A/N:

omg.

what the hell am i doing?

DISCLAIMER BECAUSE SOMEONE TOLD ME I HAD TO: I don't own KHR, because if I did... so many things would happen. So many. It's ridiculous.

Which, is why this has been created.

(I am writing for my own pleasure, therefore will not be disappointed by the little reviews if there it be. But I guess you can say that I'm doing this for those with the same mindlike as me. Haha.)

lots of love, Two-Faced Procrastinator.


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Ch.1 — no such thing as bad weather

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If it weren't for that one fateful incident, Sawada Tsunahime would have always been the target of bullying for the rest of her life, the Plain Jane of all the girls, the lackey and victim of sexual harassment of the boys.

She would still be a pathetic whimpering little puppet of school monarchy system.

No one would acknowledge her free will and rights, and she would suffocate under sociality problems, the forever outcast of the "normal" crowd.

Her only two friends would only bring her more trouble, and eventually, they would be pulled into a dangerous world that she had no control over, and get hurt.

Or worse, they would die.

But that was not so.

At a very young age of seven, when she had just entered grade school, she met the most prettiest girl.

She had been seeking shelter under the sudden onslaught of rain, during her way back home from school. Already she was bullied, having her umbrella thrown at her in a horribly tattered state. Her mother was unable to pick her up, because of the warning of a typhoon. They couldn't connect with her older brother's cellphone (she remembered that he was with his friends somewhere, although he didn't tell anyone the exact location), and her father was currently mysterious.

Now, Sawada Tsunahime was not the bravest, but she wasn't the fool either.

It was she would get home before the worst of the storm came by, or stay all alone in the teachers' lounge.

Despite her meek personality, Tsunahime was not afraid of the dark and a few crashes of lightning with explosive claps of thunder. In fact, it calmed her, in a strange way that rain did. In fact, no "bad" weather could ever bring her spirits down.

She loved every single one of them, all in equal value. It was to the point where she would grow irritated at the complaints she would hear about the weather conditions. It wasnature, not some kind of sports game! Nature was not something to be controlled, or meddled with.

It was all of these reasons that she decided to go to her house, because she knew, somehow, deep inside her heart, that this storm would not hurt her in any way possible. The same went for every other type of nature's gifts in the atmosphere, although the sight and feel of mist creeped her out a bit. But it was just a teensy little bit.

Yes, the storm did not hurt her.

But it did get her lost.

She had begun to panic, but the cool feel of rain calmed her down. With a deep breath, she made herself successfully relax, and take a good, long look at her surroundings. Only a smidgen of alarm rang in her when she realized she was in unfamiliar territory.

She had been so immersed in trying to recognize it that she didn't notice the rising mist. By the time she saw it, it had already took a form and shape that looked suspiciously like a trail. Trusting her heart, she followed it.

(While she did, she thanked it out loud and from there on no longer felt so fidgety when she was in the presence of mist.)

The helpful mist trail had ended at a plastered brick wall. Or, at least she had thought it had ended. Upon looking closer, because her mind was bugging her to, she saw that the mist was going through the wall.

And because she was still just a child, the thrill of plunging into danger, or adventure, sang all throughout her.

This would be her driving force in her later years.

With her eyes squeezed tightly shut, she forced her legs to move.

She had half-expected to run right into the wall, but when she didn't hit anything solid for the next five or so steps, she had opened her eyes and was introduced to a very beautiful garden. It was pleasing to look at, even as it was in the middle of a heavy downpour.

Feeling a strange tingling sensation in her heart, she moved to where it guided her.

At the edge of the leveled floor she remembered her manners and slipped easily out of the soggy Mary Janes, then pulling her soppy socks off and stuffing them inside her raincoat pockets. She shook herself of the excess water as best as she could and started her tiny little adventure in a completely stranger environment.

The house was old-fashioned, a traditional Japanese living compartment. It was also very spacious, making the little seven-year-old wonder how many people lived in it. She checked every single room, and grew more and more confused at finding each one empty of persons.

When she made it to the largest room, a couple times bigger than the others, she was met with a pleasant surprise.

She saw someone, knelt properly, in the corner receiving the most light from the lightning and thunder.

This someone had dusty black hair, a shade of black that reminded Tsunahime of the kind of charcoal used in tea ceremonies. It was long and looked very soft, as if someone had been taking very good care of it. Because she didn't know any better as a seven-year-old, she assumed this person was a girl, like her.

This girl had a very pale complexion. It wasn't the sickly kind of pale, but more like the kind of pale you would see in fairytales. The illuminating, eye-catching kind of pale. The beautiful kind, the kind that most girls wished to have but could never get.

