（ one of the things he has been doing to regain strength in his right arm is practicing his calligraphy in halts and starts.
so yamato, in exchange for what they left for him, gets a haiku, scrawled in elegant brushstrokes that are not quite perfect, the only indication of his injury's severity. it's left on a folded piece of paper pinned outside their door. ）
[ in the days when itachi doesn't really want to socialise much, yamato takes to visiting him for ten, fifteen minutes at a time — sitting outside his door, talking: they start with describing the different seasons in wano, the fire festival in the flower capital, then move on to mythology and tales that circulate in the land — about guardian deities, about a loyal fox that stayed by its owner until their death, about a samurai so revered he is considered a deity now;
they leave, always, after the tale of the day is done, but not before leaving behind something: a well-made okonomiyaki, some clearly home-brewed sake, kibi dango.
but after the haiku?
that day, yamato makes their way to itachi's door, and sits down.
speaks. ]
Did I ever tell you how I met my best friend?
[ they don't expect a response, but it's a polite pause they give nonetheless, for itachi to perhaps pause, himself, to listen... if he wants. ]
they don't ask for more than that, and that even barely. he does not think they expect to even be heard, so much as this is their expression of ... some nebulous ephemera he has little desire to name. yamato is the sum of many people for him — kisame's fierce strength and manners, the odd optimism and will of naruto, shisui's easy charm. he only knows that he has grown... tolerant of their presence.
he is not expecting anything to have been left at his door, so the first time they depart, leaving a neatly-wrapped okonomiyaki, he does not find it until much later, when it holds only the barest whisper of warmth.
he does not quite know what to do with it. contrary to his usual wariness, he does not expect that it's poisoned — only that it may be too rich for what his body is currently capable of handling in the throes of fever. it ends up being several meals' worth of food, consumed slowly over days, and otherwise kept in the small fridge he'd dragged out of a supply drop.
the sake he does not touch — he has spent years consuming kotarō, living in loathing of how it affected his self-control, and liquor holds no measure of interest for him.
the dango makes him smile, a brief flicker of emotion, there and gone. if that's the thing that leads him to leaving the poem on yamato's door, he wouldn't admit to it.
nor did he expect it to be the thing that brings them back, and leads to that rejoinder.
he is reading when he hears them, and after a short pause he gets up from his desk, and opens the door. ）
You haven't.
（ but this sounds more personal than tales of guardian deities and foxes, so after a clear moment of deliberation he steps out of their way, and indicates they should join him in his room.
his space is immaculate, and there are at best only cursory indications of personality. a tiny cactus, a series of books neatly stacked on a shelf. he clearly doesn't use the actual bed, for it is simply stripped neatly and its sheets and blankets folded at its foot. shang-chi brought him a futon, which is currently hidden in a cabinet. the room smells faintly of green tea and nail polish.
mildly — ）
Would you like to?
（ he rather expects he'd hear it anyway, even without asking. but it feels polite. ）
[ the disbelief on yamato's face is apparent when the door opens — sure, they feel itachi's presence coming closer, know to expect the door opening, and still their eyes are wide, an open book as they ever are.
after a pause, they nod, a jarring movement in their haste to express that yes, they'd very much like to! of course, there's the slight distraction of itachi's room — yamato looks around, un-self-conscious, not bothering or even thinking to hide their curiosity; though it's swiftly gone, as itachi's room very much corresponds to, well, itachi himself.
(briefly, yamato wonders if he's ever had a room like this to call his own, or if he has, when the time was he was conditioned into the habit of not showing anything of himself: like ready to move out at a moment's notice, like any little thing left is revealing too much.) ]
He came to Wano to kill my father, [ yamato starts with a fond smile — perhaps at odds with how the story begins. ]
I don't really care about him either, but he wasn't there, so it was my duty to protect the crew and the island while he was gone... so we ended up fighting.
（ he gestures for them to sit down. there are two chairs at his desk, one at its end and one in its middle, that make for quaint, comfortable conversation. he takes the one that faces the door, a long habit of hypervigilance. ）
I imagine that battle was quite fierce.
（ it's far from an empty platitude meant to spur conversation on. he has seen them fight, and knows them to be at least as dangerous as kisame himself. he doubts he could lift their kanabo without chakra infusing his muscles. ）
Yes, it was. He can command fire, so he's a formidable opponent. We fought to a draw, back then.
[ now, though yamato doesn't like to think of it, they have two years on ace and have trained more, more, more — perhaps were they to fight for real, now, the match would not be so even. ]
But he said something... when he realised I was being held in Onigashima against my will, he told me — your father has chained you here, but why do you let him chain your heart, too?
[ yamato looks down, smiling. ] We became friends after that.
