[Katekyo Hitman Reborn] Drift
Title: Drift
Author: masanami
Character(s): Yamamoto/Hibari, Tsuna, Gokudera
Word Count: 8018 ♥
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit sexual content.
Summary: Something has changed and neither Yamamoto nor Hibari know how to react as memories of the past keeping floating through the cracks of their crumbling relationship.
Author's Note: Series of interwoven drabbles about Yamamoto and Hibari's relationship during the TYL!Arc and prior. Written for khrfest's Round III. Prompt: Yamamoto/Hibari - heartbreak - "that one lie is the only truth."
[ reach out towards the distant night ]
Hibari didn’t like surprises.
So when Yamamoto showed up at his front door bearing a bag of groceries and a smile, he promptly slammed the door in his face. Sighing, Hibari’s back leaned against the solid foundation of the front door as it vibrated with Yamamoto’s insistent knocks.
“Hi~bari-chan!”
He gritted his teeth in irritation, brow furrowing and marking creases across his forehead. He closed his eyes, fingers itching for the cool and smooth feel of his tonfa, longing for the tangible weight that settled so perfectly into his hands. There was nothing tangible about his feelings for Yamamoto, nothing more than bothersome flutters in the back of his mind that constricted his thoughts-and that alone was enough to spark his irritation when the other man was near. Even more so when he came calling in the middle of the night when he was trying to sleep.
He pushed his back against the door and turned to open it. Yamamoto stood on the other side patiently waiting, a gentle smile upon his lips and eyes partly closed with a gleam that Hibari could only describe as warm.
“What are you doing here, Yamamoto Takeshi?”
Yamamoto leaned against the door frame, neither entering nor making space for the door to be closed either. “I wanted to see you.”
Hibari just stared at him.
Yamamoto laughed through Hibari’s silence. “Can I come in at least?”
Hibari stepped aside and Yamamoto stepped in. The door closed with a soft click as Yamamoto kicked off his shoes near the doorway and followed Hibari inside. “I picked up some food on the way here. Hungry?”
“No.” Hibari crossed his arms over his chest and watched Yamamoto from a distance. Even from this close he could make out the slight ruffled fabric of his shirt and the darkened circles that rested just under the cover of smiling eyes.
“When did you get back to Japan?”
He watched as Yamamoto laughed and rubbed long fingers through his hair, brushing callused tips against his scalp. “Aw, Hibari, how cute…I didn’t know you knew I was gone. I just got back from Italy a few hours ago.”
“And you couldn’t be bothered to shower and dress before you woke me up in the middle of the night?” He sat down against the couch as Yamamoto put the bag with food on the counter. His eyes closed as he leaned back, letting the plush cushions sink in around him.
He wanted to sleep and for this annoyance to be gone…
The sound of Yamamoto’s movements danced across the room until it was a whisper against his ear, a warning that the man was stepping precariously close to his threshold of permitted human contact. “But I told you Hibari, I wanted to see you.”
Then he felt the pulsating heat of Yamamoto’s breath against his neck, the groaning give of the couch as two hands leaned weight against either side of his head. When he opened his eyes, Yamamoto’s gaze met his own with a shuddering breath.
“Why are you so close? I don’t like it.” It made his heart beat race, fluttering so wildly he thought it might burst right through his chest. How long had it been since Yamamoto had been….this close?
“I told you. I missed you.”
“Tch.” Hibari scoffed as he turned his face away and broke the concentration of that gaze. He forced the breaking pace of his heart to ease, angry at himself for even allowing Yamamoto to cause such a reaction.
But Yamamoto was insistent.
“It’s been a long time, Hibari-chan. You could be a little more welcoming.”
Hibari gritted his teeth, reaching out for the collar of Yamamoto’s shirt and fisting his fingers around it until he pulled their faces within inches of each other. A malevolent smirk drew lines across his lips. “And why should I welcome a person who barges into my home at all hours of the night, deprives me of sleep, and won’t stay away even when I tell him to leave me be?”
A grin was Yamamoto’s response, followed by the press of lips against lips.
Yamamoto’s tongue was warm against his mouth as it forced its way through pursed lips and his knees brushed against his legs. His fingers gripped even tighter onto the other man’s clothes as Yamamoto’s fingers found his hair, tangling themselves in his black strands before traveling down the side of his face and shoulders.
He didn’t know why he opened the door in the first place, why he let Yamamoto enter this space that he guarded so closely, nor why he let those hands guide him down against the couch. Those hands traveled over his body, pulling at the rim of his shirt and tickling the skin just above his navel, and it only made his irritation grow because the demand he felt rising in his body at the feel of that touch was impossible to resist-and it was a feeling that Yamamoto Takeshi had gotten far too good at invoking.
“Stop,” he muttered, when he felt the warmth in his face spreading all the way down his neck. Yamamoto’s hands were just at the clasp of his pants, the other snaked through his hair, messing with the wild black strands. “Didn’t I tell you not to come over here anymore?”
Yamamoto looked up at him from where he laid, sprawled across his lap and lower abdomen, fingers just itching to undo the buckle keeping his pants on. He leaned forward, face leaning downward until his lips caressed the skin just below his navel. Hibari felt a shiver run down his spine as his toes curled inward. “But Hibari-chan…you should know...” He felt a sigh against his skin before Yamamoto laid his face flush against his abdomen, long arms wrapping around his slender waist and holding him in place. Another long sigh tickled against his skin. “Don’t make me leave.” The words were barely a whisper off Yamamoto’s lips.
“Tch.” Hibari scoffed as he stared at the ceiling. He bit his bottom lip, chewing the soft skin before reaching out a hand and running it through the short spiky black hair. Yamamoto should have known better than to ask, he should have known he wouldn’t turn him away the moment he let him walk through the door.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Yamamoto Takeshi was an addiction not easily quit.
[ wishing only brings tragedy ]
Sawada Tsunayoshi, Hibari understands, is the one at fault for this entire mess.
The warm and stuffy room prickles the skin on the back of Hibari Kyouya’s neck as he closes the door behind him. From across the room the brown-eyed Sawada Tsunayoshi looks up from a large oak desk, the light streaming in from the large over-sized windows illuminating the world around him until Hibari has to squint to see the slight smile that defines the curves of the other man’s lips.
“Hibari-san.” The mafia boss set down the pen in his hand and stood in greeting. “I’m glad you came.”
“I have no intention of staying.” Hibari moves across the room as he crosses his arms over his chest, weight shifting to one side as he comes to a stop before the desk and Tsuna sits down. “I only came because you said it was worth my interest.” The unspoken lay between them, filling up the seconds before Tsunayoshi replies.
“I understand, I know you’re busy, Hibari-san.”
Hibari says nothing and waits.
A long sigh drags between Tsunayoshi’s lips and Hibari cocks his head to the side as the young mafia boss staples his fingers across the polished wood desktop and leans forward so that the tailored lines of the well-fitted suit struggle against his slender frame. The tense corners of his lips, the slight crease of the eyebrow are all things that Hibari takes in with a quick glance. There’s a steady unease he can feel drowning the air around the young man.
He doesn’t know what Tsunayoshi has to say, but these words will be heavy and lay with sacrifice and hardship. Hibari cannot doubt that fact for even a moment.
Tsunayoshi speaks slowly, delicately, but with a seriousness that few see. “This is about the future…”
[ the disappearing scenery taught me that we’re side by side ]
There is a rooftop where the view of Namimori spreads out as far as the eye can see. There have been so many days in which Hibari has stood gazing out into that fading sunset and watching the orange-washed Earth fade into the shadows of the night. Right now the sun is still high, but it threatens to fall down the sliding slope of evening with each passing second. The hues of blue traveling further to orange and then purple and finally black are all too familiar to Hibari. It’s a sight he’s seen time and time again.
But today he can’t see the waning day as its gives away to growing darkness.
His vision is preoccupied on the hand curled around in front of his face, the fingers that twitch ever so slightly with restlessness to move closer and further clasp him into a strangling embrace. He can feel the shift of the arm that’s curled under the weight of his head, the feel of concrete cool against his skin but the press of the body against his back warm. Yamamoto’s gentle breathing is a lullaby that lulls him into the sweet embrace of sleep.
“Hibari.”
The voice is a gentle strum against his earlobes. He doesn’t respond, pretending to sleep even with his eyes so lightly closed. He doesn’t want to wake either, he wants to rest and forget and just feel the warmth of bodies meshed against one another in such simple ease.
“I really like you Hibari.”
He can’t remember the first time Yamamoto said those words, but he’s heard them time and time again since this game began. At first the words had confused him, angered him, and even led to flying fists and broken bones-yet for some reason Yamamoto recklessly pursued them further. It was a dance that they played, a give and take, and right now Hibari was giving into the comfort of the body beside him, finding for once the presence of another human being could almost be…relaxing.
The slight shift and pressure on the top of his forehead as Yamamoto’s lips press into his black hair sends a shiver shuddering down the length of his spine. He doesn’t need to say anything for Yamamoto to understand because those words are not ones that Hibari can fully muster or comprehend the other’s need to hear them-because they both understand that his presence beside him speaks more than his words alone can express.
But still…those words burn into the corner of his mind and he can’t fall asleep when he knows speaking with words to Yamamoto is not something he can do so easily.
Instead, he lays quietly and pretends not to hear them.
[ the pathway between our heated words ]
He felt the warmth of blood against his face.
