If you wish to leave, you need only ask. No one is here against their will.
๏ผ he's seen so many people come and go. kakashi, still, somehow, is a wound.
what is the boy's regret, he wonders? shinobi lives are a footpath of them, each flagstone a shrine to some lost cause, or battle, or loved one, or dream. similarly, he knows full well that naruto cares for sasuke enough for it to be about him in some regard, and there is a spark of selfishness, a moment where he weighs the odds of two people with like goals succeeding where one may not be enough.
but for a lonely boy he met once on a swing, there are other options that hold no less weight. it could very well be the yondaime and uzumaki kushina, whose deaths had been a matter of hushed debate in the makeshift uchiha quarters after the destruction of their compound. later — too clearly — he remembers holding his mother's hand as they peered into the nursery where naruto, newly born and stripped of his paternal name, had lain. itachi has a clear, curious image of shifting his attention from the baby whose significance he had not understood then to where his mother was suppressing a sob, the way her hand was knotted in the sling where sasuke had been sleeping peacefully against her chest.
naruto has no way of knowing how desperately uchiha mikoto had wanted to take him in. she had gone all the way to the sandaime, had scraped her knees on the tatami in obeisance asking. but the uchiha, shimura danzล had said from sarutobi hiruzen's right side, could not be permitted to control the nine-tails again.
(already, then, he was —)
conversely, the memories itachi has of namikaze minato are more amorphous than pleasant summer afternoons spent tucked in against his mother's side as she and kushina talked and laughed and loved one another so fiercely that the warm memory is haloed with that gentle affection. he remembers his father playing shogi with the yondaime, who used to ruffle itachi's hair on leaving. and that is more than naruto ever knew of them both. those moments, frozen in the memories of a dead man, out of reach.
naruto knew loss before love. perhaps that is why itachi turns away, a moment to marshal himself before he continues — ๏ผ
It will only be tonkatsu.
๏ผ simple, easy fare. he is a utilitarian cook, nothing more. ๏ผ
no subject
๏ผ he's seen so many people come and go. kakashi, still, somehow, is a wound.
what is the boy's regret, he wonders? shinobi lives are a footpath of them, each flagstone a shrine to some lost cause, or battle, or loved one, or dream. similarly, he knows full well that naruto cares for sasuke enough for it to be about him in some regard, and there is a spark of selfishness, a moment where he weighs the odds of two people with like goals succeeding where one may not be enough.
but for a lonely boy he met once on a swing, there are other options that hold no less weight. it could very well be the yondaime and uzumaki kushina, whose deaths had been a matter of hushed debate in the makeshift uchiha quarters after the destruction of their compound. later — too clearly — he remembers holding his mother's hand as they peered into the nursery where naruto, newly born and stripped of his paternal name, had lain. itachi has a clear, curious image of shifting his attention from the baby whose significance he had not understood then to where his mother was suppressing a sob, the way her hand was knotted in the sling where sasuke had been sleeping peacefully against her chest.
naruto has no way of knowing how desperately uchiha mikoto had wanted to take him in. she had gone all the way to the sandaime, had scraped her knees on the tatami in obeisance asking. but the uchiha, shimura danzล had said from sarutobi hiruzen's right side, could not be permitted to control the nine-tails again.
(already, then, he was —)
conversely, the memories itachi has of namikaze minato are more amorphous than pleasant summer afternoons spent tucked in against his mother's side as she and kushina talked and laughed and loved one another so fiercely that the warm memory is haloed with that gentle affection. he remembers his father playing shogi with the yondaime, who used to ruffle itachi's hair on leaving. and that is more than naruto ever knew of them both. those moments, frozen in the memories of a dead man, out of reach.
naruto knew loss before love. perhaps that is why itachi turns away, a moment to marshal himself before he continues — ๏ผ
It will only be tonkatsu.
๏ผ simple, easy fare. he is a utilitarian cook, nothing more. ๏ผ