Infamous

Synopsis: Hibari had never allowed himself to become attached. So when he runs into Yamamoto again eleven years later, he doesn't know what to say. But he doesn't need to, because Yamamoto doesn't recognize him anymore. 8018, AU mafia.

This is an AU mafia world, where dying will flames and box animals don't exist, and is a "typical" or "normal" mafia setting. It's located in Japan, so I suppose it's the Yakuza? Anyway~ I hope you guys like this.

Disclaimer: I do not own Katekyo Hitman Reborn. Any similarities in events or characters living or dead are entirely coincidental.

Enjoy!

Infamous

Hibari was not one to run.

He normally didn't have to run. But he does anyway, because if he hesitates a second longer or falls behind a step, he'll get his brains blown out.

Bullets sprayed down the dirt pathway as he dashes out of the warehouse, his jacket flapping like bird's wings behind him and his tie threatening to strangle his neck. He could feel his heart pounding in his ribcage; feel his gun sliding down his sweaty palm, but he's never unfit or out of shape, so by the time he reaches the towering wire gates, hauls himself over and disappears down the torn-up, cracked pavement excuse of a street, his enemies had already lost sight of him.

Hibari puffs in annoyance as he slows down to a light jog, dodging in and out of alleyways as he glances around for the bastard's car. Didn't he say to find a closer spot? But no, that stupid beige-haired freak just had to find the furthest place to park, probably to spite him.

The raven locates the slim black sports car about ten minutes later, glaring disdainfully through the tinted glass at the driver, who was casually smoking a cigarette and filling the interior of the vehicle with that nasty shit-smelling fume. He raps irritably on the glass, and a moment later—longer than necessary, Hibari might add—the lock clicks open and he slides himself in, undoing his tie.

"Why are you sweating, you disgraceful animal?" the male next to him asks, his voice deep and bored, ice blue eyes full of challenge and annoyance.

"Why did you park so far away, herbivore?" Hibari counters, pulling a thick yellow envelope out of his jacket and tossing the pair into the backseat, popping the buttons of his crisp white shirt open to let his skin breathe. Alaude snorts next to him, exhaling his putrid cloud of smoke over to the younger.

"I knew it; you got caught. I told Byakuran that you can't handle shit, and I was right."

"Either you fuck off or I'll paint your brains onto the dashboard," Hibari said, reaching over to point his gun at the other's temple, not even bothering to look up as he reclined the passenger seat, intent on getting some much needed rest.

Alaude huffed ever so slightly and mashed his cigarette out in the ashtray. "Get that ridiculous thing away from me or you're walking home."

That was their daily exchange of a conversation, and really, they had known each other long enough to know when they were just being assbags for shits and giggles and when they were really going to end up duking it out on the floor. But they rarely got to that stage; Byakuran didn't like it when his own men got into fist fights.

Unorganized and undisciplined, the white-haired man had stated smoothly, smiling at them with glowing, commanding purple eyes. Don't let me catch you losing your temper like that, boys.

Hibari snorted, turning his head to the side to watch the scenery flying by. Alaude was more than definatly going over the speed limit, flooring the gas pedal for his own personal joy of risking it all. Personally, Hibari would prefer not to die in a mashed pile of metal and road, but he couldn't really care anymore. Plus, this was getting him home faster, and who was he to complain? All the wanted right now was a good shower, food, and preferably a bottle of Château Maresqueto go with his meal. He'd drop by headquarters later and hand in the documents, since Byakuran wasn't really fussed about how quickly things were done, depending on the mission at hand.

Just don't fuck up. Do it right, do it smoothly, and do not put the Family at risk.

And that was all.

When Hibari dragged himself out of Alaude's car around midnight, eternally grateful for the amount of fresh air around him, he walked up through the lobby of the towering, glass-pane, classic apartment complex that hosted his flat. At the front desk, the quiet receptionist, Chrome, nodded to him as he passed, her bad eye hidden by a dark eye patch. Hibari felt inclined to return the greeting; Chrome wasn't so bad, after all. She didn't talk much, for one, which made her pretty much all right in Hibari's books.

He took the lift all the way up to the eighteenth floor, jammed his key into his door, and was ready to flop onto either his couch or head into the showers when he noticed that he was definatly not alone in the flat. His first instinct was to go for his gun, but when he walked in and almost tripped over a familiar pair of polished, thigh-high boots, he groaned and considered getting his shotgun instead. Hibari slammed the door shut, locked it, and stormed into his kitchen to find an infuriating, blue-haired man with sweeping locks long enough to touch his butt and eyes that had been mismatched since birth using his things like he owned the place. The male was cooking something that smelled undeniably good on his stove, but that didn't mean Hibari was happy to see him.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he snarled, throwing his jacket onto the table and shoving the man out of the way.

"Tsk, tsk, what kind of greeting is that, Hibari?" the man smirked, allowing the raven to take over the stir-fry on the pan while he rummaged through Hibari's expansive wine rack, looking for a complimentary bottle of wine.

"I don't recall letting a pest like you in, Mukuro," Hibari shot back scathingly, but he dished out the finished product onto the two plates set out for them anyway; he must have been much too tired to care. Or maybe all that shitty second-hand smoke from Alaude's car was getting to him.

"You wound me, my love," Mukuro snorted sarcastically, reaching into his back pocket to pull out a switchblade before stabbing it into the crock and ripping it out of the wine bottle viciously. He poured a generous amount into two glasses. "And when did you pick up smoking? I thought you hated cigarettes."

Yup, it was definatly the second-hand smoke.

They finished dinner together, Mukuro being kind enough to go and wash everything up while Hibari showered and changed into a pair of tight jeans and a black V-neck shirt. When he walked back out into the spacious den, Mukuro was absent-mindedly flipping through channels on his flat screen T.V., having already discarded his vest and taken his socks off. The front of the blue-haired man's shirt was opened teasingly, showing just enough skin to enhance his already smooth and elegant features.

