[For all it's worth, Itachi is a phantom presence in the old Uchiha household.
It's almost physically painful for him to be here. He can feel the way the rooms and walls and floors tremble with him near, as if terrified he's come back for another round. If the spirits of the Uchiha brethren have lingered, they must be in turmoil, hysterical over Itachi's return, twisting in their graves with sorrow.
He wakes early, doesn't sleep more than a scarce handful of hours, and is down in the kitchen cooking breakfast for two people without a word.
While he knows Sasuke can't look him in the eye, Itachi can't stop watching his brother. As if Sasuke is some strange creature, not raising a blade at the sight and sound of him.]
Sasuke. [His dark eyes again, no trace of red, lingering on the boy as he steps into the kitchen.] Here, eat.
[ They had made it into a routine; a painful little ritual that they carry on wordlessly, mechanically, until they retire every night to their own rooms and listen to the silence that haunts their dreams.
I'm not hungry, he wants to say, but he finds himself at the table, his head hanging and eyes staring down at the plate before him.
It wasn't Itachi that cooked their breakfasts. It was his mother. Itachi never cooked. Itachi was too busy, too busy for Sasuke himself, too busy to talk, too busy to spare half an hour. But now he isn't. Now he isn't and Sasuke wants to press himself against a wall in his room to avoid seeing him.
The irony almost makes him laugh. ]
When did you learn how to cook?
[ The words feel dry on his tongue, food barely swallowed in his throat. Why he only asks that now, Sasuke doesn't know.
[He knows that, too. And he knows Sasuke remembers what their mother's cooking tasted like, how relaxing it was to wake up every morning to her presence, the gentle smell of clean white sheets, trimmed roses and sweet food. It was different, when they had their mother.
You don't realize that loss until it's gone; you don't realize how much you loved your loved ones until they're gone, leaving behind a great gaping hole. Lonely, and uncomfortable, and strange.
Itachi's not a good cook. He's a fighter, born and bred, meant to die that way -- and now he's here. The rice porridge isn't too good -- it tastes a bit watery, though it's edible; their mother would laugh at his attempt, but pat him sweetly on the shoulder for the effort.]
Spare moments arose between missions, but otherwise, I haven't had the practice.
[Not the kind of practice that Sasuke must have, living by himself after Itachi left, after their family was killed. Itachi takes the chair across from him at the table, gaze never wavering, and he doesn't reach for any food
( ... )
[ It is bad. Sasuke could do better than this, he thinks. His eyes remain on the table, tracing the wood grains while he continues to deliver the porridge to his lips - he can't taste it, but he eats it. (How could he not?)
The bowl is half-empty when he stops, fingers curling around the spoon's warm metal. ]
You're not eating.
[ That feels strange on his tongue too. This whole... caring for his brother thing.
He doesn't know if he really does. He just knows that he doesn't want Itachi to die, he doesn't want Itachi to leave, he doesn't want to be alone again.
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It's almost physically painful for him to be here. He can feel the way the rooms and walls and floors tremble with him near, as if terrified he's come back for another round. If the spirits of the Uchiha brethren have lingered, they must be in turmoil, hysterical over Itachi's return, twisting in their graves with sorrow.
He wakes early, doesn't sleep more than a scarce handful of hours, and is down in the kitchen cooking breakfast for two people without a word.
While he knows Sasuke can't look him in the eye, Itachi can't stop watching his brother. As if Sasuke is some strange creature, not raising a blade at the sight and sound of him.]
Sasuke. [His dark eyes again, no trace of red, lingering on the boy as he steps into the kitchen.] Here, eat.
[This is their punishment.]
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I'm not hungry, he wants to say, but he finds himself at the table, his head hanging and eyes staring down at the plate before him.
It wasn't Itachi that cooked their breakfasts. It was his mother. Itachi never cooked. Itachi was too busy, too busy for Sasuke himself, too busy to talk, too busy to spare half an hour. But now he isn't. Now he isn't and Sasuke wants to press himself against a wall in his room to avoid seeing him.
The irony almost makes him laugh. ]
When did you learn how to cook?
[ The words feel dry on his tongue, food barely swallowed in his throat. Why he only asks that now, Sasuke doesn't know.
He just wants to say something. ]
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You don't realize that loss until it's gone; you don't realize how much you loved your loved ones until they're gone, leaving behind a great gaping hole. Lonely, and uncomfortable, and strange.
Itachi's not a good cook. He's a fighter, born and bred, meant to die that way -- and now he's here. The rice porridge isn't too good -- it tastes a bit watery, though it's edible; their mother would laugh at his attempt, but pat him sweetly on the shoulder for the effort.]
Spare moments arose between missions, but otherwise, I haven't had the practice.
[Not the kind of practice that Sasuke must have, living by himself after Itachi left, after their family was killed. Itachi takes the chair across from him at the table, gaze never wavering, and he doesn't reach for any food ( ... )
Reply
The bowl is half-empty when he stops, fingers curling around the spoon's warm metal. ]
You're not eating.
[ That feels strange on his tongue too. This whole... caring for his brother thing.
He doesn't know if he really does. He just knows that he doesn't want Itachi to die, he doesn't want Itachi to leave, he doesn't want to be alone again.
He doesn't know what he's supposed to feel. ]
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