A/N: Hello! Here's a massive chapter as an apology for this update being almost a week late.

I'd like to dedicate this chapter to the song Brother by Matt Corby. I really recommend giving it a listen! Personally it always stirs my Itachi-Sasuke feels.

Have a good read!

Disclaimer: I do not own Naruto or Matt Corby's songs.

~ More Than Meets The Eye ~

It was days short of a full moon when he approached his target.

He wasn't difficult to locate – he'd had his sights on the man for a while, and although he fit the description of his supposed identity perfectly, Itachi hadn't been so quickly convinced. After weeks of close-trailing, however, he no longer held a reason to doubt his persona – if anything, he preferred to err on the side of caution.

"Oi."

The man paused in his steps out of the village. Itachi remained leaning against the tree until he'd turned to face him.

"There's something I would like your help with."

.

"Such a shame…the Uchiha's demise…the most powerful clan to ever exist. Pity."

He sounded far from regretful. Itachi didn't grant him with a response but continued his perusal of the orange masked man. He remembered their first encounter all too well.

The painful memory flashed behind his lids. Spurts of blood. His friend's body suspended in time. A lifeless mass dropping as deadweight.

When crimson had tainted his eyes for the very first time.

The man looked the same as he had then – the day he'd murdered Itachi's friend, when his eight-year-old self had lost all remnants of his already-stained innocence.

"It's too bad they denied reason all those years ago. Our clan...such potential, such history with all its secrets…"

He caught the boy's gaze with a single, blazing Sharingan, and Itachi's thoughts geared into overdrive. There was something…

"I wonder if we've even unravelled all the secrets of the Uchiha… What do you think, Itachi?"

Itachi remained entirely impassive, exposing none of the inner commotion that spiralled uncontrollably within him. "I have no interest in the ancient ploys of a clan that has proved itself weak enough to face extinction."

"Of course, …old clan secrets may become…outdated. But I can't help my curiosity…our roots span over centuries of generations. What of the potential for others? Unearthed secrets…. hypothetical mysteries that no one has yet discovered – and now, never will. Any thoughts, Itachi?"

He knew.

Despite his frenzied thoughts, Itachi sustained a clear head as he gauged the threat. He had no way of determining the man's extent of knowledge on the scroll – if he was even aware of it. But how could he be? Itachi had extracted it from the stone tablet himself – unknowingly and unwillingly so – and he held the strong notion that this scroll didn't frequently reveal itself, if at all. And yet, it was evident that the man knew something – and by the look in his eye and his pointed remarks, he was aware of Itachi's involvement on the matter as well.

How could that be?

"Such insignificant matters are of no interest to me. It's merely a waste of my time…and I would advise you to never mention it again."

The man's eye flashed in the darkness of the night as the two Uchiha sized each other up over a tense moment. Itachi held his aloof front under his scrutiny; the unspoken threat had been loud and clear.

Back off.

.

.

.

It would be a full moon that night.

He stared at the young boy through the Academy classroom window. He was positioned in the shadows, in his customary station – he couldn't help but realize he preferred it that way since Shisui's death.

His otouto's eyebrows were furrowed in utmost concentration as he wrote vigorously in his notebook, peering at his teacher every other second.

Itachi's lips tipped into a small smile. He had no doubt that the boy would become an exceptional shinobi. He would grow to cherish comrades, he would embrace their Will of Fire, he would face hardships, and one day, he would become a fine young man.

The boy beside Sasuke nudged him with an elbow, and his otouto scowled at his friend before shuffling away from him. Pride filled Itachi's chest, and a lone tear made its way down his cheek.

Sasuke…

If only he could watch it happen.

.

His bare feet padded softly on warm hardwood as his body hauled him forward of its own accord. He paused in his step when he reached his destination and stalled by the doorframe, peering into the room at a most familiar sight he'd unknowingly yearned to see.

"Yes, Itachi?" His mother spoke, keeping her back turned to him as her hands remained occupied with the dishes.

"Kaasan," he said in greeting.

Mikoto paused. A moment's hesitation lingered before she slowly resumed rinsing the pot in her hands and placed it on the rack. She wiped her fingers on her apron before finally turning to face her son.

She smiled at him expectantly, and Itachi wondered if it was his tone that'd set her off. His mother didn't usually take a break from her work.

He took silent steps towards her until he stood before the woman. He gazed deep into gleaming onyx – the pair of eyes that both his and Sasuke's had taken after. For an entire minute, they did nothing but stare at one another. His face was unreadable, whereas hers was lit with a warm smile – the kind that made her eyes crinkle. She'd once told him that her eyes and her smile were two among very few traits that he'd adopted from her in appearance.

Before Itachi even realized she'd moved, Mikoto had her arms wrapped around her older son.

"We love you, Itachi."

He couldn't speak. Something had lodged in his throat, and he seemed to have lost his voice. Itachi didn't have the faintest clue how, but in that moment, he was faced with the starling notion that…

…that Uchiha Mikoto knew. That she knew of the proceedings arranged to take place that night, within a short, few hours.

He closed his eyes as his mother held him tightly. It'd been a few years since she'd last hugged him, he realized. Not that he minded. Itachi had never been overly fond of physical contact, and although his mother was a very loving woman, she also preferred to display her affection by other means, similar to him. A trait he'd procured from her, his hazy mind realized vaguely. Perhaps she was more accurate in her belief that, although Itachi hadn't taken after her much in appearance, his personality had flourished wholly from hers.

He inhaled her scent softly, storing it into memory. Neither seemed to mind the fact that his arms remained by his sides the entire time.

It was a few seconds later that his mother pulled back and met his eyes, and he knew then that this single moment would remain with him through the rest of his days.

Mikoto's clear, steady eyes held his gaze in a look of unconditional love and pride.

.

"Tonight is the night."

"Indeed…I shall assist you as promised."

"I'm counting on you," Itachi eyed the man before him. "…Remember my condition; in assisting me and attainting your revenge on the Uchiha, you will spare the village…and my brother."

"Rest assured… I will help you annihilate the Uchiha, because I have…another goal – though I will ask that you turn a blind eye to that."

Itachi's lips thinned. "So I'm not to pry into whatever you're planning?"

"Yes. Then I will guarantee that no harm comes to your brother…I have no use for a child without the Sharingan."

"And that's supposed to assure me?" Itachi demanded in a chilling voice. He inhaled a soft breath to calm his nerves. "At this point, I have no choice but to trust you."

"What will you do after?" the man asked with an all-too-curious tone. "If you need a place, you may join my organization."

Itachi's eyes narrowed to slits. "…Your organization?"

"Indeed..." His single eye glinted dangerously. "I call it the Akatsuki."

.

He wore his flak jacket first.

He patted down the summoning scroll over the right pocket, confirming its presence – it would be his secret to bare from now on. He removed a small item from the jacket's left side – a folded, tattered photograph. He didn't unfold it for a final time.

It set aflame with a quick breath of his lips and was reduced to ashes in seconds.

He slipped on his sandals next, followed by his three pouches, and then his arm guards. As he pulled the black gloves over his fingers, he eyed the silver katana that hung so innocently in his locker.

He reached for it slowly before faltering. He blinked.

His fingers were trembling.

Pausing, he stared at the leathered hands that belonged to him. They were spotless and clean.

Itachi glimpsed back at the offensive metal. His own reflection stared back at him from the silver blade's gleaming surface.

Life… Death…

It was a familiar yet foreign face. And after gazing at it for a second longer, Itachi once again reached for the sword and grasped the hilt – this time with steady fingers and a steady resolve. He gripped his mask and lifted it to his face. When his head finally rose, a pair of Sharingan blazed in the darkness, shining the brightest crimson behind two slits on the pale porcelain.

A delicate breeze streamed through a window then, and with it followed a gush of forest-green leaves that glided across the room until they hovered above him for a split second, before swaying gently to the force of gravity and landing on the granite tiles.

Itachi crouched low, and leathered fingers reached for a single leaf. He splayed it over his palm, tracing its outline under the crimson of his gaze, before tenderly letting it slip from his fingers.

He sheathed his katana, and the piercing scrape of metal resonated within the enclosed walls. A mission was a mission, and it was time Uchiha Itachi of the Leaf completed his final assignment.

It took him an uncharacteristically long time to settle his disarrayed thoughts. It wasn't often that Itachi harboured such adverse feelings, and the entire notion was irking him to no end.

He was irritated. And not just that; he was irritated beyond reason.

Itachi very rarely felt anger. In fact, it would suffice to say that Itachi never felt angry, except over very few, very justifiable instances. He wouldn't quite say that he was angry at that moment; however, he'd come inexplicably close, and that on its own did not sit right with him.

Madara.

Not only had he meddled with his brother – which had found Itachi in one of his moments of justifiable anger – but the man was now having him trailed. By Zetsu, no less. Madara's wish to keep him under tabs hardly surprised him at this point, but Itachi couldn't help but wonder just what it was that the man knew about the scroll – or what he knew at all – that had him so insistent on acquiring it. His relentless methods were merely kindling Itachi's suspicions and feeding flames to his caution.

His jaw tensed as he recalled the incident; Zetsu's unspoken threat had been clear, and Itachi couldn't help the surge of panic that rose against his logic. It would be all too easy for Madara to harm his brother regardless of the man's apparent interest in Sasuke, and even the prospect of such a possibility was enough to paint Itachi's vision red.

What was also unsettling, however, was Zetsu's scrutiny of the kunoichi. He supposed it was suspicious that she was travelling with him, and Itachi wondered Madara's reaction to this piece of information that would no doubt be relayed to him.

He spared her an imperceptible glance. Her brows were furrowed in concentration, and the emerald of her eyes had dimmed to a forest green with her apparent rumination. No doubt she was mulling over the recent exchange, and Itachi wondered what she'd made of the entire scene. She could be quite unpredictable in her assessments.

He frowned. Zetsu's appearance had made her noticeably tense by his side.

