Tobirama

There were advantages to having a filthy rich big brother.

"Please, Tobirama? Just try it. At least once. You'll like it."

There were definitely disadvantages as well.

"For fuck's sake, shut up. I'm at work. Also, the answer is no. I'm not a party-goer."

Hashirama sighed.

"I don't think you understand what you're missing. We're not talking about a sweet sixteen. We're talking a skytop bar, champagne, girls-"

"You know I don't do girls."

"Boys, then."

"No", I said firmly.

Hashirama sighed.

"Fine, then. At least let me take you to a ballet."

"Fine", I said, not really pausing to think what I was agreeing on seeing one of my junior colleagues just came into my office, police hat in hand, looking grave.

"Super! I'll pick you up Friday at eight", Hashirama said so chirpily, I immediately realised I had said yes to something I didn't want to do.

I hung up, not saying goodbye. Maybe, making your filthy rich brother happy was as good of a reason as any to go to a ballet.

"Chief?"

I leaned forwards, besides my fingers together on top of my desk, showing the officer I was listening.

"Spill it", I said; I didn't like it when my subordinates wasted time being polite.

"There's been another one", the young, rather green officer said timidly. God, he was cute. Blonde and freckled and thin as a stick. God knew how he had passed the physical exams required to join the police force. "Another missing person."

I sighed, ran my hand through my short, white hair. I knew my colouring, or lack thereof, scared some people off, but I didn't care. Actually, I rather enjoyed it. Or would have, if the situation hadn't been so dire; so serious. The fourth person to go missing within a week.

"What kind of person?"

"Clara Nielsen. A thirty-year-old athlete. Swimmer. Not internationally famous, but a few nationals behind her name. Family in Denmark."

"Have they been contacted?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Good boy", I said, and the officer blushed madly just the way I intended to make him do.

I reached down and took a file from one of the drawers beneath my mahogany desk. It contained all other missing people. Henry, 50, graphic designer. Laura, 22, art student. Clover, 35, English teacher.

"Any connection between this Clara girl and the others?" I asked.

"None that we can find."

As I expected.

"Could it..."

The boy hesitated.

"What?" I urged him.

"Could it be coincidence?"

I leaned back, crossed my arms over my chest in a way that I knew made my muscular arms look even more dangerous than when I was relaxed, which was already plenty. I looked up at him from underneath my long fringe.

"It can always be coincidence, officer", I said. I noticed his eyes were farting this way and that; he was intimidated by me. Well, good. I hadn't become chief of the police force for nothing. "But we're not allowed to think that way. There's always a connection unless we prove otherwise. Understood?"

"Y-yes, Chief!"

I stood up, started unbuttoning my shirt. The man just gaped. I smirked.

"Good. It's late." I took off the shirt and noticed the officer stared. I took a long time pulling a tight, black T-shirt over my head to give him plenty of time. "Go home to your girlfriend."

"I don't have a girlfriend, Sir", he murmured, looking down.

"Boyfriend, then."

And as I walked past him, my gym bag slung over one shoulder, I made sure to nudge him just a little with my shoulder.

His blushing face was with me for my entire two hour lifting session, spurring me to lift heavier than I usually did. 

Izuna

My favourite part about being flexible had never been the impressive aspect of it; how people stared in awe when you stretched. Instead, it was the comfort it provided.

It was like hugging yourself, I thought as I leaned my cheek on my knees in a forward-fold, hugging my legs to my chest and smiling. The softness of my body reflected the softness of my soul; I loved feeling the smooth rolls of my waist as I folded myself this way and that.

"Hello, gorgeous girl."

A tall, muscular man in a nutcracker suit came in and winked, his face powdered white. I immediately bristled.

"I'm a boy."

"I know you are", he said, winking again.

I ignored him, my smile disappearing as I placed my legs in a middle split position and folded forwards.

"Ready for our first Nutcracker show?" he chit-chatted.

Of course I'm ready you stupid idiot, we've been practicing for half a year, I thought as I hated chit-chat, but of course I didn't say it out loud.

"Mmm", I said instead.

He turned to me.

"When are you going to warm up to me, Izuna?" he asked, fake concern on his face.

Whenever you stop calling me a girl. Liking other men does not necessarily make you feminine. Even if you're a professional ballet dancer.

I didn't answer. Instead, I breathed out, folding deeper down into my pancake stretch.

"Five minutes until stage!" we heard from the corridor then and I sighed in relief because now, I had a reason to leave this stupid room with this stupid man.

It was Friday evenings and the premiere of our Nutcracker show. It was actually my debut on stage with the ballet company, and I was nervous, even if my role was small. It was the biggest, most famous ballet company in the country and I had worked myself bloody to get a place. Probably three times as hard as everyone else seeing I was not ballet-thin; I was actually rather curvaceous for a man.

