Chapter Text
Sasuke cocks an eyebrow upwards, not looking impressed at all. His left hand is propped on his hip, his weight shifted onto that very same side. Itachi turns with his rolling chair, knees pulled up, resting against the edge of his desk. He adjusts his glasses as its slowly slipping off his nose.
"You can look at me like that all you want, Sasuke, but I'm not going out clubbing with you."
His little brother lets out an unnecessarily loud sigh, dropping himself onto Itachi's bed, the mattress giving a faint squeak. Itachi avoids his eyes, shifting his attention back to the massive file he's compiling for his students for the summer. He just needs to proofread it one last time—it shouldn't take more than an hour.
But Sasuke doesn't take no for an answer. He stretches out on the bed, lying flat on his stomach, chin resting in his palm. His eyes glint in a way that has taught Itachi long ago he's thinking of something, and that something is usually colossally foolish or manipulative.
"Shisui's coming."
Bingo. Itachi, just lifting his hands towards the keyboard, halts them midway, staring at the cursor in the middle of the screen, black letters melting into each other as his eyes fail to focus for a moment.
"Sasuke." He's aware of his voice dipping a little too low—a desperate attempt to stop it from trembling.
"What now?"
"Quit it," he orders his little brother.
"Quit what? I'm not saying I'll talk him into coming so you'll come, too. I'm informing you that Shisui will be there," Sasuke explains himself simply, his voice dripping from amusement. When Itachi finally looks over at him, he's grinning wide like a child who's finally gotten what he's been throwing a tantrum for.
Itachi's heart pounds a little too fast the mention of Shisui's name.
"Then you two have fun tomorrow night," he ends up saying, eyes back on the screen to finally begin proofreading the lesson.
As he skims through the lines, all he manages is to add a few words before Sasuke starts winging again.
"Oh, come on. All you do is work, work, hole up in here, more work, fantasise about—"
"Sasuke." His voice now has an edge, slicing through Sasuke's complaints, and it seems to do the trick for at least a moment. Sasuke stops speaking, blinking at him with his eyes narrowing.
Itachi believes sometimes that telling Sasuke about his decade long unrequited love for Shisui might have been a colossal mistake. His little brother will either use it to try and manipulate him into things or tease him about it. The only in-between is the occasional serious moments of Sasuke's state of mind where he's actually willing to have a normal conversation about relationships. He has his own mess going on, so Itachi doesn't quite blame him for wanting to joke about 'fuck-ups'—as he would so wisely phrase it.
"I'm not trying to be a dick, Itachi," he grunts, turning onto his back now, arms stretched out on the bed. "You can't live a life like this."
Itachi fixes a typo in the document and adds a link to a source he's forgotten before. The mouse clicks through the silence that settles between him and Sasuke for a few seconds as Itachi works.
"I'm content with my life."
He knows his brother well enough to know he's raising an eyebrow questioningly. Itachi's fingers dance on the keyboard, followed by a scoff from Sasuke.
"Are you? How can you be so passive?"
Itachi turns with the rolling chair again, glaring at Sasuke.
"How can you be drunk almost every night?"
But Sasuke can't be defeated that easily—he has enough self-awareness after all to know what he's doing and why.
"I have fun and I enjoy my life."
"So do I," Itachi shrugs, his eyebrows knitting into a soft frown. "I don't have to go to the Akatsuki and drink to do that."
Sasuke sits up with a long, heavy sigh, crossing his legs.
"As I said I'm not trying to be a dick, okay? But I really do worry that you're wasting your life away. You've been holding onto that same old love for Shisui, and the man's getting married in front of your eyes."
"And I'm fine with that."
Itachi knows—and so does Sasuke—that this is only half true. Of course Itachi is happy for his best friend's success. Shisui barged into his house six months ago, tears of joy soaking into his t-shirt, telling Itachi that his girlfriend of ten years said yes when he got on his knees and asked for her hand in marriage. And Itachi, throwing his shock aside, immediately said yes to being the best man. Even though all he wanted to do was slam the door shut and sob.
That night was the first of Itachi's life when he was willing to go out with Shisui, along with the man's friends, to celebrate the engagement. He excused himself after a few beers, saying he had backed up work to do. When he got home, he would slump onto the floor and just stare into nothing, his heart shattered into tiny little pieces, never to be mended again. How would he ever mend his own heart when it broke into such tiny, unrecognisable shards?
