Title: my Favorite Color is Purple
Pairing: 6918
Rating: T – for violence and language and something that might pass for romance (^_~)
Author's note: there are two types of yukatas for men. The long one reaches down to the ankles, the short ones to the knees. Also, yikes! I've never written about Mukuro and Hibari before. This is kind of scary... I came up with it because I wondered what it must have been like for Mukuro when Chrome disappeared to the future and I wondered what he would do. It's pretty long, but when I tried to cut it up it didn't really fit anymore.

.

.

.

Contemplations

The first time he saw Kyouya, Mukuro had known.
It wasn't exactly déjà-vu, nothing so strange, it was more a sense of recognition, like meeting someone you had always known, but never met.
They were two of a kind, Kyouya and he.
When it came to Kyouya his self-control all but crumbled to dust, and he found himself throwing all caution to the wind. He wanted him – he wanted to touch him, crush him, make him scream, force out every expression of that stony face, to carry him in his arms and to fight him until there was nothing left of either of them.

.

.

.

Of sudden loneliness

One day, his Chrome disappeared. It wasn't dramatic, or even painful, just very sudden – one moment he was there, with her, a presence inside a fragile, precious head that had become nearly as familiar to him as his own, and then, in the next, she was gone and that was where he was… in his own head, in his own helpless body, alone. And Chrome, his sweet Chrome, was Gone.

He tried to contact her – again and again, like he had done a thousand times – he searched for her and sent his consciousness soaring up, up and away from the cold and hateful place where his body was. But he couldn't find her. It was like searching for a shape in the clouds that had been there just a second ago, but then you had looked away and when you looked again, it had disappeared. Except he hadn't looked away – he had been there; he had shared her mind at the exact moment the shape had shifted…

He didn't like it, not one bit.

.

.

Without his Chrome, Mukuro was confined to his dark, watery prison and he hatedloatheddetested it! He felt like a trapped animal, a feeling he had felt so damn certain he would never have to suffer again, like he was suffocating, drowning in the black loneliness of the cell that had become his home.

No one would have ever thought that what he had with Chrome was possible, that it could be done; but he had done it.
He had taken no small pleasure from his success with the girl. It amused him, amused him to no end that not one of his stupid, special-trained high security prison guards knew, or could ever possibly fathom with their thick heads, that he, Rokudo Mukuro, was not really where they perceived him to be, but was actually wandering about in Japan in the same place where he had been caught.
It wasn't perfect. He was only semi-alive, a half-being for all practical purposes, but he was also only semi-imprisoned, a half-way captive, and there was satisfaction to be found in that.

And when Chrome didn't return, Mukuro made a decision he would try something else, attempt something impossible.

He had possessed humans before, many, many times. It was his Joker card, the one he always saved for last, so that he could savor the sudden terror in the eyes of his opponents, or the slow confusion that spread upon the faces of his less imaginative foes – that was when he knew he had them, and they knew it, too. They never saw it coming, because the bullets he used were illegal and so exquisitely rare that only he in the entire world had them. The thing he loved the most was to play with them before revealing his true power, the full extent of his unusual talent. The suicide-stunt he had pulled on the Vongola-kid and his Alcobaleno companion had been positively delightful.

He didn't have his possession shots anymore now though – he imagined they were most likely all destroyed – nor his trident, but he would find a way, of course he would.

He was Rokudo Mukuro.

.

.

He spent some time thinking about how it might be done, the thing he was planning. Pondering the finer details of the delicate process and turning around questions in his head that presented themselves as he thought. And carefully oh-so carefully he began to try…

He sent his mind flying, as he would do when contacting his Chrome, and searched for another consciousness to connect with. It was a peculiar sensation, not unlike moving about in the dark and feeling one's way with groping hands. He succeeded of course, in the end, as he knew he would, but it was tiring and he felt weak afterwards.

The first time he made any considerable progress it was with a butterfly. He had wanted to control it, to possess it completely – but even the frail instincts of an insect were too overwhelming for him then, and after a brief struggle he settled on merely sharing consciousness with it. And that was enough, just then, because he could see what the butterfly saw, and the sight of the sky – the big wonderful blue Italian sky – was like the first taste of food after a long, long fast.
And he was flying! Free, uncatchable – it was exhilarating!

Later he came to realize, with some surprise, that insects were virtually impossible to possess because they were all natural reflexes and survival instincts and there was hardly any consciousness there at all. He found that it was easier with bigger animals, they were so much more aware, but they resisted his prodding intrusions with surprising strength – they didn't want him there and, frightened at the alien sensation, they would panic and their frail minds would slip from his grasp like water.

