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Iruka’s days are spent at the memorial stone whenever he’s not in class. After the Kyuubi Attack, the world around him gradually moves on – homes are rebuilt, shops reopen, lives return to how they were before – but Iruka’s lost enough that he can’t look forward.
Quiet footsteps come up to him. When Iruka lifts his head through a sheen of tears that makes the world look all wobbly, he expects to see the Sandaime. It turns out to be someone else, someone much smaller.
Iruka immediately looks away, stifling the ugly sounds as he wipes snot on his sleeve. He scrubs the tears away with his shirt but it’s too late to pretend that he wasn’t crying. He’s sure his face is a red mess and there’s nothing he can do about it now.
It’s too embarrassing to be caught in this state, especially by a younger child.
Iruka buries his face in his hands and hiccups. He half-expects to be laughed at, the way his classmates would, if they found him like this. But the kid that Iruka had mistaken for the Hokage doesn’t make fun of him at all.
There are a few beats of silence, before a small hand gently rests between Iruka’s shoulder blades. It’s warm and comforting, even without any words offered to console.
“I-I’m not sad,” Iruka insists, more to himself than the stranger standing next to him. “They d-died as shinobi, protecting the village from the nine-tailed fox... My parents died honorable deaths!”
When Iruka peeks over his fingertips and sees the blurry patch of blue before them, he’s once again doused by the fresh pain of losing his parents. He starts to sob again, crouching down and huddling into himself. Soothing circles are traced against his back.
It has the opposite effect. Iruka only cries harder.
By the time Iruka calms down, his grief is replaced by embarrassment at his own outburst. Pouring out his feelings to the ancient Sandaime is one thing, but a kid he doesn’t even know is another – and then he remembers that he never asked for the name of the person who wordlessly waited for his tears to stop before leaving.
He wishes he had at least managed to say thank you.
*
It is slightly past dinnertime when Itachi begins to make his way back to the Uchiha compound.
Most of the buildings that were destroyed during the Kyuubi’s attack have been rebuilt, he observes. The number of shops that have resumed business has increased again. But some things once lost, can never be brought back.
When Itachi steps into the house, the lights are on, and his mother is there to welcome him back. From the kitchen sink, she asks about where he’s been and how was his day, but she is not truly concerned even though he is rarely so late; for Itachi is trained, and thus does not require the same amount of attention other children his age would.
But that is not the same as not having anyone to be concerned for him, Itachi thinks to himself, as he slips into the nursery and leans over the crib. There, the rise and fall of Sasuke’s chest is slow and steady.
While Sasuke peacefully sleeps, there are loud, angry whispers a few rooms down. The village suspects us for the Kyuubi attack! The dissatisfied voices of his clansmen say. The village fears our sharingan. They are proud and indignant. Itachi hears his own father’s voice, quiet and firm, as he reiterates that they have already completed the move to the outskirts of the village. There is no point in sowing seeds of discord.
Itachi thinks about the boy – a victim of the attack – that he found crying alone in front of the memorial stone. He hadn’t even noticed Itachi’s presence until he came close, and the clothes he was wearing hadn’t indicated that he was from any prominent clan. He looked like any other civilian boy.
It’s an honor for a shinobi to die in battle, he had declared, and then sobbed until his face became red and blotchy. My parents were heroes.
Itachi thinks about those in power and those in need of protection.
He gazes upon the sleeping face of his little brother, and thinks for a very long time.
*
After he finishes his shuriken training at the Third Training Ground, Itachi’s feet carry him to the memorial stone. If asked for a reason, he would have chalked it up to a passing whim. It just happened to be close to where he was.
He is looking at the rows of names inscribed on the smooth stone, when he senses that he is not alone. Turning around, he meets the gaze of the same boy who cried here before. Now that his companion is not looking down, Itachi gets a better look at his face. The pale scar stretching across his nose particularly stands out under the moonlight.
He is not crying this time, but he seems tired. There is a deadened look in his eye, and he carries himself with the kind of weariness that reminds Itachi a little of his father when he returns home from a clan meeting.
The older boy seems to recognize him too. “You’re from before…” His voice is soft, much softer than what Itachi would expect, from someone who cried so loudly before. “What are you doing here?”
“Training,” Itachi says.
The boy’s gaze sweeps over his attire, briefly lingering on his shuriken holster. “I can see that.” His eyebrows furrow. “What I meant was, at this time? Shouldn’t you be at home?” he asks, sounding concerned. His gaze drops. “Your parents will worry.”
Itachi’s parents won’t be worried, for he routinely goes out to train at night when it’s cooler. But Itachi also understands that most children his age are less independent than himself, and would generally not be trusted to wander outside alone at this time – especially if they weren’t born in one of the shinobi clans. Also, it seems callous to say my parents will not be worried to someone who had lost his own parents, especially when the other boy’s concerns clearly came from a place of goodwill.
“Kids shouldn’t be out this late at night,” the older boy continues. “I’ll walk home with you. Ah, I’m Umino Iruka.”
Two names carved into the memorial stone: Umino Ikkaku and Umino Kohari, floats to the surface of Itachi’s mind.
“I’m Uchiha Itachi.”
Umino Iruka blinks at him in surprise. “Eh?” He begins to fluster. It is a reaction that Itachi has noticed people tend to have when they realize they’re speaking to the Uchiha heir—
“Ore? You— You’re… a boy?”
“Yes.” Itachi frowns. “You thought I was a girl?”
“I—” Iruka-san gets increasingly flustered. “I didn’t— Because your hair is—” He catches himself too late. “I mean, uhm, it’s too dark to see clearly now!”
“Your hair is longer than mine,” Itachi objects faintly, before he can stop himself.
“I’m…” Iruka looks mortified, and he seems to realize that there is no real way to salvage the situation. He bows deeply. “I’m sorry! I didn’t mean anything bad!”
“No, it’s alright,” Itachi says slowly. “You don’t have to apologize so much.”
Itachi is mostly acquainted with adults that his father works with, or the heirs to the other noble clans in Konoha, or the other Uchiha children who had already known his name before meeting him. Umino Iruka is a little different. His expressions are very honest; Itachi’s never quite met anyone like him before.
Which is why Itachi doesn’t object when the older boy – who seems to feel somewhat obligated to make sure he gets home safe – extends a hand and insists on walking him home. He finds that he doesn’t mind spending a bit more time in his company.
As they wander down the dark streets, Itachi looks down at their joined hands. The older boy’s hand is sticky, but he’s confidently leading them back to the village. Through a shortcut, even.
“Why are you so concerned about me?” Itachi asks curiously. Iruka-san hadn’t seemed to recognize his name. He doesn’t appear to be very observant, considering he is the first person to ever mistake Itachi for a girl.
Iruka looks over his shoulder. “It’s dangerous for kids to be here at night,” he says. And after a moment, “How old are you, anyway?”
“I’m turning six soon.”
