you are home

MONDAY, NOVEMBER 20

The water in their new apartment didn't run cold halfway through a long shower. The building itself was marketed as a luxury property; though, Itachi had his own revelations about what a luxury property meant in the city of Konoha. 

With every type of criminal hanging around the city, any place that didn't allow crime was, in fact, a luxury. By that logic, the apartment Itachi now lived in was no longer as luxurious as it claimed to be. 

But the water stayed warm. That was a plus. 

And Itachi took a long enough shower that it would've been a concern in their old apartment. It was no longer a concern; double-plus. 

He stepped out onto the new bath mat, watching numbly as droplets of water cascaded down his legs and onto the bases of his feet, absorbing into the toweling. He should be excited; this new bath mat was much better (visually and texture-wise) than the old one they used in the old apartment. 

He couldn't bring himself to feel.

No, that was untrue. He felt cold. The hot water he showered with was starting to lose its initial temperature. He was downright shivering now.

Tired eyes scanned the bathroom until they landed on his towel. He reached over, grabbing it and going through the motions of drying himself. One quick glance at the mirror, staring at his naked self, was enough to wake him up just a bit.

He should be in his sleepwear. He should be in bed. Life was easier when he slept through it.

He didn't have to go to class today. He could skip a few lectures here and there; he'd still pass his courses. It's not like he wanted to enroll in college (except he did, and he made the mistake of going through with his decision).

Itachi had just finished patting off the cold water droplets when his phone started to buzz. On the bathroom sink counter, his work phone—a simple black flip phone—vibrated with such intensity, demanding that it be picked up immediately. He wrapped his towel around his torso before reaching over to pick up the device.

He received a voice mail.

Part of him didn't want to listen to it, but alas, he put his ear to the phone and played the message. His initial plans of crawling back into bed, getting much needed rest, were sent back into a faraway place in his mind. Repeating the voicemail once it ended, Itachi began to memorize the words verbatim: 

"New shipment dropped off. Verify purity. Will call back to confirm distribution rates. Deadline is this evening by five o'clock."

The classroom was filled with students—more than necessary, really. They stared at him, either bored or curious. Sasuke stood at the front of the classroom, looking back at the rest of the students with unwelcoming eyes.

He didn't think his presence would elicit some kind of silence. The once-noisy homeroom classroom he walked into fell into a resounding hush. 

Beside Sasuke stood a man, aloof in character and an overall annoyance (Sasuke concluded, upon the very few seconds he's known the man). His homeroom teacher leaned against the wall—his arms crossed and his face covered with a face mask, not to mention an eye patch shielding his left eye. None of it hid his mischievous smile, nor did it hide his sadistic personality (once again, Sasuke concluded, upon the very few seconds he's known the man).

He hoped the ground swallowed him right then and there. He wasn't the best public speaker, and the introduction he was about to give was very much involuntary.

"Well," Mr. Hatake urged, "go on."

"My name is Sasuke," the boy introduced in a deadpan manner, "I'm new."

"We know, Sasuke." The teacher's words made the class giggle, yet made Sasuke seethe. "What's something we don't know?"

"I don't see how—" 

—that's relevant to any of you, is what Sasuke would've said, if he wasn't interrupted by the front door sliding open rather loudly. 

"Another new student!" Mr. Hatake exclaimed, though he sounded slightly uninterested. "Welcome. You must be...?"

The boy whispered something (most likely his name, Sasuke assumed), trying his best not to pant too hard.

Sasuke noted the disheveled and wrinkled clothes. He noted the student's hunched posture and the tightened fist around his backpack strap. He noted the student's shifting eyes—eyes that only stared at the floor, eyes that never caught the gaze of another. It was obvious: the student had either gotten lost, or the student had been late. Either way, he ran to class to avoid missing homeroom altogether.

The embarrassment the student must've been feeling was unmatched. Sasuke found himself relating more to the new student in front of him than anyone else in the school (as of yet).

"I'm not sure if the rest of the class heard you," Mr. Hatake pointed out.

The teacher walked over and gently guided the new student into the classroom, sliding the door behind the boy. Sasuke watched as the student flinched, cowering into himself the moment the teacher touched his shoulder. Mr. Hatake removed his hand immediately—expressionless behind his mask and eye patch, save for the fake smile on his face, as though he didn't notice the flinch.

