JLYI 1 - Kisame, Itachi - Naruto
Title: Just Like You Imagined
Pairing: AU Kisame/Itachi
Rating: Soon to be M
Summary: N/A
Words: 2,314
Notes: So basically this is what I would call chapter one. I've started chapter two, but before I post this story anywhere, I want to work farther ahead and have a bit done. It's a short, intro-like kind of chapter, cut into little scenes. Enjoy. ;3
---
Routine Surprises
---
The gentle tick of a white-faced clock, hung up straight and high on the even whiter wall, is all that interrupts the thick veil of silence. It is easy to ignore once one’s attention is directed elsewhere, surfacing on other thoughts, but hard to forget once the first stroke of the second hand is brought into focus.
Each tick is both loud and quiet, both calming and alarming. Itachi stares at the clock, tapping the metal of his worn eraser against the glossy student’s desk softly out of rhythm with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the monotonous drawl of the teacher pacing back and forth in front of the whiteboard, doesn’t acknowledge the sudden chiming of the session’s ending bell, or even the eager chatter that picks up at the disruption.
Chairs clatter and scrape across tile as students stand, most slinging book bags and some instrument cases over their shoulders, many of them maneuvering through the sea of desks toward the classroom door. As they exit, discourse is not once abandoned for favor of making it quickly outside and into the parking lot, despite the rapid cacophony overtaking the halls. Instead it is something like a virus, flooding out of each classroom and building up into an overflow of senseless conversation. And all anyone can follow are their own words.
Some speak up louder, attempting to hear themselves over the person nearby whom in response shouts louder, louder still. After a painstaking amount of time, the minutes stacking up with each gentle tick of the clock even though the sound is practically inaudible by now, the halls finally begin to quiet. The slow process still leaves some students trickling down through the hallway, the loners who will eventually end up in the parking lot just like everyone else. But in time, no one remains, except the teachers themselves.
And Itachi.
At the rush of silence that surges back throughout the room, he at last rests his pencil down and moves to stand. One glance to his teacher and having the momentary look returned, and he leaves.
---
A locker slams, the noise resounding back at the tall senior student, who only winces before turning around. The powerful light overhead flickers from a brief circuit failure, but Kisame doesn’t pay any attention to it, sighing wistfully and strolling back the way he had come. The now-barren hall passes by uneventfully while he walks, his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. It had been a long, long week, but testing had finally concluded along with last class, and he could not have been any more thankful for that.
Spotting a figure down the stretch of the hallway, Kisame slows his steps, curiously inspecting the student. He hadn’t thought anyone would still be here, but that apparently may not be the truth anymore. Well, it’s true some stay afterward, but on a Friday? And after what had felt like endless hell through testing all week long? It doesn’t seem likely.
Kisame pauses three or so yards away, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans as he tilts his head to the side. The student sits on the hall’s tiled floor, supported with their back to the impeccably white walls and knees drawn slightly toward them. The glint of the light above catches on the sheen of noticeably dark hair that is pulled back into a loose band and curled over one shoulder. They are obviously male at a second glance, which Kisame takes, realizing that a pair of equally as dark and guarded eyes are now upon him. Feeling a bit self-conscious at the searching stare, Kisame conceals it by grinning broadly, nodding his head in greeting.
“Stayin’ late today? I thought no one would be left after class on a Friday, of all days,” the taller student says, still grinning as is customary for him, if only to start a conversation and break through the uncomfortable silence that Kisame hadn’t noticed before.
“Yeah,” is all the stranger offers in reply, though Kisame can’t help but think him somewhat familiar. Where has he seen that face before? Probably only passing in the halls, but one can never be too sure.
When the dark-haired student makes no attempt to continue the chat, he gives up, shrugging and moving to pass along by. It is then that the door the stranger is sitting in front of is thrown open, and a glowering boy storms out, looking almost like a younger-version of the dark-haired guy himself. “I told you not to wait for me, I got someone to give me a ride,” they mutter heatedly, apparently not noticing Kisame’s presence only feet away.
With a shrug, the older student pulls himself up, leaning back against the wall. Kisame briefly glances at him and the dark, moderately fitting attire he wears. Loose black shirt and clinging jeans being somewhat plain, but it suits the dark-eyed stranger. “Call them then,” he says to what must be a relative of some sort. Turning, he then begins to walk away, and Kisame watches at the younger of the two sighs in exasperation, tailing regretfully after.
Kisame shoulders his book bag higher up, and then starts walking once more, headed in the opposite direction as the other two. He vaguely realizes he never asked the dark-eyed stranger for a name. He wonders if it would matter.
