Isolated, I am Strong

agamemnoncrying:

Mukuro didn’t reply immediately, watching the waiter come with two bowls. A glance at Kyouya’s brought a little chuckle; of course they had added ham to the rice and peas, a good-looking appetizer. He purred aloud at the smell of the minestrone set before himself. Wonderful. His stomach almost growled in reaction.

He savoured a few bites before he replied, lips turned upwards with pleasure. Oh, it had been too long since he’d enjoyed good minestrone soup. Honestly he could have made a wonderful meal out of it alone, but he wasn’t going to complain about all the other wonderful things likely to come.

“I never thought I’d hear you say those words,” he murmured with a smirk, eyes narrowed mischievously. “I quite like them.” A date, huh? What a way to get a date with Hibari Kyouya…

Probably the best way, too.

Hibari glanced down at his Risi e Bisi, contemplating whether a fork or a spoon was a better choice. Careful not to prolong the moment of inactivity for too long, he picked a spoon before Mukuro could call him out on the indecision. If the other decided to tease him for his choice, well, frankly Mukuro could go screw himself. He mused on the convenience of chopsticks; they were so versatile, easy to use, and rather compact for traveling convenience as well. 

Absentmindedly stirring—or perhaps the action was more akin to folding—his food, Hibari regarded the other’s devious expression with a mildly irritated one. He wouldn’t entertain whatever fantasy the other had more than necessary; having the illusionist pining after him wouldn’t facilitate to his productivity in any way. Instead, Hibari grunted, taking the time to inspect his food. Ah, so this was rice, he noted, digging in.

…

agamemnoncrying:

Seemed as though Kyouya wasn’t a fan of bagnacauda. Ah, well, no harm, he figured; there was more to come. He would have been pleased to have more for himself, but since he had to cut it short due to the fish in the sauce… At least there were several more courses to go.

“I don’t think I’m underestimating you at all,” he chuckled. “On the other hand, I think you’re underestimating me, Hibari Kyouya.” The statement was matter-of-fact, perhaps a little curious as he patted his lips with his napkin very politely. He could feel the telltale tightness at the base of his stomach that meant it had recognized a little bit of animal enzyme and would very soon become an issue if it wasn’t diluted. He sipped his wine, eyes on the deep maroon liquid a moment before he poured himself another glass and topped off Kyouya’s.

When the waiter returned to remove the sauce and uneaten vegetables—which he had been nibbling idly, still holding a baby carrot in his fingers and earning a disapproving glance—he dipped his head a little and waited till he was out of earshot again before he added, “Actually, I think we ought to figure it out soon. You know, with our power struggle, it’s rather comical that we haven’t simply…duked it out recently.” As inelegant as it was, he did love the lower colloquialisms sometimes. They were so apt in so many mafia matters.

“Oya,” he hummed thoughtfully, swirling his wine glass, “actually, why don’t we later this week?” Set a date. Maybe that would lure in the stubborn cloud. He was tempted to make it sooner, but he knew very well that he wasn’t in his finest form and he would have to be to face down Hibari Kyouya. He hated jet lag, too. “Saturday. Six days. It seems fun.”

Hibari indulged in a long sip of wine while waiting for the waiter to return. When he removed the glass from his lips, he had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. Underestimate Mukuro? Well, maybe just a little, but in actuality, Hibari had built up confidence in his fighting ability. It was a key component to ensuring victory—the psychology behind it. Nothing good comes out of second-guessing yourself in a fight anyways.

The prospect of a fight, a real fight with Mukuro… It was an offer that he couldn’t turn down. Vaguely, he wondered if he had plans for that day already, but in the end, it wouldn’t matter. He would reschedule if necessary. Mukuro was right, it had been a while since they properly sparred. 

“Saturday then,” he agreed, leaning forward as he twirled his glass, holding it up for a toast. “It’s a date,” he added with a sly smile.

This would be fun.

agamemnoncrying:

Mukuro loved toying with dreams. He liked the way he learned about people by delving into their minds; he liked the way they reacted and would never be sure that it had really been him, if they remembered it at all. Normally it was a tool, not a toy.

But sometimes he just couldn’t help himself.

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Hibari woke with a groan, blearily blinking up at the ceiling in efforts of clearing the sleep from his eyes before he rubbed it away with the back of his hand. He felt as if he was forcibly wrenched from his sleep—from the dream that wasn’t his to begin with. 