“I see. Well, I can’t just pretend I didn’t see a five year old out here alone.” The grip on Itachi’s hand tightens slightly. “Besides, the Sandaime said that everyone in the village is family.”
“The Hokage did?”
A nod. “Yeah.”
“Do you think of everyone in the village as your family?” Itachi asks.
There is a pause as Iruka ponders over his question. “No, I don’t think I’m that generous,” he eventually concludes.
“That sounds like a contradiction,” Itachi says slowly, pointedly glancing down at their linked hands.
“You know some big words.” Iruka gives him a funny look. “Then, Itachi-kun, do you think of everyone in the village as your family?”
Itachi considers this. His mother, his father and Sasuke are family. As he is the clan heir, the rest of the Uchiha is family too. But—
He stares at his feet. “… I’m not sure.”
“Right?” Iruka grins at him. “But the other day, you sat with me in front of the memorial stone. Bet you didn’t think of a reason before doing that, either.”
Itachi looks up at him in surprise. “That’s true.”
War seemed like senseless fighting, and it appears that kindness among strangers is not much different. Both of them happen so effortlessly.
“It’s not that mysterious,” Iruka says. “We’re from the same village, so it’s natural to look out for each other.”
Everyone in the village is family.
Those words linger in Itachi’s mind.
*
It is only when they stop in front of the entrance to the Uchiha compound that Iruka realizes that he does know the name Uchiha Itachi.
The heir, he remembers, as Itachi turns to him stoically. He’s heard some of his Uchiha classmates talking about their ‘talented cousin’ before. They say that the boy standing in front of him is like an emotionless machine.
There are grass stains on Itachi’s shorts. A shuriken holster that looks too big on him is fitted against his leg.
“Thank you for seeing me home.” It’s spoken softly. Itachi stares unblinkingly at him with dark, thoughtful eyes.
“It’s no problem.” Iruka rubs his nose and clears his throat. This is where he should be thanking Itachi too, but thank you for letting me cry earlier sounds too pathetic to say.
Itachi seems to parse his meaning anyway. He nods. “Goodnight,” he says politely. There is a certain air of maturity about him, and even though Itachi is a head shorter than him, he seems more solemn than most of the adults Iruka knows.
“Goodnight,” Iruka says. A boy half his age hardly compares to his late parents. But still, it’s been a while since he had someone to exchange such mundane greetings with.
He watches as the crest emblazoned on the back of the younger boy’s shirt disappears into the darkness.
And it is only much later, when Iruka returns home to his abandoned bed, does he realize that he had completely forgotten about the nightmare that sent him running to the memorial stone in the first place.
*
The next time Itachi runs into Umino Iruka is a few days after he enrolls at the academy.
He is walking to his classroom when he hears bright laughter, an angry sensei’s voice, then another loud one he recognizes as Iruka’s, before the said boy bursts out of the door in a cloud of chalk dust. Itachi automatically sidesteps to avoid the crash.
There is a brief moment when their eyes meet. Iruka hesitates, but then the teacher hollers after him, and he turns and runs.
The frazzled teacher notices him standing outside the classroom. The annoyance falls away from his expression, and he looks at Itachi the way people regard the heir to the Uchiha clan. “That one’s a troublemaker,” the teacher says as he claps Itachi on the shoulder. “Always pulling pranks. You mustn’t be like him, understand?”
Itachi considers this, then inclines his head. “Please excuse me.”
*
“If you don’t dry off, you’ll catch a cold.”
Iruka startles – he hadn’t expected anyone to find him behind the school building, and hidden by a row of bushes surrounding the shuriken targets for good measure. He raises his head. “Itachi-kun.”
“Iruka-san.”
Iruka looks away. It seems that he’s always showing Itachi his lame sides.
“You smell like fish,” Itachi observes.
It’s a nice way of saying you stink, Iruka supposes. He wrings water out of his shirt. “Yeah, well, I fell into the river.”
“Intentionally?” Itachi’s expression is slightly curious, rather than judgemental.
Iruka frowns. “You saw? Where were you watching from?”
“I don’t see a reason for you to force yourself to laugh if you don’t find it funny,” Itachi states.
It doesn’t sound like he’s mocking him, but looking up at the genius Uchiha, Iruka suddenly feels very tired. He doesn’t know what he was trying to achieve, either. Now he’s dripping river water onto the grass. He sighs, wanting very much to be left alone to sulk. “Don’t you have something else to do? Like training?”
There is an odd pause, before Itachi says, “I do. But I can also sit here for a while.”
And Itachi does just that. Like the model student he is, he takes out a book to read. There is a certain serenity about him, Iruka thinks, as he watches Itachi flip pages under the dappled sunlight. Iruka leans back. There are birds chirping overhead that he never paid attention to before. It’s all very peaceful.
Five minutes later, Itachi disappears in a poof of smoke.
Iruka’s eyes widen, momentarily alarmed, but he recognizes that jutsu. “A shadow clone…?”
Also, Itachi had said. I can also sit here for a while.
Iruka bursts out laughing.
*
It’s not so much of a surprise, then, when Iruka runs into Itachi on the day of his graduation, and sees the headband on the younger boy’s forehead.
“Ah, congrats!”
Itachi dips his head, ever well-mannered. “Thank you. Congratulations to you, too, Iruka-san.”
Iruka offers him a quick smile; he has an excuse ready and waiting on the tip of his tongue. Everyone will be soon be celebrating with their parents and family. He’d rather get out before that happens—
“Would you like to go somewhere after the ceremony?”
Iruka blinks. “Huh?”
“To celebrate our graduation from the academy,” clarifies the boy who graduated top of their class. And only after a year.
“But what about your family?” Iruka asks, confused. “Aren’t you celebrating with them?” He and Itachi aren’t not-friends, but it’s not like they’re buddies who often hang out after school together.
“There will be a celebration at the Uchiha compound tonight.” Itachi clears his throat awkwardly. “But I thought we could perhaps grab a bite first…”
It occurs to Iruka, then, that the unexpected invitation may be Itachi’s way of not letting him feel forgotten, amidst the crowd of happy children with happy families to share their joy.
Seven year olds shouldn’t be this considerate, seriously!
Iruka grins. “Sure! How about Ichiraku ramen?”
“I would prefer something lighter.” A small smile forms on Itachi’s lips. “Like dango, for example.”
(The owner gives them an extra stick each after seeing their shiny new headbands. It doesn’t beat Ichiraku ramen, but Iruka makes sure to tell Itachi before they part ways that the tri-colored dumplings they had were the most delicious he’s ever eaten.)
*
It brings joy to the clan when one of its own excels, is what his father tells him, after his sharingan awakens.
After one comrade dies, another quits, and the team disbands.
Itachi now has a reason to bring a bouquet of flowers to the memorial stone next to the Third Training Ground.
They were definitely friends. If they weren’t, then he wouldn’t be glued to the spot, staring at the name Izumo Tenma, newly engraved in tiny letters amongst hundreds of others, unnoticeable unless one looked for it.
