Miyu wakes on Saturday morning to the smell of tea and something cooking. Curious, but knowing it can only be one of three people, she gets out of bed to wash her face and brush her teeth.

  Still in just the short, light yukata she wears to sleep, she pads out into the main living area.

  Itachi is at her stove, and on the island bench is a breakfast spread he’s obviously just about finished preparing.

  “You’re home,” she knows he can hear the relief in her tone, but she doesn’t really care. It’s been weeks, and – and –

  “I missed you.”

  She steps up behind him, wraps her arms around his waist. Her cheek rests between his shoulder blades as she soaks in his warmth.

  “I’m back,” he hums, one of his hands sliding to rest atop hers.

  They eat breakfast as Miyu fills Itachi in on her role at the shogi school.

  “How was your mission?” she asks as they’re cleaning up.

  The corner of his mouth tightens imperceptivity. She traces the stiff lines his body makes, the pale tone to his skin, and she can’t shake the notion that he’s somehow off.

  “Itachi,” her voice is low and soft, “why do I get the feeling something isn’t right?”

  His eyes dart to hers for just a moment before he looks away.

  “It’s nothing.”

  Miyu clenches her jaw for a brief moment before continuing to wipe the bench down.

  “If it were nothing,” she keeps him in her peripherals, watching as he starts on the dishes. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”

  He huffs out a sound that could be a laugh, and she sees the second his shoulders tense. He’s in pain?

  “You notice more than you realise.”

  Miyu stares at his back. There are clues, she knows. The glasses, his refusal to get them. The deepening of the tear troughs on his handsome face. The way he goes tense at random intervals, the constant pallor to his skin.

  It’s a gamble, but she’s not new to those.

  “You’re ill.”

  He freezes for half a second, and then continues scrubbing at the pan he’s working on.

  It’s almost a confirmation.

  “How long has this been going on?” she can’t help the tremor in her tone. This foolish man, gods. As though his line of work isn’t dangerous enough, he –

  “I’m fine, Miyu.”

  “Don’t lie,” she snaps, making her way around the island before she throws her cloth into the sink. “Not here. Tell me.”

  She stares at the side of his face and watches his unreadable expression.

  “Itachi,” she steps closer when he looks like he’s going to brush her off again. “Please.”

  “A few months.”

  Her breath just barely catches in her throat. He acts like he doesn’t hear it as he shuts the tap off and reaches for a tea towel to dry his hands. She watches him do it with imploring eyes, but her mind is racing through the possibilities, the what, the how and most importantly, the why.

  These are the things she knows about Itachi;

  He is skilled, respected, has led teams since he was a young teen. As the clan heir of the Uchiha, he’s well-bred and it shows in every word that passes his lips. He loves deeply – this village, his brother, even his teammates.

  Selfless and dutiful, Itachi will do what must be done, if only so others don’t have to.

  And he is thoughtful, gentle, and kind. With no love for violence or war or conflict.

  “You don’t want to fight anymore,” she murmurs, more to herself than Itachi, but his eyes dart to her, glowing red.

  “This is – some kind of attempt to be stood down?” she frowns, thinking. “No. Not that, you’re too dutiful.”

  She can feel him staring, but her mind is too busy forcing the pieces around the board, looking for the sweet spot that is the resolution.

  “Your clan. No, your brother.” She runs a hand through her hair, “If you were to be out of commission, he would fall into the position of clan heir. You… don’t want that for him?”

  She turns and paces a little.

  “Not that you want it for yourself. But you couldn’t pass it to him in good conscience. The responsibility isn’t something you ever wanted, and you worry what it would do to him-”

  She stops, because for the first time she’s watching his face and it’s all there.

  His confusion, his indecision. The struggle of what he’s putting himself through every day. The knowledge that he can’t go on like this forever. Doubt, and uncertainty, and –

  “You brave, selfless man,” she sighs, and then she steps forward and up onto the tips of her toes and pulls him into a tight hug.

