They get a cheap hotel room because it’s raining, and there’s nothing worse than having to sit in the cold and damp and listen to Hidan complain about sitting in the cold and damp. The room is vaguely familiar, decorated in shades of brown and yellow that might have actually once been colours, with a decent-sized bed that only sags a little and a bathroom the size of a cupboard.
Hidan makes straight for it, tossing his hat to the side and shrugging out of his coat, leaving it in a puddle on the carpet. Kakuzu grits his teeth, mostly because Hidan will bitch later is – when – he trips over it, or if – when – it hasn’t dried out by morning. He tries to remind himself that he’s not Hidan’s keeper even as he collects the coat and hangs it up to dry next to his own.
His hearts detach and move to stand like sentinels in the corners of the room. He removes his mask and scratches the stitches that run up his left cheek, twisting his head to crack his neck. The thought that he’s getting old crosses his mind and he snorts indignantly. Hardly.
He sits on the edge of the bed only to find that it sags more than he thought at first glance – and he knows that their combined weight will mean that he and Hidan will spend the night crushed together in the middle of it whether they like it or not. He tries to think of ways he might have horribly offended his partner in the last week and decides that, no, there won’t be any objections tonight.
Good.
He sees the stain when he leans down to remove his sandals. It’s large and dark and mostly hidden by the bed, which, now that he thinks about it, is far newer than anything else in the room. Kakuzu’s been a shinobi for too long to think it could be anything other than blood, and by the size of it, someone died here.
Or was dumped here, if they were killed on the last bed. Thought thought comes slowly, almost unwillingly, bringing with it the memory of waking up next to a corpse with Hidan standing in the doorway; of recriminations and accusations and blood-soaked robes tangling round his hands as he tried to pull them off.
He licks his lips and looks up as the door to the bathroom opens and emits a cloud of steam and Hidan wrapped in a too-small towel. There are beads of water clinging to his skin and his rosary and dripping from his pale hair, and he must see something in Kakuzu’s gaze because he grins and lets the towel fall.
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Fic - Anniversary - 1/1 - Cheap Imitation Timestamp - 2years later
Date: 2014-01-31 04:22 pm (UTC)From:Hidan makes straight for it, tossing his hat to the side and shrugging out of his coat, leaving it in a puddle on the carpet. Kakuzu grits his teeth, mostly because Hidan will bitch later is – when – he trips over it, or if – when – it hasn’t dried out by morning. He tries to remind himself that he’s not Hidan’s keeper even as he collects the coat and hangs it up to dry next to his own.
His hearts detach and move to stand like sentinels in the corners of the room. He removes his mask and scratches the stitches that run up his left cheek, twisting his head to crack his neck. The thought that he’s getting old crosses his mind and he snorts indignantly. Hardly.
He sits on the edge of the bed only to find that it sags more than he thought at first glance – and he knows that their combined weight will mean that he and Hidan will spend the night crushed together in the middle of it whether they like it or not. He tries to think of ways he might have horribly offended his partner in the last week and decides that, no, there won’t be any objections tonight.
Good.
He sees the stain when he leans down to remove his sandals. It’s large and dark and mostly hidden by the bed, which, now that he thinks about it, is far newer than anything else in the room. Kakuzu’s been a shinobi for too long to think it could be anything other than blood, and by the size of it, someone died here.
Or was dumped here, if they were killed on the last bed. Thought thought comes slowly, almost unwillingly, bringing with it the memory of waking up next to a corpse with Hidan standing in the doorway; of recriminations and accusations and blood-soaked robes tangling round his hands as he tried to pull them off.
He licks his lips and looks up as the door to the bathroom opens and emits a cloud of steam and Hidan wrapped in a too-small towel. There are beads of water clinging to his skin and his rosary and dripping from his pale hair, and he must see something in Kakuzu’s gaze because he grins and lets the towel fall.