A Glass Of Crimson Souls

20) there is no safety from weakness

Itachi thought he was dreaming when he woke up the next morning.

His arm draped over Miho's waist. Her breathing, so faint, ghosted over the skin of his neck. His heart gave him no problems. He felt healthy, even. Strong.

This was the life that he'd wanted for so long. The feeling of waking up in the morning, unburdened both mentally and physically. A woman who—dared he think it?—loved him unconditionally sleeping in his arms.

The golden glow of morning trailed into their room, and for once, the birds of Kirigakure had roused themselves from their dewy nests to grace the world with their song.

Itachi glanced down at Miho. She was fast asleep.

With one swift motion, one that did not disturb Miho, Itachi drew down the bed drapes, isolating the two of them in darkness.

He did not want to wake up just yet.

She remembered Itachi to be a fairly light sleeper—or at least, she'd always assumed he was. But her memory never proved that to be true—whenever he slept around her, he always slept like the dead.

She woke up with an overwhelming desire to shower, a desire that always possessed her after sex. It took her a few seconds to remind herself that, for once, the night before had been consensual. She could not deny that she'd always expected this to happen, at some point or another. Itachi was probably the only person she would've given her virginity to willingly. Him, or Kakashi. But that was an absurd afterthought.

Miho moved silently out of Itachi's hold and slipped out of the bed, making her way for the bathroom that now looked surprisingly friendly despite that she had contemplated killing herself in it the night before. In retrospect, though, she would not have. She had honestly just been "trying something." Miho had long accepted that she had no willpower to kill herself…especially when Itachi, the sole reason for her living, was in the next room.

She set up a series of sound-cancelling jutsu around the door. Itachi was still sleeping soundly, and something told her that Itachi did not get restful sleep commonly. She then drew the bath, took the hotel's nice bottles of ginger body wash and shampoo, and climbed in. The heat seeped into her muscles and she relaxed immediately. It was late morning, but she felt no pressure to hurry. She did not know Akatsuki's plans, nor was she inclined to care. Now that she and Itachi were…what were they? Happy? Made up? Not exactly…but at the least, she was not fueled by an all-consuming desire to kill him.

Thoughts of the previous night came back to her, and Miho could barely contain a weary shudder at the thought of her close encounter with Orochimaru. Yet even that seemed like a distant memory. Orochimaru and his pasty face and snake-like eyes…Miho exhaled, exhausted. She could not remain this frightened of him for the rest of her life. She had Itachi now. And pathetic though the thought was…she had his protection. Orochimaru was nothing, utterly nothing, compared to Uchiha Itachi. And Itachi would not give her up willingly. She knew that much.

Yet she was not sure what she wanted from him. Idealistically…it would be comfort. Peace. A life away from everything and everyone. She remembered the conversation they'd had when there were children—let's be farmers. I'll grow potatoes. You…do whatever.

But the man was part of Akatsuki, was still an S-Class criminal. A life as a farmer? She was kidding herself. Itachi was fated to an extraordinary life, no matter how sad or twisted it was. Besides…in the end, he had still killed her father. Miho let out a long sigh. What was she doing? Why was she…happy—happy that she and Itachi had consummated a relationship that should have ended when they were children? Hiroki's blood was undeniably on Itachi's hands.