---
It is not conditions of fate that lead the two together. At least, not on the first day.
Their second encounter surprisingly does not happen within school grounds. Instead, the strong scent of coffee beans is nearly tangible in the air, and the chatter here is dull, less rushed even with all of the caffeine-filled cups. Kisame sits in one chair, eyes trained on the table at his English homework and a frown on his face. The faint jingle of bells, announcing the entrance of another caffeine-seeking customer echoes to him, but Kisame doesn’t look up from his focal point.
That is to say, until the seat across from him is suddenly taken. Glancing up with raised brows, he opens his mouth to question the sudden arrival, before being abruptly cut off. “There are no others seats available. And you are somewhat…familiar.” It’s that boy again, the student he’d run into just yesterday, and in curiosity Kisame’s frown deepens.
“Oh, that’s quite all right. Though I don’t think I know your name, do I?” The polite manner habitually shown of him does much to help the unhidden inquisitiveness in his tone, and Kisame leans back in his chair.
The pause is slight, hesitant, but there, and Kisame has to notice it. “Itachi.”
The older student’s frown fades into a tamed grin; the name is suiting of the dark-haired teenager, he thinks to himself in amusement, and there’s no doubt about that. “I’m Kisame, it’s nice to meet you.” A shroud of silence immediately falls into place at his words, and the senior’s grin dissipates once more in favor of a still somewhat uncomfortable atmosphere. It’s obvious enough to tell that the other student doesn’t very much seem to like talking. Kisame wonders why.
Within the next few minutes, a harsh rain is hitting the windows like sheets of bullets, splitting the calm atmosphere with the tell-tale signs of a storm. Itachi’s eyes flicker off to the side to watch as the first few blunt raindrops welt against the glass, sliding down in thin rivulets, and his gaze follows them for a moment before Kisame tries to speak again.
“So why’re you here? Got some homework to do too?” It’s just a jab at conversation, but at least he’s trying.
After a slight moment of silence, Itachi voices a quick “No reason,” and his explanation causes Kisame to frown in puzzlement. Well, he supposes that it isn’t completely uncommon for one to be in a coffee shop without a reason for actually being there, but it still has him wondering.
“Oh. Well, I’m just working on some papers. You wouldn’t happen to have been given this essay assignment as well, would you?” he presses on, tilting his paper enough to where he is sure Itachi can see the title scratched across the top in quick lettering.
All he receives at this gesture is a curt shake of the head. Rolling his shoulders to rid the tension coiled there, Kisame slides his papers back, the imminent fail of this line of conversation met. “It’s a pain, honestly,” he mutters, though more to himself. “At least it isn’t worth too much to my grade, though.”
Another wash-out of silence falls into place, and by now Kisame is damning it to the darkest depths of hell. While being a typically patient person, he hasn’t quite before found himself in such an exhausting situation, as most other strangers Kisame had shared passing chats with had at least partaken in some of it, whereas Itachi seems to be set to little dialogue or more preferably none at all. But along with patience, Kisame also has a knack for perseverance, and he hasn’t quite given up yet. “So, how long do you think you’ll be here?”
“Not too long,” Itachi mumbles back, his eyes straying to observe the rest of the cozily warm coffee shop, and Kisame can’t help but be thankful that the both had made it inside before the onslaught of rain had struck.
Glancing down at his watch, another frown crosses his features as he checks the time, realizing how late it has gotten to be already. “Well, I’d better be leaving now anyway. See you around.” Grinning widely, he doesn’t wait for a response, scooping up his notebook full of work and standing. With a quick wave, Kisame steps out under the awning of the coffee’s shop outside. He’s immediately hit with rain, but it isn’t too bad. Now, at least, since he knows he’s going to have to walk home in it too. He would have taken his car, but when he’d left earlier for the downtown shop, it hadn’t even been cloudy.
Ah, but c’est la vie, and with a shrug, Kisame steps out into the downpour.
It’s only moments later that he becomes aware of the faint jingle of the shop’s bells behind him, and by now’s he’s nearly made it to the end of the block, though only about one door down. But a hand on his arm stops him, and turning, Kisame’s brow shoots up in surprise.
“Itachi-san?” He can’t help but say the other student’s name that way; it almost comes natural to him.
“You’re walking?” the shorter youth asks blandly, and while his features portray no particular interest to the answer of his question, his eyes are intensely focused.
“Ah, yes. I didn’t bring-”
“Do you need a ride?”
However, conditions of fate tend to be quite the devious of little things, and Kisame finds himself grinning pleasantly once more. “Sure.”
