gravitates closer to his orbit, not afraid of sinking in.
She listens to his carefully planned scheme - he wants her to seduce her fiance tomorrow, drug him if need be, coax out whatever she can out of Itachi. It is no different to what she had been doing before Itachi's departure, however, Sasuke reassures her that he will be close by if needed.
"The masks for your masquerade ball has been all set," he tells her. "And on top of that, I'll be wearing contacts. They're blue, look out for them," he informs her.
It is of a slight comfort to know that he takes his role seriously, to hide within the crowd, go unnoticed and observe her exchange with her husband-to-be as she confronts him though sweetened flirtations in a crowded hall, feigning to whisper sweet loving words to him. But as the knowledge of seeing him again tomorrow settles in, it terrifies her... To know that she would have to face him who has defiled her, who has used her sex towards his advantage, to have thrown her so off-guard it has warped with her reality. A week ago she had reacted to her damnation with rage and with her blood boiling, but now she just feels soiled and discomfort in her own skin. The thought of him having taken her, to have devoured her skin with his unholy hands and dreadful lips made her feel stained - broken. To have barricaded all of her defences, all of her walls of strength and surety of her position in this damnable world, and to knock it down and leave her feeling dislodged made her feel powerless... The fact that her greatest weakness was not her dull social status, but her sex, it vexed her and ruined her simultaneously. So when Sasuke reaches an arm towards her shoulder, she recoils at his touch reflectively, a defensive stance she has taken, to not be held by a man when she is not completely aware of what is going on around her.
He notices.
She is unsteady, unlike herself.
Under his piercing gaze he can clearly make out her trembles, as she slowly crawls into herself, cocooning into her own turmoil, unwilling to tell him of what is wrong as he asks. He is not sure if his words reach her.
"Sakura," his voice cuts through like lightning piercing a dark stellar night. He finally breaks into the walls she created over herself in the span of a minute. She had thought it would be resolute, to not allow anyone too close or near, but he breaks her warped fantasies and cuts through. "Talk to me. What's wrong?" How long has he been asking, she wonders. She is unsure.
She looks up at him, eyes wide and terrified. She does not know whether she can go through with any of it. The urge to run seeps through her bones, crawls against her skin. She does not want to see his face, his vexing smile and his perverted stares, even when she was seven and he thirteen she suddenly realises. Was she somehow the central pillar of all his damning secrets and lies? The thought struck her, clawing, pestering at her to put the pieces together. She does not want to accept it: that she - a good-natured, innocent Sakura - could have been the ignition, the wrecking ball of an entire clan. All because of some teenager was obsessively infatuated with her and what was it the old widow had said? Her mind racked through her memories plucking out words said by the frail old woman, until one stuck out - "Keep the Uchiha's bloodline safe and pure," the old woman had almost hissed at her. Had he meant to go against his clan, and always had his eyes set on her from even then? But no, that did not make sense. She had been far too young, still a mere child to have caught the eye of a young teenager, even if he had been pressured into thinking about marriage from a young age. Sakura pushed the thought out of her mind, still bewildered by the various possibilities, and maybe she hadn't been the catalyst to the impending doom of the Uchiha's... but what fear still lingered coated her skin in sweat at the horrifying prospect of seeing him again. Of having to bed him, if need be. If that's what it took to get the truth out of him. Isn't that what she had agreed to?
There was a lump in her throat, her words being swallowed by the feeling of being overwhelmed with grief and trepidation. Before her, under the gaze of her watery, unshed green eyes stood the man that she felt compelled to hate. But before her very eyes, he materialised into a face more soft, but his eyes still sharp, hair shortening only to stick up on all ends at the back. He became his younger brother and she felt a state of calm befall her as she stepped into his open arms and allowed him to tuck her head under his chin, against his chest.
"What is it?" he asked her, as he held her close. But she could not say the words, what evidence did she have? Her herself was still unsure of what had actually transpired that night with her dreams telling a different narrative, that she was not tainted, but had only fallen victim to drowning in one of Itachi's twisted games.
So she only whimpers and shakes her head, unable to form coherent words. His hands are on her back and dug in her hair. She feels safe. Her pain fits perfectly, moulding into his body. She is able to pick up her walls and surround herself with steel, but it is whilst doing so that she realises, this younger brother has the same gift of breaking through walls as his sibling. He breaks through and encircles her vulnerability like a windpipe, and cradles it, having full view of her emotional state beneath the curtains of hostility and intrepid mask she wears for the world to see. But she has no qualms about him doing so.
