Chapter Text
Itachi stares down at the plane ticket in his hand, his manicured thumb partially covering his own name printed on it. “I can’t do this,” he says.
Next to him, Kisame huffs. “Hey, I told you to take a train. You’re the one who insisted on traveling by death machine.”
“You know that’s not what I mean.” Itachi’s dark eyes glance up at him briefly. “And statistically, trains are more likely to crash than planes.”
“That can’t be true.”
“It is.”
Around them, Nagoya’s domestic airport is bustling with people. Though it’s far less chaotic and packed than the international airport, it’s still buzzing with activity. Parents corralling misbehaving children, businessmen talking distractedly on their phones—and most prominently, university students like Itachi, going home to their families for the holidays.
Itachi is standing in the terminal near the gate that reads 86C. He’s dressed casually, but still nicely, in a gray turtleneck that’s loose around his throat and a black jacket to protect him from the harsh winter winds outside. One would only need to glimpse the illustrious fashion label on the coat—Uchiha Chic—to know that he comes from money. His long dark hair is pulled into a loose, partial bun at the back of his head, his bangs left free and framing each side of his face. His single suitcase rests at his feet.
The man standing next to him is his opposite in every way. Where Itachi looks like someone who just stepped off the cover of the latest issue of Men’s Fudge, Kisame looks like the type of man you might encounter in a dark alley. He is rough-looking and harsh, nearly every inch of his visible skin covered in black ink. His frame is large and bulky, only contrasted by his friend next to him whose body is lithe and delicate-looking.
Itachi stares down at the ticket. Looking at the destination on it causes anxiety to writhe in his gut like a nest of snakes, and he’s forced to fight back his nausea.
Sapporo.
Home.
Itachi is extremely skilled at hiding his emotions, but he must give something away. Or perhaps Kisame just knows him that well. The man looks at him and his expression softens into something meant to be reassuring.
“Hey. It’ll be fine, Itachi.”
That’s easy for him to say, Itachi thinks. He doesn’t know the real reason Itachi’s stayed away for so long.
It’s been three years since Itachi has been home. This will be his first time returning in three years—since the winter break of his second year at college. Itachi’s been at Nagoya University for five years now, and this is his last year before he graduates. One more semester, and he’ll have completed his years of medical school, set to begin his two-year residency at a hospital. He’s done it faster than all of his peers, as well—normally, it takes six years.
Itachi has made the decision to apply for his residency at a hospital back home. In Sapporo. He’s tired of running. He’s tired of avoiding. He misses the city he was born in. He misses the house he grew up in. He misses his parents, even his father with his terrible, impossible-to-meet expectations.
He misses his brother. Like someone cut a hole in him.
But still, he can’t silence the doubts. The yelling in his head telling him that this hole he’s feeling in his heart is proof enough that he shouldn’t go back—that he hasn’t been gone long enough to kill those awful feelings of three years ago.
This was a mistake, Itachi thinks, his stomach tying itself in knots. It’s not too late. There’s still time for me to apply for a residency in Tokyo instead,. And the programs there are much better anyway…
Kisame snatches the plane ticket from his hand. “No,” he says forcefully, whacking Itachi over the head with it. Itachi cringes back from him. “I knew you would do this. The decision’s been made. I won’t let you back out. I’ll drag your unconscious body onto that plane myself if I have to.”
“But planes are death machines, remember?”
“You’re going.” He grabs Itachi’s arm and places the ticket back into his hand, forcing his purple-polished fingers to close around it.
Itachi sighs, staring down at the ticket once again. Sapporo, Sapporo, Sapporo. With his gut still twisting, he shoves it into his coat pocket out of sight.
Kisame grins and pats him on the shoulder. “Maybe you’ve been making too big a deal of it. I know you said your father was expecting you to take over the business. But he can’t really be disappointed in you for choosing to become a doctor. My parents would die from happiness if I decided on a career like that.”
“Your parents are already dead.”
