DID SOMEONE SAY 80S ROMCOM? (4/4)
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It’s not the end of the world.
That’s what Natsu said to him the morning after the Boom Box Incident (as Shisui’s taken to thinking of it). The conversation had encompassed ‘so you’re gay’ and ‘so you had a boyfriend’ and ‘so your boyfriend dumped you and now you feel like your heart’s been put through a paper shredder’ all in one-so, a long-ass conversation. Culminating in the oh-so-original it’s not the end of the world.
Anko, bless her black little heart, had spared him any platitudes or told-you-sos. Shisui adores her for this, or he would if his own heart were currently capable of feeling anything. (He’s graduated from misery to icy numbness; he guesses that’s progress.) Instead she’d showed up one night with another sheet cake and several bottles of unidentifiable alcohol.
That had been a shitty idea. Turns out they’re both maudlin drunks; by the end of the night Anko’s mascara was smeared all over her face like some kind of war makeup, while Shisui’s woeful singing had caused his sister to threaten him with eviction no less than five times.
And then he’d passed out in the cake and practically suffocated.
So, again: shitty idea.
But maybe it worked anyway, because Shisui kinda feels more awake after that. Turns out nearly dying via frosting will do that to you. Natsu’s right-it’s not the end of the world, even if it does feel like the end of something irreplaceable and gorgeous and-
Shisui’s decided not to think about it. Thinking about it is not conducive to getting out of bed and getting the fuck on with his life, which is what he clearly needs to do.
He pops into the kitchen for breakfast at nine AM sharp the morning after this decision. Natsu’s got her head bent down, reading the paper over her own food, and she looks startled when he makes his grand entrance. Shisui wonders if he should be offended before remembering, oh yeah, he effectively hasn’t left his room in weeks.
“Morning,” he chirps.
His sister is wary. “Good morning.”
Well, okay, maybe she hasn’t totally forgiven him yet for the Peter Gabriel stunt. Or maybe she’s already missing having the rest of the apartment to herself. Whatever. Shisui pulls a box of cereal out of the cupboard and starts humming; behind him, Natsu drops her fork. He ignores it.
“I’ve been thinking about getting a job,” he says nonchalantly, digging around for a clean bowl.
Natsu’s voice, when it comes, is suspicious. “Why?”
“Uh, to make money? For…stuff?”
“What stuff?” You don’t go anywhere goes unsaid.
Shisui shrugs. They’re still not looking at each other. “I dunno. Stuff. Hell, I might even go to college, you never know.”
“What?”
She sounds so shocked Shisui has to turn around.
“What?” he says defensively. “It’s not that weird.”
“Yes, actually, it is.” Natsu frowns. “You’ve never said anything about wanting to go to college. I’m pretty sure your exact words were ‘I would rather swallow a pineapple than enter that cesspool of academic desperation’.”
Shisui considers. “Huh. I said that? Sounds kinda poetic for me, doesn’t it?”
“Shisui…” She bites her lip. “This isn’t about Itachi, is it?”
He’d been expecting that question, so he’s completely prepared to lie like a particularly attractive rug. “Nope. Not even a little.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’d be full of cereal if you didn’t keep distracting me from my breakfast.”
She looks away again, which is weird. Natsu’s been busting through his deflective bullshit since he was thirteen. Shisui puts his bowl down and frowns at her.
“Hey, what’s the deal? Look, I know this is sudden and everything, but I think…” He takes a breath. “I need to do something or I feel like I’m gonna lose my shit. All right? That what you wanted to hear?”
Natsu shakes her head. Shisui lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Then what do you want from me? I am losing it, Natsu. I can’t keep sitting in my room.”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” she says abruptly.
Shisui blinks. “Why would-get my hopes up about what?”
Natsu passes over the newspaper she’d been reading, which-
“Why the hell are we still getting the paper?”
“Fuck if I know. I keep trying to cancel our subscription and they keep ignoring me, so.” She waves impatiently at him. “Just read it.”
Even then, it takes a minute for Shisui to catch on. The headline is celebrity bullshit, most of the side columns are political bullshit of the kind that make Shisui want to grow his hair out and become a hermit…but then there, in the bottom-right corner, is the tiny announcement:
Millionaire Fugaku Uchiha Arrested
And the subheading:
Sources say CEO was turned in by own son
The paper doesn’t slip dramatically from Shisui’s fingers. He just stands there and stares at it, rooted to the kitchen floor and suddenly feeling very, very cold.
“Shisui?”
He blinks and looks up at his sister. “Is this today’s paper?”
“Yes. Got it earlier this morning.”
Shisui glances back down. The article isn’t even an article, just a couple paragraphs of speculation and quotes from “inside sources”, the usual song and dance. Nobody actually seems to know what’s going on, but they all say the bottom line’s the same: Fugaku’s in prison for embezzlement, and Itachi is the one who put him there.
And the thing is-and Shisui kind of hates himself for this, he really does-Shisui’s immediate reaction isn’t shock that Fugaku’s an underhanded businessman, or even disbelief that Itachi turned him in.
It’s the overwhelming urge to leave right now and find Itachi, comfort him somehow, because Shisui’s pretty damn sure no one else is doing it.
He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and hands the paper back to Natsu. “Thanks.”
She squints at him. “That’s it?”
