Rokudou Mukuro was an existence whose features—aside from the heterochromatic gaze and that strange, indigo pineapple the man called hair—Hibari had forgotten, for Rokudou Mukuro to him was a mere voice invading the depths of his mind, probing where it should not despite Hibari's futile attempts at maintaining his privacy; Mukuro was a voice that filled the silence Hibari loved, the voice that never failed to brew annoyed rage within his chest yet soothed his ruffled feathers with a gentle, melodic hum as the Skylark gazed at the drifting clouds floating above Nami Middle's rooftop, the only place even after a decade past he would never tire of—it was, after all, the first section of Namimori he had dominated with iron bites, the first to be disciplined and reigned with his laws.

Despite the vexation the silkily smooth voice ignited, from the extremely few times they encountered physically (well, as physically possible considering Mukuro was as tangible as eluding mist), Hibari reluctantly admitted the other was worthy enough to be given the title "carnivore". The thought brought a thrill burning through his veins, spreading slowly from his heart to his fingertips, leaving behind a tingling trail; truthfully, he desired for a battle against the illusionists, to show off his power and satiate his vengeance.

You never change, Kyouya was Mukuro's comment, once again invading and disrupting his train of thought.

Shut up.

Hibari could picture a mock of a pout puckering the illusionist's lips. How mean.

It had always irked him Mukuro only witnessed his weakened states (he could still vividly recall the herbivore's pokes of fun when he managed to catch pneumonia the year afore), a predicament he found himself in yet refused to admit.

He silently groaned at the reminder of his current being.

That strange yet oddly sensual chuckle echoed in his head. That pained frown of yours reminds me of our first encounter.

In response, he seethed at the flash of the unwanted memory of pink petals raining down and about his battered body and the unsympathetic glint of a crimson iris staring down at him as hands yanked at his obsidian locks to bring him closer, to mock his helplessness against innocent flowers.

Cerulean glowered down at the yellow fluff perched on his finger, glaring at an esse beyond his companion, and the bird gave a tilt of the head along with an inquiring chirp. Rot in hell.

Mukuro laughed, inwardly wondering how such words could sound so casual yet drip with copious amounts of venom, only serving to heighten Hibari's annoyance.

Then, there came a pause to give way for silence to dominate, and Hibari wondered if perhaps the herbivore finally grew bored—highly unlikely, he later analyzed—of pestering him.

You know, Kyouya—the tone was strangely soft, almost a murmur, as if the owner of it was trying to convey tenderness…No, Hibari corrected, Mukuro was attempting to persuade—that bullet won't wiggle its way out on its own.

Hibari found it rather strange Mukuro was showing concern, an emotion he knew the illusionist made sure to veil beneath hurtful words, as if Mukuro had suddenly taken a change of heart. Either that—the former being quite a disturbing prospect considering the sadistic pineapple becoming a philanthropist was as equally likely to occur as the world deciding to become flat—or his condition was worse than a mere bullet making itself at home in his torso.

Choosing to ignore Mukuro and the sharp stabs in his side in favour of allowing Slumber drape a blanket of darkness over his vision, Hibari settled himself on his back, and, disturbed by the movements, Hibird fluttered away, twittering the school's anthem.

Oya, as troublesome and stubborn as always, I see—you really do never change.

Mukuro couldn't quite tell whether the Skylark was choosing to ignore him—as always—or if perhaps the Skylark's body had simply greatly dimmed its reflexive impulse for protection and had fallen into the throngs of unconsciousness—there was only so much he could tell from the heavily guarded mind of Hibari Kyouya.

There was a slipping sensation, as if thick walls of mental barriers pulsed away a layer, leaving behind a permeable breach Mukuro took no hesitation wiggling through utilizing an incredibly draining amount of energy he would expect no less from his occasional and only sparring partner.

He blinked, willing away the dull darkness that greeted him, and a surge of light ignited, countless images of memories flitting past his eyes; the memories drifted along his body, caressing along his skin as they fluttered away into the deepest corner of Hibari's mind.

