Up Up Cronulla!

So many thoughts were going through your head, but the main concern that stood out was the whereabouts of your dear friend. If someone else had been sent to visit you on the days that were specifically reserved for Sasori, then something was wrong. After all, he hated to keep people waiting. Maybe he could have been stuck on a mission that required him to be away for some time or been injured. Back in black, he called it. When he had to hide his beautiful face and donned his puppet disguise to carry out his missions.

A voice in your head laughs and your heart sinks. You already know the answer. Don't you, witch?

As Itachi sits across from you, he takes note of the tension in your body. The paleness of your face. Even if he didn’t know you so well, the unnaturally straight way you sit and the vice grip you have on your mug would have been a dead giveaway of the anxieties you were feeling.

You hadn't heard him call your name the first time, the sound barely above a whisper. Only when he spoke a little louder did you look in his direction.

"You look well."

You only frown at that, giving him a single nod before taking a long sip of your drink with your gaze on the ring that decorates his finger.

He sighs and puts his cup down, the air around you both growing noticeably thicker from the conversation you knew was coming. In his own moment of selfishness, he wanted to talk about what happened between the two of you. That expression of grief and vexation across your face only made him want to come clean, if only to give you the closure you deserved.

"(Y/N)–"

Your gaze is icy despite your eyes' unique fiery amber, and for the first time in a long time he feels uneasy. In those moments under your scrutiny, he feels like the small boy he'd been when you met on the training field, not the notorious killer he'd become.

"Why are you here, Uchiha?"

Right. The task at hand.

"There has been a change of arrangements," he says. At the lift of her brow, he decides to elaborate. "Sasori will not be coming here."

"You say that as if I didn’t already figure that out," you say coolly, taking a sip of your drink and ignoring the hammering of your heart. "I've been able to evade unexpected visitors since the Akatsuki confined me here. I would say I'm doing an excellent job so far, save for you."

The tone in your voice effectively silences him. He expected the venom laced in your words, as he deserves every bit of it. He didn't deserve your warm, sweet whispers of love and affection anymore. He made certain of that and was very thorough about severing all of the bonds that held him to the village, including you.

And yet it didn’t make your hatred any easier.

"I suppose you're right."

The air is strained after the short exchange. There were many unsaid words in between you that were just begging to be brought up, but neither of you knew how to deal with it. Mikoto's words to you. The massacre -- his and yours. Your chakra, corrupted and dark, piercing Itachi's heart that night. Your first unfortunate reunion that resulted in your current predicament.

You wouldn't know where to start. 

Your eyes finally meet and the memories from that fateful night in Konoha replay in your head on a constant loop, each one a dagger to your heart. The sight of mangled corpses, the sounds of Sasuke’s screams, the feeling of Itachi’s lips on yours for the last time before the voice in your head screamed -- it was too much.

The silence becomes unbearable after a while. You excuse yourself to go to the kitchen and put your cup in the sink, using the momentary isolation to put your hand over your heart and will it to stop its insanely fast beating in your chest. 

-

As soon as you're out of sight, Itachi sighs quietly. What he did to you left obvious lasting scars, -- more mental than physical -- but he never stuck around long enough to see the result of what he had done. And by the time you came across each other again, there were no words to be said. Only the spilling of blood.

He also knows that you have no memory of the particular night that you lost control – when it was decided by Pein and Madara that you would be bound to this place. Being kept busy with missions from the Akatsuki was enough to take his mind off it, but it was something that always haunted him alongside many other things. It would have been easier if you knew everything, but he was never so lucky. Knowing you were kept away and safe was all that mattered.

-

"Dammit," you hiss, the emotion you were trying so hard to conceal spilling out of you in the form of tears.

Where is Sasori? Why is he gone? Why is Itachi here instead of Pein to tell her? How did what you did to Itachi not kill him that night? When are you getting out of this prison? There were too many questions, and not a single answer for any of them. 

He's dead, you stupid bitch. Dead. Like they all will be. Like they should be. Dead. Dead. Dead. Dead.

You feel the corrupted chakra flowing to your hands and quietly rush to your room without a word to Itachi, the wet cough coming from him ugly and taunting.

Going to your closet and reaching for the box sitting at the top rack, you set the box on your bed and open it to reveal a cloak resembling Itachi’s. 

