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The air was ripe with the sweet smell of blooming flowers. Ripples ran through the grass as a jade green snake weaved its way through lazily. In the middle of the field, with a hand shielding her eyes from the sun and a long silk skirt rustling around her calves, a woman carefully regarded the rounded nest of her son’s curls bobbing along in grass that reached his chest.
“Shisui, we have to get going! We’ll come back tomorrow.” The boy turned and bounded through the tall grass back to his mother. His cheeks were bright pink with the warmth of spring and he was clutching a bundle of wildflowers in his sweaty little fist.
“Are you excited for your first recital?” She stooped down to comb a few flowers from his wild hair. Shisui nodded emphatically as he panted for breath.
“Mom,” he began a moment later as they walked through the field in the direction of home. “Can you hold these for me? During my recital.” He held the bunch of flowers up.
~
Itachi blinked when a hand flickered in front of his face.
“Earth to Itachi,” came Kimimaro’s gentle voice. “You don’t look well.” Itachi swallowed. It was true. He was white as a sheet, frozen in one of the directors’ chairs backstage. The bright lights framing the mirror in front of him only added to his ghostly appearance. “Can I help?” Itachi threaded the ribbon in his hand around one finger and glanced up into Kimimaro’s droopy blue eyes.
“Where’s Shisui?” He was never hard to find once one spotted the trademark fiery red hair of his other best friend, and even though Itachi had come to at least tolerate Kushina, he always preferred Shisui alone.
“I’ll find him.” Itachi watched in the mirror as that head of braided white hair—longer than his own—retreated. Kimimaro grabbed Shisui’s wrist and started pulling him back in Itachi’s direction a moment later. Shisui broke away from Kushina and hurried over excitedly with a giant smile on his face. It eased Itachi’s nerves a little.
“What’s wrong?” Itachi swung his legs anxiously.
“My hair won’t stay up.” He held the thin black ribbon up and pouted. His hair almost brushed his shoulders by now and those thick bangs had finally grown out long enough to part down the middle and tuck behind his ears.
“I’ll help you,” Shisui said brightly, happy to do anything besides stand still and wait until he took the stage. “Wait here!” And he trotted over to a group of little girls with their pale pink tutus and slippers and their hair in neat buns. Itachi went pink and clutched the wooden armrests tightly as Shisui pointed a finger back at him and all the girls turned and squealed excitedly and scrambled around for their bags.
Shisui returned with every hair supply on the planet crammed into his small, cupped hands and beamed as Itachi’s eyes widened in surprise.
“All the girls like you, by the way,” he began, dumping the stash on the white counter. “They’re all pink, I hope that’s okay.” Itachi shrugged and nodded as Shisui stretched up on his toes to fasten two pink hair clips above each ear. “Your ribbon is too slippery, that’s why it fell out. And your bangs are too short,” Shisui babbled enthusiastically, drawing a light pink ribbon from the pile. Itachi hopped off the chair so Shisui could tie his hair back in a neat little stub of a ponytail. “There!” Shisui wiped a forearm beneath the wispy curls at his forehead. “Long hair suits you.” He flicked a finger over the soft ends of Itachi’s ponytail.
“Thanks.” The queasiness in his stomach had tapered off with the feeling of Shisui’s fingers combing through his hair and he managed to give his friend a timid smile in return.
“Boys!” Shizune called as applause rang out behind the black curtain and a few tiny dancers slipped backstage. “Line up!” She swept a strand of hair from her eyes and smiled brightly at her students as they waited for the applause to die down. “Do your best.” She peeled the curtain open just enough for the next group of dancers to file out. Kimimaro, Shisui, Neji, Itachi, and finally Gaara, bringing up the rear with his cherry red hair, filed out onto the stage in their black tights and billowy long-sleeved white shirts. Itachi’s eyes panned across the audience in the silence preceding the music and landed on his parents, front and center, Mikoto with a hand on her belly and a smile on her face, Fugaku giving him a little thumbs up. Itachi gave a small nod and took a deep breath in, blew it out as the soft piano began to play.
…
Five little pairs of slippered feet padded backstage, filing out in a straight line like ducklings. Kimimaro, Neji, and Gaara melted into the mob of other dancers. Itachi followed, half listening to the eldest boy’s animated speech on flowers until he realized Shisui was still standing by the curtain, peering out at the emptying auditorium.
“Wait here, Itachi!” He called as he ran through the curtain and after his mother. Itachi watched him tug at her sleeve and jump up and down excitedly as she pulled something from her purse and handed it to him. He turned and ran back up the stairs and across the stage to Itachi.
“Here. Mom said you’re supposed to give flowers to someone who did a good job on something. The neighbors had nicer ones, but Mom wouldn’t let me take those.” He held out the bunch of tiny blue and purple flowers he’d picked that morning. “I didn’t have anything to tie them with.” Shisui ruffled the back of his spiky hair and gave Itachi a sheepish smile.
“They’re pretty.” Itachi slipped the pink ribbon out of his hair and looped it around the thin green stems. “Thank you.” He gazed down at the soft little petals as he followed Shisui and they fell in place at the edge of the little swarm of students Shizune was weaving her way through. Kimimaro peered over curiously at the flowers in Itachi’s hand.
“Congratulations on your first recital,” Shizune said warmly, crouching down and holding out a white ribbon stamped with gold letters for each of them. “Enjoy your weekend, boys. I’ll see you on Monday,” she sang as they thanked her and rushed off to show their parents.
…
“Good job, darling!” Mikoto beamed down as Itachi clutched the hem of her dark green dress and rested his head against her belly. “What do you have there?” He held the flowers up proudly, ignoring the folded ribbon in his other hand.
“Shisui gave them to me,” he chirped. “He said when someone does a good job, you should give them flowers.” Mikoto cupped a hand around his chin and tilted his round face up.
“He’s right. You did wonderfully.” Fugaku appeared at her side, dressed in an overly formal suit and tie and fanning himself with a program. He crouched down and gave Itachi a pat on the head. One finger lingered on the pink clips in Itachi’s hair questioningly, but he didn’t ask.
“Good job, son.” Itachi’s dark eyes widened and he met his father’s outstretched fist with a much smaller, paler one of his own.
~
“Sweetheart, these flowers are all wilted, don’t you think we should get rid of them?” Itachi glanced up at his mother, who was peering at the white shelf in his room designated to his growing collection of accolades. She picked up the dried bundle of little wildflowers Shisui had given him months ago.
“No, keep them!” He insisted. A chubby little hand closed around his finger. In his basket, Sasuke gurgled happily at his older brother. A line of drool dripped from his smiling lips and his feet, covered in the white cotton of a onesie printed with sailboats, kicked out excitedly. “He likes to hold my hand,” Itachi mused quietly. Mikoto knelt down on the carpet beside her sons.
“Of course he does,” she said warmly, smoothing a hand over Itachi’s hair. “You’re his big brother. He knows you’ll take good care of him.” She placed a kiss at the top of his head. “Oh, I’ve got to give you a haircut as well, it’s getting quite long.”
“No,” Itachi protested firmly with a shake of his shoulder-length hair. Sasuke released his brother’s finger with a squeal and shoved his small hand into his own mouth.
“Why not?” Itachi held up a finger and raised his eyebrows.
“Long hair suits me,” he quoted somberly.
“Well, of course, but it doesn’t bother you at all?” Itachi shook his head once again. Mikoto sighed. “Alright.”