With that established, he sighed, slowly exhaling as a means to calm himself and relax, sinking into his futon. He lethargically draped an arm over his pillow so that his hand rested on his head, wondering what was the best way to go about dealing with Mukuro. He had made it clear that his dreams—his mind—were off-limits.

He tried not to think about how the dream was actually pleasant, or how Mukuro had made everything more unnaturally pleasurable. It wasn’t as if it had affected him so much that he couldn’t ignore it. Deeming that this was another one of Mukuro’s sick fantasies, Hibari focused on expelling the dream from his memory. Luckily, parts of it were already fading, though others were too vivid for comfort.

Eventually, Hibari sat up and got out of bed. After a minute of searching, he found one of his secured phones, one that he had made sure was secured so that whomever he called or messaged could not trace his number. It had been developed by the Foundation, of course, due to Hibari’s paranoia; he had even made sure to harass a certain Arcobaleno to provide him with the technology that he needed for it.

When he set the phone down and went to change, a message flashed across the screen, confirming that the message had been sent.

Don’t disrupt my sleep.

And stay out of my dreams. I don’t want to know about your fantasies about me.

An Extended Analysis of Hibari Kyouya’s Flames

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agamemnoncrying:

He took the time to dip a carrot, let it drip into the pot so it didn’t dribble on the tablecloth, and nibble at it several moments before he bothered responding. “I did tell you,” he murmured, swirling his wine glass in one hand, “that I was there as an intelligence gatherer, undercover myself. They thought that I was a low-level snitch. When you tramped in like a bull in a china shop, I was just about to get the last of the information that I needed…” Which would be far more difficult now, of course.

“My point,” he snickered after a sip of wine, “is that I am likely far more formidable an opponent, Hibari Kyouya, than you may remember.” The fingers of his left hand spread slowly, smoothing a wrinkle in the tablecloth, subtly drawing attention to the two hell rings that sat so disturbingly on his fingers. Who needed a Vongola ring, which Chrome held, when he had these?

The idea was rather tantalizing, actually. Kyouya has always been most attractive when he was angry; as it was now, with his steely self control, the best that Mukuro could get was determined. Determined like he was during a fight, the small, sadistic smirk he might have caught a flash of once, rippling muscles, scent of musky sweat and masculine violence. Hint of blood, wounds to lick, dig his fingers into. Blood pumping, heart pounding, adrenaline rushing like pheromones.

Yes, he rather wanted to pick a fight with Hibari Kyouya.

Other than the visible widening of his pupils in pleasure, his thoughts went unbetrayed as he dipped a slice of onion into the cauldron. 

Hibari held his tongue, feeling rather inclined to comment on the other’s failure. There was no question about who was the most effective information gatherer, particularly in cases where beating the necessary information out of the target was not an option. Though he wouldn’t admit it, Mukuro was good at what he does—perhaps even the best. Still, that didn’t change the fact that the illusionist had failed such a simple mission. The fact that Hibari didn’t know about Mukuro’s assignment when it involved the boxes, well, that couldn’t be terribly important.

Deciding to default to ignoring the other for the time being, Hibari ate a few more pieces of vegetables, though he picked up his napkin and wiped his mouth after eating a few pieces out of politeness. This was one course that didn’t particularly strike his fancy. 

He looked up to find the illusionist looking at him with a rather pleased expression, appearing as if he was fantasizing again. Given the direction of the conversation, it must have had to do with himself, Hibari reasoned, not bothering to follow that particular train of thought any further. He wasn’t interested in what Mukuro might have been thinking.

“You’re underestimating me, illusionist.” Sitting back in his chair, Hibari folded his arms and raised a brow. The prospect of a fight with Mukuro, even after all these years, was still interesting. He didn’t doubt that Mukuro was strong. Nowadays, however, he was confident that he was stronger, and the need to prove it wasn’t so consuming. 

agamemnoncrying:

Hmph! The reply made Mukuro lean back in his chair, lips pursed in exasperation. “I see,” he muttered, barely concealing a small roll of his eyes as he refilled both their glasses of wine and nursed his in a hand, swirling it slowly, before he took a long sip. No other interest in Mukuro’s presence but to fight him, hm. Well, that was rather expected, but nonetheless it was infuriating. 