"I don't understand, Sakura," she hears him say, a low tone, almost a whisper. "But I can only imagine how you must be feeling right now. You have dreams, you don't want to be chained to anyone just yet, especially my brother. You have my word. He will not have you, because..." Words seem to stall him, and he is unable to grasp at what he so desires to say.
So she finishes for him as she looks up at his onyx eyes.
"Because I'm yours," she whispers back. He frowns down at her, disdain clearly written over his face. But it disappears as quickly as she saw it. Lightning cutting the night.
"Whatever you want," his lips speak, but it is clearly forced, but for just this once, she wants to ignore it, she tells herself. 'He has seen things he wishes not to speak of,' she convinces herself. 'He is unable to delve into the unknown, and claim what clearly belongs to him.'
She hears the steady thrum of each beat emanating from his chest, it soothes her. Outside, the stars shine brightly and throws a beacon of light at the flowers which have started to bud, the sure sign that spring has finally broken loose. She clutches tighter onto him, her fist scrunching up at his shirt as she takes comfort against him; she is the flowers that cling onto any form of light, he is the stars that illuminates her, reminding her that she is life itself.
"You need to sleep," he tells her. She slowly parts from him, peeling herself off. He helps as he casts her away at an arms length, his hands on her shoulders. "You've got a long day ahead of you. Remember what we've planned. Don't exhaust yourself before then."
She tugs at his blazer, not trusting herself to speak.
"This will be the last night, Sakura," he warns her. She nods amicably.
He moves to the bathroom, to give her space. After, he reappears and follows her into the bed. They are drawn closer together, barely any distance left save for the one he keeps with his emotions and secrets.
She is okay with him being able to penetrate through her defences, she thinks. He calms her storms and lulls her to sleep. As his touch on her arm presses her towards her dream state, a final thought passes:
It did not matter what riches and roads to success Itachi had to offer, he could never be his brother.
The wind carries flowers of hope to pass, songs of sadness singing within the howling of the wind. Leaves sprout, signalling the dawn of a new season, a time for change. Limbs are sprawled over each other, a cover thrown over, comfort found beneath. Slumber is broken by a haste knocking on the door.
Groggy bodies react too slowly.
A door is unlocked.
Gasps and frantic cries are broken loose; conspirational whispers travel forth and pieces are wrongly put together.
"Mr Uchiha will know about this! We must put a stop to this engagement before-"
"No!" Sakura cries out, distressed. "Please, don't," she begs, demanding for her words to be heard over the housekeepers' horror. "Itachi, he- He needs me. Please don't ruin this for him, for us." She scrambled words together, hoping this would be enough to keep the workers at bay.
"We do not withheld information from Mr Uchiha, especially if it is to do with such personal matters," one maid speaks as the others make themselves scarce. "And you," she regards Sasuke coldly. "You must leave at once! We will not house such an insolent man to walk between these walls! We'll have Itachi deal with you himself." As the maid turns to leave, she says over her shoulder, "And Miss Haruno, remember to freshen up so we can get you prepared. You are celebrating getting engaged, today."
But before she could leave, Sakura protests, "Please, wait. Hear me out. You don't have to tell Itachi! Because - because I'll tell him myself! As his future wife, I intend to lay my heart out for him in the open, and bare all honesty." Sakura stares at the woman intently, gripping onto the prospect that her words would be heeded.
The woman takes one last glance before declaring, "Very well. But if I see him again, I will have no choice but to inform your 'beloved'." The last word sounded cruel on her mouth, almost sinister, as the maid said it as if she no longer believed Sakura's devotion to her fiance.
When they were left alone, Sakura let out the breath that she had been holding and felt the air in her lungs course through her body again. She turned to Sasuke and said, bemused, "What even was that?" A short laughter filled with disbelief followed her words as Sasuke answered her.
"It seems Itachi's workers thought you had been cheating on him," his face was dull, uncaring of their plight. Sasuke sighed as he regarded his new situation. "It's a bother, but it's fine. I'll have more time to prepare the substance if I'm not needed here."
"The substance? You mean you've managed to locate the ingredients I told you?" she asked him.