No, he was not, and still is not entirely fine with being Shisui's best man at the wedding that's taking place in two months time. August, of course, so the ceremony can be followed by the Firework Festival.
"You got a speech prepared?" Sasuke asks, his voice becoming serious all of a sudden, and Itachi would rather he makes fun of him.
"I'm working on it," he smiles, bitterness creeping into his words.
"Come on." Sasuke stands now, boxing Itachi in the shoulder gently, sympathy flashing across his face. "Just one night, Itachi. God knows, maybe you'll get to know someone, but you can't be in love with Shisui forever."
Itachi is well aware of that. Yet, he can't—or doesn't—seem to want to let go of his feelings. He's so used to the butterflies in his stomach now; to the warmth in his chest when he lays his eyes on Shisui; to the fluttering of his heart; to the fantasies.
Because all Itachi has is his overactive imagination and his good old right hand. And oh boy, does his brain like to cook up the kinkiest, most questionable fantasies about the two of them—the kinds that would make Itachi feel utterly ashamed in that post-nut clarity daze.
You need a good fuck, Ino would say when Itachi happens to hang out with Sasuke and his friends. They're a good bunch, really, a group of capable, ambitious and intelligent young adults. But some of them do have a big mouth, especially Sasuke.
Though people knowing that Itachi has a thing for Shisui is only half his little brother's doing—apparently it's painfully obvious to almost everyone except for his best friend.
Sasuke and Shisui would sometimes tell him that he needs to live a little. Yet Itachi finds it almost wrong to not have a structure, rules, a plan for his life. If he will ever have sex with someone it has to be someone he's been dating. Hand holding, kissing, dinner, and then, only then, would he do it.
This is the example he was given. This is how he was raised. His father would always beam with pride that his eldest is such a gentleman, a real man, all women's dream. And then he would promptly go quiet when it came to Sasuke's rebellion.
His phone pings, dragging Itachi back to the grounds of reality. Sasuke is still standing there, looking at him expectantly.
"I'm not going," Itachi grunts as he unlocks the screen.
He freezes, thumbs halting in checking his notifications.
Shisui, 17:02
heard you're coming out tomorrow
cant wait haha
Itachi locks the screen. As if in slow motion, he places the phone onto the desk and turns. Sasuke looks at him all innocent with a smile tugging in the corner of his lips.
"What have you done?"
"Nothing," Sasuke shrugs, trouble glinting in his eyes.
Thump. Thump-thump.
Itachi slowly draws in a deep breath to calm his aching nerves. He picks up the phone again, opening Shisui's message. Thumbs tip-tapping against the screen rapidly, he lets his best friend know that he will not, in fact, go out tomorrow night, and that this was all Sasuke's plotting.
Now it's Sasuke's phone that pings, and he grunts in disappointment.
"Are you fucking serious?"
Itachi glances at him. He balls his hand into a fist, knocking on the desk with his knuckles, fingernails digging into his skin.
"Don't try to change my mind using Shisui, okay?"
"That's the only thing that works!" Sasuke argues, raising his voice.
His chest burns.
"Do I ever use Naruto or Sakura to get you to do something?"
Sasuke gapes for a moment before he shuts his mouth, his grin slowly melting off of his face. Itachi turns back to his laptop, ignoring a new ping, likely Shisui trying to convince him in his own excitement to go with them.
"There's food in the fridge, by the way. Have some dinner, Sasuke."
Nails, makeup, fashion—you can count on Yamanaka Ino to perfect your look for a night out. Itachi has seen her getting Sasuke ready in glittery shirts and shiny eyeshadows. Purple is his colour, she likes to say. Itachi knows nothing about these things. He's always been the plain type of guy—jeans and t-shirts, nothing too fancy.
Ino has his wardrobe wide open, softly tapping her lips with her long, fiery red nails, humming. Sakura is sitting on top of Sasuke, trying to perfect a winged stroke with a black eyeliner.
"What do we think?" Shisui asks, much to Itachi's defeat.
"We think nothing," he says, trying to stand up for himself. "You guys go and have fun. I'm staying in."
"No, you're not." Everyone in the room chimes in a semi-unison.