The waiter stepped over and nimbly moved the candle on the table aside to set down a small tray with a pot. A heater was in the bottom, keeping the bagnacauda hot, and the warm scent made Mukuro’s mouth water. Ah, if there was anything he’d missed more than bread… A glance at the various plates that was then set before them, full of various vegetables. Some were raw, some were obviously cooked. Mm, it looked wonderful. He offered a rather pleasant smile to the waiter in return. Oooh, he’d have to be careful not to devour too much of the rabbit food and wind up abusing his neglected stomach so he couldn’t enjoy the rest of what would be a very sizable meal.

He used a fork to dip a cauliflower floret into the sauce and nibbled it curiously. Oh, wonderful. He could vaguely taste just a little bit of the salty anchovy used, so he would have to be sparing with the sauce, but that was alright, as it was already rather strong. “So after we return and I recuperate, is that a challenge?”

For a moment Hibari examined the new dish curiously, unsure of what to expect from the arrangement. He leaned forward just a tad, peering into the bagnacauda’s bowl. Well, from Mukuro’s expression, it was good, he reasoned, picking up a piece of cauliflower and following the other’s example. The flavor was strong, and it was decent, but not as good as his last dish. Anchovy wasn’t his favorite, but he didn’t dislike it either. As he ate, he noted that vegetables paired with just a touch of the sauce was rather refreshing after the capicola.

“I’m not sure if you could keep up. Afterall, you seem to have gotten weaker, allowing yourself to fall into the hands of such a pathetic bunch,” Hibari responded with a smirk, referencing the mishap from earlier. Surely, Mukuro wasn’t that bad, and he would be displeased if he really had become so pathetic, but the mental image of Mukuro failing to provide any sort of challenge was so ridiculous that it was an amusing thought to entertain.

agamemnoncrying:

Mm, it seemed that the Cloud appreciated his appetizer as well. Good. He took time to try not to scarf down the last few bites of his bruschetta while he waited for Kyouya’s reply. He sincerely hoped the next course would be arriving soon. “Our little squeaky toy is getting very clever,” he mused with a wicked little chuckle. “Sounds like it’s time to turn the tables on him again…”

He could just imagine the tentative satisfaction Tsuna must have felt when Kyouya walked out the door without contesting his “orders.” Would he be nervous now, waiting for the Cloud to return and wreak revenge, or fairly at ease with his victory? Either way, it would be interesting to watch him squirm as they walked in the door, both with their own reason to be frustrated with the don.

“So, Kyouya,” he murmured playfully, leaning forward a little, “was it? Of interest, I mean?” Mukuro considered winking, but he figured that might have been a little bit much.

Finishing his appetizer, Hibari wiped his mouth is a napkin. He wondered what the best method of torturing Sawada would be when he got back to Namimori. Threatening him wasn’t nearly as satisfying or effective as it used to be, though it still worked to some degree. He would give him a decent scare, then maybe cut off the Vongola’s access to Foundation resources for a few weeks. Surely, Sawada would be frustrated with the abrupt change, though, really, he should expect it, working with Hibari.

Resisting the urge to glare, he settled on regarding Mukuro with a small frown. “The  trip hardly resulted in anything of interest. The food is good.” With the history behind his rivalry with Mukuro, he wasn’t particularly surprised that Sawada had said it interested him. Still, Mukuro wasn’t worth fighting at the moment, and Hibari detested frequently flying to Italy. “But you’re no match for me if we fought right now.”

agamemnoncrying:

Tapping a gloved knuckle against his bottom lip thoughtfully, Mukuro dipped his head in a small nod to the waiter. “Grazie.” It was tempting to make an appreciative sound at the very sight of the food. Ah, how long had it been since he’d enjoyed Italian bread? Of course there were times he didn’t like being reminded of his native land; this was not one of them. He picked up the utensils on the furthermost sides and started to cut it, keeping an iron-hard grip on his self control so as not to dig in immediately. Ah, that bag of pretzels really hadn’t lasted. It was a wonder his stomach didn’t announce his hunger for him.

A glance at Kyouya’s plate was satisfying as for the quality, but he couldn’t really say that it piqued his appetite, even in the state that he was in. The fresh aroma of diced tomatoes and garlic rubbed bread fresh from the oven overcame the scent, of course, which was likely a good thing. After all of the run-ins he had, had in the past before tracing his digestive issues to meat had left him with a very distinct distaste for the smell of it as well.

