I have no better excuse for the lateness of this chapter than "life kicks my ass," for various reasons. Hey, at least I updated now instead of two months from now.

Hidan's eyes had a pressure about them as he lay in vain, waiting for sleep; though they felt weird open, they felt even weirder closed, and as a result slumber would not come. It was the third time it had happened this week: he would wake up in a cold sweat accompanied by intense breathing in the middle of the night, only to find himself exhausted and unable to drift back into his subconscious. Ever since the incident with Kakuzu…

No, he chastised himself, pulling the covers completely over his head. The fact that he was having trouble sleeping had nothing to do with the Jashin-cursed heathen. It could have something to do with how he was eating, or with the amount of homework he had been getting, but not Kakuzu. Rolling over in frustration yet again, Hidan shoved his face into his pillow and exhaled forcibly. Maybe a lack of air would knock him out for the rest of the night.

The school days that followed the restless nights weren't much better. The zealot felt himself phasing out in class, often missing the most important part of the lecture in the process, and being at a complete loss when called upon to answer questions. He knew this was a direct effect of not getting enough sleep, but it appeared that the matter couldn't be helped at the moment.

In addition, the school days were much quieter and lonelier without Kakuzu hanging around and coercing interpersonal contact. As much as he hated to admit it, Hidan missed the Asian and the company he provided; without even the most trivial conversation at some point of the day, the environment took a malevolent undertone—the school itself was bigger, the staircases taller, the teachers stricter. If it wasn't for the fact that he was used to unknown places due to his foster child status, the young cult member would have gone insane in two days at most.

Kakuzu himself was all but present in Hidan's life, since the green-eyed boy had made a point to avoid the other using every technique in the book, no matter how lengthy and time-consuming. He couldn't understand why the other wouldn't stop to hear his apology out; how did Kakuzu expect the matter to be settled if he never gave it a chance to settle? Fuck, the zealot knew that gay guys were touchy and frail, but he didn't know that they left issues open-ended and seething, too. Talk about having to handle someone with kid gloves.

Sighing exhaustedly and throwing himself into his homeroom seat four days into the tiresome week, Hidan stared idly at a spindly teacher he had never seen before tape a few pieces of paper to the blackboard against the side wall. "GROUP ASSIGNMENTS," the bold serif-font lettering announced, as an uncalled-for reminder metaphorically smack him in the face. They were probably for that field trip the entire 7th-grade class was due to go on the following day, the one that had demanded forms be turned in months in advance. He had completely forgotten about it.

The cult member strained his vision farther, only to confirm his fears; he and Kakuzu were in the same group and would be required to stick together. Hidan groaned silently, massaging his face while trying to figure out what the fuck he was going to do. He needed to talk to Kakuzu, yes, but the group would consist of five other people, and there was no way in hell that Hidan was going to mention even half of what happened day before where his peers could eavesdrop.

He racked his brain, making an excessive attempt to remember what had been printed on the informational flyer he received some time ago. It had something about a dance at the end of the day, where all the separate clusters of students would merge and cram into some sort of gymnasium. It would be relatively easy to isolate Kakuzu there, since the loud music and self-absorption of today's youth would keep them from wanting to overhear their conversation. Also, he and Kakuzu could go into the hallways or bathrooms and speak there, providing they were vacant, and talk without having to yell over bass beats. Meeting outside was another option, and possibly the most viable.

With an absolutely flawless plan in tow, he laid his head onto the desk in front of him and breathed deeply to calm his anxiety. It would all work out, he told himself, it would.

XXXXXXXXXX

Kakuzu gaped blankly into the distance as he walked to school that day; he was late again, but he didn't care. One more tardy and a half-hour detention at the end of the day wouldn't matter in the grand scheme of things, and, come to think of it, no individual mattered either. If one person were to die, the world wouldn't stop revolving around the sun, the ozone wouldn't suddenly disappear, and the ice caps wouldn't simultaneously melt.

He had been having thoughts like these for a while, ever since the incident with Hidan, and he supposed it was his way of coping. So he was rejected by an immature little preteen, so what? For whatever prideful reason, Kakuzu was determined to keep his head up and show that overly-confident little bastard that he was over him, that his world had not stopped turning just because he encountered a minor setback.

When Kakuzu arrived at the school, the faculty stationed near the front door gave him another detention pass and told him to hurry to second period. He rolled his eyes as he continued down the hallway to his locker; yeah, he would most definitely make haste to attend a class he didn't like. That made perfect sense.