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally receives a text that was not meant for him. you immediately tell him “wrong number oh my god” and apologize for telling him that your bed is broken and asking if you can try his. kisame finds himself laughing at your ridiculous pick up line and tells you that there’s no way you’ll pull with that to which you respond with “tell that to my date Friday night” and suddenly kisame isn’t laughing anymore. very randomly the next day your brother tells you you’re not allowed to date until you’re married while kisame cackles from the kitchen and you call kisame a tattle tale rat and all is right in the world.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally walks in on you changing. and, okay, you weren’t naked. just indecent. kisame’s seen you in a bathing suit and hardly batted an eye but catching you lifting your sweatshirt half way up and seeing your uncovered back and the underside of your breasts has him choking on his saliva. you let out a petrified noise and slam your door shut over the sounds of him coughing and apologizing. no one else is home, he’d let himself in to grab a charger he’d left behind, and is about halfway down the stairs when a pillow hits him on the back of his head. you’re calling him names and swearing and chasing him around with another pillow, and he’s dodging you and telling you he didn’t see anything until you’re both laughing and out of breath. things go back to normal. kind of. only now kisame knows what certain parts of you look like. but you don’t bring it back up and neither does he.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally kisses you, again. only this time it really was an accident, he’d hadn’t seen you in a couple weeks and the family gathering he invited himself to had drinks and games and he’s letting loose, relaxing in a way he can’t in his own home. you’re not even supposed to be there, sometime about a girls trip he tries not to think about, but you show up anyway with a big smile and a hard jab to his side with your elbow. he catches you in a side hug and goes to plant a very brotherly kiss to the top of your head, because he’s kisame and he’s like a brother to you, images of the under side of your breasts be damned, only to miss completely and clumsily catch the side of your mouth. you’d titled your head up towards him at the wrong or maybe right moment and he pulls away blinking. you’re staring at him in shock before laughing and asking him how much he’s had to drink. he doesn’t answer and removes himself, not before ruffling your hair to re-establish the friendly line drawn between you. he tries and fails to not think about it for the rest of the night and things are … weird.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally sees you on a date. he’s picking up takeout and stares unabashedly at you and some guy who’d look great with a broken jaw. before he can really process what he’s seeing and the burning twist in his gut he’s texting your brother who responds with a “yeah i know it’s some prick she knew in school” and kisame leaves, agitated and no longer hungry. he sees you a couple days later and asks about it before he can think better of it and you roll your eyes and tell him it was a one time thing, you were giving the guy a chance, but the whole thing was a bust. kisame ignores the elation he feels in his chest and the weight that slides off his shoulders and happily accepts part of the apple you’re cutting up. things are normal but not and kisame is too preoccupied with the way you delicately bite into the fruit to notice.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally tells some he’s your boyfriend. only he didn’t say it, the old lady implied it and kisame just didn’t think to answer. you had just signed a lease on a tiny studio apartment and he was helping you move boxes from the street while your brother and mom returned the moving truck. he’d been bringing up the last box when the tiniest old lady he’s ever seen gives him a crinkled smile and tells him what a good boyfriend he was and about how lucky you were to have a gentleman like him around. all he can do is nod and pointedly ignore how warm the assumption makes him feel as he continues up the stairs. he opens his mouth to tell you what happened, no doubt you’ll make a joke about it and hopefully rid him of the buzzing in his ears, only you’ve replaced the shirt you were wearing with a tank top while you unpacked dishes. there’s a curious bead of sweat trailing down the middle of your back, a back kisame has memorized since he stumbled upon you in your bedroom, and he can’t find it in himself to mention it. it’s then he realizes that things are not normal anymore, not by a long shot.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who accidentally thinks about you while he’s … taking care of himself. he’d waken up uncomfortable and hard and didn’t have to be at work until later so he takes it slow. let’s his mind wander only to hiss when he thinks of you, peeling off that sweater completely. he thinks of what that bead of sweat would taste like and how far it fell down your back. he thinks about your mouth around the apple slice, about your mouth against his. twice he’s been there, twice he’s felt it, and it’s enough to make him finish with a groan, only to sink into his sheets as the guilt takes over. he slings an arm over his face and sighs, accepting this as his new reality.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully begins to put himself between you and anyone he thinks shouldn’t be next to you. you don’t notice because it’s kisame and he’s always been there and life goes on.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully switches up nicknames just to watch the surprise flit across your face. girlie turns to darlin’ and he grins around the toothpick in his mouth when you fumble the red solo cup in your hands, beer spilling into the sink while you both clean up after another family party.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully presses his leg against yours under the table. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully adds a layer of suggestion to your usual banter that has you blinking as if to make sure you heard him correctly. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully slings an arm around the back of your chair, to make himself comfortable he’s a big guy, and flashes anyone who looks at you a grin with way too many teeth.

kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully is trying to make you see him as someone other than just your older brother’s best friend. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully becomes the only guy in your life outside of your family. kisame as your older brother’s best friend who purposefully toys with you just outside of your brother’s gaze until you snap and you’re both kissing in the kitchen. he’s got you trapped against the pantry door, the same one his height’s recorded on right next to yours in faded marker, and his mouth is hot against your lips, your jaw, your neck.