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Despite being in an enclosed space, the rushing of leaves and the redundant noise of cicadas is what he hears at first.
Then soft skin caresses his hand. Young and unmarred. Virgin hands which know no weapons, no wars. Yet to be marked by blood.
But if it had been for Itachi, his little brother’s hands would have never been tainted with such actions.
He looks at him. The elder brother glances at the younger one. He returns the stare. For a brief moment the future looks into the past, and the future gets a taste of what once was.
Sasuke’s eyes were always excellent at conveying emotions. Now he is older, seventeen, to be precise.
His three tomoes are dull compared to how brightly his Sharingan shines. With hatred.
Hatred for him. For his big brother.
In the darkness of that place Itachi sits in silence, on his throne built of lies, and remembers.
A light glimmers, it comes from Sasuke.
Suddenly, the rushing of leaves and sounds of cicadas become louder. Real. He can smell the grass.
Sasuke is seven again, and he smiles at him. He laughs, and he runs toward his big brother, urging him to get up by pulling at his hand.
Big brother.
The vision ends, seventeen year old Sasuke reappears in front of him, simmering with hatred from all his pores. From the deepest parts of his being.
That’s all that’s left after Itachi.
But that innocent and joyful child is all he will take with him.
Sasuke lunges at him, and Itachi lets his face form the faintest of smiles. He wouldn’t mind dying right now, in this moment, but his job wasn’t done yet.
Sasuke, if you knew how much I have truly wronged you. If I had told you, that hatred is not the answer. If I had told you that everything I have done, I have done for love.