A/N: So, I have other fics to be working on, but the first chapter of this was better received than anything I've written so far, and consequently, I thought I should show my gratitude by updating this first before I go back to obsessing over Hematite :3

Thank you all so much for your wonderful reviews! This chapter is dedicated to each and every person who reviewed so far, even those of you who were too lazy to log on :P


"Don't tell me the moon is shining; show me the glint of light on broken glass."

-Anton Chekhov

My first night in the Uchiha residency was not one to be soon forgotten. My first observation was that no matter who had a bedroom where – the general rule of the night was to find out where my Uncle Izuna was and migrate to that location. I did not participate in this sinful pilgrimage, but it intrigued me nonetheless.

Izuna's location on this particular night was the living room, and I sat at the top of the steps with my head leaning lazily against the wall, listening to that couches scent intensifying. Oddly, I was comforted by the sounds. Izuna's muffled yet audible moaning was a curious thing to overhear. I decided that perhaps Madara had put a hand over his brother's mouth in an attempt to quiet him, and I hoped that this unsuccessful discretion wasn't for my sake. It wasn't the sort of kindness that I know how to appreciate – tact.

I could hear their conversation afterwords quite clearly, but I felt no shame in my eavesdropping. I had that odd sense of entitlement that a person has when they catch someone talking about them – because ultimately, even if you get caught spying, they're still the guilty party because it's you they're talking about. In truth, though, the conversation wasn't about me. It just inevitably drifted back to me because I was the newest hot topic of sorts in their house.

"More?" It had begun, in the semi-feminine drawl that I knew to be Izuna's. He sounded desperately pleading, and I took a moment to wonder how he enjoyed that … stuff. I certainly had never much cared for it. Of all the things to do with another naked male, intercourse was the most painful and most insulting all at once. I'd never felt more violated than in those sickeningly frequent moments. Izuna, however, sounded like he quite enjoyed it. Maybe he was masochistic. S&M was a popular fetish that I'd luckily only had to tolerate once or twice...

"Gimme ten minutes," Madara had murmured back in a husky voice that I hadn't heard on him before.

"Itachi?" Izuna whined, and I could hear the wet lapping sound of deep kisses. I guess Itachi didn't feel the need to be verbal with his answer. Izuna's next whimper sounded disappointed, though.

"I actually don't really feel like it. Sorry," Itachi apologized, and after an aggravated huff that was probably Izuna again, the room went somewhat quiet.

"Do you think he's lonely up there?" Itachi asked, "Do you think he can tell that he's all alone and we're all down here?"

Yes, I could tell that I was alone upstairs without all of them, but I wasn't lonely. For some reason, I wanted my brother to know this, but I didn't say anything.

"He's probably asleep," Madara answered, "I'm surprised by your behavior with him, honestly. I never imagined you as such a motherly character,"

I tried not to giggle at that, but it did make me smile. Itachi was a bit maternal with me today, always hovering, and coddling me whenever he could get away with it. I liked the attention, though. I'd never really had someone touch me for the sake of kindness and affection before.

"I've always wanted a brother," Itachi said, and I could hear the grin on his voice, "I feel like a little kid who's been asking for the same Christmas present year after year, and finally was deemed old enough to receive it."

"Well, we couldn't have gotten you one before now, obviously. You'd have shot your eye out." Izuna commented, causing laughter at a joke that I didn't understand.

Itachi sighed, "I already love him so much... is that weird?"

"Of course not, it's perfectly natural... I think," Madara answered, "We're really not the best people to ask about what's weird and not weird in a brotherly relationship."

I think a part of me must have frozen when Itachi said the "L" word. It wasn't a word that anyone had ever really applied to me in a generalization. It was always "I love your ..." or "I love the way you..."

Never – never until that moment, had anyone ever said that they loved me. And Itachi didn't even have a good reason for it. Maybe he was just a good person...

