Warnings: boys' love! 8018 3 …and I have spelled Hibari's name Kyoya instead of Kyouya, I was practically done before I realized it, so
Rating: T (rated for romantic behavior, plus the usual spicy pinches of violence and bad language – can't be avoided, really)
Chapter summary: after Hibari saves his butt, Yamamoto tries to work out a way of thanking him – but Hibari is impossible and won't accept anything! Also, Yamamoto finds himself mysteriously, magnetically drawn to the mysterious Hibari, who seems to be – just a little – fascinated by him in return...
Disclaimers: I don't own KHR (if I did Mukuro would be more in it! I like Chrome, but she doesn't really do much)
Author's waste of space: my very serious (and very first!) attempt at Yamamoto x Hibari. There are a few hints, or things that a humble fan-girl might perceive as such, pointing toward this pairing in the series, and they would, undoubtedly, make a very hot couple! Also, Yamamoto's got the advantage of that gut feeling of his – he's really good at reading people's moods and calming them down, in addition to being the strongest in Namimori after Hibari himself. I got the idea for this chapter partly from the Valentines episode, because when I-Pin gives him chocolate at the end, Hibari looks so surprised (as far as expressions go on that face, anyway) that someone would actually do something like that for him – and afterwards he seems to have developed something of a soft spot for her to the point where he actually behaves – soooo he's not immune to gestures of kindness… And, ah, just read!
Oh, yeah, and I've had some of the baseball guys nickname Yamamoto Yamachin, which kind of in a way translates to Yamamoto-chan. Now read!
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:+:+: Chapter 1 :+:+:
Of how Hibari came to save Yamamoto and how Yamamoto found a way of thanking him and everything begins…
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If he hadn't broken his arm, it might have never happened.
And it hadn't just been his arm either; he had sprained his ankle pretty badly, too, and almost gotten beaten up and mugged. He had felt smaller and perhaps more defenseless than he ever had in his entire short, eventful life, not to mention it had hurt like hell! And yet. And yet…
All things considered, Yamamoto was happy, in the end, that things turned out the way they did.
It was quite stupid really, the way he'd broken his arm and all that. He didn't know it was broken at first though, he'd been too upset he'd hurt his precious right arm – his baseball arm! – to bother with the details. It happened during practice. He had climbed up on one of the gigantic spot lights they used to light up the field after dark to see why it wouldn't turn itself on. And then he had slipped before he got all the way up, and fallen down, landing hard on his side in the grass. Ironic, really, how he had been in real sword fights and survived bomb attacks and crazy strong opponents, and was still capable of being clumsy and hurting himself, just like everyone else in the world. He figured he would've laughed if it hadn't hurt so badly.
He sat out the rest of the training session on the bench, determined not to leave before the others just because of a little pain. His coach made a temporary sling for his arm, and an hour or so later he was walking – or rather limping – his way home. His team mates passed him by on the way, walking or perched on their bicycles. They called and waved to him as they passed, wishing him a speedy recovery and hoping they would still see him at school the next day and such things. And then Yamamoto decided he would take a short cut. He knew about one that went through a back alley.
.
A short cut through a back alley… really, what had he expected?
There were 5 of them. All of them were big guys – probably high school students, he reckoned – and all were eyeing him with menacing smirks. They were smoking and two of them held beer cans in their hands. These weren't good guys, Yamamoto could tell. "Hey there, kid," one of them called out to him. He spat the word 'kid', as if saying it made his mouth taste bad. "You a Namimori student?"
"…Yeah" Yamamoto tried not to look at them. If he stared, they might get upset and use it as an excuse to start trouble. Now, Yamamoto was no wuss, and he certainly wasn't afraid of these guys. Only, when he couldn't use his arm or jump or even run… This is not good, he thought.
3 of them were sitting in a crouching position, like construction workers on a 5-minute break, and the 2 others were perched on a couple of rusty trash cans that looked like no one had ever emptied them. The only light came from the street lamps and a single bulb attached high up on the wall by the entrance to the alley, painting everything a dirty orange. One of the guys leapt down from the trash can and the ones on the ground suddenly stood up. "I like that jacket," one of them said. "That is a nice jacket…" The 4 of them now up stepped in front of him, blocking his path ahead. He'd have to turn back. But there was the last guy, his thick arms folded across his chest. No escape.
