Chapter Text
There's a person sitting in Shisui's coffee shop.
Well, it's not his coffee shop per se, but that's not important. What's important is that the man from yesterday is sitting here today, which means he could be a repeat customer. Which means Shisui can continue staring at him from across the counter and guilty indulge in horrible, awful fantasies of asking the stranger for his name and then getting married by tomorrow, the sky in his daydream billowing across the heavens in a canvas of purple and orange—
Someone thumps a roll of paper on his head.
"Shisui, stop staring at customers like a weirdo and help me rework the tax percentages that you promised an hour ago," Izumi commands, unapologetically bringing her hands to her hips and giving him The Look.
Shisui turns and stares at his cousin with pleading eyes, clutching the top of his head as if he was experiencing the worst pain he had ever felt in his life. Which he definitely was, emotionally speaking. Calculating the fluctuating tax rate was a special type of hell that was definitely ignored for — up to and including — ripping out his own eyes.
"Izumi," He definitely does not whine, "I'm putting our customers first!"
Izumi walks up to where Shisui was standing and cranes her head, searching for whoever Shisui was looking at while he sweats in the background. Shisui knows she's found him when she scrunches her face up. "Black coffee and five sugars?" She bewilderingly comments, referring to the order the man always seemed to take. She gives him another look again, this time far more judgmental.
Shisui tries to stand strong under the weight of her gaze. "I will not apologize. Look at his hair, you know how I feel about long hair like that."
She lifts an eyebrow.
"He's only ordered it twice, it could be a fad," Shisui tries to defend, but he feels himself crumbling, knowing Izumi would care nothing about silky hair, long eyelashes, delicate hands—
She throws a rag in his face and Shisui sputters to catch it. It is not his most elegant moment, and he darts his eyes around, hoping no one saw it as Izumi rolls her eyes and walks into the backroom. A few people turn their heads, but the man by the window continues looking out into the distance, letting the steam from his saturated coffee dissipate into the cool air.
He tries not to feel a faint sense of disappointment as he follows Izumi's footsteps, the thought of his future torture heavily weighed within his mind.
"One black coffee and five sugars."
Shisui bangs his head under the counter from where he was organizing the display of pastries. He swears and staggers back, immediately straightening as he recognizes the clothes in front of him that eventually reveal a face taken right out of a box labeled 'Every Feature Shisui Finds Attractive.'
"Hi!" He too enthusiastically says, internally wincing, "What can I get for you?"
The man continues to stare at him, his expression unshifting. "I said one black coffee and five sugars."
"Oh, of course, you already said that," Shisui answers, nervously chuckling. He turns around to the counter across from him, measuring the coffee beans and then turning on the grinder as the pounding in his head pulses on, dutifully ignored. All the while, he feels the stare of the other man on his neck, prickling his skin upwards in goosebumps as he silently pleads for the beans to grind down faster.
"That'll be 345¥, please," He announces, still silently begging for the other person to erase the past five minutes from his memory. The long lashes across from him softly blink, as if in acknowledgment, and the man mechanically reaches inside the pocket of his jacket with a gloved hand. The movements are stiff, economical, as if he's intentionally holding himself back from something. The grinder behind them dings as Shisui keeps his eyes on an orange envelope that slowly emerges from the nondescript fall coat.
The man opens the crisp paper edges as if he had done it a thousand times before, methodically reaching in to take out the exact amount needed for the coffee. Shisui eyes the thick envelope with no small amount of curiosity and trepidation. What kind of mob boss model did this guy think he was? Did he do the same thing with Izumi too?
"Maybe you should save that money for a wallet," He tries to joke, and immediately regrets it. He winces, but the other man says nothing, turning around to sit at his customary spot by the window and looking out into the dreary street. Shisui sighs as he puts the yen into the register, morosely waiting for the coffee to finish dripping down into the french press he set up. Cleaning the bathroom could wait for self-pity, especially at six in the morning. He doesn't even dare look in the stranger's direction, keeping his eyes right on the tile floor as he waits for death to swallow up his embarrassment.