“Kyouya,” he murmured after several moments, spearing the first piece on his fork, “what was it that Sawada Tsunayoshi sent you to do, if he didn’t tell you that I was the…’hostage,’ hm?” His voice was only mildly curious, but there was a sharpness in his eyes as he took his first bite—and forced himself not to moan in pleasure. Oh, he could eat his fill of this and be perfectly sated, he reflected somewhere in the back of his mind. It would be torture to eat at a polite, slow pace. “It doesn’t seem as though he would lie, yet he was able to send you on such a wild goose chase…” 

He knew how that could likely be taken offensively, but his tone was perfectly neutral. As if to punctuate the lack of emphasis he took another bite and chewed slowly, watching the Cloud as he waited for an answer (if anyone was even forthcoming). 

The presentation of this restaurant and its food was stellar. Hibari had to take a moment to appreciate his plate before picking up a fork. The capicola had been prepared in bites with a melon, basil, and topped with balsamic drizzled about, providing for a rather nice blend of colors—foods that were all the same color, including meats, always seemed slightly less appetizing. 

Spearing through a capicola bite, Hibari took his time to savor the flavor. The melon provided a nice, candy-like sweetness, but the meat and balsamic balanced it out. Sweet and salty always did go together well, complimenting the flavors well. It made his appetite grow, and he gave a small nod of approval as he swallowed. 

As he ate another capicola bite, he looked up from his plate to regard the illusionist, quietly watching him as he chewed. 

“Sawada,” he said after swallowing, “ordered me to rescue a captive informant that was of high importance to the Vongola’s agenda.” Hibari had to resist the urge to roll his eyes as he spoke, due to both the memory of being interrupted from his tea and called to the brunet’s office coming to surface—not that he answered the summons immediately—and the description that Sawada had applied to the illusionist. The briefing had been rather vague, even as far as briefings between Sawada and himself tended to go. At least the brunet had learned to feed him just enough information to pique his interest without turning him off. In fact, the Arcobaleno had been smirking just slightly as Hibari left, and now the skylark knew why. “He promised that it would be of interest to me,” he finished passively.

agamemnoncrying:

The long silence made it very hard not to smirk. Mukuro thought the waiter had begun to get uncomfortable, sensing that he had stepped into dangerous territory, when the answer came. The illusionist perked up, obviously pleasantly surprised, and stood, regarding the waiter with a cool smile. “He’s very shy about it, you see,” he murmured slyly, tapping the tip of his finger to his lips. “Grazie.”

At the new table he pulled out a chair for Kyouya before he sat in his own, forcing him to take the one he’d arranged. Further pressing his luck, he offered a wink to the waiter, who cleared his throat primly as he set their glasses down at the new setting and laid the wine bottle down carefully on the table. “Your first course will be ready shortly,” he murmured before making his exit.

The new room was rather nice, Mukuro had to admit inwardly. It was a bit smaller, but the mirrors so carefully placed at such strategic points made it seem infinitely larger. There was even a lit candle on the middle of the table, the light just a few shades dimmer, creating such a cozy, intimate atmosphere. He thought he caught the scent of roses. It was enough to make him wish he really could lean over the table and plant one on him—without risking his life in the process.

“You’re very welcome, lover,” he purred in return, eyes glittering with amusement. “When am I not thinking about you~?”

“Oh?” Hibari raised a brow before shaking his head with a mocking chuckle. “You think? I wasn’t aware.”

Content, he sat back in the seat he had been forced to take and lifted his wine to his lips again, taking in the room instead of making small talk. It was cozy, and it would have been rather nice if he cared for it. He could see the merit in the decor, but it was hard to appreciate when he had been brought here because a simple-minded waiter thought that he and Mukuro were a couple.

Speaking of couples, the others in the room were so hopeless. Hibari wondered how much attention they would attract, spotting someone who glanced their way and stared momentarily before turning back to their respective partner. ‘How annoying,’ he thought, placing his wine glass that he had been absentmindedly spinning back on the table.

Luckily, the service at the restaurant was good; their antipasto did not take too long to arrive. Granted, fourteen courses would probably still take several hours, but the service was helpful and complimentary to the restaurant, rather than taking away from the experience. Perhaps Hibari was giving off enough serious vibes that their waiter had realized that the two weren’t here to draw out a date as long as possible.

“Bruschetta for you, signore,” the server announced, placing the plate in front of Mukuro. “And Capicola for you, signore,” he said, addressing Hibari with his dish.

“I trust that you are satisfied with the arrangement?” Though he spoke towards Mukuro, for the most part, he finished the question with his gaze trained on Hibari. After the awkwardness from earlier, the waiter only wanted to assure that the experience was the best. 

