Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Between the dueling neon signs of Gas Town USA and The Six Paths of Pleasure, Hidan ignored the low fuel indicator on his car’s dash and killed the engine. He could probably make it back home on fumes after his shift. His life ran on fumes, anyway.

With the heat off and the shredded trash bag barely covering the broken window in the back, the damp autumn night consumed the car quickly. Light drizzle plinked against the windshield, blurring the illuminated signs clustered around exit 3.

He reached for the black apron on his passenger seat. He’d dug it out of his dirty laundry pile before dashing out the door. It’s hard to do laundry when you’re short on cash. It’s hard to fill your gas tank when you’re short on cash. It’s also damn near impossible to get out of your dead end hometown when you’re short on cash.

Crumpled beside his apron was the final notice for his past due tuition. He’d brought it as a reminder, not that he’d forget that a single algebra prereq—and a fifty-dollar minimum payment—stood in his way. If he fucked this up again, he might have to admit defeat. Every failure kept him stuck here even longer, and with each passing month, semester, year, he thought that there might not be hope for him landing a decent job and moving away. He should’ve just gotten a damn student loan. It wasn’t like his mom was around to lecture him about how miserable it was being in debt to greedy bankers and their shitty companies.

He drew in a cool breath and squeezed his stained apron. the diner’s cheesy embroidered logo resisted his frustrated grip. Rise ‘n Shine was a ridiculous name for a 24-hour shithole diner. The business name indicated that there were things to look forward to, that there’d be an opportunity to “shine”, that there was light at the end of a tunnel.

There’s no such thing.

And yet, he went through the pep talk, anyway. He pretended, even for himself.

“You can do this. Just smile and kiss everyone’s asses.” His breath formed little clouds of condensation that quickly gave up and dissipated. “Making fifty bucks in eight hours isn’t a big deal.”

But it was a big deal. Tonight couldn’t be the night when things really went to hell.

He flung the car door open before he could change his mind, call off, hibernate in his dark apartment, just say fuck it and cope with cheap beer until someone annoying, like his neighbor or landlord, reminded how much he hated this place. He’d start the desperate cycle all over again by signing up for a class on a whim. Or there was that one time he thought that HVAC might be more interesting than it sounded. Spoiler alert: it wasn’t.

Outside in the dark, the adult superstore sign damn near blinded him. What The Six Paths of Pleasure were, Hidan had no clue. Probably some kinky hillbilly thing truckers were into. Across the street, a dodgy motel with a parking lot that was more weeds than pavement, offered hourly and monthly rates. Classy. The white noise rush of traffic on the interstate was a constant reminder that life happened elsewhere, but definitely not within a fifty mile radius around here.

The smell of overheated frying oil assaulted him the second he walked in the back door. Beside a row of coat hooks with kitchen aprons, he shook the rain out of his hair and clocked in precisely at 10:00 PM. Clocking in and out for work while it was dark was going to be depressing. Maybe “Graveyard and Grind” was a more fitting name for the diner. Although “Graveyard and Grind” could be a goth strip club. Or an epic gay bar.

He walked further down the hallway and found Konan in the cramped manager’s office. “Right on time, Hidan. I know I’m leaving the diner in capable hands tonight,” she said, removing the nametag from her red polo.

Hidan couldn't help but smile. It was stupid that a little praise quelled his uncertainty about this sad little place, but Konan didn’t treat him like most people did. She obviously wasn’t from around here. It was nice being a blank slate for once. 

 “Tonight should be slow enough for you to adjust to working by yourself. Any questions before I take off?” she asked.

“What do I do if someone asks to talk to a manager or if I need to void something on a check?”

“Sasori is our overnight kitchen manager. Grab him off the line if you need anything. Here, I’ll introduce you.” Konan guided Hidan into the kitchen. His shoes still slid on the greasy tile, although Konan had assured him his shoes would build up enough gunk and stop sliding, eventually.

“Sasori! New overnight server,” Konan yelled over the whir of microwaves.

A short guy with red hair and an indifferent face slowly blinked at Hidan. He took a leisurely sip from a mug that looked like it had barely survived a fire. Somehow, the guy could’ve passed for both fourteen and forty.

“Don’t bother me for help unless you really need it,” Sasori said.

“I wouldn’t be leaving him here on his own if I didn’t think he could handle it,” Konan said, patting Hidan’s arm like he needed consoling. Then she peered under the heat lamp and further down the kitchen line. Aside from the redhead, it seemed to be empty. “Deidara’s late again?”

Sasori sipped his coffee again. A microwave beeped. “Brat’s always late. Loses track of time.”

Konan glanced at her watch. “Well, I’ll leave that issue for you to deal with.”

Just then, the back door scraped open, and a voice called from down the hall. “I’m here! I’m not late!” A guy with long blond hair came barreling down the hall and lunged for the time clock.

Sasori craned his neck around the corner. “Clock in when you’re ready to work, not when you arrive. Hurry up.”

“I got wrapped up in my project!” He clocked in anyway and then started pulling his hair back. He examined Hidan. “Fresh meat, yeah?”

“Don’t scare off our new guy,” Konan said.

Hidan almost scoffed and said that he was the one who usually did the scaring. And no way was some tiny blond thing gonna call him fresh meat, but Konan continued with instructions so Hidan never got the chance.

“If Hidan gets slammed for some odd reason, help him expo his food, okay, Deidara? And Hidan, I transferred one table over to you.” She handed Hidan her kitchen pager. “I entered table 12’s food order and they’ll need a refill on decaf soon. Don’t forget to brew fresh decaf every so often. We go through it faster than the day shift.”

“Got it.”

Deidara rummaged around in his backpack, producing his wrinkled red polo. He yanked off his cropped tee, exchanged it for the polo, and then pulled a mottled black kitchen apron off a hook. The apron was caked with grease and the diner’s “signature” gravy making the color look more brown than black.

“Oh Hidan, don’t forget the dress code.” She gestured at his unbuttoned polo. “Just one button undone, please.” 

With a jangle of keys, Konan departed.

Hidan affixed his nametag to his stupid polo, tied on his black half apron, and disregarded the instructions on buttoning his polo. He needed to make at least fifty bucks in tips tonight, and he was going to need all the help he could get. He would wait tables shirtless if he got really desperate.

He pocketed the heavy pager that looked like it belonged in a museum and pictured the lone booth out front, guzzling decaffeinated coffee. No other customers. No other servers to chat with, unlike when he trained during the dayshift. Hidan was stuck with these two nerds in the kitchen for a full eight hours. Why did every decision he made lead him to a dead end?

Deidara snorted. “You’re not gonna last long, yeah.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I need the money,” Hidan said.

He busied himself with the coffee machine. The decaf smelled weird, like it was a pre-burnt, already stale blend custom made for the diner. Whoever drank it without the benefit of caffeine had to be insane or old as fuck.  

“You must be desperate if you think you’ll make much money during the graveyard shift. And on a Tuesday night, yeah,” Deidara called across the kitchen. “You in school?”

Hidan shrugged. “Sort of. Can’t seem to get through the prereqs. I thought I could study if my shift is slow.”

Deidara tossed his beautiful hair and cackled. “This job will suck the life out of you.”

The pager in Hidan’s pocket buzzed. Table 12’s order was ready beneath the heat lamp and Sasori was the biggest asshole just standing there.

“Yo! I’m right here. Just say something!” he said to Sasori.

Sasori stared at him. “Food’s up,” he mumbled. “Can’t wait long on biscuits and gravy orders.”

“Yeah, yeah, the gravy gets weird under the heat lamp. Konan told me.” Hidan peeled the kitchen ticket out of the already congealing gravy and shuddered.

“Wait!” Dediara lunged for the plate. He ran behind the line, took out a plastic jar, and shook dried parsley flakes all over the plate. Then he arranged a wilted piece of lettuce and a deflated orange slice on the plate. He rotated the plate to one side and then the other. “Now it’s ready.”

Hidan squinted at the plate. “Wow, huge difference. That was worth the thirty-second wait.”

“Fuck off, yeah. It’s more visually appealing. Distracts from the consistency of the gravy while adding color, so not everything’s brown.”

“You waste too much time on the garnishes,” Sasori griped. “The average meal is consumed in seven minutes. It’s not worth your time.”

“Look, I’m not saying our biscuits and gravy are a work of art, but everyone deserves a little beauty in their world, even if it’s fleeting.” Deidara rearranged the garnish again, attempted to fluff up the limp lettuce, and then pushed it toward Hidan. “Careful. Plate’s super hot from being under the heat lamp.”

“Yeah, ‘cause you took so damn long.” Hidan walked off with the sad meal. Heat from the plate burned into his fingers, but he didn’t bother readjusting his hold. He gripped it tighter. Sometimes it was the little things that reminded him wasn’t entirely dead to the world.

He grabbed the freshly brewed pot of decaf and kicked open the door to the dining room while Deidara and Sasori bickered. Those two were going to irritate him all night with their weird social skills and pointless garnishes. Bunch of sorry losers at this diner. Unfortunately, that officially included Hidan. For now. 

But maybe it was better than being alone.

He rounded the retro diner counter with its chrome bar stools and torn red vinyl seats. A tinny elevator jazz rendition of “Party in the USA” crackled from the speakers overhead. He dropped off the biscuits at table 12 with his best fake smile. The customer was a wrinkled woman wearing a cat-hair covered sweatshirt. An alarming amount of scratch-off lotto tickets littered the scuffed red table top.

“Any luck?” he asked, filling up her coffee cup. This was the best way to milk tips from customers. Chat them up so they feel guilty for not tipping well.

She waved her hand at the scratch-offs like they’d offended her by screwing her out of money—which technically they had—and then stabbed a knobbly finger at her biscuit. “I asked that girl for extra gravy.”

“Sure thing.” It wasn’t on the order ticket and Konan was pretty on top of her game being a manager and all, but it wasn’t worth arguing with old people. They had old-timey tipping standards and every little interaction with them could mean the difference between a ten percent tip and a fifteen percent tip. And never expect over twenty percent from them. It just wasn’t going to happen. 

By the time Hidan returned with a plastic ramekin of the cornstarch and sausage-flavored goo that passed for gravy, table 12 decided she needed extra creamer. And by the time he retrieved that, she requested a warm up on her coffee. Goddamn, if all his tables were like this, he’d never get to study.

When she finished eating, he dropped off her check, but she just sat there playing some gambling game on her phone and flagged him down for a steady stream of decaf like she was the only customer in the place. Well, she was the only customer in the place, but still.

Eventually, a four-top of drunk college kids took over table 34 and ordered a couple of desserts. Deidara spent way too much time drizzling caramel-flavored sauce on them, like he could transform the diner’s fried apple fritter and freezer burned ice cream into some sort of visual masterpiece. 

“Dude, the ice cream’s gonna melt if you take any longer,” Hidan said.

Deidara splashed the plate with cinnamon, like he was starring in his own cooking show. Then he squinted his eyes at the dessert for a solid twenty seconds. “Okay. It’s done.”

“Finally.” What an idiot. At least he was a cute idiot.

The obnoxious college kids at table 34 and the cat lady with a gambling addiction at table 12 were still Hidan’s only tables when a state trooper strolled in a little after midnight. Out of habit, Hidan stiffened. His brain took stock of the dining room exits thanks to his fair share of misdemeanors over the past several years. The emergency exit behind him was closest, but dashing into the kitchen had fewer obstacles, like customers and breakable rotating pie cases.

The state trooper posted up at the counter across from where Hidan was studying. Or attempting to study. 

Scars spiraled across half of the trooper’s face, pulling it all wrong when he smiled. “New guy, huh? Just a coffee, please. Regular. Not decaf,” the cop said.

“Just coffee? Already got your three squares of doughnuts in for the day?” Hidan asked, forgetting about his fake customer service persona, because fuck cops. Although this guy’s scars told an interesting story despite the law enforcement getup. People with scars understood suffering a little better than the average asshole. Obviously psychological scars were more difficult to perceive, but even then, this state trooper had the telltale slump to his shoulders, a fidgety lack of confidence. Hidan’s scars weren’t visible at all, but his hometown knew enough of his history to treat him differently. They didn’t respect scars. 

Hidan, on the other hand? Hidan respected the hell out of scars. 

The state trooper forced a laugh. “I don’t do doughnuts. It’s more of a local police thing.”

Hidan selected a mug that was a little less stained than the rest, filled it with regular burnt coffee and then slid rather than shoved a dish of creamers toward the cop. “Sorry, this is my first graveyard shift.” As if that explained anything. 

The state trooper scrubbed at the back of his spiky black hair. “Oh, cool. I stop in from time to time, so I’ll be seeing you around. Is uh, is Deidara working tonight?”

“Yeah, he is. And if you order a dessert, he’ll spend way too long decorating it.”

“Really? I didn’t realize he does the desserts.” The state trooper whipped open a menu. “Can I get a banana split? Extra chocolate sauce. Hold the cherries. Unless he thinks it completes the look, then keep the cherries. Can you also tell him I’m here? But if he’s too busy to say hi I’ll just have coffee and go. I don’t want to bother him.”

