Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1087569.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Choose_Not_To_Use_Archive_Warnings, Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/
      Non-Con, Underage, Major_Character_Death
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Naruto
  Relationship:
      Uchiha_Itachi/Uchiha_Madara, Uchiha_Itachi_&_Uchiha_Madara, Uchiha
      Itachi/Uchiha_Sasuke, Uchiha_Itachi_&_Uchiha_Sasuke, Uchiha_Itachi/Uchiha
      Shisui
  Character:
      Uchiha_Sasuke, Uchiha_Itachi, Uchiha_Madara, Uchiha_Shisui
  Additional Tags:
      Rape/Non-con_Elements, Illnesses, Terminal_Illnesses, Bruises, Biting,
      Mental_Instability, Underage_Sex, Character_Death, Character_Study,
      Implied/Referenced_Self-Harm, Self-Harm, Canon-Typical_Violence, Violence
  Stats:
      Published: 2013-12-18 Updated: 2014-03-05 Chapters: 7/? Words: 6574
****** Corrupt ******
by Sinsrose
Summary
     Collection of drabbles based around Lily's artwork, mostly about the
     Uchiha's.
***** Chapter 1 *****
It’s the everlasting silence that seems to drive them into a never-ceasing
madness. Fingers curled around a slim waist, one that has been though hell and
high water just to keep the other living. The fingers almost seem skeletal and
boney, A muted heliotrope color that stretches across the knuckles, the faded
coloring of bruises, the marks upon the flesh.
 
Bare skin of the collarbone exposed across the cold air. Raven strands falling
across the flesh draped over the soft material of the fishnet shirt. His
fingers are spasming beyond his control, twitching from the pain flashing
across his inner eyelids. The vermillion color leaking from the comer of his
eyes dripping, polling as it slides across the skin. The steady drips as it
splashes across the inner palm of his hand.
 
Looking like small colored spatters of snow almost across the tanned flesh in
which the scarlet liquid seems to stick out upon. His mouth open, making this
borderline moaning noise from the pain awakened from his eyes. He can feel the
calloused grip, that keeps the light from hitting them, keeps them in the
oblivion to try to dim the pain.
 
His own hand wanting to rip his hair out from the pain. Despite what he has
felt before, this feels like an agony on his body. There’s another moaning
noise- that escapes his parted lips. He sees white behind his closed eyes. He
can hardly think at this point, he can’t process that pain. Every-time the pain
in his eyes comes around he stops thinking. The pain in his head makes
everything ring, and the slightest light hurt his eyes.
 
The albicant light seems smoldering across his eyes. It’s like a fire eating at
them. He wants to cry out, and scream or even shriek at the top of his lungs
but instead he lets out these low degrading moans of pain, that seem
everlasting. Blood pooling in his open hand. His words not making any sense
that do escape his tongue and lips.
 
He tries to catch his breath, lungs feeling as if they are being burned. The
sharp pain in them sempiternal, despite the medications he’s taken for his
illness that will win sooner or later. His words fragmented and broken Japanese
being spat and muttered between whimpers. “Please, I-” It’s choked and broken
as if he’s trying to speak English.
 
Raven hair thick, covering deep cinnabar eyes, stare at the mere child that is
almost shrieking from the pain. His fingers digging almost into the flesh of
his wrist almost making moon shaped bruises in them, by how hard he’s gripping
his wrist. “Shh.” He mutters,soft into the ear of the young Uchiha almost like
a cooing mother.
 
Almost, but without the caring affection of one. “It’s almost over.” There’s a
pause in his voice, almost sounding like near amusement, borderline pleasured
from the other suffering.There’s a moment where Itachi goes slack in the hold.
A brief second where the pain stops and he can breathe without feeling like
there’s acid in his throat. A moment where his eyes aren’t given him a migraine
that leaves him feeling like he wants to collapse on the spot.
 
Tremors are ranking though him. After-effects of the seeing pain. Itachi opens
his eyes for a moment seeing the tanned flesh of his hand. Blackness to his
eyes that are failing with his vision, it’s evident in them. His free hand
moves to cast Madara’s hand away from his eyes. Blood seeping from them still
dripping from his face.
 