It would come as no surprise that Itachi had to retain a disguise when he faced enemies – an uncharacteristic front he kept reserved only for threats. It was something he'd learned the hard way throughout his time as a missing-nin. Arrogant shinobi were substantially more likely to pick fights with a thirteen-year-old boy if he didn't appear at least slightly intimidating. And as he adamantly worked to avoid conflict, he'd had to resort to such a tactic. He supposed it had earned him his vicious reputation across the world of shinobi, and Itachi had always found that fact to be bitterly ironic more than anything.

He'd realized that she seemed increasingly more comfortable with him when they were alone. But when they'd faced Zetsu, he'd had the impression that she was holding her own not just against the Akatsuki member, but also against him. She had every right to be cautious of course, but it bothered him more than he would have expected, perhaps because he'd gotten a glimpse of her real self – when she'd spoken with him like she would with any other, when she hadn't treated him as an enemy. After being on the receiving end of that sort of treatment, a return to the previous had his heart clench painfully. Hopefully she hadn't been too offended by his behaviour.

His eyes narrowed with the recollection of Zetsu's attempt on the kunoichi. It had agitated him more than he cared to admit. He'd almost set aside his elaborately crafted self-control. After all, it was his fault that she was here, and to Itachi, that was a strict translation to her being his responsibility.

Guilt wrapped around his heart. He'd brought her into this chaotic mess, effectively putting her life at risk by doing so. Not only that, but she'd been tormented ever since she'd encountered him. He had threatened Naruto, and he seemed to have given her quite a fright over his brother's life as well. And now, there was a fair chance that he'd lead Madara straight to her trail. His forehead creased in displeasure. She hadn't deserved any of this. More than anything, he had to ensure that she was kept safe.

His eyes lidded over in a lazy blink. The prospect of her being harmed made him uneasy. This was to be expected, he supposed, since she was a loyal Konoha-nin and it was his indirect duty to protect her; and yet, Itachi had the distant notion that it was more than that…

Not that she seemed to need protection, he reminded himself, holding his arm closer under his cloak. She appeared capable of defending herself most of the time. It would hardly be fair to base her strength against his – he seemed to be a bit of an exception, after all.

He pondered over their pleasurable exchange earlier that day. It had been years since he'd last had a discussion over anything as seemingly mundane as books – in fact, he hadn't held such a harmless conversation with anyone since Shisui's death. His cousin had been aware of Itachi's engrossment with philosophy – one that tended to reveal his more… insistent side – and Shisui had been willing to humour him from time to time. It'd been one of the few activities that Itachi had sincerely enjoyed, and he remembered looking forward to their discussions eagerly.

Itachi could easily admit that he'd enjoyed conversing with her. He'd been pleasantly surprised with her apparent interest in reading and had already assembled a mental list of books that he hoped to seek her opinion on. Given her unpredictability, it was bound to turn into an entertaining conversation.

It was well into the evening when he slowed them to a walk by the modest settlement, and Itachi surveyed the familiar sight with satisfaction. Although Zetsu would no longer be on their trail – the crows would see to that, since Itachi had detected the disturbance – he still needed Madara's spy to be far enough before they reached their final destination.

He led them to the sole inn in the vicinity and collected their key as per usual. They stepped into one of five existing rooms, and he made to shrug off his cloak as he peered through the single pane window.

A sharp intake of breath caught his attention. Her wary gaze was on him – on his body. He followed it to his arm, and his brow quirked at the sight.

His shredded black shirt was drenched in a deep maroon, and purple specks littered the small area of exposed skin as arrays of fluid oozed from the entire fragment of his limb.

An exasperated huff withdrew his gaze. She didn't seem overly impressed and was openly scowling at him over crossed arms. He blinked at her apparent displeasure.

"What – you were just going to hide it from me?"

Itachi tipped his head as he mulled over her question. Frankly, he'd been oblivious to the extent of damage she'd inflicted on his arm, given the more pressing matters that had mandated his attention at the time.

"It is no trouble," he found himself saying. Her eyes widened fractionally before narrowing in vexation.

"…Why am I here then, Uchiha?"

Her accusatory tone was enough to indicate that she'd deliberated over the reason and had emerged skeptical. Well, he could hardly blame her. With her level of attentiveness, it was a wonder she hadn't worked it out already.

"I was under the impression that you kept me around for the purpose of exploiting my ability," she probed when he remained silent.

"For my eyes," he attempted to assure her. "My arm did not seem so severe earlier."

Oddly enough, his words seemed to displease her further, as she responded with an exaggerated eye-roll that hauled her head along with the movement and began muttering under her breath – a trail of words that sounded a lot like "men…all the same…damn Uchiha's".

His brows twitched at her reaction, and she pinned him with an unimpressed look.

"I'll heal it – but only because it wasn't intended for you, and I'm a fair fighter," she declared, and Itachi held the faint notion that he wouldn't have a say on the matter. So, he simply gave a swift nod and took a step towards her, waiting for her direction.

Her forehead creased in concern for a moment as she regarded him hesitantly. Then seemingly making up her mind, she beckoned him to the bed.

He settled near the head to provide her with some room, and she joined him in the next instant. With a last furtive glance, she turned her attention to his arm, gingerly raising the limb with the tips of her fingers.

A current shot through his body in response to her gentle-natured touch, and he flinched involuntarily. She quailed at the movement, and emerald clashed with onyx.

"It will hurt – there isn't much I can do about that, but let me know if it becomes unbearable," she offered, having misinterpreted his reaction. He searched her face - the hardened lips and the glazed resolve - and detected traces of red behind glossy emeralds. Registering that his Sharingan had blazed to life on its own accord, he drew back the onyx in lieu of crimson.

It was with tentative gestures that she began to peel away the fabric clinging to him like a second skin. He barely felt the working fingers on his ragged limb. Over the years, his pain threshold had shot through the roof in light of his constant suffering from his illness. Instead, he fixated on her features, watching as focused determination replaced all others. It was an intriguing sight to him, how her entire complexion could shift so drastically when she healed – the way she donned her profession so instinctively, as if it'd become second nature.

"I'll have to rip this off," she notified him as her fingers trailed to the top of his shoulder. He nudged his consent and the material was stripped off of him with a slight tug, leaving a bare arm in its wake.

The shade that graced her cheeks caught his interest, and he grew puzzled at her discomfort. He watched the shaky intake of breath, the firm shake of her head, and finally the glow of healing chakra as green hues reflected over her features.

He glanced at his arm as the familiar tingles brushed over his skin and her chakra penetrated his bodily defences. He supposed the damage did look quite severe. The majority of his limb was marred with shades of purple that were darkening by the minute, and he felt the shattered bones that stirred under her grip. An idle thought occurred to him then. If he'd positioned himself any differently in his attempts to shield her, he could have easily met his demise under her fist. The prospect amused him somehow, and he downed the urge to smirk.

He gradually relaxed under the invasive sensation. He'd felt eerily uncomfortable during their previous session – quite expectedly, since he rarely permitted physical contact of any form – but it wasn't so bad anymore. In fact, as minutes ticked by, he found himself relishing the feeling. Her chakra held a caressing quality; so tender yet insistent – strong-willed and stubborn, even – just like her. Again, it was uncommon for shinobi to hold such gentle attributes to their chakra, and yet the more of her that entered him, the more noticeable she became. He succumbed to the urge to close his eyes as he worked to discern her qualities. Compassion, altruism, tenderness, mercy. And then, obstinacy, fortitude, resilience, attentiveness. His brows furrowed. Itachi couldn't understand how he could detect it all so clearly. Perhaps it was his prior awareness of her that held a certain level of bias.

A soft trickle of breath on his arm led his gaze back to her, and he became aware of her sudden proximity. Her efforts seemed to have drawn her closer, and although her eyes were no longer in his direct line of sight, he found himself drowning in the half-lidded emeralds.

Had they always been so vibrant? All coherent answers to his idle question were lost to him, however, when his attention was abruptly seized by the speckles of gold that littered her emerald irises, glistening like diamonds in a coalfield as they chambered her dark pupils with sunny halos. The flecks were only visible at this length, and he questioned whether such tones were even natural. The girl screamed of color – of all shades imaginable, strangely enough. He wondered whether his inexplicable fascination was a result of his near-blind state over the recent years.

He wished to lean forward and inspect the phenomena further, but he was held back by the notion that such a gesture would not sit right with her. As he battled his urge, he became the abrupt focus of the sources of his debate. He stared back, missing nothing as her pupils shifted and dilated under his gaze.

He wasn't particularly attentive of the time, but he'd imagine that their gazes remained locked for quite a while. It was only when he saw her emeralds darken that he blinked and turned away from her, recognizing the look for one of awed scrutiny – a look she seemed to keep reserved only for his Sharingan.

He glanced at his arm and was startled to see the clean sheet of white that was wrapped snugly around his limb.

"It's done, but you'll have to let it rest for a few days," she mumbled, springing off the bed and dashing for the bathroom in the next instant.

.

She allowed a meek groan to escape her lips under the safe haven of drizzling water. What had just happened? Hastily rubbing her eyes, she willed away the images that lingered behind her lids.

It had all been fine – as fine as the circumstances allowed, at least – until she'd finished her healing and risked a glance at him.

Sighing audibly, she craned her neck to diffuse the traces of tension. Sakura could no longer deny the fact that his eyes – crimson or onyx – seemed to captivate her beyond measure. Perhaps it was the Sharingan's unyielding hold, or maybe the painful resemblance of onyx to Sasuke's eyes; it didn't really matter – all that did matter was that she couldn't afford to lose herself anymore.

She fought the urge to shudder under the scorching water. Not to mention, his fixedly intense stare was hardly helping her matters. At least, she noted feebly, she'd made somewhat of a progress in conducting herself during his bizarre bearings. She no longer flinched under his Sharingan, which was a feat on its own – but with all the assurance that brought, she couldn't help but feel as though she'd advanced two paces only to stumble back one. Why did he have to be such an enigma?

