One Year Ago, Outside Sakura's Apartment Building

The heat of the residual flames licked Sakura's face as she watched the building burn to the ground. Her work scrubs, soiled from the twenty-hour shift, were covered in soot. It was a boiler, they had said as they contained the worst of the flames that had originated from her apartment. A warm paper cup was pressed into her hand, and she recognized the faint scent of cologne as Shisui wrapped his arms around her shoulders.

He was still in his police uniform, the cuffs of the sleeves starched and pressed. The cleanliness of his jacket sleeve was almost obscene against the ashy scrubs with specks of blood along the hem of her shirt.

"I'm sorry I didn't come sooner," he whispered.

The warmth of his arms was a bulwark against the fading heat of the building. It stopped the chaos in her mind until all she could feel was him and the cup in her hands. He pushed it up to her mouth, encouraging her to drink. It was sweet, too sweet, and obviously his coffee. Like clockwork at 7 p.m., every police shift, he took a coffee break.

Sakura was fully aware she was dissociating, but didn't care enough to commit to a thought. Scraped together shreds of her independence, mementos from a lifetime of shinobi work, reminders that she belonged, that she was good enough burned alongside the walls and cheap carpet. They rose together in churling smoke against the night sky—turned to bits of ash that flecked against her cheek. It was all gone.

"Lieutenant Shisui," a man interrupted the cloud of thoughts that circled over her head like a passing storm. In seconds, she was draped in a warm navy blanket. It smelled like Shisui, like the one he kept on his couch with the Uchiha emblem on it.

Time passed by slowly, unintelligibly, with every slow tick of someone's wristwatch as they fought the fire. It was a gas leak, they said. From a radiator in apartment 12B—hers. Shisui was speaking with someone now, their voices drowned out beneath the sound of his heartbeat against her ear. He had his palm over her other ear, and she was comfortable, pressed against his chest, surrounded by his scent and familiarity.

There was a single moment where she thought about keeping this for life—keeping him. If this was what love felt like, she wanted to keep it, the warm feeling when she thought of him. She wanted to keep the late night tempura drop-offs from him when she worked too late, or the toothpaste that magically replaced itself when she was too busy to go to the market. The near-empty bottle of oil in her cabinet always had an unopened replacement behind it, though he never said a word. Fruit appeared in her fridge, cleaned, dried, and neatly put away. She wanted to keep late-night cuddles in the dark of his room, and her spare toothbrush on his sink.

If this was what love felt like— the desire to make sure he ate, that his coffee pot was set, or that his laundry was done when she had the spare time—then the comfortability and realization was the most terrifying experience in the world.

His lips were warm against the crown of her head, he wiped a tear from her cheek she didn't realize had fallen.

"Come on, you're staying at my place."

He was gentle, but then again he always was. At least with her.

Present Day

It was late, again. Shisui realized that, even as he scoured another set of reports, another stack of paperwork. Six weeks out of the hospital, Sakura was still on convalescent leave in their apartment. A new kind of poison, a new day, but fuck, did he want to do more than wring her attacker by the neck and hear them gasp their last words. Every day that passed, he thought of some new, inventive method of torture for the person who dared laid a hand on her. Though it was all for naught, weeks of investigation hadn't yielded the results he wanted.

His office door creaked open, and Yugao leaned against the threshold with her arms below her chest. She looked healthy—the happiest she'd been since they were clueless genin together, scrambling after one another in the midst of the Third Shinobi War. Hayate was taking care of her, and Shisui was glad for it, otherwise he would have had to try and kick his ass. He wouldn't have let his wife's attacker get away.

Yet here Shisui was, head of the ANBU tracking division unable to find the perpetrator. "Fuck," he muttered, slamming his head into his palms. "Please, Yu-yu, for the love of all the gods, tell me you have something."

"You need to sleep."

"The fuck I do. I need answers. I need…I need…"

"A plausible target instead of a ghost?"

Shisui scrubbed a hand over his face, leaned back and squeezed his eyes shut. "Yeah that. I can't shake the feeling it was personal. My grandma's necklace…it had a sharingan engraved on the inside of the setting. It was a family heirloom, and I can't shake the feeling that someone recognized it. That someone targeted her because of me."

Yugao sighed. "I got a print, but you're not going to like the answer."

She began to slide a worn manila folder across his desk and plopped in the seat opposite him with her feet on the surface. Before it fully reached him, she yanked it back. Pulling a small packet of trail mix from her pocket, she offered it to him, in that demanding way of hers that always irked him when they were kids.

"Come on, you need to eat. You look like shit."

He huffed, holding out his palm, then stuffing the mix into his mouth without glancing at them.

"Good job," she cooed, mimicking their sensei's nin-ken's sarcastic encouragement.

Shisui rolled his eyes and waved her off. "Alright, alright. I ate something, now may I open it?"

The playfulness left her face as she tossed the folder to him. "I know it's impossible but…It was the only match that I could find."

