Chapter Text
The creature lives and breathes against the flowing wind, groaning with the weight of the world, taken form in heavy swells of tempting scarlet that pull its limbs to the ground. When the droplets flesh out the borders of their skin, they will fall below and wash up in the trickling of four rivulets meant to sustain the ancient being. These sweet-bearing corpses litter the garden’s grounds in waiting. Eventually, left untouched and unwanted, the spheres of blood will dry up and rot, and the sin of man will repay itself to the ground.
-
He attempted to get out of this trip every year since elementary school. If stated by his opinion, contrary to his caretakers’, ever since he first gained real consciousness.
The boy’s family usually had him stay at his grandmother's lakehouse every summer while they went away to what they claimed was work. An old woman, with nothing other to do than read the same book that, due to a faulty case of alzheimer’s, she had already read for what the boy assumed to be the hundredth time. Although she constantly smelled of mothballs and unpermeable dust, her only redeemable feature was her ability to cook pastries. But after the first dozen slices of strudel were used to make him shut up and leave her alone, it became clear to him that she hated children. Even if he found reasons to exist alongside her, she would never do the same thing for him.
While she sat on the lakeside porch in her wicker rocking chair, reading her leather-framed book, he was always left to his own accord. He wandered through forests, played in dirt, and tossed his body through the icy lake. After the seventh summer, he could no longer satiate his esteemed boredom with skipping rocks into the giant lake that, with familiarity, appeared to him more like a glorified pond, or a natural cage.
He dreaded these boring times more than anything. He liked the city, the noise that constantly filled his head. He had met people there; he liked people. He didn’t like to be alone. To him, nothing was worse than being stuck in his own head. Maybe he hated the summer trips more, but they meant the same thing.
Selfishly, over winter, when his parents broke the news that his grandma had passed away in her sleep, despite the unintended frown on his lips, he immediately looked forward to no longer being forced to spend his summer in that God-forsaken place. He had just graduated from the twelfth grade and was finally ready to break away from the routine of descending into the isolating, hot pits of hell his ‘family’ regularly sent him to.
But here he was, in the backseat of a van with air-conditioning blowing straight into and dampening the corners of his eyes.
He stared at his light brown-haired father, who spoke to his dark brown-haired mother on the subject of “retirement” and “good property.”
The boy turned away from his parents, who looked nothing like him, to the glint of the silver pendant around his neck. His fingers toyed with the cross’s spokes, eventually tugging at the thin box-chain around his neck. Once he finally lowered his head back to the book in his lap, he instantly heard his parents call out to him, saying for what seemed like the hundredth time that he was going to stay in the cottage up the road, while the usual place was being renovated.
“I know,” he muttered, readjusting his focus on the car window, his fingers still clutching the books’ thin pages.
The brush was yellowing, dry, and near dying. They were the tall grasses that only a low-budget horror film could make use of. He wondered what it would be like to walk through them, and if it really was possible to get lost in them, considering some of them were taller than he was.
Out the window, he didn’t see anything beautiful, only miles of a dying land that he unfortunately didn’t care much about. The constant drone of voices and the bumpy ride on the unpaved road had made him restless, and he was almost thankful when the vehicle came to a stop. His appreciation quickly faded when he realized they were not yet at their destination, and his father only got out of the car to open the flimsy, barbed wire gate that blocked the rest of the widened path, which, with all the dirt it kicked up, could barely be called a road.
A sudden wave of heat filled the van even after his father was back inside and driving again. The boy looked between the other two passengers, but they did not seem to notice, pointing out different patches of dirt as places they should park the car in the meantime. But he didn’t hear them. He only lowered his head to gaze at the words that lay out beside his index finger.
“THIS IS NONE OTHER THAN THE HOUSE OF GOD, AND THIS IS THE GATE OF HEAVEN.”
The car had returned to a full stop. The boy watched his parents get out and walk towards the fate he had been sentenced to, turned in his seat to gaze at the makeshift gate in the dusty rearview window of the car, then back to stare at the two-story wooden house enclosed by bending trees.