The rest of his day went by rather smoothly. Since his daydreams and contemplations no longer consisted of how to acquire the attention of one person, he found it easier to understand and remember what was taught in class. There was a hint of childishness in his actions, though, because he made a point to give Hidan the cold shoulder. That kid had brought it upon himself, and Kakuzu would not tolerate the rudeness or crassness that the other boy had shown him. This was the best way to show Hidan exactly what he meant, he deduced, in view of the fact that the cult member didn't listen and Kakuzu did not possess the patience to explain himself to someone who refused to pay attention.

As he walked into the detention room he had been assigned to after the final bell had rung, he noticed a few pieces of Xerox paper taped to the wall, all of them with "GROUP ASSIGNMENTS" across the top in a bold, large font. Kakuzu strolled over and stared at them for a few moments, reluctant to read. He knew they were for the field trip taking place the next day, and he was fairly sure that he and Hidan would be in the same group because of their similar surnames.

His worries were confirmed with a single glance at the "T" section of the last paper he looked at, and he sighed as he went over to the desk he would be forced to sit in for the next thirty minutes. Kakuzu's anger flared a bit deep within his chest; God damn those teachers and their aptness to categorized things by alphabetical order. Now the zealot would have many chances to pester him and feebly attempt to apologize, which was not welcome in the least. Kakuzu didn't want to deal with him anymore, and the incident was both a reason and an excuse for his newfound scorn.

Once his punishment was fulfilled, he took an alternative route home; his father wasn't around to scold him if he came back late, and there was no harm in hanging out in the park for a few minutes, either.

Walking down the gravel path that wound through the crabgrass-laden field, Kakuzu caught a break in the almost monochrome green that the park consisted of in the corner of his eye; when he approached it, he saw it was a small patch of sunflowers. He bent down to investigate them further, cupping one of them in his hand and analyzing the textures and color variants that gave the flower its three-dimensional look. An image flashed in his head for a split second, and he winced slightly when he recognized who it was. Somehow, a picture of Hidan smiling had popped up before his eyes, reminding him of how sincerely the young Jashinist had tried to comfort him when he had confined himself in protest of his parent's bickering.

Letting go of the sunflower, Kakuzu stood up and headed back to his house. One instance of kindness could not and would not make up for what Hidan had done, or the pain, confusion, and humiliation he had caused.

He proceeded to call the hospital upon returning home, but the secretary only repeated what she told him every time he called—that Takeshi was making a steady recovery and that he would be sent home when he was deemed well enough. Frustrated with the scripted response, he demanded, "Can I at least talk to him?" Knowing his father as well as he did, Takeshi would definitely fill him in on every gory detail.

The receptionist was caught off guard, apparently, because it took her a few second to counter. "Sir," she began, unsure of her own voice, "that's not allowed."

Kakuzu slammed the phone back on its wall mount. Not allowed? Bullshit. Those fucking quacks were hiding something. Of course, he wasn't at liberty to do anything about it, for fear of attracting unwanted authoritarian attention and landing both he and his father in jail.

Exhaling heavily, he threw himself onto the living room couch and turned the TV on. Channelsurfing aimlessly, remote in hand, he gave a bored hum from deep in his throat. Without his dad home to provoke conflict and a love interest to obsess over, his life was extremely dull. There was the field trip to look forward to, he mused, but unless he could keep Hidan at bay for six hours, it would be a hell on earth. Perhaps the other boy would have sense enough to keep away from Kakuzu, but that wasn't likely, given his history.

XXXXXXXXXX

Hidan lay with his pillow over his head, trying to catch up on the sleep he lost at night. He wasn't having any luck, however; he was too restless. But, he'd been itching to take a nap all day, so why couldn't he fall asleep now? Karma's a bitch, he ruminated.

He blew out slowly, making a small whistling sound as a familiar face appeared in the back of his mind for at least the fifth time that day: a vulnerable, visibly hurt Kakuzu, covering his eyes with his bangs as he made his way out of Hidan's room, defeated. The image always made Hidan a little depressed, though he had no idea why. That faggot got what was coming to him, and the young zealot shouldn't feel remorseful at all.

He may have exaggerated a bit; maybe he did feel guilty about antagonizing the poor Asian, and Hidan normally found it saddening when he revisited memories that made him feel guilty. So, it was only typical of him to be slightly culpable over Kakuzu's reaction, but it did not signify any special feelings. Or did it? Hidan had no idea anymore.

