Arabesque

The corridors of Toho Gakuen are too big, too empty in the aftermath of daily classes. Too cold, Sakura thinks, her back pressed against steel lockers and her feet and bottom resting on cool tile. But it's nice, like this, the hallowed halls so different without the cacophony from students that usually fill them. The corridors are dim now, lit only with sunlight that filters in from the classrooms, all grey shadows cast about her. It's just Sakura, space, and a music than runs through her in gentle shudders.

Arabesque No.1. Sweet and melancholy, the notes of a grand piano drifting through the open door of one of the music classrooms. She closes her eyes and feels herself sink into it. It envelopes her completely, makes her want to cry at how perfect it is. And then it's over, silence taking its place for a few moments, and then the noises of some one packing up inside the classroom.

The muffled noises startle Sakura from her reverie. She stands up quickly, smoothing down the wrinkles of her uniform skirt. Her heart begins to race in her chest as she waits, hands clenched into fists by her side. It's too soon when it happens, and a young, handsome boy steps out of the classroom, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder.

"Sasuke," Sakura says, turning red as she tries to remember the words she practiced late into last night. Her eyes focus on some undeterminable spot past his navel, so that his torso is all she can see. His hand sits casually on his bag strap, and his shoulders slump just so. She imagines the expression on his face. Is it disinterested, like it always is? Cool and unaffected, but in Sakura's mind Sasuke is a glacier. So much more underneath that icy surface. He's a huge mass of feeling and depth, just waiting for some one to discover it. He has to be, because there's so much passion in his music, coming from the tips of his fingers as he plays. Sakura falters, her mind unable to supply her with the proper script. "That was beautiful."

Silence for several skips of her heart, much too loud in Sakura's ears.

"It's not a difficult piece," Sasuke says, after a small eternity. He sounds bored, and his body turns slightly, perhaps to gaze in a forlorn manner at the door leading outside. "Do you need something, Sakura?"

"I. . ." Sakura swears her face must be bright red. But this is it, now or never, and she won't be a coward here. "I like you, Sasuke. I want to know if you'll go out with me."

Those shoulders slump down just a little bit more, and Sakura hears a soft sigh echo in the hallway.

"I won't."

Sakura's head snaps up at the curt rejection, eyes finally coming to rest on Sasuke's face. He looks the same way he always does.

"I don't like you."

So that's where that expression comes from. . . brutal honesty. It feels like a dagger to her heart.

"And you don't like me." His voice is a little irritated, now. "You don't even know me. The only things you know are that you think I'm good-looking and play piano well. To be honest, I'm getting a little sick of these confessions from vapid schoolgirls th-"

A slap, loud in the confines of the hall, and it barely registers to Sakura that her hand hurts. Sasuke's left cheek is tinged pink now. Tears burn in Sakura's eyes, but she's determined not to shed any of them. She runs away, further embarrassed to see Naruto nearby and watching, his eyes curious and startled.

* * *

Naruto follows at a safe distance, as though he's stalking a stray cat.

"That was cruel, you know," Naruto says, in that tone Sasuke hates. Too self-riotous and knowing for an idiot who barely passes his classes.

"What do you know?" Sasuke asks, neither slowing down nor turning to look at Naruto.

"It's fine to be honest, but there's such a thing as being too honest. Sakura's a nice girl. A little flaky, sometimes, but her heart's in the right place. I used to have a crush on her, you know, back when we were first y-"

"Do you actually have a point?" Sasuke asks. He doesn't need to turn around to see that Naruto is frowning, eyes narrowed into semi-circular slits. He knows Naruto better than he cares to, despite their recent three years apart.

Naruto follows him until they get to the bike rack, and then he just shuffles on his feet as he watches Sasuke release the lock on his bicycle. Sasuke knows what Naruto is going to say next, because Naruto makes a habit of asking.

"A bunch of us are going out for ramen," Naruto says. "Do you want to come?"

"No," Sasuke replies, and he gets on his bicycle. He wonders why Naruto even bothers to ask when he already knows the answer. When he looks up Naruto's expression is some combination of hurt and resignation, and something else Sasuke can't recognize. But then Kiba's voice is shouting at Naruto from somewhere nearby, and Sasuke uses Naruto's momentary distraction to make good his escape.

