DID SOMEONE SAY 80S ROMCOM? (1/4)
Behold: The Incredibly Long Say Anything AU That Nobody Asked For! Enjoy!
Sometimes You Only Get One Chance (But Sometimes You Get Two)
.
“I’m gonna do it,” Shisui declares. “I’m gonna ask him out.”
Anko, who’s spent the last five minutes squinting at her diploma like she’s convinced it’s a forgery, finally looks up and follows his gaze.
And then starts laughing in a way that could probably be damaging to someone’s confidence. Someone other than Shisui, of course.
“Itachi Uchiha?” she asks. “Good luck with that, Shi.”
Shisui forces himself to stop gazing longingly at the guy whose senior superlative was Most Gorgeous Mathlete (well, okay, maybe only in the yearbook of Shisui’s mind but still).
“What’s with the sarcasm, O Ye Of Little Faith?”
Anko snorts. “The valedictorian, Shi? Really?”
“So he’s kind of a genius. What's your point?”
She appears to consider. “I mean, you’re not a total idiot. You didn’t drop out.” More considering. “Like, barely didn’t drop out.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t because I’m not smart,” Shisui retorts. “It was because I didn’t give a shit. That’s an important distinction.”
“Whatever. Have you ever actually seen the guy talk to another person our age?”
Shisui is forced to concede that she might have a point there. “Maybe he’s shy? And anyway, it’s not like I keep tabs on him or anyth-oh shit Anko, he’s coming this way. I’m gonna do it.”
“You’re gonna get your heart dropped into a blender,” Anko says under her breath. Shisui ignores her, because sometimes best friends need to ignore each other in order to avoid committing poorly-timed homicide.
As opposed to well-timed homicide. Obviously.
Itachi is a scant five feet away and closing. He’s close enough for Shisui to properly appreciate the sunlight glinting off his cheekbones, the silky black hair rebelling against its tight ponytail, the way his long fingers fuss with his graduation cap, adjusting it until the angle is perfect again.
They read some heinously long poem in English this semester, about fairies who lured men off cliffs by turning into whatever the they would find most appealing. Shisui’s pretty sure he’s found the guise for his own personal murderous fairy, should he ever encounter one.
A greeting is forming on his tongue when another person steps between him and Itachi. Which is seriously rude, okay, Shisui had dibs on this moment-
But his indignation shrivels away when he realizes the interloper is none other than Fugaku Uchiha, The Terrifying, CEO of Something-Something Enterprises that manufactures something important; Shisui doesn’t know much about it, except that it’s made him disgustingly rich.
Fugaku is also Itachi’s father.
Shisui beats a tactical retreat and manfully ignores Anko’s cackling.
.
But Shisui, you see, is a big believer in True Love. Specifically the part about it Conquering All (Including Scary-Ass Fathers). So the next day he looks up Itachi’s home number in the phonebook and calls before he can think better of it.
Someone picks up after a few rings, and his heart leaps-
“Yes?”
-right into a vat of fiery burning lava.
Shisui quails. “Hello?”
“Yes?” Fugaku repeats, sounding a touch more impatient.
“Is, um, is Itachi there? I’m a classmate-a friend, yeah, I’m a friend of his.” Well, maybe that’s stretching the definition a little when the most interaction they’ve had was that one time when Shisui accidentally knocked into Itachi in the hallway and ended up spilling his books everywhere, which hopefully Itachi has forgotten by now, but Shisui’s all for bending the truth in the service of True Love. Because, as has already been established, he’s kind of a big fan.
Fugaku does something that would sound an awful lot like a sigh from a lesser man. “My son is not home. What is your number?”
Shisui gulps and rattles off a string of digits.
“I will tell Itachi to contact you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Shisui manages, but the dial tone is already buzzing in his ear.
He thinks that probably could have gone better.
.
“Shisui!”
Shisui lifts his head halfheartedly from his pillow, where he’s been trying to smother himself since he got off the phone with Fugaku, The Terrifying.
“Not now, Natsu, I’m having an emotional crisis in here!”
His big sister barges into his bedroom anyway, ignoring his yelps of protest, and shoves the phone at his face.
“Itachi something-or-other,” she says dismissively, and leaves while Shisui’s mouth is still hanging open.
Then the words actually compute and he scrambles to pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello,” says a much less terrifying voice.
“Hello,” Shisui repeats, inanely.
There’s an eternity of painfully awkward silence. Stars die and distant planets explode and Shisui can only wish he were among them.
“My father said you wanted to speak to me?” Itachi says at last.
Shisui seizes on that. “Yes! Yes. I did. Want to talk to you, I mean. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight and maybe wanted to hang out or something?”
His voice goes mortifyingly high near the end. For a moment he hears nothing but the sickening sound of dead air.
“I,” Itachi begins, and Shisui panics.
“I mean, it’s totally okay if you’re busy, obviously you’re busy, you’re probably gonna own half the world by the time you’re twenty, but like, my friend’s having this party tonight and I thought-”
“I was-”
“But we could go see a movie or something if that’s not your thing? Or, like, eat food? We can do Saturday if tonight doesn’t work for you. Or Sunday. Or-I mean shit, man, it’s summer, basically any night works for me, so-”
“Shisui,” Itachi cuts in. Shisui closes his mouth with a snap. “I was going to say yes.”
Shisui isn’t sure what to do with this information. Half his insides seem to be doing the conga while the other half shrieks in abject terror.
“…Shisui?”
