10going the wrong way on a one-way street
by: whisperedsilvers
prompt: "I just wanted to hear your voice."
summary: Turn everything up a little more. —Shisui/Sakura
A cigarette rolls recklessly in between his pointer and middle finger. Red embers sparks underneath asphalt, glowing with yellow and orange waves that churn on the spindle. Shisui's head spins. He lets his head take shelter on the wall behind him, taking refuge in the cold of the brick stones and scratchy concrete of the seedy bar.
Itachi owes him for this.
This was the last time he allowed his little cousin to weasel his way out of this assignment. Shisui dislikes work like this, the undercover, drug smuggling syndicate. It reminds him of his addiction in college, shortly after his mother died, he couldn't seem to stop and just dipping his two back into the nicotine and smell of tobacco makes his blood itch.
Itachi had, in some way or form, smuggled his way back into intelligence for this particular assignment – he claims that he's better at analyzation – which is a fucking lie because Shisui's been in the force longer than he has, and if anyone should be in intelligence it's him.
Shisui's been doing field assignments for years – he glances over at Kabuto with a wry grin – his shoulder aches from his last training session. Shoulder to shoulder with Kisame he went, bulk against bulk, teeth against fingers and speed against agility.
Itachi just got lucky.
It's nearing two am when he pulls back for another drag. The red sunlight of the bar name washes over his skin in mock splatters of blood, he raises his head and blows the smoke out in rings. Rings of chaos, he thinks. His head is still spinning, his tongue is loose, but his purpose does not change—not even for a moment.
Not even when Orochimaru offers him a glass of two-hundred-year-old aged scotch – he wonders who's body did he take it from – even when Kabuto offers him a lighter when his blows, and not even when some girl name Karin rakes her fingers down his chest.
It makes his skin crawl, red reminds him too much of blood, of sin, of hell and it's tainted. Tainted of smoke, of despair and remorse. He gives her a half-smile – he pretends she's her – her, the one that makes this worth it. Keeping her safe—them safe is all that matters.
He doesn't pull her close, but brushes her off and grabs another cigarette. Outside the moon is cold and the sky is heavy with obsidian velvet.
Karin scowls, but he doesn't care—he doesn't fucking care. Doesn't she get it? Doesn't anyone get it? He's not here because he wants to be, he's here because Itachi wants nothing to do with the snake and his minions.
Shisui cannot blame him, he cannot.
(but he does, he still does because he doesn't want to do this either, but he's the only choice—)
He lights up another cigarette, nicotine sitting in his veins, wrapping him in a loose cloud and his mind spins with color—pinkpinkpink and green. The green is what keeps him steady. Green of life, of sage, of mint, of energy, he is alive only through her and he's spinning—spinning until he can see the sea-foam of her eyes and he wants.
Shisui wants and wants, but he has to wait.
But fuck it—he can't.
He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his cellphone and taps five; speed-dial. He smirks at that, high in all the ways he can count but lucid in the one.
"Hello?" her voice is like water; cool. Mellow and soft. Yielding and indestructible. He is centered in Tokyo's underground.
"Hey," Shisui says, he avoids speaking her name because if anyone catches wind of her, touches her, speaks to her—ever so much as think of her, there would no place on the planet for them, to hide from him, because every molecule in his body is designed to protectprotectprotect, her, above all, from the world and if recommended, himself.
"Shisui?" she sounds confused, there's a shuffle on the line and her voice is clearer, "It's two in the morning."
"Just wanted to hear you," Shisui breathes, embers stinging the edges of his fingertips and palm.
There's a pause, "Are you on assignment?"
He inhales oxygen but wishes it was her, and he says, "Yeah."
"Oh," she exhales, thinks of him and then there's a clink, "I'm making some tea. It gets cold in Earth Country."
"What are you doing there?" he drawls or slurs, he can't tell, he's spinning and breathing.
"Didn't Sasuke tell you? I'm doing a rotation here," the kettle whistles on her end.
"Why there?"
"Deidara recommended me," Sakura hums, the water is poured into the cup and he could almost smell the jasmine.
"Jasmine?" Shisui wants it to be right.
"Yeah," she sounds surprised and then laughs – it sounds like spring – she twirls the water with a spoon, silver from the clinking, "Am I that predictable?"
Shisui smiles into the phone, "A little. You have a jar at the end of the counter. You only save it for late nights."
"I was studying about an hour ago," she admits.
He sighs apologetically, "I woke you up."
"Couldn't sleep," Sakura soothes him and he wants to curl into her, "It's been a long day."
He takes another drag, nicotine in his veins and wraps his mind in a cloud and his mind spins with color. Shisui asks, "Bad day?"
"Causalities, a lot," she tells him, "A landslide, followed by an earthquake."
Shisui is too fucked up to wince, "Sorry."
"Are—" Sakura is incredulous, "Are you smoking?"
He almost laughs because he can taste the disbelief in her mouth and the vanilla of her skin, "A little, it's cold here."
She doesn't reply for a long moment, but her retort is weak, "It kills, you know."
"I know," Shisui doesn't care.
"Itachi was supposed to take this assignment, wasn't he?" Sakura grits her teeth and hisses when her tea burns her fingers.
"Careful," he scolds her, half a haze and red burns, "He was."
"He can't keep doing this, one bad assignment doesn't mean you clam up—" she's pissed off and it's glorious when he hears rage, "I'll kill him."
"Get in line," Shisui chuckles and squats low, blood rushing and the black of his eyes melts into the pink of his sclera, he sees it in the puddle before him.
"When are you coming home?" Sakura's voice is soft, tinged with feathers and all he wants to do is sleep. Sleep in her and fade away.
Shisui's voice cracks, "Soon."
"I miss you," she says sadly, mythical in the color of her voice and he tastes the stars in the breathiness of her tone.
"I know," he inhales again because he wants and wants—he swallows, "I know, I do. Too."
"I know," Sakura knows this, deep in her bones where the marrow sings and the calcium sharpens, "I love you."
Shisui wants to cry because it's been so long since he's heard her and said that and he wants and wants until his lungs cease and nerves numb—
"Likewise," his voice is thick and clotty and he can't breathe—he can't, he can't, it refuses to cooperate, his heart and brain—
Shisui hangs up the phone before he cracks.
He lights up another cigarette, nicotine sitting in his veins, wrapping him in a loose cloud and his mind spins with color.
Shisui sends a text ten minutes later when he's calm, collected and high.
Love you.
