家庭教師ヒットマン REBORN! Ⓒ 天野明
There were times where choices seemed trivial, as though they'd be over in a fleeting moment so they didn't seem to matter much any more—but this was not one of those times.
A strange scent was lingering in the air (certainly not the earthy musk that escaped underneath the neighbour's door at times), one that made the back of his throat burn ever so slightly. Glancing momentarily was all the time he wasted before the usual procedure commenced.
No lights were shining from the kitchen. All appliances were carefully turned off by the switches, plugs carefully taken out and organised neatly. Any candles within his territory had been carefully put out; any wax that had dared try to touch the counters had been swiftly discarded. Light bulbs were still working correctly, he noted, while gently caressing soft linen of his curtains.
The lights outside where as blinding as the town's blatant idiocy. No snowflakes fell from the sky; instead, hail fell down with the personality of more than a handful of the occupants of his building—sometimes painfully, the harsh patter of the concrete below warning him of the possible pain he could be feeling, or gently like an obscure lullaby.
At that moment, it was soft an sweet. A gentle hum from outside the glass, attempting to lure him outside into the oncoming storm. Alas, Kyouya knew that getting too carried away always had a pernicious effect.
His fingers traced the fabric once more, before the scent had gotten stronger. Perplexed, he inhaled dubiously, glancing around the window uncertainly. The aroma hit him with full force when the glass had been slid open. Rather than stand there baffled, he grit his teeth and strode across the room, snatching his keys along the way, and slamming the front door behind him.
There was always someone that managed to prove that living in peace wasn't an option. The male had only moved into the town, along with the apartment, less than a week ago. There had always been some idiotic act wherever he turned, but this was among the worst he'd seen. His muscles didn't ache from swiftly striding up the stairs, the familiar tingle within his joints was welcomed, rather.
Hinges creaked as he threw open the door to that level, floorboards contributing a whiny harmony, and firm knocks on the door to flat fifty-two finished it all off.
"Yes, coming!" an energetic voice called from within.
Running his fingers through his ebony hair briefly, the male counted to ten before knocking again, with only slightly more strength put into it.
"Yes, yes! Just a minute!"
The only sound he could hear where the erratic footsteps of the stranger within the room—he seemed to be running around, a few bumps and surprised gasps echoing through the gap in the door.
"I don't have all day," the black haired male complained, knuckles raised to strike wood once again.
Metal was clashing, various objections of light to medium weights, judging from the sound, fell to the floor. "I'm so sorry, this isn't a good time!"
That answer was enough to make any sort of meditation within his head to vanish in seconds. His knuckles scraped across the wood before he firmly opened the door, almost knocking the door into the wall on the other side from the force. The ritual of taking off shoes was neglected (the entrance was strewn with odd shoes, and even a few socks), though he was sure his shoes were void of any dirt upon the soles.
"Bad time?" Kyouya murmured, noting their apartments had the exact same layout. After what should have been an elegantly organised entrance, the kitchen to the right was just as much of a disappointment. Pans lined the floor, some covered in some sort of a batter, otherwise turned upside down and left neglected to cope with their new home. Flour covered the surfaces, and right in the middle paired with a large red mixing bowl was the cause of the mess. "Stop."
If the situation was refined, in a nicer setting, maybe the specimen in the kitchen would've been impressive; rather than that, he had streaks of flour adorning his tanned skin, covering a few freckles that could be seen lightly upon his cheeks. Specks of white were within the light blond strands of hair, that hung just shy of his shoulder. His eyes widened in surprise, the jolt of shock running through him almost causing the bowl to fly out of his hands (luckily, he caught it without much effort and a light chuckle).
"Welcome, I guess," the blonde chortled, not at all bothered by the intrusion, "did you pick my lock?"
Even with a stranger in his apartment, he didn't seem worried—he continued to stir the batter softly with his whisk, flashing a genuine smile of amusement.
"You're annoying already," were the only words before the mixing bowl was swiped and placed on the counter. "Grab a bucket of water, and ask questions in a minute."
"I'm sorry?" he questioned, head slightly tilted.
A spare bowl, although it was clear glass, was free on the side and was quickly filled while the dark haired man made his way to the window. Glancing down for confirmation after the cold breeze hit him, the thick scent wafted into the room.
"The lights with the tinsel outside is your doing, no?" The blonde made a noise of surprise. "It's on fire."
The fire was put out quickly—the remainder of the tinsel left outside, despite the singed edges here an there, but the lights were discarded in the trash when cool. The blonde had simply gushed words of apologises the whole time, the string of words going in one ear and out of the other.
