I hailed from a small town nestled along the southern coast of California. It was one of those quiet places where the air seemed softer, and the sky bluer. The tallest point in town wasn’t a steeple or a monument but a cedar tree that stood proudly on a hill, Bunny’s Ledge they called it, named for the hares that wandered through the brush. And then, beyond it all, the Pacific Ocean, a vast and endless thing, marking the edge of the world as I knew it then.
Growing up by the ocean was to be in constant communion with its moods. The mornings would greet me with the cool, damp touch of saltwater on my skin, the gulls crying out from their kingdom above the waves. The smell of the sea was something I wore, like my own skin, its tang forever in my lungs. There were days when the sound of the surf was the only voice I heard, the steady rhythm of it, comforting.
But more than the sea, I loved the solitude. There was peace in being alone. On the walks home from school, the silence was my companion. I kept to myself mostly, avoiding the chatter, the pointless banter. It wasn’t that I disliked people—it’s just that I found more solace in their absence. As a result, I had few friends. Two, to be exact: Jeremy Fisher and Lola Brooks.
Lola and I were alike in that way, both quiet, both preferring the corners where no one looked. Jeremy, though, was the opposite. He was the storm in our calm, always finding ways to cause trouble. He picked fights, stirred up things where there was peace, a living contradiction to everything I enjoyed. Yet, despite that, he was the glue that held us together. We followed him, even when we didn’t always want to.
Our weekends became a ritual of sorts, gatherings that were Jeremy’s idea more often than not. Sometimes we’d play video games at my place, on the console my father bought me when he still lived in our world. Other times, we’d lose ourselves in anime at Jeremy’s, piles of DVDs spilling off the shelves like a scene from a caricature. Lola, she had her own peculiarities—her obsession with miniatures, tiny delicate things she’d spend hours arranging and studying. I never quite understood the appeal, but I liked the way it made her happy.
We were close, closer than I had ever been with anyone. But then, everything changed. Jeremy and Lola—they became something more, something I couldn’t understand or accept. I withdrew from them, not fully knowing why. The bond that had tied us together unravelled, and suddenly I was adrift, alone again. They were hurt, confused, and for the life of me, I couldn’t explain it to them. I couldn’t even explain it to myself.
It was just before graduation when everything finally fell apart. My mother, noticing my detachment, grew concerned when I decided to go to a university far away, in another state altogether. She didn’t protest much, though—that was the kind of person she was. And so, I left, and life carried on.
It wasn't all bad though. We were about to graduate from high school at the time of our falling out so the incident thankfully ended up being a short-lived affair. My mother was at first concerned about my very sudden decision to switch to another university in an entirely different state, but being the sort of person she was, that ended up also not being that much of a big deal.
With distance, I shed the things I used to love. The anime, the miniatures—all faded into memory. I found new distractions, new ways to pass the time, modding games, working odd jobs to help my mother after the child support payments stopped coming. My father had fled across the world, untouchable, unreachable, leaving us to fend for ourselves. I was seventeen then, too young to fully grasp the weight of his absence but old enough to feel it like a cold wind that wouldn’t leave my bones.
In time, I found Chris. He was a fellow student, a bunkmate in the dorms, friendly in a way that reminded me too much of Jeremy. Earnest, outgoing, the kind of person who wore his heart on his sleeve. We got along, but I never let myself get too close. There was a wariness in me now, something that had settled deep inside and made me hold back.
Years have passed since then. Sometimes I wonder if I was too hard on Chris, on Jeremy, on Lola.
Maybe I was.
"Itachi-kun."
I blinked, suddenly aware that I had been standing still for too long, blocking the doorway with a box in my arms. I set it down gently, stacking it by the others near the sliding doors. Behind me, my mother stood with Sasuke in her arms, her gaze disapproving as it met mine.
“You’re daydreaming again,” she said, her voice calm but firm. She shifted Sasuke in her grip, patting his back gently. “Hurry up with those boxes. Yakumi-san will be here soon to help with the luggage. Let’s not keep him waiting.”
“Yes, Mother.”
Our home was dear to me, and the thought of leaving it was like a dull ache that never went away. But the decision had been made. Lord Danzo had decreed it, and no one, not even the Hokage, protested it. Father accepted it, concealing his resentment. There was nothing to be done but to leave quietly.
As I carried the last box to the door, I caught sight of the empty room that had once been filled with the warmth of our lives. Now it was just space, hollow and cold, like something had been lost. I couldn’t say what it was—only that it was gone.
I tried not to think too much about the future. The past had already proven that some things were unchangeable, no matter how much I had wished otherwise. I could see the pattern now, like an artist’s sketch, the lines already drawn, the colours waiting to be filled in. Father had taught me what war really looked like. Sasuke had been born, and in the wake of his arrival, Obito's actions inevitably led to Minato's demise. The details varied, but everything truly important—the broad strokes—remained unchanged.
I gathered the last of my father’s belongings, folding the kimonos with care. Outside, the sky had begun to darken, casting long shadows over the house. Surveying the now-empty room, a faint frown creased my brow. Anger, once rare in my demeanour, now seemed to surface all too frequently.
Mother’s voice came from the hall, soft but insistent. “What’s wrong, Itachi?”
I blinked, the edge of my thoughts blunted by her words. I turned, smoothing the troubled expression from my face. Sasuke lay in her arms, fast asleep, his small face a picture of peace. For a moment, that serenity almost reached me, but it was fleeting.
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“It’s nothing, Mother,” I said, knowing she wouldn’t believe me. Without another word, I stepped outside with the kimonos I had been folding, where Yakumi was busy sealing our things into scrolls, ready for the move.
"Good evening, Itachi-san," he greeted as I placed the last of the belongings into his care.
"Good evening, Yakumi-san." I offered a nod. "Is my father back?"