The student stood by his side now. Their homeroom teacher positioned them shoulder-to-shoulder, quite liking his new display of collected children.

"Now," Mr. Hatake continued, "We have two new students. It seems that they are a bit shy, so we're not going to push them to introduce themselves. Is that alright, Sasuke and Gaara?"

This teacher clearly knew he was putting the two of them on the spot. His newfound gentleness meant nothing to Sasuke. 

In the corner of his eye, Sasuke noticed that Gaara started shifting in his position, still looking down at the ground.

"There are two open seats in the very back," Mr. Hatake told them. "Why don't you two make yourselves comfortable there?"

That sounded fair. Sasuke paced towards the back, thankful that the ordeal was over. The other students' eyes followed him until he reached his seat; he did his best to ignore his classmates. He was already sitting down when Gaara came up to him.

The redhead opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again before faltering. He wanted to say something, only to refrain from such and sit next to him. Sasuke wondered what the boy wanted.

"I'd appreciate if you all did your best to make them feel welcome," Mr. Hatake continued. "Nonetheless, I have no lower expectations of you all. I know you will do just that."

Beside him, Sasuke noticed Gaara fidgeting in his chair. He looked over at the redhead's face, growing concerned when he saw how pale the student was. Sasuke knew it was better to mind his own business, but he nudged the boy next to him.

"...Are you okay?" he asked quietly.

He saw Gaara shake his head.

Dammit.

Sasuke seriously considered turning back time to mind his own business. He didn't mean to be so crude; he just didn't know what to do in this situation.

Think, Sasuke. Think.

"So, is there," Sasuke said, unsure of how to proceed, "something you need? Water, or anything like that?"

Gaara nodded quickly, suddenly coming to the realization that he had something to help him. Sasuke watched as the boy rapidly dug through his backpack, pulling out a tiny metal can and opening it. Before he could ask what was in it, Gaara dumped out the contents on his desk.

It was sand.

Sasuke continued to watch in utter confusion as Gaara started to trace shapes in the sand. He thanked the Gods that they were sitting in the back; Sasuke was getting secondhand embarrassment. Who in their right mind brought sand to school?

No, Sasuke thought to himself, at least sand wasn't hazardous. Sand was unusual, but it was just sand.

The classroom went back to talking amongst themselves. The noise echoed off the walls and into the boys' ears. 

Sasuke stared at the shapes in the sand. He rattled off the names he knew in his head: circle, square, another circle, another circle, diamond (or was that a pentagon?), another circle, a pentagon, another circle (note: it could be an oval, if he squinted), another cir—

He stopped. 

Sasuke looked back up at him, catching his glance—wide-eyed and ashamed. He'd been staring too long. He may have seemed judgmental, even if he was (initially), but that wasn't what he intended to be.

Not on his first day of school, at least.

Sasuke tried to backtrack, but it was too late. He saw the redhead quickly turn back to the sand on his desk—hands shaking as he continued to trace random shapes and...

SORRY.

Guilt ate at him when he saw the word unevenly traced in the sand.

He felt even guiltier when he saw droplets clumped in the sand.

Great. He didn't think he'd make someone cry on his first day at a new school.

Their old apartment was closer to his usual workplace than their new apartment. The bus ride took a little over half-an-hour to reach his destination. Itachi waited for the bus to slow to a stop before getting up from his seat. Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, he cleared his throat as he passed by the other bus passengers, indirectly signaling that they were in his way.

Crowds of pedestrians stepped around him on their daily commute to God-knows-where. Standing in front of a plaza of shops, the words 'Konoha's Finest Beauties' greeted him. It was a hair and nail salon—well, for the most part, it was. He knew all the workers in the front, and he always made it a point to chat with some of the beauticians sitting idly at the resting station, waiting for their next customer.

The glass door swung open, not nearly as easily as it used to, when Itachi entered the salon. The chime above his head cued his entry.

One of the beauticians busied herself in a regular customer's hair, straightening long platinum-blonde extensions until they blended in with the rest of the dyed hair. The other two stood by the cash register, talking to each other in a hushed whisper until they noticed him.

The women by the cash register waved him over, and Itachi could only offer them a smile as he came closer. He knew what was coming: a fuss over his appearance, a fuss over his clothes, a fuss over whether he had eaten or slept, a fuss over something only his parents would once worry about.

It wasn't usual for him—being fussed over.