[ and perhaps it all seems like a story without much of a meaning, but yamato, subtle though they are usually not, did not choose this for nothing — itachi, who has only ever seemed to be chained, now to his room, but even before that to a carefulness that guards him and his heart; what is it that you let chain your heart? could the question be, or perhaps why is it still chained, here?
not that yamato will ask it, any of it. but the questions hover in the air above them regardless. ]
（ the nuance is not lost on him. itachi is a man that has dwelt in subtleties and subterfuge most of his life. he can guess that there is a deeper meaning here to be had, and even at what that question — amorphous in the air — may be.
he is silent for a long moment, rising only to start the process of making fresh tea, which is a manner of bulwarks between them by the way it makes silence a permissible thing rather than an absence of immediate conversation. then, as the water is set to boil — ）
[ they are not bothered by the long silence, there — have never been, despite their louder personality. ]
I'd become so used to my life as it was — unable to leave, stuck doing what my father expected, despite what I wanted to do... he reminded me that my father could never control what I think and how I feel. That I could still be me, and stand true to my beliefs, even if I was unable to act on it all.
[ and perhaps this explains some of yamato's actions in giva: standing up for their beliefs when they were able, incapable of letting them go.
(but perhaps it is more, too, more that yamato doesn't even know of and doesn't know to suspect: standing true to your beliefs when unable to truly act on them... it may be something itachi can relate to, as well.) ]
（ he offers her one of the small clay cups he uses for tea as he sits back down, idly crossing long legs at the ankles. ）
Is your father a cruel man?
（ he certainly seems so. but a child's mind has a way of justifying a parent's actions. the desire to see the best in them is difficult to elude. itachi knew full well who his father was by the time he was perhaps seven years old, but fugaku — though ambitious more than cruel — was not without his flaws. ）
[ yamato accepts it easily, comfortable with the routine, taking a small sip of the tea. ]
I used to think that underneath it all, he only wanted the best for me. [ it is not a yes, but not a no, either — perhaps it's easy enough to read between the lines what yamato thinks, now. ]
He was the only family I had. In Onigashima, everyone is his underling, so I never had any friends, either... not until Ace. He was my first and only friend. And when he — [ yamato's eyes look into something that is not there, a rising sun and ace's vivre card burning up in their hands. ]
... I'd lived with knowing I had at least one friend, even if he was somewhere else. But after that, I was alone again. [ a sigh. ] I don't know what I hate Father more for, everything he's done to the country of Wano... or not allowing me to leave with Ace, so I wasn't able to be there for him when he needed me.
first and only friend. that isolation isn't something he would wish to share with another, but he does understand it — though he suspects what kept them so is different. itachi had always held himself apart on purpose, having little to nothing in common with his peers. yamato was kept separate due to their devotion to kozuki oden. he knows which of the two is worse — his, at least, was a choice.
if he had been with shisui when danzō attacked... he doubts it would have changed the outcome either of that fight or the clan's fate. but he understands the desire to have been by the side of one's only friend in harrowing moments.
yet despite that desire — ）
Would he have wanted you there?
（ would shisui? whose choice is that, truly? if one's desire to protect is at war with the autonomy of the one you wish to save? ）
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
delivery;
so yamato, in exchange for what they left for him, gets a haiku, scrawled in elegant brushstrokes that are not quite perfect, the only indication of his injury's severity. it's left on a folded piece of paper pinned outside their door. ）
氷の森 なお熱き野生の 心の臓
イタチ
no subject
they leave, always, after the tale of the day is done, but not before leaving behind something: a well-made okonomiyaki, some clearly home-brewed sake, kibi dango.
but after the haiku?
that day, yamato makes their way to itachi's door, and sits down.
speaks. ]
Did I ever tell you how I met my best friend?
[ they don't expect a response, but it's a polite pause they give nonetheless, for itachi to perhaps pause, himself, to listen... if he wants. ]
no subject
they don't ask for more than that, and that even barely. he does not think they expect to even be heard, so much as this is their expression of ... some nebulous ephemera he has little desire to name. yamato is the sum of many people for him — kisame's fierce strength and manners, the odd optimism and will of naruto, shisui's easy charm. he only knows that he has grown... tolerant of their presence.
he is not expecting anything to have been left at his door, so the first time they depart, leaving a neatly-wrapped okonomiyaki, he does not find it until much later, when it holds only the barest whisper of warmth.
he does not quite know what to do with it. contrary to his usual wariness, he does not expect that it's poisoned — only that it may be too rich for what his body is currently capable of handling in the throes of fever. it ends up being several meals' worth of food, consumed slowly over days, and otherwise kept in the small fridge he'd dragged out of a supply drop.
the sake he does not touch — he has spent years consuming kotarō, living in loathing of how it affected his self-control, and liquor holds no measure of interest for him.
the dango makes him smile, a brief flicker of emotion, there and gone. if that's the thing that leads him to leaving the poem on yamato's door, he wouldn't admit to it.
nor did he expect it to be the thing that brings them back, and leads to that rejoinder.
he is reading when he hears them, and after a short pause he gets up from his desk, and opens the door. ）
You haven't.
