Ruins
by Parizaad
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A/N : Usually I hesitate to write about the two, because I love them so much and am always afraid of messing it up. However, this was a spontaneous write. I wrote this instead of sleeping, so it's overly sentimental and probably rocky. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it! (Posted on AO3 as well)
There is wetness on his face and blood in the clean files of his nails, ache in his chest and his limbs are beaten down. But then his brother's eyes widen, blood trailing across his cheek and Itachi's hand weighs down, falling. Sasuke looks bewildered and just for a fleeting moment, afraid. Itachi knows his brother will understand.
There's a whisper and a feathery touch and Itachi's eyes face the heavens. His limbs loosen, liquid fire, and he remembers-
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Itachi's cheek pressed into the middle of quaking shoulder blades. Balmy, summer afternoon air whistled past them. Spinning and bumping along ridges of a cement road. Peals of robust, giddy laughs shifted gently, bird like bones in a tremor. Holding on tight, tighter. Itachi's eyes were closed shut, his spindly arms caging Shisui's waist with an increasing ferociously.
Shisui jerked the pedals back, momentary inertia pushing them along. Thin tyres scraped the pavement and they were still. Shisui turn his head around, over his shoulder, smiling that loud smile of his, lantern lambent and firework bright at the same time. Unruly black, shiny curls bouncing lightly and Itachi blinks at Shisui, feeling a little breathless, before smiling his thin lipped, true smile.
"Thank you, Shisui."
Shisui's knobbly, pallid hand swipes lazily at his nose, his ruddy red cotton shirt bunching up and him, nodding. "No biggie, 'Tachi!" a squeaky, high pitch. Itachi looks down, suddenly his fingertips tingling, and jumps down from the seat, brushes his shirt, arranging his shoulder bag.
"Goodbye, Shisui."
Shisui nods again, pushing a sandaled toe on the pedal of his fading yellow bicycle. "Bye 'Tachi!"
Itachi likes to believe he did not bother about that peculiar day afterward. They were just children. Nonetheless, he remembers it all too clearly to not 'bother'.
Itachi, as matter of fact on that Konoha summer afternoon had, knuckles white as he gripped his bag's strap, watched Shisui paddle down the street. Had, stared at the corner of the street where Shisui had turned away. Had, told himself that Shisui was his relative and he would see more of him. Had, at that thought, smiled.
He had walked in, kaa-san snored softly, tucked in her futon a hand on her swollen belly when Itachi kissed her cheek and muttered a quiet taidama. A bowl of boiled rice and miso soup waiting for him in his room. Scrolls and kunai and ravens.
But the thoughts of a curly haired Uchiha with a thunderous laugh, his second cousin, perpetually stuck to him as long he could remember.
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Itachi has Sasuke's little, pudgy fingers wrapped around his. Sasuke giggles, earnest, pointing haphazardly and Itachi keeps up. They are not alone in this merrymaking, a festival. Civilian and nin alike, mingling and following paper lanterns with eyes as eager as little Sasuke's.
It is easy, Itachi thinks, to lose one in things like this. Red kimonos, little lights and steaming cups. The hands he cradles his little brother's gently with are the one he's killed countless, snuffed out countless lights with. But being ninja is duty, ANBU is duty and it is all to protect Sasuke- it is to safeguard- But then Sasuke is tugging at his hand and their fingers slip, he is calling out to kaa-san and otou-san, and another moment, gone.
"Ha. I think Sasuke got me."
Itachi did not register Shisui before, and he catches himself, Shisui always gets him before he does himself. He comes walking up to him, playfully wiggling his eyebrows, "Pretty dolled up Mikoto-san got you. You look nice."
Itachi is curious, so he watches Shisui from the corner of his eyes, a slip of a glance to confirm. The black yukata he wears, does not hide the sharp jutting of his slight shoulders but the slate of his collarbone is covered partially. Pallid skin, gleaming. Rough curls brush his starchy collar. Itachi averts his eyes when Shisui turns to him, talking as they walk, his hands circling expressively to explain about his teammate who drinks too much.
Itachi focuses on a single paper lantern with little blue leaf patterns in the distance, Shisui's lyrical, silver-toned, high voice relaxing him.
"Itachi?"
"Hm."
"It will be hard," Shisui's voice carries all the sincerity in the world. Itachi looks at him properly then, and his dark eyes are looking right at him. "But I will wait for you when you come back."
The mission details are gruesome. His hands will be stained with blood of children too, now. A solo mission, first thing in the morning. A wooden mask on his wooden face and porcelain armor on his wooden flesh.
So he let's Shisui's soft-palmed, long fingered hand rest against his shoulder and push him to a rough-something resembling a hug. A brush against the chest, warmth seeping. Bones and skin and Shisui's musk, electric scent of clean chakra and watered grass.
Despite himself, he thinks he would not mind Shisui's strong arms around him or his curls tickling the top of his head. He turns away, looking straight ahead, schooling his features but his lips quirk slightly. Shisui laughs, "Shut up, motherfucker." Then he is pulling him to a dango house, where they stay for a long, long time. Talking in mellow voices over empty dango plates.
People leave and cups go cold and lights dim but Shisui stays.
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Slow, slow. Teeth scrape, hearts thud, sweaty palms slip. Lips fall open on lips. Itachi runs his hand over Shisui's naked chest, hooking his fingers in his belt loops pulling him closer. Shisui breaks apart, his eyes glowing ethereal red, fingertips pressing shivers down Itachi's arched spine. His swollen lips brush Itachi's earlobe, whispering. But Itachi's redder eyes snap open when the whisper is all but the scream of a little boy. The choked scream of when Itachi's fingers crushed his windpipe.