The bell above the shop gives a loud ring and Shisui straightens up, surprised at having another customer come in this early. The students on these streets usually didn't come in until an hour later.
"Good morning!" He tries to chirp out. "What would you like to—"
But the older man passes by him without stopping, face pulled into a dismal frown that seems permanently fixed upon his intense stare. His steps are focused and quick as he strides over to the table where the younger man always sits, pulling up a chair without any type of greeting.
Shisui leans over, trying to catch a better glimpse, but his repeat customer continues to stare out the window, ignoring the other man in front of him. Frowny-guy says something too low for Shisui to hear, so Shisui focuses his eyes more, careful not to make it seem like he's eavesdropping, because he totally isn't. Lip reading definitely wasn't the same as eavesdropping.
The timer beeps again and Shisui mentally groans, pulling away to fix up the black coffee as quick as he can, arraigning the heart-shaped sugar cubes haphazardly along the saucer and making sure to leave the right type of spoon on the side, precariously dangling off the porcelain.
Go, go, go, He chants to himself, carefully turning around to finally see—
The older man is gone. Black-coffee-five-sugars is still in the same position, staring out into the street as if it holds the key to the universe's secrets.
Shisui pouts; he can't help it. Finally, there was something new about the man Shisui could know and ask about, and now he's gone.
He sulkily walks over to the table where Mob-Model is, careful not to let anything slip or spill, self-consciously hearing the squeak of his shoes across the tile as he pads over.
"Here you go," Shisui says, carefully placing the saucer and cup along the end of the table. The man still doesn't react. Shisui stands there for a second, feeling awkward, before slowly sliding the coffee further down until it reaches the peripheral vision of the mysterious man.
He jerks away from the window as if stunned, casting a wary glance towards Shisui who absolutely did not deserve that look. "Thank you," the man says, slow and concise.
Shisui smiles. "You're welcome," He says, feeling genuinely happy from the man finally giving him some type of attention. A little voice in his head whispers that his standards are way too low, and is summarily smacked away like a gnat.
The long-haired man starts to turn away, clearly dismissing Shisui's presence as he simultaneously reaches for his cup of coffee. Shisui mentally panics as he spots the action, desperately searching for any strand of conversation that he can exploit. "So, that guy that just came in — is he your friend or something?" He settles on, propping up a hand on his hip for mock casualness.
The hand halfway to the coffee pauses, suspended in air. "No, that was my father," He answers, finishing his abandoned goal towards the cup. Shisui watches, almost hypnotized, as the long fingers drop the sugars in one by one. "He only came for a brief moment. I assure you, it won't happen regularly."
Shisui tears his eyes away from the scene, letting his brain catch up to the words. "Oh, it's no problem at all," He quickly assures. "The more the merrier, especially when it comes to family!"
The other man fully drops his hands into his lap, staring at the slow steam emitting from the coffee. "I suppose," He neutrally exclaims, a slight tilt to his voice that lets Shisui know he's about to be traveling on a minefield if he doesn't get his act together right fucking now.
"I'm Shisui," He blurts out. He just barely resists the urge to put his face in his hands at the very obvious change in subject. Subtlety was not his strong suit.
The tense silence now turns awkward as the stranger processes his words, making no sign of replying. Shisui is just about to go into the backyard and bury himself six feet deep before hesitantly suggesting, "What's your name?"
The man cocks his head to the side, as if considering the question deeply. "You may call me Itachi. Itachi Uchiha."
Itachi has lifted his gaze fully now, staring into Shisui's eyes. His lashes are long and thick, framed by a pair of deep tear troughs Shisui just noticed, pronouncing starkly against his skin.
Success, he crows as his heart flutters. Shisui gives a wide, crooked smile that shows off rows of teeth. "Nice to officially meet you, Itachi!" He enthusiastically answers, heart fluttering at just hearing the simple syllables.
The man smiles then, a soft gesture full of something Shisui can't quite name. It's the most beautiful thing Shisui has ever seen. "It is nice to meet you too."
Shisui is on cloud nine, ten, and eleven. He is all the way past guilty daydreams and has completely settled into whistling while dusting the backroom, much to Izumi's horror.