Afraid that after hearing something so wonderful the rest of their conversation might make me lose faith, I walked quietly into the room they'd put me in. It wasn't really my own bedroom. Actually it was Itachi's. They'd said that they used the spare room for storage, and they'd have it cleared out by the time the school year started and I could "make it my own" then. For now, I had Itachi's room, and he slept elsewhere. I wasn't told where "elsewhere" was, but if I had to make an educated guess, I'd say he wasn't sleeping alone.

Not even a full five minutes after I'd stopped eavesdropping, I heard him tip-toe into the room.

"You're still up?" He asked me with a worried frown. I shrugged, thinking that it had definitely been one of those things I was just learning about in school – ah, yes. A rhetorical question. "Do you mind if I grab my clothes for tomorrow? I don't want to disturb you in the morning for them, and I'm getting up pretty early to make Uncle Madara's breakfast, so..."

This time the question was not rhetorical. He actually seemed to care about what I said. It was an absurd thought, actually. It was his room! What on earth could I possibly do to stop him from getting his clothes out of his room? Still, the courtesy was appreciated, even if irrational.

"Go ahead," I encouraged, and he gave me a grateful smile, then started fishing through what must have been the most organized closet that I've ever seen. He caught me staring at it and shrugged, as if his neatness was something of an embarrassment.

"Organized by color, then fabric. I guess I'm a little OCD, but it's convenient to plan ahead," He explained, although I wasn't looking for an explanation.

It most certainly was convenient, though. It barely took him a minute to have his outfit together. I decided not to inquire about the fact that he hadn't picked out any underwear.

"Are you okay in here?" He asked, concern all over his face.

I nodded, but it didn't seem to reassure him.

"You're not lonely? I could sleep in here with you, if you like... er- not to do anything … not that you're not cute or anything, but Madara said you're hands off, and Izuna wore me out anyway tonight, and I know you've been through a lot, so you probably aren't really into that sort of thing – and now I'm just rambling, so I'll go,"

He turned to leave the room, and although I had no appreciation for it at that point, I would learn over our years together that the simple fact I'd caused Itachi Uchiha to go into nervous rambles was probably the most impressive achievement of my life. Even without knowing the rarity that I'd just accomplished, I still was compelled to call after him before he could leave.

"Aniki?" The word felt somehow natural and wonderful on my tongue, even though it was the first time I'd ever said it.

He beamed back at me, and I decided that I'd never just call him 'Itachi' again. From that moment onward, he was officially my big brother and I'd address him as such in some way whenever I spoke to him. Always.

"Yes?" He breathed, seeming overjoyed to have been called such a thing. Oh, right – he loved me. Of course little stuff like that made him happy. Isn't that what loves supposed to be about? Renewing the thought that someone loved me in my mind made me grin, so now we were both cheesing at each other for pretty much no reason, when I blurted out something unexpected but true.

"I've never slept with anyone before," I confessed, and I guess that maybe it was sort of a response to his offer to sleep with me, but more so now that I think about it – it was probably also related to my desperate desire for me to know this boy. I wanted to know him, and I wanted him to know me. I wanted us to know those brother things, that no one else knows. I wanted to share secrets with him, even the ones that I'd promised to take to the grave. I wanted to trust him – because I'd never trusted anyone before. And I wanted him to trust me.

"Never?" He asked, plopping himself down on the bed next to me like it was nothing. I guess to him it was nothing, and I tried my Absolute Very Best not to do something that would show the discomfort I felt with his proximity. I liked that he was touchy, because the way he hugged me was so much more platonic and familiar than anyone else, but beds were certainly not my favorites as far as furniture goes, especially when there's someone else on them. Even if it is my brother. I wanted to trust him. Desperately so. Never had I wanted anything in this world more than I wanted to trust Itachi Uchiha – but the fact remains that I didn't.

"No, never. They don't stay to sleep." I answered him, and felt relieved that unlike my social worker – he didn't feel the need to ask who "they" were.

