Cold sheets
Jiraiya watches the fireworks explode across the sky and empties his third cup of sake, enjoying the warmth that spreads in his chest as the alcohol hits the bloodstream and dulls his senses a little bit more, making his existence more bearable and pleasant for a couple of hours.
He made sure to be back for the festival just for this very opportunity to relax and forget, to be in the moment in a way he seldom has the luxury to afford these days.
He no longer has anyone to enjoy the festivities with and that puts an initial dampener on the experience but the sake has taken care of it and it’s not as if he has had company for a long time anyway.
Most people, those who don’t remember him as being part of a trio, thinks he is a person who enjoys being on his own, free to come and go as he likes, and sometimes he can fool himself into thinking the same thing, because being on travelling foot is what he does best.
But of course, he never truly forgets that he once had two important people in his life and the memory of one of them in particular can make his heart sting unpleasantly on the rare occasions he allows his mind to wander in that direction.
He stumbles ahead to get himself a fourth glass, watching the people around him from the corners of his eyes, like he is one among them but at the same time not a real participant in their companionship.
Tiredly he wonders if he should try his luck with one of the laughing young women he sees up ahead, it would be expected of him after all and he would enjoy the warmth of another body pressed against him tonight if he can manage to persuade one of them to join him.
But for all his reputation of being a perverted womanizer of unparalleled proportions, he doesn’t know if he has the energy to pull off that old stunt tonight.
Sure, he does appreciate the beauty of women, their soft, voluptuous bodies and their long, flowing locks, the way they laugh and try to push his wandering hands away. It feels nice and comforting and he knows winning them over is a challenge he can actually pull off.
Usually.
But sometimes it gets tiring to put in the effort to pretend that beautiful women are all his mind can think of, like a role he once accepted and now seem unable to shed for whatever reason.
People expect him to be leering Jiraiya, the one constantly lurking through a peeping hole in the bathhouse or making flirty remarks about every pretty girl that passes him by.
And sure, when he was younger, he was curious of course, he did peek at their bodies when he could, he did try to flirt with them all and his mind only had jutsu and sex to occupy his head space during numerous hours of the day.
But that was never the whole truth of the matter.
Everyone believed he was in love with Tsunade while growing up, some might even think he still has feelings for her and perhaps she was the one he initially thought he had a crush on when the three of them where only just kids.
Tsunade is beautiful, strong, capable and grew curves as time went by, garnering looks from many men in the village and beyond.
But once Jiraiya reached a certain age and the subject of his true feelings and desires became his own personal secret, he knew that it wasn’t blonde hair and defiant brown eyes that haunted his dreams at night. Instead it was lengthy black tresses ensnaring his heart, golden eyes and pale skin calling to him to reach out and touch.
At first this realisation had scared him.
Orochimaru had always been his rival, ever since they first met.
Not so much from Orochimaru’s point of view, he hardly cared about Jiraiya in that regard, secure in his own talent and skills, never feeling the necessity to compete with anyone else, least of all a member of his own team.
But for Jiraiya the situation was different. He secretly envied and even resented Orochimaru at the beginning, mainly because Sarutobi so clearly favoured him while Jiraiya himself never could do anything right.
It was always, “Can’t you be a little more like Orochimaru, look at what he’s doing, Orochimaru would never do what you just did” and so and so on, ad nauseum, until Jiraiya couldn’t take it anymore and lashed out, to the utter disappointment of their sensei.
The fact that Tsunade also seemed to favour his rival only made the situation even worse.
Lashing out was the wrong thing to do of course and it only made it worse because Orochimaru looked at him with impassive features, keeping himself completely calm while Jiraiya threw a tantrum like some undisciplined brat.
Eventually Jiraiya managed to get over his jealousy and they became friends, all three of them.
A strange clique of very different individuals that logically should never have gotten along but somehow managed to merge together and create a bond that for a while was unbreakable.
At least he had thought so at the time.
Now they are all scattered to the wind and are not likely to set eyes on each other again anytime soon.
And the saddest thing is that Jiraiya never anticipated for this to happen.
He thought they would be together forever, even when they were apart.
He thought the bond they shared would be stronger, stand the strain of distance and time and different interests, but when the bond eventually broke, it turned out to be easy for the others to let go while Jiraiya didn’t realise until it was too late, that some things can’t remain the same, no matter how much you may wish they could.
And it hurt more than he had anticipated, especially the way he parted ways with Orochimaru.
He shakes his head to rid himself of the memory and downs another glass, the lights in the sky reflecting in the eyes of the people he passes by, but instead of giving him the usual surge of warmth and happiness that alcohol can provide, the balance has tipped over to melancholy by now and once those claws has caught a hold of him there is no use fighting against it.
So he stumbles towards the outskirts of the village, no real direction until he sees the familiar grey house obscured by trees and his heart begins to thump more rapidly at the sight, even if he knows it’s a mistake to continue towards it. It will only bring up bad memories and make him feel more alone and desolate.
