36 Realms of Influence [set 2, post #2]
Title: 36 Realms of Influence
Author: ember_alda
Rating: R (for gore in this set)
Characters: Yamamoto, Squalo, various other people form KHR as each story demands.
Words: 11,872
Summary: 36 alternate universes, 36 different layers of relation.
Part two of this weeks set of 36 Realms of influence.
Part X.
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Succeed the Reaper
21. Yamamoto trains a new rain guardian who knows nothing about Squalo, but in a strange order of succession, ends up learning his moves.
----------
Fino had been standing for a while now near the door. Reborn hadn’t told him anything but that he should come to this bar, and wait for his instructor. He’d gone in, just like any other day, expecting more hellish training where he was shot at and expected to dodge at marathon speed, but instead Reborn had simply shoved him out the door with those curt instructions. Not even knowing what this instructor looked like, he was expected to float about and find the mysterious guardian and hope that somehow it pans out.
Ten more minutes of agonizing fidgeting later, Fino finally gives in and walks further inside the place. His patience could only hold out for so long before he decides to storm out of this ridiculous parody, so the young man makes himself sit down at the counter, forcing himself to calm down and relax his antsy nature.
He gets an iced tea, despite the fact that it made him feel awkward in a bar, but if he was expected to train today there shouldn’t be any alcohol in his system. Fino looks around again, eyes darting covertly as he tries to fathom who is who in the warm yellow lights of the main room.
“Waiting for someone?”
The question catches him off guard as Fino swings himself all the way around on his stool to see the man whose back engulfs his view. A consummate Italian, the older man talked easily with a clear tumbler in his hand, suit sitting comfortably on his shoulders as if settled down there over time. His hair is short and dark, near his temple and at the edges sprinkled grays and whites of salt and pepper hair. It wasn’t till he turned that Fino was startled.
In a foreign face, a pair of warm, friendly amber eyes smiled at him, deep wrinkles gathering at the edges a sign that it was an expression familiar to the man.
“Do you need help finding them?”
Despite the strong Asian features, the soft rolling consonants are spoken flawlessly, the man somehow not looking at all out of place. Fino didn’t know what to say to such an arbitrary offer of help- maybe it was an Italian thing.
“Um…it’s fine. Just not sure how long I’m supposed to wait.”
The older man chuckles a little as he takes a sip from his glass. “Sent out without clear instructions either, huh?”
It’s not so bad to chat a while, at least something will entertain him while he waits. “Waiting for somebody too?”
A roughly tanned hand raises itself to scratch at the slice of shined skin barely suppressed by the even gray stubble on the man’s chin. It seems an easy, habitual gesture. “I usually come here, but today I was expecting to see someone. Guess I should have asked more questions.”
“Yeah.” Fino fidgets again, never really all that easy around strangers, but he supposes it was polite to try and think of something to say. “I can’t sit still very often if I keep expecting something to happen.”
Another laugh spills warmly from the man’s lips as he finishes off his glass. “Maybe some alcohol will soothe you. Whenever I got nervous S-someone I knew would shove whiskey down my throat.”
“I really shouldn’t drink anything-” The scowl and harsh lines forming on the young man’s head was bemusing, considering he had just said he needed to relax.
“Hey, one more for my friend over here.”
Fino turns in surprise, shaking his head mutely, trying to politely refuse the kindly thought offer before his eyes grow wide. The hand, raised to hail the barkeep down, was decorated with a heavy silver ring, nothing unusual, but it was the sole stamp on it that identified him.
“You’re the rain guardian.”
Yamamoto blinks, momentarily stunned that this stranger knew who he was, till he realized.
“Reborn really should make things clearer.” Another laugh rolls out, and Fino has the feeling that this man was prone to it. The young man frowns again, irritated at the fact that he’d just wasted twenty minutes of his life when the stupid baby could have just described him, or heaven forbid, just set up a personal meeting. The older guardian didn’t even seem phased, was he really alright with this?
“I hate being jerked around.”
A tug at his sleeve alerts Fino to the fact that Yamamoto had gotten up off his seat.
“C’mon kid, let’s go test yourself out.”
Fino had the feeling that this guy did everything at his own pace.
-0-
“Fuck, Stop using the back of your blade!”
Yamamoto’s expression never dulled from his habitual friendly smile. Fino was pretty energetic today; it was actually kind of funny, but he didn’t want to hurt the kid’s pride by saying it.
“It doesn’t matter if I use the back or the front, it won’t matter if you can’t even control the fluctuation of your flame. I can feel you coming from a mile away.”
