The Blood Boutique
1
Ichiraku's Dine and Dash wasn't a place that attracted the lost and unfortunate, but at two in the morning the sickly fluorescent lighting washed away the vividness of the bright colors and left the establishment looking like an ink wash. There were other lights, glass lamp shades suspended by thin cords and lined up over the bar, stained with orange and red to heat the place up, but they were dead. The owner wouldn't kick the switch until at least seven, so the lonely witching hours of the night were left with a cold, green tinted view of the world.
Hidan palmed a deck of cards thoughtfully, staring into his half empty mug of now cold coffee. He wasn't the only person here—some guy who looked ready to drop was slouched limply in the corner of a booth—but he felt like it. Exposed without a crowd to blend into, stuck waiting for a boy who might not even show up…
And hungry.
He swallowed the saliva that had worked his throat into a waterslide, licked the front of his teeth, and began to shuffle. It was no use thinking about food now, not here. He reminded himself he'd actually just eaten, as if demanding his body to comply and stop the craving eating him alive, the overworking of the saliva glands, but thinking about it only made the problem worse. Scowling, he fisted the red mug of coffee and threw back whatever remained, never tasting a drop.
Sitting as he was at the back of the diner, facing the wall of glass that showcased the rain-slicked road outside, he could see the lank, loping figure of limbs approach the doors the second it detached itself from the surrounding shadows. He sat up straighter as the bell above the door chimed, just a hint louder than necessary, and then made a point to keep eye-contact when the late sonavabitch finally noticed him.
Mr. Late-Sonavabitch was shifty at best. He kept his head down, hood drawn nearly over his nose, hands in the pockets of his sweatshirt, and dancing eyes. They never seemed to settle down, and for the split second that they had held his own, Hidan could understand maybe why.
"Take your hood off kid," he grumbled slapping half of his deck down on the table and started to deal the other. "You look suspicious as shit."
"You have a gun," came the barely-there murmur from the depths of the hood. If Hidan hadn't been staring at the bloodless lips and waxy pallor of the skin, he might've heard nothing at all.
He readjusted his jacket a little more forcefully than necessary and tilted his neck until it cracked. "I've got two," he admitted. "Now take off your hood."
The boy did so with the slowness usually reserved for men walking up the steps to the gallows, and with quite a bit of shiftiness. He slid into the booth as if it was made of nails and hunched his shoulders as much as he could without being too obvious. Hidan snorted. "For fucks sake if you act like you have something to hide people will notice."
The kid glared, and for once the gaze was as steady as it was sour. Hidan got a good glimpse of his progress: dilated pupil, shifting of the iris as the melatonin died, the sudden increase in capillaries. "I have red eyes," he hissed quietly, and Hidan took the time to notice a smudge of something dark by his hairline. He raised his eyebrows. "Getting there. Dye your hair or did you have an accident with fucking tar?"
One white had ran through the inky strands self-consciously, smoothly turning into a sleeve rub at the hairline. Hidan shrugged at the half-scared half-poisonous look sent his way. "I didn't bother with mine." And true to his word his own scalp was covered with colorless, near translucent strands. If his face hadn't screamed Hollywood perfection, a first glance could easily mistake him as a senior citizen.
"Your eyes aren't red."
"Captain fucking obvious. Are we actually going to talk about something important or can I go home? I want to eat."
His mouth was still watering and he was sick of it.
Shrugging further into his sweatshirt, the boy, nearly a man (Hidan would put him at twenty), leaned forward. A muscle was jumping in his jaw but he spoke around it as if it were separate from the rest of his body. "How did you know it was me? I was quiet, I was discreet."
"And you smelled like a slaughter house—don't look at me like that. Fuck, man, you think a few showers could cover the stench?" Hidan leered. "Things like that stay worse than whiskey, I could smell it the second you opened your mouth."
He was still fussing with his hair when he answered, but Hidan gave him points for hiding just how shaken up he was. "You mentioned a…catering service."
Hidan sighed in relief. Finally, they were getting somewhere. He hunted around in his jacket for a moment before pulling out a business card and sliding it across the table.
The remains of a half-assed attempt at a card game were ignored as the stiff paper was snatched up. "A hospital volunteer group? For rehab substance abusers?"
"Dirty work always needs a cover," Hidan eyed him thoughtfully. "You look like you could fit the bill anyways."
"I did."
"Joy. Listen this thing goes both ways. The volunteer shit just gives us access to the hospital—we've got a mole in there that hooks us up."
The kid's expression had gone from disbelieving to resigned in a matter of seconds. Fist clenching, he stared Hidan down. "How much?"
Hidan snorted out a laugh. "Your soul, seriously. Said mole has golden ideals and odd hobbies. We help her out and she puts together our meals."
"What kind of help?"
"What it says on the fucking card, kid. Volunteering. Sometimes in the children's wing, sometimes we play chess with the old biddies who shit themselves every other hour," he shrugged. "If we're lucky we get stuck with her for the week. Help out around the lab."
The silver-haired man rubbed his chin, palm catching against stubble. "Think of it as a job. You do the work, you get paid. Just not in money."