There aren’t words that either of them say. They don’t speak of this. They
don’t mention each other’s pain. Itachi never acts like this ever happens, he
hides it. Pretends that he doesn’t feel anything, but at heart he has a weight
that is unbearable on his heart. The twisted lies that he casted upon his
younger sibling at such a young age.
 
There’s nothing said as the elder Uchiha brushes a strand of hair from Itachi’s
face moving it away. Brushing his own dark locks from his eyes to look at the
child, parting his lips for a moment almost to speak but he stops midway
changing his thought.
 
  “It would be wise to sleep, child.”
Nothing more is said as hair falls back across the elder’s eyes turning to walk
away. Not uttering another word to him, a fleeting moment of emotion as his
fingers meet the other’s as his hand slips away from his wrist, and Madara
retreats to his own corridor leaving the Uchiha standing looking as if he had
cried bloody tears.
***** Corrupt [Part 1] *****
[I could corrupt you, it’d be easy.] [Inspired off ofthis]
 
Dysphoira.
 
It’s the best way to describe it when it first happens. The feeling that seems
to resonate though their bones, that curls under the skin. It makes the hair on
him stand out on end, feeling the calloused fingers touch to the flesh of his
face. It’s unsettling the touch, it’s one he hasn’t felt in years.
 
It’s been years, since he’s been touched upon by someone that wasn’t Shisui.
His skin feels like it’s crawling, even though he has a stoic stare at the
elder male. His flesh wants to squirm or pull away from the chilling touch that
seems to flare a fire across his skin.
 
Scarlett eyes mirrors scaring back at one another. He can see the curious look
in the elder, the almost taunting look at him, thier eyes seem frozen at they
look at one another. Thumb slowly moving back and forth across the skin of his
lip, that’s a faint pink and parted ever so slightly. The slight chill of air
hitting across the fingertips.
 
The roughened skin holding the side of the other’s face as if cradling it. He
hasn’t moved since the other began to touch his skin, the touch foreign, but
also not. The advances like this haven’t been made on him since he was a child.
 
Advances that had left his mind reeling, and he had repressed things. Certain
matters, that no one had known about, but him. 
 
Madara had this way of being sly and playing things off. Even in a discord, or
paradox. He was always one step ahead of the younger Uchiha, and well there
wasn’t anything to be said about that. The mere fact that he could smell him by
how close he was to him was unsettling him..
 
It made a knot twist into his stomach, but Itachi never once cried out for
help. He never once spoke about these matters or even spoke words about these
types of matters. It was an unspoken agreement, and he hadn’t seeked physical
contact in years due to this. There was a fear that seemed to flicker in his
eyes if you looked hard enough.
 
If you looked. The only one that had been able to touch Itachi without the
unease had been his brother, but none the less times had changed. The comfort
wasn’t an option anymore. Not at least in these matters. Madara none the less
stared on at the child, his eyes seeming to try to stare into his soul.
 
There was a small swallow from his throat, as his own cinnabar eyes met the
others back. Madara’s hand slipped from his cheek, movements almost seeming
light. Seeming almost soft for the male, who lacked any care or even concern
for the younger of the two. 
 
The game he was playing, was corrupt. He knew this, his heart knew this by all
means. Madara was perhaps the one person that could undo Itachi’s mind and soul
in one breath if he wanted to. If he craved to, he could do it. As much as
Madara had been a savior he had also been Itachi’s twisted shadow.
 
“Is this what you wanted from him? Seeing him quake in fear yet morbid
curiosity as he stands before you?” The tongue that lets those words escape is
one that is of rancid poison. The words are executed and fluid, not even so
much as a flinch as he says them.
 
He drags his fingernails down the exposed flesh that is his neck for a mere
moment. Itachi says nothing his lips moving to closed line. He doesn’t dare
move let alone speak right now, but he can feel the inner core of his body
reacting, the movements that are drawing upon the heat. One that he’s learned
to keep shut, to isolate and ignore.
 