But Tsunahime wasn't like most girls, so she settled for admiring it. She wasn't jealous, because she liked her peachy skin. Pale would make her look...starved, sort of. Malnourished and unkempt.

The little brunette had just stood there, watching silently as the other mysteriously pretty girl plucked aimlessly at the instrument laying flat next to her. It was huge compared to the girl's body size, and had many strings across its length. Little bridges were supporting them, one for each string, and were arranged in a slanted line.

Being just seven years old, Tsunahime had no clue what it was. But whatever song she was playing, it was pretty. But why was she all alone? Where was her mother and father? Her brother or sister, if she had one? It made her so confused.

And then suddenly, before she could stop herself, she sneezed.


If it weren't for his ridiculous disease, Hibari Kyoya would have been the most fearsome man in all of Namimori, the revered Head of the Disciplinary Committee, the horrifying protector of Namimori Middle School.

He would have the most anti-social disorder ever and tend to be extremely violent, resorting to physical fights as a solution to every little problem.

He would call the so-called weak "herbivores" and the ones considered strong as "carnivores".

He would have control over the citizens in Namimori, a righteous form of dictatorship.

But that was not so.

Instead of all that, Hibari Kyoya was only known as the mysterious inhabitant of the wall-enclosed Hibari estate.

He was the local ghost and rumor of the town of Namimori, the test of bravery among the students.

He was the subject of horror stories during the darkest nights of summer vacation.

He was the unknown younger sibling of Namimori's cold, iron-fisted chief of the police force.

...well, actually... Alaude was only related to him by half-blood. They came from the same father, but their mothers were as different as water and fire.

Kyoya's mother was entirely Japanese, famed to be the ideal image of a Yamato Nadeshiko. She taught at a geisha school in the daylight hours, and ran an ochaya in the nighttime. When she had the time to rest, Kyoya had no clue. It seemed that she was always full of energy whenever he saw her privately in the Hibari house, which was rare considering her schedule.

It might sound rude, but Kyoya wholeheartedly agreed that his mother was kind of weird. Haru may be known as the most ladylike woman in the social hours, but at home she was just so different that he suspected her of bipolarity. She even made taught him how to dance and the like, insisting that "back in the days" the first geisha were men.

It irritated him a bit, but he did whatever she wished because if he didn't he would suffer those annoying rants about how much her son hated her. It was her doing that he was her top student and he dressed in a kimono or yukata 24/7. And they weren't even plain colors, no. They just had to be excessively and uselessly decorated.

His hair was never once cut in the past nine years, and it was getting increasingly annoying. But his mother didn't allow it to be cut, claiming that it was too pretty to be wasted. Sometimes he thought that she forgot that he was her son, not her daughter.

(He didn't put it past her to believe that, though.)

Alaude's mother was even worse.

Kyoya had met both the blonde woman and her son just two years ago.

(He was seven then, and he and Alaude were eight years apart. That meant his older half-brother had been fifteen years old at their first meeting, and was seventeen now.)

Oregano, Kyoya had learned, was just as bipolar as Haru. The blonde's line of business was in the world of law and order. She was a famous criminal defense lawyer, having supposedly never failed in defending her client.

At first, the Japanese boy had thought she was even stricter than Haru in her "work mode". But as soon as the two mothers were safe in the walls of the Hibari house, he experienced firsthand how dramatic women can be.

It was one shocker after another. Alaude with his nearly white hair and startlingly clear ice-blue eyes, and Oregano's 180 degree turn into her "home" personality. It made Kyoya well-prepared at the next piece of news that day.

Apparently, his father was the same as Alaude's, making the blond his older brother by half blood. Not only that, this man was the strongest martial artist in the world? How pleasant.

It seemed that Alaude already knew, and took pride in the fact that their father was so...powerful.

But Kyoya...

Kyoya didn't like it.

He didn't like being his mother's little dress-up doll and favorite student, didn't like the sudden appearance of Oregano and Alaude, didn't like the blond boy's superior attitude towards him, didn't like that his father was supposedly so strong yet never once visited, didn't like being so ill to the point where he couldn't ever go outside, didn't like that he always felt so goddamn lonely every single day, didn't like how no one was there to say good morning when he woke up, didn't like being the town's ghost when he was clearly alive and breathing, didn't like the emptiness of the house, didn't like... didn't... like...

...it was as if he was just a pretty little bird, caged all by itself and used for entertainment only. His disease towards cherry blossoms were more than enough of a lock by itself. Namimori had them plantedeverywhere, and the wind was always carrying their scent...just one whiff was all it took to trigger the symptoms, no matter how faint it was. If it was there, then it was.