Hidan noted the state trooper’s name tag and nodded.

He shoved open the door to the kitchen. Sasori was nowhere in sight, and Deidara was portioning pancake syrup into plastic ramekins for the morning rush. 

“Yo, some awkward cop wants to say hi to you,” Hidan said. “Name’s Uchiha?”

Dediara narrowed his pretty blue eyes and curled his lip. “Ugh. Which one?”

“We have that many regulars that are cops here? And two of ‘em got the same name?”

“It’s a diner.”

“Okay… This one’s got short black hair, interesting scars. He’d be cute if he wasn’t a police officer.”

“Obito,” Deidara growled. “Tell him I’m busy, yeah? But if he’s got anything important for us… uh, you know…”

Hidan stood there, vaguely aware that he looked like an oblivious idiot. “What would be important?”

“You—you know…”

“No, I don’t know.”

“He’d ask for Sasori if it was important.”

“What, he and Sasori run a drug ring or something?” Hidan meant it as a joke, but Deidara’s face paled and it seemed that illegal activities weren’t something to joke about around here.

Bleach suddenly overwhelmed him from behind and singed his nose hairs. “Stop asking stupid questions and do your job,” Sasori’s flat voice carried over Hidan’s shoulder. Hidan peered behind himself and jumped. The dead-eyed redhead was lurking two inches behind him, elbow deep in shiny yellow gloves and a full rubber apron. Hidan hadn’t even heard the guy slink over. Maybe Sasori had those special kitchen shoes that kept him from skidding on the grease-slicked tile.

“Jesus, man! Don’t creep up on me like that. I coulda punched you.”

“Careful. Workplace violence will land you in jail again.”

And here Hidan thought management hadn’t actually glanced at his background check when they’d offered him this job. Hidan held up his hands. “I don’t care what side jobs you’ve got going on, I’m just trying to pay my bills. But maybe don’t sneak up on your coworkers looking like a serial killer.” The bleach fumes forced Hidan to squint, yet Sasori wasn’t fazed. Like he’d built a tolerance to brain cell-killing gasses.

“I’m bleaching the cutting boards,” Sasori said in his indifferent voice.

“Shouldn’t your subordinate be doing that?” Hidan asked, nodding at Deidara.

“He’s not meticulous enough,” Sasori replied. “I guess no one explained this earlier, but if someone asks for me, Dediara will tell you where to find me. If the office door is closed, don’t bother me. If I’m in dish, let me finish my work. Now stop causing a scene.” And Sasori was slinking off to “bleach the cutting boards.”

Deidara watched him go with an unsettling look of dreamy admiration. 

“What?” the kid spluttered, when he realized Hidan had caught him staring. “He’s good at his job, yeah.”

“At microwaving gravy or cleaning up after murder victims?”

Deidara scoffed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. He has an impressive attention to detail. Go tell Obito I don’t have time for him.”

“Is this why they need two of you back here on a dead night? You’re the lookout? God, this all makes sense now! What the hell are you up to?”

Deidara shushed him. “Clearly I’m prepping for the morning. Stick to your job and I’ll stick to mine, yeah?”

Hidan punched back through the swinging door and out into the harsh red dining room. The burnt coffee wasn’t strong enough to counter the bleach fumes still swimming in his skull. On top of that, some lame jazzy saxophone solo was now stabbing him in the eardrums. During the few day shifts Hidan had trained on, the diner played retro crap from the 50s and 60s. In fact, he’d caught himself multiple times humming “Leader of the Pack” when he was at home. Was the change in music Sasori’s doing? Did smooth jazz soothe him while he did… whatever it was he did?

Officer Obito Uchiha sunk into his barstool when Hidan approached without ice cream or a cute blonde guy who maybe had a psychopath kink. Hidan let him down easy with an extra-large to-go cup of coffee, and the guy left a five-dollar bill on the counter as a tip so he wasn’t a total waste of time. Hidan was right about people with scars, but maybe state troopers were a little better than his hometown cops ten miles down the interstate.

The sad gambling lady departed shortly after, probably to go sleep beneath her twenty cats. She tipped Hidan with a handful of change that barely amounted to ten percent pre-tax. At this rate, he’d need three lifetimes to pay for his postsecondary education. The college kids left a slightly better tip and Hidan was up to ten dollars. If the early morning didn’t pick up, he’d be screwed. 

Over the next two hours, several grizzled and bleary-eyed truckers trickled in and out. None of them commented about him being a newbie. And thankfully none of them requested Sasori. They just scarfed down their cheap meals, guzzled coffee like a shitty lifeline, and then trudged next door to The Six Paths of Pleasure or across the street to the seedy motel. Hidan’s circumstances suddenly didn’t seem so dismal and at least his job wasn’t to clean those motel rooms.

You don’t know what it is to hit rock bottom. There are depths to which you have not sunk. Yet.

He shoved that unsettling thought away and focused on the algebra homework he was behind on.

His hand ran through the change and the few stray bills in his apron pocket. And then the crumpled tuition bill. Sure, he had three credit card tips, but he wouldn’t see them until his first paycheck later in the week and even then, none of this was amounting to much. Money was so fucking stupid. It exerted too much control over him; it dictated what he ate, where he lived, what he could do with his life…everything. 

And it was totally killing what little hope he had left. He couldn’t make customers magically appear. And he couldn’t pray for some sort of divine intervention, so he’d have enough money to make the minimum payment due tomorrow. Now today.

⛛ ⛛ ⛛

In the midst of the true graveyard hour of the shift, somewhere between 3:00 and 4:00 A.M., the front entrance bell chimed. Hidan scraped his upbeat customer service persona off the floor and looked up across the empty restaurant, his smile feeling hollow. An imposing man walked through the entrance. All Hidan noticed at first were the man’s eyes: an intense green complimented by blood-shot sclerae. As Hidan’s brain caught up, he took in the expensive-looking turtleneck sweater beneath an even more expensive-looking wool coat. The black face mask looked like it was more for disguising than for functional purposes.

“As you can see, we’re super busy.” Hidan waved at the rows of empty booths and then patted the diner counter in front of him. “But I’ve got room for ya right here. Best seat in the house.”

The man’s brow crumpled into a deep furrow. Well, deeper than it already had been. He turned toward the booth in the corner. Table 15.

“Strong and silent type? I can work with that,” Hidan said to himself. He followed the man with a roll of silverware, a menu, and a coffee mug. God, the guy was tall. Smelled good, too, like his hair care products didn’t come from the dollar store. Hidan was inclined to brew fresh coffee for the man if it meant he’d stick around for a while.

The man sat facing away from the security camera mounted overhead. He left his black mask, leather gloves, and dark coat on, and set a briefcase on the bench beside him. It was an absurd thought, but if Hidan was going to get robbed of his fifteen dollars by some hot Asian mafioso, he might be okay with it if there was going to be some physical contact.

“How’s your night been? Do you take regular coffee or—”

The man cut Hidan off, pushing the menu away without so much as a glance. “Spare me the small talk. You’re new, so I’ll let it slide.” Fuck. Hidan could get off to a voice like that. It rumbled low like a seismic intensity of four on the Richter scale: noticeable vibrations with some risk of damage to life or property.

“I have the same thing every time, so don’t ask me ever again after today. I take Decaf. Black. Make it fresh. I don’t want the crap from that burnt pot that never gets cleaned. I know no one cleans it.” He paused and inspected the mug Hidan had set before him. If Sasori had been anywhere near the mug, it had been bleached to hell and back. “I want two eggs, over medium, one slice of rye toast, butter on the side, and if there’s so much as a drop of that weird gravy on the plate, I’m sending it back. A side of fruit as long as it isn’t all melon; the diner’s been cheap with the fruit lately.”

And now Hidan didn’t feel so motivated to brew that fresh pot of coffee. But he wasn't deterred yet. He was pretty sure the diner had a do-not-hit-on-customers policy, but this man was doing inexplicable things to Hidan just by existing and being irritable about fruit.

“Sounds like you’re a man that knows what he wants.” Hidan propped his hip against the table, hoping he didn’t reek of microwaved gravy and bleach. “I like that.”

Green eyes fired pure annoyance through Hidan’s skull. “Did I not just say to spare me the small talk?”

“You got it. I’ll get on brewing that fresh pot of decaf for ya.” No sense in getting on the man’s nerves right off the bat if he was going to be such a prick about crappy coffee. And decaf! Like the old cat lady? People this demanding didn’t tip well, but Hidan couldn’t bring himself to spring into action. There were so many details to drink in. The glossy brown hair, the thick hands under black leather gloves, the hint of full lips and a prominent nose behind the mask. He wanted to yank that mask down and satisfy his curiosity. He wanted to see teeth.

He began backpedaling until he gathered enough willpower to look away.

“Oh, and new kid?”

Hidan spun around, happy to stare at this man some more, happy that maybe there was something else he could offer him besides shitty food and even shittier coffee. Maybe Table 15 had changed his mind and did want to sit at the counter, get to know him, leave him a fat tip. Like say… thirty dollars. Maybe drag him across the street to the motel…

“Tell Sasori I’m here,” the man said.

A chill pricked along the base of Hidan’s skull, a stark contrast from the eager quaver in his gut. It felt like that weird compulsion to stare at a car accident on the interstate. A hunger for danger, excitement, just a drop of blood. And at the hands of a man like this? It drove back the bleach fumes and overdue bills.

Hidan was getting ahead of himself and reading way too much into things. Was he that desperate for something interesting to happen to him? Deidara hadn’t been hiding anything earlier. He probably had a recent, minor possession charge, same as Hidan, and that’s why the drug comment frazzled him. The hapless Uchiha cop wasn’t connected to anything other than having a crush on Deidara. And every restaurant used bleach to sterilize its equipment, right?

“Who should I say is looking for him?” Hidan asked.

“I’m not looking for him. He’s the one who needs me.”

Damn, this guy better not be taken. And by Sasori? They didn’t fit together. Besides, Deidara would come out here with a knife and some garnishes, and who knows what would happen. And then Sasori would have to bleach down the entire restaurant.

“So… no name? Just Handsome and Mysterious at Table 15?”

The man looked surprised for a moment and then fixed his brow back into a rigid line. But maybe there was more suspicion than annoyance in his expression. It was hard to tell with the mask.

“Why are you still standing there?” was all Handsome and Mysterious at Table 15 said. “I’m waiting.”

“And I’m Hidan.” He waved, intensely aware of his nerdy red polo, but at least he was showing the most amount of skin possible in this uniform. The man’s green eyes dipped down to that extra bit of skin, oh no wait, his name tag. The man was looking at his nametag. 

“Yeah, I can read.” The man pulled off his gloves and reached for his briefcase. Hidan kept stealing glances over his shoulder while he meandered toward the kitchen, but couldn’t tell what was inside the briefcase. Guns? Drugs? A fuck-ton of money that would pay his rent, bills, and tuition?

Hidan stalled at the kitchen door as the man pulled out a file folder. He set it on the table and flipped through the pages inside. His head snapped up, and he glared at Hidan. “Forget how to do your job?”

“Uh… No. Sorry. One cup of decaf and an antisocial kitchen manager, coming right up.”

Chapter Text

Hidan burst into the kitchen. “All right, I need Sasori for real this time.”

Behind the line, Deidara fumbled with his phone and pocketed it. “For a standard weeknight graveyard shift, you sure make a ton of commotion, yeah.”

“Your serial killer boyfriend told me to tell you if someone asked for him.”

“Sasori is not my boyfriend, yeah. Unless he said something to you. Did he say anything about me?”

Hidan threw his hands in the air. “Not why I came back here! I need you to get Sasori and then start on this dude’s rye toast.”

“Wait… There’s only one customer that orders rye toast.” Deidara didn’t go pale exactly, but the blush on his cheeks at the mention of a boyfriend had vanished. “Did he order a side of fruit? Weird about the melon?” 

Before Hidan even answered, Deidara bolted down the line, pulled a plastic bin of fruit out of a fridge, dug his hand in, and started cursing. 

“Yeah, that’s our guy. Are your hands clean?”

“Shit. It’s like all honeydew melon and a few grapes. I’ll tell Sasori that Kakuzu is here.” Deidara shoved the fruit back into the fridge and jogged toward the freezers. 

Kakuzu… Hidan brewed a fresh pot of shitty decaf while turning the name over in his brain a few times, punctuating each syllable. It was an interesting name. He’d never heard it before.

Sasori emerged right away holding an inventory clipboard. He didn’t look concerned like Deidara, but he moved with more urgency than he had earlier in the shift, back when he was leisurely bleaching God knows what. He unlocked the management office and grabbed two thick spiral bound books.

“Both of you double check the order before it comes out,” Sasori said on his way out to the dining room. “And Hidan, don’t bother us while we talk. Don’t come over unless you’re delivering food. I’ll wave you over for coffee.” And he was gone.

“What’s the big deal with this guy?” Hidan asked. “Besides being super fucking hot.”

Deidara scoffed. “Hot? How can you even tell, yeah? He’s always covered. And his eyes are…weird.”

“I think your standard for weirdness can’t be trusted considering you’re into that creepy red-head,” Hidan said.