"You yearn for the affections that you once had as a child. It’s no secret."
The words strike across his mind like a burn. A wound to his pride, he knows
what the other is talking about. He means Sasuke. He means he longs for his
adoring little brother, he yearns for the touches he can never have. Perhaps if
they had been born in another life-
 
Pain. White hot sparks though his skin. Teeth perched upon the skin. Digging
into the flesh, drawing blood trails to the side of his neck. He stiffens as he
feels Madara’s other hand, press a hand over his hip. Fingernails digging into
the flesh that a milky white color.  Lips pulls away from the marred skin, eyes
staring back into his soul.
“We’ll have to fix that problem won’t we? Forget about those foolish little
affections.”
***** Chapter 3 *****
[image]
 
[Based offthis]
 
It’s not that he cares. It’s not even like he should care. Yet he finds himself
wasting his breathing bringing the kid out of the village. In his defense, he
really shouldn’t care about him at all. He doesn’t need suchattachments.He does
need someone to fall back and rely on. All that leads to is pain in his eyes,
he learned the hard way eons ago. 
 
Madara’s heart doesn’t exist anymore. It was gone ages ago. It was lost ages
ago, and yet why is he drawn to the child. Why does he even bother to bring him
away from this place and let him be able to breathe and try to compose himself?
The question even Madara doesn’t seem to know the answer to. He finds himself
doing it. Grabbing the child’s forearm into roughened fingers clutching tight.
 
He can see the child’s tears. But his hand merely goes to grip the teen in a
bruises grip on his forearm. What was in the past doesn’t matter anymore. The
child’s past is no longer his life. It’s no longer who he is. It’s no longer of
use. The child he once was isn’t there anymore. His fingers dig into Itachi’s
forearm deeper as if to tear him from crying.
 
“Control your emotions child.”
 
Yes, he’s a child in his eyes. He knows so little. So very little. So little.
He lacks understanding of things, some things at least, though Itachi may be a
bright and smart child he lacks understanding of some subjects. Itachi seems to
stiffen at the tighter grip that’s thrown upon him.Madara’s nails beginning to
leave crescent moon shaped marks on his skin.
 
One of the younger Uchiha’s hands goes to wipe at the tears that are leaking
from his eyes. His darkened locks hiding one of the tear stained eyes of a
child. The burden is one that will not be forgotten by him. He cannot forgot
it, what he has done. Even being so calm, putting on that facade, even past
that he’s still a shell of who he once was.
 
Itachi almost seems to cling at the pain in a sense. It gives him something to
struggle and latch onto, something that keeps him alive or makes him want to
struggle though each day. Madara pauses for a moment as Itachi sniffs again,
his emotions clearly evident getting the better of the boy. 
 
"Control yourself."
 
It’s a bitter barked out order. A lack of emotion in his tone. The grip on the
teen now bruising. Madara can see the flesh that pans out to a purple color
under his hand that is griping his forearm. His mouth leans over to the shell
of the other’s ear.
 
"Forget him, the moment you stuck your sword though thier throats, you
lost him." 
 
Madara’s words are nothing but cruel to the child. Nothing but harsh whispers.
He’s not going to sugarcoat things, he’s not going to tell him that things are
alright. No, he knows this boy is smarter than that. He can hear the pathetic
noise from the child, the sound of cut of and refrained sobs almost.
 
"He will hate you. Detest you."
 
The words are a murmur across the ear. He can feel the boy shift his gaze
towards him. The seething emotion beneath the pain that is riddled across his
eyes. He can feel the dislike towards him, it is evident that much from the
boy. Itachi’s other hand goes to pull at his that’s holding his forearm.
 
Madara’s fingers dig deeper drawing small welts.
 
