So my dear darling waifu-chan, inlusiox's birthday was last Thursday, and being the terrible friend I am, I didn't have her birthday fic ready on time. In my defense, it's purely because I'm terrible at writing from male perspectives and Itachi's is a challenge on its own. { Tati, you get all my applause and all the Oscars there are for RP-ing as this guy. xD } So this is a bunch of ficlet-type things that span Itachi’s thoughts during the course of our universe for these two adorable dorks. Except, I think Sakura is much less of a dork here. Idk. It was hard not to insert her (;^;) XD
ENOUGH OF MY RAMBLING THOUGH. TATI, YOU BEAUTIFUL, AMAZING, TALENTED GIRL. I LOVE YOU OK HAPPY BIRTHDAY YOU ARE WONDERFUL AND I AM SO GLAD I MET YOU ;A; I FEEL LIKE YOU SHOULD DESERVE AN AWARD FOR BEING YOU SO HERE HAVE A UNICORN HAVE THIS ATTEMPT AT ITASAKU FEELS FOR US SO WE CAN CRY ABOUT OUR GLORIOUS SHIP TOGETHER. HAPPY BIRTHDAY I LOVE YOU I’M SENDING KISSES FROM ACROSS THE GLOBE OK
even your pounding heart
see, heaven’s got a plan for you.
——-‹❀› He first sees her when they are children; she is a tiny, bright-eyed thing that huddles under trees, watching the world go by, and he is already molding into a perfect shinobi, a perfect brother, a perfect son.
It is a normal summer evening, and Itachi, all of nine years and already astonishing the world, comes to the playground to pick up Sasuke. Thoughts converge solely on the one person he has sworn to protect forevermore, and a wiser-than-his-years smile begins to form on his lips at the image of his precious little brother, all of five years and the only beaming sun in his world.
Eagerly, his footsteps hasten, and he hurries to the spot where his brother plays…and almost trips on the stretched-out, doll-like legs of a girl slumped under a tree. He does not halt, but slows and glances back at a little fairy with pink hair and green eyes and a half-scared, half-surprised expression on her face. Briefly, Itachi marvels at the obvious physical anomaly she is, eyes widened as he mouths a hasty ‘sorry’ to her, before quickening his pace. She is left to stare after him even as he grows smaller in the distance, watching him and his brother from the shadows of the tree, before green eyes become cloudy and she draws her knees close to her chest, lost in some faraway, brooding world.
She is fleeting and she slips from his mind as Sasuke enters his field of vision. He does not remember her again.——-‹❀›
——-‹❀› He first hears of her from the little information the Third feeds him about Sasuke; sporadic updates that lay his deeply-locked, anxious heart to temporary ease, ranging from his health, to his achievements, to the ever-important fact that Danzo has not yet dared to lay a hand on his brother. The carrier pigeon from the Third carries a short letter (arriving months late) that states that Sasuke has been placed in a genin team with Uzumaki Naruto and Haruno Sakura——Hatake Kakashi being their sensei, he notes with some satisfaction. There is a picture attached, and Itachi quietly scans the copy of Team 7’s photograph loosely pinned to the fraying sheet, permanently crimson eyes searching the faces of his brother’s teammates, and drinking in the sight of his most precious person.
He spots pink hair again, but this only causes a faint itching in the back of his mind, as he tries to place the strange sense of deja vu he feels, albeit unsuccessfully. Just then, Kisame knocks brashly on his door, calling him out in his usual blunt manner, spouting something about Orochimaru. Itachi frowns a little deeper, flames as black as the night eating up the paper he let drop to the ground, pushing away all thoughts of terribly bright pink hair and his brother’s lost smiles for later.
She still slips from his mind, but this time, he makes sure to remember her by safely tucking away the photo of Team 7 in his cloak.——-‹❀›
——-‹❀› He first touches her in an unconscious defense, teeth clenched and beads of sweat rolling down his forehead as he thrashes about in a nightmare that has long been absent from the short bursts of sleep he usually takes. He groans and writhes, body aching, mind tumbling off the edge into a deep abyss, where his demons reside.
His hand shoots out to grab her wrist, and the feeling of smooth, warm skin, and a steady pulse under his thumb wake him up——and suddenly, there are glowing, soothing hands fluttering about him, and a gentle, firm voice calling out to him, “Itachi-san?”
Gray eyes are bleary and clouded with almost-blindness, but she is close enough to blind him with bright pink hair and glittering emerald eyes, and he silently wonders if he is well and truly freed from life, if someone so ridiculous and ethereal-looking as her is before him, a mute, moving spectrum that merely mouths his name.
He is saved, he is alive, and he is bitter, But she is there, and he remembers her from the photo, and begins to wonder if there is such a thing as a fate.——-‹❀›
——-‹❀› He first tastes her when the war is over, and they are exhausted, but exhilarated and she collapses against his shoulder, giddy and laughing and high from the euphoria of victory. His arm manages to wind around her, and despite having three broken ribs and several serious lacerations, he cannot help but look her over, both in concern and wonder. She is bruised and bloodied and seriously ragged-looking, but there is a stubborn flush in her cheeks, and the dimple in her left cheek smiles at him and makes her laughing-stream eyes dance.
Itachi is completely and utterly captivated, and it is then he decides to be reckless and steal away a bit of happiness for himself——this he reasons, before he bends down and kisses her fiercely. She is stopped mid-chuckle, stunned, but it does not take her long to wind her arms around his neck and smile against his lips and whisper, “It’s about time, idiot,” into their embrace.
She is consuming all of his thoughts, and there is nothing more he wants than to remember this for as long as he can.——-‹❀›
——-‹❀› He first takes in her scent as they lie in bed together amidst tangled sheets and lazy morning sunlight filtering through the curtains. She is a heady scent of cherry blossoms and vanilla and home, and he only sighs and holds her closer, wishing to stay like this until they melted into each other and became a part of transient time.
She giggles as he presses kisses on her face——her forehead, her nose, her lips, her jaw. Fingers curl around his bicep in halfhearted protest, but she smiles brilliantly nonetheless and sighs back into him.
A “good morning” is hummed playfully between them, and they nestle deeper into each other, drifting in and out of pleasant consciousness, listening quietly the shared heartbeats and the rustling of leaves outside. After a peaceful silence, she puts her hand over his heart and looks up at him with large beryl eyes, and suddenly he remembers the little fairy girl he almost tripped over all those years ago.
"Itachi," she murmurs seriously, quietly. "Are you happy now?"
His traveling fingers stop to rest on her jaw, thumbing her cheek slowly as he contemplates her question, remembering his state from nearly three years ago. Tearful promises to bring him happiness, an accidental second chance, a wholehearted trust, and that little cottage in the valley where they both grew into love.
His eyes slowly go over her form, memorizing its map for the thousandth time. Pink-hair-green-eyes-fairy-girl who could move mountains looks back at him, anxious and biting her lip. Secret whispers of affection and her arm curling around his and her lovely, lovely laugh that has somehow grown on him sound in his ears, squeeze in his skin.
Itachi offers her a gentle little half-smile, the kind she treasures, the kind he reserves only for her.
"Yes," he replies, resting his forehead against hers, eyes gazing straight into hers in contentment, watching, pleased, as the curvatures in her lips quirk upward and make themselves known. "Yes, Sakura, I am."
She will always be on his mind, and he will always remember her. The ring on his finger glints in testament to that.——-‹❀›
We loved with a love that was more than love.
—Edgar Allan Poe