Itachi's memory is eidetic — painfully so. The true curse of the Sharingan is that he can relive his most harrowing years in a single night. He doesn't try to, not purposely, but his subconscious has always loved to dredge up memories from the black haze of deep sleep and twist them into something unbelievably grotesque.
But they are only dreams.
Nothing worse than the bloodbathed reality of the memories themselves.
Nothing worse than having to live his truth even upon waking.
At times it becomes almost too much to bear, the Sharingan spinning like a vortex, entrapping him in a vivid recollection of misfortune and misdeeds. A prison of his own making. In the midst of it Itachi finds himself shaking, turning to curl around the sleeping blue body next to him. Finds himself burying his eyes in his partner's broad back, as if it will cease the nightmares still playing before him.
Kisame is a light sleeper, having to deal with his own demons. He'll stir, most of the time, and give the desperate hand on his chest a reassuring squeeze. He'll turn, pull Itachi into his chest, holding him so tight that Itachi must return to the present to remember how to breathe.
In the present, where the ghost of him still remains. His partner the only place he can now call 'home.'
Home is a word now lost on the tongue and a feeling fading from bones.
Itachi once had a place he claimed as home — and claimed him in return, but that place has long since become nearly foreign to him. Nothing more than a tragedy he recalls from time to time.
But before then, it was still home, and these days Itachi oddly finds himself grasping for remnants of that cherished place. Grasping for anything to remind him of who he is, where he came from, the reality buried deep within his wretched lifetime that the Sharingan never fails to plague him with, too.
He finds scraps of it in quaint little tea houses. In warm, swirling green tea and fresh sweets on his taste buds. It feels… achingly normal.
Domestic.
Right.
Kisame beside him looking out-of-place in the softness of it all, but he belongs in Itachi's world.
Itachi doesn't deserve it. He never will. But it's these moments that he chooses to cling to, chooses to remember.
Specifically, he remembers in the past bringing Sasuke to tea houses — for both of their sakes, but mostly his own. It was a place to escape from the crushing debts laid upon him: debts to the clan, to the village, to himself as a shinobi. There was something… purifying about the cups of matcha, the endless sweets (which Sasuke was never much a fan of), the ability to just be. The bonding experience it allowed with his younger brother, away from the expectations of their father and away from all the responsibilities that kept Itachi from being a brother, is something he will always carry deep within his chest. A tender, secret memory he lets himself indulge in on occasion.
Kisame indulges too, but not in the same way — sneaking appreciative glances at Itachi like he's part of the view. Morning sunrays spill over the roji in the courtyard as they rest just inside the tea house behind the open sliding doors.
Itachi has always enjoyed Kisame's company. In their nomadic, whirlwind existence their partnership is one that has always remained firm, set in stone. Blood in blood, back to back. There are secrets between them, sure, and perhaps neither of them are meant to last long in Akatsuki, but Itachi takes solace in the fact that they know each other intimately even when not knowing each other entirely.
Dangerous as it may be, Itachi finds himself constantly crawling back into this strange little pocket of comfort they've created with one another. Carries that, too, close to his heart. It's become a part of him that he never knew he needed, nor wanted, at first, but is now irreplaceable.
Itachi stares down into his porcelain cup, the grassy scent of fresh green tea wafting upwards, and lets a complex dance of emotion and bittersweet memory sweep him away. Kisame, still conspicuously watching him, takes interest.
"The tea is quite pleasant, isn't it, Itachi-san?" It's his characteristically indirect way of asking if Itachi's alright.
"Yeah." Itachi doesn't elaborate, finally sipping his tea. He leans against Kisame, against a strong shoulder, and lets himself return home.
A/N: These are snippets I attempted to mash together through the common theme of memory/home. Sorry if it reads a bit disjointed!