Thanks to all the readers and reviewers, especially my beta Rotisserie Jimothy and Arishandera, whose stories inspired me very much.
I haven't specified Itachi's age in this story. While writing it I imagined Itachi to be in his early teens, not as young as he was when he first joined Anbu, more like how he was when Shisui died in the filler arc. It is an AU story after all so it may not be bound by canon timeline, and those who are bothered by the young age can easily picture him a little older, like 15 or 16.
After Uchiha Itachi had been appointed as the Hokage's personal guard, some witnesses claimed to have seen Uchiha Fugaku smiling.
If Itachi shared his father's happiness, it was a mystery, hidden by the secrecy of Anbu's underground headquarters, and the weasel-shaped porcelain mask that he almost never took off, while on duty.
There were times, when they were alone in the office, that Minato asked him to do so, mostly to remind him that it wasn't a statue, the figure standing behind him, straight as an arrow, with the most inaudible breathing.
Like a statue, the slender man, not yet fully grown into adulthood, was an aesthetically pleasing view.
His dark hair was always tied in a low ponytail that didn't keep the shorter strands to freely dance around his forehead and his high cheekbones.
His pale face was furrowed by tear troughs. These lines, instead of tarnishing his noble looking features, added an earthly hue to his almost ethereal beauty.
His movements were as graceful as deadly. Minato knew that despite his calm demeanor, the boy was a cold-blooded killer. He couldn't have been anything different, being in Anbu since he was 11, and it was unlikely that he had even entered the Black Ops without any previous experience in the field.
As Danzo stated, he was not arrogant at all. He was well-mannered and refined, not only when addressing him, as expected towards the higher authority, but towards everyone, regardless of their rank.
Having been a teacher, the Hokage was puzzled by his guard's personality, or lack of.
To each one of his questions, he gave the prefect reply, concise but thorough, never adding a single element that could suggest a personal opinion.
When he trained genin, when everything still had a meaning, he would have surely found the way to let the young man open up a little.
Now that Konoha was the village where the woman he loved had to sacrifice herself, and his unwavering dedication and patience had faded, what was underneath the surface of his Anbu was not of his concern. It was more interesting watching him move around, like a fish in a tank, completing the tasks he was given.
Quite shockingly at first, he realized that he was attracted to Itachi Uchiha.
The more he saw him, the more he wanted to pull him by his silky black hair, sink his teeth into his long pale neck, explore every inch of his body.
He wanted to lose himself within him, make him lose his perfect composure, moaning and arching his back, with his onyx eyes hazed with pleasure.
Or with pain.