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Itachi’s brother only had gotten more beautiful over time. He feels like a creep as he watches Sasuke’s Instagram live. It’s the only thing that makes him feel better because at least like this—in motion, barefaced, Sasuke looks like somebody Itachi recognizes.
There are awkward little angles, moments when Sasuke still looks too young, that angle that makes his teeth look jagged and sharp, tetchy expressions that can’t be perfectly hidden or painted away. Itachi is ravenous for all of them in a way that feels terrifying and unhealthy.
It’s harder in the pictures where he’s all made up and airbrushed, looking so pretty that Itachi can’t look away. Almost looking like he isn’t really a person. He’s too perfect in those captured moments, in those photos. It makes Itachi feel vaguely sick because he doesn’t know. He doesn’t know if he could be in the same space with this version of Sasuke and be anything approaching normal. He doesn’t know if he could be close and not want to touch.
This is something like an addiction.
He watches Sasuke’s Live through the sheer curtain of anonymity, tucked away safe as he feels like he’s doing something illicit.
Sasuke frowns at the camera. He adjusts its angle. He chats with the people who are leaving comments in the chat barrage, a screed of strangers who love Itachi’s brother without actually knowing him, love him at a distance for the persona that he presents.
Itachi feels a spike of possessiveness, even as he knows that this is what he wanted all along, what he uprooted both of their lives for—for Sasuke to be free to be loved by people who aren’t him. And yet as he sits in his living room at the kitchen table, with all the lights off in the house except for the bare bulb illuminating the kitchen and the iPad screen lighting up his face, he feels the bitterness spread out from within him like tar.
“Sorry, I haven’t gone live in a while. I’m not sure how to use this—can you type something so I can see it?
“Right, there we go.
“Yeah, I’m in L.A. right now. Can you see the window behind me?” He shifts, and the camera refocuses, grainy as the light from behind the window blares into the lens, dark and then light again. “It’s raining.”
Someone says something that makes Sasuke smirk, a small smile coming to his face.
“I ate something earlier. What do you think I should have for dinner?”
People respond in a gale.
Itachi reaches out and types oyakodon. There’s no indication Sasuke has even seen it.
Sasuke talks about the weather. He talks about his recent favorite movie, the music he’s listening to. He pushes his sleek hair back, and Itachi watches the way it bends, curves, and falls.
He watches to the end, until Sasuke looks at something off camera and then smiles into the lens, saying, “Okay, I’ve got to go.”
Itachi sits with the scrolling chat and the blank screen, feeling pathetic, embarrassed for himself, worried, and so proud.
It’s not all bad. Not always.