“You really are amazing. I'm going to miss you.” He laughed hoarsely, clutching his side, broken ribs prodding his lungs.
Kisame woke up with a start, laying on his stomach, sprawled out on the king-size bed that still barely contained him. His heart thudded against the mattress like he’d just finished the workout of his life. Maybe he worked out in his sleep, it would explain the sheen of sweat on his back, being chilled to a shiver-inducing degree by the open window. Hell of a nightmare. Kisame closed his eyes with a bitter groan; the afternoon sun should be warming him, not letting in all of this cold.
Afternoon sun. His head popped off the pillow. “Shit.” He threw himself out of bed, picking up the first pair of pants in sight, dragging them onto his legs while looking around for a shirt. “Late, I'm probably fucking late…” The pants were too small. Shit, these weren’t his pants. He kicked them off, grabbing the next pair, checking the tag for “XXLT” this time before pulling them on. He could be up and out the door in five minutes when he had to, and it was looking like one of those days. He had somewhere he needed to be, and fast, while carrying a sword as tall as himself on his back. “Please, please don’t let me have made him wait…” he muttered to himself, leaping off his apartment balcony to a neighboring rooftop, zipping his flak jacket as he went.
Through the village, over dirt roads, rooftops, the occasional wall, he was close and growing closer with every step. He could see the edge of the village now, the green main gates were his goal. His objective was so close, he could practically smell it. He could smell it. The familiar, fragrant, heady scent of his favorite person filled his head, and he reveled in it. Praise be to shark senses, able to smell over the span of three miles. Not only was he on time- his timing was perfect.
He raised his hands to his mouth to direct his joyous shout of “Itachi!”, sprinting for the gate toward the younger jonin. “Welcome home, Itachi!” He shouted as his lover dropped his bag and held his arms out, anticipating the inevitable. He knew Kisame too well.
“It's good to be home.” Itachi gave him a little smile that cracked into a grin when he was picked up, twirled around, hugged within an inch of his life, and kissed with passion that had been pent up for a week. He wrapped his arms around Kisame’s neck and let himself be held close and peppered with kisses. “I missed you.”
“I hope you missed that little cafe by my apartment, because that's where I’m taking you.” He snickered, rubbing their noses together. “I’m buying you dango. Successful S-rank missions deserve rewards.”
“Success should be its own reward, you kno-” he paused, looking up at Kisame’s hand as it pressed to his forehead.
“Hmm, no fever. Are you an imposter?” He snickered. “The real Itachi wouldn't turn down dango.” He kissed him, and Itachi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m going to reward you anyway.”
Itachi smiled, shaking his head with a chuckle. “Okay.” He took Kisame’s hands, letting himself be lead into town.
“I’ll be there with you soon enough.” He kissed Kisame’s mouth with bloody lips.
His lover was so beautiful. So beautiful that it made Kisame’s heart ache sometimes.
Itachi, comfortably sitting in the middle of their bed, had a book cradled in his lap and a warm cup of tea in one hand. His hair was damp from his long post-mission bath, hanging loose about his face and shoulders like a perfect black curtain, the silky sheen of it catching the pink hues of the setting sun outside the window. And he was wearing absolutely nothing but his reading glasses. A new and lovely addition to his face.
Kisame inched closer, tentatively brushing his fingers down Itachi’s back, watching his skin prickle. Kisame lowered himself to the bed while fingers gently mapped over Itachi’s shoulders, taking in every ridge of bone and muscle.
“That feels nice.” Itachi spoke softly, looking over his shoulder with a small, tender smile. “Your hands are warm.”
Kisame shifted closer, crossing his legs comfortably as he settled in behind Itachi, sweeping his dark hair over one shoulder to expose his pale back. “And you’re always so cold.” He pressed his hands flat to Itachi’s back and playfully nosed the back of his freshly exposed neck. Itachi shivered under his hands, Kisame could just picture his expression. Eyes half-lidded or maybe closed behind his glasses, lips parted ever so slightly. A vulnerable, submissive expression on a man who was neither.
Kisame nibbled the same spot, a tingle of satisfaction zipping along his back as he heard Itachi shift ever so slightly against the sheets. “Love knowing your secret sweet spot…” he purred, hands starting to rub up and down his back slowly, radiating heat into him. “So… what’s this book about?” He uncrossed his legs so he could scoot closer, stomach and chest now pressed to Itachi’s naked back.