It was a tiresome process.

That was when he had the idea with the owl.
Had he been able to share mind and eyes with Chrome as usual just then, he would no doubt have laughed at the irony of it all; Mukuro-Fukuro (*translate: 'Mukuro-owl'), the white owl, destined to be. Kufufu…

But he didn't know – he simply chose the bird because he knew they slept during the day and had few natural enemies, which meant they were likely to have calm minds and be docile so long as the sun was up.
And they could fly!

For each time he tried he was left exhausted and with a pounding headache that wouldn't go away, and he would be fit for nothing but heavy sleep for many hours at the time. But it didn't matter and he didn't care about any of that, because he was getting results. And as soon as he was able to fully possess the owl, control its movements and keep its confused thoughts appropriately sedated, Mukuro headed for the only place he could think of where there might be someone who might know, might have answers for him – Namimori, where that cursed infant and the doe-eyed Vongola-kid would be.

And Hibari…

The Alcobaleno would know.

And he would be there…

The baby was probably involved, somehow – surely, he would know.

Kyouya…

.

.

.

Now there is just us

When he came it was morning and Namimori had not changed since he had last been there. Endless, clean streets lined with portly, identical-looking houses, the peaceful atmosphere that hovered protectively over the city and filled the air like a nerve-numbing gas, making you feel so damn safe and secure. And because it was summer and suffocatingly hot (he hated the Japanese summers), people sported summer uniforms and carried with them colorful paper fans with flower prints or flashy brand logos. The whole damn place looked like a fucking commercial and Mukuro could vividly recall how he had longed to sully the picture-perfectness of it all, to stir up the normalness.

He knew at once where he would go. After all, he only had one clue, really, as to where he might locate the one he was after and that was the school, Namimori middle school, where the Vongola was.

Where Hibari would be…

He couldn't help it. When he swooped down and landed on the wrought iron gates of the school, that school, he felt the growing anticipation in his stomach like pure alcohol, fiery and vicious and deliciously hot. He would be seeing him again! Soon, soon, soon he would come and pass through these gates and they would be near each other again.

Students passed under him in twos and threes and their heads swiveled upwards and they pointed and the girls giggled. "Look at that bird, isn't it pretty?"

.

.

The prefects arrived, three of them, just before the beginning of 1st period, and it was like the air suddenly got chillier. Hibari Kyouya stood a head an half shorter than his two cohorts, but his ice-cold poise and the way his larger companions flanked him left onlookers in no doubt of who was the boss here.

Uneasiness spread through the mass of students with the same haste and effect as a scary rumor. Girls straightened their uniforms, boys' shoulders tensed under their thin shirts, paces quickened, conversations stilled. Suddenly it seemed very important for everyone to get inside as hurriedly as possible. And Mukuro forgot, for a brief, thoughtless moment, all about his Chrome.

Hibari had a smooth, lovely face framed by thick, pitch-black hair, high cheek bones and eyes that were deep and intense and achingly dark. He wore his red prefect's armband proudly pinned to the short sleeve of his summer shirt, and even though the sun was strong and merciless, his arms and delicate hands were pale.
He looked annoyed, irritated by something and there was a purpose to his stride that made the prefects stationed at either side of the gates below Mukuro shift uneasily and they flinched when he directed his burning glare at them.

"Good morning, chairman!" they greeted in near-perfect unison, like soldiers to a general, straightening their backs. "Morning inspection has been completed and found satisfactory, all is in order!"

The boy had no sooner uttered these words than Hibari struck him hard across the face. He tumbled backwards and his shoulders hit bricks.

"Please refrain from wasting my time with your worthless observations," he hissed. Striking down his own subordinate seemed to faze him not at all.
"All is not in order, you spineless, dim-witted oaf. Has Sasagawa Ryôhei returned?" He directed this last question at the other prefect, who looked visibly nervous now, little pearls of sweat glittering by his temples. He shook his head. "No, chairman, Mr. Sasagawa did not arrive on time today."

"And the others?"

The boy shook his head again. "There has been no sign of them."

And then, at that moment, Sasagawa Ryôhei did return...

"OI, HIBARI!!!"

The guardian of the Sun was a man of extremes and the physical presence of a hurricane. He reminded Mukuro vaguely of a dog; when he was happy, he was ecstatic and when he was sad, the world fell apart. He came running, because he always ran, and when he approached them they could see that he was a mess – he looked like he hadn't slept or brushed his hair in a long time, and his clothes were unwashed and torn at the knees. Hibari's face was a calm, mildly annoyed mask. He didn't greet or ask or say anything, but he didn't have to.