Itachi wakes up, gasping. Cool skin, mouth dry, damp eyes and a straining erection.
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The grass is warm, a white sun high in the skies, waters lapping gently.
Shisui eyes are closed, his curved lashes fluttering ever so slightly, against alabaster pale skin. Rosebud lips parted, just a little. Bones of chest rising and falling. Fingers brushing grass, elbows grazing Itachi's arm.
Nakano hums, birds chirp overhead. Itachi is a liar, a mask behind a mask. But he allows himself this weakness, one small, hairline weakness. He watches Shisui sleep, through half-lidded, drowsy eyes. Gentle shadows across Shisui's gentler face. Itachi never over thinks, so he reaches and brushes his fingertips against Shisui's crown of wet curls, the curve of his neck. Rising just a little, he dips his head down, grazing the corner of Shisui's lips with his.
Of course, Shisui sleeps, half-awake. Itachi is well aware.
They both know, and Itachi tries not to ponder much over how Shisui looks at him later that evening over ramen. A bare mist of a veil in his dark-gray eyes. Hope, maybe.
Itachi barely ignores the tightening of his chest.
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Itachi bows, "Danzo-sama." and Danzo's single dark eye watches him, impassive. His stick taps against the temple's tarmac and Itachi straightens right away. He is a born and bred soldier and he knows nothing but orders. For the village. For his brother. For Konoha. For Sasuke.
"You are wise Itachi." A smile cuts into Danzo's wrinkled face because he has won before the mighty Uchiha even raised a sword and he mocks Itachi sweetly. Itachi does not mind, does not care.
He has much to sacrifice for peace.
But when later that evening his mother stands against the kitchen counter over half-cut vegetables, her hand flattened against her mouth. Breathy sobs reach him. Itachi stands in the doorway for a long time, thinking maybe peace is an exaggerated term, in his case.
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Sly, tapered fingers are touching his forehead, his lips, his damp eyes. Trembling and feeling.
"Hey, 'Tachi, you know, I loved that time when Mikoto-san made us mochi and Sasuke over-ate, that little shit and-"
Cold, bloodied fingers touch his neck, trace his collarbone. Itachi grinds his teeth together, his eyes watering, his chest rising.
"-the time when you whacked me on the head for-"
Night claws it's way in, evening light bleeding out. It's cold, cold, cold. Shisui's fingers are ever-warm, like his voice, like himself. He goes on and on about sweet nothings and hallowed memories of hands that never held a kunai. Shiui's eyes are closed, blood running down his face with saltwater tears.
"My gift, 'Tachi. This is a gift."
"Shisui."
"Shhh now. You'll see, everything will be okay one day." A tender touch to his cheek, again. "I won't be there for you. But I can give you this, y-you're a fucking prodigy anyway, you-"
Shisui's words quaver and he steps away. Blind and dankening in the shadows, becoming part of them. The water beckons Shisui softly, and so he becomes a part of it before Itachi's eyes, merging with dark ink and dark skies and-
Cosmos reduces to spinning red eyes and cold waters.
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Dark clothes with a proud threadbare Uchiha fan, worn over and over with pride. Itachi stains them all of them with their blood. The night goes on and on, and no one stands against him, there is not much resistance as he kills ordinary civilian in their beds. He tenderly wipes away blood from mouths and hesitates over frightened faces of children. (onedayshisuioneday) Tucks the lock of hair behind a mother's ear, resting her dead daughter with her. His hands become slippery with blood and his clothes darken a shade with blood. But he keeps on stumbling and shaking. His breath hitches and falls until he stops. (forgivemeforgiveme) At one point he stops counting children and he cuts down everyone with the Uchiha fan grazing their backs.
The Uchiha emblem burns his eyes and he kills, kills, kills. (forgivemeforgivemeforgivemeforgiveme)
Itachi is grateful for his mask.
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"Why do you keep staring at the rain?"
Rainwater snakes down his nose, droplets heavy in his hair, his lips, numbing. Kisame grunts some more questions, swings his sword, his heavy footsteps retreat eventually.
The heavy pour of silver rain beats down upon him. It blurs and spins. Thunder echoes briefly in the distance and the night canopy lights up.
A knot in his chest and Itachi flattens his hand against his thinned mouth, convulsing, his chest heaving. There is sickness, decaying rot, on his breath, he knew long before. A trail of blood and saliva forms when his hand leaves his mouth, so he hold out his hand to the merciless rain. Like all things before him, the rain washes away the redness from his hand.
His mouth rises a little, sharp curves of his lips. Nakano river never changed.
His eyes spin, red and black. His fingers pressure the soft muddy banks of his childhood. Itachi starts talking under his breath, hushed whispers. Nonsense, sweet little things, things about Sasuke and how Konoha had changed. He will have his final fight with Sasuke, tomorrow. An entirely inappropriate levity fills up his chest at the notion of seeing his little brother, once and the last time. The rain darken his robes and his headband is slick against his forehead, he thinks of something else too.
When he parts the river, he says one word, out aloud.
"Shisui."
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-then a blanket of deep dark. There is quiet for a long time. But then.
A pale hand reaches for him, the same soft palms and clever fingers and rough pad of fingertips. Limbs move, an extension of a freed soul, glowing softly. Itachi reaches forward, before a sweet, slow voice echoes,
"I told ya, 'Tachi. One day."
A quiver and a white spark when skin touches skin and everything explodes in blinding, blinding white.
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