[Perhaps the memory of Itachi is powerful in that moment, because he's spoken it to being — but even the gentle, thorough, instructive way Cy speaks is another little tug at the frayed thread of familiarity, to a version of his brother that once existed a lifetime ago. The one who taught him how to be a shinobi when he was a child. Foundational memories, unearthed after so many years repressed in his mind by the taint of hatred.

A slow nod. He pushes his face into Cy's warm shoulder, listening to the slow beat of a heart. He understands what is meant without it being clarified.]

Good. [It comes out honestly, the scene having worn him down to a bed of contentment.] Better than good. I never imagined something like that could feel so... satisfying. Even the pain. [His head tilts up, butting gently against Cy's chin.] How are you?

[A thought occurs to him, then.]

You still have those pictures.