“Not the point I’m trying to make.”
It’s true, Itachi knows. Most fathers would be proud of their sons for pursuing such a successful, difficult career as one in medicine—most fathers wouldn’t call their children every few months to yell at them for their life choices and threaten to cut them off from their money.
Itachi’s mother, Mikoto, is the CEO of Uchiha Chic—the largest clothing label in Japan. As a child, it was always expected that Itachi would grow up and take over from her. Despite the company being officially owned by his mother, it was always Fugaku who had the most expectations of this—who was irate when he learned of Itachi’s decision to study medicine at university, not business. Mikoto was far more accepting, and even encouraging.
Itachi would not change his mind. He made his choice at thirteen, watching his best friend fade away slowly on that hospital bed. I want to be able to help.
Kisame has been his roommate since Itachi first enrolled at NU. He’s witnessed a few of the disagreeable phone conversations between Itachi and his father. From them, he surmised that their tense relationship was the reason behind Itachi’s refusal to return home. Itachi never lied to him and told him it was, but he also never bothered to correct the assumption.
No. The real reason is something he’s been trying to forget for three years.
The night air against his face. The party below them, counting down. The clumsy press of lips against his, and fireworks exploding in the sky.
The wonderful, horrible realization: I’m in love with you.
Itachi shoves the memory away. It’s less easy to do than it normally is, knowing he’ll be back home in less than two hours. “I know you’re right. I’m just…”
“Overthinking,” says Kisame. “Like you always do.”
“I do not.”
Kisame opens his mouth, presumably to argue, when he’s cut off by the airport’s intercom above them: “Good afternoon, passengers! This is the boarding announcement for Flight 86C to Sapporo! You may begin boarding…”
Itachi’s gut clenches. The rest of the announcement goes by without him paying any true attention to it. His hand tightens on the handle of his suitcase. All around him, the other passengers begin collecting their belongings and heading toward the gate.
“There you go,” Kisame says. “Too late to back out now. I don’t suppose you’d reconsider taking me with you?”
Itachi throws him a glare. “I already know why you want to come.”
Kisame adopts a look of feigned innocence. “Is it such a crime I wish to meet the woman who birthed you? Judging from the pictures I’ve seen, your father is an extremely lucky man.”
“Please stop making comments like that about my mother. She’s twice your age.”
“And still looks mighty fine, too.”
Itachi hits him with his luggage as he hefts it up from the floor. “Remind me why I’m friends with you?”
“Because I’m the only one who likes you. Everyone else thinks you’re a pretentious, stuck-up rich kid who bought his way into the university on his family’s money.”
Itachi scowls slightly. “That’s not true.” He might have made his way through medical school on his parents’ considerable fortune, but that’s certainly not the reason he was accepted. He’s done nothing but work his ass off these past five years. He has a GPA above a 4.0, and he’s maintained it consistently.
“Yeah, but you never talk to anyone. It gives people a bad impression of you. Like you’re looking down on them, you know?”
“I don’t care what they think of me.”
“See!” says Kisame. “When you say things like that? That’s exactly why everyone thinks you’re stuck-up.”
Itachi huffs irritably, but it’s mostly for show. A smile is attempting to pull at his lips. “Goodbye, Kisame. Have a good holiday.”
“You too.” The larger man gives him a reassuring smile. “It’ll be fine. You’ll see.”
Itachi returns the smile with one of his own, attempting to portray none of his inner turmoil. He clutches the ticket tightly in his right hand, his suitcase in the left, and turns away from his friend to join the other passengers in the line for the gate.
“Give your mom my love!” Kisame shouts after him.
Itachi flips him off over his shoulder.
It takes only a few minutes for him to be checked in onto the flight. He walks down the aisle and shoves his luggage into the compartment above his head, getting settled into his seat. He can feel the vibration of the engines beneath his feet. In not much time at all, the stewardess is announcing that they are about to take off, and that they will arrive in Sapporo in about two hours.
