Yay, it's a late Valentine fanfiction! Sorry, but I was busy on Singles Awareness Day, and the first (and normally only) draft I wrote didn't please me in the slightest, so I went ahead and rewrote it. XD Enjoy, peeps.
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Sunlight spilled out onto the snow-covered, treeless meadow that Hidan had lain in ever since the night before's ritual. The lukewarm heat of the rays liberated his body from its rapturous paralysis, and it awoke him with a slight start—the sudden sun in his eyes was surprising—and Hidan sat up painstakingly, eyes squeezed shut to block out the irritating UV waves and abdomen still stiff from the wound inflicted upon it.
The pike that had caused the injury was swiftly, if not brutally, taken out, and he was instantly washed over with anger and resent. It was February 14th once again, Valentine's Day. The infernal celebration of ooey-gooey lovey-dovey Jashin-damned mother-fucking romance, when people went crazy over their affection for one another. Hidan thought it to be a pointless holiday; why waste time loving each other when there was an almighty God to love and adore instead? With any rational thought, it made no sense at all.
The zealot made his way back to the Akatsuki base through a miniscule, insignificant town, which couldn't have been more than a few blocks long. Couples were everywhere—in the poor-looking shops, along the almost nonexistent sidewalks, and even in the center of the main street—giving each other gifts, hugs, kisses, and the like, obviously rejoicing over the festival at hand. Hidan scoffed and rolled his eyes at each and every one of them, for they were all suffering from this world's most cruel illusion. They just didn't seem to understand that only Jashin-sama could possibly love as purely as the emotion was originally intended, as long as he was pleased with the rituals one had been performing.
By the time he got back to the organization's headquarters, merely a cave offset a river, his cheeks were a bright cherry red, his feet a frostbitten white, and his entire body numb. Hidan headed for his and Kakuzu's designated 'room,' a large cavity the cave's walls, with vigor and haste, eager to wrap himself in his Leader-issued blankets and sheets. Though his wounds and skin conditions would eventually heal themselves, it was still a pleasant feeling to be warm.
When he entered the makeshift apartment, it was unusually quiet—Kakuzu must have been out on another get-rich-quick bounty. Throwing himself under the minimal covers of his straw pallet often referred to as a bed and curling up into the fetal position, Hidan shivered down his spine and throughout his entire body. Mother Nature was a fucking bitch, he deduced.
As a general rule, cavernous areas were pitch-black because their stone walls did not heed to light's will to reach inside of them, but because there was a small separation of rock high up on the east wall, Hidan and Kakuzu's inlet of a living space often had enough dim light to read by in the early morning, and thus he could see a peculiar object perched silently on the poorly-made nightstand across from his 'bed.' (Stickler Kakuzu was too cheap to shell out some cash to get some actual furniture.)
Curiosity got the best of Hidan, and he left his now-tepid cocoon to inspect the object. The nightstand was well away from the crack in the wall, and, ever careful, he removed the thing from its pedestal and brought it over to the single light beam, along with the paper note place beneath it that he had noticed as he had gotten closer. And, when it came time for the mystery item to be a mystery no more, he could scarcely believe it.
In front of him, in all of its symbolic glory, was a rose—a single, just-finished-a-ritual-bloodshed red rose. It was needless to say that this type of flower (and any type of flower, for that matter) was entirely out-of-season at this time of year, and it would have been very expensive to acquire one. Confused, Hidan opened the folded note in the sunbeam and squinted to read the finely printed lettering: Because the full bouquet wasn't worth the expense.
With a smile just short of being a smirk (he was quite used to smirking at this stage of his life), the cult member brought the blossom up to his face delicately, giving it a graceful waft. Perhaps Jashin-sama wasn't the only one capable of tenderness.