Across the room the new young guardian tries to suck in air as fast as he could, the labored breaths not so much coming from physical exertion, but from the effort it took to control the haphazard spurts of flame coming from his rank C ring. Well, that and the fact that he just wanted to wipe that smug expression off Yamamoto’s face. Did the man have to be so irritating?
“If you’re going to fight you have to concentrate on two things at once, the sword and the flame. It’s better if you just get used to using a ring so it becomes second nature, so you don’t have to worry about it during battle.”
Fino tries to calm himself down; despite the frustration mounting up inside him he knew that Yamamoto was right. There wasn’t a point in ignoring the flames but three hours of trying to wrestle through this tedious practice was wearing him thin. Couldn’t he just rush through and slice everything out of his way, for once?
“Hey, let’s take a break for a bit. I’ll show you something you can use. It seems to suit you.”
“Huh?”
Fino only watches Yamamoto’s turned back as he walks across the room. There’s no flame barrier, no sensory tendrils feeling out his opponent, just a pure, forward stance as Yamamoto braces himself. Fino suddenly feels uneasy at the straight calm in his mentor’s eyes, something about the plain, serious way Yamamoto held himself made the younger man think this wasn’t just a simple technique.
A swing of the blade alerts Fino to the fast advance Yamamoto made, startling him as he valiantly tries to block the blow. He almost touches the older man by cutting up to counter-attack Yamamoto’s exposed back, but from a twisted point around him another lightning strike curves about to try and take his side. A quick, frantic scramble backwards floors Fino, before he rolls off to the side and upwards in a defensive stance.
What was Yamamoto thinking? The way his attacks were positioned, the sword strokes- everything was so sharp and unfamiliar, an edge of almost viciousness coloring his moves that was unlike his normal calm, fluid style. Fino quickly learns to dodge, attack trajectory not all that hard to figure out, instead the enormous speed of movement was the only hard thing to counter. He’d managed to catch numerous strikes, the blows connecting with his sword solidly as he got used to the rhythm and deflected.
As Fino whirls around after another attack he crouches down, and just as he was about to rush forward to take out Yamamoto at his knees, he froze. Every muscle within him that had been screaming to move suddenly falls numb, his arms nothing but dead-weight and his legs paralyzed and stuck to the ground as all the momentum that had been building up grinds to a halt.
Across from him, Yamamoto stands with his katana at his side, not even waiting for an attack. There’s an indefinable flicker in his eye before the older man laughs at himself and steps forward.
“There’s more to straight-forward attacks then you think, right Fino?”
He collapses to the ground, limbs still trembling a little, but feeling coming back like pins and needles after sitting too long. Another scowl erupts over his face as he glares up at the rain guardian. “What was that? I thought I was doing well.”
“A move- someone I knew was fond of. Attacco di Squalo.”
A little contrary moue pinches Fino’s lips. “Shark attack? Tacky.”
Yamamoto’s eyes go wide at that, mouth quirking before he suddenly burst out into full laughter. A minute goes by, Fino still mildly upset that he’d not seen through anything when he’d been catching all the blows, as Yamamoto tries to calm himself down.
“Ahaha. Fino, you’re my favorite student, you know?”
“I’m your only student.”
Yamamoto wipes the tears from his eyes as he collects himself. It didn’t matter, he was glad Reborn had told him to take this on.
“Well, you did do very well. Attacco di Squalo just purposefully makes straight on moves so the opponent will cross swords numerous times with you. It’s a technique where the force of the blow is dispersed into the opponent’s arm and body to paralyze their nerves for a few seconds.”
Fino’s eyes go wide. That- that was so- sneaky! Underhand!
A hand comes down and pats the kid’s shoulder before his observations could come out of his mouth.
“Think about it for a while, Fino. You’ve got a great energy with your sword, but there’s more than one way to do anything. You don’t have to be such a stickler all the time. Expand yourself a little, have some variety. It can surprise you sometimes.”
-0-
“ Haha, c’mon Squalo, it’s not that hard. See, you first lift the point up at-”
“Voiiii! Why do I have to learn this stupid crap? I already know all I want to know about the Shigure Souen Style! If I wanted to know more I could do it by myself.”
Another laugh. “Don’t be such a stick in the mud, Squalo. C’mon, it’ll be fun! You taught me Attacco di Squalo, I just want to return the favor. You can learn the technique that defeated you in the ring battles!”
Another displeased frown wrinkles Squalo’s brow. He hated being reminded of his failures. “Tch. Whatever, you’ll just pester me and pester me till I do it. How did you learn to be so irritating?”
Yamamoto pulls Squalo to him, forehead naturally falling to connect with the other’s as he smiles, eyes intent, as weirdly enough, he feels happy at the criticism.
“I don’t know, I was taught by the best.”
