Curiosity, desire, instinct - they are the defining words to his question, yet their associated meaning is perhaps an inappropriate justification.
She does not provide a verbal response. Her mind holds to that imagery, a provocative need that has everything to do with the lingering feelings of her older self. But as the seconds transpire to minutes, the feelings dissipate like water to a thirsty ground. No longer can she attribute sentiment with physical inclination. The memories are there but the impure thoughts collide with the curiosity of what is deemed as desire.
"It's not what you think," Izumi answers quietly, "I do not wish to remain there."
A lie. And she knows it. So does Shisui.
But he does not press for imminent details of what was not stated. He keeps watch of her for several seconds before speaking earnestly.
"Was there something that you saw that you shouldn't have?"
She gets his questioning, but that does not preclude her mind from restructuring the sentence into something indecent.
"There was Itachi and…and…me..."
She halts abruptly to confine the mortification.
"And...and...there was a third party," Izumi continues eventually.
She grips the silence in a bid to extract a portion of her memory.
The cabin, the darkness, Itachi, herself, the cabin, the darkness, Itachi's illness, the cabin, the darkness, Itachi's injury, the cabin, the darkness, the blackened substance from the adjoining walls.
"There was someone… or something with us, but I can't seem to remember. It felt like…it didn't belong there, and I couldn't see it, nor could Itachi. But then it was there when I detached from her…"
Her conscious hurts and the more she recalls, the more frazzled she is.
"Izumi, that's enough. Let your mind go," Shisui says firmly.
When she faces him, Shisui is looking palpably disconcerted.
She does not regard the tremors in her fingers, nor the pool of sweat that have congregated beneath her clothing.
"Have some rest, it's been a long night," Shisui says, "I need to submit the mission report to the Third."
He exchanges significant glances with Itachi, then disappears.
Five seconds of silence equates to five long hours in this space. Still, she keeps her head averted.
"Izumi," Itachi says.
His voice is barely above a whisper.
She senses his reluctance, perhaps uncertain of her response or whether he is impeding her space.
"Mm."
A short reply that is indicative of her nervousness.
"You…mentioned you saw me in that other world," he says hesitantly.
And it is the last thing she wishes to hear. Her mind is yet to disconnect from the scenery of that world, and the actions of their counterparts that incites more questions than answers.
At fourteen, she is yet to make sense of relationships, let alone venture into the world of intimacy. But Itachi's presence and the alternate world have coalesce to challenge this unknown area. She blames her inquisitive nature and the growing affection she has for Itachi. The two is what keeps her world chaotic, albeit enthralling.
"I did," Izumi answers softly.
He does not immediately answer. The aura that radiates is heightened with an element of wariness, as if Itachi is still uncertain whether her response warrants further exploration.
"I wasn't harming you, was I?"
She shakes her head.
Far from that. But she will never disclose the details to Itachi.
"You were calling my name."
His voice reverts to a softened tone of discomfort.
This time, she turns to him. Concern is what she sees and it may be this that explains his probing.
"Even if I was calling for you, nothing happened that placed me in danger," she assures.
A half truth, considering she spent three days under his genjutsu. But those are distant memories of an older Izumi from an alternate world. They may be the same person across differing universes, but this world is her world.
At Izumi's response, Itachi is looking visibly relieved.
"I'm glad," he gives a small smile, "your wellbeing is my priority."
Even beneath the pallid features, her body manages a streak of red that gets her energised.
"I…you should get some rest too," she mumbles.
Without anticipation, Itachi approaches and closes the very small distance between them. He takes her hand and keeps his focus on her.
"Izumi…I…"
But it is his touch that blanks her. The feelings return. The cabin, the darkness, Itachi, her and the intimacy connecting them. The memories infiltrate like hurling waves. And she remembers - things that occurred between them long after she has left that world. The sounds of their closeness, the warmth of his body, the sweet scent of his sweat and the salty taste of his skin.
Petrified, she withdraws from his hold and stares confoundedly at him. His response is an equally startled freeze that holds the silence in an aura of confusion.
"Sorry…I'm sorry, I just…," she trails off.
Without pressing for details, Itachi removes himself from her space.
"I'm sorry, Izumi, you must be very tired. I will leave you to your rest. Good night," he says.
When he departs, Izumi keeps her mind vacant and her breathing even.
But the memories intrude like automated machines. Whether it be his presence, his voice or his name, they latch to her like parasites.
Yet far below her subconscious, there exists a multitude of layers that depict a contradictory response to these memories. An initial layer of Izumi - an Izumi that is naive to the world, to relationships, intimacy and the unknown. Or rather, a protective Izumi that is afraid of change, of things moving too quickly and the fear of loving someone in a world plagued by war and uncertainty. Yet veiled between a deeper layer, lies the inquisitive Izumi that desires passion and perhaps the insatiable curiosity to touch and be touched by the one she loves.