It was painted a deep blue that, although slightly worn, was already better than the lake house, with white paint chipped and stained so badly that it somehow appeared less favorable than the rotting wood underneath.
He was already breaking into a sweat from the sheer heat of the air, and he opened up his car door and threw his legs over the flank, not quite standing up yet, watching his parents shake hands with a young man standing on the porch. Under the illuminating sun, the man looked like a blot of dark ink.
He stood beneath the overhang with his arms folded despite the heat, and his long hair was in a low ponytail that parted over his right shoulder, rather than off the back of his neck. Epicanthal folds dragged across his cheeks from the corners of his eyes, aging him significantly. But even with the indentations of maturity on his face, the boy could clearly tell from his posture alone that he was no more than five years older than him.
Despite it being so hot out that he could barely breathe, a small portion of his esteemed dread had cleared, allowing him to close the leather booklet titled HOLY BIBLE and stuff it under his arm. With his free hand, he reached across the car seat and pulled out his suitcase, which seemed much too small for the trip he was going on.
He was halfway to the house, dragging the suitcase, which kicked up clouds of dirt into his eyes, when he stopped. He looked up at the second-story window of his house, swearing that he could have seen some flurry of movement. He squinted, but it was so bright and hot out that he wasted no more time in getting to the porch of the house.
It felt as soon as he set his foot on the first step to the porch, his adoptive parents gave him quick side hugs before disappearing off down the road, and he didn’t look back at them, focusing on the young man who stood at the doorway.
“Need help with that?”
The boy smiled, shaking his head, “nah, I’m all good. Thanks though!” He exclaimed, surprised his voice could make such chipper sounds after breathing in so much dust that he swore he could feel it coat the inside of his lungs.
“We haven’t met yet. I’m Itachi Uchiha. There’s a heat wave right now, but it should cool down in a week. Oh, and I’m sorry for your loss.” In any other circumstances, the boy would have been confused by the suddenness of the statement mentioned at the end.
“It’s fine,” the blonde said airily, his blue eyes locked on a tree in the clearing that rose high and wide across a field of wildflowers, with brilliant bulbs of auburn hanging from its limbs like little balls of fire.
“Is that an apple tree?” He asked, a little confused. The trunk alone was thick enough to make up four trees combined, spiraling up towards the sky.
The boy struggled to tear his squinting eyes away from the tree in the distance, and the young man took his suitcase from his loosened grip.
“It's said to be over a hundred years old. It's lived through droughts, heavy snows and winds, and even being struck by lightning a few times. In my opinion, it's one of the oldest trees on earth, but it's never been documented as such.”
With a struggle, the boy moved away from the porch and through the latticed screen doorway. He was met with brick-tile floors, natural wood-plank walls, and a little kitchen with navy blue countertops.
“Hope you like apple-flavored foods. They are in season.” The blonde looked at the heap of brilliant red apples that sat in a little brown woven basket, and his fingers hooked into the cross around his neck. He stood awkwardly in the entrance as the dark-haired man pulled his suitcase to a corner by a coatrack at the doorway.
"Are you hungry?" Itachi asked, pulling a chair from a hallway closet and dragging it to a round dining table adjacent to the kitchen, which previously had two. To the boy with his cross and clothes, mostly of whites and greys, the young man across from him looked pretty gloomy, wearing black shorts and a worn-out, scarlet graphic tee. But his eyes, which under the kitchen light looked a deep red, similar to the fruit on the counter, had a gentle lilt to them.
"No, thank you. Thanks for letting me stay here," the boy said, looking around, already liking the decorations and the lived-in ambience of the cottage much more than the stale-dust feel of his late grandmother’s place.
