[ Another month, another batch of displaced outworlders dumped unceremoniously onto the planet. Under normal circumstances Stiles would be skulking about the Embassy, scoping out the crowds for any familiar faces. But after nearly half a year of this routine without results, he’s become increasingly dispirited. Which is precisely why he’s sprawled boneless over the couch instead, morosely scrolling through the new usernames as they’re added to the network. It’s as he’s searching the list for the handle “Scott.McCall” – stomach tied in knots from cold anticipation – that he instead finds one Stiles thought he’d never see again. “Sasuke.Uchiha.”
Nerveless, trembling fingers are already typing out a text message before he’s even consciously aware of it. ]
Does the name “Jonas” mean anything to you?
[ Out of all the questions he could have led with, this one is the most critical. ]
[ His arrival here is an unwelcome reality interrupting far more important goals, but it comes at the tail-end of the completion of one. That remains his only solace when he is forced to endure familiar welcome speeches with different terminology and new names.
Mostly new.
"Stiles" is enough to halt his steps abruptly when he answers his phone's ping with a quick glance, immediately lifting it higher to respond. The new arrival currently speaking to him is ignored, dismissed without so much as a word as he turns away. ]
[ Jesus fucking Christ, it’s actually him. Stiles is up off the couch in a flash of movement – disturbing Sophia, who had been curled up asleep on the opposite end – and staring down at the phone as if it’s his last lifeline in a world gone mad. “He’s safe.” There’s so much to unpackage, so much he wants to say, and yet those two simple words silence him with a surge of relief so dizzying that he has to steady himself against the entertainment console.
It takes him a while to respond; he’s shaking so much that his fingers keep hitting the wrong keys on the screen. ]
My house. Mine and Itachi’s.
[ A pin is sent to Sasuke. ]
Obviously he’s here on Noctium too, but Itachi’s off exploring one of the neighboring isles right now. It might be a few days before he checks back in again. Our comms haven’t been reliable.
[ His time without Stiles, from his own perspective, has been brief. But to read now that he is sharing a home with his brother? They're established here, and of greater importance than that is the fact that their relationship no longer bears a powerful enough animosity to keep them out of close quarters. If he could take the time to find that gratifying then he would, but more pressing questions occupy his mind.
How long has it been? ]
No.
My strength is far less limited here than it was before. I will make it to you much faster. Wait for me there.
[ The pin is there to guide him and he needs little else, seeming suddenly to vanish from sight altogether once he has his lead. It's been some time since he's moved so quickly, black cloak dragging behind him, and it's within minutes that there's a sharp knock on Stiles's front door.
Really, he's fortunate he didn't let himself in through the window. ]
[ There’s barely enough time for him to change out of Itachi’s clothes – worn in the man’s absence for the familiar scent to soothe Stiles through the duration of their physical separation. Dressed now in a pair of jeans and one of the rust-red, long-sleeve Henleys that he’s taken to wearing while in a relationship, he races down the stairs two steps at a time, Sophia hot on his heels. Sasuke’s silhouette is visible through the glass panes of the foyer, the visual nearly knocking him off balance from sheer nostalgia. Without wasting any time, he throws open the front door and then freezes where he stands, drinking in the sight of the shinobi. From somewhere behind him, Sophia growls lowly, her ears pinned back, ever mistrustful of strangers. Stiles doesn’t even register her presence. ]
Hey, [ he says lamely, heart racing so fast that he swears he can feel it pounding painfully in his throat. ] Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna…
[ And he’s crossing the small space between them, arms coming up to drag Sasuke into a tight embrace. Has he grown? he wonders distantly, thoughts stanched to a slow, dry trickle as he tucks his chin over one shoulder and beats back the wall of unshed tears in his eyes. Maybe it’s just his imagination. So much time has passed since they last saw each other in Aefenglom – anything is possible. ]
I, uh, I missed you. [ Stiles is alarmed by how reedy his voice has become, but that doesn’t stop his traitorous mouth from moving. ] Like, a lot. Itachi got a “reunited hug” too when we first met up, so now it’s your turn. You’re just gonna have to humor me.
[ The house is large, impressive, a sign of success and stability in a world that already appears far less dangerous than the last one in which they were trapped – or indeed his own. To say that Stiles is comfortable here would be an uninformed assumption but it's at least clear that he's gained understanding of the system and is utilizing that knowledge well.
How like him, he thinks somehow both dryly and charitably, a humorless smirk briefly twisting his features before the tone of Stiles's texts returns to him.
When the door is opened it reveals a man almost entirely unchanged from Aefenglom, clothes dirtied and smelling of earth, hair only slightly longer and just as shaggy as always. Wherever he's been, whatever he's done, he clearly hasn't slept under a roof in some time. The only other significant change is that eyes which Stiles had always seen as black are now two-toned: one a sharp red, the other a partially hidden violet as he appraises his friend to ensure this isn't some illusion.
But when arms wrap around him, he knows. ]
Stiles– [ He cuts himself off when he's squeezed tight, exhaling patiently as his right hand lifts. It stutters in the air before finally landing between his shoulder blades, a firm press paired with a softening of those eyes. ]
... you're so openly emotional. You haven't changed.
[ I have, he knows with solemn certainty, thoughts swirling the drain of everything that came to pass in Hell. I’ve changed. Painfully aware of how easily such dour sentiments might transfer over Synchrony – especially when reinforced through physical contact – Stiles takes care not to dwell long on such reflections. Instead, he allows himself another moment or three to quietly luxuriate in the returned embrace, taking immense comfort from it. When he reluctantly pulls away, it’s not far. At this close distance, the stark white scar tissue drawn horizontally across his throat is all the more apparent.
His gaze flickers from Sharingan to Rinnegan and back again, memorizing the distinct iris details that he’s only seen before in secondhand memories. But for once he doesn’t comment; insatiable curiosity put aside for the time being, he wordlessly draws Sasuke into the house and closes the door behind them. Sophia cautiously sniffs at the hem of the shinobi’s clothes, her tail beginning to swing like a pendulum. Stiles has to wonder if Sasuke smells like Itachi to that sensitive canine nose. ]
The last time we saw you, it was nearly a year ago, [ he begins, scrubbing his face with a hand to clear the tears from his eyes. ] What happened? Are you okay?