Itachi digs out his cell phone. He has a text message from his mother: Have a safe flight. See you soon! He doesn’t bother replying, switching the phone to airplane mode. He places his earbuds in his ears and sets his playlist to shuffle, turning his screen off and leaning back in his seat.
As the plane takes off the ground, Itachi tries to relax and silence the doubts in his head. He stares at the city of Nagoya, getting smaller and smaller as the plane rises into the sky, and tries to stop himself from feeling so terrified. Terrified that this is a mistake, that he’s coming back too soon—that he’ll return to his home to find that absolutely nothing has changed.
Terrified that, after three years of no contact, he’ll find he’s still horribly, completely in love with his younger brother.
Sasuke means to end the winter semester on a high note. Instead he’s so terribly distracted that Neji Hyuuga manages to pin him for the first time in their entire high school judo career.
It’s a foreign sensation, his legs being swept out from under him. For a single moment he’s suspended in the air halfway through falling, and he can’t comprehend it. It’s never happened to him before. He doesn’t understand how it’s happened now. Then his back is hitting the mat, the breath knocked painfully out of him, and Neji’s body is locked tightly around his.
His right arm is hooked around Sasuke’s neck, gripping his collar. Sasuke’s right arm is trapped in the boy’s left armpit, and Neji’s left hand is holding the arm in place at the elbow so Sasuke can’t strike up at his face. His feet are planted on either side of Sasuke’s body, as he leans his upper body into him to keep him on the floor. In less than two seconds Neji has him in a successful pin, rendering him immobile, before Sasuke has even realized what’s happened.
He can hear their judo instructor counting down the seconds until the end of the match. Sasuke’s ears are still ringing from the unexpected impact, his pulse thundering. He snaps out of his surprise quickly, fighting to escape the pin. He can feel Neji’s disgustingly hot breath on his face, the stickiness of his sweat-soaked skin.
Four, three, two, one…
The instructor blows the whistle, the sound cutting sharply through the air. “Time!”
Neji releases his hold immediately, pulling out of Sasuke’s space and standing up. Still uncomprehending of what has happened, Sasuke stops fighting and lets his body go lax. He stares up at the dojo’s high ceiling, his hair plastered to his forehead with sweat as he catches his breath.
I… lost?
It’s a foreign notion to his brain. He’s never lost.
“Hyuuga is the winner! Now, face each other and bow.”
There’s a moment of stunned silence before the applause fills the room. The club’s other fourteen members are clearly as surprised by the match’s outcome as Sasuke is. Sasuke has been enrolled in his high school’s judo club since the first week of his first year, and in all that time he’s never even been pinned, much less lost a match. Neji Hyuuga is the club’s second star, but he’s still never even gotten close to unseating Sasuke from his first-ranking spot. This is an unprecedented occurrence.
Neji offers a hand for Sasuke to grab. But his expression as he looks down at Sasuke on the mat is one of smug superiority.
Sasuke wants to smack the hand away. But Neji’s haughty look is invisible to their instructor, and doing so would make him appear disrespectful and unsportsmanlike. So with extreme reluctance, keeping his contempt from his face, he takes the hand offered to help pull himself up.
Out of the corner of his eye, among all the other spectators, Sasuke can see Suigetsu staring at him with open-mouthed shock.
Dude, the other boy mouths. What the fuck?
Sasuke ignores him, standing up to his full height and facing Neji on the other side of the mat. Both of them meet each other’s gazes, and then bow their heads to each other. There’s a small smirk lingering on the corner of Neji’s mouth, and Sasuke grinds his back teeth in an effort not to glare. Bastard.
He lost. He can’t believe he actually lost.
This is Itachi’s fault, Sasuke thinks to himself. It’s always Itachi’s fault, even when he’s over five hundred miles away and pretending Sasuke doesn’t exist.
Their judo instructor calls their class to an end, dismissing them and calling after them to have a nice break. Not likely, Sasuke thinks sourly, following the rest of his classmates to the locker room.