He let his palm fall to the table with a morose slap. "There's an interview too. Call the number on the card when you're ready. And for the love of god at least try to blend in. You look like one of those creepy ass drug lords that live two apartments over from innocent little Sue or something. Fuck. Paint your nails, wear makeup, look like a goth. People won't look twice at red eyes, seriously."
And with that Hidan lurched from his seat and lumbered to the door without a backwards glance.
The boy thought about calling out to him—he still had questions, so many questions—but thought better of it. Instead he held the card in his hand as if it was capable of burning him if it so chose, and watched as the burly man walked almost predictably to the single motorcycle parked in the diner parking lot. The bike came to life with a roar, and after twisting the handle a couple of times, he was tearing out into the road.
The abandoned turned back towards the card in his hand. The simple black text unfurled in three short lines. Konoha District Hospital, Volunteer Services for the Recovered, and below that ten italicized digits he knew he'd be calling as soon as business hours opened. He was thumbing the top right corner of the card, eyes tracing a small embossed leaf insignia, when his phone rang.
He tensed at the monotonous sound, and after a quick look around to assure he was as alone as he could be, he answered. "Hn. Dobe."
"Sasuke," Came a snarl. Oh, but he was angry. "Where in the hells are you! You fucking promised—swore!"
Sasuke grimaced and drew up his hood. "Idiot. I just wanted to grab something to eat. I'm at Ichiraku's."
"…they're serving ramen at two in the—nevermind! Dude, your breaking promises man, and it's not cool. Not. Cool. You said you wouldn't be out at weird hours, that you'd actually sleep for once, and here I am with an empty bedroom and a busted window. I'm breaking you teeth in when you get here. Right past your lying- ass tongue."
"Shut up, Naruto. It's not like I'm jamming morphine into my tear duct," Sasuke snapped viciously. "I just wanted something to eat, okay. Fuck. You're like my councilor. Why are you even awake?"
"I'm better than that whore and you know it. And I just had to take a piss."
"And you felt the need to check up on me?"
"Guess that says a few things about you, doesn't it?" Naruto's voice was three times as acidic as Sasuke's had been, and he hated it. "I'm clean," he ground out as he pushed out of the diner and into the night. The downpour that had happened hours before had lessened into a steady trickle, barely a sprinkle, but the cold was substantial enough to fog his breath. "And I'm sorry, okay?"
"Are you? Are you really? Because it sure as hell doesn't seem like it. Tonight would be one thing, but you disappeared on Tuesday too. What are you doing, man? What are you thinking?"
Fuck. Sasuke hadn't realized Naruto knew he'd snuck out before tonight. Fuck. He switched the phone to the other hand so he could grasp the handle of his dumpy little bike, wet from the rain, and kick the kickstand up. How to explain this away?
"I needed air," he finally came up with. "Just…just needed to breathe."
"Air. Fresh air. Okay, okay, cool, I can deal with that. I can. Doctor said that was good for you. And I…aw hell man I get it, okay? I'm annoying as shit and all but just,"
He never finished the sentence, but Sasuke could imagine how it might have ended. Just let me be there, like I wasn't the first time. Just let me in. Just let me be a friend. Just let me redeem myself.
"God," he said instead. "Are we going rock climbing today or what? I can't deal with all this shit."
Sasuke was hit double time, first with relief, then with guilt, as he grunted an affirmative noise into the receiver. Rock climbing. Right. He'd forgotten they were doing that today. Too busy with other…things.
"Yeah, what time?"
"Six. And then we're meeting up with Hinata for breakfast. I've…I've got some news and that I'd really like to share so don't you dare skip out."
Sasuke rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth anyway. "Dobe. I'm not going to Houdini on you. Trust me."
There was a tense silence that followed, one Sasuke knew was only there because he had pulled quite a few Houdini worthy escapes before. That he had given his entire circle of friends a number of reasons not to "trust" him, but he bowled over that silence as if it had offended him. "I'm on my way back. I came by bike so it'll take me a few minutes. See you soon."
"Okay…see you."
Sasuke ended the call and shoved his phone back into his pocket, ignoring the chill on his bared shins. He would've preferred to change into something sturdier than basketball shorts but sneaking out hadn't given him much time. Straddling the bike seat he looked down to put his feet on the pedals, but as he did so the sharp cardstock of the business card caught his eye.
It had slipped partially out of the front pocket of his sweatshirt, the white on black hard to miss, and its back was facing him. There was writing on it. He pulled it out and shifted so that the lamppost behind him could better illuminate the untidy scrawl that marred the surface.
Written in chicken scratch so small Sasuke had to squint were the words, Ask for Shizune. And below those and underlined with three lines that pushed so forcefully against the paper he could actually feel them was the word, Delta.
Swallowing, he pushed the card more securely into his pocket and started his trek back to his condo.
Naruto waited, head leaned up against the fridge, until the dial tone sounded. He wasn't disappointed. Sighing, he flipped his phone shut, rubbed a thumb around the dorky, outdated device, and flipped it open again to start a new call. Sitting up straight he backed up a few leaden steps until he could lean his weight into the kitchen counter.