“It's a romance.” Itachi leaned back into him, sipping his tea and flipping the page in the large-print novel. Hardly able to use his vision and still hungry for books and knowledge. Kisame’s beautiful genius.
“A good one?” Kisame leaned his head down, nuzzling along the side of Itachi’s neck. His hair smelled like lavender and chervil, the scent mingling deliciously with Itachi’s natural smell.
“A tragic one.” Itachi’s head tipped to one side, exposing more of his neck, a gentle smile of satisfaction crossing his mouth while Kisame started kissing into the curve. He took the time to do it the way Itachi liked, tenderly tracing the muscles with his lips and tongue, slow and soft.
“You know, it's been a while. Since we…”
“Yeah, it has. Between missions and briefings, and recovering from them, I don't think we’ve had a night like this in weeks.” Kisame plucked the now empty teacup from Itachi’s hand, leaning back to put it on the bedside table. “So, are you suggesting we make the most of it?”
“Absolutely.” Itachi marked his page before leaving the book to the wayside, turning to kneel between Kisame’s legs. Kisame was weak for the way Itachi’s hands caressed his face when he kissed him, he was even weaker for Itachi’s kisses, loving and tender, a reminder of his stoic love’s hidden affection.
Kisame didn't know what he could have possibly done to deserve this life. Defecting from Kirigakure and being given asylum in Konoha in the tense aftermath of the third war, he never expected to be welcomed with the openness he was. Maybe he had Fuguki to thank for the ease of his path, his connection to Konoha and several other villages as a reliable information broker had left Kisame with the opportunity as his subordinate to be trusted. A high profile Shinobi had no chance to make it out alive once his name was out as a traitor to his nation. His apprentice might.
Kisame watched his master die by his own hand, a katana plunged through his solar plexus. Better to choose a noble death now than to die like an animal after weeks of torture, that’s what Fuguki had told him while unsheathing a sword. Kisame’s own sword. “You won't need it anymore.” Fuguki thumbed the edge of the immaculately kept blade. “I’m no fool. I know you’ll take Samehada for yourself. Being its master is what I trained you for.”
Ever-dutiful, Kisame swallowed the intel scroll he’d been given and strapped Samehada to his back, and stayed with his master until he bled out. That had been years ago now. Konoha had welcomed him openly, despite his outlandish appearance and village of origin. He had been granted asylum, and eventually (after a few years of good behavior), a place among their ranks of shinobi. Soon after that, he was given a coveted place at the side of the best of them- Itachi. A jonin and former Anbu captain so stunning that he’d probably won a few fights just being so distractingly, disarmingly gorgeous.
And miracle of miracles, Itachi preferred to keep Kisame’s company, mission or not.
There was a sort of state of disbelief being whispered around the village when they stepped past friendship. Itachi, only twenty and the crown jewel of the Uchiha clan, Konoha’s prodigal son, taking a man (a much older one at that) as a lover. The village and Kisame were both flabbergasted. Kisame was unable to believe that he had been chosen either. What had to be hundreds of girls and a healthy amount of boys threw themselves at Itachi on a regular basis, only to be politely (albeit coldly) rebuffed. Itachi had never even seemed to independently pay romantic or flirtatious attention to anyone. Which people thought was ridiculous, when you could have anyone you wanted.
And then the man who had everything looked at the man who had nothing and asked “Would you like to join me for lunch?”
“Loving you was my truth in a world of lies. I hope you know that.”
“I always knew.” Itachi’s voice broke, shaking.
Itachi turned 23 today. He wasn't much for birthdays, but he let himself be taken out to lunch, since his parents would have him for dinner. A dinner Kisame had already made up his mind not to attend.
Itachi was in a good enough mood to publically hold Kisame’s hand. Public affection typically made Itachi uncomfortable, which had been hard at first for someone who projected emotion outward without hesitation like Kisame did. But he’d learned quickly to adapt, learning what small things Itachi liked and what was too much. A touch to the cheek, brushing his hair out of his face, small and quick gestures. Itachi could even be affectionate himself in public without realizing, silently fussing over Kisame’s hair, nudging stray strands back upward into his quiff with his fingertips, sometimes smoothing the sleeves and shoulders of his shirt for him while they talked.