His white judo uniform, with his black belt tied around his waist, has become uncomfortably sweaty in the hour and a half he’s been wearing it. His skin is flushed too, strands of his jet-black hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. Once he reaches his small locker he pulls out a towel and wipes the sweat from his face, taking a long swig of his water bottle.
He checks his cell phone. The time 5:02 blinks back at him. He has a text from his mother, who has sent him an attachment. He opens it up.
It’s a picture of an ordinary envelope, only there’s a familiar logo printed in one of the corners—two entwined gingko leaves, one yellow and the other one blue. Beneath the symbol, the black kanji identifies the letter as coming from the University of Tokyo.
It’s here!! His mother’s text says beneath the picture. Come home so we can open it together!
Sasuke sighs. College acceptance letters. Just another thing he doesn’t want to think about now, another thing to ruin his winter break.
He changes out of his uniform and back into his regular clothes—an old pair of jeans and shirt, along with a black, button-down overcoat and a cashmere, tobacco-brown scarf. The jacket and the scarf are exclusive items from Uchiha Chic’s winter line that haven’t even been released yet, and they’re a sharp contrast to Sasuke’s ratty, washed-out jeans.
As he steps outside the academy doors, the cold wind instantly stings against his cheeks. His hair whips in front of his face, and Sasuke reaches up to push it behind his ears. A familiar voice calls after him as he’s walking down the front steps.
“Sasuke! Hey, Sasuke! Wait up!”
Suigetsu is running after him, his panting breaths visible in the air as he tries to catch up. Just as he’s reaching Sasuke, he slips on a patch of ice. There’s a split second expression of panic on his face as he realizes he’s about to tumble down the stone steps, but Sasuke’s arm flashes out and steadies him.
“Whew,” the other boy says, eyes wide as the alarm on his face melts into relief. He clings to Sasuke’s arm, sharp nails digging into the expensive coat. “Thanks, man. I would’ve cracked my skull open!”
“This jacket is new,” Sasuke says irritably.
Suigetsu looks down and immediately releases his grip. “Oops! Sorry.” Sasuke scowls at the fingernail indents that have been left in the fabric.
Suigetsu is one of the three friends that Sasuke has at his high school. The other two, Karin and Juugo, are also in the same year as Sasuke. They became friends during their first year when they were paired together for a group project. Sasuke expected to spend every minute of their time together counting down the minutes until it would be over, but they were surprisingly good company. Still annoying at times, but Sasuke finds most of all people annoying. They’re less annoying than average, at least.
Suigetsu has skin so paper-white that Sasuke suspects he has some sort of condition. His hair has been bleached the same color, as if he’s determined to make himself blend into the background of wherever he stands. This is contradictory to his noisy and obnoxious personality, similar to a blonde nuisance that Sasuke has the displeasure of knowing.
“So what was that in there? Hyuuga completely wiped the floor with you!”
Sasuke’s mouth tightens. He hikes his backpack further up his shoulder and continues to walk toward the parking lot, knowing his friend will follow him. “I know. I was there.”
“What the hell happened?”
“My mind wasn’t properly on the match. I was… distracted.”
“By what?”
Sasuke bites the inside of his mouth, considering whether or not to tell him. Normally he hates sharing personal matters, but he’s feeling a pressing need to vent and he certainly can’t do it with his parents. Not about this subject, not when both of them are so fucking pleased by the news. He’s the only one who seems to be (rightfully) upset.
“It’s Itachi,” Sasuke says, his grip tightening on the strap of his backpack. The name tastes like jagged pieces of glass, scraping up his throat as he spits it out.
Suigetsu blinks, dumbfounded for a brief moment. “Itachi?” he repeats in shock. “Your brother Itachi?”
Sasuke rolls his eyes. “No, Itachi my pet weasel. Yes, my brother.”
Suigetsu raises his hands at the scathing tone. “Well, excuse me if I’m a bit wary when mentioning him! Last time I brought him up to you, you told me you would slit my throat with a dull butter knife if I ever said his name to you again!”
