Chapter Text
You found Kenji accosting the champagne tower in the backyard.
"I have decided to help you," he said, and thrusted a glass of something bubbly into your stiff hands.
"You — you —."
"Oh, don't be like that!" He dismissed your stuttering disbelief with a wave of his arm before going back to mixing the drinks on the table, spilling booze down the white, pristine tablecloth. "How was I supposed to know? I haven't talked to this side of the family for — well, not years, but months, for sure! My half cousin has all the latest, hottest clan gossip."
You tried to put a pause in his ramblings, "just a moment, wait," only for him to drop a cherry, dripping with some sort of liquid sugar, into your drink and continue on.
"And you know, the old folks especially must be seething right now - did you know I have a grandpa? He all but kicked me out after my mother died during childbirth - and they aren't keen on letting some half blood abnormality into their clan, anyway, so when you told me that Rin told you to bring me I was —,"
"Terrified?" you finished for him.
He stopped talking now, absentmindedly stirring white wine into his champagne before offering the failed experiment to you. You drank it without complaint. "Well," he sighed, "maybe. But more than that, I felt…I guess I felt like I always feel; resigned."
"Half-blood', 'abomination'; the more amicable synonyms for the word bastard — many such cases. But the causes of your dismay were numerous, and while the apparent ill reputable existence of your partner could, and perhaps would in the very short future, prove to be a problem, there was an even more urgent matter to consider, to turn around in your mind and dissect! It was, of course, the fact that Kenji wasn’t the plus one for this party, you were.
Kenji, however, denied your counsel of despair, “that’s silly, you say the funniest things sometimes,” and dipped his fingers into your drink, scooping out the syrup coated cherry and popping it into his mouth.
"You're not angry?"
It was clear from Fugaku's welcome that there was something to be said tonight, and you weren't sure how palatable Kenji's mood was.
"You should know," he licked the dripping sugar off the tips of his fingers, "for you and for me this, this is all just a pretext. A hypocritical one, but maybe a bit cruel as well."
"Rin wouldn't do that."
Kenji gave you a noncommittal smile in return, didn't voice his disagreement and bereavements. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Kenji didn't care that much.
Grabbing a new glass, you surveyed your surroundings.
As Kenji said, his reception hadn't been received particularly well by some of the older generation — especially an old man, balding at the top of his head and wearing the formal Uchiha garb for events like these. Red in the face and the golden handle of his cane tightly, it wouldn't surprise you if he suddenly flew over to Kenjis side and started beating him with it.
In fact, it did look like he was about to do exactly that - one step in front of the other, a sense of urgency in the jerky movements of his legs, Kenji's chocked laugh from behind you as he grabbed onto your shoulders while he made a show of hiding behind you; mockery was fine art and Kenji its most devoted devotee — before a young woman latched onto one of his withered biceps to hold him back.
Beautiful long and glossy hair falling around a perfectly heart shaped face, pouty lips painted with the shyest shade of nude, and wearing a yukata that fit her form in the most impeccable manner. Her skin was glowing, truly, and you would have nothing of this little debacle (Kenji's fucked up family issues were, most of the time, not in any way shape or form your business as long as they didn't hindered you in getting an orgasm) if not for the fact that then she turned to the side, handing both her still full glass of champagne and a little pink bag - one of those small, furry monstrosities that had the potential to be cute but were cursed to be dubbed as 'abominations' due to their outrageous price — over to, of all people, Shisui.
You felt like you got hit in the back of the head by a fucking shovel.
Shisui, who you had seen while coming in the house as Obito greeted you, a small glimpse you dared yourself to steal. He had his back turned to the door and perhaps didn't hear or didn't care to turn around when Obito and Rin welcomed you inside and — that back, what a familiar sight it was; broad shoulders, a mop of hair that was uncharacteristic for an Uchiha to have and which caused Shisui no end of grief when he finally decided to start taming it, or so he had told you to placate you one day your hair had proved uncooperative and had caused you to burst out crying on the bathroom floor, lovely shaped ears (you had chewed on those ears in your sleep, or so you were told), and a round, tight ass.
Inexplicably, looking at the ridiculous scene in front of you, you smiled.
Kenji was still chuckling behind you. "You know — that's my grandpa, I'm like, pretty sure."
"Explains why he looks like he wants to bludgeon you."
"Mhm. Oh, and that's my cousin — the one I told you about — trying to hold him back. I think she feels guilty for what how the clan treats their bastards," he crooned, and you decided that decorum was out of the window and grabbed the drink he had been serendipitously sipping on like a smarmy wine mum and downed it.
