A/N: Well... it's been a while. Yeah haha. Guess I didn't feel much up to writing lately :/ The classical music radio forced this one out of me hahaha

It's so laaaaaatee *dies*

Don't own KHR (and if I did, you'd definitely Haru getting the love she deserves XDD). Angst, and some friendly Bel and Haru interactions.

The one thing Haru hadn't really expected from her new life was all the classical music. She had been aware of all the important implications, of course: the threats to her life and of those she loved, the not-quite legality of their business, the morality ditches that could fell a team of oxen—but it was the classical music that really discomforted her. Sitting in a beautiful ballroom in a dress that swirled up to even Haru's high expectations and knowing that someone was going to die that night (but where, her heart feared), yet hearing the sweet violin and piano sing normal, normal, normal—she couldn't deal with that. She couldn't conceive how the music continued when life did not. Something, she thought, something had to fall.

"Thinking too much again, Haru-chan?"

She looked up from where her eyes were tracing the patterns on the fan in her lap to see Belphegor leaning over her, a slender shark in the ballroom. Over the years, the man had become something of a companion to her, keeping her silent company when the rest of her famiglia could not—would not. Funny, the way things turned around.

She smiled, relaxing. "Always," she replied. "Danced too much, Bel-kun?"

The man snickered—Haru didn't think he knew how to genuinely laugh—and folded neatly beside her, long limbs tucked in a way that belied his true height. Despite being relatively gangly, Belphegor had never acted that way, always moving with a grace and poise that made him well sought-after on the dance floor. "Jealous, Haru-chan?" he wanted to know, rolling out the Japanese suffix in a way that never felt comfortable on his tongue.

Haru felt as though he was mocking her with the use of her native language, frowned, and reminded him, "Just Haru."

"Haru," he echoed, and sneered.

She knew he didn't mean as much offense as he thought he did, though, and took the implied insult with ease. "Kind of you to give up so many eager women to come sit with me, although," she added, "I'm not so sure I appreciate the sentiment. I'd rather like staying alive tonight." And she eyed the tigresses that were eying her back.

Belphegor snickered again. "You can handle yourself."

Shrugging, Haru said, "As well as I ought, I suppose. Doesn't make it easier."

He shot her a quick, sharp look that she didn't see but felt burning into her temple.

"I never said that I thought it would be easy, Bel," she corrected. "Everything… everything that's happened. Who could say where it would have led next?"

"You have had too much to drink tonight," he said flatly, his legs stretching out and hands lacing behind his neck.

She laughed, then. "Can't deal with what's to come without. Hello, dear. Is there something with which I can assist you?" she added, looking directly at the beautiful blonde that had drifted to a stop before her.

The woman sniffed.

Snapping her fan shut, Haru stretched her mouth into the widest smile she could afford and dipped her head in greeting. "Ah. I'm Miura—Haru Miura. Might I have the pleasure of knowing…?"

"Maria L'Blanche. Of the Millo Family."

Haru took great displeasure in noting that Maria's voice was as lovely as her face. It figured, Haru sighed. It wasn't as if every person she disliked would be ugly. "Yes, well," she said. Beside her, Belphegor slouched down ever lower, fingers tightening at the nape of his neck. Cocking an eyebrow, Haru said, "It is a pleasure to meet you, finally."

"Is it now."

The worst thing about society balls (besides the classical music, yes, the music that still threatened and soothed even now, promising beautiful things and delivering only ashes) was that these games they played fooled no one. Every head was clear. In spite of the constant supply of champagne, no one drank it, or if one did, he made sure his alcohol tolerance was higher than his partner's.

Awareness. What a burden.

"It is," Haru replied firmly. "I have heard only the most wonderful things about you—an artist! I can only wish I had the talent," she added wistfully, and that wasn't a lie. Most of her sketches ended up in the fireplace where they belonged.

Maria dipped her head in assent. "Then you have already heard too much, dear Haru. I'm no real artist; merely a copycat in things that bring great pleasure to me."

"Nonsense."

"I'm afraid so. All I can manage is but a pale shadow of the greats: Vermeer, Van Gogh, Rembrandt. They bring the true feeling out in color."

Haru shook her head vigorously. "Believing that art is pleasure—you are an artist already, Ms. Maria! Did the great painters of the past not copy what they have seen with their own eyes? Those things that bring them pleasure? That make them hap—" Haru choked. Happy? That feeling seemed so far away. I will protect everyone so we can laugh together. Hadn't Tsuna once said that? When was the last time they had laughed together? When? When? When?

