We Just Live Together

by raisin bean

Summary: A chronicle of the happy life Gokudera and Hibari share under the same roof.

Chapter 1: We're Going Home

Preview: In which Hibari takes Gokudera home with him.

A note is taped to the door. Gokudera doesn't recall it being there last night, but it was late when he got back and he flicked his lighter just to see the keyhole. At a glance, he can already tell by the red ink that this is no joke. When he tears the paper off the door to take a closer look, he swears loudly. "Evicted?!"

Dynamite sprouts between his fingers without conscious thought. How could he get evicted from this shitty hole of shit? He paid the rent last month, and he almost had enough for this month's rent, and he already paid off for the last fire, and he kept his dynamite outside of the apartment now-what more could be asked? Pocketing the dynamite, he rubs the furrow in his brow. The notice gives him forty-eight hours to vacate, but the date was signed yesterday.

He can take out the big sticks and wave them in Hashimoto's face with a lighter in his other hand, but the last time he tried that he only just outran the cops. He doesn't want police attention. He has Tenth to think about, after all. A smart mafioso avoids the cops until he owns the cops.

There is no helping it. Gokudera brings all his worldly possessions with him to school in two duffle bags and hides them. He would skip to look for somewhere to crash, but Tenth would worry. He can't do that to Tenth, not when Tenth has his future as Vongola X to think about. So he greets Tenth as enthusiastically as every other day, growls at the baseball idiot walking with him, and takes his place on Tenth's right side.

He doesn't even pretend to listen in class today. Head propped up on one hand, he twiddles his pencil in the other, his limited options listed on the page where he should be taking notes.

He'd hate to bother kindhearted Tenth, though others aren't so considerate. Tenth already has three brats living with him and Reborn-san and Bianchi-NO. He decisively crosses off Tenth, but reconsiders, erases the name and line and all, rewrites 'Tenth' and puts a box around it. Now Tenth is there, just enclosed in a box he isn't willing to encroach upon.

There is the baseball idiot. Gokudera looks at him now, the vague smile plastered on his stupid, empty head. Well, not empty-his brains are more likely replaced with baseballs bouncing around in that thick skull. Gokudera is already annoyed, and he hasn't even spoken to the guy. 'Baseball idiot' is crossed off as well.

Then there is the womanizer. He has lived in the same house as Shamal before, but it was a mansion, and Shamal wasn't at home very often anyway. To live in close quarters with that dirty old man… Ergh. 'Pervy doctor' is crossed off.

And that's it. All three options. Gokudera's head hits the desk. When he looks up, everyone is looking at him with concern, Tenth especially, but he just covers his forehead and gives a half-assed grin.

"There's something I gotta take care of, so I'll see you tomorrow, Tenth."

Gokudera waves as Tenth and Yamamoto walk out of the school entrance, then makes a show of going off in the opposite direction. As soon as he turns the corner, however, he jumps up and vaults over the school wall, landing crouched on his feet. There is no one around to see him pull his bags out of the bushes.

Still he creeps through the school building, wary of any lingering students finishing up late assignments or meeting for club activities. Particularly students with pompadours. Any other day he'd be raring for a go at one of the arrogant bastards, especially the arrogant bastard in charge, but, just for today, he wants to avoid the Disciplinary Committee.

Which might be hard, considering he's headed for their base of operations: the reception room.

It makes sense. The reception room is the only room in the school with couches and window shades. He can spend the night there, get up early and go looking for a place to rent. All he has to do is make sure no one sees him go in or out.

He tries the doorknob, which resists the turn with a chink. Good. That means no one is inside. Kneeling before the door, he looks to the right and to the left before inserting two picks. He fiddles with them for about a minute, then there is a click and the door swings ajar. He slinks in with his bags, closes the door softly, and locks it from the inside.

