(no subject)
☣dead man's alley.
PG | STRESS | 3750
Hibird is singing, singing a tune that is solemn and ignored. Hibari is too caught up in in the gentle caress of the spring air, the familiar scent of flowers blossoming and grass growing. The temperature is cool, comforting. Winter has just ended.
Millefiore is already gone.
And it's back to where they all left off.
The flutter of tiny wings causes him to open his eyes, and when he does, he notices a single petal from a nearby cherry blossom tree has settled itself in the middle of his tea. He simply stares at it, unaffected, and then he rises up to slide open the door that leads outside, to a courtyard that's very much alive. And he pours the tea on the ground, lone petal included.
There are a few moments of uninterrupted silence, but Kusakabe's customary "Kyou-san?" brings him back inside.
Laughter (distinct and full of misinterpretations); the only thing he hears despite the chorus of giggles, of rumors floating about, of when do you want to meet's and how about never's. It's the only thing that repeats itself in his head like a broken record. An inescapable, unwanted, presence loitering around the hallways, the rooftops, and the fences. Without a way to put it out of its misery, Hibari has no place to hide from it, has nowhere to run.
It comes and goes, like a dream he's likely to discard, but this one isn't something he can let go of so easily. Even Namimori is tainted, veiled by a thick blanket of pink and white, full to the brim with spring life. The cherry blossoms bloom and wither away like snow, every petal as sweet and bitter as the smile he's smiling-
( You really are weak to them, aren't you?
A delicate wind, accompanied by the scent of something much like death. Of dangers and mistakes that come with a high price. It's something that will lead to something more, somewhere along the line.
To sakura.
The last thing he remembers is laughter, distinct and bittersweet laughter, and petals fluttering after the wake of his own blood. )
-but his eyes are telling a different story.
"Kyouya." It's soft, unintrusive, but it's every bit as distracting as the laughter inside his head. The Cavallone boss is looking at him, not with concern, but with mild regard, a curious interest to know what it is that just made him smile.
Within an instant, his face is a mask of obscurity, a blank slate. He doesn't answer back.
"You looked like you wanted to kill me," Dino says, with an easy chuckle mixing about with his words.
"I do," is the automatic answer, and it's clear it isn't just Dino he's addressing.
There's another smile, but it's from Dino's own lips this time. "Always so direct." A gentle laugh; fond, affectionate, because he's daring enough, born to be a daredevil with a deathwish all the time. "Is it about-"
Hibari never lets him finish that. "Tell me how to fight against something you can't even believe in."
Dino blinks once, twice for good measure. Three times to make sure this is actually happening. It isn't everyday Kyouya willingly asks for something like this, after all. But he doesn't voice his bewilderment out loud; you weren't supposed to. You take it in stride and roll along as if nothing has happened, "Lies, you mean?," and Dino's voice doesn't miss a beat.
"The mist."
It's just as well that Dino knows better than to laugh at this, a grade of sunshine waiting to be snuffed out, but he can't help the quick curve of lips that comes instead. He can never resist it. "Then first you have to learn what it's like to believe in something that really exists."
His legs felt weak, wobbly, like jelly. The whole world was a dizzying sight, ready to keel over whenever he did. He had never been in a more dangerous position than right at this moment. It made him grimace a little, just a tad, the pathetic sight he was sure he was projecting. If he could speak, if he had someone to talk to, disdain would drip from every single word, because weakness was something he didn't tolerate. But there was no one around, no one in sight.
It was just him and the blossoms he kind of (sort of) used to love, and surely, definitely, appreciated - acknowledged.
It wasn't hate (not yet); it was more like the same kind of feeling you get when you realize there was gum on the sole of your shoes, the same kind of annoyance. He could live with it, of course, because he didn't have any reason not to, but even Hibari couldn't see what didn't want to be seen.
Hibari didn't realize there was someone watching.
Everything didn't start out with once upon a time. It went like this-
What a frightening man.
-and curiousity followed soon after. But it wasn't quite like the kind that led Alice down the proverbial rabbit hole, or the kind that always killed the cat. It was a little bit more puzzled, disconnected, a fairytale that wasn't about Prince Charmings and Cinderellas. It wasn't the kind you would want to tell sleepy children right before they go to bed, because they just might end up staying wide awake and not dreaming, perpetually afraid of what hid behind closed eyes.
Rokudo Mukuro would be the first one to laugh at all of this.
Because it wasn't as complicated as that.
It was boredom, plain and simple, a mere whim that didn't have the flightless fancies attached to it. A spark, a pinhole of distraction; not enough to change his motives, but enough to keep him occupied.