"Indeed," Belphegor said, speaking up when Maria's eyebrow quirked. His cold eyes moved slowly from the floor to the blonde's face. "And what is life but for a little... happiness?"

"You may very well be right. Mister...?"

"Prince."

If the name startled her, Maria did not show it. "Mr. Prince. I believe we are all looking for a little happiness, are we not?"

"Indeed," Haru echoed. "It is wonderful," she began again, when neither Maria nor Belphegor showed any inclination of speaking, "that you might find that happiness in art, Maria." She smiled weakly at the blonde woman, and the woman smiled back, no trace of a lie. "Well then." Haru sat up straight and placed her hands firmly in her lap, a shadow of her old energy back in her movements. "I find we are wasting away here while the party is in full bloom! Ms. Maria, I know—I have seen—a most enchanting young man right there in the blue vest who has been staring at you all night and it would much flatter him, I think, should you ask him to dance."

Maria's eyes grew sharp, then. She knew a dismissal when she heard one.

To soften the blow, Haru stood up as well. "I fear I've been sitting for too long anyhow! Let's see if we can find ourselves some partners, shall we?" And she offered her arm to the terrifying woman.

Haru (and she wasn't entirely sure the scenario hadn't been planned out from the moment Maria walked over) ended up dancing with Belphegor while Maria terrorized the young man in the blue vest.

"I only feel a bit awful for setting her on him," Haru commented while Belphegor twirled her.

He snickered. "Is that so?"

"Quite. It's his fault for staring at her, after all."

Belphegor snickered for real, after that, a sound Haru passed as his laugh.

She pronounced, "God—" (and here she smiled wryly, for what God could possibly answer to them, anymore?) "—save all men from the wiles of women."

"Oh?" He quirked an eyebrow. "All men?"

"Not the prince of demons," Haru corrected. "More than a man, less then a soul."

"Poetic." He grinned. "I like it."

"And since when have you been such a connoisseur of poetry, eh?"

Both heads turned to see a silver mop coming to stand beside them."

"Piece's ended," Gokudera said. "Won't be long now."

The three turned as one, in the center of the dance floor where other couples were readying themselves for the next polka, to watch the large clock hanging over the entryway. Ticking like the master of time himself, it rushed for no one, brushing ornate iron sleeves over the pretty numbers, one by one. Haru imagined with sick anticipation that the hands were real human hands, reaching for that goblet of poisoned wine, slowly, slowly, and no one could stop them for they were immovable, unyielding in their descent.

"Any second now," Gokudera muttered at her ear.

Haru entertained the crazy idea to cry, "Gertrude, do not drink!" but before her imaginary lips could pass the words, a crying wail rose from the back of the crowd. "He is dead!" someone said, and then the crowd took up the call.

"He is dead!"

"Poisoned!"

"Yes, dreadful, dreadful, and no idea—"

"Poor wife, indeed. Oh, there she goes—"

And above it all, the singular cry of a woman's despair, rising like a falcon never to return home again. Haru wanted nothing more than to shoot it down.

Her grip on Belphegor's sleeve tightened.

"We've got to leave," he murmured, and dazedly, as though this were her first time witnessing a kill, as though she had never seen such a thing (although she had, and the classical music made everything fresh in her mind, and she would be as she was before), she followed him as he slipped out the side doors into the gardens, Gokudera close behind.

"We'll wait for him at the south entrance," the right-hand-man whispered. "We should hurry."

Belphegor's lips thinned—what for, Haru wondered. Out of anger? Irritation? Amusement?—but he said nothing, only quickening his already swift strides, pulling Haru with him.

She could not move faster. All she could see was her Tsuna, her kind, beautiful Tsuna (standing at the balcony with his gloved fingers resting on the fence, gentle Kyoko at his side, cold yellow eyes showing everyone who was responsible, yes, that Tsuna, who was proud and brave and cruel and ruthless) laughing, saying, I will protect everyone so we can laugh together.

When, Tsuna?

When?

.*.*.*.

So it has began, and it will not end until we are a party of dancing skeletons lying in each others' filth.

END.

And yet another cliched attempt at portraying a darker post-mafia life hahaha Hope I did Haru justice. She really has so much potential! Anyway, love the reviews 3