An estranged teenager deals with the painful reality of his life, in the house he lives in with his younger brother, kind mother, and abusive father, while distancing himself from his loving boyfriend as far as possible before he's able to break down the contents of his mind and open his subconscience appropriatly titled his "Heart-shaped box," filled with secrets he doesn't even want to know himself.

It was raining outside when he came to pick him up.

It had been raining, to be exact. For the past three hours. The night was dark and the branches on the shamelessly nude trees swung with the wind. Thunder rumbled off somewhere in the distance. They didn't pay it much mind. It was a cold September rain that stung his face, neck, and collarbone like acupuncture needles in all the wrong places, freezing and unwelcoming. This is where he lived.

He lived with his little brother, young, endearing mother, and abusive father. This is where he resided every day, where he slept upstairs, in his room in the back of the house. He chose the room so he could always watch the trees wave at him at night, the shadows on the walls cast by the swaying limbs in front of the moon. His room had a computer in one corner, filled with discarded drafts of beautiful tales of silver linings and heroic tales. He later resolved that the only good silver lining was that of a blade. It had old photos and photoshopped pieces of art he created when he could not sleep, detailed with bloody scenes of murder and self-sacrifice. His walls had framed pictures of familial occasions, the glare of the moon would block out the forced smiles he painted on for each of them, just like his paintings that adorned dust in his closet. No one could see them ever again. He painted them to lock away.

He spent eight months in the insane asylum for those paintings. Ones that depicted each of his little self-sacrifices, the ones where he ripped out his heart for his little brother. It was in that one where he kneeled in front of the little child of eight, presenting him his still-beating heart as one would present an engagement ring, a smile, true smile, would be stretched across his bloodied lips, eyes closed in cresents of joy. Sasuke would look surprised, but not unhappy. His hands were curled up at his own heart, clinging to the fabric of his navy-blue shirt, his eyes widened and shiny. He almost looked honored that his older brother would do this for him. He dreamt of that often.

Another was one where he walked in a city on fire, with only his two best friends beside himself in the middle of the street, his younger brother innocently hopping over dead bodies, smothered in soot, looking almost entertained with this game. He looked as if he were about to burst out in a giggle, "Watch me jump over two in one try!" His "Older brother", a.k.a, best friend had his hands tucked into his pockets, gazing foreward, the golden hues of the fire casting lovely shadows onto his features, his short, unkempt hair glowing a roasted chestnut in the glow of the fire. He himself simply walked foreward, his expression blank, his eyes alive. He looked happy without looking ahead.

There was a knock at the door that aroused him from his daydreams. He ran his fingers through his long, crow-feather hair that flayed around his face aesthetically. He pushed himself off of the high bed, his feet softly echoing through the wooden hallways of the empty house. He unlocked the door and opened it, letting the older boy in.

"You know, it's about time. It's 'effing freezing out there."

"I apologize," was all he returned.

"Are you ready to go or what? Movie starts at ten. It's 9:30, and we gotta get to town. C'mon, you look good, just get on your shoes," he nodded towards the door, where a pair of heavy black Doc Marten's sat. "Itachi...?"

Itachi turned to look over his shoulder as he kneeled down to lace up the steel-toed boots. "Yes?"

"Somethin' bothering you?"

"No. Why?"

"Well, it usually seems like something's bothering you," he shrugged. "But you never tell me."

"What would make you believe I would tell you, Shisui, now of all times?"

Itachi grabbed his house key from the hook by the door, walking into the kitchen. Shisui followed on his heels.

"A slight of hope, maybe? You never tell me anything."

"Precisely."

Itachi grabbed a bag of cat food and poured it into a small porcelain bowl, clicking his tongue. "Ichabod? Poe?"

Two black cats slipped into the dim kitchen, their gold eyes adjusting to the gloomy lightly. They purred as Itachi grabbed a small container from the pantry, unscrewing the lid. He kneeled down and they circled him, rubbing against his hand and knees, mewling as he pulled out two crickets from the jar, feeding them endearingly. As they took the treat, he petted their oil-slick fur, muttering praises about how sweet and good they were, and how much he loved them. He continued to coo utterly creepy and infinatly endearing things to the two cats when Shisui cleared his throat.

"Dude, you're obsessed with those things."

"They're my familiars."

Shisui smiled slightly. "You really love those things."

"These 'things' are my cats, thank you very much."

"They creep me out. Sure are cute, though. They remind me too much of you."

"How?"

"Well, they're real pretty, for one thing. Another, they're antisocial. And they only like one person."

"Who?"

"You. Except, you don't like yourself. You like me, 'cause I'm your best friend. Let's go, though. Your little cannibal cats need anymore grasshoppers?"

"Crickets. No. Come on," Itachi let a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth, not letting him see, though.

Shisui smiled at him jokingly. "Pardon the mistake, 'Tachi," he soothed, putting his hands up in mock defense.

They walked out of the house, Itachi locked the door behind Shisui and himself after dimming the lamp in the living room for his cats. The rain stung their skin once more, and Shisui wrapped his arm around Itachi's waist, pulling him close. He kissed him on the temple sweetly, noting how the rain hit Itachi's eyes and he didn't even blink. The raindrops just fell like tears from the corners of his heavily lashed eyes, the black orbs of his irises illuminating with the occasional flash of lightning. Shisui looked down at him.

"It'll be okay, y'know..." he whispered to him.

Itachi could only nod.