  He says nothing. Only fists his hands in the back of her yukata and lets his forehead press against the crook of her neck.

  “Come on,” she makes to pull away, but his arms only tighten around her. “Just to the couch.”

  A blink, the rush of air unsettling her hair, and she’s sitting across his lap, arms still locking him into her embrace.

  “This isn’t something you should be shouldering alone,” she murmurs, letting her hands toy with his hair softly.

  “It’s not something I wish to burden anyone with,” his voice is coarse, breath tickling at her skin where her yukata has slipped from her shoulder.

  “Burden?” The word comes out half a laugh. “Itachi. You’re not the cause of burden between us-”

  “Miyu-” he begins to pull away from her.

  “Shh,” she lets him, placing her hand at his cheek to look into his dark, troubled eyes. “I trust you. More than just about anyone right now.”

  She swipes her thumb along his face, gently tracing a tear trough.

  “I’m asking you to trust me, Itachi.” Their faces are so close now. Her nose is tingling from where it’s almost touching his. It’s a parallel to a different time, where the fire cast an odd glow to their faces and the space between them was abuzz with his gentle, warming chakra.

  Only now it’s mid-morning within the walls of Konoha. She has to blink the shadows off Itachi’s face, and pull herself back from him a little to stop smelling the smoke of their bonfire.

  The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.

  “Okay.” The word is spoken so softly she almost misses it. If she hadn’t been staring at his lips, she would have. The magnetism between them winds tighter, and slowly she feels herself leaning in.

  “Good morning, Mi – oh!”

  With a gasp, Miyu jerks back. Itachi saves her from falling onto the floor by pulling her tighter to him for a moment.

  Sakura stands in the doorway to the balcony, looking sheepish, but also intrigued. Her bright green eyes drink in the sight they make on the couch with a sharpness Miyu knows is deadly. She and Itachi let go of each other at the same time, and Miyu stands quickly, clearing her throat and straightening her robe with steady hands.

  “Good morning, Sakura-san,” she greets with a polite smile, “let me fix you up some breakfast.”

  “No, no,” she waves her hands before her with a smile, though her eyes don’t leave Itachi’s form on the lounge. “I ate already, thank you. I came to check in on you, but it looks like I’m intruding-”

  “Nonsense,” Itachi says, standing and making for the kitchen. He offers Sakura a raised brow as he turns on the kettle and after a moment of hesitation, she steps into the living area and shuts the door behind her.

  “Say, Sakura-san,” Miyu begins conversationally as she pulls out some fruit from the fridge. “You’ve been a medic for… was it three years now?”

  “Four,” Sakura corrects, taking a seat at the island benchtop.

  “Ah, yes,” Miyu slants a look to Itachi in which she imbues her will for him to trust her. “Would you be so kind as to remind me of the patient-confidentiality terms you briefly mentioned a few weeks ago?”

  Sakura’s clever eyes dart from Itachi back to Miyu in a heartbeat.

  “Of course,” she says, and then recites the terms as though reading them from a textbook. Miyu hums and nods and when Sakura finally reaches the end of them, she puts forward another question.

  “So to clarify,” she says pushing a plate of freshly washed berries before Sakura, “if an individual were to come to you in confidence, asking for your help in being discrete, the only other individual you would be compelled to notify would be either the patient’s assigned counsellor, depending on circumstance, or the Hokage?”

  “Correct,” Sakura nods, and then lets her gaze slant over to Itachi as she pops a blueberry into her mouth.

  The man in question is doing a very good job pretending to be busy pouring three cups of tea.

  “In essence,” Miyu smiles at Sakura but is very much talking to Itachi, “nobody needs to know given you are equipped to deal with the situation yourself?”

  Sakura isn’t smiling anymore. Instead she’s looking very worried.

  “Miyu-san,” she begins, “is everything okay? Would you like to speak in private?”

