“That one.”
He tilts his head. “Him? He doesn’t look like a challenge.”
“You never know.” He runs a hand through his curly hair. “Remember the last one I brought back? You didn’t think I could do it. Besides,” he licks his lips, “look at all that muscle. I want to sink my teeth into it. The last one your brother brought back was far too skinny for my taste.”
The second man sighs. “Very well.” The rock is warm beneath his back, ocean breeze a blanket over his chest; the sun bakes against his skin, and he doesn’t quite feel like submerging himself into the cold sea. He pushes himself up to sit, regardless, tail twitching as it hits the crisp water.
“You’re so beautiful. So beautiful.” His voice is almost pained. He glances towards the fisherman’s small boat again. “He doesn’t stand a chance. I almost feel bad for him.” A hand runs through long hair, lingers on his back, traces the vertebra that swell against his pale skin. “Almost.”
“Almost,” he repeats, leaning over for a parting kiss. “Don’t miss me too much while I’m gone.”
“Don’t do anything that will make me jealous.”
A laugh floats above the lapping surface of the ocean as he disappears into the waves.
--
“Tell me how you were out all day, yet didn’t catch a single fish.”
Kisame scratches the back of his head. “Sorry, Mang. I got distracted.”
“Distracted?” Mangetsu growls. He turned to the pantry, wood worn and weathered, eaten away by the salty air. “Distractions aren’t gonna put food on the table.”
“I know, Mang. I fucked up, it won’t happen again.” He lets out a thick sigh, stiffly collapsing into the kitchen chair, joints creaking, bones rattling. His leg scratches against the splintering table leg.
“So, what was so enthralling,” Mangetsu asks lowly, setting bread out in front of him on the table, “that you fucked our entire dinner?” He squats in the pantry, removing a fraying wicker basket wrapped in rough cotton from its place in between two cool stones. It knocks against the table with a gentle tap as he sets it down.
Kisame unravels the cloths and plucks up a chunk of cheese. “I thought I saw something. In the water.”
“Was it a fucking fish, pray tell?”
“Unfortunately not.”
“Damn right, unfortunate.” He sets a wooden bowl of broth in front of Kisame. “You’ve been in the sun too long, make sure you get plenty of fluid in you.”
Kisame chuckles dryly. “And here I thought you were mad at me.”
“I am mad at you,” he grunts. “Not mad enough to wish you ill, though.” He takes a seat of his own, across the table from Kisame. “What do you think you saw? It could have been a dolphin, if you were near the lagoon.”
Kisame shakes his head, dipping the firm bread into the warm soup to soften it. He rolls the clump of cheese between his fingers, letting it crumple into smaller pieces. “I wasn’t near the lagoon.”
“Where did you go?” Mangetsu frowns curiously, lifting a heavy stone mug to his lips and taking a deep drink.
“The tide took me. I drifted out past Summoner’s shore.” He grinds a tough ridge of bread crust against the cheese. “I ended up somewhere west of Song Rock.”
The mug of alcohol drops inelegantly from Mangetsu’s fingers. It clatters against the wooden table with an unpleasant hollow chime, stone nicking into the soft wood. The drink spills thickly off the table and onto the dusty floor.
“What were you thinking,” he hisses, “fishing near Song Rock?”
“Mangetsu—”
“Do you know why it is called Song Rock?”
“I never said I was fishing near it. Just to the west.”
“But you were near enough that you knew where it was. That’s too close.”
Kisame sighs, hauling himself up to fetch a rag for the mess. “Mang….”
“What did you think you saw?” Mangetsu asks, crossing his arms. He leans back in the chair. It creaks.
“I don’t know, Mang. Something.” He fetches the rag and sops up the puddle on the floor, rubbing it along the top of the table when he’s done. “It could have been anything. The fish weren’t biting, anyways.”
“Hm. I have a good guess.”
There’s an uncomfortable stretch of silence that splays itself across the little house. Kisame finishes eating, broth warm in his belly, bread filling. He rinses his and Mangetsu’s dishes in a basin of water. They set out to dry on a burlap cloth on the counter.
“I’m coming with you tomorrow.”
Kisame quirks an eyebrow, looking over his shoulder at his cousin, who is still seated at the table. “You’re still sick. I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
He waves a dismissive hand. “I’ll be fine. I don’t want a repeat of today.”
Kisame’s frown is thick on his lips. “Fuck’s sake, Mang, it was just one day. Sometimes the fish just don’t bite, we both know that.”
“It’s not the fish I’m worried about.” He shoves away from the table; the legs scrape against the floor.
“Your far too superstitious, cousin. You should have listened less to the asinine stories our grandparents told us.”
“You should have listened more.”
The night settles fully into the cracks and creases of the foothills, slides down the cliff side and coats the restless water in a purple, dusky glow.
Kisame washes himself briefly out back behind the house, trying to remove the sea salt crusted behind his ear and between his toes. He towels himself off once the sky goes black, pin-pricked with delicate white stars. The moon is nearly full.
He sleeps well that night, tangled in a coarse blanket on his cot, sun-exhausted.
Mangetsu rouses him before the sun is up the next morning. Dawn is yawning over the tops of the cliffs and hills, pink-hued light making its way slowly across the sleepy morning sky. Kisame’s hair is a haphazard mess mashed to his cheekbone and forehead alike, eyes unwilling to fully part. He pushes himself up out of bed anyways; early morning is the best time to fish, when the tide is strong (the round moon will only help) and the crustaceans are jostled up into the water, exciting the predatory fish.
Mangetsu has disappeared from the house by the time he is dressed and washed. He ties his breathable cotton pants at the waist with jute, rolls up the bottoms of the legs to keep dry before he has to wade into the ocean. He puts the string of his hat around his neck—it’s far too dark to be worn yet.
Kisame grabs the pile of net outside the front door, gets the rods leaning against the planked wood and hoists them over his shoulder. He glances back at the shack as he walks the familiar trail to the oceans edge, a faint outline in the muted light.
Mangetsu is already in the boat. He has a crate of water canteens and a knapsack of food. The hollows under his eyes are deep this morning; he’s still sick, Kisame can tell.
“Are you sure you’re up for it?” He asks, taking hold of the brim of the boat.
Mangetsu simply waves him on, hands gripping the anchor’s rope. He begins to drag it out of the sand.
Kisame gives the boat a few good pushes, feet gritting into the wet sand. Once it’s waterborne, he jumps inside. It rocks a few times.
The ocean is fidgety as they row away from the beach. Jutting waves jump up from the surface and lap against the side of the boat.
“Where do you want to go?” Kisame asks, powerful arms stroking the oars crisply through the water.
“South.”
Kisame tisk’s. “You know that the larger fish are to the north.”
Mangetsu stays silent.
“We’ll be fine. You can stop me from doing something stupid. Yeah? We don’t gotta go anywhere near Song Rock.”
The sky’s glowing by the time they get their nets in the water. Gulls duck and dive through the sky, waterbirds float on the surface and watch for fish.
It isn’t until they break for lunch that Kisame hears the first splash.
He has an apple slice halfway in his mouth when the water moves under the boat. There’s a rippling to the left of him.
He stick his head out over the side.
The water splashes on the right.
“Kisame.”
He snaps his head up at his cousin. His hat is tucked around his cheeks, the shade muddying his features, but Kisame can see the distress in his eyes.
“Do not look into the water.”
“Why not?”
“Kisame.”
“We aren’t even close to Song Rock,” Kisame replies, frowning. He peers over the side of the boat again. The surface of the water is swirling, dimpling in the middle. “There’s something under the boat.”
“Kisame.” Mangetsu’s voice is tired.
Kisame frowns and snags the canteen of water off the floor of the boat. He tosses it to his cousin. “You should have stayed in. You aren’t recovered yet.”
Mangetsu ignores him. He pokes through the cooler of fish. “We have plenty to take home for dinner. Let’s return.”