Itachi throws Sasuke a side glance, hopefully with enough murderous intent in his eyes. His little brother cackles. Sakura holds him protectively before she goes back to his makeup.
"Be still now, baby, or I'll make you eat this."
"I'm not into that kinda stuff," Sasuke grins.
Ino pulls a few shirts off of one of the shelves, then she folds them straight back.
"Sasuke, I might need your clothes."
"I am not wearing Sasuke's clothes," Itachi argues, letting out a loud sigh. He looks at Shisui for help, but all he finds is his best friend looking him up and down. His heart skips a beat, his fingers freezing as he fidgets with the zip of his hoodie.
"Bud, I think you'd look fire." He casts Sasuke a glance then. "In one of those purple glittery shirts you have."
"No!"
Itachi shoves his trembling hands into his pockets, chemicals flooding his brain upon the compliment. Maybe in another universe, he would look fire enough in such an attire that Shisui would want to get him straight out of it.
He wills the thoughts away. Ino is staring him up and down before she goes back to rummaging through his clothes.
"It's either too formal for a club or just very plain. You're boring as hell!" Her voice rings almost offended. Itachi finds it slightly baffling that she takes his choice of clothing so seriously. But then again, she's obsessed with fashion.
Itachi points at his best friend.
"He's plain."
Ino clicks her tongue, turning only for a brief moment.
"He's getting married, he's supposed to be boring! You're single, ready to mingle—"
"Who said I'm ready for such things?!"
Ino cries as she pulls some more clothes out of the wardrobe, laying them on the back of Itachi's chair. The front door opens and Naruto marches in with canned cocktails, handing out one to everyone. Itachi simply places his onto the desk, unopened.
"Pre-game," Naruto says with a flashy grin. He stops for a moment when he looks at Sasuke. "Oh, what's cookin', good lookin'?"
Itachi buries his face into his palms. He wants to skip to the part where it's peaceful and silent in his house. But he knows, and he knew this morning, that these little fools won't let this topic go until he finally says yes. So in the end, he gave in. He told himself that he would have a grand total of one beer, then dip. Thirty minutes, maximum.
But they have been hanging out in his room for two hours now, the sun setting slowly outside, drawing near the hour where he would actually have to leave with this bunch.
He also doesn't want to deal with his drunken brother. Itachi will always be here for him, no matter what. But Naruto is already flirting, staring a little too much, seemingly ignoring the fact that Sasuke is currently with Sakura, and said girl is sitting on top of him right now.
No, Itachi wants to get this over with as quick as possible, so all he has to do later is going back and picking up his barely conscious little brother.
He stills when he looks up, his eyes locking with Shisui's. His best friend is leaning against the doorframe, flashing him an encouraging smile, and Itachi's heart thuds uncomfortably.
"So, I think I can work with these," Ino claps her hands together, glossy lips pulling into a wide, proud smile. She holds up a bright blue button up shirt and a pair of black tight jeans. Itachi has no idea why he even has those pants—he isn't quite a fan of tight jeans. "If you pair this shirt with these jeans and throw that insanely sexy leather jacket you got from Sasuke over it, you'll not look like you're meeting some hotshot CEO. Now go, change!"
Itachi graciously ignores the 'insanely sexy' comment. Ino is the type of girl to flirt with just about anyone for nothing more than pure fun. He's somewhat used to it now—he knows it means nothing to her, thankfully.
He doesn't quite know what to think of the fact that a twenty-three-year-old girl can just order him around like this, pushing him towards the bathroom. But he goes in to change anyway. The fabric is almost cold against his skin, the high quality wool gentle on him. The jeans he's not too sure about. It's too tight around his calves and thighs.
"So…" he mutters as he walks back to the room.
All eyes snap at him, and Shisui whistles. Itachi wants to punch him a little. He knows very well that he's not flirting or anything like that. He hates the way his compliments and such reactions make him feel. There used to be a time when he would want nothing more than to impress Shisui. Ten years ago, maybe
"I love the shirt," Ino says, sipping on the canned cocktail. "But lose those jeans. You looks stupid."
Itachi rolls his eyes as Ino hands him another pair of pants, tapered jeans of the same colour as the other, small rips decorating the knees and thighs. He makes the swap with relief, wondering if the tight pants were one of those impulse buys he made when he was desperate to catch Shisui's attention.
