If I don't hear from you within fifteen minutes, I'm calling the police.

Sakura shook her head. She would've laughed had her stomach not been caught in nauseating knots. With another glance at the house across the street—plain, unassuming; either totally not a serial killer's house or definitely one—she responded to Shizune's text with some default answer, her foot tapping an irregular beat on the pavement all the while.

She looked at the house again. The neighborhood where it was situated wasn't terrible, considering its distance from the city center, but it wasn't particularly great either. Two-story, narrow, detached between a row of others, faded white with brown wooden trim and a rail on the second-floor porch made of the same. A few of the railing's posts were split, splintered—chewed, maybe? Probably. She pulled the crumpled newspaper piece out her front pocket for reassurance.

Daily Dog Walker Needed, it read, followed by a local phone number. She'd called it, of course; that was why she was here in the first place. The guy had seemed nice enough on the phone. Maybe a little distracted, but as a grad student working two jobs—possibly three now, or none if she actually did get murdered—it was something she could easily understand, if not entirely dismiss.

The promise of income reminded her to suck it up, take a deep breath, and actually walk to the door, past the wooden fence lining either side of the driveway and the mountains of trash bags on the way up. She knocked, then waited. But she didn't have to wait for long.

Immediately the sound of dogs barking, a chorus of them, made her nearly jump out of her skin. The deepest yelp was the closest to the door, followed by a bunch of yaps a few octaves higher. There was some shuffling—some tough paws sliding against hardwood, and then the door was unlocked and opened. In the doorway stood a tall man about as plain as the house's exterior.

"Hello," he greeted, voice deep and pleasant, a stark contrast to his disconcertingly dark eyes. "You must be Sakura."

"Hi?" she replied dumbly, nervously, because now the serial killer thing seemed like a real possibility. He was a tall man, his hair short and brown like most men wore it these days, but those were about as defining as his features got. Meanwhile, here she was, a young adult female with pink hair and decent enough backstory to generate sympathy when she inevitably ended up on the nightly news.

She could only hope they'd pick a good picture of her and not her dreadful high school yearbook photo, the one where her forehead looked like it could safely land an airplane. Her hands twitched against her thighs.

"Well—" The man suddenly lurched to the side, and Sakura saw a huge black dog headbutt his hip. Another dog, much smaller and scruffier, was trying to claw his way around the edge of the door, which was being held mostly closed to prevent them from escaping. "Whoa now, guys, calm down." He laughed a little, quite self-consciously. "It's just the walker."

At the sound of the word walk, she assumed, the dogs went haywire, paws skidding around almost maniacally. The man stepped out of the doorway abruptly, which made Sakura take a giant step back, and then he shut the door behind him with a sigh.

"Sorry about that. I'm not very good at handling them."

Uh oh. Not a good sign. She shifted uncomfortably, her boots scraping against the concrete. "Um, how many are there?"

He had to think about that for a second, counting on his fingers as he did. "Eight."

She blinked and squeaked out an incredulous laugh, more out of shock than humor. "Eight?"

"Uh, yes…?"

"I'm sorry," she said at his perplexed expression. Nervously, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. "I think I got some of the details confused. When we talked on the phone you made it sound like there were only a few of them."

"Ah." Apparently everything made sense to him now, if she could judge by the way he was slowly nodding, a wry smile on his mouth. "I'm not their owner; just his friend. I'm Yamato, by the way."

She shook his hand. It was rough, covered in hard calluses that were only earned from constant work. "Sakura," she replied, then got a little embarrassed because he already knew that. "If you're not the owner, then…?"

"He's at work right now," Yamato supplied, reaching into one of the pockets of his cargo shorts. "Normally he doesn't go so early, but there was a board meeting or something, so he asked me to get you set up."

Sakura blinked again, wondering what kind of businessman living in the city had eight dogs. She took the key Yamato offered her, a silver one with a cute bone-shaped charm attached to the ring.

Was it…was this a key to the owner's house? When she hadn't even met him?

"He wanted me to give you this," he said by way of explanation. "He'd like you to be here sometime between nine and noon every day, except for Monday and Tuesday. Not for the whole three hours, though, because of your schedule—he said you were a student?"

