Human minds are promising for their lack of reprimand towards themselves. Whilst even the men of the least intelligence are likely to catch other's mistakes, especially when the person at fault is close to them emotionally or shares some sort of attachment to an item or feeling of the other, said man will never once catch a mistake they themselves have made. It is likely that one will search a mate for lack of self-applied punishments rather than need of comfort or heart-warmth.

Xxx-xxX

To burn, literally in flame or unconsciously lit to fire within mind or soul, is normally extracted through words or movements. The problem with men who have permanently been on fire, is that no one is able to tell when they have fallen to ashes.

XxX

Itachi is writing in the newest mission report by the wavering candlelight, cautiously set on a small platform to prevent wax from dripping onto the table. It has happened to Fugaku before, (monkey see monkey do) and Itachi learns more from others mistakes than from his own (or perhaps from the spews of curses that come from Fugaku's thin-set mouth, disappointment that he can only push towards himself or Mikoto as she sighs and scrubs at the spot until her fingers are raw and the wax was far past swept into her palm pressed at the side of the desk top, still rubbing deeper into the stains her family leaves so she knows her place in their household).

He realizes that he has traced the same word in ink at least twice and it has soaked through the paper (better for Mikoto, so she can spot it later on and leave it in a muted sort of relief that her son isn't a god, though that could only make him a devil) but sets down the pen and turns towards the quietly loud footsteps in the doorway. There is no one in the clan but Sasuke who does not know where they stand, and that makes his little brother's stride the only one that makes a sound.

Sasuke glances at him shyly (so much so that Itachi can see his own fingers wrapped around his neck without him daring to scream) and slowly asks the same question he does everyday, if only so he can expect tomorrow. "Will you train with me, brother?"

Itachi gestures towards the paper on the desk, safely set away from the excess candle wax of a flickering red flame and the hopeful eyes of Sasuke that would burn through it as much. "Nii-san…You're dripping ink onto your paper."

Nothing Itachi ever does is an accident (except how his eyes linger on people's backs when he is not completely aware of it, thinking that perhaps someday the world of a genius becomes somehow less literal and more to his liking) and he is glad that he knows too many people who don't understand that. It was simply a different excuse to start over on the report, and take longer in staying away from his younger brother. Sasuke wasn't like him.

"I suppose I'll have to start over again, Sasuke. Perhaps tomorrow." He thinks that maybe the glint in Sasuke's eye means he understands.

Xxx-xxX

There are three components to speaking. Breathing in, breathing out, and voicing one's opinions. Itachi finds that most people forget to breath. Shisui's lips are quickly moving to words layered in the thrum at his throat through a bad cough he'd gotten from a cold the past week, and it's not until he's startled by a choking pull at his lungs that he sucks in deep gulps of air. Itachi studies the way Shisui's hands grope his mouth as he coughs, before blinking heavily and staring back.

He cracks a sly smile, "You watch people too much. It's like you're looking for mistakes you can't find with blinking." It's silent for a moment, for their surroundings are only ever filled with Shisui's voice or the affirmative grunt from Itachi before he speaks again. "…Do you find them?"

Itachi blinks slowly (trying to miss all the faults) before tilting his head away in a slight nod. Shisui gets up from his position by the tree trunk at the training grounds and doesn't ask anymore questions.

Itachi finds it odd that some people avoid learning what is wrong about them selves. Sasuke always listens (when his voice is too loud or his breaths are too quick or he's making Itachi stare at him too long) - and Itachi realizes that he compares too many things to Sasuke.

Too many people do.

Xxx-xxX

He goes home to find Mikoto scrubbing the spot of ink he left on the desk top before she stands and gestures with her dish towel towards him. "Tell me, the next time your ink soaks through, Itachi? It's a fairly new table and your father doesn't want to have to buy a new one."

She lightly brushes past him to go to the kitchen and put away the rag, and his chest aches too bad for him to stand any longer, so he moves into his room and sits at his desk to finish the mission report.

He thinks of the untouched smear of orange crayon wax on the table leg from Sasuke, and how it was left long enough for him to know that Mikoto couldn't have simply just missed it.

(toomanypeopledo)

Xxx-xxx

The next day Sasuke asks him the same question he does everyday, if only for the sense of tradition (maybe it's Sasuke's way of telling Itachi he loves him, because he is smart enough to know his older brother wouldn't accept it that blatantly).

Itachi pokes two fingers into Sasuke's forehead, and the sensation leaves something burning. True scars go deeper than the skin (worlds are becoming less literal to soothe aches caused by untouched lines of crayon wax) and the newest addition is burrowed down in his chest.

He cannot say it is his heart, not the dull ache that Mikoto gives him as her smile is no more than hesitant, but something frightens him that it's getting too close.

He continues prodding Sasuke's forehead, convincing him self it's merely for the sake of tradition that they so humbly carry out, and not the sick sort of longing deeper than Mikoto's avoiding glance that has only ever reached his chin that he wants something in him to break.

He knows he has met too many people who could see when he fell to ash to let him go, but it feels pleasantly hurtful to understand how much he wants to see their eyes meet something other than the bottom of his chin.

-Men in hats; masks, porcelain- to name them by an individual series of syllables, a word, a name- despite being created of many titles…You cannot ask them to be truthful in a lie, cannot ask a shinobi his name, for he will lie to his fullest…as he was taught to do. You will ask him who he is, what is his given title, and he will respond with 'murderer'.-

AN: Sorry I didn't put the clip of 'Itachi's Journal' in before, but it slipped my mind. So, here you go! The slightly edited version of chapter three. Enjoy.

REVIEW PLEASE!!!

(No, seriously. I like them. :D)