bloody tears
047. failure

(au. heh.)

Every weekday at five in the afternoon, there would be a girl on the subway. She was easy to spot—she had bright pink hair, unlike anyone else's. Itachi came across her frequently, but had never spoken to her. They were like subway acquaintances.

Sometimes, she would get on and slump into her usual seat, falling asleep right away. He assumed that she was a university student, always staying up late, studying. Sometimes, she would plug in her earphones and listen to her music. Today was different. Today, she stalked into the subway car, angry tears streaming down her cheeks, and sat down in her usual seat with a rough thump. He could hear her sporadic breaths even from where he was sitting.

When five minutes passed, and then ten, he finally reached into his bag and found a clean handkerchief. He stood up and made his way to her, offering it to her.

"You seem to have had a bad day," he said when she looked at him questioningly, wiping her tears away. She ended up hiccupping, sucking in gulps of air and crying all over again. She accepted his handkerchief, and hastily wiped her eyes with it.

"Thanks." Her breathing was shallow and her voice was shaking—so he sat across from her, crossing his legs. "You don't have to stay, you know. I'll return this tomorrow."

"When I see someone in distress, I cannot possibly leave them—what if they go and commit suicide once I turn my back? Then it would be my fault, and I don't like having someone's death on my shoulders for the rest of my life."

"I'm not going to commit suicide, though…" She sniffed, clearly not catching his subtle attempt at a joke. "I just had a bad day. A really bad day."

"That much is apparent." He would ask if she would like to talk about it, but he knew from personal experience that she probably wouldn't—and with a stranger, no less—so he remained silent as she stared out the window. When it came to her stop, she gathered her belongings and smiled a little at him, before stepping out the doors.

Itachi found that he couldn't stop thinking about her for the rest of the day.

Sasuke seethed. "Don't think I can forgive you," he hissed, expression contorted into one of fury. "Mother, Father—!"

"Have been dead for many years," Itachi calmly finished for him.

"You killed them with your bare hands." He was never able to tell if he liked or disliked how Sasuke hated him. It'd been years of this—hatred and anger and loathing—and maybe today, it'll all end. Just maybe.

The first punch landed right on Itachi's jaw, and he felt a couple of his teeth loosening. Sasuke's hands wrapped threateningly around his neck—which didn't count for much, considering that Itachi was taller than him, and therefore couldn't be lifted off of his feet the way he should've been. But the murderous intent was genuine, and he had to commend him for that.

"They had it coming for them," he said evenly, staring his little brother straight in the eye without faltering. Sasuke's eyes narrowed further, and one of his hands let go of his neck and punched him again, letting Itachi's knees buckle from underneath him.

He crumpled to the ground, and Sasuke took this opportunity to kick his gut repeatedly. Eventually, he found himself coughing up blood.

Finally. Things were the way they should be. His lips stretched into grim smile—and when Sasuke noticed, he scowled, stepping away.

"I'm not going to do what you expect me to do," he snarled. "If what you want is death, you're not going to die by my hands. I'll let you live on pathetically. Like the way did to me."

And then he left. And Itachi had never felt bitterer.

When he entered the subway, he made a beeline for his regular seat. Perhaps he'd take a nap here. His stomach hurt a little every time he breathed, and he couldn't stop prodding his loose teeth with his tongue. He closed his eyes, sighing.

"Excuse me." He stirred from his spot—he hadn't even realized he fell asleep. When he opened his eyes and blinked to adjust to the light, he saw the pink-haired girl.

"Hello," he said, voice raspy. His jaw was sore.

"You seem to have had a bad day," she said, sliding into the seat across from him, and holding out a handkerchief. His handkerchief. "Here. You have some blood on your chin."

So he accepted it, and they sat in silence.

A/N: I want to make it a priority for me to update this bimonthly, or something…but I feel bad for spamming those who have me on alerts. I write too much for my own good. I should earn a profit, or something.

I'll try to update more often, I promise!