Sasuke figures he can do without an idiot like Naruto, who seems to collect friends the way other people might collect keychains. Obsessively and pointlessly. And he can do without girls like Sakura, so willing to mistake infatuation for deeper emotions. But once he's on his bicycle they fade away, the increase in physical distance from them decreasing their presence in his mind. Sasuke bicycles along rolling streets, passes by his favorite park. If there is such a thing as peace this is it, that time he has to himself, in between school and home. He wishes it could last longer, but all too soon he finds himself outside a familiar door.

Sasuke enters to a conversation between two voices, dim and muffled between the wall of the living room and the foyer. He can't hear what they're saying, but he can recognize the voices, and the slow, polite way that they speak to one another. He takes off his shoes and pads closer to the common wall, knowing that if Orochimaru is there then they are probably discussing him. The words grow a little bit louder with every step, and when Sasuke presses his ear against the thin screen door they are clearly audible.

"He's not ready yet." Orochimaru says. "You know as well as I do how overloaded the profession is. There are minimal positions and thousands of people striving for them. Sasuke's talented, but it's not guaranteed that he'll ever be able to have a career as a concert pianist."

"Why not?" Fugaku asks. "Itachi was invited to perform with the Saito Kinen Orchestra at Sasuke's age. What was the point of Sasuke's last three years in Switzerland, if-"

Sasuke lifts his ear from the door, not caring to hear anymore. It's not often that he hears his missing brother's name spoken in this household, but each time he does the a torrent of emotions well up inside of him, stormy and bleak. He takes a minute to push them deep inside of him, then heads to the kitchen.

His mother is there, chopping up vegetables for the European-style dinners his father has grown to favor. He sits down at the counter. When Mikoto passes she ruffles his hair and presses a kiss to his temple, and he frowns at the small displays of affection.

"Is something wrong, Sasuke?" she asks. A plate of onigiri appears in front of him, and he picks one up as he waits for Orochimaru to finish.

"No."

After about twenty minutes they both appear, Orochimaru and his father. His father spares him one fleeting glance.

"Work hard, Sasuke," is all he says, before turning to retire to his study.

"Yes, father," Sasuke replies, almost spilling his onigiri in his rush to stand up and greet his father. He frowns at Fugaku's back as the older man leaves, tells himself that Fugaku must be feeling even worse today than usually. He turns to Orochimaru, who is watching him with that sly, calculating smile.

"You'll help me practice my scales and arrpeggios today," Sasuke says. "Then I want to work on some Mahler."

"My, my," Orochimaru says, smile widening, "you're so much more demanding then your brother was."

"Don't talk about him in front of me," Sasuke hisses, and the statement helps to calm the torrents that rise up inside of him again. Mikoto watches him, concerned, but doesn't say anything as Orochimaru and Sasuke leave the room.

The Uchiha household contains exactly one piano. A beautiful mahogany studio piano, situated in a room the Uchihas have come to call the library, so-named for the notebooks and binders of sheet music and instructional books that line the walls. As Sasuke runs through a scale, Orochimaru taps his fingers on the top of it.

"You've been practicing," Orochimaru says. "Though I shouldn't be surprised."

"It won't be long," Sasuke replies, "until I surpass you. I'll probably have to hire a better piano instructor then."

"Oh, Sasuke-kun, don't say that." There's a mock pout on Orochimaru's lips. Truthfully, he knows his job is secure. He teaches Sasuke at a discounted rate, and is sure they won't be able to find some one of his caliber for cheaper. "If you replace me, I won't have a student promising enough to make my compositions famous."

Sasuke doesn't bother to say that he had overheard Orochimaru's doubts about his skill and ability. He'll prove Orochimaru wrong. He'll prove them all wrong.

"I need to be better," Sasuke says. "I need to be perfect before November."

"And what, may I ask, is in November?"

"The Saito Kinen Orchestra is auditioning for next year's concert. I plan on being their pianist."

Thoughts swirl in Sasuke's head, one above all others. Not once has his father ever come to one of his performances. Always, always, there is one empty seat beside his mother. But if it's the Saito Kinen Orchestra, if it's the annual festival concert. . . Sasuke is sure Fugaku will come see him play. Maybe then his father will really look at him, and stop waiting for his prodigal son to return.

* * *

Sasuke dreams about a concert. The concert isn't some surreal phantom of an experience that his subconscious has lulled from the deep crevices of his mind. The concert is taken from memory.