"Want to watch a movie?" the man asked, clearly bored. "I heard there's a new flick out with that porn star Gokudera or something in it."

"Why the hell would I want to watch porn?" Hibari snarled, dropping into the vacant space on the leather couch next to Mukuro.

"You're so frustrated, my dear. I'm getting the feeling you aren't letting loose often enough," Mukuro chided, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "You're still the same uptight little prefect I knew in our high school years, oya."

"And you're still the pineapple-haired freak of nature I used to know," Hibari snorted. "Are you going to find a channel or something? Stop wasting the battery on my remote."

Mukuro did put the remote down—he'd stopped on some movie that happened to be showing a sex scene, wonderful—and sighed dramatically, tossing his long ponytail over his shoulder. "You're heartless," he pouted.

"Quit the pathetic lovesick moron talk, herbivore," Hibari seethed, which made Mukuro direct a sad, sad gaze at the raven's direction.

"I didn't choose to fall in love with him," he said quietly. "But I wish I hadn't, it's getting more and more obvious that he doesn't like me back at all."

Hibari grunted again, leaning back and crossing his arms, looking at the other man. He was silent for a moment, which was the closest thing to comfort Hibari would ever offer to the apparent broken-hearted hitman. "I know you didn't come here just to cook me dinner and spill you problems. What have you got?"

Mukuro smiled, chuckling. "Ever the observant one, Hibari. Here." An envelope was tossed to him, small and folded, bulging with the contents. "It's late, I won't keep you up. I'll see you around. You're not going to the friendly lunch Byakuran's heading out for with the other Families tomorrow, are you?"

"Fuck no," Hibari growled, and Mukuro laughed.

"I thought not. May I borrow your car then?"

"No."

"Fine," Mukuro pouted, pulling on his boots, walking into the kitchen to pick up the yellow envelope the raven had retrieved today. "I'll drop this off for you. Bye, Hibari."

And as he exited through the front door, and Hibari was suddenly experiencing déjà vu, because eleven years ago, he was watching his boyfriend leave through the doors the same way Mukuro was now, calling back with a promise to pick him up for the date Hibari would eventually never go to, because by that time tomorrow, the raven would have vanished, along with everything he owned. He would have broken everything off without a word of explanation; never gone back to see him again. He would have left the small town they had lived comfortably in, abandoned the tiny, cozy apartment they made thousands of memories in.

Yamamoto.

And to this day, Hibari regrets losing the only person he ever cared of in his shit excuse of a life. But it was a hypocritical feeling, because not once did he ever go back looking for what he'd lost.

The one reason he actually bothers going over to Tsuna's is because the brat is the only one in the whole Family who can actually pull off the innocent civilian look while sniping down his targets from over three hundred meters away. The kid might as well have been playing a video game he'd beaten a dozen times already judging by the bored, impatient look he'd get on his face sometimes while on the job. It was an attitude that Hibari accepted, which prompted the raven to grudgingly admit that Mukuro's hopeless love for the brunette wasn't that stupid. He was currently sitting at the wooden table in the kid's apartment, drinking green tea and going through the papers he'd gotten from Mukuro yesterday. Tsuna lived down the street from him, and apparently, the blue-haired man had crashed at the brunette's place last night before heading out to the friendly luncheon their Boss was apparently attending today.

Or something.

Tsuna wandered back into the room, his weird crossbreed cat thing resting on his shoulders, purring loudly. The young man had his glasses on, and was squinting through several files before he located the right one. He hands it to Hibari, who flips through it and grumbles, "What's the point of making me going through all these?"

"To keep track of the enemy, of course," Tsuna replied irritably, picking up the sandwich he'd been forced to abandon when Hibari came barging in around quarter past ten. "Byakuran obviously wanted to you examine what kind of information has been lifted off these people, and see where the holes start to appear. See what we're missing, so we can send out other people to get it."

"Don't see why I'm the one who needs to do it," Hibari grumbles. Tsuna shrugged.

"Probably because he wants you to be the next Boss, yeah? That could have a smidge of influence on his decision to trust you with this stuff."

"I don't want to be Boss," Hibari states flatly. "Never did, never will."

Tsuna snorted, making his cat leap off his shoulder and strut away into the living room. "Have fun convincing the guy," the brunette drawls, and Hibari had taken too far too much of a liking in the rare gleam of predatory fire in Tsuna's eyes to deck him for the comment.

He leaves, half an hour later, with a good-enough understanding of the remaining information they needed to form a giant attack plan on their biggest rivals, because seriously, political blitzkrieg and dirty assassination plots just weren't bringing in the results the leaders liked.

So full-blown modern warfare it was.

Hibari was so absorbed in his own thoughts that he nearly ran into a man on his way out the front door of Tsuna's complex. Normally, the raven would not be one to apologize, but he was in a better mood today and felt entitled to direct an apologetic grunt in the man's direction.

What an incredible mistake that turned out to be.

The man was tall, even taller than him, with a mass of spikey black hair that even looks soft to the touch. His face was more firm now, jaw more set, making him look rugged and manly. He was wearing a navy blue dress shirt with his coat hanging off his arm, dark pants and polished shoes, and he had his car keys in his hands, jingling as he turned to look at Hibari. A silver dog tag gleamed at his collarbones, flashing in the mid-morning light.

And that was when Hibari found himself staring at the face of Yamamoto, eleven-years-later-version.

It was as though his world had done a one-eighty degree tilt, which would accurately explain why his stomach was threatening to empty itself of the tea he'd digested moments ago, but seeing as the floor did not happen to turn itself upside down, Hibari was forced to contribute the reason for his nausea to the feelings of shock, disbelief, and guilt.

He didn't even realize he'd been staring until Yamamoto breaks into a grin, awkwardly tapping the side of his face, looking down a little self-consciously. "Maa, maa…have I got something on my face, mister?"