Behind closed doors, Itachi was still quietly affectionate, no sweet nothings, no pet names. Itachi’s love was conveyed through touch, through holding him and being held. Kisame hadn’t anticipated was how often he would be going about his business only to suddenly end up with two arms silently wrapped around him from behind and a body pressed to his back.
“Comfortable?” he laughed, putting a hand over one of the pale ones settled on his front. A nod against his back was his answer. “Happy birthday, you sneaky little weasel.” He carefully turned in Itachi’s arms, now holding Itachi against his chest. “I didn't even hear you come in.” He carefully slid the hair tie out of Itachi’s hair and slid his forehead protector back and off, running his hands through Itachi’s silky locks. Itachi leaned his full weight into him, knowing Kisame could hold him up easily.
They stood like that for a long while, Itachi nestled into his sternum, eyes closed with those long pretty-boy eyelashes resting on the highs of his cheeks.
“How are your parents?” Kisame’s hand rubbed warm circles between Itachi’s shoulder blades.
“They’re good. Happy to see me. Dinner was delicious.” He looked up at Kisame. “You should have come.”
“Your parents hate me.” He grumbled bitterly, looking away, being forced to look back when Itachi reached took him by the jaw in one hand, turning him back.
“I don’t care what they think.” Itachi’s face was stern. “I’m not, and refuse to be ashamed of you.” His hold softened, fingers stroking down the side of his neck.
“They think I'm a creep because I’m an old man who started dating their son when he was 20. I’m going to keep my distance and be ashamed of myself for you.”
Itachi’s eyes narrowed, relaxing again as he sighed. “I can’t make you come with me, just like I can’t make them accept you, I suppose.” He smiled a little as Kisame nuzzled his forehead.
“Enough of that, huh? I have something for you.” Kisame grinned and lead Itachi to the table, watching him feel his way along the backs of chairs. His vision had suffered greatly, and it had plummeted in the past few months. Itachi had come to habitually run his hands over spots in familiar places, mapping them for when he couldn't see them anymore.
Itachi sat down, looking at his hands as Kisame lifted them and placed a small red box into his waiting palms.
“Open it.” Kisame laced his fingers together and rested his chin on his joined hands. He watched Itachi take the lid off, taking out the contents and running his fingers over it.
“A key.” He rubbed his thumb along it, smiling. “What does it unlock?”
“My apartment.” This was it. Kisame took a breath to calm himself before continuing. “Itachi… I want you to officially move in with me.”
Itachi looked down at the key in his hands, silent. Kisame’s heart dropped into the pit of his stomach. It was too soon, wasn't it? Itachi thought this relationship had been casual, didn't he? Something he was only in for the sex, maybe? Kisame’s shoulders slumped. “Itachi, I’m-”
“Yes.” Itachi’s hand closed around the key, holding it tight. “Yes.” He repeated, nodding this time, his free hand reaching across the table to grab Kisame’s and squeezing it tightly. He pulled on it, getting up from his chair, tugging Kisame’s arm to get him to do the same. Kisame followed unquestioningly, letting himself be lead. Itachi pulled him to the bedroom.
Kisame smiled. “There was also cake, but that can wait, I guess.”
“Yes it can.” Itachi fell back onto the bed, pulling Kisame with him.
“I don't know if I can just do this to you.” He took his hand away from Itachi’s face.
“You have to. You know who will take them if they're left behind.”
Uchiha clan weddings were usually large and boisterous. But given the nature of the groom, it was not a large attendance on the part of the clan. Why would there be? Itachi was being seen as a man turning his back on his clan, willing to leave it when his parents stated their refusal to welcome his fiancé into it. He was marrying a man with a clan that had refused him, both of them about to become just a clan of their own.
It had taken days of talking for Kisame to believe that Itachi’s willingness to leave his clan wasn’t just for his sake. Once he was convinced, he was kicking himself for being stupid enough to doubt Itachi in the first place.
Despite the qualms some of his kin might have, Itachi’s Haori bore the Uchiha fan. His hair was brushed to an immaculate shine, held back with a tie of patterned red silk, red as the sharingan as it whirled to life in his eyes (“I want to see and remember all of this.”) Given tradition, he and Kisame were dressed in nearly identical clothing, the same grey Hakama, black kimono, and a black Haori (which Kisame had opted to not have crests added to). But there was no competition about who was wearing it better. In Kisame’s eyes, anyway.