White wine. Dry. Not your favorite, admittedly.
"She tells me all the hot gossip around here and I trade in some of mine."
"I didn't ask, Kenji."
"No, you didn't," he said in a voice that suggested he knew something he didn't. Smug. Insufferable. Low and throaty where his breath tickled your ear. "Want me to hold your purse?"
"No," you said, then paused. Your mind flashed back to your apartment, to all the abandoned things in a card box sitting underneath your bed. "Not right now."
Kenji's palm was warm at the back of your neck, massaging your nape fondly. "Alright. Say when."
You pivoted to the table with the sweet treats, grabbing a plate for the both of you and overfilling it. You shoved a small piece of apple pie down Kenji's unwilling throat, feeding it to him with a fork, watched him swallow before feeding him another one forkful.
("All that attention is making me blush, dear," he wisecracked.
"Shut up," you snapped.)
The prospect of warm fruit would have been enough to dissuade you from eating, but a sudden hunger had settled deep into you stomach and your teeth were aching with the urge to bite something, your mouth watering, tongue curling in on itself.
You dug your heels into the earth, chased sickly sweet pie with dry white wine, dubbed away at the crumbs on Kenji's chin with a napkin while he acted his usual self whenever a family member came up to greet him. His usual aloofness carried with a notable sense of rude kindness, a somewhat peculiar cruelty. He curled an arms round you whenever he thought of introducing you to them, leaning into your space and almost bearing down on you.
But he never stood on one spot. He would twist and turn his body this way and that way, laughing to himself sometimes as he looked over to the side before leaning down to take the bite out of your fork.
You had been, once upon a time, convinced that the right thing to do would be to pretend to not know each other and pass the evening as quietly as possible, yet now that seemed like far fetched dream fading into the horizon. You felt unmoored, uncertain — and what's worse you felt angry with yourself for feeling that way; you owned nothing to no one.
There was this distinct sensation; someone was scooping out your guts.
Kenji had sat you down in one of those expensive lawn chairs you didn't even knew Rin owned. "You look like you're about to throw up."
"I am fine. Don't I look fine?"
"Feeling fine and looking fine are two completely different things."
"Kenji," you uttered and then stopped, chewing on your lower lip before you found yourself saying something stupid like 'what am I to you', or 'what are we?' just because you felt shortness of breath.
Instead, you asked, "Kenji, what is Satoru to you?"
At one point Rin had come waddling up to you and Kenji, followed closely by Fugaku and Mikoto.
While the Uchiha couple were busy trying to pry Kenji's lips open, Rin was trying to catch your attention via puppy dog eyes and a bottle of red wine, the sweetest sweet can be — but by then Tsunade had joined in on the party and, having brought over her own booze, had sat down next to you, laughed at your face for whatever fucking reason (you were looking fine, Kenji had told you, even if you weren't feeling fine) and poured you watered down sake in a wine glass.
"You can do that?" you mumbled out, watching as she stirred the water in.
Rin had tried — and subsequently failed — to stop you from drinking it, and you reasoned with her that despite appearances, you weren't a lunatic and that you would be only sipping away at this one glass throughout the night and that yes. fear not, you were not in the mood to pass away today either.
Tsunade winked at you and then proceeded to throw back three shots one after the other without pause, respite and without eating anything.
The more you drank the more you thought, and the more you thought the more you drank.
Your eyes scanned the garden. More and more people had found their way next to Fugaku and Mikoto, listening to whatever they and Kenji had to say, laughing here and there, mumbling out responses. The Hokage and his wife were standing in their own corner. whispering in each other's ears and giggling, all the while trying to hold on to two little red haired girls who were all but brawling on the grass.
You thought of Naruto and then of Sasuke, of family and bonds, things in which you were scarcely in possession of.
And then, sitting up a bit on your chair, Tsunade yapping away at your ear about some new technique she was coming up with that would help in the field, you thought of the reception desk at the hospital, the pink tulips the nurse stationed there would get every Monday from his girlfriend, a kunoichi from the Hyuga clan. You remembered when one Monday the tulips didn't come — Aoi had shrugged, saying something about his girlfriend being away on a month long mission. But then, a month later, still, no pink tulips arrived for Aoi, and then he clocked in on his next shift with swollen eyes and a stony face and feigning disinterest at the fact that his whole body seemed to shag down on the floor.
And then, two weeks later, he had burst into your office after you'd finished giving shorts to a booger factory. "The nerve of her!" he had said - howled, really - and catapulted himself down on the leather couch you had personally bought for your patient's parents before starting to bawl his eyes out.
