Title: Bird of Passage
by: raisin bean
Notes: My dictionary told me that a "bird of passage" is a) a migratory bird and b) a person who passes through or visits a place without staying for long. Well, that's Hibari (although perhaps not so very relevant to the collection itself).
I categorized the whole thing as Romance/Humor because that's what I expect most of them will be, but there may be one or two on the darker side. I'll give a heads-up, so make sure to read my notes!
Also, where these stories fit into the actual storyline is pretty ambiguous, if they do fit in at all.
Fyi, I go by the manga. The anime is kind of ugly compared to the manga, and the things that were added in are ridiculously pointless, in my opinion.
Anyway, enjoy~!
Title: Birds Don't Play Baseball
Pairing: Hibari x Yamamoto
Preview: Hibari goes to a baseball game at Yamamoto's insistence.
Notes: All right, I don't know enough about baseball to write accurately about it, so forgive the vagueness.
The day had been a satisfactory one. Hibari had disciplined three miscreants for the offenses of chewing gum, being obnoxiously loud in the hallway, and attempting to spit on school grounds. (He had the uncanny sense of knowing when a person intended to deface Namimori, with spit, paint, mafia duels, etc.) He had also thrashed four others who had crowded outside the boys' bathroom, but he wouldn't include that in his report for the day.
The president of the disciplinary committee settled on the couch in the reception room, the only throne befitting his station as king of Namimori, ready to begin writing his report. However, before he could even pick up his pen, he heard the door behind him open. His eyes narrowed a fraction. Anyone with the smallest shred of good sense knew not to come in without knocking, and that was only if they were brave enough to come in at all.
Standing to greet this trespasser, he withdrew his tonfa. Because he was in a not-as-aggressive mood, he felt he could scare the trespasser away with the menacing stare none but he could produce, and perhaps add in a well-worded threat if needed. However, that course of action was dropped like a repeat offender out of a third-story window as soon as he saw who it was standing in the doorway.
"Hibari! I thought you'd be in here," said Yamamoto Takeshi, the only person Hibari knew who was absolutely devoid of good sense, and thereby completely without fear of Hibari.
The tall baseball star brought with him his own warmth to the unfriendly atmosphere. Still, the source of the unfriendliness was Hibari, so Yamamoto's warmth went unappreciated.
"Man, haven't been in here since that first time," Yamamoto said, looking around the room, oblivious to Hibari's growing ire.
"You remember that, right? That was our first fight. You beat Gokudera, then me," Yamamoto grinned, clearly unbothered by the memory of his defeat. "And you know, after that, I was so bummed. I thought, 'If this guy could beat me down so easily, then I guess I'm not so great.'"
Hibari was already tired of this prattle, but knew that no matter the intensity of the glare or the unconcealed fury in the warning, this boy would not quit.
"What is your purpose in coming here? A fight?" He brought up his tonfa. A fight he would welcome.
Yamamoto held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "No, no, not at all. It's just that tomorrow I've got a game," his grin widened, "and I wanted you to come."
Withdrawing a slip of paper from his pocket, Yamamoto crossed the room to offer the ticket to Hibari. Hibari's eyes flicked from the proffered ticket, then to Yamamoto's expectant eyes.
"And what made you think I would want to go?" The natural cold of Hibari's voice was laced with curiosity.
Yamamoto's free hand went to the back of his head, rubbing in a sheepish manner. "Well, I figured that since you've only seen me fighting, you might want to see me doing something else. And baseball's great to watch."
He waved the ticket in front of Hibari. It was his naivety that really threw Hibari. He probably hadn't even considered the possibility of Hibari's refusal.
Hibari stared at the hand that held the ticket. When that hand held a sword, it moved with fluidity and precision. What would it look like when it swung a bat, threw a ball…?
Hibari snatched the ticket away, scowling. Turning away, he snarled, "Fine. Get out."
Yamamoto obeyed. Only when he'd closed the door behind him did he jump and pump his fist, his eyes mere slits from the wideness of his smile, his lips silently exclaiming, "Yes!"
-----
Hibari regretted his acceptance before he'd even made it to the baseball field. He could hear the cacophony, see the mess of herbivores in the bleachers, and felt a fierce desire to turn back and make for the seclusion of the school roof. Still he persisted, consciously ordering his legs to move, one after the other. He passed the unfortunate boy stuck with ticket collection, pausing only to shove his ticket to the boy's chest and knocking the poor boy down as he did so.
Hibari continued on. Herbivores scattered from his path, even the visitors from the other school. Survival instincts tended to kick in around Hibari, aroused by his predatory aura. He stopped before the bleachers, scanning the meaningless faces for a pocket of space where he could situate himself. He was interrupted by a hand that landed on his shoulder.