"I don't suppose they would," He muttered to himself, and then this wonderful glorious brother of mine said the most understanding thing that anyone had ever said to me in my life at that point: "You can sleep on the floor if you'd feel more comfortable,"

Floors were not comfortable at all. But floors were not beds – and for this, I hugged him. I hugged him hard, and I cried, and I guess I trusted him more than I thought, because I woke up at seven the next morning, to the feeling of him trying (and failing) to take his arms out from around me without disturbing my sleep. I had fallen asleep crying in his arms. Not the best experience of a first time sleeping with someone, but nothing in my life seems to happen the "best" way.

I kept my eyes closed, because he deserved to have a clear mind and not worry about what to say to me now that I was awake. His hand was on my forehead, pushing my hair back from my face, and I had to bite my cheek to stop from smiling and giving away my awakening.

"I'm so sorry," He said quietly, and at first I thought that I'd been caught and he was apologizing for waking me.

But no. When the sixteen-years-young Itachi Uchiha woke up that morning next to me for the first time, he wasn't apologizing for a single thing that he had done.

He was sorry for all that he hadn't.


When Madara showed the boy to his new room, he had to admit he'd expected a bit more of a positive reaction. It wasn't that he was looking to play hero or anything, but there were certain gratitude's that abused children tended not to have warranted – a bedroom of their own was a prime example. Itachi was inexplicably hovering behind them, but Madara decided that if the teen was really that naturally protective of his new brother, he wouldn't discourage it. Sasuke was certainly someone who needed protecting.

Calculating black eyes gazed around the room, and upon closer examination Madara realized how strange the direction of that stare was. Sasuke, unlike any regular person, ignored every single article of furniture. He paid no mind to the stylish throw-rug at the center of the already carpeted floor, or the smooth glossy mahogany of his new bed. He had no interest in the midnight blue living chair, or the quaint end table beside it, with the beautiful new lamp glowing fondly atop it.

His eyes searched corners, and tiny nooks, and it took only a moment of thought before Madara felt chest clenching up miserably.

'He's looking for cameras... He thinks we've hidden them.'

"We gave you the flat screen from the living room, cus no one watches TV in there anyway. We all just sort of migrate towards wherever Uncle Izuna is during the day usually, which almost always means a bed somewhere, so..." Itachi's words died in his throat at the look on his brother's face. "Did I say something wrong?" He sounded so genuinely worried that Madara would have been amused except that nothing about Sasuke's expression allotted humor in that moment.

"I don't like television," The youngest child stated softly, "Please don't make me watch anything..." It was spoken just above a whisper, and Madara almost vomited on the spot.

Child pornography was bad enough when the kid didn't know of their involvement. He wondered, in a sickly curious moment – how many times Sasuke had been forced to see himself doing shameful things on video. Probably countless. The boy was gorgeous. There was a reason that Mikoto was a supermodel, and Uchihas were known for being stunning anyway, so Fugaku had certainly participated in the fine specimen that was now standing looking half frightened and half resigned to his fate right in front of Madara's helplessly sympathetic eyes.

Izuna stepped into the room, looking thoroughly well-fucked, although since Madara and Itachi had both been right here for the last ten minutes, it must have been somewhat illusion. Perhaps just well fingered, then.

"You know," Izuna started, circling Sasuke like a hunting lioness, "You're actually really … pretty,"

"Mmhm," Sasuke responded offhandedly, giving Izuna an interested eye, as if the compliment was the first routine thing that had occurred since his arrival. Madara supposed if he was in Sasuke's position he wouldn't be too thankful for compliments either. Doubtlessly, Sasuke had been complimented before – but then what? How had the men who'd called him "pretty" before treated him?

Of course he knew that he was good looking. The fact that he was so beautiful was probably something that he resented. Izuna would have been a fool to expect a "thank you"

But – Izuna was a fool most of the time. Especially when it came to having conversation that demanded he be gracious and/or kind.

"Not very polite, though, huh?" Izuna snapped out with his arms on his hips.

