#hibayama

Yamamoto lounges in one of the gardens of the Vongola base, muscles pleasantly sore and hair still damp from the shower he’s taken after training. He sits beneath the soft canopy of a blooming Syringa reticulata—the Japanese tree lilac—its pale, fragrant flowers swaying lightly with the sort of spring breeze that makes the whole world feel drowsy.

Though it’s not really hanami season anymore, Yamamoto thinks the day fits the spirit as he watches a petal drift lazily to the ground. It’s peaceful. Almost too peaceful, until he hears the flutter of wings behind him.

“Hey, Hibird,” Yamamoto greets without turning. “Out for a little patrol?”

The bird, which is roughly the shape and color of a lemon, lands on his shoulder in response, letting out a pleasant kyuu! and hopping closer to his neck. Yamamoto smiles. He’d always thought Hibird was kind of cute, especially compared to its owner, who is constantly threatening to bite everyone and their mothers to death.

Suddenly, something tugs at his hair.

He freezes, blinking up at the lilac branches above.

Another tug; then, the unmistakable sensation of something small and feathered settling right on top of his head.

“... Huh?” Yamamoto blinks, lifting a hand only to brush against a tiny stick nestled in his hair. A twig. Hibird chirps again, triumphant.

“Are you—” Yamamoto starts, laughing. “Wait. Are you trying to build a nest?”

Another twig, adorned with clusters of delicate, creamy-white blossoms, drops onto Yamamoto's lap. Hibird flutters back to his head, rustling through his damp hair with the single-minded determination of someone prepping for long-term real estate investment.

Yamamoto stares, amused. “Are you planning to live up there full-time?” he asks, trying not to laugh as Hibird shoves another blossom into his hair with alarming determination. “Should I be charging rent?”

Hibird doesn’t stop it. If anything, Yamamoto leans back against the tree, arms behind his head, letting the bird fuss with his hair. It tickles a bit, but it’s kind of sweet, definitely one of the weirder moments in his week, but by no means the worst.

A shadow passes across the ground in front of him.

The cool, unimpressed voice that follows is unmistakable: “…What are you doing?”

Yamamoto looks up, twigs sticking out at odd angles from his hair like a crooked crown.

“Oh, hey, Hibari,” Yamamoto says brightly. “Your bird’s nesting on me.”

Hibari stands there in a dark kimono belted with a plum obi, that usual impassive stare fixed on Yamamoto.

Then at Hibird, who is currently fluffing Yamamoto’s bangs with his tiny feet and picking at them with his beak in short, precise movements.

Then back at Yamamoto.

“…You let him,” Hibari says, flatly.

“Well, he seemed pretty determined,” Yamamoto gives a helpless laugh, keeping still so he doesn’t disturb the tiny architect on his head. “Didn’t want to ruin his vision.”

Hibari doesn’t answer. He steps closer, eyes dropping to the tangle of petals and twigs nestled in Yamamoto’s hair. Hibird, undeterred, tucks in one final lilac-laced twig with a touch of artistic flair.

When Hibari lifts his arm, Yamamoto nearly flinches, reflex kicking in like they’re two predators about to square off. Instead, the hand, pale and delicate, almost like the blossoms overhead, reaches out and calmly plucks one of the twig from his hair.

“You,” Hibari says, his voice low with that strange mix of exasperation and fondness that makes Yamamoto’s heart skip. It takes him a second to realize Hibari’s talking to Hibird. “That’s not a place to build a nest. Get back here.”

Hibird chirps in what sounds like mild dismay but eventually gives in, fluttering back to his rightful place on Hibari’s shoulder. Hibari pets him once, gently.

Yamamoto’s expression shifts into a smirk. “You jealous?”

Hibari’s eyes narrow, unreadable. “Of a bird?”

Rising to his feet, Yamamoto brushes the blossoms off his lap, watching Hibari curiously; if anything, he thought the comeback would be “of you?” He swallows, shrugs, trying to keep it light. “Of my nesting charm or whatever. Hibird and I had a good thing going, don’t you think? Maybe he’ll want to stick with me instead of you from now on.”

Paying no mind to their conversation, Hibird lets out a cheerful kyuu and takes off from Hibari’s shoulder with a playful whirl, circling Yamamoto in a wide, airy pirouette before flying off to explore a different part of the garden. Possibly off to scout a more nest-friendly spot, preferably one that isn’t perched on someone’s head.

Hibari watches Hibird disappear into the distance, then turns his focus back to Yamamoto with that same steady intensity.

Without warning, Hibari lifts a hand and slides his fingers through Yamamoto’s hair, neither gently nor rough, dislodging the remaining twigs and petals.