He snaps out of it. Because Shisui a smooth operator, dammit. He bounces back. “So, um, can I pick you up at eight?”
“Eight.” Itachi sounds a little amused, but that’s probably just Shisui’s paranoid imagination talking. “I will see you then.”
“Right, yeah, I’ll-um, see you then.”
At least Itachi has the good manners to not hang up on Shisui before he’s completely finished embarrassing himself.
.
The thing about Itachi, Shisui has decided, is that he’s kind of like an alien someone dumped on Earth and left there. A really attractive alien, but an alien nonetheless. And his alien brethren hadn’t been complete assholes, okay, they’d left him with an instruction manual, but the manual was written in, like, 1910. So Itachi had learned enough about human customs to pass, but not enough to really fit in. Shisui has been collecting evidence for this theory for years.
Exhibit Y: When Shisui picks him up for the party, he’s wearing a blue button-down shirt and dress slacks.
Not that this is in any way a bad thing. Itachi all spruced up is definitely not hard on the eyes. It’s just that now Shisui can’t seem to quit staring and he does have to, you know, drive the car without crashing and killing them both. Which would be a pretty shit way to start off a date.
Wait, is this a date? Does Itachi think this is a date? Does Itachi even know how tragically, woefully gay and head-over-heels Shisui is?
By the time the fog of panicked questions has cleared enough for him to think, Shisui realizes they’ve already been driving for five minutes in complete silence. If this is a date, it’s going pretty badly already and Shisui hasn’t even veered off the road yet.
“So,” he tries.
Itachi looks at him. “Yes?”
“Um. What’re your plans after summer?”
The second the words leave his mouth Shisui wants to suck them back in, swallow them down so deep they’ll never come in the vicinity of his traitorous tongue again. Jesus, he sounds like his Great-Aunt Uruchi, The Relentless, forever asking about school and his Plans For The Future and which illustrious college he’s going to attend and what he’s going to study and on and on, until he wants to stick his head in the ceiling fan just to save himself further interrogation.
Itachi doesn’t seem to notice that Shisui’s channeling an extremely grumpy old woman, though. Or if he does he doesn’t show it.
“I’ve been offered a scholarship. To Oxford,” he says-not like he’s bragging, just like it’s a fact. The sky is blue and turtles are awesome and Itachi is terrifyingly smart.
Shisui racks his brains for something to say. What he comes up with is, “Wait, isn’t Oxford in England?”
Itachi nods like Shisui just said something intelligent. “It is. The scholarship includes travel expenses.”
“Wow. That’s pretty amazing, congrats.”
“Thank you,” Itachi says. He’s looking down at his hands. “My father is thrilled.”
Somehow Shisui can’t quite picture Fugaku Uchiha being “thrilled” about anything, because “thrilled” implies the capacity for human emotions, but insulting Itachi’s father doesn’t seem like first-date conversation. He decides to play it safe instead.
“Bet your mom’s happy too, huh? Probably already reminding you to eat your vegetables?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Itachi says neutrally.
And see, Shisui knows he should just stop talking, but he also knows he’s just screwed up somehow and panic really, really doesn’t agree with him. Hence:
“What do you mean by that?”
Itachi clears his throat. “I don’t live with my mother. My parents divorced a few years ago. She and my brother live on the other end of the city.”
“Oh, fuck,” Shisui blurts. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to-look, I’m really sorry. Can we just rewind? Do you want me to tell you something embarrassing about myself to make up for it? ‘Cause I will.”
He chances a sideways glance. Itachi is blinking at him like he’s trying to telegraph something straight into Shisui’s abnormally thick skull.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says. “Also, I believe that was our turn.”
Shisui whips his head to the side: He’s right, of course. “Oh, fuck me sideways with a tent pole.”
Itachi starts laughing.
Actually, it’s more like the laugh was surprised out of him by Shisui’s stupidity (he gets that a lot), but it’s still kind of a gorgeous sound and yes, Shisui knows he’s a massive dork for even thinking it.
“I don’t think that will be necessary either,” Itachi says, still smiling. “If you turn right here, we should be able to make it back around.”
Shisui flicks his turn signal on and tries not to look too smug.
He made Itachi Uchiha laugh. Take that, Anko.
.
“So did you blow him or what?”
Shisui’s pretty sure his drink comes out his nose. “The fuck, Anko?”
She leans back against the wall, smirking. “Our Ice Prince. How the hell else could you have gotten him to socialize with us lesser life
forms?”
“I asked. Asked. You know, like a normal human being?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious!” Shisui protests. “He’s not stuck-up at all. Just, like, crazy awkward.”
Almost involuntarily, his eyes flicker over to where Itachi is surrounded by a group of curious classmates. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but also like he’s enjoying having conversations with people his own age, so Shisui leaves him be. He’ll save his awesome kung-fu skills for someone who deserves it.
Anko is looking at him hard, dark eyes made all the more piercing by copious amounts of eyeliner. Her dyed-violet hair is spiked up with enough gel to constitute a serious fire hazard, and pulled back to show off all eight of her ear piercings.
Basically she looks as gorgeously terrifying as ever and Shisui is grateful, not for the first time, that she decided to befriend him in freshman year instead of killing and eating him for sport.
“You’re really gone on him,” she says.
It isn’t a question, but he answers anyway. “I guess, kinda. Yeah.”
She clicks her tongue. “And I still think you’re nuts, but whatever. If it pisses off Daddy Uchiha and his fancy-ass suits, I’m all for it.”
