Naori slowly stirred, her body feeling strangely light yet heavy at the same time. Her mind was still trapped in the haze of sleep, caught between the remnants of a dream that felt all too real. A dream where she had sight again. A dream where someone had reached out and given her hope.
'Tch. Of course, it was a dream. What else would it be?' she thought bitterly, sighing to herself. She had long since abandoned the idea of ever regaining her sight, and yet, that dream had been so vivid.
But then she felt it.
A sensation flickered in her right eye—something she hadn't felt in years. It was faint, like an ember buried beneath the ashes, but it was there. Her breath hitched. Carefully, cautiously, she tried to open her eyes. Darkness. Still nothing.
Her heart sank. Of course. Just another stupid fantasy, she thought, bitter disappointment washing over her. She should've known better than to get her hopes up. Clenching her fists, she gritted her teeth, forcing back the overwhelming sense of loss.
But then—something shifted.
A flicker. A faint pulse of chakra in her right eye. It wasn't much, but it was enough to make her breath hitch in her throat.
Her hands shot up to her face, and that's when she felt it. The rough texture of bandages wrapped around her eyes.
Bandages?
With shaking hands, she ripped them off. Light flooded her vision—her right side.
Her breath caught.
She could see.
It was just one eye. Just one small window into the world. But damn it—it was enough.
Naori was frozen, torn between the urge to scream her joy to the heavens or collapse into a sobbing mess on the floor. Her body trembled as emotions she had buried long ago threatened to break free.
And then—screw it.
In a rare display of sheer, uninhibited joy, she jumped up, threw her hands in the air, and started dancing.
Yes. Dancing.
It was probably the most un-Uchiha thing imaginable. But for once, she didn't care. She spun on her heels, kicked out her legs, and even did a little twirl, feeling the thrill of her regained sight rush through her veins like an intoxicating high.
No one was here to witness this. No one would ever know.
Or so she thought.
A low snicker echoed through the room.
Naori froze.
Every muscle in her body locked up as her head slowly, slowly turned toward the source of the sound.
There, leaning against the doorframe with an infuriatingly amused expression, stood a young man. No—a boy, maybe fifteen or sixteen at most. Black eyes, under which were long, pronounced tear-troughs. He had jet-black hair that was pulled back in a low ponytail and his face was framed with centre-parted bangs that extended to his chin. Mesh armour with navy accents under an identical T-shirt with a simple white belt around the waist and dark blue pants. He was handsome, it was almost a given that members of the clan were good looking but he was definitely one of the better looking men who would age well once they matured into their later years.
His arms were crossed, his dark eyes half-lidded with obvious amusement. And if the three spinning tomoe in his eyes were anything to go by—he was definitely an Uchiha.
Wait. Wait.
What the hell was he doing with his Sharingan active?
Was he—copying her movements?!
Outsiders didn't understand the overpowered nature of an Uchiha's eye, but as one of the elites she understood all too well. The eyes allowed you to copy the flow of chakra, to copy the moves of an opponent mid fight, then you'd beat them at their own game. But for a veteran like her the eyes allowed them to do something different. It gave them a near photographic memory when activate. So his laugher just now. He saved her most embarrassing moment for later.
That little—
"You…" she started, voice dangerously low.
"Ah," he hummed, tapping his chin in mock thought. "So this is the great Naori Uchiha's secret to combat excellence—interpretive dance. Fascinating."
Her eye twitched.
Before she could think better of it, she lunged at him.
Itachi barely had time to react before Naori tackled him, knocking them both to the ground. He let out a small grunt as he landed on his back, with her straddling him, her hands gripping the front of his shirt in frustration.
"You little—!"
But before she could finish, Itachi tilted his head with that same damn smirk still on his face.
"Wow," he mused, voice light with amusement. "This is the second time you've gotten on top of me."
Naori froze.
In the years living alone, hunting whatever she could, she often time had to use every part of her body to catch her prey. So that sometimes meant squishing them with her body. At the time she thought nothing of it and did it everything she picked up on anything that moved. But now that she's around people again she would need to adjust so she didn't come across as a weirdo or worse, a pervert.
Itachi's smirk widened, clearly enjoying how her expression went from frustration to sheer mortification.
"Should I expect this to be a normal greeting between us?" he continued smoothly. "Or should I just start calling you Mrs. Uchiha now? Or better yet," he tapped his chin in faux contemplation, "should I inform my future wife that this is just how you say hello? Can't have people getting the wrong idea about or relationship—or risk having someone cutting my balls off out of jealousy."
Naori's entire face ignited.
She scrambled off him so fast she nearly tripped over herself. Her mind was screaming at her to say something—anything—but all she could do was gape at him like an idiot.
Shameless.
This young master was just shameless.
As Naori tried to collect herself from the sheer shamelessness of this boy, Itachi casually stood up, dusting off his clothes.
"Come on," he said, turning towards the doorway. "Let's get some breakfast."
Naori blinked. "What?"
Itachi glanced back at her, as if her confusion was unnecessary. "Breakfast. You do eat, don't you?"
Still disoriented, she nodded and, without thinking, followed him. It was only when they stepped into her small living room and kitchen that she really started to feel that something was off.
She knew this space. She had memorized every inch of it out of necessity. And yet—
Her steps faltered as she took in the sight.
The place was... clean.
Not just clean, but completely put back together. The furniture that she had broken in her frustration—the table she had shattered—was perfectly intact, with a steaming, neatly prepared meal placed on it.
She stared.
She knew she had wrecked this place. She remembered doing it.
And yet, here it was. Like it had never happened.
Her eye snapped to Itachi, who was calmly preparing the rest of their meal like this was normal.
"What are you doing?" she asked, still thrown off by the sheer absurdity of the situation.
Itachi didn't even glance at her. "Cooking."
Naori narrowed her eye. "I can see that. I meant why?"
This time, he did look at her. And to her surprise, his expression was... gentle.
"Because you need a proper meal," he said simply. "It's been too long."
Naori's lips parted, but no words came out.
Itachi placed a bowl of rice and miso soup in front of her, along with some grilled fish and tamagoyaki. A simple, traditional meal. The kind she hadn't had in years.
"I want you to feel what it's like to be cared for again," he said, meeting her gaze without hesitation. "So just enjoy yourself."
Naori's throat tightened.
She hadn't felt cared for in a long time. Too long.
Slowly, she sat down. She hesitated for a brief moment before picking up the chopsticks. She hadn't used utensils in years. The first bite was small, almost cautious. But the moment the flavors hit her tongue, her body moved on its own.
The food was good.
Itachi then said the words that made her tear up again. The words her grandmother and grandfather use to say to her after a tough mission.
Naori Welcome Home
Tears went down her face as she began to eat, before she knew it, she was eating like a starving woman, barely remembering her manners as she practically inhaled the meal. Itachi didn't comment, only watching with a faint smirk as she devoured the food at an almost inhuman speed.
"Seconds?" he offered casually.
She swallowed her last bite and placed her bowl down. "Yes."
Itachi wordlessly got up to serve her more, and Naori just sat there, still processing everything.
As she started on her second serving, she finally spoke again. "What happened to the other women who were here?"
Itachi, who had just taken a sip of his tea, set the cup down. "My mother took my father home. She wanted to check on my younger brother, Sasuke. He's eight."
Naori nodded slowly, processing the information.
"And Yuki?"
"Still resting. I borrowed her for the surgery, but she has work at the clinic later," Itachi explained.
Naori hummed in understanding. The meal continued in comfortable silence until, finally, she set her chopsticks down, exhaling in satisfaction.
"So," she said, glancing at Itachi. "What's next?"