"Uh, yes." She cleared her throat, curling hair behind her ear again. "I'm in medical school. My schedule kind of varies by the day."

Yamato, much to her delight, seemed mildly impressed by this. It put her at ease, if only slightly.

"Of course." The dogs were clawing against the back of the door now, one or two barking for attention. "I'll show you where to refill their food and water, where the leashes are, and who gets which of each. Otherwise, walking them for an hour or so is all there is to it."

"Great," she breathed. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. It would be nice, she thought, for her to have one obligation where she didn't have to work her ass off.

He paused awkwardly, shoulders stiff, before remembering himself. "Would you like to meet the dogs?"

"Sure," she agreed, smoothing her palms against her jeans as he unlocked the door. Against her fading better judgment, she followed Yamato inside.

Before she could even think, she was knocked to the ground.

.

.

.

Her phone buzzed repeatedly in her pocket, so many times now that her thigh was numb. She fumbled to pull it out of her jeans, switching the leashes to one hand and thanking whatever good sense she'd had that her kickboxing classes in undergrad were paying off.

"Yes, Shizune! I'm alive!" Barely! Sakura almost added into the phone, feeling her hair stick to her temples from sweat. It was only early spring, and they'd barely gone half a mile, but her bangs were already curling against her forehead.

"Jesus Christ, I almost got a peptic ulcer. It's been half an hour!"

Sakura plopped gratefully onto a bench with a resounding sigh. The dogs slowed, curious as to why she'd stopped walking; some didn't notice, which pulled at her arm when they tried to keep going. "Sorry. Really. The guy kind of left me with the dogs once he showed me where their food was, and then I basically had to sprint and strongman my way to the park."

"I understand. I do." A pause. Shizune had probably set her phone down, since it distinctly sounded like it was on speaker. "Next time, though, please just try and give me even a little bit of a heads-up."

"I will. We can get beepers or something." She kept her tone light, joking, hoping it would permeate through the receiver. Shizune hadn't been her first choice of emergency contact in this situation, but Sakura had needed someone to know where she was, and there was no way she could trust her roommate with anything that required a sense of urgency—he was probably still asleep, anyway, and he probably wouldn't care enough to do anything if something went awry. Her only other option would have been to call her lab partner, but Hinata was too nice, and they hardly knew each other, and it would have turned into a weird kind of burden that neither of them would be able to shake.

"Sure, yeah." Shizune exhaled deeply. "How are the dogs?"

Sakura decided to leave out the detail of how many there were. "They're cute. A little wild, but they're probably just excited to get out of the house."

Contrary to her description, the dogs had gathered around her feet, some glancing up at her expectantly with shiny, adorable black eyes, some with their heads following the movements of passersby. The biggest one—Bull, if she remembered correctly, the most aptly named of them all—was asleep, a leg resting on top of her boot as he relaxed in the morning sunlight.

"I bet. It's a beautiful day to be at the park."

"Mhmm." She decided to follow Bull's example, reclining against the bench to veg for a few minutes.

It was then that she realized that literally everyone who passed by was staring at her. This was not an exaggeration. Most were thrilled to see a bunch of puppies wagging their tails at them, but many likely thought she was some homeless dog collector. She certainly dressed like one—scuffed men's working boots, jeans with coffee stains and rips at the knee, a shirt so stretched at the collar it almost fell off one shoulder. Not to mention her hair—cropped short at her chin, messy bangs to cover her forehead, bubblegum pink and as fluffy and spiky as the dogs she sat with. Even her sunglasses looked like shit, crooked on one side of her face.

It was probably a good thing she hadn't met her new boss today.

"Listen—I'll let you go now. I've gotta get back, but I'm glad everything worked out."

"I know you are," Sakura replied with a teasing smirk stretching one corner of her mouth. "Thanks for checking up on me."

"That's what I'm here for." She could almost hear Shizune's smile through the phone. "Later, Sakura-chan."

"Bye." Her phone went back into her pocket, and then she could finally hold the leashes in both hands. She pushed them up over her wrists so she could finally pet the dogs, really get acquainted with them.

