so basically i'm never going away...
Yet another fic in the Brother of the Bride ‘verse, although I think this one’s pretty standalone. Set somewhere between Staying Informed and Of Swords and Curtains, for those keeping track!
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Absolutely
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“…and the water got everywhere,” Shisui finishes, waving his arm expansively and nearly covering Sasuke with his drink in the process.
Sasuke glares and edges away on his chair, clutching his own glass protectively. Its contents are the only way he’s going to get through this night without killing someone.
When Shisui had phoned him out of the blue, Sasuke had been suspicious. More so when he learned his brother was not going to be in attendance. But considering it was the night before Shisui’s wedding, Sasuke had decided to cut him a little slack.
Considering said wedding was for Shisui and Sasuke’s brother, Sasuke had also decided that there was no way he was getting through the evening sober. Might as well get sloshed with the source of his problem. Maybe he would get spectacularly sick and throw up on Shisui’s shoes. It would serve him right.
Shisui had already been well on his way to full-on drunkenness by the time Sasuke arrived at the hole-in-the-wall little bar the former liked to frequent (Itachi had mentioned once that it was Shisui’s preferred place to have a panic attack in relative privacy, a fact Sasuke is quickly starting to regret forgetting). He also hadn’t shut up from the second Sasuke had sat down, babbling cheerfully and recounting stories that made Sasuke want to gouge his eyes out (or Shisui’s; anybody’s eyes would suffice at this point), having summoned him for no apparent reason other than as a savior when he inevitably collapsed in an alcoholic stupor. Well, he’d damn well picked the wrong person; Uchihas being legendary lightweights and all, Sasuke has every intention of joining him in aforementioned stupor. He figures he’s earned it.
He motions to the bartender for another cocktail (Shisui had stopped being lucid enough to make fun of his choice of drinks at least an hour ago) as Shisui finishes snickering over his last tale and begins another. Sasuke is beginning to feel the usual stirrings of homicidal intent somewhere within, tempered only slightly by confusion. Rambling about one’s romantic exploits while drunk off one’s ass is hardly a new concept; he’d be willing to bet this isn’t the first time Shisui himself has indulged. But why call Sasuke, his soon-to-be (gag) brother-in-law, to listen to it all? They’ve been getting along slightly better since the proposal, better still since the heinously awkward engagement party wherein their little family unit (aka the happy couple, a miserable Sasuke, and a vastly uncomfortable Fugaku and Mikoto) had experienced something like a bonding moment.
Of course, his parent’s approval will be a moot point if Sasuke finally snaps and throttles Shisui with his bare hands. And he’s managed to hold out for so long; it would be such a waste if he broke now, when Shisui is so close to becoming someone else’s permanent problem.
So really, it’s in the interest of the greater collective good that Sasuke interrupts an anecdote about Shisui and some upperclassman named Kakashi that would probably be traumatizing if he were actually listening anymore.
“Why did you call me?”
Shisui blinks owlishly at him. Really, the glassy eyes and expansive movements are the only things that give his sloshed state away. He’s always been disturbingly good at acting sober, and when he talks it’s astonishingly clear for someone who’s been drowning himself in alcohol for half the night.
“You’re my cousin,” he points out. “Soon t’be brother-in-law. Thought we could use some quality time.”
“Wrong answer,” Sasuke says flatly. “Try again.”
“I’m hurt by your mistrust. Pained and hurt.”
“That’s nice. Unfortunately I am fresh out of fucks to give, so if you’d just explain why the hell you wanted me here tonight, I’ll be nice and get you a cab instead of letting you crawl home.”
Shisui groans, letting his head fall to the bar with a dull thunk. Sasuke rolls his eyes.
“I’ve mellowed out, you know. A few months back I would’ve shoved that shot glass down your throat for going on and on about your many ill-fated romantic exploits the night before you’re supposed to marry my brother.”
“I appreciate the restraint,” Shisui says, the words muffled somewhat by the wood grain.
“As well you should,” Sasuke replies tartly. “Not the point. Why exactly are you going on and on about said exploits the night before you’re supposed to marry my brother? And please think carefully before you answer, because I’m tired already and tomorrow is going to be possibly the longest fucking day of my life, so I’m not in the mood for any of your bullshit at the moment.”