[ A beat. Then, with a feeble smile, Stiles offers, ] …Wanna use the shower?
[ Dude, you look like you’ve been living in the outdoors like a wild man. ]
[ It isn't Synchrony that tinges the air with anxiety, at least not consciously – that is something he gleans from his friend's behavior, the way his smile is delayed, the tension that soon is offered a reason for existence.
A year. ]
Stiles. [ His hand slips away from his back but not far, fingers catching on his upper arm. The hold is gentle, something Stiles himself taught him during their time together. It's obvious he doesn't care about the details, not when he has been living like a wild man and doubtless will again. Even the animal at his feet is paid no mind, not yet. ]
It's been a matter of days. Weeks at most, for me. [ It's hard to gauge when traveling between worlds, and this is now his fourth in less than a month. ]
What's happened to you? [ Eyes linger unavoidably on his throat. ]
[ Only weeks at most for Sasuke. He pauses, digesting this information with a carefully neutral expression. There’s a significant part of him, selfish and possessive, that’s glad to hear it – glad to know that Sasuke hasn’t had an opportunity to grow or change where Stiles can’t witness it. The thought is dark, dangerous, and disturbing. No doubt Itachi has been rubbing off on him. ]
It’s a long story.
[ Unbidden, his fingers skim softly over the scar in response to the attention it has garnered. The movement of his arm brushes against a corded necklace partially hidden beneath his shirt, which Stiles had the foresight not to display openly when first meeting with Sasuke. But maybe it’s the exact setup he needs to dive into the topic – because there’s no way in hell he can hide the truth from Sasuke, whether or not Itachi is here for the conversation.
He pulls the necklace out. A familiar Akatsuki ring dangles on the end of it. ]
A really long story. Hopefully with a happy ending. [ Watching Sasuke intently for a reaction, he amends, ] Well, I guess that depends on how you feel by the time I’m done.
[ It seems impossible that anything could distract him from the signs of an old injury he wasn't present to defend Stiles from, a thought that coils unpleasantly in his stomach in a way he knows will later manifest as a quiet rage and impotent self-judgement, but that's before that necklace is made visible. Before he sees a ring he last saw bloodied on his brother's corpse.
Immediately he averts his eyes when the memory assaults him so unexpectedly, mind racing through possibilities that seem more fantasy than reality. Absorbing any part of this in isolation would be difficult; all of it at once requires him to sift through and separate each segment himself.
He skirts around Stiles suddenly as his hands drop away, silent as he takes care to keep Sophia out from underfoot while moving deeper into the foreign house. It's a bid for space, both from that memory and from keen eyes. ]
Then start with why you're wearing that. [ Because if anything could shift the tone of their reunion immediately, it's that. ]
[ Bare feet padding softly on hardwood floors, Stiles follows Sasuke’s distracted movement. There are unmistakable signs of Itachi’s disembodied presence haunting the foyer – a pair of plain sandals next to bright sneakers, a dark woolen cloak hanging next to colorful jackets. On a wall in the kitchen, two pieces of paper are pinned to a calendar. One describes the hours and employee shifts for “Worst Dragon” while a second describes the same for “葉” along with seasonal tea menu changes. It’s impossible to divorce the older Uchiha from the lived-in house, despite how minimal his footprint here may actually be.
Stiles senses that displaying the ring may have been a misstep of sorts, though he lacks the context to understand why. An urge to keep himself busy sees him brushing past Sasuke toward the refrigerator, where he begins to mechanically pull out the ingredients that he’ll need to cook dinner. Almost as an afterthought, a gallon of lemonade is retrieved, its contents poured into two separate glasses. He gestures for Sasuke to take the first. ]
Itachi gave it to me for my nineteenth birthday.
[ Swallowing, he stares into the depths of his own lemonade as if it might hold the secrets to this discussion for him. The natural follow-up explanation is on the tip of his tongue, held back for sudden self-conscious fear of how Sasuke will react. A heavy draw of the drink does little to quell his nerves, lemonade emptying into the pit of his stomach to sour there until digestion. But Stiles is no coward and eventually confesses the truth. ]
We’re…in a relationship. A, uh, romantic one.
[ They’re long past the point of merely being boyfriends and the word “partner” has specific connotations to Itachi concerning Kisame. Describing it this way – instead of blurting the forbidden word love – is all Stiles can manage under the pressure of Sasuke’s attention. ]
[ His survey of the kitchen is brief, drink predictably shirked, eyes snapping to Stiles and then away. A romantic one.
Anger is his family's legacy and in their absence he's shouldered every ounce of it, absorbing it into a deep well that lives inside of him in their memory, wrapped in a shell of immense power that only keeps itself from being abused by sheer force of will. Stiles speaks and it stirs before the words even fully register, beginning to roil in the pit of his stomach like something acrid while his facial features petrify into stone.
Stiles. His friend. His. A man safeguarded by Jonas, loved by him, but protected by Sasuke. Someone incapable of accepting a familial dynamic he never understood but who remained unfailingly by Sasuke's side in spite of that, who found his place and upon whom Sasuke relied to stay there.
Itachi. His brother. His. A man he's murdered with his own hands, someone he loves more than anyone he's ever known, hated more than anyone he's ever known, who is dead, who doesn't deserve to prioritize happiness but for whom Sasuke has since wished peace.
Sasuke, who has resolved his complex feelings toward them both and laid them to rest, having them torn up again and reseeded into some sick, unforeseen plot that forces an ugly laugh out of him before he can stop it. It's tinged with bile and the short breath of a man winded by disbelief, unsure what he's struck by most. Loneliness? Possessiveness? Jealousy? Self-pity?