“It’s no problem at all. We rarely get visitors around here. Oh- and I insist, what if I cut you up some of these?” He waved a hand at the bowl of apples on the counter, picked one up, and held it up to the blonde, who never had a specific like or dislike of apples. He was, in fact, slightly hungry and felt it would come off as rude if he refused the offer again, so it probably wouldn’t hurt to try the fruit. It’s not like there was much else to do either, as anything that called his attention, like moving his suitcase out of the doorway, or figuring out where he’d stay, wasn’t an emergency at all.
“Sure,” was all he managed, and the young man was almost done with slicing the apple. He was excellent with the knife, and the chopping of crisp flesh filled the air. When he was done cutting the apple into perfectly even crescents, he placed them in a handmade, sky-blue ceramic bowl he retrieved from a wood-lined glass cabinet over the sink. He handed the bowl to the blonde.
“Feel free to sit at the table.”
“Thank you, Mr.Uchiha,” he said, sitting down and setting the fruit on the table in front of him. The fruit's ripeness made it smell sweet, but its scent was nowhere near the apple's actual taste. The blonde was actually surprised by the strength of the bright flavors filling his mouth with tart nectar.
"Please just call me Itachi. No need for formalities, you’ll be staying here a while,” he trailed off, looking to the stairs leading to the second floor of the cottage before shifting his cordial gaze to the blonde.
“They are good, right?”
“Yeah- really good.” He said, already through his third slice, brows furrowed in concentration when Itachi called his name. The blonde looked up at the dark-haired man who had pulled out a chair across from him and sat down.
“Your parents told me you dreaded coming,” the blonde slowed his eating, feeling a little guilty as he watched the young man fold his hands on the table. Naruto attempted to formulate words, but the man across from him continued speaking.
“Which is fine, just don't feel like you have to lie. I don’t mind, this place is pretty boring after all, but your reasoning is not unfounded if you don’t like it here."
‘They are not my parents’ was the first thought that wanted to leave the boy’s mouth, but he settled for something different instead.
“It’s not like that.” The blonde started, feeling like he needed to explain himself.
“I just didn’t want to be alone this summer. Whenever I go over there,” the blonde thought back to the old house, “I would spend my summers alone in that dirty place. I’m more than happy to be here, and I’m thankful that you let me stay here. This is more than enough.” Even Naruto was surprised at his own optimism, the thoughts only entering his head after they left his mouth.
“If you say so, I just want you to feel welcome here. We value honesty in this household.” For some reason, on the note of honesty, his reddened eyes shot down to the silver pendant hanging from the blonde's back. He looked up with an unreadable expression in his eye before turning his attention to his pale hands, resting on the wooden table. Naruto only noticed now that his nails were painted black.
The boy cocked his head and looked down at the silver cross hanging from his neck, before looking up and smiling, “I do feel welcome here, thank you.”
He ate one more apple slice and felt satiated, even though there was still half of the apple left in the bowl.
"Also, you said we?" Naruto asked, and Itachi perked up in his chair.
“My younger brother, Sasuke. He’s your age, you probably will get along, but you might not. Fifty-fifty chance. He's upstairs resting." Naruto looked to the stairs, nodding. Something akin to excitement stirred in his gut. He liked the possibility of making a friend, which he usually managed easily in the city. The more he learned about this household, the more he saw it as a good break from the mundane summers he used to spend on his own at his grandmother’s house.
But once he registered all of Itachi’s words, the blonde was slightly confused by looking at the clock by the refrigerator.
"Resting? At this time of day?"
"He's sick," Itachi said, getting up from the table and moving back to the kitchen to clean off the knife he used to cut the apples.
“Oh.” Naruto didn’t say much more than that, wondering if the younger man’s shoulders were always drawn so tight.
“Is it contagious?” The blonde asked after a long bout of silence.
“Cystic Fibrosis. It only spreads to other people who carry it. Since you don’t have it, you’re in the clear. It’s just us living here. We moved out here cause the air here is cleaner than the city’s. Better for his lungs.” Itachi said, looking at the clock for himself before turning back to look at Naruto’s half-eaten bowl of apple slices.