“He’s not creepy.”

“Like hell he isn’t.”

“Do you want me to make the food or not? It’s not my tip on the verge of flying out the window, yeah,” Deidara said.

“Aw, what’s wrong, blondie? Can’t talk and fry some goddamn eggs at the same time?”

Deidra flipped off Hidan and started cracking eggs.

With a fresh pot of decaf—fresh being loosely defined at the diner—Hidan bumped the kitchen door open with his hip. He scanned the dining room in case another table had walked in. The faded red tables, booths and the diner counter were all empty except for the dark figure sitting in the corner, like he was sucking all the life out of the restaurant or radiating shadows to shield himself from the awful decor.

Sasori looked very breakable sitting in the booth across from Kakuzu. He sipped coffee from his mangled coffee mug while Kakuzu flipped through one of the spiral bound books and shook his head. Maybe Kakuzu owned this dump and didn’t like how Sasori maintained the finances.

Sasori narrowed his eyes as Hidan approached the table. 

“Is this allowed?” Hidan asked, pouring the coffee. “My customer ordered decaf.”

Sasori just sort of stared through him and Kakuzu didn’t acknowledge his presence much either. He was reminded of interrupting his parents when they were in the middle of a fight. They’d just sit there in a tense silence waiting for him to leave, pretending like their fights sounded more civilized from the other side of a closed door. To be fair, though, his mom was always trying to shield him; often she didn’t let his dad in the apartment for weeks.

It was always him. He treated you like you were in the way.

Behind the counter, he rolled silverware while he tried and failed to eavesdrop. Sasori and Kakuzu spoke in hushed voices. Sasori’s voice was barely audible, but Hidan could’ve sworn that Kakuzu’s low voice vibrated through his bones.

He’d rolled seven sets of silverware when his kitchen pager went off. In the kitchen, Deidara was arranging a garnish under the heat lamp.

“You love wasting your time with those things, don’t you?” Hidan said, picking up the plate before Deidara could place the orange slice. 

“Whatever. Check the order. He sends his orders back for the dumbest stuff. He’s an inventory nightmare.”

“Let’s see, two basic eggs? Check. Stale rye bread with butter? Check. Pointless leafy thing? Check. Oh look at that, you scrounged up some more grapes. What’s the yellow stuff?”

“I found a can of pineapple in the back.”

“God, this is like a fucking nursing home or some shit.”

“He just complains about the melon, yeah.”

“We’ll see about that.” Hidan stared at the sad plate of food. “All right, add your stupid garnish. Our food looks like shit.”

Deidara dropped a limp orange wedge onto the green stuff with a satisfied flourish.

Hidan took off with the slightly more visually appealing plate, not that he was going to tell Deidara.

Sasori and Kakuzu fell silent again as Hidan set the plate down. 

“Can I get you more coffee?” he asked. Damn, he’d missed Kakuzu pulling his mask down to drink his coffee.

“The cup’s empty, isn’t it?” Kakuzu muttered. 

Hidan held his tongue. This man was lucky he was hot, and that Hidan was desperate.

He returned with the coffee pot. The liquid splashing into the cup was the only sound competing with the quiet sixties music playing. It was weird how secretive these two were being, but Hidan noticed that Kakuzu was now watching him.

“Let me know if you want anything else,” Hidan said, using his bedroom voice. He gazed down at Kakuzu with half-lidded eyes and parted lips.

The man’s gaze trailed down to his collarbone. See? Dress codes were stupid. Hidan would never button this polo ever again.

“Okay, newbie. That’s enough,” Sasori said, waving him away. 

Hidan sauntered to the diner counter, hoping Kakuzu was getting an eyeful of what he’d miss out on if he didn’t get a phone number—or leave a large tip.

He went back to rolling silverware, wiping down the counter, peeking over at the booth. His algebra text sat unopened on a shelf beneath the register. Rather than pulling the mask down, Kakuzu removed it from one ear but let it dangle from the other so that it blocked Hidan’s view except for the tip of his nose. He watched him nudge the canned pineapple to the side of his plate in between throwing stern fingers and eyebrow furrows at Sasori. Now it felt like when Hidan watched his parents argue, but standing outside the apartment and looking in, trying to figure out how bad it was by reading their body language. His mom always sent him outside.

Sometimes it was too cold to play outside. The apartment complex had a semi-functional playground, but the chains on the swings would be frozen stiff and were no match for his thin mittens, or gloves, whatever mismatched-lost-and-found handout he got at school. 

It was silly that a hushed conversation between two adult-ish men—again, Sasori’s age was entirely up for debate and impossible to pin down—would dredge up memories of his parents’ arguments, but here he was. Heart rate spiking. Resentment swelling. Butter knife gripped in his fist

Don’t forget, he met a fitting demise.

Yeah, and his mom took the hit. 

Hidan sucked in a breath and drove away the memory. The knife fell to the counter with a loud clatter. He looked up. The faintest doo wop song bounced in the air, unbefitting of the sad diner and its dark, secret corner. Sasori and Kakuzu were both staring at him. Kakuzu’s mask was back on and his plate was pushed aside. It was empty except for a pile of pineapple.

“Everything okay?” Hidan called across the empty restaurant. “Next time no canned pineapple, right? Leave the hospital food for the hospital?”

The corner of Kakuzu’s eye—just one—crinkled, like he was smirking behind that mask. He beckoned Hidan over and Hidan eagerly obeyed.

“Obito stopped in earlier. What did he want?” Kakuzu said.

“He just asked if Deidara was here.”

Sasori rolled his eyes. “See?”

Kakuzu pushed his sleeve up and consulted his expensive-looking watch. Peeking out from the glistening gold band, a wide stripe of black ink circled his forearm, dotted with coarse hair. “It’s getting late. Shall we call in the others?”

Hidan almost fell over trying to catch more of Kakuzu’s arm.

Sasori consulted a battered map. “I don’t think it’s in their jurisdiction. I don’t understand why Obito didn’t say anything or leave me a message.”

Kakuzu scoffed. “This is sloppy work, Sasori.”

Sasori glared at Kakuzu. “I don’t make mistakes, but I can’t control when others behave erratically.” 

“You’re losing your touch. I’ll make some phone calls, but I’m not staying up any later to fix your mess. This wasn’t my job.”

Sasori stood up and got out of the booth. “Tell me if any other police officers come in tonight, okay, new kid?” 

“And I’ll take the check,” Kakuzu added.

“Got it. More decaf before you go?” Hidan said, wishing he could parse more from the conversation. What kind of mess were they talking about here?

“Sure.” 

Sasori added a fifty percent employee discount to the check while Hidan opted to fill a to-go cup in case Handsome and Mysterious had better places to be. And who wouldn’t? Hidan didn’t even want to be here. Once the check was printed, he debated jotting his number down. Would Kakuzu complain and get him fired? Was it more torture to wait an indeterminate amount of time for him to return to the diner? Technically, Kakuzu could get Hidan’s number from his employee file, but who was Hidan kidding? Would Kakuzu really be interested in the guy that served me canned pineapple that one time?  

Hidan dropped off the check without his phone number. “So…when will I have the pleasure of serving you again?” he asked, in his bedroom voice, of course.

Kakuzu fished out a twenty from a sleek leather wallet and raised an eyebrow at Hidan. The deep furrow that had remained throughout his conversation with Sasori had almost smoothed over. “You have trouble keeping your mouth shut, don’t you?” His deep voice was laced more with amusement than irritation.

“Depends on what I’m doing with it.”

A faint red crept over the bridge of Kakuzu’s nose and then retreated. “If you’re able to do your job without asking questions, then you won’t have to worry about losing it.” He tossed the twenty on the black plastic tray. “I need change back. Obviously.” 

Hidan brought back five singles and a couple five-dollar bills, so the man had tipping options, a five-dollar bill being preferable but unrealistic. It was only a ten-dollar check and that was before the employee discount. Hopefully the guy had the decency to tip on the original amount.

“See you around?” Hidan said, hoping it didn’t sound too high-school-teenager desperate.

“If you survive this hellhole.”

Hidan picked up the near-empty plate and took one long last look at his customer. He got lost in the drape of fabric over the man’s broad shoulders, the fluorescent tube lighting glinting off his hair. Every time he closed his eyes, he’d be thinking about that tattoo and dark arm hair. Who knew forearms could be so captivating? He’d have to survive this crappy job until the next time. Maybe Kakuzu would come back soon, too haunted by his sexy server to carry on.

Rather than bringing the dishes back to the kitchen, Hidan bent over beside the counter and pulled out the lowest dish bin from the cart they used to bus tables when the restaurant was busy. He spent way too long with his ass out on display, hoping Kakuzu was enjoying the view and tipping him accordingly. But then the door chime dinged and Hidan looked over his shoulder. It wasn’t a new customer. Kakuzu had slipped out into the night and Hidan had no one left to amuse himself with. 

He bounded over to the table, ready to add even a measly two dollars to his take-home earnings for the night. The tray was empty. Hidan checked beneath the tray, the sugar caddy, the ketchup bottle. Nothing.

That motherfucker had stiffed him. Hidan’s future at a better life was hanging by a fraying thread and this jerk with his expensive watch, coat, everything had the audacity to stiff him?

Oh, hell no.

The door dinged as Hidan burst outside. Beneath the buzzing street lights, he rounded the building and found the asshole illegally parked in the nearest accessible parking spot because the guy was a selfish prick. His car was an old-looking boat of a Cadillac, hunter green if Hidan’s rage-fuzzed vision could be trusted.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Hidan’s voice echoed in the empty parking lot.

Kakuzu leaned against the driver’s side car door, set his coffee cup on the roof of the car, and held up a finger, wordlessly telling Hidan to hold that thought, he was on an important call. The deep furrow between his brows was back, drawing the shadows of the night into its trenches. The green of his eyes was almost phosphorescent.

“Listen, let me call you back.” He ended the call on his phone and slipped it into the inner pocket of his wool coat. “Is there a problem?”

“Yeah, you, you fucking cheap-ass cumstain.”

Kakuzu chuckled—he fucking chuckled, the smug jerk. “Colorful. How quickly the flip switches.”

“I did my goddamned job, didn’t I?” Hidan couldn’t stand how his voice strained at the end there. How it almost broke. “You can’t just waltz into a restaurant, expect good service, and not pay people that are just trying to get by. You have no fucking idea, do you? You have no goddamn clue!”

Kakuzu folded his arms, not seeming to care that Hidan was closing in on him. “It’s bad enough that awful food isn’t on the house when I come through. I suppose I can take that issue up with Nagato or Konan. But you’re expecting handouts for mediocre work? Is that it?”

“You prick, there’s nothing mediocre about me. I got your order right. I brewed you fresh coffee. There was one goddamn piece of melon in the fruit. I need the fucking money, asshole!” All his fury and desperation funneled straight down his arm and without questioning it, he swung.

Kakuzu caught his fist and twisted. Everything blurred and then Hidan’s back was smashed against the car door and hot coffee was seeping into his shirt, burning his shoulder. Kakuzu pressed him into the car and held his wrist tightly. Too tightly.  His fingers throbbed and swelled. 

When Kakuzu spoke, his voice rumbled straight through to Hidan’s soul. “One minute you’re flirting for a tip and the next you’re spitting insults. I saw through your fake little game right from the start. I despise people who think they can manipulate me with cheap tactics, but here’s a lesson for you anyway.” He leaned in, but Hidan was too pissed off to savor the press of Kakuzu’s body against his, the way his grip was cutting off the circulation in his left hand. His breath came warm and damp through the face mask. “Life’s not fair, got it? Things will be a hell of a lot easier for you if you accept that simple fact.”

 “Wow, can I borrow some paper so I can write that down?”

“Brat. If two dollars makes or breaks your whole plan for life, then you’ve got bigger problems. Even hell runs on money, so you better save now.”

“I know hell runs on money. I work there. And now you’ll have to check your eggs for spit next time. How’s that for fair?” Hidan forced a laugh. “You think it’s your job to teach the people you think are beneath you a lesson? I’ve heard all the fake motivational bootstrap bullshit before. You’re just a cheapskate.”

Kakuzu pressed Hidan harder into the car and all the air squeezed out of his body. His head was forced back over the hood of the car and the coffee saturated his hair, but damn, it was ribcage against ribcage, thigh between thigh and if this guy wasn’t the biggest asshole, Hidan might’ve cum in his pants. 

“If I had squandered my resources like you seem to be doing,” Kakuzu continued, “I wouldn’t have survived in this harsh world.” He backed off Hidan and the night air rushed. The spilled coffee was now cold and clinging to his shoulder. His erection throbbed tight against his work pants.

Kakuzu adjusted his coat and picked a piece of lint off the sleeve. “Here’s the real lesson, new kid. Stop throwing away your money. I get that every little bit counts, even if it’s just two dollars. But you’ll need thicker skin and better planning if you’re going to survive. Being impulsive isn’t doing you any favors. Now get off of my car. It’s bad enough I need to run it through a car wash at this hour. If it’s scratched, you won’t see a paycheck for the next twelve months.”

“I still think you’re just a cheap scumbag,” Hidan said, rubbing his wrist.