"I have searched EXTREMELY thoroughly, and I am now EXTREMELY worried!" Ryôhei didn't look winded or remotely tired even though he had just been running, and his voice was strong. And very loud.

"Sawada and the others are NOWHERE to be found ANYWHERE in Japan! And – and," suddenly his expressive face looked troubled and he looked down. "And my sister is… also still EXTREMELY missing!"

The prefect who had been knocked down pushed himself back up, wiped blood from his nose and patted Ryôhei sympathetically on the shoulder. "We all miss your sister, Sasagawa." The other prefects nodded vigorously in agreement to this. "Yeah." "Yeah, man, we really do." "Don't worry, we'll find her!" Ryôhei glanced suspiciously up at them.

Only Hibari was quiet, thoughtful. "Where did you go this time?"

"EVERYWHERE!!!" announced Ryôhei.

Hibari glared. "I mean," he growled, "what places?"

Ryôhei looked down on his hands, then, "I have EXTREMELY forgotten their names!"

Hibari narrowed his eyes and turned away, "…this is useless." He started to walk towards the school building. "Also, you failed to arrive on time yesterday and this morning without valid reason," he said over his shoulder. "That's going on your record, Sasagawa Ryôhei."

"WHAT?! Damnit, Hibari you –" Ryôhei had his fists clenched into hard balls and looked just about ready to pounce on the retreating figure, but instantly he had four pairs of strong hands grasping his arms and shoulders, covering his mouth.

Hibari glanced up as he passed through the gates and it didn't strike Mukuro how jarringly out of place he looked, because he forgot that he was white and an owl and that owls go to sleep in the morning.

.

.

.

The owl

The second time he saw the owl that day it landed on the school roof, just a few meters from where he sat. He had been sleeping, but the rustling of feathers woke him up and when he opened his eyes the owl was there.

Hibari stared at it.

He didn't move and his expression didn't change.

The owl stared back.

Gingerly, Hibari reached out his hand – empty palm up. "Come here, girl," he beckoned, softly, so as not to scare it away. The owl cocked its head and scooted closer, warily, curiously.

"Are you hungry?" Hibari felt in his pocket and found a small cracker wrapped in paper. He snapped it in half and held it out to the pretty owl. It prodded at the offered treat with its beak, then, suddenly, it pecked Hibari's hand instead, once, twice. But the pale hand didn't flinch. The chairman of Namimori middle school's Disciplinary Committee could hardly be said to be a soft and compassionate young man, but he was good with animals.

"You can't eat me," he said, with a small smile.

As if it understood him, the owl took the cracker and gulped it unceremoniously down. Very carefully, Hibari reached out and stroked the owl gently on its head with one finger. It felt soft and smooth, and the owl closed its eyes and seemed to enjoy the attention.

"Don't you know that owls sleep during the day?" Hibari offered it the second half of the treat and watched the owl take it.

.

.

The next time he saw the owl was only a few hours later that same day when he was walking from school and the sky was turning dark blue and purple in the horizon and he heard the sound of beating wings above his head. When he glanced up, there was the snowy white owl again. On his shoulder, the little yellow bird that he had come to think of as his, shifted uneasily.

The owl swooped down in a graceful arch and landed on a branch just as Hibari was passing under it.

"Hibari, Hibari!" His little bird suddenly began to chirp. It skipped restlessly back and forth – "Hibari, Hibari!" – it beat its tiny little wings a couple of times – "Defeated, defeated!" – before finally taking flight. Hibari stared after it, it had started on the school anthem now; he glanced up at the owl again, but his expression remained unchanged and unreadable.

.

.

.

Gone

Missing. They were gone, all of them. Not just his dear Chrome, but the others as well.

The ones he had been looking for – the infant, that boy who had finally beaten him, the tall one with the sword and the half-blood with the dynamite – had all disappeared, just like his Chrome, and for several days nobody had seen so much as a trace of them. Sawada Tsunayoshi had disappeared first, it seemed, along with Gokudera Hayato and, Mukuro reckoned, probably the Alcobaleno as well. Then, the day after that, Yamamoto Takeshi and the girl that was Sasagawa's sister had vanished, too.

He didn't like it, not one bit.

Because Mukuro realized now how terribly alone he was...

.

.