"Much better." Sasuke is the one who says that, finally out of Sakura's grasp. The eyeliner she drew is winged perfectly, curling upwards in a thick line.
"Ino, eyeshadow!" she says to her best friend, and Ino spins around, blonde hair swinging in that high ponytail she always wears it.
She pulls out a wide palette from her bag with brushes of various sizes. Itachi takes a step to the side, finding himself next to Shisui by the door.
"You want some?" he grins at him cheekily. Itachi wants to kiss those pretty lips so bad. Instead, he rolls his eyes and pushes his glasses up.
"Absolutely not."
He watches as Ino applies some of the glittery powder on Sasuke's eyelids, purple shimmering in the lamplight. He sighs.
"What?" Shisui raises an eyebrow.
"Do I really have to go?"
"Oh, stop whining!" he chuckles, giving Itachi's shoulder a squeeze. Itachi hates how it always makes his heart race.
"I'm not," he grunts, a smile slowly spreading on his face.
"It's gonna be good, I promise you!"
Itachi's head is already spinning with the constant murmur coming from his little brother and his friends. He looks up at the two story building when they get out of the car, stashing the keys into his shoulder bag, along with his phone. Neon lights curve into the word Akatsuki.
The thick music flooding from inside merge with the plethora of conversation around him as they become crowded by a sea of people. Shisui wraps an arm around him, and Itachi flinches slightly.
"What, it's just me," Shisui laughs, his voice nothing, but comfort for Itachi.
"I know," he exhales, a breath he hasn't noticed he's been holding.
At some point, Sasuke and his friends disappear inside, and Shisui drags Itachi into the building where the music gets much louder, thicker, almost unbearable. The beat pulses in his veins, his ears trying desperately to pick up whatever Shisui says, but his words are lost, dispersing in the noise.
So, again, his best friend comes a little too close for comfort, his arm still wrapped around Itachi's shoulder.
"Let's grab some beers." Itachi can finally hear that, though barely.
He has to squint his eyes in the flashy strobe lights—red, green, blue, dancing this way and that. Someone bumps into him, apologising inaudibly as Shisui pulls Itachi towards the bar just across from the front door. A group of young women look at the two of them, one twirling a lock of her jet black hair between her fingers.
They sit on the bar stools, marble top counter already sticky from spilled drinks. A man with slightly messy red heir turns around, handing out a bluish-purplish cocktail to some girl. His eyes—faded brown, without an ounce of warmth in them—fall on Itachi and Shisui.
"What can I get you, lads?" he yells through the music.
Itachi scans the place while Shisui orders their beers. There's a DJ stand set up right next to the bar, but no person behind it. The music playing right now must be a random playlist.
The strobe lights… Itachi is beginning to feel slightly nauseous. But Shisui slides him a bottle once they're on the counter, the redhead bartender paying them no further mind. Itachi watches him for a few seconds as he serves another man. The swing door leading behind the bar then opens with a blond man walking through. He whispers something into the redhead's ear before he presses a kiss on his face, his attire fancy and just as glittery as Sasuke's usually is. Itachi suddenly feels a little too overdressed for a place where people usually come to let go and hook up.
"I was gonna say," Shisui leans to his ear again, his hot breath tickling Itachi's skin. Itachi shivers, "I thought this man was single, but it doesn't seem to be the case."
Now it's Itachi who leans closer. It annoys him that he can't have a proper conversation with Shisui, his throat aching and scratching from yelling.
"And I care because?"
"Come on, man, you're twenty-eight, you haven't been with anyone. You can't tell me you're not interested in dating!"
"And what if I wasn't?" His grip tightens around the bottle, feeling the cold droplets of condensation under his fingertips.
"I mean, that's a different story, but… are you really?"
Freaking strobe lights. Irritation pounds in his head now, and Itachi blinks a few times, trying to will the sensitivity away from his eyes.
He turns to the side where the lights don't seem to be as bad, his eyes somewhat unfocused as he watches the blond man behind the DJ stand press buttons and do whatever, head bobbing, his long, tied hair falling onto his shoulder like a sea of gold. He swings his hips left to right.