“What else am I gonna do?”
“Something stupid, I was assuming.”
Yeah, because that’s been working out really well for me so far. “You’re the one who said not to get my hopes up,” Shisui points out.
“I didn’t think you were actually going to listen. You usually don’t.”
Shisui shrugs and doesn’t meet her eyes. “I think I’ll go look for some help wanted ads. Maybe hang out with Anko. Don’t wait up.”
Natsu gets up and catches his sleeve as he tries to worm his way out of the kitchen. “Shisui-”
The words crowded up behind his teeth are coming out before he can think about them.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Shisui blurts, whirling to face her. “Okay? I tried, Natsu. This isn’t-he doesn’t want to be around me. He’s made that pretty clear, and this doesn’t change it. So I’m done, okay? I’m done.” His voice cracks. “I have to be.”
Natsu’s face crumples and the next thing he knows he’s being pulled into a hug. His sister pulls his face down to her shoulder, even though she’s a good head shorter than Shisui and is going to cause him neck damage.
“You’re going to cause me neck damage,” he says, muffled, into her shirt.
“Shut up, Shisui,” she tells him.
Shisui shuts up. And he feels a little better.
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They’re hanging out at the record store a few days later, him and Anko, because she’s determined to own this one ultra-rare Velvet Underground LP and it’s as good a way as any to spend an afternoon. Especially since the guy behind the counter is a) stoned as hell, b) immersed in a book and c) probably wouldn’t notice if they started tap-dancing on said counter, so it’s like they have the place to themselves.
“You oughta poke around, Shi,” Anko tells him as she flips through albums. “Find some good shit to drown your sorrows in.”
Shisui looks pointedly at Desk Guy. “Pretty sure they trade in pot here, not alcohol.”
“I meant music, dipshit. The really good stuff is almost as good as drinking to make your head shut the hell up for awhile.”
“Maybe if you ever release your debut record, I can drown my sorrows to that.”
Anko waves a dismissive, purple-polished hand. “I don’t think today’s industry is ready for me.”
Shisui’s opening his mouth to agree wholeheartedly, Anko’s got no choice but to become one of those crazy cult underground-type acts screaming lyrics from underneath a single dramatic spotlight, when the bell over the door gives a dull little ring.
He’s not sure what makes him turn around, but he does.
Anko whistles. “Fuck.”
Itachi doesn’t say anything at all.
“Hey, Anko,” Shisui says, after he blinks a couple times and Itachi doesn’t disappear, “you can see him, right?”
Instead of answering, Anko strides right up to the maybe-hallucination. Itachi meets her gaze and doesn’t flinch, which would be kind of impressive even if Shisui didn’t know him from Adam. The look Anko’s giving him is ice-cold and razor-sharp and personally? Shisui would be running for the proverbial hills.
“You’re a real piece of shit,” she says.
Itachi blinks. “I am aware, thank you.”
Anko nods like that exchange fucking solved anything before turning back to Shisui.
“I’m pretty sure Shiore’s working next door, so I’m gonna go harass her. Scream if you need me to kick the shit out of anybody.” She flashes him her patented shark smile. “I brought my knives.”
She’s elbowed Itachi out of the way and is gone before Shisui can unstick his tongue.
And then it’s just them. Him, and Itachi standing a few feet away.
(And the stoned dude behind the counter, but Shisui’s not counting him.)
Shisui coughs. “So, uh. This is awkward.”
Itachi bites his lip, his eyes pitching toward the grubby floor. Shisui is feeling weirdly detached from everything, though-the instinctive tug at his gut, the one telling him to wrap Itachi up in a blanket and feed him soup or something, is muted. Like it’s cautious. Like it’s waiting for something.
Problem is, Shisui doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.
“I’ve been trying to-” Itachi cuts himself off. “That is, I haven’t been able to think how-”
He stops again, his hand coming up to shove a strand of hair behind his ear in a frustrated way. It’s a weirdly emotional gesture. That’s new. Shisui kind of feels sorry for him.
“I heard about your dad,” he offers. Itachi’s head comes up, his mouth a grim line.
“I’m sorry,” Shisui says.
“I am not,” Itachi replies, flat and toneless.
Shisui rolls his eyes. “Like hell you’re not. Cut the bullshit, okay? The robot act might work with everyone else, but it’s not gonna fly with me and you know it.”
“I am not sorry,” Itachi repeats, but there’s anger bleeding into it. “He was wrong.”
“So the bloodsuckers at the paper got it right?” Shisui asks, since it seems like Itachi’s malfunctioning and someone’s got to keep this conversation moving so it can fucking end. “You turned him in?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Itachi snaps. “He was wrong, Shisui. And he-and I trusted-”
Itachi’s mouth shuts with an audible snap. Shisui knows he shouldn’t be pushing him when he’s like this, when Itachi’s already going through so much shit. But Shisui’s got shit of his own to figure out, okay? And Itachi lost the right to pile on when he decided Shisui wasn’t worth hanging onto anymore.
Shisui wonders if maybe that’s what’s fueling this detachment-if it’s bitterness. Fucking great, he’s going to be bitter now? Is this what he’s going to feel like from now on, like he can’t go near Itachi without turning into Kansas-style dust in the wind?
He can’t even get close enough to toss him a lifeline when it looks like Itachi’s fucking drowning.