But what ballet culture said I lacked in physical appearance was made up for by my extreme flexibility and strength. And I was very petite meaning I could somewhat get away with my shape.

Not that I wanted to get away with my shape. I loved the way I looked and wouldn't change it for the world. I was just tired of how much more than everyone else I needed to prove myself all the time.

"Two minutes!"

I took a deep breath, trying to find some calm in the cacophony around me. Ballet dancers in beautiful costumes and impossible makeup doing their final adjustments, attaching final details, getting ready for the stage. I liked my own costume; a sequinned red suit jacket and black trousers making me look like a circus director of sorts. I was glad I wasn't dressed as a nutcracker.

I took a deep breath.

I stepped out on the polished wooden floor, a spotlight blaring in my face, almost blinding me.

Onto a stage that would change the course of my life in the most wonderful and terrifying way possible. 

Tobirama

"Whaddup?"

"How many times, Hashirama, do I need to tell you not to phone me at work?" I said angrily.

"Just don't pick up!" he said happily, and I could almost see the stupid grin on his stupid face over the stupid phone.

I sighed, leaning my face in my hand, my elbow on my mahogany desk. The black T-shirt was straining over my chest; I couldn't wait to go lift weights in the office gym after this long week.

"You know I can't deny you anything, my dear", I joked.

"Good! Because it's six pm on a Friday and you shouldn't be working, anyway!"

"Heading to the gym, actually."

"Don't forget I'm picking you up at eight for the ballet!" What? "Do you want me to pick you up at work instead?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?" I asked.

"Don't swear, my darling!" he said. "We talked about it Monday, remember? You said no to my party tomorrow so you agreed for me to take you to the ballet today instead!"

"Did I, now?"

I couldn't remember. The week had been terrible, with two new disappearances after that Clara girl and no other clues. We had an entire force working on the case and yet, no progress. None at all.

"You did."

"But I'm going to the gym."

"It's two hours until pick-up time."

"I need to work out for two hours."

"Then shorten the workout or skip the shower. Love you, bye!"

He hung up on me and I sighed. Filthy rich big brother. What did he do to get rich anyway? Something with the stock market, I believed.

I lifted much heavier than I usually did, meaning I could finished with half an hour to spare. I showered, put some wax in my still damp hair, put on a black shirt and black trousers I had for emergencies like this and that was that.

Hashirama's black car, of a brand so expensive I had never even heard of it, purred to a halt outside the office and I let myself in.

"Don't you have someone to drive you?" I asked sarcastically.

"I do, actually. Seeing me drive is a rare treat."

"Then I'll enjoy it."

Hashirama put his hand on my shoulder.

"It's good to see you, brother", he said and smiled at me with his kind, brown eyes that were the exact same shade as his perfect chestnut hair. He had gotten crow's feet at the corners of his eyes, I noticed. When had that happened? Anyway, it suited him.

And for the first time that week, I managed to smile myself. Only a little.

Hashirama's car purred away, so smoothly it felt as if though it was hovering above ground.

"Met any boys?" Hashirama asked.

You know I don't meet boys", I said.

He turned to me.

"Why not?"

"Work and lifting takes up all my time", I said curtly, not wanting to discuss this.

"Fine", Hashirama said and sighed dramatically.

I didn't want to tell him the true reason, though. That I really didn't like sleeping with people unless there was a deep connection. I had the feeling people assumed I was a player, and who could blame them? I played the part in all ways but actually playing the people. But I was yearning for love. Even if I would never admit it or go looking for it.

"What are we seeing, then?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest as if protecting my heart.

"The Nutcracker", Hashirama said proudly as if presenting me with the most prestigious gift of all.

I laughed.

"You're joking?"

"Am not."

"How very cliché. Jesus Christ, Hashi, can you imagine?"

"Come on, you might like it! Despite, it's the premiere evening. The tickets are very hard to get hold of. You have no idea how much I paid."

I suddenly felt bad. He had gone out of his way to ensure we could spend some time together. Even if I wasn't all that comfortable doing all the rich man activities my brother seemed to like doing, like yachting and golfing and going to ballets, I liked spending time with him. He was my best friend.

"I'm sorry", I said. "And thank you."

"You're so very welcome!" Hashirama said happily, completely oblivious to my shame or just used to the way I was, and accepting it.

He stopped the car at the entrance and gave the keys to a potter for him to park it. I didn't know you could actually do that; I thought it was a film thing. But as the car drove away, I looked up at the building that was the ballet theatre and was actually blown away, albeit softly. It was made of the softest, polished light brown stone with amazing stucco works and carvings.

"Wow", I said.

"You should see the inside", Hashirama said, taking my arm. Please, delight yourself."

He had no idea how much I would and neither had I.