This is crack. Do not stone me.
the Temptation of Adam
The lights are all off. Sunlight begins pouring in through gaps in the curtain, illuminating the emptiness, the loneliness - trash scattered over the floor, empty plates gathering dust. Hibari was never one for chores. When he sidesteps into the kitchen, he opens his fridge only to remember he was never one for grocery shopping either. There's a message scrawled on the notice board: Do it your fucking self. He doesn't give it a second glance, defiantly making his way back to the living room; he carefully avoids sullying his socks with cautious steps, before he drops himself onto the couch. The television's on: Chuck, because that's all the television is ever on anymore. Old episode, he thinks, jaw clenching. He doesn't know if he'll be able to restrain himself through watching it all again, or on the dangerous trip back to his bedroom.
So he settles for waiting - of course, his mind dubs it discipline, because he's going to throttle Gokudera when he gets back.
X
Days before, he was being lectured on these very problems. Gokudera was saying, learn to put your shit in the trash-can, make your own food, turn down the heating when you don't need it and, of course, don't fucking expect me to do it for you. Hibari sat blankly staring at him for most of it, feeling generous, before he strode back into his room. He'd made a point to slam the door.
But when he wakes up, the floors have been purged and cleaned. The television has been arranged neatly once again, consoles beneath it, DVD's in order, stacked beside it. The air is sticky with polish and freshener. In front of him, a bowl of cereal on a tray sit inconspicuously, and paper that reads, get your own juice. He smiles, faintly, and when he's done, he leaves the empty bowl at Gokudera's door, along with a full glass of orange juice.
"Asshole," is the warm greeting this earns him. Gokudera's scrubbing the bowl over the sink, glaring at him with the venom, lacking. Hibari smirks a little, and makes sure Gokudera can't see it. He's still in disbelief that his bed had been made, he's still waiting on the opportunity to mention this in a way that highlights how ridiculous it is. Neither of them are particularly nice people, after all. And what makes the least sense is why he'd does anything to benefit Hibari when there was no chance of a thank you. "I'm not OCD," Gokudera states flatly, and Hibari's eyes flash, they give him away.
"The DVD's are alphabetical."
"That's just," Gokudera bites out, the bowl hitting the counter with a clatter, "for the sake of convenience." He sighs, haggardly, frowning as he leans up to slip the bowl back into a cupboard he can't quite reach. "I forgot how fucking annoying you are."
For some reason, this doesn't stop him silently offering multiplayer Goldeneye tournaments that night.
X
Somewhere between the N64 crashing and heated License to Kill matches, Hibari figures out something utterly traumatic, utterly horrendous. The inconsistent lighting of the screen begins to hurt his eyes, and this is what he blames the thick lettering of GAME OVER on his screen for. Gokudera snickers beside him, and then leaves to pour some drinks, something like that - Hibari's mind isn't completely catching up. He keeps staring at the screen. The words stop making sense. His eyes begin burning. Gokudera's footsteps in the next room bang right against his eardrums, heavy and alarming. He blinks. Not a chance, he thinks, scoffs. Yet still.
He feels like he might have missed him.
All he says when Gokudera reenters (putting not one, but two glasses down in front of them in what has to be habit) is, "Rematch." Then he presses RESET and takes a hesitant swig from his water.
X
It doesn't take long until the old, weary Nintendo64 is out of games. They make their way through slowly emptying the shoe-box of cartridges. Racing games are never allowed, because Gokudera likes Wipeout and Hibari likes F-Zero X. So after a month, or two, acting like they can deal with repeating levels, and storylines that lose credibility the sixth time around, they box the N64, along with the games and controllers, and finally fill a little space in the spare room. Then they bring out the Playstation 2.
Rayman - a scratched disc from ten years ago, a two-dimensional side-scroller with cheap sound-effects and laughable character designs - is an appraisable choice. Gokudera doesn't say that out loud, though. It's always hard to play level-each, life-each with Hibari, because he's certain when he leaves the room, turns his head, the bastard is taking a second shot. It's against the rules. Whenever Gokudera tries it, Hibari's voice says from somewhere, "I saw that herbivore," and he has to pass the controller back.
The novelty of living with a homicidal potential cannibal who once gave his face violent rug burn on the reception room carpet wore off worryingly quick. It's old, waking up and watching the television with him is old, studying on the couch together is old, brushing his teeth at the same mirror is oldoldold. Gokudera's living in routine; he likes it best when the day is predictably a don't move from in front of the PS2 day. Those days Hibari's always silent, when he makes mistakes he's soundless, and the same goes for when he does something right. His face goes through three stages of emotion: stoic, pissed, smug. Every one of them scares Gokudera more than he cares to admit.
Gokudera, on the other hand, never stays quiet. He curses when he wins and when he loses. When they play Tekken, he can never stop himself saying "that's right asshole, suck it," and riling Hibari up to disastrous levels, which is why he never wants to play Tekken anymore.