Sasuke doesn’t remember that, but he can believe it was something he probably said. As far as he’s concerned, Itachi Uchiha has been dead to him for three years now. Since he abruptly returned to Nagoya three years ago without even saying goodbye, then proceeded to ignore all Sasuke’s calls and texts—since he decided, without explanation or warning, to cut Sasuke completely out of his life.
The feeling of betrayal—of abandonment—still hasn’t dulled. He feels it just as keenly now at eighteen as he did at fifteen.
He’s finally reached his car in the school’s parking lot—a black Lexus convertible that his parents’ bought him for his eighteenth birthday. Sasuke leans against the side of it as he reaches it. Despite seeing it and even driving in it on dozens of occasions, Suigetsu’s attention is still caught briefly on its sleek beauty. He tears his eyes away from it as Sasuke continues speaking.
“He’s coming home for winter break this year. He arrives today.”
Sasuke’s jaw clenches as he recalls how his parents’ sprung the news on him that morning, without any warning and hardly any time to prepare. Apparently they’ve known for close to a week now and didn’t see fit to tell him until the day his brother was due to arrive.
And they both seemed so happy when they told him—or rather, Mikoto seemed happy and Fugaku looked marginally less stern than usual. The bright, joyful light to his mother’s eyes felt like salt in Sasuke’s wounds; exit wounds from when Itachi left his life like a speeding bullet, scabs now ripped open and bleeding. Don’t they care that their eldest son stayed away for three years, and now calls them up when he suddenly remembers he has a family? Aren’t they angry?
Of course not. Because Itachi still kept in contact with them, even if he refused to come home. He answered their phone calls, replied to their texts. They were never discarded, never treated as though they didn’t exist. Not like Sasuke.
“Damn,” Suigetsu says. “He hasn’t done that in a while, right? Do you know why now?”
Sasuke shakes his head. “Don’t know. Don’t fucking care. But if he thinks he can just waltz back into our lives like the last three years haven’t happened, then he’s sorely mistaken.”
“I see why you were distracted. You shouldn’t let him get in your head like that, though.”
Easier said than done. Getting Itachi out of his head is like trying to pry fungus from a window.
“I don’t really want to talk about it,” Sasuke says. “I just have to get through the next week. For all I know, he’ll continue to act like I don’t exist even while he’s home.”
“Well, you can call me,” Suigetsu tells him. “Or Karin or Juugo. If you need an excuse to get out of the house or something.”
“I might just take you up on that.” Sasuke digs into his coat pocket and pulls out his car keys.
“You know,” Suigetsu says, his previously concerned tone now becoming his usual lighter, carefree one, “speaking of Hyuuga. He’s always been pretty obsessed with beating you, hasn’t he?”
“Yeah.” He finally got his wish today. Sasuke will need to make up for it when he gets back—show him that today was an anomaly, not the emergence of a new pattern.
“You ever think maybe he has a crush on you? I swear I’ve seen him looking you over.”
Sasuke shoots his friend an incredulous look as he opens his car door. “You’re kidding, right? He’s the one always making homophobic comments about me.”
“Projection, dude.”
His face twists in disgust as he considers it. “That’s a horrifying possibility.”
Suigetsu cackles. “I bet it was the height of his day, having you pinned down and sweaty beneath him—”
“Ugh, no, shut up—”
As he slides into the seat of his car, he’s surprised to see Suigetsu circling around to the other side of the vehicle instead of heading off. “What are you doing?”
“Give me a ride home?” Suigetsu asks.
The Uchiha scowls. “Do I look like a chauffeur service? What happened to your car?”
“I totaled it.”
“Again?”
“Hey! This time wasn’t my fault! The guy rammed right into me! And yeah, okay, maybe I was in the wrong lane. But he still should’ve braked faster, I can’t be held responsible just because he has slow reflexes—”
“God, fine,” Sasuke says, just to shut him up. He unlocks the passenger door so the other boy can climb inside. “But just so we’re clear, you are never driving my car.”
