#hidaobi

Heaving a sigh, Hidan pushes himself up into a sitting position and surveys the area.  It’s, as expected, a beach – but it’s smaller than he’d expected initially on waking, pale sand with a single trail of footprints dotting the edge of the beach by a little retaining wall, leading to a little set of stairs and a ledge above.  A small expanse of perfectly manicured lawn sits just before a huge fuckoff house that may very well be the biggest one he’s ever seen on land.  

And, he realizes, it’s probably a private beach.

What the fuck.  In this economy?

“Oi!” 

Hidan turns on instinct to the voice and curses at himself as he does.  Up the shore comes running some kid who can’t be older than, like, 23 – and it’s a guess, really, because Hidan’s 23 looks a lot different than a normal 23.  

Comes with the whole merfolk territory, he supposes.

Still, Hidan doesn’t think he can be very old.  His swim trunks are an obnoxious pattern of black and red and white, and the tanktop he wears clings loosely to a damp frame as if he’d just climbed out of the ocean himself.  And it looks like that’s exactly what he’s done – wet hair, soaked trunks, the works.  

He approaches Hidan with zero hesitation and stops when he's a handful of feet away from him.

“Uh, can I help you?” the kid asks, crossing his arms over his chest.  And, okay, Hidan was right; he’s definitely no kid, but there’s no way he’s any older than his mid twenties.  He’s built thick, broad shoulders and a broad chest but somehow Hidan still thinks he looks so fucking wimpy.  And he grins, glancing over the boy’s form once again before looking back at his scarred up face.

“Baby, I’m beyond help.”

And somehow, this takes the kid by surprise.

“Get the fuck off my beach?”

And Hidan leaves with a hearty laugh, making sure to splash the guy as he goes.

—

He doesn’t stay gone for long, and by the fourth or fifth visit the kid – Obito, he learns on the second day, when the boy's name is called and he turns, furious that someone would just spill his name like that – stops telling him to get lost.

And it’s funny, Hidan thinks – all he’s got to do is show up and annoy the guy enough for him to let him stick around?  Which is, to be fair, exactly what he’d done with his group back home, not taking “go away” for an answer.  It works, and as they say, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it.

“Ay!” Hidan calls, popping out of the ocean on a particularly warm day, situated nicely on a rock a handful of tail lengths from the shore.  The waves are quiet today but the gulls still scream, and both Hidan and Obito suppose there’s not much surprise there.  The surprise, for Obito, lies in the sudden assault on his ears and he nearly jumps out of his skin, his back to the ocean as he’s trudging back up the beach.

He turns to Hidan with a little glare, and Hidan returns the sentiment to a proper 180 degrees, grinning as brightly as the sun shines.

“A little warning next time?” Obito asks, and Hidan waves his hand flippantly.  Dismissively.  Prick.

“This is your beach?”

Obito stops, hesitates and then starts walking back towards the water line.  He rests his hands on his hips when he’s ankle-deep in the water and watches Hidan lounging across his chosen rock, arms folded with his chin resting on the top one lazily.  They watch each other for a long moment, maybe to see who breaks first.  And per usual, the first to break isn’t Hidan, master of exasperating others and king of fuck mountain. 

“What?”

“That first day I washed up,” he says, and he adjusts himself so he’s sitting on the rock, the coal-grey fins of his tail falling lazily into the water.  “You told me to get off your beach.  It's yours?"

“Oh,” is all Obito says.  He runs a hand through his hair and Hidan doesn’t take his eyes off him, lazy little grin firmly in place where it belongs.  “It’s my grandpa’s beach, actually.”

Hidan barks out a laugh.  “Your grandpa’s beach!  Fuckin’ hell, so you’re a rich kid, eh?  Trust fund baby?”

His laughing doesn’t subside when Obito flushes to his ears, nor does it when Obito gets even more flustered when Hidan won’t stop laughing.  Whether the laughter is genuine or put on for the sake of getting under Obito’s skin is lost to them both.  