The raven merely nodded, muttering a comment about how appealing the food looked already.

agamemnoncrying:

Mukuro didn’t miss the look; it made the corner of his lips quirk upwards in the ghost of a smirk, eyes glittering with amusement. It went back to what he’d said before: There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Kyouya. After the glasses were poured he took his, swirling it in the glass for a moment to give it a bit of time to breathe, and took a sip. Mm, as good as its reputation. He gave a nod of approval to the waiter, who was listening to the other’s order before he nodded.

“And you, signore?”

He hummed, glancing at the menu thoughtfully. “The vegetarian, please,” he said with a shrug. That earned a tiny curious glance but the man was far too well-mannered to say anything about the opposite orders, but Mukuro did think he saw a little glimmer of amusement. They certainly must have seemed quite the pair, one professional, the other…well, him. One stoic, one highly emotive. There were a hundred immediately noticeable contrasts, so even he was slightly surprised when the waiter spoke again.

“Signore,” he murmured softly, glancing at Kyouya to acknowledge him as well, “would you like to move to a more private setting? We do offer a placement for couples.”

His lips twitched once, twice. He couldn’t keep the grin completely away as he turned his head to look inquisitively at the Cloud. “You heard him, love. Less people might be nice.”

Oh, sweet revenge.

Initially, Hibari had been content to ignore Mukuro as much as possible throughout the dinner, least he caused trouble that required Hibari to step in, but now the Japanese was quietly seething. Through the years, he had learned how to remain calm, and aside from the twitch of his finger that had been resting on the table, he appeared passive. 

How did people even arrive to such a conclusion? Drawing hasty conclusions like that…Assumptions that were so far from the truth were only a display of ignorance and a testimony of that. It wasn’t as if he had demonstrated any sort of affection for the other. Was there something wrong with viewing two men as business partners? Friends—as unrealistic as that was too?

He closed his eyes, taking a moment to imagine Mukuro beheaded by his own hands. First he would make sure that the other endured as much pain as he had in the past, though. With that thought, the raven felt much less bothered by the situation. Of course, the waiter probably meant no harm. If anything, he blamed Mukuro, and the brief flash of surprise on the other’s face made him feel a little bit better as well.

Fine, if the illusionist was going to go along with it to try to irritate him, Hibari wasn’t about to let him.

Hibari stood, folding his napkin and placing it on the table. He regarded the considerate waiter with a nod. “Very well.”

Once they had relocated, Hibari regarded Mukuro briefly with a pointed stare. “How thoughtful of you to take into consideration my distaste for areas crowded with herbivores,” he said with a smile.

agamemnoncrying:

Ah, too bad for that look Kyouya had given him. He was already planning on using an illusion to, ah, tone down his appearance a little (after all, a place like this was likely to have other mafia and he didn’t want to be too recognizable) but it would be far less satisfying if it seemed that he was doing it for the other’s benefit. Even so, by the time they reached the front door his hair had darkened to black and his right eye matched his left with deep sapphire instead of sanguine crimson. When he stepped up in front of the host’s podium by the hall that led to the dining room, he warranted only a single furrow of the man’s brows, and that was at his boots.

“Yes, right this way, signore,” he murmured politely after checking a notepad which now contained the name Rokudou in place of some poor schmuck he didn’t bother to check. Mukuro glanced back at Kyouya before he followed, tugging on his jacket and walking rather jauntily for a man barely hours out of a four-day captivity. Long showers had a tendency to do wonders like that.

He sat and placed the napkin over his lap without seeming to think about it, as though such posh manners were a typical habit. (They weren’t.) “What wine do you recommend?” he hummed. “Preferably red?” 

“Giacomo Conterno’s Barolo Monfortino,” was the immediate, crisp reply. “We carry it in five vintages.”

That made him pause to think it over, lips pursed. Very expensive, but at least it wasn’t Dom Perignon. “Yes, please,” he hummed. “Is 1970 one of them?” A nod. “Very good. May we have a moment to check the menu?” And, with a bow, the waiter turned to fetch the wine.

Obviously pleased, he looked at Kyouya. “Probably best to order a line rather than each dish. I trust you do enjoy wine?” 

If Mukuro wasn’t a renowned illusionist, maybe Hibari would have been surprised of how easily he could slip into a civilized-gentleman persona. As it were, Hibari still did quirk a brow as they sat, though he remained quiet, mentally shrugging it off and following suit. Of course Mukuro would be able to pull this off—it was just too bad that his actual nature was nothing of the sort (well, Hibari didn’t see him as civilized, anyways).

