Cat: For Homeslice. She requested Kisame/Itachi, a pairing that I've liked for a long while but have never attempted writing (and because of that, I'm not really sure if this is good or in character or whatever). Also, this is the first AU fic I've done in a while...Hmm...
I've seen a thousand thoughtless faces today
A thousand I saw yesterday
I know it's inside you and me sat outside on broken steps
(It's our ignorance that keeps us up to pace)
- The Broadways, This Routine
It has almost become routine for the two, walking through those doors -- out of the sun light, into a dimmer. They never look forward to seeing one another, but inside they anticipate it, for it has occurred so many times before and so many times that they cannot count on their fingers. Their fingers grasp idly for bottles, an escape, a refuge. The place has become routine, and the place has become a haven.
Kisame is the walls and Itachi is the ceiling, for eyes stray to the ceiling only in times of hopelessness or doubt but eyes will stare at walls for hours on end simply because they are there, and Kisame does not mind and Itachi pays hardly a scrap of attention. He is the only one.
They do not speak but sit beside one another, because words mean nothing and actions mean little more, and the silence is all that either of them needed to begin with. Kisame drinks little; it is the place he comes for, not the alcohol, not the conversation. Rarely does he even speak to any other than the man at his side, and rarely does this man care to answer his statements. Meaningless words, Itachi thinks, meaningless words from a meaningless being, and he turns his head away.
It is routine, and they know this, and they come back several times a week and sit in their places beside each other, chairs that might as well have their names. Itachi begins to listen to the words Kisame has to say, and he listens merely because he is there and has no other thing to occupy his time, and it is either his ignorance or the alcohol that makes him think that some of the words make sense.
Kisame speaks until it is time for them to leave.
Three weeks into this routine, Kisame bothers asking Itachi where he may be from ("may" because lying is too easy, and with this he knows that perhaps it is the truth after all), and his glass is full and he has not touched it in the thirty minutes spent sitting in his stool. Itachi does not look at him, does not reply, and Kisame does not expect an answer. He never had, and Itachi knows this.
This is not wasted time, not to Kisame. Itachi thinks otherwise, and he does not enjoy coming here, does not enjoy the company of Kisame or the words he has to say. Words that are beginning to make sense to him, words he wishes he could ignore.
Kisame is paying more attention to Itachi, and this is not intentional and this does not occur to him. He has begun to memorize his features, the pattern of his eyes and the way his hair falls in front of them -- the way that he is silent and the way that he does not seem to have a problem with Kisame's occasional rants. It is not the same as being ignored, Kisame thinks, because now he has taken note of Itachi's actions as well, and he can see the way that there is a vague change in the glint of the man's eyes when he speaks or says something of importance.
It is enough to keep him satisfied.
A month or so has passed, though Itachi has not been counting the days and Kisame has been counting far too much, and it has been a month of quiet, one-sided conversations that Itachi keeps returning to. The bar has almost begun to feel like home instead of routine. On one night, a more quiet one, a kind of night that Itachi feels betrays the routine and sets itself apart for some reason or another, Kisame tells Itachi his name.
Itachi had not realized before that he has never known.
And Kisame gives a small, gruff laugh that Itachi thinks is sarcastic, and he stares at the liquid in his glass and does not drink it. "You know," he begins, pausing in the middle of his statement to swish his glass around, "I don't even care that you haven't said anything to me since we have met."
Itachi takes in the words, lets them sink into his bones, and he thinks that they have not even met. Kisame's words are making sense, and he does not like that, and it is not routine and this is something else that he dislikes. He takes a small sip of his drink, and the drink has lost its flavor and he sets it down and pulls his hands away.
The drink has never tasted so dull before.
These nights have been routine, and these nights have never changed. Kisame stares into his drink and does not let them stray, and he thinks that Itachi is looking at him and he thinks that it is the first time that he has really been noticed. Just when he parts his lips to speak, Itachi stands and pushes his stool in.
"Itachi," he says, almost as though the statement has no relevance, and he walks away just as easily as he had the first day. Kisame looks after him for a long while, wondering where their routine has gone, and he grins smugly and decides to take a swig of his drink.