Junk Drawer

The odds and ends of a writers mind

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Ilicit Affairs

   My heart skipped a beat when I heard the opening of the front door. I knew who it was; I'd been waiting for him all afternoon. Despite my anxiousness I still managed to slowly descend the stairs to where he was patiently waiting for me.
   "Where are your manners, Itachi-chan? Just walk right into my house, huh?" I teased pulling my 13-year-old cousin into a usual hug. Itachi blinked and fidgeted in my arms a little.
   "You knew I was coming over Shisui-niisan... I would've knocked had I found it necessary." he responded, dodging my attempt to make conversation either intentionally or the opposite. I held him close for a few seconds longer before common courtesy forced us apart.

  "I think you get taller every time I see you, Itachi-chan." I commented lightly, trying at small talk again. "You'll be taller than me soon at this rate." Itachi gave me the same indifferent look.
  "I seriously doubt I got any taller since yesterday, Shisui-niisan." he said simply; avoiding me again. I sighed, half frustrated and half from the inevitable defeat.
   "You're really bad at this whole 'small talk' thing..." I murmured as Itachi walked past me and up the stairs. I followed him automatically; still racking my brain for anything else I could possibly say to start a conversation with my rather dense counterpart.

  Itachi beat me to my room by only a few seconds and he was sitting on my bed when I walked in, his crimson gaze out the window as he got lost in his own thoughts. I walked quietly across the room and took a seat next to him; taking the opportunity to watch him. Itachi always looked cute, irrevocably adorable, but when he zoned out like that it was too much. He was always so serious and now his transfixed stare was like a child, like he was seeing amazing things that were invisible to the rest of the world.

  I had known this for years, I was undeniably in love with Itachi. It was obvious by how enamored I was by even the smallest detail of him. Every few seconds his long eyelashes would flutter downward, slowly like petals in a summer breeze, then drift at the same pace back up. I loved the soft, translucent look of his pale skin and the tauntingly beautiful way it contrasted the long, raven-toned locks that framed his face and fell like a dark waterfall down his back and shoulders.


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