Scanning the menu brought just the slightest frown to his lips. He had devoted himself to learning Italian, and he reads, writes, and speaks it well, but it was not his preferred language. That wasn’t the problem though—he still wasn’t completely accustomed to Italian food. In the end, he decided to just ask the waiter to order the best line for someone who enjoys meat when he returned to bring their wine.

“I prefer not to drink,” Hibari stated afterwards. He drank alcohol on occasion, but not often. Besides, drinking offered a risk of poisoning. He did not, however, decline the drink, and instead reached for the glass and lifted it to his lips, taking a sip. He at least trusted the illusionist to not be such a coward; the wine was nice, too.

agamemnoncrying:

“You would be upset if my suit weren’t perfect,” he chuckled in return, “so let me perfect it.” Not that it wasn’t already perfect. A quick shrug of his shoulders and a tug on the lapel ensured that it was a flawless fit, apparently of the finest silk, unbuttoned over his tee a la careless chic. His trousers matched perfectly. The only thing out of place were his boots, and those were Fendi brand (and also a whopping eight hundred and fifty US dollars) so he figured they wouldn’t count against him.

It was tempting to try for a nap in the car, considering the smoothness of the ride, but, well, he figured they’d be there too soon to make it worthwhile. After all, they were already in the high-end side of town, likely within a block or two. Honestly, he wasn’t sure why they didn’t just walk, but he guessed that was unsightly to a five-star restaurant full of fat blobs who bathed in money and considered checking the stock market exercise. Vaguely he wondered what Kyouya thought about that, considering how much he seemed to enjoy the wealth that came with being a Vongola guardian, how easily he had assimilated into a life of luxury. He didn’t seem to have any qualms about it.

As for Mukuro, on the other hand…well, his own apartment was pretty plain, if he did say so himself. The only concessions he had made to real wealth were his motorcycle and installing a waterfall shower. His clothes ranged from thrift store buys to thousand-dollar tees. It seemed that Chrome was much the same as he, too, opting for more humble living quarters and possessions. Hell, Mukuro didn’t even own a television.

He climbed out when they parked in front of the valet station. Faking them a reservation wasn’t going to be an issue; if anything, it was a little bit annoying for its sheer lack of challenge. Fake a paper here, a paper there, and voila. If someone came calling for their table, well, Rokudou would now be on the papers and the host would be apologizing to the guest they’d run out about what had to be a misschedule or conflict, and please do come again. Might be interesting to watch what sort of fat cat it was. 

“You realize there are going to be fourteen courses here, don’t you?” he purred to his stoic companion, hands in his pockets as he made for the entrance, hips swaying a little extra. His mouth watered in anticipation. “I hope you have your appetite—and time.”

Just before reaching the entrance, Hibari made sure to briefly stop in front of Mukuro and simply stare him down in a quick inspection. 

Pants? Acceptable.

Shirt and suit jacket? Well, he supposed that passed, so long as others only saw Mukuro’s illusion.

Hair? … Mukuro’s hair would never pass inspection, really, so why even bother?

Stepping aside to let him pass and take care of the reservations and any problems, Hibari’s eyes flickered to Mukuro’s face as he spoke. “I do know the basics of Italian cuisine, illusionist,” he bite out, the corners of his mouth turned down in a frown. It wasn’t as if they had anywhere to go tonight. If they hadn’t come out to eat, he would have spent the night barring Mukuro from leaving the hotel room—assuming the illusionist didn’t just pass out first—and reading.

agamemnoncrying:

By the time he’d blowdried his hair and clothes to satisfaction he was once again starving. Pretzels only went so far, unfortunately, and he was near to mouthwatering at the very idea of sitting down to a fancy meal. Would it be one of those long, drawn-out, fifteen-course style dinners? He hoped so. 

When he stepped out, still combing his now-dry hair with the comb, trying to make the last of the conditioner longer. The hairband was around his wrist in easy reach.  ”Decided on a spot?” he asked curiously, finally tossing his hair over his shoulder to tie it back. Out of the corner of his eye he managed to spot the pamphlets and notes on the desk in the corner and wandered over, bending to glance each of them over. 

