KHR: Return on Investment [Chapter Nine]
Hoping to post up all of the chapters I've just finished editing on the fly, but we'll see. ;w;
KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN!: Return on Investment
Chapter Nine: No place like home.
Theme Song: Download link to follow!
Other Chapter Links: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16
Rating: PG-13, for shower hanky panky nudity
Characters: Kyoko, Haru, Hana, Ryohei, Yamamoto, Hibari, Reborn x Bianchi, with mentions of others
Summary: The Road Trippers finally reach their destination, and Reborn, after a good morning call from Bianchi, goes off to see one of his stupid students.
Notes: This longfic was my NaNoWriMo project for 2008, although I've actually been itching to write it ever since I returned to the fandom early on this year. It's meant to take place ten years into the new future created by Tsuna and his crew after the TYL arc, and is pretty much very AU now, given how the manga has ended up progressing (point of departure from the canon is around Chapter 215, although I've tried to incorporate bits and pieces from the chapters after that). The title of this chapter is taken from the 31_days theme for October 11, 2008.
No place like home.
The airport.
Kyoko had been to Italy on several occasions, with her first being the summer trip that Tsuna had arranged for all of his friends soon after she had “officially” been associated with their group - she had fallen in love instantly with the country’s chilling breeze, blinding sunlight and vibrant colors, and made it a point to come back whenever she was able to. While it had been a little intimidating at first, walking down cobblestone streets or eating gelato on a bench with men in black suits looming over her, but the young woman had quickly grown used to it: she was their boss’ most precious person in mind, and they were merely doing their job by protecting her. It wasn’t long before she was able to take everything into stride, and enjoy every spare moment she had, in the company of her boyfriend, her friends, and the people who were helping them change the future.
Haru sprung into action the moment they had landed; she had been using the plane’s emergency phone nearly every time Kyoko had turned to watch her friend during their flight, and now that they were on the ground she was using her cellular phone, fluidly switching between Italian, English, French, German and Japanese depending on who happened to be on the other end of the line. Kyoko found herself watching her old friend with a fair amount of amazement. She had never actually seen Haru at work before, although Tsuna took every opportunity to praise her.
“Haru has really come a long way, hasn’t she?”
Kyoko smiled at Hana as the older girl slipped into the seat beside her - Haru had led them to a private lounge the moment they had stepped off the plane, insisting that they cool their heels off while she took care of things. A few members of their accompanying bodyguard detail were bustling in and out of the lounge, running errands on Haru’s instructions; the rest had been allowed to relax, and were currently gathered over at a table in the corner for a round of cards over some high-quality Scotch and some nice-smelling cigars. Spanner was playing the part of dealer - or more of, the robot that he had built during the long plane ride was dealing, and he was taking notes on its performance. Yamamoto was over at the bar, chatting with the blushing young bartender manning the area. Hibari had wandered off somewhere soon after they had landed, pointedly ignoring anybody who bothered to ask where he was going and if he was going to come back; since Kusakabe was mingling with Haru’s bodyguards and did not look alarmed by his leader’s departure in the slightest, however, everyone could only assume that the Cloud Guardian still planned on sticking around with them for the moment.
“So. Nervous?”
“Um… I don’t really know, actually. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet.” Kyoko ducked her gaze sheepishly, staring down at her hands. “I mean, it hasn’t been all that long since he proposed to me.”
“That’s true.”
Kyoko could not exactly believe it, now that she had actually said the words - prior to that moment, the young woman had not thought much of the fact she and Tsuna had been engaged for a little over a month, and they were getting married in less than half a year. She did not think that things were going too fast, given the fact that they had pretty much grown up together. She did not think that they were going too slow either, given the sort of things that Tsuna had to deal with. On the day that he had told her about the Vongola, it had become clear to Kyoko that while she was the first in Tsuna’s heart, there were things that he had to take care of first. She was an incredibly patient person: it came with having a brother like hers. She could wait.
Suffice to say, Kyoko had grown so used to waiting that when the day that Tsuna finally set his gloves aside long enough to ask her if it was perfectly all right for him to ask for her hand in marriage, she had been completely floored by the proposal, and unable to do anything but stare blankly at Tsuna until her husband-to-be started fretting, in which the full realization of what had just happened dawned upon her, and Kyoko had laughingly told him yes, and yes, and yes, over and over again.
“…What are you thinking about now, Kyoko-chan? Your head’s in the clouds.”
“Oh, nothing much.” The young woman swept some stray hair out of her face and beamed at Hana. “Now that I think about it,” she mused, “I’ve always thought that you and Ryo-nii would already be married by the time Tsu-kun proposed to me.”
Hana scoffed. “Your beloved older brother is being an extreme idiot about the matter, as usual. It’s a good thing I’ve already got it all planned out when the time comes,” the woman added airily, as she leaned back and studied her nails. “At this point, all I need is for him to say the word.”
Kyoko did not doubt that. She knew Hana well enough to be one hundred percent certain that her best friend probably had a wedding dress, a catering service, a reception hall and a date picked out and on standby for the actual event to happen.
“Haaaaah! That was exhausting.”
Haru plopped down on one of the seats in front of them and leaned back, fanning herself with her hand. “I was just on the phone with Chrome-chan,” the dark-haired young woman announced. “She and the boss are out on a meeting, but they should be back by later tonight. I had her mention you to Tsuna,” she added, turning to Kyoko with a smile. “He probably misses you a lot.”