Hibari actually did a double-take, brain going on overdrive for a moment before he figured it out.

Yamamoto doesn't recognize him.

And shit, he shouldn't be surprised by that. It had been more than a decade, and Hibari won't deny it, the eighteen year old brat that left this changed man before him was really just a brat. Hibari had more than definatly grown out of his teenage apperance; his face had grown longer, eyes colder, and his hair shorter. It would be a miracle if Yamamoto could actually notice any similarities, and Hibari knows that the other was just a bit too dense to string two and two together.

"No," Hibari replied curtly, and was about to continue his way down the steps, heart pounding traitorously in his ribs when Yamamoto's voice stops him again.

"Ah, do you live here? I just moved in, haha! My name's Takeshi, it's nice to meet you, umm—?"

Takeshi. A fake name, huh? Somehow, it seemed to fit Yamamoto just as well, and it irritated Hibari. "Takeshi" extended a giant palm that would have dwarfed Hibari's thin one, and the raven found himself caught in another whirlpool of feelings. Luck just wasn't on his side today.

"I don't live here," he said bluntly. "I'm in the complex down the street."

He doesn't take the hand, but he tossed an improvised name over his shoulder as he leaves: "My name's Kyoya, and one apology's all you're getting."

He walked away, perhaps a little quicker than normal and vanished down the street. He doesn't look back to check if Yamamoto was still there, or if there was any recognition in the man's eyes, because honestly, "Kyoya" was a pretty weak disguise of a name, and if there was anything he learned from being in the mafia, identity was not to be toyed with.

Damn it, maybe he will swing by the restaurant Byakuran was having lunch at, just so he could get pissed off at the crowd and let that take his mind off things.

He doesn't actually go, and he doesn't get a call from the white-haired man until two days later, during which he'd locked himself up in his apartment and refused to answer for anybody, ranging from Mukuro to Tsuna to some next lackey that had the misfortunate of being forced to call him in.

But there were some things you just don't do, and ignoring your Boss' calls is one of them.

"…and I was rather disappointed that you didn't show up for the luncheon, Hibari," Byakuran confesses smoothly. "I know it's not to your liking, but it would be nice for other Family leaders to catch a glimpse of my second-in-command, no?"

"If you host a party next time that doesn't involve guests that breathe, I'll consider coming," Hibari answers in all seriousness, polishing his gun at his coffee table, the entire den illuminated by the sunlight pouring through the ceiling-to-floor windows, and dressed in nothing but another pair of faded jeans, not so tight this time. The phone quashed between his shoulder and his ear delivers Byakuran's laugh, a chime-like sound that was nice to listen to.

Yeah, that was the effect that man had on others.

"You're just impossible, aren't you, Hibari? Well, no matter. I'm going to have to ask you to step out of your comfort zone for a bit and make a hit for me."

"Fine. Who is it?" the raven asks, folding the oiling rag down and loading his clean gun with a fresh round of bullets.

"His name's Zakuro. He's in control of the gangs down by the East River, and it would be lovely if his body makes the front page tomorrow."

"Why the hell would you want his death to be open news?" Hibari grumbles. "That's just asking for an all-out attack."

"And what if that's what I want?" He could almost hear Byakuran's smile through the phone, and he was reminded of one of the reasons why he willingly takes orders from this man.

"Fine," Hibari says again. "I'll go out tonight."

"Enjoy," Byakuran said smoothly, and hung up.

Honestly, the hit was not hard at all, mainly because his target was the kind that liked to splash his power and money around and get shit-faced every night, which made Hibari wonder why the man was even in charge. But no matter; it made everything all the simpler. He'd strolled right into their lair with a bit of stealth and casual attitude before going up into the guy's office and fill his brains with bullets. Getting out was a little harder, because he had to roll the his target's body out the window and make it big, just as Byakuran had requested, which undeniably attracted some unwanted attention. But fifteen minutes later he was driving back into the city, bored and completely uninterested in another night of riding a non-stop emotional rollercoaster inside of his head.

He stops by The Sisters', a specialty bar, and shoves himself through the mass of sweaty, filthy bodies dancing on the dance floor and plants himself into a chair at the bar, waiting for the right person to talk to. The music was too loud and the sheer amount of people pissed him off, but when Hibari looked towards the small, rounded tables near the back, he was surprised to see Alaude of all people seated there with a tall, blonde Italian straddling him, talking and drinking quietly together. Probably an illegal immigrant. There was a strange expression on Alaude's face akin to gentleness and calm, which made Hibari wonder if he was actually dreaming and had fallen asleep at home instead of going out to make a hit. However, the voice calling to him indicated that he wasn't hallucinating, and that he had a brand new piece of blackmail to torment the beige-haired bastard over in the name of that blonde prostitute.

"Longtime no see, Hibari-san," the young hazelnut-haired bartender, Kyoko, addressed him, a small smile on her face. She's dressed in a plain white polo and a decent skirt, which makes her stand out even more in the bar. The woman tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and glances at the hitman again. "What would you like tonight? Something quick or something exquisite?"

"Neither," Hibari grunts. "I want you to look someone for me."

"Alright," Kyoko says, but she fills a shot of vodka for him and slides it over anyway, smiling. "Complimentary," she says before leaning in, resting her elbows on the counter. "Have you got a name I can go on?"

"Takeshi," Hibari replies, downing the shot in one swift gulp. "Or Yamamoto, it doesn't matter which. It's the same person."

"Okay," Kyoko said, tapping her lip thoughtfully before leaning back and calling to her fellow co-worker, "Haru-chan! There's unconsented sex going on at table thirteen!"

"Haihai, I'm on it!"

