[He wants to rage against that reply. It isn't irrelevant; none of this is, not when it's his trust hanging in the balance, which only proves to him that Itachi has no intention of bridging the distance between them to understanding. In the empty moment of such recognition, he finds himself staring at his brother's hands as they move. There is the dull gleam of nail polish, that flat blue on long, slender fingers — he realizes Itachi has changed the color. Not the purple he'd seen when those fingertips had pried into the socket of his skull in a genjutsu. At some point, Itachi sat down and meticulously painted his nails a new shade. Why this color? Why choose to continue a ritual part of the dead and buried organization of Akatsuki?

How well does he know his brother?]

If you can see that much, then you should know the answer to that question. Don't hide it behind my life. You wanted to die, and you wanted me to be the one to kill you.

[Sasuke's voice has lost its ragged edge; he is, at least, no longer on the cliff of some unknown violence. Stepping forward, he takes hold of a chair by the desk and sits down in it, eyes never far from his brother's figure.]

Am I wrong?

[Because he has seen it now — lying on a rock in the sun, hot tears in his eyes, thinking that death would be a better option than the future, forced to face all of the misdeeds behind him. That he is still alive is only to see Naruto's world prosper. Yet Itachi wasn't willing to live for his sake, and that is a greater betrayal to him now, with everything known.]