A Night Out
~*~*~*~
If he didn’t get a drop of caffeine in him soon, he would murder everyone on the floor.
Well, not everyone. Certainly not the sweet old lady recovering from hip replacement surgery and always called him a ‘very handsome boy’ down in room 17.
But everyone else was fair game, especially the co-workers that constantly prattled on and on about their weekend and yadayada.
Twirling his pen around his fingers, Madara tapped the top of his patient's file, trying to find the will to actually read the latest tidbit of information instead of just staring at it until the words blended together in an indecipherable blurr.
“Oh, you,” the charge nurse sighed, pausing beside him and squinting. She was old enough to be his grandmother, and one of the few people he actually tolerated here. “When was the last time you slept, kid?”
“Um, like last week,” he said absentmindedly, flipping through the pages.
She frowned at him, brushing a strand of her grey hair back. “I don’t how you do it, Uchiha. Working overtime, and studying full time? You’re gonna burn out if you aren’t careful.”
“It’s just a couple of years,” he replied, snapping the binder shut and replacing it back on the shelf. “Don’t get your hair in a knot, Kenara.”
She snorted, and glanced down at her watch. “Kid, your shift ended half an hour ago. Go home already.”
“I was gonna stay for a bit-”
“We don’t need you here now, Mads. It’s been a slow night, so go home and sleep before the coffee maker becomes your bride. As your supervisor, I order it.”
“Ah, but the night is young,” a new voice chimed, and Madara rolled his eyes, just as an arm slung over his shoulder and a heavy weight pressed against his back. “I’m off in 30, you wanna go to the bar?”
“Hikaku,” Madara said, untangling himself from his cousin. Curse the misfortune that somehow landed him and his cousin working at the same hospital. “I haven’t gone out in-”
“Way too long,” he said cheerfully. “So, go home, get dressed, and I’ll come get you in an hour. Wear something cute!”
With that, he sauntered off and disappeared into a patient room, rubbing a dap of hand sanitizer over his hands as he did.
“I think Hikaku is the only reason you have a social life,” Kenara laughed. “Go, Madara. You’re young, go party and be a typical 20-something year old.”
“That’s stereotypical and judgemental,” Madara accused, but offered no fight as she turned him around and pushed him down the hall.
“Now, as a health care professional I don’t usually encourage this. Go get wasted, and eat a couple meals while you do. You’re skinny as a sapling.”
With that, she shoved him into the elevator, and winked. “You’re working too hard. You deserve a break. See you next week!” She jammed her thumb in the down button, and waved cheerfully as the doors shut between them.
Closing his eyes, Madara leaned back against the cool steel of the elevator wall as it took him down. Maybe Kenara was right.
Working full time as a nurse and then deciding to go further and returning to school to become a surgeon certainly took its toll. A night out wasn’t such a bad idea….
With a sigh, he opened his eyes again, and stared at his reflection in the elevator doors. Deep shadows decorated his eyes, and his face looked pale and thin. He’d need to put in some work before going out.
Patting down his scrubs, he dug his phone out from his pocket, pulling up his contacts and clicking the call icon next to a certain someone’s name. A certain someone who decided to abandon the Uchiha family’s traditional profession in health care in favour of pursuing his dreams as an esthetician.
“Heeeellloooooo, brother dear!” Izuna sang, picking up after only two rings. “Whatever could you be calling me for at…urgh, 10 pm? You’re usually either working, studying, or sleeping at this time.”
“Hey Zuzu,” Madara said dryly, tugging his hair tie out of his hair and letting it spill down his back. “I need your help with something….”
*~*~*~*~*~
“You know, it’s called ‘Beauty Sleep’ for a reason,” Izuna muttered, carefully covering up his brothers eye bags with a thick smear of concealer.
“Who has time for that?” Madara grumbled back, relaxing under his brothers swift, talented hands. Izuna just made an irritated sound, and kept on working, turning his disaster of a brother into his latest masterpiece.
“You should put more product in your hair,” Izuna commented after a time. “Like, it looks nice. And it’s weirdly soft. But kinda frizzy.”
“Izuna. I literally don’t care.”
“Mhm. Okay, open, lemme see.” Obediently, Madara opened his eyes, and Izuna made a few more adjustments, then swept around Madara to wrestle his hair up. He braided the top, and twisted the rest into a high ponytail. A few strands he left loose to frame his face.
“You know, you could have been a model,” Izuna sighed. “When you try you’re just devastatingly beautiful.”
“Okay, A) that’s weird for my own brother to say, and B) that sounds absolutely horrible and I would never do that.” He examined his reflection, impressed with Izuna’s handiwork. He had always liked the way that eyeliner looked on him.
“Whatever. Get dressed babes, we got a party to get to.” He pulled Madara to his feet, and lead him to his closet. Ungracefully, he started going through everything Madara owned. “Do you have anything that isn’t black? Seriously, Mads. Even like, red or green or blue. I’d even settle for grey at this point.”