“Um. Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” The smirk returns, along with a dangerous glint in his best friend’s eye. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I just saw Kimimaro come in. I think it’s time for me to get the Gibson out, don’t you?”
(Anko’s got this thing where she wants to be a rock star, and also this thing where she enjoys sleeping with as many people as possible, and this other thing where she likes to write songs about their sexual inadequacies once they piss her off. And they all do. Anko is very easily pissed off.
She’s also a killer songwriter. Tayuya had to change fucking schools.)
Shisui waves as she goes off to find her beloved guitar, leaving the faint scent of hairspray and malicious intent behind. He then decides it’s time to go over and rescue Itachi from Kin Tsuchi. Shisui an altruist like that.
“…so I cut her hair off in history class,” Kin is saying as Shisui approaches, flicking her own long black hair over her shoulder. Itachi is nodding with a look of polite interest on his face, but when his eyes meet Shisui’s over her head they look slightly disturbed. Shisui sympathizes. He’s never met another band geek with Kin’s particular brand of psychosis and he hopes he never does.
“Hey, Kin,” he interrupts. “Mind if I borrow Itachi for a sec?”
She makes a show of thinking about it. “What’s in it for me if I do?”
“Pretty sure Dosu’s got vodka behind the pool,” Shisui offers. Her eyes light up.
“You’re the best, Shisui,” she says sweetly, and vanishes.
Itachi is giving him a bemused look. “Do you regularly trade alcohol for favors?”
“Only when it involves rescuing damsels in distress,” Shisui replies. And then wants to swallow his foot, shoe and all, because it’s possible Itachi won’t take kindly to being called a girl. A distressed girl, at that.
But all he gets is an eyebrow raise. “So you consider yourself an expert at reading people?”
Shisui shrugs. “Not really. I just know these people. Been going to school with them for four years, after all.”
“Hm.” Itachi scans the room. “What can you tell me about…him? With the white hair?”
“Who, Kimimaro? He’s one of Anko’s exes. Gloomy kinda guy. The hair’s not dyed, by the way, he’s a legit albino.”
Itachi nods thoughtfully and looks around again. “How about her?”
Shisui follows his gaze. “That’s Yugao. Anko’s cousin, so probably the only person in this room who isn’t one of her exes. She founded this poetry club in freshman year-rumor is that she’s actually been publishing anthologies under a pseudonym since she was twelve.”
“And that boy with her?”
“Hataye. First name Gekko, not that he wants anyone to call him that because let’s face it, the jokes write themselves. He’s allergic to basically everything and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept, like, at all since he started high school.”
Itachi is staring at him. Shisui feels the tips of his ears going warm. “What?”
“It’s just…you really do know these people, don’t you?”
Shisui coughs. “Well, yeah. Like I said-four years, you know? You pick stuff up.”
“I didn’t,” Itachi says quietly. “If you asked me the names of any of the people at this party, I don’t know that I’d be able to tell you.”
It’s kind of a surprise, but then Shisui kind of gets it. Itachi’s always been that kid-started high school early, taking all AP classes and decimating every one of them; got top scores in academics and gym; skipped lunch periods in favor of lurking in the library like some kind of vampire that fed on dusty books and academic success. They’d all had him pegged for Harvard or MIT by the end of his first week, and Shisui doesn’t doubt that’s where he would’ve ended up if Oxford hadn’t snatched him away first.
But there’s that, and then there’s this, and if he’s honest with himself Shisui thinks that was what had started his fascination with Itachi Uchiha-he’s never seen anyone else look so lonely all the time.
“Well,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, “you can just make it up to them once you’re disgustingly rich and famous. Deal?”
Itachi looks up at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. It’s not exactly a smile, but Shisui will take it.
“Deal,” he says.
.
Three days later Natsuko’s in his room again, dragging Shisui from sleep at the hellish hour of noon.
By which he means his beloved big sister tosses the phone in his face and shows zero sympathy when he screeches.
“It’s for you,” she says dispassionately. “Could you tell your friends I’m not actually your secretary?”
Shisui lets out a piteous groan. Natsu ignores him and strides out of the room.
He lifts up the phone. “H’llo?”
“It seems I am now in possession of a car.”
…Well, Shisui’s had weirder conversation openers.
He sits up and leans back against the headboard. “‘It seems’? That sounds like the kinda thing people normally know one way or the other, Itachi.”
“I am definitely now in possession of a car,” Itachi corrects himself, deadpan. “A graduation gift from my father.”
Shisui probably shouldn’t be surprised, but, well. Even if his parents were still alive they wouldn’t have that kind of money to toss around; he and Natsu have been sharing custody of (read: fighting over) her beat-up Buick ever since Shisui got his first permit.
“What kind are we talking about here? No, you know what, don’t tell me-you can come pick me up in your kickass new car and all my neighbors’ll be scandalized that I have a sugar daddy. It’ll be awesome.”
Radio silence.
Sometimes Shisui really wishes his brain were actually attached to his mouth.
Reluctantly he pulls the phone away from his head and squints at it, like he can magically divine whether the connection’s been dropped by staring at the receiver. “Itachi? You still there?”
Itachi mumbles something. Shisui tries again. “Didn’t catch that.”
“…I can’t drive.”
Okay, he has to have heard that wrong. “You what now?”
“I never learned,” Itachi says, defensiveness creeping into his tone. “There was never a need. The school was on my father’s route to work anyway, so it was never an issue.”