Sasuke dreads he’ll find Itachi at the house when he arrives home, but when he walks through the front door the only shoes he finds by the door are his mother’s. He breathes a sigh of relief as he removes his scarf and jacket, hanging them on the hook by the door.
“I’m home!” Sasuke calls out.
“In the kitchen!” his mother’s voice responds.
Sasuke makes his way through the foyer and the sitting room, turning the corner into the large kitchen. Something is cooking on the stove, and his mother is sitting at the island in the center of the room. She’s still in her work clothes, but her reading glasses are on her face, slipping slightly down her nose, and her dark hair is held up messily by a clip. She’s staring down at a few sheets of paper in front of her.
“Are you making miso chicken?” Sasuke asks. He goes over to the stove where it’s marinating, lifting the lid of the pan to take a whiff of it. “It smells delicious. Do you need any help?”
Mikoto looks up briefly, smiling. “Not really. I was going to cook my miso soup with it. It’s your brother’s favorite. You could help me with that, if you want.”
Sasuke’s mood sours, but he keeps the feeling from his face as he takes a seat on the stool across from his mother. “Sure. You’re sure he’s going to be here in time for dinner?”
“He texted me not too long ago. His flight’s landed, so he should be here soon.”
“Joy,” Sasuke mutters—not quite as quietly as he meant it to be. Mikoto throws him a chiding look and he immediately looks apologetic. “Sorry.”
He doesn’t think it’s something he should need to say. Itachi has completely abandoned him for three years. He has every right to be upset upon learning he’s suddenly coming back. But he hates arguing with his mother; her disappointment hurts worse than his father’s anger. He doesn’t want a rehash of the fight they had this morning, when they first gave him the news.
Fugaku will still be at the office. As the COO of Uchiha Chic, the second-highest member of the firm, he’s usually caught up in business and is very late coming home. Mikoto is CEO, so she’s late often too. But unlike her husband, she tries to bring her work home to finish whenever she’s able instead of staying at the firm well into the evening.
Mikoto reaches over to place her hand over his. “Hey. I’m sorry your father and I sprung that on you this morning. We should have told you sooner.”
Sasuke shrugs slightly, looking down at the counter. “It’s fine.”
“I know things have been strained between you and your brother,” Mikoto starts.
Sasuke bites down on the inside of his cheek to stop a snort from escaping. Things between him and Itachi haven’t been strained, they’ve been nonexistent.
“But do try to get along with him, won’t you? This could be a chance to mend things. The two of you used to be so close as children, and it pains me to see how distant you’ve become with each other. Even if you’re angry with him, I know how much you’ve missed him.”
Sasuke swallows. He doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t want to acknowledge how right she is. Being angry at his brother is so much easier than admitting how hurt he is by him. I don’t miss him. I don’t.
(He does.)
“How was school today?” his mother asks him.
Sasuke takes the change of subject gratefully. “Fine,” he says, as he does most days. He isn’t going to tell her what happened in judo club. She’ll ask him why he was so distracted and then they’ll be back on Itachi again.
“Did you get my text?”
Sasuke feels a sinking in his stomach as he remembers. The letter from Tokyo University.
She reaches behind her to pick the envelope up from the kitchen counter, waving it in front of him. “What do you say we open it? Oh, Sasuke. This is everything you’ve dreamed of.”
No, Sasuke thinks, it’s everything you and Dad have dreamed of.
The University of Tokyo is the best university in all of Japan. It’s where Sasuke’s parents both went—it’s where they met, fell in love, and began building what would one day be one of the top fashion empires in the world. It’s where Itachi was expected to attend, before their cousin Shisui’s death inspired him to go to medical school in Nagoya instead. It’s where Sasuke is expected to attend, too. Especially now that the first-born son has subverted their parents’ expectations and won’t be taking over the company. Studying business and then taking over as CEO of Uchiha Chic will be Sasuke’s responsibility now.
