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Heavy summer air dragged Shisui down as he made the short trip to Itachi’s house. Tomorrow Itachi would be twelve, and Shisui would be out of town. He slogged down the sidewalk, over little flowers squeezing through the cracks, past a molten-haired Uzumaki wheeling her yellow bike up the driveway, until the light blue house at the end of the street appeared like a mirage before his sun-scorched eyes. Up the front steps he went, and sat down at the top to catch his breath and fan himself with one hand.
A breeze blew and the silver wind chime above his head clinked softly. He tilted one ear up; somewhere else above him, music was trickling out into the thick air. Soft, gentle music—piano, not unlike the music played every day during practice. But that had always floated in one ear and out the other, merely a marker he matched his steps to. This was different. He ruffled the back of his sweaty hair and closed his eyes.
It was sweet sounding, playful. Yellow, and it made his heart swell and fill with joy. His white sneakers tapped softly to the rhythm, a habit carved into him by years of dancing. Surely that was Itachi playing overhead; he’d vaguely mentioned piano lessons, but Shisui was otherwise in the dark with regards to Itachi’s aptitude for music. That darkness brightened now as he pictured Itachi’s face, beautifully blank with concentration, his fingers trickling across white keys. Shisui’s feet were still tapping excitedly, and he felt a sudden urge to jump up and dance in the street under the spotlight of the overbearing sun like a fool. He pressed his palms to his knees and began to stand up to do just that.
A sudden loud creak behind him broke the melody and a blast of cool air hit the back of his damp shirt, and he realized what an idiotic idea that had been.
“Goodness, Shisui.” Mikoto clapped a hand to her chest as Shisui turned around and smiled awkwardly. “Did you ring the bell? It must be on the fritz again.”
“Ah, no. I got distracted.” He blushed, realizing it must be concerning that he walked up to a door and thought to take a seat and let his sweat pool around him instead of ringing the bell. “By the music,” he added, pointing to the open window above.
“That’ll be Itachi. Come in, it’s too hot to be outside.” The door closed behind them and the music swelled louder, humming in Shisui’s ears. “Have a seat; I just cut up a watermelon, help yourself. I’ll get Itachi.” She headed up the stairs as Shisui entered the kitchen, still heady from the foreign sound of Itachi’s music. Sasuke was seated at the table, his little legs swinging through the air as he wolfed down a giant slice of watermelon. Pink juice dripped down his cheeks and over his clenched fists.
“Hey, goober.” Sasuke glared as Shisui sat down beside him. He looked a bit like an angry chipmunk with his flushed cheeks stuffed with watermelon.
“You’re a goober,” Sasuke chirped once he’d caught his breath.
“Nice one.” Shisui took a slice of watermelon from the cutting board. One floor above, the music ended all too abruptly like a candle being blown out and plunging him back into a dull, colorless reality, but the sound of approaching footsteps rekindled the smile on his face. He turned back to Sasuke. “How old are you now? Five?”
“You’re five,” Sasuke huffed.
“Burn, Shisui,” came Itachi’s dry voice through the kitchen door. He joined them at the table. “I didn’t know you were coming by today.”
“Early birthday present. Since I won’t be here tomorrow.” Itachi nodded. “I can’t believe I’ve known you for six years and that’s the first time I’ve ever heard you play the piano. You’re better than Izumo.” Itachi rolled his eyes. “Seriously, you could totally replace him.” Shisui grinned widely at the smug little smile on Itachi’s face.
…
“Shisui, your face looks funny.” Sasuke blurts it out smack in the middle of their conversation, not being old enough yet to know that there are some things you just don’t say.
Shisui blinked and dragged his gaze from the smile twisting on Itachi’s face to the light green wall directly in front of him.
“Gee, thanks,” he said flatly.
“Sasuke, don’t be rude,” Mikoto scolded, fixing her son with a stern gaze from across the kitchen as she wrung a dish towel in her hands. Itachi nodded solemnly, still fighting off an amused grin.
“I’m not! But he keeps smiling like—like,” he huffed and furrowed his eyebrows. Shisui peered at him curiously.
“Like?”
“Let me think.” He cupped his round chin in one hand frowned. “Like how Itachi looks when he eats sweet things.”
“You know, kid, your cuteness is really starting to wear off.”