“What are you talking about? The day’s still young. I need to bring something to the market to trade for vegetables.”
“We have enough. It’s safer to go home.” Thickly, he orders, “turn around and row, Kisame.”
“What’re you so nervous about all the sudden?” Kisame looks back at the water. Experimentally, he drops an apple wedge onto the surface.
It’s sucked underwater before even a second can pass. He still can’t see what it is.
“Woah,” Kisame mutters, leaning closer to the water.
“Kisame.”
He sits back reluctantly. “What do you think is down there?” he asks in murmur.
“I don’t have to think. I know exactly what it is.” His voice is edging towards desperate.
One eyebrow slowly arches up Kisame’s forehead. “Mermaid?” His voice is incredulous.
“Siren.”
Kisame snorts. “Sure.” He reaches a hand out toward the water.
“Kisame!”
“What?!”
“Enough,” Mangetsu grits, clenching his hands on the edge of the boat. “Don’t you dare touch the water. Let’s just go home.” Eventually, “please.”
Kisame glares for a second. Seconds click by before he retracts his hand, clucking as he reaches for the oar. Mangetsu’s posture relaxes accordingly.
“We’ll head south, then, to finish the day. I need to get you some healthier food if you plan on getting better.”
“I’m not even that ill.”
Kisame snorts. “Ill in body, ill in mind….” He mutters.
They don’t speak as they finish off the day. Kisame gets shit lucking pulling in anything substantial to eat, and the only words exchanged are curses and sighs. Kisame’s about to whip himself around, to chew Mangetsu out for letting his unfounded paranoia take the opportunity out of the day, but—Mangetsu is buckled over, slumping just a few degrees to the side in a sickly tilt. Kisame hisses out a curse, gets on his knees next to his cousin and touches the side of his leg.
“Mang?” He asks quietly.
“I might…need to return home, soon,” he gets out, using one hand to push himself up a little straighter.
Kisame grimaces. He sits himself back in the front of the boat, grips the oars with an iron grasp, rows faster than he could remember ever having to do. He makes it back to the shore in something close to half an hour. His arms are burning, but he still drags Mangetsu up and out of the boat. They manage to get up the sloping trail of the cliff and to their shack before any serious incidence occurs. Kisame puts a jug of water to Mangetsu’s lips before he gets any weaker.
“I knew you shouldn’t have gone out,” he grumbles, throwing a knitted blanket at Mangetsu’s face.
“I’m just fine,” he insists, settling into the chair.
Kisame leaves him to decompress, heading outside to skin the fish. He cooks a few of the smaller ones over a fire and sets them inside for Mangetsu. The rest of them are wrapped and bundled into a knapsack. Kisame throws the sack over his back and treks all the way to town, to the little market nestled into the edge of the valley. He manages to trade the fish for a small pouch of beans, a flat bag of rice, a couple of squash and a tomato. Not very much, but then again, he wasn’t able to catch very much fish to begin with.
He makes a point to stop by the medicine woman before he leaves. She’s a broad shouldered, thick chested woman with corn silk hair and eyes richer than the coffee Kisame can’t afford. Kisame ducks into her tent, too tall for the low hanging cloth flaps.
She looks to be in an angry mood, fixes Kisame with a glare the moment he approaches her. “What are you here for.” Her voice clacks louder than her wooden slotted shoes against the stone floor.
“My cousin has been sick. I want to know how to help him.”
She sighs, crosses her arms, narrows her eyes. “Sick how.” She speaks in demands, not questions.
“His skin is sallow, he’s had trouble breathing and occasionally swallowing. He tires easily, can’t take much sunshine. His chest hurts.”
“I’d need to see him myself.”
Kisame shifts his weight. “He is not strong enough to make the journey.”
She sighs. “I cannot promise you it will work, but I can guess what medicine he’ll need.” Her eyes scan Kisame’s personal belonging critically. “You do not look nearly like you can afford my services.”
“I will get you the money,” Kisame assures lowly.
“Then stop wasting my time. Get the money and come back, or do not come back at all,” she snaps.
Kisame leaves the tent with a straight back.
“Do not mind my master,” a small voice says behind him as he departs. A short girl, young, black haired and soft eyed, greets him with clasped hands. “She is merely distressed about the disappearance of her adopted son.”
“Disappearance?”
The girl sighs. “Yes, he seems to have vanished without a trace. More than likely he will be skeleton if he is ever found.” Her face screws up. “Lady-Tsunade started sending him to the ocean’s edge to fetch shells and seaweed for her medicines…he never came back one day.”
Kisame raises an eyebrow. “The ocean is unforgiving. There are tides and currents you cannot see. He’s drowned, likely.”
“And Lady-Tsunade realizes this, and is crushed.”
Kisame adjusts the weight of the bag over his shoulder. “If I see a kid on the beach, I’ll let you know.” He pauses. “Tell me, how much is her medicine going to cost?”
The girl hums. “Ten slips of gold, I’d guess, if you need antibiotics. They are hard for her to make, and she doesn’t part with them cheaply.” She hesitates. “You might do better with home remedies.”
Kisame shakes his head resolutely. “I’ve tried that. I will return in a few days’ time with the gold. Tell your master to prepare the medicine for me.”
Mangetsu is no better the next morning. His voice is only a rasp, his knuckles are white, his mouth dry. Kisame wakes up early, sleepier than the slowly rising sun, arms and legs stiff to unfold. He is being as quiet as he can as he gathers some lunch into a bag. Mangetsu wakes up, regardless, due to noise or pure instinct, bracing himself against the wall as he glowers Kisame down.
“No fishing on the north side,” he whispers hoarsely.
“Mang,” Kisame began with a patient voice, “I didn’t catch enough yesterday. You’re sick. You need medicine. Expensive medicine.” He ticks this off like a simple list. Sighs, lumbering up from the floor. “I’ll be okay.”
Mangetsu watches him tie off the sack and grab his hat from the hook. “Don’t look in the water.”
He snorts. “Fish without looking into the water. Fantastic.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“I’ll be careful, Mang.”
He isn’t careful. He is pretty sure that Mangetsu is full of shit. He knows that the sunken ships near Song Rock attract a lot of sea life, knows that the crabs and clams and shrimps that flock to the inundated wreckage attract tuna and snapper and grouper. He knows that the mussels that crust the broken fragments of piers and rocks in the area will get him a pretty penny—a penny that he needs to get his cousin some pretty pills. What does the medicine women call them, again? Antibiotics.
It’s a good day to fish. Kisame reels four big ones in before the sun is at the peak of the sky, stores them in the thatched cooler, baits his line again and casts it into the water.
If things go this smoothly for the rest of the day, he could be getting Mangetsu his medicine by nightfall.
Kisame almost thinks that the day will go by uneventful.
He’s wrong.
Something slams into his boat, rocks it harshly to the side. Kisame is knocked sloppily out of his seat, scrapes his knee against the scratchy floor of the boat, catches himself against a crate and jams his wrist. He hisses, standing up, and glares into the water. The sun reflects off of the surface and glares back.
There’s a swirl. It ripples in neat little circles, pinches into smoothness again.
Kisame leans toward the water, face close to the surface and—
Kisame gasps, scrambling back and knocking his elbows on the sides of the wooden planks, eyes widening, throat choking up—
The face emerging from the water follows him the whole way.
There’s—he’s—there’s a man (a man who comes out of the water, who was underneath the surface of the water, who has a tail—). He perches on the side of the boat, leaning partially inside. He’s just about nose to nose with Kisame, and Kisame is—flabbergasted. The man has the thickest eyelashes he’s ever seen, dark eyes that are more bottomless than the ocean he rocks on, pale skin that absolutely glows.
His lips are faintly pink. They’re full. They look soft.
“Hi.”
His voice is rich, low, silky. Kisame wants to wrap it around himself like a warm blanket, wants to comb his fingers through it, wants to breathe it in like smoke and feel it in his chest for days.