Yamamoto thought he would pass out from the pain when they grabbed his arm. The sling was ripped off and it hurt like crazy. He spun around, punching the guy behind him with his left arm. This is bad – really bad! The next thing he knew, he was held up against the wall by the biggest of the guys. He had upper arms like hams and his thick fingers pressed around Yamamoto's throat, pushing him further up, up, against the wall until his feet left the ground and almost couldn't breathe anymore. He felt another shot of pain from his arm as one of the guys tugged at his sleeves, yanking off his jacket, the uniform jacket.
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Suddenly, a quiet voice spoke from somewhere above them. "Weak herbivores like you make me sick."
Their heads snapped up in surprise and there, perched on an impossibly narrow railing was Hibari, scowling down at them in utter contempt. Yamamoto, whose feet were still dangling several inches from the ground, felt a sudden rush of relief. Hibari…! "What did you call us?" snarled one of the boys, "why don't you come down here, princess, and repeat that to my face, huh?!" Hibari smiled like a shark. "Gladly…" He leapt nimbly from the railing and landed gracefully, soundlessly on the asphalt in front of them.
"Hey, I know who you are!" said one of the others, pointing a finger at the red band around Hibari's upper arm, which had suddenly become visible now he was within range of the street lights. "You're with the Disciplinary Committee, aren't you?" The guy who was holding Yamamoto suddenly tensed upon hearing this. Apparently he, too, clearly knew who Hibari was.
"I own the Disciplinary Committee," said Hibari. His eyes were narrow and his expression looked very dangerous, "and you are disturbing the peace of my town."
In a flash he had whipped out his tonfas and, in the next instant, he had planted one of them firmly in the solar plexus of the boy who had recognized him. He spun around, seemingly in mid-air and lashed out a foot, which hit the face of the stunned boy behind him with an audible crack. The boy fell to his knees, clutching his bleeding and clearly broken jaw in his hands, howling in pain. The boy who had challenged Hibari to come down, however, didn't seem fazed by what he saw. He grabbed a broken glass bottle from the ground and held it up in front of him, sharp pointy edges glinting in the orange light. "You're a regular psychopath, aren't you, princess…" he said through gritted teeth. "Let's see how tough you are when I break that pretty face of yours!" He lunged at Hibari, who blocked his attack with a tonfa, ducked under the next jab and kneed the boy in the stomach. The boy doubled over in pain, but still managed to lash out another strike. It missed, of course. Instead Hibari grabbed his outstretched wrist and with the tiniest little twist, he broke it, as easily and effortlessly as if it had been a twig. Yamamoto shut his eyes involuntarily. The sound of the snap was gut-wrenching. The boy fell on his front, unable to ease the fall with his now useless hand.
Hibari turned to face the biggest of the five, the one who still held Yamamoto up against the wall by the neck. This guy seemed to have more sense than his comrades, however, for he let go of Yamamoto and the uniform jacket he had still been holding onto in his other hand even before Hibari had taken the first step towards him, and then he ran. The fifth guy had also disappeared sometime during the fight – or slaughter, anyway – and was nowhere to be seen.
Yamamoto fell hard on his bad ankle; he winced and had to bite back hard to stop a whimper of pain from escaping his throat. It hurt so badly! He looked around at the three remaining boys; two were badly injured and the third was out cold it seemed. Hibari was really amazing, and really, really scary, he thought.
Hibari picked up the uniform jacket from the ground, brushed the dirt off from it and handed it to Yamamoto without a word. Yamamoto looked up at him, took it and didn't say anything either. He tried to push himself up with his good hand, but his ankle shot bursts of pain up his leg and when he tried to stand on it, it wouldn't support his weight and felt like jelly beneath him. With a hiss of pain he fell backwards against the wall, managing, barely, to remain standing upright.
It suddenly felt very important – no, essential – not to appear weak. Not in front of this guy!
He had heard or maybe read somewhere that predators could smell fear, and if you showed signs of weakness they wouldn't hesitate to attack. And one never could tell with Hibari… With a determined mine, he took a step. It hurt like hell, but he ignored it and, glancing at Hibari, he took another and another. Hibari watched him with mild curiosity, arms folded across his chest. Yamamoto swallowed hard as he bent down, his good leg supporting all his weight, and retrieved his school bag from where it had been tossed haphazardly aside earlier.
