assorted; KHR
tiny things that are mostly sad
SECOND IMPRESSIONS
(Shamal & Gokudera; Dates gone wrong and a bad penchant for strays.)
Shamal found him again two Summers after he’d ran away. He was on a date, walking her into the nearest bar to let her use the ladies room, as absent-minded as ever when his astray student appeared, in the very centre of the crowded room. A boy slouched over the piano with his legs still dangling inches from the ground while his tiny, practiced fingers worked; The Well-Tempered Clavier. Hayato was only playing the part Shamal had taught him, small and stiff on the seat, his little boy hands dotting wildly to reach all the keys. He didn’t notice the doctor watching from the bar, didn’t notice him pushing through the audience and pissing off the drunks, didn’t notice until there was a shriek of dissonance from the piano as he was tugged away, outside, listening to Shamal bark: “You’re coming home right now, you stupid kid, you stupid fucking kid."
THE BEST LAID PLANS
(Tsuna & Hibari; Looking back with a world of regrets.)
There is the daily reading of the death toll from Hibari at six.
Tsuna listens with his fingers spread across his face and his colourless hand trembling to keep the phone still. The first time they arranged this, Tsuna started sobbing and Hibari paused for only a moment before he hung up. It was a matter of learning - god knows Tsuna had learned to repress in the past ten years, god knows he’d matured at an incomprehensible rate, and keeping the tremors from his voice, keeping the words he says neutral and collected enough to fool Hibari himself is an accomplishment as significant as keeping his family alive that first, hazy month was; as significant as keeping his mouth shut and steps quiet when he hurried from the base in the night. And maybe he stopped at every bedroom door - listened to the soft, unsuspecting breathing, listened to Lambo cry with his heart in knots, listened to Gokudera phoning Biacnhi for the umpteenth time - maybe it was too much to resist spending his last moments with them. He went through with it in the end, and that was what mattered, that feat of cold-heartedness was one thing he thought - he hoped - he‘d never achieve.
Learning process: Tsuna now knows the art of not making one sound when he cries, when his heart hurts, or when he can’t stand the loneliness anymore. He's stopped the weeping, the outdrawn, pain-ridden moans and the howls, low and quiet, echoing in his little middle-of-nowhere. All tricks he picked up from Reborn’s funeral, the one death Tsuna wishes more than anything could have been staged and, god - Reborn would have feigned a better fall, too. After the wake, Tsuna lived in a blur of remorse and anxiety, and when Hibari locked him in the safehouse with one curt, "Shoichi better make this quick," Tsuna felt as relieved as he did heartbroken.
Living this way, under a guise of death and betrayal, is Tsuna's sacrifice to keep his family protected and safe. When Hibari monotonously rolls of the names of the deceased and murmurs the name 'Yamamoto Tsuyoshi' as careless as ever, Tsuna forgets all he's been taught and lets out a sob.
REDISCOVERING YOUR BLESSINGS
(Gokudera & Bianchi; On family and growing up.)
The night they return to the past, Gokudera rests properly for the first time in what feels like - what could be - years.
Bianchi is by his bed in the morning, covered by a veil, smiling wider than he's ever seen before.
“Bambino,” she breathes softly, and she passes his breakfast to him on a tray, positively beaming.
He hesitates for a moment, sleepy eyed and tentative, before he smiles back and sits up. He takes the food out of her hands and says thank you, and when she starts cleaning his apartment he throws it out the nearest window and tells her it was delicious.
LOST IN THE GLEN
(Squalo & Yamamoto; Second tries and first defeats.)
Yamamoto’s nineteen. It’s the second time he’s visited Italy, and he stumbles across Squalo, stumbles across him along with a dozen or so more Vongola, looking normal and talking quietly to Belphegor. Yamamoto thinks that it’s strange; how they Varia can look so much like they do, like a family. Yamamoto thinks it’s comforting to know they aren’t completely inhuman (and just a little terrifying, too).
He mentions a spar because, well, was it all luck? Was he meant to be the one pathetically rescued by Dino, drenched and ashamed and in pieces? He asks again after being ignored; politely, with a smile and a nod and his fingers twitching on the hilt.
Squalo's eyes flash and the next thing they're in a Varia training room and Yamamoto's laughing while his fingers curl around Shigure Kintoki (and tremble in excitement, in fear).