At this concert, Sasuke sits in a box seat, his feet dangling above the floor. His heart beats fast, nervous and excited even though he is just a spectator. It's been too long since he's seen Itachi in concert, and he has been looking forward to this for months. The orchestra is huge, the crowd is huge, and he wonders if he will be able to see his nii-san from this distance. His mother places something in his lap, and he looks down to see some fancy binocular-type thing. His small hands wrap around it, and he picks it up to hold against his eyes.

There. He can see the grand piano, now, and he smiles, even though it is still empty. The lights dim. The crowd silences. The players come out to take position behind their instruments, and his father beams so much Sasuke swears that he is glowing. But then something goes wrong. There's a middle-aged man sitting down in front of the piano.

It's not Itachi. It's his understudy.

* * *

When Sasuke's not practicing piano or doing homework, he likes to take walks. Sometimes, he walks to a random train or a bus, and rides it to a random place. It helps him clear his head, helps him distract himself. And, besides, it's not as though he ever has any place particular to be.

It's raining today, but Sasuke decides to take a walk anyway. He's settled on a Rachmaninoff piece for his audition, and after playing it to endless repetition, he knows he has to give his fingers and ears some time to breath. So he grabs an umbrella and sets off, listening to the music pounding on the thin fabric overhead him.

Today he ends up in Shibuya. There aren't a lot of people out, which is to be expected. But it's still Tokyo, and there are always people out, so Sasuke sits down on a bench as he watches people walk by. The water on the wood seeps into his pants, but he doesn't really mind. He likes being outside, and it's only a momentary discomfort.

The people walking past him come in pairs or groups. Husbands with their wives. Schoolgirls, giggling among themselves. Two boys who are bickering in a way that would place them as either best friends or brothers. How tedious, Sasuke thinks, wasting energy to deal with other people like that. And yet he still can't stop watching, stays on the bench for more time than he should.

Finally, Sasuke gets up, ready to walk back to the train station. He wants to practice some more before he goes to sleep. Almost to the point of overload. He almost walks into someone at the street corner, both of them stopping to wait for traffic so they can cross the street.

The first thing Sasuke notices about this man is his height. He's much taller than the average person, and solidly built enough the Sasuke almost ricochets off of him. He has short, dyed blue hair that sticks up, tan skin, and a cell phone in his hand. He's not the kind of person any one would consider handsome. . . unless that any one was the man's own mother. And even that would be debatable.

At any rate, the man looks like bad company and is speaking too loudly into his cell phone. It disturbs every one at the cross walk, and two women send irritated glances his way as his voice drowns out their own conversation. Sasuke has to actively not listen, but then a name in the man's conversation pierces through his consciousness, and his focus is suddenly on that too loud voice.

"If you need a ride tomorrow," the man says, "I don't mind taking you. . . Yeah. . . Yeah, that's fine. . . I'm on my way over now, so I'll see you in a few minutes any way."

Maybe he imagined it. But, Sasuke swears that he heard. . .

"That's fine, Itachi-san. I'll see you in a minute or two."

Sasuke freezes. The man hangs up his phone and crosses the street. Sasuke is still frozen. He tells himself that there are plenty of people with that name. But something inside of him pushes him to follow the man, and he does so, for several blocks. The man disappears inside an unmarked building, sandwiched between a tea house and a book store. Sasuke hesitates in front of the wooden facade, heart palpitating wildly in his chest. It's a different Itachi, he tells himself, it's someone who has nothing to do with you.

He catches sight of something in the window. A slim back. Long, pitch black hair pulled into a low ponytail. Anger and bitterness well up inside him, but he runs away, away from the store and back to the train station, pushing down the thoughts that swell like a maelstrom throughout his entire body.

* * *

Sasuke can't practice properly. Everything that comes out of his fingers sounds dull and flat. He stops and decides to go to bed early, but all he can do is stare up at the ceiling. Memories come unwanted into his head, all of them involving Itachi.

Itachi at age eight. Sasuke is only three, but he remembers music. Sometimes halting, sometimes hesitant, a child stumbling over his scales. But beautiful nonetheless. Because even then, Itachi's talent was clear, and the melodies he played would form the soundtrack to the rest of Sasuke's life.

Itachi at age ten. A hot, stifling summer. The sky at dusk is purple and red, and the brothers catch cicadas in a cousin's back yard. The large, flying bugs are cumbersome and stupid, and it's not long before they have a whole box full. They let them free later, together, Itachi's hands warm over his as they both hold the box open. But a few days later all the cicadas are dead, and Sasuke cries when he finds an empty body still clinging to a leaf. Itachi wipes away his tears and presses a kiss to his cheek, and promises to treat him to ice cream.