Suddenly, without asking permission, Hibari was at his side, took the bag from his grip and slung it over his own shoulder and, with a sigh of reluctance, or perhaps exasperation, he took Yamamoto's good arm and did the same with it, allowing Yamamoto to lean on him for support. Yamamoto opened his mouth to laugh or say thank you, but his voice got caught in his throat and disappeared completely as his eyes met Hibari's icy glare. And, like that, they half walked, half limped away. Behind them, the boy with the big mouth and now broken wrist called out after them: "I swear to fucking hell I won't forget this!"
"No, you won't," retorted Hibari smugly. Yamamoto couldn't stifle a small chuckle.
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Neither of them spoke as they made their way in the slow and almost jerky rhythm of Yamamoto's unbalanced gait. Yamamoto kept shooting Hibari brief glances, wondering if he should say something – anything – or if maybe this was the good kind of silence. He was good at telling, usually, but this was… him. It was different with Hibari. Everything always was…
Hibari kept his gaze focused straight ahead on the pavement in front of them, expression calm and indifferent. It was impossible to tell what was going on inside his head. "Hey, Hibari," said Yamamoto after a while with a weak but sincere smile. He felt uncertain of himself, a feeling which was quite novel to him. "Thank you. You really saved my butt back there!"
"Do me a favor and don't jump to conclusions, plant eater," said Hibari without looking at him. "They were trying to steal a Namimori school uniform jacket, and that," suddenly he bent down and, without warning, hoisted Yamamoto up onto his back by the wrists as easily as if he were made of feathers, "well, we just can't have that." He grabbed Yamamoto under the knees and hitched him up a notch. Apparently pleased he continued to walk. It went lot faster this way. "Where is your house?"
Yamamoto figured he must have passed out somewhere along the way, because when he opened his eyes he was in his room, in his bed, staring up at the same ceiling he always stared at when he woke up. He sat up, careful not to strain his right arm as he did, and looked around. It was dark and quiet, and he figured it must still be nighttime. Had Hibari really carried him all the way home? He couldn't remember going to bed at all… His arm was bandaged with a near air-tight supporting bandage, and someone had taken off his shirt and shoes as well. Flexing his toes gingerly he was able to assess that his foot had also been bandaged.
He looked idly around his room and there, in the sliver of light from the moon and the street lamps outside, laid Hibari. Curled up on his side like a cat, fast asleep, his little pet bird comfortably nested in his thick, pitch black hair. The sliding doors that opened up to the narrow, roofed terrace had been opened all the way, letting in cold but refreshing night-air. That was where Hibari slept, as if he truly were a wild animal that wouldn't feel safe unless he somehow had an open route to freedom.
"Hibari…" Yamamoto said soundlessly, shaking his head with a small smile, "you're really something."
When he awoke again a few hours later, it was morning and Hibari was gone.
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"Ah! Takeshi," his father looked up from his morning tea as Yamamoto entered the kitchen, looking both relieved and worried all at once. "Sit down, kiddo! How's that arm of yours?" Then, before Yamamoto could answer, he waved a hand dismissively and said, "know what, never mind, I'll drive you to the hospital before school anyway!" He jumped to his feet and got Yamamoto some milk from the fridge and a freshly made toast.
"Thanks, dad… err, listen," he took a sip of milk and glanced around the kitchen. Hibari wasn't here either. He must have left, Yamamoto thought. "When… err, I mean, how did I get home last night? Truth is I don't remember going to bed at all, and when I woke up I had these bandages on and everything…" he trailed off. And Hibari was sleeping on my floor, in my room…
"Yeah, you were asleep when he brought you here," said his father, slumping down on his chair again. "Hibari-kun! That kid sure is a looker, huh? And so polite and correct, too, your grandfather would've liked him, Takeshi."
Yamamoto suddenly felt like he couldn't swallow the milk in his mouth. Hibari, polite…?
"He helped me get you upstairs and into bed and then, before I know it he managed to fall asleep on the floor." His father laughed. "Figures, though, doesn't it? You're getting really big, Takeshi! Carrying you on his back must've been hard. I let him lay there. I threw a blanket over him."