“Mm, well. The feeling’s mutual, really…” Kyoko trailed off and ducked her head, trying to hide her blushing from her friends. Hana and Haru only laughed, making Kyoko blush even more. “Mou!” she huffed, pouting at the pair. “I’m going to jump at every chance I can get to tease the two of you from here on!”
“Go ahead,” Haru impishly returned. “I’ve got nothing to hide! I dunno about Hana though~”
“Now exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
The bantering continued in that fashion until all three of them were reduced to helpless fits of giggling. Yamamoto came around to find the three young women flopped back in their seats, breathless from laughing too much.
“It’s good to see you girls having fun.” The swordsman grinned at the trio as he set down the tray he had been carrying. “Here: I thought that you all might want to have something to drink.”
“Thanks, Yamamoto-kun! Ah… it’s a good thing you came around. I checked in with the family earlier,” she explained, noting the Guardian’s curious look. “Ryo-kun will be coming around to pick us up in a bit, since Gokudera-kun apparently can’t be bothered with it.”
“Oh? What’s he busy with?”
“I have no idea! If it’s not something for the wedding, he’s probably storming around, chasing after god-knows-what.”
“That’s just like him, I suppose.”
Kyoko watched the exchange quietly, noting Haru’s exasperation, noting Yamamoto’s easy dismissal. There was nothing peculiar about the exchange - or at least it didn’t look like there was. She knew better. She had not missed the way something in Yamamoto’s eyes and the set of his shoulders had changed, right at the mention of Gokudera Hayato’s name.
You look like you’re dodging a blow, she wanted to tell him, and then she thought better of it. She already knew the story, even if Tsuna had not really mentioned it. She had learned it by watching, because watching was the one thing that a girl in her position had to learn to be good at.
“Where are you going?” Hana asked at that moment, bringing Kyoko out of her thoughts. The young woman looked up just in time to see Yamamoto moving off with a glass in hand.
“Back to the bar. Kyouya’s come around again.”
“But I thought he - oh.”
As one, the three young women watched Yamamoto leave, heading towards the thin, wild-haired figure now occupying one of the stools and pointedly ignoring the bartender that Yamamoto had been so friendly with just a few moments ago. “He’s not exactly the friendly type, is he?” Hana remarked, watching the pair from afar with raised eyebrows. Haru chuckled.
“That would be the nicest way of saying it… Hibari-san pulls through whenever we really need him, though, so I’m not complaining.” Haru folded her arms behind her head and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s weird,” she said after a moment, “but I could almost swear that Hibari-san’s been just a little more irritated than usual since he joined us.”
“Here. Since you didn’t eat on the plane.”
Hibari blinked at the glass dangling in front of him, and the respective hand that it happened to be attached to. Yamamoto rounded into his line of vision in the next moment, slipping into the stool beside him. The swordsman’s smile didn’t waver, in spite of the fact that Hibari scoffed and turned away. “Ryohei is coming around to pick us up in a bit, I think,” he announced, bringing the glass to his own lips when he noticed that the other wasn’t going to take it. “I figured I ought to let you know, just to make sure that you don’t try to kill him when he pops up.”
“Noisy.”
“The others are busy.”
“And Gokudera Hayato must be out to avoid you.”
Yamamoto smiled again and didn’t say a word.
Ryohei Sasagawa arrived at lunch time, greeting the lot with exuberance and cheer typical to the white-haired boxer. His enthusiasm took on a slightly different turn when he finally saw Hana, and he immediately latched on to the young woman as though he was her overgrown puppy more than her boyfriend of five years. That did not, however, stop him from butting in on just about everybody’s business during the whole ride home, snapping back and forth from person to person, always launching himself head first into every conversation he listened in on. Having Ryohei around was a little like having the sun itself turn towards one at full power, Yamamoto realized, and oddly, he had really missed it. Hanging out with the boxer - the only other sportsman in the family - made him remember his own friends among the Hanshin Tigers.
Of course, Yamamoto’s reunion with Ryohei was nothing but another pleasant distraction. He had not left Italy under the best circumstances, and somehow, the fact that all was forgiven did not really do much to ease the guilt of leaving. Now he had returned, come back to his second home and his real job after three years of standing still. It would not be long before he was going to be forced to deal with all the emotional baggage that he had left at the doorstep of the Storm Guardian’s office back in the mansion, on the night that he had decided to just turn around and walk away.
The Vongola Mansion.
Reborn - revered, at several different periods in history and sometimes all at once as one of the Seven Arcobaleno, Italy’s greatest assassin, the renowned Vongole None’s most trusted advisor and the home tutor to the famed Vongola Decimo - woke up to a perfect day. His definition of what constituted a perfect day had, of course, become less rigid over time, and by merit of his being Arcobaleno, Reborn had lived and re-lived for more years than a human being should have been allowed to live. For that particular morning after, a “perfect day” meant waking up with one’s cheek pressed against what was probably the softest pillow in the world and the rest of one’s body sprawled on what was probably the softest bed in the world, with soft autumn sunlight filtering through the curtains and the sound of one’s beloved singing from the bathroom. Reborn cocked his head to the side without actually lifting his chin from the pillow, wondering why the tune was familiar to him. He did not manage to figure out what song it was, but he had, at least, discovered something new: that Bianchi had a great voice.