It's somewhat captivating. Or maybe it's just the repressed desires talking. He's got moves in him, Itachi will give him that much. There's a little smirk in the corner of his lips as he rolls his hips, arms swinging into the air before they fall back onto the deck, fingers dancing on the button once more.
He looks like he thoroughly enjoys the music he mixes.
"Let's grab a table," Itachi says to Shisui, lifting his hands off the sticky counter.
They find a vacant one at the left end of the club, far from the dance floor thankfully. The padded chairs provide some comfort, yet Itachi's headache grows.
"So, anyway, why don't we find you someone?" Shisui grins, sipping on his beer.
"Let it go," Itachi grunts. The ache gets gradually worse. He has to blink again, his eyes more and more sensitive to these lights. "I don't think I can take this place any longer. Thanks for the beer, but I should get going soon."
"What?" Shisui raises his eyebrows, cocking his head to the side. He laughs in disbelief. "We just got here."
"Yeah, and the light—"
Itachi shuts his eyes tight before he opens them again, the slowly rising zig-zag lines he can no longer ignore.
"Hey?!"
Oh no.
The music irritates Itachi to no end, setting his nerves on fire. The lines dance in front of his eyes—bright, tiny spots that aren't the club's lighting. Nausea creeps up in his stomach slowly, and he grabs onto the edge of the table with a sudden dizzy spell.
He sees Shisui straightening up with worry on his face as he begins to understand what's going on, and Itachi feels just a little bit foolish for ignoring the warning signs earlier. His fingers slip off the table. He stands and dashes towards the bathrooms, pushing people out of his way unintentionally. His eyesight is almost completely blurred by the time he practically falls through the door and stumbles into a stall.
The door opens with a creak as he heaves above the toilet.
"Fuck," Shisui grumbles, stepping into the stall, his hand resting on Itachi's back. "Let it all—"
Itachi's skin burns, his blood coursing through his veins red hot. The left side of his head pounds, his stomach flipping. He wants more. So much more of Shisui.
"Don't touch me," he murmurs, gathering the last of his self-control, clutching his stomach.
"Sorry, sorry," Shisui withdraws his hand, then places both on Itachi's shoulder to steady him when he straightens his back. "I'm just—"
"Shisui, please—"
He trembles, one hand pressed against his left eye, his glasses pushed onto the top of his head. With the other hand, Itachi tries desperately to keep Shisui at an arm's length.
"Sorry, just trying to help you," Shisui whispers, taking a deep breath. "I'll take you home, okay?"
Itachi knows that it's just muscle memory. That Shisui means nothing by touching him, that he doesn't mean to disrespect his request. But it all comes rising up, bubbling and bursting and sizzling.
"I said don't!"
He pushes Shisui away, his friend's back hitting one of the stall doors softly.
"Okay, this isn't just the migraine, is it?" Shisui asks carefully. Itachi's heart races, making the headache so bad he has to rush into the stall again to puke. "I really am sorry, I know you're sensitive, it's just that you looked like you were about to faint, and—"
"It's not you."
"What?"
Itachi remembers when Sasuke has asked him a few years ago if he would ever tell Shisui about how he feels. Itachi would respond with a firm no, admitting that he intends to take it all to the grave, even if he ends up finally loving someone else. But his migraine strips him of all self-control, his words slipping out far too easily before he could stop them, and he wishes he could shove them back into his mouth.
"I'm in love with you."
The music pouring in from outside drowns. Shisui's breath catches in his throat. Itachi heaves, his jaw trembling violently.
He turns to leave, his hair stuck to his face from cold sweat. The place is still nothing but a blur, and his head pounds as if a hammer was hitting his skull from the inside. He wants to be home, hiding in his shame.
"Hey, hey, hey." Itachi hates how gentle Shisui's voice is.
He pushes him away again, carefully this time, even if he wants Shisui to touch him, hold him.
The door bursts open as they stand there, frozen, the handle slamming against the tiles with a cling. The noise burns Itachi's ears and he slides onto the floor with a hiss.
"Everything cool in here?" A deep voice asks, loaded with suspicion.
Itachi looks up, his eyes narrowed and aching. At least the pounding is subsiding, but he knows this is just the beginning. It always starts like this.
"Yeah, yeah," Shisui says quickly.
"Did he drink too much? Hm."
Itachi assumes he's the subject of the question.
"No," he whispers through his gritted teeth.
