It had been a long mission, and a hard one. The silver-haired jounin staggered stiffly back home through the streets of the hidden leaf village, deserted at such a late hour. His entire body ached, blood dripped slowly but relentlessly from a deep gash on his arm, mostly hidden by a tightly bound bandage, and his heart carried none of the satisfaction that came after a successful mission. For it had not been a successful mission. It had been exceptionally brutal, unusually cruel, and, well, spectacularly unsuccessful. His mind cringed away from the memories of the bodies he and his team had arrived too late to save, the river or red flowing out of the no longer lively town.
He forcefully dragged his exhausted mind back to his present location and exhaled sharply as the pain of his body came back to him. He gritted his teeth and staggered to the best of his ability up the cobbled street, refusing to reach out to the walls for support, shunning the thought of aid – he deserved this pain.
The partially concealed entrance to his apartment loomed up before him and he looked upon it with a sudden pang of emptiness. Not for the first time he wished he could return to a home that was kept warm, a home with lights on, a home that held someone who waited for him to return. A wave of hopelessness washed over the tall figure. What was the point of all the suffering he went through if no one cared whether or not he came home? Why should he have to carry the burdens of such horrors alone?
He closed his eyes and waited for the wave to pass, then numbly pushed his way through the door, dropped his bag in the hall and just stood, facing his so-called home in the darkness. Nope, he decided. He couldn't do it. He turned with a sudden burst of energy and fled, slamming the door sharply behind him. A pile of fur from the other side of the fence howled in surprise but he ignored it and staggered off stiffly in a direction at random.
He headed instinctively for the park – his friends' grave. He felt the memories well up inside him unbidden and almost collapsed right there – the middle of the street - from the pain of it all. Shaking with the effort he pushed himself to walk faster, his body's objection to this physical exertion distracting him temporarily.
A sudden noise and light from a side alley caught his attention. Of course, this bar was open all night. He hesitated. It had been a long time since he had spent any time in somewhere so crowded – usually the mere thought repulsed him – but tonight he felt inexplicably drawn. The sharp reek of alcohol hit his nostrils and he suddenly he longed for it. His feet moved him lightly and swiftly, all stiffness and injury seemingly forgotten.
He pushed through the doors and let the lights, noise, and atmosphere of excitement wash over him. Just standing in there was intoxicating. The bartender took one look at him and poured him something deadly looking. "On the house", he winked. He downed it in sudden desperation, the toxic substance searing his throat in a surprisingly comforting manner. "Another", he growled, throwing some coins at the bar. The drink was good, it hit quickly, dulling his senses and silencing his thoughts. A warmth spread through him that he had not allowed himself to feel for a long time – enjoyment. And the warmth stayed. Even when the bar started to spin, it was there.
And when he staggered out onto the street towards home for the second time that night, the feeling remained, despite having to detach himself from the cobblestones many times on his way. He knew he would wake up in the morning feeling like hell, and he knew he deserved it, but for the first time in ages, he was not so sad that he was alone, and so, it was worth it.