His smile was satisfied, that much was clear, while his own personal snicker was concealed by shut lips. He kept a watchful eye over Hibari months after they met, purely out of curiousity, out of boredom. This man might be capable of killing him, after all; it was a sick kind of fascination. Twisted, warped-anticipation at its worst, because you know you've hit rock bottom when the only other thing that thrilled you was the very idea of your own demise.
But Mukuro would still be the first to laugh.
Laugh, because it had a sense of schadenfreude written all over it.
Hibari is already in a bad mood, made worse by the unexpected visit of an unwanted guest, with an equally unwanted gift in tow. He doesn't miss the chance to bring out his tonfas and attempt to land a blow on Mukuro's face, all in the midst of, "What is this," a statement, not a question.
The tonfa narrowly misses Mukuro, swiping through empty air and leaving him with a smile. He laughs, because it's necessary, because he knows fully well how much that grates on Hibari's nerves. His right eye burns with the flames of number four, but he has no intention of using it. "I didn't want to come empty-handed."
"It's an eyesore," Hibari snaps, adopting another offensive position.
"You haven't even allowed yourself the luxury of opening it."
Hibari's expression is full of distate, stretched by austere fury. He wants to wipe that smile off Mukuro's face. "There isn't any need for that. I know what it is."
But Mukuro keeps on smiling. "Oh?"
Hibari doesn't wait any longer. He takes one step forward, and the rest follow in rapid succession: two steps more, turn, strike, turn around, and strike again. Every hit has more than double the force attached to it, determined to bite the Italian to death, right here, right now.
Mukuro is unfazed, infuriatingly enough, laughing like all of this is mere child's play. "One would think you don't appreciate my gift at all." Said gift is still held by one hand (an ordinary-looking wooden box), while the other manipulates his trident around to block every beat made by cold metal.
"Keep it," Hibari says, delivering another attack that's just as easily blocked as the rest. He doesn't need to see what's inside the box to know what it contains, doesn't need Mukuro to add insult on top of injury with the way he wants to pass off plucked cherry blossom branches as a present. Can't help but think about how disrespectful this whole stunt is. And he doesn't need Mukuro to tell him they aren't illusions, not when he's well aware of the fact that they come from the cherry blossom trees that surround his own courtyard.
( "Do you remember that?"
"I'd rather not."
"I remember it clearly." )
There was a flash, of spiked metal against something that slithered, hissed. He almost lost his balance, but he was able to regain it. Laughter filtered through the blank darkness, the chained streets. He was breaking out into a cold sweat, chills down his spines and goosebumps up his arms. But the scowl on his face deepened, sharp and crisp. Show yourself, he snarled, only to be met with more hisses and rattles.
No one else was around, but he could almost see the set of mismatched eyes and the Buddha's smile.
There was a flash, of everything bleeding into black-
But Hibari wakes with a start, immediately feeling the cramp of his arm from being used as the makeshift pillow for his head. He doesn't dare to move, doesn't dare to break the momentary stillness that came over him; he simply stares up at the sky. The sky so blue, free of white ghosts, so wide and so close that it almost feeks like it could overwhelm him entirely, alive and breathing.
It's almost suffocating.
But that won't stop him from reaching out, just to see how far he could fly.
( Hibari effectively bristled, at this point. "What are you laughing at?" )
Mukuro hasn't seen the sky in a long while.
Ten years and counting.
"Oh, I'm-" Sorry, Chrome wants to say, but the look in Hibari's eyes tells her that his patience is next to non-existent. No room for idle talk and casual errors; no rest for the wicked. She composes herself and hugs the bag in her hands closer, staring up at Hibari with an expression that doesn't have fear. There's nothing to be afraid of, after all. The Cloud Man won't hurt her.
She's sure of it.
Hibari regards her with frigid consideration, less curious, more cautious, if anything. He doesn't move to strike her, but he's ready to pull out his tonfas at any given moment if he deems it necessary. It's routine by now though, Chrome's random visits, and perhaps that's the reason behind his lack of a more appropriate reaction. "What is it this time?"
"Mukuro-sama wants to-" A pause, she always pauses, to make her heart catch up to the beat of her own tone, precise and demure. Thu-thump, thu-thump, there's a sudden shift; if I may, my dear Chrome?, and her eyes close, head nodding once. Yes, of course, always. "-speak with you . . ."
A dissonance of two voices, high and deep; an expected cacophany. And then it fades, bleeds into one, just as the pleating of a skirt flickers into something that's entirely leather, black, and white.
Mukuro smiles; it comes to him easily. "If you have the time, of course. I wouldn't want to impose my whims on you."
"Skip the pleasantries," Hibari replies flat-out, deadpanned, but lightly intrigued. What is it this time, really.