"Migraine attack," Shisui explains, finally withdrawing his hands. Itachi begins to faintly understand the man's suspicion. Someone in a state like Itachi slumping onto the floor, hissing, all roughed up, with another man standing with his hands held up. He can only imagine what kind of horrible things must have run through the DJ's mind.
Because it's that man who burst through the door just now, the silky, glittery fabric of his sleeveless gold crop top reflect the neon lights of the bathroom, and Itachi has to look away.
"Ah, fella migraine haver," he says, his voice becoming quieter, much to Itachi's relief. "Give me a sec. Hm."
The door closes, almost silently as the man walks out, leaving a strong scent of something sweet, and Itachi's head begins to spin again. This time, he manages to hold back the urge to barge into a stall.
"I'm sorry," he whispers, eyes shut tight to block out as much of the harsh light as possible.
"Don't worry about that now, bud." Itachi still hates how gentle Shisui's voice is.
He's expected his best friend to be a little more shocked, maybe outraged even. But when Itachi opens his eyes just a crack, he finds Shisui smiling at him pitifully. He'd rather some sort of confrontation; shouting; questioning. Anything else.
Itachi doesn't have it in him to say more. The taste of bile lingers in his mouth, his head still pounds, albeit less than before, and his eyes ache.
"I'll take you home, okay?"
Itachi shakes his head slowly.
"No. You had a beer already. And we came with my car."
"Come on, it's just a beer," Shisui argues quietly.
"We're not risking it, not with the amount of policemen patrolling this area on Friday nights."
Shisui goes speechless, standing above Itachi with his hands shoved into his pocket. Even the faint buzzing of electricity hurts Itachi's ears. He takes deep breaths to keep the nausea away, more or less successfully. Then, the door opens again, and the DJ comes back with a long, white pill in one hand—the very same thing Itachi tends to have—, holding a glass of water in the other. Itachi takes the medication like a starving man would take a piece of bread. He throws it back with some water.
"Thank you." His voice comes out almost inaudible.
"No bother. Do you have anyone to take you home?"
Itachi looks up at him as fatigue settles into his muscles and bones. The man looks at Shisui, and Shisui looks at Itachi.
"I already drank and he won't let me drive him home, even if it's just one beer I had."
"One beer's not gonna kill you two. Hm."
"We're not risking his licence and my car," Itachi croaks, rubbing his eyes.
Silence settles between the three of them. The door bursts open again, with a group of people barging in, halting when they see Itachi on the floor with Shisui and the DJ standing above him.
"Fuck, what happened?" That's Sasuke's voice.
"Migraine," Itachi gives her a weak smile. "I'll be fine."
"Does any of you drive? Hm." The DJ asks.
"I can't drive," Sasuke says. "Shisui?"
"I drank," Shisui laughs awkwardly.
"Sakura and I had a few cocktails, too," Naruto shrugs limply, blinking at Itachi apologetically. "I'm sorry. Maybe Kiba—"
"I'm not getting in the same car as Kiba," Itachi scoffs, causing himself a stabbing headache.
"What's wrong with that? You can't stay here until your migraine goes away," the DJ says, arms crossed.
Before Itachi could say anything, Ino's loud voice pierces through the music flooding into the bathroom.
"Dei, get the hell back to work! Sasori will kill y—" She halts. "Itachi?!"
"We're trying to sort a drive home for this guy," Dei says.
"I don't wanna be ungrateful," Itachi begins, the throbbing in his head becoming worse again, "but you all don't make this any better right now."
"Of course not, you need to get the fuck outta here! Hm."
Itachi lets out a painful exhale.
"Except everyone I came with is either under the influence or can't drive."
"Ino, can you take ten minutes off?" Sasuke turns towards her.
"Not right now, Sasori needs me. I gotta go, I'll tell him you're quite occupied, Dei."
"Okay, I'll tell you what." This Dei begins to sort everyone and everything out. He turns to Shisui first. "You—take your friend to the parking lot. I'll grab my keys and tell Sasori I'll be ten minutes. Hopefully my boss won't kill me." Now he turns to Sasuke. "You—Get out."
"Yo, he's my brother!" Sasuke grumbles, eyes narrowing dangerously, and it makes Itachi wonder just why these two are at each other's throats. On Sasuke's part, it must be the drinks. He tends to get into fights and confrontations when he's drunk.