He repositioned his head on top of his pillow and folded his hands neatly beside it. Something very bad was happening to him, something almost tragic—he started to have doubts about his plans to express regret to Kakuzu, and the more he tried to reason them away the more inevitable they became. With the young zealot's reactions to various things the deviate had done, Hidan had a very slim chance of being taken seriously. Also, even though they would be secluded from everyone else, that didn't mean that people wouldn't be casually walking by; what if the pair was seen, or worse, heard, by someone? The rumor mill would start churning, no doubt, and the both of them would find themselves in a lot of trouble, especially from the homophobic population.

After twenty-odd minutes, Hidan was still fully awake, and with a tired groan he hauled himself off of his mattress and down the stairs to get into the freezer and eat as much ice cream as he could before DeAnn came home. If he couldn't adhere to his basic physical needs, he could at least comfort himself with a sugar-encrusted frozen treat.

His foster mother arrived home after he finished his second bowl of Neapolitan, but she paid no attention to him as she bustled around the kitchen, putting her various bags where they belonged. She wondered aloud, "Where's Terrance?"

"Do I honestly care?" Hidan asked under his breath while setting the spoon he used in the bowl, standing up and stretching. Except for the discussion he and DeAnn had almost a week before, all she cared to think or talk about was her boyfriend; was he content? Did he need anything? Was he comfortable? It sickened Hidan to know that a pig like Terrance could take over DeAnn's thoughts and actions like that.

She let her shoulder-length hair fall into her face as she answered her own question. "Oh, yeah," DeAnn said to herself, "he said he had that family thing to go to today." Unaware of Hidan's presence in the kitchen, DeAnn hurried past him and into the living room. "I have nothing better to do, so daytime television will have to suffice," she babbled on.

The cult member croaked loud enough for the sound to be considered a roar and became immediately pissed off with his foster mother and her recent ditziness. "Hello, DeAnn," he yelled into the other room, literally tossing his ice cream bowl in the sink, "I'm doing good, how about you?"

She turned her head so it could look down the short hallway that connected the kitchen to the living room. "Oh, hey, Hidan." DeAnn spoke with a lilt of daydreaminess. "How's it going?"

The boy sneered hatefully as he stomped back up the stairs to imprison himself in his bedroom. "Maybe if you paid attention a little more often," he whispered furiously, "you'd know."

Gritting his teeth and slamming the door behind him, Hidan fell face-first onto his bed. Jashin damn that negligent foster mother and her piglike boyfriend (or her boyfriendlike pig; he hadn't decided yet.) Who the hell did she think she was, blowing off her responsibilities just to fantasize about Terrance? Aggravated, Hidan buried himself under his bed's covers and lay with his back to the ceiling. Folding his arms across his brow, he fell asleep with a single curse in his mind: Damn it all to hell and back.

Hidan thrashed and writhed on his bedroom floor that night, ailed by a severe cramp that enveloped his torso in a debilitating grip. Tears made streams down his cheeks as he mewled softly—this was too much for one person to take. First there was the lack of sleep, then the psychological and physiological side effects of sleep loss (that were nearly as bad as the sleep loss itself), and now this: waking up at fucking three in the morning with pains that crippled him so much that he could hardly keep on his bed. Jashin was obviously trying to tell him something.

"My God, my God," he wailed, barely able to form the words, "Jashin-sama, please. I understand. I understand completely. Please stop this."

It must have been obvious that he was lying, because the cult god did not let any kind of solace pierce through this sting, the bad kind of ache, so different from the rapture of the sacraments. "Please, God," he pleaded quietly, "if you won't stop the punishment, then show me what I need to do to reconcile." Instantly after that, pictures of Kakuzu materialized before his eyes: of the boy crying, of him furious, and one of him with a black face, resembling the expression he wore at school the day before.

Flinging himself onto his back, Hidan groped hopelessly at the floorboards; he knew what he had to do. His only option was to apologize successfully—for his own justifications, Jashin-sama wanted them on good terms with one another—if he ever wanted the torture to end. His previous plan was still in effect, it seemed, despite his doubts; he was a follower of the true God, and it was his responsibility to make sure that His wish was carried out.