Like the pulsating arteries that followed through his body, Hibari Kyouya imagined the way the slick substance pumped out of the open flesh that tore apart under the weight of his tonfa. He pictured the trickle that would soon turn into a gush, spreading across the surface of the earth as gasping and grimacing bodies clutched feebly to the remnants of their bodies before succumbing to their undeniable death. Here within the darkened room with nothing but Mafioso surrounding him, Hibari could have his way and stretch his strength until adrenaline pumped through his veins and the thrill of battle won over the mundane humdrum of ordinary life.
Not that the life of a hitman was ordinary to most.
With each turbulent swing of his weapon it drew him closer and closer to that high that he could only attain on the battlefield. It gave his reason away to senses, where instinct drove the very fiber of his muscles, wielding him through a canopy of sharpened knives and blasting guns.
When it was over it was a battlefield wrought in broken limbs and disfigured remains.
Warm and sticky underneath his feet, Hibari stepped across the blood-splattered concrete with narrowed eyes focusing on everything but the carnage around him. The tonfas clasped inbetween clenched palms rested at his sides, coated in a shimmering crimson that glinted off the faint light of the warehouse building. A muffled groan escaped from the lips of a man near by and Hibari unceremoniously stepped over the dying figure as the last gurgling rattles of struggling life dissipated through the air.
“Whew, what a mess.”
Hibari’s head tilted in the direction of the voice that permeated across the room, the tall figure of Yamamoto Takeshi filling his vision from where he leaned against a nearby crate. His unsheathed katana lay at his side, unspoiled and glistening in the succulent moonlight that wavered in from the high top windows. He pushed himself away from the crate, the weapon finding its place in the sheath across his shoulder as he sauntered across the ruined battlefield with a confident stride, the click of expensive Italian shoes echoing in the otherwise silent arena.
“What are you doing, Yamamoto Takeshi?” Hibari bit back, a scowl pulling taunt lines on his face.
Smirking, Yamamoto carelessly rubbed the back of his head as he avoided Hibari’s gaze and instead focused on the dead or dying masses at his feet. He was unfazed, more amused, if anything else. “I thought you could use some help.” A chuckle. “I guess I was wrong.”
“I don’t need help from you.” Irritation boiled in the back of his eyes and the grip on his tonfas tightened until his knuckles flushed white. Watching the way that Yamamoto spoke so carelessly and light made Hibari want to bite him next. The rush and adrenaline of battle still pumped through his veins, and Yamamoto’s intrusion interfered with his high, something which was not to be tolerated.
Hibari took a threatening step forward and he saw the change in expression within Yamamoto’s hazel eyes, the sharp inclination of understanding that sparked between them.
“Hibari…” Yamamoto drew out tentatively, a warning that he would not bow down to Hibari’s intimidation. Hibari was glad, he liked a challenge and the Rain Guardian of the Vongola could provide him a final release from adrenaline soaked battle that he needed. If anything, at least it made Yamamoto useful.
His breath was a heaving beat against his chest and he shook his head, splaying strands of black hair that flicked blood drops to the ground. His body shivered, cold spirals spiking along the contours of his spine as he stepped closer and closer, each purposeful movement reducing the distance to the lean figure before him. Over the years Hibari had watched as Yamamoto had grown, as he developed that natural instinct of a killer and became the swordsman that stood before him today. He was unlike the others; cool and collected yet understanding of the extent of actions sometimes necessary to both defeat…and protect. And while most left Hibari with a bitter taste in the back of his throat, Yamamoto was one who he could sometimes tolerate-when he felt like allowing another to grace his presence. Even in his annoyance, Yamamoto could sometimes quirk his interest; just like he did now, standing there with his bloodless weapon sheathed but ready to be used. He eluded a type of confidence that could only be brought about by learning the possession of a skill that took time, concentration, and patience to master. It was a fact Hibari could almost respect…almost.
But those were words he would never utter aloud.
Already the Rain Guardian was too cavalier to demand his respect and utmost attention-even if his strength as a possible opponent demanded some of it. He pushed aside his blade too easily for the fleeting benefits of life and friendships. That was something Hibari could not respect, something he could not tolerate. But if he wanted to he knew he could force that attention and focus, he could wipe that smirk right off his face. In the back of his mind he knew Yamamoto was the same, they were both killers even if Yamamoto chose to hide it while he embraced it.
“Fight me.” Hibari was right against him now, close enough for the warmth of their breaths to mingle in the space between them. Yamamoto smelled fresh and clear, like the water he was so fond of using in battle. His smell was so much different from his own, from the blood soaked clothes leaving an irony scent that overpowered them both.
From this close Hibari could just make out the scar that lined the jaw of Yamamoto’s chin, the way the jagged edges ripped and tore across the flesh before sharpening like the narrowed blade of the weapon he was so fond of using. Those eyes were looking at him with a glint anticipation and a hint of excitement, no fear nestled within the depths of their swirling brown gaze. He was so unlike those dead bodies that lay littering the floor at their feet, fear clouding and surging over their frosted eyes before they were cut down.
But that glint quickly faded, replaced instead by that perpetual smile that never left his lips. But despite that smile the sharpened tone of his voice spoke of his disapproval. “I’m not going fight you Hibari. I only came to see if you needed some help.” His eyes were slightly downcast, staring down at his small and lethal form with a pensive look that seemed to see right through him. Hibari read it as concern, a troublesome emotion that Hibari did not want nor need.
Hibari pressed his tonfa against Yamamoto’s neck, right where the carotid traveled to the brain and supplied necessary circulation to the vital organ. It would be so easy to press his weapon into the soft folds of skin and cut off the blood supply, killing those idiotic herbivore-thinking cells once and for all as they screamed for oxygen that only he could provide. But Yamamoto didn’t even flinch as the blood soaked weapon glistened across his tanned skin and smeared its bloody remains upon the clean blue collar of his pressed shirt. Yamamoto was the one person who never took his threats as seriously as he should, who remained calm even in the turbulence of Hibari’s clouded storm.
Yamamoto’s fingers curled around his wrist and Hibari narrowed his eyes.
“Now don’t get that look in your eyes. It’s too cute when you scrunch up your nose like that.” Yamamoto was leaning forward as he spoke, and Hibari could feel the warmth of his words against the pale skin of his cheek, rushing heat across the already red soaked flesh. The look in Yamamoto’s eyes was one of a predator fixating its gaze on a prey, a look that Hibari was more than familiar with.
It annoyed him. He didn’t like when others crowded around without his permission, or when they opened their mouths to ramble irritating nonsense.
He drew up his hand to smack Yamamoto upside the jaw with the tonfa, but the other man anticipated a reaction from his words and seamlessly spun back and out of the way, using his elbow to wedge and connect with the other tonfa that was already in motion. Yamamoto always had a way of reading his attacks, another irritating fact that sometimes provided an interesting challenge.
But Yamamoto was stupid enough to expose his back to him and Hibari was merciless. He should have known better. Without a thought Hibari kicked the back of his exposed knee and with a grunt Yamamoto stumbled forward to the ground, catching himself with his palms before his body tumbled down.
“Pathetic herbivore,” the Cloud Guardian mumbled and turned away.
Yamamoto’s laugh carried across the room as he pushed himself up and wiped off the front of his suit.
“Maybe next time, Hibari.” Yamamoto called out to his retreating form.
Hibari said nothing and walked on, knowing that next time he wouldn’t let Yamamoto have his way.
[ locked within my heart, love shudders ]
Yamamoto knew exactly how to invade every private corner of his being, how to push aside all the barriers he erected until he was cornered. Hibari didn’t understand how he seemed to know just how hard to push or when to draw back, when his threats were deadly or just words. He forced his way into his space until Hibari bared his teeth in retaliation, to the point where comprehending such actions were beyond the level of Hibari’s tolerance for understanding Yamamoto’s motives.
Mostly, however, Hibari didn’t understand why he continued to let him do it-but he thought it might have something to do with the way that Yamamoto knew how to push every one of his buttons.
The warmth of fingertips coasting over his skin left a shiver running down his spine, needles prickling against the untouched flesh as fingers touched him when he didn’t want to be touched. But Yamamoto was persistent, and even when he smacked away those encroaching fingers, they always came back. He knew this even when his back was pushed against the wall and the weight of Yamamoto’s body pushed against his own was enough to make the pane of the window press uncomfortably against his back. He turned his head away from those soft lips, instead forcing Yamamoto’s mouth to find his neck, where it explored every crevasse of his body. He closed his eyes, because that touch was perhaps worse, more tempting, more instinctive.
His back arched against that touch, the warmth of the hand that retched free his shirt and caressed the soft skin of his abdomen, the other hand firmly rooted on his rear where it kneaded and threaded. He gritted his teeth against the groan that wanted to leave his lips because he wouldn’t give Yamamoto the satisfaction of knowing he was causing any reaction at all.
But damnit if he wasn’t.
He gripped onto the front of Yamamoto’s shirt, fists tugging at the fabric, and pushed him away. The dissipating panting of breathes showered the distance between them in cold relief.
And Yamamoto was smirking. He was actually smirking as he wiped his wet lips off with the back of his hand and stared at him from across the minute distance that separated them, even as Hibari steadied his breathing and tried to ease the rapid beat of his heart.
It was so…irritating.
“I’m leaving.” He pushed his back from the wall and with clenched fists strode pass Yamamoto, eyes gazing forward on the doorway and its exit from this situation.
He wasn’t ready to give Yamamoto the satisfaction of giving in. Not when he still had the willpower to resist these outrageous feelings.
[ the dream that will not end, time has stopped, there’s still only a little bit left ]
His white shirt was saturated in blood.
It was so thick he could see the thin fabric clinging to the gentle curve and dimple of his slender hips, pulled taunt against the skin and filling the space where an arm used to be.