The windows are dark, the house abandoned, as it has been for a while now, and it will probably never be inhabited again.
It’s a nice enough house but the owner is a pariah in the eyes of the villagers now, and no one wants to risk tainting their name by being connected to it.
They mention his name sometimes, but never as reverently as they once did. Orochimaru is a wanted man these days and if he were to return, it would be in the form of a prisoner, his hands and feet bound by shackles.
There have been others who have turned out to be outcasts after terrible errors of judgement but they stayed in the village and carried their shame for the rest of their days, facing their accusers until they no longer could.
Someone as proud and ambitious as Orochimaru would never do that, even if Sarutobi for some reason would decide to forgive him one day.
Considering his crimes, it would seem unlikely that he would do such a thing and yet Jiraiya is perfectly aware of the weakness their former sensei has when it comes to his favourite student.
Orochimaru probably had Sarutobi’s heart ensnared just as tightly as he has Jiraiya’s, if perhaps for a different reason.
Sarutobi was valuable to him because he was their leader and made choices that affected them. Why he encouraged Jiraiya’s feelings to develop is anyone’s guess, because he very easily discarded Jiraiya’s affection when it was time to leave.
Rumour has it that Sarutobi allowed Orochimaru to flee because he simply couldn’t bare the thought of taking him down and turning him into a prisoner. He could have, but he didn’t and Orochimaru fled, never to return again.
Even if Jiraiya knew how hopeless it would be, he tried to beg his former friend to turn around, but he knew Orochimaru’s ambitions were stronger than any feelings he might have sometime felt in return.
Some days Jiraiya isn’t even sure Orochimaru actually reciprocated the feelings Jiraiya felt for him, however passionately they tumbled around in the bed inside the house that stands quietly in front of him now.
Maybe it was only out of curiosity that Orochimaru agreed to let Jiraiya sleep with him, maybe it was manipulation all along. Who knows?
The person to answer that question is no longer around to do it.
The nostalgic part of Jiraiya’s brain tries to overrule the logical part by insisting that it wasn’t Jiraiya who made the first move, so Orochimaru must have felt something for him once.
At least a little bit.
But perhaps Orochimaru simply figured out how Jiraiya felt about him and took advantage of this weakness, knowing full well that he would not be turned down if he made a move.
Jiraiya likes to think he wasn’t manipulated, but he can no longer be sure that he wasn’t.
He walks up the small steps leading to the porch and then turns left to take a peek inside one the windows.
He can’t see much, it’s too dark, but it looks more or less like he remembers it.
Orochimaru never had many possessions, being an orphan at a young age he didn’t own much and he seemed to prefer the spartan cleanliness of a space void of any clutter lying about.
But those who saw his lab claimed that the same order couldn’t be applied to that place, so maybe Orochimaru simply didn’t like to share this side of his personality with the people who thought they knew him.
Absurdly, Jiraiya can’t help but feel a bit jealous that he never was allowed to catch a glimpse of the real Orochimaru, the mad scientist, the person he is when he is doing something he feels truly passionate about.
However absurd it sounds, however unethical his experimentations were, there must have been a glimmer in his eyes that Jiraiya wishes he could have been privy to.
If he had managed to understand what made his former team mate tick, he might have been able to prevent him from going overboard. He could have encouraged him to go down another path.
But Jiraiya wasn’t there, he was off in Ame atoning for the guilt he felt after the war, and Orochimaru was free to succumb to his twisted urges unsupervised.
He quite clearly was never going to allow Jiraiya to bear witness to anything he was doing, even if Jiraiya thought he knew him better than anyone at the time.
That’s a miscalculation that ended up costing him dearly.
Sensing the alcohol in his system beginning to take its toll on his limbs, he stumbles over to the front door that surprisingly isn’t locked.
Orochimaru likely never returned here after he fled and perhaps the hokage and his men searched the place afterwards for clues, but still, it feels wrong to feel the door open so easily, as if inviting him to step inside despite the fact that no one is no longer waiting for him.
Not that Orochimaru had a habit of waiting for Jiraiya to show up, nine times out of ten Jiraiya was the one to seek him out, not the other way around.
But still, those evenings when the soft lights were on in the bedroom and Orochimaru was splayed out across the soft cool sheets, partly dressed in one of the silky yukatas or kimonos he favoured that made undressing him feel like unwrapping a sweet, sends a ripple of angst and longing through Jiraiya’s system now as he remembers how lucky he had felt being invited to Orochimaru’s private chambers and taste what few others had been offered.
At the time Jiraiya felt confident that Orochimaru didn’t give himself to anyone else, but now, with more retrospect, he isn’t so sure anymore.
Orochimaru at first glance didn’t seem like a seducer though, far from it.
Mostly he just came off as cold and strange, especially when they were children and people tended to be unnerved by him.