Reborn let out a long, drawn-out yawn. The man pushed himself out of bed afterward, kicking off the sheets and stretching wide, much like a cat after a long nap. He might’ve groped for his smokes, maybe wandered over to the espresso machine in the corner to prepare his usual fix, but it was hard to ignore the fact that the bathroom door was open. Reborn eventually gave in to his whims, and traced a path through the islands of discarded articles of clothing and other paraphernalia on the floor. The floorboards creaked under his weight; they were cool beneath the soles of his feet, still chilled from the touch of the other night. He entered the bathroom and found Bianchi gloriously naked in the shower stall, singing, swaying her hips to the beat in her head.
…Well now.
Reborn stayed where he was, content, for the moment, with taking the sight of Bianchi in and the many details that lent themselves so generously to a wandering eye like his own: the perfect Coke bottle cut of her body (the sensual rounded edges of those hips), the red of her hair darkened by the water (it snaked down right to the middle of her back now). Her tapered hands and fingers, wrapped about the handle of the shower head. Her tattoos and battle scars, interplay of intricate black patterns and ragged white canyons across sun-browned skin. Her mouth, a miniature bridge carrying a song across its surface to curl up in his ear. He saw her and he wanted her again, abruptly and almost painfully, but he was a man who valued control.
“Oh, you’re up.”
Bianchi said this as she glanced at him from over one perfect shoulder, lips curved in a small, sly smile. A full grown woman, but she would always be just a girl in his opinion. Living a life like his and seeing the things that he had made everyone around him feel so young to Reborn, with the exception of the six others who wore a pacifier on a heavy chain about their neck. Bianchi, however, felt even younger to the assassin than she ought to have been - he figured that it must have been because of the purity of her beliefs, and the blinding devotion she had shown him for so long, unshaken by the number of times that he had pushed her away or outright ignored her. There was that, and the games she insisted on playing with him, every time he had a moment to spare. Last night’s session had involved Reborn attempting to work and Bianchi not-so-discretely distracting him by introducing him to the finer points of striptease, an art that she had honed to perfection alongside her poison cooking techniques. Suffice to say, Bianchi had won.
“Why don’t you join me? You look so… ah. What’s the word? Lonely,” she purred, with a significant look between his legs. Reborn smirked and moved forward.
“I have a schedule to keep, you know,” he said, as he slipped behind her and snaked his arms about her waist and over her belly.
“You always do,” she evenly returned, as she turned her face up to the water. “Besides, schedules are made to be broken.” She moved the shower head, directing the spray over them both just as he started nibbling on her shoulder. Sometime after his mouth had somehow migrated from her shoulder to the back of her ear, Bianchi turned around to kiss him; washing herself no longer seemed as important as teasing his tongue into her mouth. Three heartbeats, and Bianchi let the shower head slip from her fingers, not noticing it slide harmlessly to the floor.
By the time a maid came up, bearing a breakfast tray for two into their room, Reborn was sitting up in bed, back to the headrest and reading glasses perched on his nose as he skimmed through the morning newspaper. Bianchi was draped over his body like another blanket, like second skin. Occasionally, she reached up, to run an idle finger across his chest and down his jaw line. Occasionally, he responded by lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the tips of her fingers.
Funny how you spent most of your second life trying to avoid waking up like this.
It had, in all fairness, seemed like a good decision back then: get more out of life by getting more out of dames by never tying yourself down to a single dame, because beyond the sounds and face that each one of them made in bed, all dames were generally the same and it was a most noble goal to do a Kundera and become a connoisseur of the one thing that made one dame different from another. He still did not know what had made stop, and why it had to be with Bianchi - he had just woken up one day, much like how he had done so at the moment, and looked down to see Bianchi in his arms and changed his routine before he even realized that he was really changing it (the realization came at a later date, over drinks and Sawada Iemitsu ribbing him every time they downed another glass). Perhaps it had been just another decision without purpose or reason - another sudden impulse, not uncommon to a man like him. It might have also been that one time where he had come home from another job to Bianchi waiting up with Leon curled up in her lap and the usual macchiato and thinking to himself that really, even with all of his (mis)adventures she’s always been there. Or maybe it was from him seeing the Ninth - his old boss and comrade - getting shuttled around in a wheelchair and the Tenth - his new boss and kid-that-he-used-to-torment-back-in-Japan - wearing another band on a finger just beside the Sky Ring and him thinking to himself “Ah, shit, I’m getting old.”
Bianchi was letting her fingers walk across his skin again. Reborn kissed her hand once more and decided that it was time to stop thinking about it.
“I overheard Hayato and Basil talking again just before the boss left. Haru is arriving today?”
“Yes, with more of the family in tow.” Reborn reached over Bianchi’s shoulders, picking up a piece of toast from the tray. “The mansion will be noisy again.”
“Come now, mi amore, you and I both know that a part of you enjoys the noise.” Bianchi tweaked his nose for emphasis, and chuckled when the man raised an eyebrow at her. “Turn that pout right side up, I was just kidding.” The woman twisted about, stealing her own piece of toast to eat; she took her first bite and chewed on it slowly, pensive, savoring the taste. “I’m of the opinion that it’s been too quiet these past few years,” she said after a moment. “This will be a welcome change of pace.”
“It will be for some of us.”
Bianchi knew exactly who Reborn was referring to - beyond the fact that it was a love problem (those had always been of special interest to her) part of the party in question was related to her, and, whether he liked it or not, she cared. Nevertheless, the years had tempered Bianchi’s tendency to nose her way into any and every romantic tangle that her friends got themselves into. Now the woman only stepped in on request, or when the situation became unbearable for the people in question. Since Gokudera Hayato was never going to request for her help and the situation he was currently in had not quite reached the levels of unbearable yet, Bianchi was left with no choice but to sigh and wave off Reborn’s pointed remark with a small, frustrated jerk of her hand. Her lover smoothed her irritation over by leaning in and kissing the side of her mouth.