One had hopped up onto the bench with her—it was the beagle, laying on his back. Guruko, the name tag read, his collar a dark hunter green. He seemed sweet and friendly, his paws in the air as his tongue wagged and his ears flopped back against the seat. Sakura scratched his stomach, which he seemed to enjoy.

Another one, the gray one with a tuft of black fur on his head—he was probably mixed with some kind of husky, she guessed—licked at his crotch on the ground beside her. Cute. His silver tag glinted in the sun; Shiba was his name. She tried saying it once to see if he would stop, though the attempt was expectedly unsuccessful.

Akino, she remembered, was the mild-mannered shiba inu. He was a beautiful dog, nice and calm, and he wore black goggles. Maybe he was blind or simply hard of seeing in the sunlight, or perhaps they were just a preference of the owner.

Uhei was apparently some kind of greyhound, though his fur was an almost russet color. He was also pretty chill, though he stood at attention, dutifully letting some schoolgirls pat his head when they paused to admire him.

Yamato had warned her about Urushi, the asshole of the group. He was a bit of a yapper with sharp teeth and eyes, but the most trouble he seemed to be stirring up was bruising her wrist where he yanked against his leash, trying to chase after a businessman reading the newspaper.

On top of Bull was a Rottweiler puppy, an unusually tan one who was unusually…not like a stereotypical Rottweiler. Maybe she was just lucky he was a puppy, or perhaps all the movies had painted them in a bad light. Sakura reached over to find his tag—Bisuke; appropriate—but he shied away a bit. She noted that he was one who didn't like to be touched, at least not by her.

And then there was Pakkun, the unspoken leader of the group, which cracked her up considering he was easily the smallest. He was a little brown pug with sleepy eyes, accepting his fate of being doted on by other young students on their way to school.

She scratched at Guruko's belly for another minute before figuring they probably needed to get an actual walk in. With a deep breath, she stood up, bracing herself and rousing them with a "Come on, boys!"

It didn't take much to get them going, but once they started off, she could hardly keep up.

.

.

.

"You look like shit," came the bored observation from the man on her sofa.

"Thanks, asshole." With a roll of her eyes, she trudged to the fridge, going for the big bottle of water at the front. She nearly downed half of it in three sips. It made her a little bit nauseated in the end, but whatever. "Anyway, leave. I've had too long of a day to deal with you."

"But the championships are on," he stated, not really arguing with her, which meant she couldn't really get mad at him. Not so luckily for Shikamaru, she was always one to rise to the challenge.

"Go buy your own TV!" She stomped a few feet over to the couch and bent over to leer at him. God, her back hurt. "If your parents have enough money to own this duplex, then I'm sure they can work out some sort of solution for you."

"That also means I can get you evicted." Shikamaru sipped his beer, eyes still on the television. Sakura paid no mind to his empty comment—he wouldn't dare think about it, nor would he put in the effort to do so.

"Not if I flirt with your dad," she sang, pulling at his tangled mess of a ponytail hard enough to induce a pointed frown. "Maybe I'll bake him some cookies, too."

"You can't even cook," he griped, swatting her hand away with a limp arm. "What is it with you and older men, anyway?"

"They're a hell of a lot better to deal with than guys like you." She didn't bring up how barren the romantic and sexual aspects of her life had been since she'd decided to apply for med school, because surely Shikamaru knew—he was in her one-room apartment more often than he was in his own next door, and the walls were thin enough for him to know if she were getting any action. Which she wasn't. Ever. Not even with guys her own age. In the meantime, Sakura resorted to jokes that said otherwise, typically defaulting to ones about her hot landlord.

"Hn." His only other response was to point the remote at the television and turn up the volume. A chess tournament. Shikamaru was taking over her room to watch a fucking chess tournament.

"Oh my God. Get out." She swiped the controller from his hand. The screen went black the instant she pressed the power button. "It's past midnight, and I've been working since eight in the morning, and I still need to shower and study and eat, and I'm tired."

By the end of her sentence, the words had become more of a whine than a rant, and Shikamaru closed his eyes and stuck a finger in his ear like he was blocking it all out. "You sure are a buzzkill."

"Imagine having a job, or going to school. Or, you know, a general responsibility to society." She jabbed a finger toward the door, making sure he got the hint. "You'd be one too."

