A/N: It's been a rough couple of days.
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Stuck In Rewind
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"You are my closest friend," Itachi says in a voice like iron, and Shisui knows it's all over.
Itachi has never been prone to making emotional declarations or defining those he loves in such a blatant way. He divides people into one of two categories—acquaintance or family; there has never been a middle ground, not as long as Shisui's known him. So the statement itself is an anomaly. Purposeful, no doubt. His cousin doesn't make mistakes.
Then there's the tone of it. Not outright foreboding, but there's something in it—an edge that isn't there in casual conversation. It makes Shisui's hackles go up more than they ever do in Itachi's company. He doesn't know how to interpret it.
Well. That's a barefaced lie if Shisui ever told one; he knows exactly how to interpret it. Although the tone is one he's never heard on missions because Itachi does not give advance notice to his marks. They have the irritating tendency to fight back if they pick up on the fact that they're looking death in the face. Shisui knows.
Just like he knows a warning when he hears one.
He glances sideways, sees Itachi's hard mouth and fixed gaze, and figures he should probably be flattered. Or something. The fact that Itachi's bothering to warn him means he must feel conflicted about it, at least, whatever the hell it is (and it must be bad enough for Itachi to want to apologize, because Shisui feels like this is the closest to an apology he'll ever get).
That, or he doesn't think Shisui poses enough of a threat to merit utter secrecy, but Shisui likes to think he's earned more respect from his friend than that.
Shisui sighs, reaches out and sets a hand gently on Itachi's shoulder. Ignores how Itachi goes rigid where most would flinch.
He knows a lot more than people think he does. Being a member of the Police Force has granted him access to secrets he never could have gotten to from outside it, and Shisui's done some poking around of his own on occasion. Boredom is a bitch.
He knows about the Mangekyo. He knows the price the elite of their clan have always paid for the power to do what they thought necessary.
Itachi is nothing if not elite. And Shisui is nothing if he does not forgive him.
So he does, in the only way he can.
"I know," he says.
Warning given, noted, and promptly tossed aside.
He can feel a tremor under his palm where it is laid on Itachi's skin; the boy is trembling, like they've just crossed a border from which there can be no return.
And maybe he's right, Shisui thinks, rubbing what he hopes are soothing circles into Itachi's shoulder. Maybe he's right. But sometimes Shisui thinks he trusts Itachi more than Itachi has ever trusted himself.
He trusts him to do what is right—or, failing that, what is necessary.
It's no different from what he's always done.
"I know," Shisui says again.
Itachi nods, exhales long and slow. It sounds like the beginning of a sob.
Shisui presses a kiss to his shoulder and stays close until he stops shaking.