prompt: stunning (a continuation of chapter 36, as requested by an anonymous reviewer)

summary: they may not love each other, but hey, at least they have each other.

She meets him at the first of several family meetings to discuss her wedding with Sasuke. He's quiet, handsome, charismatic—almost identical to Sasuke, but at the core, very different.

Because Sasuke, although selectively kind, is brutal. Itachi has never been brutal by choice. (But that does not mean he's never been brutal at all.)

Sakura marries Sasuke because she loves him. She marries Sasuke because she's loved him for years and he finally looked her way, finally gave her the time of day—and finally promised the rest of his life to her. She is excited and she is happy—but, of course, nothing ever goes the way she plans.

Because Sasuke, in the end, never truly loves her. Not in the way she wants him to, at least.

Not in the way that will have them spending lazy Sunday mornings together in bed, or the way that will have them quietly laughing at inside jokes together. And it's only after she marries him that she realizes this—that her dream will remain just a dream.

But Sasuke does love her like this:

Making her a fresh brew of coffee before he leaves for work. Leaving out the clothes that need to be washed, folded neatly at the foot of their bed. He never makes life hard for her.

But that's all there is. Because Sakura has always been too soft for him, too kind for him—she never yells even when he hurts her, and maybe that's when he draws away. She'll probably never know.

Itachi is different. When she looks carefully, compared to Sasuke, Sakura discovers that he is very, very different.

—

"You love him, right?" Itachi asks idly while they wait in the privately booked room in one of the Uchiha's favorite high class restaurants.

"Of course," she cautions, wary. "I wouldn't have married him otherwise."

"Of course," he echoes her quietly. "Of course you love him."

"Why do you ask?"

He looks at her, his dark eyes just as piercing as Sasuke's, and says: "Because it hasn't even been a year yet and you already look so sad."

Her eyes narrow. "You say that as if me being sad is inevitable."

"I've known him all my life. I know what it's like." He turns away, his long hair slipping from his shoulder.

Sakura looks away too, not wanting to see that Itachi knows just how she hurts. "He's been seeing other women," she says quietly—not for comfort, but just as a fact. "I don't—I don't know how to make him look at me properly."

"You won't know how to. You can't change him."

"Can you?"

A heartbeat. And then: "No."

And that is all Sakura needs to know, and all she can know, because in the next moment, the door opens and Sasuke strides in, tall and proud and untouchable, followed by his parents. He sits down beside Sakura without so much of a word.

And she's long since stopped trying to get one out of him.

—

She pads out of the bathroom one afternoon, freshly showered with a towel wrapped securely around her, to grab a bottle of water from the kitchen.

And to her surprise and utter bafflement, she finds Itachi there, a crème folder held in his slim fingers.

"I was dropping something off for Sasuke," he explains.

"You have a key to our house?"

"Of course."

"Of course?"

"You should have a key to mine, too. Unless Sasuke never told you that."

"No, he never did."

She shivers, feeling cold water drip from her hair onto her bare shoulders. His eyes flit over her just once, very briefly. Sakura is embarrassed for a moment, before she figures, she shouldn't be. Itachi's family. And if he's Sasuke's family, then chances are, he'll care about her being nearly naked as much as Sasuke does: not at all.

So she continues on her route; brushes past him to grab her water from the fridge. Itachi places his folder on the counter where Sasuke is sure to see it. "Can you let him know I need these back by tomorrow?"

"I might not even see him before tomorrow. He comes home late these days—says it's for work, but I always smell another woman's perfume on his suit."

He nods once in understanding. "Is it the same perfume every time?"

"No."

"Well, at least you know he's not seeing one specific woman."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?"

"If it does, then you're terribly easy to please."

She scoffs, and drinks her water. "You're not clever, you know."

"I never said I was." Pause. "But, yes, I am."

It takes a moment for her to realize that it's her making the sound. She's laughing. Itachi made her laugh.

When was the last time she laughed…?

Itachi's lips quirk upwards in a faint smile, before he takes a step forward to kiss her on the cheek. Her laugh dies right in her throat.

"That reminds me of your wedding day," he tells her. "You looked so happy."

"Because I was happy."

"But not anymore."

