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Title: Spaces In-Between
Rating: PG/PG-13
Contents:: Quick rpficish Zodion-related 805918. Hibari muses.
Hibari was not the sort of man who noted absences. He marked the presences in his life much more distinctly: as inconveniences, challenges, obstacles. Absences were the natural state of his world. They had a pleasing aesthetic quality to them, the stark serenity and simplicity of the spaces in-between. There was nothing at all remarkable about this one in particular. It only grated more, a jarring and sudden symmetry where there had been a kind of gracefully asymmetrical lilt to his life before.
The tattoo remained.
It should have bothered him. He had been annoyed at the liberties taken with his body, at the distracting burning itch of it in the early days, at the uninspired symbolism, at the placement. Now when he wasn’t aware at times he found his fingers sliding down the soft fabric of his kimono and digging in just at his hipbone as though seeking something. Unnecessary.
Everything was where it should have been. His quarters at the base had been tidied and restored. Sawada Tsunayoshi had returned. The Vongola were, once again, unilaterally banned from invading his personal space; those too stupid or loud to take note of this (namely and only: Sasagawa Ryohei) were summarily bitten to death. The exercise was satisfying, he supposed. It should have been. It had always been. Except there was a bone-deep impatience in him these days like an itch beneath his skin and not knowing the cause was slowly winding his temper tighter and tighter. It didn’t matter, he told himself. Until the day Sasagawa Ryohei refused to leave and he casually kicked the man through one of the many delicate screens dividing his space into neat little rooms. (“Rude to the extreme,” he was told, before Tetsu managed to usher Sasagawa out and turned an implacable expression on him that was almost disapproving in its blandness. He had met that stare for more than a full minute, challenge in his eyes and blood pounding in his ears. In the end Tetsu didn’t say a word. A disappointment. He didn’t know why.)
He had only tried once each, eyes scanning the pale skin on the bared curve of Gokudera Hayato’s wrist when he rolled his sleeves up. “What?” Gokudera barked defensively, and he bared his teeth in a predator’s greeting for the form of it and didn’t bother answering. Yamamoto Takeshi was more difficult. It was all but impossible to accidentally catch him in the process of changing clothes, so at length he abandoned all pretenses and simply ambushed him in the shower after training.
“Uh,” Yamamoto offered with that annoyingly unselfconscious grin as he slammed the man unceremoniously against the shower wall to inspect his shoulder, swallowing a rising sense of urgency and defeat. “You know, usually you take your clothes off first--”
He left while Yamamoto’s back was still turned, before he could finish his sentence. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t concern himself with the nature of alternate worlds or alternate timelines. That he carried a mark from events neither of them remembered made no difference; it was just a fact. Perhaps it was only the uncertainty that was grating so sharply on his nerves, the quiet sense of wondering if one day one of them might wake up--and look at him--and know what he knew. And remember.
It didn’t matter.
The thought of asking Irie Shouichi such useless things irritated him. He cornered Tetsu instead, leaning in the doorframe of the sheltered outside porch near which Tetsu kept his bonsai. He’d ceased trying to beat strange habits out of the man years ago and found, grudging though he was to admit it, that the small spark of initiative it seemed to have fostered only made him a more efficient associate. It was gratifying in the way that being right always was.
“Did the Namimori code allow for tattoos?” he asked without preamble, watching a large piece of foliage fall to the ground as Tetsu jerked in surprise. His subordinate studied the plant mournfully for a few moments. It looked crooked.
“No.”
There was a question nested in the pause after the response. Hibari ignored it, grunted in bare acknowledgement, and seated himself in the doorway to soak in the sun while watching the pruning process from under lowered lids.
His fingers sought out the space on his hipbone, and pressed.
Rating: PG/PG-13
Contents:: Quick rpficish Zodion-related 805918. Hibari muses.
Hibari was not the sort of man who noted absences. He marked the presences in his life much more distinctly: as inconveniences, challenges, obstacles. Absences were the natural state of his world. They had a pleasing aesthetic quality to them, the stark serenity and simplicity of the spaces in-between. There was nothing at all remarkable about this one in particular. It only grated more, a jarring and sudden symmetry where there had been a kind of gracefully asymmetrical lilt to his life before.
The tattoo remained.
It should have bothered him. He had been annoyed at the liberties taken with his body, at the distracting burning itch of it in the early days, at the uninspired symbolism, at the placement. Now when he wasn’t aware at times he found his fingers sliding down the soft fabric of his kimono and digging in just at his hipbone as though seeking something. Unnecessary.
Everything was where it should have been. His quarters at the base had been tidied and restored. Sawada Tsunayoshi had returned. The Vongola were, once again, unilaterally banned from invading his personal space; those too stupid or loud to take note of this (namely and only: Sasagawa Ryohei) were summarily bitten to death. The exercise was satisfying, he supposed. It should have been. It had always been. Except there was a bone-deep impatience in him these days like an itch beneath his skin and not knowing the cause was slowly winding his temper tighter and tighter. It didn’t matter, he told himself. Until the day Sasagawa Ryohei refused to leave and he casually kicked the man through one of the many delicate screens dividing his space into neat little rooms. (“Rude to the extreme,” he was told, before Tetsu managed to usher Sasagawa out and turned an implacable expression on him that was almost disapproving in its blandness. He had met that stare for more than a full minute, challenge in his eyes and blood pounding in his ears. In the end Tetsu didn’t say a word. A disappointment. He didn’t know why.)
He had only tried once each, eyes scanning the pale skin on the bared curve of Gokudera Hayato’s wrist when he rolled his sleeves up. “What?” Gokudera barked defensively, and he bared his teeth in a predator’s greeting for the form of it and didn’t bother answering. Yamamoto Takeshi was more difficult. It was all but impossible to accidentally catch him in the process of changing clothes, so at length he abandoned all pretenses and simply ambushed him in the shower after training.
“Uh,” Yamamoto offered with that annoyingly unselfconscious grin as he slammed the man unceremoniously against the shower wall to inspect his shoulder, swallowing a rising sense of urgency and defeat. “You know, usually you take your clothes off first--”
He left while Yamamoto’s back was still turned, before he could finish his sentence. It didn’t matter.
He didn’t concern himself with the nature of alternate worlds or alternate timelines. That he carried a mark from events neither of them remembered made no difference; it was just a fact. Perhaps it was only the uncertainty that was grating so sharply on his nerves, the quiet sense of wondering if one day one of them might wake up--and look at him--and know what he knew. And remember.
It didn’t matter.
The thought of asking Irie Shouichi such useless things irritated him. He cornered Tetsu instead, leaning in the doorframe of the sheltered outside porch near which Tetsu kept his bonsai. He’d ceased trying to beat strange habits out of the man years ago and found, grudging though he was to admit it, that the small spark of initiative it seemed to have fostered only made him a more efficient associate. It was gratifying in the way that being right always was.
“Did the Namimori code allow for tattoos?” he asked without preamble, watching a large piece of foliage fall to the ground as Tetsu jerked in surprise. His subordinate studied the plant mournfully for a few moments. It looked crooked.
“No.”
There was a question nested in the pause after the response. Hibari ignored it, grunted in bare acknowledgement, and seated himself in the doorway to soak in the sun while watching the pruning process from under lowered lids.
His fingers sought out the space on his hipbone, and pressed.