After only a few moments he shrugged and picked up one of them, flicking it into the trashcan. Anything that advertised Award-winning veal and Filet mignon extraordinaire weren’t in his range of interest. After a moment he trashed another, glancing through it and finding not a single mention of anything without meat; besides, it advertised Dom Perignon, and he was not going to give Kyouya that particular opportunity.

“Either of these,” he finally said with a shrug, tapping two of them and walking back to the mini fridge for another water bottle. As much as he drank, it seemed like he was going to stay parched for a while. Unfortunately, he knew that dressed as he was in a T-shirt and trousers he would never be allowed into a four-star place, let alone five-star, so he paused in front of the mirror as he took a half moment to work up an illusion of a jaunty suit. Ah, much better.

At least his stomach wasn’t growling anymore for the moment. 

Hibari was unfazed by Mukuro’s criticism, even as the other tossed out restaurant ideas as if they were undesirable, moldy food. Another person would be aghast over the fact that their efforts were so easily discarded, especially when the restaurant did look appealing. As loathe as Hibari was to admit it, however, Mukuro knew more about European dining, and culture in general, than he cared for himself. He would trust his judgement here. Besides, Mukuro was paying, and as long as Hibari was able to enjoy fine Italian cuisine and he got to eat through Mukuro’s wallet, he could tolerate it. It was better than trying to figure out things on his own, anyways.

“The closer one, then.” It was more convenient, and both men were hungry. Plus, Hibari wasn’t trusting Mukuro to drive.

Satisfied, he recorded the address so that he could program the GPS and stood. He walked over to the closet again, picking up his tie and tying it quickly, then pulled on his blazer and worked to fix his hair. He didn’t bother spending too much time combing it—he had accepted the fact that his hair, unless slicked with gel, would choose to seem just a bit unruly. Oh well, once they showed up at the restaurant, he was sure that he would still be impeccably dressed, as far as suits go.

As he grabbed the car keys and the room key, he caught sight of Mukuro conjuring his illusion, causing him to raise a brow. Well, he supposed that was useful. The illusionist was just as, if not more so, concerned about his appearance as Hibari was. At least they wouldn’t look like fools. “Stop admiring yourself in the mirror and go to the car,” he ordered, ushering Mukuro out of the room.

At least he the ride to the restaurant was short and tolerable. The problem would be making it through the dinner…

agamemnoncrying: 

By the time Kyouya stepped out of the shower his companion was lounging on his stomach on one of the beds, his nibbling slowing as he reached the end of the pretzel bag. He could already feel his stomach starting to object, a little bit of discomfort beneath his ribs, after having had so little food in four days. But that would pass very quickly, he figured as he took another swig from a bottle of water. He was far from satisfied, but one step closer to drowsy contentment.

“That’s not really possible at this point,” he murmured wryly, flicking the television off. The news wasn’t much interesting; there was nothing new that caught his attention, as usual. He set the mostly-empty bag aside on the bed and slung his legs over the side, stretching with a small yawn before he pulled his robe a little tighter just as it began to slip and moved towards the bathroom. “Too bad you didn’t take too long,” he hummed playfully. When he closed the door behind him, he left it cracked, just to see if the Cloud would have anything to see about the hint of indecency. 

First he took his bathtowel off of the rack and laid it aside, within reach of the shower, before he ran the sink full of cool, soapy water and started to work on his shirt. He’d go without his jacket to dinner, since there was no chance that he was going to be able to clean and dry it. He only scrubbed it a few minutes before rinsing, wringing it out, and laying it over the towel rack. His trousers took significantly longer, and before he could even get into the shower twenty minutes had passed.

By the time he was actually able to turn on the water, enjoy the steam that started gathering in the bathroom, and shrug off his robe. Carelessly he left it on the floor (a maid would handle it; lots of money had been paid for this room, after all, and it certainly covered some simple room service) and stepped in, immediately feeling the muscles in his shoulders smooth and begin to relax. A twist of the showerhead and it started beating out a pattern of water stream that made him wonder vaguely if he was going to fall asleep standing up there in the shower.

Still, his stomach grumbled after ten minutes and, begrudgingly, he started to actually wash. His hair was horrible, he bemoaned, reaching out of the shower for a  comb on the counter. He ended up using most of the bottle of conditioner to untangle it before he was even willing to begin shampooing.

Sorry, Kyouya, he thought dryly (not really).

Hibari paid little attention to what Mukuro was doing. Instead, he walked over to the desk and pulled out his phone, composing a brief message to Sawada:

Thing twice before sending me on this kind of mission again.

