A/N : A story of short drabbles for 8O18.... That had the potential of going somewhere, but got lost, and ended up here. :)

Disclaimer : I don't own 8018, blahblahblah. They don't belong to me - no. They belong to each other - no. They were made for one another. :D

...

Confession

You can't help it. Can't help, but feel this way towards him. You think you have to tell him. Because it's only fair. Because he deserves to know. Because you don't want to keep it to yourself anymore. Because it becomes almost a heavy burden, weighing down on your heart. You don't want to keep it bottled up. Don't want it to be a 'too late.' Don't want to be filled with regret later on in life.

A life without him...

Because you knew that once those words left your lips, they would already be the end of you.

Kisses

Aggressive.

That was what you would've described his kisses. All those times practicing in front of your mirror, with your mirror, with your hand. Your pillow. That weird stuffed animal you won at a festival. Those times spent fantasizing about what kissing him would be like... The thought of 'gentle like the touch of an angel' never crossing your mind.

Instead, they were more on the aggressive side. Wild. With bruises. The outcome to be a few scratches and unexplainable bite marks here and there. Like how he fought. How he did everything. To him fighting was what he breathed, embedded into the very existence of his being. Because that was who he was. How he dealt with things.

Kissing... shouldn't be any different, right?

Naughty

'I'll bite you to death.'

It's moments like this when you're lying on his carpet - bruises forming all over and deep scratches all over your face - that you don't think of him as the 'threatening' type.

And if you were any other person, it would only be logical for you to plan an escape way, to get out of here - to stay alive. But those thoughts don't cross your mind. No, all that you're thinking about right now was just how naughty he was. Because you don't mind getting bitten to death if it was coming from him. Because you plan to see for your own eyes - just how he was going to 'bite you to death.'

Because he might be naughty (and decide to really beat you to death), but he's forgetting that you're a masochist.

Tutor

Dino Cavallone. "The Bucking Horse." Capable of controlling more than 5,000 families under him, was a looker, a respected boss of the Cavallone family. But incapable of doing any of this without one of his subordinates around. But despite this, you feel respect for him. His skills amazes you. He truly was an amazing person.

But it's in your own time. Your own privacy that you can't help but feel a teeny, tiny bit jealous.

Jealous when he puts his arm around Kyouya. When he calls him by his given name. When he ruffles the coarse black hair. When he smiles and holds onto him - without getting much as a punch. ...Well, sometimes. When he can make Kyouya's bored expression suddenly change into one of sparked interest. With a hint of a smile. And there were times when you just think of him as Kyouya's tutor, just a mere mentor. With nothing attached.

But then... there were times when you start thinking on the other side of things. It's when you're by yourself, when you're nowhere near company - that you wonder why you can't do that. Why you can't touch him like that. Why you can't call him by his name. Why you can't make him smile, just a tiny bit.

Umbrella

You're not suicidal. You know you're not. Save for that one time, but that was a long time ago. You might be crazy and you guess you truly are an idiot. But you're not crazy enough to be placed in a mental asylum. Not idiotic enough to be considered the biggest idiot on the face of this earth.

So... why?

Why are you standing in the rain? When it's storming. Without an umbrella. And not even a jacket on; just a simple buttoned down white shirt that was sticking to your skin and black slacks that seem to be weighing you down even more. Your shoes are filled with water and you think it'll take a long time for your socks to get dry. You think you're suffocating them. And you feel sorry for them.

But...

'It feels nice...' You find yourself mumbling as you close your eyes, tilting your head back and letting the rain fall on you. Letting it soak through you. It's suppose to be able to calm a person, right? Because it's the rain that washes away everything - because it's suppose to be able to wash away your doubts, your worries, your problems.

Your feelings for Kyouya.

You feel silly. Standing in the rain, on the rainiest day of the year. But because it's the rainiest day of the year that you're standing there. Like an idiot not ready to die, but not really wanting to live either. But, that's not exactly true, is it?

'Yamamoto Takeshi...'

Are the angels calling your name already? You laugh at the thought, almost saying it out loud. Your eyes open and you're staring at him. Standing there in front of you. You start to wonder why he was there. Why was he wearing only a short sleeved shirt? Usually he'd have his jacket with him. You're ready to scold him for going out in such weather without wearing his jacket.

No, he shouldn't even be out here in the first place. It was storming.

But then you think about your own situation. And you feel stupid again. So you laugh at yourself. You try to give him a small smile, a small greeting. But you stop because you think it looks like he's crying. But, that was just the rain, right? And he's running at you. And you think of how he runs when he's ready to attack. You expect a punch. Maybe a few kicks and bruises that wouldn't heal for weeks.

But he's hugging you.