XXXXXXXXX

Kakuzu actually bothered to arrive on time to school the next day. He didn't know why, but he probably just wanted to go on the field trip—even with constant contact with Hidan muddying up the day, every school-age child loved field trips. It was an underlying psychological common denominator.

He boarded one of the buses parked outside his school's main entrance as he was told and took a seat in the back of the vehicle. He watched as the others behind him sat down in their own choices of seating, and saw nothing of the young cult member until almost everyone had situated themselves; Hidan, appearing as if he had gone through a gauntlet, looked around the bus at all the filled seats, and when he could find no other vacant spots eased himself next to Kakuzu.

The green-eyed boy gave him a passing glance and noticed a few key things about Hidan's body language: the curvature of his back, the amount of space he gave between them, and his downward gaze all suggested that he acknowledged the metaphorical barrier separating them. Kakuzu smiled pleasantly as he turned to stare out of one of the bus's many windows. He was making a point with the fickle little bastard, and perhaps now Hidan would disregard him completely.

Within thirty minutes, the buses had reached their destination, and the students they contained filed out excitably, with the exclusion of Hidan and Kakuzu, who loped out of the large forms of transportation without any sort of visible happiness. Outside the vehicle, their peers buzzed among themselves, dividing themselves into the groups they had been assigned to beforehand. The pair of boys simply followed the crowd as the teachers began to direct the children toward the large park-like campground due north. Not a word had been exchanged the entire bus ride, and at least one of them intended on keeping it that way.

The field trip that everyone had been fussing over turned out to be extremely lame. The activities that the adults raved about were, in reality, several rounds of Frisbee, a few games of jacks and a scavenger hunt, and the student body was more than restless to get to the part with potential, the dance. They were eventually herded into a large brick building, where the soirée was to be held, but as the rest of his year blindly crammed into the event hall Kakuzu made a beeline to avoid the entrance and hide behind a large square thing outside that he assumed to be the heater.

Shooting quick looks every which-way to be sure he hadn't been followed and finding no one, the deviate took a deep breath and slid into a sitting position against the heater. He made it through the day without losing his temper and killing Hidan, and it seemed like the zealot understood the sentiment Kakuzu was portraying. Leaning his head back, he relaxed. The Wicked Witch was out of the picture.

Some time passed before her heard a meek, strained voice whisper "Hi," interrupting the routine frum of the heater. Kakuzu looked up, only to find the most unwelcome person possible standing beside him. Doing his best to keep a scowl from appearing on his face the Asian averted his gaze, intent on ignoring the nuisance. "I, uh, haven't seen you around for a while," Hidan carried on.

Kakuzu raised one of his eyebrows slightly and kept his focus straight ahead of him. "Is that so?" he responded, pulling out grass blades from the ground beside him and throwing it back onto the displaced dirt. "I hadn't noticed."

"You know, most people aren't turned—turned on by gay guys playing hard-to-get," the other boy replied, the flow of his speech interrupted by what sounded like a suppressed hiccup. "In that respect, I'm like most people."

Rolling his green eyes, he retorted, "You don't say. I always thought you were a little inhuman freak of nature; it seems I was mistaken."

Hidan put a hand on his chest and feinted heartbreak. "Ah, jeez, that hurts," he teased, kneeling next to his new enemy. "One would think someone like you would be a little more open-minded. Or at least more accepting."

The statement was met with silence, but the cult member continued anyway. "I came to apologize," he voiced, sounding pained by the action. "I…well, I'm sorry—"

"Like hell you are," Kakuzu snapped, standing up and glaring down at Hidan. "You've been nothing but a self-centered jerk for the entire time I've known you, and you've never made any effort whatsoever to correct yourself." He turned around and deliberated a fast-but-not-eager pace. "Apologies are not end-all relationship fixers, Hidan."

The Jashinist rose to his feet as well, extending his arm and grabbing the deviate's hand by two fingers. "Wait," he pleaded, sounding a bit like a sheep. "Please…" Kakuzu did as he was told, and he heard Hidan say in a low, restrained tone, "Maybe apologies are all I know how to do. Maybe…maybe I just…"

Kakuzu yanked his hand away and twisted around to hit the bastard on the breastplate. After the blow had been delivered its recipient had no choice but to step back, and his head snapped upward as he came close to doubling over. He squeaked, holding his stomach, "What was that for?"

"To keep you away," he replied sharply, starting to walk away again. "Stop bothering me. I'm done; I don't want to hear any more of your half-hearted excuses and I don't want to put up with you."