The room is empty. No footsteps in the hall. Slinging his bags to the side, Gokudera flops onto the longest couch, feet dangling off the armrest, hands beneath his head, grinning. This at least is a brief respite from his frequent financial troubles.

His grin fades into his usual scowl. He also needs to brush up his lock picking, took longer than it should have. But that is a concern for another day. Shifting onto his side, he pulls up his legs onto the seat, his left arm acting as a pillow.

Gokudera is awoken by the impact of his face on the floor. "Ow, what the fu-!" he splutters and rolls over onto his back to try to get up. A foot planted on his chest prevents him.

"What do you think you're doing here, Gokudera Hayato?" says Hibari Kyoya, the owner of the foot.

"Get off me!" Gokudera shoves at Hibari's leg and Hibari steps back. Gokudera sits up, brushing off his chest.

"Why do you have all your belongings with you?" says Hibari. Gokudera sees now that his duffle bags are unzipped.

"What are you looking through my stuff for?" Gokudera snaps back, getting to his feet.

Hibari pushes Gokudera and he falls onto the couch. "Why were you going to stay the night here?"

"None of your damn business," Gokudera says, moving forward. Hibari pins Gokudera to the couch with a tonfa against his throat, Hibari resting his right foot beside Gokudera's thigh while his left supports him on the floor.

"Have you been run out like a dog?" Hibari says softly. Then his eyebrows rise slightly and, like an afterthought, he adds, "You are one of the top students in the school."

Gokudera frowns. "What? What does that have to do with anything?"

Hibari ignores him, talking aloud as if to himself, "For such a student to sleep on a couch-"

"You do it all the time!"

"-would not do justice to Namimori." Hibari straightens and puts his tonfa away. "Get up."

Gokudera massages his neck. "Why?"

"We're going home."

Gokudera pulls back, eyes wide. "We? You and me, we?"

Hibari crosses his arms, narrowing eyes an indication of his impatience. "I will not repeat myself."

"Are you crazy?" Gokudera shakes his head slowly. "No way, no fricking way. I'd rather sleep in a tree than in your house."

Hibari stares at him.

Somehow Gokudera ends up on the back of Hibari's motorcycle, his hands braced behind him against the seat 'cause no way in hell is he clinging to Hibari's waist. The darkened shield of the helmet covers his face, so no one can recognize him, small comfort that it is.

"Are you serious?" he said, stopping dead when he saw what Hibari was headed for. Hibari threw the one helmet at him, which hit him in the chest before he caught it. Then Hibari mounted the motorcycle and looked at him expectantly.

At least he didn't pat the seat.

The light changes to green, and they speed off. Unexpectedly, Hibari obeys traffic laws. He's probably right on the dot of the speed limit, if not lower. He takes his time with the right turn, a lazy arc around the corner, hardly leaning over. When they are righted again, Hibari glances back at Gokudera briefly-and it occurs to him just then that Hibari might be taking it slow for his benefit.

The thought is staggering.

Within ten minutes, Hibari pulls into a driveway that leads up to a large one-story Japanese-style mansion. Though he never really gave it much thought, Gokudera isn't surprised to find out Hibari is living posh. Only a guy who never has to worry about money (food, clothes, textbooks, a roof) can act like Hibari does.

Gokudera takes off the helmet and sets it on the seat. Hibari is already striding towards the door, which he slides open, pausing only to toe his shoes off before going inside. Gokudera follows through the open door and looks at the frame. No locks. Figures. Just like him to think no one would dare to burglarize his house.

Gokudera passes a spacious living room with traditional furnishings of a low table and seat cushions, a spotless, anachronistic kitchen with a dining table for ten at least, and doors and doors and doors; all identical, wood-framed sliding doors filled in with what looks like the traditional paper, but upon closer inspection is sprayed glass. Bare wooden floors. A nostalgic scent though he sees no flowers.

Hibari waits in front of an open door. When Gokudera reaches him, he gestures inside and says, "This is your room. Dinner at seven."

