Hi there. What's your name? That's cool.
I decided this would be a good idea.
This is my first story, and I'm sure that you wanted to know.
Please review :)
Yamamoto signaled for another drink, and placed his hand on his chin, gingerly feeling the freshly-formed scar. He had many more, but those were hidden under his clothes. They mocked him, reminded him of his failures. How many more would have to die? The list grew all the time. He'd lost Reborn, he'd lost Tsuna, and now he'd lost his dad.
It wasn't supposed to have happened like this. Hell, if Yamamoto had known all this would have happened ten years ago…he shook his head. He wouldn't have done a damned thing. Probably thought he could change the future.
The bartender put a cup of sake down, gingerly, as if not to startle the Rain Guardian. He grabbed the cup with a newfound ferocity and tilted it back. Yamamoto leaned his head on his left hand, tracing the wide rim of the traditional cup with a single finger. He never drank this much. Never had the will or reason to.
Had. Past tense. He mused to himself, feeling his cheeks grow a bit warmer. He was definitely drunk. Probably all red in the face. His dad was the same way, he remembered. Of course, his dad never drank that much, either. The only time he got really drunk was after his mother died.
Yamamoto stops tracing the cup for a second. He realizes that he doesn't remember what his mother looks like. Well, he does, but the details simply aren't there. Did she have light or dark brown eyes? Did she have that birthmark near her brow, or was that another woman? He wonders if this will happen to his dad, too. For now, all he can remember is the way he found him.
He looked like hell. Bloody all over, a knife in hand. That gave Yamamoto some comfort. He'd tried to fight back. But it just wasn't enough.
He takes his head in his hands, moves his fingers through his hair. "Fuck." It's the only word he can say, the only word that makes sense right now. He never cursed, either. Never really got mad. His dad used to brag all the time about that, that his son was a little trooper. Never had a fit or anything.
Yamamoto figures maybe he's had enough, maybe he should leave. He pays the bill and exits the bar, and it's only after he's out the door that he realizes how bad it smelled in there. Like cheap women and sweat and booze. Outside it's much better. It smells like fall. Crisp, with a hint of rain. The chilly air clears his head a bit while he walks toward a destination he's not quite sure of yet. His head is full and empty at the same time, and he looks up to the sky, as if waiting for a sign. The moon is not quite full, but round and large, and it's pretty overcast. The air is heavy, and a few drops land on his upturned face. Yamamoto closes his eyes and lets the rain wash away the blood that's no longer there.
He killed them. The men who took his father's life. He did it slowly, methodically. Before, he never thought he could do something like that. Prolong a life in the most gruesome fashion. He refuses to allow himself to call it torture. If he did, he would probably just break down.
But he did. A small voice in the corners of his mind tell him so. Smug. He's the only one who knows what really happened, and his own mind is chiding him for it. He's weak. He knows it. Maybe if he were stronger, everything would have been fine. Stronger. Like Hibari or something.
He smiles, a bit, a whisper of upturned lips, but it quickly fades away.
The rain is heavy now. Yamamoto doesn't mind. His hair is pressed to his face, and the raindrops slide down from his hairline. He holds out his hands, stares a bit. They don't look like the hands of a murderer. He's not sure what he expected, but he wonders if they look different to others. Like somehow everyone knows.
He's getting a bit paranoid now. He actually has to tell himself to put his hands down, and just breathe. In, out.
In, out.
It comes in ragged sobs, dry sobs. Yamamoto can't cry, the tears simply won't come. Maybe somewhere deep inside, he won't allow himself that kind of release.
He realizes he's at the graveyard. There's no one here, as far as Yamamoto can tell. It must be past midnight. His father was cremated, ashes thrown into his beloved sea. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.
That was his father's favorite saying.
He finds a grave, a simple, marble headstone, with a carved clam on top. It marks Tsuna's grave. Naturally, Gokudera demanded an extravagant burial, but he realized Tsuna would've wanted something more personal and discreet. Yamamoto sighs. Gokudera hasn't visited the grave since the burial, and Yamamoto guesses that he simply can't. The grave is adorned by a bundle of yellow flowers, daisies, he thinks. Ryohei.
"Tsuna. Hi. How are you?" He mutters, touching the headstone. He asks questions, but he doesn't know why. A lack for better words, perhaps. He grins. "I'm...not doing so well. I wish you were here, you know? I'm sorry I don't visit too often anymore. I should, but I can't sometimes. Ah…" he realizes that his fists are balled up, and he's suddenly angry, really angry, for the second time in his life. "Why'd everyone have to die, Tsuna?" Yamamoto pauses, drops the smile that is somehow still on his face, a mask he doesn't want to take off. He runs his hands through his hair again. "I know Gokudera hasn't come yet, but he will. You're probably worried about him, eh? Of course you are-or you would be. You always cared about everyone but yourself. I liked that about you, Tsuna. You didn't have a selfish bone in your body."
He shivers a bit. It's cold, and the rain and the wind make it colder.
