The dim moonlight filtered through the curtains of Itachi's room, casting soft shadows that seemed to stretch across the floor. His body felt heavy, almost as though he had been asleep for a long time, his mind still clouded by the intensity of the training he had just endured. For a moment, he was unsure of where he was, disoriented by the transition between his mental space and reality. Everything felt like a blur—a dream he couldn't wake from.
Then he heard her voice.
"Itachi, wake up. You're late for the clan meeting!" Mikoto's voice, soft but insistent, cut through the fog of his mind.
His eyes fluttered open, slowly adjusting to the dimness of his room. The cool night air brushed against his skin, and he felt his mother's hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. There was something oddly foreign about the weight of her touch, as though it was too real in comparison to the endless void of his training.
He blinked, confused. Why am I so tired? The exhaustion was unlike anything he'd felt before, a dull ache in his body that hadn't been there earlier. His mind, however, felt more at ease than before. But something about his surroundings—something about her—felt different, almost dreamlike.
"You're never late," Mikoto muttered to herself, her voice soft and tinged with concern. "Is everything alright, Itachi? This is unlike you..."
Her words sent a wave of unease through him. Itachi had always been the perfect child—always on time, always composed, always the model Uchiha. Never had he faltered in his duties. And yet, here he was, late and disoriented. The pressure, the weight of it all, was beginning to settle inside him, harder than before. He wasn't just the perfect heir now; he was something else. Something that didn't have all the answers.
Mikoto's gaze softened, her brow furrowing with concern as she brushed his bangs away from his forehead. She always saw through him. She always knew.
"I'm fine, Mother." The words came out smoother than he'd expected, though they carried the weight of something unspoken. He wasn't about to add to her worries.
But as he said it, something caught his attention. Mikoto, his mother, the woman who had given him life—she was beautiful. Itachi had never thought of her this way, not in this sense. But in that moment, as he stared at her, something shifted. Had she always looked like this? A feeling welled up inside him—a mixture of recognition and a deep, aching longing.
Memories—old memories—flashed through his mind. The previous Itachi had missed her. Missed his mother. How strange. How vivid these emotions felt.
He stared at her for a moment too long, realizing his thoughts had wandered. The warm, familiar face of his mother felt almost distant now, an emotion too pure to reconcile with his current path. It was as if the memories of the other Itachi—the one who had loved his family with an untainted heart—were bleeding through. He hadn't known it would hurt this much.
Mikoto, sensing his shift in demeanor, smiled softly and reached out, placing a hand on his shoulder. "You're staring, Itachi. What's going on?"
Itachi blinked rapidly, quickly shaking himself from his trance. "I apologize." He stood up swiftly, almost too quickly. The movement startled him. "I'm fine. I'll head out right away."
But just as he was about to turn toward the door, his stomach gave an insistent growl, interrupting his thoughts. He froze mid-motion, and his face flushed. The feeling of hunger was jarring, almost unfamiliar. It felt like a sudden, inconvenient reminder that he was still human—flesh and blood.
I'm starving… His thoughts flickered briefly. In his mental space, there had been no food, no need for sustenance. His mind had convinced him he'd been absent for months, starving, but in reality, it had only been a few hours. The physical hunger hit him suddenly, deeply.
Mikoto looked at him, arching an eyebrow. "You're hungry, aren't you?"
Itachi hesitated, blinking in surprise. He hadn't even realized. "I… I didn't realize," he murmured, the words slipping out before he could think to stop them.
With a soft smile, Mikoto moved toward the kitchen, pulling out ingredients with practiced ease. "It's late, but you've been working so hard lately. You need something in your stomach before heading out. You deserve a proper meal."
Itachi stood still for a moment, his thoughts heavy with his responsibilities. Part of him wanted to brush it off, to ignore the meal and just focus on the mission ahead. But his stomach growled again, louder this time, and he found himself agreeing before he even realized it.
"...Alright. Just a quick meal," he muttered, surprised at himself for accepting the offer. His voice carried a note of exhaustion he hadn't meant to show. He wasn't used to admitting weakness.