Kakuzu opened the driver’s side door, almost hitting Hidan with it as he backed off. The car’s interior lights revealed spotless leather seats and a gleaming console. The car was old, but well-maintained. Kakuzu slammed the door shut and started the engine. He was back on his phone in moments, reversing out of the parking spot without a glance in Hidan’s direction.

⛛ ⛛ ⛛

The restaurant picked up in the subsequent hours and was busy by the time Hidan’s shift was over. Still smelling like spilled decaf, Hidan counted his tips at the diner counter while the morning shift manager, Nagato, and another daytime server rushed past him. Hidan recounted the tips. Was it some fucked up order of fate that Hidan was exactly two dollars short of the fifty-dollar payment? 

He drove home in a daze while the sky lightened and his car’s low gas indicator flashed. A bruise bloomed on his wrist. Maybe he could search the couch cushions for change again. And he’d check his laundry pile; there had to be a crumpled dollar in one of his jeans pockets. Maybe the bursar’s office would make an exception; he had most of the money, didn’t he?

He inhaled ramen noodles and searched his apartment, keeping fatigue and despair at bay with sodium and outrage. How dare that rich prick think that he was doing Hidan a favor, when two dollars was nothing to him? He fantasized about that tall, dark figure walking into the diner again and all the things Hidan would do to his food. It was the only thing that kept him going. The only thing that kept him from texting Konan and telling her to fuck off. The only thing that kept him from blowing all his cash on weed and beer and slamming the door on life for a few days.

He uncovered sixty-two cents in the pocket of his jeans at the bottom of the laundry pile, and that was it. He scraped his dignity off the cheap linoleum floor and brought his haul to the community college bursar’s office. His body screamed for sleep as the financial assistance officer gave him a tight-lipped smile full of pity. She couldn’t accept a partial payment on a partial payment. She couldn’t give him another twenty-four hours to bring in the remaining amount. The computer system wouldn’t allow it or some bullshit.

With more pitying looks and apologies, he was withdrawn from his algebra prerequisite. Unfortunately spring classes were full, but he could be placed on a waiting list, the woman offered, eyes fixed on the purple blotches circling his wrist.

He signed up for a summer algebra intensive, knowing deep down that there was no chance he’d make it, monetarily, mentally, maybe even physically. He knew it with such certainty that a ragged laugh tore through his chest as the woman repeated the class details back to him, including when the first payment would be due. Planning for a nonexistent future was so fucking stupid.

Since the cash wasn’t going toward tuition, he was able to fill up his gas tank on his way back to Iron Springs Court Apartments. He almost ran over the landlord’s scrawny son as he wheeled the building’s trash bins back from the curb. Cigarette hanging from his mouth, the kid slouched up to Hidan the second he got out of his car and pointed a finger in his face.

“We got fined for the recycling being messed up again.”

Hidan shrugged. “I couldn't care less, man. Get out of my face.” He didn’t have more energy for a creative insult, not that his insults were creative for this particular neighbor. He usually resorted to pineapple head since the kid’s stupid ponytail stood up in spikes like the fruit.

“Well, it’s a pain and it’s not my fault. I’ll make sure my dad adds the fine to your rent next month.”

“The fuck you are. You can’t prove it’s me.”

“I know it’s you.”

Hidan leaned in and took a step forward, forcing the kid to step back. “How? You got a crush on me or something? Do you sit in your bedroom with binoculars and watch me undress? I’ll put on a show for you next time.”

“Fuck off. You’re such a reject.”

“Yeah, I am a reject. I fuck up the natural order of everything around me and I’ll fuck you up, too. I’m not in the mood for your scheme to squeeze more fucking money out of me.”

“Don’t make me call the cops on you again.”

“So don’t fuck with me. Or maybe you should fuck with me. I think you’re curious. I think you might like it.” Hidan reached for the kid’s face.

The kid backpedaled, lips curled in a disgusted sneer. “You say the weirdest stuff. Stop being troublesome. Rinse your dirty takeout containers and sort your recycling or I’m serious about that fine.”

“I can’t afford takeout, idiot.”

“But you can afford beer? There’s always a lot of cans in your bin.”

What else would take away the pain? What else could he possibly afford that would just put the rest of the world on mute for a few blessed hours?

Pain is how you know you’re alive. Remember? Suffering is the only constant in life. 

But why did Hidan have to shoulder more crap than everyone else? He clenched his left fist and felt the bruise twinge and ache.

You could always… distribute the suffering more evenly.

Hidan grinned and jutted his chin at the kid. “Where’d you get the cigarette, dork?”

The landlord’s kid snorted. “Uh, it’s called a store? Idiot.”

“Ooh…look who’s a big boy now? Old enough to buy cigarettes,” Hidan purred, taking another step forward. It was so entertaining watching the kid flinch like a helpless fawn. “When’d’ya come of age, little one?”

“You’re such a pain. Stop fucking up the recycling so I don’t have to talk to you.” The kid flicked his cigarette butt to the ground and ducked away.

“Better be careful,” Hidan called after the brat. “Smoking could kill ya.”

Chapter Text

Artificial dark, artificial light. Everything in Hidan’s life was fake. The fluorescent lights of the diner at night. The curtains-drawn dark of his apartment during the day. Hidan was a ghost, a zombie, slogging between work and home in varying states of consciousness. Awake when he should’ve been sleeping; sleeping when he should’ve been awake. 

For a week or so, he stayed on a schedule. He ate before he went to work, went to the gym when he got home, and caught what few moments he could in the daylight. But his schedule and exhaustion derailed his efforts. The nights stretched longer than the days. He stopped going to the gym, stopped seeing the sun. He didn’t know if he could even summon the motivation for the summer class he’d signed up for. Summer was so far away, but this perpetual night was so never-ending. Each week buried him in an additional layer of darkness and he could no longer see the light. So many times Hidan fantasized about quitting, but the need for money was relentless. 

When he was sixteen, his wisdom teeth had to be removed and the surgeon put him under what they called “twilight sedation.” He remembered lying there in the padded chair, not awake, but not asleep, just detached and powerless while a strange darkness crept around the edges of his peripheral vision.

His life sort of felt like that. Like twilight sedation.

Hidan often lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and waiting for sleep to carry him away, but his mind always wandered toward anger instead. It was bullshit he’d been so close to having enough money to stay in his fall semester class. His life could have been so different. If he ever saw Kakuzu again—it was inevitable, as long as he could endure the diner—he’d catch him off guard and punch him, break his nose. Kakuzu would fall to the ground, blood seeping through his mask. Hidan would climb on top of him and here’s where his mind got creative. 

Sometimes he beat Kakuzu to a pulp and there were puddles of blood on the diner’s checkerboard tile floor and customers would scream and run away and it was all so beautiful and Hidan got hard just thinking about it.

Sometimes he leaned over Kakuzu and pulled his mask down. His nose would be bleeding and it would trail down to his full lips. Hidan would lean down and lick the blood, and Kakuzu would throw him off and strangle him, the cords of muscle in his forearms rippling beneath his tattoos. They’d struggle against each other. Kakuzu’s long, dark hair would come loose and fall down all around them and make their violence this private thing, just for them.

Regardless of where the fantasy went, Hidan inevitably jerked off and added to the growing pile of crumpled tissues beside his mattress on the floor. So many times, he tried clearing his mind, tried thinking of different people, but he couldn’t let go of the hottest and worst customer in the history of hourly jobs.

“Are you sleeping?” Deidara asked when Hidan dragged his ass to work some night in January. Or maybe it was February.

“Is that your underhanded way of telling me I look like shit?” Hidan replied as he went about his tasks on autopilot. Brew decaf. Roll silverware. Wait for customers to show up and order crap food, then serve crap food accordingly. 

“Uh, I guess, yeah.”

Hidan ignored Deidara and stared through the coffee machine.

“The night shift is hard to adjust to, especially in the winter,” Deidara said. “You have to force yourself to go outside each day or you’ll lose it, yeah. My classes and art projects help me stay on a schedule. Put your phone on silent so it isn’t disrupting your sleep.”

“Thanks, dumbass, I hadn’t thought of that.” Like anyone texted him anyway. 

Hidan slumped through the swinging kitchen doors and into the obnoxiously bright and empty dining room.

“Fuck me,” he announced to no one.  

He began rolling silverware, scratching off stubborn globs of gravy from the spoons, waiting for someone to show up. Obito stopped in about a third of the nights Hidan worked. He’d ask for Deidara. He’d order coffee to go. Sometimes he ordered food. And then a cloud of dejection followed him out the door. It was pretty pathetic for a state highway patrol officer. But God bless him, he always tipped well. 

One time Obito asked for Sasori and it would’ve been an exciting change, but Sasori gave Hidan all kinds of urgent chores to take care of in the kitchen so he couldn’t eavesdrop.

Kakuzu didn’t come back. Or if he did, it wasn’t on Hidan’s shifts. Once Hidan had pulled into the diner parking lot and thought he’d seen the hunter green Cadillac parked at the motel across the street. He’d plastered himself against the glass front door and cupped his hands around his eyes to get a better look at the motel. But then nothing happened.

And so he’d sit at the diner counter, staring at the darkness outside his little fishbowl while the minutes and hours dragged and yet the entire shift or work week would somehow slip by. 

Today, an hour before it was time to clock out, a pair of police officers came into the Rise ‘n Shine. They wore the traditional navy and bulletproof vest typical of local cops, not that beige uniform Obito sported. One of the officer’s uniforms had a nameplate that also said Uchiha, but he looked way more anemic and sleep-deprived than Obito.

The pair sat down at the diner counter. Hidan had seen these two before, he just wasn’t sure where. He knew all the police officers by face in his hometown of Iron Springs—there were only eleven. As Iron Springs collapsed, the meager police force was often supported by Laurel, the neighboring town with amenities like an actual grocery store, its own community college, and an urgent care clinic. So maybe that’s where he’d seen these cops.

“You’re the new guy!” the really tall officer said in a loud and enthusiastic tone that normal people just didn’t use at five in the morning. His uniform nameplate read Hoshigaki.

“If three months is still new, then yeah,” Hidan said, tossing two menus onto the counter.

“Hidan, right?”

“That’s what the name tag says, doesn’t it?” Hidan said in a flat tone. Shit, he was starting to sound like Sasori.

“Yeah, I guess it does,” Hoshigaki said under his breath. His eyes were irritatingly tiny and round. 

Uchiha—the new Uchiha—offered a sympathetic grimace. “Long shift, huh?” he said, looking as tired as Hidan felt.

“Long life,” Hidan said in his head. Or maybe that was out loud. New Uchiha pressed his lips together with annoying pity until Hidan inquired about their coffee preferences.

“Keep the caffeine coming. Actually, leave the pot with us,” Hoshigaki said. New Uchiha nudged him. “I—I meant the coffee pot, not…you know… Anyway… Lots of cream and sugar on the side for this one.” He jabbed a thumb at New Uchiha. “I’m Kisame, by the way.”

Hidan nodded, but wondered why the cop would splutter about the word “pot” and feel the need to clarify that he wasn’t talking about weed. That shit had been legal for a while now.

 “And I’m Itachi. We’ll be seeing each other from time to time.” 

“If I survive,” Hidan also might have said in his head or out loud. Would these two notice if he slept in one of the booths in the corner? Table 15 perhaps?

Kisame and Itachi ordered two plates of waffles with whipped cream and strawberry sauce. Hidan left two pots of regular coffee out for them. They ate quietly, except for Kisame’s occasional laughter at something on his phone. Then he’d show his screen to Itachi who’d crack a little smile. 

A few more tables came in. There were usually a few early risers that needed the quiet of the diner because maybe they couldn’t get it at home or wherever they worked. So Hidan was busy when Sasori emerged from the kitchen and sat down beside Itachi. 

Hidan served country ham and eggs, Texas toast and coffee, all while looking over his shoulder at Itachi and Sasori huddled together, conspiring in low voices.

There was no exchange of files like with Kakuzu. Obito had once brought in a cardboard box, left it behind, and Deidara scrambled out of the kitchen a little too quickly to grab it. Then Deidara pretended he didn’t know what Hidan was talking about when questioned about what was so important in the box. 

When Kisame finished his food, he strolled out the front door, and stopped at his Laurel City Police cruiser parked away from the street lights. Hidan almost overfilled a coffee cup, watching Kisame take a large black duffel around the back of the building. To the dumpster? To the back door? Maybe Hidan’s sleep-deprived eyes were playing tricks on him. It was still dark out after all.

The enormous police officer returned and flagged Hidan down for more coffee like nothing had happened. The timing seemed a little too perfect. A delivery truck pulled around back not fifteen minutes later. 

Hidan knew he wasn’t reading into things here. This was the other reason he stuck around. The Rise ‘n Shine was potentially more interesting than anything else going on in his empty life.

⛛ ⛛ ⛛  

Hidan lay in bed. Outside of his semi-dark apartment, car doors slammed shut, engines turned over, neighbors left for work or school, starting their day like normal people with normal waking hours. His mind fought sleep. It played around with the same fantasies, mostly Kakuzu’s body grinding him into the bloodied tile floor. The image would be overpowered by the vague smell of microwaved breakfast foods and bleach, all to the tune of overplayed oldies or Sasori’s weird jazz. And then he’d stare at the blank wall until his mind circled back to Kakuzu instead of cutting him a break and shutting down.