Itachi is a stubborn little fucker though, steel in his spine and in his words when he straightens his back and finally looks Shisui in the eye.
“My father was wrong about everything,” he says. “He was wrong in the way he conducted his business practices and he was wrong to lie and he was wrong about you.”
Shisui blinks. One of those things is not like the others. “Uh-”
Itachi presses on. “He was so wrong about you that I don’t even know where to begin. I knew that, but I still listened. I still let him ruin everything.”
“Why?” is all Shisui can say-like a really stupid parrot, just repeating the same thing over and over.
“Because I was scared,” Itachi says flatly. “I was scared of getting any more attached to you than I already was.” He swallows. “Am.”
And oh, fuck Shisui sideways if that one stupid syllable doesn’t just about give him a heart attack on the spot. He can’t quite let himself feel it, though. Not yet. There’s still that distance, still that wall, and he still doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.
Itachi keeps talking like he can’t stop. “I don’t expect you to believe me when I say that I am sorry, but I will do whatever it takes. I will wait as long as it takes. I don’t-” He blinks hard. “I do not want you gone from my life, Shisui.”
It’s not easy, Shisui finds, to form words when it feels like your heart is tap-dancing on your throat.
“So, you’re saying you want to be…friends?”
Itachi gives him a look like he’s in physical pain. “You are being purposely obtuse.”
“Look, man, you can’t say I haven’t been getting mixed signals from you,” Shisui argues. “So answer one question for me, all right? Are you here because you need someone, or-or because you need me?”
The question hangs sickeningly in the air for a second. Shisui imagines he can see it, writ lurid and purple in some really not-classy font.
“I don’t know what I am doing, either,” Itachi says slowly. “Oxford was my father’s idea. My career was going to be modeled on his. I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but-I believe you are the first thing I have ever wanted for myself.”
Shisui’s heart stutters in his chest.
The wall crumbles away like it never stood a chance.
“That works for me,” he decides, only a smidgen hoarsely, and takes the one, two, three steps between them.
Turns out he kind of prefers being the one to surprise Itachi with kissing, especially since it’s always been the other way around. Itachi all but melts into him, arms going around his neck and fingers digging into his scalp. It feels like he’s trying to crawl inside of Shisui’s skin.
Like he doesn’t know damn well that he’s already under it.
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They stay like that right up until Anko makes her return, loudly complaining that she’d been sure they would be having floor sex by now. Shisui flips her off and tries really hard to ignore the pothead at the counter snickering behind his book.
.
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For the second time in his relatively short life, Shisui finds himself sitting across a table from Fugaku Uchiha. His prison surroundings don’t make him look any less Terrifying, but somehow, Shisui isn’t as afraid anymore.
The armed guards posted everywhere probably help.
“So,” Shisui says awkwardly. “How’s, uh…”
It occurs to him that there is no not-stupid way to end that sentence. Fugaku closes his eyes like Shisui’s presence is a torture he just has to endure (and suddenly his resemblance to Itachi becomes apparent).
“Why are you here?” Fugaku says. “Where is my son?”
Well, your son chickened out in the parking lot and decided he actually doesn’t want to face you after all. No way in hell is Shisui gonna be the one to drop that little bomb. Oh no. He and Itachi aren’t even engaged yet; mind-blowing sex isn’t repayment enough for that shit.
“I’m here because Itachi couldn’t be,” Shisui answers. It’s close enough to the truth, anyway.
Fugaku’s eyes narrow. “And why would he send you in his place? I was given the impression that your…relationship…had ended.”
Yeah, I bet you were. Shisui grits his teeth and reminds himself that Itachi will be pissed if he gets into a prison fight with his father. “Must’ve been a mistake.”
“A mistake,” Fugaku repeats, flat. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “My son does not make mistakes. He never has. It’s why he is always going to be a success in everything he does.”
He’s looking at Shisui like a scalpel, like he can see right inside his head. “I believe you may be the first mistake he has ever made.”
Shisui stiffens his spine. “Sorry to disappoint you, but this mistake is going with him to England, sir.”
Fugaku’s expression slackens into something like shock-maybe he’s not a cyborg hiding in human skin after all.
Not that Shisui blames him for being surprised. Hell, Shisui’s still not convinced that little episode had actually happened, and he was there.
After that delightfully public tete-a-tete in the record shop they’d ended up going back to Itachi’s place, in theory because Shisui (and more importantly Natsu) been without a car for a while and he needed to pick it up sometime. But Itachi’s big, empty house had seemed really big and empty with only Itachi in it, and the thought of Itachi being alone in that big emptiness kind of broke Shisui’s heart, so he’d invited himself to stay over. Which in turn had led to Shisui becoming acquainted with Itachi’s disgustingly huge bed-and not like that, either. They’d just kind of…spooned. Which was a first for Shisui, but had turned out to be pretty kickass in its own right.
And then, when it’d been quiet for long enough that Shisui thought he might actually be asleep, Itachi had asked him to come with him.
“I already have an extra plane ticket,” he’d said quietly, pulling at a loose thread in his sheets. “My father had planned to accompany me to orientation, but obviously…”
Shisui had gone very still. “You want me to go with you?”
He couldn’t see Itachi’s face, but he’d heard the click of his throat as he swallowed. “If it is something you want.”
