Dino blinked slowly, tilting his head back to stare at Hibari with timid interest, the other rebounding the stare with triple the intensity. "You must be someone amazing if you're actually on Reborn's 'Like' list." He turned his head to the side, his golden locks brushing over the skin of his shoulder as a faint recognition of the skylark settled in. …I know him. Isn't he Kyou-san, the bocchan from the household behind the shrine south of Central Square? muttered the back of his mind. He shook away those thoughts. That's not important right now. He settled his gaze on Tsuna. "What do we do, then? Your Clan is not even complete yet, Tsuna—you know how powerless an incomplete famiglia is in the face of society—so requesting help from the Millefiore and the such will be turned down without a second glance, probably—"
"—leading to the discovery of the Vongola's current weakness, which will in turn start a war. I know; I know." Tsuna threaded his fingers through his hair, untangling a few knots he encountered along the way, eyes closing with a sigh. "But Hibari-san was considered part of the Vongola the moment he set foot in this mansion; that goes for Kusakabe-san, too. So"—he revealed his eyes, showing off the new determination ignited in them—"send word back to Mukuro of our negative to that deal of his."
"Herbivore," growled Hibari with a narrow of the eyes, "stop deciding things without my opinion on the matter."
Tsuna twisted towards Hibari, a gentle smile already settled on his lips. "The problem with that, Hibari-san, is, if you decided to go along with Mukuro's deal, I'd forcefully tie you to a chair with the strongest chains I can find; and I don't care how much of a fight you'll put up."
Noticing the inception of bad-mood, black tentacles draping down Hibari's shoulders, Reborn clapped his hands together twice, effectively drawing the attention of all. "We'll talk about this tomorrow. For now, I want some food and sleep." He stepped forth, but a hand clasping around his upper arm had him stilled. He traveled his gaze up the length of the arm holding him in place, amazed there was enough strength to actually halt his movements in such a slender frame. "Speak quickly, Hibari; I'm hungry."
Hibari released Reborn's arm to cross his own arms over his chest, a deep scowl marring his features. "I'm not planning on finding out later what these weird markings on my face and this purple stuff are. What are they?"
With an almost roll of the eyes, Reborn clicked his tongue. "Ruining the fun…" he mumbled before raising his voice to reply his answer. "Don't try scrubbing away the markings—they're part of your skin now. The 'purple stuff' is just your aura becoming accustomed to this dimension." He looked up and down Hibari, lips slipping into an amused smirk. "I've never seen one's aura react so strongly when emotions are stirred before aside from my useless students'." He waved his hand about in a dismissive manner. "I wouldn't worry about it, though; you'll have complete control over it eventually."
"Whatever," he huffed, believing and not believing a word of it all. He turned, heading towards the flight of stairs.
With a shaky sigh, Tsuna faced Dino, extending an arm for the blond to take. As Dino accepted the offer and stood while brushing and fixing at his garments, he asked, "Want to join us for dinner? Hibari-san's cooking is delicious."
Dino laughed, hazel irises twinkling mirth. "As delicious as Maman's?"
He returned the laugh. "You'll have to eat to find out."
…
Upon awakening at the appointed time a certain bird had set for him (miraculously), his first instinct was to peer around himself, believing the mostly ominous presence of the Head Prefect had somehow (again) wondered into the confines of his room; peering from a corner where the silver of the moon did not quite reach. He was quickly proven wrong, however, when he found the room to be devoid of any being aside from his self—and that was enough to put him on edge. "Hibari-san?" he called out, tentative, despite knowing no presence lived in the same floor level.
Of course, because the darkness definitely does not have a mouth of its own, no answer came.
Heaviness sunk into the pit of his gut, cold sweat moistening his palms. He shook his head shortly after, convincing himself it was just his brain overreacting to the discussing held after dinner several days ago, when Dino had stumbled in to deliver an urgent message. Rokudou Mukuro was not at all his favourite conversation topic, after all; just the thought of said person freely strolling down a random street in the same town he lived gave him creeping chills. His thoughts were opposing what he was telling his gut—the heaviness settled with a definite thump. He whimpered mentally. Something horrible is going to happen today. I can practically feel it in the air. He sighed, rubbing a wrist at a closed eyelid while sliding away from the fluffy covers of his bed. "Just…please, please don't let it fall on Hibari-san's shoulders," he prayed to whatever deity governed over the luck of skylarks. Even if he doesn't seem to notice it himself, he's hurt enough in more ways than one already. After standing, he sauntered towards the flight of stairs at the far end of his room, descended, and traveled down the long hallway towards the flickering light peeking through the aperture left by an ajar shoji.
He poked his head past the frame, fluffs of brown dancing with the downwards tilt of his head, titian irises shimmering with nervous concern when he found the one he was searching for was not in the kitchen—Hibari-san is always in here at this time. He stepped in, clearing his throat. "Good morning, Kusakabe-san; have you seen Hibari-san?"
Kusakabe twisted about to face Tsuna. "Ah, Sawada-san, it's unusual to see you up so early. Good morning, too, by the way." He contemplated Tsuna's question for a few moments, setting the cup held in his hand on the counter to his left. "Don't worry about the patrols, if that's what this is about. On Saturdays, Kyou-san likes to take a stroll around this time."