Kakuzu heard Hidan fall to his knees and squeal as his nerves presented him with a sort of torture, and he couldn't help the smirk that stretched across his face. Something about having a dominant position in the situation satisfied him, and he had the urge to go back and finish beating up the cult member, though he ignored it. Causing unnecessary trouble was not on his agenda that day.

He didn't see Hidan again until the end of the day, after most of the hallways emptied. The white-haired boy limped down the rows of doors, noticeably sore and clutching his left side, heading toward his locker placed a few inches beside Kakuzu's stance. Once Hidan was within close range of his target, however, his legs buckled and he fell square into Kakuzu's arms. A shock wracked Hidan's body, and he immediately pushed on the other boy's chest to distance himself, but his upper-body strength failed and he only slumped into the other's grip more. "Oh, shit," he murmured weakly, "oh, shit."

Kakuzu set Hidan back in a standing position with a shift of his weight, and he watched as the Jashinist shook frightfully. "Dear Jashin," he mumbled, holding his head as tears rolled down his cheeks. He obviously understood the rage Kakuzu expressed toward him. "Oh, good God…"

The other boy took hold of Hidan's shoulder when he listed to the left. "Are you okay?" he asked, now guilty of what he had done. Getting a message across was one thing, but destroying the poor kid's physical health was quite another. He sincerely hoped he hadn't damaged the little guy too much, for Hidan's sake.

The child shook a bit more, swallowed, and looked up at Kakuzu with saline-coated amethysts that portrayed the weary horror and agony he was dealing with. "No," he said delicately, gasping as he inhaled, "I don't think I am."

The young deviate watched as his peer teetered from side to side, trying to balance himself while attempting to persuade his lament to cease. Kakuzu eyed the poor boy with sympathy—a reaction that was completely involuntary—and felt a tug at his heart. He had done this; it was his fault that Hidan couldn't stand on his own feet. (More accurately, his detestation was at fault.) A combination of responsibility and commiseration crushed his previous thoughts of vengeance and odium; amends needed to be made, and soon.

Hidan lowered his eyes and sniffed, wiping off whatever rivulets had been made; meanwhile, Kakuzu put his hand under the other boy's chin and brought it back up to his own eye level. "Well, then," he offered, "I guess you'll need me to escort you home."

XXXXXXXXXX

Hidan limped down the sidewalk, keeping Kakuzu's arm in a tight clasp for balance. His cheeks resisted as he directed the deviate, turn-by-turn, to his house, despite the fact that Kakuzu had been there multiple times before. For some reason, he thought it would relieve the awkwardness of silence somewhat. "Left at the next corner."

He cringed again as another abdominal pain shot across his ribs; they had been going on all day, the contractions, and with every convulsion he could feel his energy depleting. It was miraculous that the Asian had volunteered to help—without it, the zealot probably would have collapsed and died in the school.

The heathen himself wasn't any more open than he was all week: his expression was still a hard stare, though it had softened slightly, and he kept his focus directly in front of him. Well, of course he wouldn't be any friendlier; he had already made it clear that Hidan had overstepped the line with his constant mood swings and inconsistent affability. He was only helping out of pity.

As they approached another intersection, the cult member gave an order: "Turn right, and go down the street five houses or so. Then we'll be at my place." He pulled himself closer to his escort's bicep; even if he didn't actually like Hidan anymore, having Kakuzu ambling alongside him gave him a sense of support.

The pair reached the front door minutes after they made the turn, and Hidan let go of Kakuzu's arm and stepped back, searching through his pocket for a house key. Another spasm foiled his plans, sending him straight into the other boy's hold and crying silently. He was going to be killed, for sure; if Kakuzu's dad could come up with such a devastating scheme as he had before, imagine what a child, with its unbound imagination, could do! Falling into his arms repeatedly was definitely not a way to stay out of harm's way.

Once against the green-eyed child eased the other into a stance, but this time he held Hidan up by his waist. Sighing as he laid his own forehead against the fragile acolyte's, Kakuzu closed his eyes and breathed deeply. "Perhaps," he practically hummed, "I could forgive you one more time."

Hidan smiled, the grin becoming bigger with every passing second, and dug his nose into the crook of the deviate's neck, made larger because of his slouched pose. The pressure in his torso lifted as he articulated in an undertone, "I'd like that. I really would."

Why hallo there, fluffy ending. We meet again.