If they weren’t friends, then he wouldn’t keep dreaming of a dead person’s promise: I swear I’ll make it up to you for this.
For some reason, Iruka’s face pops into his mind. Itachi thinks he understands a little now, about the hollowness left after running out of tears to cry – and in his case, a blessing in his eyes.
It is the first time Itachi comes close to feeling disdain for the proud heritage that his clan boasts.
*
Time flies after Iruka becomes a genin. If you’re willing to work, there are always countless cats to catch, dogs to walk, important babies to babysit. Every day is filled with things to do, and unlike some of his peers who are only interested in more exciting, higher-ranked missions, Iruka finds these ‘boring missions’ rather fulfilling.
He looks at the piece of mochi in his hand – a little bonus for a job well done – and smiles to himself. It is a good thing that the village is peaceful and they have more genin than infiltration or bodyguarding missions. He’s quite content where he is.
Perhaps his lack of ambition is the reason why Itachi surpasses him in the blink of an eye. Even though they graduated from the Academy together, Itachi passes the Chunin exams while Iruka was weeding the lawn of the old lady who likes to pinch his cheeks.
Iruka is about to rendezvous with his teammates at the bottom of the Hokage Building, when the crowd around him hushes. It parts for a familiar face, one that Iruka hasn’t seen in a while.
He’s wearing a green flak vest that looks a little too big for him.
Their eyes meet.
Itachi approaches him first. “It’s been a while, Iruka-san.”
“Congratulations!” Iruka immediately says. “On becoming a Chunin!” He fidgets, suddenly conscious of the divide between them. They haven’t seen each other in a while, and he’s sweaty and sticky and covered in bits of grass and dried mud, while Itachi somehow looks like he’s in a better state after fighting in the Chunin exams. “Itachi…” -kun, he hesitates. Would -san be more appropriate now? Itachi is technically his senior despite being younger—
“Itachi is fine.”
“Huh?”
“Just Itachi.” A flicker of warmth enters his voice. “You don’t have to speak so formally.”
Iruka feels himself light up. A smile stretches across his face, too wide. “Okay. Congrats, Itachi!”
Itachi offers him a small smile, before his attention – and by extension, Iruka’s – shifts to a lady who comes over to them.
“Is this your friend, Itachi?” the lady says, and she bears such a strong resemblance to Itachi that it’s impossible to mistake her for anyone other than Itachi’s—
“Mother,” Itachi says softly. He gestures to Iruka. “This is Umino Iruka-san.”
Iruka bows. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ma’am!”
Inwardly, he wonders if she finds him suspicious. He is a good five years older than her son, and it shows, especially since he’s hit his growth spurt and Itachi… doesn’t look much taller than the last time he saw him. He probably looks old enough to be Itachi’s uncle.
But Itachi’s mom only smiles warmly at him – she looks so very kind – and Iruka is abruptly reminded of his own mom. A lump forms in his throat. It’s been several years since his parents passed, and while he’s rarely plagued by nightmares of the attack anymore, thoughts of his family still make him ache.
“So you’re Iruka-kun?” Itachi’s mom says, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I’ve heard about you from my son.”
Iruka flushes and shoots Itachi a look, wondering exactly what things he’s been telling her. Nothing good, surely, for Itachi had a penchant for finding him in his most embarrassing moments. Iruka discreetly dusts off his pants.
“I’m Itachi’s mother, Mikoto,” the Uchiha matriarch continues. “We’ll be celebrating Itachi’s promotion tonight at the Uchiha district. Would you like to join us?”
Iruka glances to Itachi, unsure if it’s more polite to accept or decline the invitation. He is not well-versed in noble shinobi clan etiquette. While he would like to celebrate Itachi’s promotion, he wouldn’t want to intrude on a family celebration…
Itachi nods. “It’s a clan event, but if you don’t mind,” he agrees. “Let’s eat together.”
*
Iruka follows closely behind his younger friend, looking around in awe. There are red lanterns hung up everywhere, each bearing the Uchiha clan’s emblem. Every house seems to have brought out enough food and drink to feed a family, and everyone looks just like Itachi, with the same dark hair and dark eyes, all wearing similar clothes emblazoned with the same crest; it seems the entire clan has come together to celebrate.
Itachi gets stopped every step of the way. People come up in groups to congratulate him on his achievements, and Iruka watches Itachi bow over and over again as he graciously accepts their well wishes. Iruka attracts a couple of curious glances too; being one of the few who are not Uchiha, he stands out.
One of them who looks around Iruka’s age takes one look at him and gasps. He exclaims to Itachi, You have friends?! as he affectionately drapes an arm around Itachi’s shoulder (one that Itachi discreetly tries to shake off, but to no avail) and proceeds to introduce himself as Shisui, Itachi’s favorite cousin, a sentiment that Itachi begrudgingly seems to share, despite his protests.
When Itachi has finished greeting everyone, they slip into his house and sit together on the engawa, away from the crowd.
Itachi sets down the plate he’d filled with dango, before he disappears into his kitchen and emerges with a pot of hot tea on a tray that he slides between them. He offers Iruka the first stick. Then he hums as he chews on his own dango, and his posture relaxes, almost imperceptibly. Iruka grins.
“What is it?” There’s a slight pout to his voice.
“No, it’s nothing,” Iruka teases. “You looked like you were enjoying it.”
Itachi leans back. “Food tastes better when you’re eating with a friend,” he says. “Don’t you think so?”
A friend. Iruka feels his cheeks warm.
There is a loud roar as the glow of a distant fireball from a Katon jutsu competition further away lights up the sky. The popping and sputtering of firecrackers is accompanied by bright laughter of children. Iruka thinks about little Sasuke’s adoring expression when Itachi showed him the Chunin vest and smiles.
“It’s like a festival,” Iruka says. He gives Itachi a gentle nudge. “And it’s all to celebrate you, huh?”
He means it in a how nice for you kind of way, but Itachi’s expression turns subdued. The relaxed atmosphere dissipates.
“It brings joy to the clan when one of its own excels,” Itachi murmurs, perhaps more to himself than Iruka. “Even more so since I’m the clan heir.”
He doesn’t sound very happy about it.
“Ita—”
Itachi silences him with a look.
“There are people who say that the Uchiha orchestrated the Kyuubi attack,” Itachi abruptly says. His eyes bleed into crimson, and Iruka suddenly finds it hard to breathe. “Because controlling the Nine Tails is only possible for the Uchiha, who possess the sharingan.”
Iruka stares into his eyes, at the fully developed sharingan with three tomoe in each eye. The fear he feels has nothing to do with what he knows the sharingan can do, but that Itachi’s expression is hard and cold, and he looks nothing like the boy who had been enjoying his dessert just a few moments ago.
“In other words, the incident that took your parents from you…”
There is a sudden surge of irrational anger in Iruka.
He’s angry with the way Itachi always carries himself like he’s nobility until dango makes him temporarily forget to. He’s angry with the way everyone else seems happier about his promotion than Itachi is, the way Itachi has bags under his eyes and deeper stress lines forming on his young face.