Itachi at age eleven. Sasuke sits in his brother's lap in front of their piano, and Itachi's fingers move over his. Itachi's are long and slim, but Sasuke's are still plump with his youth. Itachi teaches him his first song. Arabesque No. 1, but so slowly that it's unrecognizable, devoid of the ethereal quality that makes it so beloved. It's not a song for a beginner, but Sasuke's not playing it to learn, at least not yet. He beams up at Itachi, and Itachi smiles down at him, and he wishes that he can play piano with his brother all the time.

Itachi at age thirteen. Itachi's late from school today, and Sasuke does his homework in the living room so he has a view of the front of their house. Every minute or so he looks up and frowns to see only pigeons or passing children. But then, halfway through his arithmetic homework, he hears the sound of bicycles spokes through the open window. He looks up, and Itachi is walking his bicycle into the courtyard. Sasuke drops his pencil, homework forgotten, and he runs outside. The Itachi brothers have grown to be as affectionate as their mother, and Sasuke wraps his arms around Itachi's waist in greeting, feels Itachi's arm come to lay along his back. Then Itachi is pressing something cold and metal into his hand, their fingers overlapping. A can of grape soda.

"Will you play piano with me?" Sasuke asks, and Itachi smiles as he nods.

"Of course, Sasuke."

Itachi at age fourteen. Their parents get into a car accident. Mikoto comes home right away, quickly moving to embrace her worried sons. They're up past their bedtimes, but no one's worried about that right now. Fugaku's in the hospital. An aunt comes to stay with them, and sometimes she and Mikoto talk into their night, the concern between them great enough that even a nine-year-old can pick it up. The medical bills grow vast over the months, and when Fugaku is released, it is with a permanent chronic fatigue, and a pain that flares up on a daily basis. It is unclear if he will be able to resume his current job.

One day Itachi and Fugaku are having some sort of discussion in the living room. Sasuke presses an ear to the wall, but can't discern the actual words that pass between them. Their voices are quiet, but that only belies the seriousness and tension that emanate from the walls. Sasuke frowns. Is his father mad at Itachi for something?

The door slides open, Itachi's lean fingers wrapped along the side. His father's voice floats into the foyer.

"The family is relying on you now, Itachi."

Itachi doesn't turn around, but he does nod. He notices Sasuke leaning against the wall. He smiles, but it's sad this time.

"Nii-san?" Sasuke asks. "Will you play piano with me?"

That day is the first day that Itachi will use a phrase that will grow common over the next two years.

"I'm sorry, Sasuke. Maybe next time."

Itachi at age fifteen. Itachi spends more time practicing piano, and no time at all playing with Sasuke. People are always coming to the house. There is talk of scholarships, concerts, world tours. Sasuke watches from the doorway when Itachi practices with Orochimaru. Itachi's eyes are dull when he plays. He doesn't smile anymore. But his music is still hauntingly beautiful.

Itachi at age sixteen. Itachi is invited to play with the Saito Kinen Orchestra during their annual festival. After that, the orchestra will spend six months touring Europe. The thought makes Sasuke sad, but not as sad as he thought he would be, not when his brother barely even looks at him anymore. Orochimaru is plotting marketing strategies. Itachi has already been hailed in the music industry as a child prodigy. More media attention, Orochimaru says, and Itachi can stand as a famous pianist in his own right. He can play his own concerts and go on his own tours.

The whole family looks forward to the Saito Kinen Festival. His father buys Itachi a new, expensive suit, despite their financial situation. But when the day comes and the spotlight shines down on that piano, Itachi isn't there. The three of them go home in silence. Mikoto makes Sasuke go to bed at the usual time, even though he wants to wait up for Itachi to come home. When he wakes up the next morning, he goes into Itachi's room to find it empty of Itachi's possessions.

Sasuke goes downstairs. His father is reading a newspaper in the kitchen. His mother is serving him rice porridge for breakfast.

"Where's nii-san?" Sasuke asks.

Fugaku bangs a fist onto the table. "From now on, you don't have a nii-san. We won't speak about Itachi again in this household."

Mikoto places her hand on Sasuke's shoulder. Her voice is infinitely more gentle than her husband's. "Itachi decided to leave us, Sasuke. He's not coming back."