After a long pause Squalo irritatingly elbows him in the side, more at the mushiness of the moment then at the sentiment behind it. Still head to head, he speaks, not quite fondly.
“Hah, you’re such a nuisance.”
At the ding of the coffee maker Yamamoto wakes from reminiscing. He goes over to the private kitchen and gathers up his cup and spoon, face not in his habitual smile as somehow, like always, his eyes are drawn to the ring. Two halves, fused together, handed to him.
He doesn’t know why he taught him one of Squalo’s signature attacks. Somehow, everything was revolving and Yamamoto was getting the most disconcerting sense of de ja vu. Usually quiet, a stickler for rules and plans, the new guardian seemed to enjoy regularity and efficiency. Those quick spurts of temper and that head on movement were so reminiscent, though. Fino was such a direct kid, even if in anything else the boy was nothing like Squalo.
His protégé liked quick, debilitating attacks and straight lines of movement, but without Squalo’s subversive tactics. Yamamoto just wanted to show him the true greatness of Squalo’s style, his genius. One time you think he’s charging straight on, but his hand flips back to stab from behind, another time it’s gunpowder from blades, then you think it’s a direct slice, and it is, but the meeting of those swords paralyzes you. Always a step ahead in some wholly unpredicted direction, that was the subtlety, the genius that made Yamamoto want to fight him again and again and again...
The coffee cup clacks down.
He hopes, however contradictory it may be, that he won’t have to give up this ring anytime soon.
-0-
“What does it matter if I conserve the flame or not?! It all does the same thing, right? Who cares if I use a little more this time then the next?”
Fino was getting antsy again, Yamamoto could tell. It’d been another trying concept for him, after he’d mastered enough of Squalo’s move. The hard, physical work and practice was over, which was Fino’s easier area, and now he was struggling again with the flame.
“It doesn’t matter, if you’re caught because your reflexes are slow from exhaustion, what do you have left to defend yourself with if you’ve used all your flame?”
“But I wouldn’t get exhausted-”
“Fino! How long do you plan to live?”
The kid blinks at the non sequitur. What did that have to do-
“Do you plan on growing old, or having kids, or even just protecting the Eleventh till he can grow old? How much slower do you think you’ll be when you’re thirty? Forty? Fifty?”
An exasperated hand comes up to swipe back the loose gray hairs from Yamamoto’s forehead. For once, he’s not smiling, or laughing, he simply looks worn. It’s the first time Fino thinks he’s ever noticed the other guardian’s age, and his eyes can’t move away now, fixed on the wrinkles on the older man’s head, around his mouth, under his eyes.
“People die from these “tiny things”. I’m…forty-six? And I can tell you, I get tired easily, my reflexes are slower, my muscles can’t recover like they used to. Battle needs the full volume of your ability, and I’m only human. I get exhausted, there are hard opponents, you need to save up every little advantage you can. Don’t throw away useful energy, Fino. You’ll appreciate it later.”
There’s no sullen pout on Fino’s lips this time, his head is simply bowed as he takes the small lecture in. Gathering himself up again, he brings his sword in front of him and tries the exercise again, the B rank ring on his hand now shining steadily instead of fluctuating like before.
Yamamoto tries to concentrate on his student but that outburst simply won’t let him. It wasn’t uncommon in the Mafia world for assassins to die young, let alone of old age. It’s something of a bitter truth that even if you’re good enough to make it till you’re older, there’re always new enemies, younger enemies, and Squalo had-
It doesn’t take Yamamoto long to wonder how many more years he would have left before he was cut down. Five? Three? Tomorrow? There were still a few years left before the Eleventh was fully instated as the Vongola head and Yamamoto doesn’t know if he’ll make it to retirement. Since Fino and the other new guardians would be around to help Tsuna too, the chance was lessened, and somehow he feels resentful that Squalo had decided to leave Yamamoto to grow old on his own. Not that he already hadn’t…
He had laughed all the way to the hospital because it was ridiculous that Squalo would die. In his head, he’d still thought of him as the be all end all monument, somehow invincible to petty things like tired bodies and failing sight.
Fino didn’t know yet, but his own muscles, his own tendons and nerves and bones would be his own undoing. Squalo had known, and he’d left his death to enlighten Yamamoto as a last, cruel lesson.
As he watches Fino try to attack the dummy targets while maintaining his flame’s homeostasis, Yamamoto whispers to himself.
“Why did you leave me on my own with this kid, Squalo? I can’t believe I’ve lived long enough to teach a new rain guardian. Shouldn’t you be here…?”
His eyes drift down to the ring, cold and bright on his finger, always drawn back down to that heavy point.