After a long pause complete with the dead stare he usually gave her, he stood up with a sigh, moving at the approximate speed of molasses. He shuffled toward the door in his house slippers and pulled a pack of cigarettes from the waistband of his sweatpants.

"If you happen to turn that back on, let me know who wins." He stuck one in his mouth, probably hoping to tick her off one last time before leaving the room altogether.

At the click of the door closing, Sakura's entire body sagged in relief. Finally she was alone. The first order of business was to peel off her socks, then her jeans, then her shirt and ratty old bra. Then she walked across the small space in just her underwear, heating up the kettle for dinner. Tea and ramen again, it seemed. The irony of her choices in contrast to her career path had stopped being funny a while ago.

After dinner she took a quick shower, not quite long or hot enough to knead some of the soreness from the day out of her system. Thursdays were always her busiest day of the week, and the dog walking job didn't help anything. She had work from ten to three at the clinic, then her pathology lab from three-thirty to five-thirty, and then her job at the coffee shop from six to midnight. There was hardly enough time for her to get a proper meal in, let alone eat sometimes.

Hair still wet, pajamas half-on, she sank onto her mattress after turning off the lamp on the table beside it. It wasn't a glamorous life, nor was it an easy one, but she was sure one of these days it would pay off. Right then, though, she didn't even have the energy to care whether it did.

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.

.

The following week or so passed in the same manner, exactly as it had for over a year now. The only thing different was the addition of her newest job.

The first few days of walking the dogs were…well, they were a little challenging, if Sakura were to admit that to herself. But she was definitely not one to let a bit of frustration get in the way of doing her job properly, even if it meant going through the rest of her day with sweat-kinked hair and clothes covered in dog fur.

Each morning would start off with her letting herself into the house—still weird—to find the dogs already waiting by the door, tongues wagging out of their excited smiles. It was a nice pick-me-up when she had a day of work and class and asshole coworkers and aggravating neighbor-roommates looming over her.

She would quickly make sure they had enough food and water, which they almost always did. Their owner seemed pretty attentive for someone with eight dogs. Not to mention that his house—or at least the glimpses of it she could get in the short periods she was there—was relatively tidy, but that was probably due to how sparsely furnished it was.

Then they would walk about half a mile to the small park, where she would get a can of coffee from the vending machine before letting the dogs lead her down the tree-lined concrete path. She'd finally gotten comfortable enough to listen to music on her headphones instead of the people whispering and giggling with interest as she passed. It all made for a very pleasant hour, and the dogs quickly adapted to the routine, even if Urushi and Shiba liked to stray and nip at the ankles of unsuspecting park goers.

This particular Friday, marking her seventh day on the job, was particularly wonderful. Sakura had finished her last exam of the semester and was now on a month-long spring break. An entire month without school. She relished the thought so much that she went to do her dog-walking with a refreshing burst of energy, one that required no caffeine beforehand. It was good thing, too; the machine was out of her favorite coffee anyway.

In the midst of her good mood, she walked the dogs a bit further than she usually did, toward the other end of the park which was lined with a row of shops and buildings, as well an archway that marked the entrance to a high school up the hill. She figured she'd turn around once they got to the archway, but no. Oh no.

Her empty stomach, void of a breakfast she'd been too rushed to eat and coffee she couldn't buy, was immediately and almost painfully aware of some delicious smell in the air—something yummy, and warm, and most likely very unhealthy. Of course the dogs were aware of it, too; they practically dragged her in its general direction. She had to yank at their leashes with all her might just to stop them from crossing the street before the signal turned green.

"Hey!" she hissed, arms straining. Even Bull was struggling against her, for crying out loud. "Pakkun!" she tried instead, hoping that if he calmed down, the rest of them would. It usually worked in her favor, but not today.

Sakura looked toward where they were trying to break free and run to, but all she saw was a van—well, it was more like a truck, painted in gray and black that was kind of hard to make out. The only thing that stood out in the mural was a big sun—or moon, maybe; she couldn't tell—as mustard yellow as the knit sweater she was wearing. There were also big red katakana characters painted over the top half, though she didn't have time to read them before the light turned green and the people beside her started walking across the street, which meant the dogs followed, and she barely caught herself from faceplanting in the middle of the crosswalk.

