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“You’re coming a little loose there.”
“Pardon?”
“Your ponytail, ANBU-san.”
The Uchiha turned to his unlikely companion, allowing himself a slightly incredulous look since the porcelain mask would do its job of concealing his face. And even if he hadn’t been in his standard ANBU get-up, he was certain the thick of the fog would make it that much harder to make out his expression.
There was nothing wrong with the way Shiranui Genma had addressed him. In fact, he greatly appreciated the adherence to the unwritten rule that one should never refer to a shinobi in ANBU uniform by their real identity.
(Because with the long, near-waist length raven ponytail, they both knew that Genma had more than just an inkling of who it was he was stuck with crouching behind the thick fallen tree trunk.)
What did prompt Itachi to temporarily shift his focus from keeping guard to his newfound ally was the misplaced attention on his hair rather than their surroundings.
Should this man really be concerned about a ponytail coming undone when they were deep in Mist territory, being hunted by rogue Mist nins?
“Sense anyone nearby?”
The brunet waited patiently as the ANBU (obviously Uchiha Itachi, duh) took a minute to scan the area for foreign chakra. Genma’s senses were sharper than most jounins’ were but he was aware that his years of experience in the field had nothing on the sharingan.
Itachi shook his head. There were no enemies heading their way (yet). They were somewhere out there though, Itachi knew, navigating through the fog expertly as they hunted the ANBU Squad and Genma’s team (who were forced to split up when they were ambushed after they ran into each other last night on their way back from their respective missions).
The brunet nodded once. “Okay, good.”
Genma shuffled quietly and before he could even ask what he was up to, the brunet moved behind him and Itachi felt a light tug at his hair tie before it slid through his hair. The Uchiha turned, looking indignant under his mask at the unsolicited help with his hair.
“Turn around,” muttered Genma through his teeth, Itachi’s hair tie trapped under his fang. “And keep an eye out. You know how embarrassing it would be if Mist nin found us like this?”
There were more compromising positions to find them in, Itachi could hear Shisui’s voice saying in his head before he caught himself. He swatted away the unwanted thought and did as he was told. He would have to tell his mother to stop inviting that particular cousin over for dinner so much.
“Yes, tell me about it,” he deadpanned. As if this ponytail issue was even his idea.
Genma never did. Instead, he combed his fingers through raven locks.
Whenever the Uchiha heir walked around their village, his hair would move gracefully behind him with every step. The brunet always assumed it would feel as silky as his own hair but seeing as they were now a bit sticky and dry from the humid air, he thought Uchiha Itachi could use some conditioner.
Itachi tried his best not to wince whenever Genma’s fingers would run into a tangle—all of which his new comrade was determined to smooth out with a few good tugs. And then another one. And another one. Until he had half a mind to run his fingers through the older man’s hair and tug on all the tangles he could find.
If he encountered any tangle at all.
Itachi had been too caught up in his own thoughts when Genma caught him off-guard and tugged another tangle free, eliciting a strained sound from the raven’s throat.
“Sorry,” he whispered quickly, giving Itachi’s hair a few good combs to make sure it was tangle free before tying it back up all neat and tight. “There,” he said with finality before he backed away. “Don’t want that pretty hair to get in the way of the fighting.”
The way he spoke made it seem like he was merely thinking out loud, as his eyes scanned their surroundings for… something. And while Itachi was used to receiving praises over his hair back in the village, no one would ever dare pay him a compliment (much less call his hair pretty ) while on a mission.
The brunet let out a frustrated huff, grumbling about how it was so foggy in Water Country and there were no puddles in this part of the swamp they found themselves in so how the hell was he supposed to check his own hair?
“Quick, ANBU-san, how’s my hair?”
Given that they were being hunted down by rogue Mist shinobi, who were known to have a penchant for gruesome violence, the Uchiha thought that how anyone’s hair looked should be the least of anyone’s worries.