"Yes," he replied curtly. "It'll take a few hours to prepare all that you requested, but I can do it before tonight's ball, so being discovered actually worked in our favour."
Sasuke stepped out of bed and turned to Sakura before he disappeared into the bathroom. "Remember Sakura," he said, his voice adopting a slightly softer tone. "If he doesn't comply, then you can use the substance to drug him. You're not alone."
He turns, and makes his way.
The night is aglow with the stars that breathe life into every being that walks the moonlit path below the sky.
A hall in adorned with low-hung chandeliers, blooming flowers of every colour that sweep across the rims of the floors and encircle around the pillars. The golden light emitting from the chandeliers cast shadows over the aristocratic paintings that govern the hall and illuminate others that are not shielded by the objects that pass through the hall in their suits of splendor and dresses weaved in the finest materials, gowns made for only the most high. Faces of the rich and the poor that are crowned by the exquisite clothing are concealed by elaborate feathers and masks that compliment their outfits, sequins reflecting the light causing it to dance off of each other. In one end of the hall sits a row of tables where sits only the best anmitsu and dango as well as the finest of wines, as requested by the awaited bride-to-be. Seats decorate the ends of the hall that is spattered with guests and workers alike, it is unreadable which are which and so a self-service is in order. Men and women take their fancy of each other, scrutinising their dance partner of choice based on their outfit alone and trade them like secrets when a classical song passes over to the next. Dresses spiral, arms twist, feet step together in a rhythm, and then apart. There is an exchange of non-verbal cues as couples find their beat together, before departing and making themselves known only by their physical touch to another.
The music shifts and the slight dimness of the light welcomes the woman dressed all in pink as she enters. Hushes filter throughout the hall as all eyes are set and fixated on the young woman who has pink and white flowers in her hair. Her mask is jewelled with the same colours, and her dress is almost an extension of her hair as it flows so gracefully as she descends the steps. She is clearly distracted as her forest green eyes survey the elongated hall, tracking for a familiar face. However she is halted in her graze of the cluster of people as a red-headed man offers his hand to her as she lands on the last few steps.
"Care for a dance?" he asks her, amusement playing in his words.
She barely hears the question and only takes the man's hand as support as she uses it to balance her feet onto the ground. Her head pokes up as she peers around and she lets the hand drop, distracted.
"All eyes are on you, you would do well to stay subtle," the strange man leans closer and whispers. His words strike like a chime and it rings in her head as she finally gives the man her attention. "Take my hand, and let the eyes fall away as you start the game of enjoying people's company," he advises her.
She regards him for a moment, weighing his words, before looking around and indeed most eyes are still on her, waiting for some kind of reaction. She looks back at the man before her with his mocking grin and allows her arms to fall loosely around his neck. In turn, his hands hold her by the waist, and their feet start picking a routine in time with the leisurely music.
"Enlighten me," she demands, her tone unfriendly, untrusting of this stranger whose hair is fiery red. "You're not one of the workers, are you?"
A light scoff passes through him. "Who's to say I'm not? These masks give everyone free reign of whoever they desire to be, and however they wish to act... even to a girl who is marrying into riches."
"Even so," she says. "Your way of speaking about the crowds, it seems you have knowledge of how these things work. I find it hard to believe you're putting up an act. Besides... I think I would have noticed that handsome red hair before." A soft smile pulls at her lips, and her flirtatious behaviour seeps through her words and into her bones, her touch as she softly tugs at his hair.
His reaction is imminent. He brings her closer and whispers in her ear, "You're quite a bold one, aren't you? Lucky for you most people have turned their eyes away."
"And Itachi?" she asks, convinced even further that he has some strings attached to the Uchiha, having known the steps to their dance with ease, having known how to pry searching eyes away.
She can feel the sly smile as his cheek brushes against hers, their masks grazing, "Find him," he taunts, before he leaves her whirling at the last dance move, and then -
-despairing.
She is alone again, with no one to hold and definitely no one to trust. She goes through men, dancing with them, giving her pleasantries and taking their compliments courteously as she is sure all the others are the workers. She can discern them through their lack of boldness, their polite greetings, and with some she can even detail their features: from a beauty spot under their lip, or the way their facial hair sits on their chins. She behaves how she is expected to, with grace and regard for her modesty, flirtations withheld for the only man that counts.