                                            “I only speak the truth. Itachi.” 
***** Chapter 4 *****
Chapter Notes
     Post Itachi's death
Art Source: Lily 
        Writing is my own.
There’s a stilled silence that seems to seem endless. One that seems to stretch
upon the quiet of the room and seem endless. What might however get someone’s
attention is the man curled clutching himself like a broken child. The raven
locks hanging over his face, and draped over the bare skin of his back. His
hands curled around his knees clutching it as hard as they can.
The sight of blood perhaps even evident under the skin, or even crescents in
the areas he’s touched. He’s shaking, more or less and trembling, his legs
curled up by his chest. He’s bare of any clothing, any hair, not a drop on his
body but the hair upon his head. His lips trying to keep the sounds from
escaping him, almost a sob breaching past his lips.
Madara is wrecked with another tremble, one that seems to be endless in his
frame. His legs crossed over one another to try to calm himself. Fingers biting
into the flesh almost as he’s trying to self-inflict himself. He’s been like
this for a few hours, curled valuable in this state in more than one reason.
He’s naked, lacking anything, an there’s vivid emotions that are raging though
him.
Emotions that perhaps have not wrecked him since Izuna’s death. He’s a
collected person even when violent and insane, he’s collected and never lets a
strong emotion like this leak though. He swallows almost numbly trying to not
sob. Clutching his white skin hard, feeling his nails dig into it enough to
leave marks. It’s not enough.
How foolish had he been? How foolish had he been? He had let someone see a side
of him that he knew would be toxic to himself. Madara had let someone under his
walls after decades of being alone and he had chose a dying man at that. Though
the patterns in which it happened were corrupted as he noticed, he still
couldn’t detach the emotion that the prodigy had let him feel.
The mental ache had felt like a backlash of a ripped open wound, in the deepest
part of him. Madara was unable to even speak at this point. His mind shrouded
in the memories of the later. He had known this day was coming, he had sensed
it. He has known that it was going to befall them both. It was a matter of
time. Fate was a matter of time, but that didn’t mean he was going to remain as
composed as he said he would.
He had grown too attached. Much too attached, to the point where his old self,
the caring elder brother had emerged for brief periods of time around the
prodigy. The side that had been softer in nature even after the hell he had put
him though. He choked, a low whimper of a noise escaping his lips.
The bare emotions that had escaped into his mind hitting him.  The grief that
had escaped into him was one that was abnormal for him. It made him clutch his
own body tighter, almost afraid of the onslaught of emotion. His body curling
tighter on himself. He tried to breath without wheezing or the sharp intake of
breath.
How had he fallen this low? Why had he let the child get under his rock hard
skin? Why did he let this happen to himself again? He had swore after Izuna, no
one ever would get close to him and understand him again.The cracks of his mind
had caused him weakness, a weakness that had become know upon the mere concern
he had suffered though during the contact he had kept with the young Uchiha.
His composure was starting to crack. More and more, this wasn’t supposed to
happen. He was supposed to be able to walk out of this without anything felt.
This had been his cycle, not the others. This had been his game not Itachi’s.
This had been his corrupt doing, and yet here he was feeling as if someone had
squeezed at his heart. 
How trivial it had been. It had been useless to fight the emotions. Even as
much as he did, he could feel his heart bleeding beneath the surface. A broken
noise escaped his throat, one that was pathetic of nature coming from a man
that was so corrupted by power and taint. It sounded almost unreal. It didn’t
feel real.
His eyes had an evident lack of sleep. The shadows under them, apparent and
showing. Madara hadn’t slept in four days. The exhaustion was in soul, mind and
body. The display of emotions he had right now, was ripping him apart in ways
he hadn’t thought imaginable. He clutched himself tighter, trying to choke back
the sobs, and the tears that were threatening to escape him. He tried to focus
himself on something anything.  But alas he failed.
He failed.Once more. The purpose had been failed, the weight of it sinking in.
Attachments lead to no good purpose. None at all, caring leads to weakness,
weakness I cannot afford any longer. He gritted his teeth slightly feeling
another tremor in his body. A noise that sounded like a sob this time did
escape his lips.