He’s angry because the Chunin vest is too big on Itachi. Like it was meant to be worn by someone older even if Itachi’s proven his abilities. Like it wasn’t meant for a child who’s trying to take responsibility for an incident that may or may not be related to his surname and is now poking at wounds that won’t ever heal in an attempt to drive Iruka away after inviting him to a party.
More than anything, he’s sorry that he never gave anything back, after Itachi gave him so much.
“I’m sorry,” Itachi says quietly. The sharingan fades, and Iruka is left looking at obsidian eyes, softened by guilt. “I scared you.”
Iruka shakes his head quickly, willing himself not to cry as he struggles for words to offer the tormented youth.
It wasn’t you. It doesn’t matter that the Uchiha clan has the sharingan. We don’t know that for sure.
I’m not afraid of you. We’re friends, aren’t we?
“I’m… here for you,” is what Iruka eventually chokes out, even if he’s painfully aware that he can offer nothing that could be of use to Itachi. “No matter what.”
Itachi stares up at him, resigned and exhausted and only ten years old. Then his gaze drops, and he releases a slow, shuddering breath.
For the rest of the evening, the dango remains untouched on its plate.
*
Nowadays, when Iruka visits the memorial stone, it is to report to his parents about the new missions he’s been taking on and funny incidents with his teammates, rather than to reminisce about his past with them. There isn’t a blinding pain whenever he sees the names Umino Ikkaku and Umino Kohari carved into the stone, only a wave of nostalgia.
As time passed, the good memories made there outweighed the sad ones.
Like all the unplanned meetings with Itachi.
The memorial stone is a place where he feels closest to the people who are precious to him. Sometimes Iruka still ends up there, even if he has no news to report.
Tonight, he finds a comfortable spot to sit close by, leaning back against the cool bark of a tree trunk. The night breeze is cool and earthy, and the leaves overhead sway gently in the wind. The moon is round and bright. Iruka closes his eyes and listens to the sounds of the insects, soaking in the peace.
The loneliness doesn’t eat at him the way it used to anymore, now that he’s grown up – but some habits can’t be broken: Being alone is less lonely when he’s out here in this open space, than when he hugs his knees on the bed in his empty house.
A flare of chakra warns him when he’s no longer alone. It’s not large enough to be alarming, but enough to politely alert him of a presence. Familiar. It’s Itachi.
A beat later, Iruka hears the footsteps approach him.
Itachi steps out into the moonlight. His features are haggard and the faint scent of iron clings to him. He’s still in his ANBU gear, less his mask. Iruka does a quick once-over; the blood on Itachi’s uniform doesn’t seem to belong to him. Good.
Itachi slumps down next to him, and wordlessly drops his head on Iruka’s shoulder.
Iruka doesn’t ask if he’s okay because the answer is clear, and he knows Itachi well enough to know that Itachi is the kind of person who would say yes even if he was on his deathbed.
Iruka lets out a quiet sigh, as he extends his usual offer. “Can I do anything for you?”
He lifts his head in surprise when Itachi actually asks something of him, one that isn’t his usual request to stay like this for a while – in other words, do nothing.
*
As Itachi follows Iruka up to his apartment, he wonders if he’s making a mistake, if this counts as abandoning his duty as an Uchiha.
The door to Iruka’s home swings open, and Iruka flicks on a switch. He starts rummaging about for a pair of guest slippers that he can’t find.
It’s still not too late to apologize and tell Iruka that he won’t be intruding, that he’ll go home after all. By all means, he should have headed straight to the Naka shrine for the clan meeting, after he’d returned from his mission.
“It’s alright,” Itachi finds himself saying instead. “I don’t need slippers.”
He ends up following Iruka into the light.
Iruka’s apartment is about half the size of Itachi’s own room, but with twice as many things crammed into it. Itachi glances around in slight curiosity. The bed in the corner and his bookshelf occupies most of the space. There is no kitchen, only a sink and a small portable stove with a kettle for boiling water. He has a couple of trinkets lying around; sitting on top of his chest of drawers is a framed picture of Iruka and his parents, along with another of his genin team.
“I haven’t had a sleepover in ages,” Iruka says, as he pulls out a set of clothes from his drawer. “How nostalgic.”
Itachi’s never had a sleepover with a friend, not unless he counts the missions where he spent the night half-awake in a tree with a kunai in hand.
“You can leave your things here.” Iruka ushers him towards the bathroom. “Take your time.”
When Itachi emerges, warmed up, rid of the dried blood and feeling decidedly better than when he met Iruka in the forest, there is an assortment of cups on the low table.
“I only have cup ramen,” Iruka says apologetically, gesturing at the spread before them. “But you can pick first.”
Itachi scrutinizes the packaging. He’s never had instant ramen, either. There are many flavors: curry, seafood, pork, chicken—
“Should we try all of them, then?” Iruka looks amused.
“No, I didn’t mean…”
The kettle whistles and Iruka shrugs. “You gotta enjoy small luxuries when you can,” he says, and that’s that.
Itachi ends up crowded next to him, sitting knee to knee with a steaming cup of ramen in his hand and another ten on the small table. The scents of the different soups waft in the air. Itachi watches as Iruka slurps up his ramen with a contented sigh. Iruka offers the cup to him then, and absently Itachi wonders if this is what all friends do at sleepovers – swapping cups between bites until the noodles turn soggy.
It’s good. The taste itself can’t compare to home cooking, but the food is warm and settles nicely in his stomach. The washing machine hums quietly in the background as Iruka talks about his recent mission in the Land of Tea. And for the first time in a while, dinner does not make Itachi feel nauseous.
After all, Itachi thinks, as he sets down his cup and closes his eyes, there is no need to parse through Iruka’s words for any deeper layer of meaning.
He does not have to provide an appropriate response. He does not even need to respond at all, because Iruka will not object even if he leans against him like this. Even if Itachi inconveniences him, Iruka will only accommodate his weight, and Itachi drinks in his kindness, lets Iruka’s presence flood over his senses; the warmth of his shoulder, the gentle voice that doesn’t contain any ulterior motive other than unvoiced concern for his own well-being. He fills himself with Iruka’s kindness so that he doesn’t have to think about his mother and father and what he must do for the sake of the clan. For the village.
For Sasuke.
For his little brother, who is ignorant of the clan’s schemes, but has become astute enough to sense the tension between his father and his Nii-san.
Eventually, when Iruka mistakenly assumes that he’s fallen asleep, he gently lowers Itachi onto a pillow. Iruka’s footsteps wander away, then back, and a blanket is draped over him. There is a comforting pat on his shoulder, before Iruka turns off the lights.
When dawn breaks, Itachi leaves.
*
Itachi becomes distant.
He rarely says hello when they bump into each other on the streets anymore. They no longer spare a few minutes to stop for a stick of dango together. At most, it’s a polite nod if Itachi notices him, before Itachi continues on.
It makes perfect sense. In fact, it’s stranger that they’ve remained in contact for this long.