And Shisui had thought. He’d thought about his prospects, all those unfinished college applications lying around gathering dust on the kitchen table where Natsu had taken to using them as placemats, and he’d thought about his halfhearted decision to look for a job.
Then he’d thought about England, and the small pile of savings he’d managed to scrape together over the years, and how that might be enough to pay for a tiny apartment, at least for a little while.
He’d thought about Itachi, tense and silent next to him, and then he hadn’t really needed to think about anything else.
“Well,” he’d said, “if I’m gonna fail at being a productive member of society, I guess I can do that just as well in the U.K. as I can here, right?”
Itachi hadn’t said anything. But Shisui’d felt him relax, muscles loosening under his hands, and that had been enough.
He remembers that, and suddenly he knows what to say.
“I think I know what I want to do with my life now,” Shisui says. Fugaku looks unimpressed, but Shisui’s starting to think that’s just his default facial expression, so it’s okay. He keeps going.
“I mean, I still don’t have a clue about a career or anything like that, but I have some plans now, y’know? And I-” Shisui swallows. “I want to be with your son. Like, that’s the extent of my plans right now. Maybe I’ll just end up being a really awesome trophy husband or something-” Fugaku’s eye twitches. “-but I’m gonna be there as long as Itachi still wants me around.”
Shisui stands up, feeling weirdly calm. “That’s pretty much all I wanted to say.”
Fugaku is watching him with an inscrutable expression. He doesn’t say anything, but then Shisui hadn’t really expected him to.
Then Fugaku’s eyes drift to somewhere over Shisui’s shoulder and widen. Shisui turns around.
Itachi is standing there, tight-lipped and looking as unnerved as Shisui’s ever seen him. Which in Itachi’s case means he has one, maybe two hairs out of place, but you know.
“Itachi,” Fugaku says, and there’s definitely an Emotion in his voice.
“Father,” Itachi replies, all caution.
Shisui takes one look between the two of them and then backs quietly away. He figures he’s done his part. And also, he knows from experience that when you’re baring your soul, you really don’t need superfluous assholes listening in.
Itachi doesn’t come back to the car for almost an hour, during which time Shisui has scanned through every radio station in the freakin’ state (and two he’s pretty sure he managed to get from Canada) and concluded that he can’t stand Madonna but is still going to be singing Material Girl for the foreseeable future.
Itachi climbs into the driver’s seat and doesn't say anything. Shisui reaches over and turns the radio off.
“You good?” he asks. Itachi’s silence is thoughtful.
“I think so,” he says after a minute. He looks over at Shisui. “That is, I think I will be. Does that count?”
Shisui shrugs. “Sounds like a start.”
“A start,” Itachi echoes, and almost smiles. Shisui figures that’s a start too.
.
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Airplanes, Shisui decides, are basically tin cans. Tin cans from hell. There’s an old guy snoring to his left, a baby a few seats up who’s been whimpering since they got in their seats and will probably end up screaming from takeoff all the way to Heathrow, a vague smell of dusty peanuts all over everything and a despicably unruffled Itachi who’s looking at him with concern.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I’m gonna die in this tin can, Shisui thinks. Anko was right about me not being able to survive in the wild, he thinks. My sister will dig up my watery corpse for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of it, he thinks.
“Peachy,” he croaks.
Itachi actually laughs-a dry, quiet huff of a thing-and Shisui would be pumped if the source of Itachi’s amusement weren’t his own abject misery.
“Flying is actually one of the safest methods of travel,” Itachi informs him. “The odds of being involved in a plane crash are-”
“Not something I need to know. Ever.”
Itachi continues, the persistent bastard. “Most airplane accidents occur within the first five minutes of a flight. So when the overhead light comes on, you’ll know you’re going to be all right.”
There’s something mildly patronizing about that explanation, but Shisui’s too high-strung to point it out. Instead he says, “The overhead light is the ding-y thing, right?”
He’s not looking in Itachi’s direction, but the pause is just long enough for Shisui to know exactly which pained face he’s making.
“Yes, Shisui. It’s the ding-y thing.”
“Cool.”
Amazingly, though? Faith in the Magic of the Ding-y Thing does fuck all to help Shisui calm down once takeoff starts. The plane lurches off the runway and he backs up so far in his seat that he practically shifts through it, like a member of the X-Men. Shit, why couldn’t he be a member of the X-Men? He wouldn’t have to worry about plane crashes and watery graves if he were a mutant.
Itachi reaches over the armrest and takes his hand.
“Nobody thinks this is going to work,” he remarks.
It takes a second for Shisui to work out what the hell he’s talking about. But once he does, even though it’s a total non sequitur and even though his flight-induced terror is still very much A Thing, Shisui manages a grin.
“Nah, they don’t. But hey, you just described every great success story.”
Itachi is quiet. Shisui looks over and sees that he’s smiling, shaking his head.
“I do love you, you know,” Itachi says, matter-of-fact.
The plane shudders through the atmosphere. Shisui doesn’t notice. His grin is just this side of breaking his face, and a watery death is suddenly the last thing on his mind. He leans over and kisses the side of Itachi’s head.
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” And he does.
The overhead light goes ding.
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The End
It’s not the end of the world.