“Okay,” Shisui says quickly, already forming a plan in his mind, “okay, this is a travesty and I can’t let it stand. Your dad’s not home right now, is he?”
“No, but-”
“Can I be there in twenty?”
.
Shisui whistles. “Itachi, I’m sorry, but I might have to cheat on you with this car.”
The look Itachi sends his way is no doubt unimpressed with Shisui’s sterling wit, but Shisui doesn’t see it, distracted as he is by the gorgeous cherry-red Mustang sitting in the Uchiha driveway. He kind of wants to croon and stroke the door, but that might be considered weird by some people, so he’s resisting.
He claps his hands together instead and tries not to look too much like an overexcited kid.
“Okay, let’s do this!”
“Do what?” Itachi asks warily.
Shisui turns to him and grins. “We’re gonna teach you how to drive this thing, because your dad’s never home and if this beauty sits around gathering dust all summer I will cry. Like, actual tears.”
Itachi looks unnerved. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“Probably not,” Shisui says. “But sometimes you gotta take chances in life, especially when those chances involve gorgeous sports cars, you feel me?”
“Not really.”
“C’mon, Itachi,” he pleads. “Trust me, yeah?”
Itachi gives him a long look. Then he sighs, fishes the keys out of his pocket and climbs into the driver’s seat. Shisui pumps the air while his back is turned.
“I saw that, Shisui.”
“Bullshit!”
Shisui pops into the passenger seat and waits for Itachi to start the car. And waits. And…
“Y’know, this isn’t gonna get very far if you don’t actually put the keys in the ignition.”
“Shisui?”
“Yeah?”
“Please shut up.”
At last Itachi takes a deep breath, sticks the key in and turns. The engine roars to life underneath them and Shisui lets out a tiny whoop.
“Okay, so your foot’s on the brake, right?”
Itachi’s look is rather pointed. “I did read the training manual, Shisui.”
“That makes one of us,” Shisui says cheerfully. “So, put the car into-”
“Drive, yes. I know.”
They manage to back out of the driveway without any major complications, and Itachi lives in a fancy-ass cul-de-sac so Shisui figures, okay, they can just go around in a circle a few times to get his feet wet.
But no sooner have they cleared the driveway than Shisui realizes what the problem is. It’s not that Itachi doesn’t know how to drive-it’s that he’s petrified of it. They’ve barely moved and he’s already like a statue, stone-faced and white-knuckled around the steering wheel. He doesn’t seem to be making any move to press on the gas, either.
“Itachi?” Shisui says after a minute.
Itachi clears his throat. “I am not sure I can do this,” he says quietly, like it physically pains him to admit he might not be perfect at something.
“’Course you can,” Shisui tries. “If a dipshit like me can do it, so can you.”
Itachi’s eyes flicker sideways to him. “You are not stupid, Shisui.”
Shisui scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um. What I mean is…”
He trails off. Itachi is staring at the short stretch of road in front of them like it’s a battlefield he’s about to enter armed with nothing but a toothpick and a bar of soap.
“We don’t have to do this now,” Shisui offers. “If you’re not ready. I mean, it’s cool. I totally refused to ride in elevators until I was thirteen, I get it.”
A tiny laugh huffs its way out of Itachi’s throat, and when he looks at Shisui again his eyes are a bit more focused.
“No,” he says. “I think I want to try.”
Shisui nods. “Okay. Then whenever you’re good to go, try pressing down on the gas.”
Apparently Itachi is good to go rightthefucknow, or else he’s just trying to get a move on before he loses his nerve-either way, the car lurches forward with a shriek of rubber on tarmac, and before Shisui can let out a shriek of his own there’s a terrific thud and another lurch and-
The car stops. They’re a helluva lot closer to Itachi’s neighbor’s house than they had been five seconds ago.
“Pretty sure that was the curb,” Shisui manages.
“I believe you’re correct,” Itachi says in a very small voice.
They look at each other. Itachi’s dropped his statue routine in favor of the universal teenage expression for we are in so much fucking
trouble.
Shisui can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.
And the great thing is, after another moment of stunned silence, Itachi starts to laugh too. He covers his mouth and tries to muffle the sound but it breaks through anyway, slipping through his fingers as he leans over the wheel.
“We almost took out that butt-ugly mailbox,” Shisui chokes, which sets them both off even more. He’s pretty sure the situation is not actually that funny, and he should probably be weeping over the state of Itachi’s brand-new tires, but adrenaline has clearly won the day here.
“So,” Itachi sighs, “do you think I would pass the driving test now?”
Shisui looks at him, takes in his flushed face and the laughter still making his eyes shine, and he can’t help himself then either, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Itachi’s mouth.
He pulls back and Itachi is looking at him like he’s surprised, like he somehow hasn’t gotten it through his genius skull that Shisui’s ass over teakettle for him and has been for ages.
“Sorry,” Shisui stammers when Itachi doesn’t say anything. “Y’know what, it’s cool, I can just-”
Ritualistically drown my soul in humiliation, he’s about to say, but then Itachi leans across the space between them and kisses the words right out of his mouth.
It’s five seconds or so of absolute bliss, right up until the old lady whose mailbox they almost took out comes storming out of her house, bellowing and brandishing a kitchen knife.
Sometimes You Only Get One Chance (But Sometimes You Get Two)
.
“I’m gonna do it,” Shisui declares. “I’m gonna ask him out.”