Mukuro followed after Hibari that day, all day – what other choice did he have? – fluttering from window to open window, from roof top to grass, from railing to the thin charcoal stick branches in a dry summer tree. He listened in on brief but frequent phone calls, drinking up the little pieces of conversation with thirsty ears. He heard everything.
The prefects of Namimori middle school appeared to have organized their own search party, and several times a day Hibari would answer his cell phone at painfully even intervals only to hear that no lost students had been found, and to tell someone to report back or to go and look someplace else.
The Sun guardian, Sasagawa Ryôhei, was also searching. He ran around, looking for his friends and his beloved baby sister in seemingly random places all over the country, which he had already done twice, Mukuro gathered and he knew this because Sasagawa, too, reported back to Kyouya.

Everyone did, it seemed. The first time they met, Hibari had made it clear that Namimori already had a source of discipline and hardly needed another and Mukuro was beginning to realize that he had not been lying. Hibari wasn't so much the head prefect of a middle school as he was the juvenile dictator of an entire town. Everyone was afraid of him – to the point where all he had to do was glare to rid an entire area of people in practically no time.

.

.

Hibari liked birds, so he didn't mind the owl.

He was curious about it, because it wasn't a local bird and it didn't seem like it knew how the daily rhythm of an owl was supposed to be. It would come in the middle of the day, while he was at school, or in the morning or the evening when he was headed to or from. Sometimes it would come and be there on the school roof when he rested, or it would sit on the window still in the reception room, and sometimes he spotted it sitting in the cherry trees by the school entrance. It was unusually social, and Hibari thought that maybe it had been somebody's pet and that perhaps it had flown away from its cage one day, not too long ago, and was unaccustomed to being on its own – but it was pretty and fascinating and he allowed it to be around him.

.

.

.

About Hibari

Mukuro never intended for the thing with Hibari to become a routine, he had just wanted to see him again, just one time, but he kept coming back – the next day, the day after that and he told himself that it was to keep track of how the search was going.

But it wasn't. It was because Hibari Kyouya slept on the school roof and read weird books and made up games when he was bored that all ended with him beating the tar out of everyone and anyone who were brave or unlucky enough to play and he had a face that could break your heart – why should he leave?

He watched, fascinated, as Hibari beat up a gang of delinquents in the morning who were sharing a cigarette in secret behind the gym and dragged them kicking and sobbing inside by the hair, presumably to the principal's office – after putting out the cigarette on one of the boys' hand, of course. He watched him kick his own subordinate out through the window of the reception room before lunch for interrupting what had to be his 3rd nap that day. They all worshipped the ground he walked on, though, the prefects, even though he didn't listen to them and they weren't allowed to come near him, and Mukuro reckoned they probably all had the hots for him.
Even the teachers, those of them that didn't simply run away, were all tense shoulders and respectful bows when he was nearby.
Hibari owned the school. And Hibari knew it.

He had thought that he wanted to recruit him once, Mukuro recalled. But now he knew that that guy would never be bound, not to anyone – Hibari couldn't be caught. This only made Mukuro want him more, of course, but he hated him for it, too. It was painful to watch someone so free when you were bound by chains and buried underground…

The more he saw of him, the more fascinated Mukuro became and the more he realized that Hibari was not a good guy.
Hibari was a blood-thirsty, arrogant, cold-hearted bastard.
Mukuro thought he might be in love.

.

.

Hibari was nearly always at school. He arrived while the grass was still moist and cold in the morning and nobody else was there, and he rarely left until long after the sky had turned dark and the stars were out. When he ate, he ate there. When he slept, he slept there. He did his work in the reception room where there was a couch he seemed to like, and read his unusual books, which he picked out from the shelves in the library during classes when it would be empty. Namimori middle school was, apparently, home.

He had an apartment, though, Mukuro discovered; one of the small but expensive ones just nearby the school perimeters. It wasn't that uncommon for kids out of elementary to live away from their parents if they attended a school some distance away, especially if they had worked hard to get into a specific one, but taking his obvious attachment into consideration, Hibari was clearly not from out of town.

Mukuro found he was curious; wondering what Hibari's room might look like, where he slept, and whether he kept any of his belongings there at all, considering how very little time he spent there.

He wanted to see it…

.

.

He didn't come until it was long past midnight. Hibari slept his quick little cat-naps several times a day and Mukuro seriously doubted whether he slept at night the way other people, normal people, did at all. So he waited.