Does Stiles even know the history of that ring? Why the hell would his brother give it to him? Why would he put him through that, knowingly or unknowingly? Who is he angry with?
A self-loathing he's never been divorced from rears its ugly head, whispers insidiously that he has no right to direct that fury towards either of them, and it collapses inward onto him like it always does. Fingertips press hard into the countertop's surface as he realizes just how long he's been standing there, staring at nothing through his own brother's eyes. ]
What would you expect me to say to that? [ he manages finally, voice rough with restrained emotion but hollow to match a resilient poker face. Not as good as Itachi's, never as good as that, but his brother is a far better liar than he's ever been. ]
I have no desire to hear more about it. You're making a mistake, but I doubt you need me to tell you so.
[ The pregnant silence that descends in the wake of Sasuke’s cutting declaration is cold. Stiles stares at his friend, some nameless emotion choking him until all the words he could possibly fling back have atrophied into crumbling dust. He doesn’t know what he expected. Nothing about his relationship with Itachi has been easy – so why should this confession have been any different? And yet he’d hoped.
A low whine briefly draws his attention to Sophia, who has sat down by his feet. Only when under the scrutiny of her concerned look does he realize how tightly he’s gripping the glass of lemonade. Feeling strangely numb, he sets it down on the counter, offers the dog a reassuring pat on the head, and then turns to wash his hands at the sink. With his back presented to Sasuke, it’s easier to slip into the detached melancholy creeping steadily over him like the tide at dusk. Soap bites at every little nick in his hands, courtesy of the last monster transformation that had swept across the Gembonded. Stiles scrubs harder than he needs to, gaze glassy and distant as he peers out the windows across the gardens. His and Itachi’s.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Once his hands are dried, he continues to go about preparing dinner. The oven chimes in greeting as it’s preheated. Sophia, sensing that whatever mood has befallen her owner is here to stay, settles down on the tiled flooring with an unhappy sigh, head resting on her paws.
Barely cognizant of the other presence in the kitchen anymore, he selects a knife from its block and begins to chop up zucchini on a cutting board. Gone are the hesitant, self-conscious movements of the boy from Aefenglom; Stiles handles the knife with deft familiarity, each slice of the fruit precise and near identical to the last.
Sasuke’s opinion is important – the most important of anyone they could wish acceptance from. Stiles is paralyzed by the young man’s reaction, his love for both Uchiha men splitting him down the weathered seams of the soul. The very foundation of their relationship was born from a mutual love for Sasuke, a desperate need to fill the void left behind in the younger brother’s absence driving Stiles and Itachi to Bond in Aefenglom. And now, Sasuke casts his judgment down on that relationship. ]
You’re wrong.
[ The words are quiet albeit firm, nearly lost to the rhythmic sounds of the knife sawing through tomatoes. They surfaced from somewhere within the eye of the storm in a mind otherwise white with static. Stiles does not glance up from his work. ]
[ The length of the silence does nothing to quell that anger he's fighting steadily against, wanting eyes on him, wanting to be faced but Stiles takes time to collect his thoughts and the gap between words feels endless.
The next one is far shorter. ]
It is, [ he returns sharply, eyes unblinking in their focus. ]
My brother is dead. That is the reality for him, for you, and for me. That death was atonement for him, and the fact that it was interrupted isn't something I ever wished for. I know without reservation he feels the same. He will return where he belongs and it will now hurt you far more than it ever needed to, and the fact he's willingly putting you through that–
[ He needs to speak to him. His gaze even cuts back to the door, jaw working through some of his tension before he makes the decision to look back. ]
He should know better. [ After seeing what it had done to Sasuke. Not once. Not even twice. Why. ]
And to torment him with any reason to stay? To make it equally difficult on him? It's selfish, from both of you. It's something that I... [ Here he falters momentarily, envisioning his brother's face during a final farewell that had turned out to be anything but. ]
[ At last Stiles looks up, countenance creased with furious frustration. ]
Do you think we planned this?
[ The rebuke is sharp, echoing off empty pots and pans to be thrown back in his face a dozen times in tinny, taunting voices. Knife held poised over a ripe, partially sliced tomato – razor edge glistening with its innards – he stares intently at Sasuke as if waiting for an answer. But the shinobi is given no chance to respond; unleashed, months of anger and anxiety over this very topic come spilling out like vomit. ]
Do you think either of us went out of our way to seduce the other? Think maybe we had any real choice in the matter? It just happened. [ Thud, the knife cleaves the fruit in twain and remains buried in the wooden chopping board. ] And no matter how irresponsible you think it is, I won’t regret that it did happen.
[ He leans forward over the island counter, hands braced on either side of him along the edges. There’s a fine line he needs to walk here. As much as anger and disappointment and stress encourage him to lash out, Sasuke isn’t the enemy. But god would it be so simple to hurt him. Licking his lips to wet them, Stiles impatiently shoves the impulse away. ]
I’m not stupid, okay? I get how distanced I am from what he did. It’s easy for me to move beyond it. Even knowing that, I can’t pretend I wish he was dead. Because I am selfish! And who does it hurt beyond us? You weren’t here.
If there’s even the slightest chance he can find peace while alive, you bet your ass I’m gonna do what I can to support him.
[ I’m in love with him, screams his soul, stirred into a fine frenzy by the argument and hungry to use those forbidden words, regardless of the cost. Stiles bites back on that impulse too. ]
[ Finally, an emotion he understands. Something far more readable than that muted first reaction, one that had tinged his own response with concern for his friend. Now, where there is a genuine powerful affection for Stiles that still forces him to review every word, there is less to distract him from exactly what he wants to say. ]
You're right about one thing.
You aren't stupid. I've known that for some time now. It's also why I can't accept a reasoning as flawed as "it just happened".
Do I believe you planned something like this? Of course not, because as justified as you're acting in front of me right now a part of you would know it was a bad idea. But to say you had no choice? Of course you did. You chose to act upon your feelings instead of exercising your own self-control for the sake of one another.