Sasuke sat down on the floor, legs crossed, back leaning against the bed. Madara was struck with the distinct impression that rather than appreciating the comfort of the mattress against his spine, Sasuke was horrified by the idea of looking at it.

"Manners aren't something anyone's ever bothered to teach me," the boy responded, seemingly unaware of Izuna's building irritation.

"Me neither, but I understand please and thank you well enough,"

Sasuke chuckled, "Yeah, you've clearly got 'please' mastered. I've heard that for myself,"

Perhaps if Izuna was more tactful of a person, he'd have had the decency to blush. As it was, he did not. He got a wide grin as if it was some sort of accomplishment that he was loud enough in bed for Sasuke to hear him begging.

"If you like my please, you should see how I say thank you," He licked his lips and Sasuke grimaced.

Madara looked absolutely scandalized, but it couldn't be helped. He sighed and sat down on the floor himself, next to where he'd spotted Itachi sitting down a few moments before. Izuna was the only one standing, but he was probably the only one who wouldn't feel awkward that way, so it didn't really matter.

"Your eagerness disgusts me," Sasuke said, in the kind of voice that children always seemed to be using when they said something cruel that they truly didn't know was offensive. Madara had once taken a similar tone to his aunt when expressing his surprise that she could fit through her own front door. But, just as she was shameless in her obesity, Izuna had no shame in his whoreishness.

"I can't possibly even begin to imagine why it would bother you," Izuna responded, insensitive and honest and ignorant as usual.

Sasuke seemed to calm some at the nonchalance in his uncle's voice. "You," he took a deep breath, and looked down at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, "You let your brother – and mine – fuck you."

Izuna didn't feel that the statement, or question, or whatever it was, needed to be responded to. He plopped down on the living chair and crossed his arms defiantly.

"Why do you let them do that to you?" Sasuke asked, scrunching his eyebrows up in genuine confusion, "They don't make you... You … it's like you want that!"

"I like it. Feels wonderful," Izuna said, eyeing Madara as if he wanted a demonstration of just how wonderful it felt.

"No, it doesn't," Sasuke whispered, closing his eyes and squeezing his right hand tightly in his left in a way that looked quite painful, "It doesn't feel wonderful at all. I've never heard a bigger lie in my life."

The silence after he spoke was deafening. Somehow, his words had even shut Izuna up, and Izuna was not at all someone who it is easy to silence.

It was if suddenly they were all staring at the elephant in the room, forced to accept the fact that it was there, it was big, it was muddy, and it stank.

Because even at eleven years old, Sasuke had every right to argue with Izuna about the pros and cons of sodomy. An eleven year old boy. Able to go tit for tat with Izuna.

Even Izuna himself seemed to understand that this was a Very Bad Thing, and at least for the rest of that day, he didn't argue with his nephew any further. If Sasuke wanted to believe that sex was painful and horrible, he had every right and reason to do so.


It's remarkable how much I've grown to adore my relatives in just the last two and a half weeks of knowing them. It's like all three of them are a relief in their own different way. My uncle Izuna is the only person I've ever met who seems all at once the most sexual creature on earth and somehow the least sexually intimidating. It's almost as if he looks at pleasures of the flesh as some sort of casual day to day occurrence like eating. The way we think of food, he sees sex. He wants it. He wants it often. He wants it when he's bored, and there's nothing else to do. He wants it when he sees that someone else has it. He wants it most of all when his body shows signs of needing it. And, like with food – he gets very very grumpy it's midday and he still hasn't had any.

The irony in this analogy lies in the fact that I don't think I've seen him eat yet... but he's had plenty of sex since my arrival.

They took the TV out of my room, and no one seems to mind that I don't sleep in the bed. In fact, no one seems to notice that I don't sleep in the bed, which is kind of cool, because it seems like I actually have privacy here, which is something kind of new to me, I guess.