“Please tell me you are joking.”
“Well, I don’t want Konoha to catch me dead with bad hair,” he said matter-of-factly as one hand went to pull off his bandana while he ran his free hand through his locks, shaking to give it a little more volume. It had started to feel a bit flat.
Ah, so the rumors were true. Shiranui, indeed, suffered from a mild case of vanity. Though, given how this man’s priorities were mismatched with the gravity of the situation, Itachi thought to revise the village diagnosis from mild to severe.
“You are aware that they will clean your body and make you presentable for your wake anyway, are you not?”
“Yeah, but I don’t want the search and rescue team to find my body with my hair all fucked up,” grunted the brunet as he worked to redo his bandana. “Fuckers can steal my organs and draw on my skin but never mess with my hair.”
Unless Mist nins were on a mission to skin their heads, Itachi was certain that Genma’s astonishingly silky locks would still be the least messed up (and perhaps only recognizable) part of him once their enemies were done with them. But arguing with this man seemed pointless since he was clearly determined to find any surface he could assess his reflection in.
Itachi looked away, trying to make what he could through the mist once again while occasionally glancing at his companion. “With all due respect, I do believe this is hardly the time to be worrying about your hair.”
The brunet rolled his eyes and pulled out a senbon from his back pocket and set it between his teeth. “Wouldn’t kill you to relax a bit.”
“Given the situation, it very well could.”
“Believe me, I see you around Konoha,” the brunet smiled knowingly. And the raven knew that even though Genma had skipped out on saying it out loud, he was no longer talking to ANBU-san but Itachi. “Knowing that your default personality is set to Stick Up His Ass, it really wouldn’t.”
Itachi turned to him slowly. “Excuse me?”
“My bad,” Genma apologized, although it didn’t really look like he meant it. “I tend to lash out at the threat of impending doom. I just really wanna know how my hair looks right now.”
With a quiet sigh, Itachi turned to him… and inwardly admired the way it maintained its shine despite the climate they found themselves in. His dark, midnight locks may have been mostly revered for its length and darkness but Genma’s hair was in far better condition than his was.
And from the way he’d been combing it earlier, it really did seem like his locks ran as smooth as water between his fingers. For a split second, Itachi had forgotten himself and almost reached out to feel it for himself, wondering what it would be like to run his fingers through his hair. And maybe pull on it and—
Fuck.
Genma tensed as he did as a surge of chakra made itself felt through the mist. There was one. And then there were seven. Four in front. Two in the rear. One moving about, probably waiting for an opening. With all this hair talk, the two of them weren’t even able to come up with a plan on how they should go about fighting.
And the enemy did not spare them another opportunity to discuss it as he felt one of them begin building up chakra for a jutsu. Itachi focused on the direction of said chakra and began forming seals of his own, trying to beat them to it.
Before he could execute the jutsu, he felt a firm hand around his wrist before he was tugged sideward, and he found his masked face pressed against Genma’s neck and the portion of the trunk he’d been crouching behind riddled with slim knives that he did not even hear in the air.
Itachi looked up at the brunet just in time to watch him send the senbon from between his lips to a general direction in the mist. The Uchiha thought it was a missed shot until he heard the faintest sound of steel hitting steel.
They weren’t exactly out of the woods just yet because he was pretty sure there was a really strong wind jutsu coming at them right now. Itachi pushed himself off of Genma’s chest and executed a quick but small fire jutsu to burn the fallen tree and use it to shift the air in his attempt to break apart the enemy’s attack.
When the brunet under him (shit was he straddling him? He didn’t notice) felt they were too close to the flame, he rolled them over before hopping up to his feet and pulling Itachi up.
“I’ll take the rear,” said Genma firmly, as he made a dash for the fog. He didn't really think about what it would sound like until it was out of his mouth. And he had no regrets.
Oh, you’ll take the rear, alright. Okay, Shisui was no longer allowed in Itachi's home and head.
