Chapter Text
Itachi used to keep everything separate: regular clothes, training gear, intimates, and socks. He’d even draw a line between his underwear and Shisui’s due to the risk of cross-contamination.
Shisui has quite a unique way of existing. He leaves sweat-soaked gear balled up in corners. Once, he left a pair of briefs soaking in a tea bowl because “I don’t know how it got there.” Itachi simply emptied the bowl and said nothing.
There was a time Itachi wouldn’t even touch Shisui’s stuff without a glove and an internal prayer. Now? Everything gets thrown into one laundry basket by the tub.
That second laundry basket? Shisui turned it into a chariot. Dragged you around the apartment while making horse noises. Itachi told him to stop before someone got hurt.
He didn’t. You fell. The basket cracked.
You got a friction burn on your ass and blamed Itachi for “jinxing it.”
So now there’s no point in sorting the clothing by category, anyway. He doesn’t even make a comment when Shisui’s undershirts reek of something that might be either sweat or sex. He just soaks them, scrubs them, and moves on like the good boyfriend he is. To clarify, he’s your boyfriend. Not Shisui’s. However, at this point, he might as well be Shisui’s too.
When Itachi made miso soup when you were sick, Shisui also got miso soup.
“Thanks, babe,” Shisui said with a grin. Itachi didn’t correct him. Why bother?
When you fell asleep on the couch, Itachi covered you with a blanket. When Shisui was passed out on the floor, Itachi also covered him. His internal reasoning was “she would be sad if she knew I walked by and didn’t do anything.” Besides, Shisui is his friend. Itachi’s not heartless.
There had even been a time when Itachi was resting his eyes, and you’d curled up against him, head on his lap, fast asleep. Not five minutes later, Shisui body flickered into the living room like a summoned spirit, and re-materialized already spooning you, despite Itachi being right fucking there.
Shisui even nuzzled against his side. “Can you stroke my hair like Spark does?” he’d mumbled, already halfway asleep.
If Itachi wasn’t already used to Shisui teleporting into his personal space just to whisper bizarre things like “Surprise, motherfucker,” or “Miss me, Daddy?” he might’ve screamed. Instead, he told him to fuck off.
Shisui just smiled and snuggled closer.
That was then.
Now? The biggest indicator that things have changed is this moment right here: Itachi walking into the bathroom with full awareness that Shisui is naked in the shower, and still choosing to enter anyway. Don’t mistake it for curiosity. He’s doing this out of obligation. The laundry won’t wash itself.
He’d prefer it be you in the shower, but he hasn’t crossed that line yet. He still has…restraint. More than he can say for you, at least, as demonstrated by that time you forgot to knock and walked in on him mid-shit.
You’d blinked. “Wow. Didn’t know you pooped.”
“I’m not sure if I should be flattered,” he said at the time. “Get out.”
Anyway.
The bathroom door creaks open.
Steam rolls out into the hall as Itachi steps inside with a stack of laundry, his and yours, balanced neatly on one arm. He closes the door with his foot and walks toward the basin.
Shisui is in the shower, humming, head tilted back under the spray, hair full of suds. Steam clings to the glass walls, fogging everything except the outline of his shoulder and the lean muscle of his back.
His humming turns into something villain-coded the moment he spots Itachi. One that perfectly captures Itachi’s whole “I mourn the state of humanity” aesthetic.
Dun dun dun…dun dun-dun…dun dun-dun…
Itachi gives no reaction. “You’re an idiot.”
Shisui raises his volume. “DUN DUN DUNNNNN.”
Itachi lets out a long breath and drops the bundle beside the basin. “Turn away. I can see your dick.”
Shisui just smirks. “You like?”
Itachi ignores him, rolls his sleeves up, and starts soaking the first shirt. Not even a minute of silence goes by before Shisui’s voice assaults his thoughts again.
“Yo,” Shisui calls out casually. “Mind doing mine too?”
