(no subject)
Title: Almost Stolen
Fandom: KHR
Rating: PG -15
-Characters: Yamamoto/Gokudera/Tsuna, Shamal, Hibari
-Warnings: violence, gore, wtf
Wordcount: 3.4k (3446)
Notes: --- N/A
✵✵✵
When Yamamoto got home and up to his room to do his homework there was a note on his bed and his room reeked of blood. He picked up the note and instantly it drenched with blood. Yamamoto jerked back as if stung and look at his finger tips where he'd touched the paper. His skin was torn off. Yamamoto dropped his school bag onto his bed and leaned down to the note and tried to open it again, only to sear his fingers again.
He held his hand close to his chest and grabbed his blanket, using that to protect his hands as he opened the note. On it, it read, "If you see this, if you feel this then you should damn well see me."
Yamamoto fell backwards, looking around his room, eyes wide with fright. He tried to say something, but it felt like there was a noose around his neck. He reached up to touch his throat, to pound at his chest but once his hands tickled his adam's apple he felt someone else's hand already there. He tried to move away, to scramble away but the hands didn't let go and suddenly his bleeding hand was the last of his problems.
He tried to claw at the hands, to get them off his throat but they wouldn't move and by the time his hands dropped to his sides and his vision tunneled he saw the person in front of him, and all Yamamoto could do was smile.
✵✵✵
"Jesus. What the fuck happened to him? Those are some nice ring marks."
"How am I supposed to know, I don't look at men."
"The fuck you don't!"
Yamamoto opened his amber eyes and was greeted with a pee yellow ceiling. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He brought his hands to throat again, and this time didn't feel anyone's hands around his neck. He smiled and looked over at the two bickering males. One had coal black hair and a five o'clock shadow while the other has silver hair and jade eyes. The one sitting down, the black haired, semi-bearded man, had a gunshot wound just over the heart and the punk rocker guy had his neck slit. Yamamoto blinked and sat up, bringing the two back from their argument and back to him.
"Hey fucker, you got yourself killed," Said the silver haired man, flicking Yamamoto in the forehead, "You should be able to speak with a crushed windpipe if I can speak with a slit throat. Go on, speak boy."
Yamamoto opened his mouth and with a broken, scratchy voice that sounded like he had the worst of all colds ever, he said, "Um, I'm Yamamoto?"
The black haired man was suspiciously quite and Yamamoto flicked his eyes over to the seated man. He could see the red blood that drenched the lab coat, metallic blue undershirt and loose tie. He could kinda see the wound but when the silver haired kids head popped back into his vision he adverted his attention.
"The fuck you need to know my name. Or his. He's a drunk, fucking deserves what he got."
"Don't be so bitter, Hayato," The coal-haired man drawled, "If I deserved to die then so did you."
Yamamoto looked between them as they started to argue again and smile as much as he could with his bandaged fingers smarting at him and his windpipe feeling like he'd just swallowed glass. Then he looked down at his fingers which had been seared open by the note, "Hey," he interrupted, voice becoming stronger, "Why are my fingers bandaged?"
"It's- non, ho detto cazzo tu, tu fottuto ubriaco!- just until it becomes a permanent aspect- like your collar," The punk said, pointed vaguely at Yamamoto's neck, "Until then they'll just bleed like Julius fucking Caesar."
"Am I dead?" Yamamoto asked, rubbing his neck with his undamaged hand, wincing at the pain.
There was silence, both the silver-haired guy and the tall but sitting down man just looked at him skeptically before the punk broke down and swore, "Oh fucking Christ, you can answer this fucking- What the fuck? Are you dense or retarded or something, did you suffer a head injury too? You're neck was snapped, yes you're fucking dead!"
"Oh," The room was silent once more as Yamamoto stewed over the punk's words, rubbing his neck lightly and knitting his brows. If the two were arguing then he didn't hear them. Then a thought popped into his head and he looked up again, worry written on his face, drawn into irises, "My dad! What about my dad?"
There was a snort and Yamamoto got another flick, this time right over his ring of bruises, "Fucker, he should be fine. Mourning the death of his son and only living reminder of his wife, but fine." The punk grinned as Yamamoto's face dimmed and the boy hunched his shoulders up. The coal haired man tugged the punk away from Yamamoto and sat him down as Yamamoto silently weep. Half for himself and his death, and half for everything he left behind.