"I'm never taking a sick day ever again," She promises, staring as he does a tango dance number with an unconsenting broom. "I miss one morning shift and you lose your fucking mind."
"The man of my dreams has a name now!" He exclaims, throwing the broom in the air in a truly stunning final number. The imaginary crowd in his mind goes wild.
Izumi walks forward and snatches the handle out of his hand, making him pout. "If he's the man of your dreams, then I'm the woman of your nightmares," She jokes. Hopefully. Izumi points to the main floor. "Please go to the front counter and try not to propose to the next weird customer that comes through," She exasperatingly pleads, fondness heavy in her voice.
Shisui grins, giving a mock salute. "No promises," He says, turning towards the main door with Izumi on his tail.
And stops dead in his tracks.
Izumi bumps into his back with a small oof. "What the hell?" She grumbles, leaning backward. Shisui quickly sidesteps out of the way, but can't pry his eyes away from what he sees.
"It's the guy! Itachi!" He points out, voice conspiratorially low, trying very hard to make it look like he wasn't staring at anything in particular. It was very hard to do so when he was absolutely staring at something in particular.
Izumi gets on her tiptoes, craning her neck over Shisui's slightly taller frame. She squints. "Who's with him?"
"That's the dude's father," Shisui whispers back, not taking his eyes off the scene. "Looks like he showed up again. They've got beef or something, I dunno."
Shisui can't see much over the hunched line of the older man's shoulder, but he can tell some type of serious conversation is taking place by Itachi's thinning lips and tense jaw as he stares at his father with an intensity that is vaguely frightening. He's clutching his coffee with one hand, but Shisui can see under the counter's gap, spotting a tight fist clenched around the pant's fabric. It's folded so tightly that Shisui can spot the individual veins jutting out of Itachi's skin. A faint odour of smoke permeates the air.
Shisui starts to wonder whether he should intervene when he blinks for one-fifth of a second and sees shards of porcelain and coffee spray out across the wooden table and tile in an impressively chaotic arc.
"Fuck!" Itachi's father yells, quickly standing up from his seat as other customers look on in surprise. Shisui jumps in, leaving Izumi behind as he grabs a spare dish rag and heads over to the scene.
"Don't touch the shards," He commands once he reaches the table, pulling out the white rag to carefully stop the flow of liquid. He peeks a glance at Itachi right as the surprise from the other's eyes fades to indifference.
"Don't worry, this happens all the time," Shisui lies, mentally cataloging just how big the spill got. Holy shit, he dazily thinks, noting how the cup chips lay across the room. He can spot the spray of coffee there too, and a few customers in his peripheral vision start to wipe at their faces.
"We can get you both another coffee on the house," Shisui says, focusing on his task of cleaning up and ignoring the incredibly awkward atmosphere.
The older man looks annoyed now, clearly projecting how much he does not want Shisui there. "We don't need anything," He snaps out.
"Well, we have many other options. Come to the counter if you ever change your mind," He cheerfully announces, pointedly turning to look at Itachi. However, Itachi is looking out the foggy window again, barely glancing at either of them as he looks off into the distance with a closed-off expression that is carefully blank.
The older man's frown deepens, directing his stare at Itachi and dismissing Shisui in one fell swoop. "Think about your responsibilities," He finishes, pulling away from the counter and standing up. The man pauses before turning, bringing his hand under his loose jacket, forcing Shisui to tense up in anticipation, but he only takes out a familiar orange envelope, slamming it down on the soaked countertop.
Itachi's father walks away, heavy boots loud on the white tile of the shop, the ringing of the exit's bell loud and harsh.
Shisui breathes out.
"Are you okay?" He quietly asks, but Itachi ignores him, quickly standing up. He reaches for his black gloves and thin jacket, and Shisui looks on in confusion as Itachi readies himself to leave.
Itachi pauses his quick movements. "I'm sorry," Is all he says, holding Shisui's gaze for a brief moment before exiting in the same direction as his father.
Silence descends in the coffeeshop until a lone individual coughs. The background gossip immediately resumes.