That’s what Natsu said to him the morning after the Boom Box Incident (as Shisui’s taken to thinking of it). The conversation had encompassed ‘so you’re gay’ and ‘so you had a boyfriend’ and ‘so your boyfriend dumped you and now you feel like your heart’s been put through a paper shredder’ all in one-so, a long-ass conversation. Culminating in the oh-so-original it’s not the end of the world.
Anko, bless her black little heart, had spared him any platitudes or told-you-sos. Shisui adores her for this, or he would if his own heart were currently capable of feeling anything. (He’s graduated from misery to icy numbness; he guesses that’s progress.) Instead she’d showed up one night with another sheet cake and several bottles of unidentifiable alcohol.
That had been a shitty idea. Turns out they’re both maudlin drunks; by the end of the night Anko’s mascara was smeared all over her face like some kind of war makeup, while Shisui’s woeful singing had caused his sister to threaten him with eviction no less than five times.
And then he’d passed out in the cake and practically suffocated.
So, again: shitty idea.
But maybe it worked anyway, because Shisui kinda feels more awake after that. Turns out nearly dying via frosting will do that to you. Natsu’s right-it’s not the end of the world, even if it does feel like the end of something irreplaceable and gorgeous and-
Shisui’s decided not to think about it. Thinking about it is not conducive to getting out of bed and getting the fuck on with his life, which is what he clearly needs to do.
He pops into the kitchen for breakfast at nine AM sharp the morning after this decision. Natsu’s got her head bent down, reading the paper over her own food, and she looks startled when he makes his grand entrance. Shisui wonders if he should be offended before remembering, oh yeah, he effectively hasn’t left his room in weeks.
“Morning,” he chirps.
His sister is wary. “Good morning.”
Well, okay, maybe she hasn’t totally forgiven him yet for the Peter Gabriel stunt. Or maybe she’s already missing having the rest of the apartment to herself. Whatever. Shisui pulls a box of cereal out of the cupboard and starts humming; behind him, Natsu drops her fork. He ignores it.
“I’ve been thinking about getting a job,” he says nonchalantly, digging around for a clean bowl.
Natsu’s voice, when it comes, is suspicious. “Why?”
“Uh, to make money? For…stuff?”
“What stuff?” You don’t go anywhere goes unsaid.
Shisui shrugs. They’re still not looking at each other. “I dunno. Stuff. Hell, I might even go to college, you never know.”
“What?”
She sounds so shocked Shisui has to turn around.
“What?” he says defensively. “It’s not that weird.”
“Yes, actually, it is.” Natsu frowns. “You’ve never said anything about wanting to go to college. I’m pretty sure your exact words were ‘I would rather swallow a pineapple than enter that cesspool of academic desperation’.”
Shisui considers. “Huh. I said that? Sounds kinda poetic for me, doesn’t it?”
“Shisui…” She bites her lip. “This isn’t about Itachi, is it?”
He’d been expecting that question, so he’s completely prepared to lie like a particularly attractive rug. “Nope. Not even a little.”
“You’re full of shit.”
“I’d be full of cereal if you didn’t keep distracting me from my breakfast.”
She looks away again, which is weird. Natsu’s been busting through his deflective bullshit since he was thirteen. Shisui puts his bowl down and frowns at her.
“Hey, what’s the deal? Look, I know this is sudden and everything, but I think…” He takes a breath. “I need to do something or I feel like I’m gonna lose my shit. All right? That what you wanted to hear?”
Natsu shakes her head. Shisui lets out a frustrated sigh.
“Then what do you want from me? I am losing it, Natsu. I can’t keep sitting in my room.”
“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” she says abruptly.
Shisui blinks. “Why would-get my hopes up about what?”
Natsu passes over the newspaper she’d been reading, which-
“Why the hell are we still getting the paper?”
“Fuck if I know. I keep trying to cancel our subscription and they keep ignoring me, so.” She waves impatiently at him. “Just read it.”
Even then, it takes a minute for Shisui to catch on. The headline is celebrity bullshit, most of the side columns are political bullshit of the kind that make Shisui want to grow his hair out and become a hermit…but then there, in the bottom-right corner, is the tiny announcement:
Millionaire Fugaku Uchiha Arrested
And the subheading:
Sources say CEO was turned in by own son
The paper doesn’t slip dramatically from Shisui’s fingers. He just stands there and stares at it, rooted to the kitchen floor and suddenly feeling very, very cold.
“Shisui?”
He blinks and looks up at his sister. “Is this today’s paper?”
“Yes. Got it earlier this morning.”
Shisui glances back down. The article isn’t even an article, just a couple paragraphs of speculation and quotes from “inside sources”, the usual song and dance. Nobody actually seems to know what’s going on, but they all say the bottom line’s the same: Fugaku’s in prison for embezzlement, and Itachi is the one who put him there.
And the thing is-and Shisui kind of hates himself for this, he really does-Shisui’s immediate reaction isn’t shock that Fugaku’s an underhanded businessman, or even disbelief that Itachi turned him in.
It’s the overwhelming urge to leave right now and find Itachi, comfort him somehow, because Shisui’s pretty damn sure no one else is doing it.
He swallows around the sudden lump in his throat and hands the paper back to Natsu. “Thanks.”
She squints at him. “That’s it?”
“What else am I gonna do?”
“Something stupid, I was assuming.”