-0-
Fino finally works himself up to the A rank. He’s proud of himself, after slowly learning to master his weakest point, and even Yamamoto had commented that he was a fast and thorough learner. Not that it mattered terribly much to him what the other thought. It was just nice to be acknowledged.
“When do you think I can practice with the Vongola ring?”
Yamamoto looks up at him, startled as one hand pauses in his crouch above his katana, oil rag suspended in the air.
“There’s a lot of practice still with using the flame left. You haven’t even used a box-”
“Hey, aren’t those restricted use?”
Yamamoto smiles a bit to himself, it was so like the younger man to think of such a strange thing like that. Fino was going to be a guardian, Yamamoto was already a guardian, and he wouldn’t have to worry about clearance for that type of thing.
“It’s fine, I’ll be supervising you anyway.”
“Am I going to open boxes when I use the guardian ring?”
There’s another pause as the oil rag halts it’s course, then continues to slide down the flat of the blade. Yamamoto gently puts it down at his side, setting down his katana with a small clack as well before he dusts himself off and get on his feet.
It’s strange, Fino hardly ever saw the other man without his katana, especially during training sessions. As the older man walks towards him, he sees Yamamoto reach deep into his pocket where he pulls out two different looking ornate boxes. One of them has a crest on the side, and it’s hard to see because it’s tilted away, but all of a sudden Yamamoto is only three feet in front of him.
“You can practice just trying to open it first. You don’t have to use it just yet.”
A small, cold object is pressed into his palm as Fino stares incomprehensibly at the gift in his hand. He’d heard Yamamoto always had the box he used in battle on him at all times, but there was a second one?
“Try it. You don’t need the family ring to open a box, and you need to learn how to do it fast, in any situation.”
Fino is too fascinated and dumbfounded to see the odd, quiet look in his mentor’s eyes as he concentrates everything into one finger, and locks it onto the slot on the side. He pushes and pushes to condense the flame and with all the will in his body, every cell on tenterhooks, he wishes it open with everything he has.
Nothing happens.
Fino can’t believe it, he tries again and again and again to somehow get the thing open with all his will, but nothing comes out. Yamamoto has to forcibly make him take a break, pushing him out the door to get something to eat and drink.
When he comes back, he sees Yamamoto standing alone in the center of the room, the massive white and grey body of a gigantic shark floating above his head in lazy, smooth circles. Eyes simply tracing the languid movement, Yamamoto seems almost contemplative as he reaches out to brush the beast a bit with his hand. The moment feels wholly private and out of place, and Fino wants to take back walking in on it, but he can’t. He doesn’t want to know more about Yamamoto or that occasional reflective look that he gets when Fino yells in frustration or masters a new attack, it simply wasn’t fair that he was somehow being compared-
He goes back out the room, and crouches over his mineral water, remembering the gentle way his instructor touched what was a simple weaponry extension. Fino waits a few more minutes before walking back in, finding Yamamoto seated again on the floor with his sword and the tiny box at his side.
“I’m going to open that box by the end of the day.”
The furious, determined glint in Fino’s eye makes Yamamoto believe him.
-0-
It hurts him, a little, the way that still handsome face looks so weary as his mentor glances down at the ring. This would be the first time the older man would have to take the thing off. Fino had to practice with it, and being able to use the actual thing signaled that he would be using it more often, from now on, till Yamamoto would no longer bear the Vongola ring.
He could tell that Yamamoto didn’t really want to give it up, not yet. All those daily habits, like twisting the rain ring when he was lost in thought, rubbing the scar at his chin, his casual asides when he says Fino really reminds him of someone he knew. Those things piled up around Yamamoto, the only instances that made the smiling man melancholy.
Fino hated to be the source of something painful.
“This…Squalo must have meant a lot to you.”
Yamamoto drops his hand, no longer staring thoughtfully at the silver ring he had just been twisting. Fino really was more observant than he’d thought; he’d never mentioned Squalo by name directly.
“Yeah. He- he should mean a lot to you too. I mean, this ring- your attacks, I’m passing this on to you, but it’s not really me passing it on to you. Haha, I don’t know if I’m making this clear or not, but-”
Somehow, Fino really wants to understand now, that feeling in his gut he felt when training with the older guardian that some phantom was silently weaving its way into their practices. Filtered behind every move he was taught, all those techniques of control and attack, was something unspoken that Fino couldn’t quite grasp at. He feels like he was one strand in a winding braid he would never be able to see the whole of.
“I think I know. This Squalo, whoever he was, was important to you. And you, you and him and that ring- I’m sorry.”
Awkwardly, Fino stretches upward, wrapping an arm around his mentor, tugging him down for a brief hug.
The old man’s eyes tilt in surprise, the insistent pull of this young man’s arm somehow melting his selfishness away.