However he is none of them, and no matter how many men she comes close to, she can not outline the faint lines that groove his handsome face, or the onyx eyes that always remain unreadable, nor the loosely tied hair that she has come to know. None of them reads 'Itachi Uchiha'. And simultaneously that leaves her feeling blessed and cursed.
Sakura flows across half the room, her silks draping behind her as eyes linger on her bare shoulders that are kissed by the moon and artificial lights that fall upon her. It is when she passes a central pillar that she finally notices it: opal blue eyes that stare back at her, brewing a seeded sense of safety she did not know she needed. She pulls up the skirts of her ball-gown as she makes her way to him, and he to her. They stand opposite each other, and despite the music filling the room and the voices stirring about her, all she can hear is her own thudding heart.
She allows herself a moment to take him in: a new black suit with silver cuffs that rival the moonlight, his regal face half concealed by a black mask with intricate silver designs housing the edges.
"You came," she breathes out as she steps closer to him. It is only natural that her body fits perfectly within his as her arms drape around him, and his nestle on her back. "Did you bring it?" she asks.
They move in motion with the rhythm set by the music and he grunts in her ear confirmation, "Hn." They move away from the centre, their feet never daring to go off beat as they move into a swarm of people also dancing around them, changing partners, but never them. In one swift move she feels one hand depart from her body and digs into an inside pocket of his blazer, and when the dance number demands for hands to be clasped, she holds the vial in her hand before stuffing it within a pocket she had cut into her dress.
"He hasn't made it here yet," she states in his ear the conclusion she had finally reached, her heels giving her more inches in height.
He takes her hand and twirls her around before bringing her back close, holding her waist with his left hand. "You're wrong," he tells her, voice low. "He's in the room."
Her eyes immediately look up at his deep blue irises that help to mask his real identity.
She suddenly becomes all too conscious of how close she is to Sasuke, and how they have been dancing for an age, whilst others around them have switched partners multiple rounds. She realises then, that she must have been watched the entire time she had been in the hall. The fear comes at her like an icicle that slithers down her spine; what if he had seen what had transpired, what Sasuke had given her?
She stares at Sasuke's face, his handsome profile that is as stoic as stone and she asks him in a strained hush, "What would he do if he found us out?" Her question envelopes both what they had been plotting and their obvious closeness.
"Focus on extracting information from him, don't worry about anything else," he reassures her. "Now that he's here, I'm sure he would have left things of value in his office and in his room."
"Like what?" she asks.
"Notebooks. Diaries. More letters," he explains. His head dips lower as they sway together. "He sits in a chair where the lights don't reach him. Distract him for me." Before she could think to protest he turns her around the direction she needs to face and he departs, leaving her to fend for herself.
Sure enough, Itachi Uchiha resides in the darkness beneath a detached canopy where the light from the rest of the hall does not meet the floor or the walls. Her heart thunders as she nears but she steadies her pulse and aims to kill her emotions as she walks effortlessly towards him, being sure to take a wine glass in hand as she passes a table.
He sits in his throne-like chair and regards her with a slight tilt to his lips, a small smile of sorts. It unsettles her, but she refuses to let it show on her face.
Her eyes which houses lakes and forests takes in his handsome black suits rimmed with a blood red in order to distract herself from his own scathing look.
"Haruno," he finally greets, breaking the surface of the pregnant pause that held their silence.
"Itachi," she says back, her voice tight as she returns the greeting.
"I take it you're enjoying our party?" he asks her, his voice almost mocking. She restrains herself from saying anything obscene and resisting the urge to smack him as she curls her fists, digging her nails into herself.
"It's very grand," she replies. "But I think I'd like a bit more privacy with my future spouse, wouldn't you?" She makes an act of taking a sip of the white wine in her hand before pressing it towards him.
He takes it from her hand and inspects it before settling it down on the floor beside him. "That's a bit too forward, even for you. Need I remind you that this marriage is purely transactional. You help me, and I help you," he says, his voice smooth, velvety.
Rage flickers within her at the blatant denial that anything else had ever transpired between them. "And was it still 'purely transactional' when you left me inebriated and naked in your room?" she hisses at him, her facade of remaining calm broken.
At her horror, he blinks, and then-
-laughs. He torments her with every sound emitting from his lips. It is that laugh that makes her unguarded, realisation that her fears were rooted in reality and not just webbed together in her head. He has tainted her and he finds it fascinating to ruin her.
'You sick bastard.'
