Bee-be-be-beep, bee-be-be-beep, bee-be-be-beep, bee-be-be-beep, went Hidan's phone at ten o'clock the next morning. 'Fuck,' he moaned, hiding his head under his pillow and screwing up his eyes against the light. His head was pounding unmercifully and he had one of those full-body hangovers he'd come to associate with red wine. His limbs felt heavy, the pit of his stomach was at once leaden and distinctly unsettled, and as soon as he tried to move his head swam and a wave of nausea sent him crashing back onto the bed. 'Fuck,' he moaned again. 'Why'd I fucking do it again? Why?'
Eyes still three-quarters shut, he groped wildly and inaccurately on his bedside table, dislodging a glass of water and his bedside lamp before grasping his phone and quieting its incessant peeping by sliding off the battery. Sighing with a small measure of relief, he groped a little more until his fingertips met the cold metal of his Jashin rosary. Bringing it to his mouth and shutting his eyes again, he murmured softly to it, soothing himself, able for a moment to separate himself from the reality of his aching body and the need to be out of the door in half an hour. It calmed him, the constant presence of Jashin, always someone to speak to, someone with needs that had to be met, someone demanding, sure, but they were always demands that made sense to him.
Sighing again, deeply, Hidan dragged himself over the edge of the bed and knelt on the floor, his face still buried in the duvet. He picked up the glass that lay on the floor and forlornly drained the last drops from it. This made him realise that his need for water was pressing enough that he would have to immediately undertake the intolerably long journey through the door and across his open plan living room to the bathroom. His head pounded with every step. Leaving the door wide open, he drank straight from the tap, then splashed cold water over his face. He blinked at himself in the mirror, and ruffled his hair absentmindedly. He couldn't really remember much of the later events from last night. He was willing to bet that Dei would be disgustingly chipper - probably been in his studio since nine. He didn't seem to be a martyr to hangovers the way Hidan was. Maybe because he drank white wine...
Hidan stopped trying to think and got into the shower. As soon as the water was the right temperature, he crouched down, leaning against the tiles, and just let it rain down on him. He could spend hours like this. He loved hot water, and the steamy atmosphere. He shut his eyes and turned his face up into the downpour, imagining he was in some fantastical utopian place where the rain could be this temperature. He didn't want to move and ruin the illusion, but he was conscious that he couldn't stay in nearly as long as he'd like this morning. He was cutting it rather fine anyway. He reached for his citrus bodywash, relishing the exotic smell it released.
It was twenty past by the time he emerged into the living room, a maroon towel around his waist. 'Shit,' he muttered. He padded over to the fridge and drank some pineapple juice straight from the carton, then wandered back into his bedroom to find some clothes. He really needed to get a wash in, but it wasn't as if he'd be wearing the clothes for very long... Looking out of the window he saw that it wasn't a very nice day - it was grey and drizzly - the opposite of yesterday evening with all that warm late sunshine. Hidan hated that kind of weather. He decided he'd take the tube, rather than cycle. Still, he didn't feel the cold very much. He pulled on a clean T-shirt and the black jeans from yesterday, and grabbed his leather jacket from where he'd slung it over the back of a chair last night. He massaged a good sized blob of Nivea Man aftershave balm into his face, although he hadn't bothered to shave, and rubbed his hair again in the towel, then slicked it back with gel. He began to feel more human.
Back at the fridge he poured himself a bowl of Coco Pops, which he always found very comforting hangover food. Crunchy Nut Cornflakes were nowhere close. Hidan couldn't resist buying Kellogg's Variety Packs, and consequently had a large collection of miniature packets of Rice Crispies and Corn Flakes. He ate them (liberally sprinkled with sugar) only in desperation when he was out of everything else. Glancing again at the clock, he found he was already five minutes late. He just couldn't motivate himself to hurry, though, and he gave himself a moment to savour the chocolate flavoured milk before hunting down his dressing gown (the only tool of the life model's trade), making sure his Oyster card was still in his pocket and making for the door.
Kakuzu's morning had progressed very differently. His alarm had gone off at 6.30. He liked to pretend that it didn't hurt, but in reality the incessant beeping invading his dreams and then dragging his unwilling consciousness into the cruel grey dawn was less than welcome. But Kakuzu was a disciplined man. He got up without groaning into his pillow more than once, and, pulling on the first clothes that came to hand, headed downstairs to give his dogs their pre-breakfast run on the Heath.
