Chiaroscuro
third drabble: seaside
basically an itachi-tells-sasuke-the-truth-and-they-elope!what if.
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Sasuke takes him to the beach. They stand in the cold wet sand with their toes and feel the waves crashing down on their ankles, white foam on white feet. Itachi fills his lungs with fresh, sea-salt air and simply breathes in, out, in and out, deeply. Behind them is a cottage, behind them are dunes and sandy roads and scallop shells scattered in shades of gray and broken white. Above them is an overcast sky, dark clouds zipped up with orange sunlight, hiding.
This is more than Itachi feels he deserves.
"I'll take care of you from now on, aniki." His little brother sounds so solemn, so serious when he swears this.
His weakened gaze falls back from the horizon, onto the pale hand that holds his. With its bruised knuckles, not completely healed.
Itachi breathes in and out. There are three seagulls cawing, flying on and ahead of the waves. He doesn't need his sharingan now, not anymore.
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Sometimes they argue, sometimes they fight, old habits they suppose. Sasuke slides the paper doors shut with more verocity than Itachi thought possible. Ceramic cups and bowls rattle on the table. Their opinions on what has happened, on what will happen and what has to happen differ and this is an understatement. He'll let his brother walk it off, calm down outside.
Wind howls outside, loudly, bashes against the walls and the windows. It's pouring. Itachi folds his hands in his lap, knowing his little brother can take care of himself by now. He willed it so.
Itachi holds his breath, holds it in his chest, in his sickened lungs; he holds it until his brother comes back to him.
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"I want you to look at me." Sasuke whispers as he guides his brother's fingertips over his cheekbones, the gaunt of his cheeks, the line of his jaw, the cupid's bow of his upper lip, the bulb of his bottom one.
This is part of reality now: his eyesight fading, his body failing. Sasuke bringing him medicinal tea, wiping the corners of his mouth when he coughs up blood, rubbing his paper-frail temples to ease the pounding in his head. His little brother doesn't complain, only frets and winds himself up over his health. it's more than itachi feels he deserves.
And his fingertips gently, carefully thread upon the structure of Sasuke's face, the column of his throat, the juncture of his neck and shoulder, the hollow of his collar bones, the beginning of his sternum.
Itachi can't breathe, can't breathe, because this is what touching light feels like, beautiful and warm.
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As far as Sasuke is concerned, there is no outside world. It doesn't deserve Itachi's presence, it doesn't deserve Itachi's loyalty and servitude and it certainly doesn't deserve his older brother's life. don't think about it, don't think about it.
He sucks in the sea-salt air, greedily, as he taps his fingers on the wooden doorframe. But softly so softly because his brother is finally sleeping after a rough night of coughing fits. What kind of little brother would he be if he accidentally wakes him up?
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"Promise me something, Sasuke."
"Anything."
"I want you to kill me before the sickness does."
Sasuke will always be more than Itachi feels he deserves.
but that doesn't stop sasuke from clinging to his older brother like a frightened child. and itachi cradling him in return, strongly even as the sobs wreck their bodies.
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"I will always love you, Sasuke."
Itachi feels the wind in his hair, feels his brother's hand in his, feels the fading warmth of the sun, feels the waves lapping at his ankles. Itachi fills his lungs with fresh, sea-salt air.
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