He shook his head, his topknot swaying. "He is still at the station. Something urgent came up, but he wanted me to inform Mikoto-sama that he’ll return late."
"Understood," Mother’s voice came from behind me. She emerged, Sasuke in her arms, and cast me a glance. “Thank you, Yakumi-san.”
“It’s no trouble, Madam.”
Mother paused, her eyes lingering on me before she said, "I’ll go ahead with Sasuke. Itachi, help Yakumi-san with the rest of the luggage."
I nodded, reaching for the remaining scrolls. The task was simple, sealing away the scattered belongings of our lives. The new residence, while marginally larger than our previous abode, still exuded the aroma of freshly assembled fixtures. Outside, a small group of sparrows, preparing to roost, chirped energetically atop the fence. In the back garden, the rhythmic clack of the shishi-odoshi's bamboo arm against a rock filled the air, accompanied by the soothing trickle of water filling the decorative feature.
Inside, soft light from the shoji screens filtered through the rice paper, painting intricate patterns on the tatami mats. Mother had already settled in, rocking Sasuke gently in her lap as she looked out the window. Father had tried so hard to make the transition seamless for us, arranging every detail with great care. Yet despite his efforts, there was a longing in the air that the new place couldn’t erase. It clung to me too, lingering in the unspoken spaces of the in-between. I struggled to articulate what exactly was missing. Perhaps it was just sentimentality, rooted in the memories of my childhood home.
I sighed as I set the scrolls down on the table. Yakumi followed behind, carrying another box.
"Do you need help with the rearranging, Mikoto-sama?" he asked.
Mother smiled at him. "Thank you, Yakumi, but Itachi and I can handle it. You should go assist Fugaku. He will need you more than we do."
The shinobi bowed and took his leave. I echoed the farewell absentmindedly, already lost in the motions of unpacking. My thoughts drifted, carried by the monotony of the task. Sasuke soon drifted to sleep in the small wooden cradle that had once been mine. Mother joined me, working quietly until she excused herself to prepare dinner.
When I finished, the sun had dipped beneath the horizon, casting the world in hues of red and blue. The sky was bleeding, a crimson glow over the darkening trees that t deepened into a sombre blue. It was beautiful, undeniably, but there was a heaviness in the air, something that made my heart ache. I couldn’t shake it.
Crimson dawn unfolds,
Dark blue shadows fade away,
Senses come alive.
"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"
I nodded, unwilling to look away from the scene, until I was certain it was seared into my memories. Sharingan fading back into the obscure depths of my eyes, I finally turned to face Fugaku.
"Father."
"Son."
I hesitated. "I thought you had work to attend to."
The patriarch joined me, his demeanour stern as ever, even as he relaxed into a Tatehiza with one knee raised and the other folded underneath his body. "It's not so important that I cannot postpone it for another few hours."
I nodded before turning my gaze back to the darkening sky.
"...Itachi."
"Yes, Father?"
His voice was calm, almost detached, as if he were commenting on the weather. His face was carved in stone, unmoved by whatever undercurrent might have flowed beneath his words.
"It’s nothing," I lied.
He didn’t respond at first. He simply looked out at the horizon, his onyx eyes still fixed on the fading light, as if the answer lay somewhere within it. "I am your father," he said finally. "You are my heir. The Uchiha’s hope and future. If ever you need guidance, you know where to find it."
With that, Fugaku rose and began to head back toward the house. Something inside me stirred—an ache, a question that had been growing inside me for longer than I wanted to admit.
"Wait."
He paused.
The words caught in my throat, heavy, choking. The question pulsed inside me, dark and malignant, pressing against my chest until it hurt. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
"It’s beautiful, isn’t it?"
I nodded, unwilling to look away from the scene, wanting the image to burn itself into my memory. The Sharingan slowly faded, retreating into the dark recesses of my eyes. Only then did I turn to face him.
"Father."
"Son."
I hesitated. "I thought you had work to attend to."
Fugaku joined me, his movements steady, as if each step had already been made countless times before. He settled into a Tatehiza beside me, his posture as rigid as ever, even as he lowered himself to the ground with a semblance of ease. "It’s not so urgent that it can’t wait for a few hours."
I nodded again, my eyes wandering back to the sky, which was darkening with the coming of night. The last traces of colour lingered on the horizon, fragile against the encroaching twilight.
"...Itachi."
"Yes, Father?"
"Your mother tells me you’ve been behaving strangely."
His voice was calm, almost detached, as if he were commenting on the weather. His face was carved in stone, unmoved by whatever undercurrent might have flowed beneath his words.
"It’s nothing," I lied.
He didn’t respond at first. He simply looked out at the horizon, his onyx eyes still fixed on the fading light, as if the answer lay somewhere within it. "I am your father," he said finally. "You are my heir. The Uchiha’s hope and future. If ever you need guidance, you know where to find it."
With that, Fugaku rose and began to head back toward the house. Something inside me stirred—an ache, a question that had been growing inside me for longer than I wanted to admit.
"Wait."
He paused.
The words caught in my throat, heavy, choking. The question pulsed inside me, dark and malignant, pressing against my chest until it hurt. I swallowed, my mouth suddenly dry.
"...It’s nothing," I said at last, unsure if I really wanted to hear the answer, unsure if I could bear it.
For a long moment, Fugaku remained still. When he finally spoke, his voice was softer, though no less firm. "It’s alright, son," he said. "In time, everything will be clear. Just remember, we are here for you—the clan, your mother, your brother... and myself."
"We always will be."
I watched as he walked away, his broad back slowly disappearing into the house. The silence that followed was thick, pressing down like the weight of the night sky above. I sighed, the words I hadn’t said still lingering on my lips.
"I know, Father," I whispered to the empty air.
"That’s what makes it so hard."