Ch 125

My time with Kisame was quite enjoyable. 

After that strange conversation we had, we just let the discussion flow and talked about whatever came to mind. 

Later on, Itachi returned with lunch and dinner, and we spent the rest of the afternoon doing whatever we felt like. Oh, and of course, Itachi brought some sake! 

I didn't drink much, though. I knew if I ended up with a hangover in the morning and had to meet the Leaf ninja, I'd probably just flip them off and kiss any chance of a meaningful conversation goodbye. 

Itachi opted for juice instead, while Kisame, true to form, knocked back bottle after bottle like he wasn't concerned about seeing the sun the next day. 

Given how much he drank, it wouldn't have surprised me if he didn't. 

But, being the heavyweight he is, he powered through. He was definitely drunk, though, it didn't change much—just a little slurring of words, nothing out of the ordinary. 

Eventually, Itachi told him to get some sleep. Kisame got up, stumbled over to the bed beside mine, and collapsed. 

I couldn't help but snort at how quickly he listened to Itachi, it was oddly amusing. 

But then it hit me, it was just the two of us now. 

Now that we were left alone, the air took on a new meaning of unease. You might think that with Kisame asleep, Itachi would relax, maybe even be a little more at ease. 

You'd be wrong. 

His shoulders were still stiff, and his face wore the same emotionless mask he always had when Kisame was around. 

I sat against the bed frame, legs crossed, my eyes scanning the room. The silence was just as awkward for me, this sudden isolation with him. 

There's been a lot between us—more bad than good. But if we can't find some common ground, I have no idea where things might go from here. 

I decided to break the silence, asking a question I knew was none of my business, but I couldn't help myself. 

"How bad is it?" I didn't specify what I was asking, but the meaning was clear enough. I was asking about his eyes. 

Itachi leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the ceiling. But I could feel his awareness of me, like always—even when he tried to hide it. 

"Not good," he answered, his tone blunt and surprisingly honest. I didn't expect him to be so open, but I figured I'd take what I could get. 

"How much can you see?" I asked, keeping my voice light and curious, not wanting to sound too eager. 

Itachi didn't move, still staring at the ceiling, and didn't immediately answer. That's when I realized—his vision must be nearly gone. 

I frowned at the information, narrowing my eyes as I watched him closely. He hadn't changed much since the last time I saw him, still carrying that same untouchable air about him. 

He wasn't wearing his Akatsuki robe, choosing instead to hang it up. His hair was a bit messy from the long day, and his headband wasn't resting on his forehead. 

Though he was still tense, you could tell he was still more comfortable than he usually was. 

I sighed, realizing I'd been staring at him, lost in thought. I quickly looked away, hoping I hadn't caught his gaze. 

This situation was strange. 

I closed my eyes, letting them rest before I spoke again. 

"Is this goodbye?" My voice was quiet, asking the question that wasn't meant to be spoken out loud. 

Sasuke and Itachi's fight was looming on the horizon, and when it came, only one of them would walk away. 

It was a thought I didn't want to entertain, but it was impossible to ignore. Why would I ignore it? 

I wasn't sure if he would answer, so I just stayed where I was. There was a pause, and then, slowly, he moved closer. 

Inching just a few feet closer to the bed, though it felt like miles. I wondered if he even realized what he was doing. 

"No," he said quietly, "there will be a next time." 

I let out a humorless chuckle, surprised by his certainty. 

"How can you be so sure?" 

I opened my eyes, meeting his unwavering gaze. 

"Because I'll make it happen." 

His gaze lingered, and that look—it's difficult to describe. It wasn't warm, but it wasn't cold either. It's like he's reading me in ways I don't know how to process, ways I couldn't quite grasp. 

He said he'd make it happen. I don't doubt it—not for a second. While I do feel glad I could see him again, a part of me is also irritated with him. 

I shifted slightly, my fingers tapping absentmindedly against the fabric of the bed to occupy myself. As soon as I did, Itachi's gaze shifted to my hand. 

He doesn't look away, doesn't glance anywhere else. I froze, halting my movements, and he immediately met my eyes. 

I clicked my tongue, sighing with a faint, amused smile. 

"Oh, will you now?" 

I can feel his gaze on me, and it's hard to keep my thoughts from slipping. There's a subtle change in his posture, so slight it could be missed, but I catch it—the way his shoulder tensed, his fingers brushing the edge of his sleeve, like he's looking for something to do with his hands, some distraction. 

"How? You're so busy with messages and secrets." 

I changed my posture, deliberately stretching my legs out, trying to appear casual. He doesn't respond right away, and for a moment, I wonder if I've said something that caught him off guard. 

Then, he hummed softly. It's neither an agreement nor a disagreement—just a quiet acknowledgment. 

He wasn't upset, but he was surprised. He doesn't know how much I know, and he probably never will. It is the same with everyone. I remain a mystery to him, and that uncertainty never really goes away. 

But I know too much. Though, in the end, that doesn't mean anything. 

His voice is quiet, but there's something in it now that's less detached than usual, something different. 

"Ishi, you never fail to surprise me." His eyes stay fixed on me, studying me in that silent, almost unnerving way of his—like the calm before a storm. 

My breath caught in my throat. I pushed myself upright, standing with as much casualness as I could muster. 

"It happens a lot. Guess I have you to thank for that." My words come out more bitter than I intended, but I don't back down. 

I turned my head just enough to catch the subtle movement of his gaze toward me again. There's a flicker there—maybe a question, maybe a challenge, but also an undeniable curiosity. 