He knows his mother—and even his father, in his own way—only wants the best for him. He can’t be too angry at them for not seeing that this isn’t something he desires. He’s never spoken up, never tried to tell his parents this isn’t what he wants. Mostly because he doesn’t know what he wants. Itachi, at least, had an alternative path he wanted to pursue. He went after it the same way he went after everything. Sasuke doesn’t have that.
What is he meant to tell them? That he has no idea what he wants from his life, he just knows it isn’t this? That won’t ever be enough.
“I applied to other colleges you know,” Sasuke says with a raised eyebrow. “I don’t know why you’re acting like this is the be-all-end-all. Even if I don’t get in, Kyoto and Waseda already accepted me.”
“Yes, but Tokyo is the top school in the country.”
“And Kyoto is the second,” Sasuke says, but he’s ignored.
Mikoto hands him the envelope, looking at him brightly from behind her black-framed glasses. “Here! Open it.”
Sasuke sighs and takes it from her. He stares down at the university’s emblem in the corner of it. He doesn’t know if he’s hoping he’ll be accepted or rejected. He doesn’t want to follow the future that his parents have laid out for him, but he doesn’t want to disappoint them either. He wants to prove that he can be good enough—that he can be better than Itachi.
He opens the seal of the envelope and pulls the paper out. He stares down at the words, and it takes a moment for his brain to process the meaning of what he’s reading. Dear Sasuke Uchiha. Congratulations on your admission to the University of…
“I got in,” Sasuke says.
His mother stares for half a second, then reaches over to snatch the envelope back out of his hands. She mouths the words to herself as she reads them, and her face lights up in excitement. “Oh, Sasuke! This is wonderful! I knew you could do it. Just wait until your father hears!”
Sasuke allows her to walk around to the other side of the island and pull him into a loose hug. He doesn’t really feel anything at the news—not disappointment or excitement. Just a vague sort of acceptance.
“And your brother! We can tell him, too!”
“Doubt he’ll care,” Sasuke mutters. Mikoto throws him a look and is about to chide him again when suddenly the doorbell rings. The sound of it echoes throughout the entirety of the large house.
His mother pulls back. “That must be him now.”
Sasuke’s mouth goes dry. His mother rushes from the kitchen to reach the foyer. Sasuke sits still, frozen on the stool, and he hears the distant sound of the front door opening. The low murmur of voices.
He doesn’t breathe. It must be a few minutes before he hears the voices growing louder, two pairs of footsteps approaching.
“…didn’t need to use the doorbell, sweetheart.”
“I lost my key, actually. I spent all yesterday looking for it, but I couldn’t find it.”
Sasuke stiffens at the voice. It’s impossible to forget. He heard it every time he would dial his brother’s number, only to get his voicemail. This is Itachi Uchiha. I’m unavailable at the moment—
Unavailable only to Sasuke.
This is his first time hearing it in-person in three years.
Itachi walks through the kitchen doorway with their mother, and Sasuke’s breath leaves him.
He forgot how effortlessly perfect his older brother always looked.
He’s wearing a gray turtleneck, his dark hair pulled back into a bun much like their mother’s with his bangs left free. It’s messy, his clothing casual, but Itachi pulls it off effortlessly, looks flawless and immaculate, like he stepped off the cover of a magazine. His coat is hanging over his arm, his hand on his waist. His shoes have been left at the door, and his socked feet should diminish the impression of elegance he gives off but somehow they don’t.
There’s a sensation in his chest, like his heart being squeezed through a narrow tube. Sasuke forces himself to snap out of it, forces himself to breathe, and tries to settle his face into cool impassivity.
If Itachi had a reaction to seeing him, Sasuke missed it. Now his expression is polite, but slightly stiff. The smile he gives him isn’t one you give a family member, it’s one you give a distance acquaintance you haven’t seen in a long time.
“Sasuke,” he says. “Hey. How have you been?”