"You know he skipped over like, three fucking stages," The punk mumbled as Yamamoto heaved out a broken sob, "He went right to depression."
"Maybe he's that kind of person," The semi-formal man drawled out, watching as Yamamoto wept on his doctor's bed, "Just because you went through denial and anger for a good part of two year doesn't mean everyone will, Hayato."
"Yeah but it's fucking strange."
"You know, I think I'll stop letting you sit in on these, brat."
Yamamoto made a sick coughing sound as his sobs started to die down and as the fighting between the first two people he met started to escalade to something almost akin to physical violence. Yamamoto then jumped up off the bed and punched the punk in the stomach as hard as he could. He didn't try and offer and explanation to why he did it but he turned around and started to cry on the punks shoulder.
"What the fuck!" The punk gapped, trying to get over the impact, "What the fuck was that about?"
"You got what you deserved, Hayato," The drunk seemed to say in a sing song voice, "You're lucky he didn't punch you in the neck. It's happened before."
Yamamoto pulled back and held the punk at arms length, "You're Hayato?" He sniffled, whipping his nose on the back of his bandaged hand.
The punk grumbled out something and reached over the smack the back of the doctors head but the doctor knocked his hand away without even looking, "Call me Gokudera. He's fuck face."
"Dr. Shamal," the doctor corrected with a wink, "And I don't treat men."
"The fuck you don't!"
All Yamamoto did was smile, and let out a broken laugh at the twos antics.
✵✵✵
The first thing Yamamoto did when Gokudera brought him home from Dr. Shamal's office was reach under his shirt with his back turned to Gokudera and finger the vile around his neck. He withdrew his hand and reached around the back and unhooked the chain and took the vile off. He looked over at Gokudera, who was playing a cut off hand that was moving and twitching as Gokudera touched its palm. Then he shook the vile and heard its contents and let out a breath of relief.
"Hey, fucker, I can mix that in a drink. You can become her urn," Gokudera offered, leaving the hand alone and moving down to something that looked like a heart. Gokudera picked it up and held it like a baby, "But if you can't, then I guess that's alright."
Yamamoto jerked up, holding the vile tightly between his fingers, "What?"
"An urn. You eat the ashes and you'll become her urn, fucking dimwit," Gokudera clarified, rocking the heart back and forth. Yamamoto swore he heard crying.
Yamamoto laughed a little, putting the vile back on the chain and hooking it back around his neck, "No, that's alright, thank you."
"Whatever," Gokudera said, "It fucking doesn't matter. I'll blend this fucking heart up when you drink your mothers ashes and we'll both be done with our pasts," Gokudera cast Yamamoto a piercing glare, "Deal?" Gokudera cuddled the heart further, soothing it and holding it closer, "Quiet, quiet," He cooed and Yamamoto looked away, feeling it wasn't his place to ask about it, but the crying was getting louder than before. Gokudera turned around and walked over to Yamamoto, shoving the beating heart into Yamamoto's arms and suddenly the crying was piercing like an actual newborn. He held it awkwardly and looked at Gokudera, he opened his mouth to ask if he was doing it right but Gokudera cut him off, "Fuck, it's the only thing left of him I still have," He mumbled, "Like those fucking ashes of yours."
Yamamoto laughed and started to rock the heart and he held it up high, laughing, "Its okay, whatever you are. There's no need to cry," He told to the beating heart and suddenly the crying stopped. Yamamoto laughed again and handed it back to Gokudera, "Is it alright now?"
The hand that Gokudera had been playing with fell off the shelf but Gokudera didn't notice. Even with a slit neck, even while holding a morbid beating heart, when he actually smiled Gokudera was very pretty. Gokudera nodded eventually, his scowl returning and he stormed back over to the shelf, putting the heart in the cradle.
"You're very pretty when you smile," Yamamoto said bluntly, looking at the hand that was twitching on the floor, "Was he important?"
Gokudera made a dismissing sound from the back of his throat before he answered, "Decently enough for me to drag something of him with me," Gokudera mumbled, bending over and picking up the hand, "But this fucker was random. I don't even know who he or she fucking was," Gokudera spat out, "But I can't seem to make myself eat it."
"Eat it?" Yamamoto asked taking a step back, "Why would you eat it?"