Small but powerful fingers clung over the stump that remained, gushing and warm flowing blood seeping between the clenched fingertips. He could see the grit of bared teeth, the furrowed brow, and the pain that was barely perceptible over the film of anger. Hibari seethed through the throbbing burn even as his face drained of color and he stumbled on uneven ground.
“Hi…bari…” The name was a barely perceptible whisper off Yamamoto’s lips as he moved forward. The distance closed between them without thought for danger or threat, because the only thing Yamamoto saw in his sights was Hibari; hurt and in pain.
“Get out of here,” were Hibari’s words before he even got close.
Blood. It was everywhere.
Hibari stumbled again, and this time Yamamoto was there to clutch him in his arms. The warmth of that blood flowed onto his shirt and it painted him with the Hibari’s red. The pale skin of his lover was far too vivid a difference, even as Hibari buried the side of his face into his shoulder. His breathing was so ragged…
Yamamoto didn’t realize how badly he was trembling until-his eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up into darkness. Above him the ceiling was painted a muted white and the warmth of blood was replaced by the warmth of sheets and the tangle of arms against his bare skin. He breathed deeply, calming himself as he gazed down at the sleeping figure beside him. Uninterrupted, Hibari slept on.
Yamamoto breathed a sigh of relief as his arms wrapped around the other man and Hibari instinctively snuggled closer against his chest. He bit his lip, forcing away the thoughts that drowned his mind as he buried his face into the soft strands of midnight hair. Even though it was only a dream, Yamamoto couldn’t shake off the slight tremble that danced on the edge of his fingertips.
For once, he was actually scared.
[ everything sealed within your eyes ]
His lips were a whisper against his skin.
Hibari’s fingers gripped the edges of Yamamoto’s clothes tighter, small hands digging around the soft fabric and the solid flesh underneath. The other boy leaned over him, pressing him firmly against the couch in the reception room even as the sounds of students talking drifted in through the closed doors.
“I want to touch you.”
Hibari scoffed, Yamamoto was already touching him.
He felt a kiss against his neck as fingers dug underneath his shirt and pressed against the soft flesh of his abdomen. “And I want to kiss you.” Still they searched deeper and Hibari tried to ease the panting breaths that raced from his parted lips. He didn’t know why he was letting Yamamoto do this, or why his body reacted so fluidly to his touch. His movements felt clumsy against Yamamoto’s assured grip, and it irritated him that the younger boy seemed to know more of what he was doing than he did-and why he seemed to understand the urgent need that he was feeling and just what touches fueled that fire even more.
“Yamamoto Takeshi, stop it.” He muttered out, just stifling a moan.
“Why?” Yamamoto’s lips found his own, pressing deeply and forcefully against him until his mouth parted and the warmth of Yamamoto’s tongue devoured him. Instinctively his back arched and pushed against the weight of Yamamoto bearing down on him. He growled, annoyed.
“Don’t you like it?” Yamamoto whispered when their lips finally broke free.
“No.” He didn’t like Yamamoto having this control over him, bending him against his will, causing his body to react from just the slightest flinch or movement.
Yamamoto seemed to see right through him. “I thought you liked a challenge.”
Hibari’s eyes snapped open before narrowing into malevolent silts. “Wao. Brave coming from someone in such a position.” As if to make his point, he raised his knee, putting pressure against the bulge in Yamamoto’s pants. What he didn’t expect was the groan that escaped from Yamamoto’s lips.
Really, this didn’t make any sense at all and Hibari didn’t think he would ever understand it.
[ abandon everything else ]
He hears the pulsating beat of his weapon thumping against his side as he flicks the tonfa against his hip. The metal, the weight, the silver gleam-they are all reassuring reminders that plant him firmly in this world. Hibari Kyouya knows one thing and one thing alone, and that is the steady breathing of his lungs as they gasp in cool air and the smell of blood as it weavers into his nostrils-sharp, poignant, and bitter tasting.
These feelings are real. These feelings are tangible. These feelings are the absolute opposite of Yamamoto Takeshi.
Yet…somehow they have all become interwoven into one.
Staring at Yamamoto Takeshi from across the school yard grounds, the only thing Hibari could concentrate on was the pulsating beat of adrenaline wrapping through his veins. It was intoxicating, the way that Yamamoto gripped that blade in his hand, the slight gleam of polished steel, the smear of red from his own blood. His side hurt from the blunt bruising of that blade, but even in its hurt he found it invigorating. He found every little hole and weakness in that baseball herbivore’s stance like a delicacy before his eyes, so all-encompassing and delicious that he had lost sight of everything else-everything but the gleam of that sweat soaked skin, the grip of those callused hands, the narrowing of those serious eyes.
Hibari wanted it all. He wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted before.
And before the end of this day he would have it-because Hibari Kyouya always gets what he wants-one way or another.
[ so near, but so far away you’ll forever be ]
The silence stretched out between them.
Hibari stood with his arms folded over his chest, narrowed eyes staring across the distance that separated him from Yamamoto. The other man raked a nervous hand through his hair, fingertips gliding against his scalp, agitation apparent in the slight shift of weight between each foot. He was looking at the ground and his lips were pursed, the insatiable grin for once sulking away into the backdrop of his more serious side. It was a side that Hibari rarely saw outside of the battlefield or their bedroom.
“So…” Yamamoto sighed before he even really began. “You’re staying…you want to end this?”
Hibari’s nod was firm, clear, and without question. His chest heaved slightly as he exhaled loudly through his nostrils, pinning back all the words he would never say aloud. He wasn’t in the mood to explain further or drag this out any longer.
Another shift in weight and then the corners of Yamamoto’s lips curled into a smile, but it was a sad, almost hopeless smile. He knew as well as he did that this would go no further-there was no room for talk-because when Hibari made a decision it was always final. “You’re sure we can’t talk about this?”
Hibari placed a hand on his forehead, kneading the skin between his furrowed brows. His eyes closed in irritation. “Yamamoto Takeshi, there is nothing else to say. Leave. Now.”
He didn’t open his eyes even as the sound of expensive Italian shoes reverberated off the floor, or when a set of long arms braced themselves against his slender shoulders. He could only sigh as he leaned into the embrace.
There was never an easy way to stay goodbye, not when he could feel the moist tears rolling down of the side of Yamamoto’s face as they fell into his hair.
[ all my hopes and dreams aren’t for anyone but me ]
Hibari Kyouya is an enigma that Yamamoto longs to understand. From where he always stands, moving so steadily across the carnage of his own destruction as walls are painted in the blood of his victims-that feeling swelling in his chest becomes so much heavier and deeper.
He doesn’t quite understand why the sight of such a delicate creature in so much chaos makes his heart race, but he knows he wants it. He wants to have it all to himself. But Hibari will never let that happen and that is something Yamamoto understands perfectly well.
But, really, that was always the way it was meant to be.
Yamamoto had always known there was nothing that would ever bind Hibari. He was a being meant to be without limits and trying to cage him was something that would only bring failure. So when he earnestly felt the flickering of emotions besides the obvious heated attraction of just wanting to claim such a dominating person, Yamamoto knew that anything less of giving his everything would result in failure.
And it seemed work, at least for a while.
Sighing, Yamamoto took a long drag from the cigarette as he leaned against the wall of the building. It had been years since he last picked up a cigarette, but tonight he needed something-anything to keep his mind off the problems that were drowning his thoughts.
“Tch, baseball freak, pay attention, will ya?”
“Huh?” Yamamoto looked up at Gokudera and smiled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I am paying attention.”
“Whatever. The Tenth is depending on us to keep an eye on this group and your head is in outer space.” The gray haired man scoffed, arms folding across his chest and single eyebrow twitching in agitation. “And since when have you started smoking again? I thought Hibari hated it.”
“He does.” He took another long drag, letting the warmth of smoke engulf his lungs before slowing easing it out between pursed lips. He dropped the stub on the ground, grinding it in with the heel of his shoe before focusing back on Gokudera. “He can’t stand the smell of smoke.”
Gokudera’s eyes glinted in understanding. “So you two finally broke it off.” His voice softened, ever so slightly. “I’m surprised you managed to deal with his shit for as long as you did.”
“He’s the one that broke up with me Gokudera.” A long sigh escaped between his lips as he pushed himself off the wall and cocked his head around the corner of the alleyway. The cold night air was quiet even as a hard breeze rustled through the streets, billowing the edges of his black jacket around his waist. “Something’s wrong.”
“You think they’re coming?”
Yamamoto laughed. “No, not with the Costa family, with Hibari. He started acting funny after meeting with Tsuna and then he suddenly broke up with me.”
Gokudera’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “How you can justify any action that bastard makes is beyond me. He’s been nothing but trouble all these years.”
“Aw, jealous Gokudera?” Yamamoto’s laugh filled the silence as Gokudera gritted his teeth.
“Whatever, idiot, just keep an eye out for the Tenth’s signal.”
Yamamoto adjusted the strap of the katana across his shoulder. “Sure thing, Gokudera.” He said, wishing it was really that easy to just forget.
But how could he forget someone that preoccupied every corner of his mind?
[ far away memories that have been hidden away ]
Yamamoto can still remember the first time he caught Hibari watching him. It was on a warm afternoon with the sun beating down on the baseball field as he swung back his bat to hit another homerun. It was while he was staring at the small red-stitched ball as it began to fade into the horizon that he saw the lone figure watching him from the rooftops of Namimori. Hibari’s lips were straight and his eyes were focused, but even from the distance Yamamoto could see the glint of curiosity and fascination held within the depths of those dark eyes.