Tears stricken her eyes and fury laps at her skin, ready to combust and unleash her anger until he composes himself and offers, "You really think I'd touch you before marriage? I come from a family that upholds traditions and customs like its a religion." His words sink into her, realisation dawns and she does not know what to think anymore. "Sure, you were drugged. But that was all you. Remember who was obsessed over drugging others. You have a reputation for conning people and being mistrustful that you cannot fathom when someone is doing you justice." Her dreams come back to her in floods, and she can almost see the truth he speaks.
He leaves his seat and circles her as he continues. "Remember why we are making a big deal out of this marriage. Once you are an Uchiha, you will easily have the funds you need to make accusations at Shimura and the like." Itachi stops behind her and gestures at everyone dancing in the hall. "And all these families and their allegiances to the Uchiha would be here behind you. Whatever you need - witnesses, lawyers - we can fabricate lies just as well as any politician and use it to our advantage."
Itachi turns back to Sakura then, a hand in his pocket and his eyelashes lower as he says, "I think my absence has had a toll on you. Forgive me, Haruno. But I did not touch you, nor do I wish you any harm. I must apologise for your mental state... that was all me. I only wish the best for you."
Sakura was left stunned into silence at his words, unable to accept what he offered as what he claimed was the truth, but his words were dappled in sincerity and he seemed so genuine... Sakura was at a wits end. Suddenly, it almost felt that Sasuke's wishes about his older brother could have some foundation to them. Maybe... Itachi wasn't some sick, twisted psycho that she had painted in her head? Maybe... he was a victim to this world, a man, just like his brother, who had lost all those beloved to him and had instead been suspected as a criminal? Maybe he too was hurting, distraught, and so needed some sort of justice? Maybe this is where she came into play in his mind, as he himself was in no position to challenge Shimura. Maybe Shimura was behind the demise of the Uchiha...
Sakura was overcome by guilt at the implications she had accused him of to his own brother, but still so much was not adding up. Why was he affiliated with the 'Akatsuki'? Why had he left no inheritance for his own brother and had became scarce to the world? All the 'whys' flooded Sakura's mind leaving her feeling disoriented, unbalanced. She did not realise that he had moved closer until his hand was at her waist and he was drawing her in towards him.
"As my future wife, I also expect you to follow some traditions and customs... Being faithful is one of them," he whispered into her pink locks. His voice was dark chocolate, curling and melting on his tongue. His other hand plucked a white flower from her braid and placed it between their faces which were now only inches apart. "Don't think I haven't noticed you and that last man you were dancing with... Yours hands against each other seemed all too familiar."
Itachi crushed the petals in his grip and whispered into her pink locks, "If I see you with him again, I'll burn this house to the fucking ground," he sneered. "Just like I did with my family." As soon as the words escaped from his lips, he immediately withdrew from her, trampling on the petals in his wake. He made his way to the lit ballroom and left Sakura eyes-wide, stunned, as his revelation sunk in.
When Sakura had finally collected herself, she fled the hall in desperation and ran along corridors, aiming for either hers or Itachi's room. But she was halted on the staircase before she could even get to the landing by a man masked in black and silver, his sea-blue eyes piercing through her.
"Sakura," he said, grabbing her by the elbow. "What's happened?"
She was breathless, gasping for air as her hands clung to his shirt as if he was the shore to her tumultuous waves. "Itachi, he-" she gasped out, between pants. "He- he said it! He admitted to killing your family!"
Even beneath the mask, she could still make out his eyes widening, and the stillness of his breath. The tightness of which his hands gripped onto her.
"I'm sorry it has to be this way, Sasuke. I know you wanted things to be diff-"
"What did he exactly say?" Sasuke interrupted, his voice coming off in low waves, dangerously tight.
"He- He mentioned that he had seen me dancing with a man - you - and that we seemed too familiar with each other. He threatened that if he were to find me again with you then he would burn this house to the ground... just like your family," she added in as a whisper.
She sat on the steps and held onto his hands, caressing them within her own. "I'm so sorry, Sasuke," she repeated like a mantra. He was frozen as if time itself was stuck. She hoped that her words and touch could soothe his aching heart. "I'll bring you justice, I promise it," she vowed.
"No," he finally said, a croak. He then relieved his throat and repeated again, more sternly, "No. This isn't your battle to fight."
