prompt: tallies (self-inflicted wounds, as suggested by pandastacia)
summary: all of your failures and disappointments and heartbreaks, lined up and etched into your skin.
As a medical student, Sakura gets her first case a little earlier in her life than she had expected. But sometimes, she thinks it might not be considered a case—because it hits a little close to home.
"Sakura," Sasuke calls out to her, and in the kitchen, she turns to see him at the counter and pouring water from a kettle into several mugs. "Can you bring Nii-san some tea?"
"It's your house, it's your brother," she mutters. "Bring it to him yourself." But she grabs a mug anyway, the dark blue one, because that one is Itachi's, and she's known this family for so long that she's long since memorized which mug belongs to who.
The house is quiet as she pads down the hallway to Itachi's room, where he's sure to be, as that's where he always is. Without knocking, she opens the door.
"Itachi, Sasuke made you some tea."
The older Uchiha is sitting cross-legged on his bed, spinning a razor blade in his fingers. His eyes move to meet hers, dark, calm.
"Thank you," he says, and places the blade to the side to stand to his feet. "I don't suppose asking you to knock beforehand will actually lead you to knocking beforehand, will it?"
"Sorry," she says, smiling impishly. "I never think you have anything to hide from me."
Something flits across his eyes, dark and unidentifiable, before he says, "I don't, but they're manners."
"Yes, yes, senpai." She salutes, and hands him his tea. "What's with the razor blade, by the way?"
Again, a moment—and something uncomfortable tugs at Sakura's heart, something she thinks she shouldn't just overlook.
"A project," Itachi murmurs, sipping at his tea, still steaming. "Cutting cardboard is involved."
Her eyes skim around the room. There is no sign of cardboard anywhere.
"Itachi," she cautions, "are you okay?"
He doesn't answer her question. "Go back to Sasuke." His voice is quiet (because Itachi never raises his voice, not even when he's angry—he keeps it down because he is cultured and he is mannered, unlike Sakura, who barges into people's rooms without knocking first).
She backs up and closes the door, effectively shutting herself in. "Itachi?" She takes a cautious step towards his bed, where he left the blade. When he doesn't make a move to stop her, she takes another step, more confident, and again, until she reaches the bed and gingerly picks up the blade.
It's faint, but she sees the traces of blood on it.
"Itachi," she says again, her brow furrowing in concern.
She's never been as close with Itachi as she is with Sasuke due to their large age gap, but years of knowing him and being family friends has given her ample amount of time to learn him and spend time with him. And this—this makes her worry. She's never seen him like this before.
He places his tea on his desk without so much as a sound, and gently pulls the blade from her fingers. "Go back to Sasuke," he says again, just as quiet as the first time.
If he didn't want her to see it, he could've easily stopped her. There have been times when he's been much more authoritative towards her than he is right now, and has successfully gotten her to do what he wanted her to do. But he didn't stop her this time. He didn't even try.
He wanted her to see, didn't he? He wanted her to discover him.
Her movements are sudden then, because she's struck by a wave of fear for the man standing in front of her. She hits his hand and the blade goes flying, lodging itself into the wall. Itachi remains impassive as she grabs his hands, both of them, and turns them to reveal his wrists.
Untouched. Scarless.
But of course Itachi wouldn't. Not in such an obvious place. Not in such a dangerous, damaging place. Itachi wouldn't use blades to kill himself—he'd only use them to hurt himself.
Roughly, she shoves up the sleeves of his black turtleneck sweater, and ah, there they are—scars, organized in tallies, faint along his left arm. The older ones are higher up his forearm, the newer ones further down. He's keeping count of something.
"Itachi," she says, for a third time, because she doesn't know what else to say.
He tilts his head. "Sakura." His arm remains relaxed in her grip, but she's grasping him so tightly she must be cutting off circulation.
Itachi is a smart person. Asking him what's wrong, or offering comfort, is going to do nothing for him. So instead: "What are you keeping track of?"
He answers, diligently and almost frighteningly fast. "Every time I lose composure. Lack of discipline. Failures."
"Keep track of that on a piece of paper, dammit," she snaps, letting go of his arm. "What the hell are you thinking?"
"I didn't ask you to butt in, Sakura."
"Cut the crap," she snarls. "If you didn't want me to see, you wouldn't have let me see. You think I don't know you? You think you can, what, line up your faults one by one and stomp them down? It's offensive that you didn't talk to Sasuke about this—"
"I can hardly worry my little brother," he interrupts, stiffly. Clearly, this isn't the reaction he was expecting out of her.
"Then it's offensive that you didn't talk to me about it. I've known you for years."
Silence falls, and Sakura realizes that even now, Itachi does not plan to talk to her about it.
Then what's the point? What's the point in letting her see, letting her know, if he doesn't let her in?
"I'll be back later," she finally says, trying to tone down the anger in her voice. "And if you don't talk to me then, I'm going to tell Sasuke what you've been doing for God knows how long." And without a word, she leaves the room.
Because past the anger, and past the disappointment, Sakura is just hurt. So many times, Itachi has helped her with her problems—about school, about boys, about life. She's never seen him as someone who's above her, but someone she can lean on for support like she does for Sasuke, and someone who can do the same to her, if he ever needs it. In Sasuke's absence, or when she wants a more rational perspective than Sasuke's hotheaded words, she finds Itachi, and he is always there.
Of course it goes both ways. Of course it does.
In the silence of the hallway, Sakura leans against the wall, forcing back her angry tears and swallowing thickly. She should've been gentler, she thinks. She should've been patient. Itachi doesn't need her acting like a child right now—maybe that's why he didn't confide in her in the first place.