It had only taken a moment, but Yamamoto knew he would never be the same.
[ sweeping away memories, erasing so much time that we shared ]
Yamamoto is distant and Hibari cannot say he’s surprised. Even during the meetings that he is forced to attend, their gazes never lock and their eyes never linger. Hibari can feel the burning questions on the other guardians' tongues, but none are brave enough to ask him outright, though he is certain that Yamamoto has brushed them off with his grin and laugh more than once.
That’s fine with him-he’s not interested in explaining his actions to a herd of herbivore’s in the first place.
The room is too noisy and crowded for Hibari’s tastes even as he leans back against the most abandoned wall in the spiraling Italian mansion. People linger in and out of the room as they wait their turn for a moment with the Tenth generation boss of the Vongola, and Hibari can’t help but feel pissed off for having to be here in the first place. There had been the promise of a possible fight if there were problems with one of the visiting families but so far the crowd had been far too tame and had left him with nothing but boredom.
He closes his eyes and tries to drown out the murmur of voices that rattle and echo across the room. He’s near his breaking point when he feels the presence of someone sliding up beside him and preoccupying the space next to him.
He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who is there. “Yamamoto Takeshi.”
“Hibari, it’s good to see you.” The tall swordsman says as he rubs the back of his head and smiles.
“Is there a reason why you’re here?”
Silence is his only answer, followed by the slosh of liquid. Curiously, Hibari opens his eyes to a cup being held in front of him. He looks at Yamamoto with a raised eyebrow.
“Green tea, your favorite type. I figured all these people would start to tick you off eventually.” And he knew tea had a way of calming him down when he was nearing the end of his patience.
Hibari’s lips purse.
“Go ahead.” Yamamoto’s smile is gentle, but not bounding and carefree as it always seems to be. There’s a hint of reserve lying within his gaze.
Sighing, he tentatively reaches out for the warm cup, feeling the radiating heat as his slender fingers reach out to brush against-Yamamoto’s fingertips. It is nothing more than a miscalculation in distance, but for a moment they both meet each other’s gaze and silence hangs in the air between them. Hibari can read the longing in Yamamoto’s eyes far too clearly, a desire to speak prickling the tip of the other man’s tongue. There are so many words still left unspoken but Hibari isn’t ready to hear them. So before Yamamoto can open his mouth to speak, Hibari grabs the cup and the light glistening touch of fingertips brushing against fingertips ends.
The smile is completely gone now and soon so is Yamamoto as he turns to leave without another word.
And Hibari can only watch his straightened back as he walks away.
[ until we walk past everything, don’t speak of anything ]
“You’re back,” Yamamoto says from where he stands at the doorway. He’s leaning against the wooden frame with arms crossed loosely over his chest, and his eyes watching as Hibari moves silently across the room.
Hibari glances up to look at him, noticing the way his lips smile yet how it doesn’t quite reach his brown eyes. “What do you want?” He asks with a sigh.
“Where did you go?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
He can hear the sound of footsteps across the wooden floor and Yamamoto is soon standing next to him, and even though Hibari refuses to look up from what he is doing, he can feel the other man’s presence weighing down the space beside him. He feels the urge to push him aside, but holds back, if only for a moment because he knows Yamamoto knows his boundaries, and yet here he is pushing them. As always, he feels a slight rush of adrenaline with that thought and those actions.
But the feeling shimmers away as Yamamoto takes a step back. Now Yamamoto is laughing as he brushes a hand through his short-cropped black hair, still standing close but no longer hugging the line between being a bother or just an annoyance. He’s looking away from Hibari and at the suitcase that is laying propped against the door, whether it is coming or going still a mystery.
“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Yamamoto continues as he looks down and Hibari can feel the stare of the man on him as he watches his every movement, as if he is studying the poise of an upcoming pitch.
Hibari sighs, wanting Yamamoto to leave, wanting to be left alone. The jetlag from the long flight is making him irritable and there is still so much to do before he leaves again. He closes his eyes partway, opening his mouth to make Yamamoto go away and stop being such a crowd, when he feels the other man’s callused fingers grip his own. He looks up finally, settling his dark eyes on Yamamoto’s soft brown.
The carefree grin is gone and his lips are straight, yet gentle, with only the slight upward tilt. He feels the grip on his palm tighten. “I missed you.”
Hibari isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing. Yamamoto doesn’t seem surprised by this, because his slight smile never falters, and instead he wraps his arms around him in an embrace, crushing him against his chest.
Even after all this time together, Hibari still cannot understand why he acts like this and the flush that rushes to his face makes him disoriented and knocks him off his axis. “I’m leaving again,” he blurts out. He doesn’t know why he says it; why he has to ruin their moment by announcing his departure when he has only just returned.
Yamamoto’s grip only tightens, and Hibari can feel a soft kiss atop his head. “I knew that.” He whispers.
He understands when Hibari never thinks he will, and he always lets him go. He never stops him when he suddenly packs up and leaves the city that he loves so much, when he goes off across the globe in search of a mystery that no one save a few know about. Yamamoto is always there and supporting him in his silence, even though he knows that Hibari has no need for such useless things.
Hibari thinks he will never understand, but will it even matter in the future? Because if everything goes as Sawada Tsunayoshi plans then the years that have come to pass with Yamamoto by his side will no longer be and instead a new path will be forged. These memories will slip away as easily as the night turns to day.
He sighs and when Yamamoto places his fingertips underneath his chin and tilts his gaze upward, he does not push away but instead hungrily devours those lips in a firmly placed kiss. Their tongues meet, warm and moist, and so familiar.
“Do you have time…before your flight?”
A slight nod of his head is all that Yamamoto needs before he pushes him down on the bed and clothes are dislodged until bare flesh is against bare flesh, hot breathes mingle, and sweat slickens each touch.
Even if these moments and memories will fade, here and now Hibari will make them count.
[ barricade my heart when only memories remain ]
Hibari leaned back against the solid wood panels that laid out before the Japanese gardens. The flush of flowery scents and the quiet cadence of nighttime insects permeated the otherwise silent atmosphere as he closed his eyes. The gentle breeze rustling through the contained environment shifted the light fabric of his yukata as his thoughts drifted away from this place.
Tonight was finally the night he had been preparing for all these weeks. Spread out along the bed inside the other room lay his box weapons and his suit, with pockets filled with rings armed to take him into his final confrontation. Even though not nearly enough remained, he would have to make due. The hour was late and it was almost time to move, but still, with so little time left, Hibari found himself lingering in this place.
The weeks had been encased within the confines of work; of searching for the mysteries of the box weapons and collecting the rings that he would need when the one ring that could give him limitless strength was taken away. In this passing time since his meeting with Sawada Tsunayoshi, Hibari had done so many things to keep this time and place safe and sound from the terrors that threatened it. Still, despite everything he had done, he could not shake the turbulent feelings of the past.
It sickened him to see Yamamoto Takeshi like this. The person that had been brought to this time was not the man he knew and despite the similarities, there was no doubt in Hibari’s mind-that no matter the outcome of this final battle-that he and Yamamoto would never be the same. Perhaps this future that they were carving out the people of the past would lead them all down different roads and trials, and perhaps Yamamoto would never feel the desire to purse him or his past self would never find an interest in the way that Yamamoto’s eyes could become so fierce in battle…
Sighing, Hibari pushed himself to his feet. The soft pad of bare feet echoed across the empty room that filled him with a sudden loneliness. He reached for the tie of his yukata, letting the light fabric fall to a ruffled pooling at his feet. He grabbed the suit, rubbing the expensive fabric between his fingers. “Tonight, this finally ends, one way or another.”
There was no relief or achievement in that knowledge, just the certainty that the clock had begun to tick and it was only a matter of time before he was no longer present in this place. And it had been months since it had all been put into motion and he was tired.
He was tired of all the mistakes this past had fraught and all the bumbling insistences that shouldn’t be repeated-and he was annoyed that those that had come to this time would be given a gift so precious that had been paid with so much sacrifice. There was no guarantee that he would return to this place or this time, the only certainty was that the countdown that had been ticking over the months was finally coming to the end.
His only regret was being unsuccessful in pushing Yamamoto Takeshi away.
It had been the one thing he wanted to do, the one person he did not want festering in the back of his mind during this ordeal. Even though he never explained-and Yamamoto never pushed-for explanations of his changing behavior, Hibari couldn’t fully push away the man that had consumed so many corners of his mind.
Hibari fingers fisted the material in the palm of his hands until he felt his fingertips digging into his own skin and his knuckles grew bone white. He had given up everything for a future he may or may not want and he could only hope for the final moments to be grand-because it was likely that no matter what the outcome may be, things would never be the same.
Nothing could ever truly wash away the wrongs of the past.
He dressed slowly, making sure each line was crisp, clean, and perfectly in place. He gathered together the remaining rings he had collected, sliding them into the pockets of his suit along side the boxes that would accompany him into his final battle. They jingled together as they knocked back and forth from his movements, a reminder that their number was dwindling and they would only carry him so far.
But that was okay. Hibari had no intention of thinking about life beyond this time and the possibilities that he may return to when it was all finally over. If the young Sawada Tsunayoshi was successful, then everything may change, but Hibari was never the type to depend on others to decide his future. When his death comes, it will be the end of it all, and any precious time given after that will only be a fleeting gift.
And…if this all brings back Yamamoto to him, then maybe-just maybe it will all be worth it.
Hibari paid the room a final glance before turning and walking out into the desolate night.
Author: masanami
Character(s): Yamamoto/Hibari, Tsuna, Gokudera
Word Count: 8018 ♥
Rating: R
Warnings: Non-explicit sexual content.
