kuroneko13
Present For: kuroneko13
Type of Present: fanfic
Pairing: 8018 Yamamoto/Hibari
Rating: G
Personal note: hi~ i'm really sorry this didn't come up to the rating you requested. i experimented a bit with point of view and ended up with hibari in first person present tense... i realize this may not be the most readable format, but i hope it's not too confusing.
takes place in the future, before the guardians are shot by the ten-year bazooka. canon is bound to prove this wrong eventually XD MERRY CHRISTMAS!
This is our death sentence
We're all by ourselves in this balcony. I'm standing here leaning forward on the railing, ignoring your presence. You're standing beside me leaning back on the railing, imposing your presence on me anyway. An old familiar scene.
Right now we're also not talking. But I can trust you to remedy that. Already I can feel the words making their way from your brain to your mouth; they're so slow I can hear them crawling.
ETA in three... two...
"You know what I learned just yesterday?"
I don't really care.
"I learned about being reborn. I only got around to asking now. That's funny, right?" I wouldn't know. "I don't mean Reborn the kid, all right? I mean reborn as in... reincarnation. Like being born a second time, okay? This is how it works: you die and then your soul goes into a baby's body - "
"I know what reincarnation is." You can at least stop with the hand gestures and goofy facial expressions. You're not getting an award for discovering that one, Einstein.
"Ah... of course you do." Your hands drop to your sides. I never know if it stings when I put you down like this. It all seems to wash right off - I suppose that's what all those small empty chuckles are for. "Well, anyway... I learned that everybody can be reincarnated. It all depends on karma. I guess you know about that too?"
Since we were kids and we had to learn about it. But knowing it doesn't mean believing in it. That still doesn't merit an answer from me.
"And... okay, karma," you keep going, "it's also what decides how you deserve to die. If you've been very bad - if you've hurt a lot of people, or if you lived your life fighting - you deserve a fast and painful death. And how violently you die... that decides how soon you're going to be reborn."
I don't feel like looking at you while you're talking. You're talking about dying violently like you're talking about an upcoming baseball game. Someone who doesn't know you so well might even mistake the slight lilt in your voice for excitement, like you're actually looking forward to it.
But I know you, and I know there's nothing different about you right now - nothing especially anxious or excited or even mildly upset. You're just standing there being as calm as always in your black suit, your loosened tie, letting the wind blow through your hair like you haven't done anything to annoy me and this might be the last time we'll meet.
"The more violently you die, the sooner you're reborn, usually. That makes sense, doesn't it?" I don't have the faintest clue. Obviously it makes sense to you. "Because if you died in a hurry, you'd want to be reborn in a hurry too. So I learned that people who die violently can be reborn in as soon as two or even ten years. But if you die peacefully, it could take a long time - maybe forty years, maybe a hundred."
I'm starting to feel like shutting you up. I'm beginning to realize that I'm developing a low tolerance for the things that come out of your mouth, particularly after that stunt you pulled at the meeting...
"And," you say quietly, "what's more violent than getting split into billions of tiny molecules, right?"
That's it. I think I'd like to go somewhere alone before you talk any more and you finally say something that makes me snap and beat the shit out of you. Frankly, over the few months that we've been unofficially "together," this has been happening a lot.
Too bad. It's too late now. I can't actually kill you before you switch back with your younger self, in a few days' time.
You sidle up to me. Seeing if I'm going to attack you if you get too close. "Is it going to hurt, you think?" you ask.
And I look at you, finally. Are you still treating this as a game? Is this how you're coping?
You're wasting my time. You were there when I explained the process to you - to the rest of the Vongola Guardians. I lied to your face and said I learned it all on reconnaissance. I convinced you all that I've found a way to schedule the use of the modified ten-year bazooka in the past, but in return, we're going to have to die - our bodies are going to be sucked into the Millefiores' white round machine, where they're going to be broken down into little tiny pieces called molecules (you made me explain "molecules." I should bite you to death just for that) which could never be put back together.
I told you all it was likely not to hurt... that there was a good chance the process was going to be instantaneous and painless. And of course you believed me. Unconditionally.
What was it that you said...? That doesn't seem so bad, then.
"Are you still mad at me?" you have the gall to ask.
I feel the blood rising to my head. I know this rush. You should stay out of my way now.
You reach for my hand or my shoulder, I sense your hesitation - I also sense your desire to touch me, any part of me you could touch. Alas, my thoughtless friend, you are not that lucky.
"You volunteered to be shot first." You even said it so easily, looking straight into my eyes: That doesn't seem so bad, then. I don't mind going first. "When the Smoking Bomb challenged you for the privilege, you gave it to him. But if he hadn't, you would've gone through with it, wouldn't you?"
I have the wrist of your right hand in my grip. I can just tighten my hold and break it if I want.
You know this. You know I can hurt you. But you're not afraid. I don't know what that look is you're throwing me, but it's not pain.
"You know why Gokudera did that," you tell me in a level voice. "He wants his younger self to be the first at Tsuna's side. You know how much that means to him."
"That explains him," I say. "But you still volunteered to get shot first. What's the rush, Yamamoto Takeshi? Can't take living like this anymore?"
