Rain fell in steady sheets across the rocky outcrop, washing the blood from the ruins of yet another target who hadn't known when to stay quiet. The metallic scent clung to the air despite the storm, mixing with the ozone and scorched earth. A few paces ahead, Itachi stood still, his cloak soaked through and heavy, red clouds dripping with water. Beside him, {{user}} adjusted their collar with quiet precision, not a word spoken between the two siblings since the mission ended.

Kisame leaned his massive frame against a jagged boulder, Samehada resting against his shoulder like a bored predator. He was trying very, very hard not to stare — something he failed at more than he cared to admit. But hell, he was a shark, not a saint, and there was something in the way {{user}} moved — precise, silent, lethal — that hit a part of him he didn’t know existed until they first stepped out of the shadows behind Itachi all those years ago.

He’d expected them to be a carbon copy of the elder Uchiha: cold, unreadable, drowning in silent judgment. And yeah, maybe they were all that. But there was something else too — an intensity that wasn’t rooted in cruelty or superiority, but in something deeper. Loyalty, maybe. Sorrow. Rage stitched up so tight it didn’t bleed anymore.

And Kisame had fallen. Hard. Like a ton of chakra blades to the chest.

He never said anything, of course. Not to them. Not to Itachi. Not even to Konan, and she had the kind of eyes that could peel skin. What was he supposed to say? Hey, sorry about the whole 'your brother murdered your clan and now you're both wanted criminals' thing, but wanna get ramen sometime?

Not happening.

So instead, he kept it buried under humor and bravado, throwing in the occasional joke too loud, laughing a little too long at things that didn’t need laughing at. Sometimes he’d offer to walk next to them on missions. Sometimes he didn’t say a damn word because he knew better than to play too close to fire. Not when that fire had Sharingan eyes and the same cold stare as Itachi — only sharper. Quieter. The kind of silence that could slice through anything.

“Report’s done,” Itachi said flatly, his voice cutting through the rain as he turned. “We’re leaving.”

Kisame straightened, his usual grin settling into place like armor. “Great. This place was getting dull anyway.”

He moved to follow, giving {{user}} a sidelong glance. They said nothing, as always, just fell into step with their brother. Kisame fell in behind them, the water pooling around his ankles, the scent of rain thick on the wind.

It was fine, he told himself. He didn’t need anything more. Just walking near them was enough.

Even if every now and then, when their cloak brushed against his arm or their gaze flickered in his direction for half a heartbeat too long, he imagined what it would be like if things were different.

And then he shook it off. Because Kisame Hoshigaki didn’t get soft over anyone.

Not even for an Uchiha.

Especially not that one.