He can’t respond, hypnotized by the way the man’s hair slicks to his neck and bare chest, mesmerized by the coy tilt of his head.
“What are you catching?” He asks.
“Fish,” Kisame mumbles.
“Hm. Have anything good?”
“Yeah.”
The man pushes himself up further, bending at the waist. His—his tail flicks up out of the water, droplets streaming to the sides, mist spraying as it slaps back down onto the surface. It’s golden. Golden like—Kisame isn’t sure he’s seen anything so beautiful, something so expensive that he could compare. No, no, he’s sure he hasn’t. It shimmers, glows almost as it sways in the water. The water rolls smoothly over the scales like wet silk slipping together.
“Are you willing to share?”
Kisame can’t pay attention to the question. “What are you?”
He tilts his head. “Do you not mean, who?”
“No. No.” Kisame’s eyes flick from the man’s face, to the water, to the tail, back to his face. “What.”
He hums, looks disappointed. “Does it matter?”
Kisame considers the question for a second. “I don’t know.”
He smiles, pushes himself up again, rippling the water, folding his forearms together, leaning minutely closer to Kisame’s face.
“Can I—do you have a name?”
He laughs. It’s crystalline, it’s rich and fragrant. It’s diamonds tinkling against solid gold, its water running smoothly over his skin, it’s the sun crawling over the mountain top in the morning. Kisame thinks that he might offer his left foot if the creature will just make that sound again.
“Of course I do,” he says. “Itachi.”
“Itachi.” It’s only a choke, because he can barely suck in the necessary air to say it. Everything about Itachi is an overwhelming, wonderful punch to his lungs. “Itachi.”
Itachi smiles, eyes sparkling. “And you,” he says, “are Kisame.”
He nods dumbly, eyes focused on the water droplets that slip off the brim of his eyelashes. Realizes, a second late, that he never introduced himself. “How—?”
“I heard your cousin calling your name yesterday.” He frowns a little bit.
Kisame dislikes the expression, doesn’t think it’s fitting for Itachi’s face. “Has something upset you?”
“He didn’t want you to meet me.” Itachi’s tail swishes, golden light fluttering through the surrounding water like beams from a prism. “And that made me sad.”
“Don’t be sad.” His response is automatic. He isn’t thinking. Again, a little delayed, “why did you want to meet me?”
Itachi tilts his head. He lets his hand drop, curls his fingers around the brim of the boat. His eyes say that he doesn’t understand.
Suddenly he’s gone. He slips off the wooden edge and is out of sight in the soft lapping of the water.
The second he’s out of the water Kisame feels like a rubber band snaps against his forehead. He springs to his feet and shoves his fisherman’s hat off of his head, gripping tightly onto his hair.
“Boo.”
Kisame jumps, much to his chagrin. He spins quickly, eyes darting.
Itachi isn’t on the front of the boat, but rather on the stern. His entire middle is perched, backing sloping down and swelling again as his tail begins. The golden glow disappears into the water. Is it illuminating the ocean, or is that Kisame’s imagination?
Itachi rests his chin on his folded hands. His hair is an inky fan, spilling around his face, across his shoulders and blanketing his back.
“What—what are you,” Kisame says again. Itachi’s eyes are pulling him. His hand tremors slightly against his leg.
Itachi wrinkles his nose. It’s cute. “I thought that we got past this?” He lifts his head up, tilts it. “Have I made you uncomfortable?”
Kisame doesn’t reply.
Itachi’s face falls, but it looks like he’s trying to cover it up. “I can leave you be, if you don’t want me to be here anymore.”
“No.” The response is automatic. Kisame doesn’t understand the part of himself that it came from.
The smile that spreads across Itachi’s face warms Kisame’s whole body. “I’m glad. I’ve been wanting to say hello to you for so long.”
Kisame’s eyebrows rise up his forehead, eyes widening in the corners. “Me? Why?”
Wry, now. “I’ve been watching you. I had to know your name, at least.”
“My cousin doesn’t want me to—” It’s in that moment, mid-sentence, that Kisame realizes that Mangetsu was right. That there really was a siren swirling around his boat underwater, a siren that had been listening to him through the muffled blanket of the sea, watching him through the swaying tides. “You’re a siren.”
Itachi shrugs noncommittally.
“Are you denying it?”
“I don’t trust human’s interpretations. I can’t promise that I’m anything of what you think I am,” he says with a teasing voice.
“You kill those same humans.”
Itachi looks offended. “It’s not a siren’s fault that fishermen crash their own boats. They know how to sail better than I do.” He slicks hair behind his shoulder, and Kisame forgets what the entire conversation is about. “Kisame,” he says with milk and honey, “do you think that I’m going to hurt you?” He reaches out a slender hand, beckoning Kisame forward.
“I don’t have evidence otherwise.”
Itachi sinks lower into the water. “Oh.” His voice sounds hurt. Honestly hurt. “Well, if you think that of me.” He pauses, flicks his eyes up to meet Kisame’s, stretches his arm out again. “Can I gain your trust?”
Kisame watches him, breathing shallowly. He doesn’t move a muscle.
“No?” His voice is hopeful.
Kisame holds steadfast.
“Oh.” Itachi slips his hand off the boat. The water splashes quietly. “I’ll…go home, I guess.” He pauses in his retreat under the surface, casting Kisame one last glance. “I’ve been dreaming of actually talking to you for so many suns and moons…I should have known better, I guess. I won’t bother you again, then.”
The sea is empty again.
Kisame tries to go back to fishing, tries to concentrate on the rest of the day, but his hand is still trembling. He isn’t thinking straight anymore, can’t stop fidgeting. His eyes stray to the water. Looks for ripples, for waves, for golden light bouncing through the sea.
It’s empty.
Kisame doesn’t feel good.
The rest of the day is largely wasteful.
He doesn’t tell Mangetsu what happened when he gets home, but his cousin is keen on his behavior. He’s badgered for close to an hour as Mangetsu demands to know if the siren appeared to him. Kisame keeps his lips locked.
Mangetsu drops it, eventually.
He’s no better the next morning. He’s suspicious as Kisame quietly packs his bags and prepares for the boat. He helps skin the fish that Kisame brought home from the night before to turn into jerky, eyes darting with Kisame’s movements. “Is everything okay?”
Kisame grunts. “I’m just worried about your health. I’ll get you that medicine tonight, okay?”
Mangetsu stifles a cough, eyes dropping back to the fish.it “Have you seen the siren?”
“What?”
“You heard me,” he croaks.
Kisame doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, staring at his cousin. “Mangetsu—”
“I know, you don’t believe it’s real. But I do, and I’m worried.” He muffles another cough. “Stay safe.”
Kisame actually tries to this time. Floats out east first, spots a few new areas with hope that he can catch something new. His leg is bouncing up and down, though, his fingers clenching and unclenching around the handle of his fishing rod. The net lies untouched on the floor. He forgets to even use it.
He just—he just can’t keep himself from going north, eventually, can’t keep himself from glancing into the water and looking for that beautiful gold. Part of him wants to see him—Itachi, that was his name—again just to have evidence that it was all real.
He’s within eyesight of Song Rock before he knows it. He isn’t even catching fish—he doesn’t realize it until he angrily kicks at the cooler and it goes tumbling across the floor of the boat, light and empty.
He braces his hands on his knees, scrunches his eyes shut.
“Fuck,” he hisses.
“Are you okay?”
Kisame snaps his head up. There’s a pair of pale hands curled around the brim of the boat, a set of dark eyes peeking over the soft wood at him.
Kisame stiffens from head to toe.
“Bad day?” The siren asks.
“I thought you said you were going to leave me alone,” Kisame says warily.
Itachi pauses, eyes slant to the side. “Yes.”
“Yet you’re here.”