Summary: Something has changed and neither Yamamoto nor Hibari know how to react as memories of the past keeping floating through the cracks of their crumbling relationship.
Author's Note: Series of interwoven drabbles about Yamamoto and Hibari's relationship during the TYL!Arc and prior. Written for khrfest's Round III. Prompt: Yamamoto/Hibari - heartbreak - "that one lie is the only truth."
[ reach out towards the distant night ]
Hibari didn’t like surprises.
So when Yamamoto showed up at his front door bearing a bag of groceries and a smile, he promptly slammed the door in his face. Sighing, Hibari’s back leaned against the solid foundation of the front door as it vibrated with Yamamoto’s insistent knocks.
“Hi~bari-chan!”
He gritted his teeth in irritation, brow furrowing and marking creases across his forehead. He closed his eyes, fingers itching for the cool and smooth feel of his tonfa, longing for the tangible weight that settled so perfectly into his hands. There was nothing tangible about his feelings for Yamamoto, nothing more than bothersome flutters in the back of his mind that constricted his thoughts-and that alone was enough to spark his irritation when the other man was near. Even more so when he came calling in the middle of the night when he was trying to sleep.
He pushed his back against the door and turned to open it. Yamamoto stood on the other side patiently waiting, a gentle smile upon his lips and eyes partly closed with a gleam that Hibari could only describe as warm.
“What are you doing here, Yamamoto Takeshi?”
Yamamoto leaned against the door frame, neither entering nor making space for the door to be closed either. “I wanted to see you.”
Hibari just stared at him.
Yamamoto laughed through Hibari’s silence. “Can I come in at least?”
Hibari stepped aside and Yamamoto stepped in. The door closed with a soft click as Yamamoto kicked off his shoes near the doorway and followed Hibari inside. “I picked up some food on the way here. Hungry?”
“No.” Hibari crossed his arms over his chest and watched Yamamoto from a distance. Even from this close he could make out the slight ruffled fabric of his shirt and the darkened circles that rested just under the cover of smiling eyes.
“When did you get back to Japan?”
He watched as Yamamoto laughed and rubbed long fingers through his hair, brushing callused tips against his scalp. “Aw, Hibari, how cute…I didn’t know you knew I was gone. I just got back from Italy a few hours ago.”
“And you couldn’t be bothered to shower and dress before you woke me up in the middle of the night?” He sat down against the couch as Yamamoto put the bag with food on the counter. His eyes closed as he leaned back, letting the plush cushions sink in around him.
He wanted to sleep and for this annoyance to be gone…
The sound of Yamamoto’s movements danced across the room until it was a whisper against his ear, a warning that the man was stepping precariously close to his threshold of permitted human contact. “But I told you Hibari, I wanted to see you.”
Then he felt the pulsating heat of Yamamoto’s breath against his neck, the groaning give of the couch as two hands leaned weight against either side of his head. When he opened his eyes, Yamamoto’s gaze met his own with a shuddering breath.
“Why are you so close? I don’t like it.” It made his heart beat race, fluttering so wildly he thought it might burst right through his chest. How long had it been since Yamamoto had been….this close?
“I told you. I missed you.”
“Tch.” Hibari scoffed as he turned his face away and broke the concentration of that gaze. He forced the breaking pace of his heart to ease, angry at himself for even allowing Yamamoto to cause such a reaction.
But Yamamoto was insistent.
“It’s been a long time, Hibari-chan. You could be a little more welcoming.”
Hibari gritted his teeth, reaching out for the collar of Yamamoto’s shirt and fisting his fingers around it until he pulled their faces within inches of each other. A malevolent smirk drew lines across his lips. “And why should I welcome a person who barges into my home at all hours of the night, deprives me of sleep, and won’t stay away even when I tell him to leave me be?”
A grin was Yamamoto’s response, followed by the press of lips against lips.
Yamamoto’s tongue was warm against his mouth as it forced its way through pursed lips and his knees brushed against his legs. His fingers gripped even tighter onto the other man’s clothes as Yamamoto’s fingers found his hair, tangling themselves in his black strands before traveling down the side of his face and shoulders.
He didn’t know why he opened the door in the first place, why he let Yamamoto enter this space that he guarded so closely, nor why he let those hands guide him down against the couch. Those hands traveled over his body, pulling at the rim of his shirt and tickling the skin just above his navel, and it only made his irritation grow because the demand he felt rising in his body at the feel of that touch was impossible to resist-and it was a feeling that Yamamoto Takeshi had gotten far too good at invoking.
“Stop,” he muttered, when he felt the warmth in his face spreading all the way down his neck. Yamamoto’s hands were just at the clasp of his pants, the other snaked through his hair, messing with the wild black strands. “Didn’t I tell you not to come over here anymore?”
Yamamoto looked up at him from where he laid, sprawled across his lap and lower abdomen, fingers just itching to undo the buckle keeping his pants on. He leaned forward, face leaning downward until his lips caressed the skin just below his navel. Hibari felt a shiver run down his spine as his toes curled inward. “But Hibari-chan…you should know...” He felt a sigh against his skin before Yamamoto laid his face flush against his abdomen, long arms wrapping around his slender waist and holding him in place. Another long sigh tickled against his skin. “Don’t make me leave.” The words were barely a whisper off Yamamoto’s lips.
“Tch.” Hibari scoffed as he stared at the ceiling. He bit his bottom lip, chewing the soft skin before reaching out a hand and running it through the short spiky black hair. Yamamoto should have known better than to ask, he should have known he wouldn’t turn him away the moment he let him walk through the door.
As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Yamamoto Takeshi was an addiction not easily quit.
[ wishing only brings tragedy ]
Sawada Tsunayoshi, Hibari understands, is the one at fault for this entire mess.
The warm and stuffy room prickles the skin on the back of Hibari Kyouya’s neck as he closes the door behind him. From across the room the brown-eyed Sawada Tsunayoshi looks up from a large oak desk, the light streaming in from the large over-sized windows illuminating the world around him until Hibari has to squint to see the slight smile that defines the curves of the other man’s lips.
“Hibari-san.” The mafia boss set down the pen in his hand and stood in greeting. “I’m glad you came.”
“I have no intention of staying.” Hibari moves across the room as he crosses his arms over his chest, weight shifting to one side as he comes to a stop before the desk and Tsuna sits down. “I only came because you said it was worth my interest.” The unspoken lay between them, filling up the seconds before Tsunayoshi replies.
“I understand, I know you’re busy, Hibari-san.”
Hibari says nothing and waits.
A long sigh drags between Tsunayoshi’s lips and Hibari cocks his head to the side as the young mafia boss staples his fingers across the polished wood desktop and leans forward so that the tailored lines of the well-fitted suit struggle against his slender frame. The tense corners of his lips, the slight crease of the eyebrow are all things that Hibari takes in with a quick glance. There’s a steady unease he can feel drowning the air around the young man.
He doesn’t know what Tsunayoshi has to say, but these words will be heavy and lay with sacrifice and hardship. Hibari cannot doubt that fact for even a moment.
Tsunayoshi speaks slowly, delicately, but with a seriousness that few see. “This is about the future…”
[ the disappearing scenery taught me that we’re side by side ]
There is a rooftop where the view of Namimori spreads out as far as the eye can see. There have been so many days in which Hibari has stood gazing out into that fading sunset and watching the orange-washed Earth fade into the shadows of the night. Right now the sun is still high, but it threatens to fall down the sliding slope of evening with each passing second. The hues of blue traveling further to orange and then purple and finally black are all too familiar to Hibari. It’s a sight he’s seen time and time again.
But today he can’t see the waning day as its gives away to growing darkness.
His vision is preoccupied on the hand curled around in front of his face, the fingers that twitch ever so slightly with restlessness to move closer and further clasp him into a strangling embrace. He can feel the shift of the arm that’s curled under the weight of his head, the feel of concrete cool against his skin but the press of the body against his back warm. Yamamoto’s gentle breathing is a lullaby that lulls him into the sweet embrace of sleep.
“Hibari.”
The voice is a gentle strum against his earlobes. He doesn’t respond, pretending to sleep even with his eyes so lightly closed. He doesn’t want to wake either, he wants to rest and forget and just feel the warmth of bodies meshed against one another in such simple ease.
“I really like you Hibari.”
He can’t remember the first time Yamamoto said those words, but he’s heard them time and time again since this game began. At first the words had confused him, angered him, and even led to flying fists and broken bones-yet for some reason Yamamoto recklessly pursued them further. It was a dance that they played, a give and take, and right now Hibari was giving into the comfort of the body beside him, finding for once the presence of another human being could almost be…relaxing.
The slight shift and pressure on the top of his forehead as Yamamoto’s lips press into his black hair sends a shiver shuddering down the length of his spine. He doesn’t need to say anything for Yamamoto to understand because those words are not ones that Hibari can fully muster or comprehend the other’s need to hear them-because they both understand that his presence beside him speaks more than his words alone can express.
But still…those words burn into the corner of his mind and he can’t fall asleep when he knows speaking with words to Yamamoto is not something he can do so easily.
Instead, he lays quietly and pretends not to hear them.
[ the pathway between our heated words ]
He felt the warmth of blood against his face.
Like the pulsating arteries that followed through his body, Hibari Kyouya imagined the way the slick substance pumped out of the open flesh that tore apart under the weight of his tonfa. He pictured the trickle that would soon turn into a gush, spreading across the surface of the earth as gasping and grimacing bodies clutched feebly to the remnants of their bodies before succumbing to their undeniable death. Here within the darkened room with nothing but Mafioso surrounding him, Hibari could have his way and stretch his strength until adrenaline pumped through his veins and the thrill of battle won over the mundane humdrum of ordinary life.