He staggered out of bed and paced in his dark kitchen. The edges of the window over the sink glowed around the cardboard box he’d wedged into the frame to block the light. 

Alcohol seemed like the only solution at that moment. If he drank enough, he’d pass out. If he passed out, he’d stop thinking. If he stopped thinking, he’d fucking sleep.

Hidan threw on his coat. He flinched the second he stepped outside. Was the sun always this bright? The trash bag covering his car’s back window had acquired a few holes over the winter months. He kind of hoped Pineapple Head was burning cigarette holes into the bag so he’d have a good excuse to knock the kid out.

You don’t need an excuse to do that.

True. 

He rubbed his hands together, breath condensing into little clouds in his freezing-ass car. He drove under the highway overpass and the town’s dumb sign greeted him when he turned onto Main Street.

Welcome To Iron Springs Village: The Perfect Small Town Getaway! 

The paint was peeling off the sign and the white letters had a nice coating of fine-particulate highway dust. The image below the text was supposed to be concentric water droplet rings, but looked more like a bullseye. Hidan got in trouble when he was younger for using the bullseye for knife-throwing practice. They were just steak knives. No one was harmed. Excluding Hidan, when his dad discovered that he’d ruined the cutlery.

Iron Springs claimed to have played a significant history in the wars of the past century. Something about its strategic location along the train tracks between coal country and the state’s aviation and manufacturing hubs. As the coal and steel industries fizzled out, Iron Springs tried its hand at tourism, hoping to entice “budget-conscious families” to their camping grounds and natural springs. The problem, according to Hidan’s mom, was that Iron Springs invested in tourism, but not its own citizens. And when the tourists didn’t arrive in the projected numbers and didn’t bring in the projected dollars, Main Street fell into its current state: a forgotten downtown made up of a half-vacant shopping plaza, a dollar store, a gas station and a bunch of empty buildings. But hey, they had two churches. Farther down Main Street were all the shuttered historic homes that used to be spas or family-run inns. One was now a funeral home. At the far end of town, an old iron bridge passed over the largest of the natural mineral springs; the rest were tucked along the trails in the forest to the northeast. The apartment complex Hidan had grown up in was on a residential side street with a view of the bridge. And that was all the village had to offer. The nearest actual grocery store? A twenty-minute drive to Laurel, thirty by bus, not including the unpredictable wait times. The nearest hospital? An additional thirty minutes past Laurel.

The dying shopping plaza consisted of a pizza shop, a convenience store, a laundromat, and a florist that somehow stayed in business even though Hidan had never seen customers in it. Maybe funerals were their main business.

The door chimed as he entered the convenience store. The sound was so similar to the chime at the diner that he nearly sprung into action and reached for menus. It didn’t help that the place smelled like recently brewed coffee. He wasn’t the biggest fan of this store, with its dusty shelves of ramen and a bearded jerk of an owner who watched his every movement the second he stepped into the store. Sure, Hidan had stolen plenty from here as a teenager. The beer was cheaper here than at the gas station or the dollar store, so Hidan put up with the owner’s lingering mistrust. Every damn cent counted these days. And he still got away with swiping the occasional item when necessary.

Instead of Asuma or whatever the owner’s name was, Hidan’s neighbor, Choji, stood behind the register. Hidan knew very little about the kid, but he couldn’t have that much of a personality if he was content to follow Pineapple Head around. He shrank away whenever Hidan passed him in the hallway or parking lot. Choji’s overprotective parents probably told him to stay far away from Hidan, same as all the other parents.

The town had never been welcoming. Rebellious trouble-maker kids, absentee dads, and single moms living paycheck to paycheck didn’t fit into the small-town nuclear family vibe that Iron Springs had so desperately tried to cultivate. But after his dad’s death, everyone gave him even wider berths and more over-the-shoulder glances. Maybe one day he’d give them something to be afraid of, if that’s what they really wanted.

Everyone should learn that suffering is the only absolute in this world. Chaos is the natural order.

Choji met Hidan’s eyes, then averted his gaze and found an urgent need to restock the chips display beside the register. The coolers along the back wall of the store advertised a special on Natty Ice twelve-packs that were near their sell-by date which was good enough for Hidan.

The door chimed again and a girl’s loud voice began chattering with Choji. Hidan grabbed some mac and cheese to microwave before he went to work and a bag of chips to go with the beer which would serve as his super-balanced breakfast or whatever meal this was supposed to be at this blinding and cheery hour.

Choji and the girl fell silent as Hidan set his items on the counter. The girl was also a neighbor at the apartment complex. Ino. He’d never noticed before, but she and Deidara wore their hair the same way. He’d have to make fun of Deidara for that later.

Ino scoffed. “Uh, it’s a little early for that, don’t you think?” She raised an eyebrow at Hidan’s beer. She clutched a psychology textbook to her chest like a shield. Hidan had to beat back all kinds of resentment because how was it that dimwits like Ino and Pineapple Head could go to college? Why did they get a clear-cut path out of this condemned village?

Hidan squinted at the bright windows and yeah, it was probably nine in the morning. “What, your nose is so big you have to stick it in other people’s business?” he said.

“Whatever, you’re the one buying beer for breakfast. Way to adult, loser.” Ino tossed her hair and rolled her eyes, but she casually ran a hand over her nose pretending to push a strand of hair out of her eyes. Hidan grinned; he’d killed her self-esteem for the day.

“Says the little girl that still lives with her parents.” Hidan slammed a stack of wrinkled one-dollar bills on the counter.

“Ino…” Choji warned in that spineless little voice of his. “Please don’t—”

But she did. “Oh, you could live with your parents, too, Hidan. Maybe you should’ve considered that before you killed your dad and got your mother arrested.”

These…neighbors. They don’t understand pain like you.

Choji’s hands shook while he counted and recounted the one-dollar bills. There were so many. It was all tip money, like Hidan was a goddamn stripper or something.

Hidan forced a laugh. “Aw, it’s okay. Listening to rumors is easier than using that empty head of yours. I get it.”

“Uh, here’s your change,” Choji said, hand shaking while holding out a few coins and a faded receipt.

Choji flinched as Hidan snatched up his change and purchases. “What happened to my parents isn’t my fault, but I know you’re going to believe whatever you want to believe.” He took a step toward Ino. “So maybe sleep with the light on, just in case.”

Ino brushed off her apron with the florist’s logo, like Hidan had contaminated it. “Shikarmaru’s right. You’re the creepiest weirdo.”

Hidan stormed out of the ratty convenience store with Choji nervously calling after him, “Uh, th-hanks for choosing Sarutobi Market!”

He downed two cans of beer as soon as he was wrapped in the brown-tinged darkness of his apartment. He watched the peppy talk shows that aired in the morning.  

Ino would look pretty with blood in her hair.

He played mindless games on his phone and drank down another two or three cans of beer. 

It would be entertaining to watch Choji wiping blood off the chip bags.

He flopped onto his bed, but then he started thinking about Kakuzu and blood on the diner floor, so he drank one more beer and let the alcohol wash away the thoughts. 

⛛ ⛛ ⛛

A freezing mix of unholy weather beat against the diner’s windows and fogged them with condensation. Seated at Table 11 in the front corner of the diner, Hidan wiped at a spot on the window and peered outside, waiting for a customer to pull into the parking lot, which was pointless. In the dead of night, in the dead of winter, no one braved the weather for mediocre breakfast food microwaved by some college student and served by, well, not a college student. Hidan was just a server. At a diner. There was nothing else that defined him or his existence. How pathetic was that?

Jobs don’t define your worth.

A nice idea in theory, but worth didn’t pay the rent.

Hidan rested his head on the cold window. Two dark vehicles pulled out of the motel parking lot, one after the other with their headlights off. Hidan wiped away the condensation again and squinted. Both vehicles had the unmistakable overhead bulk of emergency light bars. A Laurel City Police cruiser turned right toward the highway entrance. A State Highway Patrol SUV turned in the opposite direction.

And once the two law enforcement vehicles cleared, Hidan recognized one of the remaining cars parked at the motel. A hunter green Cadillac. Two different motel rooms had their lights on.

Hidan strode into the kitchen, unable to sit still. Kakuzu was so close and after three whole months. Or was it four now? Behind the line, Deidara had his wireless earbuds in and was bobbing his head while he cut a hunk of country ham on the commercial meat slicer. The light wasn’t on in the manager’s office. The water wasn’t running in dish, nor was the stench of bleach all that noticeable. Sasori could be slouching around the dry-goods stock room, taking inventory or just hiding. It was unclear what Sasori did most of the time. 

Hidan left his coat on the hanger in the hallway and slipped out the back door. He wouldn’t be gone long, and he’d keep an eye out for customers pulling into the diner.

He kept to the perimeter of the parking lot along the landscaping that maybe fooled patrons into forgetting they were eating at a diner right off the highway between a truck stop and a sex shop. Heavy clumps of snow pelted him in the face as he jogged across the road toward the motel. The place looked like an absolute dump. But when did a motel not look like a dump? The building was a squat L shape made of tan bricks and orange doors that bubbled at the bottom with rust. Outside of the dark reception office, there were three vending machines, two of which were out of order. Hidan paused and considered his footprints. The snow was forming a heavy slush, unable to hold details like specific sneaker treads. It wasn’t like he was committing a crime. He was just…taking a walk on his fifteen-minute break.

In the icy parking lot, there were three parked cars accumulating a thin layer of snow. The boxy green Cadillac and a tan minivan were parked a distance from a silver pickup truck.

Hidan kept his back along the brick as he peeked into the first lit window. The half-drawn curtains revealed a fully dressed man on top of the brown and yellow bed spread, dozing off to softcore porn. It was not Kakuzu.

The other lit window was at the very end. The room’s corresponding door had a sign asking him to PLEASE PARDON OUR DUST! 

The curtains were drawn and Hidan couldn’t even find a gap along the nearest edge of the window. It seemed the curtain had been taped down to the wall inside. Most of the light shined through the lower corner on the window’s opposite edge where there was a gap in the curtain. Hidan crouched down and crept underneath the window toward the corner of light. He looked ridiculous trying to keep his knees and ass from falling into the slush. His work polo was nearly soaked at this point and he was freezing. How would he explain this to Sasori if he was caught sneaking back into the diner? He’d fallen asleep standing up during his smoke break? Oh, and he’d just started taking smoke breaks as of today?

Leveraging himself against the brick for the best angle, he peered into the room through the fraying curtain. The curtain fibers billowed away from the window, caught by a draft or a fan or a ghost. He sucked in a breath as he took in a broad back straining against a white dress shirt. The man was standing but hunched over the bed. A dark, messy bun hung against the nape of a thick neck. This certainly looked like Kakuzu, but Hidan couldn’t be sure. He’d only seen the guy in a long, dark coat, and that was several months ago. Hidan readjusted and noted the sheets of clear plastic covering the bed and floor. Someone lay naked and motionless on the bed, and it was a little odd that jealousy jabbed him in the gut, like he wanted to trade places with the naked and possibly dead guy on the plastic drop cloth.

Like the sign on the door said, the room was under construction. The drywall panels weren’t painted. A burst of wires stuck out of one wall where the TV would’ve gone. A cluster of paint cans sat in the corner beside a cooler. 

The man with dark hair turned his head. It was definitely Kakuzu. He wore the same black mask and his eyes were the same intense green. He dropped a pair of bloody scissors into the ice bucket on top of the plastic-draped nightstand. Blood coated his latex-clad fingers 

Hidan felt lightheaded and his cock began to stir against the confines of his work pants.

Well this was what we were looking for, now wasn’t it?

From the body on the bed, Kakuzu lifted an organ, unmistakably a heart, wet and red but also pink and a little yellow and what the fuck was Hidan witnessing right now? 

Another man seemed to come from out of nowhere inside the room, pushing away from a corner that was out of Hidan’s sight. The man took a step near Kakuzu and held out a clear plastic bag full of fluid. Kakuzu turned and dropped the organ into the bag. There wasn’t so much as a drop of blood on his crisp white shirt. He wore a black and gray striped tie tucked into the shirt to keep it out of the way. The other man—his assistant? Partner?—sealed the bag and dropped it into the cooler. 

The two seemed to argue for a bit. Kakuzu shook his head and gestured at the body. The assistant/partner pointed at the open cavity. Kakuzu held up a kidney and made a dismissive gesture. He dropped the kidney back into the body like it was worthless to him. 

Seems a little disrespectful to the dead.

Whatever, Hidan was fixated by the blood clinging to Kakuzu’s fingers. His erection ached, throbbed, wanted those hands and their bloody latex wrapped around his throat.

The arguing was still muffled but grew louder; the other man hefted the cooler and was now approaching the door.