Itachi’s shoulders sag, dipping into the water by a few inches. “Do you want me to leave?” The translucent, ribbed fins at the end of his tail flick up out of the water, scatter the golden light like a prism. “I’ll leave if you ask me.”
Kisame does not ask.
Itachi looks at him coy, black bangs slipping in front of his murky eyes, sticking to his jaw. “I have something to show you,” he says, pushing himself to the side of the boat, “if you want to see it?”
Kisame blinks. He finds himself nodding.
Itachi smiles, propels himself up out of the water with a few powerful flicks of his tail. He braces himself on the edge of the boat, slips one hand over the wood and presents Kisame a shell. It’s twisted, spiraling thin at the point, with long, delicate spikes. Kisame carefully takes it from Itachi’s hand. It’s lighter than he expects; the spikes are hollow, he thinks, maybe, and surprisingly brittle. It’s a stained white, not perfectly clear, with little patches of brown marring the smooth surface.
“Do you like it?” Itachi asks.
Kisame nods numbly. He rolls the shell over in his hand, thumbs the shiny smooth surface that curves inward into the pit of the shell. “I’ve never seen a shell like this,” he replies.
“They’re hard to find,” Itachi sing-songs, swishing his tail, giving Kisame a good view of the whole expanse of it. “But I think they’re some of the prettiest.”
“Dangerous,” Kisame murmurs, eyeing the spiky tips.
“Dangerous,” Itachi repeats, hoisting himself farther into the boat, “but so beautiful, don’t you think?”
“Beautiful,” Kisame breathes, eyes flicking to the tail again. “Can I—can I see your—that?”
“Hm?” Itachi plays oblivious, casts his gaze behind him, at the slick scales and gossamer fins. “This?” He tilts backwards and sweeps it up in one fluid motion, lets the water roll off in rivets. He doesn’t smack back into the sea; rather, he slips it back in quietly, softly, slowly, so that the gold reflections play in the rolling water.
“That,” Kisame mumbles, entranced.
“Do you like it?”
“Yes.”
“More than the shell?”
“More than the shell,” Kisame repeats, eyes sliding from Itachi’s silky tail to the skin of his chest.
Itachi hums, slips away from the boat to float on his back, stretches out a little, gives Kisame a view worth killing for. “Have you ever seen a conch?” Itachi asks.
Kisame blinks, flicks his eyes from Itachi’s skin back up to his eyes. He’s not any safer; Itachi’s eyes are endless, soul-snaring. “A conch? I think…I’ve had conch before.”
“You don’t fish it?”
Kisame shakes his head. “You have to dive for that. Too dangerous.”
“Dangerous?” That word again.
Kisame waves a hand. “The tides. They’ll drag you out too far to get back to your boat, exhaust you when you try to fight them.”
“Dangerous.” Itachi chuckles. “And fishing is safe?”
Kisame nods. “Yeah, it’s safe.”
“Interesting,” he smiles wryly. “You know, I love the tides.”
“You do?”
“They’re fun,” Itachi replies lightly, rolling in the water like a seal. “They’re fun to play in.”
Kisame cracks a smile. “You play?”
“Of course I do.” Itachi pushes a hand through his hair so it splays out around him. “What else is there to do when I’m not luring handsome fishermen to their watery graves?” He winks at Kisame.
Kisame rests his elbow on the side of the boat, leans toward the water. “Are you calling me handsome?”
“Am I telling you something you don’t already know?” Itachi asks coyly.
Kisame reaches out, fingers twitching to touch side of Itachi’s hand just to feel if his skin is the same. “I was thinking about the rumors, you know.”
“Rumors?”
“About sirens. About Song Rock.”
“Ooh,” Itachi croons. “The infamous Song Rock.”
Kisame grins. “The currents are bad, there, and historically sailors haven’t known that there were rocks under the surface that you can’t see. The passage is narrower than they think, so the boats hit the underwater rocks and shatter. The tides pull the sailors away from land and they drown.”
Itachi grabs onto the boat, drags himself up so the swell of his tail breeches the surface. “Such a simple explanation,” he purrs darkly, leaning in towards Kisame’s face. “I like it.”
Kisame swallows. “Is it not the truth?”
Itachi smiles, brushes his fingers across Kisame’s face. “Of course it is, Kisame. What else could it possibly be?”
“Ah….” Kisame eyes go out of focus.
Itachi pulls back, slips back into the water.
“I need to…” Kisame starts, looking back to the fishing rod, “I need to keep fishing. It’s kind of…my day job.”
Itachi smiles. “I’ll leave you to it, then.” He pushes back from the boat, splashes his tail in Kisame’s face. “Next time you come out to fish…you know where I’ll be.”
Itachi has disappeared before Kisame can respond.
Shockingly, Kisame is too distracted for the rest of the afternoon to actually net any fish.
He goes home empty handed.
Mangetsu grills him again, just a little, but he can’t speak too loudly or else he’ll lapse into a coughing fit.
It’s alright. Kisame knows what he would say.
Kisame heads to the market again that night. He doesn’t want to spend money. He needs to save as much as he can for the medicine, but he’s out of soap, and almost out of bread. So, he finds himself making the long walk to the town, dusty sandals snapping up against his callous-cracked heels.
He barters viciously with a vendor who tries to charge him too much for a loaf of bread with a seeded crust. They get into an argument, Kisame grinding his teeth and keeping resolute until the grumpy merchant secedes, wraps a large loaf in a cloth and thrusts it into Kisame’s chest.
He departs with a cheeky grin.
The next vendor has a whole new array of goat’s milk soaps Kisame has never even heard of before. There’s a purple one called ‘lavender’ whose scent lingers in Kisame’s nose for too long. There’s another bar that’s orange; it smells foul, Kisame can’t decide what it’s supposed to be.
The vendor is a sweet old lady who wears a bonnet all the time. She has a saggy face, lots of wrinkles, and warm eyes.
She’s in the middle of a conversation with another customer when Kisame chooses his soap.
“I wouldn’t worry too much,” she’s reassuring, “I heard that you won’t be in trouble unless you touch the water. As long as you don’t make contact, I don’t think they can do anything.” She spins to Kisame, smiles, as she takes the white soaps from his hands and wraps them in brown paper. “Kisame! So good to see you again, how are you? How is your cousin?”
“I’m doing well,” he murmurs, offering his silver. “Mangetsu is doing less well.”
“Oh? Has he fallen ill?”
“Something like that,” Kisame mutters, taking the soap. “Thank you, as always.”
It’s dusk when he makes it back to his house. Mangetsu is asleep on the kitchen table. Kisame frowns, jostles his shoulder until he wakes up.
“You’re gonna break your neck if you keep falling asleep here,” he grumbles, nudging Mangetsu’s head.
Mangetsu grunts out a warbled noise, startles awake, shoves the heel of his palm up against his cheek. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to.” He coughs into the crook of his elbow. “Did you get medicine?”
Kisame tenses. “Not yet, Mang. Soon.”
He doesn’t sleep well that night.
He gets up extra early the next morning. He wants to make the most out of the day, prays that the fish are biting. Mangetsu is still asleep, and he keeps quiet as not to wake him. It’s barely light enough to see the seam between the ocean and the sky, and Kisame trips over his own nets trying to climb into the boat and gets sand in his ear.
He stays intently focused on the catch, doesn’t think about anything but the way the fishing line sinks into the ocean and the pull of water through the nets.
Nothing fucking bites.
He’s fuming by midday. The sun is scorching the back of his neck his hands are sweating, and there’s not a single fish in his cooler.
“Fuck it, fuck it, fuck, fuck—!” He sinks to his knees, tugs wildly on his hair. He sits there in the sun for a few seconds, brainstorms how the fuck he’s going to do anything.
“Déjà vu,” something says quietly from the water. “Another bad day?”
Kisame snaps his head up.
There’s silky black hair, pale skin and golden—
“Itachi,” Kisame gasps, getting up on stiff knees and staggering towards him.