The youngest beautician at the salon, Miss Aoi, was only just shy over a decade older than him. The other beautician, Auntie Akari, was old enough to be his grandmother. 

Itachi never had a grandparent—or, at least, he wasn't raised by one. It was always unclear of whether his parents' parents died, or if his parents stopped talking to their elders. 

But Auntie Yuki, the beautician working on her customer's hair, would be as old as his mother (if his mother was still alive). 

There was always something about Auntie Yuki that made the air more comfortable, despite her nagging nature. He tried to catch her eye in the wide wall mirror, but failed. She was too engrossed in whatever conversation she was having with her client.

"There's new inventory," Miss Aoi whispered to him. "The boss wants you to make sure it's all there."

"I got his message earlier," Itachi confirmed. whispering back. "I'll probably be done soon. I'll be out of your hair."

She covered her mouth, eyes gleaming as she repeated back a little louder, "Out of our hair, huh?" 

From the distance, Itachi heard a bellowed laugh.

"Ha!" Auntie Yuki cackled, straightening herself out. "He's smart enough to make puns now."

"Oh, shut up, you brat," Auntie Akari yelled back, scolding the woman, "Our boy has always been smart."

He was a grown man—one who went to college and was about to graduate in a year. He wasn't at an age where he should be embarrassed easily, but as an argument kicked up between the two, Itachi felt himself cringe. The client getting her hair done turned in her chair to stare right at him, not making the situation any better. 

Sometimes it became tiring to be treated like a baby.

Then again, all of these women knew him since he was practically a child—around thirteen, or fourteen, years old when he first met them. Surely that factored into the treatment he received. The ripe age of thirteen didn't exactly constitute him as a toddler, but he was in no means an adult. 

To the women, he may as well have been a baby. 

Homeroom lasted about an hour, but quite literally nothing was taught in class. The hour he wasted sitting in guilt could’ve been used as a study period, but it was his first day, and he had nothing better to do.

Mr. Hatake ended the class with attendance, calling out each name on his roster until he reached the end. The classroom had enough manners to mute their conversations as roll was called.

“Naruto,” he said, waiting a few seconds before repeating, “Is Naruto here today?”

”He said he was in the office,” a girl in the front called out.

“What did he do this time?”

”He’s helping with the remodeling. Ms. Senju wanted to keep him busy.”

”He’s helping and you’re not?” Mr. Hatake teased. “Here I was thinking you were her favorite student.”

The girl in front sighed frustratedly at the words directed at her. Sasuke took the time to observe her. If she was the principal’s favorite student, as his homeroom teacher had put it, then maybe it would be good to befriend her. She'd most likely be a good influence; a good influence meant a good reputation.

A good reputation meant little to no attention from other students. Little to no attention from other students meant Sasuke could stay out of anyone's line of sight.

Maybe he could even help out in the front office to avoid going home. 

“Alright, I’ll mark him present for now,” Mr. Hatake announced. “Tell him to meet me before lunch to verify that he was in the office.”

”Sure thing,” the girl in the front replied. “Should he bring a note?”

Mr. Hatake shook his head. “I trust your word.”

The class was soon dismissed. At the sound of the bell, the students got out of their seats, carrying on with conversations they paused during attendance. 

Sasuke reclined in his chair, looking over his schedule. He had a few minutes to get to his next class—right next door to his homeroom. 

In his peripheral, Gaara hurriedly scraped the sand on his desk back into its original container. He didn’t seem to be shaking much anymore, though a slight tremor was still ever-present. They made eye contact before Gaara quickly looked away, getting up from his seat and walking to the front of the classroom.

Sasuke supposed that he had time to ask his homeroom teacher about extracurriculars. He followed after the redhead, waiting behind him as the other student spoke to the teacher, keeping a distance to allow them their privacy—

”…but yes, I would like to apologize for putting you on the spot—“

—except the homeroom teacher's apology caught Sasuke off-guard, so much so that he started to eavesdrop closer than he would’ve liked to admit.

”It… It’s just…” Gaara stuttered, looking anywhere except at the teacher. “The IEP…”

”You have an IEP?” Mr. Hatake clarified.

Gaara nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

“Again, I do apologize,” Mr. Hatake said. “I should’ve been aware that you have an IEP. I didn't receive it, nor did I receive notice that there was an IEP for you—not that it's your fault. I believe the mess-up is being sorted out by the front office.”