---
Kisame is not surprised when Itachi leads him to his car, pulling a ring of keys out of his jeans’ pocket and pressing a button on the keypad to unlock it. He is not surprised at the sleek sheen of black paint that coats the expensive looking vehicle, because like everything else in the other student’s possession, that of which Kisame has at least seen by now, all suits him accordingly. Even his name - Itachi. Bitter, cutting, curt. Everything Kisame sees in his eyes all wrapped up into the simplicity of a name.
Nonetheless, he takes a seat where directed, on the passenger side, ducking eagerly into the cover and away from the rain. The first noticeable attribute of the car is the strong scent of leather, making it easy to assume that yes, it’s relatively new. That being something that Kisame, again, had expected. Buckling the seatbelt swiftly, the senior glances over at his new acquaintance. Itachi has done the same by now, and he reaches to quickly push the keys into the ignition.
As the car starts, there is another thing Kisame is not surprised about. No radio automatically turns on, blasting rock music like most of his other friends generally would, and there’s not even a news station reporting the weather. Cocking a brow in question, he wonders if the silence is better than ear-splitting rock music right now. It’s easy enough to tell that it’s something Itachi prefers, and Kisame knows that well by now.
“Where do you live?” Itachi says suddenly, drawing the taller student’s attention immediately.
“Not too far. Take a right at the next light.” Kisame’s answers are always just that - vague. Never direct, never blunt like Itachi’s are. There’s an air of mystery to him at all times, but it’s different than the simple lack of knowledge shrouded around Itachi. Kisame is sure that given enough time, he’ll be able to read the other like a book. Everyone’s unpredictable, but there’s always a pattern of occurrences. And Itachi doesn’t seem very impulsive, so the likelihood of that is even greater.
Within a span of minutes they reach Kisame’s apartment complex, and grinning again, the senior voices his thanks. “See you at school?” Really, his luck has already been extensive so far, why wouldn’t he be able to make it up to the other guy?
“Yeah.” Blunt, direct, said with a measure of patience. But not impulsive.
Kisame smiles just a little bit more; he’s dead-on.
The car pulls away behind him, and Kisame looks up at the apartment building. The rain’s ceased at least enough to see a bit of daylight behind the cluster of dark clouds, and the wind rips at him as he enters the building, taking the stairs two at a time in a hurry.
Somehow, the smell of leather still clings to his clothes, even hours after he’s changed out of them and dropped them off in the wash.
Pairing: AU Kisame/Itachi
Rating: Soon to be M
Summary: N/A
Words: 2,314
Notes: So basically this is what I would call chapter one. I've started chapter two, but before I post this story anywhere, I want to work farther ahead and have a bit done. It's a short, intro-like kind of chapter, cut into little scenes. Enjoy. ;3
---
Routine Surprises
---
The gentle tick of a white-faced clock, hung up straight and high on the even whiter wall, is all that interrupts the thick veil of silence. It is easy to ignore once one’s attention is directed elsewhere, surfacing on other thoughts, but hard to forget once the first stroke of the second hand is brought into focus.
Each tick is both loud and quiet, both calming and alarming. Itachi stares at the clock, tapping the metal of his worn eraser against the glossy student’s desk softly out of rhythm with it. He doesn’t acknowledge the monotonous drawl of the teacher pacing back and forth in front of the whiteboard, doesn’t acknowledge the sudden chiming of the session’s ending bell, or even the eager chatter that picks up at the disruption.
Chairs clatter and scrape across tile as students stand, most slinging book bags and some instrument cases over their shoulders, many of them maneuvering through the sea of desks toward the classroom door. As they exit, discourse is not once abandoned for favor of making it quickly outside and into the parking lot, despite the rapid cacophony overtaking the halls. Instead it is something like a virus, flooding out of each classroom and building up into an overflow of senseless conversation. And all anyone can follow are their own words.
Some speak up louder, attempting to hear themselves over the person nearby whom in response shouts louder, louder still. After a painstaking amount of time, the minutes stacking up with each gentle tick of the clock even though the sound is practically inaudible by now, the halls finally begin to quiet. The slow process still leaves some students trickling down through the hallway, the loners who will eventually end up in the parking lot just like everyone else. But in time, no one remains, except the teachers themselves.
And Itachi.
At the rush of silence that surges back throughout the room, he at last rests his pencil down and moves to stand. One glance to his teacher and having the momentary look returned, and he leaves.
---
A locker slams, the noise resounding back at the tall senior student, who only winces before turning around. The powerful light overhead flickers from a brief circuit failure, but Kisame doesn’t pay any attention to it, sighing wistfully and strolling back the way he had come. The now-barren hall passes by uneventfully while he walks, his eyes half-lidded in exhaustion. It had been a long, long week, but testing had finally concluded along with last class, and he could not have been any more thankful for that.