“Uh huh.” He nudged Izuna over, grabbing his usual pair of jeans. Izuna promptly smacked his hand.
“Nope, I’m in charge here. Wear this instead.” He shoved a bundle of clothes into his brothers hands. “Now go.”
Madara glanced down, examining his brothers selections, and raised an eyebrow.
If nothing else, it was…eye-catching.
*~*~*~*~*~
“Hot damn, Mads,” Hikaku whistled, leaning against his car and giving his cousin a once over.
“What’s with my own family being creepy?” Madara grumbled, pocketing his hands and letting Izuna drag him down his stairs.
“I did amazing, right?” he bragged. “Tell me I did amazing.”
“You did amazing,” Hikaku agreed, straightening up and opening the passenger side door. “Your chariot, my liege.”
“Call me that again and I’ll make you chart for me for a week,” Madara threatened, but slipped into the flashy silver sports car without argument. Hooting cheerfully, Izuna slid into the back seat, having taken it upon himself to invite himself along.
As Hikaku put the car in gear, Madara glanced down at himself, relieved that they weren’t going to their usual club. Hikaku was taking them to some new place downtown. According to him, it was the best place around. And that meant they likely wouldn’t see any familiar faces and Madara wouldn’t be embarrassed by his ridiculous outfit.
Izuna had selected something that revealed far more than he would have chosen. Tight, ripped skinny jeans and an entirely see-through shirt that clung too tight and dipped too low.
He tuned out Izuna and Hikaku’s chatter, watching the city lights flash by. He didn’t usually venture out from his neighborhood too much, so this part of the city was unfamiliar to him. But Hikaku seemed to know exactly where to go, pulling into some creepy alley and parking there.
“We walk from here!” Hikaku announced. “Good thing you wore your comfy shoes, boys.”
Izuna groaned dramatically, putting up a stink about having to walk, despite it only being two blocks away. In a sketchy part of town. This new club better be worth it.
Shoving his hands in his pockets, he walked with Izuna and Hikaku to wherever this club was. When they finally watched it, Madara had to admit that he was impressed.
It was absolutely beautiful. Fresh, new, gleaming with lights and already deafening them with its horribly loud music.
It was also crammed full of people. It’d be loud, hot, busy. It was absolutely perfect for tonight.
“Now Mads, I know it’s been a while for you,” Hikaku drawled, looping an arm over his shoulders and guiding him to the very, very fast moving line. It didn’t even seem like the bouncers were checking IDs. “So, just remember. Don’t leave your drink unattended, and don’t be afraid to kick some people in the knees!”
“That’s horrible advice,” Madara snickered, sliding past the bouncer and finally stepping through the doors. The smell of sweat and alcohol, and the blinding, flashing lights immediately assaulted his senses.
“Solid advice,” Izuna disagreed. “Come on, let’s drink!” He grabbed Madara’s hand, and hauled him to the bar. He was quick to catch the bartenders attention, and soon enough they all had a drink in hand.
“Cheers to Madara’s depressingly busy life!” his brother sang, raising his glass.
“More like cheers to him actually having ambitions,” Hikaku shot back, lifting his drink and tapping it against Izuna’s.
“Very funny,” Madara bit, but conceded, raising his glass to theirs before raising it to his lips.
A dozen shots later, and the alcohol was certainly doing it’s job. Izuna, ever the lightweight, was already a little past tipsy.
“Madara, Mads, Madddyyy,” he slurred, leaning against his brother. “Come dance with meeee!”
“And me,” Hikaku demanded, staggering to his feet. Rolling his eyes, Madara let them drag him into the dance floor.
The music was as intoxicating as the shots, and he finally let his inhibitions go, whirling around with Izuna and Hikaku and even the occasional stranger here and there.
The night passed in a blur of drinking, dancing, and laughing. At one point, Izuna flipped his hair back from his eyes, sweating and flushed. “I’m going out for some air,” he yelled, over the pounding of the music.
“I’ll come with!” Hikaku panted, even redder and sweatier. “Coming Mads?”
“You go,” he replied, shaking his head. “I’m going to get another drink.”
Izuna kissed him on the cheek, wet and sloppy, and then Hikaku was leading him out the door. Or rather, attempting to. It was rather difficult for him to, seeing as he was just as tipsy as his cousin.
Shaking his head in amusement, Madara weaved through the dancing crowd, ordering himself another drink, and then slinking off to a quieter corner close to the private booths to sip it, watching the crowd.
What a vast variety of people. Those who barely looked old enough to be here, young adults, older adults, well dressed and scantily dressed.
And a few who really didn’t look like they belonged at this kind of place. Madara leaned against the wall, swirling his drink absentmindedly and watching two men in business suits slip through the crowd, heading to one of the private booths. Now that he was paying more attention, he could see more men in suits stationed at random intervals around the club.