A different darkness returned, a blackness recognizable as a fuzzy clearness before awakening from a long sleep; and Mukuro inhaled, feeling the rush of cool November air rasping a throat not his own. He flexed the tendons of unfamiliar, slender fingers, testing the range of movability, and smiled.

Domination of the Skylark's body: success.

…

When Hibari awoke, a massive throbbing in his temples that could rival the one in his side and a stifling heat that had sweat trickling down his skin in a failed attempt at cooling his flesh assaulted him, clenching and twisting his exhausted muscles into an aching numbness.

He peered at his surroundings with muddled vision and briefly wondered how Nami Middle's rooftop could suddenly transform into his office at the main branch of his corporation.

He drifted his lids closed, breathing the unique scent of his office whilst he recalled how this business of his came about:

Sawada Tsunayoshi, the herbivore that dared called itself his boss, had strictly prohibited all members of the Vongola and its allies—excluding the Varia, since the leader of said group refused to listen to any edict the brunet presented—to use unorthodox and underworld-like methods to attain fortune, which in turn also forbade any to commit a homicide and therefore made subduing the enemy thrice more difficult.

Not that the challenge was too much for him to uphold nor that Hibari listened or cared for whatever rule the herbivore-but-not-so-herbivore-when-the-times-call ed-for-it attempted to restrain him with, but he understood in order to hold peace in precious Namimori the underworld doings lingering about his town had to be decimated—and decimated they were.

That was when the problems of the attainability of money aroused, however.

He had gone to university, of course, (and dominated the entire campus and its faculty along with the students in the same manner he had taken over his previous schools) in some English-speaking country—a country entirely surrounded by water, like Japan; this being the only reason why he chose it instead of that other English-speaking one—he never bothered to learn the name of and where he found the language to have a different accent than what he recalled English supposedly sounded like. The university's name, on the other hand, he made certain he never heard anyone utter it, for his self-proclaimed tutor and Sawada Tsunayoshi's herbivores kept pestering him over it constantly, peering at him with what Hibari could only recognize as awe and congratulating him on his effortless entering of such a prestigious school.

"Take every subject they offer at Cam—" (this pause being when Hibari strikes out a tonfa) "—and…well, just study your best," Cavallone had suggested with that small smile of his that somehow glowed in his sorrel eyes.

Four years had gone past as facilely as Hibari can say 'I'll bite you to death', and each day—along with a few hours of the evening and sometimes well into the night—Hibari had spent his time attending classes that never quite caught his attention, only there to listen and present discipline should the need arise, for his position as Disciplinarian of Campus allowed him such. Though, Hibari surmised staring in detached interest out a window, desiring for a thrilling battle, could not be called 'listening'.

Those four years had left him a debt even a billionaire would quiver at, a debt that had Cavallone once again intruding into his life, advising Hibari to start up a business revolving around everything the Skylark had studied at Cam—(once again cut off by a metallic bite)

He listened, for once—those debt collectors were seriously beginning to wear down his patience, his murderous intent livid—and the resulting corporation had blossomed to be the most influential in Japan and one of the grander ones in foreign countries.

Then, before Hibari was aware of it, he had become the main target of paparazzi till he found he could not travel openly without being chased/crowded by multiple groups of people.

If not for the strong patience and self-control Hibari had developed (thanks to a certain pineapple), he was sure he would have bitten to death anyone whom came closer than a two arms' length.

The attention, however, only caused the extremely few missions directly assigned to him by either the Infant or Sawada Tsunayoshi (in return for a good spar or a favour) harder to accomplish, which, again, Hibari did not mind—he rather enjoyed the secretiveness of—

Kyouya, Kyouya, wherefore art thou Kyouya?

Hibari sighed, somehow finding the energy to play along. Wherefore dost thou not shut up? He snaked a hand through his locks, ignoring the slightly abnormal heat radiating off his skin. More importantly, when will you stop moving my body around as you please whilst I sleep?