My social worker is coming tonight for her bi-monthly visit to make sure everything is going okay. I was surprised and a little frightened when Madara told me that. No one had every bothered to do that back in Japan, and a part of me was glad to have finally escaped my horrible homeland, while a part of me was itching to know if maybe the only reason everyone was being so nice here was because the social worker would still be visiting for the next six months.

Even if that was the case, six months was a long time to be joyfully celibate. I've been marking off days of no sexual contact in this little calendar that Izuna gave me. He says he gave it to me because he does all of his day-planning electronically anyway and has no use for it – but I suspect that he knows exactly what I do with it. Izuna and I have a lot of little secrets like that, even though neither of us have really spoken them aloud.

Another secret we have that we don't speak about is that when Madara was at work and Izuna was assigned the task of enrolling me in school, I was recognized by the man who could have been my dean of students. Neither of us said anything, we just watched him watch me, and exited the office, and I tried to pretend later on that I didn't know why Izuna had demanded someone pay for me to go to the other school in our district, that was nearly ten thousand dollars more tuition a year.

Izuna had never told Madara why I couldn't go to the school in our direct neighborhood, but we both knew why. It was decided that he'd come up with the ten thousand dollars by working more. This shocked me, as I had been under the impression that he did not work at all in the first place. Itachi had explained to me that Izuna did, in fact, have a job, he just rarely bothered to actually go to it. Itachi was very careful not to tell me exactly what this job was, but Izuna started leaving the house every day and within the week, he'd written Madara a check for five thousand, and said he'd pay the rest by the end of the month.

Our next secret was that I understood the only way someone could legally make five thousand dollars in a week for a job that they didn't even have to go to when they didn't feel like it. I knew that Izuna was a director for "adult films" and he knew that I knew, but we both pretended that we didn't notice that he had a helluva lot in common with people that I would wish dead twice over without batting an eye.

I reminded myself of the word adult in "adult films" and hoped desperately that the word "adult" was one that mattered to my robust uncle. It clearly didn't matter to him when it came to Itachi...

Itachi, I liked even more than Izuna. I'd discovered that his kind and gentle personality didn't stay with him around many people. Actually, I'd discovered that his kind and gentle personality was reserved for me and me alone, which made me feel special, in a way, but also very nervous.

Not as nervous as Madara though, who didn't really like to be around me. When he had gone so far as to get up from the kitchen table when he saw me sitting down at it, I couldn't help the disappointed frown that appeared on my face. He avoided me like the plague.

Itachi had said not to worry about it, because Madara was just scared of me, at the exact same moment that Izuna had said not to worry about it, because Madara had a crush on me.

I couldn't understand a reason for him to be scared of me, and I couldn't understand how a thirty six year old man could have a crush on anyone without acting on it, so I decided they were both wrong and proceeded to eat Izuna's lunch, which he offered to me on a daily routine without ever touching it, even though he was never awake for breakfast.

I heard once that the body can't digest semen and it just sits in your stomach forever, so maybe Izuna just always feels full cus people jizz in his mouth so much.

Then again, I can eat like a pig, and I've probably ingested at least three gallons of the stuff. Wait – but can the body digest the mucus that surrounds the sperm? Cus the actual sperm isn't really all that your consuming when you swallow semen, right? Or else it wouldn't separate and change colors when it dries.

I was expressing my curiosity to the Google search bar of Itachi's laptop when the social worker showed up, right on time for our Seven PM meeting. Itachi was one of those people who had a laptop but always kept it on their desk. Because of this, I was in his room, which was fine, because I liked his better than mine. Mostly because he was usually in it, and I preferred his company to my own. Years and years of being forced to do exactly what I was told had formed me into a pretty boring person. I never know what to do if it's up to me. I spend a lot of time picking lint off of my carpet and ironing things that need not be ironed.

The social worker was nice enough to come upstairs and sit down in the room with us. It wasn't Miss Glasses, but she was actually my placement warden or something like that, anyway. This woman was a lot more friendly. She was Japanese-American, raised by her Japanese family in Berkeley California, which iMaps says is further north than where we live. She'd told me as much on the phone, but this was my first time meeting her in person. I had asked her before if she was assigned as my social worker because she spoke Japanese, and she had said that actually she dealt with all international child affairs coming in and out of California now, and that ending up with a child who shared part of her native background was an unexpected treat.

