Chapter Text
“Is it just me, or have you gotten more handsome?” Kisame asks their Mizukage, two weeks after the incident — as they’d all decided to call it. A lot had happened since then, and the sudden change in their Mizukage’s appearance hadn’t been high on his to-do list, even though he now looked both more handsome and infinitely more exhausted.
“Massacres are good for the skin”, the Mizukage replies, shuffling through papers and scrolls, which had only increased in number following the near-total genocide of the Stone. It’s surprising how many people wanted to be friends with the Mist instead of fighting it.
“Hm, maybe I should try it too”, he grunts, selecting five S-rank missions; Ao hasn’t fully recovered, and Kisame isn’t sure if this man will ever be able to return to his former self.
It was almost noon, but none of the children had come to Mizukage’s office yet, and so the man didn’t put on his mask (despite his eyes, which were clearly older than the rest of his body — it was now even harder for Kisame to call this man a man; his face was still too youthful, and the scars, it turned out, added a couple of years to his appearance). And perhaps Mizukage-sama is avoiding some of them. If Kisame didn’t know him better, he might have thought that Mizukage felt guilty toward them.
Perhaps the light was playing tricks on Mizukage’s appearance or on Kisame’s own eyesight, but he could see flashes of white in several places at the roots of his hair.
“You do know that even if you completely change your appearance, we’ll still recognize you, don’t you?” Kisame can’t help but ask, testing the waters; this man has undergone too many changes in the half-day they haven’t seen him, and they still can’t decide if it’s good or bad. Mizukage-sama remains an enigma from start to finish.
Mizukage doesn’t flinch, doesn’t look up; in fact, he even continues reading the document, frowning at the numbers that may have personally offended their Kage.
Kisame would have been almost certain that the man hadn’t heard him, had he not known better about a shinobi’s skills; so he simply tucks the scrolls into the outer pockets of his vest.
Their Mizukage’s face — still too young, and now even more handsome — will clearly play a role in the future if this man decides to get married.
“That’s nothing; I used to love painting my nails”, the Mizukage remarked casually, pressing his seal onto the paper as if trying to hurt it.
Ah, perhaps Kisame had spoken those thoughts aloud.
“What’s your favorite color?” he asked with genuine interest, testing slightly to see if their Mizukage was being coy.
“Cool heliotrope”, Mizukage said calmly, and Kisame didn’t dare ask if such a word even existed.
“Will you pick out a color for me sometime? I’m sure the kids would be interested too”, was an understatement; stars might have lit up in Utaka’s eyes if their Mizukage had offered to do that for him.
“I’m no expert on this; we’d have to ask our allies from the Rain”, and Kisame wondered how that conversation must have gone for Mizukage to take an interest in nail polish. Amekage didn’t seem like the type, even though he’d made a big detour to visit their village on his way back. “They could sell them, as far as I remember. Konan made the polishes herself — they’re durable enough to withstand any technique or natural disaster”.
And this time, Kisame is genuinely interested in the idea; gods, he needs to know how their negotiations got to this topic.
“You’re a man of many talents, Mizukage-sama. Perhaps you know a thing or two about fashion as well?” he asks with a laugh in his voice, and those multicolored eyes—one black, one red—look at him for the first time in all these long fifteen days.
“Only when it comes to masks”, Mizukage replies dryly, and Kisame can’t imagine how he ever lived without this hilarious man.
(“By the way, Rain is still looking for its second advisor”, Kisame reminds him; this was roughly their one hundred thirty-seventh letter.
Mizukage looks at him with an indescribable sense of regret over the life choices that led him to this position.
“I won’t even pretend I know where that guy’s been wandering. Maybe that’s why he always used six corpses to walk in his place”, Mizukage exhales, returning to his papers. Kisame doesn’t ask for clarification, even if he wanted to.)