“There were crumbs on your face,” he offered by way of explanation. She smiled at him, seeing past the act. She did not call him on it; she knew how much he valued his pride, and the image he had built up for himself in the mafia game. All was well again, for the moment.
“Well, I think we’ve lazed around here for long enough.” Bianchi set the tray on the night table and pulled herself up from the bed, wrapping one of the sheets around her body. Reborn lingered a moment longer in bed, to etch the image of her framed by the doors and top frame of the closet before getting up himself.
Some thirty minutes and a shave later, Reborn was moving through the vast hallways of the main house, suit buttoned up, fedora in place and Leon curled around his hat, peering unblinkingly at whoever he and his master happened to pass during their walk. To the casual observer, it looked as though the Vongola estate was buzzing with the usual amount of activity that a mafia joint possessed on an otherwise slow day, with servants moving about on errands and the occasional group of men in suits moving from point to point, talking about this and that joint or so and so woman. There was, however, the undercurrent of excitement running through every conversation, every action. People had been counting down the days since the Vongola Decimo’s marriage date had been announced, and as they ticked off the months, the talk just got louder. There was also the fact that a number of the regulars and members of the household help - the maids, especially - were excited over the return of the Rain Guardian, who had been assigned overseas for the past three years. He had always been the most popular one among the six, mostly because of his clean face and amiable personality. Those were things that Reborn had not had to teach Yamamoto about, and part of the reason why the man had bothered with training him some years back, in a future that nobody else remembered.
Reborn turned into another corridor, leaving the wing that his room was in and entering the side of the main house reserved for the Vongola Boss’ Guardians. Although most of the scenery did not change, there was a notable difference in the aura of the place. For one, hardly anyone beyond the oldest or most experienced among the servants could be spotted around the area. For another, no one outside of the inner circle of the current boss was allowed to enter the place without a good reason, or unless they were explicitly invited by one of the Guardians. The decor had also changed, with furnishings selected to cater to the collective tastes of the individuals living in the wing rather than the grand design of the estate in general and portraits of the men and women who had previously served as Guardians replacing the landscapes and still life shots found in the other areas. There was nothing like a constant reminder of the legacy that one bore to keep one in his or her place, and for a family as prestigious as the Vongola, it was important to instill a sense of history in their current members.
Reborn, however, thought very little of it - he ignored the heavy atmosphere as he went along, with the sound of his fine leather shoes striding across well-waxed pinewood floors on the way to his destination. There weren’t too many things that could intimidate a man like Reborn, and beyond that, he knew that the particular set of Guardians that the Vongola Family had for the moment needed no one to tell them how to do their job right. The family legacy was in excellent hands.
The main corridor ended in a lobby of sorts, with the walls narrowing themselves into a triangle: the sides of the triangle bore had the entrances to three slightly smaller hallways that lead each lead down to the rooms of each of the Vongola Guardians. Reborn headed for the farthest entranceway on the right side, swinging into the hall leading down to the rooms of the Rain Guardian. He pushed back a door engraved with images of a torrential downpour, stepping out of the semi-lighted hallway and into a sunlit lounge with bare walls and items of furniture covered up by cloth or plastic sheets. The young man that he had come to see was currently crouched at the far end of the lounge, rummaging through suitcases and boxes - he was surrounded by the things they he was pulling out, sitting in the one spot of clear floor circled by paraphernalia of all kinds. Reborn lingered in the doorway, eyeing the scene for a moment before speaking up.
“Odd. I thought that Tsuna would have had them keep things as they were for you.”
“Ahahaha, well, I don’t think it’s that surprising… they probably gave up on me when I didn’t come back after the first year. Besides, it’s easier for them to keep the rooms like this while I’m gone.”
“Then why don’t you have somebody help you out?”
“They’re probably busy.”
Reborn did not comment. The two men were silent for a good, long while, with Yamamoto putting his things in order and Reborn watching Yamamoto, noting down, in the collection of small movements that he made, what had changed and what had not. Yamamoto eventually stopped, and sat back against the palms of one hand, letting out a tired sigh as he fanned himself with his shirt. His belongings were piling up all around him, but from the looks of the boxes and suitcases in front of him, he still had a long way to go.
“So what brings you here, Reborn-san?”
Yamamoto had craned his neck all the way back, and was now peering at Reborn from upside down, sending the man a curious look. His former tutor pushed himself off the wall.
“We’re going out for a drink.”
“But I just got back! Besides, I need to report to Hayato now that I’ve arrived, or maybe wait around for Tsuna to come back-”
“Tsuna is out on business, and Gokudera went out in order to avoid seeing you.”
A low blow, but that was the sort of thing that Reborn did best, beyond killing people. Taking just that sort of hit, however, was Yamamoto’s specialty. “You know,” the swordsman idly remarked, “you’re the second person I’ve heard that from today.”
“Hibari?”
“Yeah.” Yamamoto straightened up and got to his feet. The Rain Guardian stretched his arms and swung them around a little, in order to shake the life back into them. He smiled again at Reborn when he was finished, as if they hadn’t just spoken about the reason why the dark-haired young man had left Italy in the first place.
“Well, lead the way, sir.”
KATEKYO HITMAN REBORN!: Return on Investment
Chapter Nine: No place like home.