When they made it across the street, she went right for it, mostly because the dogs gave her little choice. It was a food truck with a line of maybe two people in front of the window—it wasn't quite lunch hour for school kids and office workers, so it wasn't busy yet. Before she could even think about it, Sakura went to stand in line, which made the dogs finally stop trying to get away. They pawed pleadingly at her jean shorts instead, scratching pink lines down her legs that she barely felt.

From this close she could see the details of the truck's mural, conveniently painted on both sides. It depicted a city full of tall gray buildings, some of which were half-destroyed by a Godzilla-sized dachshund standing on its hind legs and wreaking havoc with short little arms. The yellow sun she'd noticed first was behind it, making the old-fashioned planes and skyscrapers looks like silhouettes. One building was on fire. The big red characters she'd seen before went over her head for a minute, but then she sounded them out in her mind.

Holy shit, she thought with a shocked and unamused slackening of her eyelids. Giant Wieners. This fucking thing is called Giant Wieners.

"Next," a bored male voice called, and she tore her eyes away to see someone looking at her from the window counter—an old guy with a face mask on, the kind people usually only wore when they were sick. Comforting.

"Me?" she asked, eyes scanning the vicinity for any signs of a health rating. The guy simply nodded and waved his hand downward, beckoning her toward the counter.

"What can I get for you?"

Sakura was momentarily distracted by the fact that despite his shock of gray-white hair, he didn't actually look old at all. He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and the skin there was a bit on the pale side, but it seemed relatively smooth—no age spots; none of that translucence that came with age. What she could see of his face was a pair of dark eyes with mild crow's feet at the outer corners, but otherwise no wrinkles. Huh.

"Oh, uh." She blinked a few times, trying to remember what he'd said. "I don't know."

He casually pointed his pen at the menu beside the window, complete with pictures of every item.

Hot dogs. Of course.

Sakura was sure that the name of the truck came not only from a shitty sense of humor, but also from the sheer multitude of toppings on each hot dog. Some had things like yakisoba or okonomiyaki toppings on them; some were more Western, like the one with chili and cheese and onions on top. The best looking one was deep-fried like a corn dog but had pieces of french fries in the batter. She could almost feel her arteries preemptively protesting, but it was cheap and god damn it, she was hungry.

Bull came up beside her when she readjusted the leash handles onto her wrists, and she scratched behind his ears with one hand while pulling some loose cash out of her bag with the other. "I'll take one of the fried potato corn dog thingies."

"Excellent choice," he drawled as she handed him money. The dogs bounced up toward the counter in intervals; Urushi yapped a few times. Sakura sighed, putting on her best sweet-but-distressed smile.

"Is there any way I could get a few extra sausages too? Just plain ones, by themselves?"

"Yeah, sure." He opened the cash register, the clanking so loud she wondered if it was broken.

"How much more do I owe you?" she asked, confused when he handed back the exact amount of change she'd been expecting.

"Don't worry about it." He flapped a nonchalant hand a few times, then leaned over the counter on his elbows. "It's on the house."

This was pleasant, if a bit surprising, news to her ears. But it seemed the man had a soft spot for her companions, who started jumping and barking in excited unison when he looked down at them with a wave. His eyes creased into happy little half-moons.

"Cute dogs."

"Thanks," Sakura replied as she bent down to gingerly pat Guruko and Bisuke into submission, hoping that the other pups would follow suit—though that methodology didn't seem to be working today. "They're not mine, actually. I just walk them."

"Ah, I see." His tone suggested that he wasn't all that interested, just making conversation. "Must be a tough job."

"Nah, not really. I like them." She ran a gentle hand over the smooth curve of Uhei's back, the only still one among them. Good old Uhei, always the most diligent of the bunch. "Though I can't help but wonder why someone would willingly have this many pets. That's a job in itself."

"Hmm." He watched as Pakkun wiggled his tail around. What she could see of the man's face seemed kind of amused, even more so when he raised a peculiarly silver eyebrow at her. "Maybe he's a musher. You know, someone who does dog sledding."