Tsuna blinked, confusion furrowing his brows. "But today is Friday."
"No, today is definitely Saturday. All of the multiples calendars I have say so."
"But…yesterday was Thursday…I mean, even if today was Saturday, I should be able to recall the events that occurred the day before, and I don't remember taking my physical education exam, which are always on Fridays."
Kusakabe mimicked Tsuna's frown. "Well, now that you put it that way, I don't remember patrolling the Center Square, which I always do no matter what on Fridays' evenings."
"This," concluded Tsuna with a deeper frown, "is weird." The heaviness dragging like a boulder chained to his ankle fell upon his shoulders, slumping them forth with dread. Panic flared in his chest, burning his throat to a cold dryness, as he pivoted on his heels, shouting behind his shoulder he was off to locate Hibari's whereabouts and requesting for everyone else to do so as well under the command of his word, Vongola Decimo and current ruler of one the most influential famiglie. "I have a feeling Mukuro is going to get Hibari-san now that he knows Hibari-san belongs to the Vongola" was what he added as he paused at the kitchen entrance, and that was enough to snap Kusakabe out of perplexity to action. He ran out, passing a yawning Gokudera on the way, and nearly tripped over air as he made a sharp turn to the left, almost slamming into Yamamoto's chest.
"Tenth? Wait up!" Gokudera was quick to tail Tsuna, brushing his shoulder against Yamamoto's as he followed by.
"Tsuna, Hayato, where are you going?" Grinning from ear to ear, he jogged effortlessly behind said two.
With an annoyed click of the tongue, Gokudera turned his head to scowl at Yamamoto. "None of your business!"
He chuckled. "I contradict. Besides, you have no idea why or where to Tsuna is running either, do you?" Ignoring the splutter of protests tumbling out of the silveret's mouth, he hollered, "Oi, Tsuna!"
"Whatever it is, Yamamoto, spit it out, please," Tsuna bellowed back, sliding door after door till the dawning, outside world zoomed into view. Not bothering for his shoes or going through the hassle of descending stairs, he vaulted, landing with a soft flutter of air as though his bones were as hollow as a bird's; his navy yukata rustling along the wind. "I'm in a hurry to find Hibari-san."
Gokudera and Yamamoto mimicked their superior's actions, catching up to the latter's pace with ease. "Find Hibari?" resounded Yamamoto from Tsuna's left (for some odd reason, he always found himself positioned on this side of the Decimo).
Emerald irises lustered in frustration. "What for? The Bastard's not worth your time, Tenth," grumbled Gokudera.
Giving a disheartened sigh, "I don't know about that, Gokudera-kun…there's-there's something…alluring about Hibari-san that I simply cannot shake off."
Gokudera jumbled mixed syllables, incoherency muddling his train of thought.
Whistling lowly and adding a knowing smirk, Yamamoto sang, "Love—I smell it in the air."
Tsuna's shoulders stiffened, crimson complimenting his creamy cheeks. "Wha—it's not like that!" He puckered his lips. "Geez, we met a little over a week ago." Well, technically, we met four years ago, but three years of that range were all forgotten without a trace of recognition, apparently.
Laughing, "That's what they all say, Tsuna; that's what they all say."
…
Kusakabe-Lookalike Number One chortled, wiping a stray tear from the corner of his eye. "I remember that day like it happened yesterday."
Lookalike Number Two sniffed pitifully, dropping an arm heavily upon the shoulder of Lookalike Number Three, drooling his tears into the crook of his arm. "Kyou-san," wailed he, "I have preserved the bruise you gave me for the first time in my life—it still hurts like hell!"
Hibari watched from the higher perch of his windowsill, a sort of awkward sweat beading on his temple. You see, Hibari Kyouya once had an assumption: the DC members were all masochists—there was no other reason to explain why the Kusakabe-Lookalikes would follow him about like a bad case of pneumonia, and Hibari had pneumonia more times than he could count with two hands; he knew exactly what he was talking about. There were many times, however, when he preferred to turn a blind eye at the true nature in his subordinates, but times like these were really…
"I still haven't fixed that broken rib from two months ago," Number Three perked up, giggling at the end. "I sleep on that side, reliving in my dreams the sensation of my bone cracking in two and Kyou-san's cool expression of anger. Ah," cooed he, "I'd break that window over and over again if I can get the Chairman to notice me once more!"
…tempting to smash a spiked tonfa down the throat of the first herbivore I see. "Idiots."
"Oh!" cried Number Four; "I can hear the Chairman's celestial voice!"
Number One drew spiraling, invisible doodles on a window, peering down distractedly at the game of baseball on the fields below. "I loved how the Chairman's face would paint a fine blush on his perfect cheeks whenever he exhausted himself training everyday under the setting sun, the sunrays lacing around him to form wings of an angel." He shuddered in delight. "The epitome of a carnivore, really."