“You remembered my name,” Itachi says, pleased. The silken, thin fins at the end of his tail flick out of the water. “You seem distressed.”
“I….” Kisame trails off. “I can’t catch enough fish. I haven’t gotten anything all day, I didn’t get enough yesterday.”
Itachi frowns sympathetically, leans closer into the boat.
“My cousin needs his medicine, he’s not going to get better if I can’t get it…and if I can’t get fish….” He runs a calloused hand over his head. “Sorry, I’m ranting at you.”
Itachi tilts his head instead of responding. Blinks a few times, water droplets slipping from the elegant curl of his eyelashes. He offers Kisame a wry smile, makes brief eye contact, and slips under the water.
Kisame looks around abruptly, leaning over the side of the boat.
There’s a few moments of silence, albeit the light whisper of the breeze, as the ocean turns calm underneath his boat again. Kisame almost thinks, with a rather sharp pang to his side, that maybe Itachi took off.
His fear is cleared by a splash of water on the other side of the boat.
Itachi’s middle is sticking halfway out of the water, fingers wrangling a slippery fish into his grasp. He’s smiling, biting his lip, as he tries to control it. “Hurry, before it flips out of my hands,” he laughs, holding it out of the water.
Kisame snaps out of his stupor, quickly snagging the net off of the floor and throwing it around Itachi’s hands.
He tosses the writhing fish into the cooler.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, tracing the curve of Itachi’s jawline with his eyes.
“How many more fish do you need?” Itachi asks.
“…how many more can you catch?”
And, so, that is how Kisame spends almost the entire afternoon watching this beautiful creature duck and dive and splice through the water. How he gets armfuls of fish tossed onto the floor of his boat, how he watches golden light scatter through the afternoon sea.
He gets hungry, eventually, remembering in both mind and stomach that he forgot to eat lunch in his distracted state from before. It’s almost painful to pull his eyes away from Itachi, who is propped up on the stern of the boat, arms folded under his chin again, to grab some bread and fruit out of his lunch knapsack.
“Do you—” Kisame lopsidedly holds out a seeping cloth bag of berries. “What do you eat?”
Itachi evades the question. “Why do you ask? Are you offering me something?”
He motions with the berries again. “If you would like.”
Itachi smiles. “Yes, I can eat those.”
Kisame places it carefully in front of Itachi, mind secretly scared that a wrong movement will send Itachi skittish back into the water. “Do you eat fish?” he asks, tearing off a piece of bread.
“I can.” Itachi balances a mulberry on his pointer finger. When he takes a bite, dark juice trickles over the swell of his lip. He catches it on his thumb, slips it into his mouth to suck it off.
Kisame is hypnotized. “I grew those,” he breathes, watching with rapt attention as Itachi licks all the way up his thumb and forefinger.
His eyes brighten, flick up, trace up and down Kisame’s neck and chest. “You did?” He sets both hands down and pushes himself up, exposing more of his torso, slick with water. “It’s delicious, Kisame.”
“Thank you,” he mumbles. “Do—do you want more?”
Itachi tilts his head, eyelids fluttering. He pushes a hand through thick black hair, tucks it behind his ear, subtly traces the curve of his jaw as it drops back to the boat. “More berries? Or…something else?”
“Anything you want,” Kisame rasps, letting the chunk of bread fall off his leg and roll in the salty pockets of water trapped at the bottom of the boat.
Itachi laughs, leaning forward, tilting his face towards Kisame’s. “You say that, but do you mean it?” Before Kisame can process his words, much less react and respond, Itachi is slipping off of the boat and submerging lithely into the water. His hair fans out on the surface of the water before being sucked down into the darkness.
Itachi appears again on the other side of the boat, humming. “Do you have enough fish to get your cousin what he needs?”
Kisame runs a calloused hand over his head. “I—yeah, I think so.”
Itachi lets go of the boat, floats on the water. His tail unfurls slowly, keeping himself on his back. “So there’s nothing else I can do?” He rolls over onto his stomach, lets a low swell of water wash over his head and flutter his hair back into the water around his shoulders. His eyes light up. “I know what will get you as much money as you could ever want.”
“And what’s that?”
“There’s crabs, big ones, that hide under some rocks on the ocean’s floor.”
Kisame can’t control his reaction. “Crabs?”
Itachi smiles. “I’ll be back in just a moment.”
Kisame waits less than patiently for Itachi to resurface.
When he does, he’s precariously grasping a shiny red crab, pincers flailing, and holding it high above his head. “You better have a place to put this,” he laughs, “before it latches on to my hair.”
Kisame bundles the crab in the net, wrangles it into woven basket while Itachi dives back underwater, golden tail splashing and bursting a plume of mist into the air. Kisame laughs as it sprays against his jaw and wets his shirt.
Itachi gets him two more, one on the small side, but still plump enough to make him rich.
“You’re—you’re amazing, Itachi, I can’t believe you got me these,” Kisame says, awe slipping through the grin in his voice.
Itachi absolutely preens at the phrase, stretching himself up out of the water and leaning into the boat. “I can be much more amazing,” he assures sweetly, pushing hair out of his face. “I’ll get you mussels.”
Kisame raises his eyebrows. “You can do that?”
“Hmph.” Itachi does a delicate back somersault through the water, and Kisame gets an all too beautiful view of the stretch of his stomach and the glint of his tail. “I’ll show you what I can and cannot do.”
He returns some minutes later with an armful of clams and mollusks and scallops. He throws them in the bottom of the boat, smile cheeky at Kisame’s blundering excitement.
“You are amazing, Itachi,” Kisame says, getting on his knees on the boat and leaning over the water. “Do you know what you’ve just done for me? I can get my cousin’s medicine tonight.”
Itachi hums, reaches a hand up towards Kisame’s face. Beads of water slip of his skin, tinkle gently against the water as they splash back down. Itachi tentatively brushes his fingers against the outline of Kisame’s cheekbone, trails his knuckles up to the coarse hair of his eyebrow. “You are so handsome, Kisame…” he sighs, resting his chin in his palm. “Do you really have to go so soon?” He asks, brushing over Kisame’s eyelashes with his thumb.
“I….” Kisame is lost—lost in Itachi’s eyes, in his touch, in the wonderful draw of his voice. “I need to take care of Mangetsu, but…I can stay a little longer. I don’t need to leave yet.” He’s hyper aware of the hand still caressing his face, fingers lingering on his cheek tattoo.
Kisame thinks he might pass out.
Itachi’s eyes brighten, and he smiles warmly. “I’m glad.” He drops his hand from Kisame’s face to settle over his hand. “Tell me, what is your home like?”
“My home?” Kisame’s fingers twitch underneath Itachi’s. “What about it.”
“Mm. Anything. Everything. I want to know more about you.”
Kisame is—flattered, to say the least. “It’s—it’s up on the cliffs, over there by the west shore. I live there with my cousin. His brother used to stay with us, too, but he died some years ago.”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” Itachi murmurs, tilting his head hypnotically. “How did he die?” His voice is strange.
Kisame is entranced. “We’re not sure. He disappeared.”
Itachi hums. His tail flicks under the crystal blue surface of the water in rhythmic pulses. “What does your house look like?” He trails a finger over Kisame’s knuckles.
“It’s—um, it’s made of wood….”
Itachi smiles and bites his lip. He pushes himself up further out of the water, rests his elbow on the edge of the boat so that the whole of his human flesh is exposed. His fingers push between Kisame’s, his other hand strokes Kisame’s cheek. “Yeah?”
“Yeah….” Itachi’s face is only a few inches away from his, and it’s getting closer. Kisame can’t keep his eyes off his lips. “It’s kind of small, though.”
“Small?” Itachi smiles. “My home is as large as the ocean is,” he murmurs, tapping his thumb against Kisame’s cheek. “There’s so much room, so many beautiful places. We could go wherever we wanted.”