(And you could imagine how hard it was for him to do it because you were so much taller compared to him.) You wonder what's gotten into him. Was he soaked in the rain too long? No, it was most likely you. And as you ready to wrap your arms around him, he suddenly punches you. Ouch. And you think to yourself 'Ah, there's that punch.' You think you really deserve that. You sit up, rubbing the small bruise.

You're staring at the water that has collected on the ground.

And it makes you wonder if these were his tears that he had been holding back as his arms tighten around you.

Sweet

You'd never expect Hibari Kyouya, of all people, to like chocolate. Or sweets, in general. Somehow he didn't look like the chocolate-sweets eating type. Even though it looks like he's really liking the chocolate treats you made for him - because he said store made are nasty and lacked in quality - you still can't bring yourself to believe it.

Maybe you're just too deep in the phrase 'You are what you eat.' Because Hibari Kyouya was not at all a sweet person.

But as you're leaning across the table, your lips connecting with his while his eyes widen in shock, and your tongue's licking the remains of the chocolate on his lips - you can't help but think that Hibari Kyouya really was, in some way, very sweet.

Complaints

Everyone has habits. They are classified as either good or bad. Like washing your hair every 1-2 days with the same shampoo - and always in the same order. It would always just be that shampoo and nothing else. And then there were bad habits. Those were the ones you just can't stand. Habits like watching tv too close or being distracted by something far too long were okay with you. But habits like biting one's nails really... irked you. And then there were the extremely bad ones that you just hate. Like the smell of cigarettes or beer. (Also people who don't bathe.)

But, is being a picky eater a bad habit?

Hibari Kyouya was a picky eater, you knew that. Probably the worst.

Let's use soup for example. He didn't like it if his soup was too hot. Too warm. Too cold. Too cool. Too dry, which you thought was impossible... But coming from his mouth, about anything he says is right. Because, well, he said it. It had to just perfect. Like him. Like he said, 'I will not put anything into my mouth that is dirty.'

So when he called you up to tell you to come over to his house at 1 in the morning to cook him something to eat, you really... what'stheword.

On a regular basis, you would make him a small bentou or something or the sort - because, well, you had the time and put in effort to make it. But this was in the middle of the freakin' night. And you're not usually the nervous type. But... standing there in the kitchen at 1 in the morning in nothing but blue boxers (because you didn't have time to change since he only gave you a limited amount of time to get there) while a very sleepy, not to mention, very hungry Kyouya is eying you like a hawk ready to strike... yeah, you can't help but be nervous.

And while he's ordering you to cook while he lazily look like he's going to doze off, you make the quickest thing that comes to your mind - lettuce wrap. In your head, you really don't care right now. You just want him to eat something and then go back to bed and not kill you. Anything you make would be fine, right? Since he didn't specify anything...

And he was kinda dozing off, so it's okay.

But maybe it's just the way he looked when you suddenly put it in front of him. When you don't even wait for him to eat first because you're kinda tired and you want to satisfy your own hunger. Or maybe it was the way he suddenly grabbed your hand that was holding the lettuce wrap and, staring at you with unblinkingly with his serious not-so-sleepy-anymore eyes, placing his mouth over it - (his tongue running over parts of your fingers. Almost cleaning it. And then chewing contently like nothing happened.) - that you feel, yes, this really was a bad habit.

...But you're not complaining.

Cute

There were many things that would be considered 'cute.' Like girls, flowers, odd-shaped cookies ...or socks.

But to you, 'cute' is when he's wearing your shirt, a few sizes too big for him, water dripping from the ends of his hair - his cheeks adorning a hint of a flush from the hot shower. When he's sitting next to you and his hair smells just like you. 'Cute' is when he swats your hand away when you're trying to pet him. To get him to let you brush his hair.

'Cute' is when his mouth forms in almost a pout - when he's denied something. When he makes that angry face of his, his brows coming together. When there's that small crease in the middle of his forehead. When he's rolling around with you on the ground, wrestling with you, tackling and biting - ready to fight you to the death for that kanpachi in your hand. 'Cute' is when you're lying there on your floor, locked between his knees, panting from the 'wrestling match' while he smirks in triumph when he has the kanpachi in his hand.

To you, 'cute' is when you're laughing at his clumsy chopsticks skill and he doesn't poke your eyes out with them. Because you knew that whatever it was he had in his hands, he might as well could turn it into a deadly weapon. It's when he's watching tv or playing on your PlayStation and doesn't give a damn if there was a tornado outside. When you secretly lift him into your lap because it seem like paying attention to the screen was his only purpose now.

Because he had to get to the next level. Because he had to slay all the dragons and trolls that were keeping him from getting to the final stage.