“Hardly!” Obito sputters, and Hidan thinks he might trip if he keeps flailing like that.  Fall into the water, maybe, need saving – he brushes the thought to the side and decides to keep it for when he may need to really, especially bother the kid.  “I’m not about to yell across the ocean my whole damn family history.  You can come here if you want it.”

Fuck yes.

Fuck yes.

Invitation received.

(Not that not getting an invitation would ever stop him, but if Hidan’s planning on sticking around for reasons unknown to him, he'd rather be doing so while welcomed and not risk, like, a harpoon through the gills or something.)

Hidan pushes himself off the rock and into the water, swimming easily towards the shore and pulling himself onto the sand when he reaches it.  Sand sticks to his skin as he crawls up onto the beach but it’s not exactly the strangest or most uncomfortable thing he’s ever felt stuck to him, and the scraping against a still-healing scar isn’t exactly comfortable.  But goddamn if he’ll let a little bit of sand stop him from getting the story on a guy he barely knows.

Obito would love the clownfish, Hidan thinks.  Load of gossips, they are.

“So?” Hidan prompts, patting the sand beside him as he looks up at – his host, he supposes, if it’s his family’s beach.  “I want it, and I’m here.”

Obito rolls his eyes but complies, plops himself down on the sand beside Hidan and immediately buries his splayed fingers in the sand at his sides.  Hidan watches with curiosity, but he leaves him to it; makes sure to make a note, though, about how fuckin’ weird humans are.

“So Madara’s – my grandpa, the guy who owns the property?  He’s not, like, my grandpa by blood.  My grandma married him like a decade back.  But it was always, like, I’d have to earn my keep n’ shit, y’know?”  Obito doesn’t meet Hidan’s gaze as he speaks, watching out over the ocean at a pair of dolphins jumping over the gentle waves by the horizon.  He wonders, idly, if Hidan knows them – and shakes the thought immediately.  What, just because they’re both from the ocean, they have to know each other?  Stupid.

“And your parents?”

The question takes Obito by surprise more than anything.  Hidan isn’t looking at him either, reclined back on the sand with his eyes shut and an arm draped over them to keep the extra sunlight out.  Obito takes a brief glance at him before looking out over the ocean again, and his voice is soft as he answers.

“Died before I could walk.”

“Oh,” Hidan says, peeking out  from under his arm.  “Shit.  That’s rough.”

“Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a long time after this.  Soaking in each other’s company, maybe, or letting the sudden weight of the conversation loom over them as some kind of a reminder that things aren’t always that easy.  

Obito sits contentedly with his hands buried in the sand and the waves licking at his toes, and with a semi-aquatic human laying out next to him, soaking up the sun.  He wonders, idly, if sunbathing is a common interest like he sees in the movies – if after spending so long in the cold ocean, merfolk like getting to lay out in the sun, tail swishing lazily in the water while they doze.

He wonders if that’s why Hidan’s been so drawn to this beach in particular, with the direct sunlight and the overall quietness, the separation from other life.  He wonders if the warm coastal breeze feels nice against the scales of his tail when he lets it out of the water long enough, and he wonders if the sand is coarse against his body compared to the softer sand at the ocean floor.

Vaguely, Obito wonders what Hidan’s undersea life is like, and he wonders if coming up here to bug some land owner's grandson is something of a respite.

—

“Wanna see something cool?” Hidan asks when he sees Obito finally come down the little staircase to the beach a handful of days later, and as usual, he doesn’t wait for an answer.  He’s been waiting weeks for this, dammit, and Obito had said he’d be here over an hour ago.

He crawls his way up the beach on his elbows, and he waits.  Obito watches him with wide-eyed curiosity – which quickly turns to impatience, and then general irritation because-

“Okay?”  Obito prompts, raising his eyebrows.  “So what am I waiting for?”

Hidan nearly breaks a blood vessel.  “Hold on, I ain’t dry yet!”

…

Okay?

So Obito waits, crossing his arms over his chest with his elbows resting against his knees.  They make small conversation, but on Obito’s side it’s pretty half-hearted.  He’s a little preoccupied, thank you very much.