Sasuke sits down. He keeps his eyes wide and unblinking, a trick to keep them from crying. He nods and takes a spoonful of the porridge Mikoto places in front of him. It burns his tongue.

For a month, Sasuke does his homework in the living room. Every few minutes he lifts his eyes to look out the window. But Itachi never walks his bicycle into that courtyard again. Without even saying goodbye, it's as if he never existed.

* * *

Itachi has exactly one photograph in his small bedroom. In this bedroom, there is a futon, which is currently rolled up neatly along the wall. There is a dresser. And on top of that dresser, there is that one photograph. Kisame stares at it as he waits for Itachi, who is in the bathroom brushing his teeth. He has never seen this photograph before. Come to think of it, he has never even been in this room.

Itachi comes back to the room.

"I didn't know you had a brother," Kisame says.

Itachi pushes the photograph so it lays face down on the dresser. "Let's go."

They leave the room, quiet as they walk past Madara's bedroom next door. But Itachi's uncle is neither a morning person nor a light sleeper, and they don't really have to worry. They walk down an old, narrow staircase to a small bar. Madara owns the bar, a small neighborhood place that is half dive bar, half outdated lounge. He owns the whole building, sandwiched between a tea shop and a book store. They walk outside, into the rain that has been a constant for the last few days.

"Itachi-san," Kisame says, and his tone is worried, "don't you think you should be more careful?"

Itachi is already getting wet, rain streaming down the contours of his face. He doesn't seem to be concerned about the rain, but he heads inside to get a coat for his friend's sake. He pulls up the hood as he gets back outside. Kisame has already started up his car, and Itachi climbs into the passenger seat before they speed off.

* * *

Sasuke finds a type of solace in one particular music room in his school. It has high ceilings and numerous windows. Space and light. The way the rain falls down the glass makes the windows look like waterfalls in miniature, and the music it makes helps Sasuke focus a little bit.

Orochimaru has noticed that his playing has been suffering. The older man hasn't said anything yet, but Sasuke senses that he will soon. So Sasuke spends his spare time in this particular music room, room 107, and forces Rachmaninoff from his fingers.

An hour later Sasuske all but bangs two fists into the piano keys. The violent movement creates an awful cacophony, ugly noises that echo in the room.

"Hey, Sasuke." The voice is hesitant, and Sasuke looks up to see Naruto standing in the doorway, a worried expression on his face. "Are you okay?"

Sasuke straightens and reaches for his school bag. He's done here for the day. "I'm fine, teme."

Naruto bristles at the insult. "Fine, dobe, see if I ever worry about you again."

But moments after he says it Naruto's half-angry features fall back into concern. Sasuke walks fast past him, and Naruto has to skip in order to catch up, falling into pace a few steps behind.

"We're classmates, you know," Naruto says. "Aren't we supposed to help each other?"

"I don't need any help."

Naruto doesn't say anything back, but his footsteps still follow. Sasuke wonders if another invitation out to eat is forthcoming. But when Naruto speaks it's not a question but a monologue.

"The other guys think you're an arrogant prick, you know. I don't get you either. You eat lunch by yourself in one of the music rooms. You never talk to anyone but the teachers. You never hang out with any of us. Isn't it lonely, not having any friends?"

"Who needs to be friends," Sasuke answers, getting onto his bicycle, "with idiots like you?"

Sasuke rides off, leaving Naruto behind. Naruto's overtures of friendship are the last thing he wants to deal with now. They're just another annoyance in his overloaded mind. He needs to get his head on straight. He needs to regain his focus before November.

Before he knows it Sasuke is riding his bicycle to Shibuya, indifferent to the rain that is pouring in torrents over him. The clouds inside him threaten an even greater storm, closer and closer to spilling over as he nears that small, brick store. Finally he is in front of it, just standing on the sidewalk, feeling as though he is about to throw up. He needs to take those last few steps towards that door, but it's hard, and it takes awhile for him to will his feet to move.

One step, and Sasuke can see five figures through the small, green-tinted window.

Two steps, and one of the figures is unmistakably Itachi. He wears his hair back in the usual ponytail, and is dressed in a black t-shirt and slim jeans.

Three steps, and Sasuke realizes that Itachi is smiling, a gesture both soft and amused. Somehow that smile is what sets him off. Sasuke remembers how withdrawn Itachi was the two years before he left. He remembers how Itachi never even said goodbye. Sasuke runs the last few steps, anger burning wet in his eyes. The door slams against the wall when he opens it, and the tall man he saw before blinks small eyes at him.

