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Days stretched longer and longer; the sun was only just turning bronze by the time practice ended, bright rays lining the wood floor underneath Itachi’s feet. Around him, the room slowly emptied, but he took his time, leaning deep into each stretch until he felt tension in his muscles. In the mirror, he could see Shisui tossing things into his bag a few feet away.
“What are you looking for?” He asked, raising his right leg up in the air and holding onto his ankle. Shisui glanced up.
“Nothing,” he said, pulling his sweatpants on over his tights. “I’m not sure what’s taking her so long.”
“It’s no problem. I’m not done yet, either.”
“Yeah, speaking of, do you want any help there?” Itachi blinked at him.
“Sorry?”
“Do you want any help?” Shisui repeated, tilting his head to the side. “You seem tense. Here, let me help.”
“It’s fine, really—” Itachi began, but Shisui was already stepping closer and wrapping his hand around Itachi’s ankle and gently pushing his leg farther into the air.
It was just a hand on his ankle—and the slight press of Shisui’s body against his. That was it. Then why did it feel like lying in the sun? There was that warmth Shisui always radiated, and yes, it was as warm as his smile and his voice and his eyes, and it clung tightly to Itachi, rising through his body, making him almost feverish. There was his smell, hair oil and cologne and sweat, and his soft breaths against Itachi’s neck.
“Shisui?”
“Hmm?”
“You can let go of me,” Itachi said, gaze trained down on his fist clenched around the barre. A brief silence passed, tense and hot like a burn, before Shisui’s grip slackened and his hand fell away.
“I—sorry, I didn’t mean to—” he said softly, not looking at Itachi as he gathered his things calmly.
“It’s okay.” But his smile was faint and his skin buzzed where Shisui had touched. Shisui opened his mouth slowly, as if trying to find the words on their way out. Itachi was thankful for the interruption.
“Let’s go, boys,” Kushina said, poking her head into the room. “You alright, Shisui? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Yeah, I’m good,” he said, eyes wide. “Let’s go.” Itachi followed the two of them out, trailing at a distance as they chatted, zoning out to the sound of their voices with his cheek pressed against the window of her car. He closed his eyes against the sunlight, suddenly feeling tired and strange.
A hot shower ended up having the opposite effect he’d hoped for. He was tired, and every train of thought seemed to lead right back to the same place—Shisui. And that feeling. Part of him wanted more of it. Part of him was scared of what that meant. The water went cold, but that didn’t dampen the heat already coursing through his body again. He tried to ignore it, but closing his eyes and pretending it wasn’t there didn’t help. Eventually, he caved. And it felt good, but it didn’t.
The door shut with a quiet snap, hiding the light from the kitchen save for the thin ribbon at the floor. Itachi blew out a heavy sigh that he seemed to have been holding in all evening and slowly crossed the dark room. His phone pinged in the silence with a message from Shisui and he ignored it, unraveling the towels wrapped around his hair and waist and pulling a fresh pair of pajamas from the dresser instead.
Are we good? Itachi silenced his phone and sat down on the bench beneath his window. Through the mesh screen, the moon was bright and swollen, painting the space around him silver. The thoughts that had been muted by the rush of water and some inexplicable desire were beginning to creep back in, like vines. Itachi pressed his forehead to the glass, cool in contrast to the heat he was feeling.
Maybe he should’ve taken the fact that he had saved every little thing Shisui had given him since the day they met as a clue. Or the fact that he waited weeks to wash his sheets after the few times Shisui had laid in his bed just to save that smell and fall asleep to the feeling of it around him. There were so many of those things. The way he always found excuses to put his hands in Shisui’s hair, whether he had leaves in it or lint or little tufts of hair laying in front of his eyes.
“Oh, god,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. His breath fogged on the window.
“So I messed up,” Shisui began as soon as the door closed behind them and shut out the last few gusts of air conditioning. It’s summer again—but isn’t it always summer here? It seems like there’s constantly sweat dampening his hairline, like the sun warms his skin golden all year round.
“Oh, again?” Kushina asked boredly before flicking her tongue out to catch the ice cream already melting down the cone in her hand.
“Yes, again.” Shisui frowned.
“What did you do?”
“I think I freaked Itachi out a little,” he said with a sigh. “He’s been quiet for the past few days.”
“What could you have possibly done to do that?” Shisui shrugged.
“Just helping him with some stretches.”
“Does that mean you put your hands on him?” She wiggled her eyebrows at him.
“I mean—yeah. Don’t give me that look.”
