Chapter Text
ITACHI HAD ALWAYS LOVED BOOKS. Even looking back to his younger years, books have always provided comfort. To find the words that he himself cannot express; to know that there is someone out there who shares the same sentiment, provides some sort of reassurance towards the ideas that he’s formed. The pages were rough in his calloused palms, and each turn of the page pushed a sense of wonderment inside his running mind. It is a place of sanctuary where only he, his thoughts, and words were present, allowing for the exploration of his mind and views of the world. They provide a personal perspective from an outside source, which is beneficial for comparison and continuous improvement of the self.
Books— words are swords that could pierce anyone’s hearts and mind. They could sustain and deform principles that a person once had, sharpening each edge to be more prominent and to stand out amidst thousands of other thoughts and ideals in order to become a principle. It strengthens one’s belief due to its reassurance and gives way towards the communication between not just you and yourself, but also towards others. It is a process of subconscious persuasion, slowly spilling ideas to another with each letter and word, and it just makes you feel .
And so, when Itachi is alone, he reads. Even now that time has passed, running over his toddler, teenage, and the short span of his adult years. Every space that he could allot between his tight schedules, he reads as a form of trying to fulfill his selfish desires. Selfish desires such as being able to attain peace mainly for people that existed to him. The selfish desire to have any sort of companionship even amidst the sins he has committed. And the selfish desire to be able to truly live .
He exchanges his desires temporarily and makes it relatively real using the words that he reads and his mind as a medium. Creating a world inside his mind that wasn’t like the reality he lived in. There is only a place where the plot resides, and he lives for a while and reaches that unattainable peace through the thoughts that run rampant in that moment. And when it ends, Itachi is alone again, with the excruciatingly lonely reality crashing onto his shoulders, and then his mind comes back to his Sasuke.
Itachi had always been alone, but thinking about his brother provided solace yet at the same time, pain. But he steels himself, remembering the duty that he had placed upon himself for the betterment of humanity. There is no room for self-pity when you have made your bed. You must lie in it, no matter which manner you have arranged it and no matter how uncomfortable it feels because you have chosen this life the moment you’ve learned how to hold a kunai.
(This is for everyone but most especially Sasuke. You cannot give up, no matter how painful it is.)
But towards the end of everything (the end of Uchiha Itachi), he is thankful that he isn’t alone. He disregards his duty and embraces the desire that is buried deep within himself and ignored. He remembers touching his brother’s forehead for the last time.
(He hopes his otouto knows what his big brother is trying to express.)
“Forgive me, Sasuke. There won’t be a next time.”
And he remembers a genuine smile that laid on his own lips. It felt so foreign but his otouto’s face is what he focuses on in hopes of desperately clinging onto the visage and bringing it even after he’ll lose human consciousness.
“No matter what you decide to do from now on,”
His otouto’s hair is soft in his hands, and he felt pieces of dust and dirt from the battles he had faced.
“I will love you forever.”
Even beyond the life he’s lived. Much further than death. And even farther towards a state that he, Uchiha Itachi, can no longer exist. But his love always will.
(His love remains, yet unfortunately, his soul is too, and it is alone once again.)
The city greatly contrasts that of the scenery he used to witness in Konohagakure no Sato. Japan, mainly in Musutafu, had many connected roads built on the surface of its land. Thousands of individuals crowded the streets on weekdays and even more on weekends, and the whole country was many times more populated than Konoha that only had around 80,000 individuals including children. Even just Musutafu itself was more populated than the country he had once lived in.
And though many individuals resided in the same place he did currently, Uchiha Itachi is still alone.
He is alone, but with the comfort of books. This modernized place had many more books ranging from academic to fictional pieces that could put the whole Land of Fire’s libraries together to shame.
Dangos were also a thing here, which is great, along with the varieties of Onigiri with different flavors. This place was pretty much heaven, but Itachi couldn’t bring himself to appreciate what he now has when he held onto the memories of what and who he has lost.
(Sasuke… I wonder how you are doing now?)
He sets the book down on his lap for a moment and peers out through his apartment window. The cluster of buildings from his view and their lights all conjoin like orbs of light put together in strings, or stars that shone brightly at night. It’s busy, from the sounds that they emitted from a distance. Engines mixed with chatter all sounded like the rain pelting on the window sills during weak typhoon seasons, though much more muted. It’s like looking down at the village from the top of the Hokage mountain to see people and their idle chatter along with the noises from their activities.
Itachi misses the atmosphere of his village.
The noise here is different, sort of like a muted chaos from every corner of the world. The apartment beside his happens to be the most particularly loud for him, and it most certainly isn’t the pleasant kind.
He hears repeated slapping of feet against the floors then fragile glass breaking. It’s muffled because of the walls, but even then, Itachi jolts from the sound. They remind him of broken and run down homes he’d pass by in the red light district when he was a shinobi.
“I fucking hate you!”
He wonders how families could ever turn out to be like this. The family he once had was not perfect, but never once had Itachi witnessed his parents throw objects at each other with or without the intent to harm. He had never heard them scream profanities nor thrown punches at each other. They were not expressive nor affectionate, but Itachi knew that his parents had loved each other.
But this, for a moment, he wonders what would happen to him and his otouto if they were in an environment just like this—just like his current apartment neighbors.
No.
He shakes it off, dipping his head down slightly to get back to reading.
Thinking about them now is useless.