He never thought he would get married at all, so married at 35 was certainly not too shabby. Itachi was 24 now, just a few months ago in the summer, and he looked like he’d barely aged from the moment they met. The only major change was the length of the lines running down his cheeks, long enough now to almost be level with his mouth. Meanwhile, Kisame had gone grey around the temples, the streaks of white peppered through dark blue. Itachi said it made him look dignified. As if anything about Kisame could be dignified.
“Are you ready?” Itachi whispered, reaching out to grasp Kisame’s hand. Itachi’s hands were clammy and cold. Was he anxious?
“Are you?” Kisame’s thumb rubbed over Itachi’s knuckles. “Your hands are freezing…”
“... Our whole lives are about to change.” he spoke softly. “After today, I’m not an Uchiha in the eyes of my clan. We’re going home to a house that’s ours, together. We’re going to be married, with all of the social change and interpersonal change that entails...” He looked up at Kisame, breaking out into a smile so big and genuine that made the corners of his eyes crinkle even though they were glistening with tears. Kisame’s heart ached at the sight. “I’m about to be Itachi Hoshigaki.” He reached into his sleeve for a handkerchief, dabbing his eyes. “I’m about to be your husband.” He let out a laugh even though more tears were falling, squeezing Kisame’s hand tighter.
“Itachi…” he reached up, quickly wiping his eyes before he could cry too. “This is the happiest day of my whole damn life.” He pulled Itachi into his arms, kissing him softly, over and over. “Going to be calling you ‘Mr. Hoshigaki’ all the time for weeks.” He kissed him again with a happy hum.
“Save the kiss for the ceremony, you two.” Sasuke slipped into the room with a snort. “We’re starting soon, you can kiss all you want then.”
Kisame gave Sasuke an up and down glance. He’d grown so much. He actually had an inch in height over Itachi. Kisame shared Itachi’s pride in the man Sasuke had grown up into. He grinned, nodding with new resolve. “Ready when they are.”
Itachi took a deep breath, nodding too. “I’m ready.” He smiled tenderly at his little brother. “You look so handsome. The girls at the reception are going to be tripping over each other trying to talk to you.”
Sasuke snorted. “The same shit, different day.” He returned the smile. “It’s gonna get worse now that nobody officially has a chance with you now. They're all gonna come running at me.”
“That’s true.” Kisame smirked. “I eliminated Konoha’s most eligible bachelor from the game. Not bad for an old man.”
“I keep telling you, you’re not that old!” Shisui poked his head in, laughing, ducking into the room and closing the door. “It’s almost time, I just wanted to come and get a good look at Itachi Uchiha before he becomes Itachi Hoshigaki.”
He strode to Itachi, hugging him tightly. “Look at you, you look amazing.” He pulled back, beaming, hands on Itachi’s shoulders. The pride in his eyes was palpable. “And you-” he turned his attention to Kisame. “Don't you go thinking that just because Itachi’s parents still aren't budging on counting you as one of us that it means you’re not an Uchiha now.” He gave Kisame a friendly punch to the shoulder. “You’re family now, big guy.”
“You’re stuck with us.” Sasuke snickered.
Shisui clapped his hands. “Well, you two. It's time.”
Itachi nodded, squeezing Kisame’s hand again. They were warmer now. “Our future is waiting outside that door.”
“Nobody I’d rather face the future with.”
“I love you.” Itachi whispered.
“I love you too.” The doors opened, the two of them stepping forward, into and beyond them.
“Do you think there’s anything for a heathen like me on the other side?”
“If there is, we’ll both be there.” Itachi’s hands cradled Kisame’s face, wiping away smears of blood.
Kisame Hoshigaki. Jonin, master swordsman, sensei, and husband. Boisterous and energetic, even at age 57. His hair was stark white now, smile lines from his constant grin catching up to him, skin greyer than it used to be. And he was so, so happy.
He’d had the honor and privilege of seeing two teams from graduation and through to the chunin exams, prideful as he watched all of them grow. Given that he’d never had children of his own, he supposed that rearing his students was more than enough to satisfy any desire he could have had for a larger family.
His still-stunning husband had aged like fine wine. 46 and still aging with an enviable grace. With an elegant stripe of white cutting through his raven hair at each temple, eyes like polished obsidian, and the delicate lines on his face reaching his jaw now, he was still a beauty for the ages.