Satisfied, he pocketed his phone and began looking through the guides that the hotel had provided them on restaurants in the area. Seeing as this was a high-class hotel, he was certain that the 5-star restaurants would be included in the brochures… Sifting through the drawers, he disregarded anything that did not pertain to food.

When the sink started running, the water was much louder than he expected, causing Hibari to look up and scowl. Leave it to Mukuro to leave the door open to irritate him. He considered walking over to close the door, but that would give Mukuro the satisfaction of knowing that it irritated him. In that situation, Hibari would be left irritated, even more so than ignoring it, so he decided that it wasn’t worth the effort to address. 

Grabbing a pen and notepad, Hibari jotted down the information of the five star restaurants that interested him, leaving bookmarks as he researched. After thoroughly looking through the pamphlets provided, he narrowed it down to five choices that he would allow Mukuro to choose from, laying out the information and sample menus for review. Seeing as how he had come all the way to Italy, he only wanted to enjoy an Italian dinner, and the restaurants he had taken note of left him feeling rather satisfied that this would make a nice dent in the other’s wallet.

agamemnoncrying:

Hands tucked into his pockets, Mukuro followed, a little more slowly than the brisk Cloud. Hm. It was just as nice as he expected; the lobby was even fairly quiet. Lots of gold colours, earthen tones, high-end furniture with not a speck of wear. Vaguely he wondered how much a night here cost but considering that it was going on the family tab, he didn’t really give a damn. It was too bad it wasn’t the Four Seasons (even if Sawada would later whine).

Honestly, he was still trying not to snicker a little at the fastidious way Kyouya had redressed himself. It was admirable that the bloodstained blazer was in as good a shape as it was; it hardly appeared wrinkled. Taking that second look, he had to admit quietly that the man cut a rather dashing figure, even with their height difference (which was rather exaggerated considering his own heels…) Admittedly, Mukuro usually had a thing for taller men, but there were always exceptions.

By the time they were in the room, his mood had become significantly more buoyant even if he was still dead tired and starving. “I might join you if you take too long,” he purred, a little sing-song as he shrugged off his jacket, tossing it over a chair, and walked to the mini fridge to dig around for food. “Don’t worry, I won’t leave anything the maid can’t clean up.” He was already popping the cap on a water bottle, which was doubtlessly a good twenty dollars added to their tab but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It felt a little like heaven going down his throat.

As for his promise, he wasn’t kidding. He was dying to get in the shower. The more he grew aware of his own state, the more uncomfortable he was in his clothing, which felt a little too heavy and clinging too close to his skin. At least he didn’t smell too bad right now. As soon as Kyouya had walked out of the room he started stripping, pulling a silk robe from the closet to wear as he laid them out on the heater, rubbing his lower lip thoughtfully. He could always illusion his clothes nicer for dinner, but he didn’t really want to feel like he was sitting at the table in a dirty outfit. The other’s clothes wouldn’t fit him, either, not that he expected him to be willing to loan an outfit to his long-time rival. Maybe there was a laundry service in the hotel, but that would take hours. Could he just wash them himself in the sink or the shower and use a hair dryer? Possibly. He was about ready to try…after he tore into the bag of pretzels sitting atop the mini fridge.

Western showers were merely okay, in his standards, but when the spray of hot water hit him, Hibari couldn’t help but exhale a sigh of relief, allowing himself to relax. He couldn’t relax completely though, not with the knowledge that Mukuro was so nearby—he still didn’t trust him. It was unlikely that Mukuro would go so far as to do something to irritate him while in the shower, but it was still a possibility.

Though he used his shower as time to relax a little, Hibari’s time in the shower is short and efficient, no more than fifteen minutes long. As soon as the dust and grime, sweat, and smell of blood no longer coated his skin, washed down the drain, Hibari shut the water off, drying himself and slipping into the slacks he had brought into the bathroom with him. 

With the towel draped over his shoulders, he used one end to dry his hair as he exited the bathroom, making his way to the wardrobe closet to get his suit jacket. 

He glanced briefly at Mukuro before toweling his hair until it was almost dry, then hung the now-wet towel on an extra clothing hanger to dry. Hibari always preferred hanging the used towels outside of the bathroom, and it would be more convenient for the hotel staff, in his opinion. As he pulled on a white dress shirt and buttoned it up, he thought about saying something, but telling him that the shower was free was pointless, since Mukuro could see.

“Don’t ruin your appetite,” he finally said.