Not that the life of a hitman was ordinary to most.
With each turbulent swing of his weapon it drew him closer and closer to that high that he could only attain on the battlefield. It gave his reason away to senses, where instinct drove the very fiber of his muscles, wielding him through a canopy of sharpened knives and blasting guns.
When it was over it was a battlefield wrought in broken limbs and disfigured remains.
Warm and sticky underneath his feet, Hibari stepped across the blood-splattered concrete with narrowed eyes focusing on everything but the carnage around him. The tonfas clasped inbetween clenched palms rested at his sides, coated in a shimmering crimson that glinted off the faint light of the warehouse building. A muffled groan escaped from the lips of a man near by and Hibari unceremoniously stepped over the dying figure as the last gurgling rattles of struggling life dissipated through the air.
“Whew, what a mess.”
Hibari’s head tilted in the direction of the voice that permeated across the room, the tall figure of Yamamoto Takeshi filling his vision from where he leaned against a nearby crate. His unsheathed katana lay at his side, unspoiled and glistening in the succulent moonlight that wavered in from the high top windows. He pushed himself away from the crate, the weapon finding its place in the sheath across his shoulder as he sauntered across the ruined battlefield with a confident stride, the click of expensive Italian shoes echoing in the otherwise silent arena.
“What are you doing, Yamamoto Takeshi?” Hibari bit back, a scowl pulling taunt lines on his face.
Smirking, Yamamoto carelessly rubbed the back of his head as he avoided Hibari’s gaze and instead focused on the dead or dying masses at his feet. He was unfazed, more amused, if anything else. “I thought you could use some help.” A chuckle. “I guess I was wrong.”
“I don’t need help from you.” Irritation boiled in the back of his eyes and the grip on his tonfas tightened until his knuckles flushed white. Watching the way that Yamamoto spoke so carelessly and light made Hibari want to bite him next. The rush and adrenaline of battle still pumped through his veins, and Yamamoto’s intrusion interfered with his high, something which was not to be tolerated.
Hibari took a threatening step forward and he saw the change in expression within Yamamoto’s hazel eyes, the sharp inclination of understanding that sparked between them.
“Hibari…” Yamamoto drew out tentatively, a warning that he would not bow down to Hibari’s intimidation. Hibari was glad, he liked a challenge and the Rain Guardian of the Vongola could provide him a final release from adrenaline soaked battle that he needed. If anything, at least it made Yamamoto useful.
His breath was a heaving beat against his chest and he shook his head, splaying strands of black hair that flicked blood drops to the ground. His body shivered, cold spirals spiking along the contours of his spine as he stepped closer and closer, each purposeful movement reducing the distance to the lean figure before him. Over the years Hibari had watched as Yamamoto had grown, as he developed that natural instinct of a killer and became the swordsman that stood before him today. He was unlike the others; cool and collected yet understanding of the extent of actions sometimes necessary to both defeat…and protect. And while most left Hibari with a bitter taste in the back of his throat, Yamamoto was one who he could sometimes tolerate-when he felt like allowing another to grace his presence. Even in his annoyance, Yamamoto could sometimes quirk his interest; just like he did now, standing there with his bloodless weapon sheathed but ready to be used. He eluded a type of confidence that could only be brought about by learning the possession of a skill that took time, concentration, and patience to master. It was a fact Hibari could almost respect…almost.
But those were words he would never utter aloud.
Already the Rain Guardian was too cavalier to demand his respect and utmost attention-even if his strength as a possible opponent demanded some of it. He pushed aside his blade too easily for the fleeting benefits of life and friendships. That was something Hibari could not respect, something he could not tolerate. But if he wanted to he knew he could force that attention and focus, he could wipe that smirk right off his face. In the back of his mind he knew Yamamoto was the same, they were both killers even if Yamamoto chose to hide it while he embraced it.
“Fight me.” Hibari was right against him now, close enough for the warmth of their breaths to mingle in the space between them. Yamamoto smelled fresh and clear, like the water he was so fond of using in battle. His smell was so much different from his own, from the blood soaked clothes leaving an irony scent that overpowered them both.
From this close Hibari could just make out the scar that lined the jaw of Yamamoto’s chin, the way the jagged edges ripped and tore across the flesh before sharpening like the narrowed blade of the weapon he was so fond of using. Those eyes were looking at him with a glint anticipation and a hint of excitement, no fear nestled within the depths of their swirling brown gaze. He was so unlike those dead bodies that lay littering the floor at their feet, fear clouding and surging over their frosted eyes before they were cut down.
But that glint quickly faded, replaced instead by that perpetual smile that never left his lips. But despite that smile the sharpened tone of his voice spoke of his disapproval. “I’m not going fight you Hibari. I only came to see if you needed some help.” His eyes were slightly downcast, staring down at his small and lethal form with a pensive look that seemed to see right through him. Hibari read it as concern, a troublesome emotion that Hibari did not want nor need.
Hibari pressed his tonfa against Yamamoto’s neck, right where the carotid traveled to the brain and supplied necessary circulation to the vital organ. It would be so easy to press his weapon into the soft folds of skin and cut off the blood supply, killing those idiotic herbivore-thinking cells once and for all as they screamed for oxygen that only he could provide. But Yamamoto didn’t even flinch as the blood soaked weapon glistened across his tanned skin and smeared its bloody remains upon the clean blue collar of his pressed shirt. Yamamoto was the one person who never took his threats as seriously as he should, who remained calm even in the turbulence of Hibari’s clouded storm.
Yamamoto’s fingers curled around his wrist and Hibari narrowed his eyes.
“Now don’t get that look in your eyes. It’s too cute when you scrunch up your nose like that.” Yamamoto was leaning forward as he spoke, and Hibari could feel the warmth of his words against the pale skin of his cheek, rushing heat across the already red soaked flesh. The look in Yamamoto’s eyes was one of a predator fixating its gaze on a prey, a look that Hibari was more than familiar with.
It annoyed him. He didn’t like when others crowded around without his permission, or when they opened their mouths to ramble irritating nonsense.
He drew up his hand to smack Yamamoto upside the jaw with the tonfa, but the other man anticipated a reaction from his words and seamlessly spun back and out of the way, using his elbow to wedge and connect with the other tonfa that was already in motion. Yamamoto always had a way of reading his attacks, another irritating fact that sometimes provided an interesting challenge.
But Yamamoto was stupid enough to expose his back to him and Hibari was merciless. He should have known better. Without a thought Hibari kicked the back of his exposed knee and with a grunt Yamamoto stumbled forward to the ground, catching himself with his palms before his body tumbled down.
“Pathetic herbivore,” the Cloud Guardian mumbled and turned away.
Yamamoto’s laugh carried across the room as he pushed himself up and wiped off the front of his suit.
“Maybe next time, Hibari.” Yamamoto called out to his retreating form.
Hibari said nothing and walked on, knowing that next time he wouldn’t let Yamamoto have his way.
[ locked within my heart, love shudders ]
Yamamoto knew exactly how to invade every private corner of his being, how to push aside all the barriers he erected until he was cornered. Hibari didn’t understand how he seemed to know just how hard to push or when to draw back, when his threats were deadly or just words. He forced his way into his space until Hibari bared his teeth in retaliation, to the point where comprehending such actions were beyond the level of Hibari’s tolerance for understanding Yamamoto’s motives.
Mostly, however, Hibari didn’t understand why he continued to let him do it-but he thought it might have something to do with the way that Yamamoto knew how to push every one of his buttons.
The warmth of fingertips coasting over his skin left a shiver running down his spine, needles prickling against the untouched flesh as fingers touched him when he didn’t want to be touched. But Yamamoto was persistent, and even when he smacked away those encroaching fingers, they always came back. He knew this even when his back was pushed against the wall and the weight of Yamamoto’s body pushed against his own was enough to make the pane of the window press uncomfortably against his back. He turned his head away from those soft lips, instead forcing Yamamoto’s mouth to find his neck, where it explored every crevasse of his body. He closed his eyes, because that touch was perhaps worse, more tempting, more instinctive.
His back arched against that touch, the warmth of the hand that retched free his shirt and caressed the soft skin of his abdomen, the other hand firmly rooted on his rear where it kneaded and threaded. He gritted his teeth against the groan that wanted to leave his lips because he wouldn’t give Yamamoto the satisfaction of knowing he was causing any reaction at all.
But damnit if he wasn’t.
He gripped onto the front of Yamamoto’s shirt, fists tugging at the fabric, and pushed him away. The dissipating panting of breathes showered the distance between them in cold relief.
And Yamamoto was smirking. He was actually smirking as he wiped his wet lips off with the back of his hand and stared at him from across the minute distance that separated them, even as Hibari steadied his breathing and tried to ease the rapid beat of his heart.
It was so…irritating.
“I’m leaving.” He pushed his back from the wall and with clenched fists strode pass Yamamoto, eyes gazing forward on the doorway and its exit from this situation.
He wasn’t ready to give Yamamoto the satisfaction of giving in. Not when he still had the willpower to resist these outrageous feelings.
[ the dream that will not end, time has stopped, there’s still only a little bit left ]
His white shirt was saturated in blood.
It was so thick he could see the thin fabric clinging to the gentle curve and dimple of his slender hips, pulled taunt against the skin and filling the space where an arm used to be.