Hibari watched in amusement as the dark-haired girl bounced over to the offender, spoke quickly to him, then suddenly grab the man's collar and executed an excellent judo throw that sent him crashing into the empty table across them. The crowd on the dance floor faltered for a second, but moved back to their moves without a second glance. Herbivores indeed, Hibari concludes.

"It'll be the usual," Kyoko informs him. "A week or so, depending on his background. I suppose you want me to run a full trace, yeah?"

"Just for the past eleven years," Hibari says, pulling out his wallet and laying out a wad bills that would be enough to add up into a number with four digits.

"Yes sir," Kyoko smiles smoothly, gathering the cash across the counter. "Thank you for the business, Hibari-san."

Hibari doesn't reply, because he's not into small talk and neither was Kyoko, but she talked just for the sake of appearing normal. He wasn't worried about the woman's trustworthiness; the excellent thing about information dealers was that they were rare, more than often extremely skilled fighters and had IQ levels that would light up a city or two if they were light bulbs. Either way, it was an unspoken rule: information dealers do not reveal anything. And if you insisted on finding out, then your body might make the second or third page of the newspaper.

Yeah, they were good enough to make a death look like an accident fit for filler space.

He left the bar again, yawning, and wondering if he should sleep in tomorrow or go out and go do some grocery shopping for a change.

Turns out, he would be doing neither, because the next day, at the ungodly hour of 10 am, some fucktard is ringing his doorbell. Hibari groans, rolling over in his king sized bed, gathering the sheets around him in an attempt to drown out the noise. If it was door-to-door salesman, it would be the guy's lucky day, since Hibari was too tired to get up and shoot him.

But a minute later, the doorbell was still ringing, which eventually ticked Hibari off so badly he crawled out of his nest of blankets, grabbed his hunting knife and wandered out to the front door, hair mussed up from sleep, yawning widely. He popped the security chain loose and opens the door, fully ready to gut the intruder inside out, but once again, his plans go wayward as soon as he laid eyes on the man standing in front of his flat.

It was Yamamoto.

"Hi there!" the man grins, giving him a million-megawatt smile and a small wave. "Remember me?"

Suddenly, his slim-fitting wife beater and the pair of oversized sweatpants barely clinging to his hips seem to transform from casual sleepwear into highly inappropriate clothing.

Hibari stares, half squinting and half twitching as his brain tried to catch up with the events. The best his sleep-clogged mind could manage out was, "The fuck?"

"Yeah, I know, it's early," Yamamoto said, playing with his dog tag, a sheepish look on his face. "But you looked like a morning person, so I thought you'd be up already."

"Do I look like a morning person to you?" Hibari sneered, wondering if he should reveal the knife now, just to scare the other off. Yamamoto laughs weakly, eyes crinkling softly around the edges, the exact same way Hibari remembered.

"I guess not. So, um, Kyoya…can I take you out for breakfast?"

"No," Hibari said, making a move to close the door, but Yamamoto suddenly stuck his foot in, blocking it from closing all the way. "Please?" he practically implores, actually pulling off the puppy-eye look.

The man was fucking twenty eight, for Christ's sake. Hibari would know; he was a year older than the guy.

And before he could stop himself, he groans and moves back, the knife falling silently into the potted plant by the doorway as he lets Yamamoto in, who was beaming like he'd just won the lottery.

"Wow, Kyoya, your place is huge!" he said, eyes going wide and a childish expression of fascination crossing his face. Hibari frowned. That reminded him…

"How the hell did you get in the building?" he asked, eyeing the other suspiciously.

"You told me you lived around here," Yamamoto grinned. "I just asked around, and voilà! Here I am. The receptionist downstairs is so sweet, by the way. She asked me questions, but I think she was just a bit nervous about getting a visitor."

Hibari suppressed a snort with difficulty; Chrome wasn't nervous, she was one of the bodyguards Byakuran had hired to look after the apartment complexes that his men lived in to make sure they won't be murdered in their sleep. Hibari wouldn't have believed his Boss had he not seen Chrome slice and dice a man like she was chopping fish with his own eyes.

There was a reason why it was rare to see women in the mafia, and another reason why the women in mafia are not to be messed with.

"I want Dim Sum," Hibari tosses scathingly over his shoulder as he walked back into his bedroom to change. Yamamoto smiles even wider, nodding brightly.

"Okay!"

God, this moron's excessive happiness was pissing him off. Hibari scoffs, his heart tearing painfully at the memories threatening to surface and he heads back to his bedroom, stripping his tank top off as he prepares to change, exposing a lean torso and a thin waist. It was satisfying to hear the sound of the slightest intake of breath from the man offering to take him out even if it was nearly unnoticeable.

But Hibari catches on anyway.

Going out wasn't actually as bad as Hibari had thought it would be, and that frightens him. Hadn't he convinced himself eleven years ago that he would stomp his feelings out like the parasite it was and carry on like nothing ever happened? Nothing good ever comes out of relationships in his line of work, which is why Hibari keeps telling Mukuro to let go of his feelings for Tsuna, seeing as it was an unrequited love to begin with and the notion of plausible death by association.

But this; this was apeshit, man. He did not like these emotions running through him.

They went to the Chinese restaurant downtown, Yamamoto chatting happily as he placed a shrimp dumpling into Hibari's bowl and munched on his own meal. Later on, Yamamoto insisted on showing Hibari a beautiful new art gallery that had opened up and hosted some very unique works. When the raven grew bored of that, they went to the waterfront, strolling along the boardwalk and eating the ice cream cones Yamamoto had brought for them. The guy wasn't kidding when he said he'd treat Hibari today.

"Where the hell do you work?" Hibari said in exasperation after Yamamoto asked him if he'd like to go out for dinner, seeing as they had walked well into the late afternoon, early evening already.

"Me?" Yamamoto grins, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly, "I inherited a chain of restaurants, so I just hang back and manage the business. I don't do much other than that, haha!"

