He chose not to make any comment on the subject, or anymore to continue their conversation, for that matter.
Almost mechanically, he resumed his writing, all the while listening to the lecturer as he did so. This, even though he really needn’t to. In his usual habit of seeking multiple ways to occupy his time, he had already studied this particular chapter rather thoroughly several weeks past.
The sound of pen tip scratching upon paper stopped momentarily- and he returned to his task once more. Itachi did not lift his gaze to meet Temari’s. Unwillingness?
“Clarify,” was his one-worded reply.
“Keeping things ‘formal’, as you call it, keeps people at a safe distance,” Temari said starkly. A pause, and then a shrug. “I get that.”
“When my brothers and I were sent to destroy Konohagure from the inside out, you think we made any friends? Hell no,” she tucked her (well, his) pen into an upper pigtail as their professor finished his lecture and began shuffling his papers into his briefcase. “We hold onto our orders like a shield when we need to.”
Two calloused palms met the edge of the desk and Temari pushed her chair back. Class was over and experience had made her quite the expert on when her presence was grating on someone. She used to strive for that, now and then.
“Well, the chattiest girl I know seems fond enough of you so you can’t be a total lost cause, hey?” she smirked, shouldering her bag. “Thanks for the pen, crowbutt.”
“I apologize,” he said as he returned to his notes, and the sound of pen tip scratching upon paper resumed. While he could have very well returned her words with his own set of logic, he refrained from doing so- that would merely serve to say that he still did not understand the message she was trying to get across, and he understood now the perspective that she was speaking from. It all had to do with perception.
And if he were to admit it, even if he depicted a cold persona, his passive nature aided him not in maintaining the criminal image that he was supposed to embody.
“I’m not accustomed to conversing outside of professionalism and formality.”
Temari’s pen stilled and the tip of her tongue clicked off the top of her mouth. “No time for chat inbetween harvesting those tailed beasts, huh? Sounds rough.”
Again she began to write, thinking about death and alliances and borrowed time. The man whose elbow was inches from hers was dead in their world, and yet not. Alive here, and yet not. She shifted.
“Guess that sharingan doesn’t make you an immediate expert at everything.” Temari’s gaze swiveled back up to Itachi’s, dark and averted. “Or do I detect a hint of unwillingness?”
“Oh really? Perhaps your brother should come by to my shop.”
“I’ll even give him a discount for having such a wonderful sister~! And don’t worry you’ll get one too, so what do you say?”
“I’ll be there.”
—And unlike how she’d been -for lack of a better term- avoiding him during the months past, Temari proceeded to move to his side, her chair now set right next to him. All just to show her own notes to him.
Eyebrows furrowed somewhat quizzically, he complied.
“… I suppose,” he relented, after gleaning over the pieces of paper. Due to his tendency to indulge in the art of calligraphy every now and then, his practice clearly reflected itself in that of his own neat, careful handwriting. Slightly unusual, but hardly anything that he would spare much thought on, if at all.
“But I do fail to see how such a detail serves to be of any significance.”
“Does it have to?” Temari retorted, immediately questioning her own rationale for choosing to sit next to Mister Congeniality here. She whisked her notes away with a huff. Men could be so difficult to make conversation with.
Her lips pursed as she jotted down the passage their professor was expounding on. “You just don’t think ‘hey, S-Ranked criminal, bet he’s got immaculate penmanship.’” she said without taking her eyes off her own writing. “Though it does fit right in with what rollercoaster rides all our previous talks have been.”