Small but powerful fingers clung over the stump that remained, gushing and warm flowing blood seeping between the clenched fingertips. He could see the grit of bared teeth, the furrowed brow, and the pain that was barely perceptible over the film of anger. Hibari seethed through the throbbing burn even as his face drained of color and he stumbled on uneven ground.
“Hi…bari…” The name was a barely perceptible whisper off Yamamoto’s lips as he moved forward. The distance closed between them without thought for danger or threat, because the only thing Yamamoto saw in his sights was Hibari; hurt and in pain.
“Get out of here,” were Hibari’s words before he even got close.
Blood. It was everywhere.
Hibari stumbled again, and this time Yamamoto was there to clutch him in his arms. The warmth of that blood flowed onto his shirt and it painted him with the Hibari’s red. The pale skin of his lover was far too vivid a difference, even as Hibari buried the side of his face into his shoulder. His breathing was so ragged…
Yamamoto didn’t realize how badly he was trembling until-his eyes snapped open and he found himself staring up into darkness. Above him the ceiling was painted a muted white and the warmth of blood was replaced by the warmth of sheets and the tangle of arms against his bare skin. He breathed deeply, calming himself as he gazed down at the sleeping figure beside him. Uninterrupted, Hibari slept on.
Yamamoto breathed a sigh of relief as his arms wrapped around the other man and Hibari instinctively snuggled closer against his chest. He bit his lip, forcing away the thoughts that drowned his mind as he buried his face into the soft strands of midnight hair. Even though it was only a dream, Yamamoto couldn’t shake off the slight tremble that danced on the edge of his fingertips.
For once, he was actually scared.
[ everything sealed within your eyes ]
His lips were a whisper against his skin.
Hibari’s fingers gripped the edges of Yamamoto’s clothes tighter, small hands digging around the soft fabric and the solid flesh underneath. The other boy leaned over him, pressing him firmly against the couch in the reception room even as the sounds of students talking drifted in through the closed doors.
“I want to touch you.”
Hibari scoffed, Yamamoto was already touching him.
He felt a kiss against his neck as fingers dug underneath his shirt and pressed against the soft flesh of his abdomen. “And I want to kiss you.” Still they searched deeper and Hibari tried to ease the panting breaths that raced from his parted lips. He didn’t know why he was letting Yamamoto do this, or why his body reacted so fluidly to his touch. His movements felt clumsy against Yamamoto’s assured grip, and it irritated him that the younger boy seemed to know more of what he was doing than he did-and why he seemed to understand the urgent need that he was feeling and just what touches fueled that fire even more.
“Yamamoto Takeshi, stop it.” He muttered out, just stifling a moan.
“Why?” Yamamoto’s lips found his own, pressing deeply and forcefully against him until his mouth parted and the warmth of Yamamoto’s tongue devoured him. Instinctively his back arched and pushed against the weight of Yamamoto bearing down on him. He growled, annoyed.
“Don’t you like it?” Yamamoto whispered when their lips finally broke free.
“No.” He didn’t like Yamamoto having this control over him, bending him against his will, causing his body to react from just the slightest flinch or movement.
Yamamoto seemed to see right through him. “I thought you liked a challenge.”
Hibari’s eyes snapped open before narrowing into malevolent silts. “Wao. Brave coming from someone in such a position.” As if to make his point, he raised his knee, putting pressure against the bulge in Yamamoto’s pants. What he didn’t expect was the groan that escaped from Yamamoto’s lips.
Really, this didn’t make any sense at all and Hibari didn’t think he would ever understand it.
[ abandon everything else ]
He hears the pulsating beat of his weapon thumping against his side as he flicks the tonfa against his hip. The metal, the weight, the silver gleam-they are all reassuring reminders that plant him firmly in this world. Hibari Kyouya knows one thing and one thing alone, and that is the steady breathing of his lungs as they gasp in cool air and the smell of blood as it weavers into his nostrils-sharp, poignant, and bitter tasting.
These feelings are real. These feelings are tangible. These feelings are the absolute opposite of Yamamoto Takeshi.
Yet…somehow they have all become interwoven into one.
Staring at Yamamoto Takeshi from across the school yard grounds, the only thing Hibari could concentrate on was the pulsating beat of adrenaline wrapping through his veins. It was intoxicating, the way that Yamamoto gripped that blade in his hand, the slight gleam of polished steel, the smear of red from his own blood. His side hurt from the blunt bruising of that blade, but even in its hurt he found it invigorating. He found every little hole and weakness in that baseball herbivore’s stance like a delicacy before his eyes, so all-encompassing and delicious that he had lost sight of everything else-everything but the gleam of that sweat soaked skin, the grip of those callused hands, the narrowing of those serious eyes.
Hibari wanted it all. He wanted it more than anything he had ever wanted before.
And before the end of this day he would have it-because Hibari Kyouya always gets what he wants-one way or another.
[ so near, but so far away you’ll forever be ]
The silence stretched out between them.
Hibari stood with his arms folded over his chest, narrowed eyes staring across the distance that separated him from Yamamoto. The other man raked a nervous hand through his hair, fingertips gliding against his scalp, agitation apparent in the slight shift of weight between each foot. He was looking at the ground and his lips were pursed, the insatiable grin for once sulking away into the backdrop of his more serious side. It was a side that Hibari rarely saw outside of the battlefield or their bedroom.
“So…” Yamamoto sighed before he even really began. “You’re staying…you want to end this?”
Hibari’s nod was firm, clear, and without question. His chest heaved slightly as he exhaled loudly through his nostrils, pinning back all the words he would never say aloud. He wasn’t in the mood to explain further or drag this out any longer.
Another shift in weight and then the corners of Yamamoto’s lips curled into a smile, but it was a sad, almost hopeless smile. He knew as well as he did that this would go no further-there was no room for talk-because when Hibari made a decision it was always final. “You’re sure we can’t talk about this?”
Hibari placed a hand on his forehead, kneading the skin between his furrowed brows. His eyes closed in irritation. “Yamamoto Takeshi, there is nothing else to say. Leave. Now.”
He didn’t open his eyes even as the sound of expensive Italian shoes reverberated off the floor, or when a set of long arms braced themselves against his slender shoulders. He could only sigh as he leaned into the embrace.
There was never an easy way to stay goodbye, not when he could feel the moist tears rolling down of the side of Yamamoto’s face as they fell into his hair.
[ all my hopes and dreams aren’t for anyone but me ]
Hibari Kyouya is an enigma that Yamamoto longs to understand. From where he always stands, moving so steadily across the carnage of his own destruction as walls are painted in the blood of his victims-that feeling swelling in his chest becomes so much heavier and deeper.
He doesn’t quite understand why the sight of such a delicate creature in so much chaos makes his heart race, but he knows he wants it. He wants to have it all to himself. But Hibari will never let that happen and that is something Yamamoto understands perfectly well.
But, really, that was always the way it was meant to be.
Yamamoto had always known there was nothing that would ever bind Hibari. He was a being meant to be without limits and trying to cage him was something that would only bring failure. So when he earnestly felt the flickering of emotions besides the obvious heated attraction of just wanting to claim such a dominating person, Yamamoto knew that anything less of giving his everything would result in failure.
And it seemed work, at least for a while.
Sighing, Yamamoto took a long drag from the cigarette as he leaned against the wall of the building. It had been years since he last picked up a cigarette, but tonight he needed something-anything to keep his mind off the problems that were drowning his thoughts.
“Tch, baseball freak, pay attention, will ya?”
“Huh?” Yamamoto looked up at Gokudera and smiled as he rubbed the back of his head. “I am paying attention.”
“Whatever. The Tenth is depending on us to keep an eye on this group and your head is in outer space.” The gray haired man scoffed, arms folding across his chest and single eyebrow twitching in agitation. “And since when have you started smoking again? I thought Hibari hated it.”
“He does.” He took another long drag, letting the warmth of smoke engulf his lungs before slowing easing it out between pursed lips. He dropped the stub on the ground, grinding it in with the heel of his shoe before focusing back on Gokudera. “He can’t stand the smell of smoke.”
Gokudera’s eyes glinted in understanding. “So you two finally broke it off.” His voice softened, ever so slightly. “I’m surprised you managed to deal with his shit for as long as you did.”
“He’s the one that broke up with me Gokudera.” A long sigh escaped between his lips as he pushed himself off the wall and cocked his head around the corner of the alleyway. The cold night air was quiet even as a hard breeze rustled through the streets, billowing the edges of his black jacket around his waist. “Something’s wrong.”
“You think they’re coming?”
Yamamoto laughed. “No, not with the Costa family, with Hibari. He started acting funny after meeting with Tsuna and then he suddenly broke up with me.”
Gokudera’s brow furrowed in annoyance. “How you can justify any action that bastard makes is beyond me. He’s been nothing but trouble all these years.”
“Aw, jealous Gokudera?” Yamamoto’s laugh filled the silence as Gokudera gritted his teeth.
“Whatever, idiot, just keep an eye out for the Tenth’s signal.”
Yamamoto adjusted the strap of the katana across his shoulder. “Sure thing, Gokudera.” He said, wishing it was really that easy to just forget.
But how could he forget someone that preoccupied every corner of his mind?
[ far away memories that have been hidden away ]
Yamamoto can still remember the first time he caught Hibari watching him. It was on a warm afternoon with the sun beating down on the baseball field as he swung back his bat to hit another homerun. It was while he was staring at the small red-stitched ball as it began to fade into the horizon that he saw the lone figure watching him from the rooftops of Namimori. Hibari’s lips were straight and his eyes were focused, but even from the distance Yamamoto could see the glint of curiosity and fascination held within the depths of those dark eyes.