[ His tongue clicks in the moment he breaks eye contact, knowing well when he needs to exercise his own. He hangs his head, a solid five seconds allowed to pass before he's again lifting it to fix him with a stare no longer colored by the sharingan, at least. ]
You're admitting to your own flaws. So tell me, with the mind you have and with as much as we shared with one another, did you expect me to react to this differently?
[ It did just happen, comes the miserable thought, cast back to that singular moment – standing on the edge of the world, bracketed by sprawling mountains in the distance and a deep, hungry forest at their backs – where he realized that he was in love with Itachi. The sentiment had crept up on him so quietly, so gradually, that he was utterly unprepared to greet it when it finally arrived at his dusty doorstep. By the time he’d had the epiphany, it’d already been too late to change the course of his heart. Stiles has always loved with all of himself, after all. His relationship with Itachi is no different. ]
Does it matter what I expected? [ A scoff. With a shake of his head, Stiles pulls the knife free from the cutting board and resumes dicing the tomato. ] You had to know the truth. This isn’t something I’m going to hide from you. Which is why I’m telling you now, even though he’s not here for it.
[ The knife slows. A shadow of grief traitorously steals over his countenance, contorting it. Yes, Stiles had hoped the reaction would be different. ]
This is our life now. And whether or not you just arrived, you’re a critical piece of that.
[ The heel of his hand scrubs at tired, watery eyes. ]
Itachi can find peace again. Maybe it won’t be as satisfying to you, but there’s a chance for it.
[ And then, quietly, his voice hoarse and shaking, he asks: ]
There are words in this conversation that he expects to be injurious but this question succeeds in blindsiding him. Yes, it matters. It matters to him that his friend understands him enough and has heard enough about his history to know this. But he also knows that now is not the time introduce another layer of argument, not when they both already seem to be expecting too much of one another. ]
Satisfying... to me? And you're asking me if I need him dead? [ The indignity of those remarks is enough that years ago, were he not so close to Stiles, they would drive him to violence. Now his self-control is strong enough that the thought doesn't even tempt him, but he does step wisely away from that kitchen island so as to not feel drawn to at least destroy any of his possessions. ]
Have I mentioned myself? Do you want to know my feelings?
I'm speaking of the two of you. Of your relationship. Of your emotions, which are not more important than the combined history of my family. Are you really assuming you're the first person to single-mindedly wish for him to stay? Has it failed to occur to you that I have experienced these things before?
And even still, I learned when to set myself aside. He will hurt you, you will hurt him. Irreparably. If you truly find that acceptable, it won't be my place to stop that.
[ The tomato slices join the zucchini pile to the side of the cutting board. A red onion is set in front of Stiles, though he’s far too distracted to focus on dinner preparations. Honey-warmed brown eyes follow the dark, sleek form of Sasuke with a bloodhound’s intensity, as if afraid the man will vanish from sight should he glance away for even a second. Not for the first time, it feels like he’s trespassed on uneven grounds where the shinobi is concerned. He doesn’t apologize, but Stiles does attempt to meet him halfway. ]
Sasuke. [ Solemn, voice low albeit firm. ] I only brought you into the discussion for one reason. I thought you already got that we’ve accepted the hard limits and realities of our relationship. I mean, do you think Itachi would have agreed to this without those being clear? We know.
[ Know, and yet reject – as Stiles has. In between playing house with his boyfriend and trying to live a semi-normal young adult life, he searches for the means to make Itachi’s stay on Noctium permanent. Or better, for the older Uchiha brother to return to Beacon Hills with him. It’ll destroy him if he fails. Stiles is in too deep, exactly to Sasuke’s point. Though he’s avoided concealing the truth from his friend since they began bonding in Aefenglom, he wonders now how much he can tell Sasuke. Will the other boy understand?
Or try to stop him?
Knowing the history of the brothers, no doubt it would be both. ]
I want to know your feelings, [ he continues in the same hushed tone. ] Why are you so set on him needing to return to death when there’s a chance for him to actually live here? He’s making progress. Huge progress. God, you said you didn’t want to hear more about it, but it’s true. He moved in with me, he’s having his illness monitored by doctors, and he opened his own teahouse. Itachi never would have done any of that back in Aefenglom. He's changed. We’ve changed.
So says Stiles, and there is as of yet no evidence to contradict that. His brother's belongings in the house. His absence, crucial to the errands he is performing and indicative of a purposeful existence here. A romantic relationship with one of Sasuke's friends, which he's still struggling to convince himself isn't a betrayal.
It sickens him to think that such change could happen when he had no opportunities to witness it, and self-doubt supplies him with the damaging thought that his presence might have held his brother back. Had Itachi's held him back? It could have, in grief, but that was due to repeated loss.
But a critical understanding of his brother, hard-won over years of blood and suffering, rears its head to remind him of what he already knows. ]
My feelings are that you are doing what you think is best for you and perhaps what you think is best for him, but that you are accomplishing neither.
Do you believe he has been fully honest with you about everything, about his wishes and about his experience? [ Here he turns again, eyes back on Stiles. ] I don't ask that to belittle your connection. I say it because it is in his nature to shoulder burdens silently and hide hard truths until it is no longer viable to do so.
[ Bitterness blooms in his heart like a bead of poison penetrating the surface tension of water. He can feel it shaping his countenance, twisting brows and mouth into a defensive scowl as he stares across the island at Sasuke. Real anger has begun to broil within him – as impossible to navigate now as it was back in Aefenglom, when fears about Donovan had blistered inside Stiles. Now, his cold rage is fed by a new fear: the fear that Sasuke could destroy everything that Stiles and Itachi have spent the last year painstakingly building up. ]
One. [ A single finger is held up. ] I think it’s pretty rich that you’re gonna stand here and tell me that we’re not accomplishing the best for ourselves when you don’t know jack about our relationship or the situation. Instead of asking those questions, you’re just jumping to conclusions based on what you used to know.