She massaged her scalp as she continued her musings amidst the pleasing stream of lemony-mint. It wasn't as if he was consistently irritating, she supposed. After all, aside from his constant-scrutiny that left her feeling like a medical experiment, he could be quite pleasurable at times.

Her fingers paused their ministrations as she mulled over this thought. Indeed, he did smile quite frequently. And time and time again, she'd found herself immersed in an unmistakably peaceful ambiance that seemed to linger in his wake. It'd merely put her on edge at first, and her ninja senses had struggled to place the suspicious aura. But unlikely as it was, she'd grown used to it over time.

Not to mention, she added mentally, when left to his own devices, the man appeared to be quite content. And now that they were back on speaking terms since she had…. well, forgiven him would be too strong of a word, but perhaps, dismissed would be more appropriate – their previous argument, she reckoned she no longer minded interacting with him. She'd found thrill in their talk, after all – perhaps a little more than she'd care to admit.

A reminder of the latest mystery to his name placed a scowl over her features. If she truly wished to determine his motives, she would need to find out whether or not he'd defected from the Akatsu-

The sudden rush of frigid water wrenched a shrill yelp out of the girl as she leapt from the cubicle and toppled over the ivory tiles. Groaning noisily, she rose to her feet and redressed, rashly slamming the door upon her exit as an exceedingly creative round of curses spilled from her lips shamelessly. Feeling his eyes on her, she turned to humor him with a glare. Her scowl deepened at the unconcealed mirth that shone behind onyx.

"Funny. Let's see if you're still amused after your freezing shower," she glowered. He merely quirked a brow on his way to the bathroom.

"You're supposed to keep that arm dry, you know," she retorted as he walked past her.

He glanced back over his shoulder with his trademark smirking-smile before disappearing behind the door.

She could only scoff after him as she kneaded a towel over her scalp, listening for mutters of protest with idle hope. Sure enough, he'd resurfaced ten minutes later, bearing a dry arm and a cascade of damp hair, having remained entirely muted through the bitter assault. He'd donned a fresh shirt in lieu of his torn one, a black top that dipped lower on his neck and called attention to his silver necklace. Her gaze lingered longer than was necessary on the freshly exposed skin, her eyes trailing the defined ripples of his neck and shoulder muscles, before a frustrated sigh escaped her lips. With a last shake of her short locks to free excess droplets, she followed him outside for their customary dinner.

Soft tunes greeted them as they descended the stairs, and Sakura peered across a set of double doors at a lone bar. Right. They'd opted out of a lasting hot water supply but hadn't omitted the liquor.

It was bright outside despite the shortage of street lamps. A smile nudged at her features as she glanced up at the clear blanket; it was a full moon. It hung over the pair, embraced in a perfectly silver halo and illuminated their stretch of road. She saw him falter visibly when he noted the lunar shape before coming to a complete halt. He peered at her from the corner of his eye, and she cocked a brow in question. Oddly enough, he appeared hesitant as his eyes flickered back and forth between the deserted road and her face.

"Do you like…dango?"

She blinked once at his apprehensive tone, and a few more times at his question.

"…You mean the sweet?"

He seemed to tense further at her needless request for clarification, and she didn't miss the fleeting uncertainty that was quickly lost to his poker face.

"Yes," he replied a full minute later, seemingly having decided to humor her.

She assessed his discomfort with curiosity, finding herself easily amused with the entire scenario. He appeared to be expecting an answer before any further exchange, however, and she made the momentary decision to prolong this peculiar moment to her desire.

"Hmmm…" she tapped her chin with a finger, making an elaborate gesture of pondering over her answer. Her eyes wandered across the sky, then up and down the street, before catching his gaze once more. All traces of his doubt seemed to have vanished, and he was regarding her expectantly with a single raised brow.

She fought the urge to smirk, instead concluded her little game just as her stomach grumbled in protest.

"Yes," she announced with an air of assured finality that exposed her prior deliberation for the act that it was.

He maintained an impassive front for a moment longer before his eyes drooped midway and the corner of his lips tipped into a half smile. Her breath hitched slightly at his show of what could only be his "ha-ha very funny" face, though it looked exceedingly courteous and somewhat good-natured, giving her the impression that it could also be his "you got me" face – a feat only he would be capable of pulling off, no doubt. For a moment, she struggled to tear her eyes away from his features as he led them to the neighboring street – the only other street in the tiny settlement.

They entered a modest tea shop with two vacant tables, a glass stall, and one of the most extravagantly rich aromas Sakura had ever come across. Mouth immediately watering, she smiled eagerly at the kind-eyed woman with deep wrinkles to her features that revealed her age.

The woman's eyes travelled over the pair fleetingly before sparking in recognition.

"Boy! It's been a while – I was beginning to think you'd never return!"

Sakura reeled, gaze flickering between the two in unconcealed surprise.

"Good evening, Chiya-sama," he greeted in a gentle lilt she'd never heard from him before offering her a deep bow. "It would be rude of me to not return and have to forgo your specialty."

"Ohh, my boy," she smiled kindly at him, giving a faint shake of her head. "As far as I can tell, you could never be rude. What was your name? Forgive me for not remembering, my age does tend to fool me I'm afraid."

His eyes crinkled completely. "My name is Itachi. And the wisdom and experience your age brings are invaluable to the likes of us, Chiya-sama."

"Ah! Itachi-kun! Yes, I remember now – my boy, you're truly too kind."

Her smile landed on her, and Sakura found herself responding in kind.

"And who is your friend, Itachi-kun?"

He glanced at her briefly, his eyes still warm, before turning back to the woman.

"This is Sakura. She is my companion."

"Very nice to meet you, Sakura dear. I'm Chiya."

Sakura tried her hardest to retain a smile while her insides jerked violently. It was the second time he'd spoken her name, and the first time she'd ever seen him do it. It was strange, watching his tongue roll over each syllable in rich, full tones and trickle free from his lips. The responding shiver that rippled through her body carried none of the chilling quality she'd have expected, but a mere sense of muffled anticipation at hearing her name escape the lips of the man of her nightmares.

"Pleasure is all mine, Chiya-sama." She recollected herself long enough to execute a courteous bow.

"Now," Chiya-sama shuffled towards the stall. "What can I get you two today?"

"Mitarashi and Goma dango for me, please," he replied right away, and Sakura did a double take at his poorly restrained demeanor.

"Hanami dango for me," she added after him, realizing that it was the first time he'd made his own order instead of having whatever she'd requested.

"Coming right up," Chiya-sama beamed before pausing to pin a contemplative gaze on her companion. A moment later, her face lit up in recollection. "Ah yes! Goma dango. Your brother's favorite, isn't it? I remember – it is my favorite as well. He has good taste, your brother," she nodded to herself.

Sakura's brows creased in confusion, and for a moment she wondered whether a third party had entered the shop and the woman was speaking to them instead. But upon noticing the hardened onyx and pressed lips beneath his impassive features, her eyes widened in horror and she gaped at him.

He remained quiet as Sakura stared at him in utter bafflement until Chiya-sama's face rose over the dango and looked at him expectantly, offering him another smile.

"Yes…" he replied softly with a slight strain to his voice. "It is the only one he eats."

Sakura had the sudden urge to question whether Sasuke had any other brothers she'd somehow overlooked. Brows furrowing with concern, she turned away from him, her wild thoughts settling long enough to let her think.

It wasn't a big deal, she assured herself. Of course, he had to know many things about Sasuke – things that even her and Naruto didn't. And it was plausible that Sasuke had been mentioned in passing, though Sakura couldn't understand how an elderly lady who'd struggled to even remember his name had managed to recall such a trivial detail about his brother.

"Here you go my dears!"

They each collected their own orders before he led them to one of the two tables. She kept her gaze locked on him and gauged his every move, holding him in close surveillance in the chance that he was hiding the answers to his mysteries beneath his elaborately-molded façade.

His prior discomfort had all but disappeared, and the uncharacteristic gleam returned to his eye as he gazed down at his food. Her own dessert remained untouched as she fixated on the man, watching him grip the end of a skewer and lift the dango to his lips almost hurriedly, onyx orbs never once wavering in their purpose. Just before the rounded edge reached his mouth, his tongue swept his upper lip in a seemingly absent gesture, and then the smooth surface had met his lips in a soft nuzzle. She felt helplessly transfixed as her gaze followed his lips; they parted and molded over the curvature, his tongue darting out to flick over the soft texture before his teeth grazed its surface and bit into the edge, swiftly sucking the mouthful into his moist cavern. His brows furrowed in concentration as half-lidded eyes shut in blissful contentment. At long last, he started chewing.

A meek sound escaped her lips then, and Sakura quickly snapped her mouth shut before averting her gaze elsewhere – anywhere that wasn't him – as she attempted to moisten her mouth. Seizing her own portion, she swiftly took a bite to occupy herself, faltering soon afterwards.

She stared at the dango in her grip. It was delicious.

She whipped her eyes back to him to voice her opinion but paused when she noted his ongoing preoccupation with his share. His face had scrunched up minimally as he worked to savor every last sensation and prolong the delightful moment. Sakura saw traces of a young boy fleet across his features, and in that moment for the very first time, he looked his age despite the masculine edges that framed his face – younger, even.

She saw signs of onyx as his eyes fluttered and slowly parted. He appeared to finally sense his audience then, as his lids rose fully, and he paused mid-chew to meet her gaze, quirking a questioning eyebrow in her direction.

Sakura couldn't help it. Swiftly shielding the lower part of her face from view, she relinquished an amused smile, hoping it wasn't overly obvious. He was still staring at her, seemingly frozen as his latest bite paused its stirring and formed a perfectly rounded protrusion over his right cheek.

She palmed her forehead as soft tremors shook her shoulders, yet she remained adamant on keeping her lips locked to contain the outburst.

Uchiha Itachi…and dango. It was surreal. Really, who would have thought? Inhaling deeply, she chased away images of Akatsuki initiating a social outing to the local dango shop.

