#finally.......

here’s the charm about illusions: you can almost believe them.

it takes practice, a wild current of willpower to deceive oneself better than false replications, and perhaps that’s the trick of it: what is true and what is a lie? who’s to decide what the fabric of reality truly feels like under the touch? it’s a role reserved only for the strongest, that’s what he believes.

mukuro presses their palms flat against each other, sensing - believing that he is - the warmth that passes through leather gloves, pouring like hot liquid until something melts inside his ribcage. it’s all sorts of familiar: he’s felt it when victory is close, when the first breath of wind caught in his lungs after escaping the endless, pearl-white corridors of the facility in which they kept him and the rest. it had rained earlier that day, so the damp feeling stuck for days after that, shriveled skin and muddied feet.

it’s at that moment that he realizes he’s smiling. something mirrored in kyoya’s eyes, something that makes it harder to break away from the curious digits curling around his own. mukuro locks their gazes, narrowing the space in-between, “shyness doesn’t suit you, all things considered. although your fangs have long since been plucked out, i did always enjoy seeing you struggle to protect your dignity.”

hibari kyoya must think himself stronger than they’d last been, ten years ago. the moment mukuro’s words leave his mouth, he’s pulled closer and his collar is clased around a tight fist. it’s a thorny encounter, of sorts, but he welcomes it, for lack of anything better to do. a smirk tugs at mukuro’s lips - this temper… is endearing. 

his free hands lifts to tangle a loose strand of ink-black hair.

“see? that’s much better.”