Two. [ A second finger. Stiles shoots Sasuke an incredulous look here, arms spread helplessly. ] Do I think he’s been honest? I know he hasn’t. Neither have I! We’re in a relationship. It’s a constant work in progress. But we’ve already cleared some major hurdles – again, that you wouldn’t have any idea about, because you haven’t asked – and, more importantly, I trust him.
Three. [ The knife is abandoned to the cutting board once again. ] No one belongs here, Sasuke! Not him, not me, not you! But we’re goddamn stuck here anyway. Is he supposed to just drop dead because that was the natural state of things in your world? No? Then what the hell is your point?
[ "I know he hasn't." That admission alone sets his mind racing.
Stiles says his brother is seeking treatment for his illness. Would he do so if he were here alone, even having grown as is claimed? How much of this progress is for the sake of assuaging Stiles's concerns? For the purpose of placation? It's not something he wants the young man across from him to endure. ]
You are correct. I don't understand your relationship. What I know is what I have gleaned from years with him and years apart from him, and from what you've told me now.
Would you care to review it? That your relationship "just happened". That you know it's selfish but you don't care. That you genuinely believe it harms no one but the two of you. That when I've confronted you out of concern for you both you have found it fitting to characterize me as the kind of man that even I have never been. That you know he lies to you.
I too have trusted my brother. Pragmatism and duty matter to him more than that, and I would challenge any narrative that says that that has changed about him. [ Eyes again cut back to the entryway, but this time it's where his focus remains, jaw locked and expression grim. Nothing about this brings him pleasure. Even the way Stiles is free to yell at him is something he envies, wishing for a similar way to vent his frustrations but he's left grasping at straws. His anger, for better or for worse, can't stay fixed on a singular target, not with this. ]
I have missed things. Because of that, I should see his changes for myself.
[ The sharp snarl of a sound, low and embittered with frustration, claws to freedom from his too tight throat. Stiles wants little more than to vehemently argue against every point leveled against him, a contrary nature that would sooner see him blue in the face from yelling than bow out of the confrontation. The misunderstanding around Sasuke’s “characterization” especially grates, unfair as it feels. “That death was atonement for him, and the fact that it was interrupted isn’t something I ever wished for.” God, how else was he meant to take this? The fact of the matter is, Stiles is personally incapable of reconciling that sentiment. He’s too distanced from the clan massacre, too opportunistic to regret the second chance Itachi has been granted.
Furthermore, it genuinely doesn’t seem to him that Sasuke is approaching their relationship out of concern, not based on how the shinobi is going about it. Repeated insistence that the relationship is a mistake, that it’s selfish, that it’s the opposite of the peace Itachi found – these criticisms have only reinforced the idea that Sasuke has no interest in understanding either the life they’ve built together or them as the people they’ve become. The younger Uchiha brother is stuck in the past, refusing to relinquish his own misgivings. There’s no point in discussing the subject with him further. And yet Stiles knows that if he can’t somehow convince Sasuke, his relationship with Itachi will be in jeopardy; if there’s one truth he’s certain of, it’s that Itachi will accept whatever sentencing Sasuke delivers upon him. ]
I’m in love with him.
[ The world continues on despite the quiet admission. Birds in the backyard garden trill beautiful songs to each other, unafraid of miscommunication. Sophia twitches in her sleep, paws scrabbling on the floor as she chases after long-fading dreams. And there’s Stiles, baring his heart to Sasuke for judgement. His expression is smooth, devoid of the fragmented anger that had cracked his countenance before. ]
And I think he’s in love with me.
Our relationship might not be perfect, but it works for us. We make each other happy.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
text; un: "Stiles"
Nerveless, trembling fingers are already typing out a text message before he’s even consciously aware of it. ]
Does the name “Jonas” mean anything to you?
[ Out of all the questions he could have led with, this one is the most critical. ]
no subject
Mostly new.
"Stiles" is enough to halt his steps abruptly when he answers his phone's ping with a quick glance, immediately lifting it higher to respond. The new arrival currently speaking to him is ignored, dismissed without so much as a word as he turns away. ]
He's safe. Where are you?
no subject
It takes him a while to respond; he’s shaking so much that his fingers keep hitting the wrong keys on the screen. ]
My house. Mine and Itachi’s.
[ A pin is sent to Sasuke. ]
Obviously he’s here on Noctium too, but Itachi’s off exploring one of the neighboring isles right now. It might be a few days before he checks back in again. Our comms haven’t been reliable.
Want me to come to you?
no subject
How long has it been? ]
No.
My strength is far less limited here than it was before. I will make it to you much faster. Wait for me there.
[ The pin is there to guide him and he needs little else, seeming suddenly to vanish from sight altogether once he has his lead. It's been some time since he's moved so quickly, black cloak dragging behind him, and it's within minutes that there's a sharp knock on Stiles's front door.
Really, he's fortunate he didn't let himself in through the window. ]
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Hey, [ he says lamely, heart racing so fast that he swears he can feel it pounding painfully in his throat. ] Don’t mind me, I’m just gonna…
[ And he’s crossing the small space between them, arms coming up to drag Sasuke into a tight embrace. Has he grown? he wonders distantly, thoughts stanched to a slow, dry trickle as he tucks his chin over one shoulder and beats back the wall of unshed tears in his eyes. Maybe it’s just his imagination. So much time has passed since they last saw each other in Aefenglom – anything is possible. ]
I, uh, I missed you. [ Stiles is alarmed by how reedy his voice has become, but that doesn’t stop his traitorous mouth from moving. ] Like, a lot. Itachi got a “reunited hug” too when we first met up, so now it’s your turn. You’re just gonna have to humor me.
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How like him, he thinks somehow both dryly and charitably, a humorless smirk briefly twisting his features before the tone of Stiles's texts returns to him.
When the door is opened it reveals a man almost entirely unchanged from Aefenglom, clothes dirtied and smelling of earth, hair only slightly longer and just as shaggy as always. Wherever he's been, whatever he's done, he clearly hasn't slept under a roof in some time. The only other significant change is that eyes which Stiles had always seen as black are now two-toned: one a sharp red, the other a partially hidden violet as he appraises his friend to ensure this isn't some illusion.