Itachi sighs in response and reaches for the black undershirt tucked in the corner next to the bathtub. It’s sweat-stained and wadded up in a ball. He unfolds it by the edge with extreme caution, wrinkling his nose.
“This smells like sex.”
The humming stops.
“What?”
“I said,” Itachi repeats, “your shirt smells like bodily fluids.”
“The fuck, man. It’s just sweat.”
“Is it?”
"I haven’t...” Shisui catches himself. “Forget it.”
Itachi doesn’t bother looking up. “Haven’t what?”
He focuses on rubbing at a stubborn stain with his thumb.
“Man, what the hell is your problem?” Shisui snaps.
“You asked me to wash your clothes,” Itachi says. “I’m washing them.”
“Yeah, while judging the fuck out of me at the same time.” The irritation echoes through the tile. “Don’t touch it then.”
Itachi scrubs the shirt harder. He doesn’t entirely know why, only that something about the conversation is starting to piss him off. For a moment, Itachi wants to drop the shirt just to prove a point. He has no patience for that kind of attitude.
But he then realizes that Shisui is right. He is judging him. And always has.
For years, he judged the casual way Shisui treated people, relationships, and himself. Itachi had grown up with structure, with rules hammered into him from the start. He had always looked down on Shisui a little for not walking the same line.
And back when they were younger, Itachi had even felt a little morally superior. He used to think Shisui was a bad influence.
You weren’t officially enrolled in the Academy, but somehow you already had a reputation. Sasuke had mentioned something about rigged reverse summoning seals. Another time, it was a trap in the clan archives that replaced birth records with haiku roasts.
Itachi assumed you were just…special, but then, he learned it was worse than that.
There had been a mission. He and Shisui were leading a small ANBU team, mostly new recruits on their first high-level assignment. A quiet “watch and learn” integration op. Routine reconnaissance, high-efficiency, no room for error.
So when Itachi went to open the mission scroll and it was sealed shut, it was a problem. No matter how much chakra he funneled into it, the damn thing wouldn’t budge.
“Give it here,” Shisui had said, way too casually. “I think I know what this is.”
He took the scroll, braced one hand against the tree trunk above his head like he was posing for a weapons catalog, and stared at it with exaggerated intensity.
“Hmm,” he hummed, eyes flicking over the seal. “Mission Code: I love my baby. I miss my baby. I promise to bring her something cool.”
Then he bit down on his thumb joint, and the scroll clicked open.
Itachi stared for a full three seconds, brain buffering. One of the recruits made a weird dying sound. The other bowed, either out of panic or the sheer holiness of witnessing the legendary Shisui-senpai’s stupidity in action.
Shisui just beamed. “Awh…that’s cute.”
“You gave this to her?” Itachi glared at him.
“She said she wanted to ‘study real mission scrolls like a real shinobi.’ I figured she’d doodle on it or draw boobs in the margins. Guess Spark wanted to make sure no one forgot about her while I was gone. As if I ever could.” He sighed like a man burdened by love. “Think they sell singing sand frogs in Suna? She’s been wanting one.”
Itachi hadn’t said anything at the time. But internally, he was spiraling. His entire squad was staring at him like he was the problem. Like he had brought the guy. One of the rookies had that specific look in his eyes, one that said “Captain, respectfully…what the fuck.”
Back then, Itachi thought Shisui was too irresponsible to be assigned to you. Especially the way he treated women and commitment like optional side quests. Itachi would never do that. He didn’t play games or flirt. He believed sex meant something. If you touch someone, you owe them honesty. It’s called respect.
And deep down, he’d resented that your only role model growing up had been someone who slept around and laughed about it. Someone who showed you affection could be temporary. Someone who taught you that being wanted didn’t mean being chosen.
If Sasuke had been born a girl, Itachi would’ve slapped a censor seal on Shisui at birth and assigned ANBU surveillance until further notice.
And yet, here Itachi is, washing Shisui’s shirt, feeling ashamed of himself.