Anko, who’s spent the last five minutes squinting at her diploma like she’s convinced it’s a forgery, finally looks up and follows his gaze.
And then starts laughing in a way that could probably be damaging to someone’s confidence. Someone other than Shisui, of course.
“Itachi Uchiha?” she asks. “Good luck with that, Shi.”
Shisui forces himself to stop gazing longingly at the guy whose senior superlative was Most Gorgeous Mathlete (well, okay, maybe only in the yearbook of Shisui’s mind but still).
“What’s with the sarcasm, O Ye Of Little Faith?”
Anko snorts. “The valedictorian, Shi? Really?”
“So he’s kind of a genius. What's your point?”
She appears to consider. “I mean, you’re not a total idiot. You didn’t drop out.” More considering. “Like, barely didn’t drop out.”
“Yeah, but that wasn’t because I’m not smart,” Shisui retorts. “It was because I didn’t give a shit. That’s an important distinction.”
“Whatever. Have you ever actually seen the guy talk to another person our age?”
Shisui is forced to concede that she might have a point there. “Maybe he’s shy? And anyway, it’s not like I keep tabs on him or anyth-oh shit Anko, he’s coming this way. I’m gonna do it.”
“You’re gonna get your heart dropped into a blender,” Anko says under her breath. Shisui ignores her, because sometimes best friends need to ignore each other in order to avoid committing poorly-timed homicide.
As opposed to well-timed homicide. Obviously.
Itachi is a scant five feet away and closing. He’s close enough for Shisui to properly appreciate the sunlight glinting off his cheekbones, the silky black hair rebelling against its tight ponytail, the way his long fingers fuss with his graduation cap, adjusting it until the angle is perfect again.
They read some heinously long poem in English this semester, about fairies who lured men off cliffs by turning into whatever the they would find most appealing. Shisui’s pretty sure he’s found the guise for his own personal murderous fairy, should he ever encounter one.
A greeting is forming on his tongue when another person steps between him and Itachi. Which is seriously rude, okay, Shisui had dibs on this moment-
But his indignation shrivels away when he realizes the interloper is none other than Fugaku Uchiha, The Terrifying, CEO of Something-Something Enterprises that manufactures something important; Shisui doesn’t know much about it, except that it’s made him disgustingly rich.
Fugaku is also Itachi’s father.
Shisui beats a tactical retreat and manfully ignores Anko’s cackling.
.
But Shisui, you see, is a big believer in True Love. Specifically the part about it Conquering All (Including Scary-Ass Fathers). So the next day he looks up Itachi’s home number in the phonebook and calls before he can think better of it.
Someone picks up after a few rings, and his heart leaps-
“Yes?”
-right into a vat of fiery burning lava.
Shisui quails. “Hello?”
“Yes?” Fugaku repeats, sounding a touch more impatient.
“Is, um, is Itachi there? I’m a classmate-a friend, yeah, I’m a friend of his.” Well, maybe that’s stretching the definition a little when the most interaction they’ve had was that one time when Shisui accidentally knocked into Itachi in the hallway and ended up spilling his books everywhere, which hopefully Itachi has forgotten by now, but Shisui’s all for bending the truth in the service of True Love. Because, as has already been established, he’s kind of a big fan.
Fugaku does something that would sound an awful lot like a sigh from a lesser man. “My son is not home. What is your number?”
Shisui gulps and rattles off a string of digits.
“I will tell Itachi to contact you.”
“Thank you, sir,” Shisui manages, but the dial tone is already buzzing in his ear.
He thinks that probably could have gone better.
.
“Shisui!”
Shisui lifts his head halfheartedly from his pillow, where he’s been trying to smother himself since he got off the phone with Fugaku, The Terrifying.
“Not now, Natsu, I’m having an emotional crisis in here!”
His big sister barges into his bedroom anyway, ignoring his yelps of protest, and shoves the phone at his face.
“Itachi something-or-other,” she says dismissively, and leaves while Shisui’s mouth is still hanging open.
Then the words actually compute and he scrambles to pick up the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello,” says a much less terrifying voice.
“Hello,” Shisui repeats, inanely.
There’s an eternity of painfully awkward silence. Stars die and distant planets explode and Shisui can only wish he were among them.
“My father said you wanted to speak to me?” Itachi says at last.
Shisui seizes on that. “Yes! Yes. I did. Want to talk to you, I mean. I was wondering if you were doing anything tonight and maybe wanted to hang out or something?”
His voice goes mortifyingly high near the end. For a moment he hears nothing but the sickening sound of dead air.
“I,” Itachi begins, and Shisui panics.
“I mean, it’s totally okay if you’re busy, obviously you’re busy, you’re probably gonna own half the world by the time you’re twenty, but like, my friend’s having this party tonight and I thought-”
“I was-”
“But we could go see a movie or something if that’s not your thing? Or, like, eat food? We can do Saturday if tonight doesn’t work for you. Or Sunday. Or-I mean shit, man, it’s summer, basically any night works for me, so-”
“Shisui,” Itachi cuts in. Shisui closes his mouth with a snap. “I was going to say yes.”
Shisui isn’t sure what to do with this information. Half his insides seem to be doing the conga while the other half shrieks in abject terror.
“…Shisui?”
He snaps out of it. Because Shisui a smooth operator, dammit. He bounces back. “So, um, can I pick you up at eight?”
“Eight.” Itachi sounds a little amused, but that’s probably just Shisui’s paranoid imagination talking. “I will see you then.”