Okay, so mermaids do exist.  Cool, cool – not that he necessarily doubted it, with a werewolf best friend and a family history of dragon taming, but hearing stories and actually seeing one is a whole different ordeal.  Grandpa Mads had told him stories of the dryad he’d known back in the day, and the siren from Uzushio that he married, but he’d thought they pretty much kept to the oceans.  

Maybe they do, and maybe Hidan is just a special flavor of stupid, glutton for punishment, crazy… truly, Obito thinks, the possibilities are endless.

He’s not even really sure exactly what it is that’s keeping him here, letting Hidan freeload on the shores of his grandfather’s beach.  He enjoys the company, he supposes; it’s pretty isolated here, and has been since he was little.  Grandpa’s always been more on the private side, so even in Obito’s youth friends weren’t necessarily welcome to spend a long time visiting, which sucked royally for Obito, being so far out from his university town.

Maybe, he thinks, that’s why he’s less irritated at the intruder than he should be.

Obito wonders, idly while he waits, if Hidan had just – waltzed up to him on a normal day, like a normal guy, if the situation would be the same.  Would he even entertain the idea of keeping him around?  Hidan, who’s brash, annoying, irritating – kind of makes him want to shove his head through a wall, but in a good way.  He doesn’t know how that’s in a good way, but it just is.

And Obito – hey, wait, what the hell?

Obito swears, he swears he blinks and misses it completely.  How, he’s unsure; but he stares on with unmasked awe when a full man stands in front of him, legs and all.  And it would be a marvelous sight, Obito thinks, if he didn’t have sand stuck to his ass or his knees weren’t bright red from kneeling in sun-hot sand.  Still, he eyes Hidan up and down, eyes the musculature and the gently tanned skin as Hidan stands proudly, hands on his hips.

He hopes his voice sounds about as deadpan as he feels on the inside.

“You’re naked.”

“You’re welcome.”

—

“Quick question,” Obito says, once the shock has settled and Hidan’s dick has been put away, covered with a spare pair of Obito’s swim trunks.  They sit perched on the retaining wall at the edge of the beach, legs dangling above the sand as they watch the sun drift gently into the edge of the ocean.  “What the fuck is going on?”

It’s barely posed as a question, which makes Hidan laugh harder.

“Whadda you mean, what the fuck is going on?  What’s it look like?”

Obito stops for a moment, furrows his brows a little as he considers.  And, dammit, he sounds crazy as he goes over everything in his mind.  Guy who washes up on the beach – guy who is very hot, but also supremely irritating.  Guy who has a tail.  But also, guy who has legs?  Obito looks back to Hidan, something between confusion, exacerbation, and maybe a touch of amusement.

“So you’re a mermaid.”

“Merman, thank you.”

“But you can grow legs–”

“I don’t grow them, they’re already there.”  A pause, from both sides, and Hidan sighs.  “My tail’s my two legs basically fused, right?  So I dry off and magic happens and then I have legs.  It’s not that complicated.”

“Hey, uh–”

“Yeah?”

“What the fuck?”

Hidan laughs from a place deep in his belly, and Obito tries – and fails, royally – to ignore the burning in his cheeks and ears as he does.

“I thought we were common knowledge to youse guys?  No?”

And he’s – surprised, it seems.  Genuinely and completely, and there’s a small part of Obito that almost wants to kick himself for sounding so put out.  “Well, I mean – kind of.  Mermaids–”

“Mermen, thank you.”

“Mermen just aren’t usually ones we see too often.  For, yknow,” he nods to Hidan’s lower half, “obvious reasons.”

Hidan hums and leans back with his hands firmly planted in the grass.  “Fair enough,” he says.  “You don’t get a lot of visitors, then?”

“Nah.  Merfolk or otherwise.”

Hidan frowns and glances at the back of Obito’s head, watching him intently – but Obito doesn’t continue, instead looking down at his hands in his lap and kicking his legs idly.  “Why’re you hanging around this beach, anyway?” he asks, and he doesn’t look up but Hidan can see the gentle flush to Obito’s cheeks from his profile, and he hopes it isn’t the start of a sunburn.  “You could be anywhere right now.”