"Maybe not," she conceded. "But you have me. Let me do what I can, you don't have to harbour this pain alone. We can leave now and lure him out without anyone else having to know. There'll be no witnesses, nothing. Or, we go through with what we had initially planned... Except he pretty much confirmed that he'll remain celibate until marriage, so trying to seduce him probably won't work, and he seems awfully suspicious of any glass I give him, so-" Sasuke's hand clamped around her mouth, silencing her. She tried to pry his hands off but he kept it there as his face was angled away, listening intently to a shuffle of noises on the lower floor.
With his other hand he tugged her up from the step and pulled her towards the ascending steps. It was once that they had stepped a bit further up that he let go of his hand over her mouth.
"You need to go back to him," a low rumble tumbled from his mouth, she could tell his eyes had gone feral, and she could almost see the black beneath the blue oozing through, threatening to take over and showcasing just how much pain was hidden behind those irises of his.
"No, I won't leave you like this-"
He held onto both her upper arms and shook her. "You need to. He'll get suspicious and look for you, and you know what he'll do. What he's capable of." He turned her around roughly and when she hesitated he growled into her ear, "Go."
So she went, scrambling down the stairs with her skirts in hand taking a few looks back at the man that she had sworn had just crumbled against her, attempting to hold himself together, but failing. She knew him. And no matter how much he tried to hide it, she could see the agony behind his mask, behind his cold stares. It was with that distant look she had seen in his eye that she knew he was still the 12 year-old boy deep down, hurting with no place to call home, no blood to call family.
She went down the staircase and along the corridor, but just as she was about to enter the next hallway that led to the grand hall, she was halted in her tracks by a man dressed in navy blue, arms crossed whilst he leaned onto the doorway, his flames of hair tumbling down onto his mask.
"He admitted to killing your family!"
Her words rang in his head, drilling into him. Swallowing him whole. He had suspected it, but had never wanted to truly entertain the idea. It was too gruelling, too painful to even fathom that his once beloved older brother could have done something so horrifying.
How could he-?
Why would he-?
His brother was an arsonist, a murderer. The cruel reality gripped at him, and the fiery rage which he had expected to bloom and engulf him instead turned to freezing ice that spread through his veins.
He felt his hands being taken to another, and a voice meant to soothe but only stung was said to him. Any salve from her lips only made it burn that much more; she was talking nonsense, apologising for endings she had no hand in writing, clinging to swords that she had no right to wield.
"This isn't your battle to fight," he told her. Meaning it. He had only wanted her to gain information, and that she had. Her part in this was over, he had no more use for her. The rest was up to him. But this was not the reality he had wanted. He wanted truths, he wanted to hear how Shimura and the other governers had fucked over his family and had tried to pin it on Itachi.
This is not what he wanted.
He was suddenly a young, terrified boy again. Shaking with fear as the reality hit him. Running into a morgue and seeing the crisped corpses of his parents, his aunties, his uncles...
He had screamed and did not remember how the hospital staff had had to drag him out and assess him all over again for his mental state.
He only remembered hoping to fill his loneliness with screams that kept him up at night, with corpses staring at him, plaguing his nightmares.
He remembered what it felt like to be a little boy and lose everything dear to him once.
So when he hears movement below them, he remembers something else:
"If he were to find me again with you then he would burn this house to the ground..."
She is not family but she is pink blossoms that traces his fears, wants to become accustomed to his pain so she can match it with her own if she cannot save it.
She is not what he has lost but she is deep greens that beg for him to stay the night, to warm her with his presence, to keep her safe, and him, alive.
She is not anything of what he wants.
But she is here, and he knows deep in his bones that he cannot lose another to his brother. So he verbalises what he can, and makes sure she knows what will haunt them if she does not comply.
He is left to dwell on his broken past and unforeseeable future alone. He know what he must do. What he is now. There is no future for him in this dark, twisted world. His past lays in shatters and in his present, he is still doomed. Frozen with shock. He is an avenger, he muses, but first and foremost, he is an Uchiha. And he demands answers.
But he is still trapped within his own realm of the past, painted by his own carvings as he grapples with what was - kind smiles, and forehead pokes and ruffling of his spiky, black hair - and what it became - blood, terror, isolation.
He does not notice the footsteps behind him until the words are spoken, breaking him out of his own tremors.