"This is very good," she supplied to deter her intrusive thoughts and took another bite. He'd resumed his chewing by this point and swallowed quickly before answering.

"Chiya-sama is one of a kind," he smiled. "I find that she's among the few who possess this talent across the nations."

"Really? I wouldn't be surprised. This is the best dango I've ever had," she said between bites.

His eyes glinted in amusement as he watched her finish her meal, and Sakura wondered whether she ought to comment over the less-than nutritious state of their dinner. He took his last bite of the Goma dango – the only one Sasuke ate, apparently – and they were done.

When Chiya-sama emerged from the adjoining room, they rose to their feet.

"It was wonderful, Chiya-sama. The best I've had," Sakura spoke first as they approached her. "Arigatou gozaimasu."

The woman's eyes crinkled. "I'm glad you enjoyed it, my dear. You should visit more often too! Has Itachi-kun ever brought you here before?"

"No, It…Ita- he never has."

Sakura clenched her fists. She couldn't do it – she wouldn't do it. Saying his name would be humanizing him completely – certainly more so than she had already.

…Even though the name hardly sounded like an omen at this point. Not when this kind woman was referring to him like that.

"Well then, Itachi-kun, please be sure to bring the lovely Sakura-chan back some time. And your brother too! I'd love to meet him."

Her breath caught in her throat, and a novel sensation flickered to life within her. It wasn't the rational fury, nor the wary perplexity.

It was sorrow. And it squeezed her heart painfully as Sasuke's face flashed across her mind.

"Arigatou gozaimasu, Chiya-sama…" he said nothing further on the matter, and they bid their farewells before turning to leave. His face was a perfectly crafted canvas; empty, and any traces of emotion simply absent – except for his eyes, which shone like black diamonds as an array of foreign sensations swirled in their depths.

Her eyes glazed over in thought as they silently retraced their steps. Her mind was in raucous disarray – she couldn't understand him, and at this point, she truly craved to. Pursing her lips, she gazed at the shroud of mist that was descending over the blanket of dusted shimmers, imagining her shishou scowling down at her through the lazy haze. Sakura had quite a bit of reflecting to do, and as her master had so eloquently taught her, in times of distress, there was but one solution to all her problems.

She needed a drink.

Two brothers: bound by blood without choice, parted by fate without justification.

Two hearts that beat to a single rhythm – a pulse that echoes the same melody over any span of distance or time.

It was an unlikely stroke of luck that held both brothers in that exact moment in time; both reflecting, both taken by their thoughts – only at different locations. Perhaps it was their fate's whisper of an apology. Perhaps it was their blood's murmur of gratitude. Either way, it brought them closer – closer than ever before – in mind, in heart, and in thought.

It was a full moon: the younger brother's first full moon since his eyes had opened to his brother's; the older brother's first full moon since the truth to his name had been unveiled. But above all, it was the first full moon that both brothers would acknowledge and welcome – a shortcoming due to one's physical inability to see, and the other's physical inability to look. And yet, although they were looking eye to eye for the first time, they were far from seeing eye to eye.

It was a wonder that the younger brother had found himself settled over the rocky terrain, bathing in the mystical lunar glow as he gazed into the silver abyss. It wasn't as startling that the older brother had found himself perched in the canopy, absorbing the night sun's radiance as it caressed the stretch of earth before him.

And it wasn't surprising at all that both brothers' minds were taken by the same night in their memories – only from opposing sides.

.

His steps were muted – lost to an abyssal silence that shrouded over the village as he paced to the district. He was one with the shadows.

.

His steps were hasty, obtrusive, and urgent as he rushed along dimly lit streets toward his home. He was late.

.

His heart beat to a casual rhythm - too casual that it almost felt forced - as a sense of foreboding fought to shake him to his very core.

.

His heart paced rapidly along to his quick jog, but it was full and warm as a sense of eagerness gently trickled through him - he would be home to see his kaasan and niisan soon.

.

He stopped before the entrance. A mere shinobi: one of hundreds of thousands. Just another soldier, moments from completing just another mission in the name of his village.

The drapes flapped to the breeze, and with them rippled the two sinister emblems that seemingly fanned the skies as their namesake. He didn't spare them a second glance as he crossed the threshold with resolute strides.

There was no need for a plan – there was no amount of thinking involved in his barging into the first house of the civilian populace. He was no longer Itachi, but an empty shell, a weapon, a means for another check beside a mission scroll.

There was no feeling, no thinking as he slid his katana across the throat of a nameless vessel for his first kill of the night. His Sharingan – more an omen than a blessing – absorbed each detail and stored it away as ammunition for his nightmares; the glint of the blade as it rose, the initial moment of shock on the victim's face before fear prevailed, the perfect angling of the silver edge against the throat, a sharp, resolute tug of his arm, and the swift, clean split of soft skin – first a hollow slit in the milliseconds that the body tried to comprehend, to accommodate, before murky blood gushed from a severed artery. It was never the gore that haunted his sleeping hours, but rather the look in his victim's eye as reality dawned, and their life flashed before their eyes – it was almost always their regrets.

Following the first spill, he yanked the porcelain mask off his face and stripped his hands bare of the leather gloves; he did this entirely unconsciously, for reasons he'd never know. Perhaps his conscience refused to let him hide behind a mask, or maybe he believed that he owed it to his victims to show his face. He would never know.

Second, third, fourth spill.

And then others followed.

Again.

Again.

Again.

Sasuke.

The first spatters of crimson marred his face.

Again.

Again.

For Sasuke…

Again.

Blood spurted.

Gurgling, wheezing, rupturing.

Screaming. Begging.

Again.

For Konoha.

Again.

Throat after throat – clean kills: a single slit of the artery.

And yet some were arduous; those were the messier kills.

Again.

For the innocent.

Again.

For all children of the Leaf, both present and future, who would be stripped of their childhood with another Shinobi World War. Just as he had been.

Again.

Again.

Dozens passed under his hands, one after the other like cattle in a slaughterhouse – yet he was entirely detached.

He didn't feel the sweat of his brow blending with the thick, maroon fluid. He didn't see his victims' tears tarnishing his uniform, adding to the blood stains with every drop.

Again.

He had no sense of the shades of red that coated his face – paid no heed to the scarlet droplets that dripped from his chin. He didn't taste the blood that seeped through his tight-pressed lips.

He was both there and not.

He was an outside force, gazing down at the distantly familiar physique of a thirteen-year-old – a boy spilling innocent blood, drowning in innocent blood. His pulse was steady, heart beating to a casual rhythm.

And yet, the hilt burned beneath his own fingers. He felt every surface that his blade pierced across, through, and over. He saw the life drain from their eyes – the lives that he took for himself.

He only stopped near the end of the street, when his path was obstructed by a most familiar man.

"Itachi."

The two pairs of crimson clashed – father and son, the head and the heir – surrounded by their seemingly protective walls carved with their honorable fan, now crumbling in their shame in the wake of their selfish acts. They'd chosen to fan the flames of destruction rather than smother the sparks, all for the sake of kindling their power – and were now paying the price dearly.

"What reason lies behind this slaughter?" His father's voice was firm, steady, and authoritative – as it always had been. "Are you going to show me a different future from the one I showed you?"

Itachi wiped blood out of his eyes with a swift rub of his hand, heedlessly clearing the thick droplets that dribbled down his lashes and obscured his vision. When the reds of his orbs were revealed, his Sharingan had morphed into Mangekyou with the promise of a path that his clan had refused to consider.

"Yes…" He met his father's gaze. "This."

And Itachi showed him the sole possible future in which both the Uchiha name and their village would remain untainted. The only future that would allow Itachi to keep his promise to his best friend...

.

Sasuke fixated on the distant whites and reds of the fans that always welcomed him home. Maybe his niisan wouldn't have a mission tonight and he would get to spend some time with him. It never ceased to warm his chest, knowing that he would soon see his niisan and kaasan – and perhaps his tousan would ask him about the Academy today.

"I'm so late…" he worriedly repeated to himself.

.

"That is the future I see for the village…and the clan."

"I see…" his father said quietly as the crimson bled away from his eyes. "Sasuke, hm…?" he whispered to himself, before a burst of smoke was all that remained in his wake.

Itachi's grip on his katana tightened.

'Tousan is my greatest opponent…' he chanted to himself as his hands incessantly wiped the remaining crimson smears off his face. 'This will be a battle of the Mangekyou…'

Following Shisui's death, Fugaku became the sole other – albeit discreetly – possessor of the Mangekyou Sharingan, and if there was anyone alive who posed a viable threat to Itachi in battle, it was him.

For the first time since he'd entered the district, he heard his heart stumble in its rhythm as he concealed himself along the shadowed walls of his home. He moved lithely through the familiar rooms, his ninja treads as silent and fluid as of the most elite in his profession as he searched for the obstacle that stood between him and the successful completion of his mission.

Uchiha Fugaku.

He crossed the main room – along the terrace where his father had handed him his first kunai. He creeped along the kitchen – past the counter where his mother had taught him to cook so he could fend for himself during missions. He passed the leisure room – over the tatami mats where Sasuke had leapt into his niisan's arms after taking his very first steps.

"Over here."

Itachi's breath hitched in his throat.

"There are no traps," his father's voice sounded again from the back room. "Come inside."

He took his final steps towards the door that stood slightly ajar. As his fingertips nudged it further, the same quiet creak that'd always accompanied the motion reached his ears.

The sight that greeted him was almost enough to demolish the last fragments of his resolve – one he had so prudently and arduously gathered.

"…Tousan," he choked as he stared, momentarily shell-shocked, at the outlines of his parents under the filtered moonlight – his unarmed, defenseless, and wholly calm kaasan and tousan in their state of complete surrender.

Sasuke…

"I refuse to face my son in a deathmatch…"

Something shattered and crumbled inside him then, and Itachi could hardly drag his lead-heavy feet into the room. His katana clinked as he tightened his grip, but instead of drawing a sense of foreboding, the sound merely jolted him in his skin – the two who were to meet their demise under its blade remained entirely indifferent.