“Dunno,” Hidan answers finally.  He pauses and then sighs, hangs his head a little as he leans forward with his arms resting on his thigh.  “Hurt my fuckin’ tail during a spar with some bastard from my pod, this old bitch who won’t fuckin’ die no matter how hard you hit him, right?  Fucker, like, shanked me with – I don’t even know, man.”

“But you can still swim,” Obito points out, almost immediately.  Hidan rolls his eyes and runs a hand absently over the healing scar on his thigh.

“Yeah, not long distances, though.  Hurts.  Kinda stuck here.”

“Great.”

And despite the sound of Obito’s voice – the deadpan, dry delivery – he’s glad, almost.  Glad, because he enjoys the asshole’s company, loathe as he is to admit it, even to himself.  Glad, because he’s happy to have a – friend, someone to chat with and spend time with while stuck on Grandpa Prison Island.  Glad, because he’s fucking lonely for eight weeks out of the year and Hidan’s kept it entertaining, fun even these past handful of days, and Obito doesn’t have to rely on his grandpa, who doesn’t believe in television or the internet or, like, fun.

Almost, because what the fuck.

Obito can’t help to shake the little feeling of – guilt? – that he feels, being glad Hidan’s stuck around this dinky little beach with him.  Bastard got stabbed, and by something that, from Obito’s understanding, wasn’t even a blade or anything.  And in the saltwater, too, now that he thinks about it – he shivers a little at the thought, at the phantom feeling of stinging, of literal salt in the wound.

But Hidan seems to be taking it in stride, too, so maybe he shouldn’t feel so bad.

"So if it's your grandpa's place, what're you doing here?  You live here?"

"It’s kinda complicated," Obito says, which really, is his catchall excuse for when he doesn’t think the other person actually cares.  In the least self deprecating way possible, why would he?  Hidan’s just here until he heals enough to get outta dodge, right?

“I’ve got time,” Hidan says, sounding genuine, for once.

Oh.

…Well.

Obito interlocks his fingers and stretches his arms high above his head before flopping backwards against the grass, eyes closed and face drinking up the afternoon sunshine.  He can feel Hidan’s eyes on him and becomes suddenly very aware of his own presence – feels heavy, feels present.  Feels a little fluttering in his stomach.

But he’s not nervous.  Not really.

(He is, but not because he’s being watched.  He doesn’t understand why, so he shakes the thought and pretends the feeling isn’t there.)

“I stay here during the summer,” Obito says.  “I’m in university full time but, like, can’t afford my own place.  ‘Cause, y’know, uni student–”

“I don’t, but sure.”

“Color yourself lucky, bastard.”  He elbows Hidan in the side before he really thinks about it, and doesn’t let himself think about it for too long.  He continues instead, watching a pair of seagulls in the distance.  “Anyway, guess the point is, I come here on the summers and during vacations.”

“So it’s not a long or complicated story at all,” Hidan says.  It’s all laid out on the table and, really, it isn’t much.

“Fuck off.”

Despite this, their conversation remains lighthearted and easy – talks about family, of friends, of the weird, fucked up undersea life that Hidan leads.  Apparently, the bastard’s used to walking around on land – does it more than he does swim, these days, he says.  

“Can’t be too tough,” Obito comments in light of the new information.  “Just gotta worry about, what, rain and whenever you make a girl’s pussy wet?”

Hidan grins wide, proud and fucking smug, the bastard.  “Pretty much.”

“So just the rain then.”

“Bitch–!”

Hidan tackles him on instinct, shoves Obito to the sandy grown below them and realizes all too late that, oh, he’s on top of him, an arm on either side of Obito’s head caging him in and a knee on either side of his hips.  He hovers above, mouth parted in some kind of indeterminate curiosity as his eyes scan over Obito’s face, his lips, his stupid fucking hair, his lips–

They watch each other like this for what feels like a long time, but really could have just been a handful of seconds.  Neither know, neither care; Hidan mutters a vague little apology and shoves himself back up, leans back against the retaining wall they sat upon previously, and they both try and resume as if that didn’t just fucking happen.