Holding the profile in his hands, Shisui shook his head. "No, it's someone else. This isn't. He's been dead for over a decade."

"Shisui, it's him. I had the print double-checked by five different operatives."

He shook his head wildly, refusing to believe the truth. Even as Yugao paced the carpet in front of him and wrapped him in her arms, he couldn't believe it. It wasn't possible. And if it was, it was someone else, some corpse thief. It was just another part of the illusion, the trick. Someone was fucking with him, going after his loved ones, even those who were deceased.
"Kakashi, does he…does he know?"

He could feel Yugao shake her head from above him, and he dropped his head onto her stomach, holding onto her hips. Yugao had been his sister the moment they were assigned to the same genin team. He always loved her, always trusted her, and if she said that…

"What is this?" Sakura asked quietly from the doorway.

Yugao released Shisui and backed away to his side. "Yugao Gekko," she introduced herself, holding out her hand.

Sakura dropped a bag of take-out on his desk and nodded at her. "Sakura Haruno." The bag crinkled under her flexed fist while her eyes darted to the opposite corner of the office.

Shisui scrubbed his hand over his face, watching Sakura's image blur near the door. She hadn't moved, quietly shuffling her feet, they were usually sore after a long day. He didn't want her to see him like this, broken down in grief. He wanted to be strong for her, to reassure her that he would take care of everything, that he would make her safe. But he couldn't, not right then, so instead he remained silent and watched her blur into reds and pinks beneath the tears he covered with a genjutsu.

Yugao squeezed his shoulder. The ends of her long hair tickled his cheek when the heater kicked on. She was there that day, the day he had truly been lost to grief and madness. She had protected him, kept him from throwing himself off a cliff after their teammate. He could still feel the weight of her twelve year old body crushing him to the ground, pinning him down with all of her weight, petting his hair while Isamu below…

"Is that for him? I told him he wasn't eating enough, thank you for bringing it."

Tears of blood mixed with dirt. A cursed family. Yugao had never quit on him. Tsume-sensei had never quit. Kuromaru bit him when he had thought about quitting. He wasn't angry about the loss of the same eye from that mission. He said it made him quite the catch to the female dogs—proof of his ruggedness.

"I uh, sorry for the rudeness, I was just bringing my roommate something to eat."

She was shielding him now, blocking his view of Sakura and hers of him. She knew him too well, knew too much. Her hand on his shoulder kept him tethered and made the ghosts flee.

"That was very kind of you. I'm sure he appreciates it."

"It's getting late, I'm getting cranky. I'll uh, I'll just get out of your hair. It's really none of my business."

So why did he feel emptier when Sakura left, even with his blood sister by his side?

Seven Months Ago, Sakura and Shisui's Apartment

Snow fell outside in large drifts, lining on the window sills as the wind blew. Rare was the spring snow in Konoha. Though Shisui's radiator was always in good working condition, Sakura couldn't help but cuddle closer to him. Truth be told, she liked waking up like this, warm and content, tasting the salt of his sweat still left on his skin from the night before.

The coffee maker kicked on outside of their room, the dribble of the coffee into the glass pot broke through the quiet of the apartment. An aroma of nuts and spice, the last of Shisui's specialty winter roast, drifted through the air. He would wake up soon, he always woke up when the coffee kicked on, though she enjoyed watching him sleep. Some nights were difficult on him; he would wake up gasping for air, covering his eye, and clutching the kunai he kept under his pillow. She was there for him then, hoping that the vestiges of his nightmares faded away with her lips against his; and soft whispered words of affection but never love.

It had taken less than a month of living together for his room to somehow become theirs. Her things mixed with his in a wash of eclectic colors. The scarf collection she had replaced over the last few months hung on pegs near his uniform jacket. An embossed kunai pouch her father had bought for her birthday hung next to his worn and stained pouch. All of the kunai between the two were communal supplies he sharpened every Thursday night.

She had tried to help him sharpen them several times. Each time, he had stopped her by grabbing her hand and kissing her palm. He would always say he wanted to do this, to make sure that they were the most reliable weapons. The first few times she got offended, thinking that he didn't trust her to be able to sharpen kunai effectively. After a while, she realized it was his form of meditation. He genuinely enjoyed the calmness of it. Sometimes she would hear him mutter recited prayers to the god of fire that the Uchiha worshiped. She would lean over from her reading and kiss his shoulder when he did that, hoping to encourage the solace people normally found in religion.

He didn't truly believe, or so he had said. Still, every Wednesday he left an offering of incense in the Uchiha shrine. He would bow his head and silently whisper thanks to his gods for letting him live one more day. Sakura had walked with him a few times when they were out to breakfast. She could hear him from the shrine entrance, with his occasional glance over his shoulder.

"What are you thinking about so hard?" Shisui asked groggily with his eyes still closed. He shifted over, and pulled her closer into him.