You felt perturbed, then, to see your grown colleague being the one in need of a 'cheer me up' lollipop, but nevertheless you indulged, throwing him a cherry flavored sucker before grabbing the last strawberry flavor for yourself. Back then you had been a bit more confident, anchored to the shore, as it were, and you viewed that incident as anyone who wasn't directly affected by it, an outsider, that is; pity for Aoi who seemed to be suffering from true heartbreak, a modicum of amusement, disgust at the amusement you felt, and then pity once again.
You handed him tissues to wipe his eyes and nose with and, having calmed him a bit with a back rubbing technique you learned from your mother when she was being cruel, you settled him down enough so that he could finally speak clearly, without snot blocking his esophagus and without the rattling grief which seemed to embrace his every breath.
"She broke up with me," he said and shoved a wad of paper into his nose. "Said her family had set her up with someone within the clan - said that it had been a long time coming thing and that she knew. She knew and she still, she still." Aoi paused, took a big, gaping breath before simply forgoing any other explanation and curling in on himself. He moaned, and it was terrible.
For one terrifying moment, you could feel his palpable sorrow pierce you — it left you dizzy and hot and itchy to leave, to go home to your small apartment, open the shelves to see if they were stocked with canned peaches, open the fridge in search for homemade health bars, search the bathroom for that expensive shampoo Shisui used for curl definition and the shaving razor he'd leave on the sink, the spare toothbrush, the too big shirts that you hanged out to dry, the lingering warmth in the sheets.
Aoi left that day without finishing whatever he needed to say, but you heard the rest from the other nurse at the reception during a night shift.
"I mean, really! That woman knew she was going to get married to a whole other dude and still, she sank her filthy little skunk nails into Aoi!"
Her crudeness at the time possessed all of its transgression and none of its charm.
The nurse, Erika, huffed and fixed her uniform with a little poised smirk, looking, perhaps, entirely too pleased for someone who was speaking of something unpleasant."I remember meeting her once, you know, when Aoi was admitted for a broken leg? Sprained, whatever — you know, I bet it was her! Shinobi and kunoichi are all alike in their madness. You've heard stories about what goes on in the basement? Yeah, they say that Tsunade keeps crazy ANBU soldiers down there and experiments with calming drugs — but that's not the point!"
"Then what is the point? Today, if you please." Daigo had smirked.
He was a general surgeon ten years older than you and had gotten the job through the connections he had in the council before Minato Namikaze was appointed Hokage, and despite the blatant nepotism Daigo was actually good at his job — Tsunade would have booted him when she was appointed head of hospital otherwise.
The nurse blushed, cleared her noisy little insufferable throat, and looked around for any spare ears. Having spotted you, crumbled in a corner, finalizing some paperwork and writing some last notes on your patients ("patient then said his "tummy go achy" before losing control of his bowels. note; he is six, that is to be expected(?)), she pointed at you. "You know, what I am about to say actually might help you in the long run."
You blinked, thinking merely that your notes writing skills needed some finesse - tomorrow's problem - before wheeling your chair around, waving at her to go on. You could do with a break, some gossiping to reiterate to Tsunade later on, maybe Rin when she was off work, to Shisui, definitely, because he could use a laugh those days.
He had been so solemn during that month back then, refusing to wander out from your apartment for whatever reason.
"I just heard," the nurse started, "from a friend of mine who's brother is a shinobi, that they call relationships with civilians a 'prebound' relationship. You know, like masturdating."
What the fuck was masturdating?
"What the fuck is masturdating?" Beni, a senor nurse, asked, red painted lips pulled into a smile around her faded out cigarette. She liked to chew on them when she finished smoking them. A habit you seemed to have picked up with your pen and, as it turned out, Shisui's ears.
"Yeah, I don't think you're using that word correctly."
"Oh my gods," Erika mumbled out. "I am saying that Aoi was that kunoichi's bit on the side! Maybe her skinny love, but I wouldn't go thaaat far yet."
"Skinny love," you echoed.
She snapped her fingers at you, looking smug. "That's what I'm saying! You should definitely be careful - I heard you were, like, dating a hot shot shinobi, right? I'm just saying, check yourself before you wreck yourself babes. Especially if they're from, like, a big clan. Arranged marriages being a thing in this day and age, gods, poor Aoi! He got chewed on and then spat out!" She gasped, smugness morphing to delight, gripping your shoulder as if to steady herself. "Her toyboy instead of her boytoy!"