It was pre-breakfast for them, anyway. Kakuzu grabbed a banana for himself as he picked up his keys from the kitchen table - why had he put them in the fruit bowl last night? He must have had more to drink than he'd thought - and headed for the door, whistling for the dogs to follow. They were Giant Schnauzers. Kakuzu had four of them. He liked to claim they were guard dogs, and certainly they were good at that. They were exceptionally well trained - of course, as they were trained by Kakuzu. His five storey Georgian house did contain a lot of valuable items - mostly works of art and antiques. Kakuzu also liked to walk on the Heath at night, and four huge black dogs pretty much ensured that no-one would trouble him. Although in fact he wouldn't have been afraid to go without them, but that might perhaps have been unwise. But really, they were company. Company without human faults and human demands.
Turning out of his gate he immediately felt better. The cool morning air was refreshing on his face, and the moisture in the air - no more than scotch mist - dispelled the threat of a headache that had been hanging over him. The dogs' enthusiasm began to infect him and the day seemed more promising.
Not many people were about this early, but a couple of houses down he spotted his neighbour Kisame, putting out his recycling, which was clinking merrily. 'Morning, Kisame,' Kakuzu called out.
Kisame, who had had his face turned up, relishing the dampness in the air, raised a hand in greeting. 'Hi, Kakuzu. Lovely fresh morning, isn't it?' He breathed in deeply.
'It's certainly refreshing, after a late night,' Kakuzu agreed.
'Oh, you were at the show last night?' Kisame perched on his gatepost expectantly as Kakuzu drew level with him and paused, the dogs waiting obediently. 'And how did it go? Did you run into Itachi?'
Kisame was an magazine editor, working for Madara Uchiha. Itachi's pieces were often featured in his magazines. Kisame and Itachi were good friends. Kakuzu knew they sometimes went hill walking together at the weekends. Kisame was quite aggressively outdoorsy and was out of London one way or another pretty much every weekend. He would even drive down to Cornwall to go surfing. He had a van, and he would get as far as he could on a Friday evening and sleep in it if he got tired. Kakuzu thought that was insane, and possibly Itachi did too, as when Kisame and Itachi went walking in the Black Mountains they took the train instead. Kisame had actually asked Kakuzu a couple of times if he'd like to join them, but so far nothing had come of it.
'It went well,' said Kakuzu. 'Yes, I saw Itachi. But we didn't get much of a chance to chat.' Chatting, in any case, was not really a word that applied very well to Kakuzu's style of conversation. Or indeed, to Itachi's. Both men smiled slightly in amused recognition of this fact. 'Will you be away walking this weekend?' Kakuzu asked, feeling extra sociable as he did so.
'No, I'm off to the coast as soon as I can get away,' Kisame replied. 'Apparently there are some good waves around Whitsands area. Itachi's busy this weekend. I think he wanted to try and see his little brother.'
Itachi's little brother meant trouble, that much Kakuzu knew. 'Oh dear, is he?' he said, injecting his tone with sensitive concern. 'Well, I hope that doesn't go too badly.'
'Mmm, quite,' said Kisame. There wasn't much else one could say. He patted one of the dogs absently. 'Off to the Heath, then, is it? These guys sure keep you busy.'
'That's right,' said Kakuzu, 'Well, I'd better get along. Have a good weekend, Kisame, if I don't see you before you go.'
'Will do, will do,' Kisame turned back in at his gate and Kakuzu continued briskly up the road and onto the Heath. He liked Kisame, particularly because he didn't feel the need to run his mouth off about things that didn't concern them, and neither did Kakuzu. He was one of those people you feel you know well, but who doesn't really intrude on your life. Restful company.
It wasn't until he was right at the top of Parliament Hill, looking over the city, that he allowed himself to think about last night. He let the dogs off the leash and left them to run around by themselves while he stood there watching the sun trying and failing to break through the drizzle and low cloud. It hadn't been the kind of night he was used to. Not the sort of thing that he thought of as happening to him now. It was a long time, after all, since he'd come off late shifts with a group of sexy male nurses and ended up. Well. He supposed it wasn't so very like those times then. After all, he hadn't taken Hidan home.
Not that he hadn't wanted to. But when he suggested sharing a cab, seeing as they'd missed the last tube, Hidan had revealed that he lived over the South side of Tower Bridge, and anyway, he was on his bike. Kakuzu wondered if he'd got home OK. He'd been exceptionally drunk, and the East End traffic, even at that time of night. Well. Worrying about it wouldn't get him anywhere.
'Will you be OK to ride,' he'd said, concerned.