Sakura laughed. "I was thinking more along the lines of reverse cat lady."

"Also likely." He nodded sagely, sighing. "The world can be a cruel and unjust place. Perhaps their poor owner is just lonely."

"Or a weirdo." Akino licked at her wrist, which earned him a scratch behind the ears under the strap of his goggles. "Some kind of dog hoarder."

"Now, that's just not fair." He stuck a hand over the counter, which Bull stepped forward to try and paw at. "These dogs looks perfectly healthy to me."

"Someone's a little defensive," she teased at his deceptively nonchalant tone, arching a brow at him. "I take it you have ones of your own?"

"Who, me?" The man looked up at her. "I'm allergic to dogs."

She could feel her face scrunch. "Oh. That sucks."

"Tell me about it." All of a sudden he stood back up and adjusted his apron, some ratty old black thing. "Wait there for a minute. I'll get your food."

"Okay." She moved everyone to the side, then bent down to give some belly rubs to the dogs. Pakkun still hadn't exactly warmed up to her attention, but maybe he was that way with anyone he didn't know well. The rest of them were a different story—they kept nudging her with their noses or coming to lay in front of her, paws in the air.

A few kids came up asking if they could say hey to the dogs, which she allowed with the friendlier ones (read: not Shiba, who was peeing on one of the food truck's tires). By the time they went on their way, the guy was back at the window.

"Order up." He slid two paper baskets of food toward her, which she took in either hand, leashes on her forearms.

"Thank you. And thanks for the extra stuff, too." Sakura tried not to trip when the dogs all circled around her feet, eyes on the food she was carrying, which positively glistened with fat. She was instantly glad most of it was going to them.

"No problem." He stared at her in a bored sort of way before he smiled at her again, those half-moons making their return. "See you around."

Since her hands were full, Sakura nodded once in polite acknowledgement, and then made her way down the street to find a bench where they could eat.

.

.

.

"Look who's late," her boss cawed when she finally walked into the acupuncture clinic over half an hour after she was supposed to arrive. The subway was too full, so she'd taken the bus, and that never ended well. "I'm glad you finally decided to show up. It's been a madhouse around here."

Sakura threw a dead look at the empty waiting room, as well as an unoccupied Hidan sitting in her chair behind the front desk, and decided he was being sarcastic. "Yeah. I'm sure you barely made it out with your life."

"Hey, what's with the attitude?" One of his hands smoothed over his slicked-back hair while the other flicked at the monitor of the desktop computer. "I don't even know how to turn this fucking thing on. I got a bunch of calls from people for appointments and I had to write 'em on my arm instead of punching them into the system."

"How resourceful of you." She took the arm he offered, turning it to look at the inside of his forearm. It took her a minute to spot the things he'd written down among all his other tattoos, and even then they were hardly legible. "Who is 'dusty old fucker'?"

"You know that dude who comes in here all the time? That asshole war veteran with all the barbwire tats on his arms?"

"Um…are you talking about Kakuzu? Your number one customer?" How she'd made it through so many months at this job she'd never know.

"Whatever." He frowned and his arm, which she was still holding, moved to swipe a thumb near her mouth. Sakura instantly recoiled. "Geez, calm down, princess," he grumbled, staring at the pad of his thumb. "Blood?"

Of course that would be his first assumption. Her eyes rolled accordingly. "Ketchup."

Hidan was immediately offended. "You got snacks and didn't bring me any?!"

"It was my lunch." A hand went to her hip. "I wasn't aware I was supposed to be your errand girl now."

"Depends on what you're getting." He licked the ketchup off his thumb. "Fast food?"

"Yeah." She thought about leaving it at that, but then remembered exactly what she'd eaten. "Actually, you would probably get a kick out of where I went. There's this food truck called Giant Wieners—"

"Aw, fuck, I love that place!" he yelled, even clapping once for effect. "Best goddamn chili dogs on the planet."

"You know it?" It shouldn't have surprised her, but it kind of did. If that location was where the truck normally parked then it was pretty far away from the clinic.

"Hell yeah I do. The guy who owns it used to come in here all the time, so now he gives me shit for free."