"I wonder," Number Five muttered loud enough for all to hear, "if this is all a nightmare…if Kyou-san and Tetsu-san are just playing a sick sort of joke on us and are actually alive somewhere in Namimori, waiting for us to finally realize this is all a ruse…I wonder—" Tears clouded his vision, lower lip along with his shoulders quivering as a sob rippled past his throat.
Nonetheless, despite the…weirdness of his subordinates, Hibari admitted with a sad tint in the eyes he missed every last second of it. And he would give anything and everything if he could live just one more day among his loved ones (though he'll never announce he actually had affection for those whom loyally tag behind him, even if said affection was mostly seen as a colourful display of violence). Just one more day…
A tap to his shoulder distracted his silent mulling, halting the torment of emotions compacting and constricting his mind ever so slowly. With a glower settling onto his features for being interrupted in his musings, he lashed out instinctively a handcuff protruding with spiked, sharp points. A hand halted his movements, much too strength gripping his wrist; startling him to drop the shackles when heterochromatic—one the colour of a deep azure and the other of twinkling blood—eyes peered down at him. A second hand slammed on his shoulder, shoving his back against the metal edge of the window. Pain flared upon collision, blood sprinkling onto the cruel surface from his already battered back; white flashes blinding his vision momentarily. Pale, pink lips curled into a smirk, a pair of pristine wings fluttering behind a slender back to keep their wielder hovering. The hand upon Hibari's shoulder moving to grip the skylark's throat to a choke, "I finally have the pleasure of meeting you, Hibari Kyouya."
The man's voice was much too mellifluous and velvety smooth for Hibari's taste, so fake it dripped with concealed, venomous emotions. "Who are you?"
"God of samsara—as the Hindus call it"—he tightened his grip around the skylark's throat—"the same god your family has kept sealed generation after generation in that shrine." He spat the last word with such contempt Hibari wouldn't have been surprised to see it spontaneously combust from every surface it had been scribbled on.
"Rokudou Mukuro," whispered Hibari, not wanting to be overheard by those inhabiting the Reception Room.
Mukuro raised a slender eyebrow. "Oh? So you know my name."
Hibari had no response to that, gaze drifting to those part of the living as his hand wondered to the backside of his belt, searching for his favourite choice of weapon; but his fingers only brushed air. He internally panicked—he left his tonfa on the counter before the mirror in the bathroom. Fuck.
His mismatched gaze followed the skylark's, amused the other had the audacity to look away when in his presence and in such a defenseless position. He chuckled—a strange sound of kufufu—shortly after, however, when a plan conjured perfectly in his mind. "Tell you what," he began, bringing back Hibari's attention; "I'll give you something of mine that will allow you to become visible to those petty humans there."
Narrowing his lids suspiciously, "In return for what?"
Oya, I hit the spot. He shrugged casually, releasing the raven's throat to reach into the inside of his kimono and pull out a small vial half-filled with a glittering liquid of transparency. "It's all yours in return for nada."
"Nothing."
"Absolutely nothing," he asserted as he extended out the vial for the skylark to take, smirk quirking to life once more when the skylark snatched the item with bereft hesitation.
He flicked the lid off with his thumb, tilting his head back to allow the surprisingly warm essence to ooze down his throat and be devoured by his system despite the tiny voice at the very back, secluded section of his mind telling him that perhaps there was a possibility of death even in the afterlife.
Suddenly, his lungs choked in their air as he listened to the ribs of his back crack further, liquid he could only identify as blood by its metallic scent dribbling over his skin, absorbed by his shirt. He gasped for breath that wouldn't come, an acerbic burning pulsing through his veins till he was convinced he had sprung into flames, and into flames—violet flames—he did. He felt his strength depleting at an alarming quick rate, his balance already lost as he tilted to the left and out the window, feeling the wind rush by until scraping branches of bushes below cushioned his fall. He could barely muster a blink up at Mukuro. "What…is…"
"The blood of a type of youkai bird. Youkai, you see, if they are Feared enough by humans, are just as visible as the ocean to humans." He chuckled darkly. "I'm sure you'll enjoy it. After all, dokutori are rather weak, ephemeral creatures, quite the opposite of the Hibari Family line, don't you think?"
His brows furrowed, hazy gaze setting into an unwavering glare. "You…you're objective…was never the—"
"—Vongola," he finished. He chuckled, his indigo strands styled weirdly like a tropical fruit swishing under a light breeze. "The Vongola and Cavallone were just an excuse to get to you, the last survivor of the Hibari after that particular fire about a decade ago."
Hibari knew from that day forth to never accept anything from a presence resembling a winged pineapple, even if longing desperation was crawling and clawing at his insides mercilessly—officially, he now utterly abhorred the fruit with a passion. The foreboding words of I'll bite you to death danced in the last shred of consciousness left, a muffled shout of his name by a familiar voice slipping in before black dominated with deathly greed.
…
Rather short, if you ask me.
Haha. Hibari should learn the term "don't accept anything from strangers", don't you think?
Oh, "dokutori" literally translates to "poison bird".
I am so, so, so sorry for updating so late!
Please excuse any and all grammatical/spelling mistakes. After 28 May, I will be going over my works to edit minor details.