“Right, yeah, I’ll-um, see you then.”
At least Itachi has the good manners to not hang up on Shisui before he’s completely finished embarrassing himself.
.
The thing about Itachi, Shisui has decided, is that he’s kind of like an alien someone dumped on Earth and left there. A really attractive alien, but an alien nonetheless. And his alien brethren hadn’t been complete assholes, okay, they’d left him with an instruction manual, but the manual was written in, like, 1910. So Itachi had learned enough about human customs to pass, but not enough to really fit in. Shisui has been collecting evidence for this theory for years.
Exhibit Y: When Shisui picks him up for the party, he’s wearing a blue button-down shirt and dress slacks.
Not that this is in any way a bad thing. Itachi all spruced up is definitely not hard on the eyes. It’s just that now Shisui can’t seem to quit staring and he does have to, you know, drive the car without crashing and killing them both. Which would be a pretty shit way to start off a date.
Wait, is this a date? Does Itachi think this is a date? Does Itachi even know how tragically, woefully gay and head-over-heels Shisui is?
By the time the fog of panicked questions has cleared enough for him to think, Shisui realizes they’ve already been driving for five minutes in complete silence. If this is a date, it’s going pretty badly already and Shisui hasn’t even veered off the road yet.
“So,” he tries.
Itachi looks at him. “Yes?”
“Um. What’re your plans after summer?”
The second the words leave his mouth Shisui wants to suck them back in, swallow them down so deep they’ll never come in the vicinity of his traitorous tongue again. Jesus, he sounds like his Great-Aunt Uruchi, The Relentless, forever asking about school and his Plans For The Future and which illustrious college he’s going to attend and what he’s going to study and on and on, until he wants to stick his head in the ceiling fan just to save himself further interrogation.
Itachi doesn’t seem to notice that Shisui’s channeling an extremely grumpy old woman, though. Or if he does he doesn’t show it.
“I’ve been offered a scholarship. To Oxford,” he says-not like he’s bragging, just like it’s a fact. The sky is blue and turtles are awesome and Itachi is terrifyingly smart.
Shisui racks his brains for something to say. What he comes up with is, “Wait, isn’t Oxford in England?”
Itachi nods like Shisui just said something intelligent. “It is. The scholarship includes travel expenses.”
“Wow. That’s pretty amazing, congrats.”
“Thank you,” Itachi says. He’s looking down at his hands. “My father is thrilled.”
Somehow Shisui can’t quite picture Fugaku Uchiha being “thrilled” about anything, because “thrilled” implies the capacity for human emotions, but insulting Itachi’s father doesn’t seem like first-date conversation. He decides to play it safe instead.
“Bet your mom’s happy too, huh? Probably already reminding you to eat your vegetables?”
“I wouldn’t know,” Itachi says neutrally.
And see, Shisui knows he should just stop talking, but he also knows he’s just screwed up somehow and panic really, really doesn’t agree with him. Hence:
“What do you mean by that?”
Itachi clears his throat. “I don’t live with my mother. My parents divorced a few years ago. She and my brother live on the other end of the city.”
“Oh, fuck,” Shisui blurts. “Shit, man, I’m sorry. That was a dick thing to-look, I’m really sorry. Can we just rewind? Do you want me to tell you something embarrassing about myself to make up for it? ‘Cause I will.”
He chances a sideways glance. Itachi is blinking at him like he’s trying to telegraph something straight into Shisui’s abnormally thick skull.
“That won’t be necessary,” he says. “Also, I believe that was our turn.”
Shisui whips his head to the side: He’s right, of course. “Oh, fuck me sideways with a tent pole.”
Itachi starts laughing.
Actually, it’s more like the laugh was surprised out of him by Shisui’s stupidity (he gets that a lot), but it’s still kind of a gorgeous sound and yes, Shisui knows he’s a massive dork for even thinking it.
“I don’t think that will be necessary either,” Itachi says, still smiling. “If you turn right here, we should be able to make it back around.”
Shisui flicks his turn signal on and tries not to look too smug.
He made Itachi Uchiha laugh. Take that, Anko.
.
“So did you blow him or what?”
Shisui’s pretty sure his drink comes out his nose. “The fuck, Anko?”
She leans back against the wall, smirking. “Our Ice Prince. How the hell else could you have gotten him to socialize with us lesser life
forms?”
“I asked. Asked. You know, like a normal human being?”
“Uh-huh.”
“I’m serious!” Shisui protests. “He’s not stuck-up at all. Just, like, crazy awkward.”
Almost involuntarily, his eyes flicker over to where Itachi is surrounded by a group of curious classmates. He looks mildly uncomfortable, but also like he’s enjoying having conversations with people his own age, so Shisui leaves him be. He’ll save his awesome kung-fu skills for someone who deserves it.
Anko is looking at him hard, dark eyes made all the more piercing by copious amounts of eyeliner. Her dyed-violet hair is spiked up with enough gel to constitute a serious fire hazard, and pulled back to show off all eight of her ear piercings.
Basically she looks as gorgeously terrifying as ever and Shisui is grateful, not for the first time, that she decided to befriend him in freshman year instead of killing and eating him for sport.
“You’re really gone on him,” she says.
It isn’t a question, but he answers anyway. “I guess, kinda. Yeah.”
She clicks her tongue. “And I still think you’re nuts, but whatever. If it pisses off Daddy Uchiha and his fancy-ass suits, I’m all for it.”