So Hibari had really carried him. That was really… really something, thought Yamamoto.
He grinned.
"…so now my dad is a real sucker for Hibari, and is making me bring him this," he held up a lunch box," as a sign of gratitude, and on top of that now I have to find a way to thank him for saving my hide," finished Yamamoto, leaning gingerly back on his chair. "Or rather, my clothes," he corrected.
He had spent 1st period at the hospital, and, all patched up and rubbed in with tiger balm and fresh supporting bandages, he had made it in time to 2nd period. Tsuna and Gokudera had sent him inquisitive and worried looks – well, Tsuna had looked worried, at least – all through mathematics until, finally, the bell rang and he could tell them everything about what had happened on his way home the previous night.
"Wow, I can't believe Hibari actually did that," said Tsuna, laughing in spite of himself. "It almost sounds like you're making it up."
"You idiot," scolded Gokudera, "Now you're in debt to that guy! And how can anyone, especially someone like your dad, be a sucker for someone like him? Stuck up brat…"
"Still, though," said Yamamoto, quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself. "You should've seen him. He was magnificent."
Expressing gratitude to someone like Hibari turned out to be nothing short of impossible.
First of all, he couldn't think of anything Hibari might want. He seemed to appreciate the lunch box his father made for him, or at least he took it, though Yamamoto never saw him eat. He'd never seen Hibari eat anything, actually, come to think of it. "My old man got a really good impression of you," he said as he handed it over to a mildly curious-looking Hibari. "He made you this."
"For me?"
"Yeah, he's really grateful for you helping me home and all…" his voice trailed off. "Your father was pleasant," said Hibari, turning the lunch box in his hands to see it from all sides. "I could probably have him make more of those for you again," began Yamamoto, suddenly eyeing a tiny hope. Seeing the curious look on Hibari's calm face, he felt like he had an idea. "If you like sushi, it could be my way of thanking you for –"
"Hmm, no, this will do," muttered Hibari without looking up. And then he turned on his heel and closed the door to the Disciplinary Office room, leaving Yamamoto with unfinished business.
Even just saying thank you…
("Hey, Hibari, how are you?", "Better than you can ever hope to be.", "Right… Listen, about yesterday, I just wanted to say thank you for –", "Not accepted. There should have been no need for me to intervene. You were pathetic.")
…was a difficult and humiliating affair.
That was before lunch.
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After lunch, he got an idea of sorts – though it wasn't very original – and had Gokudera and Tsuna help him search for Hibari's shoe locker and/or home class room. After the three of them had searched for half an hour without finding so much as a clue about where either of them might be, however, Yamamoto gave up. Truthfully, neither of them even knew what year Hibari was in. As he stood up from where he had been reading name-tags off the small, gray locker-doors, he spotted Hibari. He sat on the wooden bench directly in front of the entrance with his legs crossed, like a spectator at the theater, and an expression of mild amusement on his stoic face. Had he been watching?
During his 10 minute break after the next lesson, Yamamoto ran up to the roof where he knew Hibari liked to nap with a broom and, as quickly as he could with only one arm and a bandaged leg, he had swiped the concrete until it sparkled. Pleased with the result he had turned to run back down, when he nearly collided with none other than Hibari, who was probably on his way up for just one such nap. He looked around lazily at the clean roof, raising his eyebrows a fraction.
"Ah! Hibari! Look, I cleaned your napping-spot! It's a thank you for –"
"Not accepted. If you have the time and energy to mop floors, you should be practicing with your sword instead," drawled Hibari. "Herbivores who can't protect themselves die." And with that somber prediction he sauntered past Yamamoto, who clenched his jaw and heaved a sigh of exasperation. Now, what hadn't he thought of yet…?
If he had looked back before descending the stairs he would've caught Hibari staring at his back with an unreadable expression, which turned into a sort of half-smirk. "Hmm…"
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And then classes ended.
He was sitting on the bench, watching as the others did throwing practice, lost in thought. He was contemplating his remaining options – or rather, he was searching for them – and so he didn't notice the little yellow bird until it suddenly landed on the bench next to him, twittering happily.
"Hey little fellow," Yamamoto said softly, reaching out a finger. It was Hibari's bird. It skipped back and forth, chirping "Hibari, Hibari."