The laughter is immediate. "If that's what you wish." Mukuro keeps it hanging there, gloved fingers stretching out to draw spirals and circles on the fogged window. It's raining outside. And without waiting for Hibari to say anything else, he continues, speaking in a bemused manner, as if mesmerized by the light drizzle. "Have you ever wondered why feathers still fall out of the sky on a rainy day much like this one?"
There aren't any in sight; just the dying petals of pink and white.
Mukuro never stops smiling. "One would think they would take cover if the rain was heavy enough. And yet, they still keep on flying." He turns to face Hibari this time, and everything unspoken becomes obvious during the split-second moment his eyes glint with something soft, almost nonexistent. "And the feathers keep on falling."
A frivolity, Hibari wants to say, but Mukuro isn't looking at him anymore.
"Somehow, that just reminds me a bit of home."
Rusted chains, deep water; abandon everything and cling to nothing. It's the kind of home where no light ever reaches it, where no sky ever touches the surface. There isn't any room for the privilege to fly even when you shouldn't, even when you know the rain won't weigh you down, because your bones are hollow and there's nothing left of you on the inside. It's unfortunate, perhaps, maddening, most assuredly, but for once, Hibari knows he truly has the upper hand here; a battle won without even doing anything.
But he'll ever be satisfied with that.
( His laughter always stood for a lot of things.
It was harder to find which one he really meant.
"Everything," he said, "I'm laughing at everything." )
Hibari remembers being told, once, that the only way to win against something that isn't there is to believe it's actually real. Believe in it and everything falls into place, like building blocks on the way up. The sight of metal slowly heating up isn't alarming, but the sight of Genkishi's smug face, as he explains how illusions can be real enough to melt steel, brings a smile to Hibari's lips.
"I know that," he says, suddenly reminded of that one encounter he had years ago.
He's well aware of it.
There are spots of colours all around them; pinks and violets, yellows and oranges, whites and reds. They smell every bit as sweet as they always do, or they supposedly do-Mukuro can't tell. He reaches out for a morning glory, smiles because he knows exactly what it stood for (life is too short), and snatches it. His fingers attempt to caress its petals through the leather of his gloves, but he can't feel the delicate texture.
Hibari is more than a few feet away from him, arms crossed, quietly observing. His head is tilted up a little so that he can watch Mukuro with an air of unruffled superiority. "We're wasting time," he points out, a hint of ire and intolerance in his voice. When Mukuro doesn't move an inch, he has half a mind to go over there, grab the other man's collar, and drag him to where they are headed.
Only to be interrupted by laughter, children's laughter, and not the one he has grown accustomed to over the years.
Mukuro glances over his shoulder with an artful smile, half-lidded eyes conveying everything he wants to say.
"Be quiet," is the only way Hibari replies to it.
So Mukuro laughs. "That's hardly threatening nowadays, Hibari Kyouya."
Hibari glares at him, obviously rattled. He moves to swallow up the distance between the two of them, but he's stopped short by Mukuro's raised hand. A moment, please, that's what it's saying, and he gives him that moment, a short second. Soon after that, it's free game, tonfas sliding out with practiced timing. He promptly sends a powerful blow to Mukuro's chest, doubles it up with another hit directed at Mukuro's face, filled with the intent to draw out blood.
Mukuro catches them gracefully, takes them without a word or reaction other than an unflinching, "Oya?" Just like before; it's always been like this. "Are you not fond of flowers?" he interjects, perhaps with a trace of something much darker than nostalgia, smiling through his split lip, affected and knowing.
"They hold little relevance," Hibari sneers, stinging and alarming. He presses a tonfa against Mukuro's neck, eyes narrowing with a smirk. "I'm more interested in biting you to death right here."
But Mukuro diverts the looming threat away from him by using his trident, smiling so sickeningly sweet that it even causes Hibari to pause. "You ought not to speak of such violent tendencies." His smile falters, innocently enough, but everything else about him is an embodiment of something that slithers on the ground. "The children nearby might hear you."
And as if on cue, little kids rush past them, all giggles and chit-chats, without a single care in the world. Hibari looks at them like he did with everyone else; crowding like herbivores is still a punishable offense, no matter what age group you are. His grip around his tonfas tighten, just a little.
"I certainly hope it isn't presumptuous of me to have taken a few, but quite necessary, precautions without your approval." Mukuro's smile widens. "I am rather aware of your dislike for crowds." His brow is subtly arched, in such a manner that lets Hibari realize his intentions have been found out. And when he notices that Hibari stiffens, he laughs once more. Delighted and entertained.
"My business is done here, however." Mukuro gestures for them to leave. "Shall we?"
And Hibari just breezes past him.
( "He isn't there, is he." It wasn't a question. It had never been one.