"Hibari, you came!" said Yamamoto, the owner of the hand. Hibari lowered his eyes to look pointedly at the hand, but Yamamoto chose not to notice. Using his hand as the lead, he tugged Hibari along to the farthest end of the bleachers. That side was oddly empty. Hibari realized the reason was the paper taped down on the corner, which read "HIBARI KYOUYA'S SEAT" in large, handwritten letters. All the herbivores knew better than to go anywhere near something with his name on it.
Yamamoto released Hibari to rip the paper off the seat, then gestured to it for Hibari to sit. Somewhat mollified by the absence of herbivores around him, Hibari did sit. Crossing his arms, he looked up to Yamamoto.
Yamamoto stood with his hands behind his head, fingers intertwined. The pristine white baseball uniform set him aglow in the sunlight. Yamamoto pointed at the closest of the white diamonds on the field. "That's the home plate. I made sure to get you the best view, so you can see me home run every time!" He laughed.
Hibari regarded him with something like vague amusement. Yamamoto opened his mouth to say something more, but his teammate called him, "Hey Yamamoto! We're starting!"
"Coming!" Yamamoto shouted back, before turning to Hibari once more. "Guess it's my time. Cheer me on!"
Yamamoto jogged away, and Hibari prepared himself for what he expected to be an uneventful game. Honestly, the more he thought about it, the more puzzled he became. Here he was, at a baseball game of all places, when he knew next to nothing about baseball. But he did understand Yamamoto's confidence. The baseball star intended to win, and he wanted Hibari to witness his victory.
The game began. Yamamoto was pitching. The Namimori fans chanted his name. Yamamoto buried the baseball into his mitt as he raised his left leg up. He paused for less than a second in that position before rushing forward in one step and releasing the ball. It went straight from hand to hand, stopping in the catcher's mitt. The batter didn't even have time to swing. Hibari noted that the catcher shook his hand and winced. Yamamoto repeated the process two more times, then the batter was replaced.
It was the cheering from his side that made Hibari realize the true purpose of sports. This was not a mere baseball game, but a challenge to prove whose school was the superior. And Hibari knew for a fact that there was no school better than Namimori. However, he could not say the same for its herbivore students. So he decided to put his interest in the game.
If Yamamoto's teammates hadn't noticed his presence yet, they did when they felt the chill of his gaze. Hibari looked each fielder in the eye and even without words, his message was clear: "If you do not catch the ball, I will bite you to death."
Fear provided great incentive for the herbivores. Even when Yamamoto sat out, his teammates handled the game themselves quite well, just without the frightening skill Yamamoto displayed. Hibari's tonfa remained in their hidden spot since he had no need for them… yet.
As it happened, he didn't need them at all. The Namimori team was murdering the opposing team. He felt a lightness in his heart and suspected it was pride. Now three boys were at all three bases, and everyone could feel the end coming.
"This is it!" an excited boy far to Hibari's right said. "The Namimori grand slam!"
Yamamoto was up to bat. As he brought his bat up into a ready position, Yamamoto shot Hibari a winning smile. (Unsurprisingly, Hibari did not reciprocate.) The pitcher threw the ball. It was a reasonably fast throw, but to Hibari's trained eyes, the ball didn't even blur. His eyes tracked the ball up until it came into Yamamoto's range, then it was gone. Hibari looked across to the guest side, and they were all confused. Yamamoto helped them out by pointing up at the sky, where the smallest black dot against the sun steadily grew smaller with distance.
Yamamoto and three other boys ran from their respective bases all the way around to the home plate. Yamamoto came up last. As soon as he passed the home plate, the crowd erupted into overwhelming noise. He didn't stop at the base, not till he stood before Hibari, who also stood to meet him. Yamamoto didn't say anything--just grinned in his idiotic way, his soft brown eyes alight. Sweat glistened on his sun-kissed skin, running down the side of his face down to his strong chin.
"You're like a good luck charm," Yamamoto finally said loudly, trying to be heard. "I guess-"
That was as far as he got before he was swept up by the mass. His blue cap was knocked off by the enthusiasm of his teammates and fans, and it seemed the rest of his clothes might soon follow from the pulling and tugging of groping hands, desperate for a touch of their hero. His mouth was open with triumphant laughter, flashing even white teeth. It was a picture-worthy moment, although Hibari had no camera, nor any want for one. Instead, he pulled his black blazer up on his shoulders, then proceeded to the exit.
'Perhaps,' he thought, 'there is something to be said for baseball, and for Yamamoto Takeshi.'
He left with the memory of sun-kissed skin and a smile like no other.
----
Two weeks later, Hibari found himself seated in front of the home plate once again, watching Yamamoto kick up dust as he went for the home run.
End Notes: No touchy-feely romance, but I still consider it romance. On a side-note, I didn't notice till after I finished writing this that I completely omitted Hibird. Oh well, he'll be around in later chapters.