"I know, right?" said Yamamoto, "That's who I'm thinking of, too. I don't suppose you know something that would cheer him up?" The bird ruffled it's feathers and, beginning on the oh-so familiar first strophes of the school anthem, it took flight and disappeared toward the main building. It was really impressive how Hibari had taught that bird to sing, he thought – according to Gokudera he must have somehow tamed it and taught it the school anthem in a matter of only a few hours, maybe less, because that was how Gokudera knew where to find him that time when they had been up against Mukuro.
And that's when it struck Yamamoto – he knew exactly how he could show Hibari his gratitude!
Leaping up onto the bench he waved his hands over his head to get everyone's attention. All 60 something boys who were currently members of the baseball club stopped their throwing and turned to him. The managers, four adorable 2nd year girls, turned their attention to him as well. All eyes were on Yamamoto – excellent!
"What's up, Yamachin? Coach said you couldn't play yet, you know, so –", "Yeah, we need you to get well soon!"
"Ha-ha, thanks guys," Yamamoto flashed them a big grin, shaking his palms as he did, "but that's not it. Since I'm stuck here," he tapped on the bench his was standing on with his foot to indicate where here was. "I thought the least I could do is give you guys a pep-talk!"
"Yay, pep-talk!", "Ha-ha, you're not even our coach!"
Yamamoto put on his most serious face – an imitation of their coach, whose pep-talks before each match might as well have been meant for young soldiers going to war, rather than a bunch of over-excited middle-schoolers. Some of the boys laughed.
"We, the baseball club of Namimori middle-school, have always and will always do our best!" he announced. "Not for the sake of our own glory –"he glanced briefly upwards in the direction of the roof of the main building, where he knew Hibari must be, "but for the sake of our school and our lovely Namimori!" His little crowd cheered. Had it been anyone else, any other club, they might have looked at him weirdly or thought the whole deal was kind of awkward, but the baseball club – now, they were up for anything! "We take pride in our school, and for the sake of that pride, we will never give up! We will do our best, always, together for Namimori middle-school!"
Had he repeated Namimori enough times now, he wondered? He had shouted out his little speech as loudly as he could – he was bound to have gotten Hibari's attention by now. Right?
"Alright," he clapped his hands, "let's sing the school anthem! Of Namimori middle-school! Everybody!" As if on cue, one of the boys in the crowd threw him a bat which he caught easily with his left hand. Waving it randomly back and forth, he took the role of conductor as all 60 something boys and 4 girls, dressed for practice began to sing with all their heart.
"Miiiidori tanamikuuu, Namimori noooo…"
Yamamoto glanced up at the roof again. Was that a black-clad shape he saw? Perhaps he should have checked to see if Hibari was close by before performing this little stunt. He reckoned his team mates probably thought this was all some sort of half-joke, so he couldn't very well do it again. After the song ended and he had bowed deeply several times to the ensuing rounds of generous applause, his team mates returned to their throwing practice while he excused himself and limped off toward the main building.
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Hibari stood leaning against the door to his classroom with his arms folded across his chest. He seemed to be studying his own shoes but looked up when he heard Yamamoto approaching. He… smiled.
And it wasn't a sneer or a smirk or anything like that either, it was an actual smile – not a big one, but somehow stunning all the same. He looked, well, perhaps happy was an overstatement, but certainly pleased. Smiling like that he looked really… beautiful.
"I accept your gratitude, Yamamoto Takeshi," he said simply.
Yamamoto caught himself staring with his mouth slightly open; he quickly snapped his jaw back up where it belonged and returned the smile. Smile, Hibari was smiling! He had made Hibari smile!
"You can just call me Takeshi," he said. He hadn't meant to say that, but the words just fell out of his mouth. He felt his cheeks grow hot. "If you like," he added. And then, "anyway, he-he, glad I finally found a way of thanking you"
"Hmm," said Hibari. And then he turned and disappeared down the hallway. Yamamoto's heart was racing. Hibari was really something!