Freezing to death on a rooftop doesn't sound quite appealing, especially when it implies not being able to pester you anymore. Be thankful.

Hibari huffed and turned himself on his side so his back faced the coffee table. A flare of pain furrowed his brows into an imperceptible flinch.

Mukuro's soft exhale was much like a breeze whispering by his ears. Before it gets infected, treat your wound, Kyouya.

Why should you care? Go pester that timid herbivore, and leave me alone.

Hesitant knocks cut off whatever Mukuro was about to reply. "U-umm…Hi-Hibari-sama, Sawada-san is here."

Before he was given the chance to decline the visit, the door clicked open and in sauntered Sawada, the woman frantically trying to stop him and waving at her fellow workers to call the hospital; Tsuna smiled reassuringly at the woman and closed the door after informing he would be done shortly and the need for an ambulance was not necessary.

The soft clacks of Tsuna's steps and the rustling of clothing against leather informed Hibari the brunet had wondered closer and sat upon the couch across the one Hibari was lying on.

Tsuna watched Hibari's unmoving form with a small knitting of the brows, noting the suit the latter wore was the same one from the day before yesterday when he had sent off the Skylark to subdue a relatively small yet powerful gang wreaking havoc on a town south of Kyoto; titian irises hardening to a smoldering orange when he picked up a metallic scent lingering in the air. His frown deepened when a tiny shudder traveled its shaking path down Hibari's back. He balanced his choices: beat around the bush or get straight to the point?

"How was the mission, Kyouya?"

Mukuro's chuckle resonated in Hibari's head. The young Vongola is quite perceptive.

Silence responded Mukuro and Tsuna, the silence so silent it was rather worrisome even if the source of it had a tenacious tendency to ignore.

Mist swirled and slithered about, the grainy texture hissing, changing slowly to form Mukuro, startling Tsuna momentarily. The perpetual smirk gracing the illusionist's lips was absent, taunting tone within greatly dimmed, and usually impassive eyes swam with emotions Tsuna had never before had the chance to witness.

Heterochromatic locked with titian, words useless in the exchange of thoughts.

Tsuna slowly blinked up at Mukuro until realization hit him with a widening of the eyes. He scrambled to his feet and around the coffee table, hands unconsciously pulling his sleeves above his elbows. Simultaneously, Mukuro turned Hibari onto his back with the gentleness reserved for the fragile and began to unbutton the latter's shirt; the shirt groaned a sickening squelch as it was drawn away.

Tsuna took in a shuddering gasp at the sight of blood freely flowing from a mangled hole directly under Hibari's ribcage—blood had never settled well with him despite the many encounters he has had in the past. He swallowed the nausea threatening to rise. "Do you know if the bullet is in?"

"It's in." He rested his palm against Hibari's neck. "His pulse is fine, but his temperature is on the high side."

Tsuna nibbled on his lower lip, nervous by two factors: Mukuro was acting so off-character it was beginning to creep him out and someone had been able to have enough audacity to harm the Skylark. "Think he'll stay asleep till we finish?"

They shared another look, and Tsuna gulped as Mukuro chuckled—there was no way Hibari would remain in the clutches of slumber while they touched his body without permission.

…

As suspected, right as Tsuna folded the end of the bandages securely and smiled proudly at his work, Hibari's eyes snapped open. There was a moment where Tsuna held in his breath, hands still hovering over the other's abdomen, as the said other blinked away sleep, cerulean turning from a light glaze-over to a sharp glint in a flash.

Tsuna swallowed a strangled breath constricting his throat, the toned yet slender muscles rippling under tight, impossibly perfect skin when Hibari pushed himself into a sitting position serving as the greatest distraction Sawada had ever faced.

A tonfa striking Tsuna's temple, effectively snapping the brunet from his trance, was merely the inception of a lam Tsuna took willingly (to save himself from a more thorough beating).