Tears. Where not evident until he felt the wet water come across his face. The
liquid that seemed inhuman for him to even process let alone fear. What have I
been reduced to? Crying over a child, that was no burden that I caused. He
swallowed his tongue it seemed, the small noises escaping his lips. He didn’t
bother to move, from how he was curled on himself in the motel room. 
He was crying over him. God damn him if there wasone. Madara was falling apart
at the seams, showing things that no one would ever see. No one would ever
know. He had gotten too close to the boy, perhaps in his own twisted way cared
a bit too much. He exhaled a breath that was a choked noise. 
The prodigy whether he knew it or not had twisted his way inside his heart. It
had been a flaw to even care about the other. Weakness, one that should have
never happened. One that never should have existed. One that should have
remained dead. Madara rests his head on his knee, feeling the hot tears.
What a petty existence I have become.  Closing his eyes, he sucked in another
breath. Afraid to even think of anymore on the matter. Ashes to ashes and dust
to dust. It’s a curious, thing, life. ‘We almost always question our existence,
then again. The only thing from keeping me from slipping into more madness, is
you..’
"After all, you have lasted a time that is beyond fathoming with no one to aid
you but yourself. You give yourself far too little credit.”
He had been wrong, he had only survived because he indulged in a darker path
that the child had let him do so saving what was left of him. He had seen
himself in the young prodigy in a sense the other couldn’t even imagine, and
Izuna. Madara had lost what was left of himself, the moment he had slipped away
into the land that was the dead. He tried not to think, but it was impossible,
he given into someone for the last time. The emotional attachment to anything
had died, had left him, as he knew the other was heading to a sealed fate.
His crying was the leftover pent up emotions, that had been shown only to the
Uchiha. The only one that would ever know that side of the former head of the
Uchiha clan. The burden lay upon him, to slain it, and erase him from his mind.
But Madara was finding it difficult considering he had spent such a long period
with the young prodigy.
"I failed.." There was nothing left but ashes of despair that remained, and a
greater self-loathing of himself. A greater one, that vowed he’d never voice
human emotion again, not at this cost. Not at the cost that was wrecking his
body, making him unable to sleep, and making him this pitiful wreck of a being.
Unknown to anyone, that night the Uchiha cried himself into a slumber that
lasted for days. And when he did awaken there was nothing left but red eyes,
that had a purpose. And a heart that no longer served a use except living. He
had cast away the remains of what was left of humanity and forgotten them,
burying them deep inside his heart, to never let out of the chains that bonded
them inside the shadows.
These were the ashes of despair.
***** Chapter 5 *****
There’s a silence that seems to cast into days though it’s mere seconds and
moments. It stretches and it seems almost defining to the one whom is standing
there. The piter patters of rain strikes across the ground, the downpour making
the quiet seem loud. Standing there obscured under the rain and soaked to the
bone in a man. Some would call him that, but to the eyes of a mother he is
nothing more than a child thrown into the fragments of war.
Raven strand that part over a face that has the eyes of a man in war but is
supposed to be an ignorant child.  He’s seen much in his life; he’s seen things
that perhaps that he wishes he never did. That he wanted to never have seen.
There’s a dulling silence, and a numbness that fills him as he stands at the
river. The cold seeping through his clothes and onto his skin, as he kneels
there hunched over.
There are no words, none that describe the dysphoria, and dwale that he has
been doing since it happened. Exactly what happened he will never be able to
grip, nor will he ever be able to speak of right again. The sempiternal pain
that is cast into his heart and the shadows that seems to grip and squeeze it
with every passing moment. Riddled with the facts of his heart, as his mind
tries to push it away and cast it under the pool that is consuming his being.
He’s haunted by the mere death.  
The water that seems like a grave. His eyes black as night leaking what seem to
be tears, one can never be quite sure. He’s curled by the riverside, hidden out
of view, his entire frame shaking it seems, face hidden as much as it can by
curling up almost on the dirt. Not caring about the grim or an inch of it that
seems to be brought upon him. He can’t forget.
No, he’d never forget what happened. The eyes that now bleed, because of the
