The rain had been falling all afternoon, steady and soft, soaking the narrow streets and leaving the Uchiha district cloaked in silver mist. Lanterns glowed faintly behind paper walls, their light hazy through the damp air.

You had been in this part of the village before — in passing, on errands — but never for long.

The Uchiha name carried weight, whispered with a mixture of caution and suspicion. People spoke of their pride, their power, and in darker corners, their potential for cruelty.

You’d heard the rumors. Everyone had. But then there was him. Itachi Uchiha.

The first time you’d met him, it hadn’t been in some dramatic clash or official introduction.

It had been quiet, almost ordinary — passing each other on the training grounds, his dark hair pulled back neatly, his movements precise, controlled.

Even then, he’d carried himself like someone far older than his years, a composure that made others instinctively lower their voices in his presence.

At first, he was just another face in a clan with a reputation. But you noticed things — the way his eyes lingered on the horizon after missions, as though he was looking far beyond the village walls.

The way he listened more than he spoke, and when he did speak, his words were careful, deliberate, as if he’d already weighed their worth before saying them.

Time moved, and your paths crossed more often. Missions. Briefings. Moments in passing that stretched into longer exchanges.

His expression rarely shifted, but there were subtleties — the faint curve at the edge of his lips when you made an observation he didn’t expect, the slight ease in his shoulders when the two of you walked in silence side by side.

You told yourself it was nothing. You knew better. The Uchiha name came with warnings. They were dangerous, people said. Untrustworthy. Consumed by ambition.

And Itachi… he was already marked as exceptional, a prodigy whose power set him apart even within his own clan. Falling for someone like that wasn’t just unwise — it was reckless.

But feelings didn’t ask for permission.

You realized it one night after a mission, the two of you standing beneath the cover of a quiet alley as the rain came down in sheets.

He’d glanced at you then, his hair plastered dark against his face, Sharingan dimmed back to black. His gaze was steady, unreadable, but there was something unspoken in it — something that kept your breath in your throat.