Chapter Text
He never thought he’d sacrifice everything for the man holding him. A rash decision, too much bloodshed, and an inability to let go took them far from the place they once called home. He missed the colorful buildings and the bustling streets; he missed his mother making breakfast and his father grunting at stories in the newspaper. He missed things he could never replace. He covered the empty spaces in his life with Shisui’s kisses, and he made the best of a terrible situation. He hadn’t intended on taking Sasuke, but he couldn’t bring himself to kill his little brother. He’d wanted Sasuke to hate him, to lead the life of an avenger and free him of his burden, but Sasuke didn’t have the darkness he had inside him. Sasuke loved him too much, and that was his own fault. His own weakness had corrupted the boy, making his brother useless for that scenario. With no one to free him of his guilt, he wallowed in regrets, in what could have been and what should have been. Because of his rash decision, Konoha shinobi hunted them like cattle ripe for slaughter. Sasuke would never know peace. His inability to let go had led him to kidnapping the last family he had left. He was a murderer, like every other shinobi, except he specialized in genocide. He’d cleansed the world of his clan and assassinated the three members comprising the elder council. He’d closed every door open to him. He specialized in sacrifice. And maybe he should have blamed Shisui, but he couldn’t find it in him to hate the man. He was weak. Maybe he’d always been weak. They were thoughts best served in the early morning hours, before the sun had the chance to kiss the horizon. In those moments, he grieved.
He felt a hand sliding along his bare side and panic struck him, causing him to throw his elbow back to attack the enemy, but his blow was blocked. His mind caught up with his body and he sighed into his pillow, content to let Shisui rub his side. He’d told the man to stop waking him up that way, but Shisui never listened. He’d had another night filled with nightmares, not that he was surprised. Shisui had told him his heart was soft, that he was a pacifist, and he couldn’t disagree. Where he saw the world in black and white, Shisui saw in vivid color. He hoped to raise Sasuke to be stronger than him, better than him, to give the boy a chance in the world. Sometimes he felt as if he corrupted everyone and everything he touched. He didn’t want to ruin Sasuke’s life. He didn’t want to destroy the inherent goodness in Shisui’s heart. He should have left alone that night, but he’d swept them into his miniature storm and dragged them out to sea. With Shisui, he bruised the man’s lips, scarred the man’s knees, and loved the man too hard. He destroyed Shisui in the most beautiful way imaginable. He knew that Shisui would learn why storms were named after people. But Shisui stayed. Shisui had the chance to return to the village and pretend that he’d had no part in the murder of the entire clan, that he knew nothing of Itachi’s plans. Shisui had insisted on going with Itachi, and Itachi had insisted on taking Sasuke. The three of them wandered for well over two years before Shisui convinced him to calm his paranoia and choose a safe place to make a new home.
The Land of Waves was impoverished and isolated. The Land of Fire had no dealings with the island nation, and the Land of Water never showed any interest in the rundown place. At one time, the Land of Waves had been tied to the Land of Whirlpools, but that was before their time, and the agreement had dissolved when Uzushiogakure fell. As it was, the island was the perfect place to hide. Though they all trained together, keeping up on their skills, they spent a great deal of time doing odd jobs around the village, until they’d saved enough for a fishing boat, and then they’d progressed to fishermen. It was honest work, even if Itachi quickly grew tired of the smell, even if Sasuke took every opportunity to complain. Shisui’s bright smile and infectious laugh kept them going. And the progression of his relationship with Shisui, from friends to lovers, was both unexpected and desperately needed. He trusted Shisui. He knew he loved Shisui. He’d never considered hurting the man, not once, even if his sacrifice destroyed the ones closest to him. Shisui had told him there was nothing to forgive. The words had ended the conversation. Itachi had never brought it up again.
“It’s Sunday.” Itachi squinted his eyes at the clock and pulled the blankets up over his head. He didn’t want to get up at five in the morning on a Sunday, their one day of rest. He felt Shisui’s hand run over his thigh and he swatted the offending hand away. “Aw, come on, ‘Tachi,” Shisui whined. Itachi could imagine the pouting taking place, but he didn’t give in—he knew better than to give in. He felt arms around him and let Shisui drag him into a tight embrace, a resigned sigh quickly following. Sunday was the one day where they didn’t have to worry about waking Sasuke, the one day Itachi surrendered to Shisui’s advances. “You know you get cranky if you don’t get to enjoy your Sunday,” Shisui tried to bait him, earning an unseen scowl from him.
“I get cranky because you wake me up before dawn to have sex with you instead of waiting until nine or ten.”
“I’m an early riser! I can’t help that.”
“Is Sasuke even gone?”
“Yeah. I made him breakfast. He might hate me for making him feel like a child, but his cooking is awful. One of us is going to have to tell him.”
Sasuke took Sundays to complete the equivalent of D-ranks, glorified chores, really. The village kept their secrets and they provided food and protection. It was an exchange that both parties enjoyed. There was something about the little island that put Itachi’s mind at ease. It could have been the sharp sea air or the calming rhythm of the waves lapping against the shore. He felt more relaxed than he ever had, even if the realization compounded his guilt. He wasn’t made for the harsh life of a shinobi, something he could finally admit to himself. In the Land of Waves, Itachi’s name didn’t inspire fear—he was just another young man trying to provide for his makeshift family. As Shisui’s hands slowly slid down his body, intent on grabbing his ass, he feigned disinterest and put all of his weight on Shisui. Shisui tried to move him, but he looped his arms around Shisui’s waist and held on, locking them in a stalemate. Realizing Itachi wasn’t going to move, Shisui heaved a dramatic sigh and settled for cuddling. They rarely had alone time. Itachi didn’t want Sasuke to know about them, so Shisui went along with it. At times, Itachi wondered if their secrecy hurt Shisui. He’d never asked, too afraid to know the answer. He didn’t want Sasuke to look at him the same way their father had looked at him. And the one reminder his father had given him, that he was expected to marry and have children, still haunted him. He wasn’t good enough. He’d never been good enough.
