Morning sunlight slid softly across the wooden floorboards of Soji's room, painting quiet lines against the far wall. He opened his eyes slowly, heart pounding before his mind even fully returned to him. He knew.
Today was the day.
He sat up, steadying his breath. The weight pressed against his chest like a stone. Beyond the paper walls, he heard his mother humming a gentle tune as she prepared breakfast. The scent of miso and grilled fish drifted in — ordinary, comforting, and heartbreakingly final.
Soji rose and moved to the mirror by his bedside. For a fleeting moment, he stared at his reflection: the same black hair, the same dark eyes.
His fingers touched the glass lightly.
I've known this day would come… but knowing changes nothing.
---
When he stepped into the kitchen, his mother turned with a small, affectionate frown.
"Soji? You're awake early today. Are you feeling alright?"
He offered her a small, sheepish smile. "Not really… my stomach feels off. I thought… maybe I should stay home today."
She moved to touch his forehead, worry flickering in her eyes. "You don't feel warm, but… alright. Rest today."
"Thank you, Mother," he said, his voice tight in his throat.
His father entered a moment later, grumbling softly about clan meetings and village politics. Soji listened intently to every word, memorizing his father's voice, the exact tilt of his head when he scolded, the way his eyes softened when speaking to his wife.
This is the last time, Soji thought, each heartbeat echoing like a drum. The last day. The last meal. The last laughter.
---
The day drifted forward, gentle as falling snow. Soji helped his mother wash vegetables, his hands moving slowly, reverently. He sat beside his father in the courtyard as he whittled small wooden charms — a hobby he never admitted to enjoying.
Every detail carved itself into Soji's mind: the shifting shadows of afternoon light, the warm steam of tea rising into the late autumn air, his mother's quiet humming returning again as she tidied the hallway.
At one point, his father paused, glancing at him. "You've been so quiet today."
Soji swallowed. "I'm just… happy to be home."
His father grunted, looking away quickly — perhaps embarrassed by his own quiet softness.
---
As dusk began to gather, the sky painted itself in deep indigo and violet, the first evening stars flickering into life.
Soji's mother suddenly paused mid-step, her hand tightening around a teacup. His father's eyes narrowed, head turning slightly as if hearing a distant echo.
"It's time," his father murmured, a low, resigned sound.
His mother's face tightened, but she forced a small, trembling smile as she turned to Soji. "Go to your room now, Soji."
"Mother—"
"Please," she said softly. Her voice broke on the single word.
He held her gaze for one long moment before nodding. "I understand."
Soji stepped into his room, sliding the door shut behind him. He knelt on the tatami, hands shaking in his lap, tears already gathering at the corners of his eyes.
---
Outside his door, the quiet stretched into a brittle stillness. Then — a sharp, clean sound, too sudden to be anything but final. Another.
Then silence.
Soji bowed his head, tears falling freely now. His shoulders trembled, but he stayed still, breathing ragged and shallow.
Thank you… for everything, he thought. I'm sorry I couldn't change it.
---
A faint creak reached him. He looked up slowly as the door to his room slid open.
Itachi stood there in the moonlight, sword still red at the edge, his eyes a swirling, hateful red and black. But as they locked eyes with Soji's, something faltered.
Soji rose shakily, stepping forward. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks, his lips curved into a sad, fragile smile.
Behind his tears, a faint crimson glow bloomed in his eyes — a single tomoe spinning slowly to life.
Itachi stared, frozen. He expected hatred, perhaps a wild, vengeful rush. Expected screaming, accusations, anything. But this — this silent, mournful acceptance — cut deeper than any blade.
---
Soji stopped only a few steps away. His voice came out quiet, raw.
"I love you, Itachi."
Itachi's breath caught. His hand shook against his sword hilt.
Soji continued, voice trembling but unwavering.
"I understand why you did this. I forgive you. You'll still carry your burden — and you should. But know that… I forgive you."
Itachi's entire body seemed to falter. His breath shuddered out of him. For a moment, he looked smaller than ever before — just a boy holding a sword far too heavy for him.
Soji glanced past him to his parents' still forms. His fingers curled into small fists at his sides, then loosened again.
"Sasuke will be coming home soon," he said. "Go. I'll stay here with them… until he arrives."
Itachi's eyes trembled, a single tear finally breaking free and sliding down his cheek.
He turned abruptly, stepping out into the hallway.
---
Outside, Itachi stumbled once, catching himself against the wooden outer wall. His breath came in ragged gasps, shoulders shaking.
He wiped the tear from his face quickly, fingers trembling for just a moment before forcing them still. Slowly, he straightened, reassembling his cold mask by sheer will.
Then he stepped forward into the moonlit courtyard, vanishing into the shadows to wait for Sasuke.
---
Inside, Soji knelt beside his parents' bodies. His hand shook as he closed his mother's eyes gently. Then his father's.
Moonlight washed across the room, painting them all in pale silver.
His single tomoe Sharingan still spun softly in his eye, reflecting the light like an ember refusing to die.
"Tonight, all I could do was watch. But one day… I will forge a world where no brother bears this burden again."
He leaned forward, forehead resting against his mother's cold hand. Tears continued to fall, silent and endless.
The moon rose higher above the compound, quiet witness to a grief too deep for screams — and a vow too strong to be broken.