Hibari wasn't sure whether or not he should punch the guy for being so happy-go-lucky or hit him for not becoming a pro baseball player like he said he'd be when he was eighteen. Or better yet; beat the guy up for actually making Hibari remember such shit. He didn't even know he paid attention when the idiot was rambling about how much he loved baseball. This just fucking proved that apparently, Hibari liked Yamamoto a lot more than he thought he did.

…not cool.

He was about to reply scathingly, but stopped short when he felt an unwanted presence near him. His hitman reflexes kicked in and his hand went to his side, where his knife was stashed, and spun around to find Alaude standing about five feet away from him, which was already too close in Hibari's opinion.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he asked, frowning. Something was off. Alaude was actually silent for once, rather than throwing a snide comment at the raven. The light-haired man had his lips pressed tight together, ice blue eyes narrowed as he glanced at Yamamoto, who was staring politely back, before jerking his chin in Hibari's direction.

"Something's happened."

Hibari's eyes narrowed at that. Alaude actually looked a tad bit worried, and seeing as the man didn't have a soul or any form of conscience, freaking the fuck out would be an appropriate response, because whatever it was, it was bad. Hibari turned without hesitation, heading over to the other man. He paused for a moment before looking behind him and grunting, "Work."

"I see," Yamamoto replied, and to Hibari's astonishment, melted into a bright, sunny grin once again. "Maybe next time then, Kyoya! I'm glad I got to spend the day with you!"

Hibari swore he could feel his face heating up, and the fact that Alaude was raising an eyebrow at that wasn't good. Fortunately, whatever shit went down was definitely big, because when Hibari ducked into Alaude's car that was parked haphazardly across three parking spaces, the man didn't even complain about Hibari's odd habit of jerking the door handle.

Alaude reaches under the seat and takes out an envelope, tossing it into Hibari's lap. "What's this?" the raven asks, eyes narrowing. Alaude goes for his cigarettes, lighting up another smoke.

"Just look at them."

There were pictures in the envelope, about a dozen glossy-sided sheets, and it was not pretty. It was an assassination, a highly successful one, judging by the amount of severed body parts strewn around the room, and it was—

"That's Sasagawa. Why the fuck is he in chunks all over this room." It was a statement, not a question, and it was rhetorical. It didn't take a genius to know why the guy was dead.

Alaude gave him a dry look. "What do you think? The other Families are getting restless. They're trying to take out our best guys as quickly as possible to Byakuran will be left weakened when they make their final strike."

Or maybe they just wanted to go for an overkill, because the images were brutal. The decapitated head had been jammed up the vent in the ceiling, and the rest of the body was scattered across the bloody room, chopped up enough and small enough for him and Alaude to hold a chess game with the limbs and have body parts to spare.

"So…what's the point of you showing me this?" As much as Hibari remained apathetic to the sight of blood as long as it wasn't too much of his own, he had grudgingly admitted that Sasagawa was one damn tough fucker, so whoever took him down was an even bigger and even tougher fucker. Stronger enemies did not often bode well in mafia wars.

Alaude shrugged. "Sasagawa was killed just this morning. Mukuro caught wind of the news first and went right to your apartment. When he couldn't find you, he flipped, freaked the fuck out and made me go all over town to find you. Not that a bastard like you would ever drop dead, which is unfortunate. Point is; you're second in command." Alaude's eyes were like stone-cold pits on Hibari's burning onyx ones. "They'll go for you soon enough."

Silence.

"Tch. Not worried about it," Hibari replied smoothly, and opened the door, slamming it shut behind him as he started walking home by himself.

He was a hunter.

And hunters do not hide.

Predictably, nothing happens for the next two days. After a major hit like that, the killer was more than likely backing down a little to let things blow over before coming out again, or maybe they was just being a jackass and letting them stew in surprise at their dead Family member. Hibari holes himself up again and doesn't answer his cell phone unless it was people he worked directly with or…Yamamoto.

How the fucker even got his number would forever remain a mystery to the raven.

Yamamoto had asked him a day ago if he'd like to go out for dinner and pick things up where they left off, but Hibari declined before the other had finished his sentence with a blunt, "My brother-in-law's sister died. Going to a funeral for the next three days," and hung up without another word.

Admittedly, he was being a bit of an asshole, but certain things take precedence at the moment.

But Yamamoto turned out to be a bit smarter than Hibari had anticipated and shows up on day four, to which the raven had rather stupidly bothered to answer the door after abandoning the reports he had been reading.

"Hey," he says, leaning against the doorframe, smiling down at Hibari. "You okay?"

It takes the raven a moment to remember his "scenario". Brother-in-law. Dead sister. Right.

"She didn't look any better dead than she did alive," he grunts, crossing his arms.

"I didn't know you had a sibling," Yamamoto said softly, reaching out to brush a bit of fluff from Hibari's hair.

Great. Was he going to have to elaborate as well? "Older brother," Hibari grunted, swatting the hand away. "Different parents."

"Really? That's difficult," Yamamoto muses, close enough for Hibari to be able to see right into the dark brown eyes that once drew him in like no other person had done before. "My dad's a single father, and I never knew my mom…"

"What's your point?" Hibari says shortly, trying to get rid of Yamamoto as soon as possible. If he didn't, he was rather worried his heart might explode.

Yamamoto shrugged. "I don't know. I just wanted to get to know you better, Kyoya."

"And why would you want that?" he all but snaps out, glaring. Stop talking to me stop talking to me stop talking to me…

"I like you, of course," Yamamoto replies, eyebrow arching, and Hibari swears he could feel and icy artic winds blow his soul away. This was so not happening.

"Bullshit," he hisses, and made to close the door, but Yamamoto does something the eighteen-year-old him would have never done, and it takes Hibari by surprise. He reaches out with one giant hand and holds the raven's face still before kissing him, lightly, gently, lips pressing at all different angles and his tongue flicking out just enough to touch his lower lip, and Hibari freezes.