They chat until the sun goes down, until Obito’s stomach begins to rumble and until Hidan physically cannot stand being dry any longer.

And if there’s flirting there, well.  Neither party is any the wiser.

—

It’s late in the evening a handful of days later when Obito finally escapes family dinner, narrowly avoiding getting roped into a game of cribbage with his grandpa.  

“Got some work to do,” he tells old Grandpa Mads.  “Summer uni stuff.”

And it’s a lie.  It’s a bold-faced lie, and he’s owning it.

He’s sent off with a vague waving of his grandpa’s hand and a forced promise to play something with him later, and Obito really can’t say no to that because, like, it’s his grandpa.  He’s only got so much time left.

(Obito thinks Madara will outlive everybody in the damn family, including the next few generations.  Old bastard.  He’s lying about his age, he’s gotta be – says he’s in his seventies but Obito swears he’s a couple hundred years old, and has sworn this since he was young.)

(He’s not sure if that’s a joke anymore – or if it even started out as one.)

Obito makes his way to the top of the stairs, pushes his door open with a little sigh and flops himself down on the bed.  

He loves his grandpa, he reminds himself.  He really does.  But fuck, hours on end with the bastard can get exhausting.  He’s heard every story and entertained every shenanigan by this point, and if he hasn’t, he’s still waiting to see what ol’ gramps is going to pull out next.

Maybe next time he’s here gramps’ll have Hashirama over.  That’ll be entertaining, at least.  Make up for the lack of fucking cell service around here.

He tries for a little too long to try and get some kind of cell reception, and when he gives up – something he should have done a long time ago, really – Obito thinks he deserves a bath.  And he does, dammit; he’s put up with his stuffy, stupid old man for long enough.  His neck kills.

Obito sits up with a big sigh and tosses his phone back onto his bed, stretches as he stands and gathers up a fresh pair of boxers and an old tanktop, trudges into his bathroom, and is greeted by a fish sitting in his tub, happily and without a care in the world.

…Sorry, what?

Obito stands, dumbfounded, for a long, long moment.

“How the hell did you get in here?” 

Hidan looks up from the magazine in his hands, perched precariously on the edge of the bathtub he’s spilling out of.  The floor is completely wet, very obviously from overflow from the tub and Obito’s favorite candle is lit on the countertop.  Judging by how low the wax is melted, it’s been lit for a while.  Why the fuck didn’t he smell it?

“Balcony,” is all Hidan says before going back to his magazine.  Like it’s obvious.  Like he’s supposed to be here.

Obito might kill him.

—

Hidan emerges a while later, a towel tied loosely around his waist and the same stupid, sly grin on his face.  Obito takes special notice to his legs and wonders just how long he was sitting, naked, taking up precious bathroom space when Obito could have taken a bath himself, one that he desperately needs, and even more desperately deserves for having to put up with this shit.

“Fucker,” Obito greets.  And Hidan just throws him the same grin as he always does, plops down beside him on the bed and nudges Obito with his elbow.  

“Aw, c’mon, I’m not that unpleasant to be around, am I?”

Obito rolls his eyes.  “You’re a prick, y’know that?”

“What’d I do?”  And Hidan sounds – genuinely confused, actually a little concerned, but Obito is very much not in the fucking mood.

“You can’t just break into my house, asswipe!  I live here!”

“What, rich kid doesn’t wanna share?”

Regardless of if you ask him now or if you ask him in a week’s time, Obito won’t be able to tell you exactly how he ends up with his mouth on Hidan’s, or with Hidan’s hand shoved up his shirt, his hand warm against Obito’s chest and his thumb firm against his nipple.  He won’t be able to tell you why he feels so fucking on fire, like he’s been burning and burning and just needs a little relief, needs to be put out.  He won’t be able to tell you how he ends up with Hidan’s hand palming at his crotch – how he ends up with his knees to his chest, asking, utterly begging for some fucking release.  