Shisui snorts. “If I ever need a shoulder to cry on, squirt, you’re definitely gonna be at the bottom of the list.”
“I should be off the list. Now spit it out.”
Shisui says nothing for a few minutes, opting instead to continue his intimate acquaintanceship with the surface of the bar. When he does speak, it’s a mumble that doesn’t sound anything like English and Sasuke almost gives up and hauls his drunken ass outside.
Instead he resolves to give it one last try and snaps, “What?”
Shisui turns his head so that at least he’s not talking straight into the bar top anymore and says, in an uncharacteristically small voice, “What if I’m not good enough?”
Sasuke frowns. That…was not exactly what he expected. “Good enough for what?”
“For Itachi. He’s so…” Shisui makes a sweeping arm gesture that threatens to spill vodka all over the floor. Sasuke doesn’t try too hard to interpret it. “And I’m…’m a fuckup, Sasuke. Whole family knows it. And…and they’ve ditched him, y’know? He’s given up the family for me. And what if I’m not…not…”
He swallows, hard. “What if I’m not worth it?”
Sasuke realizes with an abrupt and horrible sinking feeling that his cousin looks scared out of his mind.
Which speaks to his drunkenness more than anything else, really; Shisui never lets on when he’s afraid of something.
I really should be off that damn list, he thinks desperately, fighting the instinctive urge to pull out his cell and tell his brother to come pick his inebriated idiot of a fiancé up before he causes serious harm to his own liver-but he stops himself, because when all is said and done, he’s not actually in the habit of being a little shit for the fun of it.
Well. Mostly. And anyway, there’s a line between being a little shit and being an actual asshole, and handing Shisui over to Itachi while he’s hemorrhaging deep-seated insecurities probably falls into the latter category.
So instead Sasuke holds back a martyred sigh, straightens in his seat, and downs the rest of his glass in one burning gulp. Then, eyes watering but masculinity fortified (it’s all right to talk about feelings and shit when one is drunk, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it), he reaches over and pulls Shisui’s glass out of his reach.
When his cousin finally lifts his head with a wordless moan of despair Sasuke steamrolls right over it.
“My parents had Itachi hospitalized when he was thirteen.”
Shisui frowns, visibly trying to parse out the non sequitur. “I remember. My one ill-fated semester at private school. Some kind of infection, wasn’t it?”
“No,” Sasuke says shortly. “Anxiety attacks and severe depression. My parents were scared of him going completely off the rails and doing something drastic if he didn’t get help, so.”
There’s a kind of horror dawning in Shisui’s expression now, and it makes Sasuke want to fidget. He’s really not sure this is his place, but he’s already fast-forwarded to the end of this little Worst Case Scenario Theater his cousin is playing and seen Shisui making an ass out of himself and self-destructing and taking their marriage right along with him, and while Sasuke’s never pretended to be a psychic, he’s not willing to take chances with this. He’s not sure how else to get his idiot cousin to pick up on the obvious, so he just keeps talking and hoping something will break through.
“You know how I remember my brother when we were kids? Same as everybody else did-quiet, studied all the freaking time, worked twice as hard as anybody else even when he didn’t need to. I didn’t realize it until everything went to hell in a handbasket, but-fuck, Shisui, he was miserable. He didn’t talk to anyone about it either, just kept…” He makes an irritated hand gesture of his own, trying without words to describe the image of his big brother, the family prodigy, a train car stuck on an immovable track. A wreck waiting to happen, not that anyone could tell by looking.
He doesn’t think he’s ever known anyone else as lonely.
“Why are you telling me this?” Shisui asks carefully.
Sasuke leans on the bar with a groan of aggravation, running his hand back through his hair. He is not nearly intoxicated enough for this. “Do you know how I knew?”
“Knew…?”
“About you two and your disgusting little romcom.”
“Oh.” Shisui squints. “We told you, duh. Kind of hard to forget imparting that kind of trauma on your little cousin, yeah?”
“Yeah, genius, you told me.” Sasuke exhales. “But that’s not when I knew. I mean, I thought I was crazy at the time, but-”
“When?”
Sasuke forces himself to look Shisui in the eye.
