Warnings: swearing, likely slash, slight gore, something resembling horror, no concrete storyline thus far, prologue alert, OOC Tsuna, young characters at first

Full summary if I continue: Mukuro is only six-years-old when he meets Sawada Tsunayoshi in 'Palourde Orphanage for the Estranged'. Neither of them are what they seem. Some might even call them monsters. But there is a difference between the two- Mukuro has never known his parents. Tsuna's didn't want him. When Mukuro finally finds himself being adopted all he can feel is relief. Maybe God has smiled upon him. Maybe he'll never have to see Tsunayoshi again. But soon he realizes this new home is all the worse, and that he might actually need Tsuna for something. For all anyone ever needs from him. Revenge. Because everyone knows Dame-Tsuna is no good at anything else.

Prologue: "Humans take words and twist them, monsters take necks and snap them."

Tsuna is the bravest fool Mukuro has ever met. He's also insensitive, crude, and subtly sadistic. His caramel eyes flash with eerie glee each time a comrade (friend?) falls, but the two chocolate orbs filling the hollows in his soft face make this casual cruelty a mere shadow to his smile. He's a liar. He's a fiend.

He's a monster, and he's Mukuro's only friend.

Mukuro has never trusted anyone. He's a bastard holding his priorities above all else, eager to manipulate in order to clamber that one step higher- yearning for the advantage, no matter how depraved or fucking wicked it was… he'd cut open the mother's stomach to give birth to his true ploy just a few hours in advance.

But Tsuna? Tsuna is (dare he say it?) far, far worse. Oh, Mukuro will 'dispose' of any obstacles- but Tsuna would paint the house in red.

Mukuro knows he's the only one who sees it. The aching, burning lust in Tsuna's doe-like eyes- a promise of a sweet-sour death, a slit-throat nod and a dozen blood red daylilies strewn across a harried grave. No one else knows… all they see is the pretty little quirk of his lips, lightening up the weary, dark room.

He understands that Tsuna can see his shadows just as well, and turns his face whenever he becomes victim to the other's curious gaze. There's a mutual respect between them, mingled with a bored disconcertion and a couple of shared smirks.

They're monsters, and you better believe that they fucking know it.

But there was a time when Mukuro couldn't see Tsuna's joy in sanguinary sensation, and it's a time he'd rather forget.

They were children, then, a respectable six-year-old happy to ignore his fluffy-haired elder. There was but a year difference between them, but Mukuro had disliked anyone older than he was and chosen to avoid the Cheshire beast. Tsuna's grin was… to say the least, unnerving. But it was a constant, and Mukuro could respect that.

One day, only a month or two before Mukuro's prompt adoption, they had gone on an outing. There was a quaint little museum in the outskirts of town and, seeing that his favourite subject was history, Mukuro was admittedly enthusiastic. He had hidden it behind his usual blank stare, but there had been a light to his eyes that most wouldn't recognize.

Tsuna had noticed it. Tsuna had noticed him. Mukuro was damned from the start.

The tour was boring, he found mere minutes in, so he carefully fell out of the crowd. Alone, he investigated the various works and read the gleaming plaques. He was easily enthralled, back then, and he could've sworn he'd smiled.

He found Tsuna, or perhaps Tsuna found him, gazing into a dull slate. Differing shades of red had been thrust upon the canvas, setting it aflame in crimson colours.

"What do you see?" Tsuna had asked, never lifting his glance from the painting.

Mukuro didn't so much as consider his answer, blinking numbly at the gory art. "Nothing."

"You see… nothing?" the other boy was quiet; thoughtful. "Hm… I see blood."

Mukuro had looked up sharply, expecting to see some hazy frown or façade of distaste. Tsuna offered him neither, staring owlishly into his eyes with an engaging smile.

It had been as though the older kid was trying to share an inside joke with him; one Mukuro was almost certain he shouldn't understand.

There were many shades of blood, he would know. Sometimes the liquid resembled apple, or jam, or the promiscuous woman's lipstick. Often, once left to dry, it coloured like mahogany, or wine, or sometimes a pretty garnet. Personally, he thought rosewood quite lovely.

The blood Tsuna saw in the painting was that of a savage death, spilled across a floor and slapped against the ground with a formidable brush.

It was only then that Mukuro began to understand him, and he had only reached the tip of the knife.

Found this in my documents, slowly but surely rotting away. I'm sorry I haven't updated anything in months! I don't know if I'll continue this, but it was fun to write as a prologue. Best wishes and have an awesome day! - KOT