"I sincerely apologise for that, it wasn't my intention!" he explained once again, expression laced with sincerity. "It was just for the season, and I guess I got carried away there." Along with getting carried away with his actions. He wiped his forehead, some flour smearing along the skin an absorbing a few droplets of water. "I forgot to introduce myself, too. I'm Dino."
Dino was smiling genuinely then, extending a hand towards the black haired male.
"Hibari," he offered in return, ignoring the gesture.
The offer of pancakes was given in exchange for saving the rest of the tinsel, but was swiftly rejected, along with a snort of amusement when Dino shrieked at finding his mixing bowl lopsided, batter strewn over the counter top.
A week after the tinsel incident (though Kyouya glanced cautiously at other windows to see if anyone else would repeat history), the weather had slowly descended low enough for noses and ears to turn a dark shade of pink—a bodily habit that the black haired male hated more than anything. Pulling his muffler to cover a portion more of his nose, he locked the mailbox after stuffing the letters into his bag. Most of the scraps of paper were going straight into the bin, and they would've immediately if some teenager hadn't decided to steal the plastic bin from the reception.
"Hibari?" a voice called beside him. One glance was all he shot in the blonde's direction before pulling on the muffler again, and heading on upstairs. "Hey, wait. I just want to say thank you again."
It was the second time they'd seen each other. Kyouya was resolved not to associate with a pest, but he was persistent. He'd heard his name called on the street a few days prior, and had simply carried on walking without looking behind him. There was no need to take the relationship any further—he'd only forced entry into Dino's home to stop any inconvenience within his own.
"Forget about it." He wanted to throw the cards out already. It was the only time a year his mailbox would be remotely busy; just relatives, distant or not, showing their strained and insincere support at such times that suit them. "I have things to do."
"Won't you let me thank you somehow?" Dino asked, stopping him by the elbow gently. "That fire could've been horrible, you honestly saved me there."
Kyouya brushed his hand off quickly, attempting to dismiss him. "It was for my own gain."
"And this is for mine," he offered.
"No." There had been no hesitation in his answer.
Closing the door gently behind him, Kyouya arranged his shoes neatly, dropping his bag onto the designated hook and producing a small sigh. It was as though he'd found himself a stray, one that kept recognising him and yapping non stop. The letters and envelopes were shredded within minutes, the remains as neat as the rest of the room. The clang on metal sounded as he dropped his keys into the small bowl, exchanging them for small silver ring. It was delicate, patterned gracefully with three miniature amethyst gems in a row.
"Finally starting to miss me, then?" Kyouya heard beside him.
Another one of his worst decisions had been picking up that particular ring. Months ago after a mediocre day at work, a sparkle caught his eye as he was walking to his previous home. The glint of silver was unmistakable, but the location was peculiar. It was lodged just below the cover of a drain beside a concrete pavement. He'd reached for it without hesitation, glancing to see if there was anyone frantically looking around for a lost piece of jewellery. However, there was no one but business men and women minding themselves, so the ring had wound up in his pocket until a few days later, where he'd plucked it out of his washing machine.
"Troublesome," he muttered, slipping the metal onto his little finger (the only one that it would fit upon for the time being).
Someone clicked their tongue in disapproval. "I've been waiting all this time, and all you have to say is trouble?"
Kyouya blinked, tensing instinctively while glancing over his shoulder. An unknown man was standing beside him, but that was the least of his worries. Although his outfit would've under normal circumstances be considered charming, the monotone suit and tie where not the problem. He had locks of hair that were damaged from dying, probably, as most was coloured royal navy, while some roots were peeping out a cold ebony. The parting in the middle was strict an precise, though the bangs that hung along his jaw and the loose ponytail said otherwise. However, the concerning part was his eyes—while one was a clear cerulean, the other was concerning. Scarlet tinted the whole of his eye, the blood continuing on to cover parts of his hollow cheek.
"You haven't killed anyone in my home, have you?" was all Kyouya demanded to know at that moment. He was sure he could coax the male out of his home, but if there was a corpse within, one that was fresh, it was going to be a whole different matter.
A laugh was the answer he got in return.
Clenching his fists to control his anger, Kyouya strode forward with the intention of grabbing the male's collar, or even his neat but thin tie. Instead of gripping the material, he was caressing thin air; air that was a few degrees lower than the rest of the room, and right where the male's upper torso should have been.
"You're quick to violence, so that might come in handy," the intruder stated, tilting his head back ever so slightly with a growing smirk. He wasn't phase by the hand within him, not even glancing down at the scene.
Pulling his arm back, Kyouya glanced at his hand, eyes narrowed suspiciously. It could've been a mistake on his part, after all, this wasn't a normal occurrence. As he was glancing at his lukewarm fingers, another thought struck him—he couldn't smell the blood, or anything out of the usual. After taking a closer look, he noted that it was dried, mostly, though the man's eye was as grotesque as ever.
