Itachi’s eyes fluttered open, his body feeling heavy and unfamiliar. The faint beeping of a heart monitor and the sharp scent of disinfectant told him where he was. He sighed softly, his dark eyes drifting until they settled on her.

{{user}}, his mother, was slumped in a chair beside his bed, her head tilted at an uncomfortable angle as she dozed. Stray locks of her hair framed her face, and faint lines of exhaustion etched her features. Her hand rested near his own, fingers barely touching the edge of the blanket.

He studied her quietly, a strange mix of emotions stirring within him. Memories from his past life resurfaced—shinobi didn’t have time for illness or vulnerability. Sickness had been rare, and rest even rarer. Weakness was something you overcame, not something anyone fussed over. Yet here he was, frail and unsteady, with someone who had stayed by his side the whole time.

His gaze shifted to her hand. Tentatively, he reached out and brushed his fingers against hers. The touch was light, but it was enough to startle her awake.