"It's the only half way humane way of disposing of a dead person," Gokudera said with a roll of his eyes, "This used to be alive, used to be part of a fucking person and throwing it out is disrespectful. It'd be the same as throwing out Tsuna's heart."
The crying returned. Yamamoto blinked and looked up at Gokudera, "Cannibalism? And who's Tsuna?" Gokudera made a sound at the back of his throat again and bent his head back, jutting his jaw out but all Yamamoto saw was the gaping slit of his throat. Yamamoto pointed at the heart, "Who's Tsuna and why is he crying?"
"Because I killed him."
The world seemed to grind down to a halt and Yamamoto started to back away for the door, "You killed him?" Yamamoto whispered, eyes widening then narrowing. Fight or flight instincts kicked in and choosing flight before had gotten him killed once before. He fisted his hands and tensed his muscles, ready to attack.
"Fucker, you can't die again, and if I could kill you I'd only eat your liver," Gokudera growled, "So get the fuck back in here. There are stranger people out there than in here."
Yamamoto took a step closer and ran his hands over his neck again. The crying died down and Yamamoto collapsed onto the one couch Gokudera seemed to have. It was neon green and orange and made out of velvet or something but it was actually the most comfortable thing Yamamoto may have sat on. Gokudera went about and started to play with all his other knickknacks he had adorning his shelving units. Every once and a while he heart crying or laughter, generally of a small child's, and at some point Yamamoto found himself with an armful of Tsuna-heart, but he didn't care because he was just tired. Gokudera then disappeared and came back with blood red ice-cream, "It's alien blood," He answered before Yamamoto asked, "Extra-terrestrial or whatever. I'm not sure how Shamal got it but he did. So fucking enjoy it."
There was a screenless television with no cords or wires but there was something moving around. Yamamoto had the heart curled up in his arms and Gokudera was fooling around with the twitching hand, tickling its palm and tossing it around like a father his newborn. Then Yamamoto realized there were the bones of a foot and a calf protruding from the television set. Yamamoto cuddled the heart and watched as flesh adhered itself to the bone and as soon a pair of hips moved through the screen, then a ribcage and soon a fleshed out human male was standing in front of the disconnected TV. His stomach was slit open and he was obviously missing some of his intestines. He pulled a shirt from behind the TV set and put it on over his head. As it fell down it elongated then formed into a pair of black slacks and the shirt coloured a sea foam green teeshirt. Yamamoto coughed and the man just looked at him with a look of loathing.
"Hibari," Gokudera growled, stopping what he was doing with the hand.
"Herbivore." Yamamoto's skin started to crawl, if Gokudera, a cannibal, an urn for the deceased, was herbivore in this mans eyes then what did that man do in his free time?
Gokudera got up and put the hand back on the shelf and disappeared into his kitchen. Yamamoto was left alone with a crying heart and someone who reminded him of those raptor things he'd learnt about in science class. Hibari raised a lone finger and pointed it at the rings around Yamamoto's neck; then he smiled closed lips but it made Yamamoto try and shrink into the cushions, "There are strange things at night, herbivore," Hibari said, bones molding out of his forearms and turning into sold metal tonfa's, "And strange things in the land of the murdered. I'll expect your payment soon."
All Yamamoto did was nod and try and calm the heart pressed up against his chest, he watched at the tonfa's melted back into Hibari's arms and when Gokudera came back out with a small, clear bag of water with small, octopus-like things swimming around Yamamoto finally relaxed. Until Hibari spoke again, "What are they?"
"If you eat one you can talk to the living," Gokudera explained, flopping back down on the couch, "Now get."
Hibari gave Gokudera that same look that made Yamamoto want to piss his pants but Gokudera didn't flinch. Hibari tugged on the shirt and suddenly all of his clothing peeled off like a candy wrapper and degraded into the same white shirt and Hibari put one foot through the screenless television, then the next and was gone within a blink of the eye.
"Fucking hate him," Gokudera swore, yanking the half finished bowl of alien blood out of Yamamoto's one free and started to gobble it down. Yamamoto put his other hand on the beating heart and sighed.
And right there, his neck bent more awkwardly than usual, holding a living, beating heart, next to a cannibal who was actually an urn for the dead, Yamamoto fell asleep.