After all, Itachi has always been exceptional, even during their academy days. He’s the heir to the prestigious Uchiha clan and the youngest to have ever made it to ANBU. Iruka, on the other hand, is about as ordinary as a ninja can be.
Even if Itachi isn’t the kind of person to create distinctions like that, it’s natural for them to drift apart. He’s busy with classified missions and clan politics that Iruka isn’t privy to. There are more things that they can’t talk about than they can. There’s no way he could walk alongside Itachi as equals.
To put it plainly, they live in different worlds.
And that’s fine. Iruka could accept that.
But each time he sees him, Itachi looks more haggard. The stress lines on his face run deeper. Iruka can’t stand seeing that.
Which is how he ends up lurking in front of Itachi’s house like a suspicious person.
Some of the Uchiha are staring at him; he can feel the weight of their gazes. It’s prickly and intense and although no one comes up to confront him, he feels unwelcome, and he starts to wonder whether he should leave and come back later since there isn’t anyone home.
He’s about to make the decision to go when Itachi’s mother approaches him with little Sasuke in tow.
“Good evening, Mikoto-san,” Iruka greets. “Um—”
He stops short when he sees the way she looks at him. Wary and alert, assessing. Her demeanor is completely different from the time she invited him to join their celebration for Itachi’s Chunin promotion.
Sasuke steps forward. “Who are you?” he demands.
Iruka smiles and bends down. “I’m Umino Iruka,” he says gently. “I’m your big brother’s friend.”
The wrinkle in Sasuke’s brow smoothes out. He stares at Iruka with interest. “Nii-san’s friend?”
“Yes. We met before, when Itachi became a Chunin.” Iruka chuckles. That night, Sasuke only had eyes for his brother. “Do you remember?”
He watches as Mikoto’s expression softens too, into something apologetic, as she invites him in.
*
The first indicator that something is amiss was that Sasuke did not appear at the genkan when Itachi took his shoes off. The days where Sasuke would unapologetically launch himself at him and tackle his legs were long gone, but it is still the norm for Sasuke to be waiting for him to come home, and then albeit hesitantly, ask for help with training.
“I’m home,” Itachi calls out, as he aligns his shoes.
“Welcome back,” comes his mother’s voice from the kitchen. She brings out a tray of tea and snacks. “How was the clan meeting?”
“Do we have a guest?” Itachi asks. It is a reasonable assumption, given the refreshments and Sasuke’s disappearance.
“… Iruka-kun came to visit,” his mother says lightly, after a pause. She has noticed that he did not answer her question, but she does not press. “He’s been waiting to see you.”
“Where—” He catches a pair of familiar voices from the backyard.
“Like this?” His brother’s breathless voice echoes through the corridor.
“Don’t use too much force,” says a calmer voice, one that eases the knot in Itachi’s stomach. One that feels like safety and promises of good things. “Relax your shoulder before you throw— Yeah, like that!”
Itachi finds Sasuke standing in front of the shuriken targets. Judging by the amount of dirt on his clothes, he’s been training for a while. He looks worn out but Iruka is right by his side, correcting his form.
“He looked worried about you.” His mother’s voice floats by his ear.
Iruka is right there, in place of Sasuke’s absent big brother who never keeps his promise to train him.
Both shuriken hit the target.
“You did it!” Iruka ruffles Sasuke’s hair. “Well done!”
Rather than objecting, Sasuke beams up at him. “I did it!”
“See, I told you! I’m pretty good, aren’t I?”
Sasuke pouts. “But my Nii-san is way better at shuriken jutsu than you!”
“Yeah, yeah,” Iruka indulges, laughing. “Your beloved brother wouldn’t lose to anyone, right?”
“Yeah!” Sasuke nods empathically. “Just you wait—” Sasuke catches sight of him standing by the side. His face lights up. “Nii-san! Welcome home!” He runs over, and in a rare moment of excitement, he grabs onto the front of Itachi’s shirt– something he hasn’t done for a while now. “Did you see that, Nii-san?! I can throw two shuriken with one hand!”
“Yes. Well done, Sasuke,” Itachi says quietly, and a small warmth blossoms when Sasuke glows at the praise. “You’ve worked hard.”
*
“Thank you for teaching Sasuke,” is the first thing Itachi says, when they’re alone.
“It’s no problem,” Iruka says, as he falls into step. “Sasuke-kun is a fast learner.”
“He has a lot of potential.” A faint smile graces Itachi’s lips. “I just wish—” He falls silent.
Iruka tries to respect Itachi’s boundaries – he really does. He tries not to probe because he knows that Itachi prefers to keep his problems to himself. And even if Itachi wasn’t that type of person, he can’t tell Iruka about it anyway. He’s become more close-lipped, especially after he entered the ANBU.
“I praised him too, earlier,” Iruka says, when it becomes clear that Itachi doesn’t intend to finish his sentence. “But as expected, it’s completely different when his Nii-san says it, huh? You’re very loved by Sasuke-kun.”
It goes without saying, of course, that Itachi loves Sasuke very, very much too.
But Itachi’s smile fades, and his expression darkens.
“Sasuke’s still just a child,” Itachi eventually says, with a tinge of melancholy.
It sounds like there’s more to it, but Itachi doesn’t elaborate. He stops walking and fixes his gaze ahead, and from the bottom of the steps, Iruka watches Itachi stare up at the Naka shrine, watches quiet desperation well in his eyes, and then, finally, resignation.
“So are you,” says Iruka.
Itachi’s gaze flickers over to him.
“You’re a child, too.”
Itachi remains unmoved at his declaration, and Iruka makes a decision.
“You’re only thirteen,” Iruka says sharply. “You’re five years younger than me and maybe you’re an ANBU captain while I’m just a Chunin, but still!” He grabs Itachi’s shoulders.
Genius or not, he’s just a kid.
“Even if you were the most talented thirteen year old in Konoha’s history ever, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re only thirteen.”
He tries to sound like he knows what he’s saying, to have confidence, to wield his age like a weapon because age and height are about the only things he has over Itachi.
“No matter what kind of problem you’re facing – whether it’s a fight or a runaway cat or not being able to weed the lawn because of a bad back – if you can’t handle it on your own, then you should rely on others. I’m sure of it!”
“A runaway cat, huh?” Itachi breathes. “Unfortunately, not all problems can be solved that way.”
“That’s not true,” Iruka insists. “Since I’m not as strong or smart as you, I have more experience than you in needing help and asking for it. That’s why I’m absolutely sure. Itachi, what you should be doing now is asking someone to help you, instead of beating yourself up over the things that you can’t do.”
“Iruka—”
“If everyone only needed to rely on themselves, then we wouldn’t be living together as a village!”
“Iruka.”
“Don’t shoulder everything alone—” His voice cracks. I care about you. I can’t stand watching you destroy yourself. I’ve already lost my family. I don’t want to lose anyone else.
Iruka chokes on the rest of his words, and Itachi reels him in, and very stiffly puts his arms around him.