"We're not open yet," the tall man says.

There's a subtle expression of surprise on Itachi's features when he looks up. "Sasuke?"

Sasuke crosses the space between them quickly, and then he is lashing out. A solid right hook to Itachi's jaw. It connects with a loud thud and sends his older brother stumbling backwards. Sasuke doesn't bother to stop the tears, feels them streaming down his cheeks.

"How could you leave us like that?" He all but shouts. His voice is shaking, but right now he doesn't care. "Do you know how much we suffered after you left? And what have you been doing all this time? Running around and having fun. . . you don't even care what happens to us. . . you're a bastard, you know that?"

Itachi doesn't answer, doesn't look at him. So Sasuke runs out back into the rain. He's said all that he has to say to his brother.

Back in the bar, Itachi raises two fingers to his jaw, but it stings to touch. Sasori is as expressionless as ever. Deidara is dumbfounded.

"Huh," Kisame says, looking at the door, which is still swinging slightly with Sasuke's departure. "Your brother's even better looking that you are."

Madara takes another sip of his beer as he watches Itachi, but his nephew's face doesn't betray what he's thinking.

"Is it okay," Madara says, "to let your beloved little brother go like that?"

Itachi goes back to cleaning glasses, what he was doing before Sasuke's abrupt re-entrance into his life.

"It's fine," he answers. "It's better this way."

* * *

Sasuke falls asleep as soon as he gets home. He gets his blanket and mattress wet, but he doesn't particularly care. He's tired, but he feels better now than he has in the last few days.

When Sasuke wakes up, the heavy rain of the last week or so has slowed to a light drizzle. It barely makes a noise against his window. He gets up, the events of yesterday only a dull ache in the back of his mind, and spends a typical day at school. He feels more focused now. His confrontation with Itachi wasn't ideal, but the fact remains that he feels better than he had before.

Sasuke leaves the school eager to practice with Orochimaru today. He's walking out the school gates when he seems him. Pale skin and black hair, with features very similar to his father's. Sasuke remembers him because he's one of the people who was with Itachi at the bar. The man is staring at him, and an uneasiness grows at the pit of Sasuke's stomach as he steps closer. Finally he is in front of the man, and he can't help but spit out a greeting.

"What do you want?"

The man makes a tsking noise with his tongue. "Now, now, that's no way to talk to your uncle. And here I was hoping to treat my cute nephew to an after-school snack."

Some sense of recollection snaps in Sasuke's mind. An older brother his father almost never talks to. . . the black sheep of the Uchiha family. "Madara?"

Madara grins. "Bingo. So how about some mochi and tea?"

"I have a piano lesson."

"Don't worry about that, I already told Orochimaru to come an hour later."

Sasuke wants to protest, but it would be rude to do so with an uncle, even one who seems to be close with Itachi. So he nods and follows Madara a few blocks away from the school. They find themselves seated in a small booth, and Madara orders for them as Sasuke stares at the wood grain of the table.

"Did you know that Itachi always hated playing the piano?"

Sasuke's head snaps up to see Madara watching him. "That's not true."

"Isn't it?"

The waitress places two cups of tea in front of them, and Sasuke waits as Madara takes a sip. He wonders how this is relevant to anything. Itachi's name has him on edge, and his fingers grip tightly onto the edge of the seat.

"He only kept playing because your father pushed him to. And after Fugaku's accident, Itachi was supposed to be your family's meal ticket, wasn't he?"

"That's not how it was," Sasuke protests, "we all had to make sacrifices for the fam-"

"You know he didn't have time for anything else. He couldn't go see a movie with his friends. He couldn't take up any after school clubs. He couldn't spend time with you. All because he was always made to practice the piano. He was terribly depressed, you know. . . I couldn't stand to see my sweet little nephew so unhappy. I told him that if he really hated it so much, he should stop. I told him Fugaku would understand. So, really, it was my fault your father kicked him out of the house."

"He wasn't kicked out. Itachi left. He left us." Sasuke's voice holds conviction, but doubt starts to tug at the far reaches of his mind.

"Well," Madara drawls, "I suppose that's true. What were your father's words? If you're not going to play the piano, you won't live under my roof. . . something like that. I suppose Itachi could have stayed if he sacrificed his life to the piano, but if you ask my opinion, that's not much of a choice."