…
Itachi pushed the bedroom window open and Sasuke sat down cross-legged on the bench beneath, staring outside. Shisui peered around the room curiously. All the furniture was white, the walls pale blue, not a speck of dust to be found. It had an almost sterile feeling. Shisui found it hard to believe anyone actually inhabited it.
“Are these the ones I gave you? After our first recital?” Itachi glanced back, his fingers carding through Sasuke’s spiky hair. He was growing out of it, but the last vestiges of that soft baby-hair texture still lingered. Shisui had picked up a shriveled bunch of flowers tied with a pink ribbon off the shelf housing Itachi’s many awards, including the crumpled white ribbon he’d been given on the same night.
“Yeah,” Itachi replied, and looked back out the window as he felt his face go pink.
“What are you doing with my notebook?” Itachi crossed the room and peered over Shisui’s shoulder.
“Making brownies,” Shisui said flatly. “I’m drawing something for your birthday.” He drew another squiggly line on the lined paper, finishing off his drawing of an elephant in a party hat. Itachi looked at it for a moment, then pressed a finger to the trunk of the elephant.
“That’s…quite phallic, Shisui.” Shisui looked up at Itachi with a look of curious awe on his face. “Thank you, though.”
“I never took you for a perv, ‘Tachi,” he replied, tilting his head as he reexamined his drawing. “But I guess you’re right, it is.”
“I’m not a perv,” Itachi said lightly.
“What’s ‘pha-llic’?” Sasuke, whom they’d assumed was thoroughly absorbed in watching the squirrels run through the yard, looked intently at them over his shoulder.
“Itachi?” Shisui prompted with a small smile.
“Sasuke, don’t you have some chores to do?” Itachi crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow pointedly. Sasuke sighed and slid off the bench with an angry frown that actually came off as quite endearing. As he tromped over to the door, Itachi reached out to sweep a hand through his spiky hair.
On the next page of Itachi’s notebook, Shisui was writing the words ‘HAPPY BIRTHDAY’ in fat block letters. Spots of black ink bled through the previous page.
“Don’t use all my pages.” Itachi peered over Shisui’s shoulder as he added little balloons and squares of confetti. Shisui snorted.
“Itachi, this thing has a hundred and ninety eight brand new pages left for you to use. Relax.” He pulled a few colored markers from the jar on the desk and started filling the letters in when he felt a lock of his hair being lifted up. “What are you doing?” He asked. Itachi’s blunt nails grazed his scalp lightly. A single strand of hair was pinched in between his fingers.
“Did you roll around in a field before you came here?” Itachi lowered his cupped hand down in front of Shisui’s nose to show him little pieces of leaves that had fallen into the swarm of his curls.
“Ow, ‘Tachi, that hurts,” Shisui whined as his hair was pulled taut between Itachi’s fingers and what looked like part of a flower petal dropped into his other hand. “Actually, I went and got you an extra birthday present this morning.”
“Did you bring it?” Itachi reached over and dropped the little pile of leaves into the trash. The chair creaked softly as Shisui leaned back and let Itachi’s fingers continue roaming through his hair, searching for more pieces.
“No. It’s not your birthday yet,” he sighed, smiling cheekily. “I’ll bring it by when I get back.” It was soothing, having Itachi’s hands in his hair. The sunlight seemed a little warmer, the blue walls softer and brighter, and the house was hushed in the drowsy summer heat. Fugaku was likely napping downstairs, Mikoto making tea in the kitchen, and Sasuke lazing around in his room and neglecting his chores. “Happy birthday, by the way,” Shisui added sleepily, the fatigue from the sun and the gentleness of Itachi’s hands settling over him like a pleasant, heavy fog.
“Thank you.” Itachi had picked all the little leaf pieces from Shisui’s hair already, but was still filtering through it absentmindedly. It wasn’t as soft as Sasuke’s, but unlike Sasuke, Shisui was able to sit still for more than seven seconds and didn’t object to Itachi playing with his hair. In fact, he seemed to be falling asleep.
“I’m ready for a nap, Itachi,” Shisui groaned, flopping facedown on the bed once Itachi withdrew his fingers from his hair to pick out a pair of long socks.
“I thought you were taking me and Sasuke roller skating?” Itachi frowned.
“No, I offered to take you roller skating, and he glommed onto you. As usual.” Itachi ignored this.
