@airusu ( That One Greedy Asshole ) said: ❛ do I ask questions or do I just help you clean up all this blood? ❜ ( meme. )
if asked, Hidan would claim that it wasn’t his fault. everyone always assumes it must be, in one way or another, and yes, fine, in the majority of cases that may ( or may not!! ) be true. but they do say that the exception confirms the rule, and that is exactly the case here. promise. perhaps this little incident wouldn’t have occurred if circumstances were different. but whilst 'inconspicuous' hardly meshed well with Hidan’s personality, it clashed just as badly with the concept of parading around in easily identified garments, a terrible idea when you were on a wanted list and your head is worth a hefty bounty.
it’s not the first time this happened, it won’t be the last, surely. ( but Hidan’s pretty sure that it’s the first time it happened indoors. ) a poor tactic, truly. assassination only works with the element of surprise, and when the target is, well, able to die. because otherwise? Hidan’s not the one trapped in a cramped space. they are the ones trapped in there. with him. when Kakuzu returns, looking tired as fuck, the room holds testament to that statement only in the ( unavoidable ) splattering of blood at Hidan’s feet. nothing else. no particular floor adornments, no sign of Hidan’s usual draw-out style ( a swift, cut-and-dry —cutthroat— affair, and two thuds later, right out the window, a lack of evidence in the room. ) apparently, even Hidan did not deem the affair as worthy of his attention ( or as an offering ). it isn’t uncharted territory. for Hidan ( Hidan for whom every fight is akin to a game. a game for its own sake and for the heady rush of adrenaline shaking his skull and setting nerves aflame. a game for the sake of playing rather than for the prize, which is always, always a grand finale and a whisper of death that he, nevertheless, survives. he owns the ultimate cheat code to it all, after all: the luxury of infinite lives. ) but it’s rare enough to hold some degree of novelty.
if he’s aware of it, Hidan pretends there’s nothing to it. nor, by the way, does he bother to greet his assigned partner. ( what are social niceties anyway? ) instead, he leans back against the window frame ( he’s had enough decency to keep it open to dispel the metallic edge of blood lingering in the air ), using a towel as a makeshift rag for cleaning the kunai he had appropriated for himself.
the question catches him off-guard like a sudden blade between two ribs ( prompts a disbelieving puff of laughter from his lungs. )
“ what? Kakuzu! are you actually offering me assistance!? ” it comes out nearly aghast, spoiled only by the smug amusement that paints itself thick upon his mouth, clawing its way up his whole face to dance, mischievously, in his eyes. it’s mockery, borderline on taunting, but nothing out of ordinary for Hidan — not when he can rarely resist a jest at another’s expense. and there it is, a hand fluttering over his heart, to accentuate the sentimentality rising within his bosom at the gesture ( all make-believe, all jeering; after all, he couldn’t mistake the intent behind the words: it wasn’t an offer to help. it was a direction to clean up , something Hidan had not, in fact, given much thought or intent to, until that moment. seriously, what’s the point? blood had already seeped through the tatami, and unless someone had the genius to create an instant-cleaning jutsu, there was no saving it. or so Hidan would argue. in truth, he had no clue. )
still, something about those words, in Kakuzu’s mouth, feels precariously close to unsettling. or would, if Hidan gave it much thought. . .. which, for the record, he decides not to. an eyebrow still ticks up, betraying curiosity if nothing else, as he lets his eyes roam over his partner in keen assessment ( you— ). but for once in his life, he stills his tongue ( a small miracle ; the unspoken words smash themselves against his skull, against the back of his throat, screaming out in frustration from being unheard: hey hey hey, Kakuzu. you know, you look like shit. well. moreso than usual. gonna go ‘round having a heart attack on me now? is old age catching up? the usual bullshit ).
instead of speaking, Hidan runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, the metallic-sweet taste lingering on his gums. the night air tangles cold fingers in his hair, sliding pleasantly cool ( cooling ) fingers down the nape of his neck.
well, none of his business.
a roll of his shoulders, as if to work out the ache there, and Hidan picks up the discarded kunai ( the one he had been wiping clean, moments prior ), twirling it around his finger ( swish swish swish it goes, ‘round and round, a toy that could slice throats open. )
“ well then. guess I better make the rest of the place quiet. ”
he’ll be damned if he lingers to be forced into cleaning up. he can do other, useful, things instead. and while sure, adding to the bodycount doesn’t exactly abide to the guidelines of ‘remaining inconspicuous’ ( oops ) . . . .well. there’s two out the window already, for any of the keepers to stumble upon — and Hidan would much prefer to get a good night’s rest without any sort of scandal or screaming or being woken up at ungodly hours because some people couldn’t stomach it. especially now, when being afforded the luxury of a roof over his head. he’s not letting someone else’s sensibilities ruin his night. ( had the words ‘play nice with the other kids’ and ‘don’t stir things up’ ever entered his vocabulary? )
corpses are exceptionally silent neighbors. never heard one scream yet!
he makes for the door, with no intent to recover the scythe propped against the wall. quick and clinical and utterly boring it is. shockingly, he could, when he chose to, be strikingly efficient ( Hidan knew the human body and its numerous failings better than anyone, and most of it was trial and error and firsthand experience ). the problem lay with the fact that he often didn’t choose to. ). another exception to the rule, for the night. well, why not.
a thought pauses him midstep, tugs a line between pale eyebrows, and he half-turns to his partner, troubled.
“ say, Kakuzu. . .. you can prepare a decent sencha, right? ”
a grave question, with lives on the line. ( you see, Hidan couldn’t. it always ended up bitter — some uncoordinated dance between temperature and length of brew. always ended up too diluted or too bitter, never quite right. infuriating. could he do without? yes, as he could with a great number of things. . . proven time and again. but this time, he really didn’t want to. )