Their next meeting didn't happen until nearly two full weeks later. Yamamoto's arm had healed enough that he could participate almost as usual during baseball practice again – Thank God! He had to show a little caution, though. As he was heading back to change and get his bag from the classroom and go home for the evening, he spotted Hibari ascending the stairs just ahead of him and he quickened his pace into a near-run to catch up. "Ah, hey, Hibari," he greeted. "Long time no see!" Hibari graced him with a glance. He looked thoughtful, almost distracted, thought Yamamoto.
"Are you always here?" asked Yamamoto, wiping his forehead with a small hand towel as they walked. Hibari wasn't in any of the sports clubs, he knew, and he didn't think he'd ever seen any of the other guys from the disciplinary squad around after classes ended. Not after it was past 8 in the evening, anyway, because only the baseball club and the boys' volleyball club had practice that late. Didn't Hibari have anywhere else to be, he wondered?
"Not always," said Hibari without looking up.
"Where do you live, then?" He had to ask. He wondered what Hibari's house might look like; and if he ate dinner and talked about his day with his parents and said 'I'm home' when he stood in the doorway. Did he wear casual clothes when he wasn't at school? Once he had started, Yamamoto suddenly found he couldn't stop thinking about it or stop picturing Hibari in normal, everyday situations. The boy who was walking just a little in front of him now always looked so cool and above-the-rest with his uniform and that red arm-band, that the thought of him being anywhere else and doing something other than being a prefect seemed very ridiculous.
Hibari gave him a sideways glare before returning his gaze to the hallway ahead. "…in the area," he said finally. No insults. He really did seem distracted…
"Ha ha ha," Yamamoto had to laugh," I was just wondering if maybe you didn't live here at school after all!" It was a little dangerous, blurting out things like that in front of Hibari, he was so unpredictable, but Yamamoto couldn't help himself and either way he rarely thought before he spoke.
"That's stupid," said Hibari without slowing his step. He paused, and then," I live in an apartment."
"Cool, apartments are really nice!" When he thought about it later, Yamamoto would remember this as the first little piece of personal information Hibari had ever given him. But just then he simply felt happy that Hibari had said something and wasn't upset and that now they were – kind of – talking to each other.
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The lights had been lit along the streets of Namimori and filled the empty classroom with a kind of faint, dirty orange glow. Yamamoto entered without turning the lights on, dragging off his soaked baseball shirt as he did and slumping down onto his chair to untie his running shoes. Only then did he spot it; a small, neatly wrapped package tied up with pink ribbons and a small hand written note attached to it with a Hello Kitty sticker. Someone must have put it there while he was out training. Intrigued he opened it to find a small bag of cookies that were obviously hand-made. Grinning, he put one whole into his mouth and unfolded the little note.
It read:"Dear Yamamoto-san, these aren't much, but I hope you will enjoy them nonetheless. I made them just for you. Keep up the good work with your baseball practice!" No signature.
He put the note in the pocket of his school bag and took another cookie, still grinning. This happened from time to time. Occasionally girls would leave love letters or homemade sweets on his desk or stick them in his shoe locker by the entrance for him to find when he was heading home for the day after baseball practice. Yamamoto thought it was all very cute and was always cheered up by it, even more so when he was hungry, like now, and was surprised by some delicious treat. He fumbled with his shoelaces while he chewed and swung his feet up on the desk to get better access.
.
And then, suddenly, someone spoke. "Don't put your feet on the desk."
Yamamoto, who hadn't noticed anyone approaching at all, nearly fell backwards off the chair, one shoe still clutched in his hands. By the sliding door stood Hibari; half hidden in the shadow of the hallway.
"Ha ha ha, man, you sure move quietly!" laughed Yamamoto. "I didn't hear you coming at all. Hey," he pushed the little bag of cookies toward Hibari," want a cookie?" Hibari merely glanced at it.
"A girl left them here for me," Yamamoto went on," they're really good! Here," he picked it up and held it out, almost as if he was trying to tempt a wild animal to come closer by offering it food. Hibari gracefully detached himself from the shadows and, with an almost hesitant movement, he chose the smallest cookie. He held it nimbly between his thumb and index finger but didn't take a bite.
"You're popular," said Hibari suddenly, looking directly at him. It was a statement.
Yamamoto looked up; feeling a little startled by the unexpected comment, and chuckled. "Ah, heh, I don't know about that," he said modestly. He stood up and began to untangle his white uniform shirt from the red tie, both of which he had pulled off in a rush a few hours earlier when he was changing for practice. "But it's nice of them anyway."