"Dad wouldn't have made him leave for such a small reason," Sasuke said, but even as he said it he wondered. "And even if everything you say was true, Itachi was still being selfish. When he left we still had medical bills to pay. My father couldn't work for a year after the accident. My mom managed to get a job cleaning houses, but it's not like that paid much. We were living paycheck to paycheck. It was so hard. . . and all that time, Itachi was off doing whatever the hell he wanted. He didn't give a crap about us."

"I wonder. . ." The way Madara stares at him is too measuring, too intense. Sasuke turns away at the force of his gaze. "Would you really be happy if Itachi had spent the rest of his life doing something he hated? Is that the kind of life you'd want for your brother?"

"He didn't even say goodbye," Sasuke all but hissed, his voice barely audible.

Silence stretches between them for a few moments, but then Madara reaches into a pocket.

"I was supposed to stick this in your mailbox on the way to the airport, but it's probably good enough to give it to you. Make sure your father gets it. And don't open it yourself, okay?" Madara throws a thick white envelope onto the table and winks at Sasuke. He starts to get up and throws some bills on the table..

"The food hasn't even gotten here yet," Sasuke says, but Madara only shrugs.

"Help yourself to it. You're all skin and bones, you know. I'll see you next time, kid."

Sasuke waits for Madara to leave before picking up the envelope. He doesn't wait for the food to arrive, and leaves as well. The envelope is surprisingly heavy in his hands. Don't open it yourself. . . but with words like that, it's as if Madara is prodding him. Besides, from the shape of it, Sasuke can hazard a guess as to what is inside.

His fingers pull back the flap of the envelope, and Sasuke stares down at a thick wad of yen. There is something else, as well, a scrap of white paper torn off from a larger sheet.

There is less here then usual, the note says, but I will make up for it next week.

The handwriting is Itachi's small, precise script.

* * *

When Sasuke gets home he finds his father with Orochimaru in the kitchen.

"You're late coming home," Fugaku says, but Sasuke's only response is to throw the envelope violently onto the kitchen table. Orocimaru looks between the two of them and reads the tension there.

"I think," he says, "I'll just come back tomorrow."

Sasuke waits until he hears the front door open and close before he explodes. "Did Itachi really leave, or did you kick him out?"

Fugaku leans back and sighs, putting his hands in his lap. "Itachi made his decision."

"So it's true." Sasuke clenches his fists at his side. "You kicked him out just because he wouldn't play the piano anymore."

"You speak as though it was just a hobby." Fugaku sounds almost as though he is scolding him. "You know it wasn't. It was Itachi's future. It was his livelihood."

"It's not the future he wanted. And he's obviously making a livelihood some other way, if he's sending us money."

Fugaku scoffed at that. "And what kind of livelihood is that? Days unloading cargo? Nights tending bar at some run down dive? Undignified, menial work."

"But you're not above taking the money he earns from that 'undiginified, menial work'!"

"Don't raise your voice at me," Fugaku sneers. His voice is so cold it makes Sasuke take a step backwards. "Why shouldn't Itachi help support this family? It's his duty."

Sasuke bites down on his tongue so hard it draws blood, but still he can't suppress the words that come out of his mouth. "What kind of father are you? You throw your oldest son out, but you still take the money he works hard for. What kind of father does that?"

Sasuke feels his head snap to the side as his father backhands him. His cheek stings.

"Go to your room, Sasuke," his father grinds out, "before I do something I regret."

Sasuke doesn't say anything else, only turns around and heads upstairs to his bedroom. When he gets there, though, he doesn't just lay down on his bed or opens his textbooks. He pulls out his duffel back and starts throwing his things into it. He doesn't want to be here right now. He doesn't want to be in the house. He doesn't want to be around parents like those. He packs up his bag and then throws it out the window, then grabs onto a nearby tree branch in order to follow.

There's really no question as to where he'll go. He doesn't have any other choice. He finds himself in Shibuya, in front of an old brick building, sandwiched between a tea shop and a book store. He pushes open the door. Itachi is alone this time, and looks up with the same softly surprised expression as last time. His jaw is swollen and slightly purple, a reminder of their last meeting.

"Nii-san. I'm moving in with you." Sasuke can feel his heart beating wildly in his chest. Itachi just looks at him, and Sasuke wonders if he'll have to sleep in some park tonight. Maybe he can sneak back into the school and sleep in one of the classrooms. But then Itachi sighs and looks down, and Sasuke knows that his brother will give in to him.

"Come on, then. I'll show you where you can put your things."