On occasion, he'll finish tough side-quests that take forever, and he'll still be swearing his joy when he turns to see Hibari looking at him wearing another, stranger, more unfathomable expression. (Softer, but Gokudera doesn't convince himself for a second.)
It seems like everything is going well in the weeks that follow, clearing the PS2 and GameCube surprisingly fast, until
X
the Summer break is over.
It starts off discretely enough. The three of them huddle around the coffee table, piled textbooks surrounding them, sometimes snickering and spilling soda onto the carpeted floor; sometimes arguing, fingers crossed behind their backs. This is the new routine: study after school until midnight with the Tenth and the idiot, study after they leave, study in before school tomorrow. His sense of priority falters a little when he glances with a comical longing at the PS2, but he endures. He caters to the Tenth's every worry, and he agrees to help Yamamoto out too, albeit angrily.
Above Tsuna and Yamamoto's heads, Hibari gives him a look that says do you know what time it is. Gokudera's thought about it too, of what he was doing yesterday and the day before, huddled around the television, the sound of gunshots and eccentric voice-actors surrounding them, sometimes snickering, (because Gokudera always has to settle with the sidekick girl character) and sometimes arguing (because Hibari always snags the flame thrower first and leaves him to put the fires out), their fingers crossed behind their backs. He replies with a look that promises, later. Tsuna and Yamamoto are restless; he doesn't believe himself.
"I should bite you all to death for crowding," Hibari remarks, looking bored. Instead he yawns, and spends the rest of the night in his own room.
Oh, Gokudera thinks in mild disbelief, that's why we aren't talking. That's the problem with a relationship built on inconsistency: everything moves so fast, so slow, he can't get a grip on anything certain, he lives on the prudent tips of his toes. That's the problem with a relationship in which everyone is temperamental, and selfish, and maybe - maybe someone is a little naive. Gokudera genuinely believes he has a chance at victory, he genuinely believes it's pure irrationality, it's only a childish nose upturned. In a way, he's sort of right.
Not that he really knows it.
X
Deja-vu.
At least Dino leaves before the designated computer time. Although it doesn't really matter anymore. A thin veil of dust is visible over the console itself. Hibari draws a fingertip across it, glaring down at the thickened remnants with deep seriousness. Then he looks at Gokudera's bedroom's shut door. And he throws season one of Arrested Development at it so hard it dents the wood.
X
Gokudera breaks first, only two days or so later.
He's out late on a weeknight, and it's past two in the morning when he makes his way back inside. He's tired, the muscles in his legs aching for sleep, for surrender. He charges forward in sleepy shuffles, blinking himself in and out of consciousness. "Hey. You," is the most well-constructed thing he manages. Hibari looks up at him blankly; Gokudera lifts the shopping bag higher, into clear view. "New Resi."
"If it's not for the 360," he warns, and it slides out the bag, affirmatively. Hibari looks at him with sharp, judging eyes; peace offerings are meant to be sentiments, meant to hold more values than that of beating an African zombie to death with a shotgun, and even he knows that. Even he knows that maybe it was best Gokudera hadn't tried at all, but it's better that they settle, so he switches the Xbox on.
They don't talk about why a peace offering is necessary. Gokudera isn't sure of the details, of just what about Dino regarding the other as an old friend, having the boldness to visit without Romario, without any protection makes him feel off; betrayed is the more fitting word, but he can't quite cope with that, or how it makes him want to laugh at himself. He tries not to think about it, or how Hibari left him the first controller for once.
The whole situation is beginning to really make him want to laugh lately. Everything. Maybe it's because he only just noticed Hibari tends to go cockeyed during cutscenes. Maybe he's just the sanest person in the room.
X
Routine falls back into place. Last level: defeating Albert Wesker, a cinch on the thirtieth attempt. They call instructions to each other, they yell and buttonmash like there's no tomorrow. Suddenly; it's over. It's all over. The truth rings in their ears as the credits roll.
There are no games left in the apartment.
X
The next week is spent solitary, Hibari in faint confusion as to where Gokudera and Tsuna and Yamamoto went, the babies, the girls - all gone. He worries the dirty feeling when he does single-player is guilt.
X
He comes across them later - much later. Everyone's a little battered, a little broken, strung up on the beds of the hospital wing. Hibari's first out, meets an older, more annoying and less clumsy Cavallone, who laughs at his new-but-old appearance, their difference in height. Meets Gokudera, after crossing corridors on shaky legs, precariously placing himself on the bedside seat. It's much too quiet. He forgets why he came.
"-d," Gokudera's mumbling, and when Hibari frowns at him, he sighs, he flushes. "That looks bad," he says with more care, a more hesitant voice.