Chrome was struggling to keep her eyes open. There was still blood on her lips. "No . . . I'm-"
Sorry, she wanted to say, and Hibari knew this. He stopped her before she could get the word out. "We'll all be in trouble if you die here," he remarked, a distant echo of what he said while Sawada Tsunayoshi and the rest were still around.
"I . . ."
"Why do you think he gave the Mist Ring to you?"
By then, Chrome knew Hibari already had the answer, so she closed her eyes and murmured one name-
". . . Mukuro-sama."
-and Hibari stayed with her even after Kusakabe left to tell the others that she would be okay. )
"Maman?" A little girl calls out, peeking out from the side of a tall pilaster. She looks lost for a moment, almost mistaking one of the statues to be her mother, but she spots the elderly-looking woman a few seconds later. Her little feet leads her stumbling past strangers and colourful murals, reaching out with chubby fingers for her mother's wrist.
"Maman," she says again, "Where is Jesus?" Her voice is loud to be heard enough by a good portion of the cathedral, but luckily no one cares enough to reprimand her.
"Right here," her mother replies, picking her up right away.
"Where?" She asks again, curious as ever. "Is he here?" And her voice slowly fades into a quieter level as she's hushed by her own mother.
Hibari spares the two of them a fleeting glance, but he's no longer interested in what either one had to say. It had been a good way to pass the time, however, listening in on whispered prayers and hushed conversations. But now he's bored of it, finally deeming them trivial, unworthy of further curiousity. This isn't within his range of interests, after all, so he filters them out. And he's right back to where he started, right back to a whole lot of nothing. But he continues to sit still at his chosen spot, a forgotten corner, where sunlight fireflying through the glass-dome ceiling spills all around him. For the lack of better things to do.
A little while longer, and there's a familiar presence behind him.
"Were you waiting long?" Mukuro questions, apologetic in his tone, but it isn't reflected anywhere else.
Hibari doesn't shift to look at him straight in the eye. "What is this about?" Sharp, direct; his patience is running thin.
And Mukuro laughs, gently, quietly. "Right down to business, I see. Very well then." A pause. "In light of the recent events, what do you propose we should do, Hibari Kyouya?"
Hibari rises up, brushing past Mukuro's frame, but he stops a few steps away. "You already know what to do." He focuses his sharp gaze on the other man, a look that could easily kill if it were possible to do so.
"Perhaps I'm in dire need of a reminder." A dash of mischief every now and then never hurt anyone. "Indulge me a little."
Hibari acquiesces, speaking over the sound of his own footsteps. "Contact the right hand man. Keep everyone else in the dark."
( Without a moment to lose, his trump card was already out: a hangman fit for the king of hell. The number in his bloodred eye remained a constant six, even as he raised his box to match that of a ring with outstretched wings. He was smiling all the while, completely relaxed, cool and collected.
"This is the moment when I will possess you," he said, and everything faded into sea of red.
And on the flipside-
The smoke cleared up, and the first thing he saw did nothing to improve his mood. He was already in a bad one to begin with. His tonfas were out, set in a position that spelled trouble for everyone standing before him, but he was smiling as well. The thrill, the rush of pure adrenaline-that was what he was looking forward to.
Not this.
This wasn't even worth his time.
"I'll bite you all to death," he said. "Like cornered rats."
He didn't miss a thing. )
There are kids playing outside the quirky little café they are now situated in. Mukuro is already on his second cup of coffee, while Hibari has barely touched his. He doesn't like it.
Kagome, Kagome-
"Ah." Mukuro's languid features lights up in recognition, causing him to set his cup down, almost discarding it in favor of small talk. "I know of this game."
The bird in the cage.
Hibari has his eyes closed, faintly listening.
Mukuro tosses an impertinent glance down Hibari's direction, lips curving upwards instinctively. It's interesting, when things are like this. "Answer me this, Hibari Kyouya."
-when will you come out?
"When are you going to kill me?"
A shriek comes from the group of kids playing, accompanied by raucous explosion of footsteps and snickers; it seems whoever was 'it' that time around found a new demon.
Hibari's eyes are open in an instant, and the smile on his face is deadly. "As soon as you stop running away."
title. Dead Man's Alley.
genre. General.
rating. PG.
characters. Hibari Kyouya, Rokudo Mukuro, with a side-helping of Dino Cavallone and Dokuro Chrome; Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
warnings. Makes little to no sense. References to the manga and anime everywhere. Cop-out violence (can't write action scenes /WRIST). SUBTEXT??
wordcount. 3750.
notes. Disjointed; irregular. Not in chronological order. Someone needs to take my artistic license and void it. It might not make any sense. Many thanks to queen_qing for putting up with my consistent whining about this fic, sob. For ironicbonds.
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis. Regularity's discarded; it all bleeds in one direction.
