Cloud and Rain
Title: Cloud and Rain
Author: Kanon
Genre: General/Romance
Rating: G
Pairing: 1880, Hibari Kyoya x Yamamoto Takeshi
Disclaimer: Me owns nothing.
Distribution: Fanfiction and LJ
Summary: Cloud is what makes rain but it is rain that later makes up cloud. That is why cloud always protects rain.
Spoilers: Sky Ring battle during the Ring conflict and Genshiki vs Yamamoto battle in TYL arc
Warning: Nothing
Author’s Note:
This is my first KHR! fic so please be understanding about any possible OOCness and etc. I’ve been in KHR! fandom only for two weeks or so and rushed through manga in two days so I’m yet to fully grasp the characters, not to mention I’m in middle of Bleach fanfic under the penname of HeukYa.
Anyhow… This came about because it seemed to me that every time Yamamoto is in pinch, Hibari, my absolute love in KHR!, is there XD
So this is my take-on of the things. Hope you enjoy, reviews are loved.
:::::Cloud and Rain by Kanon:::::
Sensing his legs about to fail him again, Hibari leans against a cracked wall for a moment, giving himself a head-to-toe swipe indifferently as if he is examining a random herbivore’s body. That so-called genius of Varia has done his fair share of damage, he will give that. Though they do not look very serious at first sight, the thin, sharp slices have cut deep in many places, tearing his muscles and nerves.
Another shockwave wrecks the school building and the glistening midnight irises narrow in dangerous distaste as another window loses its glass right in front of him; one more on the list of damages. The twins from Cervello better follow through their words and fix the school to perfection or he is going to bite them to death.
However there is not much time to linger on the subject even for the prefect infamous for his love for the precinct. Clouds gather and from the abstract grey mass, the droplets of water are born which later return to the sky in evaporated invisibility, inevitably forming what has originally fruited them; and he is about to lose his Rain if he does not hurry.
Pushing himself away from the pitiful-looking wall, Hibari staggers on, ignoring the cutting pains shooting up his legs every time they alternatively take on his weight. His vision is hazing and clearing constantly, blurring out the path, but it is the same corridor he has walked through so many times that his faltering eyes pose not much of a problem.
The dragged steps turn into a light jogging then almost immediately, to a full-speed sprinting despite the crimson-stained wounds inflicted by the invisible wires. The harsh footsteps echo around the destroyed hallway, sometimes in time with the explosions outside, while some other times, completely off-beat as two orange flames clash in mid-air, although the collisions mostly go unnoticed by the black-haired teen pulling his feet through the glistening shards of shattered glass and wrecked pieces of concretes.
The thick iron door to Aquarion soon comes into his view and Hibari takes a quick look at his watch, the dark grey eyes as impassive as ever; 28 minutes and 25seconds since the injection. The cold lips remain in their perpetual downpull.
The footsteps grow faster.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-1880-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Yamamoto wonders if it is about time he should panic a little. Stabbing his uninjured eye would probably be less painful than trying to open it and he can feel his lungs failing to expand properly despite his best effort to gulp in as much of the humid air as he can. Concerns for Tsuna had forced him half a metre above the wet floor but now, even twitching his finger takes tremendous willpower. Yeah, it probably is okay for him to get a little nervous, now that he thought about it.
The excruciating gnawing that has rendered his limbs useless has now reached his chest and feeling his heart frantically thumping against the deadly creep, the star baseball player cannot help but grimace.
However, he stays focused on breathing for the moment instead of losing his wit. He has seen Tsuna back in the air with a roaring flame encasing him. He has also seen the delinquent prefect up and about, going against the knife-prince that had cut up Gokudera pretty badly.
And he knows Hibari is on his way to him.
Why the certainty, he does not know, but the Cloud Guardian has always been there to save the day, really, and Yamamoto has a feeling that this is not going to be the last time that the rain will continue to fall, thanks to the unreachable elusive clouds that had elegantly flown to its aid with the usual detached aloofness.
Those apathetic gaze of the gleaming eyes, the soft but fatal, barely there smile alluringly playing about at the thin lips with a certain promise of bloody beating, the nonchalant leaning of the lithe frame on the luxurious couch, everything about Hibari Kyoya when they first met in the reception room has been burnt into his mind and since then, the fluttering end of the black jacket disappearing round the corner and the high-pitched melody of their school anthem from the little yellow birdie have always pulled the ever-present grin on his face even wider.
It is somewhat similar but very much different to when Tsuna first entered his life. Along with Tsuna came so many good -- and funny -- friends like Gokudera and the kid always in suit, eventually spanning out to the other Guardians and the girls, each and every one of them brightening his life with their individual sparks; Tsuna is a turnabout, a milestone in his life. But Hibari, Hibari is wholly on his own level. Something about the aloof prefect is carved deep within him and even with the lack of interest from the senior, sometimes accompanied with blatant hostility, somewhere along the line, their bond is growing.
Although he does not know what it is that has stamped those black threads of finest silk and the onyx irises in him, Yamamoto simply leaves it at that. He is not really one to think beyond what is presented anyway, taking things at face value. If it happens, it happens and if he is meant to know the reason, he will discover it in due time.
A breathless, wheezy sound escapes the parted lips, the panting growing shallow and hurried. The airways are collapsing on themselves, blocking the pathway to his lungs painfully screeching for oxygen and his heart is not liking this new crisis at all.
Regardless, Yamamoto simply breathes in and out to the best of his current capability, the creased face speaking much of the physical distress but of nothing that even remotely resembles the expected anxious fright at the nearing doom because he knows this is not the end, no matter how close he gets pass it.
And when a slightly clammy hand, its palm callused from the lengthy handling of the notorious tonfas, grabs his with surprising gentleness, Yamamoto smiles and chuckles quietly; he is already starting to feel better even before the Ring of Rain has been inserted into the matching slot.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-1880-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Damnit, damnit, damnit.
Yamamoto endlessly curses to himself in his mind, trying to grasp the last shred of consciousness that is threatening to desert him. He had almost won this battle. On this raid rested their chance to return to their own time and his first fight had been going so well until that accursed mist box was abruptly activated.
In the distance, he can see Lal Mirch trying what she can to help him with the last of her strength but the centipede is too easily split in half and the powerful swordsman is now standing in front of him as nothing but a blur of black and white in his foggy vision.
Shit, this might actually be bad…
“Farewell.”
He does not need to be able to see clearly to know that the murderous blade of Genshiki’s katana is raised high in the air and his swordsman’s heightened senses tell him that the glistening metal is trembling in thrill for the warm blood -- his blood -- that would soon soak it.
Then suddenly, Yamamoto knows this is not the end, not for the first time. And just as he wears that face-splitting grin that always adorns his face when he is around a certain Guardian, the wall cracks and the mist box weapon is smashed to dust. The ear-to-ear grin, strained in the fading strength, grows even bigger if possible and Yamamoto finally gives into the thick clouds of darkness that has been incessantly bringing down his consciousness. The last thing he hears is the smooth voice that has gone a tone deeper in maturity over the last decade he has jumped over, flowing in a deceivingly gentle, calm melody, and Yamamoto smiles happily despite the situation because he knows that the apathetic face of 10-years-later Hibari Kyoya will be the first thing he sees when he wakes up later.
Because, time-travel or not, the inseparable connection between the Cloud and the Rain will always be the same.