Author's note:

This was written (once again) for No. I was on a block and she said "write something to do with Fuuta's overlarge scarf". And this came out.

It's amusing how much the pairing grew on me, really. It's epic to write.

7YL again, I'll be dealing with this part of the timeline a lot, though I have a fic that comes before and will probably write fics that come after.

And Dino managed to worm his way into it again. He's such a pimp he'll probably do that with every single KHR fic I write.

Disclaimer: I do not own KHR, though I pretty much own the pairing.

Hypothermia

He wears a scarf against the cold winds of a North Italian December, and is grateful when the weather indeed goes berserk, burying the Varia castle under a Tsunami-like wave of snowflakes and silencing any questions the others might have had about his change in clothing. The white and discreet dashes of green are striking against the black of his uniform, but all too soon they are hidden by the packed up crystals freezing against the wool, starting to turn even leather white. His nose doesn't quite catch the scent of teasing and comfort that he had imagined the scarf might carry in a rare and stupid moment of sentimentality -weakness- and his pride stops him from trying to breathe it in to check, but there is a gentle, protective warmth radiating from it, the way it protects his neck just like an embrace -not covering enough to cut off the wind entirely, but its presence enough to bring heat.

He wears a band of white and green, but it is brown that melts its way into his thoughts, memories fresh yet dulled by the cold -the snow, his heart- and longing only held at bay by the same cold-induced numbness. His being is suffering from hypothermia, and it's like he's gone on hibernation, leaving his body to function on automatic. He fights when he has to, the craze waking him up enough to enjoy the adrenaline, and dodges the fights between his team mates with ease born of experience. Even Bel seems dejected from the weather, alternating between moody and hyper with frustration, and the atmosphere means that no one questions his own relative silence or the rare evenings when the whirlwind of white stop and he finds himself gazing at the stars absently.

Squalo has never been one for cold.

His flame's attribute had always been something of a joke, even among the Varia, for the only way Squalo knew to calm something was to render it unable to move or scream. There is nearly nothing in him of the softness born of irremediable ends and determination that coats Yamamoto's blade. Bel teases him, saying that he could be better fitted to a storm flame, and that it's really too bad the place is already taken by his genius self, and he thinks the bastard isn't totally wrong. There is water in his being and fighting style, but his is like a storm at sea, waves and foam rather than the soft but cruel, inescapable current of rivers.

His rain is a tropical storm, warm and wind-borne, furious and slashing. He was never made for cold and immobility, nor for this sense of void that he doesn't know how to muffle.

So he lets the hypothermia numb him, temper lurking at the border of his consciousness and the warm wool around his neck.

It's a couple of days after Christmas, the new year just around the corner, when Bel taps on his shoulder, an envelope in his hand and a grin on his face that would make any sane person run to the closest bomb shelter.

Squalo has never claimed to be sane. Being strong is enough to him, though he does like to think he's a bit saner than Bel.

"Ushishishi… I wonder what it is~. You get a lot of mail from Cavallone recently."

He doesn't know if it's the hypothetical contents of the envelope or just the general annoyance of having to deal with Belphegor for too long, but he feels his blood start to move again, familiar short temper flaring.

"Voi, shut up and give me the damn letter. Don't you have people to go dissect?"

"But they're not as fun as you~," he drawls as he hands the letter. "And that new kohai Mammon got us is annoying."

Squalo grabs it and starts walking off, silently vowing to keep his sword strapped on no matter how harmless the situation from now on. No one knew when the need to gut a blond knife thrower would arise.

"Bait him more. There's no one on this earth you can talk to and not piss off."

Once out of range of Bel's unsettling laugh he opens the envelope, cursing himself for giving it so much importance. Sees the contents. Narrows his eyes, then snorts.

Rolling his eyes and grumbling general promises of torture for such a stupid nickname and fucking Cavallone, he stuffs the paper in his pocket and strides to the underground parking, leaving a note for Xanxus.

His boss was going to be pissed, but that was hardly new. Or he could just never notice Squalo had gone missing. It wouldn't be that surprising.

To my favourite Shark~

Some of the ranking info I just gained from Japan might be of interest to you.