"Has...Hibari been by? I know he wasn't at the funeral, classic Hibari. I'm sure he watched, though. Glad he didn't beat anyone up for crowding." He laughs a bit, and it's not entirely fake. "Between you and me, I think he's more angry at you than anything. For dying, I mean. I haven't seen him in a while. I wonder how he is sometimes. I wonder if he thinks about me-us. I know he's busy with his Foundation and all, but…" he sighs, rolling his neck around. "Jeez, look at me. I'm rambling. That was usually your job, Tsuna. I'm still drunk, I guess. I had quite a bit to drink. For me. I can't even hold my alcohol. Haha…"
Yamamoto stands up, brushing off his pants a bit. "I guess I should go now, Tsuna. I'll bring flowers next time, okay?" He exits the graveyard, even gives the night guard a wave. He didn't see him before. Maybe he's slightly more sober than he thought.
It's really cold, he thinks, as the rain lightens up. He pulls his jacket a bit closer, even though it's soaked through. His house isn't even that far from here. He'll just have to tough it out. All of a sudden, he remembers something. He searches through his pocket until he finds it. He pulls it out.
His cellphone is completely soaked. He groans a bit while trying to turn it on. Luckily, it works. He breathes a sigh of relief, and checks the time. Two fourty-seven in the morning. "Wow. It's late." He says out loud. He sniffles a bit, and starts to walk again. He's almost at his house, and he can see the door now, beckoning him inside.
"Yamamoto Takeshi." It's a voice he knows well, one he's known for over ten years. Monotonous, cold. It's behind him, only a few steps away. He's silently impressed that he didn't notice the man sneaking up on him, if it could be called that.
He's not sure why, but he keeps walking. He turns his head around though, peering at the messy-haired man. "Hiya there, Hibari. What are you doing out so late?"
"I could ask you the same, herbivore." Hibari drawls.
"I asked first." Yamamoto stops, flashes a smile. They're more than a few feet apart now, but Yamamoto is whispering.
"You are intoxicated." Hibari's voice is also hardly audible, but Yamamoto can tell by the tone of voice that he's disapproving.
"That I am. Heavily, I think. I'm not quite sure. You dodged my question, Hibari."
Hibari only stares in return. He's getting closer, though. Yamamoto then notices that it's his feet moving, not Hibari. Oh, Yamamoto is definitely still drunk. He halts about half a foot away from the shorter man. Hibari is annoyed by the height difference.
"Stop crowding, or I will bite you to death." He refuses to look up at Yamamoto, instead peering straight across, somehow past the body directly in front of him.
"Hey. Hey Kyoya. Look at me. Please?" There's a hint of desperation in Yamamoto's voice, but he doesn't acknowledge that right now.
Hibari is even more irritated, most likely from the use of his first name. "What are you doing, herbivore?" Somehow the question seems more like a statement, like he knows perfectly well what is happening. He's allowing the crowding and the first-name basis, and that's all the approval Yamamoto needs right now. He moves slowly, extending his arm, then his fingertips, until it touches Hibari's chin. He puts the slightest amount of pressure, trying to get Hibari to look into his eyes. He doesn't. They're both silent, in a sort of a battle now, waiting to see who will crack first.
It's Yamamoto that gives up. Hibari doesn't change his expression once.
The pressure is gone, but Yamamoto's hand cups Hibari's face now. Gently. He traces the side of his throat with a finger, and it's strangely hypnotizing, like how he traced the sake cup back at the bar.
It seems like a lifetime ago.
Hibari's eyes move slowly, one fraction of a millimeter at a time, until they reach Yamamoto's. A pain rushes through his chest, down his torso, and past. He's not really sure if it's arousal or longing or what. Hibari makes a kind of growling sound, and bites his collarbone. Hard. Yamamoto can feel the stinging pain as the shorter man's teeth break the skin.
Of course he bites. Hopefully not to death, though. Yamamoto can't help but grin. It's the first real smile he's had in a long time. Too long.
Yamamoto feels his pants getting tighter. It's definitely arousal, all right. It's pure feral arousal, and Hibari knows it.
He grips Hibari's waist as his mouth finds his. Yamamoto briefly wonders how someone so lean could be so strong.
Briefly. Now there's no time to think.
Yamamoto licks Hibari's lips and groans a bit. He tastes like something savory and something sweet, like tea and chocolate. It's pushing Yamamoto over the edge. He's not sure when, but Hibari's mouth is open now, and he's kissing back. Yamamoto smirks a bit into the kiss and bites on Hibari's lower lip. Not hard, but he gives a tug.
Hibari lets out a moan. Yamamoto thinks that this is the best sound he's ever heard. The Cloud Guardian's rubbing against him now, like some kind of cat, and his hands reach up to grasp Yamamoto's hair. He pulls it, without warning, and the kiss is broken.
Yamamoto's not really sure what to do. His hands drop to his sides, and he stares back at the man in front of him.
"You're intoxicated." He says, again.
"Mhmm." Yamamoto manages to choke out a response.
Hibari smirks. "I don't approve of intoxication." He turns around, and leaves. Just walks away. Yamamoto lets him. He's not the 80's movie star and Hibari's not the damsel in distress. A voice somewhere in the back of his mind tells him that he's let another person just slip through his fingers.
Hibari becomes a spot on the horizon.
The Rain Guardian goes home. Opens the door, goes to his bedroom, and collapses on the bed. His pants still seem too tight, and he's a bit annoyed by that.
He wonders if Hibari feels the same way.
One day, Yamamoto thinks, one day he'll catch the cloud.
I'm really sorry for the ending of cheesyness.
Really. Trust me.