“He’s still learning, so we’ll have to hold his hands,” he went on, tying his hair up into a loose bun in front of the mirror.
“But I don’t wanna hold his hand,” Shisui complained. I want to hold yours, he didn’t say, but was surprised that the thought had even crossed his mind. “And you know he won’t hold mine.”
“Then you’ll have to skate by yourself,” Itachi said with a shrug. Shisui grunted.
“That’s no fun. Why can’t I just hold your hand instead?”
“I don’t want Sasuke to fall.” Itachi stood up and wrapped his hands around Shisui’s wrist, trying to drag him off the bed. “Please get off my bed. You’re all sweaty.”
~
“Mom, what color do you think this song is?” Shisui jabbed a thumb in the direction of the record player. His mother looked up and frowned. The crunch of the kitchen knife slicing through red onion on the cutting board paused as she listened closer. Shisui had just been dropped off after hours of rollerskating, just in time for dinner.
“What do you mean?”
“Close your eyes and listen. What color do you see?” Her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.
“I don’t see any colors, dear,” she said uncertainly. “Do you?” Shisui’s face fell.
“No, I guess not.” He mustered up a carefree smile as she opened her eyes again and more thin purple ribbons fell down on the cutting board. “Never mind.” And he turned around, busying himself with setting the table.
“I think it’d be beautiful if we could,” his mother added absentmindedly and Shisui stopped in his tracks and smiled to himself.
~
Shisui wished Itachi lived just a little bit closer, even just by one block. Every time he walked over there it seemed farther and farther and the trip became almost torturous the further the city plunged into summer. It felt like he was wading through knee-high sand by now, and he thought to himself there was not a single other person on earth he’d do this for. Not even Kushina. Maybe his parents.
He sank onto one of the wooden chairs outside this time, shaded by the small awning over the porch. The little grey Toyota was missing from the driveway, he realized. Itachi hadn’t mentioned anything to him, so he reached over the metal arm of the chair and rang the doorbell. Silence. Five minutes, ten minutes. When it became evident nobody was home, Shisui sighed and stood back up, leaving Itachi’s birthday gift on the doormat before stepping back into the sweltering heat.
~
That night, the grey sedan rolled back into the driveway and the family of four stepped out in somber silence and headed up the stairs to the front door. Sasuke was crying and rubbing his little fists over his eyes, but he didn’t understand why he was crying or why anyone had been crying. Itachi scooped him up in his arms and bounced him a little, kissed him on the cheek.
“Itachi, Shisui dropped off a gift for you,” Mikoto said as they trudged up the front steps. She was holding a rectangular package wrapped in pretty blue paper and a white basket full of fresh-picked oranges, each marked in black Sharpie with either a smiley face or a cute, cheesy little note like ‘you rock!’ Itachi picked out one with a goofy cat face scribbled on it and held it up in front of his little brother’s face. Sasuke stopped wiping his eyes.
“Sasuke, you love cats. Shisui drew this one.” Sasuke reached his chubby little hands out and took the orange from his brother’s hands.
“Kitty-cat,” he said softly, looking down at the drawing and plopping his head onto his brother’s shoulder.
“His drawings are silly, huh?” They stepped through the front door and Sasuke giggled and hiccuped.
“They’re silly,” he agreed.
The four of them headed straight to their respective bedrooms without more than a quiet chorus of ‘goodnight’s and quick hugs. After tucking Sasuke in and telling him a made-up story about traveling dancers that sent him straight to dreamland, Itachi flopped facedown on his own bed. The sheets hadn’t been untucked since he’d changed them a few days ago. Shisui’s faint smell lingered beneath him, something citrusy mixed with the metallic scent of dried sweat, and coconut hair products embedded in the pillows. He found himself burying his face in the pillow and squeezing it tightly to his body until he fell into a troubled sleep, hardly waking when Sasuke padded into his room and snuggled up beside him.
~
When Shisui returned two days later and walked in the dance room with four minutes to the beginning of practice, Itachi was absent. Shisui asked, in a voice that carried through the whole room, if anyone had seen him and collectively, the boys all shook their heads and went back to stretching.
It wasn’t until two days later that Itachi returned with tired eyes and weak smiles that flickered out as soon as Shisui looked away. Shisui did notice one other difference—a thin chord adorned with three metal rings resting against Itachi’s collarbone. He didn’t think much of it.