PG | STRESS | 3750
Hibird is singing, singing a tune that is solemn and ignored. Hibari is too caught up in in the gentle caress of the spring air, the familiar scent of flowers blossoming and grass growing. The temperature is cool, comforting. Winter has just ended.
Millefiore is already gone.
And it's back to where they all left off.
The flutter of tiny wings causes him to open his eyes, and when he does, he notices a single petal from a nearby cherry blossom tree has settled itself in the middle of his tea. He simply stares at it, unaffected, and then he rises up to slide open the door that leads outside, to a courtyard that's very much alive. And he pours the tea on the ground, lone petal included.
There are a few moments of uninterrupted silence, but Kusakabe's customary "Kyou-san?" brings him back inside.
Laughter (distinct and full of misinterpretations); the only thing he hears despite the chorus of giggles, of rumors floating about, of when do you want to meet's and how about never's. It's the only thing that repeats itself in his head like a broken record. An inescapable, unwanted, presence loitering around the hallways, the rooftops, and the fences. Without a way to put it out of its misery, Hibari has no place to hide from it, has nowhere to run.
It comes and goes, like a dream he's likely to discard, but this one isn't something he can let go of so easily. Even Namimori is tainted, veiled by a thick blanket of pink and white, full to the brim with spring life. The cherry blossoms bloom and wither away like snow, every petal as sweet and bitter as the smile he's smiling-
( You really are weak to them, aren't you?
A delicate wind, accompanied by the scent of something much like death. Of dangers and mistakes that come with a high price. It's something that will lead to something more, somewhere along the line.
To sakura.
The last thing he remembers is laughter, distinct and bittersweet laughter, and petals fluttering after the wake of his own blood. )
-but his eyes are telling a different story.
"Kyouya." It's soft, unintrusive, but it's every bit as distracting as the laughter inside his head. The Cavallone boss is looking at him, not with concern, but with mild regard, a curious interest to know what it is that just made him smile.
Within an instant, his face is a mask of obscurity, a blank slate. He doesn't answer back.
"You looked like you wanted to kill me," Dino says, with an easy chuckle mixing about with his words.
"I do," is the automatic answer, and it's clear it isn't just Dino he's addressing.
There's another smile, but it's from Dino's own lips this time. "Always so direct." A gentle laugh; fond, affectionate, because he's daring enough, born to be a daredevil with a deathwish all the time. "Is it about-"
Hibari never lets him finish that. "Tell me how to fight against something you can't even believe in."
Dino blinks once, twice for good measure. Three times to make sure this is actually happening. It isn't everyday Kyouya willingly asks for something like this, after all. But he doesn't voice his bewilderment out loud; you weren't supposed to. You take it in stride and roll along as if nothing has happened, "Lies, you mean?," and Dino's voice doesn't miss a beat.
"The mist."
It's just as well that Dino knows better than to laugh at this, a grade of sunshine waiting to be snuffed out, but he can't help the quick curve of lips that comes instead. He can never resist it. "Then first you have to learn what it's like to believe in something that really exists."
His legs felt weak, wobbly, like jelly. The whole world was a dizzying sight, ready to keel over whenever he did. He had never been in a more dangerous position than right at this moment. It made him grimace a little, just a tad, the pathetic sight he was sure he was projecting. If he could speak, if he had someone to talk to, disdain would drip from every single word, because weakness was something he didn't tolerate. But there was no one around, no one in sight.
It was just him and the blossoms he kind of (sort of) used to love, and surely, definitely, appreciated - acknowledged.
It wasn't hate (not yet); it was more like the same kind of feeling you get when you realize there was gum on the sole of your shoes, the same kind of annoyance. He could live with it, of course, because he didn't have any reason not to, but even Hibari couldn't see what didn't want to be seen.
Hibari didn't realize there was someone watching.
Everything didn't start out with once upon a time. It went like this-
What a frightening man.
-and curiousity followed soon after. But it wasn't quite like the kind that led Alice down the proverbial rabbit hole, or the kind that always killed the cat. It was a little bit more puzzled, disconnected, a fairytale that wasn't about Prince Charmings and Cinderellas. It wasn't the kind you would want to tell sleepy children right before they go to bed, because they just might end up staying wide awake and not dreaming, perpetually afraid of what hid behind closed eyes.
Rokudo Mukuro would be the first one to laugh at all of this.
Because it wasn't as complicated as that.
It was boredom, plain and simple, a mere whim that didn't have the flightless fancies attached to it. A spark, a pinhole of distraction; not enough to change his motives, but enough to keep him occupied.
His smile was satisfied, that much was clear, while his own personal snicker was concealed by shut lips. He kept a watchful eye over Hibari months after they met, purely out of curiousity, out of boredom. This man might be capable of killing him, after all; it was a sick kind of fascination. Twisted, warped-anticipation at its worst, because you know you've hit rock bottom when the only other thing that thrilled you was the very idea of your own demise.