Of course, that is the cue for the floodgates to open, and Iruka starts to cry in earnest.
Itachi pulls him closer, and seems to sink into the awkward embrace too, just a little, and Iruka can’t help thinking about how the world is such an unfair place, where the kindest people struggle the most.
He’s not being fair to Itachi, either.
If he cries, he’ll make Itachi feel guilty. If he cries now, he’ll be adding to Itachi’s burdens.
Even so, Iruka cries because nothing has changed. Because Itachi’s hands are warm. Because Itachi is drawing circles against his back, just like he did the very first time they met. Because Iruka doesn’t want them to change.
Ever since Itachi entered the ANBU— No, ever since he awakened the sharingan, he’s been slipping away. Gone is the kid who sat quietly next to him and read scrolls in candlelight while he watched the the night pass and the sun rise over the memorial stone.
“Thank you, Iruka,” Itachi murmurs against his shoulder at last. There is a finality to his tone, but he doesn’t pull away, which is a good thing, because Iruka doesn’t think he can face him without crumbling just yet. “Please don’t cry. Thank you.”
Iruka’s hold on him tightens. “Please don’t disappear.”
Itachi is a hardened warrior. He’s far stronger than Iruka will ever be. But the part of him who is Iruka’s childhood friend is fragile. It feels like if Iruka doesn’t hold on tight, he’ll never see the boy who comforted him when he cried in front of the memorial stone ever again.
Iruka’s frustrated, too. In the end, there is nothing concrete that he can do for Itachi.
“You’ve helped me so much,” Itachi whispers, as if he’s read his thoughts. Trust Itachi to be considerate even now – it almost makes him wonder which one of them has been driven into a corner. “Really. Thank you, Iruka. For not letting me be alone.”
“The Sandaime told me before,” Iruka says, when he’s calmed down, “that he considers all of the village his family.”
“Is that so?” He feels Itachi incline his head. “The Sandaime is a kind man. Perhaps too kind. You resemble him, a little.”
Iruka huffs. “You think so?”
“Yes,” Itachi says. “Come to think of it, you mentioned that the Sandaime looked after you after your parents passed.”
“Yeah.”
“Do you have stories?”
“Yeah.” Iruka takes a deep breath. Then he starts to recount the little things that don’t really matter but are treasured all the same.
And Itachi listens, without letting go of him.
*
“Have confidence,” Itachi says. “It suits you.”
Initially, he hadn’t liked talking about the future, because his own would inadvertently come up. It seemed likely that Iruka would flip the conversation and ask him the same questions.
But there is no question about Itachi’s future. His future is inextricably tied to the fate of the Uchihas – and despite his and Shisui’s best efforts, the situation keeps worsening. At this rate, there is a possibility that the Uchiha clan won’t have a future at all.
The last thing Itachi wants is to get Iruka tangled in the politics between the clan and the village. Matters of the Uchiha clan ought to be handled within – and besides, knowing how much Iruka worries, he couldn’t bring himself to burden Iruka with issues beyond his control.
Perhaps Iruka’s sensed his reluctance to talk about himself, because he is quite content to only touch on his own future. Since Iruka doesn’t probe about matters that he can’t talk about, Itachi’s stopped feeling the necessity to steer the conversation. He’s grown comfortable with letting conversations with Iruka take their natural course.
Iruka has created an environment where he can drop all pretenses and yet not be expected to divulge anything unless he wishes to. On nights when Itachi needs to get away from the Uchiha compound for a while, when his own future seems especially bleak, Iruka is a small comfort.
Itachi closes his eyes. “You have the right qualities for a teacher.”
It is easy to picture Iruka’s future.
Iruka’s future will be set in a classroom. There will be boisterous children who play pranks in a place safe for learning. Iruka’s future is one where the future of the village will be nurtured. Itachi thinks back to the time he found Iruka helping Sasuke with his shuriken practice, and briefly toys with the idea that perhaps there will be Sasuke, sitting in Iruka’s classroom.
Perhaps it would even be possible for his future to be tied to one as bright as Iruka’s.
One day, he might pick up from Sasuke from school after classes end. As he listens to his little brother tell him about his day, Iruka would walk out, and maybe, maybe Itachi would be able to ask him to come over for dinner. Mother cooks too much anyway.
That kind of future would be a luxury.
Itachi stands. He looks down at the man who never questions his sudden appearances or disappearances, who welcomes him when he comes, and never begrudges him when he has to go.
Instead of I have to leave, Itachi says, “There is a future that I want.”
Iruka has been a constant throughout. He makes it clear that he’s there for Itachi, but he never presses for details. He meets Itachi where he is, never asking for more than what he can give.
Itachi wonders how he will respond this time.
Iruka stares up at him, and takes a moment to consider. Itachi welcomes it, Iruka’s piercing gaze as he tries to assess Itachi’s state of mind and what words he can offer.
Will Iruka tell him to be safe, like he usually does?
“Go get it. I believe in you.”
Itachi feels his lips pull into a smile. Saying whatever he needs to hear, Iruka really would make a good teacher.
“I will.”
Itachi ducks down and presses his lips to Iruka’s forehead, a gesture of affection.
A promise to himself.
*
Here’s how change happens.
It starts with one person.
Then, a second.
(And then, slowly but surely, the little things add up.)
*
When Danzo steals his right eye, Shisui makes a decision.
He passes on what information he has to Itachi, entrusts his left eye to him, and then, he has one last job to do: a parting gift for Itachi whom he’s set on a lonely path—
Shisui doesn’t know what to think when he feels Itachi’s fingers wrap around his wrist tightly.
Itachi hauls him back up the cliff, and Shisui feels his hand rest over his eyelids. A basic medical ninjutsu to stop the bleeding.
“Itachi—” Shisui begins to object.
“I understood your rationale behind leaving your left eye with me. However, there is no reason for you to die. Even if your suicide note is found, with the rapid currents, it would not be strange if your body was not found in the river.”
“But—”
“Mangekyou or not, you are worth more than a pair of eyes,” Itachi informs him matter-of-factly. His voice is hard and decisive. “To prevent the coup, I will need your help to bring the clan together.”
Itachi doesn’t give him time to object. He sends out a messenger crow, before quickly carrying Shisui out of the forest on his back.
The next thing Shisui knows, he’s being unceremoniously deposited at the apartment of a stranger.
“I will leave you in the care of a trusted friend, while I make a report to the Hokage,” Itachi says. “Iruka, please.”
“Of course,” says this Iruka stranger – who is most certainly not Uchiha – without question.
So they have comrades outside the clan, Shisui thinks.
*
It just takes a bit of patience and time, Iruka muses. For one party to extend a hand, and for the other to accept it.
Just like how it took him a bit of time to look Naruto in the eyes and face him upfront. Just like how Shisui gradually relaxed in his presence, how Itachi finally gave him a brief explanation of the current situation.
Just like how Naruto and Sasuke, who are like oil and water, have started to strike up an (albeit rather unfriendly) rivalry in class.