Hidan pushed away from the window and dragged his grease-coated sneaker over the footstep indents he’d left beneath the window. He took wide steps into the parking lot and then squeezed between the pines on the edge of the motel’s property. Strangling his curiosity into submission, he didn’t stop to watch what happened next. He also didn’t have a moment to inspect the new building he’d stumbled upon. The pines were so thick that he couldn't see this building from the diner. It was a greenhouse or plant nursery being reclaimed by weeds. Its broken windows reflected the massive Six Paths of Pleasure sign that loomed overhead.

Aided by the wintry mix, Hidan skidded down the small hill to the street. A traffic warning sign alerted oncoming traffic to the upcoming slippery bend in the road. The metal post had been dented and so the triangular sign was tilted and pointed down instead of up. What a surprise; this exit was such a shithole that the city didn’t even care to fix a road sign. But maybe a truck driver would lose control and run their semi through the diner, putting Hidan out of his misery. Or at least setting him up with some worker’s comp and unemployment checks.

He cut through the Six Paths parking lot and went right for the diner’s front door. A car door slammed shut at the motel behind him and he didn’t need to be caught. 

Once inside, he dried his shoes on the entrance mat and shook the water from his body like a wet dog. He was so cold that he poured himself a cup of shitty coffee. He contemplated warming up at the grill in the kitchen but didn’t want to deal with Deidara asking dumb questions about why Hidan was soaking wet.

And not to be the one with dumb questions, but seriously, what had he just seen? Did Kakuzu do back alley—or rather, trashy motel—surgeries? Did he sell the organs? And when Hidan’s erection refused to give up on the image burned into his soul, he had to ask—was Kakuzu just a little bit hotter when blood was involved?

Between shaky breaths, Hidan downed cup after cup of coffee and toweled off with a rag he was supposed to use on the tables. He willed himself not to look out the window, but hoped that after such an eventful night, Kakuzu would be hungry for his usual, minus the canned pineapple. Occasionally, headlights came down the road and passed by in smeary haloes, but customers never arrived, and neither did Kakuzu. He didn’t come in. He didn’t ask for Sasori. Whatever motel surgery he’d done wasn’t important enough. And that was…weird. 

Not weird, exactly but…

Interesting.  

He distracted himself with the usual mindless work. Wipe down the pie display glass. Fill the stupid sugar caddies with sugar packets. Think about all the money he wasn’t making. Wonder if the diner really made a profit staying open all night. He thought there’d been some movement in the parking lot, not headlights, but something dark creeping beneath the streetlights. He wiped down a foggy window but nothing was there. Whatever it was, he’d missed it. The van and Cadillac were also gone from across the street.

Deidara began clattering around in the kitchen, doing whatever he did an hour or so before the early-risers began to trickle in. If they even would trickle in with this weather. “Make the Night a Little Longer” played overhead and taunted him. The doo wop song cut off mid-chorus, and weird loungey jazz took over. Why did Sasori subject the entire restaurant to his music? If Hidan ever had cash to spare, he would buy Sasori some headphones.

Hidan refilled the ketchup bottles on the tables, pretending the color didn’t remind him of blood and viscera. Amid the activity in the kitchen, there was a subtle but sharp and acidic odor that wafted under the kitchen doors, but maybe it was just the vinegar in the ketchup. 

Then it came in a strong wave. The corrosive stench of chlorine bleach washed over the dining area from the kitchen and slammed into Hidan. The timing wasn’t a coincidence. It lingered, eye-stinging and relentless. And in his mind, all the diner’s quirky secrets started to make sense.

Chapter Text

Hidan paced in his dank little kitchen, replaying the night’s events. Kakuzu. The motel. The heart.

A lukewarm bowl of noodles sat on the counter. Beside it was his phone, screen still lit with all the algorithmic commotion he could numb himself with. He’d opened a beer as well, but couldn’t drink it. Through the thin wall, his neighbor’s TV blasted one of those perky morning talk shows. There was the audience’s obligatory laughter on cue, the host’s empty platitudes, pointless cooking demos, spring fashion trend previews, scripted interviews. Nothing real.

Meaningless distractions.

Hadn’t the past winter months been a meaningless distraction, though? Lying in bed and blocking out the world instead of feeling its pain? Fantasizing about blood instead of actually going out and… And what? 

Something was missing. Hidan searched his fridge, his cabinets. Maybe he needed to eat something different. In a drawer with takeout napkins and plastic utensils, a few packets of ketchup grabbed his attention. A shiny, brilliant red.

He hated ketchup, but he couldn’t explain the compulsion to drown his food in it. He squeezed the packets, emptied every last drop. The red goop oozed over the noodles. It reminded him of the motel. Blood sliding over latex gloves. A heart cradled in Kakuzu’s capable hands. 

Hidan’s forearms itched. An inexplicable want lit every nerve ending.

He yanked open another drawer. Mismatched silverware and melted spatulas rattled around next to a pair of scissors. 

There.

He grabbed the scissors by the blade. Was this what he was looking for?

The knife.  

Yes. He grabbed a dull, water-spotted paring knife.

Next door, the audience cheered on TV. A commercial took over, tempting his neighbor with more distractions, things only money could buy, things to fill a hole that maybe didn’t need to be filled.

The want overflowed, a hunger that wasn’t isolated to Hidan’s stomach. It flowed up through his arms, vibrated down through his legs. He pushed aside the bowl of noodles now drowning in ketchup. What sort of knife did Kakuzu use? Did he have proper surgical equipment? A scalpel?

He inspected the underside of his forearm. Rivers and tributaries of bluish veins meandered beneath the surface of his light skin. Too pale. Too weak.

You’ve turned away from pain for too long.

Now turn toward it. Revere it.

Right. He wanted his hands slick with blood. Like Kakuzu’s. That’s what he wanted. Blood was somehow the answer. That’s what was missing.

Cutting his wrist looked too much like a cry for help, and this was anything but. So he started small and pricked the tip of the knife into the pad of his middle finger. A brilliant red bead greeted him, glimmering, carrying everything his living body needed. It swelled. Dripped onto the counter top. His finger throbbed, its tiny pulse protesting at the injury. He sucked the blood off his finger. It tasted like how pennies smelled. Yes. This was what he’d wanted. It was all anyone needed. Pain and blood. Necessary for life and death. 

It is all at your fingertips.

His hand spread before his eyes. Heart lines and life lines. He sliced across his palm. Deep. Maybe too deep. Blood erupted out of the seam. His pulse throbbed. The Hunger rushed up to his head, dizzying, and the blood kept coming. It didn’t stop. His erection twitched, but the sensation was far away. Darkness crept in. He slumped to the floor, light and heavy, alive and maybe dying. Life was just a slow death, anyway. It left a gaping, uncomfortable hole. Often it was filled with distractions. 

We are more whole when we fill it with nothing.

⛛ ⛛ ⛛

The moment before first light, a stillness smothered the town. It subdued everything except for Hidan. He ran through the village, eyes on the eastern horizon. He flew past traffic lights and the piles of dirty, melting snow. Past neighborhoods, vacant storefronts. The sun punched through the horizon with a luminous red spark. It rose above the old iron bridge and the winter-beaten trees. Hidan blinked and the sun’s green afterimage stuttered across his vision. The cold stung his lungs, but he was done avoiding pain now. The bandaged cuts all over his hands and arms were evidence of that.

Hidan only thought about getting stronger. Hauling dead bodies couldn’t be easy. A pair of cops could handle it—Obito and Kisame for example, Itachi not so much. A dead body wasn’t much lighter than a struggling one. The human heart weighs less than a pound; Hidan had looked it up. And then there’s blood loss, and shitting oneself, and the debate on whether souls exist and if they did that they might weigh twenty or so grams. It still left behind all those bones and whichever organs Kakuzu decided to leave behind. Plus, rigor mortis was probably a bitch. Hidan was speculating, but his new routine of jogging after work let him think more clearly. About how detachment had begun to render him useless. About Kakuzu lugging dead bodies. About Sasori cleaning up evidence, dissolving body parts in his arsenal of chemicals and then drowning everything else in bleach. 

If Kakuzu ever needed help, he’d need someone strong. This person couldn’t lose themselves in the darkness of their apartment, lamenting their tiny life, blood pooling and collecting in prone limbs, muscle atrophying with lack of purpose and nowhere to go except work and bed.

You must be stronger.

Hardened.

Sharp. Piercing. Crushing. 

“I will be,” Hidan told his reflection in the water. His morning jogs always delivered him to the rusty iron bridge overlooking the natural spring at the end of the village. He’d always avoided the bridge since his mom left. He couldn’t come here without seeing his dad’s water-logged body drifting below the surface, sallow and swollen. Eyes wide, but unable to communicate what he’d seen.

Now Hidan only saw his own reflection, eyes wide, ready to see all.

Hidan turned around and jogged home. He did pushups in his apartment until his arms screamed. He paused, ready to give up.

Not enough.

 He gritted his teeth and did five more. His arms wobbled, and he collapsed in a puddle of his own sweat on the linoleum floor. His mind wouldn’t let him revel in the relief.

Don’t avoid the pain.

Be vigilant.

The cash he set aside for his summer class dwindled as he reallocated it. New running shoes. Protein powder that didn’t taste like shit. Meat when it was on sale. Bus fare to the grocery store every week. Bandages so he didn’t freak out anyone at work. He still swiped beef jerky from Sarutobi Market, sometimes out of necessity and sometimes because the owner irked him. Konan reassured him that the diner got busier as March thawed into April. He had time to replenish the money. Right now, he had to do this. His body had to be ready.

He peeled off his sweat-soaked shirt, opened his bedroom window, and leaned outside. The window screen had gotten destroyed last year and the landlord never replaced it, claiming Hidan was responsible for the damage. He sucked in the last of the morning air and drank down his protein shake. Maybe he’d release a little blood before he slept. Why had all of this been so difficult to do before?

We sink before we rise.

Wasn’t it ‘What goes up must come down?’

That is also true.

From his second-storey height, he looked down into the parking lot.

Pineapple Head shuffled around outside, backpack dangling from one shoulder and a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He swept up the litter that had been uncovered by the melted snow.

Choji emerged and helped him. Then they stood around, impatiently checking their phones.

Next door, Hidan heard the TV talk show turn down in volume. Goodbyes called. A door slammed, new sneakers squeaked down the hallway and stomped down the stairs. Ino burst outside into the parking lot. The trio argued about her being late. She waved off the boys’ complaints and unlocked her compact purple car. Choji claimed shotgun.

Pineapple Head dropped his cigarette and ground it into the pavement. He looked over his shoulder and scanned the building, eyes rising until they locked on Hidan. Pineapple Head’s cheeks, already pink from the early spring air, grew noticeably redder. A prickle climbed Hidan’s spine; he grinned and winked. This shook Pineapple Head from his daze. He shot Hidan with an annoyed look and scoffed.

“It’s barely above freezing, idiot,” he called. “Just because it’s spring doesn’t mean that it’s warm out yet.”

Hidan shrugged. “Why’re you complaining? Looked like you were enjoying the view,” he called down. The Hunger scratched up and down his arms. He definitely had to release some blood now.

“Pain in the ass,” Pineapple Head muttered. Hidan still heard him.

“Let’s go, Shikamaru. You can stare at the clouds later,” Ino said. She looked up at Hidan and shot him a look that said, Stay away from my friend. She ducked into the driver’s seat.

Pineapple Head climbed into the backseat and they took off, probably to class at the community college. Bastards.

Hidan slammed the window shut and yanked the curtains closed. The dark coiled around him. Ino’s muffler rattled and faded down the road. Part of his mind threatened to turn toward its old habits. Defeat, despair, maybe even depression. He was always being left behind.

Another part of his mind steered him toward what was necessary.

Pain first.

Then sleep.

Right. For the sake of a goal greater than himself.

He chose a finger at random and pierced it with his knife. He lost himself in the sharp pain, the slickness of the blood, the most beautiful warmth. It wasn’t enough so he cut along the top of his forearm even though it had just barely healed.

And then he slept like the dead.

⛛ ⛛ ⛛

Instead of an employee break room, the diner had a broken bar stool in a corner of the kitchen. The bar stool’s vinyl cover was shredded and the wobbling base would be a lawsuit waiting to happen if left in the dining room for customer use. Hidan dragged the barstool up to the stainless steel expo counter even though Deidara wasn’t the best company. He inhaled his employee-discounted Breakfast Platter #4, a sad simulacrum of steak and eggs. He had subbed fruit for the toast; he’d read somewhere that vitamin C helped him absorb iron, although it wasn’t clear how much nutrition he got out of a flimsy, gray steak and colorless chunks of melon. He kept his right hand out of view in his lap. He’d gotten carried away with cutting his palm this morning. Again.

“Blondie, the eggs are overcooked.”

Deidara didn’t even look up from refilling his dried parsley shaker. “What, you’re gonna send it back? You’re taking lessons from Kakuzu now?”

“Taking lessons from a cheap old dude I’ve seen once in the restaurant? You’re just a shitty cook, is all.” But Hidan would give anything to see that cheap old dude again.

“Yeah? Well, you can come back here and cook your own eggs.”

At that very moment, Sasori slunk out of the management office with his melted coffee cup. “No servers behind the line.”

“Come on, man. I was joking, yeah,” Deidara said.