"So…You've aligned with the other side."

Itachi wanted to scream. He wanted to flip the katana on himself. He wanted to tell them that there were no real sides to this. He wanted to say that they were his parents, and he'd never side against them unless there was no other way, unless the situation was so hopelessly despairing. He wanted to say that he was loyal to them… That, despite his opinion of their clan, he'd always be loyal to them. To his parents.

His lips parted to speak the words that would never come.

"…Tousan…Kaasan…I…"

"We already know, Itachi."

Every last drop of air burst from his lungs in a large gush of breath with his mother's words, and his shoulders sagged in defeat. He caught a partial glimpse of her side profile – her straightened spine, raised chin, and fearless features – so gracefully poised as she awaited death by her son's hand. And he felt it; the soft, motherly embrace of her words, reminding him of their exchange from hours earlier. Her peacefully serene aura beckoned him, wrapping him in its safety and whispering words of encouragement, courage, and love.

Itachi relished in her love – clung to it like a starved child – but it was not enough to lull the grief. Not even a little bit.

"Itachi…Promise me this."

He swallowed the lump that seemed to be forever latched in his throat.

"Take care of Sasuke."

For Sasuke…

Amidst the oncoming tremors that consumed his body, Itachi's lips gave way to an imperceptible smile at his father's words. Despite their near-constant disagreement over any and every matter, Sasuke's wellbeing taking precedence over all others would be the one and only – and the most important – reality that they would ever agree on.

"I will." His vow was a mere whisper, but the weight of this lifelong obligation settled over his shoulders almost perceptibly – a load he would take to his grave and would not – could not – fail to fulfill under any circumstances.

The next heartbeat saw Itachi's grip tighten unbearably. It was time, but the tremors were yet to stop escalating, and soon, he'd relinquished all control over himself. The inconsolable sobs that tore from his throat were a distant reality, and his terror-stricken, adrenaline-coaxed mind only fueled the fires of his trauma.

"Do not fear it," his father commanded.

He tried to bite down his whimpers.

Sasuke. Konoha.

"This is the path you've chosen. Compared to yours, our pain will end in an instant."

His mouth parted in a choked cry – half silent, half shrill.

For Sasuke. For Konoha. For the innocent. To prevent another war.

"Our philosophies may differ, but I'm proud of you."

For Sasuke…For the children who are yet to be born.

"You truly are a kind child."

FOR SASUKE!

The indistinct blend of a battle cry, an agonizing scream, and a splitting wail tore through his throat as the blade descended, and the deed of a measly, passing second had fouled his conscience for all eternity – an unspeakable sin that condoned no pardon, no forgiveness. Only punishment.

The ensuing seconds, minutes, or maybe hours passed in blurs. Itachi only faintly recalled swaying on his feet, donning his mask, and taking to the streets to claim the remaining lives.

By the time he'd landed before the masked man, he felt calm – too calm – and whispers of his enfeebled rationality informed him that he was in shock.

"It's over," the man announced with a slanted glance in his direction before visibly faltering. "You're…"

He stared at Itachi's porcelain veiled features, seemingly coming to a realization. "Never mind," he turned away from the younger boy. "Shall we go?"

"You go ahead." Itachi heard his own words, yet nothing was registering in his hazy mind. "I have some things to address with the village elders."

And then he was alone. Solitude granted him a measly moment of relief, and he let himself go, collapsing to his knees in a broken heap. All the shock, the trauma, and the numbness that'd swallowed him whole were not enough to repress the heart-rending, gut-wrenching grief that was seeping to the surface through invisible cracks. And even that couldn't repress the self-hatred that rose above all else.

It was then that he had an awakening; despite his good intentions to pursue peace, cease all fighting, and mend their world, his crime was one that could not be condoned – and Itachi pledged to be punished for his heinous offense.

Sasuke's face materialized from his conscience – his otouto with his enormous heart, untainted innocence, and boundless potential. The boy whom the Uchiha clan – and Itachi – would continue to live through. The one who'd prosper and lead them to a better future.

And he knew then that it had to be Sasuke to punish him for his sins.

.

The young boy finally reached the entrance and rushed past the flapping drapes into the district.

.

He was crouched low on a pole, behind him the luminous glow of a halo that dominated the night sky, when he spotted his brother entering the district. He lingered, his lengthy locks flailing to the nightly breeze as he watched his otouto – until the boy glanced in his direction.

.

The patters of feet on cement resonated as he entered the eerily quiet streets. The odd ambiance didn't seem to faze him – until he found himself freezing almost instinctively, and a chill descended his spine. His eyes were drawn to the distance – to a perfectly spherical full moon that bathed all else in shadowy silhouettes.

'What was that…?' he questioned the strange prickling of his instincts – the very same ones that'd called his gaze to the skies.

'I thought…I sensed someone just now.' And yet, there was no one in the vicinity – merely the stretch of indistinct rooftops and a single pole that stood tall in the middle of the district.

Sasuke's gaze wandered back to his path, and that's when it hit him.

.

His steps were labored as he returned to his house. He found safe haven in the dark shadows within, and his eyes travelled over the two heaps of bodies before him. He paused when he found a semblance of comfort, and his unwavering gaze fixated on the lifeless depths of his mother's onyx orbs as he waited for his brother.

.

'The lights…the silence…it's not even close to bedtime…' Alarms buzzed in Sasuke's head as he slowed his pace, but it was when he rounded the corner that the first prickles of fear descended over him.

It looked like a battle scene had gently swept the streets of his home district. There were signs of struggle, and yet not nearly as much as there should have been considering the piercing silence.

He dashed forward, his heart pounding in his chest as he sprinted as fast as his short legs would carry him.

What's going on…? What is this?

Blood… Shattered windows… The quiet.

And then he saw the corpses.

"…Aunt…Uncle…"

Terror washed over him, instigating bone-chilling shivers that pulsed through his body. But it was nothing on the dread that followed, slow and resolute in its creeping, as he drowned in a new kind of worry. "…Kaasan! …Tousan!" He swallowed a cry and stumbled back, racing to his home with nauseating panic.

In a way, the boy knew. The rational side of his brain – his shinobi-in-the-making instincts – told him his mother and father were likely in no better condition. But the voice of reason was too quiet in his terror-stricken state. Above all else, he was a small, eight-year-old boy who couldn't yet imagine the possibility of his parents being harmed. And so, it was with unjustified hope that he yanked open the sliding door to his home and dashed inside.

The lifeless silence that greeted him had never felt so suffocating. He wandered on quivering toes, afraid to disturb the eerie surroundings. He checked the kitchen first, finding his kaasan's spot before the sink as vacant as the streets. It was a scene from a childish, meaningless nightmare, but the longer he searched his home, the more reality seemed to dawn on him.

.

With each of his otouto's frightened, hushed steps drawing a little closer, Itachi's heart pounded that much harder against his ribcage. He braced himself to shatter the boy's innocence, taint the memories of a loving niisan, and coat them in betrayal and hatred.

It was better that he got this over quickly; so he took a heavy, deliberate step forward, drawing his brother to the reality that would change his life forever.

.

It was then that a thud reached his ears, and before he knew it, Sasuke was dashing toward the sound, all efforts to remain discreet quickly forgotten. He approached the door on shaky legs, but before his fingers could brush wood, his senses shot through the roof and a frantic episode of hyperventilation swallowed him whole.

There's…There's somebody in there…

.

Itachi sensed his brother's erratic pulse, labored breaths, and his frail fight for courage. He repressed his instincts that called for his protection, wanting nothing more than to shield his brother from the ugly swarm of his emotions. But all he could do was stand still, wait, and endure the taste of bitter anguish that lingered on his tongue.

.

His lungs fought for air as beads of sweat poured down his face, and it was all he could do to maintain his control over his bladder. He desperately attempted to return to his senses.

Move.

He was training to become a shinobi… He could confront the intruder, couldn't he?

There wasn't enough oxygen in the vicinity. He was suffocating.

Move…

His clammy fingers trembled along to the tremors in his body.

MOVE!

It was adrenaline spiked from within his fear-warped haze that granted functionality to his muscles, and he could finally slide open the double doors.

.

Itachi braced himself for the hardest confrontation of his life. Despite his years spent training, he doubted anything could have prepared him for this moment in time.

.

"Tousan…! Kaasan!" He saw his parents' bodies, haphazardly stacked on top of one another over a puddle of what could only be their own blood, still visibly warm and fresh. And yet, Sasuke couldn't quite absorb the scene – not when warnings of danger resonated so insistently in his head.

He felt more than he saw the shadow, predatory and deadly in its presence, as it advanced into the light toward him.

.

Steady strides brought him forward, and he wondered whether the pounding of his heart would give away his truth.

.

Sasuke's senses were urging him to flee, but when the figure grew clearer over the silver floorboards, he felt the first prickles of hesitation.

They were familiar… He knew that attire…

.

Itachi came to a halt, awaiting the inevitable moment of recognition.

.

The man was facing the window, and Sasuke fleetingly questioned if he was even aware of his presence. His eyes searched for a face in the shadows, and his heightened sight made out a silhouette of features.

That face… That hair… But it was only when the man finally turned to him with the brightest pair of blood-crimson orbs he'd ever seen that Sasuke found himself washed in the soothing waves of recognition and warm relief.

.

The reassurance, the trust that sparked in his little brother's eyes almost brought him to his knees, and in an uncharacteristic lapse of self-control, Itachi gritted his teeth. He could only be grateful that his brother's traumatized state would hinder him from perceiving the small details that would give him away.

Itachi took a customary, steady breath that preceded a particularly gruesome act during a mission…

"Niisan! Niisan – tousan and kaasan are- Why? Who could have done something like this-,"

…and flung a shuriken at his brother in as hostile a manner as he could manage. It was pure, cruel irony that he found his mind confronted with Sasuke's endless pleads to train him in shurikenjutsu.

.