  Miyu blinks, taken aback.

  “I can promise you I’ll be discrete,” Sakura says in the small pause that follows.

  “Good,” Miyu nods, and then looks to Itachi. He sighs, puts their teacups before them, and then disappears and reappears in a flash.

  “Privacy seals,” he says, seemingly for Miyu’s benefit only. But Sakura is looking increasingly blank-faced, and Miyu wonders whether she will be able to help Itachi after all.

  “I would like to request a check-up, Sakura-san,” Itachi’s voice is cold, professional. His face is a calm mask, disturbingly polite in contrast to the easy relaxation he’d displayed not five minutes earlier.

  “You? A check-up?” Sakura’s eyes haven’t left Miyu’s form.

  “Yes.”

  Miyu watches Sakura’s face carefully as she stands and gestures to the lounge. Itachi walks over stiffly, and she feels a pang of guilt for putting him through this.

  Sakura sets a hand, green and glowing against Itachi’s back. In the ensuing silence, Miyu sips at her tea and stays in the kitchen, hoping to give them both some distance.

  Ten minutes pass. Miyu pads over to her laundry, removes her things from the dryer, and folds them on her bed. She has a shower, changes into a pair of loose, flowing pants and a long-sleeved black turtleneck, and heads out into the living room.

  They are still there, so still that she’d be concerned if she couldn’t see the soft movement of their breathing.

  Glancing to the clock, she gets to making lunch. Sakura will surely be hungry by the time she’s finished doing whatever she’s doing.

  Settling on an easy stir-fry, she lets the sounds of her knife meeting the chopping board create some background noise as she prepares the ingredients, trying to keep her eyes from Sakura as the medic’s brow creases in concentration.

  By the time she puts some rice into the cooker, Sakura has begun to pull away.

  “You are one of the most irresponsible, bone-headed-”

  Sakura sucks in a sharp breath and cuts herself off.

  “Would you prefer for Miyu-san to leave the room?”

  Miyu sets the knife down and meets Itachi’s eyes, already turning her body to head to her bedroom.

  “No,” his voice is hoarse and she wonders if he’s in pain.

  Sakura seems a little taken aback at that, but after a moment she powers on.

  “As of forty minutes ago, you were three months out from lung failure.”

  Miyu’s hands clench hard in the fabric of her pants, and she has to focus for a long moment on keeping her breaths even.

  “Tuberculosis is contagious,” Sakura tells him, and she notes that he doesn’t look surprised.

  “Jutsu,” he says, as though that explains anything.

  “Itachi,” Sakura’s tone is cold. “You can’t go on missions like this-”

  “No one can know,” he doesn’t leave room for any argument.

  Sakura’s nostrils flare for a brief moment before she seemingly reigns herself in.

  “This will take weeks to treat. What I did today wasn’t sufficient. You’ll need to take medication that may impact your performance-”

  “I will make do,” he stands, and Miyu tenses as the air seems to come alive between the two ninja.

  “The Hokage must be notified,” Sakura doesn’t sound like she wants to be the one to break this particular news. “I will treat you, but you need to take this seriously, Itachi. Now where the hell do you think you’re going? You think I didn’t notice your eyes?”

  Miyu feels a slow smile beginning to form on her face as Itachi takes a seat once more.

  “We can meet for your treatment here, given Miyu-san allows it.”

  “Of course,” there’s no question about it, “you’re more than welcome to use me as an excuse, both of you.”

  Itachi turns his head to meet her eyes. She smiles at him, feeling lighter than she has in weeks. He’s letting them help and the thought that he trusts her enough to let her in on this – something he must have been hiding for months, maybe even years? That small thought keeps a smile on her face for the rest of the day.

  .

  “Miyu,” Itachi’s smooth voice pulls her from her intense focus. With a slight start she realises she’s been staring at the shogi board set on the coffee table before her for much too long, motionless.