"I don't give a shit, let me sort out the shit you lot of losers can't. Hm."
"Losers?!"
"Sasuke." Itachi squeezes his little brother's shoulder as he slowly stands up, head spinning lightly. "It's alright."
With a click of his tongue, Sasuke turns to leave.
"Text me when you're home, okay?" Then, he looks back at Dei over his shoulder. "If you harm as much as a strand of hair on my brother—"
"Fuck me sideways," Dei groans, head thrown back, "you talk to me like I'm planning to sell his organs on the fucking black market! Now shut the fuck up and let me drive your brother home! Hm."
Sasuke glares at him for a moment.
"I'm not fucking you sideways."
Dei rolls his eyes with a long exhale as Sasuke finally leaves the bathroom, along with Naruto.
"This bitch is giving me a migraine. Anyway, let's fucking go. Hm."
The car is silent, lights dim, blue numbers showing the time on the dashboard. It's only quarter to eleven. Itachi has lasted maybe twenty minutes in that club, apart from the roughly half an hour he's spent on the bathroom floor.
The welcome change of the silence after the thick music and everyone arguing over his head lasts until Dei finally shows up, keys jingling between his fingers, car door slamming as he drops himself onto the driver's seat. He pulls up the GPS on the dashboard.
"Type in your address, please."
Itachi leans closer, the blurring of his vision subsiding gradually, but he still needs to squint his eyes somewhat to see the letters and numbers he's punching in.
"Thank you for this," he mumbles when his back touches the seat again.
"Not a problem." Dei hands him an ice pack. "Here."
"So you get migraines, too?"
The slow reversing of the car makes the faint nausea in Itachi's stomach worse. He gulps hard, trying desperately to not focus on it. The freezing cold brings some relief for his throbbing head.
"Sometimes twice a month. Sometimes only once every two or three months. Haven't had one in a while which is fucking lucky. Hm."
He speaks quietly, and Itachi is truly grateful for that. His thoughts are scattered, heart hammering in his aching chest. He leans his head against the window, looking at the lights of the city flashing by as they drive down the main street. Konoha has come a long way since Itachi was a child.
"Your name's Dei, right?" Itachi asks, despite the headache taking all of his willpower to even speak. He doesn't really want to sit in an awkward silence.
"Deidara," comes a jolly answer.
"Mn." Itachi takes a mental note of that. "And are you sure you won't get in trouble for leaving your shift like that?"
Deidara shrugs, his right index finger tapping on the stirring wheel.
"Nah, I'll be fine. On my way out, I told Ino to get his boy toy behind the deck. This happens sometimes, except we, staff members drive each other home. Hm."
Drops of water roll down on Itachi's face as the ice pack begins to melt. Deidara suddenly leans over him when they come to a red light, and Itachi stills, eyebrows knitting into a frown. The window rolls down with a faint buzz.
"Just in case you have to puke. I don't care if you let it all out on someone else's car, handsome, just don't mess up mine. Hm."
Handsome?!
Itachi is far too fatigued to give the random compliment too much thought, and after two turns, Deidara parks in front of his house.
"Again, thank you," Itachi says weakly, hand reaching for the handle.
"It's okay," Deidara shrugs with a smile. "Damn, your place looks fancy. Hm."
"It's not that big of a deal."
The door opens with a soft click.
"Wait." Deidara holds out a hand. "Phone."
Itachi is thrown off by the word. His hand halts halfway as he is just about to give him the ice pack back.
"Eh?" That's all he manages.
"Let me punch my number in. Hm."
His vision blurs again, thoughts becoming fragmented. Not the wisest decision Itachi has ever made, but he hands Deidara his phone. Taps of his fingers on the screen, then he gives the device back.
Itachi quickly takes some cash out of his wallet, something he's almost forgotten.
"Here, take this for gas."
"You didn't have to. Hm."
"Just take it."
Deidara takes the cash, stashing it into one of the little pockets in his phone case.
"Now go and rest it all out. And maybe call me tomorrow. You know, just to let me know if you're dead or alive."
Itachi gets out of the car, only half registering Deidara's words. He turns to look back once, just for his eyes to meet Deidara's smirk.
A smirk so menacing. Something that promises trouble.