“When you came back, the day he got out of the hospital. I saw you talking to him and I have no clue what you said, but…” The memory is still clear as day. Such a stupid little thing to notice, but it’s never left him. “I didn’t realize before then, but I hadn’t seen him really smile in a long fucking time. But he smiled for you. And…I knew.”
And then, because Shisui’s always been kind of shit at taking hints, Sasuke takes pity on his cousin’s drunken state and his own irreparably damaged dignity and spells it out for him.
“He’s happier with you. He-shit, he loves you; even I see it, and trust me I have tried not to because it still makes me want to vomit.”
He downs what’s left of Shisui’s drink (Shisui doesn’t even offer a token protest). “And seriously, what kind of idiot are you? You know Itachi. He weighs the pros and cons of buying two-percent milk over whole, for god’s sake, do you seriously think he’d marry you if he didn’t think you were ‘worth it’ or whatever shit you’ve cooked up?”
Shisui is blinking rapidly. Sasuke wonders if he’s broken him.
“You know,” Shisui says eventually, “tomorrow is gonna make it official and all, but…you know I’ve thought of you as my pain-in-the-ass little brother for a long time, right? Like, since we were kids. It’s not…it’s not gonna change anything.”
Sasuke swallows past a sudden and extremely annoying lump in his throat. Maybe all this feelings talk is giving him throat cancer or some shit like that.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he mutters. “I still might pull a Red Wedding and knife you at the reception.”
Shisui snorts. “Well, we’ve already got the incest and drama going for us, so why not.”
They sit there for a while in a silence that is…not entirely agonizing, much to Sasuke’s surprise. Although he’s still kind of hoping he’s tipsy enough that he can forget the finer details of this conversation come morning.
Morning. Right.
He checks his phone. A couple of the sketchier convenience stores will probably still be open, he figures, and elbows Shisui.
“Come on. We need to get some supplies.”
“Supplies?” Shisui repeats, maneuvering himself slowly down from the barstool. “What for?”
“No way in hell am I letting you get married to my brother hungover,” Sasuke replies. “I just need a raw egg, some vodka, and a shitton of Tabasco sauce.”
Shisui blanches. “You’re kidding.”
Sasuke gives him his most serene smile. “Try me.”
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End
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Absolutely
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“…and the water got everywhere,” Shisui finishes, waving his arm expansively and nearly covering Sasuke with his drink in the process.
Sasuke glares and edges away on his chair, clutching his own glass protectively. Its contents are the only way he’s going to get through this night without killing someone.
When Shisui had phoned him out of the blue, Sasuke had been suspicious. More so when he learned his brother was not going to be in attendance. But considering it was the night before Shisui’s wedding, Sasuke had decided to cut him a little slack.
Considering said wedding was for Shisui and Sasuke’s brother, Sasuke had also decided that there was no way he was getting through the evening sober. Might as well get sloshed with the source of his problem. Maybe he would get spectacularly sick and throw up on Shisui’s shoes. It would serve him right.
Shisui had already been well on his way to full-on drunkenness by the time Sasuke arrived at the hole-in-the-wall little bar the former liked to frequent (Itachi had mentioned once that it was Shisui’s preferred place to have a panic attack in relative privacy, a fact Sasuke is quickly starting to regret forgetting). He also hadn’t shut up from the second Sasuke had sat down, babbling cheerfully and recounting stories that made Sasuke want to gouge his eyes out (or Shisui’s; anybody’s eyes would suffice at this point), having summoned him for no apparent reason other than as a savior when he inevitably collapsed in an alcoholic stupor. Well, he’d damn well picked the wrong person; Uchihas being legendary lightweights and all, Sasuke has every intention of joining him in aforementioned stupor. He figures he’s earned it.
He motions to the bartender for another cocktail (Shisui had stopped being lucid enough to make fun of his choice of drinks at least an hour ago) as Shisui finishes snickering over his last tale and begins another. Sasuke is beginning to feel the usual stirrings of homicidal intent somewhere within, tempered only slightly by confusion. Rambling about one’s romantic exploits while drunk off one’s ass is hardly a new concept; he’d be willing to bet this isn’t the first time Shisui himself has indulged. But why call Sasuke, his soon-to-be (gag) brother-in-law, to listen to it all? They’ve been getting along slightly better since the proposal, better still since the heinously awkward engagement party wherein their little family unit (aka the happy couple, a miserable Sasuke, and a vastly uncomfortable Fugaku and Mikoto) had experienced something like a bonding moment.
