Imperfect Perfection
Summary: What was it that made you look at me? Why did you even look in my direction? Every day ever since we met, I've wondered. 1859.
A/N: I got bored. And decided there weren't enough 1859 Fanfictions out there. So, I wrote one on my own. It's a one-shot, so don't think I've stopped writing Beauty and the Beasts. I'm definitely continuing that one. But I'm probably going to be writing a bunch of one-shots in between updates.
Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.
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1: Imperfect Perfection
What was it that made you look at me? Why did you even look in my direction? Every day ever since we met, I've wondered. Every night, before I went to sleep, before we happened, I dug up memories, trying to convince myself that I was worth your time.
But to tell the truth, perhaps I never even believed that myself.
A bastard child, born and raised in a messed-up family, resulting in a messed-up child: me. What screwed me up? Was it my sister, my father? Or perhaps it was the death of the mother I didn't even know was my mother.
The only bright light through my childhood was the music. That I remember well. That I can recall clearly. Yet, it was because of the music that ruined me, that ruined my life, my father and my sister's lives.
I vowed never to play again.
Running away as a young child can change a person. But how much more messed up can you make a kid? I started smoking at ten, started prostituting myself at eleven, when I realized how many people, both men and women, looked in my direction, stroked my mother's silver hair, passed onto me, and envied me for the dark green eyes that "held so many secrets". What secrets? Why was holding secrets good?
From a young age, I learned to please.
I learned to tell what people wanted, knew when they wanted to be whispered to in a gentle voice, knew when they wanted to be told that there was nothing wrong with fucking a thirteen year old boy.
Pain was my constant companion.
So perhaps it was this pain, rather, this immunity to pain that drew you to me.
You enjoyed causing pain.
I enjoyed feeling it.
I was so masochistic, filled with a need for pain, just so I could tell myself that I was alive, that I was, indeed, human. I knew I was going to hell. There was no way I wasn't. But death began to look pretty damn good when I first set my eyes on you.
Cold eyes, pale skin that contrasted so much with your dark hair, with an expressionless face that looked down mercilessly at your fallen opponent.
I chased you recklessly and I got what I had always wanted, what my messed-up mind had always secretly desired.
With every hit, with every cut, every bruise and every pint of blood that flowed from my body, I told myself that it was for you.
And then, one day, you stopped hitting me and your eyes seemed to change every time you saw me. I remember that first day we kissed. It was on the school roof, and I was skipping class again. You were napping on the roof and I was enjoying my cigarette.
You surprised me when you made your advance.
"Gokudera Hayato," you said in your cold voice, with perhaps just a little hint of something else hidden behind your cold blue eyes. I remember how I shivered when my name rolled off your tongue. It was different from when other people said it.
"What do you want?" I had snarled back, body bracing for the beating that I knew I was going to get, looking forward to that beating.
"You are an interesting herbivore," you remarked, walking forward steadily, eyeing me like I was your prey. When you got within two feet, we began to circle, moving in an almost choreographed dance. "You look forward to being bitten." Then you smirked, a harsh smirk that made my skin shudder. "You interest me, herbivore."
And with that, we became us.
Every day, you interrogated me.
Every day, you dug deeper into the secrets that I had worked so hard to hide, the secrets that held the reasons to my messed-up mind.
You relished learning my weaknesses.
I relished the knowledge that you knew my weaknesses now and could use them against me.
But you never did.
Every day, when it got close to nighttime, and you still hadn't let me go home, I realized you were lonely. So, I stayed. Every night, when you went on your last patrol, I would wait for you.
And sometimes, I would stay up even when you came back and sat behind your desk, staring at me with your eyes, never saying anything. We had a relationship that had no need for words.
And then, slowly, but surely, your eyelids would droop and you put your head on your arms and sleep crept over you, claiming you. It was a little strange, knowing that you had to sleep like every other human being out there. You wouldn't know this, but I sat in the chair facing your desk, just studying you as you slept.
And then there was that time, when we were in college and sharing a dorm room because nobody else wanted to room with you, when I came home from my night class and found you on my bed, curled up and asleep without having even changed into your black silk pajamas.
I sat down next to you on the bed and the stupid thing creaked and woke you up.
That was the first night we had ever had sex.
Our neighbors began to complain about our nightly activities, but you, being you, made them go away swiftly. And I couldn't have been happier.
What made you become so attracted to me?
Why was I perfect in your eyes, when in my own, I was just another shattered mirror?
Why was I the one that caught your eye?
There were many pretty girls at college, many pretty girls in high school even.
But it was me, the one who was unclean, the one who cursed, smoked and caused trouble on a regular basis. The one who couldn't eat or sleep for two weeks after learning the fate of his boss after that fucked up meeting. Yet, you stayed by my side. You were there when the Tenth "died". You were the one who comforted me, who allowed me to shake in your arms, silent, never offering any words, because you knew.
It made me happy, knowing that you knew how to make me feel better. Yamamoto offered me sushi, offered me friendship and distractions, but there was nothing that could have closed the growing abyss of despair I felt. But then you began to build the bridge.
You held me close, whispered promises in my ear, graced my unclean skin with your soft kisses, whispering that I was perfect, that nothing could ever change how you felt about me, because all my imperfections were, in your eyes, perfectly fine.
We're a messed up couple, the two of us.
But, Kyouya, who wants to be normal?
Gokudera smiled slightly to himself as he looked up from his computer, absent-mindedly stroking the dappled cat on his lap. He looked at everything he had written, highlighted all of it, and deleted it, gently closing the lid of his laptop. His eyes settled on the man sitting on the sofa across from him, long legs propped up on the coffee table, arms hanging loose by his side, black hair unruly and mouth slightly parted open as he dreamt.
The silver haired man got up, after moving the cat on his lap to the side, his bare feet making just a rustle on the carpet, the cushions on the other sofa sinking as he took a seat next to his beloved.
He leaned his head on Kyouya's shoulder and closed his eyes.
Yamamoto, passing by the room, glanced inside and he stopped in his tracks, a light, but sad smile on his face. "Have you found perfection at last, Hayato?" the Japanese man murmured, standing in the doorway for what seemed to be an eternity. Gokudera's even and slow breathing informed Yamamoto that Gokudera had fallen asleep. Hibari, however, seemed to smirk lightly as he turned his head, challenging the man in the doorway.
Yamamoto just dipped his head ever so slightly and, as he turned away, relinquished any hold he might have once had on the fiery silverette. Hibari, seeming somewhat smug, snaked a hand out and stroked the soft silver hair that lay on his shoulder.
"Gokudera Hayato..." Hibari murmured, burying his face in the hair that smelled like gunpowder and his beloved's sharp and spicy cologne. "You weren't typing a report, were you..."