Then he flew to the veranda and landed soundlessly on the railing. Then he waited, listened. But there was no sound coming from inside. The veranda glass doors stood open now, because it was summer and the nights were hot and sticky, and behind them were a set of sliding doors made of discreetly decorated rice paper. They, too, were parted.

Then there was a wisp of smoke, the owl disappeared and Rokudo Mukuro slid noiselessly down from the railing in his own human body.

He eased his way in, slipping past the sliding doors, smoothly, quietly, like a shadow – hidden within his own illusions. There could have been ten people in the room, a hundred, and no one would have ever realized he was there.

It was stupid, perhaps, and served no real purpose to use his own body for something like this, but for the sake of his own pleasure he wanted to tread on the floor, touch Hibari's things with his hands – it wouldn't be nearly as satisfying to do these things as a bird. He tried to imagine Hibari's face if he knew that he, Rokudo Mukuro, had been inside his home – 2nd home, anyway – and wanted to laugh. Perhaps he should move some things around or write him a message on the bathroom mirror.

The room was not lit by any light, and Mukuro didn't need any, but the white rice paper doors allowed a pale glow of moonlight to filter through and a faint milky white cone spread across the room from the parted doors like a ribbon.

Hibari had rolled out his futon right in the middle of the floor – as if just being near a wall or a corner would somehow make him feel constrained, even in his own room, and Mukuro eyes sparkled; amused, intrigued.

Because the air was humid and too hot for comfort, there were no blankets and Hibari lay on his back, draped on the simple futon like a doll, dressed in nothing but a blood red yukata that shimmered in the sparse light like silk. It probably was. It was one of the short ones, lightly fastened at the waist, but it had slipped off a raised knee and revealed a smooth, perfect thigh. His head was turned sideways, towards the parted doors where Mukuro stood, and his normally hostile visage looked blissfully peaceful and impossibly, unearthly beautiful with the white skin, sharply contrasted by the pitch black hair and the long lashes.

Mukuro drank in every detail and enjoyed the feeling of power; of seeing the other so vulnerable and defenseless, of being inside this room – his room – and watching him, unseen, while he slept, of approaching him undetected. It was a feeling he cherished like a drug, and it had been so long, too long, since he had stood over someone's prone form like this, superior.

Gingerly he knelt down by the futon, leaned over Hibari with a playful smirk – oh Kyouya, beautiful, beautiful Kyouya – looking, looking as if his eyes couldn't get enough. He wasn't afraid that Hibari might wake up. Mukuro's illusions never failed him and as far as anyone would perceive, Mukuro was not really there.

And he savored the opportunity to study the sleeping boy to his heart's content, confident that he would be able to do so undisturbed.

In the pale light that filtered in from the night sky outside, Hibari's skin seemed to glow – white and even, smooth and perfect. A tiny drop of sweat trailed down the slender, strong neck and Mukuro watched it disappear beneath a thin layer of dark red silk.

Clothes, too much clothes, it was in the way.

His eyes were dark, hectic pools of mirth and self-confidence as he carefully, quietly drew the front of the yukata aside with nimble fingers and let it slip down past Hibari's shoulder to reveal one half of a pale and oh so lovely chest, one collarbone, straight and razor sharp, and one half of a flat stomach, heaving gently, rhythmically up and down.

Mukuro's lips parted slightly, he couldn't look away, his hair fell down over his face as he leant closer, mesmerized, trailing the contours of the clean, exposed body under him – just the air above the skin, only barely not actually touching him. Hibari looked so available like this, so… inviting, like he was begging to be taken, to be owned.

Gently, because he wasn't satisfied, he pulled aside the other half as well of the yukata that covered Hibari's upper body – his eyes wanted more. He wanted to laugh in the darkness, he was excited, thrilled, aroused. Oh Kyouya, my Kyouya…

His eyes darted to the little knot by Hibari's hip. Should he…? He wanted to. He wanted to see everything. He wanted to take it off! Open it up completely and unwrap the delectable body inside like a present – neatly, so that it would be obvious when Kyouya awoke in the morning, that somebody had been in his room, close enough to touch him, and undressed him while he slept. Mukuro's fingers reached for the neatly tied knot and his eyes lingered on the soft, slender thigh, where the red silk ended.

He didn't see the corner of Hibari's lip quirk upwards, didn't see his eyelids slowly glide up, already fixed upon him when they opened, like they knew all along he was there…

And then, suddenly, before he knew what was happening, something cold and hard connected with the side of his face and something shoved him just below the shoulder of his half-way extended arm. The room spun upside-down. When his head hit the floor with a soft 'thud' Mukuro couldn't hide the surprise from his face and with eyes that were wide and confused he stared up – up and into the triumphant face of Hibari Kyouya, who sat perched on his stomach, pressing his pale thighs against Mukuro's sides, with one tonfa pressed hard against his Adam's apple and one hovering a mere inch over his right eye, his red eye.