With the soft orange light coming in sideways through the windows, every curve on Yamamoto's chest was silhouetted sharply on his smooth skin. He pulled on his shirt and slung the tie casually around his neck, not noticing that Hibari was looking. He quickly averted his eyes when Yamamoto turned to him.
"So, Hibari, what are you doing here so late? Do you have a test coming up or something?" Hibari turned and walked towards the door. "No," he said simply. Yamamoto slung his school bag over his shoulder and caught up to him just as he stepped out into the hallway.
.
"You know," he began, as they descended the staircase leading down to the shoe lockers by the entrance. "You seem different from usual now, somehow."
Hibari's eyes narrowed. If Yamamoto had been looking, he might have paused to choose his words, because it looked like Hibari might react in a way that was very much usual for him if Yamamoto wasn't careful.
"It's nice," finished Yamamoto awkwardly. Hibari gave him a sideways glare, but he didn't say anything and he didn't strike him.
"Err, do you," grinning, Yamamoto hesitantly scratched his neck, "do you want to walk home together?" Again the words just spilled out of his mouth and he could've bit his own tongue, but there was no helping it.
"Never," quipped Hibari, but then he suddenly paused. "Your necktie," he said. Without asking permission or even looking up at him, Hibari began to undo the messy half-knot Yamamoto had made with nimble fingers.
.
Hibari's face was suddenly very close to his. Yamamoto could see the very faint moisture on his lips and count the strands of his long eyelashes. He was very pretty. So very... Yamamoto couldn't help himself. Almost without realizing what he was doing, he leant in closer, carefully so, as if afraid he might scare Hibari away, and pressed his lips softly, tentatively against Hibari's.
He held the kiss, savoring the strange, oddly pleasing sensation. When he pulled back, Hibari still had his bright red necktie clutched in his hands. He stood perfectly still, perhaps too stunned to move or speak, looking up at Yamamoto, his face was unreadable but his dark eyes were wide. Acting purely on his gut-feeling, as was his nature, Yamamoto leant closer and for the second time he did what he had never imagined he would ever do: he kissed Hibari.
And this time Hibari responded, he kissed back!
Yamamoto's heart was beating fast. It felt so nice; he had never thought kissing someone would be like this. Very carefully he put one hand on Hibari's upper arm, just the palm, open, leaning in just a tiny fraction of an inch closer. He was afraid that if he tried to hold Hibari in any way, by touching the small of his back or that thick sweet-smelling hair, Hibari might feel trapped and pull away.
Hibari slid one hand down from the necktie he had been holding onto until it rested on Yamamoto's stomach and Yamamoto wondered, briefly, if Hibari could sense how his heart was pounding through the thin fabric of the shirt. The other hand travelled up to his shoulder and finally, as their kiss deepened, it brushed tentatively against the small hairs at the base of his neck and suddenly Hibari's strong, perfect hand was in his hair. Still cautious, Yamamoto responded by resting the palm of his other hand lightly against Hibari's hip.
When the kiss broke, neither of them moved, and neither looked away. It was very quiet around them. Hibari didn't walk away. They remained like that in a semi-embrace for a moment, eyes firmly locked. And then they kissed a third time.
This time they kissed for real, as if the first two times had been test-rounds leading up to the third. Using just the tip of his tongue, Yamamoto traced the curve of Hibari's lower lip. He felt Hibari stiffen momentarily under his palms, but then he seemed to relax and the tiniest ghost of a moan escaped his throat. Yamamoto completely forgot himself then. The palm on Hibari's hip slid around to the small of his back where it curved slightly inwards at the bottom of his spine. Hibari's lips parted and suddenly they were inside each other's mouths and it felt warm and soft and tight and strangely, mysteriously fantastic.
.
When he got home, much later than usual, Yamamoto had a raging hard-on. His father was still in the shop, closing up for the evening and probably hadn't noticed how late he was – which was just as well. He headed straight for the bathroom and jumped into the tub even before it was filled. Images of Kyoya kept popping up in his mind. Hibari Kyoya… They actually had ended up going home together; or rather, they had been walking next to each other for a small portion of the way – Hibari said he'd changed his mind.
He grinned.
.