Theme Song: Download link to follow!
Other Chapter Links: Prologue | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 | Chapter 11 | Chapter 12 | Chapter 13 | Chapter 14 | Chapter 15 | Chapter 16
Rating: PG-13, for shower hanky panky nudity
Characters: Kyoko, Haru, Hana, Ryohei, Yamamoto, Hibari, Reborn x Bianchi, with mentions of others
Summary: The Road Trippers finally reach their destination, and Reborn, after a good morning call from Bianchi, goes off to see one of his stupid students.
Notes: This longfic was my NaNoWriMo project for 2008, although I've actually been itching to write it ever since I returned to the fandom early on this year. It's meant to take place ten years into the new future created by Tsuna and his crew after the TYL arc, and is pretty much very AU now, given how the manga has ended up progressing (point of departure from the canon is around Chapter 215, although I've tried to incorporate bits and pieces from the chapters after that). The title of this chapter is taken from the 31_days theme for October 11, 2008.
No place like home.
The airport.
Kyoko had been to Italy on several occasions, with her first being the summer trip that Tsuna had arranged for all of his friends soon after she had “officially” been associated with their group - she had fallen in love instantly with the country’s chilling breeze, blinding sunlight and vibrant colors, and made it a point to come back whenever she was able to. While it had been a little intimidating at first, walking down cobblestone streets or eating gelato on a bench with men in black suits looming over her, but the young woman had quickly grown used to it: she was their boss’ most precious person in mind, and they were merely doing their job by protecting her. It wasn’t long before she was able to take everything into stride, and enjoy every spare moment she had, in the company of her boyfriend, her friends, and the people who were helping them change the future.
Haru sprung into action the moment they had landed; she had been using the plane’s emergency phone nearly every time Kyoko had turned to watch her friend during their flight, and now that they were on the ground she was using her cellular phone, fluidly switching between Italian, English, French, German and Japanese depending on who happened to be on the other end of the line. Kyoko found herself watching her old friend with a fair amount of amazement. She had never actually seen Haru at work before, although Tsuna took every opportunity to praise her.
“Haru has really come a long way, hasn’t she?”
Kyoko smiled at Hana as the older girl slipped into the seat beside her - Haru had led them to a private lounge the moment they had stepped off the plane, insisting that they cool their heels off while she took care of things. A few members of their accompanying bodyguard detail were bustling in and out of the lounge, running errands on Haru’s instructions; the rest had been allowed to relax, and were currently gathered over at a table in the corner for a round of cards over some high-quality Scotch and some nice-smelling cigars. Spanner was playing the part of dealer - or more of, the robot that he had built during the long plane ride was dealing, and he was taking notes on its performance. Yamamoto was over at the bar, chatting with the blushing young bartender manning the area. Hibari had wandered off somewhere soon after they had landed, pointedly ignoring anybody who bothered to ask where he was going and if he was going to come back; since Kusakabe was mingling with Haru’s bodyguards and did not look alarmed by his leader’s departure in the slightest, however, everyone could only assume that the Cloud Guardian still planned on sticking around with them for the moment.
“So. Nervous?”
“Um… I don’t really know, actually. Maybe it hasn’t hit me yet.” Kyoko ducked her gaze sheepishly, staring down at her hands. “I mean, it hasn’t been all that long since he proposed to me.”
“That’s true.”
Kyoko could not exactly believe it, now that she had actually said the words - prior to that moment, the young woman had not thought much of the fact she and Tsuna had been engaged for a little over a month, and they were getting married in less than half a year. She did not think that things were going too fast, given the fact that they had pretty much grown up together. She did not think that they were going too slow either, given the sort of things that Tsuna had to deal with. On the day that he had told her about the Vongola, it had become clear to Kyoko that while she was the first in Tsuna’s heart, there were things that he had to take care of first. She was an incredibly patient person: it came with having a brother like hers. She could wait.
Suffice to say, Kyoko had grown so used to waiting that when the day that Tsuna finally set his gloves aside long enough to ask her if it was perfectly all right for him to ask for her hand in marriage, she had been completely floored by the proposal, and unable to do anything but stare blankly at Tsuna until her husband-to-be started fretting, in which the full realization of what had just happened dawned upon her, and Kyoko had laughingly told him yes, and yes, and yes, over and over again.
“…What are you thinking about now, Kyoko-chan? Your head’s in the clouds.”
“Oh, nothing much.” The young woman swept some stray hair out of her face and beamed at Hana. “Now that I think about it,” she mused, “I’ve always thought that you and Ryo-nii would already be married by the time Tsu-kun proposed to me.”
Hana scoffed. “Your beloved older brother is being an extreme idiot about the matter, as usual. It’s a good thing I’ve already got it all planned out when the time comes,” the woman added airily, as she leaned back and studied her nails. “At this point, all I need is for him to say the word.”
Kyoko did not doubt that. She knew Hana well enough to be one hundred percent certain that her best friend probably had a wedding dress, a catering service, a reception hall and a date picked out and on standby for the actual event to happen.
“Haaaaah! That was exhausting.”
Haru plopped down on one of the seats in front of them and leaned back, fanning herself with her hand. “I was just on the phone with Chrome-chan,” the dark-haired young woman announced. “She and the boss are out on a meeting, but they should be back by later tonight. I had her mention you to Tsuna,” she added, turning to Kyoko with a smile. “He probably misses you a lot.”