You look at me like you've been slapped. Like you don't know what for.
Idiot. Fucking brainless, pathetic excuse for a mafia hitman. Fighting is the only way to die. Fighting beside me should be the only way out for you.
But that wasn't what you chose.
"I don't care about reincarnation or whatever," I tell you. "Stop throwing that bullshit around. We're not arcobaleno. We can't choose to be reborn. All we've had so far, that's all we're getting. There are no next times or second chances. And volunteering to get shot first just means you're rushing to put an end to all this."
And this is something you don't say to my face.
We've only had a few months, Yamamoto Takeshi. You and I deserve a violent death, but together.
And more than that, we deserve a few more days.
Why did you want to die before me?
Were you waiting for me to say I wanted to die with you?
Are you that eager to rejoin your idiot father in the grave?
I don't know if you're reading all this. You're quite good at that up close. When you're this close, for example, and you're looking into my eyes, I almost get the feeling you already know what I want to say, even before I can find the words for them.
But now your other hand is reaching around my shoulders.
And you're not answering any of my questions.
And you're pulling me into an embrace and suddenly you're once more the baseball head who can't even put two and two together. I didn't give you permission to touch me. Let go.
"I can go first because you're stronger, Kyouya," you whisper. "The one who's staying has to be strong enough to take care of everyone. At least strong enough to take care of my stupid younger self, when he gets here."
I hear your heart beating against my ear and it's so calm, so certain. I was ready to kill you a while ago, but I don't have the strength for that now. You've learned how to hold me so nothing hurts, not the old wounds or the wounds yet to come.
Let go.
"We'll meet again, you know." You sound so sure of it. "Maybe in another ten years. Maybe in a hundred." It depends on how much saying goodbye will hurt us both. "And you know something cool...? If I go first, and you come after me in a few days... my second chance self will be born a few days sooner than your second chance self, just like now. Everything will be exactly the same between us. That's why I'm sure we can get all of this back."
Bullshit.
There's no way to get back the closeness that took us years to build up. Your feelings making themselves known to me through little things, through your constant presence. Breaking me down little by little, until you're the only one that fits against my mold. Until yours is the only other warmth I can handle.
And a few months ago, realizing I wanted you, too. Finally thinking it wouldn't be so bad to admit that to myself. There's no way for me to have any of that that back.
And even if there is, why would I want it? Why would I want to forget all of this?
I release your wrist. You pull me in tighter. "It's all right, Kyouya." I stand perfectly still while your smile engraves itself onto me, and something like grief creeps into the words I'm fated to remember. "The sooner it ends, the sooner we can start over."
Type of Present: fanfic
Pairing: 8018 Yamamoto/Hibari
Rating: G
Personal note: hi~ i'm really sorry this didn't come up to the rating you requested. i experimented a bit with point of view and ended up with hibari in first person present tense... i realize this may not be the most readable format, but i hope it's not too confusing.
takes place in the future, before the guardians are shot by the ten-year bazooka. canon is bound to prove this wrong eventually XD MERRY CHRISTMAS!
This is our death sentence
We're all by ourselves in this balcony. I'm standing here leaning forward on the railing, ignoring your presence. You're standing beside me leaning back on the railing, imposing your presence on me anyway. An old familiar scene.
Right now we're also not talking. But I can trust you to remedy that. Already I can feel the words making their way from your brain to your mouth; they're so slow I can hear them crawling.
ETA in three... two...
"You know what I learned just yesterday?"
I don't really care.
"I learned about being reborn. I only got around to asking now. That's funny, right?" I wouldn't know. "I don't mean Reborn the kid, all right? I mean reborn as in... reincarnation. Like being born a second time, okay? This is how it works: you die and then your soul goes into a baby's body - "
"I know what reincarnation is." You can at least stop with the hand gestures and goofy facial expressions. You're not getting an award for discovering that one, Einstein.
"Ah... of course you do." Your hands drop to your sides. I never know if it stings when I put you down like this. It all seems to wash right off - I suppose that's what all those small empty chuckles are for. "Well, anyway... I learned that everybody can be reincarnated. It all depends on karma. I guess you know about that too?"
Since we were kids and we had to learn about it. But knowing it doesn't mean believing in it. That still doesn't merit an answer from me.
"And... okay, karma," you keep going, "it's also what decides how you deserve to die. If you've been very bad - if you've hurt a lot of people, or if you lived your life fighting - you deserve a fast and painful death. And how violently you die... that decides how soon you're going to be reborn."
I don't feel like looking at you while you're talking. You're talking about dying violently like you're talking about an upcoming baseball game. Someone who doesn't know you so well might even mistake the slight lilt in your voice for excitement, like you're actually looking forward to it.
But I know you, and I know there's nothing different about you right now - nothing especially anxious or excited or even mildly upset. You're just standing there being as calm as always in your black suit, your loosened tie, letting the wind blow through your hair like you haven't done anything to annoy me and this might be the last time we'll meet.
"The more violently you die, the sooner you're reborn, usually. That makes sense, doesn't it?" I don't have the faintest clue. Obviously it makes sense to you. "Because if you died in a hurry, you'd want to be reborn in a hurry too. So I learned that people who die violently can be reborn in as soon as two or even ten years. But if you die peacefully, it could take a long time - maybe forty years, maybe a hundred."