events that occurred this day. He won’t forget it till the day he dies, there’s
a shaking in his frame as he chokes. Feeling a quiet sob raise from his lips
despite fighting it for these last fear months after the other had passed. The
choking feeling is suffocating across his mind. It’s like being pulled under
the water even though he isn’t, it’s like someone has pulled him under and left
him there.
The grief that is in his features is evident, even though he said he’d get over
this. All he wants to do is stop fighting, but he knows that he must live on.
He must survive even though this. Though it all, he needs to get though the
darkness that tries to shroud his heart. He chokes on a cry curling tighter by
the river trembling and shaking. He’s trying to not make a noise, trying not to
choke on the cries that seem to pour out of him. The wound aching so much,
there isn’t anything that can be done to fix this.
His fingers bite into his palms, sharp pain as he curls against himself by the
river. He’s curled by it because it’s the only thing that seems to make him
remember his sense of clarity but at the same time it drags him under. He wants
to escape from it all, the agony in his heart. He would shove it under,
somewhere in the back of his mind if he could.
But he can’t.
                He can’t. He made a promise that he needs to keep. He’s been
haunted by it. It’s painful, but his burden to bear, the weight in which he is
held to together even as he cries. Cries of a loss of a loved one that couldn’t
be avoided. The loss of his best friend, and his cousin. Someone that knew how
he felt, that he could actually feel at ease about, and knew the position he
was in. He struggles to get ahold of himself as he sits up by the river
drenched in the rain. You cannot even tell that he was crying. It looks like
the rain had just fallen upon him. It’s a weakness to care at times, but it
doesn’t matter to the young Prodigy that seems to have his heart ripped out. 
I wish, that this had not been casted upon either of us.
It’s the remaining thought left in him, as he lets go of his grief never to cry
real tears like this again. Only the next time they will remain as blood, and
nothing more. Just bloodwith nothing left of feeling inside of him.
***** ηιﻭнтмαяєѕ *****
The small frame of a timid child curling against him, is one that is familiar. 
Though he may be older than him only by a few years, the mindset he has is one
that is mature for his age. His fingers seem to curl around the other,
unconsciously almost protective of him, ever since their shared meeting of
introducing themselves to one another in the rubble that day. 
The prodigy is asleep for now, rave hair casted over a tiny face, one that has
seen the gore and carnage of war but remains innocent for now. Untainted for a
short period of time. The boy is breathing soft, curled aganist his cousin in
his sleep unconsciously, he doesn’t even know that he had fallen asleep around
Shisui. He’s still young enough that he really doesn’t care either.
The serenity of the moment is one that Shisui tucks away into his memory,
looking back on it in later moments. This is perhaps the one few times in the
prodigy’s life at least that he’ll be at ease like this, one of the few brief
moments like this. Shisui tucks a strand of his cousin’s hair behind his hair
watching the boy sleep. He’s almost protective of him despite how young they
are.
The circumstances have made the pair of them close in times of war. There’s a
moment longer with the longing moment, before Shisui moves upon hearing his
name be called by someone, leaving the boy to sleep. He remains in a peaceful
sleep undisturbed by nightmares.
~
The years that follow, change the child. He grows into an intelligent boy,
people seeming to think he’s ignorant when he’s really not. By the time he’s
thirteen his life has been casted into something that is impossible to forget.
There’s no escaping his fate, his mind always weighted by the stress and
pressure. 
There’s only brief middle ground in-between moments that are hellish on his
body. Moments were he loses himself, and forgets the clan- the village
everything that he’s been struggling for. Moments in which he’s lying on his
side, Shisui’s fingers touching over the delicate flesh on his arm in almost a
soothing matter. There’s only brief small moments like this when they both are
back from missions. 
They don’t talk, it’s simpler that way. There’s no weight when they don’t talk.
Shisui’s fingers sweeping over the skin in delicate motions, that make the
younger Uchiha exhale a soft breath, the touches so tender across his skin.
Unlike the matters of mind that sometimes make him want to breakdown for hours
on end.
If fate would have it, he would rest in Shisui’s arms, just forgetting about
the world. The fingers sweep across the skin, dipping over his skin on his
