Tobirama:

The shower water scolded me, made me tremble in pain.

I knew it wasn't good for my skin, but I didn't care.

It washed it away.

It washed it all away.

The emptiness within me.

The emptiness within me that was my depression.

You should try some of what we sell... That disgusting smirk.

Go fuck yourself.

A gun to my head. Tell me to go fuck myself ONE more time...

I had remained quiet.

Hehh... Good boy. Also you... He had pointed the gun at my chest, right at my empty heart. And me. Pointed at himself. We both know I don't need to fuck myself. He had licked my cheek. I scrubbed at it furiously in the shower. I fuck YOU instead. 

Izuna:

I found myself in a club I'd never been to before called Sticky Fingers on the top of a skyscraper. Hehh... I liked that name.

And would turn out, I liked that club. Not only because of the environment, but because of...

It was loud, messy, with pulsing violet strobelights. The club seemed to be on the luxurious side and target an older group, as most people there seemed to be my age and above, but I'd come to learn that we could be messier than teenagers. The club was three stories on the top of the skyscraper, with ginormous dance floors on all three floors, and ginormous bars with skilled bartenders. Along the walls were booths with red velvet seats, which were occupied by people taking shots or making out. The dance floors were completely stuffed, the swaying bodies pulsatile in the blinking lights.

I let the headache my tiredness caused engulf me, consume me, the music pulsing through my body as I made my way to the third floor and the bar there. My guess that this club was more expensive manifested as I came up, as the top floor was absolutely stunning. There were glass windows on all sides, giving a splendid view over the city lights. Glasses hung on racks in the ceiling above the bar and were vibrating in the loud music. The dance floor was insane, and almost all the red velvet booths full. I went to the bar.

"What can I get you, sweetheart?" the muscular, brunette man, probably in his thirties, asked.

I leaned my elbows on the black desk. "Two glasses. Of something that will get me drunk as fuck as quickly as possible."

He smirked at me. "Gotcha."

As I waited, I looked out over the people. They looked expensive, well-off. They looked lovely with the city lights in the background. There seemed to be something in particular with rich grown-ups clubbing; I guessed it was because it was the only time in their life they could really let go.

"Here you go!" I turned round. "I made a cinnamon crunch toast shot..." That wasn't a shot; that was an entire glass. I immediately took it in my hand and downed it. The bartender looked impressed. "Wow, okay... And this drink I blended myself. It's just vodka and cranberry juice." He winked. "But mostly vodka." I payed the heaping amount it cost and went to take a seat in the only empty booth I found. I was already staggering after the ginormous shot, that I figured must've been the volume of two.

I slumped down on the soft couch, put my elbows on the table and my fingers to my temple to make the world stop spinning. Hehh... I'm out of practice... I took the vodka drink in my hand and took a sip.

Then I looked up.

And what I saw made me choke on my alcohol. 

There were so many unusual traits about him that I couldn't say what I noticed first.

His size. Good God, his size. He was ginormous. Easily above two metres, and enormously wide. He was leaning back, both of his arms slung across the back of the couch he was sitting on, a glass of red wine in his left hand, one ankle leisurely crossed over his other thigh. He was wearing an immaculate black suit that was open, showing off a crisp, white shirt with the top two buttons unbuttoned. It strained over his wide chest. His strong face had red stripes painted on the cheeks and his chin, and he had some black makeup around his eyes.

And his colours. He lacked them completely, his hair so light blonde it was almost white, his skin milky white, and his eyes... Goddamn it, his eyes. They were colourless, light pink almost, and they were piercing a hole into my own dark brown ones.

I coughed and sputtered my drink all over the place, hiding my face behind my elbow. Holy fuck... I dared a glance at him, and saw he was still looking at me, now with one eyebrow raised and the most curious smile on his face, biting his lower lip. Fuck, he was hot. Fuck fuck fuck fuck FUCK, he was hot.

What do I do now?

I felt the alcohol swim around my frontal lobes, making me feel daring.

I took another sip of my vodka, then left it on my table and stood up.