Sasuke feels incredulous. How have you been? Three years, and that’s what he says?
Sasuke clenches his teeth. With maximum effort, he keeps his expression blank as he meets his brother’s dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” he says coldly. “Do I know you?”
The stung, stricken look on his brother’s face is well worth the sharp snap of “Sasuke!” he gets from his mother in return for the words.
“It’s okay, Mother,” Itachi says, giving Mikoto a placating look to show he isn’t offended. He looks back to Sasuke. “I suppose I deserved that. And a lot more, probably. But it’s good to see you.”
The fist around Sasuke’s heart tightens. Something in him burns, watching his brother standing there smiling amicably. His mother next to him, looking at Sasuke with disapproval. So happy her son has returned, not upset with him at all.
“I wish I could say the same,” Sasuke says.
“Sasuke!” Mikoto snaps again.
Sasuke shoves himself off his stool. “I’m going upstairs. I have homework to do.”
“It’s break,” Mikoto tells him, her tone edging into angry. “You have all week to do it.”
“I want to do it now.” He grabs his schoolbag off the floor, shoving past his silent brother and saying without any warmth, “Welcome home, Itachi.”
He hears his mother speaking as he stomps down the hall toward the staircase. “I’m so sorry about him.”
“It’s fine, Mom. Really.”
“Well, dinner is going to be ready soon. I haven’t touched your room while you’ve been away. You can go take your suitcase up if you want…”
Their voices fade as Sasuke flees up the stairs to his room. His eyes sting shamefully, and he doesn’t even know why. I hate you, he thinks. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
I wish you never came back.
Itachi shuts the door of his old bedroom behind him the moment he steps inside. His mother wasn’t lying about it being untouched. It looks the same as it did the last time he visited home three years ago, his bed perfectly made and numerous books lined up along the bookshelf. On the top shelf is a string of awards from high school: perfect attendance and outstanding achievement certificates, as well as several awards from the calligraphy club and track and field. His diploma is hung on the wall above his writing desk, which is clear apart from an open journal and a pen, as if he had just gotten up from the chair.
The room is almost entirely devoid of dust. Itachi’s heart aches slightly at the thought of his mother taking care of it so diligently these past three years, just in case he ever decided to come home. He doesn’t deserve her.
He drops his bag on the carpeted floor, closing his eyes. Then, slowly, he slides down to join it there, leaning back against the door.
God. How did his brother get even more beautiful? And how did he ever convince himself his feelings were gone?
His chest still stings from the sharpness of Sasuke’s words. I’m sorry. Do I know you? His heart is heavy from the iciness of his expression, his eyes, as he turned and left the room without glancing back. Itachi knew better than to expect any sort of warm welcome, any sort of happiness at his arrival—not after ignoring his younger brother’s existence for three whole years. But a part of him was still surprised not to be met with the familiar expression of joy, eyes lighting up and arms being thrown around his neck.
The greeting he was met with was cold and aloof—as it had every right to be. But even in that cold fury, Sasuke was beautiful.
And for noticing that beauty, Itachi hates himself.
He knew the moment he stepped through the front door and caught his first glimpse of Sasuke. His breath left like it was punched from him. He felt his heart catch. He was flooded with a tsunami of feelings he’d worked so hard to banish and forget—and instantly, he knew.
Nothing has changed. His three years apart from his brother haven’t dulled his feelings at all. If anything, they’ve intensified them.
I’m in love with you, Itachi thinks. I’m so, so in love with you. I’m sorry. I thought I could make it stop. I thought I could fix what was wrong with me. I thought—
Itachi digs his fingernails into his jeans, pressing his face into his knees. There’s a metal vice wrapped around his heart, squeezing and tightening, and shameful, self-loathing tears are stinging at his eyes. He’s sick and disgusting and wrong, and his brother is somehow more beautiful now than he was three years ago.
Itachi tried to cut the love out of himself. He should have known it would only grow back stronger.