"Why do you do these kinds of things?"

Yamamoto had asked the steely-eyed Cloud Guardian once more as he had done so countless times in the past. Again and again, Hibari stained his hands with red – with a huge grin plastered on his face – continuously beating people up senselessly. He was in an ecstasy. This was a reality that he could not grasp. He wanted to be with Hibari as he fought his inner demons. But alas, all he could do was watch the carnage dealt by the person he held closest to his heart.

It was all set: mangled bodies splayed the blood stained background. Hibari's face showed no signs of the macabre he'd just caused; he was smiling. Like the thunderclouds, he'd mercilessly drowned all – friend or foe – in a sea of red. Yamamoto caught Hibari's eyes in a deadlock, his smile unrelenting. "Did you break something again?"

Hibari stood there, unmoving, stunned by Yamamoto's question. "Broke?" Hibari inspected himself: limbs intact, bones unscathed. "Are you stupid Yamamoto Takeshi?"

Yamamoto Takeshi .Throughout the years, he'd been promoted from a spineless herbivore to a being known as Yamamoto Takeshi. What was a Yamamoto Takeshi to a Hibari Kyouya? A spar buddy? A chump? That Yamamoto does not know. But one thing was certain: he was special.


"What is it this time?"

It had been years since Yamamoto stopped asking to be called by his first name; Hibari cannot – does not – tolerate nagging. Never did, never will. Albeit, having been able to say Kyouya without acquiring any injuries was a feat that only he can accomplish. "I love you."

Love is never logical. Yamamoto had searched himself for the reason why he loved the atrocity which is Hibari Kyoya. He found none. Hibari was ruthless – nothing more than a killing machine as other would often say. Yamamoto could only smile half-heartedly. The truth hurts; thoughts could kill. He loved Hibari and that was that.

Love; a word of four letters. It was something Hibari couldn't comprehend. Hearing the word from Yamamoto some years ago threw him into a state of confusion. He was aware of what he was – a monster. Why love a monster? Back in middle school, Yamamoto had a lot of options. There was this annoying and loud herbivore and the other, a more tolerable herbivore. Why didn't he love them instead? Love is a matter of accepting, not understanding.

"Why are you saying this?"

"I don't know."

I'm not very comfortable with an ending like this. I might continue this, given ample time.