So, after several bites—Tsuna still wondered where in the world the tonfas had been procured from—that were sure to leave a deep soreness for the span of a week and Mukuro disappeared to not-even-god-knows-where, Tsuna and Hibari eventually settled down to discuss the reason for the former's visit to the latter.

"Reborn has a proposal," Tsuna began slowly, testing the waters. When he found Hibari was not about to throw a metallic cylinder at his face, he continued, "To expand the Vongola from business and politics to entertainment—the purpose of that being to gain and expand connections in a different direction; to make Vongola an all-rounder—he wants us to begin the entertainment profession. Kyouya's popularity should instantly achieve success and attention."

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, he queried, "What does the 'entertainment profession' entail?"

Tsuna internally praised the Skylark—Hibari always had a way with words. He smiled as he counted off, a finger rising for each, "Acting, modeling, singing—the latter two mostly; though, the acting can be left out entirely."

Hibari hummed in contemplation, a smirk curling his lips. "And I'll receive what in return?"

Tsuna shifted and unconsciously tugged at the hems of his vest, uncomfortable under the azure sliver gaze seemingly burning through his soul. "Takeshi offered to teach you how to wield the sword. I have a full stock of the best wines and teas for you."

A delicate eyebrow rose. "That is all?"

Internally blanching, Tsuna's mind raced to find something else that could satiate the Skylark. "Ah…I can—umm…" An idea popped into his head. "Since I know you like antiques, I can get you a Spanish sword and permission to carry it around and use it from the Italian and Japanese government."

Hibari gave a small noise of appreciation. "And?"

Uwah, how difficult to please…"Different types of bullets—all silver and blazoned." When Hibari responded with an expectant look, he added, "With the latest and best designed handgun by Shouichi and Spanner." He stared incredulously at Hibari when the raven still had an unsatisfied expression. "Hayato can teach you how to play the piano and archery."

"And?"

"And…an all-out spar with me."

"Not enough, Sawada Tsunayoshi." Despite his words, though, Tsuna could make out a microscopic smile on those luscious lips (not that Tsuna thought Hibari's lips were seductively enticing—no, not at all…Well, maybe just a little).

Tsuna sighed. "A three days' vacation to an onsen—because I know you don't take the liberty for relaxation—an update to all of your weapons, and"—he lowered his lids to a mischievous glint, an action that had Hibari pondering exactly how much the herbivore had changed in the last several years they barely met—"the entire collection of Nyanperowna."

It's that 'sparkling prince' cat-thing, isn't it? Mukuro said, his chuckle nearing the point of laughter.

A light tint coloured Hibari's cheeks, and he crossed his arms over his chest, peering anywhere but at the brunet while futilely attempting to exterminate the blush.

Tsuna smiled in triumph, like Yamamoto Takeshi yet stuck in the kind gestures of Sasagawa Kyoko. "It's settled, then." He stood, dusting off invisible dust whilst straightening his attire, and bowed. "Have a good night, Kyouya, and don't strain yourself." He straightened his posture, hand over his mouth to muffle the chuckles threatening to burst at the cuteness the Skylark radiated. "The day after tomorrow you'll start; let's meet up at the usual place."

"Herbivore"—Hibari turned to face Tsuna, cerulean piercing directly through the Sky—"whoever said I agreed?"

Tsuna's eyebrow twitched in subdued irritation. "If I spar with you every day after you finish the day's work of"—he raised his hands to form air quotes—"'entertainment', would you agree?"

"…The usual place at quarter till five. Be late, and I'll bite you to death."

…

Flurries of the purest white sprinkled from the clouded, night skies, the frozen essence lingering on the grounds ephemerally to slowly melt into mushy transparency. The cold air drifted gently, swaying around the skyscrapers reaching their manmade fingers to the heavens, nicking at skin more than caressing and condensing warm breaths into pale, malformed ghosts.