Kisame stutters, “we?”
Itachi’s eyes dart. “If you wanted to come with me…” he leans closer to Kisame, letting his nose brush against Kisame’s, “you could.”
Kisame stares, mouth slips open. “I…I could.” He swallows. “Where would we go?”
“Anywhere,” Itachi whispers, pressing both his hands to Kisame’s cheeks. His breath is sweet when it washes over Kisame’s face. “Kisame, we can go anywhere, it won’t matter, as long as I have you there….”
Kisame can feel Itachi’s breath kiss over his lips. Itachi is slipping down, now, sinking back into the water, and Kisame starts to follow. It isn’t until he sees his reflection in the water that he snaps out of it. “I—ahm—I have to get Mangetsu his medicine,” he chokes.
Itachi’s eyes flash. “Of course.” He dips below the water, swims under Kisame’s boat to the other side. He pokes his head back up and rests his chin on top of the boat. “Another time then.”
“Another time,” Kisame murmurs, glancing towards the sun. The dimming light reflects off the water in golden shards.
Itachi frowns a little. “You have to go, now, don’t you.”
“I just need to get Mangetsu’s medicine,” he pleads, “but I’ll be back tomorrow.”
Itachi perks up. “You promise?”
“I promise.”
Itachi dives and plays through the water as Kisame rows back to shore. The golden arch of his tail curves over the surface of the water, glittering. Kisame laughs when Itachi bumps against the boat, splashes water at him with his fins.
He stops about half a mile away from shore, waves at Kisame before he ducks back under the water.
Kisame can’t stop grinning the entire way home.
Kisame is glad for his above average strength; he didn’t think he would be able to drag all the seafood back up the cliff trail. One of the crabs nips his back on the way up.
He bangs on the door with his foot, setting the nets of animals down on the stone tablet in front of the house. “Mangetsu!” He opens the door, ducks his head in and grins hugely at his cousin. “Get out here, you have to see this.”
Mangetsu frowns, pushes himself up from the rickety chair, sets the half-made bowl of mulberry jam on the table. “Has something happened?” He stands in the doorway.
“Only good things.”
Mangetsu looks horrified as he takes in the nets of fish, some vaguely wiggling their tails, and the crabs whose claws protrude through the gaps in the mesh and snap aimlessly through the air. “How on earth did you….”
Kisame’s smile is as breathless as his voice, still winded from dragging his catch up the beach trails to the shack. “Isn’t this amazing, Mangetsu? I just gotta clean a few of these up, then I’ll take em to town and—”
“Kisame—no one man can get this all in a day.” He kneels by the nets, studies a crab’s pincer. “Kisame….”
“Yeah, I had shit luck towards the beginning. Couldn’t get a bite. Eventually,” Kisame replies, pulling open one of the nets and gathering half a dozen fish by their tails, tying them together with jute, “Itachi got me most of these and even offered—”
“Who,” Mangetsu rasps, “is Itachi?”
Kisame pauses, freezes, and turns to look at his cousin. “Mang—”
“You did not,” Mangetsu hisses, rushing forward and grabbing Kisame by the shirt, knuckles fisted into white and red blotches, “you did not actually confront the siren! I told you to stay away from him! I told you to not look into the devil’s eye, and what did you do?!”
“Mang!” Kisame grips Mangetsu’s hand, callouses rubbing raw into his knuckles. “Mangetsu it isn’t like that.”
“Like what?!”
“Itachi isn’t—”
“Yes, he is. Kisame—”
“You don’t know him—”
“Neither do you!” His voice is the loudest Kisame has ever heard it. His teeth are nearly bared, tired eyes flaming. “Neither do you, Kisame! You think you know him because he’s swimming around alluring you? Everything he has told you is a lie!”
Kisame recoils, mouth snarling up angrily. “Don’t speak that way about someone you don’t even know.”
“You don’t—Kisame—” Mangetsu runs a trembling hand over his platinum hair. He takes a few breaths, channeling his frustration. His knees are giving, and he grips on to the hem of Kisame’s shirt to stay upright. “Kisame, why do you think you caught nothing? He was following you, scaring fish away from your lines and nets. He wanted to gain your trust. That’s what they do.”
Kisame shakes his head. “No,” he murmured, “no, Mang, you’re wrong.”
“Please,” Mangetsu begs lowly, spine bending as he sags. “Please, Kisame, for me. I do not want to lose you the same way I lost my brother.”
Kisame frowns. “Suigetsu drowned.”
Mangetsu bristles, eyes darting to the side. “You think that a boy who lived at the water’s edge drowned so easily?”
“You and I both know how rough the sea is. If you don’t know what you’re doing, it’s not hard to be overcome.”
“Suigetsu did know better,” Mangetsu insists, hands clenching up.
Kisame lets the silence roll between them like the waves below. “You think that a siren took him?”
“I know he did.” Mangetsu looks up. “Kisame, please.”
“Look,” he starts lowly, eyes scouring the sand under his bare feet. “I know that you’re worried. But Itachi isn’t going to hurt me.”
“Why would he not?!” Mangetsu’s anger is starting to rise again.
“If he was meaning to kill me, he could have flipped my boat at any time and dragged me away. He wouldn’t need my trust, or my compliance. So why would he bother with any of this, then? He’s not like that, Mangetsu, he’s really not.”
Mangetsu glares, silent, nails digging into his palm.
Kisame says, “I’m gonna take this fish down to the market. I’ll get you your medicine, alright? No matter what this argument leads to, you need that.” He continues bunching the fish by their tails, flopping them across his knee to secure the jute. He grabs the crabs by their backs, catching the crook of their claws with the drawstring and tying them shut. “I’ll be back in a few hours.”
“We need to talk about this.”
“It’s going to be dark, soon, cousin. I want to be able to travel back from the market while it’s still light out.” He squints his eyes into the golden, late afternoon sun. “We can—” he gestures sarcastically with one hand, “—talk about this when I return.”
Mangetsu turns on his heel, shuts the door on Kisame before he says anything.
Kisame stares at the defined grain of the wooden door, bathed in orange sunlight. He sighs, repacks the fish in his bag, tosses the crabs on top.
The market place isn’t as busy when he gets there. He sells the fish for his normal price, exchanges the silver it gets him for gold. He barters the crabs carefully, and their thick claws of delicate meat end up getting him two slips of gold each. The mussels collectively get him another three. He leaves the market with his money pouch full of sixteen slips total.
Tsunade isn’t any happier to see him. Her thin lips are set down, displeased, and her arms are crossed stiffly in front of her chest.
Kisame’s grinning ear to ear, though.
“Did you steal this money?” She asks gruffly, eyeing the gold.
“Of course not, ma’am.” He’s still shit eating. “I’m good at what I do.”
Narrowed eyes, narrowed mouth. “And what is it you do?”
“Fisherman.”
Her expression changes minutely. “You live at the ocean, then?”
“Indeed.”
“Have you—” Her hazelnut eyes flick to the side, “have you seen a boy hanging around the beach?”
Kisame’s eyebrows rise up his head. “Your son? I’m afraid not.”
Her face falls, she leans back an inch. “I see.” Suddenly she’s up off the chair, wooden sandals clacking insistently against the floor as she walks to a back shelf, rummages nearly, retrieves a glass bottle of tablets. “Have your cousin take one of these with every meal.” She slams it down harshly on the table, and Kisame is surprised the glass does not shatter. Tsunade snatches her gourd of alcohol, takes a deep drink. “If he’s still suffering in a week’s time, come back to me with more gold.” Eyes him, then grunts. “Should be fine, with the amount you brought back today.”
He grins again. “Will be no trouble.”
On his way out the market he buys a cluster of bananas—he hasn’t seen them around in months, all imported, climate too hot to naturally grow them, sun just fries the leaves right off the tree—and a bundle of leafy greens, similar to lettuce, and the vendor promises their nutrition will speed his cousin’s recovery.