I'm starting to feel like shutting you up. I'm beginning to realize that I'm developing a low tolerance for the things that come out of your mouth, particularly after that stunt you pulled at the meeting...
"And," you say quietly, "what's more violent than getting split into billions of tiny molecules, right?"
That's it. I think I'd like to go somewhere alone before you talk any more and you finally say something that makes me snap and beat the shit out of you. Frankly, over the few months that we've been unofficially "together," this has been happening a lot.
Too bad. It's too late now. I can't actually kill you before you switch back with your younger self, in a few days' time.
You sidle up to me. Seeing if I'm going to attack you if you get too close. "Is it going to hurt, you think?" you ask.
And I look at you, finally. Are you still treating this as a game? Is this how you're coping?
You're wasting my time. You were there when I explained the process to you - to the rest of the Vongola Guardians. I lied to your face and said I learned it all on reconnaissance. I convinced you all that I've found a way to schedule the use of the modified ten-year bazooka in the past, but in return, we're going to have to die - our bodies are going to be sucked into the Millefiores' white round machine, where they're going to be broken down into little tiny pieces called molecules (you made me explain "molecules." I should bite you to death just for that) which could never be put back together.
I told you all it was likely not to hurt... that there was a good chance the process was going to be instantaneous and painless. And of course you believed me. Unconditionally.
What was it that you said...? That doesn't seem so bad, then.
"Are you still mad at me?" you have the gall to ask.
I feel the blood rising to my head. I know this rush. You should stay out of my way now.
You reach for my hand or my shoulder, I sense your hesitation - I also sense your desire to touch me, any part of me you could touch. Alas, my thoughtless friend, you are not that lucky.
"You volunteered to be shot first." You even said it so easily, looking straight into my eyes: That doesn't seem so bad, then. I don't mind going first. "When the Smoking Bomb challenged you for the privilege, you gave it to him. But if he hadn't, you would've gone through with it, wouldn't you?"
I have the wrist of your right hand in my grip. I can just tighten my hold and break it if I want.
You know this. You know I can hurt you. But you're not afraid. I don't know what that look is you're throwing me, but it's not pain.
"You know why Gokudera did that," you tell me in a level voice. "He wants his younger self to be the first at Tsuna's side. You know how much that means to him."
"That explains him," I say. "But you still volunteered to get shot first. What's the rush, Yamamoto Takeshi? Can't take living like this anymore?"
You look at me like you've been slapped. Like you don't know what for.
Idiot. Fucking brainless, pathetic excuse for a mafia hitman. Fighting is the only way to die. Fighting beside me should be the only way out for you.
But that wasn't what you chose.
"I don't care about reincarnation or whatever," I tell you. "Stop throwing that bullshit around. We're not arcobaleno. We can't choose to be reborn. All we've had so far, that's all we're getting. There are no next times or second chances. And volunteering to get shot first just means you're rushing to put an end to all this."
And this is something you don't say to my face.
We've only had a few months, Yamamoto Takeshi. You and I deserve a violent death, but together.
And more than that, we deserve a few more days.
Why did you want to die before me?
Were you waiting for me to say I wanted to die with you?
Are you that eager to rejoin your idiot father in the grave?
I don't know if you're reading all this. You're quite good at that up close. When you're this close, for example, and you're looking into my eyes, I almost get the feeling you already know what I want to say, even before I can find the words for them.
But now your other hand is reaching around my shoulders.
And you're not answering any of my questions.
And you're pulling me into an embrace and suddenly you're once more the baseball head who can't even put two and two together. I didn't give you permission to touch me. Let go.
"I can go first because you're stronger, Kyouya," you whisper. "The one who's staying has to be strong enough to take care of everyone. At least strong enough to take care of my stupid younger self, when he gets here."
I hear your heart beating against my ear and it's so calm, so certain. I was ready to kill you a while ago, but I don't have the strength for that now. You've learned how to hold me so nothing hurts, not the old wounds or the wounds yet to come.
Let go.
"We'll meet again, you know." You sound so sure of it. "Maybe in another ten years. Maybe in a hundred." It depends on how much saying goodbye will hurt us both. "And you know something cool...? If I go first, and you come after me in a few days... my second chance self will be born a few days sooner than your second chance self, just like now. Everything will be exactly the same between us. That's why I'm sure we can get all of this back."
Bullshit.
There's no way to get back the closeness that took us years to build up. Your feelings making themselves known to me through little things, through your constant presence. Breaking me down little by little, until you're the only one that fits against my mold. Until yours is the only other warmth I can handle.
And a few months ago, realizing I wanted you, too. Finally thinking it wouldn't be so bad to admit that to myself. There's no way for me to have any of that that back.
And even if there is, why would I want it? Why would I want to forget all of this?
I release your wrist. You pull me in tighter. "It's all right, Kyouya." I stand perfectly still while your smile engraves itself onto me, and something like grief creeps into the words I'm fated to remember. "The sooner it ends, the sooner we can start over."