”I’m sorry.”

”There’s no reason for you to apologize, Gaara,” Mr. Hatake gently interrupted. “I appreciate you letting me know.”

Sasuke looked at the clock on the wall in the front of the classroom. It was nearing the time for his next class.

”Are you comfortable sitting in the back of the classroom?” Mr. Hatake asked to confirm. “I can always rearrange the seating if it makes you more comfortable.”

“...I’m okay,” Gaara said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

”Are you sure about— Gaara? Gaara?!”

Sasuke moved just in time to catch the other student. Gaara's entire body was deadweight against his own. Sasuke sank to the floor as he cradled his classmate securely, ill-prepared yet not willing to let go. Their homeroom teacher leapt over his desk, squatting down near the two of them.

”Gaara?” Mr. Hatake called out, hovering his hands over the boy unsurely, but not quite touching him. 

“He’s not waking up,” Sasuke observed, still holding his classmate in his arms.

”I can see that, Sasuke.”

Sasuke would have glared at the man if it weren’t for the fact that he heard Gaara groan.

”He’s waking up,” Sasuke informed his teacher.

”Thank you for the update,” Mr. Hatake deadpanned.

This time, Sasuke did glare.

The back of the salon held all of the necessities the beauticians needed for work. Hidden in the shelves of products and utensils, spread throughout the space, were drugs.

Itachi gathered the substances, scanning each corner and box. They were in every spot he's looked before, placed in areas that no one would check unless they were explicitly looking for them. He put what he could gather on a nearby table, sorting through the supplies and counting it—jotting down notes so he wouldn't forget, though he doubted he'd forget anything crucial. 

There were other shipments in the days prior. If he added up the inventory, plus the new supplies in this shipment...

Two-hundred kilograms of pure methamphetamine (crystal - eighty-seven).

Two-hundred kilograms of crack cocaine. 

Two-hundred kilograms of lysergic acid diethylamide.

Three-hundred kilograms of liquid heroine.

Three-hundred kilograms of powder cocaine. 

Six-hundred kilograms of ground marijuana. 

Still Missing: ecstasy, fentanyl, opium, khat, k2

These were just approximates, but all that mattered was meeting the quota. They had more than enough marijuana now to travel into unmarked territories. Itachi knew he had enough to report back. 

He kept the inventory separated, but made sure it was out of sight. The last thing the Akatsuki needed was a police raid. The transportation unit would take a while to get the substances; the transportation unit appreciated having everything sorted beforehand.

As he began to walk out, he double-checked his notes and looked around the storage room to see if anything was out of place. Stacked below a box of keratin solutions, several unsuspecting containers kept the drugs hidden. The storage room itself was organized in its own chaotic way, giving the containers of drugs a camouflage to the naked eye.

Nothing was amiss.

Itachi just hoped that his next paycheck made up for the trouble this job was giving him.

Sasuke sat on one of the chairs in the front office, hands resting in his lap as he stared at the ceiling. The office itself wasn't any more or less organized than what he saw in the morning; in fact, it looked just about the same.

His homeroom teacher insisted that he should help Gaara go to the front office. Even though the redhead woke up at some point, he wasn't entirely lucid—almost in a trance, which made sense, considering the fact that he fainted. Apparently the principal and vice principal understood the procedures of medical intervention. 

He didn't understand why he couldn't have just taken Gaara to a school nurse. His old school had one of those. 

He also didn't understand why he was waiting. Shizune told him he was free to leave if he needed to, but he stayed for no other reason other than guilt. He didn't want to be the reason Gaara collapsed. Perhaps his homeroom teacher's questions pushed him towards a ledge, but maybe if Sasuke stopped staring at Gaara for using sand to calm himself...

Sasuke sighed, slouching in his chair. The digital clock on the reception desk told him he was about ten minutes late to his next class. For what it was worth, Sasuke couldn't bring himself to care if he was late or not anymore. 

So much for a peaceful first day of school.

"Sasuke?" Shizune called out, peeking out from behind green curtains she drew. "Are you still here?"

Sasuke nodded, getting up from his seat.

"You must be worried," she said, smiling at him. "Gaara is alright now. Thank you for bringing him."

Sasuke nodded again, unsure of what to do or what to say.