"…No, not anymore." There's no point in denying it, especially to a person who's repeatedly been hurt by Sasuke for so much longer than she has.

Itachi's hand runs through her damp hair, a deliberate action. "I wasn't going to say anything, but…"

She sees a brief flicker, a spark of hope.

Hope for what?

"I think you're beautiful." Itachi's palm touches her cheek. "And radiant. And when I met you for the first time in the bridal shop to bring Sasuke to a meeting, I…"

"What?" She's rooted to the spot—can't step forward, can't step backward. "You what?"

"I thought, what a waste. Because this stunning woman is going to marry Sasuke, and once she does, she won't be stunning anymore." Itachi leans in, close enough for her to see his lashes, to feel his warm breath on her skin, luring, tantalizing. "Sasuke is going to dull her down and she's going to stop looking like the happiest person in the world."

Sakura swats his hand away, and scowls. "I don't need Sasuke to be happy."

"What a lie," Itachi says, the exact moment she realizes it. "You're far prettier when you smile, Sakura. So don't look so sour."

"Are you mocking me?"

"No." He glances away, only for a moment, in the direction of the front door, as though it would open at any moment and Sasuke would come bursting in. (Of course though, he won't. Because he never does.) "I just want to make you stunning again."

"I don't need anyone to make me stunning."

His eyes burn, the way Sasuke's do—but not with irritation. They burn with a warmth Sakura has never seen in Sasuke before, and she doesn't know how to react to it. "I know. But I want to be there to see you when you are."

And he takes her face in both of his hands, and kisses her.

And he's warm, and gentle, and there is an underlying chill in his actions. And Sakura doesn't resist him as much as she knows she should.

Because what has she got to lose? Not Sasuke, that's for sure.

Itachi's fingers briefly meet her skin, and her towel falls to the floor.

—

By the time Sasuke comes home early that Thursday and discovers them together, Sakura has run out of tears to cry.

"How long has this been going on for?"

"Not as long as you, Sasuke-kun."

Sasuke's eyes sweep over the area—everything impeccable: his mug upturned on the sink rack, left there this morning to dry, his jacket, hanging by the door, and his stack of files on the coffee table, the extra work that he's been picking at for the past week or so. Sasuke is spread all over their home but now Sakura realizes that it's never really felt like their home; she's spent more time with Itachi here in two months than she's spent with Sasuke in the eight they've been married.

And it's somehow stopped hurting so much—it's dulled to an endless ache, but a manageable one.

"I won't return before seven in the evenings from now on," Sasuke says, grabbing the keys that he placed on the counter just minutes ago. "Do whatever you want, but not when I'm around." And he's out the door.

From the couch, Itachi turns to look at her. "That wasn't so bad," he remarks.

"Yeah. Not bad at all, I guess."

Itachi and Sasuke are similar in so many ways that sometimes, Sakura looks at Itachi and accidentally mistakes him for her husband. Itachi has the same sharp edge that Sasuke does—rub him the wrong way, and he will raise the walls around him. He speaks with a controlled voice and he is influential and charismatic, and she—sometimes, she thinks she can love him.

But they are different. They are different because Sasuke cuts his losses and leaves. Sasuke is short-sighted and the best he can do is make coffee for Sakura in the morning.

Itachi doesn't know how to let go. Itachi hides everything, but he never stops. And Sakura is pulled into him, because that is the one thing they share: they both love Sasuke, but Sasuke has already cut them out and left.

"I'm never going to love you the way you should be loved, you know," she tells Itachi.

"I don't want anyone if it's not you."

She laughs, short and cynical. "A little late to say that, don't you think?"

"Better late than never, don't you think?"

She laughs again, softer this time, and moves to sit beside him on the couch, not bothering to throw something on. It doesn't matter anyway. "We couldn't have chosen someone else to love, could we?"

"Where would be the fun in being happy?"

Sakura turns to him with her eyebrows raised. "You, Uchiha Itachi, are impossible."

A smile ghosts across his lips as he leans in to kiss her. "And you, Haruno Sakura, are stunning." A breath. "Well, almost, anyway."

A/N: I'm exhausted. I'm running on a few hours of sleep a day. I can't see straight so I'm sorry for typos. :(