"You do, and you don't." His answer is simple. 

I stood there for a moment, my eyes meeting his with an intensity that I don't quite understand. The way his gaze never leaves mine, as if he's searching for something just beyond my reach, it makes me want to mimic him. 

I want answers too. 

But not now. 

I forced myself to look away, glancing over at Kisame, still sprawled across the bed in a drunken stupor. The sight of him, so entirely unconscious, felt oddly comforting. 

I let out a soft breath, reminding myself why I can't let things get complicated. Things with Itachi always end up complicated. 

"I guess I'll just have to figure it out myself then," I muttered under my breath, half to myself, half to him. But I'm not sure he heard me. Or maybe he does, given the way he hummed. 

I looked back at him, and this time, I don't look away. His eyes are sharp—too sharp. I feel exposed. That constant feeling that he sees right through me, into all the places I hide, the parts I want to keep locked away. 

"You always act like you have all the answers, Itachi," I said, my voice quieter now. "But sometimes... I think you don't know any better than the rest of us." 

His expression doesn't change, but his eyes narrow just slightly. 

"You think you know me well enough to make that judgment?" The question is quiet, but there's a bite to it now. 

I shrugged, unwilling to give him an inch. 

"Maybe not. But maybe I'm not as blind as you think." 

The words hang in the air, a challenge, a dare, but also an invitation. I don't know if I want him to rise to it, but I say it anyway. 

I always want to fight him and be nice at the same time, I know his reasons but I also can't forget. 

His gaze isn't cold, not entirely. There's something warm, dangerous even, in the way his eyes speak with something unspoken. 

"You've always been... interesting," he said finally, and the way the words come out, slow and deliberate, makes something inside me tighten. It's almost like a confession, but not quite. There's a distance in his voice, as if he's trying to hold himself back. 

"Interesting, huh?" I can't help the bitter laugh that escapes me. "If you say so. I think I'd rather be unpredictable than... predictable, like you." 

The challenge is in my words, but I don't really expect him to bite. I've learned that much about Itachi over the years—he's not the type to take the bait. 

But why do I always do this? I always try to provoke him for some reason. I speak before I think and then the situation gets weird. 

I should keep my distance. He doesn't need me to be emotional. I take a step back, trying to give myself some space, some distance to regain my composure. 

But I can't. The room felt smaller, the air heavier. He doesn't follow, though. He stayed where he was, just watching me with that unreadable gaze. 

"Ishi," he murmured, his voice low, almost a warning. He took a step closer, and the distance between us felt smaller than it ever had before. 

"Itachi, you can't keep this up." We're close enough now that I can see the slight rise and fall of his chest, his jaw tight, like he's holding back something. 

I opened my mouth to speak, to deflect, but I don't know what to say. He took another step forward, closer than before. I'm unsure how to stand now, how to move. 

He's so close, and yet, there's still so much between us. We're close enough to touch, but we haven't. 

Itachi remained as composed as ever. I shift uneasily, trying to ignore the uneasy pull in my chest, the unsettling proximity. 

But it's his voice that gets me, quiet and strained, breaking the silence that had settled over us like a heavy fog. 

"My vision's not what it used to be," Itachi muttered, his voice sounding almost distant, like he's speaking to himself more than to me. 

I blinked, surprised at the honesty in his words. He's never been one to talk openly about his weaknesses. His pride runs deeper than most people's, and admitting to something like this felt like an unspoken betrayal to that pride. 

Yet here he is, speaking to me about it like it's just another fact of life. I stared at him, watching the way his face is almost too still, like he's caught in some kind of internal struggle. 

"How bad?" I asked, the question slipping out before I could stop it. 

"Bad enough," he said with a sigh, his gaze dropping for the first time, a crack in his usual mask. 

The flicker of vulnerability is so brief, so subtle, that I almost think I imagined it. He leaned forward towards me. 

There's a long pause, and then, almost too quietly to hear, he added, "I want to know what you look like. To feel your face, to see how you've changed." 

His words catch me off guard, and for a moment, I'm frozen. I don't know how to respond. This isn't the Itachi I know, this isn't the man who's always been aloof, distant, impenetrable. 

"How different you are from when we were younger?" His voice is barely a whisper now, like he's asking for something he isn't sure he should. 

I swallowed, unsure of how to answer. How do you respond to something like that? To a request that feels so personal, so intimate, it pulled at something inside me I didn't expect. 

I wanted to speak, but my throat felt dry, my words caught somewhere deep inside me. I look at him, watching the way he's struggling. 

The weight of his silence is louder than anything he could say. It's strange, this vulnerability he's allowing himself to show. 

"I want to see you. To know how different you've become, how time has marked you. But I can't. Not anymore." 

His words hang in the air like a confession, and for a moment, I'm lost in them. The vulnerability he's exposing is almost painful to witness. 

It's like he's unraveling before me in a way that I've never seen before. He's so used to being in control, to keeping everything locked away. 

But this? This is something else entirely. 

I find myself moving without thinking. My hand reached out, just barely grazing his cheek. The skin there is warm, familiar, yet somehow foreign. 

He doesn't flinch, doesn't pull away. If anything, his breath caught in his throat, and I felt the slightest tremor under my touch. 

His eyes flutter closed, and for a fleeting moment, I wonder if this is what he's been waiting for all along—to feel something, anything, to break through the fortress he's built around himself. 

"You don't need your eyes to see me," I whispered, my voice quieter now. "You've always seen me, even without them."

A/n And here we go! Enjoy~