"You're lonely too?" Tsuna looked like the kind of kid that would never go far in life and the look in his eyes made Yamamoto realize what fear truly looked like. Yamamoto didn't know how he knew it was Tsuna on the bench next to him, wearing a white tee shirt and a pair of tan kakis. It may have been he heard the crying.
Yamamoto took a little while to say anything, ignoring the red and brown leaves falling around them and the smell of decaying vegetation, "Not really," He mumbled, then spoke louder, "I had my father-" Tsuna cut him off with a quiet voice and suddenly Yamamoto longed to know this kid, to actually know him and hold him and protect him and-
"It's alright for you to miss her. Loosing important people will always be painful." Tsuna looked over at Yamamoto with heart-broken eyes, "But you'll mourn your death the most."
Yamamoto awoke with tears falling down his cheeks and falling onto the beating heart that was beating a little faster than usual. He looked down at it and pulled it up to the center of his chest. He heard Gokudera say something but he couldn't hear what was said. All he heard was: "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I'll love you instead." The crying started to increase and Yamamoto hunched over his shoulders and cried like he had back when his mother was placed into the ground to rot away.
"Lame," Gokudera whispered, watching as Yamamoto broke down on his couch. On Gokudera's lap was a stretched out, long spotted animal with the head of a black leopard, the body of a cheetah, the tail of a rat and the feet of a rabbit; it was making a purring sound as Gokudera stroked it's shiny fur coat, "Fuck, all you seem to do is cry."
Yamamoto nodded and laughed pathetically, clutching onto the heart as if it was his last wish, "Seems that way,"
A sound of dismissal was what brought Yamamoto back from whatever world he was living in as he silently wept, "Look," Gokudera said calmly, picking something out from between his teeth. Yamamoto heard a small scream, "If you tired let's go to bed," Gokudera got up and looked down at Yamamoto before curling his hand around the vile and yanking it off the chain, "and if you're going to dream with Tsuna I'm going to dream with your mother, got that fuck brain?" Gokudera commanded, leaving the room.
Yamamoto got up off the couch and scampered after Gokudera just like the strange hybrid animal was. As he passed he saw a spider nailed to the wall with what look to be a pure gold nail. Seven unnerving human eyes followed Yamamoto as he slowed to a walk. 6 of the spiders legs were spinning around its body at random but the shortest one seemed to be not moving and the longest was moving slightly, as if it was moving once every minute, "That's a strange clock," Yamamoto mumbled before covering a mouth and looking back at the spider. Somehow he had known it was a clock.
"I know," Gokudera said, pulling off his shirt and Yamamoto was surprised to find it was the same as what Hibari's shirt had done. Yamamoto looked away in respect. He heard the covers being pulled away from the surprisingly normal bed and heard Gokudera crawl into the bed. He looked back then down at Tsuna's beating heart and he followed suit, placing Tsuna's heart on the bed sheets before stripping himself and crawling into bed in only his boxers. He held Tsuna's heart close and lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling until he finally slept.
There was grass along his back and he could feel cherry blossoms streak across his face. The sun was bright so even with his eyes closed all he could see was the red of his blood. There was someone's head on his stomach, but he didn't mind, their hair was soft and obviously well kept but scruffily enough for Yamamoto to think of a puppy.
"Yamamoto, what's around your neck?" Tsuna mumbled, half asleep on Yamamoto's stomach, completely lulled to a point of sleep by the rhythmatic breathing.
"My necklace or the rings?"
Tsuna got up and hovered over Yamamoto. Yamamoto only noticed because Tsuna's head blocked out the sun. Tsuna picked up the vile that was hanging around Yamamoto's neck and examined it with wide eyes, "Who is it?"
Yamamoto laughed and closed his eyes again, "My mom."
He felt lips press against his, and for once he felt content.
Yamamoto jolted awake when he heard crying coming from the person beside him. He looked over and saw Gokudera lying there, clutching the vile of his dead mother and crying. He looked away but he couldn't help but hear, "Mother," whispered brokenly and suddenly he felt selfish for wanting to go back to his normal life. He looked back at Gokudera and stroked the boys silver hair until he calmed down as well.
Then he tugged Gokudera close to his side and wrapped his arm around the others shoulder while holding Tsuna's heart in his other hand and whispered, "There there, it's alright Gokudera," He looked out the window and saw stars.
Land of the murdered couldn't be that bad, right?