Mikoto's eyes softened, her smile gentle as she prepared a simple dish. Itachi stood in the background, watching her work, a quiet reflection passing through him. The memories of his mother, his family, flooded his thoughts again, but this time, he allowed them. For just a moment, he let himself feel again, to experience this sense of normalcy, of care, even if it would all soon fade into the background once more.
As Mikoto worked, Itachi felt something stir inside him, a strange, unshakable feeling that perhaps, despite everything, he wasn't completely lost. Not yet. The rest of the world could wait for now. Tonight, he would simply allow himself to be a son, if only for a moment.
---
Itachi sat at the table, his posture still perfect as always, but something felt different. He was usually the one to get straight to the point—silent, focused, and always in control. But tonight, as Mikoto worked quietly in the kitchen, there was a strange unease within him. His hands felt restless on the table, and his gaze often drifted towards her as though he was nervous, as if this was the first time they've met.
Mikoto, ever observant, noticed it immediately. Itachi had always been meticulous, almost robotic in his precision, but tonight… tonight there was something more human about him. She couldn't pinpoint it, but something felt off. His usually cold, detached nature seemed... softened. It was subtle, but she could feel it.
She paused for a moment, glancing over her shoulder at him as she prepared a simple meal. Their eyes made contact but soon Itachi would break it and look away. Yes, something was off. Either he'd look down or he'd meet her gaze as if challenging her. But not tonight. Leftovers from the fridge—nothing extravagant, just something quick to satiate him before the meeting. Despite the simple meal, Mikoto put in the same care she always did, placing the rice and vegetables in front of him with a soft smile.
"Eat up, Itachi. You need something in your stomach," she said gently, sliding the plate toward him.
Itachi stared at the food for a moment, his mind elsewhere. He hadn't realized how hungry he truly was until the food was right in front of him. With the slightest nod, he picked up his chopsticks, but instead of eating slowly with deliberate movements. Tonight he devoured the food like he hadn't eaten in days.
Without a word, Itachi grabbed his chopsticks and dug in with surprising enthusiasm. He shoveled mouthful after mouthful, barely pausing to chew, his focus solely on the food in front of him. Mikoto stood by the counter, watching him with wide eyes. This was not like her son.
Mikoto was shocked, mouth slightly opened. Not believing what she's seeing. It-- Itachi. He's eating the food like a starving animal. Do they not feed him in Anbu? Do we not feed him properly? He ate it with rice still stuck to his cheek. Then pointed his bowl towards me almost in a demand. " Mom do we have anymore food?"
Is he alright?
She was too dazed to reply to him.
In all the years she'd known him, Itachi had always been composed, deliberate—never rushing, never overly eager. He ate with precision and focus, like everything else he did. But tonight, he was devouring the food with the speed and intensity of someone starved, every bite vanishing into his mouth like it was his last meal.
Mikoto stood frozen, her hand still holding the ladle mid-air, staring at her son in absolute disbelief. Itachi's face remained neutral, but the sheer speed with which he was eating was almost... unsettling.
"Sweetheart, are you alright?" she asked, voice tinged with concern. She wasn't sure if it was the mission stress catching up to him or something else entirely. "You're eating like you've been starving for days."
Itachi didn't respond. He was too busy devouring the last of the rice. The moment the plate was empty, he looked up at her, his face still expressionless but with a slight glint in his eyes.
"More," he said simply.
Mikoto blinked, taken aback. "More?"
Itachi didn't even wait for an answer. He placed his empty plate on the table, looking at her with an uncharacteristically eager gaze. It was as if nothing in the world mattered except getting more food.
Mikoto's mouth hung open. "Itachi... are you sure? You've already eaten so much..."
Why is he smiling like that. Itachi never smiled like that. His smile was a perfect crescent moon at a 25 degree turn. not this. This smile. It looked creepy, scary, the thing you'd see before someone put a kunai in your back before killing you and saying their going to do this to your family next.