For a moment they stared into each others' eyes. The air was still and very quiet. Only their soft breaths could be heard.

Then Mukuro's expression melted into a charming smile – this guy just never disappointed – his eyelids lowered. How exciting…!

"My, my…" he eyed the tonfa by his neck warily. "It's been a long time," he said, as casually as if they were old acquaintances who had just coincidentally bumped into each other on the street.

Hibari smirked; he looked dangerous now, predatory, he knew he had the upper hand.
"I knew it was you," he said simply. His eyes moved over Mukuro's face and the tonfa shifted slightly along with it, as if he were trying to decide where to stab it down first, which part of Mukuro's skull to crush.

Mukuro chuckled to hide his surprise. Kyouya was lying, had to be – no one ever saw through his illusions. "Well, I am a little impressed, somewhat… How did you know?"

"I hate your cowardly illusions," said Hibari softly, his smirk never fading as he spoke, their eyes still firmly locked, "so I discovered a way of seeing through them."

You lie. Had he really? Mukuro brought his hands to his shoulders, palms facing up towards Hibari in a nonchalant shrug that looked somehow smooth in spite of his awkward position. "Hmm, you certainly caught me off-guard, I'll admit." His reptile smile widened a little. "I suppose I should be flattered."

As a response the tonfa at his throat pressed down harder and Mukuro had to twist his neck sideways to avoid being choked.
"So, Mr. Head Prefect," he managed, his voice strained. "What happens now?" But he knew, before the words fell, what the answer would be – he grinned, and his eyes all but burned with anticipation, eagerness.

"Now," said Hibari, and his perfect half-moon smile revealed teeth now, "I'm going to bite you to death."

He struck – and missed Mukuro's head by the fraction of an inch. He was impossibly fast, impossibly strong for such a quick action, but Mukuro felt the muscles tense up in the legs by his chest, saw the impending movement through Hibari's open yukata, the exquisite flexing under the skin – he was prepared before the strike fell.

Instead of rolling sideways he jerked his upper body forwards and exploited the split second where neither of those deadly tonfas were aimed at his eye to grab Hibari by the waist and, instead of pushing him back, he pulled him upwards. Hibari was unable to hold against and he was practically thrown head first over Mukuro, who held on fast to his hips and followed after. He intended it as a smooth roll, a Judo grip, which would leave him on top of Kyouya – but Hibari twisted in his grip, even as he fell.

They crashed sideways into a small bookshelf, and little soft-cover books with sharp corners rained down on them like hail. He was on top, but only just, and his head was forced up into an uncomfortable angle by Hibari's foot, which he had somehow managed to get up against Mukuro's throat.

"Why are you here, herbivore?" Hibari's voice was low and dangerous, demanding, and the look with which he studied Mukuro's face was intense.

Mukuro grabbed after his hands – "Why, to tuck you in, of course, little bird," he said, his tone of voice mockingly affectionate – he had to get him to shed the tonfas somehow, if only he'd had his own weapon available, but Hibari was faster and struck at his sides and elbows.

"Not here, you filthy, inbred waste of flesh," growled Hibari through gritted teeth."I mean the owl. Did you really think I wouldn't know?"

This comment surprised Mukuro somewhat, and pleased him too – had Hibari known all along that it was him? He cocked his head. "My, my, it seems I have underestimated you…What gave me away?"

Hibari smirked. His dark eyes glittered in the dark. "You were sloppy, Rokudo Mukuro."

His name sounded strangely alluring when it rolled off Kyouya's tongue, like an exotic, delicious drink and Mukuro felt it in the pit of his stomach like a shot of strong, golden whiskey. It was almost excruciating. His perpetual smirk widened – he wanted Hibari, oh how he wanted him!

Mukuro grabbed the ankle under his chin instead and yanked it away. The sudden lack of support, of being forced up, made him lose balance and he fell forward on top of Hibari.

Suddenly they were chest to chest, Mukuro's hair fell like a curtain around their faces, which were suddenly very, very close…

For a moment that could have lasted a second or an hour, they stared at each other without moving, without breathing – until Hibari's eyes narrowed into a hateful glare and Mukuro's lips became a playful grin.