Bottom line is, he’s thirsty – he’s so fucking thirsty, and Hidan is like a spring fountain, cool and powerful and plentiful and exactly what Obito needs.  

“You’re – gods,” Hidan swears, grabbing a handful of Obito’s ass.  And Obito thinks he may bruise come morning, and he welcomes it – fully embraces the thought, because he wants this, so fucking bad.  Wants it to linger on his skin and his soul for as long as possible.  “So fucking cute.”

Obito sputters.  The flush shoots to his ears and he inhales sharply through his nose, reaches a hand up and grabs a fistful of silver hair, yanks Hidan’s head down and smashes their lips together.  

“Shut up,” he growls against Hidan’s lips, biting at him, feeling the bastard grin just widen and hook his arms under each of Obito’s knees, nearly folding him in half.

“Make me.”

Obito doesn’t think he can.

He grips the bedsheets with a tight fist as Hidan works him, works them both at the same time – both dicks in one hand, the other bracing himself against the bed to keep him above Obito, where he belongs.  He grinds against his ass, makes a little noise in his throat when his dick presses up against Obito’s.

Hidan can’t say he’d intended on fucking this guy, really.  He thought he’d be here for a few days while he healed up, maybe a week or two if he found something fun, someone to annoy.  And, like, he did – but dammit, he found a little more than just something to play with.  He’d expected to find someone on this island, the one with the big fuckoff house and the stupidly green lawn.  He’d expected downtime, lots of naps – a sunburn here and there, maybe.  And he’d gotten all those.  

To find himself cock-to-cock with some guy he met a handful of weeks ago, though?  That bit was a little unexpected, he’ll admit.

And Obito, meanwhile, can’t say he’d expected any of this.  He’d expected shitty cell reception and a lot of old people’s games, maybe a visit from one of his grandpa’s old war buddies.  

He is, really, pleasantly surprised with what he’s ended up with.

They grind together, pressing against one another like they can’t get enough of each other – and maybe they can’t, not really.  It’s as fiery as the sun burns hot on this island, unfettered want, desire, passion keeping their sweat-slicked bodies pressed together, and keeping them moaning each other’s names and swallowing each other’s moans.

Hidan comes like a tidal wave, full and heavy and all at once, over Obito’s stomach and chest and Obito is quick to follow, spilling out onto Hidan’s hand; and he laps it up like he’s starving, the asshole.

“Bitch,” Obito mutters under his breath as they untangle, allowing Obito to disappear to the bathroom to clean himself off from the spoils of the night.

They fall asleep eventually when the pillowtalk conversation comes to a natural lull, thoroughly spent and, overall, happy.

—

The late summer humidity lays like a thick blanket over the beachfront when Obito stirs awake the next morning, sticky and sweaty but contentedly tangled up in Hidan’s limbs.  The fan blows warm but fresh sea air from the open balcony doors, leaving a gentle hum in Obito’s ears as he lays back, stares at the ceiling above his bed for a long time.

Maybe he falls back asleep at some point, maybe it’s the summer heat that makes him feel like he’s lost a handful of hours in there.  He’s not sure.

He feels his bedmate stir a little while later, hair mussed from sleep and bright pink eyes hazy.  Obito turns his head to watch him, bites back the smile from his face as Hidan curls into him more, forehead pressed up against Obito’s shoulder.

“S’fuckin’ hot,” Hidan grumbles, and Obito barks out a laugh.  “Your gramps’s rich, why’s’n’t he spring for air conditioning?”

“He’s cheap.”

“He’s a bitch.”

They lay together for a long time, quiet for once as they enjoy each other’s company.  They cuddle where they can, but the skin-on-skin contact is a fucking nightmare; so much so that when Obito finally suggests bringing things out to the balcony, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hidan jump up so fast in the handful of weeks that he’s known him.

Hidan escapes to the balcony and Obito makes a quick pit stop downstairs.  He returns shortly, a tall iced coffee in one hand and a large glass of ice water in the other.  He narrowly misses his grandpa in the stairwell, and thank fuck that he does, because Obito’s just not ready to explain to a 70-year-old man that he’s fucking a mythical creature.

