All Is Violent, All Is Bright (2/2)
Author: Jusrecht
Characters/Pairing: Dino/Hibari
Warning: Language, mature situations, ANGST, lots of anger, two plotlines at once, which may account for big confusion. Oh, and prepare some vegetables and eggs for the ending. I mean it.
–
13.
Il Ritratto was not a trattoria, despite all outward appearances. It took up a relatively small space in a cul-de-sac, cornered by many other establishments of similar purpose and losing the race, as far as innocent eyes could tell. The patrons were not estranged fathers seeking forgiveness from angry sons for missing an important football game, or mothers and daughters pursuing an awkward concession after a disastrous break-up of marriage. Above the entrance, the small plank heralding its name was not meant to invite, but to dissuade visitors from taking interest with a display of slipshod letters and rusty iron nails burrowing into the wood.
It served steak and pasta and second-class wine. The food was passable, good enough to pass one's throat, bland enough to keep a small frown through the entire bites and forkfuls. The door was open to all and a bartender always greeted new customers with a vague, unsettling smile which indicated that he knew better about something, but those who came to eat never visited the place twice. It carved no memory in their mind, only a small, mediocre restaurant they accidentally stumbled upon in search for a meal. Not good, not bad, neither special nor memorable.
When Hibari walked into the establishment, dark eyes sweeping across dimly lit interior, there were seven other patrons seated behind three different tables. The murmur of conversation quickly softened into a low, curious hum as all eyes glanced at his direction. His footfalls, and the sharp tinkling of glasses exchanging from one large calloused hand to another played the only tunes in the newfound hush.
The bartender, a forty-six-year-old man with gaunt cheeks and receding hairline, smiled his habitual, ambiguous smile. Hibari returned it with an expressionless look, slightly tinged with irritation at the wisps of grey smoke lazily curling up to the ceiling, and slipped into a seat in front of him.
"Any order?" the man asked casually. A Japanese visitor in this part of the town was unusual, although not as rare as it once had been. The last, he still remembered, had been more than four weeks ago, a tall man with a scar on his chin and an easy smile which had provoked deep unease instead of the customary assurance.
The bartender had recognised that man from four weeks ago, as certainly as he knew who this man was. One of his seven patrons, a man with slanted eyes hidden under a brown, shabby fedora and a turned-down mouth tight in unspoken alarm, shared this particular knowledge and by now had abandoned his cigar for the steady comfort of a small, automatic pistol nestled within an inner pocket. Two other had their own guesses, enveloped by thin swath of fear, while the remaining four demonstrated their obliviousness by throwing the foreigner depreciating if curious looks.
"I'm looking for a Japanese man," Hibari said in heavily-accented Italian, fingers interlaced on the wooden counter, "and a Japanese woman."
The bartender rewarded him with a subdued smile. "We do not have them on the menu, signore."
Hibari narrowed his eyes, the twin fangs ready under his arms when the man abruptly turned around and busied himself with bottles and glasses. "But allow me to recommend this." He returned with a filled glass, which he promptly pushed across the counter. Under the gleaming liquid amber was a sealed envelope posing as an innocuous paper napkin. The kanji ame was scribbled on the top-left corner, in fading black ink.
Hibari regarded the small but conspicuous character with faint disapproval. Yamamoto couldn't have left a clearer trace – that was what probably had gotten him in trouble in the first place. He took the envelope, replaced it with a few bills of large sum on the counter, and turned around to leave. Seven pairs of eyes followed his exit with various degree of apprehension until the door swung close behind him.
The bartender cleared out the counter and dumped the untouched glass in the sink. His smile, for once, was fringed with relief.
Well, all in a good day's business.
–
14.
There was something about silence that drew him in. It had begun with a few empty afternoons at the rooftop of Nami High, too much time laid bare and unused in his hands. Sounds had been scarce and muted there, on the crest of Namimori's ground, and it lent a different sort of atmosphere to the place, a few scales above the vigour and liveliness of the school ground. He had stood overlooking his entire city, pale grey buildings flecked by dull red of rooftops and the green dots of trees weaving in between. The magic lay in the little flutters of the wind and the bright glow that fell on Hibird's golden wings, in the thin streams of sunlight breaking between clouds that lingered after a spell of a drizzle.
Hibari remembered all those as he sat on the window sill in his small hotel room, wrapped in this sacred shroud of silence, the kind that only night could fabricate. He remembered the sense of peace – because Namimori in peace was beautiful and she deserved nothing less – and felt a familiar wave of irritation that he should be away from all those.
He tried, however, not to remember one too many interruptions, the moment of calm trampled as the door burst open to admit a constant source of disturbance. He tried not to remember too many details of too many trysts and bold kisses stolen under the threat of a painful death.
It had been years ago. He should have forgotten.
The recollection pulled his face into a frown and Hibari shifted his gaze from the window to his right-hand man. Kusakabe, seated behind the only desk in the small hotel room, had his whole attention poured on Yamamoto's short letter. He worked quietly, having learnt and understood the use of silence well in front of Hibari's scowls and threats – and he had been working long enough.
"There must be at least ten layers of cipher in that," he said, his dry voice cutting into the silence.
Kusakabe lifted his face, his strong, chiselled features illuminated by the dim yellow light from the desk lamp. He didn't look offended – instead there was a hint of amusement he couldn't quite cover. "Twelve, so far, Boss. Yamamoto Takeshi was being exceedingly careful."
Hibari snorted. "Morbidly, perhaps."
"Maybe he felt it was necessary," Kusakabe reasoned, casual but tentative. Hibari frowned, looking down at his hands, coiled loosely on his lap, and the purple stone that stood stark against the pale of his ring finger.
"That bartender in Il Ritratto," he murmured to no one in particular, "he knew who I was."
"It wasn't unexpected, wasn't it?" Kusakabe sounded, if anything, slightly bewildered. "After all, Sawada Tsunayoshi will rule Vongola one day."
"There was a chance that he recognised Yamamoto too," Hibari said impatiently. His temper was always ready to be provoked when his second couldn't keep up with his line of thinking, and Kusakabe, having suffered the brunt of this particular displeasure more than he really cared to, was quick on the uptake.
"Do you want to go back there and ask him again?"
"We'll see what it has to say first."