Katana brat, Squalo yells and there's a flurry of tearing and slicing, stumbling and almost-dodging - and Yamamoto loses for the first time. There are thousands of little scrapes and cuts freckled on his stomach, there’s dirt and blood and he drops his sword with a clatter and a frown while Squalo keeps his an inch from Yamamoto's throat. This was a mistake, he thinks, and Squallo starts talking again. It’s monotone, and it makes no sense when the buzzing in Yamamoto’s ears raises in fury, frustration - disappointment. Emotion rages through him so hard he can hardly stand, and the blood seeps from his tired skin so easily he can hardly think at all. He makes out the sharp hiss of Squalo's blade being sheathed, and then
it's about time you got it through your head, kid - swords aren't playthings.
ALL THE ODDS ARE IN OUR FAVOUR
(Yamamoto/Gokudera; Furthering ridiculous relationships and the stupidity entailed.)
Ryohei gets rid of his crutches and Yamamoto throws out his eyepatch after a month or two; if not for a subtle limp and squint, everyone is back to normal.
Gokudera walks with him to school, still the acting guide. The idiot’s eye is recovering, but it doesn’t change the fact everyone's heard the ‘almost waltzed onto oncoming traffic yesterday’ story. “I know you heard it, at least. It was a tractor, for Christ sake,” Gokudera berates him, one hand on the small of Yamamoto’s back as a grip, maybe a little firmer than necessary. “You did it on purpose.”
Yamamoto grins wide at him, saying nothing, but there’s hardly a point in trying to lie; it’s been so long, Gokudera knows every mannerism, every possible tell, and silence is the most common sign. “Why would I do that,” he says quietly, then he gingerly picks Gokudera’s hand from his back and takes it in his own, smiling wide, squeezing tight.
“You have no self-restraint, do you?” Gokudera mutters, but then he sighs, and he squeezes back, only half-reluctant.
BAD ACTORS WITH BAD HABITS
(Hibari/Gokudera; Unprofessional activity through keeping secrets.)
There's nothing quite like the secrecy of it, the novelty; the initial thrill.
The casing of Hibari's gun would slide cool across the curve of Gokudera's hip. It left friction burns in checkered pink-white skin after a while, and every time Hibari rolled it against the burning flesh Gokudera would shiver and drag him closer, tongue teasing on the corner of his mouth. Hibari's fingernails and teeth pierced and punctured, tore down every one of Gokudera's defenses with a thrust, the delicate brush of lips and scrape of skin on concrete. By the end of the night, Gokudera would be a bruising mess and Hibari would be tracing the teethmarks in his collarbone with a smile.
Partnered missions end up quite innovative.
SECOND IMPRESSIONS
(Shamal & Gokudera; Dates gone wrong and a bad penchant for strays.)
Shamal found him again two Summers after he’d ran away. He was on a date, walking her into the nearest bar to let her use the ladies room, as absent-minded as ever when his astray student appeared, in the very centre of the crowded room. A boy slouched over the piano with his legs still dangling inches from the ground while his tiny, practiced fingers worked; The Well-Tempered Clavier. Hayato was only playing the part Shamal had taught him, small and stiff on the seat, his little boy hands dotting wildly to reach all the keys. He didn’t notice the doctor watching from the bar, didn’t notice him pushing through the audience and pissing off the drunks, didn’t notice until there was a shriek of dissonance from the piano as he was tugged away, outside, listening to Shamal bark: “You’re coming home right now, you stupid kid, you stupid fucking kid."
THE BEST LAID PLANS
(Tsuna & Hibari; Looking back with a world of regrets.)
There is the daily reading of the death toll from Hibari at six.
Tsuna listens with his fingers spread across his face and his colourless hand trembling to keep the phone still. The first time they arranged this, Tsuna started sobbing and Hibari paused for only a moment before he hung up. It was a matter of learning - god knows Tsuna had learned to repress in the past ten years, god knows he’d matured at an incomprehensible rate, and keeping the tremors from his voice, keeping the words he says neutral and collected enough to fool Hibari himself is an accomplishment as significant as keeping his family alive that first, hazy month was; as significant as keeping his mouth shut and steps quiet when he hurried from the base in the night. And maybe he stopped at every bedroom door - listened to the soft, unsuspecting breathing, listened to Lambo cry with his heart in knots, listened to Gokudera phoning Biacnhi for the umpteenth time - maybe it was too much to resist spending his last moments with them. He went through with it in the end, and that was what mattered, that feat of cold-heartedness was one thing he thought - he hoped - he‘d never achieve.
Learning process: Tsuna now knows the art of not making one sound when he cries, when his heart hurts, or when he can’t stand the loneliness anymore. He's stopped the weeping, the outdrawn, pain-ridden moans and the howls, low and quiet, echoing in his little middle-of-nowhere. All tricks he picked up from Reborn’s funeral, the one death Tsuna wishes more than anything could have been staged and, god - Reborn would have feigned a better fall, too. After the wake, Tsuna lived in a blur of remorse and anxiety, and when Hibari locked him in the safehouse with one curt, "Shoichi better make this quick," Tsuna felt as relieved as he did heartbroken.