Itachi and Shisui have taken the first step by reporting to the Hokage. The Sandaime has personally approached Uchiha Fugaku for negotiations. Another step forward has been taken.
Even in the classroom, it takes time for his students to learn new techniques. Fostering trust, Iruka thinks, though much harder to achieve after years of estrangement, runs on the same principles.
Iruka does what he can. He teaches about the village and their history. About the Will of Fire. He keeps a watchful eye on his students, especially Sasuke – though the boy seems largely unaffected. Unaware, even, of the strife between the Uchiha and the village. Iruka isn’t surprised. Itachi would certainly do his best to shelter Sasuke from the influences of their clan.
Iruka pays attention to the rumors in the village too – for there is no smoke without fire – but he takes them with a healthy pinch of salt.
And of course, no matter how worried he is about Itachi, he is careful to never interrogate Sasuke about his circumstances.
Though when Iruka was teaching his class about the history between the Senju and Uchiha clans, no one could blame him for encouraging Sasuke to share about his family with the class, especially after seeing the way his reticent student brightened whenever he spoke about his amazing Nii-san.
*
It happens slowly, then all at once.
Iruka can pinpoint the day the weight is lifted off Itachi’s shoulders. He doesn’t know when he had fallen in love.
But he wakes up on that particular morning with sunshine hitting his eyes. He’s overslept. There is a palm resting over his, but Iruka is not startled to find that he’s not alone.
Itachi is fast asleep on top of the covers, curled next to him. He’s wearing one of Iruka’s shirts, dark hair splayed out around him. He’s breathing deeply, and the perpetual furrow marring his brow is gone.
He doesn’t stir when Iruka starts to move around his tiny apartment, when water runs from the tap and the kettle whistles. Not even when a shadow passes by and the window is slid open; Itachi’s cousin sticks his head through the gap and nearly makes Iruka jump out of his skin.
Shisui raises a hand in greeting. “Mornin’!”
“Shisui!” He’s started wearing the Uchiha emblem and the leaf headband again. One of his eyes is visible, the other is still bandaged. “How are your eyes?” Iruka asks.
Shisui gives him a thumbs up. “I still have to go to the hospital for a few more sessions, but thanks to you, they’re healing well.” Then his gaze – sharp and curious despite being one-eyed at the moment – slides over to the sleeping figure. “So,” he says jovially, “when’s the wedding?”
It takes a moment for Iruka to catch on.
The Uchiha heir, fast asleep in his bed, in his clothes.
Iruka sputters. “We’re not— It’s not like that—”
“Guess I’ll be seeing you around more often at the Uchiha compound, eh?” Shisui grins, expression turning cheeky. “I’m Itachi’s cousin, Shisui. Once again, it’s nice to meet you.”
“Wait, we’re really not—” Iruka flusters.
“Not yet?” Shisui teases.
“Shisui.”
“I know, I was just kidding!” Shisui laughs, unrestrained and bright. “Mostly.” He glances to Itachi, and his gaze softens. “This guy dashed off after reporting to Lord Hokage so quickly last night – I was wondering what had him in such a hurry.”
Iruka flushes when Shisui gives him a knowing look.
To rush to your side as soon as he could, goes unspoken.
“There is more than one type of strength,” Shisui continues. “It’s not just about how well you fight, or what rank you are. Besides, if it’s combat ability, Itachi has plenty of that already.” Shisui’s expression sobers, and he dips his head. “I hope you’ll keep being my little cousin’s safe harbor.”
Then Shisui gives him a reassuring pat on the shoulder, before he flickers away.
“He’s right, you know.”
Iruka startles. “Itachi! You were awake?”
“I sensed Shisui’s presence.” Itachi sits up. His hair is down, and there is an imprint of the blanket’s creases on his cheek. It occurs to Iruka that for all the sleepovers they’ve had, this is the first time he’s actually seen Itachi wake up. Or sleep, for that matter.
“Iruka?”
It’s rich, warm and gentle. Three syllables that form his name.
Itachi is looking at him intently. How much of their conversation did he catch?
Iruka flounders. “Ah, uhm, is bread okay? For breakfast? I only have bread and cup ramen, and, uh—”
“Yes.” And he– Itachi actually smiles. It might be the first time he’s seen him smile like that. “That is plenty.”
*
From the window of the staff room, Iruka spies Naruto and Sasuke in front of the Academy.
Naruto is sitting on the swing, and Sasuke is leaning against the tree next to him. They appear to be engaged in conversation that Iruka is too far away to catch, but he smiles at the scene before him.
Three years of being in the same class has shaped their rivalry into a reluctant friendship of sorts, and it is nice to see Naruto, who used to sit alone, and Sasuke, who kept a distance from everyone, getting along for once.
The peace doesn’t last for long, though.
One of them says something to antagonize the other, and both of them get up. Iruka starts to hurry over in preparation to break up their fight when Naruto’s voice rings loud from the courtyard.
“So what if you have a brother?! I have Iruka-sensei!”
Sasuke scoffs. “Iruka-sensei’s not your brother. He’s everyone’s sensei. Moron.”
Iruka is briefly warmed by his students having opened their hearts to him – that is, until Naruto scowls, and then he has to worry about being accused of playing favorites.
“So what?” Naruto says loudly, as if being louder would prove his point. “Iruka-sensei treats me to Ichiraku ramen all the time!”
“Who cares about ramen—”
Naruto’s eyes grow wide in indignance. “How could you?!” he cries, voice pitching high. And then, in a brilliant display of empathy, he suddenly looks pitying. “You mean… You’ve never had Ichiraku ramen?”
“Whatever.” Sasuke looks completely put off. He purses his lips. “Besides… If Nii-san marries Iruka-sensei, then Iruka-sensei will become my brother.”
He looks like he doesn’t quite know how he feels about that, but when he sees Naruto’s horrified expression, Sasuke turns smug.
“Ew! I don’t want you for a brother, Sasuke!”
“Like I said, Naruto you moron, in the first place you’re not Iruka-sensei’s brother!”
Which is when Iruka finally reaches the two boys. He places a hand on each of their shoulders. “What are we talking about?” he asks, in his most teacherly voice. Like he is not fazed by their chosen topic of disagreement at all.
Naruto lights up. “Iruka-sensei!”
Sasuke looks away, and then his face brightens. “Nii-san!” Sasuke calls, and Iruka’s heart flips. Of all the times…
Sasuke takes his place next to his brother. “Nii-san.” He glances pointedly at Naruto. “In the future, you might marry Iruka-sensei, right?”
“What?! I won’t accept that!” Naruto yanks on his arm. “Iruka-sensei, you won’t marry this jerk’s brother, right?! Right?!”
Itachi’s eyes meet his, over the heads of the two boys who are staring each other down. His lips twitch, and Iruka feels his face heat up. While he stands there, tongue-tied, Itachi proceeds to effortlessly reconcile their friendship.
Perhaps the most damning part is that Itachi doesn’t give them an answer.