Yeah, because that’s been working out really well for me so far. “You’re the one who said not to get my hopes up,” Shisui points out.
“I didn’t think you were actually going to listen. You usually don’t.”
Shisui shrugs and doesn’t meet her eyes. “I think I’ll go look for some help wanted ads. Maybe hang out with Anko. Don’t wait up.”
Natsu gets up and catches his sleeve as he tries to worm his way out of the kitchen. “Shisui-”
The words crowded up behind his teeth are coming out before he can think about them.
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Shisui blurts, whirling to face her. “Okay? I tried, Natsu. This isn’t-he doesn’t want to be around me. He’s made that pretty clear, and this doesn’t change it. So I’m done, okay? I’m done.” His voice cracks. “I have to be.”
Natsu’s face crumples and the next thing he knows he’s being pulled into a hug. His sister pulls his face down to her shoulder, even though she’s a good head shorter than Shisui and is going to cause him neck damage.
“You’re going to cause me neck damage,” he says, muffled, into her shirt.
“Shut up, Shisui,” she tells him.
Shisui shuts up. And he feels a little better.
.
They’re hanging out at the record store a few days later, him and Anko, because she’s determined to own this one ultra-rare Velvet Underground LP and it’s as good a way as any to spend an afternoon. Especially since the guy behind the counter is a) stoned as hell, b) immersed in a book and c) probably wouldn’t notice if they started tap-dancing on said counter, so it’s like they have the place to themselves.
“You oughta poke around, Shi,” Anko tells him as she flips through albums. “Find some good shit to drown your sorrows in.”
Shisui looks pointedly at Desk Guy. “Pretty sure they trade in pot here, not alcohol.”
“I meant music, dipshit. The really good stuff is almost as good as drinking to make your head shut the hell up for awhile.”
“Maybe if you ever release your debut record, I can drown my sorrows to that.”
Anko waves a dismissive, purple-polished hand. “I don’t think today’s industry is ready for me.”
Shisui’s opening his mouth to agree wholeheartedly, Anko’s got no choice but to become one of those crazy cult underground-type acts screaming lyrics from underneath a single dramatic spotlight, when the bell over the door gives a dull little ring.
He’s not sure what makes him turn around, but he does.
Anko whistles. “Fuck.”
Itachi doesn’t say anything at all.
“Hey, Anko,” Shisui says, after he blinks a couple times and Itachi doesn’t disappear, “you can see him, right?”
Instead of answering, Anko strides right up to the maybe-hallucination. Itachi meets her gaze and doesn’t flinch, which would be kind of impressive even if Shisui didn’t know him from Adam. The look Anko’s giving him is ice-cold and razor-sharp and personally? Shisui would be running for the proverbial hills.
“You’re a real piece of shit,” she says.
Itachi blinks. “I am aware, thank you.”
Anko nods like that exchange fucking solved anything before turning back to Shisui.
“I’m pretty sure Shiore’s working next door, so I’m gonna go harass her. Scream if you need me to kick the shit out of anybody.” She flashes him her patented shark smile. “I brought my knives.”
She’s elbowed Itachi out of the way and is gone before Shisui can unstick his tongue.
And then it’s just them. Him, and Itachi standing a few feet away.
(And the stoned dude behind the counter, but Shisui’s not counting him.)
Shisui coughs. “So, uh. This is awkward.”
Itachi bites his lip, his eyes pitching toward the grubby floor. Shisui is feeling weirdly detached from everything, though-the instinctive tug at his gut, the one telling him to wrap Itachi up in a blanket and feed him soup or something, is muted. Like it’s cautious. Like it’s waiting for something.
Problem is, Shisui doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.
“I’ve been trying to-” Itachi cuts himself off. “That is, I haven’t been able to think how-”
He stops again, his hand coming up to shove a strand of hair behind his ear in a frustrated way. It’s a weirdly emotional gesture. That’s new. Shisui kind of feels sorry for him.
“I heard about your dad,” he offers. Itachi’s head comes up, his mouth a grim line.
“I’m sorry,” Shisui says.
“I am not,” Itachi replies, flat and toneless.
Shisui rolls his eyes. “Like hell you’re not. Cut the bullshit, okay? The robot act might work with everyone else, but it’s not gonna fly with me and you know it.”
“I am not sorry,” Itachi repeats, but there’s anger bleeding into it. “He was wrong.”
“So the bloodsuckers at the paper got it right?” Shisui asks, since it seems like Itachi’s malfunctioning and someone’s got to keep this conversation moving so it can fucking end. “You turned him in?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Haven’t you been paying attention?” Itachi snaps. “He was wrong, Shisui. And he-and I trusted-”
Itachi’s mouth shuts with an audible snap. Shisui knows he shouldn’t be pushing him when he’s like this, when Itachi’s already going through so much shit. But Shisui’s got shit of his own to figure out, okay? And Itachi lost the right to pile on when he decided Shisui wasn’t worth hanging onto anymore.
Shisui wonders if maybe that’s what’s fueling this detachment-if it’s bitterness. Fucking great, he’s going to be bitter now? Is this what he’s going to feel like from now on, like he can’t go near Itachi without turning into Kansas-style dust in the wind?
He can’t even get close enough to toss him a lifeline when it looks like Itachi’s fucking drowning.