The sharp clunk of weapon plunging into wood resonated within the small room, and Sasuke found himself freezing with the sound. Reality was lost on him for a brief moment. His niisan's blank, impassive features were all that registered in his mind, and it felt like hours later that the pain on his left arm reached him.

He winced, instinctively covering his cut – and still, nothing but his big brother existed. Yet, as seconds ticked by and his eyes remained locked on the cold, distant, and frightful pair of crimson, a chilling thought crawled out of the depths of his stupor.

"…Niisan? …What…?" The weapon…his cut…his niisan hadn't thrown it, had he? But then who? His cut… his cut was real. What was happening? Why would he… Why would his niisan hurt him…

But the longer Sasuke stared into the ruthless eyes, the colder the chill became, until the dissipating tremors that shook his body were back in full force – and still, Sasuke couldn't understand why he was suddenly so terrified. It was his niisan. He would protect him. But the nagging wouldn't leave him alone. Why were his eyes so cold? His niisan's eyes were always so warm…

.

His Sharingan captured every twitch, every expression, every emotion that crossed his otouto's face.

He saw the first flashes of doubt flicker across his features.

And then the first traces of fear.

Itachi had been ready – he'd donned the mask of a soulless murderer – but nothing could have prepared him for the agony that slammed into him when he witnessed the look in his brother's eyes.

.

"…What are you doing, niisan?"

His niisan said nothing, and new waves of dread descended over Sasuke, sweeping away the comforting relief that had been so welcoming only seconds ago.

"Foolish little brother…"

His niisan's voice… He was hyperventilating once more, and the strenuous symptoms that coursed through his body were almost more unforgiving this time around. Sasuke could no longer deny that something was very, very wrong. That bone-chilling, heartless voice… It was nothing like his brother's kind, gentle tone.

.

Itachi closed his eyes, searching his conscience for the strength that would enable him to do what he was about to.

For Sasuke…So that he can live. So that he can have a life.

The seemingly trivial reminder was enough, and Itachi opened his eyes.

.

His brother's eyes parted to reveal a foreign shape that Sasuke had seen only once. All too suddenly, his breath was knocked right out of him.

For a moment, all he saw was the looming, silver moon on a canvas of suffocating crimson. Then he watched as his brother approached, supporting a gleaming katana that swung with each of his steps. He saw his parents before him, their faces contorted with fear, shock, and terror. And then he watched, mouth agape, feet frozen, as his brother's face twisted into a small, heinous smirk, and he drove the sword right through their mother's chest.

A cry caught in his throat, and for a moment, shock inhibited a plausible reaction.

And then blood was all he could see.

"NIISAN! STOP!"

The splitting scream that tore from his lungs had surely ruptured his vocal chords because Sasuke was suddenly drowning in pain. He couldn't close his eyes, he couldn't turn his head – he could do nothing but watch as his niisan turned to their father this time, and with a swift blow, detached his tousan's head from the rest of his body.

"NIISAN! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?! Why are you showing me this?!"

It continued.

Sometimes it would change, and it would be his kaasan's severed head that would roll to a stop at Sasuke's feet. Other times, his niisan would torment them – his kaasan and tousan would be tortured to the brink of death, and his niisan's cruel voice would demand that they fight back, that they try and resist him if they could. But they never could.

Around the thirteenth hour, Sasuke had the faint realization that fear as he knew it had never been fear at all.

Around the twenty-eighth hour, Sasuke finally stopped asking him why he was doing this.

Around the forty-second hour, he could finally accept that it was indeed his niisan – his loving, kind, protective niisan – who had truly slaughtered everyone in their family.

It was the fifty-first hour that he stopped begging him to stop.

After the fifty sixth hour, Sasuke had neither the strength nor the voice left to express his protests and pleads. He could only whimper as he stood, as frozen as he'd been at the start of this nightmare, as Itachi murdered his parents.

In the last hours of his trauma, prickles of hatred finally seeped through his terror.

It ended after seventy-two hours.

The bitter tang teased her tongue as the liquid passed her lips. She held the glass at eye level over her propped elbow, peering with a single squinted eye through the clear fluid.

So what if a missing-nin who'd committed an unspeakable act was a kind man?

So what if he had, perhaps, made amends and changed for the better?

Or so what if, maybe, his crimes were a disastrous consequence of his troubled upbringing that was no fault of his own?

Could such an act be pardoned?

Was it really so utterly impossible? Was it so beyond the realm of possibility?

Come on, Sakura… she inwardly chided herself.

The answer was as clear as day. Of course it was possible. Of course it was possible that 'bad' people could turn 'good' – if such labels even existed in their world. And it would be up to the rest of the 'good' people to allow, to encourage, and to forgive.

She slapped the glass back on the counter and absently swirled the contents for a moment.

And yet, in spite of all plain evidence, why was it so difficult for her to accept this for him? Why had she refused such a notion time and time again, why had she not deliberated this possibility sooner?

She sighed. That answer, ironically, was also as clear as day.

Because it was personal.

Because he was the source of her hardships of the past few years. He was the source of both her and Naruto's pain. Him. It always came back to him. And that sort of grudge wouldn't easily fade, she knew. She couldn't even bring herself to imagine how much easier, more peaceful, more gratifying her life would've been if only he hadn't committed that heinous crime…

If Sasuke hadn't resisted them. If he hadn't found reason to severe their bonds. How much easier would it have been for Naruto to feel accepted by his first real friend?

She heaved another sigh. Even her thoughts were sounding more and more like excuses. Yes, the atrocious deed had been done. But ultimately, it had been Sasuke's decision to leave them… It could be argued that it wasn't the direct fault of the Uchiha.

Then again, whether that was true or not, he still had damaged Sasuke beyond repair. And Sasuke was one of her important people – was her single most a few years prior, in fact – and she couldn't so easily accept the man who'd ruined his life. If anything, if Sasuke were to find out she'd treated the man who's slaughtered his entire clan as anything more than a ruthless murderer, he'd never forgive her.

But that didn't change the fact that her current companion – the aforementioned murderer – hardly seemed like a man who'd murder anyone, let alone slaughter his family – at least if her instincts were anything to go by. The notion was a dangerous one, and she'd reprimanded herself for it previously, but it had now become impossible to ignore.

She motioned for another as she tipped the rest of her drink back. Sixth refill and counting. She palmed her cheeks to hold her head up, nodding at the man in thanks. It was no wonder the liquor passed her throat like water – she'd grown used to the evermore pungent strains of sake common to her shishou's collection.

Amidst the frail awareness of her laden mind, flashes of the past few weeks glazed her thoughts.

She saw a neat twirl of seaweed, an extra cloak draped over her shoulders, fingertips grazing the metal of her hitai-ate…

Kunai piercing skin without kill. Eternal flames blazing to the soft hues of sunrise. Fingers trailing velvety black feathers. A stream of serene, resilient chakra.

She saw apologetic eyes, warm, mirth-filled onyx, a polite bow, a kind smile…

Crinkled eyes. A caress of her forehead. A gaze so intense…

A grunt escaped her lips at the images that stole her thoughts, and she felt silently thankful that the man of her deliberations had allowed her this moment of lone-reflection, for if she'd had to endure the haywire winds of doubt that bashed her head for another moment, she'd have surely gone crazy.

It was all she could do to not start when she sensed a shadow looming over her all too abruptly. Feebly rolling her eyes, she propped her head up over a palm.

"You can sit," she gestured vaguely.

He hesitated, and she wondered why he'd even come if not with the intention of joining her. He'd be hard-pressed to find means of entertainment in the empty bar, though she didn't believe him to be a man who sought such distractions anyway. And surely, she didn't have a curfew?

"Sit," she insisted. And finally, he succumbed to her request and slid into the opposite chair of her table for two.

She peered at him over her lashes only to find his troubled gaze fixated on her indulgence.

"Want some?" She swayed the glass mid-air between two fingers in a tempting gesture. His eyes had found hers though, and he spared the drink no glance as he gave a swift shake of his head.

"You're a man of few words," she remarked absently, a humorless smile gracing her features as she lowered the glass. "Just like your brother."

He merely blinked at her assessment, and his gaze skimmed over her glass once again. She sighed. Was he really so concerned? Or was she really that drunk? She didn't feel drunk…this was hardly sufficient to intoxicate her.

"Don't worry, I can hold my liquor," she supplied as she took another sip. "Godaime's apprentice, remember? My first assignment under her wing was to learn how to pick out a hella good bottle of sake, and I had to study and memorize all the different varieties." She drummed her fingers on the table. "There are hundreds of classifications, in case you were wondering."

There was a faint rise to his brows in an expression she couldn't identify. Deciding to cut short her single-sided conversation, she got down to business.

"I have questions, Uchiha," she declared, clasping her fingers and leaning forward ever so slightly in a gesture that clearly indicated him as the culprit with the answers.

His head tipped sideways – this meant he was curious, she noted – and he regarded her patiently, silently urging her to elaborate.

She tapped the rim of her glass as she pondered over her next words, biting her lip in mild anxiety. Deciding to start with the most obvious – and most pressing – she urged herself on.

"Your fingers…" she trailed off detachedly, unseeing gaze locking on her drink for a moment before she got a glimpse of his quirked brow.

"I wouldn't say they belong to an Akatsuki member," she said, catching his gaze with steady, firm emeralds. A fleeting look crossed his features – some caution, doubt, concern – but she caught it under the heat of her stare. His brief reaction gave her enough encouragement to continue.

"Your Akatsuki ring. You don't have it. And you're not wearing any nail polish." She leaned further across the table in a manner that may have been intimidating to anyone but Uchiha Itachi, drilling her eyes to his. "You haven't been travelling with a partner as is customary in your organization, and you aren't wearing your cloak. And of course, you seemed less than friendly with your acquaintance who paid us a visit today." The words were trickling freely from her lips now, all previous reservations set aside.

"Not to mention the most obvious – you somehow don't strike me as Akatsuki material." She drew back at this, slouching comfortably in her chair and giving a casual tip of her head. She eyed him appraisingly, absorbing his carefully molded blankness.