Kusakabe picked up the hint and returned to the letter at hand. In hindsight, Hibari reflected, there was no proof if the message had indeed been written by Yamamoto and not, in fact, a scheme intended to mislead him. Everyone of consequence in the mafia world knew about the six guardians of Sawada Tsunayoshi, and Yamamoto went everywhere with his katana strapped on his back – a dead giveaway if there was one.
For a moment, he entertained the thought that the worst had happened and both Yamamoto and Chrome had been, somehow, disposed of. The fact that he couldn't quite imagine it happening troubled him more than the thought itself. Hibari wasn't sure since when his opinion of them, and the rest of Sawada's gang for that matter, had shifted from utter distaste to grudging acceptance. It didn't seem to be that long time ago since he had tossed Gokudera and Yamamoto out of the window of the council room.
"I don't understand," Kusakabe suddenly spoke, his usually solemn voice betraying confusion. His eyes caught Hibari's, left hand holding the letter and the other his palmtop. "It says only one word, Kyou-san. Sotsugyou. Graduation. What does that mean?"
A riddle even under all those ciphers. He couldn't decide if Yamamoto was smart or stupid, but luck had favoured him this once. The puzzle played one other role than that of a final safety measure. It dispelled any possible suspicion of traps because only Sawada and his guardians – and Dino Cavallone – knew how to interpret the word.
"It means he was alive."
"Yamamoto?" Kusakabe sounded cautious more than surprised.
"Yamamoto," he acknowledged, his voice neutral. "And I know where to look for him."
The pale round moon seemed to be frowning down at him, but there was nothing to add. Hibari distanced himself the window, away from its contempt.
"We leave tomorrow morning."
It was best to leave the uncertain in the dark.
–
15.
"What are you doing up here?"
Hibari felt the corner of his eyes twitch. He should be the one who asked the question, seeing that Cavallone was trespassing his domain, but of course Dino had long since ignored the existence of such boundaries, that bastard of an herbivore. He came and went as he pleased, always ready with a pretext whenever confronted, and now he was squatting next to him with two paces to spare in case Hibari decided to get violent.
"It's your graduation ceremony, Kyouya." His tone was serious but not accusing. "I thought you loved your school. Don't you want to say goodbye?"
"Get lost."
Dino grinned, deliberately walking into the half-hearted trap. "Not to me, I'm obviously not the receiver of your unconditional love and devotion." He paused, tilting his head, and Hibari who had cracked open an eye frowned at the way his hair cheerfully glinted off sunlight. He hated that colour – it did not fit in here, on the rooftop of his school, on all the green trails of Namimori.
"Well, you don't want to attend your ceremony and I'm already here." Dino tapped a finger on his chin, the other hand on his thigh, never straying far from the handle of his whip. "You fancy a spar?"
Hibari deigned him a sneer. "If you fancy getting your ass kicked."
"I wonder," he smiled again and then segued into another topic without so much as a warning or anything that remotely resembled a conjunction. "I'm going back to Rome in three days. Come with me, Kyouya."
"No."
"It's going to be great," Dino continued blithely, all soaring hopes and bright prospect, as if he hadn't noticed the acerbic reply. "New experiences, Kyouya. You can't bury yourself forever in Namimori."
"None of your business."
"We'll meet interesting people." The encouragement persisted without end on sight. Hibari's hands moved to grip his tonfa, and Dino was toying with the leather of his own weapon. "Strong people. Dangerous people. We'll meet many of them, and you can help me kicking their ass."
His morning was ruined, Hibari decided sullenly. He could hear the students singing Namimori anthem in the school gym, deep, powerful, discordant, nothing like Hibird's clear-cut twittering, and slowly rose to his feet. "You ask for it, Cavallone, so now I'll bite you to death."
"I would already be dead by now if you really meant it." Dino's smile was warm, innocent, but the taunt went home and Hibari launched his opening attack, narrowly missing a grinning face.
"Still irascible," Dino sighed, but his posture was wary and his whip was stretched between two hands. "We need to work on that temper of yours, Kyouya. So there, the prime reason why you must come with me."
Hibari smirked then, and Dino paled a little – no doubt, he knew what it meant. They jumped apart and what soon ensued was the bloodiest, ugliest, most gruesome battle – it was nowhere near the level of a spar anymore – to ever grace the record of their fighting history.
By the end of the day, Hibari made sure that he had left enough memory of pain on Cavallone's body to last a lifetime. The fact that he was sporting no less cuts and bruises that hurt like hell was easily ignored – although it mostly had to do with the fact that he had passed out before reaching the stairs.
At least it was a memorable goodbye to his school. Somewhat.
–
16.
"No."
"Tetsu."
"No, Kyou-san." Kusakabe was vehement in his refusal, a little hint of panic buried deep in the boom of his voice. "You cannot ask me to leave you alone."
Hibari looked at him, a contemptuous smile ghosting over his lips, and said dryly, "I wasn't asking."
Sawada had contacted him nine times in total, sounding increasingly calmer with each phone call, deadlier as he politely asked for any information, a few words at least, not even a proper report, because he really couldn't, wouldn't allow another of his guardians to disappear. Hibari had received the first three and ignored the subsequent four before finally picking up the eight only to order the Vongola Tenth to shut up and leave him the fuck alone.
It had been obeyed – for five short hours, and then Sawada had called him again and demanded for a hint, a will if you please, in case, in case the worst happened and what then? Irritated, Hibari had turned off his cell phone but eventually decided to send Kusakabe back. A secure line was only so much secure and he wouldn't risk the information, disguised as it was in a riddle.
Kusakabe, on the other hand, would die first before one word of it could slip past his lips.
"What do you want me to do?" he asked after a prolonged pause, defeated.
Hibari turned toward the window, hills rising beyond the glass, overrun by dark-green leaves on lofty trees. They had gone from dilapidated hotels, to country inns, to a night under the stars on spread-out blankets, far too many times that he couldn't even remember how many days had passed. "Tell Sawada about Yamamoto's message," he said, "and to stop bothering me."
"This 'graduation'," Kusakabe sounded like he had suddenly caught a terrible cold. "He'll know what it means?"
"If he uses his head."
The other man said nothing further until he left. Hibari took a deep breath, adjusting himself to the slight, crippled feeling that surfaced in Kusakabe's empty place, and was vaguely annoyed to find that it was reminding him to Cavallone. His fingers clamped down on the windowsill, like an anchor.