(It’s not that he’s worried Grandpa’s going to be upset by it, let that be known.  He’s more worried that he’d be a little too accepting.  Like when your kid tells you they’re one thing and it becomes their parent’s personality to have a kid who’s that thing.  Y’know?)

He expects Hidan to be naked when he gets back up to the balcony and is, admittedly, a little torn when he’s not.  Rather, he’s almost naked – clad only in Obito’s most ridiculous pairs of boxers and the necklace he wears around his neck at all times.

“Here,” Obito says, resisting the urge to throw the water directly in Hidan’s face.  He hands Hidan the glass and Hidan takes it gratefully, sitting down in one of the chairs angled out towards the ocean.  Obito sits himself down in the one adjacent, sips at his iced coffee and side-eyes Hidan, a little disappointed when he does, in fact, remain with two human legs.  “So why doesn’t that change you?” 

Hidan takes a long sip of his water and lets out a big, happy sigh as he sets it down on the little table between them.  “Magic’s fuckin’ weird, dude, I dunno.”

Obito snorts, and again the pair falls silent.  And it’s not – awkward, necessarily, but Obito can feel the tension in the air and he knows that Hidan can feel it too, with the way he runs his thumb over the knuckles of his other, hands idly grasping each other.  He clears his throat, once, twice; a counting of the passage of time, maybe?  Or just a tickle in his throat.

Neither are sure how long it’s been exactly when Obito speaks up after setting his emptied coffee cup on the table next to Hidan’s abandoned glass, filled half way.

“So,” he says, looking down at his hands.  “I’m going back to uni at the end of the month.”

Silence.

The thumping of Obito’s heart doesn’t cease even as he looks up and receives the confirmation that Hidan is still here; it’s louder, even, he thinks, the blood pounding in his ears alongside.  Hidan makes a noise that sounds like oh, but he doesn’t make move to say anything further.  Obito’s jaw clenches and he swallows, ignores the small lump forming his throat for some fucking reason.  Some fucking reason he’d maybe rather not consider.

“I’ll still, y’know, I’ll be here for holidays, still.  Christmas, at least.”

The words are hardly out of Obito’s mouth when Hidan stands, moves to lean over Obito’s chair.  He braces his hands against the arms of it, caging him in; but Obito doesn’t feel fear, nor does he feel unsafe.  Hidan’s necklace swings between them, nearly hits Obito in the face, but still he does not flinch.  

They watch each other like this for what feels like a long time, bright pink eyes meeting coal black.  Hidan’s breaths wash softly over Obito’s face, rustle the little pieces of hair hanging over his forehead; and Obito, dammit, he wants nothing more than to hold onto the bastard and never let him go.

Even when he’s being a prick.  Maybe especially when he’s being a prick.

“Come back to me,” Hidan whispers, forehead falling to rest against Obito’s.  “Or else,” is what he says, but Obito knows that he means please, and he feels himself melting, wholly and truly – Hidan, for all his bullshit, for all his boistrousness and love of absolute fucking chaos, has a soft side and that soft side is really, truly wrapping itself around Obito like a piece of seaweed at the bottom of the ocean.  Unexpected, but not necessarily unwelcome.  

Maybe a little unwelcome, at first.  But a handful of weeks and enough quiet conversation, passionate arguments turned into heated debates turned into ardent, fiery love making – they’d made it worth it in the end.

Obito leans up, grabs Hidan by the shoulder, buries a hand in silvery hair and kisses him like it’s their last, even though both know it’s far from it.

“I will,” he says, “I promise.”

And then Hidan remembers.

“I can swim,” Hidan says with such strong realization that if it were a physical object he would be knocked on his ass, “so if you’re by the coast, I’ll find you.”

“Oh yeah.  But – wait, you can walk,” Obito replies, nudging at Hidan’s legs with his knee.

“Oh yeah.  But I can’t get wet, so it'd have to be a day when it's dry."

"Oh yeah."