He was taken aback by the commanding edge in Shiranui’s tone. Or the fact that he even had it in him to take the initiative between them. But Itachi tried not to think about Genma taking the initiative between them. He tried not to think about Genma taking the rear.
While the jounin kept the two other nins busy and the one moving opponent at bay, the Uchiha pulled out his katana and focused on the four Mist nin he’d been left to deal with.
They came one after the other but Itachi had always been fast. And with the added benefit of being an Uchiha, hardly anyone stood a chance against his reflexes and eyesight. Still, one against four was kind of pushing it, especially when they had just finished a mission.
It took a while before he had run his blade through every single throat. By the end of it all, his clothes were torn and burned (by none other than himself) and his breathing a little more ragged and painful than usual. A trip to the hospital back home was necessary, he thought.
The raven set off to find Genma as the mist began to settle and he found him standing in a small pond, two bodies face down in the water, the back of their necks spiked with several senbon, while another was stuck to a tree by his own sword.
And Genma?
The brunet was crouched at the edge of the pond, using the surface as a mirror while he straightened the partition of his hair with one hand while the other clutched his bandana. His brows were knitted in concentration, as if he were performing delicate surgery.
The misplaced chunk of hair smoothly fell over his face before he swept it to the correct side and carefully (and almost ritually) tied the bandana back over his forehead. The rest of the brunet, on the other hand, looked worse for wear.
Itachi cleared his throat and Genma had finally found something else to fix his attention on than his reflection.
“Ponytail still intact, I see,” the brunet said with an approving nod. “You’re welcome.”
Okay, maybe tightening the ponytail did help somehow because he could not imagine how he would have kept an eye on all four enemies had his hair fallen in his face during battle.
"Ah." Didn't mean he was going to owe him his life for it, though. "We should find the others," said Itachi before taking to the trees.
The brunet took one last look at his reflection before following after the Uchiha. It didn't take too long for Genma to catch up.
“I hope we find a decent village to stay at on our way back," the brunet drawled. Itachi was never one for small talk during travel but it sounded more like he was thinking out loud. "I got a little blood in my hair and I can't wait to wash it out."
"There is a river at the border. You can wash it out there," said Itachi.
"Not without shampoo," he countered. Genma slowed a bit so he would fall a few feet away from Itachi but continued to match his pace with the Uchiha's. "See, you got a lot in your hair, too! And I think there's some swamp gunk in there."
"Thank you for your assessment," came his response, the sarcasm clear despite his formal tone. Okay, maybe Itachi preferred it when Genma called his hair pretty.
The brunet sped up once again and pulled ahead of Itachi. And suddenly all that talk of hair has led Itachi to notice nothing else but the way Genma's brown hair blew in the wind as they made their way through and out of the swamp. Worse still, the man decided to travel backwards and the raven had to endure watching the ends of his locks swiping at his wickedly charismatic grin.
"You know, if we do find a decent village, I can wash that out for you."
And so, maybe when they found the rest of their respective teams, they convinced the others to find some place with indoor plumbing to stay at.
And so, maybe the two teams ended up finding the same village a little ways past the border.
And so, maybe Itachi took Genma up on his offer to wash out the dirt from his hair (and then some).
And so, maybe Genma did let Itachi know what it was like to run his fingers through his hair and maybe tug on it lightly. Or roughly. Either way.
“Uhh, why am I out of conditioner?”
“Ah, yes. That would be me.”
“Okay, if you’re gonna start staying at my place all the time, you gotta start buying your own and— Wait, you used conditioner!”
“Hm?”
“And you’re dressed up in ANBU gear!”
“Please get to the point, my platoon is waiting.”
“You don’t wanna be caught dead with bad hair, too!”
“Ah.”
“I am rubbing off on you.”
“On all the wrong ways.”
“All you gotta do is ask and I’ll rub you the right way and any way you want.”