disclaimer: go to my profile.

a/n: post this on LJ a while back….I liked it

requests: You know…if you review….I may marry you.

warnings: BL, cursing, violence, spoilers for Varia-arc, hinted-at-future-masochism, kissing & gropin'.

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You think the new boy is too loud, too violent and too scary. His name is Squalo Superbia, and you think that's a pretty name.

He gets into fights, a lot. The upperclassmen think that Squalo is too proud for someone for a nothing-son of a nothing-family. Too cocky, too easily provoked for the mafia. Really quite useless, actually. No tact and no connections. You wonder what he's doing here in this school for children who are going to be someone in their famiglias.

So, every other day it seems, a bunch of upperclassmen take it upon themselves to show Squalo the error of his ways. It's twenty seventeen year olds against one ten year old, and even though every other day Squalo fights back viciously, teeth bared like some type of shark, you see him lose each day in the yard.

You feel kind of guilty for not doing anything, but reason that if you tried, clumsy little Cavallone heir would just make things worse for the new boy.

Three weeks later, you are falling down the staircase again. You tripped over a pen, and the bumps along the way hurt.

You've always had terrible luck, so you end up falling down into the corridor where beautiful curses are being spit out by the boy with the pretty name, Squalo, was it? Twenty seniors once again came to put the fear of power into him, but you notice that from three weeks ago, there are more bruises on the seniors then there are on Squalo.

Not that the younger boy is winning. He's bleeding into his right eye and his left hand is too busy wiping the blood away to defend himself against the seniors. But he's grinning in the way that either means he's lost too much blood or that he's possibly insane.

You think it could be both.

"Fucking…!" He pants and you realize, this is the first time you've heard him talk. First time you've seen him from more then a safe distance. "Fucking seniors! Be real men and fight me, one on one!"

The leader (there's always a leader it seems) laughs. "Why would we bother with just one stinkin' kid?" His words are cocky, but there's a tremor of uncertainty. "This is just so much more fun."

For the first time since you've landed in the hallway, a senior notices you through a black-eye. "Damn. What are you doing where Cavallone? Couldn't fall somewhere else? We're a bit busy."

You've never been a brave one. But there's something besides madness in Squalo's good eye that flashes yellow. "Busy beating up someone seven years younger then you?" You say before you realize the words have left your mouth and you cover your lips in surprise.

You're beaten up along with Squalo, a little lesson for minding your superiors.

You learn it, but one day you'll forget it.

"Sorry," You apologize to Squalo "I wasn't any help at all."

"You're a clumsy idiot!" He yells before getting up and offering you his left hand, that has blood drying on it.

"Um. Yeah, I am…" You stumble after him, back to the dormitory. "Um, shouldn't we be going to the nurse?"

Squalo spins around so fast that you almost forget he was limping seconds before. "I knocked ten of them down." He crows, delighted. "I'm fucking going to take nap and tomorrow I'm going to get fifteen!"

You laugh and the noise startles you. "My name is Dino Cavallone."

Squalo shrugs. "You know my name already, you idiot! What, do you want to shake hands!?" Then he smiles, shyly and for the first time looks his age. "Do you want to eat lunch together?"

Two months later, and you've stopped getting involved with the fights. They've become a school spectacle to watch and each day, Squalo seems to get better and better. He's still loud, too cocky and curses way too much for a ten year old. But you have become good friends with him and there's this rumbling in your stomach today.

There's two seniors left, and Squalo has blood on his face again, but it's not his. His hands are twitching with life and excitement and his short silver hair is streaked with crimson.

In a few years, you'll wish that you had take a picture of that.

But right now, you're containing the urge to lean against the railing (you'd fall down and distract him) and instead are just cheering him on.

He doesn't really need you to. In a swift, one-two-three movement, one of the seniors is down clutching his arm and his crotch in obvious pain.

The last senior pales. And he's down in one. A quick thrust to his solar plexus.

Squalo turns to the watching crowd, the teachers who are covering their hands in shock and screams. "VOIII! Listen to me! I'm going to become the greatest swordsman ever! You watch!"

You would always watch, you swear. It's hard to take your eyes off him as he stands up proud. You think that if you put a sword in his hands, it'll be truly beautiful.

And you believe that he'll be the best, ever.

Five years later, and you're kissing Squalo. He tastes like salt-water and blood and his hair is still short. Two callused hands are running over your body, and you're too young and naïve in this dark world you were born into to notice how easily Squalo submits and how he doesn't really mind when you accidentally hurt him, even though he screams at you for doing it.