"Dare I say it, Uchiha," her voice descended to a whisper. "You've defected from the Akatsuki."

He seemed unperturbed by her revelation, resuming his own intense perusal of her. Seconds passed, and Sakura waited patiently for him to speak.

It was three whole minutes later that he did.

"I believe none of your remarks were questions," he said with faintly creased brows and all but impassive features.

Sakura rolled her eyes, not entirely surprised by his cryptic response.

"Is it true?" she asked simply for the sake of humoring him.

His lips quirked into a small smile that minimally touched his eyes. It receded a short moment later, and the wrinkles to his brows were back to accompany his apparent mulling.

He seemed troubled more than anything when he finally responded, "It is."

Sakura held her breath, heart skipping a beat at his easy honesty. That was it? Her raging mind geared into overdrive as she dissected the implications of this crucial news. Her brows furrowed at her next pressing question – the most vital of all – and she couldn't help the flares of hope that kindled for her best friend. For one less danger on his life.

"…And Na- the Kyuubi?"

She watched as the lines of his forehead grew more pronounced and his jaw tensed ever so slightly.

"I may not be a part of Akatsuki, but I have my own goals."

Her heart stood still. "And the Kyuubi is a part of those goals?" she asked quietly, tentatively.

Onyx remained locked on emerald, her heart plummeting further with each second of silence. He returned to his troubled state, the shadow of an apology fleeting across his eyes, and she wondered her own expression and what he'd seen on her features that'd prompted such a reaction.

"…As long as our agreement stands, I will not harm him Sakura." He voiced his assurance in a much softer tone than was necessary. It came as a vague, idle realization that he'd referred to her by first name once again – one that had her heart racing. For reasons unknown, Sakura felt warmth seep into her chest at the implication behind his words. It was after she'd recollected herself a moment later that the reason dawned on her.

I will not harm him.

It was the first time he'd referred to Naruto as a human being instead of the beast that resided within him, and this single fact immersed her in such intense waves of relief – of eased worry over Naruto's life, if only slightly – that Sakura was left momentarily blind, deaf, and mute.

She swallowed. The somewhat-success of their conversation granted her with the confidence to continue.

"Right…" She cleared her throat and straightened up, suddenly nervous under his intense gaze. "Another question. Tobi…"

She grew wary at the quick furrowing of his brows. "Who is he?"

"Why would you like to know?" his voice was careful, measured, yet still light.

Sakura considered him for a moment before deciding to be honest with him, as he was being with her. "You're obviously aware of the escalating bad-blood between Konoha and the Akatsuki," she answered. "And since you're no longer one of them, I figured you might be willing to shed some light." Her tone was equally soft, hopeful.

She averted her eyes fleetingly in a moment of hesitation. "But really… I think you know why," her lips thinned. When he donned a blank look and remained quiet, she sighed and added, "He has the Sharingan, and that's not a very common commodity these days, which makes his existence quite a mystery." She peeked a glance at his expected stoicism.

He moved for the first time since he'd sat down, absently placing an elbow on the table and cradling his neck in his palm. His eyes were unfocused for a few seconds, as if his mind was elsewhere, before he fixated on her once again.

"What is your theory?" he practically murmured, leaning closer across the narrow table as curious eyes shone with intrigue and traces of concern.

Her eyes fluttered, taken aback by his certainty that she'd already devised a theory of her own – an accurate prediction on his part.

"Well…" she faltered. "Since I was under the impression that you were working together, my most viable speculation was that…he's someone you secretly spared during the…massacre."

He didn't appear put off by her words and merely pinned her with an indiscernible look, his lips visibly thinning.

"I see," he said quietly.

She carried her gaze back to her drink. "All existing files on the massacre are strictly confidential. They've long been buried…" A wave of sadness washed over her. "I did my research though. I know everything that's been documented about that night. And there's nothing to indicate the possibility of another survivor… Just Sasuke."

She peered at him through pink lashes. His unblinking gaze was fixated on the cheap wood of their tabletop. She pursed her lips, growing more impatient by the second. "So…? Is it true?"

The soft sigh that escaped his lips startled her. "Sasuke was…" he started, and Sakura swallowed, her brows furrowing at his uncharacteristic search for words. "I only spared Sasuke," he declared a moment later. Her lids fluttered in a slow blink, and her gaze lowered from his as an array of foreign emotions spun in her mind.

"The man… Tobi. His identity may cause an uproar," he began again with impassive tones. "I'm afraid I may not be the best person to reveal who he is." He paused at this, watching her with growing concern. "But I can tell you that… he is a dangerous man and should not be underestimated," he said gravely, seemingly choosing his words with utmost caution and willing her to mark his warning.

And you aren't? was her first thought. Can you be trusted…? She frowned as she searched his genuine features, as always finding nothing that would spark her distrust.

Her second thought circled around Tobi. An uproar? Frown remaining in place, she tested her second – though, in her opinion, less viable – speculation. "If you didn't spare him… Then was he an accomplice?" Sakura was skeptical; Konoha hadn't even considered the possibility of another culprit – at least none of the documentation indicated that they had – and she trusted the village to have a feasible reason for not doing so.

His reaction was an absurd kind, however, and she sighed softly in response to the small smile that accompanied warm onyx pools. "Interesting," he mused in a murmur.

She felt restless then. Was he confirming it? He hadn't single-handedly slaughtered his clan? In spite of her wishes to remain reserved, her pulse started racing of its own accord.

It wouldn't make a difference, Sakura. He was still a part of it.

She shook her head feebly. Why was she so ready to make excuses for his sake?

"So he was?" she sought confirmation. "Tobi was one of your accomplices?" She couldn't help but fleetingly compare the two men. She recalled Tobi – his ruthless tortures, chilling aura, and inhumane treatment of her. And then the man who sat before her… His considerate mannerisms, kind smiles, and peculiar concern for her wellbeing. It was baffling to imagine the two ever working together.

His smile faded, giving way to his unease. "I'm afraid I cannot provide you with the answers you're looking for."

They remained quiet for a moment, gravely staring into one another's eyes in the hopes that the other would let slip something they were trying to hide. She heaved a sigh in defeat and ran a hand through her pink locks. "Right. Well, I hardly think we would underestimate him either way… But thanks anyway for the heads up." She knew him enough to know when to give up.

A comfortable silence followed, and Sakura took to draining the contents of her glass, deciding she didn't fancy a seventh refill.

"I have some questions as well," he ventured quietly, hesitantly, weighing her response.

She frowned. What could he possibly want to ask her? "Fire away," she shrugged.

His gaze flickered to their table, before fleetingly roaming her features. "How did you heal me?"

She flinched, and her frown deepened. The tortures were still fresh in her mind.

"It is not my intention to make you feel uncomfortable," he frowned as well. "You may not answer if you do not wish to."

At this, she offered him a bitter smile. "It's fine. I just thought you already knew," she said before scowling. "It was a genjutsu."

He seemed to have known this fact, however, as he added, "And the genjutsu prompted you to heal me fully?"

She tried recollecting the details from her hazy, pain-encompassed memories. "It's difficult to remember…but I guess so. Why wouldn't it?" she posed in puzzlement.

He searched her features for a moment before drawing a polite smile. "I suppose it would." He continued, "And I was also wondering how you kept me alive before healing me."

"Ha?" Sakura cocked a brow. "What do you mean?"

"I was dead."

"No, you weren't," she refuted with furrowed brows, shaking her head along to her words. "Your pulse was extremely weak, but you were alive when I was brought in."

Sakura could almost see the cogs whirling behind his eyes. "I see," was all he said.

The stretch of silence wasn't as easy as the previous, but she found that she didn't mind it. It was after five minutes of discreetly watching him watch her with his hazy orbs while seemingly mulling over his thoughts that she swiftly stood to call it a night.

She approached the bar baring a smile, parting her lips to address the waiter when she saw her companion drop a few bills on the counter from the corner of her eye.

"Oh! You don't have to do that," she hurried to his side, palms drawn defensively. "I already arranged to help the chef cook in the morning as payment."

A dark brow quirked, his features growing visibly amused, yet he made no move to retrieve the money.

"I'm serious," she scowled. Liquor was hardly a necessity, and she felt less than comfortable with him paying when he hadn't even had any himself.

He regarded her with gleaming, mirthful eyes. "Would you accept it as a token of my gratitude for healing my arm when it wasn't a part of our agreement?"

Sakura had the urge to tell him that didn't count, since she'd unwillingly inflicted the damage in the first place, but something in his amused gaze held her back. For some reason, she didn't think he would accept any objections.

Sighing in defeat, she followed him upstairs. As she gazed ahead at his flailing ponytail, she couldn't do but exhale a soft chuckle at his strange antics.

Sandy gravel crunched under his sandals as he covered the short distance to the cave exit. As he crossed the threshold, the first rays of day glinted off the inky blanket that rippled at his feet.

"…Man, this cloak's heavier than it looks."

"Stop complaining! You carry that monstrous thing on your back all day-,"

"Hey! Don't you dare dis my sword! It's different…"

He turned deaf ears to his team's quarrels, edging closer to the serene waters of dawn. A gush of wind swept his new, unfastened attire, and the purplish hues of the sky were suddenly tainted by red clouds.

"…No one asked you!"

"Shut up baka!"

"Why you-,"

"Let's go." The detached tone of his quiet command effectively gained the attentions of his three companions. They mutedly claimed their positions behind him.

"So…where do we find the Eight-Tails anyway?"

Sasuke zipped his Akatsuki cloak. "Land of Lightning."

And they were off.

It was late afternoon the next day when they finally arrived.

It took a short few hours to cross the border, and then a few more to reach their final destination. Trees and forested lands were scarce in this area, and they'd been travelling on flat grassland for the majority of the day. Itachi inhaled the tangy fragrance of saltwater as he gazed ahead at the expansive stretch of blue. With each step, his memories fought more adamantly to overwhelm his senses, and he could do nothing but will them away for just a little longer.