When he set out for the place which name was buried deep in ciphers and riddles and trenches of memories, the sun had gone hiding behind grey strips of clouds.
–
17.
The last time he had fallen into a trap was years ago, when Dino, teaming up with Reborn, had managed to extract a promise from him to go to Italy through underhanded means.
Hibari hadn't forgotten that particular offense. The fact that Sawada and his happy little family had tagged along added a fistful of salt to the wound. In a violent fit of retaliation, he had spent the entire flight and the first two days in Rome burning a living hell for Dino and everyone else in his immediate vicinity.
(And Cavallone, pretending to be more stupid than he had ever been, had always returned for more punishment and severe beatings until Hibari tolerated his presence in the same room for more than two seconds without trying to erase it completely.)
Suffice to say, he never liked traps – they were like spiders, skirting around the edges, weaving, waiting, slinking carefully to spring at an unguarded moment, they smelled of degraded cunning and reminded him too much of Mukuro. Most of the times, he would notice them quick enough to avoid running headlong into any, but the very few times he didn't, there was usually a big price to follow.
The air was damp and cold with mist. He pressed his back against a tree, eyes sweeping over dense formations of trees and patches of murky grey loosely weaved in between. In an hour, the sun would set and the mist would engulf him and his pursuers. He could still hear them, words murmured and unravelled by distance, footsteps approaching and then receding just as quickly. They were hunting him down – this much he had gathered since his encounter with the first group, and a passing glance had told him everything he needed to know.
Dormiglione. And Redentore. Working together.
He didn't want to think about Dino, but the memories pursued him with vengeance in each of its steps. Under his shoes, wet soil was littered with dead leaves, some dry and crisp, others damp and heavy as they bowed to condensed mist and lingering dews. The sounds had almost completely disappeared now, leaving the trees wrapped in an eerie glow of combined dusk and silence. He stared at the mist, thinking of death, cold air in his lungs.
And then he saw it, a striking blue that slashed the air, quick and abrupt, like a bolt of lightning that didn't end on the horizon. His feet had moved, running after it before his mind issued the order. The forest parted before him, gaps widening into a tangled web of paths, but the blue glow was faster. It disappeared behind trees, leaving a faint smoky trail that melted into the mist just as quickly.
By then, his ears had picked up the commotion, just a few paces ahead. He approached the small clearing, tonfa in hand, and breathed out at the sight of one man surrounded by almost twenty others.
Two fired, the shots robbed the forest of what little silence remaining in its bowels, but Yamamoto looked up at him and grinned.
–
18.
"This isn't the place."
"No," came the submissive reply. It was almost dark inside the hut, but Yamamoto moved around deftly, checking every corner of the room. And then he sat down on the cold stone floor, cross-legged, katana on his lap as he began to clean the blade with a thick piece of black fabric. "Just an abandoned house I'm temporarily using. Better than sleeping outside in all that mist and rain. Sit down, please." He looked at Hibari, an easy grin sliding into place. "A good thing you found me today. I'm going back to the hideout tomorrow morning."
Hibari didn't take up the offer. "You didn't contact Sawada," he said instead, not moving away from the closed door.
Guilt leapt into Yamamoto's eyes and his grin faltered slightly. "I didn't," he admitted. Honesty came to him like a second nature, well-practised, honourable, cultured.
"He was like a madman losing his limbs one by one."
Yamamoto returned to his ritual, the movement of his hand slow and precise. "I suspect as much, but I can't make any contact." His eyes avoided Hibari's, taking refuge in the recovered glint of his blade. "Communication devices don't work in here. They put a barrier field around the area and it interferes with radio waves. Not to mention the constant rain and mist."
Hibari snorted. "It's your doing."
Yamamoto's smile returned, a modest effort. "And Chrome's, but the weather definitely helps."
They lapsed into silence, familiar and somehow not. Neither of them disliked silence, but the untouched subject hung like a third presence in the small house, sprinkling enough pressure to make it excruciating. He breathed in, and then out, finding the necessary distraction in regulating his breathing. Yamamoto would have to yield eventually. There were only so many ways a sword could glint and shine.
"I met him."
Hibari glanced up sharply. Yamamoto was looking at him, his gaze cool and unwary, perhaps only slightly curious. "Three weeks ago, before we parted ways," he added. "He was injured, but nothing too serious as far as I could see."
"You're helping him."
"Order from the boss," Yamamoto answered with a shrug, his hand resting on the hilt of his katana. "It's the right thing to do anyway. Cavallone is an allied Family."
Who don't know how to take care of themselves, Hibari wanted to add nastily. He would have, if not for the lump swelling in his throat, as his fingers clawed into the wood of the door.
–
19.
What Yamamoto was doing, Hibari concluded the next morning, was playing mailman.
"It's called setting up communication," Yamamoto corrected him with a laugh that oddly didn't sound out of place in the daybreak's gloom. He let Hibari hold the umbrella while he tinkered with his box and made use of his Rain swallows.
"They allow us to keep in touch with two other emergency hideouts in the area," he explained. "But they can't go too far out of range alone, so I have to come here at least twice a week to deliver and retrieve messages."
A swallow flew past swiftly, lightly touching the tip of Yamamoto's fingers before it disappeared into the box, leaving only a thin strip of white cloth between his index and middle finger and a scent stronger than the rain. "White means the message is received. Good." He slipped it into the pocket of his shirt and smiled at his companion. "Come to think of it, your bird will be able to do a better job. Where is he?"
Hibari informed him loftily that Hibird was above such herbivorous purposes and earned himself another laugh. "Well, there isn't much time left anyway. We're planning to strike back in a few days, or at least get Dino-san out of here before things get worse. This sort of guerrilla war can only hold them off for so long. Besides, it's easier to retaliate from the outside, and I imagine Tsuna also has a word or two to say to Redentore."
"He knew about this."
"Maybe," Yamamoto's tone was laidback, noncommittal, and Hibari wondered just how much Sawada was actually keeping from him. "He didn't say anything for sure, just speculations."
The last of the Rain swallows made its flight safely home and Yamamoto snapped the box shut. "I guess that's it for today." He pried the umbrella from Hibari's white-knuckled grasp, smiling even with the cold air biting into his cheeks. "We have six hours of hiking ahead. I don't know if you're up for it but–"
Hibari's tonfa almost bashed his face.