（ but this sounds more personal than tales of guardian deities and foxes, so after a clear moment of deliberation he steps out of their way, and indicates they should join him in his room.
his space is immaculate, and there are at best only cursory indications of personality. a tiny cactus, a series of books neatly stacked on a shelf. he clearly doesn't use the actual bed, for it is simply stripped neatly and its sheets and blankets folded at its foot. shang-chi brought him a futon, which is currently hidden in a cabinet. the room smells faintly of green tea and nail polish.
mildly — ）
Would you like to?
（ he rather expects he'd hear it anyway, even without asking. but it feels polite. ）
no subject
after a pause, they nod, a jarring movement in their haste to express that yes, they'd very much like to! of course, there's the slight distraction of itachi's room — yamato looks around, un-self-conscious, not bothering or even thinking to hide their curiosity; though it's swiftly gone, as itachi's room very much corresponds to, well, itachi himself.
(briefly, yamato wonders if he's ever had a room like this to call his own, or if he has, when the time was he was conditioned into the habit of not showing anything of himself: like ready to move out at a moment's notice, like any little thing left is revealing too much.) ]
He came to Wano to kill my father, [ yamato starts with a fond smile — perhaps at odds with how the story begins. ]
I don't really care about him either, but he wasn't there, so it was my duty to protect the crew and the island while he was gone... so we ended up fighting.
no subject
I imagine that battle was quite fierce.
（ it's far from an empty platitude meant to spur conversation on. he has seen them fight, and knows them to be at least as dangerous as kisame himself. he doubts he could lift their kanabo without chakra infusing his muscles. ）
no subject
[ now, though yamato doesn't like to think of it, they have two years on ace and have trained more, more, more — perhaps were they to fight for real, now, the match would not be so even. ]
But he said something... when he realised I was being held in Onigashima against my will, he told me — your father has chained you here, but why do you let him chain your heart, too?
[ yamato looks down, smiling. ] We became friends after that.
[ and perhaps it all seems like a story without much of a meaning, but yamato, subtle though they are usually not, did not choose this for nothing — itachi, who has only ever seemed to be chained, now to his room, but even before that to a carefulness that guards him and his heart; what is it that you let chain your heart? could the question be, or perhaps why is it still chained, here?
not that yamato will ask it, any of it. but the questions hover in the air above them regardless. ]
no subject
he is silent for a long moment, rising only to start the process of making fresh tea, which is a manner of bulwarks between them by the way it makes silence a permissible thing rather than an absence of immediate conversation. then, as the water is set to boil — ）
It sounds as if he woke you from a long sleep.
no subject
[ they are not bothered by the long silence, there — have never been, despite their louder personality. ]
I'd become so used to my life as it was — unable to leave, stuck doing what my father expected, despite what I wanted to do... he reminded me that my father could never control what I think and how I feel. That I could still be me, and stand true to my beliefs, even if I was unable to act on it all.
[ and perhaps this explains some of yamato's actions in giva: standing up for their beliefs when they were able, incapable of letting them go.
(but perhaps it is more, too, more that yamato doesn't even know of and doesn't know to suspect: standing true to your beliefs when unable to truly act on them... it may be something itachi can relate to, as well.) ]
no subject
Is your father a cruel man?
（ he certainly seems so. but a child's mind has a way of justifying a parent's actions. the desire to see the best in them is difficult to elude. itachi knew full well who his father was by the time he was perhaps seven years old, but fugaku — though ambitious more than cruel — was not without his flaws. ）
no subject
I used to think that underneath it all, he only wanted the best for me. [ it is not a yes, but not a no, either — perhaps it's easy enough to read between the lines what yamato thinks, now. ]
He was the only family I had. In Onigashima, everyone is his underling, so I never had any friends, either... not until Ace. He was my first and only friend. And when he — [ yamato's eyes look into something that is not there, a rising sun and ace's vivre card burning up in their hands. ]
... I'd lived with knowing I had at least one friend, even if he was somewhere else. But after that, I was alone again. [ a sigh. ] I don't know what I hate Father more for, everything he's done to the country of Wano... or not allowing me to leave with Ace, so I wasn't able to be there for him when he needed me.
no subject
first and only friend. that isolation isn't something he would wish to share with another, but he does understand it — though he suspects what kept them so is different. itachi had always held himself apart on purpose, having little to nothing in common with his peers. yamato was kept separate due to their devotion to kozuki oden. he knows which of the two is worse — his, at least, was a choice.
if he had been with shisui when danzō attacked... he doubts it would have changed the outcome either of that fight or the clan's fate. but he understands the desire to have been by the side of one's only friend in harrowing moments.
yet despite that desire — ）
Would he have wanted you there?
（ would shisui? whose choice is that, truly? if one's desire to protect is at war with the autonomy of the one you wish to save? ）