“Don’t be sorry. It’s yours, Fino.”
Those filmy vestiges of wistfulness fade away as he holds on tight, wrapping his arm around his successor. It didn’t hurt so much, to think about living without the ring. Yamamoto’s head drops to this prodigy’s shoulder as he chokingly laughs in his throat.
“I’m sorry you couldn’t have met him. He was- pretty amazing.”
Fino didn’t need him to say that, he could already tell from meeting Yamamoto how great a man Squalo was.
Part XI.
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Roundabout is a Pain in the Ass
22. After the TYL arc, Yamamoto goes back to normal time and constantly pesters and tries to get the attention of the present Squalo who’s clueless about their TYL future.
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Lately it’s been getting ridiculous.
Belphagor and Lussuria start noticing what’s going on, the way those envelopes are scattered, propped up on his desk like disturbing markers of some sort of cheerful infestation.
“More fan-mail today, Squalo?”
“WHO TOLD YOU TO COME IN HERE? I DON’T NEED YOUR OKAMA SPARKLES TO TAINT MY ROOM!”
“Ahaha~ I guess I was right. Don’t spend all day mooning over it, ok? <3”
Squalo throws the coffee table at Lussuria’s retreating back to slam the door shut behind him, Xanxus’ habits having a way of making their way around. Whirling back, he glares accusingly at the three plain letters haphazardly tossed on his otherwise pristine desk.
“What the fuck is that brat thinking?!”
It had started out of nowhere. Squalo was going about his business in the Boss’s southern palazzo headquaters, when in between the regular mailed dispatches, National Geographic, and beef heavy restaurant advertisements a simple white envelope tumbled out. Katakana was scrambled all over it in messy strokes and not so surprisingly, Squalo took one look before throwing it in the trash.
None of his business.
He didn’t know how wrong he’d been.
-0-
“Could you take another one with me in it?”
Yamamoto blinks, the baseball bat propped on his shoulder’s slipping as he nods happily.
“Sure Tsuna. Are you sure you don’t want to be in it, Gokudera?”
The ferocious frown that comes after that question is all the answer Yamamoto needs before he slings an arm around the Tenth.
“One, two, three!”
Click.
Gokudera fawningly hands over the phone to his boss, Tsuna looking slightly embarrassed with all the compliments about how photogenic he is and how he should be a supermodel if he weren’t the Tenth. Yamamoto good naturedly joins in ribbing his friend before a thought comes to him.
“Hey Tsuna, could you send me two copies? I want to mail one.”
“Uh, sure, no problem. Do you have a pen-pal, Yamamoto?”
The look on Yamamoto’s face is warmer, somehow, as he smiles. “Yeah, it’s Squalo! I wanted to show him how my summer vacation is going.”
“W-what? You’re writing to Squalo?! Are you sure that’s a good idea?...”
“I don’t know, it’s just funny how we got along so well in the future, I can’t just ignore him now that I’m back, can I? That’d be weird.”
Tsuna recalls the fact that Yamamoto had been punched in the face by the other swordsman before being dragged away like a sack of flour for a hellish training session lasting several days. Not that he knew what went on in those training sessions but he doubted Squalo and Yamamoto were exchanging phone numbers and talking about each other’s favorite foods. Sometimes he wondered what was going on in his friend’s mind.
“W-well, good luck I guess.”
He knew how Yamamoto could be when he was dedicated to something.
-0-
It wasn’t until March that Squalo decided to rip open all those irritating letters. Like usual, he was consigned to throw away the one that undoubtedly came at the middle of the month, but the words stamped across stopped him…Along with the puffy Doraemon stickers holding cakes.
“To: Superbi Squalo. Happy Birthday!!!” In sky blue ink, followed by numerous poorly drawn stars and were those hearts?!
Like a man who cannot look away from Xanxus tearing someone’s face off, his hand moves on it’s own to rip open the offensive thing, unable to stymie the automatic reflex to want to find out how in the hell Yamamoto knew it was his birthday.
“Hey, Squalo. Happy Birthday! Turning 23, wow, I hope you get a good cake this year. I would have made you some salmon roe sushi I know it’s your favo-”
He knew how old he was too? How did this information keep leaking out? What the fuck was this about salmon roe Squalo never even eaten the thing- If this is what this one letter contained, what the hell else could be written in the others?
Suddenly Squalo is digging through his wastepaper basket, frantically spilling the wire contraption over, flooding his wood floor with paper balls and sticky notes before his hand plunges in and emerges victorious.