–
20.
The memory was ages old. It probably should have been lost, ground into silvery dust along with days spent in woods and mountains and beaches, trying to beat the crap out of his self-proclaimed tutor. But he still saw the smile behind his eyelids, sharp and clear in focused precision as if untouched by the clock's forlorn ticks, seconds passing away to eternity.
Dino had many smiles. This particular one was reserved only for his 'little brother' and he wore it proudly, a badge on the curve of his lips. The corner of Hibari's left eye twitched when the noisy group clustering at the riverbanks started to bicker over how to build a fire to grill the fish Sasagawa had caught. He turned around, stalking past black-suited shadows blending into the gloom of the forest before his patience could disappear entirely.
"Wait, Kyouya, wait." Dino was suddenly at his side, hand firm on his shoulder. "I want to show you something."
He was dragged by one arm, following an animal trail deep into the forest. Romario was tailing them from a respectable distance, always careful, always silent, always there. It was an art, what the man was doing, balanced and perfected over the years. It struck Hibari as an odd sort of strength, being strong for the sake of dependency – so he could depend on Dino to lead the entire family, so Dino could depend on him.
"It isn't far. We're almost there."
Dino was now holding his hand. Annoyed, Hibari shook it off, earning himself a bright grin in return of his glare.
"I don't want you to get lost," Dino explained innocently.
"Walk, or I'll leave."
"So impatient." Dino clicked his tongue but the warning was dutifully noted. "It should be somewhere around here, if memory serves me right. Has been months since I last– there it is, the entrance."
It was a rusty iron gate, leaning sideways into the sloping ground and painted in an unobtrusive shade of green. There were chains – new chains – secured around the handgrips, forbidding entry. Dino fiddled with the lock for a moment and then pulled it open.
"It's an abandoned military facility," he explained, proud as if he was the owner of the place. "Remnants of the war. I discovered it by accident around a year ago. Come in, Kyouya."
Maybe he was now. Hibari ignored the offered hand and stepped in, blinking his eyes in the welcoming darkness. Dino stayed close, guiding with voice and lost distance even with both his hands shoved into his pockets. Hibari didn't listen to his words, focusing instead on the rising and falling of his timbre as their feet brought them deeper, into long, dark tunnels that assembled a labyrinth underground.
"...we didn't come often to this area – no one does, actually – so maybe it was fate. And then I asked Romario to hack into the army's files and see if–"
"What," Hibari cut him off, "are we doing here."
"Oh, Kyouya, you're no fun." There was a hand ruffling his hair affectionately. Hibari turned around to bite that hand off, only to miss it by a fraction of a second. Dino was standing under a shaft of light from an opening on the roof, laughing with the confidence of a man who could have those little touches from Hibari Kyouya without losing a finger, an eye, or some other body part. "So what do you think? Isn't it awesome? I'm thinking about turning this place into a secret base."
"And you brought me here," Hibari deadpanned, not amused. Cavallone's logic failed him, as always.
"One of many reasons, yeah." Dino grinned, scratching the back of his head and looking a few years younger than he was supposed to. "You didn't look like you're enjoying yourself."
A scowl. "I wasn't."
The grin fell, and then softened into an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry I didn't know," he said, his fingers gently touching Hibari's hair, brushing the side of his face. "I thought a field trip would be fun, and this part of the forest is always so beauti–"
"Stop touching me." Hibari slapped the hand away, his muscles tense like a cord after being hammered too long. Dino had the decency to actually look surprised for a moment, his hand hovering in the space between them, rejected, uncertain.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, softer, fingers fisting at his side. He looked calm, defeated.
Hibari shot him a disdainful look. "If you apologise one more time–"
"Then allow me to make amends in some other way?" Dino interrupted, like a sudden burst of firework across the unsuspecting night. He leant in, close enough for Hibari to see the dark gold of his eyes. "What do you want for your birthday next week, Kyouya?"
Tension still sizzled in the air but he was ignoring it, much like how a passerby ignored a dead body in the middle the street – eyes ahead, kept walking, the world hadn't toppled off of its axis just because someone dropped dead. There was certain pragmatism in his manner that caught Hibari off guard – and the moment's lapse irritated him.
"I hate you."
"I know." Dino smiled, not even batting an eye. The moment passed, but there had never been never any accidental or deliberate touch again, since then.
Hibari Kyouya never noticed these things – except he did, now.
–
21.
"Kyouya."
Romario had the voice of a quiet old man who spent much of his time sitting in front of the fire thinking and smoking a pipe. When he spoke his name, it was without the eagerness and the delicate layers of passion Dino held within, only letters and a word, a line on a book.
"You're still alive." Hibari smirked by way of greeting. Romario stood at the base of the stairs, a guardian statue that donned a black suit and came to life.
"This old man won't die anytime soon," he said, as easily as shadow eased under his feet, "as long as Boss still has some use of him."
Hibari turned away, combing rain out of his hair with fingers stiff from the cold. He was half-expecting to see someone with a face so familiar, so intimate now in the deep of his mind that his hands itched to claw at that face and destroy it so he wouldn't have to see it – ever, again.
"He's not here," Romario said, without accusation or inflection in his voice, only the knowing glint in his eyes. "He's at another hideout with Miss Chrome and a few others right now, preparing for the attack."
"We're planning to strike back in a few days, so Romario is stuck here with sentry duty," Yamamoto explained with a laugh, striding between them, into winding corridors illuminated by pale, washed-out light. Hibari followed with slower pace, the fight not gone from his muscles.
"Your family is ripped to shreds."
It brought him certain morbid satisfaction to fling the words out of his mouth – your mouth, Kyouya, why do you use it to hurt people so much? – and to see tension suddenly weighing down Romario's shoulders. Yamamoto's steps faltered as he glanced back, wary and sharp.
"The circumstances are difficult," Romario spoke calmly, a diplomatic answer. Hibari, despising the use of such tactics almost as much as cowardice and having no qualms to let his sentiments known, made a disgusted snort, the sound curt, arrogant. It earned him a small, wry smile.