“Mm, well. The feeling’s mutual, really…” Kyoko trailed off and ducked her head, trying to hide her blushing from her friends. Hana and Haru only laughed, making Kyoko blush even more. “Mou!” she huffed, pouting at the pair. “I’m going to jump at every chance I can get to tease the two of you from here on!”
“Go ahead,” Haru impishly returned. “I’ve got nothing to hide! I dunno about Hana though~”
“Now exactly what is that supposed to mean?”
The bantering continued in that fashion until all three of them were reduced to helpless fits of giggling. Yamamoto came around to find the three young women flopped back in their seats, breathless from laughing too much.
“It’s good to see you girls having fun.” The swordsman grinned at the trio as he set down the tray he had been carrying. “Here: I thought that you all might want to have something to drink.”
“Thanks, Yamamoto-kun! Ah… it’s a good thing you came around. I checked in with the family earlier,” she explained, noting the Guardian’s curious look. “Ryo-kun will be coming around to pick us up in a bit, since Gokudera-kun apparently can’t be bothered with it.”
“Oh? What’s he busy with?”
“I have no idea! If it’s not something for the wedding, he’s probably storming around, chasing after god-knows-what.”
“That’s just like him, I suppose.”
Kyoko watched the exchange quietly, noting Haru’s exasperation, noting Yamamoto’s easy dismissal. There was nothing peculiar about the exchange - or at least it didn’t look like there was. She knew better. She had not missed the way something in Yamamoto’s eyes and the set of his shoulders had changed, right at the mention of Gokudera Hayato’s name.
You look like you’re dodging a blow, she wanted to tell him, and then she thought better of it. She already knew the story, even if Tsuna had not really mentioned it. She had learned it by watching, because watching was the one thing that a girl in her position had to learn to be good at.
“Where are you going?” Hana asked at that moment, bringing Kyoko out of her thoughts. The young woman looked up just in time to see Yamamoto moving off with a glass in hand.
“Back to the bar. Kyouya’s come around again.”
“But I thought he - oh.”
As one, the three young women watched Yamamoto leave, heading towards the thin, wild-haired figure now occupying one of the stools and pointedly ignoring the bartender that Yamamoto had been so friendly with just a few moments ago. “He’s not exactly the friendly type, is he?” Hana remarked, watching the pair from afar with raised eyebrows. Haru chuckled.
“That would be the nicest way of saying it… Hibari-san pulls through whenever we really need him, though, so I’m not complaining.” Haru folded her arms behind her head and leaned back, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s weird,” she said after a moment, “but I could almost swear that Hibari-san’s been just a little more irritated than usual since he joined us.”
“Here. Since you didn’t eat on the plane.”
Hibari blinked at the glass dangling in front of him, and the respective hand that it happened to be attached to. Yamamoto rounded into his line of vision in the next moment, slipping into the stool beside him. The swordsman’s smile didn’t waver, in spite of the fact that Hibari scoffed and turned away. “Ryohei is coming around to pick us up in a bit, I think,” he announced, bringing the glass to his own lips when he noticed that the other wasn’t going to take it. “I figured I ought to let you know, just to make sure that you don’t try to kill him when he pops up.”
“Noisy.”
“The others are busy.”
“And Gokudera Hayato must be out to avoid you.”
Yamamoto smiled again and didn’t say a word.
Ryohei Sasagawa arrived at lunch time, greeting the lot with exuberance and cheer typical to the white-haired boxer. His enthusiasm took on a slightly different turn when he finally saw Hana, and he immediately latched on to the young woman as though he was her overgrown puppy more than her boyfriend of five years. That did not, however, stop him from butting in on just about everybody’s business during the whole ride home, snapping back and forth from person to person, always launching himself head first into every conversation he listened in on. Having Ryohei around was a little like having the sun itself turn towards one at full power, Yamamoto realized, and oddly, he had really missed it. Hanging out with the boxer - the only other sportsman in the family - made him remember his own friends among the Hanshin Tigers.
Of course, Yamamoto’s reunion with Ryohei was nothing but another pleasant distraction. He had not left Italy under the best circumstances, and somehow, the fact that all was forgiven did not really do much to ease the guilt of leaving. Now he had returned, come back to his second home and his real job after three years of standing still. It would not be long before he was going to be forced to deal with all the emotional baggage that he had left at the doorstep of the Storm Guardian’s office back in the mansion, on the night that he had decided to just turn around and walk away.
The Vongola Mansion.
Reborn - revered, at several different periods in history and sometimes all at once as one of the Seven Arcobaleno, Italy’s greatest assassin, the renowned Vongole None’s most trusted advisor and the home tutor to the famed Vongola Decimo - woke up to a perfect day. His definition of what constituted a perfect day had, of course, become less rigid over time, and by merit of his being Arcobaleno, Reborn had lived and re-lived for more years than a human being should have been allowed to live. For that particular morning after, a “perfect day” meant waking up with one’s cheek pressed against what was probably the softest pillow in the world and the rest of one’s body sprawled on what was probably the softest bed in the world, with soft autumn sunlight filtering through the curtains and the sound of one’s beloved singing from the bathroom. Reborn cocked his head to the side without actually lifting his chin from the pillow, wondering why the tune was familiar to him. He did not manage to figure out what song it was, but he had, at least, discovered something new: that Bianchi had a great voice.