It had only taken a moment, but Yamamoto knew he would never be the same.
[ sweeping away memories, erasing so much time that we shared ]
Yamamoto is distant and Hibari cannot say he’s surprised. Even during the meetings that he is forced to attend, their gazes never lock and their eyes never linger. Hibari can feel the burning questions on the other guardians' tongues, but none are brave enough to ask him outright, though he is certain that Yamamoto has brushed them off with his grin and laugh more than once.
That’s fine with him-he’s not interested in explaining his actions to a herd of herbivore’s in the first place.
The room is too noisy and crowded for Hibari’s tastes even as he leans back against the most abandoned wall in the spiraling Italian mansion. People linger in and out of the room as they wait their turn for a moment with the Tenth generation boss of the Vongola, and Hibari can’t help but feel pissed off for having to be here in the first place. There had been the promise of a possible fight if there were problems with one of the visiting families but so far the crowd had been far too tame and had left him with nothing but boredom.
He closes his eyes and tries to drown out the murmur of voices that rattle and echo across the room. He’s near his breaking point when he feels the presence of someone sliding up beside him and preoccupying the space next to him.
He doesn’t need to open his eyes to know who is there. “Yamamoto Takeshi.”
“Hibari, it’s good to see you.” The tall swordsman says as he rubs the back of his head and smiles.
“Is there a reason why you’re here?”
Silence is his only answer, followed by the slosh of liquid. Curiously, Hibari opens his eyes to a cup being held in front of him. He looks at Yamamoto with a raised eyebrow.
“Green tea, your favorite type. I figured all these people would start to tick you off eventually.” And he knew tea had a way of calming him down when he was nearing the end of his patience.
Hibari’s lips purse.
“Go ahead.” Yamamoto’s smile is gentle, but not bounding and carefree as it always seems to be. There’s a hint of reserve lying within his gaze.
Sighing, he tentatively reaches out for the warm cup, feeling the radiating heat as his slender fingers reach out to brush against-Yamamoto’s fingertips. It is nothing more than a miscalculation in distance, but for a moment they both meet each other’s gaze and silence hangs in the air between them. Hibari can read the longing in Yamamoto’s eyes far too clearly, a desire to speak prickling the tip of the other man’s tongue. There are so many words still left unspoken but Hibari isn’t ready to hear them. So before Yamamoto can open his mouth to speak, Hibari grabs the cup and the light glistening touch of fingertips brushing against fingertips ends.
The smile is completely gone now and soon so is Yamamoto as he turns to leave without another word.
And Hibari can only watch his straightened back as he walks away.
[ until we walk past everything, don’t speak of anything ]
“You’re back,” Yamamoto says from where he stands at the doorway. He’s leaning against the wooden frame with arms crossed loosely over his chest, and his eyes watching as Hibari moves silently across the room.
Hibari glances up to look at him, noticing the way his lips smile yet how it doesn’t quite reach his brown eyes. “What do you want?” He asks with a sigh.
“Where did you go?”
“It’s none of your concern.”
He can hear the sound of footsteps across the wooden floor and Yamamoto is soon standing next to him, and even though Hibari refuses to look up from what he is doing, he can feel the other man’s presence weighing down the space beside him. He feels the urge to push him aside, but holds back, if only for a moment because he knows Yamamoto knows his boundaries, and yet here he is pushing them. As always, he feels a slight rush of adrenaline with that thought and those actions.
But the feeling shimmers away as Yamamoto takes a step back. Now Yamamoto is laughing as he brushes a hand through his short-cropped black hair, still standing close but no longer hugging the line between being a bother or just an annoyance. He’s looking away from Hibari and at the suitcase that is laying propped against the door, whether it is coming or going still a mystery.
“I guess it doesn’t matter.” Yamamoto continues as he looks down and Hibari can feel the stare of the man on him as he watches his every movement, as if he is studying the poise of an upcoming pitch.
Hibari sighs, wanting Yamamoto to leave, wanting to be left alone. The jetlag from the long flight is making him irritable and there is still so much to do before he leaves again. He closes his eyes partway, opening his mouth to make Yamamoto go away and stop being such a crowd, when he feels the other man’s callused fingers grip his own. He looks up finally, settling his dark eyes on Yamamoto’s soft brown.
The carefree grin is gone and his lips are straight, yet gentle, with only the slight upward tilt. He feels the grip on his palm tighten. “I missed you.”
Hibari isn’t sure what to say, so he says nothing. Yamamoto doesn’t seem surprised by this, because his slight smile never falters, and instead he wraps his arms around him in an embrace, crushing him against his chest.
Even after all this time together, Hibari still cannot understand why he acts like this and the flush that rushes to his face makes him disoriented and knocks him off his axis. “I’m leaving again,” he blurts out. He doesn’t know why he says it; why he has to ruin their moment by announcing his departure when he has only just returned.
Yamamoto’s grip only tightens, and Hibari can feel a soft kiss atop his head. “I knew that.” He whispers.
He understands when Hibari never thinks he will, and he always lets him go. He never stops him when he suddenly packs up and leaves the city that he loves so much, when he goes off across the globe in search of a mystery that no one save a few know about. Yamamoto is always there and supporting him in his silence, even though he knows that Hibari has no need for such useless things.
Hibari thinks he will never understand, but will it even matter in the future? Because if everything goes as Sawada Tsunayoshi plans then the years that have come to pass with Yamamoto by his side will no longer be and instead a new path will be forged. These memories will slip away as easily as the night turns to day.
He sighs and when Yamamoto places his fingertips underneath his chin and tilts his gaze upward, he does not push away but instead hungrily devours those lips in a firmly placed kiss. Their tongues meet, warm and moist, and so familiar.
“Do you have time…before your flight?”
A slight nod of his head is all that Yamamoto needs before he pushes him down on the bed and clothes are dislodged until bare flesh is against bare flesh, hot breathes mingle, and sweat slickens each touch.
Even if these moments and memories will fade, here and now Hibari will make them count.
[ barricade my heart when only memories remain ]
Hibari leaned back against the solid wood panels that laid out before the Japanese gardens. The flush of flowery scents and the quiet cadence of nighttime insects permeated the otherwise silent atmosphere as he closed his eyes. The gentle breeze rustling through the contained environment shifted the light fabric of his yukata as his thoughts drifted away from this place.
Tonight was finally the night he had been preparing for all these weeks. Spread out along the bed inside the other room lay his box weapons and his suit, with pockets filled with rings armed to take him into his final confrontation. Even though not nearly enough remained, he would have to make due. The hour was late and it was almost time to move, but still, with so little time left, Hibari found himself lingering in this place.
The weeks had been encased within the confines of work; of searching for the mysteries of the box weapons and collecting the rings that he would need when the one ring that could give him limitless strength was taken away. In this passing time since his meeting with Sawada Tsunayoshi, Hibari had done so many things to keep this time and place safe and sound from the terrors that threatened it. Still, despite everything he had done, he could not shake the turbulent feelings of the past.
It sickened him to see Yamamoto Takeshi like this. The person that had been brought to this time was not the man he knew and despite the similarities, there was no doubt in Hibari’s mind-that no matter the outcome of this final battle-that he and Yamamoto would never be the same. Perhaps this future that they were carving out the people of the past would lead them all down different roads and trials, and perhaps Yamamoto would never feel the desire to purse him or his past self would never find an interest in the way that Yamamoto’s eyes could become so fierce in battle…
Sighing, Hibari pushed himself to his feet. The soft pad of bare feet echoed across the empty room that filled him with a sudden loneliness. He reached for the tie of his yukata, letting the light fabric fall to a ruffled pooling at his feet. He grabbed the suit, rubbing the expensive fabric between his fingers. “Tonight, this finally ends, one way or another.”
There was no relief or achievement in that knowledge, just the certainty that the clock had begun to tick and it was only a matter of time before he was no longer present in this place. And it had been months since it had all been put into motion and he was tired.
He was tired of all the mistakes this past had fraught and all the bumbling insistences that shouldn’t be repeated-and he was annoyed that those that had come to this time would be given a gift so precious that had been paid with so much sacrifice. There was no guarantee that he would return to this place or this time, the only certainty was that the countdown that had been ticking over the months was finally coming to the end.
His only regret was being unsuccessful in pushing Yamamoto Takeshi away.
It had been the one thing he wanted to do, the one person he did not want festering in the back of his mind during this ordeal. Even though he never explained-and Yamamoto never pushed-for explanations of his changing behavior, Hibari couldn’t fully push away the man that had consumed so many corners of his mind.
Hibari fingers fisted the material in the palm of his hands until he felt his fingertips digging into his own skin and his knuckles grew bone white. He had given up everything for a future he may or may not want and he could only hope for the final moments to be grand-because it was likely that no matter what the outcome may be, things would never be the same.
Nothing could ever truly wash away the wrongs of the past.
He dressed slowly, making sure each line was crisp, clean, and perfectly in place. He gathered together the remaining rings he had collected, sliding them into the pockets of his suit along side the boxes that would accompany him into his final battle. They jingled together as they knocked back and forth from his movements, a reminder that their number was dwindling and they would only carry him so far.
But that was okay. Hibari had no intention of thinking about life beyond this time and the possibilities that he may return to when it was all finally over. If the young Sawada Tsunayoshi was successful, then everything may change, but Hibari was never the type to depend on others to decide his future. When his death comes, it will be the end of it all, and any precious time given after that will only be a fleeting gift.
And…if this all brings back Yamamoto to him, then maybe-just maybe it will all be worth it.
Hibari paid the room a final glance before turning and walking out into the desolate night.