But Mukuro would still be the first to laugh.
Laugh, because it had a sense of schadenfreude written all over it.
Hibari is already in a bad mood, made worse by the unexpected visit of an unwanted guest, with an equally unwanted gift in tow. He doesn't miss the chance to bring out his tonfas and attempt to land a blow on Mukuro's face, all in the midst of, "What is this," a statement, not a question.
The tonfa narrowly misses Mukuro, swiping through empty air and leaving him with a smile. He laughs, because it's necessary, because he knows fully well how much that grates on Hibari's nerves. His right eye burns with the flames of number four, but he has no intention of using it. "I didn't want to come empty-handed."
"It's an eyesore," Hibari snaps, adopting another offensive position.
"You haven't even allowed yourself the luxury of opening it."
Hibari's expression is full of distate, stretched by austere fury. He wants to wipe that smile off Mukuro's face. "There isn't any need for that. I know what it is."
But Mukuro keeps on smiling. "Oh?"
Hibari doesn't wait any longer. He takes one step forward, and the rest follow in rapid succession: two steps more, turn, strike, turn around, and strike again. Every hit has more than double the force attached to it, determined to bite the Italian to death, right here, right now.
Mukuro is unfazed, infuriatingly enough, laughing like all of this is mere child's play. "One would think you don't appreciate my gift at all." Said gift is still held by one hand (an ordinary-looking wooden box), while the other manipulates his trident around to block every beat made by cold metal.
"Keep it," Hibari says, delivering another attack that's just as easily blocked as the rest. He doesn't need to see what's inside the box to know what it contains, doesn't need Mukuro to add insult on top of injury with the way he wants to pass off plucked cherry blossom branches as a present. Can't help but think about how disrespectful this whole stunt is. And he doesn't need Mukuro to tell him they aren't illusions, not when he's well aware of the fact that they come from the cherry blossom trees that surround his own courtyard.
( "Do you remember that?"
"I'd rather not."
"I remember it clearly." )
There was a flash, of spiked metal against something that slithered, hissed. He almost lost his balance, but he was able to regain it. Laughter filtered through the blank darkness, the chained streets. He was breaking out into a cold sweat, chills down his spines and goosebumps up his arms. But the scowl on his face deepened, sharp and crisp. Show yourself, he snarled, only to be met with more hisses and rattles.
No one else was around, but he could almost see the set of mismatched eyes and the Buddha's smile.
There was a flash, of everything bleeding into black-
But Hibari wakes with a start, immediately feeling the cramp of his arm from being used as the makeshift pillow for his head. He doesn't dare to move, doesn't dare to break the momentary stillness that came over him; he simply stares up at the sky. The sky so blue, free of white ghosts, so wide and so close that it almost feeks like it could overwhelm him entirely, alive and breathing.
It's almost suffocating.
But that won't stop him from reaching out, just to see how far he could fly.
( Hibari effectively bristled, at this point. "What are you laughing at?" )
Mukuro hasn't seen the sky in a long while.
Ten years and counting.
"Oh, I'm-" Sorry, Chrome wants to say, but the look in Hibari's eyes tells her that his patience is next to non-existent. No room for idle talk and casual errors; no rest for the wicked. She composes herself and hugs the bag in her hands closer, staring up at Hibari with an expression that doesn't have fear. There's nothing to be afraid of, after all. The Cloud Man won't hurt her.
She's sure of it.
Hibari regards her with frigid consideration, less curious, more cautious, if anything. He doesn't move to strike her, but he's ready to pull out his tonfas at any given moment if he deems it necessary. It's routine by now though, Chrome's random visits, and perhaps that's the reason behind his lack of a more appropriate reaction. "What is it this time?"
"Mukuro-sama wants to-" A pause, she always pauses, to make her heart catch up to the beat of her own tone, precise and demure. Thu-thump, thu-thump, there's a sudden shift; if I may, my dear Chrome?, and her eyes close, head nodding once. Yes, of course, always. "-speak with you . . ."
A dissonance of two voices, high and deep; an expected cacophany. And then it fades, bleeds into one, just as the pleating of a skirt flickers into something that's entirely leather, black, and white.
Mukuro smiles; it comes to him easily. "If you have the time, of course. I wouldn't want to impose my whims on you."
"Skip the pleasantries," Hibari replies flat-out, deadpanned, but lightly intrigued. What is it this time, really.
The laughter is immediate. "If that's what you wish." Mukuro keeps it hanging there, gloved fingers stretching out to draw spirals and circles on the fogged window. It's raining outside. And without waiting for Hibari to say anything else, he continues, speaking in a bemused manner, as if mesmerized by the light drizzle. "Have you ever wondered why feathers still fall out of the sky on a rainy day much like this one?"