Fandom: KHR
Rating: PG -15
-Characters: Yamamoto/Gokudera/Tsuna, Shamal, Hibari
-Warnings: violence, gore, wtf
Wordcount: 3.4k (3446)
Notes: --- N/A
✵✵✵
When Yamamoto got home and up to his room to do his homework there was a note on his bed and his room reeked of blood. He picked up the note and instantly it drenched with blood. Yamamoto jerked back as if stung and look at his finger tips where he'd touched the paper. His skin was torn off. Yamamoto dropped his school bag onto his bed and leaned down to the note and tried to open it again, only to sear his fingers again.
He held his hand close to his chest and grabbed his blanket, using that to protect his hands as he opened the note. On it, it read, "If you see this, if you feel this then you should damn well see me."
Yamamoto fell backwards, looking around his room, eyes wide with fright. He tried to say something, but it felt like there was a noose around his neck. He reached up to touch his throat, to pound at his chest but once his hands tickled his adam's apple he felt someone else's hand already there. He tried to move away, to scramble away but the hands didn't let go and suddenly his bleeding hand was the last of his problems.
He tried to claw at the hands, to get them off his throat but they wouldn't move and by the time his hands dropped to his sides and his vision tunneled he saw the person in front of him, and all Yamamoto could do was smile.
✵✵✵
"Jesus. What the fuck happened to him? Those are some nice ring marks."
"How am I supposed to know, I don't look at men."
"The fuck you don't!"
Yamamoto opened his amber eyes and was greeted with a pee yellow ceiling. He opened his mouth to say something but nothing came out. He brought his hands to throat again, and this time didn't feel anyone's hands around his neck. He smiled and looked over at the two bickering males. One had coal black hair and a five o'clock shadow while the other has silver hair and jade eyes. The one sitting down, the black haired, semi-bearded man, had a gunshot wound just over the heart and the punk rocker guy had his neck slit. Yamamoto blinked and sat up, bringing the two back from their argument and back to him.
"Hey fucker, you got yourself killed," Said the silver haired man, flicking Yamamoto in the forehead, "You should be able to speak with a crushed windpipe if I can speak with a slit throat. Go on, speak boy."
Yamamoto opened his mouth and with a broken, scratchy voice that sounded like he had the worst of all colds ever, he said, "Um, I'm Yamamoto?"
The black haired man was suspiciously quite and Yamamoto flicked his eyes over to the seated man. He could see the red blood that drenched the lab coat, metallic blue undershirt and loose tie. He could kinda see the wound but when the silver haired kids head popped back into his vision he adverted his attention.
"The fuck you need to know my name. Or his. He's a drunk, fucking deserves what he got."
"Don't be so bitter, Hayato," The coal-haired man drawled, "If I deserved to die then so did you."
Yamamoto looked between them as they started to argue again and smile as much as he could with his bandaged fingers smarting at him and his windpipe feeling like he'd just swallowed glass. Then he looked down at his fingers which had been seared open by the note, "Hey," he interrupted, voice becoming stronger, "Why are my fingers bandaged?"
"It's- non, ho detto cazzo tu, tu fottuto ubriaco!- just until it becomes a permanent aspect- like your collar," The punk said, pointed vaguely at Yamamoto's neck, "Until then they'll just bleed like Julius fucking Caesar."
"Am I dead?" Yamamoto asked, rubbing his neck with his undamaged hand, wincing at the pain.
There was silence, both the silver-haired guy and the tall but sitting down man just looked at him skeptically before the punk broke down and swore, "Oh fucking Christ, you can answer this fucking- What the fuck? Are you dense or retarded or something, did you suffer a head injury too? You're neck was snapped, yes you're fucking dead!"
"Oh," The room was silent once more as Yamamoto stewed over the punk's words, rubbing his neck lightly and knitting his brows. If the two were arguing then he didn't hear them. Then a thought popped into his head and he looked up again, worry written on his face, drawn into irises, "My dad! What about my dad?"
There was a snort and Yamamoto got another flick, this time right over his ring of bruises, "Fucker, he should be fine. Mourning the death of his son and only living reminder of his wife, but fine." The punk grinned as Yamamoto's face dimmed and the boy hunched his shoulders up. The coal haired man tugged the punk away from Yamamoto and sat him down as Yamamoto silently weep. Half for himself and his death, and half for everything he left behind.
