[Fic] The Totally Fictitious But Rapturous Love Story Of Rokudo Mukuro and Hibari Kyouya (2/3)
PART I || Interlude || PART II
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[ INTERLUDE ]
The albatross circles above mast, riding the warm current that sweeps through his already wind-tousled hair. Even higher up, the sun bears down from a cloudless sky. There’s nothing but blue above, bright and saturated like the waters below, empty but for a white scrap of nautical superstition tracing lazy arcs around his head
It’s almost summer, he notes, and breathes in deeply.
The South China Sea is balmy during this time of year. Salty warm, with the faintest undercurrent of grapefruit, star fruit, dragon fruit, and wickedly reminiscent of dark rooms and aged linen stained with the tears of children.
“Get out of my dream,” Hibari says.
At first there’s nothing but the insistent rocking of the waves. Typical. But then the albatross croons a whimsical sound that’s more of a laugh than the tragic mewl foretold in sea-faring tales. What innocence holding the normalcy of the dream together snaps.
“The first thing I’m going to do when I wake up is break both your legs,” Hibari promises.
The albatross wheels lower. “Only if you actually remember all of this,” comes Mukuro’s voice from, unsurprisingly, the albatross’s beak.
Hibari scoffs. “I’m familiar with your tricks now, herbivore,” he says. “I only agreed to act as your parole officer.” When he finally does look up, it’s to narrow his eyes into threatening grey slits and pin the white bird, now hovering at eye-level, with a look that bespoke of sea-fowls skewered on pointy sticks and marinated in sherry. “If I wanted to, I could consider this a violation of parole.”
Mukuro hums, and the absurdity of an albatross humming is as odd as it sounds. “How does it feel to be as soulless as you are?”
“Souls are fabrications for an even greater fiction,” Hibari replies, bored. “How does it feel to be rendered completely invalid?”
“It’s a wonder Reborn even let you come within Italy’s airspace.”
“He didn’t. Sawada did.”
“I figured as much. And the bed-rest is fine. Five-thousand-count Egyptian cotton hand-woven by virgins from Mount Olympus and my very own bedside chocolate fondue. You’re always welcome to join me, of course.”
It’s an almost droll look that Hibari gives Mukuro’s feathered form. “I take it back. The first thing I’m going to do when I wake up is break your face.”
“You really do say the sweetest things. Did you ever kiss your mother with that mouth of yours?” Mukuro swoops in close enough to brush a wing against Hibari’s face. Close enough to clip Hibari’s nose; quick enough to evade any immediate retaliations had Hibari deigned to react. “Or perhaps you’re simply beside yourself with joy because I’m supposed to transfer to your medical facilities first thing tomorrow so we can bond.”
The boat rocks against a suddenly violent tide and Mukuro assures him, “Don’t worry. I’ll definitely be in shape to attend Tsunayoshi’s wedding next month.”
Hibari twitches reflexively at the idea. “Only if I don’t simply end your miserable existence tomorrow.”
“So you will be visiting?” Mukuro exclaims. “Wonderful. But be careful there, Signor Cloud. One might almost be led to believe you care.”
It’s as laughable an idea as any, and Hibari almost smiles when he reaches out to snap the albatross’s neck. “Keep dreaming,” he says.
He’s fairly certain he can hear that distinctly irritating laughter from somewhere beyond the horizon even after the body sinks beneath the watery surface.
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[ NEXT ]
__________________________________________________
[ INTERLUDE ]
The albatross circles above mast, riding the warm current that sweeps through his already wind-tousled hair. Even higher up, the sun bears down from a cloudless sky. There’s nothing but blue above, bright and saturated like the waters below, empty but for a white scrap of nautical superstition tracing lazy arcs around his head
It’s almost summer, he notes, and breathes in deeply.
The South China Sea is balmy during this time of year. Salty warm, with the faintest undercurrent of grapefruit, star fruit, dragon fruit, and wickedly reminiscent of dark rooms and aged linen stained with the tears of children.
“Get out of my dream,” Hibari says.
At first there’s nothing but the insistent rocking of the waves. Typical. But then the albatross croons a whimsical sound that’s more of a laugh than the tragic mewl foretold in sea-faring tales. What innocence holding the normalcy of the dream together snaps.
“The first thing I’m going to do when I wake up is break both your legs,” Hibari promises.
The albatross wheels lower. “Only if you actually remember all of this,” comes Mukuro’s voice from, unsurprisingly, the albatross’s beak.
Hibari scoffs. “I’m familiar with your tricks now, herbivore,” he says. “I only agreed to act as your parole officer.” When he finally does look up, it’s to narrow his eyes into threatening grey slits and pin the white bird, now hovering at eye-level, with a look that bespoke of sea-fowls skewered on pointy sticks and marinated in sherry. “If I wanted to, I could consider this a violation of parole.”
Mukuro hums, and the absurdity of an albatross humming is as odd as it sounds. “How does it feel to be as soulless as you are?”
“Souls are fabrications for an even greater fiction,” Hibari replies, bored. “How does it feel to be rendered completely invalid?”
“It’s a wonder Reborn even let you come within Italy’s airspace.”
“He didn’t. Sawada did.”
“I figured as much. And the bed-rest is fine. Five-thousand-count Egyptian cotton hand-woven by virgins from Mount Olympus and my very own bedside chocolate fondue. You’re always welcome to join me, of course.”
It’s an almost droll look that Hibari gives Mukuro’s feathered form. “I take it back. The first thing I’m going to do when I wake up is break your face.”
“You really do say the sweetest things. Did you ever kiss your mother with that mouth of yours?” Mukuro swoops in close enough to brush a wing against Hibari’s face. Close enough to clip Hibari’s nose; quick enough to evade any immediate retaliations had Hibari deigned to react. “Or perhaps you’re simply beside yourself with joy because I’m supposed to transfer to your medical facilities first thing tomorrow so we can bond.”
The boat rocks against a suddenly violent tide and Mukuro assures him, “Don’t worry. I’ll definitely be in shape to attend Tsunayoshi’s wedding next month.”
Hibari twitches reflexively at the idea. “Only if I don’t simply end your miserable existence tomorrow.”
“So you will be visiting?” Mukuro exclaims. “Wonderful. But be careful there, Signor Cloud. One might almost be led to believe you care.”
It’s as laughable an idea as any, and Hibari almost smiles when he reaches out to snap the albatross’s neck. “Keep dreaming,” he says.
He’s fairly certain he can hear that distinctly irritating laughter from somewhere beyond the horizon even after the body sinks beneath the watery surface.
__________________________________________________
[ NEXT ]