The softening did not escape Hidan and, it absolutely entranced him. It was nothing dramatic or over the top. It was subtle. Like a soft breath. If he didn’t know Kakuzu so well, he might have missed it. Who ever thought there was something other than hate left in this pile of stich and stolen hearts?
He listened in patience giving all of his words the careful consideration their due. He considered making a fuss of asking for his heart back since life was so terrible, but once again, he thought better of it. It was probably the exhaustion stopping him from being more of a menace rather than any actual consideration on his part to be truthful. He was grateful for that though. This side of Kakuzu was pretty all-right.
“If you hate living so much, then why do it? Like, you clearly want to. You’re right here. But, I don’t get it. Seriously. You scared or somethin’?” His fingers ran along stitching. “And what’s up with all of this anyway?” He couldn’t help himself. He wanted to know ever since he saw the bastard. For that moment, he felt like if he didn’t ask it, he wouldn’t have the chance again.
Hidan did not descend into his madness, at least not that he can remember. He’d always had a taste for blood. A penchant for violence. As soon as he learned how to throw a fist, it was the end of any meekness he had. The world always looked like shit to him. He loved it in the way he hated it. He was young. He enjoyed what he did with such pleasure. He had yet to learn about the agitation, the soul rendering hell of the quotidian for longer than a few months. But all of this brought him a couple leaps closer to tasting that same cynicism that made Kakuzu feel no love for life.
Contrary to that he found plenty of things he enjoyed from his waking life. Money being the obvious one that had almost become a joke. Gaze is set forward and he grumbles at the continued prodding at his being. Metaphorically and physically. Nor was he afraid to die, really. Not especially since he knew what came now. Always had he had his suspicions given the nature of the forbidden jutsu he’d used on his own body, but honestly actually dying had been the thing to confirm every theory he’d silently had about it all.
“I hate the living. Wasting their time, slaughtering one and trying to pass it off as anything but–” He scoffs, the sort a miserly old asshole like him would do at any point when thinking about kids these days, and all of their mistakes and experiences not learned from their forbearers. Doesn’t bother to ramble or burn his own patience or enjoyment for the moment though, it’s fleeting thoughts, and he finds no reason at all to dwell.
“World would be a lot more interesting if people just died off, probably.” Remembering how he’d been treated by his people for his failure though, it’s a pin in the ass to go along with the rest of his frustration.
“A couple are repairs from injuries I got from fighting the first Hokage. My arms, the stab to my gut.” He’d lost the fight, sure, but he was a tough sonuvabitch, a gaping hole in his abdomen, dragging his arms along with him all the way back to Taki, they did him the service of repairing him before degrading and attempting to exile him for his failure to win against an impossible opponent.
“The rest are from a forbidden jutsu I used before leaving my village. Replaced everything inside except my heart with living threads.” An over simplification but to be honest, Kakuzu never bothered to go through with the trouble of learning more of the extraneous details beyond what had been written in the scroll. “I think I gave my soul for it, but I don’t really care.”
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