"Hmm, isn't this nice," he practically purred. "To think I'd have you under me again." He moved the hand on Hibari's ankle down, along the calf to the soft underside of the knee – "…Kyouya."

"Don't change the subject, herbivore," growled Hibari, and cracked his forehead hard into the bridge of Mukuro's nose.

They rolled around on the floor in a tangle of legs and skin and rumpled garments, hitting, shoving and kicking wherever there was a scarce inch of space between them, grasping for each other's clothes – both struggling for dominance. Mukuro was bleeding from the nose and plum-colored bruises were forming on his sides and the small of his back like dark roses. Hibari's red yukata hung from his shoulders and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. They hit a small, spindly chair, which toppled over sideways and sent Hibari's neatly folded school uniform flying.

Mukuro grabbed the crimson neck tie in one quick, smooth motion and, by stretching it out between his hands, he caught Hibari's next swipe before it could hit his chin. He flashed Hibari a feral grin, but Hibari mirrored it and suddenly, with a metallic noise, about two dozen needle-sharp spikes sprouted from the shaft of the tonfa like cactus thorns and the silky fabric was ripped off clean. Mukuro's eyes shut instinctively, and almost before he could open them again, something hit him square in the chest and he fell backwards.

He looked up to find, once again, Hibari – standing over him on all fours, with a menacing scowl and the tip of one cactus-tonfa pressed against his chest.

"Now, maggot," Hibari went on in that same demanding tone of voice. "I want to know why you have been following me. If it's a fight you want…" He pressed the tip of the tonfa harder down on the spot where Mukuro's heart was and said no more. The implication was obvious.

"Hm," Mukuro shrugged his shoulders again, languidly, carelessly. Then he looked away. "I suppose I have no reason not to tell you… I lost contact with my Chrome," he said simply. "I can't find her. There isn't much to do where I am now," he added softly, "and without her I'm trapped. I came here to search, but," he looked up at Kyouya again, "it seems she's not the only one who has disappeared."

There was a pause. Hibari's features grew serious now and he seemed to contemplate Mukuro for a moment before he spoke. "I don't know where they are," he said finally.

"I know you don't."

Hibari's eyes narrowed. "Then why are you still here?" he spat through gritted teeth.

"Like I said…" Mukuro's snake-like smile returned. "I was bored."

"What about your little fan-club?"

"Oh, but they're not nearly as entertaining as you are… Kyouya." His smile became playful once more.
"Thanks to you I've been able to enjoy myself for a couple of days. However," his eyes trailed slowly down Hibari's neck, over his chest and the red yukata, down along his outstretched arm… before returning to the cold glare of those ridiculously lovely eyes. "Had I known how much fun you are in the bedroom, I might have reserved my strength for the nights instead."

He laughed and ducked his head to avoid the deadly swipe that grazed his hair – Hibari looked positively murderous. It was so easy with this guy. "Enough talk," he hissed. "I will crush you, you pathetic piece of scum!"

"Kufufu…"

Mukuro edged himself backwards, away from Hibari – his back hit the wooden panes of the tidy desk and he sat half-way up, so that they ended up face to face. "It's useless, you know," he drawled. "I'll only return to my real body, and you will be left here…" he gestured with his hand. "Alone, with a dead owl."

"Only spineless plant-eaters make up excuses like that," growled Hibari.

"Oh, you don't believe me? It's true. Like this, I can't even make full use of my senses. I feel exhaustion, but no real pain. I can recognize tastes, but they have no flavor…" He spoke softly.

His eyes sparkled in the darkness as he reached out and, perfectly unafraid, put his palm against Hibari's cheek. The boy didn't move a muscle, didn't flinch. "I could even do this," he stroked the fine jaw-line, grazed the bottom lip with his thumb, and suddenly his words were barely audible, "and I wouldn't feel… a thing."

They sat like that for a moment, silently – both had their eyes fixed on Mukuro's outstretched hand. Then, very slowly, their eyes met once more… and then Mukuro threw himself sideways and a tonfa hit the drawer where his head had been. He was prepared for a second strike, but none came. Hibari wasn't looking at him.

"Then we have no business, Rokudo Mukuro."

"Oh, harsh," chuckled Mukuro, but he felt a sting of disappointment. His time was up, he wouldn't last much longer now in this body – not without killing the bird. He would have dearly loved to continue the fight, he would, he was sure he could somehow persuade Kyouya into losing his temper again – but he was at his very limit now, either way, he had no choice but to return to his own body.