Even in a low snarl, the voice of his childhood is still as calm and collected as he remembers. "That pink slut of mine, she's quite a looker, isn't she? She's even more stunning when she's out cold, fucked her until I saw stars." He says it like he is retelling a grand conquest, something exquisite he tries to stay humble about.
Cold sweat runs down his back at the implications of his brother's words.
"That pink bitch is mine, you'll do well to stay aware of that."
Sasuke's fists curl and tighten, his stomach knots together and rage festers all over. He turns and is ready to grab the fucker by the collar, but as he turns, he is alone. The only indication of his presence ever being there is the light that flickers behind him; a light that had not previously been turned on before.
In despair, Sasuke realises that he has turned Sakura in to the man that dared touch her, rape her, and-
-his feet run before he can allow his thoughts to spiral out of control again.
The red-haired man has a smug look on his face that he wears lazily. Sakura takes a step closer to the doorway but, as she expects, he takes one step to his right and blocks her way.
"So you're still looking for him, I take it?" he asks, one brow arched.
"Perhaps," she quips back. "Now out of my way, I have guests to entertain."
"You can entertain me right here just fine," he says, his voice smooth.
She looks up at him, defiance in her eyes. "I believe my fiance is waiting for me."
"He can wait a bit longer," he dismisses. His voice lowers as he says, "I can see why he chose you. You cast a spell on people with your wileful looks, ready to deceive those who become trustful of you."
Sakura suddenly stops trying to plot how to outsmart the man who stands in her way, and looks at him, attempts to read him for who he truly is. She takes in his slanted nose, and his tiny thin lips and she can see his greyish brown eyes that glisten like muddy raindrops. He knows of her, and so she discerns the truth and plucks it out.
"You're-" she starts.
"-the grandson?" he finishes, his smirk materialising on his face. He casts his mask away and she is in awe of how young he looks, the smoothness of his skin speaks as if he is only a few years older than her.
"What is it that you want?" she delivers with slight aggression.
"I believe you have something that I want. Or rather, someone that I want. You see, I have lost a puppet. It seems that he's become acquainted with your dear friend," he tells her, eyeing every muscle in her jaw, looking for hints of familiarity with what he says. But she betrays none, and instead offers a quizzical look in turn.
"Kabuto. He sold me your secrets, but I fear I've lost him and he's been picked up by the same devil that's plucked your friend too," he elaborates. "Keep tabs on him for me: wears glasses, grey hair. Do it and I'll relieve your friend of that nasty bruise he calls a tattoo."
"And what if I refuse?" Sakura challenges.
He snickers as he comes closer and squeezes her bare shoulder. "Well we wouldn't want Itachi finding out that you've been sharing bed sheets with his younger brother now, will we? He can be quite... possessive, shall we say?"
'You insolent pervert!' she almost screams at him, but when she looks behind her, all that she sees are her own shadows filling the hallway as the moonlight streaks in through the windows.
So she turns back around, and makes her way into the ballroom where she once danced with multiple men, entertaining her guests, playing at equality between all. As she enters, the darkness swallows her, the hall is emptied and there is a smell of petrol that hangs in the air. Sakura tries to flee the way she came, anxiety coiling in her stomach at what she suspects awaits her if she lingers any longer, but instead of a door she feels the hardness of a man's torso, and then rough hands cupping her cheek, thumbing her lips.
"Sakura..." she hears, a frightening whisper that causes her heart to race. "Why do you infuriate me so?"
She swats his hand away and loses control of all her inhibitions, cannot stand to stay in the same proximity as this demon and yells, "You killed your family! Do you really expect me to work with someone like that? You spoke of justice but you- You took the lives of a whole family. You burdened your brother with that pain and you think you can just restore order to the world? Is it redemption that you want? Because you're fucking in over your head if you think I'll work with you."
He tuts at her and she hears him moving away, until a lamp flickers into life and she sees he is seated on his favourite spot. He crosses one leg over the other on his throne-like chair and plants one hand under his cheek as he holds his face up and studies her, rage radiating off of her.
"There are things about this world that you do not understand, Sakura. You have chosen to be a player in bigger games and I am giving you a chance to take your place as Queen in a game of chess. Anything other than the injustice you face, can be settled after," he utters.
She can feel his onyx eyes raking her form. Every fibre in her being screams at her to take initiative of the fact that he sits, and it is this moment for her to act: to get closer and inject him with a substance that will likely leave him delirious for a few hours, giving her an opening to do what she wills with him.