(And knowing Itachi, he would have clearly said no if he meant no, right?)
*
It’s been a while since he had part of an afternoon off, and against all odds, Itachi spends it seated in the Ichiraku ramen shop with his brother.
They usually get Sasuke’s favorite Okaka onigiri on the way home, but Sasuke had insisted on Ichiraku ramen. Now they’re sharing a bowl as a snack before dinner.
It is just as well, Itachi thinks. Interacting with people outside the Uchiha compound will allow Sasuke to build bonds with the village.
“It’s good,” Sasuke mutters, as he slurps his noodles. “But not that special.”
He had been surprised that it was Uzumaki Naruto whom Sasuke hit it off with. Despite his little brother’s incessant protests that Naruto is a loser and they are absolutely not friends, Sasuke seems much livelier when he’s talking about him. Itachi hasn’t seen him this passionate since the time Sasuke insisted that he train him so that he could be a strong shinobi just like Nii-san.
Itachi smiles. Today, Sasuke had been so engrossed in his argument that he hadn’t even noticed his presence.
“—and anyway, it’s not like you want to marry Iruka-sensei,” Sasuke grumbles, catching his attention. Sasuke’s expression turns doubtful. “Right, Nii-san…?”
I won’t let you marry my Iruka-sensei! Naruto had his hands on his hips, staring up at him defiantly. Itachi scratches his cheek.
“Would you dislike that?” He neither accepts nor dismisses the idea, but simply puts his own opinion on hold.
Sasuke scrunches his nose and considers it. “It could be worse,” he eventually says. “If you must marry someone, better Iruka-sensei than an annoying girl, I guess.” He grimaces. “The ones in my class are so noisy.”
“Sasuke,” Itachi chides.
“Hey, Nii-san, when you were in the Academy, did the girls keep bothering you, too? How did you get rid of them?”
*
“Are you going to marry Sasuke’s brother?” Naruto asks quietly.
Of course not. The instinctive response sits on his tongue, but Iruka finds that he can’t say it out loud.
It’s just the two of them left in the empty, orange-stained classroom. Everyone else has gone home. Naruto is oddly serious. It’s slightly disquieting.
“After two people marry, a child is born from love,” Naruto recites. “And they’ll become a family.”
Family. That last word is colored with something akin to longing. It’s a word that haunted Iruka for a long time, too. Maybe the issue is not whether the person he marries is Itachi or not, but the fact that Naruto’s considered that he might eventually marry.
Naruto’s expression turns wistful. “Sakura-chan said so,” he elaborates, lacking the excitement that he usually has when talking about her.
Iruka’s told him about the Will of Fire before. But right now, everyone in the village is family doesn’t seem to be the assurance that Naruto is looking for.
“We’ll still go out for ramen together,” Iruka says instead. “No matter who I marry, or even if I don’t marry anyone. Nothing will change. You wouldn’t be any less important to me.”
Maybe Naruto feels like he’s losing something.
Naruto peers up at him, searching his face for any hint of a lie. “Really?”
“Of course.” Iruka bends down and ruffles his hair. “What’s important doesn’t become less important just because you have more of them.”
“Okay.”
Naruto glances out of the window, at the empty swing by the tree, and Iruka feels like he understands what Naruto’s thinking about.
The playground that starts to empty at sunset. Parents picking up their children. Connected hands.
And because Iruka knows how it feels to watch them go, even though he is not Naruto’s father or older brother, even if he might not be qualified…
“I love you very much, Naruto.”
Naruto stares at him with wide eyes. His bottom lip wobbles, and for a moment, he looks like he’s about to cry. But then a bright smile splits his face. “Then, since you love me so much, Iruka-sensei, you gotta treat me to ramen tonight! With extra chashu!”
“Sure thing! I’ll even throw in an extra egg, too!”
Naruto tackles him into a hug. “You’re the best, Iruka-sensei! I’m hungry! Let’s go now!”
*
Sometimes, it is still hard to believe that they’ve made it to this place, where the Uchiha shopkeepers call out to Iruka when he walks in and out of the Uchiha compound, where the non-Uchihas can visit the Naka shrine without attracting any attention, where everyone takes it as a natural thing for the Uchiha to mingle amidst the rest of the villagers. A place where he and Iruka can sit shoulder to shoulder on the engawa, and no one in the house bats an eye.
Itachi sips his tea, and takes his time to formulate his thoughts.
This is the luxury of being able to ask for something definite, knowing that he can offer the same in return. The luxury of being allowed to give that unnamed something between them a certain shape.
At first, Itachi intends to savor it. The stolen moments with Iruka away from his clan have finally become not-so-stolen, after all. The unspoken thing that hovers between them is not something Itachi would lose if he doesn’t make a desperate grab for it. There is no rush.
Yet he finds that he wastes no time in getting to the heart of the matter.
He sets down his cup of tea, and turns to face Iruka, folding his knees into seiza.
Iruka blinks at him, with his stick of dango brought halfway to his mouth. “W-what’s wrong?”
Based on his expression, he probably has an inkling of what Itachi intends to say.
“I wish to court you, if you’re amenable,” Itachi says. “With the intention of marrying.”
As expected, Iruka doesn’t look extremely surprised. There is a dusting of pink on his cheeks, though, which is nice to see.
“You’re the heir to the Uchiha clan,” Iruka says.
Itachi inclines his head. “I am well aware. It does not make a difference.”
“No, it does,” Iruka stresses. “You’re the future Uchiha clan head. I’m a guy. What will your family think?”
“It is of little consequence,” Itachi dismisses. “Even if there are objections, as the clan head, I will persuade them when the time comes.”
He has managed to stop the coup d'etat and guide the Uchiha to a different path, after all. He has faith that he will be able to convince them to accept their hypothetical relationship.
“What matters is how you feel about it, Iruka,” Itachi says, with more composure than he feels. Thankfully, although Iruka seems to have his reservations, those reservations do not appear to be towards the idea of being with him. “I wish for us to become family.”
It seems to be the wrong thing to say, because Iruka’s brows furrow.
“It does not have to be family in the most traditional sense,” Itachi says patiently. “Blood ties are not all that matter. Was it not you yourself who said that all the village is family?”
Still, Iruka hesitates. “I’m glad that you feel that way, but I’m not sure if I’m, well, suitable enough to…”
“That’s for me to decide.” Itachi reaches out and cradles his cheek, watching in fascination as Iruka’s face slowly colors under his touch. “The closest place at your side…” he murmurs. “If you’re willing to let me have it, I would not wish to give it up to anyone else.”
Iruka sidles closer and wordlessly buries his face in Itachi’s shoulder.
“I hope those are happy tears.” Itachi chuckles as he traces circles against Iruka’s back. With his free hand, he picks up the teapot and fills Iruka’s cup. “Here, drink this. Calm down.”
As Itachi holds out the cup to him, he notices a tea stem. It’s standing upright. He smiles as Iruka accepts it.
That’s a promising start to the future.