"We had to put Boss to sleep first before making our retreat here." A crumpled pack of cigarette was dug out from a back pocket. Romario's fingers were steady, even as he admitted his grave sin of disobedience – not to Cavallone, perhaps never to Cavallone, only to one person. "The outlook wasn't good," he continued, lighter in another hand. "The surprise attack really caught us unprepared, but he wouldn't hear of it. Well, certain measures must be taken to keep our priorities straight."
Hibari smiled, depreciating. "How convenient."
"You don't understand." Romario was looking at him, quiet passion spinning to life, not unlike the black fire one called anger. "We cannot lose him. It's out of the question."
"Of course it is," Yamamoto murmured, steel in his voice. Loyalty was the sword that hung on his back, the blue flame that burst from his ring. "A boss isn't just a boss."
"Yes, and it was especially true in this case," Romario nodded, Yamamoto's conviction propelling him into words. "The Ninth, the Cavallone Ninth was a good man with a kind heart. But he was also clueless in nature and much too trusting. There was nothing he could do about the family's condition, which had gone downhill for a few generations. Still, he was our boss, and when he died..."
He paused, a vaguely pained look shadowing the wrinkles that marked the passage of time on his face. His pace slowed and he took a long drag from his cigarette before continuing, "Things changed. It was difficult, unimaginable to put your trust on a seventeen-year-old boy who couldn't even walk without tripping. But there are people who can work miracles." Another pause, quieter, more reverent. "The men would die for him."
Only herbivores, Hibari wanted to say, succumbed to that line of thinking. But the air was thick here, ripe with memories that twisted his stomach and ghosted over his consciousness. He rebelled against them by retorting, "Many did."
They had stopped in front of a heavy door and Yamamoto punched in a line of codes, revealing a room bathed in darkness and cold, stagnant air. He strode in, seemingly unconcerned, but they remained outside. Romario did not smile or frown, even as the news sank in. "The Cavallone Family will not crumble only because of this," he said instead, firm like a rock, faith unshaken. "Our strength does not lie solely in number. We'll come back stronger than ever and our revenge will be swift, severe as it should be."
"I'm afraid," Yamamoto's voice suddenly carried from inside the room, laden with tension, "we have a bit of a problem."
The lamp had been lit inside, playing many tricks in distorted shapes of wispy white ghosts as mist swirled about the room, filling every corner. Yamamoto's face was a blur in the thick of it.
"They are in danger."
–
22.
Dusk was creeping in when he finally found the place, the rain long since subdued into a light drizzle, and then brimming silence. The smell of blood was strong in his nose, and amidst bodies that littered the ground, lay a fallen trident, silver sharp tainted with blood. Here, there was no mist to use against or hide within, the illusionist presumably wounded or worse.
Ice set deep in his guts, worse than before, worse than the chill of damp clothes clinging to his skin. There was enough cold in him to deter even fire. Hibari cast a glance around, searching – not for anything in particular, just searching – and found nothing.
He took a deep breath.
The movement caught his eyes, quicker than the sound tearing a path through silence to reach his ears. He dodged the gunshot just in time, rage leaping to life, now roaring inside him as he flickered into blurs and bursting flames. One man, two, three, four, they had all been watching him and he hadn't noticed. Not a single one.
Anger thawed the ice, slowly, painfully – he almost felt like he could breathe again. Five, six, seven. Twelve. Fourteen.
"Hibari!"
Yamamoto's voice distracted him, a moment's lapse. His feet paused, tonfa firmly gripped but purposeless, and another black-suited man aligned the muzzle of his gun, firing in quick succession. He stepped out of the range, the will to punish humming in his veins, but Yamamoto was faster. His sword hissed, the wind ruptured and slashed – fifteen.
"That was close."
"Because you showed up."
Yamamoto's smile was a smooth, opaque mask that shielded him from reality. It was there on his face as he looked around, seeing but not seeing, katana still poised. Neither of them noticed the sixteenth, lying half-dead in his own pool of blood amidst fallen comrades, hand trembling but aim correct.
His finger rested on the trigger, lips curving into a smile. Vongola's Guardians–
The gun never fired its round. Hibari heard his name – his first name – trembling above a sharp, cracking sound, and he whirled around. Seconds were split into moments, strength leaving his arms as dusk's shadowy half-light cascaded over gold, down to a familiar face and a long stretch of black whip from two bandaged hands.
And then it returned with renewed vengeance, a painful rush in his chest. He snarled, disabling the prone man with a kick to the head, and went for the real kill.
–
23.
His nineteenth birthday was a messy affair, a combination of Dino's ludicrous ideas, the Cavallone Family's seemingly endless supply of fund, and everyone else's lack of inhibition. He had threatened and discouraged everyone with a glower and a glint of tonfa since the day before, one person in particular, who only smiled and kept a safe distance after wishing him the happiest birthday early in the morning.
They laid a trap at dinner, from Sawada to the lowliest minions in the Cavallone hierarchy. There was safety in numbers, they believed, fortified by ribbons, banners, and a giant cake that reigned over one end of the party table.
Unfortunately, Hibari Kyouya did not belong with clichéd idioms. That night, he forwent dinner and lurked the streets of Milan, Hibird a soaring company above him amidst glowing pale light. The anonymity didn't quite make him feel like a victor, and he spent most of the evening leaning back to the window of a closed florist, listening to a blind street performer building notes from riff to riff with his violin. Audience came and went, coins trickling into a tin cup, and the violinist smiled unseeing as his bow sang an overture to another, another, and then another song.
Only after the night's chill had set in and the instrument had slipped into the velvet-lined case of a well-worn box, that Hibari realised he had brought nothing with him. The violinist departed with quiet, careful footsteps, a walking stick in hand, and disappeared beyond a grey arc of bridge.
Hibird settled on his left shoulder as he walked back to the Cavallone mansion, softly repeating a melody he had just learned. Hibari listened, following the ballad halfway until it made a sharp turn into another song in his mind. More cheerful. More festive.
A birthday's.
His stomach ached from lack of food, which must also account for the slight tremor of his fingers as he pulled his jacket closer around his frame. He began the song faintly, just a hum, enough to pique Hibird's interest. The night, vast and starless above, swallowed his voice within its inborn hush, indifferent, merciless, until the last few words frayed, disappeared.