But he had an eerie beauty that became apparent if you looked close enough and once you had seen it you could never forget and Jiraiya is pretty sure he wasn’t the only one to notice the way Orochimaru moved with such elegance and agility, like an otherworldly creature, alluring and mysterious at the same time.
Jiraiya has never seen anyone like him during his travels across regions and countries, there is a uniqueness that isn’t easily rivalled and since Orochimaru is the only surviving member of his clan, maybe that isn’t so strange.
Or maybe Jiraiya just had the misfortune to fall for the most complicated person in the world, with the most treacherous of hearts and the ability to lie through his teeth while offering a cold smile full of broken promises.
Jiraiya steps inside the abandoned house despite the fact that his common sense is screaming at him to turn his back on this cursed place and never look back.
It can never be what it once was between them anyway.
Orochimaru made sure that the door of opportunity slammed shut for him to ever return to this village and with that decision he also shut the door in Jiraiya’s face, cutting the final threads of a bond that had already began to disentangle ages ago.
And yet Jiraiya can’t resist the temptation to see the room where so many of his happiest moments were spent.
He remembers wrapping his strong arms around a writhing snake sannin, treading fond fingers through ink-black hair and kissing endless planes of pale soft skin while hooded golden eyes followed his movements with a combination of mirth and smugness that only Orochimaru could pull off, while still looking appealing in Jiraiya’s smitten eyes.
As he now walks through the empty rooms to reach the bedroom, Jiraiya feels like he’s walking through treacle, his feet constantly threatening to stick him to the spot just to save him the pain of seeing the deserted bed at the back of the house that was the place where he spent his last fond time with Orochimaru before things turned difficult between them.
The bed looks cold, as if never being slept in, and is much larger than he remembers, but that’s probably because Jiraiya is a large man who took up a lot of the space when he spent the night.
Orochimaru who always liked comfort would opt for a large bed of course, Jiraiya wonders where he is sleeping now when no longer having a home that he can call his own.
But his former team mate was always a survivor, no doubt he has found his way into a new pair of comforting arms, if he needs it.
Maybe he doesn’t, he’s fully capable of coping on his own, has done so for a large portion of his life.
That’s the crux of the matter really.
He never needed Jiraiya the way Jiraiya needed him, feeling broken after losing Orochimaru in a way he isn’t sure he will ever be able to recover properly from.
Sure, he isn’t some lovelorn sap who can’t function because his treacherous lover and once best friend turned out to be someone he didn’t really know, a person who betrayed the village they grew up in and made them what they are.
Jiraiya isn’t weak like that.
To others he probably seems the same way he’s always been and he puts a lot of effort into appearing a certain way, his philandering habits being among them, looking carefree and untroubled.
The only one who seems to see through the façade is his former sensei, but Jiraiya pretends he doesn’t notice his penetrating stare and turns his attention in a different direction.
What does Hiruzen Sarutobi know about love anyway? ¨
Jiraiya could never tell him about Orochimaru, he wouldn’t understand, no one would.
Better to keep pretending and hope that the pain will lessen eventually.
He strokes the cold sheets with one hand, lightly, only fingertips touching the soft fabric, suddenly feeling far too maudlin and far too drunk for this.
What is he even doing here?
He should return to the festivities, get another drink and find himself a bed companion for the night, someone he can discard come morning when it’s time to leave again and hit the road.
Even if he only came back yesterday it already feels like he has overstayed his welcome and that he has other places to be, investigations to be made, clues to unearth.
He swore to track Orochimaru’s movements, officially for the sake of Konoha of course, but mostly because he needs to know for himself.
One day they might meet again and Jiraiya can wait if that is what it takes.
One day they will meet and when they do, Jiraiya isn’t sure if he will be able to see Orochimaru leave again, if it will tear yet another part of him asunder.
But until then, he will keep enduring this farce that is his life now, searching, hunting, tracking whispers and rumours about his former team member, drinking, fighting and sleeping his way through region after region.
Until one day perhaps....
As he a couple of hours later wraps his arms around a warm, pliable body in a different kind of bed, feet already tangled in the sheets, a sheen of sweat covering his skin, he doesn’t meet warm brown eyes searching to connect with his.
Instead he stares up at the ceiling, his heart still pounding from the excursion and his mind already drifting off somewhere else.
To the memory of narrowed golden eyes, accentuated by purple clan marks and a dry laugh echoing in his ears, long dark locks entangling his fingers as he tries to reach for familiar sharp features that he hopes to one day rule.
As he drifts into sleep, Orochimaru leans in closer, soft, thin lips whispering in his ears:
“Rule over me? What a ridiculous notion, Jiraiya. But by all means, give it a try, I dare you. Come find me and we will se who will be ruling over the other when the day we meet will be upon us.”
And with those words he fades away as Jiraiya falls into a restless, drunken sleep, Orochimaru’s words taunting him until the early morning hours when he untangles himself from the girl heavily asleep next to him and readies himself for yet another day on the road.