But as she takes a laborious step towards him, calculating her next move, Itachi's attention is drifted behind her as he looks at the figure behind her with contempt.
"So you have come," Itachi greets the masked figure.
The third person moves into the dim light cast by the lamp and his icy blue eyes stare right past Sakura and instead, lands on Itachi who claps slowly and with great pauses in-between. The claps ring into her ear and compete with her thudding heart, desperately asking to be heard over the warnings that scream inside her head.
A black mask, jewelled in silver falls to the floor. Black strands fall across a smoothly chiselled face. Brother meet brother, and the air is filled with intensity; Sakura swears that smoke could fill the air from just the mere locking of eyes of the two men who fill the room with just their auras.
"Itachi," Sasuke wears his brother's name like a curse around his lips and spits it out.
A chuckle is elicited from the older man's lips until he says, "Sasuke. So it is you."
Sakura barely hears the admittance that Itachi knew of Sasuke's presence long before he revealed it, and instead focuses on Sasuke with concern. She is afraid of how he will react in the face of all his terrors.
"You... Mother, father... Why, big brother?! Why would you tear everything apart? WHAT HAPPENED TO YOU?" Sasuke screams in maddening rage, and it is only a pink-haired teenager that stands between the two brothers acting as a barrier. Tears fall from Sasuke's eyes, but it is her heart she feels breaking as she witnesses him drowning in all his fears.
"You always were such a nuisance, Sasuke. Can you not see I am trying to resolve a private matter with my future wife?"
"ANSWER ME!" Sasuke roars. "Why did you do it? Why did you burn everyone?!"
Sakura puts a hand to Sasuke's chest in order to stop him from getting any closer to Itachi.
Itachi sighs before he uncrosses his legs. "As I said, you were always a nuisance," Itachi repeats. "The favoured son. The 'crowned prince of the Uchiha', our uncles and aunts would refer to you as. It did not matter what I had done, what feats I had accomplished, the fact that I had skipped through school and graduated into university as a mere child of thirteen. It did not matter that I was a pure genius... for you had inherited all of mother's charm and were hailed as the next Head of the Family after father. Pathetic."
"That's a lie!" Sasuke interjects. "Everyone loved you! Father adored you!"
"You only saw what lay before your eyes. You could not comprehend anything beyond that, Sasuke," Itachi responds. "You asked for answers, so listen. I found father's inheritance documents. You would get most things, I needed to change that."
Sasuke's chest was a balloon being pumped under Sakura's hand, she could feel his rapid breaths before she heard it.
"So you killed them? For power? For money?" Sasuke seethes, saliva dripping from his mouth as he allows his fury to take over. "You're a fucking psycho. I'm going to fucking kill you, you bastard!"
"I'm sure Haruno over here would be able to tell you how much riches are worth in this world of ours," Itachi comments. "But of course, she's just another thing you attempt to usurp from me, isn't it?"
Itachi's eyes are riddled with an unreadable expression, but as his eyes set on Sakura a cheshire grin carves itself onto his face and suddenly his eyes are wild with madness. Her eyes are fixated on Itachi, she watches him as he digs into his blazer pocket and brings out a lighter.
Sasuke's cold, calloused hand settles around the wrist that is on his front and urges her in a whisper to, "Go, get out."
"What?" she says, distracted. Once again becoming dully aware of the fact that the stench of petrol fills the room.
"Run!" She is tugged across the room and is propped up onto the windowsill as Sasuke hangs over her, fumbling with the lock as he attempts to push it open.
Faintly, she hears behind them, "I can rid us off all our nightmares, Sasuke. We can be a family again, with mother and father. You don't have to live with the burden of having killed your older brother. Allow me to free you, Sasuke."
Sasuke finally manages to unlatch the window and it is as he is pushing her through, it is then that wood, bricks and glass shatters and splinters. Fire is set ablaze. The atoms of the air are ripped apart just as hearts and minds are seared through. Two bodies lay strewn on the ground in front of once where a house resided; they are both ashen in soot and all their turmoils mar their skin, ripping at their clothes as glass is tangled into their hair and brazens their flesh.
They are stranded in the aftermath of their horrors, but at the end of this nightmarish night, they still hold each other, gasping for air.
A/N: A lot of what has happened until now has been heavily inspired by Taylor Swift's song 'Ivy'.