“Hello, gorgeous.” He knelt and wrapped his arms around Itachi’s shoulders from behind. “Come here often?”
“Our kotatsu? I would say so.” Itachi turned his head, kissing his cheek, finger paused on a line of tenji. His sight was completely gone but his lust for knowledge and reading was certainly not. In his retirement, he’d even become a writer himself. He still, of course, had his sharingan, and an extremely powerful one at that, but these calm days it was more used for gathering good memories. Occasionally Kisame would catch him, red-eyed and looking at him with a tiny, adoring smile. Just looking at him to take him in, see his husband for a while. Of course, there were times his sharingan was out that Kisame would deign to call frivolous, like in the bedroom.
Their sex life was still very much alive, Kisame was still fit and muscular with more general stamina than plenty of his fellow Jonin. So why waste middle age not having regular sex with Itachi? And Itachi was still… well, Itachi. He still expressed his love through touch and letting himself be touched. He was sensual and sensuous, sometimes initiating simply because he craved his preferred form of affection. After years of being together, they knew each other's bodies like they knew hand seals, satisfaction came easily.
“What would you say if I said… I was thinking about retiring?” He slid Samehada’s strap off of his shoulder, leaning the great sword against the table. As he sat down, he played with Itachi’s hair, admiring the contrast between his onyx locks and the back of his maroon yukata.
“I would say that it would be wonderful to retire to somewhere close to the sea.” He nuzzled his nose against Kisame’s cheek. “I think a little ocean air would be a pleasant change for both of us, don’t you?”
“You think so?” His heart did a backflip at the idea of living by the sea again instead of just visiting every so often.
“I do.” Itachi kissed his ear before turning back to his book. “So… maybe we should think about looking at houses.”
It was a small, beautiful traditional house, renovated with a few modern amenities, close enough to the ocean to hear the waves. Kisame had never felt more at home so quickly.
Leaving his six former students was like leaving his children behind, even if they all promised to visit and annoy him. Leaving friends and family behind, like Shisui, Kakashi, Sasuke, that was all painful too. Sasuke’s daughter had been particularly upset that her uncles were leaving, it broke both Kisame and Itachi’s hearts to see her so unhappy. Kisame had to pinky-promise three times that he would visit Konoha often.
“We should visit her soon.” Kisame smiled, smoothing the sheets on their new bed and sitting down with a content sigh, flopping back onto it. “I think it'll help her feel better about us moving, if we come see her soon.”
“I agree.” Itachi was running his fingers over the spines of his books, embossed so he could feel them, arranging them in order on the shelf.
“Hey.” Kisame smiled, patting the spot next to him. Itachi’s sense of hearing was impeccable now, following the sound of Kisame’s voice to his side, laying down where he had been beckoned.
“Yes?” Itachi rolled onto his side, sliding a leg to wrap it around Kisame’s thigh. He rested his hand over Kisame’s heart, fond of feeling it beat under his palm.
“We have a beautiful life.” Itachi smiled, something in his eyes far off and sad. “I love our life.”
“I love you.” Kisame wrapped an arm around his waist to keep him close. “What’s wrong, little weasel?”
Itachi nuzzled into the hollow of his shoulder. “You haven't called me that in years.” He sighed. “I’m just… a little homesick.” He shook his head. “I’ll acclimate.” He smiled, squeezing Kisame’s leg with his own.
“We have a lot of new, wonderful memories to make here.” Kisame kissed the top of his head, the same usual comforting smell of lavender and chervil filling his nose. Itachi was a creature of habit, down to his soap. “Just you, me, the ocean, and so many more years to enjoy life. We’ll have your homesickness cured in no time.”
“You’re right.” Itachi relaxed into him, yawning. “We’ll get right to it. After I take a nap.”
Kisame shifted to get comfortable, settling in for a few hours of being his husband’s pillow. “Alright, little weasel. Sleep well.”
He watched Itachi’s sleeping face. He still couldn't shake the thoughts about the sad look in Itachi’s eyes.
“So this is goodbye.” Kisame wiped a tear from Itachi’s cheek with his thumb.
“Not goodbye. It's ‘see you soon’.”
“Good morning.” Two arms draped around Kisame’s shoulders and warm lips pressed soft kisses to his ear.
“Good morning to you too.” A laugh rumbled in his chest, voice now gravelly with age. He picked up a slice of strawberry from his plate, pressing it to Itachi’s mouth. He bit into it with a pleased smile.