Eight. Eight of these things filled with who knew what other disturbing personal information. Dumbfounded, Squalo lays immobile on the floor, momentarily paralyzed by his own horrific thoughts before he decidedly (decidedly because Squalo certainly wasn’t panicking) tears open all eight of the letters at once.
“…Playing again, this time Tsuna really hit it outta the park, must be all push-ups Reborn-”
“…won the semi-finals! It would be awesome if we could make it past regionals. Haha I know you don’t really care but there’s really nothing else but baseball to ta-”
Even in his letters, why did he have to write it out, “haha”, like Squalo needed to hear that-
“…time when you come back I could make you some hand-rolls I’ve gotten pretty good, Dad says after the baseball sea-”
“…grew enormous so I had to walk out of the bathroom naked and then Dino and Reborn came in with blow-dryers and I threw on my baseball uniform, it was kinda gross cause I just changed out of it to take a bath and it was all sweaty-”
The lead in about Yamamoto running naked out his bathroom Squalo refused to think about seriously, and instead wondered at the ridiculousness of baseball instead of the generally idiocy of the kid. Did the brat have nothing to talk about but that game? What the fuck was Yamamoto doing wasting his sword talents, and right after he took the ring?! Squalo goes back to re-read all the letters more thoroughly. If the stupid kid was doing nothing but baseball Squalo might actually have to corner him and beat him shitty senseless to take being a swordsman seriously.
Four knocks pound into his door while he tries not to chuck any of the mail away after reading a succession of “haha’s” and “Superbi’s” (when did that brat get so familiar, weren’t the Japanese supposed to be polite) and read as patiently and slowly as he could.
“Squalo~! Squaloooo~ it’s time to eat and you need to come entertain me.”
“He’s probably locked away starry-eyed reading his love letters.”
Squalo one-handedly chucks the wastepaper can at the door at supersonic speed, eyes glued to the paper while with each word his vow to keep calm slowly melts away. Baseball baseball baseball, and then tedious everyday descriptions with that stupid Tenth and food monologues. Did Yamamoto have no dedication? How many hours, no- minutes probably, did he even use to practice his swordsmanship?! Was he going to waste all the work he already did when training for the ring battles?
He was going to make that katana brat see what a freakish waste of time that simple sport was.
-0-
As soon as the package arrives in their mailbox, Yamamoto knows what it is. He doesn’t even need to rip off the paper to know which fight is on the tape, he’s memorized them all.
“Yo, Takeshi, anything interesting?”
“Haha no, just some coupons and a bank statement for you dad, I’ll leave it on the table!”
When he’s done doling out the mail to their various places, he goes to his room upstairs and flops down at the bed. Lying back, arm stretched out before him, he stares up at the rectangular package in his hand, the silhouette of the gift against the lamplight somehow filling him with simple unrestrained happiness. Squalo sent him something in return.
Yamamoto wasn’t the type to get easily discouraged, and he knew that Squalo had a really strange way of expressing, well, anything but irritation and bloodthirsty-ness, but all the same, it was…a bit disappointing when he’d tried so hard in all his letters.
It’s hard to know why Yamamoto felt so incredibly buoyant after getting just one thing, but he doesn’t try and dull the exuberance. No matter how many times he tells himself, he can’t stop staring at the thing, all he could do was turn it left and right with his wrist as his grin keeps getting wider and happier.
Maybe he could call him on the phone?
-0-
A scratchy fumble sounds out on the other end. Squalo gets really impatient so he starts yelling right way.
“EITHER LEARN TO USE THE GODDAMN PHONE OR DON’T BOTHER USING THOSE CLUMSY BASEBALL FINGERS TO DISTURB PEOPLE WHO HAVE THINGS TO DO.”
Another crackle rings out, not that Squalo could tell over his own hoarse voice. “Ahaha, I tried to text you but you didn’t send anything back so I thought I’d call instead.”
That’s because Squalo absolutely refused to answer anything with smiley faces after every single sentence.
“Well I just wanted to say that Tsuna’s going to be there in three weeks, so I thought I’d come and see what you’re doing.”
“FUCKING BUSY. I’LL BE FUCKING BUSY AND CAN’T SEE BRATS WHO DON’T KNOW THEIR HILT FROM THE BLADE AND DON’T YOU DARE START ANOTHER SENTACE WITH “HAHA” OR I WILL GUT YOU THROUGH THIS PHONE.”
“Ha-urgk.” Yamamoto coughs a few more times cheerfully to make sure Squalo knew that he wasn’t laughing so he wouldn’t get hung up on like the last four times. “Sunday evening it is, since you don’t do any work but get Xanxus’ chateaubriand.”
“WHAT THE FUCK HOW DO YOU KN- NO I DON’T CARE. WHATEVER BRAT. IF I SEE YOU ANYWHERE IN ITALY I’M GOING COME AND CUT YOU DOWN SO YOU BETTER BE PREPARED TO DIE.”