That night you had arrived at your apartment to find Shisui making dumpling soup. He was wearing an apron and everything,m as well as a cotton eye patch over his right eye.
You scolded hm for straining his vision again, for not telling you about the exam he had that day on the hospital. He grinned in his own, infatuating way, dimples working overtime to placate you, and left a slobbering kiss on your cheek before shooing you to the bathroom to wash up and then eat.
On your way home Aoi's story had completely evaporated from your mind, your mind too busy buzzing with the thought of home food Shisui bed shower Shisui — but when all was said and done and you sat down on the table to eat, Shisui sitting at the chair opposite to you, reading one of your books and crossing his ankles with yours underneath the table, your eyes once again caught sight o the eye patch, the scattering of little scars from small nicks and cuts accumulating over the years on Shisui's skin, the tired lines underneath his eyes, the scar on his face.
You repeated what you heard about Aoi to him. About his girlfriend and the masturdating phenomenon in shinobi-civilian relationships. "It's shallow," you had said, pushing a dumpling around in your plate, "to describe every relationship like that, right?"
"Well, not every relationship is the same," he answered, dropping a fair amount of spicy enoki mushrooms into your plate.
The diplomacy in his answer at that time went over your head.
But now — now, having watched him trail after a drop dead gorgeous Uchiha woman who only made him hold her purse and not her entire life up, now everything was coming back to you.
In truth, Shisui had never introduced you to his family. Itachi knew who you were and thus so did Sasuke. The same went with Obito; you worked closely with Rin, days and nights. In truth, Shisui had never introduced you to his family. Itachi knew who you were and thus so did Sasuke. The same went with Obito; you worked closely with Rin, days and nights, for weeks, months, years, and before that she had been grading your tests and putting pressure on you to become "the best version of yourself", because if "everything felt like nothing and nothing felt like anything, you might as well put your life to use to do something good".
But Fugaku and Mikoto, the grannies that hang around the old, decrepit coffee shop in that one stretch of road that had been almost abandoned, criticizing everyone passing by like it was their gods-given duty, the aunties and uncles and the gaggle of cousins — you knew nothing of them, and they of you, presumably, because Shisui always mentioned them in passing but never actually took the trouble to introduce them to you, or you to them.
You had never been given the chance to stress over what gift to give Mikoto for her birthday — you've never been invited to a birthday outside of Shisui's.
And, alright, playing devil's advocate; you two started out as nothing more than friends with benefits, sure, but then, then, all those months after — what were they?
A pink furry bag. Glossy, long hair. Beautiful almond shaped eyes. Someone who had their life together from early on, someone who didn't think they'd die before reaching seventeen, eighteen, and then reaching nineteen for some inexplicable reason. Someone who had their shit together and knew how to cook — and not the way you cooked; broth a bit too watery because you didn't have a pressure cooker and you were always too impatient to wait for it to get just right, the rice sticking at the bottom of the pan, burnt to shit or just a gooey mess because you fucked up the rice-to-water ratio again. Someone who had more in their fridge than yogurt and a handful of fruit, more than beer and wine and frozen meals.
(You always feared someday that the general state of apathy and the occasional dejection would bleed into his corner of the world — and because Shisui was considerably one of the best things that happened to you you didn't argue.)
Fuck.
Of course.
The inexplicable thing here was the audacious, vain thoughts, hopes, dreams you harbored. Giving the benefit of the doubt to the reflection in the mirror.
And yet, in spite of your situation, shouldn't have Shisui set boundaries? Shouldn't he have been clearer when defining the relationship you two had?
Your vision span. You felt light headed. Too late you realized that you had sprang up from that shitty lawn chair and were now simply standing upright, staring up at ahead blankly. Kenji had come back to your side — he was talking to you, even, saying something with a tight smile and a warm, calloused hand squeezing your wrist.
"Hold my purse," you blurted out, throwing said item at Kenji's startled face and all but booking it to the bathroom.
Inside, the house was just as lively as it was outside; people were mingling with each other in every corner. Some, you could recognize, shinobi and kunoichi who you had treated at one point in time (because the hospital was so underfunded and ridiculously understaffed Tsunade had made you branch out of pediatrics on days they would get swarmed), or Uchiha clan members drinking in a prim and proper manner - that is, small sips, delicately wetting their lips with their drink of choice, smacking their lips in appreciation - while other were already louse and drank.
This was looking less and less like a baby shower. The only saving grace, perhaps, were the baby pink balloons hanging from every orifice of the house and the mountain of gifts atop a desk that had been shoved into a corner. Kakashi Hatake and Obito were looking through them, each one of them holding onto a Namikaze twin.