  “Hm?” She looks to him, tilting her head curiously. She has to lean around the bulk of the couch a little to see him from her place on the floor. He’s been labouring over his homemade mochi for the better part of the afternoon, but somehow his pale purple apron is spotless. The orange glow to her apartment alerts her that it’s getting close to sunset.

  “You just looked… very far away.”

  She lets her head fall against the couch, and shrugs. It’s been about a month since her world was turned on its head. Sometimes she’s alright. Other times. Well, other times she’s not.

  But Miyu’s done this before. Left one life behind for another – three times now. The thought of it happening again makes her feel ill. Trapped in endless games with herself, shogi tiles clicking along with memories, dissociating endlessly.

  “Hey.”

  Itachi’s murmur is soft, and when she blinks away her thoughts she realises he’s crouching right in front of her.

  “Why don’t we get a breath of fresh air?”

  Miyu nods silently and lets him help her to her feet. They recently bought some outdoor furniture – just a few wooden fixtures to entertain at most five to eight guests.

  They take a seat on the bench, and Miyu blinks up at the clear blue sky, tinged orange by the sinking sun. It’s not very cold for a day so close to winter.

  “I’ve been thinking,” Itachi begins, settling a hand atop hers in her lap.

  “Should I be worried?” She raises a brow and feels her lips twitching as he tilts his head in question.

  “Most things come so effortlessly to you,” she huffs in mock annoyance, “if you have to think about it, it’s probably serious.”

  Itachi gives her a small smile, but doesn’t retort.

  “Oh no,” she smiles and hopes her anxiety doesn’t shine through. “What is it?”

  He pauses for a moment, and then turns more of his body to face her, both hands atop hers now.

  “My clan,” he starts slow, and she wonders if this is when they finally address the elephant in the room. “We are renowned for our bloodline limit.”

  Miyu waits expectantly. She’d known that.

  “The sharingan is most famous for many well-known techniques, but there are a few which are more… subtle.”

  His gaze drops to their hands, and she turns her wrists to be able to hold on to him.

  “I’ve been testing something new, and yesterday it worked.”

  Miyu cocks her head to the side, “Congratulations?”

  Itachi flashes a smile and it lights up his solemn face. But it fades fast, and he’s left still staring at their hands.

  “That’s not what I’m trying to tell you, Miyu.”

  She raises a brow, “Then please do get to the point.”

  Itachi raises his eyes to meet hers, searching.

  “You told me you’re afraid to forget.”

  Miyu stills, barely breathing.

  “I just… need you to let me in,” he explains gently, “I’ll remember them with you.”

  Remember them?

  He would – he would do that?

  “How would it work?” Her voice wobbles, but he doesn’t comment on it.

  “I’d activate my sharingan, and step into whatever memories you want me to see. I can help remember more than just sight if you can recall it.”

  Miyu hopes her lip isn’t trembling.

  “And would you have that memory of them forever?”

  He nods once, slowly.

  “Forever.”

  Miyu shuts her eyes and lets herself think.

  “You would do this for me?” she feels him squeeze her hands, and she squeezes back.

  “I wouldn’t offer otherwise,” his voice hints at something deeper. She can’t focus on that exactly right now.

  “When?” she chokes out, because she’s hoping he’ll say now, but at the same time she wants him to say two years. It’s going to hurt, but she should do it while it’s fresh.

  “Whenever you’re ready.”

  She takes another deep breath, squeezing his hands again. They’re warm, calloused, steady. Thinks about the Okiya, about what it meant to her and how desperately she wants to cling to its memory.

  Slowly, she opens her eyes and meets his.

  “Ready.”

  Miyu watches as his dark eyes fill with swirls of red, until she’s staring at his sharingan. It’s beautiful.

  “Here we go,” he murmurs, and the ground seems to drop from beneath her. She doesn’t fall, though. Can’t, with his hands holding hers so warmly.