The clouds were so dark and the air was so heavy that it didn't take the nine-year-old long to correctly assume that a storm was brewing. That meant no one was able to come to the house.

That also meant he would be all alone...again.

By now, it was too familiar of a situation to make him so drastically lonely. He was so used to being by himself that it was a common occurrence to him. It no longer made him wonder where his family was, and why they weren't here with him.

They just weren't, and that was that. Their reasons were always the same, so he never bothered to ask anymore.

Lightning and thunder flashed noisily in the blackness. Rain hammered down mercilessly. Winds howled in their righteous fury. The clouds filled the sky to such a degree that it looked as if the once vast blue was suffocating.

Suffocating.

That described his disease well. In every careless moment that he absorbed the scent of cherry blossoms into his body, it felt as if he were suffocating. A great big pressuring weight would drop on his chest without warning, and his breathing pace would slow without his consent. His vision would blur and everything would become distorted. A massive headache would follow, making his mind deluded and in pain. His body would be paralyzed. He wouldn't be able to move. He couldn't call out to anyone.

And then, eventually, his body would shut down, and he would die.

Just like that.

No one would know it was happening, because it made him appear as if he were falling asleep.

No one would know if he had died, because the entire process was as silent as thoughts.

As silent as it was in the room.

Using the light from the flashes of electricity in the sky, he plucked absentmindedly at the koto beside him with one hand, the other laying motionlessly by his side. His knees folded beneath him, his head leaning against the wall. Sitting in the corner reminded him of how that eccentric mother of his used to hug him from behind as an attempt to surprise him into a dramatic reaction, before lifting him into the air as if he were made of paper.

It almost made him wonder when he was going to be picked up. He smiled lightly at the memory.

It was like that for a long time. The storm seemed to have no intention of stopping until the next day.

And then, the silence was interrupted by what he thought was a squeaky toy being rudely stepped on.


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geisha school: for those who are more educated in this field of knowledge, let me clarify something. The reason why I haven't used the term "okiya" is because they are more of a permanent residence than a school. In this AU, Haru is a full-fledged geisha (and Hibarin's mother lol), but she gets her money from working at the ochaya. She is only a (very welcomed) volunteer to teach the maiko in the school. But she seems dead-on at making little Hibarin follow after her (clumsy, haha) footsteps. She's a very famous geisha, and everyone enjoys her performances and such and so. (No one knows about Kyoya yet! Nufufu~)

(I shall explain what maiko are in the later chapters, I guess.)

geisha: are women that dress very beautifully in extravagant kimonos and make a living in the "elusive world of flowers and willows". They dance, play traditional instruments, and make sure that their client (if there is one) is entertained by talk or playful but otherwise harmless light flirts. In World War II, the American soldiers were kept company by professional prostitutes (as geisha were broke by the war's toll and went out of business) who called themselves "geisha". This created a misconception that geisha were just pretty little sex dolls. The first geisha were indeed men. In fact, there are still a few geisha out there that are male. I've seen one dance, and hoo boy...I did not think this graceful dancer was a guy. Seriously! He moved so beautifully, I thought he was a girl for having such smooth movements! I've certainly never seen a man with that flexible a body, lol. There are also two different kinds of geisha, apparently. One are the "bath house" geisha, known for their sexual actions with the guests (the misunderstood ones). The other are the ones that work in tea houses...I'm assuming. I would give a better description, but this is getting waaaay too long. Sorry~

ochaya: a Japanese tea house, where the manager often hires geisha to entertain the guests. In these tea houses, the geisha will only dance, play instruments, pour tea, and strike light and casual conversations. Nothing more, nothing less, no matter how temptingly hot the client is (lol) or the amount of pay. The clients are aware of this, and are amused by the illusion that was never meant to be.

koto: a 7, 9, 13, 17, 19, or 21-stringed traditional Japanese instrument. It's very lovely, although I've only known very famous and professional geisha play it in performances. Usually, geisha will be trained diligently to play the shamisen instead, another traditional instrument and just as hard to master. I was stuck in making our chibi Hibarin play the koto (more complicated by easy to get the notes depending on the string number) or shamisen (it's more simple but harder to get the notes), but the koto seems to be some kind of marksmanship that the more experienced geisha play. So, I'm making a point, you see. :)


A/N:

aaaaaaaand i'm pretty sure you are all in your totally awesome "WTF IS THIS I DON'T EVEN-" faces.

because i am a troll, i relish in that.

this is just a test run, to see if AU is accepted by readers out there.

hohoho...

lots of love, Two-Faced Procrastinator.

[POINT OUT THE SENTENCE MISTAKES, NO MATTER HOW SMALL. PLEASE AND THANK YOU.]