Kenji's grandfather - his attempt to bludgeon his grandson to death spoiled - had been brought inside. Still red in the face, though you'd wager due to overindulgence in champagne than the anger that had overtaken him outside in the garden, although still scowling something fierce.
Pink Furry Bag was nowhere to be seen and neither was her toyboy or whatever the fuck Erika was talking about.
In your haze, you failed to knock on the bathroom door before throwing it open — you only needed a moment of silence and isolation to catch your breath, to try and stop thinking, to bargain, to accept, to take off your bra that was constricting your tits' right to freedom and maybe smoke a bit. Or a lot. Carcinogens would do you good. Soda, maybe. Rin always said that those delicious little beverages were harmful to your brain "they can cause dementia down the line," she'd say and throw your freshly bought can into the trash, right next to your cigarettes, as if you were drinking that stuff for the long health benefits.
Throwing the bathroom door open, you wondered, pondered, analyzed, added the numbers in your alcohol addled brain, how many, exactly, sodas you'd have to drink in order to get dementia in a week from now, and if, if, you somehow managed to get dementia before liver and kidney failure, would it be able to erase the image of Shisui and little miss Pink Furry Bag crumped inside Rin's beautiful tiled bathroom, leaning close to each other.
"Sorry," you said, smiling, maybe, and slamming the door shut in their startled faces and their glistening eyes.
You turned tail to run, gallop if need be, back to the garden, make bad choices involving Kenji and booze and even more introspection, but Rin had suddenly materialized in front of you. She was holding her very pregnant belly and waddling to the bathroom. "Gods," she said, moving past you. "This kid has been abusing my bladder lately - one thing I won't miss when this pregnancy is over and done with? Almost pissing myself every half and hour, I swear I — Oh!"
Miss Pink Furry Bag was scrambling to shove something in her bag, her face a lovely shade of pink. It reminded you of the dead strawberries you had yet to throw out in your balcony. Shisui was looking anywhere at Rin, guilt plastered all over his face. The distinct smell of tobacco and smoke coming from inside the bathroom was a dead give away, however.
Rin whipped her head around to stare at you.
You felt, quite frankly, offended. "What are you looking at me for? They're the ones fucking in your pristine tiled bathroom!"
The woman gasped, jumping off of the sink. "We were not!"
Shisui placed a hand on her shoulder — to calm her down maybe, to hold her back, perhaps. Did she have a short fuse? Would she try to jump you?
The thought brought a Cheshire cat grin on your face. "A likely story, methinks."
"She's just messing with you, Mio," Shisui interjected. His voice was calm, collected, velvet smooth, and the usual coy smile on his face made you want to stomp on his dick with your heels. His gaze was cutting, filled with mirth, dismayingly bewitching, and fixed on you. "Rin, Mio needs some antacids - can I leave her with you?"
Rin, who had been tagging at your clothes up until that moment, wasted no time in grabbing the spattering girl from inside the bathroom and pushing her towards the kitchen, leaving you and Shisui alone.
Antacids.
Whatever.
"Are you gonna come out?" you asked. "Because I really need to piss."
Shisui shrugged. He took a step back into the bathroom, opening the door wider. "No one's stopping you."
"Do you mind?"
"Not at all."
"Are you serious?"
He blinked down at you. Once, twice, staying silent. The weak lighting in the bathroom and the explicit darkness in the hall you were standing on made Shisui appear shrouded in darkness, his dark garb blending in the shadows behind him. Only his pale face stood out and his lips, fixed into that common, lazy smirk of his. His eyes and that wretched, abysmal gaze.
"Shisui," you said, trying to make it sound like a warning, a scolding.
But he merely hummed. A low sound, melodic almost. Familiar.
You remembered the reason you came here - bargaining, acceptance - the box underneath your bed, the withered up strawberries on your balcony. Everything that had tormented you in those past few hours. Aoi. the box. The strawberries. Your family and his. Pink furry bags. Kenji.
"Fine," you waved a hand flippantly. "Have fun jerking off in there."
You turned to leave, one step, two steps, resolutely, towards the light that spilled out at the end of the long hallway, the sound of your heels muted by the winter carpet on the tatami floors. One step, two, then three — but not a fourth, nor a fifth or sixth. The light at the end of the hallway abruptly shrank again and dissipated completely when you were pushed back against something hard and warm and the door of the bathroom slammed shut and the already sputtering light flickered off completely.
You saw nothing, heard nothing, and the only thing you felt at the end was a warm, wet, slick tongue licking your lips.