Itachi Uchiha stood in the middle of the empty street like he'd been carved there.
He wore a dark blue high-collar shirt, one of those the Uchiha clan seemed to favor, like they all shopped at the same uninventive store, and light grey pants. Civilian clothes. No hitai-ate, no tool pouch, no visible weapons. Nothing that screamed I'm here to fight you.
And yet.
The way he stood there, arms crossed, perfectly still in the center of that wide street... it was a statement. The Uchiha district around us was silent, too silent. Or perhaps it was always like this? With them, you never know. Tiled roofs caught the fading light. Not a single soul wandered these streets.
Every instinct I had was screaming to flee or punch shit up just to add ambiance to the world.
I bit off the last of the dango, chewing quickly, and tossed the empty stick aside. Then I slid my hands into my pockets, keeping my posture loose, and called out in the lightest tone I could manage.
"Well, well. If it isn't my second-favorite Uchiha. How's the brooding business treating you, princess?"
Itachi didn't move. Didn't blink. Just stood there like a statue some artist had titled Brooding Genius, Age Twenty-One.
I waited.
Nothing.
Oh, come on.
The silent treatment. Classic. I'd almost forgotten how much I hated the silent treatment.
I tilted my head, matching his silence for three whole seconds before the cringe crawled up my spine. His eyes pinned me in place without so much as a flicker of emotion. They weren't cold, exactly. They were assessing. They were annoying on his even more annoying handsome face.
"Still practicing that whole 'brooding statue' thing, I see," I muttered, mostly to myself. "You've really mastered it. Should put it on your resume." I let my voice rise, adding a laugh I didn't feel. It was too silent here. "Don't tell me you're charging a toll now. What, I gotta pay a fee to walk through your kingdom, Your Highness? Sorry, man, I'm fresh out of pocket change."
The silence stretched until it had teeth.
I was used to people not laughing at my jokes, an occupational hazard of being the only one who thought I was funny; hell, I bombed on purpose half the time, but this was next-level rejection. I could feel the goosebumps of pure cringe crawling up my arms. My own voice echoed in the empty street, dying somewhere between the rooftops and the cobblestones.
We stood there like two idiots playing freeze tag. Two statues. One, because he might as well have been carved from marble, the other because I was frozen in the aftermath of my own terrible comedy routine and needed a moment to recover.
The silence stretched.
And stretched.
I coughed. "...Nothing?" My voice was flatter now. "Really? Guess I'm carrying the conversation like old times."
I sighed, shrugged, and gestured vaguely at the air. "Fine. Okay. Let me fill you in on my day. So I went to Ichiraku Ramen earlier, and let me tell you, Ayame was looking exceptionally cute today. I mean, she's always cute, but today? Chef's kiss. Teuchi, on the other hand, hum, was in one of his moods. Grumpy old man energy. You know the type. Grumbling about ingredient costs or whatever. At first I thought it was about me, but no sir; I'm a kind a respecting young man — nothing to find dissatisfaction with, this I guarantee it."
I was just talking to talk now. Filling the air with words because the alternative was standing here, drowning in this oppressive quiet. And because I know for a fact this piss him off.
"And the ramen," I continued, warming to my subject, "was perfect. I'm not even a ramen guy, you know? But when Ayame makes it, it's different. The broth had this depth to it, this umami richness that just—" I made an exaggerated hand gesture. "—hits different. The noodles were al dente, which is wild because most places overcook them, but she nailed it. And the chashu? Tender. Melted in my mouth. I'm talking poetic levels of pork here, Itachi. Have you ever had pork that made you question your life choices?"
I paused, tilting my head.
"No? Just me? Nice. But that is not even the best part — the marinated egg, man. The marinated egg wou—"
"What are you doing here, Eishin?" Finally, finally, Itachi spoke.
I froze mid-sentence, slowly, my performative smile sharpening at the edges. I let it grow wider, all teeth.
"Oh, so you do talk. Thought maybe I'd been hallucinating this whole time." I shrugged, spreading my hands. "Why does anyone come to the Uchiha district? The warm atmosphere? The friendly faces? The overwhelming sense of community spirit?"
Itachi's expression stayed the same. As anyone who may listen to this conversation may had figured out, Itachi Uchiha didn't have a great sense of humor, or any at all.
"I see you haven't changed."
I raised an eyebrow. "That supposed to be an insult or a compliment? Hard to tell with you."
He regarded me for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was measured. "You've always treated silence as something to be filled. A space to be occupied with jokes, with stories. You weave a tapestry of noise and barricade yourself with it."
I whistled low.
"Wow," I said slowly. "That's... so poetic. You should write a book or something. Maybe call it Musings of a Guy Who Stares Too Much."
He didn't smile. Didn't even blink. Just lifted one perfect eyebrow, and suddenly I felt twelve again, trailing after him and Shisui like a stray dog begging for scraps.
"Yeah…." I deadpanned at myself this time, for fucking literally proving his point. I should have shut it. "That wasn't… smart of me."
But he wasn't done. Of course, he wasn't.