But when arms wrap around him, he knows. ]
Stiles– [ He cuts himself off when he's squeezed tight, exhaling patiently as his right hand lifts. It stutters in the air before finally landing between his shoulder blades, a firm press paired with a softening of those eyes. ]
... you're so openly emotional. You haven't changed.
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His gaze flickers from Sharingan to Rinnegan and back again, memorizing the distinct iris details that he’s only seen before in secondhand memories. But for once he doesn’t comment; insatiable curiosity put aside for the time being, he wordlessly draws Sasuke into the house and closes the door behind them. Sophia cautiously sniffs at the hem of the shinobi’s clothes, her tail beginning to swing like a pendulum. Stiles has to wonder if Sasuke smells like Itachi to that sensitive canine nose. ]
The last time we saw you, it was nearly a year ago, [ he begins, scrubbing his face with a hand to clear the tears from his eyes. ] What happened? Are you okay?
[ A beat. Then, with a feeble smile, Stiles offers, ] …Wanna use the shower?
[ Dude, you look like you’ve been living in the outdoors like a wild man. ]
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A year. ]
Stiles. [ His hand slips away from his back but not far, fingers catching on his upper arm. The hold is gentle, something Stiles himself taught him during their time together. It's obvious he doesn't care about the details, not when he has been living like a wild man and doubtless will again. Even the animal at his feet is paid no mind, not yet. ]
It's been a matter of days. Weeks at most, for me. [ It's hard to gauge when traveling between worlds, and this is now his fourth in less than a month. ]
What's happened to you? [ Eyes linger unavoidably on his throat. ]
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It’s a long story.
[ Unbidden, his fingers skim softly over the scar in response to the attention it has garnered. The movement of his arm brushes against a corded necklace partially hidden beneath his shirt, which Stiles had the foresight not to display openly when first meeting with Sasuke. But maybe it’s the exact setup he needs to dive into the topic – because there’s no way in hell he can hide the truth from Sasuke, whether or not Itachi is here for the conversation.
He pulls the necklace out. A familiar Akatsuki ring dangles on the end of it. ]
A really long story. Hopefully with a happy ending. [ Watching Sasuke intently for a reaction, he amends, ] Well, I guess that depends on how you feel by the time I’m done.
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Immediately he averts his eyes when the memory assaults him so unexpectedly, mind racing through possibilities that seem more fantasy than reality. Absorbing any part of this in isolation would be difficult; all of it at once requires him to sift through and separate each segment himself.
He skirts around Stiles suddenly as his hands drop away, silent as he takes care to keep Sophia out from underfoot while moving deeper into the foreign house. It's a bid for space, both from that memory and from keen eyes. ]
Then start with why you're wearing that. [ Because if anything could shift the tone of their reunion immediately, it's that. ]
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Stiles senses that displaying the ring may have been a misstep of sorts, though he lacks the context to understand why. An urge to keep himself busy sees him brushing past Sasuke toward the refrigerator, where he begins to mechanically pull out the ingredients that he’ll need to cook dinner. Almost as an afterthought, a gallon of lemonade is retrieved, its contents poured into two separate glasses. He gestures for Sasuke to take the first. ]
Itachi gave it to me for my nineteenth birthday.
[ Swallowing, he stares into the depths of his own lemonade as if it might hold the secrets to this discussion for him. The natural follow-up explanation is on the tip of his tongue, held back for sudden self-conscious fear of how Sasuke will react. A heavy draw of the drink does little to quell his nerves, lemonade emptying into the pit of his stomach to sour there until digestion. But Stiles is no coward and eventually confesses the truth. ]
We’re…in a relationship. A, uh, romantic one.
[ They’re long past the point of merely being boyfriends and the word “partner” has specific connotations to Itachi concerning Kisame. Describing it this way – instead of blurting the forbidden word love – is all Stiles can manage under the pressure of Sasuke’s attention. ]
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Anger is his family's legacy and in their absence he's shouldered every ounce of it, absorbing it into a deep well that lives inside of him in their memory, wrapped in a shell of immense power that only keeps itself from being abused by sheer force of will. Stiles speaks and it stirs before the words even fully register, beginning to roil in the pit of his stomach like something acrid while his facial features petrify into stone.
Stiles. His friend. His. A man safeguarded by Jonas, loved by him, but protected by Sasuke. Someone incapable of accepting a familial dynamic he never understood but who remained unfailingly by Sasuke's side in spite of that, who found his place and upon whom Sasuke relied to stay there.
Itachi. His brother. His. A man he's murdered with his own hands, someone he loves more than anyone he's ever known, hated more than anyone he's ever known, who is dead, who doesn't deserve to prioritize happiness but for whom Sasuke has since wished peace.
Sasuke, who has resolved his complex feelings toward them both and laid them to rest, having them torn up again and reseeded into some sick, unforeseen plot that forces an ugly laugh out of him before he can stop it. It's tinged with bile and the short breath of a man winded by disbelief, unsure what he's struck by most. Loneliness? Possessiveness? Jealousy? Self-pity?
Does Stiles even know the history of that ring? Why the hell would his brother give it to him? Why would he put him through that, knowingly or unknowingly? Who is he angry with?
A self-loathing he's never been divorced from rears its ugly head, whispers insidiously that he has no right to direct that fury towards either of them, and it collapses inward onto him like it always does. Fingertips press hard into the countertop's surface as he realizes just how long he's been standing there, staring at nothing through his own brother's eyes. ]
What would you expect me to say to that? [ he manages finally, voice rough with restrained emotion but hollow to match a resilient poker face. Not as good as Itachi's, never as good as that, but his brother is a far better liar than he's ever been. ]
I have no desire to hear more about it. You're making a mistake, but I doubt you need me to tell you so.