'Happy birthday, Kyouya, happy birthday~'
His lips twisted, not quite a smile, as Hibird undauntedly picked up the teetering song. His chirps were shrill, but not unpleasant, and they distracted him from the gaping hollow in his chest – stubbornness, stupidity, it took him a strange, entirely unfamiliar city to consider loneliness a threat. The emotions and laughter in discordant voices, white noise swirling about him. And then the inscrutable words, despite the number of times he had heard Dino addressing his subordinates in their mother tongue.
Pitiful, he thought, and pathetic.
"Kyouya!"
Hibird stopped singing and welcomed the interruption with inarticulate twitters instead. Black shadows were the first familiar hint to catch Hibari's eyes, followed by the centre of them all, the life and breath of the Cavallone Family, scouring the streets at night without any heed of the risks – all for what, he wanted to ask, all for what.
"I thought I'd never find you." Dino was panting, more from anxiety than genuine exertion. His hands were empty, fingers coiled, and then uncoiled, wanting to touch except for a warning that still echoed in the space between them. Hibari noticed and looked away.
"I won't get lost," he growled, aggression a spontaneous presence, but his voice held none of its usual spite. Dino smiled, as if he knew, somehow.
"That's good," he said, his voice warm, his presence real, and then offered a hand. "Let's go home now, Kyouya. You must be tired."
He gave it a cursory glance, quiet, emotionless. One day, that hand would no longer be there to offer its service. One day Dino would no longer look for him when he decided to disappear. One day, one day...
Hibari decided that he didn't care.
–
24.
The only reason why Cavallone was still alive was Yamamoto – quick, conveniently placed, and very much aware of Hibari's homicidal intention. Still, he would have been able to deal with the Rain Guardian and carry out the murder swiftly, if not for Romario's inopportune arrival.
This seemed to be what everyone believed. Hibari did not disagree – he still found his fingers straying to the handle of his tonfa every few minutes or so – and his rage did not cool down. It was a tall, roaring, angry fire, inextinguishable even after some hours of walking in the woods. Alone. The quietness only provoked him, lent ideas to his mind to make war among themselves. He returned cold and shivering and still very much irritable that even Yamamoto kept his undying cheerfulness in check.
"Where is he?"
"One of the bedrooms." Yamamoto's face was half shadowed in the stifling hallway, his voice calm. "In the back."
He stalked toward the indicated direction, past a few bewildered Cavallone men, and found doors closely huddled together. Chrome lay unconscious beyond the first one, the sickly pallor latching onto her skin a reminder to something much worse. Hibari left her and moved on to the next – empty. The last door stood defiantly, as if challenging him, and he found some satisfaction in kicking it open, surprising the occupant of the room.
"Kyouya?"
He slammed the door shut, the sound echoing sharply off four corners of the walls. His narrowed eyes watched as Dino jumped to a sitting position on the bed, wisps of half-sleep robbing him of his usual leonine grace.
"You're back," he said, blinking, as if it was somehow normal, this whole situation. Hibari felt his fury returning full force.
"I hate you," he snarled – and meant every word. He would let his tonfa speak the rest of his ire, if not for the shadows of fatigue on his victim's face – death, leaving footprints on its wake.
"Kyouya, please," Dino was imploring, hands raised defensively in front of his chest. "I can't fight you right now. Unless you want to fight a half-dead man who has no strength to defend himself."
Hibari scowled, but his tonfa slipped back under his sleeves. His steps were heavy, near tentative as he moved towards the bed. "Your hands," he demanded, brusque, hostile.
"Ah." Weak relief flooded Dino's face, smothered a little by embarrassment much too familiar to register fully. "This one was shot." He indicated his left hand, the bandage new, pristine, white – and then the other. "This one has a fractured bone because I hit someone's head too hard. They're both now almost completely healed though."
"Weakling," Hibari snapped, fingers twitching in their own grasp. "Herbivore."
"I'm sorry." Dino smiled, still smiling when Hibari covered his lips with his, abrupt, careless, decisive in a way that made desperation seemed like a joke. He fell, pinned onto the bed, his mouth thoroughly ravaged by tongue and teeth alike. Gentleness did not become Hibari, even – especially – to an injured man. Dino was left gasping when it ended, eyes glazed, a new, loving sheen replacing that of drowsiness.
"Did Tsuna send you here?" he asked, fingers threading wet hair as black as night, soaking the bandage.
Hibari's eyes darkened and he latched his teeth on Dino' collarbone. "I," he growled, punctuating each word with a sharp bite, "follow no one's order."
Dino hummed, content, all too trusting. He was weak, defenceless, and he was braving meetings with him like this, as if Hibari Kyouya were not a force to be reckoned with, as if Hibari Kyouya were not as dangerous as whispers of dark tales in the mafia underworld made him to be. It made him want to maim, maul, kill, just to show the insufferable idiot that he could.
"You're a fool," he hissed, his hands moving along hard angles and jutting bones, nails scratching across naked skin. Hibari decided that he loathed to relinquish this – this right to touch Cavallone's boss, everything, everything that belonged to him – even to the omnipotent death. It wasn't about chains. It was about rights, and perhaps, to a greater extent, pride.
"Take your clothes off, Kyouya," Dino said instead, considerate and oblivious at once. "They're wet. You'll catch a cold at this rate."
Hibari kissed him again to shut him up. He didn't want to hear orders, questions, words, just moans. Most of the times, pain worked marvels to the vocal chords – pleasure, not so much, but it might if given unasked.
"I'm going to fuck you."
Dino's eyes snapped open, surprised, the words much too powerful, slow to sink in. And then he laughed, the sound rich, majestic in its all hoarse, broken glory. "I'm all yours, my beautiful skylark," he said and made it seem less like a surrender – an offer instead, and Hibari wanted to hurt him for it. Everything, he just had to take everything...
"I hate you," he said again, and still meant every word. Dino stopped laughing, his eyes subdued, his hands still warm on Hibari's hips.
"I'm all yours," he repeated – and also meant every word. Hibari snarled, feral, bitter, fingers digging deep enough to bruise. But Dino's arms were tight around his body, holding him like an anchor with each thrust, even when he growled, over and over again, I'm going to kill you, I'm the one who will kill you, you fucking bastard, you have no right to die.
"I know," he heard Dino whisper, voice thick amidst quiet gasps slipping past his swollen lips. "I know. I'm sorry."
–
25.
"Teach me Italian."