Spotting a figure down the stretch of the hallway, Kisame slows his steps, curiously inspecting the student. He hadn’t thought anyone would still be here, but that apparently may not be the truth anymore. Well, it’s true some stay afterward, but on a Friday? And after what had felt like endless hell through testing all week long? It doesn’t seem likely.
Kisame pauses three or so yards away, one hand shoved into the pocket of his jeans as he tilts his head to the side. The student sits on the hall’s tiled floor, supported with their back to the impeccably white walls and knees drawn slightly toward them. The glint of the light above catches on the sheen of noticeably dark hair that is pulled back into a loose band and curled over one shoulder. They are obviously male at a second glance, which Kisame takes, realizing that a pair of equally as dark and guarded eyes are now upon him. Feeling a bit self-conscious at the searching stare, Kisame conceals it by grinning broadly, nodding his head in greeting.
“Stayin’ late today? I thought no one would be left after class on a Friday, of all days,” the taller student says, still grinning as is customary for him, if only to start a conversation and break through the uncomfortable silence that Kisame hadn’t noticed before.
“Yeah,” is all the stranger offers in reply, though Kisame can’t help but think him somewhat familiar. Where has he seen that face before? Probably only passing in the halls, but one can never be too sure.
When the dark-haired student makes no attempt to continue the chat, he gives up, shrugging and moving to pass along by. It is then that the door the stranger is sitting in front of is thrown open, and a glowering boy storms out, looking almost like a younger-version of the dark-haired guy himself. “I told you not to wait for me, I got someone to give me a ride,” they mutter heatedly, apparently not noticing Kisame’s presence only feet away.
With a shrug, the older student pulls himself up, leaning back against the wall. Kisame briefly glances at him and the dark, moderately fitting attire he wears. Loose black shirt and clinging jeans being somewhat plain, but it suits the dark-eyed stranger. “Call them then,” he says to what must be a relative of some sort. Turning, he then begins to walk away, and Kisame watches at the younger of the two sighs in exasperation, tailing regretfully after.
Kisame shoulders his book bag higher up, and then starts walking once more, headed in the opposite direction as the other two. He vaguely realizes he never asked the dark-eyed stranger for a name. He wonders if it would matter.
---
It is not conditions of fate that lead the two together. At least, not on the first day.
Their second encounter surprisingly does not happen within school grounds. Instead, the strong scent of coffee beans is nearly tangible in the air, and the chatter here is dull, less rushed even with all of the caffeine-filled cups. Kisame sits in one chair, eyes trained on the table at his English homework and a frown on his face. The faint jingle of bells, announcing the entrance of another caffeine-seeking customer echoes to him, but Kisame doesn’t look up from his focal point.
That is to say, until the seat across from him is suddenly taken. Glancing up with raised brows, he opens his mouth to question the sudden arrival, before being abruptly cut off. “There are no others seats available. And you are somewhat…familiar.” It’s that boy again, the student he’d run into just yesterday, and in curiosity Kisame’s frown deepens.
“Oh, that’s quite all right. Though I don’t think I know your name, do I?” The polite manner habitually shown of him does much to help the unhidden inquisitiveness in his tone, and Kisame leans back in his chair.
The pause is slight, hesitant, but there, and Kisame has to notice it. “Itachi.”
The older student’s frown fades into a tamed grin; the name is suiting of the dark-haired teenager, he thinks to himself in amusement, and there’s no doubt about that. “I’m Kisame, it’s nice to meet you.” A shroud of silence immediately falls into place at his words, and the senior’s grin dissipates once more in favor of a still somewhat uncomfortable atmosphere. It’s obvious enough to tell that the other student doesn’t very much seem to like talking. Kisame wonders why.
Within the next few minutes, a harsh rain is hitting the windows like sheets of bullets, splitting the calm atmosphere with the tell-tale signs of a storm. Itachi’s eyes flicker off to the side to watch as the first few blunt raindrops welt against the glass, sliding down in thin rivulets, and his gaze follows them for a moment before Kisame tries to speak again.
“So why’re you here? Got some homework to do too?” It’s just a jab at conversation, but at least he’s trying.
After a slight moment of silence, Itachi voices a quick “No reason,” and his explanation causes Kisame to frown in puzzlement. Well, he supposes that it isn’t completely uncommon for one to be in a coffee shop without a reason for actually being there, but it still has him wondering.
“Oh. Well, I’m just working on some papers. You wouldn’t happen to have been given this essay assignment as well, would you?” he presses on, tilting his paper enough to where he is sure Itachi can see the title scratched across the top in quick lettering.