Sakura lets her head fall back against the wall with a soft thump, and finds the strength to forgive Itachi. And herself.
Once she returns to the kitchen, composed, Sasuke shoots her a look. "What took you so long? Are you having an affair with my brother, or something?"
Which, after what she discovered, she just might be. "No. And even if I was, it wouldn't be an affair, it'd be a proper relationship." Sasuke just rolls his eyes, dismissing the subject thoughtlessly. He doesn't have a clue, does he? Itachi puts up the perfect act—Sakura would've never known either, if he didn't intentionally let his walls down.
"Well? Are you just going to stand there or what? After all that whining you put me through to get me to watch this movie with you."
"Hey, The Titanic is a classic!" She follows Sasuke into the living room, where he's already placed their tea and biscuits.
"Classic or not, anyone gets sick of it after watching it five times."
"You're just hard to please."
Sakura ducks when Sasuke throws a cushion aimed for her head. "Did you ask Nii-san if he wanted to watch with us?"
"He said no the last two times we watched, so I didn't bother this time." And also, she was preoccupied with other things.
She watches the movie with Sasuke, but not without an uncomfortable nagging at the back of her mind the entire time. He falls asleep halfway through and she can't bother to nudge and poke him awake like she always does. There are other things to think about.
—
Three hours later, she's back outside Itachi's room, Sasuke still asleep on the couch. Tentatively, she brings up a fist to knock lightly on the door.
When there's no answer, she turns the doorknob and peeks in, holding her breath. Itachi's sitting at his desk, his back facing her. The razor blade is where they last left it: stuck in the wall.
"Remember that time when I was in high school, and I confessed to Sasuke during graduation?"
"What about it?" He doesn't turn to face her.
Sakura slips into the room and quietly closes the door behind her. "And then I went outside so no one could see me cry, and…there you were. Because you don't like events with lots of people. And then you saw me cry. And you didn't say anything, like 'I told you so,' even though you did tell me so, and you didn't try to comfort me or anything. You just stood with me, and let me cry." When silence follows, she purses her lips. "I won't talk, if you don't want me to. I can just stand with you. Whenever you need me. Always."
It's then that Itachi finally turns in his chair to look at her. The glow of his lamp illuminates his face, casting eerie shadows across his cheekbones. He looks weary. He looks tired.
"Mother and Father," he says, and chokes, so he says no more.
She nods. "Yeah. I know."
Itachi stands to his feet, his movements slow and heavy, until he's in front of her, tall and dependable but tonight, on the verge of crumbling to the ground.
"How could I ever look weak in front of Sasuke?"
She smiles slightly, a little comforting but mostly just sad. "Yeah. I know."
His forehead falls until it meets her shoulder. Against her better judgement, she pats his hair—and then weaves her fingers into it, an anchor for both of them.
In this quiet house, this house too big for just two brothers—an unoccupied master bedroom, full of memories but collecting dust, four seats at the kitchen table, porcelain china in the cupboards that is never used anymore because the people who love that set are no longer in this world.
"You've made the best father to Sasuke, you know."
"You said you wouldn't talk."
"…Right. Sorry."
They stand there like that, for a very long time; Sakura's fingers in his hair, and Itachi's forehead against her shoulder.
"Did you know," he finally murmurs, "that I had always wanted to be an author?"
"Really?"
"Mother got me a diary when I was younger, and instead of writing about my own life, I wrote about someone else's. And I never stopped since."
They talk on and off after that, a disjointed conversation but perhaps the most meaningful Sakura has ever had with Itachi. She started visiting this house regularly when she was seven and has continued to do so until now—hopefully to fill this house with a little more sound and a little more life. When she was seven, she didn't understand what kind of responsibility was put on Itachi once his and Sasuke's parents passed away, but she gets it, now.
He has to look after Sasuke. For Sasuke's sake, he can't pursue his own dreams. For Sasuke's sake, he can't look weak.
So if Itachi has to be strong for Sasuke, then maybe, Sakura can be strong for Itachi.
They pull the lonely razor blade from the wall and he shows her his others, a whole pile of them in his locked drawer. She doesn't take them away and he doesn't tell her the details, of when he started or what each specific scar stands for, but he agrees. That he will let her stand with him whenever he needs her to.
"And if you want," she offers, "here. You can use mine." She holds out her arms, smooth skin and devoid of any scars. "A clean slate. More room."
Itachi laughs then, quietly, subdued.
"You will make a very good doctor," he tells her. "And a very good mother." And that is the end of that.
And she still wants to take away all of his blades, wants to take away all of his pain—she wants to buy him diaries full of fresh pages waiting to be filled with life, but perhaps, not today. Maybe tomorrow.
Today, she will just stand with him. And sit with him. And he eventually dozes off when they're sitting on his bed together, his head leaning and tilting until it finally finds support against her own head. And when Sasuke barges in looking for her, she holds a fierce finger to her lips to silence him, because Itachi is actually asleep and when was the last time he even slept at all?
Sasuke's eyebrow is raised when he whispers, "So you really are having an affair with him."
"Go away, man. Find your own girlfriend. You lost your chance with me years ago."
He rolls his eyes. "Whatever. Just don't act gross in front of me. Mom used to pamper Dad all the time, it was disgusting." And he leaves the room, shutting the door behind him a little louder than necessary.
Beside her, Itachi stirs, but doesn't wake. And because he doesn't, Sakura lets herself smile, and lean back against his head too. Just a little.
A/N: I really love this one and there is nothing you can say to me that will make me think otherwise.
Remember when, years ago, I posted something new every few days? Yeah, I feel like I've been reverted back to that time. Not sure if I enjoy it.