Gokudera glances at the room, and when he looks back, Hibari is gone. Shrugging, he goes in. It is as sparsely furnished as the rest of the house, only a low cabinet and small table set out. In the closet he finds seat cushions, bedding, and pillows-all pristine, not even a speck of dust. He lays out the bedding, then falls back onto it, wondering if anyone else has ever lived in this room, in this house, with Hibari.

Gokudera goes to the kitchen and finds a traditional Japanese feast. The dining table is laden with food, side dishes and main dishes, dishes that look like they would cost half a month's rent. Each is artfully displayed on translucent porcelain. The savory smells of the grilled fish and pickled vegetables mingle with the fragrance of decorative flowers.

"Wha-did you make all this yourself?" Gokudera gapes.

"No," says Hibari from his place at the head of the table. He has changed into a yukata. "I told the cooks that I had company."

Gokudera rolls his eyes and sits down on Hibari's left. It was a dumb question-of course Hibari has cooks, plural, to whip up a meal for him when he snaps his fingers.

Once Gokudera has sat, Hibari begins to serve himself. They eat in silence aside from chewing and chopsticks clattering and soup slurping. Once Gokudera starts eating, he has no qualms about going for seconds. With his budget, he can never afford to turn down free food.

Hibari eats at a steady, rather slow pace, and Gokudera has the impression that eating doesn't particularly interest him. He finishes the contents of his soup bowl and his rice bowl, then sets his chopsticks aside. When Gokudera's appetite winds down, he traces the lip of his teacup for a while before asking, "What am I doing here?"

Hibari looks up at him without expression.

"I mean, why are you letting me stay here? You hate crowds."

Hibari picks up his teacup, left hand around the rim and right hand supporting the bottom, and blows the coiling steam away. "Two is not a crowd."

Gokudera has nothing to say to that, so he carries on eating the remainder in his bowl. When Hibari finishes his tea, he sets the cup down beside his plate, stands up, and leaves the table. He pauses at the door, however, and turns his head to look at Gokudera. "The bathroom is two doors to the left of your room."

Then he is gone in a whisper of cloth and soft footsteps on the wooden floor.

When Gokudera returned from showering, he found his two duffle bags in front of the door of his room. He took them inside and halfway through putting his clothes away in the drawers it occurred to him that Hibari never said how long he could stay, nor did he ask, yet there he was unpacking. He finished anyway.

Now his hair is dry, his homework done, and he's bored, watching the smoke filter through his teeth into the night air. Out on the porch, he rests his arms on his knees, his head on the back of one hand while the other dangles at the end of his wrist holding a cig between two fingers.

Hibari is like this smoke: right in front of him, yet untouchable. He swipes at the grey cloud before it dissipates-no, touchable, but uncatchable. Tendrils escape through his fingers.

"I'm okay living with smoke," Gokudera says aloud to himself, and takes another drag.

Unbeknownst to Gokudera on the porch, Hibari reclines on the slanted roof above, his school blazer across his shoulders and legs crossed. He takes out a tonfa, holding it up to glint in the moonlight, and considers whether to bite Gokudera Hayato to death for the crime of smoking on his property. He stifles a yawn with the other hand and lets the tonfa fall to his side. Gokudera Hayato is a guest. Rules would be established come morning.

Not that he is one to follow the rules. Hibari knows this side of him well. Dynamite and a scowl, as if either can do any harm. He is weak… but he does not act like an herbivore. If Hibari were to jump down there right now with tonfas in hand, Gokudera Hayato would not hesitate to retaliate with dynamite. Hibari could undoubtedly subdue him and his cheap explosives, and the scowl would never waver, only deepen. Gokudera Hayato may be weak, but he is never afraid. Perhaps that is a weakness in itself.

"I can live with that kind of weakness," Hibari says softly to himself, and yawns again.

Endnote: This story takes place within the manga storyline, and this first chapter is roughly after chapter 56.