There aren't any in sight; just the dying petals of pink and white.
Mukuro never stops smiling. "One would think they would take cover if the rain was heavy enough. And yet, they still keep on flying." He turns to face Hibari this time, and everything unspoken becomes obvious during the split-second moment his eyes glint with something soft, almost nonexistent. "And the feathers keep on falling."
A frivolity, Hibari wants to say, but Mukuro isn't looking at him anymore.
"Somehow, that just reminds me a bit of home."
Rusted chains, deep water; abandon everything and cling to nothing. It's the kind of home where no light ever reaches it, where no sky ever touches the surface. There isn't any room for the privilege to fly even when you shouldn't, even when you know the rain won't weigh you down, because your bones are hollow and there's nothing left of you on the inside. It's unfortunate, perhaps, maddening, most assuredly, but for once, Hibari knows he truly has the upper hand here; a battle won without even doing anything.
But he'll ever be satisfied with that.
( His laughter always stood for a lot of things.
It was harder to find which one he really meant.
"Everything," he said, "I'm laughing at everything." )
Hibari remembers being told, once, that the only way to win against something that isn't there is to believe it's actually real. Believe in it and everything falls into place, like building blocks on the way up. The sight of metal slowly heating up isn't alarming, but the sight of Genkishi's smug face, as he explains how illusions can be real enough to melt steel, brings a smile to Hibari's lips.
"I know that," he says, suddenly reminded of that one encounter he had years ago.
He's well aware of it.
There are spots of colours all around them; pinks and violets, yellows and oranges, whites and reds. They smell every bit as sweet as they always do, or they supposedly do-Mukuro can't tell. He reaches out for a morning glory, smiles because he knows exactly what it stood for (life is too short), and snatches it. His fingers attempt to caress its petals through the leather of his gloves, but he can't feel the delicate texture.
Hibari is more than a few feet away from him, arms crossed, quietly observing. His head is tilted up a little so that he can watch Mukuro with an air of unruffled superiority. "We're wasting time," he points out, a hint of ire and intolerance in his voice. When Mukuro doesn't move an inch, he has half a mind to go over there, grab the other man's collar, and drag him to where they are headed.
Only to be interrupted by laughter, children's laughter, and not the one he has grown accustomed to over the years.
Mukuro glances over his shoulder with an artful smile, half-lidded eyes conveying everything he wants to say.
"Be quiet," is the only way Hibari replies to it.
So Mukuro laughs. "That's hardly threatening nowadays, Hibari Kyouya."
Hibari glares at him, obviously rattled. He moves to swallow up the distance between the two of them, but he's stopped short by Mukuro's raised hand. A moment, please, that's what it's saying, and he gives him that moment, a short second. Soon after that, it's free game, tonfas sliding out with practiced timing. He promptly sends a powerful blow to Mukuro's chest, doubles it up with another hit directed at Mukuro's face, filled with the intent to draw out blood.
Mukuro catches them gracefully, takes them without a word or reaction other than an unflinching, "Oya?" Just like before; it's always been like this. "Are you not fond of flowers?" he interjects, perhaps with a trace of something much darker than nostalgia, smiling through his split lip, affected and knowing.
"They hold little relevance," Hibari sneers, stinging and alarming. He presses a tonfa against Mukuro's neck, eyes narrowing with a smirk. "I'm more interested in biting you to death right here."
But Mukuro diverts the looming threat away from him by using his trident, smiling so sickeningly sweet that it even causes Hibari to pause. "You ought not to speak of such violent tendencies." His smile falters, innocently enough, but everything else about him is an embodiment of something that slithers on the ground. "The children nearby might hear you."
And as if on cue, little kids rush past them, all giggles and chit-chats, without a single care in the world. Hibari looks at them like he did with everyone else; crowding like herbivores is still a punishable offense, no matter what age group you are. His grip around his tonfas tighten, just a little.
"I certainly hope it isn't presumptuous of me to have taken a few, but quite necessary, precautions without your approval." Mukuro's smile widens. "I am rather aware of your dislike for crowds." His brow is subtly arched, in such a manner that lets Hibari realize his intentions have been found out. And when he notices that Hibari stiffens, he laughs once more. Delighted and entertained.
"My business is done here, however." Mukuro gestures for them to leave. "Shall we?"
And Hibari just breezes past him.
( "He isn't there, is he." It wasn't a question. It had never been one.
Chrome was struggling to keep her eyes open. There was still blood on her lips. "No . . . I'm-"
Sorry, she wanted to say, and Hibari knew this. He stopped her before she could get the word out. "We'll all be in trouble if you die here," he remarked, a distant echo of what he said while Sawada Tsunayoshi and the rest were still around.