A shiver wrecked Tsuna's shoulders, forcing him to pull his jacket closer. White mittens engraved with "27" swept under his bangs, ridding his locks of the snow that clung to them. "Only November, yet so cold…and snowing." He frowned. "Why would it be snowing?"

Reborn fought the urge to roll his eyes. "Stop complaining already, Dame-Tsuna."

Tsuna puckered his lips into a pout.

A small restaurant came into view, its windows tall and wide decorated with withered flowers and bushes at the base. Tsuna smiled brightly at the scent of chocolate and coffee mixed with a tinge of cinnamon that enticed passersby into sauntering into its wooden doors, the faint smell of other foods increasing the closer Tsuna and Reborn came. The young Vongola's stomach growled in response, raising an embarrassed blush to his cheeks when an inquiring brow from Reborn rose—he was drooling just at the thought of a strawberry milkshake seeping past his lips and filling his mouth with delicious, cool sweetness.

A bell chimed when they entered, and, immediately, Tsuna spotted Hibari sitting at the farthest and least crowded corner. A woman approached them, smiling pleasantly as she offered to show them to a table. "No, thank you," Reborn politely (for once) declined; "someone is waiting for us."

She led them to Hibari's table, and, after they accommodated their selves side by side across from the Skylark, she handed them a menu each. "I'll come back later to get your order; can I offer you some water till then?"

Reborn set down his menu. "We'd like to order right now, actually. I'll have an espresso and a small frittata greca with extra cheese and no spinach."

The waitress blinked at the fluent Italian as she jotted down the order. She placed her attention on Tsuna. "What can I get for you?"

Tsuna hummed in contemplation. "I'll have…the Nutella crepes—small portion—and a medium, strawberry milkshake."

She wrote the order down. "Right. Would you like strawberries and whipped cream on the crepes?"

"Yes, please."

She finished writing Tsuna's order before turning to Hibari. "Can I get you something else, sir?"

"I'm fine." He settled his cerulean gaze on the server, and the latter jumped slightly, blushing at the piercing attention. "Take your time with the orders."

'Don't bother us for a long time,' Tsuna translated and watched the waitress go after stammering an 'alright'.

Reborn reached into the inside of his suit coat to procure a portfolio. He slid the folder across the table, turning it towards Hibari, the latter watching with detached interest as the former shuffled around a few pages till finding the desired paper: a schedule. "This"—Reborn pointed at a highlighted box under the column "Saturday, 30 November", the deep tenors of his voice attracting Hibari's attention—"is your first shooting. It's for a fashion magazine; you'll be at the cover. Also"—he pointed at the box below—"another magazine wants an interview." He withdrew his hands, pitch black irises kindling. "One warning: there will be crowds."

Hibari bristled, cerulean glowering daggers, yet, before he could voice his complaints, Reborn said, returning the glare, "Considering the amount of…incentives, keep in mind I want this job meticulously accomplished, implying there will be a certain image to uphold."

Hibari ground his teeth, irritation heightening tenfold. "This image is?"

"No biting—pretend it's your grandmother you are visiting."

Tsuna frowned at the unknown, Hibari relative. If Mukuro was mysterious, then Hibari was the epitome of mystery. He had encountered Hibari quite occasionally during their school days—sometimes because of battles or minor scuffles disrupting the peace and others were literally (and unilaterally) bumping-into in the hallways or some random place in Namimori—but as far as their exchange of words went was a threat of painful death by biting and a not-so-manly shriek.

Those meetings only lasted till the spring before a month Hibari turned seventeen, however, when Tsuna began high school and Hibari became a third-year: Dino had somehow convinced the Skylark to start college, a university far from the mountainous lands of Japan in England, of all places to be; and Hibari Kyouya had promptly disappeared—as if he never existed—(much to the relief of those whom cowered under the prefect's presence), and Tsuna had a strange fear the Skylark would come back as Sherlock Holmes.