“Aha-glruk. Ugh.. Ahem yeah ok. I’ll be happy to see you too, Squalo!”
When the phone hangs up Squalo looks at the horrid thing in his hand like it’s back flipped into a pool of jello. He didn’t understand how this was happening. At first, it was a fluke, he’d picked up the unlisted number thinking it was Levi that bastard, and Lussuria trying to prank call him about doing a women’s shampoo ad again, and he was about to scream at them so loud that they’d start bleeding out their asses.
But as soon as he heard that stupid, cheerful laughter he’d hung up the phone. Texts started to flood him after multiple voicemails went unanswered. He wasn’t going to talk to an unfocused beginner and how the hell did Yamamoto even know his phone number in the first place? He kept talking about things he shouldn’t know and it was really unnerving, and Squalo really wouldn’t give a fuck expect that this just came out of nowhere, Yamamoto trying strike up this thing like they were friends or something. No matter how many times Squalo shut him down he kept on coming back up and sometimes Squalo would think about him during the day now randomly and that was unacceptable.
He broke down after getting another inane letter, finally answering the phone, thinking if he yelled enough at Yamamoto maybe those stupid things would stop being mailed to him. It’d been a downward spiral from there. No more poorly written mail, except the occasional packets of photos, but now he was inundated by distasteful texts and calls that were irritatingly convenient and well-timed.
Squalo doesn’t understand how he got sucked into Yamamoto’s pace and sometimes when the brat is talking to him like they’re close, for a brief moment, he believes it.
-0-
This time, he really was going to kill him. After that boring, pathetic visit from the rain guardian that involved no blood or swords and instead disturbingly accurate observations about Squalo himself, Yamamoto had not once started practicing his sword again.
He knew that just because he was in Japan didn’t mean that he was obligated to visit the brat but he was obligated to give him the beating of a lifetime.
“What have you been doing with your time? Did you think I made those videos for fun?!”
A bat and helmet clatter to the ground. Yamamoto’s stunned face only lasts for a second before he suddenly looks happy and Squalo can’t believe he had the nerve to be so overjoyed when he was about to get blasted to next Sunday!
“S-Squalo! Haha did you wait for me after practice? I can’t believe you’re here, even though the last two times you came to Japan you didn’t vi-”
“This isn’t a fucking social call!”
The strapped sword swings up between them and in the narrow space of the locker room Yamamoto had no time to dodge as the sharp edge cut delicately into his throat as he tried not to breathe too hard.
“You’re going to pick up your sword and you’re going to fight me so I can beat you fucking senseless. Understand?”
Squalo really did look genuinely pissed off and for once Yamamoto wasn’t so clueless as to ignore the frustration close to pain in the other’s eyes. It just never occurred to him that maybe Squalo felt a bit of that same disappointment over the effect of his videos the same way Yamamoto had felt about his letters.
“Yeah, ok.”
As he was let up the other swordsman simply turned around, sweeping out of the locker room and banging the door open as he went out into the abandoned school field. Gathering up his bamboo sword, he always had it with him now, Yamamoto goes out to meet the other man, something like satisfaction settling into his veins as a feeling he hadn’t felt in a long time slowly came rushing back.
There’s no ceremony, without any hesitation Squalo comes to charge at a barely prepared Yamamoto. He doesn’t wait at all to go in full speed and Yamamoto doesn’t either as his sword suddenly erupts encased in rain flames.
Since when did Yamamoto know how to control his flame? He didn’t even use it during the ring match and how did his movements get so damned sharp? He hadn’t been practicing Squalo knew it he’d been updated every week about baseball this and Tsuna that and Gokudera making him study for five hours straight for their test. When did this brat get this good?
Another hit from Squalo’s side makes him turn, bending low to counter the strike. Yamamoto quickly drops his katana from his hand in the fifth form and before the trajectory can change Squalo swings his sword back to block, their blades connecting in an eerie screech near the hilt.
A vibration goes up his arm as he springs away, Squalo’s eyes widening as he realized what Yamamoto had done.
“VOIIIIIIIIIIIIIII WHEN IN HELL DID YOU LEARN MY MOVES?”
Yamamoto does nothing but laugh loud in response, eyes shining with unrestricted joy as he rushes forward again to continue their duel. By now Squalo is mystified, completely confused and little pissed that he doesn’t know, but not disappointed. It doesn’t matter anymore, Squalo didn’t care he was actually fighting and it was fucking fantastic.
Nothing matters now as Squalo abandons everything and from out his hand flames wild and crazed rush out to engulf his blade too. The sudden satisfied glint matching in Yamamoto’s eyes reciprocate the feeling.