Reborn let out a long, drawn-out yawn. The man pushed himself out of bed afterward, kicking off the sheets and stretching wide, much like a cat after a long nap. He might’ve groped for his smokes, maybe wandered over to the espresso machine in the corner to prepare his usual fix, but it was hard to ignore the fact that the bathroom door was open. Reborn eventually gave in to his whims, and traced a path through the islands of discarded articles of clothing and other paraphernalia on the floor. The floorboards creaked under his weight; they were cool beneath the soles of his feet, still chilled from the touch of the other night. He entered the bathroom and found Bianchi gloriously naked in the shower stall, singing, swaying her hips to the beat in her head.
…Well now.
Reborn stayed where he was, content, for the moment, with taking the sight of Bianchi in and the many details that lent themselves so generously to a wandering eye like his own: the perfect Coke bottle cut of her body (the sensual rounded edges of those hips), the red of her hair darkened by the water (it snaked down right to the middle of her back now). Her tapered hands and fingers, wrapped about the handle of the shower head. Her tattoos and battle scars, interplay of intricate black patterns and ragged white canyons across sun-browned skin. Her mouth, a miniature bridge carrying a song across its surface to curl up in his ear. He saw her and he wanted her again, abruptly and almost painfully, but he was a man who valued control.
“Oh, you’re up.”
Bianchi said this as she glanced at him from over one perfect shoulder, lips curved in a small, sly smile. A full grown woman, but she would always be just a girl in his opinion. Living a life like his and seeing the things that he had made everyone around him feel so young to Reborn, with the exception of the six others who wore a pacifier on a heavy chain about their neck. Bianchi, however, felt even younger to the assassin than she ought to have been - he figured that it must have been because of the purity of her beliefs, and the blinding devotion she had shown him for so long, unshaken by the number of times that he had pushed her away or outright ignored her. There was that, and the games she insisted on playing with him, every time he had a moment to spare. Last night’s session had involved Reborn attempting to work and Bianchi not-so-discretely distracting him by introducing him to the finer points of striptease, an art that she had honed to perfection alongside her poison cooking techniques. Suffice to say, Bianchi had won.
“Why don’t you join me? You look so… ah. What’s the word? Lonely,” she purred, with a significant look between his legs. Reborn smirked and moved forward.
“I have a schedule to keep, you know,” he said, as he slipped behind her and snaked his arms about her waist and over her belly.
“You always do,” she evenly returned, as she turned her face up to the water. “Besides, schedules are made to be broken.” She moved the shower head, directing the spray over them both just as he started nibbling on her shoulder. Sometime after his mouth had somehow migrated from her shoulder to the back of her ear, Bianchi turned around to kiss him; washing herself no longer seemed as important as teasing his tongue into her mouth. Three heartbeats, and Bianchi let the shower head slip from her fingers, not noticing it slide harmlessly to the floor.
By the time a maid came up, bearing a breakfast tray for two into their room, Reborn was sitting up in bed, back to the headrest and reading glasses perched on his nose as he skimmed through the morning newspaper. Bianchi was draped over his body like another blanket, like second skin. Occasionally, she reached up, to run an idle finger across his chest and down his jaw line. Occasionally, he responded by lifting her hand to his lips and kissing the tips of her fingers.
Funny how you spent most of your second life trying to avoid waking up like this.
It had, in all fairness, seemed like a good decision back then: get more out of life by getting more out of dames by never tying yourself down to a single dame, because beyond the sounds and face that each one of them made in bed, all dames were generally the same and it was a most noble goal to do a Kundera and become a connoisseur of the one thing that made one dame different from another. He still did not know what had made stop, and why it had to be with Bianchi - he had just woken up one day, much like how he had done so at the moment, and looked down to see Bianchi in his arms and changed his routine before he even realized that he was really changing it (the realization came at a later date, over drinks and Sawada Iemitsu ribbing him every time they downed another glass). Perhaps it had been just another decision without purpose or reason - another sudden impulse, not uncommon to a man like him. It might have also been that one time where he had come home from another job to Bianchi waiting up with Leon curled up in her lap and the usual macchiato and thinking to himself that really, even with all of his (mis)adventures she’s always been there. Or maybe it was from him seeing the Ninth - his old boss and comrade - getting shuttled around in a wheelchair and the Tenth - his new boss and kid-that-he-used-to-torment-back-in-Japan - wearing another band on a finger just beside the Sky Ring and him thinking to himself “Ah, shit, I’m getting old.”
Bianchi was letting her fingers walk across his skin again. Reborn kissed her hand once more and decided that it was time to stop thinking about it.
“I overheard Hayato and Basil talking again just before the boss left. Haru is arriving today?”
“Yes, with more of the family in tow.” Reborn reached over Bianchi’s shoulders, picking up a piece of toast from the tray. “The mansion will be noisy again.”
“Come now, mi amore, you and I both know that a part of you enjoys the noise.” Bianchi tweaked his nose for emphasis, and chuckled when the man raised an eyebrow at her. “Turn that pout right side up, I was just kidding.” The woman twisted about, stealing her own piece of toast to eat; she took her first bite and chewed on it slowly, pensive, savoring the taste. “I’m of the opinion that it’s been too quiet these past few years,” she said after a moment. “This will be a welcome change of pace.”
“It will be for some of us.”
Bianchi knew exactly who Reborn was referring to - beyond the fact that it was a love problem (those had always been of special interest to her) part of the party in question was related to her, and, whether he liked it or not, she cared. Nevertheless, the years had tempered Bianchi’s tendency to nose her way into any and every romantic tangle that her friends got themselves into. Now the woman only stepped in on request, or when the situation became unbearable for the people in question. Since Gokudera Hayato was never going to request for her help and the situation he was currently in had not quite reached the levels of unbearable yet, Bianchi was left with no choice but to sigh and wave off Reborn’s pointed remark with a small, frustrated jerk of her hand. Her lover smoothed her irritation over by leaning in and kissing the side of her mouth.