'Man, you don't say that to me! Worry about the fucking motorists!' Hidan had called impudently over his shoulder, walking his black and red hybrid along the pavement away from Kakuzu with a hand resting casually on its saddle.
'Well, take care,' Kakuzu had said, wincing as Hidan cut across three lanes of traffic and disappeared in the direction of Shoreditch High Street. The last he saw of him was his hand raised in an obscene gesture, possibly in farewell or perhaps just in response to the several car horns that had sounded in his wake.
Kakuzu sighed and watched his dogs bounding up the hill towards him. He threw a couple of sticks for them, sending them bounding away again. He supposed Hidan could look after himself. He'd been at pains to highlight that fact, anyway. He'd probably been cycling round central London like a dangerous clown for years, and he'd survived so far. Kakuzu wondered fleetingly whether that sickening swoop through the speeding traffic had been for his benefit. He had to admit that the sight of Hidan scooting off the kerb standing on one pedal, then swinging his left leg over the back wheel in an elegant arabesque while steering one-handed had been rather impressive, in a totally insane and irresponsible way. He could see that if he was going to see more of Hidan he'd have to make a point never again to watch him leave.
It was difficult to get the events of last night out of his head, once he'd let them in again. After their first exchange, Kakuzu and Hidan had stayed together for the rest of the evening. First, they went around the exhibition, much of which featured Hidan in some way or another. Hidan had talked a lot, telling Kakuzu amusing stories about the hazards of sitting for Deidara, or recounting salacious anecdotes about people that he recognised. Kakuzu hadn't said much. He'd been content to watch Hidan and let his words wash over him. It had turned out that they knew a lot of the same people. They'd gone to talk to Sasori, but Hidan had offended him, so they'd moved swiftly on. Hidan was very rude to Mr. Pein's PR man as well, but he was far too well bred to respond. Insults were like water off a duck's back to him. Finally a very blonde young woman wearing very red lipstick had thrown half a glass of red wine over him and tried to burn him with her cigarette - Kakuzu had felt it wise to intervene at this point - and they'd decided to leave.
He couldn't get that image out of his head - Hidan smirking imperturbably with dark red liquid dripping down the side of his face and off his chin. There was one particular drop sliding down from the corner of his mouth that Kakuzu would have liked to've licked off then and there. But instead he'd handed Hidan his handkerchief and looked away.
Surprisingly, Zetsu the film-maker and Tobi (a photographer) elected to join them when they left, and Kakuzu began to get the distinct impression that Hidan, disruptive as he'd been by Kakuzu's standards, had actually behaved himself tonight far better than anyone could remember. Everyone thought it was Kakuzu's influence, and Konan was very grateful to him. They'd all gone to a pub on Old Street.
It had been a funny experience for Kakuzu really, because he knew this Tobi was actually the magazine magnate, Madara Uchiha, and had in fact known him for years while he built up his empire, but as he was extremely eccentric and fancied himself as a photographer, he wanted to be accepted by the art crowd on those terms. And the art crowd thought he was rather sweet and let him hang around, but didn't take his work seriously at all.
Hidan knew him in this guise, and hadn't yet made the connection that the magazine cover he was appearing on later that month was in fact owned by Tobi. It had made for a rather amusing conversation, at least from Kakuzu's point of view. He hadn't liked to say anything, since he knew Madara liked to go about incognito, but he couldn't help the odd chuckle in one or two inappropriate places and interestingly enough, for someone so obviously untrammelled by considerations of etiquette, Hidan was rather touchy. At the merest hint that he might be being mocked, he was immediately a endearing mixture of aggression and wounded innocence. Kakuzu just couldn't resist poking at it. The odd wry smile here, or an affectionately teasing remark there and his crest would be up and all his feathers ruffled. Kakuzu thought it was rather sweet.
These musings took Kakuzu through breakfast, showering and changing into a dark and sober business suit and onto the tube, where he sat with a slim volume of T. S. Eliot in his hand and didn't even pretend to read. He wondered how much of last night Hidan remembered. He had obviously been very drunk. He wondered if he'd see him again, and how soon.
The train juddered as it went round a bend, and the lights flickered. Kakuzu looked at his reflection, distorted in the curved window opposite, then up at the map of the Northern Line. Euston, King's Cross, Angel, Old Street - his heart gave a little jump at the place he'd been last night, even just the name written diagonally along a thin black line - Moorgate, then Bank, where he would alight. Kakuzu began to wonder just what had got into him.