Mangetsu is acting a little strange when he returns home. Kisame assumes he’s still singed from the argument. Neither of them bring it up again.
He feeds Mangetsu a banana and a pill will a full mug of water. He rinses his dusty legs and feet outside with bathing water, runs wet hands through his hair, clearing away the stickiness of the salt. He finishes by washing his face, scrubbing his eyes. He brushes a stray eyelash off his thumb.
He wakes early the next morning. He doesn’t do it for the prime of the fish.
He isn’t interested in fishing at all this morning. Something else is calling him to the water.
Mangetsu is uncharacteristically still in bed when he gathers the fishing supplies. Kisame sets the vial of tablets out on the counter with the sweet bread and fish jerky and heads to the shore.
The boat is gone.
He panics, dropping the net, eyes darting wildly around him. Where did it go? Who could have taken it, no one even comes out here, why would anyone—
He ends up nearly sprinting back up the slopes to the shack, almost tripping over the nets swinging by his legs.
“Mangetsu,” he gasps, throwing the door open. “Mangetsu, wake up.”
His cousin is sitting at the table, calm, carefully eating a strip of jerky. There is one pill on the table next to him, a cup of milk to his right. “I am awake,” he replies. He already looks better than the night before, Kisame notices in his panicked state.
“The boat is gone,” Kisame says, distressed, gripping the splintering door frame. “Mangetsu, our boat is gone.”
Mangetsu calmly sips his milk. “The boat is safe, Kisame.”
He recoils, flinching away from the door frame. “You—what?”
“You will not be fishing for a time.”
Anger—well, first confusion, disbelief—settles through him. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.” Another quant sip, heavy mug thumping against the wooden desk. “The boat has been temporarily relocated. It is safe, just out of reach until I retrieve it.”
Kisame’s brow screws in, face bunching up unattractively. “I don’t—Mangetsu, how are we going to eat, or barter for other goods?”
“How many slips of gold did you bring home last night?” Mangetsu asks rhetorically. “We are set for a while. We have decent food stored up, decent money. We don’t need anything desperately.”
Kisame flounders. “What—you—just because we have money right now doesn’t mean that we should just fuck it and quit working. What are you—why would you even—Mangetsu, what the fuck?”
Mangetsu leans back. “It’s not safe for you to fish anymore.”
Kisame lets a cold silence settle over the kitchen. “Is this about Itachi?”
Mangetsu rolls his eyes, whirling milk around the mug. “It is about the siren, yes.”
“His name is Itachi,” Kisame stresses, “and he’s not going to hurt me, how many times do I have to tell you this?”
Mangetsu stands, shoving his chair harshly away from the table and pressing his palms to the wooden top. “The boat is gone, Kisame, that’s just how it is for now.”
Kisame sputters, watching his cousin move around the table. “You can’t be fucking serious, Mangetsu, you can’t be—do you see how crazy you’re being?”
“Kisame,” he replied calmly, “you are entertaining a siren as if you’re long term friends.”
“His name is Itachi,” Kisame snaps.
“His name does not matter.”
“Don’t say that!” Kisame yells, fingers curling into a fist over the doorway. “Fuck, Mangetsu!”
“Just take some time off, Kisame.” Mangetsu leaves the room without another word.
He tries to waste the day away keeping himself occupied. He waters the mulberry trees up at the tops of the cliffs, cleans the water trough outside the shack and bangs the crusted dirt off the shovels. There’s nothing to do though, not without the surf under his boat and fish in his nets.
And he wants Itachi, wants the golden shine of his tail and the black swirl of his hair in the water.
He sits on the ground outside. His leg bounces wildly up and down, hands twitch on the dust. He tongues the inside of his cheek, sucks on his teeth.
Fuck.
Mangetsu has wandered off to the tide pools towards the southern waters to look for sea urchins and starfish.
Kisame can’t help himself.
He rushes out of the shack, stumbles down the loose trail of dirt and rock and shell that slope down from the cliffs to the beach. His pants snag on the spiked brown brush that clings to jutting earth. He forgot to put on shoes; he can feel stickers sinking into his soles, doesn’t bother to pick them out until his feet hit the coarse sand.
He doesn’t know what he meant to do once he reaches the ocean. He walks right to the edge of the water, feels the water lap at his feet and turn the sand gummy in between his toes. That wide, familiar stretch of blue—Itachi wouldn’t be anywhere near the shore. Itachi wouldn’t be able to hear him or see him, but—Kisame promised to see him again.
He ends up wandering along the rocky outcropping that merges the base of the cliff with the water. The rock is weathered, eroded, porous in some areas. His lack of shoes, though maybe more painful, help him maneuver the uneven surface, feet molding to the rock.
He traipses, back scratching against the wall of the cliff when he tries to avoid high tide lapping against his legs. He doesn’t know where he is supposed to be going, he just knows that he can’t sit idle, can’t waste the day away in his house when Itachi is somewhere floating in the lapping tide.
It’s a miracle, he thinks, when he sees something golden snake through the water. He almost trips over his own feet trying to get to the water’s edge.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” he breathes as Itachi emerges from the water, black hair fanning around his pale shoulders. He reaches a hand out, cupping his cheek.
Itachi nuzzles into his palm. “I almost thought you weren’t coming,” he murmurs, trailing his lips across the swell of Kisame’s thumb. “Even after you promised.”
“I’d never lie to you,” Kisame swears, getting on his knees, sinking closer to Itachi.
Itachi hums, stretches his neck out and lets Kisame’s hand rub down the sinewy chords under his skin. He circles his fingers around Kisame’s wrist, tugs on it until Kisame trails his hand down his chest, pulls it into the water so he can feel his stomach, teases him where the crest of his scales meets flesh.
Kisame isn’t breathing.
“I missed you,” Itachi murmurs, sliding Kisame’s hand around the scales below his hip. “I’m used to seeing you earlier in the day. I’ve felt like I was missing something.” He tilts his head, black hair slicking away from his neck and dripping thin water drops back onto his shoulder.
“I missed you too,” Kisame swallows. Itachi’s scales are soft, vaguely slippery. He can feel the curve of each one, like pages of a book overlapped on top of each other. Kisame is careful not to snag them the other way, careful not to cause Itachi any pain, but Itachi’s lips are wet and glistening, and ever part of his body feels so soft, and his eyes are so smoky and—
“Tell me about your day,” Itachi says, adjusting himself against the rock. “Why didn’t you come see me?”
“Mangetsu hid the boat.” Itachi has slid his hand back to the skin of his hip, and Kisame rubs gentle circles against the hollow beneath his iliac crest. “He found out about you, it made him mad. He doesn’t trust you.”
Itachi bites his lip. “We’re basically star crossed lovers, then.”
Kisame chokes. “Lovers?”
“Oh.” Itachi’s face falls. He looks away suddenly, stiffens, pulls away from the rock minutely. “It doesn’t—”
“No, I mean,” Kisame grabs Itachi’s hand before he can pull it away. “I didn’t—I didn’t even consider….that that could work,” he says, slipping his fingers in between Itachi’s.
Itachi’s eyes flick up from beneath his eyelashes. “It can.” He stretches back up again, catches Kisame’s face between his own and a hand, brushes their noses together so closely Kisame can almost feel their lips whisper against each other. “It can…if you come with me. You can come with me, Kisame, I’ll show you things you’ve never seen before.” Presses a hand to Kisame’s chest, whispers.
Kisame cups Itachi’s cheek with his hand, fingers vaguely trembling.
He tilts his head, somehow leaning closer without actually touching him. “Kisame…” he breathes. “Come with me, Kisame….” He’s slowly slipping back into the sea, Kisame clinging to him still, tilting over the side of the rock to the water.
Kisame leans in for the kiss.
Itachi rips away from him, scratching his jaw along the way when his nails curl in. He hisses, splashes the water angrily with his tail, lets out a snarl that borderlines on feral.