You're in a closet (how fitting, you chuckle in your head, because doing it aloud would make Squalo angry and he seems to get angry at you easily nowadays) and your skin is hot and you want to touch more, always more. So, you do.

You're less clumsy around Squalo then other people, and you wonder if this is because you want to impress Squalo. You want to seem suave and mysterious in front of him, all sorts of ridiculous things.

You want Squalo in a moonlit garden, you want him in your suite, and you want Squalo. There's something so dirty about these hurried touches in closets and something that seems demeaning in fucking him in alleys and closets and emptied classrooms.

You try to forget that he seems to like being demeaned.

There's noise in the hallway, just when you've stuck your hands down Squalo's pants and he's biting your neck and telling you to hurry up! and just, rip it, I can get new ones! Cavallone, I'll never forgive you if you take your time, just screw - !

The noise gets louder, and louder and you murmur a tender apology against Squalo's ear. You've gotten your pants up, when you trip on your own foot and fall out of the closet, disheveled and red, your haired mussed like you just woke up.

The world is upside down and you see a boy with black hair, a cold smile and eyes that are filled with nothing but rage. He ignores you and strides down the halls in powerful steps that sound like domination.

The new boy is named Xanxus, you learn. He's the bastard son of the Vongola Ninth, the genius in the family. Everyone thinks he's going to be named the heir.

Squalo thinks he's strong, and smart and so, you think so too. One day, after language (your best class, you've always liked it) you bound up to him, only falling down twice.

"Hello! My name is Dino Cavallone. You're in some of my classes, right?" You smile friendly, ignoring the rumors you've heard, that's he unfriendly and vicious, like a wild animal really.

"The Cavallone heir." He says, almost to himself. He looks at you and frowns. "I don't talk to someone weaker then me." Then his expression changes, into a knowing smirk. "Particularly someone who can't even fuck his boyfriend."

Two months later, and you've been seeing Squalo less and less. Your father has called to tell you that in after graduation, you're getting a tutor to help you learn the ropes of being the Cavallone boss.

You ignore how weak your father, who's always been so damn strong, sounds and chirp sure.

Squalo is becoming more wild by the day, throwing himself into any fight he can find. He's already established himself as a genius swordsman, but he's been desperately trying every new weapon he can find.

You haven't touched him in a week. Last time you tried, he lashed out, left hand smacking your face. "Don't touch me! I'm busy!"

He wasn't.

You've tripped down the last five steps and fall in the same corridor that you first talked to Squalo in. You hear screaming, and you know its Squalo. There is a calm, dark timbre and you pause. It's Xanxus.

It's like the bullies, once again. You're afraid of Xanxus – and even though you've whispered countless IloveyouIloveyouIloveyou to Squalo, you're afraid. Not just of Xanxus, but you know that you're not allowed to interfere with Squalo's fights.

"Trash. What do you want with me?" Xanxus asks lazily, and peeking around the corner with grace given to you by fright you see his eyes lazily travel over Squalo's body.

It makes you jealous.

"Fight me!" Squalo says eagerly. "I'm the strongest swordsman in this fucking school, and I'm going to be the Sword Emperor one day and lead the Varia!

Xanxus snorts. "I don't give a fuck. I'm going to be the Tenth Vongola. What do I care what garbage is, especially garbage that has no family to serve?"

Squalo flinches. You've never discussed what family he's going to serve. The Superbias are as disgraced and ruined as a family can be and still be in the mafia. "It's a hell of a lot better then a damn bastard son!" He taunts, waving his sword around wildly.

Xanxus shrugs. "Bastard or not, you're still a nobody, Squalo."

You hate how Xanxus says his name. It sounds so intimate to you, and you're about to leave. No sense seeing your boyfriend get beat up.

"Fuck you!" Squalo bites out. "Fight me, or I'll stab you while you're sleeping!"

There's a clatter. It sounds like Squalo dropped his sword, but you think that's impossible. The first thing Squalo ever said about swords was that no matter what, you didn't drop it. Then Squalo is breathing heavily and there's a wet smack.

You know that sound.

And like a coward, you leave the corridor, fists bunched up and falling down every other step.

Years later, when you are older and Squalo's short silver hair is still beautiful, but long and when his twitching left hand is replaced you –

You don't know what to say and just stroke a bandaged cheek. You watch long lashes flutter open, like a dying butterfly and you look at yellow eyes.

"What the hell, Squalo?" You whisper.