~
“He’s been pretty down, holed up in his room the past few days. I’d rather not leave him alone while we’re out. Sasuke is here, but of course, he’s too young to understand.” Mikoto chewed her lip anxiously for a moment, nodding into her phone before speaking again. “Thank you so much. We’ll see you in a bit.”
Yes, Shisui thought as he staggered through the summer heat once again, there really wasn’t a single other person he’d do this for. But Mikoto just called, practically begging him to keep Itachi company while Fugaku was at work and she was running errands. So he made the trek again for the third time that week. This time, the door swung open before he reached the top step, and Mikoto was ushering him in, offering him lemonade and chocolate chip cookies and thanking him over and over as she backed out the front door with about twelve reusable bags hanging off her arm.
Shisui piled a stack of cookies on a plate and headed up the stairs.
“Hey, Itachi,” he called through the bedroom door at the end of the hall, “Can I come in?” Itachi mumbled something and Shisui pushed the door open slowly. “How are you?” Itachi looked at him glumly from under his powder blue comforter.
“My mom called you?” He asked, and his voice was thick and stuffy. Shisui nodded.
“Yeah, she filled me in,” he said, sitting on the edge of Itachi’s bed. “Where’s Sasuke?”
“I sat him in front of the tv for a bit. I don’t want to worry him.”
“That’s a good brother.” Itachi grunted. “I brought you some food.” Itachi glanced at the plate in his hand.
“I’m not really hungry.” Shisui set the plate down on the desk and scratched his head. He wasn’t entirely sure what to say or do; the only loss he’d suffered had been back when he was four and the family dog died. Not to mention this was also the only time he’d ever seen Itachi as anything less than composed. Perfect.
“Is there…anything I can do?” He asked, sitting back down on the bed and gently patting the lump in the blanket where Itachi’s feet were.
“I don’t know,” Itachi sighed weakly. A few minutes passed in silence. Shisui looked around the room, although there wasn’t anything new to see since he’d last been here. The curtains were drawn, dampening the sunlight outside and coloring the room a dull, muted shade of gray.
Sometime after Shisui pulled the curtains and blinds open, Itachi’s timid voice came again. “Can you…hold me?” And Shisui nearly choked on his own breath.
Maybe it would’ve been easier if they were younger. Maybe it would’ve been easier if Shisui hadn’t just noticed four days ago this little warm flicker of excitement he felt whenever he was around Itachi. He didn’t know what it was, but it made him feel helpless and he didn’t like that. Well—he had one idea what it was.
A loud sniffle and the sound of a tissue being drawn from the box on the table startled him. Itachi was crying. Itachi was crying and Shisui wasn’t holding him.
He walked over to the bed slowly and laid down behind Itachi, gingerly draping an arm over his shoulders and trying to ignore the deafening pounding in his chest.
“Why don’t you tell me about her?” He asked after an uncomfortable moment of silence. Itachi let out a sigh before speaking, voice flat, almost detached.
“She let me have chocolate cake for breakfast every morning when we visited. And she always made her own mochi from scratch.”
“That’s sweet.” Itachi nodded silently. “What else?”
“She taught me how to play the piano.”
“Did she?” Itachi nodded again, and Shisui scooted a little closer to him. He could feel the warmth rising off Itachi from this distance, and he could just barely catch the clean smell of cucumbers and green tea off his hair. “She must’ve been a great teacher.”
“The best.” There was a long pause as Shisui racked his brain for something else to say, but as he opened his mouth, Itachi cut him off abruptly. “I’m not sure if I can keep playing.” Shisui opened his mouth wordlessly a few times, grappling with words and trying to find some way to tell Itachi that if he stopped playing the piano, it quite literally would feel like some of the light in the world being swallowed up by the dark. Funny. When he thought about it, he had only heard Itachi’s music once so far, but it felt like something he’d listened to his whole life.
“But…you play so beautifully,” he protested eventually. Itachi shrugged.
“It’ll just remind me of her. She taught me half of the songs I know.”
“Well, maybe you can keep her with you that way.” Shisui gave Itachi’s shoulder a gentle shake. “C’mon, I’m sure she would’ve loved for you to keep playing.”
“Hm.”