Hidan wasn’t supposed to be eating this close to food preparation surfaces either, but Sasori didn’t say anything about that. Rules were selectively bendable at night.

 A phone rang in the management office.

“Rise ‘n Shine, open 24 hours,” Sasori answered with his typical enthusiasm. Which was zero. He was quiet for a moment, standing in the doorway of his office. Who the hell even called a diner? It wasn’t like people needed to know the shithole’s hours; a quick map search or simply looking up at the sign would tell them the diner was open 24/7. And people certainly didn’t call diners to make reservations. 

Sasori’s face didn’t change when he said, “Shit.” He hung up the phone. “There’s a problem. Hidan, are there any customers in the dining room?” 

“One. Already cashed out. I actually need to talk to Konan about this. Business hasn’t picked up. It’s April but it’s as dead as January.”

“Discuss it with her another time. Go unplug the OPEN sign, get that customer out of here, and lock the front doors. You’re going home early. We’re—” Sasori paused and stared off into space. “We’re…deep cleaning.”

The back door scraped open and someone entered, but Hidan was too angry to really notice. “Deep cleaning my ass! My shift isn’t over. I always make some money in the last hour.”

A really pale guy with spiky orange hair and an uncountable number of piercings glided into the kitchen. He wore a long-sleeved black mesh shirt and a black pleather apron that had SIX PATHS OF PLEASURE embroidered across the chest. “Put what we owe you in writing and Konan will submit it to our financial administrator,” he said. “It’s his problem to deal with.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“Hidan!” Deidara hissed. 

“It’s all right,” the pierced guy said, holding up a hand. “We’ve never met. Konan hired you for the overnight shift about six months ago, correct? I’m Pain.”

Hidan snorted. Pain? “Sure, whatever you say, buddy.”

Pain didn’t seem offended. He was as expressionless as Sasori. In a staring contest, it was a tossup on who would win.

“You’ll need to follow your superior’s directives and secure the dining room,” Pain said. “We’re having a small emergency and require privacy.”

“It’s a deep cleaning,” Sasori reiterated through his teeth.

Pain acknowledged with a single nod. “Okay. It’s a deep cleaning.”

Hidan left his meal unfinished and backed out of the kitchen. The kitchen doors swung shut and closed Hidan off from everyone else. “My Boyfriend’s Back” played overhead in the near-empty dining room. The speakers thunked, and the music went silent. Sasori’s jazz did not take over. 

Through the muffled door, he heard Deidara say, “Should I prepare the chemicals?”

Hidan switched off the neon OPEN sign in the front window. He cupped his hands on the glass and peered across the street. Obito’s state trooper vehicle idled in the motel parking lot. Beside it, a tan minivan; the same one from that fateful night when Kakuzu performed open heart removal surgery. The green Cadillac wasn’t there, but another car was. It was sky blue and looked very retro, like it was from the 60s or 70s. All three vehicles were parked outside the room that was perpetually “under construction.”

The sole customer at table 12 didn’t catch the hint when the diner’s overhead music abruptly cut off, so Hidan regurgitated the same lie about closing for deep cleaning. The customer sighed and shook their head, their plans for drinking free coffee refills for the next two hours completely upended. As the customer paid his bill, he grumbled about 24/7 not really meaning 24/7 and how businesses these days knew nothing about customer service anymore and blah blah blah. The Hunger surged within Hidan, first in his stomach, and then it crawled across his shoulders and snaked down his arms. For a flash, he dropped into a different scene with the customer’s blood sprayed all over the dark windows. The blood glittered and streaked down the glass. The air smelled sweet and metallic. He blinked the image away. Maybe he was overreacting. Killing someone just for being in the way didn’t seem right. Not when Sasori and Pain were the ones deserving of retribution over their secret kitchen meeting.

But if someone needed to see the truth.

Or to be purified.

Or to satisfy the natural order…

Stiff with restraint, Hidan locked the door behind the customer, knowing he’d be lucky to find any sort of tip on the table.

Konan pulled into the Rise ‘n Shine parking lot in her periwinkle Prius and then Obito’s cruiser headlights blinked on across the street. The cruiser left the motel and followed Konan’s car around the back of the diner. Hidan approached the kitchen and hovered outside the swinging doors, listening.

Obito’s voice: …cousin’s responding to a domestic disturbance. I’ll make the delivery myself.

Sasori: I can’t accommodate two bodies. 

Deidara: I can make the other one disappear, yeah. I’ve got some new explosives I’d like to play with.

Pain: No, Kakuzu can clean up his mess. His outbursts are getting tiresome.

Konan: I’d like to know why this didn’t all go down tomorrow as planned?

Obito: The target was on the move. I had no choice but to react.

Konan: Right…

What the hell had happened? Hidan pushed into the kitchen and everyone’s heads swiveled toward him, surprised he hadn’t disappeared already. Except for Konan. In baggy paper crane print pajama pants, she glared daggers at Obito.

“You were dismissed,” Sasori said.

Hidan swallowed down a fuck you and searched the kitchen for an excuse. “I needed to grab my coat.” He didn’t have one. “And… I didn’t clock out.”

“I’ll take care of it,” Konan said. “You’ll be compensated for the hours and missing tips. I’ll come in during your shift and meet with you tomorrow.”

Ten pairs of eyes seared into the back of Hidan’s skull as he walked out the back door. The night was cold, still hanging around freezing, but the wintry bite wasn’t there anymore. He started his car and rolled through the parking lot. He came to a full stop at the road and examined the motel. The single room at the end glowed in the dark, the jankiest of beacons. He checked for oncoming traffic or more lurking cop cars. The SLIPPERY ROAD warning sign was still tipped at an angle so that the triangle pointed down. No one had fixed it. Was it a warning? A slippery slope?

A path marker.

He turned right, left his car at Gas Town USA and jogged across the street to the motel. All the whispering he’d overheard indicated that Kakuzu was involved with whatever had gone down tonight. He walked behind the motel and, with little light to guide him, stumbled around barren shrubs and broken patio chairs. At the end of the building, he circled around to the front and arrived at the last room’s window. The light inside was still on. Across the street, the Rise ‘n Shine’s towering red sign went dark.

Hidan crouched beneath the corner of the window, but duct tape covered the frayed gap in the curtain that he’d peered through before. Damn. He stood before the door and tried his luck with the door knob, carefully, soundlessly. Of course it was locked. 

Hidan held a fist up, ready to knock. He didn’t know what he was doing here. What he did know was that this felt right. Kakuzu was involved in something that, at the very least, intrigued Hidan, and at the most, answered why seeing his own blood on his kitchen counter wasn’t enough for The Hunger.

A deep voice pierced the quiet night. “Who sent you?” 

Hidan turned. Kakuzu stood behind the blue car’s open door, like he was just stepping out of it. His green eyes brilliantly contrasted against the black face mask and night sky. Had he been watching Hidan from the blue car this whole time? A tiny splatter of blood stained the placket of his crisp white button-down shirt, right where the button hole strained ever so slightly at his chest. Maybe he needed one of Pain’s pleather sex shop aprons when conducting his surgeries. It would look stunning on him.

“ Handsome and Mysterious at Table 15, what a coincidence,” Hidan said.

“Yes, what a coincidence,” Kakuzu said flatly. “Answer my question.”

“ I was told to go home early. By everyone, basically. Except Deidara, but he doesn’t seem to be in charge of anything, except, like, chemicals? Explosives?”

“And why didn’t you do as you were told?”

“It sounded like you needed some help.”

Kakuzu slammed the car door shut. With a briefcase in his hand, he marched up to Hidan and stopped within strangling distance. “Idiot. Help with what? What delusions have you made up in your vacant little head?”

“Let’s see. I know the diner is a front for something illegal. And I know you and the cops are in and out of this motel an awful lot.”

“I travel a lot for work. What tells you I need help?”

Hidan’s eyes began roaming Kakuzu’s body for the right words. He landed on the single spot of blood on Kakuzu’s shirt and couldn’t look away. “You seem resourceful. I’m sure you can find some use for me.” Maybe he took a step forward or reached for the spot of blood. It was the last thing he remembered before a broad and all-encompassing pain blossomed on the side of his head and knocked him to the pavement.

The pain was nauseating at first. Then it sharpened to a perfect clarity. Better than when he passed out from blood loss on his kitchen floor. His body faded around the locus of pain. 

Hold on to it. This is all that matters.

Your suffering is not for nothing.

One day you will share it.

Cold radiated from the sidewalk and a menacing shadow lingered over his shoulder, distracting him from the pain. The clarity slipped away and left a dull bitch of a headache as a parting gift. Hidan opened his eyes. Everything was sideways.

“Ow.”

Kakuzu was crouched beside Hidan. His black leather shoes looked nice. Conditioned and polished. An investment well cared for. Hidan pushed to sit up. Kakuzu grabbed his chin and yanked it up so there was nowhere to look but into a keychain flashlight. The bright light moved from one eye to the other.

Hidan flinched and pulled away. “What the fuck, man?” He staggered to his feet. The headache throbbed with every movement. It was a nagging twinge, not the divine, splitting pain he’d just experienced. He felt the side of his head with his unbandaged hand. No blood.

“How the hell are you standing after that?”

“After what?” But Hidan was pretty sure Kakuzu had clocked him in the head with his briefcase so that he’d stop poking around where he wasn’t wanted. Hidan cracked his neck and laughed. “My dad always said I could take a hit. I can’t call the cops on you, can I? They’re in on…whatever it is that you do.”

Kakuzu growled. “I do not have time for this.” He pulled a key out of his pocket. A plastic diamond-shaped keychain dangled. It matched the orange on the motel doors and indicated that this was room 33 when it wasn’t used as a bargain-basement operating room.

The motel room door squeaked open. The overhead operating light radiated an artificial white glow over the plastic-covered furniture. Exposed ductwork hung from the ceiling. A styrofoam cooler waited beside the bathroom. Kakuzu dug his fingers into Hidan’s shoulder and dragged him into the room. The door slammed shut. It was only slightly warmer inside.

Hidan hadn’t gotten a good look at the guy who had assisted Kakuzu last time—the guy who’d held out the bag for the heart, the guy who’d argued over the kidneys—but the body on the bed-now-surgical table resembled him, just a little paler and worse for wear. His abdomen was wide open. Hidan was no human anatomy expert, but the insides looked…rummaged through. Unnaturally rearranged. The man’s eye sockets were bloody and empty. Another body was on the floor and in a similar state. The pink and purple viscera didn’t do as much for Hidan as he imagined they would have. The dried blood around the eyes was far more interesting. What a waste that all this blood had unceremoniously dried up.

Kakuzu spoke up. “Since you’re here and insist on butting in, you’re going to make yourself useful.” 

This was exactly what Hidan had been preparing for.

As foretold.

Hidan took in the carnage, aware that Kakuzu was studying him. The itch in Hidan’s forearms—The Hunger—was very much present, but more of a steady thrum of energy. Not sated. But not ravenous, either. Just waiting. Circling .

“Squeamish?” Kakuzu asked in a self-satisfied tone. “Well, now you’re complicit, too. Konan was wrong about you. You’re bored and desperate, but not as oblivious as you look.”

“Hey.”

 “You weren’t supposed to last more than a few months at that diner. You’re too resilient. But what’s done is done.” He waved a hand over his dead partner. “This moron had early stages of heart failure and a fatty liver. His kidneys are shit, too. Almost a complete waste of my energy. Let’s get to work. I have eyes that need a buyer and you have a body to bury.”

“What? That’s not why I’m here.” 

“It is now.”

Kakuzu grabbed Hidan by the back of the shirt and manhandled him out of the motel and through the bordering pines. On the other side, the dilapidated greenhouse with broken windows rose out of the shadows. A vast field of frosted grass spread out behind it, protected by a perimeter of dense forest. Scattered all over the field were small, pale trees, each one supported by twine and wooden stakes. If they’d been in neat rows it would’ve looked like a tree farm.

They stopped near a shed almost covered in vines behind the greenhouse. “Tools are in here,” Kakuzu said, patting the shed’s dented metal door. “You’re shielded from view, but it’s advisable to get as much work done as possible before the sun rises.”

“Are you fucking serious? It’s cold out here. What if the ground is still frozen?”

“Then you’ll need a pickaxe. I’ll be back to check on your progress. If you’re not here, I know where to find you. I know where you live, your criminal record, all your little traffic violations, and your social security number. I can watch you sit around the diner struggling through your last lifeline before society decides to turn its back on you once and for all. Got it?” 

“Sounds like you have an unhealthy obsession with me.”

“Hardly. I’m saying that I can make your life miserable and I won’t limit it to your job.”

“I think you’re saying you’re a fucking creep and that you stay in that hotel so you can play with yourself while you watch me work in that fishbowl diner.”

“You think too highly of yourself.” Without another word, Kakuzu disappeared through the pines back toward the motel.

A frigid breeze went right through Hidan’s clothes. He cupped his hands and tried breathing warmth into them. “I might freeze to death by the time you get back,” he called. 

No response. 

“Ugh, this was not the kind of help I had in mind.”

More doors will open when you prove that you’re strong enough.