Kisame blinks at the water, at the rusted metal spear floating on the surface and the cloud of blood that surrounds it.
There’s a pair of hands ripping at his shoulder, and Kisame elbows behind him, bone sinking into Mangetsu’s stomach. “Fuck!” he curses, stumbling towards the water, almost falling in. “Fuck, Itachi!” There’s a streak of red in the water that spirals down, and the surface is choppy and angry. Itachi’s gone.
Kisame whirls around, arm tense, and throws his fist square towards Mangetsu’s face. He dodges. “You son of a bitch!” he snarls, mouth curling up. “What did you do?!”
Mangetsu glares. “I saved your life.”
“You saved—you hurt Itachi, you piece of shit!”
“Hopefully I killed him,” Mangetsu snaps back.
This time the punch connects. Mangetsu’s teeth crack together as he stumbles back. His eyes are fiery when he turns them back to his cousin.
Mangetsu clutches his jaw; Kisame knows the medicine is working, because he hasn’t had this much energy since before he started coughing so many nights ago.
“Kisame, please tell me that you aren’t already so undertaken,” he grunts, rubbing his reddening cheek. “Kisame, please tell me that you still have some clarity.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” Kisame shouts, fisting his hair, eyes darting back to the ocean. “Where did you hit him?” He asks desperately.
“What?”
“Where did you hit him! You could have really hurt him, fuck. Fuck!”
“Kisame,” Mangetsu says calmly, “it’s over.”
He pauses.
“He isn’t going to come back. If he isn’t dead, or mortally wounded, he isn’t going to return to you when it almost cost him his life.” He hesitantly puts a hand on Kisame’s bicep. “It’s over.”
“No,” Kisame chokes, shaking his head, “no.”
“Kisame,” Mangetsu tugs a little. “Let’s go home.”
Eventually Kisame relents. He can’t stop staring at the ocean behind him, but he does relent. The two of them don’t speak a word once they’re back inside the shack. Mangetsu closes the doors up, washes dishes that are already clean.
Kisame sits in his bed and stares at the ceiling.
Sleep is pointless, that night. Mangetsu doesn’t get any, propped against the wall outside Kisame’s room, watching to make sure he didn’t try to sneak out into the night.
Every time Kisame closes his eyes, he sees Itachi’s golden tail spouting thick red blood, sees the soft flesh of his stomach ripped ragged by a spear. He can’t stop thinking about Itachi’s dying from drifting to the ocean floor. The image of Itachi’s golden tail losing its glow makes his stomach roll.
Mangetsu tries to make light conversation the next morning. He’s gentle with his words, careful not to say anything about the previous day, careful not to mention fishing, or mermaids, or anything related to Itachi.
He doesn’t leave the house for two days. Watches Kisame like an absolute hawk day and night.
Eventually, Mangetsu has to go up the cliff to where the wild mulberry trees grow.
Kisame makes a run for it.
He goes across the beach as quickly as he can, all the way to the only other fishing shack he knows. He bangs on the door, looking behind him, jittery, expecting Mangetsu to appear behind him.
“Kisame?”
Kisame snaps his head around. “Haku! Where’s Zabuza?”
Haku tilts his head, chocolate hair sweeping across his shoulder. “He’s in town for the morning. Did you plan to meet with him today?”
“No, I—my boat sprung a leak.”
“What?” Haku looks shocked. “A leak? How?”
“Messed up, hit a rock.” He licks his lips, taps one hand restlessly around his thigh. “Would you mind if I borrowed your boat for the day? Just a day.”
Haku hums. “Well…I suppose Zabuza wouldn’t mind. Just don’t…hit it against a rock,” he says with a half-smile, eyes confused.
Kisame thanks him profusely, pushes the wooden boat across the sand to the water’s edge and climbs in.
“You don’t…have any fishing nets or rods,” Haku comments, hands folded politely in front of him.
“I, ah—I’m good, don’t worry.”
“Catching fish with your hands, now?”
Kisame, distracted, doesn’t respond.
It’s a longer distance to get to Song Rock, but Kisame rows twice as fast, and gets there in almost the same time. He isn’t sure why he expects to see Itachi waiting for him, but he does, and he’s terribly distressed when the waters are empty.
“Itachi?” he croaks, leaning over the side of the boat. He squints for black ink and golden light.
There’s nothing.
He sits himself against the stern of the boat, glares at the planked floor in the sun. He waits.
And waits.
His heart is sinking into his stomach when the boat rocks gently.
He’s on his feet quickly enough to make his head swim.
“Itachi!” He stumbles back down to his feet, smacking his knees into the wood, and reaches for Itachi’s face. He cups both of Itachi’s cheeks, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. “Oh, oh, my Itachi,” he breathes. “I thought you were hurt.
Itachi peers up from the water, hesitantly rising out of the water. “New boat?” he asks quietly.
“Borrowed one from a friend,” Kisame replies, reaching for Itachi’s hand. He presses Itachi’s fingers to his lips, kisses his knuckles up and down. “I’m so glad that you’re safe.”
“Your cousin isn’t hiding in the bottom of the boat, is he?”
Kisame shakes his head, pushing his hand into Itachi’s hair. “No, of course not.”
Itachi hesitates. “You didn’t…tell your cousin you were trying to find me, did you? You didn’t plan that?”
“No!” Kisame recoils. “No, Itachi, no. I would never hurt you, I swear.”
Itachi relaxes, curling his fingers around Kisame’s wrist. “I’m glad. I thought you set me up.” He offers a small smile.
“Were you badly hurt?” Kisame tries to pull Itachi up a little.
“Not badly, just a scrape.” He flicks his tail, and Kisame sees seaweed and a few other unknown things wrapped around the base. “It’s already almost healed.”
“I’m so glad. I was worried sick. I couldn’t sleep last night.” He presses his hand tighter to Itachi’s face. “I wanted to come here sooner, but Mangetsu wouldn’t let me out of his sight.”
Itachi turns and nuzzles into his palm. “It’s alright. Although, I’ve missed you these past two days,” he murmurs.
“I missed you, too,” Kisame whispers. “I don’t want to be apart from you anymore.”
Itachi smiles, hums, kisses the tips of Kisame’s fingers. He parts his lips, lets Kisame’s fingers slip inside his mouth and against his tongue, against the soft skin on the inside of his cheek. He watches Kisame’s pupils expand as he sucks and licks, purring. “You don’t ever have to be apart from me again. Not if you don’t want to.”
Kisame leaned over the side of the boat, nuzzled against Itachi’s temple. “I’ll follow you anywhere.”
“Then come with me,” Itachi breathes, nudging Kisame’s face with his nose until they’re nearly lip to lip. He lowers himself into the water, his grip on Kisame’s face pulling him down after. “Come with me, Kisame, and you’ll be with me forever. You’ll be a part of me forever, Kisame, just follow me, come with me….”
Kisame nods, leaning closer to Itachi’s face, desperate for that kiss. “I’ll follow you anywhere, Itachi, I’ll go anywhere.”
The last thing Kisame sees is a devilish smile.
He hits the water before he gets that kiss.
Mangetsu comes home from the mulberry trees to an empty house. He checks the market, asks everyone there, but no one has seen Kisame. His hands are shaking as he scales the beaches. Their boat is still hidden away in the scorched manzanita on the other side of the cliffs. There aren’t any tracks through the sand, and Mangetsu is out of leads.
Mangetsu waits up every day for Kisame to come home. Sets out two dinners, gathers berries for two people. Takes his medicine, gets better. Waits, waits, waits.
Four days later, Zabuza comes banging on the door, demanding to know where Kisame went with his boat. Mangetsu offers his own, appeases Zabuza’s angry temper with a bag of berries.
Three days after that an empty wooden fishing boat washes up on shore.
Mangetsu stops waiting for Kisame to come home.