"You know he skipped over like, three fucking stages," The punk mumbled as Yamamoto heaved out a broken sob, "He went right to depression."
"Maybe he's that kind of person," The semi-formal man drawled out, watching as Yamamoto wept on his doctor's bed, "Just because you went through denial and anger for a good part of two year doesn't mean everyone will, Hayato."
"Yeah but it's fucking strange."
"You know, I think I'll stop letting you sit in on these, brat."
Yamamoto made a sick coughing sound as his sobs started to die down and as the fighting between the first two people he met started to escalade to something almost akin to physical violence. Yamamoto then jumped up off the bed and punched the punk in the stomach as hard as he could. He didn't try and offer and explanation to why he did it but he turned around and started to cry on the punks shoulder.
"What the fuck!" The punk gapped, trying to get over the impact, "What the fuck was that about?"
"You got what you deserved, Hayato," The drunk seemed to say in a sing song voice, "You're lucky he didn't punch you in the neck. It's happened before."
Yamamoto pulled back and held the punk at arms length, "You're Hayato?" He sniffled, whipping his nose on the back of his bandaged hand.
The punk grumbled out something and reached over the smack the back of the doctors head but the doctor knocked his hand away without even looking, "Call me Gokudera. He's fuck face."
"Dr. Shamal," the doctor corrected with a wink, "And I don't treat men."
"The fuck you don't!"
All Yamamoto did was smile, and let out a broken laugh at the twos antics.
✵✵✵
The first thing Yamamoto did when Gokudera brought him home from Dr. Shamal's office was reach under his shirt with his back turned to Gokudera and finger the vile around his neck. He withdrew his hand and reached around the back and unhooked the chain and took the vile off. He looked over at Gokudera, who was playing a cut off hand that was moving and twitching as Gokudera touched its palm. Then he shook the vile and heard its contents and let out a breath of relief.
"Hey, fucker, I can mix that in a drink. You can become her urn," Gokudera offered, leaving the hand alone and moving down to something that looked like a heart. Gokudera picked it up and held it like a baby, "But if you can't, then I guess that's alright."
Yamamoto jerked up, holding the vile tightly between his fingers, "What?"
"An urn. You eat the ashes and you'll become her urn, fucking dimwit," Gokudera clarified, rocking the heart back and forth. Yamamoto swore he heard crying.
Yamamoto laughed a little, putting the vile back on the chain and hooking it back around his neck, "No, that's alright, thank you."
"Whatever," Gokudera said, "It fucking doesn't matter. I'll blend this fucking heart up when you drink your mothers ashes and we'll both be done with our pasts," Gokudera cast Yamamoto a piercing glare, "Deal?" Gokudera cuddled the heart further, soothing it and holding it closer, "Quiet, quiet," He cooed and Yamamoto looked away, feeling it wasn't his place to ask about it, but the crying was getting louder than before. Gokudera turned around and walked over to Yamamoto, shoving the beating heart into Yamamoto's arms and suddenly the crying was piercing like an actual newborn. He held it awkwardly and looked at Gokudera, he opened his mouth to ask if he was doing it right but Gokudera cut him off, "Fuck, it's the only thing left of him I still have," He mumbled, "Like those fucking ashes of yours."
Yamamoto laughed and started to rock the heart and he held it up high, laughing, "Its okay, whatever you are. There's no need to cry," He told to the beating heart and suddenly the crying stopped. Yamamoto laughed again and handed it back to Gokudera, "Is it alright now?"
The hand that Gokudera had been playing with fell off the shelf but Gokudera didn't notice. Even with a slit neck, even while holding a morbid beating heart, when he actually smiled Gokudera was very pretty. Gokudera nodded eventually, his scowl returning and he stormed back over to the shelf, putting the heart in the cradle.
"You're very pretty when you smile," Yamamoto said bluntly, looking at the hand that was twitching on the floor, "Was he important?"
Gokudera made a dismissing sound from the back of his throat before he answered, "Decently enough for me to drag something of him with me," Gokudera mumbled, bending over and picking up the hand, "But this fucker was random. I don't even know who he or she fucking was," Gokudera spat out, "But I can't seem to make myself eat it."
"Eat it?" Yamamoto asked taking a step back, "Why would you eat it?"