"I . . ."
"Why do you think he gave the Mist Ring to you?"
By then, Chrome knew Hibari already had the answer, so she closed her eyes and murmured one name-
". . . Mukuro-sama."
-and Hibari stayed with her even after Kusakabe left to tell the others that she would be okay. )
"Maman?" A little girl calls out, peeking out from the side of a tall pilaster. She looks lost for a moment, almost mistaking one of the statues to be her mother, but she spots the elderly-looking woman a few seconds later. Her little feet leads her stumbling past strangers and colourful murals, reaching out with chubby fingers for her mother's wrist.
"Maman," she says again, "Where is Jesus?" Her voice is loud to be heard enough by a good portion of the cathedral, but luckily no one cares enough to reprimand her.
"Right here," her mother replies, picking her up right away.
"Where?" She asks again, curious as ever. "Is he here?" And her voice slowly fades into a quieter level as she's hushed by her own mother.
Hibari spares the two of them a fleeting glance, but he's no longer interested in what either one had to say. It had been a good way to pass the time, however, listening in on whispered prayers and hushed conversations. But now he's bored of it, finally deeming them trivial, unworthy of further curiousity. This isn't within his range of interests, after all, so he filters them out. And he's right back to where he started, right back to a whole lot of nothing. But he continues to sit still at his chosen spot, a forgotten corner, where sunlight fireflying through the glass-dome ceiling spills all around him. For the lack of better things to do.
A little while longer, and there's a familiar presence behind him.
"Were you waiting long?" Mukuro questions, apologetic in his tone, but it isn't reflected anywhere else.
Hibari doesn't shift to look at him straight in the eye. "What is this about?" Sharp, direct; his patience is running thin.
And Mukuro laughs, gently, quietly. "Right down to business, I see. Very well then." A pause. "In light of the recent events, what do you propose we should do, Hibari Kyouya?"
Hibari rises up, brushing past Mukuro's frame, but he stops a few steps away. "You already know what to do." He focuses his sharp gaze on the other man, a look that could easily kill if it were possible to do so.
"Perhaps I'm in dire need of a reminder." A dash of mischief every now and then never hurt anyone. "Indulge me a little."
Hibari acquiesces, speaking over the sound of his own footsteps. "Contact the right hand man. Keep everyone else in the dark."
( Without a moment to lose, his trump card was already out: a hangman fit for the king of hell. The number in his bloodred eye remained a constant six, even as he raised his box to match that of a ring with outstretched wings. He was smiling all the while, completely relaxed, cool and collected.
"This is the moment when I will possess you," he said, and everything faded into sea of red.
And on the flipside-
The smoke cleared up, and the first thing he saw did nothing to improve his mood. He was already in a bad one to begin with. His tonfas were out, set in a position that spelled trouble for everyone standing before him, but he was smiling as well. The thrill, the rush of pure adrenaline-that was what he was looking forward to.
Not this.
This wasn't even worth his time.
"I'll bite you all to death," he said. "Like cornered rats."
He didn't miss a thing. )
There are kids playing outside the quirky little café they are now situated in. Mukuro is already on his second cup of coffee, while Hibari has barely touched his. He doesn't like it.
Kagome, Kagome-
"Ah." Mukuro's languid features lights up in recognition, causing him to set his cup down, almost discarding it in favor of small talk. "I know of this game."
The bird in the cage.
Hibari has his eyes closed, faintly listening.
Mukuro tosses an impertinent glance down Hibari's direction, lips curving upwards instinctively. It's interesting, when things are like this. "Answer me this, Hibari Kyouya."
-when will you come out?
"When are you going to kill me?"
A shriek comes from the group of kids playing, accompanied by raucous explosion of footsteps and snickers; it seems whoever was 'it' that time around found a new demon.
Hibari's eyes are open in an instant, and the smile on his face is deadly. "As soon as you stop running away."
title. Dead Man's Alley.
genre. General.
rating. PG.
characters. Hibari Kyouya, Rokudo Mukuro, with a side-helping of Dino Cavallone and Dokuro Chrome; Katekyo Hitman REBORN!
warnings. Makes little to no sense. References to the manga and anime everywhere. Cop-out violence (can't write action scenes /WRIST). SUBTEXT??
wordcount. 3750.
notes. Disjointed; irregular. Not in chronological order. Someone needs to take my artistic license and void it. It might not make any sense. Many thanks to queen_qing for putting up with my consistent whining about this fic, sob. For ironicbonds.
disclaimer. Bodies, limbs, thoughts, &things aren't mine. I just pull the strings &stay on the sidelines, 'cause that's where the puppeteer belongs when her dolls are strutting all over the stage.
synopsis. Regularity's discarded; it all bleeds in one direction.