“Mm. I love strawberry season. Do we have more?” He headed for the fridge, leaning heavily on his cane. Arthritis hit him hard these days.
“Mhm, top shelf.”
Itachi found them after a little feeling around, making his way back to the table, sitting down with a shaky sigh.
“Sounds like it’s bad today…” Kisame reached over, rubbing Itachi’s knee. He frowned, finding it expectedly swollen under his hand. It was chronic, of course, but it never got easier to watch and feel Itachi hurt.
“Not the worst, not the best.” Itachi put his hand over Kisame’s, eating strawberries directly from the box. Was it strange to still think your 64 year old husband was cute? Because he was, the delicate way he moved, how his eyes would close in bliss when he bit into sweet things. And he was still beautiful, his hair was now a waterfall of silver down his back, the hair that used to frame his face forgone in favor of growing it all out. It was still worn in a ponytail, a pretty stream of quicksilver that reached his mid-back.
“Let’s go to the water today.” He took Itachi’s hand, kissing the backs of his fingers, smiling against it. “It’s a beautiful day outside. No surprise, today of all days.”
Itachi nodded, squeezing Kisame’s hand as tightly as he could manage without hurting himself. “I would like that.”
The water was warm today, the sand was soft under Kisame’s feet as he walked along the bottom. He was submerged up to his chest, waves lapping against the gills on his shoulders. Itachi’s head was reclined against the water with his body supported bridal-style in Kisame’s arms. The water took the pressure off of Itachi’s sore joints, his face was serene while the small waves rippled over him as Kisame carried him along the water.
Kisame thanked the gods that he was able to still do this for Itachi. 75 wasn't an age where most people were still built and healthy like him. Sure, his joints creaked and his ass wasn't as cute anymore, but that was alright with him. He was living an idyllic life and he was healthy enough to take care of his husband.
Like they had promised, he saw his former students when they visited several times a year. And like he promised, he and Itachi visited Konoha several times a year. One especially memorable visit was to come celebrate Sarada’s promotion to jonin. Every visit, Shisui would drag Itachi and Kisame to his home, where stories and sake would flow like water. Shisui had trained several squads now in his old age, passing the gifts of knowledge and technique down to the new generation of Shinobi. His eyes were still kind, surrounded with wrinkles and deep set now, but kind.
“Feeling better?” Kisame smiled down at his husband, watching his hair float on the water.
“Mmhm.” Itachi smiled. He looked like some kind of ethereal spirit, like the merfolk that children in Kirigakure grew up hearing legends about.
“Forty years, and I still think you’re as gorgeous as the day we got married.”
“Technically it is the day we got married.” Itachi opened his eyes, looking up at him with the sharingan. “Forty years ago.”
“Can you believe it?” Kisame laughed. “Because I can't.” He nuzzled Itachi’s hand as it touched his face.
“You’re still just as beautiful too.” Itachi’s thumb traced one of Kisame’s sharp cheekbones.
“You deserved better.” Itachi took his hand, placing Kisame’s fingers on the lower ridge of his orbitals.
“We deserved better.”
Kisame Hoshigaki died in his sleep at the age of 87, survived by his husband Itachi Hoshigaki, 76. He died the way he would have wanted to, holding the most beloved thing person in his life. He’d had his favorite thing for dinner, finished the book he had been reading, and went to bed snuggled close to his beloved. One could argue it was the best way and best time to die.
Kisame’s fingers shook, still resting below Itachi’s eye sockets. His eyes were wide and teary as his mind was released from Itachi’s tsukuyomi. Itachi reached a trembling hand down to take Kisame’s. “You… why? Why waste the last of yourself like that?”
“The man who has nothing deserved a chance to have everything.” Itachi smiled.
“... I love you. I’ll always love you.”
“I love you too. And that’s the truth.”
Both fingers plunged into Itachi’s eyes, leaving nothing for Madara to harvest for himself. Itachi didn't cry out. Didn't scream. His hand stilled in Kisame’s.
His grey, bloodied hand dropped, resting on Itachi’s face. “See you soon.”
Kisame Hoshigaki died in agony in a pool of his own and his lover’s blood at the age of 33. He survived his lover, Itachi Uchiha, age 21, by three seconds. One could argue it was the worst way to die.