Living this way, under a guise of death and betrayal, is Tsuna's sacrifice to keep his family protected and safe. When Hibari monotonously rolls of the names of the deceased and murmurs the name 'Yamamoto Tsuyoshi' as careless as ever, Tsuna forgets all he's been taught and lets out a sob.
REDISCOVERING YOUR BLESSINGS
(Gokudera & Bianchi; On family and growing up.)
The night they return to the past, Gokudera rests properly for the first time in what feels like - what could be - years.
Bianchi is by his bed in the morning, covered by a veil, smiling wider than he's ever seen before.
“Bambino,” she breathes softly, and she passes his breakfast to him on a tray, positively beaming.
He hesitates for a moment, sleepy eyed and tentative, before he smiles back and sits up. He takes the food out of her hands and says thank you, and when she starts cleaning his apartment he throws it out the nearest window and tells her it was delicious.
LOST IN THE GLEN
(Squalo & Yamamoto; Second tries and first defeats.)
Yamamoto’s nineteen. It’s the second time he’s visited Italy, and he stumbles across Squalo, stumbles across him along with a dozen or so more Vongola, looking normal and talking quietly to Belphegor. Yamamoto thinks that it’s strange; how they Varia can look so much like they do, like a family. Yamamoto thinks it’s comforting to know they aren’t completely inhuman (and just a little terrifying, too).
He mentions a spar because, well, was it all luck? Was he meant to be the one pathetically rescued by Dino, drenched and ashamed and in pieces? He asks again after being ignored; politely, with a smile and a nod and his fingers twitching on the hilt.
Squalo's eyes flash and the next thing they're in a Varia training room and Yamamoto's laughing while his fingers curl around Shigure Kintoki (and tremble in excitement, in fear).
Katana brat, Squalo yells and there's a flurry of tearing and slicing, stumbling and almost-dodging - and Yamamoto loses for the first time. There are thousands of little scrapes and cuts freckled on his stomach, there’s dirt and blood and he drops his sword with a clatter and a frown while Squalo keeps his an inch from Yamamoto's throat. This was a mistake, he thinks, and Squallo starts talking again. It’s monotone, and it makes no sense when the buzzing in Yamamoto’s ears raises in fury, frustration - disappointment. Emotion rages through him so hard he can hardly stand, and the blood seeps from his tired skin so easily he can hardly think at all. He makes out the sharp hiss of Squalo's blade being sheathed, and then
it's about time you got it through your head, kid - swords aren't playthings.
ALL THE ODDS ARE IN OUR FAVOUR
(Yamamoto/Gokudera; Furthering ridiculous relationships and the stupidity entailed.)
Ryohei gets rid of his crutches and Yamamoto throws out his eyepatch after a month or two; if not for a subtle limp and squint, everyone is back to normal.
Gokudera walks with him to school, still the acting guide. The idiot’s eye is recovering, but it doesn’t change the fact everyone's heard the ‘almost waltzed onto oncoming traffic yesterday’ story. “I know you heard it, at least. It was a tractor, for Christ sake,” Gokudera berates him, one hand on the small of Yamamoto’s back as a grip, maybe a little firmer than necessary. “You did it on purpose.”
Yamamoto grins wide at him, saying nothing, but there’s hardly a point in trying to lie; it’s been so long, Gokudera knows every mannerism, every possible tell, and silence is the most common sign. “Why would I do that,” he says quietly, then he gingerly picks Gokudera’s hand from his back and takes it in his own, smiling wide, squeezing tight.
“You have no self-restraint, do you?” Gokudera mutters, but then he sighs, and he squeezes back, only half-reluctant.
BAD ACTORS WITH BAD HABITS
(Hibari/Gokudera; Unprofessional activity through keeping secrets.)
There's nothing quite like the secrecy of it, the novelty; the initial thrill.
The casing of Hibari's gun would slide cool across the curve of Gokudera's hip. It left friction burns in checkered pink-white skin after a while, and every time Hibari rolled it against the burning flesh Gokudera would shiver and drag him closer, tongue teasing on the corner of his mouth. Hibari's fingernails and teeth pierced and punctured, tore down every one of Gokudera's defenses with a thrust, the delicate brush of lips and scrape of skin on concrete. By the end of the night, Gokudera would be a bruising mess and Hibari would be tracing the teethmarks in his collarbone with a smile.
Partnered missions end up quite innovative.