Itachi is a stubborn little fucker though, steel in his spine and in his words when he straightens his back and finally looks Shisui in the eye.
“My father was wrong about everything,” he says. “He was wrong in the way he conducted his business practices and he was wrong to lie and he was wrong about you.”
Shisui blinks. One of those things is not like the others. “Uh-”
Itachi presses on. “He was so wrong about you that I don’t even know where to begin. I knew that, but I still listened. I still let him ruin everything.”
“Why?” is all Shisui can say-like a really stupid parrot, just repeating the same thing over and over.
“Because I was scared,” Itachi says flatly. “I was scared of getting any more attached to you than I already was.” He swallows. “Am.”
And oh, fuck Shisui sideways if that one stupid syllable doesn’t just about give him a heart attack on the spot. He can’t quite let himself feel it, though. Not yet. There’s still that distance, still that wall, and he still doesn’t know what he’s waiting for.
Itachi keeps talking like he can’t stop. “I don’t expect you to believe me when I say that I am sorry, but I will do whatever it takes. I will wait as long as it takes. I don’t-” He blinks hard. “I do not want you gone from my life, Shisui.”
It’s not easy, Shisui finds, to form words when it feels like your heart is tap-dancing on your throat.
“So, you’re saying you want to be…friends?”
Itachi gives him a look like he’s in physical pain. “You are being purposely obtuse.”
“Look, man, you can’t say I haven’t been getting mixed signals from you,” Shisui argues. “So answer one question for me, all right? Are you here because you need someone, or-or because you need me?”
The question hangs sickeningly in the air for a second. Shisui imagines he can see it, writ lurid and purple in some really not-classy font.
“I don’t know what I am doing, either,” Itachi says slowly. “Oxford was my father’s idea. My career was going to be modeled on his. I don’t know what I’m going to do now, but-I believe you are the first thing I have ever wanted for myself.”
Shisui’s heart stutters in his chest.
The wall crumbles away like it never stood a chance.
“That works for me,” he decides, only a smidgen hoarsely, and takes the one, two, three steps between them.
Turns out he kind of prefers being the one to surprise Itachi with kissing, especially since it’s always been the other way around. Itachi all but melts into him, arms going around his neck and fingers digging into his scalp. It feels like he’s trying to crawl inside of Shisui’s skin.
Like he doesn’t know damn well that he’s already under it.
.
They stay like that right up until Anko makes her return, loudly complaining that she’d been sure they would be having floor sex by now. Shisui flips her off and tries really hard to ignore the pothead at the counter snickering behind his book.
.
.
For the second time in his relatively short life, Shisui finds himself sitting across a table from Fugaku Uchiha. His prison surroundings don’t make him look any less Terrifying, but somehow, Shisui isn’t as afraid anymore.
The armed guards posted everywhere probably help.
“So,” Shisui says awkwardly. “How’s, uh…”
It occurs to him that there is no not-stupid way to end that sentence. Fugaku closes his eyes like Shisui’s presence is a torture he just has to endure (and suddenly his resemblance to Itachi becomes apparent).
“Why are you here?” Fugaku says. “Where is my son?”
Well, your son chickened out in the parking lot and decided he actually doesn’t want to face you after all. No way in hell is Shisui gonna be the one to drop that little bomb. Oh no. He and Itachi aren’t even engaged yet; mind-blowing sex isn’t repayment enough for that shit.
“I’m here because Itachi couldn’t be,” Shisui answers. It’s close enough to the truth, anyway.
Fugaku’s eyes narrow. “And why would he send you in his place? I was given the impression that your…relationship…had ended.”
Yeah, I bet you were. Shisui grits his teeth and reminds himself that Itachi will be pissed if he gets into a prison fight with his father. “Must’ve been a mistake.”
“A mistake,” Fugaku repeats, flat. The crease between his eyebrows deepens. “My son does not make mistakes. He never has. It’s why he is always going to be a success in everything he does.”
He’s looking at Shisui like a scalpel, like he can see right inside his head. “I believe you may be the first mistake he has ever made.”
Shisui stiffens his spine. “Sorry to disappoint you, but this mistake is going with him to England, sir.”
Fugaku’s expression slackens into something like shock-maybe he’s not a cyborg hiding in human skin after all.
Not that Shisui blames him for being surprised. Hell, Shisui’s still not convinced that little episode had actually happened, and he was there.
After that delightfully public tete-a-tete in the record shop they’d ended up going back to Itachi’s place, in theory because Shisui (and more importantly Natsu) been without a car for a while and he needed to pick it up sometime. But Itachi’s big, empty house had seemed really big and empty with only Itachi in it, and the thought of Itachi being alone in that big emptiness kind of broke Shisui’s heart, so he’d invited himself to stay over. Which in turn had led to Shisui becoming acquainted with Itachi’s disgustingly huge bed-and not like that, either. They’d just kind of…spooned. Which was a first for Shisui, but had turned out to be pretty kickass in its own right.
And then, when it’d been quiet for long enough that Shisui thought he might actually be asleep, Itachi had asked him to come with him.
“I already have an extra plane ticket,” he’d said quietly, pulling at a loose thread in his sheets. “My father had planned to accompany me to orientation, but obviously…”
Shisui had gone very still. “You want me to go with you?”
He couldn’t see Itachi’s face, but he’d heard the click of his throat as he swallowed. “If it is something you want.”