“If you’re not gonna finish those, you could take them upstairs, see if he’s awake. He’d finish them,” the dark-haired man dried off his hands on a towel hanging off the oven’s sleek handle, before going to grab hold of the blonde’s suitcase.
Naruto immediately stood up and offered to help with his suitcase. “You’ll be staying in the room on the far end of the hallway. I’ll take your stuff. Go say hi.”
The boy awkwardly clutched his Bible, unsure whether or not to take it upstairs with the apples.
“I’ll get that for you. Go ahead. Sasuke’s waiting.” Naruto grinned at him in response, saying a quick ‘thanks’ before taking the bowl of apples and a paper napkin with him to set up the stairs. He assumed the only shut door, closest to the stairs in the second-floor hallway, belonged to Itachi’s younger brother.
He stood outside the door for a while in silence, not really knowing how to approach it. Itachi’s statement that there’s a fifty-fifty chance whether the boy likes him or not weighed heavily on his shoulders.
Naruto collected his free hand into a fist, about to knock, when a flat voice cut through the silence.
“You're breathing very loudly.”
Naruto felt a mix of shame and heat rise in his face, feeling embarrassed for just standing there like a fumbling idiot. It’s not like he had anything to lose by saying hello, but he had somehow managed to mess up his first introduction.
“Can I come in?” The blonde asked against the door, cursing himself for his voice sounding so uncertain. He shifted on the balls of his feet.
“What do you think?” The voice responded blandly, and Naruto suddenly felt regret for thinking he could befriend the boy behind the door easily. He whipped around to hear what he was entirely sure was Itachi chuckling down the hall.
“I- I don’t know? I’ll just leave you alone-” It took all the power the blonde had in his body not to palm himself in the face, and he was halfway through turning from the door, the voice behind it said.
“You can come in.”
Naruto’s face lit up with a smile, and he opened the door slightly, peaking his head in. Sasuke was sitting on a bed lined with a dark purple comforter. One of his legs was outstretched while the other was folded towards his chest at the knee. On that propped-up knee rested his arm, his position perfectly balanced.
His hair was as black as his brothers', made up by wispy bangs that swiped down over his forehead, while longer straightened pieces framed his cheekbones and jaw.
The blonde's eyes swallowed him, and just one look at him left Naruto in total silence.
The first thing he noticed was that he was probably the best-looking guy he had ever seen. Not in an unusual way, it was very simple that upon seeing him, Naruto was sure he had never seen a prettier person in his life. The second thing was that he didn't look sick at all. In fact, he had a strangely healthy glow about him, where every natural pane of light in the room splayed on his face and caught in his shiny, black hair.
It was clear to Naruto that in this simple room, with mostly empty shelves and a half-open closet with not much inside, this boy was in his element.
Ridden of all belief, his fingers instinctually curled in the chain around his neck and tucked its pendant beneath his shirt.
It wasn't until the other boy grimaced at him for staring too long that he finally looked away, his head feeling strangely hot as he scratched at the back of his neck with his free hand, whereas he set the bowl of apples down on the desk placed next to the door.
“I'm Naruto Uzamaki. I'll be staying with you for a while.” He said in a voice that wavered so much it surprised himself. He didn't think he had ever struggled more at holding eye contact in his entire life than in this singular moment. He wasn't sure if it was just how black his eyes appeared to be under his slightly furrowed brows, or that they were looking at him with complete disregard.
“I know who you are.”
Naruto opened his mouth to speak, but closed it. It took everything in him not just to turn around and leave without another word, but also to keep looking at him, as it seemed to take all the energy out of him and steal away his thoughts.
“Well, I'll leave you be then… Oh, and I brought these,” Naruto managed weakly, smiling despite his own embarrassment. He pushed the bowl of apples forward on the desk, towards the boy sitting on the bed, who felt miles away even though he was only three short strides from the boy at the doorway.
“What makes you think I'm interested in your half-eaten apples?”