"You. Your habits, I guess."

The mumble under his breath vibrated through his throat and to the top of her head. If it weren't for his roving hand, she would have thought he had fallen back to sleep. He felt too good against her, with his lips moving down her cheek to her pulse. His hand caressed her thighs, kneading into the muscle, and causing her to moan in relief before he reached her ass.

She almost said it then, the three words they agreed they wouldn't share, as he slipped her pajama top off her shoulder almost reverently.

His eyes were soft this early in the morning, relaxed, content, as if he had no other responsibilities than to lay there all day and listen to the snow pile up on the windowsills. It was Wednesday, his only day off. He would get up, offer to take her to breakfast after this, then they would visit his shrine together. They might stop by the library and return the books and scrolls that had been read in their spare time over the last three weeks. Or they might go to the market and pick up supplies for that night's dinner. It was all so…domestic. And Sakura was afraid to lose it.

Present Day

Shisui quietly opened the door to their apartment at five in the morning. He could smell the drink on his own breath. It had been a long time since he had drunk so much in one go. Two years, in fact, since he began dating Sakura. Though he couldn't call what they had "dating;" she would revolt like a skittish rabbit caught in the underbrush.

"I'm home," he whispered to any spirits of their home that may still be awake.

"Welcome home," Sakura said from their office door. "I did some rearranging. Put my stuff back in here."

"Why'd you do that?" Shisui rubbed his bleary eyes and drunkenly set his shoes in the cubby near the door.

"You're very drunk. You know that?"

He hummed to himself and meandered to the kitchen, fighting against gravity on his way there.

"How much have you had?" Sakura asked, following after him.

Even though his vision was blurry, she still looked beautiful in the early dawn light. Her hair practically glowed with the rising sun from the open windows. The view was one of his favorite things about this apartment. Sakura liked to sit in front of the window in her spare time and read. It only added to the view as he sat on the couch.

"I love you," he said. Or thought he said.

Sakura's eyebrows meshed together, and she squinted her eyes at him in confusion. "What?"

"I love you," he tried to repeat. He could hear it now. Gibberish slipping past his tongue in unintelligible syllables. Black was beginning to creep in towards the edges of his vision, and he set the water glass on the counter.

"What did you drink?" Sakura asked, placing a hand on his head.

"Whisky, gin, beer."

"I can't understand a damn word you're saying."

Just as well, he thought, as he lost feeling in his legs and held onto her for support.

"Oh, for fucks sake, Shisui."

She smelled so nice, like flowers and vanilla. She was soft against his cheek, or rather, what he could feel of his cheek. He closed his eyes and leaned in completely, allowing himself to succumb to alcohol.

Morning came much too quickly for Shisui's liking, or was it the afternoon? He wasn't sure. The only thing he was sure of was his pounding head. An uncapped bottle of painkillers and a glass of water was on his nightstand with a small note in messy scrawl recommending that he take two. The sight of it had everything coming back to him, the fingerprint, the profile, and the drinking. Gods, he didn't think that after two kids Yugao would be able to still drink him under the table like that.

Shisui scrubbed his hand down his face to wake himself up. It was already two in the afternoon. Wednesday. Sakura would be at work at this time. It was her turn to be on call in the emergency department. That would give him time enough to send Fugaku his leave of absence from the police force, and clear things up with Tsunade, get all of his permissions in a row. He debated telling Kakashi what he had found out, but thought better of it. There was no use torturing the man until he found concrete evidence.

On the other hand, if it was Yugao or Isamu…he would want to know. He would want to know that there was a possibility someone was using their bodies for malicious purposes and against Konoha—the only logical conclusion.

His thoughts scattered into different directions, and Shisui found himself slowly packing his mission gear. By the time the medication kicked in, he could feel the cracked window, and hear a paper fluttering against the dresser.

The note lifted up, held down by the kunai and a photograph on top of it. Shisui's breath froze in his lungs as he looked at the pink hair, the face pierced with the tip of his own kunai. The soft blue paper ripped from the prescription pad Sakura kept in her nightstand crinkled as Shisui removed the kunai and began to read.

"My dear sweet Shisui, you foolish boy so blindly in love, you have been so easy to watch, to track. I have enjoyed watching your romance bloom with every passing week."

A chill ran up Shisui's spine at the thought of some unwelcome interloper watching them, breaking into their home with them unawares. He had been careful, all of the right seals had been set. He had strengthened security in his apartment and Sakura's old one years ago when they first started this… this thing. With every word he read, the breath in his lungs was stolen away until their room felt like a vacuum, and he was lost in space.

"I wondered how you would react if I were to play with her. Make her my plaything. So I did, moved things around when she wasn't looking, hunted her in the dark when she walked alone. What an unobservant little flower you've attached yourself to. It would have been too easy, too unsatisfactory to simply take her from you. Instead, I propose a game of hunt and seek. I'll hunt, you seek. The game begins now."