"Really?" Hidan seemed proud, probably thinking that she was impressed instead of curious. "Is he as old as he looks?"

"Are you kidding me?" He slapped a hand on the desk, staring up at her with a cocked eyebrow. "He can't be older than, like, forty at the most. Dude's in insanely good shape. Even better than I am."

She ignored the lascivious twist of his mouth. "Huh. Interesting."

"I know. You wouldn't think that with all that gray hair he's got, but…yeah." His arms crossed over his chest, which was clad in his usual just-tight-enough-to-show-off purple t-shirt. "Actually, he used to come in for some traditional sessions—"

"I'm surprised you can remember that but not someone you see four times a week," she interjected.

"Hey! I'm telling a story here!"

"Okay, okay. Go on."

Sour, he stuck his tongue out at her. "Anyway, like I was saying, he used to come in here for routine TCM. You know, low key shit. So one day, out of the blue, he calls me up right before closing. And I'm like, 'hey man, what's up?' He tells me it's kind of an emergency, and I'm all like, what the fuck? Here's a guy who just gets tired a lot, maybe some back pain here and there, but nothing serious, y'know?"

Apparently he wanted a response, so he paused until Sakura got the message. "Oh. Yeah, uh-huh."

"Yeah." Hidan reclined in her chair, crossing one ankle over the opposite leg, and she realized how badly she really, really wanted to sit down. "So get this. He comes in looking totally fine. Maybe kinda sweaty, but no limping or anything. He's carrying this thing in his arms. It's some animal with a leg that got all bent up. I'm like 'hold the fuck up, dude, I don't have a license for that veterinarian shit, I don't wanna get sued.'"

Good thinking on his part, for once. Sakura snorted, moving to sit where his feet had previously been resting on the table.

"And he's like 'oh, please, you gotta save this little guy. I'll do anything!'" Hidan's voice took on a theatrical note which almost made her laugh, though she wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "So I made him sign one of those nondisclosure things, and he paid me in cash, and then I went to town on that thing."

"Oh no."

His hands came up to gesticulate in front of him, ignoring her. "I'm talkin' some serious medical shit here. It was this baby Rottweiler, and apparently a delivery scooter clipped it so I had to patch his tiny-ass leg up. But I worked my magic, and an hour later the thing is back to normal, and the guy is all happy, tellin' me to come by his food truck and get whatever I want, no cost. And then he and his dogs all walk out into the sunset, and I'm a motherfuckin' hero."

There was a beat of silence where he threw his hands up, smug, before Sakura finally caught up to what he'd said.

"Hold on a second." She leaned closer to him, brow furrowed, eyes narrowed. "Did you just say his dogs?"

"Aw, come on! Seriously?" he wailed. "You're not gonna say anything about what a badass I am? All that good karma I scored?"

"I'll—Whatever. I'll get to that in a minute. Just answer the question."

Hidan sighed as if the weight of the world was on his impeccably toned shoulders. "Yeah, that's what I said. The dude has dogs. Like, eight of them."

Sakura instantly recalled her encounter at the food truck. The uncontrollable excitement among the dogs. The banter about their owner. The free sausages. The cryptic little see you around thrown in at the end. They all clicked into one big, greasy, embarrassing picture.

"Oh my God," she hissed. "That asshole!"

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a/n: ...

...yeah. I'm not sure what I was thinking with this; I just know that I'm having a lot of fun. a few notes:

1. yes, it is 2016, and yes, I am still deeply, deeply involved in the world of kakasaku. at least in my head I am. I miss the glory days.

2. technically the french fry corn dog thing is Korean street food, not Japanese (they're called kogo, and they're insanely delicious), but Kakashi is the copy ninja so I don't think he'd be opposed to stealing a good idea every now and then.

3. the "god"s and "jesus christ"s aren't here for particularly religious reasons; I just think they sound about two thousand times more natural than putting "oh, kami!" for every interjection. lmao

4. there's going to be a relatively odd cast of characters here with many guest appearances, so keep your eyes peeled.

5. and if you're wondering about any small, weird details that feel unanswered, rest assured that they will likely be answered in later chapters. pinky promise.

please r&r xoxo