Dino's first response was a chuckle, far closer than he was supposed to. "Kyouya, you're drunk," he pointed out gently. "Sleep it off and ask me again tomorrow, if you still want it."
Hibari grunted something unintelligible. He felt the blanket pulled over his body, and a hand combing his hair, but the lethargy which had settled in his muscles was unusual, extraordinary enough to keep him under its spell. He wondered if it was the drink – too many names, but they were all alcoholic, Dino's compliments after they had taken their share of the party's leftovers for dinner.
"I would have offered you none," Dino said again, this time with a penitent sigh, "if I had known about your low tolerance."
"Still your fault," Hibari declared, or at least tried to, for it came out all thick and garbled. Dino laughed, suddenly even closer.
"Buona notte," his voice was soft, a whisper in his ears, "e sogni d'oro, amore mio."
He didn't quite catch the words, didn't see the warm affection in Dino's eyes, and didn't heed the light kiss on his temple. But the warmth lingered, still a cradle around his body even after he had left – like a friend, a lover.
Came morning, he wake up cold, with head pounding, and very much alone.
–
26.
The rain had been constant company since morning. Yamamoto found little trouble to adjust, but the others were edgy, caught in the stitches of murk and relentless, drumming sound on the earth above their head.
Tomorrow would decide whether they lived or died.
Romario's voice was sombre as he reiterated the plan, for the fourth time that afternoon. Cavallone's men listened, terrified under the cloaked fate looming over them, or just weary, wishing the night to come quickly so they could get this done and over with. Dino sat on one of the few chairs in the room, his calmness their foothold, their scaffolding, everything that defined order in the crumbling family.
"3 A.M.," Romario repeated, possibly for the hundredth time. Hibari was on the verge of incapacitating him for the sake of not listening to this monotony ever again, when Dino interrupted, tapping a finger on the table.
"You worry too much, Romario," he chided. The raw strength in his voice was not a child of this moment, this place, this ordeal, but a source so innate within him that no tribulation could remove. Some of the men breathed out, tension dissipating from their muscles, and two even braved a feeble smile.
Romario's face was carefully blank – he was probably the only one who knew how Dino had won that buried fountain. "As long as you're sure, Boss."
"Of course I'm sure." His grin was like lightning, quick and sharp, enough to stir up courage in his audience. "Remember, I'm the man who led the family away from ruin. We won't fall only because of this."
Hibari had been listening, more and more sickened by each word, by the arrogant display of confidence. This man had the pale shadow of death under his eyes and he dared to speak of survival. It made his blood sing, his predator instinct hum, and his fingers itch to destroy.
"You're also the man who almost brought it down with your stupidity."
Heads snapped to his direction. The air hung thick and heavy in the cocoon of silence as they watched, waited. Dino actually had looked surprised for a moment – and perhaps there was a smidgen of hurt haunting the look in his eyes, Hibari didn't care to notice – before his expression smoothed over once more, polite in its indifference. "Yes," he said, his eyes hooded, tone aloof, smile no longer smiling. "You're absolutely right, Kyouya. But one learns from one's mistake. One does not wallow in it, no matter how grievous, and that, I believe, is my responsibility to my family."
"Of course, Dino-san." Yamamoto was quick to intervene, the arc of his back firm, challenging, his smiles all the same and uniform whether in caution or defiance. Hibari looked past his shoulders, at Dino's expressionless face.
He didn't linger in the room.
–
27.
On their third day in Verona, Dino insisted to show him around – the abode of Romeo and Juliet, as he persistently called it. Only the two of them, with a few of his bodyguards of course, since Tsuna and the rest were quite happy to amuse themselves for a day.
It wasn't unpleasant, Hibari grudgingly admitted. Verona was a beautiful city in its own right, and the presence of black-suited men trailing their steps helped to keep others away. Dino was exuberant, oblivious to the fearful, often hostile looks aimed at their entourage – or perhaps, simply used to them. His words were waterfalls of explanations, indefatigable even before Hibari's wall of silence, and Hibari couldn't help but wonder, if a bit wryly, why a mafia boss would bother to store this much of useless information in the limited space of his head.
He only touched him once, when a whirlwind of movements blurred around them in the middle of a crowded promenade. He found himself surrounded, Dino's left arm around his slighter frame, the other hand poised on his whip.
False alarm, Dino said afterward with an apologetic smile – it happened a lot, especially in public places. The crowd had dispersed, driven away by brandished guns and murderous aura too intense even to the most clueless. The earlier display of protectiveness struck a wrong cord in him and Dino's fingers left marks on his arm, burning under the sleeves of his shirt. Hibari ignored it as they retreated from the area, avoiding the polizie who always arrived a little late as a matter of formality.
"We still have some time before dinner," Dino said as they strolled along the edge of Piazza della Erbe, the darkening blue sky streaked with red and orange. His bodyguards were shadows on the periphery, still keeping vigil. "Why don't you want to see Juliet's balcony?"
"She committed suicide," Hibari said contemptuously, "for a husband who also committed suicide."
A faint, affectionate smile curled at the corner of Dino's lips. "No, Kyouya, it wasn't for her husband," he corrected, his tone indulging, with a twist of deference on the subject. "It was for love. Love makes you do things, and more often than not, they are stupid."
Hibari snorted in distaste. "It's an excuse."
"Maybe," he conceded. "But then again, what is life without a little romance?"
"Sanity."
"A barren desert." Dino retaliated with a dramatic sigh. "A life without life itself, too dreadful even to think about."
It was the sigh – or maybe it was the polenta he had eaten after lunch – that made him push Dino into an alleyway, pressed him up to the wall, and kissed him hard enough to rip a moan from his throat. There were hasty footsteps, always alert, always ready to be alarmed, followed by a tactful retreat, equally swift in execution. Hibari smirked and bit down, earning a surprised gasp.
Dino's eyes were glazed when he pulled back, lower lip tinged with red – a vulgar colour, but not unbecoming. "You are so unfair, Kyouya," he said, complained, frustration thick between tender folds of amusement in his eyes. "Everything has to abide by your rules?"
"Take it or leave it," Hibari growled, knee trailing up the inside of Dino's thigh. The arms around his body were like iron clamps, but Dino laughed.