"We're very close." His words served to assure him more than they did her.

Instead of heading to sea, he guided them west, parallel along the shores that lead to the Land of Waves. Every few seconds, a short gasp would reach his ears as his companion absorbed the serenity of the beautiful scenery before them. They crossed dozens of streams and small rivers that flowed steadily toward the large body of water. After an hour along this path, he headed southwards once again by a broad river – one that stretched larger than any other they'd passed. Instead of crossing it, they travelled along the riverside until they reached a lone, seemingly out of place oak tree.

The tree was positioned at the very edge of land – right between the shoreline and the riverbank – with the sea stretching to its south and the river flowing to its west, where the two bodies met in a cascade of white foam and ripples and babbles.

Itachi slowed to a walk, covering the few steps to the estuary as three crows lowered their flight above him. He came to a halt at the very edge of the riverside, gazing down at the unyielding current as it flooded into sea and disappeared from sight.

"Where are we…?" she whispered, in complete awe of her surroundings as she stepped beside him.

Images flashed behind his lids. More flocks of crows descended from the sky, and a tranquil smile nudged at his lips. "…Where the Nakano River ends."

She sought only a heartbeat to process his words. "…The river that flows through Konoha?" she asked with incredulous wonder.

"Don't stop me, Itachi… If you're my friend."

"…SHISUI!"

"The very one." His wistful tenor earned him a startled glance, but he paid it no heed as blissful memories from a past life flooded his awareness, and he surrendered to the waters that had swept his best friend away.

.

"Ah…you sprained your ankle," the older Uchiha spared him a knowing smile.

"You're making a big deal out of nothing…" the younger boy mumbled.

"No matter how exceptional you are, Itachi… Don't overdo it." Shisui reached behind the boy and tugged at his ponytail.

.

"I'll be happy to listen to you anytime you want to talk. Remember that, Itachi."

.

"It's because you're exceptional, Itachi… That's why I bet you've never tried to understand the feelings of someone who's not," Shisui peeked a glance at the young boy beside him. Itachi's brows were furrowed as he listened intently, his thoughts lost to an inner turmoil Shisui couldn't even begin to imagine.

.

"I thought there was really nothing I could teach you," Shisui mused out loud with a small smile.

Itachi's brows wrinkled. "You taught me a lot today."

"Yeah…And that made me happy."

.

"You're like a little brother to me, Itachi… So being able to take you under my wing like this makes me really happy. I want you to think of me as your older brother. Someone you can depend on for anything."

.

"But there's one thing that's certain… I will never, ever betray you. That's the one thing that will always stand certain."

.

.

.

Sakura continued her perusal of the man beside her in wary wonder. Bright rays of the afternoon sun glinted off his sharp features, accentuating each expression, each shadow of motion. What would appear to others as his customarily blank mien was to her a successive stream of emotions that softened the edges of his symmetrical façade.

She'd learned to read him well.

Emeralds roamed his face. She'd never seen him expose such a cascade of feelings before, and the depths of raw emotion that so visibly lingered on the surface took her breath away. There was fondness in the way onyx orbs gleamed, yet there was sweltering pain in the hollow pits underneath. There was devotion in the faint crinkles to his eyes, and yet despair in the way they drooped ever so slightly.

But beneath the intricate layers were two that governed all others: love and loss.

She blinked, tearing herself away from the uncharacteristic display as the soft tunes of the crows grew more insistent. She turned her gaze to the skies, and her lips parted in shock at the sight – there were dozens, and they were circling the sky in tiers, their velvety, dusky skin luminous as they persisted their oddly lulling melodies.

Her own emotions swirled into disarray as she mirrored his scrutiny of the river. Never in her wildest dreams would she have imagined this river – the very tide of water she'd grown beside – to flow so far from home and meet its end at such a heavenly setting. It was surreal.

And not only the Nakano River – they'd passed streams of currents that littered the dreamlike landscape, all seemingly magical in their drift. No wonder the country was called the Land of Rivers.

"There's a long-standing myth that this river safeguards one's secrets, but only if it finds them worthy." Her head snapped back to his at the sudden revelation. He continued, and she found herself momentarily entranced by the soft tunes of his tenor, "It is said to be unyielding in its treatment, yet gently soothing in its baring."

She watched the breeze ease the silky raven bangs off his face. "How does it know if you're worthy?" she vaguely heard herself asking him.

The wondrous smile that tugged at his lips as he carried his gaze heavenward was nothing short of beautiful. Onyx irises peeked at her from the corner of his eye, and his smile turned into something warmer, more kind, and crinkled his eyes at the corners. "That's the mystery," he answered with a tiny, teasing quirk of his brow.

She blinked, her features twisting into a grimace in response to his lighthearted conduct. She eyed him carefully, wondering if he'd truly meant to tease her or if he was simply unmindful of his mannerisms. In the next moment though, she couldn't do but return his smile in kind, albeit timidly, before her face turned playful. "Don't tell me you dragged me all the way here just to tell me that," she quipped.

His eyes crinkled further, and she witnessed his shoulders tremble in muted laughter for the second time. "Not quite," he said as one of his devoted companions descended to his side and hovered before him.

He extended his good arm and the crow settled with a soft caw, once again drawing her gaze to its leathery surface glinting exotically under the sun's rays.

"Why crows?" she blurted the pressing question that'd been pestering her mind.

He slanted her a glance before turning to the bird. It was long moments later that he replied – almost bashfully – with evident fondness directed at the animal on his arm.

"It wasn't an active choice on my part…" he murmured, brushing a finger under its beak. "They survive in large flocks, you see," he peeked another tight-lipped glimpse at her, this time visibly timid and somewhat uneasy. "They sort of…claimed me one day."

He allowed a small, gentle smile to tug at the corners of his lips then. "And they saved my life."

Sakura's brows rose in surprise as her gaze flickered between the two, quietly watching the affectionate exchange. "They seem very fond of you," she voiced her observation.

He turned to look at her blankly, regarding her carefully for a moment. "They don't feel comfortable leaving me alone for long," he said matter-of-factly. "Since they're always in flocks, it makes them uneasy when I'm not surrounded by others." His brows creased faintly at this.

Sakura mulled over his words, her gaze locking with the crow's.

"Would you like to hold him?" Her widened eyes whipped to his, startled and wary. He was staring at her with all the intensity of his scrutiny, seemingly having misjudged the intentions of her close perusal of the bird.

"U-umm…" she stuttered, at a loss for what to say, yet unable to deny her strange intrigue with the animal. "Sure?"

He gave a swift nod and took a step closer to her. She almost recoiled at his sudden proximity, and he blinked, relinquishing a moment's hesitation before slowly lowering his arm – and the bird – to her level. Sakura bit her lip and clasped her fingers in a sign of unease, sparing him a tentative glance. He merely held still and waited patiently for her to extend her arm, but his eyes were warm and encouraging. Feeling more confident, she turned her attention to the animal. The feathery brush of her arm against his made her tense, her skin tingling with the sudden onslaught of goosebumps. The crow had turned to face her and was regarding her carefully with a pair of beaded eyes and a knowing gaze. The moment her arm was extended, it cocked its head briefly as if it were considering her request, before swiftly hooking its talons over her forearm.

Sakura drew a sharp breath, undeniably taken by the intricacy of its feathery skin at such close proximity. With no amount of thinking, her hand reached for him, her fingertips skimming its surface, and a soft sigh escaped her lips; it was as velvety as it looked. She trailed her hand under its beak, along its wing, and over its head. The crow started its soft humming, and she allowed a quiet giggle from her lips as its pulses tickled her fingers.

"It's almost like a cat," she laughed. After a minute of her petting, she took note of the odd silence and glanced up – only to freeze under the stare of piercing onyx that shone like coals ablaze. Her lips parted in shock, and the first thought that crossed her mind was just how much taller he was. He seemed to be thoroughly examining her - his pale lips thinned, brows furrowed in concentration, and a look of amazed wonder in place. She swallowed thickly, meeting the eyes that were mere inches from her own.

Emerald and onyx melted into one another, time but an abstract concept as seconds trailed in succession to a slow, prolonged rhythm that grew more sluggish as her pulse slammed against her ears – loud, invigorating, and eternal.

It was the shrill caw that ruptured the tense silence and shook the pair from their haze. Both sets of eyes whipped down to the crow, all but forgotten and still perched on her arm. Air was forced out of her lungs in a sudden gush of breath, and she was only vaguely aware of the man consciously distancing himself from her. Trembling fingers found leathery feathers to help ease her nerves as her heart pounded against her ribcage.

It was a whole three minutes later that she risked a searching glance – and found him by the towering oak tree. Her brows creased in confusion as she watched his hands glide over the rough surface of the bark. He stopped, stepped back, and suddenly his hands were moving at flash speed, forming dozens of hand signs that were nothing but blurs of skin to her eyes. She gasped when he finally brushed his palm against the trunk, before the customary pop accompanied a cloud of smoke at its base – and she glimpsed a small object just as the smoke cleared.

A… scroll? It was tiny, and she squinted for a better look, but it was retrieved before she'd had a chance to confirm.

She eyed him warily as he returned to the riverbank. "You were hiding something here," she said, to which he merely offered her a blank stare.

Something occurred to her then, twisting her lips into a small smirk. "You didn't hide your secret in the river?" she quirked a brow in challenge.

Mirth returned to onyx as he offered her a small smile, before he turned solemn and peered at the river's foaming mouth. "I didn't," he replied in grave tones that sounded unfitting in response to her lighthearted remark, and again, Sakura had the recurrent desire – more steadfast in its appeal with each passing day – to get an insight into his thoughts.

"We should find shelter," he murmured, looking up at the stretch of clear azure. "There's a storm coming."

He visibly faltered when he met her gaze, and Sakura watched a flash of indecision cross his features, before a blank mask reclaimed its place.

"Once the storm has passed...you are free to leave."