"How are you doing today, Sasuke-Kun?" She asked with a smile, "Looks like your brother's taking real good care of you, huh?"

"Yeah, he does that," I answered, slightly distracted by an article that suggested digesting semen was actually almost identical to digesting a hamburger because of the similar lipid to protein ratio. It was no wonder I'd always hated hamburgers.

"If it's okay, I'd like to talk to you in private for a while. How about we let Itachi have his room back for a few minutes and go downstairs?"

Itachi, of course, insisted that I stay right where I was, and left the room himself. She smiled her thanks, then transferred the smile over to me.

"So, what's that you're reading?"

"I was just trying to make sure my uncle Izuna wasn't sick from forcing so much meat down his throat all the time,"

She frowned lightly at that. "Meat? You mean like a burger or something?"

"Yes, almost exactly like a burger, actually," I responded, smirking just a little at the inside joke between me myself and wiki answers.

"That's interesting. So, I guess if you're concerned for your uncle Izuna it's safe to say that you two are getting along well. How about Madara and your brother?"

"Itachi-Nii is great," I said truthfully, "He thinks uncle Madara is afraid of me, though, which might be true because he's kind of distant, but not in a mean way."

She nodded in a way that looked disappointed but understanding. "I'm sure he's just worried about how to act around someone who's grown up in such a different environment compared to his own childhood experiences."

I shrugged, thinking that if anyone was going to be jumpy about my life it should be me not a grown man who hadn't really had to work for anything... ever. It was common knowledge that Fugaku Uchiha got famous off of his parent's money, so being Fugaku's brothers, it was a given that Madara and Izuna had been raised with wealth as well. Even now, Madara had enough 0's on the end of his paycheck to last him a life time from three month's salary alone. Still, he was stingy with the money, which I thought was obnoxious, and Itachi thought was wise. Itachi had said that if he had that much money, he'd save it too. I had mentioned that Madara didn't even share with Izuna, beyond basic necessitiesand Itachi had said it was only because Izuna was known to splurge, and reassured me that if he was ever as wealthy as our uncles he'd let me and any other brothers he discovered have as much of the money as we wanted.

The social worker seemed to pick up on the fact that I wasn't going to respond to her statement about Madara.

"So, do you like your room?"

"It's nice. Uncle Madara would make a great interior designer if he wasn't already a businessman."

She smiled at that, "What kind of business does he do?"

"He started a company that sells the most advanced cameras, and stage props, and film stuff like that. He says that's why he moved to Hollywood in the first place. He likes Japan better than America, actually, he just makes more money in the American film industry than he could back home."

She actually looked like that was something new and exciting to her. As if almost every family in Hollywood hadn't come for a similar reason. "And I understand that Izuna is a director? I guess you guys are just a film family, then!"

I thought the joke was in very poor taste, but perhaps the woman hadn't realized the entirety of what she'd really just said. I hoped that she wouldn't notice her own stupidity until she was alone. It was always awkward when someone realized they'd offended you and tried to apologize in a way that you knew you couldn't forgive.

Luckily, as we continued to converse, the woman didn't catch her mistake and try to make up for it. Perhaps no one had told her in detail about my own personal history with film. She left with a satisfied smile on her face, and I went back to my internet surfing, careful to avoid any racy sights that might try to show me a picture of myself bent over something, provocatively encouraging myself to chat with me.

As confusing as that must sound, it'd happened to me twice already that night, and I wasn't anxious to see me trying to seduce me again, and wonder how many people were idiotic enough to fall for it and pay ten bucks a month for my videos. Ten dollars a month that I'd never received one of. Ten dollars a month to be paid in exchange for my innocence, virtue, and sanity. Ten dollars that didn't even go to me the person who'd suffered for it with a toothy grin on his face, and a mischievous glint in his eye. And they thought my father was the actor!

