Save for your quiet, uneven breaths, all was quiet. The man sat a ways from you, careful not to get too close and inadvertently push his friend into further discomfort. He’d wait until you were ready for touch.

Itachi was patient. His expression was that of thoughtful understanding as he knelt beside your futon, hands folded in his lap. Healing was difficult, but he never failed to offer you comfort where he could.

“It’s just me, okay?” Itachi mustered a smile, amber light pouring in from the window and washing your tear-stricken face orange. “I won’t hurt let anyone hurt you anymore.”