“Um. Thanks?”
“You’re welcome.” The smirk returns, along with a dangerous glint in his best friend’s eye. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I just saw Kimimaro come in. I think it’s time for me to get the Gibson out, don’t you?”
(Anko’s got this thing where she wants to be a rock star, and also this thing where she enjoys sleeping with as many people as possible, and this other thing where she likes to write songs about their sexual inadequacies once they piss her off. And they all do. Anko is very easily pissed off.
She’s also a killer songwriter. Tayuya had to change fucking schools.)
Shisui waves as she goes off to find her beloved guitar, leaving the faint scent of hairspray and malicious intent behind. He then decides it’s time to go over and rescue Itachi from Kin Tsuchi. Shisui an altruist like that.
“…so I cut her hair off in history class,” Kin is saying as Shisui approaches, flicking her own long black hair over her shoulder. Itachi is nodding with a look of polite interest on his face, but when his eyes meet Shisui’s over her head they look slightly disturbed. Shisui sympathizes. He’s never met another band geek with Kin’s particular brand of psychosis and he hopes he never does.
“Hey, Kin,” he interrupts. “Mind if I borrow Itachi for a sec?”
She makes a show of thinking about it. “What’s in it for me if I do?”
“Pretty sure Dosu’s got vodka behind the pool,” Shisui offers. Her eyes light up.
“You’re the best, Shisui,” she says sweetly, and vanishes.
Itachi is giving him a bemused look. “Do you regularly trade alcohol for favors?”
“Only when it involves rescuing damsels in distress,” Shisui replies. And then wants to swallow his foot, shoe and all, because it’s possible Itachi won’t take kindly to being called a girl. A distressed girl, at that.
But all he gets is an eyebrow raise. “So you consider yourself an expert at reading people?”
Shisui shrugs. “Not really. I just know these people. Been going to school with them for four years, after all.”
“Hm.” Itachi scans the room. “What can you tell me about…him? With the white hair?”
“Who, Kimimaro? He’s one of Anko’s exes. Gloomy kinda guy. The hair’s not dyed, by the way, he’s a legit albino.”
Itachi nods thoughtfully and looks around again. “How about her?”
Shisui follows his gaze. “That’s Yugao. Anko’s cousin, so probably the only person in this room who isn’t one of her exes. She founded this poetry club in freshman year-rumor is that she’s actually been publishing anthologies under a pseudonym since she was twelve.”
“And that boy with her?”
“Hataye. First name Gekko, not that he wants anyone to call him that because let’s face it, the jokes write themselves. He’s allergic to basically everything and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept, like, at all since he started high school.”
Itachi is staring at him. Shisui feels the tips of his ears going warm. “What?”
“It’s just…you really do know these people, don’t you?”
Shisui coughs. “Well, yeah. Like I said-four years, you know? You pick stuff up.”
“I didn’t,” Itachi says quietly. “If you asked me the names of any of the people at this party, I don’t know that I’d be able to tell you.”
It’s kind of a surprise, but then Shisui kind of gets it. Itachi’s always been that kid-started high school early, taking all AP classes and decimating every one of them; got top scores in academics and gym; skipped lunch periods in favor of lurking in the library like some kind of vampire that fed on dusty books and academic success. They’d all had him pegged for Harvard or MIT by the end of his first week, and Shisui doesn’t doubt that’s where he would’ve ended up if Oxford hadn’t snatched him away first.
But there’s that, and then there’s this, and if he’s honest with himself Shisui thinks that was what had started his fascination with Itachi Uchiha-he’s never seen anyone else look so lonely all the time.
“Well,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, “you can just make it up to them once you’re disgustingly rich and famous. Deal?”
Itachi looks up at him, the corner of his mouth twitching. It’s not exactly a smile, but Shisui will take it.
“Deal,” he says.
.
Three days later Natsuko’s in his room again, dragging Shisui from sleep at the hellish hour of noon.
By which he means his beloved big sister tosses the phone in his face and shows zero sympathy when he screeches.
“It’s for you,” she says dispassionately. “Could you tell your friends I’m not actually your secretary?”
Shisui lets out a piteous groan. Natsu ignores him and strides out of the room.
He lifts up the phone. “H’llo?”
“It seems I am now in possession of a car.”
…Well, Shisui’s had weirder conversation openers.
He sits up and leans back against the headboard. “‘It seems’? That sounds like the kinda thing people normally know one way or the other, Itachi.”
“I am definitely now in possession of a car,” Itachi corrects himself, deadpan. “A graduation gift from my father.”
Shisui probably shouldn’t be surprised, but, well. Even if his parents were still alive they wouldn’t have that kind of money to toss around; he and Natsu have been sharing custody of (read: fighting over) her beat-up Buick ever since Shisui got his first permit.
“What kind are we talking about here? No, you know what, don’t tell me-you can come pick me up in your kickass new car and all my neighbors’ll be scandalized that I have a sugar daddy. It’ll be awesome.”
Radio silence.
Sometimes Shisui really wishes his brain were actually attached to his mouth.
Reluctantly he pulls the phone away from his head and squints at it, like he can magically divine whether the connection’s been dropped by staring at the receiver. “Itachi? You still there?”
Itachi mumbles something. Shisui tries again. “Didn’t catch that.”
“…I can’t drive.”
Okay, he has to have heard that wrong. “You what now?”
“I never learned,” Itachi says, defensiveness creeping into his tone. “There was never a need. The school was on my father’s route to work anyway, so it was never an issue.”