Four, peaceful years passed—a constant sense of absence weighing in Tsuna's stomach—and Hibari returned, more beautiful and graceful and taller and stronger than the fading memories the nineteen-year-old Tsuna remembered the Cloud to be. Those features, although, were not the only ones to change, Tsuna later noticed:

Tsuna had accidentally called Hibari by the latter's given name and Hibari instantly bristled, paused—the familiar threat hanging from his lips—as he relented his glare to study the brunet's features carefully, pondering, and sauntered away without another word. The matter of Hibari's dislike for being called intimately never sparked again, even when Tsuna made it a habit to refer to the Skylark as 'Kyouya'. Dino had explained, a light tone of mirth in his voice, "It simply means he doesn't mind if you call him Kyouya (like I do)—you've earned some of his respect." Yet Tsuna argued it did not fit with the distance Hibari had set himself at, the distance Tsuna realized that had welled by fault of the current nature of the Cloud.

Hibari had become water, a water that flowed gently and unwaveringly—trickling—at points of everyday life's casualty and could storm a drowning hell—destroying—quicker than a millisecond of a blink when an intruder rippled the Skylark's calm surface; the fire waiting to explode in a reckless battle was now barely seen boiling softly below the thick layers of liquid transparency. The water that was Hibari Kyouya drifted, dragging along all of its essence like a cloud; and the cloud drifted far beyond the expanse of the infinite sky, the tails of wind the fluff of whiteness followed pushing till the cloud had no choice but to become a world, a mere, brilliant star seen from an unreachable corner of the night sky.

The acquaintance Tsuna knew had become a little more than a stranger.

I'll change that.

The Skylark seemed to deflate at the mention of his grandmother. "Fine," he agreed reluctantly and pushed his chair back to stand, fixing his suit's coat upon his shoulders; the latter action reminding Tsuna of the omnipresent jacket worn like a cape during their middle and high school days. He swiveled to walk away, just as Tsuna stood, calling out his name. "What is it, Sawada Tsunayoshi? Quickly; I have a meeting in ten minutes."

Tsuna bowed lowly, attracting the attention of other customers. "I'm sorry for asking so much of you when you are already so busy, Kyouya, but you really are the only one we—no, I can count on for this." Hence the large amounts of 'incentives' I am willing to give without a second thought.

Hibari huffed, turning away. "Whatever."

Mukuro chuckled. Oya, how cute.

…Shut up.

Tsuna didn't miss the light pink dusting across the Cloud's cheeks.

Sighing, as if the short exchange of words between Hibari and him had been the grandest chore assigned to Vongola's boss, Tsuna straightened his posture and managed to catch a glimpse of the ends of Hibari's coat before the Skylark disappeared completely around the corner; Hibari's strides had become wider with the extra height he had gained recently, Tsuna noticed silently whilst slumping onto his chair.

The waitress returned, carrying trays holding their food. She worked around the table, placing the respective orders before Tsuna and Reborn. As she picked up the cup of tea that had belonged to Hibari (along with the notes that were one thousand yen too many placed under said cup), she turned her gaze onto Tsuna, smiling. "It seems the handsome are attracted to your equally pretty self, sir." She chuckled at an internally joke passing through her mind. "My girl-friends get jealous when you hog all of them for yourself."

Reborn smirked behind the rim of his espresso. "Dame-Tsuna tends to be the possessive type."

Tsuna frowned at his tutor. "Am not."

She laughed as she grinned, sauntering away after reminding, "Call me if you need anything, alright?"

Reborn sipped at his coffee one last time before returning the cup to the table. He dropped his voice to a tone above a whisper, eyes swimming with suspicion lingering on a scent nearing murderous intent. "What's the real purpose behind dragging Hibari into the social world? Moreover, those 'incentives' should not have been needed considering Hibari has gained a percentage of respect for your strength—as surprising as that is—and would have willingly done the favour in return for another, smaller favour."