His eyes are lingering on Hibari's bandaged hand. It's like two worlds melding and mixing, and it leaves him confused. "Just the nunchuck hand," he remarks, and his lip quirks a little at the other's snort (- the way when Gokudera's smiles his wounds begin to fade, to heal). Hibari hates it when he says the right thing.
X
Home, again: they're sitting staring blankly at the television. It's off. Boxes are everywhere; full of books, games. A skull hoodie draped over one, incriminating.
"It's okay?" Gokudera asks, and it echoes in the silence, it's too loud, too expectant. Hibari wants to hit him for it, wants to scowl and strike and bruise. He could, but instead, "Why ask me?" like he doesn't know, like Gokudera doesn't know. It's so frustrating he frowns at himself, and Gokudera sighs that way he always does; like it's too much, like it's not worth it. Then he lifts himself of the couch, and curses something in Italian before he slams his door shut.
X
The highlights of Gokudera's last night:
Tipsily stumbling inside in the late night, with no keys, with assistance from Hibari, who unlocks the door, and stares at him in unwavering superiority, the thin frown of his mouth unimpressed - it narrows when Gokudera's hands hold him for balance, searching for stability on two treacherous legs. His fingertips slide across the skin of Hibari's collarbone, his breath slow and shaky; sake, Hibari smells, clear as day. Gokudera's been at Takesushi and the owner was pouring his three favourite minors alcohol, again. In a better mood Hibari might find it amusing, and point him in the general direction of his bedroom. Now, though. "I don't want to," Gokudera tells him, and his drunken gaze is bright, bright green, "It feels like I should, is all. I really don't want to." Hibari feels his breath hot and light on his skin, a warning; stop it this instant.
He doesn't.
"Do you ever feel it?" And a tentative step brings them closer.
Gokudera doesn't have to elaborate. He has - as though close quarter living must be leading them somewhere wrong, and they have to get out, they have to stop it this instant. It pounds in his veins, demands his legs to move, tells his head this is the last chance, over and over. He's always understood, always ignored it, like a child with the bedsheets pulled above their head. He wished the monsters away, and when Gokudera finally packed his bags, he held the sheet tighter in his fists. Gokudera's alarmingly aware for a drunk teenager, and that's when he gets that Gokudera's always understood, too.
His knees cave, head falls forward. It's a soft kiss, dry lips pressing and pushing, rough hands tugging and taking.
It's the first time he's ever given in.
X
It's a Monday afternoon - the world isn't over, the Vongola and alive, prospering. It's the lives they won, and they waste it away on re-runs of Chuck, because some things never change. The boxes are gone. There's more furniture, and the stack of DVD's is now at worrying length.
The consoles and video-games are in the spare room somewhere. They don't really have time for it anymore. (Unless they're at the base, when no moments are spared. It's less private when the whole family is lounging before the TV, and the only thing either of them really miss is amazing completed-the-game sex that hasn't happened for six years or so.)
Gokudera bandages Hibari's hand up, an old wound, reopened. He's sighs, bitches, and Hibari notices dully that the idiot's shirt isn't even buttoned, so he obligingly fixes it with his good hand. The surprise makes Gokudera go quiet and look up at him momentarily, before he finishes the final wrap. The fabric is tight around Hibari's hand, never enough to hurt. He wants to watch the end of the episode, out of some long-dead devotion to the show that he doesn't quite want to voice, as though Gokudera doesn't already know.
They're late for a meeting. Gokudera won't stop checking his watch and shaking his leg.
He snaps, "Chuck gets rescued. The end." Hibari gives him an unimpressed stare. His eyes flicker to the scar across his pale cheek for one, two, three seconds, and he finds himself uncaring that Gokudera saw. The other lets out another sigh, turns his head to face him with careful hands.
Slowly and almost exasperatedly, he says, "If we go now, we can stop and get the new Time Splitters."
Then Hibari smiles at him, and they lift themselves off the couch.
This is all for Nush, who is awesome and hilarious. I tried to add more sex to it, bb, truly I did. Did it turn out alright? DD:
Disclaimer: KHR isn't mines. I didn't make any of the games or consoles. Chuck is very much not mines, or Arrested Development. Title is the Josh Ritter song, belongs to Josh Ritter. Just in case someone was wondering.
Notes: I FINALLY WROTE THE ROOM-MATE FIC.
SHIT YEAH.
Fics like this make me rethink no-beta because shit on a stick, WHAT. WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED. I THINK I BROKE MY OWN OTP. It was fun, though. Wasn't intentionally so crack-ish, I swear, it just ended up all... wtf-y. I had to take out a goddamn shitload of video-games from the text I only put there so I could point to the screen and be like 'LOLOLOL!111!' then backspace like hell. SO YES LOTS OF FUN WRITING RIDICULOUS SCENARIO'S. :D
Of course, if you overlooked the weird and read it, thanks a lot. I love you forever.