"I doubt I have any other choice," he admitted and now he was kissing Hibari, submitting his fate to a lifetime of worship, perverse and cruel and insufferably unjust. Because Hibari Kyouya was a selfish, vengeful god. There was no payment he would condescend to accept but that of pride and freedom, blood at its thickest.
One man, a fool, laid them all at his feet.
–
28.
"That," Dino snapped, "was uncalled-for."
The silence that flourished after the door was slammed shut behind his angry footsteps was ringing in their ears. Hibari regarded him coolly, eyes dark, a faint sneer on his lips. "I wonder."
"You were undermining my authority in front of my own family." Dino in rage was a rare sight. His eyes shone, amber sharp, storm-bound, and even the feeble lighting in the bedroom couldn't make him less than what he was. A wounded animal, Hibari reflected, watching.
"It is not authority," he said, foreign poison on his tongue, "if it can be undermined."
A spark of disbelief made it all sharper, his eyes narrowed. "Stop being mad at me, Kyouya," Dino hissed, raking a hand through golden hair, perhaps an effort to hold back. "Yes, I'm stupid for getting myself in this mess, but I don't like it any more than you do."
"What makes you think I care," Hibari said icily, gaze sliding past stiff set of shoulders, dismissive. Dino laughed, short and scathing.
"We both know that you don't. No need to remind me at every given chance, Kyouya."
Hibari's eyes snapped back at him. "Your denial doesn't."
"That wasn't the..." Dino paused, stared at him, his faze frozen in a stunned, horrified look. When it melted, it shed pretences and self-control along with the flow. "Oh. Oh. God, this is hilarious."
And then he laughed, as if to prove his point, a laugh that rumbled mockeries and shook foundations of ages old. Hibari was not amused. This was a game he knew neither the beginning nor the end, only the single rule – hurt the other as much as you can, as bad as you can – and it didn't feel like he was winning.
"Now I see," Dino said again, calm, storm raging far underneath. His lips twisted into an unpleasant curve. "I've caught you, haven't I, Kyouya?"
"What," Hibari deadpanned, "are you talking about."
"I have." Dino's tone was contemplative, a jarring contrast to his expression. "That's why you're mad at me. You were worried."
Hibari didn't bother to slip the cold of metal into his grip. His fist connected with Dino's face, making him stumble, pain in his jaw and hair in his eyes. But it was not enough – Dino was smiling, ruthless, the smile of ancient gods that delivered floods and earthquakes in answer to prayers, only because they liked to watch the world burn.
"Does it feel good?" he asked, curiosity almost genuine, his smile a morbid touch. "To know that your heart is in somebody else's hand?"
Hibari snarled again, and this time lunged with intent to kill. Dino was fast enough, strong enough to hold him back, wrist gracefully twisted to clamp fingers around his fisted hands. "I've caught you," he repeated, a whisper, the words spilling like a taunt from his lips, black silk that wound slowly around Hibari's neck, cool and smooth and enchanting enough to make him understand betrayal when it suddenly pulled.
"I'll bite you to death," he decided, once and for all.
"Don't." Dino was still smiling, his eyes cold. "Your heart will die with me, amore mio."
–
29.
"Can we meet?"
"No."
There was a pause, a frustrated sigh. "Kyouya, it has been six months. I miss you."
"That's your problem," he answered flatly. Verona haunted his mind, not the kiss, not the fuck, but Dino's smiles, quiet, obliging, possessive. Like a cat that finally had its claws around a bird it had set its eyes upon for so long, only to admire it, caress its feathers, put it inside a gilded cage.
Rotten analogy.
"Why don't you miss me?" Dino was speaking again, the abject note in his voice more real than even the sunlight in his eyes. Hibari hated how it tickled his irritation, spiralled his patience downward. No one had that influence over him, no one would, ever.
"You don't deserve it," he said, and snapped his cell phone shut. Rancour tasted foul in his mouth and there was a trembling sigh on his lips – an admission, a riptide, fast and brutal, shredding his poise to pieces. This was supposed to be simple.
My rules, Bucking Horse, or nothing at all.
But he had fucked up, somewhere, somehow, and his set of rules were coming apart at the seams. His survival came first, and he put a distance, stayed away, scraping at the splinter wedged so deep inside his person that some part of him always ached.
He did survive. Dino still obeyed the rules, despite losing a shade of his smile each time they met. They still fucked, and Dino still came with his eyes clenched shut, Hibari's name on his lips.
Until, one day, he disappeared without a word, and Hibari found himself less than all of him.
–
30.
His lungs burned as he broke through close ranks of enemy, anger fuelling his flame, stark bright in the deepening night. 3 A.M. was six hours away and yet here he was, hell's wrath in every swipe of his tonfa.
Herbivores, he thought, herbivores all of them. He could make it out alive by himself. Fuck the plan. He should have done this from the start.
He should have not come.
Regret did not befit him and so he cast it aside, alongside a man who had just fallen victim to his tonfa. There was a throbbing pain in his left thigh, more acute than million others scattered across his body. They were screaming in turn with each tendon pulled, each muscle abused, but Hibari didn't allow himself a pause. Better those, than the strange ache in his chest, clawing at him slowly, slowly, each pinprick-pain a reminder worse and worse still – Dino lying bruised on the floor, with that smirk still on his lips, finding enough courage to kiss him, and then bite his tongue.
Your heart will die with me.
Roots and trees were no longer on his heels when he encountered the next group, moving just as fast as the one before them, and the one before, and the seven before, if his subconscious was counting. He didn't slacken his grip, but his body disobeyed, legs crumbling, and for the briefest moment, Hibari wondered if death might look like Apollo, golden-haired, majestic, his scorching retribution through tender touches and affectionate words.
Fool, he thought. Pathetic. One hand on the damp earth, and he was back on his feet, purple flame sprouting like wings from the back of his hands.
Hibari Kyouya was a vengeful god, with a feral smile in the face of death, no one at his side.
–
"Ti amo."
"I know what that means," Hibari said darkly, itching to throw the book at him.
"Do you?" Dino's smile was gentle, wistful. "Then say it, Kyouya."
"...no."
He leaned closer, eyes dark depth with no boundary, impervious. "Say it."
Hibari kissed him.
End Part 2
–
Notes: I have no excuse for this. It's where my muse wanted to go and I, naturally, followed. Might be influenced by the depressing song I've been listening up till now though.
Anyway, thank you for reading and please review.