They weren’t going to be done for a while
-0-
Later that night, after Yamamoto patched up his slashed leg and arm, the cut under his chin and well, every where else, Squalo put up his feet on the table at Takesushi downstairs, fully sated in his bloodlust.
The sudden need to gut the young guardian had gone back to his habitual irritation, Squalo’s head unable to even form the question why what just happened had happened. The lassitude after a good duel still simmered in his veins, making him more receptive when Yamamoto had laughingly asked him to come and have sushi after.
A simple but well made platter with plenty of varieties was pushed in front of the silver haired man.
“Hey, how come there’s so many of this kind and not the others?”
“Haha, why don’t you try it first?”
The usual laugh that spills from Yamamoto’s lips doesn’t even register as Squalo shrugs and pops one in his mouth, flavor bursting in his mouth while chewing in as unmannerly a way as possible. As he made his way around the plate, testing out each type in maki, nigiri, and inari, he finds himself drawn back to the first kind he tried.
“Somehow I knew that would be your favorite one.”
It doesn’t even faze Squalo anymore. He simply eats his custom-made sushi since it wasn’t even worth expending the effort anymore to figure out what the hell Yamamoto was thinking. For the first time he lets himself relax around the younger man, and it wasn’t so bad, after all.
-0-
It builds up enough one day when Squalo realizes during the afternoon that he’d just spent every two minutes thinking about the stupid brat and their fight when the text comes on his phone. Lussuria’s constant hounding about how he’d been distracted, nay, mooning, were the last straw. He can’t stand it, he needs to know how in the world everything turned out this way and why Yamamoto has his phone number. So he ends up jumping to the second story of Takesushi, prying open the cracked window to startle a very concentrated Yamamoto reading a sports magazine in his bed.
When he yells his demand, the young rain guardian gives him the short end of the story of the future.
“After the ten-year-bazooka, I found it on my, Yamamoto’s, cell phone one day, so I memorized it. You aren’t so bad in the future, we got along pretty great. It’s weird to pretend I’m a stranger, I can’t just shut that off, you know?”
Somehow Squalo needs to emphasize that “We’re not friends, and we won’t ever be friends, got that?”
“Haha, I never really said I wanted to be friends.”
He tries to imagine away that clear, unshakably knowledgeable look because when did this happen how did this happen, but Yamamoto like always, drags Squalo into action with his subversive tactics.
When he lets himself yank up the not-so terribly short kid and press his lips to that irritatingly calm face, Squalo doesn’t feel disappointed in himself. He just feels like doing it again.
Eye-Candy extra
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15.1. Eye-Candy: Robots in Disguise (addendum) Previous parts: 1 2
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It was really amazing, Yamamoto had to stop himself from permanently having his finger in his eye the entire day, even after Gokudera slapped his hand off and told him to stop prodding the thing.
To himself, it seemed as if everything was in order, twenty twenty sharp, nothing unusual in the plain view of his sight. It’s only when he sees a shiny glass or a pool of water or when he lifts a pristine spoon that he’s startled. In place of his usually warm amber iris was a socket lined with a superconductive titanium alloy. The metal gleamed smooth, no tacky bolts or rivets, and at the dead center where the vision focused was the beaming white L.E.D light of his new eye. It seemed alien that something so supernatural was supplanted into a normal guy like him, but Yamamoto would have gladly replaced both eyes if that was what it took to make the other swordsman call him out again. It was a blessing that that was highly unnecessary.
He finally stops at the door, hand hesitating a little despite the open invitation he was given before knocking loud and sharp.
There’s no pause as suddenly he has to dodge the swinging knob as Squalo springs out into the hall. He takes one look up and down at Yamamoto’s easy pose, the way he’s holding his sword in his left hand, and the eye hidden beneath a tasteful black patch. Yamamoto flips it up to look at him, for the first time in a long time able to see Squalo whole.
“You have a lot of work to do to catch up. Don’t think I’m going to go easy on you just because you’re injured.”
“Haha, I don’t think you ever would.”
The warm smile that engulfs Yamamoto’s eyes embarrasses him. He didn’t know why the stupid brat was thanking him when he was going to take a beating, but for a small second, Squalo let’s himself be a little happy that Yamamoto can still feel so carefree.
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I'm actually pretty satisfied with how most of them turned out, except the very last one. Squalo reads more Gokuderaish and that was annoying because I didn't know how to fix it >_<
Anyway, enough of my babble. Till next time!
If you'd like to make a suggestion for more au-verse ideas comment here at the list. If it inspires me, I'll add it, so feel free to help!
Set 3 here