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A low whine briefly draws his attention to Sophia, who has sat down by his feet. Only when under the scrutiny of her concerned look does he realize how tightly he’s gripping the glass of lemonade. Feeling strangely numb, he sets it down on the counter, offers the dog a reassuring pat on the head, and then turns to wash his hands at the sink. With his back presented to Sasuke, it’s easier to slip into the detached melancholy creeping steadily over him like the tide at dusk. Soap bites at every little nick in his hands, courtesy of the last monster transformation that had swept across the Gembonded. Stiles scrubs harder than he needs to, gaze glassy and distant as he peers out the windows across the gardens. His and Itachi’s.
“You’re making a mistake.”
Once his hands are dried, he continues to go about preparing dinner. The oven chimes in greeting as it’s preheated. Sophia, sensing that whatever mood has befallen her owner is here to stay, settles down on the tiled flooring with an unhappy sigh, head resting on her paws.
Barely cognizant of the other presence in the kitchen anymore, he selects a knife from its block and begins to chop up zucchini on a cutting board. Gone are the hesitant, self-conscious movements of the boy from Aefenglom; Stiles handles the knife with deft familiarity, each slice of the fruit precise and near identical to the last.
Sasuke’s opinion is important – the most important of anyone they could wish acceptance from. Stiles is paralyzed by the young man’s reaction, his love for both Uchiha men splitting him down the weathered seams of the soul. The very foundation of their relationship was born from a mutual love for Sasuke, a desperate need to fill the void left behind in the younger brother’s absence driving Stiles and Itachi to Bond in Aefenglom. And now, Sasuke casts his judgment down on that relationship. ]
You’re wrong.
[ The words are quiet albeit firm, nearly lost to the rhythmic sounds of the knife sawing through tomatoes. They surfaced from somewhere within the eye of the storm in a mind otherwise white with static. Stiles does not glance up from his work. ]
It’s never been a mistake.
[ If nothing else, he knows that much. ]
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The next one is far shorter. ]
It is, [ he returns sharply, eyes unblinking in their focus. ]
My brother is dead. That is the reality for him, for you, and for me. That death was atonement for him, and the fact that it was interrupted isn't something I ever wished for. I know without reservation he feels the same. He will return where he belongs and it will now hurt you far more than it ever needed to, and the fact he's willingly putting you through that–
[ He needs to speak to him. His gaze even cuts back to the door, jaw working through some of his tension before he makes the decision to look back. ]
He should know better. [ After seeing what it had done to Sasuke. Not once. Not even twice. Why. ]
And to torment him with any reason to stay? To make it equally difficult on him? It's selfish, from both of you. It's something that I... [ Here he falters momentarily, envisioning his brother's face during a final farewell that had turned out to be anything but. ]
That I wouldn't have expected.
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Do you think we planned this?
[ The rebuke is sharp, echoing off empty pots and pans to be thrown back in his face a dozen times in tinny, taunting voices. Knife held poised over a ripe, partially sliced tomato – razor edge glistening with its innards – he stares intently at Sasuke as if waiting for an answer. But the shinobi is given no chance to respond; unleashed, months of anger and anxiety over this very topic come spilling out like vomit. ]
Do you think either of us went out of our way to seduce the other? Think maybe we had any real choice in the matter? It just happened. [ Thud, the knife cleaves the fruit in twain and remains buried in the wooden chopping board. ] And no matter how irresponsible you think it is, I won’t regret that it did happen.
[ He leans forward over the island counter, hands braced on either side of him along the edges. There’s a fine line he needs to walk here. As much as anger and disappointment and stress encourage him to lash out, Sasuke isn’t the enemy. But god would it be so simple to hurt him. Licking his lips to wet them, Stiles impatiently shoves the impulse away. ]
I’m not stupid, okay? I get how distanced I am from what he did. It’s easy for me to move beyond it. Even knowing that, I can’t pretend I wish he was dead. Because I am selfish! And who does it hurt beyond us? You weren’t here.
If there’s even the slightest chance he can find peace while alive, you bet your ass I’m gonna do what I can to support him.
[ I’m in love with him, screams his soul, stirred into a fine frenzy by the argument and hungry to use those forbidden words, regardless of the cost. Stiles bites back on that impulse too. ]
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You're right about one thing.
You aren't stupid. I've known that for some time now. It's also why I can't accept a reasoning as flawed as "it just happened".
Do I believe you planned something like this? Of course not, because as justified as you're acting in front of me right now a part of you would know it was a bad idea. But to say you had no choice? Of course you did. You chose to act upon your feelings instead of exercising your own self-control for the sake of one another.
[ His tongue clicks in the moment he breaks eye contact, knowing well when he needs to exercise his own. He hangs his head, a solid five seconds allowed to pass before he's again lifting it to fix him with a stare no longer colored by the sharingan, at least. ]
You're admitting to your own flaws. So tell me, with the mind you have and with as much as we shared with one another, did you expect me to react to this differently?
Itachi found his peace. This is the opposite.
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Does it matter what I expected? [ A scoff. With a shake of his head, Stiles pulls the knife free from the cutting board and resumes dicing the tomato. ] You had to know the truth. This isn’t something I’m going to hide from you. Which is why I’m telling you now, even though he’s not here for it.
[ The knife slows. A shadow of grief traitorously steals over his countenance, contorting it. Yes, Stiles had hoped the reaction would be different. ]
This is our life now. And whether or not you just arrived, you’re a critical piece of that.
[ The heel of his hand scrubs at tired, watery eyes. ]
Itachi can find peace again. Maybe it won’t be as satisfying to you, but there’s a chance for it.
[ And then, quietly, his voice hoarse and shaking, he asks: ]
Do you need him dead that badly?
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There are words in this conversation that he expects to be injurious but this question succeeds in blindsiding him. Yes, it matters. It matters to him that his friend understands him enough and has heard enough about his history to know this. But he also knows that now is not the time introduce another layer of argument, not when they both already seem to be expecting too much of one another. ]
Satisfying... to me? And you're asking me if I need him dead? [ The indignity of those remarks is enough that years ago, were he not so close to Stiles, they would drive him to violence. Now his self-control is strong enough that the thought doesn't even tempt him, but he does step wisely away from that kitchen island so as to not feel drawn to at least destroy any of his possessions. ]
Have I mentioned myself? Do you want to know my feelings?