They weren’t security, from what Madara could tell. But it was rather creepy how they just…stood there. Watching.
His eyes flicked back to one of the private booths, where he had seen the two men from before go.
A group of people were sitting there, all well dressed, from what he could tell in the dim and flashing lights. They looked rather serious, heads bowed low, probably talking quietly about some nefarious scheme.
Madara snorted to himself, tilting his head. The man at the head of the table had shockingly white hair. You didn’t see that everyday. Probably dyed. He also wore a ferocious scowl, glaring at the other people at the table.
He wondered what he was so mad at…
Just as that moment, the man he was staring at looked up, sharp eyes bearing right into his own.
Automatically, Madara broke eye contact, pretending he never saw him, and resumed his scan of the dancing crowd. He could feel the other mans eyes on him still, and, as casually as he could, he pushed off the wall and strolled back into the swarm of people, vanishing from his sight.
Sipping on his drink again, he dug out his phone, checking the time. 2:05 AM. Probably time to call it a night. He downed the rest of his drink, leaving his glass on a side counter, and made his way through the dance floor to head out to the door.
He was only about halfway through the dancers when a hand grabbed his wrist, whirling him around and yanking him up against a hard body.
“Hello there,” a smooth voice rumbled in his ear, low and purring. Madara automatically pulled back, ready to snap out a cranky response to whoever dared to just grab him out of the blue.
His angry growl stuck in his throat when he saw who it was. The white haired man from before stood in front of him, holding his wrist almost painfully tight. He looped his other arm around Madara’s hip, yanking him closer.
“Let go,” Madara hissed, twisting his wrist. The man let him, only to grab it a second later again.
“Now why would I do that,” he purred, leaning closer. He was taller than Madara by a few inches, broader in the shoulders, and this close, Madara could see his eyes were an unnatural shade of red.
“Maybe because it’s rude to grab people who don’t want to be grabbed,” Madara snapped.
The man smiled, cold and calculating. It sent shivers down Madara’s spine.
“How do you like my club?” he said, tightening his grip and whirling Madara around, rejoining the dancers, mimicking the swaying and the spinning.
“Your club?” he asked doubtfully. The man hummed.
“Yes. I like to do my business here.”
“What business is that?”
“Ah, my business is my business.”
“Fascinating. I’m not sorry to be a bore, but I have to go.”
The man tightened his grip. “Before you go, can I have your name?” He stopped swaying, lifting one hand under Madara’s chin, tilting his face up and holding eye contact. Intensely.
Something about his gaze was compelling. “Madara,” he said finally. He wasn’t so foolish to give out his last name too.
Something changed in the mans expression, and his grip tightened. With a growl, Madara wrest himself free, finally stepping back.
“It’s nice to meet you, Madara.”
“Can’t say I feel the same.” With that, Madara spun on his heel and marched away, pushing through the crowd and all but bolting out the door.
Outside didn’t bring the relief he thought it would. Men in suits were everywhere now that he was paying attention. And he assumed they all had something to do with the white haired man.
And he wanted nothing to do with that. One of them met his gaze, and stepped forward, like he was about to approach. Urgh, he was not in the mood for this right now.
He turned around the corner of the club when he didn’t see Izuna and Hikaku right away, heading down the ally a short way.
With a sigh, he leaned against the cold wall, rubbing his eyes and probably smearing the eyeliner that Izuna had painstakingly painted on.
In his nice quiet corner, he watched the flow of people coming in and out of the club, waiting for Izuna and Hikaku to show up. As much fun as the night had been, he was ready to go home.
“Hey Madara.”
Spitting out a curse, Madara started to whirl around, only for a hand to clamp over his mouth, and another on his shoulder, yanking him back against a solid body.
“Your friends think you’ve hitched a ride home already,” the familiar voice purred. “And frankly, I’m offended you didn’t recognize me.”
Madara bit down on the hand over his mouth, and the man just chuckled, not seeming to care. Growling, Madara stomped on the mans foot, hard, rammed his elbow back into his guts, and aggressively threw his head back, smashing the mans face.
The man grunted at the impact, grip loosening ever so slightly, and Madara hunched down, twisting out of the mans grip and spinning away.
“What the hell man!?” he snarled, glaring furiously. The white haired man with strange red eyes smirked at him, lifting a hand to wipe a trail of blood from his nose.
“Do you really not know who I am?” he asked. “You really don’t remember?”
“You know, in my line of work, I see a lot of people, and none of them are overtly special.”
The mans red eyes gleamed. “I’d disagree with that.” He glanced at something over Madara’s shoulder, and nodded.
Madara stiffened, suddenly aware of a presence behind him, but it was already too late.
He whipped around, only to get a face full of chloroform soaked cloth.
It only took seconds to come into effect, and he clawed futilely at the arm around him, holding him still.
The last thing he saw was the strangers satisfied smirk, hiding something a little deeper behind it, before darkness took him.