“You know it’s not about the sex,” Shisui mumbled, kissing the top of Itachi’s head. Itachi knew that. They danced around their feelings more than they fell into bed together. In Konoha, there had been a moment where he could have confessed, where the doctors weren’t sure if Shisui would survive, and he’d still refused. Maybe it would take another scare to drag the truth from his lungs. “I can make us some breakfast. We still have eggs and bacon left.” The offer was tempting, but he shook his head. He didn’t want to eat so early in the morning. He hadn’t been feeling well.
“How can you still be this way?”
“This life might not be perfect, but I think it’s more than I deserve. We’re children of war. We were raised to fight and die for a village that was quick to betray us. You saved me when I thought my life was irredeemable. I’m happy here, with you.”
“How do you know that I didn’t damn you? The hunter nin will find us again. Our lives will be spent running away.”
“Weren’t we always running away? Isn’t that what we did when we went to our spot? We ran away from everyone and everything. If you’re looking for me to condemn you for saving my life and getting me out of that village, then you’ll be severely disappointed. And if you bring up Sasuke, I’m going to rat you out to him.”
Itachi pinched Shisui’s side until the man hissed in pain, then he let go of the man’s skin and settled again. Shisui always knew what to say to keep him grounded. He couldn’t imagine a world where Shisui didn’t survive. He couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t seek revenge on the parties that led to Shisui’s attempted suicide. He’d sacrificed so much for them, but they’d also sacrificed peaceful lives in the walls of Konoha. Shisui had chosen him. Shisui had chosen a life with him. At the beginning, he didn’t think that friendships worked that way, but their friendship had been that strong. They’d trusted one another completely. His favorite memory was of his first kiss with Shisui. It had been awful, because he’d panicked and their heads knocked together. Shisui had laughed about it for hours. The man still teased him. Just the thought of that time had him smiling, the expression hidden from Shisui. As he moved his hand down Shisui’s body, he happily succumbed to their Sunday routine.
After a hot shower, Itachi lounged around in his grey sweats and a white t-shirt. He still had his shinobi gear, the same he’d worn that night two years ago, but he’d outgrown it. He kept it to remind himself of what he’d done, both good and bad, while wearing it. He didn’t hear when Shisui called him for breakfast, so the man had to walk into his line of sight and wave a hand. Itachi left the couch and followed Shisui into the other room, where breakfast waited for them on the table. They chose to sit across from one another, and they mumbled their thanks before eating. Shisui was the best cook out of the group, even though he hated cooking. Itachi didn’t mind cooking, but his food hit the extremes—it tasted outstanding or absolutely revolting. Sasuke wasn't allowed to prepare food without supervision, a rule Shisui put into play after Sasuke had nearly killed them with salt.
"Are you happy here?" The question surprised Itachi, so it took him a moment to piece together a reason for the question. He'd been distant again. He set his chopsticks down and reached across the table to touch Shisui's hand. "We can leave," Shisui continued, his willingness to give up their lives there touching. "Sometimes it feels like you aren't here."
"It's peaceful here, so it gives me time to think. I get carried away sometimes. I don't want to leave. I already stole two years of Sasuke's life when we were wanderers. We need some stability." Shisui took Itachi's hand in his. Itachi was happy with Shisui, with Sasuke, with their small home near the coast. He fought when he wanted to—no government controlled him. "I never thought I would end up a fisherman, but that's life, isn't it?"
"You hate fishing."
"It's not ideal."
"Just say you hate fishing."
"Fine, Shisui. I hate fishing."
"I could take jobs from the bounty stations to support us," Shisui offered, easily volunteering to put himself in danger for them. Itachi frowned, but Shisui went on, undeterred. "It doesn't bother me. I know you don't like to fight, and I'd never ask you to. It could bring in good money." It could, but Itachi had seen Shisui almost die, and he hated the spike of fear that stabbed his chest when he considered Shisui fighting other shinobi again. "I'm a big boy. I have my own bingo page." Itachi sighed at the man's subtle bragging.
"I'm not letting you go out alone. If we can choose our targets, I'll fight," Itachi replied, even though he felt a crushing weight settle on his shoulders at the thought of slipping back into his role as a ruthless killer. "If we start out small, it can be a learning opportunity for Sasuke." Again, he felt the urge to teach Sasuke to value strength, his own strength. If something happened to him, he wanted to know that Sasuke could handle himself.
"You think I can't hear you crying at night?"
"Leave it alone, Shisui."
"When are you going to talk about it? It's been over two years."
Itachi didn't know how to answer the question, and his silence disappointed Shisui. He'd had years to talk about that night, but he'd chosen silence. He didn't want to relive that night. He didn't want to talk about killing innocent people, as if he had any right to judge them, to decide that they deserved death. After that night, he wasn't quite the same. If he held Shisui's hand a little tighter, that was his prerogative.