arms, the flesh of his neck pausing to touch over cheekbones in a sweeping
movement. The movement is so simple, yet means so much to them that is
unspoken. It’s their secret place, being wrapped up like this in one another’s
arms. Shisui’s darkened curled locks hang over his face, framing the boyish
face, that is smiling at the small twitches that Itachi seems to give at the
small touches.
Itachi seems to curl around Shisui in an unspoken agreement. Shisui is the only
one that has seen him at his weakest points, the only one that he’s let in this
far beneath the surface. Shisui’s fingers touching over skin, being so gentle,
he’s been the only one after all this time that has been able to touch Itachi
because he’s known him for so long. Because of the bond that neither one of
them can described but has been fated between them. 
There’s a small brushing of lips across a forehead, almost delicate in touch.
The gentle caring of almost it seems of a mother to it’s child, or perhaps even
a lover. The bond that binds them is one that is a yuanfen, a bond that is made
by the fate in which they were casted into, the gears of war in which they were
brought together but also will tear them apart. Those days are fast
approaching, and Itachi won’t let those mere facts bother him or tries not to
and tries to find comfort in the remaining days.
Itachi’s eyes flutter closed, listening to the thump of the heartbeat. The
familiar heartbeat that he’s known ever since he was a child. The heavy weight
of it, the beat that seems to set his soul ablaze with emotions he shouldn’t
yearn for in this time and place, but then again destiny was never a kind soul
to the prodigy. 
His breathing calms as he’s lulled into a calmed state. By the tender touches
upon his skin, warmth blooming in the pit of his stomach, that is familiar, but
he chooses to ignore.Instead he curls around the touches, letting the memory
stay in his mind, as a happier moment. One he can look back on later days.
Shisui doesn’t mind, he just touches his lips to the younger Uchiha’s head
briefly soothing the other into a state of sleep. Keeping him close for the
longest time.
~
Breath comes out in a rasp. Eyes wake, body in a cold sweat frozen from the
nightmare. The memory etched into his skin from the dream, the vivid dream that
haunts him. Memories from the past that haunt his mind. Lying across a cheap
motel bed, trying to wake up his body that doesn’t want to move. He closes his
eyes again trying to block out the memories behind his eyes.  He gasps out a
name- a name that he used to cling to, his fingers digging into the sheets
trying to calm the tremors that are moving though him. He’s curled around
himself, in the sheets trembling ever so slightly.
He’s alone.Utterly alone.
The warmth that he was had gone. Not forgotten but just gone. Only left is the
memory, the memory of being held. Of being safe- and god does he miss it. The
simple moments that had felt like so long ago but seemed to last a lifetime.
Itachi curls almost up in the sheets. This is the first nightmare that he has
had in years- and god he needs, he needs him. He’s weak in this moment, this
moment of time, but only right now.
"Shisui!"
He chokes out, but no one answers, he’s curled around himself. The other has
been long gone for years, drowned by the river. After making Itachi promise
things, that Itachi would never go against it is his burden to bear but it
makes him stronger. Even if it hurts. He curls around himself wishing for the
warmth of a man that used to be his best friend, lover and was his cousin.
***** Chapter 7 *****
The air is past twilight well into the night. The remains of the sunset that
was drenched in soft colors such as purples, pinks and oranges that cascaded
the world with a light once are gone, fading as the sun slips below the
horizon. The soft colors melting into a twilight, that is blackened skies. Dark
blues blanketed by small dots of light that are the balls of gas burning above
in the distance far away. Shining giving beauty to the otherwise quiet night by
lighting the sky in an illumination.
It’s such simplicity, the eve of starlight overhead. The touch of summer heat
that bathes the air amidst the starlight, drenching the people in an almost
warm heat but it’s not overbearing. Hair slightly sticking to one’s forehead or
clothing is clinging from their cotton or silk fibers from the slight heat in
the air from the hotter months.
The Naka River flowing in a gush in the background and the clear waters are
flowing past a bend, and over a cliff side, the familiar noise and rumble from
the river soothing to ones ears. The rampant waters that flow not harsh but
almost soft but to a child it would sweep them under into the depths if they
weren’t careful. Soft laughter can be heard being exchanged between two people
by the waters depths on this summer’s night.