“Fine.” He dragged open the shed’s door and lit up its innards with his phone flashlight. Dirt-caked tools littered the floor, a few cleaner but less useful tools hung on the walls. A long scythe rested against the corner. Too bad there was nothing to reap.

Maybe later.

The wind whistled and creaked through the structure. He hauled all kinds of shovels and rakes outside, not really knowing what he’d need for frozen soil. He unfolded a tarp with too many holes and tossed all the equipment onto it. Kakuzu had mentioned a pickaxe, so he added that to the pile.

He was ready to select a spot when suddenly, Kakuzu was behind him. “Here,” he said begrudgingly. He tossed a black trench coat over Hidan’s shoulders.

“Aw, thanks, babe,” Hidan said. “I still think you’re a prick, though.”

“It’s a dead man’s coat. I can’t have you getting too cold to work. Buy yourself a goddamn jacket.” Kakuzu stomped off again.

What a jerk.

Hidan pulled his arms through the trench. In the pockets he found a lighter, a smashed pack of cigarettes and a pair of work gloves that were too big for his hands. While he gathered up the edges of the tarp, the shadows seemed to shift and dance around the buildings, even when the breeze died down. He looked up and saw nothing. But when he looked down, the shadows skittered around again.

“Ah, it looks like Kakuzu has a new partner,” a voice said from inside the greenhouse. “That was fast.”

Hidan squinted at the building. A silhouetted figure hovered in one of the broken windows. It waved, maybe grinned. Great, he had a babysitter. And a witness. Kakuzu was an asshole, but he was smart; how could Hidan report a murder if a witness saw him bury the body?

“The ground is softer than it looks,” the shadow offered. “The water pipes for the hoses are still winterized, but feel free to grab water inside to further thaw the earth. There are buckets in the shed.”

Hidan couldn’t make out any details on the source of the voice. Only glinting eyes. “Uh, thanks?” He was NOT going inside that greenhouse.

He dragged the tools a few feet away between two skinny trees. He stabbed a pointed shovel into the ground. The soil wasn’t soft, but at least it wasn’t solid ice. This was a bullshit situation he’d stumbled into. What would Kakuzu actually do if Hidan ran off and didn’t do the job? It wouldn’t be so bad if the man showed up at his apartment. Might be more fun than slicing up his own skin.

After the shovel, he tried a three-pronged rake-looking thing. It just ripped up grass and moved some pebbles around. He tried the pickaxe next. It had a satisfying weight to it. His hands wrapped perfectly around the smooth wooden handle. It didn’t even irritate the wounds on his palm, only reminded him of his pain and purpose. He swung the axe into the ground and broke up chunks of soil and flakes of ice. He alternated between the pickaxe and the shovel, loosening the ground and then removing it. He warmed up quickly and only needed the jacket during breaks.

This wasn’t the first time he’d dug a human-sized hole. Back in the summer between his junior and senior years in high school, things had gotten worse with his dad. Less child support, more disregarded restraining orders, that sort of stuff. The guy would show up claiming that he just wanted to take his son out for custard and mini-golf. Instead he’d get into a screaming match with Hidan’s mom. His dad called her incessantly. One evening, his mom’s cell phone kept pinging with texts, voice mails, and missed phone calls. She threw the phone into a drawer and then she gripped the countertop so hard her fingertips turned white. Hidan watched a series of emotions claim her face. Fear and anger eventually morphed into a detached determination, an acceptance that she couldn't go on like this anymore, a resolve to gather up her suffering and give it back.

Hidan had thought he could speed up the process for her.

He poked around the building superintendent’s supply closet and borrowed a shovel. He found a spot on the side of the building beside a picnic table that residents sat on when they smoked outside. In the evenings, he worked on digging a wide hole and when night fell, he dragged the picnic table over the hole, hoping no one would notice it during the day. But it was obviously a giant hole in the ground, and the neighbors grew suspicious. Who dug a large hole without something large to put in it? In hindsight, the plan was dumb. Too impulsive, too naive. Four days later, the building superintendent knocked on the apartment door. The neighbors were starting to complain. His mom said that digging a hole was better than getting into unlocked cars and stealing loose change. Nevertheless, she told Hidan to fill the hole back up. He didn’t return the shovel when he was done. Instead, he located a quiet spot off of a hiking trail near the springs to dig his hole instead.

Luring his dad wouldn’t be difficult. He’d pretend he finally wanted an adult man in his life, providing guidance and advice and all that nonsense. He could get the old man drunk and let him ramble about how to make a quick buck. Go mini-golfing, hiking, fishing.

Unfortunately, all that digging wasn’t necessary to end his mom’s suffering. But sometimes skills honed earlier in life become useful in the future.

Like now.

Hidan checked the time. 5:50. At the diner, he would’ve been cashing out his last table, finishing any last side work. But now he had different work to do. He swung the pickaxe. This was better than rolling silverware and pouring mediocre coffee. He needed to make more progress, though. Kakuzu would find something wrong even if he dug a perfect, casket-shaped hole in the ground. The work went faster when he pictured his dad’s bloated body in the dirt rather than floating in the springs.

Kakuzu’s return was announced by twigs cracking in the pines.

“I thought you’d be closer to finishing by now,” Kakuzu grumbled.

“Ground’s still pretty solid. I could use a hand. Why don’t you grab yourself a hoe?”

Kakuzu folded his arms and tilted his head. Maybe he didn’t think jokes about gardening hoes were worth his breath.

“Get anything for the eyes?” Hidan asked. He switched to his shovel and heaved piles of dirt out of the hole. “It’s shitty to profit off of people’s deaths the way you do. What kind of formality is that to mark the end of someone’s life? How do you live with yourself?” But who was Hidan to talk? He was digging a hole to dispose of the dead guy without eyes.

You’re honoring the dead with a burial at least.  

That’s right. He was. He didn’t mind having that sort of role—along with a pickaxe—thrust into his hands.

“I live just fine,” Kakuzu said. “Better than you.”

“Has anyone told you that you’re terrible at making conversation?” God, absence really did make the heart grow fonder. How had Hidan forgotten how miserable Kakuzu was?

A door is still a door.

Even if he does not honor death.

True. Hidan couldn’t fight the physical attraction, plus the proximity to blood. He’d get closer to what he was looking for with Kakuzu’s guidance.

“Does the hole really need to be six feet deep?” Hidan asked.

“Two-foot depth is adequate to keep the animals away. Help me with the body before the sun rises.”

Hidan poked at the blisters that had developed on his palms as he followed Kakuzu back through the pines and toward the motel. The tan minivan was gone and so was the blue car. The Rise ‘n Shine’s towering sign was back on and the customer parking lot had a few cars in it, kicking off the morning rush without Hidan.

“Bastards,” Hidan muttered under his breath. “Hey, where’s your car? And why are we passing the room?”

Kakuzu walked past the guest rooms and up to the management office. He unlocked the door and hit a switch that turned off the outdoor lights above each room’s door. After he stepped back outside, he responded, “My car is across the street at the gas station. One of the Uchihas had the van towed. Enough questions. Let’s go.”

They stepped into room 33. The other body was gone and so was the styrofoam cooler. Maybe one of the Uchihas had taken care of those outstanding issues as well. Kakuzu’s partner was still on the bed. 

“They’re so petty,” Kakuzu grumbled. He bundled the plastic over top of the body and stapled it shut. Hidan didn’t see a drop of dried blood after that. “Get the legs.”

They heaved the body off the bed, neatly bundled in plastic. The plastic was some heavy duty shit that barely yielded under the body’s weight. They lugged the body out of the room like a pair of movers carrying a roll of carpet. A very heavy one, with rigor mortis beginning to set in. 

They weaved between tree trunks, Hidan tripping on roots. Kakuzu yelled at him for being worthless and clumsy.

Hidan said, “I’ve never dragged a dead body around, okay?” That was mostly true.

Again, seriously, what did Hidan see in this asshole? After they dropped the body beside the hole in the ground, Kakuzu rolled up his white sleeves, revealing his tattoos and coarse arm hair and Hidan was reminded of exactly why he couldn’t forget this man. Kakuzu’s forearms flexed as he pulled off his old latex gloves. He shoved the gloves into a trash bag in his pocket and then redid his dark ponytail, smoothing his hair back and away from his face. Little wisps of shorter locks fell down over his face while he stretched new latex gloves over his large hands; it was like porn to Hidan. All that was missing was blood.

“The hole needs to be deeper,” Kakuzu said, ripping open the plastic so the dead guy could watch with empty eye sockets.

Hidan hopped down into the hole with his shovel. “So come make it deeper.” Holding the pickaxe, he stretched his arms up and behind his head so that the axe’s handle rested over his shoulders. He hoped his biceps looked good in his dirty work polo. “I’m gonna need help filling this hole, too.”

Kakuzu ignored the sexual innuendos Hidan constantly lobbed his way. Instead he looked through the tools on the tarp and selected a shovel with a square end and stepped down into the grave.

“You went with the hoe after all,” Hidan said.

Kakuzu snorted. “It’s a spade.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s a hoe.”

“Grow up and be quiet or I won’t help you.”

So Hidan kept the hoe comments to himself and they dug in silence together. Engaged in crime together. Buried the body. Together. 

The morning chorus of birds was deafening as first light broke out over the sky. Hidan would have been on his morning jog through the village by now. Instead, he and Kakuzu were lowering the body into the hole.

“Was this guy your partner? Like a coworker?” Hidan said.

Kakuzu grunted what sounded like an affirmative.

“How long did you work together?”

“Eight or nine months.”

“Cool… You, uh, killed him?”

Kakuzu said nothing, but he probably would have said no if the answer was no.

“Any reason?” Hidan asked.

“He was always getting in the way. And you’re starting to get in the way, too.”

“Calm down. You wanted a hole, you got a hole.” Hidan finally had Kakuzu talking, but didn’t know what else to ask. He wanted to know everything, and yet anything could set him off. “So… you from around here?”

“No.”

“Trust me, I wouldn’t be from here if I’d been given a choice. So… are you gonna tell me what the deal is with the diner and the dude with all those piercings and the state trooper with the scars and—”

“No.”

“Okay…What’s with that old blue car?”

“It’s a ‘69 Chevelle.”

“Sixty-nine, huh?” Hidan waggled his eyebrows. It was a cheap joke, but who could resist? “What happened to your big green boat?”

“The ‘85 Cadillac DeVille.”

“Yeah, that.”

“I own both cars.”

“That’s a lot of old cars. How old are you?”

“Too old for you.”

“Maybe I’ve got a thing for older men.” Silence. “So… just two old cars?”

“I have five.”

“You’re a car guy, then?”

Kakuzu paused, with a pile of dirt on his spade. “Not really. They can be worthwhile investments. Take care of them and they take care of you while retaining their value. They can be many decades old, but you can replace some of the parts, restore other parts, and extend their lives.”

“That’s the most you’ve ever said. I think you’re a car guy.”

“I think it’s time for you to shut up.” And that was the end of that. 

They were quiet until the hole was almost entirely filled. “Leave room for Zetsu,” Kakuzu said. “He’ll plant a paper birch.”

Hidan looked across the field. Frost still coated every blade of grass. The weak daylight illuminated the white, spindly trees that rose out of the ground like skeleton arms. Some of the trees were larger and well-established with dark markings that resembled eyes. A crow on one of the nearby birches cawed at him. There had to be at least forty of the white trees in the field, plus a smattering of scrawny saplings. This was a graveyard.

“According to Zetsu, the birches grow quickly and need the nutrients,” Kakuzu said.

They loaded the tools back into the shed; Hidan parted ways with his beloved pickaxe. They washed their hands in a utility sink in the greenhouse. It was less creepy in the daylight, although Hidan couldn’t shake the feeling that the shadow was lurking nearby and watching them.

They walked across the street to retrieve their cars at Gas Town. Without any parting words, Kakuzu went straight to his blue Chevelle. 

“What, no good-night kiss? I thought we had a pretty nice date,” Hidan said. 

Kakuzu turned away from his car and looked at Hidan with an incredulously raised eyebrow. “Go home. And if I find you’ve spoken to anyone about this, the next grave you dig will be your own.”

Hidan approached the Chevelle, but didn’t lean on it; Kakuzu would probably yell at him. “Admit it. You want more and now you’re going to stalk me.”

“You’re delusional.”

“You’re in love.”

Kakuzu pinched the bridge of his nose and shook his head.

“Okay, I get it. You’re shy and old-fashioned; love takes time. Perhaps you’re in lust, then?”

“Keep lying to yourself.” Kakuzu sat in his car and shut the door. He started the engine and cranked the window down. “I’ll probably stop in the diner tonight. To meet with management.”

“Or to meet with the hot server you’re totally not stalking?”

Kakuzu gave Hidan a withering look.

“Fine. I’ll be ready with the usual and fresh pot of decaf.”

“None of that canned fruit this time.”

“That was all Dediara.”

“The server can send the order back if it’s not up to standard.”

“I see how it is. Don’t worry, I’ll serve you so good tonight,” Hidan purred.

Kakuzu rolled his eyes. “We’ll see about that.”