"It's the only half way humane way of disposing of a dead person," Gokudera said with a roll of his eyes, "This used to be alive, used to be part of a fucking person and throwing it out is disrespectful. It'd be the same as throwing out Tsuna's heart."
The crying returned. Yamamoto blinked and looked up at Gokudera, "Cannibalism? And who's Tsuna?" Gokudera made a sound at the back of his throat again and bent his head back, jutting his jaw out but all Yamamoto saw was the gaping slit of his throat. Yamamoto pointed at the heart, "Who's Tsuna and why is he crying?"
"Because I killed him."
The world seemed to grind down to a halt and Yamamoto started to back away for the door, "You killed him?" Yamamoto whispered, eyes widening then narrowing. Fight or flight instincts kicked in and choosing flight before had gotten him killed once before. He fisted his hands and tensed his muscles, ready to attack.
"Fucker, you can't die again, and if I could kill you I'd only eat your liver," Gokudera growled, "So get the fuck back in here. There are stranger people out there than in here."
Yamamoto took a step closer and ran his hands over his neck again. The crying died down and Yamamoto collapsed onto the one couch Gokudera seemed to have. It was neon green and orange and made out of velvet or something but it was actually the most comfortable thing Yamamoto may have sat on. Gokudera went about and started to play with all his other knickknacks he had adorning his shelving units. Every once and a while he heart crying or laughter, generally of a small child's, and at some point Yamamoto found himself with an armful of Tsuna-heart, but he didn't care because he was just tired. Gokudera then disappeared and came back with blood red ice-cream, "It's alien blood," He answered before Yamamoto asked, "Extra-terrestrial or whatever. I'm not sure how Shamal got it but he did. So fucking enjoy it."
There was a screenless television with no cords or wires but there was something moving around. Yamamoto had the heart curled up in his arms and Gokudera was fooling around with the twitching hand, tickling its palm and tossing it around like a father his newborn. Then Yamamoto realized there were the bones of a foot and a calf protruding from the television set. Yamamoto cuddled the heart and watched as flesh adhered itself to the bone and as soon a pair of hips moved through the screen, then a ribcage and soon a fleshed out human male was standing in front of the disconnected TV. His stomach was slit open and he was obviously missing some of his intestines. He pulled a shirt from behind the TV set and put it on over his head. As it fell down it elongated then formed into a pair of black slacks and the shirt coloured a sea foam green teeshirt. Yamamoto coughed and the man just looked at him with a look of loathing.
"Hibari," Gokudera growled, stopping what he was doing with the hand.
"Herbivore." Yamamoto's skin started to crawl, if Gokudera, a cannibal, an urn for the deceased, was herbivore in this mans eyes then what did that man do in his free time?
Gokudera got up and put the hand back on the shelf and disappeared into his kitchen. Yamamoto was left alone with a crying heart and someone who reminded him of those raptor things he'd learnt about in science class. Hibari raised a lone finger and pointed it at the rings around Yamamoto's neck; then he smiled closed lips but it made Yamamoto try and shrink into the cushions, "There are strange things at night, herbivore," Hibari said, bones molding out of his forearms and turning into sold metal tonfa's, "And strange things in the land of the murdered. I'll expect your payment soon."
All Yamamoto did was nod and try and calm the heart pressed up against his chest, he watched at the tonfa's melted back into Hibari's arms and when Gokudera came back out with a small, clear bag of water with small, octopus-like things swimming around Yamamoto finally relaxed. Until Hibari spoke again, "What are they?"
"If you eat one you can talk to the living," Gokudera explained, flopping back down on the couch, "Now get."
Hibari gave Gokudera that same look that made Yamamoto want to piss his pants but Gokudera didn't flinch. Hibari tugged on the shirt and suddenly all of his clothing peeled off like a candy wrapper and degraded into the same white shirt and Hibari put one foot through the screenless television, then the next and was gone within a blink of the eye.
"Fucking hate him," Gokudera swore, yanking the half finished bowl of alien blood out of Yamamoto's one free and started to gobble it down. Yamamoto put his other hand on the beating heart and sighed.
And right there, his neck bent more awkwardly than usual, holding a living, beating heart, next to a cannibal who was actually an urn for the dead, Yamamoto fell asleep.