"You can see him if you'd like," she offered. "It's good to have friends nearby when you're recovering. I'm sure Gaara would appreciate you being here."

He's barely known the guy for an hour. He doubted they were friends; they were acquaintances, at best.

Sasuke decided to stay silent and walk towards the green curtains, drawing them back to enter. Gaara laid on a cot, asleep or unconscious once more (Sasuke really hoped it was the former option).

"Is this because of his IEP?" Sasuke asked.

Shizune shook her head. "I'm not at liberty to say."

"I heard Mr. Hatake say that he didn't receive it."

"...Receive what?"

"An IEP," Sasuke said, looking at her—watching her reaction. "I don't know what that is, but—"

"What do you mean he didn't receive it?" Shizune pressed, suddenly on high alert. "Did he not check in with the principal this morning? Or... Oh, dear God..."

"The office was a mess this morning," Sasuke finished her thought.

It still was a mess, but he didn't dare push her buttons—not when she looked so stressed out already.

The woman hurried out, closing the green curtains behind her to give them privacy. He took the time to look back at Gaara, noting the chair near his bedside. The raven supposed he could sit by his classmate for a while; he was already late to his second class. If he cared enough, he'd ask for a tardy-pass explaining his circumstances.

Sasuke glanced around the room, taking in his surroundings. The redhead looked stressed even while he was asleep. His eyebags were dark and heavy, and Sasuke doubted the other got any sleep to begin with.

No wonder he passed out earlier.

Sitting around and waiting for Gaara to wake up was boring. Having nothing else to do, Sasuke pulled out his phone. He did a quick search online, letting his curiosity get the best of him: What is an IEP?

All he was able to get out of his search were the words "Individualized Education Program" and the importance for accommodations. He would've dug for more information if he was curious enough. He got the general gist of what it meant. Swiping out of the information page, he started to scroll through his messages, reading over past conversations dating back to a few months ago.

He clutched his phone tighter the more he read. His eyes started to skim through words, stinging the more he read and reread, until he was interrupted by a terrified gasp. Sasuke quickly turned off his phone and pocketed it, blinking away the soreness in his eyes.

Gaara examined the room with an equally terrified expression on his face.

"Are you okay?" Sasuke asked.

Gaara snapped his head towards Sasuke.

"You passed out," Sasuke said. "I brought you here."

He didn't add the fact that Mr. Hatake told him to do so. Nor did he add the fact that he could've been in his next class. Nor did he add the fact that he was eavesdropping into Gaara's private conversation with their homeroom teacher.

Honestly speaking, Gaara didn't need to know any of that.

"Thank you," Gaara whispered.

Sasuke noticed how he started shaking again.

"I, uh, brought your backpack here." Sasuke grabbed Gaara's bag, carefully rummaging through it and taking out the same metal container of sand he saw the redhead use in class. "Will this help?"

Gaara carefully sat up and took the container, watching Sasuke's face carefully—worried for any reaction or judgement.

The raven knew better this time around. He kept a neutral expression as the redhead opened the container and picked at the grains of sand. Not a single grain of sand landed on the cot Gaara was in.

It continued for a while. Gaara dug his fingers nimbly into the silver metal container of sand. Sasuke watched patiently. In the background, the boys could hear Shizune rummaging around the office. There was another voice—deeper by an octave or two than their vice principal—who slurred every other word that came out of her mouth. Aside from the chaos, the boys were safe in their little corner, hidden behind green hospital curtains.

"It's a medical condition," Gaara explained, his voice quiet.

Sasuke barely heard him, and it took a while to process what the boy told him.

"I know you think it's weird," Gaara continued. "The sand helps me. I think it's the texture. I don't know; it just helps."

"It's not weird," Sasuke denied (like a liar, but he was trying not to be an asshole).

"It's okay if you think it's weird. I think it's weird."

"It's not," Sasuke doubled down, more so as Gaara stopped picking at the sand. "It's just different. I didn't know how to react."

They stared at each other, not knowing what to say. Sasuke wondered if this counted as bonding. Is this how people made friends?

Then again, he did have friends once—in his old school. He had a childhood friend at some point, but he wasn't exactly sure what happened to that friend.

To be honest, that childhood friend was merely a fragment of his memories. His friends—the ones in his old school—formed a bond with him in their own unusual way. 

Before they were murdered by the Akatsuki.

"Thanks for sharing that," Sasuke concluded, looking away. "You didn't have to tell me."