“Okay,” Shisui says quickly, already forming a plan in his mind, “okay, this is a travesty and I can’t let it stand. Your dad’s not home right now, is he?”
“No, but-”
“Can I be there in twenty?”
.
Shisui whistles. “Itachi, I’m sorry, but I might have to cheat on you with this car.”
The look Itachi sends his way is no doubt unimpressed with Shisui’s sterling wit, but Shisui doesn’t see it, distracted as he is by the gorgeous cherry-red Mustang sitting in the Uchiha driveway. He kind of wants to croon and stroke the door, but that might be considered weird by some people, so he’s resisting.
He claps his hands together instead and tries not to look too much like an overexcited kid.
“Okay, let’s do this!”
“Do what?” Itachi asks warily.
Shisui turns to him and grins. “We’re gonna teach you how to drive this thing, because your dad’s never home and if this beauty sits around gathering dust all summer I will cry. Like, actual tears.”
Itachi looks unnerved. “I don’t know if this is a good idea.”
“Probably not,” Shisui says. “But sometimes you gotta take chances in life, especially when those chances involve gorgeous sports cars, you feel me?”
“Not really.”
“C’mon, Itachi,” he pleads. “Trust me, yeah?”
Itachi gives him a long look. Then he sighs, fishes the keys out of his pocket and climbs into the driver’s seat. Shisui pumps the air while his back is turned.
“I saw that, Shisui.”
“Bullshit!”
Shisui pops into the passenger seat and waits for Itachi to start the car. And waits. And…
“Y’know, this isn’t gonna get very far if you don’t actually put the keys in the ignition.”
“Shisui?”
“Yeah?”
“Please shut up.”
At last Itachi takes a deep breath, sticks the key in and turns. The engine roars to life underneath them and Shisui lets out a tiny whoop.
“Okay, so your foot’s on the brake, right?”
Itachi’s look is rather pointed. “I did read the training manual, Shisui.”
“That makes one of us,” Shisui says cheerfully. “So, put the car into-”
“Drive, yes. I know.”
They manage to back out of the driveway without any major complications, and Itachi lives in a fancy-ass cul-de-sac so Shisui figures, okay, they can just go around in a circle a few times to get his feet wet.
But no sooner have they cleared the driveway than Shisui realizes what the problem is. It’s not that Itachi doesn’t know how to drive-it’s that he’s petrified of it. They’ve barely moved and he’s already like a statue, stone-faced and white-knuckled around the steering wheel. He doesn’t seem to be making any move to press on the gas, either.
“Itachi?” Shisui says after a minute.
Itachi clears his throat. “I am not sure I can do this,” he says quietly, like it physically pains him to admit he might not be perfect at something.
“’Course you can,” Shisui tries. “If a dipshit like me can do it, so can you.”
Itachi’s eyes flicker sideways to him. “You are not stupid, Shisui.”
Shisui scratches the back of his neck awkwardly. “Um. What I mean is…”
He trails off. Itachi is staring at the short stretch of road in front of them like it’s a battlefield he’s about to enter armed with nothing but a toothpick and a bar of soap.
“We don’t have to do this now,” Shisui offers. “If you’re not ready. I mean, it’s cool. I totally refused to ride in elevators until I was thirteen, I get it.”
A tiny laugh huffs its way out of Itachi’s throat, and when he looks at Shisui again his eyes are a bit more focused.
“No,” he says. “I think I want to try.”
Shisui nods. “Okay. Then whenever you’re good to go, try pressing down on the gas.”
Apparently Itachi is good to go rightthefucknow, or else he’s just trying to get a move on before he loses his nerve-either way, the car lurches forward with a shriek of rubber on tarmac, and before Shisui can let out a shriek of his own there’s a terrific thud and another lurch and-
The car stops. They’re a helluva lot closer to Itachi’s neighbor’s house than they had been five seconds ago.
“Pretty sure that was the curb,” Shisui manages.
“I believe you’re correct,” Itachi says in a very small voice.
They look at each other. Itachi’s dropped his statue routine in favor of the universal teenage expression for we are in so much fucking
trouble.
Shisui can’t help it. He bursts out laughing.
And the great thing is, after another moment of stunned silence, Itachi starts to laugh too. He covers his mouth and tries to muffle the sound but it breaks through anyway, slipping through his fingers as he leans over the wheel.
“We almost took out that butt-ugly mailbox,” Shisui chokes, which sets them both off even more. He’s pretty sure the situation is not actually that funny, and he should probably be weeping over the state of Itachi’s brand-new tires, but adrenaline has clearly won the day here.
“So,” Itachi sighs, “do you think I would pass the driving test now?”
Shisui looks at him, takes in his flushed face and the laughter still making his eyes shine, and he can’t help himself then either, leaning forward to press a quick kiss to Itachi’s mouth.
He pulls back and Itachi is looking at him like he’s surprised, like he somehow hasn’t gotten it through his genius skull that Shisui’s ass over teakettle for him and has been for ages.
“Sorry,” Shisui stammers when Itachi doesn’t say anything. “Y’know what, it’s cool, I can just-”
Ritualistically drown my soul in humiliation, he’s about to say, but then Itachi leans across the space between them and kisses the words right out of his mouth.
It’s five seconds or so of absolute bliss, right up until the old lady whose mailbox they almost took out comes storming out of her house, bellowing and brandishing a kitchen knife.