He doesn't know what to do.

Seeing as he didn't exactly push the other away, Yamamoto takes the chance and kisses him harder, walking Hibari backwards into his own apartment and nudges the door shut with his foot, arms winding around the shorter man's waist. Their lips melted together, tongues sweeping smoothly in sync, and Yamamoto's hand roamed up Hibari's chest, touching and wandering sensually. And Hibari hates himself for reaching up to place his hands on Yamamoto's broad shoulders; hates himself for reacting to the other like he used to.

They part ever so slightly, out of breath, and Yamamoto is hesitantly going for the next round already; his words soft and feather-light against Hibari's lips. "Can I have you, Kyoya?"

And the fact that Hibari doesn't go batshit insane at that point is good for Yamamoto, and very bad for himself.

The notion of "dating" remains foreign to Hibari after eleven years of keeping cold distance. Yamamoto liked to drop by occasionally, call at random times, and some days, when Hibari isn't neck deep in work or going out at night to make another hit, he'd let the man come over and stay the night. He wonders why sometimes, but it's a hell of a lot simpler to just let Yamamoto go his way, and as much as he tries to deny it, Hibari knows that he wants his ex back in his life.

Sad, really.

It was one of those mornings where he chased Yamamoto out of his apartment before heading out to Alaude's place, needing a file that Byakuran had given the light-haired man to pass onto Hibari. Things were getting tense now; the threat of a mafia war was finally looming right in their faces. Alaude's apartment was three blocks away from Hibari's, so he walks there instead of driving, taking the lift up to the eighth floor, ringing the doorbell as many times as he can to wake the asshole up. To his surprise, Alaude answers after the third ring. The bastard was almost as bad as Hibari when it came to getting up in the morning.

The light-haired man was wearing nothing but a pair of long jeans and had a filthy cigarette between his lips when he opened the door, which prompted Hibari to raise an eyebrow and ask, "Is the Italian here?"

Alaude stiffens, eyes narrowing. "How do you know Giotto?" he growled, shoulders tense. Hibari scoffs, shoving past the man and helping himself to a pot of coffee in the kitchen.

"I saw the two of you at The Sisters'."

"Why were you at the bar?" Alaude asked, frowning as he shut the door. "Were you looking someone up?"

"Maybe," Hibari grunted, taking a sip. "You're coffee's shit."

"Don't drink it if you don't like it," Alaude sneers, leaning against the back of his couch, taking a drag on his cancer stick. There was a moment of silence, and then Alaude says quietly, "It's the tanned idiot who smiles too much, huh?"

It's just hard to hide things from stupid, insightful people sometimes, but if Alaude wasn't so brainy and tough, there was no way he'd have survived the mafia, so Hibari decides to use that as a reason to stop himself from throwing his drink at his host.

"Did you search the Italian up then? He definitely didn't get into Japan legally," he retorts, and Alaude glares.

"His name is Giotto, and I know him. Way back."

"So is that why your apartment is now his safe house?" Hibari asks, raising a perspective eyebrow.

"Fuck you."

"Gee, what crawled up your ass and died?" Hibari snorts, putting the mug down and picking through the pile of mail on the dinner table until he finds what he needs. He pockets the envelope and was getting ready to leave when Alaude calls out, "You're sure he's the right one for you? Because if I recall, you're never one to just give in to emotions like that."

Hibari stops and gives the other a half-interested look over his shoulder. "Well, we go back," he says simply. "Way back."

And Alaude has the decency to only make a 'tch' noise before looking away.

It was eight in the evening when crisis really struck.

He was eating out with Yamamoto at some seafood place by the port, and his phone rings. Irritated, Hibari answers, and what he hears shocks him to his core.

"The Sisters' was attacked," Alaude snarls in his ear. "Get your ass here now!"

"What?" Hibari splutters intelligently. "What the hell did you just say?"

"Someone planted a bomb there. The entire place is demolished. Come now and help with the investigation!"

If he hadn't known Alaude for so long, he would have never been able to detect the trace of vulnerability in the man's voice. And Hibari understood why. The Sisters' was not a normal pub, and even by mafia standards, it was very influential, very strong. Whoever pulled that stunt was either an idiot or a cruel mastermind. Hibari stood up at once, closing his phone and dropping his napkin on the table.

"Workplace got hacked," he lied smoothly, looking down at Yamamoto. "I'm leaving."

"Ah," Yamamoto frowns. "I see. Well, that's too bad." He stands, tugging at his collar that was open at the top, exposing a patch of bare skin and predominant collarbones. When the taller leans down to press a kiss to Hibari's lips, the raven doesn't stop him.

"See you."

"Hn."

The drive there was a horrible one because of all the thoughts running through his head, and the scene itself was even worse. The entire building had been reduced to rubble, and it must have been fairly fresh given the fact that no emergency services or policemen have arrived yet. Mukuro, Tsuna, and Alaude were gathered around, holding their sleeves to their faces as they moved around the ash and debris.

"Took you long enough," Alaude hissed, pushing a piece of the wall over. "Mukuro's sent people out to stall the police; we're investigating the shit out of this place. This is a full-out declaration of war."

Hibari 'tsks' loudly before walking into the mess as well, stepping around garbage and junk. It was before the pub's opening time, so there would be nobody but the employees there at the time of the incident. Hibari makes a beeline for the counter, and lo and behold, he sees the bodies of the bartenders he'd known and done business with for years already. Their bodies were burned, but not entirely demolished, so he could still tell who they were. There was Haru, the feisty dark-haired girl, a woman with pink hair he recognized but never talked to, and near the back as another server he knew on sight, but never spoke to; a Chinese girl with kickass martial arts skills.

Crushed under the weight of the broken counter was a woman with charred hazelnut hair, lying on her side. Hibari walked over and bent down, examining Kyoko's corpse. In the back of his mind, there was a nagging feeling that he didn't want to address but knew was a much more plausible explanation.

