ღℳasked ℑdentityღ {Itachi Uchiha}

♥18♡

"So... what are you waiting for, [Name]?" Dana wakes you out of your gloomy stare; giggling in a Cheshire grin as she pulls Itachi to her side. "We'll wait down here and catch up!"

Itachi nods in surrender. "Go on. And don't worry about me, it's best if he sees you alone anyway." His encouragement helps you take the first step up the stairs, while Dana drags Itachi out to the backyard, where the air is cleaner and soundproof against her dramatic reactions when the whole situation is explained.

Every step up the stairs became lighter, breathing in and out through parted lips to calm the racing of your heart. When you reach the top your eyes soothe instantly at the sight of his bedroom door, and dawn on the memories lurking at the back of your head as you walk closer.

The sloppy 'We love you Daddy' and 'Broccoli is evil' crayon scribbles (surrounded with crooked hearts, stars, flowers, and sad faces for the broccoli) still marked the door you and Dana doodled on as kids. Stopping at the door, you stared at the golden doorknob, your lips curved up upon seeing the crack next to it. On most rainy nights after lighting or thunder frightened you awake, you'd sprint out of your room and pounded his door with a terrified fist.

And no matter how old you'd get, he always opened the door to comfort you.

Grabbing onto the golden knob, you let out a deep sigh before turning it open; slowly, the gap widens, and peek your head in only to be swarmed with butterflies. Your dad is sitting in front of the balcony doors, busied with a thick, heavy book that spread out on the desk before him. Those reading glasses hinted that he studied for his next ASE (Automotive Service Excellence) test.

Gently you shut the door and steadily walk across the room. Dana was right: this room's condition was surprisingly the opposite—clean, fresh, bright and tidy. His low cough halts you a few feet away behind him. Inwardly sighing, you stared at your overly-focused father, who doesn't even spare a glance over his shoulder.

"H-hey...Dad," you finally speak up, rather low and weak as you fiddled with your fingers, but he doesn't even look—just nods once as a response.

"Dana, sweetie, has anyone called?" he asked, oblivious to who was in the room. Laughing under your breath, you bit the inside of your lower lip as you reach for his shoulder, patting him affectionately before going higher, stroking his almost-grey-covered hair, the crown of age.

"No," you answered to play along. "But that prank caller you got earlier is here in the flesh." The smile you wore widened into a grin, anxious to see his reaction.

"What prank caller?" He snorted, sets his pen down and grabbed the hand that played with his hair. "Don't tease me, Dana; I just know it was [Na..."

His voice muted once finally turning to look at you.

The sudden change in his expression brought tears to your eyes. His calm eyes widened and his tight-pressed lips loosened, slightly parting in shock. Slowly, he lifted from the computer chair, not saying a word as his stare lingered on you.

"Oh wow..." His lips curved higher into a smile, showing off his aging crow's feet as his eyes dash all over your matured facial features. "You're definitely not Dana."

You burst out a laugh, drying tears from the corners of your eyes with your sleeve. "Oh no, Dad; I'm way prettier than her."

"I'll be damned," he laughed silently in disbelief before welcoming you with a bear hug, pulling you dearly, and you bury into his chest with both pleading hands clutching at his shoulders. He held the back of your head, brushing through your hair as you freely sobbed, whimpering many apologies while he shushed at your ear. "I'm just thankful you're alive, [Name]." He kissed your hair, giving you one last assuring squeeze before pulling back. "It was you on the phone a few hours ago, huh?"