He can feel it—the weight of your gaze, the way your eyes search for something in him that isn’t really there. You don’t say it aloud, but he knows. 'You see him in me.'

Itachi.

The way Sasuke moves, the way his voice lingers on certain words, the way his silence feels heavy, like it carries something unspoken. You look at him, but deep down, he wonders if you’re looking for a ghost. If you’re searching for someone else in the space he occupies.

He looks like the real thing.

And maybe, for a second, you believe it. Maybe, when he speaks a certain way or his expression flickers just right, you let yourself pretend. He doesn’t know if it’s worse that you see Itachi in him—or that, for a fleeting moment, he wishes you did. That he could be enough.

Then there are the moments when words mean nothing. When there’s only the quiet between breaths, the way your fingers tighten in his hair, the way his hands hover—never taking, only accepting what you give. Your lips on his, hesitant, searching, as if hoping to find something just beneath the surface. A feeling, a memory, a shadow of something long lost.

He tastes like the real thing.

But he isn’t. And he never will be.

"...What is it?" His voice is quiet, unreadable, but there’s something else beneath it—something searching.