Boyish curls are hanging over a face who is laughing, seeming much more
childish than his actual age. Animated movements as he laughs, a small smile is
stretching over his lips for mere moments at a time. His eyes are flickering
upon that of his cousin whom is deemed the source of the laughter. His body
seems to heave over from laughing so hard at him. 
Prodigy some may call him, is drenched, in the river, soaked to the bone. He
cannot even fathom in the first place how he ended up in the river at this
point. He just knows, he’s a little cold now, and soaked, and his cousin thinks
it’s the most comical thing in the world. He presses his fingers to his hair,
tugging the wet strands away from his face, pursing his lips slightly. Almost –
Is he actually pouting?
 The laughter stops from the other for mere moments as he sees the expression
upon the tinier built male. Well tinier to a point, just because he looks tiny
doesn’t mean it makes him a chick. His mind corrects him, some of the
disagreements he’s heard well- that can be saved for another time, and those
don’t matter.  All he can remember vaguely is someone getting punched for
mistaking his younger cousin for a chick.
Back to the current train of thought though, his cousin ispouting,
pouting. Uchihas don’t pout, they don’t do anything of that nature but here he
is witnessing that from his soaked cousin.  “Don’t you dare blame this on me.”
The words are soft spoken towards him, light and airy. It’s evident that he’s
so carefree around him. The burden of the shinobi world forgotten for the brief
gap in time. The few days that they have with one another, they spend it like
this, laughing at such childish things.
Nonetheless, it doesn’t stop the boy from pouting in the river. He hasn’t
bothered to get up, well not yet. He’s waiting for his cousin to get closer.
Shisui is still laughing despite the pout written across the young Uchiha’s
face. “Oh come on, Itachi. You know I hadn’t meant to do that.” He extends his
hand out, fingers held out to help him to his feet.
That should have raised a red flag. The moment that is done, it’s like luring a
moth to a flame. The movement is done within a blink of the eye, pulling his
cousin into the river with him with a splash from the water. Shisui getting
soaked much too quickly, and his laughter stops and he scowls at his younger
cousin. His hair is clinging to his face as he takes his head out of the
water. 
“How did I not think you weren’t going to do that?”  
There’s almost soft laughter that escapes his cousin. Itachi is biting back
from laughing. “I was merely repaying the debt. Shisui.” He says with mirth of
a grin, evidently amused by the whole ordeal. “Just think Kohona’s finest
flicker-nin, thrown into a river by dumb luck by his own cousin. What would our
clan think?”The hint of the smile shows even more so it seems, the amusement
written across his features.
Shisui scowls again, and shoves his cousin’s head under the water.
                                               Sometimes,
                                                           He wonders why he
puts up with Itachi.
But then again,
                   Perhaps it is the deemed facts, that both of them are better
of around one another and can just be human, not shinobi. That is perhaps why
when he lifts his cousin’s head out of the water despite his coughing that he
smiles amused. Because really, Itachi is the only person that could get away
with this or even make him feel remotely normal.
                             “What do you say, a dango,
                                                 and some wagashi would call us
even,
                                                                                            
and settle a truce?”
The smile that he receives in return perhaps reminds him why he puts up with
his younger cousin. His fingers grabbing a hold of his cousin to help him to
his feet in the river, making sure they don’t slip on the rocks, sometimes even
forgetting that they are shinobi and could walk across it, and stumble out of
the Naka river. Drenched but happy. 
“Done.”
              The smile that he receives from Shisui seems almost blinding, but
nonetheless, the pair of boys find their way to a small tea shop. Despite the
fact they’re soaked and chilled slightly, it doesn’t stop the smiles from
coming to their faces, and just laughing in amusement from the whole ordeal.
Some things just never change.
                                         Just like the river’s flow,
                                                                         but
that would change,
 later and be drenched in a color
                                 that would seem like the richest wine
                                                           but would make a
child’s tongue dry heave.
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