But Itachi was already looking at her, his gaze intense, waiting. There was a slight pause before Mikoto reluctantly grabbed the leftovers and started reheating them. Her hands trembled a little as she tried to process the scene unfolding in front of her. This was not her son.
Itachi had always been the epitome of control. Seeing him act like this, like a different person entirely, left Mikoto speechless. She couldn't help but wonder if something was truly wrong, if his stress had somehow broken through his usual calm demeanor.
"Here," she said finally, putting a fresh plate in front of him. "But only a little more, okay? You can't eat like this every night."
Itachi gave a small nod, already reaching for his chopsticks again. His eating speed didn't slow down, and Mikoto just stood there, watching in stunned silence as he polished off the new plate of food in no time.
Once the second plate was empty, Itachi leaned back in his chair, finally done. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, his expression unchanged as he looked at Mikoto.
"Thanks," he said, his voice quieter now.
Mikoto stood there for a moment, still trying to wrap her head around the sudden shift in behavior. The usual Itachi wouldn't have eaten this much, and he definitely wouldn't have asked for more. She watched him closely, trying to find some hint of the son she knew, but the unease in her chest was only growing.
"Are you sure you're alright?" she asked again, now more softly, as she cleared the table. "I haven't seen you like this before."
Itachi looked up at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, he almost seemed lost, as though he wasn't entirely sure how to respond. But then he gave her a small, reassuring nod.
"I'm fine," he said, standing up. "I'll head to the meeting now."
As Itachi walked towards the door, Mikoto felt an overwhelming urge to stop him, to say something more. But before she could open her mouth, she felt a sudden shift in the air, a subtle movement she hadn't anticipated.
Itachi, who had always been so reserved, so emotionally distant, turned back toward her. In an unexpected gesture, he reached out, his arms wrapping around her in a tight, quick embrace.
Mikoto's breath caught in her throat. For a moment, she stood frozen, unsure of how to respond. Itachi—her son—hadn't hugged her like this since he was a small child, when he would reach for her to be picked up, when he still had the innocence and need for affection that all children had. Uchiha's, of course, never really did physical contact. It was seen as unnecessary. They were taught restraint, control, strength—things that made them distant even to their loved ones.
But now, in this moment, as Itachi held her close, she felt the warmth of his body against hers, his arms steady but somehow more fragile than she remembered. The touch felt foreign, like an intrusion, yet it also felt right. It was an unspoken gesture—one of affection, maybe even longing.
Mikoto's heart squeezed painfully in her chest. She couldn't quite process the whirl of emotions that flooded her. This wasn't the Itachi she'd known, the calm, composed, perfect son. This was something else. Something different. Something... vulnerable.
Her arms instinctively found their place around him, though she was still unsure of what to make of this strange shift. She could feel him in a way she hadn't for years. Her son was still there, but this version of him—this version wasn't her son. At least not the one she had raised.
The hug lasted only a few seconds, but in that short moment, Mikoto felt something stir within her. Maybe he wasn't lost after all. Maybe, just maybe, this was still her son, even if he was different.
Itachi pulled away, just as quickly and quietly as he had embraced her. His expression was once again unreadable, his usual calm façade settling back into place.
"I'm headed out now," he said softly, as if nothing unusual had happened. His voice was steady, but there was something almost distant about it, a quietness that echoed in her chest.
Mikoto nodded, her mind still spinning. She watched him for a moment, her hand lingering in the space where he had just been. He was walking away—her son, yet not her son. But maybe this was alright, she thought to herself. Maybe it wasn't so bad for things to change.
"You be careful," Mikoto said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Itachi didn't turn back, but his gaze lingered on her for a brief second before he stepped out of the room. The door clicked softly as it closed behind him, and Mikoto was left standing there, a strange emptiness settling in her stomach.
This wasn't the son she had known, but somehow, she couldn't help but feel that, in this moment, he was closer to her than he had been in years.
As Itachi was heading to the meeting place he couldn't help but curse that