A/N: It's 12 am and I just finished this little drabble! First story for KHR and many more to come. Depending on the feedback and if it's wanted, I'd be happy to do a multi chaptered sequel thing because when I do short things I dont feel like I'm getting everything in DX.
:D Reviews=cookies.... so yeah, I like cookies *hint, hint*.lol. 500 words flat.

Kay~

He is always smiling.

Barely dodging the charge from Squalo he still manages to look over his shoulder to throw him a casual smile, even though he was in inch away from being impaled.

An optimist by nature, always looking on the bright side of any situation and it absolutely infuriated the white-haired man.

"Stop smiling, trash!" he bellows, whirling around glaring, and only for a second, his milk white hair floats around him lightly, gracefully.

It's the tiny, seldom moments like these that keeps Yamamoto bewitched.

Small snatches of time in which he can see something beautiful.

A questionable idea by anyone within the vicinity or by anyone who has actually met the rather strident, aggressive swordsman, he's sure, but it is entirely true.

"I'll just have to wipe away that annoying ass stupid smile then."

Squalo runs in an evasive circle, smiling maniacally like a hungry predator before lunging in at the confused boy with genuine killing intent.

A light drizzle begins to fall.

The sound of steel clashing ignites the air, the trees glow under the light of a silver moon and so does his eyes, their branches sway gently in a spring breeze and so does his hair. The trap snaps shut and Yamamoto is caught so easily, so completely. His body quivers, unable to move, he knows this attack, so well that it's startling he can be caught by it. It amuses him.

Pushed roughly against the bark of a tree, a blade pressed to his jugular. "Still mocking me with that smile, eh?" Squalo growls lowly.

Even with a sharp sword so close to him, he's not under the impression that the user would hold back for any reason. But all he can focus on is their closeness, the feel of the other's leather- clad thighs rubbing against his accidentally in trying to keep him pinned, his face which is so close, soaking wet, eyebrow arched indifferently.

Before can formulate a thought, soft lips crash into his and he opens his mouth automatically, allowing a warm tongue to trail a path across his lips, taking him by surprise as much as the feeling of something sharp running through his side and something wet trickling over his skin. Another blade.

He wants to whimper when Squalo pulls away from both the pain and the missing contact.

The older man smirks, and he knows that it's because his own smile has faded and that's that was the man's intent, but the smile from Squalo—which for once is not maniacal or evil – is enough and he – Yamamoto – has also accomplished his goal.

If possible, Squalo's shocked, faltering expression, eyes wide, so close that Yamamoto could see every one of his lashes, pouted lips parted ever so slightly, is even better than his victorious smile.

Even more beautiful.

It's Ironic, for a man like him to not notice, when Yamamoto wedged his blade silently beneath his lung. All he can see and could ever see, was his smile.

Thanks for reading.