And Shisui had thought. He’d thought about his prospects, all those unfinished college applications lying around gathering dust on the kitchen table where Natsu had taken to using them as placemats, and he’d thought about his halfhearted decision to look for a job.
Then he’d thought about England, and the small pile of savings he’d managed to scrape together over the years, and how that might be enough to pay for a tiny apartment, at least for a little while.
He’d thought about Itachi, tense and silent next to him, and then he hadn’t really needed to think about anything else.
“Well,” he’d said, “if I’m gonna fail at being a productive member of society, I guess I can do that just as well in the U.K. as I can here, right?”
Itachi hadn’t said anything. But Shisui’d felt him relax, muscles loosening under his hands, and that had been enough.
He remembers that, and suddenly he knows what to say.
“I think I know what I want to do with my life now,” Shisui says. Fugaku looks unimpressed, but Shisui’s starting to think that’s just his default facial expression, so it’s okay. He keeps going.
“I mean, I still don’t have a clue about a career or anything like that, but I have some plans now, y’know? And I-” Shisui swallows. “I want to be with your son. Like, that’s the extent of my plans right now. Maybe I’ll just end up being a really awesome trophy husband or something-” Fugaku’s eye twitches. “-but I’m gonna be there as long as Itachi still wants me around.”
Shisui stands up, feeling weirdly calm. “That’s pretty much all I wanted to say.”
Fugaku is watching him with an inscrutable expression. He doesn’t say anything, but then Shisui hadn’t really expected him to.
Then Fugaku’s eyes drift to somewhere over Shisui’s shoulder and widen. Shisui turns around.
Itachi is standing there, tight-lipped and looking as unnerved as Shisui’s ever seen him. Which in Itachi’s case means he has one, maybe two hairs out of place, but you know.
“Itachi,” Fugaku says, and there’s definitely an Emotion in his voice.
“Father,” Itachi replies, all caution.
Shisui takes one look between the two of them and then backs quietly away. He figures he’s done his part. And also, he knows from experience that when you’re baring your soul, you really don’t need superfluous assholes listening in.
Itachi doesn’t come back to the car for almost an hour, during which time Shisui has scanned through every radio station in the freakin’ state (and two he’s pretty sure he managed to get from Canada) and concluded that he can’t stand Madonna but is still going to be singing Material Girl for the foreseeable future.
Itachi climbs into the driver’s seat and doesn't say anything. Shisui reaches over and turns the radio off.
“You good?” he asks. Itachi’s silence is thoughtful.
“I think so,” he says after a minute. He looks over at Shisui. “That is, I think I will be. Does that count?”
Shisui shrugs. “Sounds like a start.”
“A start,” Itachi echoes, and almost smiles. Shisui figures that’s a start too.
.
.
Airplanes, Shisui decides, are basically tin cans. Tin cans from hell. There’s an old guy snoring to his left, a baby a few seats up who’s been whimpering since they got in their seats and will probably end up screaming from takeoff all the way to Heathrow, a vague smell of dusty peanuts all over everything and a despicably unruffled Itachi who’s looking at him with concern.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
I’m gonna die in this tin can, Shisui thinks. Anko was right about me not being able to survive in the wild, he thinks. My sister will dig up my watery corpse for the sole purpose of beating the shit out of it, he thinks.
“Peachy,” he croaks.
Itachi actually laughs-a dry, quiet huff of a thing-and Shisui would be pumped if the source of Itachi’s amusement weren’t his own abject misery.
“Flying is actually one of the safest methods of travel,” Itachi informs him. “The odds of being involved in a plane crash are-”
“Not something I need to know. Ever.”
Itachi continues, the persistent bastard. “Most airplane accidents occur within the first five minutes of a flight. So when the overhead light comes on, you’ll know you’re going to be all right.”
There’s something mildly patronizing about that explanation, but Shisui’s too high-strung to point it out. Instead he says, “The overhead light is the ding-y thing, right?”
He’s not looking in Itachi’s direction, but the pause is just long enough for Shisui to know exactly which pained face he’s making.
“Yes, Shisui. It’s the ding-y thing.”
“Cool.”
Amazingly, though? Faith in the Magic of the Ding-y Thing does fuck all to help Shisui calm down once takeoff starts. The plane lurches off the runway and he backs up so far in his seat that he practically shifts through it, like a member of the X-Men. Shit, why couldn’t he be a member of the X-Men? He wouldn’t have to worry about plane crashes and watery graves if he were a mutant.
Itachi reaches over the armrest and takes his hand.
“Nobody thinks this is going to work,” he remarks.
It takes a second for Shisui to work out what the hell he’s talking about. But once he does, even though it’s a total non sequitur and even though his flight-induced terror is still very much A Thing, Shisui manages a grin.
“Nah, they don’t. But hey, you just described every great success story.”
Itachi is quiet. Shisui looks over and sees that he’s smiling, shaking his head.
“I do love you, you know,” Itachi says, matter-of-fact.
The plane shudders through the atmosphere. Shisui doesn’t notice. His grin is just this side of breaking his face, and a watery death is suddenly the last thing on his mind. He leans over and kisses the side of Itachi’s head.
“Yeah,” he says. “I know.” And he does.
The overhead light goes ding.
.
The End