I'm speaking of the two of you. Of your relationship. Of your emotions, which are not more important than the combined history of my family. Are you really assuming you're the first person to single-mindedly wish for him to stay? Has it failed to occur to you that I have experienced these things before?
And even still, I learned when to set myself aside. He will hurt you, you will hurt him. Irreparably. If you truly find that acceptable, it won't be my place to stop that.
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Sasuke. [ Solemn, voice low albeit firm. ] I only brought you into the discussion for one reason. I thought you already got that we’ve accepted the hard limits and realities of our relationship. I mean, do you think Itachi would have agreed to this without those being clear? We know.
[ Know, and yet reject – as Stiles has. In between playing house with his boyfriend and trying to live a semi-normal young adult life, he searches for the means to make Itachi’s stay on Noctium permanent. Or better, for the older Uchiha brother to return to Beacon Hills with him. It’ll destroy him if he fails. Stiles is in too deep, exactly to Sasuke’s point. Though he’s avoided concealing the truth from his friend since they began bonding in Aefenglom, he wonders now how much he can tell Sasuke. Will the other boy understand?
Or try to stop him?
Knowing the history of the brothers, no doubt it would be both. ]
I want to know your feelings, [ he continues in the same hushed tone. ] Why are you so set on him needing to return to death when there’s a chance for him to actually live here? He’s making progress. Huge progress. God, you said you didn’t want to hear more about it, but it’s true. He moved in with me, he’s having his illness monitored by doctors, and he opened his own teahouse. Itachi never would have done any of that back in Aefenglom. He's changed. We’ve changed.
[ Together. ]
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So says Stiles, and there is as of yet no evidence to contradict that. His brother's belongings in the house. His absence, crucial to the errands he is performing and indicative of a purposeful existence here. A romantic relationship with one of Sasuke's friends, which he's still struggling to convince himself isn't a betrayal.
It sickens him to think that such change could happen when he had no opportunities to witness it, and self-doubt supplies him with the damaging thought that his presence might have held his brother back. Had Itachi's held him back? It could have, in grief, but that was due to repeated loss.
But a critical understanding of his brother, hard-won over years of blood and suffering, rears its head to remind him of what he already knows. ]
My feelings are that you are doing what you think is best for you and perhaps what you think is best for him, but that you are accomplishing neither.
Do you believe he has been fully honest with you about everything, about his wishes and about his experience? [ Here he turns again, eyes back on Stiles. ] I don't ask that to belittle your connection. I say it because it is in his nature to shoulder burdens silently and hide hard truths until it is no longer viable to do so.
He does not belong here.
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One. [ A single finger is held up. ] I think it’s pretty rich that you’re gonna stand here and tell me that we’re not accomplishing the best for ourselves when you don’t know jack about our relationship or the situation. Instead of asking those questions, you’re just jumping to conclusions based on what you used to know.
Two. [ A second finger. Stiles shoots Sasuke an incredulous look here, arms spread helplessly. ] Do I think he’s been honest? I know he hasn’t. Neither have I! We’re in a relationship. It’s a constant work in progress. But we’ve already cleared some major hurdles – again, that you wouldn’t have any idea about, because you haven’t asked – and, more importantly, I trust him.
Three. [ The knife is abandoned to the cutting board once again. ] No one belongs here, Sasuke! Not him, not me, not you! But we’re goddamn stuck here anyway. Is he supposed to just drop dead because that was the natural state of things in your world? No? Then what the hell is your point?
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Stiles says his brother is seeking treatment for his illness. Would he do so if he were here alone, even having grown as is claimed? How much of this progress is for the sake of assuaging Stiles's concerns? For the purpose of placation? It's not something he wants the young man across from him to endure. ]
You are correct. I don't understand your relationship. What I know is what I have gleaned from years with him and years apart from him, and from what you've told me now.
Would you care to review it? That your relationship "just happened". That you know it's selfish but you don't care. That you genuinely believe it harms no one but the two of you. That when I've confronted you out of concern for you both you have found it fitting to characterize me as the kind of man that even I have never been. That you know he lies to you.
I too have trusted my brother. Pragmatism and duty matter to him more than that, and I would challenge any narrative that says that that has changed about him. [ Eyes again cut back to the entryway, but this time it's where his focus remains, jaw locked and expression grim. Nothing about this brings him pleasure. Even the way Stiles is free to yell at him is something he envies, wishing for a similar way to vent his frustrations but he's left grasping at straws. His anger, for better or for worse, can't stay fixed on a singular target, not with this. ]
I have missed things. Because of that, I should see his changes for myself.
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Furthermore, it genuinely doesn’t seem to him that Sasuke is approaching their relationship out of concern, not based on how the shinobi is going about it. Repeated insistence that the relationship is a mistake, that it’s selfish, that it’s the opposite of the peace Itachi found – these criticisms have only reinforced the idea that Sasuke has no interest in understanding either the life they’ve built together or them as the people they’ve become. The younger Uchiha brother is stuck in the past, refusing to relinquish his own misgivings. There’s no point in discussing the subject with him further. And yet Stiles knows that if he can’t somehow convince Sasuke, his relationship with Itachi will be in jeopardy; if there’s one truth he’s certain of, it’s that Itachi will accept whatever sentencing Sasuke delivers upon him. ]
I’m in love with him.
[ The world continues on despite the quiet admission. Birds in the backyard garden trill beautiful songs to each other, unafraid of miscommunication. Sophia twitches in her sleep, paws scrabbling on the floor as she chases after long-fading dreams. And there’s Stiles, baring his heart to Sasuke for judgement. His expression is smooth, devoid of the fragmented anger that had cracked his countenance before. ]
And I think he’s in love with me.
Our relationship might not be perfect, but it works for us. We make each other happy.