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In the gloom of the cave, the flickering flames of the campfire illuminated the sharp features of a figure hunched over a steaming bowl. His heart plummeted and skipped a beat when Itachi recognized the man, and for a moment he even forgot about the fresh waves of pain radiating from the new wound in his thigh. He focused entirely on the potential threat. However, right now, the Great Sannin did not look dangerous at all. Catching the tense gaze of the Uchiha's black, probing eyes, the Snake narrowed his own; his pale lips twisted into a smug smirk, so chillingly familiar and vile. He truly meant no harm, at least not at this moment, but the boy—haggard from pain and dehydration, now watching his every move—looked so much like a doe: wounded, cornered, mistrustful, yet ready to fight for his life to the last drop of blood if necessary.
The Snake approached and crouched on the wet stones opposite the young man, extending his hand. Itachi flinched, instinctively wanting to pull away, but the Sannin stopped him.
"I'll change the bandage, don't twitch. This one is already soaked in blood. It stinks. Where is your partner, Itachi-kun? Did he leave you?"
The narrowed pupils of those unhuman, light-yellow eyes fixed on Itachi's face, waiting for an answer.
"I was pursuing the enemy, and, apparently, lost consciousness from pain shock and exhaustion after using Amaterasu. There were many hollows and ravines, fog, poor visibility. I suppose he couldn't find me and was forced to move on alone."
Itachi's voice was hoarse and somewhat mechanical; every word came with immense effort. The Snake brought the steaming bowl—the very same one—to his cracked lips, and it gave off an unbearable stench of a bitter concoction. *Mountain herbs*, Itachi thought. He still didn't trust the Sannin—why would he?—but his parched throat begged for moisture, and if it could also help reduce the pain...
After a few long days, where beneath the damp vaults of their shelter day merged with impenetrable night into something indistinguishable, Itachi was finally able to force his weakened limbs to walk through sheer willpower—limping, pushing through the agony, but walking nonetheless. His unsteady steps led him to a nearby grove of thin, young trees. There, alone with his exhausted mind, he wondered: what drove Orochimaru? Why hadn't he taken advantage of his vulnerable state? Why hadn't he finished him off on the spot, taken those highly coveted eyes, or exacted his revenge? After all, it was he, Itachi, who was indirectly responsible for the Snake's inglorious flight from Akatsuki; he had humiliated him, taken his arm. Such a cold, calculating, ambitious creature could not simply forgive and forget. There had to be a reason, and that realization made him increasingly anxious. Itachi needed to move on; time waited for no one. Having found no answers, he wandered back.
Orochimaru, it seemed, also had no intention of lingering in one place for long. He raised an attentive gaze to the young man.
"Can you walk already, Itachi-kun? Still, the regenerative capacity of your body's vital resources is truly unimaginable and astounding."
Itachi was indifferent to the praise; he had heard it before, heard it more than once in his life, and did not allow himself to be swayed by flattery. The young man's face remained impenetrable and frighteningly calm.
"Why, Orochimaru? I want to know."
The Snake blinked. He understood the essence of the question without any further explanation. And the realization that he was despised by the youth, that the boy considered him a selfish monster devoid of humanity, was clearer than ever. Rising slowly, he approached, placing one hand on the back of Itachi's dark-haired head, and pulling him by the waist with the other. If the boy had already grown strong enough to end his life—a life full of unforgivable deeds—right then and there, then so be it. But this mad step was the answer to "why."
Itachi's initial shock gave way to astonishment, his eyes widened, his body tensed; it felt as though even his veins were stretched tight like strings. But he didn't push the man away. He didn't push him away for his own reasons, hidden away in inaccessible corners of his heart, responding to Orochimaru's deep kiss, full of starved longing. The man's cool fingers slipped under the garment, exposing fragile, white-skinned shoulders, scorching the protrusions of the collarbones with hot touches of his lips amidst this frigid cold.
Despite the lingering pain of his wound, Itachi craved every deep, agonizingly sweet thrust into his slender body — so young, yet having already endured so much. The intense sensations drew the pit of his stomach into a tight, heavy knot of arousal.
They fell asleep together, never breaking their embrace, and for the first time in years, Itachi slept peacefully, free from nightmarish visions and nervous flinching. At dawn, they would have to leave this place and go their separate ways, but both of them knew: no matter what cruel tricks life might throw at them now, no matter what burdens, sorrows, or wounds lay behind them — they had each other.