"You're lonely too?" Tsuna looked like the kind of kid that would never go far in life and the look in his eyes made Yamamoto realize what fear truly looked like. Yamamoto didn't know how he knew it was Tsuna on the bench next to him, wearing a white tee shirt and a pair of tan kakis. It may have been he heard the crying.
Yamamoto took a little while to say anything, ignoring the red and brown leaves falling around them and the smell of decaying vegetation, "Not really," He mumbled, then spoke louder, "I had my father-" Tsuna cut him off with a quiet voice and suddenly Yamamoto longed to know this kid, to actually know him and hold him and protect him and-
"It's alright for you to miss her. Loosing important people will always be painful." Tsuna looked over at Yamamoto with heart-broken eyes, "But you'll mourn your death the most."
Yamamoto awoke with tears falling down his cheeks and falling onto the beating heart that was beating a little faster than usual. He looked down at it and pulled it up to the center of his chest. He heard Gokudera say something but he couldn't hear what was said. All he heard was: "It's okay, it's okay, it's okay. I'll love you instead." The crying started to increase and Yamamoto hunched over his shoulders and cried like he had back when his mother was placed into the ground to rot away.
"Lame," Gokudera whispered, watching as Yamamoto broke down on his couch. On Gokudera's lap was a stretched out, long spotted animal with the head of a black leopard, the body of a cheetah, the tail of a rat and the feet of a rabbit; it was making a purring sound as Gokudera stroked it's shiny fur coat, "Fuck, all you seem to do is cry."
Yamamoto nodded and laughed pathetically, clutching onto the heart as if it was his last wish, "Seems that way,"
A sound of dismissal was what brought Yamamoto back from whatever world he was living in as he silently wept, "Look," Gokudera said calmly, picking something out from between his teeth. Yamamoto heard a small scream, "If you tired let's go to bed," Gokudera got up and looked down at Yamamoto before curling his hand around the vile and yanking it off the chain, "and if you're going to dream with Tsuna I'm going to dream with your mother, got that fuck brain?" Gokudera commanded, leaving the room.
Yamamoto got up off the couch and scampered after Gokudera just like the strange hybrid animal was. As he passed he saw a spider nailed to the wall with what look to be a pure gold nail. Seven unnerving human eyes followed Yamamoto as he slowed to a walk. 6 of the spiders legs were spinning around its body at random but the shortest one seemed to be not moving and the longest was moving slightly, as if it was moving once every minute, "That's a strange clock," Yamamoto mumbled before covering a mouth and looking back at the spider. Somehow he had known it was a clock.
"I know," Gokudera said, pulling off his shirt and Yamamoto was surprised to find it was the same as what Hibari's shirt had done. Yamamoto looked away in respect. He heard the covers being pulled away from the surprisingly normal bed and heard Gokudera crawl into the bed. He looked back then down at Tsuna's beating heart and he followed suit, placing Tsuna's heart on the bed sheets before stripping himself and crawling into bed in only his boxers. He held Tsuna's heart close and lay on the bed, looking at the ceiling until he finally slept.
There was grass along his back and he could feel cherry blossoms streak across his face. The sun was bright so even with his eyes closed all he could see was the red of his blood. There was someone's head on his stomach, but he didn't mind, their hair was soft and obviously well kept but scruffily enough for Yamamoto to think of a puppy.
"Yamamoto, what's around your neck?" Tsuna mumbled, half asleep on Yamamoto's stomach, completely lulled to a point of sleep by the rhythmatic breathing.
"My necklace or the rings?"
Tsuna got up and hovered over Yamamoto. Yamamoto only noticed because Tsuna's head blocked out the sun. Tsuna picked up the vile that was hanging around Yamamoto's neck and examined it with wide eyes, "Who is it?"
Yamamoto laughed and closed his eyes again, "My mom."
He felt lips press against his, and for once he felt content.
Yamamoto jolted awake when he heard crying coming from the person beside him. He looked over and saw Gokudera lying there, clutching the vile of his dead mother and crying. He looked away but he couldn't help but hear, "Mother," whispered brokenly and suddenly he felt selfish for wanting to go back to his normal life. He looked back at Gokudera and stroked the boys silver hair until he calmed down as well.
Then he tugged Gokudera close to his side and wrapped his arm around the others shoulder while holding Tsuna's heart in his other hand and whispered, "There there, it's alright Gokudera," He looked out the window and saw stars.
Land of the murdered couldn't be that bad, right?