Of course, his parent’s approval will be a moot point if Sasuke finally snaps and throttles Shisui with his bare hands. And he’s managed to hold out for so long; it would be such a waste if he broke now, when Shisui is so close to becoming someone else’s permanent problem.
So really, it’s in the interest of the greater collective good that Sasuke interrupts an anecdote about Shisui and some upperclassman named Kakashi that would probably be traumatizing if he were actually listening anymore.
“Why did you call me?”
Shisui blinks owlishly at him. Really, the glassy eyes and expansive movements are the only things that give his sloshed state away. He’s always been disturbingly good at acting sober, and when he talks it’s astonishingly clear for someone who’s been drowning himself in alcohol for half the night.
“You’re my cousin,” he points out. “Soon t’be brother-in-law. Thought we could use some quality time.”
“Wrong answer,” Sasuke says flatly. “Try again.”
“I’m hurt by your mistrust. Pained and hurt.”
“That’s nice. Unfortunately I am fresh out of fucks to give, so if you’d just explain why the hell you wanted me here tonight, I’ll be nice and get you a cab instead of letting you crawl home.”
Shisui groans, letting his head fall to the bar with a dull thunk. Sasuke rolls his eyes.
“I’ve mellowed out, you know. A few months back I would’ve shoved that shot glass down your throat for going on and on about your many ill-fated romantic exploits the night before you’re supposed to marry my brother.”
“I appreciate the restraint,” Shisui says, the words muffled somewhat by the wood grain.
“As well you should,” Sasuke replies tartly. “Not the point. Why exactly are you going on and on about said exploits the night before you’re supposed to marry my brother? And please think carefully before you answer, because I’m tired already and tomorrow is going to be possibly the longest fucking day of my life, so I’m not in the mood for any of your bullshit at the moment.”
Shisui snorts. “If I ever need a shoulder to cry on, squirt, you’re definitely gonna be at the bottom of the list.”
“I should be off the list. Now spit it out.”
Shisui says nothing for a few minutes, opting instead to continue his intimate acquaintanceship with the surface of the bar. When he does speak, it’s a mumble that doesn’t sound anything like English and Sasuke almost gives up and hauls his drunken ass outside.
Instead he resolves to give it one last try and snaps, “What?”
Shisui turns his head so that at least he’s not talking straight into the bar top anymore and says, in an uncharacteristically small voice, “What if I’m not good enough?”
Sasuke frowns. That…was not exactly what he expected. “Good enough for what?”
“For Itachi. He’s so…” Shisui makes a sweeping arm gesture that threatens to spill vodka all over the floor. Sasuke doesn’t try too hard to interpret it. “And I’m…’m a fuckup, Sasuke. Whole family knows it. And…and they’ve ditched him, y’know? He’s given up the family for me. And what if I’m not…not…”
He swallows, hard. “What if I’m not worth it?”
Sasuke realizes with an abrupt and horrible sinking feeling that his cousin looks scared out of his mind.
Which speaks to his drunkenness more than anything else, really; Shisui never lets on when he’s afraid of something.
I really should be off that damn list, he thinks desperately, fighting the instinctive urge to pull out his cell and tell his brother to come pick his inebriated idiot of a fiancé up before he causes serious harm to his own liver-but he stops himself, because when all is said and done, he’s not actually in the habit of being a little shit for the fun of it.
Well. Mostly. And anyway, there’s a line between being a little shit and being an actual asshole, and handing Shisui over to Itachi while he’s hemorrhaging deep-seated insecurities probably falls into the latter category.
So instead Sasuke holds back a martyred sigh, straightens in his seat, and downs the rest of his glass in one burning gulp. Then, eyes watering but masculinity fortified (it’s all right to talk about feelings and shit when one is drunk, that’s his story and he’s sticking to it), he reaches over and pulls Shisui’s glass out of his reach.
When his cousin finally lifts his head with a wordless moan of despair Sasuke steamrolls right over it.
“My parents had Itachi hospitalized when he was thirteen.”
