Dinner is Served

[A/N] Based on feedback received, POV's other than Satoshi's will now be Third Person: (he said, she did, Shisui ran, etc.) instead of First Person: (I said, I did, I ran, etc.). I will revise the earlier chapters at a later date. 

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SHISUI UCHIHA

"Dinner is served," Satoshi said.

He came in carrying several plates, each one piled high with strange, circular meat, each between two fluffy golden-brown pieces of bread. Shisui had never seen anything like them before. They smelled… rich. Mouthwatering.

A couple of thoughts ran through his mind. One: how did Satoshi come up with the idea for such an… interesting dish? Ham-burgers? His eyes trailed the food as Satoshi set the plates in the middle of the long dining room table, big enough to accommodate nine people.

Steam drifted up from the hamburgers, carrying with it a smell that about made Shisui lunge at them right then and there. It wasn't like anything he'd smelled before.

A smoky, deep scent hit Shisui first–wrapping him in a hug that made his mouth water and made him swallow. Followed by something sharp, almost sweet. He took a deep breath, devouring the scent with his nose.

"That's not enough meat, Satoshi," Daiki said, his eyes honed on the plates as well.

"There are more servings in the kitchen."

"Good, good," Daiki nodded, eyes glossing, almost as if he was hypnotized by the food's spell.

There was more chatter across the table, but Shisui was too enthralled with what sat in front of him to pay attention.

Satoshi finally sat down, and they, somehow all in sync, put their hands together and said, "Itadakimasu!" before diving in.

To be honest, Shisui was still getting used to the Yamanaka Elders. They were the antithesis of the Uchiha. All five of them had different personalities.

Haruto—loud, brash. Akira—strong, fiery. Daiki—laid back, casual. Nao—weird, snakey. And Masaru—quiet, watching.

When together (with the addition of Satoshi's mom and cousin), it created a lively atmosphere. Laughs, snorts, abrupt quiet moments, stories, and questions—for Shisui.

Questions about his training. Questions on his goals. Questions on his clan. Questions, questions, and more questions.

But none with ill intent–or at least, that's what it felt like to him. They were more inquisitive than anything else. They didn't appear, at least, to ask questions because they wanted to harm Shisui.

They appeared to be, in the center of their core, warm people who were welcoming him to the dinner table to eat a good meal. It felt… good.

Unable to restrain his hunger any longer, Shisui picked up a hamburger, the bread soft to the touch—took a bite, and was instantly transported to another place—another world.

He was no longer seated at the dinner table. No. He was at home, back at the clan. But something was different—something felt… off.

"Shisui," a long-forgotten voice called from another room. "Dinner's ready. Come eat, son."

It was a voice Shisui sometimes dreamed of hearing, but he'd always wake up knowing it was nothing but that—a dream. He couldn't hold his wonder any longer and darted from the living room to the kitchen, where a man he missed more than anything was setting the table.

"Father?" Shisui whispered.

His head lifted, and Shisui's heart clenched. It was—it was him. Everything was exactly as he remembered. His deep-set onyx eyes that always crinkled at the corners from laughing at his own jokes. The crooked smile that never left his face. His hair, just like Shisui's but longer, framing the side of his face.

It was just like he remembered. He was just like Shisui remembered.

"Father," he said again, but this time more audible—with more certainty.

"Hn," his father sounded, the trademark Uchiha expression that had a hundred different meanings. His eyebrow rose in confusion. "Son, have my good looks mesmerized you again? I thought you would get used to it, but alas, I suppose not."

Shisui couldn't help but laugh. Not because it was funny. But because it was him. Because Shisui missed him more than he realized, and now, his father stood in front of him like he'd never left. Because he had so many questions he never got to ask him.

What was the purpose of being a shinobi? Why was he put under so much pressure? Was he ever afraid of failing? Why did he always look so confident? Did he ever feel lonely? Would he be disappointed in him if he made mistakes? Would he still love him if he couldn't be as strong as he was? 

"You're scaring me now." His father set down the plate of food and walked up to Shisui, bending down to meet him face to face. "You okay, Shisui? Did a girl break your heart? If so, let me know, and I can get Hae to teach her a lesson."

A chuckle left Shisui's throat. But for some reason, there was a wetness that tickled the side of his face, and a warm pressure that began, soft, deep, in the back of Shisui's head, traveling towards his eyes.

"I'm… okay, Father. I promise," he replied. And he meant every word. He wasn't before—he didn't even know it. Pressure, anxiety, stress, expectations, fear. It all evaporated, and Shisui was left feeling at… peace.

His father's eyes locked onto his, and after assessing him completely, he gave Shisui a light pat on his head and stood up. "Good. Well, let's get to eating. Don't want my yummy food going to waste, do we?"

Shisui smiled and joined him at the table, looking at his father one more time.

He was more than good. He was great, actually.

Shisui spent the entire night eating, and laughing, and talking and catching up with his Dad. And as the night ended, his father tucked him in bed like he used to, patted his head, and said, "I love you, Shisui. Always will."

And for one last time, Shisui took it all in, coming to the realization that this was just a figment of his imagination, and after a beat, finally said, "Love you too, Father. Always will."

With that, the illusion shattered, and Shisui found himself back at the table with a group of Yamanaka staring at him with wide, inquisitive eyes.

Daiki, beside him, gave his shoulder a light pat. "The three tomoe already?"

Shisui's eyes widened. His hand subconsciously went to his face, and suddenly, the last part of what Daiki said hit him like a whirlwind: The three tomoe already?

He stilled.

He didn't—rather, he shouldn't have the three tomoe. He should only have two tomoe. Something he'd been hiding even from the clan elders.

Shisui was at a loss for words, and for some reason, with all the words, and retorts, and thoughts he had running through his mind, the only thing he could mutter was, "Hn."

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[A/N] I love writing Shisui's perspective. So young but already carrying such heavy expectations. 

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If you don't... well, you know you don't have to read it, right? 

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