With love

Dino Cavallone

It's just past dusk when he reaches the estate, blue-grey light filtering through flakes and above trees. He starts striding towards the mansion, but halfway through laughs reach his ears and he turns, walking around a clump of trees until a snowball flies straight in front of him.

It's Dino's making, of course, and the bucking horse is indeed a couple of meters away, face first in several feet of snow. He half stands up and laughs, and Squalo wants to scream at him for being retarded, but another laugh, younger, comes from the opposite direction and Squalo turns just as Fuuta notices him and trades his laugh for a gentle smile.

He's wearing a red scarf, as oversized as the green one used to be when he was 10, wound loosely around the collar of his coat, and his breath clashes against the winter air, warmth and cold colliding then disintegrating in a puff of mist.

There's nothing he can say, really. Squalo isn't good at reunions nor at feelings, and if he can't express anything when he's alone with Fuuta, there's no way he will now when he knows Dino is grinning at his back. But staying silent would probably talk even more than words would. So he breaks the silence in the most effective way.

"Vooooooooooooi!"

Fuuta chuckles and tilts his head to the side, still holding the snowball he had been preparing.

"Yes?"

"Are you trying to kill the idiot? Any kind of fight without his sunglasses-wearing puppies is potentially lethal."

Fuuta laughs, dropping his snowball, and Squalo feels Dino move behind his back, heading back to the mansion. He stays motionless, arms crossed on his chest as Fuuta walks closer, wearing a grin that spells you're an idiot but I'm happy to see you. Then he's standing right in front of him and holds the white and green scarf lightly, shaking the snow from it.

"I was wondering where I'd left it. Forgot it when I left." He looks up, eyes mischievous. "Glad to see it didn't go to waste."

And that's one of the things he likes about Fuuta, that even if the kid is most of the time a goddamn tease, he knows when to shut up and not mention the important stuff, like why are you wearing it when I know you own warmer clothes and you got here pretty fast and why were you in my room at Dino's to find it anyway?

And he gives Squalo a chance for a comeback. He doesn't know whether he should feel grateful, or just pissed at being patronized.

"Voi, you should take better care of your stuff. I bet there are some psychos who could track you down with that."

Fuuta laughs, and his breath rushes past Squalo's neck and cheeks, warming then chilling.

"Come on, you know better than that. The worse psychos around work with you. I do hope I'm pretty safe from them."

He ignores the jab at his team mates, because Varia pride be damned, they are a bunch of psychos, and he's actually kinda proud of it. What makes him frown slightly is the thought that there is just one, outside, who is worse than even Bel, and that this particular bastard has already harmed the teen some years ago. And that one probably wouldn't even need personal items to track him down.

He takes just one step closer, mentally kicking himself for being ridiculous, and Fuuta smiles and reaches up, chuckling against his lips.

"Something wrong?"

"No," he snarls, half to fuel his grumpy persona and half to defy the world, daring it to prove him wrong. Dino is gone now, and he knows his men aren't about either, because the idiot wouldn't have been making a fool of himself otherwise, and his tension dissipates slowly, because Fuuta is warm against him, all teasing smiles and calm, quiet assurance, and honestly? If he was at least a bit honest with himself he'd admit he wouldn't have taken the risk of Xanxus being pissed at his disappearance if he hadn't missed this.

And to prove his point -because there is nothing wrong, damnit, and he has a feeling that if he doesn't move soon Fuuta will be the first one to act once again and he can't allow that- he grips the back of Fuuta's head with his real hand and leans in for a strong kiss, more passionate than he'd have liked but un-tame enough that he doesn't want to kick himself. Fuuta grins into the kiss and holds him back, one hand on the back of his waist and the other caressing the junction between metal and flesh -and hell, the kid always manages to bring something sensual in the picture- pushing himself closer as if it were natural to him.

Mukuro can go back home to hell, for all Squalo cares. Actually, he can bring Bel with him, and maybe even Xanxus -Lussuria doesn't count, he'd probably feel at home.

He slips his fingers under Fuuta's scarf and lets the kiss fan the fire in him, bringing back warmth against the cold of late December.