"It wouldn't matter much, would it," muttered Hibari. He stood up, graceful like a languid cat, "even if I ripped your guts out now. You're not even fighting me seriously," he added, shooting Mukuro a sideways glare.

Mukuro drew his fingers through his hair and opened his mouth to make a retort, but at that moment Hibari, still without looking at him, interrupted him by placing the tip of one tonfa against Mukuro's chin.

"However," he drawled coolly, "come here again, and I will personally dismember each and every one of your sad little pet-hosts with my teeth."

"My, aren't you scary." With a small smile Mukuro gave the weapon in front of his face a kiss, his eyes firmly locked on Hibari. "Sadly, Mr. Prefect, I must take my leave."

Hibari stared back. "One day I will kill you for real, Rokudo Mukuro."

"Arrivederci, Kyouya."

Then there was smoke – thin ribbons of ghostly smoke, transparent like frosted glass, twirled and unfurled in the dark air and Mukuro was gone. And on the floor, a small, snowy white owl ruffled its feathers.

Hibari stared at it, lowered his tonfa until they both hung limply by his sides. Suddenly, he seemed to have a thought and he looked quickly around the room, searching for traces of the other in the shadows, as if he didn't really trust that Mukuro would be gone. The room was a mess… his futon, his clothes and his books lay scattered on the floor, as if a strong wind had passed directly through. And Mukuro wasn't there. It was just the owl, looking dazed and confused as it scampered unsteadily towards the veranda…

And then, like a final farewell, came the familiar chuckle that came from nowhere and everywhere at once.

"Kufufu…"

Hibari scowled. The bird stretched its wings and took flight through the parted glass doors.

Hibari's face revealed nothing as he tilted it upwards and stared after Mukuro, but, even after he lost sight of the owl, he didn't look away.

.

.

.

Of what very nearly happened afterwards...

"I need your assistance with something…"

Hibari leant his elbows on the railing and didn't look at him. The words seemed to cost him some effort.

"That's… unusual." Dino gave him a sideways glance and took a sip of cool, white wine. They were standing on the balcony of Dino's hotel room; one Hibari had visited many times before because Dino favored one particular hotel whenever he was in Namimori, and, because the personnel practically adored him, he always got the same suite on the top floor.

"What are you planning?"

Hibari was silent for a moment, then, "I'm going to break Rokudo Mukuro out of prison."

A small spray-fountain exploded from Dino's mouth. "What?!" he wiped his face ungracefully with the sleeve of his shirt. "Kyouya, that's insane! Why? Can't his little ragamuffin posse do that?"

Hibari scoffed. "Have you met those three? They're useless without him. But," he added with a cold smile, "They're going to help me as well." He put down his glass, which wasn't wine but chilled green tea, with a faint clink and turned to Dino. He looked serious now, and his eyes were dark and calm. "I need him out and I need him to owe me."

"I see." Dino scratched his neck. "So... this isn't part of some crazy vendetta you got going on? I'm confused though, what do you need me to do?"

Hibari looked down, seemed to study the scenery below them, twilight-Namimori, before he answered. "Mukuro is going to stay in Italy."

"In Italy? Kyouya, why would –?" Then Dino had a crazy thought and gave an involuntary nervous laugh. "You're not asking me to babysit that guy? Ha-ha… right? Because that would be…"

"Don't be ridiculous. No, I'd prefer it if you two met face to face as little as possible. That little plant eater has an annoying talent for getting... under people's skin." His jaw tightened and his fist clenched and unclenched in an absentminded fashion while he spoke, as if the thought greatly upset him.
"What I ask of you is simple," he went on, relaxing his hands. "I need somewhere to keep him until they call off the search parties and, secondly, you will help me cover the whole incident up. Nothing must lead back to me or that herbivore family. And third, you will be my way of contacting him."

Dino stared. He took a long, deep drink of the wine and when he put the glass down again, it was empty.

.

.

Hibari disappeared, too, the next day; loudly and violently and unexpectedly to a world 10 years into the future, so Mukuro never knew how close he had been to freedom, to being with Hibari again.
He flew to all the places he could think of on wings that weren't his, and he searched for the ones who had vanished until he began to secretly hope that he would vanish, too.

Mukuro did not see Kyouya again for a long time…

.

.

.

the End

.

.

Me again: and... that's it. Hope you liked it (^_~) Oh, and the trick with Hibari seeing through Mukuro's illusions... I came up with the bedroom scene based on the adult Hibari mentioning to Genkishi that all he needed to do was to break the illusionist's concentration and the illusion would rip at the seams, so to speak.