Because Itachi had fallen for you, and he understands now with a grim, hilarious irony that everything he used to judge Shisui for is exactly what made you who you are. Suddenly, all those things he used to see as weaknesses don’t look so weak anymore. They look like love. And now Itachi feels like shit.
“I haven’t slept with anyone in a while,” Shisui finally mumbles.
He faces the water with his arms braced against the wall, foam trailing down his stomach. It’s true. Shisui hasn’t even bothered flirting with anyone since. The energy’s gone, replaced by guilt. He can’t fake the feelings that were never really for anyone else in the first place.
He used to think he could handle it. He thought fucking someone else would keep a line drawn, and that it was proof he didn’t want you like that.
He hadn’t even realized the pattern. How he gravitated toward sweet, gentle girls who reminded him of the part of you he was afraid to touch. Or wild, extroverted ones, who were your chaos without the consequences.
But one thing they all had in common was that he could never look them in the eye when he did it. At the time, he didn’t question it. Even though he always felt worse after.
Then you started looking at other men. You looked at him differently. And it finally hit him.
It became clear where all the ugly feelings came from. He told himself it was protectiveness, maybe innocent jealousy. But no. The truth hurts.
Had he been in love with you this whole time?
Since when?
Now he can’t stop picturing you. And the idea of touching anyone else just feels hollow.
A distant voice breaks through the silence. “Shisui? Itachi? I can’t find my left slipper!!”
Shisui yells back toward the door. “On the windowsill in the kitchen!”
Silence.
“Ohhh, I see it! Thanks…EW. WHY DID YOU USE IT TO SWAT A FLY?”
Shisui winces. “SORRY!”
The water scalds down his back. His fingers flex against the tile as he suddenly remembers Itachi’s presence.
Shisui chances a glance over his shoulder…
And great. Itachi’s definitely looking…but not at his face.
Bro.
“Were you just checking me out?” Shisui side-eyes him through the mist.
Itachi blinks as if he’s been caught stealing panties. “You’re the one who tried to compare dick stats last month.”
Shisui grins. “True.” He stretches obnoxiously. “Look, Itachi, man to man? I’ll let you in on a secret. It’s not about size. It’s about how you use it. So even if you’ve got a micro compared to mine, there’s still hope for you.”
“I’ll keep that in mind next time I need to disappoint someone quickly.”
Itachi turns back to the sink. That was definitely well above average. …Irrelevant data. Delete it.
He remembers your voice too clearly when you described the kitchen incident involving Kayo. Itachi sincerely hopes that was the only time you’ve seen Shisui’s dick and that you haven’t seen it since. He reaches for the next shirt a little too fast, hoping it’ll cleanse his thoughts.
“You said you haven’t slept with anyone,” he starts. “Why?”
Shisui scrubs a hand through his wet hair. “I thought Kakashi was just messing around and told him to back off. She found out.”
Itachi picks at a seam.
“I didn’t realize she was comparing herself to the girls I’d been with,” Shisui sighs. “She thought nobody wanted her like that.”
This time, Itachi just stares into the water instead of scrubbing.
“I didn’t mean to make her feel that way,” Shisui continues. “I fucked up and hurt her more than I knew.”
Itachi thinks for a moment, weighing what to say.
You stopped sleeping around because of her?
You could’ve just told her you loved her differently.
What’s your plan, Shisui? Celibacy for the rest of your life?
It doesn’t make sense.
Unless you’re trying to prove something.
He understands where Shisui’s coming from, probably better than he’d like to admit, but he’s also not sure Shisui understands himself. The man can predict enemy movement three steps ahead and still can’t see what’s obvious in the mirror.
He lets out a breath. “You didn’t fail her. But some things don’t heal with just one kind of love. And some wounds need more than comfort to close.”
Shisui leans his head back under the spray. Water slides down his face, tracing the angle of his throat. “I’m just trying to undo it,” he says quietly. “Make sure she never feels like that again.”
Itachi finishes the last shirt and wrings it out.
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Same.”