He doubted The Sisters' was bombed as a result of what Alaude had said; a statement of strife. Firstly, targeting this pub was stupid enough already, so whoever did it obviously had a very, very good reason.

Hibari leaned over, and something caught his eye.

A bullet hole, right through Kyoko's temple.

She was dead before the bar was bombed.

This immediately confirmed Hibari's musings, and another though invaded his mind. What if they had been targeted because they were searching someone up? Heart pounding in his ribcage, Hibari swallowed and stood up, his foot crunching on something in the mess.

A broken chain.

Hibari leaned down, tracing his finger over the metal links, and followed its path up into Kyoko's hand, still holding this strange trinket tightly in death. Hibari frowned and reached over, prying her hand open. What he saw nearly made his world turn over once again.

A dog tag.

Kyoko was holding a dog tag on a broken chain.

And the memory of Yamamoto's smooth collarbones, minus his usual piece of accessory, came flooding into Hibari's mind. It was a wild assumption, but the raven had asked Kyoko to trace Yamamoto a week ago. In the mafia, coincidences like that did not happen often. Everything is done with reason and purpose.

Hibari approached them with the intent to search up his ex-boyfriend's background.

Chances are, the informants in this pub died for that very reason, and the man knew that Hibari was in the mafia.

"I'm leaving," Hibari says suddenly, standing. Everything made sense now. How Yamamoto had found him so easily, him appearing in the city now, at the prime time of war…

"What?" Tsuna says, aghast. "Where are you going?"

"I know who did this," Hibari growls, dusting his hands off and pulling out his car keys.

"What? How?" Mukuro shouts after him, confused. Only Alaude remains silent, and judging by the man's expression, had figured out what Hibari knew. The raven doesn't hang around to explain; he gets into his car, and he drives away. There was only one place to look, and Hibari knows he'll be there. It was a given.

When he throws the door open to his apartment, he's not at all surprised to see Yamamoto sitting at his coffee table, absent-mindedly reading through a copy of Edgar Allan Poe's works and holding a gun loosely in his lap. He didn't flinch when Hibari raised his gun, pointing it at Yamamoto.

"I didn't think you'd find me so fast," he said, looking over. "It wasn't too messy down at The Sisters', was it?"

"Not as messy as your brain's going to be when I knock it out of your skull," Hibari snarls, "You've got guts, haven't you, Takeshi?"

"I lied," Yamamoto says casually, dark eyes betraying no hints of emotion. "My name's not Takeshi, and your name isn't Kyoya. I'm Yamamoto, you're Hibari, and we know each other, yeah?"

Well, this was definatly not what he was expecting.

"You thought I didn't recognize you?" Yamamoto asks softly, standing up. "How could I not, Hibari? I loved you for the three years we had been together, and eleven more after you left. I can see the reason why you vanished, though. Ironic how what split us up now brings ups back together."

He takes a step forward, and Hibari lifts the safety. "Stay where you are," he growls.

Yamamoto raises his hands, but doesn't put his gun down. Hibari knows it is pointless ask; the other wouldn't comply. Instead, he directs his question to their one common ground. "You're here to kill me."

Not a question; a statement, because they both know it's true.

"Yeah," Yamamoto says, closing his eyes briefly. "Yeah, I'm here for that."

"Who sent you?"

"You don't have to know that."

"Then why the hell are you here?" Hibari shouts, his voice echoing in the flat. "Either do your fucking job or get the hell out of my life!"

"I can't do that either," Yamamoto whispers softly. "I thought I could hate you for leaving me, I thought that trying to hunt you down will give me the leverage I needed to mend my heart. I didn't expect to fall in love with you again, Hibari."

"I cannot believe you," Hibari breathes, staring. "You are the single most fucked up person I have ever met in my life."

"Maybe," Yamamoto says wryly, and he drops his gun, kicking it under the couch. "But I do know that I can't make my hit. And if the Family finds out about this, I'm dead. So do me a favour, won't you? If I die by your hands, I think I'll be alright with it."

Hibari couldn't believe what he was hearing. For the first time in his life, his hand shook as he tried to hold his gun steady, onyx eyes trained upon the man he'd hurt and wished he'd never let go. What a screwed up scenario this was.

"Go."

Yamamoto looked up, stunned.

"Get your face out of here," Hibari whispers. "Leave, and don't you dare come back. If I find that you got your ass handed to you by those lowlife, I'll personally resurrect you and kill you again."

"Hibari—" Yamamoto starts to say, but at that moment, Alaude bursts into the room. There was a horrifying moment where they all turn, shocked, and the beige-haired man reacted on instinct, firing his gun at Yamamoto.

And in turn, Hibari throws himself forwards and takes the bullet instead.

It was agony, being shot like that, and the numbness burning down his arm tells Hibari he won't be holding a gun for a while; his right shoulder was spewing blood out all over the place. Yamamoto yells and Alaude shouts, "What the hell was that, Hibari?"

The raven sags to the floor, and when Yamamoto reaches for him, he grabs the man by his collar and snarls, "Here it is! The perfect cover! You shot me, ran for it, I was found by my ally, and lived. You made your hit; I just 'got lucky'. Now get the fuck out of here!"

"What are you saying?" Yamamoto and Alaude said together, stunned. Hibari turned to Alaude and spits out, "His worth to me is Giotto's worth to you. Do not question this."

The beige-haired man grits his teeth, but a moment later, he lowers his gun, hissing, "If he's leaving, get him out of here now."

Yamamoto is looking lost and nearly desperate, pressing his palm against Hibari's shoulder, trying to help stop the blood flow. Hibari hisses and shoves him off, pain shooting up his arm. "I said go!"

"And lose you again for another eleven years? How the fuck can you suggest something like that?" Yamamoto snarls, a feral glint in his eyes, his frustration evident. "You—why does it have to be this way?"