Shisui busies himself with carefully plucking up the porcelain as Izumi nervously mans the counter behind him. His thoughts swirl within his mind, mainly worried over Itachi's intense expression from before as each shard clinks within the dustpan. He heads into the back room, Izumi following his heels.
"What was that?" She hisses, glaring at him as if it was his fault for the shitshow that just happened. He frowns, and Izumi sighs, lowering her head. "Sorry, I'm not mad at you. But that was really weird, right? We've never had that happen before! Was that cup defective?" She's clutching her clothes now, a wild look in her eyes. "Do we need to replace all of our cups?!"
Shisui sets the pan down and grabs her shoulders. "Izumi, calm down. It was just an accident; cups break in every coffeehouse. We can double-check the stock for cracks if you're really worried," He says, trying to put on a reassuring smile. His eyes silently plead for her not to make him check all the cups.
Her muscles relax under his hands. "Yeah, we could do that. That'd help a lot with my anxiety." Fuck.
Shisui can feel his smile become less convincing, so he quickly turns back to the pan he set down on their rickety wooden table.
"Huh," Shisui comments out loud, turning the shards of the cup around in his hand.
"What's up?" Izumi asks, walking forward. Shisui holds the shards up further into the light, making sure he doesn't cut himself on the ridges.
"It's nothing," He quickly exclaims before biting his lip. "It's just, did we get a new pattern shipment for our cups?"
Izumi sets the clipboard in her hand down and walks over to where Shisui is, silently staring at the pieces he has splayed out. "Huh," She repeats, taking one in her hand.
"It's kinda black," Izumi confusingly remarks, turning multiple pieces around to get a better glimpse.
Shisui raises an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure the cup was fully white. I didn't take your personal ones by accident, right?"
"No," Izumi confidently says, still sounding mystified. She places it back into the pan, letting her and Shisui take a good look at all of the full pieces laid within.
Black scorch marks, perfectly fitted to long fingers, litter the white glaze of the cup.
Izumi looks at him, shrugs, and places it in the bin. "We'll check the stocks," She reaffirms.
"I guess I'll go take out the trash," Shisui balefully comments, staring at the pieces falling past the flood of take-out boxes and paper straws.
"Thank you," Izumi cheerfully chirps out. Shisui just sighs and bags up the container to haul it over his shoulder like the world's worst Santa Claus.
The exit door screeches across the confined space of the alley as he pushes it open, making Shisui wince at the noise, but it is covered by a quick chorus of fluttering wings and shifting shades of black illuminated under the dim lights of the sky.
"Caw!" A distant crow yells, and Shisui's lips curve into a small smile as he hears it. Right on time.
Tomodachi flutters his feathers as he lands on the dumpster, noisily hopping back and forth on the metal as Ahō gracelessly crashes lands next to him. Shisui huffs out a laugh as she scrambles back up, glossy feathers ruffled and shifting under the fluorescent light.
"Did you miss me?" He coos, setting down the garbage and reaching out a hand to stroke Ahō's battered beak. She closes her eyes, reveling in his attention, at which point Tomodachi decides his finger is a worm and snaps at it.
Shisui pulls back his hand lightening-quick, leveling Tomodachi with a glare the crow innocently ignores in favour of impatiently shifting back and forth.
"Don't know why I fuckin' bother…" He jokingly mumbles to himself, moving away to slide a hand over a stray cinder block to expose a black bag, zipped up tight and dusted with dirt and wear. Tomo and Ahō excitedly hop to the ground as he opens the zipper to reveal rows of different seeds. Shisui kneels, carefully distributing the food on different piles of gravel so that Ahō could get her fair portion. They both hilariously scramble to their meals as he looks on with affection at his little 'pets,' garbage forgotten in the corner.
"Why are you doing that?"
Shisui swears as he stumbles back, Tomo and Ahō cawing and taking off into the night, seeds forgotten. He groans as he barely makes out the figure behind him, giving in to the urge to put his hands on his knees to calm his racing heart. "Fuck! You can't sneak up on people like that!" He half-yells.
Itachi looks at him quizzically, cocking his head in a way not dissimilar to Shisui's crows. "I apologize, I assumed you knew I was here." He flicks his eyes over to where the seeds are still splayed on the ground. "The crows. Why were you feeding them? They're supposed to be pests."