"It's a convincing performance," he continued, his tone even. "Most people never look past it. The performance is more polished now than it was before. But the intent remains the same. You speak to create a distance you believe is safe."
"Dude." I sighed, dragging a hand down my face. "I already conceded your point. You don't have to keep kicking a man when he's down."
He ignored me. Naturally.
"I recall you trailing after Shisui and myself when we were younger. You told us you were there to train together." His gaze didn't waver. "But you weren't studying our forms. You weren't analyzing our jutsu. You were studying a place. Wondering if there was one for you."
I muttered under my breath, "Really leaning into the whole kicking-a-man-when-he's-down thing, huh?"
"And when you didn't find that place," Itachi said, his voice soft but cutting, "you made a joke of it. Just like you're doing right now."
A pause. I didn't know if he was doing it for dramatic effect or waiting for me to interject. Either way, I didn't feel like talking anymore. My jaw was tight. My hands, still in my pockets, had curled into fists.
I wanted to punch something. Someone.
And hey, what do you know, there was a perfectly handsome bastard standing right here in dear need of a makeover. How convenient.
Itachi raised one hand slowly and pointed at me. "Do you know why you didn't find a place with us?"
I forced a smile, bitter and sharp. "Because you were arrogant pricks who didn't have time to waste on a weak orphan rat?"
The words came out harder than I intended, edged with a bite I didn't want to show.
"No." Itachi lowered his hand slowly and shook his head. "That's the reason you tell yourself. It's easier to make villains of others than to admit the truth."
I opened my mouth to snap back, but I stopped myself. Took a breath. Held it. Let it out slowly.
The bastard was good at getting under people's skin with that calm, infuriating voice. I needed to keep my head. Losing my cool before the fight even started would put me at a disadvantage. And how embarrassing was that?
I pulled my hands out of my pockets. Not an aggressive stance, but for a shinobi, it was enough. I didn't say anything. Just looked at him head-on.
Itachi answered his own question.
"You didn't find a place with us for the same reason you hide behind jokes and sarcasm." He paused, letting the words settle. "Because you were afraid."
His gaze held mine. Unblinking. Unmoving. Waiting.
As if that would tempt me. As if I'd fall for such an obvious provocation, the oldest and admittedly the most childish ragebait in the book.
When I didn't rise to it, he continued. "Shisui and I could see through it. We always could. Shisui tried to humor you, hoping the fear would pass with time. But I..." Another pause. "I never understood why you tried so hard to befriend what terrified you. It was... almost pathetic."
I stared at him. And then I couldn't help it; I laughed.
Not a polite chuckle, mind you. A full, genuine laugh that echoed off the empty buildings around.
"Really?" I managed between breaths. "Is that what you think? That's your big psychological profile on me?"
I took a breath, letting the laughter fade, and smiled.
"You know what? You're right. I was afraid of you. I had been." I nodded, conceding the point. "But here's where you're wrong, Itachi. I wasn't hiding my fear. I didn't have to. I'm chill with my weaknesses. I'm not conceited enough to pretend they don't exist." I smiled wider, suggestive. "Unlike some people."
Itachi's expression remained placid. He watched me for a long moment before speaking again.
"Is that the lie you tell yourself?" His voice was quieter now, almost disappointed. "So disappointing. Is that why you believe that looking me in the eyes now—something you obsessively avoided before—means you're no longer afraid? Of me? Of my genjutsu?…. of me?"
"Damn, man." I huffed. "I've heard you talk more in the last five minutes than in all the years I've known you combined." I let my smile drop. "If you want to play it like this, I can throw around needlessly dramatic observations too." I met his gaze evenly. "I may not have a Sharingan, but I can see just fine. And you know what I see, huh?"
I took a step forward.
"You asked me, but now I'm throwing it back at you. Why are you here, Itachi?"
He didn't answer.
"You're the overthinking type. I remember that much. You don't show up for confrontations like this. You're the type to strike from the shadows. To plan. To execute. Asking questions? That's admitting you don't have all the answers. That's admitting blindness, admitting weakness."
I tilted my head, studying him.
"But here you are. Standing in my way. Asking me questions." My smile returned, slowly. "Back then, I would've assumed this was some kind of plot. But I'm not that kid anymore. I've changed. And…. so have you."
I let the words hang for a beat.
"It isn't your head that brought you here, Itachi. It's your heart, isn't it?" My grin widened. "It was Izumi."
Itachi didn't move. Not a single muscle. But I felt it. The shift; it was all around us.
"Did I get it right?" I asked, my voice light yet exaggeratedly teasing. "I'll take your silence as an admission, so—"
"It seems talking to you would be a waste of time."
Before his words dropped, and suddenly the rooftops were full. Masked Anbu, porcelain glinting in the dying light. Tiger, cat, eagle, and more. All poised like crows waiting for carrion.
Itachi's voice cut through the tension, calm and professional. "Since verbal cooperation is not forthcoming, we will proceed through other means. Inoichi will be… pleased, I had been told."
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