Letting his smile soften, Yamamoto murmurs, “It’s kind of a shame, ruining all that hard work,” as he leans into the touch.

Now that he’s standing, the height difference means Hibari has to lift his arm to reach his head, fingertips brushing through short, damp strands. He finishes clearing the debris, but the hand lingers a moment longer.

“It’s not like it can be helped,” Hibari mutters, voice barely above a whisper. “You accommodating idiot.”

And it hits Yamamoto how close they are, how little space is left between their faces. He can see the flecks of grey in Hibari’s eyes. Hibari isn’t moving away.

When this ordinary spring day had begun, Yamamoto didn’t expect much beyond training, maybe lunch, maybe a nap. He certainly didn’t think he’d end up with a living creature trying to build a house out of his hair, and he definitely didn’t think he’d end up grabbing the Cloud Guardian by the shoulders and backing him into the tree trunk, stopping only when there's nowhere left to go.

Hibari looks at him with his best poker face, and it unnerves Yamamoto, honestly. How can anyone keep that up? Still, he chooses to take it as a good sign. If Hibari didn’t want him this close, he figures he’d already be bleeding.

“Are you going to waste more time, or are you actually going to do something?” Hibari says, a hint of impatience in his tone.

And really, Yamamoto hadn’t thought he’d end up bowing his head to press his mouth to Hibari’s today, but here he is. The kiss starts tentative, testing the waters, until Hibari parts his lips wider and Yamamoto deepens it with a soft, surprised moan. Goddamn. This wasn’t part of the plan, yet it’s happening and it’s better than anything he ever would’ve dared to imagine.

Hibari’s fingers slide into his damp hair and grab. Yamamoto winces at the sting on his scalp, and it’s embarrassing how the pain just drags another desperate sound from his throat.

Of course, trust Hibari, ever the aloof Cloud, not to tolerate being held for long. In a sudden shift, he turns them around, and now Yamamoto is the one pinned, back hitting the rough trunk, eyes wide as Hibari leans into him, rougher than anything Yamamoto’s used to. The lilac branches above rustle softly in the breeze, their gentle rustle at odds with the tension coiling low in Yamamoto’s body and driving him a little out of his mind.

“Hibari…” Yamamoto breathes between kisses, heart hammering in his chest.

Hibari hums, before muttering, “Be quiet.” A beat. “Or I’ll bite you to death.”

Yamamoto lets out a lightheaded, giddy laugh. “... You always this pushy, or did it just turn you on that your bird wanted to make a nest on me?”

At that, there's a pause and a flat stare aimed directly at Yamamoto, who braces for a jab, a glare, maybe even an elbow to the ribs. Hibari just stares, though. And while he wears his usual mask of cool indifference, Yamamoto sees the slight hitch in his breath, the way his dark kimono shifts with the rise and fall of his chest, and the flush spreading across his cheeks.

That blush is dangerous. It makes Yamamoto abruptly aware that he’s in trouble, because if Hibari asked him to leap off a cliff with that look on his face, he’d probably ask if Hibari wanted him to swan dive or somersault on the way down.

The seconds in which Hibari watches him in silence stretch like an eternity. Finally, he steps back. Yamamoto’s stomach drops, and a vague sense of panic creeps in. Shit. Did I mess it up? Say the wrong thing? Maybe that comment about the nest was too much. Yamamoto honestly has no clue where Hibari draws the line, if he even has one.

Yamamoto’s almost ready to blurt out something, anything, when Hibari reaches out, grabs a fistful of Yamamoto’s t-shirt, and tugs.

No words. No explanation. Just starts walking toward the base with Yamamoto in tow.

Stumbling after Hibari, Yamamoto feels dazed with relief, burning with the knowledge that the late hanami miracle currently unfolding is far from over.

“W-wait—” Yamamoto tries, stammering as Hibari keeps walking. “Hibari, seriously, where are we—?”

Hibari turns his head, enough for one grey eye to catch Yamamoto’s, and cuts him off coolly: “To finish what you started.” The heat that flares in Yamamoto’s gut hits like a blow, and before he can recover himself, Hibari smirks and adds, “Not that it matters what I tell you. You’ll follow me anyway, judging by that ridiculous look on your face.”

What look? Yamamoto wants to ask, but he clings to the last shreds of his dignity instead. He already knows Hibari’s right. And at the rate this is going, he’s not hanging onto that dignity, or his sanity, for much longer.

Both the bird and his master seem perfectly content making what they want out of him. Hibird had made a nest, now Hibari’s making something else entirely.

And Yamamoto’s relieved Hibird isn’t here to witness whatever the hell he’s turning into now.