Shisui gives him an incredulous look. The guy ambushed him in an alleyway to judge him on his pet choices? What the fuck? "Um, I think crows are beautiful, and they deserve to be taken care of even if they weren't?" He answers, his words trailing off due to the bizarreness of the situation.
Itachi looks at him, really looks at him, and takes a step forward. The atmosphere thickens as Shisui suddenly feels very aware of his vulnerable position on the ground in an empty alley, sprawled across from an almost-stranger in the dark of the night.
"Do you want to go on a date with me?"
Shisui just blinks at him, incredibly confused at this turn of events as the tenseness in the air pops out of existence. He's in the garbage back alley for fuck's sake. Garbage back alley date-asks were definitely a red flag, no matter how gorgeous the other person was.
"Okay," His tongue traitorously answers before he can even think through the question. Itachi was really gorgeous, and that had to count for something in this unfair world. He shakily stands back up, self-consciously brushing gravel and seeds off of his clothes. "Can I get your number-?"
"I don't have a phone," Itachi remarks, cutting him off. He hasn't stopped staring at Shisui's face the entire time they've been talking, and goosebumps litter the entirety of Shisui's exposed arms.
"Okay…" Shisui says, trailing off. "Do you want to just meet up at the coffeeshop later, then?"
"I'll find you," Itachi cryptically answers. He steps forward, and Shisui tenses, but Itachi merely passes him by, heading back out onto the dark road.
There's something deeply wrong with Itachi, Shisui suddenly realizes as he stands among the garbage and splayed birdseed.
This will be one of many thoughts he has over the next couple of weeks. All of them will be ignored.
Shisui yawns as he walks up the familiar concrete steps to the last apartment in the building, the chipped yellow paint of the walls warmly welcoming Shisui back to his childhood home. It seems like forever until he reaches his destination, and Shisui smiles, knocking on the red frame of 383A.
"Hello, it's a burglar!" He jokingly calls out, pushing past the unlocked door. Shisui had admonished his mom's habit of leaving it open for him several times, but she always just waved her hand in dismissal, citing the fact that he only came over once a week.
"A burglar wouldn't harass me half as much as you do!" A voice calls out from the living room. Shisui snorts, taking off his shoes and putting on his house slippers shaped like a fuzzy bear. He hears steps in the distance, and he turns just in time to spot his mom with her hands on her hips, a wry smile gently twisting the edges of her mouth.
"You're late. Again." Homare lightly admonishes.
Shisui lifts an eyebrow. "You've never been on time for anything in my life. Ever."
Homare rolls her eyes towards the plastered ceiling, likely praying for the guidance of the ceiling gods. "And my number one rule has always been for you to not be like me. C'mon, I've got the tofu pressed and ready to be fried."
Shisui grins. "Fuck yeah, fried tofu!"
Homare gives an answering grin of her own. "Fuck yeah, fried tofu! But seriously, if you burn more than one piece this time, I'm kicking you out."
Now it's Shisui's turn to roll his eyes, and he puts his hands up in surrender. "I solemnly swear to not burn our preciously cheap tofu, or may God strike me down."
Homare snorts. "Don't make jokes like that. Now, stop loitering in front of the door," She says, walking back into the kitchen.
Shisui's steps echo out in a familiar pattern as he follows his mom, worn-down slippers saving him from the cold of the tile that leads into a chaotically organized kitchen complete with sliced tofu and a pan.
"You can cover the tofu while I make the sesame sauce," His mother commands in the corner, already measuring her ingredients in a glass bowl. Shisui gives a mock salute, taking his place by the stove. A few quiet minutes are spent on their tasks, the gentle scrape from the bowl and the movement of hands the only noise permeating around the room.
"Don't set the flame too high," Homare remarks as he starts pouring the oil in the pan.
"I'm not setting the flame too high," He snips back as he waits for the oil to get hot enough. Shisui grabs a cornstarch-sprinkled tofu, sets it in the oil, and burns it within a minute.
Shisui subtly looks over his shoulder. His mother is staring straight at him.
