characters/pairings: Dino/Squalo, one-sided (like the way I do.)
warnings: A bit of headcanon on character history.
word count: 816
summary: Do opposites attract? Dino sure hopes so.
notes: I like how this one turned out-hence why it's actually on the site-but I'm still not satisfied with the length of the fic and the depth of the character analysis. Also, I do love this pair, but I haven't figured out how I like to ship them yet-as in, as a friendship pair or as a romance pair. This fic, however, is romantically-inclined. So. Read and review, please! (Also, if you like these two, tell me and I will probs be willing to do a art/fic trade with you on them. Message me k?)
the sun and the moon
There's so much, maybe almost too much, of a difference between them, that sometimes it almost scares him to death what'll happen to them. It gets him wondering, wondering if they'll go their separate ways after graduation, when he'll be a mafia boss and he'll be his own assassin, if they'll stay in contact, or if he'll never see that silver hair again. If there won't be any more of sitting together on the rooftop at lunch, nor of letting each other copy algebra and biology homework, nor of sharing a measly apple because there's only one and they're both hungry and it's so round and red and perfect. And there's the thing he's most afraid of—if one day, something will pit them against each other, and he has to fight him, and he knows that in the unforgiving world of the mafia and in the one of his harsh gray eyes, there wouldn't be any chance for negotiation, for old friendships. There wouldn't be any chance for Dino.
He thinks like that, he often does, even if it hurts him and makes him frown and squeeze childish tears onto his pillow at night, when Squalo isn't looking and hearing and scolding in that loud, rambunctious voice that Dino had grown to listen for. He hiccups, sniffs, buries his face in his pillow so Squalo wouldn't wake up and call him a fucking sentimental idiot and roll over on his bed, because that just makes him hurt even more.
Sometimes, Dino rather wished that Squalo was a girl, so he wouldn't have to worry so much, so maybe he would be in love with a quiet, non-homicidal female instead. But then he thinks, and smiles, and laughs at last, because Jesus, a quiet and non-homicidal Squalo just wouldn't be Squalo at all.
It worries him, though, because he laughs too much and Squalo doesn't laugh enough; he smiles aplenty and Squalo rarely even curls his lips. It's not that he minds their distinctions, because he likes the feeling of sweet victory when he finally garners a laugh out of the other; rather, he's afraid that this dire contrast can pull them apart, and it's a scary, scary thought.
That's why when Squalo mentions that opposites attract, it makes Dino's heart do a weird little jump and his face flush, even though he knows that the swordsman meant nothing personal by it as he saunters off after the casual comment. But still, he can't help but wonder if maybe he did mean something and maybe those two words were not mere words but some sort of secret code that Squalo meant Dino to crack. He wonders, stares at Squalo's retreating figure for a moment, and then pulls himself after and away from the pair of Mallard ducks, each unconsciously attracting the other, swimming peacefully and quietly in the blue, blue pond.
That night, when Squalo piggybacks him back to their room after a fight with upperclassmen (in which Dino had ingeniously twisted his ankle), he lets himself think about it again, about what Squalo said. He leans his head on the back of Squalo's neck, feels his insides jerk when Squalo flinches, and thinks, fantasizes almost, about opposites attracting, about Squalo's hands on his back and lips on his cheek.
At first, he doesn't realize what the ticklish tingles that are running up his throat are, and doesn't bother investigating—but when the first bubbles of laughter push themselves out from his mouth, Dino pauses, and blinks, realizing how silly, and wonderfully ridiculous his whole train of thought is, but by that time he's too far gone and far too busy grinning and daydreaming to care one bit.
When his giggles do not end, Squalo, on account of having to be secretive in the school's walkways past midnight, does not yell, only hisses an insult at the blonde boy on his back; but Dino, giggling still, only hugs Squalo tighter as they creep through the arches and doorways, and imagines the other's arms around him too.
He pretends that he is asleep when Squalo drops him on his bed, hands childishly, innocently clinging on to Squalo's shirtsleeve so that the other boy had to pry his hands from their clutches on the other's arm. There are rustles for a few minutes, and a pause of silence before Dino feels the light pressure of a blanket draped over him, a few more rustles, and all is quiet again.
In the safe haven of the darkness, Dino smiles to himself. And that night, at least, he falls asleep content, and he doesn't mind Squalo's daily scowls or insults or scoffs as much, at that moment.
Because, he tells himself, opposites attract, and they're opposites (as much so as can be) and Squalo will be attracted to him.
It was just, y'know.
It was just a matter of time.