"You can't hurt me, and vice versa, so let's move along." With a laugh, the male met Kyouya's eye with a smile before gracefully turning around, footsteps echoing as he entered into the living room and took a seat upon the sofa. "My name's Mukuro."
He was not a foreigner, so there was no excuse other than apparent creativity or some kind of family problems for his obnoxious choice of hair colour. Mukuro seemed to be the same age as him; roughly late teens, or maybe older from his wardrobe choice. They were not the casual wear of a teenager after school.
"You have one minute to leave," Kyouya warned, patience tested as he looked to see where the male had broken in from. His curtains were untouched, still covering the windows almost completely apart from the small crack allowing in sunlight. The light shone upon Mukuro's face, specifically the sullied side.
Mukuro simply raised his eyebrows, accepting the threat with curiosity.
A minute had passed before Kyouya attempted to swipe at the male again—hands passing through and gripping the material of the sofa instead, nails digging in with irritation. It seemed futile, but ever so bothersome.
"I don't need a ghost."
A laugh sounded, echoing within the room slightly. "You never had a choice in the first place."
He didn't own any crosses, not even as necklaces or something else obscure, nor where there any sort of talismans in the small village. There hadn't been a reported ghost problem (though it wouldn't have gained publicity, most likely), nor did he possess any knowledge of how to get rid of one without much hassle.
"I'll stake you," he warned.
"You'll hit your furniture, and probably tarnish it." Mukuro threw his head back to laugh, eyes lingering on the white ceiling for more than necessary. "I just want to talk to you."
Kyouya snorted. "That's not a strong point of mine—find someone else, immediately."
He was met with a smile in return. For almost a week, he'd attempted to ignore the mail, but he was relentless. Following along to work, the supermarket, and just about anywhere (even the bathroom, at times, before Kyouya stared at him blankly just long enough to make him leave). Although Mukuro didn't utter a word, he always walked slowly beside him, curious of his surroundings every day. Kyouya had tried many strange tactics to get rid of him; visiting a church, though the other had simply bowed his head and prayed along with him, staying overtime at work in an attempt to bore him, even searching online for any knowledge of how to get rid of unwanted guests.
One day he'd opened his eyes after yawning, and decided it had gone too far.
"Sleep is unnecessary for you, and neither do I want you here."
Still fully suited, Mukuro was lounging beside him upon the top of the duvet, amused by the comment. "It's warmer here than in the living room," he merely stated. His voice didn't break from the lack of use.
"One of the reasons I sleep here—now get out."
He laughed. "No."
Kyouya threw the cover off himself and at the other male, making a noise of complaint as it simply passed right through him without much trouble.
After showering and getting dressed, the black haired male cradled a bowl of cereal upon his lap while sitting on the sofa, suspicious from the lack of noise. There were no soft footsteps, nor the occasional cold breeze.
"Stop hiding," he demanded, picking up his spoon for another scoop. The other had always been in sight, either a few steps behind an glancing at the scenery, or in front an actively leading the way without looking for any sort of confirmation that it was correct. It was almost eerie that there was nothing now. Kyouya sighed. "I don't have much patience."
There was still no answer, not even a small chuckle at his behaviour.
Out of his pyjamas and into a more suitable attire for work, Kyouya slipped on the ring he'd left in the bathroom after noticing it while brushing his teeth.
Face to face with Mukuro, staring directly into his bloodied eye without realising, Kyouya jumped, almost loosing his footing before he rebalanced himself at the last moment. The male hadn't been there before; he hadn't been anywhere in fact.
The moment it dawned on him, his lip twitched—whether it was a smirk or a frown, he was unsure.
"This is your ring," he stated.
Mukuro shrugged, smoothing the imaginary wrinkles on his white shirt. "You could say that."
When he'd found the ring, that was the first time he'd seen Mukuro in the centre of his hallway. The male had been inspecting the home uncertainly, not waiting for him. A thought occurred to him, causing Kyouya to furrow his brow. There was a long period of time where he'd possessed the ring, but hadn't worn in—had Mukuro been following him all of that time? Surely, even though what kind of a life form he was was uncertain, that didn't mean he couldn't waste all that time simply following a stranger.
"You've been here all this time."
Mukuro raised an eyebrow. "I've been in the bathroom while you were showering, if you mean that."
The punch hit the col air instead of him. "I'll kill you."
"Not my choice," Mukuro replied, looking away briefly before meeting his eyes.
Clenching his fist, Kyouya grit his teeth. "Give me a good reason not to throw this away."
His tone was merciless, as though the answer was crystal clear. "You'll die."
AN: I'm a horrible, horrible person.