'Cute' is when he's rolling to your side of the bed (even if he created a barricade of pillows between the two of you) and he's hugging you like he's hugging his favorite stuffed animal. And although your oxygen might get cut off for a little while, you're okay with it.

'Cute' is when he's laying in the weirdest position you have ever seen. Not at all graceful like his moments when he's awake. When he's mumbling incoherent things in his sleep - like his daily schedule or what he'd like to eat for breakfast. It's when he's singing off-key in his sleep, muttering random sounds when he doesn't know the next word. When he's waking up in the morning, his eyes still filled with sleep and his hand is wandering about - searching for a certain warmth next to him.

It's when he's laying on his back, reading a book on the floor, and your fingers are playing with his hair while you're trying to understand what he's reading. 'Cute' is when he makes a face because you read a complicated sentence wrong and he swats your hand away from his hair. When he's threatening to bite you to death if you touch him again. '...Cute' is when you're silently looking at his book as he continues reading and he's reaching back and touching your hair. When you then read another sentence incorrectly - yet again - and he's tapping your forehead lightly with the book.

'Cute' is when he's napping after reading his book, his body all curled up next to yours. When his breathing is even and your fingers are in his hair.

'Cute' is when you're making him wear your favorite your apron with pictures of Doraemon on it and getting him to cook just because you think he'll look cute in that apron.

It's when he's helping you study for your final exams because he's threatening to throw you off the roof of Namimori with guarantee of not surviving it like last time if you don't pass. It's when you're kinda tried of him hitting your hand with his ruler - even if you find it kinda sexy that he's wearing glasses and sitting on the table... and hitting you - and you're pulling him into your lap, telling him you think like this is easier to study.

It's when he doesn't say anything back and just tell you that he's going to teach you an easier way to do this formula. When he's writing on one part of the paper and you're - supposedly writing it next to him to get familiar with it - writing 'I like you' with a small heart far too close to his personal writing space.

'Cute' is when studying time is over and he's straddling you, unbuttoning your shirt at an amazing speed and you get a nice view of his cute butt. When he's whispering such dirty words so dangerously from that delicate mouth of his. When your hand is creeping under his skin and his hands are squeezing your shoulders. When you're tearing his clothes apart and he's gasping lightly - not wanting you to hear his voice. It's when you're tearing his hand away from his mouth, pushing him onto the table, and he's gasping even louder. And his cheeks are flushed a deep color and his eyes are squeezed shut, and he's screaming your name.

... But you think that's more on him being 'sexy.'

Waiting

It didn't matter what kind of stupid things he did. Whether it be almost burning the apartment down while he's trying to put out a small fire because he's frustrated that he left the stove on too long. But those are just cute things - not stupid things. Like his small habit of forgetting to turn off the lights in the bathroom when he leaves. When he's too tired to actually turn off the faucet as he's washing his face. But it's when he comes home all scratched up and tired, with blood that wasn't his splattered all over his clean suit that he liked to keep clean - that you really worry for him.

'...I'm home.' And you find yourself fussing about his carelessness quietly (in your mind). Because you knew that if it was you in that position, Kyouya would always be there with his I'm-not-amused look in his eyes and would be ready to scold you for tracking blood and mud and whatever else into your apartment. Regardless if you were unconscious and probably bleeding to death. (While tending to you, of course...)

But even if his legs were all worn out and about to give weight to the sudden drop of gravity - even if he just barely got to the front steps - it didn't matter how far he pushed himself. Even if you were hella scared for him more than he is for himself - or how scratched up and injured he was - you're just happy that he's home. That he's okay. That he's finally come back to you. And at times like this, you would be there. Waiting. To pick him up and kiss his unexpectedly clean hair, whispering, 'Welcome home.'

Musing with the idea that he keeps that certain part clean despite getting dirty all over just so you could be able to kiss him.

Whispers

It's when you're sitting back-to-back on the rooftop, overlooking Namimori, while leaning against one another as you stare up at the clear sunless sky - that you feel the most content. It's the way both your hands are laying on the side, merely inches away from one another - that you feel that overwhelming warmth that is both suffocating and calming. It's the way you're comfortable with the silence, the smell of the summer grass in the air - his hair tickling the nape and side of your neck.

It's the way the gentle summer breeze whisper in your ear 'I like you' - that you feel the most happy.

...

Done? Well, it flowed. In a way. I don't know. I feel like making a second part but in Kyouya's POV... or something. Comments? Concerns? Suggestions?

Do people like reading really long stories/writing or really short, sweet, and random stories/writing? I stick with the small font my comp provides me, so I sometimes go over the limit or whatever and don't know how far I write, and cutting some part out just sucks, cause it doesn't flow anymore...