“Why? Come on, Shisui, you weren’t just helping him with anything, you’ve been in love with that kid forever.” They paused at a crosswalk. Heat shimmered brightly on the asphalt. Kushina nudged a few stray hairs behind her ear, ignoring the way Shisui shifted uncomfortably beside her.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Well, apparently not.” The light shifted from red to white. “Tell him! I always tell people,” she said.
“Great, maybe you can tell him for me.”
“Nice try.” Shisui sighed, pulling his sunglasses down from his forehead and running a hand through his sweaty hair. “For all you know, he likes you too.”
“I don’t know if I wanna take that chance.” Kushina shrugged.
“Fine. But for the record, I’m pretty sure he likes you too.”
“…Really, you think so?”
“Can you tie my hair back? My hands are sticky,” she said, ignoring his question and pulling the scrunchie off her wrist.
“Oh. Sure.”
The feeling of Shisui’s warm hand in his began to have the opposite effect than intended. It was just a little too tight around Itachi’s knuckles and every few seconds, Shisui would squeeze gently, something that had always meant, ‘good luck. You’ll do great.’ On Itachi’s other side, linked with a smaller, softer hand, was Kushina, finishing off their pre-performance pep talk.
Shisui’s eyes opened and he lifted his head, showing the two of them a bright smile before bringing their hands to his lips and kissing each of them in turn—Kushina first, then Itachi. Itachi liked the way their hands parted, fingers brushing against one another’s right to the very tips and leaving his palm tingling as it landed back at his side.
“We better go,” Kushina said, hurrying over to where the rest of the dancers were gathering around Mei. Itachi turned to follow her, but—
“When did your hair get so long?” Shisui asked playfully, giving the tight French braid resting along his spine a gentle tug.
“It’s been this long for years,” Itachi replied lightly, cheeks dappled pink.
The two of them stood side by side just behind the curtain, blinding golden lights against their silhouettes. Every now and then, one would turn to the other and share a few quiet words. The backs of their hands were almost brushing. Shisui glanced over to where Itachi stood farther back and winked and smiled brightly. Itachi smiled back, but the two of them were already beneath the stage lights.
Itachi’s eyes followed the two of them through their whole routine, every delicate twirl and leap, their soft slippers gliding along polished wood. Bright golden light rested inside the crescents of Shisui’s deep curls like a crown. Itachi’s lips turned up in a small smile, nerves settling slightly as he counted down the remaining beats of soft piano before he would follow them into the spotlight. Shisui’s strong hands wrapped around her hips covered in soft, pale fabric and he lifted her into the air, and Itachi realized, watching as they danced off stage, entwined in one another. Shisui wasn’t his. He was already someone else’s. And that little smile garnered by the sight of him dancing slipped off Itachi’s face and down to the floor beneath his feet with an almost audible shatter. He stepped over the pieces and out onto stage.
Shielded behind the curtain, Shisui pulled Kushina into a tight hug and murmured congratulations in her ear. He let go first, and she turned to head backstage, but he stayed, watching Itachi soar powerfully through the air in red and white.
“Still haven’t told him, have you?”
“What do you think?”
A few weeks passed by; they went to school in the mornings and they danced in the evenings, just like it had always been. But there was something foreign in there, too.
There were days when Itachi would stay, dance until his feet nearly bled and the moon glowed silver on the polished floors. Until he felt an audience at his back.
“Dad wants me to start locking up sometimes now that I have my license,” Shisui said with a shrug the first time Itachi noticed. “And I really can’t do that until you leave.” He smiled warmly.
“Sorry.”
“Please. You dance beautifully,” he added, not missing the proud look that crossed Itachi’s face. “In case I haven’t told you.” His voice was impossibly soft—Itachi imagined that to be the sound of flower petals dragging on skin, folding gently around his heart. He would’ve liked to dance to that sound.
“I’m sure you have at some point.” He knelt down and pulled his slippers off, so conscious of Shisui’s gaze on him, heavy and light all at once. Thankfully, the dark hid the way his lips were fighting for a smile and the way his face had gone redder than dancing could ever make it.
“I’ll just have to do better, then.” Itachi laughed as he stood back up and brushed his hands over the dust clinging to the knees of his tights. “But promise me you’ll go home and rest for a while.”
“I will,” Itachi said lightly, walking over to meet Shisui at the door.
“Good.” He reached out, hand resting low on Itachi’s spine for a brief moment as he walked by. And he might’ve been mistaken, but it almost felt like Itachi lingered there for a split second.