Hibari surveys him for a moment, breathing hard, and then he reaches into his jacket and pulls out his knife, swinging it up wards in one swift, controlled arc, just barely nicking Yamamoto's chin. It left a thin cut that immediately welled up with blood. The taller yelped a little, hand reaching up to touch the injury, but Hibari grabs Yamamoto's wrist and yanks him down so that they were face to face, onyx looking into dark brown. "That's my mark on you. You're mine, and if you know me well enough, I do not let my property go easily. I'm not going to forget you, Yamamoto."

Yamamoto's eyes soften ever so slightly, and he exhales, tilting his head. "Fine. I'm waiting, then."

He backs up, and Hibari's hand lingers on his wrist for a second longer before Yamamoto picks up his gun and leaves, walking around Alaude and vanishing out the front door. The beige-haired man watches him go before turning and raising an eyebrow at the raven sitting against the couch, blood dripping down on the polished floor.

"And that's that?" Alaude bites out, exasperated. "You took my bullet to let your potential killer escape?"

"Sorry I'm not selfless enough to avenge Sasagawa or the informants," Hibari sneers, coughing a little. A second later, he was surprised by the shadow of the other man hovering over him as Alaude bent down, pulling is handkerchief out of his jacket and stuffing it under Hibari's bloody hand against his wound. Something told the raven that if Alaude was in his place, the man would have done the exact same thing.

It's five months later and the whole mafia bullshit still hasn't blown over yet, but had quieted down a lot more. Hibari healed within two weeks and was publicly making hits another week later, which prompted a full-out manhunt for Yamamoto. Unfortunately for those assassins, it was the perfect opportunity for Hibari to hunt them down, one by one, and casually put a message out.

Send another person after Yamamoto, and their head will roll.

Nobody but Alaude really knew the truth, and though Hibari would never thank the man outright for keeping his mouth shut, that doesn't stop him from ringing the beige-haired bastard's doorbell one Sunday afternoon, a yellow envelope tucked under his arm. Alaude and Giotto answered the door together, and it was the first time Hibari had gotten a good look at the Italian, really. A thin, pale face with sky blue eyes looking quizzically at him; he was slim in build and dressed in a large shirt and dark pants. Alaude actually looked surprised and a tad bit confused, but when Hibari wordlessly drops the package into the man's hands and a perfectly forged passport for a certain blonde could be seen through the flap, it actually manages to prompt a small smile to spread across Alaude's face.

Well, that was one Good Samaritan act down.

Things do change over time, and although Byakuran had consistently pushed Hibari to take over, the white-haired man approaches him one day and gets straight to the point.

"Taking over the Family just isn't in your list of things to do, eh, Hibari?"

The raven stares, raising an eyebrow before answering truthfully, "Never did, never will."

"Fair enough," Byakuran replies, sighing a little before offering his second-in-command a smile. "I won't hold that against you. But consider it, will you? I'd hate to see such talent go to waste."

"It's not talent," Hibari says before he could stop himself.

"Then what is it?" Byakuran asked, purple eyes glittering.

Hibari purses his lips and answers simply: "Instinct."

His Boss laughs, but does not contradict him. It is rare that Hibari would ever consider himself so out of control that he would have to rely on basic human guts to scrape through his life, but he's not a liar, so it all works out.

Two months in, Mukuro finally grows a ball or two and asks—demands for Tsuna to go out with him, and the last time Hibari checked, the two were moving in together, spewing the usual romantic shit lovers like to chitchat about. Luckily, their ridiculous herbivore antics had not affected their mafia business, proven by Tsuna's expert hit on a corrupt CEO funding their enemy through two windows of two seperate office buildings.

He made no effort to find Yamamoto, because deep down inside, he knew that there was some part of him that would not be able to let go if he went to find his once again, ex-boyfriend. However, when Alaude sends him a text message one day consisting of only an address, he stills for only a moment or so. Then, he picks up his coat, grabs his car keys, and locks up his apartment behind him.

How the man found that infomrmation out will forever remain one of time's greatest mysteries.

The car ride is a bit longer than he expected, maybe because he finds himself taking the long way around, his windows rolled all the way down, one of Chopin's pieces playing through the static in his radio, and the music is floating away in the warm, late summer sun. It's nearly evening by the time he makes it out of the city, leave the highway, and drives out to a small town near the sea. The air is salty and fresh and there's a ton of birds everywhere, but the atmosphere is sleepy and relaxed and probably the last place anybody would look for a hitman to hide in.

Yamamoto's place is a flat above a sushi shop. The business is slow, but the kindly old man working at the counter directs him around the alley in the back, which eventually leads Hibari to a set of stairs climbing up against the smooth stone wall, and a standard aluminum door shows the residence above. Hibari walks up, his feet light against the metal steps, and when he reaches the doorway, he only hesitates for a fraction of a second before he knocks.

Twice, solid, loud and clear.

No doubts in his action.

Yamamoto opens the door a moment later, wearing a white t-shirt and track pants, barefooted, holding a cookbook in one hand and the kitchen knife in the other. Old habits to die hard, Hibari muses, since the way the man is wielding the knife suggests that he could easily turn his wrist outwards and eliminate whoever was standing at his door.

Hibari doesn't hesitate here either. He steps in, gently pushing the knife out of the way and leans up, kissing the scar on Yamamoto's chin and says quietly, "I didn't forget, and I never forgot. Not once."

Judging by the lips that crashed down upon his a second later and the strong, steady arms that wound around him, pulling Hibari closer and closer as though he couldn't get enough of him, Yamamoto hadn't either.

End

This is the longest oneshot I've ever written. Did you guys like it? I floated a bit, since I wanted it to be a bit emotional. Hope I didn't lose you guys somewhere in the middle of Hibari's musings.

Thank you for reading! –bows-

-BlackStar