Shisui frowns, visibly trying to parse out the non sequitur. “I remember. My one ill-fated semester at private school. Some kind of infection, wasn’t it?”
“No,” Sasuke says shortly. “Anxiety attacks and severe depression. My parents were scared of him going completely off the rails and doing something drastic if he didn’t get help, so.”
There’s a kind of horror dawning in Shisui’s expression now, and it makes Sasuke want to fidget. He’s really not sure this is his place, but he’s already fast-forwarded to the end of this little Worst Case Scenario Theater his cousin is playing and seen Shisui making an ass out of himself and self-destructing and taking their marriage right along with him, and while Sasuke’s never pretended to be a psychic, he’s not willing to take chances with this. He’s not sure how else to get his idiot cousin to pick up on the obvious, so he just keeps talking and hoping something will break through.
“You know how I remember my brother when we were kids? Same as everybody else did-quiet, studied all the freaking time, worked twice as hard as anybody else even when he didn’t need to. I didn’t realize it until everything went to hell in a handbasket, but-fuck, Shisui, he was miserable. He didn’t talk to anyone about it either, just kept…” He makes an irritated hand gesture of his own, trying without words to describe the image of his big brother, the family prodigy, a train car stuck on an immovable track. A wreck waiting to happen, not that anyone could tell by looking.
He doesn’t think he’s ever known anyone else as lonely.
“Why are you telling me this?” Shisui asks carefully.
Sasuke leans on the bar with a groan of aggravation, running his hand back through his hair. He is not nearly intoxicated enough for this. “Do you know how I knew?”
“Knew…?”
“About you two and your disgusting little romcom.”
“Oh.” Shisui squints. “We told you, duh. Kind of hard to forget imparting that kind of trauma on your little cousin, yeah?”
“Yeah, genius, you told me.” Sasuke exhales. “But that’s not when I knew. I mean, I thought I was crazy at the time, but-”
“When?”
Sasuke forces himself to look Shisui in the eye.
“When you came back, the day he got out of the hospital. I saw you talking to him and I have no clue what you said, but…” The memory is still clear as day. Such a stupid little thing to notice, but it’s never left him. “I didn’t realize before then, but I hadn’t seen him really smile in a long fucking time. But he smiled for you. And…I knew.”
And then, because Shisui’s always been kind of shit at taking hints, Sasuke takes pity on his cousin’s drunken state and his own irreparably damaged dignity and spells it out for him.
“He’s happier with you. He-shit, he loves you; even I see it, and trust me I have tried not to because it still makes me want to vomit.”
He downs what’s left of Shisui’s drink (Shisui doesn’t even offer a token protest). “And seriously, what kind of idiot are you? You know Itachi. He weighs the pros and cons of buying two-percent milk over whole, for god’s sake, do you seriously think he’d marry you if he didn’t think you were ‘worth it’ or whatever shit you’ve cooked up?”
Shisui is blinking rapidly. Sasuke wonders if he’s broken him.
“You know,” Shisui says eventually, “tomorrow is gonna make it official and all, but…you know I’ve thought of you as my pain-in-the-ass little brother for a long time, right? Like, since we were kids. It’s not…it’s not gonna change anything.”
Sasuke swallows past a sudden and extremely annoying lump in his throat. Maybe all this feelings talk is giving him throat cancer or some shit like that.
“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” he mutters. “I still might pull a Red Wedding and knife you at the reception.”
Shisui snorts. “Well, we’ve already got the incest and drama going for us, so why not.”
They sit there for a while in a silence that is…not entirely agonizing, much to Sasuke’s surprise. Although he’s still kind of hoping he’s tipsy enough that he can forget the finer details of this conversation come morning.
Morning. Right.
He checks his phone. A couple of the sketchier convenience stores will probably still be open, he figures, and elbows Shisui.
“Come on. We need to get some supplies.”
“Supplies?” Shisui repeats, maneuvering himself slowly down from the barstool. “What for?”
“No way in hell am I letting you get married to my brother hungover,” Sasuke replies. “I just need a raw egg, some vodka, and a shitton of Tabasco sauce.”
Shisui blanches. “You’re kidding.”
Sasuke gives him his most serene smile. “Try me.”
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End
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