Maslow’s hierarchy in two-fifty steps and three magnetic cards (he had better odds of successful invasion than Tokyo did of an ugly weather forecast for the night). The plan, he supposed, was obvious: crawl in. See that face, wearing that name. Crawl out. Somehow, even the nominal presence of an “Uchiha Itachi” didn’t allow Sasuke to plan for the dignity of vertebrate motion.
Back to Maslow, then, and the immediate satisfaction of what is obviously the biological impetus de jour. If he could reason it, he could carry it out. He could overcome it. He could breathe. He could -
Level one, physiological needs: I need to see that face.
Forty-eight steps from the parking lot to the campus security check. He flashed card one: student ID. Surprisingly present, unsurprisingly unused. Student out late, student visiting, student in. Thank you. Good night. (If he didn’t get them fired within the week, he’d do it in a month, just for being there tonight, just for seeing him. Living. Living with an Uchiha Itachi in their building, and sleeping well at night.)
Level two, safety needs: I need to see they’re not the same eyes.
Seventy-three steps to the photography laboratory, slide card two to access. Deposited his things for the upcoming portfolio review, picked up one or four filters.
Level three, emotional needs: I need to rip his tongue out, so he doesn’t dare say Itachi’s name again as his own.
It wasn’t obsession, if he didn’t cover every one of the eighty-eight steps locking the corridor between departments thinking about it. Maybe sixty-nine of them. Maybe.
Level four, esteem needs: I need to keep that tongue.
Tssssk. Violence, violence, violence. Suigetsu’d rub on him at this rate. Thirty-eight steps between the corridor and this... Itachi’s office door, card three at the steady, and ready, and go -
Level five, self-actualization needs: I need...
...his VISA card slipped back in his pocket. Open door, no need to... coerce entrance by leave of old locks. Anti-climatic, to say the least.
He sighed. (And this he’d have to stress later, really, he did.)
Three steps, as he entered the office, pressing against the door to close it in once inside. Minimal intrusion. Minimal noise. He even took the time and grace to remember his manners, with little mind that the gesture usually preceded entrance.
"Knock," Maslow’d understand. He drawled to echo the touch of knuckles against the door behind him, "Knock."
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