At this point, Naruto was less embarrassed and more shocked at what came across as extreme hostility in the black-haired boy’s voice. The blonde had fumbled his way through many awkward introductions, but had always seen himself as a real conversationalist. He rarely did this, but at this point, he was questioning his beliefs. Here he stood, totally out of place, and the other boy was looking him up and down, measuring as one would do to an impenetrable stain of dirt on a carpet. He had already left his mark, and it would be impossible to do away with now.
Naruto stood at what felt like the edge of the world, half hiding behind the door now, reaching for the apples.
“I'm sorry, I'll just take these then-”
“Leave them.”
The bowl clattered on the desk as the blonde instantly pulled his hand away and just blinked at the boy a few times.
‘His shoulders were nice and narrow’ was the last thought Naruto had before he quickly rushed out a “I'll see you around,” before leaving the room and shutting the door behind him. If not for their conversation starter being Naruto breathing too loudly outside the door, he probably would have collapsed right there. He walked away feeling like a stranger in his own footsteps, leading to an unknown he had never been before.
He pulled his cross out of his shirt subconsciously and entered the room at the end of the hallway to find Itachi fluffing up pillows on a bed with a light blue mattress. Naruto wondered if every interior-design-related accent in the house was blue.
“I think he likes you,” the man started, but was unable to stifle his chuckles as Naruto dragged his hand down his face.
“That was actually terrible.” Itachi shrugged at Naruto’s lack of optimism.
“I think that was the best way that could have gone. You should see how he interacts with our neighbors.”
Naruto was confused for what felt like the thousandth time that day, and Itachi, unlike his younger brother, who chose to indulge in the blonde's turmoil, saw Naruto's face and went on.
“It's like how we were neighbors with your grandmother. Although spread out, we consider the properties near us neighbors. Our closest neighbors are ranchers, the Hyuga. Sasuke has known them long before he even moved here permanently, and has avoided saying a single word to the eldest daughter, who has been here for dinner numerous times. He has feigned bouts of sickness just to avoid conversation with the rest of the family, and in explanation has no reason to interact with those boring people.”
“So then you're saying my fumbling through that awkward conversation was good?” Naruto frowned to himself, thinking about how cool the other boy looked, with his unusual haircut and laid-back posture.
“Well, he definitely doesn't like you, but he definitely doesn't hate you either, so I think you're off to a good start.”
Naruto perked up at this and grinned, “Well, working to befriend him will give me something to do.” He had been more than discouraged at how that introduction went, but hearing the older brother’s words, he was already devising all the ways he could strike up more conversations with him.
The sky dimmed quickly, and the rest of the evening passed just as quickly. Naruto waited a while to eat the dinner Itachi made for him, hoping Sasuke would come and sit down with him so that he could try to talk again. Even if they didn't talk, Naruto could imagine he'd be happy sitting there in silence, as long as he got another chance to look at him.
For anyone else, he was sure he would have characterized them as an asshole from their unwillingness to communicate, but the blonde had to be persistent. He finally had an opportunity for company during his summers, and he wouldn’t let it slip away.
Sasuke never came down to eat.
The blonde was a little discouraged, unable to knock the unimpressed gaze that had scrutinized him just a few hours earlier from his head.
“Are you sure you don't want to go up to your room? I can do the dishes,” Itachi cleared the plates at the table, but the blonde was already at the sink, scrubbing utensils. Itachi stood watching him stoop, but Naruto's head didn't leave its craned position.
“It's the least I could do.”
The sound of clinking plates filled the silence that followed.
“I'll check upstairs for dishes.”
Itachi looked over his shoulder at the blonde boy, his white shirt standing out against the dark kitchen and beneath the yellowed overhead lighting. When he got to his brother's door, he was fully prepared to convince him to be friendlier to the boy downstairs. Itachi had tried to move his brother to be friendlier to people before, but had always been turned down with a flat ‘I don’t owe them anything.’
But when he entered, he was surprised to find Sasuke already asleep, despite it being early evening.
Itachi smiled to himself as his eyes met the end of his brother's desk where there was a sky-blue bowl, empty save for a crumpled paper napkin inside.