“There were crumbs on your face,” he offered by way of explanation. She smiled at him, seeing past the act. She did not call him on it; she knew how much he valued his pride, and the image he had built up for himself in the mafia game. All was well again, for the moment.
“Well, I think we’ve lazed around here for long enough.” Bianchi set the tray on the night table and pulled herself up from the bed, wrapping one of the sheets around her body. Reborn lingered a moment longer in bed, to etch the image of her framed by the doors and top frame of the closet before getting up himself.
Some thirty minutes and a shave later, Reborn was moving through the vast hallways of the main house, suit buttoned up, fedora in place and Leon curled around his hat, peering unblinkingly at whoever he and his master happened to pass during their walk. To the casual observer, it looked as though the Vongola estate was buzzing with the usual amount of activity that a mafia joint possessed on an otherwise slow day, with servants moving about on errands and the occasional group of men in suits moving from point to point, talking about this and that joint or so and so woman. There was, however, the undercurrent of excitement running through every conversation, every action. People had been counting down the days since the Vongola Decimo’s marriage date had been announced, and as they ticked off the months, the talk just got louder. There was also the fact that a number of the regulars and members of the household help - the maids, especially - were excited over the return of the Rain Guardian, who had been assigned overseas for the past three years. He had always been the most popular one among the six, mostly because of his clean face and amiable personality. Those were things that Reborn had not had to teach Yamamoto about, and part of the reason why the man had bothered with training him some years back, in a future that nobody else remembered.
Reborn turned into another corridor, leaving the wing that his room was in and entering the side of the main house reserved for the Vongola Boss’ Guardians. Although most of the scenery did not change, there was a notable difference in the aura of the place. For one, hardly anyone beyond the oldest or most experienced among the servants could be spotted around the area. For another, no one outside of the inner circle of the current boss was allowed to enter the place without a good reason, or unless they were explicitly invited by one of the Guardians. The decor had also changed, with furnishings selected to cater to the collective tastes of the individuals living in the wing rather than the grand design of the estate in general and portraits of the men and women who had previously served as Guardians replacing the landscapes and still life shots found in the other areas. There was nothing like a constant reminder of the legacy that one bore to keep one in his or her place, and for a family as prestigious as the Vongola, it was important to instill a sense of history in their current members.
Reborn, however, thought very little of it - he ignored the heavy atmosphere as he went along, with the sound of his fine leather shoes striding across well-waxed pinewood floors on the way to his destination. There weren’t too many things that could intimidate a man like Reborn, and beyond that, he knew that the particular set of Guardians that the Vongola Family had for the moment needed no one to tell them how to do their job right. The family legacy was in excellent hands.
The main corridor ended in a lobby of sorts, with the walls narrowing themselves into a triangle: the sides of the triangle bore had the entrances to three slightly smaller hallways that lead each lead down to the rooms of each of the Vongola Guardians. Reborn headed for the farthest entranceway on the right side, swinging into the hall leading down to the rooms of the Rain Guardian. He pushed back a door engraved with images of a torrential downpour, stepping out of the semi-lighted hallway and into a sunlit lounge with bare walls and items of furniture covered up by cloth or plastic sheets. The young man that he had come to see was currently crouched at the far end of the lounge, rummaging through suitcases and boxes - he was surrounded by the things they he was pulling out, sitting in the one spot of clear floor circled by paraphernalia of all kinds. Reborn lingered in the doorway, eyeing the scene for a moment before speaking up.
“Odd. I thought that Tsuna would have had them keep things as they were for you.”
“Ahahaha, well, I don’t think it’s that surprising… they probably gave up on me when I didn’t come back after the first year. Besides, it’s easier for them to keep the rooms like this while I’m gone.”
“Then why don’t you have somebody help you out?”
“They’re probably busy.”
Reborn did not comment. The two men were silent for a good, long while, with Yamamoto putting his things in order and Reborn watching Yamamoto, noting down, in the collection of small movements that he made, what had changed and what had not. Yamamoto eventually stopped, and sat back against the palms of one hand, letting out a tired sigh as he fanned himself with his shirt. His belongings were piling up all around him, but from the looks of the boxes and suitcases in front of him, he still had a long way to go.
“So what brings you here, Reborn-san?”
Yamamoto had craned his neck all the way back, and was now peering at Reborn from upside down, sending the man a curious look. His former tutor pushed himself off the wall.
“We’re going out for a drink.”
“But I just got back! Besides, I need to report to Hayato now that I’ve arrived, or maybe wait around for Tsuna to come back-”
“Tsuna is out on business, and Gokudera went out in order to avoid seeing you.”
A low blow, but that was the sort of thing that Reborn did best, beyond killing people. Taking just that sort of hit, however, was Yamamoto’s specialty. “You know,” the swordsman idly remarked, “you’re the second person I’ve heard that from today.”
“Hibari?”
“Yeah.” Yamamoto straightened up and got to his feet. The Rain Guardian stretched his arms and swung them around a little, in order to shake the life back into them. He smiled again at Reborn when he was finished, as if they hadn’t just spoken about the reason why the dark-haired young man had left Italy in the first place.
“Well, lead the way, sir.”