Title: Friendship
Pairing: Genma - centric (Hints of KakaIru and GenRai)
Summary: He is known for his senbon, but for all the wrong reasons.
Disclaimer: Kishimoto owns Naruto and I can only dream that I owned his characters, his imagination and his drawing skills.
Shiranui Genma is instantly recognisable to most of the citizens of Konaha; civilian and shinobi alike. The senbon, always there, lazily hanging between his teeth when relaxed, or pointing sharply in moments of defence. Always there, enhancing that smirk of his. It is often assumed he does it to make people stare, to draw them in to that boyish smile and to his handsome face. A tool to go with his playboy persona. But it isn't. There's a story behind his senbon; just like there's a story behind every odd shinobi quirk. There's a story behind Iruka's fiery temper, there's a story behind Hayate's cough and Raidou's scars, but most importantly there's a story behind their frienship.
It all started when they were 18, all of them newly chunnin, nervous, uncertain and a little fucked up. Already friends from their time spent at the academy, and now legally old enough to drink with the rest of the village's shinobi; they would go out. Every Friday night to the local club, without fail. They met each other, 9pm on Friday night, always at Iruka's clean and tidy bachelor pad, all dressed and ready to forget. They did it to slip away for a few hours, indulge and act like the carefree civilians they could only observe from afar. Just one night a week to be free, young and wasted. For the rest of the week, they were buttoned up, hard working, loyal shinobi.
That's when it all began. A chakra pill here, a line of coke there, vodka, cocktails, whiskey, sake, body shots from Genma's stomach, kissing strange Anbu in alleys and come downs in the mission room. Crying into bowls of ramen on Monday evenings and scrubbing skin in the shower. Friday nights would end with the four of them falling into bed together, huddled together and kissing through tears to make things better, easier. Huddled together on Saturday evenings on the roof of the academy tower, smoking cigarettes (often stolen from Asuma) and savouring the harsh smoke in their throats. Burning throats, stinging eyes from lack of sleep and depression on Monday mornings; when the worst of the come down had gone, but suicide Tuesday's were yet to start. To Genma this was friendship. It was their own unique brand and it was golden.
On these nights they were kings. They would dance, eyes wide and glossy. Pupils dilating, sparkling in the lights of the club. Iruka's hair down, with Hayate's fingers gripping it as they ground their hips together in time with the pulsing, rib shattering bass. During these moments Genma would notice Kakashi staring at the pair from across the bar, sharigan slightly exposed and he'd laugh into Raidou's ear and kiss him messily. Hayate would smoke far too much, his hand would twitch and when confronted by a pretty girl or a handsom man his mouth would run on, Genma would stand beside him, indulging in the rubbish that spewed from his mouth. His senbon grinding against his teeth in a pathetic attempt to stop his face from contorting due to the MDMA dancing throughout his system.
4am would roll around, they would stumble out of the club, blinking into the dawn and laughing at their sweaty clothes and the strong smell of alcohol and smoke rolling off them. At this time they would share a joint while they walked back to one of their rooms and they'd all fall into bed together, and try to sleep. If sleep wouldn't come they would try to eat sickly chewy sweets and smoke more cigarettes, till their lungs felt like they were bleeding. It didn't matter to them, not then, not in their youth.
But before they knew it, they were 24. Then 26 and 30, exhausted, with changed ranks and different positions in life and Friday nights were different too.
Hayate's cough was caused by the smoking. Too much smoking, too much coke and too much fun had damaged the already fragile lining of his lungs and deviated his septum. He had settled down with a female Anbu, not that he was interested in woman, he just needed a child to pass on his swordsmanship skills. It was wrong, but he was a shinobi and it was necessary. His immune system was ruined and he couldn't keep up with his friends any more.
Iruka was now the most respected academy teacher in the whole of the village. Churning out well rounded, intelligent and skilled gennin. It was rumoured he was now in a relationship with Hatake Kakashi, calm and settled. Iruka couldn't keep up with his friends any more.
Raidou had come back half dead and half burned 4 years ago, and no longer felt comfortable in crowds, flaunting himself and loosing control. Genma still thought him beautiful, he always had and always would. Raidou didn't want to keep up with his friends.
Genma, still smirking, still smiling and still reckless, respected their wishes. Friday nights were now quiet drinks in empty pubs or soba noodles and a small flask of sake in restaurants, just every few weeks. Genma though that was fine, and so did everyone else.
The senbon remained. For Genma it was not a tool to draw people in, it wasn't even a shinobi weapon. He did want to be stared at, or admired. He didn't want to be feared or appear defencive and closed off. His senbon is a reminder. A reminder of his youth, of his friends and his ninja way.
So it sits there, secure between his teeth and it will never leave that spot, not until his last friend dies and his memory erased.