All he receives at this gesture is a curt shake of the head. Rolling his shoulders to rid the tension coiled there, Kisame slides his papers back, the imminent fail of this line of conversation met. “It’s a pain, honestly,” he mutters, though more to himself. “At least it isn’t worth too much to my grade, though.”
Another wash-out of silence falls into place, and by now Kisame is damning it to the darkest depths of hell. While being a typically patient person, he hasn’t quite before found himself in such an exhausting situation, as most other strangers Kisame had shared passing chats with had at least partaken in some of it, whereas Itachi seems to be set to little dialogue or more preferably none at all. But along with patience, Kisame also has a knack for perseverance, and he hasn’t quite given up yet. “So, how long do you think you’ll be here?”
“Not too long,” Itachi mumbles back, his eyes straying to observe the rest of the cozily warm coffee shop, and Kisame can’t help but be thankful that the both had made it inside before the onslaught of rain had struck.
Glancing down at his watch, another frown crosses his features as he checks the time, realizing how late it has gotten to be already. “Well, I’d better be leaving now anyway. See you around.” Grinning widely, he doesn’t wait for a response, scooping up his notebook full of work and standing. With a quick wave, Kisame steps out under the awning of the coffee’s shop outside. He’s immediately hit with rain, but it isn’t too bad. Now, at least, since he knows he’s going to have to walk home in it too. He would have taken his car, but when he’d left earlier for the downtown shop, it hadn’t even been cloudy.
Ah, but c’est la vie, and with a shrug, Kisame steps out into the downpour.
It’s only moments later that he becomes aware of the faint jingle of the shop’s bells behind him, and by now’s he’s nearly made it to the end of the block, though only about one door down. But a hand on his arm stops him, and turning, Kisame’s brow shoots up in surprise.
“Itachi-san?” He can’t help but say the other student’s name that way; it almost comes natural to him.
“You’re walking?” the shorter youth asks blandly, and while his features portray no particular interest to the answer of his question, his eyes are intensely focused.
“Ah, yes. I didn’t bring-”
“Do you need a ride?”
However, conditions of fate tend to be quite the devious of little things, and Kisame finds himself grinning pleasantly once more. “Sure.”
---
Kisame is not surprised when Itachi leads him to his car, pulling a ring of keys out of his jeans’ pocket and pressing a button on the keypad to unlock it. He is not surprised at the sleek sheen of black paint that coats the expensive looking vehicle, because like everything else in the other student’s possession, that of which Kisame has at least seen by now, all suits him accordingly. Even his name - Itachi. Bitter, cutting, curt. Everything Kisame sees in his eyes all wrapped up into the simplicity of a name.
Nonetheless, he takes a seat where directed, on the passenger side, ducking eagerly into the cover and away from the rain. The first noticeable attribute of the car is the strong scent of leather, making it easy to assume that yes, it’s relatively new. That being something that Kisame, again, had expected. Buckling the seatbelt swiftly, the senior glances over at his new acquaintance. Itachi has done the same by now, and he reaches to quickly push the keys into the ignition.
As the car starts, there is another thing Kisame is not surprised about. No radio automatically turns on, blasting rock music like most of his other friends generally would, and there’s not even a news station reporting the weather. Cocking a brow in question, he wonders if the silence is better than ear-splitting rock music right now. It’s easy enough to tell that it’s something Itachi prefers, and Kisame knows that well by now.
“Where do you live?” Itachi says suddenly, drawing the taller student’s attention immediately.
“Not too far. Take a right at the next light.” Kisame’s answers are always just that - vague. Never direct, never blunt like Itachi’s are. There’s an air of mystery to him at all times, but it’s different than the simple lack of knowledge shrouded around Itachi. Kisame is sure that given enough time, he’ll be able to read the other like a book. Everyone’s unpredictable, but there’s always a pattern of occurrences. And Itachi doesn’t seem very impulsive, so the likelihood of that is even greater.
Within a span of minutes they reach Kisame’s apartment complex, and grinning again, the senior voices his thanks. “See you at school?” Really, his luck has already been extensive so far, why wouldn’t he be able to make it up to the other guy?
“Yeah.” Blunt, direct, said with a measure of patience. But not impulsive.
Kisame smiles just a little bit more; he’s dead-on.
The car pulls away behind him, and Kisame looks up at the apartment building. The rain’s ceased at least enough to see a bit of daylight behind the cluster of dark clouds, and the wind rips at him as he enters the building, taking the stairs two at a time in a hurry.
Somehow, the smell of leather still clings to his clothes, even hours after he’s changed out of them and dropped them off in the wash.