Exhaustion tightened the corners of his eyes, and he rubbed at them as if the bags could just be erased with a touch. It was all too much sometimes. First Gaara, now Sasuke. Except this time…he just couldn't let another precious person die. Not like that. Not slowly tearing at their own souls until they just shredded into nothing.
He dialed a few numbers, ones he knew by heart, and held up the receiver. It picked up after the first ring and despite the situation a grin lit up his eyes. "Hey," he called softly, warmly. "Thanks for staying up. Really. It means a lot."
He stared a moment at the freezer before deciding that he wanted that vodka after all. Maybe it wasn't a good habit, turning to the booze when things got tough, but he wasn't trying to drown out his sorrows. He just wanted to sleep. Just sleep.
"No, no, the bastards fine. Said he was hungry, that he needed air." Naruto pulled a shot glass down from the highest cupboard and then pulled the vodka from the freezer. Chopin. Smooth. Odorless on the tongue. "I know, babe, I know. Hell, I thought…I thought he was out doing another deal or something. Can't believe I didn't wake up—he pulled the window off its tracks! Right off the fucking tracks and—!"
He huffed, then sucked in a deep breath. Then another one as chatter filled his ear. "I…I know. Patience, gotta be patient. It's just hard. I feel like if I can just sit him down long enough, I dunno, scream at him for a few hours," Naruto laughed a little light-heartedly, but it didn't sound happy. "That I could, you know, get through to him or something. Worked before."
He poured himself a shot. Just one, he told himself forcefully. Not three like before. He didn't need three that time.
"I don't know what he was doing out there. He said he was at Ichiraku's and we all know that place. I really can't see something shifty going on there, the old man wouldn't allow it and someone's on shift all the time, but you never know. I think…I think he might be doing weed? I mean, munchies?"
It wouldn't be the worst thing, Naruto reasoned with himself as he idly traced the rim of the neon orange shot glass. Better than coke, better than meth, better than whatever the other stuff Sasuke had snaking through his blood like a cancer, but still bad. Out of all the other options though, he really hoped that air was truly the only reason Sasuke had felt the need to escape via window.
He rubbed his face. "No, I haven't. I want to trust him. Searching his stuff seems…overkill. If it gets real bad I won't care what the bastard thinks I'll strip the place and frisk him, but not now. Not now. Yeah…yeah that too. Do you think we should tell the councilor? I know he hates her and I kinda do too but, would that best? What's the best, babe? I don't know what to do."
He patted the countertop and nodded his head. "Mmhm, okay. Yeah. Yeah. I understand." Propping his elbow on the table he ran a hand through his hair. "Thanks honey. Get some sleep, okay, I'll come and pick you up at around seven-thirty, eight-ish. Love you too—bye."
Pushing the 'end call' button drew a cheerful beep into the silence, quickly followed by the plastic snap of the phone closing.
Naruto didn't think he'd ever felt quite as torn as he was now. The part of him that watched Gaara turn into a walking corpse was screaming at him to tear into Sasuke with all he was worth. Was belittling him for not realizing something was wrong sooner. How had he not seen the signs? After Gaara he was certain, so, so certain that he'd be able to spy drug abuse and addiction before it even really started. Paranoia, drawing away from friends and family, anti-socialism, mood swings—people turned into a nastier version of a pregnant woman, and it's not like that shit is exactly hard to miss.
But Sasuke had never been a social creature, not even when his parents were alive, and every red flag that popped up was ignored.
Dogging after Gaara hadn't helped anything. The persistence that had served him so well in the past, had made him successful despite all the odds, had failed him. History was repeating itself and he was left toeing a tightrope; pull away too much and Sasuke could end up killing himself, but dig in too much and he risked losing his friendship. What was the balance?
Naruto picked up the shot with lazy fingers, rocking the small glass back and forth so the vodka teased the rim.
Unwillingly his mind drifted to the contents of his freezer and fridge. Bourbon, Jack Daniels, Patron, Budweiser, Smirnoff…and of course the Chopin he'd replaced in the ice-chest.
He'd talked a big game about addiction, but was he just as bad? Did he have any right to point out the speck in his brother's eye if he had a fucking log in his own? I'm not an alcoholic, he thought defensively. He'd never had a drinking problem, ever. Not when things got tough (except when they got really bad) and not when he was stressed. He'd gotten alcohol poisoning twice in college but literally everyone did that, it wasn't an alarming piece of news.
"M'not a hypocrite," he muttered dourly, then tossed back the vodka. His tongue rose in defense against the unfamiliar substance, tightening the back of his throat as the alcohol slithered, warm and seductive, down to his belly where it coiled like a great, contented snake. Poison.
He was just contemplating a second—it wasn't that bad, just one more, no more than three—when his phone trilled. A message popped up on the front screen, short enough to read without opening completely.
Hinata
Don't drink! :/
2:56 AM
"Gah!" Naruto drilled the heels of his palms into his eye sockets, but the message was still flaring across his retinas. Great. Just great.
He tossed the shot glass into the sink and tore off his shirt, ready to crash on the couch for the next few hours before he dragged Sasuke to the gym. No more booze, he told himself.
He was tired enough to not need the help.