"How'd it go?" Itachi asked, stepping back into his bedroom.

I shrugged, and closed the laptop angrily as another pop up of my ten year old self asked me if I needed help with that problem in my pants. If I never saw my own reflection again in my life I'd be better for it. I trudged off to my room, slamming Itachi's door behind me, and stripped down to my boxers, yanking the duvet off of my bed and covering myself with it on the floor.

Suddenly it was all too comfortable, too safe, entirely too unfamiliar for it to be trusted or real. I hid underneath my bed, not knowing what or who I was hiding from, only that maybe – just maybe – they wouldn't find me here.

Maybe I slept, and maybe I didn't. What I know is that I cried. I cried until I'd forgotten why I was crying, and by the time I hadn't forgotten anymore, all that I could remember was that there wasn't a reason in the first place. Or maybe there were just too many reasons for any of them to stick out.

Maybe I cried because I had remembered how much it hurt to have a finger shoved brutally into me. Maybe I cried because I knew now that the finger wasn't even the painful part. Maybe I cried because some people couldn't be bothered with the finger in the first place. I was overwhelmed with the desire to cut my own fingers off so that I'd never have to see a finger again as long as I stayed under this bed – which I intended on doing for the entirety of the foreseeable future.

Madara came upstairs when I threw the very nice lamp on my end table into the very nice mirror on my dresser. The sound of shattering glass filled my ears, startling me, and I was back under the bed so fast that I didn't even know if I'd just broken the lamp or the mirror or both. In the process, I accidentally cut my foot, but I didn't care.

Maybe happiness scared me. Maybe knowing that I'd been doing so well made me afraid. When Madara opened the door and saw what I'd done, he let out a deep breath and closed it back again, leaving me alone in my despair.

No one had ever let me cry for this long before without hitting me, and I realized about six hours in that I had no idea when I was supposed to stop. That made me chuckle a little, and I sniffled softly, before coming out from under my bed.

The mirror and the lamp, then. I took a pillow case off of my bed and put all of the visible pieces inside of it, then put that in the trash.

Then, I took a shuddering breath to calm myself, and exited my room. I was surprised by two things when I walked downstairs. Firstly, it was past two in the morning, and Izuna wasn't in bed with anyone. Then again, I was usually asleep by this point, so maybe this was routine. He was at the kitchen table, munching delicately on leftovers from dinner.

"So, this is when you eat," I commented, sitting down next to him, and resting my head on the table.

He nodded, and swallowed his last bite, then put the plate in the sink with no intention of washing it.

"The vacuum cleaner is in the closet in the foyer," He stated in place of a goodnight as he turned to walk upstairs.

He knew that there were chunks of glass still in my carpet, and I knew that there were chunks of food in his stomach, and somehow, even though Madara and Itachi were probably aware of both of those things already, it felt like another secret between the two of us. Because it was bigger than me finding out that Izuna did eat, and it was bigger than Izuna hearing a crash upstairs.

It was about the fact that for less than five minutes, we'd been sitting together at this kitchen table. Me, learning that like all humans, eventually Izuna had to eat – and Izuna, learning that like all humans, eventually I had to cry.

A/N: Mkay, that's the end of chapter two! I hope you guys are still as pleased with this as you were with chapter one!

Please review! Even if you reviewed already! I really really REALLY love reviews. Seriously. It's a problem. But it's one that I'm not actively seeking assistance for, so how about you all just feed my addiction a bit more?

I love you all for reading!


P.S. I know that I write Izuna into a lot of my stories (cus I love him and junk) and his character always has slight changes and quirks but doesn't change much. I just wanted to be clear on the fact that this Izuna is a bit closer to "Hematite" Izuna than "Watching Them Watching Us" Izuna. Which means he's a tiny bit less rash and a large bit more family oriented and loving. I still wouldn't particularly say he's nice though :3

I mean... he is Izuna after all...