"I owed you an explanation," Gaara said.

"No, you didn't."

"You stayed. You didn't have to. I owe you something," Gaara argued, trying to reason with him. "I don't even know your name."

"Sasuke."

He didn't bother explaining how his name was mentioned in front of the redhead at least twice. He was really trying his best not be rude. 

"Right," Gaara seemed to recall, albeit looking guilty over the fact he couldn't remember. "Sasuke. I'm sorry. I didn't sleep much last night and my memory isn't—"

"I never caught your name," Sasuke interrupted.

He knew the boy's name was Gaara. Sasuke just didn't like how stressed out the redhead was getting. If lying about not knowing information he didn't need helped him, so be it.

"...Gaara," the other boy said, seeming to relax a bit.

Sasuke didn't realize how tense Gaara had gotten.

"So, Gaara," Sasuke emphasized, pretending to have just learned the name, "what classes do you have?"

Gaara pointed to his backpack. Sasuke handed it over, allowing the boy to reach in and grab a slip of paper, giving it to him. Upon inspection, it was a school schedule, similar to the one he was given.

Upon further (closer) inspection, they had the same exact classes as each other—in the same exact order.

This definitely wasn't going to be their last time time interacting with one another. 

Itachi closed the door to the back storage room behind him, trying not to make a sound as he did so. The beauticians, focused on either cleaning the salon or tending to a customer, weren't paying attention to him. He just about made his way to the front of the salon, tiptoeing all the while, when he felt someone pull him back by the hood of his jacket. 

"You promised to eat!" Auntie Akari scolded, stopping the man in his tracks. "Did you think you'd be able to pay attention to your classes while you starve?! You didn't even eat breakfast!"

Itachi started to protested, but was stopped by a sharp tug at his jacket's hood.

"And don't say you'll be late to your lecture," the older beautician warned. "You said your classes started at noon. It's barely ten o'five."

"I have to take the bus," Itachi explained. "It leaves in—"

"Twenty-five minutes," the woman finished for him. "I know."

She didn't take kindly to his excuses. 

Itachi tried to remember when he promised the woman he'd eat something. Was it while he conversed with the beauticians the moment he entered the salon? He couldn't quite recall. 

"I could grab something before my classes start," he tried to reason.

She wouldn't listen, pulling him back further into the salon.

Itachi stumbled, walking backward and trying to keep his balance as he was dragged into a rolling chair. He lifted his feet as the chair started to be pushed from behind, settling him into the cleared space behind the cashier counter. A bento box, wrapped in a floral cloth, was soon placed in front of him.

"You didn't have to trouble yourself," Itachi said, faltering as he noticed the glare sent his way. "Really, it's no big deal."

"Don't make me forcefeed you," the older beautician threatened (menacingly, if Itachi might add). "I've done it before. Did you forget how embarrassed you were?"

If this was the love of a grandmother, Itachi was grateful he never got to experience it (or, was he?). His resolve weakened when the glare deepened, and he slowly turned back to the bento box in front of him.

He had no choice but to eat. His hands carefully unwrapped the lunchbox packed for him. He wasn't hungry, by any means. Between the stress of the move yesterday, and his lack of appetite from the events in the morning, he wasn't sure how he could stomach a meal. Lifting up the container's lid, he figured he could take a few bites before calling it a day—

Oh.

...It looked delicious.

He merely gazed at the food in front of him, taking in the sight of it, when someone tapped him on his shoulder.

"You like these, right?" Miss Aoi asked him, handing over a treat wrapped in tissue paper. "A new pastry shop opened up nearby! They sell them."

Itachi thanked her, taking the tissue paper and unfolding it. His eyes widened when he realized what he was given.

Dango.

The oldest beautician chuckled at his reaction, reaching over to tap the bottom of his chin. Itachi instinctively closed his mouth, hurriedly thanking Miss Aoi again and covering his face when Auntie Akari laughed even louder—pointing out the smallest dribble of drool at the side of his lip. 

"I knew it," the youngest beautician added, laughing along. "He instantly came to my mind when I saw the dango! He used to eat them when he was younger, remember?"

Indeed he did.

Itachi didn't know why he tried to sneak off without eating what was given to him. These women cared for him. They hardly ever let him go without being cared for.

If he could pay them back someday, he'd find a way. They deserved as much.