"Wow, thanks for the confidence you have in my strength," he grumbled, sarcasm dripping thick. When Reborn narrowed his eyes in warning, Tsuna defended, running a hand through his hair as he gave a meaningful glance, "It was you who said to think up something to bring the aloof Cloud closer to the Vongola."

It clicked.

Chuckling under his breath, "Perhaps you aren't as dame as thought to be."

…

"The firewall in Version 7X has had a security breach in the Southeast Medical Branch," Hibari read aloud. He flicked his gaze to the man sitting three chairs down his left. "Medical histories were stolen from several patients, correct?"

The man nodded, nervous sweat rolling down his temple. "Y-yes, we are currently tracing the hacker and finding what the hole was so we can prevent another virus from reaching the system."

Hibari nodded curtly. "Send the identity of the hacker to me once you do; I will deal with him or her myself." He set the papers aside and dragged a second folder before him; he peered at the contents of the documents within the folder briefly, every word upon each page engraving into memory. "All sells for the commercial centers are well," he concluded.

Two women and a man at his right smiled proudly.

He opened another folder, flipping through the pages within. "The rate of construction of the banks will have to be increased. For Northern Central Kyoto Park, replace the willow tree at the center of the lake with a sakura; it's more symbolic for the country. Proceed with the annual restoration of Kinkaku-ji and Kiyomizu-dera*," instructed he, mildly hearing several pens scribbling down his orders as affirmations resounded.

Pushing the folders aside, he demanded, "I want a thorough report of each of the martial arts schools by the end of this week." Hibari rose from his seat as he adjusted his tie and vest, ignoring the startled stares watching his movements. "Meeting adjourned; we will continue at eight in the evening."

Murmurs sparked to life after Hibari exited the room:

"So strange for Hibari-sama to adjourn a meeting…"

"Think he has a date?"

"Don't even joke about that! I like my job and current position, thank you very much."

"Actually, I heard Hibari-sama is starting a new job."

"Really?"

"Really."

"What do you suppose it is?"

"Modeling, I think…Kidding! As if the Ice King would ever smile for the camera."

…

Hibari raised an inquiring brow, watching Tsuna tighten the laces of shoes that barely reached Hibari's tastes. "Why are you doing this, Sawada Tsunayoshi?"

Tsuna peered up at Hibari through his lashes from his crouched position. "Well, I requested to be your dresser because"—he ghosted his fingers over the bandages adorning Hibari's torso, not missing the flinch that flitted across the other's features when he passed the bloodied section—"we can't have anyone finding out about this." He straightened his stance and brought a black shirt to Hibari's shoulders.

That's not what I meant. Rather exasperated, he yanked the shirt from Tsuna's hands and proceeded to dress himself with it, tucking the hems in his tight-fitting, equally dark jeans.

Tsuna shook his disapproval and took the liberty of tugging out halfway the hems of the shirt and undoing several top buttons; one more button down and the bandages would peep from behind. "There."

Hibari shifted his arms, peering at his clothing: baggy shirt, skinny jeans, and knee-high boots—all black. "What sort of shirt is this?"

"Pirate-style." He pushed at Hibari's back, urging the Skylark to go forth. "But that doesn't matter right now; the shooting is about to start."

Hibari complied but stopped before the curtains leading into the shooting stage, taking a gander at Tsuna from the corner of his eye; the azure silver of his irises glinted, and the brunet internally gulped. "I want the actual reason behind all of this, Sawada Tsunayoshi, after this is over."

Tsuna paused, pondering over Hibari's words. "If you knew I had an ulterior motive, Kyouya," he questioned slowly, "why agree?"

The low lighting seemed to play a message in Hibari's eyes as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively:

Gut instinct.

…

*No idea if these two places need annual restorations (I just randomly chose them)

Please excuse any/all grammar/spelling mistakes.

To rawr (guest): I'm glad I wrote this, then; now there is a 18Kuroko fic (the first one, perhaps?). Ah, this is not an actual update but rather an edit of the first chapter; I hope it is satisfying...Thank you! I'll definitely need the luck.