（ the lack of immediate violence is notable because it is the exception rather than the rule of their engagements with one another. sasuke... what itachi can feel of his chakra, that soft stirring of energy he first felt so long ago when he was enshrined in their mother's body, and had loved then with an unshakable resolve that could have cracked the world in twain, is not angry. it is absent the cold fury that marked their last meeting, the blistering white-blue heat of a flame that had burned too hot, too long, eating carbon from the bones of their kinsmen.
(it was the last light he recalls, from before the end.)
there are lies he could tell, dismissals he could make. but the lack of direct action and hostility have piqued his interest, and he is... annoyed with the gaps in his knowledge, filled in by his brother's manner, by the lack of his dominant arm, the absence of hostility. sasuke takes the tea, and does not fuss. alarming.
pieces come together like kintsukuroi, joined at the edges of old fractures. something has happened. his mind slides to madara instinctively — he is aware of that failure, that he lived to speak with kakashi and divulge a sad story that was not his to tell. he cannot tell without touching sasuke if the amaterasu he had sealed into him has gone unused or not.
did kakashi tell him? he would not put it past the fool to meddle. it would explain — hm.
honesty, then. for now. he can set a snare with it, and spring it once satisfied. ）
A year.
（ his injuries are healed, his hair is longer — he has not troubled himself to cut it. his nails are dark blue, meticulously done. but just as much: he is better rested, the lines beneath his eyes not nearly so pronounced. he has put on muscle, clear months of conditioning and work evident even beneath the loose clothing he wears. evidence enough of truth to his declaration. ）
no subject
(it was the last light he recalls, from before the end.)
there are lies he could tell, dismissals he could make. but the lack of direct action and hostility have piqued his interest, and he is... annoyed with the gaps in his knowledge, filled in by his brother's manner, by the lack of his dominant arm, the absence of hostility. sasuke takes the tea, and does not fuss. alarming.
pieces come together like kintsukuroi, joined at the edges of old fractures. something has happened. his mind slides to madara instinctively — he is aware of that failure, that he lived to speak with kakashi and divulge a sad story that was not his to tell. he cannot tell without touching sasuke if the amaterasu he had sealed into him has gone unused or not.
did kakashi tell him? he would not put it past the fool to meddle. it would explain — hm.
honesty, then. for now. he can set a snare with it, and spring it once satisfied. ）
A year.
（ his injuries are healed, his hair is longer — he has not troubled himself to cut it. his nails are dark blue, meticulously done. but just as much: he is better rested, the lines beneath his eyes not nearly so pronounced. he has put on muscle, clear months of conditioning and work evident even beneath the loose clothing he wears. evidence enough of truth to his declaration. ）