Homare sets down her whisk. "Okay, out."
"Mommmmm…" Shisui begs, dragging out the name as he pleadingly stares into his mother's face. She levels him with a Look, and he knows that his fate is sealed.
"Out," She reaffirms, and quickly buts him out of the direction of the frying pan with a quick nudge. Shisui dutifully sulks out of the kitchen and into the living room to pace back and forth along the detailed carpet, bored eyes catching rows upon rows of pictures.
One photo in particular catches his eye as he trails by. Although he had passed by these pictures innumerable times throughout his childhood, it wasn't until now that his curiosity piqued up, the faces in the frame guiding his eyes.
"Hey, Mom, who is this?" He asks, trailing his hand over the face of a smiling, pregnant woman standing to the side of Homare and Shisui as a toddler. All of them were wearing matching outfits of some type of traditional garb. Something about the eyes and the hair compelled him, Shisui decided, staring into her flat smile. Something familiar.
He can hear his mother's footsteps as she pads over the wooden floors. "Who are you talking about—"
The steps stop. Shisui turns around to see Homare's face, her expression turned to granite as her gaze settles on the face partially covered by Shisui's fingers.
She smooths her pants — a nervous gesture. Shisui furrows his brows at the clear tension suddenly pulsating throughout the air.
"Why do you ask?" Homare quietly says.
"I was just curious," He truthfully answers.
His mother's lips thin at his answer and she reaches out, gently taking his hand away from the glass. "She was a friend of mine that passed away a long time ago. Mikoto and I were very close."
Shisui pulls away. "Sorry for bringing it up," He genuinely exclaims, reaching up a hand to put it on his mother's shoulder, the muscle underneath warm and tense. She gently shrugs it off, heading back into the kitchen to finish cleaning the dishes.
"It's nothing," Homare unconvincingly answers as she walks away, voice teetering off as the distance between them increases.
Shisui sighs, self-loathing creeping up at his poor choice of words. He tries to shake it off as he spares one last glance towards the unmoving eyes in the frame, Mikoto's dark gaze staring blankly ahead.
He shudders and stuffs his hands in his pockets. Creepy, Shisui decides. Under the dim glow of the light flickering over the glass frame, their eyes looked unnerving despite his mother's grin. He quickly turns around and follows to the dining table, ignoring the goosebumps settling across his skin and the way his eyes seemed unable to tear away from the innocuous picture.
His mother is surreptitiously wiping away the corners of her eyes when he walks in. She sniffs and looks down towards the scratched floor, refusing to meet his gaze. "I'll set the table if you get the dishes," She states, pointing her chin towards the counter. The tofu has stopped steaming and lies flat and dull within the bowl. It's a dish Shisui has never disliked, but his stomach continues to churn with the fullness of his guilt and unease. The nightly visit of crickets quietly continues as Shisui wrestles with his decision.
"Actually, I think I'm gonna head out," He carefully exclaims.
Homare turns to him, eyes wide. "What?" She questions, confusion and disbelief clear within her voice. "You just got here, and we haven't even eaten yet!"
He self-consciously licks his lips and shifts his weight to the side, trying to exude nonchalance. "Yeah, I've got to get to something. I'll call you later, though," Shisui quickly taxes on, hoping to mollify the betrayal of his abrupt leave.
"Okay…" His mother unconvincingly agrees, her voice trailing off. Still, she gives him a knowing look, eyes tired and bruised. A small smile starts to form as she stares at him, the slight wrinkles tugging against the burn scar on her cheek. "Just be careful."
He gives a careful, but genuine smile of his own. "I will."
Shisui pecks her cheek before making his way toward the front door, eagerly putting on his raincoat as his mother accompanies him to the end of the hallway.
"Goodnight, Mom!" Shisui yells out once he opens the door and sprints down the staircase, anxious to get back to his apartment for reasons he can't name.
"Don't hurry down the stairs!" Homare half-heartedly yells out, and Shisui grins at the old command as he runs out of the building.
His steps are soft against the concrete of the sidewalk as he runs back home, unaware of the stares trained on his neck from the black car across the street.